He put his hand over his eyes and she saw the glistening of tears on his cheeks.
‘Fuck,’ Tara breathed and drained her cup. ‘Valan, I’m so sorry.’ And she was. She took a deep breath. ‘Is it … just her?’
He shook his head ponderously. ‘Everyone. All of them bar a couple of hundred survivors. Corvus is going to tell the men at dusk and then this city will erupt. Maybe he thinks they’ll be less likely to massacre Rilporians in the dark, I don’t know. Fucking idiot. So sure he didn’t need to leave fighters back home to defend the villages. Arrogant fucking cunt.’
Tara pressed her lips together. Dusk. She had enough time. ‘Would you like to talk about her?’ she asked, taking the cup from his unresponsive fingers and refilling it.
‘What?’ He sniffed and rubbed his face, downing half the wine when she handed it back.
‘Your wife, Neela. Tell me about her and your children. If you wish.’
‘Why?’ he demanded, focusing on her. ‘So you can gloat?’
Tara lowered her gaze. ‘Forgive me. I thought it might help.’ She stood. ‘I will leave you to your thoughts, honoured.’
‘Fucking sit,’ he snarled, so close to violence that Tara was back in her seat before he’d finished speaking, heart yammering against her ribs.
You’ve got one chance, Carter. Do not fuck this up. And please, Valan, don’t do anything stupid. Having to kill you now will ruin everything.
‘Neela wasn’t so highborn as you,’ he said after a long silence, surprising her again. The wine was warming her, but she couldn’t afford any more of it. ‘Born and raised in Crow Crag like me, but her father was a low warrior and a thief. Childhood toughened her, taught her guile and strength, enough to turn down consort offers from other low warriors. Lot of the women hated her for that, and one or two men tried to force her. She cut the first one on the face, second in the groin, and then they left her alone.’
‘I’m not surprised,’ Tara said with genuine respect. ‘She sounds formidable.’
Valan smiled, sad and full of memory. ‘She was. She knew what she wanted, what she deserved, and that was a better life than the poorer warriors could give her. I thought I’d lose her to Corvus, you know,’ he said and met her eyes, gesturing that she drink.
Tara complied, then spat it back into the cup when his gaze drifted away.
‘But she didn’t want a Rilporian, it seems, even one who’d converted and risen as high as war chief. But his second? She’d settle for that. For me.’
‘Maybe your gods had a hand in it,’ Tara said carefully. If he got much drunker and carried on talking about Neela, she’d a fair idea what he’d want from her next. ‘Sounds like you were a good match,’ she added. ‘Perhaps They wanted to reward you with a woman worthy of you.’
‘Then They did,’ he said, scuffing a hand through his hair. ‘I loved her, truly loved her, Tara.’ Her name in his mouth jolted her. ‘She gave me three children, though I left before I saw the third born. Wonder if it ever was, or if those motherfuckers killed her before it took a breath.’
She flinched.
‘I made her my life consort after three months, what you call a wife, took no other lovers, not even on campaign, despite what others thought of me. She’d have loved it here,’ he added, his voice breaking. ‘My girls too, Kit and Ede. Five and three, they were. Dead now.’
Tara took a deep breath and threaded her fingers together so she didn’t drain her cup and then keep drinking until she passed out. She well understood the pain the Wolves had felt when they’d seen the dead of Watchtown, every inhabitant slaughtered or burnt. It was their children too, their future. She understood their need to kill in retaliation. She’d just never put names or faces to the people they were taking their vengeance on. Soldiers didn’t if they wanted to carry on soldiering.
Kit and Ede. Five and three. As innocent as any dead Watcher child, at the end of the day.
Gods, the things we do to one another in the name of justice or faith. When does the killing end?
‘I’m sorry for your loss, Valan, truly,’ she murmured. ‘No one should have to outlive a child.’ She put her hand on his, warm and rough, but pulled away just as he turned it over so they’d be palm to palm.
‘Did you have children?’ he asked after he’d stared at his empty hand for a few seconds.
She blinked rapidly. ‘We … have not yet been blessed,’ she said.
‘Perhaps your husband has no seed.’
Tara felt herself blush on Vaunt’s behalf. ‘Perhaps I don’t,’ she countered.
