City of Betrayal

by Claudie Arseneault

  They would come back, they always did, the spider in his mind spinning until he couldn’t ignore it any longer, but for now, it was enough. Every inch of his body still throbbed with pain, but he had found his focus.

  “Help me gather my clothes. Don’t disrupt the order.” He pushed himself to his feet, and the world spun around him. Jaeger waited for the nausea to pass, then turned to the mess of his desk. The paperwork that mattered would have been in Diel’s quarters or office, but he assembled the handful of personal trinkets he’d amassed over the years—almost all from his decade travelling with Diel—and stacked his most precious books. By the time he’d gathered the strict minimum, his heart was as heavy as the pile in his arms.

  ✵

  Yultes’ quarters surprised Jaeger. He had arrived at his door exhausted, feverish from the difficult trek down the stairs, barely able to stand. When he turned his head too fast, his vision darkened at the edges, threatening to wink out entirely. Jaeger needed to lie down, and he had expected to do so in drab and hostile quarters, undecorated or filled with markers of pride—elven sculptures, paintings, or other objects in the Dathirii colours. Instead, he found plants. Plants on every shelf, plants hanging from above, plants climbing over the bed and across the ceiling. His nose registered them as fast as his eyes—the sweet roses, the poignant rosemary, the fresh mint. Sunlight streamed through them, casting shadows in a myriad of shapes, granting the quarters a warm and lively atmosphere. Jaeger leaned against the assault, dizzy from so many scents at once. Herbs, he realized, and as his gaze swept across the room, he noticed most of the greenery was comestible. Chrysanthemums, daisies, impatiens, sorrel, and even dandelions. Jaeger’s stomach squeezed as centuries-old memories resurfaced. He had snatched several of these from the city’s gardens as a teenager, trying to assuage the hunger gnawing at him or complement the meagre meals he shared with his parents. He shut his eyes and focused instead on the homemade teas Camilla prepared with these. Better times.

  “Do you cook with them?” Jaeger hadn’t expected to find this specific array of plants in Yultes’ quarters, and he caught the flash of surprise on the other elf’s expression at the question.

  “No. I only taste,” he answered, wistful. “I once met someone who experimented with them. I loved …”

  Yultes reached for the nearby mint and closed his eyes. Jaeger recognized his own behaviour from mere seconds ago—his fight against memories buried deep. What in the world was happening? Diel had been convinced Yultes hid something from them, a secret Jaeger deemed better left unearthed. Yet now that he stood in these private quarters—a literal secret garden, obviously reserved for a trusted few—Jaeger couldn’t let go of the opportunity to dig.

  “… them?” he said, hoping to finish Yultes’ sentence.

  Yultes heaved a sigh. “I did, and I handled it wrong. Diel falls in love all the time, but I … I’m the opposite. I thought I never would. I’m not sure I will again.”

  Jaeger regretted asking. Why did he ever imagine he wanted to know about Yultes’ problems? Between Nicole’s righteous fury at him and this admission of “handling it wrong,” the outline of a revolting tale appeared. He had no desire to discover more. Not now, with his head spinning, his heart shrivelling, and no power to act on the obvious injustice that had happened here. If Yultes needed someone to confide in, he had chosen the wrong person at the wrong time.

  “Your plants will have better light in my quarters,” he said, ignoring Yultes’ heartspill. “There’s no higher tower to block it through my window.”

  Yultes stared at him, aware of the abrupt topic change. The wistfulness vanished from his expression and voice as he moved on. “Lovely,” he said, and he strode through the plants, pushing away the thick leaves of a hanging specimen to open the wardrobe. He placed each of Jaeger’s shirts and outfits one by one, careful not to break the sequence of colours.

  Jaeger sought a desk but only found a small surface buried under paper and cacti, so he decided to put his stack down on the ground. His wobbly arms almost dropped the heavy books, and he set a hand on top of them for a moment to regain balance. An hour—two at most—awake, and his strength had already vanished. How could he help fight Hellion when he struggled to stay standing and align two coherent thoughts? Jaeger pinched the bridge of his nose—Diel’s mannerism, one he’d picked up with time. With a pang of sadness, he dropped his hand.

