《Pale Lights》


 Maps

    World of Vesper


    The general world map will expand from book to book, as the readers learn about the world. The latest map will be that of whichever is the current book.


    Vesper (Lost Things)


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    Vesper (Good Treasons)


    Local


    Maps of specific locales will be added as required over the span of the series.

 Chapter 1

    None of the skeleton keys were working. The landlord must have sprung for good locks, which was admittedly rather sensible of the man considering that Tristan was currently trying to rob one of his patrons.


    ¡°You should have started with the lockpicks,¡± Fortuna said. ¡°Told you, didn¡¯t I?¡±


    She was leaning against a dingy wall in the weak light of the sole lantern in the hallway, long red dress sweeping to the ground and her tone openly bored. She¡¯d not lowered her voice in the slightest, which would have risked waking up their friend on the other side of the door if anyone but Tristan could hear her. They couldn¡¯t, anymore than they could see or touch her ¨C Fortuna herself still had the senses, but she had grown far too weak to touch the material world. As far as he knew Tristan Abrascal was the sole contractor to the Lady of Long Odds in all of Vesper, and he knew much. Fortuna was not the kind of goddess that disliked the sound of her own voice.


    ¡°And to think I was once mistress of queens and emperors. Entire festivals were thrown to earn even a single approving glance from me, Tristan,¡± Fortuna mourned. ¡°Now all I may call on is a single orphan, one with terribly middling thieving skills.¡±


    He rolled his eyes. All the old gods like to claim they had once been the greatest deity to ever crawl out of the ether to make pacts with men ¨C or even rule over them, back in the times of the Old Night ¨C but in his experience most of them were no more glorious than the dusty thieves and beggars of the Murk they made contracts with.


    ¡°Love you too,¡± Tristan murmured back as he reached for the lockpicks.


    Mere possession of that neat leather sheath would be enough to earn him a whipping before he was thrown into a cell, should the Guardia catch him with it. Not that they ever had. He opened it to reveal a well-oiled set of tools, one which he knew to be starkly expensive when crafted with such quality. They¡¯d been a gift of from Abuela, though like all her gifts he¡¯d had to earn it on his own. He slowly inserted the tension wrench into the lock, as not to make enough noise to wake the man on the other side of the door, and then began to work the pick. Quickly he raised an eyebrow.


    The landlord of the Azulejo was a wealthy man, for the hostel was the largest in all of Estebra District and Estebra was by far the wealthiest of the half-dozen districts known as the Murk. It seemed, however, that in this instance the size of the establishment had worked against the landlord. Almost a hundred rooms meant that it would have cost a king¡¯s ransom to have good locks on every door unless they were bought in bulk from one of the great workshops. Those mass models were identical: even the good ones all had the same weaknesses. Fortuna, resting a hand on the wall, leaned over his shoulder to have a closer look. He could feel her breath against his cheek, warm and soft.


    An illusion, he thought, but one so convincing as to outstrip even the truth.


    ¡°A Gongmin lock?¡± the goddess asked. ¡°You know those. What¡¯s taking you so-¡±


    With a muted sound ¨C thank the gods for whichever servant was being dutiful about keeping these well-oiled ¨C the lock popped open. He offered Fortuna an angelic smile, to which she rolled her eyes. The goddess could be considered a great beauty, he knew, with those vivid green eyes and that hair of gold, yet even as a young boy he¡¯d not been spellbound by her appearance. The Lady of Long Odds was essentially a collection of terrible habits made into a deity, after all, and she was not particularly good at hiding this. Not that Tristan minded. His was not the kind of life that some ancient and glorious Mane would have ever deigned to grace with a pact, much less one as close and intimate as the one he shared with Fortuna. Besides, the mere thought of being bound to one of those pristine old monsters was enough to sicken him. Let the infanzones keep the privilege, may they choke on it and each other.


    The tools went back into the sheath and Tristan folded it closed before stashing it away in the stitched inner pocket of his coat. He made sure that the skeleton keys he¡¯d but away in another pocket were still wedged among feathers, so that they would not make noise as he moved, and then laid a finger on handle of the blackjack at his hip. He did not like killing, not strangers anyway, which was why he preferred it to the daggers most in his trade used. The small weapon of leather and lead was a good fit for his hand, and he¡¯d had practice with it, though if Tristan had his way there would be no violence tonight. In and out with the chest he¡¯d come to steal, the man in the room none the wiser until tomorrow. Ideally. Tonight, however, was a test of Abuela¡¯s.


    Those did not tend to be painless, for all that they inevitably ended up teaching him valuable lessons.


    Tristan slowly cracked the door open, a sliver of dim light from the lantern in the hall slinking through into the dark. He¡¯d looked into other rooms over the last few days so that he would know where the beds and tables were positioned, and from what he could see through the crack there had been no change in arrangement. The table was in the corner to the right, with a single chair, which meant the bed ought to be just outside his angle of sight: left corner, close to but not outright propped against the wall. From the corner of his eye he saw Fortuna wink at him and he smiled back. She¡¯d earlier agreed to keep watch outside the room, after some wheedling.


    Tristan opened the door a little wider, crept through and then softly closed it behind him. The young thief waited silently until his eyes got used to the darkness, pricking his ears. The steady breath of a sleeping man was all he heard, along with a body moving around under covers. The room itself was fairly bare. On the right there was the table and chair he had glimpsed earlier, with what looked to be a few papers and a writing kit. On the left there was the bed, a wooden frame with a straw mattress. At its foot was a trunk provided for the guests to stash their personal affairs. Tristan saw a pistol and arming sword placed atop it, over a half-folded black cloak. The last detail had him going still as a stone. The sleeping man was one of the Watch?


    If so, this was turning out to be a blunder. Stealing from a blackcloak was a bad idea even at the best of times, for they were talented killers one and all, but if it turned out that Tristan was obstructing a contract then it wouldn¡¯t be the man alone that came for him: the entire free company he belonged to would become involved. Even worse, it was said that the Watch was bound by ancient treaty never to take contracts within Sacromonte save at the invitation of the infanzon so he must have stumb- his thoughts halted, and the young thief turned a considering eye to the sleeping man. It was Abuela that had sent him on this test, he had forgot in his surprise, and Tristan had long suspected that Abuela herself was one of the Watch.


    There must be more to this than met the eye. And if the man was here on a contract, why was he alone? The infanzon, the nobles that ruled Sacromonte, they had their favourite companies to contract with when they needed work done in the City. None of those companies were small, each storied and famous and near an army in its own right. And none of them would put up one of their men in a place like the Azulejo, Tristan thought. So was the man here on private business? No, the thief decided, else he would not have dared to bring with him the black cloak that was as a badge of office for the Watch. Tristan¡¯s eyes narrowed. He had only suppositions, but too many details were not adding up.


    His gut was saying deserter and Tristan Abrascal trusted his gut.


    Which meant he was now free to steal from the stranger once more, if a great deal more warily. A deserter¡¯s knife would kill him just as dead if it slipped through his ribs. From the corner of his eye he saw that Fortuna had gotten bored of keeping an eye out for him and followed him into the room. He swallowed a sigh at the sight of her curiously peering at the papers on the table: it¡¯d only been a matter of time until she wandered off, though he¡¯d hoped for a little longer. The goddess glanced his way, crooking a finger to summon him, but he shook his head. He¡¯d come for the chest Abuela had sent him after, nothing else. No good would come of getting involved in Watch business any more than he already was.


    He wasn¡¯t seeing said chest, unfortunately, but then he¡¯d not moved much. He crept a little deeper into the room, eyes seeking, and found what he was looking for but a few moments later: bare as the rented room was, there were no real hiding places to speak of. The chest had simply been nestled by the side of the trunk, half-covered by the cloak. It was easy to recognize from the description he¡¯d been given, slick dark wood with leather stripes to make it easy to carry on one¡¯s back and burnished copper hinges. Inside were pieces of glass and metal, Abuela had said, so he would need to be careful when moving it let it make a ruckus. Fortuna was looking his way still, insistently gesturing for him to come at her side, but he shook his head at her with growing irritation.


    He crept closer to the foot of the bed, angling so that the trunk would hide him as he began to grasp the wooden chest. A tentative nudge established it was not all that heavy, intriguingly enough, so Tristan quieted his breath and slid aside the edge of the cloak so that he could begin moving the chest without dragging the black wool with it.


    ¡°Tristan, you need to read this,¡± Fortuna quietly said. ¡°The man is on a contract.¡±


    The young thief turned in startlement, finding the goddess¡¯ face grown grave in the dark. He noticed, a heartbeat too late, that her eyes were going wide. The cold muzzle of a pistol touched the back of his neck.


    ¡°A thief, are you?¡±


    The voice was calm but anger lurked close to the surface. The Aztlan accent was faint but noticeable, mostly in the way that the words clicked against the tongue. Tristan swallowed, then painted a winning smile on his face. He was not yet dead, which meant there was still time to dig himself out of the grave he¡¯d dug himself into.


    ¡°All men are thieves, arguably,¡± he replied. ¡°It is only that the rich name it rent or tax instead, so that we might forget what it is.¡±


    A snort of reluctant amusement.


    ¡°So you¡¯re a Republican thief.¡±


    Presumably the man meant in political philosophy rather than race, as even in the dark it would be difficult for Tristan to pass as Tianxi.


    ¡°Nothing so grand,¡± Tristan denied. ¡°I am a loyal son of Sacromonte, sir. My faith goes to the Law of Rats.¡±


    The cornered fight, the hungry bite, the beggared snatch. So went the Law of Rats, as written in the famous poetess Ilaria¡¯s verse. There was not a soul in the city that had not heard the poem and to many of the Murk it was as much the writ of the world as any decree of the infanzon. Tristan made to turn, to have a better look at the man holding a pistol to his neck, but the stranger clicked his tongue disapprovingly.


    ¡°None of that,¡± the watchman said. ¡°Not unless you want the trigger pulled.¡±


    Tristan went still. In front of him Fortuna stood, eyeing the man and shaking her head. The stranger was not bluffing, the pistol was fully cocked.


    ¡°It may be that you are of the City,¡± the man said, ¡°but this is not petty theft. The room has a good lock and I do not have the looks of an easy or wealthy mark. What are you here after, boy?¡±


    Tristan hesitated.


    ¡°So you were sent,¡± the man stated, tone confident.


    Too confident, really, the young thief frowned. He glanced at Fortuna, who had no answer to give save a grimace. Did the other man possess a contract with a god as well? If so, this conversation was even more dangerous than he¡¯d thought and it had begun with a pistol being pressed against his neck.


    ¡°Who was it that did the sending?¡± the man asked. ¡°Give me a name and you won¡¯t need to die tonight. It¡¯s your master that is my foe, not you.¡±


    Maybe if he¡¯d been looking at the face, it would have made a difference. Tristan would have been able to see the Aztlan features, the darker skin and broad chin. It wouldn¡¯t have been the voice alone, speaking words he¡¯d heard before. Maybe not the same, not exactly, but didn¡¯t they all mean the same thing? Landlords and bosses and infanzones, all looking down from across the table with that merciful smile. Just give us names, they asked. You will be spared, forgiven, absolved. But give us the names. Give us your cousins and your neighbours and your friends. Give us names so that we might feed on all who defy us, and you will be eaten the last. Tristan knew better than to believe in the promise. His father had died teaching him that lesson.


    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    ¡°Careful now,¡± the man said, tone cold. ¡°Know when you¡¯re beaten, boy.¡±


    Tristan Abrascal smiled. Fortuna smiled back, a goddess adorned in gold and blood, her teeth pale as ivory and sharp as knives.


    ¡°I do,¡± he replied, and borrowed luck.


    The ticking in the back of his head began, like the moving gears of a clock, but the noise was drowned out by that of a trigger being pulled. The flint came down, but instead of striking the pan and igniting the powder it snapped clean off. Tristan¡¯s luck had been the very finest, for the flintlock to misfire so catastrophically. He¡¯d have to pay for it later. The man cursed and the young thief turned as he rose, blackjack already in hand. The blackcloak took the strike on his chin well, turning with the blow and it was Tristan¡¯s turn to curse. He wasn¡¯t sure he¡¯d win a real fight, he¡¯d been hoping to end it quick. Instead, the ticking in his head still trotting forward at that same steady pace, he was dragged by the man onto the bed.


    Entangled in the sheets like a farce of hateful lovers, the two of them wrestled as they tried to keep away the other¡¯s weapon and strike clean ¨C Tristan with his jack, the man with the butt of his pistol. He landed a blow, and a solid one, on the side of the man¡¯s head. The Aztlan was stunned, but not so stunned that he did not smash the pistol into Tristan¡¯s stomach. Gasping, the thief drew back and was unceremoniously kicked in the chest with bruising strength. He tumbled out of the bed even as the man rose, half-getting up from his sprawl only to have the broken pistol thrown in his face. He bit down on shout. And fuck, he could see the man reaching for the pistol still on top of the trunk. Thinking fast, Tristan tossed back the pistol that¡¯d just bruised his chin.


    The man¡¯s arm rose to protect his own head, but it hadn¡¯t been the blackcloak Tristan was aiming at: the pistol atop the trunk went tumbling down to the ground, powder and shot spilling all over the floor. Snarling, the Aztlan instead reached for the sheathed sword. The thief panicked, for a moment, because what was a blackjack going to help against a blade?


    ¡°The sheets,¡± Fortuna hissed.


    Body moving without hesitation, Tristan snatched the sheets off the bed and threw them at the watchman even as he drew the sword. The stranger hacked blindly at the cotton, ripping into it, but it wasn¡¯t enough. Forcing himself to go forward instead of back as his instincts screamed he should, Tristan¡¯s fingers tightened around his blackjack and he raised his arm. He darted in quick, smashing into the side of the man¡¯s head once more. The blackcloak stumbled, still hacking away with the blade, and Tristan wasn¡¯t quick enough to avoid getting his left arm nicked. Gritting his teeth, he hit again. The man toppled over the trunk, falling back and over it as the thief followed. He hit again and again, the jack impacting the sheet-covered face until it came back red and the man was no longer moving.


    Tristan stayed there, kneeling and panting.


    ¡°Fuck,¡± he rasped out.


    Ripping away the sheet, he winced at the bruised and bloody mess he¡¯d made of the Aztlan. Had he killed him? A finger under the nose showed the watchman was still breathing, but he¡¯d taken bad hits. There was no telling, and Tristan had read two books on medicine but he was far from a cutter ¨C much less a real doctor. His fingers closed around the handle of his blackjack. Should he?


    ¡°You aren¡¯t getting up,¡± Fortuna noted.


    ¡°He saw my face,¡± Tristan quietly said. ¡°He doesn¡¯t have a name, but he saw my face. If he¡¯s part of the Watch they could come for me.¡±


    He¡¯d never killed someone who couldn¡¯t fight back before. He hesitated. In the back of his mind, the ticking continued. He would have to even those scales soon, he knew, or the price would get worse.


    ¡°Mercy is always a gamble,¡± Fortuna said, tone sympathetic.


    Tristan breathed out slowly. The decision was made.


    ¡°There¡¯s already been enough of those tonight,¡± he said, and set down the blackjack on the floor.


    Arms tightening, he snapped the man¡¯s neck the way Abuela had taught him it should be done. The death was swift and hopefully painless. Mercy any greater than that should not be asked of rats. Tristan rose, taking back his blackjack, and steadied himself. He avoided looking at the dead man, instead reaching for the chest he¡¯d come for. It was as light as he¡¯d felt, and clearly filled at least in part with some vials by the noise it made when moved. The leather straps were easy to slide over his shoulder, so he did and found the weight further eased. Now was not the time to look at what was inside, curious as he was.


    Tristan suddenly winced: the ticking in the back of his mind that had never ceased suddenly quickened. Shit, he¡¯d dallied for too long.


    Fingers clenched, Tristan warily released the luck he had borrowed. Like bowstring, the power of his pact with Fortuna snapped the opposite way it had been dragged. He had gained luck, and so now he must suffer misfortune. Cautiously the thief cast a look around, trying to gauge where the blow would come from, but for a few heartbeats nothing happened. Then there was a faint clicking sound, as the well-oiled lock that he had picked to enter the room opened again: the door swung open half a foot, just enough for the woman passing by it to glance curiously. She froze, dak eyes going wide as she saw the shape of the corpse on the floor and Tristan standing with his ill-gotten goods.


    Well, Tristan faintly thought, that was going to be somewhat difficult to explain. He opened his mouth to speak, but already the woman was running down the hall and shouting. Fuck. It was more than time to get out of here.


    ¡°Take the papers too,¡± Fortuna said.


    He goggled at her. How would that help anything?


    ¡°It will make things wo-¡±


    ¡°Trust me,¡± the goddess urged. ¡°Take the papers.¡±


    Cursing under his breath, he brushed aside a quill to snatch up the sheath of papers and crammed them into the pocket of his coat. It would be difficult to run without wrecking whatever lay inside the chest, he thought, but with any luck he wouldn¡¯t need to. Back in the hall he heard shouting downstairs, where the woman was naming him a murderer ¨C not undeservedly ¨C and patrons were shouting in dismay. There were roughs in the landlord¡¯s employ down there and going through would see him caught or killed even if it was the quickest path to a door out of the Azulejo. Thankfully, Tristan had not come by the front door and had no intention of leaving that way either.


    Hurrying to the last door down the hallway he pushed it open with no resistance, shutting it behind him. It was empty save for the furnishings, identical to the room where he¡¯d killed a man save for one salient difference: the same open window above the table that he¡¯d come in through. He¡¯d had to cut through the hinges of the shutters earlier, but now the way was clear straight to the rope he¡¯d left dangling. He climbed up without hesitation, wood groaning under his weight, and began by pushing through the chest. Once it was through, grunting with effort he slid one of the leather straps onto the curved hooks bound to the rope. It dangled a bit outside, he saw, but held.


    Tristan could hear people running up the stairs, even through the door, and he hastened through the window himself. Feet first, he wiggled through the opening and felt nothing at all under him for a delicious heartbeat before tightening his grip on the rope and pulling himself close to the wall. It was not so long a fall that he would not survive it, should he drop down into the alley below, but he might just break a leg. That sort of thing tended to make running away harder, he¡¯d heard. He slid the chest back onto his back and climbed down, quirking an eyebrow when a glance above found Fortuna leaning through the window with a smile.


    ¡°They¡¯ve found the body,¡± the goddess told him. ¡°And they¡¯re opening all the doors.¡±


    He sighed. If they found the rope, and they likely would, they¡¯d know to pursue in the streets. It was a descent of about twenty feet, far from hard even after being nicked by a blade, and he was done with it before they¡¯d opened the door. He left the rope there ¨C it had not been cheap, but he didn¡¯t have the time to bring it down¨C and began to make his way through his escape path. The way out was always the first part to plan out, when thieving. There was no point in stealing anything if you got caught with the goods in hand. He moved out at a brisk pace and kept to the alleys, even though the main streets would have been quicker, moving in a vague diagonal towards the east.


    Estebra District was the nicest part of the Murk as well as the wealthiest, so here the lamplights were kept glowing on the main streets through the night instead of dimmed or snuffed as they would be in the rest of the Murk. Best to stay out of that, too much risk of someone seeing his face even if the roughs didn¡¯t catch up. It seemed like they would not, after all. At first Tristan heard shouts out in the street, but a quarter hour later there were only the noises of Sacromonte at night reaching his ear: the burn of the lamplights, the quiet talk of the offal men clearing the streets and the occasional sounds of revelry drifting out of some bawdy house.


    No one respectable was out at this hour, which had always amused him. Was the firmament any less dark during day than night? It was only the lamps that made a difference, lamps and the notions of men. The thief did not slow his footsteps until he¡¯d reached the eastern border of the Estebra District, near one of the gates that would lead him into Araturo. There a lone man carrying a nice chest might find himself preyed upon, should he not be careful, so Tristan found an empty alley whose mouth was near a lamplight and settled in the shadows to have a look at what he¡¯d taken. It had better be worth it, he thought, for Abuela¡¯s test had seen him kill a man.


    He would not blame her for a deed done by his hand, but she had hidden things from him. If he¡¯d known there was a watchman involved¡­ Too late for regrets now, he reminded himself. Fortuna was seated atop what looked like a pile of iron scraps, her red dress somehow artfully draped as if it were a throne, and it was with eagerness she looked at the chest when he set it down.


    ¡°Treasures, do you think?¡± the goddess asked.


    ¡°I heard vials within,¡± Tristan murmured back.


    ¡°There are elixirs worth as much as diamonds,¡± Fortuna insisted.


    That was true enough, but Tristan doubted any of them were to be found in hostels of the Estebra Districts guarded by a single man. The chest of slick dark wood was kept closed by copper latches that popped open after he exerted some strength, revealing an elaborate interior. There were twenty-three small drawers, each marked with a carved symbol, that filled the four sides of the box. The middle of it was hollow, pincers of brass holding small vials containing liquids in shades of grey and green.


    ¡°A medicine box?¡± Fortuna said, sounding skeptical.


    The symbols were familiar, Tristan thought. He opened the drawer at the top left and his brow rose when he found within a neatly wrapped bundle of small dark leaves. Perfectly oval, none larger than the tip of a finger. Black verity, he realized, and very carefully wrapped it back without his fingers touching any of the leaves.


    ¡°A poison box,¡± Tristan replied, frown deepening. ¡°And one I know how to use. It looks much like the one drawn in Alvareno¡¯s Dosages.¡±


    Were he a gambling man, and he was, he would wager that the drawers and vials would perfectly match the diagram the book had displayed, including the various herbs and substances suggested by the author. Which went some way in explaining why Abuela had insisted he read and commit the work to memory a few months back, well before she had ever brought up this test, but still left him confused. What use did he have for a poisoner¡¯s kit? He was a thief by trade, not a killer. Tristan¡¯s hands were far from clean but he did not go out of his way to stain them.


    ¡°A little more exciting,¡± Fortuna conceded.


    Still frowning, Tristan reached for the papers he¡¯d taken. Perhaps they would shed some light on this. He brought them closer to the light of the street, breathing in sharply when he saw that the very first seemed to be a contract. Had he really killed a watchman out on a job? He kept reading, going through the cramped lines of lettering, and then softly cursed.


    ¡°Told you leaving them would be worse, didn¡¯t I?¡± Fortuna drawled.


    ¡°He was employed by the Orelanna brothers,¡± Tristan hissed. ¡°Everyone knows they¡¯re a front for the Hoja Roja. This is going to get me killed.¡±


    The Hoja Roja were either an association of upstanding landlords and merchants or one of the most successful guild of crooks in the Murk, depending on who you asked. They were also notoriously touchy about honour, and prone to answering slights with grisly executions.


    ¡°At least it wasn¡¯t a Watch contract,¡± Fortuna noted. ¡°So look on the bright side, there¡¯s only the one band of brutal killers after you for this.¡±


    The Aztlan, whose name had been Yaotl Cuatzo, had apparently been bought to kill a god gone mad that¡¯d made a lair in some property near the eastern border of Estebra District. If Yaotl had still been one of the Watch that would have been very illegal, and the Orelanna brothers did not have the reputation of men foolish enough to put their names on illegal contracts. Most likely the man had been a deserter or a washout and the brothers had bought his services intending to pretend they¡¯d not known should trouble come of it. Tristan wouldn¡¯t get the Watch for him after this, which was weight off his back, but that was cold comfort when the Roja was a death sentence on its own.


    ¡°I can¡¯t pawn this,¡± Tristan sighed, looking at the box. ¡°They¡¯ll know it went missing and ask around with the fences.¡±


    The thief liked some of the men and women who bought the goods he stole, but he would have been a fool to trust any of them.


    ¡°You could keep it,¡± Fortuna said.


    She liked to hoard things, that goddess of his, regardless of the wisdom of keeping them. It was said to be common in destitute gods like her.


    ¡°Sooner or later it would be found,¡± Tristan murmured.


    He had no home, only hiding places, and those were only his so long as no one cared to take them from him. Hardly safe. Was abandoning the box the only path left to him? He balked at that, considering he¡¯d killed a man for it. Besides, it might not even be enough. The Roja would ask around the Murk for who had been planning jobs in Estebra, he thought, and he¡¯d not thought to hide that much from the people he bought his supplies through. Perhaps if he stole again tonight to cover it up? He grimaced. Tristan was tired, needed to get that nick looked at and he had not cased anywhere properly. It would be risky. And there was a chance they would find him anyway. When they did¡­ He bit his lip. Something was wrong. Abuela¡¯s tests could be harsh, but they were never pointless or cruel.


    There must be more to this than he had seen. He kept looking through the papers, finding only some personal correspondence and an order lodged with a local butcher for a large quantity of meat. The very last page, though, was in a different handwriting. One he recognized.


    Tristan, my dear child,


    They will hunt you. I sent you knowing this and knowing you would see my actions as a betrayal.


    There is a ship named the Bluebell, at the Fishmonger¡¯s Quay, and before it will stand a man holding a list of names. Yours is one of them.


    That is your only way out. Cross the Dominion of Lost Things, survive the trials, and you will be beyond the reach of any in the City.


    I will await you at the end of the isle,


    Abuela


    His fingers clenched. His breath shuddered. None of it had been an accident. If he¡¯d not killed the Aztlan then Tristan would have made an enemy instead, and the threat would perhaps have been even worse. There had been no ending, when he entered that room, that led him back home. Fortuna stood at his shoulder, though he had never heard her rise. She¡¯d not bothered with the pretence.


    ¡°The Dominion of Lost Things,¡± the goddess read. ¡°What is that?¡±


    ¡°An island,¡± Tristan replied. ¡°Proving grounds for the arrogant and the desperate.¡±


    The Lady of Long Odds watched him with an excited grin, leaning against his side.


    ¡°So we¡¯re going?¡±


    In a burning house, a burning life, the only way out was through.


    ¡°One more gamble,¡± Tristan Abrascal quietly agreed.

 Chapter 2

    Chapter 2


    Angharad dropped to the ground as the shot sounded.


    The stranger who¡¯d stood in front of her was not so quick and his face exploded in a shower of gore ¨C Sleeping God, she thought, sickened ¨C as she reached for the long saber at her hip. There were a few screams at the grisly sight, but already the people of the street market were scurrying away into alleys. Angharad grit her teeth. This place was not like her home, like Peredur: there was no honour in Sacromonte, this horrid city of filth and rats. No one would help.


    Slowly, so that the sound would not give her away, Angharad unsheathed her saber as she crawled towards the edge of the stall that was her sole cover. She should look now, before her would-be assassin could reload their musket, but Angharad instead kept staring at the corpse of the man she had come here to meet. She found herself avoiding the sight of the gaping red wound made by the ball, gaze shying away, and lingering on the dark skin so much like her own.


    The stranger had been Malani, by his accent, not Pereduri like her. Not that the rest of Vesper ever thought of the Duchy of Peredur as anything but a petty province of the Kingdom of Malan ¨C her thoughts were straying, she chided herself. Fear had a way of doing that to her. Angharad mastered herself, breathing in and out slowly the way she had been taught. This was no display duel, no tournament of skill where the violence would end when blood or surrender ensued, but she had learned to kill her fear there and she would kill it today as well.


    Her breathing calmed, her hand steady around the grip of her saber, Angharad popped her head out to look and-


    (The musket ball went through her skull.)


    -and she kept rolling, a shot whizzing above her as a lightning-quick bite of pain tore at her shoulder through the dyed cloth of her jacket. She was bleeding, but she rolled all the way behind another stall even as she heard a man curse in Antigua. Angharad¡¯s lips tightened as she felt disapproval waft out of that deep place within her. The Fisher had drawn on their pact when she had failed to, granting her that glimpse of what lay ahead, but the old spirit approved of neither fear nor recklessness. He would not twice extend his hand this way.


    ¡°Come out,¡± a man¡¯s voice called out from her right. ¡°If you do, I¡¯ll make it quick. Won¡¯t be that kind if you make it hard, girl.¡±


    Angharad ground her teeth. She was a peer of Peredur, even her title had been struck down, and the last of the House of Tredegar. Did the man expect she would simply roll over and die when he asked? She drew on her pact, feeling as if she has touched cold water with the bottom of her feet. In her mind¡¯s eye she saw herself rise, but to her surprise the shot that took her in the chest did not come from the right but the left. There were two assassins, not one, she realized as she released the pact. Both of them with muskets. She hesitated. The odds were uncomfortably steep against her. Attack, her mother had taught her. Defence is delay.


    Angharad¡¯s fingers stumbled across metal goblet, a cheaply made thing of iron, as she groped along the ground. It must have fallen when the peddler owning this stall fled. Closing her eyes, she tossed it to her right. Before it could hit the floor, she drew on her pact again and glimpsed the muzzle of the muskets following the sound. Without hesitation she rose, glimpsing two silhouettes in the dim lamplight aiming their guns at her bait. Shadows filtered through the banners and poles of the street market, hiding her for most of a heartbeat as she began to run. A click, a snap, a shot: a ball went whizzing past her as she ducked under another stall. She drew on the pact again, eyes turning unseeing as she moved, and coldly smiled. It was the nearest assassin that had shot, as she had hoped.


    Angharad released the power, leaping over a clutter of pottery and keeping the killer now reloading her long musket between her and the assassin still ready to fire. The man of the pair shouted for his accomplice to move, but he was too late. Angharad kicked a stall of colourful ribbons into the woman¡¯s knees and she rocked back with a shout of pain, dropping the ramrod she¡¯d been using to reload. Angharad met her eyes, grey to brown, and saw the fear there. She did not relish it, did not allow herself to, and swung her saber in a clean stroke.


    It ripped through the assassin¡¯s throat.


    Angharad drew on her pact, the Fisher¡¯s quiet approval easing the coming of the glimpse. Smoothly the noblewoman caught the shoulder of the dying assassin before she could fall, keeping her body in the path of the panicked shot that followed from the other assassin. It didn¡¯t pierce through, having hit the middle of the back, and Angharad let the body drop as she leapt over the stall before her. The man was a tall and thin Lierganen and his fear spread across his face like ink soiling water. He did not lose his wits, though and kicked the last stall between them towards her. It toppled piles of dyed cloth, but Angharad had been quicker and she was already leaping over it.


    Her landing was off and she wasted a moment steadying her footing, long enough for the man to strike at her with the butt of the musket. Right into her shoulder, she swallowed a groan. That would bruise. She struck his chin in return, the guard of her saber crunching bone satisfyingly as the side of her blade bit into flesh, and with a hiss of pain the assassin dropped his musket. In his eyes Angharad saw the knowledge of his own death as the gun clattered on the floor, but she did not strike. Could not. The edge of her blade rested against the side of his neck.


    ¡°Pick up your weapon,¡± Angharad ordered, her Antigua crisp.


    The man went still, eyes flicking to the blade and then back to her. The fear drained, replaced with a smirk.


    ¡°It¡¯s true, then, about you Malani nobles,¡± he said. ¡°All about honour. Won¡¯t strike an unarmed man.¡±


    Angharad did not answer, simply withdrawing her blade and taking half a step back.


    ¡°Fucking fools you are,¡± the man mocked. ¡°Worse than an infanzon. I¡¯ll just leave, and what are you going to-¡±


    The point went through his eye and into his skull, Angharad snapping her wrist to withdraw the blade cleanly. There was some debate among scholars whether a ¡®fair chance¡¯ to take up one¡¯s weapon should be considered three or five breaths, so she had waited a full five. She did not like to walk too close to the line in matters of honour.


    ¡°I am not Malani,¡± she coldly informed the corpse as it toppled.


    She was of Peredur, and the people of the High Isle had their own ways. She knelt to wipe the blade on his tunic before sheathing it, idly going through his pockets. A few copper coins, powder and shot. She took the coin, as she would need them for the corpse price and it had been won cleanly by blade. The other assassin bore even less coin and a small dagger. The noblewoman returned to the cooling body of the man who had died trying to pass a message to her, the forever nameless Malani, and set the copper coins above his heart in a circle. It was an old custom: the coin was for anyone to take who would be willing to see the body properly burned or buried.


    Feeling dirtied for putting her fingers to a corpse she had not made, Angharad forced herself to look through the dead man¡¯s pockets for a message. To her relief, a pocket within his blood-splattered coat contained a folded letter. It was from Uncle Osian, there was no mistaking it: the small red seal keeping the letter closed displayed the two-tailed snaked of House Tredegar. Osian, her mother¡¯s youngest brother, had been allowed by her to keep using the family arms even though he had gone into exile to join the Watch. Though they were estranged, Mother had always said it was more by reason of distance than bitterness.


    That distance was also why her uncle was the sole surviving member of Angharad¡¯s family, for the Sleeping God moved in mysterious ways. She took the letter, not yet breaking the seal, and tucked it away beneath her coat. She looked around warily, still alone for now. The city guard might be hopelessly ¨C and infamously - corrupt, but even they would not simply ignore killing in the streets of Sacromonte. Best be gone by the time they arrived.


    Angharad took to the streets, going back the way she had come. Cortolo District was a maze of slender canals and curved bridges, its stone facades painted in shades of red and yellow that looked vivid in the warm light of the great pillars of palestone. Those relics had been laid down every few blocks back in the days of the Second Empire and she had found them a wondrous sight at first, for her homeland had nothing like them. Only the Lierganen at their height had been able to afford the luxury of letting stone pillars soak in the Glare for decades. She had since shed the wonder: the warm glow of the pillars had weakened over the centuries, and now there were always shadows between their reach.


    The glories of the Second Empire were long gone, broken by great wars with the devils of Pandemonium and the even more brutal wars between the powers that had emerged to claim primacy after the fall of Liergan. Another century, Angharad thought as she passed through a grove of orange trees, and the Glare in those pillars would fade entirely. Sacromonte was far fallen from the peerless jewel of the Trebian Sea it had once claimed to be, and it fell a little further every year. The young noblewoman ignored the few street merchants who called out to her as she found the street she had been looking for, recognizing the painted eyes in red and blue on the side of a baker¡¯s shop.


    It made her uncomfortable that people ¨C commoners ¨C would call out to her in such a way. And there were so many of them¡­ Angharad had visited many cities in Malan, when she duelled still, but not even the capital of the kingdom was so thick with people as Sacromonte. It made her feel cramped, somehow. The inn she was staying at was one her uncle had directed her to by letter, a small but clean establishment where she was assured of the hostess¡¯ discretion. The middle-aged matron, a stout woman by the name of Luna, welcomed her with a smile as she passed the green-painted threshold.


    ¡°Lady Maraire,¡± the hostess said. ¡°You¡¯ve returned early. Will you be in want of a meal, then?¡±


    Angharad¡¯s answering smile was stiff. It was not a lie, the name she had given. No peer of Peredur could be recognized in the rolls of the kingdom¡¯s nobility without first taking a Malani name, her own being Anwar Maraire. It had been the compromise honour allowed her between the secrecy Uncle Osian had urged her to and the dishonour inherent in deceiving one whose roof you stayed under. It sat ill with Angharad, for all that she knew it was necessary, and Luna¡¯s graceful manners in referring to her by the name and title were as a little twist of the knife every time.


    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    ¡°I do not yet know,¡± Angharad replied. ¡°I have correspondence to attend to before I can give you answer. Is the solar vacant?¡±


    ¡°It is, my lady,¡± Luna nodded. ¡°And I tidied it up this morning too. Enter as you please.¡±


    Angharad thanked her hostess and went up the stairs. She slipped into her room, long enough to shed her jacket and grimace at the red staining her pale shirt. The ball had nicked the back of her shoulder, deep enough to bleed her if not to touch muscle. Mother had shown her how to dress a wound when she¡¯d been a girl and still dreamed of her following in her footsteps as a sea captain, so she clumsily cleaned the wound and wrapped a bandage from her trunk around her shoulder. The dark-skinned noblewoman still had two clean shirts and she wasted no time putting one on, but that¡¯d been her last jacket. There was nothing left now but a formal dress and an overcoat, the latter of which she decided on.


    The trunk was half-empty, she saw with a pang. She¡¯d been able to bring precious little with her when she had fled Malan, only what friends of the family had been able to salvage from the townhouse in Indawen before it too was seized. Clothes, coin, a few of her father¡¯s jewels and a handful of books. There were fewer of the last than she¡¯d begun with, as she¡¯d had to sell a few for local coinage after docking in the Sanguine Port. Angharad was not so callow as to be unaware that showing she had gold or jewels in a port could get her robbed or worse. She still had all three of Yibanathi¡¯s books of poems, at least, her very favourites in all the world.


    The first of them had been a gift from her very first love. Arianwen had been as exacting an opponent on the duelling field as she had been a companion off it, something that had first drawn but ultimately chased away Angharad. Still, the hard words of their parting had since lost their sting and it was now with mostly fondness that the young noblewoman ran a finger across the spine of the book. It would have been easy to lose herself in reminiscence, Angharad knew. Easy and dangerous. If she lived in the past, she would be buried with it. She closed the trunk, her haste making the sound harsh, and crisply took her letter before leaving the room.


    Down the hall, past the three other closed bedroom doors of the inn, she found the small solar¡¯s door empty and the shutters on its window open. She closed the door behind her, though there was sadly no lock. The chair and writing desk by the window were worn but comfortable and well-tended to, much like the rest of the inn, and Angharad unclasped the sheath at her belt before seating herself. She sighed, leaning back as the scent of lemons and oranges drifted through the window on a subtle breeze. After a long moment, readied, she broke the seal on the letter and opened it.


    The looping and elegant calligraphy of her Uncle Osian filled a few paragraphs. Like on every other instance, the older man failed to properly greet her as the Lady of Llanw Hall. Angharad¡¯s fingers tightened, her teeth grit as for a moment she smelled ash on the wind and heard screams in the distance. It took a long moment for her to calm, for her breathing to even out. Her home was gone, her family was gone, everything and everyone she had ever known. And now even here, in this shitheap of a city halfway across Vesper, assassins still hunted her. The rage was familiar by now, a comforting burn, and she embraced it.


    Angharad Tredegar would have revenge on the man who had destroyed her family one day. She had sworn it, on that calamitous night where she had lost everything, and the Fisher had heard her oath. The old spirit would see it through at her side, their contract a bond only death could sunder.


    Calmed anew, Angharad resumed reading. It was not long before she winced. She had hoped her uncle might come to her here in Sacromonte, but it was not to be: Osian wrote that he had not been allowed to take leave from his work, as it had reached a critical juncture and he was the head of the endeavour. As always, her uncle remained vague on what exactly it was he did for the Watch. He was captain in rank, but Angharad knew that he was not part of one of the many free companies out in the field on contracts.


    Her uncle was not much of a fighting man, her mother had always said, but he¡¯d always been clever with his mind and his hands. He¡¯d written of spending much time in the Rookery once, one of the great fortress-islands of the Watch, so Angharad had come to suspect he might be a member of one of the seven Circles ¨C one of the scholarly societies, probably. That meant influence among their ranks, from what little she knew of the workings of the Watch, as though all watchmen were counted as members of the order less than a tenth of them were ever inducted into one of the Circles.


    Uncle Osian tersely apologized for being unable to come himself but wrote he had meanwhile made arrangements on her behalf and learned of her enemy.


    You were followed from Malan, niece, he wrote. Your ship was asked for by name at the Sanguine Port and silver flowed freely for men who had answers about where you had gone. I fear that the enemy pursuing you is no mere peer or izinduna but instead a high noble, perhaps even a member of the High Queen¡¯s court. I am told by my acquaintances that the Guardia was not simply bought; its officers were ordered by one of the great families of Sacromonte to kill you. Avoid the redcloaks at all costs.


    Angharad¡¯s lips thinned. It was worse than she had thought, then, and she had not thought it good in the slightest. She had her own suspicions as to the rank of the man who had ordered the end of the House of Tredegar, and though they were still only suspicions to hear it confirmed that her enemy was wealthy and powerful only served to strengthen them. If the city guard itself was hunting her, she thought, then she must leave Sacromonte before long. It would be her death otherwise. Hopefully, then, her uncle had not simply written to tell her he was leaving her to her fate.


    She carefully read the rest, eyes narrowing when he cautioned her that he could not intervene too blatantly as her situation was a ¡®Malani matter¡¯ and the Watch was not meant to intervene in the affairs of nations without invitation. That might be true in principle, she thought, but hardly in practice. Yet her uncle might not have the influence to force such a matter, and if her foe was influential enough Osian¡¯s allies and superiors might not be willing to intervene on his behalf. It was dire news, but she took it as calmly as she could. Angharad had known it would be a possibility. Yet her uncle, it seemed, was not to abandon her.


    After trading favours I have secured an opportunity that could place you beyond the reach of your enemy, no matter how powerful, Uncle Osian wrote. Your name has been added to the list of candidates that are to undertake the yearly crucible on the island of Vieja Perdida. It would be a perilous undertaking, I will not pretend otherwise. Fewer than one in five survive. Yet to succeed would make you a fully-fledged member of the Watch immediately, robbing your foe of the ability to frustrate attempts at more traditional enrolment.


    It would protect you, Angharad. Even great lords do not dare offend the Watch and your oath need not be a lifelong one. I urge you to take shelter among our order until you are fully grown and ready to face your enemy. There is little more I can do, for I have traded what I have to trade and now find myself short on debts owed. The man who handed you this letter is trustworthy and knows how to have coin made available to you should you need it. If you would send me a letter in answer, he can handle the matter for you.


    May many gods be with you, and those who are not miss.


    Captain Osian Tredegar


    Below there were scribbled directions to the ship that would take her to the crucible should she wish to attempt it, as well as a note that the two days to embark were the seventh and the eighth of the Fourth. Today and tomorrow, Angharad realized with a start. She must have been too slow in finding her uncle¡¯s agent. It was a troubling notion that she might have had a part in the man¡¯s death, and not the sole one that Uncle Osian had brought at her door. He wanted her to join the Watch and she could understand why well enough.


    He was right that it would afford her a great deal of protection, and that the oath would not take all of her life: watchmen swore in sevens, and after seven years Angharad expected she would be either dead or ready for revenge. It also meant, however, that she would formally be leaving her title as Lady of Llanw Hall behind. Blackcloaks could not hold titles while they served, and often not even after. She closed her eyes, gritting her teeth.


    ¡°It is already behind you, fool girl,¡± she harshly whispered.


    The high courts of Malan had struck her title down before she even fled the kingdom. Her mother had been accused of high treason and her father of corruption ¨C something or other about taxes ¨C so the High Queen of Malan had given her assent to the removal of her family from the rolls of nobility. In the eyes of the law, Angharad was no longer a peer of Peredur. The title she claimed was a meaningless one. And yet the thought of surrendering it felt like hot coals in her belly. She thought of ash and screams again, shivering. It felt like a betrayal to abandon the title when she was the sole survivor of that horror.


    Could she really spit on the memory of her parents in this way?


    No, she decided. Her situation was not yet so dire that she could not attempt to write her uncle again for another solution. She still had coin enough to last a few months and even if Osian¡¯s agent was dead her uncle could still be contacted through the offices of the Watch in Sacromonte. Folding the letter and tucking it away in her coat, Angharad opened the drawer on the side of the desk and took both paper and ink. She had a quill of her own, in her trunk, and she rose to fetch it. The door opened and Angharad froze: at the top of the stairs, a man in a red cloak was standing with a pistol in hand.


    Another was coming up the stairs behind him, and a moment of perfect stillness followed as Angharad met the guardsman¡¯s eyes. The pact came easy, telling her she was but a moment away from a shot being fired at her.


    ¡°Shit,¡± the red-cloaked man swore, raising his pistol and his voice. ¡°It¡¯s her.¡±


    Angharad shut the door just in time, the ball tearing into it with a spray of wooden shards. Keeping a foot on the door, she hastily snatched up her sheathed saber as another shot thundered against the wood. She could hear men shouting about breaking down the door. They must have thought it was locked instead of simply being held. Going through the corridor would be suicide, she thought, even if there were only two of them. Which she doubted. That left¡­ Angharad glanced at the window, dipping into her pact. She grimaced. She¡¯d get shot. The timing was slightly off. She released the pact and pulled at it again, trying to find the right moment.


    The door was about to be knocked down by two men using a bench, she saw. It was now or never.


    Angharad, holding her sheathed saber in hand, hurriedly crawled atop the table and pushed her way through the shutters even as the door was smashed down behind her. She fell through and down into the street even as the guard in the street below hastily snapped a shot at her and missed by a wide margin, ball ricocheting inside the solar. She landed on her feet, crouching down with a shout of pain but gritting her teeth as she forced herself to move. She dipped into the pact and coldly smiled at what she saw.


    The red-cloaked woman in front of her had a long cudgel in hand, but she dropped it to unsheathe a short sword. It was a mistake. Darting forward before the cudgel hit the pavement, Angharad smashed the pommel of her saber in the woman¡¯s throat and, as she began choking, slipped behind her. The shot that came from the solar window took the guardswoman in the belly. There were screams and shouts inside the inn, red-cloaked guards forcing their way back out to pursue, but Angharad took off at a run. She might not know the city, but a head start was a head start.


    She ran until she was out of breath, across bridges and markets, until she was sure she had lost the men and women of the Guardia. Only then did she allowed herself to hide in a shady nook, near a palestone pillar, and belt her sheath properly again. Gritting her teeth, she found herself leaning her forehead against a brightly painted wall. She¡¯d been found. By now the redcloaks would have confiscated the last of her worldly possessions, leaving her with a wealth of three silver arboles in her pockets and the clothes on her back. That, and her saber, was now the sum of what Angharad Tredegar owned.


    She would have wept, were she not so angry at them for the unfairness of it all.


    But there was, she remembered, one last thing on her. The same letter she had tucked away, the salvation Uncle Osian had offered. With trembling fingers, Angharad took it out and unfolded it. At the bottom of the letter, scribbled, was the name of the ship awaiting at Fishmonger¡¯s Quay. The Bluebell. The young noblewoman breathed out, found her center, and tucked away the letter once more.


    ¡°Bury the past,¡± Angharad murmured, ¡°or be buried with it.¡±


    It was as simple as that. There was no refuge left to her save for audacity, and she would not meet whatever fate awaited her cowed or trembling.


    Angharad straightened her back and strode back into the light.

 Chapter 3

    The Bluebell was a sturdy old cog, its sail painted the black of the Watch.


    Tristan was the first to arrive, which went against him. The sailors on watch were asleep at their posts, napping on crates yet to be loaded, and they¡¯d not been pleased to be woken up. Even less pleased had been their officer, a one-armed crone named Celipa who¡¯d had to be fetched from her bed since she was the one with the roster.


    ¡°You look like you¡¯re fresh off the street, rat,¡± she glared.


    ¡°You have the eyes of an eagle, tia,¡± Tristan flattered. ¡°A rat is what I am, and like one I will disappear quietly into your hold should you let me.¡±


    Her mood was not improved, sadly, and neither was his since Fortuna was now snickering behind him.


    ¡°If his name isn¡¯t on the roster, throw him into the sea,¡± Celipa ordered her men. ¡°I don¡¯t care if you beat him first. Or take his cabinet.¡±


    By the unpleasant smiles on the face of those two well-built sailors, he would be beaten bloody given half a chance. Charming. It was still better than to stay out in the Murk and risk the Hoja Roja catching his tail. They wouldn¡¯t stop at bruises.


    ¡°Who are you supposed to be, rat?¡± the crone asked.


    ¡°Tristan Abrascal,¡± he charmingly smiled.


    She was, again, visibly unimpressed. Her lips quirked into a nasty little number as she trailed her finger down the roster, sneaking an expectant glance at him, but then she froze.


    ¡°On there, yes?¡± Tristan pressed.


    The old woman looked him up and down, disbelieving.


    ¡°Whose brat are you?¡± Celipa asked. ¡°You must have blood in the black.¡±


    ¡°My blood is buried shallow, tia,¡± Tristan replied, smiled turned sharp. ¡°May I come aboard or not?¡±


    The crone snorted, but he knew put-on when he saw it. Something had spooked her.


    ¡°Go on, then,¡± Celipa said. ¡°Down in the hold, you can claim a cot if it¡¯s on the ground.¡±


    ¡°Much obliged,¡± the thief smiled.


    She turned to spit into the waters of the Shoal.


    ¡°If I see you try to get into a crate, rat, you¡¯ll get that beating you just ducked,¡± the crone warned.


    It was not the warmest welcome Tristan had ever received, but it was far from the worst. The cog was mostly empty, its crew out in the city, but an armed man pointed him down the two sets of stairs to the hold after eyeing him suspiciously. There were a few sailors sleeping on cots down there, but otherwise it was only a few crates and empty room. Cogs were trading vessels, but this one looked made to ferry men instead. Tristan stepped about quietly, looking for an empty cot with a wall at its back. Fortuna had been pleased with the amusement of watching him get browbeaten earlier, but now that it had passed the goddess was remembering to be offended on his behalf.


    ¡°At her age,¡± Fortuna mused, ¡°it would take only a slip to break her hip.¡±


    ¡°So I can sprain an ankle before taking the trials?¡± Tristan murmured, careful not to wake a sailor as he shrugged off his cabinet¡¯s leather straps and set it down. ¡°I think not.¡±


    The luck always went hardest after him when it was used to hurt another.


    ¡°Every slight should be avenged, no matter how small,¡± Fortuna said, tone disapproving.


    He rolled his eyes at her. Even destitute gods breathed arrogance, never learning the beggar¡¯s virtues. It was in their nature, Tristan had come to suspect, and the nature of gods did not change. Fortuna was the same now as when he¡¯d first met her, nothing more than a terrified boy on the run. The years they¡¯d shared had changed her not a whit.


    ¡°I¡¯ll think on it,¡± he lied.


    She huffed.


    ¡°Sometimes I think your blood is cold as a lizard¡¯s,¡± she complained. ¡°Does nothing move you to revenge?¡±


    Tristan smiled without joy, thinking of the five names carved into the marrow of his bones. His List.


    ¡°Only the one thing,¡± he answered. ¡°And it is very far from this boat.¡±


    He cast a look around after, wary of having spoken so long into what others would see thin air. The few sailors down here were still asleep, to his relief. Talking at the unseen was a good way to out yourself as a contractor ¨C or a lunatic, though admittedly some days that line was razor thin. Fortuna sighed, then gestured for him to settle down in the cot. She would, as she¡¯d had for years, keep watch over his sleep. He smiled again, meaning it this time, and slipped under the bedding. Back to the wall and a goddess watching over him, the thief fell straight into slumber.


    --


    Tristan woke to the sound of a man coughing.


    ¡°Company,¡± Fortuna whispered into his ear.


    It could not have been more than a few hours since he fell asleep, early in the morning. Yet the light of a lantern ¨C the cold glow a sure sign the oil was mixed with palestone powder to lend an echo of the Glare¡¯s pale light ¨C was licking at the sides of the hold, held up by a bearded sailor ushering in a ragged band. The one who¡¯d coughed was the first to limp into sight, a toothless old man still clutching his mouth. He was jostled aside by a scowling mass of a man whose leather vest left the arms exposed, revealing intricate patterns of ink. Menor Mano, Tristan recognized, eyeing the tattoos. This one had been a legbreaker.


    ¡°Careful,¡± the sailor warned the big man in a low voice. ¡°Any fighting on the Bluebell will get you shot and thrown overboard. No warnings, no second chances.¡±


    The legbreaker¡¯s scowl deepened and he glared at the sailor.


    ¡°Keep walking, blackcloak,¡± he said.


    The sailor snorted, reaching for the pistol at his side.


    ¡°You¡¯re one of the paid seats, not the recommended,¡± he replied. ¡°Mouth off to me again and I¡¯ll put a shot between your eyes.¡±


    The big man¡¯s face contorted in anger, laying bare his broken nose and the flat Aztlan look of his face, but with a snarl he turned away and stalked off.


    ¡°Thought so,¡± the sailor muttered, then turned a cool gaze on the rest. ¡°The same rules apply to you lot. Don¡¯t make me say it again.¡±


    None of those remaining seemed inclined to challenged him. A pair that must be a couple, given how closely they held each other, shied away from the sailor¡¯s gaze as if afraid of being hit while a girl around Tristan¡¯s age looked like she might start crying. It made the two who seemed unconcerned with argument stand out all the more. A bespectacled old woman looking half asleep and past paying attention to much of anything, then to her left a Tianxi of middle age who looked unimpressed. Tristan studied the cast of the man¡¯s shoulders and the way he stood ramrod straight, lips thinning. Soldier.


    ¡°Go on, then,¡± the sailor grunted. ¡°Find somewhere to sleep. The rest will arrive in a few hours."


    They shuffled in tiredly, revealing the last three who¡¯d stood behind. A blond youth with the City¡¯s look about him, looking at his surroundings with polite curiosity, and a pair of short Tianxi twins in their forties. Women both, their dark hair kept in low ponytails with the side of their heads shaved. The cut would have outed them as Meng girls even if their smiles had not revealed blue-tinted teeth. It was a custom of Meng-Xiaofan members to chew strands of dewroot, a sweet-smelling herb said to soothe pains and sharpen wits ¨C at the price of dyeing teeth and sometimes even tongues blue.


    As the newcomers settled across the hold, some of them waking disgruntled sailors, one of the twins caught him looking and shot back a quick once-over that led into a snort. She leaned close to her sister for a whisper, the two of them then turning to offer him that Meng grin of porcelain in white and blue. Tristan straightened, muscles tensing as they moved towards him and the blue open robes in Tianxi style they wore over practical City tunic and trousers trailed.


    ¡°Pinch me, Ju, I must be dreaming,¡± the closest twin grinned. ¡°Look at what we¡¯ve got here.¡±


    The other twin looked him up and down, making a show of it.


    ¡°Back to the wall, dirty fingernails and a crow¡¯s nest for hair - oh my, Lan,¡± she snickered. ¡°Smells like rat in here, doesn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s not wrong,¡± Fortuna conceded, ever the traitor.


    Yet Tristan¡¯s shoulders loosened, for all that the words were close to insult. It was to be that kind of a conversation; he was back on familiar grounds. Putting on a wicked look, he snorted back. Sniffing the air theatrically, he the gasped in surprise.


    ¡°And here I thought it smelled like dust and floating corpses,¡± he told them. ¡°But I suppose it might just be that foul herb you¡¯ve been chewing.¡±


    There was no need for either side to make the Sign of the Rat, not when the two had the Meng look good as a branded and they¡¯d sized him up in a breath, but it was worth establishing neither were mere mud from the Murk: they were proper gutter, from the wrong side of men¡¯s laws. The tacit admission on his part he knew the main trades of the Meng - drugs and paid deaths ¨C visibly put the sisters in a good mood. Only a fool would talk of trust between rats, but the gutter was a shared tongue. The thief invited them to sit, smile still on his face, and noted the elegant fold of their legs as they did. Sellers, he decided, or someone facing the front. That kind of presentation was learned.


    ¡°Tristan,¡± he introduced himself.


    ¡°You have our names,¡± Ju said.


    Not likely the real ones, but he was hardly offended. It was only good sense on their part and he might have tried the same if he¡¯d not had his own written true on the Watch¡¯s passenger list.


    ¡°So I do,¡± Tristan said. ¡°And the pleasure of your company, at an unexpected hour no less.¡±


    He got twin inscrutable looks at the implied question there.


    ¡°More interesting is that you were already here, Tristan,¡± Lan replied. ¡°We were given a precise hour to arrive, see, after coin talked.¡±


    An implied question of her own, with an offered trade tacked on. Given how little he knew of this whole business, the thief had no qualms in trading: it could only be to his advantage. As was only proper between rats, he paid up front.


    ¡°A teacher had my name placed on the list,¡± he told them. ¡°I am uncertain if it is reward or punishment.¡±


    One of the twins ¨C Ju ¨C had a small nick in the skin near her left ear, he noticed. Looked a little deep for a shaving miss, which was interesting, but mostly it would let him tell them apart in a pinch. Both sisters grimaced.


    ¡°A hard teacher, if they might think the Dominion of Lost Things a reward,¡± Ju said. ¡°But also not just anyone, if they could get you on this ship with only their word. We paid for it, see. We need the prize.¡±


    He chewed the inside of his cheek. The ¡®prize¡¯ to passing the trials, aside from not dying a horrible death, was to be inducted straight into the ranks of the Watch. They must have had death dogging their shadow, to believe being part of the Meng-Xiaofan would not be enough to assure their safety.


    ¡°I have left a burning bridge behind myself,¡± he carefully admitted. ¡°Unknowingly, I earned the Roja¡¯s ire.¡±


    Lan leaned in, suddenly grinning again.


    ¡°Well now, that makes you a friend to these poor sisters,¡± she said. ¡°No admirers of ours, the Hoja Roja. Not since we were sent to open a shop in the Murk.¡±


    Tristan cocked his head to the side, curious, and lightly traced a finger across his throat. Ju shook her head.


    ¡°Merchandise,¡± she told him. ¡°Dust, whalechew and pipe poppy.¡±


    He let out a low whistle.


    ¡°The Roja runs the parlours for those in the Murk,¡± he said. ¡°I thought the Meng stuck to the docks?¡±


    ¡°Noise was made back in the Republics that we should cut out the middlemen,¡± Lan said, tone bitter. ¡°We warned against it, told them it was a mistake, but why listen to us? We just live here.¡±


    ¡°Then when the Roja went blood-mad, they cut their losses,¡± Ju cursed. ¡°The lizard sheds the tail in the tiger¡¯s jaws, they told us.¡±


    It was Tristan¡¯s turn to grimace. Reading between the lines, the Meng-Xiaofan had cut loose the people they¡¯d sent into the Murk as an ill-fated attempt to cut into the Hoja Roja¡¯s trade. Tossed in their heads as appeasement so knives could be sheathed and business return to usual.


    ¡°There can¡¯t be many of you left,¡± he said.


    ¡°Two,¡± Lan replied, tone curt.


    And he was looking at them. No wonder they were desperate enough to take the trials as a way out. It was grim talk and he was at a loss as to where to go from there. With grace that only further convinced him they¡¯d had front-facing roles, the twins guided the conversation away from the pit.


    ¡°You¡¯d think that for the ramas we paid the accommodations would be nicer, at least,¡± Ju sighed, looking around.


    Tristan hid his surprise. A gold rama was worth three silver arboles, each of which were worth thirty-four copper radizes: he¡¯d only rarely had truck with arboles, much less their golden sisters. And so he sniffed a detail of interest, for though he could believe sisters that¡¯d been in the Meng could scrape together ramas the twins were not the only one who¡¯d come tonight. The thief¡¯s gaze moved to the remainder of the ten that¡¯d been guided in, skimming over the legbreaker and the woman with spectacles, lingering instead on the toothless old man, the shivering girl and the couple. The latter¡¯s clothing was threadbare, shabby. All were thin. Tristan doubted they could scrape a silver together between the lot of them.


    ¡°There are other ways to get in,¡± he deduced.


    Lan followed his gaze to the old man and she chuckled.


    ¡°That one you have wrong,¡± she said. ¡°We saw him settle with our own eyes, though he paid in books instead of coin. You¡¯re not wrong about most the rest.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re paid for,¡± Ju smiled, mirthless. ¡°It¡¯s for bets, you see. How far they¡¯ll get, how well they¡¯ll do. Large sums by large men.¡±


    Tristan¡¯s hands clenched. An old and familiar anger flared in his belly.


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    ¡°Palace side?¡± he asked.


    Lan shook her head.


    ¡°Gutter,¡± she said. ¡°The Menor Mano went heavy this year, I hear, but there¡¯s others.¡±


    The anger simmered down. It was not infanzones making sport of gutter lives, only monsters doing as monsters did. The thief hummed, considering the arrivals with fresh eyes.


    ¡°So who was I wrong about?¡± he asked.


    Ju cocked a plucked eyebrow.


    ¡°Burned a bridge, you said,¡± she invited.


    Fair, Tristan thought. He¡¯d gotten more from them than the other way around.


    ¡°Robbed someone out on a contract for the Orelanna brothers,¡± he said. ¡°It ended in a corpse.¡±


    He saw the shift in the way they sat, the rise in wariness but also the birth of a degree of respect. He¡¯d been a resource, before. Now he was a potential asset.


    ¡°That¡¯ll get a man killed, sure enough,¡± Lan amiably said.


    Ju cleared her throat.


    ¡°The pretty blond, he¡¯s the other one that paid his way onboard,¡± she said. ¡°His name¡¯s Brun.¡±


    It took a moment for Tristan¡¯s eye to find the youth in question, as he was tucked away between crates. Back to the wall, with an angle on most the room that let him look in without being seen in return. Not exactly shopkeeper¡¯s habits, these. Brun caught his look, offering a smile in reply. The thief looked away first.


    ¡°That one¡¯s dangerous,¡± Fortuna murmured, leaning against the wall. ¡°And he¡¯s got someone with him. They¡¯re loud.¡±


    Tristan stiffened. Someone, to the Lady of Long Odds, would mean someone like her. Another god. He¡¯d known there would be others with contract on the ship, but it was not a pleasant surprise.


    ¡°Someone to be careful of,¡± the thief warned the twins.


    They traded a look, then Ju nodded thanks for the warning. They did not ask why he would give such warning. Asking about someone¡¯s contract was the cat-killing sort of curiosity.


    ¡°They let in the desperate at night,¡± Lan said, ¡°but the rest will be coming soon. The real contenders.¡±


    ¡°The infanzones,¡± Tristan evenly said. ¡°They have seats promised to them under old accords.¡±


    Even a rat like him knew that, mostly because the infanzones themselves trumpeted it about. The yearly trials on the island were a way for young aristocrats to prove themselves skillful and daring, to jostle with each other for pre-eminence. The names of those who had gone and how far they¡¯d made it were made public, spread around by criers at the Vermilion Festival every year. Rumour had it that making it as far as the third trial could get you bumped up in the line of succession.


    ¡°Fifteen,¡± Ju agreed. ¡°Mind you, noble asses won¡¯t even fill half of those. They bring guards and servants.¡±


    He wrinkled his nose. Another pack to steer clear of.


    ¡°They aren¡¯t worth a worry,¡± Lan dismissed. ¡°Nobles will play it safe, make it to the beginning of the third and then take the way out.¡±


    There were two of those. The trials on the Dominion of Lost Things were meant to forge recruits for the Watch, but your average infanzon had no intention of renouncing titles and wealth to join the blackcloaks. So instead they took the paths of retreat the Watch had arranged on the island, safe places where a participant could desist from going any further.


    ¡°It¡¯s the recommended candidates that¡¯ll be dangerous,¡± Lan continued. ¡°They¡¯re here for the prize and they won¡¯t be afraid to kill to make it.¡±


    Tristan thinly smiled and the older woman looked somewhat abashed. He was, after all, almost certainly one of these recommended candidates.


    ¡°I hear most are foreigners, usually,¡± the thief said, returning the earlier grace.


    ¡°Heard that too,¡± Ju hastily agreed. ¡°Though I¡¯m not sure how many there will be.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s at most a hundred seats open every year,¡± Lan noted, ¡°and we heard seventy-three were filled this time. There are two ships, though, and one sailed off yesterday.¡±


    The other twin cocked a brow at him.


    ¡°Did you get a look at the passenger list?¡±


    Tristan shook his head.


    ¡°But I saw it being read,¡± he told her, ¡°and it can¡¯t have been too long. Around thirty names.¡±


    The twins hummed. Like him they were curious as to how numerous their batch would be. The conversation drifted after that, staying friendly but of light nature. Neither side had more they were interested in trading, and it was too early in the venture to begin talking of the kind of alliances that would mean life or death when bodies began dropping. The twins took their leave before long, going around the hold to gladhand the others ¨C the couple in particular, he noted. He ought to do the same, feel out the others for enmities and alliances. The large bruiser was asleep and not the kind of man he¡¯d want to work with besides, so he had a frank look at the others.


    The two greyhairs were out of the running for now. The toothless old man was still coughing, looking half a step into the grave, and though the old woman seemed spry she bore spectacles. Should those be broken, she might well be half blind. Disinclined to work the couple when the twins were already at it, Tristan considered the last three. ¡®Brun¡¯ was to be avoided, Fortuna¡¯s warning heeded, which left the girl shivering in a corner and the Tianxi with a soldier¡¯s bearing. The girl first, he decided. Her curly brown hair trembled with the rest of her when he sat down close, offering a smile that she visibly forced herself to return. She flinched when he rested his back against the wall. With that pointed chin and those wet eyes, she looked like a terrified bird.


    ¡°Tristan,¡± he introduced himself.


    ¡°Marzela,¡± she replied.


    The thief had held little truck with sympathy ¨C either given or received ¨C since burying his mother, but he knew how to feign the appearance of it well enough.


    ¡°Rough night?¡± he gently asked.


    The girl had a full-body shiver, swallowing loudly.


    ¡°I shouldn¡¯t be here,¡± she burst out, unable to help herself. ¡°It¡¯s not even my debt, but they said¡­¡±


    ¡°You were forced to come,¡± Tristan said.


    Marzela nodded, eyes shining with tears.


    ¡°I haven¡¯t seen either of my parents in years, but the moneylenders said it didn¡¯t matter,¡± she whispered. ¡°The law says it¡¯s my debt too.¡±


    ¡°Did you try to flee?¡± he asked, eyes studying her closely.


    Now that he was closer to the girl, he could tell there was something¡­ off. More than just fear. She kept flinching without obvious reasons for it, like she could hear or see something he could not.


    ¡°They had pistols,¡± Marzela replied.


    You¡¯d have had a better chance with bullets than the trials, Tristan thought. You should have run. Her hands were trembling still, one rubbing her forearm as if to calm herself, and that was what let him put it together. She wasn¡¯t just rubbing but tracing a pattern with a finger. Something complex, a symbol of some kind with intricate lines. Again and again she traced it, never noticing even as she told him that she¡¯d been promised the debt would be written off if she survived the first trial. Tristan smiled and nodded at all the right places, mind spinning. Marzela had a compulsion, a tic. One of the most obvious signs someone had just come into a contract and their god had strong hold on them.


    The thief ought to know, it''d taken years for him to unlearn the habit of flipping a coin that did not exist.


    ¡°It¡¯ll be all right,¡± Tristan comfortingly lied. ¡°We will be many on the island. With arms and numbers there will be some safety.¡±


    Marzela twitched again, beginning to look at the ceiling before she stopped herself. A contract that enhanced her senses, perhaps? Whatever it was, she seemed to be drawing on it at all times and that was dangerous. First to herself, but in time perhaps to others as well. The thief suggested she try to sleep before rising back to his feet, but neither of them much believed in her promise to try. Tristan then moved towards the soldier, who¡¯d settled against a crate and was pulling at a copper flask. The smell of liquor ¨C cheap and strong ¨C wafted up as soon as he approached, the Tianxi offering up a sardonic smile.


    ¡°My turn, is it?¡± the man said. ¡°At least you¡¯re not quite as obvious about it as the twins.¡±


    Tristan sat down slowly, as to be sure he would not be provoking a man he now saw was armed. The sword sheath across the Tianxi¡¯s lap was empty, but there was the bulge of a pistol tucked under his coat. And my life for a sparrow¡¯s that he¡¯s got more knives than I do tucked away.


    ¡°We¡¯ll be sailing out soon,¡± Tristan replied, caught out but unrepentant. ¡°Before we do I would know the lay of the land.¡±


    ¡°Practical of you,¡± the man said, not offended in the slightest. ¡°What¡¯s your name, boy?¡±


    ¡°Tristan.¡±


    ¡°Yong,¡± the other said, offering a nod of a greeting.


    Tristan returned it, wary of this stranger who was putting away rotgut like water but whose eyes were still sharp.


    ¡°You¡¯ve nothing to worry of me, Tristan,¡± Yong plainly said. ¡°I was not sent here to play red games.¡±


    The thief¡¯s eyes narrowed. A lie, at least in part, for the twins had told him of those who¡¯d paid their way onto the ship and Yong had not been one of them. Deciding that the man¡¯s easy temperament allowed for a gamble, he decided to press.


    ¡°Yet someone sent you,¡± Tristan said. ¡°Your seat was bought by another.¡±


    The Tianxi grimaced.


    ¡°Those two tell you that, did they?¡± he said, jerking his chin towards the twins. ¡°You¡¯d best be careful not to trust them too much.¡±


    Tristan trusted no one at all, save perhaps Fortuna, but saw no need to tell the man as much.


    ¡°And why¡¯s that?¡±


    Yong lowered his voice.


    ¡°Do you know why they¡¯re talking to the couple so much?¡± he asked.


    Tristan shook his head.


    ¡°The husband, Felis, he¡¯s got scales on the arm and he¡¯s been¡­¡±


    Yong trailed off, mimicking scratching his arm, and the thief could not entirely hide his revulsion. Skin flakes that looked like scales and incessant scratching were symptoms he was familiar with, as would be any child of the Murk¡¯s: the man was a dust addict. The twins would not have missed that, not with dust being one of the merchandises the Meng-Xiaofan pushed. If he goes into withdrawal and they have dust on them, they good as own him, Tristan thought.


    ¡°There¡¯s no clean shoes in the Murk,¡± the thief finally said, quoting half an old saying.


    Shit clings to all our soles, the other half went. It was not absolution or forgiveness, but blame was like misery: one of those rare things there always seemed to be enough of to go around. Best to be careful with it, and with the Tianxi as well. It was why he¡¯d phrased his answer to have a hanging question.


    ¡°All I need is to get to the third trial,¡± Yong bluntly said. ¡°I¡¯ve no interest in anything else.¡±


    ¡°Not even a black cloak?¡± Tristan casually asked.


    Too casually, he realized with a silent curse as Yong¡¯s eyes narrowed.


    ¡°Might put one on if it¡¯s offered,¡± the man said. ¡°You?¡±


    Honesty or vagueness? Honesty, he finally decided. Their interests were not at odds and it was always best to stay on the good side of men with pistols and knowledge of how to use them.


    ¡°I don¡¯t have a choice,¡± the thief admitted. ¡°I¡¯m in it to the end.¡±


    ¡°Seems like we might have a thing or two in common,¡± Yong casually said.


    The offer hung in the air. It was too early to commit to alliances, Tristan knew, and yet did not decline. What were the odds he¡¯d get a better offer? He was a rat, not the kind of sought-after soul that would be able to pick out their companions when the real recommended arrived. He wants something, the younger man decided. I¡¯m fit and I look like I might be able to handle myself in a fight, but he might get better if he holds out until the others begin to arrive. Which meant Yong wanted something that a rat was in the best position to give. Far from unsettling him, Tristan found the thought a reassuring one. An ally without a use was just fodder. The suspicion that he wouldn¡¯t just be a body to throw in harm¡¯s way settled his doubts.


    ¡°It seems like we do,¡± the thief agreed.


    The Tianxi smiled.


    ¡°Good,¡± he said. ¡°Then I have a suggestion to make.¡±


    Tristan¡¯s brow cocked. So now came the price.


    ¡°I obtained the name of a sailor on this ship who likes gifts,¡± Yong said.


    Someone that could bribed. Always useful.


    ¡°And what would be gotten, for that gift?¡± Tristan asked.


    ¡°To sit in a corner as the rest of the travellers board,¡± the Tianxi said. ¡°Being given names and stories by our friend.¡±


    For a heartbeat, Tristan wondered how he was being had. He was being sent to learn information that might well save his life, so why would Yong ever allow someone else to learn it in his stead? It made no sense, unless¡­ He¡¯s a bought seat, Tristan realized. They won¡¯t let him out of the hold even for a bribe. But I¡¯ve got a recommendation, so they just might. It wasn¡¯t a rat that Yong had been after but someone who the blackcloaks wouldn¡¯t confine to the bottom of the boat.


    ¡°I like him,¡± Fortuna decided. ¡°He¡¯s clever.¡±


    Yong pulled at his copper flask again, the stench of liquor spreading. He¡¯s also likely a drunk, Tristan thought, not that the goddess would consider that a black mark on anyone¡¯s record. But a drunk was something he could work with, so he would.


    ¡°Let¡¯s get our friend that gift, then,¡± the thief smiled, and the soldier smiled back.


    --


    Lucia looked rather straight-laced, for a woman taking bribes. Her face was stern in that way that people became stern when they were uncomfortable and looking to take it out on someone else.


    ¡°You¡¯re going to be peeling potatoes,¡± the sailor told him. ¡°So sit on the bench and shut up.¡±


    As Lucia easily had a stone on him in muscles and belly fat while Tristan had a fondness for avoiding arguments with people who¡¯d be able to snap his neck, he dutifully sat on the bench and shut up. The sailor passed him a peeling knife and dropped a misshapen potato onto his lap, grunting in satisfaction when he began to deftly peel away. He was three in ¨C a pittance, compared to the barrel of hundreds they were working through ¨C when she finally deigned to address him.


    ¡°They¡¯ll be coming in two batches,¡± Lucia said. ¡°The foreigners first, most at once, and then the noble brats.¡±


    Though she was still glaring at him like he¡¯d emptied her pockets instead of the very opposite, Tristan¡¯s fondness for the sailor could not help but mount. Anyone who held the infanzones in such open contempt could not be entirely bad. He¡¯d caught her wording, though, and a question made it to the tip of his tongue. There it lingered, long enough the woman noticed.


    ¡°Out with it,¡± she grunted.


    ¡°You said foreigners,¡± he said. ¡°Not recommended.¡±


    She nodded, looking approving for the first time since they¡¯d met.


    ¡°Most years we only take in foreigners that got recommended,¡± Lucia agreed, ¡°but this one¡¯s different. Some seats were handed out for companies to sell.¡±


    Tristan brow furrowed.


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°The better question, boy,¡± the sailor replied, whittling away at the potato skin, ¡°is why you¡¯re on this ship when last month one full of recommended from Sacromonte sailed straight for the Rookery.¡±


    His brow furrowed even deeper. The Rookery was the common name for the great island-fortress that was the seat of the Watch, said to be as a city of blackcloaks. Watchmen were trained there in a great war camp.


    ¡°I¡¯m the only one from the city to take the trials,¡± Tristan slowly said.


    ¡°That¡¯s got a recommendation, anyway,¡± Lucia shrugged.


    He rocked back in surprise. What was Abuela up to? The more he learned the more obscure her motives became. His companion lost interest in the conversation, and with a curt gesture told him to start peeling again. They stayed on the deck for an hour, working away until the others began to arrive. The bulk of the first wave arrived as a group, escorted by a pair of blackcloaks. Tristan watched them carefully from his corner of the deck. Lucia, for all that she seemed to enjoy none of this, delivered on her promises without qualms.


    ¡°See the Aztlans?¡±


    Tristan nodded, eyes moving to the only two among the pack whose skin was the light brown common to those from the Kingdom of Izcalli. A woman in her twenties and a boy that couldn¡¯t be older than Tristan himself, eighteen. The boy had pale eyes, but what drew attention to him was how eerily perfect he looked. Every part of his body symmetrical and proportioned, like he¡¯d been sculpted instead of born. It made his skin crawl to look at.


    ¡°Don¡¯t know much about the girl, but the boy¡¯s called Tupoc Xical,¡± Lucia said. ¡°Recommended, he¡¯s some sort of prodigy trained by the Leopard Society. He¡¯s got a contract too.¡±


    Not a likely ally then. Izcalli¡¯s societies were bloodthirsty bastards one and all, always waging their famous flower wars.


    ¡°The two Ramayans got recommended because they have family in the black,¡± the sailor continued, pointing at pair of youths.


    Of the many peoples of the Imperial Someshwar, the Ramayans were those Tristan knew best: they held the great cities on the empire¡¯s south eastern coast, so their trading ships sometimes came as far as Sacromonte. He¡¯d never seen any dressed so colourful as these two, though. The girl of the pair had no less than three pistols at her hips, making her a rather more impressive sight than the chubby-cheeked boy looking like he was about to keel over.


    ¡°Then you¡¯ve got the three from our corner of the Trebian Sea,¡± Lucia grunted.


    A girl with unfortunate acne wore the jacket and cravat typical of the Asphodel Rectorate, one of Sacromonte¡¯s closest neighbours, and a Raseni veiled from head to toe in grey was carefully staying away from her. Not unexpected, given that Rasen and Asphodel were said to war with each other incessantly. The last was a tall and thin man with heavy circles around his eyes.


    ¡°The man¡¯s from Asphodel too,¡± Lucia quietly said. ¡°Leander Galatas, a former sailor. Be careful of him.¡±


    Tristan cocked his head to the side, eyes questioning.


    ¡°His recommendation came from the Navigator¡¯s Guild,¡± she said. ¡°Odds are he knows some Signs.¡±


    The thief¡¯s belly clenched. Learned men insisted that the Signs were not truly magic, merely a way for the initiated to manipulate the Gloam, but Tristan had heard stories. Winds called from nowhere, men set alight with but a word. And of those who used the stranger arts going mad, hollowing from the inside as the Gloam devoured them. He silently nodded. The first arrivals disappeared into the belly of the ship but Tristan stayed, waiting as the last four of the foreigners trickled in over the following hour. First a pack of three dark-skinned Malani, a younger pair whose air and clothes screamed ¡®money¡¯ with a scarred older woman behind them that had a fighter¡¯s look. A guard, he figured.


    ¡°The younger two were recommended,¡± Lucia said. ¡°I heard there¡¯s a Malani swordmistress coming, but it shouldn¡¯t be one of them.¡±


    The last to arrive was Tianxi, a girl his age with a sword at her hip and a musket slung over her back. Her eyes were a startling silver shade.


    ¡°She was recommended by the Rookery,¡± the sailor provided. ¡°And she¡¯s got a contract for sure.¡±


    The stranger¡¯s eyes swept over the deck, neither hurried nor slow, and for a moment Tristan would have sworn they lingered above his head. Then she walked on, disappearing below deck. Lucia frowned.


    ¡°There¡¯s supposed to be one more,¡± she said, ¡°but at this rate the infanzones will be getting here first.¡±


    Her prediction came true. But half an hour later, Sacromonte¡¯s noble sons and daughters arrived in a colourful procession. There must have been half a hundred people crowding the docks, some mounted but most brought by carriages that servants in livery promptly began to unload. The two carriages at the front did not bear colours he recognized.


    ¡°Villazur and Ruesta,¡± Lucia told him.


    Tristan hummed. He knew of the Ruesta, a family sworn to one of the great houses of Sacromonte ¨C though he could not recall which one. Their wealth was famous. He¡¯d never heard of the Villazur.


    ¡°The Ruesta girl¡¯s a bloody idiot,¡± the sailor growled. ¡°Brought three people with her, and would you believe that two of them are maids.¡±


    ¡°The Villazur?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Better,¡± Lucia conceded. ¡°Got some Malani huntsman, I hear.¡±


    He was about to ask about the rest when the Villazur servants moved aside, revealing a sight that snatched away his breath. Painted on the sides of the last two carriages was a red tree on blue.


    ¡°Cerdan,¡± Tristan hissed.


    Lucia slowly nodded.


    ¡°Brothers,¡± she said, ¡°with a valet and-¡±


    He didn¡¯t hear the rest of the sentence because blood was rushing to his ears. Helping down some noble waste from his carriage was a man that Tristan Abrascal would recognize even if his eyes were plucked out of his head. It¡¯d been years, so the hair was longer and the beard touched with grey, but the burn scar near the ear looked the same. Tristan could still hear the casual drawl, smell gunpowder and blood. Hear his father weep. Cozme Aflor. So that was why Abuela had put him on this ship, sent him into these trials. She was giving him two of the Cerdan and the man whose name was at the bottom of his List.


    Fortuna¡¯s hand on his shoulder brought him back to himself.


    ¡°-id. Kid.¡± Lucia said, sounding impatient. ¡°What¡¯s with you?¡±


    ¡°Nothing,¡± Tristan lied. ¡°Our bargain is done. My thanks.¡±


    The sailor blinked in surprise. He slid the peeling knife into his half-done potato, fingers clenching, and dropped it back into the barrel.


    ¡°There¡¯s still one missing,¡± she said. ¡°We¡¯ll be waiting for her until midday at least.¡±


    ¡°This is enough. One won¡¯t make a difference.¡±


    ¡°Fine,¡± she grunted. ¡°But you best not come complaining later.¡±


    He shook his head and briskly took his leave, wanting to be in the hold before the nobles arrived. Fortuna walked by his side, red dress trailing on the floor behind her like a river of blood, and Tristan forced his jaw to unclench.


    ¡°I was wrong,¡± he spoke under his breath as he reached the top of the stairs.


    ¡°What about?¡± Fortuna lightly asked.


    ¡°There is only one thing that moves me to revenge,¡± Tristan Abrascal murmured, ¡°but it appears it is not far from this boat after all.¡±

 Chapter 4

    They were waiting for her at Fishmonger¡¯s Quay.


    Every street had a pair of redcloaks watching passers-by, forcing any hooded or veiled to show their faces before they were let through. Angharad, keeping to the alleys, saw how they compared the faces to small pieces of parchment. She was only able to get close enough to see it was a drawing, but that told her enough: her hunters knew what she looked like and where she was headed. Worried, Angharad decided on patience. She spent one of her last three silver arboles on a ratty room and a meal at an inn two blocks off the edge of the Quay, figuring she would have a better shot come night.


    After the streetlights dimmed and the guardsmen tired she would make a run for the Bluebell. She got directions to the ship at the cost of breaking a second arbol to buy sailors ale with coppers, then settled in to wait. The naps she took on the straw mattress were intermittent, somehow leaving her more tired than when she¡¯d begun, all the more so when she was jolted out of the last by angry shouts. Awake in an instant, she drew her saber and made for the door. Cracking it open just enough to peer through, she saw a gaggle of redcloaks whose officer was loudly arguing with the innkeeper and his pair of toughs.


    ¡°-paid up for the month, you don¡¯t get to come in here and hassle my patrons,¡± the innkeeper was snarling.


    Angharad did not hold out hope: one side had swords and muskets, the other clubs. The argument would last only so long as the Guardia officer let it. She stole a glimpse ahead, saw they would be taken utterly by surprise and steadied her breath before bursting out. Defence is delay. The redcloaks had swords out but not before she got a head start, only two at the back going for their muskets instead. Angharad kicked a table in the closest man¡¯s leg, tripping him as he shouted curse, then ducked low as a shot whizzed past her head. A stolen glimpse told her there was no ambush ahead so she ran out into the night, boots thumping against the pavestones.


    The redcloaks followed.


    In a city so large as Sacromonte it should have been the easiest thing in the world to lose them, but for all that she could steal away for slices of an hour the enemy always caught up to her. They never seemed to know exactly where she was, but neither were they far off. Contractor, Angharad shivered in realization. They had hired someone whose spirit-given gift could find her. Knowing of it was little help, the hours stretching into a torment of constant running and hiding. She was exhausted, as much from the flight as the constant drawing on her own contract to avoid ambushes.


    The Fisher was not as some other spirits, whose prices were constant: she had sworn a single oath in return for his gift. Yet that did not mean taking glimpses was not tiring, slowly turning her thoughts feverous. It felt as if her brain was swimming in warm water, pressure slowly building behind her eyes. How long could she last? She did not know, but salvation came without warning at morning¡¯s cast. Just as the streetlights returned to their full glare the redcloaks fell behind. No longer was their hunt aimed, instead stumbling about as if she were no longer tracked.


    Relief brought tears to her eyes and she crawled into dark alley smelling of trash and human filth to collapse behind a pile of broken planks. What felt like a heartbeat after she woke to the sound of movement, drawing her saber, but before her was no man. It was a red-eyed rat, large as a cat and watching her unblinkingly. Behind it, scrawled on the wall, she saw a bloody mark she had missed in her earlier exhaustion: seven rats whose tails were tied in a knot, itself swallowing up a skull. It was raw work, little more than outlines, but somehow she knew exactly what she was looking at the moment she saw it. Swallowing loudly, Angharad dropped her blade. It clattered loudly against the ground.


    ¡°Manifold apologies, honoured elder,¡± the noble hurriedly said. ¡°I did not mean to disturb your shrine.¡±


    The red-eyed rat watched her still, unmoving. An apology would not be enough. Grimacing, Angharad slowly reached for her abandoned saber and pressed her palm against the edge. It cut shallowly but drew blood, enough she was able to hold out her hand and drip red on the stone before her. After the third thick droplet fell the great rat finally moved, darting forward to lick at the red while Angharad let out a relieved breath. Her offering had been accepted; rare were the spirits that would turn on you immediately after accepting a gift.


    In the moment that followed the noble felt her blood cool, as if a cold tide were washing through her veins. The Fisher¡¯s presence filled her. He felt neither angry nor worried, only¡­ expectant. The spirit was watching, and the red-eyed rat stilled for a moment before licking up the last of her blood.


    ¡°Good manners,¡± it praised in a voice that was like a like a thousand chitters threaded into a single, desperate scream.


    Angharad struggled to keep her horror off her face, a struggle that she lost when the massive rat suddenly began to retch. It convulsed, as if dying, and spewed out what she thought to be red bile. Only the bile was in the shape of a rat. The Fisher¡¯s approval rose at the sight and his presence withdrew, shivers strumming down her spine in his wake. That moment of distraction was enough for the red-eyed rat to be gone from her sight, leaving only the scrawled mark on the wall and the bloody little abomination at her feet. Sheathing her sword, Angharad rose tiredly and pressed the cut on her palm closed. She would have taken the time to dress it if not for the blood rat beginning to scurry away.


    Gritting her teeth, the dark-skinned noble cast aside her hesitation and followed the boon the spirit had granted her.


    It stayed always in the corner of her eye, moving so quick that she could not spare so much as a glance at her surroundings as she followed. Weaving through a maze of dirty alleys she ran, slowly coming to realize that she was being led in the direction of Fishmonger¡¯s Quay. The little creature kept away from the glow of lamplights and palestone pillars, its path labyrinthine, but through shadow after shadow Angharad was led to an end. The stink of sewage filled her nostrils, making her gag, and as she had a dry retch she saw the little blood rat glancing at her once before scurrying to the edge of a sewer gate.


    There it broke apart, turning into drops of blood that slid into the cloying vileness.


    Minding her manners, Angharad offered the sewer gate a shaky bow of thanks before covering her mouth. She carefully stepped to the edge of the alley, eyes squinting at the lamplight¡¯s glow she had somehow grown unused to. Dealing with spirits was never simple as you might wish. For the first few glances she was lost, until she peered further out and saw a pair of bored redcloaks inspecting everyone passing through the street. Only, Angharad saw, she was already past them. Heart beating in relief and excitement, the noble turned to the sewer gate and bowed again.


    ¡°I will remember this favour, honoured elder,¡± she promised.


    In the heartbeat that followed a gun was cocked behind her and Angharad Tredegar was duly reminded that dealing with spirits was never simple as you might wish.


    ¡°Don¡¯t move,¡± a woman¡¯s voice harshly ordered in Antigua. ¡°Turn around and show me your-¡±


    If she ran for it-


    (The ball tore through her back, a line of burning pain.)


    -Angharad threw herself to the side, the shot catching the edge of her coat. In a single smooth spin she unsheathed her saber and faced the redcloak, who judged she would not be able to reload in time and was dropped her musket in favour of the straight sword at her hip. The noble timed her breaths with her steps, her body moving with the fluid grace of years of practice. There was no need to steal a glimpse of the future when she could see it writ in the lay of her enemy¡¯s movements. The redcloak¡¯s blade came free, striking out, and Angharad calmly twisted her wrist to deny the blades contact before snapping it back into place. Her back foot pushed her forward in a clean, textbook strike that opened the redcloak¡¯s throat.


    The other woman fell down with a wet gurgle, the sound drowned out by the Guardia killers already coming this way. Angharad ran for it, the directions she¡¯d bought last night just enough for her to avoid charging off in the wrong direction. This cursed hovel of a city had no signs, as if Sacromontans expected all to know their way around. The docks were close, only a few blocks away, but the ruckus had seen people empty the streets so Angharad could see the redcloaks running after her. Only a dozen, at first, but more were coming from seemingly every street. She hurried, sweat pouring down her back as she struggled to stay out of musket range ¨C shots kept sounding, keeping the pulse of fear in her belly alive ¨C and finally reached the long stone dock she¡¯d had described to her.


    An old cog was waiting at the end of it, its sails painted black like all the Watch¡¯s ships, and Angharad felt her spirit rally. Close, so close now and¡­ The shot came from closer, the window of some warehouse behind, and though she threw herself down in time it was straight into a pile of crates. Mercifully empty, she thought even as her aching shoulder toppled two into the water, but she got tangled in the net keeping them together. Ripping her way free cost her precious time, the pack of baying hounds nipping at her heels reaching the dock.


    ¡°Stop her,¡± a man shouted. ¡°Manes be my witness, if you keep fucking missing her-¡±


    The Bluebell was a mere thirty feet away but the Guardia were so close she could almost feel them breathing down her neck. Half-turning, she saw a man reaching for her arm and twisted away but then there was a shot and¡­. and the redcloaks stopped cold. It¡¯d come from the front of her, Angharad realized belatedly, and there she found a grizzled old woman holding a smoking pistol in her only hand. She¡¯d unloaded in front of the redcloaks, a warning shot.


    ¡°Angharad Tredegar?¡± the old woman called out.


    ¡°Yes,¡± the noble replied, the word half a sob of relief.


    ¡°We¡¯ve been waiting for you, girl,¡± the blackcloak grunted. ¡°Get on the bloody ship, we¡¯re going to miss the tide.¡±


    Angharad took a hesitant step towards the Bluebell, then saw her hesitation reflected on the face of the redcloaks looking at her and was emboldened to take a second. Before she could take a third a Guardia officer pushed his way to the front of the pack, a moustachioed young man whose shoulders were dripping with ornate braids and medals.


    ¡°What are you idiots doing?¡± the man shouted. ¡°Take aim, she¡¯s-¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s under the protection of the Watch, boy,¡± the old woman interrupted from above. ¡°Turn around before this gets unpleasant.¡±


    Angharad slowly took another step back, trying not to draw anyone¡¯s attention as she was uncomfortably aware that there was no cover at all on the dock: it was all bare stone. There were at least a dozen muskets in the crowd and with that many people aiming at her a glimpse would not be able to save her life.


    ¡°Boy?¡± the young man repeated, turning red. ¡°It¡¯s captain to you, you old bitch, and you best disappear back into your ship before I-¡±


    Angharad took another step back but this time she was noticed and half a dozen muskets were turned on her. Yet in the time that¡¯d passed the blackcloaks had not been idle and now sailors leaned over the side of the ship to aim their own muskets down at the redcloaks. She counted nine, a number that had her stomach clenching. Were there not more sailors on the ship?


    ¡°Before you what?¡± the old woman sneered. ¡°You so much as take a shot at us, boy captain, and it¡¯s a war you¡¯ll have on your hands.¡±


    ¡°A war I¡¯ll win,¡± the mustachioed man retorted. ¡°I have the numbers to storm your ship if you do not desist.¡±


    He seemed confident, and as Angharad glanced as the still-swelling numbers of redcloaks ¨C more were still coming from the backstreet ¨C she had to admit he was right. Not all of them had firearms, but all were armed and there had to be forty by now. The blackcloak laughed scornfully at the threat.


    ¡°And what do you think¡¯ll happen, after?¡± she asked. ¡°Once word gets to the Rookery that Sacromonte has broken the Iscariot Accords, that you attacked a Watch ship in the discharge of its duties?¡±


    A ripple of unease went through the guardsmen.


    ¡°Our orders are absolute,¡± the officer flatly replied.


    ¡°They¡¯ll recall every company from Broken Gates to the Weeping Light, boy,¡± the one-armed blackcloak said, ¡°to burn this fucking city to the ground. To make an example of Sacromonte.¡±


    She scoffed.


    ¡°Only whoever owns you won¡¯t want that war on their head,¡± the blackcloak said. ¡°So instead what¡¯ll happen is that they¡¯ll send all your heads to the Rookery in a basket as an apology before denting their treasury for reparations.¡±


    Unease turned to dismay, a few guardsmen even taking a step back. The officer¡¯s face was bright red with anger but he had no answer.


    ¡°I wonder how the infanzones will like paying up for your mistake,¡± the old woman added with a nasty little smile. ¡°Surely they¡¯re forgiving souls? They wouldn¡¯t take it out on your families after you die.¡±


    And that was the shot that sounded the rout. Another officer, older but with only half as many gaudy medals, took the captain aside and spoke in a hushed voice. It was a done deal anyhow, the rank and file already putting away their weapons. Whatever loyalty they had it did not stand stronger than the prospect of having their heads cut off. For all that was she was grateful, Angharad could not help but feel a thread of contempt. True soldiers would not have balked in the face of threats. It was the weakness of Sacromonte that it did not have proper ruling nobles, a weakness that trickled all the way down.


    ¡°I¡¯ll remember this,¡± the captain snarled, tearing away from the other redcloak.


    ¡°And we¡¯ll remember you, boy captain,¡± the blackcloak called back. ¡°You ought to be a lot more worried about that.¡±


    The Guardia cleared out in haste, as if ashamed of being seen driven away, and Angharad at last let out her breath. She¡¯d made it. The old woman called out for her to hurry and she raced up the ramp, seeing that hidden behind side of the ship there¡¯d been another dozen sailors. They were putting away muskets and orbs of metal bearing fuses that Angharad recognized as zhentianlei, those dreaded Tianxi grenades. No wonder the one-armed woman had not feared the redcloaks: packed tight as they had been on the docks, without cover, it would have been a slaughter. The noble offered said blackcloak a short bow of gratitude.


    ¡°My thanks for your protection, my lady,¡± Angharad said. ¡°I will not forget it.¡±


    ¡°The name¡¯s Celipa, and I¡¯m no lady of any kind,¡± the old woman snorted. ¡°You owe me nothing, girl. You¡¯ve got blood in the black and you¡¯re kin of Osian¡¯s besides.¡±


    She blinked.


    ¡°You know my uncle?¡±


    ¡°We were both part of the hunt for the Hull-Eater,¡± Celipa told her, then tapped the stump of her missing arm. ¡°After a thrall took a bite he helped set me up on the Bluebell.¡±


    Angharad choked. The Hull-Eater, as in the great spirit whose claws rent ships apart and whose army of crazed thralls had famously turned some ancient fortress into a den of horrors? Its death a few years ago had been widely celebrated back home, but Uncle Osian had never so much as hinted he¡¯d been involved. She could hardly imagine a man her mother had always considered ¨C however fondly ¨C to be useless in a fight anywhere near such a monster. At loss about anything to say, the noble got out something about how her uncle was a dutiful man while Celipa herded her across the deck towards broad stairs descending into the belly of the cog.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be two days before we get to the Dominion,¡± Celipa quietly said. ¡°Use the time to find allies, Tredegar. Loners always die early in the second trial.¡±


    It would have been ungrateful of her to demand that a woman who¡¯d saved her life address her properly as Lady Angharad, so the noble bit down on the sentence before it could leave her lips. Instead she nodded her gratitude at the advice before traversing the lower deck ¨C the kitchen, dormitories for the crew and the arsenal ¨C to make her way to the hold at the bottom. There she found the travellers she would share a journey with, having haphazardly claimed corners and cots. All eyes were on her from the moment she entered, the cost of being the last to arrive, but she kept her back straight. It would not do to show weakness.


    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    A sweeping look at the hold told her there had to be more than twenty people in there, but what drew and kept her eye was the well-dressed quartet being attended to at the back of the hold. Two men and two women. The men¡¯s close looks and identical red and blue cloaks outed them as kin, but the other two were dissimilar: one tall and lean, her short blond hair pulled in a bun while the other was a sultry dark-haired beauty with beautiful green eyes. Nobles, she instantly knew. Infanzones, as Sacromontans called them. The beauty met Angharad¡¯s eyes, smiling sweetly, and then addressed an older girl at her side in servant¡¯s livery.


    A few steps later the handmaiden was offering Angharad an elegant curtsy, bowing her head.


    ¡°Lady Isabel invites you to introduce yourself, my lady,¡± the girl said.


    Angharad acknowledged her with a polite nod, gathering herself for a moment before approaching her fellow nobles. The men looked bored at her approach, one of them even seeming irritated, but Lady Isabel¡¯s smile was yet sweet and her leaner companion looked curious. As the invited party, Angharad introduced herself first.


    ¡°Lady Angharad Tredegar of Llanw Hall,¡± she said, lightly bowing. ¡°At your service.¡±


    ¡°How genteel,¡± the green-eyed beauty exclaimed, putting a hand to her heart. ¡°I am Lady Isabel Ruesta, Lady Angharad, but you must call me Isabel.¡±


    ¡°It would be my very great pleasure,¡± Angharad replied, struggling to keep her gaze off the flattering cut of Lady Isabel¡¯s dress.


    Most her lovers had been cut more from the cloth of the other noble lady here than lovely Isabel¡¯s, but Angharad could appreciate beauty in all its forms. Including form-fitting dresses of yellow brocade. As a willful distraction, she turned to the woman by Lady Isabel¡¯s side.


    ¡°Lady Ferranda Villazur,¡± the lean woman introduced herself, tone cool. ¡°A pleasure.¡±


    Angharad returned the courtesy, though she was barely done speaking when one of the men cut in.


    ¡°You have the Malani look but the name does not fit,¡± the noble drawled. ¡°Strange.¡±


    Angharad¡¯s expression grew stiff and the implied accusation of being an impostor.


    ¡°That is, Remund, because she is not Malani,¡± the other man scoffed. ¡°These are Pereduri names.¡±


    He then offered her a bow and a practiced smile. At second look he looked older than the rude one, his face sharper and more refined.


    ¡°I am Lord Augusto Cerdan,¡± he said. ¡°Please forgive my brother¡¯s rudeness, Lady Angharad. He never did learn his courtesies.¡±


    ¡°It is nothing, Lord Augusto,¡± Angharad briskly replied, her mood soured.


    It was soured even further by Lord Remund¡¯s appraising gaze on her.


    ¡°Ah, Peredur,¡± the infanzon said. ¡°I had quite forgot about it. You¡¯re not much paler than the other Malani, though. I expected more of a difference.¡±


    Angharad¡¯s jaw clenched. Peredur was not like the other isles of the Kingdom of Malan. It was nearly impossible to conquer without a great fleet so Angharad¡¯s ancestors, unlike the Malani, had not swept across the island in a storm of iron and flame. They had instead settled the land and allied with the ancient dwellers of Peredur, twined the blood and slowly grown into a single people. And the ancient Pereduri had been men of pale skin, so to this day some ignorant souls expected Angharad¡¯s people to be much paler than the Malani. The polite ones, anyway.


    The less polite liked to imply that the ancient Pereduri had been hollows, darklings. Utter madness. The isles were drenched in the light of the Glare, no hollow could have lived there without burning! Besides some savage tribes encountered in the colonies had proved that some peoples of light skin were not soulless, turned pale not by the embrace of the Gloam but simply born with such flesh. Yet it suited some to imply the people of Peredur were descended from slaves and savages, the same hordes that allied with devils to bring about the Old Night.


    ¡°Alas,¡± Angharad frigidly replied, ¡°it seems I must disappoint.¡±


    ¡°Remund,¡± Lady Isabel chided, gently slapping his arm. ¡°Be nice.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I suppose,¡± Lord Remund groused. ¡°The pleasure is all mine, Lady Angharad.¡±


    Isabel seemed more amused than anything, which brought a glimmer of satisfaction to the younger Cerdan¡¯s eye that Angharad recognized. Ah, she thought. Perhaps her appreciative gaze had not been as subtle as she thought. From the corner of her eye she saw Lord Augusto eyeing the Lady Isabel and his brother with evident displeasure before brushing it away with a forced smile. He made a chiding comment about immaturity, injecting himself between the two. Angharad almost winced.


    ¡°It appears your coat was scuffed,¡± Lady Ferranda said, drawing back her attention. ¡°A traveling misfortune?¡±


    The other woman¡¯s steady gaze lay where the stray shot had caught her overcoat earlier. Angharad had no intention of mentioning her troubles to these strangers, fellow nobles or not, but then she suspected that Ferranda Villazur was well aware she was not looking at a simple scuff.


    ¡°There was a mishap with my trunk,¡± Angharad replied, carefully avoiding a lie. ¡°I will be travelling light.¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± Lady Isabel gently said as she drew away from the brothers, ¡°that simply won¡¯t do. Lady Angharad ¨C or may I call you Angharad?¡±


    Charmed, she returned the Sacromontan¡¯s smile.


    ¡°Of course.¡±


    ¡°Then call me Isabel, Angharad,¡± the beauty firmly offered again. ¡°My maids can take care of mending your coat, they are very clever with their hands.¡±


    She hesitated for a moment, but the bandage she had put over her wound on yesterday should not show under her shirt. Besides, it would be suspicious to refuse.


    ¡°I would be much obliged,¡± she said, shrugging off her coat.


    ¡°Beatris,¡± Isabel called out, summoning another handmaid. ¡°Do mend Lady Angharad¡¯s coat for her, would you?¡±


    ¡°Of course, my lady,¡± the dark-haired maid replied, curtsying before she approached.


    She took the coat when Angharad offered it. Isabel slid a look a Lady Ferranda.


    ¡°You really should have brought a maid, Ferra,¡± she said. ¡°Your man does not look like he knows how to use a needle.¡±


    ¡°Sanale serves a different purpose,¡± Lady Ferranda replied. ¡°I can take care of my own affairs, Isabel.¡±


    ¡°There is no need for that hired sword, I assure you,¡± Lord Remund smiled. ¡°I will be seeing to our safety, as will our good Cozme. One of the finest soldiers in Cerdan service, second only to my own finer blade.¡±


    ¡°If only your rapier were half as swift as your boasts,¡± Lord Augusto mildly said. ¡°Though he speaks true, Lady Ferranda, that it is our duty as sons of Cerdan to see to your safety through this trial. We must never abandon woman in need.¡±


    ¡°How kind,¡± Lady Ferranda replied, her tone savagely even.


    She did not seem impressed, Angharad thought, but then it was not on her that Augusto¡¯s eyes had lingered. Lady Isabel smiled back at the older Cerdan, but in the following moment let out a little noise of surprise before flowing forward. Warm fingers grasped Angharad¡¯s left arm, pushing up the sleeve of her shirt and baring the ten silver lines tattooed there over dark skin.


    ¡°A tattoo,¡± Isabel said, her touch soft. ¡°What might it mean, Angharad?¡±


    The looks the Cerdan brothers sent her were distinctly unfriendly. Lady Ferranda cut in before she could gather her wits enough to answer.


    ¡°Swordmistress,¡± the tall woman said, breathing out in surprise. ¡°Those are the marks of a Malani swordmistress.¡±


    They would have been, were they black and on Angharad¡¯s right arm instead, but after that early buffoonery from Remund she was disinclined to explain the nuance.


    ¡°It is a similar tradition,¡± Angharad simply said.


    Suddenly the Cerdans looked rather more wary of her. Wary enough to try to send her away, she figured, but whatever intention there might have been it immediately came to naught. Lady Ferranda¡¯s eyes lit up at her admission, leading into the first smile Angharad had seen out of the other woman.


    ¡°You must stay with us, then,¡± Ferranda Villazur firmly said. ¡°I happen to have a great many questions about such practices.¡±


    --


    Much as Angharad was used to the company of other nobles, she was also used to her family¡¯s title being among the lesser in the room. Though Mother had been wealthy and of some renown as a captain, Llanw Hall was no great estate. Compared to the great izinduna families some of her tournament competitors had come from, the House of Tredegar had been ants. It had therefore been a skill worth cultivating to be able to tell who the powerful people in a room were. Playing court with the four infanzones let her fall back into the habit and it was, if not comfortable, then at least a little nostalgic.


    The House of Cerdan, she learned, was by far the greatest of the noble lines involved here. Though it was not one of the founding families of Sacromonte, who traced their descent back the heyday of the Second Empire and good as ran the city, it was not far below them. While Augusto and Remund were not of the main line, they were great-nephews to the lord of the house and therefore not men to discount.


    They also despised each other.


    Watching them descend into thinly veiled snapping for the third time in an hour, Angharad cocked an eyebrow at Lady Ferranda. The tall noblewoman sighed, waiting until Isabel leaned forward to play peacemaker between the brothers before she answered.


    ¡°There is an inheritance involved,¡± she murmured. ¡°Remund is younger but has obtained a contract. Marrying well would settle the victor.¡±


    And Lady Isabel Ruesta would be, Angharad deduced, a very good marriage indeed. Not only was she a great beauty but she was the sole daughter of the Ruesta, a house of undistinguished descent but which happened to be very wealthy. No wonder the brothers went at each other like rabid dogs whenever one drew her attention over the other.


    ¡°Poor Isabel,¡± Angharad sympathized.


    Lady Ferranda shrugged. She was a woman of few words and tread with care around the others. Unsurprising, given that the Villazur were the least of the three houses by a fair throw. She had been quite frank about her intent to use a strong performance in the trials to gild her family¡¯s name and bring it back into the eyes of her fellow infanzones, perhaps even securing an advantageous husband. She had been preparing for this venture for years, going as far as to obtain the services of a man called Sanale which she claimed to be a Malani huntsman.


    ¡°Where from?¡± Angharad idly asked.


    Given the reputation of Malani marksmen, it was not an uncommon claim even among those who¡¯d never so much as seen the Isles.


    ¡°Does it matter what particular island tossed him out?¡± Remund chuckled, rolling his eyes.


    ¡°Uthukile,¡± Lady Ferranda replied, ignoring him.


    Angharad leaned back in the seat she had been offered, taking a look at the elaborate beadwork hanging off this Sanale¡¯s cloak where he sat among the servants. She could not see his face, but the colours of the beads were distinctive to the Low Isle. It seemed a credible claim.


    ¡°I was taught they are the finest shooters and trackers in Malan,¡± the noble acknowledged.


    And therefore all of Vesper, though it would be impolite so say as much. Terrible seafarers, however. Mother had always mourned so few took to ships given how good they were with muskets. Lady Ferranda straightened, visibly pleased, and Isabel pouted.


    ¡°You take it all too seriously, Ferra,¡± the dark-haired woman claimed, then daintily rose to her feet. ¡°And I must admit I grow weary of this dreary hold. Shall we go for a walk?¡±


    Augusto, the older Cerdan, wasted no time in mimicking her and offering his hand.


    ¡°Too right,¡± he said, ¡°you and I can-¡±


    ¡°No need, brother,¡± Lord Remund cut in. ¡°You stay and rest, I will escort our fair lady.¡±


    Lady Ferranda looked as if she had a dawning headache, but she stayed out of it and Angharad decided it might be best for her as well. The Cerdans argued, growing more irritated and worse at hiding it. Isabel then cut through the backbiting by offering Angharad a sweet smile.


    ¡°Would you do me the honour, Angharad?¡± she asked. ¡°I never did get you to tell me of Peredur.¡±


    The glares that earned her felt like they would burn through her clothes, which irritated her enough she accepted out of spite.


    ¡°I am at your disposal, of course,¡± she said, smoothly rising to her feet.


    The brothers¡¯ faced darkened, but they were not so impolite as to insist when an invitation had been clearly given and accepted. Angharad offered her arm for Isabel to take and they headed for the stairs, though her eyes strayed to the side as they moved. She¡¯d heard Lord Remund mentioning other Malani earlier but now she was finally seeing them. Seated between crates, talking in low voices, a young pair of youths were tucked away. Behind them a scarred older woman was napping. The man of the pair, narrow-faced but built like a fighter, kept glancing around. As if looking for something.


    Or someone, Angharad realized with a trickle of cold dread. Her pursuers had known she was headed for the Bluebell, for these trials, and tried to stop her getting on the ship. But would they truly stop there when assassins had dogged her steps all the way from Peredur? It had not occurred to her until now that there might be a hired knife for waiting for her on the ship. Uncle Osian¡¯s letter had implied that there were few rules during the trials, that much was allowed. Perhaps even murder. The thought had her tensing enough that Isabel noticed. Thankfully, she misinterpreted the reason.


    ¡°They can be a little much,¡± the dark-haired beauty admitted. ¡°It will do me some good to have some fresh air in good company.¡±


    ¡°Have they always been like this?¡± Angharad asked, grateful for the change of subject.


    They rose up the stairs, drawing the attention of the sailors on the lower deck as they passed. No one tried to stop them, as a few hours past an officer had come to tell them it would be allowed for a few travellers at a time to come up for air so long as they stayed out of the way.


    ¡°They were sweeter, once,¡± Isabel wistfully said. ¡°But we all have duties now. It complicates matters.¡±


    Angharad inclined her head. She had never held any interest in men, but the contrary had not always been true. Her status as the heiress to Llanw Hall had sometimes made it a difficult affair to decline without giving offence as a lady. The lives of nobles did not belong to them alone.


    ¡°Sometimes I wish I could be free of all this,¡± Isabel confessed as they went up the last of the stairs. ¡°That I might find love where I please instead.¡±


    As if by fate¡¯s whim, she finished the sentence just as the two of them took to the deck and the sight of it caught in Angharad¡¯s throat. Lovely Isabel in her yellow brocade, with eyes like emeralds and her delicate face framed by dark hair like raven¡¯s wings ¨C all of it with the Trebian Sea spread out behind her as far as the eye could see, waters touched with golden lucent streaks as the great mirrors and devices in firmament above spread shards of the Glare¡¯s light across an entire sea. It was an unearthly sight, one that dried Angharad¡¯s mouth and left her half a babbling fool. She swallowed. Isabel smiled.


    ¡°But I must be boring you,¡± she said.


    ¡°Never,¡± Angharad insisted, cursing herself for the unseemly haste of the reply.


    Isabel, if she had noticed, was kind enough not to comment as she led them to the edge of the ship. There they leaned against the side, letting the wind ruffle their hair as the Bluebell sailed across the tranquil waters of the Trebian Sea. It was a strange sight compared to the dark waters around the Isles, where the darkness of the Gloam ran deep. Unlike her own people, the powers that bordered the Trebian Sea had never had to fear a ship disappearing into the dark and returning years later - if at all. The lights coming down from firmament were only thinly of the Glare but they were enough to prevent most storms from forming and, more importantly, prevent sailors from catching Gloam sickness.


    Rare were the seamen of this sea who were severed from the Circle by lack of exposure to the Glare, turning into pale hollows without an immortal soul to reincarnate.


    ¡°Look, it¡¯s so far already!¡± Isabel enthused, pointing in the distance.


    Angharad followed the finger to the sight of two beams of Glare falling from firmament onto a cluster of distant, lesser lights like swords cutting through the dark. Sacromonte, unlike most great cities of Vesper, had not been raised under some blessed machinery of the Antediluvians that doled out light in patterns. It stood under simple pit of Glare. The light that touched the city¡¯s noble districts came from a hole ripped into firmament, coming raw from the unblinking sun that had turned the Old World to ash and dust.


    ¡°You should see the Isles, one day,¡± Angharad chuckled, shaking her head. ¡°They are all under one great pit whose light covers all but the furthest edges of Peredur and Uthukile. It can be seen from weeks away if there is no Gloam storm hiding it.¡±


    ¡°I would much like to travel, one day,¡± Isabel smiled, ¡°but surely our corner of Vesper does have some charms?¡±


    Angharad bit down on a very smitten answer by forcing herself to look away. A shape on the horizon delivered her beleaguered spirit a reply that would not make a fool of her. She nodded, pointing at a crooked and half-submerged tower jutting out of the sea in the distance. It glittered with great broken mirrors and aether machinery.


    ¡°Certainly, there is nowhere else where so many ancient wonders remain,¡± Angharad said.


    Though many were now broken as the tower must be, their purpose lost to centuries or their intricate mechanisms beyond even the finest craftsmen of Tianxia. The Antediluvians had built their miracles in the ancient times of the First Empire, untold centuries ago, and Vesper had gone through many a ruin since.


    ¡°I would have thought fresher delights able to be found,¡± Isabel told her, tone gone a little tart.


    Angharad coughed, embarrassed, as she tried to read the other woman¡¯s face to no avail. The dark-haired beauty sighed, idly laying a hand on Angharad¡¯s arm. The noble cursed the knots in her tongue that were stubbornly refusing to undo. And to think she¡¯d been complimented on an artful seduction by her last lover!


    ¡°Tell me of Peredur,¡± Isabel asked, perhaps taking pity.


    Angharad gratefully did, speaking of the stony and barren shores where forests of ships nestled in secret inlets, of the green rolling hills and deep forests that grew as one travelled east. Isabel seemed fascinated, always asking more, and though it all felt like it had only been a moment the ache of her arms against the side of the ship told it had been much longer than that. It was time to take their leave, but Angharad begged off going back down with her companion. She spoke of wanting to have a last look around the deck, though the truth was that she wanted to put herself together.


    It was a sweet parting and Angharad closed her eyes, letting out a long breath. She had been much too obvious and was ashamed of herself. It had been improper behaviour for a lady of her breeding and a poor idea besides, given how Isabel Ruesta had some rather insistent suitors after her. Regaining her calm, she opened her eyes to see the ship approaching the ruined tower she¡¯d sighted earlier. In the waters around it, tucked under dark ripples, ghostly shapes were swimming. She squinted, leaning further over the side, and made out a stripe going down a spine that bore the ghostly light and some spindly arms. From the fresh angle she could even see that some of the creatures were swimming besides the ship.


    ¡°Mantics.¡±


    Angharad nearly leapt out of her skin, drawing back and reaching for her blade as she turned towards the woman who¡¯d addressed her. Tianxi, she saw, and wearing her dark hair in a braid down her back. A fair girl no older than Angharad herself but whose silver eyes were unsettling. The more she saw them, the more she grew convinced they were not of a natural shade. The Pereduri noble¡¯s hand stayed close to her sabre¡¯s hilt for the other woman had a weapon of her own: a straight sword in the Tianxi style, a jian.


    ¡°I beg your pardon?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re called mantics, the creatures you¡¯re looking at,¡± the stranger elaborated. ¡°Lierganen claim they feed on the corpses of sailors who died too young. They are scavengers, however, lares and not lemures.¡±


    Most nations did not speak of the world as Malani and Pereduri did, all spirits under the Sleeping God, but instead used the old Lierganen terms. ¡®Lares¡¯, for beasts that partook of aether but were not necessarily hostile to men, and ¡®lemures¡¯ for those that hunted mankind out of hatred regardless of need.


    ¡°Thank you for the lesson,¡± Angharad slowly replied.


    She even half meant it.


    ¡°The interesting thing,¡± the stranger mused, ¡°is that they are said to avoid ships.¡±


    Angharad frowned.


    ¡°Some are following us,¡± she pointed out.


    ¡°And have been for several hours now,¡± the stranger agreed. ¡°It is the third time I have come up to look.¡±


    The noble took a wary step back. This no longer felt to her as a meeting of happenstance, idle talk between shipmates.


    ¡°Who are you?¡± she asked. ¡°Why are you approaching me?¡±


    ¡°I simply wanted to have a look at the woman shots were fired over,¡± the Tianxi calmly replied. ¡°As for my name, you may call me Song.¡±


    Angharad¡¯s fingers closed around the hilt of her blade.


    ¡°You¡¯ve had your look,¡± she said.


    ¡°So I have,¡± Song agreed. ¡°And you are as interesting as I thought you might be, so I leave you with a warning.¡±


    The Tianxi made to leave, pausing only before she passed Angharad.


    ¡°Do not let yourself think this ship is safe. At this rate, there will be trouble long before we reach the island.¡±


    And on that ominous note, the dark-haired stranger walked away. The noble watched her go, the grip on her sabre loosening only when this ¡®Song¡¯ disappeared below deck.


    The wind brushed against her face, and Angharad was left wondering if it had always been so cold.

 Chapter 5

    Tristan needed a way in.


    The infanzones had claimed a corner of the hold and were entertaining the sole foreigner they¡¯d decided was worth their time, mere feet away but far beyond his reach. The thief did have to admit the Malani they¡¯d picked was a fearsome specimen, with two inches of height on him and a build hinting she could handle that saber she was dragging around. Unlike the noblewoman he was unlikely to get invited for refreshments, however, so he¡¯d have to find another angle. Fortunately one was there for the taking: the infanzones had brought attendants with them. Six people in all, and one would be his key.


    The soldiers, as soldiers did, went to dice the moment their masters ceased paying attention. Even the grim-faced Malani huntsman in Villazur service went, joining a tall man in Ruesta colours and the man Tristan would kill before this was all over: Cozme Aflor, thrice accursed and may the fucking devils of Pandemonium eat him whole. There had already been a game going near the mass of crates in the back of the hold, so after the soldiers joined Tristan simply did the same. The welcome was lukewarm until he flashed some coppers, which were in short supply. Most were playing for buttons or trinkets.


    ¡°We¡¯re playing Augur,¡± a dark-haired woman enthusiastically told him. ¡°No matches, Sacromonte rules.¡±


    ¡°Which are nonsense,¡± a scarred Malani complained. ¡°Why would the Lovers¡¯ Stars make you lose?¡±


    Considering most the circle was Sacromontans, she won herself a few unfriendly stares with that.


    ¡°We call them the Rat King¡¯s eyes,¡± Cozme smiled, stroking his beard. ¡°He is not a god whose attentions are kind.¡±


    Tristan smirked. It was an old legend that the Rat King had been but a pack of rats, once, but that they had devoured one of the Manes ¨C those great pristine gods so beloved of the infanzones ¨C and become a deity even those old things feared. There were a thousand gods worshipped and bargained with in the mud of the Murk, but few as beloved as the Rat King. He was as a patron to the lost and beggared, those who dwelled in shadow and filth. Not the kind of god that would look well upon the likes of Cozme Aflor.


    ¡°It¡¯s the usual way,¡± the same dark-haired woman insisted. ¡°Play or leave.¡±


    The grizzled Malani sighed but picked up the dice, dropping them in a wooden cup before shaking it. Tristan had played Augur before, it was the simplest of dicing games, and so he was not afraid of losing too badly. He was not here to win anyhow. Betting low, he made sure to stay in the game as the dicers began to chat. The pushy dark-haired one who¡¯d lit up at the sight of his coppers was called Aines, and now he recognized her from earlier. She was the woman married to the dust addict. Said man was napping, which spared him the sight of his wife losing badly at Augur.


    Gods but Tristan had never seen someone so genuinely terrible at a game of chance.


    He was grateful for it, as her emptying pile of buttons loosened tongues. Winning always put folk in a fine mood. Information slowly trickled in. The huntsman come with the Villazur was named Sanale, though he spoke little save when the other Malani addressed him in some foreign tongue. Tristan knew a little Umoya, but whatever they spoke only seemed to have so much in common with the best known tongue out of the Isles. Inyoni, the older woman with the scars who¡¯d complained about the rules earlier, was a great deal chattier in everyone¡¯s shared Antigua. The thief asked casually about the other two Malani she¡¯d come with earlier in the day, soon surprised at easily getting an answer he¡¯d figured he would have to finesse out.


    ¡°The boy¡¯s my nephew,¡± Inyoni said. ¡°I¡¯m coming along to keep an eye on him.¡±


    ¡°Family is the most important thing,¡± Aines agreed.


    The man in Ruesta colours rolled his eyes at them. This one was called Recardo, and though he was not as large as the Aztlan legbreaker it was a close thing. Closely shaved, he had the kind of well-proportioned face that Tristan knew was considered handsome. He was also, to put it in a single word, a shit.


    ¡°Women¡¯s talk,¡± Recardo mocked before pushing a copper on a bet below four.


    Aines bet two buttons on above nine, solid odds she had somehow already lost thrice on.


    ¡°There¡¯s no need for rudeness,¡± Cozme drawled, pushing his own bet on eight precise.


    He liked to look like a good man, Cozme Aflor. Tristan had been young but he remembered that much. The others on the List had been demanding, often rude, but Cozme had always been kind with his father. Told him with a smile that it would be over soon, that he just needed to get through it. He¡¯d still had that same smile on his face when pulling the trigger. The thief¡¯s gaze must have lingered, for the bearded man glanced at him curiously. There was not a speck of recognition on the Cozme¡¯s face, not that he had expected one. He¡¯d been but a child when they last met. Tristan smiled, burying his hatred deep.


    ¡°What is it like, working for infanzones?¡± the thief asked, feigning fascination.


    Cozme did not hide his smugness.


    ¡°Exhausting, but rewarding in its own way,¡± he claimed. ¡°Though in truth I serve not the brothers but one of their uncles, so they must listen to me in all things.¡±


    Tristan doubted that very much but nodded as if admiring. Recardo, who¡¯d been listening to them, laughed.


    ¡°The perks are shit when working for the Cerdan,¡± the big man said. ¡°Now me? I get to look over Lady Isabel and her pretty little maids, there¡¯s a real prize.¡±


    It was not the first time tonight he mentioned the maids, which he seemed to be laying claim on to an entirely disinterested audience. The huntsman Sanale eyed the other man, then muttered something to the other Malani. Tristan smothered a smile when he recognized the words in Umoya, which translated to something like ¡®crow-meat¡¯. A grinning Inyoni rolled the dice, a three and five. Aines cursed disbelievingly, Cozme smirking as he claimed the pot. Recardo looked none to pleased at having lost, his coppers thinning.


    ¡°We ought to get the valet in there,¡± the big man said. ¡°Go get him, Cozme.¡±


    ¡°Gascon attending to the brothers is why I can sit here in peace,¡± the bearded man replied, shaking his head. ¡°Besides, he¡¯s not as bad with money as you think.¡±


    And like that Tristan had what he wanted: names and faces for all six attendants. Recardo seemed like the kind of man that would be easy to get talking when plied with liquor and flattery, but entirely too unreliable to be used. Neither Sanale nor Cozme could be his key either. The Malani was quiet and distant while Tristan was not sure how well he¡¯d be able to hide his hatred if he spent too long around the other man. That left the personal servants. Since the Cerdan valet was even now polishing the boots of the brothers, Tristan¡¯s gaze moved to the Ruesta handmaids. It¡¯d have to be one of them.


    Now he just needed to get rid of one last problem.


    ¡°Four radizes on below five,¡± Fortuna demanded in his ear, draped over his shoulder. ¡°This one¡¯s a win, I can feel it in my bones.¡±


    Tristan grimaced. He could not risk even a whisper, not so close to so many people. Irksome when he was itching to point that she did not, in fact, have bones.


    ¡°Come on,¡± Fortuna insisted. ¡°When have I ever steered you wrong?¡±


    Every single time he¡¯d gambled, he silently replied. He put two coppers on six exact instead.


    ¡°Wait, no, you¡¯re right,¡± she muttered. ¡°This is better. All in, Tristan. Bet everything.¡±


    Fortuna, as befitting of the Lady of Long Odds, only had two stratagems in games of chance: doubling down or going all in. He ignored her, which proved warranted when a moment later two fives were rolled and he lost his coppers. He then used the loss as a pretext for retreat, forcing himself to ignore Fortuna¡¯s indignant howling.


    ¡°We had them, Tristan,¡± the goddess bellowed. ¡°Our luck was turning around, I¡¯m sure of it. We just needed to keep at it a little longer.¡±


    Abuela had taught him that gods always craved something. It was in their nature: they were aether given face through mankind¡¯s touch, leaving them with hungers that they could only satisfy through men. It was what gods got from contracts, a way to sate those hungers, and the same reason that if he listened to Fortuna he would bet on bad dice until he was destitute. It was that one in a hundred thousand victory she craved, the Long Odds come true. To her losing a thousand times for that single unlikely win would be nothing more than suffering through overcooked greens to get at a juicy side of pork.


    ¡°We¡¯ll try again later,¡± Tristan murmured, pretending to be brushing his knee so he could hide his mouth.


    ¡°You always say that,¡± Fortuna pouted, ¡°but then we never do.¡±


    She was pouting, so the storm had passed. She¡¯d stay snippy about it for a bit then before the turn of the hour entirely forget. With that seen to, he turned his attention back to the handmaids. Both were near their mistress, who was playing at court with the other nobles and ignoring them so long as she did not need anything fetched. One, a short dark-haired woman whose name he had learned was Beatris, was finishing up mending a coat with needle and thread. The other, a redhead whose name was Briceida ¨C information obtained through Recardo¡¯s boasting he would get her in bed ¨C was paging through a book with a bored look. Tristan got closer but not enough to earn more than an indifferent glance from either, waiting for an opportunity.


    It came when Beatris began to put away her needle in a neat box, a sight he answered by immediately borrowing luck.


    The ticking began in the back of his mind, a clock¡¯s moving gears, and a heartbeat later the box slipped through the maid¡¯s hands. Needles and threads spilled all over the floor, the woman letting out a horrified gasp, and even as he rose to help her Tristan released the luck he¡¯d borrowed. Fortune snapped back, lightly so for the lightness of what he¡¯d taken, but it returned with unerring aim. A wooden bobbin rolled under his foot and he slipped with a started yelp, falling forward. Tristan landed on his knees, only a hand keeping his face off the bottom of the hold, and did his best to ignore Fortuna¡¯s hysterical laughter.


    ¡°Sweet Manes, are you alright?¡±


    Sighing, the thief looked up at Beatris¡¯ face ¨C she was trying to hide her amusement but failing ¨C and dragged himself back up.


    ¡°Nothing was wounded save my pride,¡± he wryly replied. ¡°Would you like a hand?¡±


    ¡°That is kind of you to offer,¡± the maid said, sounding surprised. ¡°It would be appreciated.¡±


    The threads had rolled away in every direction and needles were hard to pick out in the gloom of the hold, so it was genuine work to get them back. The other maid ignored them as they scuttled about, at first, until finally she closed her book with a loud sigh and got up. Brushing back red curls, she bent and picked up a single bobbin of blue thread as Beatris was reaching out for it. It was dropped into the box almost contemptuously before Briceida turned a sneer on the both of them.


    ¡°Careful the vagrant doesn¡¯t pocket some of Lady Isabel¡¯s things, Beatris,¡± the redhead said, then her lips quirked cruelly. ¡°Though maybe he¡¯ll cut you in so you can finally afford a decent dress.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll take responsibility if there is a mishap, Briceida,¡± Beatris curtly replied.


    ¡°Drop things less, then,¡± Briceida advised. ¡°Your breeding is showing.¡±


    And on that parting shot she flounced away, leaving dark-haired Beatris struggling not look furious. It passed after a moment and the maid turned an apologetic look on the thief.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± she said.


    ¡°What for?¡± Tristan snorted. ¡°She seems a horrid bitch.¡±


    A gamble, but he liked his odds. Beatris¡¯ mouth closed but she was not quite able to silence the laugh startling its way out of her throat. Under Tristan¡¯s smiling gaze the maid convulsed a few times, then erupted into giggles.


    ¡°She really is,¡± Beatris admitted. ¡°You¡¯d think she were a king¡¯s daughter instead of a drapier¡¯s.¡±


    Ah, Tristan thought. So it was like that. Drapiers were wealthy men and the pressing reason one¡¯s daughter would be serving as handmaid to a lady was so she might use that foothold in noble circles to marry up. Meaning Briceida was a maid only until she found better, while Beatris would be a servant for life. Their status ¨C and treatment ¨C would be starkly different. Good for him, though. An enemy, especially a common one, would make it easier to forge ties.


    ¡°My sympathies,¡± the thief told her, finding he meant it.


    The dark-eyed maid looked up at him for a moment, then hummed. Bringing her hand to the side of her dress as if to straighten it, she discreetly curled her fore and middle fingers. The thief hid his surprise at the sight of the Mark of the Rat being made, pretending to scratch at his sideburns while returning it. Beatris smiled.


    ¡°Had a feeling you might be,¡± she said.


    ¡°Born in Feria,¡± he told her.


    Feria District was of the nicer parts of the Murk. He¡¯d not stayed there ¨C without his father, there had been no affording the rent set by the Cerdan ¨C but telling Beatris he¡¯d cut his teeth in rougher places like Araturo and Cayerar would do him no favours. The dark-haired maid¡¯s smiled grew more genuine.


    ¡°I am as well,¡± she told him. ¡°The north end, near Araturo.¡±


    ¡°East for me, around Weeper¡¯s avenue,¡± he shared.


    She looked impressed, though she should not have been.


    ¡°Before they prettied it up,¡± he clarified.


    These last few years the noble House of Cerdan had cleaned up some of the many streets they owned in Feria. Mostly so they could raise the rents, throwing out the old tenants and replacing them with wealthier migrants that couldn¡¯t find rooms in the ever-overcrowded Quays. A lucrative racket, by all reports.


    ¡°Figures,¡± Beatris drily said, eyeing him up and down.


    He grinned back. Tristan was cleaner than most, for a dirty thief would not be allowed into anywhere worth robbing, but he still had filth under his fingernails. He¡¯d not bathed in a few days even if his clothes were clean. Not so for the maid, who even smelled faintly of lilac. Before he could tease her about that, an interruption bowled them over. Lady Isabel Ruesta was barely taller than Beatris and just as dark-haired, but she was hard to mistake for the other. The infanzon had an indolence about her particular to those that¡¯d never done a day¡¯s work in their life.


    ¡°It was lovely of you to help Beatris,¡± the Ruesta told him, smiling and laying a hand on his wrist. ¡°May I have your name, sir?¡±


    It was an effort not to allow distaste to show on his face.


    ¡°Tristan,¡± the thief smiled back. ¡°It is my honour to meet you, Lady Ruesta.¡±


    The infanzon tittered.


    ¡°Call me Lady Isabel,¡± she insisted. ¡°It is the least I can do for someone who so gallantly helped my maid.¡±


    She shot Beatris a look of condescending fondness.


    ¡°She is not usually so clumsy, I swear to you.¡±


    Beatris bent her head before her mistress, murmuring apologies that were airily dismissed. Practice kept Tristan¡¯s smile from growing visibly stiff.


    ¡°It must be the ship,¡± the thief said. ¡°Journeys have their difficulties.¡±


    The noble brat nodded.


    ¡°Too true,¡± she said, smile brightening. ¡°Yet they are so very exciting!¡±


    She patted his arm again.


    ¡°I do hope to see more of you, Tristan,¡± the Ruesta said. ¡°We shall talk again.¡±


    She flounced off as suddenly as she had flounced in, returning to her nest of nobles. The grey-eyed thief waited until she was settled to turn to Beatris and roll his eyes.


    ¡°Would it be rude,¡± he said, ¡°to offer my sympathies twice?¡±


    The dark-haired maid blinked, then turned an intense gaze on him.


    ¡°No,¡± she slowly said. ¡°But you mean-¡±


    Beatris hesitated.


    ¡°Did you not find her charming?¡±


    ¡°The opposite,¡± Tristan frankly replied.


    Beatris¡¯ face twisted in surprise, to his own. She bit her lip.


    ¡°Forgive me for the indiscretion,¡± the maid said. ¡°But are you perhaps¡­¡±


    She gestured vaguely, but the meaning itself was clear enough. It was not particularly polite to ask strangers if they were homosexual, however, so he cocked an eyebrow.


    ¡°Why would that matter?¡±


    Beatris bit her lip again, then leaned closer.


    ¡°She has a contract,¡± the dark-eyed maid whispered. ¡°I don¡¯t know the terms, but it seems to charm people ¨C only those that are attracted to her, though, at least I think.¡±


    The thief felt sick at the realization that the fucking infanzon had been turning a contract on him the entire time she was pretending to play nice, jaw clenching. It couldn¡¯t give her too much control over others, he knew, else she would be in breach of the Iscariot Accords and the Watch would have purged the entire Ruesta family. Yet the thought that she had been seeking to influence his mind was still nauseating. He hid his anger, lest someone notice it, but there had been no avoiding the maid¡¯s eyes. It¡¯d be safer to concede an answer to keep her on side, he decided.


    ¡°I do not deal in attraction,¡± Tristan told her. ¡°Not physical, at least.¡±


    ¡°Asexual?¡± Beatris asked.


    He shrugged. The thief had never much cared to put a name to his inclinations ¨C or lack thereof ¨C but he supposed it fit well enough. He¡¯d caught feelings once or twice over the years, but it had not changed his distaste for sex. For all that he¡¯d remained vague, Beatris significantly warmed to him after. Was she truly so desperate for company that would not be charmed by her despicable mistress? It must be so, for as the two of them sat near the nobles¡¯ travelling trunks the dark-haired woman gossiped away at him with great eagerness. Tristan swallowed a smile of triumph when the talk turned to the infanzones.


    ¡°She¡¯s been stringing along the Cerdan brothers for about a year now,¡± Beatris noted. ¡°Making them fight for her attention, knowing they want her hand in marriage to settle their inheritance dispute.¡±


    ¡°The brothers are at odds?¡± Tristan casually asked.


    ¡°Hate each other, more like,¡± Beatris snorted. ¡°The only reason they¡¯re taking the trials is to chase Lady Isabel. If it weren¡¯t for Cozme Aflor coming along to keep them in line, I¡¯d be worried about them trying to bump each other off.¡±


    ¡°He was boasting about them having to listen to him earlier,¡± the thief shared.


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    ¡°He¡¯s full of shit,¡± the maid replied. ¡°I talked with the maids of a Cerdan cousin when Lady Isabel last called on Lord Augusto and they told me word in the house is that he¡¯s being sent as punishment. He used to be in high favour but botched some kind of affair with House Ragoza.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s here to make sure they both come back,¡± Tristan surmised.


    ¡°The poor bastard,¡± Beatris agreed. ¡°It¡¯s cruel to play with them so, but I can understand why the lady doesn¡¯t want to marry them. Remund was a real bastard even before he got his contract, but the talk since he got it is worse.¡±


    He cocked his head to the side.


    ¡°Apparently he trains using it on servants,¡± she murmured. ¡°Some sort of light he can make shackles with, but it burns the skin. One showed me marks.¡±


    How was it, Tristan wondered, that even knowing they were monstrous he was still angered at hearing of the petty cruelty of Cerdans?


    ¡°And the elder brother¡¯s as bad?¡± he asked.


    ¡°I still have family in Feria,¡± Beatris said, ¡°and they passed on rumours. He was placed in charge of the Cerdan properties there a few years back, rents and such, and he¡¯s got a¡­ reputation.¡±


    The implication there was an ugly one. Tristan wished it was the first time he had heard it spoken, or that it had even the slightest chance of being the last.


    ¡°How bad?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s said he doesn¡¯t force the girls into bed,¡± the maid admitted. ¡°But he¡¯ll hold off on collecting a debt or a rent if he¡¯s kept company.¡±


    Kept company. What a gentle way to put it. They were both children of the Murk, so they knew well that in life some choices were not really choices at all.


    ¡°Pieces of work,¡± Tristan said, the hatred is in voice old and lovingly tended to. ¡°I¡¯m almost rooting for Ruesta to make them bare knives.¡±


    ¡°She won¡¯t,¡± Beatris said, shaking her head. ¡°For the same reason I know she won¡¯t marry either: she¡¯s keeping her reputation pristine so she can get the husband she does wants. An older cousin on her mother¡¯s side, from a branch of the Livares.¡±


    Tristan¡¯s brow rose. The House of Livares was one of the founding families of Sacramonte. Isabel Ruesta did not lack for ambition, to seek marriage into even one of the lesser branches.


    ¡°She¡¯ll need more than contract to win that,¡± he opined.


    Beatris nodded.


    ¡°It¡¯s why she decided to take the trials,¡± the maid said. ¡°The cousin is taking them as well, gone over on the first ship. She¡¯ll be pursuing him throughout the whole mess.¡±


    ¡°While playing with the Cerdans the whole time,¡± Tristan muttered. ¡°Infanzones. Like it won¡¯t be dangerous enough already.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯ll pick up a few others to toy with,¡± Beatris predicted. ¡°Already she¡¯s sunk her hooks into that poor Malani girl.¡±


    ¡°The one with the saber?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the one. Some kind of fallen noble from the Isles, I think,¡± the maid shrugged. ¡°Already smitten and getting used to prick the brothers.¡±


    ¡°At least she looks like she can handle a blade,¡± Tristan said. ¡°Another sword arm can¡¯t hurt on the Dominion of Lost Things.¡±


    ¡°I suppose,¡± she doubtfully replied.


    ¡°Though I expect you¡¯d be safer than most without,¡± the thief said, tone carefully idle. ¡°I¡¯d be surprised if the infanzones hadn¡¯t made a pact to share their soldiers.¡±


    He hoped not, for it would complicate getting at Cozme and the Cerdans, but that was not the way of the world. Nobles always closed rank, hid each other¡¯s vileness.


    ¡°All but Lady Villazur,¡± Beatris absent-mindedly confirmed. ¡°She¡¯s been putting off answering. But safety is a¡­ relative thing.¡±


    The dark-haired maid turned an anxious but hopeful look on him. Tristan had been asked enough favours by the more desperate than he to recognize when someone was about to do it.


    ¡°I saw you dicing earlier,¡± Beatris said. ¡°Did you perhaps chat with a man named Recardo?¡±


    The large Ruesta soldier, Tristan thought. The same who¡¯d been warning everyone off Lady Isabel¡¯s two maids, since he had a ¡®claim¡¯ on them.


    ¡°You came up,¡± the thief said, not beating around the bush. ¡°He seemed very certain his advances would be accepted.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m worried,¡± the dark-eyed maid quietly said, ¡°that he¡¯s certain because he won¡¯t care if I am accepting.¡±


    Tristan stilled.


    ¡°You are a lady¡¯s handmaid,¡± he slowly said.


    ¡°I¡¯m not a drapier¡¯s daughter, Tristan,¡± Beatris tiredly replied. ¡°He wouldn¡¯t dare on Ruesta grounds, but out here? I¡¯m just some girl plucked out of the Murk because I resembled Lady Isabel when we were children. So long as he does it out of sight¡­¡±


    She must have been body double as well as a handmaid, he thought. Only now Beatris was shorter and broader than Isabel Ruesta, so her value had taken a sharp dive: the two resembled each other no more than any other pair of dark-haired women close in age.


    ¡°So you¡¯re looking to make friends,¡± he said.


    ¡°I can be useful to you too,¡± Beatris firmly retorted. ¡°I already proved it with all the things I¡¯ve been telling you, haven¡¯t I? Besides, I¡¯m a way for you to get in with their group and that¡¯s exactly why you¡¯ve been sniffing around.¡±


    He eyed the maid, a smile tugging at his lips unbidden.


    ¡°A proper rat you are,¡± Tristan praised. ¡°Name your terms.¡±


    She straightened her back.


    ¡°Keep an eye out for me when he¡¯s prowling,¡± the maid said. ¡°If I¡¯m sent out alone, make an excuse to follow. I don¡¯t expect you to win a fight against a soldier, but if you just delay him long enough I can run¡­¡±


    Then she could get back to the others and make a ruckus. Lady Isabel would have to act if confronted with such a situation, else she would lose all honour and her reputation would be ruined. Who would serve a noble that did not protect her own handmaids? Still, more likely Beatris was betting on Recardo not being willing to take the risk of trying anything if there was a witness given the consequences of getting caught. A practical solution. Only he needed a little more from her.


    ¡°I¡¯ve made another friend,¡± Tristan said. ¡°A former soldier. I want him to be invited as well.¡±


    The maid hesitated.


    ¡°It¡¯s to your advantage as well,¡± he pressed. ¡°Two of us watching out for you, one more pair of hands if Recardo tries his luck - and a pair trained in fighting at that.¡±


    The promise of someone that might be able to handle the large Ruesta soldier in a fight was what tipped the decision, Tristan decided as he watched her. The dark-haired maid nodded, first with hesitation but then briskly the second time.


    ¡°They¡¯ll start looking around for people to grow their numbers tomorrow,¡± Beatris said. ¡°I attended to Lady Isabel this morning while they discussed it. I¡¯ll make sure you and your friend get in.¡±


    ¡°Then we have a bargain,¡± Tristan replied. ¡°On my oath, may a hundred gods bite me should I break it.¡±


    Beatris returned the promise in kind. It was said that in ancient times the great sages of Liergan had known how to make such oaths binding, but even if the tale was true the words had long outlived the learning. Now it was simple ceremony. Before they parted ways, Tristan lightly laid a hand on her arm to stop her.


    ¡°I have a wonder,¡± he said.


    ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°If a great misfortune was to strike Recardo,¡± Tristan asked with the softness of a feather, ¡°would you then also consider our bargain upheld?¡±


    Beatris breathed in sharply, dark eyes searching his face. She hesitated for a long moment, only for her back to straighten again.


    ¡°The hungry bite, the beggared snatch,¡± she softly quoted back.


    The cornered fight, Tristan finished. So went the Law of Rats, and though they might have left the Murk the Murk had not left them. She did not need to speak the word for him to hear the agreement. Nodding his understanding, he bade her a silent farewell. Closing his eyes as he listened to her footsteps moving away, Tristan made himself go over the conversation again. He had made no obvious mistakes or betrayed his interest in seeing half the infanzones aboard dead, he decided. A victory then, however uneasy it made him. He would have to ponder a way to get rid of Recardo if the opportunity came.


    The pact between the nobles to share their soldiers meant killing the man would be useful anyhow.


    Now he only needed to sell the bargain he¡¯d struck to Yong, on whose behalf he had also bargained, but he did not anticipate conflict there. The soldier had plainly told him he sought only to get to the third trial, nothing else mattering to him. Using the infanzones for safety, at least for a time, would be a boon. The Tianxi was laying slumped in a corner and reeking of booze when Tristan found him, but his eyes were open and he was studying the lay of the hold.


    ¡°Alliances are forming,¡± Yong said, tone slurring. ¡°Look.¡±


    The thief sat before following the pointed finger, wrinkling his nose as the smell of liquor. His ally, however drunk, was correct. Groups were forming. The first around that disturbingly perfect-looking Aztlan that came recommended. The large legbreaker from the Menor Mano was sitting with him, as was the pair from Asphodel: both the young noble with acne and the gaunt exhausted man Tristan had been warned about. Leander Galatas, here on recommendation by the Navigator¡¯s Guild and might hold knowledge of Signs. The twins were eyeing them up as well, visibly considering tying themselves to that crew even as they spoke with the Aztlan woman he knew nothing about.


    On the opposite end of the hold another alliance was coming together, looking a lot more convivial. The two younger Malani that Inyoni was keeping an eye one were chatting with the pair of Ramayans that¡¯d also come together, the lot of them all close in age and well-dressed. Inyoni¡¯s nephew looked nervous, always looking around as if expecting to be jumped, but all four were armed and even the chubby-cheeked Ramayan boy looked like he knew how to handle his pistol. With a veteran like Inyoni behind them, they would be a crew to reckon with. Three forces, Tristan mused. The infanzones and their attendants, Tupoc Xical with his recruits and this band of five.


    The rest, he suspected, would be leftovers. The oldest two on the boat were seated close but not talking and no one had approached them. Meanwhile the married couple was arguing in a low voice and Marzela¡­ where was Marzela? Probably hiding in some corner. Looking for Brun, Tristan was unsurprised to see the man Fortuna had warned him about landing on his feet. He was chatting with a flattered-looking Briceida, not a trace of sneer on the redhead maid¡¯s face. That left only the Raseni whose name he had never learned and the well-armed Tianxi recommended by the Rookery, the two of them talking when he glanced their way.


    A conversation soon ended, though, and they went different ways.


    ¡°Did you get anything out of the maid?¡± Yong asked.


    ¡°A bargain,¡± Tristan murmured. ¡°We watch her back against the Ruesta guard and she gets us in with the infanzones.¡±


    The Tianxi solider let out a whistle that was a little too loud, drawing eyes to them. Tristan pushed down a squirm of discomfort.


    ¡°Good work,¡± Yong praised. ¡°I was thinking we¡¯d have to work our way in with Tupoc¡¯s crew but the nobles are a better horse to ride.¡±


    ¡°He approached you?¡± Tristan asked.


    ¡°Came around,¡± the drunk said. ¡°But he¡¯s gathering killers and I don¡¯t want to be one of them unless I know why.¡±


    The thief grunted in agreement.


    ¡°He¡¯s not the only one that got curious,¡± Yong continued. ¡°The Raseni¡¯s been keeping an eye on you all afternoon.¡±


    Tristan forced himself not to look at her and give the game away.


    ¡°She speak to anyone so far?¡±


    ¡°That Tianxi girl that walks like she¡¯s done Republic drills,¡± the soldier began to list. ¡°Brun, that terrified girl you rubbed elbows with. Oh, and the Ramayan gunslinger - but only before the pair started cozying up with the Malani.¡±


    Looking for allies? If so, she was not doing well. The thief glanced her way and found she was standing alone. It was hard to tell anything about her, given the way Raseni dressed whenever the left their city-state. The woman wore a grey dress that went down to knee-high boots, embroidered leather gloves and layered grey veils that reached halfway down her torso and were kept in place by a painted wooden circle atop her head. The only opening was for the eyes, a dull copper mask carefully worn there to keep everything covered except the eyeholes.


    It was said the folk of Rasen thought their island the only untainted land in all of Vesper, hiding their bodies outside it so they would not lead evil back to their home. All Tristan could tell about the Raseni was that she was about of height with him, tall for a woman, and that those gloves and boots were worn from use. The boots in particular were ¨C the thief stilled.


    ¡°Yong,¡± he murmured. ¡°Look at the Raseni¡¯s boots.¡±


    ¡°They do look comfortable,¡± the Tianxi agreeably replied


    ¡°What colour would you say the stitches are?¡±


    The soldier shot him a strange look.


    ¡°Dark blue?¡± he finally said, shrugging.


    So they were. Tristan had not met many Raseni, but back when he¡¯d run messages for a Roja frontman near the docks he¡¯d learned a few things about them. Like the way they never wore anything blue below the belt, since it drew the attention of evil gods. There was no way a Raseni religious enough to observe full veiling would not know that. Which means I¡¯m not looking at a Raseni. Hitching himself up, the thief brushed his trousers clean before walking away from a baffled Yong. Unhurried, Tristan crossed the hold until he reached the false Raseni and leaned against the wall to her left.


    ¡°I do not believe,¡± the stranger said, ¡°that we have been introduced.¡±


    No accent. Her Antigua had that cadence to it common to those who¡¯d learned the language late, but nothing about the way she spoke hinted about where she was from. It was, he mused, an aggressively unaccented way of speaking and so almost certainly practiced. He didn¡¯t immediately reply, instead leaning his head back against the wall. When he finally spoke, his tone was barely above a whisper.


    ¡°I am trying to think,¡± the thief said, ¡°of a reason for why you¡¯d pick Rasen of all places as way to hide your identity. I can¡¯t seem to find one.¡±


    He looked up at the ceiling, the play of shadows lined by the lantern lights.


    ¡°In Old Saraya masks are worn by certain trades,¡± he said, ¡°and surely hair dye would have been easier than going around in a full Raseni veiling if you only sought to hide your identity.¡±


    ¡°Are you accusing me of something?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re wearing blue under the belt,¡± Tristan plainly said. ¡°Raseni do not.¡±


    ¡°Not unless we have been exiled,¡± she replied.


    A tense moment passed.


    ¡°Did you think I¡¯d buy that?¡± he curiously asked.


    A sigh, then she shuffled on her feet.


    ¡°I should have sprung for the boots without stitches,¡± she muttered.


    He hummed. Her eyes were blue, he glimpsed through the slits of the copper mask.


    ¡°You¡¯re not going to introduce yourself?¡± she asked.


    ¡°You¡¯ve kept an eye on me all day,¡± the thief said. ¡°You already know my name.¡±


    A guess, but one he liked his odds on. She did not deny it.


    ¡°So the Tianxi¡¯s your ally,¡± the stranger said. ¡°Thought as much.¡±


    ¡°You had to be looking close to notice that,¡± he said. ¡°What is it you¡¯ve been looking at us for?¡±


    ¡°I haven¡¯t decided yet,¡± she lightly replied. ¡°Besides, that¡¯s ahead of us. Here and now I would like to offer you a deal.¡±


    He cocked his head to the side.


    ¡°Your silence,¡± the veiled woman offered, ¡°for knowledge that might save your life.¡±


    Tristan eyed her searchingly but there was no face to read, only dull copper and cloth. It might end up useful leverage to out her as an impostor, he considered, but it was not certain. Most here did not have a reason to care. Better to get something certain than hold on to something he might never use. And if she told him something useless? Then he would still have learned something, only about her.


    ¡°Agreed,¡± he replied.


    ¡°The noblewoman picked up by the infanzones,¡± the stranger said, ¡°has ten silver lines tattooed on her left arm.¡±


    ¡°So she¡¯s a Malani swordmistress,¡± Tristan frowned.


    They were dangerous folk, he¡¯d heard, feared even by the bloodthirsty champions of Aztlan warrior societies.


    ¡°No,¡± the woman said. ¡°It¡¯s on the wrong arm, in the wrong colour. She¡¯s a Pereduri mirror-dancer.¡±


    Wasn¡¯t Peredur part of the Kingdom of Malan? One of the islands.


    ¡°There¡¯s a difference, I take it,¡± the thief said.


    ¡°Swordmasters gain their lines in honour duels. Bloody fights, but deaths aren¡¯t common. On the High Isle, to win a line you¡¯re taken to the shore on a specific day of the year.¡±


    ¡°To duel?¡±


    ¡°In a manner of speaking,¡± she said. ¡°There¡¯s a kind of lemur there called grey mirrors. They prey on lone travellers and fishermen, taking their form and then eating the body to gain some of its memories.¡±


    Tristan¡¯s disbelieving gaze, against his will, went to the noblewoman they were talking about. Blissfully unaware of the attention, she was telling a story to the Villazur.


    ¡°You can¡¯t be serious.¡±


    ¡°They wait until the mirror takes the form of the one trying for the line,¡± the stranger evenly said, ¡°then toss it a sword of its own, for fairness. They win or die, facing themselves year after year.¡±


    If the Mala- the Pereduri could only take such a trial once a year and she had ten stripes, she must have begun when she was still a child. Ten, eleven? Young.


    ¡°Don¡¯t ever face that woman sword in hand,¡± the stranger warned, ¡°unless you are looking to die.¡±


    That was knowledge well worth a secret kept, and Tristan did not hide his appreciation. He¡¯d come out ahead in this bargain, perhaps even a little too much. Best to even the scales, lest he be in the stranger¡¯s debt.


    ¡°The Ruesta girl has a contract that charms others,¡± he murmured. ¡°Though there are restrictions.¡±


    The veiled woman stayed a silent for a moment.


    ¡°That,¡± she finally said, ¡°could be trouble.¡±


    It was obvious enough he did not bother to voice agreement. Besides, he¡¯d got what he came here for and more. It was time to take his leave.


    ¡°Since you have my name,¡± Tristan said, ¡°it would only be fair for me to receive yours.¡±


    She shot him a considering look, as if debating what she would use.


    ¡°Sarai.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s been worthwhile, Sarai,¡± he said, inclining his head.


    ¡°So it has,¡± she agreed. ¡°We¡¯ll speak again on the island.¡±


    Surprisingly, he found himself looking forward to it. He¡¯d barely taken a step away from the veiled woman when he heard a gunshot, body tensing as he went for his knife. He realized a moment later that it had come from the decks above, though he¡¯d not been the only one alarmed: there were several others on their feet and just as wary. A second later another shot sounded, then what had to be a dozen more. They did not stop.


    ¡°We¡¯re under attack,¡± Cozme Aflor shouted. ¡°Arm yourselves!¡±


    Pirates? Surely not, for what kind of a fool would attack a Watch ship when they carried few goods and were certain to be full of soldiers? Even as the travellers of the hold went for their weapons, Tristan¡¯s gaze swept through them again as instinct had him counting the heads. Shit, the thief thought. Marzela was still missing. The same terrified girl he was certain had been drawing on her contract compulsively since coming onboard. A sinking feeling in his stomach, Tristan brushed past the pair of Ramayans and climbed atop one of the crates in the back. He heard a man¡¯s voice laughing, asking if he was going to hide, but he ignored it as he crawled forward.


    The back of the hold was a tightly packed mass of crates, but over one¡¯s edge Tristan saw some sort of cloth peeking out. Cursing again he crawled closer, seeing then it was not cloth at all. It was some sort of webbing, like a spider¡¯s. And behind that crate, nesting among threads of webbing, was horror. What had been Marzela barely clung on to human shape, milky blind eyes having grown all over her head while spindly legs ending in claws had ripped their way out of her sides and torso. She held herself in her own arms, the skin webbed together, and when a noise of terrified disgust ripped its way out of Tristan¡¯s throat she suddenly twitched. She¡¯s waking up. Milky eyes swam into focus and the thief threw himself back.


    ¡°SAINT,¡± he shouted. ¡°SAINT IN THE HOLD!¡±


    He didn¡¯t even see what hit him, a keening sound filling his ears as pain exploded across his back and he tumbled through a broken crate. Fuck, his shoulder. Tristan rose out of a spill of seeds just in time to see the Saint scuttling through the hold while half a dozen people fired at it, carelessly slapping down the Aztlan legbreaker when it stood in her way. The god wearing Marzela let out a moaning sound when shots tore at its flesh, but it would take more than musket balls to put it down. Not that it seemed inclined to stay at the bottom of the ship: bleeding black ichor, the monster climbed up the wall to the ceiling and ripped its way clean through the wood.


    ¡°Oh spirits,¡± someone moaned.


    Even as it climbed through the hole, the Saint let out another keening moan before disappearing. A moment later Tristan got a glimpse of what the blackcloaks had been shooting at all this time. Mantics. Of all the bloody things, it was mantics. Leering creatures barely two feet long, dragging themselves on long clawed hands as their disturbingly humans faces bared fangs. Only the scavengers were gone wild, spilling down into the hold by the dozens and savagely going for those closest to them. Tristan backed away from the mess, watching as Tupoc Xical calmly finished putting together a spear and harpooned the closest lares without batting an eye.


    Violence broke the spell of surprise, the rest of the hold exploding into action. Keeping an eye on the infanzones, Tristan saw that they were already moving towards the upper deck. Looking to the blackcloacks to save their necks, no doubt. But they were leaving fighters behind, only Cozme heading up with them, and the cold place in the back of his mind saw the opening. The mirror-dancer was sticking close to Isabel Ruesta, and since the infanzones were sharing soldiers that meant¡­ The thief moved towards his medicine cabinet. While mantics kept slithering down and fighting sounded above, he discreetly grabbed a small vial from the upper right compartment and felt out the lining of the door.


    There were long needles, just like he¡¯d learned in Alvareno¡¯s Dosages, and he palmed one.


    A look told him that Beatris was on her way up with her mistress and that Yong was fine ¨C though visibly drunk, he was reloading his pistol without fumbling ¨C so there was no need to stick his neck out. Better to wait for his moment, and until then take the opportunity he¡¯d been handed. That crone Celipa had promised to see him beaten if he got into the crates, but now one was open and no one likely to be paying attention if he had a look at what was inside the others. Even as he uncorked the vial he¡¯d taken and dipped the needle in the brown, viscous Spinster¡¯s Milk within he snuck into the back of the hold. The vial was tucked away carefully, as was the needle, and he turned his attention to the mystery.


    He''d been thrown into seeds earlier, but prying open other crates showed him the rest of the goods. At least two full of muskets, powder and swords, another of trinkets, but there was a lot of food. Some was military rations but also dried meats and a large amount of those cheap seeds, the kind that didn¡¯t come from Glare-crops and so ended up used only to feed poor men and darklings. What does the Watch garrison on the island need with so much food? Something to keep in mind, though he best end this before he was caught. Leaving the cover of the crates, Tristan returned to find the tail end of a fight. Most the travellers had gone up like the infanzones, leaving only a handful behind to hold the stairs as mantics kept slithering in through the hole in the ceiling.


    ¡°Tristan,¡± Inyoni called out. ¡°Hurry, we¡¯re closing the door.¡±


    Clutching his knife tightly, the thief tiptoed around the pack of scavengers being kept at bay by swords and a musket fixed with a bayonet. The noise caught their attention, and unlike the others he¡¯d not earned their fear by piling up a few corpses: they came at him hard. Waddling forward with deceptive quickness the mantics moved to cut him off as he broke into a run, and though he leapt over the first that tried to bite his leg he was caught after he landed. Claws ripped into his trousers and he hissed in pain, slashing at the creature¡¯s eyes. It howled in pain as he ripped through flesh, releasing him just fast enough he was able to run to the bottom of the stairs before the rest could do more than nip at his heels.


    ¡°See, I told you he was too slippery to die,¡± Inyoni drawled, idly slashing away at the mantics.


    It held them back, Tristan saw. It wouldn¡¯t have earlier, when the Saint had been there and they were gone entirely rabid. Now they were capable of fear again.


    ¡°Too slippery to fight, too,¡± Recardo grunted.


    That got him contemptuous look from the remaining two, Inyoni¡¯s nephew and the acne-ridden noblewoman from Asphodel. Best to nip that in the bud, he still had a use for a decent reputation.


    ¡°I was looking to see if the Saint left anything behind,¡± he lied. ¡°She looks like a spider, so I was concerned of eggs.¡±


    Ah, and away went the contempt.


    ¡°Shit,¡± Inyoni¡¯s nephew quietly said. ¡°Were there any?¡±


    ¡°Couldn¡¯t find some, but I can¡¯t be sure. I didn¡¯t want to risk touching the webbing,¡± Tristan said, feigning reluctance at the ¡®confession¡¯.


    ¡°That was wise of you,¡± the Asphodel noble reassured him. ¡°Nothing come of a Saint is harmless.¡±


    ¡°We can all pat ourselves on the back later,¡± Recardo cut in. ¡°Let¡¯s close this damn door and bar it shut, we¡¯ve wasted long enough.¡±


    Tristan smoothed away his smile. He¡¯d known the Ruesta soldier would be there. See, every other infanzon would have a sword hand already with them. Cozme for the Cerdan brothers, Sanale for the Villazur and finally the Pereduri for Isabel Ruesta. Recardo was bound to be the one they left behind, and they had to leave someone behind so it wasn¡¯t too obvious they¡¯d abandoned everyone the moment danger arrived. Reputation and honour, yes? So now he only needed to play his part. How fortunate that Recardo was such a prick he hadn¡¯t even had to bait out an insult.


    ¡°They¡¯ll attack when there¡¯s fewer of us,¡± Tristan said. ¡°Like scavengers always do. The last of us will have a fight on their hands.¡±


    Inyoni nodded, about to speak up when Tristan sniffed. He painted offended pride on his face.


    ¡°Recardo and I can take the role, if he so doubts I can handle a knife,¡± the thief said.


    There was no argument. None of the others would clamour for the place of danger, and Recardo couldn¡¯t even begin to try wiggling out of this without withdrawing his careless insult from earlier. Which the man would not, because he was a prick. And so as the others began to withdraw up the stairs, Tristan palmed the long needle he had put away earlier. To be safe, he waited until the third time the mantics came after them. He half-slipped on the stairs, drawing the scavengers after him eagerly, and even as he scampered back up the stairs in the chaos he pricked the large man in the fat of the leg. Recardo yelped and glared down, but Tristan withdrew quick enough it looked like a mantic had been at fault.


    The thief scampered up, the two of them keeping the creatures away as the others disappeared up the stairs one by one. Tristan waited. Spinster¡¯s Milk was an extract from a breed of lemures commonly known as Caotl¡¯s Spinsters, horse-sized scorpions that¡¯d earned the sobriquet because their venom was not mortal. As if needy spinsters, the beasts instead paralyzed their prey so they could eat them alive bite by bite. So Recardo did not die, as that would have been much too suspicious. Instead he slowed, limbs growing numb, and then made a mistake. When time came to avoid a snap of teeth the large soldier misjudged the length of steps and down Recardo went.


    Tumbling down the stairs and into the pack of hungry mantics, who would conveniently eat the evidence.


    ¡°Hurry,¡± Inyoni hissed into his ear, dragging him by the shoulder. ¡°He¡¯s dead, kid, there¡¯s no helping him.¡±


    The thief made sure to protest once that he could still save his beloved comrade Recardo before allowing himself to be talked into abandoning him. He was not an amateur, so he did not smile as the door closed behind him.


    One, Tristan Abrascal counted.

 Chapter 6

    Teeth shattered most satisfyingly under her boot, the mantic whimpering as it fled. Angharad added a flourish to her wrist purely for effect, spearing the spirit from behind and nailing it to the deck before setting a fang-strewn boot on its head and ripping her saber clear. She flicked the ichor off the blade, eyes scanning the lower deck for enemies. Her comrade-in-arms did the same from her left, his own sword slick with black blood.


    ¡°We¡¯re past the worst of it,¡± Cozme Aflor decided. ¡°The gun ports are closed.¡±


    How the scavengers had managed to get the cannon holes open in the first place was a mystery, though not one it was her duty to solve. She would settle for gladness at the mantics no longer crawling through them like a tide of vermin. Though the fighting was still hard above, where the Saint had fled, it seemed that the lower deck was near swept clean. The last stragglers from the hold had barricaded the door and now the same blackcloaks that¡¯d stormed the deck to close the ports were gathering around the hole in the floor to take shots with their muskets.


    It wouldn¡¯t be enough to clear the numbers that¡¯d gathered down there, but it would thin the herd.


    ¡°And with few dead,¡± Angharad said. ¡°I must admit to having underestimated watchmen.¡±


    Even seasoned Malani crews would have panicked at the sheer number of spirits that¡¯d climbed the ship, but the men and women of the Watch had responded with calm discipline. They¡¯d formed into squads, put their back to a wall and swept forward with powder and steel.


    ¡°You¡¯re not so bad yourself, Tredegar,¡± the older man grinned.


    With his salt and pepper beard and roguish smile the Cerdan soldier might have set another woman¡¯s heart aflutter but here he was very much barking up the wrong tree. He was a loyal retainer and skilled at arms, however, so Angharad refrained from rolling her eyes. He¡¯d proved a good man by standing in the defence of others and that earned him consideration.


    ¡°My skills have not rusted,¡± she simply replied. ¡°And yours are worthy of praise: we did not let a single one through.¡±


    Through to where was made plain by her glance back, where the ship¡¯s arsenal had been turned into a cutter¡¯s room. The Bluebell¡¯s surgeon ¨C Angharad hoped she was no Liergan doctor, for those were known to be deadlier than the plague ¨C was seeing to the wounded, her door guarded by only a pair of blackcloaks. More were unneeded, given the veritable phalanx of passengers that¡¯d gathered to take up the duty as well. Near a dozen in all, protecting not only the wounded but also the cowardly: of the infanzones only Lady Ferranda had stayed out the surgeon¡¯s workroom to fight.


    Lady Isabel was to be forgiven, given that she was no trained fighter and capable enough to serve as the surgeon¡¯s assistant besides, but the Cerdan brothers had shamed themselves by hiding. By the occasional looks of contempt thrown their way by their shipmates, it had done their reputation no favours. There are no true nobles in Sacramonte, Angharad reminded herself, trying to temper her own scorn. Long gone were the days of the Second Empire, with only the dust of greatness remaining. Besides, she would not let her growing interest in Lady Isabel unfairly sour her opinion of those courting her.


    She was no longer a girl, to think that her every rival must be a sot or a devil.


    ¡°Good work all around,¡± Cozme affably agreed. ¡°Now we just need to settle in and wait for the Watch to clear the upper deck.¡±


    Shouts above punctuated the sentence, followed by musket shots. The fight there had been raging before the first mantic ever set foot in the hold and by the sound of it had yet to abate. Angharad paused at the man¡¯s words, weighing the demands of honour. She was a guest and so owed protection by her hosts, which did not demand she fight on behalf of the Watch. Yet she also owed them a personal debt for the way they had defended her at the docks when the Guardia came to take her, and it would be the height of ingratitude to stay her hand when she could return the courtesy.


    The words exact are a sword, Anga, her father had once told her, so when wielding them you must hold on tight to the spirit of honour lest it slip your grasp. She had never loved her father¡¯s lessons, for they were of men¡¯s things ¨C landholding and intrigue, squabbles about estate boundaries and cattle drinking rights ¨C but he had been wise in his own way. Softer than Mother, who¡¯d been born harsh and whittled sharp by a life out at sea, but in matters of honour she thought him wisest. Vesper would be a fairer place if more acted like him and Angharad would not dishonour the grave she¡¯d dug him by betraying his teachings now.


    ¡°If there is a fight to be had, my blade will not shy from it,¡± she said, squaring her shoulders. ¡°It has been a pleasure, Master Aflor.¡±


    The older man¡¯s face betrayed nothing of his thoughts as he nodded back politely. He did not offer to accompany her, nor had she expected him to. It would have been improper of him, as his life was not his own to risk: he had come here as the retainer of the Cerdan brothers, to put his flesh between peril and their own. Parting ways without further ado, Angharad tightened her grip around her sword and made for the stairs. Half a squad of blackcloaks was already there, the noblewoman¡¯s earlier benefactor ¨C Celipa, the one-armed sailor ¨C leading them. The grizzled officer was in talks with a blond young man and Angharad caught the tail end of it without meaning to.


    ¡°-rave of you, but that thing¡¯ll chew you up,¡± Celipa said. ¡°Best you just stay out of the way. The captain will make his move soon.¡±


    ¡°I am not entirely helpless, tia,¡± the young man replied. ¡°Besides, aid appears in great need.¡±


    ¡°Having a contract doesn¡¯t make you a fucking god, boy,¡± Celipa retorted. ¡°It makes you meat with a fancy trick.¡±


    ¡°Then let him come with me,¡± Angharad cut in as she approached. ¡°I assure you, my lady, I am far helpless.¡±


    The grizzled woman turned on her a gimlet eye.


    ¡°I already told you I¡¯m not a godfucking lady, girl,¡± Celipa grunted, then sighed. ¡°But I know that stubborn look on your face. Bloody Tredegars.¡±


    She muttered something about blackpowder and ramming under her breath, then glared at them half-heartedly before stomping up the stairs. Angharad smoothed away a smile, having been reminded of the old sea dogs her mother liked to keep around. However loud the bark, they were never quite as dour as they liked to pretend. Turning to the man, she looked him up for a weapon ¨C a short hatchet, touched by ichor in a way betraying use ¨C even as she offered her hand.


    ¡°Lady Angharad Tredegar,¡± she introduced herself.


    Introductions were in order if they were to fight side by side.


    ¡°Brun of Sacromonte,¡± the man replied, shaking it.


    He had a common look about him, Angharad thought, but there was a steadiness to his bearing that was calming. His grip was firm, a sign of good character.


    ¡°Hurry up, you two,¡± Celipa called out.


    The man¡¯s lips twitched, a sentiment she fully returned, and they passed the rest of the watchmen to join Celipa and another where they were kneeling near the top of the stairs. It was not, however, a blackcloak that waited there. A long musket laid along the line of the floor, the mysterious stranger that¡¯d approached Angharad earlier keeping her silver eyes on the ruckus above. From where she stood Angharad could see little more than the dark sky and the flashing lights of lanterns but the woman, Song, was positioned to see it all.


    ¡°She¡¯s taken another two shots and whatever the captain¡¯s doing to the sea seems to be working,¡± Song announced without ever looking away. ¡°She¡¯ll scuttle back up the mast soon so we should run out on my mark.¡±


    ¡°The two of you best listen to her,¡± Celipa turned to say. ¡°It¡¯ll do wonders for your lifespan.¡±


    ¡°You will be joining the fray as well, then?¡± Angharad asked, looking past her.


    Song nodded.


    ¡°We need to put the Saint down as quickly as possible,¡± she said. ¡°The longer she¡¯s about the higher the chances she tears up sails.¡±


    For the daughter of a famous explorer Angharad admittedly knew shamefully little about seafaring, but she knew enough to predict what might happen to a sailing ship bereft of sails.


    ¡°Get ready,¡± Song murmured.


    Angharad tensed, legs coiling.


    ¡°Now.¡±


    The three of them ran out onto the deck, right into Hell¡¯s bastard cousin. A sweep of twenty blackcloaks had holed up in the Bluebell¡¯s forecastle, muskets out and scything through anything that approached, but the remainder of the deck was bloody chaos. Strands of some sort of oily webbing were crisscrossing the length of the floor, some even hanging from the masts, while mantics threw themselves at a squad of blackcloaks with blind fury. They must have been chased out of the aftercastle, which had been ripped apart, and now the corpses of scavengers and sailors were messily strewn across the deck. Blackpowder clouds billowed thick as claw and blade clashed half-blind in the shivering lantern light, spirits and men furiously slashing at each other.


    ¡°SAINT UP THE MAST!¡±


    Angharad saw no trace of the rampaging spirit they were being warned about, or indeed of much of anything at all. It was like stepping into an angry beehive.


    ¡°Don¡¯t walk on the webbing,¡± Song shouted into the din. ¡°It attracts them.¡±


    ¡°To the forecastle,¡± Angharad shouted back. ¡°We can plan from there.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll take the front,¡± Brun volunteered.


    The noblewoman blinked at the courageous offer ¨C there was no telling what lay on the other side of the powder smoke ¨C and before she could answer the man was moving. They could do little but follow, hurrying as much as they could without stepping onto webbing. There were snarls from the side of she ship, a pair of mantic leaping over the railing. Brun¡¯s hatchet split one¡¯s head open before it could even bring up its claws, the butt of Song¡¯s musket catching the other in the flank and smashing it down onto the deck. The Tianxi reached for the sword at her side but Angharad move quicker. A calm thrust through the dazed spirit¡¯s soft skull finished it.


    ¡°We need to keep moving,¡± Song said, but not before offering a nod of thanks.


    They¡¯d caught the attention of the musketmen on the forecastle, enough that when they emerged from a choking cloud of powder a few shots were sent their way to clear their path. Angharad cursed as claws ripped at the back of her boots and scratched her heel, kicking at the spirit¡¯s face until its eyes popped wetly. A pair of blackcloaks even came their way swords in hand, a gaunt man she recalled having seen in the hold accompanying them, and the three cleared their way through a pack of snapping mantics to join them.


    ¡°No,¡± Song suddenly shouted. ¡°Galatas, your-¡±


    There was an unearthly screech from above as Angharad¡¯s eyes went to the gaunt man, seeing a moment too late what Song had noticed: the edge of his left foot was touching webbing. Half a hundred mantics turned their way in the moment that followed, though it was the whip-fast shape that landed on the deck that made Angharad¡¯s breath catch in her throat. She¡¯d not had a good look at the Saint before, when it fled up, but now she beheld the full horror in trembling lantern light. A girl¡¯s body with nine burst-out spindly legs, the torso a nightmare of melded flesh and a once-human head now marred by huge wet eyes. Ribs peeked out of her flesh, webbing leaking out of them, and Angharad almost retched at the sight.


    There was a reason the Sleeping God¡¯s diviners taught that spirits and men should never share a single flesh.


    ¡°Run,¡± Song hissed.


    Shots sounded, but too slowly. Before the powder blew the Saint had already impaled one of the blackcloaks and thrown aside the other like a sack of radishes, the fool who¡¯d touched the webbing tripping as he tried to hurry backwards. Two musket shots tore through the Saint¡¯s torso, tearing bloody holes, but she just shook off the blackcloak she¡¯d impaled and casually ripped through the other one¡¯s shoulder.


    ¡°Salt munitions,¡± a voice called out from the forecastle.


    The Glare-drenched salt, Angharad knew, was as poison to most spirits. But the spirit was already moving, ready to scuttle back into the smoke and dark to ready for the snatching of more lives, and so she made her decision. Honour had its demands. She grabbed Song¡¯s shoulder before the other woman could run.


    ¡°Get the wounded to the forecastle,¡± she ordered. ¡°Have Brun help.¡±


    ¡°What are you-¡±


    Angharad did not look back, striding out saber in hand. The Saint looked about to finish the blackcloak with the stomach wound, so the Pereduri calmly stepped on the strand of webbing before her. The Saint paused, neck twisting sharply to look back, and Angharad felt her stomach drop. Death, she had courted death, and now it was coming on blood-drenched legs to take her. Her body moved by rote, back straightening as the flat of her saber lightly tapped her left shoulder in a duellist¡¯s salute. She glimpsed-


    (The legs tore through her belly, turning to open her up)


    -and stepped lightly to the right, pivoting even as the spirit screeched and slashing at its back. Leathery flesh parted under good Pereduri steel, splashing ichor even as the Saint lashed out blindly. Left leg, Angharad thought, catching the twitch early. A step back, leaning away, and the pointed tip passed half an inch below her chin. She threw her weight forward, pushing with the back leg, and struck with the strength of her entire body. The saber carved through the leg she¡¯d aimed at, one of the four the Saint was standing on, and the maddened spirit tipped back. A glimpse-


    (Over the shoulder, the tips of the legs going through Angharad¡¯s eyes)


    -and she slid down under the Saint as front legs twisted over the spirit¡¯s shoulders, nailing the deck where she¡¯d just stood. Landing in a crouch, she left a shallow cut on the spirit¡¯s chest as she rose. From the corner of her eye she caught the twitch a moment before the Saint moved, pivoting to sweep from the right with three legs. Angharad simply stepped out of the swing, air whipping about her face, and she felt the dread drip out of her heartbeat by heartbeat. Eight legs left, the Saint coming at her relentlessly, and yet there was nothing to fear. She was back home, doing the Reprimand in the fighting yard.


    It was a mad spirit coming at her from all angles instead of swinging stones, yet it was just the same. Watch, listen and move. Be as the wave, unhurried yet inexorable. A shot clipped the Saint¡¯s shoulder and the spirit pivoted, but Angharad clicked her tongue and thrust shallowly into the creature¡¯s side. For pain, for attention.


    ¡°Eyes on me,¡± she chided, and the spirit turned back with a skittering shriek.


    A glimpse told her a mantic was to come upon her from behind, but also what would follow. Angharad moved to the side of a puncturing leg, pivoting and slashing at the Saint¡¯s back even as the head of the scavenger come for her burst into gore: the blackcloaks on the forecastle were covering her back. The Saint bent back, wildly scrabbling forward with half a dozen legs, but the Pereduri took to the left and ducked under a lateral blow that would have shattered her ribcage. It was not just aiming poorly, she realized as the spirit struggled to turn while she slashed at her back legs, but not aiming at all. Like the stones swinging at the end of ropes that she had trained with back home, the trajectory of the Saint¡¯s blows did not change after they began. She¡¯s faster than her own senses can follow.


    That made her predictable, Angharad thought with a wolfish smile, and she knew how to punish predictable.


    Left, blindingly and blinded quick, the point ripping into the wood as Angharad stepped back. Right, as the twitch had told her, but a spirit that could not even control its own strength could hardly control the distance: the Pereduri dove forward, letting the Saint¡¯s swing offer up two of the legs jutting out of her chest cleanly. With a heave and grunt, Angharad cut through the base of both as the spirit let out a deafening screech. She went wild, legs hacking at the front of her, but Angharad had already slipped to the left. Musket fire lit up the night, tearing smoking holes into the Saint¡¯s back, and the spirit shuddered in pain. Salt shots, Angharad thought.


    The Saint turned towards the forecastle, legs convulsing, and leapt. Only the gaunt man from earlier was there, elbowing watchmen aside as he traced something in the air and the billowing darkness of the Gloam formed into a Sign that merely glancing at had Angharad nauseous. At the apex of her leap, the Saint hit thin air as if it were a solid wall and let out a shrieking moan of surprise as she tumbled back down in a sprawl.


    ¡°FINISH IT!¡± a blackcloak shouted.


    Musket fire bloomed and Angharad sprang towards the downed Saint, black-slicked blade raised high. Others came too, watchmen with pikes and swords as well Brun and a graceful Aztlan man wielding a spear. They hacked at the spirit¡¯s legs while she flailed in pain from the musket fire pouring down from above, Angharad only joining the fray reluctantly. For all that she knew this was no true honour duel, the disparity in numbers still made the business feel disreputable. She thrust into the spirit¡¯s back, dipping away from a flailing blow, and as she did noticed that webbing was trailing across the deck in thick rivulets.


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    Frowning, Angharad took another step back and realized that the oily trails were connecting with the earlier ones, spreading somehow, and that mantics were flocking to the web.


    ¡°Something¡¯s wrong,¡± the noblewoman called out, ¡°the Saint is-¡±


    Her words were good as drowned out by the musket fire, but even that racket was chased out when the Saint¡¯s death throes bloomed into a sky-piercing shriek. She staggered away from the sound, ears ringing, and watched in horror as the Saint¡¯s wounds began to close and fresh legs burst out from the stumps. All over the ship mantics were melting into the webbing, flesh dissolving. The Saint rose, crushing a pair of blackcloaks with a casual swing as Angharad kicked a scavenger that¡¯d snuck up to her side, but the gaunt man from earlier was back. Cheeks flush with colour he traced that same foul Sign between the spirit and the blackcloaks, only this when the Saint struck there was a crack.


    A scream, then the Sign shattered and Angharad saw the man¡¯s forearm turn into blackened pulp.


    ¡°No,¡± the Pereduri shouted, seeing their victory turn to ash.


    She glimpsed-


    (Sweeping her legs)


    -and leapt above a swing, just in time for the edge of a blow to catch her shoulder and smash her back down in a spinning crash. She saw it coming then, too quick for a glimpse to help at all, the two legs coming down to nail her belly to the deck. Only there was a musket shot and the very tip of a leg blew as it came down, the stump smacking into the other and nudging it just to the side of Angharad¡¯s ribs. It tore through her freshly mended coat instead, the Pereduri catching sight of a pleased smile under silver eyes before she hurried to rip her way free. Song had saved her life, somehow landing that preposterous shot.


    She would not waste the chance she¡¯d been given, the noblewoman swore, and was gritting her teeth to throw herself back into the melee when suddenly a door burst open. The room under the forecastle, Angharad saw, which had been locked and barred all this time. The captain¡¯s quarters. Now it was wide open and a fat, dark-skinned man in a Watch cloak strode out, strands of Gloam following him like eager pups. The Saint struck at the captain but found the same Sign it had twice faced waiting. Only this time it was the spirit¡¯s leg that was pulped when it hit thin air, and the captain calmly began to circle the Saint as he traced the same symbol anew.


    Once, twice, thrice more the Saint broke herself on seemingly nothing until she was caught in a four-sided box.


    ¡°Grenades,¡± the captain ordered.


    Angharad watched as half a dozen watchmen on the forecastle took out, lit and threw the Tianxi metal orbs over the lid of the invisible box the captain ¨C a member of the Guild of Navigators, he had to be ¨C had formed. Seconds later, before the Saint could think of trying to climb out, there was a blinding thunder and ichor sprayed all over transparent panes of nothing. The fat captain frowned, then spat to the side as the smoke dispersed and revealed nothing more than twitching shreds of meat.


    ¡°Salt her and box the remains,¡± he called out. ¡°Peiling Society still has that bounty up on incomplete Saints.¡±


    Angharad swallowed. Incomplete. That spirit had been incomplete? Sleeping God, putting down Saints wasn¡¯t even considered the most perilous duty of the Watch. The blackcloaks fanned out from the forecastle in good order, a squad tending to the broken spirit¡¯s remains, and as the noblewoman scanned the deck for dangers she saw that the fight was done. What mantics had not been devoured by the Saint were fleeing hastily, scuttling back into the dark waters. Few of the watchmen bothered to strike at them, and none with muskets. They were saving their powder, Angharad thought. And just like that, with nary a cheer from the victors, the battle was over.


    Most looked punch-drunk at the suddenness of the end, though it did not prevent a few of the younger sailors from crowding her. The dark-skinned noble blinked, taken aback by the excited chatter. She had, it seemed, impressed through her duel with the Saint.


    ¡°It was like nothing I¡¯ve seen before,¡± a boy that could not be older than fourteen said. ¡°They¡¯d be mad not to want you in the Skiritai!¡±


    Angharad was only passingly familiar with the Circles, the seven societies within the Watch where only the most elite watchmen were inducted, but she had heard of the Skiritai Guild. ¡®Militants¡¯, its members were called, or even more bluntly ¡®Swords¡¯. They were the finest warriors of the Watch, which made the boy¡¯s words a weighty compliment.


    ¡°I have had fine training, but I claim little experience with the horrors of the Old Night,¡± Angharad demurred.


    ¡°You must have a damned impressive contract,¡± a fair-haired woman her age said. ¡°It was like you moved to dodge it before it even struck!¡±


    Angharad¡¯s lip thinned. Inquiring of contracts was impolite, and to the watchwoman¡¯s honour she coughed in embarrassment. There might be a time where the Pereduri would be forced to speak of her contract with the Fisher, but even then she intended to hold back the truth and claim her gift was one of quickened reflexes. Lying sat ill with her but she had little choice. Foretelling contracts were strictly forbidden in the Kingdom of Malan, the High Queen¡¯s decree punishing them by death, and one day Angharad must return home to take vengeance. The secret must keep, however dishonourable the keeping of it.


    She was saved from the need to answer by the arrival of comrades-in-arms, the young blackcloaks retreating to give them privacy. Brun of Sacromonte, steady soul that he had proved to be, came to her while wiping his hatchet clean of fresh ichor. He¡¯d not shied from fighting. Song, her long dark hair held in a plaited braid, had slung her musket on her back. She was pristine, save for a smudge of grease on her chin. Angharad wasted no time in acknowledging the truth, offering the Tianxi a deep bow.


    ¡°I owe you my life,¡± the Pereduri said. ¡°I am in your debt.¡±


    ¡°And we are all in yours,¡± Song replied, shaking her head. ¡°If you had not held on against the Saint until Captain Sfiso arrived there would be a great many more corpses on the floor.¡±


    Angharad disagreed, for her life had been saved in the specific while she had only helped in the general sense, but she would not make an argument of it. One¡¯s honour lay in one¡¯s hands, not the eyes of others. She would remember the debt and repay it regardless of what Song might say.


    ¡°You have my gratitude nonetheless,¡± Angharad said. ¡°I am only grieved the captain could not come sooner.¡±


    She let an unspoken question hang there, which Brun caught easily enough. The Sacromontan smiled.


    ¡°I asked the same,¡± he admitted. ¡°They tell me Captain Sfiso came so late because he was seeing to the rest of the mantics.¡±


    Angharad¡¯s brow rose.


    ¡°He wove Signs around the ship, a ring of wind that kept more of them from climbing aboard,¡± Song said. ¡°An impressive display. He must be a member in good standing of the Akelarre Guild.¡±


    Though most called that Circle the Navigator¡¯s Guild, its true name was the one Song had used. But its members, known as Navigators, were in some ways the most famous of the Watch so the parlance had stuck.


    ¡°He turned the tide as soon as he appeared,¡± Angharad acknowledged. ¡°Watchmen are not to be trifled with.¡±


    Though it would have been proper to continue with some casual talk, the noblewoman made her excuses not long after. She felt exhausted to the bone and her coat was half a ruin. Making her way below she offered Celipa a nod ¨C returned - before heading to the arsenal, where the ship¡¯s cutter was seeing to the worst of the wounded. Near the door Isabel was catching her breath, the leather apron she wore stained with blood from her time assisting the surgeon. The infanzona saw her coming and a pleased smile tugged at her lips.


    ¡°I hear you made something of a stir upstairs,¡± Isabel said. ¡°Congratulations are in order.¡±


    ¡°I only did my duty,¡± Angharad said, debating whether or not to play up humility a bit.


    Perhaps not. The dark-haired beauty seemed more taken by boldness than the opposite. A gentle touch on her arm, warm through her sweat-stained shirt, jolted Angharad straight out of her exhaustion.


    ¡°You¡¯ve ruined your coat again,¡± Isabel laughed.


    ¡°A casualty of war,¡± she solemnly replied.


    ¡°I will have my maids mend it,¡± Isabel told her, a teasing glint lighting up those lovely green eyes. ¡°Though if you keep making a habit of that, I¡¯ll start wondering if it is all a way to keep me close.¡±


    ¡°Entirely for your protection, of course,¡± Angharad smirked.


    ¡°Protection, hmm?¡± Isabel mused. ¡°Is that what they call it in Peredur?¡±


    Angharad heartbeat quickened. This was the closest either had come to acknowledging her attraction, and that Isabel did not seem put off in the slightest ¨C she¡¯d even brought it up! ¨C seemed promising indeed. She cleared her throat.


    ¡°It is my duty as a peer to teach our customs to all interested,¡± she smoothly replied. ¡°It would be my very great pleasure to offer¡­ lessons.¡±


    Isabel¡¯s lips twitched.


    ¡°I¡¯ll consider it,¡± she airily replied.


    Their moment was interrupted by hoarse scream from the arsenal, Isabel flinching at the loudness.


    ¡°I must return to Doctor Balbir¡¯s side,¡± she said, laying her hand on Angharad¡¯s arm again. ¡°Be well.¡±


    It was an effort not to lean into to the touch, but the noblewoman mastered herself and offered a dignified nod back instead. She watched Isabel disappear past the threshold, feeling giddy as a girl. How long had it been since she¡¯d last been so taken with another? Too long. The unrelenting pursuit of assassins had drained the joy out of her life and it could only be a victory to claw some small piece of it back. In too great a vigour for her original intention of finding a corner to sleep in, Angharad instead strode the length of the lower deck. The Cerdan brothers were seated in a corner, pointedly alone save for their valet, but Lady Ferranda was speaking with a pair of Someshwari.


    Angharad joined them for a short chat, exchanging introductions and compliments. The man of the pair, rather rounded in shape and lacking in muscle, was called Ishaan and of noble birth. The other, short and shapely, was named Shalini. They had come together.


    ¡°We¡¯ve known each other since were kids,¡± Shalini said, smiling like one to whom smiles came easy and often. ¡°I couldn¡¯t let him wander off into adventure alone.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s a much better shot,¡± Ishaan admitted. ¡°There were plenty who had an eye on her talents back home.¡±


    He looked, Angharad thought, a little guilty at that.


    ¡°Serving some dusty old raj as a showpiece champion or going into the Watch with you,¡± Shalini said, rolling her eyes. ¡°What a difficult choice that was, Isha.¡±


    Angharad shared a glance with Lady Ferranda, the two amused by the obvious affection between the pair. Making gentle sport of them would have been a pleasant way to pass the time, but the Pereduri caught sight of two men towering over another across the deck and frowned. Two Aztlan, one a bear of a man with a broken nose and the other the graceful spear-wielder she¡¯d glimpsed above, were flanking a dark-haired man standing by some sort of cabinet. Were they taking advantage of the Watch¡¯s distraction to break hospitality?  Making her excuses with the others, Angharad strode over briskly. All three turned to her.


    ¡°Good evening,¡± the noblewoman flatly said. ¡°Does there happen to be some trouble?¡±


    The big man scowled at her.


    ¡°Fuck off, Malani,¡± he said. ¡°We¡¯re just-¡±


    ¡°Be polite to our friend here, Ocotlan,¡± the other Aztlan interrupted. ¡°Good evening, Lady Tredegar.¡±


    ¡°And to you,¡± Angharad reluctantly replied.


    The big man had not liked being interrupted but he did not argue. He stood, Angharad thought, as if he were wary of his younger companion.


    ¡°Tupoc Xical,¡± the pale eyed Aztlan introduced himself, offering a hand. ¡°Formerly of the Leopard Society.¡±


    The noblewoman shook it, manners demanding as much, but her eyes sought out the dark-haired loner. He had the Sacromontan look about him, his scruffy dark hair and tan skin paired with deep grey eyes. He was also rather disheveled and very obviously of common birth. He met her gaze with mild curiosity and little else.


    ¡°Tristan,¡± he introduced himself. ¡°A pleasure, my lady.¡±


    ¡°Shared,¡± Angharad replied, more politely than truthfully. ¡°Am I to understand there is no argument between you gentlemen?¡±


    ¡°None at all,¡± Tupoc smiled. ¡°I was only discussing a book with Tristan here. We seem to share an appreciation for Alvareno¡¯s Dosages.¡±


    ¡°Indeed?¡± Angharad pressed, suspicious.


    There was something familiar about the Aztlan¡¯s polite manner.


    ¡°Master Tupoc was requesting medicine for a friend,¡± Tristan added. ¡°It is my pleasure to help the brave souls that fought above.¡±


    Suspicion lingered but the Sacromontan looked to be speaking honestly. The dark-haired man knelt to open his cabinet, revealing some sort of intricate medicine box within. Taking out two small vials, one half-full and the other empty, he palmed a fat syringe and began to extract from the full.


    ¡°You¡¯ll need to dilute it with water,¡± he informed Tupoc, ¡°else your friend Leander will fall into stupor. Two measures, preferably.¡±


    The Aztlan nodded.


    ¡°Leander fought with us earlier,¡± the pale-eyed man told Angharad. ¡°His arm was wounded when his Sign was broken by the Saint.¡±


    Galatas, Angharad deduced, must have been the gaunt man¡¯s surname.


    ¡°Is he not in the doctor¡¯s care?¡± she asked, surprise.


    ¡°The doctor won¡¯t be following us on the island, Malani,¡± the big man grunted. ¡°Do you think the arm¡¯s going to grow back?¡±


    The Aztlan was leering at her most unpleasantly but she must admit he had a point.


    ¡°The stump will be tended to and cleaned, but something will be needed for the pain when we journey across the island,¡± Tupoc said. ¡°You have my thanks, Tristan.¡±


    The grey-eyed man smiled widely and happily. What a kind soul, Angharad thought. He must be a physician¡¯s apprentice to take such joy in helping others. He did have a meticulous air to the way he moved, as if measuring every gesture.


    ¡°The honour is mine, Master Tupoc,¡± the Sacromontan replied, then rose to his feet.


    His clothes, though clean, were shabby. The edge of his shirt was touched with ichor, a sigh he¡¯d not been helpless in the fight.


    ¡°I should go see if the surgeon¡¯s stocks are running low with anything,¡± Tristan said. ¡°With so many wounded it is a distinct possibility.¡±


    ¡°Praiseworthy,¡± Angharad replied, impressed.


    ¡°Indeed,¡± Tupoc smilingly agreed.


    The grey-eyed man took his leave, taking his medicine cabinet with him, and Angharad¡¯s eyes turned to the lingering pair of Aztlans. As she had suspected, they still had business with her. One of them, anyway. The large man with the broken nose and the garish tattoos she dismissed, for all the muscle in the world would not change that he held himself with fear of Tupoc Xical. Said man, she realized after taking a longer look, seemed somehow¡­ unnatural. His skin was without a single blemish, his face and limbs perfectly proportioned. It was as if some Tianxi artist had drawn a man rather than anything born of a woman¡¯s womb. Yet it was the eyes that unsettled her most, pale things that they were.


    ¡°I am impressed,¡± Tupoc plainly said, ¡°by the way you handled the Saint.¡±


    ¡°I could not have slain her without aid,¡± Angharad replied.


    ¡°Neither could most on this ship, blackcloaks or not,¡± Tupoc said. ¡°It does not matter. The fight let me take the measure of you, Lady Tredegar, and I am pleased with what I saw.¡±


    The noblewoman did not smile, did not thank him or answer at all. She recalled, now, why Tupoc¡¯s pleasant demeanor felt familiar. She had known a girl, once, whose father had been a lord of the court at the feet of the High Queen. He had been smiling and polite and the soul of courtesy, the sole instance Angharad met him, yet somehow she had known that his smile would not waver even if he had to order the death of everyone in the room. Tupoc was the same, measuring those around him for usefulness and dismissing those that were not. Cold eyes, cold blood, Angharad thought. She knew a snake when she saw one and Tupoc Xical was only biding his time until the bite.


    ¡°I have been gathering comrades for the trials,¡± the Aztlan elaborated, impatient of her silence. ¡°Leander fought in part to prove worthy of this company, which I intend to be without dead weight. I would be pleased to have you join our number, Lady Tredegar.¡±


    ¡°I thank you,¡± Angharad said, ¡°but I have already found companions.¡±


    ¡°The infanzones have already lost one of their sworn swords,¡± Tupoc told her, ¡°and they will find the trials more perilous than they think. I urge you to reconsider.¡±


    Angharad met the man¡¯s pale eyes, face a blank mask. She thought of the sound her blade had made, near the docks, when it had opened the redcloak¡¯s throat. Of the wet, dying gurgle that¡¯d hissed out. She held the death close in her mind and then smiled.


    ¡°I thank you,¡± Angharad evenly repeated, ¡°but I have already found companions.¡±


    Tupoc drew back half an inch before stopping himself. Pleasantness fell from his face in patches, like cheap cosmetics in sweat, and he gave her a long look.


    ¡°Unfortunate,¡± Tupoc Xical finally said. ¡°I will not make this offer again.¡±


    He inclined his head politely.


    ¡°We will meet again, Lady Tredegar.¡±


    ¡°Of that,¡± Angharad softly replied, ¡°I have no doubt.¡±


    She watched the pair leave, and when exhaustion began to creep back decided that she would have to find somewhere with her back to the wall to sleep. She had a feeling a knife might just sprout there otherwise.


    --


    The last leg of the trip to the island of Vieja Perdida, also known as the Dominion of Lost Things, was not restful.


    The Watch crew cleared out the last of the mantics hiding in the hold before summary repairs were made and sails raised again. The Bluebell was limping where it had once run but they were assured by the captain that it would only make a difference of hours and they would not be greatly hampered in their taking of the trials. Angharad shared her misgivings about Tupoc Xical with her fellow nobles and found them taken seriously even by the Cerdan brothers, who had somewhat warmed to her since the fighting. They were not unaware that their reputation had sunk in the aftermath and were taking pains to be polite, though sometimes their unpleasantness still slipped out.


    The infanzones sought out helpers of their own, among which Angharad was pleased to count Tristan. A physician, even a middling one, would be of great help on the island. She herself did not have much time of her own, as her actions against the Saint had lent her a degree of fame and her company was in high demand ¨C which seemed to please Isabel, who often sat with her as she entertained other passengers and took a long walk with her on the deck. A watchman approached them at the end of the last, the sailor informing them that they were soon to be in sight of the Dominion.


    ¡°I must see to my affairs, then,¡± Isabel mused. ¡°Angharad?¡±


    ¡°Go ahead,¡± she replied. ¡°I want a look at this island before we touch the shore.¡±


    ¡°How quickly you leave me,¡± Isabel pouted, but it was nothing but teasing.


    The Pereduri leaned against the railing, her mended coat making the cool wind nothing but pleasant as she settled in to wait. Her solitude was not to last, however, as she was approached by another passenger. Another woman, Aztlan and no older than twenty. Pretty, Angharad thought, with full lips and dark eyes.


    ¡°You must be the woman of the hour,¡± she smiled, offering her hand. ¡°I am Yaretzi.¡±


    ¡°Lady Angharad Tredegar,¡± she replied, taking it.


    The other woman¡¯s grip was firm and lingering.


    ¡°I could not resist introducing myself, after hearing so much of your valour against the Saint,¡± Yaretzi said.


    The talk that followed was light and pleasant. Angharad had never been one to disdain the admiration of a beautiful woman, especially one whose eyes were appraising her so frankly, but she knew she must cut this short. Setting her cap at another taking the trials was already somewhat foolish, but indulging in a flirtation with a second? That was courting trouble. Besides, what if Isabel saw and misunderstood? No, best cut this short indeed. Angharad was fairly sure, from the way Yaretzi was staying so close and batting her eyes so coquettishly, that she was not misreading friendliness as interest.


    ¡°I am told we are soon to arrive at the Dominion,¡± Angharad slid into a lull of the conversation. ¡°We should see to our affairs before then, I think.¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± Yaretiz agreed. ¡°We shall talk later, I think.¡±


    The Aztlan woman smiled rather flirtatiously, offering a slight bow.


    ¡°Should circumstances allow,¡± Angharad mildly replied.


    Her solitude was returned to her just in time, for it was moments later that she first caught sight of the Dominion of Lost Things. The island was startling large, and though its hulking dark shape was touched with but little light ¨C specks that must be the Watch fortress and the docks ¨C she could make out its silhouette. Lowlands leading up to a handful of slender mountains, thick woods peeking out on the sides. How long would it take to cross from one end to the other? At least a week, she thought. More intriguing were the hard angles she glimpsed jutting out of the plains and peaks, manmade structures. There must have been old ruins. Angharad stayed on the deck, eyes peeled on the island, until the Bluebell was close enough to signal the docks with lantern lights. Her fate awaited her on those shores and she would not fail to meet it.


    --


    The stench was heavy on the wind.


    Before they even docked, before ropes were thrown and the cog secured in that ragged harbour, Angharad knew what it was she was smelling. But she fought it all the way, trying to wrestle the knowledge down so it would disappear in some dark corner and never be seen again. The first thing she saw as she followed the others out onto the docks was the fires. A dozen of them, large as could be and burning bright. The smoke was thick and cloying, rising in tall columns as blackcloaks fed the flames with logs and charcoal. No one came to greet them as they crept out, the group hesitating for the absence, and the Bluebell¡¯s crew were of no help: they were busy unloading crates and had no time to spare for this sort of business.


    ¡°There should be others here,¡± Augusto Cerdan frowned. ¡°We are the second ship and the smaller one. Has the first wave already gone ahead and begun the trial?¡±


    They have, Angharad thought. Sleeping God, they have. She knew the smell, the memory enough for sweat to trickle down her back as she remembered the screams. The bright bonfire of everything and everyone she loved disappearing into smoke.


    ¡°We must ask,¡± Isabel firmly said.


    Before anyone could protest she peeled ahead, maids trailing in her wake, and approached a bearded old man in a black cloak who was shovelling coal into a fire. She smiled sweetly at the watchman, curtsying as she gave her greetings. Amused, the blackcloak paused in his work.


    ¡°The captain¡¯ll be here to speak to you in a bit,¡± he said. ¡°Don¡¯t you worry your pretty little heads.¡±


    ¡°That is good to know,¡± Isabel said. ¡°But may I ask where those who came with the first ship have gone?¡±


    The old blackcloak laughed, then pointed his shovel at the sprawl of fires.


    ¡°You¡¯re looking at them, girl.¡±


    And Angharad finally looked horror in the eye. Allowed her gaze to stray among the flames where she made out limbs, the twisted shapes of broken and mutilated bodies. Faintly she heard the echo of screams long gone silent as the ghost of Llanw Hall burned on the wind.


    ¡°It¡¯s a bad year,¡± the blackcloak shrugged. ¡°All forty died on the first day.¡±

 Chapter 7

    People could be funny about death, Tristan thought.


    Dozens died in Sacromonte¡¯s gutters every day and no one batted an eye, but if you tossed forty bodies on pyres and made people look at them suddenly it was the greatest tragedy in the world. Watching Isabel Ruesta bawling her eyes out the thief held back from rolling his own. Her admirers were already flocking to offer her sweet words of consolation, though he noticed they looked shaken too. That was the thing with nobles: they¡¯d lived such pretty lives it never really sunk in that they were always just one mistake away from dying. They thought they were important, that the world should somehow care, but Tristan knew better. Your life only ever really mattered to yourself.


    ¡°I think she might truly be grieving,¡± Fortuna said, peering over his shoulder.


    He snorted.


    ¡°Sure she is,¡± he murmured. ¡°Her chance to marry her rich cousin just went up in smoke.¡±


    Literally. Maybe one of the blackcloaks would be nice enough to help her pick out the right column. Keeping the amusement off his face, he flicked a glance backwards when footsteps creaked on ash-strewn mud. Yong¡¯s black hair, tousled by warm breeze, was absent-mindedly pressed aside as the older man approached with a grimace.


    ¡°Thought I was done smelling this after leaving Tianxia,¡± Yong said, then spat to the side.


    It was a hellish sight, the thief thought, the burning red glow and thick smoke swirling around them. It was what he thought Pandemonium might look like, that great monstrous city of devils in the far east. All the evils in the world, kept sealed inside Hell¡¯s capital by the arms of the Watch. It had all felt very far away, once, but not so now that he¡¯d left Sacromonte for this strange shore. Shivering despite the heat, the thief spoke to fill the silence.


    ¡°So you¡¯ve been in wars,¡± Tristan said.


    ¡°It¡¯s Tianxia, boy,¡± Yong snorted. ¡°There¡¯s always a fucking war on.¡±


    So the word went. The republics making up Tianxia were famous for their squabbles, be they mercantile or military. Only the rough business of driving out the Imperial Someshwar had ever succeeded at getting them to set aside their enmities for more than a season.


    ¡°Killed some folk, didn¡¯t get killed back,¡± the Tianxi continued. ¡°As good as career as a soldier gets.¡±


    His hand, Tristan saw, was inching towards the flask of drink in his coat pocket. It stopped when he noticed the thief¡¯s stare.


    ¡°Anyhow,¡± Yong brusquely said, ¡°they¡¯re burning the bodies naked. Means the equipment is still around here somewhere.¡±


    Tristan inclined his head.


    ¡°I¡¯ll see what I can do.¡±


    He didn¡¯t make promises and the former soldier didn¡¯t ask for any. Neither was fool enough to think getting caught stealing from the Watch would end in anything but summary execution. The show of sorrow was coming to an end, besides, Isabel Ruesta sniffling as her admirers swore she would be safe and her maids wiped her cheeks with soft handkerchiefs. Tristan saw most of the others were still milling about uncertainly, waiting among the ashes of the dead for a welcome that had yet to arrive. There were only a few blackcloaks tending to the pyres and they cared little for talk, while no one had quite dared approach those standing near a set of storehouses further up the beach.


    A few enterprising souls shook the surprise before the rest, though. Ju and Lan, who¡¯d failed to secure a place in Tupoc Xical¡¯s crew despite heavy courting, were looking around for something. Either the rest of the blackcloaks ¨C Tristan counted only a dozen, way too few for an outpost this large - or the same potential loot Yong had sniffed out. They earned unfriendly looks from the watchmen standing guard when they tried to casually approach the storehouses, almost making the thief smile. They might have been rats of a finer coat than he, but to the Watch they were rats still. Counting that situation as in hand, he moved out through the smoke.


    In passing he found Tupoc Xical and his little band standing unusually close to a pyre, hiding one of them from sight with their bodies. The Asphodel noble with the acne, Acanthe something or other. Tristan watched them carefully, trying to make out what they were doing, but did not dare linger when he was seen. The Aztlan had shaken him down for painkillers on the boat, having recognized the box Tristan had stolen from Alvareno¡¯s Dosages. The implied threat of having it revealed that he was going around carrying a poisoner¡¯s kit had been enough for Tristan to pay up, but the matter was not finished. People who twisted your arm for payment always came calling again.


    That crew was too dangerous to tangle with for now, but who knew how the trials would go? Patience was the key to many a lock.


    The thief edged around the fires, taking a longer look around as the rest of the people began spreading out in their impatience. The Watch¡¯s foothold on the island was no great fortress, only a couple of long stone storehouses that must have served as both storage and dormitories. Old lamplights cast a dim glow all around, the dirty lanterns hanging off them burning cheap oil. There was a sloping watchtower past the storehouses that overlooked the bay, the muzzle of three cannons peeking out from its top, but aside from these there was little here but docks, pyres and a muddy beach.


