by Devin Madson
“Amun,” I said, something in his expression making every part of me tense. “How did it go?”
“Exactly how I said it would go.” He pushed off the frame and faced me in the passage, ignoring the guards who were our only audience. “She put on a good show for Captain Menesor e’Qara and Atum e’Jaroven. Although perhaps that’s a good thing since the Kisians would be dead if we hadn’t been there. Your empress owes Ezma. You’re going to have to speak soon if you don’t want her to take every Levanti’s loyalty.”
“There’s nothing I could say that would convince everyone.”
“Then maybe it’s time to stop worrying about dividing us. It’s either speak or let her Chiltaen god have them.”
Entrancers. How she had laughed.
“He gets inside your head, like a voice. A feeling of peace. A raging attack of noise.”
Leo had broken Gideon. He had used us. Again and again he had used us, and if Entrancers were responsible for what was happening on the plains, he was probably connected to that too. As Ezma was.
My hands clenched into tight fists. Amun looked down at them. “What are you going to do?”
There was an unsure edge in his voice, but revenge hungered in his eyes. “I’m going to stop her,” I said, causing Amun to smile a hard, humourless smile. “I’m going to stop Leo. I’m going to make them all wish they’d never looked at Levanti and seen people they could use.”
He nodded, with me all the way. “If you put your case to the captains we found, they might still fight for you.”
“We’ll find out soon who stands with me, but I’m going to check on Gideon first and—”
“You’re still putting him before us? You know what he—”
“Yes, I do know,” I snapped. “I do. Imagine how you would feel if someone got inside your head and made you give those orders, if you had to sit and watch, a prisoner in your own mind, as people you cared about were killed because of your voice. Your position.” Amun leaned away from my spitting vehemence, scowling. Unsure. “You can say it’s his fault, but in the same situation would you have been strong enough to fight magic even our herd masters could not? If you can’t be sure, compassion is the only option.”
“You forgive him?”
I stared, owning no answer. I hadn’t yet. Couldn’t. Wasn’t sure I ever truly would, but that was different to holding him solely to blame. “That question is unfair.”
Amun looked away. “I’m sorry, Captain.”
“No need. This is… not ground any of us have walked before. I’m not asking you to forgive, merely to focus your anger on the most appropriate person. Raging at Gideon will achieve nothing, however righteous it might feel.”
He bowed his head. Saluted. “I still feel this situation needs you now. While Ezma is out on the battlefield seeing to the bodies.”
“There is time. Making a move behind her back won’t have the outcome we want, but come and let me know if anything changes.”
“As you wish, Captain.”
“And, Amun?”
He spun back, glancing at the two guards still watching us with curious looks. “Yes, Captain?”
“Talk to people. Listen. Feel the situation out. The newly arrived Swords are far more likely to be open around you than me. If I know who to talk to, who isn’t sure about Ezma, it will help.”
“I can do that.”
This time when he saluted, I let him go.
I had expected to have to argue my way into Gideon’s room, but one of the guards pulled open the door for me, sending a murmur of low voices spilling out. Worry sped my steps inside, into a dimly lit room possessing a knot of people. Lanterns lit the faces of Tor and Tep and a man I knew to be a Kisian healer. All three looked up as the door slid closed behind me.
“Rah,” Tep said, his voice cool and unfriendly.
As cool and unfriendly as the room felt. My skin prickled in the chill air.
Gideon lay upon a mat, his appearance unchanged from how he had looked beneath the ground, right down to the dirt in his hair and on his clothes and the dried blood on his hands and neck. Only the crimson sash had been removed, Tep’s handiwork replacing mine. The Kisian healer was murmuring to Tor, who nodded, glancing at me only to grimace.
Fear solidified like a stone in my stomach. “What’s wrong with him?”
Tep shrugged. “The gods didn’t want him saved, perhaps. Or he wants to die.”
He had pressed a blade to his own skin, possessing a desperate strength I would never forget.