  “Any chance Vellien returned to the tower recently?” he asked.

  “Afraid not. I inquired overnight, and most of the family has vanished.” Yultes slid the wardrobe closed and moved to the bed, clearing it of a nightshirt. For the first time, Jaeger noticed the signs of Yultes’ own exhaustion. His pale hair fell into his face, his shoulders slumped under a rumpled shirt, and his voice had lost the haughty tone he had exhibited when he sought an audience. Perhaps this went beyond tiredness, though. Ever since Yultes had come running into Diel’s office to incite Jaeger to flee, he’d acted like a different person—like he couldn’t be bothered to maintain a façade he’d spent decades perfecting. “We have no news from Branwen in the enclave, and still no explanation of Kellian’s whereabouts. Rumours have Camilla and Vellien at the Sapphire Guard’s headquarters late yesterday afternoon, but I’ve yet to confirm if they stayed. Word of this takeover must have spread, and they steered clear. I’m sorry. It’s just us and Garith.”

  No news of either Branwen or Kellian. Jaeger gritted his teeth. It only meant they hid, nothing worse. “Then get Garith, and tell him I’ll need the strongest bottle in his cache.”

  “Please, Jaeger. I promise working with me isn’t that difficult.”

  “It’s for the pain, Yultes!” Jaeger’s annoyance peaked, then fell as quickly as it had risen when he noticed the other elf’s smirk. What had the world come to if Yultes joked with him? “Just go.”

  A soft laugh escaped Yultes, but he didn’t move. They lapsed into silence while he rocked on his heels and slid two fingers through his silky hair. His mouth opened, closed again, then he gestured at the bed without a word. Jaeger would welcome rest if he didn’t fear he would only wake up a week later.

  “Business first,” he said, “but thank you.”

  Yultes did not leave right away. He turned to the plants, looking at each of them one at a time, giving Jaeger the distinct impression he mentally addressed them one by one. Watching felt like intruding, so Jaeger focused on the growing daylight through the window. He couldn’t reconcile this current shyness with the snide arrogance Yultes had displayed for a century. The clash baffled him and set him on edge. What should he expect now? Disparaging comments or a clumsy willingness to help? Yultes hadn’t done enough to offset decades of insults and deserve a second chance, yet Jaeger saw no way around it. They needed to work together. It left a bad taste in his mouth, but he reminded himself Diel had reached out to Yultes, too. If co-operation staved off Hellion’s ambition, then Jaeger could swallow whatever strange mood Yultes had found himself in—as long as no one expected him to do so silently. They would act as equals, or Yultes would soon discover Jaeger could do far worse than quarters filled with the melody of Garith’s lively sex life.

  ✵

  Garith slammed the door shut again as soon as he spotted Yultes. Although he had expected to meet hostility when he had knocked, this morning continued to surprise Yultes. He hadn’t even uttered a word yet.

  “Get lost,” Garith called. “You’re wasting your time.”

  “Don’t be childish, Garith. Open the door. We need to talk.”

  “Forget it! Hellion can shove his columns of numbers deep up his ass while you lick them for all I care. I’m not working for either of you!”

  What a lovely image. Garith didn’t make a habit of vulgarities—he usually let Branwen handle those. This conversation promised a difficult and exhausting struggle, with wonderful results. “Jaeger—”

  The door opened, cutting Yultes off. Garith’s hair fell down his shoulders, and he leaned against
the door jamb. “Are you threatening him? Is that your pretty little plan? Diel isn’t here to blackmail us anymore, so you’ll just use Jaeger instead! He’s family.” Garith clutched the doorway, his knuckles turning white. Yultes caught a whiff of strong alcohol on his breath. “If you had a sliver of decency, you wouldn’t dare touch him. But I bet you cheered when they hit him, you piece of shit. This is all you ever wanted, isn’t it? Now you can lord your power over us without Diel’s interruption because he’s gone. Shipped out for torture—dead! So don’t you dare ‘Jaeger’ me. Uncle Diel wouldn’t give in to your pathetic threats, and neither will I.”