    The docks weren¡¯t even much to talk about, just a stretch of half-rotten wood jutting out into the water. Only two ships the size of the Bluebell would have been able to dock at the same time and only one to unload. Sailors were now bringing out crates from the cog¡¯s belly, moving them towards the storehouses, and it was plain there would not have been room for a second crew to do the same. Instinct nagging away at him, the thief drifted closer to have a look at the crates being moved - though not close enough to earn suspicion.


    ¡°We¡¯ve seen that crate before,¡± Fortuna suddenly pointed out.


    He knew exactly which one she meant. The same crate the poor girl who¡¯d turned into a Saint had tossed him into when she came out swinging, spilling seeds everywhere. It¡¯d only been roughly fixed, tarp nailed onto wood to prevent further spills, and so had a distinctive look. As far as he could tell most of the crates being taken out were from the same part of the hold, and that had him curious. The Watch was bringing out cheap seeds, the kind from plants not grown in Glare light and so carrying none of that light within them. None but darklings and the poor ate anything made of that unless they had a choice.


    ¡°It can¡¯t be meant for the blackcloaks,¡± he muttered. ¡°There¡¯s no natural Glare on the island, only the lights they brought. They should be eating only proper food to stave off Gloam sickness, not this shit.¡±


    ¡°They took out those boxes full of trinkets too,¡± Fortuna noted.


    And yet, as far as he could tell, none of the crates that¡¯d held muskets, blackpowder or military rations. This place was not, he deduced, truly the seat of the Watch garrison on the island. Only an outpost used to herd those who took the yearly trials. That and one more thing. His thoughts were interrupted by another¡¯s approach, and there was no mistaking whose: Sarai, clad in the grey dress and veils that hid her from head to toe, was unlike anyone else come out of the Bluebell. Tristan did not move away when she came to stand by his side, as their last trade had been profitable to both. He was not averse to continuing the relation.


    ¡°I believe you¡¯re the only other to have come looking at the crates,¡± Sarai said. ¡°Those smiling twins came close, but only looking for grave goods.¡±


    The thief snorted.


    ¡°No point in that,¡± he told her. ¡°Either the blackcloaks will let us help ourselves openly or now¡¯s the worst time to be trying.¡±


    If there was anything he and Yong decided they absolutely needed, he¡¯d wait until there were fewer people around to steal it.


    ¡°Practical,¡± Sarai approved. ¡°But what has you looking at the crates?¡±


    He hummed, not turning to meet the copper mask around her eyes. It would give him nothing.


    ¡°What has you doing the same?¡± Tristan retorted.


    ¡°We¡¯ve been told that Captain Crestina¡¯s only a few minutes out,¡± Sarai easily said. ¡°I came to warn you.¡±


    Half a lie. She was counting the crates too, the thief had noticed. But it¡¯d been useful what she said, so he gave a little too.


    ¡°This isn¡¯t where the real Watch garrison is posted,¡± he said. ¡°Crates full of arms and rations are still in the cog. They must have a fort elsewhere on the coast the Bluebell will be sailing for.¡±


    It was hard to tell, with the veils, but he thought she might have smiled.


    ¡°The sailors chattered about a town called Three Pines back on the ship,¡± the othered shared. ¡°This can¡¯t be it, so we are in agreement.¡±


    He nodded. The two of them stood there, counting the crates, for a long stretch of silence. Only when it became clear the sailors would take nothing else out of the cog was Sarai stirred to speak again.


    ¡°You must have figured out what this place is really about,¡± she finally said.


    Tristan weighed his options. If she was counting, then so had she. There was not much to lose by speaking his mind.


    ¡°It¡¯s a trade post,¡± the thief said. ¡°Or something like it. Crates of black seeds and trinkets? There¡¯s darklings here on the island and the Watch trades with them.¡±


    ¡°Trinkets,¡± Sarai slowly said, as if trying out the word. ¡°Yes, that is a good way to call them. Glass and mirrors and kettles.¡±


    He glanced her way, but there was no reading the woman beneath the veils.


    ¡°The Malani love to use trinkets up north,¡± she said. ¡°They bribe lowland kings with them to win rights to slaves and copper. They¡¯ll trade the kings everything out of Malan, really, save for the one thing the blackcloaks aren¡¯t trading here either.¡±


    ¡°Muskets,¡± Tristan quietly said.


    ¡°That is so,¡± Sarai agreed, the faintest touch of a strange accent touching her voice, then turned his way. ¡°I counted fourteen crates. You?¡±


    ¡°The same.¡±


    ¡°Then we know there are hundreds. Likely more than a thousand.¡±


    Tristan grimly nodded. Seeds didn¡¯t keep forever and, if fourteen crates of them were to be sown soon, then there must be enough darklings on the island to sow them. That was troubling, even though Tristan was no sneering Redeemer to believe all darklings at best a step removed from beasts. He¡¯d rubbed elbows with their kind in the worst of the city¡¯s slums, near the old mines where many dwelled. Tristan had found them a strange folk, but not so different from other men. Yet here the Watch was taking great care to keep muskets out of their hands and that was a telling thing.


    ¡°Has to be cults,¡± the thief said. ¡°The old stories say that the island¡¯s called the Dominion of Lost Things because the Watch throws away all sorts of old evils on these shores to be lost forever.¡±


    ¡°Cults would be a greater concern than simple lemures,¡± Sarai replied. ¡°They¡¯ll go out of their way to hunt us.¡±


    Darklings who worshipped the bloody-handed gods of the Old Night were rightly feared by all civilized peoples of Vesper, as their cults sought a great many things but blood was always one of them.


    ¡°There¡¯s a reason only fools and the desperate take these trials,¡± Tristan said.


    She turned to shoot him a look which, even under the veil, he could tell was amused.


    ¡°And which are you, Tristan?¡±


    He offered her a winning smile.


    ¡°You underestimate me, Sarai,¡± he drawled. ¡°I might lay claim to both.¡±


    She cocked her head to the side.


    ¡°That act you put on is surprisingly charming,¡± Sarai said. ¡°It must have taken you years to polish.¡±


    Surprise stole the words out of his mouth. His belly clenched in discomfort as Fortuna guffawed, leaning against his shoulder.


    ¡°Oh, we should keep that one,¡± the goddess decided. ¡°Make it happen, Tristan.¡±


    He was saved from answering by a ruckus in the distance: as he¡¯d been forewarned, Captain Crestina was returning. They parted without another word, Sarai¡¯s last still hanging in the air between them, and he drifted through the columns of smoke. Yong joined him halfway, the two of them following the press of trial-takers gathering as the blackcloaks rode in. The watchmen numbered a dozen, all riding sure-footed Abrian ponies and armed to the teeth. Wrapped in the heavy back cloaks that¡¯d earned the Watch its oldest sobriquet they carried muskets, sabers and paired pistols with powder gourds hanging off their saddles.


    ¡°They look ready to fight a war,¡± Yong muttered, and Tristan could only agree.


    A rider guided her mount away from the rest, barking out an order that saw half the company heading towards the storehouses while she pulled down a black scarf to reveal the tanned features and curly hair of a born Sacromontan. Reining in her panting horse, she cast a look that was halfway to a glare at the crowd before spitting to the side. The infanzones wrinkled their noses as the sight almost as one. The thief, on the other hand, grew wary. He could almost smell the anger boiling under that still-calm fa?ade.


    ¡°Welcome to the Dominion of Lost Things,¡± the blackcloak announced. ¡°I am Captain Crestina Elvir, the officer appointed to command of this outpost by grace of the Conclave. You may refer to me as either captain or ma¡¯am.¡±


    Tristan knew little of the Watch¡¯s workings, for the order delighted in secrecy, but the difference between the Conclave and the free companies was common knowledge. If the companies were the branches of the tree, largely independent armies and fleets roaming Vesper to take contracts as they would, then the Conclave was the trunk. It ruled the Watch¡¯s fortresses, ran its tribunals and conducted its diplomacy. Captain Crestina, if she had been appointed by it, was not answerable to anyone else. It was a veiled warning to any noble who might think to make demands of her, Tristan figured. By the silence that followed her words it had duly been heard.


    ¡°You will have heard by now that the first wave of trial-takers met misfortune,¡± Captain Crestina said. ¡°I can confirm that all forty of them are dead.¡±


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    No sobs followed, not even out of Ruesta, but a great deal of unease spread. Tristan shared in it.


    ¡°May I ask what happened to them, captain?¡± one of the infanzones called out.


    Lady Villazur, he noted. Of the Sacromontan nobles, she most seemed to be taking the dangers seriously.


    ¡°They decided to set out early and were ambushed by cultists of the Red Eye about half a day from here,¡± the watchwoman plainly said. ¡°Some would have made it, if the fighting hadn¡¯t woken up an airavatan.¡±


    That didn¡¯t get much a reaction out of anyone except the Ramayans, who faces betrayed fear and surprise. Noticing the confusion of most the crowd, the captain elaborated.


    ¡°A heliodoran beast,¡± she said, and that got gasps.


    Abuela had made him read several books on lares lemures, most of them about the creatures native to the shores of the Trebian Sea, but ¡®heliodoran beasts¡¯ had come up in one of the more fantastical works. More common in the Imperial Someshwar, Tristan recalled, they could grow large as houses if they were old enough. He¡¯d never seen a drawing, but they were said to be horned creatures possessed of many eyes and great strength.


    ¡°It killed most everyone and wandered off after chewing on a few corpses,¡± Captain Crestina said. ¡°The good news for you lot is that with a full belly it won¡¯t be on the prowl for more. It might even have gone back to sleep by.¡±


    ¡°And the bad news?¡± Tupoc Xical asked.


    ¡°The Red Eye cult is all riled up, boy,¡± she replied. ¡°They lost near a full warband and brought back no sacrifices to show for it. They¡¯ll be out in force looking to make up for that. My men and I just cleared their scouts all the way to the High Road, but from here on out you¡¯re on you own.¡±


    Then she looked viciously amused.


    ¡°Of course, there¡¯s now a graveyard¡¯s worth of blood spilled on the road north,¡± Captain Crestina added. ¡°So if I were you I¡¯d first worry about the scavengers that will draw out.¡±


    The brutal mixture of honesty and disregard hit the most fearful among them hard. Aines, the terrible gambler he¡¯d met in passing, looked about to break down weeping and her husband was little better. The old woman with the spectacles, Vanesa, had a resigned look about her. Like she¡¯d not expected to live through this in the first place and had just got that fate confirmed. Even a few of the recommended foreigners looked wary. Whatever good cheer had been won by the victory on the ship was returned to the aether. The Asphodel noble with acne cleared her throat loudly.


    ¡°We were told-¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t care what you were told,¡± Captain Crestina sharply interrupted. ¡°I¡¯ve lost half my command cleaning up the mess the first pack of idiots made and I¡¯m not going to bleed the rest holding your hands. You have from me all you¡¯ll get, inutil.¡±


    She spat to the side again, eyes glittering with anger.


    ¡°You get the rules, you get to take from the supplies and then you¡¯ll all be getting the fuck out of my outpost before the hour¡¯s out.¡±


    The blackcloak mastered her temper, lowering the voice that¡¯d begun to rise with the end of her sentence.


    ¡°Lieutenant Sihle, take them through the rest,¡± she called out. ¡°I have letters to write to the families of men who deserved better.¡±


    A rider from the handful that had been standing behind her came forward, taking off a wide-brimmed hat to reveal a dark Malani face. The man smiled, lamplight glittering on a silver tooth as he did.


    ¡°Yes ma¡¯am,¡± he agreed.


    Captain Crestina rode away, face twisted in anger, and her lieutenant turned to the crowd with brisk mannerisms.


    ¡°There are three trials,¡± Lieutenant Sihle announced. ¡°The first is Trial of Lines, which you are soon to begin. To find the others is simple: there is a road beginning half a mile ahead, and you simply need to follow it across the island.¡±


    Through thick woods that could be seen in the distance, Tristan noted, and then tall mountains much further ahead. No doubt through cultist ambushes and hungry lemures as well.


    ¡°At the end of every trial, before the next, you will find sanctuaries marked by yellow lamps and entering them means you have succeeded,¡± the lieutenant continued, sounding almost bored. ¡°Neither beasts nor cultists will do you harm within these sanctuaries, and there officers will offer you the opportunity to end your candidature.¡±


    He paused.


    ¡°Should you choose this, you will enter the protection of the Watch and be escorted to our garrison, where you will await the end of the trials before sailing back to Sacromonte.¡±


    This was not news, not exactly, though Tristan had not known the practical details. Infanzones always quit after the second trial, lest they win the ¡®reward¡¯ of being inducted into an order that required one to renounce their titles. This was a proving ground for them, not a vocation¡¯s choosing.


    ¡°Apologies, sir,¡± Angharad Tredegar spoke up, ¡°but you have forgot to mention the rules.¡±


    The lieutenant frowned at her.


    ¡°What rules?¡±


    She blinked.


    ¡°Surely there must be rules of conduct between us,¡± the Pereduri said. ¡°Lest the trial descend into squabbles and backbiting.¡±


    Tristan swallowed his smile. Gods. She hadn¡¯t quite got what this first trial was about, had she? It wasn¡¯t called the Trial of the Lines because the road ahead was straight. It was about the lines you were willing to cross to survive. The thief couldn¡¯t muster up resentment for it, though, or even much mockery. Tredegar seemed to largely mean well, much as when she had come to ¡®save¡¯ him from Tupoc Xical. She was of that particular breed of noble who thought they benevolent saviours, never mind that they usually had no idea what the people they were trying to help wanted or needed.


    Still, she was cut of better cloth than the like of the Cerdans so he took no joy from Lieutenant Sihle laughing in her face.


    ¡°This isn¡¯t that kind of a place, girl,¡± the watchman said. ¡°You¡¯re not allowed to kill each other here or inside the sanctuaries, but beyond that?¡±


    The lieutenant shrugged.


    ¡°Survival is the rule. The rest isn¡¯t the Watch¡¯s concern.¡±


    Tredegar took it better than he¡¯d expected, shutting her mouth and slowly nodding. Maybe not as soft as I thought, Tristan considered. He supposed that becoming a ¡®mirror-dancer¡¯ must beat some squeamishness out of you, if it was actually anything like what Sarai had described. Considering that the sailors ¨C many of them veteran watchmen - had sounded awestruck when describing her scrap with the Saint, Tristan was inclined to believe it. Someone asked about the supplies Captain Crestina had mentioned and the lieutenant agreed to lead them to the goods without much prodding. What they found when led there was better than he''d expected, finally an upside.


    There were three crates of miner¡¯s rations, dried meat and sourdough bread with nuts and berries, all neatly wrapped in packs. Besides them were crates of cheap waterskins, bedrolls, lanterns and fire-starters. All were invited to help themselves, courtesy of the Watch, though many refrained as they had better equipment already. Tristan did not, but because others did he felt comfortable going straight to the three sprawling piles besides the crates with no fear of being left without supplies. There the watchmen had dumped the equipment of the deceased, separating them into three broad categories: weapons, clothes and the rest.


    Lieutenant Sihle left them to it after a last reminder they were to be gone by the end of the hour.


    A semblance of order formed around the crates, begun by Angharad Tredegar lining up behind a surprised Vanesa. Those that would have elbowed the old woman aside without a second thought did not dare to pick a fight with the Pereduri, ensuring temporary civility as others lined up, but Tristan spared the affair no more than a glance. His fellow rats were coming for the grave goods and there would be no courtesy to be had there. Ju and Lan were already sniffing around the weapons, Ocotlan the legbreaker elbowing one of the twins aside to grab a long-hafted axe no one else would have been able to use anyhow.


    Tristan grabbed a leather tricorn in the Malani style out of the clothes pile and set it on his head before joining the fray, just as Brun and the married pair ¨C Aines and Felis ¨C began looking too. Most of it was useless to him, swords he did not know how to use or hunting spears, but he grabbed a hunting knife to serve should his own blade break. The dozen muskets lined up were useless to him as well, but the pistols warranted a second look. The thief had little training with the weapons, for Abuela considered them loud and imprecise, but he knew basics. And from close enough a pistol was hard to miss with.


    Best to have it and not need it than the other way around, he decided.


    He grabbed a wooden powder flask from the pile and began rifling through the pile of pistols, stilling when he came across a familiar sight. As far as arms went it straddled the line between decorative and practical, engraved with wolves chasing each other¡¯s tails while a tassel hung off the bottom bearing an incrusted red gem. The cold metal of the barrel, though, was functional and without frills. Tristan¡¯s mother had owned a pistol much like this, once, though her own Raseni relic had preferred foxes to wolves. Breaking out of his stupor, he - Ju¡¯s fingers closed around the pistol and she shot him a sly blue grin.


    ¡°Too slow, rat,¡± she chided, and flicked a finger against the gem.


    It rang prettily.


    ¡°Not too pure a ruby, but still worth a tidy sum,¡± Ju decided.


    She had no idea what the relic was really worth, then. Tristan could have told her he¡¯d seen it first, but the claim would have meant nothing to either of them so he didn¡¯t bother.


    ¡°Give it here,¡± he said instead.


    The Meng girl frowned, reading his face and then taking half a step back.


    ¡°Help yourself to another,¡± Ju said. ¡°Plenty left.¡±


    Tristan¡¯s hand slid towards the blackjack at his side, not quite subtly enough for her to fail noticing it.


    ¡°Last warning,¡± the thief said.


    From the corner of his eye he saw they¡¯d drawn some attention, so it was too late for either of them to back out. Whoever did would be marked as easy meat for anyone that felt like throwing their weight around. Ju flicked a glance behind him, seeing something that strengthened her resolve, and sneered.


    ¡°You wouldn¡¯t dar-¡±


    He aimed the blow for the side of her mouth, hard enough it¡¯d hurt but not knock teeth out. Ju yelped in pain as she stumbled onto the ground, cradling her cheek, and Tristan pivoted out of the way. He moved out of the path of the swing he¡¯d expected, seeing his attacker¡¯s face: Lan had grabbed a musket and tried to smash it into his back like a mace, but she was no trained scrapper and it¡¯d gone well wide. The thief took a quick step forward, resting the side of the blackjack¡¯s leather strap against her neck before she could recover. Lan went still.


    ¡°From here on out I go for crippling blows,¡± Tristan evenly said. ¡°Ju, give me the pistol.¡±


    The spectacle drew scavengers. Broken-nosed Ocotlan, interest caught by the violence, approached with an expectant air. He was looking at the relic pistol as well, likely wondering what was worth a scrap there and whether he should try his hand at taking it. Tristan schooled his face not to reveal he¡¯d seen Yong silently moved behind the big man, a hand on the hilt of his sword. Brun stepped close as well, eyes watching them all closely with that perennial calm smile. That one worried him more than the big Aztlan, if only because he was much harder to read.


    ¡°They won¡¯t let you get away with it,¡± Lan said, but her voice was shaking.


    Tristan¡¯s jaw clenched. He¡¯d already given as many warnings as he cared to: offer too many of those and people stopped taking you seriously. His arm tensed as he drew back for another blow, but the sisters gave first. Ju threw the pistol at his ankles, just strong enough for it to sting.


    ¡°There,¡± she spat. ¡°Choke on it.¡±


    He gave Lan a warning look and the other sister took a step back, grimacing, as he bent to pick up the relic. His eyes were already moving on to Ocotlan, who looked like he¡¯d come to a decision. That nasty grin heralded nothing good but the big man was too late. Angharad Tredegar, wearing that coat ever in need of mending, strode boldly onto the scene and Tristan almost smiled because it¡¯d been about time. Now that the scavengers had clawed at each other, their benevolent saviour would naturally come to restore order.


    ¡°What is going on here?¡± the dark-skinned noble demanded.


    And there went Ocotlan¡¯s smile. He would be under orders by Tupoc to avoid tangling with the mirror-dancer, Tristan figured. A practical sort of bastard, Tupoc Xical. Unfortunately not the kind of man who could be counted on to get himself killed on his own.


    ¡°An argument over goods,¡± Tristan said. ¡°It has ended.¡±


    Tredegar glanced at the blackjack still in his hand with surprise and some distaste. Ju had, of course, elected to remain on the ground and was now cradling her cheek like he¡¯d struck her twice as hard as he actually had. Betting on the Pereduri getting the relic back for her, was she? Unfortunately for her, Tristan knew exactly how to deal with the likes of Angharad Tredegar. Having given his answer, he turned and walked away. Not in another direction, for that would have smacked of retreat, but instead past the noblewoman. She was half expecting a confrontation, it was writ in her stance, but the thief instead said nothing and continued past her before she could recover from the surprise and try to interrogate him again.


    Even if the twins went whining to her now, what would Tredegar do ¨C shake him down for the pistol in front of everyone? That wasn¡¯t the kind of person she thought she was. She¡¯d stepped in to save someone, not serve as legbreaker for a pair of sisters who were more than a little bit suspicious. The Pereduri wouldn¡¯t like it, but the matter was good as finished. The thief was aware he¡¯d soured the first impression he had made on a dangerous woman and crossed another two, but he was still smiling as he moved towards the back of the line for the rations. Yong came to stand behind him to wait, as if by coincidence.


    ¡°So what was worth the mess?¡± the soldier asked, voice slightly slurred.


    Drinking again. It hadn¡¯t taken long. Tristan ripped the string keeping the tassel tied to the bottom of the relic, shoving it into his pocket after. Angling the pistol so that only he and Yong would see, he then pressed his thumb against one of the wolves. There was a slight click and panel popped open, revealing a small stone no larger than thumbnail. It gave a soft, pale glow that the thief allowed to be glimpsed for only a heartbeat before sliding the wolf panel closed again.


    ¡°Rhadamanthine quartz,¡± Yong whispered, startlement sobering him up in an instant.


    Found only within the city-state of Rasen¡¯s famous quarries, the precious stone was worth a fortune. Rhadamanthine quartz held the Glare as few other materials did, almost day to day: a year soaking in the light meant bout a year holding it. The piece in the relic pistol Mother had owned had gone inert, lessening its value ¨C once it lost the first light for good, the stone was said to begin holding it less and less ¨C but it had still been pawned for enough the two of them to live on it for years.


    ¡°No Gloam disease for us,¡± Tristan said, not hiding his satisfaction. ¡°Even if the lights go out.¡±


    Keeping it against their skin for a few hours a day would keep the sickness from coming upon them until the stone died. Raseni families considered the relics to be heirlooms, passing down from parents to children and treasuring them greatly. The rarity of their sale only made them more precious.


    ¡°Worth the enemies,¡± Yong agreed.


    There was no more excitement as the trial-takers claimed their supplies, the mood somber now that Tristan¡¯s actions had laid bare an ugly truth: survival was more important to everyone here than civility. That did not mean all were eager to go off on their own, though. If anything the corpses still burning on the pyres were a stark warning as to the risks of that approach. When a handful came together in conversation away from the rest, Tristan immediately saw the writing on the wall. Who they were spoke loud as to what would follow: Ferranda Villazur and Augusto Cerdan for the infanzones, Tupoc Xical for his own band and grizzled Inyoni for the two pairs of youngsters with her. Every group with clout had a voice there, to an evident purpose.


    They all wanted to stick together for the early part of the Trial of Lines.


    That it would happen was good as a foregone conclusion. Everyone wanted numbers until they were certain there was no Red Eye ambush waiting along the road or large roving packs of lemures. Once everyone was further in people would begin turning on each other again, but for now all would prefer safety over seeking an edge. Tristan dismissed the talks from his mind, seeking instead the company of the other ally he¡¯d struck a bargain with. Both of Isabel Ruesta¡¯s handmaidens had changed out of their dresses into more practical trousers and jackets for the walk ahead, Beatris¡¯ were visibly shoddier than Briceida¡¯s.


    Tristan figured that, unlike the drapier¡¯s daughter, his fellow rat had not had the coin to put on getting clothes she might never wear again tailored. She was also the one checking on the bags one last time before departure, Briceida instead attending to their mistress, but the thief was glad of that much. It was easier to approach her than if she were close to the infanzona, who Tredegar and the younger Cerdan were circling like bees would a flower. And largely for the same reasons, as far as Tristan could tell. He made no effort to hide his approach, and though he stopped well short of being in reaching distance of the bags Beatris still turned to glance at him. Brushing back dark hair, she scowled.


    ¡°That show tarred your reputation good,¡± Beatris informed him. ¡°If not for your medicine cabinet, they might have thought twice about bringing you along.¡±


    ¡°But they haven¡¯t changed their minds,¡± Tristan pressed.


    She shook her head. Good. That had been his worry, that a miffed Tredegar would try to oust him. His bet had been that the Cerdans would oppose her out of pure dislike and it was good to see it had paid off.


    ¡°I have work,¡± Beatris told him. ¡°I must get back to it.¡±


    He pushed down a frown. She had never asked if he¡¯d gotten Recardo killed and he¡¯d not offered up the truth of it, but since that day she had kept a distance. She¡¯d not turned on him, remaining friendly, but she knew he was dangerous now. Capable of killing and keeping it quiet. And so Beatris, sensibly enough, seemed to have decided he was someone best kept at arm¡¯s length. Tristan would have preferred to keep on better terms, but if their relations were take a cooler tone he would adapt. Casting a quick look around to ensure no one was watching, he reached in his pocket for the jewel-incrusted tassel and tossed it at her.


    Beatris fumbled the catch but picked it up from the floor quickly enough, surprise painted on her face. She turned a questioning look on him.


    ¡°I have no use for it where I¡¯m headed,¡± Tristan shrugged.


    Whether that be the grave or the Watch, a small ruby would do him no good. For her, however, it might just represent a turning point in her life. With the coin pawning this would earn her, it was no longer certain she must stay in the service of House Ruesta for the rest of her life. Beatris bit her lip before nodding, putting away the gem before anyone could see her taking it.


    ¡°This is a trade,¡± the thief reminded her. ¡°I scratch your back¡­¡±


    The dark-haired woman shook her head.


    ¡°I know how this goes,¡± she replied. ¡°I¡¯ll keep an ear out for anything of interest to you.¡±


    The grey-eyed man dipped his head in thanks, troubling her no further. She still had work to do and it wasn¡¯t like the nobles would deign to carry their own supplies. It took another quarter hour for the informal council to finish, but his prediction proved accurate. A pact was struck and protection offered for those who would obey some simple rules. All were to pitch in for the group¡¯s protection as they marched, a roster would be made for keeping watch when camp was made and so long as one joined the company there would be no violence against each other. Only a fool would have refused the terms, so no one did.


    They hurried after that, Captain Crestina¡¯s demand they be gone by the hour¡¯s turn not something anyone cared to test. Under the stares of the blackcloaks the thirty-one of them settled into a thick marching column, bristling with lamps, and a lumbering march forward began.


    Behind them the lanterns of the Watch grew distant, darkness hemming them in from all sides, and the Trial of Lines began.

 Chapter 8

    Lieutenant Sihle had said the road began half a mile ahead and that was where they found it.


    Tristan was no tracker, not so far from dirty alleyways, but though the ancient paving stones were half-covered by dirt and dead leaves they were too large to be missed by anyone with eyes. The woods were light on either side but grew thicker swiftly, leaving the impression of a path cleared thoroughly long ago and since left for the forest to reclaim year by year. Most fighters banded at the front and the back of the column while those there were low expectations for ¨C the two greyhairs, the twins, Ruesta and her maids ¨C stood safely stashed in between as the company marched on.


    Yong had been called to the front by virtue of having a musket and knowing how to use it while Tristan was ordered to the back by the Cerdan brothers¡¯ unpleasant valet, Gascon. The richly mustachioed man had been open in his contempt, having a look about him the thief was not unfamiliar with. It cropped up sometimes in the personal servants of infanzones, those few who¡¯d gotten so used to the taste of boot on their tongue they¡¯d begun to think they were part of the sole. Contempt the thief cared nothing for, but his choice of company at the back of the column was unfortunate: he shared the guard with Tupoc Xical and his two Asphodel companions.


    Leander Galatas was still nursing his wound from the Bluebell, the arm turned to pulp now a thoroughly bandaged stump, and kept to a sullen silence. The Asphodel Rectorate noble, whose full name Tristan learned to be Acanthe Phos, was a rather chattier fellow. She asked of his origins, which he remained vague about, and shared of hers freely. House Phos was, she told him, one whose fortunes had not done well as merchants began their rise. The lack of opportunities afforded to a seventh child from an impoverished house ¨C one whose unfortunate acne made unlikely to marry rich - had seen her seek a career with the Watch.


    ¡°It¡¯s all Tianxia¡¯s fault, of course,¡± Acanthe told him, patting his arm in her enthusiasm. ¡°Their traders rile up the commons, starting all this talk of turning Asphodel into a republic allied to the Ten. Absurd.¡±


    He tended to agree. It would hardly be the first time the Tianxi helped overthrow the nobles of a city-state in the Trebian Sea, but one so close to Sacromonte? He had his doubts. Tianxia already had troubles enough at home without borrowing some from the City¡¯s backyard. Still, he suspected that his own Republican sympathies would win him no friend here so Tristan steered the conversation into safer waters. Talk of Sarai, who yet feigned to be from the hated rival city-state of Rasen, was fertile ground.


    ¡°You can¡¯t trust Raseni, Tristan,¡± Acanthe lectured him. ¡°It is well known that they wear their veils to better hide the devils among their numbers. They frolic with their like in debauched rituals, hoping to gain dark powers.¡±


    Having been just as reliably informed by a Raseni trader that Asphodelites were half-devils themselves, keeping hidden libraries of dark tomes used in unholy rituals to turn the winds against honest Raseni captains, the thief hid his amusement as best he could.


    ¡°Oh,¡± Tupoc mused, ¡°I¡¯m sure Tristan has nothing to fear from our Raseni, Lady Phos. He¡¯s already beaten a woman today, why not another?¡±


    The thief did not react. It was not the first time the Aztlan  tossed a barb his way, but giving him nothing in return saw him grow bored and cease. Having to take the needling again and again was exhausting, but he was dertemined not give Tupoc whatever it was he was after. Tristan let the conversation peter out again, saying nothing, and ignored Acanthe¡¯s sympathetic look. She had yet to object, for while she might be enjoying their conversation it was Tupoc Xical she had thrown in her lot with. She¡¯d not endanger that alliance for a nobody.


    The thief kept to his own mind for a time, unsettled by the ring of darkness around them. In Sacromonte there was always light, however distant, but here there was nothing beyond the glow of the lanterns they carried. The Watch¡¯s outpost by the shore was hidden by the tall trees and the stars above seemed so distant ¨C as if even the ancient wonders of the Antediluvians were seen through a veil. He¡¯d read that the islands of the Trebian Sea were among the most luminous of all Vesper, so how dark must the rest of the world be? He shivered at the thought.


    The thief had no watch but bespectacled old Vanesa did, and when they halted word made its way down the column it had taken three hours and a half for them to reach the blood-soaked battlefield Captain Cristina had spoken of.


    It was a great clearing that the road ran right through, an opening in the forest, or at least it had been. There was a gaping pit at the heart of it now, even the ancient paving stones shattered, and dried blood spread everywhere in wild streaks. They approached slowly and carefully, swords and muskets out ¨C Tristan carefully loaded his pistol, cramming in the powder and ball ¨C until the shivering lantern lights made out great footprints in the earth. Each was as large as a great pillar and rounded, digging deep enough to hint at the crushing weight behind the legs. It was with relief that Tristan saw the tracks heading east, deeper into the forest. But the captain¡¯s warning proved prescient.


    As they passed around the pit shapes darted out of the shadows cast by the broken grounds. Only a dozen, though the suddenness of the charge caused some startled screams. Shots rang out before Tristan could even see the beasts properly, five of them dead on the ground in an instant ¨C that short Ramayan girl with the pistols downed two in the same breath. Half the remainder fled, the rest charging madly as they howled. They were lupines, Tristan saw, lemures with the look of great wolfhounds that grew bonelike stingers along their matted fur. Their teeth were too large and curved for dogs, or even wolves, and their eyes like pits of yellow sulphur.


    The three that charged, for all their swiftness, ran into fine killers at the ready. Inyoni and Tredegar shot forward, blades flashing a beast¡¯s head was hewn open and the other run right through. The third passed them, just in time for Ocotlan¡¯s axe to nail to the ground. It went right through, like a hatchet for a melon, and pulp flew sickeningly.


    Tristan spared them no more thought, though, as more lemures were circling the treeline behind him. Only a few shapes slinking along the line of light cast by the lanterns, but the sight of them was enough to have him clutching his pistol tightly. One ran out suddenly, and not thinking twice he lowered the pistol and pulled the trigger. The flintlock sparked but his wrist trembled and the shot went whizzing wide, the lupine darting back out of sight without ever have been in danger. Tupoc Xical snorted from behind him.


    ¡°Best stick to the blackjack, I think,¡± the Aztlan said.


    Tristan hid his embarrassment by looking away, pretending to watch the woods.


    ¡°Not that these are worth fearing,¡± Tupoc continued. ¡°Barely more than dogs.¡±


    ¡°Lupines prefer long hunts, Xical,¡± he replied, pleased to correct the other man. ¡°They can smell a scent for several miles and have unnatural endurance, so the packs like to hound their prey to exhaustion before going for the kill.¡±


    The Aztlan¡¯s pale eyes crinkled with pleasure and Tristan immediately knew he¡¯d made a mistake.


    ¡°I wonder,¡± Tupoc idly said, ¡°how it is that a Sacromonte gutter rat knows that.¡±


    The thief swallowed a curse as Acanthe shot him an assessing look. The Aztlan had been goading him all this time for a reaction and now he¡¯d finally gotten it. Cutting his losses, he moved away from the two and Tupoc let him retreat with a pleasant smile. The skirmish was good as done anyhow, the lupines unwilling to risk another attack. They must have been blood-mad to risk one on such a large group in the first place. The column moved away, word from the front coming that a good camping site awaited two hours ahead. The lemures disappeared from the back as they left the clearing for the forest ahead, likely gone back to eat the corpses of their own.


    They would return, though, and so after another tiring stretch of march through the woods it was with relief that Tristan saw the camp site that had been chosen.


    It was well-situated, he must admit. The first stretch of forest behind them had come at an end, revealing long rolling plains stretching out for many miles ahead until another treeline began near what must be the foot of the looming mountains. To the northwest, the silhouette of the old aqueduct known as the High Road could be glimpsed in the weak starlight if you stood at the edge of the lanterns long enough. It was close, no more than an hour¡¯s march away. The camping site itself was maybe a quarter hour away past the woods, two sloping hills with a slender cut between them. They had signs of regular use, with firepits already dug and dried out latrines.


    Under the orders of the infanzones, who acted as if they knew of the place already and likely did ¨C it was an open secret the families kept records - a camp was raised. The firepits were fed with wood and charcoal as two watchers took places at the summit of the hills, which would give a broad view of the plains below. The nobles raised their tents near the fires and their followers put down bedrolls around them, everyone else radiating outwards around the hills. As one of the infanzones¡¯ recruits, Tristan earned a place halfway down the western hill near Yong and Lady Villazur¡¯s hired hand Sanale.


    The likes of the married pair and the two greyhairs had to settle for further down on either hill, the first to be dragged into the night should some lemure or cultist slip past the vigilance of the watchers.


    It was no grimmer than the truth of the city he¡¯d been born in, Tristan figured, only stripped of the usual varnish that allowed people to ignore it. Putting down his bedroll and medicine cabinet, the thief checked in with the Cerdan valet for his time to keep watch and was sneeringly informed his turn was to be near morning, five hours past midnight. Inyoni¡¯s nephew Zenzele, who he was to replace, would come to wake him. Pleased at the given time, for it meant he would get most of a night¡¯s sleep uninterrupted, Tristan bade good sleep to Yong and flopped down tiredly on his bedroll.


    He was asleep within moments.


    --


    ¡°Tristan,¡± Fortuna hissed. ¡°Tristan, you need to wake up.¡±


    His eyes struggled to open, sleep fighting to keep them closed. His entire body felt lazy, like he¡¯d spent an afternoon napping, and though he could hear Fortuna he struggled to remember why he should care about what she said.


    ¡°You idiot,¡± the goddess cursed. ¡°Get up, someone¡¯s pinning a murder on you.¡±


    Sheer surprise and anger tore through the veil he¡¯d been wrapped in, eyes futtering open as he woke. The fires crackled in the distance, everyone asleep around him, and the thief bit his lip so he would not snarl. That tiredness had not been natural. Someone had used a contract on him. Shifting in his bedroll, Tristan caught Fortuna¡¯s eyes. The goddess, red dress bunched around her as she knelt in the grass, looked every inch the unearthly creature in the flickering light of the flames. Hair and eyes of molten gold, he thought.


    ¡°Who?¡± he murmured.


    ¡°Couldn¡¯t see,¡± she admitted. ¡°Their face was covered. I¡¯m pretty sure it¡¯s a man, though.¡±


    Tristan grimaced. The goddess could not stray too far from him, rarely more than a room¡¯s length, she would not have been able to follow the stranger back to wherever they¡¯d hidden. She wouldn¡¯t be able to name his enemy. First get out of the trap, he reminded himself.


    ¡°Where?¡±


    His murmur was answered by Fortuna gesturing at his medicine cabinet. Inside? Gods, how hard had he been hit by the contract not to wake while someone was going through his belongings a mere two feet away?


    ¡°Keep watch,¡± Tristan said, and went to have a look.


    It was difficult to unlatch the cabinet and crack it open without making a sound while laying down, but it was not his first time needing quiet fingers. At first glance nothing was amiss, but then Tristan saw them: a dagger, carefully inserted between two vials, and a rag pushed into a half-hidden nook. A bloody rag, his closer look revealed. He unfolded it, careful to get nothing on his fingers, and saw that an edge had been wiped clear of blood on the cloth. Just enough to get me hanged if they catch me with it, he thought.


    Whoever had done this had been careful not to make him look like a complete fool: clever enough to hide and wipe the knife, just not to get rid of the rag after. If he were to sell the story in place of his foe, Tristan decided, he¡¯d say that the rag was only hidden until it could be cleanly disposed of in a fire. Quietly he folded the cloth anew and took the dagger, beginning to close the cabinet silently as he put his mind to work along his hands. Someone must be dead, otherwise a wound deep enough to bleed this much blood would have woken them.


    More importantly, whoever had killed them wanted him to take the fall for it.


    Had he made an enemy, or had he simply seemed like a good sort to leave behind for the noose? There was no denying that he¡¯d been picked out in particular, with the way a contract had been used on him. Only, he thought, it could not only be him who¡¯d been touched by power. There were watchers as well and they would have noticed someone moving around so they must have been subjected to the contract too. Unless they were in on it, he considered, but then discarded the thought. Tristan was simply not important enough to be conspired against. That did not mean, however, that trying to out the scheme would be wise.


    A rat with a blood-soaked rag and a corpse someone needed to answer for? Even if he was the one to make a ruckus in the middle of the night, there were decent odds he¡¯d still end up the one hanged. If it was one of the nobles that¡¯d done it, they¡¯d close ranks to bury him. Not worth the risk. That did not mean there was not a solution: someone had done all the hard parts of pinning a murder and there was no need to waste all that work when he could use it instead. Closing the cabinet, he rose onto his knees. He could only see one of the watchers from here, but the Ramayan girl ¨C Shalini, if he recalled correctly ¨C was utterly still. No shifting around, no stoking the flames, no looking anywhere but straight ahead.


    Calming his breathing, smoothing his thoughts into calm, the thief stole the knife and rag from the grass before crawling forward. Silently, as not to wake any of those sleeping near him. Moving up the hill, he paused only to grab a loose pebble and gauge the distance. A heartbeat later he threw the small stone near Shalini, waiting tensely as it bounced off a half-buried log. The noise would have been unmistakeable, but she did not so much twitch. Still under the contract, then, just as he would be had Fortuna not shouted at him until he stirred. Good, that meant he had his opening. The crawl resumed until he was near the fires, where the tents of the infanzones had been raised.


    He could not see within, but outside lay their closest servants. The Cerdan valet, Isabel Ruesta¡¯s maids ¨C Beatris was unharmed, a relief ¨C but to his displeasure not Cozme Aflor. Counting the tents again, he concluded that the Cerdan brothers must be sharing one while Cozme had claimed the other. It was too risky to try for a tent, he reluctantly admitted to himself. He¡¯d have to lower his aim: the Cerdan valet, Gascon. The brothers were unlikely to start carrying their own bags even if the valet was cast out, which meant it¡¯d likely end up Cozme¡¯s work for all his pretensions that he was the one really in charge. He¡¯d be more tired, more vulnerable, more likely to give Tristan an opening.


    Planting the goods was not all that difficult.


    The rag he hid under a flat rock a few feet away from the sleeping valet, with just a hint of the corner peeking out, and he slid the knife under the sleeping man¡¯s neatly folded jacket. As he began to withdraw he saw the redheaded maid suddenly turn in her bedroll, yawning as she pawed at her loose hair. Tristan breathed in sharply, preparing to borrow luck, but she never opened her eyes. He stayed still as a statue until her breath evened out, asleep again. Flush from the scare, he crawled his way back down the hill and slipped hastily back into his bedroll. Unseen, he thought, but he could not be sure. There would be no telling for certain until morning came.


    Though the thief knew he would need the rest, it still took him all too long to fall back asleep.


    --


    The second time, he woke to a scream.


    Putting on a show, Tristan reached for his knife and rose with a gasp. Yong was brandishing his sword, eyes wide open, and the both of them found a crowd gathering on the side of the eastern hill. The corpse was there, below where the Asphodel pair had been sleeping, and he padded over on bare feet to have a look the body. The moment he did his breath caught in his throat and he knew why he¡¯d been the one chosen to take the fall: it was one of the twins. Ju, he was fairly sure, the one he¡¯d struck yesterday. That was not, he grimly thought, a good look for him right now. It was her sister who¡¯d found the corpse, and Lan was red-eyed and shaking. Old Vanesa gently took her by the arm, offering comfort, but the blue-lipped woman pushed her away. She rose to her feet, eyes moving to him out of all the crowd as she did, and Tristan¡¯s stomach clenched. Revenge was but a shout away for her.


    ¡°My sister,¡± Lan croaked out, ¡°was murdered in the night. Her throat slit like some pig for slaughter.¡±


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    Tristan tensed as he forced himself not to squirm under her gaze, but then Lan¡¯s eyes moved away.


    ¡°Until we find who did it,¡± she said, ¡°no one here is safe.¡±


    Abject relief. An accusation would have been no proof, but sometimes it didn¡¯t take much to whip up a mob. And a mob was very much in the making here, by the looks on people¡¯s faces as the crowd swelled.


    ¡°There¡¯s no stream near here to wash,¡± Inyoni called out. ¡°Someone here will have blood on them.¡±


    The scarred older woman, like her charges, had been sleeping just on the other side of the hill. She¡¯d been one of the first to join the gathering throng.


    ¡°We have waterskins,¡± Brun calmly pointed out. ¡°There is no need for a stream.¡±


    The other Sacromontan had slept on the opposite side of the western hill, the infanzones between them, but still been one of the first to arrive after the scream. Already up, Tristan figured. By now long enough had passed for said infanzones to learn they had a mess on their hands, so like a pack of lupines they showed up all at once. Tredegar along, of course, having become the muscle for their crew more than she likely realized.


    ¡°Cold water won¡¯t wash out blood well,¡± Remund Cerdan announced, tone certain. ¡°I can still inspect everyone for traces.¡±


    ¡°And why is it,¡± Zenzele asked with wary eyes, ¡°that you would be doing the inspecting?¡±


    The other man blinked, as if it had never occurred to him he might be questioned.


    ¡°Watch your tongue, Malani,¡± he bit back. ¡°You almost sound as if you are accusing an infanzon of-¡±


    ¡°We are not in Sacromonte, Cerdan,¡± the chubby-cheeked Ramayan called Ishaan calmly interrupted. ¡°Posturing does you no good.¡±


    Isabel Ruesta, looking like the very picture of anguish, stepped in between them. Tristan almost snorted, thinking she was laying it on a little thick. How most people who met her seemed not to notice never felt to surprise him: she wasn¡¯t that good an actress.


    ¡°Now is no time to turn on each other with wild accusations,¡± Ruesta implored. ¡°What could Remund have had to gain, even were he a man to murder?¡±


    ¡°What did anyone here have to gain?¡± Ferranda Villazur bit out after her. ¡°It was a senseless thing. For all we know a cultist did this in the night.¡±


    Her appeal for an outside enemy was swiftly ignored.


    ¡°There is one,¡± Angharad Tredegar evenly said, ¡°who quarrelled with the sisters yesterday.¡±


    Fuck, the thief thought. And now came the price for yesterday. Eyes turned to him, a crowd¡¯s worth of them as near everyone had gathered around the corpse by now, but Tristan did not flinch. If he showed weakness they would devour him whole.


    ¡°We quarrelled over a pistol which is still in my possession,¡± Tristan replied. ¡°Would slitting her throat somehow make it even more mine, Tredegar?¡±


    ¡°No one else of this company has done violence on another,¡± the Pereduri pressed. ¡°Who else is there?¡±


    ¡°You are,¡± he replied, ¡°trying to do me violence right now.¡±


    At that she balked, long enough for someone else to speak up.


    ¡°If we throw accusations without proof,¡± Sarai said, ¡°any one us of could be the culprit. Lady Inyoni and Lord Remund are correct: we should look for evidence first.¡±


    And a mere heartbeat after she stopped speaking, as if it had been timed, there was an exclamation of surprise. One coming from near the tents of the infanzones, which raised Tristan¡¯s spirits even as the Tianxi with the silver eyes ¨C Song ¨C flipped over the stone near the valet¡¯s bedroll and revealed the bloody cloth.


    ¡°Blood,¡± Song announced. ¡°Too much for a simple cut.¡±


    Tristan¡¯s eyes narrowed. Fortuna, leaning against shoulder lazily, hummed in agreement. Both of them were well-acquainted with chance, and that timing had been more than simply fortunate. It reeked of collaboration, but what for? Had they been behind all of this? Tristan could not remember seeing the two women exchange more than few words since they¡¯d come aboard the Bluebell and he¡¯d sought enmity with neither of them. It seemed off for them to try to frame him for an equally senseless murder, the pieces didn¡¯t fit. Whatever the truth, he was immediately forgot.


    The crowd exploded in jeers and shouts at the revelation of the bloody cloth, Gascon loudly exclaiming he had nothing to do with this but swiftly drowned out by a tide of indignation. Not even his masters could prevent his affairs from being searched, and chubby-cheeked Ishaan was the one to lift the jacket and reveal the planted knife. The Ramayan held it up triumphantly and in the moment that followed half the crowd looked willing to cut Gascon¡¯s throat themselves. That was where things took a turn.


    ¡°What of it?¡± Augusto Cerdan called out, shouting down the accusations. ¡°It is his knife, you fools, I gave it to him myself years ago. He merely forgot to put it away.¡±


    ¡°It is true,¡± Remund immediately agreed. ¡°This is no proof at all, only nonsense. We all have knives. Where is the blood on the blade?¡±


    Tristan, just for a moment, considered the possibility that whoever had murdered Jun in the night had used another man¡¯s knife for it. Wondered at the foresight of the murderer. And then he set that absurd thought aside, considering the much simpler proposition that the Cerdans were covering for their valet in case some of the shit he was dragging in ended up splashing them. It wasn¡¯t enough, though, and by the looks on the brothers¡¯ faces they knew it. They were not in favour with the other people here, not after having hidden away during the fight on the Bluebell. So Isabel Ruesta spoke up, eyes calm for all that her face looked troubled, and Tristan knew it was over.


    ¡°Briceida,¡± the noblewoman called out, ¡°you have known Gascon for years. Is it true, is the knife his own?¡±


    The redheaded maid smiled broadly.


    ¡°It is, my lady,¡± she said. ¡°I swear it.¡±


    That gave the others pause. Even if it were untrue, forcing the matter would now make this a much larger trouble than a single corpse. The infanzones commanded the largest group and were obviously making common front ¨C one that counted a troubled-looking Angharad Tredegar, that one-woman battalion.  Meanwhile, who did Lan have backing her? Not a soul. Tristan saw that revelation sink into the surviving twin, the way she looked as if she had been struck. The impotent rage that twisted blue-tinted lips when she realized that no one would do a damn thing about her twin being killed in the night because no one cared enough. And that was when, naturally, Tupoc Xical decided to step in.


    ¡°I do not care for this talk of knives,¡± the Aztlan dismissed, ¡°but for this instead: how was it done?¡±


    A moment of surprise followed.


    ¡°The Tianxi¡¯s throat was cut but there is little blood spray on the grass and it is even,¡± the man continued. ¡°She did not move. Who does not wake or struggle even as they are dying?¡±


    Someone touched by a contract, Tristan encouraged. He¡¯d be mocked if he suggested as much, but the Aztlan was not someone they would laugh at.


    ¡°Someone who was drugged,¡± Tupoc said instead. ¡°And there is only one here who carries such substances.¡±


    The eyes went back to him, the thief¡¯s blood going cold as the crowd¡¯s mood turned again. Even the gaze of the infanzones, whose crew he was meant to be part of. Only he was on their mirror-dancer¡¯s bad side and he would be a scapegoat for this mess much less close to them than the Cerdans¡¯ own valet. If anything, they might just help bury him.


    ¡°I have a bottle of soporific in my cabinet,¡± Tristan slowly acknowledged, playing for time, ¡°but it is quite full. I invite you to look if you doubt me.¡±


    He could only hope that it actually was full. He¡¯d not checked every single bottle while on the Bluebell, which now struck him as a grave oversight.


    ¡°What point would there be?¡± Tupoc asked. ¡°You could have topped it off with water, the colour is the same.¡±


    ¡°Then drink a mouthful,¡± Tristan acidly replied, ¡°and tell us if it feels diluted.¡±


    He could tell, though, that he was losing the crowd. What else was there, what shovel could he use to dig himself out?


    ¡°I carry half a dozen medicines that could be poisons, used in a malignant manner,¡± Tristan said. ¡°What need would I have for a knife? If someone plucked a life unseen in the middle of the night, it seems to me more like the work of a contract than that of a bottle.¡±


    ¡°It could have been the Lord of the Thirteenth Heaven as well, I suppose,¡± Tupoc drawled, ¡°but he is very far and your soporific fortuitously close. Besides, who is to say you do not have a contract yourself?¡±


    The Aztlan was enjoying this, the thief thought. He could see it in the man¡¯s pale eyes.


    ¡°Speak up then, boy,¡± Augusto Cerdan broke in, a man no older than Tristan. ¡°Do you have a contract? What does it do?¡±


    And now came the infanzones, bravely riding to the rescue of the only thing they cared about: their reputation. Tristan smiled, showing all his teeth.


    ¡°Your own valet is caught with a bloody cloth and a knife,¡± he said, ¡°and yet I am the one answering questions. An interesting turn, Cerdan.¡±


    He was teetering on the edge, and there was no telling which way it would go. Would anyone even speak for him, if the infanzones decided that he must be arrested ¡®for the safety of all¡¯? He¡¯d have to try the luck, gods damn it all. But even if it got him out of the immediate trouble, how much worse would it land him in?


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t him.¡±


    Surprise caught his throat as silence spread over the hill and he turned to look at the speaker: Lan herself, mouth set in a straight line as she met his eyes.


    ¡°My sister and I spoke with him last night, we settled our affairs,¡± the blue-lipped woman lied. ¡°There was no longer enmity between us. This is mudslinging.¡±


    No one would argue with that he knew, not when it was her own sister that had been murdered, but already he was digging behind. Why? What did she gain by doing this? She had to know the murderer had good as gotten away with it already, what did she¡­ Ah, Tristan thought. Two steps ahead, are you? She¡¯d already seen through how it would end after no one paid for the death and decided to put him in her debt instead of making him an enemy. Only catching up now, his stomach clenched. He was about to lose everything he¡¯d manoeuvred for.


    ¡°She¡¯s right,¡± Inyoni snorted. ¡°You¡¯d bury your own mother to keep the dirt from touching your feet, Cerdan.¡±


    ¡°Fuck this,¡± her nephew Zenzele spat. ¡°This isn¡¯t going anywhere. Come on, auntie, we¡¯re going. If they want to protect a killer it¡¯s on their heads.¡±


    ¡°Agreed,¡± Ishaan snorted, throwing the knife into the grass hard enough it sunk to the hilt. ¡°We part ways here.¡±


    There were some token protests by Ruesta about the need to stick together, but it was theatre. She made no real attempt to mend fences and within a quarter hour Inyoni¡¯s group of six was leaving. Herself, the nephew and his lover, the two Ramayans and that Aztlan called Yaretzi who sometimes tried to chat up Tredegar. She was a decent shot with a pistol, he¡¯d seen yesterday, but nothing else of note. The group headed for the road north and no tears were shed at this first departure. Why would there be? As far as the infanzones were concerned, they¡¯d averted a mess that would have entangled all of them and the groups had been meant to split later today anyhow.


    Tristan stayed quiet and out of the way, knowing he too had come dangerously close to burning his fingers with this whole affair. Tupoc led his group away not long after, though not before making some smiling comments to the infanzones about trust. Taking the two from Asphodel and Ocotlan, he headed east towards the woods. Watching the pale-eyed Aztlan stroll away, the thief could shake the feeling that only one person this morn had gotten everything they were after and their name was Tupoc Xical.


    After that there were only the infanzones and the soon-to-be leftovers remaining, so Tristan knew exactly what lay ahead. What Lan had seen before he did. The nobles would want to save face, and there was only one way left for them to do that. As he packed his affairs, the thief closed his eyes and forced himself to look for an angle. All his work to get close to the Cerdan, to lay down the foundation of his revenge, was about to be undone but there had to be something. There was always an angle. By the time Cozme came to fetch him, smiling all rueful like he cared in the slightest, Tristan still had nothing. It was like clawing at stone. Following the retainer, he found that the infanzones, their servants and other recruits were already waiting.


    The thief had not even noticed Yong being sent for, stuck inside his own mind. The youngest Cerdan, Remund, began to yammer on but Tristan only paid him half a mind. Something about how their valet could not be the killer, that he of course did not believe Tristan was the killer either but who could know? His older brother gravely added that they could not possibly put Isabella at even the slightest risk, surely Tristan understood. If this were Sacromonte they would have simply dismissed him with a smack on the mouth, telling him to mind his betters, but here they had to go through this charade because they needed others to follow them. Tredegar, Brun, Song, Yong. All useful hands, all people that needed to be reassured they wouldn¡¯t be thrown aside easily. A lie, but one the infanzones did not want seen through too quickly.


    It gave him no pleasure to see them go through these contortions, not when there was nothing he could do about the ending. The older Cerdan droned on while Ruesta looked at him with limpid eyes, as if full of sympathy. Ferrdana Villazur¡¯s open boredom was, at least, refreshingly honest. She wanted this over with as much as he did. It had already been decided he was to be cast out of their little group, lose his opportunity to get at Cozme and the Cerdans, and there was nothing in his hands that could hurt them. Nor did his allies - the thief stilled. Not allies, no. But there were enemies aplenty. Lupines who would be hunting them all, soon enough, and that could¡­ But how to deliver it?


    His revelation was encroached on by Isabel Ruesta¡¯s voice.


    ¡°I do not believe it either, I assure you,¡± she told him. ¡°And you came recommended to me by Beatris, who I most dearly trust. If she speaks again for your character, I will insist you remain with us.¡±


    Tristan stilled. The Cerdans looked surprised and angry while Tredegar looked resigned, which implied Ruesta might not be simply posing. What would she get out of this? After a heartbeat he decided she wanted him under her thumb. Someone who¡¯d owe her and not balk at doing the kind of things Tredegar wouldn¡¯t. The thief¡¯s eyes moved to Beatris and he saw the maid touch her jacket¡¯s pocket, the same one where she had stashed away the ruby he¡¯d given her. He saw the calculation in her eyes and the answer she came to.


    He¡¯d already killed Recardo, and now he came with too many enemies attached.


    ¡°I do not know him deeply, my lady,¡± Beatris said. ¡°I cannot truly speak to his character.¡±


    She did not look away when he met her eyes, unashamed. As well she should be. Tristan was not angry, not really. How could he be, when just yesterday he had struck one the twins for a relic pistol? This was nothing more than the Law of Rats, the same he lived by. Beatris would do all she could to survive, as he would in her place. It would have been a hypocrite¡¯s game to claim anger here. Ruesta looked taken aback for a moment, then demurred to her maid.


    ¡°I can only follow your words, of course,¡± she said.


    Beatris not playing along had clearly been unexpected and Ruesta looked, amusingly enough, like she¡¯d been the one who just got a knife in the back. He breathed in sharply. That idle thought, that detail, was the last piece Tristan had needed. All of it fell into place and suddenly there was no longer a need to humour any of this.


    ¡°I will put us all out of our misery,¡± the thief said, ¡°and simply take my leave before Lord Augusto begins another speech.¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Ferranda Villazur frankly said.


    He walked away, deciding not to risk a glance at Yong. The thought was tempting to try and ruin his chances to ensure he was forced to stick by Tristan, but the infanzones were unlikely to throw away a skilled soldier on the thief¡¯s behalf and an unwilling ally could be as dangerous as an enemy anyhow. Instead he made straight for his medicine cabinet, discreetly reaching for a small green vial near the middle compartments while pretending to be arranging the vials. Yes, lodestone extract was there just as the drawing in Alvareno¡¯s Dosages outline. A shadow was cast over him in lantern light, Tristan looking up to find Yong standing there.


    ¡°I did not expect a courtesy goodbye,¡± Tristan admitted. ¡°I wish you good luck on the road, Yong.¡±


    He hesitated, wondering whether he should offer a warning and how to phrase it so his scheme would not be threatened.


    ¡°I would hope so,¡± the Tianxi replied, ¡°since we¡¯re headed down the same one.¡±


    The grey-eyed thief paused.


    ¡°Your odds might be better with them,¡± he finally said.


    The Tianxi soldier eyed the bottle in his hand.


    ¡°Somehow I doubt that,¡± he said. ¡°Besides, we struck a bargain.¡±


    The thief cocked an eyebrow. Neither of them were Malani, to be obsessed with honour and oaths.


    ¡°And their way of going about things leave a bad taste in my mouth,¡± Yong admitted. ¡°They¡¯re headed to the High Road out west for some reason, they want to let the rest of us go first.¡±


    It only took him a moment to figure it out.


    ¡°Lupine bait,¡± the thief guessed. ¡°While we¡¯re being eaten they¡¯ll sneak past the packs.¡±


    ¡°That is also my read,¡± Yong grunted, ¡°and I¡¯ve had too much of that tired old game.¡±


    Tristan studied him for a long moment, looking at the older man¡¯s sweating face. He¡¯d begun drinking already, the thief thought.


    ¡°One day,¡± he said, ¡°I¡¯d like to know why you left Tianxia.¡±


    Their eyes met.


    ¡°No,¡± Yong mirthlessly smiled. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t.¡±


    The former soldier flicked a glance at the crew forming around the infanzones, frowning.


    ¡°If you have a scheme, now is the time for it,¡± he said. ¡°They¡¯re about to leave.¡±


    For the barest moment, Tristan hesitated. Beatris was with them. But then he considered the thought of letting the infanzones get away with it, of letting them walk away clean like they always did, and it burned like coals in his belly. In the end, all that he owed his fellow rat was the ugly law they¡¯d been born to: nothing more and nothing less.


    Tristan uncorked the green bottle. The transparent fluid inside was sticky yet surprisingly liquid, so he was careful not to spill any as he wet his right hand. He carefully put the bottle back and closed the cabinet, walking over to where the crowd had gathered for the last of the earlier squabbling. There Ishaan had angrily thrown the knife the infanzones lied about and there it still was. Tristan ripped it clear of the ground with his left hand, careful to slather the leather grip with the liquid. He then strode right into the midst the infanzones¡¯ crew, blade in hand. Song loosely aimed her musket his way and Tredegar put her hand on her saber, but he went straight for Augusto Cerdan and smiled.


    He flipped the knife, offering the handle to the scowling infanzon.


    ¡°You gifted it to your valet, didn¡¯t you say?¡± Tristan said. ¡°Have it back. Perhaps back in your hands it won¡¯t earn so poor a reputation.¡±


    With all those eyes on him, with Ruesta¡¯s eyes on him, Augusto could not back down from the implied challenge. He took the knife, fingers closing around the extract-drenched handle. It would have felt humid, but not wet. Not enough to draw suspicion.


    ¡°That mouth of yours will cost you some day, boy,¡± the infanzon coldly said. ¡°More than it already has.¡±


    ¡°We all pay the price at the end, Cerdan,¡± Tristan easily replied. ¡°It¡¯s the single fair thing in all the world.¡±


    And with that he walked away from the infanzon, from the lot of them, and back up the hill as they began to leave. The moment they were out of sight, Tristan rushed to his medicine cabinet. He carefully opened it using only his left hand, unlatching the clasps and reaching for the glass bottle at the bottom. Shoving it under his armpit as he reached for a rag, he pulled the cork and wet the rag with grain alcohol. Methodically, ignoring all the eyes on him, the thief wiped his hand and the edge of his clothes with the wet rag. He was particularly careful with his skin, knowing that lodestar extract would sink in unless dissolved by alcohol.


    ¡°So what was that about?¡± Yong bluntly asked.


    Tristan finished up with the rag and tossed it away, careful not step anywhere near it. He then cast a look at the seven people he¡¯d be taking the Trial of Lines with, the band of leftovers than no one else had wanted. Yong and Sarai, the drunk and the woman wearing a mask. The exhausted and bickering married pair of Aines and Felis ¨C the gambler and the dust addict. Grief-stricken Lan who had put him in her debt, her once-polished smile replaced by poorly hidden rage. And then the greyhairs, bespectacled Vanesa and ever-coughing Franchowith his toothless smile. It was not the crew he¡¯d wanted, but it was the one he had. He must make the most of it. An introduction was in order, a proper one.


    ¡°Are any of you familiar with lodestone extract?¡± Tristan asked.


    He got mostly blank looks, though Lan frowned as if trying to recall something. Most importantly, Francho¡¯s eyes lit up.


    ¡°You coated the knife in it?¡± the old man asked.


    ¡°The handle,¡± the thief agreed.


    The greyhair hummed in understanding.


    ¡°And for those of us unfamiliar with the substance?¡± Sarai asked.


    ¡°The lodestone bush is a plant that grows berries,¡± Francho explained, tone gone professorial. ¡°It is common across the west and south of the Trebian Sea. The berries, while comestible, have an unpleasant side effect.¡±


    ¡°Their juice doesn¡¯t smell like anything to us,¡± Tristan revealed, ¡°but to lemures, they reek of fresh blood.¡±


    A moment of silence. Lemures like lupines, the beasts with the noses of hunting hounds crawling around these parts.


    ¡°The extract,¡± Yong slowly said, ¡°it will be more concentrated than the raw berry juice, won¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°At least a hundred times, if it is anything like what is sold in Sacromonte markets,¡± Old Francho said, grinning a toothless grin. ¡°Clever boy. Every lupine for a dozen miles will be after them like they¡¯re the only meat at the feast.¡±


    The thief only smiled a pleasant, friendly smile.


    ¡°They meant to use us to clear their path,¡± he shrugged. ¡°I am only returning the favour in kind.¡±


    Tristan liked to think of himself as a practical man, even when moved by revenge. It did not matter if the deed was not of his own hand, so long as Cozme and the Cerdans died.

 Chapter 9

    They¡¯d not left the campsite for half an hour before it got worse.


    ¡°We agreed to pool our men together, Ferranda,¡± Augusto Cerdan shouted. ¡°You would go back on your word?¡±


    ¡°I gave no word,¡± Lady Ferranda Villazur evenly replied, ¡°and go back on nothing. If you assumed, Cerdan, that is on your head alone.¡±


    The eldest of the Cerdan brothers was the one barking the loudest but he was not the one Angharad was wary of. Twice now Remund had tried to catch Cozme Aflor¡¯s eye, to give him a silent order, and only the retainer¡¯s obstinate pretence he had not noticed was preventing that disaster in the making. Isabel had retreated behind her maids, wisely so, but the rest of the infanzones were at each other¡¯s throats: Lady Ferranda and her hired huntsman Sanale standing on one side, the Cerdans and their retainers on the other.


    The Cerdan valet, Gascon, had pulled a pistol out of his blue-and-red livery and his impressive moustache bristled with his masters¡¯ anger. Lord Augusto had not drawn his sword, for all the red flush of his face, but his younger brother¡¯s left hand was kept under his cloak and to Angharad¡¯s eye the stance spoke of his holding either a pistol or a knife. Master Cozme, the real fighter of the lot, had pointedly refrained from reaching for a weapon but Lady Ferranda still kept a hand on the grip of the slender sword at her hip. She must be feeling the weight of the numbers arrayed against her.


    ¡°Turn on us now and we will remember it, Villazur,¡± Remund sneered. ¡°It is all of your house that will feel the displeasure of the Cerdan.¡±


    Angharad¡¯s teeth clenched. That, she thought, was a step too far. By the open disgust on Song¡¯s face and the blankness on Brun¡¯s, she was not the only one to think as much. Lady Ferranda¡¯s eyes went cold.


    ¡°Watch your tongue, you viperous brat,¡± she said. ¡°If you threaten my kin again, I swear by the Manes there will be blood.¡±


    Remund smiled, triumph in his eyes.


    ¡°See, I told you she was against us,¡± the Cerdan announced to all. ¡°For all we know she was the one who killed that Tianxi peasant. What if she comes back to attack us in the night? We can¡¯t afford to let her loose.¡±


    Angharad had been reluctant to step in, for the affairs of the infanzones were theirs to settle, but when Remund¡¯s claim was answered by the sound of Ferranda Villazur unsheathing her rapier she knew the time for such courtesy was past. She cleared her throat, shoulders tensing.


    ¡°You have made a grave accusation, Lord Remund,¡± Angharad stated. ¡°Kindly either prove or withdraw it.¡±


    The infanzon¡¯s dark eyes swept the crowd, but as he did his face reddened. The Cerdan had made few friends and none now cared to back the youngest¡¯s wild accusation. Remund tugged at his blue doublet¡¯s high collar, nervousness seeping into his eyes as it sunk in he might be short of defenders.


    ¡°You are here at our sufferance, Tredegar,¡± he began. ¡°You-¡±


    Brun took a measured step closer to Angharad¡¯s side, hand on his hatchet. The sight of it had Remund trailing off.


    ¡°I would like to hear your proof as well, Lord Remund,¡± Brun said.


    The weight of Song¡¯s silver eyes burned against the side of Angharad¡¯s face for a long moment, before the Tianxi idly took a step closer to them both. She did not reach for her musket but the implication was clear.


    ¡°My brother spoke in anger and shamed himself,¡± Augusto Cerdan suddenly cut in. ¡°He never meant to impugn Lady Ferranda¡¯s reputation.¡±


    Remund¡¯s face twisted in fury, as much turned on his now-smiling brother as Angharad herself. She met his gaze, unimpressed. Though it was true that the company assembled at the beginning of the trial had ended, and so the oath not to do violence on one another as well, Lady Ferranda had given them no reason to bare steel.


    ¡°Do you withdraw your accusation, Remund?¡± the fair-haired Villazur bit out.


    Movement to the side as Isabel strode past her maids, shaking her head.


    ¡°Of course he does, Ferranda, do not be silly,¡± Isabel said. ¡°You know how men¡¯s tempers are, he was only angered you would leave us so. I¡¯m sure he is most sorry.¡±


    A pause.


    ¡°Naturally,¡± Remund said, after a beat. ¡°It is as Isabel says.¡±


    And so, Angharad noted, he was spared from having to recant and apologize with his own words. Cleverly done, if Isabel¡¯s intent was to spare him further humiliation, but the Pereduri¡¯s lips thinned. One¡¯s honour should not be left in another¡¯s hands. The ploy reminded her all too much of the tales Mother had told her of the High Queen¡¯s court, of courtiers confessing to the misdeeds of their izinduna patrons so that those hallowed personages¡¯ honour would not be stained. It was a base sort of cleverness, one she had not expected of Isabel. She is only trying to keep the peace, Angharad decided. That is a laudable thing.


    ¡°Then we have nothing else to say to each other,¡± Lady Ferranda stiffly replied, sheathing her blade. ¡°It is best we part ways swiftly.¡±


    ¡°If you prefer,¡± Augusto Cerdan shrugged. ¡°A shame Remund¡¯s manners were so poor as to drive you away.¡±


    Angharad¡¯s jaw clenched. Was there anything in all of Vesper that would have the brothers cease pricking one another? Ferranda bad curt goodbyes to her fellow infanzones, even to Isabel, and ignored their attendants entirely. She grew warmer only when coming over towards the others, kindly bidding farewell to Song and Brun before turning to Angharad herself.


    ¡°Your help was most appreciated, my lady,¡± Ferranda said, laying hand on her heart and bowing slightly.


    Angharad was not familiar with the gesture but mimicked it easily enough.


    ¡°It was nothing,¡± she replied.


    ¡°It was not,¡± Ferranda firmly said, ¡°and I will not forget it. I hope we may meet again come the Trial of Ruins and share a road for a time.¡±


    ¡°I look forward to it,¡± Angharad said, meaning every word, but cocked her heat to the side. ¡°I mean no slight, but are you quite certain you two should set out alone?¡±


    ¡°I have long prepared for these trials, my lady,¡± the other woman said. ¡°Believe me when I say I am certain indeed.¡±


    ¡°Then I will not wish you luck you ill need,¡± Angharad smiled, ¡°but may the God¡¯s blessing go with you.¡±


    Ferranda looked startled.


    ¡°You are a Universalist?¡±


    ¡°As are most Pereduri,¡± Angharad agreed. ¡°The Redeemers never made many converts among us.¡±


    The faiths might have the same source and believe in the same Sleeping God, but the hardline beliefs of the Redeemers had always made her uncomfortable. Their insistence that Vesper was the test of the God and he gave neither blessing nor succour, that devils and hollows were inherent instruments of evil, struck her as wretched. The Universalist creed, that the Sleeping God had divided himself into all save devils and all would return to him when he woke to be judged for their deeds, felt like a kinder and deeper truth.


    Not that a Sacromontan would know much of either creed. Their city was in the old heartlands of the Second Empire, the cradle of the Orthodoxy. The Lierganen had spread their faith far and wide, converting most of the known world, but since Malan had been only a distant province of the empire it had been spared the imposition of the imperial creed. Not that the Orthodoxy was so orthodox, these days. Tianxia and the Someshwar both claimed to be the seat of the faith since the fall of Tarteso, occasionally going to war over it.


    ¡°I should have guessed from the lack of haughty sermons,¡± Ferranda snorted, but her amusement soon faded.


    It was replaced by a flicker of hesitation before the blonde¡¯s expression firmed.


    ¡°A word of warning,¡± she spoke in a whisper. ¡°Isabel has already lost what she came to this island for, and will now look to other prizes.¡±


    ¡°I do not understand,¡± Angharad frowned.


    ¡°You are not a choice she ever intends to make,¡± Lady Ferranda said, not unkindly.


    Without further ceremony, the other woman offered her a nod and decisively broke away. Angharad was left trying not to gape, as much from her flirtation with Isabel having been caught on to as by how out of the black the warning was. And unnecessary. She hardly expected marriage out of a liaison that had yet to even begin and had not even found it in her to daydream of being joined in the Watch by the lovely infanzona. Isabel did not seem well-suited to such a life. No, their affair ¨C should it bloom - would end with the trials and remain only a fond memory. It was kind of Lady Ferranda to try to protect her feelings, but she had no undue expectations to be wounded by. Angharad was still wrestling with the suddenness of it all when Song and Brun joined her.


    ¡°A very polite woman,¡± Brun said, glancing at the departing pair.


    He sounded approving. Lady Ferranda and her hired man were heading east, Angharad saw, towards the road that supposedly led all the way to the mountains and the second trial awaiting within them. The Trial of Ruins, it was called. The Cerdans had several times implied it was some sort of maze.


    ¡°And clever,¡± Song mused. ¡°She waited until everyone else was gone to part ways with us.¡±


    Angharad glanced at her.


    ¡°You believe she wants others to think she is still with our group,¡± she slowly said.


    ¡°A lone pair would be vulnerable,¡± Song said. ¡°But less so if no one knows they went off on their own.¡±


    Vulnerable to who, Angharad could have asked, but she knew the answer. She simply did not want to consider it.


    ¡°Then you suspect, as she must, that the murderer did not act alone,¡± she murmured. ¡°That there are those among us who would hunt other trial-takers.¡±


    ¡°I suspect the same,¡± Brun frankly said. ¡°And while I have no proof, it occurs to me that Tupoc Xical was pleased our great company parted ways on such poor terms.¡±


    ¡°He also went hard after that man Tristan,¡± Song noted. ¡°Not without grounds, but it did feed the fires just when they were beginning to cool.¡±


    Angharad grimaced. She was not unaware she had acted poorly there, also casting the blame on the apprentice physician. It was only sensible that when an oath-breaking killing was had one should look at where honour had proved loosest, but she could admit to herself that was not the sole reason she¡¯d spoken. It had been so deeply embarrassing, to find the man she¡¯d thought a kind soul standing over a beaten woman with a debt collector¡¯s weapon in hand. It¡¯d felt like he had taken advantage of her, back on the ship, and wounded pride had moved her lips. Her father had always admonished her over lessons of law, saying that justice could spring only from clear mind and cold heart.


    Would that she had listened to him, instead of laughing that she would find a wife to run Llanw Hall¡¯s estate for her just as Mother had found a husband. She could not quite shake the Sacromontan¡¯s sharp retort. You are attempting to do me violence right now, he had said, and had he been wrong? Angharad had not bared a blade but an accusation before the others was almost as dangerous. It gnawed at her, that while respecting the letter of her oath she might well have violated the spirit. And for wounded pride, of all things. She had felt guilty enough to accept when Isabel brought up the notion of keeping the physician in the fold.


    ¡°I added to the flames myself,¡± Angharad admitted. ¡°It was ill-done, and I do not know if I owe him apology but there should be some redress.¡±


    Another debt to mark, one of the many she seemed to be accruing these days. Like a drunken vagrant, she racked up accounts wherever she drifted to. What she would not give to be home again, where it had all made sense and her life had been a well-lit road ahead of her instead of the darkened trail she was now stumbling down.


    ¡°I would not say he¡¯s earned so much,¡± Song said, ¡°but that is your decision to make.¡±


    Angharad sighed, forcing herself to set aside the pointless thoughts.


    ¡°Tupoc is dangerous,¡± she finally agreed. ¡°He recruited fighters for a reason, and though I do not know whether he would hunt others outright I do not believe he would balk at violence should he meet us.¡±


    ¡°They went east, towards the woods,¡± Brun said. ¡°Of all the groups we should be the least likely to run into his.¡±


    True enough, as they were headed northwest towards the long aqueduct known as the High Road. For what Angharad did not yet know, as the infanzones had been tight-lipped about their plans, but she would soon learn. She had been told they were not far from the structure, a mere half hour of walk. Lady Ferranda¡¯s departure and the tenor of it having left a pall on them all, at first the mood was grim when they set out on their journey again. Angharad took the vanguard with Cozme Aflor once more, leaving the back to Song and Gascon. Brun, she saw with a thread of amusement, was chatting with Isabel¡¯s redheaded maid again. They seemed quite charmed by one another.


    Isabel herself stood between the Cerdans, a pleasant smile on her face as the three conversed. Angharad could only wonder whether at how genuine it might be, given how much more sharply the brothers had begun sniping at each other since the beginning of the trial. She kept her eyes ahead, however, looking for threats as the light of the great lantern Cozme carried swept the grounds before them. Her companion at the front was not one for silences, so it was not long before he spoke up.


    ¡°Shame how it turned out in camp,¡± Cozme idly said. ¡°We could have used them.¡±


    ¡°It does feel like our company¡¯s ranks have grown thin,¡± she said. ¡°I regret my hand in that.¡±


    Cozme snorted.


    ¡°Don¡¯t think it¡¯s a reproach, Lady Tredegar,¡± the older man said. ¡°I¡¯m not sure that Tristan boy cut the other rat¡¯s throat, but he was a little too slick for my tastes. Always up to something. I won¡¯t mourn leaving him behind.¡±


    The greying retainer sighed.


    ¡°Yong, now? That was a loss,¡± he said. ¡°Wish I knew what made him leave.¡±


    ¡°He was a skilled marksman,¡± Angharad slowly agreed, ¡°but why such esteem? You are a fair shot yourself.¡±


    ¡°You know that knot he had on top of his head?¡± Cozme said, gesturing towards the back of his own.


    Angharad nodded.


    ¡°It¡¯s the way men from Caishen do their hair when they go soldiering,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯ve worked with some of them before and they¡¯re hard men. some of the finest in Vesper.¡±


    Angharad¡¯s lessons on Tianxia had involved learning the Ten Republics by rote, but it took her a moment to place which one Caishen was.


    ¡°The city is near the borders with Izcalli and the Someshwar,¡± she said. ¡°I was taught there is hardly a season there without skirmishing.¡±


    ¡°More than skirmishes, sometimes,¡± Cozme told her. ¡°About twenty years ago the raj of Kurin decided he wanted to claim a slice of the lowlands, so Caishen mustered militia and mercenaries to turn him back. Only it turned into a rough stalemate, so a pack of Sunflower Lords led warbands over the border to attack both under banner of flower war.¡±


    ¡°That sounds¡­¡± Angharad began, looking for the right word. ¡°Messy.¡±


    ¡°It was that,¡± Cozme grunted. ¡°Bloody as all Hell too, and it took most a decade before the bleeding stopped.¡±


    ¡°Caishen won?¡± she asked.


    ¡°The Kurin troops shelled an old temple trying to push out the Izcalli, only they broke something they shouldn¡¯t have and a horde of old gods came howling out,¡± he said. ¡°They started killing everything so the Watch stepped in and told everyone to go home until they cleaned up the mess.¡±


    It was for good reason that the blackcloaks were given the authority to force temporary truces under the Iscariot Accords, Angharad thought. Not even the most bloodthirsty of the Sunflower Lords wanted the devastation of the Succession Wars to come again, those ruinous days when entire kingdoms were swallowed up by the Gloam as the great powers fought tooth and nail to succeed Liergan¡¯s hegemony.


    ¡°You believe this Yong fought in the conflict, then,¡± Angharad guessed.


    ¡°He has a veteran¡¯s way about him and he¡¯s in his forties,¡± Cozme replied. ¡°I can¡¯t be sure but I¡¯d bet coin on it.¡±


    Angharad saw no need to doubt her companion, their regular conversations having revealed that his fifty some years in Sacromonte left him learned in many matters. Not in the way a noble would be, a proper education, but in the manner of a skilled retainer. Useful knowledge, gathered on the ground.


    ¡°Sacromonte does seem to attract all sorts,¡± Angharad said. ¡°You met these Caishen soldiers in the service of House Cerdan, I take it?¡±


    Stolen novel; please report.


    ¡°I used to work under Lord Lorient, the boys¡¯ uncle,¡± Cozme said, tone wistful.


    He shook his head.


    ¡°Not Lord Cerdan himself, one of his younger brothers,¡± he elaborated. ¡°He ran the house¡¯s affairs in Feria District for a few years and we used hired hands there. The war in Caishen was just over, so the port was flush with penniless mercenaries come to the City for work.¡±


    Angharad found herself approving of the Cerdan generosity in employing such luckless men, a reminder that the brothers were not the sum whole of House Cerdan. The eastern ports of the Isles often found themselves flush with destitute souls from Izcalli when one its constant wars went badly for a Sunflower Lord, but Malan did not treat the exiles as kindly. Most of them ended up press-ganged into the High Queen¡¯s navy or used as labour for the great shipyards.


    The two of them kept up lively talk throughout the walk, the noblewoman finding Master Cozme to be as pleasant company as ever. It was obvious the older man missed his days spent serving Lord Lorient and was hoping to return to the man¡¯s service after the trials. Why he was no longer under Lorient Cerdan was something Cozme remained vague about, though Angharad suspected he had made a blunder of some kind. Joining the trials to protect the Cerdan brothers must have been his way of expiating the mistake, a worthy redress.


    Honour was not the sole province of nobles, Angharad reminded herself.


    Finding the High Road proved easy enough, near the end, for the structure loomed tall above the plains. At least thirty feet tall, the aqueduct was a long stretch of arches going into the distance ¨C first through plains, and likely even through the distant woods beyond them. Perhaps, Angharad thought, all the way to the mountains. The stone was weather-worn and smooth, she saw as she approached, and though there was no trace of where it once would have carried water to rain must still gather atop it: at the foot of where the arches began, the ground was a mess of stinking mud. The noblewoman stopped at the edge, wrinkling her nose.


    ¡°First Empire work, do you think?¡± Brun asked, coming to stand by her side.


    She¡¯d not heard him approach. How lightly the Sacromontan stepped, sometimes.


    ¡°It looks old enough,¡± Angharad agreed.


    Not all remains of the First Empire were wondrous machinery. The Antediluvians had left great works of stone as well, fortresses and cities and stranger things ¨C towers hidden beneath lakes, palaces balancing atop cliffs and even bridges that crossed half a sea. Many had aged poorly, shattered by war or the ravages of time as eras passed. First the Old Night, reigning for devils only knew how long, then Morn¡¯s Arrival announcing their fall when the last of the Old World took refuge in the depths of Vesper. It had been centuries from then to the Second Empire and longer still to this day. Their curiosity was ended by Isabel sweetly calling for all to gather, the infanzones finally ready to reveal their plan.


    Only between the Cerdan brothers and Isabel she found that Song was standing, unveiling a scroll under the light of a lantern held up by Gascon. All gathered close and Angharad sucked in a breath at the sight of what the Tianxi revealed: a map. Spirits, no wonder the infanzones had been unanimous in their desire for her to join. Angharad had wondered at such unusual unity. Hungry for a better grasp of their situation, the Pereduri leaned close. Though it was rough work, nothing at all like Malani sea charts, the outline of the Dominion of Lost Things was clear. They had landed at the southern end of the island, at a place named Lodoso Dock, and followed the road north.


    Passing through nameless woods they were now on a plain that reached the shore on the western side but led into further forest to the north and east. The forest to the north was cut by a great river across which there were two bridges, and further beyond stood the mountains and a fort marked as the Trial of Ruins.


    ¡°Some of you might be wondering why it is that we have led you to the High Road,¡± Lord Augusto addressed everyone. ¡°Now is the time to have your answers.¡±


    He gestured at Song¡¯s map, finger tracing the air above the thin grey line that was the aqueduct on the map. It went straight north, parallel to the road, and crossed woods and river to end against a mountainside.


    ¡°Its name is most apt, you see,¡± the eldest Cerdan told them smilingly. ¡°We will climb the aqueduct and use it a high road across half the island, bringing us mere hours away from the Trial of Ruins without ever being at risk.¡±


    ¡°The aqueduct is intact all the way across?¡± Brun asked, skeptical.


    A doubt earned, Angharad thought, if the two of them had been right in guessing the High Road to be a work of the First Empire. Her gaze left the map, instead turning to the tall arches. Not only was it of towering height but the weather-worn smoothness of the stone left no real grip for someone trying to climb. How were they to even reach up there?


    ¡°There are sections that fell apart,¡± Lord Augusto acknowledged, ¡°but we have means to cross them.¡±


    ¡°I imagine,¡± Angharad slowly said, ¡°that you also have equipment to climb our way up? It will take more than ropes and audacity to achieve this.¡±


    She had not seen cliff-climbing gear among the bags of the infanzones, but then she had not looked for it. Augusto Cerdan smirked, the stern lines of his face softening.


    ¡°We have something altogether better,¡± he said.


    His brother stepped forth, Remund preening under the weight of the gazes turned on him. With an arrogant smiled he brushed back his black curls, tucking them under that ridiculous plumed hat he insisted on wearing. Why Sacromonte fashion dictated a side of the brim should be pinned to the hat¡¯s crown was beyond her ¨C unlike a tricorn, it would not even properly keep the rain out of your face. Satisfied he had everyone¡¯s attention, Remund Cerdan breathed out and began tracing thin air with his finger. For a startled moment Angharad thought he might be using a Sign, but the infanzon instead left a trail of thick light.


    Contract, she thought. The youngest Cerdan finished with a flourish of the wrist, having traced a small circle of light whose hole faced the sky. Before anyone could think to ask as to the usefulness of such a thing, Remund dramatically took off his hat and hung it on the light as if it were a hook. Both hat and light remaining hanging in midair, to the amazement of several gathered around.


    ¡°I will be making us stairs all the way to the summit,¡± Lord Remund announced. ¡°My power can support weight enough for a grown man and bags when properly focused.¡±


    ¡°That is impressive,¡± Angharad freely admitted.


    ¡°It is not a power without flaws,¡± Lord Augusto was quick to reveal. ¡°Never let your flesh touch it, else it will be burned.¡±


    The younger brother turned a hard gaze on him, visibly furious.


    ¡°Do not be miffed, Remund,¡± Isabel said, patting his arm. ¡°We agreed to tell our companions as much, yes? No one wants an accident.¡±


    ¡°It was mine to reveal,¡± the youngest Cerdan insisted, but the edge to his anger was gone.


    He sighed, snatching his hat back a heartbeat before the solid light snuffed itself out. Angharad studied him carefully, looking for a price but finding none visible. Was his pact like hers then, bound to a single great oathsworn act? She had not studied the lore of spirits in depth as a girl, but she remembered only old and powerful ones were capable of such things. The Fisher was one such, ancient as stony shores of Peredur and powerful enough a spirit to have formed a body, but that was not so rare a thing. Sacromonte, for all its waning splendour, was host to some great spirits of the Second Empire ¨C the Manes, she thought them to be called.


    ¡°It will take us no more than four days to make it to the Trial of Ruins, keeping to a reasonable pace,¡± Song announced, carefully rolling up her map. ¡°We carry rations and water enough to make it there without resupply.¡±


    ¡°The sanctuary in the mountains provides food and water for all,¡± Lord Augusto told them. ¡°Our needs will be met.¡±


    The infanzones knew much of the trials and it was no secret why. Isabel had candidly admitted to her during one of their walks that most noble houses kept records of the Dominion of Lost Things for their own, though the Watch forbade the tracing of maps during the trials so any drawn must be after and from memory. Song¡¯s own map, of superior quality, must have been sold to her by a blackcloak and so stood a testament to the Tianxi¡¯s resourcefulness. There were no arguments as to the plan the infanzones had revealed, rightfully so, and so without further ado the preparations for the climb began: Remund Cerdan, wearing thick cloves, began forging stairs with his contract.


    Or so he had called them, but Angharad found them closer to a rising slope. The infanzon only ever drew circles she noticed, never another shape even if the sized varied, and seemed as wary of touching the solid light with his bare flesh as others must be. Lord Augusto went to oversee the servants while Song and Master Cozme kept watch, leaving Angharad free to spend her time in pleasant company. Isabel came to her side without being bid and they stood arm in arm as they watched Remund Cerdan put his contract to work.


    Isabel had long traded her brocade dress for more practical clothes, much like her maids, but they were just as flattering to her form as the last. A long jacket over a blouse and a yellow satin bodice led into matching breeches and hose, the ensemble secured at the waist by a broad belt while below the hose disappeared into knee-high boots. Having eschewed jewels the infanzona had instead added a touch of panache through a wide-brimmed felt hat, angled roguishly.  Angharad¡¯s eyes lingered on the delicately embroidered bodice and the slender waist it encircled so lovingly.


    ¡°Is my bodice so interesting, Lady Tredegar?¡± Isabel teased.


    ¡°I could be looking at your pistol, Lady Ruesta,¡± she easily replied, smirking back.


    It was a small pearl-incrusted piece tucked into her belt, lacquered so heavily there was no telling what the wood beneath might be.


    ¡°That would be disappointing,¡± Isabel said. ¡°I might have picked it thinking of you.¡±


    It was an effort not to cough in embarrassment, but Angharad was not a girl and she had played this game before. Being smitten would only keep her on the backfoot for so long.


    ¡°You should have sent for me, then,¡± she lightly replied. ¡°Should it not be my duty to help you put it on?¡±


    Isabel¡¯s green eyes glittered with amusement, but small fingers pinched Angharad¡¯s side through her coat.


    ¡°Bold,¡± the infanzona half-heartedly chided.


    ¡°If that is your request,¡± Angharad drawled back, ¡°I will endeavour to deliver.¡±


    Isabel¡¯s lips quirked.


    ¡°I had thought to offer you a walk with me tonight,¡± she said, ¡°but I begin to think I would be courting danger.¡±


    Angharad met her eyes, offering a roguish smile.


    ¡°Somehow I don¡¯t think you¡¯d mind a taste of¡­ danger.¡±


    Isabel¡¯s cheeks pinkened, eyes widening, and she shyly looked away. It had been so very worth it to learn that smile after Thalente Cindi used it to get her into bed, Angharad mused and not for the first time either. Father had once caught her practicing it in the mirror, which had been mortifying, but not as much as the way he¡¯d then given her advice about perfecting it. Surprisingly good advice, too, which had led her to suspect Mother might not have been as much the pursuer in that courtship as she¡¯d always claimed. The sudden realization that she would never again speak with her father, that never again would she see Mother kiss his neck in affection as they talked of this and that, hit her like a shot in the belly.


    She swallowed thickly, Isabel turning to shoot her a concerned glance at the sound. Angharad forced calm upon herself, setting aside the grief. She could not let the past catch up to her, lest it swallow her whole. Forward, ever forward until she took her revenge and at last she could allow herself to weep.


    ¡°Are you quite all right?¡± Isabel softly asked.


    ¡°I¡­ miss my home,¡± Angharad finally replied, keeping to a truth exact. ¡°It would be difficult to return.¡±


    Isabel found her hand and squeezed it comfortingly.


    ¡°Difficulty does not last forever,¡± the infanzona said, then her voice became cadenced. ¡°All things come and go, all that was will be: a closed circle is without end.¡±


    Orthodoxy words, but kind ones. She took what little comfort there was to find within them, gaze returning to Remund Cerdan as he finished the last of his work. He¡¯d climbed up, needing to draw the circles of light with his fingers, and was now a single one away from reaching the top of the aqueduct. His valet Gascon was holding up a lantern from below, its lights revealing a sight that had Angharad going utterly still. Remund¡¯s skin was pale as milk, and for a disgusted heartbeat she thought the man had hollowed, turned into a darkling, but it was not so. His movements were oddly stiff and she realized that his skin was no longer skin at all: it was as if it¡¯d turned into ivory. Even his eyes had gone pale. The noblewoman shivered in discomfort at the sight.


    ¡°It is not pretty,¡± Isabel quietly agreed. ¡°The Tiller-of-Rectitude has twisted tastes, for all that his boons are powerful.¡±


    ¡°Is he a Mane?¡± Angharad asked in a whisper.


    Isabel chuckled.


    ¡°No, nothing so impressive,¡± the dark-haired beauty replied. ¡°He is a temple god, though, revered enough to have his built in the Old Alcazar. It was a coup for Remund to attract his attention.¡±


    The work now finished, said Cerdan climbed atop the High Road and disappeared into the dark, perhaps hoping he had not been seen. His older brother directed the servants to begin bringing up the bags, Gascon and the Ruesta handmaids taking turns to bring up clothes. They covered their hands with washcloths to avoid being burned, the clumsiness it entailed slowing down the work even further. Angharad and Isabel reluctantly parted ways when her time came, the infanzona pulling on fitted leather gloves to help her on her way up. Up there she began to chat with Remund, one of her maids at her side to take up the bags the other one brought up.


    With about half the work done, Brun was sent up with his own affairs and Song pulled from guard duty for the same at Isabel¡¯s own suggestion. A courtesy, Angharad decided, meant, meant to soothe away the resentment the high-handed manners of the Cerdan had brought. Angharad went to keep Master Cozme company, less than interested in watching Augusto Cerdan pettily ensure that his own bags were brought up by the servants before his brother¡¯s, and found him sitting on a stone as he kept an eye on the plains around them.


    The lantern¡¯s cast only went so far, but out here the lights of firmament lent an eye in a way they had not out in the woods. The cold light of cycling stars, those great Antediluvian wonders, shone like handfuls of diamonds sown in a sea of dark. Yet for all their beauty it was the crescent bite of the southern moons, slices of Glare bled out by faults in the machineries of firmament, that navigators set their courses by. Unlike the stars, they did not move with the passing of years ¨C though unseen ebb and flows dictated the strength of their light.


    ¡°Almost done?¡± Cozme idly asked.


    She glanced back.


    ¡°Still more than a third of the bags left,¡± Angharad said. ¡°Mostly supplies. Lady Isabel¡¯s bags were brought up first.¡±


    Unsurprisingly, given that Lord Augusto had been deciding the order. He was still down there with the dark-haired maid and his valet, enjoying the exercise of authority.


    ¡°Of course they were,¡± Cozme Aflor sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. ¡°At least with Mistress Song up there we have-¡±


    A shout interrupted him, both their gazes immediately drawn by the sound. Song was gesturing wildly, pointing to their left. Cozme was on his feet in a heartbeat, pistol drawn, and Angharad reached for her saber ¨C yet there was nothing there. Was had the Tianxi seen?


    ¡°What in the Manes is she shouting about?¡± Cozme muttered, picking up his lantern.


    Fiddling with the shutter to open it wider, he let out a curse when it jammed and began pulling at it. Song shouted again.


    ¡°-RUN!¡±


    The shutter suddenly jerked open, light leaping forward and revealing a dazed lupine three feet away where there¡¯d been thin air a heartbeat earlier. Angharad¡¯s arm moved even as her mind froze, slicing through the lemure¡¯s eyes. The creature whimpered, just before Cozme fired behind her and she turned just long enough to see another lupine¡¯s brains splatter the grass. It was then she finally caught sight of them: strands of shadow on the green, slithering unseen towards them. She barely began to count before ceasing in blind dread: there were dozens, maybe even a hundred, converging from all sides. The Pereduri seized her panic before it could seize her, ripping the lantern out of Cozme¡¯s hands.


    He cursed, but she was already throwing it behind them. As the light whirled it ripped away the veil hiding the lupines behind them, dazing them for a moment as it had the others.


    ¡°Run,¡± she hissed, and they did.


    She broke into a sprint, hacking blindly when something snapped at her heels, and saw Cozme¡¯s wide-brimmed hat fly off when he turned to cut at burning yellow eyes. They were soon at the lantern she¡¯d thrown, howls erupting behind them as the pack emerged from nothingness and ahead she saw one of Isabel¡¯s maids going up the rings of solid light, the valet right behind her, screaming as she burned her hands in her hurry. The distraction cost her, Angharad¡¯s foot slipping on the grass, but Cozme caught her arm and kept her standing. A shot sounded from the top of the aqueduct, the lantern behind them exploding in a ball of pale fire whose blooming light had the lemures yelping in pain.


    They did not waste Song¡¯s gift, running the last of the way hard enough their legs burned. Angharad almost slipped into the mud when she reached the ground by the last of the bags, supplies she knew they would have to abandon. Already Lord Augusto was climbing up his brother¡¯s rings, shouting for his valet to hurry, and there was just enough room for another to begin going after him. Angharad and Cozme traded a look for a heartbeat, then she gestured for him to go. She would have slipped out there, if not for his help. That debt at least she could repay. She turned to face the onslaught, blade in hand, and breathed out slowly.


    The light of abandoned lanterns laid out a ghostly ring for her, the darkness beyond just thin enough that when whatever greater power had veiled the lupines released its hold she saw the horde entire. A dozen slowly circling around her, eyeing the black ichor still staining her blade, and twice as many spreading around. She saw it then, the monster behind it all. She would have thought it a hill on the horizon, if it had not moved. Large as a carriage, the wolf-like lemure leaned heavily on its too-large front legs, the great maw seton its eyeless face filled with teeth like razor blades. The horror, though, did not lay there: it was covered in bulbous cysts and open wounds, trailing from all of them a foul black pus that the lupines came close to lick as if it were to them mother¡¯s milk.


    Shadow shivered down their fur when they did, melding them with the dark, and Angharad retched at the sight. Her disgust was forced aside when fear stole its place, her wandering gaze enough to incite the lemures to attack. The yellow-eyed monsters charged a dozen all at once, bone stingers rattling up a storm as they ran. Shots rang from above, downing two while the other balls missed, but Angharad kept her eyes on the enemy. Going still, she glimpsed ahead.


    (It leapt up, tearing out her throat as another hamstrung her and the rest barrelled into her corpse)


    Crouching down without missing a beat, she let the lupine fall into the mud as she carved through the muzzle of the one to her left. Pivoting on herself to rise back to her full height, she stole another glimpse.


    (Claws into her back, snapping at her heels from behind, a mass like a tide tipping her over.)


    Precision in all things, she told herself. So the wasp kills the lion. Measured movement, using her pivot to stumble back so the lupine clawing at her back instead stumbled into the one crawling out of the mud to bite at her heels. Hands high, shifting the weight so she could steal her footing back in time to slash at the muzzle of the first lupine in the tide. It was chaos after that, too fast and brutal for glimpsing. Claws tore at her side, through coat and shirt, and she smashed a skull with her saber¡¯s pommel and hacked into another enemy¡¯s flank. Another few shots from above, and another from closer: Cozme had reloaded while climbing.


    And just as suddenly as it had come the tide withdrew, lupine corpses strewn all over the ring of light as the survivors fled back to the safety of the dark. Angharad, panting, felt the foul mixture of blood, sweat and ichor slide down her skin. Already another pack was gathering, and larger.


    ¡°Climb,¡± Isabel called out. ¡°Before it is too late.¡±


    Not eager for another melee she was unlikely to survive, the Pereduri moved towards the rings. She could tell immediately, though, that it wouldn¡¯t be enough. Gascon was near the summit, but the valet had dropped the cloth that covered his hands and his fingers were covered with black burns, his eyes red with tears. Lord Augusto had half-climbed with him but couldn¡¯t go ahead, not when the rings could not support the weight of two men, and though Angharad could squeeze close to Cozme it would leave her a mere handful of feet above the ground. The lupines would drag her down in moments. Song shot her musket again, blowing up a lantern in a burst of pale flame to scatter the gathering pack.


    Only two left.


    ¡°A rope,¡± Angharad shouted. ¡°Thrown down a rope, we¡¯ll climb up the side.¡±


    ¡°Then they¡¯ll stop shooting to cover us, you fool,¡± Augusto shouted.


    But Brun, the God bless him, listened to her instead of the Cerdan. Within moments he was dangling a rope off the edge, and though it would need a leap to catch it Angharad would not miss. She glimpsed, saw herself falling short, and adjusted the angle. She had as many chances as she would need.


    Song shot again, another lantern buying them precious time.


    ¡°Shit,¡± Cozme swore, looking back. ¡°The large one is coming. Can the rope handle both of us?¡±


    If that creature came, Cozme wouldn¡¯t be high enough for safety either.


    ¡°Isabel,¡± Angharad screamed. ¡°You and your maids, help Brun.¡±


    Four people on the rope, would it be enough? They would have to risk it.


    ¡°It should,¡± Angharad said with certainty she did not feel. ¡°I¡¯ll go first, try to catch you.¡±


    Another shot, the last lantern went and she breathed out. The light faded and the pack thundered against the ground, racing forward. Time to- there was a scream, above, and Angharad¡¯s breath caught as she watched Augusto Cerdan twist the knife he had rammed into his valet¡¯s back, throwing the weeping older man down. With a shout of triumph the infanzon climbed up to safety, Cozme close behind. Angharad looked back for a heartbeat, seeing a lupine¡¯s jaw close around Gascon¡¯s face, and felt something well up in her. She followed behind Cozme, the ring of lights winking out behind her, and though one of the lemures leapt up just in time to almost catch her boot she got away in time.


    Few even tried to reach her, the pack falling on Gascon like ravenous hounds and tearing him apart.


    Taking Song¡¯s hand and letting herself be pulled up atop the aqueduct, Angharad let out a shaky breath. But she was not done, not yet. She wiped her blade clean on the side of her trousers and sheathed it, then turned her eyes on the knot of worried-looking infanzones. Even as the pack howled below them, prowling at the feet of the arches like hungry dogs, Angharad strode forward. Cozme caught the look on her face and moved in her way, but she sidestepped him and struck as hard as she could: her palm caught Augusto Cerdan on the cheek, hard enough he fell to the ground. She heard the cock of a pistol being pointed at her back but ignored him as everyone began to shout, unsheathing her saber.


    As fury and fear warred over the eldest Cerdan¡¯s face, she tossed the empty scabbard at his feet.


    ¡°Have you gone mad?¡± he began. ¡°I¡¯ll-¡±


    ¡°Augusto Cerdan,¡± she cut through with icy calm, ¡°I name you a disgrace in the eyes of all who see, a coward without honour. Pick up this sheath and duel me once peril passes, or let your heart serve in its stead.¡±


    The challenge was delivered in clean, crisp Antigua and laid out the two choices that lay before the craven traitor. He could either let her execute him for his deeds, here and now, or pick up the scabbard and accept a duel when they reached safety. Cozme still had a pistol pointed at her back, but Angharad did not flinch as she met the traitor infanzon¡¯s dark eyes. She could not see behind her, where the honour of the others might have fallen, but the demands of her own were beyond dispute. A long moment passed, all their lives resting on the Sleeping God¡¯s breath as the lupines howled all around, until finally Augusto Cerdan moved.


    He picked up the sheath and the slower of his two deaths with it.

 Chapter 10

    It was an old road, nibbled at by the elements the way crabs would nibble at a corpse, but it had held up well.


    Enough so their pace across the plain was swift even though two of their crew were old. Vanesa was in better shape than Francho, whose cough resurfaced with often, but Tristan would still bet on the toothless old man in a fight: she¡¯d candidly admitted that without her spectacles she might as well be blind. In truth, the thief thought, it was all going a little too well. According to Vanesa¡¯s pocketwatch it was now slightly past midday and they¡¯d seen neither hide nor hair of a lemure. Where Tristan was growing restless, though, most the others were growing lax. The idle talk was proof as much.


    ¡°Mad to think there¡¯s a road here in the middle of nowhere,¡± Aines said, shaking her head. ¡°Who even built it?¡±


    Yong had taken the front and Lan the back ¨C the grieving twin was in no mood for company ¨C but the rest of them were haphazardly arranged somewhere in between. It felt more like they were on an evening stroll than the dangerous journey they truly were, but there was no point in trying discipline this lot. Twice now Yong and Tristan had tried to prod people into a proper column only for the effort to collapse within a quarter hour as people drifted wherever they wanted. They might be the fittest of the band, along with Sarai, but their authority ran thin.


    ¡°Some emperor,¡± her husband shrugged, scratching his arm. ¡°I expect the infanzones would know which, what with Sacromonte being the old capital.¡±


    Francho snorted, earning himself an unfriendly look.


    ¡°Something funny, old man?¡± Felis asked.


    ¡°Sacromonte was a regional port, never the Second Empire¡¯s capital,¡± Francho informed him. ¡°That honour belonged to Liergan first, then to Tamaria after the Vituperian Crisis and-¡±


    Felis loudly gathered up saliva and spat to the side, straight into the tall grass. It would have been hard to miss given that it reached up to his shoulders.


    ¡°You¡¯re full of shit,¡± Felis said. ¡°Everyone knows Sacromonte was the jewel of the old empire.¡±


    ¡°One always blinks first when staring down the blind,¡± Francho sighed, then rasped out a cough.


    Though he had no horse in this race, the thief stepped in. Best not let this turn into too much of a squabble.


    ¡°That¡¯s from Chabier, isn¡¯t it?¡± Tristan asked, cocking his head to the side. ¡°One of his Historical Reflections.¡±


    The old man nodded, beaming his way.


    ¡°Not the most dutiful of historians, but he had a way with words,¡± Francho said. ¡°Did you study his work?¡±


    Lan let out a harsh bark of laughter from the back.


    ¡°Does he look like a student to you, old man?¡± the blue-lipped woman mocked.


    ¡°I did read the two of the volumes,¡± Tristan evenly replied, ¡°but never could get my hands on the rest.¡±


    Gifts from his teacher, who had curated most of his readings by dint of being the one providing him the books. It¡¯d been his mother who taught him to read and write, his father never having the time, but past that his education had largely been born of Abuela¡¯s largesse. It was accordingly full of holes, as she only appeared infrequently and was uninterested in most of what would be considered common scholarship, but he¡¯d found the eclectic nature of what he¡¯d learned had its uses. Knowing both a little less and a little more than you should had a way of making you difficult to predict.


    ¡°The last three of the ten are only in print in the Kingdom of Izcalli,¡± Francho told him. ¡°Even when I taught at Reve I could not obtain copies.¡±


    Tristan started in surprise and he was hardly the only one.


    ¡°You were a Master at the University of Reve?¡± Sarai slowly asked, as if disbelieving.


    Much like him, she must be wondering what such a learned man would be doing on the Dominion of Lost Things. Even if Reve¡¯s other Masters decided to throw him out, half the infanzones in the city would be squabbling to bring him into their household as a tutor. The university might be adjoined to Sacromonte but it was not within its bounds, so the scholars were not beholden to the infanzones: they could not simply be ordered to teach feckless noble youths.


    ¡°Of moral philosophy,¡± Francho confirmed, ¡°though I¡¯ll confess I always preferred history. I parted ways with the university after I had some disagreements with our rectoress over a matter of scholarship.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure it had nothing at all to do with those books you paid the blackcloaks with,¡± Lan said, thinly smiling. ¡°From the Reve library, were they?¡±


    The old man reared up in offence.


    ¡°I am not a thief,¡± Francho hissed back, ¡°I-¡±


    He broke down into a wet hacking cough, which was when Yong found Tristan¡¯s eye. Without saying a word the former soldier made himself clear: this was getting too loud. The thief inclined his head towards Lan, volunteering to handle her and getting a nod back. He let himself lag, casually joining the lone sister at the back. The Meng-Xiaofan twins had been impeccably groomed when they first came onto the Bluebell, their blue robes freshly cleaned and their City trousers without so much as a crease, but that was long gone. The clothes were rumpled, Lan¡¯s blue-tinted lips cracked from weeping and the side of her head, once shaved to contrast with the ponytail, was now thick with stubble. She kept a veneer of sneering calm but the look in her eyes reminded Tristan of broken glass.


    ¡°Come to chide me, Tristan?¡± Lan smiled. ¡°I must have been a bad girl indeed.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re stirring the pot,¡± Tristan said. ¡°I¡¯ll not gainsay grief-¡±


    ¡°How kind of you,¡± Lan harshly cut in.


    ¡°- but that ends now,¡± he quietly finished. ¡°We can¡¯t afford to be bickering.¡±


    They had been lucky enough to avoid lemures so far, his trick with the lodestone extract having worked better than he¡¯d dreamed it might, but with every step they got further away from the source of that luck. It was only a matter of time until monsters or cultists found them but he would not hurry that inevitability by making a racket in the middle of an open road. He was not sure how well tall grass would swallow sound and unwilling to bet on such steep odds.


    ¡°Big strong man you are,¡± she smiled. ¡°Are you going to point your pistol at me now?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± the thief calmly replied, meeting her eyes.  ¡°I am going to beat you unconscious, then cut up your leg so you can¡¯t catch up and the blood draws lemures off our trail.¡±


    She began to laugh in his face, but as she studied it the sound trailed off and she swallowed. She¡¯d found the truth he had let onto there: he meant every word. He owed her a debt for her aid back in camp, when the crowd had been close to turning on him, but that had its limits.


    ¡°The others-¡±


    ¡°Have nowhere else to go, even if they disapprove.¡±


    Lan licked her cracked lips.


    ¡°You owe me,¡± she said.


    ¡°I am not a student, it is true,¡± Tristan affably replied, ¡°but I am not Malani either. How much do you think debt is worth to me, Lan? Enough to risk my life?¡±


    They both knew the answer to that so the woman straightened in alarm, her anger swallowed up by much more immediate fear. Good. Now time to see what he could squeeze out of her while she was on the backfoot.


    ¡°I¡¯m still useful to you,¡± Lan said.


    ¡°It¡¯d been days and Felis hasn¡¯t gone into withdrawal,¡± Tristan acknowledged, ¡°so you must have dust hidden away. That makes it useful, not you. Try again.¡±


    She flinched at the unspoken reminder that Angharad Tredegar was a long way from here and none of this crew would care to play the hero for her sake. Lan¡¯s possessions were only her own so long as no one cared to take them from her. The former Meng-Xiaofan frontwoman grit her teeth.


    ¡°I know things,¡± she finally said. ¡°Ju and me, we looked into other people.¡±


    Tristan cocked an eyebrow, expectant.


    ¡°That Song girl that went with the infanzones, her surname Ren and she¡¯s from Jigong,¡± Lan revealed.


    She stopped there, as if it were supposed to mean something to him.


    ¡°At that means?¡± he invited.


    She sighed.


    ¡°That she¡¯s cursed,¡± Lan said. ¡°Her family clan is responsible for the Dimming.¡±


    It took a moment for him to place what that was.


    ¡°The Luminary that got broken a few decades back?¡± he asked.


    Lan rolled her eyes, nodding in confirmation.


    ¡°Rats,¡± she complained. ¡°Always going around like Sacromonte¡¯s the heart of the world.¡±


    Tianxia was one of the wealthiest lands of Vesper not only because of trade but also because of its great grain fields, which were bathed in light even hundreds of miles away from the cities. The machinery behind that miracle was called the Luminaries, great mirror-conduits set in firmament that connected the Glare to towers at the heart of the founding republics of Tianxia. Only there were nine Luminaries and ten republics, so every five year a lottery was held to determine which republic would go lightless. The Dimming had been disaster enough to warrant discussion around other shores of the Trebian Sea because somehow the Republic of Jigong had damaged one of the mirror-conduits up in firmament, bringing the number of functioning Luminaries down to eight.


    Jigong had been refused the right to win the lottery ever since, consigned to the dark.


    ¡°It would have happened before she was born,¡± Tristan pointed out.


    He was not clear on the year of the Dimming, but it was at least three decades past and Song Ren looked hardly older than he.


    ¡°Half the functionaries in Jigong cursed the Ren after the Dimming happened,¡± Lan snorted. ¡°That means hundreds of gods and the kind of hate that¡¯ll flow down a bloodline.¡±


    It was the thief¡¯s turn to roll his eyes. Cathayan Orthodoxy was famously superstitious, the inevitable consequence of letting gods take the examinations that elevated one into the ruling bureaucracy of the republics. Lock a Tianxi¡¯s door and they¡¯ll blame nine gods, the old saying went.


    ¡°Song Ren is bad luck,¡± he shrugged. ¡°Fine. That¡¯s all you have?¡±


    Lan scowled, her pride obviously pricked by his indifference.


    ¡°That Asphodel noble, Acanthe, her contract has something to do with corpses,¡± she said.


    That got his attention and he didn¡¯t bother to pretend otherwise. He¡¯d chatted with Acanthe Phos for some time without ever getting a hint of what she might be keeping up her sleeve.


    ¡°What did you find?¡±


    ¡°We looked inside her bag on the Bluebell,¡± Lan said. ¡°She has small box with bones in it, broken shards and some thin needles.¡±


    It couldn¡¯t be only that, he thought, else Lan would have said the contract had to do with bones and not corpses. Thinking back on Acanthe¡¯s actions since she¡¯d left the ship, only one stood out to him as unusual.


    ¡°She was gathering corpse-ash from the pyres, wasn¡¯t she?¡± he asked. ¡°When she nosed around them with the rest of Tupoc¡¯s crew.¡±


    The former Meng dealer narrowed her eyes at him.


    ¡°Scooping it up with her bare hands,¡± Lan said. ¡°You were looking into her too?¡±


    ¡°Tupoc, but it drew my eye,¡± Tristan admitted.


    She nodded in agreement, then shot him a sideways look.


    ¡°That¡¯s enough to prove I¡¯m worth the trouble, I¡¯d say,¡± she stated.


    ¡°You have more,¡± Tristan guessed, and by the closed look on her face he was right.


    ¡°And I¡¯ll be keeping it, in case we must have another of these pleasant chats,¡± Lan evenly replied.


    He might be able to get a little more if he twisted her arm over it, Tristan decided, but it was not worth burning down the bridge for good. This would have to be enough.


    ¡°You¡¯re worth the trouble,¡± the thief conceded.


    Her triumphant look never quite got to bloom.


    ¡°So long as you lay off making it,¡± he finished.


    He left her to mull on that, putting a spring to his step so he might catch up to the others. Tristan was of a mind to head to the front and speak with Yong, as they¡¯d been on the walk for half a day now and a better plan than fleeing forward was due, but alas that was not to be.


    ¡°I¡¯m bored,¡± Fortuna announced.


    She was staying at his side without bothering to pretend she was walking, a sight highly uncomfortable to his eyes. It felt wrong, as if the world itself were an illusion he was glimpsing through. It was something the goddess was well aware of and frequently used to screw with him whenever she felt like things were getting too dull. She wasn¡¯t walking the wrong way for the one she was advancing yet, at least, which was a relief. That gave him a headache every bloody time.


    ¡°I¡¯m a little low on choices for entertainment here,¡± Tristan murmured, pretending to scratch his hair. ¡°What do you want?¡±


    ¡°Go bother Sarai,¡± Fortuna immediately suggested. ¡°She¡¯s amusing.¡±


    At least it wasn¡¯t one wedded pair she¡¯d taken to, thank the gods for that. Other gods only, because he refused to give Fortuna any form of gratitude for a lesser shade of being a pain in his ass. Giving the goddess a measuring look, Tristan decided she was in one of those moods best left untested. Sarai it was. The false Raseni was near the head of the pack, chatting with Vanesa, but the old woman glanced his way with a smirk when he approached and made a show of leaving them to talk alone. She was misreading this quite deeply, but he saw no need to correct her when the misunderstanding was to his advantage. It was hard to tell if Sarai had noticed, under the veil and mask, but he suspected not.


    According to the dark sweat spots around the armpits and back of her thick grey dress, she should be a mite distracted.


    ¡°How many layers do you have under there?¡± he snorted. ¡°It¡¯s not that warm out.¡±


    Trebian weather, as it was called, cool enough for a coat in the wind but punishing the heavier fashions outside of it.


    ¡°This entire forsaken sea is a boiling pot,¡± Sarai growled back, that faint accent touching her voice again. ¡°It is a miracle the Raseni aren¡¯t all dried up husks, wearing as much as they do.¡±


    ¡°The weather¡¯s cooler around their island, I hear,¡± he said. ¡°Regretting the disguise?¡±


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t get in my way when I move, it is only the heat that¡¯s trouble,¡± Sarai sighed. ¡°It will keep.¡±


    ¡°Or you could take it off,¡± Tristan said. ¡°I¡¯ve no idea what you are trying to hide, but is there truly anyone here worth hiding things from?¡±


    He gestured around them, valiant alliance of leftovers that they were.


    ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± Sarai said.


    ¡°I am?¡± he replied, somewhat surprised.


    ¡°You do have no idea what I¡¯m trying to hide,¡± she pointedly replied.


    Fortuna cackled loudly in his ear, sadly getting her bargain¡¯s worth after having been a pest. Still, it would not do to let himself be trampled too thoroughly.


    ¡°A smidge above none, I¡¯d argue,¡± he shrugged. ¡°You¡¯ve just admitted you were not born to a shore of the Trebian Sea.¡±


    She shot him a steady look through the mask. Ah, hadn¡¯t noticed that had she?


    ¡°You don¡¯t sound Malani,¡± he continued, ¡°so my guess would be the Imperial Someshwar. Somewhere inland, or maybe one of the peoples on the Tower Coast?¡±


    The end was pure fishing and that veil gave nothing away. The eyes, though, betrayed not a whit of concern. He¡¯d missed the mark.


    ¡°You dig so eagerly for others¡¯ secrets,¡± Sarai chided, ¡°but you ought to look better after your own.¡±


    ¡°Secrets? There are none, I am as an open book,¡± Tristan brazenly lied. ¡°Ask me anything.¡±


    She studied him for a moment, then shrugged.


    ¡°If you insist,¡± Sarai said, then leaned closer. ¡°Who paid you to kill the Cerdan brothers? I figure it¡¯s some infanzon trying to get at Ruesta.¡±


    Fortuna oohed gleefully as his blood went cold, that horribly uncomfortable feeling of having been seen through seizing him by the throat again, so the rat smiled wide and bright to hide it.


    ¡°You misunderstand me, my friend,¡± Tristan replied.


    ¡°Do I?¡± Sarai teased.


    How much did she know? Had she only noticed a coincidence and gone fishing, as he had? Yong wouldn¡¯t care about his killing Recardo, he¡¯d been open enough to the idea, but the former soldier might not be as eager to have the infanzones as outright foes. And if Tristan lost the veteran, he lost this crew: standing alone he would have no authority to assert. Sarai must know this but she was not threatening him or trying to leverage it. Either she didn¡¯t know as much as she was implying or she simply did not care. Not from the shores of the Trebian Sea, he reminded himself. Did she simply care nothing for petty squabbles so far from her home? His silence was beginning to stretch on for too long, but indecision stilled his tongue.


    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    ¡°Take the bet,¡± Fortuna whispered against his ear. ¡°She¡¯s got even hands, Tristan. She gave you measure for measure every time.¡±


    His goddess could be a fool in many ways, he knew, but sometimes her eyes saw true. Sarai had been scrupulously even-handed in their every bargain, giving as good as she received. If he gave trust¡­ It went against his every instinct, the lessons of the years he had spent alone with only fickle fortune as his companion. When someone has a knife at your throat, Abuela had taught him, you must either destroy or befriend them. And if he¡¯d learned anything from Fortuna, it was that sometimes the long odds took the prize. Swallowing thickly as he came to a decision, mouth gone dry, Tristan put on a winning smile.


    ¡°You do,¡± he firmly said. ¡°Me, an assassin? Perish the thought.¡±


    Sarai snorted, but the mirth caught in her throat as he continued speaking.


    ¡°No one paid me, so more accurately speaking I would be a murderer.¡±


    She choked on that, though the surprise did not silence her for long.


    ¡°Are you telling me,¡± Sarai got out, ¡°that you are not even gainfully employed?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid not.¡±


    ¡°You are a deep disappointment, Tristan,¡± she solemnly informed him. ¡°I thought you a man of means.¡±


    ¡°Alas, I have but methods,¡± he confessed.


    She let out a quiet, delighted laugh at that. Something like a smile tugged at his own lips, the thrill and relief of the long odds having borne true tingling against his scalp. And maybe more than that. How long had it been since he¡¯d found it so easy to talk to someone?


    ¡°Are you going to tell me why?¡± Sarai idly asked.


    ¡°Are you going to tell me your real name?¡± he idly replied.


    ¡°I thought Sacromontan men were titans of gallantry,¡± she complained.


    He could hear the pout.


    ¡°That¡¯s the Malani,¡± he informed her.


    ¡°Of daring, then.¡±


    ¡°The Izcalli.¡±


    ¡°¡­ charm?¡±


    ¡°Tianxi,¡± Tristan drawled, ¡°and if you think I do not have a ready triteness for every corner of Vesper then you¡¯ve obviously spent little time in the company of sailors.¡±


    ¡°See?¡± she enthused. ¡°Such a wealth of worthlessness, you are not entirely destitute after all!¡±


    He swallowed a grin, somehow certain she was doing the same under the veil. And as he had given trust, he was given trust in return.


    ¡°There will be a need for a plan soon, if we are to keep this band together,¡± Sarai said. ¡°I have something that might be of use for that purpose.¡±


    He cocked an eyebrow at her.


    ¡°Song Ren has a map of the island in her possession,¡± the false Raseni said. ¡°I traded for a good look at it.¡±


    Tristan breathed in sharply.


    ¡°How good is your memory?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Good,¡± Sarai said, ¡°not that it matters.¡±


    She met his gaze squarely.


    ¡°There is a Sign that allows one to seize a sight and keep it nestled inside your mind.¡±


    Measure for measure, Fortuna had said, and the golden eyes saw true. That was the secret Sarai had been keeping up her sleeve, the reason she carried for weapon only a knife. Like Leander Galatas she had knowledge of the strange arts of the Gloam, only unlike the sailor she¡¯d kept that talent carefully hidden. He nodded slowly, acknowledging the worth of the secret she had revealed. The sudden seriousness of that after their easy repartee left him strangely embarrassed, as if he¡¯d spoken too loudly near a grave, so he left on the pretext of speaking with Yong about arranging a break. Sarai inclined her head as he left, almost solemnly, and he returned the gesture.


    It felt like a promise, though of what he did not yet know.


    What he¡¯d meant as an excuse ended up being true, as Yong pointed out both Felis and the greyhairs were beginning to slow down. A halt to eat and rest while a proper plan was put together would be good for everyone. Half an hour later they found a decent resting place, a smattering of ruins by the wayside of the road. It was short walk into tall grass to reach them, the stalks parting to reveal half-buried stone. What Tristan thought might be a curved roof rose from the earth in a gentle slope, a set of statues now little more than worn stumps circling around it. The roof made for a comfortable seat, and from the highest edge he could see the tall grass spread around them.


    He got to hear the married pair argue as well, Aines and Felis unaware that their decision to head behind the roof to argue left him a dozen feet above them and just out of sight.


    ¡°- on our own,¡± Felis was insisting. ¡°I just need to do Lan a few favours, she¡¯ll fork out supplies for us and-¡±


    ¡°You mean she¡¯ll give you dust,¡± Aines bit out. ¡°Don¡¯t think I haven¡¯t noticed, Felis.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re one to talk,¡± her husband harshly replied. ¡°How long was it on the boat before you were gambling?¡±


    ¡°If I¡¯d won-¡±


    ¡°You never win,¡± he hissed. ¡°How do you think we ended up here?¡±


    ¡°How?¡± she hissed back. ¡°I¡¯ll tell you how: your uncle threw you out after you pawned his tools so you could pay for another packet to lick up.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not the one who played dice with the kids¡¯ bed as collateral, Aines,¡± he growled. ¡°Just the one who had to tell them why they slept with their blankets on the fucking floor.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not leaving the others,¡± Aines abruptly said. ¡°Talk all you want, that¡¯s how it is.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯d have a better chance on our own,¡± Felis cursed. ¡°You know it. It¡¯s some boy and the Tianxi calling the shots, they¡¯re bound to fuck it up. You and I, though-¡±


    ¡°Why do you want me to go so much, Felis?¡± Aines quietly asked. ¡°What did they tell you in that room, when they split us up?¡±


    A silence.


    ¡°What did they tell you, that you won¡¯t trust me anymore?¡±


    Bought seats both of them, Tristan recalled. Whoever it was that owed their debt was playing what Yong had called a red game, one of those vicious wagers the twins had also warned him about. Whatever that wager might be, it was making an ugly situation even uglier. They can¡¯t be relied on for anything, he decided. A way to shore up their numbers at best, but most likely a long fuse lit before they ever set foot on the Bluebell. He might have eavesdropped more if they¡¯d kept talking, but Yong called for everyone gather at the foot of the roof. Tristan scarfed down his rations then hurried down, bringing his waterskin with him.


    Before he¡¯d gone up to eat he¡¯d quietly conferred with Yong and Sarai. The two were now before the others as had been discussed, the former soldier standing while Tristan¡¯s other ally crouched to draw in the earth with a twig. It was a rough sketch, but with the lantern set besides it the thief could easily make out the shape of the island and where they were: a straight line from the docks where they¡¯d landed, a quarter of the way to the second trial up in the mountains. Ahead of them lay woods and a river, across which there were two bridges: one was fed into directly by the road, the other stood further east. The only other line through was the High Road, the aqueduct going straight across half the island, but its arches would make poor anchors for a rope bridge.


    Tristan joined the other two in front, waiting until Francho finished lowering himself to the edge of the maybe-roof gingerly. He looked to be in some pain, enough that the thief considered offering him something for it before they began marching again. Belladonna extract, perhaps, properly diluted with water.


    ¡°As you can see,¡± Yong addressed the others, ¡°we have made good time but it will be days before we get anywhere near the Trial of Ruins.¡±


    ¡°How do we know the drawing is accurate?¡± Lan asked.


    ¡°It¡¯s a copy of the map the infanzones will be using,¡± Sarai replied. ¡°They would not settle for anything less.¡±


    Mutters of agreement. Some looked liked they wanted to ask how she might have gotten that, but none quite dared with the two of them flanking her. Which had been the very point.


    ¡°So we just need to rush in a straight line until we get there,¡± Felis shrugged. ¡°Seems easy enough.¡±


    ¡°That won¡¯t work,¡± Tristan said, ignoring the man¡¯s scowl. ¡°The blackcloaks told us that the cultists of the Red Eye will be out in force, they¡¯re bound to be keeping watch on the main bridge. We¡¯d be walking straight into an ambush.¡±


    ¡°That scarred Malani led her band towards the road north,¡± Francho noted. ¡°She seems to believe it might work.¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t know if they stayed on that path,¡± Sarai pointed out.


    ¡°Even if they do, they¡¯ve got powder and blades enough to fight through,¡± Lan said. ¡°They¡¯re all armed and trained, greyhair. We wouldn¡¯t do anywhere as well in a fight.¡±


    She paused.


    ¡°Besides, we¡¯ve got more than the hollows to worry about,¡± she continued. ¡°Tupoc Xical¡¯s going to be on the hunt.¡±


    Tristan¡¯s eyes narrowed and Yong¡¯s face turned grave.


    ¡°And how do you know that, exactly?¡± the former soldier asked.


    ¡°Because my sister and I offered him dirt on half of you in exchange for getting us safely to the second trial,¡± she admitted without a hint of shame. ¡°He turned us down without a moment¡¯s hesitation. Why do you think that is?¡±


    Half a dozen answers bloomed on half a dozen faces, but the truest one passed lips first.


    ¡°Because he doesn¡¯t think we¡¯ll live long enough to be worth knowing anything about,¡± Vanesa quietly said, taking off her spectacles to clean them with her chemise.


    She spoke with a tired certainty, like someone the world had already let down so many times she could no longer even muster anger over it. Aines laughed nervously, the sound shrill.


    ¡°You¡¯re mad,¡± she said. ¡°What would be the point? It¡¯s not like there are limits to how many people can get to the second trial. It doesn¡¯t help him to kill us, it¡¯ll just slow him down.¡±


    ¡°Unless,¡± Tristan quietly said, ¡°it¡¯s not really about us. It¡¯s about what he can buy with us.¡±


    He found the lone twin¡¯s eyes and matched her gaze.


    ¡°That¡¯s what you think, isn¡¯t it Lan? That he wants to sell us to the Red Eye cult in exchange for the right to get to the second trial unhindered.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s what fits,¡± the Meng frontwoman replied. ¡°Why he gathered only a small crew, why he doesn¡¯t think anyone is worth bargaining with: he already has another deal in mind, one that doesn¡¯t involve fighting the Red Eye.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s nonsense,¡± Felis snorted. ¡°You¡¯re all fretting like hens over nothing. The boy won¡¯t pull any of this shit: the blackcloaks would toss him out of the trials if he made a bargain with savages.¡±


    ¡°No rules, Felis,¡± Sarai reminded him. ¡°Only survival.¡±


    ¡°The Watch has a long history of striking deals with darklings against other darklings,¡± Francho stated, worrying his lip. ¡°A necessity, when their duties take them so far from the light of the Glare. They might even approve.¡±


    And Tristan¡¯s teeth clenched because, when it got down to it, how hard could it really be for the Watch to drive the Red Eye off the island? The Dominion was wild, unsettled land but it was not so large an island that a two thousand men could not thoroughly clear it out over a few months. So why hadn¡¯t they? Because these are testing grounds, the thief thought. Because they want to see if we can make bargains with darklings without getting burned, because the cruelty isn¡¯t an accident it¡¯s why they still use this island at all. Those who joined the Watch through the trials of were not sent to training camps, he''d heard, not drilled and lectured and pampered.


    They were inducted straight into the ranks, a black cloak set on their shoulders, and Tristan was beginning to understand why.


    ¡°There¡¯s only one thing for it,¡± Yong spoke up, cutting through the silence. ¡°From now on we must keep off the road and take a route they won¡¯t expect. Anything else means death.¡±


    Too many enemies and in too many places, the thief thought. His instinct was to sneak through, to find the quiet way in, but this wasn¡¯t Araturo District. He was not the rat here, knowing all the streets like the back of his hand, they were. They¡¯d get caught before getting anywhere, and unlike back home it wasn¡¯t like they could try to hide behind a brawl between the Hoja and ¨C or could they?


    ¡°We head straight for the second bridge,¡± Tristan said. ¡°Cutting through the tall grass and the woods.¡±


    Eyes went to him.


    ¡°They may well expect us to avoid the main path,¡± Yong warned him.


    ¡°They¡¯ll guard all the bridges anyway,¡± the thief said, shaking his head. ¡°They have the numbers for it, Sarai and I figured it out.¡±


    Their conversation by the docks was not so soon forgot.


    ¡°It is true,¡± she agreed, rising to her full height. ¡°They should have a few hundreds warriors at least.¡±


    ¡°Gods be good,¡± Felis exclaimed, huffing. ¡°Spare me the posturing. We haven¡¯t so much as seen a hollow, how would you even-¡±


    ¡°Then what is the point of going for the eastern bridge?¡± Lan bluntly asked, cutting through.


    The middle-aged man did not quite dare to glare at the woman holding his leash.


    ¡°The Watch captain called them the cult of the Red Eye, but are they really?¡± Tristan asked. ¡°One entity, I mean. They are warbands, not an army. Like those taking the trials.¡±


    ¡°You believe they are divided as well,¡± Yong slowly said.


    ¡°They¡¯re thiefcatchers from different inns, all after the same prize money,¡± the thief said. ¡°They won¡¯t share word or help each other. They are a cult, certainly, but why would it mean they¡¯re all on the same side? Gods won¡¯t bless them twice for the same sacrifice.¡±


    ¡°An interesting theory, to be sure,¡± Francho delicately said, ¡°but only that.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Sarai said, shaking her head. ¡°He¡¯s right. Think back to the outpost, the number of watchmen you saw. Captain Crestina said she lost half her command, so double it. How many does that make?¡±


    ¡°Fifty, maybe sixty men,¡± Aines said.


    She got surprised looks for it and shrugged.


    ¡°I got curious before the captain arrived, wanted to see if there was anything to do to pass the time.¡±


    Looking for soldiers to dice with, Tristan translated, she happened to suss out how many there were around.


    ¡°That¡¯s not anywhere enough to defend their storehouses if two hundred hollows try an assault, no matter how poorly armed,¡± Yong noted. ¡°Not with the treeline so close. That says the Watch garrison doesn¡¯t expect them to come in great numbers.¡±


    ¡°So we rush to the eastern bridge,¡± Tristan repeated, ¡°and then we hide.¡±


    Lan let out a sharp little laugh, catching on quick as was her wont.


    ¡°Then when the warband guarding that bridge sees no one coming,¡± she said, ¡°they¡¯ll think we went to the other one. That their rivals got all the sacrifices.¡±


    ¡°So when they thin their numbers to go have a look, or leave outright,¡± Tristan leadingly began.


    ¡°We cross,¡± Sarai finished. ¡°And run as fast as we can to the Trial of Ruins.¡±


    That, he thought with a sliver of satisfaction, sounded like plan. Perhaps not the cleverest or the most intricate, but one that might just work. And though he could see that not all were convinced, that some thought it would get them all killed, no one spoke up against it. Not for love of what had been said, he thought, but for lack of anything better to offer. No one really believed that they could get to the other bridge quickly enough to avoid a fight.


    And a fight they would lose, there was no doubt about that.


    The crew broke up after, everyone splitting up to rest for the remainder of their break and see to their belongings. He went back up the roof to grab his bag, settling on the edge just the way Francho had earlier. Stretching out lazily, Tristan let out a groan. He was not used to such long walks. Thieving required endurance more mental than physical. He took one last drink from his waterskin and set about putting himself back together, pulling at the loosened strings of his woolen shirt. He shrugged on his jacket after, the long sleeves and knee-length reach betraying it was rat¡¯s clothing even if the wool was dyed grey. Infanzones and the wealthy aping them preferred shorter sleeveless jerkins, deigning to wear long coats only when travelling. Some of the seams in the back were growing thin, Tristan noted as he tugged at the jacket. He¡¯d had this one for two years and though he had been careful frequent use was wearing it down.


    Grabbing his tricorn, still pleased at the find ¨C he¡¯d always liked the look of them on Malani seamen ¨C the thief noticed Vanesa approaching him from the side. The old woman¡¯s plain linen chemise and trousers were City staples from the Murk to the ports, but her red frock told him she had been someone of more than passing means. As did her glasses and pocketwatch, both worth several months of wages for a common labourer. That raised questions, as did the way that Vanesa sometimes seemed almost half-hearted in her attempts to get through the trials. What had forced her to the Dominion, if not desperation? There was a story there, should he care to dig for it.


    ¡°Extend your arm,¡± the old woman said, gesturing at his left.


    Hiding his wariness, he did. She bent slightly forward and began patting down the back of his sleeve thoroughly.


    ¡°Dust and soot,¡± Vanesa told him after she finished. ¡°Boys never think to look behind, my son is just the same.¡±


    Not having been mothered in many years ¨C Abuela might be old enough to be his grandmother, but her blood was colder than a crocodiles¡¯ ¨C Tristan was taken aback enough he struggled to find an answer. Coughing into his fist, he changed the subject.


    ¡°You have children?¡± he tried.


    ¡°Only the one,¡± Vanesa wistfully said. ¡°You must be around sixteen, yes? He is twice your age now.¡±


    ¡°Eighteen,¡± Tristan drily replied. ¡°I simply can¡¯t grow a beard for the life of me.¡±


    ¡°My husband never could either,¡± she smiled at him. ¡°Not for lack of trying.¡±


    Dead husband but her son still lives, he filed away. Had she been abandoned to a debt from beyond the grave? Sacromonte¡¯s debts laws were some of the harshest around the Trebian Sea ¨C wife or husband shared in what the other owed, children in what their parents did and if property was shared even siblings could be dragged into the pit. Tristan was considering how best to ask what her trade had been without being too obvious about it when he was interrupted by a startled shout. Baring his knife, the thief turned to find it had been Francho making everyone jump. The old scholar was leaning against the side of the half-buried roof, a bare hand on the stone and his worn body trembling.


    Finding no immediate danger, Tristan put away the knife. That scream, though¡­ Chewing at the inside of his cheek, the thief grabbed his pistol and powder horn. No ball in it yet, but perhaps soon. There was no telling what the noise might have called down on them.


    ¡°What¡¯s with the racket?¡± Felis called out.


    Francho¡¯s eyes rolled up in his head even as Tristan approached him, though he did not seem to be in pain. Before the thief could speak the old man snatched back his hand, neck glistening with sweat as he kept on shivering.


    ¡°We need to leave,¡± the old man said, then began wetly coughing into his hand. ¡°Now.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡± Yong evenly said. ¡°What did you do?¡±


    ¡°Contract,¡± Sarai said. ¡°He used a contract.¡±


    It was not a question.


    ¡°The stone,¡± Francho rasped out. ¡°It speaks to me. Old voices. The stronger the memory, the louder.¡±


    ¡°And what did they say?¡± Tristan asked, dread welling up.


    ¡°There is an altar below,¡± the scholar said, voice shaken. ¡°Sacrificial. And hollows live there.¡±


    Aines screamed, and if she had not Tristan would have died. He turned to her, saw the men coming out of the tall grass but also the glint of steel in lantern light. An arrow, halfway to his throat, and all he could do was borrow luck. He drank swift and deep, the ticking loud as a scream, and saw the fletching on the arrow tear. It missed but only narrowly, splitting open his jacket as death spared him. Immediately he threw himself down as another arrow whistled above his head, gritting his teeth as he released the luck. He heard the click a moment too late, not quite quick enough to roll over when the pistol he¡¯d loaded with powder blew up against his side.


    Letting out a hoarse shout as he threw it away, patting away the burns that¡¯d blown through his shirt, the thief swallowed a moan of pain and rose to his feet. Around him all Hell had broken loose.


    Yong blew through a tall, pale man ¨C pale as milk, beard and hair wild ¨C with a shot before tossing way the musket, drawing his sword as a large man in chainmail hoisting an axe walked up to face him, but the others were not doing so well. An arrow had taken Francho in the side and while Vanesa had run to help him two hollows were coming for them bearing spear and mace. Another was in the tall grass, pulling back the string on her crossbow, though her eye was on¡­ Lan, who was running out into the dark. There must be another, wielding the second crossbow, but Tristan saw no trace of them.


    Should he run? No, it would just be a slower death. He would never make it across the bridges alone. Tristan drew his knife, still light-headed from the burns.


    ¡°Felis, Aines,¡± Yong shouted, eyes peeling away from his fight for a second, ¡°silence the crossbow. Don¡¯t let her fire again!¡±


    No waiting to see if they would obey, Tristan rushed in. Not there but towards the greyhairs, just in time to see Vanesa being kicked down by a skinny man covered in a thick padded tunic. Tristan ducked under the swing of the other hollow, some leering bastard with big eyes, and the mace¡¯s haft bounced off his side. Grimacing ¨C that would bruise ¨C he still slid his knife between the skinny hollow¡¯s ribs. Or tried to, slipping against a metal plate under the tunic and slicing down closer to the kidney. He drew back as quick as he could, face growing grim. His chance had lain in getting rid of one from the start, now it was going to turn on him.


    ¡°Go,¡± Tristan shouted at the old pair, ¡°I-¡±


    He ducked out of the mace¡¯s way again, the swing gone wide, but the other hollow struck true. The spear¡¯s haft batted down on his shoulder, forcing him to his knees as he yelped. The thief palmed his knife, readying a throw, but the mace was swinging again and then there was a sound like a pop. Coolness brushed past his face as the cultist¡¯s eyes went blank. His face, scarred with red ellipses ¨C Red Eye, he thought ¨C slacked and his swing dulled. Tristan backed away, rising to his feet as he aimed, while the spear cultist broke the other from his trance with a shove. Not quickly enough: the thief snapped his wrist, burying the knife to the hilt in the mace-wielder¡¯s throat.


    The other shouted in dismay, rushing with his spear, but even as Tristan drew the knife he¡¯d claimed at the docks there was another soft pop. From the corner of his eye, the thief saw Sarai¡¯s fingers clawing at the air in another Sign. He saw a flicker, too, and shouted out a warning just in time. She threw herself aside before the crossbow bolt could in impale her from the back and he felt a sliver of relief just in time for the no-longer-stunned cultist to ram into him shoulder first. Down Tristan went, flipped on his back, and only realized why he¡¯d not just been run through when the hollow kept going towards Sarai. The Signs were more of a threat than a rat with a knife.


    Teeth clenched, he scrabbled to his feet and leapt at the cultists¡¯ back. They tumbled down together atop a shouting Sarai, who stabbed wildly at the hollow with her knife but sliced through only padding. Tristan tried to block the man¡¯s arms, the three of them grinding like worms. The hollow was stronger than him, damn the bastard, and through the thief¡¯s failing grip pinned Sarai¡¯s hand. The cultist kept the knife down and gripped her throat as she struggled to trace a Sign on his face, Tristan abandoning the failed hold to gouge at the hollow¡¯s eyes with his thumbs. The man screamed, loudly enough the thief did not hear the bolt whistling at him. Sheer luck saved his life when the cultist bucked him off before the shot could go through his chest.


    The hollow threw himself away from them with a howl of pain, one hand on his now smoking face and the other clawing at Sarai¡¯s face.


    The darkling ripped off the veils and mask, revealing a face as pale as his own, and Tristan¡¯s heart skipped a beat. He scrabbled to his feet again, pained and exhausted, just in time to see the hollow draw a long knife and ¨C and die, Yong¡¯s blade hacking halfway through his neck. The former soldier wrenched it out, pushing down the corpse with a kick, and swept their surroundings with a steady gaze. Yong looked completely unfazed, not a trace of dirt or sweat on him: only a few strands of his topknot had come undone. Tristan swallowed, rising to his feet as he looked around them. The married pair had killed the crossbow wielder they went after, at some cost. Aines had a growing black eye and Felis a broken bolt in his arm.


    Yong¡¯s own opponent, the big man wearing armour, was lying in a pool of his own blood.


    ¡°Darkling,¡± the Tianxi evenly said, watching Sarai.


    ¡°I am not,¡± she replied, warily rising to her feet.


    Her hair was dark and long, Tristan saw, her eyes a paler shade of blue than he¡¯d believed. It was an angular face she had revealed, its chin pointed and cheekbones high.


    ¡°What else could you be?¡± Aines nervously said. ¡°Were you working with them this whole time, Sarai, is that why we¡¯ve been ambushed?¡±


    Tristan thought, then, of the conversation they¡¯d had by the shore as the sailors took the crates out of the Bluebell. A sentence he¡¯d thought innocent but might not have been at all. The Malani love to use trinkets up north, she¡¯d said. Almost like she had been there, seen it with her own eyes. And she might not be Malani, but there were another people living in the far north.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think she is,¡± Tristan said.


    He looked around for his pistol, found it lying on the ground but a few feet away.


    ¡°She fought with us, almost died,¡± Vanesa agreed, clutching her ribs. ¡°She could not have been working with them.¡±


    ¡°I mean I don¡¯t think she¡¯s a darkling,¡± the thief said, shaking his head.


    He picked up his relic pistol, opening the secret compartment and revealing the piece of rhadamantine quartz. Its pale glow caught everyone¡¯s eyes, including Sarai¡¯s, and Tristan made a show of palming it. Meeting her gaze, he lightly tossed it her way. She caught it without batting an eye, then took off one of her gloves and set the stone against her naked palm.


    The pale skin did not burn at the direct touch of the Glare.


    ¡°You are from the Malani colonies,¡± Francho spoke into the silence, sounding fascinated. ¡°The lands under the Broken Gate.¡±


    ¡°I am,¡± Sarai conceded, ¡°a very long way from home.¡±


    ¡°So you¡¯re a slave,¡± Felis snorted. ¡°What in the Manes are you doing trying to get into the Watch?¡±


    By the look on Sarai¡¯s face that talk might have gotten ugly, but Yong cut in before it could begin.


    ¡°She is no darkling, that¡¯s all that matters,¡± the Tianxi said. ¡°We¡¯ve wasted enough time on this, we need to bind our wounds and go.¡±


    ¡°Gods, we need to rest,¡± Aines replied, appalled. ¡°After all that? We beat them, we have the time.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Tristan quietly said. ¡°We don¡¯t. Two crossbows fired and only one was silenced. Someone escaped.¡±


    Which meant the cult of the Red Eye had found them, and if they did not run quickly enough they were all dead.

 Chapter 11

    The sharp crack echoes against the stone, smoke billowing past the open door.


    There is a grunt of pain but men still rush past the threshold: tall, becloaked, bearing blades. Mother bares her own, undaunted by the numbers, but a shot sounds from the back and she staggers. Red blooms on her chemise, deep in the belly, and she lets out a wet gasp before she is struck across the mouth. Angharad can do nothing but watch: her screams die in her throat, her limbs are made of lead. Mother falls against the wall, against the rich wood panelling she so loves, and when another shot takes her shoulder blood is splattered all over it. She falls to her knees, breath a rattle, and then the last man walks in. Tall, fat and with eyes cold as ice. He owns the others, they only watch as he raises his pistol. It was the wrong choice, Lady Maraire, he says. Mother rasps out an answer, but the words are drowned out by the roar of the flames. Smoke swallows everything.


    Angharad woke with wet eyes, the way she always did after dreaming of her mother.


    She could only be grateful that it had ended early this time, before her father¡¯s whisper in her ear and the last of the horror. Her neck was beaded with sweat but she stayed there, lying in her cot, and tried to blot out from her mind the bloody, broken figure the nightmare had fixed in her mind. She hated it, that this was how she should remember Mother. Rhiannon Tredegar had been long and lean, like the crack of a whip made into a woman, with only green eyes softening a faced shaped stern by the Sleeping God¡¯s own hands. There had been a presence to her, a severity demanding respect. That was the way Angharad would remember her, but her dreams did not bend to her wants. She could still see hear the thump of knees hitting the floor, the blood spraying on wood.


    Angharad had thought the nightmares finally gone, having had none since Sacromonte, but she had counted her blessings too soon.


    The noblewoman rose in her covers, unsurprised to find most were yet asleep. Only Song, perched at the edge of the aqueduct with a veiled lantern besides her, had woken for her turn on the watch. The Tianxi did not turn at the sound of someone waking, and in the privacy that afforded her Angharad wiped her eyes. Letting her breath even out, she passed a hand through her hair. The slant braids would keep for a week or two more, she thought, but soon they would need redoing. She almost missed when she had kept her hair shorter, in Malani knots, instead of braids going halfway down her back. Almost. She had let it grow out to celebrate the earning of her last mirror-mark and that much she would not let herself regret even out here.


    Mother had been so proud, she remembered. Lady Rhiannon had been skilled with a blade but not a mirror-dancer, and the joy had been plain on her face that day. Angharad had basked in that pride, feeling that at last she added to her mother¡¯s legacy in some small way. Rhiannon Tredegar had made a name sailing the dark seas, crossing waters which no Glare touched with only the trembling lights she had brought with her keeping darkness at bay. She had faced storms of Gloam and sea, the hatred of merciless spirits from the depths and even the fleets of pirates to emerge one of the great explorers of the age. It had been Captain Tredegar who first found the hidden isle of Lunkulu, who sailed through the perilous Western Canals and reached the lands beyond.


    And now it was all smoke, Angharad bitterly thought. The Tredegar name passed into nothing while she scuttled like a rat in a maze for the pleasure of the Watch, debasing herself earn seven years under their protection. If she could even do that, the noblewoman grimly thought. Her eyes turned to the manner their company had lain down to sleep for the night and in the meagre light of Song¡¯s lantern showed their divisions laid bare.


    The Cerdan brothers lay furthest away from her, Cozme Aflor guarding them. Both now openly counted her an enemy. It was only the disgust of everyone else at the murder of their own valet that had kept Augusto from trying to order her killed. On the opposite side Angharad¡¯s own cot lay with two others close, Brun of Sacromonte sleeping in one while Song¡¯s lay empty. In between the two camps Isabel and her maids lay, bridge and moat. When Brun and Song had grown closer to her as the Cerdans revealed themselves honourless curs, Isabel had been forced to step in as peacemaker. She had prevailed on the brothers to respect Angharad¡¯s truce, reinforcing that there would be no fighting until their company had left the throes of peril.  Yet, despite the infanzona¡¯s efforts, the dark-skinned noblewoman knew this company to be a barrel of powder with a lit fuse.


    And sooner rather than later it would blow up in her face.


    Her mother¡¯s lessons would avail her of nothing here. It had taken boldness for Rhiannon Tredegar to raise their house¡¯s name and Mother displayed it in all things, so it had troubled Angharad all the more when Mother confessed to fearing the High Queen¡¯s court. There is nothing to fear, she had insisted, childishly offended by her idol¡¯s sudden weakness. The royal court had duels the way dogs had fleas, but Mother was a skilled blade and who but the finest of swordmasters could threaten her? Even if she offended some lofty izinduna, a grudge could not be pursued beyond the reasonable. The High Queen was the keeper of Malan¡¯s honour and she did not allow any slight upon it. Sweetling, Mother had gently replied, stroking her hair, I would be dead long before my sword left the scabbard.


    She had explained, then, how the duels that could lead to embarrassment never happened at all. Knives and poison and curses would settle it long before that, any difficulty on the way to earning the High Queen¡¯s esteem ruthlessly snuffed out. Mother¡¯s way to survive had been to remain a mere curiosity, a famed explorer kept in the court¡¯s eye only by the High Queen¡¯s favour and wielding no real power or influence. She had avoided the hangman¡¯s noose that would be rising in station and remained at sea instead of playing courtier, too far to be counted as an enemy by the powerful of Malan. That had been a rude awakening for many a reason, among them that Angharad had known even then that she would not follow her mother out at sea.


    Was she to let the name of Tredegar ¨C Maraire, to the Malani, but blood ran true no matter the letters ¨C fall back into obscurity when her mother passed? Mother had had no answer, and in the end it had been Father who soothed her.


    ¡°Your mother has mastered her fear of an unknown,¡± he told her. ¡°That which lies beyond the Glare, the seas that devour ships and hopes. But pride blinds her to realizing she surrenders to all the other unknowns of Vesper, believing that courage against one is courage against all.¡±


    He smiled then and though Gwydion Tredegar was never the tallest or most handsome of men, when he smiled Angharad had always thought her father outshone all rivals.


    ¡°You need not share her unknowns,¡± Father said. ¡°Come, I will teach you so that you may learn and so knowledge may end fear.¡±


    She had not loved his lessons but she had learned them, well enough that when standing among the sons and daughters of izinduna when tournaments took her to Malan she¡¯d sailed those waters without falling afoul of the hidden reefs. And it was her father¡¯s lessons she must call on again, now that honour had led her to make enemies of half the company she must fight alongside with to survive. Like a swordmistress at the High Queen¡¯s court, she must ensure she¡¯d live long enough to bare her blade. And the first step to that did not begin with her closest companions, not with Isabel or even Master Cozme.  Instead when they raised camp, not even an hour later, she made a quiet request of Isabel Ruesta.


    The dark-haired beauty considered her for a moment, eyes intrigued.


    ¡°In a spirit of peace, I would hope,¡± Isabel asked.


    Above them the stars burned cold, as they had for her forebears in distant Peredur. In the wind Angharad Tredegar thought she had caught the echo of their old shore-songs, story and lesson and question all in one. She almost began to hum the first few notes of The Fair Wife.


    ¡°Not to make enmity,¡± Angharad swore.


    Love is sweet, a heady brew,


    but my hand must be won fair


    Sweet love, what will you swear


    as troth if your love is true?


    When the trek north began anew she found herself walking at the back of their company, Lord Remund Cerdan besides her. To prove they were all still allies, Isabel had suggested. A gesture of goodwill. The youngest Cerdan moved warily, as if with every step he feared she might jump out and cut his throat. For all that, Angharad feared not getting from him what she desired. She knew what Augusto Cerdan wanted most of all, so she owned half his name.


    ¡°It is regrettable we are at odds, my lord,¡± she said, forcing a mourning sigh.


    She did not lie: in all of Vesper, there must be a soul capable of such regret. The infanzon frowned at her, as if puzzled by her civility. The moment she had become his enemy, she divined, what little esteem he¡¯d granted her before had disappeared. Now she might as well be some savage from Triglau, raiding colonists by the sea.


    ¡°You lay grave insult at the feet of House Cerdan,¡± Remund stiffly replied.


    ¡°An insult demands redress,¡± she said. ¡°Yet is should be given where it is deserved, not carelessly offered to the unworthy.¡±


    ¡°And what would a Malani know of what is deserved?¡± the infanzon mocked, rolling his eyes.


    ¡°We may well have all died yesterday, if not for your contract,¡± Angharad said. ¡°That is deserving.¡±


    Of many things, let Remund Cerdan decide which without her help. The younger brother puffed up and for a moment Angharad felt sick. It might be that the man was so vain any praise at all went to his head, she thought, but she¡¯d known other boys like him. Born to great families and stalking about with their knives ever bared, offended and offending, but so often beneath that there had been a wound. How starved of esteem must you be, that an enemy¡¯s words are all it takes to straighten your back?


    ¡°It is good you recognize as much,¡± Remund drawled. ¡°I thought you an ingrate, I don¡¯t mind admitting it. It is said to be common flaw of your people that you take a mile whenever you are given an inch.¡±


    ¡°Malani are not without flaws,¡± she said. ¡°I like to think ingratitude is not one of them.¡±


    ¡°Oh?¡± the young man smiled, eyeing her up and down. ¡°Then how am I to be rewarded?¡±


    She kept her face calm at the implied insult. He had no interest in her, not really. He was simply waving around his knife, hoping to score red on flesh.


    ¡°Honour is to be earned with one¡¯s own hands,¡± Angharad said. ¡°And it occurs to me than any lost by Cerdan hands could be regained by the same.¡±


    Remund breathed in sharply, eyeing her with surprise and a different kind of wariness than before. He¡¯d looked at her the way one might a wild beast, when this began, but now there was a different tint to it.


    ¡°You surprise me, Tredegar,¡± the infanzon murmured. ¡°Perhaps you are not so dim after all. Such a thing could solve many problems at once, yes.¡±


    She held her tongue, letting him stare at the pond until he found the reflection he was looking for.


    ¡°A duel to first blood to avenge my house¡¯s honour,¡± he mused. ¡°It is true a victory against a swordmistress would be the talk of the season, enough to avoid the ire of my lord father over Augusto¡¯s unfortunate end.¡±


    ¡°One hopes,¡± Angharad said with measured precision.


    Dark eyes narrowed at her.


    ¡°Getting Cozme out of the way so you have an opening would not be impossible,¡± Remund conceded. ¡°But how can I be sure you¡¯ll hold up your end of the bargain?¡±


    ¡°My word is my bond,¡± she flatly replied. ¡°I will swear oath to it, should you prefer.¡±


    The nobleman smiled, laying his palms against the back of his head as he strolled forward with a touch of unearned swagger.


    ¡°No,¡± Remund Cerdan finally said, smile widening.


    Angharad hid her surprise, slowly inclining her head. She must have made a mistake, or perhaps underestimated the bonds of brotherhood.


    ¡°You gain much with this and me too little,¡± Remund idly added. ¡°I require more of you.¡±


    The sliver of respect she had been feeling died young.


    ¡°I am listening.¡±


    He leaned close, too close, smiling still for all that his eyes were without mirth.


    ¡°This little dance of yours with Isabel, it is to stop,¡± Remund said.


    Silence again, for no words were more persuasive than one¡¯s own.


    ¡°She encourages you, no doubt,¡± the younger Cerdan shrugged. ¡°It is her way. She enjoys the attention, and in truth I do not begrudge her that. Why marry at all, if your wife is not to be the envy of all your peers?¡±


    The lie lay in the tight cast of his jaw as he forced the first not through his lips.


    ¡°But it irritates me, your flirtation,¡± Remund smiled. ¡°I find tasteless the presumption that, even in jest, you could be the rival of an infanzon. So you will cease. Keep your distance from her.¡±


    ¡°You want an oath,¡± Angharad surmised.


    ¡°I do,¡± the dark-haired main jovially replied. ¡°And one for our other bargain too. There will be no slipping out at the last moment, my friend.¡±


    The words came easy to her, as if they had always lain on the tip of her tongue.


    ¡°On my oath, I will no longer seek the company of Isabel Ruesta,¡± Angharad said.


    He sighed.


    ¡°I suppose no longer speaking to her at all is too much to ask,¡± Remund conceded. ¡°And?¡±


    He cocked an eyebrow, gesturing for her to get on with it. She chose the phrasing carefully, pruned away the right words and left them in the grass for him to find.


    ¡°On my oath, I will cede victory to you in an honour duel over Augusto Cerdan¡¯s death in the same.¡±


    Remund cocked an eyebrow at her, a hint of smugness to his mien.


    ¡°Speak it again,¡± he said, ¡°only specifying my name instead of simply you. Let us not be careless with our words, yes?¡±


    She did as asked.


    Victory is poison to reason, my darling, Father had taught her. Once men have caught you out, they think themselves your better in all things. Remund Cerdan, for all that he despised his brother, thought him Angharad¡¯s match with a sword even though he manifestly was not. It had not occurred to him that an honour duel could be to surrender as well as death, that she could simply wound the elder Cerdan to death¡¯s very edge before allowing him surrender. And if Augusto Cerdan died after the honour duel, not during, then she owed his brother nothing at all. Lord Remund Cerdan smiled condescendingly at her, deigning to engage her in small talk now that she had become his tool, and under her breath she hummed the old tune.


    I promise the stars in a cup


    and the sea in your hand.


    a hall reaching the clouds;


    a hearth where hundreds sup


    She had not turned the brothers against each other, that hatred had taken root long before she came into their lives, but now she had ensured they would not make common front against her. That would ensure Master Cozme was not easily made to act against her: he was beholden to both brothers and now one wanted her to live. At least long enough to be of use to him, not that Angharad believed he truly intended to hold up his end of their bargain. More likely than not he would try to use the vagueness she had purposely left in the phrasing ¨C in an honour duel, not specifying one to first blood ¨C to try and kill her by surprise during their bout. Victory at first blood would win him praise from his peers, but avenging his brother? Oh, it might well make him famous.


    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    It did not matter. Snake or not, she knew half his name. He would not bite until he had obtained his heart¡¯s desire.


    Now she must prune away the other dangers, to ensure she made it to the hour where she would get her bargain¡¯s worth. That began with seeing to her own back, ensuring that the companions she¡¯d made would have no reason to turn on her. When their company halted for rest, she volunteered to join Brun at the front until the next halt. The Sacromontan seemed to appreciate the gesture, especially when she took it upon herself to carry the lantern. Their advance was smooth and almost pleasant, the High Road living up to its name: it was largely even ground, broken up only by where enterprising weeds had taken root in the stone. Most of their attention was not reserved for the path ahead, anyhow.


    It was below that their eyes strayed, down into the plains they were soon to reach the end of. The lupines that had hunted them for the better part of yesterday were left behind when they crossed a deep gully unmarked on Song¡¯s map, unable to cross, but there was no telling if the creatures had gone around to continue their pursuit. The spirits had not been able to do anything from below, but the incessant howling had frayed everyone¡¯s nerves ¨C and risked drawing in some greater spirit that would not be kept away by something as simple as the height of the aqueduct. So far they had glimpsed a few silhouettes creeping across the flatlands, but none ever came close enough to be lit up.


    The infanzones, Angharad would admit, had hatched a very clever plan. If not for the misfortune of being set upon by the lupines the march all the way to the second trial might have gone without a single drop of blood spilled. She was not alone in that opinion.


    ¡°I am glad not to be walking the plains,¡± Brun told her. ¡°I would find it difficult to lower my guard long enough to sleep down there, after that mess with the lemures.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps our misfortune will have helped the others,¡± Angharad said, though she did not truly believe it. ¡°It would be some small solace.¡±


    ¡°I suppose there is need for all of that we can find, these days,¡± Brun drily said.


    She grimaced.


    ¡°I regret that our company has become at odds,¡± Angharad said. ¡°And know I played a part in it.¡±


    The fair-haired man dismissed her words with a wave of the hand.


    ¡°I¡¯ll not quibble with ruthlessness, not on the Dominion of Lost Things,¡± he said, ¡°but you were right to strike the man. It would have been a fool¡¯s act to let the Cerdans murder one of us without consequence.¡±


    His face darkened.


    ¡°Infanzones already dispose of lives too easily for my tastes,¡± Brun said. ¡°I would not encourage the habit.¡±


    It was uncomfortable hearing him speak of his rightful rulers in such a way, but she must admit that the disrespect might not be unwarranted. Not for all infanzones, for while Sacromonte¡¯s nobles were shadows of what they had once been they were still of noble blood, but she would not deny the Cerdan brothers were not living up to the duties of their privilege. It was a failure that reflected badly on their kin, who should have properly educated them to the responsibilities of rank.


    ¡°You do not sound fond of them,¡± Angharad tried.


    ¡°I am the son of miners,¡± he said. ¡°Theirs was not a pleasant life, Lady Angharad, and it was spent enriching the same kind of men as these Cerdan.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry to hear of their passing,¡± she gently said.


    ¡°It has been years,¡± Brun shrugged.


    The calm on his face she could hardly understand, for the grief she felt over her parents would surely be a wound in her side until she died. She could not think of anything but vengeance that would lessen it even slightly.


    ¡°Some are better than others,¡± he continued. ¡°Lady Isabel seems decent enough.¡±


    He shot her a knowing look at that.


    ¡°She has been very kind,¡± Angharad stiffly replied.


    ¡°Briceida tells me she¡¯s decided not to withdraw after the first trial,¡± Brun told her.


    She did not hide her surprise, at both the words and the implication that one of Isabel¡¯s handmaids would gossip about her mistress¡¯ affairs in such a way.


    ¡°Was this ever in doubt?¡± she asked.


    If so, it was news to her. Isabel had never hinted as much, though it was true she had spoken little of her plans.


    ¡°She hesitated after learning her cousin had died,¡± he said. ¡°Did she not speak of it with you?¡±


    Angharad shook her head.


    ¡°Perhaps she worries of your safety,¡± Brun idly said. ¡°Without her mediation, our troubles with the Cerdan would only grow worse.¡±


    It would be foolish, she chided herself, to think Isabel would risk her life for her when what lay between them was but a flirtation. The thought still brought a pleasurable flush to her cheeks.


    ¡°Or she recovered from the shock and stuck to her course,¡± Angharad said.


    Brun did not look convinced. He must be quite the romantic, she decided with a swell of fondness. How long before the lingering glances between him and the redheaded handmaid ¨C Briceida ¨C turned into something more? How scandalous. Still, it gladdened her that some happiness was being born out of these trials no matter how passing it might be.


    ¡°Whatever the truth of it, she is a good friend to have in our corner,¡± he said. ¡°I hope that your avoidance of her company during our halt was not a cooling in relations.¡±


    Angharad¡¯s lips thinned. Brun studied her, then slowly nodded.


    ¡°Not so, I see,¡± he said. ¡°Does perhaps your talk with Remund Cerdan have something to do with this?¡±


    Speaking of an oath sworn in secret without the permission of he it was sworn to came too close to dishonour for comfort. Angharad kept silent, but denied nothing.


    ¡°He does seem like the more jealous of the two,¡± Brun grunted. ¡°Maybe enough to get an oath.¡±


    The blond Sacromontan shot her a piercing look.


    ¡°I wonder,¡± he said, ¡°how someone might describe the way you acted during our halt.¡±


    Angharad beamed down at him. What a clever man.


    ¡°I did not seek the company of Isabel Ruesta,¡± she very precisely replied.


    Describing something that had been done in public could not be taken as revealing a secret, after all. Brun snorted, scratching the blond stubble on his chin.


    ¡°Were that an oath, it¡¯d be one with a hole wide enough to sail a ship through,¡± he said. ¡°All it¡¯d take was someone figuring it out and passing on the wording to the object of the terms.¡±


    ¡°It would be a clever and convivial soul who did such a thing,¡± Angharad replied, lowering her head in gratitude.


    Brun smiled.


    ¡°Might be I¡¯ll help Lady Isabel¡¯s girls carry her bags this afternoon,¡± he said. ¡°I imagine it¡¯s the kind of thing she might thank me for in person, sweet as she is.¡±


    Her head lowered even further. Were they not journeying through a dark isle that was the roost of darklings and evil spirits, Angharad might have found the entire affair all strangely romantic: a binding oath to a rival, clever servants passing messages between star-crossed lovers and a duel with another rival on the horizon? She must have read half a hundred plays that had all of these. As it was, little about this made her heart flutter. It felt much like walking a tightrope instead.


    ¡°If could have a reassurance, first,¡± Brun quietly said. ¡°Should this turn ugly, should the brothers and their minder come for us, will your¡­ talent be enough to tip the scales?¡±


    The pause made it plain what it was he was asking of: her contract. Though it was most tactless of him to inquire, as one did not simply ask about these things, she did owe the man. Or would soon enough.


    ¡°I have killed more than three men in a day,¡± Angharad simply replied, then chose her words carefully. ¡°My hand moves faster than it ought to.¡±


    Not a lie, though the implication was. It sat ill with her to deceive Brun even by implication when he had been such a loyal companion, but that decision she had made before ever leaving Malan. It could not get out that the Fisher had given her the gift of foresight, else returning home would forever be barred to her. The blond man nodded at her in understanding. To her surprise, he then offered a revelation of his own.


    ¡°I can sense the living,¡± he told her. ¡°People best, hollows and beasts with more difficulty.¡±


    Her brow rose.


    ¡°A great gift,¡± she said.


    There would be more to it, and neither had even obliquely referred to a price, but she was still moved by the display of trust. It spoke well of the man¡¯s character that he would acknowledge and mend his indiscretion immediately. It made her even more of a wretch to be fooling him, a truth she found hard to swallow. She was not used to answering kindness with such faithlessness.


    Wed me, be my fair wife


    And these will all be yours


    I swear this on my life


    And the life that will be ours


    The next step came slightly past midday, after they stopped to eat and once more changed the arraignment of the column. Angharad would have sought out Song, finished securing her back, but when Cozme Aflor instead offered for the two of them should take the rearguard she agreed without hesitation. He, too, was a danger that must be settled. Master Cozme was a skilled and loyal retainer charged with keeping both Cerdan brothers alive: so long as Angharad was a threat to their lives, the risk remained that he would attempt to kill her. It might not be honourable, but some might argue that a servant¡¯s true honour lay in choosing the fulfillment of duty over their own virtue. As the older man had been the one to approach her, she chose to let him lead the conversation.


    ¡°I¡¯ll not defend what was done to Gascon,¡± Master Cozme briskly said. ¡°It was ill-done and ill-advised. The boy was scared, but that¡¯s no excuse.¡±


    He looked uncomfortable. Without the large hat pairing with the long hair and grey-flecked beard, he was not quite as roguish ¨C despite his obvious care for his appearance, he was looking a little haggard.


    ¡°And no excuse was given,¡± Angharad said.


    Lord Augusto Cerdan had not so much as shed a tear over the killing, as far as she could see.


    ¡°He can¡¯t do that, not after you struck him,¡± Cozme replied. ¡°It¡¯d be an admission of weakness now, that he is beneath you. A ruthless man won¡¯t be loved, but he can be respected.¡±


    He thumbed his moustache.


    ¡°A weak man will have neither love nor respect.¡±


    Angharad cocked an eyebrow at him.


    ¡°What is this if not a defence, Master Cozme?¡± she asked.


    He spat over the edge of the aqueduct. His hand was hooked into his belt, as if he were on a casual stroll, but that seeming carelessness left it never too far from his pistol.


    ¡°Acknowledgement that we are in a pickle, you and I,¡± Cozme said. ¡°I¡¯ve been charged with bringing the both of them back alive and you¡¯re aiming to cut down on half that charge.¡±


    ¡°It is unfortunate that the demands of our honour are at odds,¡± Angharad replied, meaning it.


    She liked the older man. He was skilled at arms and friendly, a pleasant conversationalist and reliable in a fight. She could not even hold his loyalty to Augusto Cerdan against him, as it was the mark of fine retainer to remain at their master¡¯s side no matter the turn of the tide ¨C or whether such loyalty was truly deserved.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to fight you, Lady Angharad,¡± he bluntly said. ¡°But I¡¯ll have to, if it¡¯s the only way to keep the boy alive.¡±


    The Pereduri acknowledged as much with a nod. They had both known this without need for a conversation, so soon Master Cozme should reveal why it was he had approached her.


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t ask you to set aside your honour,¡± Cozme Aflor slowly said, ¡°but-¡±


    Her brow rose, a clear warning for him to tread lightly.


    ¡°- it seems to me there is some room for maneuver in the terms of your challenge,¡± he continued. ¡°We¡¯re under truce until ¡®peril passes¡¯, are we not?¡±


    ¡°The sanctuary before the second trial is the natural end to that oath,¡± Angharad said. ¡°We will be beyond peril¡¯s reach there.¡±


    ¡°But only temporarily,¡± Cozme argued. ¡°In a greater sense, the entire Dominion of Lost Things can be said to be a place of peril.¡±


    Angharad frowned at him.


    ¡°You want me to duel him in Sacromonte instead,¡± she said. ¡°After the trials have passed.¡±


    Her tone made clear what she thought of the wisdom of the proposal.


    ¡°You¡¯re aiming to be a blackcloak, aren¡¯t you?¡± Cozme said. ¡°You¡¯ll be under the protection of the Watch when you come, it won¡¯t be something that can be swept under the rug with knife or powder.¡±


    As good as an admission that otherwise the House of Cerdan might have resorted to these, which in truth did not surprise her.


    ¡°There is no guarantee the Watch will let me duel him, even if the challenge was made before my joining,¡± Angharad pointed out.


    The bearded man looked frustrated, and though the thought was unkind Angharad could not help but wonder: even should she accept this, would she ever find Augusto Cerdan no matter how many times she came knocking at the gates of his home? Or would he coincidentally be out travelling every time she arrived, set out on some business or other?


    ¡°A compromise then,¡± Master Cozme pressed. ¡°I would have time of you, since there is an interpretation where giving it does not mar your honour.¡±


    ¡°I am not so generous a woman as to give mine without purpose,¡± Angharad replied.


    ¡°There would be,¡± Cozme assured her. ¡°How much do you know of the Trial of Ruins?¡±


    Only what she had been told, which was not much. The Cerdan brother knew that their foreknowledge was part of what kept people with them so they had remained tight-lipped. Isabel, disappointingly, had followed their lead in this.


    ¡°It is a maze of some kind, which we must march through to cross the mountains,¡± she said.


    ¡°It¡¯s more than that,¡± Cozme said, shaking his head. ¡°It is all made of broken shrines, a labyrinth-city dedicated to dead gods. And whatever it is broke them, Lady Angharad, it sowed a hatred deep in the stone. Now those who would pass the shrines must first survive cruel games led by their shadows, beating them to open paths.¡±


    ¡°It sounds a fearsome place,¡± she admitted.


    ¡°It is where most people die, during these trials,¡± Cozme meaningfully said. ¡°Even infanzones succumb to traps and tests. And it is my charge to keep the brothers alive, one I will see through, but I am only a man. The Manes might decide I am to fail despite all efforts.¡±


    He shrugged, looking at her expectantly. The offer lay unspoken but not less clear for that: Master Cozme wanted her to wait until the end of the second trial to see if circumstance would make an honour duel entirely unnecessary. If Augusto Cerdan was taken by the Trial of Ruins, Angharad could hardly demand a duel of a corpse. Master Cozme was making it plain he would still do his best to keep Augusto alive, as his honour demanded, but was asking to delay the duel so they might find out if the Sleeping God had other ideas. Should he not, then they could still duel before the Cerdan withdrew from the trials. It was a neat solution, she would admit, toeing the line of honour for all involved.


    It was also near certain to get her killed.


    Beyond the second trial lay another sanctuary, where it was the intention of the infanzones to desist from their candidature to the Watch and place themselves under its protection so they might be taken back to Sacromonte. Should Augusto Cerdan succeed at claiming that protection, he would be beyond her reach. That meant she must either plumb the depths of the labyrinth with the infanzones to ensure he could not, risking having a knife slid into her back during these ¡®games¡¯, or that she must find her own way through and wager she would cross before he did so she might intercept him on the other side. Even the better of these wagers was bad: the infanzones knew much of these trials and she little, something certain to be an edge when struggling against a maze.


    Yet Angharad did not voice the refusal that her heart whispered.


    ¡°It is a compromise,¡± she said instead.


    When she had been thirteen ¨C only five years ago, though it felt like a lifetime away ¨C she had journeyed with servants to Iswayo, one of the great cities of southern Malan, for a tournament. She had not been a favourite to win, still young to the circuit, but already her skill was known from some lesser victories. One the day of the tournament, she learned that it was to be the debut of the daughter of a great izinduna. And coincidence had decided that, by the branches of the fighting-tree, she was to face that very girl on her second fight. Should they both win their first, of course. Angharad had duly expected victory there. An hour before the tournament began, as she was limbering up, a nameless servant had approached her and smilingly begun to talk.


    Without ever naming names of saying anything outright, he had implied that should the daughter of a great house find unexpected success there might be boons for those involved. Why, the Sleeping God might find it fit for Angharad to be invited to a much more prestigious tournament in the capital and even be blessed with an auspicious start to competition there. The man bore no weapon, made no threat and never ceased smiling. Angharad was excruciatingly polite in her refusal, offended but unwilling to make a powerful enemy, and the nameless man had neither blustered nor gotten angry. Instead he had thanked her for her time and taken his leave.


    A few minutes before the tournament began, Angharad had found that the name of her opponent in her first branch had been changed for one of the favourites to win.  She lost to the other girl after a respectable bout, who then in turn went on to lose by an excitingly small margin to the izinduna¡¯s daughter in the following match. It was an exciting bout, all agreed, and a fine debut even if the girl did not make it too far after that. There had been a lesson in that day, one she had well learned.


    And as Angharad walked side by side with Cozme Aflor, this genial and pleasant man who had taken great pains to avoid enmity between them, she knew sure as the coming of the tide that if she refused him now he would try to kill her. Not right now, perhaps not even today or tomorrow, but a time would come and then without bluster or warning Master Cozme would shoot her in the back or stab her in the heart. That clear-headed patience was a hundred times more dangerous than anything Augusto and Remund Cerdan had it in them to muster, for it was nothing more than a loyal retainer doing what his duty demanded of him.


    ¡°I would require assurances,¡± Angharad finally said, ¡°that the challenge will not be fled.¡±


    ¡°That could be arranged with the Watch when we get to the sanctuary,¡± Cozme said, sounding pleased. ¡°You¡¯d be willing to wait until the end of the second trial?¡±


    ¡°Should this be true, then I will delay my challenge until the end of the Trial of Ruins,¡± Angharad precisely said. ¡°If you would have an oath of me, I-¡±


    ¡°You word is enough,¡± the older man firmly said, shaking his head. ¡°You are Malani.¡±


    He meant it as a compliment, she thought, so she would not take offence. Even the merchants of Malan were known as honest to all the peoples of Vesper, since outing them as liars could ruin their trade. Honour was important, on the Isles, and taint had a way of passing by association: it was not only nobles who were careful of the company they kept. Reputation must be carefully curated, but then work was not rewards. Malani, it was said, did not lie. Their word was taken as bond when given, and the same trust was given to the peoples of the High Isle and the Low.


    I give you then my hand,


    Promised in salt and air


    And by your side will stand


    The wife that you won fair


    Master Cozme was in a fine mood when they parted ways that evening, certain he had gotten from her what he wanted. He had not. Angharad had agreed to delay a challenge, never promising not to issue another. It would be most satisfying to strike Augusto Cerdan a second time. Angharad let that prospect bring a smile to her face as they all ate, arrayed in the same unspoken camps they had this morning. Song and Brun on her side, the brothers and their protector on the other, Isabel and her maids in between. Only, she saw, now the lay of the land had changed. Remund smiled often at Augusto, almost smirking, and Cozme no longer kept a hand near his pistol. Isabel sometimes shot the younger Cerdan dark looks and seemed to be encouraging Briceida to speak with Brun.


    Angharad Tredegar watched them all and saw in them her father¡¯s lessons learned. Eating her dried fruits, she hummed under her breath of old tricks.


    Here! Stars reflected in wine,


    a seashell held to your ear,


    the mountain I claim as mine,


    and a hearth rats do not fear


    The Tianxi at her side leaned close.


    ¡°You¡¯ve been toying with that tune all day,¡± Song quietly said. ¡° I am now official intrigued: may I know what it is called?¡±


    She flushed, embarrassed at having been caught out.


    ¡°The Fair Wife,¡± Angharad replied.


    ¡°A love ballad?¡± the Tianxia chuckled, eyes teasing. ¡°I had not thought you in such a mood.¡±


    The Pereduri shook her head.


    ¡°It is a can lan, a shore-song,¡± she explained. ¡°They are ballads that teach lessons through a story.¡±


    Most were old as Morn¡¯s Arrival, the story went, and first sung to teach her ancestors when their ships found the stony shores of Peredur. The Fair Wife was said to be about a man seeking a beautiful spirit¡¯s hand in marriage, of the tricks played to get one¡¯s way. Song¡¯s silver eyes stayed on her, full of a steady confidence that was a firmer cousin to calm.


    ¡°And what lesson does it teach?¡±


    Father had said that the lesson was that you received what you gave, a tale of reciprocity. Mother had often said it was simply about how spirits, like many men, simply could not be trusted. She had never entirely believed either, finding her own answer as a can lan encouraged.


    ¡°That cleverness is a sword with two edges,¡± Angharad Tredegar replied. ¡°And every so often, we get everything that we deserve.¡±


    After all, the last couplet was sung by the spirit and not the man.


    Sweet love, I find no fault


    and leave now in your care


    this hand of air and salt:


    the wife that you won fair.

 Chapter 12

    It was an unusual experience, Tristan mused, to be treating others using a poisoner¡¯s kit in ways he had largely learned through study of interrogation. Not that anyone could tell the difference.


    ¡°I don¡¯t need a stick to bite down on,¡± Felis insisted. ¡°It¡¯s just a little pain, I can take it.¡±


    In most circumstances, the man might even have been right: regular use of dust could dull one¡¯s sense of pain. Not so here, however. Aines fretted at her husband¡¯s side but he kept pushing her away.


    ¡°I once saw a man bite through his own tongue,¡± Tristan conversationally said. ¡°It didn¡¯t kill him ¨C it is not usually a lethal wound, you see ¨C but it did seem to be an excruciatingly painful experience.¡±


    The dust addict paled, fiddling with his choppy brown hair.


    ¡°Are you much of a singer, Felis?¡± the thief asked.


    The man glared, but he took the stick and placed his teeth against it. Tristan immediately ripped out the bolt, ignoring the half-swallowed scream that followed. It was a nasty little piece of work, the thief thought as he eyed the arrowpoint the hollows had used. Serrated so that it would cut flesh again on the way out. Felis went through spasms of pain, shivering, as Tristan set down the bolt and got to work cleaning the wound. A rag drenched in alcohol, then makeshift bandages made of ripped clothing. The man should be in no danger of bleeding out, but Tristan could not say if the flesh would take sick. Clothes made for poor bandages and they had too few to spare for the thief to be able to change them often.


    ¡°It is much as I can do,¡± he told Felis. ¡°I will give you something for the pain before you go to sleep.¡±


    That made all of them. Vanesa and Aines had gotten away with little more than bruises, Francho¡¯s rib was sprained but not broken and Yong had taken no wound at all. After Felis the worst off was Sarai: pins and needles had ripped at the side of her face when her veils and mask were torn off. Those he had not taken care of: after borrowing alcohol to clean the wounds, she had seen to them herself. Of Lan there was still no sign, not that they would take her in should she return. What worth was there in keeping around someone who would run when the knives came out? Choices must be paid for. Felis spat out the stick and rose to his feet, striding away without another a word. His wife stayed behind.


    ¡°Thank you, Tristan,¡± Aines tiredly told him. ¡°He appreciates it as well, he just-¡±


    Under the weariness and the wear, he could still see the shape of the woman she must have been when she was young. Dark hair and kind brown eyes, a heart-shaped face and slender frame. The kind of looks men of the Murk considered beautiful.


    ¡°This place, it doesn¡¯t bring out the best in us,¡± she finished. ¡°It will be better when we get out.¡±


    No it won¡¯t, Tristan thought. The thief hesitated. He had decided not to involve himself too closely with the pair, wary of getting caught in the inevitable explosion, but now their company¡¯s numbers had thinned and wounds had been taken. If he could nudge their situation into coming to a head a little later, perhaps the second trial, it would be a boon.


    ¡°Lan ran off with the dust,¡± he said. ¡°How long before it gets bad?¡±


    Aines¡¯ smile did not quite hide the shame in her eyes.


    ¡°Noticed that, did you?¡± she said. ¡°I thought you might, you¡¯ve got Murk all over you.¡±


    And they both knew that dust and the other drugs peddled there killed people just as sure as the plague, only slower and uglier. The dark-haired woman worried her lip.


    ¡°Two days,¡± she finally said. ¡°Maybe longer if your extract for the pain scratches the itch some.¡±


    ¡°That could be a problem,¡± Tristan admitted.


    One he did not have much to mend, save if one counted poison a solution. The sound Aines answered by was too bleak to truly be called a laugh.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± she exhaled. ¡°I know. Gods, I know.¡±


    ¡°It seems ill-advised,¡± he delicately said, ¡°to be taking these trials given his¡­ condition.¡±


    His more than hers. Aines seemed as needful of gambling as her husband was of dust but her body would not rebel at the lack of it: it was an affliction of the mind more than the flesh. He already knew they had not come here by choice, that they had been paid for by others, but tired and grateful as she was a small invitation like this should be enough to get her talking.


    ¡°You think we had a choice?¡± Aines bitterly replied. ¡°We both racked up debts with the Cordero Sonriente, only we didn¡¯t know about each other¡¯s. One of their collectors put it together and came knocking at our door.¡±


    Tristan winced. The Cordero Soriente has begun as a charitable house the infanzones had meant to clothe and feed the poor souls of the Murk, but infamously within a year it¡¯d begun selling goods on the side and running whores in its chapterhouses. The Guardia never raided them, after all, lest the noble patrons be offended. By the time the thief was born the Cordero had branched into loans as well and earned a hard reputation among that crowded trade. They were respectable enough they could afford to pay the redcloaks to come and collect for them and the Guardia did not play nice when it came to the Murk.


    ¡°Yeah, that bad,¡± Aines sighed. ¡°The debt was big enough we would have been bound for the mines until we died, only we have five kids and no one who could take care of them. So when they offered to wipe the debt if we took the trials, it wasn¡¯t much of a choice at all.¡±


    ¡°They would not have made the offer without getting something out of it,¡± Tristan said.


    Aines convulsed, and with some surprise the thief realized that she was crying. It was not the tears that surprised him ¨C he¡¯d choked on bitter sobs in his time ¨C but that she would allow herself to shed them before a man half a stranger. Tristan gently put a hand on her shoulder but did not take her into his arms as an impulse demanded. He knew better than to get attached.


    ¡°It¡¯s a sport to them,¡± she croaked out. ¡°They pay the blackcloaks for the reports, after. So they know what happened in the trials.¡±


    ¡°What did they tell you, Aines?¡± he pressed.


    ¡°They¡¯ll drown my children,¡± she whispered, ¡°if Felis kills me before the end of the trials.¡±


    Sympathy welled up, but only a shallow stream. Most of his mind was on the talk he had overheard between the two, the way Felis had pushed for them to leave the group. To go off alone. And just as Aines must have come to, he grew sure the Cordero must have promised him something if he killed her before the end of the trials. Red games, Yong had called these. What a pretty turn of phrase for such an ugly thing. He kept Aines company until the tears ran out and she muttered some excuses, returning to her cot like someone who did not know where else to go. Felis began a whispered argument with her within moments and Tristan decided to wait before he went over with the painkiller.


    Instead it was to Yong¡¯s side he went, sitting by the man as he oiled and cleaned his sword. The Tianxi glanced his way with an inquisitive look.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think they¡¯re salvageable,¡± Tristan frankly said, careful not the glance the pair¡¯s way as he did. ¡°They were pointed at each other by their creditor.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re useful in a fight,¡± Yong just as frankly replied. ¡°I¡¯d be more inclined to get rid of the greyhairs than these two if we must cut weight loose.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not saying we cut them,¡± he replied, ¡°but they can¡¯t be trusted for anything delicate. It¡¯s only a matter of time until one knifes the other.¡±


    Either Felis for what he had been promised or Aines to avoid the same.


    ¡°Come the second trial, they are no longer our trouble,¡± Yong pragmatically said. ¡°Will they last until then?¡±


    Tristan grimaced.


    ¡°Probably,¡± he conceded, then passed a hand through his hair. ¡°Marriage, huh. What a fool¡¯s game.¡±


    Yong shot him a highly amused look.


    ¡°You are speaking,¡± the Tianxi said, ¡°to a married man.¡±


    ¡°Ah,¡± the thief coughed. ¡°I mean no offence. I am sure your wife-¡±


    ¡°Husband,¡± Yong drily corrected.


    ¡°- husband is a fine man,¡± Tristan hastily assured him.


    ¡°He is,¡± the other man replied, but a hint of something lay under the even tone. ¡°But I¡¯ll grant you it can sometimes make for a crowded bed, each other and our pasts all squeezed tight.¡±


    Much as the thief was itching to poke at that, to see what might come out, a look at Yong¡¯s face was enough for him to decide otherwise. It was a closed shutter, and the Tianxi was shifting restless in that way Tristan had come to recognize as meaning he wanted to drink. The earlier violence seemed to have invigorated Yong, enough that he¡¯d not drunk liquor all afternoon, but now the clouds were returning. Best head that off as hard as he could: if the day¡¯s fighting had proved anything, it was that without Yong they were all halfway to the grave.


    ¡°I am glad you are now calm,¡± Tristan said, ¡°for you seemed angry when you first saw Sarai¡¯s looks under the mask.¡±


    ¡°Hollows can¡¯t be trusted,¡± the Tianxi bluntly said. ¡°If she had been one, either she or I would have left this company.¡±


    ¡°I have not found them any worse than men,¡± the thief said. ¡°Is this a matter of faith?¡±


    No one, not even cultish Redeemers, denied the truth of the Circle Perpetual ¨C the endless cycle of reincarnation that bound all souls not marred by the Gloam. To be a darkling, hollow, was to be evicted from the Circle and see your immortal soul tarnished into mortality. There were faiths of Vesper who thought this a great sin, something disgusting or wicked, and so thought hollows disgusting and wicked as well. The Orthodoxy should not be one of them, but then in practice Tristan knew precious little of the Cathayan Orthodoxy.


    ¡°It is a matter of fact,¡± Yong replied. ¡°All men go mad when law runs thin, Tristan. When there are no more punishments, the savagery we pretend we¡¯ve never learned comes creeping out.¡±


    His dark eyes looked at something beyond the cast of the lantern¡¯s light, the kind of haunting that could be a world away and still closer than your own skin.


    ¡°I have seen men I thought decent rape and steal and kill for no better reason than they could,¡± he said. ¡°But in the end, for all our cruelties, we are still men.¡±


    The former soldier¡¯s jaw clenched.


    ¡°I have found half-eaten children by the road,¡± Yong said with desolate calm, ¡°where hollows went raiding. I¡¯ve tread over the broken bones of hundreds fed to mad gods, seen the aftermath of ritual so horrifying even the worst of Izcalli candlemen would balk at their use.¡±


    His tone had not grown heated but it¡¯d risen loud enough they were drawing looks.


    ¡°We still curse by the Old Night for a reason,¡± he said, lowering the pitch of his voice after he noticed the attention. ¡°And that is the world hollows would bring back: darkness for all, forever. No trust can or should survive that truth.¡±


    Tristan slowly nodded, keeping his thoughts off his face. He would not argue with Yong, not when the subject drew such fervour from the other man, but he was not convinced. There were entire kingdoms of hollows out there, great empires risen and fallen beyond the cast of the Glare. Scholars were certain that most of Vesper belonged to the hollows, and if Yong were right then the Old Night would long ago have been brought back. No, Tristan suspected that most hollows were no better or worse than men. Shaped differently by circumstance, perhaps, but not made of such different clay.


    It was the cults that were things of horror, and a cult was not a kingdom ¨C much less a hundred of them.


    ¡°I¡¯ll not argue with killing those Red Eye bastards,¡± the thief said. ¡°Though I hope you¡¯ll forgive me if I¡¯d rather sneak past them if we can.¡±


    Yong waved his words away.


    ¡°So would I,¡± he said. ¡°And I can only wince at how Sarai must have suffered for her people¡¯s resemblance to hollows. I expect half the people she¡¯s ever met have tried to clap her in chains.¡±


    ¡°Not Tianxi, no?¡± Tristan asked. ¡°I thought the Republics didn¡¯t hold with slavery.¡±


    ¡°All are free under Heaven,¡± Yong dutifully quoted. ¡°It¡¯s against all the laws on all the books, it¡¯s true, but it doesn¡¯t stop some of the traders from shipping slaves.¡±


    Ah, Tristan thought. Transporting the ¡®merchandise¡¯ was not buying or selling it, he deduced, which allowed the unscrupulous to follow the letter of the law. He was no longer a boy of ten, blindly admiring that the Tianxi had sent all their nobles to the chopping block and dreaming their land a veritable paradise. The Heavenly Republics were just as flawed a beast as the other great powers of Vesper, he knew that. But he was still disappointed, somehow, that men who¡¯d made themselves free would force the opposite on others.


    ¡°The slave trade has made Malan rich,¡± he sighed. ¡°And the man who hates gold has yet to be born.¡±


    The Second Empire had used slaves by the millions and most peoples of Vesper still did ¨C the infanzones might not call them such, but the hollows mining rubies and gold for them were slaves in deed ¨C yet it was only ever hollows that Liergan had kept in chains. That time, that practice, had come at an end. The Kingdom of Malan had grown terribly wealth by stealing men in the north and shipping them to their western colonies, where they toiled raising rich crops under the Glare for their masters. And the tribes below the Broken Gates were very much men, for though they were pale of skin they were not severed from the Circle Perpetual. The Glare did not burn them.


    Yong snorted.


    ¡°When I was a boy,¡± he said, ¡°my grandmother told me it was Lucifer himself that made gold, for he knew that even sealed in Pandemonium gold would be enough for men to destroy themselves.¡±


    Tristan could not help but smile. It seemed that no matter where you were born, family tried to scare you with stories of the King of Hell.


    ¡°My father used to tell how he invented sleep,¡± the thief said, ¡°by botching a spell to kill all the world.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a clever one,¡± Yong appreciated, then wiped his sword down one last time. ¡°And a timely reminder of what I ought to do. Francho still has first watch?¡±


    Tristan nodded.


    ¡°Good, the greyhairs need to earn their keep,¡± the former soldier said. ¡°Will you speak with Sarai before turning in for the night?¡±


    The thief cocked an eyebrow.


    ¡°Should I?¡± he asked, surprised.


    ¡°Who, if not you?¡± Yong shrugged. ¡°The two of you have been fingers from the same hand since we left the yiwu.¡±


    He frowned, recognizing the Cathayan word but not the meaning.


    ¡°Relics?¡±


    ¡°Nobles,¡± Yong explained, smiling.


    There was a calm certainty behind that smile, the look of a man who knew the way the world was headed and that its road would inevitably be paved with the graves of his enemies. And who was the Tristan to argue that? The Tianxi still chopped kings into four pieces, whenever they got their hands on them, and no crown in Vesper had been able to make them stop. Parting ways with the still-smiling man, Tristan flicked a glance Sarai¡¯s way. She was sitting alone, Aines and Felis giving her wide berth, and while Vanesa had not been driven off by the pale skin the bespectacled old woman was sound asleep.


    He''d barely exchanged twenty words with her since her face was revealed, Tristan realized. They¡¯d had to run half a day and he¡¯d spent all his time since camp was made seeing to wounds. Perhaps a conversation truly was due, even if exhaustion was catching up to him. Sitting across from Sarai¡¯s pack, the thief popped his neck and let out a little sigh of satisfaction at the ensuing crack. He got an unimpressed look from the dark-haired woman for it.


    ¡°You could have done that before coming over,¡± she said.


    ¡°And let you miss out?¡± Tristan charmingly smiled. ¡°You wound me.¡±


    ¡°Do it again and I just might,¡± Sarai threatened, but her lips twitched. ¡°I can¡¯t stand the sound.¡±


    ¡°I will take that in due consideration,¡± the thief assured her.


    There was a pause, and as he met her eyes he reached for his thumb with deliberate obviousness and the most obnoxious grin in his repertoire.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you dare,¡± she warned.


    ¡°How¡¯s the face?¡± Tristan idly asked.


    ¡°Fine,¡± she warily said, eye still on his thumb, ¡°the cuts aren¡¯t deep and-¡±


    The thief pulled at his thumb before she could finish the sentence, the small crack of the joint popping getting an indignant cry out of her. He was forced to shield his face with his arms when she began enthusiastically beating him with her veil. By the time she¡¯d finished retaliating, the two of them were grinning. Sarai shook her head, reluctantly pleased.


    ¡°The cuts won¡¯t even scar,¡± she told him. ¡°I¡¯ve had worse shaving my legs. How are your burns?¡±


    ¡°Better than they¡¯ve any right to be,¡± he honestly replied. ¡°They¡¯re clean and the flesh is red instead of black, which is a good sign.¡±


    That he felt pain around it was a good sign, for great burns bit deep enough you could no longer feel pain there at all.


    ¡°The bruise on my side is more of a pain,¡± Tristan said. ¡°It¡¯s a good thing I already slept on my back.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll be doing the same for a few weeks, I¡¯d think,¡± Sarai grunted. ¡°Shallow they may be, but I can¡¯t rest on them without hissing.¡±


    He nodded in sympathy, the two of them sitting in comfortable silence for a while. It was him that broke it, almost to his regret.


    ¡°Are we going to talk about it?¡± he idly asked.


    The secret that¡¯d come out, all the petty little things tied to it.


    ¡°No,¡± Sarai replied.


    He cocked his head to the side.


    ¡°If we survive the trials?¡±


    ¡°Then I¡¯ll give you my name,¡± Sarai agreed. ¡°My real one. If you want more, you¡¯ll have to trade in kind.¡±


    A fair bargain, as tended to be her way.


    ¡°Past is past,¡± Tristan shrugged. ¡°I am more interested in what is to come.¡±


    A request for information less dear but more immediately pressing. How far did Sarai intend to go, on this Dominion of Lost Things? Blue eyes considered him.


    ¡°By the end of these trials,¡± Sarai said, ¡°I will be wearing a black cloak.¡±


    If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    ¡°That is my aim as well,¡± Tristan replied, pleased and not hiding it.


    It meant their alliance could continue until the end. With Yong intending to join the Watch as well, he would have two reliable companions to go into the coming trials with. Sarai passed a hand through her dark tresses, face closing, then let out a sigh.


    ¡°This year¡¯s trials,¡± she said, lowering her voice, ¡°are not like the others.¡±


    He stared at her unblinking.


    ¡°Some of us were marked for more than simply joining the Watch,¡± Sarai said.


    He could not muster much surprise. He had known something was off since first setting foot on the Bluebell. Some things were not adding up: Abuela had given him a shot at Cozme Aflor and a pair of Cerdan by sending him here, but there had been other ways. His mentor did not simply want him in the Watch, she had wanted him on that particular ship. Why?


    ¡°You are one of those chosen few, I take it?¡± Tristan asked.


    ¡°I am,¡± she said, smiling faintly. ¡°But so are you.¡±


    Despite their best effort, that knowledge did more to keep him awake than the bruises.


    --


    The tall grass felt sinister, now that they knew what might be waiting for them hiding behind the stalks.


    Their company had taken wounds, enough to smell of blood, and that meant they had to worry about more than the cultists of the Red Eye now that they¡¯d broken camp and resume their march. Lupines would prefer the open plains to the tall grass they were cutting through, but there were many kinds of lemures out there. The first creatures they found, though, were not lemures at all. Early in the morning Aines let out a small scream that had them all going for weapons, but what she had almost stumbled over did not end up warranting such dread: on the ground were a pair of wobbly carapace globes, from which tails with maces at the end protruded. The tails were being waved menacingly, though Tristan would have felt rather more menaced if the creature it belonged to was not cowering blindly inside its carapace.


    ¡°Those are glyptonts,¡± Vanesa pointed out amusedly. ¡°No threat to you, my dear, unless your feet are made of weeds.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re harmless, then?¡± Aines carefully asked.


    ¡°Usually herbivores,¡± Francho confirmed.


    He was met with an uncomprehending and somewhat worried look.


    ¡°A creature that eats only plants,¡± the old professor clarified.


    The silent reproach on Aines¡¯ face at not having simply said that from the start had the thief smothering a smile.


    ¡°I recall reading that they favour mud,¡± Tristan said. ¡°We might be near a pond we¡¯ll need to go around.¡±


    Francho shook his head.


    ¡°They prefer flowing water,¡± the toothless old man corrected. ¡°For cleaning their scales. A river, more like. And if one of you gentlemen would do me the favour of tipping one over?¡±


    ¡°That seems unnecessarily cruel,¡± Yong objected half-heartedly.


    Sarai, not so burdened, borrowed the Tianxi¡¯s musket and carefully rolled one of the glyptonts upside down while avoiding the mace-tail. The other let out a strangely mouse-like squeak, tail disappearing inside like it¡¯d been sucked in, and promptly began a strategic retreat. It had abandoned its fellow quite ruthlessly, the thief noted.


    ¡°No honour among glyptonts either, huh,¡± he muttered.


    Meanwhile, Francho was coughing into his hand as he leaned over the belly-up glyptont that Sarai was holding down with the butt of the musket while it tried to flee. Aside from the four stumpy legs Tristan had expected there, though, was what looked like a round mouth in the middle of the belly surrounded by wiggling brown tentacles and a set of horn-like mandibles. Ergh. Francho, however, looked quite pleased.


    ¡°This is a reed glyptont,¡± he informed happily, ¡°a particular species that subsists not only of weeds but also small fish and frogs.¡±


    Aines shot him a betrayed look. Her foot at been at risk after all.


    ¡°And why should we care?¡± Felis said, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder.


    ¡°Because it means the river ahead shouldn¡¯t have predators large enough to bother our little friend,¡± Sarai replied, allowing the glyptont to flip back on the ground.


    It scuttled away into the grass, tail waving at them in what might have been meant to be warning but ended up looking like a child enthusiastically waving goodbye. Felis still looked mulish ¨C he¡¯d been in a foul mood all day and there was no mystery as to why ¨C so Yong elaborated further.


    ¡°There should not be anything large enough to attack us as we cross it,¡± the Tianxi said.


    All agreed it was best to go through instead of around, time being the greatest of luxuries, and with a little luck running water behind them might even put off lemures on their tail. It was not long before they could hear the flowing water and within a quarter hour they¡¯d reached muddy banks. The water did not go deeper than the waist of the shortest among them ¨C a toss-up between Aines and Vanesa, now that Lan was gone ¨C and the current was strong but not impossible to manage. A glyptont was hiding in reeds further downriver, thoughtfully chewing at stalk that poked right out and wobbled with every chew, while frogs croaked a quiet welcome.


    They took a short pause to fill their waterskins and wash their faces before beginning the crossing. Tristan volunteered to go first, as someone must, and found the footing treacherous but hardly dangerous if you took your time. He called back to be careful with the stones at the bottom, which were slippery, and waited for Sarai to throw him the end of the rope. He found a fallen, rotting tree to tie it to while she secured it to a stone on the other end, their company then going about getting their affairs across. His medicine cabinet, in particular, required much careful handling not to take water. It had already proved its worth, so there was only minimum grumbling about the work.


    Yong was to be the last across and Vanesa was halfway through, the lot of them nearly in the clear, so naturally Tristan was already tense as a string when it all went wrong.


    They should have seen it coming, tall as it was, or even heard it. But it was a hunter, and so there was no trace at all until it was out of the tall grass. The beak first, a cruelly curved thing black as tar that rose as the creature stretched into its full height: at least ten feet, a cascade of deep purple feathers flecked with wriggling pale blue eyes. Its legs were bone, ending in great curved claws, and from under folded wings skeletal arms peeked out. The eyeless head should have felt like a bird¡¯s, all creased leather, but instead Tristan was somehow certain a man was looking at him. He did not need to be told what he was looking at: night-terror, eye-taker. A gravebird.


    ¡°Do not-¡± Tristan began, tone forcefully even.


    Then Aines screamed and it all went to Hell.


    The gravebird wailed and the thief flinched, the sound echoing between his ears until he had to scream to let it out. His tongue tasted of blood. Eyes wild, he fumbled for his knife even as Sarai swallowed a sob behind him. It was on Yong in an instant, cruel beak tearing into the Tianxi¡¯s shoulder as he tried to draw his sword. He fell with a scream and Tristan rushed to the water as the gravebird gobbled down the flesh it¡¯d ripped, the blues eyes on its feathers slowly beginning to spin. They were beautiful, he thought, but then Fortuna let out a shout of alarm and he tore his gaze away.


    ¡°Don¡¯t look at the eyes,¡± he yelled.


    ¡°Jebati,¡± Sarai cursed, then he heard someone getting slapped across the face.


    Felis let out a bellow of anger, but Tristan had no time for this: he reached for Vanesa. The old woman was panicking, had fallen halfway to her knee slipping on stone, and the hand not clutching the rope felt slick as a fish when she caught his own. They struggled to drag her out of the river. Yong¡­ he was on the wrong side, and sometimes luck was not kind.


    Most of the time, really.


    Only when Tristan glanced up, the creature was not finishing off the former soldier. It was looking at them instead, slinking forward and through the water like it didn¡¯t feel the current at all. The gravebird moved unhurriedly, so sure they were all meat on the plate it was taking the time to toy with them. It let out another wail and Tristan shouted back to ward it off, Fortuna shouting with him, their voices threading as one. But Vanesa, Vanesa clapped her hands over her ears. The moment she no longer held the rope the current took her, would have swallowed her downstream if not for the orb of Gloam that formed in her way. The old woman hit it like she¡¯d been thrown, crying out in pain, but clutched it so she would not be swept away.


    ¡°Quick,¡± Sarai yelled, ¡°I can¡¯t-¡±


    Skeletal fingers gently cradled Vanesa¡¯s cheek, the gravebird pulling her close, and Tristan watched with horror as the other hand bone hand went for her right eye. He threw his knife, but the gravebird dismissively flicked its feathers and it barely sliced into one of them. The blade went with the current and now he was out. The other knife was with his pack, all he had was a broken relic pistol and gods ¨C Vanesa screamed, the gravebird ripping out the eye and placing it in a featherless hollow under its throat. One more feather in the making, Vanesa¡¯s eyes gone blue painted over it. They were all going to die, Tristan realized. He needed to run, to¡­


    The shot took the gravebird in the side of the head. It let out a cry of fury, but though Yong flinched at the sound like the rest of them the former soldier tossed down his musket and pulled his pistol. Another shot in the side of the head, magnificently placed ¨C feathers went flying and Tristan glimpsed black flesh like a sea of worms. There was a hole there, staying made though the ball was already falling out. It would change nothing: a gravebird had as many lives as it had eyes. They had been worshipped as gods, once. Yong was out of triggers to pull, so the wounded man drew his blade and Tristan watched numbly as the gravebird¡¯s skeletal hand reached for Vanesa¡¯s second eye.


    ¡°It seeds fear in you,¡± Fortuna whispered into his ear. ¡°That is what the wails are really for. You are not helpless.¡±


    He let out a laugh that was half a sob, desperately fighting the current to stay standing. What was he to do, hit the monster with his broken pistol? Absurd as the thought was it was still better than nothing, so he reached for the pistol and as the wet wood slid against his palm his gaze found the engravings on the side.


    ¡°Please,¡± Vanesa begged. ¡°Please.¡±


    And Tristan, fool that he was, palmed his priceless treasure. A piece of rhadamantine quartz, burning with the Glare¡¯s light, and then as he met Fortuna¡¯s smiling golden eyes he borrowed luck. The ticking began but he paid it no mind. All he needed was a moment. The thief threw the stone, and just as he did the gravebird turned: with perfect, impossible timing the rhadamantine quartz tumbled right into the hole in the side of creature¡¯s head. And it got stuck.


    The gravebird¡¯s scream of complete and utter fury was so loud he couldn¡¯t hear the ticking when he released the luck.


