We Cry for Blood

by Devin Madson

  “My answer is complicated too,” Lord Edo said, only to pause and glance at Sichi, seeming to ask permission. She gave it with a nod, and with his gentle grimace, he went on in an apologetic tone. Though who he was apologising to, I wasn’t sure. “My father is no true ally,” he said through Nuru’s lips. “He has no interest in playing second to a Levanti leader. Sichi already knows this,” Nuru added on her own before going on. “He took advantage of the opportunity to be rid of the Ts’ai and wound Kisia so he could take the throne and put it back together again himself. He intends to marry Empress Miko and get rid of you all—at least he did. Between me having helped Miko escape him and Leo getting in the way, his plan is a mess.”

  I could only stare from him to Sichi to Nuru for a full minute after she finished the translation. He had spoken so calmly I could scarcely believe he had just admitted his father’s treachery.

  “Nuru,” I said. “Do correct me if I’m wrong, but are they saying that Sichi’s uncle is planning to get her off the throne he worked to put her on in the first place?”

  “Yes. It’s complicated, but yes. Emperor Gideon and Sichi are meant to solidify the empire by doing all the fighting and dying, then he swoops in and saves Kisia from them and us.”

  “But she’s his blood.”

  “Yes.”

  I closed my eyes a moment, unable to imagine how twisty Grace Bahain’s mind must be to have come up with such a plan, let alone execute it.

  “As for the rest of the Kisians here,” Edo went on after a pause, “most of them are here because they have alliances with my father, through family or trade or debt, and would likely do whatever he told them to. They would happily get rid of Dom Villius, but that would give them more power. We may not like it, but Dom Villius’s power here has been severely curtailed by Father’s, and Father’s by Dom Villius. Which of them is ultimately worse for you all I’m really not sure.”

  I had not thought I could feel more helpless, but these words sank me beneath a very dark cloud. I had a small group of allies, but our enemies were more numerous and powerful, stretching well beyond Leo. In fact, Levanti allies seemed to be nonexistent, and my heart ached for everything we had hoped to build. The road to that dream was longer and more treacherous than ever before, and the end goal far less desired. Why stay here if the sickness could come with us? Why stay if we were so unwanted that even our allies would seek our destruction?

  A sharp rap fell upon the door, and I turned to Nuru before she could rise. “Why are there no guards outside?”

  “Because His Majesty, in his infinite wisdom, has decided it looks as though she doesn’t trust his people or her own if they’re there.”

  “But he still has guards.”

  “Naturally.” Nuru rose as a second, more insistent knock sounded. No sooner had she slid open the door than Grace Bahain pushed past and strode in, his eyes flying about the room and landing, scowling, upon his heir.

  He spoke, a tirade thinly veiled in stiff formality, first at Lord Edo and then at Sichi, and desperate to know what he was saying, I glared at Nuru until she shifted beside me. “He opened with a complaint that he has been looking all over for his son and didn’t think to find him gossiping with women, which neatly allowed him to switch to demanding of Sichi where her Kisian women are and berating her for preferring Levanti to her own people. She said the Levanti are her people too, which is why I love her.”

  With someone translating his words for a stranger, Grace Bahain drew himself up and stopped speaking to them as though they were disobedient children.

  “But I did not come to quarrel with you,” Nuru translated in a low voice when he went on, far more moderately. “Rumour has it, Miko Ts’ai has taken command of the southern army Kin’s bastard was leading. The sources are confused whether he is still alive or not, but either way she’s unlikely to wait until after winter to move. She has your father with her.”

  I watched him speak, hunting any part of his son’s calm, thoughtful manner and finding none. Grace Bahain was a man of fine features who nevertheless could not be called either handsome or beautiful, no matter how decorated his robe. He failed too at the Kisian penchant for moderating tone and expression, even his attempts belied by flashes of anger or contempt flitting across his features.

  Sichi’s sharp response made him scowl.