Valan smiled drunkenly. ‘I like you, Tara Vaunt. You will make a good consort one day. Maybe when I get back from Pine Lock. And be careful when I’m gone – it won’t be safe out there for a while.’
‘I – I am already married, honoured,’ Tara said. He was concerned about her safety?
‘For now,’ Valan said, wagging a finger at her. ‘For now. Don’t forget who you belong to, slave. If you both convert, you may be allowed to stay together. If not …’
Tara stood and folded her hands to keep them from shaking. ‘Speaking of my husband, honoured, is there any chance—’
‘Go,’ he snarled, ‘go to him while you still fucking can, before he’s dead too, dead like my Neela.’ Valan lurched out of his seat and backhanded her, hard. Tara and the wooden horse both fell to the floor, Tara’s head ringing and blood in her mouth. ‘Go and wind tighter the noose that’ll be used to hang you one day.’
She lurched to her feet, tripped on the hem of her skirt, and fled the room. ‘Love is a fucking noose!’ he roared after her. As the door closed, she heard the sound of shattering glass.
He knew the rules this time. As soon as the cell door swung open and she stepped in, Vaunt swept her into his arms and kissed her, kissed her hard and desperately and not for the sake of appearances, and her mouth opened like a flower to sunlight and his tongue was there, hot and strong and his arms were locked around her so tight she could barely breathe.
He smelt of old sweat and hopelessness, and Valan’s words echoed in her head. Tara stamped them into nothing.
She was vaguely aware of the threats and promises from Bern – the fucker was still in charge of the prison and even surlier than the last time – and then her back was pressed to the wall next to the door, pinned by Vaunt’s body as he blindly stuffed the blanket into the grille opening, his mouth never leaving hers.
When the window was blocked and no one could see them, Vaunt broke the kiss, though he didn’t release her. Her chest was heaving with ragged gasps and she knew well the look in his eyes, knew too he’d step back if she told him to, but she didn’t. Cautiously this time, as if she might bite, he pressed his mouth to hers again, almost chaste.
There was a moment of indecision – this is really not a good idea – and then she was shoving him backwards, away from the wall and towards the bed, her mouth still on his and her intentions clear.
Vaunt’s calves hit the cot and he sat down hard, snaking out a hand lightning-fast to drag her down with him. They rolled on to the mattress, legs tangled, all smacking lips and gasps and Tara could feel his cock, hot and hard, poking into her belly.
She broke away just far enough to suck in air and take in the drugged expression on Vaunt’s face and then he rolled, pinning her beneath him and lunging down for another kiss, their teeth banging together and catching the edge of her lip, reopening the cut. He licked the bead of blood from her mouth and wriggled in between her thighs, hands tugging at her neckline, her own hands ripping his shirt out of his waistband and dragging it up so she could rake her fingers across his skin.
Vaunt pulled her skirts to her waist and knelt up long enough to tug at his belt. She met his eyes for a second, panting, and then batted his hands away, ripped open the buckle and dragged at her linens as he scooted his trousers down.
She knew they were both only seeking oblivion, nothing more, and then he was on her, and a second later he was in her and they groaned
, kissing again and again, gasping and moving and her hands on his arse and his hands in her breast band, on her face, her throat, her thighs tightening on his hips – neither of them capable of slowness – and it was fucking glorious, and he was glorious, the heat in her belly, his heat inside her, the ridges of muscle in his flanks and shoulders beneath her seeking palms.
Tara threw back her head, fingers hooking into claws, Vaunt’s mouth burning kisses on her throat and she could feel him tensing, feel his heart thundering in time with her own and the heat grew, and grew, and then grew some more until it exploded and she arched beneath him, sobbing out breath, her thighs locked shuddering tight, and a heartbeat later he groaned his own release, shaking, their arms so tight around each other, cheeks pressed together, trembling through the aftermath of twitches and little thrusts and dishevelled, rasping gasps for air, the room fading in and out with the pounding of her heart.
Slowly they stilled, and Tara lay in a daze, tranquil for the first time in weeks, her mind a beautiful, washed-clean blank. There were tears on her face and she didn’t know whose they were, didn’t care. Vaunt went to slide off her and she tightened her arms and legs, shook her head once, wanting his weight on her, pressing her into the cot. A shield. A blanket.