    He snatched Vanesa by the back of her chemise, half-tearing it, and got her out of the way just as the gravebird began blindly flailing. It was in pain, shaking and screaming, but the quartz was well and stuck. May you burn from the inside, he thought with vicious satisfaction. No lemure enjoyed the touch of the Glare. Vanesa had grown deadened from pain and shock, her eyes empty, but she moved when he pushed and the two of them fell to their knees in the mud of the riverbank. On the other side of the river the gravebird was slashing at the ground in fury, Yong having wisely fled into the water while it was distracted.


    ¡°Go help him across,¡± Tristan ordered a gaping Felis, pulling Vanesa to her feet.


    Francho was unconscious, he saw, so he told Aines to get him awake and passed the bespectacled ¨C only half, now, the gravebird had ripped through the glasses to get to her eye ¨C old woman to a sickly Sarai. They needed to take their bags and run before the gravebird rid itself of the quartz or drew something even worse. Going for his own affairs, only then did Tristan realized the prize he¡¯d paid for his throw: down the banks his medicine cabinet lay against a jutting rock, broken and half-submerged. It¡¯d tumbled down the slope while no one paid attention, half its contents spilling into the water or being ruined by it.


    He''d have to salvage what he could.


    Carelessly throwing all the stuff inside, mourning as he already saw there would be no more painkillers, he flicked a glance upriver and found Yong was being helped out of the water by Felis. On the other side, the gravebird had gone into the tall grass but its screams betrayed it had not yet gone far. Shoving the broken cabinet onto his back, the thief joined the others. Francho was back on his feet, looking half asleep and half dead. The wail had hit him much harder than everyone else, his eyes were still white with dread.


    ¡°We have to get moving right now,¡± Tristan said. ¡°Anyone who can¡¯t keep up is left behind.¡±


    No one argued, for all knew that if the gravebird¡¯s scream had not drawn the cult of the Red Eye yet then Yong¡¯s two shots most certainly had.


    --


    The tall grass was the only reason they lived.


    At least three warbands were scouring the land looking for them and in the open they would have been dead within the hour. Instead, by hook and crook, they hid and muddled on. Twice they had to lay down in mud at the bottom of crevasses as hollows passed above them, shadows lingering as they spoke amongst each other in a tongue older and harsher than Antigua. Their path was circuitous, Yong keeping them on grounds that would leave no easy tracks to find as they stumbled on wounded and tired. Tristan had taken just long enough to see to it that his and Vanesa¡¯s wounds would not kill them before pressing on, but while he still had alcohol he no longer had numbing agents.


    They would all be feeling their wounds.


    Squirming through filth and bushes, they made their way forward. After some hours exhaustion became too much, forcing breaks, but no one slept well of for long. They could not afford to stay in place for too long with the cultists combing through the grass. Their company kept moving through the night, stealing away the odd hour of sleep when it could.


    The start of the third day since they had split from the rest was not auspicious, everyone¡¯s exhaustion sharpening tempers and slowing down the greyhairs even further. Felis was prickly as porcupine, constantly scratching at his arms and picking fights with the others. Yong had to threaten to cut out his tongue to get him to lay off Vanesa, who he accused of breathing so loudly she would draw the Red Eye onto them all. The sole relief was that, for all that their pace had slowed to a crawl, Sarai believed they were approaching the eastern bridge across the river.


    Halfway through morning they found a toppled column rising out of the tall grass, enough so that when Tristan climbed atop it he was able to have a look further ahead.


    ¡°Good and bad,¡± the thief told them when he came down. ¡°I believe I saw the silhouette of the statue that Sarai chose as our marker. We are at most half a day away from the bridge.¡±


    ¡°And the bad?¡± Vanesa resignedly asked.


    ¡°The tall grass ends soon,¡± Tristan said. ¡°There is a span of open grounds between it and the beginning of the forest.¡±


    And open grounds could well be the death of them all, if there were any cultists keeping an eye out for them. Their company broke out into murmurs, save for Francho who had laid a hand on the broken column and had gone into his own mind with unseeing eyes. After the others agreed that they should first head to the edge of the tall grass before deciding whether or not to risk it, Tristan shook the old man out of his reverie. Not with his hand, you never knew with contracts, but with the but of his useless pistol.


    ¡°Ah,¡± the toothless professor muttered. ¡°Yes. We are going, I see.¡±


    ¡°You weren¡¯t dozing off,¡± Tristan said. ¡°You were listening to the stone.¡±


    The old man nodded, quietly coughing into his hand.


    ¡°It is not from here,¡± Francho said.


    The thief cocked a questioning eyebrow.


    ¡°It was stolen from a temple, brought here by cultists to serve as a watchtower of sorts,¡± the professor elaborated. ¡°The men who carried them had strong opinions about being ordered to do this, and one broke his leg when it was dropped on it. That was¡­ vivid.¡±


    ¡°You hear their voices,¡± Tristan slowly said, ¡°as if hearing their old conversations?¡±


    It was in poor form to inquire as to another¡¯s contract, but if the old man wanted to unburden himself who was he to argue? Francho grimaced, shaking his head.


    ¡°Not so. It is more along the lines of what their hearts felt, when they touched the stone?¡± he tried. ¡°I hear resonance of moments that were, nothing exact.¡±


    It was still the kind of contract some would gladly murder over, Tristan thought, if it truly could steal secrets out of stone this way. How many bloody old lies could Francho drag out of graves, should he care to go looking into the past of Sacromonte? Or any city in the world, for that matter.


    ¡°Useful regardless,¡± Tristan simply said, then gestured for him to move. ¡°Come on.¡±


    Their company resumed the march, creeping towards the end of the tall grass with an obsessive care for quiet. Tristan kept an eye on Francho as they moved, looking for the trace of a price for the contract, but found none. Disappointing, but not surprising: gods did not always like their dues easily found. It was because he was watching that he saw the old man suddenly stiffen, looking around for something none of them saw. Mere feet away from the end of the tall grass a stone block was buried, nestled between weeds with only a corner peeking out. The old man discreetly ran his fingers against it while the others halted at the edge of the grass, eyes growing shadowed.


    You heard that stone¡¯s voice without pulling on your contract, Tristan thought. Was that his price, then? Francho could hear the secrets of stone, but he could never cease hearing them? A blessing and a curse all at once. Fortuna hummed, having taken an interest when she noticed his. The goddess began idly turning around the toothless old man, looking at him like a haggler inspecting a horse.


    ¡°He doesn¡¯t seem like he¡¯s becoming harmonious,¡± Fortuna wondered, ¡°but he¡¯d have to if he was always listening at everything. His god would be in his head all the time.¡±


    Harmonious, Tristan thought with a grimace. That was how the goddess called turning into a Saint, which she insisted was a beautiful thing.


    ¡°There¡¯s probably some tricky clause,¡± the Lady of Long Odds decided. ¡°Like he can only hear on odd hours or when some other condition is met. Hearing the stuff won¡¯t be his price, either, it¡¯s just how his boon manifests.¡±


    The thief made sure no one was looking at him before subtly nodding in acknowledgement.


    ¡°Someone decided to get fancy with him,¡± Fortuna sneered, tossing back her golden hair as she stalked away. ¡°It¡¯s all very crass, some parvenu god chortling at their own cleverness.¡±


    Tristan could only fervently hope that the other god was not listening and taking offence, though he was distracted from that fresh worry by Yong¡¯s sudden intake of breath. Brushing past Felis, the thief knelt at the Tianxi¡¯s side and peeked out of the grass. There was no need to ask what had made the other man react: the cultists were in plain sight. Running across the flat grounds, a dozen armed hollows were rushing forward as they shouted. No, not forward. Away. They were fleeing the woods, Tristan realized.


    ¡°That,¡± Sarai whispered from behind him, ¡°is not a good sign.¡±


    The second sign they received that trouble had come was the mist. Clouds of it billowed out from the forest floor, almost like a wave of pale chasing the hollows. And from the dark of the trees, crushing trunks and stones in eerie silence, a massive silhouette came striding out. Legs thick as pillars swallowed the distance, chalk white and taller than men. In the cold light of the stars, Tristan glimpsed an enormity of pale flesh with large wriggling heads full of perfectly oval eyes, each mass ending in a great tentacle. The clouds billowed past the fleeing hollows, their screams suddenly going silent for all that their mouths were still open, and the great monster began snatching them up. Under the heads opened a gaping maw full of jutting bone tusks, and there the hollows were carelessly impaled and left to bleed out within the creature.


    ¡°A heliodoran beast,¡± Yong whispered. ¡°Fuck. The captain said it would be asleep.¡±


    ¡°She said it might be asleep,¡± Tristan darkly replied. ¡°It appears we¡¯re not that lucky.¡±


    They watched, shivering in fear, as the behemoth ate alive half the hollows and crushed a few more to death before wandering away in seeming boredom. The three cultists that survived ran into the tall grass well to the east of their company, heading away as fast as they could. It was only minutes after the great lemure was gone that the last of the mist dispersed and the oppressive silence with it. Tristan ran a tired hand through his hair, worrying his lip.


    ¡°We can¡¯t head for the bridge while that thing is prowling around here,¡± Felis said.


    For once, no one argued with the man.


    ¡°We need to wait it out,¡± Yong said. ¡°Hide until it gets bored, then cross before the hollows return.¡±


    ¡°And if they come back before we do?¡± Aines asked. ¡°We¡¯d be walking right into an ambush.¡±


    Neither was wrong.


    ¡°We cannot stay here,¡± Tristan said. ¡°There¡¯s still warbands looking for us, we need a hiding place.¡±


    And to rest. They were all exhausted and getting worse. If there was a fight, half of them would fold in the first thirty seconds of it.


    ¡°The grass is full of cultists,¡± Sarai bluntly said, ¡°and creatures altogether worse. There is nowhere for us to hide.¡±


    ¡°That,¡± Francho said, ¡°is not entirely true.¡±


    All eyes went to him. The old man let out a wet cough, then wiped his lips with the back of his hand.


    ¡°Several of the stones we¡¯ve come across spoke of water,¡± he said. ¡°They were taken from an old temple that has been swallowed by a swamp. I believe it was built on a tributary of the river we encountered yesterday, somewhere to our southeast.¡±


    ¡°Are you trying to kill us, you old bastard?¡± Felis growled. ¡°It¡¯ll be full of hollows just like the first one.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Tristan frowned. ¡°Not if they¡¯ve been stripping it for parts. It¡¯s not a sacred place to them.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t know that,¡± Felis bit out. ¡°You¡¯re just guessing.¡±


    ¡°I am,¡± the thief admitted. ¡°But it seems likely to me. Do you have a better idea?¡±


    He did not, which settled the matter. Tristan ignored the whispered argument at the back of their company, Felis once more trying to convince his wife to leave and strike out on their own. Aines was much curter in her response than she had been last time.


    --


    It took them an hour and a half to find Francho¡¯s temple, the last half hour spent mostly on finding a way through swampy grounds that did not involve wading waist-high in mud.


    There was not a trace of hollows around when lantern light found the first curved gate jutting out of mud and filth, and Tristan could hazard a guess as to why. He¡¯d seen great snakes slithering through the mud and larger shapes still in the water: crocodiles, or some creature that had the look of them. This was not a place friendly to either men or hollows. The old professor, however, guided them from stone to stone without once erring. They took an ancient pilgrim¡¯s path of raised stone across the water, then passed through a dozen more curved gates to reach the temple itself: a squat square of a building topped by a dome that looked like a tulip¡¯s bud. It was, improbably enough, still standing.


    The swamp was nestled between overgrown hills, every inch of it infested with flies and croaking creatures. They were all eager to get out of the humid air and into the temple, which looked as if a storm had swept through. It had obviously been emptied of anything not nailed down by hollows, columns ripped out and mosaics stripped of colours. What few streaks of ancient white paint had not been melted away by the elements were covered with filth and grime, the place dripping of it and stinking worse than Pandemonium.


    ¡°This is disgusting,¡± Aines said, sounding like she was about to retch.


    ¡°There is a better place,¡± Francho told them, hopping up to a stone altar split in half with a younger man¡¯s enthusiasm.


    Behind it, the professor revealed narrow spiral stairs going down.


    ¡°There is a ritual pool down there,¡± he said, ¡°that is older than the rest of this temple. At its back should be a hidden passage leading to a shrine this was all built over.¡±


    Tristan could only ponder how formidably useful the old man¡¯s contract was proving to be while glancing down at the slick, narrow stairs.


    ¡°These are too small for all of us to squeeze through,¡± he said. ¡°We should send only a pair first.¡±


    ¡°As my old captain used to say: my thanks for volunteering,¡± Yong drawled.


    The thief rolled his eyes. He had planned to go anyhow. He caught Sarai¡¯s eye, silently asking, and she nodded in agreement. The stairs felt like they were sweating, moss growing in every corner, and Tristan almost slipped thrice. There was no grip as the walls were just as slippery as the floor. The chamber at the bottom looked more like a bath than the ritual pool Francho had described, a square hole full of scum water prefaced by cracked tiles while insects scuttled in corners, fleeing the lantern¡¯s light. There were a few columns on a ledge at the back, most of them broken. Sarai caught up to him, steps careful as she avoided slipping. She took a skeptical look around.


    ¡°At least the smell is better than above,¡± she finally said.


    ¡°It¡¯s a start,¡± Tristan conceded.


    The reflection of the stone in the water made it look like there was a full wall, but as Francho had promised they found a passage tucked away behind a broken column. It was broad but low, enough that Tristan had to crawl on his hand and knees after handing off the lantern. Sarai followed closely behind. The thief reached the end of the tunnel, dropping quietly onto the floor of what looked like a natural cavern. The ceiling was full of dripping stalactites, a slightly sloped floor leading up to what appeared to a shrine carved into the stone. The cavern wall had been sculpted so it would look like the wall of the shrine, intricate silhouettes grasping each other¡¯s hands and feet in an endless chain.


    It cleverly made the shrine entrance look more than the vaguely oval hole in the stone that it was.


    He helped Sarai down, the two of them moving up the slope in careful silence. The ground was wet, the stalactites dripping down likes knives dipped in blood, and there were insects scuttling just out of sight. Hand on his last knife, Tristan suddenly gestured for Sarai to stop. He sniffed at the air, smelling smoke, and saw the same conclusion bloom in her eyes as his jaw tightened: they were not alone in here.


    ¡°Close the lantern,¡± he murmured. ¡°We can¡¯t afford to be seen.¡±


    Sarai grimaced, no more eager to be in the dark than he, but still worked the shutter until it closed. The two of them resumed their way upwards, moving with care not to make a sound. As soon as they got a better angle on the shrine door, they saw that there was trembling light inside. Pale, he thought. A lantern fed with Glare oil or powder, which meant this could not be hollows. He knew better than to think it meant they were safe. Pressing onward, they pressed themselves against the sides of the threshold to peek inside.


    There Tristan found a camp had been made inside the cramped shrine, bedrolls laid down and packs piled up. There was even a small fire over which a pot was being made to boil, smelling of herbs. Two were tending to the food, and in the fire¡¯s light Tristan recognized them immediately: Ferranda Villazur and her hired hand, the Malani huntsman Sanale.


    Utterly surprised, he did not realize there was a third until she moved. The infanzona had not been foolish enough to leave her back unguarded. There was an alcove tucked away to the side of the entrance, just inside, and there someone who had been sitting was hastily getting up. They let out a noise of alarm and the other two immediately turned. Sarai let out a curse and Tristan brushed past her, knife up, pushing the guard against the wall. Holding his blade to their throat even as Sarai yelled for the other two to stay back, Tristan Abrascal froze when a curl of firelight revealed the face of who he¡¯d just taken hostage.


    ¡°Well,¡± Lan mused, blue lips quirking as she swallowed the last of the bread she¡¯d been chewing, ¡°this is awkward.¡±

 Chapter 13

    Lady Ferranda Villazur, wide awake and miffed at rats invading her camp, pointed her pistol at him.


    Though she must be a decent shot, Tristan was more worried by Sanale carefully aiming his long-barrelled musket. Malani had a reputation for being good shots and the same was true of huntsmen: a man who was both was not to be trifled with. Pressing his knife tighter against Lan¡¯s throat, he forced her to stand between him and the threats.


    ¡°Muzzles down,¡± Tristan ordered, ¡°or I slit her throat.¡±


    Ferranda, seemingly more at ease in hunting leathers than she had ever been on the Bluebell, laughed in his face.


    ¡°Go ahead,¡± the infanzon said. ¡°She¡¯s not one of ours.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s unfortunate,¡± Tristan admitted.


    ¡°Right?¡± Lan complained. ¡°And here I¡¯d thought we were getting along.¡±


    The surviving twin had yet to even struggle against his grasp, not seeming terribly concerned with being his hostage.


    ¡°This doesn¡¯t need to turn violent,¡± Sarai called out. ¡°We didn¡¯t come here to fight.¡±


    He noted with approval that she still moved to get part of Lan in between her and the potential shots.


    ¡°Walk away,¡± Sanale replied, ¡°and there will be no fight.¡±


    The tall Malani had not moved an inch since shouldering his musket, barely even blinking, but Tristan could not afford to keep his eyes on him: Ferranda was beginning to slowly inch left, towards a better angle of fire.


    ¡°We can¡¯t do that,¡± Tristan said.


    He took a half step back, moving to keep Lan in the way of both Ferranda and Sanale, and the infanzona stopped trying to flank him. For now.


    ¡°As a neutral and unconcerned party,¡± Lan opined, ¡°I believe we should come to a peaceful resolution.¡±


    She was unanimously ignored.


    ¡°We found this place first,¡± Ferranda told him. ¡°By right it is ours to use.¡±


    ¡°The temple upstairs isn¡¯t fit for sleeping,¡± Tristan replied. ¡°The stink is unbearable and there¡¯s no door to keep creatures out ¨C if the choice is between you and crocodiles in my bedroll, I¡¯ll take my chances here.¡±


    He meant it too. It might be best to feign backing down first so they could come back in a while with more muscle, but the thief would not risk sleeping upstairs. Ferranda hesitated, which was unflattering to her stout face: she looked like she was biting down on a twig. She then shared a long look with her hired hand, who eventually nodded.


    ¡°We still have first claim,¡± Ferranda said. ¡°If you want to use this place, your group will have to pay in supplies.¡±


    Group, she had said, which meant she knew it was not only he and Sarai. Tristan spared a moment to glare at a cheerfully unrepentant Lan. She had wasted no time in selling information on them all.


    ¡°I even gave them my best guess about your contract for free,¡± she smilingly whispered. ¡°Because fuck you, Tristan. Did you think I¡¯d let you threaten me without paying for it?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s fair,¡± the thief conceded.


    He was not offended by the sale on moral grounds, only irritated by the inconvenience of it.


    ¡°Do we have a bargain, Tristan?¡± Ferranda Villazur pressed.


    He was still hesitating when Sarai brushed past him, coming fully into the fire¡¯s light and exaggeratedly putting away her knife.


    ¡°In principle we agree,¡± she said. ¡°Now let us talk specifics.¡±


    Ferranda¡¯s face tightened at the sight of the pale skin and Sanale moved his muzzle to aim at her without even realizing it, but when Tristan released a still-smiling Lan the tension released.


    ¡°You heard her,¡± Tristan said. ¡°Let¡¯s haggle.¡±


    --


    A day¡¯s worth of rations each, cut in half for all those who would keep watch ¨C which was, in practice, all of them. That was how much they¡¯d pay. Sarai also got the pair to agree that their company could earn back more of the fee through chores: tending the fire, cooking, mending and washing clothes. There was some discontent among their group at the prospect of playing servants to the pair when they outnumbered them so, but sheer exhaustion saw to it no one refused the terms. Some among them might have accepting cutting off a finger for a good night¡¯s sleep in a safe place.


    The shrine itself was much too small to accommodate everyone ¨C counting Ferranda and the huntsman, they now numbered ten ¨C so most of them ended up spreading their bedroll right outside it. A round of introductions began then was aborted halfway through when it came out Lan was also here, few taking the revelation of her presence well. By the time tempers had cooled no one was in a mood for talk, so instead they went to sleep.


    It was much refreshed that Tristan woke up that afternoon, most the other still sleeping. Yong was seated by the fire with Sanale, the two men talking in low voices as they gestured, and not far from them Vanesa was slowly and carefully plucking feathers off a freshly killed bird. Two more were waiting. The thief watched the careful way she moved, realizing she was trying to learn how to compensate for her missing eye. With everyone else asleep ¨C save for Lan and Ferranda, who were missing ¨C he decided he might as well help her. The discussion between the other seemed too involved to welcome a third.


    Wordlessly he picked up another of the bird, some grey-feathered thing about the size of a duck, and got to plucking. Even missing an eye Vanesa was going faster than him, which had her smiling.


    ¡°Practice,¡± she excused him.


    She adjusted her glasses on her face, after. Se was forever fiddling with them since the gravebird had ripped through glass and wire to get at her eye. The frame was bent and dug into the side of her head, but it was either that or not seeing much of anything.


    ¡°I don¡¯t eat a lot of bird,¡± Tristan conceded.


    Pork was cheaper. You could feed a pig damn near anything and they were much harder to steal than chickens ¨C there was a reason they were the staple meat of the Murk.


    ¡°They are one of the only things I can cook,¡± Vanesa smiled. ¡°My mother despaired I avoided the kitchen, but at least I learned her almond sauce recipe before she passed.¡±


    ¡°You worked, then,¡± the thief said.


    ¡°I am a clockmaker,¡± the old woman said, then grimaced and reached for the cloth covering her missing eye. ¡°Or I was, at least. I am not sure I could do detail work anymore.¡±


    Ah, Tristan thought. And there was the mystery of how she had afforded her pocketwatch and her glasses solved. Not only was clockmaking a lucrative trade, she worked with watches and lenses. A cobbler never went barefoot. It did not explain what a woman of her age and means was doing on the Dominion, but that mystery was being chipped away at slowly but surely. The thief decided to let the matter lie for now, as obtaining the story there was more a matter of curiosity than need, but Vanesa surprised.


    ¡°You must be wondering how I ended up here,¡± the old woman knowingly said.


    ¡°The question has crossed my mind,¡± Tristan admitted.


    ¡°You¡¯re such a polite boy,¡± Vanesa chuckled, shaking her head. ¡°It is no great secret, I don¡¯t mind telling you.¡±


    She plucked out another feather, dropping it to flutter.


    ¡°My son is in debt to the Menor Mano,¡± Vanesa said. ¡°Enough he was never going to dig himself out, so they decided to send him here as payment. Only his leg was crippled, Tristan, so he was sure to die.¡±


    The thief grimaced. This was an ugly story and he could already tell how it would end.


    ¡°I offered to go in his place,¡± the old woman said. ¡°My husband is gone and tinkering no longer brings me the joy it used to. Better to spare my only son than spend my last years withering on the vine.¡±


    He offered her a sad smile, at a loss of what to say. Was such a sacrifice to be praised? Tristan was not so sure. It was an act of love, but the man saved did not sound deserving of it. How long would it take before he frittered away his mother¡¯s sacrifice?


    ¡°You are kind, listening to me ramble like this,¡± Vanesa said, patting his arm. ¡°Doing so much to keep us alive when some of us are so little help.¡±


    She sighed tiredly, leaning back.


    ¡°Do not let the trials burn it out of you,¡± she sleepily said.


    And Tristan felt a sliver of shame, because he was not kind at all. Even as she had talked, part of him had been more concerned with the puzzle than the woman. The same part that¡¯d noted the Menor Mano had sent in two souls this year ¨C Ocotlan, that large Aztlan, had been a legbreaker for them ¨C and wondered if there was anything there he could use.


    They plucked the rest of the birds in silence, and when he left afterwards it felt a little like fleeing.


    --


    By afternoon¡¯s end everyone was awake and the cave had turned bustling.


    Lanterns were fully unveiled as everyone busied themselves: clothes were washed and mended, wounds seen to and there was haggling over the fresh meat and use of the fire for cooking. Their refuge had turned into a smallest of villages, a happy one now that everyone was rested and fed, but Tristan knew it would not last. Already Felis was growing prickly, though never when Yong and Sanale were looking, and Lan had somehow charmed Vanesa into speaking with her again. Tristan washed and mended his clothes, leaving them to dry as he sat in little more than a shirt and underclothes.


    The currents were plain to see. Aines was furious at her husband for the glances he kept throwing at Lan, who would no doubt fork over some dust by day¡¯s end to get a leash on the man again. Vanesa was too bloodied and exhausted to do much of anything, and whenever Francho wasn¡¯t coughing in a corner he was peering at the carvings to the left shrine entrance ¨C which was irritating Felis, whose bedroll was near there. Ferranda had begun speaking with a surprised Sarai, who warmed to her before long. Much as Tristan would have liked to eavesdrop on that conversation, he had thinking to do.


    They needed to cross the forest and bridge to get to the Trial of Ruins, and the obstacles in the way were greater than anticipated. His bet with the Red Eye warbands, that they would be split between the bridges and could be tricked through this, seemed to have paid off. It was the heliodoran beast he¡¯d not counted on, and it made everything harder to predict. Men he could guess at, but beasts? He could not be sure when the monster would decide to wander off, what was keeping it here in the first place and how the cultists would react to its presence.


    They were still around, Sanale had seen their warbands searching the tall grass when he went out hunting, but the Malani could only speak to the surroundings of the temple. He had, wisely, not gone further than that. Meanwhile the bridge was in the woods, further north. Were there cultists there as well, or had the heliodoran beast driven them all off? Would the warbands in the grass immediately head for the bridge when the lemure left, were they already clearing out west towards the other bridge? Too many questions he did not have answers to.


    Instead of giving in to frustration, he followed Abuela¡¯s lessons and instead attended to unknowns he could find the answer to. There was not mending his medicine cabinet, not with the tools on hand, but the thief set about taking inventory of what remained usable and fixing it up enough it wouldn¡¯t spill everything out. Tristan had already taken a first look when seeing to wounds earlier, but a closer look gave grim answers. Most of what he had left were poisons, which had been kept deepest in: white arsenic, antimony, mandrake and volcian yew. The lodestone extract remained, as did the bearded cat extracts. Neither were mortal, the bearded cat being a mushroom whose extract caused violent bursts of madness in those who partook of it.


    Aside from these, he only had the distilled alcohol and the medical turpentine he¡¯d been using to treat his burns.


    There was only so much he might accomplish with these. Putting his entire supply of volcian yew in a corpse might possibly inconvenience a beast the size of the airavatan if it ate it ¨C the substance was a poison meant for lemures and lares - but it would not kill it. None of his other poisons would affect it all that much. He was unsure if the lodestone extract would have any effect, since he could not recall seeing a nose on the lemure, and the creature was already blood-mad so there was hardly a point to the bearded cat extract. He could spare neither the alcohol nor the turpentine.


    ¡°You¡¯re pouting,¡± Fortuna teased.


    So much activity in such close quarters had mercifully seen to it she did not need further entertainment. Being overly nosy tended to make up swaths of her day no matter where they were.


    ¡°I am low on tools,¡± Tristan murmured back.


    And thinking about this wrong, he realized as his eyes moved to the others in the cavern. He did not need to attract the heliodoran beast directly when he could rely on someone else doing so. Dosing Ferranda Villazur with lodestone extract just before they parted ways was likely his best bet: killing the other lemures the scent would attract had a decent choice of attracting the greater monster. Meanwhile their own group could make a run for the bridge and gamble on the cultists not having returned to hold it yet. The issue, he figured, was that Lan might have revealed he had pulled this very trick on the infanzones already. If the pair were watching for it and caught him, the potential blowback could get him killed.


    He needed to have a talk with Lan.


    ¡°And not paying enough attention,¡± Fortuna told him. ¡°Sarai¡¯s been whispering with that noble in a corner for half an hour now.¡±


    And that, Tristan thought, might be a problem. When he turned to have a look at the two of them he found that Sarai was rising to her feet. Her gaze swept the cavern, lingering on him, and his stomach dropped. He could see where this was headed already. His companion did not waste much time, sparing only an amused look for the way he was sitting on his knees in his underclothes.


    ¡°We should talk,¡± Sarai told him. ¡°Yong too.¡±


    Tristan nodded, telling her he wanted to dress first to buy himself some time. Yong had struck a quick friendship with Sanale, which was good for them but less so for Tristan. He could guess which way the Tianxi would be leaning in the conversation to come. The five of them squeezed in around the small fire, given the run of the shrine by the others ¨C Lan¡¯s sly offer to tend the flames for them was politely refused ¨C for at least a little while.


    ¡°I have been speaking with Sarai,¡± Lady Ferranda said, ¡°and it appears both our groups are intending to make for the eastern bridge.¡±


    Their plans had hardly been a secret and even if they had been Lan would already have sold them. Tristan had anticipated that Ferranda Villazur would learn this, that much was no surprise. What he had not anticipated was that an infanzona would deign to talk to a pale-skinned foreigner, getting a hook in one of the three people needing convincing before their groups could ally.


    ¡°It would only be sensible to attempt the crossing together,¡± Sarai said. ¡°Between the cultists and the heliodoran beast, we need all the help we can get.¡±


    Sanale met his employer¡¯s gaze for a moment, then turned and shrugged his agreement. A glance at Yong¡¯s face told Tristan that the Tianxi was about to agree.


    ¡°That may not be wise,¡± he slid in before Yong could speak. ¡°A large group will make noise and draw attention.¡±


    ¡°I hardly think,¡± Ferranda wryly said, ¡°that it will be us two making that noise.¡±


    Yes, Tristan thought, but if you come with us I cannot use you as a distraction. His was a poor argument and he knew it, so he turned the talk around instead.


    ¡°It is true, the two of you would have a better chance of sneaking through alone,¡± the thief said. ¡°Which has me wondering what you gain by joining us.¡±


    If he could not defend, best to make the enemy do so instead. The Malani huntsman fixed him with a flat stare, his bead-covered coat open at the front.


    ¡°Blades and powder,¡± Sanale bluntly replied.


    The thief almost grimaced. He¡¯d lost that in a single exchange. Finesse could only get you so far against pure candour.


    ¡°Sarai is right, Tristan,¡± Yong cut in. ¡°We need the help: I want two more sword arms with us if we stumble into a warband.¡±


    And with Yong finally coming down on the side of the alliance, it was finished. Tristan did not rule their company, and though he was one of its leading figures so were the other two. If they agreed, there was little he could do except leave. Continuing to struggle would only lessen him in the eyes of the others, so it was best to capitulate and move on. At least he could try to wheedle information out of this.


    ¡°Then it is settled,¡± the thief said, shrugging his shoulders. ¡°We make common cause to cross the bridge.¡±


    Sarai nodded at him, pleased, and Yong only looked bemused he¡¯d not agreed from the start. It was true that on the face of the alliance was a net benefit: their group had numbers, but they needed fighters. Meanwhile the pair had fighters but needed numbers, enough that they could not simply be overwhelmed by the hollows if they were caught by a warband. It was all too pretty, ever a sign that the story was yet young. Tristan did not doubt for a moment that Ferranda Villazur would sacrifice them the moment it gained her an edge, but that was fine.


    He just had to do it to her first.


    ¡°In the spirit of friendship,¡± Sarai said, ¡°Lady Ferranda has agreed to share information about the state of the trials for us.¡±


    Ah, Tristan thought. So that was what she had bartered for when whispering with the infanzona in a corner.


    ¡°We encountered Lady Inyoni¡¯s company before they went to fight their way through the western bridge,¡± Ferranda told them. ¡°They had taken wounds and one of their number was lost.¡±


    That was a surprise. Inyoni had been a grizzled old killer, a veteran, and the rest of her crew well-armed. Two more Malani of wealthy birth, a pair of Ramayans that¡¯d proved skillful and that bland Aztlan woman made for an impressive crew, perhaps the finest fighting force to emerge from those brought by the Bluebell. That this was even doubt could be explained by two words: Angharad Tredegar.


    ¡°Lemures?¡± Tristan asked.


    ¡°Cultists,¡± the infanzona solemnly replied, shaking her head, ¡°but they did not strike alone. Tupoc Xical and his three lackeys were with them.¡±


    A round of grimaces followed that. Lan¡¯s prediction that Tupoc meant to hunt them proving true was grim news.


    ¡°Their group rushed straight down the road,¡± Yong finally said. ¡°They must have been the easiest to find.¡±


    The blonde noble shook her head.


    ¡°That had been my guess as well, but Lady Inyoni is no fool: they took a detour west to shake pursuers,¡± Ferranda said. ¡°It was on their way back to the road that they were attacked.¡±


    Tristan frowned.


    ¡°Then how did the cultists find them?¡± he asked.


    It would have been open grounds Inyoni¡¯s travelled, but though darklings could see better in the dark ¨C and some colours were known only to their kind ¨C their sight was not perfect. A small group taking an indirect route would not have been easy to find.


    ¡°A tracking contract,¡± Sanale said.


    Was that a sliver of disdain in the huntsman¡¯s voice? Professional pride from a tracker, perhaps.


    ¡°It belongs to Lady Acanthe Phos, the pockmarked girl from Asphodel,¡± Ferranda continued. ¡°Lady Inyoni¡¯s nephew learned this through his own contract, but with Lan¡¯s help I believe we learned how her contract functions.¡±


    Tristan had been given the same information they had and found it was not much of a leap to make.


    ¡°Ash and bone,¡± he said. ¡°Perhaps all human remains? Acanthe can track them once she has touched them, or something close to that.¡±


    Ferranda nodded.


    ¡°I imagine they intrigued to plant ash on all of the groups,¡± she said. ¡°I am surprised yours was not attacked.¡±


    As was he, since theirs was the most vulnerable by far. Tupoc would not have been able to hit them immediately, he would need to first find the Red Eye cult and strike his bargain, but once he had they would have been the natural target. Their crew had been behind Inyoni¡¯s, which had been the first to leave, and high in numbers while low on fighters. Perfect fodder for sacrifice. So why had Tupoc not focused his efforts on them? Perhaps he had not been able to.


    The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    Almost none of them had stood anywhere near Acanthe Phos, Tristan noted as he tried to recall their early days of the trial. And almost all of them had a single bag and bedroll, it would have been harder to hide a piece of bone there than within the bags of larger groups. As for ash¡­


    It occurred to Tristan, then, that he had passed some time walking besides Acanthe Phos and she had even once taken his arm. There was some kind of dust on the back of my sleeve, the thief suddenly remembered. Vanesa had thought it dust and soot when she cleaned his coat, but the lighting had been poor. It might well have been ash. The older woman had rid his arm of it quite thoroughly, though, and with a shiver the thief realized that Vanesa¡¯s small act of motherly kindness might just have saved all their lives.


    ¡°We must,¡± he forced out, ¡°have gotten lucky.¡±


    Ferranda¡¯s brow rose.


    ¡°The Manes were with you, then.¡±


    Not eager to linger on how close they might just have come to getting killed, Tristan cleared his throat.


    ¡°Who was it that Inyoni¡¯s crew lost, if I may ask?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Her nephew¡¯s lover, the girl called Ayanda,¡± the infanzona said. ¡°He was quite distraught over the loss.¡±


    That the two younger Malani had been lovers was not something he had known, but neither was it a surprise. She had obviously not been kin to them, and there were only so many other things she could be.


    ¡°They were lucky only one died,¡± Tristan said.


    There Ferranda scowled.


    ¡°We do not know for certain she is dead,¡± the blonde said. ¡°Lady Inyoni said that hollows were careful to take her alive.¡±


    ¡°The Watch warned us,¡± Sanale evenly said. ¡°They want sacrifices.¡±


    Better she had died, Tristan thought, than whatever the cult of the Red Eye had in store for her. Poor girl. Yong, though sympathetic, kept the conversation moving.


    ¡°Do you know if they crossed the bridge successfully?¡± he asked.


    ¡°They did,¡± Ferranda said. ¡°We held back and watched. Only there was trouble: they struck the cultists guarding it by surprise, but the fighting drew the heliodoran beast.¡±


    Tristan blinked.


    ¡°Then they are all dead,¡± he slowly said.


    ¡°Before it could reach them, the beast fell into confusion,¡± the infanzona said. ¡°The cultists scattered in fright and Lady Inyoni¡¯s group fled north.¡±


    Yong let out a low whistle.


    ¡°That sounds,¡± he said, ¡°like a very dangerous contract. Do you know whose?¡±


    Sanale shook his head.


    ¡°We were far,¡± he said.


    Tristan¡¯s interest, however, had been caught by another detail.


    ¡°The beast,¡± he said, ¡°did it seem lethargic?¡±


    Was this the contract that had been used on him when an attempt was made to frame him for Jun¡¯s murder? The infanzona shrugged.


    ¡°As Sanale said,¡± she replied, ¡°we were far. I can only tell you that when it came out of the daze and found no one around, it fell into a great rage.¡±


    The noblewoman leaned forward.


    ¡°And as it rampaged, it shook the earth so strongly that the bridge collapsed,¡± Ferranda said.


    Fuck, Tristan thought. The bet he¡¯d thought had come true had, in a way: in reverse. Instead of the absence of people trying to cross the eastern bridge driving the hollow there to head west, it would be the other way around. All the warbands that had been prowling around the western bridge would be headed this way even as they spoke. Fuck, he thought again. No wonder Villazur had been so eager to make an alliance with them even when she had evidently split from the rest of the infanzones. The infanzone knew she needed to cross as soon as possible. The longer they waited, the more cultists would arrive.


    Turning on the pair was no longer feasible, he decided. He must act accordingly.


    ¡°When the beast wandered off,¡± he said, ¡°did it appear to be tracking the cultists who fled?¡±


    Ferranda Villazur narrowed her eyes at him.


    ¡°It moved in the same direction as one of their groups,¡± she acknowledged, then her face hardened. ¡°Are you perhaps thinking of using lodestone extract?¡±


    There was a flat, accusatory note at the end. So Lan had talked. Ferranda¡¯s displeasure was understandable: she had been among those his ploy was to burn, or perhaps even had burned. Regardless, Tristan met her brown eyes without shame.


    ¡°There is nothing to fear from me this time, Villazur,¡± he replied. ¡°You are no longer attempting to use us as bait.¡±


    He had acted out of vengeance, it was true, but also out of practicality. The infanzona¡¯s lips thinned in anger, but she did not argue the point. They had owed each other nothing and it was not her the trick had been aimed at. Yong¡¯s back had gone straight and his own gaze at the noblewoman was unimpressed, so Tristan was not without support.


    ¡°Airavatan see odours,¡± Sanale brusquely said. ¡°It could work.¡±


    Tristan¡¯s eyes swivelled to the hunter.


    ¡°Lodestone extract smells like blood to lemures, but it is not actually blood,¡± he carefully said. ¡°Would that still fool it?¡±


    The huntsman hesitated, then nodded. Tristan would have preferred greater certainty but sensed it was the best he would get.


    ¡°Then we might be able to distract it,¡± the thief said.


    ¡°It may chase us from there,¡± Ferranda warned.


    ¡°Better to have it somewhere we know than to be left wondering where it is,¡± Yong replied.


    ¡°We could try to attract it near the cultists,¡± Sarai said. ¡°It would keep them both occupied while we make for the bridge.¡±


    The thief blinked at her. That was¡­ bold, to say the least. He passed his hand through his hair, considering it just as the others were.


    ¡°It would be playing with fire,¡± Tristan finally said. ¡°If they catch us planting the extract, if we get bogged down fighting them¡­¡±


    None of them had forgot the massacre of the entire first wave of trial-takers in exactly such a situation. Or that Inyoni and her crew might well have suffered the same fate if they¡¯d not had a contract that let them escape.


    ¡°We would need to find a Red Eye encampment for that plan to be an option at all,¡± Yong pragmatically said. ¡°That means going out to look.¡±


    ¡°We need to do that regardless,¡± Ferranda pointed out. ¡°We cannot afford to rush in blindly, not with the forces arrayed against us.¡±


    She was right, Tristan thought, and it was plain enough to see that no one argued. The talk instead turned to who would be going. Yong volunteered, brushing aside the thief¡¯s worries about how his shoulder was healing. The wound had not torn muscle or required stitches ¨C the gravebird had been toying with him ¨C so the Tianxi insisted he was fine.  Ferranda conferred with Sanale away from the fire, which surprised Tristan: it implied their relation was more nuanced than that of an infanzona and her hired hand.


    ¡°I will be going,¡± Ferranda said when they returned. ¡°Two of us will be enough ¨C any more and the chances of getting caught by a warband grow too high.¡±


    And aside from Sanale, Tristan thought, no one else among them was practiced at forestry. He was decent at sneaking around, but even tall grass such as the one around the swamp was uncomfortably different from the alleys and rooftops of Sacramonte. It was agreed on without quibbling, the dangers headed their way cooling any desire for argument, and after that all that they broke the news to the rest of their company: if Yong and Lady Ferranda came back with the right news, then they would be attempting the crossing tonight.


    --


    Everyone began to pack the moment the pair disappeared into the passage.


    The mood was subdued, even Felis keeping his peace. Though from the suddenly loose shoulders on the man, Tristan figured that might have something to do with licking up some dust. The thief wondered what it was that Lan had demanded of him in exchange. As for the Meng-Xiaofan dealer, his idle suggestion that she be left behind had been refused. She had, it seemed, bought Lady Ferranda¡¯s agreement to let her follow them until the second trial with information after stumbling onto the pair by pure chance. Tristan would not call a woman who¡¯d lost a sister only days ago lucky, but the gods must have taken a shine to Lan for her to make it that far.


    That, or she had been sitting quiet on a contract.


    Just between them rats, he could admire how well she had played her rather lacking cards. Lan was a poor fighter, had displayed no contract and was openly unreliable in the face of danger. Yet with only wits and a penchant for digging into other people¡¯s things, she had been able to bargain her way to safety again and again. That was something worthy of respect, even if he did not particularly like the woman. Respect and some wariness: neither were the kind of people to hold a grudge over the kind of clawing they¡¯d done at one another, but it would not do to forget that they were far from friendly.


    About a quarter hour into packing his belongings Sarai came to find him. It was idle chatter at first, but he noticed she was keeping an eye on how close other people were. As soon as she was sure no one could overhear, the talk changed.


    ¡°You meant to use the lodestone trick again,¡± Sarai quietly said. ¡°On them. It¡¯s why you were against us allying.¡±


    It was tempting to lie, but he bit down on the instinct. He had already extended trust. He would not keep doing so blindly, but withdrawing it just as blindly would be equally foolish.


    ¡°It struck me as the most likely plan to work,¡± Tristan said.


    ¡°It was a wash the moment they got Lan to talk,¡± she replied, shaking her head.


    The dark-haired woman looked uncomfortable.


    ¡°I thought your enmity was with the Cerdan,¡± she continued. ¡°Not all infanzones.¡±


    The thief hesitated again, but he could see what silence would cost him here. No one wanted an ally that was a rabid hound, which murderous hatred of all the nobles of Sacromonte might as well make him.


    ¡°It is Cozme Aflor I most want dead,¡± he admitted. ¡°The brothers are ledger work, payment against an old debt.¡±


    ¡°And Ferranda Villazur?¡± Sarai pressed.


    ¡°I have little against her,¡± he shrugged. ¡°I believed the pair would go their own way, which made them a sensible target.¡±


    ¡°You still opposed the alliance when I was bringing it forward,¡± she pointed out.


    ¡°And I still would, had I not learned of the other bridge¡¯s breaking,¡± Tristan frankly replied. ¡°People will die in this crossing, Sarai. If I have a choice, I would rather it be them than us.¡±


    All the Red Eye warbands rushing their way tilted the odds against anyone being able to sneak through, enough so that additional swords were worth more than a distraction. If the pair could be used for their blades and other dupes used as a distraction, Sarai¡¯s suggestion, then that plan was superior. But it was also only viable now that they had skilled trackers other than Yong out trying to find darkling encampments. Sending out alone a wounded Yong, who even in such a state was their best fighter, would have been rolling on bad odds. Sending a potential liability with him would have been even worse. Sarai¡¯s blue eyes stayed on him, then she slowly nodded.


    ¡°Good,¡± she said.


    Worth staying allied with, she meant. He would not say he was relieved, but neither would he deny it.


    ¡°Ferranda parted ways with the other nobles before your lodestone trick had effect,¡± Sarai said. ¡°Their plan was to climb the High Road using a contract and then march across the island unhindered, but there is no telling if lemures attacked them first.¡±


    Tristan almost cursed. Of course the infanzones had come in with a cushy plan that put them right out of harm¡¯s way while everyone else died beneath them. Lodestone extract would largely stop smelling after a day, so if they had made it up on the aqueduct they would be safe by now. There would be no telling until the second trial, then. And there I will have to act, or they will be able to slip away before the third.


    ¡°One more reason to make it to the Trial of Ruins,¡± he simply replied.


    He made sure to incline his head in thanks, acknowledging that she had most likely looked into the fate of the Cerdans for him. She smiled back, flicking his shoulder.


    ¡°Mayhaps we¡¯ll be lucky and they¡¯ll have eaten at least one out of three,¡± she said.


    The thief smiled back, almost wonderingly. Not so much at the thought as how she had said it: we¡¯ll get lucky. Not only him. The implicit promise there, without her having ever asked why he wanted any of them dead, was¡­ Measure for measure, that was how Sarai dealt. He had told her the truth of what he wanted, so she had offered her help in achieving it. There was something so terrifyingly straightforward about that he ended up shying away from meeting her eyes. She had an ulterior purpose in these trials, he reminded himself, had admitted as much.


    It would be dangerous to begin trusting her too much.


    Sensing the mood had changed, Sarai took her leave. It left Tristan to finish packing his bag and rearranging the broken cabinet so that nothing would come out spilling were it dropped. Left him alone with his thoughts, also, or more accurately his thoughts and one more thing.


    ¡°She would make a good priestess, I think,¡± Fortuna mused. ¡°You must ask her if she gambles.¡±


    The goddess was sprawled theatrically across a flat stone, red dress flowing down artfully as she rested her chin against her palm. She was the very picture of imperial leisure, missing only servants to fan her and feed her grapes.


    ¡°Of course,¡± he lied.


    Golden eyes narrowed at him.


    ¡°Are you pouting again?¡± the goddess asked. ¡°You know, it is only charming if done once in a while. Otherwise is the province of toddlers.¡±


    He rolled his eyes at her.


    ¡°It is only unease, not pouting,¡± Tristan said. ¡°I feel¡­¡±


    Fortuna snorted.


    ¡°I knew you¡¯d get like this about someone actually liking you,¡± she smugly said. ¡°It¡¯s all the amusement you refuse me when you get stab wounds.¡±


    Tristan made sure no one was looking his way before glaring at her.


    ¡°You¡¯re inventing things,¡± he insisted. ¡°This has nothing to do with Sarai.¡±


    ¡°I never said her name,¡± Fortuna smirked.


    ¡°It was implied, you pile of bad decisions,¡± he hissed back. ¡°It¡¯s this plan, Fortuna, it is all wrong.¡±


    The goddess gracefully shifted into a sitting position, legs over the edge of the stone, and her mood turned serious so swiftly he had no idea if she had been faking the taunting before it. Gods, she had always been like this. Sometimes she made him feel like he was still a boy.


    ¡°What about it rubs you wrong?¡± she asked.


    Having to answer her forced him to think it out, to truly look at what it was that bothered him.


    ¡°It is not the kind of method I like using,¡± Tristan finally said. ¡°It is barely a plan. It relies on assumptions, even if it works perfectly it will be risky and we are making too little use of the time we have before it begins.¡±


    The last, he thought, might be the one that most went against the grain. Thievery was about waiting for the right moment, but that moment had to be found. It was not an orange falling into your lap. Too much was being left to chance and too little done to change this.


    ¡°Then do something about it,¡± Fortuna shrugged, languidly rising to her feet.


    The dress followed, a trail of blood slinking after the goddess. She smirked at him again, strolling away like there was nothing more than say. The part he might be most resentful about, Tristan admitted to himself, was that she had helped. There were still hours left before they moved out, if they made the attempt tonight, and he did not have spend them sitting by his broken cabinet and silently fretting.


    So what could he do?


    His eyes swept across the cavern, lingering on the rest of the company before dismissing them. It would not be impossible to pulls tricks to tighten or loosen alliances ¨C Lan and Felis were easy levers ¨C but there would be no point. All of them wanted to survive, it would keep them together and looking outwards until there was a semblance of safety. Their remaining supplies were food, water, powder and bedrolls. None of which could be put to particularly unusual use.


    His gaze stopped on the carved doorway of the shrine, the great chain of silhouettes grasping the feet of those in front of them. Tristan was, at the end of the day, a thief. Why was he trying to be a general or a conspirator? Better that he use the skills he had actually learned. First, to case the place. Whoever had built this was long dead and buried, that was not the end of it. It so happened that Tristan had someone on hand who could get answers from beyond the grave.


    ¡°It might be as old as the First Empire,¡± Francho said, stroking his white stubble. ¡°Not of Antediluvian make, of course ¨C it is much too humble for that ¨C but still build before the Old Night.¡±


    If he let that beard grow, it would not be long before he had more hair on his chin than his head.


    ¡°So what was it for?¡± Tristan asked. ¡°To honour some god?¡±


    ¡°Religion before the Orthodoxy was very haphazard, as far as we can tell,¡± the toothless old professor mused. ¡°The Universalist creed from the Isles is probably closest to what it looked like.¡±


    ¡°And that means,¡± the grey-eyed man encouraged.


    Francho blinked.


    ¡°Temples to a god were rare,¡± he said. ¡°They were more along the lines of designated sacred places, grounds where mortals and gods might meet and give each other gifts if it pleased them.¡±


    ¡°So there might still be a gift left,¡± Tristan said. ¡°If it was hidden well enough.¡±


    ¡°This shrine was abandoned centuries before Sacromonte was a fishing village, my boy,¡± Francho gently said, fighting down his cough. ¡°If there was ever anything here of worth, it is long gone.¡±


    But the old man was thinking as a historian, and that was not the right way here. This was the Dominion of Lost Things, not some glittering temple on the Tower Coast. The island had been full of hollows and worse ever since anyone could remember, and while the temple above had been looted this shrine was much older. It had not been so well hidden the darklings would not have looted it, but how hard had they really looked? It would have seemed a small and dingy place, compared to the great painted temple above. And this was not the kind of place treasure hunters would come to even if it had not been Watch territory, which made it even more off-limits.


    ¡°There can be no harm in looking,¡± Tristan said. ¡°Is there a part that would be more sacred than the rest?¡±


    Francho sighed.


    ¡°The ceiling,¡± the old man said. ¡°What scarce records we have of the era imply that in many parts of Vesper firmament was feared and worshipped in equal measure.¡±


    Tristan thanked him, the professor visibly forcing himself not to roll his eyes out of exasperation. Only Sanale sat within the shrine, tending to the last of the fire, and he did not spare the thief more than a glance. The insides were as plain as the outside, for all that the clever stonework tried to hide it. The arches and columns that stood out of the wall slightly were pure affectation, no more useful a support than any other carving might have been, and they led up to a high curved ceiling that was just slightly too uneven to truly count as a dome. Up there were circular stripes of stone standing out, whatever had been displayed on them worn away or covered by the black taint of smoke.


    At the apex of the almost-dome was a full circle of the same motif as the threshold, silhouettes grabbing the feet of others, and a hole in the stone the size of a man¡¯s head. It went up, like a pipe, and was the reason a fire could be lit in a place small as this shrine without choking everyone inside. On the ground there were three broken altars, or so he guessed: most the stone was gone, likely stolen by hollows. What few pieces remained were being used by Ferranda and her hired hand to dry their clothes. Lifting a shirt under Sanale¡¯s watchful gaze revealed that their stone was covered with carvings.


    Still the silhouettes.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Sanale asked.


    The man was looking at him with a frown.


    ¡°Looting the shrine,¡± Tristan frankly replied.


    The huntsman considered that, then nodded.


    ¡°Good luck.¡±


    The thief grinned back, then let his gaze drift back up. Francho had said the ceiling would be important, but even without the old man Tristan would have begun with looking there. It would have been the most difficult part of this shrine to make, and in the builder¡¯s place he would have been certain to add in a secret alcove or two. Climbing wasn¡¯t difficult beyond the strain it put on his burns, which was enough for the thief to be swallowing a hiss. Anchoring his foot against the side of the ¡®column¡¯, he hoisted himself up to have a look at the first stone stripe jutting out of the ceiling. It was, he found with surprise, also adorned with the silhouette chain. Only the top of the stripe, so it could not be seen from below, but the motif seemed to be circling around the near-dome ceiling.


    Ignoring Sanale¡¯s gaze, and now the people crowding the shrine entrance looking at him, the thief dragged his left foot up on top of one of the sculpted arcs and used the leverage to pull himself further up. From there he had a better vantage of the stripes, which he saw were all carved with the chain in the same place. And there was a detail to it: the way the chain was facing, it seemed to be encircling the ceiling through the stripes. Circling upwards like a spring.


    ¡°Francho,¡± he called out.


    The old man brushed past Lan to come into the shrine, looking as if he did not know whether to be impressed or appalled.


    ¡°You are going to break a leg for the grand prize of dust,¡± the professor told him.


    The thief ignored that with the practiced ease of a man living bound to a goddess that could not be silenced.


    ¡°There¡¯s a pattern to it,¡± he said. ¡°I need you to look at the carvings outside, around the door. Is there are beginning and an end to the chain?¡±


    Francho sighed but did look intrigued. More importantly he inspected the carvings as he¡¯d been asked, returning with surprise on his face.


    ¡°There is both,¡± he said. ¡°And the ¡®end¡¯ sneaks past the top of the threshold as a small line, continuing inside as a carving behind a ridge.¡±


    ¡°Where does it lead?¡± Tristan asked


    His arms were beginning to cramp but he held himself tight.


    ¡°The floor, and then nowhere,¡± the old man said. ¡°It is still a dead end.¡±


    Now, maybe, but had it always been? The tiles in the temple upstairs had been ripped off the floor and walls, so it might well have been the same down here. A part of the chain was gone, but perhaps not all of it.


    ¡°The altars,¡± Tristan said. ¡°They have markings too, see where they lead.¡±


    Sanale was interested enough by the spectacle to agree to remove the drying clothes, but Francho clicked his tongue after going around looking at them. Their labour had, Tristan saw from the corner of his eye, drawn most everyone else as an audience. A few looked excited, more amused.


    ¡°Too much is gone,¡± the scholar said. ¡°The altars connected to each other, I think, and perhaps headed for the back wall. I cannot be certain with what little is left.¡±


    The back wall was something Tristan could work with. From up there he could see what the angle might have been, and there was a carved column leading into an arch facing more or less where the altars would have been. Moving in that direction across the top of the arches, he crouched down to have a closer look. No trace of the chain anywhere near the ground, but ah! Atop the curve of the arch, under dust he rubbed away with his thumb, he found the carved chain. The bottom was worn away, but it was facing upwards: towards the first of the stone strips encircling the dome.


    ¡°Found it,¡± Tristan triumphantly said.


    It had been as he suspected: the chain began outside, passed through the altars and then slowly rose up the ¡®sky¡¯ only to lead at a final destination: the smoke hole, which might have another purpose after all.


    ¡°What is it that you are even looking for?¡± Francho asked.


    ¡°You said shrines like this were for trading gifts,¡± the thief said. ¡°And it occurs to me: if the first silhouette is standing on the ground and all the others are holding up another body, what will the last one be holding up?¡±


    The toothless professor was not slow.


    ¡°There might be a gift for the gods at the end,¡± Francho mused. ¡°Symbolically speaking, that is not without sense.¡±


    The difficult part was getting up there, as the old man¡¯s warning had not been unsound: if he fell badly from this height the thief would break something. Getting a hand into the smoke hole took more acrobatics than he would prefer: feet resting on the highest stripe, his hand on a jutting stone of the ceiling to wedge himself and then all he could do was peer in the dark above. Shoving in his free hand, he groped around in search of anything at all. It seemed like a dead end, just a hole going upwards, until he pressed against the back and found there was a little give. Not much, though. Inspired, he ran his fingers near the bottom of the stone and found a carved silhouette offering up nothing.


    Pressing against it, he felt a stone give and suddenly the back wall toppled.


    Tristan yelped, taking back his hand as the stone fell out and down into the shrine. Francho shouted a curse when it almost fell on his head, but the thief¡¯s attention was on the hidden compartment he had revealed. Though he could not see inside, he could feel it out. There was some kind of basin carved into the bottom, a sloping incline, but after he felt out all the sides and even the top of the compartment Tristan was forced to admit that it was empty. Either the caretakers of this place had taken away their treasure or someone had found it before he could. Enthusiasm dimming, thief carefully made his way down.


    He still slipped, footing giving away against the side of the column, but by then he was close enough to the ground he was able to fall without even a bruise to show for it. Still hurt, though, almost as much as Francho¡¯s gentle smile as the thief rose to his feet and brushed himself off.


    ¡°I told you it was unlikely,¡± the professor said. ¡°Besides, it is already impressive that you found the hidden compartment.¡±


    In sharp contrast to the old man¡¯s attempt at comfort, Tristan saw from the corner of his eye that Fortuna¡¯s head was popping out of the smoke hole. Long golden hair falling like a curtain, she still somehow managed to look down at them contemptuously. Like some queen granting audience to vagabonds, Tristan thought, and that was when it fell into place.


    ¡°The chain goes both ways,¡± the thief said, cutting through whatever Francho had been saying.


    The old man frowned.


    ¡°Obsessing over this will do you no good,¡± he said.


    Tristan turned grey eyes on him.


    ¡°You said it yourself,¡± he said.  ¡°The gods gave gifts as well as received them. If there was something at the end of the chain, there should be something at the beginning too.¡±


    He would have been willing to look for the first link in the chain himself, but despite his open doubts Francho led him to it. The small carved silhouette had its feet against the ground of the cavern, as if standing on it, and when Tristan pressed against it nothing gave. He blew at the carving, finding that there were the smallest fracture lines between that first silhouette and the stone around it. It could have been time¡¯s work, he thought. But it might not be. Leaning closer, he ran a finger beneath the carved feet and it came back touched with grey stone dust. Greyer than the stone of the cavern wall. To someone¡¯s loudly exclaimed disgust, he tasted it. Ha! He¡¯d been sure he knew that grey.


    ¡°There is nothing,¡± Francho said. ¡°Surely you can see-¡±


    Tristan took out his knife, picking away at the carved silhouette until some a chunk of the left leg fell off. Beneath it lay stone of a different grey. The old man wetly coughed into his hand, his breath wheezing.


    ¡°Is that what I think it is?¡± Francho said, voice still faint.


    ¡°If you are thinking ¡®antipodal stone¡¯, then yes,¡± the thief smiled.


    Vanesa was standing close, a lantern in hand, and when Tristan asked she wordlessly gave it over. He opened the shutter until the naked flame was revealed, then pressed it against the carving. Antipodal stone was believed to be one of the wonders of the Antediluvians for it was a stone that, unlike others, contracted when heated instead of expanding. Some of the great canals of Sacromonte had been built out of it, in times before it became so rare, so Tristan knew the look of the stone. It was not long before he estimated it would be warm enough, the scorched figure of the silhouette hot to the touch but not so much that with his sleeve covering his fingers he could not pull at it. The stone came free when he pulled, revealing another compartment, and Tristan grinned.


    ¡°I was wrong,¡± Francho murmured. ¡°Most in error.¡±


    The thief angled the lantern to have a look inside, triumph blooming when he saw there was an object in there. It was large enough he had to grope at the inside of the compartment for another mechanism, eventually finding out that the sides of the ¡®mouth¡¯ could be pushed further open. What he took out of the compartment looked like a musical instrument of some sort, though not one he knew. It was squatter and longer than a lyre, and its wooden body had long petrified. Strangest, though, was that though where nubs for seven strings on the crossbar there were not even the broken remains of one. Tristan pulled it up into the light, feeling something move inside the body when he did.


    Lightly, and it was near weightless, but there was definitely something within.


    ¡°That,¡± Francho quietly said, ¡°is a supplicant¡¯s cithara.¡±


    They had attracted a crowd, everyone circling in around them. The thief hid how the number of people behind him was making him uncomfortable.


    ¡°A musical instrument?¡± Tristan asked.


    ¡°One meant only for the hands of priests,¡± the professor explained. ¡°It is played with strings of Gloam, to appeal to the gods with prayer-songs.¡±


    ¡°So it¡¯s worth a lot?¡± Lan asked, leaning past Vanesa.


    More than a few considering gazes turned on the cithara at the question.


    ¡°That depends on the nature of the relic,¡± Francho hedged. ¡°But by itself not particularly, save to collectors.¡±


    He coughed into his hand.


    ¡°But inside the cithara¡¯s body there will be a substance,¡± he said. ¡°It will have been laid there by the priests who crafted it to shape the nature of the prayers, accumulating power with use. That can be worth a great deal of coin.¡±


    Tristan raised an eyebrow, pressing the cithara into his hand. The professor looked askance at him for a moment, as if wondering what the meaning of it might be.


    ¡°The wood is petrified,¡± the thief said. ¡°Turned to stone.¡±


    And Francho could listen to the echoes lying within stone, could he not? The old man looked startled, then his face pulled into a frown of concentration as he laid an open palm against the cithara. He shivered, arm trembling, and withdrew his hand with a long sigh.


    ¡°Feathers,¡± Francho told him. ¡°It is feathers inside, meant for songs of sleep.¡±


    And so by the time Song and Ferranda returned, bringing word they had found cultists and so their group was to try the bridge tonight, Tristan Abrascal was smiling.


    He had a plan.

 Chapter 14

    They began to feel the bite of the missing supplies on the third day.


    Angharad had measured her portions from the start, planning for four days¡¯ worth of meals. Formal registration with the duelling circuit had exempted her from ever having to attend isikole, the mandatory four-year schooling, but Mother had seen to it she received some of the training nonetheless. She had not enjoyed the lessons then but now she saw the use what she¡¯d learned going out into the countryside: how to make a fire, skin an animal and ration her food. Her portions remained the same, but those who had not been as prudent paid for it. Isabel¡¯s maids, in particular the redhead, ate little but crumbs for breakfast. That would not do.


    Angharad cut her meal in half, then in half again, and wordlessly gave a quarter to each.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Beatris sincerely said, bowing her head.


    ¡°It is very kind of you,¡± Briceida added.


    The sheer gratitude on their faces made her uncomfortable. She snuck a look at Isabel, who was chatting with the Cerdan brothers as she ate her own meal. It would not have been proper for the mistress to suffer on the behalf of careless servants, it was true, but the dark-haired beauty should have kept a closer eye on her maids in the first place. Though neither Brun nor Song were anything of the sort to her, Angharad had inquired as to their own meals the previous day. Brun had been most amused by her concern, informing her he¡¯d eaten worse in smaller plates, while Song¡¯s rationing had been even more strict than her own.


    Neither of the Cerdan brothers seemed to be running out of food, even though they had been eating larger meals than anyone else. Even Master Cozme, whose plate was usually not much larger than Angharad¡¯s.


    ¡°Ah, infanzones,¡± Brun smiled, looking at them. ¡°Not a breed of men prone to wastefulness, it must be said: they¡¯ve already spent poor Gascon¡¯s life and now they eat his food.¡±


    ¡°Supplies are supplies,¡± Song pragmatically replied. ¡°It is the extravagance that irks me.¡±


    Angharad could not quite say why it was wrong for the Augusto and Remund Cerdan to eat the rations of the valet one of them had murdered, but it was. It did not matter that the food was theirs, or that the man who might have had a claim to it had passed. It was wrong. She stewed on that for the rest of breakfast. After all were done, Song brought up the notion that since food was beginning to run out all should pitch in their provisions for a common stash that would be rationed out fairly between everyone.


    ¡°A Tianxi proposing theft from her betters,¡± Remund Cerdan sneered. ¡°How very surprising.¡±


    ¡°No doubt she¡¯ll expect us to vote on it,¡± his older brother laughed.


    ¡°We already share the lantern oil,¡± Brun pointed out. ¡°It is only going a step further.¡±


    The decision had been made unanimously when it became clear they were running out of oil. They had lost four lanterns fighting off the lupines so only three were left, but the greater loss had been the skins full of oil. Now there was so little left they had killed two lanterns and let only the vanguard of their group carry one that was lit, lest they run the risk of running out before they even left the High Road. Having only the light of the stars to walk by would have been dangerous enough, but the prospect of Gloam disease was even more fearful than that.


    ¡°It is always only a step further, boy,¡± Augusto lectured, ¡°until we kneel with our necks on the chopping block.¡±


    Angharad frowned at them.


    ¡°There has been no talk of violence or taking from anyone, only an offer to contribute to a common good,¡± she said.


    ¡°It is not for nobles to fill the world¡¯s empty bellies,¡± Remund dismissed. ¡°We will run out of loaves long before we run out of beggars: the commons must take responsibility for themselves.¡±


    The Pereduri did not hide her disgust. Did Remund Cerdan not understand what being a noble was? All men had a trade, a vocation under the Sleeping God, and to be born a noble was to learn the trade of leadership, the burden of command. To then let your own go hungry was a fundamental failure of that duty. More disappointingly, the Cerdans were not alone in their opinion.


    ¡°My handmaids are free to join such an arrangement if they wish,¡± Isabel said, ¡°but I will not. I will see to my affairs without needing the help of others.¡±


    The offer was the nail in the coffin of Song¡¯s proposal, for now neither she nor Brun were inclined to continue the plan. The maids had nothing to contribute to the pot, meaning in practice they would be fed at the expense of those who filled it. Angharad understood she had no right to expect the two of them to take food off their plates for strangers, but for all that everyone had their good and proper reasons the result was still that two of their company would go hungry. The selfishness of it all was cloying. She rose brusquely to her feet, anger caught in her throat.


    ¡°It is not much,¡± Angharad stiffly told the maids, ¡°but I will share again at supper what I did for this meal.¡±


    The three of them would go hungry, but hunger passed. Dishonour would not. Isabel smiled at her but Angharad¡¯s answering gaze was cool as she went to grab her back. Sometimes people were less than you had thought them to be.


    --


    After they resumed the march it was not entirely a surprise when Isabel joined her at the back. Angharad was yet under oath, she could not have approached the other herself. With Song and Beatris walking in front of them while Augusto and Remund Cerdan took the vanguard far ahead, they even had a modicum of privacy.


    ¡°I will be sharing half my meals with them as well, Angharad,¡± the infanzona quietly told her. ¡°But it would have served no good to shame the brothers before everyone.¡±


    She studied Isabel from the corner of her eye, wondering if she was being appeased. No, she decided. Isabel was not scheming, only too prone to playing the peacemaker even when the other side was undeserving of compromise. It was a flaw born of kindness, not something baser.


    ¡°Speaking for your own is your responsibility,¡± she finally said. ¡°Your maids deserve better than silence.¡±


    Irritation flashed in the infanzona¡¯s green eyes.


    ¡°They might,¡± Isabel sharply replied, ¡°but I imagine they yet prefer being on speaking terms with the man whose contract is the sole way for us to get down from this aqueduct.¡±


    Angharad had not considered that, she would admit, but duty was duty.


    ¡°It is a matter of honour,¡± she said. ¡°Nobles have obligations, Isabel.¡±


    ¡°There is honour in keeping everyone breathing,¡± the infanzona retorted ¡°And that means keeping the brothers happy. Do you not understand that every time one of them has the watch they could simply leave us?¡±


    Isabel swallowed, obviously distressed.


    ¡°Angharad, they could take the food and the lanterns and go,¡± she said, snapping her fingers. ¡°Just like that, leaving us stranded. And why wouldn¡¯t they? You swore to kill one of them and Song¡¯s map has lost its use. There is only one reason for them to stay.¡±


    The woman they were both courting, Isabel did not need to say, and Angharad felt her anger ebb away. It would have been a fine thing to say that she¡¯d been convinced by the soundness of the argument, and it genuinely was sound! Open contempt from the woman they were courting might well drive the brothers away just as Isabel feared. But the truth was that the tremor in Isabel¡¯s voice and the fear on her face did more to convince Angharad to let go of her indignation than all the rest. Who was she to cast blame, when she had not even noticed the burden laying on the infanzona¡¯s shoulders?


    ¡°It will be all right,¡± she quietly said, laying gentle a hand on the Isabel¡¯s wrist. ¡°Only one more day to the end of the High Road, and then they will have no power over us.¡±


    She let out a long breath, leaning into Angharad¡¯s shoulder.


    ¡°I am tired,¡± she admitted. ¡°And afraid. None of it has gone the way I thought it would.¡±


    ¡°My uncle told me it would be a hard journey,¡± Angharad said, ¡°but it has been trying in different ways than I had expected.¡±


    ¡°So it has,¡± Isabel snorted, pushing back a curl. ¡°To think we could be at risk of Gloam disease in this day and age.¡±


    ¡°We will not be for some time,¡± Angharad absent-mindedly replied.


    Curious green eyes turned on her.


    ¡°You know of the process?¡±


    ¡°My mother was a sea captain,¡± she replied. ¡°Few know the terror of that disease better than sailors.¡±


    Particularly those who sailed the Straying Sea, which unlike the Trebian had no light shined down on it from firmament. Only the royal house¡¯s great triumph, the Serpentine Roads, dared to cut through that once-unbroken darkness.


    ¡°It takes seven days entirely without Glare or a month with less than two hours a day exposed for the disease to take,¡± Angharad continued. ¡°So long as we keep eating our meals under lantern light and keeping watch with the same, we are not at risk.¡±


    ¡°I have heard Malani studied the disease more deeply than any other,¡± Isabel hesitantly said. ¡°That they have measured what it does to men.¡±


    ¡°The basics are common knowledge back home,¡± she admitted.


    Clearing her throat, she pitched her voice higher.


    ¡°Seven dead and one alive, the last in dark to thrive,¡± Angharad sang.


    All children of the Isles were taught the nursery rhyme. Malani scholars had found that out of ten men who contracted Gloam disease, the results cut towards an average: seven would die, two turn darkling and one survive. Mother had always said that the hollowing was more common than that, however, and that sometimes those headed for death could be saved if they were bathed in direct Glare for long enough ¨C the burning light that straight fell from the cracks in firmament, not the gentler glow of Antediluvian devices. Isabel shivered against her.


    ¡°What a dreadful verse,¡± Isabel murmured, ¡°but I suppose it lays out the endings plain.¡±


    ¡°It is meant to be sobering,¡± Angharad said, slipping her arm into the other woman¡¯s and squeezing it. ¡°That way children remember to stay out of the Gloam, especially in the countryside.¡±


    Malan and its sister-islands, Peredur and Uthukile, were not under a part of firmament where the Antediluvians had built wonders. It was only a great pit of Glare that made the islands habitable, and that light was not as sophisticated as that of lands with older blessings. Between the shadows cast by the lay of the land and the Challenger ¨C that great wandering machine high up in the sky ¨C cutting through the light, there was no end of nooks and crannies where a careless soul might find a bad end.


    ¡°It is not natural to stay out of the light for too long,¡± Isabel agreed. ¡°It presses against the soul of all those not estranged from the Circle Perpetual.¡±


    ¡°We have been weathering it fine for now, I would say,¡± Angharad replied.


    Isabel prettily smiled, then leaned close. For a golden, terrifying heartbeat Angharad thought she was about to be kissed but instead the infanzona tugged her coat into place.


    ¡°There, that¡¯s better,¡± Isabel said, smirking in a way that told she knew exactly what she¡¯d just done.


    Angharad cleared her throat. She had not blushed, at least.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± she got out.


    ¡°It is nothing,¡± she airily replied. ¡°If you must thank me for anything, let it be for this: we are not all taking to the dark as well you think. Your helper Brun, for example.¡±


    ¡°He is not a helper,¡± the Pereduri said, ¡°but a companion.¡±


    ¡°A companion who does all you ask him to and keeps the same foes,¡± Isabel drily replied. ¡°But call him a companion if you like ¨C the reluctance is part of your charm, I think.¡±


    Angharad was not sure whether she was flattered or insulted, but either way she pushed through.


    ¡°Brun has been well enough,¡± she finally said. ¡°Why do you believe otherwise?¡±


    ¡°He puts on a good show when we have meals, or when he is paired with someone else,¡± Isabel conceded. ¡°Even when he speaks with dear Briceida. Yet the moment he is not, a black mood takes him.¡±


    Angharad¡¯s brows rose in surprise.


    ¡°Not a speck of emotion on his face,¡± Isabel continued, ¡°and he grows restless. Always reaching for that hatchet of his while the eye wanders.¡±


    ¡°I had no notion,¡± she admitted.


    ¡°I doubt he would take well to an attempt to comfort,¡± the infanzona noted. ¡°Men rarely do, from a woman whose skirts they are not trying to slide under. I mention it only so you might keep an eye on him.¡±


    ¡°I will,¡± Angharad swore.


    Brun had been good and kind, she would not repay these things by letting the Gloam have him. While the eponymous sickness was some of the worst of what the dark held in store, it was hardly the only illness born of it. Most of them were of the mind: it was not rare for men to go mad, in pieces or all at once, for the lack of light.


    ¡°Good,¡± Isabel smiled. ¡°You are one of the pillars of this company, after all. It would not do for you to act otherwise.¡±


    ¡°You overestimate my influence,¡± Angharad dismissed.


    ¡°Do I?¡± the green-eyed beauty said. ¡°Around you gathers the capacity for much violence, Angharad. Two fine fighters and then yourself. There is a reason I believe the brothers would flee, not attempt to fight you for the reins of power.¡±


    ¡°Even if that were true,¡± she said, ¡°what has it helped? I agreed with Song, this morning, that we should share the food. It did no good.¡±


    ¡°I usually find, when I am refused, that I simply did not ask the right way,¡± Isabel said.


    Angharad shot the infanzona an amused look. Yes, she did not find it all that difficult to believe that few would refuse her much of anything. Only the amusement faded when she found Isabel meeting her gaze squarely, a look almost unkind in them. No, Angharad thought, not unkind. It was the same she had seen on some of the tutors Mother arranged for, men and women who¡¯d agreed to meet to Angharad only out of courtesy for the reputation of the famed Captain Tredegar. She¡¯d had to prove she was worth their time, their lessons.


    She had been tested then and she was being tested now.


    Wrenching her gaze away, she kept her eyes peeled ahead. She had not asked the right way, according to Isabel, but she could not see the Cerdans agreeing to anything she proposed. She had struck a bargain with Remund and he had become friendlier in the shallowest of manners since, but that did not make them of one mind. Cozme Aflor was unlikely to intercede on her behalf either, and Isabel had made it clear she could not afford to openly pick a side. There was a saying in Peredur, that a man¡¯s name had two halves: his deepest regret and his heart¡¯s desire. To know either was to own half his name, to know both was to have him bound as tightly as any spirit.


    So what was it the Cerdan brothers wanted, that she could use it against them?


    They wanted to inherit, badly enough to strike deals with enemies to rid themselves of their rival. Badly enough that Master Cozme was here as much to protect them from one another as the trials themselves. Only Angharad had already made bargains using that desire, and to use a lever too much was to break it. Could she muster Song and Brun to try to force the notion? Perhaps, but there was no guarantee it would work ¨C more likely the confrontation would drive the infanzones away in the night. It could not come from her, Angharad decided. She was the enemy, even to the Cerdan she had made alliance with.


    The silence lingered between she and Isabel, enough to unsettle her, but the infanzona waited without a word or a trace of boredom on her face. Quietly expectant, and so Angharad forced her mind down furrows she had already dug. If not from her, then from who? Isabel had dismissed Brun as being her helper, and though she was wrong in this the brothers might share that opinion. That barred either he or Song from being an answer. That left only the maids and Isabel, for the brothers were unlikely to willingly get food off their plate on behalf of people they largely disliked and held in contempt. Did they even like anyone of their company save Isabel?


    And there Angharad stilled, for the brother did indeed like Isabel. Perhaps even loved her, though she had her doubts. One of the reasons the Cerdan brothers were so ardently courting Isabel Ruesta was the wealth of the infanzona¡¯s house, which making ties to would surely see the earner rise above his brother to inherit their family¡¯s title. It was a shade of the heart¡¯s desire, half the name seized by a different grip, and the openings were all there weren¡¯t they? Angharad carefully put the pieces together in her mind. Isabel¡¯s maids had been given permission to join the ¡®arrangement¡¯ of shared food, and Isabel was going to share part of her meal with them.


    All that needed doing was to nudge the events a little further along.


    ¡°Have you considered,¡± Angharad said, ¡°giving your entire meals to your maids?¡±


    Surprise flicked across the other woman¡¯s face, a flash of it followed by Isabel breathing in sharply and releasing a little laugh.


    ¡°Oh,¡± she said. ¡°That is clever.¡±


    It was the Pereduri¡¯s turn to start.


    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    ¡°You were not leading me towards such a solution?¡± she slowly asked.


    ¡°Not at all, darling,¡± Isabel chuckled. ¡°There were other ways, but I really should not be surprised this is what you thought of.¡±


    She shook her head with wry amusement.


    ¡°It is all very Malani, yes? The lady gives away her meals to her servants, noble in deed, and naturally when she ends up without anything the lords courting her will fight for the privilege of providing. Gallantry all around, with just a hint of the mercenary sensibilities lying beneath.¡±


    The last sentence she spoke with open approval, which had Angharad grimacing. Not, however, disagreeing. That was the ugly truth of the words exact, the one her father had made sure to teach her: if you cleaved only to the letter of honour, honour had a way of ending up being what was most advantageous to you. No matter how callous or cruel. When the Father of Devils appeared in the Great Tales, the King of Hell never spoke a single lie or broke a single oath. It made Lucifer no less dangerous: a single whisper from him had been enough to turn Issay the Great, first and finest king of Malan, into a bloodthirsty tyrant.


    She was broken out of her ruminations by Isabel laying a head against her shoulder.


    ¡°You are prone to brooding, Angharad,¡± she said. ¡°We will have to fix that.¡±


    ¡°How ambitious of you,¡± she drawled back, ¡°when we will only have so long together. Until the end of the second trial is not so long, my lady.¡±


    ¡°Oh, my life will not end after the Trial of Ruins,¡± Isabel flirted back. ¡°It is why I want to take it in the first place, darling.¡±


    She flicked a meaningful glance ahead.


    ¡°With such an achievement to my name, my parents will allow me greater latitude to choose who I may tie myself to,¡± Isabel said.


    ¡°A cause worth fighting for,¡± Angharad replied, only half jesting.


    ¡°I thought you might say that,¡± Isabel Ruesta smiled, green eyes warm with promise.


    --


    There was only so long the two of them could nestle against one another at the back of the company without being seen, so when lunch grew close they reluctantly parted ways. Perhaps it was for the best, Angharad thought, for if she¡¯d felt Isabel¡¯s lips whispering against her ear or her neck one more time she might have ended up doing something very unwise. And by the knowing look Song gave her when they sat down for the meal, they had not gone entirely unseen after all. Angharad was in too good a mood to feel all that chided, which seemed to amuse the Tianxi.


    She was careful not to pay too much attention while the trick she had agreed on with Isabel unfolded, the maids with their full plates offering to contribute to a joint stash of food while their lady sat smiling at them without a speck of food to show for. Augusto was the first to offer his meal, Remund looking like he was about to curse when his older brother beat him to it. Isabel offered to take only half from each, ever the peacemaker, and the pair spent more time glaring at each other than noticing anything else. Master Cozme caught her eye, cocking an eyebrow at her, and she shrugged innocently.


    The man chuckled, stroking his moustache, and tipped what would have been his hat at her.


    Angharad smiled back but kept her attention on the arrangements for the food. There was precious little bargaining, the two maids aware they were being welcomed into the pact from a position of weakness, and it was elected that Song would see to the rationing itself. It was to begin with supper and end with arrival at the second trial. The maids remained close to them as they ate, the most Angharad had seen of them since the journey began, and it became clear that in Isabel¡¯s absence the two did not bother to hide their common dislike. Briceida, the well-mannered redhead, kept fiddling with a small ivory trinket: it was a needle with a sculpted head, too large for sewing and so likely meant for keeping hair in place.


    ¡°It is quite pretty,¡± Brun complimented. ¡°A gift from your family?¡±


    ¡°From poor old Gascon, in truth,¡± Briceida replied, preening at the compliment. ¡°He won it gambling during our first night on the island and gave it to me the following day.¡±


    ¡°How kind of him,¡± Beatris drily said. ¡°Entirely unprompted, I¡¯m sure.¡±


    A poisonous glare was turned on her.


    ¡°We cannot all earn precious stones from rats, I suppose,¡± Briceida smilingly replied. ¡°Whatever did you do for it, dear Beatris? I can only hope you weren¡¯t taken advantage of.¡±


    ¡°Going through my affairs again, I see,¡± Beatris coldly replied. ¡°And to think I am the one from the Murk.¡±


    Angharad cleared her throat, interrupting them before the bickering could get out of hand.


    ¡°A lovely needle indeed,¡± she said. ¡°Do you intend to use it with your hair, Briceida?¡±


    The maids sheathed their claws when the conversation turned, Brun offering her a grateful look for the intervention. The rest of the meal was spent on idle conversation, and before long they were on the march again. Tempting as it was to try to sneak another moment with Isabel in the dark, Angharad resisted the urge to try and walked with Song near the middle of their column instead. Before they could even begin to converse the entire company ground to a halt when Master Cozme let out a shout from the front.


    ¡°Everyone down,¡± the old soldier hissed. ¡°Boy, close the lantern.¡±


    The fear in his voice killed any hesitation there might have been at following the order: Angharad flattened herself against the bottom of the High Road while Brun, who had been in front with Cozme, closed the lantern¡¯s shutter. All Angharad glimpsed before lying down against the stone was a tall silhouette striding across the plains in the distance, some feathered creature. For what might have been the better part of an hour they stayed there, only Cozme raising his head over the edge to look, and finally the old soldier told them to get up after it was gone.


    ¡°What was that thing?¡± Remund Cerdan asked.


    ¡°A gravebird, my lord,¡± Cozme Aflor darkly replied. ¡°We do not want to ever draw one¡¯s attention.¡±


    All the Sacromontans looked shaken at the name, and Song as well, leaving Angharad the outsider. She had never heard of such a spirit. They resumed the journey in a strange mood, Augusto Cerdan¡¯s too-loud boasts to Isabel that he would have protected her from the lemure ringing unpleasantly. The elder brother was more careful with his words than the younger, but not so much as to be called careful without the comparison. Remembering what he had said about chopping blocks that very morning, Angharad flushed with embarrassment. The insult had not been implicit in the slightest, only not spoken to Song directly.


    ¡°I apologize for Lord Augusto¡¯s lack of manners this morning,¡± she quietly told the Tianxi. ¡°There was no call for him to imply you have such bloody intentions, no matter the politics of the Republics.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure no end of little nobles are tucked in at night to tales of Republicans coming to chop off their heads if they¡¯ve been bad,¡± Song amusedly said, ¡°but I assure you the stories are exaggerated. It is only in the southernmost three republics, the Sanxing, that nobles were all sent to the block.¡±


    Angharad started in surprise.


    ¡°I was taught that there are no nobles in Tianxia,¡± she slowly said. ¡°Was this wrong?¡±


    ¡°There are no titles, certainly,¡± Song replied. ¡°But the northern republics came late to the fold, and some less eagerly than others. Many nobles there were granted high positions in the bureaucracy after laying down their old rights. Their families remain rich and influential to this day.¡±


    ¡°That is not nobility,¡± Angharad told her, not unkindly. ¡°It is corruption.¡±


    For some reason the Tianxi looked very amused.


    ¡°They still have to take the examinations,¡± she said. ¡°Those unsuitable to serve are weeded out, worry not. It is a compromise only Yellow Earth purists take issue with.¡±


    These Angharad had heard of. Tianxi radicals hatching conspiracies all over Vesper, assassins and fomenters of rebellion. That the Republics might not endorse their actions but equally refused to denounce them was one of the reasons Tianxia was so often at war with its neighbours. The Pereduri often found it hard to reconcile how a people so sensible over other matters could be so senseless in this one.


    ¡°There is no need to look so troubled, Angharad,¡± Song teased. ¡°I only speak of this to make it plain that firebrand hatred is not common. I even studied the Malani classics, I¡¯ll have you know.¡±


    ¡°The Great Tales?¡± Angharad said, impressed. ¡°I must confess I have only read Ships of Morn and The Madness of King Issay.¡±


    It was tradition that written Umoya be learned through the Great Tales, even if the language was dated. She had despised it so much as a child that Father had only made her read the two most exciting of the tales, the ones full of battles and rebellions and gory ends. If Song had read all nine of the works, it was a worthy achievement.


    ¡°Were they translated into Antigua or Cathayan?¡± she asked.


    ¡°In the original Umoya,¡± Song replied flawlessly in that very language.


    ¡°How rare,¡± Angharad enthused in the same. ¡°I only ever learned Antigua and some Gwynt myself.¡±


    The ancient Pereduri language was considered uncouth to speak in Malani society, and only solely used by commoners deep in the duchy¡¯s countryside.


    ¡°I¡¯ve always wanted to learn Gwynt,¡± Song admitted. ¡°There are all these lovely-sounding songs from before Morn¡¯s Arrival that your people put to writing. My mother would not hear of it, though, kept me on Centzon and Samratrava.¡±


    The two most common tongues of, respectively, the Kingdom of Izcalli and the Imperial Someshwar. Angharad did not stare but it was a close thing.


    ¡°Song,¡± she delicately said, ¡°may I ask how many languages you do speak?¡±


    ¡°Seven fluently,¡± the Tianxi replied.


    ¡°Were you to be an interpreter, by any chance?¡± Angharad tried.


    The other womna¡¯s face turned serious.


    ¡°I had an unusual upbringing,¡± Song admitted. ¡°But we have strayed far enough from our thread, I would think. If you did not take to the Great Works, may I ask what you did enjoy?¡±


    The subject change was gentle, but no less firm for it. The noblewoman would not be so discourteous as to ignore it.


    ¡°I am fond of poetry,¡± Angharad said. ¡°Some Lierganen greats ¨C Ilaria and Alifonso in particular ¨C but firstly the Malani luminaries. Ybanathi is my favourite.¡±


    She only realized what she had said after it was too late to bite down on the words. Quietly mortified, Angharad snuck a sideways look at Song. Perhaps the Tianxi was unaware that the poetess Ybanathi was famous for her verses about her pining affections for women. Or that, in some circles, asking another woman if she had read Ybanathi was considered an indirect way to ask if she too had an interest in the fairer sex. Song smiled at her.


    ¡°Oh, I have never heard of Ybanathi before,¡± she said. ¡°What did she write?¡±


    ¡°Several books of poems,¡± Angharad vaguely replied. ¡°They defy easy description.¡±


    ¡°I must see to acquiring them after the trials, then,¡± the silver-eyed woman decided. ¡°Perhaps you can explain them to me.¡±


    The mortification piled on and still the Tianxi offered her that innocent smile, unknowingly twisting the knife. Although, Angharad thought as she narrowed her eyes, that smile might be a little too innocent.


    ¡°You are making sport of me,¡± she accused.


    ¡°Oh, distant firmament, break my back!¡± Song theatrically recited, hand over her heart. ¡°It would be kinder than your frown.¡±


    She had not thought to hear the Ode to Isore recited to her here, much less in perfect Umoya. It was more embarrassing than she might have dreamed of.


    ¡°This is most unwarranted,¡± Angharad plaintively said.


    ¡°I will spare you this once,¡± Song allowed. ¡°But only if you formally renounce the belief you might have ever been subtle about your preferences.¡±


    ¡°I hid nothing, but neither did I trumpet it about,¡± she protested.


    ¡°It might have been more akin to a drum,¡± Song conceded. ¡°Not at the forefront, yet effectively impossible to miss.¡±


    The obvious amusement on the other woman¡¯s face was contagious, for all that Angharad was being the figure of fun. It was meant with such an obvious lack of bile that her own lips could not help but twitch.


    ¡°I will have you know that-¡±


    ¡°Someone ahead,¡± Brun suddenly announced.


    The change that came over their company was instant: weapons were eye in the blink of an eye, Angharad¡¯s own saber leaving the sheath, and all eyes went forward as the infanzones let better fighters pass them. Only there was nothing but darkness ahead, even in the light of the lantern Cozme was now hoisting up.


    ¡°This is no laughing matter, boy,¡± Master Cozme harshly said. ¡°If you think-¡±


    I can sense the living, Brun had told her. People best, hollows and beasts with more difficulty.


    ¡°I believe him,¡± Angharad cut in, coming forward.


    She gently pressed aside Isabel, then brushed past Augusto to join the two at the front. Her eyes went to Brun, whose face was calm but eyes had grown cold. He was preparing for a fight.


    ¡°How many?¡± she asked him.


    ¡°Either one or two,¡± he murmured. ¡°Hollows, so it¡¯s hard to tell.¡±


    He leaned in closer.


    ¡°I cannot distinguish height,¡± Brun whispered in her ear. ¡°They could be below. Maybe four, five hundred feet ahead.¡±


    She grimaced, nodding her understanding. Cozme¡¯s eyes moved between the two of them, narrowed, and the man was not a fool. He no longer asked questions or doubted Brun¡¯s word, drawing his sword with the hand not already holding his pistol.


    ¡°Should we kill the lantern?¡± she asked him.


    He shook his head.


    ¡°No point, hollows see better than us in the dark,¡± Master Cozme said. ¡°Hard to take them by surprise. On a narrow road like this, our best bet is rushing in.¡±


    She nodded in agreement.


    ¡°Then we need a vanguard,¡± Angharad said. ¡°I volunteer.¡±


    The veteran smiled roguishly.


    ¡°As expected,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯ll go with you.¡±


    He glanced back.


    ¡°Pistols and muskets out,¡± Cozme Aflor ordered. ¡°Take a shot if you have a clear one, but otherwise hold your fire.¡±


    Tension thrummed across her skin when they moved to the front, limbering limbs. With Brun¡¯s help they might take the enemy by surprise, his contract peering ahead better than sight, but she would not bet on it. Lanterns could be seen from far away in an island without much light. She shared a nod with Cozme, then began moving. Long strides at first, then quickening into a run and rushing headfirst into as quickly as they could. Brun was holding the lantern behind them, casting is glow ahead, but Angharad still missed the signs. She thought it a curve in the stone until the dusty grey cloak nestled against the left edge of the aqueduct was thrown off, a tattooed pale man unloading his crossbow right at Cozme.


    She struck out in an arc sweeping upwards and-


    (Cozme ducked, the bolt tearing through his cheek, her strike was too early)


    -slowed her blow, catching the bolt¡¯s head and sending it skittering up while Cozme ducked with a shout. A heartbeat later he unloaded his pistol at the hollow as the man tried to get up, the ball hitting metal under a hair shirt and knocking the man back down. Angharad rushed forward, eyes sweeping the High Road for any trace of the second, but she found nothing. Only stone and - shit, Angharad thought, eyes straying to the side as she saw a slender silhouette running away in the plains below. They were near an arc in the aqueduct, the other darkling must have been hiding under it.


    ¡°Someone shoot-¡± she called out, only for a sharp crack to interrupt her.


    The back of the runner¡¯s head burst red, Song¡¯s impeccable aim claiming another life. Good, she fiercely thought. The coward would not be able to send for reinforcements. The hollow up on the aqueduct began to rise again but she was on him and smashed her boot into his chin, putting him down, then hacked at the hand bringing up a curved blade to slash at her. There was a scream of pain as her steel bit deep as bone, the hollow¡¯s sword clattering on the ground, and she laid a boot on his chest to keep him on the ground. Cozme was by her side a moment later, smashing the pommel of his sword in the hollow¡¯s face. The unsettlingly pale man, who she now saw was not tattooed but ritually scarred, fell in a daze.


    ¡°You want a prisoner?¡± Cozme asked.


    Angharad hesitated. There was no reason for the hollow to talk save if they promised to set him free, which she could not risk, or through torture, which she would not countenance. The matter was settled when a thrown hatchet sunk between the hollow¡¯s eyes with a whooping wet sound, right into the skull. Death was near instant, Brun sliding past her as she stood struck with surprise to wrench free his weapon. He met her stare head on.


    ¡°Too dangerous to live,¡± the fair-haired Sacromontan simply said.


    There was, though, something like satisfaction in his eyes. Had Isabel seen the truth of it, was the dark affecting him? Angharad studied the lay of his shoulders, how they seemed to loosen, and decided that not. He had been restless because darkness was not an enemy he could fight, but now that he¡¯d fought ¨C however short the fight ¨C he had bled out some of the unease. It sat ill with Angharad that the hollow had been killed without a weapon in hand, but this was a battle and not a duel. Honour had not been breached.


    ¡°You are not wrong,¡± she finally said, and that was the end of that.


    The rest of the company caught up and some few moments investigating found where the hollows had been camped. Up on the High Road there had been nothing but a waterskin ¨C gratefully added to their reserves ¨C under the large grey cloak, but below the arch was a pair of bedrolls and what looked like stripes of dried meat along a basket of black tomatoes. Song found how the hollow had climbed up, a knotted rope ending in hooks that had been hidden along the curve of the arch. Its existence led to heated debate, Brun and the Cerdan arguing someone should climb down and seize the supplies.


    ¡°There are two fresh corpses about and we are deep in the island,¡± Song flatly replied. ¡°Every breath we waste here is a danger.¡±


    Angharad found it distasteful to take from the dead, even though within certain bounds it was no taint on honour, so she was inclined to agree. As did Isabel, who wanted to leave this place as swiftly as possible. The argument might have gone on for longer had Beatris not suddenly let out a startled cry. Angharad reached for her blade again, following the maid¡¯s gaze, and found a slice of darkness blotting out distant stars.


    ¡°Harrowhawk,¡± Song shouted.


    It would take more than a blade to kill this, Angharad realized, for as the beat of great wings became deafening she saw that the descending shape was tall as three men. Master Cozme dropped the lantern, hurriedly cramming powder and shot down his pistol, and in that toppled trembling light the Pereduri saw a storm of oily feathers. Talons thicker than her legs tore into the hollow¡¯s corpse, ripping it apart like wet paper, and in eerie silence the spirit unfolded its wings. It is a man, Angharad thought incredulously. Within the black feathers lay a silhouette of tarnished gold, arms and legs outlined in golden wire as they led up to a helmeted head.


    But the arms thickened, twisted, turning into golden feathers where there should have been hands. The entire man shivered, and only then did she realize it was nothing but colour on feathers ¨C colours that seemed too deep to truly be that.


    Angharad only realized she had gone still, that all sound had fled her ears, when Brun barrelled into her.


    They both fell on the hard stone, the Sacromontan hastily getting out an apology as they rose to their feet. Behind them Song snapped off a shot right in the eyes of the golden helm, but though feathers gave the spirit cared not. While Angharad had been entranced Cozme had been thrown down, wounded in a way that left a black scar on his face, and Augusto was dragging him off while screaming as the top of his lungs. Why? The creature barely even moved, only watching them as it nonchalantly tore at the hollow¡¯s corpse.


    ¡°It¡¯s too old for lead,¡± Song cursed. ¡°We need to run.¡±


    From a spirit that could fly? It would be pointless. They could only fight. Breathing out, Angharad pushed down her fear and turned to face the golden frame. Distance would be hard to measure, with so little light, but it was not so different from shadow-fighting. She could do this, the Pereduri told herself, and rushed forward. Someone behind shouted her name, but she could not find it in herself to care. It felt¡­ distant.


    ¡°YOU ARE HOME.¡±


    ¡°Mother?¡± she whispered, stumbling forward.


    ¡°YES. COME TO ME. YOU ARE HOME.¡±


    Had it, had it all been a dream? The fire and the screams and the people hounding her to the ends of the earth. She took a step forward, back slick with sweat.


    ¡°YOU ARE SAFE,¡± Mother sang to her. ¡°YOU ARE HOME. YOU ARE MINE.¡±


    She could feel the warmth of the hearth, her mother¡¯s embrace. Only even as took another step, she felt it slip through her fingers. The warmth was leaving, cold running through her veins. The coolness of water in the dark, in a deep place that only silence knew. And a voice spoke through her, though it was not a voice: it was the tide eating away the cliffside, the cry of gulls picking at corpses, the sound of men kneeling. It was the patient crawl of the inexorable.


    ¡°Know your place,¡± the Fisher chided.


    Angharad came back to herself as the golden stingers that¡¯d been closing around her face like grotesque fingers tore away, the spirit screeching in pain as it tried to cover its head with its wings. She hacked at the body, blade sliding into the feathers as if they were made of oil, and withdrew her dripping saber with a shiver of disgust. There was nothing she could do, she realized, and so she fled. Whatever it was her patron had done to the spirit, it was soon gone and she¡¯d barely taken three steps before its wings unfolded again.


    ¡°Briceida,¡± Isabel said in a trembling voice. ¡°Do it.¡±


    ¡°My lady-¡±


    ¡°Do it.¡±


    And Angharad saw as the redheaded maid took a step forward, ashen-faced and turned her eyes on the spirit looming over them all.


    She clapped her hands.


    The terrifying ring of it threw the noblewoman down against the stone, as if a ship had smashed into a cliff right above her head. Her cheek against the aqueduct, dirt and blood in her mouth, Angharad crawled forward. Behind her, the spirit ¨C the harrowhawk ¨C was rippling like a pond in the wind. All save for the silhouette of gold painted on its feathers.


    ¡°Again,¡± Isabel commanded, tone grown firmer.


    Briceida clapped her hands and wind blew against Angharad¡¯s braids, the spirit screeching behind her. The Pereduri rose to her feet and out of the way, Brun helping her up. She turned just in time to see the harrowhawk rip in two the hollow¡¯s corpse, screeching in hatred at them, but flinching away when the redheaded maid drew back her hands. A least scream of hate and the spirit leapt off the edge of the aqueduct, great wings spreading, and fled into the night.


    ¡°Are you all right?¡± Brun gently asked her.


    ¡°Fine,¡± she got out. ¡°I was¡­ protected.¡±


    She could no longer feel the Fisher¡¯s presence. The old spirit would have let her die, she knew, if it had been claws or fang that were to take her. But the harrowhawk had tried to take her soul, and that the Fisher had not been willing to countenance.


    He had a claim to it, until their bargain was done.


    ¡°And a good thing that you were,¡± Song bit out, looking her over from head to toe like a fretting mother. ¡°Harrowhawks eat the souls they take, Angahrad, but slowly. It is decades of screaming torment.¡±


    ¡°Then I must give Briceida my thanks twice over,¡± she replied, turning to find the handmaid.


    She was currently kneeling on the floor, Isabel standing over her and soothing her back as the redhead desperately ate what looked like a white powdery tablet. Aside from Cozme¡¯s face wound and the way Augusto Cerdan was cradling his left arm, their company seemed to have made it out unharmed. They would not have, Angharad thought, had the creature been more interested in eating their bodies than their souls. Pushing down the grim thought, she returned her gaze to the strange spectacle of Briceida.


    ¡°A Sacromontan remedy?¡± she ventured.


    Lierganen medicine still hewed too close to the practices of the Second Empire, all knew, and so their doctors were hardly better than the plague.


    ¡°No,¡± Brun quietly replied, eyes hooded. ¡°That¡¯s chalk. Tablets of chalk.¡±


    His parents had been miners, Angharad recalled. None of them further commented on Briceida crunching down on an entire tablet the length long as the beginning of the noblewoman¡¯s wrist to the tip of her fingers. If it was not medicine then it was a contract¡¯s price, and not something to be discussed when the handmaid had just saved all their lives. The redhead was half-weeping, Isabel gently holding her as she finished the last of the chalk and began retching.


    ¡°Another,¡± Briceida rasped. ¡°Fuck, he wants another.¡±


    She was noisily sick a heartbeat later and they all looked away. In the songs, in the stories, spirits asked beautiful things of those they made bargains with: a song of true love, the beat of a butterfly¡¯s wings, a blade quenched in devil¡¯s blood. But those were songs, and truth was not so pretty. Sometimes spirits wanted baser things as payment, like the sensation of a woman eating chalk no matter what the eating did to her body. At Brun¡¯s quiet suggestion they spent went to pull up the rope the hollows had used to climb the aqueduct. After the harrowhawk¡¯s visit, there was no more talk of lingering there: it might yet come back, or a more dangerous spirit grow curious of the racket.


    Briceida had to eat most of a second tablet, but that one at least she kept down. They moved out the moment she could stand, Angharad putting away the rope in her bag without a word.


    They fled forward into the dark, only a shivering lantern light guiding them.

 Chapter 15

    It had already been a difficult day, so naturally it began raining.


    Only a patter at first, nothing like the sheets of icy water Peredur¡¯s coasts enjoyed springing on its dwellers, but it grew. Within an hour they could hardly see in front of the even with the lantern, stumbling along carefully. Master Cozme pointed out a silver lining, that few lemures could fly in such weather and none could follow a scent through it, but wet feet spoke louder than his optimism. It did not stop there: Angharad had near forgot that the High Road was an aqueduct, after using it for a highway so long, but now she was up to her ankles in the reminder. The rain had filled the aqueduct¡¯s body up to their ankles and were it not so rich with broken edges the water would have run even higher.


    Between wading against the current on now treacherous footing, all of them being soaked to the bone through their clothes and the wind beginning to hurl itself at them from the east ¨C cold, it felt as if none of them were wearing coats ¨C the mood took a grim turn.


    It did not help that not all were recovered from the encounter with the harrowhawk. Angharad was yet dazed, prone to staring out into the storm, and though Cozme had cleaned out the wound he¡¯d taken on his face the flesh was still dark. They were both better off than Augusto Cerdan, whose left arm was broken, and better still than poor Briceida. The handmaid had been sick since eating her chalk tablets, enough that the wind and rain slowed her advance to a crawl. Brun was helping her keep pace, but the two were at the back of the company and certain to stay there. Angharad made sure to pull back and stay with them a span whenever they trailed behind too much.


    She caught an irritated expression on Brun¡¯s face once or twice, but she would tell him later no insult was meant to his efforts. It was only that if they lost the pair in the storm, there was no telling when the two would be able to catch up. Better to slow their entire company than to risk it.


    They all felt the change in the current around two hours before dinner, the way it was now pulling forward instead of back. It was good news, Angharad was informed as a few of them pulled close together and shouted over the rainstorm¡¯s din to understand each other. It meant they were close to a break in the aqueduct, one they had planned to reach hours ago. They had passed the great river without even realizing and by now they must be surrounded by woods. If they pushed on after dinner time, they ought to reach the end of the High Road today. Since no one was eager to sleep in a river, Angharad the notion was agreed on.


    The first break in the High Road was subtle enough Beatris almost walked off the edge.


    She was pulled back shrieking by Remund Cerdan, who promptly shouted for a halt. It was only a break of about five feet, though unnaturally neat: as if some giant¡¯s sharp sword had sliced through the aqueduct. If not for the weather they might have been expected to make the jump, but as things stood Remund was prevailed upon to use his contract. First a ring for them to step on, halfway, then another above and to the side of it for them to hold on to.


    ¡°Some of you have gloves,¡± Song shouted into the rain. ¡°They should be shared with whoever crosses.¡±


    Not even the Cerdan brothers tried to argue that holding a cloth to the rings of light would be enough in such weather. Good. Angharad had not been looking forward to again pulling her sleeves forward and grasping the light through them: if she slipped even a little, she would be holding the burning radiance. She was the third to cross, using Isabel¡¯s gloves and passing them back to a leaning Brun, and once across with her pack she followed Cozme to the edge to share in his grimace. The small break had only been the first, leading onto an elevated island ten feet long. The real precipice lay ahead: almost forty feet of mostly missing aqueduct, with some arches still standing but no funnel over them.


    ¡°It may be too dangerous to cross,¡± Master Cozme yelled.


    The man passed a hand through his drenched hair, clearly regretting the loss of his hat. Angharad sympathized: with how much rain her braids had taken, it felt like someone had hung a waterskin against the back of her head.


    ¡°We cannot camp here,¡± Angharad shouted back. ¡°There¡¯s no other way.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯ll need to be carried after,¡± Cozme told her. ¡°The contract is hard on his body.¡±


    ¡°Then we will carry him,¡± the Pereduri insisted.


    There was no arguing with the needs of the moment, so before long Remund Cerdan set to tracing his rings of light across the gap. It was a thing surreal, almost out of a play, to see the man hanging in the air in the middle of a storm with only slices of light to stand on, making a foothold and handhold every time. Had Angharad not been able to glimpse the clear terror on the younger Cerdan¡¯s face, she might have thought him a spirit. Lord Remund slowed near the end, his limbs grown stiff, and only narrowly made it to the other side. He collapsed the moment he reached there, though to everyone¡¯s relief the rings stayed. Not knowing how long that would be the case, they set to crossing in a hurry.


    It was one of the most thoroughly unpleasant experiences in Angharad¡¯s life.


    The rain somehow made the solid light slippery, and with the wind whipping it in her face she could barely see the rings ahead of her. Twice she had to hold on for dear life to one of the ¡®handhold¡¯ rings as her boots slipped, fear icily seizing her limbs, and when she threw herself at the end of the road her angle was off: she fell and bruised her knees against the aqueduct¡¯s bottom, cold water running down from her collarbones to her belly. It was a good thing she carried no blackpowder, for it would surely have been ruined. As the fourth to cross Angharad found that others had already helped Remund to sit up but also that he was no better for it.


    Though he stayed out of the lantern¡¯s light, all the skin she glimpsed had turned pale as ivory and she hardly saw him move save for breathing. The infanzon was half a statue already and there were still others yet to cross. Stomach in knots at the though of what might happen to him and the others both, Angharad stalked around the end of the ring road with nervous impatience. They had a stroke of luck when the storm began to calm, the rain growing sparser, but it would only get them so far. By the time the last of them began the crossing, Remund could only moved with a shallow breath. Not even to blink. Augusto was the last to cross, and in a way he was lucky.


    The storm was near dead by now, the rain barely more than a patter and the wind more of a breeze. The Cerdan made better time than any of them all the way across ¨C lights winking out behind him ¨C as he made haste. On the last foothold he threw them all a cocky grin, his only good hand releasing the handhold ring before he leapt.


    The wind picked up halfway through.


    Angharad was standing close, still stalking about, so she saw the horror writ plain on his face. His jump fell short, brushed aside, and he hit the edge of the aqueduct with his belly. Hands scrabbled against wet, smooth stone while water flowed into his face ¨C screams of surprise of dismay sounded behind her, but Angharad was already moving. She caught his arm as it slid back, clothes ripping but her fingers tightened around his wrist and she held tight with gritted teeth. She was kneeling in the water and, Sleeping God, she could feel her boots slip.


    ¡°Help her,¡± Isabel shouted.


    Cozme was there a moment later, pulling at Augusto¡¯s shoulder, and between the two of them they hoisted him over the edge. Augusto crawled through the wet, eyes wild and limbs shaking as he fled the edge of the aqueduct.


    ¡°Gods,¡± the infanzon croaked. ¡°Gods.¡±


    Catching her breath, Angharad knelt by his side and closed her eyes. Her heart was beating as wildly as his must. She might have stayed there a while, rain flowing down her face, had the infanzon not tugged at her sleeve.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Augusto Cerdan said. ¡°Lady Tredegar. I did not think you would¡­¡±


    ¡°We are under truce,¡± Angharad said. ¡°Your safety is yet my concern.¡±


    It was not the reason she had moved. In the moment, she had only seen a man about to die. Honor¡¯s laws had only caught up to her hands after the deed. The dark-haired noble swallowed, nodding, and looked torn.


    ¡°The rings only support the weight of one man,¡± he said, tone somewhere between a plea and a concession. ¡°There was no other way for us to live. The knife, it was a mercy. Better that than to be eaten alive.¡±


    Her face hardened.


    ¡°Then we should have died,¡± Angharad flatly replied. ¡°There are some lines good men do not cross.¡±


    His cheeks were already red from the cold, but anger reddened them yet more.


    ¡°I should have known better,¡± Augusto Cerdan spat out. ¡°Go on, then, Tredegar. Honour has been satisfied, you need not keep my company any longer.¡±


    It sounded fine by her, so she stiffly took her leave. Even after that close call their company agreed to press on, for now that the storm was weak they were certain to be able to descend from the High Road that night. The original plan, Angharad learned, had been for their company to camp up on the aqueduct for safety and then descend the following morning ¨C that method would also allow Remund, who was still unmoving as marble, to rest before using his contract again. Instead they would be using the rope taken from the hollows that Angharad was carrying so they might find shelter down in the woods away from the water. It would take hours, after all, for the aqueduct to empty even after rain ceased. None of them wanted to sleep in a filthy riverbed.


    It was almost a surprise that the last leg of the journey was so uneventful, the only imposition that Remund Cerdan had to be carried by two of them at all times. He was, she noticed much heavier than a man his size should be. Angharad was careful never to touch any of that too-pale skin when it was her turn to bear the weight, afraid of what it might spread. By the time they reached the end of the High Road, or at least the part they intended to use ¨C its silhouette resumed half a mile ahead, leading into the mountains - Remund was capable of hobbling forward. It only took one of them to help him keep up, much like Briceida.


    Getting down from the aqueduct was more tedious than dangerous. Remund and Briceida were lowered tied with the rope instead of climbing down, which took most of the rest of their company to do safely, and after that down went their last supplies. They were all soaked, exhausted and irritable but by the end of it they were finally back on solid ground.


    Around them were deep woods, tall trees whose branches obscured much of the sky, but the way forward was plain: they were near the bottom of a hill and going north up the slope would lead them to the mountains where the second trial awaited. There would be a need to march eastwards for a few hours, as the High Road was on the western half of the Dominion, but they should be well past the hollows and the most dangerous lemures. They still set a watch after finding a tall tree to hide under, settling in for the night and hoping their clothes would dry some before they had to march again.


    Exhaustion saw to it that Angharad fell into a mercifully dreamless sleep.


    --


    The clothes were only half-dry, so they all stank like dogs when they set out the following morning.


    The slope was muddy and slippery, covered by a thick carpet of dead leaves, but there could be no mistaking the way they needed to go. Up the hills they went, through trees and great ferns and fields of pale blue wildflowers. When the mud turned to rock Angharad knew they were close, and barely an hour after that they were looking up at the towering heights of the mountains at the heart of the Dominion of Lost Things.


    ¡°We are a little further north than I would prefer,¡± Song told them, consulting her map, ¡°but following the mountains east will get us most of the way there. We will have to go around crags to find the road to the sanctuary, but I expect we will reach the end of our journey a little past midday.¡±


    The Tianxi¡¯s prediction ended up somewhat off, as they discovered two hours in that a landslide had cut their path east. They decided against risking to cross it when they found some great boulders balancing precariously further up, instead dipping back south into the woods and then resuming going east. Their pace was slower in the forest, noticeably so, and by the time they stopped for lunch they were barely halfway through the journey. Before long, at least, they finally found the crags that Song had mentioned: three massive rocks with flat tops, forming a broad half-circle appended to the mountainside.


    ¡°The road we must take passes behind them,¡± Song said, ¡°and then rides the edge of the one closest to the mountains to lead up to the sanctuary¡¯s entrance.¡±


    ¡°Would it not be possible to go through them instead?¡± Master Cozme asked. ¡°Surely there are paths we could use.¡±


    ¡°There are, but I was advised against doing this,¡± the Tianxi replied. ¡°Landslides are apparently common, especially after rain.¡±


    ¡°It is an unnecessary risk,¡± Isabel opined. ¡°Let us take the longer way.¡±


    Most agreed with her, including Angharad. They had barely begun circling the crags when Brun breathed in sharply. He turned to catch her eye and she drifted close, but Remund Cerdan ¨C now recovered, unlike poor Briceida who was still lagging behind despite being able to walk on her own ¨C raised a hand at them.


    ¡°None of that,¡± the infanzon said. ¡°If your contract had told you something, share it with all our company and not only our dear Lady Tredegar.¡±


    Angharad grimaced but nodded when Brun¡¯s turned a questioning gaze her way. The cat was out of the bag: Master Cozme had noticed the hint of a contract before their fight with the hollows, and evidently passed on his suspicions to his lords.


    ¡°There are people to our west,¡± Brun said. ¡°Hollows, I think. At least ten of them.¡±


    The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    They had just come from the west, moving eastwards, so their company was either being followed or about to be: most of them were poor woodsmen, any half-decent tracker would be able to find traces of their passage.


    ¡°Are they following us?¡± Augusto Cerdan bluntly asked.


    ¡°Too early to tell,¡± Brun shrugged, ¡°but they are coming our way.¡±


    ¡°Then we must hurry,¡± Angharad said. ¡°The last thing we need is a fight.¡±


    She did not fear testing her blade against darklings, but their company was wounded and exhausted. Mistakes were certain to be made. They picked up the pace, no longer even half-heartedly attempting not to leave a trail, and after half an hour Brun told them the hollows had been left behind. The news cheered them all, until another quarter hour passed and he told them that another group of hollows was coming from the west.


    They were, it seemed, being hunted.


    ¡°If we head south we might be able to circle around the western warband,¡± Isabel suggested.


    ¡°That is exactly what they want, my lady,¡± Cozme Aflor shook his head. ¡°They are not going for the kill at the moment, only pushing us firther away from the sanctuary so they might hunt us at their leisure.¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t know how well they can track us,¡± Remund noted. ¡°Isabel¡¯s idea might well be feasible.¡±


    Angharad shook her head.


    ¡°This is too much for coincidence,¡± she said. ¡°How would they have known to watch near the High Road? It smacks of Gloam sorcery or a tracking contract.¡±


    The latter were not so rare: she had been hunted through the streets of Sacromonte by what she suspected to be exactly such a thing. The darklings of the Dominion were a cult worshipping some ancient spirit, it was only to be expected that some among them would have won contracts off this ¡®Red Eye¡¯.


    ¡°She is right,¡± Master Cozme grunted. ¡°It¡¯s too close a hunt for how clever we have been. There is only one way: we need to try the crags.¡±


    No one was eager, given the dangers Song had spoken of, but at least the landslides would not be purposefully hunting them.


    ¡°I saw what looked like a trail going up,¡± Brun told them.  ¡°About half a mile back.¡±


    ¡°I saw it as well,¡± Song agreed. ¡°It seems our best chance if we are to move quickly enough to slip the noose.¡±


    It felt like wasted time to go back the way they¡¯d just come, but Angharad kept silent. It was the wisest course. The trail the pair had spoken of was more of ravine just large enough for someone to squeeze through, leading towards what the lantern revealed to be an outcropping low enough to be climbable. For lack of better choices they went through, stone scraping at their sides. It was half an hour of occasionally painful squeezing and climbing ¨C Briceida was finally feeling better, no longer slowing them down so much ¨C until they reached a broader path.


    It was another ravine inside the crag, this one about two people wide. Angharad suspected it must have been worn into existence by rain over decades, for it was narrow at the top and wider at the bottom. The ground had dried since last night, fortunately, and the footing was smooth. The occasional falling rock was a small price to pay for the good time they made but goods news, as ever, were followed with bad.


    ¡°We are being followed,¡± Brun told them, voice echoing against the stone. ¡°They are taking the same path we did.¡±


    And gaining on them, he did not need to say. They hurried but the hollows stayed on their heels and the situation was untenable. It was Augusto that offered a solution.


    ¡°Look at the edges on either side,¡± he said, pointing up.


    Rocks was what they found, but Angharad immediately grasped what he was leading at. Their ravine, carved by water, was thinner at the top. The cliffside over them was being eaten away at by erosion, grown unstable. With the right nudge, it could collapse.


    ¡°We do not have enough powder to blow it up,¡± Angharad told him.


    Not even if they used every powder box and pouch they had with them.


    ¡°No,¡± Augusto agreed, ¡°but there is another method at hand.¡±


    He turned to Briceida, face stern, and the handmaid flinched. The Pereduri wanted to chide the infanzon for demanding such a thing of her when only yesterday she had saved all their lives, but she bit her tongue. It would work, she was sure of it. The ravine echoed slightly when they spoke, the oppressive noise that the redhead¡¯s contract made was certain to have great effect. And as she had said, they did not have enough powder to use instead. So instead Angharad steeled her heart and stepped forward.


    ¡°If you are too sick to walk afterwards, Briceida, I will carry you myself.¡±


    The other woman flinched again, and Angharad bit the inside of her cheek in shame. Isabel laid a hand on her handmaid¡¯s arm and gently smiled.


    ¡°You know I would not ask it of you if our lives were not on the line, my dear,¡± the infanzona said. ¡°But they are, yours among them.¡±


    Briceida reluctantly nodded, then turned to address Angharad.


    ¡°I will surely have need of your aid, my lady, so I must take you at your word,¡± she said.


    ¡°As it should be,¡± the Pereduri simply replied.


    They waited longer before doing it, choosing a fitting place for the deed. Further ahead they found a place where the ravine narrowed to a single man¡¯s width and the slope rose quickly ahead, which was most suitable. Angharad was tense all throughout, but after Briceida clapped her hands only a few chunks of stone fell over their heads ¨C and their group scattered in time. The redhead had directed the sound skillfully, and past them the damage was impressive. After the initial avalanche, a heartbeat passed and there was a massive crack. An entire chunk of the cliff began sliding down, a stone larger than two horses, while all along the ravine smaller rocks fell in a thundering rain.


    Briceida bit through another tablet of chalk and was noisily sick afterwards, barely able to stand, so Angharad had her climb on her back and hold tight. They did not wait until the dust had settled to begin their flight.


    It was another hour of narrow ravines and waterless waterfalls before they found a way out, which to their pleasant surprise was atop the middle crag of the three. They rose to the stars above their heads and a spread of thin grass atop the stone, woods beginning ahead. That stripe of forest seemed to lead all the way to where the first crag touched the mountains, from what they could make out. There Song said that the road to the sanctuary and the shrines began. Though it had been a dangerous affair, in the end they had shaven a few hours off their journey by risking the crags. The mood lifted at the news, even Briceida managing a smile, and they resumed their march.


    When they were a dozen feet away from the forests¡¯ edge, Brun suddenly went still.


    Angharad was learning to hate the sight of that.


    ¡°Hollows,¡± he said. ¡°Dozens of them, waiting in ambush.¡±


    Master Cozme loudly cursed. Angharad wished manners allowed her to do the same, for she fully shared the sentiment. The cult of the Red Eye had been one step ahead of them again.


    ¡°How far ahead?¡± Song asked.


    ¡°Hard to tell,¡± Brun admitted. ¡°There¡¯s something off about the warband, like it is not truly there. I think the Gloam might be clouding my contract.¡±


    ¡°So it could be false, an illusion?¡± Augusto Cerdan pressed.


    ¡°Wishful thinking,¡± Angharad cut in. ¡°We must treat them as real.¡±


    The ensuing argument was quiet but heated, their company eventually owning up to the truth that there was no way out but through. Going eastwards on the other crag had no guarantee to yield a path down, and even if it did there was no guarantee the hollows would not follow them there ¨C or even wait at the end of the path, at the bottom of the climb towards sanctuary. The trouble was that not all of their group was fit to fight, or even run for long, so a ruse need be employed.


    ¡°One group to draw attention, another to sneak through,¡± Master Cozme suggested.


    It was a plain strategy, but they were not well-oiled enough a crew to attempt anything complicated anyhow. Simply putting all the fighters in the distraction group was a recipe for slaughter if the other group was caught, so the division was not so clean. Isabel, Briceida ¨C helped to walk by Beatris - Song and Augusto would be the crew meant to sneak around. Cozme, Angharad, Brun and Remund were to draw the enemy into a running fight. With Brun¡¯s contract they should have the advantage of surprise, allowing them to strike first and true before running past the enemy.


    The ensuing chase and confusion would allow the others to get past the enemy, or such was the hope.


    Much as Angharad might have wished otherwise, there was no time for long goodbyes. The longer they waited to move the greater the risk the ambushing cultists would tire of waiting and try to catch them out in the open instead. She squeezed Isabel¡¯s hands tenderly when the infanzona came to kiss her cheeks, then shook Song¡¯s hand. The last three received a nod, friendlier for some than others, and she set out into the woods behind Master Cozme. With Brun serving as their eyes, they chose their angle of approach ¨C along the eastern ridge of the crag, flanking the hollows ¨C and slowly advanced, careful not to make any noise.


    For nearly half an hour they moved as silently as they could, nerves rising, until they were in place. Angharad could see most of the warband from behind the bush she used a hiding place, maybe twenty darklings mostly bearing spears and swords. There were a pair of crossbowmen as well, standing near an old hollow in robes. A priest of some kind? The old one, who the others seemed to defer to, was talking to people who she could not see ¨C the sight was blocked by a fallen tree ¨C in what sounded like Antigua. The cultists wore padded cloth as armour, save for a few elites, but were all fighting fit and many scarred from war.


    ¡°Careful with the crossbowmen,¡± Cozme murmured. ¡°Try to keep trees in the way and kill warriors wearing padding first. The armoured will tire first when chasing.¡±


    They shared nods, fists tightening around their weapons, and took the deep breath before the plunge.


    Then the Sleeping God turned in his slumber, undoing all their plans.


    It happened in moments: a band of half a dozen warriors, most armored with breastplates or mail, were talking with someone up a tree and the answer they got had them laughing. They spread out, slapping or jostling a few of the other warriors, and in moments they were all up. Heading southwest, where the other group should be beginning to move. Cozme swallowed a curse and they all hesitated. Their only chance against such numbers had been surprise but now the warriors were up and alert. It would be a slaughter and not one in their favour. Yet they could not abandon the others, Angharad would not allow it.


    ¡°We hit them from behind when they begin to attack,¡± she murmured.


    Augusto nodded in approval, then Cozme. Brun grimaced then agreed as well. They set out, slowly, and that was when Angharad saw her: that Asphodel noble from the Bluebell, the one with the acne scars. She had just leapt down from the tree, joining another. One by one Angharad saw them. Leander Galatas, still without his arm but no longer looking so gaunt. The large Aztlan called Ocotlan, his hammer hefted over his shoulder. And last of all the leader of their pack of jackals, Tupoc Xical himself. He asked something of the Asphodelian woman, Lady Acanthe, and she pointed to the southwest.


    The hollows followed her directions without a single voice speaking otherwise.


    ¡°Tracker,¡± Angharad said through gritted teeth.


    But one who could not find their group. Their enemies would pay for that. Creeping behind the warband, who were so certain of the Asphodelian¡¯s contract did not bother with a proper rearguard, they waited until they could see the hollows spreading out for an ambush. When Song carefully slipped out from behind the shadow of a tree, eyes scanning the woods, the warriors at the fore raised their spears and finally Master Cozme signalled for their group to attack. They burst out of the brush, none of them announcing their arrival with war cries, and just as Song¡¯s eyes widened at the sight of them Cozme Aflor shot the first hollow from behind.


    Madness seized them all.


    Angharad felt a crossbow bolt whiz past her head as she hewed open a man¡¯s head, slapping aside another¡¯s spear and plunging her blade through his open mouth. She ripped it clear, teeth flying and saw that powder smoke was obscuring the melee. She glimpsed Ocotlan kicking down Remund Cerdan, only to be driven back by Cozme, and then through the drifting smoke she saw Song being surrounded by hollows. Angharad rushed there, ducking under someone¡¯s blind strike in the smoke and cutting at what felt like cloth. Song was cornered, having cut a hollow with her blade but now being stuck holding back another¡¯s blade, so Angharad struck with worried fury.


    They were fighters, these darklings, but their training was lacking.


    She let the first overcommit to her lunge, tripped her as she stepped back and slit her throat on the way down. The hollow behind her screamed, attacking in rage with a two-handed sword, but he was slow. Strength only mattered if it could reach you. She plunged the point of her saber in his throat, wrenching it out and stepping to the side so he might die finishing to strike at air. The third hit Song¡¯s knee, forcing her down with a pained grunt as the sword she was holing back dipped towards her throat, so Angharad clicked her tongue and pivoted to adjust her angle to eviscerate the fourth hollow.


    The silver-eyed Tianxi let out a snarl of triumph, pushing up and punching the last hollow in the throat before running him through. Angharad began to check her for wounds, then had to duck behind a tree when she heard the whistle of an arrow. Song followed her there.


    ¡°We need to run,¡± the Tianxi said. ¡°Grab everyone we can and flee.¡±


    Angharad nodded.


    ¡°Briceida first,¡± she said. ¡°She will need help.¡±


    Song nodded and the two burst from cover, Angharad avoiding the spear-point of some fat darkling in mail and kicking him in the stomach. Briceida was only a dozen feet away from them and she had been struck down, but she was not dead: instead a hollow had blackened her eyes and was now standing over her half-conscious form. They want prisoners, Angharad realized with horror. She fell upon the hollow that stood over the redheaded maid, but before she could do more than bat aside his sword she heard movement behind her. She smoothly pivoted and struck at torso height, but Tupoc took the blow with the side of his metal segmented spear. He then whipped at her belly with the bottom of the haft, forcing her to backpedal. Behind them Song clashed blades with the hollow, covering Angharad¡¯s back.


    The Aztlan, she realized, was humming some kind of song. Something light and cheerful, as if this were a festival instead of a battlefield.


    ¡°You will die for this,¡± Angharad swore.


    ¡°I admire your confidence,¡± Tupoc told her.


    Worse, he sounded like he meant it. She went after him furiously, but he was not like the cultist: whoever had trained him, they had done a good work of it. He never stopped moving, forcing her to circle and weave by constantly changing the distance: he used his spear as much as a quarterstaff as thrusting weapon. Song finished her opponent and woke Briceida, but the redhead could barely move even when helped up. Worse, they¡¯d drawn attention. More were coming and when a crossbow bolt hit the tree an inch away from her head Song drew back.


    ¡°Run,¡± the Tianxi said. ¡°The others are, it is lost-¡±


    Angharad snarled, catching a blow from the side of Tupoc¡¯s spear and then using her favorite flatfoot trick ¨C half a step back, let it slide down the length and pivot as you hit out with the pommel. Her saber¡¯s pommel caught the Aztlan in the jaw, her first solid hit, and he rocked back. Bloodied, at last. The Pereduri moved towards Briceida but there was already a cultist on the redhead, grabbing her by the hair, and she was tossed down on the floor. Angharad struck at the man¡¯s back furiously, but it was not enough.


    ¡°No,¡± redhead wept. ¡°No, you won¡¯t take me.¡±


    The world breathed in, and then Briceida let out a scream like the clap of thunder.


    Ringing silence filled her ears and something blew Angharad off her feet. She fell against a tree, knocking her shoulder badly. Her vision swam as she gasped, trying to rise, only to feel someone dragging her up. Sound began to return, but dimmed.


    ¡°Quick,¡± Isabel hissed. ¡°Hurry, while they are confused.¡±


    Angharad stumbled forward as best she could, half-blind. Two hands steadied her, Isabel on one side and Master Cozme the other. But they were not alone: Remund was with them, face bruised and lips bloodied. Behind them shouts began, the hollows beginning to recover from Briceida¡¯s scream.


    ¡°The others,¡± Angharad mumbled.


    ¡°They ran also,¡± Remund said. ¡°The hollows did not come to kill: they wanted sacrificed, an only took one.¡±


    The pride in his voice sickened her. Briceida, oh Sleeping God. She was still alive, and now the cultists had her. But what could Angharad to, save continuing to run? The daze was passing, but she was no match for the warband now pursuing them. All she could do was run like a coward with the rest of their company. Only it could not be so easy. How long they ran in the dark Angharad was not sure, but eventually they stopped: the rest were ahead of them, hiding behind a tall stone, and Song gestured fervently for them to stop. Angharad fell against a tree, hearing Master Cozme peek around and breathe in sharply.


    ¡°There¡¯s a clearing ahead,¡± he said. ¡°And a pair of watchers. If we don¡¯t kill them before they scream for the others we are all dead.¡±


    ¡°Where are we?¡± Angharad murmured.


    ¡°Near the edge of the crag,¡± Isabel replied just as quietly. ¡°If we get past them, running northeast will be a straight line to the sanctuary road. We need only-¡±


    She was interrupted by a shout behind them. The Pereduri tensed for half a heartbeat before realizing they had not been seen. Not yet. But the cultists they had left behind had found their trail, were catching up to them. If they did not move soon, then they were just as dead as in Cozme¡¯s prediction.


    ¡°We¡¯ll have to shoot them,¡± Angharad said. ¡°All we can do is run.¡±


    ¡°Agreed,¡± Master Cozme grunted, though he did not sound happy about it.


    Neither was she. The sound would draw the other cultists to them. The older man was already pouring powder down his pistol¡¯s muzzle, peeking out past the tree trunk to gauge the distance to the pair of watchers. The best shot of their company was Song, so Angharad half-rose to try and catch her attention. Between she and Cozme, their odds were good of killing both watchers in one volley. Only when Angharad turned her gaze there, it was another who had a gun in hand: Augusto, his sole good arm steady and his face cold, aimed his pistol. Only it was not at the hollows. Behind him Brun turned, surprise on his face, but he was too late.


    Augusto Cerdan met Angharad¡¯s eyes and pulled the trigger.

 Chapter 16

    Angharad flinched, but she did not die.


    No, the ball hit the tree about a foot to the right of her head. Bark went flying and a heartbeat later both cultists keeping watch turned her way - she felt Cozme going still as he was caught leaning out of cover.


    The cultists shouted, and just like that the traitor had killed them.


    There should have been a burst of movement, of surprise and fear and hatred, but instead Angharad breathed deep. The urgency bled out of her, slowly but surely, as a great silence spread. Stillness hung in the air, like the world had been seized by the throat.


    The fishing line struck the scene before her and the impact rippled out, as if writ on water.


    Angharad Tredegar stood stranded on an island¡¯s shore, stones digging into the soles of her boots. She looked down at herself, seeing on the water the moment where time had gone still: at once she knew she still stood there, in that other place, but also that so long as she stood on this forlorn shore it was nothing but a reflection on shadowy waters. The ripples calmed, showing again the crystallized act of Augusto Cerdan¡¯s betrayal in perfect detail.  Without turning or daring to move an inch, Angharad knew that there was something besides her. An entity great and terrible, so much that her mind trembled at the very thought of beholding it.


    The Fisher¡¯s steady breath was as a gust of wind, the spirit patiently fishing in the moment-become-water.


    ¡°He betrayed me,¡± Angharad finally said. ¡°I knew he would, but to think he would go so far? Master Cozme and his brother, even Isabel.¡±


    She ground her teeth, seething with impotent anger.


    ¡°He is a man without honour,¡± she bit out.


    Above them there was only darkness, as if they stood under an eternity of nothing, but Angharad somehow knew there was a ceiling. This was a cavern, resounding with the quiet echo of water lapping at the shore of the island within it. Where the spirit she had struck a pact with still waited, his patience as absolute a truth as the coming of the tide.


    ¡°Honour,¡± the Fisher said, slowly speaking the word as if feeling it out.


    The fishing line struck at water, ripples turning the moment into a confusion of colour and lines, and the spirit hummed.


    ¡°A worthless thing.¡±


    She rocked back as if he¡¯d struck her across the face. Anger and surprise fought fear for the barest of heartbeats, long enough she looked at the spirit. A hulking shape towering above her, more fortress than man, and in the dark she could make little more than a silhouette. But she saw the trails of ichor, the rivulets of black on grey skin that bled down from the crown of his head. They dripped down the Fisher¡¯s body all the way to the stones beneath his feet, staining them black. There was a basket on the other side of him, tall as she and full of wriggling things.


    Instinct screamed at her not to look at it too closely.


    ¡°It is not,¡± she sharply replied. ¡°It is priceless.¡±


    The Fisher shook his head, chiding.


    ¡°Its price is known to all, Angharad Tredegar.¡±


    His voice was not a man¡¯s voice, with emotion and cadence and all the shades of humanity. It was a spirit¡¯s, as much the glimpse of something she could barely comprehend as a sound. Her mind told her she heard the sound of the sea against stone, of bones shattering like twigs, but she could not have explained why. Against her will, Angharad wrenched her gaze away. She was trembling, slick with sweat. The spirit was not meant to be beholden by mortal eyes.


    ¡°Why were you betrayed, child?¡±


    ¡°Fear,¡± she said. ¡°Fear and jealousy.¡±


    The spirit laughed. It was a sound utterly without joy: a wound ripping open, a friend abandoned in the dark.


    ¡°Because you are weak,¡± the Fisher corrected.


    ¡°I am not weak,¡± Angharad hissed. ¡°I have earned ten stripes, spirit, and won against-¡±


    ¡°The victories of a child,¡± he dismissed. ¡°You fight a woman¡¯s battles, now, yet still hold them up as trophies. Why should they not betray you? It is nothing more than what you deserve.¡±


    ¡°We had a truce,¡± she shouted. ¡°He turned not only on me but on his brother, on Cozme and Isabel. How can you claim I am at fault?¡±


    ¡°Truce,¡± the spirit repeated, amused. ¡°Another word. How many will you hide behind?¡±


    ¡°Keeping your promises is the foundation of the world,¡± Angharad bit back. ¡°Of everything we are.¡±


    ¡°There is only one foundation to the world, child,¡± the Fisher said, with a certainty like iron and stone, like tide and decay. ¡°The eldest law, whose name is extinction.¡±


    And now she understood, for she had learned at her father¡¯s knee as much as her mother¡¯s. The old songs, the old tales, the old ways. She had come here in the dark, on the eve of death, and the spirit she had bargained with was testing her. Angharad swore she would not prove unworthy.


    ¡°That is despair, spirit,¡± she said. ¡°I refuse it. It will not own me.¡±


    And she meant it, for all that she had a role to play. Angharad was not without fault, and sometimes she bent honour or twisted it, but she would never renounce it. It there was failure, it was hers and not that of what she aspired to. Even if she fell short all her life, why should she cease trying? The final betrayal of what you were was to surrender to the tide of the world, to let it decide who you were to be.


    ¡°Perhaps it is not writ in the bone of Vesper that honour should matter,¡± Angharad admitted. ¡°But it can be made to - and I will fight to make it so.¡±


    She readied herself for pain or anger, for the test of her resolve, but the spirit only flicked his fishing rod. Lights swirled, and below the waters she glimpsed shapes moving.


    ¡°And so you are betrayed,¡± the Fisher said. ¡°You claim rights you have not won, acting as if your desires are born worthy of respect.¡±


    ¡°Why do you still exist, Fisher, if the eldest law is absolute?¡± she challenged.


    ¡°It can be stalled,¡± the spirit said. ¡°That, too, is true. But only strength can achieve this, and you are weak. Your will is dull. Your enemies defy you with impunity.¡±


    Shapes circled around the bait under the surface, as above lights scattered like a broken mosaic.


    ¡°Laws,¡± the Fisher told her, ¡°are the right of the strong and them alone. Your honour is not a law, it is a noose.¡±


    Her heart clenched with fear. This¡­ it did not feel like a test of her mettle. There was no fearsome wrath, no pain or fear or battle of tricks. The Fisher did not seem interested enough in her for this, and that more than anything else had a gaping pit opening in her stomach. Was this only a remonstration before her death, some kind of sick sermon from the ancient spirit? No, she told herself. Doubt is how victory slips away. It must be a test, it must.


    ¡°I do not believe that,¡± Angharad replied, looking down at the waters.


    She clenched her fists, knowing that as soon as the ripples settled she would once more see Augusto Cerdan betraying his kin and professed love for a better chance at running away. The Fisher was not wrong, that the infanzon had done it because he feared her not. Because he thought he would get away with it, that even if she survived she would be bound by oaths not to slay him for his treachery. All of this might never have happened, if she had simply let him fall last night. But that was not the whole of it, was it?


    If you began to act in only the ways that helped you, if you cared nothing for duty and dues, then you were as an animal. And that sickness, it spread until there was no law but the law of the sword and the whole world was as a butcher¡¯s yard. There was a cost to peace, to plenty and safety and Vesper being more than packs of wolves tearing each other to bits: sometimes, you had to lose. To accept that you could not win every time, because if you could not why should anyone?


    Honour had been used against her, but that did not mean honour was wrong. Only that the wicked had been cleverer than she.


    ¡°Having the sharpest blade,¡± she quietly said, ¡°that¡¯s not what honour is. It is defending the weak, it is doing the right thing. Even when it costs you.¡±


    The Fisher did not even turn her way.


    ¡°Then perish.¡±


    It was not a test, Angharad Tredegar then understood. It had never been. This was no tale of the Fifth Branch, where the clever princess moved the heart of the spirit with her honour. No play where her perseverance would be rewarded with the aid of an all-powerful ally, not even a song of cleverness and guile. The old monster she had made a pact with had wanted her to be a worse woman than she was, and now that she refused to be that monster would let her die. And the utter dismissal, the casual disinterest, was what burned her most. Because had the spirit not known who she was, when they made their pact? And now it shamed her for it, as if being anything but a selfish pit of despair was some sort of sin.


    ¡°What did you choose me for, if not this?¡± Angharad snarled. ¡°What else, if not honour?¡±


    Below the waters, one of the shadows bit the bait. It struggled after, scared and hurting and somehow knowing it was going to die.


    ¡°I remember them shouting of it,¡± the Fisher said, ¡°when the ships first landed on our shores.¡±


    Arms like towers pulled, ripping out of the water a wriggling shape that Angharad¡¯s eyes shied away from. It was caught in a great palm, the barbed hook deftly slid out of shadowy flesh.


    ¡°Honour, honour!¡± the spirit laughed. ¡°They raised it a banner, bedecked their champions in it, painted it on the lips of their queens.¡±


    The wriggling thing fought with terror¡¯s strength, but for all its efforts it did not slip the Fisher¡¯s grasp. Angharad could not see the old spirit¡¯s face but she knew it was smiling, just as she knew that part of her would have wept at the sight of it. The Fisher¡¯s fingers squeezed, and after a wet and ugly crack the wriggling thing no longer wiggled at all.


    ¡°How sweet it made their screams taste, when my teeth cracked their bones.¡±


    Angharad shivered as the spirit tossed the broken thing into the basket, where the dead flesh spread terror like poison in a cup.


    ¡°They loved their honour so much, your forebears,¡± the Fisher reminisced, ¡°that I nailed them to the Young Shore so they might sing of it on the wind for their coming kin to hear.¡±


    Oh Sleeping God, Angharad trembled. What have I done?


    ¡°There were so many the sea turned red,¡± the spirit told her lovingly, ¡°that not even seagulls could drown out the screams.¡±


    What had she sworn to free or die trying?


    ¡°Honour?¡± the Fisher said. ¡°I would not give wind for honour. I gifted you my sagacity, child, because you hate them. Because you fear them.¡±


    And on the water before them Angharad saw scrawled the nightmare of the night where her life had been broken forever, the fire and the screams and the blood on the stone. Her breath caught in her throat and she did not deny the spirit¡¯s words for they were the truth.


    Angharad Tredegar would avenge her family.


    That oath she could not break, not without killing what was left of the girl who had been daughter of Rhiannon and Gwydion Tredegar. And if she killed that girl, what was even left?


    ¡°It has become half your name,¡± the spirit said. ¡°You cannot renounce that, so the journey has become inevitable.¡±


    The Fisher slowly turned, and before her trembling gaze fled to the stones at her feet the Pereduri glimpsed trails of ichor on grey flesh.


    ¡°There is poison in your veins, Angharad Tredegar,¡± the Fisher fondly said, ¡°and when you learn to drink of it, you will become a thing of dread. One fit to break the locks on my cage.¡±


    And as Angharad looked down at her boots, she saw the mistake at last. Because the spirit had cut to the bone of her, but he had not done it without a price to himself: he had revealed of him as much as he stripped bare of her. I gave you my sagacity, the Fisher had said. Nor merely a boon or a sliver of power, but a part what he was. That was not a small thing, one without costs or one that could easily taken back. If she died, he would lose something ¨C and not least of it what the spirit thought was a chance of someone capable of freeing him.


    Her gaze rose back to the water, finding once more Augusto Cerdan¡¯s feverishly triumphant gaze looking back at her.


    ¡°You need me,¡± Angharad quietly said.


    ¡°There are others,¡± the Fisher said, ¡°and my nature is patient.¡±


    ¡°But not wasteful,¡± she said. ¡°You brought me here for a reason, Fisher. To learn your answer, so that I might beat the eldest law. You do not want me to be dead for all that you castigate me. You want me to be strong.¡±


    For that is the only way you think I will ever be able to free you, she thought.


    ¡°Go on, then,¡± Angharad Tredegar said, forcing herself to look at the face of horror. ¡°Show me your way.¡±


    She saw nothing, only grey and shadow and ichor, yet still her eyes watered with tears. Then she smelled blood, felt it inside her mouth and sliding down her cheeks. She did not flinch or look away. The Fisher laughed: a ship breaking on a reef, a shield wall shattering.


    ¡°I am no peddler god, child,¡± the spirit said. ¡°I gave you a gift of blood and bone, which you have not learned to use. Did I give you eyes or my own sagacity?¡±


    ¡°Then teach me,¡± Angharad challenged.


    ¡°That is why you are here,¡± the Fisher said. ¡°You lessen yourself, clinging to your body like the shore. That is a child¡¯s fear.¡±


    The great spirit¡¯s voice rang like a decree.


    ¡°Slay it,¡± he said. ¡°Embrace the water.¡±


    She watched the water before her, writ with light and a tale of treachery, and took a step beyond the shore. The water was cool, cold in a way that seeped into her bones, but she pressed on. A step after another, until was swallowed whole and she opened her eyes.


    --


    She stood besides Angharad Tredegar, whose expression was startled fury, and stepped away.


    Violence exploded, the cultists charging towards the shout and pinning the company down. Still surprised, the four behind the tree hesitated. Isabel took a crossbow bolt to the belly, falling with a scream, and Angharad Tredegar charged into the mass of warriors.


    She would die, Angharad thought, it was only a matter of time.


    Brun tried to sink his hatchet in Augusto Cerdan¡¯s back, eyes shining with emotion, but Beatris stopped him. She pulled at him and Song, face conflicted, said something to both.


    Angharad thought she would be able to hear, if she came closer, but she could not quite manage it.


    The three fled, Augusto struck across the face when he tried to go with them. He doubled it through the clearing even as Cozme was struck with a spear and Remund lost a hand to a sword blow. Cozme tried to run, but he was caught by one of the watchers and beaten unconscious.


    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    Angharad Tredegar killed five before Ocotlan broke her leg and Tupoc rammed his spear through her heart. She died trying to claw at his throat one last time, but her bloody fingers fell short.


    --


    Angharad¡¯s head broke the water, gasping. She felt a massive hand rest atop the crown of her head.


    ¡°Do better,¡± the Fisher said, and forced her back under.


    --


    This time, Angharad Tredegar began by pulling Isabel out of the way. She ran towards the other four and Cozme Aflor took a crossbow bolt in the back halfway there. They all rushed into the clearing, sweeping over the two watchers like a tide, but the warband caught up with them before they reached the trees. Three survived to run.


    Angharad Tredegar was not one of them.


    --


    She sucked in a breath, emerging from the water.


    ¡°Please,¡± Angharad said, ¡°I need-¡±


    ¡°Again,¡± the Fisher said, and pushed her back under


    --


    Angharad Tredegar charged the watchers herself, hoping the others would follow. She took a wound to a thrown knife and Brun was shot in the arm, but they made it across the clearing before the warband caught up with them. She shouted an order and everyone scattered, as she did, running their own way towards the sanctuary road.


    Five survived to flee.


    Angharad Tredegar¡¯s wound slowed her enough that Leander Galatas traced a Sign before her and she hit a wall that could not be seen, falling down for a hollow to knock unconscious. The warband took her.


    --


    ¡°I¡¯m drowning,¡± Angharad gasped. ¡°You can¡¯t-¡±


    ¡°Again,¡± the Fisher said.


    --


    Angharad Tredegar ordered them so scatter before they had finished running across the clearing.


    Two survived to flee.


    --


    ¡°I don¡¯t know how,¡± she pleaded, mouth full of water and blood. ¡°I can¡¯t-¡±


    ¡°Then try again,¡± the Fisher said.


    --


    Nine more times she went under, until at last she found it. The loop in the hole, the winding path. And as the Fisher¡¯s hand left her head, she fell to her knees in the shallows by the shore. Crawling as she coughed and wheezed, spitting out water tinted red.


    ¡®¡¯It¡¯s too much,¡± she got out. ¡°It would have killed me.¡±


    ¡°Without my hand, the poison will eat you from within,¡± the Fisher acknowledged. ¡°But you have learned, and will learn. It is a beginning.¡±


    It would never be like that again, Angharad grasped. No more chances by the dozen, only the poison pill she could swallow and hope not to die. But the Fisher had not lied. She could do it, now. Step out of herself, beyond what she had thought the limits of her pact: that she could only have glimpses, and only through her own eyes. And that was yet a beginning in the old spirit¡¯s eyes. What kind of terrible gift had she bargained for? Sagging against the rocks, water still lapping at her legs, Angharad closed her eyes. Listening to her own breath, she could only think of how close she had come to drowning.


    Would she have become one of those wriggling things in the water, if she had?


    She stayed there on the shore, prostrated like one of the forebears the Fisher had told her he had mutilated and tortured. But like all things out of the spirit¡¯s mouth, that had not been the story whole.


    ¡°You weren¡¯t strong enough, in the end,¡± Angharad said. ¡°My forebears, they beat you. You lost the war.¡±


    The Fisher¡¯s gaze rested on her.


    ¡°They bled me and bound me, Angharad Tredegar,¡± the Fisher said. ¡°They stole half my name. But they could not end me, not for all their desperate bargains. So they buried me deep, where no one would find me.¡±


    The spirit laughed but it was the sound of teeth gnashing until they shattered, of a limb dipped in scalding water.


    ¡°They should have known better. Nothing is ever lost.¡±


    She could feel the cold leaving her, the stillness fading. This place was about to end.


    ¡°Yet you are wrong, Angharad Tredegar,¡± the Fisher said.


    And the last thing she heard before opening her eyes chilled her blood.


    ¡°I have not lost the war: so long as I exist, it has yet to end.¡±


    --


    She grabbed Isabel by the sleeve, pulling her along. That way Remund would not hesitate to follow. Angharad ran out from the cover of the tree, the taller of the cultist watchers palming a knife as the other charged with his spear. She released Isabel¡¯s sleeve, speeding forward, and at the last moment took a left. The thrown knife went wide, the other¡¯s spear came for her belly but a pivot and a spin opened the charging hollow¡¯s throat.


    A heartbeat later Song shot the second watcher.


    Angharad turned, only for Isabel to gasp and even Master Cozme rock back.


    ¡°Your eyes,¡± Isabel stammered. ¡°There¡¯s so much blood.¡±


    Oh, was that why she felt so light-headed? That was unfortunate.


    ¡°Contract,¡± she curtly said. ¡°The three of you must run west, it¡¯s your best chance.¡±


    ¡°How do you-¡±


    Angharad brushed past Remund, ignoring his question, and intercepted the last four as they rushed into the clearing with a slight delay. She needed to refine that, buy a little more time, but they would not listen if she asked. So instead she strode forward, past a haggard Brun and Beatris, and rammed her fist in Augusto Cerdan¡¯s belly. He tried to block it but he was slow and fearful, so he was on his knees and dry retching in the heartbeat that followed.


    ¡°Tredegar, now is not the time,¡± Cozme called out, rushing towards them.


    Good, that should do it. A glance back told her that Isabel and Remund were already running towards the woods, as she¡¯d told them to. When Song caught up, for once looking disturbed, Angharad met her eyes. Song was always the one who listened when she gave an order, no matter the try. The noblewoman would prove worthy of that trust.


    ¡°Take them by the eastern path,¡± she said, gesturing at Brun and Beatris. ¡°You can¡¯t join up with the others, not yet.¡±


    Song nodded, face tight.


    ¡°I will wait for you at the end of the road,¡± she said. ¡°For as long as I can.¡±


    ¡°Sleeping God go with you,¡± Angharad smiled, and walked past her.


    Now to find out if she had been clever enough. Cozme was helping up the traitor as the warband broke past the treeline and in that moment she saw the dilemma on the face of the white-haired priest. The man could see a pair entering the trees near the western edge of the crag, three most of the way to the eastern path and three still in the middle of the clearing. One of these was being helped up, and the one doing that was older than the runners. In the heartbeat that followed the old cultist made the easy choice, barking out his orders. The warband would go for the three sacrifices they were certain to get, writing off the rest.


    The warriors came for them like a pack of wolves.


    ¡°You¡¯ve killed us all, you bitch,¡± Augusto gasped out.


    ¡°You, I will most certainly kill before this is done,¡± Angharad agreed. ¡°Let us find out for the rest.¡±


    The elder Cerdan ran for it, as he had the last two glimpses, and Master Cozme followed him after hesitating for a heartbeat. Angharad instead tapped the flat of her sword against her shoulder, granting the warband an impeccable duellist¡¯s salute and earning an absolutely delighted laugh from Tupoc Xical. Now, she thought, it was all over except the dance. She began backing away towards the east, the edge of the crag, and watched as the lead hollows hesitated. Most chose to pursue Augusto and Cozme, since she did not appear to be fleeing, including the remaining crossbowman - who¡¯d had the gall to kill her thrice.


    By the time a party gathered to corner her with her back to the cliff, she was facing only nine cultists and Tupoc¡¯s crew. The rest were in pursuit, not yet knowing the effort was fruitless.


    ¡°Surrender, child,¡± the old hollow in robes told her. ¡°You will not be harmed by our hand if you lay down your arms.¡±


    ¡°Come and take them, hollow,¡± she replied, open in her disdain.


    The warriors, infuriated by her disrespect for what she still suspected to be some kind of priest, broke ranks to rush her. With that many headed her way, it should be that ¨C ah, and there it was. Tupoc ordered his pack of traitors to hold back, going in alone. Getting her arm broken by that hammer once had been quite enough: Ocotlan was remarkably quick for a man his size. Differences in height meant the hollows reached her as an uneven line, so Angharad slid into the gap. She stepped past a wild axe swing, racking her saber down the man¡¯s back, and pivoted as the two hollows closest turned to converge on her.


    She lashed the first across the eyes before he could bring up his sword, ignoring his scream in favour of stepping out of a thrusting spear. She avoided the point but the cultist was skilled enough to slap her shoulder with the haft, which hurt but more importantly slowed her. She was more tired than she had been in the glimpses. Her body did not move as quickly and it was only getting worse. She stepped further away from the cliff, letting the warriors converge on her from all sides except the back, then when enough were committed she charged.


    The spears got in each other¡¯s way, needing too much space for how close the warriors were, and she ducked under a sword blow to hammer her shoulder into the hollow¡¯s chest. It hurt her more than him ¨C he was wearing a breastplate ¨C but he was knocked down and she stepped over him. Not quite quickly enough to avoid a cut in the back of her shoulder, just to the side of the bag still fastened there, but the axeman got a little too close and she hacked halfway through his wrist before dancing away. Towards the ledge, counting her steps so she would not fall over it. That had been a most embarrassing death. Two had been made unable to fight, a respectable beginning, but it would not last.


    Tupoc had stayed out of it so far, watching her fight with smiling pale eyes, but when he struck it was the same way he always did.


    He waited until the hollows that¡¯d run into each other spread out into a half circle, this time the spearmen keeping careful distance from each other, and when they struck he slid past them ¨C after tripping a spearman into her without batting an eye. She sliced open the spearman¡¯s throat without hesitattion and kicked him back into Tupoc, but the Aztlan was too quick. He danced around the corpse, his strange segmented spear feinting for her throat and scoring a mark against her cheek when she was forced to parry. She saw the sword move from the corner of her eye and knelt, slicing through the back of the hollow¡¯s right knee and pushing him over the edge while he screamed.


    Four now, she was near the right amount. The only trouble was that handling Tupoc in a fight was like kissing a viper, a truth the Aztlan kept fresh by forcing her to throw herself to the side to avoid being impaled. She slashed at the closest hollow¡¯s ankles to force her to keep back, but Tupoc smashed the middle of her back with the butt of his spear and she let out a hiss of pain. Rolling over she slashed his way, letting him dance back, and/


    The hollow rammed the spear through the back of her right knee, ripping a scream from her throat


    /stepped to the right, letting out a scream as her veins burned. Her muscles spasmed, her heart beat wildly and Angharad thought that if she glimpsed even once more today her veins would fill with smoke. She had used the Fisher¡¯s gift all too much. The hollow that¡¯d almost impaled her took advantage of her span of weakness, striking her in the belly with the side of his spear, but Angharad took the hit and grabbed the shaft. Grunting with effort, feet spread wide, she forced the man into Tupoc¡¯s path ¨C who pushed him off the ledge without pause ¨C and threw the spear in the legs of the hollow coming from her side. She needed space, just a little more space, to get to the right place.


    Gritting her teeth, she rushed the hollow she¡¯d just thrown the spear at and hacked at his face. Only it was hasty blow, awkwardly placed, and his parry caught it clean. It held her in place just long enough for another warrior to narrowly land a blow against her head, cutting through braids and scalp before she rammed her saber through his wide-open guard and plunged it through his eye. Withdrawing, blood dripping down her face, she fled into the space she had made just as Tupoc came for her. This was never a fight she was going to win, no matter how many times she tried, and if she even won too much of it the result would be her death.


    If they hated her too much, they would make sure she was dead.


    Just as her backfoot slid past a trail of wildflowers, Angharad stepped closer to the ledge and parried Tupoc¡¯s thrust. He redirected it to hit the side of her knee, but she came even closer to the edge and the Aztlan saw his opening. Pivoting so he was facing her with the cliff behind her, he twirled his spear. The trick had killed her, the first time he pulled it out. Now she could only hope she had read it right because everything depended on it. The first feint was at her right shoulder and she ignored it, preparing to catch the blow to her belly instead ¨C that she made to parry, only to overextend and¡­


    The spearhead ripped up and down, through her bag and shallowly on the flesh beneath.


    Angharad fled the steel, stumbling back one step and then another, only to find herself leaning back at the very edge of the cliff. Tupoc¡¯s eyes widened as she began to lose her balance, and the last saw thing she saw before toppling over the edge was the smile on his too-perfect face while he gave her a textbook-perfect duellist¡¯s salute.


    She had exactly two heartbeats to live.


    The first was spent snatching the hook at the end of the rope ¨C which she could not take out herself, they¡¯d look for her, the bag had to be cut open so she could do it in time ¨C and strike forward with it. Just in time for the iron hooks to sink deep into the dead tree just over the edge, her sweat-drenched fingers slipping as she desperately held on to the rope burning her hands. She smacked into the cliffside, not hard enough to fall but hard enough it jolted her spine and she had to swallow a scream of pain. Her arms burned but she held, no matter the pain she held. Below, clattering down against the rock, fell two things: the pack she no longer cared for and the saber her father had ordered made for her. She needed both hands for the rope, she¡¯d tried it.


    Surviving in honour had a price, the Fisher had not lied about that.


    Folded under the log, Angharad kept her mouth shut as one of the hollows came to have a look over the edge and cursed. He yelled something back at the others in a language she did not know, stepping away, and when Tupoc came to have his look he said not a word. The one time she had killed seven, the cultists had hated her enough to look closely: they¡¯d seen the hooks in the log and pushed it down with their spears.


    ¡°I told you she was not going to be one of the easy ones, Bishop Rholes,¡± Tupoc drawled in Antigua. ¡°You should have listened.¡±


    ¡°You told me much, but I now question the worth of your word,¡± a man replied in the same tongue, heavily accented.


    It was the old hollow¡¯s voice, she recognized, the one who she thought might be a priest. Bishop must be some kind of darkling title. Angharad held on tight to the rope, pressing herself against the cliff of the crag. Already her arms ached from having borne her entire weight and more during the fall, but to loosen her grip was to die. Sweat pricked against her palms, the rough hemp of the rope helping none, and she desperately looked for an outcropping to rest her feet on. This was the farthest she had ever got with foresight, beyond this she was blind.


    ¡°How so?¡± Tupoc asked as he stepped away, sounding genuinely curious.


    ¡°We bargained for four,¡± Rholes coldly said. ¡°You have not delivered four, Leopard Man.¡±


    ¡°I promised you opportunities, Bishop,¡± Tupoc replied. ¡°Not birds in hand. If you could not catch as many as you wanted, that is your failure and not mine.¡±


    Sleeping God, was she going to die here because her arms were too weak? There was nothing to hold onto, only a cliff rippling down to where her broken corpse would lie. Her boots slid against the stone and she fought down a rising panic, pulling herself up as she ignored the burn rising in her arms. That was when she saw it ¨C not below her, but to the side. The skeletal dried remains of a bush, jutting out of the crag¡¯s side. It was to her left and she had to wiggle to the side of the stump, dread turning her limbs to lead, then pull herself up so she could rest her foot against the stump. It was higher and now her head was slightly over the edge, so-


    The dead bush gave, the old wood snapping, and she fell down half a foot as she bit down on a scream until her lip bled. She was slipping, her fingers clawing at stone, and though she still held the rope the hooks at the end of it had come half-loose from the stump. She slammed her chin into the crag¡¯s ground, ignoring the pain as she tried to slow the slide. If she fell, if she fell¡­ Her boot hit the bottom of the bush, a part that did not give for it was wedged into stone, and her slide came to a halt. Angharad felt like weeping with relief, but she could not.


    Tough her face was half-hidden by a clump of wildflowers, through them she could see Tupoc Xical and his footpads standing with the warband of hollows. If she made too much noise, they would find out she still lived.


    ¡°- so go pick up her corpse at the bottom of the cliff,¡± Tupoc dismissed. ¡°Do you expect me to roast the flesh and pour your wine as well, Rholes?¡±


    ¡°The god cares nothing for the flesh of the dead,¡± Bishop Rholes bit out. ¡°It is the living that make worthy sacrifices.¡±


    ¡°If you expect resurrection of me,¡± the Aztlan drawled, ¡°I can only applaud your optimism, my friend.¡±


    Lady Acanthe let out a snigger, then hid it behind a hand when the bishop turned to glare at her. More warriors had come through the woods, bringing their numbers up to a dozen, and that was a great many more than Tupoc and his traitors. Angharad saw the anger on their pale faces, the way they bristled at the disrespect their priest was being shown, and wondered what the Aztlan¡¯s game was. Did he really think he could win if it came to a fight?


    ¡°Four taken, four allowed through,¡± Rholes insisted. ¡°If you do not live up to your end of the bargain, why should we?¡±


    The largest of the two Aztlan, Ocotlan, leaned forward with an ugly grin as he hefted his large hammer over his shoulder.


    ¡°You don¡¯t want anything to do with that scrap, hollow,¡± he said. ¡°Believe me.¡±


    One of the hollows, wearing a shirt of iron mail, spat to the side and came to stand by his priest with his hand on his sword.


    ¡°Let us fight them, lord,¡± he said. ¡°We will take them all to the temple, I swear it. Their disrespect demands punishment.¡±


    Tupoc¡¯s footpads stirred in unease, for the hollows were reaching for their arms. Swords and spears and axes, even two crossbows. However skilled a warrior, numbers were not something easily challenged,


    ¡°He won¡¯t do that,¡± the eerie Aztlan smiled, raising his right wrist. ¡°Will you, Bishop?¡±


    On it was small bracelet of beads, black stones sculpted in the Aztlan style. Angharad¡¯s gaze dipped to Bishop Rholes, who was rubbing an identical bracelet worn on his left wrist. The old hollow¡¯s face was considering, and after pulling away from the bracelet he tugged at his white beard.


    ¡°I think,¡± Bishop Rholes slowly said, ¡°that two is not enough. That you are short enough of the oath that I will be afforded enough room.¡±


    Tupoc¡¯s face was a smiling mask, but some with him were easier to read.


    ¡°He might be right,¡± Leander Galatas nervously said. ¡°If he tries to take us prisoner instead of kill us, he might not forfeit his heart.¡±


    His leader, the traitor of traitors, eyed him with dislike. A glance was enough to have the gaunt man flinching back, reaching for the arm he¡¯d lost on the Bluebell before proving himself a man without honour.


    ¡°You would take such a risk out of petty spite?¡± Tupoc lightly said. ¡°I do not think you so careless, Rholes.¡±


    ¡°Two,¡± the bishop flatly repeated, ¡°is not enough. I already took a risk on this bargain, Leopard Man. I will not return to my god with such petty offerings.¡±


    ¡°That is troubling,¡± Tupoc replied.


    He hummed, prowling back and forth like the great cat after which his society had been named. His gaze swept around, thoughtful, and for a terrifying heartbeat Angharad thought he had seen her through the flowers. But his gaze moved on and lingered on the hollows, as if measuring them, before he let out a sigh.


    ¡°Very well,¡± he said, and struck Leander Galatas in the belly.


    The sailor gasped in pain, bending forward, and before he could so much as trace a Sign the Aztlan grabbed him by the head and smashed it into his knee. Galatas dropped to the ground in a sprawl, bloody-faced and unconscious. Tupoc took a step back, ignoring the horrified look Acanthe Phos was shooting him just as much as Ocotlan¡¯s mocking chuckle.


    ¡°Three for three, then,¡± Tupoc offered the bishop. ¡°That should sate your god and our terms both.¡±


    Bishop Rholes laughed.


    ¡°A true son of the Radiance,¡± he said. ¡°Not a speck of loyalty in you.¡±


    Tupoc arched a too-prefect brow, as if to ask him to get on with it.


    ¡°The bargain holds,¡± Rholes conceded. ¡°You may reach the sanctuary under blessing of peace.¡±


    Neither side was eager to remain after that, the cultists taking their wounded and their fresh sacrifice before heading south. The search for Cozme and Augusto, she saw, had been called off: the warriors that¡¯d gone after them returned empty-handed, following their brethren south. Tupoc and his remaining helpers began heading north after they went, towards the road that would lead to sanctuary. Only the Aztlan begged off leaving immediately, telling them to go ahead, and he headed towards the edge of the cliff the moment they entered the woods. Panic rising, Angharad lowered herself past the edge of the cliff. Even if she fought him and win, the noise was sure to bring back hollows. If he found her, she was dead.


    Not even ten heartbeats later pale eyes looked down at her from over the ledge, taking in her situation with nothing but amusement.


    ¡°I told you,¡± Tupoc Xical conversationally said, ¡°that you would regret not coming with me.¡±


    ¡°Damn you,¡± Angharad hissed. ¡°Damn you for this and for all-¡±


    The Aztlan reached down, pressing the butt of his spear against her forehead, and she swallowed her anger. Drops of cold sweat ran down her back. All he needed to do was push and down she went.


    ¡°That¡¯s better,¡± Tupoc smiled.


    He suddenly burst forward, and though it took all she had Angharad did not allow herself to flinch. And that was all he¡¯d sought, she realized a heartbeat later, for her to flinch: the spear had not moved so much as a hair¡¯s breadth. Those unnatural pale eyes had watched her all the while and finally the Aztlan nodded.


    ¡°You are a delight,¡± Tupoc Xical said with satisfaction, drawing back. ¡°I look forward to working with you in the second trial, Lady Tredegar.


    The spear withdrew and the monster offered her a salute with it.


    ¡°Until then, a good day to you.¡±


    And just like that, he left. From her sight first, then disappearing into the woods where the others had gone. Angharad, breathing shallow, dragged herself over the edge. There she lay in the dirt, sweaty and bloody and caked in filth. Her body burned, but not half as much as the indignation in her belly.


    Swallowing the scream in her throat, Angharad Tredegar pushed herself up to her feet and began her walk to the Trial of Ruins.

 Chapter 17

    Tristan, sitting on a stone, idly strummed at strings that did not exist. The supplicant¡¯s cithara in his hands was but a petrified piece of wood without the additional accessory of a priest with mastery of the Gloam to weave strings and pluck at them. The first might not be so impossible, but the second was rather more of a hurdle. So, in the hours past midnight but before they left, Tristan asked a burning question.


    ¡°Can you play cithara?¡±


    Sarai eyed him like he¡¯d tracked mud all over her nice Izcalli carpet.


    ¡°Can you dance the moravac?¡± she shot back.


    The thief duly considered this.


    ¡°I¡¯ve never tried,¡± he said.


    ¡°There¡¯s your answer,¡± Sarai easily replied.


    He supposed it would have been a too lucky for one of them to be able to play the ancient magical instrument he¡¯d dug up from the shrine. As expected, he would have to scrap it for parts. Tristan would have liked to keep the cithara for the rest of the trials, but its bellyful of feathers would do the trick instead ¨C if only the once. Sarai¡¯s blue eyes remained on him, scrutinizing.


    ¡°You¡¯re scheming again,¡± she noted.


    ¡°I would never,¡± Tristan lied.


    ¡°We¡¯re not betraying Ferranda,¡± Sarai reminded him. ¡°She¡¯s lovely and her relationship with Sanale is very romantic.¡±


    He blinked at her in surprise.


    ¡°Her what?¡± he repeated.


    ¡°Tristan,¡± Sarai patiently said, ¡°they have two bedrolls but only one gets mussed. Either one of them sleeps on stone or they¡¯re fucking.¡±


    He¡¯d actually thought Sanale was being very neat.


    ¡°They don¡¯t act like it,¡± he said.


    Tristan himself might not partake, but he had learned to recognize the signs of people being lovers. He¡¯d caught on that things between the pair were not quite as simple as mistress and hired hand, but he¡¯d not seen any telltale marks of there being a physical dalliance.


    ¡°They¡¯re probably used to being discreet,¡± she shrugged. ¡°She¡¯s a noble, right? I imagine her family would disapprove.¡±


    ¡°They likely don¡¯t know,¡± Tristan frowned.


    The way that Sanale was not a corpse floating by Fisherman¡¯s Quay was something of an indication. The thief could not remember ever hearing House Villazur before, but the other infanzones had treated Ferranda as one of them so she should not be an impostor. It must be one of the lesser houses, those barely above merchant households in means. The kind that needs to marry its children well to keep the lamps lit, he thought. He thought he might have an inkling of what Ferranda Villazur was after by coming to the Dominion of Lost Things, and thus was forced into the unpleasant experience of feeling the barest kernel of respect for an infanzona.


    This island truly was full of trials.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be keeping faith,¡± Tristan told his companion, returning to the thread. ¡°I am only considering the ways our efforts might turn sour.¡±


    ¡°We are taking risks,¡± Sarai acknowledged. ¡°But there is no way forward without doing so.¡±


    The lay of their plan was simple enough. Yong and Ferranda had found cultists encamped in the woods to the east of the bridge and killed a fox on the way back. Their company was to approach the camp while the hollows slept, then Tristan would stuff the fox carcass with every drop of lodestone extract he had left. One of the three among them that did not bumble in the woods would plant the carcass in the cultist camp, at which point their group would begin a circuitous route west while waiting for the heliodoran beast to attack the hollows. With both their obstacles keeping each other busy, they were then to run for the bridge in relative safety and hope the great lemure did not finish the cultists off before they could cross.


    It was going to blow up in their faces.


    If someone asked him why he was so sure of that Tristan would have struggled to answer, but within the enclosure of his own mind it seemed obvious. It was in the moving parts, the hitch of the clock, the ringing of the coin as it spun up: debacle was in the air. Too much neatness was being relied on and if years with Fortuna¡¯s had taught Tristan Abrascal anything it was how to sniff out a coming debacle. Now, the clever thing would be to find his way out and prepare for when firmament dropped on their heads ¨C ensure, by hook or crook, that he was not the one of the lost.


    But the thief gotten greedy since he sailed to the Dominion. Too used to the shelter of companions that would not easily betray him, to others keeping their word and expecting his to be kept. To all the comforts that were a slow poison, dulling your edge and lulling your eyes into closing. Never grow roots, Abuela had taught him. Trees are good only for felling. Hard as the lesson had been to live up to, it had also kept him alive: how many times had he crossed a slumlord or a gang only for their swaggering bullies to find he was a ghost? No home, no haunts, no ties. No man could take revenge on morning mist.


    Tristan had not forgot the methods through which he¡¯d stayed alive so long, how in his own way he¡¯d come to thrive ¨C a fatter rat than most ¨C but still he found his mind spinning out the wrong plans. Tacking on demands, like keeping Song and Sarai alive. Vanesa as well, the thought crept in, but bit down on it. If he opened the door to the old woman then Francho would not be far behind and soon he would like a miner out of the Trenches: back breaking for the weight of the stones he carried.


    ¡°When it comes tumbling down, and it will, come find me,¡± Tristan said. ¡°I may be able to keep us alive.¡±


    The heliodoran beast was clever, for a lemure: not the kind of creature that would eat poison if it could smell it. And it so happened that Tristan had a cithara¡¯s worth of something the beast would want to avoid.


    If he stretched them thin, there might be feathers enough for three.


    --


    Traipsing through the woods was significantly more unpleasant when they were wet.


    It had rained while Yong and Ferranda went looking for the cultists and gods but he wished it had been long enough since for the forest to dry. Vanesa thrice tripped on a slippery root she misjudged the distance of before he asked Aines to stay with her, Felis kept shivering from the cold ¨C a fresh lick of dust courtesy of Lan had perked him up but also made him feverish ¨C and with the rain washing off many of the marks Ferranda had left they¡¯d got lost for half an hour. Sanale took the lead in her place, effectively trailblazing, which slowed them down further. They advanced with the lanterns veiled until only the barest slice of light showed, a procession trying to be quiet but falling short of success.


    At least no one was chatting.


    With Sarai ahead of him and Francho behind, the thief had much room to move and so he was left alone with his thoughts. It was not a blessing: with only himself for company, they kept going in increasingly grim circles. Perhaps it was his discomfort with the woods or simply the way the darkness seemed like it kept closing in from all sides, but part of him could not help but feel they were walking to their deaths. As if they had all missed a knife with their names written on the blade. The same instincts that had guided him in Sacromonte insisted he was making a mistake and it frustrated him not to know if it was unease talking or if he should be listening.


    ¡°You look like you¡¯re chewing on a lemon,¡± Fortuna told him.


    ¡°I feel as if I am pulling a noose around my neck,¡± Tristan muttered back. ¡°How else should I look?¡±


    Pondering this, the goddess mimed pulling at a rope above her head and rolled her eyes before lolling out her tongue.


    ¡°Mwore like tshis,¡± she informed him.


    It was one of the keenest comforts of Tristan¡¯s life that other people could not see Fortuna.


    And to think some scholars insisted gods were fonts of wisdoms, that their words could open up fresh realms of understanding. Still, his lips twitched. Any moment now ¨C the golden-haired goddess, still taunting him with rolled up eyes, walked backwards straight into a tree. This did not actually hurt her in any way, but as tended to be the way when she ran into things without noticing Fortuna emerged on the other side glaring at the tree as if she had been personally attacked. However grim the situation, watching the Lady of Long Odds begin yet another implacable blood feud with an inanimate object did wonders for his mood.


    She¡¯d once spent an entire month trying to talk him into tearing down a worn statue of Emperor Pere after passing through it mid-sentence. Tristan, naturally, had instead paid the matron of the house across the street to thoroughly clean it. Best nine radizes he¡¯d ever spent.


    Ducking under a low branch, the thief followed the sight of Sarai¡¯s back. She had cut away at her skirts since her face was revealed, making slits so they could more easily be run in, and taken off her gloves. She still carried only a knife for weapon, but what did she need blades and powder when she could call on the powers of the Gloam? The thief bit his lip, hard enough he almost drew blood. He was still tired from running through last night, despite the rest since, and their pace through the woods was slow enough it was not the first time he¡¯d caught his mind beginning to wander to nowhere. He¡¯d be of no use to anyone, not even himself, if the cultists got the drop on him.


    And the cult of the Red Eye was certain to have watchers. Their warband had raised its camp far from where their group had encountered the airavatan, but there was always a risk. It would have been madness not to keep a full watch with the likes of a heliodoran beast prowling the woods.


    The darkling camp Yong and Ferranda had found was about an hour to the east of the bridge, in the woods facing the tall grass. It was by the river ¨C which, this far east, was at the bottom of a wide ravine. The way the pair told it, they had found the hollows half by chance: it had begun to rain violently while they were out and during the storm part of the cliff the cultists had made their camp broke off and collapsed into the ravine. If not for the ruckus that had made, the pair might have missed the darklings entirely for their camp was well-hidden behind a tall thicket of trees and broken ring of raised stones.


    Sarai slowed in front of him, then weaved behind a tree. Following quietly, Tristan found that in the small clearing before him ¨C little more than a dozen feet of room between trees, all wet earth and stinking dead leaves ¨C most of their party had stopped. The two who had been leading them, Yong and Sanale, must have called a halt. He joined them to find out why, the informal circle that¡¯d formed to make decisions assembling in short order: Ferranda and Sanale, he and Yong and Sarai. And Lan, who instead of chasing away he made eye contact with.


    The blue-lipped Tianxi met his gaze and dipped her head in acknowledgement of the debt ¨C he could force to leave but had not ¨C and he looked away to find Sarai¡¯s lips twitching as she made no pretence she had not been watching them. As tended to be the way with her, he was left feeling wretchedly bare.


    ¡°We are close to the camp,¡± Yong told them. ¡°No more than half an hour at our current pace.¡±


    ¡°We were supposed to get closer still,¡± Ferranda Villazur said. ¡°Why stop now?¡±


    Tristan forced himself not to look at Vanesa, who had been lagging behind even with Aines¡¯ help. It was close to morning now, as they¡¯d left only after everyone grabbed a few hours of sleep in anticipation of the early start, but at her age that made little difference. It won¡¯t be about her, besides, he thought. Yong had never been shy about his belief that if the greyhairs could not keep up they should be left behind.


    ¡°I found tracks,¡± Sanale said.


    ¡°From your tone,¡± Sarai slowly said, ¡°they are not ours from earlier.¡±


    He shook his head.


    ¡°Fresh.¡±


    ¡°There should not be anyone from the Bluebell left around here,¡± Lan noted. ¡°That leaves only hollows.¡±


    Or the Watch, Tristan thought, but they should not be involving themselves in the Trial of Lines.


    ¡°At least ten,¡± Sanale said, ¡°but they are good. Could be more. All moving east, quiet but quick.¡±


    ¡°If they were friends to the warband in the camp,¡± the thief said, ¡°they should have no reason to be sneaking around.¡±


    ¡°They could be hiding from the airavatan,¡± Sarai suggested.


    ¡°This far east?¡± Yong said. ¡°If it were anywhere near here it should have already found the camp. They must be hiding from the other hollows.¡±


    Tristan did not disagree. The beast had last been seen hours to the west and it had no reason to push this far east save the hollow camp ¨C which would already be as a graveyard, if the airavatan had caught scent of it.


    ¡°That complicates things,¡± Ferranda Villazur grimaced. ¡°We don¡¯t want to be caught in the middle of a cult war.¡±


    ¡°If we let them get into a scrap first, it will become be easier to plant the carcass,¡± Tristan pragmatically said.


    ¡°We don¡¯t know if they will fight,¡± Yong said. ¡°They could band together. And even if they do, it might not be anytime soon.¡±


    It was early morning still, before the dawning hour where most of Sacromonte woke, so Tristan would admit it was a toss-up: there was no telling whether this fresh warband would want to press on to strike while the other hollows were asleep or rest instead.


    ¡°We must track them and find out,¡± Ferranda said.


    ¡°It would be dangerous to try the cultist camp before we know we won¡¯t be attacked from behind,¡± Sarai agreed.


    So did Tristan, as it happened, and the rest of them. Ferranda and Sanale were the ones who headed out into the woods, the rest of their company waiting in the clearing and huddling for warmth until the pair returned with news. The thief lowered himself to the ground and rested his back against a tree, closing his eyes to enjoy the break ¨C though not so much he ever ceased listening to the noises around him. All this talk of ambushes had his nerves thin. Before long he heard someone heading his way, though what he found when he opened his eyes surprised him. Francho, hand smoothing back what few wisps of white hair remained atop his head, came to plop himself down by his side.


    The old professor held his flat cap tucked under the arm of his worn green coat, pulled tight enough around his neck that only the collar of his cotton shirt showed. His boots were of good make and obviously new, but his breeches were labourer¡¯s clothes in dull brown whose seams were beginning to give. He was dressed, Tristan thought, like a man who had raided his wardrobe for clothes he thought fitting for the countryside and put them out without thought to what fit and not. You bought the boots just for the Dominion, didn¡¯t you? That was telling, the thief thought. Francho, unlike Vanesa, still had an eye to living through this.


    The toothless old man let out a sigh when he rested his back against the tree, fruitlessly trying to pull his coat even tighter.


    ¡°Try to gather your strength,¡± Tristan advised. ¡°This is the last breath before the plunge.¡±


    ¡°So I¡¯ve gathered,¡± Francho agreed. ¡°It has been an interesting few days, Tristan. I have seen things I never thought I might.¡±


    ¡°That temple was stripped clean,¡± the thief drily said. ¡°Is a single supplicant¡¯s cithara enough to please you so?¡±


    ¡°I went treasure hunting when I was a youth, so empty temples are old hand to me,¡± the old man chuckled. ¡°Three expeditions in the isles of Nemn, though our captains were so careful bolder hunters had already emptied the ruins.¡±


    The thief hid his surprise. The isles of Nemn were famous in Sacromonte: treasure hunters had been sailing there for decades yet were said to have found no more than a third of the islands. Many of them could only be reached if their name was known, some ancient Antediluvian aether machine otherwise keeping them hidden. Once every decade or so, when a new name was dug up by scholars, every treasure crew south of Ixion¡¯s Lighthouse competed to be the first to plunder the depths. The stories Tristan heard made it plain the crews were as dangerous to each other as the dead gods and the traps, not at all the kind of place he imagined a man who taught at the University of Reve might go.


    ¡°What was it that surprised you, then?¡± he asked.


    The old man paused for a moment.


    ¡°That young girl on the ship,¡± he said. ¡°I never caught her name.¡±


    Tristan¡¯s belly clenched. There was only one he could be meaning.


    ¡°Marzela,¡± he said. ¡°Her name was Marzela.¡±


    Francho sighed, which set him to coughing into his hand. The cough never got worse but neither did ever seem to go away, which had left the thief to wonder whether it was from the depredations of old age or from a contract¡¯s price.


    ¡°A tragedy,¡± Francho said. ¡°It always is, when a god takes one of us, but I had never thought to see a Saint with my own eyes.¡±


    ¡°I could do without seeing it again,¡± Tristan said.


    ¡°Oh,¡± Francho softly said, ¡°I agree.¡±


    A hesitant pause.


    ¡°Have you read what Alizia Arquer wrote on the three modes of the divine?¡± Francho asked.


    Tristan cocked an eyebrow. As a matter of fact, he had. Abuela had obtained for him the extract of the work being referred to, The Sea of Shapes, concerning the subject. He had been interested enough to track down a complete copy afterwards. He¡¯d even set aside his distaste for the family name involved ¨C the Arquer were one of the Six, the infanzones of infanzones ¨C and paid proper coin for it. Stealing from those who peddled witch books was a fool¡¯s bargain.


    ¡°Perception, dislocation and manifestation,¡± Tristan quoted.


    These were the three modes through which gods interacted with the material, according to Lady Arquer. Perception, for a god to make themselves seen to a mortal, was the most basic. Even the most destitute of deities could do it and it was the limit of Fortuna¡¯s own power. Gods who were still little more than shapes in the aether first brushed against Vesper this way, reaching through places or times matched to their nature. Tristan himself had met Fortuna at his lowest, hiding in a shattered shrine with no way to live save beating long odds.


    Dislocation was the act through which a god brought a mortal into themselves, a connection of souls that could not be done without an existing bridge ¨C usually a contract. It was an experience supposedly much like a vision, the world around you grinding to a halt until the god released their hold. Even that was a trick of perception, however, for no god was powerful enough to halt the march of Vesper: it was only by bringing a soul into themselves that could cheat and make a single heartbeat seem an hour.


    The last was manifestation, what all gods relentlessly sought: to become physical, aether manifest. In Lady Arquer¡¯s words, ¡®to overcome entropy, existence becoming less effort than absence¡¯. It could only be achieved through mortals - by contracts, sacrifice and prayer. The Manes, those old gods who were patrons to the infanzones, were said to have walked the world since before the fall of Liergan. Not all need be so old, forever. The Old Alcazar, the broken fortress at the heart of Sacromonte turned temple district, was full of temples and shrines to gods manifest. It wasn¡¯t only the nobles that saw divinity in the flesh either.


    Even the Murk had a few, though only fools bargained with gods who chose to make their home among squalor and desperation.


    ¡°Lady Alizia¡¯s works have long been of interest to the university,¡± Francho said. ¡°The Arquer now jealously hoard their secrets, so it has been the work of generations to expand on the original postulations.¡±


    Tristan was not surprised at the secrecy: the Arquer were famous for being able to forge ¡®legacy¡¯ contracts, bargains with gods that were passed down the bloodline. They sold that expertise for riches and favours, and whether you were a the most splendid of infanzones or the lowest of rats no one liked to share their begging bowl.


    Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    ¡°I was once friends with the Master of Aetheric Studies, Tristan,¡± Francho continued with forced nonchalance, ¡°and she told me of an experiment made on the nature of sainthood.¡±


    ¡°Did she,¡± Tristan frowned, grown wary of the conversation.


    He could not grasp where the old professor was headed and it raised his hackles. This was not idle conversation, he could tell that much.


    ¡°The question to be resolved was as follows: does one absolutely need to draw on a contract for the process of sainthood to begin, or is continued exposition to the lesser modes ¨C perception and dislocation ¨C enough on its own?¡±


    The thief stilled. So that was what this conversation was about. He met the man¡¯s dark eyes.


    ¡°You heard me talking,¡± he said.


    Francho coughed, the sound of wet as the saliva flecking his lips.


    ¡°I saw your lips move,¡± he said. ¡°And once I thought of it, it is not so hard to put together: how often did I see you looking at something in the dark or muttering to yourself? I had though it a nervous habit.¡±


    Fortuna leaned against the tree, cocking an eyebrow as her red dress trailed in the muck and leaves.


    ¡°I thought it would be Sarai that caught us,¡± the goddess admitted. ¡°Interesting.¡±


    Tristan forced himself not to look. It was more habit than need, for already he knew that denial was not on the table.


    ¡°I am not in danger of sainthood,¡± Tristan replied in a murmur. ¡°There is no need to worry.¡±


    He would have preferred to dismiss the professor entirely but that would be unwise. If Francho took this to the others out of fear, the thief might well be cast out of their company: no one would want to take a risk with a Saint. The old man grimaced.


    ¡°I understand your god may be assuring you of that,¡± the old professor gently said, ¡°but perception is not meant to last so long. I imagine it began when you made your contract. How long have you been continuously seeing them ¨C a week, a month? The danger now grows by the hour.¡±


    Fortuna laughed. He kept his face blank.


    ¡°Pretend,¡± the thief slowly said, ¡°that it has been a year.¡±


    ¡°Or ten,¡± the goddess added.


    Francho peered at him dubiously.


    ¡°That is¡­¡± he began, then stopped. ¡°You are serious.¡±


    ¡°I am.¡±


    ¡°Your god should be dead,¡± the scholar said. ¡°Perception takes power, and the god does not devour you at the end then it is frittering itself away for nothing. Once it has spent itself, its consciousness will fade back into the aether.¡±


    The thief flicked up a glance at Fortuna, who looked as baffled as he felt.


    ¡°It feels more natural to be with you than not,¡± the goddess told him. ¡°Tell the idiot I have not grown weaker.¡±


    ¡°It says it has not faded since starting,¡± Tristan duly repeated.


    Fortuna, scowling, began reaching for his hear as if threatening to pull at it.


    ¡°She,¡± he hastily revealed. ¡°She says.¡±


    ¡°It,¡± Fortuna repeated in disgust. ¡°You calamitous brat, how dare you deny my beauty for even an instant? Poets wept at my leaving, Tristan, they fucking wept.¡±


    Alas, they had company so he could ask her whether she was sure they had not been weeping until she left. Francho¡¯s eyes were wide and alight.


    ¡°Fascinating,¡± the old professor murmured. ¡°The study of gods is the study of exceptions so the cry of impossibility is that of a fool, but never have I seen our understanding of the modes so contradicted. Your goddess must be extraordinary.¡±


    A heartbeat passed.


    ¡°I¡¯ve changed my mind,¡± Fortuna announced, preening against the tree. ¡°He is obviously a man of piercing insight.¡±


    Tristan supposed it was senseless to call flattery a weakness when the Lady of Long Odds was made up mostly of those in the first place. Describing her by her strengths would be like describing a sinking ship by how well its sails could catch the wind: not untrue but rather missing the point.


    ¡°A discussion for another time,¡± Tristan calmly replied, quite possibly meaning never. ¡°I hope your concerns were set to rest.¡±


    The scholar looked puzzled, for a moment, and only then remembered how their conversation had begun. He coughed in embarrassment.


    ¡°Yes, naturally, of course,¡± Francho hurriedly said. ¡°I did not mean to pry into your affairs, my boy. It was only worry.¡±


    ¡°I understand,¡± Tristan said, and in truth he did.


    He had not enjoyed the polite interrogation, for that was what their talk had been, but he might well have done the same in the other man¡¯s shoes. The professor still felt guilty, however, it was plain on his face. In practice he had asked of Tristan¡¯s contract, which was the kind of thing some people pulled knives over. The guilt made the man babble, seeking to fill the silence. After a few aborted attempts at idle talk he fell back on safer grounds.


    ¡°I have been listening to old stones,¡± Francho said. ¡°The raised ring of stones where Yong and Lady Villazur found the hollow camp, you might be interested to hear it is only one of many.¡±


    Tristan cocked an eyebrow.


    ¡°I am,¡± he admitted. ¡°There are others?¡±


    ¡°I am not sure of the number, but there will be others along the length of the river splitting the island,¡± the professor said. ¡°More interesting yet, I believe them built by the same people who raised the shrine were we found Lady Villazur. The cultists care not for them, save as building materials.¡±


    ¡°So what were they for?¡± he asked. ¡°They do not look like shrines.¡±


    ¡°I cannot tell,¡± Francho enthusiastically said. ¡°Some voices speak of ritual killing, but that may be the work of the Red Eye ¨C it can be hard to tell the when and who of what I hear. I find intriguing, however, that they were raised along the river. Many cultures saw running water as a metaphysical boundary: the rings could be meant to strengthen or weaken it.¡±


    The chatted for a while still in low voices, Tristan keeping the talk going in part to distract from their earlier one. Twice he raised his voice when speaking of the stones when someone was close, the second time when it was Lan. That should throw them off the tracks of the earlier conversation. The talk was long done by the time Ferranda and Sanale returned.


    Their faces were grim. The news were not good.


    ¡°We did not find them,¡± the Malani bluntly said.


    The man¡¯s directness was starting to grow on him. It had a certain charm to it.


    ¡°The trail cut off after a field of gravel,¡± Ferranda added. ¡°There is no telling if they are still around.¡±


    Tristan took off his hat ¨C which was doing a delightful job of keeping dripping water off his scalp, a testament to the occasional Malani stroke of brilliance ¨C and passed a hand through his hair.


    ¡°We need to plant the bait on the cultists anyway,¡± he said. ¡°If we wait too long they¡¯ll break camp and our plan is good as finished.¡±


    None of them liked the additional risk, but what choice did they have? It was simple but careful work, stuffing the dead fox with lodestone extract. Lady Villazur had caught the animal the back with a throwing knife ¨C one he¡¯d never seen her use, caution he could only approve of ¨C so he had to widen the wound a bit before inserting the substance. He made sure wash his hands careful with alcohol after. There was less of it left than he would have liked.


    ¡°Careful not to get any on you,¡± he warned.


    Lady Ferranda silently nodded. She and Yong were the ones to set out for the cultist camp again, leaving the rest of them to wait in that same clearing. There was no point in finding a better hiding place when the trees and stones here would serve fine. Tristan helped a tired Vanesa to fold her legs beneath a jutting rock, tucked away out of sight. The bandage around her eye was red again, he saw with a grimaced. But he only had one roll of makeshift bandages left and this would keep for a while still so he did not make the offer.


    ¡°We are almost through,¡± Tristan told her. ¡°Once we cross the bridge it should be a clear path to the second trial.¡±


    It would be senseless for cultists to wait in ambush past the bridge when the bridge was already being guarded. He could not be sure, of course, but he doubted there would be much trouble on the last stretch of the journey. Vanesa wanly smiled.


    ¡°My legs won¡¯t give yet, don¡¯t worry,¡± she said. ¡°It is these cursed roots that are never where they should be.¡±


    ¡°Once we¡¯re sure the beast is on the hollows, we¡¯ll open the lanterns wide,¡± he told her. ¡°It will be easier to move for us all.¡±


    Sanale had done the rounds while he busied himself with the old woman, nudging the few lacking in prudence to find better places, and now there were only the two of them left. The huntsman took him aside. Tristan had never gotten so close a look at the beadworks on the man¡¯s cloak and shirt before: they were all sharp angles and deep colors, though nothing so bright it would stand out in the woods. The thief had heard that all the clothes adorned with the same that were sold in Sacramonte were fakes, for beadwork was particular to the northern Low Isle and the colored patterns particular to family clans of that storm-wracked land. The other man sought and held his gaze.


    ¡°The beast might catch us,¡± Sanale grunted.


    Tristan¡¯s brow rose.


    ¡°It is a risk,¡± he cautiously agreed.


    ¡°If it do,¡± the huntsman says, ¡°and you betray us, I will shoot you first.¡±


    The thief¡¯s eyes narrowed.


    ¡°That sounds like a threat,¡± he said.


    ¡°Is,¡± Sanale said, sounding pleased at his quick understanding. ¡°So don¡¯t. Fuck infanzones, but not Ferranda.¡±


    ¡°I thought it was the very opposite, with you two,¡± he drily replied.


    The Malani frowned, confusion pulling at his scarred cheeks ¨C little smooth stripes Tristan had never noticed before, none thicker than a razor blade. The man¡¯s Antigua might not be good enough for wordplay the thief eventually admitted.


    ¡°You and her,¡± he said instead.


    Sanale¡¯s face brightened with understanding and he nodded.


    ¡°Yes,¡± he said. ¡°She is not like the others. So don¡¯t betray, or I¡¯ll kill you.¡±


    Well, that did have the benefit of being impeccably straightforward. No nuances to get lost in.


    ¡°I won¡¯t,¡± Tristan assured him.


    The Malani eyed him for a while, then slowly nodded.


    ¡°She thinks Sarai runs you,¡± Sanale said. ¡°But I don¡¯t. You¡¯re more like umndeni.¡±


    A word in Umoya, Tristan thought, but not one he recognized.


    ¡°We¡¯re allies,¡± he shrugged.


    ¡°We should be too,¡± the huntsman bluntly said. ¡°Better you than infanzones. All snakes.¡±


    Against his better judgement, the thief¡¯s lips twitched.


    ¡°One of your own nobles went with them,¡± he pointed out. ¡°Tredegar.¡±


    Sanale snorted.


    ¡°Peers,¡± he said, like it explained everything.


    When he saw it did not, the huntsman continued.


    ¡°Half are mad,¡± Sanale explained, ¡°the other act it.¡±


    It had the air of an old saying to it, which made it all the more amusing to hear.


    ¡°Not a great admirer of nobles, I take it,¡± Tristan grinned.


    ¡°My uncle shoot their taxmen when they come to the hold,¡± the huntsman proudly said. ¡°Outlaw under three different names.¡±


    It was making an increasing amount of sense to the thief how Sanale got along so well with Yong, a man who referred to nobles by a word which meant relic.


    ¡°Yours are a forward-thinking folk, Sanale,¡± Tristan told him. ¡°Would that we were all so wise.¡±


    The Malani eyed him, as if trying to ascertain if he was being made sport of, then nodded decisively.


    ¡°The Trial of Ruins needs allies,¡± the huntsman stated. ¡°The weak get sold out. Think on it.¡±


    Tristan found, to his surprise, that he was considering it. He was yet hesitant to tie himself too closely to anyone ¨C the more interest he had to care for, the harder it would be to get a good shot at Cozme Aflor ¨C but he could do worse for allies than this pair. They were competent, and while he did not trust Villazur in the slightest he was fairly sure that if Sanale ever intended to turn on him the knife would come from the front and not the back. The huntsman offered him a polite nod, which he returned, and then Sanale went to cut off the last lantern entirely.


    There were plenty of roots and stones to hide under, but after staying so long in the same clearing Tristan was feeling restless. The brush of wind against the leaves above had him reaching for his knife, what he thought to be a bird only a shivering branch, but the idea it brought to mind pleased him.


    It took a minute or two to find a halfway dry tree with branches low enough he could hoist himself up, but find it he did. The bark bit at his fingers as he climbed but the work was not arduous and once crouched on the lowest branch he found another in reach: he¡¯d be able to get higher with little effort. Once he began rising he continued on a whim, the thought of breaking past the canopy of this damnable forest too pleasing to resist.


    In a matter of minutes he broke past the leaves, face emerging for his first clear look at the sky since he¡¯d entered the forest. The stars shone pale in the distance, their light just enough to outline the sea of trees spread out below. When squinting he could almost make out where the treeline ended to the north, the ravine where the river ran. The bridge was too far to make out. Breathing in slowly, the thief let tension bleed out of his frame. It was not in his hands whether Yong and the infanzona would succeed, all he could do was wait. Until then, he might as well take in the rare sight of a wild forest that - was that mist?


    For three secondsTristan leaned forward, heart beating against his ears, and prayed to any god listening it was just some fog from the rain he saw. But it was too thick, moved too quickly. The heliodoran beast. It¡¯s coming. It was too close for the lodestone extract to be responsible: Sanale had said the lemure saw smells as colours, but while a beacon of colour had just been lit the monster was more than halfway to the camp already. It¡¯d already been close, but why? The thief struggled to understand where it had gone wrong, until finally he found the keystone.


    Sanale had said the tracks he¡¯d found earlier were heading east, but perhaps it might have been more accurate to say they were heading away from the west.


    ¡°It was after them,¡± he muttered. ¡°Fuck.¡±


    Sarai had been right. The cultists hadn¡¯t been going east because they were looking for a fight with the other hollows, they were running away from the heliodoran beast. And Tristan figured they might well have lost it, because there¡¯d been no sign of the monster, only now most of a bottle¡¯s worth of lodestone was wafting up like a column of smoke. It was like waving a red flag before a bull. Cursing under his breath, he got moving: branch after branch, until he could leap down into the leaves. Vanesa peeked out from under her stone.


    ¡°Tristan?¡± she called out.


    ¡°Trouble,¡± he replied. ¡°Sanale, the beast is already close.¡±


    The Malani huntsman stepped out of the shadow between trees like he¡¯d just manifested out of thin air, grim face gone grimmer.


    ¡°I¡¯ll fetch them, then we run,¡± he said.


    The addition of Yong to ¡®them¡¯ was likely more than just politeness, considering how well the pair got along. Tristan shook his head.


    ¡°I¡¯ll go,¡± the thief said instead.


    The man looked about to object, so he raised his hand to cut him off.


    ¡°If the people here have to run, I can¡¯t guide them,¡± he said. ¡°You can. I¡¯ll be enough to play messenger, Sanale.¡±


    Reluctantly, the Malani nodded. He gave few curt instructions as to the path to follow, which Tristan carefully committed to memory, and without further ceremony he went.


    --


    It would have been a lie to say that Tristan moved smoothly or skillfully.


    He almost ripped his knee up sliding down a flat stone and used the wrong lightning-struck tree as a signpost, forcing him to double back and take a left past the running water. But he got there, and though it came at the cost of some scuffing and spitting out a mouthful of dead leaves he got to the outskirts of the cultist camp. Creeping across the wet earth he risked a look, finding a few fires lit from behind the broken ring of raised stones ¨C of which barely half were left. The trees were thick here, so close every path needed squeezing through, but that worked in his favour for now. It would be difficult to pick him out even for a darkling.


    From what he could tell the cultists were not yet awake, save for the watchers ¨C two of which were perched atop raised stones. Now he needed to find out if Yong and Ferranda were still around, dearly hoping they hadn¡¯t just walked past each other in the dark.


    When a gloved hand coved his mouth, pulling him back, he moved without thought.


    Elbow in the stomach, pivot, opposite elbow in the neck while he reached for his knife. There was a grunt behind him and he turned to see Ferranda Villazur clutching her head as she stumbled back. She was groaning in pain. Behind her Yong moved out from behind an oak¡¯s trunk.


    ¡°You should have whistled,¡± the Tianxi murmured.


    ¡°I can see that now, yes,¡± the infanzona rasped out.


    ¡°You¡¯re lucky I looked before using the knife,¡± Tristan told her, unsympathetic.


    Tempted as he was to rub salt in the noble¡¯s wound, there were more pressing matters.


    ¡°The airavatan is close,¡± he said. ¡°Where is the bait?¡±


    In the dark it was hard to make out their expressions but there was no missing how they both stiffened. Neither were fool enough to think anything but death awaited if the beast caught them.


    ¡°In a berry bush close to the edge of their camp,¡± Ferranda replied. ¡°How close, Tristan?¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t be sure now, but when I left-¡±


    He never finished the sentence.


    Not for lack of trying, but because at his feet mist was billowing out. The thickness of the growth had played against him, let him miss the creeping advance until it was too late. The airavatan was here, and where its mist spread there was only silence. A shiver of dread went down his spine. If it had found them¡­ But from the corner of his eye he saw movement near the edge of the cultist camp. In the trembling light of the fires a hulking shape approached, tearing through the trees in eerie silence. Gods, but it was so quick for a creature so large. It almost seemed delicate, the way it moved, until you saw the crushing weight it bored down on all it touched.


    Panicking hollows tried to wake their fellows without being able to scream in alarm, but it was too late. The great beast slowed only for a moment, when it reached the edge of the ring of raised stones. Tentacles carefully felt out the edge of them, and after finding what they wanted the beast burst through.


    Someone pulled at his arm, and Tristan did not fight back. They ran, leaving the cultists to their death.


    --


    The way back was faster than when he¡¯d come alone, but not fast enough.


    They could not run as quick as Tristan felt the need to, heart racing in fear: it was dark and slippery and none of them had brought a lantern. It¡¯d been too risky. He followed Yong¡¯s back as best he could, tried to walk where the man walked, and only slipped the once. Neither of the others stopped for him when he did. Tristan was not angered by it, could not be when a primal terror pressed against his own back. As soon as they found the others, he thought, they must all run. The plan was not yet undone, only on the razor¡¯s edge. They had been meant to already be getting closer to the bridge when the heliodoran beast attacked the cultist camp, but this was not beyond salvaging. If the airavatan took its time with the hollows they might still get across in time.


    Tristan felt relief well up in his throat at the sight of the lightning-struck tree he recognized from earlier, knowing it meant they were close, but ahead of him the others were no longer moving. They were hiding behind the hollow of a birch, eyes ahead, and he joined them with great care to be quiet.


    The rest of their crew was out of hiding, a half-open lantern by Sanale¡¯s foot casting its glow over the clearing. The Malani huntsman had his musket out and pointed, the others around bearing their own arms. It was plain to see why: facing them were a dozen armed hollows. The other warband, Tristan thought through clenched teeth. The one that had been fleeing the beast. He pulled his knife. Yong had a pistol in hand and was already loading it with powder, while Ferranda Villazur unsheathed her sword with care to keep the sound low. They were at the back of the cultists, if they struck first¡­


    ¡°Peace, strangers,¡± a woman called out. ¡°None of us can afford to spill blood here.¡±


    Tristan¡¯s eyes followed the voice and what he found gave him pause. The hollows were armed with spears and swords, a few with mail and one a breastplate, but one among them wore only robes and bore no blade. It was blonde woman with skin pale as milk and a broad face, aged around what must be late thirties. Her eyes were wide and shining, unsettlingly black. She¡¯d caught the three of them out and the advantage now lay with her band, but the enemy did not look eager to fight - a fight Tristan¡¯s crew might not win if they forced it. The three of them traded resigned glances before coming out of the trees, carefully circling around the darklings to join the others.


    ¡°I know that look,¡± Yong said, spitting into the leaves. ¡°Bishop, are you?¡±


    ¡°A learned man,¡± the woman praised, tone friendly. ¡°I am Bishop Dionne, a servant of the divine.¡±


    ¡°Lovely to meet you,¡± Lan called out.


    A rat to the bone, that one, Tristan fondly thought. She¡¯d shake hands with the King of Hell himself if she thought him a useful relation.


    ¡°A sentiment shared,¡± Bishop Dionne easily replied. ¡°I would have no quarrel between our warbands. We have already suffered losses and abandoned the season of the hunt. Besides, spilling blood will bring the woken god on us all. There are only tears to be had in that.¡±


    Ferranda had come to stand besides Sanale, sword in hand, and she took the lead.


    ¡°Then let us all part ways in peace,¡± Lady Ferranda offered.


    ¡°That would be pleasing,¡± the bishop agreed. ¡°But first I seek of you knowledge of how the woken god was drawn here. We had lost it, mere hours ago. I believe that change is of your doing, yes?¡±


    Hesitation. It was a reasonable thing to ask, but already they could all dimly feel it would not really end at that first request. Perhaps this was, the thief thought, best handled by him. He stepped into the lantern¡¯s light and made a show of sheathing his knife. The hollow warriors made no move to return the courtesy, but it drew the bishop¡¯s approving eye.


    ¡°It was a scent,¡± Tristan told her. ¡°Medicine I carried that also happens to draw the attention of gods. It has all been spent.¡±


    He disliked speaking up, drawing attention to himself like this, but they needed to go and he didn¡¯t trust anyone else to get it done as quickly. Every breath spent here was one less between them and the beast. The priestess smiled pleasantly.


    ¡°And how am I to know you speak truth?¡± she asked. ¡°You might have cursed my warband the same way.¡±


    She wanted something, as he¡¯d thought. She¡¯s mentioned losses earlier so maybe she wanted a prize to compensate for them. Something to bring back home to avoid the perception of complete defeat. Already he was going through his options, finding what he might offer as a bribe, and opened his mouth to ¨C


    Yong casually lowered his pistol and shot a hollow.


    A scream of pain, followed by more of surprise and anger. Swords and spears rose on the other side, pistols and blades on theirs, but Tristan¡¯s eyes were on the bishop. And when he saw the expression that flickered there, he understood that Yong had not been so reckless after all. Bishop Dionne was not furious, for all that ger face now showed anger. For the barest of heartbeats she had been amused. When Tristan¡¯s eyes moved, he was not surprised to find that Yong had only shot the warrior in the leg.


    ¡°You offer insult, stranger,¡± Dionne said.


