“Yes, ser.”
The captain glanced around the courtyard, as if expecting an ambush – or a group of others in on some joke at his expense. “This mage…is it Halcyon?”
Stonewall’s cheeks warmed but he kept his reply professional. “She’s had a chance to…study them, to a degree. I know it sounds strange,” he added as Cobalt scoffed, “but even if there’s a slim hope that thralls can be cured, ser, we ought to look into it. A lot of people could be suffering needlessly.”
“You know our orders, Sergeant,” Cobalt replied. “The thralls are not our focus.”
“Our orders are…” Stonewall trailed off at the warning in the captain’s pale eyes. A chill passed through him; he should keep his mouth shut before he brought more trouble on himself or his friends. So he only nodded, shoulders sinking in defeat. “Yes, Captain.”
Cobalt rubbed his forehead. “Why was it so important to tell me all of this now, not the commander?”
This, Stonewall had not thought through, for he’d deliberately avoided thinking of Talon. Not only had she tried to coerce him into ending his relationship with Kali by threatening Kali’s life, she had made an advance on him. “If you seek a release, you do not have to look for it in the bastion.”
Shame filled him, hot and fast as hematite, but infinitely less pleasant. Had he unknowingly encouraged her to make such an offer? He bit his tongue lest he shudder visibly. Talon was his superior officer; refusing her was likely a dangerous—and stupid—thing to do, but he saw no other choice. He still didn’t. And he couldn’t trust her.
But could he trust Cobalt? Stonewall met the captain’s gaze again and saw the same sharp edge as always. No weariness; no sorrow. Just duty. Was that what Kali had seen when he’d tried to end their relationship?
How long could she survive here? How long would he?
“I wanted someone to know about a potential cure immediately,” Stonewall said at last. “And with regards to Parsa, my squad acted in self-defense, but there could still be trouble for us.”
“Trouble.” Cobalt made a snorting sound that might have been a laugh on any other man. “Aye, because we’ve little enough of that to go around.”
Had the captain made a joke? Stonewall kept his expression neutral. “How did the mages escape?”
His squad shifted, exchanging startled glances, though the captain seemed not to notice.
“A breach in the wall,” Cobalt replied grimly. “An old blood run, by the look of it. It must have been built when the bastion was, but I’ve never seen it before, not even on old renderings.”
“Ser, what’s a blood run?” Milo asked.
“A sodding foolish idea,” Cobalt replied.
Beacon cleared his throat. “The bastions were built to keep mages safe from the general population, who didn’t fancy the notion of folks able to start fires and such with a wave of their hands. Those folks also believed mage blood would heal any ailment. Mages used to be hunted down and killed because people were frightened of their abilities. So when the queen’s grandfather, King Solasar, had the bastions built, he ensured the mages would have an opportunity to flee, should angry, frightened folks storm the gates.”
The burnie twins exchanged astonished glances. Stonewall knew how they felt. “The king wanted mages to be able to leave?”
“The Circle wouldn’t allow that now,” Rook said.
The mender shrugged. “It was a different time.”
“How in Tor’s name did the mages keep this blood run secret?” Stonewall asked the captain.
“No idea.” Cobalt sighed. “The worst bit is, we only caught them at the end of their little escape. By then, the Echinas had made it to the outer gates. The other mages were already gone.”
“Did they have outside help, ser?” Beacon asked.
Flint nodded. “Last time any mages got out, they got lost. Remember, Mi? Eris Echina didn’t know one street from another when we chased her that night.”
“Oh, they had help,” Cobalt said. “One of those renegade mages we’re always trying to root out. By the look of it, he’s the same one who stole our last hematite shipment. Sod was acting as a fire-dancer during Heartfire. We also got wind of Sufani—and probably Assembly—folk helping as well, though the dreg in our cells has yet to confirm any of it.”
“The renegade is here?” Stonewall asked.
“Aye, Talon’s been…questioning him all night.” Cobalt’s face went blank and his next words were too calm. “Matter-of-fact, he’s only said one thing of significance: your name.”