‘Hello, Major,’ he whispered after a while and she sniggered, opened her eyes and looked at him. ‘I was expecting a knee in the bollocks when I kissed you, to be honest. I just, when I saw you, I just …’
‘I know. Me too.’ She smirked and pressed a soft kiss to his mouth, heaving a contented sigh. ‘But if not, well, you’d have had that knee and more besides. But I have to say, that was just what the physician ordered.’
Vaunt chuckled. ‘Want to go again?’ he asked and her eyes widened. ‘In a while, I mean. Not right now. Gods, who do you think I am?’
‘An officer in His Majesty’s Palace Rank,’ Tara said with mock solemnity, ‘and as such the very pinnacle of soldierly accomplishment.’
He wriggled his hips. ‘Funny you should say that,’ he began and she kissed him to stop the words.
‘If that’s a sword and scabbard joke, I’m leaving,’ she warned.
Vaunt licked his lips. ‘You have no sense of humour, Major.’
‘No,’ she countered with a grin, ‘jokes like that prove you have no sense of humour. Now, do you want to hear my news or not?’
‘Not,’ he said emphatically and put his head down on her chest. ‘I just want to stay here and pretend everything is fine.’
Tara smoothed his hair, relishing the weight crushing her into the lumpy mattress, the contented aching in her hips. ‘Me too, but we can’t and it isn’t. One of their war chiefs came back from Eagle Height this morning. Nearly all their women and children were killed by a group of Wolves who didn’t come to the siege after Watchtown fell. By all accounts it was a bloody massacre up on the Sky Path. Corvus is going to tell the Mireces what’s happened at dusk, at which point there’s likely to be a second massacre – of slaves this time.’
Vaunt rolled off her. ‘Gods, they did it then. I heard their chief, Lim, talking about it once, but I didn’t think they’d have the … well, I didn’t think they were cruel enough to kill defenceless innocents.’
Kit and Ede. Five and three.
Tara pulled him a little closer. ‘Why not? That’s what Corvus did to theirs. It’s what they’ve done in every town and village they’ve come across. The Wolves were angry, and they had every right to be.’
He made a non-committal sound, his hand tracing the growing bruise on her cheek. He didn’t ask about it, and she was glad.
She paused, but there was no good way to phrase it. ‘We’ll only get one chance at this rebellion; I’m wondering if this could be it. If the Raiders go on a rampage, some people will fight back. It could spread; it could be the opportunity we need.’
Vaunt was silent, staring through her as he thought. ‘I don’t know,’ he said eventually. ‘The Mireces will be looking for blood as it is; if we fight back they’ll lose all restraint. It’ll be brutal and none of us have weapons. Civilians won’t fight but they will die, so many of them that the survivors will never raise their heads again. But if we wait for it to die down and then start a whisper in the market that they’re going to pay … combined with the rage at the unprovoked deaths, that might be enough.’
‘You’re saying we sit here and do nothing and let innocent people die to make others angry enough to fight back?’
Vaunt winced. ‘Yes.’
Tara blew out her cheeks. ‘Fuck. It’d crossed my mind too on the way here. The angrier they are, the more injustices piled on them—’ She broke off and shuddered. ‘Gods, I feel filthy even saying it. Mace would kill me if he heard me talking like this.’
‘We don’t have enough on our side. It’s only us and the masons so far. We’d be massacred. Besides, this is all to facilitate your assassinations. What are the chances of you getting close to Corvus or Lanta tonight?’
She grunted. ‘Zero.’ And I’ll have a drunk Valan to deal with, she thought but didn’t add. Vaunt didn’t need to know.
‘Well, then. People are going to die tonight and there’s nothing we can do to stop it, even if we did fight back. So hunker down and stay the fuck safe, you hear me, wife?’
The corner of Tara’s mouth lifted. ‘Yes, sir, husband, sir,’ she said, and he surprised her with another kiss. She’d thought, now the deed was done, that’d be it, but his lips were warm and his tongue was hot and she wound her arms around his neck and clung to him, driftwood in a flood, safe harbour in a storm.