    ¡°I offer a gift,¡± Yong replied without batting an eye. ¡°A man you know you will outrun. Let us part on those terms, Bishop, for you will get no more of us.¡±


    The sole man in mail pleaded something to his priest in a guttural language. If Tristan were inclined to bet, he¡¯d say he was asking for permission to fight.


    ¡°There is no need for that, Vasil,¡± Bishop Dionne smiled. ¡°Let us accept this gift in the spirit it was meant. Come here, Alin.¡±


    Grimaces bloomed across the faces of her warriors and the wounded man took a step back, eyes wet with tears.


    ¡°No, Bishop,¡± Alin pleaded, ¡°I swear I would-¡±


    The priest laid a hand on his head, and there was a small stir of wind. The warrior shivered, only for him to straighten his back as she withdrew her fingers.


    ¡°I take your pain for an hour, my son,¡± Dionne said. ¡°You have a chance now: outwit the god, or earn the honour of its teeth.¡±


    They had just cast him out, Tristan thought. The smell of blood was sure to draw the heliodoran beast, so he must be left behind. And part of him felt horror at how easily that life had just been thrown away but the part had been trained, the one that kept him alive all these years, was instead fitting pieces together. The airavatan had slain trial-takers and cultists both the day before the Bluebell docked, but there had been no trace of them impaled inside its maw when he saw inside yesterday. They are only kept there until death, he decided. How long did it take a man to die from impalement? There was no telling, unless you knew where they got impaled, and that was impossible to predict. But the odds were still worth it. Bishop Dionne flicked a glance their way.


    ¡°Let us part ways in peace, as was offered,¡± she said, an ironic lilt to the offer.


    ¡°No,¡± Tristan said, and stepped forward.


    ¡°What are you-¡±


    Someone silenced Felis as the thief took his cabinet off his back, opening it up. He took out two vials, then a rag to go with them. He only had two clean ones left, at this rate he¡¯d run out.


    ¡°What are your intentions, child?¡± the bishop asked.


    ¡°I am a physician,¡± Tristan lied. ¡°I have taken oath to help those who suffer, even darklings. Let me treat his wound.¡±


    Dionne looked taken aback. The hollow she had already good as cast out turned a pleading look on her, so she ended up nodding her head with open bemusement.


    ¡°You may proceed.¡±


    ¡°Sit down,¡± Tristan ordered the man.


    Drenching the rag in alcohol, he cleaned the wound and explained to ¡®Alin¡¯ that he could not risk taking out the lead ball inside his leg lest he be at risk of bleeding out. Instead he cleaned the burns and wrapped the wounds with the last of his bandages before offering the man vial to drink.


    ¡°It will kill the pain for half a day,¡± he said. ¡°It will also taste foul, but drink the whole thing anyway.¡±


    The hollow gratefully nodded and downed it, almost retching at the taste. He handed back the vial and Tristan rose to his feet before helping him up.


    ¡°It is all I can do,¡± the thief said. ¡°I can only wish you good luck.¡±


    ¡°You have done much already,¡± Alin, his Antigua faintly guttural. ¡°My blessings go with you, son of the Radiance.¡±


    Now there was something to trouble a man¡¯s sleep. Tristan smiled back anyway. Bishop Dionne approached, giving a weighing look, and leaned close.


    ¡°I thank you for the kindness, child,¡± she said. ¡°It is almost a shame that you are all already dead.¡±


    Somehow he suspected she had not become a bishop because of her bedside manner, but that was fine. He had not done a kindness at all. Their groups parted ways with fewer glares than there had been a moment ago, though no one from either side had loosened their grip on their weapon. The last Tristan saw of them was the wounded warrior being encircled by the others, a chant beginning on the priest¡¯s lips, and then they were hurrying away. Not long after they were out of sight he was pulled to the fore.


    ¡°Why did we just waste time watching you pretend to help that darkling?¡± Yong bluntly asked.


    ¡°Pretend?¡± Ferranda said, surprised.


    ¡°He is out of painkillers,¡± Sarai told her. ¡°What did you actually make him drink, Tristan?¡±


    ¡°Volcian yew,¡± the thief said. ¡°My entire stock.¡±


    Sanale let out a hard bark of laughter.


    ¡°A poison?¡± Yong frowned.


    ¡°Only for spirits,¡± the Malani grinned. ¡°Clever man.¡±


    ¡°The airavatan is going to be eating our friend soon enough,¡± Tristan said. ¡°And when it does, it will also be eating a bellyful of poison.¡±


    The heliodoran beast ate the corpses it impaled inside its own maw. It must, for there had been no trace of the first wave of trial-takers there when he had seen inside the mouth yesterday. The thief suspected that they were kept impaled so long as they lived to suffer and were consumed when dead. That was his bet: that the hollow would die quick enough inside the maw for the poison in him to matter.


    Now all that was left was to run and hope the roll of the dice went their way.

 Chapter 18

    Tristan couldn¡¯t quite believe it when they broke the treeline.


    ¡°It¡¯s the right place,¡± Sarai fervently told him. ¡°The hills are in the right arrangement.¡±


    She had to be right, she was no fool and she had the map tucked away inside her mind through a Sign, and yet the thief felt no relief. Before them a great clearing in the forest was stretching out, rolling hills and a stretch of gleaming grass. Miles of open land, with trees on all sides save the north ¨C where the ravine lay, and the bridge to cross it. Tristan spat to the side, for his mouth taste of iron after all the running, and looked behind. The others were catching up, the fit and the not. The former clustered together, keeping the same exhausted but unrelenting pace, while the latter trailed behind.


    Yong, Sanale, Ferranda, Lan. All these were mere moments behind he and Sarai.


    It was they others they waited for until they came out one by one. It took nearly ten minutes: Vanesa had not got quicker for the evening¡¯s exertions and Francho was barely ahead of her. As for Felis, it had been only a matter of time until his lick of dust¡¯s feverish burst of energy passed ¨C and once it had, he¡¯d become a shambles. That Aines stayed with him was as much a result of her poor shape as loyalty to her hanging rope of a marriage, Tristan suspected. She was barely faster on her feet than the greyhairs now, evidently not used to lasting exercise. And yet they were catching up, all of them.


    They had all made it.


    ¡°I thought we¡¯d lose at least one of the elders,¡± Yong admitted. ¡°It is a bruising pace we have kept.¡±


    ¡°Tough,¡± Sanale appreciatively said.


    ¡°Desperations is a kind of strength,¡± Lan said. ¡°And even the old girl wants to live, deep down.¡±


    The thief caught her eye and dipped his head in agreement. Vanesa had not given up. She might not expect to live through this, but neither was she ready to lay down and die. It was worthy of respect, as much as the freely gifted kindness. As the laggards entered the light of the lantern, Tristan saw how worn down they had become. Expectedly so: it had been punishing work moving through the woods even with their lanterns now wide open.


    They had followed the edge of the ravine to avoid getting lost, following it east until the treeline broke. They¡¯d passed to more rings of raised stones as they did ¨C one intact, the other shattered ¨C and the second they had passed not even a half hour ago. Whatever they might once have been used for, they now made for useful landmarks. When the last of them, a sweaty and dishevelled Vanesa, caught up the lot of them shared a brief rest.


    ¡°We¡¯re close, then?¡± Felis raggedly asked.


    Sarai pointed slightly to the northwest, past two high hills.


    ¡°The bridge is there,¡± she said. ¡°There can be no doubt.¡±


    Far be it from him to argue with the woman who had a used magic to memorize the map. Even the most exhausted of them picked up the pace at her words, elation and relief limbering slowing feet. Even Tristan found a smile tugging at his lips. It seemed they had reached salvation before the monster caught up with them, after all. He crested a hill, then another, and saw the dirt path laid down before him. Then the relief caught in his throat.


    Lemures.


    Lupines, a whole pack of them. Though Aines and Yong were standing at his side within moments, not a single of the beasts glanced their way: they were too busy tearing hungrily into corpses. Slowly coming down the hill, hand on his knife, he took a closer look at the bodies. Hollows, Tristan recognized. Less than half a day dead, and as the light of the lantern reached the bridge beyond the lupines he remembered the bishop¡¯s smiling curse: you are all already dead.


    The corpses being eaten had been crushed and stomped, as if by a great beast.


    These were, he realized, the losses Bishop Dionne had talked about. The priestess herself might have been here mere hours ago. One after another, he fit the pieces together. Standing there alone with closed eyes, he painted the picture the way Abuela had taught him to.


    By the time the Bluebell had come ashore, the cultists had already been stirred up from the debacle that woke up the airavatan. The warbands split, some roving the land while the largest claimed the western and eastern bridge. The morning after Ju was murdered the trial-takers split into bands of their own, but their story was not Tristan¡¯s trouble: what he cared for was the bridges. After Inyoni and her fellows fought their way through the western bridge, the airavatan went mad from whatever had confused it and collapsed the bridge. What, then, were the hollows to do?


    Everyone headed east. So, eventually, did the airavatan.


    The monster slew a few warbands and some went into hiding, but what Tristan and the others had deduced when they first laid their plans was still true: the cultists did not help each other, they were rivals. And so no one went to warn the large warband holding the eastern bridge ¨C led, he now believed, by Bishop Dionne - that a monster was on the prowl. The cultists were taken entirely by surprise when it attacked them.


    That warband had been hit tonight, mere hours ago. It was why the tracks Sanale had found earlier were fresh: the cultists been fleeing the beast by going east into the woods, away from this deadly clearing. After finishing up here, the airvatan had followed in their direction but been lost ¨C perhaps because of the rain, which would dampen how it smelled. It had still moved east somewhat, though, and been close enough to immediately smell the lodestone extract when Tristan used it.


    Which brought them to here and now: the cultist camp of a rival warband destroyed, their own crew running for the bridge before the heliodoran beast turned on them.


    And now they came to the reason Bishop Dionne had called them dead. Tristan opened his eyes as the light of the lantern carried by Yong passed the corpses and lupines. To the bridge, through which some cultists had tried to flee and where the monster caught up to them. And when it struck them down, in its rage it must have collapsed the wooden bridge: now only shattered edges on both side of the ravine remained, the rest long fallen into the river below. There would be no crossing here.


    They were stuck on this side, with the beast and the hollows.


    ¡°No,¡± Aines shouted.


    The lupines did not even care enough about the noise to abandon their meal. Despair trembled in the air, not one of them denying its sting. It was too long for a jump across, Tristan thought. And they did not have a rope long enough to attempt another kind of crossing. Even Sarai¡¯s face fell, though she was the first to gather herself.


    ¡°If we go west, the river grows wider and stronger but there is no ravine,¡± she said. ¡°Swimming through there is the only way left.¡±


    Half of them wouldn¡¯t make that swim, the thief thought. Neither of the elders, probably not Aines either and he was not so sure of Lan. Gods, he was not so sure of himself. He was fit but no great swimmer and the Watch had built bridges on the island for a reason. But it was all that remained, so he put away his doubts and breathed in. He let out his breath and his fear with it.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± he said. ¡°No time to waste.¡±


    If they waited for too long their company was sure to fall into arguments and backbiting, which would eat into their chances of losing the airavatan. So he began setting out, nudging Sarai to do the same. She gave him a long look, then nodded and followed. Behind them he heard Felis comfort his wife and yell something out at Yong, but Tristan met the Tianxi¡¯s eyes and the soldier snorted. Ignoring Felis, he joined them in walking away. After that, the simple pressure of people leaving forced the rest to make a decision: stay or follow.


    Enough followed that the rest feared to stay.


    It was not a solid foundation, the thief knew, but the worst had happened and so he must adjust his expectations. There could be no more sentimentality. Ferranda sought him out at the front, having surprised him when she and Sanale stuck with them.


    ¡°You have a scheme in mind,¡± she said. ¡°What is it?¡±


    ¡°Going west,¡± he flatly replied. ¡°If we live through the day then we can revisit how we will cross.¡±


    She grimaced.


    ¡°Fair enough,¡± Ferranda replied. ¡°We will stay with you for now, but make no promises for tomorrow.¡±


    He shrugged. The pair were far from dead weight, and he¡¯d given due thought to Sanale¡¯s offer, but trackers were no longer needed. It would be hard to get lost now that they had found the river: all that remained was to find a way to cross it. It had earlier taken most of an hour for them to get to the bridge, and now they squeezed out much the same hurrying through the hills. In a few miles west the woods would begin again, continuing until they broke for another plain at the heart of the island where the other bridge lay.


    Past that, at least a full day west, was where Sarai was suggesting they attempt the crossing.


    Only when they were out of breath did they call their first halt. The pretence that they were all in this together had worn thin: both the greyhairs had been lagging behind again, the same for Aines and Felis, and no one moved to help them. They would catch up exhausted to the remainder of the group only by the time it set out, the thief estimated, and so be forced to continue without rest. It was a slow death sentence, but Tristan hardened his heart.


    He no longer had the luxury of caring about anything but survival.


    ¡°Huh,¡± Yong said. ¡°Unusual.¡±


    Panting and on his knees, Tristan turned to follow the Tianxi¡¯s gaze. Further along the ravine ¨C it was wider here, likely why the bridge had been built further east ¨C there were rings of raised stones. Two of them, rather close, and in near perfect state. Whoever the builders had been, they had made them to last. It was not long after this second ring the forest began again, the clearing come to an end. After entering those woods it ought to take at least half a day until they found open grounds again, which he did not look forward to.


    It was vicious kind of irony that Tristan and his fellows were to see twice as many bridges anyone from the Bluebell yet all of them would be broken.


    And now remembering, the other bridge¡¯s fate ¨C which he had known of for an entire day! - he cursed himself for not having considered the same might happen again. It was plain that the blackcloacks had not built bridges strong enough to withstand the lemure, that they had expected the airavatan to remain sleeping. He¡¯d had the right knowledge in his pocket all along and never thought to put it to use.


    ¡°The others were further apart,¡± Yong breathed out.


    The thief blinked for a moment before realizing Yong was still talking of the stone circles.


    ¡°Maybe we¡¯re near the middle,¡± Tristan shrugged.


    Francho believed they followed the length of the river, from east to west, but he might have been wrong. The thief got back on his feet, meeting the Yong¡¯s eyes. A nod was shared and they began to move again ¨C setting out at a pace that was not quite a run but far from walking. This was to be a trial of endurance, not a quick race.


    Tristan forced himself not to think about the fact that Francho and Vanesa had not yet caught up.


    Half an hour later they were slightly past the second of the rings, not even a quarter hour away from the woods resuming to the west. The thief slowed for a heartbeat, convinced he¡¯d seen a light inside the stones, but it was nothing: only a stone smoothed by rain reflecting the stars, however. He breathed out, not sure whether he was relieved or disappointed.  The answer was soon settled, however, as the little he had turned was enough for him to catch sight of something that froze his limbs.


    Behind them, to the east, mist was billowing past the crest of the hills


    His breath caught. If the mist was close enough for him to see without even lantern light, then there was no outrunning the monster. The heliodoran beast had caught up, and what could the likes of them do against such a creature? He was going to die here in the dark, surrounded by strangers. He- Tristan breathed in, breathed out. Remember your lessons. What he could not do did not matter, so what could he do? If the monster could not be fled from, it must be tricked.


    ¡°Tristan,¡± Sarai called out, but then she turned to follow his gaze and her voice went out like a candle in the wind.


    The thief did not answer, eyes staying fixed on the heliodoran beast. In the distance he could see the white fog slowly but surely gaining on Vanesa, ever the last of them. She had yet to notice. Sarai pulled at his arm, fingers squeezing hard at his flesh.


    ¡°We need to go,¡± she hissed. ¡°I know you-¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re letting fear do your thinking for you,¡± Tristan said, tone even. ¡°We had at least an hour on it, running on open grounds while it was in the woods. We cannot flee from it, Sarai: we¡¯re simply not fast enough.¡±


    He straightened his back.


    ¡°As our good friend the bishop said, we must outwit the god or earn the honour of its teeth.¡±


    Sarai loudly swallowed.


    ¡°You said to stick close to you, if this went bad,¡± she said.


    ¡°I can perhaps keep us alive, and another as well,¡± he admitted. ¡°But I am not sure how long.¡±


    It would be a gamble. While they were covered in magic feathers reeking of sleep the beast should not eat them, but they would be unconscious and he would have to hope the lemure kept chasing the others instead of taking the time to stomp them out of spite. By the way her breathing grew uneven, Sarai was panicking. He did not blame her.


    ¡°You¡¯ve just good as said we¡¯re going to die ¨C how are you so fucking calm?¡± she demanded.


    Did he seem that way? He did not feel it. There was a wild animal clawing at his insides, even if it had yet to break the cage.


    ¡°I am terrified,¡± Tristan honestly told her. ¡°My limbs are trembling and my mind is mush. But it doesn¡¯t matter, because I know where we are.¡±


    ¡°Where?¡± she snarled.


    ¡°In a grave,¡± the rat grinned. ¡°We have nothing left to lose, Sarai: either we buy our way out or we stay buried. Fear only matters if it can still get worse.¡±


    She let out a hiccup that was half indignation and half laughter.


    ¡°Gods,¡± she croaked. ¡°No wonder the masks want you.¡±


    Masks - did she mean the Krypteia? No, now was not the time. There would be time to ask what one of the Circles of the Watch might want with him if they lived. Instead he clapped her shoulder comfortingly and his eyes went back to their coming doom. By his count Vanesa was a quarter hour behind them, to the east, and the beast would catch up to her around the time she reached the first ring of stones. Indeed, now that the mist was spreading further across the wet grass he could make out the airvatan¡¯s silhouette in starlight. The monster was following her doggedly.


    Vanesa had noticed the monster at last and broken into a run that slowly curved north towards the ravine ¨C her eye again, Tristan thought with a sliver of grief ¨C and the beast had followed the adjustment exactly. Almost, he frowned, too exactly.


    ¡°Sarai,¡± he said, ¡°is it me or is the airavatan running strangely?¡±


    Afraid or not, the blue-eyed woman had not fallen to pieces. They stood there in silence for a long moment, gaze following the same great beast.


    ¡°It¡¯s not moving across the hills well,¡± she murmured. ¡°It keeps almost tripping on the slopes. Why?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s blind,¡± Tristan breathed out, excitement rising. ¡°It wasn¡¯t enough poison to kill it, but it went blind.¡±


    He suspected the beast have been blind when it began following them across the plains ¨C surely it would not have been able to hear them from so far away - but now the volcian yew had taken its sight. It could still get around somehow, and track them, but the way it kept walking on things instead of over them was telling.


    ¡°It¡¯s still following Vanesa,¡± Sarai said. ¡°The impact of feet on the ground? No, then it would feel the slopes and the stones when its footsteps make them shake. It must be the sound, it is listening to her run.¡±


    ¡°Then hiding would be pointless,¡± Tristan noted. ¡°If it can hear her from that far away, there is no way to hold our breath for long enough it won¡¯t hear us.¡±


    ¡°We need protection,¡± she said. ¡°Something to hide behind. We could try going down the side of the ravine?¡±


    Tristan grimaced, shaking his head, and even Sarai looked unconvinced. The beast would be able to reach them with its tentacles. Gods, the monstrosity was longer than the ravine was large. But there was one detail that he¡¯d had in the back of his mind since earlier, an oddity about how the monster had attacked the cultist camp.


    ¡°I think I have something,¡± Tristan admitted. ¡°But there will be no way to tell if it works until it¡¯s on us.¡±


    Blue eyes met his and she hesitated. He was, in practice, asking her to bet her life on his hunch. They had known each other for mere days, and spent much of these hiding secrets from one another and - her expression hardened and she offered her arm. She had, he sensed, come to a decision. Not just about the needs of the moment, but deeper things still. Gently, almost reverently, he clasped the proffered arm.


    ¡°Maryam,¡± she said. ¡°My name is Maryam Khaimov. If I am to trust you with my life, I should trust you with that.¡±


    He swallowed.


    ¡°Tristan Abrascal,¡± he said, lips gone dry.


    It was the first time he¡¯d said his surname in years and he shivered at hearing it.


    ¡°Let¡¯s live, Tristan,¡± Maryam smiled. ¡°After that, it would be embarrassing not to.¡±


    He grinned back, minutes away from death and terrified and somehow more alive than he¡¯d been since he was a boy.


    --


    They went back to the first ring of stones. This was madness, so naturally even after the others noticed they were no longer running and turned back to ask few were inclined to follow.


    ¡°This is madness,¡± Ferranda Villazur flatly informed him.


    As always, the infanzona caught on quickly.


    ¡°I am aware,¡± Tristan said. ¡°It might, however, be the useful kind of madness.¡±


    The fair-haired noblewoman studied him for a moment, then shook her head. Her plain face was drawn with exhaustion, but her expression remained steadfast in a stolid sort of way.


    ¡°I wish you well, but I will not risk my life so recklessly,¡± Ferranda told. ¡°We part ways here.¡±


    Or so she said, but then she glanced at Sanale ¨C who nodded after a heartbeat. Reassured, her face firmed. Their decision was made.


    ¡°Good luck,¡± Tristan said, and was surprised to find her meant the words.


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    ¡°You too,¡± Sanale said, offering his hand. ¡°Keep your knife close. Better to die quick if can.¡±


    It was said with such friendly concern that the thief could not even find it in himself to be offended at the presumption they were all about to die, shaking it. They were not truly friends, though perhaps in time they could have become something close to it, but the pair had been more than tolerable to work with. It was already better than he had ever expected to think of an infanzona. When Lady Ferranda offered her hand he shook it as well. The two hurried away after rushing through goodbyes, heading west for the woods. Lan followed behind them, offering only a cheerful wave before legging it.


    The three had lost some time doubling back, but likely expected to make it back while the airavatan murdered everyone staying behind.


    Yong watched them go, then grimaced.


    ¡°Now would be a good time to tell me you put some lodestone in their bags,¡± the Tianxi said.


    ¡°Alas, I used the full stock,¡± Tristan easily replied.


    ¡°I was afraid you¡¯d stay that,¡± Yong sighed. ¡°Is the plan really to hide inside the stone rings and pray they keep the monster out?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t intend to pray,¡± Sarai informed him.


    He glared at her.


    ¡°You two are a bad influence on each other,¡± he said, then turned to spit on the grass.


    He sighed and began to load his musket.


    ¡°I think this might be the most idiotic plan I¡¯ve ever followed,¡± Yong said, ¡°and I¡¯ve served with militia officers from Mazu.¡±


    Tristan cocked an eyebrow. He knew little of that republic save that it was one of the foremost naval powers of the Trebian Sea.


    ¡°Half their promotion examination is about poetry,¡± Yong scathingly said.


    ¡°What I choose to take from this is that my insight matched that of trained military officers,¡± Tristan proudly replied. ¡°Come on, let¡¯s go hide in the rings.¡±


    Their company had spread out. Ferranda and Sanale had pulled ahead to the west and were minutes away from the woods, a surprisingly quick Lan a notch behind them, while further back Aines and Felis were getting close to the first ring of stones. A few minutes behind them Francho was limping, and even further beyond that Vanesa struggled to catch up. Tristan worried his lip, evaluating the distances. He had the time, narrowly.


    ¡°We have two lanterns,¡± he said. ¡°Let us put one in each ring.¡±


    It was as clear a signal he could risk considering that shouting would likely attract the beast. Seeing a lantern in the eastern ring might induce the others to try going inside it.


    ¡°Soft touch,¡± Yong chided, but it was without heat.


    The Tianxi stayed in the second ring while he and Sarai brought a lantern to the first, running back when they saw how close the airavatan was getting. They left just as Aines and Felis arrived, the pair looking baffled as the entered the ring. Even from there they could see Yong waiting in the other, his silhouette clear in the other lantern¡¯s light, so though the wedded pair shouted questions that Tristan did not turn to answer they stayed inside in mimicry of the Tianxi. The surprise was that, by the time they got back to the western ring, Lan was running towards it as well. When she stumbled past the circle of raised stones, falling on her knees in the grass, she gave them a blue grin.


    ¡°Decided to bet on you this time,¡± Lan explained.


    It was just as likely she had realized she was not as physically fit as the pair in front of her and was likely to get eaten while they kept running, but Tristan decided not to be unpleasant. It was not impossible they were all about to die. Instead he went for the edge of their circle of stones, leaning against the tall stone and watching as the airavatan closed the last of the distance to the eastern ring. Francho had made it inside, falling to his hands and knees before the other two as they held each other, and that left there was only Vanesa. She went straight for the ring, as quick as she could, while behind her mist followed. Make it, Tristan encouraged. Come on, you can make it.


    Mist spread past her and the shadow loomed tall, the ground shaking silently beneath its feet, but she was there. Fingers biting into the palm of his hand until they bled, Tristan watched as the old woman got three feet away from the edge of the ring ¨C and slipped.


    ¡°No,¡± he breathed out.


    She fell, face forward, and a third of her body made it into the ring. The airavatan¡¯s leg, tall and large as pillar, rose and came down ¨C but Felis, in a burst of courage, left his wife and caught Vanesa¡¯s arm. He dragged her forward.


    It was not enough.


    Vanesa screamed, one of her legs snapping like a twig. But she lived. Felis had pulled quickly enough that it had been a leg instead of her body up to the ribcage, and as the airavatan stomped furiously around the ring of raised stones the dust fiend finished dragging her inside. And though he¡¯d just seen a woman¡¯s leg become a ruin of bone and broken flesh, Tristan eyes widened in elation at what he saw: the beasts¡¯ mist did not enter the ring of stones. It refused to, that was the reason they had been able to hear Vanesa scream at all. Yong cursed softly in Cathayan as the heliodoran beast¡¯s tentacles felt out the stones, trying to reach through them but sliding as if against glass.


    It had done the same thing, back at the cultist camp, but the ring there had been broken.


    ¡°You were right, you little madman,¡± Yong said. ¡°You were fucking right.¡±


    Sarai ¨C Maryam, though he did not yet think of her that way ¨C found his hand and squeezed it. He squeezed back.


    ¡°My wisdom is being followed as well,¡± Lan smugly said. ¡°Just look at them run.¡±


    He followed her gaze, finding that Ferranda and Sanale were doubling back. They must have seen the rings truly were a protection, and realized their safety was the best chance for them to live through the nigh. The situation had changed the moment the monster was kept at bay by the stones: now the airavatan might well abandon the prey beyond its reach for easier kills, and the pair were the only two on the table. Yet their earlier advantage, how quickly they had run, was now turning against them. They were too far.


    With rising horror, Tristan turned to see the airavatan striding away from the other ring: it had heard them doubling back.


    The coolness in the back of his mind, the part that had been trained, measured the spans and the speeds. The airavatan, rushing from west to east. The pair, rushing from east to west. Ferranda and Sanale were closer to the eastern ring than the airavatan was, but the beast moved almost twice as quickly and would not tire. It was a done deal and it became terribly obvious within a minute of the ugly race beginning that the pair would not get there in time. The truth of that sunk in them like rain, soaking them to the bone.


    Sarai closed her eyes in grief. Lan smiled in poorly hid relief at how close she had cut it. Yong clenched his teeth and strode to the edge of the ring to shoot his musket at the airavatan, which had gotten close enough for it. The lemure turned one of its eyeless heads their way, but otherwise ignored them. The Tianxi might as well have shot at a fortress wall. The lovers saw it as well, though the realization hit them in waves. First fear spurred them to drop their lantern and all their bags and save one, sprinting as fast as they could.


    It was a straight line east to the ring, for them, but already the beast was of a height with it. It would be standing between them and safety within moments.


    Tristan watched as fear was replaced by despair, by anger. Ferranda slowed, taking out something from their last bag and trying to strike a match. She failed, even after trying thrice. The mist kept killing the flame. Sanale had stayed with her, and now their fate was plain: the airavatan was between them and the stone ring. Yong shot at the monster¡¯s back again, but it didn¡¯t even twitch. The lovers¡¯ stride faltered, for a moment, and then Sanale said something before pressing a soft kiss against the side of Ferranda¡¯s neck. Before the infanzona could finish turning to see his face, the Malani swerved away.


    South, away from the ring, and screaming at the top of his lungs in Umoya.


    Both the beast and the woman hesitated for half a heartbeat. Face ashen, eyes tearing up, Ferranda Villazur resumed sprinting for the ring. It was out of her hands now, she must know that all she could do was try not to waste his sacrifice. And the airavatan, well, it did what all hungry and spiteful lemures did when denied getting everything they wanted: it went to vent its anger on the most insolent of the prey, the Malani provoking it. Tristan did not remember walking to the edge of the ring or taking out his knife, or his fingers closing around the cithara in his bag.


    And as he watched Ferranda Villazur approach salvation, he saw how Sanale had not yet abandoned the thought of survival. He¡¯d taunted the lemure, got it to head further away from the ring, but now he had cut a sharp turn and was printing for it himself. The airavatan was too close. Tall legs swallowed the distance, unerring on the grass, and though the Malani was swift as cat he was so much smaller.


    ¡°Please,¡± Ferranda Villazur shouted, not even yet in the ring. ¡°Please, if you can do anything, I beg you-¡±


    Tristan looked away.  Fortuna was leaning against the stone opposite his, eyes unreadable. Flicking a wrist, she twirled a coin between her fingers. Unearthly in the thin starlight, a slice of blood and gold cutting into the grey and green of the Dominion. His bet to make, she did not need to say. It always was.


    ¡°Fuck,¡± the thief cursed.


    It was foolish, it was going to get himself killed and he wasn¡¯t even going to get anything out of it. He ripped the cithara out of his bag, smashing the pommel of his knife into the belly. It cracked and he hit it again, twice more until it was open and a single lucent blue feather came drifting out. Dropping the knife, he ran out of the ring. Mist was lapping at the bottom of the stones and he hurried through, finding it thick as smoke but easy to breathe in. Grabbing the edge of the cithara, he inclined it so the feathers wouldn¡¯t spill out and silently screamed his terror into the stillness.


    Ten strides, twenty, and the airavatan¡¯s long legs caught up to Sanale: the ground trembled and the sure-footed huntsman tripped. It was now or never, Tristan knew, and he threw the cithara. He hesitated, for the barest of moments, to pull on his contract. But the price¡­ when the stakes were so high, only certain death moved him to use it. So he only threw.


    The moment he did, he knew he had failed.


    The arc was too short. He could still... But he did not, for in the end Tristan was yet a rat. It would surely get him killed, so instead of pulling at the power inside him he watched as the cithara flew up only to drop half a dozen feet short of Sanale just as he was grabbed by heliodoran beast. Tristan turned without stopping to look at what would follow.


    The silence was a mercy.


    Heart thundering in his ears, the thief felt the ground shake behind him and the beast gain ground. He¡¯d gone too far, or he¡¯d not gone far enough, but whatever the truth of it Tristan knew in his bones that he was going to die. The lantern trembled ahead of him, inside the ring, carving out the silhouettes of the others. One came closer than the rest. Sarai? No, too tall.


    ¡°Roll,¡± Fortuna hissed.


    He obeyed without hesitation, feeling a tentacle grab behind him. He rose into a run as the airavatan struck at the ground in anger. In front of him the silhouette grabbed at something he could not make out. A match cracked, the heartbeat of light revealing red-eyed Ferranda, and she lit something in her hands. The ground shook behind him and Tristan almost tripped, stumbling into a sharp turn to the left instead, but the game was up. He¡¯d slowed, the beast had him.


    ¡°You need to-¡± Fortuna began, but he never heard the rest.


    Something went flying above his head, something Ferranda Villazur had thrown, and after a heartbeat instead of death Tristan felt heat licking at his back. There was a detonation and burst of light as he ran, ran as fast as he could ¨C and he heard the airavatan scream in pain even through the lemure¡¯s own mist. He threw himself in the grass past the ring of stones, landing painfully on his arms but too wildly relieved to care. Behind him the world shook, the beast furiously stamping the ground around the raised stones.


    But he¡¯d gotten through, gods. By the skin of his teeth but he still lived. Rolling his belly up, panting, he found the infanzona¡¯s eyes.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± he got out.


    Her lips thinned.


    ¡°You tried,¡± Ferranda simply said, and looked away.


    He had no answer to that, and so instead he dropped his head back in the grass and waited for his limbs to cease shaking. When they did, Sarai was there to help him up while he caught the tail of talk between the others.


    ¡°-was that?¡±


    ¡°Zhentianlei,¡± Yong said. ¡°A grenade. Though one filled with more than powder.¡±


    ¡°Phosphorescent salts,¡± Ferranda quietly said. ¡°It is a Malani trick.¡±


    Tristan would have shared in the sliver of the grief he saw in those eyes, had he the time. Knowing he owed his life in part to the man he¡¯d failed to save was a humbling thing. But sentiment would have to wait, for the beast lingered. This was the part where planning stumbled, for how could he know what the monster would do?


    The answer, it turned out, was throw a tantrum.


    It stalked around in the silence of its mist, smashing at the ground and trying to wriggles its tentacles around the protection of the stones. The ancient work did not fail, but the heliodoran beast did not tire: what Tristan thought might be it leaving ended up being the creature heading back to the other ring. It kept venting its fury there, terrifying the four inside clustering around their trembling lantern light.


    ¡°We have food and water enough for two days,¡± Yong said.


    ¡°No cultists will get anywhere near us while it¡¯s here, there is that,¡± Sarai sighed. ¡°But if it does not leave we may well be stuck here until we starve.¡±


    ¡°It may fake leaving,¡± Lan said. ¡°It¡¯s what I¡¯d do: let us get far enough from the rings, then attack.¡±


    Lady Ferranda took no place in the talks, out of what the thief thought to be grief, but he had underestimated her: she was crouching by the edge of the ring, staring at something. He joined her there, following her gaze. The grass had split a dozen feet away from them. His heart clenched at the sight.


    ¡°It could be only the one crack,¡± he quietly said.


    ¡°The cultist camp was about this far from the ravine, when part of the cliff came down in the storm,¡± the infanzona evenly replied. ¡°And that was the work of wind and water, not a giant stampeding around.¡±


    Much as he wanted to deny her, Tristan could not. She was right: if the airavatan kept stomping about, the slice of the cliff on which their ring stood was at risk of collapse. They were too close to the edge and it seemed that erosion had dug under their feet. Was the eastern ring also at risk? Doesn¡¯t matter, Tristan chided himself. There¡¯s no way for us to move there while it¡¯s prowling the grass.


    It seemed they did not have two days after all, but instead hours ¨C or less, if they were unlucky. Tristan rose and walked away, leaving to Ferranda the unpleasant task of breaking the news to the others even. It was unkind, when she was in fresh grief, but he could not bring himself to care. Instead he went to the northern edge of the ring, the one overlooking the ravine. He could not make out the water at the bottom, it was too deep for that, but he could hear it.


    It was not the depth but the length that¡¯d kill them:  the ravine just long enough that neither jump nor rope would work, though he thought that if the heliodoran beast took a long enough run-up it might make it across.


    Staring at the dark below, he found himself empty of ideas. Part of him still believed that given long enough their company would figure out a way to get across, but what did that matter when the beast would send them tumbling down long before that? It needed to be- exclamations of surprise from the others drew his eye. The beast had been striking at the bottom of the raised stones of the other ring and some piece of rubble come loose: the airavatan charged it without missing a beat, furiously attacking the ground until the shard was nothing but powder. It turned back to besieging the ring after, which mercifully held even missing a piece.


    For now.


    The thief worried his lip. Had it been this aggressive before? He thought not. It had liked the fear, to make them run and cower. Now it struck to kill from the start.


    ¡°Yong,¡± he said. ¡°I need you to do something for me.¡±


    The Tianxi cocked an eyebrow but let himself be drawn into the scheme. It was a simple thing, after all, the testing of a guess. The former soldiers loaded his musket, aimed and fired at the ground to the east ¨C as close as he could to the heliodoran beast while keeping a strong impact. The monster turned immediately, abandoning the other ring to charge at where the ground was shot and stomp the spot thoroughly. It¡¯s not thinking anymore, Tristan decided. That grenade angered it beyond reason. That was¡­ it was a fool¡¯s notion, but what else was left save the likes of these?


    He took Sarai ¨C Maryam ¨C aside.


    ¡°What can you do with Signs?¡± he quietly asked.


    She grimaced.


    ¡°I know nine but have mastered only three,¡± she admitted. ¡°All of them Autarchics.¡±


    His confusion must have been plain, for she elaborated without prompting.


    ¡°Contained within my own mind,¡± Sarai said. ¡°The Sign I used to keep the map within me, for example.¡±


    ¡°You made an orb of darkness when we encountered the gravebird,¡± he said. ¡°To keep Vanesa from being swept by the river.¡±


    ¡°It is a Sign I learned,¡± she warily agreed. ¡°But it is demanding and I cannot maintain it for long. The consequences would be¡­ unpleasant.¡±


    He acknowledged that with a nod, but pressed on.


    ¡°Does it need to be anchored on something like water, or can it hang in the air?¡±


    ¡°It needs no anchor,¡± she replied. ¡°It is an exercise of shaping raw Gloam. Tristan, what are you scheming?¡±


    ¡°Maybe nothing,¡± he admitted. ¡°Maybe something. It depends on how long you can maintain it.¡±


    She searched his eyes for something. Whatever it was, she found it.


    ¡°How long do you need?¡±


    --


    If it were not plain to everyone by now that they would not survive another hour of the airavatan stomping around their ring, Tristan figured some of them might have called him a fool. The same people likely thought him one in private still, but with death looming so tall at the end of their common road none were willing to spit on even a fool¡¯s chance of living through this. Yong caught his shoulder as he prepared to go. He hesitated, breath now smelling of drink in a way that was impossible to mistake even if Tristan had not seen him sneak a lick from his flask.


    ¡°Good luck,¡± the Tianxi finally said.


    ¡°And you,¡± Tristan replied, and on a whim pressed his hat into the man¡¯s hands.


    Hopefully he would be coming back for it. If not, well, why waste a perfectly good hat?


    Swallowing his fear, the remembrance of the monsters¡¯ tentacles coming within breaths of seizing him, the thief stepped out of the ring. He did not even need to shout: within two heartbeats the airavatan stopped tormenting the other stone ring and turned west. The difficult part, Tristan had known from the start, would be getting the angle right.


    There were fixed points and objects in movement.


    A ring to the east, from which the airavatan was coming as he headed west: towards the other ring, and Tristan who had just stepped out of it. To their north the ravine, to their south miles of grass and hills until distant woods were reached.


    Tristan headed south, away from the ravine and onto the grass. The airavatan charged, eager for violence. Heat pounding in his throat, Tristan fought down the primal urge to run back to the safety of the ring and continued moving south as the creature approached. It was angling away from the ravine and straight towards him, charging blindly as it had for the stone and shot. Breathing ragged, Tristan waited as long as he dared before breaking into a run. Back north towards the ravine, not so far from the same ring he¡¯d come from.


    The moving parts he had sketched out in his mind came to be, one terrifying heartbeat at a time. Himself, nearing the edge of the ravine to the north ¨C when he did, the ring where the others waited would be directly to his side to the west. Sarai would be there, his death or salvation. The heliodoran beast, on the other hand, took the angle he¡¯d led it into. By going south he¡¯d drawn it southwest across the span between the rings, and now to catch up to him as he ran north it was turning northwest. Adjusting its angle he got closer and closer to the edge of the ravine.


    He''d begun running too early out of fear, he realized, so he had to fight down his instincts and slow his steps as the mist billowed past his feet and the beast approached. He felt the ground shiver beneath his feet and hurried, the airavatan charging after him. It was only mere feet between him and the ravine now. Thirty, twenty, ten.


    ¡°It¡¯s close,¡± Fortuna whispered into his ear. ¡°Behind you, to the right.¡±


    There was only one way to live now that he¡¯d got his far: trusting Sarai. And so, screaming into the silence at the top of his lungs, Tristan leapt off the edge of the cliff.


    For a hideous moment he flew, until just ahead of him an orb of darkness formed and he smacked right into its surface. Scrabbling desperately against the Gloam ¨C it was neither rough nor smooth, but his weight had him slipping the surface nonetheless ¨C he balled up around the orb and hoped. It was the best he could do, too afraid to try to turn and look back, but he still made himself see it in his mind¡¯s eye.


    The airavatan was blinded, by both poison and rage, and it was a massive creature on the run. It had been but a heartbeat or two behind him, much too late to turn. Which meant¡­


    The mist might have covered the grass and smothered sound there, but when the airavatan tumbled past the edge of the ravine he heard it scrabbling against stone. Thunderous bellows erupted from its maw as it slipped, desperately struggling, and a frenzied laugh escaped his throat. He¡¯d done it. The fucking monster had heard him going north as he leapt and tried to intercept him right into ravine, which it could not see any more than it had seen the hill slopes. The orb of Gloam shivered beneath him and the thief let out a yelp.


    Now he needed to get out of here before Sarai was forced to release the Sign.


    Limbs shaking, he slowly began to wiggle around the orb so he could face the cliff. Every movement sent a thrill of terror up his wrists, the distant roar of the river beneath a reminder of what would happen to him if he slipped. When he finally turned to face the others he saw they had prepared as he¡¯d asked. Yong had tied his wrists to his musket, extending it as a perch, and the others ¨C save Sarai - were holding on to him. Beneath him the orb wobbled again. The more he let himself think about it, Tristan knew, the deeper the fear would bite.


    So instead he crawled atop the orb, standing in a crouch as his teeth bit into his lips, and with what little footing he could muster he leapt back towards the cliff.


    The butt of the musket caught him in the eye. He shouted in pain and terror, his cursed sweating hands slipping against the weapon, but his fingers caught on the lock. The piece of flint cut into his flesh but he held on for dear life, Yong and the others shouting as they hoisted him up. Only it wasn¡¯t enough, his grip was too weak, and he half-sobbed as the musket slid through his fingers.


    He pulled at his luck.


    The ticking began but for a searing moment nothing at all happened ¨C until he realized that above him Maryam has slipped on the grass, falling down: belly on the ground, but her torso hanging past the edge of the cliff. Line of sight, he thought, a second before she let out shout and something solid formed beneath his feet, catching his fall. Another orb. It immediately began breaking apart, but the brief moment had been enough for Yong to grab him by the collar. With a heave the former soldier hoisted him up, enough that the others caught him too and he was dragged over the edge. They dropped him face down in the grass and Tristan almost wept.


    He¡¯d bought his way out of the grave again.


    He stayed lying there, panting and listening to his heartbeat slow. Clenching his teeth in anticipation, he released the luck he¡¯d borrowed.


    ¡°Shit,¡± Sarai said, ¡°Tristan you-¡±


    The thief wriggled like a worm, for his feet were on fire. Or so it felt like: when he looked strands if Gloam were eating away at his right boot through the bottom. He tried to get it off but the pain was¡­ Yong tackled him, ripping it off, and once the leather was away from his skin the burning stopped. Tristan pulled the sole of his feet close after Yong released him, finding the skin was red and raw, already blistering. Gods, that was going to hurt. Still better than falling to his death. He waved away Sarai¡¯s apology, something about losing control of the Sign, and let himself fall into the grass again.


    Someone set something down on his belly, and he reached to find it was his tricorn. Grabbing it, he fanned his face and found Yong smiling down at him.


    ¡°Lan¡¯s going to get the other four,¡± he said. ¡°We can all set out together.¡±


    It was the only way Vanesa would get anywhere, now. Her leg was a ruin.


    ¡°The beast?¡± he asked.


    ¡°See for yourself,¡± Yong replied, offering a hand.


    Tristan took it, rising to finally take a good look at his handiwork. He half-hopped on one foot, leaning against Yong. He¡¯d been right, the thief thought when they got close: the  airavatan might have made the jump, with long enough a run-up. It must have still gotten close, because it was hanging to the other side of the ravine by its heads and tentacles. Its back legs propped it up against their side of the ravine as it writhed and tried to climb out, but it was too heavy for the tentacles and a little legwork to be enough. Undone by its own weight, the airavatan was stuck between the sides of the ravine like a cork in a bottle. And the sight of that struck another spark of madness, because sometimes a problem was a solution. His boot was done coming apart and Sarai told him it was safe, so he tore into his pants and made strips to wrap around the bottom of the boot. A temporary solution, but better than going barefoot.


    Yong asked what he was doing when he limped away, avoiding resting on his bad foot, but he did not reply as he headed back into the grass. Where Sanale had been taken after he missed his throw. The cithara lay broken on the green, stepped on out of spite, and translucent feathers had spilled all over. Tristan took off his hat and knelt by them, stuffing what he could inside the tricorn. He doubled back after, returning to the monster writhing between the cliffs.


    The airavatan struggled and raged, shaking the earth as it tried to drag itself out of the trap with its tentacles. The complete silence lent the sight a touch of the surreal, as if this were a waking dream, but Tristan¡¯s mind felt alight. Hat in hand he limped to the edge of the ravine, the raging heliodoran beast, and overlooking the great expanse of pale flesh he smiled a cold smile.


    He emptied the feathers on the beast¡¯s back.


    They fell down in a rain, scattering in a wind that did not exist, and the monster shivered. Its limbs heaved again, then slowly they dropped. It went still save for the slow rising of its breath, remaining stuck between the cliffs from sheer size. Slowly the mist faded, thinning into nothingness, until Tristan could hear someone walking up behind him. Yong came to stand at his side, a veiled lantern in hand.


    ¡°Why bother?¡± the Tianxi asked. ¡°It was already trapped.¡±


    ¡°What is it you see in front of us, Yong?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Waste,¡± the Tianxi shrugged. ¡°What would you claim is there?¡±


    ¡°A bridge,¡± Tristan Abrascal replied.


    He went back and took his cabinet, slinging it onto his back with a word, and as he reached the edge of the cliff he pressed his hat down onto his head. Looking down at the airavatan, the thief took a limping step forward. Then another and another, until he was all the way across.


    The beast did not wake.


    Not when Tristan did it, and not when all the others followed after him either.

 Chapter 19

    It was a long and narrow road.


    Past the woods, where the crags met the mountains, a tunnel dove into the rock. Angharad was too bone-tired to do more than stumble forward through it. There were lanterns and stairs, the winding of the road taking them back outside ¨C on the side of the mountain, with only a ramshackle wooden railing in the way of the precipitous drop below ¨C before going up in a jagged zig-zag. In the distance she saw an island darkened, a realm of monsters and darklings with the stars fixed far above in firmament¡¯s crown. The wind moaned plaintively, shaking the railing, and never had she felt more like she¡¯d reached some edge of the world.


    Was that what it had felt like, for Mother?


    No, it couldn¡¯t be. Angharad felt no wonder, no joy. Only blood drying on her face, the cut on her scalp itching and the smell of the filth and dirt she¡¯d squirmed against. Her limbs were made of lead, her head spun around like a weathervane. There had been no discovery here, no horizon reclaimed from the Gloam. She had just cut and been cut until she was made to crawl through shame and corpses. She had won in honour, or as close as her saber had been able to reach to that, but now it felt like such a passing thing. Angharad forced herself up the stairs, their hypnotic back and forth of angles going up the mountainside, but time slipped through her fingers like sand.


    How long had she been walking?


    Every lantern, every step felt the same and there was no sign of the promised sanctuary. Had Song not promised to wait for her? Yet here she stood alone. Angharad licked dry lips, but all it did was salt the bloody cracks. One more step, she told herself. Always one more step, until she reached the yellow lanterns and their promise of safety. She slipped, landing on her knees, but was too exhausted to let out more than a moan of pain. The wind echoed her, mocking. She turned to chide it, to let out something of the scream stills tuck in her throat, but her vision swam.


    She felt her knees give and there was a burst of pain, then nothing.


    --


    Warmth and cool. A blanket above, but beneath her was stone digging at her back.


    ¡°- should be fine, she hasn¡¯t lost so much blood she would die from it.¡±


    Eyes fluttering open, Angharad let out a hiss of pain at the bright burn of the lanterns. She shaded her vision with her hand, finding her hand slow ¨C as if she¡¯d just gone through a great exertion. In many ways, she had.


    ¡°Ah,¡± a voice she recognized said. ¡°Back with us, Lady Tredegar.¡±


    Grey eyes looked down at her, the apprentice physician ¨C if he was truly that ¨C Tristan meeting her gaze as he wiped his hands with a dirty rag. He had, she noticed, a swollen black eye.


    ¡°I-¡± Angharad tried, but found her mouth felt full of cotton.


    She swallowed, which helped a little.


    ¡°Where are we?¡± she got out.


    ¡°On the stairs to sanctuary,¡± Tristan informed her. ¡°Where you fell unconscious. I had a look at you, however, and there is nothing to worry about. That cut on your head could do with stitches, but your wounds are rather minor.¡±


    He paused.


    ¡°I assume your state comes from lack of sleep or contract overuse,¡± the Sacromontan said. ¡°Either way, given some rest you should be back on your feet after a day or two.¡±


    I do not have a day or two, she thought. The longer she gave Augusto Cerdan, the better the chances he would somehow wriggle away out of this. And what if he tried to call their duel while she was unfit to fight? None of this, though, was Tristan¡¯s concern.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Angharad croaked. ¡°For the help.¡±


    ¡°Thank Yong,¡± Tristan shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s his herbero I used to disinfect your wounds and wash your face. It¡¯s the cheap stuff from Estebra District, so it¡¯s halfway to grain alcohol.¡±


    The Pereduri sniffed at the air, brow knotting. Was that peppermint she smelled?


    ¡°Foul stuff,¡± Tristan sympathized. ¡°But I¡¯d recommend a swallow or two from the flask to get you fit to walk anyway.¡±


    Angharad was beginning to reconsider her assumption that he was a physician. Or at least a proper one. He might have been like one of those shipboard doctors she¡¯d heard about, whose only two remedies were maize beer and rum. Smiling, the man withdrew and was replaced by a familiar face: Lady Ferranda Villazur, looking ragged and red-eyed. The noblewoman offered her a hand.


    ¡°Up, Lady Angharad,¡± Ferranda said. ¡°The faster we reach sanctuary, the faster we can rest.¡±


    She took the hand but wriggled around to keep the blanket on her, adjusting it over her shoulders after Ferranda hoisted her up. Though clothed, she felt cold. Her vision swam for a moment, but a long breath later she was fine. Enough so that she could take in the sight of the people gathered further down the stairs. A ragged pair of middle age were the furthest down, the man of the pair holding up an old woman with a mangled leg on his back. Above them an old man leaned against the wall, and then there were a few she knew by name: Lan, the remaining twin with blue lips, and Yong, the soldier who she must thank for the use of his drink.


    There was no sign of Sanale, an absence that had her heart squeezing in sympathy for Ferranda, and the last then should be - Angharad froze, then began reaching for a saber she no longer had. A hollow, they had a hollow among them. Had they made a pact with the cultists like Tupoc? Half the others immediately pointed weapons at her.


    ¡°She is not a darkling,¡± Yong said, tone even.


    ¡°She can speak for herself,¡± Sarai ¨C for it could only be her ¨C firmly told the Tianxi. ¡°I believe your family are seafarers, Lady Tredegar, so you ought to know the name of Triglau.¡±


    Angharad¡¯s shoulders lost some of their tension.


    ¡°The northern colonies,¡± she slowly said. ¡°You are of the peoples below the Broken Gates.¡±


    ¡°Not so broken, before your people came,¡± Sarai coldly replied. ¡°Like many other things.¡±


    Angharad coughed into her hand, embarrassed. In truth she knew little of the Triglau, for her mother¡¯s travels had been to the east and not the north, but she did know a few things. For one, Triglau was the name for the endless petty chiefdoms of that land as well as the people themselves. Unlike the people of Malan, they had never grown past their tribal roots.


    ¡°I apologize for the discourtesy,¡± Angharad awkwardly said. ¡°I assure you, not all of the Isles believe slavery without evil.¡±


    ¡°Splendid news,¡± Sarai replied with a politely savage smile. ¡°Why, near half the Malani I¡¯ve ever met have assured me the same. No doubt the slave trade will be ending any day now.¡±


    There was a long, barren stretch of silence. Then Tristan snorted out a laugh, which was shoddily turned into a cough.


    ¡°I¡¯ve just seen to her wounds, Sarai, don¡¯t murder her right afterwards,¡± he said. ¡°It¡¯s very inconsiderate of my time.¡±


    ¡°Time we are wasting,¡± Lady Ferranda mildly said. ¡°Shall we get moving instead of chattering like magpies?¡±


    ¡°Fucking finally,¡± the middle-aged man below bit out. ¡°How light to do you think she is?¡±


    He gestured at the old woman on his back, who Angharad only now noticed had a bandage-covered eye under broken spectacles.


    ¡°Felis,¡± the woman by him chided.


    ¡°I have been eating a lot of croquetas,¡± the old woman admitted.


    Amusement spread, the earlier unpleasantness thinning. Tristan and Sarai took the lead ¨C she only now noticed that the Sacromontan was limping, and one of his boots was wrapped with bandages ¨C to begin the climb. Angharad was tugged forward by Lady Ferranda. The other woman leaned close.


    ¡°Stay on Sarai¡¯s good side,¡± she murmured. ¡°She¡¯s joined to the hip with Tristan and he was Yong¡¯s favorite even before we all came to owe him.¡±


    Angharad slowly nodded. She then hesitated, not sure whether she should ask. Ferranda noticed and her face tightened.


    ¡°Sanale was caught by the airavatan,¡± she curtly said. ¡°We nearly all died to it as well.¡±


    ¡°My condolences,¡± the dark-skinned noblewoman said.


    A platitude, but she meant every word. Retainers that had been with you for long were as family, and Lady Ferranda was obviously taking his loss hard. Ferranda nodded, a tad shortly.


    ¡°What happened for you to end up alone and unconscious on the stairs?¡± she asked. ¡°I thought you were to stay with the others.¡±


    ¡°Augusto Cerdan murdered his valet to flee from lupines faster,¡± Angharad flatly said. ¡°Naturally, I challenged him to an honour duel.¡±


    Ferranda¡¯s eyes widened.


    ¡°Naturally,¡± she repeated, though her voice was a little strange.


    ¡°As a consequence, when we later encountered an ambush by Tupoc Xical and the cult of the Red Eye he betrayed us in an attempt to rid himself of me while running away,¡± she continued. ¡°In doing so, he also threw away the lives of Isabel, Master Cozme and his own brother.¡±


    Their conversation was interrupted by Tristan butting in, abandoning Sarai at the front as he slowed to stay just ahead of them.


    ¡°All these were caught by the cultists?¡± he asked, sounding surprised.


    Though Angharad was miffed at both the presumption he could force his way into the conversation and the tacit admission he had been eavesdropping, she bit down on a sharp reply. She owed a debt for his treatment.


    ¡°No,¡± she replied. ¡°As far as I know only Briceida, one of Lady Isabel¡¯s handmaids, was captured. I fought to slow down the enemy before shaking them off but took some wounds in doing so. The others fled ahead and I lost blood. You then found me in the stairs.¡±


    It was not reasonable, Angharad reminded herself, to feel abandoned by this. She had good as ordered them to leave her behind. And yet. Don¡¯t be childish, she ordered herself. Both Tristan and Ferranda looked skeptical at the implication of her minor wounds having undone her so, but as both deduced the fuller truth had to do with a contract neither pressed the matter.


    ¡°You are not the only one who fought Tupoc and his men,¡± Lady Ferranda told her. ¡°Lady Inyoni lost one of her own to him as well.¡±


    That was sad news, but not without a silver lining. She would not be short on allies when she urged for them to string up the traitor and his brood.


    ¡°He betrayed one of his own subordinates,¡± Angharad said with open disgust. ¡°He sold out Leander Galatas to the hollows when they complained too few had been delivered into their hands.¡±


    Tristan¡¯s brow knotted at the news. Had he been friends with the man?


    ¡°He is burning too many bridges,¡± the scruffy Sacromontan said. ¡°He must still have something up his sleeve to think he¡¯d get away with it.¡±


    ¡°Then let us end him before that,¡± Angharad said. ¡°He should be made to stand before a tribunal of the rest of us the moment he steps out of sanctuary, do you not agree?¡±


    The reactions were the opposite of what she had expected: Tristan¡¯s face displayed some enthusiasm at the notion while Ferranda¡¯s closed. She had thought the infanzona bolder than this and the man more cowardly. Why else would he have only browbeaten those weaker than him?


    ¡°It may not be that easy,¡± Lady Ferranda said. ¡°The Trial of Ruins may well force our hand otherwise.¡±


    I look forward to working with you in the second trial, Lady Tredegar, the pale-eyed traitor had smiled down at her. Angharad¡¯s belly clenched in rage. Had he done it all knowing he would be able to wriggle his way out of consequences?


    ¡°How?¡± she asked.


    How was he to trick his way out, and how could she make him choke on his trickery instead?


    ¡°That is a conversation that can wait until we reach sanctuary,¡± Ferranda firmly replied. ¡°The next step can wait until this one is taken.¡±


    Angharad grimaced but did not contradict her. Tristan returned to the fore, and after the Pereduri saw the look of grief Ferranda¡¯s face when she asked about how their company had crossed the river she let the matter drop. Instead she inquired as to what still lay between them and the yellow lanterns, a change of subject the infanzona eagerly seized upon. It turned out, embarrassingly enough, that that Angharad had collapsed less than an hour away from the end of the trial. They went up the jagged stairs, then into another tunnel of bare stone that headed deep into the mountain.


    The supports keeping the ceiling from collapse were made of wood or iron, but unlike the earlier railing they were in a fine state. The Watch kept them in good order.


    ¡°The maze is within a cavern, then?¡± Angharad asked.


    ¡°It is that in the same way that Vesper is a cavern,¡± Ferranda said. ¡°You will see.¡±


    Before long, Angharad did. The tunnel ended abruptly into a precipitous flight of carved stairs, but she hardly spared a look for those. Blowing wind threatened to put out their lanterns, but there was no need of those to see: from the ceiling of the gargantuan underground chamber hung great pieces of gold giving out a ghostly glow, slowly moving as if the world¡¯s greatest crib mobile. Below it ¨C and them -was spread out the Trial of Ruins in all its glory.


    First a fort surrounded by yellow lanterns, dilapidated bastions guarding over a massive iron gate set in pillar of stone that rose all the way to the ceiling. But it was what lay beyond that had her breath catching in her throat: a city of broken shrines. It was as if some mad spirit had stolen a thousand ancient temples and mausoleums and tossed them into a haphazard pile that filled the entire chamber, making a mountain-maze of the lost and sacred. Angharad could see no path above, no more than if she were trying to climb a mountain within the mountain. They would have to go through the labyrinth to get on the other end of the chamber, not around it.


    Behind her there were gasps and she was almost stumbled into, the toothless old man gazing at the sight with open wonder. He looked the most alive she had seen of him yet.


    You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    ¡°It is true, then,¡± Francho breathed out. ¡°Shrines from islands halfway across the Trebian Sea, all drawn here by some god¡¯s hand.¡±


    ¡°This place is known?¡± Angharad asked.


    ¡°In some circles,¡± the old man evaded. ¡°It has long been said the Watch locks away on the Dominion gods that are too dangerous to let loose, but the rumour is dubious in provenance.¡±


    The old man sucked at his gums thoughtfully. Angharad was polite enough not to wrinkle her nose in distaste.


    ¡°The scope of this does seem beyond even them,¡± Francho said.


    Angharad could only agree, for there must be hundreds and hundreds of ruins here: how could any assembly of men bring these inside a hollow mountain through those narrow stairs they had earlier climbed? It would not do to block the way so the Pereduri began her way down the stone stairs. They were mercifully dry, but the slope steep and utterly without railing. Angharad took care in climbing down, until finally she reached flat and solid ground. She waited there with the vanguard until the rest of the company caught up, eyes peeled on the even stretch of stone ahead of them leading straight to the old fort encircled by yellow lanterns.


    Sanctuary.


    The proceeded only after everyone had gathered, the mood growing buoyant with safety just in sight. The fort was a sprawling thing, shaped as a square of tall walls with pointed bastions peeking out of the corners. It was also half a ruin, parts of the walls collapsed and only two of the bastions still whole. There were lanterns on the ramparts beyond the yellow ones outside, and in their glow the silhouettes of black-cloaked men armed with muskets could be seen. The ¡®gate¡¯ was a collapsed wall, guarded by a pair of bored watchmen who betrayed little interest when their company came in sight.


    One of the two, a tall woman of Sacromontan look, counted them out loud.


    ¡°Ten, huh?¡± she mused. ¡°Maybe it¡¯ll not be a complete loss this year. With the others inside, you should have the numbers for the maze.¡±


    The other watchman laughed at her words.


    ¡°Head in,¡± he told them. ¡°You are now formally under sanctuary after having completed the Trial of Lines. Congratulations.¡±


    A pause.


    ¡°There¡¯s warm food and supplies ahead.¡±


    No amount of rudeness could have prevented a swelling a joy after being told that.


    ¡°If you want to withdraw under our protection,¡± the watchman said, ¡°find Lieutenant Wen.¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Yong replied.


    After a polite nod the Tianxi was the first to take the slender ¡®gate¡¯, the rest lining up to follow behind him. Angharad was fifth in line and went with a spring to her step: she was eager to see how her companions had fared without her. Yet as she made to enter the fort the watchwoman of the pair stopped her ¨C laid a hand on her arm. Angharad frowned at her for the presumption.


    ¡°Angharad Tredegar?¡± the tall Sacromontan asked.


    ¡°Correct,¡± she coolly replied.


    The watchwoman¡¯s expression brightened.


    ¡°Good, we were getting afraid you wouldn¡¯t make it,¡± she said. ¡°There¡¯s going to be an unreasonably pretty Malani by the cooking pots, Sergeant Mandisa. You¡¯re to go to her.¡±


    Angharad blinked.


    ¡°May I ask why?¡±


    ¡°Because we all like brandy,¡± the other woman drily replied. ¡°Go on, then.¡±


    Mystified at the nonsense reply, Angharad obeyed and caught up to Franchi as he entered a great courtyard. It was, she saw, the beating heart of this ruined fort. A wide open space of cracked paving stones led up to the rampart at the back and the massive iron gate set into it. Most everyone seemed to have made a home there, including the Watch: the blackcloaks had claimed an old barracks on the left side, its windows barred and stripes of dark paint marking it as off-limits. Besides them stairs went up to one of the still still-standing bastions, atop which great lanterns hung and someone appeared to have set up astronomical equipment.


    On the opposite side of the courtyard the Watch had built out of old stables a series small ¡®rooms¡¯: stalls with planks for roof and curtains hung as doors. It would be a thin illusion of privacy but still more than Angharad had been graced with in weeks ¨C months, even, moving between ships and inns since leaving the Isles. Further back stood what looked like a cross between a lumberyard and smithy, used only by a thick watchman chopping wood, but what drew Angharad¡¯s eye was not at the sides of the courtyard but the very heart. Tables were set in a loose circle around a makeshift kitchen, with a shoddy brick oven and cooking hearth.


    And rising from one of the tables to the right, abandoning steaming bowls of stew, were the companions she had parted ways with.


    ¡°Angharad!¡± Isabel called out, running forward.


    The dark-haired beauty shot past Tristan and Sarai, barely slowing as she half-leapt into Angharad¡¯s arms. As surprised as she was delighted, she caught the infanzona by the waist and held her up to avoid the both of them being bowled over. Isabel laughed as she was spun and set down, grinning all the while.


    ¡°I knew you¡¯d make it,¡± she said. ¡°I just knew.¡±


    ¡°It was a close-run thing,¡± Angharad admitted. ¡°Had I not been found by our friends here I might have died on the stairs.¡±


    ¡°Then I must thank them most earnestly,¡± Isabel said.


    She got on the tip of her toes to peek over Angharad¡¯s shoulder, beaming at those standing there ¨C now most of the crew she had arrived with ¨C and noticeably not moving out of being held by the waist. Noticeably to Angharad, anyway. She reluctantly extricated herself from Isabel only to be crowded by the others. Master Cozme shook her hand, complimenting her on a ¡®daring escape¡¯ and even Remund spared the sneer to tell her he was glad she was still with them. Brun contained himself to a nod but he was smiling, and Song went around inspecting her and sighing.


    ¡°You looked like you¡¯ve crawled through dirt,¡± the Tianxi complained.


    ¡°I did,¡± Angharad flatly replied.


    ¡°I¡¯ll let you take my place in the line for use of the washtub, then,¡± Song told her. ¡°It would be criminal to do otherwise.¡±


    Recognizing that for the affection it was, Angharad let go of the sliver of irritation that¡¯d been rising. Song was, if perhaps not yet a friend, then at least a good companion. She was not to be begrudged a bit of fussing. Her gaze strayed, for she had yet to see Beatris, and she found the other survivors from the Bluebell arrayed around the tables. Some had risen to greet people she had come with, but other simply looked on with interest. Tupoc and his surviving traitors, Acanthe Phos and Ocotlan, sat away from the others.


    As did Augusto Cerdan, who rose to his feet face with an ashen face when she found his eyes.


    ¡°All right, all right,¡± a voice cheerfully called out. ¡°Enough of that, my lambkins. We are no longer feeding the fire under the pot, so that stew¡¯s only going to get colder.¡±


    Angharad wrenched her gaze away from Augusto to the new speaker, finding a woman who must be Sergeant Mandisa. The sergeant¡¯s green eyes were set in high-cheeked face with lustrous dark skin, standing even taller than Angharad -who was taller than most. Neither her black cloak nor the uniform beneath managed to hide the voluptuousness of her curves, which seemed most irrepressible.  Unreasonably pretty indeed. Angharad would have expected to see such a beauty at court, not in the depths of this cursed island.


    ¡°Sergeant Mandisa?¡± she asked.


    ¡°I am,¡± she easily replied. ¡°Why do you ask?¡±


    ¡°I was told by the watchwoman at the gate that-¡±


    She was interrupted by a man coming passing her by and brusquely setting a wooden chest on the nearest table, the slamming sound making those closest start in surprise. He then set down a bottle of green grass by the chest and glanced at Sergeant Mandisa. She straightened, then slammed her palm against the table.


    ¡°Silence,¡± she shouted. ¡°Silence for the officer.¡±


    Given her previous air of cheer, the sudden turn had them all settling down within moments. The noblewoman¡¯s eyes moved to the man who must be the officer in question and was taking them all in silently.


    He was a big man, Tianxi in looks and nearly of a height with Angharad but with a massive belly barely tucked into his black coat and gilet, distending the fabric over waist-high trousers. Many watchmen bore criss-crossing bandoleers, but he wore his as straps instead. He should have looked comical, a fat man in a tight uniform, but the confidence in the way he held himself smothered that notion in the crib. The officer went fishing through his coat, taking out a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles that he carefully unfolded and put on. His gaze swept through them, more than a few straightening their backs.


    ¡°My name is Lieutenant Wen,¡± he said. ¡°I share command of the Old Fort¡¯s garrison with Lieutenant Vasanti, who if you are very lucky you might once see in passing. She¡¯s not particularly interested in people when there¡¯s fleshy bits left on the bones.¡±


    He smiled, though there was little friendliness to it.


    ¡°Most of you will have met Sergeant Mandisa,¡± Lieutenant Wen said, gesturing to the woman at his side. ¡°Remember her face, for she has been charged with seeing to your needs and deciding if any of you need to be shot for breaking our very, very simple rules.¡±


    Sergeant Mandisa, still incongruously pretty in her own black cloak and coat, waved at them with a smile so charming it should make flowers bloom. The Tianxi lieutenant raised three fingers, then slowly folded one.


    ¡°One, stay out of left side of the fort. That is to say the barracks, the bastion and the supply depot,¡± Lieutenant Wen said. ¡°If you do not, you will be immediately¡­¡±


    ¡°Shot,¡± Sergeant Mandisa cheerfully finished, branding her fingers like a pistol and shooting it at Tupoc.


    The Aztlan had the gall to wink back.


    ¡°Two,¡± Lieutenant Wen continued, folding a second finger, ¡°should any of you contract with a god within the ruins, you must immediately report having done so upon returning to sanctuary. If you do not¡­¡±


    ¡°Shot,¡± Sergeant Mandisa helpfully provided, smacking her fist into her palm.


    Had they practiced this, Angharad wondered? They must have.


    ¡°And three,¡± the fat lieutenant said, taking his hand away, ¡°there is to be no killing of each other within the bounds of the yellow lanterns. As a particular extension of this, should any of you choose to retire from the trials and come under the Watch¡¯s protection any attempted violence against them will be met with as slow and inventive a death as we can figure out.¡±


    He smiled again, even less friendly.


    ¡°We¡¯ve got a tinker from the Umuthi Society around and it does get dreadfully boring out here,¡± Lieutenant Wen said. ¡°So you can bet it¡¯ll be a spectacle.¡±


    The blackcloak then clapped his hands, startling a few of the faint-hearted among their company, and slid his thumbs into his belt.


    ¡°Simple rules, as I said, but let it not be said I am not an accommodating man,¡± Lieutenant Wen said. ¡°Are there any questions?¡±


    Angharad cleared her throat, unsure whether or not she should raise her hand. The Tianxi turned an amused eye on her, as if able to read her thoughts.


    ¡°And you are?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Lady Angharad Tredegar,¡± she replied.


    ¡°Ah,¡± the lieutenant said, tone turning gregarious, ¡°Captain Osian¡¯s niece! Good, good. I put ten arboles on your reaching the Trial of Weeds, so do try not to die.¡±


    ¡°I will¡­ do my best?¡± Angharad hesitantly answered.


    The man chuckled.


    ¡°Go on, girl.¡±


    Rallying, the Pereduri cleared her throat again.


    ¡°Am I to understand that the Watch does not care if a killing takes place beyond the lines of sanctuary?¡± she asked.


    ¡°You¡¯re free to butcher each other all you like out there in the maze,¡± Lieutenant Wen agreed. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t recommend it, given how it works, but we¡¯re not here to hold your hand.¡±


    The Tianxi was only half paying attention by the end of the sentence, popping open the box on the table and riffling within. He produced a cigar, which he brought close and smelled with obvious relish. Angharad hid her distaste ¨C Mother had enjoyed these as well, but she shared her father¡¯s opinion that the smell was simply foul. Someone else cleared their throat. Lord Ishaan, the chubby-cheeked man from the Imperial Someshwar. He looked pale, and his hair sweaty. Neither he nor his companion Shalini had been sitting at the same table as Lady Inyoni and her nephew, even though they had come together.


    ¡°Wow does the maze work?¡± he asked. ¡°We have yet to be told.¡±


    ¡°We sent out a detachment when the first of you arrived to check which passages are open this year,¡± Lieutenant Wen replied. ¡°They¡¯ll be back sometime during the night, barring disaster. You will all be summoned to an assembly come morning so the practicalities of the trial might be explained.¡±


    Tupoc Xical stepped forward then, drawing many eyes ¨C and few of them friendly.


    ¡°Are we allowed to begin the trial early if we wish?¡± the Aztlan asked.


    Lieutenant Wen laughed.


    ¡°There¡¯s a cliff around here you can jump down from instead,¡± he said, ¡°that¡¯ll at least save us having to retrieve your corpse. But sure, Izcalli, you can start early.¡±


    He pointed past the walls, to another hole in the rampart.


    ¡°Head that way, the Lion Shrine opens almost every year,¡± Lieutenant Wen said. ¡°And shout for help when you get caught, would you?¡±


    He beamed at the Aztlan, the cheer having a vicious tinge to it.


    ¡°We won¡¯t be coming, but it¡¯ll draw other gods so you might die quicker.¡±


    Angharad was beginning to suspect there might be a reason Lieutenant Wen had been assigned to garrison duty under a mountain on a largely inhabited island in the middle of nowhere.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Tupoc replied, looking entirely unperturbed.


    Angharad was learning to hate how nothing shook him. Her hand was itching for a blade to hold.


    ¡°Any other questions?¡± the lieutenant asked.


    There were not, so he reminded them they could ask Sergeant Mandisa for supplies and invited them to rest until tomorrow ¨C or had begun the last part, at least, when Angharad moved. The questions were finished, so courtesy had been observed. She brushed past a confused Shalini and a grinning Lan, ignored Ocotlan as he raised his fists in a fighting stance and then Augusto Cerdan was facing her. Not a scratch on the man, save for his broken arm now in a sling.


    He sneered, opening his mouth, and Angharad socked him in the stomach.


    He folded, letting out a wheeze of pain, and there was a ripple in the crowd as people made room for them. Angharad sought out Remund Cerdan in the crowd and caught his gaze, giving him a slight nod. After a heartbeat of hesitation he returned it. As for Master Cozme, who stood by the younger brother¡¯s side, his face was conflicted. She would have to trust that Remund¡¯s orders and the earlier betrayal tipped the balance of loyalties the correct way.


    She chose not to look for Isabel.


    ¡°As I did not strike you in the face, you may choose to consider yourself as not having been challenged to a duel,¡± Angharad told Augusto.


    She would not turn down an opportunity to strike him a third time.


    ¡°You bitch,¡± the infanzon hissed.


    ¡°Augusto Cerdan, for the betrayal of myself and three others to cultists of the Red Eye I call you to answer blade in hand,¡± Angharad implacably replied.


    She had given her word to Cozme Aflor that she would not pursue her challenge of Augusto until the end of the second trial, but she was following those words exact. Let the Fisher say what he would, Angharad would not bend her neck to the ways of the world: she could survive without carving away at her own principles, and if there were prices to pay for that so be it.


    ¡°You don¡¯t even have a sword!¡± Augusto protested, taking a step back.


    There was a snort from behind them.


    ¡°She may havbe mine,¡± Song said.


    The infanzon¡¯s eyes dilated with fear as he swept the crowd and found no support there. The Cerdan brothers had made few friends and Augusto burned bridges with even those. He reached for his sword, giving Angharad an excuse to dart forward and hit him in the belly again, catching his wrist and slamming the blade back in the sheath. She caught him by the collar and began dragging him towards the entrance to the Old Fort.


    The flat grounds there were not within the span of the yellow lanterns, and so not sanctuary.


    Augusto struggled, but his broken arm was in the way and she was stronger than her.


    ¡°Watchmen!¡± Augusto shouted. ¡°This is murder, she breaks the spirit of the rules - you must intervene.¡±


    Angharad paused there, for if the Watch intervened she would have to give way. Lieutenant Wen, still standing by the table, took a look at them and scratched a match on the tabletop. He pressed it against his cigar, pulling at it until the end burned cherry red. The Tianxi then breathed out a stream of smoke, cocking an eyebrow over his spectacles.


    ¡°I¡¯m not seeing anything,¡± the watchman said. ¡°Are you seeing anything, sergeant?¡±


    Sergeant Mandisa, pulling off the cork on the bottle the lieutenant had earlier brought, began pouring herself a cup of the amber liquid within the green glass.


    ¡°Not a one, sir,¡± she prettily smiled. ¡°And I¡¯m trying real hard.¡±


    Lieutenant Wen rested his hands on his bulging belly, offering a wide friendly smile while beaming at them both.


    ¡°Do give Captain Osian our regards when you next see him, Lady Angharad,¡± the Tianxi mused. ¡°The brandy and cigars have made garrison duty much more tolerable.¡±


    Sergeant Mandisa raised a silent toast to his words. Angharad was split between horror and gratitude. Her uncle¡¯s doing was freeing her to deal out justice, but he had also quite obviously bribed these people. Even back on the Bluebell, he¡¯d had a friend watching out for her in the crew. How many strings had Uncle Osian pulled ¨C and how many of them were crooked?


    When it sunk in that no help was coming, Augusto let out a noise that was whimper trying to be a scream.


    ¡°How dare you,¡± he babbled as Angharad dragged him forward. ¡°House Cerdan will-¡±


    He tried to get his blade out again so she twisted his broken arm and forced the steel back into its sheath while he screamed.


    ¡°They will hunt you like an animal,¡± Augusto hissed, ¡°to the ends of the-¡±


    Mere feet to the break in the rampart now, she could already see the yellow glow of the lanterns outside. The entrance to the fort was well-lit, lanterns hanging from the ramparts, so there was no missing it when a shadow caught up to her. Cutting across the floor it slithered, warning her of the arrival before Tupoc Xical ever came to stand before her.


    Between Angharad and the way out.


    Augusto began struggling again, so she stomped down on his foot.


    ¡°What is this, Xical?¡± she coldly asked.


    ¡°I am,¡± the Aztlan grinned, ¡°defending the weak.¡±


    The sheer absurdity of what he¡¯d just said gave her pause. Enough that Augusto was able to wriggle out of her grasp, and though she kicked him down to his hands and knees she saw Tupoc hefting his segmented spear and she was yet unarmed. She was not, however, alone. Behind her a pistol was cocked as Song came to stand at her left, and to her right Brun pressed something into her hand ¨C a straight sword, Song¡¯s own. The Sacromontan held his hatchet, and tough he smiled reassuringly his eyes were cold. Angharad¡¯s fingers closed around the blade, weighing it.


    It was a little lighter than she¡¯d like, but it would do.


    ¡°Move,¡± Angharad Tredegar told her enemy, ¡°or be moved.¡±


    Augusto crawled towards his protector and she let him, for it would not matter. From the corner of her eye, the Pereduri saw that Ocotlan was moving to flank them. The crowd looked reluctant to intervene, but the escalation was losing her support. No one wanted a full-on skirmish.


    ¡°Alas, I think we will have to save that dance for another day,¡± Tupoc wistfully told her.


    A heartbeat later there was a sharp crack and stone went flying as a shot was fired on the ground between them. Above them, on all sides, blackcloaks were pointing their muskets. Lieutenant Wen, looking irritated, strode past her and pivoted to turn a glare on everyone. Sergeant Mandisa followed him, levelling their way the largest blunderbuss Angharad had ever seen. It was already cocked and the Malani looked a little too eager to use it for comfort.


    ¡°Enough,¡± he ordered. ¡°Weapons down, all of you, or I¡¯ll have you strung up.¡±


    Angharad gritted her teeth even as Tupoc made a show of dismantling his spear, pale eyes smiling at her all the while. Brun¡¯s hatchet came down, though, and Song¡¯s muzzle dipped.


    ¡°It¡¯s over, Angharad,¡± the silver-eyed Tianxi sighed. ¡°They get away with it for now.¡±


    Lieutenant Wen stared her down until she lowered her sword, then nodded in satisfaction. She watched Augusto offering grovelling thanks to his saviour with disgust. Walking away, the bespectacled lieutenant stopped to clap her shoulder and lean in. His sergeant was but a step behind.


    ¡°Sorry, Tredegar, but Xical¡¯s not just yiwu trash come here for bragging rights,¡± he told her. ¡°He¡¯s to become one of us, like you, so it¡¯s out of my hands. We can only play favourites so much.¡±


    He left her standing there, rooted to the ground and facing the Malani sergeant¡¯s cheerful face.


    ¡°Don¡¯t lose heart, lambkin,¡± Sergeant Mandisa comforted her. ¡°It¡¯s really easy to murder people in the maze, so you¡¯ll still have plenty of chances!¡±


    Angharad wondered what it said about her that the perky madwoman¡¯s words did, in fact, cheer her up a bit.

 Chapter 20

    The consolation prizes for being denied her duel were several.


    Sergeant Mandisa sent a Watch surgeon to stitch the cut on her head and she sat down for a hot meal afterwards. Little more than stew and bread, but both were warm and after days on the run she would have been delighted by even a warm rock. She polished both off and Sergeant Mandisa even offered her a thimble of brandy, which she had not anyone else, before clapping her shoulder.


    ¡°There¡¯s a few swords in the armoury,¡± she said. ¡°Have a look when you¡¯re done.¡±


    A pause as the beautiful sergeant looked her up and down.


    ¡°Wen said I should remind you there¡¯s clothes as well, if you want something to take something, but that shirt-and-coat look you went with is pretty ravishing,¡± Sergeant Mandisa praised.


    Angharad went still as a statue, thimble in hand.


    ¡°It is shockingly fashionable,¡± Isabel agreed, eyes smiling. ¡°I could see it taking in salons with the right adjustments ¨C perhaps a silk sash around the waist or an open vest?¡±


    ¡°Coloured breast bindings,¡± the Malani sergeant suggested. ¡°That way you can make them out through the shirt.¡±


    ¡°Scandalous,¡± Isabel appreciatively said.


    Angharad hunched over and drank her thimble of brandy, as sadly it was impossible for her to disappear down it from sheer mortification. Perhaps a vest was in order, if the Watch kept any. Her coat needed mending again anyhow. Sergeant Mandisa strolled away after clapping her on the back again, leaving her to embarrassment.


    ¡°There¡¯s a well for drinking water and another for the washtub,¡± Brun informed her, perhaps taking pity. ¡°I¡¯ll show you where so you can clean up.¡±


    ¡°That would be a fine thing,¡± Angharad admitted.


    Tristan had done good work getting rid of the blood, but he had not been interested in the filth beyond what might get into her wounds. She was surprised Isabel could stomach to sit across from her given how she must smell.


    ¡°I have the first place in line after the Watch is done using it,¡± Song told her. ¡°As I said before our interlude, you can have it.¡±


    ¡°That is kind of you,¡± Angharad said, nodding her thanks.


    ¡°It the least we owe,¡± the Tianxi meaningfully said.


    Her gaze turned to the end of the table, distracting Angharad from reminding her she owed nothing at all: Song had saved her life on the Bluebell. The silver-eyed woman was staring at the two sitting near the edge, Master Cozme and Remund Cerdan. Both were keeping silent, looking uncomfortable. Now that the heat of the moment had passed, both were wrestling with the reality that they had surrendered Augusto Cerdan to her blade. It was Cozme Aflor who broke first, shaking his head.


    ¡°It is as she said,¡± he admitted. ¡°And you kept your word to the letter: it¡¯s another duel you tried to fight.¡±


    There was a coolness to the way he beheld her now, a wariness. Had he guessed using the precise wording was her intention all along? Remund Cerdan, on the other hand, looked more tired and angry than anything else.


    ¡°Would that you were able to end him,¡± he said. ¡°Cozme would not hear of my seeing to it myself-¡±


    ¡°I have explicit orders otherwise,¡± the soldier flatly said.


    ¡°- else he would not have reached sanctuary alive,¡± Remund continued, teeth gritted. ¡°He tried to murder us with that shot, to murder me.¡±


    ¡°I would have struck him down if Song had not stopped me,¡± Brun admitted. ¡°Before we all ran, I mean.¡±


    ¡°The last thing we needed was to start fighting each other,¡± Song flatly replied. ¡°All it would accomplish was help the cultists.¡±


    Cozme nodded at her gratefully, then hesitated when looking Angharad¡¯s way.


    ¡°Augusto Cerdan is no longer under my protection,¡± he finally told her. ¡°I ensured he reached sanctuary and had the opportunity to withdraw from the trials, I owe nothing more.¡±


    ¡°He will stay, then?¡± Angharad said, honestly surprised.


    Remund laughed unkindly.


    ¡°He must,¡± the younger Cerdan said. ¡°He will be disgraced when Isabel and I return to Sacromonte, perhaps even cast out of our house.¡±


    ¡°Unless Lord Cerdan seeks a feud with House Ruesta, he will most certainly be cast out,¡± Isabel coldly stated.


    ¡°You believe he will try to kill you,¡± Angharad slowly said. ¡°To prevent word getting back.¡±


    ¡°Not prevent, that would be too difficult. But it is understood between the houses that deaths on the Dominion are to be left on the Dominion,¡± Isabel explained. ¡°Conflict has occurred before, you understand. He would be stretching the bounds of tolerance, of course, but if he returns and we do not¡­¡±


    ¡°Any heir is better than none,¡± Remund said, face pulled tight. ¡°Our father is not a sentimental man.¡±


    Angharad glanced at Cozme, who seemed to be treating this as none of his affair. He avoided her gaze, which was confirmation enough. The Pereduri hid her disgust at the thought that a kinslayer might be welcomed back into one¡¯s family after the deed. It was absurd that Sacromonte might call itself a civilized nation without answering such a foul crime by being throwing the kinslayer down a cliff.


    ¡°But such talk can wait until tomorrow,¡± Isabel said. ¡°Shall I ask Beatris to mend your coat again?¡±


    Her smile as she said that was sly, a joke between only the two of them. Angharad was uncomfortable sharing in it before Remund Cerdan, however, who still seemed to be expecting these trials to end in a marriage.


    ¡°Please,¡± Angharad said, casting a look around.


    Where was Beatris, anyhow? She had seen neither hide nor hair of Isabel¡¯s sole remaining handmaid since she reached sanctuary.


    ¡°She is resting,¡± Isabel said, answering an unspoken question.


    Song scoffed.


    ¡°She is catatonic,¡± the silver-eyed woman harshly corrected. ¡°She came close to dying too many times for her nerves to keep holding and should not be on this island to begin with.¡±


    Song matched Isabel¡¯s cold look with one of her own. Angharad went still in surprise, for never before had the Tianxi been this bellicose with one of the infanzones ¨C not even Augusto after he murdered Gascon. More surprising still, she gave no sign of backing down even in the face of Isabel¡¯s open displeasure.


    ¡°We are all tired,¡± Angharad said. ¡°And my coat can certainly wait.¡±


    She rose to her feet, almost hastily.


    ¡°There was talk of a washtub, I believe?¡±


    The two tore their gazes away from each other. Her request snuffed out the fuse for now, Song and Brun rising to help her as they had promised, but a line had clearly been drawn in her absence.


    The washtub was little more than a barrel with a fire underneath, large enough for her to fit her body up to her neck in the water. The water was hot and it felt like being born anew to wash away all the filth and blood. She almost fell asleep inside and did not last long after getting out. The Watch had set out bedrolls in the small chambers made from the stables, so she simply claimed the one by Song¡¯s and closed the curtain before crawling under the covers.


    She was out in moments.


    --


    Angharad woke early, among the first to do so, and shambled out of her bedroll for a meal. Only a few had preceded her, among them Lady Acanthe and the Tianxi veteran called Yong. The two avoided each other and herself, and as the watchman charged with distributing the morning porridge ¨C a horrid slop that tasted vaguely salty ¨C did not feel like conversation either she ate in silence. By the time she was halfway through Song joined her, the two of them soon commiserating together about the fare. Conversation remained light.


    ¡°Your braids are coming undone,¡± Song told her.


    She had suspected as much but could not be sure without a mirror.


    ¡°And the hair is gone dry,¡± Angharad sighed. ¡°The rainwater did more damage than the bath, I think.¡±


    At least her stitches did not sting even when she smiled.


    ¡°I cannot do anything for that, but I could help you with the braids,¡± Song offered. ¡°I used to do my little sister¡¯s.¡±


    Angharad started in surprise.


    ¡°You have siblings?¡± she asked.


    ¡°I am the third of five,¡± the silver-eyed woman smiled. ¡°My parents were very orderly: two boys, then three girls.¡±


    ¡°I am an only child myself,¡± Angharad shared. ¡°I had some cousins from my mother¡¯s younger brother, but I believe them to be dead.¡±


    Uncle Arwel and his two boys had been in the manor when it was set aflame. None had come out.


    ¡°Your uncle in the Watch?¡±


    ¡°No, Uncle Osian is the elder of a pair,¡± Angharad said. ¡°My mother had two younger brothers.¡±


    Unlike Father, who like her had had been without siblings. She had never met her grandparents on that side of the family either, both having passed years before her birth. Talk of their families cast a pall on a conversation, so Angharad accepted the offer of help with her braids to tack on a different wind. Song took a bench and the Pereduri sat before her, finding it soothingly pleasant for someone to play with her hair. Both their moods improved and they sat there as the rest of the fort began to wake around them.


    ¡°Ishaan¡¯s still looking sickly,¡± Song murmured.


    Angharad¡¯s eyes found the chubby-cheeked Someshwari in question, who like many among them was looking down at his bowl with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. He did look wan, she thought, and his elegant saffron tunic was touched with old sweat.


    ¡°It is not a good time to fall sick,¡± Angharad said.


    ¡°I do not believe he is, at least not in that sense,¡± Song told her. ¡°Inyoni¡¯s company arrived an entire day before the rest of us, but they ran into the heliodoran beast on the way. One of them used a contract on it to get away, and now Ishaan Nair looks sickly even though he had a day more to rest than the rest of us.¡±


    It was, she would admit, a detail of significance. They spoke no more of it, however, for something else caught their eye. The old woman Angharad had journeyed with for a few hours, Vanesa, was being helped into a seat by Tristan. He then went to fetch them both porridge.


    ¡°Words is that the Watch physician advised they amputate the leg,¡± Song said. ¡°She refused, but they won¡¯t keep her on pain draughts forever ¨C those are expensive, and if she cannot do the trial what do they care?¡±


    ¡°Did you learn how she was wounded?¡± Angharad asked. ¡°It does not seem like Xical¡¯s work or a darkling¡¯s.¡±


    She had not wanted to hurt Ferranda yesterday by prodding the fresh wound of Sanale¡¯s death, but surely others of that group must have talked. Song chuckled.


    ¡°It¡¯s a story worth hearing and they have not been shy in sharing it.¡±


    Angharad listened intently at the tale, with every word more amazed any of them had lived at all. No doubt the events had been exaggerated, but to use an outwitted monster as a bridge was too livid a detail to have been entirely invented.


    ¡°Tristan did this?¡± she asked.


    ¡°And Sarai,¡± Song reminded her. ¡°Signs are an art of great power.¡±


    That much Angharad would not dispute, but she had a hard time believing that the same man who had beaten a nigh helpless woman for a pistol that had caught his fancy would take such risks for others. Song was nearly done with her braids by the time everyone was awake, and as the conversation ebbed low the noblewoman considered her way forward. Tupoc Xical must be made to pay for his actions, though not through some squalid murder as the sergeant had implied. A trial ought to take place, with crimes laid out and witnesses swearing oaths.


    He had made enough enemies that Angharad liked her odds. The only questions was who she should approach first, Lady Inyoni or- her musings were cut short by a sunny Sergeant Mandisa walking out of the makeshift kitchen with a large copper pot, mercilessly beating it with a wooden spoon. She had the closest table, Yaretzi and Ferranda, wincing at the noise.


    ¡°Assemble, assemble,¡± the Malani sergeant called out. ¡°An officer requires your attention.¡±


    Most rose to their feet immediately, a handful inexplicably finishing the rest of their porridge first, but by the time Lieutenant Wen emerged from the barracks even those were standing. The Tianxi already has his gold-rimmed spectacles on and was tearing stripes off what looked like a piece of fresh bread. Once he finished the last, standing in front of everyone, he cleared his throat. The noise did not sound all that apologetic about making everyone wait while he ate.


    ¡°Our scouts are back,¡± Lieutenant Wen announced, ¡°so as promised we will now go over the particulars of the second trial.¡±


    Sergeant Mandisa came to stand by his side, still wielding the fearsome pot and spoon.


    ¡°The Trial of Ruins is just as simple as the first one was,¡± Lieutenant Wen said. ¡°See how someone mislaid a pile of shrines behind me?¡±


    It was hard to miss it, given that the vast majority of the great cavern had been swallowed up by the ruins. There was a general murmur of agreement, though no one committed so far as giving a legible answer. Already everyone had grasped that putting your foot forward with the lieutenant was a lot more likely to result in being made a figure of fun than garnering a reward.


    ¡°There are paths in there,¡± Lieutenant Wen said. ¡°At the end of them lies a gate with a god trapped inside it: get there, cross the gate, and that¡¯s it. That¡¯s the entire trial.¡±


    Someone cleared their throat. Cozme, Angharad recognized after a moment.


    ¡°So a maze requiring an offering at the end,¡± the mustachioed soldier stated. ¡°Full of perils, one assumes?¡±


    The corpulent watchman grinned at the other man, though there was much teeth to it and little amity.


    ¡°You¡¯re an infanzon dog, Aflor, let¡¯s not pretend you didn¡¯t read up on everything before setting foot on the ship,¡± Lieutenant Wen said. ¡°It¡¯s a little like pretending your virginity mysteriously grew back after you set foot in the brothel.¡±


    Master Cozme¡¯s lips thinned and his mustache trembled with anger, but he held himself back from answering. Sergeant Mandisa cleared her throat. The Tianxi turned to glare at her but she just cleared it again, louder. Lieutenant Wen sighed.


    ¡°Fine,¡± he said. ¡°I will be respectful of your delicate maidenhoods and ease you into this adventure with a proper, loving introduction.¡±


    Angharad wondered whether politely requesting him to abandon that line of metaphor would make things better or worse. Worse, she decided. Almost certainly worse.


    ¡°Welcome to Trial of Ruins,¡± Lieutenant Wen said with caustic cheer. ¡°We do not know who put those shrines in there and can¡¯t be sure why, but we do one thing: they¡¯re full of dead and dying gods.¡±


    Spirits, he meant. Angharad was uncertain why a dead spirit¡¯s existence should matter much ¨C perhaps traces of power would remain, but surely no more than that? -  yet such a creature trapped and dying was certainly to be nothing to trifle with.


    ¡°Now that may sound like a bad thing,¡± Lieutenant Wen said, allowing a pause.


    ¡°Because it is!¡± Sergeant Mandisa helpfully provided.


    ¡°But it¡¯s also how you¡¯ll get through,¡± the Tianxi said, sliding his thumbs into his belt. ¡°See, our friends out in the ruins can only get so far eating each other ¨C diminishing returns, you know how it goes. Eating people, though? Now that¡¯ll stave off extinction a decade or two. So they¡¯ll let you into their shrines.¡±


    ¡°So they can eat you,¡± the Malani added, in case anyone had forgot.


    ¡°Not all shrines will open,¡± Lieutenant Wen warned them. ¡°Some gods are sated, or too close to death or gone so mad they don¡¯t remember how. In practice, that means you¡¯ll be navigating a maze to get to the gate at the other end of the cavern.¡±


    ¡°Seems like a lot of gods to kill,¡± Shalini Goel skeptically said. ¡°Could watchmen even do it?¡±


    ¡°We can¡¯t,¡± Lieutenant Wen approvingly said. ¡°But not for the reasons you think. If any of you are idiots or blind, you might have missed the giant spinning gold sky.¡±


    To Angharad¡¯s lack of surprise, no one stepped forward to name themselves a blind idiot by admitting that they had. Not that even the most unobservant of men could miss it: the only reason the cavern was not a pitch-black pit broken up only by the occasional lantern was the soft glow given off by the great machine hanging from the ceiling.


    ¡°We haven¡¯t been able to get up there and confirm it¡¯s Antediluvian work, but it seems likely,¡± Lieutenant Wen said. ¡°Which is probably why it¡¯s not just a very vain lantern: it¡¯s also an aether machine placing restrictions on all gods within its area of influence.¡±


    Angharad breathed in sharply and she was not the only one. It was one thing to walk the ruins of the First Empire, the worn and broken works of stone, another to walk in the light of one of their miraculous devices. No one had tamed Vesper the way the Antediluvians had, not even Liergan at its height.


    ¡°We have observed two restrictions,¡± Lieutenant Wen told them. ¡°First, no god can do violence on anything but another god directly. Second, gods are bound to their shrine or seat of power. As a consequence of these, the Watch developed a method.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re going to make you bind your souls to boxes and bet them,¡± Sergeant Mandisa enthusiastically announced.


    Angharad choked at the words, not quite believing what she¡¯d just heard. She was not the only one. The bespectacled Tianxi glared at his sergeant.


    ¡°I was building up to that,¡± he reproached.


    Notably, he did not contradict Sergeant Mandisa. The expression on Lieutenant Wen¡¯s face might have passed for a pout if not for his inborn amount of spite making any application of the word unsuitable.


    ¡°Fine, the fun¡¯s gone now anyway,¡± he sighed. ¡°See, so long as terms are agreed on between mortal and god beforehand ¨C and observed during - the aether machine does not consider what follows violence. So everyone has a chance at getting what they want: the god gives you a test, a game with rules, and if you fail or die during they get to eat your soul. If you win they let you through their territory, sometimes even throw in a prize.¡±


    ¡°Only the nice ones do that,¡± Sergeant Mandisa said. ¡°There¡¯s not a lot of those left, those that aren¡¯t nice tend to eat them.¡±


    ¡°Should we have brought our own soul boxes, or will they be provided?¡± Shalini sarcastically asked.


    ¡°You can use ours,¡± Lieutenant Wen smiled. ¡°It¡¯s nothing all that sinister, Goel ¨C a forged iron lantern splashed with your blood to serve as a mark on your presence in the aether. You¡¯re technically gambling the marker, not your soul. It¡¯s just so happens the marker¡¯s enough for it to get at you.¡±


    ¡°You use aether seals?¡± Tupoc Xical asked, sounding genuinely surprised.


    And pleased, for some reason. That did not bode well.


    ¡°Keep it in your pants, Leopard Society,¡± Lieutenant Wen replied, rolling his eyes. ¡°It¡¯s just a temporary mark. We¡¯re not exactly burning souls to keep our candles lit, so don¡¯t you start looking for a village or two to abduct.¡±


    ¡°This is vile calumny, lieutenant,¡± Tupoc replied with a friendly smile. ¡°The Leopard Society¡¯s purpose is the pursuit of criminals who flee beyond Izcalli borders, nothing more.¡±


    The pair from the Someshwar loudly scoffed and Yong¡¯s face might as well have been carved out of stone.


    ¡°Of course, of course,¡± Lieutenant Wen agreed.


    A second later he gave the Aztlan the most exaggerated wink Angharad had ever seen.


    ¡°And the gate at the end?¡± Lady Inyoni called out. ¡°Nothing else is simple, I will not believe that is.¡±


    ¡°Simple enough,¡± the bespectacled lieutenant said. ¡°The god at the gate will not open unless ten or more of what it calls ¡®victors¡¯ ¨C that is to say, those who bet their soul and won ¨C are standing in front of it.¡±


    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    Angharad bit the inside of her cheek. And there the nature of the trial changed again, Lieutenant Wen ripping the carpet out from under their feet. There were only twenty-five of them left, and of these several were no longer fighting fit. The Pereduri could not simply bet her soul ten times and gain victory enough to open the gate on her own, others needed to triumph as well. And if they lose even once, then or afterwards, that is the end of the line. That was why Tupoc was so certain he would get away with it: killing him was good as throwing away a victor. And he¡¯ll kill some of us before we execute him, further slimming our odds.


    Angharad considered her chances of simply killing him, without trial or verdict, the moment they stepped out of sanctuary. Alone she gave herself better than even odds, but it would not be quick and that meant complications. Ocotlan seemed likely to side with him in a fight, Augusto for certain and perhaps even Acanthe Phos. Angharad was not without allies of her own and Tupoc had certainly made enemies enough to be buried, but it would be a skirmish and not a duel. In that chaos, how many would be wounded or slain?


    The costs would be too high.


    Even if she gathered enough vengeful souls to strike with her, others would object: more afraid of the deaths ahead than angered by the deaths left behind. The moment Tupoc gathered someone to stand with him, showed it would be a fight and not an execution, her support would turn to mist. The trial she had wanted to arrange was good as buried. Angharad breathed in, let the indignation and the surge of rage ¨C he¡¯d been right, the smiling monster, he was going to get away with it ¨C sink deep into her bones and let them simmer there as she calmed the surface of her.


    Throwing a fit would serve no purpose but making her look unstable, unfit for alliance. Already she had attempted to kill Augusto yesterday, if she now had a tantrum because she would not be allowed to preside over the hanging of another trial-taker she would look like a bloodthirsty lunatic. For now her reputation was solid and Tupoc¡¯s was as a full chamber pot: too foul for others to want to get close enough to throw it out, but that did not mean anyone was fond of the smell. She could not, would not set aside the demands of honour but Angharad was capable of biding her time. She would win oaths and allies, then get the last word. The dead were ever patient and she would not give any less than they.


    By the time she had fully mastered herself, the conversation had moved on and the bespectacled watchman was speaking again.


    ¡°You¡¯re a lucky bunch,¡± Lieutenant Wen jovially announced. ¡°Three of the first row of shrines are open this year, so you¡¯ve got plenty of paths to choose from.¡±


    Lan raised her hand.


    ¡°Yes,¡± the lieutenant invited.


    ¡°Is that good?¡± she asked.


    ¡°That¡¯s good,¡± Lieutenant Wen agreed. ¡°It means dead ends are a lot less likely to force you through a shrine whose test will kill half of you.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s never the ones you expect either,¡± Sergeant Mandisa mused. ¡°The Riddler-Teller¡¯s usually such a sweetheart.¡±


    Angharad made a firm and immediate decision to avoid any shrine whose spirit was named thus. When it became evident Lieutenant Wen would no longer speak unless prompted, the crowd began to disperse. Some of them had known of what was to come, at least part of it, but most would need time to digest the trial laying ahead. It was a man she believed part of the former that made his way towards her as others moved out of the way, making room. Space spread around them, out of either fear or manners. Angharad breathed in, back straight, and faced her enemy.


    Tupoc Xical had come out of the Trial of Lines with nary a scuff on him.


    There was a small rip in the long white skirts going to his ankles, already mended, but his collared green shirt and the dull breastplate he wore over it did not have so much as a stain. Angharad, who had only bathed once in several days and whose braids were not in the proper style, could only envy the way his long hair shone. Even the round earrings hanging from his ear had been freshly polished, flashing copper-gold whenever they caught the light. Her gaze must have lingered there, for Tupoc flicked one with a finger and gave her a smile.


    ¡°Like them?¡± the Izcalli asked. ¡°They were a gift from my teacher when I declared my intention to enter the Watch.¡±


    ¡°So you are not a deserter, at least,¡± Angharad coolly replied.


    The man clicked his tongue disapprovingly.


    ¡°I was offered help in that endeavour, Angharad Tredegar, not censure,¡± Tupoc informed her. ¡°We hold the rooks in high esteem: they, too, understand the lessons of the Fifth Loss.¡±


    It was a concession to manners and not the man that Angharad did not roll her eyes. She was in no mood to indulge the famous Aztlan superstitions, which the Kingdom of Izcalli had enshrined as dogma tacked on to the teachings of the Orthodoxy ¨C the myth of some ancient lost war against the sky, ending in defeat and an exile that could only be turned back by triumphing over the Circle Perpetual. That the way to this triumph involved the Kingdom of Izcalli invading its neighbours at every opportunity had not endeared the preaching of Izcalli priesthood to anyone.


    ¡°And what would that be, Tupoc?¡± she said. ¡°By the account of your deeds, I would suppose selling us out to cultists.¡±


    ¡°That the lights are fading,¡± Tupoc seriously replied. ¡°That there can be no evil in any act undertaken to keep them on even a breath longer. What do you think the Watch is, Lady Tredegar?¡±


    ¡°The watchmen of Vesper,¡± she replied. ¡°The keepers of the Iscariot Accords.¡±


    ¡°They are the lid on a very deep well,¡± Tupoc Xical said, shaking his head. ¡°Only when they succeed in that duty can they spare the breath to be anything more.¡±


    The too-perfect Aztlan smiled, utterly convinced of his words. Angharad might have spared some pity for him, for the way he must believe this to be able to look at himself in the mirror, were he not one of the vilest men she had ever met. No amount of paper-thin charm would make her forget the scream of terror that had ripped itself out of Briceida¡¯s throat. Tiring of this playacting, of having to offer the monster manners, she sought his gaze and held it.


    ¡°What do you want?¡± she bluntly asked.


    ¡°I will be leading warriors down a path,¡± Tupoc said. ¡°Be one of them and I will deliver to you the man whose death you seek.¡±


    She bared her teeth.


    ¡°Only one of them,¡± Angharad told him.


    ¡°Greedy,¡± the Aztlan chided, more amused than offended. ¡°But it seems you are not yet ready to bargain.¡±


    ¡°Nor will I ever be,¡± she replied.


    After a curt nod she turned her back on him. In the wake of Lieutenant Wen¡¯s oration most of the trial-takers had dispersed but there was nowhere to go save the great courtyard: none had gone all that far, beyond the distance courtesy dictated she be given for a private conversation. People clustered in pairs and small group, eyeing their fellows, but before Angharad could consider what she ought to do about this she found Isabel approaching her. The infanzona offered her soft smile and her arm with it.


    ¡°Walk with me,¡± Isabel Ruesta asked.


    Who was Angharad to deny her? There was little to do but go around in circles in the courtyard if they did not want to leave the safety of the fort, so it was that they settled on.


    ¡°The second trial,¡± the dark-haired beauty told her, ¡°is where most people are said to die. My family knows little about the Trial of Weeds, save that it ends in a port on the other side of the island, but it does not seem as dangerous.¡±


    ¡°Spirits are never to be trifled with,¡± Angharad agreed.


    ¡°We must make allies, then, else we will be at the mercy of others,¡± Isabel said, then paused.


    The infanzona snuck a shy glance.


    ¡°That is, if you still want my company,¡± she said. ¡°I would not presume, now that I have no guard left and only a single maid that-¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± Angharad hurried to answer her. ¡°You must know I would not abandon you now, Isabel, not when peril has reached its height and you are all but alone.¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Isabel feelingly said. ¡°Remund and Master Cozme are worthy friends, of course, but I cannot rely on them as I do you.¡±


    ¡°Cozme has his duty,¡± she conceded.


    And it was Cerdan lives he was sworn to protect, not anyone from the House of Ruesta.


    ¡°The four of us ¨C five, when Beatris recovers ¨C make a respectable backbone for an expedition,¡± Isabel said.


    ¡°Five will not be enough,¡± Angharad replied.


    Not when neither Isabel nor Beatris were any good at fighting.


    ¡°Then recruitment is in order,¡± the other woman agreed. ¡°It would be best, I think, for you to take the lead in this.¡±


    Angharad cocked an eyebrow.


    ¡°You might not have noticed, but your reputation rose to new heights after your battle with the Red Eye and their traitor allies,¡± Isabel told her. ¡°Tupoc related how you faced an entire warband by yourself, when he arrived here, and that he believed you would live.¡±


    The infanzona squeezed her arm.


    ¡°You will be sought after,¡± Isabel said. ¡°Doors that would remain closed to me will open for you.¡±


    Angharad frowned. Besotted she might be, but she could still see what lay behind what Isabel had said: the star of the infanzones was fading while her own had risen. On the Bluebell, Lord Remund and Isabel would have picked their allies and Angharad been expected to nod. Now the balance had swung the other way: it would be they who nodded, whatever her choices might be. That would take some getting used to. A lifetime of holding the least consequential title in every room had done little to prepare her, for all that Father had been readying her for the rule of Llanw Hall.


    ¡°Then I shall see about opening them,¡± Angharad replied with forced cheer.


    After finishing another round of the courtyard they parted ways, Isabel reminding her that she was always there if Angharad felt the need for advice. By happenstance they had ended near an old acquaintance, which made the first step obvious enough for Angharad: Brun was kneeling by a bench, setting out his supplies and putting order to them. He was also, she saw, keeping a roving eye on the rest of the courtyard while working. He turned to her when she approached, slowly rising to his feet.


    ¡°Lady Angharad,¡± he said, pulling back at his sleeves. ¡°Done talking with Ruesta, I see.¡±


    A touch of embarrassment.


    ¡°It does make my purpose rather obvious, I suppose,¡± Angharad said.


    ¡°A tad,¡± Brun shrugged.


    She did not make the request and he did not volunteer, which already told her all she needed to know about how the conversation would go if she did. It showed on her face and Brun passed a hand through his blond locks before grimacing.


    ¡°I would have liked to stick with you,¡± he admitted. ¡°But I will not go with infanzones again, not after what it was like last time.¡±


    ¡°Augusto will not be with us,¡± Angharad said.


    His lips thinned.


    ¡°And how much did his brother do, when Gascon got a knife in his back?¡± he asked. ¡°Did Remund Cerdan try to help Briceida when she was taken, or run like a rabbit the moment he could?¡±


    Brun had been fond of the redheaded maid. They had been courting, or near enough. Her death was not something he was taking lightly. Angharad looked away, ashamed that she had nothing to say. Neither of the Cerdans had covered themselves with glory on the Dominion of Lost Things.


    ¡°I hate that you must have that look on your face because of them,¡± Brun quietly said. ¡°I don¡¯t know what you are, Angharad Tredegar, but no infanzon is it. They will use you until you break, the same they do everything else, and after they¡¯ll not shed a tear. It¡¯s just what they are.¡±


    ¡°There is more to them than that,¡± Angharad said.


    ¡°Maybe,¡± Brun said. ¡°Sometimes one man out of thousand does get rich riffling through the dung heap, it¡¯s true. But even then, Angharad, all the rest just got shit on their hands.¡±


    The phrasing was crude, but she understood the meaning: he was not going to take on the chance on either Remund or Isabel after what he had seen of them. It was, much as she disliked admitting it, entirely understandable. And it was not Brun¡¯s duty to convince himself of the worth of the nobles ruling over him ¨C if the sheep sought the shepherd¡¯s crook, there would be no need for it, the High Queen had once said.


    ¡°I understand,¡± she said. ¡°I wish it were otherwise, but what is that save noise?¡±


    Brun worried his lip.


    ¡°I owe you for the way you drew the cultists off us,¡± the Sacromontan said. ¡°I haven¡¯t forgotten that.¡±


    ¡°I did not do it for reward,¡± Angharad dismissed. ¡°We were companions, fighting to keep us alive is nothing more than what was owed.¡±


    He looked frustrated, for reasons she did not understand.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think the diving crews will stay the same,¡± Brun told her. ¡°We can talk again after a day or two, see if there¡¯s something to be done.¡±


    She smiled, appreciating the intention more than a prospect she doubted would ever come to pass.


    ¡°I will still see you at camp,¡± Angharad told him. ¡°We need not be strangers.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± he muttered. ¡°I suppose not.¡±


    ¡°Then take care of yourself, Brun,¡± she said. ¡°Perhaps the third trial will bring us side by side again.¡±


    He jerked a nod, looking embarrassed.


    ¡°I¡¯ll keep an eye out for you,¡± the Sacromontan promised. ¡°See you around, Lady Tredegar.¡±


    They parted ways with an undertone that was almost bittersweet. Angharad had spent only a few days with the companions she made on the Bluebell but the ties felt older than that. Thicker. She began to understand why it was that Mother said a captain who fought with her men need never fear mutiny. Facing death together was no small thing. Walking away as the blond man returned to his work, Angharad breathed out. Her crew lacked strength, she saw it plain. Brun had made his decision plain and she would not disrespect him by trying to convince him otherwise, which now left one name at the top of her list.


    Song was cleaning her musket when the Pereduri approached her, carefully checking every part under lantern light.


    ¡°May I sit?¡± Angharad asked.


    ¡°There is no need,¡± Song replied without looking away from her weapon.


    Angharad felt a sting of betrayal at the other woman¡¯s words, however undeserved.


    ¡°Two more fighters,¡± the Tianxi continued. ¡°If you want me to come along, that is what you need to secure. Anything less is throwing our lives away.¡±


    She let out a breath or relief. Not a sundering of their relationship, then, but a requirement she could only call reasonable. Song owed none of their crew anything, certainly not her life.


    ¡°Will you desist from accepting other offers until then?¡± she asked.


    ¡°I will not go with Tupoc Xical,¡± Song said, tearing away her gaze from the musket only to look past her. ¡°Anything else I will consider ¨C waste no time, Angharad. The competition is not dallying.¡±


    She turned to follow where the Tianxi was looking, seeing Lord Ishaan and Shalini Goel conversing with Lady Ferranda. Angharad pushed down her dismay. She had not thought Ferranda would be poached so quickly, half-hoping that after gathering more strength she could talk the other noble into coming with them despite her distrust of the other infanzones. By the way the blonde infanzona was nodding at the words of the other two, she would not have that opportunity. Teeth clenched, her gaze swept the courtyard for other possibilities. Tupoc was talking with the married pair, who displayed hesitant looks.


    Even the desperate knew better.


    Yong was speaking with Tristan and the toothless old professor. She was not sure the latter two would qualify as fighters in Song¡¯s eyes, so she pushed that talk further down the ladder. Of those fit to fight a pair did stand alone: Lady Inyoni and her nephew Lord Zenzele. Angharad grimaced. She had avoided the Malani pair because of the man¡¯s strange behaviour, thinking they might be assassins, but they had paid her no attention since the Bluebell docked. It seemed her suspicions had done them disservice. They were standing by the great iron gate, talking quietly as they beheld it, and Angharad made to join them.


    ¡°-er seen its like before,¡± Lord Zenzele was saying. ¡°It must be some kind of stone from the far south.¡±


    Her arrival was caught by the elder of the two.


    ¡°Lady Angharad,¡± Inyoni half-turned to greet her.


    ¡°Lady Inyoni,¡± she returned, then nodded at the nephew. ¡°Lord Zenzele.¡±


    The grizzled older woman snorted.


    ¡°My sister¡¯s the one who got the title,¡± she said. ¡°There is no need to spare me one as well, Tredegar.¡±


    ¡°Then you may take it as a mark of respect instead,¡± Angharad replied.


    The older woman blinked in surprise. Her nephew seemed amused, though only shallowly. His eyes were as watchful of her now as when they had been on the ship.


    ¡°We¡¯ve not much had the pleasure of your company, Lady Angharad, so forgive her for not knowing of your respect,¡± Zenzele wryly said. ¡°Are you come to join in our wonder at this strange stone?¡±


    She did not answer the unspoken reproach, for she had no good answer to it, and instead followed the other man¡¯s invitation. Though the grand iron gate ¨C not a simple slab of metal but a mass of intricate gears and mechanisms - was set into the massive pillar, the side and hinges were covered with a fine border in another kind of stone. It was deep blue, not unlike lapis in colour, but a simple rap of her knuckles confirmed her suspicion: it was soft stone, a kind she did know.


    ¡°This is Savuri marble,¡± she told them. ¡°Polished.¡±


    Lord Zenzele eyed her dubiously.


    ¡°You seem very sure of that,¡± he said.


    ¡°I had a piece in my bedchamber mere months ago,¡± Angharad amusedly told him. ¡°A gift from my mother.¡±


    Distaste flickered across the Malani¡¯s face.


    ¡°Of course you did,¡± he scorned. ¡°A least try a more believable lie, Tredegar. Who is your mother, then ¨C Her Perpetual Majesty or Captain Maraire? The crown has a monopoly on Savuri marble and only Maraire ships may carry it. Every lord in Malan knows that, though perhaps word did not reach as far as Peredur.¡±


    She met his scorn with a black stare.


    ¡°My mother¡¯s name was Rhiannon Tredegar,¡± she replied, ¡°though like all peers of Peredur she did have to register a Malani name on the rolls: Lady Sizani Maraire.¡±


    She leaned forward.


    ¡°As for the piece of marble I refer to, it was the first ever dug up in Savuri after the colony was founded,¡± she coldly continued. ¡°The High Queen was presented the second, you see, for its blue was deeper and it had a beautiful crack of gold going through it.¡±


    Zenzele swallowed loudly. There was a long, awkward silence, then Inyoni let out snort.


    ¡°Well, you had that one coming,¡± the grizzled woman said. ¡°You¡¯ll have to forgive my nephew, Lady Tredegar, grief has addled his mood.¡±


    At the reminder that the young woman with them was taken by the cultists, her expression sobered.


    ¡°I was very sorry to hear what happened to Ayanda,¡± she quietly said.


    ¡°We don¡¯t know that she¡¯s dead,¡± Zenzele said.


    He sounded like a man trying to convince himself.


    ¡°Pray to the Sleeping God that she is,¡± Lady Inyoni flatly replied. ¡°It is the kindest of the fates before her.¡±


    The Malani clenched his fists.


    ¡°If Ishaan has just agreed to pursue, then-¡±


    ¡°Then we may well have lost more than one,¡± Inyoni sharply interrupted. ¡°Or died at the bridge because he had already overused his contract.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t know that,¡± Zenzele insisted. ¡°And we¡¯ll never know, because they fucking refused to try to rescue the reason I came to this fucking island in the first place.¡±


    His voice was halfway to a shout by the end of the sentence and he was panting. Angharad did not need to look to know they were drawing attention but she could not bring herself to feel embarrassed, not looking at the raw grief on his face. It would been too petty.  Inyoni sighed, then turned an eye on her.


    ¡°I can guess at why you came to us, Lady Tredegar,¡± she said. ¡°As you can see, we will not be making common cause with Ishaan Nair again.¡±


    ¡°I did seek you out to make alliance,¡± Angharad admitted, ¡°but such talk can wait. I have disturbed you in your grief.¡±


    Zenzele scoffed, though the anger did not feel directed at her.


    ¡°I¡¯ll still be grieving her in fifty years, Tredegar ¨C what difference could a few hours possibly make? Out with it.¡±


    His bluntness bordered on rudeness, but patience came easy when she saw the look in his eyes. Much could be forgiven of a man when he had a knife in the belly.


    ¡°Crews are forming to delve into the maze,¡± Angharad said, matching frankness with frankness. ¡°I would have the two of you in mine.¡±


    Inyoni grunted, eyes considering.


    ¡°You¡¯ve got the Ruesta dead weight and her maid, also dead weight, then the younger Cerdan ¨C any truth to him having a contract?¡±


    Angharad hesitated, then nodded. It was nothing they could not learn by asking around.


    ¡°Slightly better,¡± Inyoni conceded. ¡°Cozme¡¯s no slouch, but it¡¯s not us he¡¯ll be keeping an eye out for. Your roster is not a strong sell. Did you get that pretty blond boy or the Tianxi with the trick shots?¡±


    ¡°Song will join if you do,¡± Angharad said.


    She could have turned a phrase to hide the detail, but why bother? It had been tiring, the game of twists and turns with the Cerdans, and she would gladly be rid of it. Best not to weave rope now she might later hang herself with. Inyoni met her nephew¡¯s eyes, cocking an eyebrow, and Angharad knew her to be amenable. She would be, since they could not join the diving crew forming around Lord Ishaan and the other rising prospect was Tupoc. It was Lord Zenzele that looked unconvinced.


    ¡°You spent the entire trip to the island avoiding us,¡± Zenzele said. ¡°What has changed?¡±


    There she drew a line.


    ¡°Did you seek me out anymore than I sought you?¡± she evenly asked.


    He conceded that with a grunt.


    ¡°I broke a betrothal to come here,¡± Lord Zenzele abruptly said. ¡°With a house of no small means and a famously vengeful disposition. Keeping away from anyone come of the Isles seemed safer.¡±


    On the ship, she recalled, his eyes had always been moving. Seeking out dark corners. It was why she¡¯d thought he might be an assassin in the first place, and now the realization that he had been looking for the same knives she thought him to bear startled a laugh out of her. Zenzele¡¯s face moved through surprise and then anger.


    ¡°I know not what-¡±


    ¡°I am the last of my house, save for my uncle in the Watch,¡± Angharad cut through. ¡°I fled to Sacromonte pursued by assassins.¡±


    She had not seen Father or her cousins die with her own eyes but there could be no doubt. The man¡¯s face turned incredulous.


    ¡°You saw we were from Malan, and you thought¡­¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Angharad admitted.


    ¡°And we thought¡­¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Angharad repeated.


    A moment passed, then Lord Zenzele let out a bitter chuckle.


    ¡°Sleeping God, that¡¯s fucked,¡± he admitted. ¡°Funny, in a horrible sort way.¡±


    His aunt put a hand on his shoulder.


    ¡°We can band together,¡± Inyoni said. ¡°But something must be made clear: we do not take orders from you, and certainly not from the infanzones. This is alliance, not servitude.¡±


    ¡°I would not ask otherwise,¡± Angharad told her. ¡°It is all I have pledged.¡±


    ¡°Good,¡± Lady Inyoni said, then glanced at her nephew.


    Zenzele let out a long breath, then nodded.


    ¡°We can deal,¡± he said. ¡°If we had earlier, then¡­¡±


    He grimaced.


    ¡°I could dig for a year and still find further mistakes were made,¡± the Malani said. ¡°I will spare you the talk, Lady Tredegar. We will go fetch our packs and set them besides yours.¡±


    As plain a statement about who they stood with as Angharad might ask for. It ought to be enough to convince Song, whose presence would turn their crew into a respectable force. The noblewoman nodded her thanks at the pair, watching as they left speaking in low voices. She allowed some of the tension to bleed out of her now that that they were no longer looking. Already her crew numbered eight, nearly a third of those who had made it to the Trial of Ruins, but she still felt vulnerable.


    She stood there before the great iron gate, resisting the urge to fiddle with the buttons of her new vest as she wondered whether she should still be recruiting.


    Soft footsteps on the stone had her glancing back, finding a familiar tricorn and crow¡¯s nest. Tristan¡¯s black eye was now a vivid purple, but the swelling had gotten better. As had the rest of him: not only had he clearly taken a bath but his most ragged clothes had been replaced. He now wore a black cloth kirtle over loose trousers tucked into a new pair of boots, the physician evidently having availed himself of the Watch¡¯s stocks. There was even a pistol tucked into his belt, though Angharad could not ever remember seeing him fire a shot.


    Though they had not parted on good terms and only reunited with complicating nuances, the grey-eyed man did not seem unfriendly. As he idly came to stand by her, facing the iron gate as well, Angharad came to suspect she was the only one feeling uncomfortable. It made her uneasy, to not know where the two of them stood. She had accused him, perhaps unjustly, and done so for reasons that now shamed her. Yet he did not seem to be keeping a grudge and had seen to her wounds when they encountered each other on the stairs to sanctuary.


    Much as it embarrassed her to revisit their conflict Angharad knew it would be the only way to clear the air. Best to get it over with.


    ¡°I was wrong to accuse you after the twin died,¡± Angharad evenly said.


    It was not an apology, she would not apologize for thinking he might have been involved when he had beaten the woman killed but a day before, but neither would she shy away from the fact that she had accused him for the wrong reasons. Feeling cheated by the good impression he had made on her and how harshly it had been revealed to be wrong was not an honorable reason to accuse him. She had been heeding the sting of her pride, not truly attempting to find out whether he had killed the Tianxi.


    ¡°I was the natural suspect,¡± Tristan acknowledged. ¡°I imagine that¡¯s half the reasons they aimed for Jun in the first place.¡±


    Angharad shifted her footing, yet uneasy. It did not feel like anything had been resolved.


    ¡°I no longer believe you to have had a hand in it, whatever that is worth to you,¡± she offered.


    That, at least, won a reaction.


    ¡°Tupoc Xical, is it?¡± the Sacromontan asked with half a smile.


    ¡°He was already scheming to offer us to the cultists,¡± Angharad said. ¡°It seems consistent for him to have sown the seeds of us going our own way.¡±


    ¡°Our company came to the same conclusion while we ran,¡± Tristan told her. ¡°And yet now I wonder.¡±


    She started in surprise.


    ¡°It was only a matter of time until we split up, anyhow,¡± the Sacromontan continued, ¡°so what did Xical truly gain?¡±


    ¡°He was most ardent in pushing fault towards you,¡± Angharad pointed out.


    Not an uncommon thing for men to do when trying to avoid paying for their crimes.


    ¡°I¡¯ll not deny he leapt at the opportunity to stir the pot,¡± he conceded. ¡°But why do it when complete surprise would have served him even better? We would not have become suspicious of him so soon if not for Jun¡¯s death.¡±


    ¡°If not him,¡± she asked, ¡°then who?¡±


    Tristan smiled at her, though it did not reach those grey eyes.


    ¡°I do not know, Lady Angharad,¡± he said. ¡°And that worries me more than the thought of some gods in a maze, because those will not follow us past the Old Fort¡¯s walls.¡±


    The noblewoman was not convinced, but neither would she dismiss his suspicions out of hand. That he would be so caught up chasing shadows when he was said to have been fearless in front of a great monster like an airavatan was just one more confusing contradiction. She looked away, gaze going back to the iron gate.


    ¡°Some of the people here are easy to place,¡± Angharad finally said. ¡°You, however, have been a discomforting man to try to fit anywhere.¡±


    He cocked an eyebrow.


    ¡°I thank you for the compliment.¡±


    It had been no such thing, they both knew.


    ¡°What did you do, Tristan, if I may ask?¡± she pressed. ¡°I thought you a physician¡¯s apprentice, but Ferranda calls you courageous and you wield a debt collector¡¯s weapon as well as a knife.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve never met someone who fit in a box without some parts first getting chopped off, Lady Angharad,¡± Tristan mildly replied. ¡°As for my occupation, I did whatever would keep me fed that month. Some parts of that were pleasanter than others, as were the lessons the world doled out.¡±


    Seeing her unconvinced expression, he sighed.


    ¡°Some of those months were spent serving as a cutter¡¯s attendant,¡± Tristan said. ¡°I have been a messenger boy, a dealer in stolen goods, a smuggler and a dozen other things that were never so neat as to be called a trade.¡±


    A criminal, Angharad thought as her lips thinned. She had begun to suspect as much but it would have been a grave insult to assume. If this had been Peredur, if he had made the choice to break the law when there was a peer ruling over him and providing the opportunity of honest work, she would have held him in contempt. Only he was of Sacromonte, that rotting hive of a city, and how much choice did the souls in the belly of that beast really have? Angharad did not think she was wrong to try to place people but there was so much of the world that she had yet to see, to understand.


    If a man did not fit in a box, she thought, the fault lay with the box and not the man.


    ¡°Did that ease your mind any?¡± he asked.


    He sounded curious.


    ¡°The contrary, I think,¡± Angharad murmured. ¡°But that might be for the best.¡±


    To learn without discomfort was to fish only in shallow waters. She swallowed, dry-mouthed, then spoke impulsively.


    ¡°You could join us,¡± she said. ¡°In the maze, I mean.¡±


    Grey eyes considered her.


    ¡°I do not intend to venture out,¡± Tristan said. ¡°Not for now, at least.¡±


    She was not sure whether she was relieved or disappointed.


    ¡°You have done more fighting than most,¡± Angharad allowed. ¡°Rest was earned.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not why I want to stay here,¡± he smiled. ¡°See, I¡¯m not convinced that Lieutenant Wen told us the truth.¡±


    She blinked.


    ¡°About the maze?¡±


    ¡°About this trial being anywhere as straightforward as the Trial of Lines,¡± he said.


    He did not elaborate and she did not ask. Her path ahead was already set, and she could respect that the man had found his own even if she believed it would lead him nowhere. Tristan¡¯s eyes remained on the great iron gate, never straying.


    ¡°What is it about it that interests you so?¡± Angharad asked. ¡°It is the maze that will take us across, not the gate.¡±


    The man cocked his head to the side.


    ¡°Those mechanisms on the gate, the moving parts,¡± he said. ¡°What would you say they look like?¡±


    Angharad blinked in surprise, then took her first careful look at it all. The iron gate must be fifty feet tall and about half as large, but it felt heavier for all the machinery it was laden with: cogs and gears and bands of metal, plaques fitted like a grid and so many pistons and interlocked pieces it was hard to tell where the mechanisms began or ended. She had seen some drawn schematics of First Empire wonders, as a girl ¨C the famous towers of the Tower Coast, Izcalli candles and even the Broken Gate before the Triglau broke it ¨C and the resemblance was striking.


    ¡°A lock,¡± she finally said.


    ¡°I thought that too, at first,¡± Tristan said.


    ¡°Not anymore?¡±


    ¡°Not anymore, no,¡± he agreed.


    The grey-eyed man smiled.


    ¡°Right now, I¡¯d say they look like clockwork.¡±

 Chapter 21

    Angharad Tredegar walked away, leaving him to stand alone before the gate, and Tristan smiled.


    That had worked out better than he¡¯d hoped it might. The invitation to join her crew had come as a surprise to him ¨C and to her as well, he suspected ¨C but it told him his instincts had been correct. Tredegar liked for people to be good and bad, with little room in between, so now that he was not strictly bad her opinion of him was leaning the other way.


    ¡°That was nice of you,¡± Fortuna mused, chin resting on his shoulder as she held him tight.


    A pause.


    ¡°So why did you actually do it?¡±


    Tristan only kept smiling. That business with the airavatan had improved his reputation markedly, but while that may have some uses it also meant that his reputation was now worth something. It could therefore be used as leverage against him. So before Tupoc Xical came knocking with a smile and a threat to tell everyone that his medicine cabinet was truly a poisoner¡¯s arsenal it was best to cut the grass under the Izcalli¡¯s feet. Tredegar hated the man and was now likely to side with Tristan if he gave a halfway believable lie as answer, which would do away with most the damages.


    Ferranda Villazur would keep her mouth shut about the lodestone extract, they had an understanding, and even if the remaining infanzones wanted to make something it they could not. Augusto was a muzzled dog, unable to do anything without his master¡¯s permission, and the other two had to toe Angharad Tredegar¡¯s line now. The mirror-dancer might not have noticed it but without her Remund Cerdan and Isabel Ruesta were fairly fucked.


    Precious few people wanted to do anything with the Cerdan now that word had got around about one stabbing his own valet in the back and Isabel Ruesta was all but useless in a fight.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you know I love making friends?¡± he lied.


    Fortuna pressed her lips against the side of his neck and blew a staggeringly unpleasant raspberry in retaliation, which had him squirming enough he got a strange look from Inyoni. Fleeing the scene as the Lady of Long Odds¡¯ laughter echoed behind him, he dipped by the kitchen table to help himself to one of the comforts the Watch had set out: a large steaming pot of what, by the smell, must be dandelion tea. He claimed a mug, thanked the watchman watching over the pot and proceeded to the next part of his plan.


    Finding a comfortable nook to sit in with his warm drink.


    There he sat in silence, eyes unblinking, and began drawing a map. Not one of the maze, though in time there might be a need for that, but of something rather more important: crews.  The nature of mankind was that if you dropped thirty strangers into a pit with nothing but the clothes on their back, within an hour there¡¯d be five factions and two of those would be looking for knives to pull on each other. It was simply how people were, no matter where they were born. Now the souls on display here were from all over Vesper and the lives that¡¯d led them to this courtyard seemed just as disparate, so where they would fall was not easy to predict. This was not a curse, however, but a boon: looking at where people fell Tristan would be able to get some notion of what they actually wanted.


    Take Ocotlan, for example. The large Aztlan legbreaker was sticking to Tupoc Xical and did not look like he¡¯d ever considered otherwise even though he would be welcome in other crews. That was because Ocotlan most wanted to be on the same side of the beatings he was used to ¨C namely, the one doling them out. The only one sure to deliver on that was Tupoc, who had all the restraint of the animal emblem of his former society. Now contrast the Menor Mano bruiser to the other survivor from Tupoc¡¯s crew, Lady Acanthe Phos. Arguably the keystone of the Izcalli¡¯s strategy in the Trial of Lines with her tracking contract. She now avoided getting anywhere near Tupoc, talking with the Ramayan pair like someone try to get an in.


    That was because Acanthe Phos cared most about safety.


    She¡¯d been fine with Tupoc selling the rest of the Bluebell out if it made it any more likely for her to get to the second trial, but Tredegar has said he¡¯d sold out one of their own ¨C Leander Galatas, the sailor who¡¯d lost his arm on the ship. In her eyes, Tupoc had turned from someone dangerous to others into a man dangerous to everyone. Including his own crew. So she was abandoning ship, and with Angharad Tredegar more likely to stab her than take her in the best bet for safety was the Ramayans. Ishaan Nair and Shalini Goel had already got their hands on Ferranda Villazur, an auspicious start.


    Whether or not people realized it yet, they had begun to divide along the lines that Lieutenant Wen had implied: three shrines matched by three diving crews. Oh, for now it was more like half a dozen but Tristan had seen this sort of thing at work in the Murk. Small coteries ¨C gangs ¨C were fiercely independent when their corner of the mud went undisturbed, guarding their little kingdoms jealously, but that died the moment the bigger dogs came. When the Hoja Roja poked a nose in, all the petty kings swore brotherhood with the rivals they¡¯d tried to kill a month ago and began talking about sticking together in the face of encroachment.


    It was the same here, in a sense. The maze would do the work of convincing the smaller crews to let the larger ones eat them, until only a handful of forces broadly in the same league were left standing. Even if the knowledge of the horrors out there did not turn out to be enough today, then tomorrow the balance would tip: once bodies began dropping that strange sickness called tolerance for your fellow men had a way of spreading around. Tristan couldn¡¯t be sure, not yet, but after watching for about half an hour he believed he¡¯d figured out the three kingdoms that would end up the victors.


    ¡°So, what are we looking at?¡± Fortuna asked.


    She sat above him to his left, in a broken cleft of stone: the blood-red dress dripped down to the dusty floor, long past her feet, as she rested her chin on the palm of her hand. She looked bored at a glance but Tristan knew better. She had always liked watching people, especially ¡®interesting¡¯ sorts, and many here qualified for the word in her eyes. He smiled and hid his mouth behind the rim of his cup.


    ¡°If we¡¯re naming crowns, Tredegar is the easy one,¡± he said. ¡°She¡¯ll end up with the largest crew too, mark my words.¡±


    Not that she had made it easy on herself. Given her record on the Bluebell and the rumours now going around that she¡¯d single-handedly cut through a cultist warband before fighting Tupoc Xical to a draw, there was not a single individual here who would turn down an alliance with her. Not even Tristan himself, had he intended to delve the maze.


    ¡°She looks a little harried,¡± Fortuna observed.


    ¡°That¡¯s because the leeches put her in charge,¡± he said. ¡°Not that they had a choice.¡±


    Tredegar¡¯s trouble was that she had inherited a pack of parasites from the first trial: Isabel Ruesta, the smarter of the Cerdan brothers and Cozme Aflor. Though not Beatris, whose absence was glaring. Still, that early inheritance had raised Tredegar¡¯s numbers from the start but come at a cost in that everyone not a fool knew the infanzones would sacrifice them without hesitation if it kept them alive even a minute longer. Not the kind of company you wanted to keep in a maze full of deadly tests. Even in the face of that, though, Tredegar was picking up recruits.


    First came Inyoni and Zenzele Duma, the survivors of the Malani threesome from the Bluebell. Lord Zenzele had been looking all this time like he was either about to weep or bite someone¡¯s head off, not the stuff solid allies were made of, and both he and his aunt were avoiding the Ramayans they¡¯d come with ¨C though not Yaretzi, the quiet Aztlan who once again glided through peril without drawing attention. Tredegar was the only safe port of call for the Malani, so she had hooked them without much trouble. With that many fighters on her side, she would now be able to pick up another member or two without nearly as much difficulty.


    The more there were under Tredegar, the less the infanzones were a millstone around her neck.


    ¡°Tupoc¡¯s one too,¡± Fortuna decided. ¡°He¡¯s already got two.¡±


    Tristan drank, then hid his lips again.


    ¡°His will be the weakest,¡± the thief said. ¡°He keeps Ocotlan and Augusto Cerdan has nowhere else to go, but it is only the desperate he will draw.¡±


    His reputation was too blackened for anything else, no matter how skilled the man was at fighting. People going to Tupoc would know they¡¯d be treated as expendable, so those who went anyway would do so for lack of a better crew to fall in with. Tristan suspected that Angharad Tredegar might well accept every fearful soul pleading to hide in her shadow, but her comrades would not be as accommodating. They would not tolerate useless hanger-ons trailing them in the maze while they faced all the perils.


    ¡°He¡¯s getting Felis and Aines, at the very least,¡± Tristan said. ¡°Perhaps Francho as well.¡±


    He would have said as much even if the pale eyed Izcalli were not currently speaking to Felis, whose shoulders were hunched even though he was the one being sought out.


    ¡°It¡¯s the Ramayans that intrigue,¡± he continued. ¡°Their position is the most interesting.¡±


    Lord Ishaan Nair and his right hand, Shalini Goel ¨C who was visibly the most assertive of the two but still deferred to the nobleborn of the pair ¨C were in the right spot to have some ripe fruits fall straight into their lap: anyone who did not want to work with the infanzones but could not stomach Tupoc Xical. They¡¯d marked themselves as that option by recruiting Ferranda Villazur bright and early, forming a neat bundle of firepower and competence that everyone must eye with consideration. On the other hand, they¡¯d failed to retain a single comrade from the first trial. The Malani survivors pointedly avoided them and Yaretzi had made herself scarce despite what Tristan believed to have been an attempt by Shalini to rope her in.


    There was a mistake buried somewhere in their wake, and if the thief had to bet he¡¯d say it had to do with the missing Malani. Ayanda, had it been? Tredegar had mentioned the Red Eye cult taking her with Tupoc¡¯s help but there must have been more to it than that. Considering how unmoored Zenzele Duma acted and how closely he and Ayanda had kept together on the Bluebell, the thief had some suspicions about where things might have gone wrong. It also told him that Inyoni¡¯s nephew had cared more about Ayanda than about passing these trials.


    That might end up useful to know, before everything was over.


    ¡°They¡¯re picking up Phos,¡± Fortuna replied with open distaste. ¡°That seems more desperate than interesting.¡±


    ¡°No, it is very clever,¡± Tristan disagreed. ¡°It¡¯s not about if she is useful now, it is about opening a door.¡±


    ¡°For other traitors?¡± the goddess asked. ¡°The big man won¡¯t drop Tupoc and they wouldn¡¯t want the rest.¡±


    ¡°It is about the precedent,¡± the thief said. ¡°Acanthe Phos acted against others, treacherously so, but she was still taken in.¡±


    ¡°So they¡¯re forgiving,¡± Fortuna shrugged.


    ¡°Oh yes,¡± Tristan murmured behind the cup. ¡°And when tomorrow or the day after someone in Tredegar¡¯s group cuts an ally¡¯s throat to live and flees our honourable friend¡¯s company, there is another home for them aside from Tupoc Xical¡¯s collections of bastards and sacrifices.¡±


    Even if all Acanthe Phos ended up being was a warm body with a sword when they walked the maze, her real value was in what her presence represented. The thief suspected he would enjoy a conversation with whichever of the Ramayans had come up with the scheme. A shame that even when he ventured out it would not be with their crew, as the men he intended to kill were among Tupoc and Tredegar¡¯s followers. Draining the last of his dandelion tea, long gone from lukewarm to cold, Tristan set down the cup. Fortuna gracefully leapt down from her perch, dress trailing behind her as she adroitly came to stand before him.


    ¡°So, who are we joining?¡± Fortuna cheerfully asked.


    Tristan rolled his neck, getting up with a sigh.


    ¡°First,¡± he said, ¡°we begin by rigging the dice.¡±


    And that meant dealing with a fellow rat.


    --


    ¡°Smile,¡± Tristan suggested. ¡°We are having a pleasant conversation.¡±


    Lan beamed at him, tugging at her grey tunic as she tittered.


    ¡°What is it you¡¯ve come to sell me, rat?¡± the dealer smilingly asked.


    ¡°I want us to run a game,¡± the thief replied just as smilingly.


    She laughed, lightly slapping his arm like he¡¯d just told a joke. Tristan rather admired the work: it¡¯d taken him years to learn to laugh at will and he still didn¡¯t look anywhere as convincing as the former Meng-Xiaofan frontwoman.


    ¡°Who on?¡±


    ¡°Everyone,¡± he said. ¡°This maze is meant to keep us looking forward. It-¡±


    ¡°- splits us up so one can have a good look at the whole and figure out what this show¡¯s really about, yes,¡± Lan impatiently said. ¡°Obviously. You think I don¡¯t know a front when I see one? The Watch is better trained at keeping secrets with knives than tricks.¡±


    It was Lan writ in a sentence that her talent for seeing through things was just a little more useful than it was worrying.


    ¡°We split up across the crews,¡± he said.


    ¡°And share information back at the fort,¡± she mused.


    It was hard to read what she thought of it, as Lan then let out a chuckle like they were having fun.


    ¡°You¡¯re going to get Yong in under the Ramayans,¡± the blue-lipped woman decided. ¡°He¡¯s the best fit. So you want me to join up with Tupoc.¡±


    ¡°You won¡¯t be alone, he¡¯s taking Felis and Aines,¡± Tristan pointed out. ¡°Fear¡¯s a fine leash but it won¡¯t beat your supply of dust.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t need you to use it, Tristan,¡± Lan said. ¡°And you¡¯d be taking the nice cushy job by going with Tredegar.¡±


    He shook his head.


    ¡°I won¡¯t go with them,¡± he said. ¡°I mean to trade with Beatris for that.¡±


    Lan¡¯s brow rose.


    ¡°I have not seen her since I got here,¡± she said. ¡°Not even for meals.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll find her,¡± Tristan shrugged.


    It was not so large a fort he would struggle to if he put his mind to it. Lan studied him for a moment, then let out a low whistle.


    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    ¡°So it¡¯s the Watch you¡¯re thinking of spying on,¡± she said, looking him up and down. ¡°Look at the balls on you.¡±


    He did not deny it, which killed any talk of him taking the lesser risk. In truth, for all that she was posturing Lan was short on choices. She had no in with Tredegar¡¯s crowd and was not useful enough for Ferranda Villazur to vouch for her and get her under the Ramayans. Her way out would be tying herself to someone who was useful and coming as a package deal, but that would be tricky to manage and she had no obvious candidate. She might well end up stuck with Tupoc anyway, they both knew, and without the benefits of having accepted the terms he was offering.


    ¡°I want protection from everyone that¡¯s brought into this,¡± Lan finally said. ¡°It could turn sour on me.¡±


    Tristan nodded.


    ¡°Then you must offer the same,¡± he said.


    A symbolic gesture if it came to a brawl, but that was not where Lan¡¯s strengths lay. She nodded back then brightly smiled.


    ¡°Now we need to sell it,¡± she said. ¡°You demanded a fuck in exchange for protection?¡±


    It was, he thought, telling that she would suggest that first. The Meng-Xiaofan did not deal in flesh-peddling, but that was business. Inside the coterie¡¯s own ranks¡­ The sisters had been twins, too. That would draw some sorts. He let no pity touch his gaze, for there was none of that to be had under the Law of Rats: it was for finer folk than they to extend the boundary of victory beyond survival.


    ¡°I don¡¯t,¡± he simply said.


    She did not comment aside from a blink of surprise. He considered for a moment.


    ¡°You asked for the relic pistol back, now that I have another weapon,¡± he said. ¡°I refused.¡±


    ¡°Do you even have the scraps left?¡± she asked.


    He shrugged. He did not, he¡¯d thrown the useless weight away, but what did it matter? Even if someone thought to sneak into his pack and look she could simply say she had not believed him. After a moment she nodded, conceding to the unspoken answer. They both shifted their footing, turning to face each other properly, and mirth was replaced on her face by black anger. She slapped him, hard enough the sound carried, and said something that sounded like ¡®she died for it¡¯ before striding away angrily. Ignoring the many eyes now on him, Tristan cradled his stinging cheek and sighed.


    She¡¯d put her back into the slap knowing he¡¯d have to let her away with it.


    He first busied himself returning his cup to the makeshift kitchen, keeping an eye out for the people he needed to have a talk with now. Yong was not hard to find, and looked rather amused when their gazes met, but there was no sign of Sarai. A few others were missing as well, gone to talk or rest out of sight ¨C Yaretzi, Brun, Song. And Beatris, of who there was still no sign. That was beginning to worry him. He went to sit by Yong, who had claimed one of the tables around the kitchen to clean his musket and pistol.


    Given how many people were doing that, Tristan began to wonder if he should as well.


    ¡°Should I ask what you did to deserve that?¡± the Tianxi asked.


    However sly the smile, it did not quite hide the slight slur to the words. He¡¯s drunk. Too drunk for this conversation? Tristan decided not, after an appraising look. For now it was only slurring. The closest person to them was Remund Cerdan, who was at a table on the other side of the kitchen and eyeing Tredegar speaking animatedly with Zenzele Duma and Isabel Ruesta. The look on his face was somewhere between hate and desire, both dark enough that Tristan shivered in disgust. Still, the two of them should be safe to talk without being overheard.


    ¡°The same thing I am about to ask you,¡± the thief replied. ¡°Have you given thought to which crew you want?¡±


    ¡°We agreed to stick together for the second trial,¡± Yong evenly said. ¡°I have had offers but accepted nothing.¡±


    ¡°Ishaan Nair?¡± Tristan asked.


    ¡°Goel did the talking for them,¡± the former soldier replied. ¡°Xical tried as well, but he can burn.¡±


    ¡°You should take Shalini¡¯s offer,¡± the thief said.


    Yong stared at him a long moment, frowning. The drink slowed his thoughts some but not all the way.


    ¡°Me,¡± he slowly said, ¡°but not you. Are you ending our alliance?¡±


    Surprise, Tristan thought, and perhaps a hint of hurt. He shook his head.


    ¡°No,¡± he murmured. ¡°See, Lan took my offer. She slapped me so-¡±


    ¡°Xical wouldn¡¯t think twice about taking her in,¡± Yong muttered, now caught on. ¡°You¡¯re trying to plant spies in the diving crews.¡±


    His eyes narrowed.


    ¡°Or saboteurs.¡±


    ¡°No point in that,¡± Tristan dismissed. ¡°There¡¯s something off about this trial, Yong. And I do not think that going into that maze like good little soldiers is going to help us find out what¡¯s really going on ¨C at least not if that¡¯s all we do.¡±


    ¡°That is dangerous talk,¡± the veteran warned. ¡°You think the rooks will just let you sniff around?¡±


    ¡°I think that there¡¯s a telescope set up on one of the bastions, with more astronomy equipment,¡± Tristan replied. ¡°And that not knowing why is more likely to get me killed than trying to find out.¡±


    Yong hesitated.


    ¡°I need to get to the third trial,¡± he finally said.


    Tristan breathed in sharply. It was not quite a refusal, but close enough. He would have liked to say that it surprised, that he had not been sloppy enough to expect agreement, but it would be a lie. And it was unfair to do this when the man had drunk, but when if not now?


    ¡°Why did they send you here, Yong?¡± Tristan asked. ¡°What do they have on you?¡±


    The Tianxi¡¯s face closed and his hand twitched, like he wanted to reach for his flask but had stopped himself. Only the aborted gesture wasn¡¯t an answer, not really.


    ¡°You like a drink,¡± Tristan acknowledged, ¡°but if it had eaten you alive you wouldn¡¯t be able to fight like you do ¨C or shoot, or run. Did you kill someone?¡±


    ¡°That is not a small question,¡± Yong said.


    It was not, and rats paid upfront.


    ¡°I did,¡± Tristan admitted. ¡°Someone on contract for the Hoja Roja, a Watch deserter. I didn¡¯t set out to but it happened - and after that it was either the Dominion or getting my hands chopped off before they hung me upside down.¡±


    Rios llorando, they called it. The weeping rivers. It didn¡¯t take too long to die, not like some of the other ways coteries killed you, but they would hang you from up high so the red got everywhere. It was impossible to miss, which was what the Hoja cared most about: making an example. Reminding everyone that raising hands against them would cost the hands and then see you spill out everything inside you until there was nothing left at all.


    Yong breathed in deeply, then rested a hand on the back of his head. Cursing in Cathayan, he reached for the inside of his coat and got his flask out. His fingers trembled as he undid the cork, taking a long swallow.


    ¡°I am surprised there is any left,¡± Tristan frankly said.


    It did not smell like herbera, either, which had been all but finished anyhow.


    ¡°I brought three,¡± the Tianxi said.


    The thief cocked an eyebrow. He¡¯d seen the man drink often and smelled it even more frequently on his breath.


    ¡°And bought refills in their garrison rotgut,¡± Yong admitted.


    The touch of levity was too light to really do more than skitter at the edge of their mood. Yong took his time, almost beginning to talk several times before closing his mouth. He drank twice more.


    ¡°Before leaving Caishen,¡± he said, ¡°I stabbed a general five times.¡±


    Tristan choked. He had not been sure what to expect, but it had not been that.


    ¡°I¡¯d won decorations after the killing fields at Diecai,¡± Yong abruptly said. ¡°They sent us across the plain, Tristan, with the Kuril cannons reaping us like wheat. I wanted to run, like anyone else, but we were halfway through and I knew the cannons wouldn¡¯t stop firing just because we routed ¨C so after a shot took off Old Rong¡¯s head, I picked up the standard and told them to keep moving forward.¡±


    Yong set his hands on the table, finger splayed against the wood, and glared down until they ceased shaking.


    ¡°And they trusted me, after our years together, so they did. General Qi sent four thousand men charging across the field at Diecai, all Caishen militia,¡± he said. ¡°About half survived. The wings routed, but the center held and I was right in the middle of it.¡±


    He let out a bleak, ugly laugh.


    ¡°My company had it worse because we didn¡¯t rout,¡± Yong said. ¡°They turned the full batteries on us so we¡¯d break, ignored the runners.¡±


    He breathed out, slowly, as if he were forcing out a ghost.


    ¡°We never reached their lines,¡± he said. ¡°The battle was over before that. We¡¯d been a distraction, see. Meant to rout and draw the Kuril regulars down the hills in pursuit so the mercenaries hidden in the woods could hit the left flank and flip their battle line.¡±


    ¡°But you didn¡¯t rout,¡± Tristan quietly said.


    ¡°And didn¡¯t end up mattering a fucking thing,¡± Yong said with cold fury. ¡°The Kuril cavalry was out sacking a village an hour away instead of watching the left flank, so when the mercenary captains saw there were no guards and the enemy was watching the plain they attacked without waiting for the signal ¨C took them completely by surprise, routed the entire army right off the field.¡±


    Oh, Tristan thought, for words failed him.


    ¡°The greatest victory against an imperial army in thirty years,¡± the Tianxi said. ¡°General Qi was the finest general in all the Republics, they told us, the most brilliant military mind of her generation.¡±


    ¡°So you killed her,¡± the thief said.


    ¡°It took two years to get close enough,¡± Yong said. ¡°But she liked to keep us militiamen close because we¡¯d been such an important part of her victory. Called us her bravest men, the backbone of Caishen. She liked to promote us when she could, make a show of it and have a meal between ¡®just us veterans¡¯ afterwards.¡±


    The Tianxi grasped at the back of his head, avoiding the bun, as if he wanted to pull off hair.


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t planning to kill her, at first,¡± he said. ¡°But every night I dreamt about that fucking charge, Tristan, and when I got promoted to sima ¨C major ¨C she recognized my name. ¡®This man,¡¯ she said right in front of all those green boys, kids that¡¯d never even been anywhere a battle and didn¡¯t know she was lying, ¡®this man won me Diecai,¡¯ she said. ¡®My grand plan would have come to nothing if not for the bravery of the Caishen militia¡¯.¡±


    Yong smiled.


    ¡°So when we sat for dinner, after the servant set down the roast duck I got up to carve it and shoved that knife right in her fucking throat,¡± he said, almost dreamily. ¡°I kept stabbing until she stopped moving. Didn¡¯t think I¡¯d get out alive, after, but no one went in the tent for half an hour and by then I¡¯d already stolen a horse.¡±


    He drank again, licking his lips after.


    ¡°I got to Mazu before the news did,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯d ridden that horse to death, then stolen another. Immediately bought a berth on a ship to Tenoch with the last of my coin.¡±


    The former soldier met Tristan¡¯s eyes, smiling sadly.


    ¡°And the dreams they stopped, for a time,¡± Yong said. ¡°I did killing for bad men, enough to earn a decent living, and when some Caishen folk came asking around about a deserter I bought passage to Sacromonte. I was smiling when I did, though, you know? Tenoch had always felt too close, but on a ship to the City I felt free.¡±


    ¡°But it didn¡¯t last,¡± the thief said.


    ¡°I thought it wouldn¡¯t, deep down, but it did. I went clean in Sacromonte,¡± Yong told him. ¡°No more bladework, not even for the Guardia. I bounced around jobs at the docks for a bit until I found a genuine Fuxing teashop in Old Town. I knew the brewing and the ceremonies ¨C my grandmother was Sanxing stock, she taught me everything ¨C and they felt that having someone born back in the old country added authenticity.¡±


    ¡°And you kept your nose clean as a host in a teashop?¡± Tristan asked, almost skeptical.


    Yong shrugged.


    ¡°Dusted off my sword once when the Meng-Xiaofan came sniffing around, trying to make us a storehouse for butterfly powder, but I didn¡¯t even need to use it,¡± he smiled. ¡°It¡¯s where I met my husband ¨C Pietro was mad for white tea, came every week for a ceremony. He was younger than me, more than a decade, but neither of us cared. And things were good, they really were.¡±


    It was, he thought, a pretty story. But Yong was here now and so the thief already knew the end would not be.


    ¡°It was my sister-in-law that was the start of it,¡± he said.


    A pause.


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t her fault, I don¡¯t mean to say that,¡± Yong continued. ¡°She¡¯d borrowed some money from a lender when her husband broke his leg, to tide over until he got back to work, but when she returned to pay it was her the lender wanted. He invented some lie about the terms, said she had to pay with her body. She put him off and her husband beat the lender soundly when his leg got better. Knocked him out and left the coin owed. That should have been the end of it.¡±


    ¡°But he had coterie friends,¡± Tristan said, and it wasn¡¯t much of the guess.


    The coteries had their hands all over the moneylenders of Sacromonte, save those run by the infanzones themselves.


    ¡°A brother,¡± Yong said. ¡°Some middling crew called the Mice Men. They sent three to break his other leg and told him if his wife didn¡¯t go to ¡®pay back the trouble¡¯ next time they¡¯d slit his throat.¡±


    The thief winced. The smaller coteries were touchy about reputation, sometimes even more so than the real players. They knew they wouldn¡¯t get anywhere if people weren¡¯t afraid of them. Still, it was bold of these Mice Men to try such a thing outside the Murk. The Guardia actually cared what happened in the Old Town. Not as much as the Orchard, where the infanzones and the wealthy lived, but the Old Town made up most of Sacromonte¡¯s districts and the crucial section of the canals that were its lifeblood. The redcloaks did not hesitate to shut down coteries that made trouble in that part of the city.


    ¡°That was overstepping,¡± Tristan said. ¡°The Guardia didn¡¯t get involved?¡±


    ¡°They brought in the lender for a talk, but there was no proof and he bought his way out,¡± Yong said. ¡°Said he was being framed because we didn¡¯t want to pay what was owed. Those two were terrified the Mice Men would take revenge for snitching and Pietro was the one who convinced them to tell the redcloaks, so he felt responsible.¡±


    ¡°And you felt responsible for him,¡± the thief said.


    ¡°That¡¯s what love is, Tristan,¡± Yong sadly smiled. ¡°Taking part. So I oiled my sword, cleaned my pistol and went to live with them for a few weeks.¡±


    It was easy enough to tell what had followed.


    ¡°How many came?¡±


    ¡°Four,¡± the Tianxi said. ¡°The lender was with them.¡±


    He paused.


    ¡°I shot him in the belly,¡± Yong mused. ¡°Never did learn if he died from that. But his brother went wild after so I had to kill him up close, sword to knife, and then another from behind when he tried to take a hostage. They ran after that, never came back.¡±


    Yong drank.


    ¡°Until that night, I had not killed in over ten years.¡±


    ¡°And the dreams came back,¡± Tristan softly said.


    ¡°I couldn¡¯t sleep a full night anymore,¡± Yong murmured. ¡°Kept waking up screaming, charging across that fucking field at Diecai with all my friends dying and General Qi right behind me smiling a skull¡¯s grin. Like she¡¯d finally caught up.¡±


    He pulled at the flask again, but it was empty.


    ¡°They warned me at the teashop that I looked too tired,¡± he said. ¡°It put people off. We tried everything, Tristan, but I only found one thing that let me sleep.¡±


    The Tianxi stared down at the flask, then flicked a finger against it. It let out a tinny ring, empty for now. But not for long, Tristan thought.


    ¡°Started just before bed,¡± Yong said. ¡°Like medicine. But it didn¡¯t stop there, and it got¡­ well, you don¡¯t need to know the details. We argued a lot. Pietro said I wasn¡¯t the man he¡¯d married.¡±


    The former soldier grimaced.


    ¡°He wasn¡¯t wrong.¡±


    They were already past the crest of the hill, Tristan thought. Down was the only way for this to go.


    ¡°Money wasn¡¯t great,¡± Yong admitted. ¡°I got demoted to the back after smelling like rum before a ceremony, which paid less, and their family shop had to change suppliers after the old one died ¨C prices were higher, profits slimmer.¡±


    He flicked a finger against the flask again, the sound like the ringing of a bell.


    ¡°We had to borrow to keep the house, we were months behind in payments,¡± the Tianxi said. ¡°I took care of it: the Hoja Roja needed a man dead and I did the killing, so they lent us without interest.¡±


    Of course they did, Tristan thought. You¡¯re everything they want in an enforcer: you need them more than the other way around, you have plain weaknesses and you¡¯re a trained soldier. They would have kept handing him rope again and again, waiting patiently until a leash came from it they would be able to pull. Even drunk, the rotgut deep in him now, Yong saw that thought plainly writ on his face.


    ¡°They were looking to bring me in, I think,¡± he admitted, then looked away. ¡°I¡¯m not sure I was going to refuse, not that it ever got to that.¡±


    And now the ugly end. Yong¡¯s dark eyes were fervent when they returned to him.


    ¡°I don¡¯t blame him, I want you to understand that,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯m forty-three, Tristan. He¡¯s only thirty, he still has years ahead of him. So I don¡¯t blame him for taking the money and running.¡±


    Tristan¡¯s heart clenched.


    ¡°But it was the Hoja¡¯s money,¡± he quietly said.


    ¡°But it was the Hoja¡¯s money,¡± Yong quietly agreed.


    What came out of the Tianxi¡¯s throat could not be considered a laugh: it was just a convulsion barren of joy.


    ¡°They found him in three days,¡± Yong said. ¡°Of course they did. What does he know about hiding? And then they told me they¡¯d forgive the whole thing, if I put the shot in his head myself. Water under the bridge.¡±


    ¡°You didn¡¯t,¡± Tristan said.


    And there was much of that story that he had never believed a man like Yong might do, but that much he did not doubt.


    ¡°I love him,¡± Yong smiled. ¡°How could I? So instead I made them a deal.¡±


    And suddenly it made sense.


    ¡°That¡¯s your red game,¡± Tristan sharply breathed in. ¡°If you get to the third trial, they write off the money. They spare him.¡±


    The other man toasted him with an empty flask.


    ¡°So I have to get there, Tristan,¡± he said. ¡°Whatever it might cost me ¨C or anyone else - I will reach the Trial of Weeds. I owe my husband that much.¡±


    You owe him nothing, the thief thought. He ran, and that makes him one of my lot: there can be nothing owed under the Law of Rats.


    ¡°I understand,¡± he said instead.


    ¡°No,¡± Yong said, ¡°I don¡¯t think you do.¡±


    He grimaced.


    ¡°I¡¯ll help,¡± he said, ¡°because it could be what I need. I¡¯ll go with the Ramayans, who I liked most as a choice anyhow. But the moment this plan of yours looks as if it might keep me away from the third trial¡­¡±


    ¡°You turn on me,¡± Tristan completed. ¡°You tell them everything.¡±


    Who ¡®them¡¯ was did not matter. It could be the Watch, it could be the Ramayans or Tredegar of even Tupoc Xical. It would be whatever kept Yong safe so he would reach the Trial of Weeds, nothing more or less. It was a bittersweet thing, that in the same moment he came to understand the kind of man Yong was Tristan would come to understand that there was a limit to how far they could share trust. But having said this at all, the thief thought, was a kind of gift. Even if the Tianxi was drunk. Because he had not held back the secrets but instead given them out as a warning, so that Tristan might not overstep so much that betrayal must ensue.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Yong quietly said, the slur thickening the words. ¡°But it is what it is.¡±


    Tristan straightened his back.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be,¡± he said. ¡°You promised all that you are free to promise. Asking anything more of you would be greed.¡±


    And he meant it, he did, but looking at the pathetic gratitude in Yong¡¯s eyes ¨C what the drink was making of a man he respected ¨C he had to look away. The bottle killed as many as sickness, down in the Murk. In some ways it was one. There was a reason Tristan never drank unless forced.


    ¡°We¡¯ll talk before you leave,¡± the thief said.


    Yong snorted, then waved him away.


    ¡°Go,¡± he said. ¡°It won¡¯t get any prettier.¡±


    Tristan did not know what he would have answered, but he bit down on it anyhow. It was not his place to speak down to a man decades his senior, one who had lived through horrors he could not begin to imagine. Besides, that was one thing the bottle shared with sickness: once it was in your bones, it was not for you to decide when it left. Some got through it, got out, but most got ridden all the way down into the grave.


    Tristan left with everything he¡¯d come to get, but somehow it did not feel like a victory at all.

 Chapter 22

    Tristan began fiddling with his cabinet like there was a point to it, keeping his hands occupied so he wouldn¡¯t have to think about what he had just walked away from.


    When he saw her approaching from the corner of his eye, it was almost a relief. Shalini Goel was the shortest of all the trial-takers, barely five feet five by his guess, and though she was full-bodied the thief could tell it was not the result of idleness: there was muscle to her frame and calluses on her palms. The same kind Guardia sometimes got, those come from shooting regularly. Her black hair was long, kept in a braid going down her back, and she had a gold ring in her nose. The vivid shades of her clothes spoke of coin even for a Ramayan, a people whose love of colour was proverbial.


    A green kurta ¨C the collarless tunic in the Someshwar manner ¨C ended above her knees, leading into striped trousers in white and yellow that were tucked into high boots. A blood red sash at her waist had two pistols tucked into while a leather bandoleer holding powder horns hung loose across her torso, connecting a shoulder to the opposite side. Shalini had the look of a soldier but did not hold herself like one, which spoke to Tristan of someone who had been trained but not taken to such a life.


    And while he¡¯d been studying her, he realized, she had studied him right back.


    ¡°Tristan, is it?¡± she smiled. ¡°I don¡¯t believe we have been properly introduced.¡±


    She had an easy smile, he decided, but it was not false. Shalini Goel struck him instead as one of those strange people Vesper had blessed with a general enjoyment of life. It must make her easy to like.


    ¡°It felt like a long journey here, but it ended up being so little time hasn¡¯t it?¡± Tristan smiled back, entirely practiced.


    She offered her hand to shake, which he did. Her grip was firm.


    ¡°I am-¡±


    ¡°Shalini Goel,¡± he said, then shrugged at her raised eyebrow. ¡°Word gets around.¡±


    ¡°I suppose it does,¡± she chuckled. ¡°And you even pronounced it right. Do you-¡±


    Shalini said something he did not understand in what he was pretty sure was Samratrava ¨C the most common of the Someshwari languages. Tristan answered with the only sentence in that language he had ever learned.


    ¡°The brothels are down the canal with red lanterns,¡± he informed her.


    A flicker of complete and utter surprise, then Shalini burst out laughing. It was contagious enough that he found himself smiling as she slapped her knee, holding her stomach.


    ¡°Oh gods,¡± the Ramayan wheezed. ¡°I guess that¡¯s an answer. How much did they pay you to tell the sailors?¡±


    ¡°Only three radizes a night, but it came with a meal,¡± Tristan said.


    He saw her pause, count in her head as she translated from the currency Sacromonte and most of the Trebian Sea used to coinage she better knew. The Imperial Someshwar had a few but jala ¨C sheshajala, in truth, but not even Someshwari used the full name - were the only one he¡¯d ever seen used at the docks. The private currencies of the rajas were rarely accepted, given how regularly they got debased when the latest palace or campaign got a little too expensive.


    ¡°So not even two kupah,¡± she mused. ¡°I hope it was a good meal.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve had worse,¡± the thief shrugged.


    And taking the coppers had given him a reason to hang around Caballo Canal at night, letting him track the coming and goings of a Meng-Xiaofan warehouse he had been sent by Abuela to rob.


    ¡°I expect you have,¡± Shalini said, mood losing some of the humour. ¡°It seems to have hardened you in useful ways.¡±


    It was his turn to cock an eyebrow at her. She was the one who had come to him, after all, so it was her who should make the pitch.


    ¡°Tredegar is being run by the infanzones,¡± Shalini Goel told him, ¡°and we both know Xical¡¯s worse than a snake. A Leopard Society man through and through.¡±


    ¡°I have never heard of them before,¡± the thief admitted.


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t expect a Sacromontan to have,¡± she said. ¡°Izcalli name their societies after animals from their homeland that embody traits they want to emulate, Tristan, but there are no leopards in the Kingdom of Izcalli.¡±


    Tristan blinked in surprise.


    ¡°They¡¯re not a formal society,¡± Shalini said. ¡°When forced to acknowledge their existence the Grasshopper King will say they¡¯re charged with hunting criminals that flee outside Izcalli borders, but what they really do is raid.¡±


    She spat to the side.


    ¡°They go out with the candle-priests, hit undefended villages out in the Someshwar or the Republics and bring them back like cattle,¡± Shalini said.


    He grimaced in disgust, not faking it in the least.


    ¡°For the candles?¡±


    She nodded and he almost spat as she had. The Kingdom of Izcalli had been one of the strongest nations to emerge from the fall of the Second Empire, with fertile heartlands full of Antediluvian wonders and its strong military bent, but its unification was a bloody business. Izcalli was hardly alone in that, but what set the kingdom apart was that it was heavily dependent on First Empire lights to live and almost all of them were on the ground instead of set in firmament. During the wars many were damaged, which had unbalanced the intricate system of devices regulating light in Izcalli. Entire regions had begun to go dark for weeks, months even.


    Until the men now known as the candle-priests found their solution: feed the machines aether where they grew weak.


    Nowadays Izcalli claimed the era of bloody sacrifices, of murdering men on altars to keep the lights from burning out, was long past. That it had been much exaggerated anyhow, a very rare happenstance, and that advances in modern understanding of aether now made such savagery obsolete. There were kinder ways to keep the ¡®candles¡¯ lit, needing no death and hardly any pain. It had not stopped flower wars from erupting at Izcalli borders, and such assurances from the Grasshopper Kings were taken with a heavy grain of salt. With good reason, if Shalini spoke the truth about the Leopard Society.


    ¡°They¡¯re expendable,¡± the Ramayan said. ¡°If they get caught, become an embarrassment, they will be called rogues or bandits and left to hang. Xical came by that ugliness honestly, whatever else may be said of him.¡±


    ¡°And there is much to be said,¡± Tristan drily replied.


    ¡°Figured you¡¯d agree,¡± Shalini grinned. ¡°You can see the same things I can: Ishaan and I, we¡¯re your best bet.¡±


    He smiled at her, saying nothing.


    ¡°That Yong comes with is another point in your favour,¡± she acknowledged, ¡°but after the way Lady Ferranda talked you up I would have made an offer anyway.¡±


    ¡°You,¡± he said, ¡°and not Lord Ishaan. I find that interesting.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not a slight,¡± Shalini assured him, ¡°it¡¯s just that he¡¯s a little scrambled at the moment. By now you¡¯ll have heard we ran into the airavatan before you did.¡±


    ¡°And that a contract was used to buy enough time for your crew to escape,¡± Tristan said.


    Ferranda Villazur had claimed that something stupefied the beast long enough for them to run away. That it was contract work was not in doubt and he had already suspected it was Ishaan, but to hear it confirmed made the guess solid.


    ¡°There was some backlash,¡± she said. ¡°Hard not to, beating back a monster that large. But he¡¯s nearly through it and will be back to form by tomorrow. He¡¯s just, uh, going to get confused easily until then. It¡¯s best for me to do the talking while he recovers.¡±


    She paused.


    ¡°If your worry is that I make promises he won¡¯t keep, there is no need,¡± Shalini reassured him. ¡°He¡¯s not insensate, it just takes a while for him to understand things ¨C everything I say, I say with his approval.¡±


    It was tempting to keep stringing her along, see if he could get any more information out of her, but that was greed talking. If he took too much before declining, he would be salting the grounds. Best to end this now and add a little sweetness so they remained on good terms.


    ¡°It is a tempting offer,¡± he said.


    ¡°But,¡± Shalini said.


    ¡°I won¡¯t be going into the maze tomorrow,¡± Tristan said. ¡°Not with anyone.¡±


    She drummed her fingers against the side of a pistol.


    ¡°Hedging your bets is not unreasonable,¡± she grudgingly said. ¡°And we have had longer to rest.¡±


    But it was not the answer she had wanted ¨C and perhaps even expected ¨C so now for the sweetness.


    ¡°Yong will not refuse if you ask him again,¡± Tristan said. ¡°He does not want to wait.¡±


    Shalini eyed him with interest.


    ¡°Is that what you two were speaking about?¡±


    ¡°We are inclined to different strategies,¡± Tristan shrugged.


    She would come out of it with another shot at a companion she had wanted more than he, but more important still she would come out of their conversation with the feeling that she had ¡®won¡¯. Getting her hands on a source of tension between he and Yong was worth more than some talk about a suspected contract and idle conversation about the Leopard Society. Their conversation remained genial and Tristan suspected she might have stayed longer if she had not caught sight of something: Brun was approaching Ishaan Nair. Shalini made her excuses quickly after that, going to join them.


    That¡¯s another one for their crew, then, the thief thought. Brun was fit, loyal ¨C he had backed Tredegar against Tupoc - and came with no baggage attached. He was, in essence, a perfect replacement for Yaretzi. Like her the blond Sacromontan had made few waves and come out of the perils with a solid reputation. And that made Tristan uncomfortable, because Fortuna had called the god he was bound to loud. It did not necessarily follow that a contractor must be alike in nature with their contracted ¨C he had little enough in common with Fortuna ¨C but a loud god ought to be loud in their gifts yet no a single whisper had spread of Brun¡¯s contract.


    The other man had navigated the game of alliances with a deft hand: he¡¯d gotten in with the infanzones when the getting was good through the more influential of Isabel Ruesta¡¯s maids, then stuck closely to Tredegar. A woman who would bite her own arm off before raising a hand against a comrade, a category Brun had made certain to fit in. Now he was changing ship for the Ramayans, getting into a more stable crew, but carefully burning no bridges as he did.


    ¡°You are certain his god is the loud one?¡± Tristan murmured, feigning a yawn.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Fortuna flatly replied. ¡°And he is being incredibly tasteless about it.¡±


    She did not deign to elaborate further and he knew better than to ask. There¡¯s something off about you, Brun, Tristan decided. No one genuinely following sentiment ended up making all the right choices all the time. The other man was running a game, had to be.


    But which, and for what purpose?


    No answers would be found standing here, the thief knew, so he tore his gaze away. Whatever it was Brun wanted, if his ambitions extended beyond survival, then it would be something to chase after later. Tristan had more pressing matters to worry about, three of them to be exact. Francho was the most likely to have other offers, but Tristan still sought out Vanesa first. It was she whose expertise would determine whether his intentions were at all feasible.


    The old woman was sitting by herself in a corner, looking half-asleep. The Watch physician had her on poppy extract for the pain, but Tristan had checked the vials and the man was keeping the doses as low as he could. It was for the best: at her age, too strong a dose risked sending her into the kind of sleep she would not be waking from. Not much had been done about the shattered leg, aside from cleaning it and binding it, but that was not laziness on the man¡¯s part. The airavatan had broken the limb beyond repair, bone shredding muscles and tendons as it shattered into pieces. Her kneecap was in three pieces and the swelling made it nearly impossible to operate and stem the internal bleeding. The physician had little choice but to recommend amputation.


    ¡°Either way,¡± the watchman had told her, ¡°you won¡¯t ever be using that leg again.¡±


    Vanesa had¡­ balked, at that. Tristan had spent long enough as a cutter¡¯s assistant to know that was not an uncommon reaction, but it had been startlingly ferocious. She went hysterical for a time, needing to be restrained until she calmed, and had been subdued since. The one-eyed clockmaker was awake enough to notice when he came to sat by her side, though her face betrayed her exhaustion.


    ¡°Is it time for lunch?¡± Vanesa asked.


    ¡°Not for a few hours yet,¡± Tristan said.


    No one would be leaving anytime soon, anyhow. He thought some of the crews might set out to have a look at the shrines later this afternoon but doubted anyone would begin the maze until tomorrow. First they would want to recover and organize.


    ¡°Ah,¡± she muttered. ¡°Sorry. My mind, it has been wandering.¡±


    ¡°Common enough when taking poppy extract,¡± he assured her.


    She nodded, looking thankful. As if he had not simply said the truth.


    ¡°A nice young woman from the Watch is making me crutches,¡± Vanesa told him. ¡°From an old oar, I believe?¡±


    He said nothing.


    ¡°Anyhow,¡± Vanesa continued, ¡°when they are finished I will be able to have a look at this maze. It seems an interesting enough place.¡±


    Sometimes, Tristan thought, the line between kindness and cruelty was thin as a breath.


    ¡°You know you won¡¯t be doing that,¡± he quietly said.


    ¡°Perhaps not in one of these companies forming,¡± Vanesa said, ¡°but surely-¡±


    ¡°If you go into that maze, you will die.¡±


    He interrupted as gently as he could, but his voice did not waver. It was a statement of fact, not a guess. Tristan had little heard of the tests these gods of the maze would set, but a one-eyed old woman with a broken leg would be as meat on the table. Vanesa¡¯s lips pursed, then she looked away. He saw the emotions flicker across her worn face ¨C frustration, anger, fear. And at the end of the road, resignation.


    ¡°I am dead if I stay here,¡± she finally said. ¡°The physician says I have two weeks at most, with the bleeding inside the leg.¡±


    Much as he wanted to bring up the amputation again, it was not his place. Vanesa knew the costs of her decision; they had been made plain to her. If she thought a slow death better than losing her leg then it was her choice to make.


    ¡°There may be,¡± Tristan said, ¡°another way.¡±


    Her eye went to him, as if dragged by a hook. The hope he saw there burned, for there were no certainties in what he had to offer.


    ¡°Have you had a close look at the gate?¡± he asked.


    ¡°I have not,¡± she admitted.


    ¡°Then let us,¡± Tristan said. ¡°I think you will find it interesting.¡±


    He went about it methodically. First he took one the spare benches near the kitchen and moved it in front of the gate, then went back for Vanesa. She had to lean on him all the while, most of her weight carried for her, but he got her to the bench and helped her down. She was barely paying attention by the time he did, sole eye flittering across the span of the iron gate ¨C or, more precisely, the intricate mechanisms covering it.


    ¡°I cannot tell where it begins,¡± she murmured. ¡°Oh ¨C and some parts go into the gate. Pistons, Tristan, see those? That will be aetheric machinery, unless they have a steam engine on the other side that can run forever.¡±


    ¡°Can you make any sense of it?¡± he asked.


    ¡°The grids are the key,¡± Vanesa told him, eye still on the gate. ¡°See how the gears around them are all derivative? Those metal plaques are the functional equivalent of levers, or perhaps more accurately a combination lock.¡±


    ¡°Moving them would have an effect,¡± Tristan said.


    Vanesa nodded.


    ¡°Absolutely,¡± she said. ¡°Mind you, there are few distinguishing marks on them and I do not see how anyone could easily get up there to activate them, but-¡±


    She paused, enthusiasm slowly bleeding out of her as she turned to him.


    ¡°It is an interesting puzzle,¡± Vanesa said, ¡°but it will not get either of us through the maze. I do not need a distraction, Tristan.¡±


    Yes you do, the thief thought. Else she would simply wither on the vine. Better yet that this was not a distraction at all.


    ¡°I disagree,¡± Tristan murmured. ¡°I think that gate is exactly how we get through the maze.¡±


    He gestured at the gate.


    ¡°The stone around it isn¡¯t the same as the fort¡¯s,¡± he said. ¡°And the scale of the structure it i set in is absurd.¡±


    While the stone the gate was set in a pillar, as it reached all the way to the distant ceiling of the cavern, it perhaps ought to be called a tower instead for the sheer size of it. It was at least a hundred feet long from side to side, at the apex of the curve.


    ¡°So perhaps it is a First Empire ruin,¡± Vanesa shrugged. ¡°That is no surprise given the great machinery above our heads.¡±


    ¡°You are not paying attention to the right part,¡± Tristan chided her. ¡°The pillar is in perfect state. This Old Fort, however, is falling apart.¡±


    The old woman stared at him, still uncomprehending.


    ¡°It was built later, not by the Antediluvians,¡± the thief said. ¡°And to guard what, a gate it would take ten batteries of cannons to break through? I doubt it. And that leaves only¡­¡±


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    ¡°The shrines,¡± Vanesa said. ¡°The maze. You believe it is also a recent addition.¡±


    ¡°I do,¡± Tristan agreed. ¡°And now that begs the question: what is that pillar for, then? Where does the gate lead?¡±


    The clockmaker¡¯s lone eye dipped upwards, at the pieces of gold slowly moving above them and giving out a ghostly golden glow.


    ¡°Even Antediluvians needed to maintain their machines,¡± Vanesa softly said. ¡°However fine the make, they fell apart eventually.¡±


    ¡°And they would need a way to get up there,¡± Tristan murmured. ¡°I believe we are looking at it.¡±


    Vanesa hesitated.


    ¡°There is no guarantee that up there waits a path across the mountains,¡± she said.


    Tristan could have said that even the Antediluvians must have brought the pieces in from somewhere, that if the maze of shrines was recent and a god bound to the gate on the other side then that very gate might be just as a recent an addition, but at the end of the day she was right: there was no guarantee.


    ¡°It is a bet,¡± Tristan admitted.


    He met her eye squarely.


    ¡°But I believe in it enough to hold off on the maze,¡± he said.


    Tristan was a rat: could there be a stronger endorsement from the likes of him than putting his own fortunes on the line? His life was the sole thing of worth he owned. He said nothing more, letting the silence do the talking. The Sacromontan knew she would agree, for as Lan had seen the truth was Vanesa did not truly want to die. She was resigned to it, perhaps, but if the choice was between the certain death of entering the maze as a lone cripple and rolling the dice on the gate they both knew what she would choose.


    Tristan did not hurry her, letting her make the journey at her own pace until she was staring down at her ruin of a leg. There was a bitterness to the cast of her face that came to it more often these days.


    ¡°Well,¡± Vanesa said. ¡°I suppose there is not much left for me to lose.¡±


    She sighed.


    ¡°Only the two of us?¡± she asked.


    ¡°I want Francho as well,¡± the thief immediately replied. ¡°And I have recruited outside helpers.¡±


    ¡°Of course you have,¡± the old woman tiredly smiled. ¡°You may count me as part of your cabal, then. I look forward to seeing what comes of it.¡±


    He would have stayed longer, sitting with her, but she dismissed him. Wanted to look at the gate without distractions, she said, but if he wanted to be a dear he could see about getting her ink and paper. That would have to wait, he decided, until he had spoken with Francho. The old professor was speaking with Lan when he found him, the blue-lipped dealer departing in a huff when she saw him. Francho cocked a brow at the thief but Tristan rolled his eyes.


    ¡°I will ask no questions, then,¡± the toothless old man drawled. ¡°What may I do for you, young man?¡±


    ¡°Answer a few questions of mine, for one,¡± he said.


    ¡°Had I known all along that all it took was the threat of grisly death to seed curiosity in my students,¡± Francho smiled, ¡°I might have dabbled in it at Reve.¡±


    ¡°It might have shortened your career,¡± the thief amusedly replied.


    ¡°Oh, murder is the least of the offences one can get away with after tenure,¡± Francho said. ¡°The old Master of Music once ¨C ah, but I am rambling again. Please, do ask away.¡±


    Tristan was going to come back and get that story about the Master of Music later, for it promised to be most amusing, but it would have to wait.


    ¡°I expect Lan was approaching you on behalf of Tupoc Xical,¡± the thief leadingly said.


    ¡°The Izcalli is most forthright about wanting cannon fodder,¡± Francho said. ¡°The honesty of the offer is somewhat admirable.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t seem to be biting at the bait,¡± Tristan said.


    ¡°I thought it unwise before finding out what it is you are plotting,¡± the professor candidly said. ¡°You do not seem to be joining up with anyone, which has me wondering what you do intend.¡±


    ¡°There is a mystery in the bones of this trial,¡± the thief said. ¡°I would dig it out.¡±


    Francho considered him, sucking at his gums thoughtfully.


    ¡°The gate,¡± he said. ¡°You want to open the gate.¡±


    ¡°An endeavour in which a historian might be of some use,¡± Tristan said. ¡°Especially one with fine ears.¡±


    The reference to his contract was not particularly subtle, but neither was it too telling. And he did want Francho on his side, if not strictly speaking need him. If the gate were easy to open, the Watch already would have. Having someone could listen to what had gone on around the great pillar, to parse out the parts of the puzzle they unearthed, would be very useful indeed. It would starkly increase their odds of success, in Tristan¡¯s opinion.


    ¡°An interesting offer,¡± Francho finally said.


    It was not agreement, but neither was it a refusal. Unlike Vanesa, the old professor might potentially survive delving the maze ¨C the risks were merely high, especially if he went in under the likes of Tupoc.


    ¡°Think on it,¡± Tristan simply said. ¡°I will not be going anywhere.¡±


    His odds, he thought, were good. He would know by the end of the day what kind of a crew it was he was working with.


    --


    Maryam only reappeared an hour later and avoided talking about where she had been. Of Beatris there was still no sign, which had him reconsidering how he would get eyes in Angharad Tredegar¡¯s crew, but before that question was answered there was another conversation he wanted to have.


    ¡°Not while people are around,¡± Maryam whispered. ¡°Especially the Watch.¡±


    So they waited for night to meet, even as Tupoc¡¯s crew and Ishaan¡¯s went to have a look at the shrines. Tredegar, by contrast, seemed to be preparing her own for combat: putting them into formation, preparing weapons.


    An hour before the Watch dimmed the lanterns Francho approached him.


    ¡°If it leads nowhere, I will have to turn to the maze,¡± the old professor warned.


    ¡°I would not ask you otherwise,¡± Tristan replied.


    And like that, there were only two stones left to turn over.


    --


    Tristan considered night one of the more interesting lies people told themselves.


    It rested at a lively intersection between need, tradition and control. Men must sleep, they could only stay awake for so long, therefore there must be an end to the day: a night where rest was allowed. Yet in most of Vesper there was no natural boundary to delimit this, only a few old wonders of the Antediluvians underwriting such a cycle in fact. It was thus in the hands of men to delimit night and day, to make them, and there the lie got interesting.


    Was a stretch of hours to be called night because your parents had called it such? Tradition had weight, it was true. If you were raised to be awake at certain hours and asleep at others, you might not question it. But those hours were not the same for everyone, were they? Half the miners of the Trench lived during ¡®night¡¯, their little towns outside the walls of Sacromonte living askew in time from the rest of the City, and they were hardly the only ones. And it was not tradition that¡¯d made that decision, for who would ever choose to work in the hell of the Trench?


    It was those with power who had set the lines, the boundaries. It was they who decided when the lamplights dimmed and when they burned, when men worked and when they rested. Abuela had once told him that about forty years ago, the Six ¨C the infanzones of infanzones - had tried to take an hour out of the night. They had wanted the docks and markets open longer, for those were the arteries of wealth in the City and sooner or later all of Sacromonte¡¯s wealth made its way into the hands of the Six.


    They¡¯d not announced this or trumpeted it about, instead sneaking it in as a natural thing: the lights had stayed on, the shifts been extended. The public clocks were tampered with or taken down for repairs, leaving people to measure time by the eye, and the scheming few had thought that if this went on for long enough without notice they could steal an entire hour from the many. It¡¯d not worked, Abuela had told him. People with little always noticed it when you took something from them.


    Somewhere around three thousand people died in the Canario Riots, after the mob began storming noble mansions and the Guardia answered by wheeling out organ guns and firing them into the crowd.


    Afterwards, smelling disaster, the Six hung a dozen ringleaders after accusing them of having taken coin from the Republics ¨C it was all a foreign plot! ¨C and after that show of strength promptly backed down. The debacle with the ¡®stolen time¡¯ was blamed on a single family, House Arlagon, which was exiled as the Six once more protected the rights of the good people of Sacromonte. The hour went back, the clocks were all mysteriously fixed within a week, all the world was pleased.


    And the infanzones quietly began building worker¡¯s towns outside the city walls, where criminals and the indebted would agree that day and night were whatever their betters said they were.


    ¡°What was the lesson of that story?¡± Tristan had asked Abuela.


    ¡°There is no such thing as night,¡± she¡¯d said. ¡°Yet look at the storm of violence that was unleashed when men tried to change the span of it. An old lie is a powerful thing, Tristan. Learn to use them.¡±


    To the boy he¡¯d been when they first had the conversation it had meant little. As he grew older, though, the words began to take meaning. It was not a secret or a trick Abuela had been trying to teach him but a perspective: the things taken for granted, the foundations that Vesper rested on, should not be spared a skeptical eye. The chains that bound men most surely were those they never saw, never thought to strain against. Tristan was no confederales, to plot the bloody liberation of Sacromonte with a butcher¡¯s knife on his lap and a red circle sown over his heart, but he would not suffer being owned. So he¡¯d learned to keep his eyes open, to sniff out the lies.


    And this Trial of Ruins, it reeked.


    Enough that it was forcing him to look back at the entire Dominion of Lost Things and wonder what it was that the Watch truly wanted with this place. He¡¯d come here treading on a foundation of certainty: the blackcloaks used the trials to bring in skilled but irregular recruits while fattening their pockets by letting the nobles use them as proving grounds. Perhaps a little posturing thrown in as well, an unspoken reminder that at the end of the trials the infanzones used to set themselves above one another all that the victors qualified to be was the rank and file of the Watch.


    Only the numbers didn¡¯t add up.


    Even if Tristan was willing to dismiss the way trial-takers were chosen ¨C and he wasn¡¯t, not when he had to wonder if the blackcloaks would actually want half of the people who¡¯d paid to get on the Bluebell ¨C there was a larger discrepancy behind it all: coin. How many infanzones, how many red games candidates were sent every year? Possibly enough to keep an old cog like the Bluebell and the other ship the first wave had taken afloat, their crews paid, but not much more than that. Then the Watch would have to pay and feed the garrison on the Dominion, to supply and maintain its forts, to defend them against the cultists of the Red Eye.


    In the most generous of suppositions, if a hundred people took to the Dominion every year and half of these survived to become Watch ¨C a very generous supposition ¨C then after the losses to sickness, gods and cultists were subtracted, the blackcloaks couldn¡¯t be getting more than a dozen net recruits or so. And for those dozen recruits they¡¯d be drenching their ledger in red. He had thought this explained the seeds and trade goods he and Maryam had figured out at the docks: the Watch was trying to get some gold out of this place and perhaps lower its casualties with bribes.


    But now here they got to the Trial of Ruins, a horror of dead and dying gods under a First Empire aether machine that had to be worth a small city. Why hadn¡¯t they stripped that thing out and sold it to make a fortune? If they feared the gods of the maze enough to threaten the execution of anyone contracting with one without reporting it, why not fill this place to the brim with blackpowder and light a fuse? No, there was something going on here beyond the Watch running a seemingly sloppy recruitment operation.


    And instead of running around in the maze with the rest of them, Tristan Abrascal was going to find out what it was the blackcloaks knew the rest of them didn¡¯t.


    The first step to that, in an unusual turn, was not to be all that difficult. There was one person who knew more about these trials than she should and they were already set to talk. Maryam had promised, in the heat of the moment when the airavatan seemed set to kill them, that they were to have a conversation. It was a one best kept away from prying eyes, she had claimed, so Tristan used an old lie in the very simplest of ways: they waited until night made everyone go to sleep. Not every trick had to be bold or brilliant.


    They met in one of the broken bastions under a ceiling half-collapsed, surrounded by loose masonry. The blackcloaks didn¡¯t patrol, not really: they kept watch from atop the walls and sometimes went around the fortress to eye the courtyard but they had no interest in the nooks and crannies of the Old Fort. They¡¯re not afraid of animals or lemures, Tristan decided. Given Lieutenant Wen¡¯s enthusiastic oration about gods eating each other, he suspected there might not be any around.


    Maryam came in but a few heartbeats after him, hand on the knife at her side as her blue eyes scanned the dark. He pushed off of the stone he¡¯d been leaning against, passing under the broken ceiling and the rays of gold pouring down it. Her shoulders relaxed.


    ¡°You know,¡± Maryam said, ¡°if someone else had asked me into a dark corner after everyone went to sleep, I might have assumed they had intentions.¡±


    He cocked an eyebrow.


    ¡°But not me?¡±


    She rolled her eyes.


    ¡°I¡¯m not blind, Tristan,¡± she said. ¡°You are about as interested in bedsport as I am in collecting butterflies.¡±


    ¡°A traditional hobby, if largely pointless,¡± he said.


    He had not specified which he was talking about, which by the look of her grin she had absolutely noticed. Much as he disliked sobering the mood after such a pleasant start, he had not come here for the pleasure of her company. Seeing the change in his expression, Maryam¡¯s own shed the mirth.


    ¡°And now I pay my dues, yes?¡± she said.


    ¡°I would not dig into your personal secrets,¡± Tristan said, ¡°but I have questions and you answers.¡±


    She dismissed his words with a wave.


    ¡°I made my choice out on the plains and will not walk it back now,¡± Maryam said. ¡°There are limits to what I may speak of, but within them I will not balk.¡±


    ¡°You said,¡± Tristan murmured, ¡°that this year was not like the others. That some of us were marked for more than simply joining the Watch.¡±


    Maryam slowly nodded, she was considering her words ¨C navigating promises, perhaps? ¨C and ultimately it was with a question she answered.


    ¡°What strikes you as strange about the Bluebell passengers?¡±


    He cocked his head to the side. He¡¯d given that subject much thought, now that he had time to spare and more information to chew on.


    ¡°You and Leander Galatas could both use Signs,¡± he said. ¡°And not the way some street witch would, the usual potions and curses. The real kind of Signs, those Navigators use. That is more than passing rare.¡±


    She nodded encouragingly.


    ¡°There are also much too many people with contracts,¡± he added after a moment. ¡°It seems like at least half the foreigners have one.¡±


    Zenzele Duma did, and Ishaan Nair. The same was likely true of Tupoc Xical and Tristan sincerely doubted that even a mirror-dancer could be as quick as Angharad Tredegar without a little help. Throw in Song, Acanthe Phos, Isabel Ruesta, Brun and Francho - then on top of that the rumor that Remund Cerdan had one as well? The numbers were troubling. Even if no one else was hiding a contract, which he had doubts about, then out of the thirty-three people on the Bluebell there had been at least twelve with contracts, counting himself and Marzela. It was a staggering number even for individuals aiming to enter the Watch.


    Someone might well go their entire life without meeting that many contractors, much less all of them in the same room.


    ¡°All the recommended are being evaluated to see if they qualify for special enrolment,¡± Maryam told him. ¡°Yourself included.¡±


    ¡°Special enrolment?¡± he pressed.


    ¡°I cannot speak about it,¡± she admitted. ¡°I skirt the edge of breaking an agreement by even telling you this much.¡±


    As he¡¯d thought, her foreknowledge had come with strings. It only reinforced that he was speaking to the right person to find the thread he must pull at, because the most likely suspect for Maryam¡¯s interlocutor was the Watch or a least a member of it.


    ¡°You knew about this before coming here,¡± he decided, studying her face. ¡°What is that makes this particular year different from the others?¡±


    ¡°Timing,¡± she quietly said. ¡°An opportunity that will not come twice.¡±


    Tristan passed a hand through his hair, frustrated at how vague she was being but half-sure it was not on purpose. She has called it an ¡®agreement¡¯, what stilled her tongue, and that implied someone on the other end of the bargain ¨C it was not an oath, but a bargain struck with another. Someone who might care if she broke the terms.


    ¡°The Krypteia,¡± he said. ¡°The Masks, you said they wanted something from me. Do you know what it is?¡±


    There were a hundred name for the agents of the Krypteia, the most secretive of the Watch, and as many rumours for what their purpose might be. Spies and assassins, most said, though others claimed it was the watchmen themselves they watched over. Whatever the truth, their reputation for ruthlessness and secrecy was no lie. It might not be a good thing at all that he had somehow drawn their eye. Maryam studied him for a long moment, blue eyes searching, before she let out a startled breath.


    ¡°So you really don¡¯t know,¡± she quietly said. ¡°It¡¯s not something they want, Tristan, it¡¯s you. They are the Circle that recommended you.¡±


    Did that mean everyone who¡¯d been recommended had ¨C no, that wasn¡¯t as important as the fact that for some reason he had apparently caught the eye of the fucking Masks.


    ¡°You¡¯re sure?¡± he got out.


    Maryam leaned forward, openly worried.


    ¡°Tristan, the other recommended all had a name with them,¡± she said. ¡°The person who gave the recommendation. All except you: yours was just a wax seal with the symbol of the Krypteia. I don¡¯t know high up their ranks you must be to be able to use that, but it¡¯s not low.¡±


    She grimaced.


    ¡°You¡¯re telling me you have no idea who did this?¡±


    ¡°I know who arranged for me to have a place on the Bluebell,¡± he admitted. ¡°But I could never be sure she was part of the Watch. She has never claimed so and I have never seen her in a black cloak.¡±


    But how likely was Abuela to put one of those on, if she was truly part of the Krypteia? The rest of the Watch announced themselves, the black cloaks like a banner reminding everyone of what they stood for, but the Masks were spies. The last thing they would want was to be announced.


    ¡°It could be she knows someone in the Krypteia,¡± Maryam said, be she sounded doubtful. ¡°Maybe she called in an old favour.¡±


    Old was the right word, for Abuela was at least nearing seventy for all that she remained spry. She could be retired, he thought. Could Masks retire? He did not know. Tristan could feel his mind beginning to go in circles, picking away at all the many unknowns he had no way to shed light on, so he forced himself to keep speaking.


    ¡°Tell me about Song Ren.¡±


    It was half a guess, come of details he had noticed in that bracing debate about who should get lynched for Jun¡¯s murder, but the rueful surprise on her face told him he¡¯d struck true.


    ¡°I met her before the trials,¡± Maryam said. ¡°She is here for the same reason I am.¡±


    ¡°And what is that?¡± he asked, knowing the answer he would get.


    ¡°Not something I can speak about without breaking my agreement,¡± she replied.


    The special enrolment, he thought. That was the heart of the secret, for both she and Song. But in a way that was a disappointment for that was a particular, a temporary addition to the greater secret of the Dominion of Lost Things. It would not help him unearth the truth of this place.


    ¡°How much do you really know about these trials?¡± he quietly asked.


    ¡°More than I should,¡± Maryam said, then grimaced. ¡°Less than you likely think. I can tell you that most people who contract with a maze god will get executed ¨C I was specifically warned against it ¨C and that the sanctuary past the ruins is a fort on the other side of the mountains.¡±


    He raised an eyebrow, inviting her to continue.


    ¡°My source was vague on the Trial of Grass,¡± she admitted. ¡°But it is meant to rid the Watch of the reckless and trouble cases.¡±


    Tristan bit at his thumb, thoughtful. First the relative shallowness of what she had said, juxtaposed with the emphasis made on certain details. If he had to bet, someone with full information had given her a broad outline and emphasized dangers that might get her killed. Has to be the Watch, he thought. Infanzones wouldn¡¯t know anything about the third trial, or care about keeping whatever its purpose was intact ¨C the easy guess for why the information she¡¯d been given was vague. Good enough to help craft strategy, but not much beyond that.


    Second, he was now even more certain that the Trial of Ruins was the heart of this entire enterprise. Weeding out the reckless and the trouble cases? That sounded like filtering tacked on at the end of the road so that the blackcloaks would not be stuck with anyone they didn¡¯t truly want to enter their ranks. Which means the parts that matter are here and within the Trial of Lines, he thought.


    ¡°You¡¯re not interested in the maze at all, are you?¡± Maryam suddenly said. ¡°I thought you might just be leveraging your reputation, holding out for a better offer by one of the groups, but it¡¯s not them your eye is on.¡±


    ¡°I will have to go into the maze eventually,¡± Tristan acknowledged.


    If nothing else, it would be the most expedient way to get rid of Cozme Aflor and the Cerdans. He was not worried about being able to join later, given that after casualties began to mount all the diving crews would be looking for fresh blood. It would not make him liked, but what did he care for that? Still, it was through the gate he intended to pass this maze ¨C and not the one the Watch had told him to use.


    ¡°Yet keeping my attention on it strikes me as missing the canal for the barge,¡± he continued. ¡°This place exists for a reason and this game is not it.¡±


    ¡°That will be Watch business,¡± she warned him.


    ¡°Mine as well, so long as the Watch demands I take part in this trial,¡± Tristan replied.


    Maryam paced away, crossing her arms when she came to a halt. Light poured down from behind, gilding her silhouette as shadows obscured the lay of her face.


    ¡°You are not going to let this go.¡±


    Neither of them pretended that had been a question. Through the shadows he met her eyes with his own, neither blinking.


    ¡°Are you?¡± he challenged. ¡°What did the warnings help, when the airavatan hunted us? You¡¯re in the same game as the rest of us, Maryam. Their secrets are just as likely to get you killed.¡±


    For a long moment they remained that way, until finally she jerked her head to the side.


    ¡°There¡¯s another aether machine around,¡± Maryam told him. ¡°It can be used to look at parts of the island on great panels of gold ¨C it¡¯s how they make their reports, though supposedly there are limitations. We will have to be careful.¡±


    We, she had said, and like that a weight left his shoulders. Maryam stepped away from the light, the gold sliding off her dress. It left the ghostly pit between them, painting the rubble. He saw the hesitation on her face but said nothing, letting her come to the decision to speak in her own time.


    ¡°Your surname,¡± Maryam said. ¡°You keep it hidden for a reason.¡±


    It was, he thought, gently done of her. If he simply answered yes the conversation would end there, but the door was opened if he wanted to say more. And it was tempting to simply put an end to it, but the thief held back on the impulse. She had, the day before their group tried the bridge, implied she might help him with his revenge. Tristan had just decided to dig at the Watch¡¯s secrets because they might get him killed, which would make the hypocrisy of keeping Maryam in the dark here a large one to swallow. Not so much he could not, but he found he did not want to.


    Not after all she had told him, even if those secrets were not her own.


    ¡°I cannot be certain,¡± Tristan said, ¡°but I believe Cozme Aflor might recognize the name Abrascal.¡±


    ¡°It is uncommon?¡± Maryam asked.


    ¡°Only somewhat,¡± he said. ¡°But while we only met a handful of times when I was a child, he knew my father for two years.¡±


    The blue-eyed woman slowly nodded. She did not ask, which perversely enough made him want to say more.


    ¡°He is at the bottom of my list for a reason,¡± Tristan murmured. ¡°He pulled the trigger, in the end, but they¡¯d killed my father long before that.¡±


    ¡°House Cerdan,¡± she said.


    He nodded.


    ¡°Sacromonte is,¡± he began, then halted.


    It was hard to explain to someone not of the City.


    ¡°We do not have a king,¡± he said. ¡°And the Six, they are not different from other houses in principle. Most of their privileges are ceremonial. Yet it is the Six who rule us, have for as long as anyone can remember, and every noble house in Sacromonte craves to sit where they sit.¡±


    He passed a hand through his hair.


    ¡°Only a few come close,¡± Tristan said, ¡°and the Cerdan are one of them. Only they can¡¯t seem to break in. Their blood is the right amount of old, they own enough land and make enough coin, but they don¡¯t have the something that lets the Six be on top ¨C like contracts for the Arquer, or the feracity chambers for the Calzada.¡±


    He thinly smiled.


    ¡°So they¡¯ve been trying to bridge the gap,¡± he said. ¡°Quietly, so the others don¡¯t notice, but quiet is just about the only line they drew in the sand.¡±


    ¡°What did they do, Tristan?¡± she quietly asked.


    He looked away, jaw clenching. Remembering how Father had seemed so grateful when Cozme pulled the trigger.


    ¡°Too much for me to forgive,¡± he said.


    They left it at that.


    --


    Maryam snuck back ahead, at his suggestion, because Tristan was not yet done with the night. It was not back to his bedroll he went but instead into the shadows of the Old Fort. And there, patiently waiting as he watched the movements of the patrols, he found out two things of some import.


    The first was Beatris, coming out of the Watch barracks and taking a short walk around the courtyard with an escort before returning within. Though she had a watchman with her, she did not seem a prisoner. Protection, Tristan thought. Unless he was quite wrong, Beatris had withdrawn from the trials and no one else yet knew of it.


    The second came later, after he risked getting closer to the bastion with the astronomy equipment. It did not seem to be getting used, to his confusion, until his eye was drawn by a flash of lantern light. The bastion went slightly around the side of the great pillar, but it was high above that he saw the light: an opening in the stone, from which someone was lowered a rope ladder.


    He¡¯d just found the other lieutenant in command of the garrison, Tristan decided, and why Lieutenant Wen had been so convinced none of them would see her.


    And with her he had found his first clue.

 Chapter 23

    One more joined their number.


    Yaretzi was the last, approaching her on the evening when Tupoc and Lord Ishaan¡¯s crews went scouting ahead. The Aztlan did not look any worse for the labors of the first trial, her tanned face without mark and her practical clothes ¨C a sleeveless stripe blouse above a long patchwork skirt, all of it under a thick sailor¡¯s coat ¨C barely scuffed. The earrings dangling from her ears were of the same copper-gold as Tupoc¡¯s, but they were set with blue stones. They drew attention to her sultry dark eyes.


    ¡°Turquoise?¡± Angharad asked, touching her ear as the other woman sat.


    Yaretzi looked surprised, even pleased.


    ¡°Indeed,¡± she said. ¡°I was part of the Turquoise Society before leaving Izcalli.¡±


    Angharad cocked an eyebrow.


    ¡°I thought Izcalli societies were named after animals,¡± she said. ¡°Jaguars, eagles and the like.¡±


    ¡°Warrior societies are,¡± Yaretzi corrected. ¡°Izcalli cosmology separates the world into three spheres, one of which is war. As a diplomat I was part of the second sphere, culture, whose societies are named after precious stones.¡±


    ¡°And the third?¡± she curiously asked.


    ¡°Trade,¡± Yaretzi said. ¡°In the sense of occupation, not the mercantile, though that is also covered. It is the third sphere and the least, though still above okse ¨C the other, that which is not in the spheres.¡±


    ¡°I will hazard a guess that this is where foreigners are counted,¡± Angharad said.


    ¡°It is hardly our fault that they did not have the good sense to be born Izcalli,¡± she said, lips twitching.


    ¡°I can only apologize for the slight,¡± the noblewoman gravely replied.


    ¡°I will forgive you this once,¡± Yaretzi allowed. ¡°It is a difference in philosophy, the way the societies are named. A warrior seeks to embody the strengths of their emblem, but that is a personal distinction. A cultural society is named after precious stone because we seek for our service to Izcalli to be just as precious.¡±


    ¡°That is admirable,¡± Angharad said. ¡°One¡¯s honor is often found in service to that of others.¡±


    It was the fundamental tenet of honor in the Isles, whose root was the High Queen. She was keeper of the honor of all Malan, its beginning and end, and could not die so long as the people of the Isles remained honorable.


    ¡°Mostly it teaches us to think differently than warrior society thugs,¡± Yaretzi said. ¡°There are only so many flower wars you can start before you¡¯re drowning in enemies instead of war prizes. I think our¡­ friend Master Xical never quite learned that lesson.¡±


    Angharad eyed her speculatively.