  “She said if he hoped her to have insight into her father’s plans, he ought to consider that Miko would be the one in charge.” Nuru lowered her voice to the barest whisper as Bahain snapped back at the empress. “He reminded her she wouldn’t be where she is without him and”—Nuru grinned—“she replied that he wouldn’t have his position without her either, and now that she’s an empress the only person who outranks her is her husband. She said, ‘Apply to him if you want me given orders.’”

  I could see why Nuru liked her so much. Even Lord Edo struggled to hide a smile. It didn’t last. His father soon bore his heir off, and no sooner had the door closed behind the two Bahains than Sichi was up, pacing out the anger she had been hiding, hissing to Nuru all the while. I didn’t need a translation to understand.

  Needing air, I drew my mask back up and left them. It was drizzling out in the yard, lightly enough to be pleasant, but I couldn’t avoid the effect my arrival had on the other Levanti. Some let their gazes slide over me like I wasn’t there. Some pointed and whispered. Until Anouke fell into step beside me. As one of my Swords it ought not to have been a statement, but Leo had changed everything.

  “Captain,” she said in something of a mutinous tone. “What’s going on? What’s with all this all of a sudden?”

  She gestured at my attire, her contempt almost too much for my resolve. I could tell her I had been forced into it, that it was all part of Leo’s plan, but truth spoken only to soothe my pride was dangerous. So though it hurt like every word was a blade in my throat, I said, “It is as you see. I am the bridge between peoples. The Levanti Defender of the One True God.”

  “But aren’t we meant to be joining the Kisians, not the Chiltaens? Why not swear to some Kisian god instead of joining Dom Villius?”

  Pride at her shrewdness mixed with annoyance as we walked on past the main stables. Levanti hanging around the open doors watched us like they might watch a Hoya match, waiting to see the outcome. Itaghai was in there. I could just walk in and take him from his stall, could saddle up and ride and ride until I was so far away all this faded into a distant nightmare. The urge was great, but instead I kept walking and said, “I am sure we will build many bridges with the Kisians too.”

  Her reply was cut short as panicked shouts burst from the stables. Everyone in the yard sped toward the doors, hearts pounding with the fear for our horses we all held close.

  Shouted questions rose around me as we crammed into the dim stable, all fresh straw and lamp oil and the blissful scent of animals. And the heavy thuds and cracks of hooves kicking floor and wall amid scuffs of straw.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Whose horse?”

  “Call a horse master!”

  I had barely registered that the commotion was happening outside Itaghai’s stall before the sounds stopped, leaving only the voices and the thump of my heart. Struggling to breathe, I ripped my mask off and pushed through the crowd, feeling like I was no longer in my body for how stiffly my limbs moved, mere numb lumps of flesh attached to a core of fear.

  I saw the head first, protruding from its stall. Still. Lifeless. Large eyes glassy and staring, a string of foam dangling from its nose. For a heart-stopping moment, I was sure it must be Itaghai, until I saw the streak of dark hair. Motep, Katepha e’Jaroven’s horse, in the stall next to mine. Katepha was there, head to his horse’s back as it lay lifeless in the mess of straw and foam spittle.

  Itaghai’s stall remained closed, a Levanti I didn’t know reaching over the door to calm him with a gentle hand, while on the other side another horse lay dead, an Injit sobbing at her loss.

  I ought to hav
e stayed. To have taken over comforting Itaghai. To have been there for my people. But the realisation this was no accident hit me like a stone, and panic gasping its ragged breath up my throat, I pushed back through the murmuring crowd of onlookers, desperate for air. For space. For accusing eyes not to fall on me.

  Two horses had died, and whatever Lashak had said, it was my fault.

  7. CASSANDRA

  The Witchdoctor’s house sat atop a hill overlooking the town like a scraggly blackbird watching its nest. I had hated everything about my time there and had hoped never to go back, but here we were because fate hated me.

  The time since we’d left had not improved it. The gardens were still overgrown, the carriageway pocked with potholes, and the roof was missing tiles, but Captain Aeneas didn’t slow our pace. Empress Hana sat in her new flesh suit looking as grim as only a dead body can. Which, it turns out, is very grim.