Something like a warning prickled the back of Stonewall’s neck. “My name?”
The captain nodded. “Know any mages from Indigo-By-the-Sea?”
All gazes fell upon Stonewall, but he was at a complete loss. What in the blazing void is going on? “No, ser,” he managed. “I’ve never known any mages outside of a bastion. How did he know about the blood run?”
Cobalt’s face darkened and his hand sought one of his daggers. “Perhaps you should ask the traitor, yourself.”
“Traitor, ser?” Rook asked.
“The dreg used to be a sentinel,” Cobalt replied, and Stonewall’s heart skidded to a stop.
A sentinel from Indigo-By-the-Sea.
Drake.
Stonewall’s vision swam. No. His brother had been dead for three sodding years. Whomever Talon held captive was a stranger, nothing more.
“Adding insult to injury,” Cobalt was saying, “the dreg knew our habits and methods, and used them against us.” He spat on the cold ground. “Brother in service, indeed.”
Stonewall wanted to ask more questions, but his tongue felt frozen in his mouth. The old danger sense he’d developed as an orphan on the streets now trilled a warning, while fight and run warred within his body.
The rest of his squad shared his astonishment. Cobalt ignored them, looking back at the mages who had dug Gideon Echina’s grave. Having finished their work, they now gathered around the dead mage’s body in preparation to lower it into the cold ground.
“Get your report to Talon as soon as possible,” Cobalt said to Stonewall. The captain turned abruptly and strode back to the grave site, tossing his next words over his armored shoulder. “In the meantime, follow protocol. Do your duty. Obey your oath.”
*
None of the squad spoke again until they had reconvened in the stables to tend to their horses. Even then, talk was sparse and perfunctory as the stablemaster, a cinder named Ferro, bustled around the newcomers and their mounts. Only after Ferro had taken their leather tack to the storeroom did Stonewall relax, inhaling the warm scents of horses and hay that were always comforting.
“Was it just me,” Flint said as she ran a curry comb down her mount’s chestnut neck. “Or did the captain think you were full of shit?”
Stonewall laughed, more out of relief to be in relative safety again than from true amusement. “At least he’s consistent.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter what he thinks,” Rook said from a stool beside her horse, Ox, as she brushed his back. “So long as the commander believes you.”
Stonewall winced before he could stop himself. The others caught on at once. “What is it?” Beacon asked.
Stonewall briefly debated not sharing the whole story but decided it didn’t warrant being kept secret any longer. Still, he chose his words carefully. “By now, you all know about Kali and me. What you don’t know is that I…” This was harder to convey than he’d realized, but he powered through. “I tried to break it off with Kali not long before Heartfire.”
“Why?” Milo asked, brows knitted.
“Because Talon told me she’d have Kali killed if our…relationship continued.” The others exchanged stunned looks and Stonewall grimaced. Gods above, he could still see the stricken expression on Kali’s face after he had tried to end things between them. Thank Tor they were both too stubborn—or too stupid—to keep apart.
Though Kali might regret that fact one day.
Better shake off that thought, too. It was too vast and too soon. Stonewall fixed his attention on the curry comb and Frost’s gray and white dappled coat. “That same night, Talon made her…interest in me clear. I refused her.”
Flint made a low whistle. “Ea’s balls… Is that why she’s had it out for you these past few weeks?”
Stonewall gave the young woman the best smile he could muster. “I’m sure it didn’t help.”
Flint didn’t seem convinced. “Maybe. But she’s been a real bitch lately, hasn’t she? More so than usual.”
“Don’t be disrespectful,” Milo said. “She’s our commander.”
“I do respect her,” Flint replied, shrugging. “But she’s still a bitch.”
“How’s that work?” Milo asked.
Beacon cleared his throat. “Did she really threaten us, too?”
“She did,” Stonewall said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want the…situation with Kali to affect any of you.”