    ¡°But you did?¡±


    ¡°I have spent much of my life learning to read people,¡± the Aztlan smiled. ¡°Which is why I can tell you with a degree of certainty that Shalini is one of the loveliest people you will ever meet, and also that if she suspects someone might be slight trouble for her Ishaan she will fire a shot into the back of their head without batting an eye.¡±


    Yaretzi¡¯s smile never wavered, though it pulled tight around the yes.


    ¡°A strong crew, those two have assembled, but until they have decided whether they are siblings or lovers I would much rather be part of yours,¡± she said. ¡°It will do wonders for my nerves, if nothing else.¡±


    Angharad choked, both at the glimpse into the private affairs of the Someshwari and the suddenness of the request.


    ¡°You can fight?¡± she coughed out.


    Yaretzi stared flatly at her.


    ¡°My dear,¡± she said, ¡°I was an Izcalli diplomat.¡±


    That was fair enough, and so their company added another. They spent the rest of the afternoon preparing supplies and drilling basic formations at Angharad¡¯s insistence, for a crew that did not know their place would only trip each over each other in a storm. Or so Mother had always said. Come evening she was satisfied everyone had elementary understanding of each other¡¯s skill and would know where to stand when violence inevitably came knocking.


    Now all that was left was to venture out.


    ¡ª


    Come morning the divisions had become clearly visible.


    Three delving crews sat together for breakfast, and then the handful of spares who did not intend to venture out that day ¨C Tristan, Sarai, Francho and Vanesa. Some off-color jests were made by Remund about why Tristan and Sarai might want to stay behind with only dotards as witnesses, but they petered out in the face of her obvious disapproval. Save for that misstep, the mood was pleasant. Yaretzi got along well with the pair she had shared the Trial of Lines with, though she tread carefully around Zenzele, and while the air between Song and Isabel was yet frosty the Tianxi found much to speak about with Inyoni.


    That friendly air was shattered by Sergeant Mandisa, who made a round at every table with a wooden crate full of what Angharad finally saw to be small iron lanterns. None larger than a fist, charming but quite identical. Some Tianxi workshop must make them in bulk. The sergeant showed them the small engraved circle inside where they must put at least a drop of their blood, about where a candle would be were this a real lantern. Angharad pricked her forearm with a knife and smudged a drop inside as instructed.


    ¡°Why a lantern?¡± she asked Sergeant Mandisa.


    ¡°Same reason the Twenty Crowns used them,¡± Lady Inyoni idly cut in.


    Angharad stared at her blankly, to the other woman¡¯s confusion.


    ¡°Have you never read ¡®The Empty Sea¡¯?¡± she slowly asked.


    Ah, the noblewoman thought. That would explain it. It was the third of the Great Works and from what she recalled only marginally more interesting that ¡®The Vainglory¡¯ and its incomprehensible mythologies or the endless litany of deaths and disasters that was ¡®The Dead Shore¡¯. Angharad had stopped trying to read it after Father admitted that though it purported to recount how the nations of her ancestors had sailed away from the dying Old World and journeyed to Vesper it was a largely philosophical book about the nature of mankind and its reflections on the eponymous Empty Sea.


    Lots of finding islands where the lesson was that men were the real monsters all along, she¡¯d heard.


    ¡°I began the Works with ¡®The Ships of Morn¡¯,¡± she admitted.


    And ended them with the following work, The Madness of King Issay, she refrained from adding. That she had only read two of the nine Great Works was occasionally a slight embarrassment.


    ¡°Can¡¯t blame her, I never read as anything half as depressing as The Dead Shore,¡± Sergeant Mandisa shared. ¡°I¡¯ve written up casualty lists that were more cheerful.¡±


    ¡°But you did read it, that¡¯s the point,¡± Inyoni grumbled. ¡°It is our common heritage, there¡¯s a reason it¡¯s mandatory.¡±


    The grizzled older woman squinted at her.


    ¡°The Twenty Crowns, Lady Tredegar, our very own ancestors,¡± she said with an accusatory pointed finger, ¡°found that our perceptions influence the aether. We associate lanterns with sight, with finding things, and so-¡±


    ¡°Gods will be able to use them to get at you,¡± Sergeant Mandisa completed. ¡°You know, for the eating.¡±


    Both of her gave her odd looks at the choice of word.


    ¡°I was raised Orthodox, they¡¯re not spirits to me,¡± the sergeant informed them.


    ¡°It is your prerogative to be wrong,¡± Inyoni conceded.


    ¡°Hey now.¡±


    ¡°It is not her fault, she was never taught any better,¡± Angharad ¡®excused¡¯.


    ¡°And I was going to give you hints about the maze,¡± Mandisa said.


    Inyoni raised an eyebrow.


    ¡°Were you really?¡±


    A moment passed.


    ¡°No,¡± Mandisa confessed. ¡°Gods, it¡¯s like getting stared down by my own grandfather. Any moment now you¡¯ll be asking why I haven¡¯t found a husband yet.¡±


    ¡°And why is that, young lady?¡± Inyoni asked.


    Sergeant Mandisa shivered, called the whole affair eerie and fled to another table. Angharad lost the war to keep her grin from showing, though she would admit she had not put up much of a fight. As breakfast slowly came to an end and it became clear that once more Beatris would not be joining them, Angharad¡¯s lips thinned. Isabel had last evening admitted that she had not seen her maid in over a day, not even for meals, and that the Watch had refused to answer her questions. Since she no longer slept in the old stables like the rest of them and her personal affairs appeared to have been removed, it was suspected that she slept in the barracks with the blackcloaks.


    Angharad sought and found Isabel¡¯s eye. As they were all at the same table, a common company, it was not breaking the oath she had given Remund and must still heed.


    ¡°She may have retired from the trials,¡± Angharad said.


    ¡°And not even asked me for leave?¡± Isabel said, openly dubious. ¡°The barracks are also where that charming old woman was operated, so there must be a physician¡¯s office within. I expect she is simply sicker than anticipated.¡±


    How much of that was genuine belief and how much was saving face at possibly having been abandoned by her handmaid Angharad could not tell, and now was not the time to plumb the depths of the question.


    ¡°Regardless, she is not to be counted among our company,¡± she said.


    To that Isabel could only agree. They would be eight, then, and not nine.


    After everyone finished breaking the last of their fast, when her crew went to get their packs, Angharad found herself approached by a pair she had so far had little to do with: Lord Ishaan Nair and Shalini Goel. Save their occasional cordial conversations on the Bluebell they had hardly spent a minute together, so this was unlikely to be a social call. Movement drew her eye and she found Song, ready and armed, already on her way. Isabel was behind her, talking to Remund with a faint air of irritation on her face. Pleased with the prompt reinforcements Angharad turned to meet the Someshwari pair with a polite smile just as Song came to stand at her side, mirroring Shalini.


    ¡°Lady Angharad,¡± Ishaan greeted her.


    ¡°Lord Ishaan,¡± she replied. ¡°Good morning to you.¡±


    ¡°And you,¡± he easily said.


    He looked better now, not at all wan or feverous as he had the days before. The unpleasantness brought on by his contract must have passed.


    ¡°Shalini.¡±


    ¡°Song.¡±


    Their tones were strangely amused, given the banality of the situation. Were this another situation Angharad would have engaged the others in small talk, as her station demanded, but they had more pressing duties to attend to.


    ¡°May I be of assistance to you, Lord Ishaan?¡± she asked.


    ¡°It occurred to me that while we will part ways later,¡± the chubby-cheeked man said, ¡°we could journey to the shrines together.¡±


    The tone was casual, the implied offer was not. Angharad decided to set it out plainly.


    ¡°Mutual defense against Tupoc¡¯s group on the way seems agreeable,¡± she said. ¡°And it would be diplomatic to keep some distance in order to¡­ avoid arguments.¡±


    Zenzele Duma was a lord of Malan, he would no more break a truce than he would shoot a child out of the black, but temper were best left untested if possible.


    ¡°Brisk business,¡± Shalini commented.


    ¡°We left our tea and silks at home,¡± Song replied.


    They both ignored their seconds.


    ¡°Against Tupoc¡¯s group or other third parties that are not the Watch,¡± Lord Ishaan counteroffered. ¡°And I would extend the same terms to a common return, should we leave the maze around the same time.¡±


    Angharad could see the attraction in a common return, as they would be the most weak then ¨C tired, wounded, possibly carrying corpses. The first part she hesitated about, for it was unpleasantly open-ended. Third parties could mean a great many things, even if their cooperation was limited to mutual defence.


    ¡°Third parties that were not intentionally provoked,¡± Angharad finally specified.


    She would not let her crew be dragged into disputes like a reeve tricked into siding with some Uthukile clan. She had heard the stories, the reeve always ended up shot and then the clans promptly made a peace-marriage so they could begin raiding their other neighbors for cattle instead.


    Being appointed a royal reeve on the Low Isle was not what a wise woman called a reward.


    ¡°Cautious,¡± Shalini said.


    ¡°Last time my people weren¡¯t, it took four Cathayan Wars to get you out.¡±


    ¡°Savage,¡± she praised.


    Angharad traded a look with Ishaan, sharing in the kinship of being faintly embarrassed of the person they had brought along. They shook on it, as much to avoid more of that than because there was nothing left to quibble over. As they parted ways the Pereduri tried to look for what Yaretzi had mentioned, but mostly she saw that Shalini was protective of the man ¨C which was hardly a revelation.


    She informed the others of the bargain struck as they assembled to move out, to mostly approval. Zenzele¡¯s face darkened but even he saw the sense in a protection pact. They set out without further dallying, through openings in the ramparts at the back of the Old Fort. The Watch kept an eye on them from above as they moved across the rubble and onto the uneven bare rock of the cavern floor. It was not so smooth here as it had been before they entered the fort.


    Without lanterns and the pale golden glow from above it would have been trouble to walk: not only were there crevices and clumps but also stretches of some sort of coppery moss that was highly slippery. Lord Ishaan¡¯s crew was waiting ahead, nearly arrayed, while ahead of them both lanterns made it plain that Tupoc Xical and his five had taken the lead.


    The journey was uneventful, though the atmosphere was stilted from nerves and tension. It was about a quarter hour from the fort that the slope of broken shrines began, Lord Ishaan informed her. After they left behind the great pillar the Old Fort was nestled against, it was largely open grounds between them and the ruins. Only a few jutting rocks, usually covered in that copper moss, broke up the barren landscape.


    The beginnings of the maze were not clear, for though every piece of this place had been built by men the place itself had not ¨C whatever haphazard spirit had seen fit to cast everything down in a pile cared not for gates and paths. Rubble and loose stones, sometimes entire slices of structures like arches and pillars, rose in a soft slope that inch by inch turned into a mountain within the mountain. So many temples and shrines and pavilions had been thrown atop one another that she could not tell where the ruins of one ended or began, leaving her with the impression that she truly was looking at a mountain.


    There were dozens of half-open shrines that might have served as a gate, Angharad saw, but only three whose entrance was open beyond the first few feet. The three shrines the Watch had told them of: one marked by a lion, another a dove and the last a serpent. Tupoc¡¯s crew was already slipping in a narrow crevice between two walls along which a broken mural of a serpent slithered. It felt a little on the nose for the Aztlan to choose the Serpent Shrine, in all honesty. Her musings were interrupted by Lord Ishaan, who offered her his hand to shake. She did.


    ¡°We explored the Lion Shrine yesterday,¡± the dark-eyed man said. ¡°We will again today.¡±


    ¡°Good luck,¡± Angharad replied.


    ¡°And you.¡±


    Theirs was, then, to be the Dove Shrine. It was in the middle of the three between a painted and sculpted arch to the left, adorned by roaring lionhead, and the narrow winding path that Tupoc was leading his fellows through. The way into their own shrine was broad stairs half-covered in dust and rubble, going up twenty feet into a collapsed arch ¨C which would easily be climbed over, leading into yawning open gates whose sides were covered with intricate bronzes of doves at play. A hall continued into what she thought might be the shrine proper, while above the gate the mountain of ruins continued to rise.


    A mere half a foot above a column had toppled backwards, stuck between two laughing monkey statues, and above those heads was a window where a yellow light trembled that ¨C Angharad shook her head. She could spend a lifetime finding new paths here and barely scratch the surface. She would have to trust in the explorations of the Watch. She turned to glance back at her company, finding it grim-faced and ready.


    ¡°Forward,¡± she simply said. ¡°Let us see what the shrine has in store for us.¡±


    The stone here was unsettlingly dry, she noticed, not at all like the natural cavern floor they had walked on. It was as if the spirits of this place had licked up even the dew. Though Angharad went forward with a lantern, after passing the broken arch and entering the hallway she found it was hardly needed: lights burned on the walls at regular intervals, small trembling flames inside eggs of glass. It was surprisingly beautiful, especially when the light shone along the edge of the bronze reliefs adorning the walls: they showed feathers, the Pereduri thought, though some of them bent folded strangely.


    They went down the corridor into a larger chamber, whose dusty floor was touched with old footsteps. The Watch, she decided. A flicker of movement at the corner of her eye had Angharad reaching for her new blade, a solid saber that was not at fault for not being the sword she wanted, but when she looked it was only an empty glass egg in a corner. The bare stone of this place was unsettling, so she pressed on without waiting longer.


    This was, the Pereduri knew within a heartbeat of entering, the heart of the Dove Shrine. The chamber was the largest yet, at least thirty feet wide and as long, with elaborate decorations. The first few feet of the floor were bare stone, but beyond that a tiled floor in blue and bronze led all the way to another bare stretch and a cramped door at the back ¨C but it was the walls that drew the eye. They were covered in dizzying murals of bronze tiles, painted so that great swirls of dark colors would envelop eyes and feathers, and exquisite perches of bronze extended at irregular intervals.


    Angharad moved aside from the entrance but was careful to stay on the bare stone. The spirit of this shrine would reveal themselves soon enough: the only way out of this room seemed to lead into a much smaller chamber, perhaps the way out. Her instincts told true. The moment the last of them, Zenzele, entered there was a small flutter. Eight pairs of eyes turned to the same perch, where the spirit had deigned to reveal itself.


    It looked like a dove, but now finally Angharad understood the strange gilding from earlier: every single feather was made of intricately folded paper, patterns within patterns, and she was careful not to look at them too long. If the powerful storm painted on the mural was any hint, there may be danger in staring. The dove spirit flicked its paper-fathers, eerily bird-like.


    ¡°Supplicants,¡± it spoke in a voice like fluttering paper, ¡°you enter the shrine of-¡±


    Angharad winced. That had not been a word, at least not in a way a woman¡¯s ears could hear. Her companions seemed to have fared no better.


    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    ¡°By ancient accord,¡± the dove spirit continued, ¡°for a wager you may take my trial and win right of passage.¡±


    ¡°And what is to be your trial, spirit?¡± Lady Inyoni called out.


    The dove rustled with anger, paper feathers inflating. Spirits often enjoyed the unearned deference that was being called a god, but Inyoni had done no wrong. The sole god was the Sleeping God, they who would one day wake.


    ¡°Cross the tiles of my shrine,¡± it said, ¡°without standing on water.¡±


    Angharad eyed the tiles, seeing no water. Did it mean the blue tiles instead of the bronze? That would be easy enough since they alternated, which meant there was likely some sort of trap. Given how singularly well suited her contract was to avoid making such a mistake, however ¨C it was nothing glimpses ahead would not see her through ¨C then she ought to begin. It would be a good example, besides. Only before Angharad could so much as say a word she was interrupted.


    ¡°Let me,¡± Isabel said, stepping forward.


    Surprise, Angharad¡¯s among them.


    ¡°There is no need to-¡± she began, but the dark-haired beauty shook her head.


    ¡°There is,¡± she replied. ¡°I am not unaware that my skill at arms is lacking compared to most here. I must then be ready to risk my life on tests of cleverness to compensate. It is only fitting.¡±


    There were many approving faces at that, enough that Angharad curbed her instinct to insist that someone else should take the very first trial. It would be disrespect twice over: first of Isabel herself, who was acting with honor, and then of everyone else in this crew for implying that their lives were not of equal worth. She kept her worry off her face.


    ¡°Be careful,¡± she said instead.


    ¡°Of course, darling,¡± Isabel smiled back.


    She then stepped forward, gathering her skirts, and approached the edge of the tiles straight-backed.


    ¡°God of the land, I ask you for terms,¡± she called out.


    The dove spirit shuffled on its perch, what looked like feathers shivering at first glance in truth an intricate dance of paper folding and unfolding.


    ¡°I already gave them,¡± the spirit replied, its voice like pages being strummed.


    ¡°Then there will be no imposition in speaking them anew,¡± Isabel firmly insisted.


    The spirit flicked its paper-feathers irritably, likely irked at having been robbed of starting another game entirely without telling anyone.


    ¡°There are sixty-four tiles on this floor,¡± the dove spirit said. ¡°You must cross from one side to another without ever standing on water or leaving the tiles.¡±


    ¡°God of the land, I would accept these terms,¡± Isabel said. ¡°I offer for my wager this lantern.¡±


    She presented the small iron lantern touched with a drop of her blood.


    ¡°What offer you in return?¡±


    ¡°Peaceful passage unhindered through my shrine for all who stand in this room,¡± the dove spirit said. ¡°Until your death.¡±


    ¡°God of the land,¡± Isabel replied, bowing respectfully, ¡°I accept these terms and wagers.¡±


    ¡°Then you may undertake my test,¡± the spirit allowed. ¡°Begin.¡±


    Only Isabel did not immediately step onto one of the tiles. Instead she went looking through the bag she had carried, taking out a long and thin rod of metal ¨C almost like a hollow fishing rod. The dark-haired beauty paced along the length of the tiles as everyone made room for her, eyes considering, before she pressed the tip of the metal rod on a blue tile ¨C the fourth from the left on the first row. After nothing happened, she stepped onto the tile. Angharad¡¯s heart stammered, but after a long moment it became plain Isabel was safe.


    Methodically, Isabel began prodding other tiles.


    Angharad was not sure of the rhyme or reason to it, for she tried not only tiles ahead of her but also the one to her left ¨C only for that one to immediately crumple. Like a flower closing, the thin covering of paper of the tile bunched up and revealed the painted river underneath. Several of them breathed in sharply. There was the mentioned water.


    ¡°No supplicant you,¡± the dove spirit hissed, its voice like paper ripping. ¡°Thief, thief, thiefthiefthief-¡±


    Halfway across the board, one of the tiles shivered. In the heartbeat that followed it was no longer a tile but a gaping hole of shimmering darkness. Gloam, Angharad realized. A pit of Gloam. Nothing but death could come of stepping into that.


    ¡°It never promised to leave all the tiles,¡± Lord Zenzele noted. ¡°We should have thought of that.¡±


    ¡°It is angry,¡± Song evenly replied. ¡°And might never have acted such had Lady Isabel not been so obviously forewarned of this test.¡±


    It was, Angharad admitted, likely she had been. The blind groping around seemed instead to have been Isabel looking for a particular pattern ¨C perhaps there were several and she was trying to find out which she was dealing with? Certainly, after moving twice in a diagonal to the right and revealing two more paper tiles she moved with much more certainty. Only the dove spirit was angry, hissing its spiteful accusation of thief as it sowed another Gloam pit every minute or so. It was trying to box her in a corner, cut her path across, but though Isabel¡¯s slightly shaking hands revealed fear her eyes were steady. It took bravery to take such a test, Angharad thought, even forewarned. Unlike her, the infanzona had never been trained for peril.


    It was rather attractive to see that Isabel Ruesta was the kind of woman capable of gambling with her life, if it came to it.


    For all the dove spirit¡¯s anger, its tricks and test were no match for the stratagem plied against them. Within ten minutes Isabel set foot on the bare stone, victorious in the challenge posed to her. All eyes turned to the spirit, whose spitting anger was no great augury.


    ¡°Thief you are,¡± it screeched, paper twisted and bent. ¡°Thief and victor. Get out of my sight.¡±


    They hurried across careful to avoid the lingering pits of Gloam, which the spirit pointedly did not remove. Isabel¡¯s nerves were soothed by the time Angharad joined her but her cheeks were still fetchingly reddened. There were some congratulations from the others as they left the large chamber for the smaller one behind it ¨C little more than a dark room with a large bronze dove within it, which all took care not to touch. It felt like the idol of the shrine. Beyond that a hole in the wall led into a slice of golden light, a small barren garden where the glow from above cast shadows on the dusty ground.


    They all breathed easier out there, away from the spirit and its anger at being beaten.


    The garden was quite petty, for all that it was desolate and the earth covered in a layer of dust, but as they took the time to look around Angharad found why it was the Watch called this place a maze: there were easily three paths they could take, perhaps four. On the other side of the garden, beyond an elegant arrangement of stones a short, curved bridge over a deep crevasse led into what must be another shrine. To their left a slender path circled around what looked to be a forest of columns jutting out from a raised temple ground, while to their right a large slice of toppled stairs served as the first of a series of platforms to climb past the garden wall to what looked like a winding path.


    ¡°The columns look like the path that most advances,¡± Remund Cerdan pointed out.


    He had been quiet today, almost withdrawn. It was unlike him, but then he was surrounded by strangers that were not beholden to him. Master Cozme had not left his side even once.


    ¡°It also looks like a larger temple,¡± Inyoni told him. ¡°Could mean a stronger spirit.¡±


    ¡°If we take a test every hundred feet none of us will live to reach the gate on the other side of this cavern,¡± Song noted, ¡°so I would argue against the shrine beyond the bridge.¡±


    ¡°Agreed,¡± Zenzele grunted. ¡°Unless Lady Ruesta¡¯s¡­ luck would extend there as well?¡±


    Isabel shook her head.


    ¡°I have never heard of this garden,¡± she said. ¡°The end of the Dove Shrine was described to me as large courtyard with collapsed sections revealing tunnels.¡±


    ¡°It would not be much of a maze if it could so easily be mapped,¡± Master Cozme said. ¡°Lady Tredegar, your opinion?¡±


    ¡°The broken stairs intrigue,¡± she admitted. ¡°It seems to be that from up there we may well see the temple grounds anyhow, so come worst we could advance there better informed.¡±


    ¡°It is the most difficult path,¡± Remund Cerdan objected. ¡°If any of us should miss a jump¡­¡±


    ¡°Sweat is good for the soul, Lord Remund,¡± Inyoni snorted. ¡°I agree with Lady Tredegar.¡±


    Most, if not all, did. They set out for the path to the right. Climbing atop the toppled slice of stairs was not difficult, neither was the leap atop what looked like the roof of a ruined stone gazebo. From that roof to the top of remarkably fat column was trickier, given the smaller size of where they might leap, but after Angharad stayed behind to help Yaretzi make the jump the others followed suit and their company was lucky enough no one fell. The Pereduri was not certain the height would be enough to break a leg, unless one fell at a very bad angle, but it certainly would have hurt.


    The edge of the garden wall was the last jump, going into a slightly lower stripe of tiled roof that swiftly got covered by the edge of a collapsed rotunda. It was easy enough, if you were careful not to slip on the tiles, and after that the path needed no jumping at all: they circled around the edge of the rotunda, seeing the temple under it and worrisome flickering lights, before climbing up an angled walkway past a series of arches. It seemed that had cut above many trials, which was good news if they could find a way down. Unfortunately the paths kept going up. They doubled back after stairs heading down led to a barred iron gate, then shimmied along the side of ziggurat while strange shapes prowled in the too-pale grass below. Yet for all that they kept rising, they also kept advancing ¨C and without tests!


    Their luck came at an end when the fallen-but-whole aqueduct they were using as a road crossed a gap to bring them straight at an open gate, flanked by two waterfalls with no other path in sight. They gathered near the gate ¨C it was pitch black inside ¨C and shuffled awkwardly. It must have been at least an hour and change since they took the first test, it felt as if they had begun anew.


    ¡°Nowhere to go but forward, it seems,¡± Song muttered.


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t say that,¡± Lady Inyoni replied.


    She was, Angharad saw when she turned, kneeling by the waterfall to the left.


    ¡°The current is weak and the water shallow,¡± the older woman told them. ¡°We could get around the test through the waterway, if we are not afraid to get wet.¡±


    There was some debate, but at the end of the day they preferred shuffling leg-high in the wet with their bags held above their heads than trying their luck with another spirit. It was as exhausting to wade in the water, even against so light a current, but the dimly lit waterway eventually led to a luminous series of pools nestled between shrine walls so high they might as well have been cliffs. The water was deeper in the pools so they kept to the sides, and it looked like a dead end until Song found handholds carved in the side of a cliff. They led about twenty feet up, to a cleverly hidden nook that was the entrance to a tunnel.


    There was not much space up there, so after Angharad and Zenzele joined Song there they had to shout down to talk with the others. Song was convinced the tunnel was not a god¡¯s lair, insisting there was no shrine mark, and she was convincing enough the others agreed. It helped that no one wanted to go back through the waterway if they could help it.


    The tunnel turned sharply to the left through what felt like solid stone, eventually reaching open air and revealing a large domed temple in the distance, atop series of airy stairs. To get there, however, they must make their way along a thin ledge that faced an elegant red mosaic on one side and a precipitous drop on the other. Looking down, Angharad saw only mist and the sound of distant water. It did not look like a fall one would survive.


    ¡°It does not seem impossible, if we take our time,¡± Remund Cerdan said. ¡°There is space between the stone and the mosaic to hold on.¡±


    Taking a second look, Angharad saw he was right. More than enough to hold on to the top of the mosaic. The infanzon did not offer to make handholds with his contract and she did not ask ¨C there was not yet a true need to reveal the details of his power, not with an alternative at hand.


    ¡°It would be a waste to turn around now,¡± Lord Zenzele agreed. ¡°We are almost a third of the way through, I believe. Even if we cover only half as many grounds this afternoon, at this pace by tomorrow we would have a path to the end of the maze.¡±


    There was some excitement at that idea. If they had a path, well, the need for ten ¡®victors¡¯ could be seen to more leisurely. They could choose the tests undertaken, aim for those giving the best chances of survival. With most in agreement, they got to crossing. Only Song seemed less enthusiastic, and Angharad held back to speak with her.


    ¡°Nothing practical,¡± the Tianxi told her before she could even ask. ¡°It¡¯s the mosaic that trips me. It clearly was part of a shrine at some point, but it no longer is.¡±


    ¡°The Watch mentioned some of the shrine spirits die,¡± Angharad reminded her.


    ¡°That is a dangerous thing, Angharad,¡± Song murmured. ¡°When a god returns formless to the aether, they leave behind an impression of themselves. It is rarely a kind thing.¡±


    The Pereduri was tempted to dismiss this as Republican superstition but Song had earned better than such talk.


    ¡°I will keep an eye out,¡± she promised.


    For once she chose to stay in the middle of the company instead of taking the lead, before Zenzele and behind Yaretzi. Rising on the tip of her toes, she took a look at the space above the mosaic but it was empty save for old dust. She still kept a firm hand on her contract, pulling at a glimpse before she began moving across. Nothing. Again when Inyoni had crossed all the way, Isabel right behind her, but still nothing. Once more, she told herself when halfway through, and-


    (Teeth and claws and a blood-curling scream, between Yaretzi¡¯s hands, and she slipped)


    -she was already moving by the time the spirit popped out, catching Yaretzi by the collar of her coat and forcefully pressing her against the mosaic as she trembled.


    ¡°STEADY,¡± Angharad shouted over the screaming thing. ¡°Remember it cannot directly hurt us.¡±


    It was not even touching Yaretzi¡¯s hands, she saw, its claws carefully avoiding any contact.


    ¡°Lords,¡± Yaretzi gasped, shivering as she clutched the stone. ¡°Oh, Lords.¡±


    Angharad¡¯s eye stayed on the spirit, whose screeching began to lower in pitch. It looked like a hound eaten up by wriggling worms, half rotten, but the worms did not move and neither did its eyes. After a few seconds the screeching cut out entirely and the creature went still as a stone. That is not a living spirit, Angharad thought. It was not as¡­ aware, or complete. After another few heartbeats it began to crumble from the inside, collapsing into clumps of dust. The stink of them was atrocious, like a rotten corpse. The noblewoman cast glimpses ahead a few more times as they crossed, but there was no second ambush. They made it across without deaths.


    The other side was a broad walkway leading up into the airy stairs they had seen earlier. At the end of the steps stood a large domed temple, whose crumbling stone gates were cracked open. Though they were surrounded on all sides by walls so high as to feel as cliffs, there was a sense of open air to the walkway ¨C helped along by the golden light falling from above ¨C that she found enjoyable. She was not alone in that opinion. When Angharad suggested they stop for a meal, as it should be nearing noon, the notion was popular. After that excitement during the crossing all could use the time to settle their nerves.


    The fare obtained from the Watch was simple but filling, but there was little conversation. The looming silhouette of the temple was too stark a reminder of what they must soon do.


    When they set out Angharad felt sharper for the rest, taking the lead as her crew began climbing the stairs. This particular temple, she saw, was not so ruined as others they had crossed. At the top of the stairs the entrance boasted a floor of elegant turquoise patterns ¨C she shared an amused glance with Yaretzi at the coincidence ¨C and though the gates were broken the antechamber beyond them was a splendid thing. The walls were tiles of moonstone and serpentine, touched with streaks of gold and iron as if someone had painted with the liquid metals.


    Age and use had worn a slight groove in the floor that led out into a massive chamber, at the threshold of which Angharad cautiously slowed. Isabel, right behind her, softly gasped at the sights. Not without reason.


    The temple was as a single segmented chamber under the great dome they had seen from outside. A polished black marble floor ¨C so polished it seemed a mirror ¨C reflected the exquisite insides of the dome above, a riot of ticking golden gears as an enormous clock. The machinery there connected to the lower chamber on golden threads and pulleys, a hundred mechanisms of gold and iron moving in a strangely harmonious disharmony. Several of the machines on the ground were so large they effectively segmented the room, casting moving shadows on the marble as golden lanterns whirled above. Not a single part of it made a sound.


    Angharad slowly stepped onto the marble floor, others following behind.


    ¡°Well,¡± Lady Inyoni said, ¡°at least there¡¯s no need to ask where the spirit is.¡±


    She followed the other woman¡¯s gaze and found that, in her study of the room, she had somehow missed the silhouette sitting cross-legged at the center of it all. It looked like a man, at first glance, but only that for though the contour of the silhouette was perfect, the inside was a madness of copper ¨C gears and wheels and twitching pistons.


    ¡°Welcome,¡± the spirit said, voice like ringing brass.


    It seemed much friendlier than the last, so Angharad returned the manners in kind.


    ¡°We thank you for your welcome, honored elder,¡± she said.


    The spirit twitched, though there was nothing animal about. It twitched like a clock losing a gear, a carriage tumbling off the road.


    ¡°Manners,¡± the spirit said, surprised. ¡°It has been long.¡±


    There were no eyes inside that silhouette, but somehow she felt the weight of its attention anyway. She came no closer, for politeness did not mean harmlessness, and the others stayed close but behind the invisible line her presence had drawn.


    ¡°You seek to cross my temple, yes,¡± the spirit said. ¡°This can be done, but there must be a test.¡±


    ¡°I would hear the terms of it, honored elder,¡± Angharad said.


    The clockwork spirit twitched again, but this time there was a grinding metal sound and it spit out something. A small golden gear tumbled against the floor, rolling until came at a halt.


    ¡°Everything,¡± the spirit said, ¡°must be measured. Must be earned. Two or more, hold my gear for the agreed amount of time.¡±


    Angharad frowned. That sounded much, much too simple. It twitched.


    ¡°And live to the end,¡± the spirit added. ¡°Victory so long as one survives.¡±


    It was with a fresh eye that Angharad considered the machinery all around them. She now grasped that every part might be used to try and kill her. The Pereduri politely asked for clarification, learning from the spirit that the more of them agreed to take the trial the shorter the time that must be survived would be. Time where the gear was not being held by a living participant would not count towards the total. For all its friendliness, she thought, it was looking to feed.


    ¡°Manners,¡± the spirit approvingly repeated. ¡°I will give reward, good terms. Only they who hold the gear will be in direct peril.¡±


    Angharad blinked in surprise, thanking the spirit before going to confer with the others. Opinions varied.


    ¡°Best to go around, I say,¡± Remund Cerdan said. ¡°It is a large temple and not so ruined, which I cannot trust.¡±


    ¡°If we do not go through here, we may well have to go back through the waterway to find another path,¡± Zenzele said. ¡°I will not say the test is without risks, but which would be? We will have to take one sooner or later.¡±


    ¡°We can choose who goes in,¡± Cozme mused, stroking his beard. ¡°It makes the business more manageable, I agree.¡±


    ¡°I would rather take another swim than try this,¡± Yaretzi frankly said. ¡°Never trust a well-fed god.¡±


    ¡°It seems a test of skill,¡± Inyoni noted. ¡°Dangerous, yes, but in some ways the fairest kind we may undertake.¡±


    The split was slightly in favor of the attempt. Two against, three for. Isabel desisted from expressing an opinion since she would not be taking the test, saying it would be unseemly, and that left Song as well as Angharad herself. The two shared a look, Song grimacing but not advising against. Dangerous, then, but not impossible to her all too seeing silver eyes.


    ¡°Let us attempt it,¡± she said. ¡°Volunteers only.¡±


    That Angharad should participate was not in doubt and neither were Zenzele and Inyoni¡¯s addition. Master Cozme received Remund¡¯s hesitant permission, but Yaretzi was the true surprise. The Aztlan shrugged at her inquiring look.


    ¡°If it must be done, then I would tilt the odds in our favor as much as I can,¡± she said.


    Angharad smiled back, charmed by the sentiment. She was rather pleased Yaretzi had joined their crew. Five of them would need to survive five minutes, beginning the moment one of them picked up the golden gear from the ground. The Pereduri cautiously made certain that the lanterns illuminating the temple would not be snuffed out, which the spirit agreed to speak in the terms. It was, for all its hunger, inclined to fair play. The wager was simple enough: there would be no lantern on the line and a victory would grant all present safe passage across the temple until all who took the trial were dead. Though five would participate, only the individual holding the gear when the test ended would be considered a ¡®victor¡¯.


    ¡°Let us make sure the minutes mentioned are the same we know,¡± Inyoni prudently suggested.


    The spirit proved this, counting one with them and agreeing that all minutes would be the same length. With that last precaution out of the way, Angharad agreed to the terms.


    ¡°Good,¡± the spirit said, twitching. ¡°Begin when you would.¡±


    But instead of moving, she remained frozen. For a moment, when the spirit had twitched, she had thought she glimpsed something inside its neck. Teeth and red flesh, swallowing. Only she saw nothing of it now, only the clockwork spirit, and she ignored the beating of her heart. Staring too long at spirits was never for the best. She had volunteered to be the one to first take the gear, so she slowly approached it. Slowly enough she could risk more than a glimpse. Angharad thought of dark waters, of the coolness enveloping her, and sunk deep.


    (Angharad Tredegar picked up the gear and the chamber came alive.


    A forest of cylinders rose from the seamless floor, golden edges like blades turning so quick they were a blur, and a tapestry of golden thread twitched above. Scythes began to fall like pendulums, sharp wheels shot forward and though Angharad danced across the danger she was cornered. She passed the gear to Inyoni after a minute, but the spirit had been methodical: it was cornering them, leaving obstacles in the way. Inyoni passed to Zenzele to avoid a narrow death, who took three steps before he was crushed by a weight. Yaretzi lost her head trying to take the gear from his corpse and-)


    She broke the foresight and let out a wet gasp, body shivering as if she had been drenched in ice. She could feel wetness against her eyes but knew it was not tears. Discreetly as she could, she wiped the beads of blood before they could trail down. A flex of her power told her she could still glimpse but that already she was nearing her limit for the day. It had been worth it, to learn that the spirit was not only using the machines but would be leaving them there: every attack on her was an obstacle afterwards, and it would be very easy to get cornered were she not careful.


    ¡°Ready?¡± she called out.


    ¡°Ready,¡± Inyoni shouted back.


    She took the gear.


    By the time her back straightened the clockwork spirit was gone and the whirling golden blades rising from the mirror-like floor. Breathing out, ignoring the shouts of surprise from her allies, Angharad kept an eye on the machinery around her. A twitch of thread told her the scythe would be coming down a heartbeat before it did, but instead of fleeing she stepped behind one of the risen cylinders. The golden scythe from the ceiling slammed into the whirling blades, the two traps scrapping each other with cacophonous noise. A glimpse told her it would be the wheels next.


    Some kind of clockwork engine on the other side of the chamber twitched, shooting out a sharp iron wheel towards her ¨C and then similar machines did the same from three other sides.


    ¡°Steady,¡± Angharad murmured.


    The longer she stayed in the center, the harder it would be for the spirit to corner them. Like in her vision, the purpose of the wheels was to force her to leave cover and the moment she stepped away from the scrapped cylinder scythes began to fall one after another. Left, she caught as she stepped around a spinning wheel and a blade filled the space between two whirling cylinders. Right, she saw as a pulley tightened and a bar of solid iron swung through where she had just been standing, rising back up to the ceiling as the arc went all the way through.


    A cylinder unlatched itself from its base and wildly went spinning, lethal golden blades scrapping at the floor, and as Angharad fled back towards space filled by a scythe she realized she had been caught. Above her a large mass of gold was being aligned, enough to crush twice over. Thankfully, the others were not far. She chose her successor.


    ¡°Zenzele,¡± she shouted, and threw the gear.


    The Malani lord almost fumbled the catch but caught it against his coat. His aunt stayed close, ready to bail him out at moment¡¯s notice, while Angharad breathed in relief and circled around. The test had gone on long enough all had noticed the danger of letting yourself be driven into a corner, so the grisly ends she had seen need not come about. Master Cozme had prudently moved around the scrapyard she had made in the center, positioning himself to have much ground to give when his turn came, so it was Yaretzi that Angharad came close to. She was counting under her breath.


    ¡°Over halfway there,¡± the Aztlan told her.


    They stayed together for a while longer, as Zenzele struggled and passed the gear to his aunt ¨C who promptly passed it back to the better-prepared Cozme Aflor. There the spirit struck relentlessly, smashing weights and pistons and scythes after the soldier with a fury Angharad never not seen even in the vision. It wanted a kill. Pieces of machinery went flying, another danger to keep an eye for. She had to pull back Yaretzi when a broken piece of wheel almost took her in the side, though the Aztlan fumbled on her feet and almost tripped her into a spinning cylinder.


    ¡°Careful,¡± Angharad chided, steadying them both.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± the diplomat murmured. ¡°This is¡­ out of my experiences.¡±


    You and I both, she thought. Cozme saw his death writ ahead, so he passed the gear back to Inyoni. Yaretzi, perhaps shamed by the fresh mistake, darted close so the older woman could toss it. She broke into a run, scythes falling in her wake, and as they all felt the trial coming to a close they neared the corner where it would all end.  The spirit lost all subtlety, dropping weights not to kill but to close off paths, and Yaretzi handed the gear to Zenzele. Angharad staked out good open grounds to finish the last of the time, then dipped close to the Malani.


    Only he did not pass it, did not have the time to look for that: all four of the cylinders around him unlatched in quick succession, at the right moment in the spin to converge towards him. Angharad cursed, unsheathing and striking at the closest but finding herself too weak to even slow it. Yet Zenzele, impossibly, threw himself down between whirling blades and emerged with only his coat and back cut up as the cylinders violent collided. Already a weight was being aligned above, but his aunt stole the gear out of his extended hand and stepped away.


    ¡°TEN,¡± Yaretzi shouted.


    They had it, Angharad saw. Inyoni had an open stretch ahead of her, leading straight into a corner but so long as she did not run too quickly ¨C and the cylinders around her stopped. Angharad glimpsed ahead, ignoring the heat in her veins, but it was a second too late.


    ¡°Duck,¡± she shouted.


    Inyoni tried. But every golden blade set in the cylinder came flying out, like a spray of shrapnel, and she could not avoid them all. Two in the leg, one in the torso, and still Angharad held out hope until the older woman stumbled back and fell ¨C revealing the golden blade splitting her skull in half, dug deep between her eyebrows. The corpse toppled down less than a foot again from Zenzele, bloodied and weeping, whose hand clawed as his aunt. He ripped the gear out of her hand, and a heartbeat later machines went still.


    The test had come to an end, Zenzele Duma its victor.


    ¡ª


    After, when the grief and the recriminations and the weeping had ebbed low, they gathered themselves and began the trek back to the Old Fort, carrying Inyoni¡¯s mangled corpse.


    Thus ended Angharad¡¯s first effort against the Trial of Ruins

 Chapter 24

    ¡°So?¡±


    Vanesa frowned down at the papers with the gate mechanisms drawn on them, idly picking at the edge of her missing eye wound. Maryam was a deft hand with charcoal.


    ¡°It is not a lock,¡± the clockmaker said. ¡°It is much too complex for that. That it is a machine is not in doubt, but the manner of machinery it is trips me up.¡±


    Tristan, crouched at her side, hummed as he glanced at the papers. He taken looks at Maryam¡¯s drawings as well but gotten little out of it. He was a lockpicker, this was several miles past his area of expertise.


    ¡°Why?¡±


    The old woman bent over as she leant on her crutches, letting out a small hiss of pain, and tapped the set of metal tiles above the center of the gate.


    ¡°See these?¡± she said. ¡°Their surroundings are full of cogs that would move only if we press the tiles, not unlike an elaborate combination lock, but the section does not connect to most of the mechanisms on rest of the gate.¡±


    ¡°So we are not seeing the whole mechanism?¡± he ventured.


    ¡°Almost certainly,¡± she said. ¡°I believe that, under all the misdirection, the gate is best understood as three concentric circles.¡±


    She tapped the tiles again.


    ¡°First this section, whose tiles will require pressing.¡±


    She then drew a finger in a vague vertical oval shape around the tiles.


    ¡°Then this area, which has the most moving parts but no obvious trigger or purpose ¨C my guess is that it connects to something unseen, possibly an aetheric engine.¡±


    To end she drew a circle that swallowed up most of the gate, near the edges.


    ¡°We end with a broad ring that bears an underlying circular structure. I should be able to make it rotate when I grasp what makes it move,¡± Vanesa mused. ¡°It is not a puzzle, Tristan, because the machinery is clearly meant to have some continuous movement. Yet neither is it akin to a clock: it does not seem to be using a fixed unit of measurement.¡±


    ¡°And if you had to guess what the mechanisms do, all used together?¡± Tristan pressed.


    ¡°Whatever it is those tiles decide it should,¡± Vanesa replied without batting an eye, moving her finger back to them. ¡°Beyond that I could not say without having a look at the hidden parts.¡±


    She paused.


    ¡°If you lend me Sarai as eyes and legs,¡± Vanesa added, ¡°I think I could make out the purpose of the outer ring. It is after that we shall hit a dead end.¡±


    ¡°I will ask her,¡± Tristan said. ¡°As for the dead end, let me worry about it.¡±


    He had already begun planning how to get up in the pillar, through that opening he had glimpsed last night. The hidden parts that Vanesa was thinking of must be in there. Movement caught his attention, revealing that Maryam and Francho had returned from their belated walk to the shrines, so he parted ways with the old woman. He met Maryam halfway as the old professor kept going, leaving the two of them behind.


    ¡°Any trouble?¡± he asked.


    ¡°There is not a soul out there, everyone is in the maze,¡± Maryam told him. ¡°It was safe enough, though it would be wise not to let him go unescorted anyhow.¡±


    ¡°Agreed,¡± Tristan said. ¡°And thanks.¡±


    ¡°He is an interesting man and free with conversation,¡± she shrugged. ¡°It was not much of an imposition.¡±


    ¡°Thanks anyhow,¡± the thief said. ¡°Vanesa would have your help, if you are willing to lend it.¡±


    ¡°Progress on the gate?¡± Maryam asked.


    ¡°She believes with your help there could be,¡± Tristan said. ¡°Though I will need to venture in a few dark corners before we get our full answers, I think.¡±


    ¡°Work suited to your nature,¡± the blue-eyed woman drily said. ¡°You are a natural skulker, Tristan.¡±


    ¡°That is most unkind of you,¡± he gravely replied.


    A beat.


    ¡°I took me years to learn such splendid manners of skulking, do not discredit my efforts.¡±


    Maryam¡¯s lips twitched, as did his own. They parted ways without need for anything more, brushing elbows as they went in opposite directions. Francho, looking tired but beaming, had obtained a cup of water and was dutifully sipping at it on one of the kitchen tables. Tristan joined him.


    ¡°You look in a fine mood,¡± the thief observed.


    ¡°I have found answers,¡± the professor said. ¡°That is always a fine thing.¡±


    ¡°You have willing ears as well, should you be inclined share,¡± Tristan easily replied.


    The old man nodded, eyes bright.


    ¡°As we suspected, my young friend, it was the Antediluvians that built this place,¡± Francho said. ¡°That is, the earliest parts of it.¡±


    ¡°The iron gate and the pillar,¡± Tristan guessed.


    And the great golden machine above, though that was not in doubt. Who else built could build the likes of that? The old man nodded, sipping at his cup.


    ¡°My surprise,¡± the professor said, ¡°was in learning it was not men who built the maze and fort.¡±


    The thief breathed in sharply.


    ¡°You mean the Watch didn¡¯t bring in all these shrines?¡±


    ¡°Oh no,¡± the toothless old man grinned. ¡°This is much, much older than the Iscariot Accords ¨C the shrine adorned with a lion head, for example, was brought here during what I believe to be the Century of Loss.¡±


    Tristan counted in his head. The Accords were signed in eighty-one Steel so that was all of Loss and Crowns on top of those eighty-one years. Almost three centuries from a date that was now over three centuries ago. The thief¡¯s brow rose.


    ¡°Darklings built this?¡± he asked.


    It was not impossible, he supposed. Hollows were hardly incapable of great works, for all that they tended to be decades - if not more - behind the great powers of Vesper. The Century of Loss was not so long after the collapse of the Second Empire either, they would still have wielded some old wonders.


    ¡°Devils built this,¡± Francho corrected.


    He broke out into a wet cough, leaving Tristan to digest the strangeness of what he had just heard. Devils? They were months away from Pandemonium by sail, and though Hell was hardly the only dwelling place of their kind Pandemonium was their only city. But then the maze was not meant to be inhabited, was it? This was merely a kind of outpost, not so uncommon a thing.


    ¡°Both the fort and the maze?¡±


    ¡°The fort all at once, from what I can hear, but the maze is the work of centuries,¡± Francho said.


    ¡°And then the Watch took it over,¡± Tristan muttered. ¡°Why? Why build this place, and why take it?¡±


    ¡°A fascinating mystery,¡± the old professor enthusiastically said. ¡°I cannot make out devil¡¯s voices as clearly as men¡¯s, especially the young, but I do believe further journeys to the maze will yield some answers.¡±


    ¡°I will be getting word about what lies deeper inside it from of our friends,¡± Tristan said, absent-mindedly nodding. ¡°That too should be of use.¡±


    ¡°I shall look forward to it,¡± Francho cheerfully said.


    He left the old man to his rest.


    It would be hours yet before the maze crews returned, but Tristan did not have time to idle. He had plans for tonight, but to be feasible they first required to Old Fort to be cased. The blackcloaks were generally disinclined to let him onto the ramparts but after some wheedling a sergeant let him under escort for a minute or two. He had not gotten anywhere near the parts of the fort that were off-limits ¨C the barracks, supply depot and northwestern bastion ¨C but now he had a decent idea of where the patrols on the walls would be looking from.


    There were quite a few dead angles, if you timed yourself right, which he could. That was the downside of patrolling carrying lanterns, anyone could see you coming.


    Getting to the bastion stairs should not be all that difficult, given how many nooks and crannies to hide in he had already found, but once on the stairs it would be difficult. There was always a guard on the wall above the stairs and even if he snuck up onto the bastion there was no cover there: he could be seen from all over the fort. Snuffing out the lanterns was usually his answer to that sort of thing, but this was not the Murk and these weren¡¯t bored street toughs: if a lantern went out, the Watch would go there and look. Besides, there is no way for me to get up that rope ladder quickly enough that I would not be noticed.


    Which was a problem, since up that ladder was where he needed to go.


    ¡°Make a distraction,¡± Fortuna suggested. ¡°Like fire.¡±


    ¡°You always suggest fire,¡± he complained. ¡°What are you the goddess of again?¡±


    ¡°Second-rate thieves, apparently,¡± the Lady of Long Odds savagely replied.


    Tristan mimed taking an arrow to the heart, to her peal of laughter. Her plan would not work for the same reason that snuffing out the lanterns would not. These were professionals, if he made a mess the section of the fort they wanted to keep hidden was the very first part they would lock down. Her suggestion was useful, however, in a way he had learned to cultivate as a child: always consider the very opposite of what Fortuna was advising. ¡®Go loudly, using the ladder¡¯ would thus become ¡®go quietly, not using the ladder¡¯.


    He stared at the pillar, then swallowed.


    ¡°You look a little sick,¡± Fortuna noted.


    ¡°Remember when we robbed that printer who¡¯d walled himself in?¡± he murmured, feigning a yawn.


    Gods, the smell. He would never forget that. The golden-eyed goddess looked gleeful.


    ¡°You almost knocked yourself out on a gargoyle climbing the tower,¡± Fortuna remembered with relish.


    ¡°This is going to be worse,¡± Tristan sighed.


    Having a closer look at the massive pillar the gate was set in only confirmed his fears. Prying at it with a knife revealed that the surface only looked perfectly smooth because the building stones were covered in a thin layer of that First Empire plaster that didn¡¯t decay ¨C the same from the Alfonsan Baths in Old Town, which stayed pretty no matter how many times they had to wash graffiti off it. That was good news, because that ancient plaster was no harder than the imitations Vesper had since come up with. Picking at the stone beneath he found that the almost seamless junctures had a little give.


    Wall hammers and some spikes might be enough, then. The trouble would be how to get them without making it obvious. He went to find Sergeant Mandisa, the tall Malani that was charged with care of the trial-takers, but she was nowhere in sight. When he asked a watchman, he instead found himself dragged before her superior. Lieutenant Wen was eating again, some sort of jerky baton that even the Tianxi¡¯s perfect pearly white teeth seemed to be struggling with.


    ¡°I¡¯m not sharing, so stop staring,¡± the lieutenant bluntly told him. ¡°What do you want Mandisa for?¡±


    ¡°I would like a look through the supplies,¡± Tristan said.


    The lieutenant glanced at his clothes ¨C a long-sleeved black tunic that stopped above his knees, trousers of the same color and standard-issue Watch boots ¨C then cocked an eyebrow. It was quite evident Tristan had already had a look.


    ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡± Lieutenant Wen asked.


    ¡°Tristan.¡±


    A spark of recognition in the Tianxi¡¯s dark eyes.


    ¡°You know,¡± the corpulent man said, pushing back his glasses, ¡°when I first enrolled in the Watch the argument of the day was whether or not the Krypteia should be folded into the Academy.¡±


    The largest of the Circles, Tristan knew. The Academy trained officers, the Stripes, which was not so mystical or exciting as Navigators or Militants but significantly more useful in running something as large as the Watch.


    ¡°Why?¡± he asked.


    He was, after all, being invited to.


    ¡°Because there¡¯s as almost as many Stripes as there as other people in all the other Circles combined while the Krypteia¡¯s by far the smallest,¡± Lieutenant Wen idly said. ¡°It was a prestige thing, too ¨C there are two guilds in the Guildhouse and three societies in the College. Why shouldn¡¯t the Stripes bring a second Circle under the Academy banner?¡±


    The large Tianxi smiled.


    ¡°It got as far as them talking about what the new name for the Stripes would be, since they wouldn¡¯t be the whole Academy anymore, before the scandals started coming out.¡±


    Tristan swallowed a smile. Predictable.


    ¡°Turned out those officers were skimming off Conclave funds, contracting off the books or fucking someone they shouldn¡¯t,¡± Wen said. ¡°Every single one of them. Funny, that. You¡¯d think at least one was clean.¡±


    ¡°Life is full of coincidences,¡± the thief blandly said.


    ¡°That and shallow graves,¡± the lieutenant smiled. ¡°I dug a little into the archives at the Rook¡¯s Nest, boy, and found out this happens about every fifty years or so ¨C the Academy starts making noises, then there¡¯s a pointed rash of scandals and accidents.¡±


    Tristan blinked.


    ¡°And they have not considered simply¡­ stopping?¡± he slowly said.


    ¡°I figure it¡¯s too big a beast to learn, nowadays,¡± Lieutenant Wen replied. ¡°The Masks only cut off one of the hydra¡¯s heads at a time, so the others keep biting. That¡¯s not the point of this little story, though.¡±


    ¡°I am all ears,¡± the thief said.


    ¡°The point is that Krypteia¡¯s a bunch of shifty assholes not above fucking their brothers and sisters in the black even when they don¡¯t deserve it,¡± the Tianxi coldly said. ¡°And that if whatever you¡¯re up to hurts any of mine, I will find a way to keep you awake and alive while we hammer our entire supply of nails into your body one at a time.¡±


    The bespectacled lieutenant tapped a finger right between his eyebrows, still smiling.


    ¡°Pop,¡± Lieutenant Wen said. ¡°One at a time, Tristan.¡±


    The Tianxi searched his face, carefully kept blank, then nodded in satisfaction.


    ¡°Good,¡± he said. ¡°Now let¡¯s have a look at those supplies.¡±


    The depot was much the same as when he had last come: half a Watch armory, uniforms and arms included, and the rest piles of arms and clothes from those who had died in the trials. The blackcloaks did not appear to have wall hammers ¨C unsurprisingly, given that it was equipment used mostly by explorers and thieves ¨C but Tristan took from their stock a pair of leather gloves that fitted him well. After that he went fishing through the piles of dead men¡¯s possessions while Lieutenant Wen apathetically resumed struggling with his jerky. Though he found a hammer, it was too large. More a war hammer than a work one.


    There was, however, a war pick in a pile with horseman¡¯s leathers. A little heavy, but it had the right parts ¨C beak and hammer ¨C and by the short length of the handle it had been forged for someone shorter than him. It would serve.


    ¡°Done?¡± Lieutenant Wen asked.


    ¡°Done,¡± Tristan lied.


    --


    Their forge was in the open and its grounds more often used for woodcutting than smith¡¯s work, so it was not difficult to wait until the guards and patrolmen were otherwise distracted and get his hands on a few things. A small hammer, much easier to work with, and a set of twelve large steel bolts likely meant as spares for the oven. He stashed it all away in one of the broken bastions.


    --


    As afternoon stretched towards evening and Tristan finished his nap, the crews started to return.


    Tupoc Xical¡¯s first and in a fine mood. They came strutting back in without a casualty with the only wound cuts on Felis¡¯ leg which the man boasted of, as he¡¯d got them in the process of beating a god¡¯s test. Two victors, they claimed, Felis and Tupoc each having triumphed over a test. Maryam sat with Lan to get a report, learning that their crew had taken the Serpent Shrine. That god¡¯s test, to cross a room full of snakes, was beaten when Tupoc walked through and shrugged off getting bit a dozen times. Lan had checked and he¡¯d suffered no consequence save some sweat. More than that, there was now no trace of any snakebite on his skin.


    That, Tristan thought, looked like quite the troublesome contract.


    The crew had then spent a long slice of the afternoon breaking their way through a crypt unguarded by any god, taking turns with Ocotlan¡¯s hammer to smash through plaster walls. It led them to some kind of large arena littered with nonsense weapons where another test awaited, seemingly a simple test of strength against a bear but in truth some kind of riddle ¨C Felis, who it turned out was fond of these, ¡®slew¡¯ the bear with a sort of paper fan whose name could also mean honeycomb. He took a slash to the leg getting close, but a shallow one. Lan thought he had gotten very lucky already knowing the riddle and insisted he had been completely insufferable since.


    They had hit the equivalent of a dead end when they were presented a choice between a broken bridge and a temple whose test was too brutal ¨C a god demanding they play some kind of game of chance where every loss would mean losing a finger or toe. They were now preparing equipment, ropes and hooks, to try to cross the broken bridge on the morrow.


    The crew under the Ramayans stumbled in an hour later, haggard and a collection of wounds. Ishaan Nair had a disfiguring cut going up through both his lips, Ferranda Villazur was limping on a bandaged leg, Brun and Acanthe¡¯s faces were red as if brushed too close to flame and Yong¡¯s topknot had been sliced off ¨C his hair fell in uneven disorder. Only Shalini Goel looked unscathed, but at least they did not seem to have lost anyone. Tristan himself sat with Yong for the report.


    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    ¡°The Lion Shrine was easy enough,¡± Yong told him. ¡°One of us was to run a gauntlet of ten duels against the shades of increasingly larger beasts ¨C and could withdraw, but only at the price of a pint of blood. Goel breezed through, finished almost every fight within the first three breaths. Never seen anyone so fast with pistols.¡±


    Another likely contract.


    ¡°And after?¡±


    Yong grimaced.


    ¡°We found a shortcut, a narrow overpass that went on for half a mile,¡± he said. ¡°No railings and high up, but not so difficult if we took our time. Only it was older than we¡¯d thought.¡±


    ¡°It collapsed,¡± Tristan guessed.


    ¡°We got lucky,¡± the Tianxi sighed, confirming with a nod. ¡°We fell into water, some kind of shallow canal, and the only one to get hurt was Ferranda. We followed the current, as it was headed the right way, but it led to some kind of waterfall facing furnaces.¡±


    ¡°Brun and Acanthe Phos look burned,¡± Tristan said.


    ¡°A tongue of fire flared out, came close to catching them when they were looking over the waterfall¡¯s edge,¡± Yong said. ¡°It was a dead end so we had to double back against the current. The canal was fed into by some kind of stormdrain, so we went up that and reached a crossroads with four shrines.¡±


    The dark-haired man let out a long breath.


    ¡°We agreed we needed to secure a way back first, so we tried the one leading back towards the Old Fort,¡± Yong said. ¡°It seemed straightforward enough: a test of skill with pendulum blades to avoid in order to reach the other end of the room. The terms were generous, even ¨C no lantern bet, only it must be at least two of us taking the test.¡±


    ¡°You and Ishaan,¡± the thief said.


    Yong grunted in agreement.


    ¡°It was a trap,¡± he said. ¡°The chamber itself began spinning and more blades came out of the other walls. Nothing larger than a mouse could cross that room without losing limbs, not with so many moving parts. Even just getting out got us cut.¡±


    ¡°So how did you return?¡± he asked.


    ¡°We went over the shrine, climbed up the sides,¡± Yong said. ¡°Which the god took offence to: it collapsed its own shrine¡¯s ceiling. Two heartbeats quicker and it would have killed Ferranda.¡±


    They had doubled back to the Old Fort after that, the Tianxi elaborated, and avoided taking any more tests. It had meant taking long and exhausting detours that further chipped away at everyone¡¯s mood. With so many wounds and a single victor to show for it, their first day did not feel like a success. The mood of the Ramayan crew was downcast and stayed that way as they patched their wounds and planned the following day¡¯s expedition while Felis strutted about, loudly telling others of his cleverness in the test he had beat.


    It was only when Angharad Tredegar came back carrying a corpse that perspective set in.


    Inyoni Duma had been butchered by some sort of large cutting implement, by the looks of it, and her wounded nephew was walking a ragged edge. His eyes were red and the glint in them wild, just itching for something to lash out at. Much as Tristan wanted to find out what had happened to their crew, Zenzele Duma¡¯s look warned him off it. His instincts were proved right when within half an hour the Malani ended up smashing Felis¡¯ face in after the man boasted a little too mockingly. They were pulled off each other by their crews, but the thief decided to steer well clear.


    The only angle he could see for getting eyes in that crew was Yaretzi, and he would not risk that without first getting a better read on her.


    Perhaps aware that the day¡¯s course did little to strengthen her crew¡¯s position, Shalini did not approach him at dinner for recruitment again. Tristan sat with the other homebodies, only half paying attention to the conversation as he watched the undercurrents of the rest of the table. A corpse being brought in had settled the mood in the Ramayan crew somewhat, but it was still shaky. Ironically enough, Tredegar¡¯s own company seemed more united than they. Whatever the nature of the death, it did not seem to have shaken their faith in the Pereduri.


    As for Tupoc, his unambiguous victories were propping up his position. Already his crew looked less like they were waiting for the gallows and tough the Izcalli himself was still disreputable the others under him were not being treated as if they carried the plague anymore. That tentative thaw would not last if the streak of successes broke, Tristan thought, but if it continued¡­ Something to keep an eye on. After the meal and some huddled talks between the crews after it, most headed for bed. It had been a long and bloody day, with tomorrow promising to be much the same.


    For Tristan, however, night was the beginning of the work.


    He had napped through the afternoon for a reason: there was precious little sleep ahead of him.


    --


    There was no curfew in the Old Fort, so it was a simple matter of timing.


    Beatris had gone on a walk around the courtyard at two past midnight, the previous evening, so a little before that Tristan snuck out of his bedroll and slipped into the kitchen. When she came out with her blackcloak escort, same as last night, he came out of the shadows and sat down at a table facing her. He made sure that his hands would be flat on top of the table and there were no visible weapons on him, making it clear he was no threat.


    He was still faced with a naked sword within moments.


    ¡°Back to your bed,¡± the watchman flatly ordered.


    Tristan ignored the armed man, instead seeking Beatris¡¯ eyes. She hesitated for a moment but ended up nodding.


    ¡°It is fine, Sergeant Chabier,¡± Beatris said. ¡°Tristan is an old acquaintance, this is not an unpleasant surprise.¡±


    The watchman hesitated but she smiled.


    ¡°I would talk with him a moment, if you please,¡± Beatris said. ¡°We can resume our walk afterwards, yes?¡±


    The man sheathed his sword, but his eyes were still hard.


    ¡°Say the word if you need me,¡± Sergeant Chabier said. ¡°You are under the Watch¡¯s protection now, to harass you is a breach of sanctuary rules.¡±


    Ah, confirmation that Beatris had withdrawn from the trials. He had been nearly certain, but it was good to know for sure. The watchman stepped away, far enough he would not be able to listen in but hardly a step further than that. Tristan ignored his glaring. He had come here for answers and he would have them.


    ¡°Do you still have the ruby?¡± he idly asked.


    Beatris¡¯ jaw clenched.


    ¡°I promise to keep an ear out for you,¡± she acknowledged. ¡°I¡¯ll not go back on that. What do you want to know?¡±


    First something he had been itching to know, however marginal the use of holding that information.


    ¡°Why is Isabel Ruesta still taking the trials?¡± Tristan asked. ¡°The cousin she wanted to pursue is dead.¡±


    Beatris softly laughed.


    ¡°She fucked herself,¡± the other rat told him. ¡°Lord Ruesta only let her risk the Dominion because she told him she was trying to choose between the Cerdan brothers. She argued that danger would let her see the true face of them.¡±


    ¡°Only she does not want to marry either,¡± the thief slowly said.


    Unusually sensible of the infanzona.


    ¡°She despises them,¡± Beatris snorted. ¡°She goaded the Cerdans into following her because they are so awful she would lose no sleep over sacrificing them.¡±


    Tristan hummed.


    ¡°But now she is stuck,¡± he laid out. ¡°Her way out was seducing the cousin, but the man is dead. Worse, Augusto was revealed to be unsuitable so if she withdraws from the trials then she will be married off to Remund.¡±


    That was why you needed to be careful with cover stories: sometimes you ended up having to live up to them. Tristan had got off light pretending he was deaf for a month.


    ¡°She would rather cut her own feet off than marry the shit,¡± Beatris confidently said. ¡°She has dozens of better prospects wriggling on her hooks back in Sacromonte.¡±


    And the simplest way out of her blunder was hardly difficult to figure out.


    ¡°So she must stick around to ensure our friend Remund has an accident,¡± Tristan mused.


    One had to commend Lady Isabel for her industriousness: not yet married and already she was arranging the divorce. It appeared that the issue of lacking eyes and ears among Angharad Tredegar¡¯s crew would not be so unsurmountable a problem after all. The infanzona should be quite willing to pass information in exchange for a little help on the path to preemptive widowhood.


    Why, he was almost beginning to approve of Isabel Ruesta: what rat would not applaud a snake intent on eating others of her kind?


    ¡°Tell me about Brun,¡± he asked.


    Beatris looked surprised.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t think you cared much about him and Ren,¡± she said, then worried her lip.


    She spent a little while in thought.


    ¡°He decided early on that Tredegar was the ally to secure and he went after it straightforwardly,¡± Beatris said. ¡°He was also courting Briceida, but¡­¡±


    She hesitated. Tristan leaned in.


    ¡°But?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure I buy it,¡± Beatris admitted. ¡°He¡¯s Murk, I could tell even if she couldn¡¯t, and she was never shy about her opinion of rats.¡±


    Oh? That was interesting. Tristan had suspected the man to be, for he did not act like some shopkeeper¡¯s son, but that had been only a guess.


    ¡°You¡¯re sure?¡± he asked.


    She nodded.


    ¡°Tredegar mentioned his parents were Trench miners,¡± Beatris said.


    More than decent odds, then, as not even the foremen of the Trench could claim to live well.


    ¡°It¡¯s strange, though,¡± the former maid continued. ¡°He got restless when we began to run out of food, even Lady Isabel noticed.¡±


    And a rat should be used to a little hunger, Tristan finished. That was unusual.


    ¡°Contract?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Something that allows him to feel when people get close,¡± Beatris shrugged. ¡°He stayed vague about it.¡±


    Some kind of detection contract? Not what he would have associated with a god that Fortuna called loud, but the goddess did not think the way a human might. ¡®Loud¡¯ to her could very well mean a different thing entirely. Perhaps the means of detection were loud to other gods, or somehow garish. Or he is acting odd because his god sticks closely to him, Tristan considered. He too acted in way that seemed strange from an outside eye because of Fortuna¡¯s foibles. Brun might simply be a skilled operator making the best of his circumstances and nothing more nefarious.


    Time would tell.


    ¡°Song Ren,¡± he asked.


    ¡°Hates Lady Isabel¡¯s guts and isn¡¯t all that good at hiding it,¡± Beatris said. ¡°It got worse as we travelled together.¡±


    ¡°Yet she is sticking with the remains of your old crew,¡± Tristan informed her. ¡°Including Isabel Ruesta.¡±


    That clearly surprised the other Sacromontan.


    ¡°She was tight with Lady Angharad,¡± Beatris slowly said, ¡°or at least trying to be.¡±


    ¡°In a bedsport way?¡±


    The dark-haired woman shook her head.


    ¡°I would say sisterly, but that¡¯s not quite it either,¡± Beatris said, biting her lip. ¡°It was almost as if she was humoring Tredegar by letting her take the lead. I do not believe she saw herself as subordinate the way Brun did.¡±


    Maryam had never said why it was she had gone with the leftovers during the Trial of Lines. A demonstration of Signs or even just the map she had memorized would have seen her added to Inyoni¡¯s company in a heartbeat. Yet instead she had stuck with him, much as Song was sticking with Angharad Tredegar. Special enrolment, the thief thought. Maryam had admitted that she and Song were there for the same reason and the way they acted was telling. They were making allies not for just for these trials but for what would come after, the secret opportunity that would be afforded to the recommended.


    Maryam had picked him and Song had picked Angharad Tredegar.


    ¡°You put something together,¡± Beatris said, eyes intent.


    ¡°Maybe,¡± Tristan demurred. ¡°I cannot be sure.¡±


    ¡°Maybe,¡± she softly said. ¡°But you are anyway.¡±


    The thief hid his irritation at being seen through. He was losing his touch of late.


    ¡°Who are you really, Tristan?¡± Beatris asked. ¡°You¡¯re not just some boy from the Murk.¡±


    She stared him down.


    ¡°Those don¡¯t murder hardened killers twice their size and make it look like an accident within hours of meeting them.¡±


    It seemed boldness was making an appearance now that the protection of the Watch made her all but untouchable. She was overplaying her cards, however. He could not touch her, but neither could she touch him. That would be interfering in the trials and the moat she was hiding behind went both ways. So instead of answering he rose to his feet, ignoring the wariness on her face to offer her his hand to shake.


    ¡°Good luck,¡± he said, ¡°in Sacromonte.¡±


    Her face tightened.


    ¡°That¡¯s it?¡±


    He shrugged.


    ¡°What else should there be?¡±


    They were rats keeping to their common law and with this conversation all their debts were settled. Tristan would keep no grudge over their dealings, which had been fairer than not, but a choice had been made before they ever left the Bluebell: they were bound by transaction and nothing more. She was not Maryam, who had chosen him and been chosen in turn. Beatris stared at him, gaze searching for something, but whatever it was she did not find it. Her eyes strayed away.


    ¡°Goodbye, Tristan,¡± Beatris said.


    She did not shake his hand and he did not offer it again.


    --


    What was the best way not to be caught?


    It was, sometimes, to be caught for something else entirely. When people were certain of where you were and why you were there, they put you in the box of affairs that were settled. Tristan, for example, had been out at night but his purpose was obvious: he had been trying to speak with Beatris. So when he trudged back to his bedroll afterwards and closed the curtain behind him, he shed the suspicions of the Watch. They had accounted for him, he went into the box.


    That made it much easier to sneak out a second time a little over an hour later.


    The timing was careful. Like the previous night a light appeared high on the pillar, above the bastion with the astronomical equipment, and a rope ladder was lowered. Six watchmen came down, all of them heading straight for the barracks, and in their wake a seventh followed. Unlike the others she did not head down the bastion stairs, instead setting down a sheath of papers on a table and busying herself with the telescope. She was, Tristan saw, looking at the machinery above ¨C the one whose golden moving parts mimicked the sky, stars and moons moving around.


    Pressed close in the shadows below the bastion, Tristan waited until Fortuna returned from having her look. She strutted back as if she had single-handedly won a war, which in truth was not all that different from her usual walk.


    ¡°She looks Someshwari,¡± the goddess confirmed. ¡°Thirties or very kind forties.¡±


    Tristan smiled. There was a decent chance, then, that as deduced last night he had found the missing Lieutenant Vasanti. He had not been able to find out during the day how many watchmen there were in the Old Fort, as from a distance their black cloaks made them very difficult to tell apart, but he doubted there could be many posted up there. The practicalities of food and shit would dictate otherwise: even a chamber pot needed to be emptied eventually. He must make the climb now, though, for eventually the soldiers that had come down would be replaced or themselves return.


    Getting out of the Old Fort was not all that difficult, as the Watch kept an eye mostly on the openings in the walls. Climbing down the side of the northeastern bastion with his tools wrapped in a blanket was slow work more than strenuous. It was after that, when he stood outside the fort in one of the blind angles of the ramparts, that the real work began. Taking out the work hammer and a few spikes, he began to hammer himself a way up. The way to do it without noise was to hammer the spike through cloth, to kill the echo, but that made precision difficult.


    Tristan had long been trained out of any fear of heights ¨C it would be too much of a disability for a thief ¨C but he still found his nerves thinning as he rose up the side of pillar. His boots rested on spike after spike while he nailed one above, at the precise intersection of the building stones under the plaster so the length of steel would slide in securely. His work slowed further when he got halfway up and began pulling every third spike with the side of the war pick, for otherwise he was sure to run out before the end. His muscles ached and his limbs began to tremble from the tension, but by the time he¡¯d got to the right height he saw that he had been blessed with a stroke of luck.


    Lieutenant Vasanti had left the bastion with the telescope, going to the supply depot, which left him an open path.


    The last stretch was the worst. It was the easiest to hammer in, for now that he had gone up the pillar he was following the curve of the stone towards the entrance where the rope ladder led, but he was exhausted and uncomfortably aware that all it would take for a blackcloak to see him was someone shining a lantern in his direction. Below he could see a few watchmen spread across the walls, a few walking around the ramparts. None cared to look up so he remained safely hidden in the shadow of the great pillar, shielded from the golden light of the aether machine above.


    He was careful not to leave a trail, removing every spike he did not stand on, and about an hour after he had begun Tristan found himself about a foot below the opening in the pillar from which dangled the rope ladder. Pressed into the shadows below that slender opening, he was hidden from below ¨C and needed to be, for Lieutenant Vasanti and another blackcloak had returned to the bastion. They were talking, discussing charts by the telescope, but if the rope ladder began to move they were sure to notice. Instead Tristan stretched up from the spike, hoisting himself onto the stone, and wriggled inside. Scorch marks, he noticed as he crawled on the floor. They blew their way in.


    And then he¡¯d made it in.


    There was no telling what the chamber had been before the Watch moved in: the walls and ceiling were bare stone, with only small marks betraying that at some point weighty objects had been dragged across the floor. It had since been turned into an outpost that could not quite decide what it was mean to be: a handful of bedrolls were propped up against the left wall, a rack of swords and muskets the right one, and in the back there was some kind of office. Stacks of papers were piled up everywhere around a wooden desk and the small cabinet flanking it. There was only one seat, a broad chair behind the desk, and that was where Tristan¡¯s eyes stayed.


    There was someone sleeping in it.


    An old woman in a black cloak, white-haired and wrinkled. She snored away, cheek pressed on top of the desk, and slightly drooled on the wood. Given the Someshwari look of her and the seniority implied by age ¨C she had to be in her sixties at least ¨C Tristan realized that he had been wrong after all: it had not been Lieutenant Vasanti on the bastion, because he was looking at her now. She looked frail, but there was a pistol atop a pile of papers that would make that point moot.


    His climb had been quiet and he had not woken her by entering the chamber, but he still felt stomach clench: there was almost no cover in the room to hide behind. He could not stay out in the open, he was sure to be caught, so the thief smoothed out his breathing and looked for the exit. There was bound to be one, no one would set up in this eagle¡¯s nest without a reason. As he¡¯d thought, tucked away besides the bedrolls was a discreet opening of the wall through which he glimpsed stairs in the flickering light of the chamber¡¯s sole lamp. There was, despite sweeping the room twice, no sign of anywhere leading down. An isolated chamber?


    The size of this room was no more than a third of the great pillar¡¯s length, at a look, so there might be others carved inside the stone. Regardless, up the stairs was the way he must head. He would find no answers here, only get caught by the Watch.


    Creeping across the floor on all fours, careful not to make a sound as he moved towards the bedrolls and the stairs, the thief kept an eye on the sleeping officer. One foot after another, until he was halfway through the row of bedrolls ¨C and then the snoring stopped. Tristan pulled at his luck before he even turned to look, only realizing his mistake when he saw Lieutenant Vasanti had not moved. Her eyes were still closed and she still lay on top of the desk. Shit, he had borrowed luck for nothing. That was¡­ no, best get up the stairs before releasing it. It was too dangerous out here.


    He began to move again, only to be given pause when he heard someone pulling at a stuck drawer. He hurried to his feet only for Lieutenant Vasanti to curse, snatching the pistol atop her desk and firing a shot right into his chest. A plume of smoke came bursting out, and as he threw himself down to the right the thief only spared a moment of incredulity at this being luck ¨C only for the explosion of pain he was awaiting not to come.


    ¡°Ovya,¡± the old woman cursed. ¡°Gods, girl, but I will have you caned until you learn to load your pistol properly.¡±


    There had been, he realized, no ball to go with the powder.


    Tristan released the luck, preparing himself for disaster, and still missed it: the weapons rack fell onto his back as he began to rise, a mass of wood and a dozen swords crashing down onto him. He wriggled free, hearing the sound of a drawer forced open, but by the time he got onto his knees with a few bruises to show for it a cool muzzle was pressed against his forehead.


    Lieutenant Vasanti¡¯s rheumy green eyes were cold as the steel she held in her hand.


    ¡°Move and die,¡± the old woman said. ¡°Understood?¡±


    ¡°Understood,¡± Tristan replied.


    Could he get free of this? Pulling on the luck again, most likely. It was what came after that worried him. There was a witness to him being inside the pillar. He was not, strictly speaking, breaking the rules by being here. The pillar was not off-limits, the way the barracks and bastion were. Yet it was impossible for him to have come here without having broken the rules, an offence Lieutenant Wen had made clear would earn summary execution.


    ¡°You¡¯re one of the kids from the trials, yes?¡± Lieutenant Vasanti said.


    He did not answer, so she pressed the muzzle forcefully against his skin.


    ¡°Yes,¡± he said.


    He could not see a way out of this without killing the watchwoman, which would not be an act without consequences. And a shot was fired, we are bound to have been heard. Other blackcloaks would be on their way. Was all already lost? Would killing her be pointless?


    Either way, Tristan must make his decision soon.


    ¡°Name?¡± she pressed.


    He hesitated, but saw her hand begin to clench.


    ¡°Tristan Abrascal.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re one of the Cryptic prospects,¡± Lieutenant Vasanti grunted. ¡°One of the two died, I heard, so which are you?¡±


    He blinked.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± he slowly said.


    A moment passed and he settled into the decision. He saw only one way to survive, and though it might see him die later it was always better to breathe than not. He would strike when she got distracted.


    ¡°Fuck,¡± the old woman feelingly said. ¡°You¡¯re too calm. You¡¯re Nerei¡¯s pet project, aren¡¯t you?¡±


    He paused.


    ¡°Abuela?¡± he ventured.


    ¡°Grandmother,¡± she translated, disgust rippling across her face. ¡°Gods, that¡¯s sick.¡±


    A sigh and the pistol went up.


    ¡°On your feet, boy,¡± Lieutenant Vasanti said. ¡°I should shoot you for sneaking in here, but you¡¯re not worth a feud with Nerei. There are too many ways to make it look like an accident at my age.¡±


    Tristan, disoriented by the realization that he was not going to have to kill his way out of this after all, hesitantly rose to his feet. He flicked a worried glance backwards.


    ¡°There¡¯s no one coming,¡± the watchwoman told him. ¡°This entire construction swallows noise: the Makers did not want the machinery noises to echo around the cavern.¡±


    Lieutenant Vasanti stepped away from him, going to sit atop her desk after pushing aside a few papers.


    ¡°So you got curious and decided to go sniffing around our work, did you?¡± she said.


    Tristan weighed his options, trying to get a read on her face and finding that there was little there to find but steel.


    ¡°The maze can¡¯t be the only way through,¡± he decided to risk. ¡°The pillar is much older, and the Antediluvians would have needed access to the machinery in the ceiling.¡±


    ¡°Been a while since a trial-taker figured that out,¡± Lieutenant Vasanti noted. ¡°We try to keep them looking forward instead of up.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s something wrong with this place,¡± Tristan quietly said. ¡°This was not built to be a trial, even if the Watch turned it into one.¡±


    The old woman considered him coolly.


    ¡°Best you keep that tongue in your mouth, boy.¡±


    She tapped the side of her pistol against her fingers thoughtfully.


    ¡°What to do with you now?¡±


    Punishment, even if he was not killed, but the thief could not afford that. It would all come falling down on his head if he was made an example of now, even if he got away with a mere caning or flogging. She¡¯s the key, Tristan thought as he watched Lieutenant Vasanti. So what did he have to move her? Nothing, at a glance, but that was never true. What did he know? Old but still a lieutenant, he thought, which was unusual. She knew Abuela, or claimed to, and had Maryam not said that the seal Abuela used to recommend him was the mark of a high rank? She had also implied that she had seen more than a year of trials being taken.


    Lieutenant Wen had said there was a tinker from the Umuthi Society at the Old Fort, when going on one of his grisly rants.


    The pieces came together.


    ¡°How far did you get in finding the way up?¡± he asked.


    Lieutenant Vasanti stilled.


    ¡°Definitely one of Nerei¡¯s,¡± she said. ¡°You have the same unpleasant nose for secrets.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s why you¡¯re here, isn¡¯t it?¡± he said. ¡°For the aetheric machine above. I¡¯ll bet you even took a demotion so you could stay assigned at the Old Fort.¡±


    ¡°Sometimes it can be hard to tell,¡± the old woman said, ¡°whether you¡¯re digging out of a grave or digging it deeper. Would you like me to tell you which it is you¡¯re doing, boy?¡±


    ¡°Lieutenant Wen said there was a tinker,¡± he said. ¡°A tinker. This isn¡¯t a Watch study, you would have a team for that. It¡¯s yours.¡±


    ¡°Clever,¡± Lieutenant Vasanti acknowledged. ¡°But cleverness does not impress me. What does that matter?¡±


    Tristan straightened, put a confident smile on his face.


    ¡°I have a team for you,¡± he said. ¡°A clockmaker, a historian with a contract, a Sign-user and even eyes in the maze for those things the Watch won¡¯t led you send people to look for.¡±


    The old lieutenant went still, studying him with unblinking green eyes.


    ¡°You think I¡¯ll let you dig at our secrets just because you have some tools for me to use, boy?¡±


    His fa?ade of calm did not waver. I think you have less than a decade to live and you chose to be here, eating bad food on this misbegotten island with none of your old friends. I think that telescope isn¡¯t Watch equipment at all, that you had it brought in, and for you to do that you must have been here for years now.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Tristan simply replied.


    A heartbeat of silence, then the old woman laughed. She set down her pistol on the table and it was an effort not to let out a breath of relief.


    ¡°I can¡¯t help but notice you didn¡¯t put yourself in the list,¡± Lieutenant Vasanti said. ¡°But that¡¯s fine, Tristan Abrascal.¡±


    Her grin was neither pretty nor friendly.


    ¡°I have a use for you too.¡±

 Chapter 25

    It was a grim supper.


    After the day¡¯s bloody price none were in a chatting mood and Angharad discreetly asked Song to stay close to Zenzele, lest he lose his temper and strike another again. Felis had been acting tastelessly enough that none had made a fuss over the brawl, but if the Malani had to be dragged out of another scrap she suspected sympathy would wane. Isabel, who sat by her side as they dug into their plates of salted pork, biscuits and peas, leaned close.


    ¡°Only one victor for Lord Ishaan¡¯s crew,¡± she murmured. ¡°And there appear to be some recriminations over the results.¡±


    She was right, Angharad saw. Lady Ferranda and Acanthe Phos were arguing, however quietly, while Ishaan Nair attempted to play peacemaker. The others only watched.


    ¡°We have our own troubles,¡± Angharad finally said. ¡°Best to leave them to their own.¡±


    She was the only leader to have brought back a corpse as well as victors, which would make her singularly unsuited to poaching even if she were of such a mind. Which she was not.


    ¡°Not so great as that,¡± Isabel said. ¡°Lord Zenzele is grieving, as is only proper, but who has spoken to you of leaving?¡±


    No one, so far, but they had not been back for long. They would see. It was draining, to have to consider all that. Life had been so much simpler when she was but a duelist on the circuit, her rule of Llanw Hall a distant thing Father still had decades to prepare her for. Her mother had been a lady and a captain, so authority was in her blood, but she did not think is came as naturally to her. Would Mother have always taken charge if she found it out as exhausting as Angharad did? She had her doubts.


    Someone staring at her, but when she turned Remund was speaking with Cozme. Strange.


    After the meal they lingered at the table a little longer, expectant looks sent her way, but Angharad had no clever plan to dazzle them with. She told them to rest and prepare, receiving only nods in return, and they went their own way. Cozme Aflor, however, sought her out after the others were gone. He made small talk at first but kept pulling at his beard and hardly met Angharad¡¯s eyes. Eventually he came out with the reason he had approached her in the first place.


    ¡°Lord Zenzele is not so wounded that he cannot come tomorrow,¡± he said. ¡°The Watch physician said the cuts on his back required no stitches, only thorough cleaning.¡±


    ¡°Flesh is not what was cut deepest today,¡± Angharad replied.


    The older man smoothed his mustache, which had been entirely pristine.


    ¡°I feel for Lord Zenzele, I truly do,¡± Cozme Aflor said. ¡°Yet his grief cannot see him withdraw from the crew in all but name.¡±


    ¡°He is a victor,¡± she pointed out.


    ¡°So is Lady Isabel,¡± the older man said, ¡°and if one stays so will the other. What is left of us then?¡±


    Not much, she had to admit. Herself, Song, Yaretzi, Cozme and Remund. They would be the smallest of the crews, if not necessarily the weakest, but size was what concerned Master Cozme. A crew of five was certain to force Remund Cerdan to take a trial, which his protector was trying to avoid by keeping their numbers high ¨C even it meant taking Zenzele Duma back into the maze. It was good and loyal service to House Cerdan, this conversation. Angharad bade herself to keep that in mind, for otherwise she might grow angry.


    ¡°I am not certain what it is you wish of me, Master Cozme,¡± she finally said.


    ¡°He respects you, Lady Angharad,¡± he replied. ¡°You held the cog the longest of us and almost saved her life at the end. If you request that he continue with us tomorrow, he may well listen.¡±


    For the barest of moments, she felt like striking him. What had Cozme Aflor given in these trials, that he had earned of her the right to ask that she wade through a man¡¯s grief to make demands for another¡¯s benefits? Only Cozme was not asking for himself, and that let her swallow the anger. It was not selfishness that drove the request but duty.


    ¡°I would not see our crew sunder,¡± Angharad stiffly said.


    Tacit agreement. She, too, could see how victors remaining behind could be the beginning of the end for their band. For the remainder the temptation would grow to seek refuge with Lord Ishaan instead of remaining on a sinking ship.


    ¡°I make no promises,¡± Angharad said.


    ¡°Nor would I ask one,¡± Master Cozme hurried to say.


    He looked relieved. Perhaps he had reason to be. Dimly left with the sense that she was doing another¡¯s dirty work, Angharad walked away from the man and sought out Zenzele. The Malani was alone, sitting in his ¡®room¡¯ with the curtain open, for though Song was close and keeping an eye on him she had not gone to speak with him. At a glance, Zenzele Duma looked fine. He had bandages wrapped around his torso but his back was straight and he seemed in no great discomfort. His hair was too short to have the capacity to be disheveled and even his hat ¨C brimmed, pinned and feathered as was the current fashion in Malan ¨C was set at a jaunty angle.


    It was the eyes that gave him away.


    Red-rimmed and raw, like a wound had been drawn around two pits of bleakness. Angharad¡¯s steps almost faltered, for what might she possibly say to a man with eyes like these, but she forced herself to keep moving. The glance he flicked her way when she came to stand before him was disinterested.


    ¡°May I sit?¡± Angharad asked.


    Zenzele gestured wordlessly. She lowered herself onto the stone, leaning back against the partition between his stable stall-turned-room and what she suspected had been Inyoni¡¯s. Twice she almost began to speak before biting down on the words. They felt fake, hollow. The kind she would have raged to hear in the days fresh after the massacre of her family. It was him that broke the silence.


    ¡°You told us,¡± Zenzele said, ¡°that you are the last of your house.¡±


    ¡°Save for my uncle in the Watch,¡± Angharad quietly agreed.


    Not that it meant anything. Uncle Osian had renounced any claim to Llanw Hall by becoming a blackcloak, just as she would. There was no longer a claim left to press, anyhow: House Tredegar had been struck from the rolls of nobility. The land would become the possession of the High Queen, who would grant it to another family at her pleasure.


    ¡°How did it happen?¡±


    Her fingers clenched.


    ¡°They came in the night,¡± she said. ¡°Steel and powder, before they put our very hall to the torch.¡±


    Her cousins had been but boys, but sometimes she hoped they had been put to the sword. Better the steel than being barred inside their rooms, burning alive as so many of the servants had. Not until her dying day would she forget the sound of those screams on the wind.


    ¡°And you fled,¡± Zenzele said.


    ¡°My father had a riverboat stashed away,¡± Angharad murmured. ¡°He died distracting them long enough for me to reach it.¡±


    Had Father known what would find her on that dark river, rowing alone on a trail of ink? Sometimes she thought he might have. He had been a learned man, keeping to old ways. Unknowing of her mind, the Malani breathed out deeply.


    ¡°My mother has four other children,¡± he abruptly said. ¡°I am the thirdborn, which means marrying for advantage.¡±


    The same fate Uncle Osian had gone to the Watch to avoid. It was considered imprudent to marry the secondborn out of the family, but any child beyond that number was fated for the marriage market. Angharad would likely have wed a thirdborn daughter before she reached twenty, arranging in the marriage contract for a son of that family to stand in for their daughter when she decided to conceive an heir for House Tredegar.


    ¡°Mother never really gave a shit beyond ensuring I would be a decent prospect,¡± Zenzele confessed. ¡°I used to think I had disappointed her, but looking back she simply never really saw me as a Duma. I was born to marry out.¡±


    He shook his head.


    ¡°Sometimes I think she didn¡¯t even notice when I left to attend the isikole,¡± he said. ¡°It was Aunt Inyoni who saw me off, rode with me on the wagon.¡±


    He trailed off.


    ¡°Is it there you met Ayanda?¡± she asked, prompting him to continue.


    A spasm of grief. Best that wound be lanced now, lest what lay within fester.


    ¡°Under the red roof there are no titles,¡± he quoted. ¡°For four years it didn¡¯t matter that she wasn¡¯t nobly born, only that she was lovely and funny and so fucking clever. It felt like a dream she even wanted to be with me.¡±


    ¡°Then the four years ended,¡± Angharad said.


    ¡°And out in Malan, nothing else matters,¡± Zenzele bitterly said. ¡°I had not even taken off my traveling cloak before Mother told me I was betrothed.¡±


    She winced.


    ¡°Arafa Sandile,¡± he said. ¡°Only two years older than me. Pretty, they said. But even if she had looked like a seal I would have been promised to her, because the Sandile silver mines are prettier to my mother than any girl could ever hope to be.¡±


    Even Angharad had heard of House Sandile. In southern Malan they were a byword for extravagance, the main line having once thrown a feast on a ship being carried through the countryside by elephants imported from the Imperial Someshwar. It had been the talk of the Isles for years afterwards. No wonder Zenzele had run after breaking his betrothal: the Sandile had deep enough pockets to bury him neck deep in swordmasters after such a slight to their honor. Zenzele chuckled.


    ¡°That¡¯s about the face Aunt Inyoni made when I told her I was going to run,¡± he said. ¡°She said I wouldn¡¯t make it ten miles out, much less as far as a port. Then she said she couldn¡¯t just let me get myself killed.¡±


    His face tightened.


    ¡°She was more a mother to me than the woman who spat me out into the world,¡± he said. ¡°Then and now. And how did I repay it?¡±


    Angharad knew that rage in the man¡¯s eyes, the urge to strike something stoked all the higher by the way there was nothing around worthy of being struck. The first time an assassin had come for her, it had been as much a relief as a thing of dread. Finally she had been able to hurt someone for what had been done to her, someone deserving of her hatred.


    ¡°Sleeping God, but when we set out it felt like an adventure,¡± he hatefully said. ¡°Terrifying, we were leaving it all behind, but I was with Ayanda and the only family I cared to claim. Aunt Inyoni¡¯s friends in the Watch were interested in our contracts, enough to recommend us, and all we needed was to win some trials and we would be forever beyond anyone¡¯s reach.¡±


    His jaw clenched.


    ¡°I thought I could get it all,¡± Zenzele said. ¡°Instead I killed them both.¡±


    Angharad could have told him that he was not to blame, that both the dead had made choices and he had not decided for them, but she knew it would mean nothing. It had not to her when she heard the same truths, for they held the ring of platitude.


    ¡°When a shot is fired,¡± she said, ¡°who is to blame ¨C the bullet, the powder, the flint that struck the spark?¡±


    His eyes moved to her.


    ¡°Blame the finger that pulled the trigger, Zenzele Duma,¡± Angharad said. ¡°You did not run away on a whim, you were made to.¡±


    To marry for the good one one¡¯s family was duty, but to be treated by cattle by the head one one¡¯s house ¨C not even consulted during the negotiations, never meeting the other party before the betrothal ¨C was undeniably a wrong. A nobleborn child had responsibilities to their house, but that house also had responsibilities to them and the Duma had failed Zenzele before he them. It did not make running admirable, but it was enough for Angharad not to look down on the man for it.


    ¡°So I should take my revenge on them, is that it?¡± the Malani snorted. ¡°Make myself a kinslayer, maybe wipe out House Sandile?¡±


    Angharad Tredegar did not laugh, did not so much as twitch a smile. There was no jest here.


    ¡°One day,¡± she said, voice soft, ¡°I will find out who it was that murdered my family, who ended my house.¡±


    That man¡¯s name, the owner of all her grief.


    ¡°And when I do, Zenzele,¡± she continued. ¡°I will kill them all. Every last one of them.¡±


    Her fingers clenched, nails biting into her palm.


    ¡°No matter how far they run, how high they stand, how many armies stand between them and my blade. I will drag their screaming souls to the ashes of Llanw Hall and let the wailing reach all the way across the fucking Circle Perpetual to my kin.¡±


    Let it be the first thing her parents heard as they were born anew, let those screams come thundering out their lungs as their souls wiped clean and avenged returned to Vesper for another life.


    ¡°This,¡± she said with utter calm, ¡°I have sworn. And I will live long enough to carry out that oath, no matter what this pit of horrors sets in my way.¡±


    Zenzele stared at her, still as a statue.


    ¡°So that¡¯s what it is,¡± he said. ¡°An oath.¡±


    She blinked, taken aback.


    ¡°I can see connections,¡± Zenzele Duma admitted in a murmur. ¡°Between things, people, concepts. You are tied to Isabel Ruesta and to Song Ren, but there is a chord deeper and more vivid than both.¡±


    He met her eyes.


    ¡°It is red,¡± he said. ¡°Red like blood, like flame, like ruin. That may well be what it brings you.¡±


    ¡°They were already brought to me,¡± Angharad Tredegar gently replied. ¡°I am simply to return that gift in kind.¡±


    The Malani wrenched his gaze away as if burned.


    ¡°Live to take revenge, huh,¡± he said. ¡°Somehow I expected something nobler of you, Angharad.¡±


    ¡°Fire is not a kind thing,¡± she murmured. ¡°But it does keep the night away, Zenzele.¡±


    The Malani stayed silent for a long time.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know if I have it in me to live like that,¡± he said. ¡°But it doesn¡¯t matter.¡±


    His jaw firmed.


    ¡°I will not suffer her body to be abandoned in some pit, her affairs pawned off to some other trial-taker in the years to come,¡± Zenzele Duma said. ¡°Ayanda is beyond my reach, but I will see my aunt¡¯s ashes spread on the shores of the Isles one day.¡±


    Angharad felt a sliver of grief on his behalf, that he would never get so much as a pinch of ash to spread from the girl he had so deeply loved. No one would go fight the hollows for those taken prisoners, not even the Watch. Even if the three were still alive to be saved, the blackcloaks would not sacrifice their own assaulting the cult of the Red Eye in its hidden strongholds ¨C not when they stood to lose so many more souls than they might possibly rescue.


    ¡°That is worth getting to the end of these cursed trials, if nothing else,¡± the Malani quietly said. ¡°I refuse to just stay here and sit as her ashes cool.¡±


    She had never asked, in the end, for him to stay with them tomorrow. It had been her mistake and Cozme¡¯s to believe him the sort of man who would need to be talked into it. She did not flinch away from the shame of that realization, for it was well deserved. They sat together for a while longer, neither feeling the need to speak a word. When an uncharacteristically unsmiling Lieutenant Wen fetched Zenzele an hour later, telling him the body had been cleaned and a pyre raised, she went with him. No one else would.


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    The pile was outside, drenched with oil, and the body already laid atop it. Angharad stood by his side as he composed himself, struggled to keep his face calm, and finally took the torch the lieutenant was offering.


    ¡°It is tradition to speak,¡± Zenzele rasped, ¡°but I have no words to give, aunt. Even an apology would ring hollow.¡±


    He swallowed.


    ¡°Maybe one day I will have earned the right, but not today.¡±


    He raised the torch.


    ¡°We who do not stray are eternal,¡± Zenzele said. ¡°I will see you again, for there are no strangers across the Empty Sea.¡±


    He threw the torch and the fire roared. Those had been Redeemer words, she thought, but not untrue for it. All who did not stray from the Sleeping God would meet again in time, born again and again until all had learned from their mistakes. Angharad watched the flames devouring Inyoni¡¯s corpse, thinking of another fire, and her jaw clenched. Let eternity wait.


    She yet had accounts to settle in this life.


    --


    They rose early and gathered for the meal, as was becoming habit.


    Angharad was surprised to see Isabel had risen before her this time, and more surprised still to see Tristan sitting with her. The grey-eyed man had shown no inclination of joining any crew, not that she would have dared to ask again after bringing back a corpse, but she supposed that did not mean he wanted to be without company. Perhaps if the day went well, Angharad thought, she should spare some time to find out what it was he was up to with the others who remained behind. That aged pair would do so was no great surprise, but Sarai? She was fit enough to delve the maze.


    Whatever it was the two were discussing, they settled it before Angharad arrived. Tristan gave her a smile, then rose to his feet.


    ¡°I should grab Vanesa¡¯s porridge while it is still warm,¡± he told her. ¡°Good morn, Lady Angharad, and good luck on your venture.¡±


    He paused, then inclined his head.


    ¡°Lady Isabel.¡±


    ¡°Master Tristan,¡± Isabel amusedly replied.


    He took his leave after that under Angharad¡¯s bemused gaze. She sat by Isabel¡¯s side after making certain that others were seated at tables, making the kitchen a public place and allowing her to skirt the edge of her oath to Remund.


    ¡°You know,¡± the dark-haired beauty mused, ¡°I do believe that man might not even have a surname.¡±


    ¡°He seems too well educated for that,¡± she replied, startled.


    Only the poorest of commoners were bereft of last name, at least in Peredur.


    ¡°Why else avoid giving it so carefully?¡± Isabel asked. ¡°No matter, it does not make him any less interesting.¡±


    ¡°He had business with you?¡± Angharad idly asked.


    Isabel smiled at her, the full weight of her attention a little dazzling.


    ¡°He was giving me news of Beatris,¡± she said. ¡°She appears to have had a fit of nerves that left her unfit to try the maze, so I have sent her my permission to withdraw from the trials.¡±


    ¡°That is kind of you,¡± she replied, pleased at the good treatment.


    Kindness to one¡¯s servants was the responsibility of the nobly born. They were joined by the others one after another, the table going silent for a moment after Lord Zenzele came until he gave a toothy grin.


    ¡°The funeral was last night,¡± he said. ¡°Do cheer up.¡±


    No one was so awful as to laugh, but it broke the ice. Quiet conversation resumed and after the meal ended they prepared to set out together. As the previous day, Tupoc¡¯s group had gone ahead. Keeping to their bargain, they moved with Lord Ishaan¡¯s group. The chubby-cheeked Someshwari had picked up a wound across the lips, an oddly fearsome sight on a face that otherwise screamed of harmlessness, and it made it difficult for him to speak. They remained quiet, though neither Song nor Shalini offered them such mercy.


    The pair spent half the walk to the shrines arguing about whether Tianxi or Ramayan tea was superior while the other half was reserved to agree that Izcalli xocolatl was ¡®too disgusting to inflict on even Someshwari¡¯ and ¡®there should be a law against its export, maybe make a mob vote on it¡¯.


    ¡°It is good to see Shalini making a friend,¡± Ishaan happily told her, breaking their silence as they neared the shrines. ¡°Her sense of humor sometimes drives people away.¡±


    ¡°I am surprised to hear it,¡± Angharad replied, speaking very exactly.


    A wry look from the Someshwari told her that perhaps it had not gone unnoticed. They parted ways cordially at the shrines, returning to their previous paths. The dove spirit¡¯s grounds were eerily silent, the holes in the floor still there ¨C though they now looked like simple pits ¨C and the entity itself not deigning to appear. They hurried through, dimly unsettled, and took the same upwards path as before. It was more tiring than dangerous to retrace their steps now that they knew there would be no ambush waiting for them.


    When they climbed up from the pools into the tunnel again, ready to shimmy across the edge to the stairs of the temple where Inyoni had died, they did it knowing that a dead thing would attempt to scare them into falling. All ignored it, as for all its loudness it could not hurt them, save for Zenzele ¨C who slapped the remnant spirit on its head with a laugh, though it did not cease shrieking. Not enough thought remained inside, she suspected.


    The gesture was to be an augury of continued recklessness, Angharad realized when he did not wait for everyone to be ready before climbing the steps to the clockwork temple. Cursing under her breath she hurried, finding him standing along among the great room with the polished floor and the ticking machines.


    ¡°Not a trace of anything broken,¡± he said when she caught up. ¡°Like we were never here at all.¡±


    The spirit of brass and cogs did not show, this time, perhaps uninterested now that it had fed and they could not be pressed into another of its tests.


    ¡°You are a victor still,¡± Angharad said. ¡°That remains.¡±


    ¡°It was a victor as well,¡± Zenzele mildly replied. ¡°That is the part I find difficult to forgive.¡±


    They had not ventured beyond the clockwork temple yesterday, so it was fresh grounds they broke as the crossed the machine-strewn chamber. There was a hall leading out, a thing of moonstone and serpentine as the one that had led them in, but here the streaks of iron and gold painting the walls were not so wild. There were clear patterns, beginning circular and becoming increasingly angular as the hall continued. It made Angharad¡¯s eyes tear up to look at them too long so she yanked her gaze away. That the spirit had not appeared did not mean its hand could not be felt.


    At the end of the hall half-shattered stairs led down to what she thought to be walls at first but soon realized were the sloping seats of an arena. It was why her boots creaked against sand as she took the lead and why the structure was so curved ¨C though she could not see the whole of it, as it continued around the side of the clockwork temple and mixed into masses of rubbles with jutting columns. The grounds were ruins, not a shrine, and as they walked on the sand they found that there were three ways out of the arena.


    The first was in a straight line, through the front gates, and appeared to be a tangle of stairs going both up and down. Another was through a rusted grate, going down into the ground in a spiral, and the last began atop the highest seats to their right: some sort of bridge leading into a structure that seemed to be a broad tower.


    ¡°That tower has shrine written all over it,¡± Lord Remund opined.


    ¡°Agreed,¡± Song said. ¡°The stairs perhaps?¡±


    ¡°I do not like the look of that grate,¡± Angharad admitted. ¡°Let us try the stairs.¡±


    There were no strong opinions against it, so to the stairs they went. It was worse than she had thought at first glance: the stairs led up and down, left and right, and crisscrossed each other as if painted by a madman. Going up a few flights let her catch sight of a structure at the end of the mess, what looked like a highway with raised steles wedged in between two large walls, but the stairs themselves were a death trap. They were falling apart, sometimes on each other, and after Zenzele kicked a loose stone on a whim an entire section collapsed. The Malani apologized, but the words were a little too blithe for her taste.


    Angharad stared him down until he looked away, conceding with a jerky nod. He was allowed his grief but not to risk their lives with it.


    Yet disinclined to the high bridge and tower, they headed for the rusted grate. Yaretzi and Master Cozme kicked it off the hinges and then went down the narrow tunnel. It spun in a spiral, uncomfortably narrow, and dug into the stone beneath. There were no steps, only a slope, and they had to be careful not to slip. After what had to be at least ten minutes of heading down they emerged into a dark crypt. Rectangular tombs of bare stone lay open, lantern light revealing they were filled only with dust, and at the other end of the chamber the wall was made from a darker kind of stone. They crossed, wary of an attack that never came, and then stepped into a hall that ended after three feet in a strange circular chamber lit by some kind of hanging lantern.


    There were four gates inside the room, but all were closed and barred.


    Angharad saw no lock or knocker, nor any other way to open them, so her gaze strayed to the strange contraption that filled almost the entire room. It looked like a wheel, she thought, though one without a rim. Four spokes of solid brass jutted out, each going from slightly above her midsection to the floor, while the hub they jutted from was tall as a man and broad as three ¨C and not small men, either. The mechanism¡¯s floor was dull brass, rough and unpolished, but unlike the hallway bore no dust.


    ¡°It does not look like a shrine,¡± Song noted. ¡°There are no marks and symbols, only bare stone and brass.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps we are meant to push the spokes of the wheel,¡± Remund Cerdan suggested. ¡°To raise the gates like a portcullis.¡±


    ¡°Could be,¡± Angharad mused. ¡°Though that would be a great weight and we might not be enough.¡±


    ¡°No, we will be.¡±


    She glanced back, seeing Yaretzi bush past Isabel with a grim look on her face.


    ¡°I have seen this before,¡± the Izcalli said. ¡°Some of my people¡¯s candles are locked the same way.¡±


    ¡°You know how to open it?¡± Angharad asked.


    ¡°If I am right,¡± Yaretzi agreed.


    The dark-haired woman made her way to the edge of the hall, kneeling by the threshold to the wheelroom to rap a knuckle against the brass floor. The sound, to Angharad¡¯s surprise, was hollow. As if there were nothing under a small layer of brass. Yaretzi repeated the same gesture until her hand was near the center of the space between the two spokes, where at last the sound turned solid.


    ¡°As I thought,¡± the Izcalli said, rising to her feet. ¡°It is weight-locked. Enough of us will need to stand on the platform to lower the hidden part and trigger the mechanism.¡±


    ¡°And then what?¡± Master Cozme asked.


    There Yaretzi grimaced.


    ¡°I am uncertain,¡± she admitted. ¡°I have never seen one with more than a single gate. It should open the doors, but beyond that I cannot say.¡±


    ¡°Sounds fun,¡± Lord Zenzele carelessly said. ¡°Let¡¯s give it a whirl.¡±


    Angharad glance at him warningly but did not speak otherwise. For all that the Malani was being reckless the plain truth was that activating the device was the only way through this room.


    ¡°There might be some danger falling upon us before the doors open,¡± Isabel said. ¡°It would be best for us to split with such an eventuality in mind.¡±


    The Pereduri noblewoman thought that sensible enough. They separated accordingly: Isabel with her, Cozme with Remund, and after Zenzele insisted on standing alone Song and Yaretzi. When Isabel joined her at the center of the space some mechanical part clicked beneath their feet, the floor descending by the barest of fractions, and then they watched as the others spread around the wheel by climbing over spokes. The very moment Zenzele took his place, a last click resounded across the small room and they all felt something shifting beneath their feet.


    A long moment passed.


    ¡°Perhaps we are to push after all,¡± Lord Remund drawled.


    He went to place his hand against the spoke before him, but before he could there was a sudden shiver beneath their feet. Angharad glimpsed ahead and-


    ¡°Brace yourselves,¡± she shouted.


    Half of them were still knocked down when the wheel abruptly began spinning. She caught Isabel by the waist, bringing her close and trying not to wonder at how even in this nightmare of an island the infanzona¡¯s hair still smelled of lavender, then held them both in place by snatching at the top of the spoke with her other hand. Cozme cursed virulently as he smacked into the brass and Zenzele let out a whooping laugh as he held on for dear life. All the lanterns save Yaretzi¡¯s went flying, smashing against stone or brass.


    And the wheel kept spinning, faster and faster.


    Isabel would have slipped her gasp had the dark-haired beauty not begun clinging to the spoke on her own, the two of them struggling to keep upright as the air howled against their faces and the sole burning light above whipped them with shadows.


    ¡°The gate,¡± Song shouted. ¡°The gate is opening.¡±


    Angharad risked a glance and saw that the Tianxi was right: one of the gates was slowly rising, as if being dragged up an inch at a time. Were they meant to jump out when it opened up enough? It would be difficult, she thought, but hardly impossible. They held one for another ten breaths, the gate opening up just enough for a man to be able to get through on their knees, and Angharad pushed herself up. Hopefully the others would not argue the need to jump, for speaking would be difficult.


    ¡°We-¡±


    Before she could finish the sentence, she turned weightless. Or so it felt for the barest fraction of a moment, before she realized that the wheel had just abruptly changed directions. Shouting as she was thrown back against a curtain of brass ¨C ancestors, that was going to bruise - and Isabel¡¯s back smacked her in the face a heartbeat later, she heard other shouts.


    Two of which abruptly cut off.


    No, she thought, rising to her feet as she pushed off the infanzona. It was as she feared: Song and Yaretzi were missing while the once-open gate had slammed shut. It is no gate mechanism, she thought, it is a trap. One meant to separate us.


    ¡°Seek each other out on the other side,¡± Angharad shouted. ¡°We must not remain-¡±


    Unlike the last, the gate that opened this time did so in a heartbeat and Zenzele threw himself in the opening with a wild laugh before wheel even changed directions to force his hand. They were all better prepared for the turnabout this time, all staying on their feet save Remund ¨C who Cozme caught by the arm and held in place. The third gate opened, the pair tossed through it, and for the first time Angharad got a glimpse of what lay past it. Some kind of stony slope. They both went tumbling down.


    Now there were only the two of them left.


    ¡°Ready yourself,¡± she told Isabel. ¡°Better to jump than be thrown.¡±


    She had not closely looked at the infanzona before but now that she did, she saw the terror writ there. Isabel¡¯s fair face had gone pale, her eyes wild and she was worrying her lip so hard it looked fit to bleed.


    ¡°Please,¡± Isabel said. ¡°Together. I do not know if-¡±


    How striking her teary gaze was Angharad thought, a little dazed. She tended to prefer women of harder character, but perhaps on occasion being needed would not be so ¨C no, not the time.


    ¡°Together,¡± she agreed.


    They barely had three heartbeats to ready themselves before the fourth gate began to open. The timing seemed to be shorter every time, as if the machine fed on its own momentum. Angharad glimpsed ahead twice to gauge the timing, a trick she was becoming increasingly fond of, and almost winced when she saw herself hit the bottom of the gate with her front teeth on the first attempt. It was a good thing she did not feel what she saw, as she could do without intimate knowledge of what it felt like to shatter half her mouth.


    When they leapt, Isabel trembling in her arms, it was straight into the dark.


    Blinded by the sudden change in lighting Angharad blinked even as the ground gave beneath her feet ¨C it was a slope, like she had seen in the others ¨C but after two steps her boots slid against wetness and Isabel screamed in fear. They tumbled forward, Angharad¡¯s belly flopping on shallow water while her chin raked against the stone below it, and she felt Isabel¡¯s fingers slide through hers.


    ¡°No,¡± the infanzona shouted. ¡°Angharad, you-¡±


    She was interrupted by a loud thump, smacking into something. For a heartbeat Angharad believed her dead, the thought like a burn, but then she heard Isabel shouting as she bounced off into water. Distant water, as if they were being separated. Without a lantern to see Angharad was blind, but even as she fell her fingers groped ahead and she found rising stone ¨C there had been a fork just beyond the gate, she realized, and they were falling down different sides of it. Heart pounding with fear for the infanzona, she tried to hurry her way down. The water was shallow but it helped her slide faster, her clothes drenched and hair turning slick.


    She went down a canal for what felt like an eternity until she fell into a pool.


    It was deep enough she had to swim up and when she broke the surface she saw there was finally light again, coming from glass orbs hung on the ceiling. Making for the shore, she got out onto a stone floor before taking a better look around. This looked to be a cavern, though one with two large pools ¨C both being fed by small canals, one of which she had come through. There were half a dozen openings in the wall ahead, none of them looking carved and all rather narrow. Angharad waited a little longer to see if Isabel was to come down the other canal, but after a few minutes of dripping onto the floor to no sign of the infanzona she reluctantly got moving.


    A few glimpses told her there were no traps no matter the opening, so she took the rightmost and headed in.


    The lights were dimmer in here, small glass orbs burning dirty yellow, but she could still see just fine. Twice she faced forks and took a right, the second time leading her to a precipice. The tunnel ended abruptly in a deep black abyss facing wall of rock, faint wind like a breath rising from below. She shuddered, about ready to double back when she saw a flicker of movement ahead. She had not noticed, but on the other side of the precipice there was an opening in the rock with light flickering ¨C almost like an eye. She saw a pool through it, and another precipice someone was standing by. Their hair was long and dark.


    ¡°Isabel,¡± she shouted, and it echoed endlessly in the abyss.


    The silhouette across did not react, hesitating a little longer before moving out of sight. There was no telling if it was truly the infanzona, Angharad reminded herself. Where spirits held dominion the wise did not trust their eyes.


    She returned to the tunnels, intent on pushing forward since it was unlikely there was a way across the abyss. Everywhere seemed the same, bare stone coated in flickering light, and after a while it felt as if she had no idea where she¡¯d come from. Angharad began scratching the walls with her sword under the orbs, but she had begun too late and it only prevented her from going in circles. After long enough that her clothes had gone from wet to damp, the Pereduri finally stumbled onto the end of the tunnels. It was a striking enough sight it gave her pause, impatient as she was.


    It was as if someone had raised a hall entirely out of cloudy, silvery crystals.


    They shone with light from somewhere unseen, each perfectly smooth surface reflecting itself as a house of mirrors. It was strikingly beautiful, Angharad thought, enough that she was distracted from immediately noticing the entrances. There were three of them, going into a hall that must be sprawling for she saw no end to it, but one was closed by a solid slab of crystal. She approached for a closer look, eyes widening when she saw that someone had darkened the threshold of the entrance around the slab with what must have been an open flame. Two letters: S and Y. Yaretzi, she recalled, had kept her lantern from breaking when the spin changed directions.


    Angharad breathed in deeply, comforted at the thought that at least two of her comrades had made it this far. That it might be only two was an upsetting prospect, but there might well be other entrances to this place. There had been four doors, after all. At the very least there could be no doubt that this hall must be her path, or as to what its true nature was despite its beauty. Angharad straightened her back, then offered a low bow.


    ¡°I implore the attention of the honored elder who dwells in this temple,¡± she said.


    The air shivered, but this was subtler a spirit than the kind she had encountered in the maze until now. There was no great manifestation, no eye-catching totem to command attention. Only traces of silver light facing her in the slab of crystal, suggesting the shape of a face.


    ¡°Robber. Or. Supplicant.¡±


    Angharad hid her pained wince by lowering her head. It was as if the words were made of the sound of crystal cracking, just a little too high and sharp to be anything but daggers to the ear.


    ¡°I would be a supplicant to your temple, honored elder,¡± Angharad said. ¡°If you would tell me of the terms of your test and the wager therein.¡±


    ¡°Wager. Lantern.¡±


    Not unexpected. She waited for the terms.


    ¡°Win. By. Reaching. End. Hall.¡±


    A pause.


    ¡°Or. Take. A. Life.¡±


    Painful as it was to the ear, she sought clarifications. The prize would be crossing the temple unhindered for she and any companion. To die within the hall, however, was to surrender your soul to the spirit. It remained vague about whose life might be taken within its test, however, simply calling them ¡®opponents¡¯. She had her suspicions, especially when it was made plain that to take another¡¯s life would see you led to the end of the hall safely. It means to keep us in its hall of mirrors until we grow desperate enough to kill our own, Angharad thought. The Watch had implied nothing lived out here save for ravenous spirits, so the only lives for them to take were each other¡¯s.


    She had no intention of slaying her companions or allowing them to be slain, but that still meant taking the test.


    ¡°I accept your test and terms, honored elder, and would undertake supplication,¡± Angharad said.


    ¡°Good. Luck.¡±


    To ascribe emotion to the spirit would be as trying to read the intonation of a razor blade, but as it spoke Angharad somehow felt as if she was being mocked. And though it was but a glimmer of cold light, she could not shake the impression that she had looked at something living ¨C convulsing, red and wet, like a throat swallowing. A second look told her it was but tiredness working away at her mind, the spirit unchanged. Hiding her unease, the Pereduri headed for the entrance to her right and settled her breathing. Hand on her saber, she took a firm step past the threshold and into the shining hall.


    A heartbeat after, a slab of crystal hammered down and closed the entrance.


    There would be no going back.

 Chapter 26

    It was as an endless gallery.


    The crystal walls fed into each other, promising infinity in a thimble as the mirroring went on and on. The heights were not all the same, the angles askew and there were even slight slopes to the ground to further muddle the senses. Th effect was strong: Angharad had barely taken ten steps before she became uncertain which way she had entered. A pale and silvery glow hung in the air, lighting the way, but there was no visible source for it. Boots whispering across the smooth floor, she boldly stepped forward ¨C after learning that her sword could not cut into the crystal, anyhow. There would be no marking of her path, the opaque rock surprisingly hard for something that looked so delicate.


    The first attack came from behind just as she turned a corner.


    Her saber came up to parry the blow, but she was hacking into air. The figure on the mirror, which she now saw was her own face distended into something other, smirked before walking out of sight. Sleeping God, Angharad thought. It was going to be even worse than she had thought if the spirit could paint illusions on the mirrors. This place might well become a tomb if she could not even trust her eyes. Her hackles stayed up as she pressed on, thrice more ambushed by nothing. Yet she could not lower her guard, begin to ignore the attacks. It was what the spirit wanted, for her to stop guarding before a real blade came for her neck.


    The Pereduri kept to the right as much as she could, occasionally forced to detour, but after how long only the spirit knew ¨C less than an hour, surely? ¨C she began encountering dead ends. After the third in a row she stopped, biting her lip as she met the eyes of her horrid reflection on the wall. Should she leave the edge of the labyrinth? She had thought it sensible to try to keep to the border in the hopes of circling until she found an exit, but now she was beginning to fear she would reach a wall and be forced to backtrack blindly.


    ¡°No,¡± she murmured. ¡°Carry it out to the end, you fool. Half measures are coffin nails.¡±


    She must keep to the plan until she knew for sure it was all dead ends. Walking away from the dead end, she returned to the broader corridor behind it and caught sight of a flicker of movement ¨C another mirror ambush, she thought, but raised her blade anyway.


    Steel ground against steel, a clumsily wielded knife slamming down onto her saber¡¯s guard.


    Sheer surprise quickening her hand, Angharad pushed back her opponent ¨C a shrieking monster, hideous and twisted ¨C and drew back three steps. She ignored the hundred reflections blooming over every wall, floor and ceiling to keep her eye entirely on the enemy. It looked like no lemure the Pereduri had ever seen, nor cultist: its skin was rotten and its teeth as yellow coral. It wore rags that clinked, as if laden with hidden coins, and held the knife in a guard that Angharad did not recognize. Some ancient art of war, perhaps?


    ¡°We need not fight,¡± Angharad clearly enunciated.


    The monster shrieked back and the noblewoman frowned. It seemed intelligent. Perhaps a corpse taken over by a puppeteer lemure? It was when the creature attacked that it came together. It struck by flailing blindly with no stance, care or even understanding that her reach was much longer than its own. That was no strange guard, it simply does not know how to use a knife. And that told her the hidden truth behind the monstrosity. Angharad stepped into the other¡¯s guard, slapping the blow aside with her elbow and smoothly sliding her arm around their neck. They struggled desperately but they were weaker than her, so she squeezed and lowered them to the ground as she kept the knife flailing aimlessly at their back.


    After a minute or so the illusion broke, revealing the weeping face of the woman called Aines.


    ¡°-please, I don¡¯t-¡± she was saying, the shrieking turning into Antigua.


    Admittedly sometimes the difference between the two was academic. Aines, looking wan and with a purpling black eye on her face, went still in her arms.


    ¡°Lady Tredegar?¡± she croaked.


    Angharad released her.


    ¡°The maze veils our faces to make us slay each other,¡± she said, extricating herself and rising to her feet. ¡°This spirit would feed on our bones.¡±


    ¡°I,¡± the woman began, then bit her lip. ¡°Yes, my lady. May I¡­ may I come with you?¡±


    ¡°You must,¡± Angharad agreed. ¡°Are all of your companions also in the maze?¡±


    She nodded.


    ¡°It was the only way forward for us,¡± Aines said. ¡°Though the god made us wait before letting us in.¡±


    And so the spirit¡¯s scheme was laid out plainly. It wanted Tupoc¡¯s crew and her own to butcher each other under veil of illusion. I might have seen through the trick were I facing Song or Cozme, for I know the look of their height and weapons, but I know little of those who went with Tupoc. The spirit had waited until her own companions were at the gates of its hall to let in the other group for that very reason, she was sure of it.


    ¡°We must find the others quickly,¡± Angharad grimly said. ¡°Else there will be blood.¡±


    Tupoc Xical was not the sort of man to think twice at slaying any who stood in his way. Aines freely admitted to having been lost ¨C she had brought chalk and tried to mark the walls but it did not seem to take ¨C so they continued her approach. As if irked by being denied a corpse, the spirit set another in their path within minutes. An ogre dripping red pus roared at the other end of the hall, reflections just as fearsome flickering every which way, and it raised its hammer. This one Angharad recognized.


    ¡°Ocotlan,¡± she stated.


    Whatever the man heard through the veil of illusion, it was not his name. He roared again and charged. Behind her Aines whimpered, taking steps back, but Angharad breathed out and loosened her stance. The big man was strong and startlingly quick, she knew that from her never-fights with him in her visions, but he fought without polish. At a guess, he had never been formally trained.


    Angharad had been and would teach him the difference.


    Thirteen paces away she tapped her blade against her left shoulder in a duelist¡¯s salute, gauging the distances carefully. Eight paces. Angharad darted forward a step, startling Ocotlan into swinging early at her, but she had stopped a single step in. The hammer swung before her and once it passed she stepped into his open guard. He was a big man and rushing forward like a bull, but the hammer was heavy and had been strongly swung so his stance was off ¨C training, training, those bad habits were removed only through training. A pivot around his attempt at tackling her, then a boot to the back of the knee.


    The big man went down, his weight smashing into the crystal floor.


    Angharad leisurely turned around as he rose into a crouch, flicking a lazy cut his way that had him flinching away and swinging blindly at her. She stepped back at that, as if afraid of the blow, and he took that opening to rise back to his feet just as she¡¯d wanted ¨C only for her to dart forward and kick him in the buttocks, back down with his belly flat on the floor. Further back, Aines let out a sound halfway between a giggle and a hysterical fit. Ocotlan, still looking like some deformed creature, flipped onto his back only to find the point of her saber at his throat.


    ¡°Stay down,¡± Angharad mildly said. ¡°The illusion will dispel.¡±


    Whatever it was he heard it made him flinch, but he was more afraid of the blade a single hair¡¯s breadth away from piercing his throat: Ocotlan did not move. Twenty seconds later the Aztlan¡¯s broad face replaced the ogre¡¯s, sudden understanding lighting up those dark eyes.


    ¡°Tredegar,¡± Ocotlan grunted. ¡°I should have known, who else-¡±


    She pressed the tip of the sword against her throat and he fell silent. No mercy for this one, who had been Tupoc Xical¡¯s right hand since they first made common cause on the Bluebell.


    ¡°You will follow me,¡± Angharad said. ¡°You will obey my orders. You will not, under any circumstances, kill inside this labyrinth.¡±


    The big man snarled.


    ¡°If you think-¡±


    This time the point drew a drop of blood. She met his eyes, letting every inch of her indifference to his continued existence show in her gaze.


    ¡°You seem under the misapprehension that this is a negotiation,¡± Angharad mildly said. ¡°It would be best to correct that mistake.¡±


    The tattooed man then decided he was willing to take her orders, after all.


    Fancy that.


    --


    Their next encounter was not a fight.


    ¡°Angharad!¡±


    Isabel was in her arms a heartbeat later, wrapped closed and tight. Over the infanzona¡¯s shoulder she saw Song rolling her eyes at them. She smiled at the Tianxi, seeing she was unharmed, and it was returned. She drew back from Isabel to examine her for wounds, finding that she had been struck. Her lip was bloodied and a little swollen, like someone had punched her in the face.


    ¡°Are you all right?¡± she worriedly asked. ¡°You were attacked?¡±


    ¡°Mistress Song struck me before the illusion was broken,¡± Isabel told her. ¡°Naught but a trifle.¡±


    Angharad¡¯s eyes flicked to the other woman, whose empty expression must be hiding embarrassment. It must be a powerful illusion the spirit had woven to fool even her silver eyes.


    ¡°We getting a move on?¡± Ocotlan grunted. ¡°This is sickening.¡±


    Sometimes, Mother had taught her, a crew gets a man that is simply a bad seed. If you cannot get rid of them, there is only one thing for it.


    ¡°Ocotlan,¡± Angharad very mildly said, ¡°it sounds as if you are trying to tell me what to do.¡±


    She half turned, Isabel still loosely in her grasp, and met the big man¡¯s eyes.


    ¡°Surely you would know better than to do such a thing.¡±


    There was a long moment, then the tattooed Aztlan looked away.


    ¡°I was just saying,¡± he muttered. ¡°Meant nothing by it.¡±


    Step on them, Mother had said. Hard and often, so that the seed will never sprout into a weed. When she turned back, Angharad found Isabel looking at her with wide eyes and the slightest of flushes to her neck. She swallowed, meeting the infanzona¡¯s green gaze, and would have lost herself in it if not for the inconvenient awareness that they were far from alone. Clearing her throat, the Pereduri released the other woman and straightened her coat.


    ¡°Let us go forward,¡± Angharad said. ¡°The others might be in danger.¡±


    They did, and immediately it made a stark difference to have Song with her again.


    ¡°Yaretzi and I were split when a slab fell between us,¡± the Tianxi told her. ¡°I came across Ruesta after and mapped out what I could - I believe the hall is broadly a square and we have gone around the entire right half of the labyrinth. It would mean we are now following the edge of the left half.¡±


    ¡°Then it is only a matter of time until we find the end,¡± Angharad mused. ¡°It must be at some extremity.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Song murmured, ¡°and that worries me.¡±


    The Pereduri almost asked why, until she thought twice of it.


    ¡°You believe we were guided towards each other on purpose,¡± she said.


    The other woman nodded.


    ¡°You have proved able to subdue others without shedding blood,¡± she said. ¡°And as for me¡­¡±


    She discreetly tapped her left temple, meaning the eyes. Yes, Song¡¯s ability to see through some of the trickery would be most unwelcome. The Tianxi¡¯s speculation that they were being guided towards the way out of the maze so they could not help anyone else seemed entirely believable.


    ¡°Then we must keep a careful eye out for any attempt to herd us away from a passage,¡± Angharad murmured. ¡°There may well be others behind such a thing.¡±


    Another tense few minutes treading mirroring halls followed, their fears proving more and more true: now the fake reflections were not only attacks but also feigned to be walls or dead ends. The spirit was trying to keep them on a path and would have entirely succeeded if not for Song¡¯s quiet directions. It came to an apex after Angharad turned a corner only for the Tianxi to go still, then raising the butt of her musket and smashing at a wall. There was a crack, to their common surprise, and three strong hits later a small sheet of crystal that had seemed a wall fell to pieces.


    ¡°New walls are growing,¡± Song flatly told them. ¡°I am beginning to suspect that this place is no shrine: it is the god¡¯s own body.¡±


    A disquieting thought for all, but when Angharad announced that the hallway the spirit wanted them to avoid must surely be explored none argued. Their curiosity led them to three turns nearer to the heart of the mirrored hall, where horrid noises echoed. The noblewoman hurried ahead, blade out, and found two false monsters savaging each other. One seemed a lupine horror of scarred flesh and smoke, the other an automaton of rusted bronze dripping green oil ¨C the smoking thing was hitting the other in the stomach, its knife on the floor.


    ¡°Stop,¡± Angharad shouted.


    Neither turned or seemed to hear her. An illusion of nothing at all, she thought. Four more steps and the bronze creature traced a circle of burning light on the other¡¯s skin, drawing a bloodcurdling scream out of it, and staggered a step back before raising its blade. She shouted again but went unheard, the monster that could only be Remund striking ¨C only for the blade to be shot in the side as Song¡¯s musket thundered. It shattered.


    Not before an inch of it went into the other man¡¯s belly.


    The veiled Remund let out a sound like metal being ground, turning towards them in what she knew was fear even through the illusion. The other man staggered back clutching at his wound, and this was no time for carefulness. Angharad barreled between them, pushing the wounded down and slapping away the knife Remund tried to sink into her side. She struck him the belly, as she had done his brother, and as he folded shouted for someone to help the hurt man. Remund, still letting out that infernal noise, feinted low. She let it whisper near her leg, then harshly slammed the top of her head into his nose.


    She felt something break.


    They backed away from each other after that, the veiled Remund clutching at a nose she could only assume was bleeding, and Angharad slowly moved her saber to be pointing his way. The man paused. Just as slowly she placed the saber on the ground even as she heard Aines and Isabel helping move the wounded man behind her. Remund exaggeratedly put away his knife and she let out a sigh of relief, finally allowing her fingers to loosen.


    A heartbeat later both illusions broke, leaving her to look at Remund Cerdan clutching a nosebleed with eyes still wild and wide.


    ¡°Fuck,¡± he said, finding her face. ¡°I should have known from the saber it was you, fucking fucker gods.¡±


    The cursing was particularly virulent by the end of the sentence.


    ¡°I wish I could have done it without hurting you,¡± Angharad said, which as close to an apology as she would give.


    A moment later Isabel was brushing past her ¨C sparing a smile as she did ¨C and making a fuss over a pleased and surprised Remund. She took the opportunity to look back, finding that the wounded man was Aines¡¯ own husband. Felis, for that was his name, looked badly off. Not only did he have old cuts from yesterday but he was still bruised from Zenzele¡¯s rage and now he had a gut wound. Relatively shallow, to Angharad¡¯s eye, but gut wounds were always a nasty business.


    ¡°No,¡± Aines was insisting. ¡°We must leave the blade in or the wound will bleed you out. We¡¯ll get you back to the fort, then the doctor-¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know if I can walk that far,¡± Felis moaned. ¡°Not like this. Is Lan-¡±


    ¡°Not here,¡± Aines sharply said, the worry in her voice thinning. ¡°Come on, up on your feet.¡±


    Angharad looked away, finding Song coming to stand by her side. They shared a grimace.


    ¡°We must get him out of here as quickly as possible,¡± the Tianxi said. ¡°That wound may kill him otherwise.¡±


    She had known that without needing to be told, but it went against her instincts to leave when she would be abandoning others. Tupoc was out there, ready to kill if he had not already, while Yaretzi, Master Cozme and Zenzele were yet to be found. Of Tupoc¡¯s crew the surviving twin, Lan, would still be out there as well.


    And Augusto, though that one dying would hardly be a loss.


    The Pereduri closed her eyes, trying to find a way through. She could think of none that did not involve reaching safety and then doubling back through the labyrinth to the Old Fort so that the Watch physician might see to Felis¡¯ wound. If Tristan were with them it might be different, but¡­ I must speak with him again, Angharad thought. Surely he has had long enough to rest by now. The dilemma ate away at her. Condemn Felis to death or abandon some of her comrades to the possibility of that very same fate? Angharad shivered, a coolness calm and patient spreading through her veins.


    The Fisher was watching. Waiting. Where would honor lie?


    ¡°We must go soon,¡± Song murmured. ¡°Felis will only get worse and it is a long way back to the Old Fort, especially if Aines is the only one going back with him.¡±


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    Angharad had not even considered that Ocotlan might abandon his comrades, though perhaps she should have. There seemed to be little enough affection between them. Would the spirit even consider them companions under the writ of the bargain? Their like always tried to- Angharad stilled. There it was, her third path.


    The Pereduri opened her eyes as the Fisher¡¯s presence withdrew. Disappointed.


    ¡°We head for the end of the labyrinth,¡± she said. ¡°As fast as we can.¡±


    Song¡¯s silver eyes considered her a moment.


    ¡°As you say.¡±


    --


    It was not even ten minutes before they reach the end of the crystal hall.


    The spirit wanted them out: by the last stretch there had been no false reflections trying to lead them astray, as if the entity was encouraging them to leave. The wounded Felis trailed behind, helped to move by his wife and Isabel¡¯s kindness, but not so far as to ever be out of sight. The final part of the mirrored hall was a straight line leading to a glittering arch, a glimpse of a strange cavern lying beyond. Angharad put a spring to her step, ensuring she was the first to leave the labyrinth, and gestured for the others to stay behind after she did.


    Traces of silver light shone on the arch, the spirit revealing its presence.


    ¡°Honored elder,¡± Angharad said, ¡°I have reached the end of your hall.¡±


    ¡°Victor,¡± the spirit said. ¡°Leave. Unhindered. With. Companions.¡±


    Then she gestured for the others to come out, which they hesitantly did. The silvery glints faded but Angharad cleared her throat.


    ¡°You are going back on your bargain,¡± she said.


    The lights returned, flaring bright.


    ¡°Lie.¡±


    ¡°You are hindering my companions as we speak,¡± Angharad evenly said. ¡°Those yet within the hall.¡±


    ¡°LIE. NOT. COMPANIONS.¡±


    The sound was like crystal being smashed, ice cracking under your feet.


    ¡°If I claim them such, who are you to gainsay me?¡± she said. ¡°I give you their names: Cozme Aflor, Zenzele Duma, Tupoc Xical-¡±


    ¡°LIE. LIE. LIE.¡±


    ¡°-Yaretzi of Izcalli, Lan of Sacromonte and¡­¡±


    She paused. Tupoc Xical was as far as she was willing to stretch the boundary of truth, mostly so he could not stay in the hall and kill others. Augusto Cerdan she would not claim as a companion even by the loosest of definitions.


    ¡°¡­ and that is all,¡± Angharad finished. ¡°I expect them led out of the hall without trouble.¡±


    ¡°YOU WILL NOT DENY ME,¡± the spirit hissed.


    The lights disappeared and silence followed. The world breathed in, stillness hanging by a thread, and then there was a thundering crack.


    In the distance, a span of the crystal hall¡¯s ceiling collapsed.


    It was the first stone of an avalanche. The labyrinth began falling apart as if someone had ripped out its seams, walls tipping over or bursting into pieces. It did not turn to rubble, it was not so widespread as that, but what had been a neat hall turned into a yawning ruin over what could not have been more than thirty seconds. Angharad felt gazes burn into her back as one last bit of ceiling plummeted down.


    ¡°Lady Angharad,¡± Remund delicately said, ¡°did you just anger a god so deeply it broke its own shrine out of spite?¡±


    More than that, if Song¡¯s assertion about the crystal hall had been true.


    ¡°It appears the hall is no longer breaking,¡± Angharad said, strategically ignoring the infanzon¡¯s words. ¡°Are there volunteers to look for survivors with me?¡±


    Isabel quickly agreed, predictably joined by an irritated Remund. Song stayed behind to keep an eye on the others. The three of them went into the ruins, scaling rough-edged crystal to wade through the destruction. It was dangerous and exhausting work, for now sharp pieces littered everywhere, but it must be done. For all that their help proved largely unnecessary: Master Cozme found them before they him, having bruised from a falling chunk of crystal but otherwise fine. Next came Zenzele and Lan, the latter having been cut shallowly across the arms by a blade.


    ¡°The illusion did not cover blood,¡± Zenzele told them. ¡°I saw it must be a person and not some monster.¡±


    ¡°And a good thing he did, if I had kept running I would have been under that,¡± Lan tacked on.


    She pointed a length of ceiling twenty feet long and three feet thick. Death would have been instant. Isabel escorted them back through the ruins, leaving Angharad with Remund. The youngest of the Cerdan brothers had been quiet since Isabel¡¯s departure, but he eventually gathered his courage and spoke.


    ¡°Should we find Augusto,¡± Remund said, ¡°something will need to be done. Preferably without others around to interfere.¡±


    Angharad studied him for a moment, then nodded.


    ¡°I never finished my duel with him,¡± she said. ¡°Honor can be made to wait, but never abandoned.¡±


    ¡°Then we have an understanding,¡± the infanzon smiled.


    Only it was not Augusto they found but the other two. Tupoc and Yaretzi were both wounded, but he the heavier of the two. She had a shallow wound on the upper arm, but he had a very thin cut across the cheek and a slab of crystal seemed to have fallen on his foot. Both had weapons in hand, he his segmented spear and Yaretzi a long knife.


    ¡°The test is at an end,¡± Angharad called out. ¡°Lay down your arms.¡±


    Tupoc smiled, but not at them.


    ¡°You first, Turquoise,¡± he said, drawing out the word mockingly.


    ¡°Now,¡± Angharad insisted.


    ¡°Or don¡¯t,¡± Remund casually said. ¡°I rather like our odds.¡±


    Even in the face of their threats Tupoc did not waver. It was Yaretzi who lowered her long knife.


    ¡°Peace,¡± she said. ¡°There is no need for violence.¡±


    ¡°You have,¡± Tupoc mused, ¡°the most delightful sense of humor.¡±


    ¡°Enough,¡± Angharad said. ¡°Let us leave this place, there may yet be peril.¡±


    Tupoc put down his spear.


    ¡°Have my boon companions all survived, then?¡± he asked.


    ¡°There is one yet missing,¡± Angharad blandly replied.


    ¡°I wonder who it might be, for you to have such an expression on your face,¡± Tupoc drily said.


    He rubbed his chin.


    ¡°Still, best to tend to my surviving flock for now,¡± he said. ¡°I shall leave you to it, Tredegar. For a time.¡±


    He strolled away, only slightly limping despite what must be cracked if not outright broken toes, and left them standing in the ruins. Angharad would have admired the gall, were he not so vile a man. Yaretzi thanked them for the help but had no intention of staying to look for Augusto. She waited until Tupoc was ahead enough she would not have to walk with him and left. The Pereduri continued to comb through the ruins with Remund, but after ten minutes she was forced to admit that there was no sign of Augusto Cerdan.


    ¡°He might have died in the collapse,¡± she finally said.


    Remund shook his head.


    ¡°Cerdan do not die easy,¡± the infanzon said. ¡°I will believe him dead when I see a corpse, not a moment before.¡±


    Whether that was sentiment or fear she knew not, but either way she cared not to argue against it. Despite their efforts they could not seem to get close to where she had entered, anyhow, for the way the hall had collapsed had closed off entire sections in practice if not in the absolute sense ¨C it might be possible to topple great crystals or clear sharp fields, given enough time and labor, but both were in sharp supply.


    ¡°I cannot see a way back,¡± she admitted.


    ¡°We could scale some of the crystals using my contract,¡± Remund mused. ¡°But not all the way, it would take too many rings and for too long.¡±


    The only way was forward, then. They could have looked further, but aware there was only so much time to waste here in the ruins Angharad gave in to the practicalities of their situation and they headed back to the others. There she found the crews had split again, Tupoc smiling widely.


    ¡°Lady Angharad, we were just speaking of you,¡± he said. ¡°Have you found path backwards through the hall?¡±


    ¡°There is none,¡± she said. ¡°Perhaps given time and effort we might be able to make one, but even then for some of us that passage would be¡­ unfeasible.¡±


    She did not need to glance at Felis for him to hear what she was saying.


    ¡°We will have to go around, then,¡± Tupoc casually said. ¡°As I am told you set out to safeguard our lives through bargain with the god, I would return the courtesy. Shall our crews make common cause, at least until a path back to the Old Fort is found?¡±


    It was her instinct to deny him, to insist on their crews going separate ways, but she tempered the urge to answer in haste. The cavern spread out before them was poorly lit, what little light there was coming from pits where translucent blue crystals glowed, but from what Angharad could see there was only one way out. Regardless of her desires she might well be forced to share a road with Tupoc¡¯s crew, so it would be best to settle the relationship between them first.


    ¡°I would agree to a truce until we find a path back to the Old Fort,¡± Angharad said. ¡°Extended to all now present.¡±


    Tupoc glanced at his followers, their exhausted mien and eagerness to avoid confrontation, and snorted.


    ¡°Alas, poor Augusto,¡± he said. ¡°I accept your terms, Lady Tredegar.¡±


    They lingered a little longer in the cavern, preparing to leave, until Felis snapped at his wife. Many looked away in discomfort, Angharad catching only that the man believed his latest wound to be shallow and insisted he would be fine. She was joined by Zenzele, who discreetly drew her attention to a quiet conversation between Tupoc and Ocotlan.


    ¡°Are you any good with a musket, my lady?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Passable at best,¡± she admitted.


    She was not untutored, that would have been a grave lack in a noble, but had never taken to it the way she had the sword.


    ¡°Shame,¡± Zenzele mused. ¡°Someone really ought to put a shot in that man¡¯s skull.¡±


    ¡°We are under truce,¡± Angharad flatly reminded him. ¡°By my own word.¡±


    ¡°We are,¡± the Malani agreed. ¡°Until we aren¡¯t. The weeds that we do not pull up in this trial may well come to haunt us in the next, Lady Angharad. It might be best to act rather than be acted upon.¡±


    She met his eyes squarely.


    ¡°If such a thing is to be done,¡± the Pereduri said, ¡°it will be after the truce is finished. I will brook no chicanery in this.¡±


    Zenzele Duma hummed, then looked away.


    ¡°We still have time,¡± he said. ¡°For now. Keep it in mind, that is all I ask.¡±


    It was arguable whether to plan on an attack immediately following the end of the truce, as Zenzele had been implying should be done, would be a breach of honor. It was a fine line, for in some sense to plot was to act, but it would not be going against the words exact. Yet these were a hiltless sword and not one she wanted to grow used to wielding. If there was to be war upon Tupoc Xical, she thought, let it be done the right way. Not cloak and dagger business, barely keeping to the finest lines of honor. Unsettled, she sought out Song so the two of them might take the vanguard.


    She found the Tianxi leaning near the opening in the cavern wall, cloak pulled tight around her as she kept an eye on Felis and Aines. The married pair had, at least, ceased arguing.


    ¡°What is it you look for?¡± Angharad asked.


    ¡°Trouble,¡± Song replied. ¡°But it is too late to avoid, I think.¡±


    ¡°It has been a long day already,¡± she tiredly agreed.


    ¡°We may have to pass the night out here, if we do not find a good path,¡± the Tianxi told her. ¡°It would be wiser than to force a trip back when we are all tired and making mistakes.¡±


    ¡°I would avoid sleeping out here if we can,¡± she muttered. ¡°There was something about that spirit, Song, that unsettles me still.¡±


    ¡°So you noticed as well,¡± the other woman approvingly said.


    ¡°There was something wrong with it,¡± Angharad said. ¡°You said the hall might be its own body, I recall. Why would it wound itself so, however much I angered it?¡±


    The Tianxi¡¯s face was grim.


    ¡°I begin to wonder if it was not a body instead,¡± she replied.


    Did she perhaps mean a corpse?


    ¡°A dead spirit, like the screeching thing we encountered?¡± the noblewoman skeptically asked. ¡°It seemed too cogent for that.¡±


    ¡°The Watch told us that the gods in the maze eat each other,¡± Song said. ¡°What if it not so simple as devouring, though? What if instead of consuming the vanquished, the victor¡­ hollowed them out, so to speak.¡±


    ¡°A puppet,¡± Angharad slowly said. ¡°You mean to say that this was a dead god¡¯s shell with another playacting through it.¡±


    ¡°That would make it well worth to collapse the hall for a chance at of one of us dying,¡± Song said.


    ¡°But why feign to be another?¡± she asked. ¡°I see no gain in it when it could simply place its own test instead.¡±


    ¡°I do not know,¡± the Tianxi admitted. ¡°There is something off about the Trial of Ruins, Angharad. The way it is built, the rules of it. For there to be multiple paths for us to take but the requirement of ten victors at the end? It encourages us to go into smaller groups, fewer than ten, and take risks.¡±


    ¡°What would the blackcloaks gain by seeing us dead?¡± she asked. ¡°The Dominion of Lost Thing is a method of recruitment, they would not want to throw away lives aiming to swear themselves to the Watch.¡±


    ¡°That is what bothers me most about it,¡± Song said, brushing back a strand that had come loose of her braid. ¡°But it is not in here we will find answers.¡±


    ¡°Victory makes a moot point of that mystery,¡± Angharad said. ¡°Best to triumph first and then spare the time to turn over the stones.¡±


    She could see Song disagreed but they did not argue the point. They fell in together, taking the front as was becoming their habit. Their assembled company left behind the eerie cavern, heading into a broad tunnel whose walls occasionally sprouted the same translucent crystals. A few minutes saw their presence thinning, however, until they were entirely gone and the natural stone of the walls turned ornate. Every inch of them was sculpted, faces snarling and grinning. Beasts and men and devils, hundreds of eyes leering at them from every direction.


    Every slice of lantern light revealed bared teeth and unblinking stares, as if their advanced was being spied upon.


    ¡°I¡¯ve felt less threatened by people threatening to cripple my legs and leave me to die,¡± Lan noted. ¡°Are we sure we want to keep going this way?¡±


    ¡°There is no other path,¡± Song replied. ¡°Unless you want to try your luck with the ruins?¡±


    ¡°Hint taken,¡± Lan cheerfully replied.


    She heard Zenzele snort. Setting aside her own misgivings, Angharad put a spring to her step. Song at her side, they sped through the tunnel until it narrowed so much they had to go in a line instead. Squeezing just past the narrowest point ¨C so tight she had to suck in her breath ¨C she stumbled out into great temple grounds. A rounded chamber spread out before her, its bottom floor a display of iridescent pools and stone gardens while slender steps led up to levels circling around the chamber that were filled with Someshwari prayer cells. The pools were fed by waterfalls, the same iridescent waters falling and casting many-colored light around them.


    Stone lanterns hung from the walls, all sculpted to look like a beast¡¯s mouth and filled with a trembling light.


    ¡°Gods,¡± Song gasped out, emerging behind her.


    ¡°It is beautiful,¡± Angharad admitted.


    But it might prove dangerous even if a spirit had yet to make an appearance. They got out of the way so the others could follow them in. When Tupoc squeezed through, the noblewoman noticed with a start that the shallow cut on his cheek was now nothing more than a scratch. His limp remained, but it did not seem as bad either. What manner of contract was this? Felis and Aines followed behind, the man batting away his wife¡¯s help ¨C though, in truth, he did not seem in such dire straits as believed. While obviously in pain, now that the blade shard had been removed and a makeshift bandage put in place by his wide he seemed in no danger of bleeding out.


    He had been lucky, then, or Remund had struck poorly.


    Ocotlan was the last through, and after a minute of struggling against the walls it became plain he was too large to pass. To Angharad¡¯s muted amusement he had to take a hammer to the sculptures before he could squeeze through and even then it was a narrow fit. Song had her musket in hand while the shrine entrance was taken a hammer to ¨C and Angharad kept her saber close ¨C but no spirit deigned to show.


    ¡°It might be abandoned,¡± the Pereduri mused. ¡°Though that seems strange, for it is hardly a ruin.¡±


    ¡°There is more than one way for gods to die in this maze, Lady Tredegar,¡± Tupoc nonchalantly said. ¡°It seems to me the god of this place might have been better served by a fortress than a palace.¡±


    ¡°We are deep in the maze,¡± Angharad conceded. ¡°It seems likely the strife between spirits would be harshest here, where fewer of the trial-takers reach.¡±


    If the spirits could not feed on the ensouled, they must feed on each other.


    ¡°Best to keep our guard up anyhow,¡± Master Cozme said. ¡°There is little safety to be found outside the Old Fort.¡±


    They agreed that drinking of the iridescent water seemed a poor idea and that it would be best to avoid touching it at all. Avoiding the bottom floor, they held close to the sides and went up the stairs. The prayer cells were adorned with stone mats, with exactly one relief carved into the wall of rooms of otherwise bare stone. Not a speck of dust in sight. The way out of this temple must be further up, Angharad decided when it became clear there was nothing but cells on the first level. They had gone underground quite a bit since the clockwork temple.


    Tupoc gestured for them to halt just before they reached the second floor, already reaching for his spear.


    ¡°Something ahead,¡± he murmured. ¡°Prepare.¡±


    Though she resented how close to an order his words were coming, Angharad did not deny the sense in them. Sword in hand she crouched on the stairs, pricking her ear as she heard footsteps approach. Breathing out, she glimpsed ahead.


    (Tupoc pulled the blow before it took her in the throat but Shalini shot him twice in the eye, hands like lightning.)


    ¡°Wait,¡± Angharad exclaimed, getting to her feet. ¡°They are not enemies.¡±


    The muzzle of a pistol peeked past the corner, followed by Shalini¡¯s surprised face.


    ¡°Tredegar?¡± she asked, then looked past her to the rest. ¡°Huh.¡±


    The Tianxi soldier Yong, sword in hand, joiner her a moment later as Tupoc laid his spear on his shoulder. Their entire crew was there, she realized. She sheathed her sword.


    ¡°Peace,¡± Angharad called out. ¡°It seems we have matters to discuss.¡±


    --


    Tensions ran high, but with no crew inclined to fire the first shot a truce was established. Lord Ishaan revealed they had found an easy path deep into the maze, past a trial of illusions that saw Acanthe Phos cheat copiously with her contract, but that after that a series of dead ends had kept them on a road straight to this very temple ¨C though they came in through the fifth level. They had been here for hours now and it took little prompting for the Someshwari to show Tupoc and Angharad why.


    ¡°This is it,¡± Lord Ishaan said. ¡°We thought them the only way out of the temple but we must have missed your entrance.¡±


    ¡°It is now a dead end anyhow,¡± Tupoc told him. ¡°The god collapsed its own shrine for spite of failing to take our lives.¡±


    Angharad only half paid attention to their talk, eyes on the gates Ishaan Nair had led them here to see. Three great circles of stone, looking almost like man-sized Aztlan calendars with all their complex radians and concentric circles. Around the rim of every gate was an elaborate stone contraption, each bearing a single needle pointing inwards and moving so slowly around the gate it seemed still if you did not pay close attention.


    ¡°- waiting until it opens,¡± Lord Ishaan said. ¡°The fourth floor is the most luxurious, so we prepared to camp there.¡±


    ¡°You believe the gates will open, then?¡± Angharad asked.


    ¡°They will,¡± Tupoc replied in his stead. ¡°This is a cyclical calendar, though I do not recognize the god it is dedicated to. Regardless, the engravings give clear time of prayer.¡±


    He tapped the first gate with a finger.


    ¡°The seventh hour,¡± he said, then moved to the others. ¡°The tenth. The fourteenth.¡±


    ¡°We came to similar conclusion,¡± Lord Ishaan evenly said.


    ¡°Odd hours,¡± Angharad mused. ¡°The sequence does not seem obvious.¡±


    ¡°Numbers dedicated to the god, I assume,¡± Tupoc said. ¡°Whichever that might be.¡±


    A second look at the speed of the needle and the hours the Izcalli had spoken of allowed her to gauge how long there was left, which was not until tomorrow.


    ¡°It seems we will all need to spend the night here,¡± she finally said.


    ¡°Indeed,¡± Ishaan Nair said. ¡°A more elaborate truce seems in order.¡±


    It was not a difficult bargain, as none were inclined to fight. Lord Ishaan was given right to take the earliest gate in exchange for allowing them to share the fourth floor with his crew ¨C the Someshwari admitted there were water wells and genuine sleeping chambers on it, a luxury they all desired ¨C while Tupoc offered to take the third gate in thanks for her ¡®invaluable help¡¯ through the crystal hall. She misliked the ironic tint to his words, but not enough to refuse the offer.


    After that, they all settled in for the night.


    --


    The room on the fourth floor were much preferrable to the prayer cells, as Ishaan had said.


    There were wooden beds ¨C without sheets, but Angharad had her own bedroll ¨C and her chambers had a stone basin that she filled with water from the closest well. Most lovely of all was that every room had doors, which could not be locked but could at least be closed. Sleeping chambers were claimed in clusters, all three crews sleeping close and away from their competitors, so she saw little of the others save for a smile shared with Brun. At once tired and energized, she retired early to her room and found herself laying on the bed while looking at the ceiling.


    The air was oddly warm here, enough that even in an undertunic and underclothes she could not decide whether she wanted to be inside the bedroll or not. The dim light coming from a small hole in the ceiling did not help, tracing by shadow the silhouette of everything in the room. Rolling around restlessly, she tore her gaze away from the disturbing mosaic on the ceiling that showed black birds falling from the sky like rain and closed her eyes. Surely if she kept at it long enough sleep would ensue. Angharad did not want to approach tomorrow tired and- she reached for her blade the moment she heard the level lock of her door begin to move.


    Unsheathing the saber silently as she padded across the room on bare feet, Angharad pressed against the wall to lay in ambush. The scabbard she propped up against the wall, breathing in shallowly when the door to her chambers opened and then just as quietly closed. The assassin took one step, a second and Angharad struck ¨C only for her blade to halt a hair¡¯s breadth away from the throat.


    Isabel Ruesta looked down at the steel and swallowed.


    ¡°Angharad,¡± she whispered.


    Isabel, she realized, wore nothing but a pale sleeping shift. Sleeveless and with a low neckline that pulled taut at the breasts, pressing them up to draw the eye. The dark-haired beauty¡¯s cheeks were rosy and there could be no doubt as to why another woman who come into her rooms at this hour so dressed. A night visit, and the tension went out of her shoulders ¨C she was not unfamiliar with this game. She took away the blade.


    ¡°Isabel,¡± she replied, then hesitated. ¡°We cannot.¡±


    There was no telling who might be watching, in this strange temple, and too many potential eyes. Tupoc would be looking for anything to hold over her head, and she was not sure Lord Ishaan would refuse an opportunity to sunder their crew. Which a shared bed between them might well achieved, however unfair it might be: Remund would be livid, and if he left Cozme would go with him. Isabel¡¯s eyes widened with surprise, and something altogether colder before the infanzona wiped it away.


    ¡°I had not thought you so cowed by House Cerdan,¡± she evenly said.


    Wounded pride bled out every pore. Angharad would have fared no better, had she been refused after sneaking in dressed so flatteringly.


    ¡°If this were the Old Fort, I would take the risk regardless,¡± the Pereduri admitted. ¡°But it would be too easy to get caught here, the doors so close, and there are no sanctuary rules to keep blades out of hands should it happen.¡±


    ¡°We would be twice as likely to get caught at the fort,¡± Isabel sulked. ¡°The blackcloaks are everywhere.¡±


    She had looked pleased, though at the admission. And soon followed with a sly look, stepping close and pressing her cheek against Angharad¡¯s collarbone. Awkwardly, still holding the sword, she wrapped her arm around the infanzona.


    ¡°It would be dangerous to return so quickly to the hall,¡± she wheedled. ¡°Surely you would not want to risk that.¡±


    Angharad¡¯s eyes strayed down a slender neck, to the rounded valleys pressed up by the cut of the shift and felt the test of her resolve.


    ¡°It would be too risky,¡± she allowed, swallowing.


    Isabel pressed a kiss against the side of her neck, hiding her face as she whispered.


    ¡°And a few kisses, would you deny me that?¡±


    There she held firm.


    ¡°It would not stop at that,¡± Angharad said. ¡°We both know that.¡±


    Isabel snickered against the crook of her neck, a sensation that had her shivering.


    ¡°Perhaps not,¡± the infanzona admitted. ¡°But hold me a while, at least. I would feel your skin against mine before you send back into the cold.¡±


    And Angharad could not find it in herself to again argue against something she wanted so very much.


    To that request, she acceded.


    --


    Angharad woke to shouting.


    We were caught, she thought for a heartbeat, but there was now warmth besides her. Isabel was gone. Relief warred with disappointment over that, though both were scattered by the continued clamor. She stumbled out of her rooms, scabbard in hand, and in the hallway found a dozen from every crew on their feet and armed. Accusations and denials were heatedly exchanged, but she only saw why after a few more steps forward. At the center of the commotion, Aines lay on the temple floor.


    No longer breathing, for someone had cut her throat.

 Chapter 27

    A secret, Abuela had taught Tristan, always whispered twice.


    The first was the secret reaching your ear, the hidden thing unearthed. The second was the whisper of what a man had thought worth wielding a spade to bury, what it said of them they would keep away from prying eyes. He thought of that, as Lieutenant Vasanti called up her soldiers and introduced him as their fresh meat, a new helper in their work to unearth the tower¡¯s secrets who would soon be joined by three more. He thought of it and smiled at the strangers, because the blackcloaks were bringing him to find out the pillar¡¯s secrets but it was not them he truly wanted.


    He was going to find out what that Watch had buried here and why they¡¯d buried it.


    And once he had had, once he heard the second whisper and he saw the whole of the mosaic instead of a hundred pieces, then he would decide where to slide the knife.


    --


    The first act he took come morning was sowing the seed Beatris had given him.


    ¡°And she told you this in person?¡± Isabel pressed.


    ¡°Last night,¡± he said. ¡°And as a parting gift to us both, Lady Ruesta, she told me we share a trouble.¡±


    The dark-haired infanzona smiled, and Tristan wondered how long it had taken her to craft this one: friendly but not overly inviting, just a touch cheerful and na?ve. Even without the contract Tredegar would have tripped all over her boots around Isabel Ruesta.


    ¡°And what would that be?¡±


    Tristan feigned wiping his lips, enough to hide how them from watchers.


    ¡°Remund Cerdan,¡± he said.


    Isabel¡¯s smiled widened.


    ¡°It is very kind of you to be so concerned,¡± she said, ¡°but though taken with me he has not been-¡±


    ¡°My sister lost her hands to his contract,¡± Tristan lied. ¡°He¡¯s a shit and you don¡¯t want to marry him any more than I want him to make it through this trial.¡±


    Oh, the thief thought as he watched Isabel Ruesta¡¯s face shift seamlessly from slightly touched to cool pleasantness. A schemer¡¯s face, but he would wager not her true one. It was just another sort of play she put on, changing role for every stage. She was the most dangerous sort of the snake: the kind that did not announce the venomous fangs with bright colors.


    ¡°I did think you were just a little too convenient to simply be a rat,¡± Isabel mildly said. ¡°Revenge, however, is an expensive business. Which coterie sponsored you?¡±


    ¡°What would that matter to you?¡± Tristan shrugged.


    ¡°Won¡¯t you indulge me?¡± she asked, batting her eyes.


    Was she using her contract? He could not tell if she was. The thought angered him regardless.


    ¡°No.¡±


    She looked more amused than miffed.


    ¡°So we share a trouble,¡± Isabel acknowledged. ¡°What do you propose to do about it?¡±


    ¡°Poor choice of words,¡± Tristan noted, to a quirk of her lips. ¡°And today? Nothing. I have business here in the Old Fort. I need two things from you: a recounting of the venture in the maze and for you to find a place where I might corner him.¡±


    ¡°You want me to spy for you,¡± Isabel lightly said.


    ¡°Spy is such an ugly word,¡± the thief noted. ¡°Which is fitting given that we are arranging your fianc¨¦¡¯s murder.¡±


    The mask of pleasantness cracked. That, at last, had touched a nerve.


    ¡°We are not,¡± Lady Isabel Ruesta coldly laid out, ¡°engaged.¡±


    ¡°Nor will you ever be, if we help each other,¡± Tristan smiled back, all charm and friendliness.


    From the corner of his eye he saw Angharad Tredegar approaching their table and he cocked an eyebrow at the infanzona. They could not speak long without suspicion, or easily again without causing the same.


    ¡°Agreed,¡± Isabel murmured.


    Would she betray him, Tristan wondered? Too early to tell, but only a fool would discount the possibility when faced with such a snake. More likely, though, she would keep this secret in her pocket in case it might ever be of use in getting her home to the life she did not want to leave behind. The thief waited until Tredegar joined them, then made quickly his excuses to leave. He now had eyes in their crew and an accomplice for what was to come.


    That was one piece of the mosaic in hand: now he must collect the rest.


    --


    Talking his comrades into joining Lieutenant Vasanti¡¯s efforts had not been difficult: they were all eager at the thought of getting the Watch¡¯s help and protection. What Tristan had not expected was for the Watch itself to argue over Vasanti¡¯s decision. It was very much the case, though, and after spending so long tiptoeing around the blackcloaks Tristan found it rather lovely to see them tear into each other like this.


    ¡°- against every rule,¡± Lieutenant Wen insisted. ¡°We have a clear set of duties overseeing the second trial and using its takers as labor undeniably goes against them.¡±


    ¡°Oh look,¡± Lieutenant Vasanti drawled, ¡°the boy has an opinion on rules. That¡¯s nice. In thirty years, I might even start giving a shit about what you think.¡±


    They weren¡¯t even hiding this, the thief gleefully thought. All three of them were in the kitchen, in sight of everyone, and more than a few watchmen were looking at the scene.


    ¡°You¡¯ll be dead in thirty years, crone,¡± the Tianxi snarled.


    ¡°And what a relief it will be,¡± Vasanti replied, ¡°to finally be beyond the reach of your whining.¡±


    Tristan knew better than to get involved. The Watch was clannish, like a tightly knit coterie, and no matter how at odds the pair got they were sure to band together against an outsider. Instead he sat in his seat, moving as little as he could, and tried very hard not to grin at how red in the face Lieutenant Wen had gone.


    ¡°I will kick this up to Captain Tozi if I have to,¡± Wen threatened.


    The large Tianxi lieutenant had always been so sure in his power until now, so willing to toy with all of them. Tristan found that seeing the man¡¯s jaw clench and his eyes flash with anger was good for morale. He¡¯d keep this moment in mind, next time Wen threatened to hammer an entire bucket¡¯s worth of nails into his body.


    ¡°The same Captain Tozi you told she¡¯s only been picked for the Academy because she¡¯s nobleborn?¡± Lieutenant Vasanti replied. ¡°Do wait until I¡¯m in the room to try it, at my age there¡¯s only so many good laughs left ahead of me.¡±


    Lieutenant Wen gritted his teeth.


    ¡°Commander Artal-¡±


    ¡°Won¡¯t care what happens outside Three Pines so long as it doesn¡¯t splash his boots,¡± Vasanti cut in, unimpressed. ¡°He¡¯s just here to pretty up his record before a committee bid.¡±


    The old Someshwari shook her head, as if disappointed.


    ¡°Besides, this is all far away,¡± she said. ¡°In the Old Fort, Wen, I am the senior lieutenant. Do you remember what that means?¡±


    The Tianxi¡¯s face tightened.


    ¡°You haven¡¯t run a goddamn thing, Vasanti,¡± he said. ¡°It¡¯s all been me while you¡¯ve holed up in the pillar with your favorites and-¡±


    ¡°It means,¡± Lieutenant Vasanti coldly interrupted, ¡°that I am your superior. And your superior has just ordered you to shut the fuck up, so you had best get to it.¡±


    Lieutenant Wen¡¯s face went even redder, which Tristan had not thought possible, and he closed his mouth. He stalked away, not bothering to hide his fury, and the old woman snorted at the sight.


    ¡°There¡¯s only so far a pristine combat record will get you, kid, with a mouth like yours,¡± she said, then sighed. ¡°And you, rat, keep that smirk off your face.¡±


    ¡°I am not smirking,¡± Tristan said. ¡°And you are not looking at my face.¡±


    Lieutenant Vasanti turned an irritated eye on him.


    ¡°I have a fine nose for conceit,¡± she said. ¡°You positively reek of it.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll try to trade for an earlier bath ticket,¡± Tristan easily replied.


    The irritation in her eyes grew.


    ¡°Go gather your little band,¡± she said. ¡°Wen¡¯s going to be a right pain for the rest of the year, so you had better be worth the trouble.¡±


    --


    The northwestern bastion was Lieutenant Vasanti¡¯s private kingdom.


    That much became clear within moments as five blackcloaks gathered to her like chicks to their mother, coming to around the table by the telescope while looking all eager and polite. The four of them ¨C Francho, Vanesa, Maryam and Tristan himself ¨C were escorted up the stairs by the same middle-aged Someshwari woman Tristan had first thought to be the Vasanti last night. She was, in fact, called Sergeant Ovya.


    She also had it in for him.


    ¡°I don¡¯t suppose,¡± the sergeant asked, ¡°that you have any notion of why I¡¯ve ordered to write ¡®I will load my pistol properly, like a grown woman¡¯ a hundred times with a charcoal pen?¡±


    ¡°None whatsoever,¡± Tristan lied.


    The Someshwari leaned closer.


    ¡°When you inevitably piss her off,¡± Ovya whispered, ¡°I¡¯ll be sure to ask to be the one to cane you.¡±


    Best nip that in the bud, he decided.


    ¡°Sergeant,¡± Tristan replied, pitching his voice loud and feigning indignation, ¡°that would be quite inappropriate, given your authority over me.¡±


    Surprise flickered across her face a moment, the confusion. At least until she¡¯d noticed he had spoken loud enough to be heard by all the watchmen at the table, several of which were now frowning at her. They¡¯ll remember this if you try to wiggle your way into delivering a caning, he thought. Trying to beat a younger man for refusing her unseemly advances was the kind of thing that would darken her reputation permanently, so odds were she would back off. Sergeant Ovya glared at him.


    ¡°You can find your way to the table, I am sure,¡± she coldly said, then strode away.


    There was a moment of silence, then behind him Maryam sighed.


    ¡°I¡¯d assumed you talked your way into the good graces of the lieutenant,¡± she said, ¡°but why is that beginning to feel like optimism?¡±


    ¡°I applied the full breadth of my charms,¡± Tristan defended.


    ¡°Oh dear,¡± Francho wheezed out. ¡°Where did you even find a cliff to jump off from?¡±


    ¡°Stop teasing him, you two,¡± Vanesa chided.


    She sent a smile his way.


    ¡°I¡¯m sure he has angered no more than half of these fine folk,¡± she added.


    Betrayal on all sides, Tristan amusedly thought. Making sport of him seemed to put a little life back in Vanesa¡¯s pale face, so he let it pass without retort. The four of them made their way to the table, where Lieutenant Vasanti was fiddling with a scroll. She shot them an impatient glance.


    ¡°Did you go for a stroll first?¡± she complained. ¡°Come closer, I don¡¯t have all day.¡±


    Which was factually untrue, Tristan thought, but he chose silence. If you kept putting your hand in the crocodile¡¯s mouth, no matter how lucky you were eventually you lost the hand. Vasanti¡¯s eyes swept through the four of them.


    ¡°How much did you actually figure out about this place?¡± she asked, then frowned. ¡°Never mind, I don¡¯t actually care. Let us keep this simple.¡±


    She pointed upwards, at the great golden aetheric machine mimicking the stars and casting its glow on all of the massive cavern.


    ¡°The Antediluvians built this place and the pillar that connects the ceiling and floor of this cavern,¡± she said. ¡°Sometime after, likely beginning as early as the Old Night, devils began building the rest of this place ¨C namely the maze of ruins and the Old Fort.¡±


    Lieutenant Vasanti paused.


    ¡°That¡¯s intriguing, but we don¡¯t like the devils here,¡± she said. ¡°Why do we not like the devils, Biter?¡±


    ¡°It is Bitor, ma¡¯am,¡± a young man with the Sacramontan look reminded her.


    She did not acknowledge his answer in the slightest, which must have been common because he went on without even a sigh and no one looked surprised.


    ¡°We do not like the devils here because they sabotaged the iron gates leading inside the pillar,¡± Bitor dutifully said. ¡°We have found parts of what was almost certainly a mechanism to open them in the basement of the Old Fort.¡±


    Francho cleared his throat, earning a look from Vasanti. She did not insult him, to Tristan¡¯s surprise, not even when the old scholar dipped into a wet cough before he could speak.


    ¡°Did the devils tinker with the aetheric machine?¡± he asked.


    She nodded approvingly.


    ¡°One of the questions we seek answers for,¡± Lieutenant Vasanti said. ¡°One of my predecessors blew his way into the pillar, but our progress has since stopped. Some of what was found, however, implies that there are controls for the machine somewhere near the top of the pillar. It is entirely possible the devils got that far and are responsible for the current ¡®laws¡¯ enforced by the aetheric device.¡±


    The very underpinnings of the Trial of Ruins, Tristan thought. The reason why they could venture into the maze and take tests: the gods could not harm humans unless terms were first agreed on, only each other, and they could not leave their seats of power. The devils also brought hundreds of shrines and built a fort around the gate to the pillar, the thief thought. What is it they were trying to achieve? He was still missing too many pieces to begin making out the pattern.


    ¡°Do we have any notion of why this place was so important to them?¡± he asked. ¡°They spent many years and much effort on this cavern.¡±


    Lieutenant Vasanti considered him.


    ¡°You might not know this, given your youth and lacking education, but it is not uncommon for devils to sabotage or destroy the finest works of the First Empire,¡± she said. ¡°We have no reason to believe this is any different.¡±


    Liar, Tristan thought. There was a glimpse of the second whisper: Lieutenant Vasanti believed she knew why it was the devils cared about this place and she did not want it known. Known by us, or by everyone? He would have to find out of the other blackcloaks were also being kept in the dark. His instincts had him suspecting they would be. If it was something she could use to get more men and resources, she already would have. It was being kept quiet, perhaps by more than just her.


    How many hands were on this spade?


    ¡°Good to know,¡± Tristan smiled. ¡°I take it you have something in mind for us to aid in?¡±


    Lieutenant Vasanti unrolled the scroll she had been fiddling with, spreading it out on the table. It was a drawn schematic of the pillar, Tristan saw, or at least a small part of it. He easily recognized the room where he had almost been shot last night and the stairs on its side, leading up to an intersection. On one side the stairs led to an intricately drawn chamber centered around a complicated machine, while on the other they rose to what looked like a dead end ¨C save for a side door marked as a word in Samratrava he did not know the meaning of. The Someshwari officer tapped a finger on the machine-room.


    ¡°There are mechanism in there that respond to Gloam and what might be instructions for their use that we have not deciphered,¡± Lieutenant Vasanti said. ¡°I haven¡¯t been able to talk a Navigator into coming here, so the girl who can use Signs will have to do.¡±


    She paused, turning to Francho.


    ¡°How are you with cryptoglyphs?¡± she asked.


    ¡°My language studies centered on cants, but I am familiar with the Naukratian glyphs,¡± the old professor toothlessly smiled.


    Tristan kept his confusion off his face. He knew what cants were ¨C darkling languages, supposedly descended from the single original tongue the Antediluvians had spoken ¨C but had no notion of what these cryptoglyphs might be.


    ¡°Then you¡¯ll be taking a look,¡± Vasanti said. ¡°The best I managed to get is Luisa here, who is only familiar with one of the Second Empire codexes. She will be your assistant.¡±


    He leaned closed to Maryam.


    ¡°Cryptoglyphs?¡±


    ¡°First Empire scientific language,¡± she murmured back. ¡°Signs are based on it.¡±


    So Francho was familiar with some of the glyphs, while Luisa ¨C a young woman with short blond hair, looking a little nervous ¨C had only read a ¡®codex¡¯. The difference between someone who knew the letters and someone who had read a list of words, perhaps? He would make inquiries with Francho when they had the time. However short their exchange, it had caught Lieutenant Vasanti¡¯s attention.


    ¡°Stop chattering,¡± the old woman warned. ¡°Now, for the last two of you I have something else in mind. We¡¯ll be going for a look at the central shaft, then we can discuss what I want from you.¡±


    That did not sound so bad, at least until Tristan saw the grim looks on the faces of the blackcloaks.


    --


    One of the watchmen, a stout man with unfortunate acne, had to carry Vanesa up the ladder tied to his back.


    Much as Tristan would have liked to be allowed to roam inside the pillar, he did not even get to see the machine-room where Maryam and Francho were taken away to. Instead Lieutenant Vasanti led him and Vanesa up the narrow stairs, at a slow pace accommodating of the crutches. They took a right at the crossroads and continued up for another flight, leading right to the dead end the drawings had laid out. Only they had not shown why it was a dead end, a detail that would have been worth the mention.


    Someone had buried the last stretch of stairs below massive slabs of stone. A few of the stones were shattered and there were scorch marks on them and the walls, but the effort must have been aborted for it was well shy of anything like a doorway.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    ¡°Why stop?¡± he asked Lieutenant Vasanti, flicking a look at the slabs.


    ¡°There were concerns that the amount of powder it¡¯d get through would bring the ceiling down on our heads,¡± she told him. ¡°That and one of our contractors found out there¡¯s a layer of metal at the back.¡±


    ¡°The door was welded shut?¡± Tristan breathed out.


    ¡°The devils did not want anyone to get past those stairs,¡± Lieutenant Vasanti said. ¡°They are not creatures prone to half-measures.¡±


    He let out a low whistle. The devils, he thought, were at the heart of this mystery. They had built the maze, built the fort, and gone to great lengths to keep people from being able to enter the pillar before abandoning the Old Fort to the blackcloaks. The secret they care about is in the pillar, he decided. Exactly like the Watch, they had centered their entire presence on the Dominion of Lost Things around what existed in this cavern. Is it all about the golden machine above us? Not, it shouldn¡¯t be. If the devils had been able to get up there, as Lieutenant Vasanti clearly believed, then they would have been able to destroy the Antediluvian machine.


    There would have been no need to prevent entrance through the gates or block stairs with stone and steel.


    ¡°I don¡¯t see the door shown on your scroll,¡± Vanesa called out from a few steps down. ¡°It should be around here.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s a trick to it,¡± the lieutenant replied, black cloak brushing past Tristan and she came down.


    The old Someshwari leaned close to the wall, then pressed her thumbs against a spot. There was a small click, then the stone popped open and the outline of a door swung out half an inch. The lieutenant stepped back and opened it all the way, inviting them to look. It wouldn¡¯t exactly be accurate to call what he saw room, as that would imply it was usable. It was not.


    What Tristan was looking it as was a vertical stone shaft at least two miles long that was positively filled with ticking, shifting cogs and wheel. At a central pillar there seemed to be something like a twisting rope made of steel, if rope could be thicker than a carriage. The racket was deafening whenever he put his head through the open door but when he pulled it back out it faded to something more sufferable. So that¡¯s why no one heard the shot last night, he thought. The Ancient built the pillar so it wouldn¡¯t fill their cavern with noise.


    Others had more practical interests,


    ¡°That,¡± Vanesa said, leaning on her crutch, ¡°is an overgrown tension engine.¡±


    Lieutenant Vasanti nodded.


    ¡°I believe the same,¡± she admitted. ¡°My guess is that it is part of one of those near-perpetuating engines the Antediluvians loved slapping inside everything ¨C it might provide the power behind the entire shifting machinery in the ceiling.¡±


    ¡°It should have nothing to do with the iron gates, then,¡± Vanesa opined.


    ¡°Not exactly true,¡± the watchwoman said. ¡°See over there?¡±


    The Someshwari pointed a finger past the threshold, through the mess of steel, and Tristan frowned as he tried to make out what she indicated.


    ¡°I can¡¯t make out anything,¡± Vanesa admitted.


    ¡°A door,¡± the thief said. ¡°About half a level beneath us, there¡¯s an opening in the wall.¡±


    ¡°Maintenance access, like this one,¡± Lieutenant Vasanti said. ¡°We used a longview to get a better look and we are certain that room connects to others. It might lead us to a way to open the gates.¡±


    Tristan eyed her skeptically. That sounded rather like wishful thinking. Taking in the riot of moving steel inside, the way cogs went up and down and wheels scythed through, he could see why the devils had not bothered to bury this door: no one could go through it without being crushed or rent apart.


    ¡°Have you tried to access it from the outside?¡± he asked. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t be too hard to figure out the corresponding location, then you could blow your way in like this one.¡±


    ¡°We made the attempt,¡± Lieutenant Vasanti curtly replied. ¡°Three barrels of blackpowder did nothing but scratch the stone. The only reason we were able to force in our way the first time was that there was a crack in the pillar.¡±


    ¡°Then how have you tried to reach the room?¡± the thief frowned.


    Lieutenant Vasanti raised an eyebrow. No, he thought. Surely she couldn¡¯t mean¡­


    ¡°You sent people into that, didn¡¯t you?¡± he said, pointing at the moving steel.


    ¡°Two,¡± the Someshwari acknowledged. ¡°Volunteers. One lived long enough to come out but the wounds took her in the night.¡±


    ¡°And you haven¡¯t tried since,¡± Tristan deduced. ¡°If the body count gets too high, the commander in charge of the island will step in.¡±


    The blackcloaks were likely willing enough to let Lieutenant Vasanti molder here so long as that was all she did, but if she started getting their soldiers killed that was another story.


    ¡°I was not forbidden to continue the research,¡± the old woman said, ¡°but I was ordered to find a better avenue than just feeding people to the shaft.¡±


    Vanesa let out a little noise of comprehension.


    ¡°So that¡¯s why you have the telescope,¡± she said. ¡°You¡¯re marking down how the mobile moves above and trying to match it to movements here. You are looking for a safe path through.¡±


    ¡°Clever,¡± the Someshwari praised. ¡°We have kept extensive records. I am from the aetheric branch of the Umuthi Society, so I will admit that causal mechanics are not my specialty. A clockmaker, however, might see catch I would not.¡±


    ¡°It would be my pleasure to take a look,¡± Vanesa said. ¡°Not quite as exciting as working with one¡¯s hands to solve the puzzle, but I suppose my days for that are past.¡±


    She did not need to reach for her missing eye, or need to.


    ¡°I suppose I should begin to head down now,¡± the old clockmaker sighed. ¡°It will take long enough.¡±


    ¡°Take the chair in the room downstairs,¡± Lieutenant Vasanti told her. ¡°I¡¯ll have the records brought to you.¡±


    Vanesa thanked her kindly, and warily began the journey down. Tristan waited for her to be too far to overheard before speaking up.


    ¡°How far did you get mapping out the patterns?¡±


    Lieutenant Vasanti grimaced, then spat to the side.


    ¡°Some,¡± she said, ¡°but not as much as I need to justify another attempt. At exactly three past midday every day there is a sequence that repeats, but near the end of the path through there¡¯s a random variable. We haven¡¯t been able to narrow down what causes the differences.¡±


    Tristan cocked his head to the side.


    ¡°And by variable you mean¡­¡±


    ¡°A serrated wheel went right through the dummy we threw yesterday,¡± she said. ¡°It¡¯s all been along those lines.¡±


    ¡°So this is a death trap,¡± Tristan flatly said.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry to hear you say that, boy,¡± Lieutenant Vasanti coldly smiled, ¡°since you¡¯re going right in it.¡±


    He kept the surge of fear off his face. Admitting to it would do nothing but pleased her. The lieutenant had good as told him he was meant for this from the start, Tristan realized. All the others were of use to her ¨C Francho as a historian, Maryam as a Gloam witch and Vanesa as a clockmaker. This murderous place must have been what she had in mind last night, when she¡¯d said she ¡®had a use for him¡¯.


    Fortuna leaned past the threshold, taking a look inside and retreating with a solemn look on her face.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± she said, nodding decisively. ¡°You¡¯re definitely dying in there.¡±


    Her support was, as always, invaluable.


    ¡°How long until the sequence?¡± Tristan asked, forcing calm.


    ¡°Three hours and change,¡± the lieutenant shrugged. ¡°We have a clock downstairs.¡±


    The thief looked at Vasanti who was staring back with poisonous satisfaction. It seemed unlikely she would let herself be talked out of sending him in there and backing out of their ¡®deal¡¯ was not an option. She¡¯d then simply tell Lieutenant Wen he had gone into a forbidden part of the Old Fort without permission and he would be removed from the trials. Had she figured out he intended to kill her last night, was that why so much hostility lurked under the smiles? No, he thought. Tristan had been hated by people before and this did not feel the same ¨C it was not as personal.


    It might not be him, the thief thought, that Lieutenant Vasanti was getting back at by sending into the whirling steel.


    ¡°Then I shall take that time to prepare,¡± Tristan said. ¡°I expect you don¡¯t mind me trying to improve my chances?¡±


    The watchwoman¡¯s face was blank, but her face was pulled tight as if holding in a frown or a snarl. Vasanti, he realized, had just gotten angry. Did she want me to beg? He was not too proud for that, and would have if he¡¯d had any inkling it might work. The thief felt as if he were missing something again, but there no time to untangle the snarl.


    ¡°Do as you will,¡± the lieutenant said. ¡°So long as you¡¯re there thirty minutes early.¡±


    Tristan nodded, breathed out and put on a smile.


    Now he just needed to figure out how to avoid being buried in pieces.


    --


    If he was to cheat death he would need help, and that meant Maryam.


    The room where she and Francho had gone was guarded by a blackcloak armed with sword and musket, though the man looked more bored than wary. He let Tristan in without a second glance, letting the thief deduce the measure was more about keeping things in than keeping people out.


    The first thing he noticed after coming in was the machine.


    The drawing had not shown color, so he had not expected the intricate device to be made of some golden alloy.  Its basic shape was simple: a rectangular box atop which twelve cylinders interlocked with pistons had been welded. The cylinders were connected to something like a barrel lying down, though the ¡®lid¡¯ of that barrel was dull green glass. The whole thing stood about as tall as a grown man. The intricacies, the parts that filled the room, were the levers.


    The box atop which everything rested was open on the sides, revealing slowly turning cogs, but from a golden frame beneath the cogs spurted at least four dozen spindly levers on each side. They were at least five feet long and could be moved, up and down and to the sides, which seemed to make different parts move in the frame beneath the cogs. Maryam¡¯s hand was on one of the levers when he came in, though she took it off when glancing his way.


    Francho, who was standing by one of the walls with his blackcloak assistant ¨C Luisa, the thief recalled -immediately noticed.


    ¡°Ah, Tristan,¡± he toothlessly smiled. ¡°I¡¯d wondered if you would come take a look.¡±


    The room around the machine had been stripped bare, much like the one where the blackcloaks had made their base but carved into the bare stone of the walls were narrow stripes. Tristan had to squint to realize that they were in fact small intricate marks, so small and close to each other that from a distance they looked like lines. The mentioned cryptoglyphs, he guessed.


    ¡°It is quite the machine,¡± Tristan said. ¡°Have you made any progress?¡±


    ¡°The professor is a man of great learning,¡± Luisa eagerly said. ¡°Already we have associated some levers and instructions.¡±


    ¡°I will not be enough to get them working,¡± Maryam frankly said. ¡°The expectation seems that whoever uses this is able to use Signs corresponding to the cryptoglyphs, but there are dozens mentioned ¨C it would take a full-fledged Navigator to do it, and one with a specialized field of study at that.¡±


    To the thief¡¯s surprise they did not seem to be writing anything down, but that was not his trouble. He¡¯d not come here for the machine.


    ¡°I need a word with Sarai, if you do not mind,¡± he said. ¡°It is about the work that Lieutenant Vasanti gave me.¡±


    Luisa looked away guiltily. Well, that was one way not to get an argument. Francho shrugged.


    ¡°It will be hours, if not days, before even a basic understanding of this text can be had,¡± he said. ¡°Take as long as you need.¡±


    Maryam glanced at him curiously, then at his unspoken invitation followed him out of the room. The armed watchman stopped them, confirming the thief¡¯s earlier suspicion by professionally patting them down to see if they were taking anything out. He then let them out without a word. Tristan only led them up the stairs enough they should not be overheard.


    ¡°Trouble,¡± he said.


    ¡°Do you ever bring me anything else?¡± Maryam drily replied.


    ¡°I may well die in three hours,¡± he said, which earned her full attention.


    He told her all of it, even his suspicions about the source of Lieutenant Vasanti¡¯s hostility ¨C though he called Abuela that, and not ¡®Nerei¡¯ as the watchwoman had.


    ¡°The globe of Gloam you used when we tricked the airavatan,¡± he said. ¡°Could it be used as a shield?¡±


    She shook her head.


    ¡°If it is forcefully shattered, there is a decent chance my brain will be cooked from the inside,¡± she said.


    His eyes widened. Well, if Signs were easy to use everyone would dabble.


    ¡°I don¡¯t suppose you have anything else?¡± he said.


    She bit her lip.


    ¡°I might be able to drag you back,¡± Maryam said. ¡°Once. And given how weak my understanding of the Sign is, the ¡®hand¡¯ will have to hold thick clothes if you do want your skin to char.¡±


    ¡°That is something,¡± Tristan acknowledged.


    ¡°You should refuse and risk Wen,¡± she advised him. ¡°He is unlikely to kill you, which this very well might.¡±


    It would have been the clever thing to do, but he could not. His silence spoke volumes, enough that Maryam breathed out.


    ¡°Tell me why, at least,¡± she said.


    ¡°If it were just a beating I was headed for, I would take it,¡± Tristan said. ¡°But Lieutenant Wen will likely remove me from the trials as well.¡±


    Maryam stared him down.


    ¡°And if you are thrown out, you lose your chance at Cozme Aflor,¡± she said, letting out a long breath.


    She did not ask whether vengeance was worth gambling with his life, a reminder that they had not come to be companions by mistake.


    ¡°I will do what I can,¡± she finally said. ¡°But a chance is the most I can buy you, Tristan.¡±


    ¡°That is the most I can ask,¡± he replied, then paused.


    Slightly embarrassed, he cleared his throat.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± he added.


    It was a dangerous thing for a rat to express gratitude. Few in the Murk had qualms about exploiting debts owed.


    ¡°Thank me if you live,¡± she grimly replied.


    --


    Visiting Vanesa had been something of an afterthought. He had time before his execution and would not go through that door having left stones unturned. She was comfortably ensconced at the lieutenant¡¯s own desk, pouring through stacks of paper and keeping some notes to the side in a charcoal pen.


    ¡°Anything interesting?¡± he asked.


    The old woman almost jumped out of her skin.


    ¡°Manes, I didn¡¯t hear you come in,¡± she said, hand resting on her heart.


    He had not tried to sneak, he thought, so she must have been quite absorbed by the reading.


    ¡°It is all very interesting, though not as much as the iron gates,¡± she told him. ¡°They have paid very close attention to the mechanisms directly by the door, mapping out the movements by the hour and drawing them in great detail.¡±


    He leaned in.


    ¡°I hear,¡± he said, ¡°that at three past midday there is a particular sequence.¡±


    She snorted.


    ¡°It is an obsession for them,¡± Vanesa told him. ¡°They have manuscripts¡¯ worth of attempts to match some of the movements to the moving parts near the cavern ceiling.¡±


    ¡°No success?¡± he lightly asked.


    She narrowed her eye at him, not fooled by the tone.


    ¡°Why the interest?¡±


    He saw no need to lie.


    ¡°I will be attempting a crossing,¡± he admitted. ¡°The odds seem steep.¡±


    ¡°That is madness,¡± she said. ¡°We must ask her for more time, you-¡±


    ¡°It will be today, Vanesa,¡± Tristan gently said. ¡°There will be no convincing.¡±


    The old woman looked at him, then, and though she did not ask anything an understanding passed. She might not have been a rat, born and aged far from the Murk, but she was no fool. She had not come here by choice any more than he. Sadness twisted her worn face, though as a few heartbeats passed it turned to something entirely colder. She was, Tristan realized, angry on his behalf.


    How long had it been, since that last happened?


    ¡°I cannot solve that sequence for you,¡± Vanesa admitted. ¡°It is too complex. But there is something else you could do, something they would never consider.¡±


    The thief met her eye.


    ¡°I am listening.¡±


    --


    He arrived fifteen minutes early instead of thirty, purely to spite Lieutenant Vasanti. The jest was on him, however, for she had only left a watchman there and she arrived five minutes later with a smirk. Vanesa had come up the stairs with him, so at least he did not spend what might be the last minutes of his life alone with a silent blackcloak. Maryam arrived when there were eight minutes left. She stayed close, as if to offer comfort, and the time passed all too quickly. Tristan glanced at the open door, the madness of metal past it, and his heart clenched.


    Still, there was no need for a surfeit of losses today so he took off his hat and pressed it into Maryam¡¯s hands. She took it, looking baffled.


    ¡°Keep it safe,¡± he solemnly said.


    Maryam glanced at the worn tricorn, then back at him.


    ¡°If the hat a symbol?¡± she tried.


    ¡°It¡¯s a really good hat,¡± Tristan defensively replied. ¡°Keeps the rain out of my face.¡±


    ¡°Well then, that changes everything,¡± Maryam said, lips twitching.


    He smiled back, then turned towards the door. He breathed in deep, trying to settle his nerves and failing.


    ¡°Three minutes,¡± Vanesa announced, eye on her watch.


    Lieutenant Vasanti, standing further up the stairs, stared down at him.


    ¡°It is not too late to back out,¡± she told him. ¡°I will turn you over to Lieutenant Wen, but a caning¡¯s the worst you¡¯ll be in for.¡±


    Tristan¡¯s eyes narrowed. Is that what you were after the whole time? For me to give you an excuse to be passed off to Wen, thrown out of the trials. The lieutenant had said that killing him might result in retaliation by Abuela, but if he only failed the trials and the matter was handled by another besides, well she could hardly be blame could she? It would have been natural to feel indignation at that, at being made the pawn of a game between others, but Tristan found he did not.


    He was a rat: he¡¯d spent all his life scurrying around the boots of men.


    ¡°I thank you for your concern,¡± the thief pleasantly smiled.


    The old woman¡¯s face clenched.


    ¡°One minute,¡± Vanesa said. ¡°Remember what I told you.¡±


    He wrenched his gaze away from the watchwoman, stepping to the threshold of the door. There he counted down in his mind, matching Vanesa¡¯s spoken count of the last seconds, and clutched the small metal orb between his fingers.


    ¡°Now,¡± Vanesa said, and he moved.


    --


    In whole, it took twenty-one seconds.


    He jumped down onto a horizontal cog, keeping low as wheels passed above his head. Three steps, then to the side. The piston tore through, bleeding steam, and he hurried forward before the second one could take him in the side.


    Ten seconds.


    He grabbed a warm pipe and hoisted himself across, sweaty fingers slipping, dropping down on the spoke of a wheel just a heartbeat too early. The tick of the wheel jostled him, enough he almost fell forward, and he stumbled.


    Fifteen seconds, but he was off.


    He had missed a beat. He climbed between two wheel, began to crawl through, but they were already too far ahead: he would never make it across before they pressed down enough he got stuck. So Tristan took the long odds, bet on Vanesa¡¯s cleverness.


    He borrowed, borrowed deep, and as a ticking began that drowned out even the cacophony of this place he blindly threw the small metal ball he had taken from the forge. For a moment there was nothing


    Then metal screamed, the gears grinding to a halt.


    Stuck, as Vanesa had told him it would be. No matter how good the clock, she had said, sometimes all it took was a grain of sand. He hurried through, dropping down on the pipe, and then there was a crushing sound. The ball was broken, the gears began moving, but he was almost through and¡­


    Eighteen seconds.


    He did not see the piston until it was too late. The damned thing came not from the side, like all the others, but from above. He moved in time, or almost: it caught the edge of his hand, a mere brush of the massive thing enough to break it.


    He swallowed a scream, forcing himself to go forward, but he¡¯d missed the timing. He could see the door, but before he could jump through the wheels coming from the side would cut through his limbs. He tried anyway, leaning forward.


    Twenty.


    He heard a distant shout, felt a cool wind, and something grabbed him by the back. Maryam. He was shoved forward, through the open door, as something sharp clipped the edge of his coat.


    Twenty-one, and Tristan was through.


    --


    He landed belly first on the stone, barely taking in the sight of small stone chamber before he released the luck. Tristan braced himself with a wince, looking for from where the hurt would come, but as he flipped back on his back nothing happened. His wince deepened.


    Those prices were always the worst.


    The thief got back on his feet, swallowing a curse at the throbbing pain of his finger. The room was small and mostly empty, but that there was anything left at all was promising. There a set of stone shelves to the side, empty and coated in dust, and on the other wall the tiling was in some elaborate green pattern as well as striated by cryptoglyphs. The part that caught his attention, though, was the rod left propped up by the shelves. A length of metal about four feet long, it ended in a metal brand made of the same golden alloy as the machine from earlier. There was no obvious use for it, however, so he tore his eyes away.


    There was only one door out, to the right, so he quietly moved into the next room. There he stopped after two stuttering steps, eyes fixed to the display taking up an entire wall. He had seen rows of metal tiles like this before: he was looking at an exact match for the tiles at the center of the iron gates leading into the pillar. Suppressing his excitement he swept the rest of the room ¨C two doorways out, both closed doors ¨C before getting closer. The tiles here were adorned with a single black glyph each, unlike those outside, and peeking behind them they seemed to be connected to a series of pistons and gears going into the wall.


    Lightly he dared push a stile and found it easily gave, pressing back the piston behind it. He stopped before anything could come of it.


    ¡°Well,¡± he said, ¡°that might just get us into the pillar.¡±


    Leaning against the wall with her arms crossed, long red sleeves billowing, Fortuna scoffed.


    ¡°I would worry more about getting out of this place, if I were you,¡± she said. ¡°Unless you intend to try the cogs again?¡±


    Tristan grimaced, glancing at his broken and swelling finger. He¡¯d been lucky that was all he had paid for the passage with. Fortuna was right, he needed to find a way to return to the Old Fort instead of getting caught up in the exploration. The door next to her was smooth stone with only a small round opening where a lock should be, and he was not fool enough to risk putting a finger in there. His goddess cleared her throat, pointing just to the right of her blond locks. There was a small indent in the wall, he realized, and nestled in it were three stone buttons covered with a strange writing he had never before seen.


    ¡°Well spotted,¡± he praised.


    She huffed.


    ¡°At least one of us should end up a passable thief,¡± she replied.


    He rolled his eyes at her. The stone buttons came out easily and he took one, then pocketed a second out of habit. Tempted as he was to try to open the stone door with the obvious key, he instead had a look at the other. More of that golden alloy he kept seeing, and a more traditional door as well: a simple latch kept it closed. He pried it open, or tried to: the moment he touched the latch it came loose and drooped to the floor with a tinkling sound. The door cracked open an inch.


    Tristan paused: that had felt uncomfortably like luck turning on him.


    When he risked a glance trough the open door, however, he found no danger. Dim light with no visible source revealed a curving hallway of stone, ending in a distant door. The thief opened the door all the way and stepped into the hall, careful to keep his steps light. After a dozen steps he caught sight of a door that had been hidden by the curve. Green glass, but almost transparent and through with he thought he was seeing-


    ¡°Tristan,¡± Fortuna suddenly said.


    He stilled instantly, for in the goddess¡¯ voice he had heard fear.


    ¡°Walk back into that room,¡± she whispered. ¡°Very slowly.¡±


    There was a sound like a breath, amused.


    ¡°Good advice.¡±


    Oh fuck. He was not an utter fool, so he¡¯d begun running the moment he heard the breath, but even so he was too slow. The large shape dropped from above and he caught sight of slimy scales before throwing himself to the side ¨C the hit had his broken finger throbbing. Something like a hand ¨C the size of his torso - passed close enough to ruffle his hair. He scrambled to his feet, glimpsing globulous yellow eyes before breaking into a run for the door.


    He had time to take a single before the lights of the hall went out.


    Oh, fuck, Tristan thought. He threw himself to the side again, running on pure instinct, and felt something massive and wet pass less than an inch above his back. Worse it stayed there, dripping some kind of stinking pus. The thief rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding something trying to snatch him up, and broke into a running start again. Light came through the open door to the tile room, revealing that the wet thing was a deformed red tongue twice the length of a man, and Tristan almost whimpered when it withdrew, sucked in with a slurp. He got through the doorway and tried to slam the door shut behind him, but the latch was still broken.


    That fucking latch was going to get him killed.


    ¡°You smell,¡± the god said, ¡°like hubris. Delicious.¡±


    He could not have described that voice, save that it was sick and somehow it felt like a tongue dragging across his skin. Trying to master his panic Tristan ran for the other door, miraculous having not dropped the stone button.


    Then the lights in the room went out.


    ¡°No,¡± he snarled, feeling the god enter the room from the movement of air alone.


    Was he really going to die here just because he could not see in the dark? He began groping for the opening but he could not quite recall where ¨C


    ¡°Here,¡± Fortuna hissed, guiding his hand.


    Fortuna, who like the god after them no more needed light to see than she needed air to breathe. He pressed the button into the hole and the door popped open, and light came through. Hands scrabbling against the stone, Tristan hurried through and slammed the door behind him ¨C turning to see horrifyingly human-like teeth the size of his hand biting down at where he had been standing, a too-long throat convulsing behind them.


    The door snapped shut, the stone button falling out of the opening on his side and rolling down the stairs he now stood on.


    Tristan slowly followed it down, limbs trembling and eyes unblinking as he kept staring at the door. He slid down the wall, falling into a crouch. His eyes never left the door separating him from the room where he had just almost been eaten alive. Fortuna set a hand on his arm, and sitting by his side, and eventually his breathing steadied.


    ¡°That thing,¡± he croaked out, ¡°heard you talk to me.¡±


    ¡°It is an old god,¡± Fortuna murmured. ¡°Perhaps as old as I am.¡±


    The thief passed a hand through his hair, then forced himself to get back standing.


    ¡°It does not seem able to pass the door, at least,¡± he said. ¡°There is that.¡±


    Not that he intended to linger here regardless. Not when he could almost feel what lay on the other side of the stone, patiently waiting to sink its teeth into his flesh. Tristan, forcing calm, picked up the fallen stone button and headed down the narrow stairs. They looked much like the ones he had climbed on the other side of the pillar, and were pointed in the direction he believed to be outside. At the bottom of the flight was a long room of bare stone, whose monotony was broken up by only two things: the first was what looked like a folded ladder of golden alloy, three feet wide and folded so many times he could only guess at the length.


    The other was a series of black triangles painted on the wall before him, around slight triangular stone protrusions. Heartbeat rising, the thief pressed on one of the triangles and found it sunk into the wall with a metallic click. There were nine others and he pressed them all, each clicking into place, and after the last there was the dim sound of wheels turning.


    The wall before him shivered, then began to rise, and Tristan had never seen anything so beautiful as the expanse of the dark cavern laid out before him.

 Chapter 28

    Tristan could not figure out how to make the damn folded ladder work, so he ended up bleating like a lost goat for half an hour before one of the watchmen on patrol heard him.


    It was another ten minutes after that of Lieutenant Vasanti and her minions asking him through shouts to describe the device in detail then failing to get it work. In the end one of the blackcloaks just threw him a rope ladder, giving up the machinery for a lost cause. It was only watchmen when he came down, with one exception: Maryam. It was a dangerous habit to start seeing what you wanted to see, so the thief did not let himself believe it was relief he saw in those blue eyes. They had chosen trust, but there was no guarantee that would last beyond the trials they were undertaking.


    The given hint that she had aimed from the start at cooperation in a greater undertaking was to be set aside. Then future was a foreign land, not to be relied upon. The dark-haired woman strode through the throng of blackcloaks, some of them snickering, and for a heartbeat it looked like she was going to embrace him.


    Instead she slapped his hat down against his chest.


    ¡°There,¡± Maryam said. ¡°I tried to sell it, but it was such a raggedy thing I could find no takers.¡±


    ¡°Blind and a poor haggler, then,¡± Tristan mused, setting it back on his head. ¡°It¡¯s a lucky thing I made it back. What would you do without me?¡±


    ¡°Luck,¡± she said. ¡°When the pebble stays stuck in your boot after the shake, is that what you call it?¡±


    A sigh, but not hers. Lieutenant Vasanti wrinkled her nose at them.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what this is,¡± she said wiggling a finger in their direction, ¡°but it¡¯s putting me off dinner. Cease immediately.¡±


    The thief tossed the lieutenant a carved stone button. She caught it, rather spry for her age.


    ¡°It¡¯s a key,¡± he told her. ¡°Best to get a few muskets pointed at the door before using it, though. There¡¯s a god on the other side and he simply cannot wait to have someone over for dinner.¡±


    The old woman looked nonplussed.


    ¡°That¡¯s what salt munitions are for,¡± she said. ¡°Good work, boy.¡±


    ¡°I live for your praise,¡± Tristan drily replied.


    Lieutenant Vasanti wanted a detailed report, but he told her he wanted a physician first so as a compromise he got to tell her about his misadventures while the garrison doctor saw to his broken finger. To his surprise, she seemed to care little about the god. It was the room with the tiles she was most interested in, demanding he describe it several times while taking notes, and one more detail besides: the metal rod with the alloy brand at the end. That she cared about so much she asked he draw the brand from memory. Tristan did, charcoal pen scratching against cheap paper.


    ¡°It might not be exactly that,¡± he warned. ¡°I only saw it in passing.¡±


    She hummed, eyes on the drawing as she only half-listened.


    ¡°What is it about the brand that interests you so much?¡± he asked.


    To his surprise, she deigned to answer. He had expected a cutting comment and a dismissal.


    ¡°People tend to think of the Antediluvians as a nation of living gods, shaping the world to their whim, but that was only true for the First Empire¡¯s ruling class,¡± Lieutenant Vasanti said. ¡°Someone had to clean the dust off the wonders and keep the cogs turning.¡±


    The urge to fiddle with the splint the physician had put around his broken finger was near overwhelming, but he forced himself to think instead. The man was gone back to the barracks, if the splint snapped he was on his own.


    ¡°The rod was some kind of tool, then,¡± Tristan deduced, cocking his head to the side.


    ¡°The greats of the First Empire could all manipulate aether much like Navigators can shape the Gloam,¡± Vasanti told him. ¡°Their servants, though, were not so gifted. So how does a living god avoid having to get their own carriage working when the thing runs on aether?¡±


    ¡°By making tools that can affect the aether,¡± he said.


    ¡°That¡¯s what that brand is, boy,¡± Lieutenant Vasanti said, not hiding her excitement. ¡°It is our way to get one of the machines working without the need for a Navigator. If we are lucky, it will have been crafted for the tiles and let us open the front gate heedless of Hell¡¯s sabotage.¡±


    The burst of enthusiasm waned, however, and with it the lieutenant¡¯s willingness to indulge his curiosity. She left him to his seat, telling him he was no longer needed for the afternoon, and went to consult with her band of followers. Tristan watched her back getting further and further away, considering how furious she would be should she ever learn he¡¯d held back in his report.


    He had not told her of the second stone button in his pocket, or the green glass door.


    With Vasanti¡¯s departure others were finally free to approach. Maryam and Vanesa both joined him at the table, the latter helped onto the seat by his pale-skinned accomplice. They seemed in a fine mood, Vanesa in particular. He quickly learned his survival was not the only reason.


    ¡°Everyone has been pulled off the sky-watching,¡± Vanesa told him. ¡°The lieutenant wants us studying mechanisms around the tiles on the iron gates. She believes they are some sort of combination lock.¡±


    The old clockmaker, as it turned out, preferred steel to figures. She was glad to be back on the gates instead of continuing to match the ceiling machine¡¯s movements to that of the inner cogs.


    ¡°Francho and I are still on the machine, but she is no longer insistent I start pushing Gloam at it like a toddler throwing a ball,¡± Maryam said. ¡°I do not suppose you know why?¡±


    ¡°I might have found a tool that can serve in your place,¡± Tristan said.


    ¡°Good news,¡± Vanesa enthused. ¡°Once it is brought down-¡±


    ¡°It is behind a locked gate guarded by a monstrous old god that tried to eat me,¡± he told her.


    ¡°Ah,¡± Vanesa muttered. ¡°That puts something of a damper on things, admittedly.¡±


    Tristan scraped together a meal for the three of them out of what lay around the kitchen, mostly dried fruits and bread, but soon enough the pair¡¯s break was at an end. They still had work to do for Lieutenant Vasanti, unlike him. Vanesa was the first to head back, giving them a knowing smile. Tristan supposed that the amount of plotting in dark corners the two of them did was not helping with that misunderstanding. When Maryam spoke, though, it immediately claimed his full attention.


    ¡°The use of your contract was too obvious not to be caught this time,¡± she said. ¡°Already rumors are getting around, and your timely throw against the gravebird has not been forgot. You might want to get ahead of this before speculation grows wild.¡±


    Before someone ascribed him the power to stop cogs with a thought, predict the future and maybe also fly, she meant. Nothing got so out of hand as rumors about contracts: back home there were so many tales about what the legacy contracts of the Six could do that if all were true the nobles would be more divine than their own gods. Thankfully Tristan had a lie ready for this, the same he had been using for years when the need was forced on him.