“Master Izaka thinks it’s just fatigue,” Tor said when the Kisian finished speaking. “He needs food and water and rest, but he might have lost too much blood. There’s little we can do if he won’t wake.”
“He hasn’t woken at all?”
“Not since he was put on the cart.”
They had bundled us roughly into carts, guards sitting with us all the way. Gideon had slept. I had promised I wouldn’t leave him and had crouched at his side, only to lose him upon arrival when a healer insisted on checking me over. At least he hadn’t woken to find me no longer there.
The Kisian healer shrugged as he stood up, adjusting the satchel he carried with him. “He says we will have to wait and see,” Tor translated. “He’ll return to check on him later.”
“Like it matters,” Tep said. “Empress Miko will have him executed if he wakes, so it’s better he dies now. Better still not to have made it out of Kogahaera at all.”
“Go,” I said. “Get out. I’ll look after him.”
Tep’s lip curled, but he saluted and made for the door without complaint. The Kisian followed. Only Tor hovered, unsure.
“Have someone send food,” I said. “Please. If he wakes, he’ll need it. Something easy to eat.”
The young man nodded and followed the others out, leaving me alone in a dim, cold space all too reminiscent of our chilly stone prison. I stared down at Gideon. At his dirty clothes and the dried blood on his skin and the way he lay curled upon himself in the cold.
Tor had gone, but I strode to the door and tried to speak to the guards outside. “Hot,” I said, one of the few words I recalled in Kisian. I mimed shivering. “Hot.” I needed a cloth and warm water too, maybe some fresh clothing, so I added, “Bath,” and tried to mime a jug of water, plucking at my clothing. The men looked at each other. Spoke. Nodded. And one started off along the passage. Hoping he had understood, I went back inside.
It was dark beyond the narrow window, somewhere between midnight and dawn. The house was quiet, not the quiet of peace, rather the quiet of whispers. Of alliances shifting and changing like windblown sands.
I sat at Gideon’s feet and started untying his boots. Dirt crumbled beneath my fingers, the smell of it all too present. My hands ached from digging. They felt swollen and bruised and clumsy, and it took longer than I cared to admit to untie his boots and pull them off, scattering dirt and stones. I’d only just started on the first buckle of his leather tunic when servants arrived. Two men, one carrying a pair of braziers, the other two metal buckets held in animal-skin gloves. Neither spoke as they set the braziers in the corners, working fast to fill them with hot coals.
A tub arrived next, rolled in, a pair of maids following with steaming water jugs. I wanted to tell them not to bother as they lowered the wooden bath and began to fill it. I just needed one of the jugs and a cloth, but they hurried in and out without looking at us, and I was too tired to try to explain. Slowly the bath filled. Food came. Clothes too, a pair of soft robes with plain sashes. Towels. Soap. I knelt beside Gideon and waited until it was all done, the last of the maids hurrying away with her empty jugs and sliding the door closed behind her. Through the paper panes, the vague silhouettes of the guards on duty shifted their weight.
Gideon hadn’t stirred.
“I think they are very keen to please the empress,” I said as I went back to the buckles of his tunic. “The lord who lives here was probably loyal to you and needs to atone.” I wondered
what had happened to them all. To Gideon’s allies and the Levanti who had been with him. To Dishiva. But the questions could wait. Waiting would not change the answers.
Piece by piece I removed his armour. The plain tunic and breeches beneath were Kisian by the feel and cut, but not so different to what we wore against our skin. Dried blood stiffened the neck of the tunic, cracking as I pulled it over his head. He stirred, enough to draw his arms back to his body but no more.
I dunked a cloth into the bathwater and wrung it out before running it over his collarbone, smearing dried blood. Gideon flinched. Rolled over.
“This would be easier if you could just get in the bath,” I said.
“You get in the bath,” he murmured, the words little more than a breath.
“Trust you to be able to mouth off in your sleep.” I took his shoulder and rolled him back. “Here, let’s get you in the damn thing. It might wake you up.”
He didn’t answer, just curled his arms over his chest. His dark skin had long owned a wealth of scars, but there was a new one on his shoulder. It looked recent. I wanted to ask what had happened, but even had he been awake the question was too dangerous.