Rook’s gaze held nothing but compassion. “Talon’s actions are not your fault, Stonewall. She should hold herself to a higher standard.”
“Right,” Beacon added. “Well, I can’t say I’m especially pleased with the commander of late. That business with the Sufani… Capturing a civilian to send to Lasath for questioning.” He trailed off, shuddering. “I’m glad you let her go, Stonewall, even if it meant we failed our mission.”
“Failed,” Flint echoed, snorting. “That’s the official word, I guess.”
“But not the right word,” Milo added.
Stonewall nodded, but thoughts of that “failed” mission brought another face to mind: Drake. Stonewall had sworn he’d seen his dead brother among the assembled Sufani his squad had surprised that day. But surely the sight—and the sound of his brother’s voice—were tricks of grief. He’d experienced them after Drake’s death, though not in some time.
“That order came from Argent,” Rook said suddenly. “Not Talon.”
Stonewall regarded her. “How’d you know that?” When Talon had given him the order, she had not expressly stated it was from Argent, but it had been implied. But he’d not breathed a word of that to any of his squad.
A flush crept up Rook’s freckled cheeks and she turned fully to her horse, brushing harder with each word. “I just assumed. It wasn’t Talon’s…style.”
“Besides,” Milo said. “The Sufani weren’t exactly innocent if they were the same ones who stole our hematite.”
“The Sufani aren’t mages,” Flint replied. “The sodding local guard should have taken care of them. Why’d we get sent?”
“Because of the hematite,” Milo shot back.
Stonewall raised his hands. “That’s in the past now. Parsa has laid a bigger issue at our feet.”
“The Fata have, as well,” Beacon replied. “Kali was right; the connection between them and the thralls fits. But it’s not looking like Talon will hear you out.”
“Where does that leave us?” Flint asked.
Beacon stroked his beard. “We might have to take matters into our own hands.”
“How?” Rook asked. “Disobey a direct order?” She shook her head, light-brown hair falling loose from her braid. “Insubordination won’t end well for us, if High Commander Argent gets involved. Which I’ve no doubt he will.”
Forsworn. The word hung in the air like a storm cloud. Stonewall shivered despite himself. Receiving the label—and having one’s sentinel mark burned away—was the worst fate that could befall any sentinel. A life without duty; a life without the camaraderie of the other sentinels or the benedictions of the gods. As the rumors went, it was the lack of purpose that killed quicker than the lack of hematite, though the latter was supposedly excruciating.
But despite the knowledge that had been hammered into Stonewall since he was a lad, anger stirred within his heart. Was coercion the only way Talon knew how to lead?
He would lead differently; he would not blackmail or cajole those under his command. He studied each member of his squad: Beacon, whose intelligence, calm nature, and good humor always shone a light in dark times; Rook, steadfast and quick-witted, always looking out for others; Milo, whose true strength lay not in his body, but in his relentless optimism and gentleness; Flint’s cutting wit, bravery, and fierce loyalty. They were a good lot, and right now they were all looking to him to lead them through the trials to come.
All their lives were forfeit; it had been so the day they each had woken from their first Burn, the day they had all pledged themselves to the gods. Stonewall could not speak for the others, but what would he make of his life in the meantime?
A conversation with Kali, long since tucked away in the back of his mind, crept to the forefront:
“What does Tor ask of you?”
“Courage. Strength. Unwavering dedication to the path I have chosen.”
Simple words, easily given. It would cost so much to live by them. Stonewall measured his next words. “I’m starting to think that some orders should not be followed.”
The squad exchanged wary glances, tossing a few over their shoulders to make sure they were alone in the stables. During their conversation, the sentinels had drawn closer together, so that now they stood in a tight circle in the middle of the grooming area. The stables were still quiet, with only the occasional faint sound of a horse shifting in its stall.
Beacon spoke first, his voice hushed. “What are you saying, Stonewall?”
“We all swore an oath,” Rook added, also in a whisper.