    ¡°Telekinesis,¡± he said without batting an eye. ¡°I can move small objects with some degree of strength, but I have difficulties with control and there is often backlash.¡±


    Maryam cocked an eyebrow at him. His answer had been a little too quick to be believable.


    ¡°A lie,¡± Tristan shrugged. ¡°But the effects are similar enough it would be difficult to argue otherwise.¡±


    ¡°It does sound like the kind of contract with a minor god a man of no background might obtain,¡± she admitted after a moment.


    It took genuine effort not to flinch when Fortuna slammed her fist on the table ¨C which made not a sound and did not shake it, as it was only on his flesh she could feign to touch ¨C and she leaned forward with flashing eyes, pointing an accusing finger at an unseeing Maryam.


    ¡°Minor?¡± she shrieked. ¡°Minor?¡±


    The goddess shook her finger angrily.


    ¡°How dare you, Maryam Khaimov,¡± she snarled. ¡°I was going to sell you to her on the cheap, Tristan, but this¡­ heresy cannot be brooked. You must defeat her in single combat. Avenge my honor, and be a brute about it.¡±


    The thief sipped at his cup of water, smiling.


    ¡°Have I told you I like your tresses?¡± he asked Maryam. ¡°They suit you well.¡±


    She slowly blinked.


    ¡°Treachery,¡± Fortuna sputtered, stumbling back in shock. ¡°Stop that, Tristan, stop that right now.¡±


    ¡°You have very good taste in boots,¡± he told Maryam.


    She squinted at him.


    ¡°Are you¡­¡± she slowly said. ¡°Are you using me to anger your god?¡±


    The grey-eyed man simply smiled and complimented her dress, Fortuna¡¯s indignant shouting like a soothing lullaby.


    --


    Tristan spent most of the afternoon trying very hard not to fiddle with his broken finger, drinking dandelion tea and considering what he should do.


    It was only a matter of time, he figured, until Lieutenant Vasanti tried again to be rid of him by sending him through the stone door. He could not be sure that the god would be lying there in wait, but it did seem likely: how long had it been since the entity last had an opportunity to feed? Worse, it did not seem to be affected by the ¡®laws¡¯ the aetheric machine above was subjecting the gods of the maze to. It had certainly not been shy in trying to gobble him up.


    No, the more he thought about it the more likely it seemed that the lieutenant would send him in. Vasanti wouldn¡¯t use blackcloaks, no matter her talk of salt munitions, for the same simple reason she had not kept sending people to cross the same lethal machinery Tristan barely survived: if too many got killed, there would be consequences she could not afford. As the thief did not fancy his chances against the god even if he was sent in to, he would need to make other arrangements.


    First, he needed a sword hand. He and Maryam worked very well as a pair, but it could not be denied they were not the finest of fighters. Tristan knew of one man with the required capacity for violence and that he still trusted more than most in the Trial of Ruins. The real question was this: had they made enough progress along this path that Yong would consider them a better bet than continuing with the maze? After wrestling with the question for some time, sketching arguments for either side, he finally decided an answer could not be had until the crews returned tonight.


    If they returned tonight, he corrected as the hours stretched out.


    It was now late in the afternoon, and it was possible that some of the crews had got far enough in the maze that they would prefer to spend the night there rather than double back. Tristan was not afraid of anyone passing the second this trial early, for it would be impossible for any single crew to have ten victors and they had all taken different paths.


    It was becoming clear, however, that he was running out of time for his other affairs. He had neglected vengeance in the name of more immediate dangers, but now that there was a light at the end of that tunnel he could turn his attention back to the business: Tristan had no intention of allowing the Cerdan brothers or Cozme Aflor to live. The deal he had struck with Isabel should buy him the opening he needed, but he needed for the crews to return to the Old Fort before he could slither his way in. It was that understanding that had him keeping an eye out for any return until at last his patience was rewarded.


    More or less.


    Lord Augusto Cerdan, looking quite haggard, stumbled into the Old Fort come early evening. The infanzon looked as if he had been thrown down the side of a mountain, boasting such an extensive collection of scrapes and bruises that the broken arm no longer stood out. The worst was a nasty rip going down the side of his now-broken nose to halfway down his throat. The skin had been scraped off by something raw, and though it was not a dangerous wound it was one that would be disfiguring for months. He began calling for the Watch physician within moments of entering, quite loudly ¨C Tristan noted with amusement that the doctor in question pointedly took his time doing up his buttons before moving to answer ¨C and was soon being seen to in the kitchen.


    Lieutenant Vasanti had released everyone for the evening, so it was not Tristan alone who came out to the courtyard to have a look at the infanzon¡¯s bruises being cleaned with alcohol.  Maryam drifted close, as if by coincidence, and leaned against the wall by his side.


    ¡°Alone and wounded,¡± she idly said. ¡°Lord Augusto must be feeling rather exposed.¡±


    Tristan knew little of the people of what the Malani called the northern colonies, the Triglau. Oh, islanders called them fierce savages who fought garbed in steel and raided settlements from the back of their hardy mountain ponies, but if you believed the Malani every war they had ever fought had been against hateful villains while the brave people of the Isles only ever reluctantly took up arms for the common good. You had to take the Malani with a grain of salt, for all that they rarely lied.


    Looking at the way those blue eyes were watching Augusto Cerdan, though ¨C like a hunter watching a stag, measuring it for the knife ¨C he thought there might be some truth to the stories out of the Isles. That was not the stare of someone who balked at the thought of violence, who saw anything wrong with the lay of Vesper being decided by the cut of a blade.


    Tristan supposed he should have been put off by the sight, but he was not. How could he be when he¡¯d seen eyes like those all his life, saw them every time he looked in a mirror? People like Angharad Tredegar, like Augusto Cerdan or even Vanesa, they thought of violence as an intrusion. A break in the default state of peace. They had lived all their life behind the walls of the garden where laws mattered and served to protect, never grasping that beyond the wall violence was the law. You took from those who could not protect and kept what you could protect from those who would take it: that was the truth of Vesper, to a rat.


    Triglau, Tristan thought as he watched those pale blue eyes, must not have been so different.


    ¡°Very,¡± he finally agreed, looking away. ¡°So much that I think him unlikely to leave the fort for some time.¡±


    And while in here, protected by sanctuary, Tristan would not risk killing the infanzon. The risks were too great when both lieutenants in command of the fort had it out for him.


    ¡°He will have to come out sooner or later,¡± Maryam murmured.


    ¡°He is bound to the trials,¡± Tristan pointed. ¡°To return home as anything but a peace concession in the making, he must survive his brother and Isabel Ruesta. If there is to be a list, he would be last.¡±


    ¡°So the younger must come first,¡± she murmured.


    The thief was somewhat impressed she had caught that. Remund Cerdan must indeed come before an attempt on Cozme Aflor could be made.


    His two enemies under Tredegar were the hardest to get at, by virtue of the mirror-dancer being their protector, but with Isabel out to get Remund killed he would have someone interfering on his behalf. More importantly, it would force Cozme to move. After that, the man would have two choices: either he swallowed his pride and went to Augusto, to get at least one Cerdan home and hope it would be enough, or he cut ties with House Cerdan entirely and tried for the Watch as a refuge. If he went to Augusto he became easier to get at, as Tupoc Xical had all the loyalty of a jackal, and if Cozme aimed for the Watch then Tristan would have the entire third trial to get to him.


    ¡°There are plans in the works,¡± he said.


    ¡°Very sinister,¡± Maryam praised. ¡°Have you considered growing a beard so you might stroke it?¡±


    ¡°Ha,¡± Fortuna snorted from behind him. ¡°He wishes.¡±


    The Lady of Long Odds had entirely forgot her sworn enmity of a few hours ago, as was her way, and was not merrily siding against him once more. The thief rolled his eyes.


    ¡°Come,¡± he said. ¡°Let us see what our good friend Lord Augusto has to say.¡±


    --


    The eldest Cerdan was not only inclined to talk but rather vigorously friendly.


    He spun a tale of woe, telling all four of them ¨C Vanesa and Francho, curious, also joined them at the table ¨C of the many indignities he had suffered since Angharad Tredegar¡¯s false accusations forced him to make common cause with the bandit Tupoc Xical. Going with the Aztlan had been what he wanted, he assured them.


    ¡°She even got to Lord Ishaan, you see,¡± Augusto told them. ¡°A nice enough man but very gullible. He had no chance at all against as skilled a trickster as Lady Angharad.¡±


    Tristan had known heads of cabbage more skilled at trickery than Angharad Tredegar, but he smiled encouragingly instead of laughing in the man¡¯s face. He need not look around to see the obvious fabrication had found no takers: the Pereduri was widely respected. The infanzon told them of Tupoc being a slave driver with no regard for rank, of Felis being insolent and insubordinate while Aines was useless. However obtuse, Augusto soon realized that insulting the married pair everyone here had spent the first trial with won him no friends.


    He immediately changed tack, focusing on the shrines and the gods.


    The infanzon revealed nothing that Tristan had not already heard from Lan, save when it came to today¡¯s events. Tupoc¡¯s crew had made very fine progress after crossing a broken bridge, Augusto recounted, but then been forced to go underground and wait for some time before they were let into some kind of crystal labyrinth. In there had been illusions and attacks, until the entire thing collapsed onto their heads. Augusto has narrowly survived, buried alive but falling through a crevasse. From there he had stumbled into some manner of empty crypt and found a path back to the Old Fort.


    ¡°I now hold the knowledge of a safe route deep into the maze,¡± Augusto told them. ¡°There is but a single shrine on the way, and I have defeated the god¡¯s test: I stand before you a victor.¡±


    He was, in fact, sitting. And carefully avoiding giving any specifics about the shrine he had beaten, enough that Tristan suspected he was either lying or it has been mortifyingly easy to defeat. It was when, between two boasts of knowing a crucial path, Augusto half-heartedly apologized for sending Tristan away from his group during the Trial of Lines ¨C the thief was informed that Tredegar had insisted and convinced the others, so Augusto¡¯s hand had been forced ¨C that Tristan realized what the noble was after.


    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    ¡°Why,¡± Augusto nonchalantly said, ¡°I expect that the path is so easy even the five of us could reach the end of the maze using it.¡±


    The man was in the market for a delving crew, preferably full of expendables and under his captaincy. Tristan could only wonder if it was desperation or arrogance that had the infanzon thinking there was anyone left that might want to go under him.


    ¡°How impressive,¡± Maryam mildly said.


    As he did about half the time he glanced her way, Augusto smothered a moue of disgust at the paleness of her skin.


    ¡°Indeed,¡± the eldest Cerdan agreed. ¡°But it is my duty as an infanzon to provide for others.¡±


    Francho almost choked on the water he had been drinking. He coughed under Augusto¡¯s suspicious eye.


    ¡°The cough simply won¡¯t leave me,¡± the toothless old man said. ¡°I did not mean to interrupt, my lord, do go on.¡±


    ¡°Oh, but I have talked quite enough I think,¡± Augusto said. ¡°What is it that the four of you have been doing, if not seeking to pass the trial? I saw the blackcloaks made some sort of discovery.¡±


    Lieutenant Vasanti had yet to manage to get the folded ladder to unfold, but the rope ladder was easy enough to see.


    ¡°We have been given tasks by Lieutenant Vasanti to advance the Watch¡¯s interests in this place,¡± Tristan replied. ¡°Secrecy is paramount, I am sure you understand.¡±


    He glanced at the others, who looked willing enough to follow his lead in this.


    ¡°Of course,¡± Augusto said, frowning when no one else added anything. ¡°Though I imagine you will be free by tomorrow?¡±


    ¡°That is not for us to determine, my lord,¡± Tristan said. ¡°We are in the service of the Old Fort¡¯s commanding officer until released.¡±


    The bruised noble looked at the others, seeking someone who might contradict what had been said, but instead only got silence. Looking miffed but knowing better than to push his luck when his position was so weak and a Watch lieutenant was involved, Augusto gave way. He changed the subject, returning to complaints about his old crew. Tristan thought there might be a purpose to it, at first, but eventually came to realize that the noble mostly wanted to vent.


    Maryam and Francho excused themselves before long, but the thief forced himself to remain in case anything of use was revealed. Vanesa, he suspected, simply pitied him enough to suffer through the whining.


    ¡°Both of the Aztlan are as wild animals,¡± Augusto told them. ¡°Xical is from Izcalli, so that was only to be expected, but Ocotlan is no better even after a lifetime under enlightened rule.¡±


    Ocotlan¡¯s tattoos and build marked him as legbreaker for the Menor Mano, one of the largest coteries in Sacromonte, so Tristan was thoroughly unsurprised. The Mano liked their enforcers brutal.


    ¡°Life in the Murk can be very difficult,¡± Vanesa said. ¡°Not all who resort to violence enjoy it, Lord Augusto.¡±


    ¡°That man does,¡± Augusto haughtily replied. ¡°He spent much time boasting of the work he had done for his ¡®patrons¡¯, bloody stories that had him grinning and chuckling.  He proudly told me of beating a man to death before his son and of drowning another in a waste bucket.¡±


    That sounded about right, the thief thought, and his interest waned entirely. What did he care of an infanzon¡¯s shock at the true face of the city his ilk so liked to claim having turned into a paradise? Augusto Cerdan would have gone his entire life without caring a whit about what took place in the Murk every day, if he had not been told of it. In truth he still cared nothing, Tristan knew, and only used the talk of savagery as a way to complain of his former companions. If he somehow survived the Dominion and returned to the Cerdan, the infanzon would forget everything he had learned in matter of hours.


    The thing with mud was that when you were a noble you had servants to wipe it off your boots.


    ¡°- and he bragged of having done work for his patrons even after they had decided to send him off to these cursed trials,¡± Augusto bit out. ¡°Breaking the leg of some-¡±


    Vanesa might be willing to indulge the fool, but Tristan¡¯s patience ran out. He feigned having been called by Maryam and went her way, sending the clockmaker an apologetic glance that she did not notice. Was she truly interested in the Cerdan¡¯s words? Surely she could not be as spellbound as she looked. Vanesa was too kind for her own good, he thought not for the first time. The older of the Cerdan brothers certainly seemed pleased at having such a willing audience, almost eager to answer her questions.


    Tristan might have pitied him for being so obviously starved of regard, had he not been a Cerdan.


    The man was of that accursed house, however, so instead the thief put it out of his mind and went to attend to one of the secrets he¡¯d dug up. Keeping one of the stone buttons he had taken in the pillar was not much different from keeping a key behind Lieutenant Vasanti¡¯s back, in practice, as he could do little with the object but open a door. It was a way to get to the secrets, not a bearer of secrets itself. For him, anyway.


    Francho, who could listen to the voices in stone, would find it otherwise.


    The old man was not hard to find: he was napping in his bedroll, snoring quite loudly. Tristan almost felt bad about waking him up, but the sooner he had answers the sooner he could begin to sketch out the end of this trial. The toothless professor smacked his lips as he was gently shaken awake, eyes unseeing for a moment before he woke entirely.


    ¡°Trist-¡± he began, then fell into a fit of coughing.


    The thief waited for them to end, then caught the man¡¯s eye.


    ¡°You will have a hard time having a good night¡¯s sleep, if you nap for too long,¡± he said as he pressed the stone button into the man¡¯s hand.


    Francho¡¯s eyes widened but he caught on quick.


    ¡°That is true, I suppose,¡± the old man said. ¡°Perhaps I should go for a walk. Any suggestions?¡±


    ¡®Where is this from?¡¯


    ¡°As long as it¡¯s not up in the pillar,¡± Tristan said, feigning a small laugh. ¡°The god there would not make for fine company.¡±


    ¡°Not much of an answer,¡± Francho snorted. ¡°Should I ask the lieutenant?¡±


    ¡®Does Vasanti know about this?¡¯


    ¡°Surely not,¡± Tristan said. ¡°She might take it as advances.¡±


    ¡°It is never too late for love, my boy,¡± Francho laughed.


    Good, they were now on the same page. Tristan drew back, offering a hand to help the old man up. Francho took it, letting himself be pulled close.


    ¡°Too faint,¡± the old man murmured. ¡°It will take me hours to make out the words, come back tonight.¡±


    Inclining his head in agreement, the thief smiled. He could wait.


    --


    It took longer than Franco had said: the professor came to talk only an hour before midnight.


    They sat at a kitchen table sharing a bowl of cabecitas, the old Liergan classic of crispy mushroom slices. These were in the Sacromontan style, salt but no pepper, and just like back home the garrison kept them by the barrel. Francho was toothless, so he broke the crisps with his lips and sucked on them until they were so mushy he could slurp them down. It wasn¡¯t appetizing to look at, but the slow pace would give them an excuse to sit here until they were done talking.


    ¡°The history of this place,¡± Francho said, ¡°comes in three parts.¡±


    He traced a circle on the table before breaking off another piece of cabecita.


    ¡°First is an island on what was not yet the Trebian Sea,¡± he says. ¡°The Antediluvians, for reasons known only to them, build this pillar and the aetheric machine. Then comes the Old Night, and as the First Empire falls the island is abandoned.¡±


    ¡°And the devils come,¡± Tristan said.


    ¡°And the devils come,¡± Francho agreed. ¡°They get into the pillar, tinker with the great machine then break the doors so that no one else can do the same. They then build the Old Fort and begin the centuries-long labor of building the maze.¡±


    The old man paused.


    ¡°Only it is not so simple as that,¡± the professor said. ¡°None know for sure what took place during the Old Night, if the Flood truly took place or if is mythology, but it is beyond debate that the fall of the First Empire caused mass migrations of people and darklings. It is during this era that the islands of the Trebian Sea first began to see settling, among them this very Vieja Perdida.¡±


    ¡°And the devils simply let them?¡± Tristan frowned.


    ¡°There would not have been many of them,¡± Francho shrugged. ¡°These settlers ¨C not darklings, at least not yet ¨C would be the same people that built the circles of raised stones and I believe them to have been, if not friends to the devils, at least not enemies.¡±


    Tristan took a moment to swallow that. All his life he had been told of the wickedness of devils, that they could not be trusted. They were not like hollows, who could be bargained and lived with, but something fundamentally evil. Even the devils who had signed the Iscariot Accords and been allowed to live among humans beyond the walls of Pandemonium were only biding their time until they began to devour men again. But it might have been different back then, he thought. It could not be denied that devils preyed on men, but so did other men.


    In a time of bloody chaos like the Old Night, would the settlers have seen Hell¡¯s denizens as all that worse than their other enemies?


    ¡°It is said that the Watch took this island from hollows, not men,¡± the thief noted.


    ¡°It is a common and well-documented phenomenon for the population of islands without a natural source of Glare to progressively turn hollow over the span of generations,¡± Francho dismissed. ¡°I imagine that the cultists of our day are descended from those very settlers, twisted by centuries in the dark.¡±


    Tristan slowly nodded.


    ¡°I take it the third part is when the Watch arrives,¡± he said.


    ¡°After the signing of the Iscariot Accords, the blackcloaks built the Rookery as the seat of their order and began spreading their influence across the Trebian Sea,¡± Francho said. ¡°I will spare you the history lesson about the order¡¯s conflicts with Sacromonte ¨C in those days still attempting to revive the Second Empire ¨C and say only that most of the Watch¡¯s power in those days was still bound east, to the century-long siege of Pandemonium and its later sealing.¡±


    ¡°They did not have coin or manpower to waste,¡± Tristan translated. ¡°Yet they still came here and seized the Dominion from devils and darklings. Why?¡±


    This, he thought, was the thread to pull at. If he could learn why had the Watch come and why it had stayed everything else would fall into place.


    ¡°I have spent the last three hours,¡± Francho said, ¡°figuring out the answer to that question by listening to the voices of the devils who once used your button. It all comes down to a very slight mistake, Tristan, that compounded over centuries.


    The toothless professor shivered, slurping down his piece of mushroom and subtly pressing the stone button against the side of the bowl as he reached for another crisp. Tristan palmed it just as discreetly, then waited as Francho began to violently cough. It was only after a minute of long breaths that the old man opened his eyes and began to speak.


    ¡°When the blackcloaks first came to Vieja Perdida,¡± he rasped, ¡°the darklings who dwelled on it spoke what is called a Trebian cant. That is to say, one of the family of languages descended from what was spoken here during the First Empire. Traces of that root language, Tristan, remain all across the Trebian Sea ¨C the Asphodel Rectorate, for example, still uses such a cant for its formal ceremonies.¡±


    ¡°There was a mistranslation of some kind,¡± Tristan guessed.


    ¡°The word was one the ancestors of the darklings learned from devils, which the Watch would have recognized,¡± Francho said. ¡°But then the island was isolated for centuries. Their accent grew, so when the blackcloaks asked their questions half the terms were misconstrued.¡±


    He paused.


    ¡°When we encountered cultists, Tristan, did you notice they scarred and tattooed themselves?¡±


    ¡°With a red eye,¡± Tristan agreed, then frowned.


    He remembered the mace-wielding cultists that might have killed him if not for Maryam¡¯s use of a Sign, the way his cheeks had been scarred with red ellipses. But would Tristan have called them eyes, had he not already known the hollow belonged to a cult of that name?


    ¡°It¡¯s not an eye, is it?¡± he asked.


    Francho smiled.


    ¡°Mouth,¡± he said. ¡°Or perhaps maw. It is the god the cult worships, and likely the rumor the Watch first came here to investigate.¡±


    And now it all began to make sense.


    ¡°You told me the circles of raised stones the settlers built were built by the river because rivers are boundaries,¡± Tristan said. ¡°That it could mean the boundary was being either weakened or strengthened.¡±


    And it had to be strengthened, for the airavatan to have been kept out by their mere existence. The same settlers who had raised those stones had been on good terms with the devils, Francho had just told him, and the shape of it all lit up in his mind¡¯s eye.


    ¡°I believe they were built,¡± Francho said, ¡°for the very same reason the devils built their maze: the heart of that god lies beneath this cavern, under the mountain.¡±


    Gods, how large was the Red Maw? It must be miles long, to reach as far as the river while its heart pulsed beneath their feet. Only the oldest of deities grew so large as to ¨C no, that was a distraction from what truly mattered. The layers of schemes, accumulated over the centuries likes sediment at the bottom of a canal.


    The devils did not want this god loose but they had not killed it, or perhaps they had been unable to? Yes, that seemed more likely. So instead they had imprisoned the Red Maw, doing something with the golden aether machine and barring the pillar¡¯s gates so it could not be undone before building a maze over the Red Maw¡¯s heart. A maze full of hungry gods, Tristan thought, who the machine above forced to eat not humans or hollows but only the divine.


    ¡°The gods of the shrines are meant to eat away at the Red Maw,¡± he murmured. ¡°That¡¯s why the devils kept bringing more and more temples over the centuries, they were replacing those that the Red Maw ate to keep the prison functional.¡±


    Francho slowly nodded.


    ¡°The Watch has not done the same,¡± he said. ¡°It would have been impossible to hide moving entire shrines to this island with any regularity and I cannot even conceive how they would achieve such a thing in the first place.¡±


    Not through the way their crew had entered this cavern by, no, and it did seem to be the way the Watch used to get to the Old Fort.


    ¡°No,¡± Tristan slowly said. ¡°They have not, so the prison would weaken over time. But they did start doing something else, after taking the Dominion.¡±


    The trials. The fucking trials. The Watch couldn¡¯t bring in entire shrines and the gods bound to them, so sooner or later the Red Maw would devour all the gods keeping it from spreading ¨C it was older, more powerful. It could afford a war of attrition and that was the nature of this prison, gods slowly starving and clawing at each other. So instead the Watch had looked for a way to bolster the strength of the maze gods, to help them against the Red Maw, and in looking found a loophole in the laws imposed by the aether machine.


    The trials were just a way to keep drawing people to the Dominion so enough of them would make it to the second trial and die, keeping the shrine gods strong.


    The overly large Watch investment on the island, the seemingly backwards method of recruitment, they were all explained if you stopped looking at the Dominion of Lost Things as trials and instead considered it a prison. The blackcloaks willingly paid in gold and lives every year because otherwise this Red Maw might break the lock on its prison and become a much larger problem ¨C one they must not know how to kill, because if they could have by now they most definitely would have.


    ¡°Yearly sacrifices,¡± Francho softly said. ¡°Keeping the seal strong.¡±


    Tristan¡¯s fingers clenched.


    ¡°We cannot reveal this,¡± he said. ¡°They might well kill us to keep it quiet.¡±


    If the true nature of what took place on the Dominion of Lost Things spread, the consequences would be¡­ Tristan could not quite grasp what the Watch as a whole might suffer, that was too grand a scope for a rat, but at the very least the flow of trial-takers would run dry. Not even pride and tradition would make the infanzones keep feeding their children to some savage old god as they unknowingly had for centuries. Or did the infanzones know? No, it could not have remained a secret if that were true. But if it were only the lords and ladies of the Six, well, that might be a different story.


    A conspiracy for another time.


    ¡°I will speak not a word,¡± Francho promised.


    Tristan let out a long breath, passing a hand through his hair. He had no fear of that, the old man no more wanted to be dragged out back and shot than he did. Best to change the subject, for lingering on it would only serve to unnerve them.


    ¡°It is almost shame you cannot,¡± Tristan said. ¡°Imagine what a book it would make! The university would surely beg for you to return.¡±


    Francho¡¯s face closed, but not at the mention of the University of Reve. It was the mention of a book that had him looking almost bitter and Tristan hid his interest. For all that the man was free with amusing stories, the professor¡¯s past was still largely opaque to him.


    ¡°I suppose it is only fair to say,¡± the toothless old man sighed, ¡°since we already share so many secrets.¡±


    He shook once, coughing wetly into his hand, and his voice was rough when he spoke.


    ¡°I cannot write,¡± Francho said.


    Tristan blinked at the absurdity of the statement. How could the man have come to be a Master at Reve if he could not ¨C oh.


    ¡°Your contract,¡± the thief said.


    ¡°I first encountered the Bibliognost when I was a young man, out treasure hunting,¡± Francho said. ¡°It was flattering when he took an interest in me ¨C you will not have heard of him, I imagine, but he is a god that emerged with the first universities. A deity of scholars and secrets, dwelling in forgotten places of learning.¡±


    ¡°Yet your contract is recent,¡± Tristan stated.


    More than mere months old, by the thief¡¯s reckoning, but certainly not decades as contracting when a young man would have meant.


    ¡°I was proud in those days, headstrong,¡± Francho said. ¡°I did not take his offer, for convinced I was meant for greater things still. And I was not entirely wrong: I was soon one of the youngest Masters the University of Reve ever appointed.¡±


    A pause.


    ¡°Only one day I looked around me and realized that I was sixty years old and I had not left a lasting mark on the world,¡± Francho quietly said. ¡°That I would pass away and Vesper would forget my name.¡±


    ¡°So you sought him out again,¡± Tristan said.


    ¡°I did not go about it foolishly,¡± Francho told him. ¡°I had precise ambitions: I had been close to finding records of the mythic First Cant, the language from which all other hollow cants in the Trebian Sea are derived, but the ruins that should have led me to a library were defaced. I needed a way to plumb their secrets regardless.¡±


    ¡°To hear the whispers in the stone,¡± Tristan murmured. ¡°He gave you what you wanted.¡±


    ¡°Time makes no difference to o a god,¡± Francho said. ¡°It had been decades to me, but to him barely the blink of an eye. The Bibliognost offered me his power, and though the price for what I asked was steep it was not unfair.¡±


    ¡°He took your ability to write,¡± the thief said.


    ¡°That was the price,¡± Francho said, then he grimaced. ¡°Or so I thought. I had planned to get around the restriction by making a student write in my stead, which would have been eccentric but not so much that Reve would object. Only when I began to dictate my words to the student, she found she could not write them.¡±


    He chuckled bitterly.


    ¡°Like trying to hold smoke, she described it,¡± Francho said. ¡°And that was when I realized that I had not given away my ability to write, Tristan: I had given the Bibliognost ¡®everything I might ever write¡¯.¡±


    Oh, Tristan softly thought. A god of scholars and secrets, Francho had called the entity. Fortuna was the Lady of Long Odds, the one in a thousand chance, and it was such gambles she fed on ¨C win or lose. The Bibliognost had fed on the old professor¡¯s scholarship and through cunning phrasing also made everything Francho might learn through his contract secrets for him savor. If what Francho learned could not be writ down, in a matter of decades it would be good as forgot.


    Not all gods offered such plain bargains as the one had struck with Fortuna: some saw their contractors as little more than the spoon filling their mouth.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Francho said. ¡°I was tricked.¡±


    ¡°They sent you away from the university for it?¡± Tristan asked.


    A professor that could not write or be written for was hardly fit to teach students.


    ¡°They were not going to throw me out,¡± the old man snorted. ¡°I was as familiar to my fellows as the bricks or the fountains, just as much a part of Reve. But I was to lose my Master¡¯s chair and cease giving classes.¡±


    He paused.


    ¡°I could not stand it,¡± Francho admitted. ¡°Being tricked and losing so much, when I had thought myself cleverer than a god. So I turned to the Caliginum, the library beneath Reve, and stole forbidden books so that I might find a way to break free of the price.¡±


    ¡°You said it was a disagreement with rectoress that made you leave the university,¡± Tristan recalled.


    Francho smiled toothlessly.


    ¡°I got close,¡± he said. ¡°I could push it onto rabbits, but they never survived the process. I needed a larger brain, I knew, capable of higher thought. Of true interaction with the aether. And there are always students desperate for tutoring so their marks will not get them thrown out.¡±


    Tristan went still.


    ¡°You did it to a student?¡±


    ¡°They found the books in my room before I could,¡± Francho said.


    He smiled mirthlessly.


    ¡°Or so the rectoress told the infanzones, when she declared me a wanted man,¡± he said. ¡°In truth they were an hour late.¡±


    The thief breathed in sharply.


    ¡°It did not work,¡± Francho conversationally said. ¡°The boy¡¯s own brain bled him to death.¡±


    So that was why the man was not some tutor ensconced in a noble house, teaching their children. He was a killer and a wanted man. Francho reached for another cabecita, broke it on his lip and sucked in the piece. He swallowed, wetly.


    ¡°Are you disappointed, Tristan?¡± the old man lightly asked. ¡°That I am not the kind of man I like to seem.¡±


    Francho¡¯s face was unmarred by shame or doubt. He did not, the thief decided, regret what he had done. Even if it had failed. The old professor had decided that he was willing to kill for a chance at cheating the price of his contract, at gaining back all that he had lost. Maybe if Tristan were from the Old Town he would have been disgusted, but he was a rat. He knew better. Francho had been starved, so he had bit. That the boy he¡¯d bit had been underserving changed nothing. When had the world ever run on what people deserved?


    You bit what your teeth could reach, nothing more and nothing less.


    ¡°I suppose I do have a question,¡± Tristan said.


    ¡°Oh?¡± Francho said. ¡°By all means, ask.¡±


    The thief cocked his head to the side.


    ¡°Did you find it?¡± he asked. ¡°The First Cant you were looking for.¡±


    Francho went still as stone, looking at him for a long time, then convulsed. Tristan thought him to be coughing or crying, until the bitterest laugh he had ever heard came crawling out.


    ¡°There was misspelling on the stele,¡± Francho told him. ¡°It was supposed to be speaking of the library in a past tense, you see.¡±


    The old man toothlessly smiled.


    ¡°It was torn down millennia ago to make room for a brothel, so there were nothing at all left to find.¡±


    He laughed again but Tristan could not help but hear the wail behind it. The whimper. He left the professor sitting alone, wrestling with his grief, and did not look back.


    He had his own ghosts to lay to rest and no time for anyone else¡¯s.


    --


    The rope ladder up into the pillar wasn¡¯t guarded.


    Why would it be, when as far as Lieutenant Vasanti knew the sole room there led to a door she had the only key to? Sloppy, the thief thought disapprovingly. In their place he would have left a watchman up there and had them pull the ladder up until morning. Vasanti¡¯s imprudence was his gain as he snuck out of the Old Fort and climbed back up to the same room he had been so glad to be rid of earlier. In Tristan¡¯s pocket waited the stone button he had lent to Francho, but he did not use it yet. Instead he leaned back against the wall by the stone door and met Fortuna¡¯s golden eyes.


    She rolled them but went ahead anyway.


    The goddess could not stray far from him, but walls and locks meant nothing to her. She was not physically present, after all, only the illusion of her in his eyes. It was twenty seconds before she returned, popping her head through the still-closed door.


    ¡°He¡¯s not in there,¡± Fortuna told him.


    ¡°I will need you to look ahead in the hallway as well,¡± Tristan murmured. ¡°But remember we cannot talk. He could be sensitive to sound.¡±


    She cocked an eyebrow at him, a somewhat distressing sight when all he saw of her was a seemingly floating head and loose blond locks. She was, he mused as his fingers closed against the stone button, definitely doing that on purpose.


    ¡°I am perfectly capable of silence,¡± she said. ¡°It is your own incessant chatter that-¡±


    He pressed the button into the opening, cutting her off by the act of the door popping open ¨C he slid around it to catch the button as it fell out of the ¡®lock¡¯ on the other side. Fortuna looked more than slightly offended, which only got worse when he put his finger to his lips in a smiling shush. The lights were back in the tile room, Tristan saw, but he did not linger there. Leaving the door ajar, he crept back up the way he had first come into this room: the maintenance door. The room there was exactly as he had left it, so the thief helped himself to the first reason he had returned.


    The last stone button went into his pocket and then he took the brand Vasanti was so hungry for.


    Now for the second reason. He doubled back towards the door with the broken latch, the one leading out into the hallway, and met Fortuna¡¯s eyes. She went through as he prepared to bolt, but returned with a shake of her head. The god was not there, at least for the moment. Why did it leave? Did gods sleep? He had not thought so. Still, for now he would count his blessings and proceed down the hallway with all the quiet he had learned. The door was still there, hidden by the curve of the hall, and two dozen steps took him to it. Green glass, but transparent enough he could see through it.


    And as he¡¯d thought when getting his first glimpse from a distance, what he saw through that door was a lift.


    --


    Tristan fled after that, not slowing until he the stone door closed behind him and he had a semblance of safety. Brand still in hand, stones in his pocket, the thief went to the edge of the room and finally allowed himself to rest. He sat at the edge, feet dangling in the void as the distant sight of the maze of ruins ¨C from here little more than slices of antiquity bared by light, as if some ancient era had been left half-used on a cutting board ¨C and his breathing evened out.


    Tristan Abrascal sat there in silence and thought, for now he saw the whole of the mosaic.


    Now all that was left was to decide where to slide the knife.

 Chapter 29

    To her very great shame, Angharad¡¯s first reaction was relief it had not been one of hers.


    The second was fury: Aines¡¯ corpse could not have been left out of the hall by accident, the murderer had wanted them all to see it. She strode over to the crowd, only some of them turning at the sound: the rest were too busy shouting. Lord Ishaan was the first to notice her and the man ¨C still chubby-cheeked, for all that the fresh scar across his lip now lent him a harder edge ¨C turned red as an apple.


    ¡°Lady Angharad,¡± he got out. ¡°Would you, I mean-¡±


    Shalini leaned over his shoulder, glance flicking up and down, then let out an approving noise.


    ¡°He¡¯s asking you to put pants on,¡± she translated. ¡°Respectfully.¡±


    Angharad frowned. Her underclothes ended high on her thighs, but she was hardly naked.


    ¡°This is why people make sport of Ramayans, Nair,¡± Tupoc Xical opined, stepping out. ¡°You can¡¯t take a gift even when it¡¯s dropped straight onto your lap.¡±


    Tupoc¡¯s gaze was hardly the most lascivious Angharad had ever been on the receiving end of ¨C she¡¯d had worse leers stretching out in sparring clothes after getting sweaty ¨C but the pale eyes were distinctly appreciative as they took her in. That and the attention the conversation was drawing from those who had been shouting was enough to convince Angharad to give in to Ishaan¡¯s request.


    She could think of few things more nauseating than arguing about clothing besides a murder victim¡¯s corpse.


    Doubling back to her chambers, she dragged on pants and boots before hastily belting her saber. Grabbing her coat as well, she came out with outstretched arms only to pause right out the door. Yong was there, bangs loose despite the haircut the kindly old lady had given him after he lost his topknot. So was Song, smiling pressing a pistol against his belly. To the older Tianxi¡¯s honor, he did not seem particularly fearful of that. Instead he nodded Angharad¡¯s way, ignoring he was but a twitch of the finger away from a shot in the guts.


    ¡°Tredegar,¡± he said. ¡°A word in private, please.¡±


    Angharad almost sighed, pulling her coat into place by tugging the lapels.


    ¡°That¡¯s not happening,¡± Song said. ¡°I know who you are, Jiang Shashou Yong.¡±


    Some kind of Cathayan title? Yong hardly seemed a noble and the Republics should not have any besides.


    ¡°I do not recall seeing the young lady at Diecai, so I assure you she is quite safe,¡± Yong drily said.


    Angharad¡¯s eyes narrowed, irritated at being cut out a conversation that had begun with a request of her.


    ¡°That is enough, Song,¡± she said, pushing down the muzzle of the pistol. ¡°I can decide for myself who I will speak to, in private or not.¡±


    Her friend grimaced.


    ¡°Angharad, he is-¡±


    ¡°Whatever those words in Cathayan you appended to his name mean, I imagine,¡± she cut in. ¡°I do not care. That does not place the decision in your hands.¡±


    Diecai. The name was vaguely known to her. A battle a few decades back, perhaps a Republican victory? Angharad would admit to not having been the most dutiful of students when it came to the history of Tianxia and the Someshwar. There were only so many times you could hear of ten thousand soldiers dying to move a border by two miles before it all rather melded together. Her eyes moved to Yong.


    ¡°Meanwhile, Master Yong, we are largely unacquainted and there was recently a murder,¡± she said. ¡°We will not be going anywhere alone. The three of us, however, can take a moment inside my chambers to have the conversation you requested.¡±


    Song murmured something in Cathayan, the other Tianxi¡¯s eyes snapping to her as he replied acidly in the same, and Angharad¡¯s thinning patience snapped.


    ¡°You are both being intolerably rude,¡± she coldly said. ¡°Mend your manners or leave.¡±


    Song grimaced, nodding an apology, but Yong looked unmoved.


    ¡°Shall we go into your room?¡±


    Angharad had half a mind to send him away, but that was anger speaking and not sense. She stepped back and invited them in, though she did not close the door. By the time both were inside, Song¡¯s pistol was nowhere to be seen.


    ¡°You wanted to speak to me,¡± Angharad reminded the man. ¡°Here I am.¡±


    Yong hesitated a moment, then made his decision.


    ¡°A friend of mine found out that Aines and Felis were both sent here by the same coterie,¡± he said. ¡°It paid for their seats on the Bluebell.¡±


    The Pereduri cocked an eyebrow.


    ¡°Coterie?¡±


    ¡°Gang,¡± Song clarified. ¡°Sacromonte has more than a dog has fleas. Some grow distressingly large and influential.¡±


    The sign of a decaying state whose nobility improperly discharged their duties. Such a thing would never have been tolerated in Peredur: souls committed to infamy did not stay in the duchy, they fled abroad to become pirates and hirelings. There would be time to consider the failings of Sacromonte later, however.


    ¡°Why would criminals pay to send a married couple onto this dangerous island?¡± Angharad asked.


    ¡°For bets,¡± Yong said. ¡°They are called ¡®red games¡¯. The desperate are indebted are sent here and told to accomplish a task in exchange for salvation.¡±


    Oh, the noblewoman did not like the sound of that. The conclusion was obvious as it was ugly.


    ¡°Felis was told to kill his wife?¡± she said, appalled.


    The Tianxi wiggled his hand.


    ¡°I do not know for sure,¡± he said. ¡°But he tried to get her to leave our crew several times during the Trial of Lines and Aines told us that should she die before reaching the third trial there would be dire consequences.¡±


    ¡°For whom?¡± Angharad asked.


    ¡°They have children, I hear,¡± Song quietly said.


    The older man nodded.


    ¡°The coteries, they do not care about the deaths,¡± he said. ¡°Death is cheap. What they care about is the surprise, the story. If they told Aines she must live until the third trial or her children would die, then Felis¡­¡±


    ¡°Might have been told the opposite,¡± Angharad said. ¡°So they might find out who would turn on the other first.¡±


    Her jaw clenched, teeth grinding. A disgusting abuse of power, fit only to be answered by the blade.


    ¡°You believe Felis did it, then,¡± she said.


    ¡°I do not know,¡± Yong admitted. ¡°But he had means ¨C they slept in the same room - and motive. It looks much like Ju¡¯s murder, which I doubt he had anything to do with, but that might be the point.¡±


    Song was more interested in something else.


    ¡°Why go to us with this?¡± she asked. ¡°You came here with the Ramayan crew.¡±


    The older Tianxi glanced at her with irritation, and for a moment Angharad thought they would start bickering again. Instead he shrugged.


    ¡°Ishaan¡¯s a decent sort, for a Someshwari, but he will only go so far with this,¡± Yong said. ¡°I do not believe you will drop the matter even if it becomes messy.¡±


    It was true that Aines had not been part of Ishaan¡¯s crew and so he had no obligation to her as a lord, but Angharad thought the young lord was being underestimated. She had no reason to believe the Someshwari so lacking in character as to allow a murder to go unpunished, but then Yong was Tianxi. He would have little understanding of nobility and its duties.


    ¡°Twice now one of us was murdered in cold blood,¡± Angharad said. ¡°Heedless of¡­ messiness, as you put it, we must rid ourselves of this curse before it strikes again.¡±


    The Tianxi gave her a nod, satisfied with the implicit promise. He had nothing more to tell them so after barely passable leavetaking he took the door. Angharad would have followed, had Song not laid a restraining hand on her arm.


    ¡°There¡¯s something off about the body,¡± she said.


    Aines¡¯, she no doubt meant. Angharad raised an eyebrow.


    ¡°How so?¡±


    ¡°The throat was cut, but the spray of blood was minimal,¡± Song said. ¡°Either the body was cleaned up or-¡±


    ¡°Aines was killed before her throat was cut,¡± Angharad finished.


    She had made enough corpses to know the difference.


    ¡°That was not the case with the twin¡¯s death,¡± she continued after a moment. ¡°There was a great deal of blood on the grass.¡±


    ¡°Ju was definitely killed while alive,¡± Song agreed. ¡°Which begs the question of why it was different this time, if it was the same killer¡¯s work.¡±


    ¡°So Felis killed his wife without leaving a mark, then cut her throat to have the first murderer blamed for it,¡± Angharad frowned.


    A pause.


    ¡°It could be the other way around,¡± she pointed out. ¡°The killer could have made this death different to send us chasing after the wrong man.¡±


    Though Angharad had never thought of such a thing being associated to murder before, stratagems of that kind were not uncommon at court. Song conceded with a nod.


    ¡°We won¡¯t learn anything more in here, anyhow,¡± the Tianxi said. ¡°Best to return before the others get impatient.¡±


    --


    The stepped right into a tinderbox.


    Around Aines¡¯ cooling corpse every soul in the temple had gathered, in varying degrees of dress but with every single soul armed. There were half a dozen pistols out and just as many blades, and though none were being pointed yet they were being waved about with too much enthusiasm for Angharad¡¯s tastes. Lines were being drawn, groups coalescing. Lord Ishaan, Shalini and Acanthe were pressing Tupoc, by whom a sneering Ocotlan stood. The object of the argument was Felis, who had hunched on himself looking like a beaten dog.


    ¡°They slept in the same bed,¡± Ishaan insisted. ¡°You would have me believe he did not wake up even as she was dragged out of the room?¡±


    ¡°Drugs or a contract would see to that easily enough,¡± Tupoc shrugged. ¡°I am more interested in what Lan was doing, awake so early and walking about.¡±


    The surviving Tianxi twin looked nervous, but she was not alone. Lady Ferranda, Brun and even Yong stood with her. It was Brun, the fair-haired Sacromontan even-tempered as ever, who replied.


    ¡°Are you suggesting she also murdered her own sister?¡± Brun asked.


    Tupoc shrugged, but there were few takers for the notion in the crowd. All remembered Lan¡¯s grief that morning.


    ¡°Besides,¡± Brun continued, ¡°Lady Ferranda was the first out the door after Lan shouted and she saw nothing worth calling attention to.¡±


    ¡°One of us would have found the corpse eventually,¡± Ferranda Villazur agreed. ¡°That it was Lan makes no difference.¡±


    ¡°I cannot agree,¡± Lord Remund flatly said. ¡°I notice you are fully dressed, Ferranda. Are you telling me you achieved this in mere moments before running out? It is most suspicious.¡±


    Ferranda¡¯s lips thinned. She did not answer.


    ¡°I am sure she has an explanation for that,¡± Lady Isabel said, once again playing peacemaker. ¡°Let us not accuse in haste, Remund.¡±


    Master Cozme stood with the two infanzones, closing off their faction. Unlike the two nobles the mustachioed soldier looked unwilling to step into the argument, but he was armed and watchful. His eyes were seeking something, Angharad realized, or at least someone. A heartbeat later she realized whom.


    ¡°Where are Lord Zenzele and Yaretzi?¡± the noblewoman called out, stepping in with Song at her side.


    ¡°Ah, Lady Tredegar finally graces us with her presence,¡± Tupoc called out. ¡°A belated welcome to you.¡±


    ¡°You talk a lot, for someone with so little to say,¡± Shalini Goel mildly said.


    The same Someshwari then glanced Angharad¡¯s way.


    ¡°Both of them rushed in when everyone was there,¡± Shalini said, ¡°but they must have slipped away after.¡±


    Murmurs spread.


    ¡°Suspicious,¡± Remund said.


    ¡°Can it even be called an echo if you only repeat your own voice, Cerdan?¡± Yong mocked.


    There were more laughs than she would have expected to that, and several who smiled. Remund¡¯s cheeks reddened with anger, but Cozme kept him from answering as he clearly wished to.


    ¡°Enough,¡± Angharad stepped in. ¡°We cannot get to the bottom of this until everyone is here. Did anyone see which way they went?¡±


    A lot of muttering, but no answer.


    ¡°Then we will have to look for them level by level,¡± Angharad said. ¡°Moving in pairs for safety.¡±


    ¡°That won¡¯t be necessary.¡±


    She recognized Lord Zenzele¡¯s voice even before the man himself came into view, a steel-faced Yaretzi at his side. They were coming down the stairs that led to the upper level and Angharad¡¯s stomach clenched. Neither looked as if they were bearing good news.


    ¡°We went to have a look at the gates upstairs,¡± Yaretzi explained.


    The reigning current of curiosity ensured they were allowed to speak instead of questioned.


    ¡°Someone took a hammer to two of the three,¡± Lord Zenzele told everyone. ¡°Their needles no longer turn and the mechanisms are damaged: I expect only the gate slated for the seventh hour will be fit to open.¡±


    We are being forced to stick together, Angharad thought. Why? Should the murdered not prefer for the crews to split off again as quickly as possible, to hide from retribution?


    ¡°I know of only one hammer around here,¡± Song noted. ¡°Ocotlan?¡±


    The big man snorted.


    ¡°Like any of you twigs could swing it,¡± the Aztlan said. ¡°It was in my rooms when the racket woke me up, so it hasn¡¯t been stolen.¡±


    ¡°Then we ought to look through everyone¡¯s bags for a hammer,¡± Lord Ishaan suggested.


    ¡°Agreed,¡± Angharad forcefully said.


    Some hesitation from the crowd, but willingness as well. No one wanted the murderer to walk free.


    ¡°A bloodied knife was planted in my valet¡¯s affairs, last time,¡± Lord Remund cautioned them. ¡°Let us not assume a hammer means culpability, it could have been place there.¡±


    ¡°Sounds like something a man with a hammer in his bag might say,¡± Tupoc grinned.


    That saw an end to all argument from a freshly red-cheeked Remund. It was longer and more arduous to arrange who would look through the bags than look through them. In the end three of them ¨C Angharad, Ishaan, Tupoc ¨C were deputized to act. The two captains of the crew the bag¡¯s owner were not part of did the looking, with some effort made as to discretion. As much as they could while doing this in the hallway with everyone looking, anyhow. A quick but methodical search that could not have lasted more than ten minutes revealed no hammer.


    ¡°It could be hidden in the killer¡¯s room,¡± Brun suggested. ¡°We can search those as well.¡±


    ¡°I would have been simpler to just throw it in one of the pools downstairs when they were done,¡± Acanthe Phos opined. ¡°And I don¡¯t think anyone wants to go looking through that strange water.¡±


    There were grimaces at that, but no one contradicted her. All had been careful not to come into direct contact with the iridescent waters in the pools and waterfalls below.


    ¡°Then we must look for the murderer with wits and witnesses,¡± Angharad said. ¡°Question all those who might have seen something.¡±


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    ¡°This is not Malan, Lady Angharad, and we are not your peasants,¡± Shalini Goel bluntly said. ¡°No one here is bound to abide by your judgement.¡±


    ¡°Afraid of questions, Someshwari?¡± Lord Remund sneered. ¡°Lady Angharad has proved honorable, unlike you lot.¡±


    She his her surprise at the unstinting defense, though part of her did wonder if it was merely a springboard to strike at his opponents from.


    ¡°Her honor is not in question,¡± Lord Ishaan mildly replied. ¡°It seems wiser, however, for more than one person to investigate this affair.¡±


    ¡°Lord Ishaan is entirely correct,¡± she said. ¡°I did not mean to imply otherwise.¡±


    Angharad had expected relatively straightforward acclamations, as for the bags, but to her surprise it was not the case. Few supported Tupoc ¨C only Ocotlan and Felis ¨C while Ishaan similarly struggled to earn support from his crew. Brun and Lady Ferranda instead pushed for Yong, surprisingly supported by Lan. The sudden sundering of authority made no sense to her, until the argument led her to watching Zenzele as he argued for himself as an investigator.


    The gate, it was all because of the gate.


    There was only one to take, so like it or not everyone would be going the same way and sharing the same path. The previous captaincies were meaningless because everyone would tread the same ground anyway, so now everyone pressed for those they liked or trusted the most instead of their once-captain. Is that what the murderer wanted? Forcing everyone to go through a single gate, one that was to open within hours, had resulted in the effective end of the delving crews.


    Worse, we all know there is only so long left until the seventh hour, she thought. When the gate did open at that time, they would have to take it whether the murderer was found or not. They would, otherwise, be stuck in this temple with the killer for another night or day. It was devil¡¯s cleverness at work, but cleverness nonetheless and it gave them trouble.


    Angharad was acclaimed into a investigator¡¯s role by six voices within moments of it becoming, then Yong by maintaining his four and then to her surprise Tupoc won over Lord Ishaan when Yaretzi spoke for him over the other man.  To have neither Yaretzi nor Zenzele¡¯s voice as part of her count when she did have Acanthe Phos¡¯ was something that left her rather unsettled. Song leaned in close.


    ¡°They both voted late, after you were guaranteed to have be one of the victors,¡± Song reassured her. ¡°The point was to pick more than one candidate, not express distrust in you.¡±


    Angharad did not know what she liked less about this: that the pair had not truly sent support where they thought it most deserving or that Song thought this to be some kind of¡­ democratic process. Worse was that she was not entirely sure the silver-eyed Tianxia was wrong. Setting aside her discomfort, she held council with Yong and Tupoc. The three agreed that everyone should return to their rooms until the questioning was finished and that though there was a right to question violence was strictly forbidden - despite Tupoc¡¯s protests.


    ¡°You would have us dig a pit without shovel,¡± the Aztlan complained.


    ¡°I will not entrust you with authority I believe you will abuse,¡± Angharad frostily.


    ¡°I just think you¡¯re the worst kind of prick,¡± Yong confessed. ¡°But sure, what she said.¡±


    Tupoc laughed. She decided to believe that Yong was being facetious, for both their sakes. Angharad¡¯s first act was to ask the other two if they had any questions for Song and, when told this was not the case, claiming her as a right hand for the rest of the investigation and fetching her from her room. Tupoc followed suit with Ocotlan, but Yong preferred going at it alone. Having no intention to stay together for the interrogations, they split up and go to work after together laying Aines to rest on the stone bed in one of the empty rooms.


    Within moments Angharad stood alone with her Tianxi friend, breathing in deeply.


    ¡°Lan was the first to see the corpse,¡± Song said. ¡°She seems the logical place to start.¡±


    The noblewoman saw no reason to disagree. They were the first to go to the twin, who was waiting calmly in her room.


    ¡°Lady Angharad, Song Ren,¡± Lan said, nodding a greeting. ¡°I¡¯d wondered if it would be you two or Tupoc first.¡±


    The Pereduri nodded a greeting back but kept the courtesies brief.


    ¡°You found the body,¡± Angharad said. ¡°Tell me about it.¡±


    ¡°It was dead,¡± Lan drily replied.


    The Pereduri twitched at the flippancy.


    ¡°Was it cold?¡± Song asked.


    The other woman shrugged.


    ¡°I did not touch it,¡± she said, ¡°so I cannot say.¡±


    ¡°What were you doing out in the first place?¡± Song asked.


    ¡°I was going to take a piss,¡± Lan frankly said. ¡°Almost did anyway, stumbling onto Aines like that.¡±


    Angharad¡¯s eyes narrowed. The crudity of the answer was distasteful, but it was too distasteful. It felt like the girl she had dueled last year at Mawa Peak who had kept striking at her face ¨C Angharad¡¯s form had been better, they both knew, so her opponent had tried to make her lose her temper to bring them back on even ground.


    ¡°You are,¡± Angharad coldly said, ¡°lying.¡±


    Song idly produced her pistol, which Lan¡¯s eyes followed warily. Though Angharad almost told her to put it away, the implication of violence was not strictly against the promise made ¨C only the actual exercise.


    ¡°That¡¯s a bluff,¡± the twin snorted. ¡°No way you agreed on giving each other that authority.¡±


    ¡°We voted on it,¡± Angharad stiffly said.


    She felt the blue-lipped woman¡¯s eyes on her as she spoke, Lan eventually letting out a small curse in Antigua. She bit her lip, then raised her hands.


    ¡°Fine,¡± she said. ¡°You got me. I wasn¡¯t coming out of my room at all, because I never went into it.¡±


    Angharad blinked, taken aback.


    ¡°Why?¡±


    Song breathed in.


    ¡°You spent the entire night spying on everyone¡¯s movements,¡± the Tianxi said. ¡°To see who went where.¡±


    Lan grinned, unrepentant.


    ¡°It¡¯s always useful to know who¡¯s fucking and scheming with who,¡± the blue-lipped woman said. ¡°And it¡¯s not like I was doing anything forbidden, is it? I just waited in a dark corner with a good view and waited, that¡¯s not even snooping the way most people would see it.¡±


    Wait, if she had been keeping an eye on everyone¡¯s coming and goings then¡­ Angharad coughed into her fist, embarrassed.


    ¡°Yeah, my lady, your cheeks should be red,¡± Lan cackled. ¡°That girl¡¯s good as engaged, the way Remund Cerdan tells it.¡±


    ¡°Angharad?¡±


    The noblewoman found Song¡¯s silver eyes on her, face unreadable.


    ¡°It was not,¡± she tried, then swallowed. ¡°We didn¡¯t. I declined, given the circumstances.¡±


    ¡°But she attempted to sleep with you,¡± Song slowly said.


    ¡°We are straying off the subject,¡± Angharad stiffly replied.


    The Tianxi must have taken it as a confirmation, for her face tightened. For a moment Angharad though she saw anger in the cast of the other woman¡¯s face, but surely that was only the light. She had never been given the slightest hint that Song might be interested in her or that they thought of each other in such a light, so what call was there for jealous anger? Salvation came from an unexpected source.


    ¡°Poor Isabel,¡± Lan mused. ¡°She must have been wanting a pick-me up after her other visit.¡±


    That got both their attentions.


    ¡°Other visit?¡± Angharad asked.


    ¡°Remund Cerdan came to her room,¡± the blue-lipped woman said. ¡°Stayed in there about a quarter hour, left looking angry and went straight to back to his own.¡±


    Song hummed, looking interested.


    ¡°Trouble in Sacromonte, perhaps,¡± she said. ¡°Who else wandered, Lan?¡±


    ¡°Ah, and now you even call me by my name all sweetly,¡± the other woman smiled. ¡°Funny how even a rat gets a smile when they have the right dirt - it¡¯s almost as if the world runs on secrets.¡±


    ¡°It may help us find out who the killer was to know who moved around during the night,¡± Angharad honestly told her. ¡°I would ask that you tell us.¡±


    The twin sighed.


    ¡°Fine, fine,¡± she dismissed. ¡°Shalini went to Lord Ishaan¡¯s room, and I didn¡¯t need my ear against that door to guess why. Stayed for about two hours, then back to her own. Just a little after that, Ferranda Villazur came out of her own fully dressed and went upstairs.¡±


    Angharad stilled. They were all on the fourth level, and the fifth held little save the room with the gates.


    ¡°Did she have a hammer?¡± she asked.


    ¡°She wore a cloak so I can¡¯t say,¡± Lan told them. ¡°She was gone for an hour at most, then back to her room.¡±


    Angharad worried her lip.


    ¡°And after that?¡± Song asked.


    ¡°After that I fell asleep,¡± Lan admitted. ¡°When I woke up I wasn¡¯t sure about the time, so I headed to my room to grab some sleep. I ran into Aines¡¯ corpse on the way and you know what follows.¡±


    She closed her eyes, trying to fit the pieces.


    ¡°How long Lady Isabel stay in my quarters?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Go there around the eleventh hour, left around the first,¡± Lan said.


    ¡°Shalini¡¯s visit?¡±


    ¡°From midnight to the second hour, more or less,¡± she replied.


    After which Lady Ferrand had gone upstairs for an hour then come back down.


    ¡°It¡¯s a quarter past five at the moment,¡± Song noted. ¡°And it should not have been much more than half an hour since this all began.¡±


    So Lan found the body a quarter before the fifth hour, more or less, and before that there were a little under two hours through which the twin had slept. The last person known to have stalked the halls was, it appeared, Lady Ferranda. That made it plain who Angharad¡¯s next visit needed to be.


    ¡°Thank you for your help,¡± she told Lan.


    The Tianxi grinned, revealing teeth stained just as blue as her lips.


    ¡°If you catch them, try not to kill them,¡± Lan said. ¡°I have a debt to settle first.¡±


    --


    Angharad not often spoken with Lady Ferranda Villazur since the Trial of Ruins had begun, something she occasionally felt a sliver of guilt over. Now was not the time to indulge in that guilt, however, so when she and Song entered the room she kept her face blank. Ferranda, still fully dressed and her bun pulled tight, sat on her bed.  The greetings exchanged were stiff, so Angharad decided not to stretch out the shared discomfort.


    ¡°You were seen going upstairs during the night,¡± she told the infanzona. ¡°May I know why?¡±


    The fair-haired Sacromontan studied her a moment, frowning.


    ¡°Lan or Brun,¡± she finally said. ¡°Everyone else would have thought it beneath them to spy.¡±


    Brun was not much of a snoop, Angharad thought, so there Ferranda misread the situation. Either way, she had no intention of revealing Lan¡¯s tactlessness ¨C for another to be indiscreet was no excuse to follow their example.


    ¡°Interesting insight,¡± Song said. ¡°Not, however, an answer to our question.¡±


    Ferranda sighed.


    ¡°I went upstairs,¡± she said, ¡°so I could take a hammer to two of the three paths.¡±


    There was a short, awkward pause as Angharad admitted to herself she had not expected so blunt and easy a confession. Song seemed similarly taken aback.


    ¡°To what purpose?¡± she finally asked.


    Ferranda straightened.


    ¡°I am told that Lady Isabel passed a trial as part of your crew while displaying obvious foreknowledge.¡±


    ¡°And you have foreknowledge of your own,¡± Angharad said, unwilling to leave it unsaid.


    ¡°Not our own,¡± the infanzona admitted. ¡°House Villazur bought it from a house better informed. Among that knowledge was a thorough description of this very temple and of where the three ¡®gates¡¯ lead. It is one of the few fixed points in the maze.¡±


    ¡°And what makes the gate so important?¡± Angharad asked.


    ¡°One of those I broke leads into a trap, a hallway whose floor rises to meet the ceiling,¡± Ferranda said, and the Pereduri winced. ¡°The second leads back to another crossroads, spreading in every direction.¡±


    She paused.


    ¡°The one I spared should lead to a temple-fortress overlooking the very last stretch of the maze: a passage called the Toll Road.¡±


    Song stirred from her place leaning against the wall, earning a curious look from the other two.


    ¡°I have heard the name before,¡± she said. ¡°I was told it leads directly to the gate where the ten victors must stand.¡±


    ¡°You could have shared your knowledge with others instead of wielding a hammer,¡± Angharad said, turning to the other noble, though the reproach in her voice was mild.


    Knowing that Ferranda had not acted with the intent to harm rather robbed her of any genuine offence at the act.


    ¡°I did,¡± Lady Ferranda said. ¡°Lord Ishaan then requested I keep the information secret.¡±


    Angharad¡¯s jaw tightened.


    ¡°The gate to the death trap,¡± she began, ¡°who-¡±


    ¡°Tupoc¡¯s group,¡± the infanzona cut in. ¡°And while I do not disagree the man deserves to die, he would not have died alone.¡±


    And so Ferranda Villazur had acted within the bounds of honor: she had not gone against the word of the captain she had gone under, but neither had she allowed those she deemed unworthy of death to approach it unknowing. Angharad nodded in respect, which had Ferranda¡¯s plain face twisting in surprise. Song cleared her throat.


    ¡°I mean no slight to your honor,¡± the Tianxi said, ¡°but should we want to verify your words¡­¡±


    ¡°I do not image Lord Ishaan will deny them if asked,¡± the infanzona shrugged.


    ¡°The hammer you used?¡± Song pressed again.


    ¡°I tossed it one of the pools downstairs,¡± Ferranda amusedly said. ¡°Much as Lady Acanthe guessed. It is the one besides the twisted gargoyle with dragon¡¯s claws, if you are inclined to look.¡±


    Angharad cleared her throat.


    ¡°And the reason why you remained dressed?¡±


    ¡°In case this all went bad,¡± Lady Ferranda frankly said. ¡°Should my actions be found out while I slept, I did not want to be caught in my underclothes and so I slept fully dressed. My affairs are also all packed.¡±


    A look behind them was enough to bear that out: the room was pristine, the bags orderly. Song, though was not yet satisfied.


    ¡°Why destroy two of the gates?¡± she asked. ¡°Only one was truly harmful.¡±


    ¡°Because I want this godforsaken trial to end, Tianxi,¡± the infanzona harshly said. ¡°Once we have all found the Toll Road it will only be a matter of days until this all over.¡±


    ¡°Then-¡±


    ¡°Enough,¡± Angharad said, cutting off Song.


    She inclined her head at Lady Ferranda.


    ¡°Thank you for your answers.¡±


    ¡°Think nothing of it,¡± the infanzona dismissed.


    Her Tianxi right hand did not need to be dragged out of the room, saving them both the embarrassment. Angharad turned on her after the door closed behind them.


    ¡°That was unnecessary,¡± she flatly said.


    Song shook her head.


    ¡°She was lying.¡±


    A pause.


    ¡°You believe she is the murderer?¡± Angharad tried.


    ¡°No,¡± Song admitted. ¡°But she was lying about why she sabotaged two of the gates instead of one, I am sure of it. She is hiding something.¡±


    The Pereduri grit her teeth in frustration ¨C at both the insistence that Song should have been allowed to continue her rudeness and that perhaps the insistence was not entirely unwarranted.


    ¡°We are all hiding things, Song,¡± she finally said.


    ¡°Maybe,¡± the Tianxi said, unconvinced. ¡°But mark my words, Angharad: there were games afoot tonight, and the one that made a corpse might not even have been the most dangerous.¡±


    --


    Their third destination must, inevitably, be Felis.


    Though Angharad was uncertain of his guilt, Yong¡¯s words could not be denied: the man had had both motive and opportunity. Only when the pair reached his room there was already someone standing by them. Tupoc stood by the open door, smiling as they arrived. Beyond the threshold Ocotlan seemed to be speaking with Felis.


    ¡°We require a word with him,¡± Angharad told him.


    ¡°Oh?¡± he drawled. ¡°What for?¡±


    Already the man was trying her patience. Deciding on boldness, Angharad went for the throat.


    ¡°We have reason to believe he was bribed to kill his wife,¡± she said.


    A moment passed. For a man whose follower had just been implicitly accused of murder, Tupoc Xical seemed most unshaken.


    ¡°You are correct,¡± Tupoc easily said. ¡°Felis was told that if he slew his wife before the third trial, their children would be raised wealthy.¡±


    Angharad paused, taken aback again. Villains in plays were much harder to unmask. The Izcalli then raised a finger.


    ¡°The condition, however, was that he must do it with his own hands,¡± Tupoc continued. ¡°Look at the him now, Tredegar.


    Angharad did. Worn and bruised, Felis looked hunched on himself even though Ocotlan was looking unusually mild. He also kept glancing at the corners of the room, gnawing at his lips. Guilt? No, mostly he looked worried. Not even all that afraid, but anxious about something past the horizon.


    ¡°Does he look like someone who just got his way?¡± Tupoc asked.


    The Pereduri¡¯s lips thinned.


    ¡°No,¡± she admitted nonetheless.


    ¡°He¡¯ll be scheming to see if he can claim he did the deed to his patrons anyhow,¡± the pale-eyed Aztlan said. ¡°But the man is scavenger, nothing more. He does not have the spine or competence to have done this, much less the first murder.¡±


    Song cleared her throat.


    ¡°And this tale you told us of what the coterie demanded of him,¡± she said. ¡°How do you know it?¡±


    ¡°I had Ocotlan hang him upside down while I asked questions,¡± Tupoc said.


    Angharad looked at him aghast. The man put a hand over his heart, a beaming smile on his face.


    ¡°Come now, I am no monster,¡± Tupoc said. ¡°I did wait until his wife was out of the room, Lady Angharad. He¡¯d still had a fair shot at murdering her down the line.¡±


    Her jaw clenched, fingers tightened around the grip of her blade. His spear was not yet assembled. It was a dishonor to strike the unarmed, but if she could find a reason¡­


    ¡°We will not fall for your provocations,¡± Song evenly said. ¡°You can cease trying.¡±


    Angharad, who had about to fall for the provocations, mastered herself with some effort. Now was not the time or place for Tupoc to learn that crime unerringly earned punishment.


    ¡°Felis is not so much a suspect as first believed,¡± she said through gritted teeth.


    ¡°We are in agreement, then,¡± Tupoc said. ¡°I am impressed with this killer, truth be told. This is subtler than when they framed Tristan for the twin: they had to learn about the red games, not simply observe a brawl.¡±


    Angharad paused.


    ¡°You did not believe Tristan to be the killer,¡± she slowly said.


    ¡°Of course not,¡± Tupoc said.


    He seemed surprised at the words.


    ¡°You accused him repeatedly, Tical. Led the charge to see him blamed.¡±


    ¡°Because I wanted him to die,¡± the Aztlan told her, as if she were a little slow.


    Angharad¡¯s saber made it halfway out of the scabbard before Song caught her wrist.


    ¡°Not here,¡± she said. ¡°Not now.¡±


    And Tupoc, Tupoc was grinning. Already he was reaching for his segmented spear, putting the first two parts together.


    ¡°Why?¡± Angharad demanded. ¡°What possible reason could you have had to try to get an innocent man killed?¡±


    ¡°Something about him offends my god,¡± Tupoc shrugged. ¡°I am told he feels like someone who should have died a hundred times over, that it is most disorderly.¡±


    Song forced the sword back in the scabbard and Angharad let her. They were still under truce, she reminded herself. However thin a truce it might be.


    ¡°I require words with Felis,¡± she coldly said. ¡°Immediately.¡±


    ¡°So demanding,¡± Tupoc said, fanning himself.


    But he did call for Ocotlan, whose rose to his feet. The big man with the broken nose tried to brush into her as he passed, but Angharad squared her feet ¨C her shoulder bone dug in the soft of his own shoulder, the Aztlan drawing away with a pained growl. Angharad stared him down until he looked away, leaving with a still-smiling Tupoc.


    ¡°Ishaan might have had a point,¡± Song murmured.


    A jest, no doubt, but not one she was in a mood to humor. She did not answer, striding in instead, and before she could so much as offer a greeting Felis began to babble.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t do it,¡± he swore. ¡°I was still sleeping when all the shouting began, just ask Lan, and-¡±


    ¡°Tell us of your evening before,¡± Song cut in.


    The longer they spoke with the man, the clearer it became he had little to say. He had gone to sleep early and woken up only when Lan found his wife¡¯s body. They had shared a room but not a bedroll, and Angharad could help but find that for someone with so little to relay the man seemed all too nervous.


    ¡°May I have a look at your wound?¡± she suddenly asked.


    Felis stilled.


    ¡°Why?¡±


    Discomfort, Angharad thought. One of the secrets being kept.


    ¡°It will be easier to ascertain if you could have killed your wife at all given the state of your wound,¡± Song smoothly replied.


    Felis on begrudgingly agreed, opening his shirt and tugging down mostly clean bandages to show where Remund had stabbed him in the belly. Angharad knelt, frowning as she saw the wound was mostly closed. No, not closed. The red of the gash was not that of healed flesh but of something else ¨C blood-red, sanguine, but not blood. Carefully touching around the wound with the tip of her fingers as Felis hissed in exaggerated pain, she found that the flesh was stiff. Solid, almost like as if there were bone beneath it. Frowning, Angharad drew away and back to her feet.


    ¡°See?¡± Felis said. ¡°I couldn¡¯t have done it.¡±


    A lie. Whatever that blood-red material was, it had effectively closed the wound. The noblewoman expected skin would grow back over it in time, leaving only that patch of solid skin.


    ¡°We are finished here,¡± Angharad finally said.


    ¡°Agreed,¡± Song said.


    And the other woman¡¯s tone was as grim as her own thoughts, for they had grasped the very same problem: for all they had learned, they still had no real idea who¡¯d murdered Aines.


    --


    Yong was waiting in the hall when she emerged, looking in no better mood than she.


    ¡°How is the wound?¡± the Tianxi asked.


    ¡°Good as healed,¡± Angharad replied.


    The Tianxi sighed, passing a hand through his freshly-cut bangs.


    ¡°Dead ends for me,¡± Yong said. ¡°I heard about the nightly visits from Lan, but Remund Cerdan insists he only went over to speak of his upcoming engagement and Ruesta agreed.¡±


    Angharad readied herself for embarrassing questions, but none came. Was he not going to ask about Isabels¡¯ visit to her own rooms?


    ¡°Did you get anything out Lady Ferranda?¡± Song asked, filling the silence before it could grow too noticeable.


    ¡°That she was saving poor lambs, benevolent mistress that she is,¡± Yong drily said. ¡°Villazur was done with our crew and decided her way out was forcing us all down the same path, I¡¯m guessing.¡±


    An uncharitable interpretation, but Angharad supposed Ferranda could have been moved to act for more than one reason.


    ¡°A span of two hours with no witness is too long,¡± Song noted. ¡°There is no solid way to catch out the culprit with such a glaring hole in our knowledge.¡±


    ¡°My thoughts exactly,¡± Yong said. ¡°Any idea why Xical went straight for Felis from the start? If anyone should know everything the man has to say, it¡¯s him.¡±


    Angharad paused.


    ¡°He has sought out no one save Felis for questioning?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Lan, but only moments and after me,¡± Yong replied.


    That seemed¡­ odd. As did the fact that he did not seem to be interrogating anyone currently. What was the Izcalli after? Angharad let Song inform the other Tianxi that they had no idea what Tupoc had asked about and looked for the man herself, finding that he was not anywhere on the fourth level. She learned where he had been when she caught him coming down the stairs.


    ¡°What were you doing?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Looking if the gates were truly broken as our friend Zenzele said,¡± Tupoc said. ¡°You can never be too safe, yes?¡±


    You are lying, Angharad thought, looking at his easy smile. We missed something and you found it.


    ¡°The purpose of this arrangement was to share information,¡± she evenly said. ¡°Not hoard it.¡±


    ¡°That you think that,¡± he gently told her, ¡°is why you¡¯ll lose.¡±


    Her jaw clenched.


    ¡°Perhaps I should put an end to this contest, then,¡± Angharad said, fingers gripping the handle of her saber. ¡°If you do not respect the spirit of the truce, why should you protected by it?¡±


    Tupoc grinned.


    ¡°Come now, Remund only stayed in your lovely lady¡¯s quarters for a bit,¡± he said. ¡°Not enough for you to get jealous over, surely?¡±


    Angharad stilled. That he would taunt her over that and not Isabel¡¯s visit to her rooms was¡­ Lan had told no one else about Isabel¡¯s visit, she realized. Gratitude, however guilty, seized her soul. It changed her mood enough that she took her hand off her blade, to Tupoc¡¯s visible disappointment.


    ¡°A man can only take so much teasing, Tredegar,¡± he gravely reproached.


    ¡°We are still under truce,¡± Angharad replied. ¡°And why should I value even the shallows of my honor more than the likes of your life?¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± Tupoc Xical mused, ¡°if you are going to sweet-talk me so, I suppose I shall have to forgive you.¡±


    One day, Angharad thought, he would push her and there would be no strictures of honor protecting him.


    She was going to savor that day.


    --


    The second council between the three of them was largely ceremony: none of them had found the killer or even a solid lead. Tupoc was sitting on secrets ¨C and likely so were she and Yong ¨C but with silence holding there was resolution to be had. They sent for everyone to come out for a common address, the seventh hour having crawled dangerously close. The revelation that no culprit had been found did not go over well, not that Angharad had expected failure to be met with applause. Even less popular was the acknowledgement that there was now only one way forward, through the gate that would open in under an hour.


    But what other choice was there?


    When the seventh hour came all seventeen took the gate, eyes on each other as much as the dangers that lay ahead.

 Chapter 30

    On the other side of the gate waited not a test but a tunnel.


    Narrow and damp it led them up for fifteen minutes, occasionally at so strong an upwards tilt that some of them slid on the smooth stone and tumbled back into others. It was a relief when they emerged into open grounds, entering some sort of strange water garden. It looked like a large pond with islands of stone tracing a path across, but the waters turned out to be fathomlessly deep. And the path itself was occasionally chancy path, as they soon realized that the ¡®islands¡¯ were in fact the top of pillars reaching up from the deeps ¨C and that some had been eaten away at by the water.


    When one toppled Lady Acanthe fell into the water, beginning to sink almost immediately.


    Had Master Cozme and Shalini not dragged her out she might well have drowned. More worrying still was what that Acanthe Phos assured them she was a skilled swimmer, only the water had been unnaturally ¡®heavy¡¯. She¡¯d compared it to trying to swim through molasses.


    They were all glad to be rid of the place, all the more when the last island brought them to a dilapidated First Empire highway that, aside from the occasional loose stone, presented no danger at all. Two opportunities to take a left off the highway led straight into dead ends, one of them a strange black stone shrine whose closed door was thankfully received, and after a second hour¡¯s worth of walking they reached the top of plunging stairs. The end of the highway was broad enough for nearly all of them to have a look at the distant silhouette of the temple-fortress, which awed most into silence.


    Some of them, anyway.


    ¡°I don¡¯t care what the blackcloaks claim, that is not a temple,¡± Zenzele Duma announced. ¡°Fly a flag on it and all that¡¯s missing is Izcalli footpads to shoot at.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll rustle up a flag if you can get Xical to stand still,¡± Lady Ferranda offered.


    Angharad was not amused, because it would have been beneath one of her breeding to snort at such low-brow humor.


    She had merely been clearing her throat.


    Truly, however, Zenzele had a point. Ferranda had described their destination as a ¡®temple-fortress¡¯, but what Angharad beheld leaned distinctly towards the latter word. Stairs so roughly carved they were barely noticeable went down an abrupt slope for at least a few hundred feet until they reached the bottom of a cauldron. Or so it seemed, for on all sides hundreds of shattered shrines stacked onto one another formed incomprehensible: it was a cacophony of broken faiths, a wall whose every brick was the ghost of some ancient promise.


    It troubled Angharad, looking at it too long. The sheer amount of shrines reaching up to the sky, a tombstone of silenced laments drenched in the golden light of the firmament above. This was a graveyard of spirits, and its utter silence was more menacing than any chorus of wails.


    Rising from the center of the cauldron¡¯s bottom rose the promised temple-fortress. It was not in the shape of the modern fortresses ¨C stars and angles and bastions ¨C or even of older keeps with towers and tall curtains walls. Instead it was a thing of tiers, full red walls shaped like circles interlocking like a haphazard pile of plates balancing one way and the other. There were eight levels and almost twice as many circles of varying size, the broadest and highest at the bottom and narrowing as they rose. At the summit of the very highest tier a small tower in the same red stone stood, leading to a narrow stone bridge that connected to the top of the surrounding cliffs.


    The way forward, presumably to the Toll Road that Ferranda had claimed was the very last stretch of the maze.


    ¡°I¡¯ve seen that kind of stone before,¡± Shalini Goel shared. ¡°My family comes from south of Mahabhara, and the cities on the shore of the Arama River use it for everything.¡±


    Angharad knew at least one of those names: Mahabhara was one of the great powers inside the Imperial Someshwar, their rajas usually wrestling with those of Varaveda and lesser rivals for who was to claim the Maharaja¡¯s scepter ¨C and with it the authority to rule over all of the Imperial Someshwar, at least in name. Someshwari were a famously fractious lot.


    ¡°I thought you were Ramayan,¡± Yong said.


    ¡°I am,¡± she assured him. ¡°The Goel are merchants, when we expanded into Ramaya a branch of the family settled accordingly. I was born there myself.¡±


    Ah, Angharad thought. The nature of the ties between Lord Ishaan¡¯s house and the commonborn Goel was at last made clear. The merchants must have sought the help and protection of local nobles when settling there, as was only proper. Even more proper was such ties resulting in the Goel providing a fosterling and attendant to someone of the Nair line, tightening the bonds between nobles and a wealthy subject. It was important, Father had always told her, to remain on good terms with the wealthy living on your lands.


    ¡°Fascinating,¡± Lord Remund cut in, his tone indicating he thought it anything but. ¡°If we might perhaps attend to the fortress before us?¡±


    ¡°It is useful information,¡± Brun mildly replied. ¡°It means the god within might be of the Someshwar.¡±


    ¡°I do not recall asking for your-¡± Remund began, so Angharad stepped in.


    Clearing her throat, she raised her voice over his.


    ¡°We should get moving,¡± the noblewoman said. ¡°The stairs seem dangerous so we will have to be careful going down.¡±


    They¡¯d had enough of a rest gawking, so her suggestion was taken without argument. No one wanted to spend too long out here when there was still a murderer hiding among them, much less be stuck spending a night out. Lord Zenzele took the lead, Lady Ferranda volunteering to go behind him. The pair had stood together on the same unstable pillar earlier, narrowly keeping it from toppling by shifting their weight, and taken to each other since. Angharad hardly thought their griefs were the same ¨C Zenzele had lost his lover and his aunt, while Ferranda only a close retainer ¨C but that grief was shared could not be denied. Friendships had been made of less. She herself followed behind Ferranda, Lord Ishaan in turn claiming the space behind her.


    ¡°What a noble vanguard we have,¡± Yong drily said.


    There were some laughs, so Angharad was somewhat relieved when Yaretzi volunteered to be next before Shalini could step in. She had not noticed earlier, but it was true that the nobleborn among them tended to take the lead. The captaincies had come at an end, however, and now an unthinking assumption of leadership was not without risks. There was hardly a trace left of the old crews in how the group held themselves, relying on such a structure would be a mistake.


    However difficult the stairs looked, they were significantly worse in practice. Not only were they narrow ¨C too much to fit her entire boot on ¨C they were short, many and winding. Angharad had to be careful with every step, never lapsing in attention, and the absence of anything like a railing was discomforting. If someone fell, there was absolutely nothing to hold them back. At least half a mile of such labor, surrounded by the creeping cliffsides, would be exhausting work. By unspoken agreement they began taking breaks regularly, spread out across different sections of the stairs, and one such pause was when Lord Ishaan approached her.


    ¡°It occurs to me,¡± the chubby-cheeked man said, ¡°that we have had little occasion to talk since Aines¡¯ body was discovered.¡±


    The angle he stood at hid his scar, bringing back a shadow of the soft look he¡¯d had when the trials began. Angharad considered him. Learning from Lady Ferranda that he had planned to send five of them into what was quite possibly their death ¨C not only Tupoc and Ocotlan but also the underserving, Lan and Aines and Felis ¨C had not endeared him to her. Nor had that she had been headed for a deeper part of the maze instead of the end and the man had not meant to inform her as much. No, that last part was unfair. She was merely assuming, he might have planned otherwise.


    But it had not gone unnoticed by Angharad that few people who joined Lord Ishaan and Shalini¡¯s crew ever seemed to want to stay there.


    ¡°We have not,¡± she acknowledged. ¡°Events dictated otherwise.¡±


    ¡°Elections do tend to be rowdy business,¡± he smiled.


    The way it tugged at his cheeks revealed a hint of the scar, like a face peeking out from beneath a mask.


    ¡°Have you given any thought to the third trial?¡± he continued.


    She hid her surprise.


    ¡°The Trial of Weeds? I must confess to my attention has remained on our present tribulations.¡±


    ¡°It might be wise to begin thinking ahead,¡± Lord Ishaan advised her. ¡°Many who are now your allies will depart once they reach sanctuary, returning to Sacromonte.¡±


    ¡°That is true,¡± she cautiously agreed, ¡°but as I know little of the nature of the third trial I cannot say if that will be a disadvantage.¡±


    Besides, Song intended to become part of the Watch and the same was true of Brun. Without the infanzones at her side there should be nothing preventing the three of them from making common cause for the Trial of Weeds. It was Lord Ishaan, on the contrary, who looked exposed to her eye. Who still stood by him, save for Shalini?


    ¡°It is rarely an advantage to be alone,¡± Ishaan said, then shrugged. ¡°I would not urge to you an early decision, but keep in mind that Shalini and I would be glad to have you with us when the time comes.¡±


    A polite non-answer was already on the tip of her tongue, but Angharad stopped herself. She had a real look at the other noble instead, at the worn stance and the sleepless lines that could be seen even on the half of his face he showed. Ishaan Nair did not look so sinister to her, in that moment, just a man who was tired and feeling the edge of the pit creeping ever closer.


    ¡°You have to know it has a bad look,¡± she quietly said. ¡°They do not talk ill of you, Lord Ishaan, but they do leave.¡±


    He sighed, passing a hand through his hair.


    ¡°I know,¡± Ishaan said. ¡°It is¡­¡±


    The Someshwari hesitated.


    ¡°I suppose you will learn eventually,¡± Ishaan finally said. ¡°Unspoken rules only go so far. Shalini¡¯s contract has¡­ drawbacks.¡±


    Angharad could not reveal she had once glimpsed the gunslinger putting two shots in Tupoc¡¯s eye faster than the blink of an eye without revealing details of her own contract, but Shalini¡¯s supernatural skill with pistols was no secret.


    ¡°They are not visible,¡± she admitted.


    ¡°They would not be, where you¡¯ve seen her use it,¡± Ishaan said. ¡°But out here it is another story. I shall avoid details, but it might be said that when she uses the contract it sometimes draws¡­ attention.¡±


    She paused, the implications of that word sinking in.


    ¡°Spirits?¡±


    ¡°Gods, lares, lemures,¡± he agreed. ¡°Maybe even those who use Signs. Out here in the maze, it has mostly drawn the eye of remnants ¨C the echoes of dead gods. You should have encountered a few.¡±


    Only one, but that had been memorable enough. Yaretzi would have fallen off the ledge had Angharad not caught her by the collar when the screeching thing appeared.


    ¡°Refraining from using the contract would put an end to the risks,¡± she carefully said.


    One must always tread lightly, when speaking of contracts. Ishaan grimaced, his expression resigned. As if expecting scorn.


    ¡°It would be the wise choice, if she could make it,¡± he said. ¡°There is a reason we chose to seek out the Watch, Lady Angharad. Both our contracts would benefit from the lessons they have to teach.¡±


    She cannot control when she uses the contract, Angharad realized. Or not always, which was near as damning. So every time Shalini used her contract it sent up a flare for any creature looming and she could not promise she would cease sending them up. Sleeping God, no wonder their crew kept bleeding people. Especially here in the maze, where the cause and effect would be even more obvious than during the Trial of Lines. Neither were being outright malicious, Angharad thought, but it was no wonder that so few had supported Lord Ishaan during the earlier debates. It might not have been out of malice, but he had still put their lives at risk.


    Yet what else was he to do, abandon the childhood friend he had come here with?


    The colder part of her, the one her father had taught, whispered that he might well have been sending Tupoc¡¯s entire crew to their deaths simply so there would be fewer options besides staying with his own. Had everyone gathered back at the Old Fort tonight and Angharad learned that Ishaan¡¯s gate led to the end of the maze, she would almost certainly have negotiated for their crews to ally and return together. And in a way, she thought, the Someshwari had gotten what he wanted - they were all going forward as a single crew.


    Yet he had not gotten what he needed: Ishaan had no authority here, and if Shalini¡¯s contract began causing trouble the pair were certain to be cast out. Perhaps even violently. All because there was only a single gate that could be used, so any claim he might have had to it being ¡®his¡¯ was little more than wind.


    ¡°You might have made steadier allies had you revealed it from the start,¡± she said.


    ¡°We would have had no allies at all,¡± he replied, shaking his head. ¡°Better to have them for a time than never.¡±


    Much as she disliked the approach, she was not certain he was wrong. And he had not lied, she would give him that. It did not make up for his condemning five trial-takers to die. As if sensing her disapproval, he turned fully ¨C light caught the scarred side of his face as it faced her at last, coloring half as if it were a different one entirely.


    ¡°There is more to say,¡± he told her. ¡°But perhaps this is not the time and place.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps not,¡± Angharad replied, inclining her head.


    They left it at that, resuming their way down the stairs. Only it could not have been more than a minute or two before she caught a flicker of movement behind her ¨C she had been betrayed, Angharad thought. He was to be rid of her as he had wanted with Tupoc, suffering no other former captain and¡­ and then she realized that Ishaan was not attacking her but falling.


    On her.


    Shouting, he tumbled forward and in a snap decision Angharad glimpsed ahead.


    (The man on her back, the two of them rolling down, scything through Ferranda¡¯s legs from behind as she fell off the stairs and screamed-)


    As a girl, Angharad had once spent six months taught by grim-faced and tattooed man from Uthukile who had claimed to be the Prince of Black Hill. His lessons had all been about what he had called ¡®the gale-game¡¯. The Low Isle was under constant siege by storms, he¡¯d told her, sea and wind carving ever deeper grooves into its bluffs and canyons. From those constant companions the people of the Low Isle had learned lessons. Mother¡¯s take on the teaching had been simpler: he is here to teach you how to fall, she¡¯d said. Into the calm, Angharad thought, bending forward as Ishaan hit her back.


    The worst mistake you could make was to fight the gale. The gale always won.


    Chin tucked, arms up, and Angharad embraced the fall: enough that even as Ishaan hit the stairs she kept falling forward. There was shouting but she ignored it, turning with the fall and making a roll out of it. Stone bit at her back for the merest heartbeat, but she twisted forward and finished the tumble. Her boots hit the stone, pain tingling up her legs, and for half a dozen feet she skidded down the narrow stairs with gritted teeth. Her left leg came forward a bit but not before she slowed, her momentum slowly grinding to a halt until she was left half-crouched and now far past both Ferranda and Zenzele ¨C who had gotten out of the way without her even noticing.


    Panting, Angharad rose to her full height and brushed off her shoulders.


    ¡°I fall, I stand,¡± she told the wind, as her teacher had taught her. ¡°Try again if you dare.¡±


    She did not speak Matabele, for all that the Uthukile dialect had the same root as Umoya, so she was not entirely sure that was truly what the words meant. Prince had been a profligate liar, and the only time she had told Father the words he¡¯d choked and instructed her never to repeat them in front of guests. Yet there was something satisfying about speaking the words, she thought. Almost like a victory prayer. That sliver of satisfaction was short-lived, however, as shouting from above forced her to turn that way.


    Both Zenzele and Ferranda seemed fine but Ishaan was hurt, she saw as she carefully climbed back. He was cradling his arm and bruised across the face. He was also not the source of the shouting.


    ¡°I saw you push him,¡± Shalini insisted, pistol out.


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t anywhere near him,¡± Yaretzi bit back. ¡°Am I to be called a killer because he saw fit to trip?¡±


    Someone stepped in between them, but by virtue of it being Tupoc Xical it was the opposite of reassuring.


    ¡°Yaretzi is right,¡± the Izcalli mused. ¡°I¡¯m sure her being a killer is entirely unrelated to Nair being a clumsy fool.¡±


    The pistol moved off the first Aztlan to the other, which Angharad knew was the moment Shalini lost the crowd. Tupoc was despised, and she suspected only one more incident away from being turned on, but pointing that muzzle at more than one person had made Shalini look overwrought, out of control. It had cost her credibility and as no one else seemed to have caught what happened credibility would be what decided the contest. Even as Angharad bit her teeth and wondered how to intervene ¨C Shalini must be wrong, what could Yaretzi possibly gain from attacking Ishaan? ¨C the claimed victim spoke up by himself.


    ¡°Pistol down, Shalini,¡± Ishaan said, getting to his feet with a wince. ¡°I felt something push my back, but I suppose it could have been the wind.¡±


    There was a breeze, however faint. The other Someshwari looked conflicted, but eventually she noticed the unfriendly looks her waving around a weapon was drawing. With gritted teeth she put away the pistol, and there was a slight adjustment to the order of descent. Yaretzi went behind Angharad, warily eyeing the pair from Ramaya, and the climb down resumed with a broader gap between climbers than ever. No one wanted to earn another accusation.


    Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    It still took them the better part of an hour to get at the bottom after that.


    From down there the temple-fortress seemed even more towering. Natural stone, touched with red lichen, led them to massive open bronze gates. There were some small ponds of stale water they went around, but soon enough they all gathered before the handful of steps leading into the temple. There was some hesitation, but the walk to the gates had been rest enough and none wanted to spend the day waiting out here. They ventured up the stairs cautiously, past the red stone of the floor and onto the cavernous hall within.


    Lamps hung from barely-seen rafters, casting slices of yellowing light on walls dripping with tapestries and trophies. There seemed to be no rhyme nor reason to what hung there. Angharad saw children¡¯s toys side by side with ornate silver bucklers, then a musket besides what she suspected to be a Pereduri fertility necklace. Ivory tusks, jewels, blades ¨C all of them placed over spans of wool, linen and silks that depicted everything from wars to the Sleeping God¡¯s grace descending upon the unworthy. The scale of it should have brought out awe, but somehow Angharad could not help but feel as if she were looking at some magpie¡¯s trove.


    At the end of the hall they were treading awaited an audience room, lit by the same hanging lamps, and on the raised dais at the center the noblewoman first saw the spirit they were to bargain with. A vividly colorful bird the size of a carriage ¨C a peafowl whose tailfeathers were tucked in ¨C bore on its back a golden cradle, which held the desiccated shape of a man in red silks. Neither spirit nor mount moved as their group approached the threshold of the gate. Angharad, breathing in, crossed it first and offered a respectful bow to the desiccated spirit.


    ¡°Honored elder, I greet you,¡± she said.


    There was a long moment of silence, then the bird let out a cackle.


    ¡°Lower, child,¡± the spirit said. ¡°He has not answered anyone in a great many years.¡±


    The peafowl spirit¡¯s eyes were bright blue and wide open, staring down at her with amusement. Angharad swallowed.


    ¡°Honored elder, I greet you,¡± she tried.


    The bird sniffed.


    ¡°Are you ignoring my master?¡± it demanded.


    Angharad swallowed again, unsure how to answer, until the bird began cackling.


    ¡°That¡¯s fine,¡± the peafowl hiccupped. ¡°He¡¯s dead.¡±


    A soft curse in Samratrava from behind her, which rather echoed how she was feeling, then Lord Ishaan was at her side and bowing through a wince. His arm must still hurt. He said something in the same tongue, which had the peafowl spirit preening and nodding ¨C and so the corpse atop its back shaking around.


    ¡°She¡¯s a mayura, Lady Tredegar,¡± Ishaan then told her in Antigua. ¡°Not exactly a god, since they do not come alone. They are-¡±


    ¡°The finest divine mounts to ever exist,¡± the spirit cackled, striking a pose as her tailfeathers snapped open in a dazzling display. ¡°Behold my greatness!¡±


    A moment passed. There was nothing spiritual about the plumage the Pereduri was looking at, as far as she could tell.


    ¡°They are very nice feathers,¡± Angharad finally said.


    The peafowl preened, shuffling back and forth on her spindly legs.


    ¡°They serve as the mounts of victory gods,¡± Ishaan mildly said. ¡°When surviving their riders they are known to grow¡­ eccentric.¡±


    She glanced sideways at him.


    ¡°Victory gods?¡±


    ¡°When a great victory is won a god is sometimes born of it,¡± the Someshwari told her. ¡°They are all children of the Six-Headed One, but have will of their own.¡±


    ¡°They get them out of defeats as well.¡±


    Angharad turned, seeing Yong had approached while she was distracted.


    ¡°Some crawling thing came out of the fields at Diecai, a few weeks after,¡± the Tianxi told her. ¡°The Watch had a free company waiting to kill it.¡±


    ¡°I had not heard, though I see no reason to disbelieve a veteran of the Kuril Dance,¡± Ishaan politely said before his attention returned to her. ¡°I was taught it is not so uncommon phenomenon across the span of Vesper but that my people¡¯s ties to the deeper truths of the Orthodoxy makes it more frequent where we rule.¡±


    The dark-skinned noble could almost hear the echo of four dozen acrimonious religious wars ¨C fought and yet to be - in that last sentence. The Sleeping God was a blessing in more ways than one. Angharad¡¯s eyes slid back to the peafowl, who to her faint surprise did not seem all that put off with the tangent unrelated to her. She was, the Pereduri thought, listening to them almost eagerly.


    ¡°Am I to understand, noble elder, that this temple is now yours?¡± she asked.


    ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± the peafowl happily said. ¡°The Greedy One slurped up Kshetra¡¯s insides, but instead of getting its hands on this place the claim passed down to me.¡±


    Angharad glanced at Ishaan to see if the name brought up anything, but he sighed.


    ¡°It literally means ¡®tract of land¡¯,¡± he murmured. ¡°There are more minor gods with that name than there are lords in Izcalli.¡±


    Ah. She supposed not every battle happened to be fought in a place that bore a proper name. It seemed odd, however, for a minor spirit to have earned such a grand temple. Her momentary distraction was rewarded by another person stepping in, though Song joining them before the spirit was most welcome.


    ¡°The Greedy One,¡± Song repeated. ¡°It is a most fearsome name - would you tell us of your divine foe, mighty god?¡±


    The peafowl preened again, easily flattered. Angharad was beginning to feel a little guilty about this.


    ¡°It¡¯s not a real god,¡± the mayura contemptuously said. ¡°It did not come of the Golden Egg like we did, taking shape from nothing. It was forged long ago, by the-¡±


    The spirit suddenly stopped.


    ¡°Nononono,¡± she said. ¡°I keep forgetting: questions only at a price. To go forward, to learn, you must take my tests!¡±


    The mayura skipped around the dais, beak pecking at things unseen. Before Angharad could even begin to consider what that was about, cascades of blue and green silk fell down from the ceiling in waves. Fluttering curtains surrounded them on all sides, and the spirit made happy noises.


    ¡°Supplicants,¡± she said. ¡°You have come to the temple of the great Kshetra!¡±


    She shook her back a bit, the desiccated corpse in the cradle jerking around. Should one squint, its arm might have done something akin to a wave. Morbid.


    ¡°A crossroads stands before you,¡± the peafowl announced. ¡°At the summit of this holy place waits the path that will take you to the end of this maze.¡±


    Behind her, golden light coursed down the blue silk like rivers. It traced a silhouette, resembling the shape of the temple-fortress as they had beheld it outside. Six ¡®plates¡¯ were haphazardly stacked atop one another, each delineated as its own section ¨C including the hall where they now stood, at the very bottom of the stack. From the tower at the summit a strand of gold unfolded, leading into a curl whose meaning was unclear.


    ¡°There is another path,¡± the mayura said, ¡°for those unfit to brave our tests.¡±


    At the third level, a strand of gold unfolded and reached out¡­ to the side? There was nothing there, though in her mind¡¯s eye Angharad supposed something coming out of the temple horizontally would go into the cliffs.


    ¡°Yellow tiles will lead you back to the very beginning of the maze,¡± the spirit said. ¡°A gift from the great Kshetra! Such largesse, however must be earned.¡±


    Lord Ishaan cleared his throat.


    ¡°How may we earn your grace, great mayura?¡±


    ¡°Each of the old temples hosts a champion and their test,¡± the peafowl told him. ¡°To earn the right to climb, you must defeat them.¡±


    ¡°Old temples,¡± Song lightly said. ¡°I thought this all belonged to the great Kshetra¡¯s inheritor?¡±


    The mayura shifted uneasily.


    ¡°There used to be twelve of us,¡± she said, ¡°though-¡±


    The spirit paused, eyeing Song, and something like anger passed through those blue eyes.


    ¡°You may no longer speak.¡±


    There was a ripple in the air, the curtains of silk fluttering like an incoming storm, and Song hastily bowed before backing away. The peafowl watched her unblinking, the displeased stare pushing Song all the way back to the ranks before releasing her. However fickle the spirit, it had been dangerous of the Tianxi to attempt to trick her into surrendering secrets for free. Best to change the subject before the mayura decided to express her displeasure more concretely.


    ¡°Must all six tests be passed for us to cross, honored elder?¡± Angharad politely asked.


    If so, she feared corpses would ensue. The spirit let out a pleased cackle.


    ¡°This is a land of victory, so we honor it above all else,¡± the peafowl said. ¡°You may instead face a test while under restriction, making your deed all the greater!¡±


    Angharad cocked her head to the side. Curious as she was to get to the end of this temple, it should be clear to all what was most urgently needed. It certainly was to her.


    ¡°How may one earn the right of passage to the beginning of the maze?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Three to rise,¡± the mayura said. ¡°Another to cross the gap.¡±


    Simple enough: aking the test for one ¡®win¡¯, then three restrictions to pay for the rest.


    ¡°Then that is the wager I ask of you,¡± Angharad said.


    To her left Ishaan choked. The peafowl, however, seemed most pleased.


    ¡°Then right attitude. I present you then the challengers,¡± she said, prancing about the stage.


    The golden light began to twist again, taking the shape of a man.


    ¡°Ojas the Clever, who you must defeat in a contest of riddles that-¡±


    ¡°Next,¡± Angharad said.


    The giant bird somehow gave the distinct impression of a pout. Light shifted again.


    ¡°Urvashi Cloud-Foot, whose deadly race across the sky-¡±


    ¡°Not her either,¡± Angharad said.


    ¡°No one ever picks Urvashi,¡± the spirit complained. ¡°You should hear her moan about it.¡±


    ¡°The others, honored elder?¡± she pressed.


    ¡°Amrinder Ever-Champion, whose gift is to know and match your every skill at arms,¡± the peafowl tried. ¡°He must be defeated in a duel.¡±


    Startled, she almost laughed. A mirror, was it?


    ¡°Him,¡± Angharad said. ¡°I will face him.¡±


    The mayura flicked her feathers.


    ¡°A worthy choice,¡± she said. ¡°Let us speak of oaths, then. You must give three.¡±


    ¡°I will use no weapon beyond my saber,¡± Angharad offered.


    The peafowl nodded.


    ¡°I receive your oath,¡± she said.


    The air shivered.


    ¡°I will not use my contract,¡± Angharad offered.


    The mayura leaned closer, considering with those large blue eyes, then she opened her beak to taste the air with her tongue. Coolness slithered through her veins, the Fisher¡¯s attention called, and the peafowl drew back hastily.


    ¡°Yes, best keep that out of the test,¡± the spirit said. ¡°I receive your oath.¡±


    The air shivered anew. There Angharad hesitated, considering what else she might offer. Somehow she figured leaving behind her coat would not be sufficient, however fine a coat it might be. An answer came from a most unexpected helper.


    ¡°Spare the champion,¡± Tupoc suggested.


    She turned, frowning.


    ¡°Pull a killing blow,¡± he clarified.


    That sounded¡­ surprisingly sensible. She turned to the spirit, silently asking if such an oath would be received. The mayura considered it, then slowly nodded.


    ¡°Twice,¡± she said. ¡°Pull a killing blow twice.¡±


    She did not flinch in the face of the terms: what was there to fear, facing herself in a mirror?


    ¡°Agreed.¡±


    ¡°Then I receive your oath,¡± the mayura said. ¡°Follow me, I shall show you the way. The rest of you can wait here.¡±


    --


    The spirit led her through halls of red stone, sloping and turning in ways that did not fit what she had seen from the outside. It was constantly chattering, and oddly insistent that Angharad be the one who take the test should her group attempt to reach the summit of the temple. When she dared asked why the mayura was only too happy to explain.


    ¡°If you die here I will gobble up the corpse,¡± she said, ¡°but the last test is different. The wager is that those who fail it will become a champion of this temple.¡±


    The mayura happily pattered about, missing the horror on Angharad¡¯s face.


    ¡°You seem like you would be pleasant to keep,¡± she said. ¡°So try not to lose until that test, yes?¡±


    The spirit then flicked her wing, ushering her forward into a doorway of red stone.


    ¡°Amrinder waits within,¡± she said.


    Angharad went through.


    --


    It was a graveyard.


    Walls of bare stone closed in from all sides, solemnly leaning over a field of ash. Scorched bones peeked out of the grey like lurid smiles, pierced and broken by weapons enough to fight a war: swords and spears, curve knives and axes and broken butlers. A war was fought here, Angharad thought. One corpse at a time. Ash creaked under her boots as she approached the specter at the heart of it all: sitting on a mound of cinders and steel, a stern-faced bearded man with long unbound hair waited. A faded red and yellow vest covered a long padded tunic touched with bronze scales, but it was the worn banner the man had wrapped himself in that caught her eye.


    Even color had long dripped out of the cloth, leaving behind stale paleness that spoke of nothing but use.


    ¡°My name,¡± the specter said, ¡°is Amrinder. May you perish bravely.¡±


    ¡°A mirror has no name,¡± Angharad simply replied, and drew her sword.


    The man shook himself to his feet, the banner fluttering down into the ash ¨C he was taller than her, Angharad thought, though not by much. Lightly, almost daintily he plucked out of the ash a curved blade that resembled her own saber. She closed the distance.


    ¡°Skilled, for your age,¡± the specter said, as if tasting her talent. ¡°But I am that and more. Arrogance makes for quick contests.¡±


    Ten feet lay between them. It was nothing at all; it was the entire world. Two steps, measured, and Angharad¡¯s saber began to rise towards a duelist¡¯s salute ¨C Amrinder matched her, only for his eyes to narrow when she immediately darted forward and hacked at the side of his neck. Left hand parry, but his blade was thicker and slower. It kept her off his throat, but only until she pivoted behind him and brought the bottom of her blade, near the guard, to rest against the nape of his neck.


    ¡°One,¡± Angharad counted, and drew back as he chased her off with a swing.


    She could have carved into his spine, if she so wished.


    ¡°Have you no honor?¡± the specter bit out. ¡°To strike during-¡±


    ¡°A mirror has no honor,¡± she replied.


    Fury on the stern face, thick black brows pulling angrily. He pursued, high guard mirroring her own, and across the ash they danced. Ten feet, Angharad measured again as she slipped under a blow and the hem of her coat brushed against the ash. The specter left no footsteps, but the strength of his blows kicked up slashes of cold ash ¨C half-a-breath brushstrokes, traced and blotted by the same wink of steel. Parry, cut and spin with the specter¡¯s long blow. He might not tire, but for all his thicker arms he was slower: his blade not as slender, his footing not as fine.


    The specter swept his guard low, inviting the blow, and she took the invitation. A feint near the head, immediately drawing an upwards cut at her belly, but she caught and swept it to the side. In the moment where he drew back his head to slam it into her own, she brought up her free hand and slapped him on the side of the throat. The specter choked, half-stumbling, and before he could steady his footing Angharad took half a step backwards, disengaging her blade and pulling back her arm ¨C the point came to rest against the hollow of his throat.


    ¡°Two,¡± Angharad counted, and gave ground.


    Ash flew as the specter¡¯s anger swept the grounds, dark eyes grown wild as he slashed away and she maintained her distance. Ten feet: no more, no less.


    ¡°There is a trick,¡± the specter said. ¡°A contract. How else could you prevail twice?¡±


    ¡°It is not obvious?¡± Angharad asked.


    The specter¡¯s blade slowed, wary but listening. Her eyes met his.


    ¡°You are fighting as a rendition of me,¡± the mirror-dancer calmly replied, ¡°when I am already the finest such rendition.¡±


    And to her surprise, that gave him pause. Anger bled out of the bearded man¡¯s face, leaving behind the bones of soft rue.


    ¡°I had forgot,¡± he said, blade lowering.


    She cocked her head to the side, her guard up. He smiled.


    ¡°What it felt like, the sting of pride.¡±


    His thick saber slid out of his grip, down into the ash, and the specter turned his back to her. She could have struck, Angharad knew. Pierced through him from behind.


    The Fisher¡¯s answer, victory at any cost.


    So instead she stood there as the specter returned to his seat and gently took up the banner, carefully brushing away every trace of ash. He wrapped it around his shoulders until it settled as a loose half-cape, trailing behind. Only then did he climb to the summit of the mound, where lay a wooden shaft. It was ripped free, revealing a long spear ending in a spearhead thick and long as a hand. The specter, readied at last, turned to her again.


    ¡°My name is Amrinder,¡± he said, hoisting his spear. ¡°When the city fell and they came for the maharana, I held the garden alone until the nightingales sang.¡±


    Her saber rose to tap against her left shoulder, a salute owed.


    ¡°Lady Angharad Tredegar of Llanw Hall,¡± she replied. ¡°Ten times have I danced with the mirror.¡±


    ¡°You are a fool, Lady Tredegar,¡± Amrinder laughed, for a heartbeat young. ¡°May you win.¡±


    Angharad breathed out, taking three steps forward as she chose a fresh distance to engage from, and in the heartbeat that followed she nearly died.


    The movement as Amrinder came down the mound was fluid, almost hypnotic, and as her eyes struggled to follow the head of the spear she realized too late she was misjudging his reach. The step back she took by reflex turned a thrust that would have gone through her throat into one that sliced along the side of her neck. Amrinder drew back his spear as she swallowed, bringing up her guard as blood began trickling down her skin. A spurt of fear, but stillborn. There was no musket here, no throng of enemies and no wicked contract. A man and a field, that was all that faced her. Life and death were in her own hands.


    Angharad breathed out; the dance began anew.


    He was better with his spear than Tupoc. Faster, more polished and full of tricks. A sweep kicked up a cloud of ash into her face but catching the glint of steel through allowed a narrow parry, her riposte catching only the banner¡¯s fluttering cloth. When she gave ground he pursued, when she pressed forward he circled to harass her legs ¨C twice scoring shallow cuts ¨C and when she maneuvered for a better angle he mirrored her smoothly. Trying to follow the tip with her eyes was death: it wove, dazzling and smooth and always a foot closer to her flesh than it seemed.


    Sweat trickled down her back and Angharad¡¯s breathing grew labored while Amrinder fought with the tirelessness of the dead, but fear found no purchase in her. There was a weakness, she thought. And she thought she might have caught a glimpse of it earlier, when he almost slew her. The angle of the thrust had been slightly off. He pulls to the left.


    It took her three bouts and a rip into the hem of her coat before she found the grounds she needed. The axe buried into a skull she ignored, but the ornate halberd and the three swords ¨C standing together like grave markers ¨C drew her footsteps. She moved and watched and waited, eyes on his arms and not his spear. Unlike the spearhead, those did not lie. Angharad pressed forward and the specter circled to the left, so immediately she gave ground. He pursued, as he always did, and then came the breath that would kill or crown her.


    Amrinder thrust forward viper-swift, feet leaving not a trace on the ash, and Angharad stepped into it. She had meant to avoid the steel entirely but the spear head was too broad: it carved into the side of her vest instead of getting caught in her coat like she¡¯d wanted. Either way, gritting her teeth through the pain as she felt steel bite into the flesh above her ribs, she bunched up her coat and caught the spear. The specter, without hesitation, took a step back to rip his spear free.


    And Angharad won.


    He had gone around the jutting swords without thought, pursuing her, but then he had struck at her ¨C and when striking, Amrinder pulled to the left. So now he stepped back right into the swords he¡¯d avoided, tripping, and Angharad burst forward with a shout. Arm thrusting forward, point straight, she rammed her saber into the specter¡¯s heart even as his back hit the ash. It went through the padded armor, into what should have been flesh but was nothing at all. It was as if Angharad had struck air, and air was what her eyes found.


    ¡°Oh,¡± Amrinder gasped, eyes smiling.


    A heartbeat later she was looking down at nothing but a faded banner, breathing raggedly. Angharad fell to her knees in the ash, eyes closed and shivered as the sudden coolness of the air.


    Victory.


    --


    The peafowl was waiting for her beyond the doorway.


    ¡°Very exciting,¡± she chattered as she led Angharad back down. ¡°It was delicious to watch.¡±


    The Pereduri tugged her coat closed around her. Now that her sweat had cooled, she was stinking and cold.


    ¡°Your companions thought the same,¡± the mayura added.


    Angharad¡¯s steps stuttered.


    ¡°I do not take your meaning, honored elder,¡± she said.


    ¡°They watched as well,¡± the mayura lightly said. ¡°I could not give them the sounds the way Kshetra used to, but moving shapes is well within my power.¡±


    The golden light, Angharad thought, the one that had moved like water. Had she done anything foolish? The noblewoman was still wondering whether she should be mortified when the spirit led her back to the others. Her half-formed fears melted away when a crowd formed around her in the blink of an eye, everyone seeming to want to pat her back or talk to her. It was a little overwhelming, so she was grateful when Isabel took her by the arm and tugged her back a little. The crowd calmed after a few more moments, and then it was Angharad¡¯s turn to speak.


    She had passed the test, so now she wanted the prize.


    The spirit did not quibble, though already she spoke of when they would all return. Once the mayura showed them to the right hall, the way forward was simple. Up two flights of stairs they went, then to a slender drawbridge of white wood that was already lowered when they arrived. They crossed it into the left side of the great cliffs surrounding the temple, through an empty shrine where the wind echoed like eerie bells.


    From there on, just as the spirit had promised, yellow tiles marked a path forward.


    It took them through stairs and shrines, then up on a great ridge made from the collapsed dome of a temple. It was one of the very highest points of the maze, enough they could dimly make out a sprawl in every direction, and in the golden light of the aether machine they made out a descending path. Following the yellow tiles ¨C which grew rarer and rarer, but never ceased ¨C they stayed on a high road of ceilings and empty ruins for half a day¡¯s worth of walking, only taking a break to eat.


    Come what should be late afternoon, Angharad recognized her first shrine: the curved one where Lady Inyoni had fallen to the test of the cog god. Passing that observation along revived everyone¡¯s flagging vigor and they redoubled their efforts. The very last yellow tile, found after the tiring climb down a flight of stairs so large they might as well have been walls, led them all atop the narrow passage that they knew as the Serpent Shrine. They were back, the distant lights of the Old Fort beckoning them to safety.


    Song and Angharad were the first to take the rope down and they stayed together as everyone gathered to head back to the fort. Both were too tired to chat. The last quarter hour walk back stretched an eternity, but as the blackcloaks on the wall greeted them with waves Angharad let out a long breath. They passed through the breach in the rampart, returning to sanctuary, and treading the ground of the courtyard loosened something in the noblewoman¡¯s shoulders. Knowing there were muskets on the walls, that the Watch would see to their safety, was a comfort.


    ¡°I think might take a nap,¡± she told Song. ¡°It is unseemly, I know, but I am falling to pieces.¡±


    The Tianxi did not reply, and when Angharad turned curiously she saw that Song held herself tensely. She was staring behind them and the Pereduri followed her gaze to find it was resting on the laggards of their group ¨C Lan, Acanthe, Felis. One of the blackcloaks guarding the entrance, a young man with the Malani look, laid a hand on Felis¡¯ chest as he crossed the breach. The man glared, all the more when the watchman took a sniff of him and then a second. The Sacromontan said something Angharad could not hear, and it must have scared the blackcloak for he drew back.


    No, Angharad realized. The young Malani was looking elsewhere, towards the barracks. Against their wall Lieutenant Wen was leaning, eating from a bowl of those horrid mushroom crisps Lierganese were so fond of. The young watchman nodded and Wen sighed before raising his hand.


    ¡°LAST ONE IN!¡± the Tianxi shouted.


    Felis¡¯ eyes widened, Angharad saw it even from where she stood.


    ¡°Wait, no, I-¡±


    The fat lieutenant¡¯s hand came down and three dozen muskets thundered.


    Smoke billowed out in plumes from every direction, spreading through the utter silence of the courtyard, and Felis¡¯ mangled body dropped to the floor.


    ¡°We warned you,¡± Lieutenant Wen said. ¡°If you make a contract in the ruins report it immediately, or you will get shot.¡±

 Chapter 31

    Black-cloaked watchmen carried away Felis¡¯ body.


    What remained of it, anyway: musket balls had turned the man into red rags.


    Tristan felt no grief at the sight. If there was a tragedy in Felis it was in who he had been, not who he¡¯d become. Dust, fear and poverty had worn away the good and left the bad in sharp relief. What remained had not endeared him to the thief, though neither had it been deserving of scorn. It did not matter whether a stone was marble or gravel: if you left it at the bottom of the canal long enough it would all be ground into nothing. The Law of Rats was not like the halo of Glare bestowed upon the great estates of the infanzones, some unblinking and unceasing stare. It lived in the spaces between, let in by the lamplights of the Murk growing worn and flickering. Letting in the dark a little further every year.


    It was easy to be virtuous when the lights never went out.


    The same souls that¡¯d left the Old Fort as three crews returned now as a single crowd, though seemingly twice as wary of each other as before. Tristan had counted them coming in and found only one missing: Aines. There his heart had clenched, if only for a moment. Just another dead rat, he told himself. The same eulogy he would get when his end found him, an unmarked grave made into words.


    ¡°Something happened,¡± Maryam quietly said from his left. ¡°They wouldn¡¯t be like this if Aines had died in a test.¡±


    She was right, Tristan thought. Felis getting dropped had shattered the last remnant of solidarity in the returning crowd, the lot of them scattering in small trusted pockets as if they¡¯d never gone through the trouble of gathering larger crews in the first place. Pressure to come apart, Tristan thought, but there had always been that. That it was now working implied there was no longer stronger pressure for them to stay together. Given the timing and context, one answer stood above the rest.


    ¡°They found a path to end of the maze,¡± Tristan guessed.


    ¡°That doesn¡¯t explain why they¡¯re looking at each other like someone¡¯s about to pull a knife,¡± Maryam replied.


    He hummed.


    ¡°You think there was a fight?¡± he asked.


    ¡°I think Jun¡¯s been sent company down in Nav,¡± Maryam said.


    The thief cocked an eyebrow at her. The implication he caught ¨C she believed the killer had struck again ¨C but the last word was unfamiliar.


    ¡°The place where the dead go,¡± she said.


    ¡°Graves, if they¡¯re lucky,¡± he said. ¡°Dogs if they¡¯re not.¡±


    ¡°Grim,¡± she praised.


    ¡°I try,¡± he humbly replied, lips twitching.


    Even as they shared smiles, though, his mind raced. Why Aines? The middle-aged woman had been physically weak, but there were others just as vulnerable and she¡¯d rarely been alone. Unless, of course, Felis¡¯ proximity had been the point. To frame the man as an attempt had been made to frame Tristan. That would require, however, some very specific knowledge. Who else knew about the red games, knew there was something to frame Felis for? Lan did and he¡¯d himself told Yong. Probably Tupoc, Tristan figured, and that likely meant Ocotlan. Maryam, of course. None of these fit the shadow on the wall.


    ¡°What are you thinking?¡± Maryam asked.


    ¡°That the Watch just shot our best lead,¡± Tristan replied. ¡°We¡¯re going to have ask about how they reacted after the kill ¨C they didn¡¯t hang anyone for it, but did they investigate?¡±


    If they had, there was a chance that at least one person had been clever enough to ask Felis who else knew about the red games. It¡¯s not necessarily him, the thief then corrected. Tristan himself had come into suspicions that Felis was out to kill his wife through hearing about Aines¡¯ half of the puzzle. Someone else could have done the same. And Lan could have sold the information, he tacked on. Felis had still been the best lead, however. He needed to find out if someone had thought to try that avenue. His eyes flicked to Maryam.


    ¡°Can you find out if Lan told anyone about the red game around those two?¡± he asked.


    He could not do so himself, having publicly feigned falling out with the twin. Maryam nodded.


    ¡°You really think you can find out who the killer us?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Not enough to prove it,¡± he said. ¡°But then I¡¯m not angling for a hanging.¡±


    Forcing a truce, keeping the killer away from anyone he was conspiring with, would be more than enough. He wouldn¡¯t mind killing them if he could, given their actions against him, but he already had more than enough revenge on his plate.


    ¡°If I can out them, I will,¡± Maryam warned him.


    He grimaced but eventually conceded with a nod. It was not his right to dictate otherwise to her, much as he would prefer otherwise. So long as she was aware he was disinclined to play the savior at her side. Tristan pushed off the wall, wasting no time in seeking out Yong. The Tianxi veteran had carelessly dropped his affairs on the courtyards floor, put his sword on the table and was now pouring himself a drink in a kitchen cup from his own flask. Even from across the table, where Tristan slid into a seat, the smell of the rotgut was biting to the nostrils.


    ¡°Thought you¡¯d show up,¡± Yong said, tone not yet slurred.


    Though not for long, Tristan thought as the Tianxi knocked back his cup before filling it anew. The other man¡¯s fingers were shaking, however subtly, and he looked haggard.


    ¡°What happened out there?¡± the thief asked, voice coming out softer than he¡¯d thought it would.


    ¡°Someone cut Aines¡¯ throat,¡± Yong bluntly said. ¡°It went to shit after that. Lots of arguing, everything came apart and then we chose three people to look into it.¡±


    Tredegar was a given, but with Tupoc¡¯s group having lost two ¨C Augusto and Aines ¨C the situation would have been fluid.


    ¡°Tredegar and Tupoc and me,¡± Yong specified, brushing back a loosened bang.


    Despite Vanesa¡¯s best efforts, the former soldier¡¯s hair refused to be tame now that the topknot was lost.


    ¡°What did you find?¡± Tristan asked.


    Yong leaned over the table, grabbing a second cup from the loose pile of plates and cutlery the Watch left there for trial-takers to use, and set it down in front of the thief. He tipped his flask over it.


    ¡°I don¡¯t drink,¡± Tristan said.


    Yong only stopped when the cup was two-third full. The smell of that Watch rotgut was genuinely foul, the grey-eyed man thought.


    ¡°Drink anyways,¡± Yong flatly replied.


    Tristan gauged the other  man¡¯s expression and found it all too serious. His lips thinned, but he nodded and took the cup in hand. He didn¡¯t actually drink, of course ¨C liquor was a poison worse than nightshade or arsenic, which only ever hurt those who drank it ¨C but he wetted his lips and pretended. Yong downed his cup again, and the thief hoped he would either slow his consumption or quicken his report. He¡¯d soon end up waiting on an unconscious man otherwise.


    ¡°Fuck all,¡± the Tianxi said. ¡°Fuck all is what I found. Lan says Nair and Goel are sleeping together and that Lady Ferranda was up to something shady, but it wasn¡¯t any of them. I got no closer to figuring out who did it.¡±


    Tristan grimaced.


    ¡°Felis, did you interrogate him?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Everyone did,¡± Yong shrugged. ¡°Even Tupoc, though I think that was more about sitting tight on him. He stayed too long for anything else.¡±


    Tupoc Xical. Of course it had to be the inconvenient bastard who figured out the right trail to follow. This did not surprise Tristan, for he had long known fortune to be a disagreeable creature by virtue of having been saddled with the divine equivalent of the concept¡¯s drunken aunt.


    ¡°And after?¡± he pressed.


    ¡°We followed the path to some great temple-fortress,¡± Yong said. ¡°Once we pass that, it¡¯s a straight line to the end of the maze.¡±


    ¡°With tests on it?¡± the thief frowned.


    ¡°Presumably,¡± Yong shrugged.


    The Tianxi poured himself another cup. This would serve as a bare bones report, but learning a fuller picture would have to wait until Maryam got it out of Lan or he found an opportunity to speak with Isabel Ruesta. Tristan studied the other man, wondering what it was about the recent deaths that¡¯d shaken him so. He¡¯d not been like this when Sanale died, or the other deaths since. And he must have presented sober enough to be picked by the others after Aines died, so it shouldn¡¯t be that either.


    ¡°Was Felis on dust for the way back?¡± he tried.


    The older man laughed at him, the sound slightly slurred.


    ¡°You think I see myself in him?¡± Yong said. ¡°You¡¯re still young, Tristan. The need, it¡¯s not a coterie or a regiment - you don¡¯t feel for the others who have it. It¡¯s just as selfish as any other hunger.¡±


    The thief¡¯s face tightened.


    ¡°Then what is it about his death that pulled out your seams?¡± he asked.


    Yong breathed out slowly, shallowly.


    ¡°What¡¯s the most muskets you¡¯ve ever heard fired at once, Tristan?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Just now,¡± he replied without hesitation.


    Blackpowder was hardly unheard of in the Murk, but no coterie cared to wield muskets carelessly. A shot in the back once in a while drew little attention, but thirty men unloading down a street? That was the sort of thing the Guardia would make a point of stamping out, Murk or not. Yong filled his cup to the brim.


    ¡°Past a certain number of muskets it doesn¡¯t really matter how many were fired,¡± the older man said. ¡°It all sounds the same to our ears - we¡¯re only so good at picking out sounds, you see.¡±


    Tristan¡¯s belly clenched.


    ¡°It sounded like a volley.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯d been a long time since I heard that,¡± Yong softly said. ¡°Gods, but I wish it had been longer.¡±


    The thief had meant to ask more of him, to make his offer, but it could wait. At this rate the Tianxi would collapse into bed soon anyway. If he could even get back to it. Tristan feigned drinking again, lips burning from the strength of the rotgut. He was planning how to take his leave when Yong cut through.


    ¡°My turn to ask questions,¡± he said. ¡°There¡¯s a rope ladder out there, one leading into the pillar. What happened?¡±


    The thief laid it all out from the beginning, all the way to the god waiting behind the broken lock and the existence of the lift he had confirmed.


    ¡°And you think it¡¯ll lead to a way past the maze?¡± Yong asked.


    ¡°It has to,¡± Tristan said. ¡°The devils got all these shrines in here somehow, and it was not the way the Watch is using. Besides, the Antediluvians would have wanted a way to access their ceiling device without needing to go the long way around every time.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t assume that,¡± Yong warned. ¡°There¡¯s no way to reach the Luminaries back in Tianxia.¡±


    ¡°Those are set in firmament,¡± Tristan argued. ¡°This is much smaller in scale.¡±


    Yong hummed, then after a long time nodded.


    ¡°All right,¡± he said. ¡°Who are you thinking of taking in? We¡¯ll need muskets, unless you want to rely on the Watch to get rid of the god for you.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t believe we need to kill the god,¡± Tristan said. ¡°Only drive it off. We don¡¯t need a regiment, we need a good shot and salt munitions. Between that and Sarai¡¯s Signs, we should be able to get to the lift safely even if it¡¯s lying in wait.¡±


    ¡°And I¡¯m your good shot,¡± Yong said.


    When sober, yes, Tristan thought.


    ¡°How are you going to get salt munitions?¡±


    ¡°I am going to ask politely,¡± he replied with a pleasant smile.


    The Tianxi snorted.


    ¡°Fine, keep it close to your chest,¡± he said. ¡°And you¡¯re certain the Watch will let us try for the lift?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    His suspicion was that Lieutenant Vasanti wouldn¡¯t let him go in with a crew, only alone, because she was greedy for the knowledge inside. How fortunate for him that Lieutenant Vasanti was not the only officer in the Old Fort. That bargain would cost him, but he had arranged to make it later tonight anyway.


    ¡°This might be riskier than heading into the maze again,¡± Yong finally said.


    Tristan mustered arguments in his mind, but held back. He would let the Tianxi think it through first at least.


    ¡°But then the tests are getting nastier and I¡¯m not a victor yet,¡± the older man said, stroking his beard. ¡°Not to mention there¡¯s a chance I¡¯ll get a visit in the night.¡±


    His face tightened.


    ¡°One musket is little,¡± Yong finally said. ¡°Let me try to rope Lady Ferranda into this.¡±


    Ferrand Villazur, despite her deplorable birth, had proved reliable. He could live with the mild discomfort of relying on an infanzona, should she accept.


    ¡°So long as she swears secrecy first,¡± Tristan replied.


    The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    The other man nodded.


    ¡°And if Ferranda declines?¡± the thief pressed.


    ¡°You are still the better horse,¡± Yong said, passing a hand through his hair.


    The former soldier tried to rise, but his limbs were numb. Tristan half-rose himself, helping him back down onto the bench.


    ¡°You can talk to Lady Ferranda later, at dinner,¡± he said. ¡°Maybe take a nap first.¡±


    ¡°Maybe,¡± Yong said.


    But his eyes were back on the flask and his cup empty once more. The thief had no intention of staying to see what would come that.


    ¡°We will talk later,¡± he said.


    Yong dismissed him with a wave of the hand, which was no longer trembling. Tristan grimaced. It was not his place to pass judgement. He left in haste, though, and was relieved when Maryam caught his eye from where she sat at Lan¡¯s side. The pale-skinned woman shook her head. So Lan had not sold information about Aines and Felis. That cut down on the possibilities. Who else had been in Tupoc¡¯s crew aside from the now-dead pair? Ocotlan, Lan, Augusto. It could not be Augusto, who had not been present for the second killing, and Ocotlan would not have been so discreet. As for Lan, she would not have murdered her own sister.


    Her grief after had been too raw to be false.


    It must have been someone from another crew, then. Chasing every face, every possibility, would be a waste of time. Besides, there were too many secrets still being kept for him to be able to figure out a culprit from what he knew. He had to follow the secret he did know about, which meant it all went back to Felis and Aines. If Felis had been the source of the leak, Tupoc should know. That meant the Izcalli¡¯s whereabouts were worth a second look. And, interestingly enough, when Tristan had said look the Aztlan was missing. As was Yaretzi.


    Asking around would have drawn attention, been too telling, so instead the thief chased them on his own. There were only so many places for them to go, here in the Old Fort, which led him to the answer soon enough: they were not in the Old Fort.


    They had gone back out of the walls to have a look at the rope ladder and the new opening in the pillar, the two of them standing out in the open. Tristan did not  try to hide from the blackcloaks as he passed through the breach, but after that kept to the shadows of the rampart as he snuck closer to the pair. They were talking, and the conversation did not look to be pleasant. Yaretzi, for all that her expression was calm, held herself tensely. Her hand was not far from her long knife. Tupoc, on the other hand circled around her like a vulture while grinning. The man¡¯s good moods were rarely an indication of pleasantness for anyone else.


    ¡°-of you working for free?¡± Tupoc was saying. ¡°Bad for business, Turquoise.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talking about,¡± the other Izcalli evenly replied. ¡°If you want to accuse me of being the killer, Tupoc, do it in front of everyone.¡±


    She gave him a hard look.


    ¡°Only you won¡¯t, because you¡¯re fishing,¡± she said. ¡°You¡¯re just another warrior society prick trying to get a flinch out of people because that¡¯s the only thing that still gets you off.¡±


    Fuck, Tristan thought. Tupoc doesn¡¯t know who it was. He wouldn¡¯t be pressing someone without proof like this if he did. Which meant Felis had not been the one to talk, it¡¯d been Aines. That would be a much harder trail to follow, if it was possible at all. He¡¯d not kept all that close an eye on Aines, and could not think of anyone who might have. The thief had what he¡¯d come for, but lingered in the shadows nonetheless. This talk had the sound of a secret to it, and you could never have too many of those.


    ¡°Oh, I don¡¯t have enough to strangle you with,¡± Tupoc cheerfully admitted. ¡°But I know one thing: that wasn¡¯t the omacaliztli stance in the labyrinth. When your life is on the line, you don¡¯t fight like a diplomat.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re-¡±


    Tupoc, thought listening to the other Aztlan, suddenly took a wary look around. It gave Yaretzi pause. Time to go, Tristan thought. He had no intention of being caught eavesdropping.


    The moment Tupoc looked away, he retreated.


    --


    There was no need to find a way to talk to Isabel Ruesta because she found it for him.


    A whisper transitioned into playacting, the infanzona sitting on the bench closest to his bedroll as he went to fetch his medicine cabinet. Some parts of it, anyway. He¡¯d obtained pure alcohol and some bandages from the Watch physician a few days back ¨C the man had been adamantly against opening his stocks for anything more ¨C so the thief found himself kneeling before the dark-haired noblewoman and cleaning her ¡®wound¡¯ with a liquor-drenched cloth. It was but a small cut on the back of the hand, not nearly enough to warrant the garrison doctor¡¯s attentions and so a decent excuse to go to him instead. Had she done it herself?


    He did not care enough to speculate.


    ¡°I told Remund that his hovering would make me uncomfortable,¡± Isabel murmured, ¡°but we only have so long.¡±


    Tristan smiled, nodded.


    ¡°I expect the day after tomorrow we might reach the end of the maze,¡± she said. ¡°Now is the time to act.¡±


    ¡°Can you get me into your crew?¡± he asked.


    ¡°I will tell Angharad you asked if her invitation still stood,¡± Isabel said. ¡°It will be more than enough.¡±


    There was no doubt at all in her voice. She sat there, comfortably looking down on him as he swiped across the wound one last time and reached for bandages. He was surprised the infanzona had not flinched at the sensation of alcohol on an open cut, however slight. Tristan had thought her mettle strictly of the scheming kind.


    ¡°How will you do it?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Is there a room where it will be easy to split up the group?¡±


    She nodded as he wrapped the bandages around her hand.


    ¡°Before the mirror hall there is a room with a wheel and three gates, it is certain we will get separated there,¡± Isabel said.


    ¡°Then I will go with him,¡± the grey-eyed man said, ¡°and return to the Old Fort after.¡±


    The infanzona slowly nodded.


    ¡°To withdraw,¡± she guessed.


    ¡°I came here for revenge,¡± Tristan said. ¡°Why risk my neck beyond obtaining it?¡±


    Isabel lowered her head in acknowledgement.


    ¡°May your sister rest easy afterwards,¡± she murmured. ¡°Good luck, Tristan. If we do not speak again, it has been a pleasure.¡±


    Tristan only smiled back, tying off the last of the bandage and rising to his feet. They had already lingered too long, he could feel eyes at his back. Lady Isabel must have felt the same, for she departed without as quickly as she could without being rude. Tredegar would soon appear to fuss over the bandages, no doubt. Fortuna strolled out from behind him, artfully arraying herself on the bench just vacated by the infanzona and brushing back her curls as if posing for a painter.


    ¡°Why did you lie about the Trial of Weeds?¡± she asked.


    Tristan feigned a yawn, covering his mouth.


    ¡°Because she is a snake,¡± he replied. ¡°If she thinks she will be rid of me after it is done, she is less likely to scheme to have me killed.¡±


    He would, after all, be a loose end for the infanzona. Someone who knew she had bargained for the death of a member of House Cerdan, a secret she could easily be extorted over. Tristan somewhat expected she would still try to have him disappeared, but at least until the deed was done he was safe: she had no other executioner to call on. As for after, well, he did not intend to follow her back to Sacromonte where a word out of her mouth would be able to summon a dozen armed guards.


    ¡°She¡¯s interesting, that girl,¡± Fortuna mused. ¡°Just the right combination of foolish and clever.¡±


    Now he almost felt bad for the infanzona. Had there even been praise more damning than the Lady of Long Odds approving of your character?


    Lips twitching, he picked up his affairs and returned to his bedroll where the cabinet waited. It was still mangled from the Trial of Lines, and sadly he did not have skill enough at carpentry to fix it beyond the very basics. In truth, it was probably no longer worth it: there was little left inside, nothing he could not move into a bag with some care and forethought. The limping gait that approached from behind as he stood there needed no introduction. There was only one person in the Old Fort using crutches.


    ¡°Vanesa,¡± he said, turning to face the old woman.


    Her face was pale, he saw with a flicker of worry.


    ¡°Tristan,¡± she grimaced. ¡°I hate to ask, but do you have anything in your cabinet for pain?¡±


    He shook his head.


    ¡°All the substances I have left are poisonous to some degree or another,¡± he told her. ¡°Save for the turpentine, which would do nothing for pain.¡±


    Not entirely so, as the extract of the bearded cat mushroom only induced violent madness, but he had been broadly exact. Neither white arsenic, mandrake or antimony would be of any help to Vanesa. Even as a way to end the pain, he would recommend against them. None were gentle poisons.


    ¡°Are you quite certain?¡± she pressed, sole eye steady on the cabinet.


    ¡°Nothing pleasant would come of anyone drinking from those bottles,¡± he firmly said. ¡°Shall we go ask the physician for another dose of poppy?¡±


    ¡°My dosage is already too high, he says,¡± Vanesa told him. ¡°Any more and I would be in danger.¡±


    ¡°Poppy is a strong drug,¡± Tristan said. ¡°It might be best for you to sit and rest, perhaps. At least for a little while.¡±


    ¡°I might sleep through dinner,¡± the old woman conceded. ¡°My appetite wanes.¡±


    Which was not, he thought, at all a good sign. But the outcome had never been in doubt from the moment Vanesa refused the amputation. If they could reach the sanctuary before the third trial, however, if a safe end were in sight? Then, he thought, perhaps she could be talked into reconsidering.


    ¡°Besides,¡± Vanesa tiredly said, ¡°there is more than one kind of pain. Poor Brun, it is as if the boy is cursed.¡±


    He cocked an eyebrow.


    ¡°How so?¡±


    ¡°First he was sweet on that girl Briceida who was taken by the hollows,¡± she said. ¡°And now poor Aines, killed in the night.¡±


    Tristan stilled.


    ¡°They were close?¡± he asked with forced lightness.


    ¡°They diced after supper sometimes,¡± Vanesa said. ¡°I am not surprised you never noticed ¨C Felis was a jealous sort so they kept it out of sight.¡±


    Brun. Brun had been talking with Aines since they reached the Old Fort, perhaps learning about the red game. Tristan¡¯s mind raced, looking over the angles. The Sacromontan had a contract, one that could be used to sense people but whose workings remained unclear. Brun had been there every time there was a death. Motive? No, best not to guess too hard at that. Digging blindly at a stranger¡¯s motives was a waste of time. Who else could it be?


    Ishaan, perhaps helped by Shalini, but none of the deaths had ever been to the advantage of the Ramayans. Yaretzi, but whatever it was about her that Tupoc thought he¡¯d found it muddled the waters. There were only so many terrible secrets someone could bring at a time. Not Song, she is here for the same reason as Maryam. Neither should it be the infanzones, whose venom was turned inwards, and that left only three: Acanthe Phos, Yong and Ferranda.


    And Tredegar, if you needed a laugh.


    The Asphodelian¡¯s contract did not fit, however, and Tristan¡¯s personal doubts aside Yong often went to sleep drunk. Unfit to commit murder. That left Ferranda Villazur and he misliked her for the deeds. For one, she and Sanale had been alone with Lan for some time before Tristan¡¯s crew stumbled into them. It might have been that Sanale was unaware of his lover being a killer so she had refrained, but that was a tortured plot. That left Brun, the polite young man in the corner who everyone liked, who had been making all the right decisions. It might be that the fair-haired Sacromontan had a knack, Tristan thought.


    Or it might be that his contract was not what it seemed.


    ¡°Tristan?¡±


    The thief shook his head, smiling at Vanesa.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± he said. ¡°I was lost in thought. Poor Brun indeed.¡±


    The old woman patted his shoulder.


    ¡°You should rest as well,¡± she said. ¡°You look tired.¡±


    ¡°Soon,¡± he said.


    There were still two talks left ahead of him.


    --


    Brun of Sacromonte had the kind of features that most people found handsome in men: good skin, symmetrical face and a strong jawline. Good looks, good manners and a calm demeanor likely left few to guess he came from the Murk, but Tristan had been able to tell from the start. It was in the little habits, the way the man always put a wall behind him when he could but avoided being in corners.


    It was the way someone small around larger folk with little kindness learned to act.


    The other man ¨C only a few years older than Tristan, going by his appearance ¨C was cleaning his pistol when the thief sought him out. He only used half the bench with the work, which left enough room for Tristan to sit. Brun¡¯s eyes flicked up, took him in and then he put down the cloth and pistol.


    ¡°Tristan, isn¡¯t it?¡± Brun said. ¡°We haven¡¯t talked much.¡±


    ¡°No, we haven¡¯t,¡± Tristan smiled. ¡°Yet somehow I feel as if I know you.¡±


    Brun cocked his head to the side, then discreetly curled his fingers into the Mark of the Rat.


    ¡°You know better than to have to ask that,¡± the thief replied.


    The fair-haired man shrugged.


    ¡°It felt polite to pretend,¡± he said. ¡°To what do I owe the pleasure, Tristan?¡±


    ¡°I have a problem, Brun,¡± he lightly said.


    ¡°I am keeping my nose clean,¡± the other rat replied, tone apologetic. ¡°Joining the Watch is to be a fresh start for me.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s exactly what I want,¡± Tristan agreed. ¡°A fresh start. It¡¯s a different sort of world out here, isn¡¯t it? All these rules, all these walls.¡±


    The man calmly met his eyes.


    ¡°I don¡¯t follow your meaning,¡± Brun said.


    ¡°Bad habits take a while to shake,¡± the thief said. ¡°But I¡¯m not a redcloak, Brun, and the black¡¯s a few weeks away yet. I¡¯m not one to judge.¡±


    The man looked lost. Tristan might even have believed him, if those eyes had wavered at all.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what-¡±


    ¡°Sarai,¡± he said. ¡°Yong. Francho. Vanesa. Lan. If something happened to them, I would be most terribly cross.¡±


    ¡°Tristan,¡± Brun patiently said. ¡°Evidently you came to believe I am involved in something, but-¡±


    The thief leaned in close.


    ¡°I¡¯m not asking you to confess, Brun,¡± he quietly said. ¡°Not even to nod. We both know you won¡¯t. I am simply telling you that if you come for me or one of mine, you will find out you are not the only one who can cut throats in the night. And there will be no silencing me, either: I have told others, so your little secret has already spread too widely to be buried.¡±


    Maryam had agreed they did not have enough to get the man hanged, though she had reserved the right to tell others. Francho had not even needed to be asked to keep quiet, the old man fascinated by the entire affair but disinclined to intervene.


    ¡°This is ridiculous,¡± Brun sighed. ¡°If you believe I am the killer, by all means put it to everyone. I will prove my innocence.¡±


    ¡°You very well might,¡± Tristan shrugged. ¡°Which is why I see no reason to bother.¡±


    ¡°That is disturbing in many ways,¡± the man noted. ¡°I believe this has gone on long enough: please leave.¡±


    ¡°I think we understand each other,¡± the thief agreed, rising and stretching his limbs.


    He paused, and on a whim said one thing more.


    ¡°Would you say the world is loud, Brun?¡± he asked.


    The man looked like he¡¯d just found a knife slid into his belly, but it was only for half a heartbeat. The calm politeness was back in place after that. But there was wariness in those green eyes now, something that¡¯d not been there before.


    ¡°No, Tristan,¡± Brun finally replied. ¡°I find it, in truth, to be frightfully quiet.¡±


    And the thief was not sure why, but there was something about than answer that sent a shiver down his spine.


    --


    Meeting was never going to be difficult.


    Meeting discreetly however, had been another story. Passing a message through Sergeant Mandisa had yielded results, an hour and a place. The rest he had arranged himself. After supper Tristan had a quick conversation with Angharad Tredegar, who confirmed he was welcome to venture out with her on the morrow. Riding that arrangement as an excuse, he returned to the Watch¡¯s armory to acquire equipment that would help him scale the broken remains of the crystal mirror maze as was planned by Tredegar and her companions.


    Lieutenant Wen was waiting for him inside, biting into an apple.


    The man was wearing his spectacles and he leaned against an empty sword rack, loudly crunching the fruit¡¯s flesh. When he swallowed, loudly, Tristan nodded a greeting.


    ¡°Lieutenant,¡± he said.


    ¡°Pissant,¡± Wen easily replied. ¡°You told Mandisa you have something important to tell me. I should not need to tell you there would be consequences to wasting my time.¡±


    Pretend you¡¯re not interested all you want, Tristan thought, you still arranged a meeting where Vasanti wouldn¡¯t see us.


    ¡°I need salt munitions,¡± he said. ¡°For muskets and pistols.¡±


    Lieutenant Wen bit into his apple, loudly chewing and swallowing. He only spoke after.


    ¡°One,¡± he said.


    ¡°One?¡± Tristan repeated.


    ¡°I¡¯m counting the number of times you¡¯re going to tell me something I could have you shot for,¡± Wen said. ¡°But please, do go on. You were able to tell me why I should entrust a bottom-feeder expensive munitions that are the property of the Watch.¡±


    ¡°I want to lead a team into the pillar,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯ve found a path to the summit I haven¡¯t told Vasanti about.¡±


    ¡°Two,¡± Wen counted, then took another bite.


    He ate more quickly this time, not drawing it out for effect.


    ¡°I fail to see why that means I should give you munitions,¡± the lieutenant said. ¡°I¡¯m feeling like confiscating some of yours, in truth, so that I can hear you die horribly through the door and then argue for it to be welded shut forever.¡±


    ¡°Because if I don¡¯t get there first, Lieutenant Vasanti will,¡± Tristan said.


    Wen looked unimpressed. I¡¯m losing him, the thief thought.


    ¡°So she¡¯ll get what she wants, leave and I won¡¯t have to deal with her next year,¡± he said. ¡°Are you done wasting my time?¡±


    What did Wen want? Besides being thoroughly unpleasant to everyone and a second helping at every meal, what did Lieutenant Wen actually want? Tristan¡¯s eyes narrowed.


    ¡°Next year,¡± he repeated. ¡°You will still be here next year. There¡¯s no debate, your posting is already decided and you know it.¡±


    Wen¡¯s face tightened in anger, and Tristan knew he had found his angle.


    ¡°Do you like it here, lieutenant?¡± the thief asked.


    ¡°It¡¯s being strangled to death every day, only I have to wake up the following morning and go to work,¡± Lieutenant Wen mildly said.


    ¡°What if there were no longer a reason for a garrison to be posted at the Old Fort?¡± he asked. ¡°If, say, the laws that created this maze were suddenly changed to make it untenable.¡±


    The fat lieutenant watched him for a long moment.


    ¡°Three,¡± he finally said, and bit into his apple.


    Tristan kept his face calm as he was studied through the spectacles.


    ¡°Standing orders are that should anyone outside the garrison ever figure out what the Red Eye is, they cannot leave the island alive,¡± Wen idly said. ¡°But you didn¡¯t figure out anything, did you Tristan?¡±


    The dark-haired thief went very, very still. He¡¯d not thought he had given away anything, but he had been sloppy. Wen, beneath the bluster and colorful language, was dangerously canny.


    ¡°You mean the cult¡¯s god?¡± he asked, lips dry.


    ¡°You¡¯re a fucking fool,¡± Wen said. ¡°Do you think you¡¯re the first clever rat that disappeared during the second trial? The higher-ups always knew on occasion someone would figure it out.¡±


    Tristan¡¯s eyes narrowed.


    ¡°And yet you haven¡¯t called for other watchmen,¡± he said.


    Silence stretched between them.


    ¡°Do you know what it really means to be part of the Watch, boy?¡± Lieutenant Wen finally said. ¡°Once you strip away all the lies and the propaganda and the prettied-up history?¡±


    He slowly shook his head.


    ¡°We kill the things that feed on mankind,¡± Wen said, and for once there was not a trace of a sneer in his voice. ¡°When horror comes crawling out of the box, we slam the lid on its fingers.¡±


    The large Tianxi straightened his back.


    ¡°For the first century,¡± he said, ¡°we looked for ways to kill the Red Eye. Tried everything from Signs to aether machines, spent a fortune on this nowhere shithole island. But nothing took, and there were so many other monsters that couldn¡¯t be locked up for so cheap a price. And it cost coin, Tristan, to kill those other monsters. Men and steel and ships.¡±


    ¡°So they stopped trying,¡± Tristan quietly said.


    ¡°When I tried two years ago, the request to allocate funds for new attempts didn¡¯t even make it to the Conclave,¡± Wen said. ¡°Commander Artal took one look at the paper and laughed. The committee responsible for our region wouldn¡¯t even read it, he said. I might as well wipe my ass with it, at least it¡¯d accomplish something.¡±


    Lieutenant Wen¡¯s expression darkened.


    ¡°Whatever you find up there, boy, you¡¯re not just going to play around with it,¡± he said. ¡°Vasanti might be able to fix that. It¡¯ll change nothing.¡±


    The watchman leaned forward, the light of lamp reflecting against his glasses to hid his eyes.


    ¡°It¡¯s a wonder of the Ancients up there, Tristan Abrascal, and you are going to break it.¡±

 Chapter 32

    Something was off.


    That was his first thought when he woke, for all that someone was staring down at him.


    ¡°Ferranda declined. We¡¯ll have to do without her.¡±


    Tristan rubbed his eyes blearily, hiding his discomfort by throwing Yong half a glare. At a look, people were only just beginning to stumble into the courtyard ¨C the usual early birds. The only person already in the kitchen was Vanesa, whose late nap last night must have shortened her night.


    ¡°How are you this much of a morning person?¡± he complained.


    No one was around him save for Yong, so why were his hackles raised? It was a blind thing, like smelling rain on the wind, but Tristan had not survived this long by ignoring his instincts.


    ¡°Can¡¯t yell at your men for not waking up fast enough if they¡¯re awake before you are,¡± the Tianxi cheerfully replied. ¡°Up and at it, Tristan.¡±


    Fortuna, leaning over his shoulder, covered a yawn with her hand.


    ¡°He doesn¡¯t even look hungover,¡± she admiringly said. ¡°His liver must be cast iron.¡±


    He would have glared at the goddess if he could. The thief fought against the urge to yawn for a moment before giving it up a lost cause, earning a mockingly raised eyebrow from Yong. It wasn¡¯t like Fortuna even got tired, she was yawning purely to yank his chain.


    ¡°I secured the munitions and permission to enter,¡± Tristan said. ¡°We can proceed when I return.¡±


    Yong, crouched by the curtain that served as the ¡®door¡¯ to his room, openly frowned.


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand why you have to head out at all,¡± he said.


    ¡°I am not asking you to,¡± Tristan firmly replied.


    Even the implication that his actions were up to debate was best snuffed out early. The former soldier raised a hand in appeasement.


    ¡°I won¡¯t dig,¡± he said. ¡°But you need to be careful, Tristan. If you die out there the plan falls apart.¡±


    That was, in fact, not true. It had been arranged for Lieutenant Wen to deliver the munitions and orders to Maryam should Tristan perish and it was Francho who would be the ace after they took the lift up. They needed someone capable of deciphering cryptoglyphs, not a thief. Even Yong, who would wield the musket and salt munitions, was arguably more important to the cause than Tristan at the moment.


    ¡°I have taken measures in case it happens,¡± he vaguely replied. ¡°But I assure you I have no intention of making a mistake this late in the game.¡±


    ¡°That much I can believe,¡± Yong said, then hesitated.


    The Tianxi bit the inside of his cheek.


    ¡°You¡¯re usually cautious, until the bullets starts flying,¡± Yong said. ¡°This kind of recklessness is unlike you.¡±


    The unspoken question hung loud in the air. It was his instinct, as always, to sidestep it and keep his past a guessing game. But Yong, he¡¯d extended trust. He had told Tristan of the sorrows that brought him here, the reason for the shaking hands and the drink that steadied them. It was not a debt, not exactly, but neither was it nothing. Abuela would have called this mawkishness, chided him over considering something as childish as reciprocity. Every secret is a stone, she¡¯d taught him. Every time you share one your tomb grows closer to finished.


    But he¡¯d learned, since coming to the island, that he¡¯d known even less about Abuela than he¡¯d thought.


    ¡°I have debts that need settling,¡± Tristan finally said.


    Yong hummed. He did not ask to whom, or what kind of debt. The veteran knew better.


    ¡°And they are best repaid here?¡± he asked instead.


    ¡°There might not ever be anywhere else,¡± Tristan honestly replied.


    If he did not act now, the Cerdan brothers and Cozme Aflor would slip his grasp and return to Sacromonte. Once they returned to the safety of the Orchards, the walled districts where the infanzones dwelled under the light of the Glare, they would be beyond his reach. He could live with the brothers surviving his attentions, but Cozme Aflor? There were five names on his List and most of them had either vanished or gone behind tall walls. He would not surrender the opportunity to cross out even the name at the bottom.


    Remund Cerdan would die, and through him Cozme would be forced to either seek out Augusto as a last ditch to salvage his position with House Cerdan or try for the refuge of joining the Watch. Either way, Tristan would get a clear shot at him.


    Yong¡¯s dark eyes met his, searching, and at last the older man nodded.


    ¡°They always tell us that revenge isn¡¯t worth it, you know?¡± Yong said. ¡°That it isn¡¯t worth burning your life for, that it will make you no happier after. A hollow victory at best.¡±


    ¡°And was it?¡± the rat asked. ¡°Worth it.¡±


    The Tianxi smiled, slow and cold as the bite of spite.


    ¡°When I think of that last gasp rattling past her lips,¡± Yong softly said, ¡°it warms the cockles of my heart. Even now, after all these years. I¡¯ve regretted a lot of things, Tristan, but my revenge never once.¡±


    The older man clapped his shoulder before rising to his feet.


    ¡°Good luck,¡± he said.


    The thief watched him leave in silence, sorting himself out. It was not exactly trust, what lay between them. They both knew the other had intentions they would not compromise on, even at the other¡¯s expense. But there was an understanding, he thought, and in some ways that was more reliable than trust. Less blind. And something worth keeping around, if he could. Maryam had implied that whatever opportunity was to be offered to him after these trials would not be offered to Yong, but perhaps there were ways around that.


    And now that Yong was gone, no longer distracting him, the unease returned. Rain on the wind, clouds in the distance.


    ¡°You know that¡¯s a married man, you harlot, so reel in that longing gaze.¡±


    The thief hid his surprise. He had not heard Lan approaching, so it was on the backfoot that he began as Lan grinned down at him unpleasantly. He rose to his feet, pulling down his clothes into place. Unease could wait, lest he miss another rat biting at his tail.


    ¡°I thought we were feuding,¡± Tristan said.


    ¡°We¡¯re reconciling,¡± Lan told him. ¡°There¡¯s no longer a group around Tupoc and we¡¯re both headed into the maze, yes? Best bury our grudge in case we run into one another.¡±


    The thief rolled his shoulder.


    ¡°You don¡¯t intend to come back here.¡±


    It was more a statement than a guess.


    ¡°I¡¯d rather ride Tredegar¡¯s coattails than risk your scheme,¡± Lan frankly replied. ¡°As long as we don¡¯t lose too many people on the last stretch of road, the trial is in the bag.¡±


    He conceded with a nod. Tristan did not necessarily agree, but neither could he say she was wrong. Chances were high that the last tests would be brutal, but taking a swing at a relatively easy one then hiding behind the Pereduri for the rest of the trial was not a bad strategy. If Lan got lucky with her test and became a victor she could spend the rest of the Trial of Ruins as a spectator ¨C much as Isabel Ruesta had. She was unlikely to be bothered over perceived cowardice: this close to the gate  and with so few trial-takers left, victors were too precious a resource to be risked.


    ¡°Sensible,¡± he nodded.


    He paused, after, and considered whether or not he should continue. After his conversation with Yong, though, it would have felt like a betrayal not to.


    ¡°I believe it was Brun,¡± Tristan abruptly said.


    Lan went very still, then forced a smile on her face.


    ¡°How sure are you?¡±


    ¡°Enough to approach him over it,¡± the thief said.


    He could not be entirely certain, not with what he knew, but Brun was the most likely to be the killer by a fair amrgin. It was only the issue of motive that held Tristan back from speaking in stronger terms.


    ¡°Interesting,¡± Lan said, her tone flat and dead. ¡°I¡¯ll get the details out of Sarai, so no need to belabor. His reasons?¡±


    ¡°Unknown,¡± Tristan admitted, then passed a hand through his hair. ¡°But there is something off about his contract.¡±


    ¡°A killing price?¡± she frowned. ¡°That is very illegal.¡±


    It was one of the few things the Guardia bothered to chase after even in the Murk. Not out of worry for the rats, of course, but because such contracts were illegal under the Iscariot Accords and failing to stamp them out would mean Sacromonte was in breach.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know about that,¡± he hedged. ¡°I do not think it so straightforward, but I also doubt his contract is as simple as feeling presences.¡±


    Lan slowly nodded.


    ¡°You are being generous with information,¡± she said.


    He was, though not as generous as he could have been.


    ¡°If we are to part ways, let it on good terms,¡± he replied. ¡°It costs me little to give you this.¡±


    The blue-lipped woman hummed, considering him.


    ¡°Someone went into your room during supper last night,¡± Lan said. ¡°The curtain wasn¡¯t the same way you left it.¡±


    And like that the unease he had been slowly shedding was back.


    He stilled, mind spinning. Had Lieutenant Vasanti come to suspect him? There would have been nothing for her or her minions to find. He had not hidden the brand in his room, preferring to tuck it away in one of the abandoned bastions, and the stone buttons never left his pocket. Only Francho and Maryam knew where the brand was, since he¡¯d tasked them with trying it on the machine Vasanti wanted them to study. I¡¯ll have to look through my belongings after breakfast, see if anything¡¯s missing.


    What did he even have that was worth stealing? Most his arms and clothes came from the Watch and the rest of his affairs fit in a single bag. His cabinet wasn¡¯t worth much without knowledge of the vials and how to use them, and believed to be a medicine cabinet besides ¨C pointless to steal from when the Watch physician could be relied on instead. Lips thinning with worry, he nodded his thanks to Lan. She snorted.


    ¡°It has been a pleasure to work with you, rat,¡± she said. ¡°To my surprise.¡±


    ¡°And you,¡± Tristan replied. ¡°We¡¯ll meet again in the Trial of Weeds.¡±


    ¡°If you don¡¯t bite off more than you can chew,¡± she teased, then waved him away.


    It was a fitting goodbye, he thought, for the likes of them. If not for the revelation someone had gone through his things it would have lifted his mood. Instead it was with a frown he ventured out for breakfast, finding that the usual already seated. Tupoc and his crew were always the first to leave in the morning, so even though there were now much reduced ¨C there remained only Ocotlan, Lan and a very nervous Augusto ¨C they had claimed their usual table. Tristan went to sit with Yong, who had gone ahead, and within a moment had a bowl of porridge in front of him. He looked up at Vanesa, who had been the one to bring it, and cocked an eyebrow.


    ¡°You have been doing it for me every morning,¡± the old woman smiled. ¡°I thought I would return the favor at least once.¡±


    She looked better this morning, he thought. Not as pale as she had been for the last few days. His stomach clenched at the sight, though. Pleased as he was she was doing better ¨C enough to move around on her crutches and hand people bowls ¨C it put him on edge. Her wound was not the kind of wound that got better.


    ¡°And we all benefit from you,¡± Yong drawled. ¡°She brought mine as well.¡±


    ¡°You didn¡¯t need to,¡± Tristan told Vanesa.


    Her breath, he noted, was slow. Slower than it should be, though if this had been too much it should be quickened instead.


    ¡°I wanted to,¡± she replied, jaw set.


    And looking at her, at the determination in her last eye and the way she stood, he paused. Something was off, he¡¯d felt from the start. Something was off about her. His gaze flicked to the other table.


    ¡°Them too?¡± he casually asked.


    Vanesa did not answer.


    ¡°She¡¯s too kind,¡± Yong said. ¡°Tupoc should be starved, not fed.¡±


    But it wasn¡¯t Tupoc Xical that Tristan was looking at, Lan or even Augusto Cerdan. It was Ocotlan, the big bruiser with the Menor Mano tattoos on his arms. Who had served as a legbreaker for that coterie. Vanesa, he remembered, had come here in her son¡¯s place. A son whose leg had been broken by the Menor Mano for unpaid debts. Two days back, Tristan had walked away while Vanesa had been spellbound by Augusto Cerdan recounting Ocotlan¡¯s boasts. The bruiser¡¯s stories about the things he had done for the Menor Mano.


    The details fit each other like cogs, clicking into the place.


    ¡°Vanesa,¡± he quietly said. ¡°Tell me you didn¡¯t.¡±


    The old woman sighed, then lowered herself onto the bench at his side. She leaned the crutches against the side of the table, comfortably resting her shoulder against the thief¡¯s.


    ¡°It¡¯s too late, dear,¡± she said. ¡°He¡¯s already on his second bowl.¡±


    Yong¡¯s eyes widened as he looked at them.


    ¡°Vanesa,¡± he whispered. ¡°What did you do?¡±


    ¡°I put down a rabid dog,¡± the old woman said.


    And what Tristan heard, when she said that, was a trigger being pulled.


    It was three more seconds before the shouting began.


    The thief watched, grey eyes unblinking, as Ocotlan toppled forward. The Aztlan was convulsing violently, foaming at the mouth until he began vomiting all over the table. Tupoc and Augusto fled from him, as if his very presence were dangerous, while Lan stumbled onto the ground in fright. The spectacle attracted the attention of everyone in the courtyard,  including the blackcloaks.


    ¡°What did you use?¡± Tristan hoarsely asked. ¡°What vials, how much?¡±


    Passing this as an allergy was unlikely. Cold pooled in his stomach. There must be a way to frame, to turn the truth around until it said what he needed it to say.


    ¡°The three in the upper compartment,¡± Vanesa calmly said. ¡°I apologize for the theft, but I wanted to be sure.¡±


    The thief choked.


    ¡°The entire vials?¡± he got out.


    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    She nodded and he breathed in sharply. His entire stock of white arsenic, mandrake and antimony. Each of them a lethal poison, each of them so concentrated it was enough to use five drops to kill a grown man. Vanesa had dumped enough poison into that porridge bowl to kill every soul in the Old Fort twice over. No wonder it had taken minutes instead of hours for Ocotlan to react. Tristan breathed out, forced himself to calm. To think.


    ¡°It was Brun,¡± he suddenly said. ¡°Yong, you saw him enter my room last night after dinner. I¡¯ll head there and report someone stole of my medicine. We should have enough witnesses.¡±


    If Brun¡¯s head was on the line then Lan was certain to pitch in on their side. Would Maryam lend a hand? Even odds, he thought, but she wanted them rid of the killer and was pragmatic enough to use an opportunity should it be handed to her. That many voices should tip the balance their way even though they had nothing but witnesses. Vanesa smiled gently and patted his hand.


    ¡°You are a nice boy, Tristan, but it is too late for that as well,¡± she said.


    His eyes narrowed.


    ¡°If you already confessed,¡± he slowly said, ¡°we can say you were forced, that-¡±


    ¡°After serving him the bowl,¡± Vanesa said, ¡°I drank three days¡¯ worth of poppy. My limbs already feel numb. It should only be a few minutes now before my breathing stops, the doctor was quite clear about the dosages.¡±


    Tristan swallowed. The way her face had been pale from pain last night, she had not been feigning it. She¡¯d been saving up the poppy so she could drink it all at once.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Vanesa said, squeezing his hand. ¡°But I did not want it to be painful.¡±


    Tristan swallowed, lips dry as he tried to find anything at all to say. He failed. Nothing he had learned had taught him words that would be more than air.


    ¡°Poisoned. This man has been poisoned.¡±


    The Watch physician¡¯s flat announcement put an end to all the shouting. The courtyard had filled with trial-takers and blackcloaks, all of whom went silent at the man¡¯s words. Ocotlan lay on the ground, past convulsions. Past anything at all: the Aztlan was dead. His limps were warped and his face twisted into a rictus, his chest covered with vomit. It must have been, Tristan thought without sympathy, an excruciatingly painful way to die. The blackcloak physician pried open his mouth and looked at his swollen, blackened tongue. The man wrinkled his nose.


    ¡°And a high dosage at that,¡± he added.


    He looked up at the figure presiding over all this. Lieutenant Wen¡¯s face was a cold mask of fury.


    ¡°Watchmen, arms out,¡± he ordered, then his gaze swept everyone else. ¡°No one is leaving the fort until we find who did this. Everyone is to stand unarmed in the courtyard while we ¨C¡±


    Vanesa grabbed her crutches and rose to her feet, leaning on them heavily, and the Tianxi lieutenant trailed off. Her movements were clumsy and Tristan reached out to help her, but his hand fell short before she drew away. He bit down on words he had not found, the clack of his teeth an unhappy sensation. Yong grabbed his shoulder, as if to draw him back, but Tristan shook him off. He did not rise, though.


    What would have been the point, when it had all finished before he knew anything was happening at all?


    ¡°There¡¯s no need for that, lieutenant,¡± Vanesa calmly said. ¡°I did this.¡±


    Lieutenant Wen blinked in surprise.


    ¡°You are confessing,¡± he slowly said.


    ¡°Ocotlan was an animal who crippled my only son for life,¡± the old woman said, adjusting her broken glasses. ¡°How many lives did he ruin before going on to boast about it? Yes, lieutenant, I confess. I confess wishing it had taken him longer to die, so he might feel but a fraction of the misery he spent his life inflicting on others.¡±


    Lieutenant Wen reached for his own spectacles, unfolding them carefully.


    ¡°You broke sanctuary,¡± the watchman said. ¡°You were told of the consequences for this.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Vanesa simply said.


    Wen put on his glasses and drew his pistol.


    ¡°Close your eyes,¡± the lieutenant said.


    His tone, Tristan thought, was almost gentle.


    ¡°I am too tired to be afraid, boy,¡± Vanesa softly smiled. ¡°Send me on.¡±


    Grey eyes watched as Wen¡¯s finger pulled the trigger. Thunder, billowing smoke.


    On she went.


    --


    The bodies were dragged away by the blackcloaks in the silence that followed. Sick as he felt, Tristan still finished his breakfast. Starving would be of no help to the dead.


    --


    The mood was still gloomy when everyone began to depart. Tristan could not muster amusement at seeing Augusto and Tupoc scurry off alone, not when the memory of that last soft smile would not leave him. He forced himself to be in the here in now when their group assembled around Angharad Tredegar, who briskly introduced him to the others before they set out. They were not such a small group, numbering eight: himself, Tredegar, Song , Zenzel, Yaretzi, Isabel Ruesta and at last the pair he did not intend to ever leave this island.


    The Dove Shrine was not empty when they entered it, to the visible surprise of the others.


    ¡°We did not bargain for Tristan¡¯s crossing,¡± Tredegar reminded them. ¡°Only our own.¡±


    The scavenger god awaiting them looked like a bird made of folded paper, rather different to the grandiose shrine around it. It smacked of pretentiousness to the rat, a Murk god putting on a Mane¡¯s raiment.


    ¡°Supplicant,¡± the god said. ¡°You enter the shrine of-¡±


    Irritation flared. He had heard of this shrine¡¯s test from four different mouths, there was no surprise to be had.


    ¡°Shall we get on with your tile game?¡± Tristan cut in. ¡°Lady Ruesta, I will have to borrow your stick if you do not mind.¡±


    The infanzona hesitantly nodded, and when Tristan turned his gaze back to the god he saw it was staring at him as balefully as a pile of folded paper could.


    ¡°Shall we establish the terms?¡± he prompted.


    A long moment passed, then the air picked up and a sudden cold wind blew through the shrine. It was strong enough to force him to shield his eyes, and when he looked again the god was gone from its perch.  Lord Remund choked and Lord Zenzele began snickering.


    ¡°Must have been something you said,¡± the Malani opined.


    ¡°I shall work on my manners, then,¡± Tristan flatly said.


    He was in no jesting mood, not after the morning they¡¯d left behind.


    -


    It was all little more than brisk exercise until they reached the waterway.


    Tristan was thankful it was only waist-deep as he was a middling swimmer. It would have been dangerous to swim by the Quays, where so many ships docked, and the waters of the canals that reached into the Murk were poisonously filthy. The sewers only reached into Estebra District and the outskirts of Feria, so everyone else dumped their waste into the canals. It was Abuela who¡¯d taught him when he was thirteen, taking him to the Old Town for it. He¡¯d swum little since learning, so it was almost nostalgic to be wading through water again. The nostalgia was soon replaced by irritation, for it was a long trek and exhausting on the body. It was a relief when they emerged from the waterway into a spread of luminous pools. The place was beautiful to behold, Tristan thought, though the others seemed indifferent.


    They had already come this way several times.


    ¡°Stick to the sides,¡± Song told him. ¡°The pools get deep.¡±


    The thief nodded, dutifully following behind the Tianxi. She¡¯d been at the front with Tredegar for most of the journey but had drifted to the back since they got into the water.


    ¡°I hear you were the one to find the way forward from here,¡± he idly said.


    Silver eyes turned on him. Song, he thought, was looking at him like someone from the Guardia would. Deciding whether or not to punish him, without a speck of doubt in her that she could if she decided to. That was rather interesting, considering that though the Tianxi was Tredegar¡¯s effective second it did not actually lend her much authority over the rest of the group.


    ¡°Sarai did mention you¡¯re a gossip,¡± she said.


    Uncalled for. He was spy, not a gossip. The legwork of both occupations just happened to be largely identical.


    ¡°Sarai,¡± he repeated. ¡°Is that what you call her?¡±


    Silver eyes narrowed in surprise and like that he had his answer. You know her real name, he thought. What kind of a bargain is it that you two struck with the Watch? Not that he was able to castigate over such a thing after the deal he¡¯d made with Lieutenant Wen. Song leaned in close.


    ¡°I would advise against trying your luck too often around me, Tristan,¡± she said.


    Tristan stilled, ripping surprise and worry off his face. That wording, had it been an accident? That Song¡¯s contract had to do with those unsettling eyes was not in doubt, but what could she see? The Tianxi considered him a moment, then smiled.


    ¡°That¡¯s better,¡± she said. ¡°Maryam took a liking to you, having been cursed with terrible taste by her northern gods, so let us not be uncivil.¡±


    Tristan forced a smile.


    ¡°That sounds lovely,¡± he said.


    How much did she know? She was wary of him, unlikely to let anything slip, but the others had been in her presence longer. Some of them since the Trial of Lines. If he struck a conversation with-


    ¡°You are thinking of digging around me, right now,¡± Song stated. ¡°Your misapprehension lies in thinking I care enough about you to make trouble.¡±


    Tristan blinked, feigning surprise.


    ¡°I do not know-¡±


    Song smiled.


    ¡°But if you were to keep digging, Tristan,¡± she said, ¡°then I would be forced to care. And to hit you with your very own shovel hard enough you¡¯d spit out teeth.¡±


    That had, he would admit, the benefit of being exceedingly clear.


    ¡°Fair,¡± he conceded, dropping the theatre. ¡°You can¡¯t blame a man for being curious.¡±


    Song beamed.


    ¡°I can and will.¡±


    She patted his shoulder and turned away, resuming the march around the side of the pool. A low whistle came out from behind him, Fortuna swimming a lazy sidestroke in the pool. The dress, following in her wake, looked like trails of blood.


    ¡°That was a thorough spanking,¡± the Lady of Long Odds informed him, like he¡¯d somehow been unaware. ¡°There are places in Sacromonte where they¡¯d make you pay for a bottom that red.¡±


    He faked a cough, covering his mouth.


    ¡°You look like a drowning victim,¡± he shot back.


    Her offended shouting almost made wading through the rest of the pools tolerable.


    --


    Being forewarned took the fear out of the creature jumping out when they shimmied across the ledge, and the strange mechanical temple they crossed afterwards ¨C where he¡¯d heard Inyoni had died ¨C was empty. There had been some tension in the crew when they approached, but it bled out when the temple¡¯s god showed no sign of being present. Angharad Tredegar ended up at his side as they passed through. She was, he suspected, trying to avoid Lord Zenzele. Guilt was a tireless workhorse.


    ¡°It sounds like the most trying of the tests anyone has encountered,¡± he said, casting a look around. ¡°That could at all be won, at least.¡±


    The one that had nearly killed Yong when he still ran with the Ramayans did not seem at all feasible to win.


    ¡°The spirit of this place was scrupulously fair,¡± Tredegar admitted. ¡°Ruthless, but fair.¡±


    ¡°A god died here,¡± Fortuna told him, walking on his other side as she inspected the ceiling. ¡°Some years ago. It cannot be seen yet, but the temple is falling apart.¡±


    Tristan almost frowned. Then who had given out the test?


    ¡°I have never heard of a god of machines before,¡± he idly said, going fishing. ¡°It must have looked rather strange, no?¡±


    ¡°Brass and bronze, as you would expect,¡± Tredegar said. ¡°It voice was¡­ unpleasant. Still, it was not the-¡±


    She held back, shaking her head.


    ¡°Not the?¡± Tristan prompted.


    ¡°You will think me superstitious,¡± the Pereduri said.


    ¡°When being wary of a maze full of dying gods?¡± Tristan said. ¡°Hardly.¡±


    The tall woman bit her lip, then sighed.


    ¡°I thought I saw something inside it, for a moment,¡± she said. ¡°Teeth and a swallowing throat.¡±


    The thief¡¯s heart skipped a beat. The Red Maw? But the god here had given out a test. Zenzele Duma was a victor. Why would the prisoner of this maze help someone cross it?


    ¡°That is certainly unusual,¡± he slowly said.


    ¡°I thought it only exhaustion,¡± Tredegar admitted, ¡°but then I saw something similar the following day when facing the spirit of crystal hall.¡±


    Fear pooled in his belly.


    ¡°Oh?¡± he said. ¡°Any time beyond that?¡±


    She shook her head.


    ¡°The peacock spirit in the fortress gave me no such impression,¡± she said. ¡°Perhaps because she was once a greater spirit¡¯s mount.¡±


    That¡¯s the wrong question to ponder, Tredegar, he thought. The right one is ¡®what happened to the god that used to ride the peacock?¡¯. Once could have been the Red Maw slipping in a victory, but twice, maybe thrice? Their seal is failing, he thought. And the Maw is impersonating gods so the Watch won¡¯t notice. How much of the maze had been taken over? There was no telling, but it didn¡¯t really matter. Now the same sacrifices meant to feed the gods keeping the Red Maw in check were instead feeding the Maw. The revelation killed his motivation to continue speaking, so their talk died and as they left the room they parted ways when Tredegar took the vanguard again.


    This was bad, Tristan thought.


    A pause.


    No, the rat then thought. This is good.


    His bargain with Wen had always been dangerous, likely as not to result in the Watch putting a bullet in the back of his head at the end of the Third Trial even if he had broken no rules, but now he had a reason. Tristan was not going to break a priceless Antediluvian wonder because it was the price for a Watch officer to undermine another, he was doing it for the greater good! He, a concerned young man with the best intentions, had done this only to reveal the perfidious infiltration of the Red Maw. He would have gone to the blackcloaks about it, of course, but Lieutenant Vasanti had some kind of grudge against him.


    Why they need only look, she had forced him to attempt something that had killed several watchmen before - no way that wasn¡¯t on record ¨C and he¡¯d duly informed the heroic Lieutenant Wen of his suspicions. Tristan made a note to actually inform Lieutenant Wen of his suspicions. Maybe in front of Sergeant Mandisa, so the man would have to think twice about denying it.


    So deep in thought was the thief that he did not notice they¡¯d left the last hall of the clockwork temple until the ground under his feet became sand.


    Past the temple apparently lay a great arena, whose gates they ignored in favor of broken rusty grate leading underground. Close now, by Isabel Ruesta¡¯s description. Next came a dark and dusty crypt, and then at last the wheel room the infanzona had mentioned. Four gates set in walls of stone, a wheel at the center of the room with four spokes of brass jutting out. Each spoke went from the floor to above Tristan¡¯s waist. From what he understood, they would need to split between the four spaces delineated by the spokes and let their weight trigger some kind of spinning mechanism that would open the gates.


    They would then effectively be tossed through them likes sacks of potatoes, which had him wondering what the Antediluvians had meant this room for.


    ¡°Let us split into pairs,¡± Tredegar said, an order sounding like a suggestion.


    That Ruesta would cling to her like a lamprey and Cozme Aflor stick with his charge were both a given. Tristan cocked an eyebrow at Lord Zenzele, who shrugged in agreement, and counted himself glad not to have been paired with Song and her too-seeing eyes. More importantly, pairing first allowed him to pick a quadrant next to Remund Cerdan¡¯s. The moment all eight of them were spread out there was a mechanical sound beneath their feet, something shifting, and the Malani lord began to grin. Tristan caught the edge of the spoke and prepared himself.


    The spinning began rather abruptly, but it was a surprise to no one. The speed picking up felt dangerous, for all that Zenzele Duma was laughing, but Tristan kept a steady eye on the situation. It was when the gates began to open that he pulled on his luck, quick and deep.


    Just as the ticking began, there was a clanging sound beneath their feet and something jammed.


    When force threw him forward Tristan did not fight it. He went with it, instead, and so after Remund Cerdan was torn off the spoke he hung on to topple down the half-open gate, the thief was but two heartbeats behind him. He rolled across stone and water, hearing Remund curse in front of him and Cozme Aflor shout behind, and with a wince of anticipation released the luck. A heartbeat later, just as he glimpsed how the slope they were falling down split into two, he hit a bump on the stone and bounced against the wall ¨C where some kind of rusted metal piece jutted.


    The thief swallowed a scream as it tore into his side, ripping through tunic and flesh alike.


    Fuck, he swore. Remund must have gotten hurt falling and the luck counted it as an attack. That always turned the luck hard on him. It took another two minutes to finish falling all the way down, the slope mercifully slowing before he was dumped down unceremoniously on a patch of luminescent mushrooms. The younger Cerdan barely got out of the way in time, hurrying up and looking around as Tristan stayed on the mushrooms to inspect his wound. It was mercifully shallow, but a cut with rust in it had dangers beyond the immediate. He would have to clean this with alcohol as quickly as he could.


    ¡°I know this place,¡± Lord Remund suddenly said. ¡°Isabel described it to me, it is where she fell last time.¡±


    Tristan rose with a wince. They were on a fairly narrow strip of stone, one side covered by a wall and the other leading to gaping pit. By the coolness of the air coming up, it must have been abyssally deep. In front of them, at the end of the strip, lay a narrow gap in a wall of natural stone. They would have to squeeze through.


    ¡°The rest of the path to the crystal hall is simple,¡± the Cerdan continued. ¡°We should soon be there.¡±


    ¡°Good news,¡± Tristan said.


    He picked up his tricorn from the floor, brushing it off and setting it on his head. When he turned, he saw that the other man¡¯s eyes were on his wound. The infanzon¡¯s gaze grew dismissive at the sight.


    ¡°I know the way from here,¡± Lord Remund Cerdan said. ¡°You need only listen and follow me.¡±


    Tristan nodded respectfully.


    ¡°As you say, my lord.¡±


    Satisfied with the show of obedience, the infanzon turned ¨C and in the heartbeat that followed, Tristan had his blackjack in hand. It would have been easiest to hit the back of the man¡¯s head, to knock him out, but that was not what the thief was after.


    Instead he struck the back of Remund¡¯s knee.


    The infanzon dropped, shouting in pain and surprise as he twisted to face his attacker, while Tristan placed his next blow. Remund¡¯s wrist cracked at the blow, the sword he was trying to unsheathe dropping. The thief kicked it away.


    ¡°What are you-¡± the Cerdan shouted, fingers tracing a circle of light in the air.


    Ah, the famous contract. A useful trick, but the several descriptions that Tristan had been given revealed a weakness: he kicked Remund in the face, foot right in the chin, and the shining light winked out. The Cerdan needed to concentrate to maintain the light, that much had been made abundantly clear.


    Maybe if Remund Cerdan had practiced his own tolerance to pain instead of burning servants, a kick would not have been enough to disrupt his concentration.


    The infanzon crawled away blindly, pushing back with his legs like an upended crab, but Tristan could muster no pity at the sight. Not for a Cerdan. He calmly pursued, stomping down on the knee he¡¯d already struck. The hit delivered a most satisfying crack and the infanzon let out a sob of pain. He kept crawling away, Tristan following with an amused look on his face: the man had not yet realized he was heading towards the edge of the cliff. When he finally did, his mangled leg dangling over the edge, he let out a scream of terror as he clawed at the stone to avoid falling.


    ¡°Please,¡± Remund said. ¡°I don¡¯t know how much my brother paid you, but I can double it.¡±


    ¡°Remund Cerdan,¡± the thief said. ¡°I have questions for you.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± the infanzon hurriedly replied. ¡°Anything.¡±


    ¡°Theogony,¡± he said. ¡°Does the word mean anything to you?¡±


    A flicker of surprise in his eyes.


    ¡°No,¡± Remund said, ¡°I never-¡±


    Tristan kicked him in the leg. The infanzon shrieked in fear, trying to catch his boot as he was halfway pushed off the ledge. The thief was too nimble, though, and Remund was forced to claw at the cavern floor so that his dangling legs would not drag him down into the dark.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Remund screamed. ¡°I¡¯ve heard of it. It¡¯s some sort of grand design by Uncle Lorent, Lord Cerdan has poured a fortune into it.¡±


    ¡°And it is still happening?¡± Tristan pressed.


    The infanzon nodded, eyes wild. He tried to drag himself further up on solid ground but went still as Tristan drew his pistol. He watched in fear as the thief filled the muzzle with powder and added the lead ball. As Tristan had thought, the horror had not ceased when the Cerdans shut down their warehouses in Feria District. They¡¯d just moved elsewhere.


    ¡°Lauriana Ceret,¡± he said. ¡°Do you know the name?¡±


    Remund blinked.


    ¡°Professor Ceret?¡± he asked. ¡°Our mathematics tutor?¡±


    Tristan¡¯s jaw clenched. A tutor. That woman, after everything, was allowed to teach children? Rage came, but it was cold. Patient. He had waited years for the List and would wait years more.


    ¡°Ceferin,¡± he forced out. ¡°How about him?¡±


    Remund fervently shook his head and Tristan believed him. Ceferin had worked with House Cerdan for his own reasons, he had not seemed one of theirs. Their leash on him had been loose.


    ¡°You were part of it weren¡¯t you?¡± Remund asked. ¡°Whatever it was that went so bad in Feria District that Uncle Lorent went abroad for three years.¡±


    The infanzon swallowed.


    ¡°What did they do to you?¡±


    Tristan took a step closer. The other flinched.


    ¡°Do you know what happens when a man makes two contracts?¡± he asked.


    Remund licked his lips.


    ¡°They go mad and die,¡± he said. ¡°The gods eat them from the inside.¡±


    ¡°What if it were three instead?¡± Tristan asked. ¡°Four, five?¡±


    The infanzon swallowed.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± he said.


    ¡°Neither did they,¡± Tristan replied. ¡°So they tried.¡±


    That and worse things yet. If he¡¯d not followed his father that day he would never have seen the horrors that lay hidden beneath Feria District, the butchery the Cerdans were willing to commit to close the gap with the Six.


    ¡°I never had anything to do with it,¡± Remund told him. ¡°I swear. Even the old warehouses in Feria, it¡¯s Augusto who runs them! Him, Tristan, not me. Let me up and I will help you, he is no brother of-¡±


    The thief took a step closer. The infanzon screamed, fear indistinguishable from fury.


    ¡°Why?¡± he demanded. ¡°I have done nothing to you, nothing to deserve this.¡±


    He levelled the pistol.


    ¡°Think of it,¡± Tristan mildly said, ¡°as interest on the debt.¡±


    He was a poor shot but from this close not even he could miss. And as the shot dimly echoed across the cavern, Tristan Abrascal smiled.


    Two, he counted.


    Halfway there.

 Chapter 33

    They waited for the two as long as they could, but neither Remund Cerdan nor Tristan ever made an appearance. As the hours passed, the company grew restless.


    ¡°It has been too long,¡± Lord Zenzele finally said. ¡°Either they went back or they are dead.¡±


    ¡°Surely,¡± Isabel said, ¡°we could wait a little longer.¡±


    The dark-haired beauty had grown increasingly distressed as time went by. Angharad felt for her: of the two boys she had come with, one had proved a villain and the other was now likely dead. Master Cozme insisted they stay longer where they stood, at the  beginning of the broken mirror hall, he found no allies in this save for a hesitant Isabel.


    ¡°No one claims that the two of you cannot wait for Lord Remund,¡± Yaretzi tactfully said. ¡°That is your choice to make. That does not mean it needs to be ours.¡±


    A snort.


    ¡°He was a bit of a prick, your man,¡± Lord Zenzele noted. ¡°Shame about Tristan, but the maze is a deadly place. Staying safe in the Old Fort did not prepare him, for all the stories about the heliodoran beast.¡±


    ¡°Are you so eager to abandon one of us?¡± Cozme angrily said. ¡°What do I ask of you save time?¡±


    ¡°My patience, increasingly,¡± the Malani lord retorted.


    Angharad, though part of her wished to wait ¨C it shamed her to have invited Tristan only to lose him the very first day ¨C had to step in.


    ¡°It will take hours to scale the crystals,¡± Angharad said. ¡°My apologies, Master Cozme, but if we want to make it to the temple for the night we can no longer delay.¡±


    The older man pulled at his mustache angrily but did not argue. He could tell when a battle was lost. Isabel¡¯s attempt to comfort him was fended off brusquely enough it earned a raised eyebrow from Angharad. Allowances must be made for grief, she told herself, even though it was not certain that Lord Remund was dead. She was not sure how to feel about that, truth be told. The youngest Cerdan had been no friend of hers, but she had not wished him dead.


    It made no difference, either way: be he dead or alive, Angharad was still bound by her oath to him not to seek the company of Isabel Ruesta.


    Straightening her waning attention, Angharad opened her pack to begin setting out the equipment obtained from the Watch last eve. The sooner they reached the temple, the better. Much as it had her wary to sleep where Aines had been murdered, there was no other choice. It was the best way to remain close to the gate that would lead them back to the fortress-temple and through it the last stretch before the gate ¨C what Lady Ferranda had called the ¡®Toll Road¡¯. Still, only a fool would forget the killing that had taken place. It had been decided that all would share a single room and two people would always be on watch.


    Though they had carefully prepared for the journey traversing the broken hall was still difficult.


    The crystals had always been sharp-edged and only grown more so since shattering into pieces, even small shards proving as dangerous as caltrops ¨C they went right through leather boots, as Yaretzi learned to her dismay. The Izcalli was only lightly wounded but seeing her wince constantly had them all twice as wary. Still, their ropes, grappling hooks and gloves proved sufficient for the work. Though it was hard on the less fit of them to do so, Angharad took them up to sections of the collapsed ceiling whenever she could ¨C it was usually in a fair state and following them let the company cross more quickly.


    It still took two hours, longer than the hall had taken when inhabited by a spirit, and everyone was drenched in sweat by the end. Past the eerie cavern and the gauntlet of gargoyles the temple still waited: and just as Angharad had expected, the others had beaten them to it. After waiting so long for Remund and Tristan that had been a given. Everyone was upstairs, on the fourth level, though they were avoiding where Aines¡¯ body had been found. The room where her body must still wait  ¨C half-heartedly entombed for lack of wood to burn her with ¨C still had the door closed.


    Everyone¡¯s gaze seemed to avoid it, as if by unspoken accord.


    Ripping right through the gloomy mood hanging around the crowd, the devil ever dogging Angharad¡¯s steps was the first to greet her.


    ¡°Fashionably late to the party, Lady Tredegar,¡± Tupoc called out. ¡°And missing a few friends, I see.¡±


    As if there could ever be something fashionable about lateness. Izcalli.


    Tupoc was sitting on the stairs, his segmented spear assembled and resting against his shoulder. His grin was as arrogant as his earrings, but the detail told. He is expecting trouble. Perhaps not without reason. Save for Augusto Cerdan, whose dark eyes never left her, everyone was giving him a wide berth. Lord Ishaan and Shalini kept to their corner while Lady Ferranda and Brun kept to another ¨C Zenzele immediately went to join them, to a pang of discomfort from her ¨C and Lan kept company with Lady Acanthe. Now that the shrines they had triumphed over were past and there was only one way forward, the short-lived reunion of the crews came at an unceremonious end.


    Though she recognized Tupoc¡¯s words as a taunt, honor compelled Angharad to share information of import to all trial-takers.


    ¡°Remund Cerdan and Tristan are missing,¡± she acknowledged. ¡°Their condition is unknown to me.¡±


    Some muttering at that. Remund had few friends, but Tristan was a physician¡¯s apprentice and that had great value this far from the Old Fort. One noise broke through all the rest, however: Augusto Cerdan was laughing. He kept on even as every other soul went silent, until he was wheezing and out of breath. Tugging at his collar, the ruined face of the infanzon split into a smile.


    ¡°Cozme,¡± he happily said. ¡°All is forgiven. You may return to my side.¡±


    The older man did not move, but his gaze found the last of the Cerdan brothers. There was a look to those eyes Angharad had never seen there before: cool, almost calculating.


    ¡°So long as your brother lives, I am in his service,¡± Cozme Aflor finally said.


    Angharad¡¯s heart clenched with dismay. Surely Master Cozme could be implying he could ever return to Augusto¡¯s side? It must have been politeness to a man he had once served, nothing more. Interruption came from another.


    ¡°Missing does not always mean dead,¡± Lord Ishaan said, stepping forward ¡°Perhaps they will come in the night. Until then, shall we all agree to a truce?¡±


    Tupoc laughed, tapping the haft of his spear against his shoulder.


    ¡°We, Nair?¡± he said. ¡°Who is it ¡®we¡¯ you claim speak for?¡±


    ¡°The two of us,¡± Shalini said, joining her companion.


    ¡°A thronging multitude indeed,¡± Tupoc drawled. ¡°Let all tremble before the mighty legions of Ramaya ¨C tell me, which is the van and which the rearguard?¡±


    Shalini eyed him a moment, the short and curvy gunslinger finally let out a chuckle. She spat to the side and drew a pistol.


    ¡°Did it ever occur to you, Tupoc,¡± she said, ¡°that you are running out of warm bodies to throw between you and harm? Keep flapping that mouth and I might just decide to fill it with something even you will find hard to swallow.¡±


    The Izcalli raised an eyebrow.


    ¡°Threats?¡± he said. ¡°And here I thought your master was seeking a truce.¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Shalini smiled. ¡°Hide behind a truce again. That¡¯s your favorite trick, isn¡¯t it? I looked forward to being in the room when it finally fails you. That¡¯ll be worth a laugh.¡±


    The pistol the Someshwari ¨C Ramayan in particular, Angharad supposed ¨C held was no idle threat. From what Angharad had glimpsed, the gunslinger might genuinely be able to kill Tupoc. And once the thought was there, it did not leave.  Shalini was right, she thought. Tupoc had gone on this long without paying for his deeds because he had made himself too much trouble to dig out, but was that still true? Ocotlan was dead. So were his two unlucky conscripts, Felis and Aines. The Izcalli¡¯s strength had dwindled.


    Now all that Tupoc had left was his spear and the glow of the bridges he had burned: Angharad had been patient long enough.


    ¡°Lady Tredegar?¡± Shalini pressed. ¡°You word on the truce?¡±


    ¡°I cannot agree to one,¡± Angharad said.


    Surprise on the Someshwari¡¯s face, a flicker of betrayal.


    ¡°Not yet,¡± Angharad evenly said.


    She slowly unsheathed her blade as she turned towards Tupoc and his last companion.


    ¡°Twice now you have avoided answering for your deeds, Augusto Cerdan,¡± the Pereduri said. ¡°Must I strike you across the face again, or will you finally defend your honor sword in hand?¡±


    A shiver went through the air. No one spoke, no one moved. Augusto¡¯s face ¨C mangled by misadventure, now a mass of bruises and ripped skin ¨C tightened with fear. He rose, taking half a step up the stairs. Then Tupoc rose, letting out a sigh, and tapped his spear against his shoulder.


    ¡°Picking on poor Augusto again?¡± he drawled. ¡°Now now, we can¡¯t have that.¡±


    ¡°We?¡± Angharad gently echoed. ¡°Who is this ¡®we¡¯ you claim to speak for?¡±


    Tupoc looked around and saw the same thing she did: how the sheep that once feared him were now boldly growing the fangs of wolves. The noblewoman thought she could tell the very moment it sunk in that he had at last overplayed his hand ¨C his grin was just a little too stiff, his eyes just a little too wide.


    ¡°Stand aside, Tupoc Xical,¡± Angharad calmly said. ¡°Or else I will cut you down.¡±


    And the illusion shattered. His power had no longer been rooted in truth, only on inertia from a time it had been. It had been a bluff, and Angharad had just called it.


    A heartbeat later Song was at her side. Her musket was casually levelled forward. A bark of hard laughter followed, then the sound of a blade leaving the sheath. Lord Zenzele was on his feet, eyes burning with something like hate.


    ¡°And she won¡¯t be alone. Do it, Xical,¡± Zenzele Duma said. ¡°Please, give me a reason.¡±


    ¡°You already have one, Duma,¡± Tupoc amiably replied. ¡°You are simply too craven to use it.¡±


    The Izcalli¡¯s eyes were only half on them, she saw. He was measuring distances and angles, the same way she would. Seeing if the fight was at all feasible.


    ¡°We need to calm down,¡± Isabel said. ¡°Surely we-¡±


    ¡°Do shut your fucking mouth, Isabel,¡± Lady Ferranda mildly replied, drawing her own sword. ¡°Passengers don¡¯t get a say, and this has been a long time coming.¡±


    The dark-haired beauty flinched away and though Angharad¡¯s instinct was to intervene she pushed it down. She could console Isabel afterwards, when the peril had passed. Meanwhile Ferranda moved to stand by Zenzele, tacitly picking her side. Only a handful now remained uncommitted. Brun, watching it all uneasily with a hand on his hatchet, Ishaan and Shalini still holding back, Lady Acanthe reaching for her pistol with fear on her face while Lan and Yaretzi retreated and-


    ¡°This is madness.¡±


    Angharad¡¯s fingers tightened around her saber¡¯s grip until the leather creaked and her knuckles turned white. Master Cozme, pistol in hand, moved between her and Augusto. He did not point the gun at her, but by the way the muzzle had yet to point down the pistol must be loaded. His decision was clear: Augusto had called and he had come. The traitor. The filthy, treacherous rat.


    ¡°Are we to have a battle before we even take on the tests of the temple-fortress?¡± Cozme Aflor challenged them. ¡°How many dead, how many wounded can we-¡±


    Halfway through the sentence, he froze. His eyes rolled up into the back of his head and he dropped in a sprawl, pistol clattering against the floor. He was still breathing, she saw, merely unconscious. A sigh drew Angharad¡¯s eyes as Lord Ishaan, scar pulling at his lip, rubbed his forehead.


    ¡°That is going to give me such a headache,¡± Ishaan Nair complained.


    Shalini snorted, then drew the pistol she¡¯d been fondling.


    ¡°That¡¯s us picking a side, folks,¡± the Someshwari smiled. ¡°Liking those odds, Tupoc?¡±


    A sleeping contract, Angharad realized with a sliver of fear. Ishaan had a contract that forced sleep.


    Just like the killer who had been cutting throats.


    No, she thought. He was nobly born, surely he could not - from the corner of her eye, Angharad saw Augusto taking a slow step further up the stairs and she set the matter aside. He¡¯s going to run, she thought. An honorless cur to the end. Tupoc¡¯s pale gaze swept across the forces arrayed against him, calculating but still utterly fearless. She would have admired that, in a better man.


    ¡°I could ask you the same question, Goel,¡± Tupoc Xical suddenly said. ¡°How do you like our odds of making it to the gate with enough victors?¡±


    If he had called on mercy or decency, Angharad thought, they would have laughed at him. But instead the Izcalli had mentioned the single thing that mattered to every single person in this hallway: his words were about the Trial of Ruins.


    And behind them, Angharad thought, she could hear a sound like a crack in ice.


    ¡°How many victors do we number?¡± Tupoc asked them all. ¡°Best to be certain of that, before you begin killing them off, for if you lose Augusto and myself you will be down two.¡±


    Angharad paused. She did not, in fact, know the number. Tupoc was one, she counted, and now supposedly Augusto as well. Then from her former crew there were Isabel, Zenzele and herself.  Five. The Pereduri¡¯s gaze slid to Lord Ishaan, who cleared his throat.


    ¡°Shalini and I are victors,¡± he contributed.


    ¡°I am as well,¡± Acanthe quietly added.


    Eight victors in whole, then.


    Angharad heard the cracks spread across the ice, a spiderweb unfolding.


    ¡°For those of you slower on the draw,¡± Tupoc said, ¡°it means we are still two short of the ten we need and there are only six potential new victors left.¡±


    He paused.


    ¡°Shall we kill Augusto, then, and make it so that three of those six must win? Or perhaps listen to bold Zenzele and add me to the pile, make it so that it must be four instead?¡±


    The Malani lord snarled but gave no retort.


    Tupoc¡¯s words spread like poison. Angharad was already a victor, so no matter how many tests she now beat she could not raise their numbers. Cool gazes took in those who remained uncrowned: the unconscious Master Cozme, Lady Ferranda, Song, Brun, Yaretzi and Lan. Yaretzi was a diplomat by trade, though she could defend herself, and Lan a gossip with no weapon save a knife. The others were more solid candidates, but the tests of the spirits were not always as simple as skill at arms. Two of these six passing a test, Angharad thought they could rely on. It left room for mistakes, for the traps of spirits. Three victors out of these six, while less certain, she also felt to be likely.


    The trouble was what came after, she knew.


    Tupoc knew it too.


    ¡°Oh, I imagine we¡¯ll get past the temple-fortress with ten or eleven even if we have our little brawl here,¡± Tupoc shrugged. ¡°Yet that still leaves the Toll Road, my friends. Would it not be a mite tedious, for a death or two there to bring us below ten right before we reach the gate?¡±


    Angharad swallowed her pride. She could not let him slip away, not again.


    ¡°Lord Ishaan,¡± she said. ¡°Would your contract on Xical?¡±


    Cozme was not dead. Her concerns that she might well be speaking to the man who had been slitting throats aside, if Tupoc could be incapacitated the same way there would be seven victors left after Augusto¡¯s demise. A risk, to be sure, but one she was willing to take. The Someshwari grimaced.


    ¡°I am not sure.¡±


    He did not offer to use his contract after that and Angharad did not ask. Being refused would only serve as a humiliation to both.


    ¡°Xical heals,¡± Shalini noted. ¡°Blowing off his kneecaps should work just as well.¡±


    But the muzzle of her pistol lowered and Angharad thought she could hear the ice break entirely. Tupoc still had enemies, those wanting to kill him, but the wind was no longer blowing the Pereduri¡¯s way. Too many anxious faces were watching, too many moving parts.


    How was it, Angharad thought, that a man almost universally despised threatening to throw away his own life kept forcing them back again and again?


    Ferranda sighed, sheathing her sword, and that was the beginning of the end. Song¡¯s musket came down, then Zenzele snarled again and strode off. Angharad did not watch them, her eyes instead staying on Augusto Cerdan. Who looked at her with fear and hatred, not even a speck of relief worming its way onto that brutalized face.


    ¡°I accept the truce until we have passed the last gate,¡± Angharad said. ¡°That makes three, Lord Augusto. On my oath, there will not be a fourth.¡±


    --


    Master Cozme would not be sharing a room with them.


    Even had the man been apologetic when he was kicked awake by Tupoc ¨C which he was not ¨C Angharad would not have suffered it. Where was the honor in returning to the side of a man who murdered his own servants and offered treachery at every turn? She could not praise loyalty when it was so blatantly unearned; no man of character would have gone back to Augusto Cerdan¡¯s side. How had she not seen it before? It had been her own naivete that blinded her, a foolish girl taking the first offered friendly hand. What a laugh it must have been for him, tricking her like this.


    Biting down on what she would admit was a healthy helping of wounded pride, she avoided Isabel as everyone dragged their packs into the room where they would stay the night. She was too angry to give the comfort that the infanzona needed, having lost a friend in Remund and then been insulted by Ferranda. Lady Villazur¡¯s words had been unfair: Isabel, though not a fighter, was a victor. Ferrand Villazur was not, for all the secrets about the maze she had kept up her sleeve.


    Being surrounded by walls had her feeling hemmed in so Angharad stepped out to breathe. The temple, for all its dangers, was lovely enough to behold: downstairs the pools and waterfalls of luminous water flowed like strands of radiance, impossibly elegant. The dark-skinned woman lay her elbows on the stone railing and bled out her anger one breath at a time. Being calm did not mean laying down the grievance, only seeing it with eyes unclouded. Angharad made herself look at the source of her anger with a calmer mien and came to her conclusion.


    It was not, in the end, her place to tell Cozme Aflor where he should stand. She was not his lady or his captain. That his act was a betrayal of trust was not to be denied, however, and though honor did not obligate her to seek redress she would now consider all ties within them severed. He should be treated as a stranger of poor repute, nothing more.


    A shiver went down her spine at the thought, like a single icy droplet sliding down. Angharad¡¯s shoulders tensed as much because of the sensation as what lay beyond it ¨C distant amusement. The Fisher, she thought, was adding another betrayal to his tally. Another string to the argument they¡¯d had in the dark, about the worth of honor. You treated him with honor, she could almost hear the old monster say. And where did that get you, Angharad Tredegar? Tugging at her coat uncomfortably, the noblewoman pushed off the railing. Suddenly the fresh air she¡¯d come for felt all too cold.


    ¡°- ent outside.¡±


    Passing the pillar that had been hiding her, she saw that her room ¨C the company¡¯s room, for the night ¨C was being called on. Brun was speaking with Isabel, the skin of his face still red from the fire trap he had encountered as one of Lord Ishaan¡¯s crew. It leant him a ruddy look, like he was a woodsman from the country instead of a Sacromontan born and bred.


    ¡°And there she is,¡± Lady Isabel said. ¡°You can ask her yourself.¡±


    Brun turned and when Angharad offered him a polite nod he replied in in kind.


    ¡°You had need of me?¡± she asked.


    ¡°I do,¡± Brun agreed. ¡°The grapevine has it that you are arranging for a common sleeping room watched over by guards.¡±


    Angharad nodded. It was no secret. If anything, such knowledge might deter the killer from an attempt. Her heart clenched at the thought: she now had a thought as to who that killer might be, though she hesitated to pursue it without more to go on.


    ¡°It seemed a necessary precaution given our last stay here,¡± she continued.


    ¡°I cannot agree more,¡± the fair-haired man said, tone fervent. ¡°And given Cozme Aflor¡¯s recent¡­ departure, would it be too forward of me to ask if I might take his place?¡±


    Angharad hid her surprise. She glanced at Isabel, who only smiled.


    ¡°I am sure Briceida would have been glad for his return,¡± the dark-haired beauty said. ¡°I have no objection.¡±


    ¡°I thought you had decided to stay with Lord Ishaan,¡± Angharad delicately said.


    It had the benefit of being both true and more gracious than reminding him he had once told her he wanted nothing to do with the infanzones.


    ¡°My concerns were about the Cerdans,¡± Brun frankly replied.


    Angharad¡¯s face blanked. That he would be open about it in front of Isabel was rather unexpected, though the infanzona only lightly chuckled.


    ¡°I thought that might be the reason we parted ways,¡± she said. ¡°It is only natural, Angharad. Our time on the Dominion opened my eyes regarding the brothers. They are¡­ not as I believed them to be.¡±


    Angharad felt a pang of guilt at how selfish she had been. Stewing over Cozme¡¯s betrayal as she had, it had never occurred to her that Isabel must feel even more betrayed ¨C she had known the brothers for years, been friends with them even before they began courting. Brun cleared his throat, drawing back her gaze.


    ¡°In the interest of honesty, Lady Angharad, I also believe myself in danger,¡± he said. ¡°I appear to have been caught up in a misunderstanding, and while I understand why it happened I would rather sleep with guards for the foreseeable future.¡±


    And that begged further questions, but Angharad held her tongue. Fresh on the heels of Master Cozme revealing his true colors, Brun¡¯s forthrightness felt like the very breath of fresh air she had gone outside to find. He had come here with plain intentions and set out to clear the air with everyone before making a simple request. Angharad would not repay that with an inquisition.


    ¡°We are all chasing shadows, these days,¡± she said. ¡°I do no begrudge anyone seeking refuge when I have set out to build one.¡±


    Smiling she offered Brun her hand.


    ¡°Glad to have you back, even for a single night.¡±


    He shook it, grip firm. Sleeping God, it felt good for something to finally go right.


    ¡°I shall fetch my bags, then,¡± Brun said. ¡°Best not to waste any time.¡±


    The Sacromontan made his courtesies to both, then took his leave. Isabel watched him go, an amused look on her face.


    ¡°Did I miss a jest?¡± Angharad asked.


    ¡°No,¡± the infanzona assured her. ¡°It is only that something about our friend Brun brings to mind poetry from home. A verse by Ilaria.¡±


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    ¡°I have heard the name before,¡± Angharad said. ¡°A famous poetess from the Century of Crowns, no?¡±


    ¡°Ruina and Alza are her most famous works, worthy successors to the great works of the Second Empire,¡± Isabel conceded, ¡°but in Sacromonte it is Pequenas Mentiras, the Little Lies, that are most beloved. It is a collection of poems she wrote during her destitute years while wandering the city.¡±


    Angharad cocked an eyebrow.


    ¡°Now you have me curious. What verse was brought to mind?¡±


    Isabel cleared her throat.


    ¡°To join the court of cats


    is most easily done:


    simply swear that none


    ever did fall flat.¡±


    ¡°I do not catch the meaning,¡± Angharad admitted.