  Garith could have continued for another five minutes without surprising Yultes, unlike Jaeger’s previous outburst—the steward had never yelled or lost control in front of Yultes before, and the flipped perspective had only driven his decision home. Yultes bided his time, even if none of this was new. He deserved their hasty conclusions and subsequent rants, but he would rather discuss future plans than listen to Garith empty his heart.

  “Is it my turn now?” Yultes asked.

  “No.”

  Garith slammed the door once more, and the noise echoed down the corridor. Yultes gritted his teeth, his frustration building. “Garith, come on. This is ridiculous!” Silence met his exclamation, so he hammered on the wood until, finally, Garith opened it again. Yultes massaged his irritated knuckles. “Jaeger had a favour to ask.”

  “And you’re the messenger?”

  “What great deductive skills.” Yultes couldn’t contain his sarcasm, but this time when Garith grabbed the door to close it, he was ready. He shoved his foot in the way, blocking it, and he dropped his voice. “I’m serious. He’ll move into my quarters, above yours, and for the moment, he has requested your hidden cache of strong alcohol to accompany any … traitorous discussion we might have. Grab a bottle and your account books, and make your way to my rooms. Try not to insult the Allastam soldiers still roaming. They wouldn’t appreciate your offers to lick elven rear ends.”

  Garith snorted, but no smile reached his lips. He stared at Yultes, searching for duplicity, a hint of hope behind the wariness. As Yultes withstood the examination, he was struck by how much Garith resembled his uncle—from the green of his eyes to their body shape, these two had come out of the same Dathirii mold. The accountant didn’t have Diel’s natural stateliness, though. No one could replace his stepbrother, not truly, and the similarities only twisted at Yultes’ stomach. Garith clacked his tongue, then let go of the door.

  “I’m afraid the bottle is about to run dry,” Garith said, “but I have others hidden. Stay here.”

  Garith slipped back into his quarters, and Yultes listened to the sounds of him rummaging around. A few minutes later, he reappeared, two bottles stuck under his arms, several account books piled in his arms, and a newfound smile on his lips.

  “Which one of Hellion’s awful plans are we stopping today?”

  Yultes laughed, then checked both ends of the corridor to make sure no one had heard Garith’s quip. He would have to be wary of spending too much time with these two and blowing his cover. “Household staff cuts. We must slash through our wages and pare down the cost to a minimum. He recommended throwing as many in the streets as needed, but …” He had done that once—the biggest mistake and most heinous act of his life. Never again. “We’ll find another way, won’t we?”

  Garith’s mouth twisted in a grimace. “There’s always one,” he said, “but if I learned one thing yesterday, it’s to ask, ‘at what cost?’ before I dive.”

  Yultes hadn’t expected anything so pessimistic from Garith, and his gaze slid to the half-empty bottle. A rough night for everyone involved. “If I learned one thing from your uncle, Garith, it’s that we have to dive anyway.”

  He didn’t believe it, yet as he watched Garith straighten with determination, Yultes found he wanted to. Diel’s parting words had shaken him, confronting him with a single truth: the expectations of others did not force his actions. He chose them—chose to abide by them or defy them. From now on, his decisions would ripple and impact dozens of people. If he didn’t dive, they would drown. They needed help, and Diel believed he could do it. He should. For too long, Yultes had pretended he didn’t see those sinking below him, convincing himself he wasn’t supposed to. Not anymore. He would accomplish what little he could, however late it was, even at the risk of drowning himself.

  The following is a list of characters featured in City of Betrayal with short descriptions to help readers navigate the story. The “titles” assigned to each character are meant to poke fun at them—don’t take them too seriously.

  HOUSE DATHIRII

  Diel Dathirii (Lord Dathirii), Eternal Idealist, he/him

  Head of the Dathirii House, loves political fights and people, but none more than Jaeger.

  Jaeger, Stalwart Steward, he/him

  Diel’s personal steward, the logistics behind the passion, a stickler for titles even for his long-time love.

  Branwen Dathirii, Master of Disguises, she/her

  Dathirii spymaster, her heart is as big as her multi-gender wardrobe.

  Garith Dathirii, Number One Flirt, he/him

  Dathirii coinmaster. Has ladies over at irregular hours, beware.