  “Every time I leave this place, I think I’ll never come back, and yet I keep returning,” she said, her voice constricted in the aging corpse. It had been too hard on her body for us both to remain in it long. “Like I lost something here and can’t escape until I find it again.”

  I was curious about the place and her memories of it, but I had learned since falling into Empress Hana’s body what true fatigue was. It clouded everything, slowed everything, and in this state, I could well imagine not having the energy to give a damn about a tree growing through the floor.

  “I don’t see anyone,” she added as the cart jolted and swayed up the carriageway, its violent shifting sure to break a wheel. Even the prospect of being thrown out onto the road could not rouse me to care.

  “The Witchdoctor doesn’t like visitors,” Captain Aeneas said. “He isn’t likely to send out a welcome party. More likely to hide and pretend he isn’t home.”

  I imagined the perfect god-man sitting crouched in a cupboard like a child, and managed a breathy snigger.

  “Oh, you’re awake, Miss Marius,” the empress said, looking around, her dead eyes slow to move. “I had thought you were asleep.”

  “No one can sleep with the cart rocking like this,” I said.

  Having jolted and bumped all the way, the cart finally pulled up at the main gates. Beyond sat the courtyard carved with Errant boards where the hieromonk had stood when he came for us. The feeling my life was going in circles could not be suppressed.

  “Still no sign of anyone,” the empress said. “This does not bode well.”

  She leapt onto the pitted drive and strode through the gates with the fearlessness of someone who was already dead. Halfway she looked back, shrugging jerkily. “They might be inside, but at least no one else seems to be here.”

  Small mercies.

  Captain Aeneas hauled himself off the driver’s box with a grunt of effort. “Here, I’ll help you down,” he said, coming to the back of the cart. “Whether or not there’s anyone home we ought to stay a night and rest. We might find some papers too. He seemed the note-taking type.”

  “I don’t need help,” I said, hauling myself into a more upright position.

  “Oh yes? Able to just… jump down and dash off, I’m sure. But let me guess, you just don’t feel like it?”

  “No need to be a sarcastic arse.”

  “No need to be a pain in my sarcastic arse.” He held out his hand. “Come on, I’m too tired for this.”

  He looked tired, the dark rings under his eyes having aged him ten years in the space of days. Sleep had been impossible and we had rarely stopped moving, always afraid Leo was hard on our heels. And if the Witchdoctor wasn’t home… I couldn’t think what we would do next. Or where we would go.

  I took his hand, allowing him to pull me to my feet. Shaky feet. I had to lean on his arm while the world spun, darkness crawling in at the edges of my vision. He waited patiently, his expression all concern. “Just light-headed,” I said. “I’m fine.”

  “Yes, absolutely fine. I’m not at all worried you’re about to drop dead on me, oh no, not at all.”

  “That’s not comforting.”

  “Wasn’t meant to be. I think we’re beyond trying to comfort each other, Miss Marius. Here, hold the side of the cart while I jump down, then I’ll lift you. With your permission, of course.”

  He said the last with such thick condescension I wished I had the strength to hit him and not fall over. As it was, I gripped the cart and let him lift me down, feeling as light as a broken bird.

  “Are you able to walk? Or do you need my arm?”

  “I can walk,” I said, though I managed more of a shuffle.

  The empress had disappeared inside, but the total lack of sound was not promising. Despite the Witchdoctor’s small staff, the house had never felt this dead before.

  By the time I had shuffled halfway across the courtyard, loosening stiff joints and muscles as I went, I was sure we were alone. The last hope died when the empress emerged and shook her head. “No sign of them. And it looks like they haven’t been here for at least a few days. There are corpses in the workroom, but they look… oozy.”

  “Delightful.”

  “You can’t tell me you’re squeamish about dead things, Miss Marius.”

  I met her gaze, coming as it did through the slightly bulging eyes of a dead traveller, his skin pale and waxen. “There’s dead and there’s dead.”

  “What wisdom. I shall have to remember that one.”

  “My, aren’t we snarky today.”