    ¡°Think nothing of it,¡± Isabel smiled. ¡°You might say it is an old Sacromontan vice, my dear, that we ever enjoy a clever rat.¡±


    The green-eyed infanzona laid a hand on her arm.


    ¡°Do you happen to know where Song went?¡± she asked. ¡°I have not seen her since she brought her pack.¡±


    ¡°I did not see her leaving,¡± Angharad replied.


    Given how close it had come to arms earlier, for the Tianxi to wander off alone when they were so clearly aligned was perhaps dangerous. Best to find her before someone else did.


    ¡°She cannot have gone far,¡± Angharad mused. ¡°Still, best to make sure.¡±


    ¡°My thoughts exactly,¡± Isabel smiled.


    --


    Song was not particularly difficult to find because the silver-eyed woman was already looking for her.


    Angharad had questions, but when the other woman gave her a meaningful look and gestured towards the plethora open doors on the floor ¨C from where anyone could be listening ¨C she conceded and followed her into another room. Closing the door herself, Angharad went still as she saw that she and the Tianxi were not alone in: leaning against the back wall were Lord Ishaan Nair and Shalini Goel. For the merest of moments she wondered if she had been betrayed again, but then set it aside. Song had saved her life twice, all that would have been needed was for the Tianxi to do nothing at all.


    ¡°Lady Angharad,¡± Ishaan greeted her. ¡°I told you, yesterday, that there was more to say. Song proved amenable to arranging a meeting.¡±


    ¡°If not alone,¡± Shalini said. ¡°Where¡¯s the trust, friend?¡±


    ¡°Somewhere around the border of Jiushen,¡± Song replied.


    ¡°I think you mean Jaldevi,¡± Shalini retorted without batting an eye.


    Finally a reference Angharad caught. Jiushen had been territory under the Kingdom of Cathay, the predecessor to the Republics, but been annexed by the nascent Imperial Someshwar in the wars that led to that kingdom¡¯s shattering. Tianxia had several times tried to reclaim the region, called Jaldevi by Someshwari, but never succeeded at holding it for more than a year. Some of the bloodiest battles in the history of Vesper had been fought in the capital¡¯s vicinity.


    ¡°Let us set that aside before someone starts singing ¡®The Lost Eleventh¡¯,¡± Lord Ishaan advised. ¡°I have never once seen that happen without a brawl following.¡±


    In other circumstances Angharad might have been amused ¨C the somewhat playful bickering between Song and Shalini often was worth a chuckle ¨C but at the moment she was disinclined to humor. The lack of mirth on her face was plain enough that Ishaan frowned at the sight.


    ¡°Ah,¡± the chubby-cheeked man said. ¡°I should have expected as much.¡±


    ¡°A conversation is in order,¡± Angharad said, ¡°but perhaps not the one you wish for.¡±


    Shalini frowned.


    ¡°What are you talking about?¡±


    ¡°I would not make wild accusations,¡± the noblewoman evenly replied, ¡°but Lord Ishaan¡¯s demonstration of his contract begs questions. Both victims were killed in their sleep, that sleep continuing longer than anything but drugs or a contract could enforce.¡±


    She might not have made an accusation, she¡¯d stopped shy of that, but the implication was clear. Song¡¯s face was inscrutable, but her intentions mattered little. Angharad was honor-bound to seek answers for Aines¡¯ death, which had taken place under truce. Shalini was visibly furious, swelling up with anger as she bit out an answer.


    ¡°Is that how it¡¯s going to be? We come in good faith and-¡±


    Lord Ishaan laid a hand on her shoulder.


    ¡°It¡¯s a fair question to ask, Shal,¡± he said. ¡°Secrecy has its worth, but two people have been killed.¡±


    The other Someshwari¡¯s face softened at his words, though the ember of indignation still burned. Much as Angharad would have liked to believe Shalini Goel would have nothing to do with a killer, she was not certain the other woman would place such concerns above her loyalty to Ishaan.


    ¡°It¡¯s not for you to pay for their suspicions,¡± Shalini replied. ¡°We do not owe that.¡±


    ¡°It is not always about owing,¡± Ishaan Nair said.


    He withdrew his hand from his companion¡¯s shoulder, though to Angharad¡¯s eye both seemed reluctant to break away. Lord Ishaan met her gaze plainly.


    ¡°My contract would not achieve what you describe,¡± he said. ¡°Though I can daze others, even knock them unconscious, the effect is fragile ¨C they would be awoken by pain.¡±


    Angharad began to choose her words, but Song cleared her throat and spoke first.


    ¡°Were we inclined to doubt you,¡± the Tianxi delicately said, ¡°how would you provide proof?¡±


    Ishaan grimaced, flicking a glance at Shalini. She sighed then stepped away. For a moment Angharad thought he would use his contract on her, but instead she went to fetch an ancient, dusty chamber pot from the corner.


    ¡°My god is a god of the soul,¡± the Someshwari lord said. ¡°He despises impurity and drinks from pure sources only. The price he demanded for his power reflects this.¡±


    Ishaan visibly steeled himself.


    ¡°Your coat is black,¡± he told Angharad.


    She blinked. It was, in fact, a shade of dark green. Not even a heartbeat after speaking the words Ishaan paled and sweat beaded his brow. He convulsed, Shalini rushing at his side with the chamber pot as he began dry retching into it. It was a solid minute before he stopped, panting as he eased away from the mercifully still-empty pot. Angharad was not unfamiliar with the ploy of feigning sickness, but while retching could be faked the sweats could not.


    ¡°You cannot lie,¡± she said.


    ¡°I cannot knowingly speak untruth,¡± Ishaan corrected. ¡°Lest it make me sick, as lying is a pollution of the soul.¡±


    ¡°You were sick at the beginning of the second trial,¡± Song noted. ¡°Not like this, though. And Shalini claimed that it was a consequence of using your contract, not a price.¡±


    Shalini glared.


    ¡°Have you not had enough proof?¡± she challenged. ¡°Shall we ask the details of your contract now, Song Ren? Or perhaps a thing or two about your surname. Courtesies that were not given cannot be returned.¡±


    Ishaan cleared his throat, voice rasping.


    ¡°I am no pilgrim on the Ninefold Path,¡± he said. ¡°If I were to answer that question, lay bare my secrets, I would expect something in return.¡±


    Only for all that Song had been the one to speak it was on Angharad that the nobleman¡¯s eyes came to rest. Tempted as she was to decline, to simply allow ignorance, it remained that Aines had died under truce. Answers must be had.


    ¡°I am listening,¡± she said.


    ¡°An alliance for the Trial of Weeds,¡± Ishaan said. ¡°Myself, Shalini and anyone you rope in.¡±


    ¡°And you would reveal the nature of your contract in exchange,¡± Angharad said.


    ¡°So long as you promise to discuss it with no one outside this room.¡±


    Her eyes found the scar on his cheek again, what she could not help but think was a truer face of him than the chubby cheeks and amiable manners. He was pleasant and polite, Lord Ishaan Nair, but Angharad would not forget he had schemed to send Tupoc¡¯s entire crew to their likely deaths. The Pereduri would not claim deep acquaintance of either he or Shalini, but she thought herself a passable judge of character and Shalini did not strike her as cold enough for that. Her temper and trigger finger ran hot, but she was not ruthless enough to make that decision.


    Ishaan, however, she could see weighing the gains and losses before choosing death.


    It was why right now Angharad was being made to consider a bargain where she would receive something she needed but did not truly want while she was to give in return something that Ishaan Nair had been angling for since they last stood in this temple. The chubby-cheeked lordling was the vulnerable one, the one exposing himself and being cornered, and yet he would still be the one to get his way. Angharad felt unpleasantly like a fish caught in a snare.


    ¡°It is not an unfair bargain,¡± Song opined.


    A glance at her face told her the Tianxi was inclined to accept but aware it was not her decision to make. Sighing, Angharad nodded.


    ¡°Under the stated terms, I accept your bargain,¡± she said.


    Ishaan¡¯s shoulders loosened and he even spared a smile for Shalini. He was more nervous than I realized, she thought. In a way that was comforting.


    ¡°It is difficult to get into the functionalities of my contract without dipping into theistic metaphysics,¡± Ishaan said. ¡°I do not believe either of you is schooled in the subject?¡±


    Song cocked an eyebrow.


    ¡°And you are?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Have been since the age of six,¡± he easily replied. ¡°Part of the reason I chose to seek out the Watch was the possibility of joining the Peiling Society. The Savants are arguably the leading light in that field of study.¡±


    She could believe that easily enough. Peiling, Umuthi and Arthashastra ¨C all three of the societies making up the College had strong reputations in their fields. It was a common complaint of scholars in Malan that as Circles of the Watch the three societies were allowed rights that other scholars were not, lending them an unfair edge.


    ¡°I am not learned in such matters,¡± Angharad freely admitted. ¡°Why ask?¡±


    ¡°If you do not mind,¡± Ishaan said, ¡°I would explain my contract in descriptive terms instead of the theistic mechanics.¡±


    ¡°You are dumbing it down for us,¡± Song said, sounding somewhat amused.


    ¡°Those are not the words I would use,¡± Ishaan serenely replied.


    How carefully phrased, she smiled. The Someshwari had once caught her out, Angharad suddenly remembered, when she had used exact wording around him. No wonder, if he was forced to live much the same way Angharad tried to by virtue of his contract punishing anything else.


    ¡°I do not mind,¡± the Pereduri said.


    Song shrugged in agreement. Ishaan nodded his thanks.


    ¡°In essence, I superimpose my physical mind ¨C as conceived by my soul - over that of a single thinking entity I target through the medium of aether,¡± he told them.


    There was a heartbeat as silence as they both tried to make sense of what they had been told.


    ¡°He throws his mind at other people¡¯s minds and it knocks them out,¡± Shalini told them. ¡°It¡¯s like loading a pistol with your soul and shooting at people with it.¡±


    Song choked and Angharad rather understood the urge, having only narrowly mastered herself.


    ¡°I really wish you would stop phrasing it like that,¡± Ishaan said, sounding pained.


    ¡°And I really you would stop shooting your soul at people, Isha,¡± Shalini replied without missing a beat.


    ¡°Is that,¡± Angharad slowly asked, ¡°safe?¡±


    ¡°To some extent,¡± Ishaan said. ¡°Shalini exaggerates the risks, as my soul itself is not in danger: the ¡®bullet¡¯ in her description is a conception of my mind as conceived my soul, neither the actual soul or mind. The risk comes from when the connection when the conception of my mind attempts to overlay their own - depending on the scale of the mind being overlayed, a dangerous amount of pressure can be applied on my consciousness.¡±


    ¡°That is why you were in a daze after the Trial of Lines,¡± Song said. ¡°You knocked out the airavatan for a few moments, but its mind was too much.¡±


    ¡°It was a singularly unpleasant experience,¡± Ishaan grimly said. ¡°Not unlike trying to fill a bucket by squeezing a single orange until even the pulp was dry.¡±


    Angharad almost winced. For a man who could not lie without getting sick to describe an experience as ¡®singularly unpleasant¡¯, it must have been horrifying. Shalini patted his back, then turned a cocked eyebrow on them.


    ¡°Now that we¡¯re all friends,¡± the short gunslinger said, ¡°it might be we have a few questions you would be able to answer.¡±


    ¡°The alliance begins only with the Third Trial,¡± Song pointed out.


    ¡°We no longer have any real reason to be at odds,¡± Ishaan retorted. ¡°We all want to reach the gate and to live through the Trial of Weeds. We may not be allies yet, but our interests are in alignment.¡±


    ¡°I have yet to hear a question,¡± Angharad said, promising nothing.


    ¡°A trade,¡± Song added after. ¡°Question for question.¡±


    Angharad cocked an eyebrow at her but conceded easily enough. She had no intention of answering questions about her contract but had little to hide otherwise. The Someshwari agreed.


    ¡°Is it true that Brun¡¯s contract is about sensing people?¡± Shalini asked.


    Angharad started.


    ¡°As far as I know,¡± she agreed. ¡°I am not aware of the particulars and did not ask.¡±


    ¡°Why ask?¡± Song said.


    The Someshwari shared a look between them.


    ¡°I believe him one of the likeliest to be the killer,¡± Ishaan admitted.


    ¡°You have never made that accusation,¡± Angharad said, surprised.


    ¡°We don¡¯t have proof,¡± Shalini said. ¡°And there¡¯d be complications.¡±


    The Pereduri cocked an eyebrow.


    ¡°I have used my contract several times in front of others,¡± Ishaan elaborated. ¡°It would be easy to turn the accusation back on me and the only reliable way to defuse them would have been repeating our previous conversation in front of everyone.¡±


    And without getting a promise of alliance, Angharad thought. Yet another way Ishaan had outmaneuvered her, she suddenly realized. If such an accusation was made, now that she knew what she knew honor would compel her to defend the Someshwari from the false accusation. Her mood soured at the thought. A thought occurred, the Brun early mentioning he was at the heart of a misunderstanding he feared for his life over.


    Not without reason, considering Ishaan had almost sent five people out to die.


    ¡°I have been given no reason to suspect Brun,¡± Angharad said. ¡°And would take ill to something happening to him.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps we should first ask why they suspect him,¡± Song said.


    Displeased but knowing the Tianxi was right, she turned an expectant gaze on the other two.


    ¡°Process of elimination,¡± Shalini said. ¡°He has the only contract that can fit the deed now that we learned Tristan¡¯s was some kind of small-scale telekinesis.¡±


    Tristan held a contract? Angharad kept her surprise off her face. She¡¯d had no idea. Still, there was an obvious weakness to the argument.


    ¡°Some of us could yet be hiding contracts,¡± she pointed out.


    Ishaan conceded with a nod.


    ¡°That is true,¡± he said. ¡°Which is why I still suspect it might be Yong instead.¡±


    Angharad blinked.


    ¡°Yong?¡± she said.


    ¡°He keeps moving around,¡± Shalini said. ¡°First he signs up with the infanzones, then Tristan and Sarai¡¯s crew, then he comes with us and now he¡¯s back with the Old Fort crew? He¡¯s hiding something, and the drinking is perhaps a little too on the nose. That, and, well¡­¡±


    She flicked a curious glance at Song. The latter grimaced.


    ¡°He is a famous murderer, back in Tianxia,¡± Song revealed. ¡°He murdered a famous general who might have won us back Jiushen, likely at the behest of Someshwari nobles.¡±


    ¡°It is not a rare name,¡± Ishaan said. ¡°But several times we overheard him mentioning the Battle of Diecai, which is suggestive.¡±


    ¡°He did not deny it when I called him by his moniker,¡± Song said.


    Angharad felt sick. How many times had she spoken with a hired killer without even knowing it? Suddenly Song¡¯s insistence that she not be alone with the man made a great deal more sense. Why the other woman had never thought to mention this before was worth discussing, she thought, though not before these two. She cleared her throat, eager to change the subject.


    ¡°Why did you refrain from using your contract on Tupoc earlier?¡± Angharad asked.


    Ishaan sighed, passing his hand through his hair.


    ¡°His contract worries me,¡± he said.


    ¡°Xical seems like he heals wounds, but it must be more elaborate than that,¡± Shalini said. ¡°We have it from Lan that he walked off poison and healing contracts that can mend flesh and detoxify are very rare. The underlying ideas are too different.¡±


    ¡°More likely it is an exotic effect relating to the metaphysical concept of his Being,¡± Ishaan said. ¡°If that is the case, it would be the theistic opposite of my contract. Putting them in conflict might have¡­ unpredictable consequences, to say the least.¡±


    Unpredictability rarely ended in pleasantness, when dealing with spirits.


    ¡°Our turn,¡± Shalini said. ¡°What do you know about what the crew that stayed at the Old Fort is up to?¡±


    Angharad blinked.


    ¡°Tristan, Sarai and Francho,¡± Ishaan elaborated. ¡°Vanesa as well before her¡­ well, you were all there.¡±


    ¡°Nothing,¡± Angharad admitted.


    Shalini laughed at first, then skeptical. She glanced at Song, who shrugged.


    ¡°Did he not head out with your crew this morning?¡± she asked.


    ¡°I first invited him days ago, before the first journey out into the maze,¡± Angharad said. ¡°He only now chose to take me up on the invitation.¡±


    ¡°Unfortunate,¡± Ishaan said. ¡°We got from Lan that he made some sort of deal with the garrison, but the terms are unknown to us. That he would venture out into the maze came as a surprise and I am not sure I believe he died before reaching the mirror hall.¡±


    Twice now they had mentioned Lan¡¯s name as a source of information. They must be on good terms with her even though she had long been part of Tupoc¡¯s followers. Angharad glanced at Song, who nodded. She had a question, then. The Tianxi cleared her throat.


    ¡°What was your plan with the hour-gates?¡± she asked.


    Shalini snorted.


    ¡°Nothing that panned out,¡± she said. ¡°Lots of wasted time.¡±


    Ishaan shot her a look somewhere between fond and irritated.


    ¡°When exploring the fourth level,¡± he said, ¡°we found that there was secret passage leading from a room ¨C the one I claimed - to the room with the gates. When Lady Ferranda came to us with knowledge of said gates and where they lead, I saw an opportunity.¡±


    Angharad stilled. Song leaned forward, eyes intent.


    ¡°Shalini came to visit me in the night,¡± Ishaan said, ¡°and using the passage, we broke the second gate ¨C the one assigned to you, leading back into the maze. Come morning I intended to bargain to allow you to come with our crew so long as we joined ranks.¡±


    He was not lying, she knew. He could not without sickening.


    ¡°You broke our gate,¡± Angharad slowly said.


    Ishaan cocked an eyebrow.


    ¡°Shalini and I used a hammer to break your gate,¡± he plainly stated, leaving no room for trickery.


    He still did not get sick. Ferranda had lied to her when she claimed to have broken both gates herself. Why? Sleeping God, so many lies from so many mouths. She was losing count.


    ¡°And Tupoc¡¯s crew?¡± Song asked.


    ¡°Tupoc and Ocotlan were a problem,¡± Shalini bluntly said. ¡°They kept protecting troublemakers so everyone stayed at odds and we couldn¡¯t clean house or enforce order. Besides, there was no guarantee everyone going that way would die. Lady Ferranda described it as a trap, not certain death.¡±


    Angharad¡¯s eyes moved to Ishaan, who had carefully let his companion speak for him.


    ¡°I do not know the nature of the Trial of Weeds,¡± he said. ¡°Given an opportunity to rid us of Tupoc Xical and his second before they reached it, I judged the other potential deaths worth it.¡±


    Angharad should have despised him for that, for it spat in the eye of what it should be to be a noble, but the feeling never came. It was, she thought, the calm in him. The lack of guilt or justifications. Looking at the scarred man now, she was reminded of her mother. The way she¡¯d spoken, calmly and plainly, about how sometimes you had to throw a troublemaker overboard. That it might not be fair, but that a captain had a responsibility to their ship and there were times were the cold call must be made. Slowly she nodded. She did not agree with Lord Ishaan, but he had been trying to steady a ship: he was not a wanton murderer, grasping for advantage. She could respect the ends, if not the means.


    Song¡¯s gaze on her felt incredulous, but she paid it no mind.


    ¡°There can be no more of that, when we are allied,¡± she said.


    He nodded. She would leave it at that, then.


    ¡°We¡¯ve been in here too long already,¡± Shalini said. ¡°It¡¯s bound to have been noticed. I¡¯ve got a question or two left, but they can wait.¡±


    ¡°You two go on ahead,¡± Song suggested. ¡°I still need a word with Lady Angharad.¡±


    Thought surprised, the pair agreed easily enough. Angharad turned an eye on the Tianxi after the Someshwari made their courtesies.


    ¡°You did not warn me about Yong,¡± she said.


    ¡°I did not know for sure until yesterday,¡± Song replied. ¡°It seemed absurd to me, like running into Admiral Benedeta while buying apples.¡±


    No true admiral, that one, though the infamous Trebian pirate was said to have gathered a sizeable fleet. Angharad conceded with a grimace. It must have seemed rather implausible, to run into an infamous killer on the Bluebell.


    ¡°He must have been hiding in Sacromonte,¡± the Tianxi mused. ¡°Perhaps the Republics finally found him so he seeks refuge in the Watch.¡±


    ¡°Either way, he cannot be trusted,¡± Angharad flatly said.


    ¡°He is no trouble of ours at the moment,¡± Song shrugged. ¡°I have a more pressing concern anyhow.¡±


    The Pereduri¡¯s brow rose.


    ¡°About Ishaan and Shalini?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Song said, then hesitated. ¡°Not exactly. What they said, about a secret passage to the gate room?¡±


    She nodded.


    ¡°I think,¡± Song said, ¡°that if there was secret passage on one side of this hall, there will be one on the other.¡±


    Angharad raised a skeptical eyebrow.


    ¡°Count the pools,¡± the Tianxi told her. ¡°The gargoyles, the number of rooms. It is not symmetrical ¨C aggressively not ¨C but the numbers on both sides of the temple always match if you consider the gate room to be the center of this temple.¡±


    The noblewoman would freely admit having spent not a second¡¯s thought on this or notice anything that Song was mentioning, but she saw no reason to doubt the other woman. The implication to her words was fairly straightforward to pick up on.


    ¡°Therefore, though it will not be symmetrically placed there should be a secret passage on the other side of the temple,¡± Angharad summed up. ¡°That seems a reasonable guess.¡±


    She paused.


    ¡°And a concern, if the killer were to strike again using this passage.¡±


    ¡°We might have to ask to inspect rooms already occupied,¡± Song warned.


    ¡°Then let us begin with the empty ones and hope that is not necessary,¡± Angharad replied.


    --


    They were methodical about it.


    Like cattle huddling together for warmth, the trial-takers had claimed the rooms nearest to the stairs leading up to the gate room. None had cared to leave the relative safety of that closeness by choosing a room too far away, afraid of being picked off, so that left the pair free reign to explore from the outer edge of the hall going inwards. Most of the rooms were identical, largely bare stone with some dusty furniture and the occasional mural, but by the third Angharad was starting to see some small variations ¨C taller ceilings, different furniture arrangements, thicker walls.


    It was once they entered the fifth room that Song suddenly stopped before setting foot past the threshold.


    ¡°Wait,¡± the Tianxi said. ¡°Look at the size of the room.¡±


    Angharad cocked her head to the side.


    ¡°It is one of the smaller ones,¡± she said. ¡°In both wall and ceiling.¡±


    ¡°And the last one also had a larger wall than usual,¡± Song said. ¡°How large would you say the space between those two rooms is?¡±


    ¡°Large enough for a person to move through,¡± Angharad replied.


    She would admit to a modicum of excitement, exploring ancient ruins like Mother once had. That it was not for the honor of the High Queen but an attempt at finding a murderer muted the feeling, admittedly, but did not smother it entirely.


    Much as Angharad would have liked to claim she had been the key to it all, it was all Song.


    The Tianxi took a single look at the wall before humming and moving away while the noblewoman began patting it for irregularities. Thirty heartbeats later, while she tried to push in a small indent on the wall, Song let out small laugh before there was a soft clicking sound. She had been looking at the stone bedframe, where it was pressed against the wall, and pushed in a small gargoyle head. Angharad looked around for an opening and found a span of wall besides the bed was slightly jutting out.


    ¡°There,¡± she said.


    The other woman nodded. Song tugged at the stone delicately, raising it up perpendicular to the wall until it revealed a window in the wall. There was no light inside, but there did appear to be a narrow tunnel ¨C not tall enough to stand, only to crawl.


    ¡°Well now,¡± Song muttered. ¡°See that?¡±


    Angharad came close, lowering herself so her face was the height of the opening, and her eyes narrowed. There was a thin coating of dust on the tunnel floor, but it was not uniform: someone had crawled here before them.


    ¡°That might be our killer¡¯s work,¡± she said.


    ¡°Hard to identify someone by their knees than their feet,¡± Song said. ¡°And there¡¯s no lack of other provenances for dust. Still, it should be worth a look.¡±


    Angharad nodded her agreement. Song took in a lantern and then crawled into the tunnel while Angharad, out of a need for certainty, went back and made sure the door to the room was closed. There was no lock, so it was the best they would get.


    In she went.


    --


    Angharad soon learned that her companion being around three inches shorter and significantly less broad at the shoulders made a difference when crawling through a confined space.


    Wiggling was intolerably undignified, but needs must. When the tunnel turned a corner, into the wall whose thickness had alerted them at the possibility of the passage, it thankfully broadened. It also rose, almost like steps, until the two of them found themselves above the ceiling. Though the space was still cramped above, it was now quite broad: it seemed as large as the rooms under it, almost like an attic. Song crawled to the edge and let out a noise of surprise.


    ¡°There are holes in the eyes of gargoyles,¡± she said. ¡°You can look outside from here.¡±


    Angharad joined her as best she could, pressing her face against the stone when she saw an opening. Song had spoken true: if such eyeholes continued all the way through, it would be possible to see across most of the temple by simply moving a little. Not even Lan in her hiding place would have had such a fine vantage.


    ¡°No dust here,¡± Angharad noted. ¡°We cannot know if the killer noticed as well.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d think it likely,¡± Song replied. ¡°Especially since-¡±


    She was interrupted not by Angharad but by the muted sound of people talking. Both stilled for a moment, trading a look before realizing the noise came from further out. By unspoken accord they crawled closer, the voices becoming clear enough they could make out both speakers were women. They were, the Pereduri belatedly realized, getting closer to their own room. And there was more: Song called her attention to the floor ceiling beneath them, the way the lantern light touched it. If you looked from the right angle, the stone became translucent ¨C like looking through dark glass.


    They followed the voices, and when they came to rest around their room¡¯s ceiling to peery through it became plain who they were looking at: Isabel was seated on the bed, talking to Lady Ferranda who stood facing her. Intonations were a little difficult to make out, but the words were clear.


    ¡°-rudeness,¡± Isabel was saying. ¡°There is no need for us to be at odds.¡±


    ¡°Let us keep moving,¡± Angharad said, suddenly uncomfortable.


    It was, she felt, rather uncouth to listen in on the private conversations of a lady. Especially one a woman had intentions for. Song looked amused but prepared to concede.


    ¡°Even if you blast your contract at me all day, it will do nothing,¡± Lady Ferranda said. ¡°There is nothing for it to work with.¡±


    Angharad stilled. Isabel had a contract? Her eyes found Song¡¯s. The Tianxi did not look surprised. Angharad grimaced, then gestured for them to leave again.  Contract or not, eavesdropping was uncalled for. This time Song shook her head. She had no intention of leaving.


    The noblewoman hesitated, but ended up staying.


    ¡°Inventions do you no good,¡± Isabel replied. ¡°I understand you are distressed but-¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not the Cerdans, Ruesta,¡± Ferranda cut in. ¡°I¡¯m not trying to fuck you, wounded doe eyes won¡¯t work on me. Even less after seeing you handle them: they¡¯re no paragons, I¡¯ll admit, but your game was a nasty piece of work.¡±


    ¡°I did no such thing,¡± Isabel firmly replied. ¡°If I played the diplomat, Ferranda, it was to help us all survive. We are not all our father¡¯s favorite, allowed to cavort with foreigners and go hunting for days at a time. If peace is all I can wield, I will make the most of it.¡±


    ¡°Poor, harmless little Isabel,¡± the other woman mocked. ¡°Did you think I wouldn¡¯t look into you when word spread we¡¯d share a Dominion year? A trail of boys and girls with broken hearts, not one of them with a single bad thing to say about you. Not a single one. Strange, that.¡±


    ¡°Now you¡¯re flailing,¡± Isabel coldly replied. ¡°Mind control is forbidden under the Iscariot Accords. It would be the end not only of myself but every soul in House Ruesta.¡±


    Ferranda Villazur was growing unhinged, Angharad thought. First she had lied about the gates and now she threw wild accusations seemingly without a shred of proof? She had thought the blonde infanzona the most prepared for the trials, but perhaps that was the reason for this: even after all her preparations, she had suffered loss after loss.


    ¡°Yes, that did get me thinking,¡± Ferranda said. ¡°Asking around too much would have brought your house down on me, but I got enough for a guess: you are, Isabel, seen through the kindest possible mirror. People see the parts they like more and those they dislike less.¡±


    Angharad blinked. That was¡­ possible, she supposed, though Ferranda had yet to bring so much as even a sliver of evidence. It would have been unfair to revisit every conversation she¡¯d had with Isabel with a colder eye, but for that Angharad forced herself not to doubt wormed its way in.


    ¡°I refuse to humor this nonsense any further,¡± Isabel flatly said. ¡°If you did not come to apologize, you may leave.¡±


    ¡°What would be your price, though?¡± Ferranda continued, imperturbable. ¡°It ought to be subtle, your contract certainly is. I kept guessing and getting it wrong, I¡¯ll admit. I only figured it out when we met again at the Old Fort, after the Trial of Lines.¡±


    ¡°I said,¡± Isabel repeated, rising to her feet, ¡°you may leave.¡±


    ¡°You hid it well, but before someone said my name you did not recognize me,¡± the other infanzona chuckled. ¡°I thought that was insane, that we were only slightly acquainted but hardly strangers, and that was when it hit me. You always pay such close attention to people¡¯s clothes. Not only other nobles but everyone. I thought you were a snob, but there¡¯s more to it than that.¡±


    A pause.


    ¡°It¡¯s what you use to tell us apart, isn¡¯t it? Since you forget faces.¡±


    Isabel sighed, brushing back her hair.


    ¡°It must be comforting, Ferranda, to have a story to tell yourself about how a scheming villain is responsible for all your woes,¡± she said. ¡°I don¡¯t begrudge you that, considering.¡±


    She leaned forward.


    ¡°But we both know the truth is simpler: you started fucking the help, compounded the error by catching feelings and then got him killed when you came up with a foolish scheme to keep him around as a lover when you wed,¡± Isabel said. ¡°Grieve your Sanale all you like, Ferranda, but his death was no doing of mine. Go throw your wild conspiracies at another.¡±


    ¡°Speak his name again,¡± Ferranda said, ¡°and you will be swallowing your teeth.¡±


    ¡°You might not survive the consequences of that,¡± Isabel said.


    ¡°How long do you think you can hide behind Tredegar?¡± Ferranda snorted. ¡°You sunk your hooks quick and she¡¯s soft-hearted, but she¡¯s not a fool. She¡¯ll figure out you¡¯re just using her.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t doubt she would, if that was what I was doing,¡± Isabel patiently replied. ¡°She is very clever, for all the usual Malani obsessions. Not that it is any of your business, but I am quite fond of her and intend on some sweetness before we part ways. What we are not is in love, because I am not a fucking fool.¡±


    Ferranda laughed.


    ¡°Manes, but you are ice cold,¡± she said, almost admiring. ¡°I thought there¡¯d be a crack, a bit of guilt, but you might as well be a statue.¡±


    The taller infanzona took a step forward, Isabel warily stepping back.


    ¡°I imagine it must be maddening, living in a world of strangers that all love you,¡± Ferranda said. ¡°Like we¡¯re all dolls, not quite real.¡±


    Isabel paused, then laughed incredulously.


    ¡°Oh,¡± she said. ¡°So that¡¯s what you think, what this cheap piece of theater is about. You believe that I am the killer ¨C or what, talked someone else into killing the Tianxi twin and that poor beaten wife?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve seen you talk with Tristan and-¡±


    ¡°You idiot,¡± Isabel chuckled, shaking her head. ¡°If you want a killer, you should be looking at him. I do not know what he did, but Beatris was afraid. Has no one else noticed that his supposed box of medicine does carry an awful lot of poison?¡±


    Ferranda snarled.


    ¡°Do you think I¡¯m an idiot?¡± she said. ¡°There is no goddamn killer, Isabel. You came to the Dominion to rid yourself of the Cerdan brothers after screwing with their heads beyond fixing, only you can¡¯t afford the consequences. So you then made up a fake murderer to blame for it so House Cerdan won¡¯t just ignore the unspoken rules and step on the Ruesta afterwards.¡±


    Another step forward. This time, Isabel stood her ground.


    ¡°A nudge here and there, always others doing your bloody work for you,¡± Ferranda said. ¡°Who¡¯d you talk into the first kill? Yaretzi saw you sneak out of your tent, when she was on watch that night on the hill.¡±


    ¡°Ah, yes,¡± Isabel mocked. ¡°Right before I used my magical powers to make the victims stay asleep. Losing both my maids and my sworn guard before we even finished the second trial was clearly some grand scheme, and not at all a series of disasters. Here, I shall do it again.¡±


    The infanzona snapped her finger.


    ¡°How strange,¡± Isabel coldly said. ¡°Here you still are, awake and your throat gone unslit.¡±


    ¡°I will figure it out, how it was done,¡± Ferranda said. ¡°See if I don¡¯t. And when that moment comes, Isabel, you¡¯ll pay for every part of this.¡±


    Face cold and dignified, the other infanzona went for the door and ripped it open.


    ¡°Out,¡± she said. ¡°Else I will scream for help.¡±


    ¡°This isn¡¯t over,¡± Ferranda said.


    ¡°No, I suppose not,¡± Isabel said. ¡°So while you are out there digging, see if you can figure something else out for me. You see, when my father bought information on the Bluebell a detail stuck out to me.¡±


    She leaned forward.


    ¡°Do ask your good friend Yaretzi why she¡¯s over a foot shorter than she¡¯s supposed to be, Ferranda. I am most curious as to the answer.¡±


    Ferranda snorted, walking out, and in her wake Isabel stood there alone. Unaware she was being seen. The infanzona then sighed and closed the door, going to lie down on the bed. Angharad swallowed, avoiding Song¡¯s silver eyes.


    She had, it seemed, a great deal to think about.

 Chapter 34

    As usual, Angharad Tredegar being decent proved to be very inconvenient.


    Instead of the hour or so Tristan had planned on waiting until the crew began crossing the shattered hall, he had to wait more than the double. Though he never came close enough to see more than their silhouettes in the distance ¨C too much of a risk, with Song Ren around ¨C he caught a glimpse of them leaving and let out a breath of relief. Finally. The thief had learned patience but never learned to love it. Once they were out of sight, Tristan set about his work: finding Augusto Cerdan¡¯s passage back to the Old Fort.


    Listening to the man¡¯s blathering had yielded a vague idea of where it should be located. Though the infanzon had been careful not to mention where the crevasse he¡¯d fallen in actually was, he had been all too eager to boast about how quickly he had made his way through the mirror maze itself. Tristan had memorized the directions he¡¯d allegedly gone in, significantly narrowing down the locations where the crevasse could be. It had been the part of the infanzon¡¯s words he truly narrowed in on, only lending half an ear to the rest.


    The thief¡¯s fingers clenched. If he had listened to the rest more carefully, heard the hints, then maybe¡­


    ¡°Glaring at that slab of crystal won¡¯t move it,¡± Fortuna advised him.


    Well, certainly not now that she was sitting on it.


    ¡°You know I¡¯m going to be climbing that,¡± he said.


    Instead of getting out of the way as was the implied request, the goddess stretched like a cat and posed.


    ¡°I thought you¡¯d be happier after getting to pop a Cerdan,¡± Fortuna said. ¡°Is Vanesa¡¯s last hurrah still spoiling the taste?¡±


    Tristan¡¯s face went blank.


    ¡°There were hints, in retrospective,¡± he evenly said. ¡°Abuela was right: I let my guard down and immediately things began to slip my notice.¡±


    Fortuna snorted.


    ¡°Yeah, because that¡¯s what you¡¯re torn about,¡± the golden-eyed goddess mocked. ¡°Sure. You¡¯re a tough ol¡¯ rat, much too tough to be sad about the nice old lady that you liked offing herself.¡±


    He gritted his teeth.


    ¡°Taunt all you like,¡± he said, ¡°you can¡¯t deny that-¡±


    ¡°She was already dead, Tristan,¡± Fortuna cut through. ¡°She wasn¡¯t going to get that leg amputated no matter what you said. She just couldn¡¯t see a live worth living with one leg.¡±


    Quicksilver anger rose, swift and blinding.


    ¡°You think I don¡¯t know what?¡± he snarled. ¡°One eye, one leg ¨C she would lose her shop even if she went back.¡±


    He passed a hand through his hair, anger still clenching his jaw tight.


    ¡°She had to know I¡¯d give her the poison if she asked, Fortuna,¡± he said. ¡°That I wouldn¡¯t balk at getting rid of Ocotlan, that I¡¯d dose it right so he died out in the maze instead of at the fucking kitchen table with everyone watching. She did it this way because she wanted to be caught.¡±


    A part of that, he figured, must be so the blame couldn¡¯t fall on him if it came out the poisons were his. But the greater part had been that Vanesa simply did not want to live past that morning. She had not wanted imprisonment or pain, so she had drunk the poppy and confessed to a man bearing a pistol and the duty to use it. He cursed and felt like kicking the slab of crystal even though it would do nothing but bruise his toes.


    ¡°There was no place in that decision for you to stick your nose in,¡± Fortuna said. ¡°She picked her dice and rolled them ¨C what came after that was between her and the table.¡±


    ¡°I am not so much of a hypocrite as to deny someone the settling of their dues,¡± Tristan tiredly said. ¡°But she was worth more than an Ocotlan.¡±


    You could find the likes of the bruiser at any tavern of the Murk: strength paired with cruelty was a coin no city ever grew poor with. Kindness, offered unstintingly to strangers? That was a rare good.


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t an even trade, that¡¯s all,¡± he murmured.


    ¡°Sometimes you just have to take the loss,¡± Fortuna replied, not unsympathetically.


    But not, he thought, with sympathy either. She was a goddess, the Lady of Long Odds. Fortuna would never be able to see the world through anything but those lenses, and it was not in her nature to truly mourn a loss. How could she, when the bone of her was to roll the dice until that one a in a thousand victory came roaring into life? Losing taste for the conversation, Tristan opened his bag and put on the leather gloves.


    He had work to do and he was already behind on the timetable.


    --


    It took a little under an hour to find Augusto Cerdan¡¯s saving grace.


    The search grew easier once Tristan was certain the man had lied, which given that he was dealing with an infanzon he had assumed was the case anyhow: his lordship had not gotten anywhere as far in the mirror hall as he had claimed. As the outskirts of the shattered grounds were the easiest to get around in, this proved to be a stroke of luck.


    The crevasse in questions was long and thin, like a slicing wound in the earth, and half-covered by a crumpled wall. The wall had broken into pieces when a chunk of ceiling fell onto it, which made reaching a part of the crevasse broad enough to pass through simple ¨C if exhausting ¨C work. Tristan dragged away sharp chunks of crystal, glad for the thickness of the leather gloves, until there was room enough to see into the depths. Which were, he was somewhat amused to see, not all that deep.


    Lantern light revealed the fall was only seven feet or so. It also confirmed he had the right place: he spied a stray brass button that had not a speck of dust on it, unlike the rest of the floor. Someone had recently gone through here.


    Tristan lowered himself down and pocketed the button ¨C that made three, added to the stone pair from the pillar he¡¯d split between his pocket and his boot ¨C before tugging the rope down after him. The space down here was a narrow crypt whose ceiling was so low he had to stay on his knees, empty tombs flanking him from both sides. After maybe thirty feet of cramped crawling, the crypt ended and there was drop into a much larger room.


    Larger and rather unusual: there was nothing in there save for a bridge over dark, oily waters. The floor was paved, faded grey and yellow tiles with geometric shapes within. On the opposite side of the bridge was a closed door of a metal so worn the thief could not tell what it was.


    Tristan did not have to be told to know a god dwelled here.


    This must be the seat of the test Augusto Cerdan claimed to have beaten. Shimmying out of the crypt, Tristan dropped onto the tiled floor and took a moment to catch his bearings. Dusting off his shoulders the thief rose, lantern high, and cleared his throat.


    ¡°So how might one go about earning the right to cross the bridge?¡± Tristan called out.


    Movement caught his eye. It looked like a stray dog ¨C the same faded grey as the tiles, its eyes and teeth the same yellow ¨C but he knew better than to believe what he saw. The god might be pretending it had been nestled against the back wall on the other side of the bridge, just now rising, but the thief would not have missed it were it truly there. The stray dog, stray god, trotted to the middle of the bridge before stopping. It lay down there, almost lazily.


    ¡°Supplicant,¡± the god greeted him.


    Its voice, he thought, sounded like a brush against a tile. Like someone painting.


    ¡°God of the land,¡± he replied, bowing his head.


    ¡°You may take my test to earn passage,¡± the dog told him, ¡°or you may pay the toll and cross.¡±


    He cocked his head to the side.


    ¡°Your test being?¡±


    ¡°There are six circles hidden among the tiles,¡± the god said. ¡°Find them and you may pass through here as you will.¡±


    That, he thought, sounded like one of those tests that would be much harder than they seemed.


    ¡°And the toll?¡±


    The dog opened its maw happily, the teeth ¨C yellow but in a way that defied the description of dirty, too uniform in color and perfectly formed ¨C it showed licked by a grey tongue.


    ¡°I need paint,¡± the god. ¡°Fresh paint. The colors fade.¡±


    Tristan was not a fool.


    ¡°You want my blood,¡± he stated.


    ¡°Three drops,¡± the dog god said. ¡°You smell of an interesting life. Your hue will not soon fade.¡±


    The thief swallowed.


    ¡°The man who came here before me,¡± Tristan said. ¡°He paid the toll, didn¡¯t he?¡±


    The dog nodded. The thief mentally tipped his hat to Augusto Cerdan ¨C he had, in truth, been more inclined to believe the infanzon a victor than not. It ought to be amusing to find out how long he¡¯d kept up the lie around the maze crew.


    ¡°It was shallow paint,¡± the god said. ¡°Too much of the same, easily yellowed. Yours will be a grey, I think. That always takes time.¡±


    Giving a god blood was not as dangerous as the faint-hearted assumed. Tristan had done so infrequently to the Rat King when offering prayer and twice to the Capricious Bones when he¡¯d had to swim near the bottom of the canals in the Old Town - the Mane was a vicious thing and not above snatching those that dwelled near the depths it claimed as its domain. Besides, Augusto Cerdan had not visibly taken ill from paying the toll. Tristan, however, knew things about this maze that the infanzon did not.


    ¡°Is it him?¡± he asked.


    It was not the stray dog he was addressing. Fortuna stepped past him, fanning herself as she glared at the god on the bridge.


    ¡°It is utterly deplorable manners,¡± she sneered, ¡°to defile a remnant in this way. A god of your age should know better.¡±


    The dog lazily turned to look at her. Directly at her, Tristan saw. As if it could see her standing there.


    And then it changed.


    Its skin bubbled and melted, peeling away in chunks. Thd heard warped, grey and yellow bending and blurring until a wet redness squelched out ¨C coming back together into a shape that was like a hound¡¯s heard traced in tendrils of red, grinning wetly. The sight had him shivering in disgust, the inherent wrongness of what he beheld repellent beyond what words could express.


    ¡°A stray thing that does not know when to die,¡± the Red Maw said, and laughed.


    Tristan¡¯s limbs were shaking. He almost fell to his knees. That voice, that¡­ no, it hadn¡¯t been a voice. It had been like a mouth against his ear, sucking out the wetness inside his skull and feeding upon it. He could feel it still, a susurrant disease lingering inside his brains. The thief convulsed, but it was not his stomach that wanted to throw up ¨C it was his soul.


    ¡°You have decayed,¡± Fortuna said, and her voice like was fresh water at the height of summer.


    Tristan, only now realizing he was on his knees, let out a gasp. He had been drowning on air and never even known.


    ¡°There is a sickness in you, as if your very root grew out crooked,¡± the Lady of Long Odds mused. ¡°Whatever is it you are a god of now it is not what you were born for.¡±


    ¡°The Masters are gone,¡± the Red Maw grinned. ¡°I can eat my fill.¡±


    A hand caught Tristan¡¯s wrist. He blinked in surprised, watching his own curled fingers as Fortuna looked down at him worriedly. He had been about to claw at the side of his head, he realized. To dig and dig through the flesh, until he could rip out the poisonous warmness slithering in through his earholes like an unguarded gate.


    ¡°Focus,¡± she told him. ¡°Think of a coin spinning.¡±


    Mouth dry, gums bleeding against his ragged tongue, Tristan forced himself to see it. To hear it, feel it. The ring of gold as it spun, the glint in the light. The satisfying snap as his thumb sent it spinning. The flat sensation as it landed on his palm. He could feel himself breathe, his heartbeat fearful and steady.


    ¡°- work will not hold me,¡± the Red Maw said. ¡°The Lightbringer¡¯s bastards broke the Work but they cannot rule it. The seal will fail. I will grow and take, take, take taketaketaketa-¡±


    The pressure built against his eardrums like he was at the bottom of the sea, drowning, and as he vainly covered his hears Tristan screamed. Screamed until his throat was raw and his lungs burning, his lips cracked.


    He came to on his knees, weeping as his feverish forehead rested on the cool tile beneath.


    Fortuna was stroking his back. Whispering soothingly.


    ¡°It¡¯s all right,¡± the goddess said. ¡°He¡¯s gone now, Tristan. He left.¡±


    ¡°I,¡± Tristan croaked out, tasting copper on his cracked lips. ¡°Gods.¡±


    He felt like a child again, a wail welling up inside his throat in the face of the unfairness of the world.


    ¡°What did he do?¡± Tristan asked.


    ¡°He looked at you,¡± Fortuna quietly said. ¡°All of him, just for a moment. But you didn¡¯t crack, Tristan. Your mind held.¡±


    The thief blubbered out something that was both relief and terror. Had he truly held? He could not tell. Could not be sure what he had been like, before that awful sound. It felt like he was stained from the inside, like there was rot he would never be rid of.


    ¡°He¡¯s gone now?¡± he asked.


    Begged.


    ¡°When he turned his eye on you, the gods of the maze bit at him,¡± Fortuna said. ¡°Now he must bite them back. His gaze won¡¯t return here for some time.¡±


    Tristan forced himself to his feet. The lantern had tipped over, some oil spilling out, but he did not even try to clean it and harshly yanked it upright.


    He fled across the bridge, into the deep halls, and kept fleeing all the way back to the Old Fort.


    --


    It was as if he¡¯d been in a trance: Tristan, for the life of him, could not have described the path he took to return. It was a blur, a vague sense of movement and stumbling forward.


    It only began to swim back into focus when he was past the shrines, on the open grounds leading to the ramparts. The steadiness of his boots against the stone helped, but the thief felt tired to his very bone. As if life had been wrung out of him. The dull ache pounding away at his skull did not help any. By the time he reached the hole in the ramparts he felt halfway like a person again, but patting away at his hair and straightening his clothes had not been enough. The watchmen on guard both raised their musket at him.


    ¡°Don¡¯t move,¡± the sergeant ordered. ¡°Hands away from your weapons.¡±


    He flicked a glance at the Aztlan watchwoman by his side.


    ¡°Get Basset. He looks like a breach.¡±


    The young woman saluted, throwing him a pitying glance before she left. Tristan had to blink away sleep twice, but even though he was swaying on his feet the watchman¡¯s gun never went down. The Aztlan came back with a young Malani watchman, who was half-dressed and still blinking sleep out of his eyes. He yawned.


    ¡°This the one?¡±


    ¡°Do you see anyone else?¡± the sergeant flatly asked.


    The Malani ¨C Basset, a strange name - rolled his eyes but took a step closer. Tristan eyed him warily, especially when the other man began sniffing at him.


    ¡°Still only one contract,¡± Basset said. ¡°Could have had a brush, but the scent of his spirit is so strong I can¡¯t tell.¡±


    A breach, the sergeant had said. They were looking to see if the Red Maw sunk its hooks in me. How tired was he, for the realization to have taken so long? The sergeant grunted, but after a heartbeat finally lowered his musket.


    ¡°You can come in,¡± he said. ¡°Watch your step, rat. No one¡¯s in a trifling mood after the debacle earlier.¡±


    Tristan slowly nodded, pinching the inside of his own wrist when no one was looking. The pain woke him some, though it would not last long. A debacle? Something to look into when he was more awake. It was hard to tell the time, but by the looks of most lights being out it must have been night. Though more than ready to drop on his bedroll and tumble headlong into sleep, Tristan did not get the chance. One of the curtains further down was moved aside as he approached, Maryam¡¯s head popping out. Blue eyes widened when she saw him.


    Swallowing a groan, Tristan obeyed when she gestured for him to come.


    The curtain fell behind him and they could hardly see each other but that did not stop her from inspecting him.


    ¡°You look half dead,¡± she bluntly said. ¡°What happened to you?¡±


    ¡°The way back was more unpleasant than advertised,¡± Tristan said. ¡°I¡¯m dead tired, a report will have to wait. What¡¯s this I hear about a debacle?¡±


    Maryam grimaced.


    ¡°Lieutenant Vasanti rustled up a crew and went past the locked door,¡± she said. ¡°Twenty went in, armed to the teeth. Nine came back. They drove the god away, wounded it, but they could not score a kill.¡±


    That, the thief thought, was going to be trouble.


    This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    ¡°What were they trying to do?¡±


    Maryam leaned closer.


    ¡°Looking for the brand you gave Francho,¡± she whispered. ¡°They went where you said and did not find it, so Vasanti flew into a rage. Had all our rooms searched while we were put under arrest.¡±


    He closed his eyes. Tristan could almost feel a second, larger headache looming behind his current one. That assault had been reckless of the lieutenant. Why had she made her attempt now, when instead she could have reached out to her superiors to gather support? He asked Maryam, but she had no more idea than he and other news just as pressing besides.


    ¡°The brand works,¡± Maryam told him. ¡°We smuggled it into the room, the one with the engine they¡¯ve had us studying, and it reacted. We shut the device down before the guard could notice, but I bargained with Lieutenant Wen and in three hours we are going back  - Sergeant Mandisa will have the watch shift, she is to cover for us.¡±


    Tristan almost wept. Only three hours? He needed three days, not this pittance. But he could not afford to miss Francho¡¯s discoveries.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be there,¡± he sighed.


    Every ounce of his flesh felt exhausted and there was still one thing he needed to do before he could sleep.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to need your help,¡± he said. ¡°I hit a rusty piece of metal earlier. I need to clean the wound or I¡¯m risking lockjaw.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s going to sting,¡± Maryam said.


    He grimly nodded. They¡¯d have to open it anew and clean it with alcohol to be sure nothing caught.


    A fitting end to a bloody day.


    --


    It was Yong who kicked him awake.


    ¡°Up,¡± the Tianxi whispered. ¡°We need to move before Vasanti¡¯s people are back on watch.¡±


    ¡°Lovely to see you too,¡± Tristan muttered back.


    He checked on his bandages before leaving, finding Maryam¡¯s work was still held, and hastily put on his boots before following Yong. They were to be the last one in, the older man told him: Francho and Maryam were already inside. They hurried to the bastion, the blackcloaks on the walls hardly sparing them a glance, then up the ladder. A few flights of stairs later they were in the room with the aetheric machine and the stripes of cryptoglyphs on the walls. Sergeant Mandisa, Wen¡¯s tall right hand with the easy smile and the utter lack of mercy behind it, was idling at the door. Mandisa was, Tristan had cottoned on early, one of the most dangerous people in the Old Fort.


    She talked about death like someone who thought little of dealing it out.


    ¡°Ah, Tristan,¡± Francho toothlessly smiled. ¡°I am glad to see you¡¯ve returned safely to us.¡±


    ¡°It was a journey,¡± the thief mildly said. ¡°What have you got for us, Francho?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m curious about that myself,¡± Sergeant Mandisa noted. ¡°I thought brands had very specific and narrow uses. It makes more sense for it to be paired with a device on the other side of the pillar.¡±


    ¡°They do,¡± Maryam agreed. ¡°But we can get what we need without having full run of the device.¡±


    The man-sized machine had not changed since last saw it, the golden ally box at the top sprouting spindly levers while beneath it twelve cylinders interlocked with pistons led down into a sideways barrel with a lid of green glass. It was against that dull lid that Francho pressed the brand, and as the old man smiled excitedly light began to spread through the glass. A green glow gently pulsed and everyone¡¯s breath caught: the old wonder had come alive.


    ¡°The machine is not truly functional at the moment,¡± Francho noted. ¡°As you theorized, Sergeant Mandisa, this brand is not the right key to make it work. Thankfully for us, it appears to be resonating with a component in the barrel and the reactions buys us some measure of power.¡±


    ¡°And what,¡± Yong said, ¡°is that power to be used for?¡±


    ¡°My study of cryptoglyphs is relatively shallow, I warn you,¡± the old professor said. ¡°But I am fairly certain that I have identified a combination of levers that causes either ¡®audit¡¯ or ¡®inspect¡¯.¡±


    ¡°We tried it earlier but I cannot make the corresponding Signs so there was no reaction,¡± Maryam said. ¡°It might work now, though.¡±


    ¡°Exciting,¡± Sergeant Mandisa enthused. ¡°Go on.¡±


    Francho glanced at Maryam, who shrugged. The sequence did not seem all that complicated to Tristan¡¯s eye: two levers pulled down, one pulled to the side. Exactly in that order. To everyone¡¯s disappointment, nothing happened.


    Until the green glow winked out.


    The machine shuddered, the gears under the golden frame grinding as the pistons interlocked with the cylinders began to move. Something flickered behind the green glass, but the light did not return. Not there, anyway: to their shared surprise colors bloomed on the wall facing the barrel¡¯s lid. Sergeant Mandisa, who was in the way, was painted with them for a heartbeat before she moved away. Unharmed, to all their reliefs.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be damned,¡± Yong said. ¡°It actually worked.¡±


    It had, Tristan said. Now if he only had an idea what they were looking at. It was, he thought, an eye-searing tableau of green and red. Two wobbly green shapes, one broadly and oval and the other a misshapen triangle, were filled with red tendrils that breached the edge of the shape. They waited a moment longer but nothing changed. The colors on the wall remained, occasionally sputtering dark for a second before resuming. The thief got the sense that they might be running on borrowed time. They all looked rather bemused, save for Maryam: her eyes were on the green shape to the right, unblinking.


    ¡°Sarai?¡± he prompted.


    ¡°That,¡± she said, pointing where she had been looking, ¡°is a map of the Dominion of Lost Things. As seen from a bird¡¯s eye view.¡±


    Doubting her would be foolish when she had used a Sign to commit a map of the Dominion perfectly to her memory. Tristan paused, glancing at the other shape. A badly drawn triangle, he thought, unless¡­


    ¡°So this one is the island from the side,¡± he said. ¡°As if looking through it.¡±


    Sergeant Mandisa went still. It stood out all the more for her usual liveliness. So you know the Red Maw exists, Tristan thought. She was highly ranked enough for that.


    ¡°What is the red, then?¡± Yong frowned.


    Tristan had not kept complete silence over the Red Maw¡¯s existence after finding out its existence with Francho, but he had only broken it for Sarai. The Tianxi veteran was still in the dark. He¡¯s the only one that doesn¡¯t know, now that Vanesa is dead. Perhaps the time for secrecy was past.


    ¡°A god,¡± Tristan said. ¡°One the Watch is keeping contained.¡±


    ¡°Failing to,¡± Sergeant Mandisa mildly said. ¡°None of you are fools, so I expect that I don¡¯t have to tell you flapping your lips will get you killed.¡±


    The threat was so matter-of-fact it was difficult to take offense to it. Besides, Tristan was more interested by her first words: she¡¯d noticed is as well, then. Near the back of the island, the opposite end of the island from where the Bluebell had docked, tendrils of red were breaking past the green shape representing the island. Seen from the side they curled deep below before going forward, which Tristan figured to mean that the Red Maw had begun to burrow its tendrils in the bedrock under the Trebian Sea so it could spread to other isles.


    ¡°Fascinating,¡± Francho muttered.


    The old man was standing close to the colors on the wall, eyes shining with interest.


    ¡°What is?¡± Yong asked.


    ¡°Look at the pattern in the red here,¡± the old man said, pointing to the bird¡¯s eye view.


    Fingers traced along red furrows, the thickest of the red lines.


    ¡°See how they make up a geometric shape?¡± he asked.


    The professor was right. Centered around the mountain they currently stood under there was a perfect hexagon of red.


    ¡°And from the tip of each emanates a slightly smaller line,¡± Francho continued. ¡°That is not a natural occurrence.  Not how no other red tendril gets as large as these, even when they branch out from these artificial furrows.¡±


    Sergeant Mandisa¡¯s jaw clenched.


    ¡°What are we looking at, professor?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Antediluvian work,¡± he said. ¡°I would bet my life on it.¡±


    The Red Maw¡¯s heart was under this pillar, Tristan knew. And now it turned out the pillar was at the center of some sort of titanic Antediluvian work, one of which the golden aetheric machine above was likely a single component instead of the culmination. The view of the island from the side only added more questions: the hexagon line were deep below the surface of the island. It was the lines emitting from the points of the geometric shape that went up towards the ground ¨C and even then only tendrils reached close to the surface.


    What did it mean? His eyes returned to the bird¡¯s eye view, and looking at the broader hexagon lines he tried to think of all the maps he had seen before. Mostly of Sacromonte, admittedly, and¡­ oh.


    ¡°They¡¯re canals,¡± Tristan suddenly said. ¡°The big channels, they are canals to carry something around. The god fucking everything up is supposed to be the water, the means of transportation somehow.¡±


    His memories of the confrontation by the bridge were hazy, like the edges of it had been exposed to an open flame and curled in on themselves, but he remembered what Fortuna had said: whatever it was that the Red Maw was once meant to be, it had deviated from that root. The corruption is about the way it feeds, Tristan thought. It¡¯s eating more than it should and that¡¯s making it crooked somehow. Only the thief could not see how it would: all gods fed with ceaseless hunger. Even those who grew strong enough to manifest did not set aside that all-consuming desire.


    So how could the Red Maw feeding be a deviation?


    ¡°That explains why the smaller red roads look so small and shoddy, then,¡± Yong noted. ¡°They were built by the god, not by the Ancients.¡±


    Tristan breathed in. It takes to grow, he thought. The Red Maw did. But what if it isn¡¯t supposed to grow? What if the god the Antediluvians had trapped beneath their great machinery was meant to stick to the canals they had built and never spread beyond? That¡¯s how it serves as water: it eats on one end and spits out on the other, moving life or aether or whatever the Antediluvians wanted moved. Only when the Old Night fell the Red Maw had stopped spitting out what it ate.


    Now it was using that power to grow instead, to spread.


    ¡°Lieutenant Wen needs to be made aware of this,¡± Mandisa said. ¡°We¡¯re done here.¡±


    ¡°What will he do?¡± Tristan asked.


    He forced nonchalance. His bargain with Wen rested on the foundation that he would break the golden machine above, so if the fat Tianxi decided that the situation was too dire to risk ending the lights he was in trouble. The tall sergeant hesitated.


    ¡°Keep to your bargain,¡± the dark-skinned woman finally said. ¡°Prepare for tomorrow as planned.¡±


    Tristan slowly nodded, wondering how much he could trust the pair. Shallowly at best, he thought. He had told Maryam of his deal with Lieutenant Wen, but not the other two ¨C when Mandisa¡¯s loose tongue outed if, it earned him pointed looks. He would have to give explanations, the thief thought. But not here or now.


    As Mandisa had said, they were done here.


    Francho took the brand away from the machine and the colors went out, the green glow returning to the lid for a few seconds before fading. Tristan¡¯s eyes lingered on the brand. Now that he was slightly more rested, he could think of one reason why Lieutenant Vasanti would have pushed for an assault past the locked gate.


    ¡°Sergeant,¡± he said, catching the woman¡¯s gaze. ¡°I need a favor.¡±


    It was small enough she accepted.


    --


    They snuck back to their rooms after that, and Tristan was all too happy to rest a little more. He closed his eyes and was asleep moments later, only to be kicked away after what must have been hours but felt like mere minutes.


    ¡°Yong,¡± he groaned. ¡°Do you need to-¡±


    ¡°Drag him out.¡±


    It was not Yong but two large watchmen grabbing him as the coldly furious voice had ordered. Tristan did not resist, going immediately limp. He would not win the fight and would rather face what would be coming without bruises. Fear killed every last dreg of sleep as the blackcloaks forced him to his feet and twisted his arms behind his back before pushing him forward. He stumbled, bare feet on the cold stone, and found he was being waited on.


    Arrayed in the courtyard were more than two dozen watchmen, what had to be most of the remaining garrison, and none of them said a word as he was dragged to stand before them.


    He quickly found who he was looking for. Lieutenant Wen was seated a kitchen table, biting into some kind pf pastry with Sergeant Mandisa standing by his side, but Tristan did not let his gaze linger. Even if it turned out they were allies, they would not show it now. Not when the source of the voice that had ordered him dragged was glaring down at him.


    Lieutenant Vasanti did not look wounded, for all that she had been part of the ill-fated assault on the pillar, but she did look haggard. Her hair was in disarray, her eyes a little wild. Her anger might be cold, but it was the kind of cold that had something ugly lurking under it. The worst kind, Tristan thought. The two big blackcloaks holding him in place kept flanking him as the lieutenant scowled.


    ¡°You lied to me,¡± Lieutenant Vasanti said. ¡°In your report. We reached the location you described and the brand was not there.¡±


    A rumble of anger from the crowd. How many blackcloaks had there been in the garrison this morning ¨C thirty, forty? If eleven had died, then everyone here had lost at least a friend. Likely more. He would get no mercy from this tribunal if things went badly for him.


    ¡°I also told you that the god was able to enter the room leading there,¡± the thief pointed out. ¡°It nearly killed me in it. I made no promises that everything would still be the same.¡±


    A loud scoff. Sergeant Olvya, he saw. Her smiled was smugly unpleasant.


    ¡°And we are to believe the god left them untouched for centuries and then suddenly changed its mind?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t care what you believe, Olvya,¡± he frankly replied. ¡°I care that I have been dragged to stand before what looks like a hanging crowd on the basis of¡­ I can¡¯t tell, really. Being disliked by two Watch officers?¡±


    He paused.


    ¡°I have heard accusations but no proof,¡± Tristan said. ¡°Yet I am a prisoner. Is this how the Watch handles its affairs?¡±


    That, he saw, struck the mark. Uneasy faces. Lieutenant Wen raised an eyebrow at Vasanti. Still allies, then, Tristan thought. Wen yet had a use for him, so he should be willing to put a thumb to the scales to keep the thief alive if he could.


    ¡°You are not imprisoned,¡± Lieutenant Vasanti bit out.


    The thief smiled pleasantly, turning his pearly teeth to the big blackcloaks holding him.


    ¡°Did you hear that, my lads?¡± he said. ¡°I am not imprisoned.¡±


    He tugged at their arms meaningfully and after they glanced at Vasanti ¨C who snarled out a nod ¨C they released him. They even took a few steps back. Ah, good. Now he might feasibly make a run for it, though fleeing a garrison armed with muskets when he did not even have boots on seemed¡­ well, he¡¯d mark that plan down as suicide with a flourish. You had to start somewhere. And now to account for the piece he¡¯d not got eyes on - where were the others?


    A glance flicked backwards showed him that armed watchmen were standing in front of the other occupied rooms. When Yong opened his curtain a musket was pointed at him and a harsh order had the Tianxi closing it. There would be no help from there.


    Worse, there was another blackcloak going through his affairs and she came out with a noise of triumph. The watchman was, he saw, holding a button in her hand. A stone button, one of those that could serve as a key to the locked door in the pillar. Probably the one in my coat, he decided. The one in his boot was well-hidden.


    ¡°Found it, ma¡¯am,¡± she called out. ¡°He has a key, like you said.¡±


    ¡°And there we are,¡± Lieutenant Vasanti smilingly said. ¡°Evidence, as you requested. You had a way to get in there and take the brand.¡±


    Tristan smiled pleasantly back, then looked at the watchwoman.


    ¡°You, going through my things,¡± he called out. ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡±


    The blackcloaks blinked at him in surprise.


    ¡°Er,¡± she said. ¡°Dulcia?¡±


    ¡°Dulcia,¡± he repeated. ¡°While you¡¯re still in there, do you happen to see the brand?¡±


    A moment of silence.


    ¡°No,¡± Dulcia conceded.


    Tristan turned his gaze back to Lieutenant Vasanti.


    ¡°Fancy that,¡± he said.


    She snorted.


    ¡°So you hid it somewhere else,¡± Vasanti said.


    ¡°I could have done that, yes,¡± Tristan easily said. ¡°I could also be the King of Izcalli. Are we dragging people out of their beds in the middle of the night for coulds now, lieutenant?¡±


    Wen bit into his pastry, which was more than halfway finished, and loudly swallowed. There were flakes all over his chin.


    ¡°He¡¯s not wrong,¡± the Tianxi lieutenant said. ¡°You have a key too, Vasanti. How close of an eye did you keep on it?¡±


    The old woman turned on the other officer, face twisted with anger.


    ¡°Are you implying one of us did this?¡±


    ¡°I am stating that anyone could have used your key, or his for that matter,¡± Lieutenant Wen evenly replied. ¡°You want us to execute a trial-taker on grounds this thin? We¡¯ll all answer to Commander Artal for it.


    He paused.


    ¡°Unless you¡¯re asking for us to send falsified reports about the whole business,¡± Wen said. ¡°Is that the case?¡±


    ¡°Of course not,¡± Vasanti said.


    A little too quickly.


    ¡°Then make a better case,¡± the Tianxi advised. ¡°I¡¯m not getting another black mark on my record just because you want to pin the blame for today¡¯s fuckup on some Sacromonte rat.¡±


    That had hard eyes turned on her, but it did not last.


    ¡°Eleven of us died, Wen,¡± Lieutenant Vasanti said. ¡°Now you want to let the only person with answers walk away?¡±


    The mood, which had been going Wen¡¯s way, turned sharply back her way. Vasanti wasn¡¯t leaning on reason, Tristan thought. She was using anger, and anger always got a bite. Most of the people here must already have black marks on their record to have gotten this assignment in the first place, he thought. It¡¯s not as strong a deterrent for them.


    ¡°Don¡¯t go putting words in my mouth,¡± Wen dismissed. ¡°You want answers? By all means, get them. But this playacting is wasting everyone¡¯s time. By morning either we¡¯ll have a legitimate reason to put a bullet in his skull or we¡¯ll have to let him take the trial.¡±


    A pause.


    ¡°So are you going to drag him in a corner for a real interrogation,¡± the Tianxi said, ¡°or are you going keep pissing away my good night¡¯s sleep pretending you¡¯re some kind of magistrate?¡±


    Lieutenant Vasanti glared at the other officer, but she saw the same thing Tristan did: Wen had convinced them. The Watch was not a mob or a coterie, it had rules ¨C and Vasanti had not given them good enough a reason to break them, not when there was a way to get answers that wouldn¡¯t get their superiors coming down on their heads. This was, Tristan thought, the best Wen could do for him.


    Getting him out was simply not in the cards, not with this many angry souls out for a scapegoat, so what the Tianxi could offer was to get him away from the mob. To put him in a room with only a few, where he could wheel and deal behind closed doors.


    A swell of gratitude, barely marred by the fact that Wen had essentially just suggested he be tortured for answers.


    ¡°Fine,¡± the old Someshwari hissed. ¡°If you don¡¯t care enough to get answers for the dead, I will.¡±


    ¡°Oh, Vasanti,¡± Lieutenant Wen mildly said, ¡°I do care. Unlike you, I knew their names. It¡¯s why when Commander Artal has you shot for getting more of us killed against his explicit orders, I¡¯ll be sitting in that room with another of these pastries.¡±


    The fat Tianxi smiled, swallowing the last piece and licking his fingers.


    ¡°And I¡¯m sure it will taste delicious.¡±


    Tristan never met his eyes, did not even look at him, but in his mind¡¯s eye he thanked Wen for this last gift.


    He¡¯d just been told something that might save his life.


    --


    The fist dug deep in his belly and Tristan folded, throwing up all over the floor.


    It was not the worst beating he¡¯d ever had. The watchmen were professional about it, hitting places where the damage would not be permanent and measuring their strength carefully. He would hurt, he would bruise, but there would be no broken bones or hidden bleeding.


    ¡°Back in the chair,¡± Lieutenant Vasanti ordered.


    They forced him back up even as his stomach trembled and bile rose.


    ¡°A little to the left,¡± Fortuna whispered into his ear.


    He followed her suggestion when he threw up again, drenching the legs of the watchman most satisfyingly. The man cursed and shoved him into the chair, backing away. The other one laughed, pulling up Tristan¡¯s chin so he was facing Lieutenant Vasanti. The old Someshwari¡¯s gaze was cold, unmoved by the sight of the violence she¡¯d ordered.


    ¡°Where is the brand, Tristan?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Are you familiar with the poetess Iliria¡¯s works?¡± the rat asked.


    ¡°Again,¡± Vasanti said.


    The blackcloak who¡¯d pulled his chin up slapped him, open-palmed. His cheeks were so red by now he barely felt it. They would rotate back to his inner thighs soon.


    ¡°Where is the brand, Tristan?¡± Lieutenant Vasanti asked.


    ¡°There¡¯s this poem in her Little Lies,¡± he said. ¡°The Court of Cats.¡±


    The Someshwari sighed.


    ¡°Choke him.¡±


    The big man seized him by the throat, toppling the chair, and he smacked against the wall. Fingers like sausages squeezed as he tried to breathe. Tristan went into himself, eyes unseeing. He thought of the grave he was in, the shape of it. The feel of the stone under his fingers, the coolness. How his feet pushed against the bottom, how he would have to fold his legs to get out.


    ¡°-enough, he¡¯ll die.¡±


    Tristan gasped, air flooding back into his lungs, and began to cough. The blackcloak he¡¯d thrown up on looked at him carefully, then drew back.


    ¡°He¡¯s fine.¡±


    Lieutenant Vasanti leaned forward.


    ¡°Where is the brand, Tristan?¡±


    ¡°So the second verse,¡± he rasped. ¡°It goes like this-¡±


    The fingers went back around his throat, not even needing an order.


    ¡°To leave the court of cats


    is even simpler done,¡± he got out before the squeeze.


    He gasped blindly, trying to breathe through the grip.


    ¡°Stop,¡± Vasanti said. ¡°Let him finish.¡±


    He croaked out a broken laugh when the fingers released him.


    ¡°For when their hunger comes


    rats are ever sport.¡±


    A long moment of silence.


    ¡°Give me the room,¡± the lieutenant said. ¡°I know what will make him crack.¡±


    Liar, Tristan thought, smiling a bloodied smile. The pair of toughs ¨C for that was all they were, regardless of the color of their cloak ¨C traded surprised glances but obeyed their superior. The door closed on the small dark room, the only lantern lit casting its flickering glare between the two of them.


    ¡°I catch your drift. You want assurances I won¡¯t kill you when I have the brand,¡± Vasanti said. ¡°Why should I even believe you know where it is?¡±


    ¡°Because you want to,¡± Tristan rasped. ¡°Getting your hands on it is the only way you¡¯re living through the month.¡±


    The Someshwari¡¯s eyes narrowed. Ah, had she thought he wasn¡¯t listening? Vasanti herself had told him she was no longer allowed to try the pillar, that the attempts on the cog room had gotten too many watchmen killed. And now she had another eleven corpses to answer for, going against explicit orders. She was going to get shot for that, as Wen had said.


    Unless she had something to show worth that many deaths.


    ¡°You really are a nasty little rat, aren¡¯t you?¡± she said. ¡°Always scurrying around everyone¡¯s business.¡±


    He snorted.


    ¡°Come on,¡± he said. ¡°How many reasons are there for you to get reckless enough for an assault? You think you figured out the tile combination that will open the front gate. You need the brand because you think it¡¯s what will get the device working.¡±


    The tile device in the room just past the one where he had found the brand, the one where the god had almost killed him. Vasanti must have figured them out even though the matching tiles on the iron gates had no symbols on them. The old woman stared at him for a long time.


    ¡°I was right,¡± she suddenly said. ¡°I can¡¯t let you into the Watch. It¡¯s too late for you.¡±


    Tristan blinked, for an instant lost.


    ¡°You think you¡¯re the only one Nerei ever trained, boy?¡± Vasanti harshly said. ¡°You¡¯re the third I¡¯ve met. And both were fucking monsters, just like their maker.¡±


    The Someshwari leaned forward.


    ¡°I took it easy on you, tried to nudge you off the trials so you could return to your old life, but always you doubled down,¡± she said. ¡°The disease is already in the bone.¡±


    He closed his eyes. Anger had not come to him so far, not when he was in the grave and he had yet to buy his way out. Anger, fear, they did not help. But now it came anyway.


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t even about me.¡±


    His eyes fleshed.


    ¡°Everything,¡± he said with excruciating calm, ¡°was part of your pissing match with someone not even on this fucking island.¡±


    The old lieutenant sneered.


    ¡°You have no idea what-¡±


    They were past that now.


    ¡°I don¡¯t care,¡± Tristan laughed. ¡°And I don¡¯t need to, Vasanti, because you¡¯re going to give me what I want.¡±


    ¡°Should I call the boys back in?¡± she coldly said.


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter if you do,¡± he said. ¡°Because at the end of the day, Vasanti, you¡¯re a coward. You¡¯re afraid of Abuela, afraid of what you¡¯ve done, but most important of all you¡¯re afraid to die ¨C and I¡¯m the only one who can tell you where the thing you need to live is.¡±


    And under the black cloak, under the years and the authority and all the arrogance of someone used to being on the right side of the gun, Tristan knew what he was looking at.


    Vasanti was a rat.


    ¡°I have people searching,¡± she said. ¡°Do you think stashing things in a ruined bastion or one of the holes outside will work?¡±


    ¡°I can wait,¡± Tristan replied. ¡°Longer than you, I reckon.¡±


    Vasanti got up, walked out. Moments later, the two thugs walked in. Tristan closed his eyes and thought of the grave.


    --


    And hour later Lieutenant Vasanti returned.


    She bought her way out of her grave and with that same coin Tristan bought his way out of his. After Vasanti declared him innocent of everything to the Watch garrison, Remund Cerdan¡¯s evil deeds were revealed. He had stolen Tristan¡¯s key and hidden the brand, a location the thief obtained from the infanzon before his death in the maze. He told the lieutenant where the brand was after and she flew into another rage.


    After all it was in the Watch¡¯s own armory, just as he¡¯d asked Sergeant Mandisa.


    Tristan watched the relief on Lieutenant Vasanti¡¯s face afterwards, how it stayed there, and wondered if she would figure it out before the end. Tomorrow, come morning, Vasanti was going to get those iron gates open and then go through them with every blackcloak still loyal to her. Go plumbing the depths of the pillar for secrets and wonders that would be worth eleven corpses in the eyes of her superiors.


    That expedition should serve as a perfectly serviceable distraction for when Tristan pushed her right back into her grave.

 Chapter 35

    No one died in the night.


    A relief, but it did little to lift the mood when they began gathering in the gate room half an hour before the gate forward opened. Angharad had not slept well, wrestling with what she had heard ¨C trying to sort out the truth from the lies. Song had tried to approach her about it but the Pereduri put her off. Unfair as it was, she resented the Tianxi for forcing her hand about eavesdropping on Isabel and Ferranda. Her world had been simpler before that conversation.


    Now Angharad must weigh everything. Was she being unfairly generous, when she thought something good of Isabel Ruesta? Was a contact bending her mind? Or was she being unfair by picking at every thought this way when Ferranda Villazur had brought nothing but accusations. A contract was difficult to prove, but it was just as difficult to disprove. What could Isabel do or say to put Ferranda¡¯s allegations to rest? Nothing. And some of Ferranda¡¯s other accusations had been dubious, the talk of plot and there being a false killer.


    Grief at the death of a lover ¨C and to think Sanale had been that, Angharad would never have suspected ¨C could darken one¡¯s mind. Ferranda might have been lashing out.


    Or am I looking at Isabel¡¯s chances through the kindest mirror?


    The thoughts circled like dogs chasing each other¡¯s tails. There was no clear liar here, no monster whose warped pale face could be revealed by ripping off a mask. Just as she had through the night, Angharad wrestled with her doubts and stared moodily ahead. She did not shun Isabel, but neither did she engage in conversation ¨C she lengthened her stride to stay ahead and prevent it. It left her at Acanthe Phos¡¯ side on the way to the temple-fortress, the blemished traitor needing only a single quelling look to stay silent the whole way.


    This time, when they went down the stairs, everyone kept a large distance from each other.


    The temple-fortress¡¯ red stone awaited them at the bottom of the cauldron again, wind whistling softly behind them as they passed the bronze gates still open wide. This time, when they passed through the eclectic hall of treasures and trinkets, Angharad hung back. She left the front to others, those yet to become victors. They could deal with the spirit themselves.


    ¡°You came back!¡±


    The massive peafowl leapt down from her dais, dead god jostling on her back, and with all the dignity of an excited child trotted towards them. Flicking her tailfeathers happily, she swayed to the sides in celebration.


    ¡°I thought you¡¯d died,¡± the mayura confided. ¡°Mortals are so fragile.¡±


    ¡°Not yet,¡± Lord Zenzele said, ¡°but then the day¡¯s just begun. Surely one of us will be up for it.¡±


    ¡°Let us be optimists,¡± Lady Ferranda mused. ¡°I¡¯ll not settle for Xical alone ¨C I choose to believe that, as a community, we can also get Lord Augusto killed.¡±


    The pair, Angharad thought, truly had become thick as thieves. Part of her was glad for them, that their griefs need not be borne alone, but the part of her that must go beyond decency worried. If Lady Ferranda pressed her suspicions and tried to kill Isabel, would Zenzele Duma help her? Angharad did not know and hated that she even had to consider it. This Trial of Ruins, it was like a mire. The longer they stayed in the maze, the deeper they sunk into the mud of their own petty plots and hatreds.


    Sometimes she though the spirits might not be the true peril of this maze.


    ¡°Watch your tongue,¡± the Cerdan snarled, ¡°else you-¡±


    Cozme Aflor¡¯s hand on his shoulder silenced him.


    ¡°We must win tests to reach the Toll Road,¡± the older man said. ¡°By the rules our host has laid down, three champions must still be beaten. Is there one among us that would step forward?¡±


    Angharad scoffed, which drew more than a few eyes to her.


    ¡°An interesting question to ask,¡± she said, ¡°when you are not a victor yourself, Cozme Aflor. Where has yesterday¡¯s boldness gone?¡±


    Unfriendly looks, but most of them were not sent her way. To her dismay, she found support in an unexpected place.


    ¡°She has a point, Cozme,¡± Tupoc said, idly tapping his spear against his shoulder. ¡°Go on then, my bold man, take the vanguard. Are you and Augusto not entirely capable of protecting yourselves?¡±


    Angry, worried looks from both men Tupoc had named. Angharad¡¯s eyes narrowed. A split between them and Tupoc, perhaps? It may be that with Cozme at his side, Augusto had decided he need no longer be the Izcalli¡¯s lickspittle. This is Tupoc calling them to heel, then, she thought. Uncertain as to whether she should allow it to happen, Angharad hesitated until the decision was taken out of her hands. Cutting through the rising tension, Song stepped forward and bowed before the mayura.


    ¡°Honored elder, I would face one of your champions,¡± the Tianxi said.


    The peafowl peered down at her.


    ¡°Do I know you?¡± the mayura asked. ¡°I feel as if I should be pecking your head.¡±


    ¡°I would prefer you do not, honored elder,¡± Song politely requested.


    It was not possible for a bird to pout, given the lack of lips, but the spirit made a valiant attempt nonetheless.


    ¡°Fine,¡± she sniffed. ¡°Refuse my blessing.¡±


    The mayura waited for a moment, perhaps hopeful calling it a blessing would change Song¡¯s mind, but was destined for disappointment.


    ¡°I await the introduction of your champions,¡± Song said.


    The peafowl left in a sulk, returning to the dais to begin her spectacle. Cascades of blue and green silk fell from the ceiling again, the sight less staringly impressive the second time. Curtains surrounded them on all sides as golden light began coursing down. Sounding mor like a Lierganese hawker than an ancient spirit, the mayura began announcing her list of foes again.


    ¡°Hark! Will you face Ojas the Clever, who you must defeat in a contest of riddles where every mistake sees you lowered closer to a pool of-¡±


    Angharad only paid half-hearted attention to the list of champions, knowing there was yet time. At least three victories must still be earned to win the right to reach the very summit of the temple and the path to the Toll Road that lay there.


    ¡°- Thangaraj, master of mists and illusions, whose defeat must come by might of arms. Then there is-¡±


    ¡°Him, honored elder,¡± Song said. ¡°Thangaraj. I will face him.¡±


    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s been a while,¡± the mayura enthused. ¡°Usually they choose Inimai instead, she sounds like a pushover.¡±


    Angharad cocked her head to the side. Was the spirit not the one who had crafted the introductions?


    ¡°I was given to understand,¡± Song said, ¡°that adding restrictions to the test yields greater advances.¡±


    The spirit was visibly pleased at the implication. Also loudly.


    ¡°Yesss,¡± the peafowl hissed. ¡°Tell me.¡±


    ¡°If offer you two oaths,¡± Song serenely replied. ¡°The first is that I will use only a single shot.¡±


    That was¡­ not unwise, Angharad decided. It was rare to be able to reload one¡¯s gun during a duel, and Song had said nothing of her sword. It was a limitation, but not a crippling one.


    ¡°I receive your oath,¡± the mayura said, then hopped back and forth. ¡°Again.¡±


    ¡°I shall not take more than a step away from where I stand when the test begins.¡±


    The spirit cackled.


    ¡°Oh, that is fun,¡± she said. ¡°I receive your oath.¡±


    A pause.


    ¡°Three takes you to the end,¡± the spirit said. ¡°That means a change in terms.¡±


    ¡°I listen, honored elder.¡±


    ¡°If you lose,¡± the mayura said, ¡°you¡¯ll become one of my champions.¡±


    A ripple of unease went through the crowd, though this was not news to Angharad. The peafowl had already told her that the last test had this particularity to it.


    ¡°That is acceptable to me,¡± Song replied. ¡°Shall we begin?¡±


    ¡°When you¡¯re ready,¡± the peafowl happily nodded.


    The Tianxi¡¯s silver gaze swept through them.


    ¡°I will be leaving, then,¡± she said. ¡°Kindly do not lower the number of victors in my absence.¡±


    And on that sharp note, Song walked away.


    --


    Angharad had never seen a test from the outside in this temple, so it was with a curious eye she greeted the changes in the golden light.


    What had before been letters and the silhouette of the champions spread out, the strokes thinning as they came to illustrate some kind of strange circular room. As if alive, the strands of gold moved as clouds of mist over a floor that was full of uneven rises and hidden pits. At the heart of it, sitting on a throne, a small bald man with a grand beard and a pot belly was waiting. He had on his lap a mace with a thick head a strange handle ¨C like a saber¡¯s, with a knuckle-bow guard. The Pereduri had never seen such a weapon before, it must be Someshwari.


    It would take time before Song reached the grounds of the fight, Angharad knew from experience, so she found a pillar to lean against in a corner and drew back from the crowd. Lord Ishaan seemed as if he might have wanted to chat, but he read her expression and elected to leave her in peace. No, it was another who sought Angharad out.


    Lady Isabel Ruesta had dressed with an eye to the practical, even though she was unlikely to be challenging a test today. A high-collared yellow doublet over a pale shirt matched hose of the same shade, tucked into elegant knee-high boots. The sole concession to traditional femininity was the feathered riding hat, angled coquettishly over her black curls. The infanzona was a feast for the eyes, as always, and Angharad would not soon forget how soft her skin had been under her fingers the evening when Isabel had visited her.


    Only she was not so certain she should be fond of that memory, now. The kindest possible mirror, Ferranda had called it. What would that mean, if it were true?


    Isabel came to stand by her side, hands over her lap. Silence held between them. Would not looking at the infanzona undo the effect of her contract, Angharad wondered? Or did Isabel perhaps need touch to seed the veil over one¡¯s eyes? Angharad could not help but wonder even knowing it was unfair, that Ferranda had accused without proof. But how would one go about proving the unseen? A fair question, but so was the opposite: how would one go about disproving it? It the end it was a matter of trust, and Angharad was feeling thin on trust.


    She had uncovered too many lies. It was tiring, to question everything. Enough that she thought it might be better to simply go her own way.


    ¡°Hold out your hand,¡± Isabel suddenly asked.


    Angharad stilled. The other woman noticed.


    ¡°Ah,¡± she said. ¡°As I thought. Please allow me, then, a defense against the accusations Ferranda brought to you.¡±


    Would it be unwise, to agree? Her contract at work? Angharad could have let the dog chase each other¡¯s tails for hours and earned nothing but barks, so instead she set aside her own thoughts and doubts. If her mind was uncertain, then she need only avoid relying on her minds. Isabel Ruesta had been accused and was now asking for a way to prove her innocence that would not be harmful to Angharad.


    By honor¡¯s count, this should be allowed.


    Almost relieved that there was a way around the doubts, the Pereduri offered her hand. Isabel lightly touched it with the tip of her fingers.


    ¡°Beginning now,¡± she said.


    Angharad blinked, eyeing the other woman. A lie? She felt nothing at all. Or perhaps Ferranda¡¯s accusations had been most exaggerated. Isabel breathed out.


    ¡°The Duchy of Peredur,¡± Isabel Ruesta said, ¡°is a barren shithole at the edge of the world, full of slack-jawed yokels who fuck seals and claim they were mermaids.¡±


    The Pereduri drew back in complete and utter startlement, though Isabel kept their hands connected. Past the first surprise at the unexpected vulgarity, anger rose. The infanzona had not only insulted her home, she had called her countrymen liars. Even in jest, and surely this must be in jest for Isabel could not possibly believe it ¨C the infanzona withdrew her hand and Angharad paused. Why could Isabel not possibly believe that?


    ¡°I would have drawn a blade on most everyone here,¡± the Pereduri said, ¡°had they said what you just did. Even knowing it was to prove a point.¡±


    ¡°It is best compared,¡± she said, ¡°to making a plain girl stand in flattering light and clothes. It does not change anything, not truly ¨C a boy who prefers boys will still not take her to bed, nor will one who does not like redheads. But it makes the graceless graceful.¡±


    Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    ¡°And I have been made to see the girl,¡± Angharad plainly said.


    Isabel inclined her head.


    ¡°You have. If you were to choose to be angry over this,¡± she said, ¡°I would not dispute it.¡±


    Angharad¡¯s answering look was cool.


    ¡°What other choice is there, Isabel?¡±


    ¡°Allowing me to explain,¡± she replied.


    ¡°Have I stopped you?¡± Angharad sharply said.


    The infanzona worried her lip.


    ¡°I do not always control it,¡± Isabel said. ¡°When my emotions run high, whatever the emotion be ¨C fear, joy, desire, hate, it makes no difference ¨C I draw on the contract. Sometimes I do not even notice it.¡±


    You could be lying, Angharad thought. And she could trust her own mind, not right now, so instead she trusted in honor.


    ¡°Had you told me this, there would have been no breach in trust,¡± she replied. ¡°You did not.¡±


    ¡°I was afraid,¡± Isabel admitted, ¡°and wronged you because of it.¡±


    The dark-skinned woman breathed in at the stark admission.


    ¡°I will not excuse the act,¡± the dark-haired beauty continued, ¡°but I would tell you what drove me to it, if you will allow.¡±


    Angharad felt little sympathy, and even if she had honor would not have cared for reasons. Still, it was her responsibility to see the entire matter through before making a decision about cutting ties. She nodded permission.


    ¡°You must think me some kind of coldblooded seductress,¡± Isabel ruefully said, ¡°but that is not how it started. My parents, you see, wanted a boy. And when Mother finally gave birth to one, suddenly I was no longer their favorite.¡±


    She breathed out.


    ¡°Infanzones are taught as children that prayer answered is a dangerous thing,¡± Isabel said. ¡°Mine was. I wanted to be the apple of my family¡¯s eye against, instead of that squalling stinking thing, and the Beloved Blossom offered me that.¡±


    ¡°I have never heard of a spirit by that name,¡± Angharad said.


    ¡°There is no reason you should,¡± the infanzona replied. ¡°She is no Mane, hardly an ancient power. But she was so lovely, so glamorous, and why should I distrust a goddess of love promising me that very thing? Only I was wrong, Angharad.¡±


    Isabel¡¯s smile was a melancholy thing.


    ¡°She is, you see, not a goddess of love but of love novels.¡±


    Angharad was Pereduri: she well knew how the difference of a single word could change everything. The infanzona sighed.


    ¡°I did not realize what that truly meant until I was older, when the boys that had been my friends began falling in love with me every time I laughed,¡± Isabel said. ¡°I learned to be wary, to control it, but fear is another emotion ¨C every time I felt dread at the approach of a suitor unwilling to accept a no, the contract bloomed anyway.¡±


    Green eyes lowered to the ground.


    ¡°So I embraced it,¡± she admitted. ¡°Used it to defend myself, set them against each other. Only the Ruesta are not the greatest house of Sacromonte, Angharad. We have superiors, those we must not offend.¡±


    ¡°House Cerdan,¡± she quietly said.


    ¡°They way out was to marry above them, beyond their reach,¡± Isabel said. ¡°And I found a man who would suit, whose contract even dulled my own, but my reputation followed me. He was courteous but kept his distance. Unwilling to give up, I decided to follow him to this island so that I might convince him.¡±


    ¡°And the brothers?¡± she asked.


    ¡°I needed them to win permission to come from my parents,¡± the infanzona said. ¡°And, well, I would not push them into danger but should they seek it out themselves I would not weep of the consequences either.¡±


    Angharad had some notion of what it was like, a boy of nobler blood wanting of you something you did not want to give. She had rubbed elbows with izinduna on the dueling circuit, and some of the young men had taken an interest it was not in her to return ¨C and what noble house did not stand higher than the Tredegar, out in Malan? She fought against the sympathy, but it came anyway. Distrusting herself, Angharad reached for honor again.


    In her dealings with the Cerdan, it could be said that Isabel Ruesta had kept to the exact lines of honor. Hardly in spirit, but that was not for Angharad to judge. It was between the two of them that trust had been broken.


    ¡°Why bring me into it?¡± she asked.


    Isabel hesitated.


    ¡°It was duty, in part, to another noble,¡± she said. ¡°But I will not pretend that I did not notice your eyes on me, or that I misliked the idea of having the protection of your sword arm ¨C or, forgive the crudeness, of a discreet affair with a dashing stranger before stepping into married life.¡±


    Only the man she¡¯d sought must have died when the first wave of trial-takers was slain to the last. Angharad could see how it had all unfolded from there, and found she believed the infanzona. The tale fit the events. She could not take it as truth when she had already been deceived, but neither would she leap to call Isabel a liar. Not that it mattered, for Angharad would follow not her feelings but honor¡¯s lay. And honor tolerated no excuse for what had been done, the secret use of a contract on her. Had it been done by accident, then Isabel would still have been duty-bound to reveal it.


    And Angharad was not callow enough to believe it had all been done by accident.


    ¡°It is not my place to decide where honor lies between you and others,¡± she finally said. ¡°Between us, however, offence was given. Out of respect for the aid you have lent me I will not pursue the matter, but any ties between us are sundered.¡±


    Isabel¡¯s face tightened, but she nodded.


    ¡°Should I come to lead others again, or enter alliance, I would then be honor bound to tell them what I can of your contract while avoiding your private affairs,¡± Angharad added.


    The infanzona hesitated.


    ¡°If you are willing to wait,¡± she said, ¡°I promise to do this myself come the next sanctuary. I fear for my life should it be said before then.¡±


    The Pereduri cocked her head to the side, considering that. It was not an unwarranted fear. Augusto might well try to blame her for everything.


    ¡°Should I suspect you of using your contract on another, I will have to intervene,¡± she warned.


    ¡°That is only fair,¡± Isabel replied without missing a beat.


    Angharad, reluctantly, thought better of her for it. Isabel Ruesta had done wrong, but she was not demanding the right to continue doing it from behind a shield of silence.


    ¡°Then I will agree to that,¡± Angharad said, pushing herself off the pillar. ¡°I believe our conversation, and our ties, have reached a natural end.¡±


    The infanzona looked away, her head lowered enough locks were draped across her face. For a moment Angharad thought she saw cold anger there, but when Isabel turned to her again she found something closer to grief.


    ¡°So they have,¡± Isabel sadly said.


    She inclined her head, Angharad jerking a nod back, and stepped away. The Pereduri did not watch her leave, instead looking at the strands of gold still depicting the champion Song was to face. There was no trace of the Tianxi, an irritating thing even though Angharad knew it unreasonable to expect Song to have risen four shrines up in the amount of time it had taken her to speak with Isabel. Sighing, she forced herself to keep looking at the gold so that she would not have to see if others had noticed her conversation with Isabel.


    When steps came her way, Angharad decided that she would consider enough of taunt by Tupoc as a breach of truce and comport herself accordingly. Only when the person approaching cleared their throat, it was much too high-pitched. Turning a hard stare on whoever had thought it a sound notion to try her now, Angharad blinked when she saw Isabel standing before her. The infanzona smiled a little shyly, offering her hand to kiss.


    ¡°Lady Isabel Ruesta,¡± she said.


    ¡°I-¡± Angharad began, then frowned in confusion ¡°What is this, Isabel?¡±


    ¡°There is nothing between us now, you said,¡± the infanzona replied. ¡°An empty slate. I would fill it again, only properly this time.¡±


    ¡°Nothing has changed from moments ago,¡± she said.


    ¡°Everything has changed,¡± Isabel retorted. ¡°You know of my contract. You know my intentions and what brought me to the Dominion ¨C there is no longer anything hidden between us.¡±


    ¡°I am sure you can find another sword arm,¡± Angharad sharply replied. ¡°There is no need to inflict this on either of us, Isabel.¡±


    ¡°Angharad,¡± the green-eyed woman patiently said, ¡°I no longer need a sword arm. I will not take tests. My sole enemy, Augusto, has worn out several shovels digging his own grave. All that lies ahead of me is patiently waiting until others bring the trial to an end so I can stroll up the path to sanctuary and take a ship home.¡±


    That was¡­ well, she could not find a part that was untrue. Not even when looking for a trap.


    ¡°I do not need anything from you,¡± Isabel said. ¡°I seek your company because I desire it.¡±


    ¡°A blank slate is not the promise of forgiveness,¡± Angharad flatly replied.


    ¡°Then I will have to attempt to charm some measure of it out of you,¡± Isabel said.


    The infanzona had to know that the first whiff of the contract being used on her, Angharad would see it as an offence against her. And still she stood here. The Pereduri said nothing, silence setting between then, but still Isabel stood there, offering her up her hand. Undaunted.


    ¡°I doubt it,¡± Angharad said.


    She did not kiss the hand. Isabel still smiled before she walked away, joining Lan for a chat. As well she might.


    Angharad had replied with three words and not one had been ¡®no¡¯.


    --


    Song¡¯s arrival had the entire room breaking into murmurs.


    The Tianxi, Angharad thought, looked sharper when drawn in gold. Her long braid like a single stroke, her chin like a knife. They watched as Song Ren strode into the room where the champion waited, sitting on his throne. She stopped a dozen feet away from the throne, mist swirling around her. Could she see through it as they could, to the treacherous footing and hidden pits beneath? Angharad knew not, and it worried her.


    The lips of Song and the champion both moved, but there was no telling what they said. The details were not fine enough for that. Whatever the truth, the champion rose from his throne and idly swung his mace. The Tianxi did not move, bound to the oath of never straying more than a step away from where she stood, save for unsheathing her straight sword.


    Then Thangaraj struck, and all breathe in.


    He leapt at Song, who swung through his throat, but the man turned into billowing mist. An illusion? Another Thangaraj was back on his throne, laughing, while they could all see another sneaking behind Song while crouching low. The sneak struck at her from behind, but she narrowly parried the blow ¨C her sword gave, though, and the shaft of the mace still hit her leg. That would no doubt bruise.


    It was a storm of tricks and taunts after that, Thangaraj dying a dozen times to her blade only to be revealed having a drink or lounging at the foot of his throne or picking up pebbles to throw at her. The one time she came close to cutting him down, when he tried a blow from the side after faking having been an illusion, he abandoned his weapon and threw himself into a pit. Moments later he was back out, weapon in hand.


    The champion was toying with her, Angharad thought. Song had yet to suffer more than bruises, but now Thangaraj tried harsher and harsher blows. It was just a matter of time until she took a real wound, and it would be downhill from there. The noblewoman watched with a clenched jaw as Thangaraj mocked her, dancing in close to strike at her with the mace, only Song dropped her sword as she turned.


    The mace went right through the back of her neck, turning into mist and the Tianxi snatched at thin air ¨C grabbing the champion by throat and when he opened his mouth Angharad realized why Song had dropped the sword: she¡¯d been drawing her pistol. The shoved it through his mouth, and smiled a cold golden smile before pulling the trigger.


    One shot, Angharad thought as Thangaraj¡¯s brains splattered the mist. That was what then other woman had bargained for.


    Perhaps she ought not to have worried so much for Song Ren after all, Angharad mused as the others began to cheer.


    --


    Song¡¯s journey back down was faster than the other way around.


    Angharad joined in with the congratulations, which were particularly enthusiastic from Shalini. No one asked the Tianxi how she had seen through the illusion, even though everyone had to suspect it was a contract. The mayura had returned with Song, happy at first but that passed when it was confirmed they now had the right to rise to the summit of the temple-fortress and take the path to the Toll Road. Everyone collected their packs, checked their weapons and then they began moving.


    The mayura pattered behind them nervously. Given the spirit¡¯s size and the sharpness of her beak it would have been a worrisome sight, if the great peafowl did not look for all the world like a dog being abandoned.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to leave,¡± the spirit said. ¡°You can stay the night, you know. It¡¯s safe in here and there used to be a pleasure temple so there¡¯s plenty of beds.¡±


    Lord Ishaan, who she was addressing, slowed his steps and turned to bowed to her as Shalini kept a wary eye on it all.


    ¡°I thank you for the offer, guardian, but we intend to reach the end of the maze today,¡± Lord Ishaan said. ¡°We should not tarry.¡±


    ¡°The road is terrible,¡± the mayura assured them. ¡°Lots of you might die. You should probably just stay here.¡±


    The Someshwari bowed again, giving no further answer. The peafowl tried again, but always she was politely put off ¨C Cozme said he must bear news back to Sacromonte of a death, Acanthe Phos claimed she could not sleep well in temples and Lady Ferranda replied that should she grow exhausted on the Toll Road she was sure to return. Tupoc boldly counter-offered that the spirit should leave with him as his mount, which to everyone¡¯s alarm the mayura seemed to consider.


    ¡°I can¡¯t leave Kshetra¡¯s temple behind,¡± she told Tupoc. ¡°Sorry. You seem like someone who gets in a lot of trouble, it might have been amusing.¡±


    ¡°If you ever change your mind, find me,¡± the Izcalli casually replied.


    By the time the mayura got to her, Angharad felt like the last in a line of boots about to kick a puppy. It was a senseless thing to feel, of course ¨C spirits were not men, could not be treated the same. The mayura must be centuries old, for all that it seemed to have the mind of a cheerful child. Yet when the peafowl suggested she could stay and rest a bit, perhaps spar with the champion Amrinder, Angharad felt like a heel for refusing.


    ¡°I am sorry, honored elder,¡± she honestly said. ¡°Had we the time to spare I would stay the night, but we yearn for the safety of the sanctuary that awaits us beyond the maze. Many of us have lost loved ones in this maze, it is not the quality of your hospitality that drives us to leave it.¡±


    The mayura¡¯s long neck drooped. She looked glum.


    ¡°People never stay unless they¡¯re champions,¡± she said. ¡°I miss when people came to visit, before we crossed the water.¡±


    ¡°Are your champions not fine company?¡± she gently asked.


    ¡°They forget a lot,¡± the peafowl muttered. ¡°I¡¯m happy you fought Amrinder like you did, it brought back a lot of him. They were better when Kshetra was around, more alive.¡±


    The bird sighed.


    ¡°I like that I can do whatever I want now, but I miss him sometimes,¡± the mayura admitted. ¡°He was a good god.¡±


    Was it madness, Angharad thought, to see of herself in a spirit? To see a child surviving their kin, alone in a world that seemed so dark and kept closing in from all sides. It must be, and yet here she was. Seeing that very thing.


    ¡°I miss my family as well,¡± she softly said. ¡°I used to be glad to go away from them for months, out on the dueling circuit, but now I would give the world for having spent those days with them instead.¡±


    She sighed.


    ¡°But I cannot change that,¡± Angharad said. ¡°The past is beyond our reach. All we can do is learn from our regrets.¡±


    She reached for her saber, unsheathing the blade as the mayura watched her curiously. She held out her arm, cutting shallowly on her forearm, and wiped the blade before putting it away. With her now-free hand she touched her blood, wetting the tip of her fingers, and smiled at the spirit.


    ¡°Lean forward, please,¡± she asked.


    The peafowl did, the desiccated corpse of the god on her back jangling forward. Angharad offered a bow.


    ¡°For your fine hospitality I give my thanks, honored elders,¡± she said, and touched the edge of the golden cradle.


    Red stained the metal, though after but a heartbeat the vividness of the color faded.


    ¡°It is but a small offering, but I hope you will have joy of it,¡± Angharad said.


    She bowed again, withdrawing a step, and the mayura¡¯s long neck unbent. The spirit studied her, for a long moment, and then decisively nodded.


    ¡°You¡¯re nice,¡± the mayura decided. ¡°I like you.¡±


    ¡°I like you too,¡± Angharad smiled back.


    The peafowl spirit was dangerous, but so were many of Angharad¡¯s companions. The mayura was not ill-natured, not a drop of malice in her, and for that she had meant her words.


    ¡°You can have my blessing,¡± the peafowl allowed, presenting the top her head.


    The Pereduri paused, unsure what to do.


    ¡°Pet the feathers,¡± the mayura instructed. ¡°They are very soft.¡±


    Angharad could not contain a grin at how proud she sounded of that. With her clean hand she stroked the feathers, the peafowl make noises of approbation. For a second it sounded as if the mayura was whispering something so Angharad leaned closer, but she must have misheard. It was still only that strange purring sound. After a while she ceased, the mayura withdrawing her head.


    ¡°Good luck,¡± the spirit told her. ¡°I hope you don¡¯t die before you die.¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Angharad replied, slightly bemused.


    Still, she was in a lighter mood as she parted way with the spirit and caught up to the others. One was waiting for her at the back.


    ¡°Soft touch,¡± Song mocked, a smile tugging at her lips.


    Angharad stared haughtily down at her.


    ¡°Jealousy is unbecoming of you, Song,¡± she said. ¡°It is not my fault you spurned her blessing when offered.¡±


    ¡°You see right through me,¡± the other woman drily replied, hand over heart.


    They were both grinning by the time they caught up to the rest.


    --


    They went all the way up, feet swallowing the stairs, until they emerged at the heart of the small tower overlooking precipitous heights.


    From there a small wooden bridge filled the gap, taking them to the edge of the great cliffs surrounding the fortress-temple. Forward they went again, eager to find what lay ahead, and as the side of the cliff turned into a massive set of stairs they looked upon the promised Toll Road.


    It looked, Angharad thought, simple enough. At the bottom of the stairs waited a long stone bridge over a rapid river, across which they all saw a riot of lights. Lanterns by the hundreds hanging on what she was moved to see was the end of the cavern, a natural wall. And set into that wall, surrounded by a halo of lanterns, waited a great gate of bronze.


    ¡°Are we clear to cross?¡± Shalini Goel asked, sounding surprised. ¡°I see no shrine left.¡±


    ¡°Look closer at the bridge,¡± Lady Ferranda replied.


    It was only then Angharad noticed them. Markers like those used for miles back in Malan, raised stones. Set in the middle of bridge at precisely equal distance, ten in whole. Someone cursed.


    ¡°Is every stone a test?¡± Lord Zenzele asked.


    The fair-haired infanzona nodded. The mood took a turn, as was only to be expected. To triumph over ten gods was no small order, even for a group such as theirs.


    ¡°That is not the worst part,¡± Ferranda added. ¡°Every time a test is failed, that tenth of the bridge collapses into the river. I hear making a leap across one section is feasible, but two?¡±


    She grimaced.


    ¡°Best not lose twice in a row, else we¡¯ll risk swimming.¡±

 Chapter 36

    <div>


    They broke for an early lunch near the bottom of the stairs.


    It felt morbid to Angharad, having a meal looking down at what might become a grave for some of those eating, but she supposed it would have been even worse to stop halfway through the Toll Road and dine overthe grave. They split into small groups for their meals of hard bread, cold pork and whatever tepid water they had left in their skins. Talk was quiet, as if the spirits below might be roused by too loud a conversation, and to the noblewoman it all felt like the breath before the storm.


    Only a different storm came calling.


    That Song would sit by her side for the meal was half-expected by now ¨C but only half, it would have been arrogance to go further than that ¨C but it had not been Isabel¡¯s habit to do so unless the meal was communal. When the infanzona elegantly sat herself a step lower than them, it came as a surprise. Angharad made herself refrain from noticing how Isabel had unbuttoned her doublet and so her respective heights allowed her a ¡­ plunging view.


    Twice Song looked at Angharad. For a fever dream moment she thought that the other woman was trying to catch her looking, but the mounting incredulousness on the Tianxi¡¯s face finally told her otherwise. Isabel¡¯s idle talk about Izcalli fashions was interrupted by Song¡¯s sharp voice.


    ¡°Ruesta, it would be best for you to eat elsewhere.¡±


    ¡°Are you so ardently in favor of asymmetrical skirts?¡± Isabel replied, cocking an eyebrow. ¡°I had thought better of you.¡±


    Song looked Angharad¡¯s way, as if prompting her to speak, and something of the gesture irked her. She was not a trained parrot, to speak when spurred so that courtiers could laugh. And she had told Isabel, for better or worse, that their slate was clean.


    ¡°It is only a meal, Song,¡± Angharad said.


    ¡°It is a mistake,¡± Song flatly replied. ¡°One you ought to know better than to commit.¡±


    And there the Pereduri was able to muster some steel at last. It was the most foundational of rights of a noble to decide who was allowed to sit at their table. Song was Republican, would not know better, but an unintentional insult was still that.


    ¡°I can decide,¡± Angharad evenly said, ¡°who I eat with.¡±


    And without a vote first, she almost added, but bit down on it. It was unworthy of her and the forbearance that Song had shown her on this isle. The Tianxi¡¯s eyes narrowed nonetheless. Isabel, ever the peacemaker, attempted to cool the flames.


    ¡°I know we have not been on the best of terms, Song,¡± she said. ¡°But I would make amends. I-¡±


    ¡°You are,¡± the Tianxi rudely interrupted, ¡°every bedside story for Tianxi children made flesh. A useless, grasping thing that draws breath only by taking from those with skill, will or decency. Yiwu in the truest, most fundamental sense of the word.¡±


    ¡°That,¡± Angharad said, ¡°was uncalled for.¡±


    Song turned her silver gaze on her and what the noblewoman saw there gave her pause. She had never seen the Tianxi disappointedbefore, and it felt like a knife in the belly. Guilt was swift. Rudeness was not to be tolerated, but it was true that this was not Llanw Hall¡¯s table. Had she not been forcing a guest on Song, herself breaching manners?


    ¡°I can also choose who I eat with, Angharad,¡± Song said, popping the last of her bread in her mouth.


    She swallowed, then rose to her feet.


    ¡°And did.¡±


    Song took up her pack and walked away. Angharad froze, her first instinct to follow but her mind arguing otherwise. Isabel¡¯s eyes found hers and for a searing moment she wondered if this had all been some scheme. If the infanzona¡¯s contract had moved them both somehow, made them-


    ¡°You should go,¡± the infanzona advised. ¡°I did not mean to come between you two, Angharad.¡±


    She then faintly grimaced, looking discreetly around them.


    ¡°And people are already noticing,¡± Isabel said. ¡°It needs to be passed off as trivial.¡±


    It had not even occurred to Angharad that eyes would be on them, but now that it did she felt a flush of humiliation. It felt not unlike being slapped in public, though it might well be her own palm responsible for the sting on her cheek. She nodded, rising to her feet. Song had hardly gone far, only a few steps away as she checked her munitions and belted her sword properly. The Tianxi did not acknowledge her standing there, so Angharad waited awkwardly for a time before finally clearing her throat.


    ¡°You should finish your meal,¡± Song said. ¡°There will not be another opportunity for hours.¡±


    Angharad could not apologize, for she had not done anything wrong. It would have been slighting her own honor to make apologies for nothing.


    ¡°I did not properly grasp,¡± she finally said, ¡°the depths of your dislike for Lady Isabel. That is my failing.¡±


    Father had taught her that. If you cannot apologize, instead acknowledge a mistake of your making. It will carry much the same meaning and represent a concession besides. She could almost hear his voice, the sound of their boots on the gravel as they strolled around the gardens, and Angharad ached with the loss of it. She would never hear his voice again. Any of their voices.


    ¡°My dislike,¡± Song bit out. ¡°Circle and Gods.¡±


    The Tianxi glared up, but she pitched her voice low.


    ¡°You heard the same thing I did, Angharad,¡± Song said. ¡°How her contract works. Why would ever allow her in your presence again, to dig her hooks into your mind?¡±


    ¡°She has admitted her wrongdoings and apologized,¡± Angharad replied. ¡°I cut ties over it, calling our score even.¡±


    ¡°So now she¡¯s making a new score,¡± Song sighed. ¡°Since you have a blank slate.¡±


    The noblewoman shuffled uncomfortably.


    ¡°How do you know she is not using her contract on you?¡± Song asked.


    ¡°I do not,¡± Angharad said. ¡°But the same is true of everyone I have had dealings with. She has demonstrated her contract to me, and though I cannot swear I would be able to tell were it used on me it can only achieve so much.¡±


    ¡°The filter is not the most dangerous part,¡± Song said.


    She paused at Angharad¡¯s open confusion.


    ¡°That is what her contract is,¡± Song said. ¡°A perception filter that lets you see the good and dims the bad.¡±


    The Pereduri frowned.


    ¡°And how would you know that?¡±


    The slightest pause.


    ¡°Because I¡¯ve almost entirely deciphered her contract,¡± Song Ren evenly replied.


    For a moment Angharad thought she had misheard, for what she had just been told was absurd. Decipher another¡¯s contract? Only a god and their contractor could ever know such terms, and it was not as if the pact was some scroll in a library that¡­ Yet Song¡¯s face remained deadly serious, and so Angharad swallowed. She could either call the Tianxi a liar or take her at her word, and Song had never once lied to her.


    ¡°They would kill you for that,¡± she hoarsely said.


    She did not put a name to ¡®they¡¯, for there were too many to count.


    ¡°It is not as rare or potent an ability as you think,¡± Song told her. ¡°There was a contractor at the Old Fort who could do something similar ¨C though by sniffing out the gods.¡±


    ¡°The High Queen¡¯s court employs such bloodhounds by the dozen,¡± Angharad dismissed. ¡°But you speak of deciphering terms, Song.¡±


    Of being able to read some of the most precious, dangerous secrets in all of Vesper simply by being in the same room.


    ¡°And I told you that my pact is not as potent as you think,¡± Song replied. ¡°Deciphering is not an exaggeration ¨C why do you think I learned so many languages?¡±


    Oh, Angharad thought, and then suddenly it occurred to her that Song might be able to see her own contract. No, she told me she cannot read Gwynt, the Pereduri remembered. And surely her contract with the Fisher must be written in the old tongue? She swallowed, knowing that she would only get an answer if she asked.


    ¡°Can you- did you¡­¡±


    ¡°I have the loosest sense of what your contract can achieve,¡± Song said. ¡°But it is very difficult to look at, as if I were reading with my eyes open underwater.¡±


    A heartbeat of hesitation.


    ¡°I have been advised not to look too closely,¡± the Tianxi admitted. ¡°That your gods is¡­ temperamental.¡±


    The Fisher was not, at least in the way the other woman must have meant it. The Fisher was not a thing given to fits of rage, to passing tantrums. The rage in him was old and deep, carved into the bone and unchanging.


    ¡°I have known kinder storms,¡± Angharad quietly said, for she would not say more.


    She sighed, resisting the urge to fiddle with her braids. Mother had always slapped her hands when she did, called it an unfortunate habit.


    ¡°I would ask that you keep your knowledge of my contract secret,¡± she stiffly asked.


    It was walking very close to the lines of honor to request such a thing, but it must be done if she was to ever return to the Kingdom of Malan.


    ¡°I am not a gossip,¡± Song said. ¡°Principles aside, to run my mouth in such a way would likely get me killed. Though as I will not speak of your pact, I would ask you extend me the same courtesy.¡±


    Angharad shallowly nodded, suspecting she had not quite hid her relief from the silver gaze.


    ¡°Given what I have told you,¡± Song continued, ¡°I would repeat what I said earlier: the most dangerous part of Ruesta¡¯s contract is not the filter. That is the habit it induces.¡±


    She paused, looking for words.


    ¡°Once you grow used to seeing the good in someone, your mind follows down that road habitually,¡± the Tianxi said. ¡°She does need to use her contract constantly, because she has taught everyone around her to assume the best of her actions. Her blank slate is favorable.¡±


    Angharad frowned.


    ¡°What you describe,¡± she said, ¡°sounds not unlike trust.¡±


    Keeping faith and doing good deeds resulting in a worthy reputation was not sinister, it was the very nature of civilization. Song looked irritated.


    ¡°Not earned trust,¡± she said. ¡°Fostered.¡±


    Then it was simply giving the benefit of the doubt which Angharad saw nothing all that sinister in either, but she could see saying as much would only further trouble Song. That a contract had been involved complicated things, but to use one¡¯s reputation was not an evil act. The act of using the contract on another without their knowledge was where the breach of honor lay, and that part Isabel had addressed.


    ¡°I hear your concerns,¡± Angharad said. ¡°And I would not be comfortable serving as shield to one intending to use their contract on others.¡±


    ¡°But,¡± Song said.


    ¡°She has sworn not do so, save by accident,¡± the Pereduri said. ¡°And then to reveal her contract publicly once sanctuary is reached.¡±


    Song looked at her for a very long time, silver eyes hooded. What went on behind them she could only guess at, for the other woman¡¯s face was calm as a pond on a windless day.


    ¡°If you hear my concerns, then act on them,¡± Song finally said. ¡°Do not speak to Isabel Ruesta alone.¡±


    It chafed, for someone to try to dictate to her like this, but Angharad swallowed her dislike. It was a request not made high-handed but out of concern for her safety. She could bend her neck that much, so the dark-skinned noble nodded in concession.


    ¡°And once we reach the next sanctuary, please cut ties properly,¡± Song said. ¡°She will have no need of your protection, having that of the blackcloaks, and should face the consequences of her actions without an intercessor.¡±


    Angharad grimaced. A steeper term but not, she thought, one unreasonable to ask. I have no intention of staying long in sanctuary anyhow, she reminded herself. And tempting as the thought was to let Isabel make a private apology now that she knew the contract had little to do with her attraction ¨C a filter could not make something out of nothing ¨C she could not in good conscience linger at sanctuary for that purpose alone. It would be highly frivolous.


    ¡°We will part ways at the sanctuary,¡± she conceded. ¡°And I had no intention of intervening when she is to recover her honor, but should you want me to take an oath I-¡±


    ¡°No need for that,¡± Song said, shaking her head. ¡°Your word is enough.¡±


    How easily that answer came was almost enough to make Angharad feel guilty for what she had done. Namely, cutting out the mention of time from the promise. It was cracking a door slightly open, nothing more. So she told herself. There was still some stiffness between them after that, not every wrinkle smoothed, but Song stood by her side when everyone gathered to take the last steps down together. It would be different now, Angharad thought.


    Thing always were when you realized you could lose something you had taken for granted.


    ¡ª


    The stone marker stood tall as a man and about as broad.


    It was bare of carvings and adornment, nothing more than a roughly hewn slab of granite standing sentinel as the entrance of the bridge. Angharad could hear the roiling current of the river below, see white foam and sharp rocks bathed in golden light from above. Ferranda had told them that to fail a test was for a tenth of the bridge to fall below and Angharad saw only death in those waters. If we lose twice in a row, we are finished. It would be too broad a gap to cross, even with ropes.


    As the survivors ¨C all fourteen of them ¨C stood before the marker, there was a heartbeat of hesitation. Who was to be the first of those not yet crowned victors? Song had removed herself from that list, and quite boldly, so the eyes went to those that remained: Lan, Brun, Yaretzi, Cozme Aflor and Lady Ferranda. Angharad hid her surprise at who took the initiative.


    ¡°I shall take the vanguard, then,¡± Cozme Aflor said, rolling his shoulders. ¡°Wish me luck.¡±


    Courage, Angharad thought, from one she had not expected to have such a virtue. Yet he must be a coward at heart, for why else would he have returned to Augusto Cerdan¡¯s side? If the mangled infanzon was worried at the notion of losing his protector, it did not show. Augusto¡¯s face was a study of nonchalance.


    ¡°Try not to die,¡± Tupoc casually replied. ¡°It would be inconvenient to have to pull out all the stops as early as the second test.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re all heart, Xical,¡± the man snorted, stroking his moustache.


    He stepped forward onto the bridge, and the air shivered. They could see all that followed clearly, for though all had put away their lanterns ¨C the few real ones, but also the iron things the Watch had gifted them ¨C the golden light of the machine above made it look like a strange summer day.


    The stone cracked, a creature ripping itself free of the cracks. It was a centipede, a filthy horror all crawling legs and large as a man¡¯s torso. The legs got larger as they went up and ended in a head of twisted curved mandibles ¨C it looked like a skull atop a ribcage, though all of it carapaced sordidness.


    Cozme, to his honor, did not flinch.


    ¡°God of the land, I greet you,¡± the older man said.


    ¡°Pick a weapon,¡± the spirit said, its voice like plunging your hand in a pit of maggots. ¡°Wield and face it: slay my puppet to win passage.¡±


    The older man remained silent for a time, then sighed.


    ¡°Knife,¡± he said.


    Not a respectable weapon, but then Cozme had proved to be anything but.


    ¡°Agreed,¡± the spirit laughed.


    Cozme Aflor loosened his sword belt, dropping it on the stone floor, then his pistol and powder followed. It was the long knife strapped to his side he drew, the shine of fine Someshwari steel catching the golden light from above. Yet Angharad¡¯s eye was on the spirit instead, who was shaking and twisting as it vomited a river of filth. Bile and mucus full of squirming, foul things shaped themselves into a man inch by inch. Cozme¡¯s height and build were matched, the spirit at last spewing out something like chitin that the puppet took in hand. Threading fingers through the filth, the silhouette shaped the material into a mirror of Cozme¡¯s own knife as if it were clay to be molded.


    The older man spat to the side.


    ¡°I¡¯ve seen worse in the Murk,¡± Cozme said. ¡°Try harder.¡±


    ¡°Begin,¡± the spirit hissed.


    Both struck.


    Before the second pass had ended, Angharad knew why Cozme had chosen the knife. She had seen him shoot a pistol and in passing use a sword, but he was nowhere as deft a hand with them as he was the sharp length in his hand. It was a brutal bout, more like the tangle of back-alley cats than an honor duel: Cozme struck with his fists as well as his knife, gouged eyes and on the third pass ended up rolling on the floor with the horror trying to choke it out. Even as cuts opened the skin of both, bile and blood spilling in a foul puddle, the mustachioed soldier did not flinch even when the puppet¡¯s features turned into a nest of screeching centipedes.


    He cut and gouged and choked, until they were on their feet again and swinging.


    The cut that ended the fight was the costliest. Cozme slid under the monster¡¯s guard, striking its chin with his palm and rocking it back as it swung past him ¨C then he closed in, ramming his knife into the puppet¡¯s throat and ripping it open, but the creature pressed against him and stabbed into his back. It struck again and again, wailing away the flesh until Cozme¡¯s knife was all the way through its throat and the head came tumbling down.


    It collapsed back into the vileness the spirit had spewed out, drenching the soldier who roared out a curse, but the puppet was done. Cozme ripped out the chitin knife yet stuck in him and threw it over the edge of the bridge.


    ¡°Told you,¡± he panted out.


    ¡°Shame how bile got in the wounds,¡± Tupoc idly noted. ¡°If Tredegar had not gotten our friend Tristan killed, he might have seen to that.¡±


    Angharad ignored the insult and the bickering that followed it, eyes staying on Cozme. He had been stabbed five times, but with his coat she could not tell how deep it had gone. He still seemed able to move his arm, at least. Yet blood loss alone would ensure he was far from at his best. That was a loss, for the purpose of crossing the bridge.


    It was a gain for when the time would come for Augusto Cerdan¡¯s end to find him.


    The spirit whose blunt test they had beaten did not deign to humor them with a confirmation, instead slithering back into the crack it had emerged from. Yet the bridge did not collapse when they gingerly began to walk, as plain a crowning as they would get. Cozme hung back, Augusto helping him dress his wounds, and Angharad avoided both. In time she would face them both, but until then it was beneath her to loom like some sort of scavenger and pick at the their wounds. She joined the gathering before the second stone marker instead.


    ¡°I will take the second,¡± Brun told everyone.


    Some murmurs of approval.


    ¡°Good luck,¡± Lan sweetly said, smiling very wide.


    It was heartening, Angharad thought, to see some fine comradery between Sacromontans after all the backbiting of their infanzones. The pair must have been friends.


    This time the spirit was not so unpleasant to behold: when the stone cracked, what emerged was almost human. It looked like a smooth, genderless child whose face was wrinkled with old age. It spoke in a voice sweet as the flowing of water, offering its test.


    ¡°I will run around my part of the bridge, screaming,¡± the spirit said. ¡°You must touch me with a hand to win. You have nine hundred breaths to do so.¡±


    Brun carefully ensured that the spirit would be tangible, then haggled the terms. The strange spirit refused to remove the time limit but conceded that in exchange it would not seize Brun¡¯s soul should he lose, only if he died during the test. It seemed well-bargained to Angharad, but of course it was not so simple as that: within a heartbeat of the test beginning, the spirit turned invisible. It took Brun by surprise, the fair-haired man having clapped his hands over his ears ¨C perhaps in a anticipation of the spirit¡¯s screaming being harmful.


    It had been her guess as well.


    Angharad was not the one taking the test, so it might be different for her, but as far as she could tell the only harmful thing about the screams was that they were so exaggerated it sounded like the spirit was making sport of them


    Still, though the creature was invisible it made noise and the touch of its feet on the floor could barely be made out. Brun had his contract as well, though by the way the Sacromontan began blindly reaching into thin air Angharad suspected his power could not detect the spirit at all. Yet for all the difficulties the man was clever and quick ¨C only he seemed inexplicably clumsy today, as if his limbs had slowed. It was a small thing, but always he seemed to miss the screaming and giggling spirit by inches. Was the creature using some sort of power to slow him?


    It was near the end of the time that the test turned dangerous. The spirit began to hide near the edge of the bridge, and it baited Brun near the edge again and again ¨C twice it tried to kick him down into the waters, the second time almost succeeding.


    By the time the nine hundredth breath had passed, the spirit had not been caught.


    ¡°Missed me,¡± it laughed, coming back into sight for a moment long enough to grin.


    A tenth of the bridge collapsed under it, falling chunk by chunk. Angharad ran to the edge even as Brun did the same, the fair-haired man leaping as his footing disappeared under him ¨C she caught his arm, grunting as she dragged him forward. His knees still hit the edge of the bridge, no doubt bruising them, but Angharad got him back on the bridge. They both collapsed on the floor and Brun rolled away, revealing a face that still seemed calm even having come so very close to dying.


    It was, she thought, impressive nerve on the man¡¯s part.


    ¡°Congratulations, rat,¡± Augusto Cerdan drawled. ¡°You are our first failure of the day.¡±


    Angharad turned a cool gaze on him.


    ¡°Worry not, Lord Augusto,¡± she said. ¡°You will always be such in my eyes, no matter the date.¡±


    ¡°Ha!¡± Zenzele chortled, and he was not alone.


    Augusto was not beloved. Eyes turned to the newly formed gap, after that, and though some ¨C Tupoc and Lan ¨C suggested the leap could be made without help others prevailed on a hook and rope being used. It took a quarter hour to fix two hooks against the stone on the other side of the bridge, but after that the crossing on two parallel ropes was not all that difficult. The cautious crossed on all fours, the rest trusted their footing.


    All were aware that a second defeat in a row might well kill them all, so there was no talk of anyone taking up the test before its nature was revealed.


    The stone cracked and two wriggling shapes shot out, unfolding like paper cranes. Angharad winced at the sight of them, for the pair of spirits she beheld wore the shape of the dead. With bulging eyes, skin gone grey and their too-long ghastly tongues hanging loose the spirits looked like hanging victims. Both held onto the stone marker with sharp fingernails, swaying as they considered their supplicants.


    ¡°Play with us,¡± the spirit to the left said.


    It choked on its tongue as it spoke, and the sound would have been comical if not for the ugly rasp to the words. Like rope coiling tight, like gulping at air that would not come.


    ¡°Two come to play,¡± the spirit to the right said. ¡°Xiao Xiantiao. A strike to the face for every missed clap, and no one can step in.¡±


    Unease spread like malignant air as Angharad shot a glance at Song, hoping for a translation. The Tianxi frowned.


    ¡°It means ¡®little lines¡¯,¡± she said. ¡°But I do not know the meaning.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a children¡¯s clapping game in the Republics.¡±


    Gazes swiveled to the speaker: Yaretzi, who looked uncomfortable at the weight of the attention she was receiving. She toyed with one of her turquoise earrings.


    ¡°I am surprised you never heard of the game,¡± Yaretzi continued, cocking an eyebrow at Song. ¡°I was taught of it because how staggeringly common it is over all of Tianxia.¡±


    ¡°I had a strict upbringing,¡± Song admitted.


    That felt like a very long story forced into a very short sentence, Angharad thought. Eyes moved to Lan, who laughed.


    ¡°Hey, don¡¯t you fine folk glare at me,¡± the blue-lipped woman said. ¡°I¡¯ve got the Tianxi look, but I was born in Sacromonte. We played slap-a-liar like all the other kids.¡±


    If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    What a horrifying name. Yaretzi cleared her throat.


    ¡°I believe the game is also called the ¡®lamp song¡¯ around the Trebian Sea,¡± she said. ¡°The words are different in Antigua, but not the rhythm and movements.¡±


    That found purchase.


    ¡°I know that one,¡± Acanthe Phos called out. ¡°Used to play it with my brothers.¡±


    ¡°It will have to be the two of us, then,¡± Yaretzi said. ¡°Unless we are to teach the game to others?¡±


    ¡°I am not sure that would be wise,¡± Song said. ¡°Clapping games are rote repetition, no?¡±


    Meaning even someone with finer reflexes might not do as well as someone who simply knew the order of movements down to not needing thought.


    ¡°I take it the game is more complex than simply clapping left and right?¡± Angharad asked.


    ¡°There¡¯s two sequences with up, down and a finger snap,¡± Yaretzi replied. ¡°Then for the second part you do them the opposite way.¡±


    ¡°It sounds risky for someone new to learn them, then,¡± Angharad opined.


    There was some argument ¨C Lord Zenzele suggested that Shalini and her unnaturally quick hands might be a sure bet, until she asserted that her contract might instead make her the single less suited person present ¨C but eventually it was agreed that Yaretzi and Lady Acanthe would be their champions. After that it was only a matter of being cautious. They asked that the spirits demonstrate the game with each other, to make sure it was the same they knew, and then settled the stakes.


    So long as one finished the game and forfeit without dying, the spirits agreed, the test would be considered as passed. Only in exchange for that they demanded should either Yaretzi or Acanthe miss five claps in a row, their lantern would be forfeit. Understandably, neither was pleased by this.


    ¡°It is the best deal we are likely to get,¡± Lady Ferranda said.


    ¡°Easy to say, when your soul is not on the line,¡± Acanthe bit back.


    ¡°You would do well,¡± Zenzele Duma mildly said, ¡°not to confuse patience with forgiveness, Lady Acanthe. You will have none of that from me after the Trial of Lines ¨C or from most standing here, I think.¡±


    The acne-scarred lady glared at them all, then grit her teeth.


    ¡°Fine,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯ll do it. But I am already a victor and now risking myself a second time ¨C in exchange, I must not be called upon for another test until we reach the end of the maze.¡±


    Some tried to argue against, but it was half-hearted work. Angharad though it a reasonable demand and so she bent her neck along the others. The pair stepped forward to face the spirits, who crawled all the way out of their marker to sit down on the ground. Their loose, wide-sleeved grey coats pooled on the floor as they tucked in their long-nailed teeth underneath the fold of blue robes ending at their ankles. Settling face-to-face, the pairs stilled and  began to play.


    The trick used by the spirits should have been obvious, but Angharad had not thought of it: though their hands moved unerringly both began singing a different song.


    Neither was the right song.


    Acanthe, taken aback, missed two claps in a row before catching up. It was Yaretzi that helped her, loudly singing the true tune as she kept going. The diplomat, Angharad was impressed to see, had not missed a beat. After that the spirits began to pull every trick they could. They slowed or quickened their hands, presented the grim sight of their heads turning all the way around, threw mockery and insults. Twice more Acanthe missed claps, and Yaretzi finally missed as well.


    The rest of them hung on to every gesture, knowing there was nothing at all they could do. The most prudent among them retreated close to the gap, perhaps intending on attempting a leap back if the test was failed. Angharad doubted it would amount to anything. Besides, for all that now and then a beat was missed neither seemed anywhere near the five in a row that would lose their soul. They need only until-


    The first sign something went wrong was when Acanthe winced after a particularly hard clap. The spirit facing her leaned in, leering, and struck even harder ¨C it got a yelp of pain out of the noble girl. Angharad could only gawk at the sight. It had been a hard clap, but surely not enough to hurt Acanthe. Had her hand already been wounded? Only it was both hands that had her moaning as the spirit began putting its back into the slaps, until with a sickening sound Acanthe Phos¡¯ left wrist snapped.


    Cleanly broken. Her contract¡¯s price, Angharad thought. Has to be. No one alive had bones so weak.


    ¡°Keep going,¡± Yaretzi hissed. ¡°They only need five to-¡±


    One clap missed, two, three, four ¨C and Acanthe dragged up her broken hand, screaming as the clap rippled down her arm. She barely managed another clap after that, weeping and gibbering, and missed three more after. Again her bad hand went up, a scream ripping itself clear of her throat as the spirit slammed its palm against hers, but while she began missing claps again Yaretzi finished a discordantly cheerful rhyme in Cathayan and the game ended. Angharad breathed out.


    Never five in a row. Acanthe Phos would keep her soul.


    ¡°Good, good,¡± the spirit to the left said. ¡°Lovely game. The forfeits now, yes?¡±


    The one to the right struck without warning, its knuckle catching Acanthe in the chin. She fell back, screaming more in surprise than pain. Yaretzi took her own blow more carefully, rolling with it. The difference in training showed. Acanthe was struck again while on the ground, right in the eye ¨C it was certain to blacken ¨C and then Yaretzi got her turn again. It was, however, the last blow the Izcalli diplomat would get. She had only missed two claps.


    Acanthe Phos had missed many more than that.


    It would have been too much of a compliment to call what followed an execution. It was a murder, nothing more than that, brutal and drawn out and gleefully done. They all watched in anguished silence as the spirits toyed with their victim, changing who held her down and who struck. After five blows, Acanthe¡¯s face was a bloody mess.


    By the eight it was beyond bruised flesh, her nose broken and cartilage peeking out.


    On the ninth her cheekbone broke.


    On the tenth she lost her eye and began choking on her own blood.


    The spirits waited after that, Acanthe¡¯s head in one¡¯s lap as she gurgled and died.


    ¡°Finish your last blow, you foul things,¡± Angharad snarled. ¡°Eleven is all you won.¡±


    Laughter.


    ¡°We never said how long between blows,¡± a spirit said. ¡°Wait and see.¡±


    It wasn¡¯t the blood that killed Acanthe, at least not the  bloodshe was choking on. She began convulsing, something in her skull broken from a blow, and died with a plaintive wheeze. And as the last breath left her, the spirit to the right gently flicked her cheek with a sharp nail.


    ¡°Eleven,¡± it said. ¡°One survived. You may pass, now.¡±


    They went back into their stone, bellies full, and silence reigned in their wake.


    Angharad closed Acanthe¡¯s eyes and Song helped her throw the body into the river after so that carrion would not pick at it.


    It was little, but all they had to give.


    ¡ª


    The spirit that awaited beyond was a fox in silver, its brisk manners welcome after the sordidness of the last test.


    ¡°Thrice will I release birds,¡± the fox said. ¡°Only one will be true, and this one you must slay before it flees beyond your reach.¡±


    A hunter¡¯s challenge and hunter stepped forward to meet it: Lady Ferranda Villazur, her musket already in hand, claimed the test. She haggled only a little with the fox spirit, which had Angharad frowning. Better terms might have been had with a little effort, as they stood they were quite vague and ¨C ah, she finally thought. Song had idly come to stand a few feet behind Ferranda, and the ploy was made clear. The spirit released five gulls from its back, the lovely things images in perfect silver taking flight.


    ¡°Second from the left,¡± Song stated.


    A flint struck, powder burned, the gull dropped and already Ferranda was reloading her musket.


    ¡°That is not the spirit of the test,¡± the fox insisted.


    ¡°It is not against its rules, god of the land,¡± Ferranda flatly replied. ¡°Again.¡±


    Irked, the spirit no longer showed restraint. It was a dozen small birds that erupted from its back in a flock, silver sparrows, but again Song called the shot and Ferranda took it. The spirit only grew angrier, the last time unleashing a veritable swarm of birds of all shapes and sizes. That proved to be a mistake, for the differences made the target even easier to call.


    ¡°Cormorant, middle left,¡± Song said.


    The fox was gone before the dead bird even hit the ground, angrily burrowing back into its stone. How thoroughly the test had been beaten brought back some boldness to their lot, straightening backs, but Angharad thought it would take more than a single victory to erase the shadow left by Acanthe¡¯s brutal death.


    ¡°Eleven victors, now,¡± Tupoc noted. ¡°Almost halfway through and we can still afford a corpse.¡±


    Unpleasant as his words were, they were true enough no one took him to task over them.


    The fifth of the ten markers was inhabited by the most unsettling spirit yet. It was a two-headed snake, its scales a vivid green and red, but it was not the reptile that spoke to them: when those fanged maws opened, they revealed the small heads of infants inside.


    ¡°A simple game,¡± the serpent said.


    It slithered along the ground, oil trailing in its wake and slowly coming to trace a perfect grid of ten by ten, covering all of its section of the bridge save for a few feet across.


    ¡°Two play,¡± the serpent spirit said. ¡°You can cross when there are no eyes on you, but when there are you cannot. If you are caught moving, you are thrown back ten feet. You have seven hundred breaths to cross.¡±


    Ishaan immediately hemmed in on the loophole she had.


    ¡°And will you stand at the same place the entire time?¡± he asked.


    ¡°I will not move,¡± the serpent conceded.


    Not impossible, then, though no doubt there would be some sort of trick to it.


    ¡°Seems like my kind of game,¡± Lan easily said, stepping forward.


    ¡°One,¡± the serpent said.


    ¡°Come now, not so fast,¡± the blue-lipped woman said. ¡°The last time a test had a set amount of time, the god did not get a soul out of a loss ¨C only a death. It seems only fair for the same terms to apply again.¡±


    ¡°Insolent rat,¡± the serpent spirit scathingly replied.


    ¡°You have me dead to rights,¡± Lan grinned. ¡°And I¡¯m no great athlete either, easy to catch. I¡¯d be splendid fodder, if you bothered to lure me in properly.¡±


    The infant¡¯s mouth inside the maw pulled into a pout, which had Angharad shivering in disgust. It was tempted, though, and conceded in exchange for the concession that standing on a line would also be enough to get you thrown back ten feet. The terms were agreed to by the second who would take the test: Augusto Cerdan. It was with narrowed eyes that Angharad watched him step forward. What did the infanzon gain by this? He was already a victor and taking risks would win him no friends.


    Or was he a victor? Augusto might be nobly born, but he had no honor. He might well have lied about a victory to save his life. Yet he would have needed to fool not only her but also Tupoc who ¨C who was frowning at the infanzon, looking surprised for once. It does not matter anyway, Angharad reminded herself. We are under truce until the tests are done.


    ¡°Prepare yourself,¡± the serpent spirit said. ¡°We begin.¡±


    The two positioned themselves at the edge of a line, preparing to move. The snake turned its head and they shot forward, only gaining half a foot before it turned back. Neither were standing on a line.


    ¡°Tricky, tricky,¡± the spirit complained. ¡°Again.¡±


    It turned and again the pair moved, only a heartbeat later both went flying ¨C thrown back by an invisible force.


    ¡°Hey,¡± Lan complained, dusting herself off as she rose. ¡°Your eyes weren¡¯t on us.¡±


    ¡°Did I say anything about my eyes?¡± the serpent spirit smiled with a toddlers¡¯ mouth.


    It was then Angharad realized that the other she could no longer see the other head.


    ¡°Shit,¡± Song quietly said. ¡°They¡¯re two spirits, not one.¡±


    The Tianxi was right: the second head had split into another snake entirely, now standing on another side of the grid. It grinned at them all as Angharad went back over the wording of the terms in her mind. The spirit was right, it had never specified only its eyes would count and promised only it would not move from its position. As was often the way with spirits, though, they did not make the bargain impossible to fulfill. The snakes left slight openings for the pair to advance, slight but enough that the pair could gain an inch or two at a time.


    Only they needed to maneuver precisely every time and ten successes were tenfold undone by a single mistake.


    Whichever spirit caught them threw them back in the direction opposite them with that invisible force, and as the pair were toyed with by the creatures Angharad began to glimpse the enemy¡¯s plan. Lan and Augusto were caught more often by the snake on the side, slowly moved to the left edge of the grid.


    The same that ended mere feet away from a bridge with no railing.


    ¡°One must love the Trebian Sea,¡± Lord Zenzele snorted. ¡°The only place in all the world where it is the fish that fish you.¡±


    Angharad might have felt a sliver of amusement, if it were only Augusto¡¯s life on the line. Lan, though, did not deserve such an end. The pair realized their trouble soon enough, taking greater care with the spirit on the side, but there was only so much they could do.


    ¡°Caught you,¡± the spirit crooned, and Angharad saw their newest trick.


    It was only the snake on the side that would catch the pair stepping on a line, forcing them to the side. And Lan was shoved roughly ten feet nearer to the edge, half fingers¡¯ width away from the furthest line of the grid. One more mistake and she¡¯d be over the edge.


    She went very, very still.


    ¡°You bitch,¡± Augusto snarled. ¡°You can¡¯t wait the test out, we¡¯ll both-¡±


    He went flying as well, landing on his knees but a foot behind Lan. He swallowed his words, face gone pale. Neither moved, but knowing they were a single mistake away from death. Only neither of their poses were all that comfortable ¨C Augusto was sitting on the back of his own foot ¨C and the gazes of the serpents stayed on them unblinking. They could breathe, if shallowly, but not even swallow. The gazes went away and Lan swallowed, but Augusto was bolder ¨C he unfolded his leg, which he had been sitting on.


    The spirit on the side turned its gaze back on him before he could finish, leaving him stuck halfway. He froze, did not move an inch, but his leg began to tremble. The pose was too hard to maintain. The trembling a little, at first, but it got worse. He was shaking. With a scream of terror, Augusto Cerdan toppled to the side and the spirit screeched in glee through a toddler¡¯s lips.


    A heartbeat later he was over the edge.


    Angharad, rope in hand, stepped forward. In the water she could see the infanzon, how he had landed on one of the rocks in the rapids ¨C he screamed like a seagull, impaled through the side and only that slow death keeping the current from sweeping him away to a faster one.


    ¡°Cozme,¡± Augusto screamed. ¡°Cozme, help.¡±


    The mustachioed man looked over the edge, stood there for a long time, then shook his head.


    ¡°You won¡¯t survive that,¡± he replied. ¡°Best go with the current, Augusto. It will be faster.¡±


    ¡°You fucking cock,¡± the infanzon shouted. ¡°Your traitor. Isabel, ISABEL ¨C throw me a rope, I order you.¡±


    Isabel Ruesta walked away, out of his sight. She looked distressed.


    ¡°Tredegar,¡± Augusto tried, growing panicked. ¡°You can¡¯t leave me to die, there¡¯s no honor in this, there is-¡±


    Angharad met his eyes, for a long moment, and thought of that night in the woods when he had fired the pistol. Tried to kill half of them so he might live a little longer.


    She looked away.


    By the time the span of the test ended, the screams had turned to sobs. When the portion of the bridge began to collapse Angharad threw Lan the rope and dragged her up with Ferranda¡¯s help. The stone falling in the river drowned out even Augusto¡¯s sobs, and then there was nothing heard from him at all. Buried in stone and water, not even his corpse was there to be seen.


    They set up the ropes and crossed again.


    ¡ª


    The sixth marker cracked open to reveal what Angharad thought to be a headless dog, until it rose on its back feet and revealed its stomach was a froglike face.


    ¡°I will release a fly,¡± the spirit said. ¡°The first to catch it wins.¡±


    Shalini stepped forward, grim-faced.


    ¡°I¡¯ll take that one,¡± she said.


    No one contested her, as the superficial of her contract were an open secret.


    Bargaining was brisk and successful. The spirit opened its mouth, spitting out a fly the size of a bullet, and as it buzzed away Shalini shot the spirit in the eye faster than Angharad could follow. It screamed in anger, turning on her, but she ignored it and shot forward herself. It was a harsh trade: just before Shalini¡¯s fingers closed around the fly, the spirit¡¯s long barbed tongue darted out and ripped into her shoulder. The spirit cursed around its own tongue, lips flapping, but there was no denying the fly was in the Someshwari¡¯s hand.


    ¡°We¡¯re done,¡± she grunted. ¡°Get that goddamn tongue out of me.¡±


    Her lips thinned until they turned bloodless as the spirit did exactly as she had asked, none too gently. The barbs, Angharad saw, did more damage on the way out than they had going in. The wound is still shallow, she thought. It was meant to inflict pain, not cripple. Had Shalini Goel used her contract once or twice, Angharad wondered? That shot had been too quick to be anything but that, but her hand when she had snatched the fly had been barely any slower.


    ¡°Oh,¡± Lan faintly said from behind her. ¡°That can¡¯t be good.¡±


    Angharad followed the Tianxi¡¯s eyes and went still. The spirit they had just beaten had not even returned to its stone yet already the marker ahead of them had cracked open ¨C revealing some sort of cat made of worms.


    So had the two markers beyond that one, their spirits coming out.


    A spirit shaped like skinless, one-legged man let out a resounding scream and only ceased when the worm-cat leaped at its throat and tried to rip into it. The last spirit, a black horse whose back turned into a spider¡¯s, struck at both with its hooves.


    Lord Ishaan had claimed that Shalini¡¯s contract drew attention, Angharad recalled as she watched the spirits begin to tear into each other. Her use of it so close when they were starved must have whipped them into a frenzy.


    ¡°Well now,¡± Tupoc drawled. ¡°That does simply things.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Song suddenly said. ¡°Look at the bridge.¡±


    Cracks were spreading, Angharad saw. Every time a spirit tore into another, wounded what they were, the part of the bridge their marker held together began to break.


    ¡°We need to run,¡± she said. ¡°Now.¡±


    Within three steps the first chunk of bridge had fallen.


    Angharad glimpsed ahead, taking a hard left when she saw she¡¯d been about to fall into the river as a hole opened in the floor. Ishaan looked about to tip over the edge so she yanked him back, then dragged him along with her. The man tried to thank her but she kept moving. Cracks spread, louder and louder as the bridge began collapsing behind them. It was blind, heedless run forward that Angharad broke only by feverish glimpses forward ¨C never more than half a second, taking hard turns to avoid death.


    The cat spirit let out a scream as its head was gobbled down by the horse-spider, its entire chunk of the bridge falling down behind them.


    ¡°Go, go, go,¡± Angharad exhorted the others.


    By the time they¡¯d reached the brawling pair, the skinless man was biting into the other¡¯s flesh with too-large square teeth. It turned when Shalini approached, as if drawn by the feel of her, but the other spirit used the distraction to cave in its bare ribs. The bridge ahead of them began to collapse but they were already there, already running and¡­


    Angharad leapt, shouting at the top of her lungs, and the others followed behind.


    She landed on her belly, chin hitting the stone painfully, and barely got out of the way before Tupoc landed in a crouch where her legs had been. Angharad hastily rose to her feet, counting the survivors, and as the number rose her hopes did ¨C ten, eleven, twelve. They had all made it, she realized in a moment of pure joy as she watched Lady Ferranda drag Shalini up from the ledge she¡¯d been hanging onto.


    ¡°Sleeping God,¡± she smiled. ¡°We-¡±


    A cracking sound interrupted her, whisking away the joy.


    She turned, hand on her sword, as the marked revealed the last spirit. The last test. Her belly clenched in anticipation. It was not as wrong as some of the others, not wicked or warped. The spirit looked almost like a whale that had grown four legs, all pale wet flesh ¨C though it was smaller than any whale known to man, barely the size of a horse. Its breathing was loud, and when it opened its mouth it was to reveal rows on rows of teeth so fine they looked like hair.


    ¡°Two must face me and not bleed,¡± the spirit said. ¡°Until you have wounded me thrice. Any who bleed before then surrender their lantern.¡±


    The voice was slow, lazy, and Angharad blinked away a wave of exhaustion as her veins suddenly cooled. The Fisher was not pleased by the other spirit¡¯s encroachment, she could tell. It would only grow angrier if the spirit persisted, she thought, and so that made her a natural choice for this test.


    ¡°I will make one,¡± Angharad said, stepping forward.


    ¡°And I the second.¡±


    Her jaw clenched as Tupoc Xical swaggered up, spear on his shoulder. For all her hatred of the man, he was a skilled fighter. If there was to be a test of martial strength, she would not turn him away. Pushing aside her reluctance, she acknowledged him with a nod. He returned it, along with a smirk that had her considering throttling.


    ¡°Let us discuss terms, honored elder,¡± Angharad said.


    The spirit was not interested in trading time for fewer hits, or making assurances too precise about what it might use to pursue them. It only conceded it would not shrink the space of the bridge.


    ¡°There will be a trick to hitting it,¡± Tupoc told her.


    ¡°I expect there will be,¡± Angharad said, and breathed in.


    (Angharad Tredegar and Tupoc Xical accepted the terms, beginning the test.


    The spirit was quick for its size, charging without batting an eye, but neither its opponents were amateurs. They danced around it as it struck with tail and grasping maw, Tupoc scoring a blow on its side. Only the flesh did not part. The spirit brushed against Angharad a heartbeat later and a spear wound erupted into her side, surrendering her soul. She forced herself to continue, to buy passage for the others. Twice she struck at the spirit, now with nothing to lose ¨C first managing a deep slash into the side that parted no flesh, and then an enraged thrust as the spirit¡¯s forehead.


    Which parted flesh like a wide, deep slash.)


    Angharad breathed out, shivering for the sudden cold in her veins.


    ¡°Do not let it touch you, not even in passing,¡± she ordered.


    ¡°I love it when you give me orders, Tredegar,¡± Tupoc replied, winking at her.


    She ignored that. The spirit¡¯s power was the delay of one wound, Angharad decided. Only while the wound was being delayed, the spirit could give it to one of them instead through contact. A difficult trick to beat if you were unaware of it. Lucky for them, they were not.


    The spirit was as quick as it had been in her vision, but not quicker than her.


    Cold burned in her veins, keeping exhaustion at bay, and whatever god had blessed Tupoc it seemed no more inclined to let the Izcalli be slowed down. Angharad played the bait, slowing until the spirit charged, and only ran when it had begun to move. The creature slid, trying to turn to catch her, and that was enough od an opening for Tupoc to peck at its back. The Pereduri hazarded a shallow slash as she cut close to the spirit, earning a shallow thrust wound for her trouble, and Tupoc¡¯s pale gaze fell right on it.


    The Izcalli figured it out in a heartbeat, not needing a word.


    After that, they made sport of their enemy. It moved predictably enough, slowing only to swat with its tail and snapping its mouth whenever they came close, which let Tupoc blind an eye ¨C turning into her shallow slash ¨C and even as the spirit roared in anger Angharad ducked under a tail swing to rise into a smooth pivot. She cut through the side of the tail with a textbook perfect cut, though it only unleashed a pierced hole into the flesh.


    It was, however, undeniably a third wound.


    The spirit turned on them in a fury.


    ¡°You tricked me,¡± it accused.


    ¡°I did not fall prey to your tricks,¡± Angharad plainly corrected. ¡°Your wrath rings hollow, honored elder.¡±


    She walked right past the spirit, ignoring Tupoc¡¯s delighted laugh, and went to claim the prize promised her: a way out of the nightmare.


    ¡ª


    The end. They¡¯d finally got to the end of the maze, damn the blood-hungry thing.


    Sweat pouring down her back, Angharad climbed the wide stairs and found she barely begrudged Tupoc¡¯s presence at her side. He too was a victor twice over. She could return to despising him when he next opened his mouth. The gentle slope ended on flat grounds in the uneven make of nature¡¯s hand, the old cavern floor bereft of so much as a speck of life. There were only two things here: a wall of hanging lanterns and a gate.


    There must have been hundreds of the lanterns, thousands ¨C and though many were of the same cheap iron stock the Watch had given them at the Old Fort, not all were. There was brass and bronze, elaborate silver filigree and even an exquisite thing of sculpted glass shaped like a flower. The flames were pale and they burned even though not all lanterns had wick or air. Angharad could not decide which was more unsettling: the unnaturalness of that, or that not all flames burned even. Some were bright, others guttering out. Were there other lanterns gone dark, just out of sight?


    Shaking herself out of the musings, the Pereduri moved her eye back to the gate. It had seemed tall from a distance, but from here it was outright colossal. Tall as three dozen men, half as broad, and its curved head ended in a great lion¡¯s head holding a knocker in its mouth. Angharad looked for a hinge or a keyhole, but all the great panes of bronze displayed was elaborate wrought iron patterns of curving snakes and flowers.


    ¡°The floor, Tredegar,¡± Tupoc said. ¡°Unless you intend on gawping all night?¡±


    Angharad duly resumed despising him, as had been foretold. He was not wrong about the floor, however: there were circles of bronze set in it, themselves tracing a greater circle before the gate. Ten circles, to be precise, and that could not be a coincidence. Their slowing gait had allowed the first of the others to catch up, so Lord Zenzele soon let out a sigh as he caught up to her.


    ¡°Would it have killed that fat Tianxi to tell us what precisely was needed to open the gate?¡± he said. ¡°I must confess I am not greatly in the mood for a spot of occult mystery.¡±


    ¡°The Watch did tell us.¡±


    Angharad¡¯s gaze slid to the speaker, who she had not expected to come forward on her own. Lan looked as exhausted as she herself felt, but her eyes were sharp.


    ¡°A bold claim,¡± Zenzele Duma said. ¡°Do elaborate.¡±


    ¡°They gave us one thing before we set out,¡± the Tianxi said. ¡°You think it¡¯s a coincidence they¡¯re also hanging off the wall here, Malani?¡±


    The blue-lipped woman cleared her throat.


    ¡°Lady Tredegar, would you please place your lantern in one of the circles?¡±


    Angharad frowned, but she could see no reason to refuse. Though the blackcloaks had said the lantern touched with their blood was for spirits to find them in the aether ¨C and feed on them should they lose ¨C the golden light of the aetheric machine above would prevent such mischief. She walked to the closest bronze circle even as she went through her pack, lightly setting the lantern down in the middle. She stepped back afterwards, wary, but nothing at all happened. Three heartbeats passed.


    ¡°I thought you¡¯d have taunted me by now,¡± Lan candidly admitted to Zenzele.


    ¡°I thought to wait for Ferranda so-¡±


    A flame, pale and bright, suddenly lit up inside Angharad¡¯s lantern.


    ¡°That is to say,¡± Lord Zenzele corrected midstride, ¡°well done, Lan, capital work.¡±


    By now the others had caught up, and the method was laid out other victors began to set down their own lantern. Isabel was the first after Angharad, and the Pereduri kept her eye on the gate as the infanzona¡¯s lantern lit up. No movement at all. They had precisely ten victors out of their survivors, so ten lanterns were set down. Ishaan¡¯s was the last, and it was placed within the circle Angharad idly glimpsed ahead.


    /A flame within the iron, the lionhead¡¯s mouth opening, the flames winking out and then nothing./


    She swallowed her fear. The mirror-dancer bared her blade even as the bronze lionhead came to life, eyes turning to her. Then then the golden light above, their constant companion, went out like a snuffed candle. The barest instant after, so did the hundreds of lanterns on the wall.


    Angharad had not seen nothing, she realized, but the dark.


    Shouts of fear and dismay echoed, blades being bared and even a shot fired blindly ¨C or perhaps not so blindly, as the sound of a bullet on metal echoed. Had Shalini snapped a shot? If she had, it did not stop the spirit in the gate for they all heard something massive landing before them.


    ¡°Gets your lanterns out,¡± Angharad shouted. ¡°Your real ones.¡±


    It was a madman¡¯s whirl after that, everyone scattering as the spirit charged ¨C feeling so much larger than it had as a mere head, even were a matching body attached to it. Angharad glimpsed ahead once, twice. She used not her eyes to guide herself, for she saw nothing, but the pain of being mauled should she misstep. She found the spirit, or close enough, and felt wind as is struck at her but came short. Was it blind to the dark as well?


    ¡°Here,¡± she shouted. ¡°It is here.¡±


    A shot flashed through the dark, revealing for a heartbeat the hulking shape of a bronze lion large as a carriage as the bullet went wide. The spirit turned in a moment, striking out, but Angharad threw herself out of the way. Her shoulder landed badly on the stone and she swallowed a hiss as something tore through where she had just been standing.


    ¡°I despise cats,¡± Tupoc noted in the distance, then raised his voice. ¡°Over here, you rusty old thing.¡±


    The spirit roared, leaping his way, and Angharad saw it for some blessed soul had finally gotten a lantern lit. Song, silver eyes steady, had set her lantern on the ground and was already loading her musket. Tupoc, meanwhile, laughed as he danced around swiping claws and ¨C the shots were in such quick succession Angharad almost thought there had only been the one. Instead she saw Shalini drop her fourth pistol with an incredulous look. The Someshwari did not even carry four, Ishaan had his arms raised to make it easier for his companion to snatch his.


    The bronze lion roared again, turning, and Angharad saw that enough bullets had landed in his right eye to cave it in. Not that it seemed to slow it down any.


    ¡°Powder won¡¯t work,¡± Lady Ferranda shouted. ¡°Blades out!¡±


    In the flickering lantern light, they went after the spirit. Tupoc and Angharad were quickest and so they led the dance ¨C darting in and out of the bronze lion¡¯s reach. It was slow, the mirror-dancer realized, and did not see well. But it struck with the strength of a dozen men and it was made of fucking bronze. Twice she scored slashes on its face and side, earning only a line, and none of the others did better save for Brun whose hatchet sunk deep enough into the spirit¡¯s head he was not able to wrench it back out. It tossed him away with a swipe of its tail, the Sacromontan falling to the ground with a scream, and others were not far behind.


    Ferranda was hit by the spirit¡¯s shoulder as it ran and went flying as if it had been a battering ram, unconscious on impact.


    ¡°On me,¡± Angharad hissed at the monster, striking at its sculpted mane.


    From the corner of her eye she saw Lan drag away the infanzona, but it was all spinning out of control. They were losing, could not get past the bronze.


    ¡°Your contract,¡± Lord Zenzele shouted. ¡°Nair, you need to use your contract.¡±


    ¡°Fuck,¡± Lord Ishaan Nair cursed, closing his eyes.


    And a miracle happened: the lion went still.


    At least until Ishaan started screaming.


    ¡°Kill it,¡± Shalini screamed. ¡°Kill it now or his brain will melt and-¡±


    Tupoc rammed his spear into the lion¡¯s dented eye, plunging through bronze until the shaft was a third through. He grunted with effort, tanned muscles clenching as he pushed as far as he could into the creature¡¯s head.


    The lion stilled and Ishaan stopped screaming.


    Had they¡­ had they done it? Another two heartbeats passed and the lion did not move. It must be dead, Angharad thought, though only Song would be able to confirm that ¨C  and where was Song? She had not fought, not even fired the musket Angharad had seen her loading. She could not think the Tianxi a coward, so something must have happened. Was she¡­ Gaze sweeping the cavern to the edge of the light, Angharad found no trace of her. It was only beyond that cast that she glimpsed movement. Song had climbed the wall unhooked a lantern.


    As Angharad watched a pale, bright flame lit up inside.


    ¡°Ren, what are you doing?¡± Lan called out from below. ¡°Your cursed fool you¡¯ll-¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Song shouted, ¡°Xical, don¡¯t-¡±


    Angharad¡¯s gaze went to Tupoc, who she found was merely laying a foot on the lion to prepare to rip out his spear. She moved to stop him, trusting in Song, but the Izcalli was quicker. The spear came free, and for a heartbeat nothing at all happened.


    Then the bronze lion moved.


    It wasn¡¯t dead, Angharad realized with horror. Ishaan¡¯s contract only forced it asleep. The Someshwari had been failing in the contest of minds before Tupoc¡¯s spear went into the skull, which had distracted the spirit enough for the contract to win that contest. Only now the pain of the same spear being ripped out had awoken it. The Izcalli went down, slapped away, and Angharad struck at the lion¡¯s back.


    ¡°Ishaan,¡± she screamed, ¡°you must-¡±


    The lion ignored her, the thin scar she inflicted in its back, and bounded forward. Once, twice and on the third bound its jaw snapped closed.


    Ishaan¡¯s head popped like a grape, a mess of red and grey that the lion swallowed whole.


    Shalini let out a heartrending sound, like her soul had been ripped out, and stabbed at the spirit with a knife. It bounced off the bronze, too blindly struck. Angharad pursued, shouting to draw the monster¡¯s attention, and after a final wet gulp it deigned to turn towards her. Zenzele dragged Shalini away. Fighting her for every step.


    Angharad faced the spirit, breathing out, and knew all she had left was-


    The lantern¡¯s arc was perfect, a thing of beauty. The iron box Song had thrown struck the lion on the side of the head, impossibly shattering like glass, and there was a burst of pale light as the flame within flared up. The spirit roared, screamed, but the pale fire spread across its bronze body and blackened the metal. It struggled and twisted, but inch by inch it was devoured by the bright flame until there was nothing left but a blackened husk.


    And when at last the pale fire guttered out, in the distance the great bronze gate began to open.


    The sound, Angharad found, could not quite drown out Shalini¡¯s sobs.


    ¡ª


    They did not linger.


    Shalini took up her friend¡¯s body, after wrapping it so the lack of head would be hidden, and would not hear of being helped.


    Beyond the gates lay a hallway, little more than a tunnel sloping upwards. There were no torches here, no light but what they brought with them. Yet Angharad saw that what waited at the end of the hallway was a different kind of darkness from the one behind them ¨C lighter, airier. It was the outside. Sleeping God, Angharad thought, but she was finally going to feel the wind on her face again. She hurried up the stairs, the light of the lanterns trailing behind, until her legs ached and there were no more steps left to climb.


    Past the edge of the hall waited a long drop, mere feet of ground before the sheer drop of a cliff. And yet Angharad grinned, for above her twinkled the distant stars of firmament.


    They were out, finally out.


    Song was the first to join her, musket still at the ready. Together they caught sight of the lights in the distance. Far to the north, past thick woods, where a port was tucked away and waited the ships that would take them away from the Dominion of Lost Things. A cliffside path to their left led that way, snaking down towards the bottom of the mountain and the darkness below. To their right, their west, awaited something better: rest.


    A fort jutted out of the mountainside, a tower at its summit burning bright and pale. More tempting still were the yellow lanterns around the fort, the marks of sanctuary. Blackcloaks would await them there, Angharad thought, with beds and food and safety before they ventured into the horrors of the Trial of Weeds.


    ¡°Come on,¡± Song said, brushing their shoulders together. ¡°I could do with a good¡¯s night sleep after this bastard of a day.¡±


    ¡°So could I,¡± Angharad fervently replied.


    She glanced back, seeing the others were catching up.


    They felt it before they heard the noise.


    The shiver going through the ground, the feeling of something breaking. Then there was that catastrophic, deafening crack as the very earth shook under their feet. Angharad barely stayed on her feet, and caught Song so she would not fall.


    ¡°Oh Gods,¡± the Tianxi breathed out.


    Angharad followed the silver gaze, which had come to rest behind them and above their heads. For a heartbeat she understood nothing, and then she saw it too: the crown of the mountain above them had just gone down. The ground shook again, the roar of breaking stone crashing against their ears. The mountain, she realized was crumpling from the inside. Caving in. And as a third great heave threw them both against the ground, the mountain¡¯s crown fell all the way down ¨C disappearing from their side. Angharad stayed there gaping until she was shaken out of it.


    ¡°- up, we need to go,¡± someone shouted, dragging her up.


    She followed, struck dumb, and saw it all fall apart.


    On the mountainside, chunks of stone began to fall. To roll down the slopes. A landslide, one so large as to defy descriptions.


    She did not stay long enough to it swallow up the Watch¡¯s mountainside fort, they were already running towards the woods by then, but she heard it. There could be no doubt.


    Sanctuary lay buried under a cairn of stones, and thus began the Trial of Weeds.

 Chapter 37

    The thing about weakness was that there was absolutely nothing redeeming about it.


    Everyone loved a good picaresca story, in Sacromonte. Tales of a roguish man of scandalously common breeding getting the better of his betters. Swindling greedy merchants out of their wealth, tricking vain ladies and pompous lords into humiliating themselves. And it was not a taste that ended at the borders of the Murk or even the Old Town. Infanzones, they liked the songs and poems about rats same as the rest of the city. Their smile, though, it had a bit of smirk to it around the corners.


    Because they understood that the stories were just that, that when a witty wastrel won in the stories because life in the streets taught them to be clever it was just what people wanted to be true. In the world they lived in the clever rogues got caught, shot in the head and dumped in the canals. There was nothing meaningful about being poor and hungry and afraid no higher meaning to it. Weakness was not a trial with a reward at the end, it was just being weak.


    And Tristan was weak.


    He wouldn¡¯t hide from that truth, that would just get him killed. He¡¯d always need the edge: the poison and the dagger, the lie and the quiet feet in the dark. He¡¯d always be the rat, scurrying around the boots of men. He¡¯d almost forgot that, in these trials. He¡¯d won too many petty victories, found too much respect in the eyes of others. He¡¯d been awakened from that dream, though, and though it had been a rough awakening he was almost thankful Lieutenant Vasanti for it.


    There was nothing like bargaining your treatment down to torture to remind you of your place in the order of things.


    Yet Tristan had lived, bought his way out of the grave again, and now he must ensure that he would not be thrown back in it once his enemies had what they wanted from him. Once he was no longer useful and their reason for taking the finger off the trigger passed.


    So in the dark before the other rose, after what little sleep he had stolen from his bruised and aching body, the rat scratched up a plan against the walls of his mind. What did he want? To live. To keep his crew alive if he could. Maryam first, then the others.


    Under pale light he might have been ashamed of that brutal truth, but alone in the dark with the pain he felt not a flicker of guilt. It would wait until he no longer tasted blood in his mouth.


    Second, Vasanti must die or be forced off the board. The old lieutenant must be put in a position where she could no longer come for him, not even if she burned all her last bridges to get one last swing at him. She had already tried to get him killed twice and her hatred of Abuela would have driven her to try again even if Tristan had not indirectly helped her slip a noose around her own neck.


    Two wants was enough. More would be greedy, scattering his focus. So what was in the way?


    The god in the pillar. Lieutenant Wen, who would not suffer violence against blackcloaks until it was dealt by the hand of the law. Vasanti herself, who was sure to sabotage him if she could ¨C until she could do worse. Yong, who would turn on him if selling Tristan¡¯s hide guaranteed getting to the third trial and keeping his husband alive.


    Maryam? No, her own wants came after the Trial of Weeds. She was a help. Francho would murder to survive, and perhaps even for convenience, but so would most everyone Tristan had ever known. The old man¡¯s contract would be even more important than Yong¡¯s musket and Maryam¡¯s Signs anyhow.


    There were greater dooms looming in the distance, the Red Maw and his oath to Wen and whatever awaited beyond the Trial of Weeds, but these did not matter. One grave at a time.


    Tristan turned in his cot, grey eyes open as he looked at the stone above him. He was not alone. Fortuna, sitting against the wall to his side with her dress like a pool of silk at her feet, kept him company in silence. Golden eyes under a golden crown he thought, taking in the sight of her for the span of a breath. Like a painting come to life. His eye returned to the stone, the claws inside his mind scratching at the walls.


    He stayed like that a long time, his body a dull ache, until finally he saw how the pieces fit together. Only then did the rat close his eyes.


    ¡°To join the court of cats,¡± Tristan Abrascal softly sang, smiling.


    Sleep snuck up on him.


    --


    In the small hours before morning, before the others woke, Tristan was handed a small cup of milky white poison.


    It didn¡¯t look that way when they sold on the streets. The black tea that the coteries served in their dens was as dark as the name implied and socorro tincture, that purported miracle drug that claimed to heal anything from the cough to impotence, was red-brown. Both of those were cut with other substances, especially socorro ¨C which every charlatan and street witch from the Murk to the Orchard claimed to have a potent family recipe for. It all came back to the same plant, though: the poppy.


    Tristan had seen the fruits of that bud hollow out too many men to ever trust it, but he made himself drink the extract anyway.


    The thugs had left few visible marks during his talks with Lieutenant Vasanti, but he had been savagely beaten and his body still felt like it. If he was to be able to move the way he needed to, he would the pain taken care of. Hence, poppy extract. It would not make up for the sleeplessness lurking behind his eyes, yanking his thoughts one way and the other, but he would handle that himself. The few bruised, intermittent hours of sleep he had grabbed after making his plans would have to tide him over until he could collapse.


    ¡°I recommend against marrying the poppy to substances from your box,¡± the Watch physician said, stroking his sparse beard. ¡°Though I expect you know better than that.¡±


    ¡°I do,¡± Tristan said.


    There was nothing left in there but the bearded cat tincture and the medical turpentine anyhow, not after Vanesa¡¯s last farewell. He had already moved the last vials to his bag along with the few medical supplies he¡¯d wheedled out of the Watch, abandoning the box itself as dead weight. And to think mere days ago he had killed a man for that pile of broken wood. How quickly such worth was spent, though that should not have come as a surprise.


    In Sacromonte, lives could always be had on the cheap.


    The Watch doctor nodded a farewell at him, then packed up his kit and left. The thief rolled his shoulders a little, wincing at the sensation, then finally turned to meet the gaze of the other man present. The one he needed to bargain with so he might begin setting the board, and fortunately the one who had wanted to speak with him. Best to begin with that, if only to fish for leverage.


    ¡°You wanted a word?¡± Tristan said.


    ¡°Something like that,¡± Lieutenant Wen replied.


    The Tianxi with the golden frames was, for once, not eating. He might have called that an ill-omen, were Wen not already inherently such.


    ¡°I am all ears, then.¡±


    Wen studied him for some time, then sighed. He went fishing around the pocket of his vest, pulling out a bronze grandfather pocket watch tied to a chain. It was a simple but lovely piece, still ticking away dutifully. The thief stilled, for he had seen it before - most often during the Trial of Lines.


    ¡°That is Vanesa¡¯s watch.¡±


    ¡°It is,¡± Lieutenant Wen said, and threw it.


    Tristan panicked, but even dulled his reflexes were better than most. He caught the chain, then the rest, and sent a dark look the fat Tianxi¡¯s way. Not that the watchman seemed to care.


    ¡°It¡¯s yours,¡± Lieutenant Wen said.


    He frowned, looking for the trap.


    ¡°Why?¡±


    The watchman snorted.


    ¡°Because the old girl must have emptied your stocks killing that Aztlan tough,¡± Wen said. ¡°He died quick and ugly.¡±


    Tristan smoothed away his worry, painting confusion on his face instead.


    ¡°My stocks?¡±


    The lieutenant sighed, taking off his spectacles to clean them with a ragged silk kerchief he dragged out of his sleeve.


    ¡°Alvareno¡¯s Dosages is a required reading for Cryptics, you shifty little prick,¡± Wen amiably said. ¡°I know a poison box when I see one.¡±


    Tristan swallowed. There were only so many reasons for the lieutenant to know that.


    ¡°Are you¡­¡±


    Wen had spoken contemptuously of Masks before, but that might have been to hide his tracks.


    ¡°Do you think I¡¯d tell you if I were Krypteia?¡± Wen replied, amused.


    A fair point, the thief mentally conceded. The Tianxi dismissed the notion with a wave a heartbeat later.


    ¡°I never cared for the cloak and dagger games,¡± Wen said. ¡°I¡¯m a good Arthasastra boy, we don¡¯t partake.¡±


    Tristan slowly blinked. As in the Arthasastra Society, the Circle of the Watch that trained diplomats?


    ¡°You¡¯re a Laurel,¡± he said, not hiding his skepticism.


    ¡°Historian track, to be exact,¡± Lieutenant Wen amusedly replied. ¡°Our society¡¯s got the broadest remit of the entire College, Tristan, we¡¯re not all translators and negotiators.¡±


    Wen had seemed unusually well-versed in the history of the Watch. Besides, even if the man was lying it hardly mattered. Fingers closing around the watch, feeling the faint ticking beneath, Tristan bowed his head.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± he said.


    The older man stared him down.


    ¡°She died well,¡± Wen said. ¡°Sometimes that¡¯s the best you can hope for.¡±


    There¡¯s no such thing as a good death, Tristan thought. We all shit ourselves and get thrown in a canal when the rot starts to stink. There¡¯s nothing noble about rot, Wen. It¡¯s just the meat that used to be a person going bad. But the thought of leaving Vanesa¡¯s watch in the hands of strangers seemed disrespectful, somehow, so he put it away inside his own pocket. There would be time to fasten it properly later.


    ¡°You¡¯ve buttered me up properly,¡± Tristan acknowledged. ¡°Shall we now tuck into the meal?¡±


    ¡°A poor choice of words, on an island with a history of cannibalism,¡± Wen noted, sounding amused. ¡°But if you insist.¡±


    Manes, was there anything on this island that didn¡¯t eat people? It was bad enough Tristan was going to have to rely on the fact for his plans. The lieutenant, at last satisfied with spectacles that had been largely spotless when he began cleaning them, slid them back on. It made his eyes colder, somehow, for them to be framed in gold.


    ¡°Do you still intend to try for the lift?¡± the lieutenant asked.


    It was phrased as a question, a choice, but Tristan knew better. Wen had extended him help and protection only in exchange for his sabotaging the aetheric machine above. If he went back on his word now there would be consequences. The maze is suicide for us anyhow, he thought. Yong, Maryam, Francho and himself was not fine enough a crew to make it all the way across even if they had some idea of a usable path.


    ¡°I do,¡± Tristan said, ¡°but we both know that Vasanti¡¯s new plans mean mine need to be adjusted. I have a concern.¡±


    Bait.


    ¡°You¡¯re afraid that she¡¯ll find the lift,¡± Wen stated.


    Bait taken. I¡¯m not, Tristan thought. She thinks she has the solution to the front gates and the last thing she needs is more dead blackcloaks. She¡¯ll be religious about sticking to the tiles room and walking right back out.


    ¡°It would be the end of my plans,¡± Tristan said. ¡°I need to take some precautions, Wen. And to do that I need access to the pillar.¡±


    Wen frowned at him.


    ¡°There are only two stone keys to that door,¡± he said. ¡°Vasanti keeps both on her.¡±


    And she was unlikely to share them even if politely asked. Fortunately for them there was no need to go begging.


    ¡°There are only two known keys to the door,¡± Tristan corrected.


    They¡¯d not found the stone button in his boot. The fat Tianxi blinked, then let out a startled laugh.


    ¡°You have a third,¡± he deduced. ¡°So what is it that you need from me, then?¡±


    ¡°To get up there unseen,¡± Tristan said. ¡°Vasanti means to hit the pillar come morning, so it¡¯s certain to be under guard right now.¡±


    ¡°I could arrange that,¡± the lieutenant agreed. ¡°Get my people in place, tell them to look elsewhere.¡±


    He then narrowed his eyes from behind that thin lens of glass.


    ¡°And I will, if you tell me what you¡¯ll be up to in there,¡± Lieutenant Wen said. ¡°I won¡¯t be party to attacks on watchmen, boy.¡±


    Wen¡¯s line in the sand. Wen¡¯s lever. Learn what people love and you will know how to move them, Abuela¡¯s voice whispered into his ear.


    ¡°I don¡¯t have anything I can hurt the Watch with,¡± Tristan lied. ¡°I only intend to jam the door with the broken lock.¡±


    The lieutenant studied him, looking for the lie, but he wouldn¡¯t find it. Tristan¡¯s mind felt like a door without a hinge ¨C every passing thing winding through, without regard to need or sense. The Tianxi might as well have tried to read a whirlpool.


    ¡°Sensible,¡± Wen said. ¡°And the god inside?¡±


    ¡°Another concern,¡± the thief smiled winningly. ¡°Which leads me to my final request.¡±


    Lieutenant Wen cocked an eyebrow over his spectacles.


    ¡°This ought to be good.¡±


    ¡°I need,¡± Tristan said, ¡°a human leg.¡±


    And given how many watchmen had died fighting the god earlier, at least he could count on supply beating demand.


    --


    ¡°You should have asked for an arm,¡± Fortuna opined. ¡°It would have been easier to carry.¡±


    Tristan duly ignored her. He¡¯d glimpsed the leg he now carried wrapped in cloth earlier and noted it was half-charred, likely hacked off a corpse on the great funeral pyre the Watch had made outside the Old Fort ¨C in the same place Inyoni had been burned. They must not have had enough wood to keep it blazing long enough for all the corpses to be turned to ash.


    As the nearest woods were full of bloodthirsty cultists, this was understandable.


    With Wen giving a few orders the thief¡¯s path up the rope ladder was cleared and there was no one keeping watch on the stairs. Good. He could afford no witnesses for this. The last stone button unlocked the door, and once it popped open he hastily claimed the key back before shoving it into a pocket. No teeth sought to chomp down on him, so Tristan went ahead with the first part of his plan: tossed the leg out into the room.


    ¡°Dinner¡¯s served,¡± he called out.


    ¡°Wow,¡± Fortuna muttered. ¡°That got dark.¡±


    He¡¯d told Wen he needed the dead flesh to hide his scent, keep the god off him. The truth was that he needed it for the very opposite reason: he needed the god to come, and the smell of meat was his best chance at ensuring that.


    ¡°I need you to keep watch out in the tile room,¡± Tristan told Fortuna. ¡°The moment it gets close, tell me.¡±


    He would need to be able to close the door in a heartbeat when the god approached, as he doubted that offering of a leg would keep the deity from trying to eat him.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to be alone in a room with a dead leg,¡± Fortuna whined.


    ¡°You won¡¯t be,¡± Tristan assured her with a winning smile. ¡°There will also be a terrifying ancient god trying to eat us.¡±


    ¡°Ugh,¡± the Lady of Long Odds sniffed. ¡°It better not get anything on my dress.¡±


    Tristan opened his mouth, about to ask whether her dress could actually be dirtied ¨C or cleaned ¨C but then he caught the gleam in her eye and his mouth snapped shut. She was only trying to get a rise out of him. Not that she stopped afterwards, complaining about everything from the lighting being unflattering to the leg facing the wrong way, but at least she kept watch as he had asked.


    The minutes passed, one after another, and his shoulders tensed. If he could not speak with the god, if he could not join that cat¡¯s court¡­


    But after more than half an hour had passed, the leg did what it was meant to.


    ¡°Company,¡± Fortuna warned, then cocked her head to the side. ¡°Oh, that looks nasty.¡±


    She fled into the wall a moment later as darkness slithered into the room on quiet feet.


    Tristan pushed the door until it was but a finger¡¯s breadth away from closing. He felt like a child closing the closet door to keep the monster at bay, but the monster here was not of his own making: through the thin length kept open he glimpsed the god moving, all slimy dark scales past a flash of yellow eyes. It was the teeth that had him shuddering in revulsion, though still startlingly human-like for all that each was the size of a hand. The god gobbled up the dead leg with nary a sound.


    ¡°It¡¯s lost a leg,¡± Fortuna whispered in his ear. ¡°Must have been salt munitions, it¡¯s not healing.¡±


    However slight her whisper, it was still heard.


    ¡°The vermin has learned unexpected tricks,¡± the god chuckled.


    Its voice was smooth and lovely, almost like a singer¡¯s. It made you want to lean in, to listen closer. Tristan grit his teeth. The Red Maw had not made a meal of him, neither would this lesser thing. The thief put himself together, breathing out and steadying his back.


    ¡°God of the land,¡± he smilingly said, ¡°I greet you.¡±


    The god ¨C that horrid reptilian thing ¨C laughed, laughed like a infanzona who had just seen a little monkey do a clever trick.


    ¡°Oh, Tristan,¡± the god crooned. ¡°Is it a test you¡¯ve come for, like those the shackled beasts below offer to you lost souls?¡±


    It came closer, until its humid and fetid breath came like a whisper through the crack.


    ¡°Come closer and I shall give you a game, I promise.¡±


    And the voice, the way it spoke, made it sound tempting even though it was utter madness sure to end in his death.


    ¡°I¡¯ve a dislike for playing the games of others, I must confess,¡± Tristan said. ¡°It is a bargain I came for.¡±


    A mocking rictus that he only glimpsed, rows of white teeth over too-red lips.


    ¡°You need only come closer,¡± the god silkily said, ¡°and you will have everything you need.¡±


    Fortuna popped her head out of the wall.


    ¡°He¡¯s lying,¡± she helpfully said. ¡°He¡¯s going to eat you.¡±


    Tristan sighed.


    ¡°Thank you, Fortuna,¡± he replied.


    ¡°Just looking out for you,¡± she smugly said.


    He suspected that if she had enough reach to pat herself on the back in that dress she would have. The god had gotten close, during that short distraction, edged in. He began to close the door and it froze. Ah, so it did want to talk. At least as long as eating him when he slipped up was on the table.


    ¡°I do not have a name to call you by,¡± Tristan said. ¡°Would you care to remedy this, god of the land?¡±


    ¡°How polite,¡± the god drawled. ¡°You may call me Boria.¡±


    That word, that name, it rippled. Echoed. And when Tristan heard it, all he could thought was that he should step out. The god was tricking him, but it was wounded. Weak. And had he not beaten starker odds than this? It would be easier to bargain from there, and if it turned in him then his wits would be enough to¡­ Nails dug into his palm as the thief breathed out shallowly.


    Enough. Enough? Had he ever once in his life held enough in his hand that a victory had come cheap? He turned inwards, sharpened himself.


    ¡°You are,¡± he said, ¡°a god of arrogance.¡±


    Fortuna fanned herself, leaning against the wall to his side. She looked disdainful.


    ¡°The kind that dooms you,¡± she said. ¡°Very specific.¡±


    ¡°Amusing, coming from the likes of you,¡± Boria laughed.


    The goddess huffed up like an offended cat.


    ¡°Let us not lose ourselves in the weeds,¡± Tristan hastily said before she could throw a fit. ¡°I¡¯m not so sure you have the time for it, Boria. You have troubles.¡±


    ¡°Not even the touch of the Glare can still me forever,¡± the god scoffed. ¡°I will return in full splendor and take my revenge upon those who dared to wound me.¡±


    ¡°Ah, but it may well be that the Watch comes for you first,¡± Tristan said. ¡°They have discovered some of the secrets of this place.¡±


    ¡°And what is that to me?¡± Boria dismissed.


    The thief did not answer that immediately. He would first, he thought, need to crack the shell. Just like eating crab.


    ¡°I thought you might the Red Maw for a time, did you now?¡± Tristan said. ¡°Because of the tongue and that fearsome throat of yours. I only knew for sure it was untrue when I returned yesterday and heard the Watch had chased you off.¡±


    Nothing so fearsome as the Maw could have been chased off my muskets, no matter how much salt was loaded into it. It had been confirmed later when he saw the projection of the machine on the other side of the pillar and how massive that entity had become.


    ¡°You spend my patience,¡± Boria warned.


    ¡°So I¡¯ve since had to wonder about,¡± Tristan continued, unruffled, ¡°why it is you¡¯re here at all.¡±


    The god did not answer.


    ¡°You¡¯re not bound by the golden light and its rules while in the pillar, that¡¯s true,¡± Tristan said. ¡°But you¡¯re not here by choice either, are you? You¡¯re starving, Boria. I must have been the first piece of fresh meat you saw in centuries.¡±


    Silence. The god watched him patiently, waiting for an opening. A way to gobble him up.


    ¡°The devils put you in here,¡± the thief said. ¡°After they fiddled with the rules of the golden machine they stranded you inside the pillar and sealed the doors, knowing you¡¯d be so fucking starved of fresh meat that you would attack anyone coming in like a good guard dog.¡±


    This entire mountain, Tristan thought, had been turned into a sandpit for the Red Maw. The devils had created a makeshift seal by piling up gods atop the Maw and forcing them to feed on it through the rules imposed by the golden light, and when the Watch had evicted them from the island they¡¯d sealed the doors behind them so the blackcloaks would not be able to accidentally undo their seal by tinkering with the aetheric machine.


    And then, just to be sure no wily vermin would burrow their way to trouble, they¡¯d tossed a starving god inside so it would eat whatever made it in.


    Tristan went still as darkness billowed out, filling the entire room on the other side of the door until there was nothing at all left but dark and a great, unblinking poisonously yellow eye. It was close, so close he almost closed the door in a fit of fear. He mastered himself at the last moment.


    ¡°And it occurs to me,¡± Tristan said, ¡°that these devils, they were meticulous. Paranoid almost.¡±


    He met that unblinking eldritch gaze.


    ¡°That maybe they would have made it so there would a punishment for the guardian should the treasures within be stolen,¡± he said.


    A collar for the guard dog, so to speak. The thief made himself smile bright and wide.


    ¡°But worry not, my friend,¡± he said. ¡°For I have come to bargain out of the goodness of my heart to help you avoid such a grisly fate.¡±


    Darkness thinned.


    ¡°And why,¡± Boria asked, ¡°would that be?¡±


    It was breathing in, as if tasting the air.


    ¡°The leader of those would breach the pillar is a woman who wants me dead,¡± Tristan said. ¡°I would return the favor.¡±


    Darkness thinned further and further, until once more the thief saw the terrible creature before him.


    ¡°Speak,¡± the god ordered.


    --


    The door closed, not even the barest of cracks open between he and Boria.  Tristan allowed himself to sag against the wall, shivering as if out in the cold, and closed his eyes as he forced his breathing to settle.


    ¡°Now what?¡± Fortuna asked, sounding curious.


    In and out, until calm returned. Ten more breaths passed before the worst of the fear had left him, before he felt ready to speak.


    ¡°Now we walk to Wen again,¡± he replied, ¡°so that the last piece is put into place.¡±


    --


    The trick to making someone give you something for nothing was to make it so that every other decision was worse.


    It was not a surefire trick, of course, though what was? Sometimes the mark would refuse out of spite or make a worse decision because fear or anger. People were not the automatons of story, making every call with clockwork precision and choosing to mitigate damage rather than stick a knife in their enemy on the way down. Tristan, however, had rubbed elbows with Lieutenant Wen enough to get a decent read on the man. The fat man was a practical soul, more interested in results than means, and his moral compass was clannish as any coterie man¡¯s: there was the Watch, then everyone else.


    Tristan had crossed that line in the sand, so he made sure to lie to the man.


    ¡°I ought to have you shot,¡± Wen snarled.


    Having a lie almost as offensive as the truth helped, in his experience. When you told a man you¡¯d killed his wife he did not usually think to question whether you¡¯d actually killed his children instead.


    ¡°It wouldn¡¯t help,¡± the thief shrugged. ¡°And it¡¯s an opportunity, isn¡¯t it? To do it on your own terms.¡±


    The bespectacled Tianxi was furious but they both knew that nothing could be done. Or rather that many things could be done, but all of them were worthless. And Tristan, though eminently executable, was still more useful alive than dead. It was enough.


    ¡°An opportunity to clean up your mess,¡± Wen scoffed. ¡°Now I need to speak with Mandisa.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t let me keep you,¡± Tristan said, idly fishing out Vanesa¡¯s watch.


    Half past six, he saw after popping the lid. He carefully closed it.


    ¡°If you are gone long, this may well be our last conversation,¡± the thief added/


    The lieutenant sneered.


    ¡°Are you giving me your sweet farewells, rat?¡± he asked. ¡°I¡¯m touched.¡±


    Tristan nodded, to the man¡¯s visible surprise.


    ¡°I cannot say meeting you was a pleasure,¡± the thief said, ¡°but it has not been a misfortune. May you fare well in the years to come.¡±


    He even meant it. Lieutenant Wen was a bastard and something of a bully, but his cruelty was shallower than his sense of duty. Had Tristan been part of his tribe, the lives that mattered to the man, then he might even have grown fond of him. A guard hound was loved by the house, not the street.


    ¡°You have been nothing but a heap of trouble,¡± Wen bluntly replied. ¡°Rats always are, it takes us years to beat the Murk out of their bones.¡±


    Then he sighed.


    ¡°You¡¯re not unfit for the cloak, though, I will grant,¡± the lieutenant said. ¡°And your work today will force a good, so prick your ears up.¡±


    Tristan cocked an eyebrow, openly curious.


    ¡°When you find your path through,¡± Wen continued, ¡°be careful if you emerge on the mountainside.¡±


    ¡°Trouble?¡±


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    ¡°The hollows on the islands are divided up in tribes,¡± Wen said. ¡°Those who dwell in the mountains are worst of the Red Eye zealots: they kill on sight and they¡¯ve even scavenged some muskets with the powder to match.¡±


    Which they must have taken from the Watch. By force, as the blackcloaks did not trade guns to the hollows. He let out a low whistle.


    ¡°Bold,¡± Tristan said.


    ¡°You don¡¯t know the half of it,¡± the Tianxi grunted. ¡°They know they can melt back into the mountain paths after, so they¡¯ve even attacked the fort that serves as sanctuary on the other side. It got overrun about a decade ago, all hands lost. The higher-ups ordered a vault built underneath so there¡¯d be somewhere to retreat to if it happened again.¡±


    ¡°I will be sure to keep an eye out, then,¡± the thief seriously replied. ¡°My thanks for the warning.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t need thanks,¡± Lieutenant Wen said. ¡°I need that machine broken. Get to it, rat.¡±


    --


    It was darkly amusing that Lieutenant Vasanti¡¯s stalwarts ¨C numbering a mere eleven watchmen ¨C ate breakfast early and had orders to ensure he was not allowed anywhere near the communal cauldron of porridge. Vanesa¡¯s legacy, he mused. The Someshwari lieutenant ought to have known there was near nothing left in his poison cabinet, since she¡¯d ordered it searched, so in a way it was flattering that she still would not allow Tristan near anywhere food she was to eat.


    How resourceful she must think him, to be wary of his making poisons out of thin air.


    By the time Vasanti¡¯s crew was finished his own was up and ready. The four of them claimed a table on the other side of the kitchen, busying themselves with stilted talk and cups of grass tea until the blackcloaks were gone and they were finally allowed to fill their own bowls with slop. Tristan forced himself to eat two, knowing he would need the vigor. For all that the blackcloaks would be the ones taking the vanguard he did not expect an easy way of it.


    It was only when he set down his spoon after the second bowl that Yong broke the silence.


    ¡°All right, I¡¯ll be the one since no one else is stepping up,¡± the Tianxi said. ¡°What in the fucking Heavens happened last night, Tristan?¡±


    ¡°Vasanti tried to scapegoat me for her blunder in the pillar,¡± he casually summed up. ¡°She failed to talk the watchmen into having me hanged, so she had to settle for an interrogation.¡±


    Interrogation sounded better than torture. Usually meant the same thing, in his experience, but sounded better. Maryam cocked an eyebrow.


    ¡°Which yielded?¡±


    Tristan cleared his throat.


    ¡°Remund Cerdan, that villain, stole the brand and hid it before attempting to frame me for this hideous crime,¡± the rat said. ¡°Once this became obvious, Lieutenant Vasanti and I divined the hiding place together and cleared my name.¡±


    Francho toothlessly grinned, shaking his head as he chuckled.


    ¡°A terrible villain, that lad,¡± the old professor said. ¡°And should this reprehensible character proclaim his innocence?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯d be quite the trick,¡± Tristan said, ¡°as I saw a rusty piece of steel two inches wide go right through his throat last night.¡±


    It was highly unlikely that anyone had seem him dispose of the Cerdan but not impossible, so he had a second lie prepared just in case. Remund had survived his wounding on the way down but been unable to walk, so he had demanded that Tristan carry him. When refused, the infanzon tried to force him at the point of a pistol. When poor Tristan had tried to wrestle it away from him a shot was fired in the melee, putting Remund to rest.


    Remund Cerdan had been a noble, so it was only natural for Tristan to be terrified of the consequences even if it had been an accidental death while defending himself. It was the only reason he had lied.


    On the other side of the table, Maryam¡¯s blue eyes were knowing.


    ¡°The tunnels past the wheel room, was it?¡± she said. ¡°I heard Tredegar almost got cut as well, they sound almost as dangerous as a test.¡±


    In the lantern light Maryam¡¯s hard face and long tresses looked as if they had been carved by hatchet, like as not to cut any hand daring to strike those cheekbones. She was pleasing to the eye, Tristan thought, in the way that a good knife was: entirely itself even when at rest, a knife even before it cut. There was something curiously reassuring about that, about having that calm sharpness on your side.


    On his side.


    It was a small thing, he thought, what she had just done. Helping him sell a lie the others would only barely care about. But it had been unasked for, nothing bargained or offered, and she had done it without batting an eye. It was a small thing but she gained nothing from doing it ¨C it implicated her needlessly, if anything ¨C and that meant it was not a small thing at all. Tristan looked away, clearing his throat.


    ¡°My differences with the good lieutenant have been settled,¡± he said. ¡°Moreover, she now delivers an opportunity: as Vasanti believes she can open the front gate, we can make our own move while she sets out through it with her crew.¡±


    ¡°He expedition might draw the god¡¯s attention and clear our path,¡± Francho approved.


    It would. Tristan had seen to that. It surprised the thief some that it had been the old professor and not Yong who talked of distraction, however. When he turned he found the Tianxi¡¯s dark eyes narrowed and resting on him.


    ¡°Put your hand between your shoulder blades, Tristan,¡± Yong said.


    The thief¡¯s face went blank. Lies came his tongue, rich and plentiful, but not a single one they would believe. Three seconds passed, then the Tianxi sighed.


    ¡°You can¡¯t, can you?¡± he said.


    ¡°I could,¡± Tristan said, which was true. ¡°But would rather not.¡±


    Even truer. The poppy milk had taken off the edge, but he has still been thoroughly worked over.


    ¡°They beat you halfway to useless,¡± Yong said. ¡°We should wait until tomorrow to do this.¡±


    His jaw clenched. The others noticed. Gods but this fucking exhaustion was going to be the death of him, it was like someone was painting his every thought on his sleeve.


    ¡°I have made arrangements that require precise timing,¡± Tristan said. ¡°I¡¯ve been given something for the pain, Yong, I will not slow us down.¡±


    ¡°Arrangements,¡± the Tianxi flatly repeated.


    I cannot tell you, Tristan thought. You will betray me. Yong had told him as much when he had drawn his own lines in the sand. Another obstacle to dance around. It was tempting to say he would soon reveal the truth, but that was sentiment talking. Even that much might let Yong deduce that Vasanti was involved, decide that there was something worth selling there. And you¡¯ll want to turn on me if you figure it out, like you did the infanzones.


    So he gave nothing.


    ¡°Arrangements,¡± he simply said.


    The older man¡¯s face tightened with displeasure turning to the rest of the table for support. Tristan¡¯s belly clenched, at least until Maryam shook her head.


    ¡°I would be more worried if he-¡± Francho broke into a cough, rasping out a breath before resuming. ¡°If he wasn¡¯t scheming something, Yong.¡±


    The Tianxi¡¯s lips thinned with displeasure, but he was alone in wanting to push the matter. And he did not have the leverage to force it, not when his only option should he walk away was trying the maze alone. It gave no pleasure to Tristan to watch the older man realize he was in a corner and there was little he could to about it.


    ¡°Sending soldiers out without telling them the marching orders is bound to get someone killed,¡± Yong bit out. ¡°You¡¯ll have to learn that lesson sooner or later, Tristan.¡±


    Everyone was trying to teach him lessons, these days, the thief thought. It was getting rather tiring.


    ¡°I will not make empty promises,¡± Tristan said.


    Little else was said, after that. His mind was elsewhere anyhow: now all that was left was to wait for Vasanti to open the dance.


    --


    Within ten minutes of the blackcloaks disappearing into the pillar there was a loud clicking sound, as if someone were working away at a giant lock.


    In practice, that was exactly what Lieutenant Vasanti¡¯s watchmen were doing. Most the garrison still in the Old Fort gathered in the courtyard before the iron gate, or on a wall they could see it them from, and the four of them joined the throng. The metal tiles on the gate began to turn one after another in sequence, likely matching the tiles getting activated inside the pillar, and the machinery around them began to move.


    It pumped and turned and ticked, until there was a deafening hum and lights lit up along the outer ring of the gate. Small pinpricks of light, which began slowly rotating. Like golden fireflies they hovered, getting impressed murmurs out of the watchmen.


    Tiles began spinning again, but slower. As if a combination was getting felt out instead of known by rote.


    ¡°Vanesa, gods rest her soul, was convinced that the tiles were a way to command some hidden aether machine in the gate,¡± Francho said. ¡°It appears she was right.¡±


    Tristan¡¯s heart clenched. He made himself nod.


    ¡°Pretty lights,¡± Yong shrugged. ¡°What are they for?¡±


    Instead of the slow, lazy clockwise rotation the golden pinpricks were now going back and forth in both directions by haphazard stretches.


    ¡°They¡¯re not lights,¡± Maryam quietly said. ¡°They¡¯re stars. It¡¯s the same as the pattern above our heads.¡±


    The thief blinked in surprise. He had grown so used to the golden light of the aether machine above he had forgot what that machine actually was: an orrery, a mobile representing the movement of the stars of firmament. It was why Vasanti had astronomical equipment out on her bastion.


    ¡°And how does that open the lock?¡± he asked.


    ¡°The stars aren¡¯t in alignment above and on the gate,¡± Maryam said. ¡°But look at what¡¯s happening with the tiles ¨C Vasanti is adjusting them closer.¡±


    Vanesa had told him, Tristan suddenly recalled, that she could not figure out what the machinery on the gate did because it was not like a clock, did not use a fixed unit of measurement. His fingers reached for the watch in his pocket, clasping the bronze.  Because the movement of stars is more complex than that of a clock¡¯s arrows, he thought. But we use it to tell time as well, do we not? Stars set our calendars, in olden days.


    ¡°It¡¯s a time lock,¡± Tristan breathed out. ¡°Back before the devils broke it and shut it down, it must have been set to open at fixed intervals.¡±


    Maryam hummed.


    ¡°Days of the year, as measured by the movement of the stars,¡± she agreed. ¡°A grand, beautiful, pointlessly complicated wonder. ¡°


    ¡°Antediluvian work in a sentence,¡± Francho drily said, then coughed into his fist.


    It took another half hour for the Watch crew to match above and below, but when they finally did the lights winked out and the entire courtyard went silent ¨C as if every soul had breathed in at once. The machinery between the tiles and the outer ring began moving again, but the dominant sounds were pistons withdrawing, latches undoing. Like a vest getting unbuttoned, the iron gate split open in the middle and slowly began to open.


    Only for a horrid grinding sound to explode out.


    Something prevented the gates from opening more than a foot and change wide, soldered bars of steel that fought against the strength of the opening mechanism until wheels and cogs began popping off and metal bent. The sounds were deafening, and as he covered his ears Tristan saw tiles begin spinning again. Vasanti was intervening. The gates stopped opening, remaining stuck with just a foot of space to press through.


    The cacophony stopped.


    ¡°The work of devils, do you think?¡± Yong quietly asked.


    ¡°Seems likely,¡± Francho said. ¡°They were the ones who wanted this place sealed forever.¡±


    If so, then their last measure had failed. Though the small space would prevent the watchmen from bringing something like artillery pieces inside, the blackcloaks themselves would pass just fine. Unless that was always the plan, Tristan thought. To make it so that only a small force can enter, small enough their starved god can devour them without trouble. Only madness could come out of guessing at the intentions of devils, he reminded himself.


    ¡°It will be soon, now,¡± Tristan said. ¡°We need to get you out of sight before she returns.¡±


    --


    Lieutenant Vasanti came to gloat.


    It surprised him. Not because he had thought it above the old woman, but because he would have bet on her caring more about exploring the insides of the pillar as she had wanted to for years over browbeating a rat. He had not been wrong, only slightly off: it seemed Vasanti had some time to spare before her watchmen were ready for the delving, so she had decided to spend it looking down on him.


    ¡°Not a sign of the god we wounded,¡± she said. ¡°It must still be licking its wound.¡±


    A shallow smile from the weathered Someshwari.


    ¡°Sometimes all it takes is a sharp lesson before they learn their place, don¡¯t you agree?¡±


    The grey-eyed thief did not smile insolently and retort with a quip, or remind her the only reason she could get anywhere was that he had traded the brand to her. Even as a boy he would have known better. Instead he stretched his arm discreetly so that he would not have the fake the wince of pain on his face and looked away like she had beaten him. He did not answer.


    ¡°Nothing to say?¡± Vasanti pressed. ¡°Should I go and ask your little friends?¡±


    That he could not allow. He¡¯d asked them to get out of sight in the first place so that Vasanti and her followers could not see their group was gearing up for a go at the pillar. At the moment she would assuming he intended to follow in the wake of her own expedition, unaware he still had a key to the other entrance. If she caught on, though¡­ Best to give her something to bite down on instead. Pride was the most affordable of offerings.


    ¡°I¡¯m surprised you can spare the time on me,¡± Tristan said, making himself sound resentful. ¡°Are you not about to lead your crew into the great unknown?¡±


    ¡°So I am,¡± Lieutenant Vasanti smiled. ¡°And it will be the find of the century ¨C an aetheric machine of that caliber, untouched for centuries yet still functional? There are nations out there that would go to war to acquire such a thing.¡±


    He made himself wince again, as if pained by her victory instead of simply pained.


    ¡°But you are right,¡± Vasanti said. ¡°I have no more time to waste on the likes of you.¡±


    She paused.


    ¡°Save, perhaps to give you a warning,¡± the lieutenant said. ¡°Do be careful when you follow us down, Tristan. Accidents happen so easily when exploring dangerous places.¡±


    With one last pleased smiled she walked away, leaving him to consider her back with a cold gaze. Had he intended to follow in her wake, that would have worried him enough for the calculations on some risks to skew a different way. Vasanti was not the kind of woman to be merciful in victory, he thought. It had not been a mistake to count her an enemy. More interesting to him was that she intended to head down.


    The quick look he¡¯d had past the iron gates had revealed two sets of stairs, one curving upwards and the other down, and he¡¯d assumed she would be aiming up. Not his trouble, he decided.


    He waited out there until Vasanti took her eleven loyalists past the gate, disappearing below, then finally joined the others by the armory. All were armed to the teeth, even Francho who now bore a pistol ¨C that he barely knew how to use, but could at least fire the right direction if it came to that. Yong and Maryam both carried bandoliers provided to them at Wen¡¯s order, as had been bargained for: paper cartridges containing powder and salt munitions, musket balls filled with Glare-infused salt. The bane of gods.


    Three pairs of eyes came to rest on him.


    ¡°I hope you are not awaiting a speech,¡± Tristan said. ¡°Yong¡¯s the only officer here.¡±


    ¡°I gave a few of the yearly addresses at Reve,¡± Francho volunteered, coughing into his fist. ¡°Shall I try?¡±


    The thief paused, knowing this was a waste of time but too curious to refuse.


    ¡°By all means,¡± Maryam said, settling the matter for him.


    Yong rolled his eyes at them. Francho cleared his throat.


    ¡°My eager young students, I share with you today the most important lesson of my long career,¡± he said.


    He straightened his back, wizened rheumy eyes sparkling with wisdom.


    ¡°Tenure is the only thing that matters,¡± Francho told them. ¡°Once you have that you can do whatever you want: they can¡¯t get rid of you without a two thirds majority of the Masters and that is like herding cats, if cats could feud for twenty years about the variable declensions of irregular verbs in Cantar.¡±


    Maryam raised a hand as he began coughing.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Francho allowed after it passed.


    ¡°Do you have any lessons that apply to our coming venture in any way?¡± she politely asked.


    Tristan bit the inside of his cheek so he would not laugh, Yong looked faintly embarrassed to have ever known them and Francho duly considered the question.


    ¡°Do not get eaten by monsters,¡± the old professor finally replied.


    ¡°An ideal we all aspire to,¡± Tristan gravely replied, lips twitching uncontrollably.


    Yong walked away, muttering something under his breath about ¡®canal water¡¯ and ¡®brain fever¡¯. They had to hurry and catch up when it became clear that the Tianxi would not, in fact, be slowing down.


    So began their bold venture into the unknown.


    --


    They did not need to watch for blackcloaks keeping watch, as there were none: within minutes of Vasanti and her loyalists disappearing Wen had summoned the entire garrison to him, as Tristan had figured he might. They had a clear path the rope ladder, then through the room where the folded metal ladder no one had ever got to work still lay inert. Tristan took the lead near the locked door leading to the tile room, silently gesturing for Fortuna to have a look ahead. The golden-eyed goddess huffed, but she had her look on the other side.


    She popped her head, and only her head, through the door to signify there was no sign of Boria. As if he¡¯d needed a headache on top of everything else.


    The thief made a show of only slightly opening the door after he unlocked it with the stone button, ¡®risking¡¯ a glance and then venturing into the room. He called back it was clear after, the other three following with their weapons out. None of them had ever come here before, so their eyes wandered ¨C mostly to the wall filled with glyph-inscribed tiles that Vasanti¡¯s crew must have earlier used.


    Tristan himself paid it little mind, instead heading for the door with the broken latch that had nearly got him killed. Yong followed closely behind, musket already at the ready and loaded with salt munitions.


    ¡°The lift is that way,¡± Tristan said. ¡°Quietly now, the hall is where I ran into the god the first time.¡±


    Into the hall they went, step by step, until they found the door of transparent green glass they¡¯d come for.