  Vellien Dathirii, Anxious Healer, they/them

  Dathirii priest of Alluma, youngest cousin. Would sing more if it didn’t focus everyone’s attention on them.

  Camilla Dathirii, Tea of Kindness, she/her

  Diel’s aunt, has retired from wilder years to grant tea, cookies, and wisdom to those in need.

  Kellian Dathirii, Stiff Guard, he/him

  Captain of the Dathirii Guards, spends many hours wishing people would stop taking huge risks.

  Yultes Dathirii, Professional Impostor, he/him

  Main Dathirii liaison to House Allastam. Diel’s step-brother and Larryn’s father. Is great at lying to himself and others.

  Hellion Dathirii, ‘Cunning’ Shitlord, he/him

  Yultes’s best friend. Still thinks elves and nobles are superior. Doesn’t get along with Diel.

  HOUSE ALLASTAM

  Lord Allastam, Bitter Crusader, he/him

  Head of House Allastam. Would watch the world burn to get his way and avenge his murdered wife.

  Drake Allastam, High on Privilege, he/him

  Lord Allastam’s son, heir to the house leadership, typically responds to ‘no’ and ‘fuck you’ with violence. Long history of harassing Larryn.

  Mia Allastam, the Discreet Daughter. she/her

  Lord Allastam’s daughter, often kept away by chronic pain and the family’s overbearing protectiveness. The only person Drake listens to.

  HOUSE BRASTEN

  Amake Brasten (Lady Brasten), Slicing Politician, she/her

  Head of House Brasten, ready to own the Golden Table on her own if needed.

  Arathiel Brasten, Drifter from the Past, he/him

  Stayed trapped for a hundred and thirty years in a mysterious Well that drained his senses. Returned to Isandor recently and stayed at the Shelter.

  Lindi Brasten, Afflicted Dancer, she/her

  Arathiel’s sister, sick when he left for the Well. Dead.

  THE SHELTER

  Larryn, Anger Stew, he/him

  Owner of and cook at the Shelter. Rages against the machine (and everyone else, really). Member of the Halfies Trio.

  Hasryan, Assassin Seeks Friends, he/him

  Once Brune’s favourite assassin. His sass is as deadly as his blades. Member of the Halfies Trio.

  Cal, Luck’s Generous Hand, he/him

  Priest of Ren, the luck deity. Lover of cheese, quick to develop friend crushes and act on them. Member of the Halfies Trio.

  Nevian, Stubborn Pupil, he/him

  Avenazar’s old apprentice, now hiding at the Shelter. Still determined to learn magic.

  Efua, Genius Letter Girl, she/her

  Orphan living at the Shelter. Larryn’s unofficial little sister. Works as a
letter delivery girl.

  Jim, Hard-Working Father, he/him

  First owner of the shelter. Adoptive father for Larryn and Efua. Dead.

  THE MYRIAN ENCLAVE

  Master Avenazar, Destructive Ego, he/him

  Head of the Myrian enclave. Ruthless and powerful mage who avenges every slight.

  Varden Daramond, Gentle Flames, he/him

  High Priest of Keroth, imprisoned for treason. Talented artist, loving soul, powerful fire-wielder.

  Master Jilssan, Ambitious Pragmatic, she/her

  Transmutation specialist and Isra’s master. Always ready to do what it takes to survive.

  Isra, Conflicted Princess, she/her

  Jilssan’s apprentice. Hides self-doubts and secrets behind layers of racism and overconfidence.

  OTHER FIGURES OF NOTE

  Lord William, Single Noble, he/him

  Presides the Golden Table but has no House. Loves drama in many shapes.

  Sora Sharpe, Unapologetic Law Enforcer, she/her

  Investigator for Isandor’s Sapphire Guards in charge of finding Hasryan. Hates political games.

  Lai, Confident Informant, ne/ner

  An informant for Sora Sharpe. In a queerplatonic relationship with one of House Dathirii’s kitchen boys.

  Brune, Ruthless Mercenary Leader, she/her

  Leader of the Crescent Moon mercenary, powerful mage, Hasryan’s old boss. Has hands in every pockets. Loves the colour brown.