I sighed and traced the crescent scar on his other shoulder, one he’d gotten protecting me from an enraged boar the year we’d wintered in the hills. Always he had been there. The memory made the same uneasy feelings from the cave swirl in my stomach, and I pushed the thoughts away, edging back like I owned a dangerous beast I feared to wake.
He killed Yitti, I reminded myself, setting off a spiral of self-blame.
With a snort of annoyance, I untied the knot holding up his breeches and yanked them down. The extra exposure to the cold did nothing to wake him, and he lay in all his dishevelled, long-legged glory as though he was a carving rather than a man. Each of his abdominal muscles a ridge, his thighs strong from life in the saddle—but for the blood he could have been a sculpture of Nassus. Not that I would ever tell him so. Too well could I imagine his self-satisfied smile.
“Come on,” I said, gripping his shoulder and rolling him. “Time to wake. There’s a bath. It looks warm and you stink.”
He made a little grumble, but didn’t move.
“Yes, you smell awful. Like a dead deer that fell into a bog.”
Another grumble deep in his throat.
“And then got pissed on by a whole pack of sand cats.”
One of his eyes cracked open a moment that was all glare.
“So insulting you is the way to wake you up. It’s a wonder Tep didn’t try it.” I gripped his arm. “Up. Now. Bath. If you don’t, your legs will rot and fall off. Sand cat piss can really burn.”
It took a few false starts, and I had to bear most of his weight, but with much grumbling I managed to get him to the bath. He stepped in, one leg after the other, only to topple sideways, face first.
“Shit! No no no,” I said, belatedly realising how bad an idea it was. “You can’t sleep in the bath.” I pulled his face out of the water. He coughed and his eyes flickered open like they were trying to focus on me, but he didn’t fully wake. I tried letting him go again, only to catch his head as it slumped toward the water.
“All right, fine.” I tugged at my own clothing as best I could with one hand, the other holding his chin up. The buckles were difficult, the ties frustrating, and by the time I was in my underlayer I was fed up and uncomfortable. Deciding it was good enough, I stepped in, struggling to shift his weight as I slid into the water behind him.
The tub wasn’t big, but it was just large enough to fit us both with our knees bent. Not a comfortable position, but a functional one. With Gideon’s head resting beneath my chin, his face turned to my shoulder, I didn’t have to worry about him drowning. Taking up the cloth I’d had the foresight to hang on the side of the tub, I cleaned the blood off his neck and chest.
Even with a layer of clothing between me and the water, the heat eased tensions I hadn’t known I was carrying. Alone it would have been pleasant, but with his weight against me and the prickle of his scalp beneath my chin, I could not relax. The discomfort of the intimacy was too present, and I hoped he would not remember. Hoped only I carried the confusion it provoked.
Dipping the cloth into the warm water, I scrubbed his skin, taking care to be gentle around his face. I wished I could clean away the ravages of the last few years and find the old Gideon underneath, ready with a smile and a laugh, but if he was still under there, I could not reach him, could only wipe away the dirt and remember who he used to be.
Although the braziers were slowly warming the room, the water soon chilled. It wasn’t cold, but once the heat began to dissipate, Gideon shivered. He’d been asleep against me without any sign of life beyond the even rhythm of his breath, but now he twitched and rolled his head, a frown cut between his brows like he was having a bad dream.
“Cold,” he murmured. His teeth chattered.
“All right, time to get out,” I said. “But if you don’t help me, I’m going to be dragging you by your arms. Can you sit on your own?”
He didn’t answer, but he seemed awake enough that I risked edging out from behind him. My arse felt numb from the bottom of the tub, and when I stood, my wet clothing stuck to my skin.
Somehow, I managed to strip my dripping underclothes off without Gideon sinking into the water. Having wrapped one of the towels around my waist, I readied the other for him, but although the cold seemed to have woken him, it wasn’t an improvement. He stepped out, his breathing uneven. He wrapped his arms around himself and looked into the dark corners, wide-eyed and gasping.