Vaunt slid back between her thighs and Tara gasped and curled her legs up, her boots resting in the small of his back. ‘Just stay safe,’ she managed when he broke the kiss. ‘Promise me.’
‘Don’t worry about us,’ he murmured, kissing her jaw, the corner of her mouth. ‘We’re soldiers; we’re expendable. That’s how it’s always been. You know that as well as I do.’
‘No,’ she said quietly, palms on his face so he had to meet her eyes. ‘You stay alive, you hear me?’
‘You first—’ he began.
The door rattled and then swung open. ‘You’re done here,’ Bern said, ‘less you want to do me too.’
Tara tightened her arms on Vaunt before he leapt from the bed to confront the man. ‘Yes, honoured,’ she said and saw the twist of disgust on Vaunt’s mouth. She pushed him off and he wriggled into his trousers while Tara pulled her linens back on and stood, tucking the long side of her hair behind her ear – the other side, which had burnt off during the siege, was too short for her to do anything but slick down.
‘I’ll see you soon. I love you,’ she added for Bern’s benefit, but it sparked something in her chest she didn’t expect and couldn’t afford. She was spared having to think about it by Bern snapping his fingers at her. She fled.
RILLIRIN
Eighth moon, first year of the reign of King Corvus
Fort Three, South Rank forts, Western Plain, Krike border
It was time to leave and, now that it was here, Rillirin didn’t want to go. She had trained every day with the civilian militia and the Rankers; she was getting better. She could fight. She wanted to fight.
The wriggling of the life inside reminded her that wasn’t the best option. Nearly five months gone and the swelling of her belly was obvious to all now. She was tired; she was grumpy; she was hungry. She knew leaving was the best option but she hated it. Every time she started to find out who she was, who she could be out from under the Mireces collar, her life was turned upside down and she had to start again.
‘Not you,’ she whispered fiercely on a surge of guilt. ‘I don’t hate you, little warrior. I just don’t know who I’m supposed to be. I never really have.’
‘Pregnancy can give you the strangest thoughts,’ said Martha, the woman who had the next cot over. Her youngest was still on the breast and shared with her, while the older two curled up in the next one. ‘Me, when my eldest was born, I spent
weeks, moons even, convinced I’d drop him or let him fall. Slept in the kitchen because I wouldn’t risk the stairs up to the bedchamber with him in my arms. Ben used to have to carry him for me whenever we left the house. I was a wreck.’
She indicated the little face attached to her nipple. ‘This one? Tied him to my back and climbed ladders to escape the Mireces and the flames. You do what you have to in that situation. Not that you’ll have to do any of that,’ she added. ‘I’m sure this place they’re taking us to will be safe.’
Martha was one of the few who hadn’t fallen to pieces when Mace announced his intention to send every civilian except the militia away from the forts. For days there’d been chaos, some city-folk flatly refusing to leave, others rushing to join the militia in the hopes that would keep them safe.
Rillirin had felt a surge of the same fear – by her reckoning she hadn’t stayed in any one place more than a few months since her escape from Eagle Height. The Wolf Lands – their destination – held more bad memories than good, but then so did everywhere. A single night of lovemaking in the West Rank forts wasn’t much to stand against the horrors, but it was all she had and she clung to it. They’d make more, once the war was over and Dom was himself again and the babe was here. A lifetime more.
The bell rang the hour and Martha and Rillirin looked at each other: time to go. Socks, waterskins, any possessions or wealth they’d managed to bring with them were wrapped up in blankets and slung over their backs. Martha’s babe was strapped to her chest inside her shirt so she had a hand free for each of the other children and Rillirin watched her walk out of the barracks as though they were going on a picnic. Rillirin herself was afraid and her child was yet to be born – what Martha must have be thinking of her chances of outrunning an enemy in the wide expanse of the Western Plain, she didn’t even want to contemplate.
‘We’re not going to have to do that,’ she reassured herself. ‘Four hundred Rankers and a score of Wolves are going with us. We’ll be fine.’ Still, she tightened her grip on her spear as she followed Martha out into the morning. Gilda was waiting for her and Rillirin felt a rush of reassurance at her presence.
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