Courage, Stonewall told his racing heart. “We swore an oath to the gods,” he replied softly. “Not to Talon. Not to Argent or the queen. Not to the Circle – or even to the Pillars.”
“But that doesn’t mean we can do anything we like, simply because we don’t agree with our orders,” Rook replied. “What good is an oath if it can be twisted to suit whatever fancy catches your mind?”
“Is that what this business with the thralls is to you?” Stonewall replied. “A fancy?” As his conviction solidified, so too did his voice gain strength. “An oath made under duress—like our first Burn—is not to be trusted.”
“Aye,” Flint added. “And what about what Talon’s done with Gideon Echina? I’m no fan of mages, but even I know that was wrong.”
All color drained from Rook’s face, leaving her freckles stark against pale skin, like drops of blood on parchment. She closed her eyes, lips moving in a silent prayer.
A sudden tread of boots made everyone tense. Stonewall glanced up to see Ferro guiding a piebald horse out of the stables. The stablemaster didn’t seem to notice the squad at all as he patted the piebald’s neck and spoke in low, soothing tones. Once he passed out of earshot, the squad exchanged glances again, faces tight with worry.
“After the last few days, I’m not…opposed to this sort of talk,” Beacon added softly. “But we really shouldn’t speak of such things here.”
“We shouldn’t speak of such things at all,” Rook replied. “If Argent ever finds out–”
“Why are you so terrified of the High Commander?” Flint broke in, frowning at the other woman. “You know something we don’t?”
Rook glanced away. “Talon is dangerous, but Argent is…” She shivered. “You don’t want to get on his bad side.”
“I have no doubt of that,” Stonewall replied. “But I’m not certain how much longer I can keep to the path he and Talon are laying out, and still live with myself.”
“Because of Mage Halcyon?” Milo asked.
“In part,” Stonewall admitted. “But mostly…” He sighed. “Well, this might all be for nothing. Talon might hear me out. Argent might think it’s grand that mages want to try and cure thralls.”
“You should
talk to Talon in person,” Beacon offered. “Rather than just submit a report. Even if she has reasons not to like you, she’ll hopefully at least listen.”
“Sound advice,” Stonewall said, although he had his doubts.
Rook swiped at her eyes and gave him a look he couldn’t quite read. “Will you talk to her alone?”
His stomach knotted at the thought, but he was loathe to drag any of them into this mess any more than necessary. “Aye. It’s for the best.”
Flint rolled her eyes. “At least take one of us with you. In case she tries anything funny again.”
Despite the jest in her tone, there was an undercurrent of concern that caught Stonewall off-guard. “I’ll be fine,” he told her. “Really.”
Silence reigned until Beacon sighed deeply. “Sod it all, I could really use a burn right about now.”
Despite the serious talk, Stonewall gave a weak chuckle. “Aye, me too.”
The mender began collecting his grooming supplies, speaking in his normal jovial tone. “It’s been a long day. Night. Whatever. Anyway, as squad mender, I say we all need some food and some general spirit lifting. The more spirits, the better.”
The others caught on immediately. “Yes, please,” Flint said brightly. “I’m starving enough to eat a horse. Not you, boy,” she said to her mount. “But really… I could eat lunch, dinner, and breakfast.”
“I’ve no doubt,” Rook laughed, though her smile faded when she rubbed her arms. “I can’t seem to get warm. It would be nice to sit by a fire for a while and just…be.”
“You need a burn too, don’t you?” Beacon asked her. When she didn’t answer, he shot Stonewall a wry look. “Well, that makes two of us. What about you? Or were you just joking a second ago?”
Stonewall considered his own state: chilly, fatigued, yet restless. Probably a product of the previous night and their conversation, but not completely, for he could feel the urge building in the back of his mind. “It’s not bad, yet,” he said. “But I should probably take my dose in the next week or so.”
“Might only be a half-dose,” Beacon said grimly. “The rationing’s hit us hard. Hopefully we’ll get more, soon.” He glanced at the burnie twins. “Don’t tell me you lot need another burn just yet.”
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