  She tilted her head. “Might that have something to do with not getting any rest and being on the run from a religious zealot we don’t understand?”

  “Nah, I think it’s because we’re all cunts.”

  The empress’s eyes narrowed, but she turned away rather than rise to my bait. “I’ll search the kitchens for food. You should rest.”

  “Telling me what to do now?”

  “While you’re wearing my body, you’re damn right I’ll tell you what to do,” she threw over her shoulder. “This one isn’t going to last much longer, and you need to rest or mine won’t be able to support us both.”

  It was true, but I was getting sick of always feeling weak and broken, of not being able to do the things I needed to, a walk from the cart to the front door the extent of what my energy would allow.

  “I know having to take care of yourself is a new concept to you, Miss Marius, and it’s frustrating when you’re used to being able to do so much more. It took me a long time to make a sort of peace with it. Now come. I’ll help you to a sleeping mat. Food. Rest. Then maybe we can find out what the Witchdoctor knew about this bastard.”

  Kaysa was in my dreams again. Or rather I was her in my dreams, my bound hands numb in my lap. A carriage jolted beneath me, but over the rattle and clatter a voice droned. Leo sat opposite, the holy book open on his lap. Sitting at his ease, without his mask, with his hair tousled and his foot upon the seat, he owned a stormy beauty at odds with the lifeless version of his face I was used to seeing on Septum.

  “A man does kneel at the dawn and the dusk and thank his God for the night and the day, the sun and the moon and the stars,” he said, the words washing over me like a warm blanket. “Though he kneels with others he is alone, one man in the eyes of God as the man beside him is one man and the man beside him is one man, all through the gathering.”

  Leo glanced up. Our eyes met. His, deep pools into which I could fall—green, I noticed for the first time, flecked with a golden brown. Did all their eyes look the same? The thought was sleepy and sluggish, and I could not look away. He had begged for my help. No one had ever needed my help before. No one ever needed me.

  “We are many,” he went on. “A congregation of ones, together even when we are apart. Whenever he kneels and gives his thoughts and his heart and his body to God he is not alone; though he kneels upon the cold ground and the morning fog covers all from his sight, he is not alone. Never will he be alone again.”

  He closed the book, but the feeling of warmth and peace that
had crept over me remained long after he stopped. I don’t know how long we sat there together, only that when at last the warmth began to fade, when the lassitude ebbed, I felt abandoned. Until like a body breaking the surface of a dark sea and gasping for breath, I was free.

  I jerked awake. Late afternoon sunlight crept in through a high shuttered window.

  “Ah, good,” came the empress’s rumble. “I’ve brought food. You need to eat, and don’t tell me how exhausting it is and how you don’t feel like it because I know, Miss Marius, I know exactly how this illness works and how it seeks day by day to kill me. But no medicine Master Kenji or the Witchdoctor ever gave me did more good than food, so shut up and eat even if you have to nap again straight after.”

  I didn’t have the energy to argue. She had managed to cook some rice and soup, some salted fish and a green vegetable I could only call limp. And tea. “I don’t like tea.”

  “You don’t, perhaps, but my body is used to a steady diet of tea multiple times a day, and think how awful you felt when you couldn’t have… what was it called? Stick?”

  “Stiff.”

  “That. Drink and don’t complain.”

  “I am not a child.” She helped me to sit, her hand cold and stiff and unpleasant to touch. “Is it weird telling yourself what to do?”

  She tilted her stiff neck. “A little, yes, but as I have spent a good portion of my life telling myself off and beating myself down, it is not so very strange. Although…” Again with the stiff attempt at a wry smile—one side of the dead man’s face seemed to have stopped moving. “I am a good deal kinder to you in my skin than I ever was to myself.”

  I knew that feeling, but could not say so, could not open the raw wound that had always lived at my core. A wound around which I had built Cassandra Marius, to protect the little girl who had been spat on and shouted at for being different, who had always known she was wrong, broken, unnatural, wicked. Every punishment had been earned. And when there had no longer been anyone around to punish me, I had punished myself.