“It’s all right,” I said, towel around his shoulders, rubbing his arms. “You’re safe.” Probably a lie. “There’s nothing to worry about.” Definitely a lie. “I’m here.” At least that was true, but he didn’t seem to hear me.
Working fast, I dried him as best I could and got him into one of the robes. He was still shivering, still sucking deep, wild breaths, but he was clean and dry and dressed and sitting, and that was a start. I held out a slice of pear and he took it, looking my way but not seeing me.
“You need to eat something,” I said, pulling on the other robe. It was soft and warm enough, but without layers or armour I felt exposed and wrong. “I’ll eat if you do,” I added, not sure it would work a second time. His breath quickened, true panic setting in. He gasped something that could have been an apology or just the rasping of his raw throat, crushing the pear in his hand.
“No no no, you’re all right, I’m here,” I said, caught between the urge to hold him tight and the fear he would fight me. I settled for having one leg bent in front of him and one behind, like I was a safe harbour if he needed it. “Can you try to breathe with me?”
“Go—away—”
“And leave you to choke to death or something? No.”
“Don’t—see—this—”
“You’re embarrassed about this? Don’t you remember the time I got so worked up thinking I’d been bitten by a snake that I puked on your feet?” Or when you took my knife and tried to cut your own throat? “Just shut up and breathe with me, all right?”
I drew in a deep breath, held it, and let it go against his shoulder. He didn’t join me, but he made no attempt to pull away or tell me to leave, so I did it again and again until he drew a shuddering short gasp and then a longer one. When he took his first full breath, he released his clenched fists, and the wad of crushed pear fell into his lap. I kept breathing slowly and deeply until Gideon turned his head. “You can stop now, you know.”
“No, I didn’t know, because I’m not exactly an expert at this yet.”
“Yet,” he repeated with a bitter laugh. “You don’t have to become one. You don’t have to stay.”
“I know.”
He risked a fleeting glance at me, turning away as he met my gaze. He stared at my knee still bent before him, tensing like a man who wanted to move both closer and farther away and was caught in the middle.
“You
really don’t have to stay.”
“I know. I’ll have to go find out what’s happening out there soon, but you’re stuck with me for now, and I’ll be back. Even if you don’t want me.”
“How charming.”
“Aren’t I just?”
I caught the flicker of his smile, like a glimpse of his former self.
“You should eat and rest,” I said, finally shifting back and getting to my feet.
“So should you. I’ll eat if you do.”
“Using my methods against me now?”
“Whatever it takes.”
I took a walnut and nibbled it, eyeing him. He did the same, no expression, no emotion, just a slow blink and the sluggish movement of his jaw. Whatever energy he’d mustered to talk seemed to have vanished.
Soon, Gideon lay down. No one had come to take the tray or the bath water, and with the world seeming to be asleep, I gave in to the fatigue pulling at my eyelids and stretched out on the mat beside him. He lay with his back to me, and though he must have known I was there, he didn’t turn. When weak, tired sobs shook his body, I touched my forehead to his back, but still he did not turn. He cried himself to sleep, and only once he calmed did I let myself rest, forehead still pressed to his shoulder.
I woke to bright light, my sleep having been so deep I couldn’t recall dreaming. I’d rolled over in the night, and now Amun crouched in front of me. He lifted his hand from my arm. “Ezma is back.”
The words chipped at my lingering drowsiness and I sat up, a glance at Gideon enough to tell he was still deeply asleep, curled upon himself. Amun stared at me like a man intent on pretending his one-time First Sword didn’t exist.
“What is she doing?”
“Meeting with the empress.”
“Shit.” I leapt up, hunting around for my armour before remembering I had nothing clean or dry. “I need clean armour.”
“I’m not sure what we’ll be able to find, but I’ll look.”
There wasn’t time to wait. I looked down at Gideon, still asleep. It was a small mercy. I didn’t want to leave him, didn’t want him to wake without me, but everything hung too precariously in the balance to wait any longer.