    ¡°Fuck,¡± Yong reverently whispered. ¡°It really is a lift.¡±


    Through the glass they could see the ropes and pulleys ¨C all of it metal, dull and pale - that would pull up the small stainless platform on the other side of the door. There were no obvious controls for it, but they might be hidden from where this side of the door. The handle was easy enough to find: a simple grip carved into the glass, allowing the thief to slide the door into the wall. Tristan tested the platform with his foot and found it solid, then stepped onto it. A swift look around found what he was looking for.


    ¡°There it is,¡± he said.


    A vertical stripe of cryptoglyphs carved in the wall, besides which three circular symbols of gold had been set into the stone. Yong, who had leaned in, nodded and withdrew.


    ¡°Francho,¡± he said, gesturing for the professor.


    They both left to give the old man the time and privacy to use his contract and learn how to work the lift. They walked a little further down, staying close to the walls and keeping an eye on both sides of the hall. Maryam was keeping guard by the door with the broken latch in case anyone form the Old Fort intended on following them in.


    ¡°I thought the god would be lying in wait for sure,¡± Yong admitted. ¡°We are the easier target.¡±


    Now was the time to tell him, following the plan, but the thief still hesitated. It did not go unnoticed.


    ¡°Tristan,¡± Yong slowly said, ¡°what did you do?¡±


    He had to tell Yong now, he knew. He would have to ask the crew to wait here, and they were not going to agree to that unless he gave them a good reason for it. It¡¯s too late for you to sell me out now anyway, the thief thought. It wouldn¡¯t do you any good. Vasanti is too far and the end of this trial so very close. It should tip the balance his way.


    ¡°It¡¯s not here,¡± Tristan said, ¡°because I told the god when Vasanti would go through the front gate.¡±


    The Tianxi went still, as if he¡¯d been slapped, but Tristan had no regrets. Even with Yong along, it was a near certainty they would die if they fought the god. Tristan had, therefore, ensured that Boria would be elsewhere.


    ¡°Wen will kill you,¡± Yong quietly said. ¡°Slowly. He¡¯ll hunt you to the ends of this island if he has to.¡±


    The words were an afterthought, compared to the disappointed look in the man¡¯s eyes. Like he had misjudged Tristan. The thief had known it was coming: Yong had left the infanzones when he believed they were using the leftovers as bait, during the Trial of Lines. Now Tristan had done even worse, not even leaving the matter to chance.


    ¡°Wen would have been an issue,¡± Tristan agreed. ¡°So I lied to him, told him that the god cornered me and I had to bargain that information so it would let me leave. He is preparing to ambush the ambusher as we speak.¡±


    Wen had been furious that Watch lives were put at risk, of course, but recognized that Vasanti and her men would likely have been attacked anyway. All Tristan had done was forewarn the god, and in compensation he had given Wen something the man wanted: a reason to relieve Lieutenant Vasanti from command. After the fat lieutenant drove off the god with a counter-ambush, he would be able to call Vasanti reckless and argue she was out of control. Risking Watch lives for her pride.


    He would then be able to pull the entire garrison out of the Old Fort, getting them out of the line of fire before Tristan broke the golden aether machine and the gods of the maze were freed of the rules keeping them leashed to their shrines ¨C and unable to hurt mortals outside of the tests. But the timing for all that would be delicate, which was why he was telling Yong this in the first place and would soon tell the others.


    ¡°You made a deal with Wen,¡± the veteran said.


    ¡°I did,¡± Tristan said. ¡°And it involves waiting to take the lift until-¡±


    Maryam leaned through the doorway.


    ¡°Shots,¡± she called out. ¡°I can hear them echo from further down, through the wheel room where Tristan almost died. I think the Watch ran into the god.¡±


    ¡°That,¡± Tristan finished. ¡°Waiting until that.¡±


    In a matter of moments, he thought, Lieutenant Wen would rescue the other watchmen and drive away Boria.


    ¡°Francho,¡± he called out. ¡°How are we doing?¡±


    A long coughing fit was his first answer. The second was more promising.


    ¡°I need Sarai to make a Sign,¡± the old man said, ¡°but I believe I have found our answer.¡±


    He did not even need to gesture for Maryam to come running, she had been listening in. They all went to stand on the stainless platform, Francho muttering his instructions to the pale-skinned woman as she frowned at the golden inscriptions.


    ¡°There were a lot more shots sounding below than there should have been given how many people Vasanti took down with her,¡± Maryam casually said.


    ¡°A question I¡¯ll answer as soon as you get the lift moving,¡± Tristan replied.


    ¡°Well,¡± she said, ¡°if you insist.¡±


    She traced her finger over the topmost symbol, teeth gritted as she did, and a faint streak of darkness glimmered wherever skin touched gold. Sher withdrew her hand the moment it was finished, like she¡¯d been burned, and black smoke wafted off the gold.


    From the tip of her finger as well, until she wiped it off on her tunic.


    ¡°Did it-¡± Yong began, mouth closing when the platform shuddered beneath their feet.


    It began rising after, perfectly soundless and at what felt like a brisk trot. The stone around them was smooth and identical, however, so there was no telling at what speed they were truly moving.


    ¡°Answers,¡± Maryam prompted.


    Tristan gave them, same as he had with Yong. What he¡¯d told the god, what he¡¯d told Wen. Neither seemed irked at his tactics ¨C Francho, if anything, looked pleased. After that, at least he told the crew what it was that Wen had asked in exchange for the salt munitions.


    ¡°He wants us to break the aether machine,¡± Tristan said. ¡°That way the Watch will be forced to attempt to kill the Red Maw instead of continuing the trials.¡±


    From the corner of his eye he caught the first break in the stone walls. A green glass gate leading into a well-lit room, the glimpse barely a second long.


    ¡°That is madness,¡± Yong grunted. ¡°The maze might be failing, but it is still the only thing keeping the Maw at bay. What if it spreads out of control?¡±


    ¡°It has had centuries and not spread more than a mile or two into the seabed,¡± Francho said. ¡°Even if it consumes every speck of life on the Dominion, how far can it really go? It will simply be one of a hundred blockaded islands in the Trebian Sea.¡±


    Another break, this time for another side, and Yong saw it too. They shared a look, both wondering whether it was a sign they were getting near the summit.


    ¡°You think the Watch will starve it out?¡± Maryam asked, sounding surprised.


    ¡°It would not be the first time they were forced to handle a god this way,¡± Francho shrugged. ¡°My concern is that if we act too early the gods of the maze might attack the Old Fort while watchmen are still in it. That would earn us a shallow grave.¡±


    ¡°Wen is to lead them out,¡± Tristan reminded him.


    ¡°If he can convince the others to side with him against Vasanti,¡± Yong noted. ¡°He¡¯s right, that is not a sure thing.¡±


    ¡°Waiting too long would be dangerous,¡± the thief said. ¡°Whatever made the god desperate to attack intruders will turn it against us when it realizes we are heading to the summit. We have some time, but we cannot afford to-¡±


    Green glass exploded from behind him scattering against his coat, and all Tristan saw as he turned was a flash of red. His spine, it was going to hit his ¨C the thief hit the floor, warm spraying all over his face, and there was a scream. A woman¡¯s scream. Maryam had pushed him down, and the hand that¡¯d done it was still on his hip.


    Missing two fingers.


    Boria¡¯s tongue withdrew with a wet slurp before the lift¡¯s rise could cut it off.


    ¡°Fuck,¡± Tristan said, ¡°Maryam, I need to-¡±


    ¡°Move,¡± Yong shouted, firing his musket past them.


    Tristan hit the deck as green glass burst again, the god letting out a scream of hatred as Yong¡¯s salt shot hit flesh. He scrabbled on the ground through shards of glass until he had his bag in hand, ripping out bandages.


    ¡°Reloading,¡± the Tianxi calmly said. ¡°Cover your wall.¡±


    ¡°Maryam, give me your hand,¡± Tristan hissed. ¡°You¡¯ll bleed out.¡±


    ¡°Fuck,¡± she cursed, and slammed the mutilated limb into his lap as she fumbled with her pistol.


    She shot into glass a moment before it exploded, a massive hand clawing at the stainless floor and trying to rip out Francho ¨C who threw himself to the side, screaming as the glass shards cut into his skin. Tristan forced Maryam¡¯s hand up and tied a tourniquet on the fingers. She¡¯d lost her little and ring finger down to the bottom phalange. To save his life.


    How did someone even out a debt like that?


    ¡°Francho, aim your fucking pistol,¡± Yong snarled. ¡°Now is not the time to fall apart.¡±


    The old man was trembling so badly he could not hold the gun up, Tristan saw as he rose to his feet. He drew his own, helping up Maryam, and grit his teeth. The same stone walls that had seemed like a haven now seemed sinister, like the muzzle of a gun. There was no telling when Boria would strike, or from where. How is it even keeping up with us?


    Glass burst behind them.


    ¡°VERMIN,¡± the god snarled.


    Tristan shot, but it went wide and Francho slipped on the glass as he tried to flee Boria¡¯s searching hands. The old man¡¯s feet was caught and Tristan cursed as he threw his useless pistol at the god, to his complete surprise hitting it right in the eye ¨C it yelped, releasing Francho, and as Yong landed a shot to drive it off Tristan dragged the old man back.


    ¡°My pistol,¡± the old professor panted. ¡°Take my pistol, I can¡¯t-¡±


    The thief took it, not having the heart to admit he might be an even worse shot than the old man. At least he could hold it the right way. The four of them stood together, clustered and fearful, as the lift continued to rise. Five breaths passed, then ten, then twenty.


    When thirty had passed, one of them spoke up.


    ¡°Tristan,¡± Yong said. ¡°Did I go mad, or did I see you throw your pistol at it?¡±


    ¡°I was improvising,¡± he replied defensively.


    Maryam¡¯s forehead fell against his back, his friend laughing convulsively.


    ¡°How are you feeling?¡± Tristan asked her.


    She snorted, voice still taut with laughter.


    ¡°Like a god ate two of my fingers,¡± she informed him.


    ¡°Going against the single piece of advice I gave you,¡± Francho noted.


    A heartbeat passed, then they were all howling with laughter. It wasn¡¯t even that funny. It was just a release of tension, though none of them dared to take an eye off their wall. As the last chuckles began to peter out, the platform between them shuddered again.


    ¡°It¡¯s slowing down,¡± Tristan said, almost disbelieving. ¡°Are we¡­¡±


    ¡°We must,¡± Yong said.


    The older man did not even try to hide his relief.


    ¡°Tristan.¡±


    His gaze swept around and he found the source of the whisper: Fortuna, standing in a corner. She gestured discreetly. He cocked an eyebrow.


    ¡°Tristan?¡± Francho asked.


    ¡°Not now,¡± he said, then lowered his voice. ¡°What are you pointing at?¡±


    Fortuna, again, moved her chin oddly. Up, he realized, She was pointing up as discreetly as she could. Ignoring the worried gaze from Francho, he flicked as tactful a glance up as he could. He could see the top of the lift, he realized. Where their rise would end. There was even a glass door. But why would Fortuna ¨C a second door, this one open. Leading into a room without light, so he had thought it part of the stone wall at first glance.


    He met Fortuna¡¯s golden eyes, cocking an eyebrow. She nodded back.


    He swallowed a curse, knowing that if he said anything Boria would hear it. Its hearing was sharp. Yong was looking at him as if he were mad, but the others had been told ¨C or put together ¨C that he was speaking with his god. Tristan put a finger to his lip, then gestured up at the dark doorway. It took three heartbeats to make himself understood with a pantomime that couldn¡¯t easily be seen from above, and they were just about to end their trip the thief grit his teeth and shot into the dark.


    Light flashed, revealing poisonous yellow eyes poised on them, and the god leapt down before the lift could dock into place.


    He heard someone shouting ¨C him, Yong? ¨C and there was another shot, but the Boria was just too large and too heavy. It landed among them, Tristan getting slammed into the wall and hitting his head against stone. Dazed, he blinked as he heard shouting as Yong bared his sword. Francho shouted, choking on his cough, and Maryam was thrown right through the glass door by a flick of the god¡¯s tail. His vision swam, eyes tearing up as all that came in focus was golden eyes. Fortuna, still facing him.


    Holding a single golden coin in her hand.


    ¡°All in,¡± he croaked, and her laugh was the loveliest thing he¡¯d ever head.


    He saw the flash of gold go up, spinning, and the string in the back of his mind pull the furthest it ever had. The clock did not tick, this time. No, the debt was too large for that. It felt like the heartbeat of an ancient titan, right against his ear. Like thunder rolling out, and the string pulled so far back it came all the way around.


    Fortune and misfortune in a single stroke: beneath their feet, the platform broke.


    ¡°No,¡± Boria screamed.


    The god scrabbled against the wall, Tristan falling on its back. He clung to the slimy scales as the god struggled to drag itself through the doorway, but Yong had thrown himself through the broke glass door and Maryam was with him, dragging up Francho. The Tianxi aimed his musket down at the god, hesitating when his gaze dipped to Tristan.


    ¡°Do it,¡± he shouted.


    His hands were already sliding against the scales. Yong grit his teeth and fired right into the god¡¯s hand, breaking its grip. It dropped.


    So did Tristan, until his back hit a ball of solid Gloam.


    Scrabbling desperately not to fall off, the thief hugged the curves as the god toppled past him with beastly howls of rage.


    ¡°Hurry,¡± Maryam snarled, ¡°a rope, I can¡¯t-¡±


    But they had no rope. Instead Francho leaned over the edge, legs held by Yong, and as the old man trembled Tristan leapt across the gap ¨C his fingers sunk into the professor¡¯s clothes, ripping the cloth, and he shouted in fear but the collar stuck and then both Yong and Maryam were dragging them up. Up, up, as Francho¡¯s clothes continued to rip around the collar and just before it came right off Yong caught him by his and dragged him over the edge.


    They fell in a pile, bleeding and bruised and panting so loud they almost couldn¡¯t make out the howling of the god until it no longer made any noise at all.


    --


    The summit of the pillar was as single cavernous hall.


    They stumbled forward hesitantly, awed by the size and troubled by how utterly empty it was. There was nothing within save for a wide ring of stone seats, all facing the center of the room, and a shallow pit in the middle that could not be more than five feet wide and as many deep.


    ¡°Is it the wrong place?¡± Yong asked, sounding exhausted to the bone.


    ¡°No,¡± Maryam said. ¡°There is¡­ something here. The aether is too thick.¡±


    It was Francho who found the answer by virtue of being the first to touch one of the stone seats. Lights flared, coursing out of the pit like a river in reverse and expanding into a massive riot of colors and shapes. Tristan swallowed, blinking away the headache he was getting just looking at it.


    ¡°I¡¯ll leave that to you,¡± he told the old man. ¡°I¡¯ll find us an exit.¡±


    It was not all that difficult to achieve as much, now that the flared lights chased the shadows out of the room. There were two smooth opening in the stone. Tristan traded a look with Yong as Maryam joined Francho by the lights, the two of them splitting the work. The thief¡¯s ended up a dead end: it was, he found out to his mild amusement, a latrine. An absurdly spacious one with basins to wash your hands in, but a latrine nonetheless. Apparently even the Antediluvians had felt certain needs. Yong turned out to be the lucky one.


    ¡°I think this leads out,¡± the Tianxi called out, having doubled back.


    Tristan crossed the room to join him, ignoring the moving lights and excited talk from the other two. Francho, he noted, was moving near one of the stone seats again. He could only approve of using the old man¡¯s contract as a shortcut. He found a long, dimly lit hall when he joined Yong. Going in a straight line, it seemed to go on for long enough that outside the mountain seemed the only possible destination.


    ¡°That¡¯s our bet,¡± Tristan agreed.


    ¡°And there¡¯s that,¡± Yong added, pointing to the side.


    The thief squinted, making out what the man was pointing at after a moment. Another green glass door.


    ¡°Another lift?¡± he asked.


    ¡°We¡¯ve only seen the green glass on those,¡± the Tianxi shrugged.


    The veteran leaned back against the wall, reaching inside his bag and producing a small tin flask.


    ¡°Yong,¡± Tristan reproached. ¡°Truly?¡±


    ¡°You sent men and women sworn to protect us right into the jaws of a god for a plan that did not even work,¡± Yong mildly replied. ¡°Shut your fucking mouth, Tristan. I¡¯ll drink if I feel like it.¡±


    The thief rocked back, hurt but refusing to show it. That¡¯d not been unearned, he knew. He¡¯d been the one to first break trust. So instead of the sharp answer on the tip of his tongue, he walked away. There would be time to mend that bridge later, if they both lived through the night. He hoped.


    Returning to the great hall, he paused in sheer surprise at what now stood before him.


    What had been a largely empty hall was now filled with tall steles risen from the ground, more emerging or moving to the sides as Maryam tugged at ropes of silver light going into the mess of lights at the heart of the room. Which were not so messy anymore. Shapes had come into focus, outlining the island only separated in zones of different color connected by red furrows.


    ¡°Tristan,¡± Francho called out, then broke for a cough. ¡°We figured it out.¡±


    ¡°Figured out what?¡± he warily asked.


    ¡°What the Antediluvians were doing here,¡± Maryam said. ¡°Or something close to it.¡±


    Francho beamed, rheumy eyes bright.


    ¡°The Red Maw transported raw aether,¡± the old professor said. ¡°Centuries ago the island was divided into areas where certain plants and animals were installed-¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s why so many lemures from different parts of the world can be found here,¡± Maryam cut in. ¡°They drew on fauna and flora from all over-¡±


    ¡°And then the entity that became the Red Maw was to release the aether into those specific areas, presumably so that the Antediluvians could study the effects,¡± Francho cut right back. ¡°Presumably there was another facility dedicated to study, but I believe this one was meant to control the Red Maw itself. Maryam, if you would?¡±


    She tugged at the silver strings, steles rose and fell as the floor parted like water and the lights changed. A new image came into focus. It was, Tristan thought, a much finer version of the sight revealed by the small machine they¡¯d got to work below. A see-through sight of the island from the side, only this one also outlined the pillar they stood in: it was a massive spear pointing downwards, with thin filaments spreading out near the top of the shaft all over the top of the mountain. One of them, Tristan noted, seemed to be the hallway Yong had found.


    It led outside, he realized with excitement.


    Then his gaze turned to the Red Maw and the excitement faded. The tip of the spear was right above a massive nest of red lines and a thick knot at the heart that had to be the god¡¯s heart.


    ¡°See?¡± Francho said. ¡°It cannot be a coincidence the facility reaches precisely there. I expect there is a way to force the Red Maw to begin feeding the areas aether again instead of hoarding it, perhaps using the same phenomenon that forced rules onto the maze. If we could only-¡±


    The shot took him by complete and utter surprise.


    He dropped to the floor, the other two scattering to take cover behind steles, but it had not been them that were shot out. Instead Tristan turned to find that Yong had dropped to the floor, and that walking right past him a bloodied silhouette advanced. Black cloak torn to strips and face bloodied, Lieutenant Vasanti raised a second pistol.


    ¡°Not a move, you little rat,¡± she snarled. ¡°You, with the Signs ¨C step away from the lights or the boy gets a new hole in the head.¡±


    Tristan swallowed, reaching for the luck, but his fingers closed around nothing. He could feel anything, borrow anything. Manes, had he even seen Fortuna since he¡¯d made the lift drop? He could not remember. Did I burn out my luck? He raised his hands, not daring move an inch under Vasanti¡¯s steady gaze.


    ¡°Lieutenant,¡± Maryam said, ¡°I do not know what angered you so, but there is no-¡±


    ¡°Shut up, girl,¡± Vasanti said. ¡°You think I can¡¯t see it? Wen coming right when he did, like he¡¯d been forewarned. You planned it together, and I won¡¯t get shot by that idiot in Three Pines while the smug asshole eats a fucking pastry.¡±


    Tristan¡¯s eyes flicked past the blackcloak, seeking Yong. Was he alive? He couldn¡¯t tell from here, but the Tianxi was not moving. How had she even-


    ¡°You took a lift up,¡± the thief breathed up. ¡°The other one.¡±


    ¡°I was right, like usual,¡± Vasanti laughed. ¡°The closest way up was below, a maintenance room. I pressed on after the cowards left, proved my point. Beautiful work that lift, it didn¡¯t make a sound ¨C and the drunk was too busy drinking to hear me coming, anyway.¡±


    The cheer went away.


    ¡°And I told you to fucking step away from the lights, girl,¡± the lieutenant said. ¡°You don¡¯t know what you¡¯re meddling with. You think the devils left it all to a single god? There¡¯s always another angle with Lucifer¡¯s brood.¡±


    From the corner of his eye, Tristan saw Francho hiding behind a stele and palming a knife. Discreetly he tried to shake his head, but the old man ignored him. Tristan urgently sought Maryam¡¯s eyes and after a heartbeat met them.


    Then Pandemonium broke loose.


    Francho popped out from behind the stele, throwing his knife at Vasanti, who ducked out of the way and aimed right at Tristan. He threw himself to the side, cursing as he saw halfway through the movement he¡¯d done it too early ¨C her pistol was following him. Then Maryam ripped her hands off the lights after a curt gesture.


    The lights shut down as Vasanti fired, light flashing and the bullet whizzing past him.


    ¡°Oh, you idiot girl,¡± the old Someshwari breathed out. ¡°You shut down the whole thing, you¡¯ll trigger-¡±


    Though it was dark, Tristan could tell exactly what happened: every single stele blew up in the following heartbeat. Francho¡¯s scream was snuffed out and the thief hit the floor again. The floor shivered, unseen rivers of aether filling it, and a second later dim lights filled the room again ¨C so shallow he could barely make out shapes. Maryam lay prone on the ground, unmoving. He looked for Francho and did not find him, until he realized he had.


    The bloody, burnt strands of flesh on the floor were all that remained of the man.


    Swallowing, Tristan reached for his knife as his eyes sought Vasanti ¨C but he found neither the blade nor the blackcloak. His blackjack, though still lay nestled against his side. He took it in hand. Was the lieutenant dead as well? Had she- his vision swam as he hit to the back of his head slammed him forward. He turned, striking blindly behind him, but Vasanti casually stepped out of the blow and struck him with the grip of her pistol again.


    He rocked back, teeth chattering.


    ¡°Fucking kids,¡± the lieutenant said. ¡°I warned her the devils would have the damn thing trapped in case someone meddled with their work. The entire machine might be wrecked now.¡±


    Tristan rosed to his feet, feeling faint, and brought up his blackjack. Vasanti snorted.


    ¡°I was killing men when you were in swaddling clothes, boy,¡± the old woman said. ¡°I would have dropped you at your best ¨C now I¡¯ll get to make it slow.¡±


    There was a sudden flare of light, something emerging from the pit behind them, and in that heartbeat Tristan moved. It took her by surprise: she fell for the feint, protecting her face as he landed a blow on her wrist and forced her to drop the pistol. She jabbed forward and he drew back, but then she did something strange with her footing ¨C drawing forward and back, almost oscillating ¨C and when he feinted she landed a blow against his jaw.


    He spat blood, swinging at her temple, but she caught his wrist and flipped him. His back hit the ground and she struck him in the gut, sitting on his stomach as he desperately protected his face from another blow. She broke his guard and hit him again, baring bloody teeth.


    ¡°I told you,¡± Vasanti snarled, ¡°that I would make it-¡±


    The blade went through her throat. It was ripped out with a flick of the wrist, the old woman reaching for the open wound with something like surprise on her face. She was kicked to the side and fell, convulsing.


    Three heartbeats later she was dead.


    ¡°You missed the spine,¡± Yong rasped out, standing over her cooling corpse. ¡°And what do you know - rotgut makes for a very good painkiller.¡±


    The Tianxi offered him a hand up and Tristan took it, the other man groaning at the effort.


    ¡°We need to get out of here,¡± the thief said. ¡°I¡¯ll take Maryam.¡±


    ¡°Francho?¡± Yong asked.


    The thief shook his head. The ground shuddered beneath their feet again.


    ¡°Hurry,¡± the other man said. ¡°I don¡¯t like the way the floor keeps shaking.¡±


    Maryam was unconscious and heavier than he would have thought, but her draped her across his back. It was only when trying to catch up to Yong that Tristan thought to look at the burst of light that¡¯d almost let him turn things around on Vasanti. The shape were bare bones, all in pale yellow, but there was no mistaking what he was looking at. It was the pillar he was standing in, the spear pointed at the heart of the Red Maw. Everything keeping it bound to the peak of the hollow mountain was collapsing, as if sabotaged.


    Vasanti had been right. The devils had left one last trap. If mortals dared to meddle with their seal, well, the structure maintain it was to have one last purpose: it was to be turned into a gargantuan spear to be sunk right into the Red Maw¡¯s heart in the hopes of killing it. And if that weren¡¯t enough, well, then the god would be buried under an entire mountain. That ought to slow it down some, surely.


    ¡°Fuck,¡± Tristan Abrascal swore, and began running.

 Chapter 38

    The cliffside path was narrow but dry, which was the only reason they lived.


    They ran down into the yawning dark, the trembling light of Zenzele¡¯s lantern revealing a thin stripe of the grounds ahead as they tried to outrun the tide of falling stone. When the path abruptly turned to the right, tucked into the mountainside, the Malani noble almost toppled off the edge ¨C Cozme yanked him back, almost falling off himself when Ferranda ran into his back. If the stone path had been even slightly slippery all three would have tumbled into the void.


    ¡°Careful,¡± Angharad shouted, dragging the infanzona back by the collar. ¡°We need to-¡±


    Dust exploded a dozen feet above them in a tall plume, rocks going flying. The eleven of them had clustered at the corner, forced together by momentum, and it took a moment to extricate themselves. Tupoc pushed to the fore, ripping Zenzele¡¯s lantern out of his hands, and deftly led the way down. Angharad flicked a glance back as the others began moving again, picking up speed on the narrow path, and grimaced as she saw that Shalini was still carrying Ishaan¡¯s corpse on her back.


    The Pereduri did not bother to suggest she should put it down: the look on the other woman¡¯s face was not one to be argued with.


    ¡°Come on,¡± she said instead. ¡°The landslide is catching up.¡±


    They set out down the cliffside again. The same turn that had near kill them was likely the only reason they lived, Angharad realized as she heard a rolling thunder in the distance and a tide of death rushed past the path they had been running down not minutes ago. Most of the landslide was facing the slope where the sanctuary had been waiting, and they¡¯d just given it the slip. Not that they were out of danger: most was not all.


    The first rock was the size of a fist, and it bounced off Yaretzi¡¯s shoulder as she let out a grunt of pain. Angharad glimpsed ahead, feeling her blood run hot ¨C she had used a vision earlier, there was only so much more she could borrow of the Fisher¡¯s power before it killed her ¨C and moved before the glimpse was even finished. She seized Song by the shoulder and pressed the two of them against the mountainside just before a boulder the size of a horse tumbled right past them.


    A heartbeat later and all that would have been left of Song was red paste and screaming.


    ¡°Ahead,¡± Tupoc shouted, voice without a hint of mockery for once. ¡°I see shelter.¡±


    He spoke true, for the cliffside path there ate into the mountain as a short tunnel ¨C the peak¡¯s slope served as a wall and ceiling, and under that cover they huddled together as death rumbled above. They waited, pressed tight under the shelter as stone and dust spilled past them in spurts. How long they waited without speaking a word Angharad could not be sure. Eventually, though, the last of the falling ended and their breaths began to ring loudly in the silence that followed.


    ¡°I think that was the worst of it,¡± Lord Zenzele finally said. ¡°My lantern, Xical.¡±


    ¡°Try not to walk it off another cliff,¡± Tupoc helpfully advised. ¡°It makes it harder for the rest of us to see.¡±


    ¡°Enough,¡± Angharad tiredly said. ¡°Peril has not passed; another landslide could begin at any moment.¡±


    ¡°And parts of the path down could now be blocked with stone,¡± Song grimly said. ¡°Let us not be caught with our trousers down.¡±


    Zenzele Duma snatched his lantern back a little more strongly than was warranted, but they all pretended not to see. His hatred of Tupoc was entirely deserved. Their company began heading down again, far from slowly but short of the reckless pace from earlier. As Song had predicted, the spill had touched the path. Small chunks, mostly, and piled of dust. They stepped carefully around sharpened shards, the trouble coming when they found a rock taller and broader than a man balancing precariously in the middle of the path.


    ¡°It¡¯s too narrow a space to squeeze through,¡± Lan said.


    ¡°Agreed,¡± Song replied.


    Angharad did not argue. Instead she turned to Tupoc, drawing the Izcalli¡¯s eyes.


    ¡°Assemble your spear,¡± she said. ¡°We¡¯ll push it off the edge together.¡±


    The man¡¯s pale eyes assessed the stone.


    ¡°Could work,¡± he agreed.


    It was more difficult than it sounded, largely because the path was narrow and they were many ¨C the others had to withdraw so the pair would have enough room to push. Angharad¡¯s hands were slick with sweat and twice her grip slipped against the cool metal, but they bent their knees and pushed until the stone slowly began to tip forward. Gravity did the rest of the work.


    ¡°Nothing like a spot of exercise with death hanging over your head,¡± Tupoc cheerfully said afterwards.


    Angharad ignored him, brushing past his shoulder. She held no lantern, but Zenzele helpfully passed his and she took the vanguard for the rest of the way down. There were more small stones the further down they got, but no more large ones. It had been stark odds for one to land across the path as it had in the first place. Half an hour of brisk descent led them at the bottom of the mountain, the tall silhouette of it looming in the distance as thick woods spread out before them.


    She waited at the tree line with the lantern in hand until the others caught up, spilling down the path one after another. Shalini, Angharad saw, was last by a wide margin. Ishaan¡¯s corpse was heavy and she had slowed down with exhaustion from carrying it.


    ¡°The landslide didn¡¯t reach this far,¡± Lan observed, one of the last to catch up. ¡°I¡¯d say this is as safe as we¡¯re going to get outside a sanctuary.¡±


    ¡°Agreed,¡± Lady Ferranda said. ¡°This is where we make our plan, if we are to stick together.¡±


    ¡°Is there a plan to make?¡± Tupoc shrugged. ¡°There will be no rest. We take the Trial of Weeds, or we die in the dark. It is a simple thing.¡±


    He sounded almost pleased, further proof the man was half mad and half jackal. Worse, Angharad was not convinced he was wrong.


    ¡°I have no intention of joining the Watch,¡± Isabel sharply cut in. ¡°The blackcloaks must recognize that a natural disaster undid their trials and prevented us from seeking the promised sanctuary. Surely there is a way to reach the garrison.¡±


    ¡°You could climb back up and start digging out the fort,¡± Song drily replied. ¡°By all means have at it, Ruesta.¡±


    Cozme snorted. It had not escaped Angharad¡¯s attention that since Augusto¡¯s demise the mustachioed man had taken open pleasure in any backtalk directed at the infanzona.


    ¡°Helpful as always, Song,¡± Isabel bit back. ¡°Do you think I am alone in not wanting to take the third trial? Lady Ferranda-¡±


    ¡°Can speak for herself,¡± the other infanzona said.


    Ferranda¡¯s plain, lean face was smudged with dust and her bun had spit out strands of hair but her eyes were sharp and she stood straight. Isabel, still red in the face with sweaty locks pressed against her forehead, was not faring so well. The two noblewomen matched gazes.


    ¡°So speak,¡± Isabel said, sounding confident. ¡°Should we not find the Watch, Lady Villazur? Your family will be awaiting your return, as mine does.¡±


    The other woman¡¯s jaw clenched. Ferranda did not answer for a long time, looking for all the world like a woman standing on the edge of a precipice.


    ¡°I am thinking,¡± she finally said, ¡°of taking the third trial.¡±


    Surprise rippled through half of them, Angharad not the least. Had Ferranda not come to the island to gild her family¡¯s name? And win the right to keep a lover, she recalled. Now that Sanale had passed, it seemed that Ferranda Villazur was not eager to return to her house without him. The dark-skinned noble kept her disapproval off her face. To serve your house only on your own terms was not true service, but it was not her place to comment.


    ¡°I will be doing the same,¡± Cozme Aflor casually added, rolling his shoulder with a wince. ¡°It seems to me that I am in a need of a change of careers.¡±


    Angharad cocked an eyebrow and Tupoc let out a small, nasty laugh. Brun looked amused as well, though as was his wont he kept quiet.


    ¡°You¡¯ve run out of Cerdans to lose, so I suppose you might as well,¡± Tupoc grinned.


    Cozme¡¯s eyes on him were cold, the same way they had been when he pulled a knife on the champion of the vermin god. What kind of a man had he been, before House Cerdan took him in? Not the kind to take insults lying down when he had no master to protect, Angharad thought, so she cleared her throat to command attention before matters could get out of hand.


    ¡°Is there any among us who does not desire to take the Trial of Weeds?¡± she asked. ¡°Save for Lady Isabel, I mean.¡±


    There was no answer and she realized a heratbeat too late that she had blundered. Even if there were such individuals, they would hesitate when being put on the spot like this ¨C it was clear that most of their group wanted to press forward, and who would want to be left alone in the woods? She cleared her throat again, faintly embarrassed at the misstep.


    ¡°It seems to me,¡± she tried, ¡°that there will be a Watch garrison at the northern tip of the island, the port town called Three Pines. I imagine that given the circumstances the Watch would not press into service those who reach that safety.¡±


    Isabel smiled at her, pretty in her visible relief.


    ¡°That seems a compromise all can live with,¡± she said.


    ¡°It¡¯s a pretty plan,¡± Shalini broke in, Ishaan¡¯s corpse yet on her back, ¡°but you¡¯re forgetting something. When that mountainside fort got buried, we lost more than a sanctuary: we lost the watchmen that would tell us what the Trial of Weeds actually is.¡±


    There was a moment of damning silence as the truth of her words sunk in. That was, admittedly, something of a hindrance. Song was the one to end the paralysis, reaching for her bag and dragging a scroll out.


    ¡°We cannot know the details,¡± the Tianxi acknowledged, ¡°but neither are we entirely in the dark. Here, come closer.¡±


    Her map, Angharad realized. Song unfolded it in the light of the lantern, everyone crowding around the paper.


    ¡°We should be somewhere around here,¡± Song said.


    Her finger was resting on a small, marked place on the northern side of the mountains splitting the island - the very same they had crossed by beating the maze. And not far from where they were, Angahrad saw a slender grey line going through the woods that made up most of the northern third of the Dominion of Lost Things.


    ¡°A road?¡± she asked.


    ¡°I do not know for sure,¡± Song replied, ¡°but I believe so. More importantly, it goes through here.¡±


    Her finger followed along the grey line until it reached a drawing in the midst of the woods that looked like a small fortress.


    ¡°Is that a Watch outpost?¡± Zenzele frowned.


    It might be, Angharad thought. The road went through it and continued all the way to the norther tip of the island, to Three Pines.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± the silver-eyed sharpshooter admitted. ¡°But it is something, and even if it is empty we can use the grounds to rest with some safety.¡±


    ¡°We won¡¯t make it there tonight,¡± Ferranda said.


    ¡°Not unless we march through the night,¡± Tupoc agreed. ¡°I do not hate the notion, but I¡¯ve no doubt there will be whining.¡±


    He snuck a look at Shalini, who glared back.


    ¡°We should at least push forward for another hour,¡± Angharad said. ¡°I do not know if there are cultists on this side of the island, but if there are then the commotion of the landslide is sure to have drawn them out.¡±


    She flicked a glance at Tupoc, who shrugged.


    ¡°I only dealt with the one war party and its bishop,¡± the Izcalli said. ¡°I gathered from them the island has rival tribes, but not where they might dwell.¡±


    ¡°Hollows are one thing,¡± Lan easily said, ¡°but there will be lemures in the woods and a bunch of us are bleeding.¡±


    ¡°Then we keep going until we find defensible shelter,¡± Angharad suggested. ¡°We¡¯ll keep a watch through the night.¡±


    Nods all around. She would have preferred to press on to the possible outpost, but it was true that might take hours yet and much of their party was either wounded, exhausted or both.


    ¡°That will be most interesting,¡± Tupoc noted.


    She frowned at him, reluctant to indulge him and ask. He answered anyway.


    ¡°Have you forgotten,¡± the Izcalli said, ¡°that the murderer is still among us? I do wonder if we¡¯ll be waking up to another corpse.¡±


    The mood had been turning hopeful but that reminder skewered it thoroughly, which only amused the man all the more. It was with that dark truth hanging over them that they headed into the woods, taste for conversation snuffed out like an errant candle. Now every leaf shivering in the wind loomed like a hungry lupine and every time one of them came to close to another backs tensed for fear of a knife. Dangers within and dangers without, Angharad thought.


    She was not sure which she should be wariest about.


    --


    Within fifteen minutes of starting, Angharad was quite done with traipsing through the woods.


    Back home the rest of the kingdom often spoke of Peredur as a pristine land spared the scars of industry, unmarred by blast furnaces and smelt mills. Izinduna visited the High Isle for hunting trips and private retreats. That talk was about the heartlands of the duchy, however, the old Brenhinoedd ¨C the ¡®Kingsland¡¯. Her own Llanw Hall was of the coast, and the rocky shorelands were simply unsuited to such sport. Like most seaside nobles, the closest Mother had ever come to chasing a stag was shipping venison sausages south to Port Cadwyn.


    Her father had been skilled hunter, as was fashionable in high society, but regrettably Angharad had never taken him up on his offers to learn the pursuit. Perhaps if she had she might have developed a fondness for the woods instead of a rising, deep-seated hatred. She was getting tired of walking about tripping on roots and getting whipped in the face by branches when Tupoc ¨C reliable in his bastardry ¨C waited until the last moment to release them. After getting smacked most indecorously in the breast by a branch, Angharad surrendered her place to Ferranda lest she be tempted to run the Izcalli through. Why, he would gasp out. Why, Tredegar? And she would look him in the eyes and say: my tit, you utter animal, you branch-whipped my tit.


    Deciding that vivid fantasies of murder were perhaps a sign that her patience might be running out, Angharad drew back by slowing her steps and let Ferranda pass her by. Cozme too, as she did not care to keep the man company. That left her by Lord Zenzele, who did not much talk and often glanced back worriedly at Shalini. She was still trailing at their back, though Brun was making it a point to slow his steps so she would always have someone in sight. A good man, Brun.


    It both helped and hurt when they reached the road Song had shown them on the map, a small path of beaten earth that was in disrepair but still usable. It was easier for Shalini to walk on the road, but their overall pace quickened as well. By the time the turn of the hour neared, the gunslinger looked fit to drop and Angharad was sharing the worried looks with Zenzele.


    ¡°I do not know anything of Ramayan funeral customs,¡± she said in a whisper. ¡°Would she be offended if I offered help?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s Someshwari, Tredegar,¡± Zenzele grunted back. ¡°They get offended at each other¡¯s accents.¡±


    Which was true, if somewhat impolite to speak out loud. It was an old jest in Malan that while all Someshwari agreed they were an empire no two had ever agreed on who should rule it.


    ¡°She cannot take much more of this,¡± Angharad said. ¡°See how her legs are shaking.¡±


    ¡°We could make a stretcher with sticks and blankets,¡± Zenzele suggested. ¡°We would not be saying anything, it simply happens to be impossible to use one of those alone.¡±


    She side-eyed him.


    ¡°Hold up only the front and drag the back on the ground after tying the body up,¡± she countered.


    The man looked faintly embarrassed, as well he should. It had been a shallow lie, a lie of ignorance or lack of forethought, and so not the same as willful mistruth. Yet even shallow lies were enough to tarnish one¡¯s honor if regularly indulged in.


    ¡°To use one of those alone and well,¡± he corrected.


    True enough. Angharad nodded her approval.


    ¡°I can surrender my bedroll to the work,¡± she offered, ¡°but we will need-¡±


    ¡°Halt,¡± the call came from ahead.


    Song¡¯s voice. After one last look at Shalini the Pereduri moved to the front of the column, where the others were assembling. Song, raising her own lantern, had stopped by the side of the road and was casting light on a path to a small clearing. That would not have been worth a rest, had the edge of the clearing not been touched by a small hill from which rose a ruined tower revealed by cold starlight. A thick, stout octagon of stone that jutted upwards, its roof long gone and broad stairs leading to the yawning door halfway up its heights. A few good swords could hold stairs like that for an hour, Angharad thought.


    The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    ¡°A most suitable place to camp,¡± the noblewoman said. ¡°It is a fine find, Song.¡±


    ¡°I have an eye for those things,¡± the Tianxi replied with the faintest hint of irony.


    Some chuckling. It had been an open secret before that Song¡¯s contract had to do with her silver eyes, but the way she had seen through illusions in the temple-fortress and later when helping Ferranda on the Toll Road had made it into open knowledge. In a way, Angharad thought, that was the finest safeguard to what the Tianxi¡¯s contract could truly do. Why wonder if she could see contracts, when she could already see through illusions and past the veil of darkness?


    ¡°My thanks for your efforts, Mistress Ren,¡± Cozme Aflor said, affecting gallantry. ¡°Shall we get to it? I expect we could all use the rest.¡±


    Angharad might have disliked the man, but she would not argue with the truth.


    --


    Everyone pitched in their supplies without argument, which was a pleasant change from the Trial of Lines.


    By the looks of it they had enough for two meals, including the one they were about to have. None of them had bothered to bring much food, as the expectation had been that the sanctuary on the other side of the maze would provide them with fresh supplies. Water should last longer than that, at least through the day tomorrow, and they would keep an eye out for streams in the forest.


    Though it was a risk, they decided on having a fire: it was the surest way to keep away animals. The inside of the tower was dry and spacious enough that everyone would be able to fit around the flame, keeping them warm through the night, and they could use a warm meal after their trials of the day. Besides, several of them needed to rinse wounds and Angharad might be no physician but she knew in the absence of alcohol boiled water was the best  substitute.


    As tasks were settled on with rough efficiency, the Pereduri noblewoman volunteered to gather firewood. She knew the basics of woodcraft but little more than that, and was willing to leave such affairs in the hands of those more fitted to it. It was not demeaning work, even though Tupoc tried to imply as much with his smirk. Had she not been taught that the best blade should go the best hand? She was not so arrogant as to think that her hand would always be the finest.


    Still, the man was irritating enough she walked out before hearing who else would take up the chore. It was a short walk down the stairs, which were set into the side of the hill, and from there to the clearing. The forest was dry and there was plenty to pick up from the ground, so Angharad rolled up her sleeves and got to work. It was a few minutes later, while adding to the respectable pile at the bottom of the stairs, that she got company. Turning as she heard footsteps, Angharad caught sight of a silhouette framed in moonlight.


    In that ghostly glow Isabel Ruesta¡¯s elegant curls and green eyes seemed almost unearthly, a spirit¡¯s impossible beauty. And Isabel was very much a beauty, even visibly exhausted and on the verge of tears. The Pereduri straightened at the sight of her.


    ¡°What happened?¡± she asked.


    Isabel shook her head, padding down the last of the stairs.


    ¡°It is nothing,¡± she said. ¡°I came to help you, not-¡±


    ¡°Tears are not nothing,¡± Angharad gently said.


    She laid a comforting hand on the infanzona¡¯s arm. Isabel hesitated.


    ¡°Ferranda is being quite odious,¡± Isabel finally admitted. ¡°And Cozme is all too happy to pile on.¡±


    ¡°There are limits to the allowances given by grief,¡± the noblewoman frowned. ¡°Ferranda should mind her manners.¡±


    ¡°Who would make her?¡± Isabel wetly chuckled. ¡°No one remains who cares for me in the slightest, Angharad. Kind Recardo never even reached the island, and my maids¡­¡±


    She shivered, silver-touched tears trickling down her cheeks. Angharad pulled her close, Isabel fighting for half a heartbeat before sobbing against the Pereduri¡¯s chest.


    ¡°They were as family to me,¡± the dark-haired beauty murmured. ¡°I¡¯ve known them since I was but a girl. Beatris looked so much like me back when we were children that we might as well have been twins, and Briceida¡­ Gods, Briceida only came to the island so that I would be able to help her marry her sweetheart.¡±


    Another sob as Angharad rubbed her back.


    ¡°And now she is dead.¡±


    ¡°It will be all right,¡± she soothed.


    ¡°No, it won¡¯t,¡± Isabel muttered. ¡°They despise me in there, Angharad, and after I tell them of my contract they will surely argue I must be cast out and-¡±


    The reminder that the infanzona in her arms was not simply a pretty girl was like being drenched in cold water. Angharad half pulled away, breathing in sharply. Are my thoughts my own? Emotions, Isabel had told her, made her use her contract against her well.


    ¡°Isabel,¡± she slowly said, ¡°are you¡­¡±


    Green eyes watered as Isabel shook her head.


    ¡°I am fighting it down,¡± the infanzona swore. ¡°It is hard, but I am controlling it.¡±


    A moment passed as Angharad searched herself, finding that she was still wary even after that assurance. That was, ironically, how she came to decide that Isabel was telling the truth. Were she under the contract¡¯s influence she would not have such doubts. She slowly eased back into the embrace, Isabel¡¯s head coming to rest on her shoulder. Ignoring that warmth, Angharad laid out the bounds of honor in her mind. It was, she found, a tricky affair.


    ¡°Our pact was that you would reveal your contract when we reached the next sanctuary,¡± the Pereduri finally said. ¡°It is to your honor that you would hold up your end of the bargain regardless, but you need not speak until we reach that.¡±


    It might well be that Isabel was right and she would be cast out if she revealed her contract. This was not Angharad¡¯s crew, her word was not law among the band of survivors. She would not force the infanzona into almost certain death against the letter of the bargain they had struck simply because the way to sanctuary would take longer than expected. She would still keep to the other part of the pact, revealing anything should she suspect Isabel of using her contract on another. If she were, Angharad thought, she would not have been driven out of the tower in tears.


    ¡°I do not want to break trust between us again,¡± Isabel whispered.


    She had raised her head, so instead of mumbling against Angharad¡¯s shirt her breath was a warm whisper against the Pereduri¡¯s neck. She looked down, Isabel meeting her eyes. The faint redness left behind by the tears only turned more vivid the shade of the infanzona¡¯s eyes, and before she knew could think twice she was leaning forward. Isabel¡¯s lips were warm against hers and she fell into Angharad¡¯s arms like she¡¯d always been meant to be there. The kiss lit up a greed inside her belly and soon Angharad was pulling her closer, hand on her waist as ¨C Isabel pulled away, breath labored.


    ¡°I am,¡± she began, then hesitated. ¡°My control may slip, if we go continue.¡±


    Angharad almost laughed. As if desire was not already setting her hands to roving, to pulling down those silken trousers and stealing moans from Isabel¡¯s swollen lips. The contract could ask nothing of her that she was not already demanding.


    ¡°Let it,¡± she replied, and pressed Isabel back until the infanzona was up against a tree.


    Pinning her against it she leaned forward, nipping at Isabel¡¯s neck, and her fingers began to gently trail up her legs until ¨C the sound of a throat getting cleared stilled her, ice creeping down her spine. She turned to find Song standing on the stairs, her silver gaze wintry. She pulled away, forcing herself not to make it hasty as if she were a child caught stealing from the pantry.


    ¡°Song,¡± she said, clearing her throat. ¡°I had not thought you would-¡±


    ¡°Neither had I,¡± Song sharply replied. ¡°An evening for disappointment, it seems.¡±


    Isabel smoothed down her doublet, looking remorseful.


    ¡°She was only comforting me,¡± the infanzona said. ¡°Please do not-¡±


    ¡°You strike me as sufficiently comforted, Ruesta,¡± the Tianxi said. ¡°It might be best you finish gathering firewood on your own, while Angharad brings up her half of the work.¡±


    Angharad¡¯s lips thinned. She did not enjoy being talked down to as if a fool, but she was not unaware that in a sense she had broken her word to Song ¨C she had promised the other woman she would not talk with Isabel alone, and though she had not sought out the conversation she had allowed it to happen. Encouraged it, even. Much as she would have preferred to defiantly lead Isabel into the woods instead of saying nothing, it would have been a black mark on her honor.


    ¡°What we discussed stands,¡± she told Isabel instead. ¡°But Song may well be right in the other regard.¡±


    Isabel looked away, seemingly insulted and not without reason. It had not been gallant of Angharad to begin something before disavowing it, even though honor demanded as much. It was with the distinct feeling that she was slinking away that Angharad began picking up her pile of firewood, bringing it up in the tower. She passed by Song¡¯s cold gaze, which remained on Isabel, and by the second journey the infanzona had gone into the forest to gather more wood. Song said not a word, and Angharad did not feel up to assaulting that frosty silence.


    The discomfort followed her inside when she was done. Shalini was sitting between Ferranda and Sanale, the three of them pulled close as the pair tried to draw smiles out of her, while in the opposite corner Brun and Yaretzi chatted quietly. Angharad might have sat this way with Song, if not for what had happened outside. Or she might have sat with Isabel, if not for the same. Her lack of restraint had cost her twice over.


    For a heartbeat she felt like sitting with Yaretzi and Brun anyway, to try to steal back some sliver of comradery, but then the thought soured in her mouth: Yaretzi, she had heard, might not be called Yaretzi at all. According to Isabel she was much shorter than the Watch had been told, perhaps some sort of impostor. Throwing away the thought, Angharad instead sought out her bedroll. If she could not have company, she could at least have rest.


    It was adding insult to injury to realize that Tupoc had apparently thought the same, and she fell asleep sulking.


    --


    Angharad was entirely awake by the sound of the third shot.


    Scrabbling for her sword, pleased beyond words that she had slept with her boots on, the Pereduri ripped it clear of the scabbard just as a lantern exploded into bright flames. Lan fell to the ground with a shout, patting away at her clothes, and Angharad ducked behind the wall as another shot tore through the doorway. Cozme stood on the other side, pistol in hand, and nodded at her while the rest of the group scrambled. He must have been the one on watch when the enemies ¨C hollows, she assumed ¨C attacked.


    ¡°I¡¯ve counted at least five muskets,¡± the mustachioed man said. ¡°They hit the lanterns first, but they haven¡¯t tried to come any closer.¡±


    Angharad frowned. That seemed odd, given how the cult of the Red Eye was obsessed with taking prisoners to sacrifice.


    ¡°Did you see how many there were?¡± she asked.


    He shook his head.


    ¡°They stayed in the dark,¡± Cozme said. ¡°No lights.¡±


    Behind them Song ordered those with muskets to flank the doorway and the rest to gather their packs in case there was a need to run, getting a rush of gratitude out of Angharad for her intervention. The glance she spared behind her revealed a looming trouble after she¡¯d made sure that Lan was no longer aflame: with the fire still burning they were not out of light, but of the three lanterns they¡¯d had left only one had been spared a bullet. Zenzele¡¯s, she saw, which was bad luck. It had the least oil left in it.


    The man in question joined Cozme on the other side of the door, while Ferranda pressed herself behind Angharad.


    ¡°Are they approaching?¡± the infanzona asked in a whisper.


    Cozme risked a glance through the opening, then hastily withdrew and shook his head.


    ¡°Nothing,¡± he said. ¡°They might be-¡±


    (Angharad ran down the stairs as fast as she could, shots lighting up the woods ¨C one, two, three, six ¨C and reached the clearing before the first howls sounded, hounds charging out of)


    She breathed out shallowly, ignoring the rest of what Cozme had been saying. The cultists had brought war hounds, that was why they had not yet tried the doorway. The Malani had used such tactics in olden times, back when swords and shield walls were the lay of Vesper ¨C hounds unleashed before the charge to scare and scatter the enemy¡¯s ranks. Should she warn the others? She could think of no way to do so without revealing her contract.


    ¡°Angharad.¡±


    Song, standing in cover behind her while the others finished packing up the last of everyone¡¯s affairs ¨C Brun and Isabel went about it briskly, but Lan was using the opportunity to have a look at everyone¡¯s packs ¨C handed her the coat she had left behind as well as her sword belt and scabbard. Angharad nodded her thanks, shrugging on the coat as Ferranda took her place by the doorway.


    A month ago she would have cared little for that coat, for it was not a gift from her family in a sense greater than Mother¡¯s coin having paid for it, but after having been cut and shot in it so many times she¡¯d grown passingly fond of it. More importantly, she thought as she adjusted her sword belt, this was an opportunity.


    She¡¯d passed her blade to Song to have both hands free for the belt, and when claiming her saber back she leaned close.


    ¡°They have hounds,¡± she whispered. ¡°I counted six guns.¡±


    Song nodded subtly and nothing more need said. The Tianxi squeezed past Ferranda to take a long look out, only ducking back in when a cultists out in the woods fired. The sound and billowing smoke had them all ducking back into cover, Song clearing her throat afterwards.


    ¡°I counted twelve,¡± she said. ¡°Half with muskets, half with leashed hounds.¡±


    Curses abounded.


    ¡°Twelve is not so many, even with dogs,¡± Zenzele opined. ¡°We can break them.¡±


    ¡°Are you volunteering to be first down the stairs, my lord?¡± Brun drily asked.


    The Malani hesitated.


    ¡°I will go,¡± Angharad cut in. ¡°But we must first decide on whether we fight or run. This all smells to me of a trap: if they have hounds, why have they not yet released them to dig us out?¡±


    ¡°They must be scouts,¡± Ferranda grunted in approval. ¡°Lady Angharad is right, they might well be pinning us in here until the rest of the warband arrives and they can storm the tower.¡±


    Several agreed with her, after a thought, and the conviviality of it was what told Angharad something was wrong. No one had been taunted or implied to be a coward, so what was¡­ She found Tupoc standing very still with his back to the wall, pales eyes unblinking as they stared right in front of him with a strange expression on his face. Angharad thought him touched by a contract, for a heartbeat, until she realized he was paralyzed not by a contract but something altogether simple. Fear. That strange expression, it was fear.


    Most absurd of all was when she saw what had finally given pause to Tupoc Xical: hanging on a string coming from the tower¡¯s broken ceiling, a small spider was in front of him. It rose an inch and the unflappable Izcalli flinched, trying to press closer to the wall. Angharad felt an incredulous laugh bubble up her throat at the thought of a man who constantly courted death near shaking in his boots before a spider smaller than her thumb, but then she thought again. Was this simple fear, she wondered, or something more?


    Spirits gave boons, but they also claimed prices.


    Regardless, she still had a use for Tupoc Xical. Angharad deftly reached out, catching the spider in her hand and crushing it. The Izcalli¡¯s shoulders immediately loosened, but there was a new kind of wariness in his eyes when he met Angharad¡¯s. Oh yes, she thought. Definitely a price.


    She looked away first, but it did not feel like a defeat in the slightest.


    ¡°- bait the shots, then those of us with muskets fire a volley into the hounds,¡± Song was saying. ¡°We make for the road after, head north to the outpost as fast as we can.¡±


    ¡°Is Lady Angharad truly willing to charge in alone?¡± Brun asked. ¡°I have not heard this from her.¡±


    ¡°I am,¡± she said, stepping in. ¡°Though once the cultists have wasted their shots on me, I expect I will be joined by others in the melee.¡±


    ¡°I will be right behind her,¡± Tupoc easily said. ¡°Worry not your pretty head, Sacromontan.¡±


    The fair-haired man looked like he wanted to roll his eyes, but said nothing.


    ¡°If we are in agreement,¡± Song said, ¡°then we should take all our packs and ready for the fight. There is no telling how long we have before the rest of the cultists arrive.¡±


    None argued against that. Song, she thought, had a knack for clear thought in such matters. A captain¡¯s qualities, though she hid too much of her thoughts to easily earn trust from others. Angharad went back for her affairs only for Lan to kindly offer to carry them for her, as Angharad would be running. She accepted the other woman¡¯s offer gracefully, finding herself at loose ends while the others moved about. The other who had finished early was Yaretzi, the Izcalli already having had her pack at the ready.


    The two of them stood in silence, until something occurred to Angharad.


    ¡°I have a question about Izcalli spirits, if you would allow it,¡± she quietly said.


    Yaretzi cocked an eyebrow.


    ¡°I only know so much, but by all means,¡± she replied.


    ¡°Is there one,¡± she said, ¡°with a strong ties to spiders?¡±


    The Izcalli, whose name might not be Yaretzi at all, cocked an eyebrow and threw a speculative look at Tupoc. Angharad grimaced. Perhaps that had not been as subtle a question as she thought.


    ¡°Many small gods,¡± Yaretzi said, ¡°but among the great I can only think of the Grave-Given. His favored messengers are creatures of the dark: bats, owls and spiders.¡±


    ¡°And what does this Grave-Given trade in?¡± Angharad asked.


    ¡°Death and order,¡± she replied. ¡°His judgement shapes where the Circle Perpetual will send a soul to be born again.¡±


    Just another spirit playing tricks, the Pereduri mentally dismissed. The Circle was the work of the Sleeping God, far beyond what mere spirits would be able to influence. Still, it was said that some entities on the continent could meddle in the matters of death, the moments before a soul returned to the Circle. Perhaps this Grave-Given was one. Though what such a spirit would want with the likes of Tupoc, she thought, I cannot imagine.


    Yaretzi looked like she wanted to speak more of it, but Angharad was saved the need of evasion by the last preparations coming to an end.


    ¡°Form up,¡± Song called out. ¡°We are finished.¡±


    Angharad nodded a farewell at a rueful Yaretzi, resting her hand on her blade, and went for the doorway. Tupoc waited on the other side of the gap, ready to follow in her wake. Song, musket loaded and at the ready, sought her out.


    ¡°Ready?¡± the Tianxi asked.


    She nodded.


    ¡°You?¡± she asked.


    Song nodded back.


    ¡°Then,¡± Angharad said, ¡°let us not waste any more time.¡±


    Breathing in, she unsheathed her sword and ran out the doorway.


    --


    The first shot came before she took her second step out.


    Angharad did not flinch nor slow, knowing it would mean death. The bullet hit stone as she raced down the steps, ricocheting wildly. Two more plumes of smoke billowed out and she leaned into the rush, almost falling forward rather than running, and felt something whiz right past her head as the other short went wide. Three, she counted, and kept running. Halfway down. The fourth shot was not for her, far behind, and revealed that Tupoc was following behind. The fifth came from right to the left of her, smoke blowing past the twisted branches of a tree, and Angharad screamed as she felt warmth and pain bloom on the side of her cheek.


    She tripped forward, landing in a roll at the bottom of the stairs as the six shot was drowned out by the barking of the hounds being released.


    Only the shot had come from behind, not ahead, and ten feet ahead of Angharad a cultist screamed as a bullet took him in the chest. His musket fell to the ground, firing aimlessly, and she gasped in relief as blood began trickling down her cheek. The hounds ran out of the woods, a tide of teeth and rage, and she smoothly rose with her blade at the ready. Above her shots sounded, the volley Song had arranged downing half the dogs in a single breath, but other shots peppered the trees and ground instead.


    A heartbeat later Tupoc was at her side, spear spinning lazily, and a heartbeat after that chaos took the reins.


    Angharad danced back, spearing a hound through the head, while Tupoc batted away another with the bottom of his spear and kicked the third in the head. A shot from ahead, curses from the woods and after that the melee seized her whole. Cultists came pouring out of woods, bearing axes and swords, shouting war cries in their strange tongue as Tupoc laughed and Angharad snarled. Teeth ripped at her coat and she turned an axe blow to run the man through, ripping her blade free with a squelch as the rest of the company charged down the stairs behind her.


    They came for her fervently, as if she were a proving ground, and Angharad met them with cold focus: faces marred with that strange red eye flashed one after another, shots illuminating the dark as she slashed at a man¡¯s face and caught a woman¡¯s wrist before her axe could rip into her side. She threw the axe-wielder to the side, into Cozme ¨C who opened her throat with a knife without batting an eye ¨C and then somehow, suddenly, the cultists were retreating. Running back into the woods.


    Only not all of them had come out with blades: there was a shot from deeper in the woods, then one from the tower a second later.


    Angharad ducked, hardly alone in that, but it was not her that¡¯d been aimed at. There was a shout from behind and she turned to see Brun leaning over a fallen silhouette. Angharad¡¯s heart leapt into her throat. No, she thought. No. Only she must have spoken it out loud, as the others parted around her as she moved.  She stumbled forward, blood dripping down her blade and hand, and knelt in the grass besides the fallen body.


    Half of Isabel Ruesta¡¯s face was a red ruin, the shot having taken her in the eye.


    She must have been spun around by death, Angharad thought, for she was facing the wrong way: the tower instead of her killer in the woods. Brun laid a hand on her shoulder.


    ¡°We need to move, Lady Angharad,¡± the man said. ¡°The cultists gave up too easily, the rest of their warband must be close.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s right.¡±


    Song was coming down the stairs, her musket in hand. Her face was a blank mask, betraying nothing of her thoughts. She had not been fond of Isabel, Angharad knew, but must have known better than to speak of it now.


    ¡°Now we run or we die,¡± the Tianxi evenly continued. ¡°Say your farewells, but do not linger. It is behind you, and life ahead.¡±


    A cruelty, Angharad thought, but meant kindly. She was saying it so others would not. Looking down at the corpse that had been Isabel, she brushed back the curls over the wound and swallowed. She thought of that first evening on the Bluebell, when she had seen the infanzona standing on the bridge like a jewel set in a crown of stars, and allowed herself grief. She closed the remaining eye, wiped a half-formed tear from her own and rose to her feet. Shalini, she saw, was carrying Ishaan¡¯s corpse on her back again.


    Angharad put down Isabel Ruesta in the last of their fire , leaving her to burn, and on her back instead carried the weight of yet another failure.


    --


    Zenzele¡¯s lantern died out half an hour in.


    They stumbled forward in the dark during what felt like hours but could have been any amount of time at all ¨C exhaustion stretched seconds into minutes, every breath into an odyssey. Only Song¡¯s unfailing eyes kept them from drifting about aimlessly, the Tianxi surefooted as a cat as she led them through a sea of looming trees and threatening silhouettes. They¡¯d left behind the beaten earth road, afraid the cultists would hunt them down it.


    Limbs burning and eyes tearing up, Angharad forced herself to follow closely behind Song. It was only once they climbed up a steep hill, clutching at root and stones, that the Tianxi¡¯s steps finally stuttered. There was no need to ask why: in the distance, over the crown of trees, pale lights burned tall and proud.


    ¡°The outpost,¡± Angharad breathed out. ¡°If it is that.¡±


    ¡°There is,¡± Song replied, ¡°only one way to find out.¡±


    The promise of an end to the road, of some semblance of safety, brought strength back to their tired limbs. They picked up the pace as much as they could, Shalini once more trailing behind. Once they were close enough the light began to cast shadows, they risked going back to the beaten earth road. It shortened the last leg of their journey, until at last they felt the touch of Glare-infused light wash over their skins again. Blinking away the blinding brightness, Angharad found she was not looking at a fort.


    Atop a flat hill a tall palisade had been raised, ringed by even taller lamplights. Through open gates the noblewoman saw the bones of a small town: houses and shops, muddy streets and even some kind of great hall. And there were people inside, moving about. Closer to that as well, for outside the open gates two men were keeping guard in padded tunics and breastplates as they loosely held muskets. It was not them that kept her gaze, though, or even the town itself.


    Along the last of the road to the gates, two dozen wooden spikes at been raised on either side. Most were bare, but nine were adorned with the impaled corpses of men whose skin was too pale to be anything but darklings. Some of the dead were fresh enough they still dripped.


    ¡°Well,¡± Tupoc mused, ¡°they seem like lovely folk. Shall we go and introduce ourselves?¡±


    It wasn¡¯t, Angharad thought, as if there was much of a choice. It was either trying the town or trying the cultists again. She itched to cast her mind forward, to seek vision of what would unfold if they approached, but she had already burned her candle too bright. Anymore of that and it would be her that burned instead.


    They would have to do it the hard way instead.


    ¡°Let¡¯s,¡± Angharad replied, and stepped into the light.

 Chapter 39

    Maryam woke up halfway through the hall, which helped a lot.


    Even groggy as she was she could stumble forward while leaning on his side, which was a distinct improvement from carrying her on his back. Tristan had been worried about her, as being knocked unconscious was rarely the end of one¡¯s troubles, but though she had a hard time focusing her eyes her mind seemed all there. Enough to insult him, anyway, which he took as a good sign.


    ¡°You carried me,¡± Maryam doubtfully repeated. ¡°Did you happen have a cart at hand?¡±


    Tristan glared. He was not that skinny.


    ¡°I can still leave you behind,¡± he threatened.


    ¡°But then who will catch you when you leap off a cliff for the third time?¡± she shot back.


    ¡°It was really more of a fall this time,¡± he argued. ¡°And not, by the strictest definition, a-¡±


    ¡°If you have breath enough to talk,¡± Yong bit out from ahead, ¡°then run faster.¡±


    The older man was not doing well. He was barely ahead of them even though Tristan was helping someone. There was a hole in the back of his coat where Vasanti had shot him, perhaps an inch to the side of the spine ¨C it was a ragged, red thing. The thief could not easily tell with the coat on, but he thought it might be high enough a lung would be a at risk.


    Gods, let it not have pierced a lung. That was an ugly way to die.


    The ground shook beneath their feet again, a reminder that Yong¡¯s anger was not senseless. A glance behind told him that the cavernous room at the top of the pillar was still there, but for how long? Sooner or later the weight would drag the whole thing down like a spear into the Red Maw¡¯s heart. Cutting out the chatter, the pair followed after Yong as best they could.


    It was a close thing, but when the hall behind them snapped like a twig they did not fall with it. They¡¯d pulled ahead enough, though Tristan knew better than to stop. He¡¯d glimpsed the parting gift of the devils and it was not going to stop at the pillar spearing down: without that structure serving as support, the entire mountaintop was going to crumble inwards.


    It would be best if they were not there to crumble with it.


    It was a strange thing, their race to the end of the hall. On the one hand fear ¨C and the cloud of dust behind them ¨C kept them wide awake and attentive, death looming ever close. On the other, the length of the hallway was aggressively monotonous. It was all bare stone in a dim light of no clear source, perfectly symmetrical and utterly empty. The kind of sight that made you fall asleep.


    Thrice the thief found his gaze drifting, seeking corners and angles, and he thought he might have been tiring until he realized what he truly was doing: looking for Fortuna. There was no trace of her, not leaning against a wall and smirking or even effortlessly keeping pace with him in her red dress. She was just gone. Tristan felt his breath shortening, a dim fear seizing him by the throat.


    ¡°Tristan.¡±


    What if she never came back? What if the way he¡¯d pulled on the contract had killed her? She was a small god, near forgotten, and if he¡¯d taken too much from her she might have¡­


    ¡°Tristan,¡± Maryam hissed. ¡°Focus, we¡¯re nearly there. We¡¯re going to be fine.¡±


    The thief came back to himself, his back covered in cold sweat, and bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. The pain centered him, kept him in there and now. He could not think about this, about how he might have lost the only person who¡¯d never left, who could not die ¨C he could not think about this.


    Maryam was right, they were nearly at the end of the hall. All around them stone shuddered, the distant hallway falling apart as dust and dirt clouded sight but not the cacophonous noise. Ahead of them waited a smooth iron gate, and Tristan could but pray that it was not locked for if it was then they might well be dead. Yong was the one to reach it, and though there was no handle for him to push when he touched it the gate began opening on its own, sliding into the wall.


    It was an unsettling sight, though not unsettling enough to stop him from taking refuge in the room past the gate.


    The room was, he found when following after Maryam, little more than a glorified antechamber. There were racks on the wall from which nothing hung and two doorways on the sides leading into other halls. More importantly, though, was the broad gate ¨C twice as long as it was tall ¨C covering the entire back wall of the room. There were broad stripes of cryptoglyphs on the ground before it, beyond their understanding now that Francho was dead. Tristan¡¯s teeth clenched.


    It had been a quick death, he told himself.


    ¡°It must lead outside,¡± Yong said, eyeing the wall-gate as his breath came in pants. ¡°There was nothing at the end of the hall in the projection we saw.¡±


    The ceiling above them rumbled, softly lapping away at the silence.


    ¡°We cannot go through so long as there is a landslide,¡± Tristan said. ¡°We¡¯ll have to wait.¡±


    The Tianxi grimaced.


    ¡°And if the landslide blocked the door?¡±


    ¡°Then we will try one of the other halls,¡± Maryam said. ¡°We are not yet out of options, Yong.¡±


    The veteran looked away.


    ¡°I suppose not,¡± he said.


    Tristan cleared his throat.


    ¡°If we are to wait, then I would have a look at your wound,¡± he said.


    The Tianxi turned, eyes cool.


    ¡°I can move just fine,¡± he said. ¡°That is not necessary.¡±


    Yong had never declined that offer before. The thief knew why he now had ¨C though much had happened since, their conversation at the summit of the pillar was still fresh in his mind. Irritation rose.


    ¡°Disdain won¡¯t stop your bleeding,¡± he coldly replied. ¡°But if sanctimony is the hill you want to die on, by all means spare me the waste of bandages.¡±


    He almost winced after saying it, seeing the way the other man¡¯s face tightened, but he did not look away. It had not been the right way to handle that, and were he less tired he might have finessed his way into something better, but Tristan had been brutalized enough by his day he wasn¡¯t sure he cared. Worse, he was pretty sure that the poppy was beginning to fade.


    The dull ache in his everything was something of a hint.


    ¡°Would you have preferred picking out the hill for me?¡± Yong replied just as coldly. ¡°That does seem to be your favorite racket.¡±


    ¡°All right, that¡¯s enough of that,¡± Maryam said, stepping in between them with a tired look on her face. ¡°Tristan, you left everyone in the dark as to your actual plan until the last moment. He¡¯s got a right to be angry.¡±


    A pause, then her eyes met his.


    ¡°I am too,¡± she frankly said. ¡°This just isn¡¯t the time or place for us to have that talk.¡±


    His lips thinned. If Francho hadn¡¯t been killed, would either of them even¡­ Maryam turned to Yong with a smidgeon more sympathy, but only that.


    ¡°You know he¡¯s never turned it on any of us,¡± she flatly said. ¡°It¡¯s childish to pretend he¡¯s trying to do anything but keeping you from bleeding out. You can still be angry after he¡¯s helped you ¨C I am.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t understand,¡± Yong said.


    ¡°Neither will the bullet in your back,¡± she brutally replied. ¡°You need to get that seen to, and there¡¯s only one of us who knows how.¡±


    It was hard to argue with that, even though Yong looked like he wanted to. It was in a slightly sullen silence that they set about the examination. Yong laid out his coat and clothes on the ground, stripped down to the waist, and laid down with his belly on the coat. Kneeling by the older man, Tristan rinsed his hands in booze and leaned close. The Tianxi shivered when a droplet of drink fell onto his back.


    ¡°Cold,¡± Yong muttered.


    Tristan did not answer, his face pulling into a frown. He wasn¡¯t as familiar with gun wounds as those from knives or cudgels ¨C he¡¯d worked as a cutter¡¯s assistant, not under a military surgeon ¨C but he knew he wasn¡¯t looking at the good kind of wound. If it had been a musket instead of a pistol he was shot with, Yong would have died. Reaching for a rag from his bag, he soaked it in alcohol and after cleaning the wound set about checking how deep the ball had penetrated. Yong¡¯s shivering moan of pain went ignored.


    The thief stopped almost immediately, letting out a noise of surprise.


    ¡°Tristan?¡± Yong croaked out. ¡°What is it?¡±


    The grey-eyed man grimaced.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to have to feel out your ribs,¡± he said. ¡°It¡¯s going to hurt.¡±


    The Tianxi cursed.


    ¡°Give me the bottle,¡± he said. ¡°I-¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re already drunk,¡± Tristan sharply said. ¡°I¡¯m not letting you thin your blood any further, you¡¯ll kill yourself.¡±


    ¡°Fuck,¡± Yong quietly muttered, then breathed in. ¡°Do it.¡±


    He forced himself not to hear the man¡¯s groans as he felt out the ribs, pressing the flesh enough to feel the lack of give beneath and ¨C Yong let out a scream. Tristan¡¯s fingers pulled away. He¡¯d learned what he needed to anyway.


    ¡°You have been,¡± Tristan said, ¡°extremely lucky. It may yet kill you.¡±


    Maryam cocked an eyebrow at him.


    ¡°Well,¡± she said, ¡°I guess there¡¯s a reason you¡¯re not in charge of morale around here.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not convinced he should be in charge of medicine either,¡± Yong groaned from the ground, laying his forehead against his coat.


    He stayed like that for a few breaths, mastering himself, then raised his head again.


    ¡°All right,¡± the Tianxi said. ¡°Tell me.¡±


    ¡°When Vasanti shot you from behind, she hit your rib,¡± Tristan said. ¡°It¡¯s the reason why there¡¯s currently not a hole in your lung.¡±


    ¡°We may need to work on your definition of lucky,¡± Maryam noted.


    ¡°No,¡± Yong quietly disagreed. ¡°He¡¯s right. I¡¯ve seen men get shot in the lung, this was fine luck. Now give me the bad news.¡±


    ¡°The impact shattered your rib and broke off at least one large piece,¡± the thief said. ¡°I¡¯d need to open you up to be sure ¨C and that might well kill you even if I was a real physician ¨C but I think that right now the bullet is what¡¯s keeping that piece from stabbing into your lung.¡±


    Maryam had nothing pithy to add to that. Yong swallowed.


    ¡°What can I do?¡±


    ¡°Nothing,¡± Tristan honestly said. ¡°If we get you to a Watch surgeon in Three Pines they can remove the bullet and the broken off piece, but trying the same here with a knife would be like¡­¡±


    The only words that came to him were too light, too teasing.


    ¡°It would be kinder to use the knife to slit your throat, let¡¯s leave it at that.¡±


    The veteran slowly nodded.


    ¡°How long do I have?¡±


    The calm, Tristan thought, was the worst part of it. Yong had an almost serene look on his face, like the thought of dying didn¡¯t move him at all. Like all he was wondering about was the schedule, the details of the marching orders to his grave. Maybe it was about knowing death, Tristan thought. That old friend walked with all the children of the Murk, but none of them knew it the way a soldier would. Someone who¡¯d seen a hundred lives be snuffed out in a heartbeat, washed away by a wave of smoke and lead. Maybe it wasn¡¯t so scary when you¡¯d seen so much of it.


    Somehow, he couldn¡¯t quite bring himself to believe that.


    ¡°I can¡¯t tell,¡± Tristan admitted. ¡°Depending on how the rib broke that piece could be wedged tight in place or it could be on the edge of coming loose. Could be hours, could be days, could be a year.¡±


    The thief licked his lips.


    ¡°Avoid moving too fast and getting hit in the torso, that¡¯s the best advice I can give you.¡±


    His gaze broke away from the Tianxi¡¯s as he reached for his bag.


    ¡°I¡¯ll bandage it,¡± he added. ¡°It might help some, and we need to keep that wound from getting infected as long as possible.¡±


    The wound going bad might kill the other man before the rib piece did. Yong¡¯s forehead went back down and he did not say anything after that.


    None of them did, waiting in silence until the last of the rumbling above passed.


    --


    The last iron gate parted open at a touch, both sides fleeing into the wall ¨C though one got stuck halfway through, some unseen metal gear letting out a strident cry as it tried to force the matter and ended up breaking for it.


    Wary as that sound had made them, they still hurried out into the small natural cave past the gate. The iron wall closed behind them, save for the part that¡¯d got stuck. Yong¡¯s lantern showed there was a worn fire pit in here and some coal drawing on the walls along with words in a language Tristan did not know. At least one of them was a name, he figured, written above a pretty obscene drawing of a man thrusting his phallus at an airavatan¡¯s buttocks.


    ¡°Charming,¡± Maryam drily said.


    ¡°It hasn¡¯t been used recently,¡± Yong said, eyes on the pit. ¡°Still, it looks like hollows know of this place.¡±


    Tristan drew back to lay his hand on the iron gate, who confirmed his suspicions by not moving an inch. It only opened from the inside, then. The hollows had never gotten into the pillar. By the time he returned the other two had moved on, leaving the cave and stopping on a ledge right outside of it. Tristan joined them, inhaling the faint breeze with a smile as he pressed down his tricorn. Above them the veiled lights of firmament shone, cold and unmoving stars. They had made it out.


    For a long moment they stayed there, savoring the simple truth of that.


    Tristan was the first to stir. His gaze turned below, where a great dark forest spread out ¨C through there was a ring of light nestled in its heart, to the northeast. The glow was pale enough it must have Glare to it. Some kind of Watch outpost? He was not the only one who had begun looking around, as Yong made clear when he let out a soft curse in Cathayan.


    ¡°It looks like we won¡¯t be getting to sanctuary,¡± the Tianxi said.


    Their gate out of the mountain was facing the Watch fort on the other side, but it did not need to when even from where they stood they could see the aftermath of a massive landslide gone down that slope. The blackcloak fort had been on that same side, they all knew, which was less than promising. Feeling Yong¡¯s gaze grown colder when it moved back to him, Tristan held his hands up in protest.


    ¡°We don¡¯t know that the place got buried,¡± he said. ¡°And even if it did, Wen told me they have a vault below. Odds are it has a hidden passage they can use to get out of the mess.¡±


    ¡°You had best hope they do,¡± Yong said. ¡°Else they might shoot you for this at Three Pines.¡±


    Tristan was not the one who had caused the collapse, but he was disinclined to pass the blame onto Maryam.


    ¡°Vasanti caused all this,¡± he said instead. ¡°She forced us at gunpoint to trigger the trap the devils left behind because of her obsession with controlling the Antediluvian device.¡±


    Yong looked unconvinced and he felt Maryam¡¯s blue eyes on him. She said nothing, tacitly agreeing to his take on events. Since the Tianxi had been down during most of the confrontation with Vasanti, potentially unconscious, he was in no position to argue the tale.


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter,¡± Yong said. ¡°Even if they get out we won¡¯t be finding them out in the dark. They¡¯ll be headed to Three Pines, at a guess.¡±


    The port at the northern end of the island, Tristan thought, and likely where the Trial of Weeds ended.


    ¡°Or that place,¡± he said, pointing at the distant ring of lights in the woods. ¡°Sarai, what did the map say about it?¡±


    ¡°Sarai?¡± Yong mildly said. ¡°And here I thought her name was Maryam.¡±


    Tristan grimaced. Shit, he¡¯d let that slip during the mess inside hadn¡¯t he? He sent his friend an apologetic look, which she dismissed with a hand.


    ¡°You can call me Maryam too,¡± she told the Tianxi. ¡°Though I would ask you both to use Sarai in front of others.¡±


    She got the nods she was seeking, then sighed.


    ¡°And the map did not say anything about what that place is,¡± she said. ¡°It was marked, however, and a road through the woods that ultimately leads to the port goes through it. We have nothing to lose by taking a look.¡±


    ¡°If it¡¯s a Watch outpost they might have surgeon,¡± Tristan told Yong. ¡°Given how far the port is, it seems our best chance at keeping your ribs out of your lung.¡±


    A little explicit for his tastes, but that ought to remind the man of how much danger he was in with every step he took.


    ¡°It does seem the wisest course,¡± Yong said. ¡°If there are blackcloaks there, we may also learn what the Trial of Weeds is meant to be.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s settled, then,¡± Maryam said. ¡°Let us get moving before the rest of this mountain comes down on our heads.¡±


    ¡°Or worse,¡± Tristan fervently agreed. ¡°Lieutenant Wen warned me about cultists out here, they¡¯re the worst of the lot.¡±


    It¡¯d be a stroke of luck if the landslide had taken care of that for them, so he felt safe betting on the opposite.


    --


    There were remains of what the Antediluvians must have used to get up and down mountain once upon a time, some kind of half-buried machine whose sharp glittering spikes rose out of the dirt. None of them would have any idea how to get such a thing working ¨C if it still worked at all ¨C so instead they went down the old-fashioned way. Hollows clearly camped in the cave on occasion, so it was just a matter of finding the path they used to come here.


    It turned out to be a glorified goat trail snaking down the mountainside, narrow and made even steeper when the earlier collapse had shaken off loose rocks. Tristan was no stranger to heights but he still stepped warily, for a single slip here would likely be enough to kill him. For the better part of an hour they descended, the path widening as they got closer to the bottom, until finally they were able to leave the narrow trail for a bit.


    They¡¯d heard the waterfall long before they saw it. Tucked away in the mountainside, it spat out the end of some river from the maze onto the rest of the island. There was a crossing through the water, a loose path of jutting stones that the wet had turned dangerously slippery. They took their time moving across, which was the reason Tristan even noticed something was amiss. Frowning, he clutched the side of the stone he was standing on and went fishing in the foamy water.


    What he got for his trouble was a ripped doublet.


    ¡°Tristan?¡±


    ¡°Found something,¡± he told Maryam.


    He held up the dripping doublet into the lantern light, catching blood on the edge of the rips. The thief let out a low whistle when he realized it wasn¡¯t a simple case of the doublet having been torn: it was the same hole on both sides, more or less, so it was the remains of an impalement he was looking at.


    ¡°Old clothes?¡± Maryam said, taking a closer look. ¡°Didn¡¯t think you were that hard up.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve seen that doublet before,¡± he said. ¡°So have you.¡±


    She blinked.


    ¡°The colors,¡± she slowly said.


    ¡°House Cerdan,¡± he confirmed. ¡°It belonged to the elder brother, I believe.¡±


    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    ¡°So there¡¯s a half-naked infanzon corpse somewhere in the maze,¡± Maryam said. ¡°This has not been a good year for the Cerdan.¡±


    Tristan smoothed away his smile. Yong had not disapproved of his taking revenge earlier, for all that the man had not known the details, but that had been before their disagreements. It was best kept under wraps now. Besides, he thought, what was Yong actually-


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t be so sure about that,¡± the Tianxi called out.


    Yong had crossed all the way to the other side of the waterfall, at the edge of the lantern light, and was standing by a dead tree. The thief couldn¡¯t make it out well, so he tossed the doublet back into the water and set about catching up. A waste ¨C it was good fabric, might have fetched silver in the right shop ¨C but he did not want carry any more weight than he had to. Maryam let out a startled noise within moments of reaching the other shore and Tristan soon saw why: there were footprints in the mud.


    Someone had crawled out of the water onto the shore. The real surprise, though, was by the tree Yong was still closely studying.  It was not dead the way Tristan had first thought. While he was no woodsman, he knew what a dead tree looked like. Dry wood, bark gone grey and dry if there was still any at all. The tree instead looked like it¡¯d been scourged: there were slight furrows, as if a thin cutting whip had been wielded at it, and only around these marks was the tree dead. The rest of it looked fine, untouched.


    ¡°Contract,¡± Yong said.


    ¡°Contract,¡± Maryam agreed.


    ¡°Contract,¡± Tristan concluded.


    And it did not look like the pleasant kind.


    ¡°Augusto Cerdan got impaled by something large, if his doublet is any indication,¡± the thief said. ¡°It seems to me he might have struck a pact ¨C any pact at all - to live through that.¡±


    ¡°If it truly was a bargain with the Red Maw, the Watch will kill him for it,¡± Maryam noted.


    Tristan had been hoping the champion of the downtrodden would take care of this for him ¨C really, Tredegar, how hard could it possibly be to off someone you¡¯d publicly sworn to kill in a duel? ¨C but he¡¯d settle for the Watch instead if that was on the table.


    ¡°They might have,¡± Yong said, ¡°if they were not under several tons of rock.¡±


    Tristan grimaced. A fair point, even if its tone was slightly accusing.


    ¡°The only way off this island is the port at Three Pines,¡± he said. ¡°They would check before letting him onto the boat, surely.¡±


    ¡°Our ship should stay until all the trial-takers are arrived or believed dead, anyway,¡± Maryam said. ¡°We¡¯ll have time to tell the blackcloaks of our suspicions¡±


    ¡°If we live to inform them,¡± Yong said.


    ¡°That is the plan,¡± Tristan reminded him.


    ¡°You always do have one of those, don¡¯t you?¡± the Tianxi said.


    Though the man was smiling, it was not a compliment. Irritation could wait until they were in a safer place, Tristan reminded himself.


    ¡°The path to the outpost won¡¯t walk itself,¡± Maryam said. ¡°Still, let¡¯s keep an eye out for the Cerdan as we go. I doubt anything capable of that-¡±


    She pointed at the mangled tree.


    ¡°- is going to be all that friendly,¡± she finished.


    Yong hesitated.


    ¡°We cannot know for sure it is a Red Maw contract,¡± he said.


    I would want to kill him even if it isn¡¯t, Tristan thought. The more diplomatic ¡®that contract seems dangerous regardless¡¯ was on the tip of his tongue, but he was not so blind as to be unaware that if it came out of his mouth Yong was unlikely to agree. Best let Maryam take care of it instead.


    ¡°Yong, it¡¯s a maze full of starved and half-mad gods,¡± the blue-eyed woman said. ¡°The Maw was the worst, sure, but there were plenty of things in there almost as bad.¡±


    Tristan saw in the muscles of the neck that the veteran was about to glance his way, so he looked away first. A moment passed, then Yong sighed.


    ¡°Fair enough,¡± he conceded. ¡°I won¡¯t shoot on sight, Maryam, but neither will I approach him if we find him.¡±


    An awkward silence stretched on after that, until Tristan cleared his throat.


    ¡°We should fill our waterskins before moving on,¡± he said. ¡°We might not get another occasion any time soon.¡±


    A few minutes for that and then they were back on the trail.


    --


    They found no further traces of Augusto Cerdan on the way down, not for lack of looking.


    There was no telling if he had made it off the mountain, though Tristan¡¯s instincts whispered that he had. The man would not have made it this far if he was the kind to lay down and die. The thief could respect that kind of mettle, in truth, so as a gesture of goodwill he would try to kill Augusto standing instead. So long as it was not particularly inconvenient, anyway.


    The woods below were no easier to navigate than those in the Trial of Lines had been, though at least the thief had gotten used to such journeys. Their pace remained slow. Tristan had not noticed on the mountain, where the prospect of taking a tumble down the cliff had kept all their movements sedate, but Yong was at the edge of his rope. His breath was labored and his hair drenched with sweat. By unspoken agreement he and Maryam let the man take the lead so he could set the pace. She held the lantern, though, to relieve him of the weight.


    The thief fiddled with his hat, adjusting it unnecessarily as he debated calling for a halt so the Tianxi might rest. It might be better to wait a little longer, he thought, perhaps until they reached the road. Maryam had guided them in what was the right direction according to the map stored in her head, but a direction was the most she had been able to provide: until they hit the supposed road through the forest, they would have no real notion of where they actually were.


    ¡°Lights,¡± Yong suddenly rasped out. ¡°Maryam, kill the lantern.¡±


    She snuffed it out in a moment and they huddled together behind a bush, peering through the leaves to watch the approaching lights Yong had picked out. And no wonder he had, the thief thought: there were a great many of them. At least ten torches were being held up, though not a single one of them burned pale. Hollows, he thought. Cultists. So much for his half-formed hope they had run into the other group of trial-takers.


    Assuming they had lived through the mountain¡¯s collapse.


    His suspicions were confirmed when the torches came closer, all their shoulders tensing as a warband of pale-skinned cultist began gathering in a small clearing slightly ahead of them. There was a great deal of talk going on, and though they were not close enough to hear the words being spoken they were close enough to see the situation unfold. Two silhouettes in chain mail coats, both armed with long swords, were squaring off in an argument. One kept gesturing further in the woods, as if insisting they go off, while the other refused.


    Both looked close to drawing blades, and though they kept flicking looks at the black-robed priest watching them from the back she said not a word. Tristan had flinched when he first saw her face in the torchlight: it was a ruin of red scars, near every inch of it covered by hungry maws. All the other cultists, of which there must be at least two dozen, were very careful around her ¨C as if the slightest of gestures might bring about her ire.


    ¡°They have muskets,¡± Yong murmured. ¡°At least ten of them.¡±


    ¡°There might be more,¡± Tristan replied just as quietly. ¡°Wen told me they take them from Watch patrols.¡±


    None of them were comfortable staying so close to the enemy but there was little choice. Had they bolted earlier maybe they might have had a chance to sneak away, but it was too late now. They would not slip away unseen when trying to shake off the cultists in their own favorite hunting grounds.


    ¡°I think one of them is saying they need to pursue people,¡± Maryam said. ¡°They might have found the others.¡±


    ¡°Or the Watch garrison from the other fort,¡± Tristan said.


    ¡°Could be either,¡± Yong muttered. ¡°And they like their sacrifices, the Red Maw, so why is the other one arguing against it?¡±


    It took half an hour before they got an answer. A smaller band of five or so cultists joined the rest, two of them carrying a pair of wooden poles to which someone was bound. Though they were far and the torchlight flickering, Tristan would have recognized that mangled face even if the colored undershirt hadn¡¯t given the game away.


    ¡°Oh, that poor bastard,¡± Yong said.


    Unlike the older man, Tristan did not find it in him to muster pity as he watched Augusto Cerdan get carried into the crowd. Instead his eyes were on the ripped undershirt, which was still stained with blood and revealed the flesh beneath. And there was something¡­ off about that flesh. It looked like a wound, only it was nowhere as deep as it should be ¨C the infanzon had been impaled ¨C and the wounded flesh looked oddly stringy. Like strung-out pieces of red yarn.


    The cultists cheered the captured, the triumphant hunters earning much praise and backslapping from the rest. The only sullen face was the armored man who had been arguing to leave in pursuit, and the moment his dark eyes lingered on Augusto the thief knew what would happen. He wanted to vent his anger and there was a designated victim at hand. The cultists strolled up with a sneer and kicked the Cerdan in the ribs, the infanzon letting out a groan of pain.


    Those boots were simple leather, lacking armor, but the thief imagined that would be of little comfort to Augusto. Some cultists cheered the blow, acclaim that the sneering armored man wasted no time in chasing again. Two more kicks, the noble wriggling in pain, until the man turned to face the crowd and speak in some hollow cant. Whatever he¡¯d said prompted laughter.


    Then Augusto Cerdan¡¯s hand struck out like a viper, fingers sliding inside the cultists¡¯ boot, and the laughter went away.


    The hollow let out a terrible scream, bloody furrows forming across every visible inch of skin and digging deep. After two heartbeats he fell, twitching and bleeding, and as the rest of the cultists drew their arms in an uproar the infanzon began laughing on the ground. He was, Tristan realized, no longer wounded. Not on his face, not where he¡¯d been impaled. It was all smooth and healthy skin, though still caked in blood. His companions went still at the sight, having noticed it as well. Does he feed on the living?


    The thief bit his lip. Whatever the Cerdan had gotten out of the tree he¡¯d fed on, it had not healed him in full. Only now that a man had been turned into a bloody mess did he look untouched. What he feeds on must shape what he gets from it, Tristan thought. It sounded like a powerful contract, for all that flesh to flesh contract seemed to be required, which likely meant there was more to it. No god would grant such power without thorns and a steep price to swallow.


    The cultists swarmed angrily, several hitting a still-laughing Augusto with the bottom of their spear or the flat of their sword, but they would not kill him. He was a sacrifice. Some seemed to be arguing for mutilation, however, and blades were bared.


    Then the priest came out of the shadows, stepping fully into the torchlight, and silence fell over the clearing.


    The young woman spoke softly, cultists hurrying to obey. Augusto was cut free of the poles and dragged upright, the infanzon grinning wildly as the priest stepped closer. She leaned forward, face so close to the man she must have been able to smell his breath, before suddenly smiling. She pressed a soft kiss against his cheek, almost girlishly, and Tristan breathed in. Only she did not fall screaming, to the Cerdan¡¯s visible surprise.


    The priest raised up his hand, announcing something in the hollow cant, and after a heartbeat of utter surprise the cultists hurried to kneel before them.


    ¡°Well,¡± Maryam quietly said. ¡°I think we can now safely assume our friend Augusto has a Red Maw contract, can¡¯t we?¡±


    --


    It took another half hour for the warband to move on after that distressing bit of theatre.


    Augusto obviously did not understand the hollow cant, but several of the cultists appeared to know some Antigua. There was a lot of gesticulation accompanying the words, but some kind of understanding was eventually reached. The infanzon stole the sword and cloak of the armored man he¡¯d mutilated to the protest of no one, sticking close to the priest and talking animatedly as the hollows headed deeper into the woods. The three of them remained in hiding for minutes more after the last was gone, just in case.


    ¡°That,¡± Tristan mildly said, ¡°is going to be a problem.¡±


    ¡°He probably can¡¯t heal from a bullet to the head,¡± Yong opined. ¡°I¡¯d just need to get close enough.¡±


    ¡°That would mean getting close to the hollows,¡± Maryam said. ¡°Best we leave him to the Watch, I think.¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t argue that,¡± Tristan grunted. ¡°I¡¯m not sold on following them too closely, though.¡±


    ¡°Best we give them a head start,¡± Yong agreed.


    ¡°Can¡¯t be too much of one,¡± Maryam warned, ¡°else we risk running into them while they¡¯re on their way back.¡±


    That was a risk, Tristan acknowledged.


    ¡°Any idea where they¡¯re headed?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Same way we are,¡± she grimly replied. ¡°It¡¯s safe bet they are also aiming for the road through the woods.¡±


    ¡°Then we go around them,¡± Yong said. ¡°Circle past their position and then take the path the rest of the way to the outpost.¡±


    It seemed a reasonable plan, so they settled on that. Giving the cultists an hour to pull further ahead was what was decided on, and Tristan volunteered to keep watch if the others wanted to rest. Maryam did not waste a heartbeat accepting, using her pack as a pillow and cocooning in the bush. Yong did too, after some hesitation. The thief settled against a tree, blackjack close to his hand, and leant his back against the bark. The last of the poppy was fading, so at least he was at no risk of falling asleep: it was hard to contemplate lying down when your body and soul were as a single giant bruise.


    It was boring, looking out into the dark and staring at every shaking leaf, but it needed doing anyway. He checked Vanesa¡¯s watch regularly, more than he needed to in truth. It was less risky than letting his thoughts drift. It was when he was having a look for then tenth time that the silence was broken by a croaking whisper.


    ¡°How long?¡± Yong asked.


    ¡°Twenty-three minutes,¡± Tristan said. ¡°Over half left, you can go back to sleep.¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t,¡± the Tianxi admitted. ¡°The pain keeps waking me up.¡±


    Going by the loud snoring, Maryam was having no such trouble.


    ¡°I don¡¯t have anything left to take the edge off,¡± the thief said. ¡°If you have a hard time moving, we may have to risk the drink.¡±


    Risky, given that Yong was likely still bleeding inside, but less risky than moving at a slug¡¯s pace in a forest full of Red Maw fanatics armed to the teeth. The older man breathed out.


    ¡°I can still take it,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯ll make it to the outpost, at least.¡±


    Tristan nodded, though he was not sure if the Tianxi saw him in the dark. He said nothing more.


    ¡°You don¡¯t regret it at all, do you?¡± Yong suddenly said. ¡°Sending the watchmen into a trap.¡±


    Half a dozen replies were on the tip of his tongue, ways to wiggle out of the growing enmity between them. I also warned them about the trap, he could have said, or Vasanti was going to kill me otherwise, I had no choice, or Wen forced my hand in exchange for his protection. Degrees of truths, degrees of lies. Only Yong had saved his life. More than once. And that would only have weighed so much, if honesty was likely to get him killed, but it wasn¡¯t.


    So he told the truth.


    ¡°No,¡± Tristan said. ¡°I regret letting down my guard at the end, not thinking to keep a watch on the second lift, but nothing else of how things unfolded.¡±


    He could almost feel Yong¡¯s jaw clench.


    ¡°You made those men into a distraction,¡± the Tianxi said. ¡°Good as sacrificed them.¡±


    ¡°This isn¡¯t Diecai, Yong,¡± he tiredly said. ¡°I¡¯m not your gloryhound general throwing away conscripts for a victory: I did it this way because I thought that plan had the best chance of us living through it.¡±


    ¡°No, Tristan,¡± Yong quietly replied. ¡°You know that is untrue. It is why you kept me in the dark until it was too late. You chose that plan because it had the best chance of you surviving. There were other options, options I might have chosen had I known. They were simply more dangerous for you.¡±


    And that was the truth, Tristan knew. He¡¯d forced Wen¡¯s hand by telling Boria because he did not trust the lieutenant to protect him against Vasanti otherwise. And he knew he could have tried to sell out Wen¡¯s demand ¨C the destruction of the device ¨C to Vasanti in exchange for safe passage through the pillar. It would have put him at risk, but the old woman had never shown hostility against the rest of his crew so they likely would have been safe. The danger would have been all on him.


    There¡¯d been other plays, other tricks to attempt, but he had not truly considered them because Yong was right. They had been more dangerous for him.


    ¡°The hungry bite, the beggared snatch, the cornered fight,¡± Tristan softly quoted, looking up at the dark canopy above. ¡°I am what I am, Yong.¡±


    And he would make no apology for that. There was a long silence.


    ¡°Fear I can forgive,¡± Yong finally said. ¡°We all own some of that devil¡¯s hide. But you put me on their side, Tristan.¡±


    He did not need to ask who they were. They, the thief knew, was not a name or a place or a title. It was an idea: the people who make the plans that send other people to die, that send you to march across a plain to your death and it meant nothing at all. They was what Yong had really wanted to kill back in the Republics, when he¡¯d killed that general.


    ¡°There are no sides, Yong,¡± Tristan simply replied. ¡°At end of the day, a grave will only fit one.¡±


    Good men, bad men, kind men, cruel men - that was just paint, pretty color you slapped over the truth. There were the living and the dead, that was the whole of it. You kept out of the grave however you could until your luck ran out.


    ¡°That¡¯s not a way to live,¡± Yong said. ¡°That¡¯s just a way not to die.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not an ambitious man,¡± Tristan replied. ¡°I¡¯ll settle for that.¡±


    The veteran said nothing, but the silence was not an empty one. It felt, Tristan thought, like a door closing. He resisted the urge to fill the void, stilled his tongue.


    ¡°One day,¡± Yong said, ¡°you¡¯ll look back on your life. And on that day I hope you¡¯ll find more than corpses lying in your wake.¡±


    The soldier sighed.


    ¡°We can leave it at that,¡± he said. ¡°All of it.¡±


    The thief closed his eyes, breathing out. He had known from the start that it was sheer greed to try to keep too many of his companions. Survival had costs, sometimes in coin less obvious. To feel disappointment here, to feel regret, it would have been a kind of vanity.


    Tristan was vainer than he¡¯d thought.


    --


    When the hour passed they began to take the long way around.


    Opening the lantern¡¯s shutters all the way was too risky so it was with only a thin slice of light to guide them that they ventured into the dark. And Maryam, despite her best efforts, could only guide them so much: she had a map tucked away in her memory, not a compass, and in these damn woods everything looked the same. Without any landmarks to rely on they found a curving path was not so easy to maintain. Twice they got turned around, the first time doubling back to cross a shallow river and the second getting stuck walking around the edge of a steep hill for twenty minutes.


    They pushed on for three hours before finally slowing down when they came in sight of old ruins: three large worn pillars atop a platform, crowned by a circle of stone that was more than half gone.


    ¡°I don¡¯t suppose that was on the map?¡± Tristan asked.


    ¡°No,¡± Maryam grunted. ¡°Most of the ruins we encountered weren¡¯t. This island has too many to count, I expect.¡±


    ¡°Maryam,¡± Yong softly said. ¡°Shutter the lights.¡±


    She did so without batting an eye, pulling close to him, and as the Tianxi took cover behind a tree the thief mirrored him behind another. Moments later a pair of cultists came out of the thicker woods ahead ¨C both armed with spears and wearing leather, long hair going down their backs. They were talking rather loudly, ambling around until they both leaned against pillars and started what Tristan just knew was complaining even if he could not understand the language. That intonation was universal.


    ¡°Trouble,¡± he whispered. ¡°Go around?¡±


    ¡°I think we¡¯re at the edge of their guard picket,¡± Yong whispered back. ¡°If we get them quietly, we can press on straight to the road.¡±


    Tristan mulled on that, hesitating. Their attempted curve around where they thought the cultists might be had probably ended up closer to the outline of some demented ziggurat, but he agreed with Yong¡¯s assumption that theirs had broadly been the right path. It was tempting, the knowledge that instead of risking another hour going around this pair or waiting them out they might instead solve the problem and press on before their foes caught on.


    ¡°Maryam?¡± he asked.


    ¡°They¡¯ll know we¡¯re out here if we kill any of them,¡± she whispered. ¡°But I think the risk is worth it ¨C they¡¯re obviously waiting on something, if they are posting guards. It might be they¡¯re making camp.¡±


    Tristan was not so sure a camp was being made ¨C hollows often kept odd hours, unmoored from the Glare as they were ¨C but it was true that guards being about meant the cultists were no longer on the move.


    ¡°All right,¡± the thief conceded. ¡°We drop them quiet, then.¡±


    The pair might not be paying much attention, but they weren¡¯t blind and whatever friends they had out there would not be deaf. Tristan circled around their back, using the trees as cover until the angle of the pillars covered his approach. He crept out of the trees then, steps excruciatingly careful, and saw Yong follow close behind ¨C sword already out, tucked under his arm. Controlling his breath, the thief reached for his blackjack and palmed it as he pressed himself against the pillar. He turned to meet Yong¡¯s eyes, raising a hand and then beginning to pull down one finger after another.


    Four, three, two, one-


    They sprung out from behind the pillar just as one of the cultists snorted out a laugh at what her companion had said. Eyes widened, mouths opened and Tristan cracked his blackjack across the woman¡¯s temple as hard as he could. She dropped and he rushed forward to catch her even as the other hollow¡¯s attempted cry turned into a wet gurgle, Yong slitting his throat. The thief lowered the unconscious cultists, tucked away his blackjack and cleanly snapped her neck the way Abuela had taught him.


    The two of them stayed there a moment, breathing under the starlight, and traded a nod. Cleanly done all around. Tristan went riffling around the corpses and found a sheathed knife that fit his palm well tucked away on the woman¡¯s belt, claiming it to replace the one he¡¯d lost. Yong gestured for Maryam to join them and Tristan rose, rolling his shoulder. The bruises from Vasanti¡¯s beating ¨C beatings, really ¨C had him wincing, but it wasn¡¯t as bad as when it had been fresh. Another day or two and he¡¯d be fine.


    ¡°That was bracing,¡± Maryam said, catching up to them. ¡°Shall we-¡±


    A call came out of the woods, to their left, and it all went to shit when a cultist walked out from behind the trees ¨C he was calling out, a laugh on his lips, but froze when he saw them. Yong went for his pistol but the hollow was quicker, screaming out a warning, and three more of his friends came storming in.


    ¡°Run,¡± Tristan hissed.


    They fled, the cultists baying after them.


    A shot went wide, whizzing into the dark. Trees flashed on both sides at they ran, the shouts of cultists close behind. Were they even heading in the right direction? He had no idea, and there was no time to stop and ask. There were torches behind them soon, close on their trail. The thief could only guess at how many hollows had joined the hunting party, but it was too many to fight. Would have been too many even if they were all hale instead of wounded and exhausted.


    Then Yong tripped.


    The Tianxi had been slowing for a while, his breath coming in rough pants, but he still hit the root at running speed and fell right into a tree. Swallowing a hoarse shout, Yong rolled on the ground as Tristan cursed and doubled back to help him up.


    ¡°Come on,¡± the thief hissed, offering his hand. ¡°They¡¯re getting-¡±


    Yong took the hand, let himself be hoisted, but almost immediately collapsed.  He cursed in Cathayan.


    ¡°My ankle,¡± he said. ¡°It¡¯s sprained.¡±


    Maryam joined them, warily eyeing the approaching torches.


    ¡°What¡¯s happening?¡± she whispered.


    The older man¡¯s face was calm, the same way it had been up in the hall when he had learned his life was on a knife¡¯s edge.


    ¡°I can¡¯t run,¡± he said, then breathed out. ¡°Get moving, I¡¯ll draw them to me. It will buy you a chance.¡±


    The shouts were getting closer.


    ¡°Yong,¡± he said. ¡°I-¡±


    ¡°We have said,¡± Yong replied, ¡°all there is to say. Run.¡±


    And he wanted to argue, to insist, but the shouts were getting close. The torches burned bright in the dark, heralds of death. Maryam took his arm.


    ¡°Tristan,¡± she whispered.


    Shame, the rat told himself, was a luxury. He swallowed, nodding jerkily at the Tianxi, and broke for it. He saw Yong loading his musket with steady hands before running out in the dark, the last he would ever see of the man. Maryam stuck close to him as they ran for a minute, then two. Tristan swallowed, forcing his eyes to stay peeled ahead. Else he would trip as well, and be left behind just like-


    ¡°Fuck,¡± Tristan snarled, and turned around.


    Greedy, Abuela¡¯s voice chided. It would get him killed. But even as Maryam called out from behind, cursing as well before he heard her running after him, he found someone waiting for him in the gloom. Sitting on a branch above, long red dress trailing like a curtain of blood, Fortuna smiled an impossibly perfect smile. He almost sobbed in relief.


    ¡°You,¡± he croaked.


    ¡°You took a chance,¡± the Lady of Long Odds simply said. ¡°Now ride your prayer to the end, Tristan.¡±


    He swallowed and nodded, Maryam catching up with him as he did.


    ¡°We are going to die,¡± she told him.


    ¡°Maybe,¡± he said. ¡°Maybe not.¡±


    A pause.


    ¡°I¡¯ll abandon you if it looks bad,¡± she frankly said.


    ¡°I¡¯m lucky you came at all,¡± he replied just as frankly.


    She grimaced.


    ¡°You are,¡± Maryam said, then muttered. ¡°And I thought Song had picked the idiot.¡±


    She peeled ahead anyway.


    ¡°Come on, he hasn¡¯t fired yet so they don¡¯t know where he is.¡±


    The torches were close, terrifyingly close. When they found Yong he was but a few feet away from where they¡¯d left him, standing with his back against a tree as he held his musket. He saw them coming, his face twisting into something that was both hope and anger and not quite either.


    ¡°You-¡±


    ¡°Shut up,¡± Tristan cut in. ¡°You¡¯ll draw them. Maryam-¡±


    She grunted, taking up one of the Tianxi¡¯s arms while he reached for the other. They hoisted him up between them, dragging him away brusquely enough he would have had to fight them to stop it.


    ¡°It won¡¯t work,¡± he got out, voice sounding raw. ¡°They¡¯re-¡±


    In the distance, shots sounded.


    Their pursuers hesitated. They dragged Yong, forging forward as quick as they could. The opportunity was not to be wasted. The pursuers began arguing, at least until shots sounded again ¨C at least a dozen, continued. A real fight. The others or the Watch garrison? Either way, under Tristan¡¯s disbelieving stare the pursuers slowed, stopped and then turned around.


    Towards the fight.


    The thief choked out an incredulous laugh as he watched the torches get further and further away. Only then did he notice they had gotten back to the branch where Fortuna was perched, having not moved an inch since he last passed her by. A spinning golden coin drew his eye, the goddess snatching it out of the air. She met his eyes, golden eyes alight.


    ¡°Lucky you,¡± the Lady of Long Odds grinned.


    --


    They made it to the path from the map, stumbling like children, and then followed down the beaten earth. They saw not a soul on the way.


    --


    The supposed outpost turned out to be a small town, ringed in lamplights and waiting square in the middle of path. That should have been a relief, only there was a slight complication.


    ¡°Well,¡± Tristan said, eyeing the impaled corpses. ¡°I¡¯m willing to go on a limb and call this a bad sign.¡±


    Yong snorted from his place between them.


    ¡°Those lamplights give off Glare,¡± Maryam said. ¡°It shouldn¡¯t be hollows inside, at least.¡±


    ¡°Plenty of wolves hunt by pale light,¡± Yong replied. ¡°Let me off, you two. I think I can hobble and we¡¯ll look weaker if you¡¯re holding me up.¡±


    And there were people to look weak to, as the Tianxi had seen. A pair of guards came their way, bearing muskets and steel breastplates over padded tunics. Their helms were old-fashioned, going down the back of their necks, but it was hardly comparable to the old relics that the cultists bore. The three of them tensed as the guards approached, though the two men were still holding their muskets up instead of pointing them.


    ¡°You with the Watch?¡± the shorter one called out.


    They shared looks, then Maryam shrugged.


    ¡°We are,¡± she called back.


    ¡°Come on, then,¡± the same man said. ¡°The others are inside and we¡¯re closing the gates for night.¡±


    ¡°Trap?¡± Yong murmured.


    ¡°If it is, I¡¯d rather have Tredegar doing my fighting for me,¡± Tristan opined. ¡°She is much better at it.¡±


    Assuming the mirror-dancer still lived, which was hardly certain.


    ¡°Agreed,¡± Maryam snickered, then sobered. ¡°Besides, they might have a town physician.¡±


    Yong grunted his doubt but did not argue. They met the guards halfway, getting eyed back just as much as they eyed the pair while they walked together to the gate.


    ¡°Rough year, the way your friends tell it,¡± the chatty one said.


    ¡°You could say that,¡± Tristan easily replied. ¡°Seen a few, have you?¡±


    The man snorted, his smile never showing his teeth.


    ¡°You don¡¯t need to be cagey, the others already told us you don¡¯t know shit about the Trial of Weeds,¡± he said. ¡°This town is called Cantica. We¡¯re a colony under the auspices of the Watch and your last stop before the final trial.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll be getting an explanation, then?¡± Yong asked.


    The guard shrugged.


    ¡°The mayor will tell you everything there is to know,¡± he said. ¡°Most of us don¡¯t know the details.¡±


    The guards slowed when they came near the gates, which had the three tensing up again.


    ¡°While inside Cantica,¡± the chatty man said, ¡°there is to be no violence against trial-takers or our folk. We won¡¯t have our town to be the pissing match for maze grudges. Understood?¡±


    ¡°Understood,¡± Tristan agreed, and the others echoed him.


    Twenty more feet had them past the gates, which the guards stayed behind to pull closed as they were ushered on. The destination was obvious: there was a crowd gathered in the street, but not of townsfolk. The survivors of the Bluebell stood before a hard-faced man in neat clothes that must be the mayor. There were fewer survivors than Tristan would have thought, and at least one of those present to the thief as a surprise.


    Smiling insolently in the face of Angharad Tredegar dark¡¯s glare, Augusto Cerdan toyed with the hilt of the sword he¡¯d taken from a cultist.


    This, Tristan thought, was going to get messy.

 Chapter 40

    ¡°Gods be my witness,¡± Mayor Crespin harshly said, ¡°but if I either of you draws a sword I will have you shot.¡±


    Angharad¡¯s lips thinned, back straightening as she glared down at the man. She had already given her oath, what manner of honorless cur did he take her for? Cantica¡¯s mayor, a middle-aged man with a bushy black beard whose wildness contrasted with the tidiness of his dated woolen green tunic, looked unimpressed by her anger.


    ¡°Glare all you want, girl, but I¡¯ve permission from the commander in Three Pines to dispose of any of you who get rowdy,¡± the man said. ¡°You think you¡¯re the first kids with chips on your shoulders who¡¯ve blown through here?¡±


    ¡°I have no intention of breaking my word,¡± Angharad curtly said.


    Crespin held her gaze a moment longer ¨C how flat they looked, she thought, almost lifeless ¨C before grunting in what could have been either approval or dismissal. The mayor¡¯s dark eyes then moved to Augusto Cerdan, who was yet grinning.


    ¡°I only reached for my blade because I felt in danger, good sir,¡± Augusto said. ¡°I would not dare to break your laws.¡±


    Mayor Crispin eyed the infanzon a moment longer.


    ¡°You¡¯re lucky we don¡¯t give out beatings for smugness,¡± the mayor finally said. ¡°Go stand with the rest.¡±


    That wiped the grin off Augusto¡¯s face well enough. The mayor, stroking his beard, glanced at them one last time then peeled away. The two town guards that had been looming over their discussion leaned their muskets back against their shoulders. Men with much nerve, the Pereduri thought. There were only a handful of them, to pen in five times as many trial-takers, but at no point had they shown fear at the possibility of a fight breaking out.


    Angharad supposed that living on this nightmare of a place must do wonders for building one¡¯s bravery.


    ¡°You, the new arrivals,¡± Mayor Crispin called out. ¡°Send me one in front. The remainder goes with the crowd.¡±


    The dark-skinned noblewoman turned in surprise: she¡¯d not noticed anyone coming. Angharad let out a startled noise at what she found: Tristan, Yong and the pale-skinned Sarai. The latter looked like she had done best of the three, at least until Angharad noticed the missing fingers. The others looked like they had been savagely beaten and Yong had clearly been shot but the three were well enough to move. They were warmly welcomed by the rest of their company, Yong more so than the rest ¨C his acquaintance with Lady Ferranda and Lord Zenzele was of long date.


    It was Tristan who limped to the front as they had been instructed, the sole part of him that did not look like it had been tossed down a mountainside the worn leather tricorn on his head. The Sacromontan had decent taste in that regard, at least.


    ¡°Tredegar,¡± the grey-eyed man tiredly greeted her, offering a nod.


    ¡°Tristan,¡± she happily replied. ¡°I am pleased you made it through.¡±


    How he had done so was a question for later, she decided. There must have been another path through the maze, one that could be pried open without ten victors.


    ¡°You can have your reunion later,¡± Mayor Crespin said, brusque but not unkind. ¡°Tristan, is it?¡±


    ¡°That is my name,¡± the Sacromontan agreed.


    ¡°Should we be expecting further survivors?¡± the man asked. ¡°The girl here says all the people she ran the second trial with are accounted for.¡±


    ¡°Our fourth is dead,¡± Tristan replied, face subtly tightening. ¡°As far as I know, there are no others left.¡±


    Angharad could not, in that moment, recall the old man¡¯s name. Franco, Frecho? She had been told it at some point, she knew, and a slight well of shame came at the realization she had not cared enough to remember.


    ¡°Good,¡± Mayor Crespin said, then paused.


    Tristan was looking at him. The grey stare was even, almost mild, but Angharad shifted uncomfortably at the sight. It was an unsettling sort of calm ¨C the kind that came right before someone smashed a glass against your head or bared a knife.


    ¡°Not good,¡± Crespin corrected, ¡°but simpler for us. If everyone is there we can get the Trial of Weeds going.¡±


    Tristan cocked his head to the side.


    ¡°Do you need anything else of me?¡± he asked.


    ¡°No,¡± the mayor grunted, then flicked a glance her way. ¡°Same with you, Malani. You can join the others.¡±


    Angharad smoothed away her irritation at the inaccuracy and inclined her head in acknowledgement, keeping the other trial-taker company on the short walk. No words were shared, the only sound their boots squelching in the shallow mud. Song was waiting for Angharad when she returned, gesturing for her to come closer while Tristan disappeared into the crowd.


    ¡°Shalini gave them Ishaan¡¯s body,¡± the Tianxi whispered in her ear. ¡°They¡¯ll burn it tomorrow, after firewood has been gathered.¡±


    ¡°She agreed to part with it?¡± Angharad whispered back, honestly surprised.


    ¡°They didn¡¯t give her a choice,¡± Song replied. ¡°They wouldn¡¯t allow a corpse to be dragged around for fear of disease.¡±


    Which was, the Pereduri admitted, a fair concern. Having her hand forced in such a manner explained why the Someshwari looked in a foul mood, however, ignoring Zenzele¡¯s attempts to engage her in conversation. Ferranda stood with them, the trifecta having kept together on the march, and Angharad felt a pang of envy. Everyone she had passed the first trial with was now dead or estranged, save for Song ¨C even Brun, who she thought herself on good terms with, now preferred to stand with Yaretzi and quietly converse rather than renew their acquaintance. Mayor Crispin cleared his throat, putting an end to the small talk, and all eyes went to him.


    ¡°First off,¡± the bearded man said, ¡°since I heard the sanctuary got buried I¡¯ll first ask you this: is there anyone here who would withdraw from the trials?¡±


    He waited for a moment, to utter silence.


    ¡°Last chance,¡± he said. ¡°If you get to hear the rules of the Trial of Weeds, the only ways you¡¯re leaving this island are in a coffin or a black cloak.¡±


    Still silence. The man shrugged.


    ¡°Don¡¯t say I didn¡¯t warn you,¡± the mayor said. ¡°Follow me, I¡¯ll give you the rules once we get to the town square.¡±


    It was not a particularly long walk, though the lackluster streets made it rather unpleasant. They stuck to the sides as much as possible, closer to the occasional wooden planks than the mud in the middle of streets. After four minutes of passing shops, houses and a large inn the mayor slowed as they reached their destination.


    The square looked almost out of place given how cramped the rest of Cantica was, all pressed against the palisade walls with narrow streets and rough wooden houses. In contrast the town square was a wide and open space paved with thick square stones. Spread out across it, facing the center, were three large iron cages.  Each was taller than a man and long enough you would be able to walk inside.


    Padlocks hung on their open doors.


    There was a ripple of unease through their company, which Angharad would freely admit to sharing in. If there had been beasts in the cages they were now gone, and if they were meant for people then¡­


    ¡°Here we are,¡± Mayor Crespin said. ¡°Come close now, and no chatting. I won¡¯t be repeating myself if you miss anything.¡±


    Dutifully, their company assembled at the edge of the paved square while the bearded mayor came to stand between the cages. Crespin spat to the side, into the mud.


    ¡°Now, the Watch is supposed to give you some spiel about the nature of the third trial before sending you off our way,¡± he said. ¡°But I¡¯m no watchman, and I¡¯ve only heard bits and pieces of the speech over the years.¡±


    He shrugged.


    ¡°So I¡¯ll be giving you my own understanding of it instead.¡±


    The bearded man swept through them with his gaze.


    ¡°The Trial of Lines is a test of skill,¡± he announced. ¡°If you don¡¯t have a plan or lick up to people who do, if you don¡¯t have the training to make it to the sanctuary quietly or the strength to fight your way through, then you end up dead.¡±


    Angharad winced at the bluntness of his words, but there was the ring of truth to them.


    ¡°Now the Trial of Ruins, it¡¯s a pot,¡± Mayor Crespin said. ¡°They throw you into the water and turn up the heat to see what you¡¯ll do when it starts to boil: do you fuck over your allies, do you break or run or rise up to the occasion?¡±


    Glances were sent this way and that at the man¡¯s words. Tupoc only grinned at the unspoken accusations, entirely unruffled, and a flattering amount of looks went her way at the last part. Angharad straightened her back, allowing herself a sliver of pride.


    It did not last.


    ¡°There¡¯s not many of you this year,¡± the mayor bluntly said, ¡°so you must not have been great swimmers.¡±


    There was the ring of truth to that as well, Angharad thought. Near thrice their current number had walked out of the Bluebell.


    ¡°Now, the Trial of Weeds isn¡¯t like the first two,¡± Mayor Crespin said. ¡°If you got here, you¡¯re good or you¡¯re lucky: either way, the Rooks can use you.¡±


    He smiled, just a shallow stretch of the lips that had precious little mirth to it.


    ¡°No, this place is about ripping out the weeds before they get into the Watch, so to speak, and the winnowing is left to your own hands.¡±


    Another ripple of unease.


    ¡°We¡¯re not going to put any you in these cages,¡± Crespin said. ¡°You are.¡±


    Few of them liked the sound of that.


    ¡°Tonight, in the time before you retire to your rooms, each of you will be taken aside asked to give three names,¡± the man said. ¡°One for each person you think should be put in one of the cages. The three of you named the most times will then be escorted into their cage by the town guard come morning.¡±


    Angharad frowned, then cleared her throat. It earned her an unfriendly look from Crespin.


    ¡°What happens should two of us be named an equal number of times?¡± she asked.


    It would not matter unless the third position was the one shared, she thought, but should that happen it was possible a draw would need settling.


    ¡°You get to share the cage,¡± the mayor replied without batting an eye.


    That was, Angharad silently conceded, callously fair.


    ¡°Come morning, you¡¯ll gather up here again,¡± Mayor Crespin continued, ¡°and after the chosen enter the cages then you get to vote on which of the three will die.¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t be serious,¡± Shalini replied. ¡°You want us to kill each other?¡±


    The man shrugged.


    ¡°You¡¯ve already been killing each other, I imagine,¡± he said. ¡°Now is when you call each other to account for it.¡±


    He chuckled.


    ¡°I¡¯ve seen the smile drop off the faces of all sorts of clever sorts, when it sunk it that they might have to pay for their bloody tricks after all,¡± Mayor Crespin said. ¡°The way I see it, this test is for them. If you throw your allies to the wolves, well, you best be clever enough to talk them out of hanging you after.¡±


    The mayor shrugged.


    ¡°What use would the Watch have for you otherwise?¡±


    Half a dozen of them spoke up at the same time even as Angharad¡¯s fingers tightened around the grip of her saber. This was madness, she thought, how could they be expected to ¨C Mayor Crespin¡¯s hand rose, and silence fell again. No one wanted to risk missing a piece of the rules.


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t end there,¡± the bearded man said. ¡°After that¡¯s done, each of you will get asked a question in private: should another round be played?¡±


    You could have heard a pin drop.


    ¡°All it takes is one yes,¡± Crespin said, ¡°for there to be another.¡±


    ¡°That is absurd,¡± Augusto bit out. ¡°How many of us will die for petty grudges?¡±


    It was uncomfortable, Angharad thought, to be forced in a position where she agreed with the man.


    ¡°As many as you lot care to kill,¡± the mayor said, indifferent. ¡°The Trial of Weeds ends when refusal of another round is unanimous. After that we¡¯ll hand you fresh supplies and you get to toddle on north to Three Pines to join the Watch.¡±


    Though Angharad could feel indignation about to erupt, their company held on to silence a little longer. Crespin liked toying with them. They proved right to, as the mayor chuckled a few heartbeats later.


    ¡°One last thing,¡± he said. ¡°There¡¯s one last rule, which is a secret you will have to find on your own. A way for someone in the cages not to die even if they get picked. Sniff around for it however you will, so long as you remember the rules: no violence against my folk, or each other.¡±


    Mayor Crespin offered them a nod.


    ¡°That¡¯s the whole of it,¡± he said. ¡°My people will find you to ask the names, don¡¯t try to go to sleep before you¡¯re given leave.¡±


    He walked right through their crowd, forcing them to part as if to make a point, and for a few heartbeats silence followed in his wake.


    Then chaos came screaming out.


    --


    The first thing that happened was that Tupoc Xical walked away.


    Without a word, ignoring the jeers from Ferranda and Zenzele. Angharad searched his face for fear as he walked past her, for regret, but found neither. He looked, to her dismay, thoughtful. He knows he is certain to be sent into a cage, she thought, so he is going on the hunt for the hidden rule that might save his life. He must have committed to that decision before the mayor was even done speaking. It was a tortured thing to admire Tupoc¡¯s composure ¨C he would not have needed to be composed, after all, were he not a feckless traitor.


    Everything admirable about him was intertwined with the worst of traits. In a way his qualities made it easier to despise him, Angharad thought, for Tupoc was capable of acting with honor she he want to. He had the skill, the discernment.


    It was a choice for him to be heinous.


    ¡°We should all agree now on who we send into the cages,¡± Yaretzi was saying. ¡°The trial thrives on mistrust, should we simply be open with-¡±


    ¡°How would we know if someone¡¯s lying?¡± Lan casually asked. ¡°We¡¯ll give our names in private, the mayor was clear about that.¡±


    Yaretzi turned a gimlet eye on the older woman, Angharad only then noticing that one of her turquoise earrings was missing. It must have fallen during their flight to Cantica.


    ¡°Trust,¡± Yaretzi began, but derisive laughter cut the sentence short.


    ¡°There is still a murderer among us,¡± Zenzele, who¡¯d been the one to laugh, cut in. ¡°There should be no talk of trust, Yaretzi.¡±


    ¡°Chaos is to no one¡¯s advantage,¡± Song opined. ¡°Some semblance of an agreement can only help.¡±


    ¡°You sit on more secrets than anyone here, Tianxi, and some are fresher than others,¡± Zenzele Duma flatly said. ¡°I will not invade your privacy by pressing, but do refrain from taking us for fools. I will not be a tool for your schemes.¡±


    Song met his eyes with her unblinking silver gaze, face hardening.


    Angharad¡¯s brow rose at the tension. That was a strong claim, but a lord of Malan had spoken it so he must not believe it a lie. And he has a contract that would let him sniff out secrets, she thought. Zenzele had seen her own vengeful oath, though he had not known what it was. And now he says that what Song keeps to herself dwarfs even that. A sobering thought. Yet secrecy was not deserving a scorn: had Angharad told them all she was pursued by assassins?  No, not even when she had foolishly feared that Zenzele Duma and his lover might be killers sent by her nameless foe.


    ¡°There is ruin in all our wakes, Lord Zenzele,¡± Angharad said. ¡°To chase each other¡¯s shadows is a game without a victor.¡±


    The dark-skinned noble ¨C taller than her even with his hat in hand, though not by much ¨C fixed her with a steady look. Ferranda elbowed him, after which he gave Angharad a curt nod and wrenched his gaze away. Song looked about ready to speak again, but it was another who stepped in first. Master Cozme Aflor¡¯s flair had never quite recovered from the loss of his hat, but the older man still cut a respectable figure with his finely groomed mustache and beard. The cuts he¡¯d suffered on the Toll Road only added to it, the bandages around his arm lending him a wounded veteran¡¯s look.


    It was with his hand on the pommel of sword ¨C loosely, resting and not threatening ¨C that he went to stand before everyone.


    ¡°I have made mistakes,¡± Cozme Aflor bluntly said. ¡°I own that.¡±


    A burst of shrill, mocking laughter.


    ¡°Oh, sweet Manes,¡± Augusto Cerdan said. ¡°To think I¡¯d see the day where you bent that stiff neck enough to beg for your life, Cozme. The voyage was worth it just for that.¡±


    The older man glanced at him with distaste, then ignored him.


    ¡°I tried to keep my oaths to House Cerdan beyond what was wise,¡± Cozme said, ¡°but never did I bare a blade on any of you, or take revenge for a contract being used on me without provocation.¡±


    A meaningful look was thrown at Shalini there, who sneered back.


    ¡°If you feel it has grown cold outside, then you should have thought twice before walking out,¡± the Someshwari replied.


    Brun cleared his throat.


    ¡°One does not lightly leave the service of the infanzones,¡± the fair-haired man said. ¡°Defiance is not without costs for Sacromontans, Shalini Goel.¡±


    The short Someshwari eyed him with surprise, and some abashment at the reminder that she had come here as the close and trusted companion of a noble while Cozme was merely a retainer. Angharad, though she kept an eye on the talks, was instead taking measure inside her own mind. Tupoc was headed for a cage, that much was certain. He had made too many enemies. The only question worth asking was who else would be headed there.


    ¡°Let us not pretend being a soldier for a house right beneath the Six is the same as being a rat,¡± Tristan flatly said. ¡°Pity is a fine thing, Brun, but Cozme Aflor never gave a shit about anyone but his charges until that bridge was thoroughly burned.¡±


    ¡°And he should be killed for that?¡± Brun challenged.


    A harsh laugh.


    ¡°You will have to forgive Tristan,¡± Yong said. ¡°He¡¯s grown used to deciding who lives and dies.¡±


    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    That earned the pair measuring looks ¨C it was an obvious break in a previously cordial relationship ¨C but Angharad was yet running down the list. No one, she thought, had made more foes than Augusto Cerdan and Cozme Aflor. It was near a sure thing that the two of them would be sent to the cages along with Tupoc. Only Yaretzi, who had fought Tupoc and been accused by Shalini, could even begin to come close.


    ¡°Everyone with a gun has that same power, Yong,¡± Lan blandly said, ¡°and I see you carry two.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think this is going well for you, Cozme,¡± Augusto loudly whispered. ¡°Perhaps you should¡­ go with the current, old friend. It will be faster.¡±


    Angharad almost winced ¨C there was no almost about it for the older man - as she remembered when she had last heard that sentence.


    ¡°To consign someone to the cages does not mean death,¡± Angharad pointed out. ¡°A mark of shame, perhaps, but not an oath to send them into the grave.¡±


    ¡°Well said,¡± Yong grunted. ¡°I have been told I might be bleeding out, so I¡¯m to look for a physician. I will, however, leave you with this: Tupoc, Augusto, Tristan. Make of it what you will.¡±


    He began limping away after. Sarai, whose face was flushed pink with exhaustion, traded a look and a nod with Tristan before slipping away from the crowd to help Yong limp forward. The veteran looked as if he wanted to refuse, but after a moment conceded and slung an arm around her shoulder as they disappeared into the town.


    ¡°That was most unwarranted,¡± Augusto complained. ¡°I¡¯ve hardly even spoken with the man.¡±


    ¡°Hardly must have been enough,¡± Angharad evenly replied.


    He cheerfully flipped her the finger, seeming unworried even though he was sure to be bound for a cage. Is this bluster, or is he genuinely without fear? Cozme, whose speech had been diverted by sundry distractions, cleared his throat and claimed attention once more.


    ¡°I have said my piece,¡± the older man said. ¡°I can now only trust in the fairness of those assembled here.¡±


    ¡°I truly misspoke when I called you a cock,¡± Augusto mused. ¡°How could you be such, when you have such a talent for fellatio?¡±


    The infanzon chuckled.


    ¡°I trust in the fairness of those assembled here,¡± he repeated in a nasal voice. ¡°At least get on your knees first, if you¡¯re going to be working at it so hard.¡±


    Cozme¡¯s cheeks reddened in anger as he reached for his sword, not quite unsheathing it, and even Angharad felt her jaw tighten at the uncouthness of. Augusto had somehow become even more odious since the Toll Road, and no longer cared to keep his venom in check. By the looks on the face of those around here, that was doing him no favors. But then he would have been headed for a cage even if he turned sweet as honey, Angharad thought.


    As Mayor Crespin had said, the Trial of Weeds was a reckoning for the other two.


    ¡°Talking here is pointless,¡± Shalini said. ¡°Half of us can¡¯t trust the other and there can be no serious talks with snakes coiled in our laps.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s right,¡± Lady Ferranda said. ¡°And so was Yong, in his own way.


    She paused.


    ¡°Tupoc, Augusto, Cozme.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll be taking that up with the Villazur, when I return to the city,¡± Augusto mildly said.


    The fair-haired infanzona cocked an eyebrow.


    ¡°That¡¯d be quite a trick, without a head,¡± she said, and walked away.


    Shalini went with her, and Zenzele flicked them a glance before clearing his throat.


    ¡°Consider Tupoc a given,¡± the Malani. ¡°The rest bears thought.¡±


    He then tipped his head at them politely and hurried to catch up after the others. There were still many of them left, Angharad saw. Of the fourteen they numbered there were still eight standing here in the square. But the moment Shalini and the other had left the prospect of keeping this out in the open had died. Even though there were numbers enough here to decide the matter if they wanted to, the illusion of unity had shattered.


    Everyone would be cutting their own deals, as if this were the High Queen¡¯s court.


    Angharad met Song¡¯s eyes and traded a small nod. They were done here, both agreed, and within a minute had taken their leave.


    --


    However cramped the planks on the side of the street, they were preferable to walking in the mud. Even if it made speaking as they moved somewhat awkward.


    ¡°I have a degree of acquaintance with Sarai,¡± Song told her. ¡°I will seek her and find out what happened when our company and hers parted way.¡±


    Angharad could read between the lines. The two women were acquainted, but the Triglau was less than fond of Malani. Understandable, if somewhat unwarranted ¨C Angharad had never owned a slave nor traded in them. Their first conversation after the reveal of her origins had been¡­ less than skillful, admittedly, so the Pereduri said nothing on the subject.


    ¡°I am rather curious what tunnel they found to escape,¡± Angharad admitted. ¡°It must have been unknown even to the Watch.¡±


    ¡°They are a canny lot,¡± Song said. ¡°I expect it will be an interesting tale.¡±


    Angharad nodded, then cleared her throat awkwardly.


    ¡°I expect I should speak with Lord Zenzele first,¡± she said.


    She delicately did not mention that her fellow islander had taken a clear dislike to Song. Said Tianxi eyed her from the side.


    ¡°He is not wrong,¡± the silver-eyed woman said. ¡°I keep a great many secrets.¡±


    ¡°Your eyes bind you to such a fate,¡± Angharad shrugged.


    It was, if anything, reassuring that Song was not prone to voicing the many hidden things that her eyes were certain to reveal by simple virtue of being in their presence. Angharad would much rather that pact be held by a woman inclined to secrecy than a blabbermouth. Song looked away, stepping through the shadow cast by the lamplights above.


    ¡°More than merely that kind,¡± she said. ¡°I joined the trials on the Dominion for a particular purpose, Angharad, and thought I am yet bound not to speak of it the time approaches where I will be able to tell you.¡±


    ¡°That is not necessary,¡± Angharad assured her. ¡°I do not begrudge silence, save if it causes harm.¡±


    ¡°It is necessary,¡± Song replied, sounding almost amused. ¡°I intend to make you an offer when we reach Three Pines, and when I make it I would not have you think our entire acquaintance was a ploy.¡±


    The Pereduri appreciated that, truly. All this scheming and lying, how exhausting it had become. Sifting through every sentence for ten meanings, every offered hand a trap. Even the closest to a pleasant diversion Angharad had found had been¡­ Her jaw clenched at the memory of how Isabel and looked, her face a red ruin. Song¡¯s open admission that she was keeping secrets and would offer a bargain was refreshing, a clearly drawn line in the sand.


    She could do with more of those in her life.


    ¡°You have saved my life on more than one occasion,¡± Angharad said. ¡°Whatever else may come to happen between us, Song, you may be assured that I will always hear out any offer you have to make.¡±


    The other woman studied her for a stretching moment, steps stuttering on the planks, and it occurred to Angharad that Song was actually quite striking. Silver eyes set in a face of pale gold, the cut of her slender and elegant. Bearing a plaited braid and folded leather hat, she seemed almost like a huntress of story. A passing thought, almost absurd. No huntress out of a story would have been so intent on cutting her rations precisely that she ended up with leftover string-thin slices of bread that she never actually ate.


    That and she snored, though the noise was amusingly dainty.


    ¡°Words worth remembering,¡± Song finally said.


    They left it at that.


    --


    The inn they had walked past earlier was called the ¡®Last Rest¡¯.


    The words were carved above the door in scrabbly Antigua, the townsfolk apparently being unacquainted with the notion of hanging a sign. If not for the large and open shutters she would not have known the place for what it was from the outside. The ground floor was a common room full of long tables, with a fireplace at the back and a bar counter. Behind that counter a door led into what looked like a kitchen, while a little to the side rickety stairs led to a second story.


    Song had gone across the street, where the town physician and gravedigger ¨C an efficient combination, Angharad had mused ¨C was allegedly having a look at Yong¡¯s wounds. Sarai would be waiting on him, as good a time as any to talk.


    The three souls she had been on the hunt for, however, were in the Last Rest¡¯s common room. Having claimed the end of the table near the fireplace, they were sitting with warm meals and what appeared to be tankards of ale. Moving their way, Angharad noted that while Shalini appeared to have claimed one of Zenzele¡¯s sausages she had in exchange surrendered her beer. Ferranda had traded nothing, but was poking at her peas with a distinct like of enthusiasm. Angharad could not blame her, they were horribly common fare.


    It was Ferranda Villazur who first saw her coming, and when Angharad gestured towards the open space by Zenzele¡¯s side with a raised eyebrow the infanzona gave a shrugging nod. Permission enough, the noblewoman decided. Loosening her sword belt, she pulled it off and set it down to the side before sliding onto the bench by Lord Zenzele. The man in question swallowed his drink, then smiled her way.


    ¡°Lady Angharad,¡± he said. ¡°Come to get a meal out of them as well?¡±


    ¡°I would not mind,¡± she admitted. ¡°Is it expensive?¡±


    She did not have much coin left, and to be honest the thought of coin had her a little dazed. How long had it been since she last paid for something? Not even two weeks, and yet it felt like an entire world away.


    ¡°No cost.¡±


    Angharad tensed at the voice coming from behind: she had not heard someone approach. Turning, she found a startlingly young man that could not have been older than seventeen looking at her with mild boredom. He wore a leather apron over a roughspun brown cote ¨C a long-sleeved tunic in an antiquated style ¨C and his messy black hair went down to his shoulders. He must have been Lierganen, by the tan, but she could not place the accent.


    ¡°As part of our charter with the Watch,¡± the man said, ¡°we provide room and board for all trial-takers as well as run the Trial of Weeds. You want a meal?¡±


    Angharad slowly nodded.


    ¡°What is available?¡±


    ¡°The meal,¡± the man drily replied. ¡°With or without beer.¡±


    ¡°It is barley beer, Tredegar,¡± Zenzele told her. ¡°Criminal stuff.¡±


    It did not seem to hinder him any from getting started on the second drink.


    ¡°Maize beer is a Malani obsession, Duma,¡± she amusedly replied. ¡°My people make barley wine like civilized folk.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure you think you¡¯re interesting,¡± the innkeeper said, sounding like they were anything but, ¡°but I¡¯m still waiting on an answer.¡±


    Angharad asked for a meal, without ale, then cleared her throat.


    ¡°What is to be the arrangement for rooms?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Usually we split you lot between here and the Warm Coffin across town, but there¡¯s barely any of you this year so you¡¯re all going upstairs,¡± the man said, jutting his thumb towards the stairway near the counter. ¡°Take whatever room you want, then come back and ask me for the key. There¡¯s numbers on the doors.¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Angharad nodded.


    The man snorted, then walked away.


    ¡°I do not suppose the Warm Coffin¡¯s owner would be any more polite?¡± she drily asked.


    ¡°It¡¯s closed,¡± Shalini got out after swallowing a large mouthful. ¡°Ferranda asked when we heard about the meal.¡±


    ¡°He seems young to run an inn,¡± Angharad said. ¡°Even for a border town.¡±


    ¡°That we did not ask,¡± Ferranda replied. ¡°Still, I would wager it had something to do with the cultists impaled before the gates. The entire town seems on edge, they might have been attacked recently.¡±


    That made a great deal of sense, she thought. With the landslide burying the Watch garrison near the mountain, the cult of the Red Eye might have thought it opportune to try a raid on Cantica. It would also explain how few people they had seen out on the streets. The innkeeper was back with her meal: sausage, peas and sliced almonds. She thanked the man, asking for his name, and got a raised eyebrow as only response.


    ¡°Tried that too,¡± Zenzele drily said. ¡°Not the friendliest of fellows, this one.¡±


    Shalini, who had polished off her entire plate and had begun eyeing that of her neighbors, let out a grunt.


    ¡°He might not see the point in getting friendly when the trial could kill any of us,¡± the Someshwari said.


    Ferranda discreetly used her wooden fork to empty most of her peas onto Shalini¡¯s plate, smiling winningly at the other woman when Shalini turned to cock an eyebrow, but the grim mood brought on by the reminder of the Trial of Weeds was not so easily lifted.


    ¡°It is a bloody affair,¡± Angharad agreed.


    ¡°And it now brings you to our shores so you might know where who we will name,¡± Lord Zenzele said.


    ¡°That is of some import,¡± she said, ¡°but my greater concern is to ascertain where we will stop.¡±


    Looks of surprise.


    ¡°Barring a surprise or a miracle, Tupoc Xical will die come morning,¡± Angharad said. ¡°My question to you is this: will the trial end there?¡±


    The three traded looks, and again she felt a pang of envy at how closely they now kept. A few days ago they had been strangers.


    ¡°I had thought,¡± Zenzele slowly said, ¡°that you would want a second round if only so that Lord Augusto might follow in Xical¡¯s wake.¡±


    Angharad shook her head.


    ¡°I can do my own killing,¡± she flatly replied. ¡°I do not need a trial to do it for me.¡±


    The oath she had given to Mayor Crespin was straightforward: she was to do no violence to trial-takers or the townsfolk while a guest in Cantica, unless attacked first. The moment they stepped out of the town the infanzon was no longer protected.


    ¡°That is,¡± Lady Ferranda hesitantly said, ¡°to your honor.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not the only one with grudges to settle, Tredegar,¡± Shalini said. ¡°Putting Tupoc¡¯s head on spike hardly needs selling and Augusto could do with getting his breathing rights revoked, but there¡¯s a murderer still on the loose and I will see her face justice.¡±


    Angharad stilled.


    ¡°Her?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Yaretzi tried to murder Ishaan on the way to the temple-fortress,¡± Shalini said. ¡°You might not believe me, but I saw what I saw. I would have her put in a cage for it, then in a grave.¡±


    ¡°Do you have proof she murdered Jun and Aines?¡± Angharad asked.


    ¡°No,¡± Shalini admitted, ¡°but how many vipers can there possibly be among us?¡±


    Ferranda sighed.


    ¡°I do not agree, and did not vote accordingly,¡± the fair-haired woman said. ¡°I am yet convinced that another was behind the deaths, acting through catspaws. I have heard¡­ rumors about Yaretzi, however, that are suspicious.¡±


    Isabel had said that ¡®Yaretzi¡¯ was a foot shorter than she was supposed to be. Ferranda did not seem to be putting strong stock in the other infanzona¡¯s words, but neither was she dismissing them. Angharad cocked an eyebrow at Zenzele, leaving the question implied.


    ¡°Looking back, I find some of her behavior during the Trial of Lines unusual,¡± Zenzele admitted. ¡°She was very used to roughing it, for a diplomat, and though she struck a friendship with Ayanda she showed little grief when the cultists took her.¡±


    Shalini looked away at that. She and Ishaan had refused to pursue the warband to take back Zenzele¡¯s lover, Angharad knew. It might have been the sounder call, but it seemed that a growing acquaintance with Zenzele Duma was shading the nuances of that decision in retrospect.


    ¡°You are both committed to pursuing Yaretzi¡¯s execution through a second round, then?¡± she asked.


    Shalini nodded briskly. Zenzele followed suit a heartbeat later.


    ¡°There will be a death every round, and three of us in cages on every instance,¡± she quietly reminded them. ¡°You may not find the support you seek before a great many bodies have piled up.¡±


    Ferranda hummed.


    ¡°A question best revisited tomorrow,¡± she said. ¡°Once Tupoc is dead, we can decide how far this is to be pushed.¡±


    Shalini looked mutinous but she kept silent. By unspoken accord they turned to lighter talk as Angharad went through her meal, wolfing down the bland fare. Hunger was the finest spice. Others drifted in as she did, alone or in pairs. Cozme, freshly bandaged, came over to the table to share with them the news that Yong was being cut open ¨C he had a bullet in the back that must be removed ¨C and might not be upright tomorrow. By the time Angharad finished her meal, the absences were more noticeable than those present. Besides Yong, only three were missing.


    Tupoc, Lan and Augusto.


    Parting ways with the three, Angharad grabbed her saber and went upstairs to pick a room. The stairs led up to a tiny hallway forming a broad L, she found, whose longer length faced the street. Between the two sides there were around twenty doors with a number painted and all were open save for the three nearest to the stairs. The Pereduri suspected these would be locked as well, but did not check. Instead she looked around for which room seemed most comfortable, hoping for a mattress that might not be stuffed straw. She was not the only one with such a notion.


    ¡°Comparing the rooms, are we?¡± Brun asked, lips twitching into a smile.


    The blond Sacromontan looked tired, holding his pack loosely, but was still steady on his feet. That tended to be the way with him.


    ¡°Straw everywhere, so far,¡± Angharad admitted. ¡°Have you found anything?¡±


    ¡°Same for the mattresses, I expect we should give up hope for that,¡± he said. ¡°No windows anywhere, but the three rooms in the corner have a dresser as well as a bedside table. That appears the pinnacle of luxury around here.¡±


    Angharad sighed. It was better than nothing, she supposed. The two of them trudged back past the stairs, turning the corner of the L into the smaller length of hall. While she hesitated Brun stole a march on her, claiming the middle of the three rooms and tossing his pack on the bed. Slightly irked, she walked past him and took the room at the very end of the hall. A twenty-one was painted in white on the door, the key she would need to claim.


    Brun was waiting for her in the hall when she came out.


    ¡°Have you eaten yet?¡± he asked.


    She nodded.


    ¡°Shame,¡± Brun said. ¡°Was it any good?¡±


    ¡°Do you enjoy peas?¡± she drily asked.


    ¡°More than I enjoy starving,¡± the fair-haired man amusedly replied.


    ¡°Then I expect you will most adequately fed,¡± Angharad told him.


    She could not bring herself to give a better compliment, as it would have been dangerously close to a lie. They made their way back down together, encountering Yaretzi going up as they did. Since the stairs were too narrow for two the Izcalli gallantly went back down to give way, while Brun instead climbed back up to cede her passage in turn. Angharad thanked the other woman with a nod, but no more than that. Given the chances that ¡®Yaretzi¡¯ was some kind of impostor, it was best to keep her distance.


    When she claimed her key from the innkeeper, a dark-haired woman in her thirties ¨C her clothes as old-fashioned as the young man¡¯s ¨C was waiting for her.


    ¡°Alix,¡± she introduced herself. ¡°I handle Mayor Crespin¡¯s affairs. You are Angharad Tredegar, correct?¡±


    Angharad nodded confirmation.


    ¡°I need three names from you, then,¡± Alix said, picking up a chalk and slate.


    After a heartbeat of hesitation, she gave them. Tupoc Xical, Augusto Cerdan and Cozme Aflor. After the first round  and Tupoc¡¯s death Angharad saw no need to continue this vicious trial, but that was not in her power to decide. Perhaps talks could be had tomorrow, after the execution. After going back up to lock her door, when returning to the common room she found that Song was seated with Sarai and a reluctant-seeming Ferranda - something Angharad decided she wanted no part of. She took to the streets instead, feet itching to move for all her exhaustion.


    They would not be allowed to retire to their rooms until all had given three names anyhow.


    Cantica was smaller than she had thought. Two large inns, the Last Rest and the Warm Coffin, swallowed up quite a bit of the room inside the area walled in by the palisade and ring of lamplights. The rest was rough wooden houses ¨C all their shutters were closed, and Angharad saw precious few of the townsfolk out on the streets - and a handful of shops. The people of Cantica were polite but distant, most of them not even bothering to reply to a greeting beside a curt nod.


    The shops were not much to look at either. A half-empty general store and a smithy were nestled one against another, while further down the street a carpenter and a baker made up the rest of the town¡¯s ¡®main street¡¯. Angharad found Lan sitting in the alley by the bakery, perched on a crate as she tore into a loaf of black bread. On a whim, she sought out the other woman.


    ¡°There are warm meals at the Last Rest, you know,¡± Angharad said.


    The blue-lipped Tianxi smiled.


    ¡°You can¡¯t move while eating those, though,¡± she said. ¡°And there¡¯s a lot to see in a place like this.¡±


    Angharad cocked an eyebrow, somewhat skeptical.


    ¡°Is there?¡±


    Lan hummed.


    ¡°How many people do you think live in a town this size?¡± she asked.


    Angharad blinked.


    ¡°Around two or three hundred,¡± she guessed.


    ¡°Probably closer to four or five,¡± Lan said. ¡°But you¡¯re in the right area. How many of those people have you seen out in the streets?¡±


    Angharad thought back, slipping into a frown.


    ¡°Fewer than fifty,¡± she said. ¡°And no children.¡±


    ¡°Common sense to keep your kids indoors when you¡¯ve got a dozen heavily armed lunatics on the prowl,¡± Lan said, ¡°but why so few people are out and about is what has me curious. I figure it¡¯s about the lights.¡±


    The Pereduri blinked, putting the pieces together.


    ¡°You think hollows live here?¡± she asked, appalled.


    ¡°No,¡± Lan said, biting into the bread and swallowing a chunk. ¡°I think people live here, and they keep hollow slaves. Do you know a lot of farmers who¡¯d go out there and till a field when there¡¯s cultists on the loose? They¡¯re using expendables, is my guess. And the Watch allows it, because if Cantica¡¯s turning a profit they can get some tax money out of this place.¡±


    Angharad swallowed.


    ¡°And now that the lamplights are lit,¡± she said, ¡°the hollows stay inside so the touch of the Glare will not hurt them.¡±


    The other woman nodded.


    ¡°It¡¯s just a guess,¡± Lan admitted. ¡°But I find it mighty interesting there¡¯s hardly a house in this town where the shutters are open but that all the shops ¨C the rich parts, the people with coin ¨C are open and their owners around. It paints a picture.¡±


    It did, Angharad thought with a grimace. The Watch did not practice slavery, but Cantica was not the Rookery. It was a colony with a charter, and if the legalities were anything like those in Malan then this town would be something like a vassal state paying tribute. Not, strictly speaking, part of the Watch or its territories.


    ¡°Would that at least one part of this misbegotten island was not filled to the brim with sinister secrets,¡± Angharad bit out.


    Lan eyed her, seemingly amused.


    ¡°Then you won¡¯t be interested in what I overheard keeping an eye on our friend Augusto,¡± she teased..


    Angharad blinked.


    ¡°Why were you following Augusto?¡± she slowly asked.


    ¡°Because Tupoc said he¡¯d kill me and make it look like an accident,¡± Lan cheerfully replied. ¡°I lost him two streets over, near the butcher¡¯s shop.¡±


    Angharad considered the other woman as she kept tearing into her loaf of bread, rather conflicted. On one hand, Lan was a sneak who looked into everyone¡¯s private affairs and riffled through their bags when given half an excuse. On the other hand, she was so open about this and her generally mercenary nature that Angharad could not quite bring herself to actually consider her a sneak. If a viper told you it was a viper and that it was going to bite you, then proceeded to bite you in the exact way it had informed you it would, could it really be considered treachery?


    Angharad cleared her throat.


    ¡°Please,¡± she said, ¡°may I hear what Augusto was doing?¡±


    If the other woman had brought it up, it would be worth hearing.


    ¡°Free of charge, since you¡¯re a good sort,¡± Lan easily said. ¡°Our boy was talking with the town guards earlier, asking about the gates of Cantica. More precisely whether there are other ways in or out of this place.¡±


    Angharad¡¯s eyes narrowed.


    ¡°Are there?¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t hear the guard¡¯s answer,¡± Lan said. ¡°But I think his lordship has seen the writing on the wall for the Trial of Weeds, and now he wants to pull a runner before he ends up losing his head.¡±


    That was, Angharad darkly thought, despicably plausible of the man.


    ¡°Perhaps I should have a look at where he is, then,¡± she flatly said.


    ¡°Good luck with that,¡± Lan said, biting into the bread. ¡°And I mean it. You can smell the crazy on that boy, and it¡¯s not even the entertaining kind.¡±


    Not quite sure how to answer that, the noblewoman kept her face blank and offered her most polite goodbyes. Lan only seemed all the more amused, though her eyes were already far away.


    The Tianxi was not done sniffing around Cantica for secrets, Angharad could tell.


    --


    She did not find Augusto in time.


    The infanzon had made himself scarce, and Tupoc was no longer by the butcher shop when she passed close. In truth she did not have long to look around, as a town guard accosted her in the street and told her to return to the Last Rest.


    ¡°May I ask why?¡± Angharad politely said.


    ¡°The votes are all in,¡± the woman replied. ¡°The names and numbers are on the slate by the door. Once everyone has seen them you¡¯ll all be allowed to turn in for the night.¡±


    Though Angharad believed she already knew the results, she supposed there was no harm in taking a look before going on the hunt for Augusto again. Besides, it might be interesting to see the numbers. She thanked the guard and briskly made her way back, finding most of their company out in the street and looking at a slate six feet high. The writing was the same as that of the mayor¡¯s helper ¨C Alix, was it?


    Angharad stepped around Zenzele to come closer to the slate, noticing from the corner of her eye that Song was there and looking worried. Why? Her look at the slate revealed that eleven out of the fourteen of them had named Tupoc, putting him at the top of the list. It was, in truth, fewer than she had expected. Augusto was second and had been named ten times, which seemed reasonable to her. Cozme¡¯s name was the third, she saw, but there she blinked.


    Five times. He had only been named five times.


    And the name under his was a scrawled ANGHARAD with a four besides it.


    She had come within one vote of ending up in a cage, the Pereduri dimly realized. All this time speaking with others and never even noticed she was resting on the knife¡¯s edge. Under her Tristan had been named four times as well, another injustice, and then of all people Brun had been thrice named. Yaretzi being named thrice was slightly less startling, but it came as a blindside that the last name on the list would be Song ¨C named twice.


    Perhaps Angharad should have tried to match votes to faces, to piece it all together, but her eyes kept returning to her name right under Cozme¡¯s and how close she had come to being sent into the cage in his stead. Feeling stares lingering on her back, the Pereduri flushed in embarrassment.


    Four votes, Sleeping God.


    Augusto and Tupoc she could understand, but who else had she offended to deserve such a slight? Was Cozme two-faced enough to ask for her mercy and in the same breath try to have her encaged? The Pereduri¡¯s jaw clenched. He likely was. And that still left one more among the fourteen who had wanted her put on display like a wild animal, having never said a word to her face.


    Her mood significantly fouled, she ignored Song calling out for her and strode away. Absence of company would do her well. A minute or two of walking around with enough of a scowl that the townsfolk gave her a wide berth calmed her down, enough that when she caught sight of a familiar silhouette she did not avoid him. Tristan, after all, also had four votes to his name. She did not believe him any more deserving of such slander than she.


    The scruffy man was leaning against the side of a house, Angharad saw as she approached, and looking up at one of the pale lamplights that ringed the entire town of Cantica to keep away lemures and strike fear in the hearts of darklings. The man flicked a glance her away as she came near, offering a polite nod that she returned.


    ¡°Missing home?¡± she asked. ¡°It must have been quite the change, leaving Sacromonte for the first time.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s fewer lights in my parts of the city than you¡¯d think,¡± Tristan replied. ¡°But there is something nostalgic about this, I¡¯ll admit.¡±


    His lips thinned.


    ¡°These are the exact same kind of lamplights they use in the Murk.¡±


    Angharad had not been long in Sacromonte, but long enough to hear of this Murk. The city¡¯s slums, though there were wild and colorful rumors about what went on there. She cocked an eyebrow at the man, for this did not seem a detail worth staring at.


    ¡°I imagine they must import them from Sacromonte,¡± Angharad said. ¡°It is the closest city to the island and the Watch has ancient ties to it.¡±


    ¡°I figured that as well,¡± Tristan agreed. ¡°Only, Tredegar, those lamplights are in pristine state. Their glow is perfect.¡±


    ¡°And what does that mean?¡± Angharad asked.


    ¡°Either nothing at all,¡± Tristan quietly said, ¡°or that we are in very serious trouble.¡±

 Chapter 41

    It was a small mark, barely the width of half a palm, but that ¡®C/C¡¯ might just get them all killed.


    ¡°Trouble,¡± Lady Angharad Tredegar slowly repeated. ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    Tristan saw the change in the noblewoman, the way her previous sulk immediately turned into a straightened back as she unconsciously made enough room to be able to draw her saber. It was interesting that someone of her birth had learned such a habit ¨C the kind you usually saw in legbreakers and killers who had been in the service of coteries for years, who knew death might come for them at any moment. Someone had tried to kill Angharad Tredegar, he figured, and taken more than one swing at it.


    The thief cleared his throat.


    ¡°Would you like the short explanation or the long?¡± he asked.


    The Pereduri blinked, as if surprised he would even ask.


    ¡°The long, of course,¡± Angharad seriously said.


    ¡°Huh,¡± Fortuna mused, cocking her head to the side. ¡°No one ever asks for the long explanation. I think something might be wrong with her, Tristan.¡±


    A beat.


    ¡°I mean, she just willingly signed up for you talking more to her, she must be a masochist at the very least.¡±


    It was not possible to strangle an incorporeal goddess, Tristan knew. He had tried enough to be certain. Hiding his surprise ¨C Fortuna wasn¡¯t wrong about thew first part at least ¨C the thief cleared his throat again, placing his thoughts in order.


    ¡°A lamplight is not a complicated thing to make,¡± he finally said. ¡°In essence, it is an iron post about twenty feet high ¨C broader at the base, for stability ¨C with a cylinder of grass and iron screwed on atop it. There is an oil reservoir inside and a wick to light.¡±


    Tredegar was, by all appearances, listening quite attentively. As if interested. It began to occur to him that Fortuna might actually be a right, an unsettling prospect at the best of times.


    ¡°The oil itself is cheap,¡± he said. ¡°Almond oil, but they do not need to be Glare-grown ¨C just cut with infused dust or stone. Iron is cheap in Sacromonte because of the Trench, and an iron post is not a complicated to forge, so lamplights are relatively cheap to make and have been for as long as anyone can remember. It is not a popular good to trade in because there is, as far as anyone can tell, no coin to make in it.¡±


    ¡°But,¡± Angharad said.


    Malani nobles were said to have a better eye for coin than most, he recalled. Or at least their lesser branches.


    ¡°Enter Chabier Calante,¡± Tristan said, ¡°to whom the very Prince of Lies is favorably compared in some parts of the Murk.¡±


    The Pereduri¡¯s brown eyes moved to the lamplight by which they stood, finding the ¡®C/C¡¯ impressed into the metal. Her brow rose.


    ¡°Decades have passed since then and tales have eaten away at the truth of the matter,¡± Tristan continued, ¡°but some elements always remain: Chabier Calante was a trader, a Trebian merchantman, and by way of what he believed to be an opportunity came into a large number of Pili cannons ¨C the barrels, to be precise.¡±


    Angharad cocked her head to the side.


    ¡°I have read of those,¡± she said. ¡°Tianxi artillery. Powerful but infamously imprecise. Their use cost the Republics several engagements at sea.¡±


    ¡°I doubt the man would have cared,¡± Tristan said. ¡°But he was tricked anyhow: the reason he got the barrels so cheaply was because they had been miscast. Some sort of thinned junction, it made the bottoms prone to exploding after the second shot. Even worse, the republic he meant to sell these to averted war by way of treaty at the last moment.¡±


    ¡°So he was ruined,¡± Tredegar said.


    She sounded rather approving.


    ¡°Most would have been, but Chabier Calante was bold,¡± Tristan replied. ¡°Around that time, the City was looking to expand its lines of lamplights into the Murk. Chabier had a stroke of inspiration: by sticking the miscast barrels atop a shorter, hollow base of scrap iron, he would be able to build lamplights for a pittance.¡±


    ¡°Surely the quality would be greatly lessened,¡± Angharad frowned.


    Tristan shrugged.


    ¡°The story goes that when the contract bids were made to the infanzones, his offered price was almost half that of his competitors,¡± the thief said. ¡°Chabier¡¯s description of his shorter, squat lamplights as ¡®built hardened against the savagery of the commons¡¯ was allegedly found rather charming. They awarded him the contract.¡±


    The noblewoman¡¯s face hardened.


    ¡°This borders on corruption,¡± she severely said. ¡°It is, at the very least, incompetence.¡±


    Tristan wondered what it must be like, to live in a world where either of these things were a real hindrance in holding onto power you were born to.


    ¡°Lamplights with that newly minted mark of ¡®C/C¡¯ sprouted over about half the Murk the following year,¡± Tristan said. ¡°All of Soliante, Araturo and Careyar.¡±


    ¡°I do not know these districts,¡± Angharad told him. ¡°I was lodged in Cortolo and spent some time in Fishmonger¡¯s Quay.¡±


    Tristan let out a little noise of curiosity.


    ¡°Cortolo¡¯s one of the nicer parts of the Old Town,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯m surprised you were able to get a bed there, most foreigners end up near the ports.¡±


    ¡°My uncle recommended an acquaintance,¡± Angharad said.


    Ah, the blackcloak relation. More likely he had recommended an inn with ties to the Watch, Tristan thought.


    ¡°They are districts near the western edge of the city,¡± he said. ¡°Far from Cortolo, and indeed the eyes of the infanzones. Chabier Calante became very rich from this deal, a man of means, but as the months turned into a year word began trickling in: his lamplights kept blowing up, the top exploding in showers of fire and broken glass.¡±


    Angaharad¡¯s lips thinned. She was, Tristan realized, genuinely angry at the thought of something that had happened in a foreign land decades before she was born.


    ¡°It was the parts from the Pili cannons,¡± Tristan said. ¡°Constant heat warped them, and by doing so turned them into makeshift grenades that blew the top off their own lamplights.¡±


    ¡°What happened after Chabier Calante was arrested?¡± Tredegar asked.


    ¡°He wasn¡¯t,¡± Tristan mildly said. ¡°Chabier suppressed news a few more years by paying a coterie to frame another for the explosions, which kept him in good odor long enough to marry into a noble house and prepare.¡±


    ¡°Prepare how?¡± the Pereduri said, sounding baffled.


    ¡°By the time it came out his lamplights were essentially a self-inflicted bombardment of Sacromontan streets,¡± Tristan said, ¡°he had replacements lined up for the pieces whose manufacture just so happened to enrich enough powerful infanzones that not only did he go unpunished, he actually grew richer.¡±


    Angharad Tredegar looked as if she had just been slapped, something that took great effort not to smile at. He could not help it, she was taking it all so personally.


    ¡°He should have been hanged,¡± the noblewoman stiffly said. ¡°And all involved in awarding him the contract stripped of their offices and titles in public disgrace.¡±


    You don¡¯t even notice it, do you? That even in your finer world, you would hang the commoner and let the nobles get away with a slap on the wrist. Tristan could not find it in him to be irked over it. It was the kind of blindness you were born into, as much a defect as a limp or a stutter. Tredegar looked slightly embarrassed by her own outburst, coughing awkwardly.


    ¡°This lamplight is one of the repaired pieces, then?¡± she asked.


    Tristan grimaced, for now they got to the bone of it.


    ¡°Chabier¡¯s name would not still be cursed for his trick after decades passed had it ended there,¡± he said. ¡°The replacement pieces, you see, did not work all that well either. The glow of the lamplights tends to wax and wane, and some trouble with the wicks means they can go dark for hours at a time without warning.¡±


    Tredegar was not a slow woman, for all her self-inflicted fettering.


    ¡°You said earlier that the glow of these lamplights is perfect,¡± Tredegar slowly said. ¡°It is not the same as those you know, then?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± he grimly said. ¡°It is not. The upper half does not look quite the same either, the mark is in a different place.¡±


    He grimaced.


    ¡°I think,¡± Tristan said, ¡°that we are looking at the original cast. Chabier¡¯s first batch.¡±


    ¡°And you said that within a year these pieces exploded,¡± Tredegar quietly said. ¡°Those in the Murk were used every day?¡±


    He nodded.


    ¡°Then even if the people of Cantica light these only the necessary amount to prevent Gloam disease, they should have broken by now,¡± Tredegar stated, and he was surprised by the certainty in her voice.


    Ah, he should not have. Her mother had been some sort of explorer, hadn¡¯t she? No one knew Gloam disease better than those who ventured out into the dark seas.


    ¡°There could be other explanations,¡± he warned. ¡°If the town has only existed for a year or two, for example.¡±


    ¡°It would not have become the crux of the Trial of Weeds were it so recent a creation,¡± Tredegar noted. ¡°Nor would it have so many established trades on the main street.¡±


    A fair point, he thought as she paused.


    ¡°Though I suppose they could have private sources of Glare light,¡± she said. ¡°Within their own homes. It might be that the use of the lamplights is restricted to the Trial of Weeds.¡±


    ¡°The lamplights are half of what keeps out cultists and lemures,¡± Tristan disagreed. ¡°The Watch does not seem to be protecting Cantica from raids, by the corpses out front, so they would have used them defensively at least. Besides, think of the costs. Every single family in a small town like this having a private light? It would represent a fortune in coin.¡±


    And Cantica did not seem like a wealthy town.


    ¡°I have no notion of the costs involved,¡± Tredegar admitted. ¡°Much of Peredur is covered by Glare light from the pit above.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯d be cheaper near a pit, like your home or Sacromonte,¡± Tristan said, ¡°but it would be quite expensive out here on a nowhere island, where all is imported. I doubt even the Watch garrisons on the Dominion have such luxury.¡±


    ¡°Then the people of Cantica ought to be darklings by now, and they are not,¡± the Pereduri said, her voice gone flinty. ¡°They are hiding something from us.¡±


    It was interesting to witness it, the exact moment when white turned to black in Angharad Tredegar¡¯s mind. Before then the townsfolk had been their hosts, honorable souls deserving of every courtesy. Now they were schemers, looming threats. It would have been easy to mock the woman for it, call it simplicity, but Tristan had seen naivete and this was not it. It was trained mindset, something she had been taught.


    Would it not be a useful skill to a noble, being able to decide in a heartbeat that one of your formerly esteemed peers was a hateful foe without taking the betrayal personally?


    He was coming around to thinking that Angharad Tredegar was a lot like a thoroughbred trained for the races. Splendid at what she was meant to do ¨C swording people and being mannerly - but somewhat at a loss outside these bounds. Which was only natural: using a racer like a mountain mule was a good way to scrap that very expensive horse. Besides, Tredegar would not be at a loss forever. She was not without cleverness, given time to find her footing she should turn into a singularly dangerous woman.


    But for now she was merely very dangerous, so the thief intended to find her a racing course to put that danger to use. What to say, what to hide, what to leverage? Tristan sketched out the angles, then made his decision.


    ¡°This cannot be spread around blindly,¡± Tristan told her. ¡°Some would panic and tip off the townsfolk we are onto them.¡±


    ¡°If we are in danger,¡± Tredegar said, ¡°we must warn the others.¡±


    The thief feigned hesitation, preparing to concede down to the compromise he had wanted from the start.


    ¡°Only those we both agree on,¡± he offered.


    After a heartbeat of hesitation Tredegar nodded. It would serve, given the Malani obsession with keeping their word.


    ¡°We need to find out what they are hiding,¡± the noblewoman said. ¡°What kind of dark pact has kept them from becoming hollows without Glare light.¡±


    ¡°I have a guess as to what might be going on,¡± Tristan said. ¡°But considering who I believe has the answers, I will need your help.¡±


    Tredegar cocked an eyebrow.


    ¡°My help?¡± she skeptically asked.


    He nodded.


    ¡°We need to find Tupoc,¡± Tristan said.


    ¡°He despises me,¡± the noblewoman informed him. ¡°An entirely mutual feeling, I assure you.¡±


    The thief doubted that, in fact ¨C at least on the Izcalli¡¯s side ¨C but now was not the time for that talk. Or ever, really.


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter,¡± Tristan said. ¡°Tupoc Xical is not going to answer any question I ask him, because he and I both know that if I press him he will savagely beat me and dump my unconscious body somewhere humiliating.¡±


    Tredegar opened her mouth and then closed it, speechless..


    ¡°You, on the other hand,¡± Tristan continued, ¡°can savagely beat him should he attempt this, which he is equally aware of. That capacity is the required foundation for having any kind of halfway polite conversation with Tupoc Xical.¡±


    The noblewoman squinted at him.


    ¡°Tristan,¡± she said, ¡°are you attempting to use me as some sort of street tough?¡±


    That was absolutely what he was attempting to do, yes. Outright lying to the woman whose entire way of life was bound to the concept of honor seemed a mistake, so he decided on a different angle.


    ¡°Be a pal,¡± Tristan tried. ¡°Do it for justice.¡±


    A heartbeat passed.


    ¡°I am not sure whether I should be offended at the implication,¡± Tredegar muttered, ¡°or relieved that someone is finally asking of me something I know for certain I can do.¡±


    ¡°That uncertainty,¡± he sagely advised, ¡°is the garden where friendships bloom.¡±


    Angharad did not stab him for that, which was good as agreement in his book.


    --


    Tupoc Xical, spear assembled and at the ready, loomed over them from the rooftop.


    The pale-eyed Izcalli was perched at the edge of the tiles, surveying the streets of Cantica like a hunting cat waiting for the right prey to pounce. Tupoc was bound for the cages and likely the grave unless he found the secret that would spare his life, so it hardly surprised Tristan that the man had decided trying to rustle up votes was a waste of time better spent on getting the lay of the land in Cantica. Indeed, the thief was counting on it. Everyone else, including him, had dabbled elsewhere.


    ¡°Good evening,¡± Tristan cheerfully called out.


    The Izcalli sneered down.


    ¡°Less so now that you waste part of it,¡± he said. ¡°Run along, rat.¡±


    A full two seconds passed.


    ¡°Lady Tredegar,¡± Tupoc greeted with a nod.


    It was almost impressive how excruciatingly deliberate he had made that pause.


    ¡°Your manners are lacking as ever,¡± Tredegar frostily replied.


    ¡°They match the soul they are offered to,¡± Tupoc drawled.


    Insult and compliment all at once, Tristan thought amusedly. How crafty.


    ¡°We ask only for a conversation,¡± the thief said.


    ¡°We?¡± the Izcalli snorted. ¡°How the mighty have fallen, Tredegar. Are you now cowering away in fear of the dark with this one?¡±


    Angharad Tredegar cocked her head to the side.


    ¡°Shall we,¡± she mildly said, ¡°speak of fear, then, Tupoc Xical?¡±


    The eerily perfect man went still, a statue of flesh and blood, and Tristan hid his surprise. Tredegar had something on the man, she must have for him to react this way. How? Nobody had something on Tupoc, the Leopard Society man was like a pile of razor blades fashioned into a man¡¯s shape. Tupoc leapt down from the roof, landing in a smooth crouch that was just close enough to force Tristan to take a step back, but the thief hardly even cared. This was just too delicious.


    That Angharad Tredegar, of all people, would come into the power to hold Tupoc¡¯s feet to the fire was enough to make his day.


    ¡°Do not waste my time,¡± Tupoc said. ¡°What do you want?¡±


    Tredegar cleared her throat, turning her gaze to Tristan. This had gone remarkably quickly, the thief mused, and he had not had to suffer nearly as many condescending threats against his life as he had been expecting.


    Angharad was already proving a remarkably useful stick to shake at people.


    ¡°To trade in secrets,¡± Tristan said. ¡°You have been looking over Cantica for hours now, Xical. Where is it?¡±


    The noblewoman at his side frowned.


    ¡°Where is what?¡±


    Tupoc snorted.


    ¡°The place where the bodies are buried,¡± the Izcalli said. ¡°Where our beloved hosts are keeping their dirty little secrets.¡±


    Tristan cocked an eyebrow.


    ¡°And?¡±


    ¡°On the right side of town, near the palisade, they keep large piles of lumber for firewood,¡± Tupoc said. ¡°Only the wood is old while the tracks that come and go in the mud are fresh.¡±


    ¡°So and underground cellar, most likely,¡± the thief mused. ¡°They are keeping something down there.¡±


    Tredegar looked uncomfortable.


    ¡°I have been told,¡± she hesitantly said, ¡°that Cantica might be keeping darkling slaves. If such a cellar exists, it might be a gaol of sorts for the disobedient.¡±


    Tristan stilled for a moment, fitting the pieces. If his growing guess about what the people of Cantica actually were proved true, then it was only sensible that hollow slaves would be kept around to work the fields and do the busywork. He had thought that the streets were empty because the townsfolk were keeping away from the trials, but Glare lamplights would force hollows off the streets.


    ¡°That would be a boon,¡± Tupoc said. ¡°Tortured slaves always tell on the masters when given the opportunity, hollows most of all.¡±


    Tredegar, he saw, was struggling between a polite dislike of slavery and her inability to approve of a slave turning on their lawful superior.


    ¡°Time to have a look at thar cellar, then,¡± Tristan said, rolling a shoulder.


    ¡°Trade means I get something as well, rat,¡± Tupoc said.


    The thief nodded.


    ¡°Your question?¡±


    ¡°No question,¡± Tupoc said. ¡°I am coming with you, that is my price.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Tredegar immediately denied.


    Tristan said nothing, which after a heartbeat earned him a glare and a reproachful Tristan from the swordswoman. Mentioning that Tupoc seemed like a splendid scapegoat should anything go wrong with their little trip was unlikely to sway Tredegar, so instead Tristan tried a different approach.


    Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    ¡°Why do you want to come?¡± he asked Tupoc. ¡°You could easily trade for us telling you what we learn afterwards instead.¡±


    The Izcalli¡¯s pale eyes narrowed, a grudging look seizing his face. Tupoc recognized the offered branch for what it was ¨C a way to talk himself into coming along ¨C but resented being given at all anything by the likes of Tristan. This was turning, the thief mused, into a most satisfying interlude. Squirm some more, he thought, smiling pleasantly at the other man.


    ¡°This trial,¡± Tupoc said. ¡°There is something wrong about it.¡±


    ¡°There is nothing wrong about being called to account for your own deeds,¡± Tredegar bit back.


    He dismissed that with an irritated gesture.


    ¡°I mean in the way it is done,¡± the Izcalli said. ¡°What prevents any group with half the votes from killing off everyone they dislike regardless of the stated purpose of this trial? It is supposed to weed out the unworthy but it is too easy to rig, even with a way to get out of being killed.¡±


    ¡°Ah,¡± Tristan exhaled. ¡°You think there is something out to kills us beyond each other.¡±


    ¡°We are forbidden from fighting each other and the townsfolk,¡± Tupoc said. ¡°But what if there was something else inside the walls with us?¡±


    Something that could walk under the light of the Glare, something that would not reveal itself before it struck. Tristan had slowly but surely come to the same conclusion, but on a larger scale than Tupoc was considering. The Izcalli was yet thinking of this as a hunt when he should have thought of it as a racket.


    ¡°Attacks in the night would punish us for lingering too long,¡± Tredegar quietly said. ¡°Force us to balance the righteousness of executing the deserving and the risks we incur to the innocent in doing so.¡±


    Something the blackcloaks would be most interested in learning about their company before welcoming them into its ranks. Is the hidden rule that hunting the killer during the night gets you spared? It would be a way to preserve talent that had burned too many bridges but might still be useful to the Watch.


    A rule to preserve the likes of Tupoc Xical, in other words.


    ¡°I want answers, same as you, but that is not why I want to go with you,¡± Tupoc said. ¡°It occurs to me that my foe might just be tempted into an attack should it look like we are about to uncover Cantica¡¯s secrets.¡±


    Tredegar breathed out.


    ¡°That is what you have being doing,¡± she said. ¡°Standing alone in an attempt to bait them out.¡±


    Ah, Tristan thought. The blinders went both ways. He saw the affairs as a racket, so it had not occurred to him that Tupoc might be trying to outfox the hunter. It was good Tredegar had caught it, for it finally allowed him to understand what exactly it was the Izcalli had been doing all this time.


    ¡°He will coming along whether we like it or not,¡± Tristan told Angharad. ¡°He is dead if he does not find the hidden rule, there is nothing we can do that will be worse than the outcome should he miss that opportunity.¡±


    The noblewoman stared at him for a long moment, face reluctant, but he did not blink. Tredegar sighed.


    ¡°Though you will be accompanying us,¡± she flatly told Tupoc, ¡°you will not be of our company.¡±


    An important distinction to her, he expected. Perhaps she would not be bound to offer him aid in battle if he was not a ¡®companion¡¯.


    ¡°You are hurting my feelings, Lady Tredegar,¡± the Izcalli grinned.


    ¡°Count your blessings that an oath prevents me from hurting anything more than that, Xical,¡± she bit back.


    And without another word she walked away, leaving the two of them standing face to face.


    ¡°Looking for fresh coattails to ride, Tristan?¡± Tupoc idly asked. ¡°Yong seems to have finally shaken you off of his.¡±


    ¡°I am going to find out what she has on you, Tupoc,¡± Tristan affably replied, ¡°and walk around this town shouting it at the top of my lungs.¡±


    With the proper courtesies now observed, they hurried to catch up to Tredegar.


    --


    The piles of lumber were exactly as they had been told: large, old and much too frequently visited to truly be what they pretended to be.


    The three were careful to avoid walking in the mud and leave tracks ¨C rather, he and Tupoc were and Tredegar observed the same route without asking why ¨C as they approached. The place was deserted, likely to avoid drawing attention in the first place, but they avoided staying out in the open anyhow. The faster they were done here the better. Though they swept around looking for the expected lookout, none was there to be found.


    ¡°We are taking too long,¡± Tupoc grunted. ¡°Best we start looking for that cellar.¡±


    The part where the lumber was stacked was dry ground, so tracks were not so easily found, but after they began going around testing them Tredegar soon let out a noise of surprise. Her stack was easily moved, lifted one-handed, and though the Pereduri was a strong woman she was not that strong.


    It was hollow, glued together, and there was a trap door beneath.


    ¡°Promising,¡± Tristan said.


    They moved aside the false pile. Tupoc tried to prevent it from being too obvious they had moved it from a distance, but Tristan suspected that was a lost cause. Secrecy would only be had by speed. Pulling at an iron ring, Tredegar opened the door and revealed a lightless stone chamber below. Tristan knelt at the edge, peering down, and frowned. The stink of human filth was strong, but he saw little aside from bare stone.


    ¡°We will have to go down,¡± he said. ¡°I do not suppose either of you has a lantern?¡±


    ¡°Matches,¡± Tupoc replied.


    It would have to do. There was a small makeshift ladder leading down and down they went one after another, the Izcalli taking the lead. Once Tredegar closed the trapdoor over their heads, Tupoc scratched a match. Flickering light revealed the boundaries of the small chamber they were in: stone on all sides except one, where instead a door of thick iron bars faced them.


    ¡°You were right,¡± Tristan murmured to Angharad. ¡°It is a gaol.¡±


    There was a padlock on the door, the same kind as the cages in the town square, and as they got close the match guttered out. Tupoc scratched another, revealing the dozen darklings laying down on a floor covered by filthy straw and dust. Most were half-naked, all bruised and several look like they had been cut. Or clawed at. Tredegar went stiff with outrage, Tupoc remaining unbothered. Tristan instead studied the prisoners inside, finding that thought most were either asleep or unconscious one woman in rags was look at them with wide eyes.


    Blue eyes, he saw, and the sight of that with pale skin had his belly clenching with something unpleasant.


    ¡°You¡¯re not them,¡± the woman rasped out in accented Antigua.


    ¡°The townsfolk of Cantica,¡± Tristan said. ¡°They are the ones who put you here?¡±


    She feebly nodded.


    ¡°Masters,¡± she said. ¡°I took more rations, for my brother, and they said I am a thief. Put me here.¡±


    ¡°You are a slave, then,¡± Tupoc said.


    His voice was soft, almost gentle. His match died and he struck another, revealing that his pale eyes were as cold as they¡¯d ever been. A Leopard Society man at work, the thief thought.


    ¡°All slaves,¡± the woman said. ¡°We work fields. Cut wood. Serve.¡±


    ¡°The lamplights,¡± Tristan said. ¡°How often are they lit?¡±


    The woman coughed, rasped out that she did not understand. Tredegar¡¯s face was a painting of anguish. Tupoc spoke a few words in a language Tristan did not know ¨C a hollow cant? ¨C and then repeated the second part of the thief¡¯s question.


    ¡°Once a year,¡± the woman said. ¡°A few days.¡±


    She coughed again.


    ¡°Can you,¡± she began, licking her lips. ¡°Can you let me out?¡±


    ¡°As soon as we have the key,¡± Tupoc lied without batting an eye. ¡°Do you know why the townsfolk have not become like you? Why they are still of the Glare?¡±


    The slave shook her head, then hesitated.


    ¡°This place,¡± she said. ¡°Those who come here do not come back. Maybe this. Please, won¡¯t you let me out?¡±


    Pity was never any help, Tristan knew. It was best set aside.


    ¡°There are stories of Triglau tribesmen sacrificing men to gods so they might avoid going hollow,¡± Angharad quietly said.


    He traded a skeptical look with the Izcalli before the match went out, another scratched into life. Malani sailors had many a wild tale about the folks of their far-flung territories ¨C always spoken of as a tale told them, of course, to avoid lying.


    ¡°The town might have something like a candle,¡± Tupoc said. ¡°It would not support many without regular blooding, but that might explain why we have seen so few townsfolk.¡±


    We have seen few townsfolk, Tristan thought, because this is not a town. Not anymore than this gaol is a gaol: it is, in truth, a larder.


    ¡°We need to leave,¡± the thief said. ¡°We have been down here too long and she has nothing more to tell us.¡±


    Tupoc nodded. Tredegar looked torn, but there was a reason the Pereduri had said precious little since coming down here. She knew she was in no place to make promises.


    ¡°Please,¡± the woman rasped, crawling their way. ¡°Please.¡±


    Tristan wrenched his gaze away. Tupoc was the last one up, as he had to keep scratching matches, and that was a mercy.


    He was the only one of them those hoarse pleas were not making flinch.


    --


    Tristan had half-expected an ambush the moment they were back to standing among the lumber piles, but there was not a soul in sight. Not even a rat. The thief hummed, trying to remember if he had seen any animal at all since coming to Cantica. Not one, he thought. Not a single cat or dog, much less a rat. There would be cattle somewhere, for there was a butcher¡¯s shop near the main street, but the lack of anything else was telling.


    It went on the tally, along with the way the townsfolk never showed their teeth when smiling and kept conversations short ¨C when they could not avoid talking entirely.


    ¡°We should split up,¡± Tristan suggested. ¡°If we stay together people will ask where we have been.¡±


    Tupoc gave no argument, as was only to be expected. Half the reason the Izcalli had come was because he¡¯d wanted to be attacked, he would not insist on sticking together. Tredegar hesitated, still shaken by what she had seen below, but nodded after a moment.


    ¡°Let us meet again at the Last Rest,¡± she told him. ¡°We must talk.¡±


    Tupoc snorted dismissively at them and stalked away, disappearing into the bowels of the town. Tristan nodded his agreement at the noblewoman, then invited her to head out first. He waited until she had turned the corner to follow suit, every second growing tenser. He was the easiest prey of the three, he knew, and if someone was lying in wait¡­ Only when he sped away from the hidden cellar after having put the hollow pile back in place there was no sudden attack. There was, indeed, no trace of anyone at all until he was close to the main street again.


    There he ran into a couple out on a walk, the both of them silently nodding back when he gave a cheerful greeting.


    ¡°Not a chatty folk, are they?¡±


    He almost leapt out of his skin. Maryam was sitting on a small bench by the side of the road, tucked away into a slice of shadow as she looked on. He had missed her entirely, which did nothing for his nerves. Calm, he told himself. You have already discovered part of the trap.


    ¡°That they are not,¡± he said.


    She moved over to make room for him when he approached, sitting by her side almost close enough to touch. Tristan hesitated a bit, then bit the blade.


    ¡°How is he?¡±


    Maryam grimaced.


    ¡°His chances are half and half, the physician says,¡± she replied.


    Tristan grimaced back. Not only because Yong¡¯s life was now a coin flip but also because he was no longer certain that the physician could be trusted to speak the truth in the first place.


    ¡°We have trouble,¡± Tristan said.


    Blue eyes narrowed at him. He swallowed, remembering the pleas that had followed them up the ladder before trailing off into a ragged silence just as heartbreaking.


    ¡°Once, just once, I would like to have a light-hearted conversation with you,¡± Maryam demanded. ¡°How goes it, Maryam, lovely weather we¡¯re having isn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°Delightful,¡± he replied, unable to follow her mood. ¡°Cloudy with a chance of devils, you might say.¡±


    She stilled; all humor stolen right out of her.


    ¡°Inside the walls?¡± Maryam whispered, leaning closer.


    ¡°I think every single person we¡¯ve talked to since arriving in Cantica has been a devil,¡± Tristan said, and it was almost a relief to finally say it out loud. ¡°They all smile without showing their teeth and a many of them avoid actually talking.¡±


    Not all devils were skilled at mimicking voices, their kind growing more adept at deception as they aged.


    ¡°It¡¯s the eyes that give them away, usually,¡± Maryam contested.


    It was. Eyes were fragile, especially when you emptied out the body behind them to wear it over your misbegotten form, so they tended to dry out our rip. In modern times devils were said to wear spectacles over them to hide the detail, but half of Cantica wearing these would have been a dead giveaway.


    ¡°I was taught to check the teeth,¡± Tristan replied. ¡°The careful ones keep the human teeth, but if you look deep enough you can see their own creeping up behind.¡±


    He had never seen the true body of a devil with his own eyes, though he had seen diagrams in books. Something neither quite crustacean nor insectile but every inch a nightmare, all chitin and pincers. They had to fold themselves very carefully to fit inside a carcass, and should they lose their temper they were apt to rip through the fragile shell allowing them to walk around under Glare light. Maryam shivered.


    ¡°If the Watch allowed them to settle here, they should be signatories of the Iscariot Accords,¡± she said.


    Relatively few things had been asked of Hell¡¯s regents, when peace was made and the Accords signed. The two large concessions had been the sealing of Pandemonium ¨C the birthplace of devils ¨C and that their kind would cease to eat humans and wear their skin. Modern devils, those that some nations allowed within their borders, wore skin taken from corpses. Fresh corpses, so the shell had not decayed, but they took only from the already dead.


    The devils here should not be meaning to eat them, Maryam meant.


    ¡°I¡¯m guessing they eat whichever poor bastard in a cage gets picked to die,¡± Tristan mildly said. ¡°They would need the bodies to replace the shells that rot or get torn, anyhow.¡±


    Shalini had been promised that Ishaan would get burned, but he now had some doubts. More likely something would get burnt, and next year Ishaan Nair would be one of the faces greeting whoever made it to the Trial of Weeds.


    ¡°The man running the Last Rest is very young,¡± Maryam said after a moment. ¡°Doesn¡¯t even look twenty. If that was a choice made because they only have so many shells to pick from¡­¡±


    ¡°Then they are not given free rein to devour us at will,¡± Tristan slowly finished. ¡°That is something, at least.¡±


    ¡°But not much. We need a way out of this place if it all goes to ¨C well, you know,¡± she embarrassedly finished.


    Hell, he amusedly realized she had been going to say.


    ¡°I expect there is more than a single way out of this place,¡± he said. ¡°A town of this size cannot do with a single gate.¡±


    She nodded.


    ¡°Find it,¡± Maryam said. ¡°I need to warn someone meanwhile.¡±


    Song Ren, he thought.


    ¡°I am to meet with Tredegar at the Last Rest in a while,¡± he said. ¡°To discuss plans.¡±


    ¡°I will be there,¡± Maryam said. ¡°And see if you can find Lan before joining us, she was looking for you earlier.¡±


    It was his turn to nod. Lan had sharp eyes, he would not be surprised if she had noticed something stank about Cantica. And someone had warned Tredegar about the likely slavery, hadn¡¯t they? That rather sounded like the dealer buying herself a friendly mirror-dancer. Tristan suddenly hesitated, Maryam cocking an eyebrow.


    ¡°Out with it,¡± she asked.


    ¡°There are slaves here,¡± he said. ¡°I found an underground gaol with Tredegar and Tupoc, it is how I put the last details together.¡±


    That the prisoners in that gaol never returned because the devils ate them. Maryam sighed, passing a hand through her hair.


    ¡°There are slaves in many places, Tristan,¡± she said. ¡°My own father kept several. You need not tread so lightly about it.¡±


    Tristan almost told her she would not say as much if she had seen how the slaves in the gaol were treated, but he bit his tongue. Maryam had seen more of Vesper than he had. They had never said as much, but they both knew this. She knew full well the ugliness of slavery. It had been him that was unprepared: it was one thing to know of the hollows in the Trench, how they were treated no better than beast of burdens, but another to see such a thing with his own eyes.


    ¡°It is a foul thing,¡± he finally said, exhausted.


    ¡°And fouler yet when made into a trade,¡± Maryam softly agreed.


    Neither said any more than that.


    --


    Lan was hanging around the slate where all the names and numbers had been writ in chalk, staring at them in what Tristan suspected was an attempt at figuring out who had tried to put who in a cage. The thief himself was rather curious who had named him, but he had significantly larger swords hanging above his head at the moment.


    ¡°Tristan,¡± his fellow rat greeted him without turning. ¡°What have you been up to, I wonder?¡±


    ¡°Seeing the sights,¡± he drawled. ¡°You?¡±


    Lan eyed their surroundings. No one was all that close, most the others inside the Last Rest to eat or drink, but the shutters were open and sound might carry. She gestured for him to follow, the two of them moving into the alley to the side of the inn.


    ¡°Brun is up to something,¡± she said, lowering her voice. ¡°And I think Yaretzi is part of it.¡±


    The thief eyed her.


    ¡°I¡¯m listening,¡± he said.


    ¡°They¡¯re always talking,¡± she said. ¡°And they have the two rooms besides Tredegar¡¯s.¡±


    ¡°He has no reason to go after Tredegar,¡± Tristan pointed out. ¡°Not only would she promptly kill him for it, she has a high opinion of the man and people listen to her.¡±


    ¡°Maybe it¡¯s about Yaretzi, then,¡± Lan impatiently said. ¡°They¡¯re up to something, Tristan.¡±


    The thief grimaced.


    ¡°I still believe Brun is the killer,¡± he finally said. ¡°No one else fits. But I think I might have been more certain in the moment than was truly warranted, Lan.¡±


    She eyed him coldly.


    ¡°You don¡¯t really think that,¡± the blue-lipped woman said. ¡°You just think this is too much trouble to deal with on top of whatever you disappeared to sniff out.¡±


    That was, he silently conceded, not entirely unfair of her to say. It certainly weighed on the scales ¨C Brun was something to deal with when the threat of devils was no longer hanging over their heads. But it was not a lie either to say that he had thought twice since threatening the other rat.


    ¡°Even if he was out to kill someone again,¡± Tristan said, ¡°why would Yaretzi help him?¡±


    Lan hesitated.


    ¡°What else would they be doing?¡±


    ¡°An alliance, for fear of ending up in a cage,¡± he said. ¡°Or dead.¡±


    The thief shook his head.


    ¡°Bring me more,¡± Tristan said, ¡°and it could be acted on. But you don¡¯t have enough, Lan.¡±


    And however sharp her eyes, he thought, wanting her twin¡¯s killer dead was not like to keep them clear. Lan licked her lips, the blue on her tongue faded darker, and scoffed. She stalked away angrily, but they both knew that for the concession it was. Tristan watched her go and sighed.


    He had a gate to find.


    --


    To his utter lack of surprise, when Tristan slid into a seat across the table from Angharad Tredegar her minder was at her side. Song studied him calmly with those unblinking silver eyes, weighing and taking his measure. The thief wondered if Maryam, who was sitting on his side of the table, was to be taken as his minder.


    There might even be a grain of truth to that.


    ¡°We must decide on what we tell others,¡± Song Ren evenly said. ¡°And do it soon, as people have already begun to retire to their rooms.¡±


    Tristan glanced at Maryam, wondering exactly how much of their own path to Cantica she had told her ¨C colleague, accomplice? The relationship there was still nebulous.


    ¡°That we have reason to expect that there will be an attack in the night,¡± Tristan suggested.


    And then the idea came to him, quick and silver bright and so utterly tempting he could not resist.


    ¡°And that we should be ready to retreat from the Last Rest if trouble finds us,¡± he added.


    Tredegar¡¯s brow rose.


    ¡°You believe the night attack will be so dangerous?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s right,¡± Maryam said. ¡°It could be a god they made a bargain with or a pack of devils, we cannot know. What we do know is that the Watch expects that attack to be capable of taking on fighters sharp enough to make it through the first two trials.¡±


    ¡°I would prefer to stand our ground,¡± Angharad admitted, ¡°but some of us are not fighters so I¡¯ll not deny it might be wiser to retreat and draw the enemy onto better grounds.¡±


    And there was the shape of his opportunity. Dozens moving around at night, with violence and chaos afoot?


    ¡°We should pick two different locations for folk to gather at,¡± the thief casually said. ¡°If we get dispersed, or are pursued, it might not be easy to gather in a single place or wait for everyone. I found a postern gate on the side of town, that can be one location. The front gate for the other?¡±


    ¡°That seems wise,¡± Tredegar nodded.


    Silver eyes on him, but he did not flinch. Maryam would not have told her, he chose to believe that. Gods, how could he not when she has lost fingers to save his life?


    ¡°Each of us can head to one such place should the worst come,¡± Tristan said. ¡°I imagine I should take the side gate, since I am the one who found it.¡±


    A shrug, the Pereduri agreeing.


    ¡°And now we tell the others,¡± Tredegar breathed out.


    She seemed tired, at long last.


    ¡°It would be best to split that duty up, each of us talk to only a few,¡± Tristan said. ¡°Our hosts might notice something is happening otherwise.¡±


    It was only sensible, so naturally they agreed, and he ignored the weight of Song¡¯s piercing silver eyes as he rose.


    ¡°I need a favor,¡± he whispered to Maryam.


    He got something like a smile, cold and entirely savage.


    ¡°I thought you might,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯ll take care of it.¡±


    Tristan did not begin with him, that would have been too obvious. He did not need to rush anyway, as Tredegar was now on poor terms with the man and so unlikely to approach. As for Song, well, Maryam just happened to want a word with her at that moment. Cozme Aflor was third on his list and already eyeing him warily by the time he sat across the man. The explanation was short, the mustachioed man then seeking Song¡¯s eyes across the room and getting a nod in reply.


    ¡°Keep it quiet,¡± Tristan murmured. ¡°Augusto will not be told and if there is chatter the townsfolk may notice we are onto them.¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± Cozme nodded, stroking his mustache. ¡°I will be most careful, Tristan.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll see you there,¡± he smiled.


    That ¡®there¡¯ did not happen to be a place where anyone but the two of them would be gathering was not something his father¡¯s executioner needed to know.


    Not yet.


    --


    As the last of them began going up the stairs, Tristan lingered just long enough to watch darkness begin to creep through the shutters. Night had come to Cantica, the lamplights ringing the town doused one after another. Alas, there would be no sleep for him.


    His work was now beginning.


    --


    Patience did most of the work.


    The thief waited until the innkeeper doused the last of the lights inside the Last Rest and left. There had been no doubt that the devil would, as a simple look at the size of the kitchen compared to the floor upstairs confirmed there was no chamber built for him to sleep in. Tristan waited for minutes more, then crept down the hall and the stairs. The windows were shuttered but the door was unlocked ¨C cracking it open, he peeked through.


    The streets were dark and empty, but there were lights in the distance.


    He snuck out, closing the door behind him. The lights, he saw when got out to have a better look, were from torches. The town square, he thought. Tristan stayed off the main street as he went, keeping to alleys and passing behind houses. He could not risk going out in the open: not only did devils see in the dark but they were said to have uncanny senses. His method got him close to the square, but the particular alley was a dead end. Tristan could dimly make out voices, but he was too far for anything useful.


    Grimacing, he eyed the side of the house he was hiding behind. There was a way up, with a little work. An empty crate ¨C which creaked under his weight enough to have him wincing ¨C got him a foot higher, enough he was able to wedge a foot against a jutting plank and grab at the edge of the tiled roof. Only the work was shoddy, he discovered, and if he held onto the tiles to pull himself fully onto the plank they were like as not to come loose. Swallowing a curse, the thief looked around for something to use and found a shovel with a bent head. He crept back down, took it and then tried to keep the crate¡¯s groaning as a minimum as he wedged a foot against the plank again.


    Using the shovel as a counterweight, he pushed himself so he could stand on the jutting plank. He was careful not to let the shovel fall, propping it against the wall, and then climbed the rest of the way onto the roof. Creeping up the tiles, he pressed himself against the cool clay until he had reached the top of the roof ¨C and from there found a commanding sight of the town square below. The thief breathed in sharply. There were only a few torches, held up by the handful of pale-skinned hollows in the square, but there must have been more than fifty people in the square.


    All of them looking like children of the Glare, but as he watched them mill around the cages Tristan could not help but feel they were slightly off. They weren¡¯t moving quite right, arms and legs sometimes bending more as the confirmation of movement than the reason.


    ¡°- not seeing anything.¡±


    A man¡¯s voice but stilted. Like it took too much care pronouncing every syllable.


    It was also coming from behind him, down in the alley.


    Tristan held his breath, pressed close against the roof and prayed. Some shuffling down in the alley. There were at least two of them.


    ¡°It was a rat,¡± another voice said. ¡°The thralls are getting fat, I tell you. They don¡¯t hunt them as thoroughly as they used to.¡±


    By the sound of it, one of the devils below kicked the shovel he¡¯d left propped up.


    ¡°We better not have missed anything,¡± the stilted voice said.


    A scoff that sounded ever so slightly of clicking mandibles.


    ¡°None of it means anything until Akados gets here,¡± the devil said. ¡°The fresh casts listen to him like he¡¯s some duke of Hell.¡±


    ¡°As if,¡± the stilted voice snorted. ¡°He¡¯s not even an elder, he-¡±


    A crate was kicked, Tristan almost flinching at the sound.


    ¡°Still dangerous,¡± the other devil said. ¡°Watch your wagging.¡±


    Angry hisses, then he heard the pair walking away. Tristan held his breath until his lungs burned and his eyes watered, releasing it only when he was dead certain neither was close enough to hear him. That had been uncomfortably close. If he¡¯d been just a little slower to climb¡­ There was no time for fear to set in, however, as the crowd below coiled with unspoken tension. It was not hard to put a face to the source, as the devils around him all fell silent.


    The devil wore the skin of middle-aged man, Tristan saw, with broad shoulders and a balding pate. He had a vaguely Malani look about him, and by the looks of the clothes the thief thought he was likely the town butcher. If that is not Akados I¡¯ll throw away my hat. The devil deftly leapt up to sit atop one of the cages, the crowd of his fellows rippling around him. Tristan¡¯s lips thinned: no man could have moved like that. It was simply not something people¡¯s legs were capable of.


    Mayor Crespin, or at least the devil wearing that skin and name, came to stand in the middle of the square and cleared his throat.


    ¡°Now that all are in attendance,¡± he said, voice slightly buzzing, ¡°we can begin. We have a hunt and a hunter to choose this night.¡±


    ¡°Do we?¡±


    The crowd shivered. The butcher, the one Tristan thought might be this ¡®Akados¡¯, had been the one to speak.


    ¡°It seems to me,¡± the butcher continued, voice slow and lazy, ¡°that the rooks are in disarray. Their mountain collapsed; their fort was buried. This year is a loss to them, good as written off.¡±


    A scoff from another in the crowd.


    ¡°They gave us rules when they stranded us here,¡± the other devil said. ¡°A hundred years playing their game and the term is ended. Why should we risk the guns of the Watch instead, Akados?¡±


    ¡°To feed,¡± the devil replied, voice hungry for all the laziness. ¡°Not the scraps they allow us, but to truly eat to our heart¡¯s content as we were made to. Not nibbling at dun souls or breaking up a soul in pieces like biscuit ¨C a proper meal.¡±


    Dun? Tristan frowned. It meant dark, he recalled, or perhaps drab. He might mean the hollows. Rather more worrying was that the oldest devil in Cantica was attempting to talk the others into what sounded like a massacre of the trial-takers and there was not a great deal of opposition to it. Still some, however.


    ¡°Everyone knows you anneal from slaughter,¡± a devil called out. ¡°You just want one to get closer to being evergreen, but what is that to us?¡±


    Akados laughed.


    ¡°We all want a slaughter, Vane,¡± the devil replied, baring the teeth of a man and the pincer-like teeth of a devil behind them. ¡°To feel them writhe in the Empty Sea, to partake of the colors. I will gain, true, but who here would not?¡±


    A challenging look.


    ¡°They will not come after us with powder and shot for a year that is already scrapped,¡± Akados said. ¡°We are not so easily replaced. And if we can get away with it, what is staying our hand?¡±


    Reading a crowd of devils was like trying to read foreigners through a panel of silk, Tristan thought, but were he inclined to bet he would have said the crowd was already halfway talked into it. It was only a matter of time now: too many of the devils went eerily still whenever feeding was mentioned, the expressions of the shells gone slack with want.


    It was, Tristan mused, time to get the fuck out Cantica before they all died.


    The arguing would at least serve to cover the sound of his sliding back down into the alley. Tristan crept away, more hastily than he had come for he now felt the urgency biting at his back. Could he still pull things off with Cozme, now that he would not have the time to lay his ambush as he had planned? Maybe, he thought. He would need to take stock of things before deciding.


    Yet even as he snuck his way back to the Last Rest, the thief forced himself to take a detour. Angharad Tredegar would be leading her lost lambs out through the front gate, but Tristan had his sights set on the postern ¨C for more reasons than one. It would be best to first see if there were guards near it. Likely not devils, he thought, but perhaps hollows. Foes nowhere as fearsome, but perfectly capable of raising the alarm.


    Steps silent, he turned the corner on the wooden sidewalk and risked a glance. The thief hissed in a breath, catching sight of movement and drawing back. He looked again, more carefully, and was relieved to see it was only one man with his back turned. The relief lasted only until he recognized the ragged cape he was looking at. With a soft cry of triumph, Augusto Cerdan ripped open the postern gate and swiftly moved aside.


    This was, Tristan dimly thought as cultists began pouring into the town, going to be a problem.

 Chapter 42

    She could not tell the difference between it and a dream before she woke.


    /The lock popped open with a soft sound, Yaretzi brushing past a kneeling form and creeping in with a rag in hand to cover Angharad¡¯s mouth with it./


    Angharad woke up looking at the ceiling, asleep and then not. It had been a glimpse, the Fisher pulling at their contract once again. The spirit had only ever done this to prevent her death, yet the noblewoman stayed lying down and looking at the ceiling as she heard the lock pop open. She should move, she thought, but could not quite bring herself to. Angharad¡¯s mind was clear, awake, but her limbs were still dozing. It would have been easier to move the entire world than to move them.


    A flicker of movement, then she found Yaretzi¡¯s dark eyes above and a ragged cloth was being pressed against her face. There was a scent to it, sickly sweet, and Angharad dimly realized she was being drugged. Finally that tore through the veil of somnolence and panic rose sharply in her breast ¨C Angharad tried to rise, to fight off Yaretzi, who pushed her down and cursed.


    ¡°-eight, nine,¡± the Izcalli was counting through gritted teeth.


    Ten, Yaretzi reached, and Angharad felt a different numbness in her limbs. She tried to shout, but the sound came out slurred as if she were deep in her drinks. The Izcalli holding her down eyed her warily.


    ¡°Another five seconds just in case, I think,¡± Yaretzi said. ¡°It is only Spinster¡¯s Milk, dear, it won¡¯t kill you.¡±


    Angharad kept struggling, but it was as if her limbs had turned to lead. She could no longer feel her own jaw. Yaretzi glanced back at the door the noblewoman hadn¡¯t heard closing and Angharad¡¯s heart clenched at what she saw found there. Calm-eyed, holding a mostly shuttered lantern, Brun leaned back against the wood. She tried to say something, but between the poison and the cloth she got out only a formless moan.


    ¡°You told me your contract almost never breaks when used on a sleeper,¡± the Izcalli challenged.


    ¡°Almost,¡± Brun indifferently replied. ¡°It could be because she has a contract herself.¡±


    His hand was on his hatchet, fingering the haft in an unknowing tic. Yaretzi sighed.


    ¡°That¡¯s what I get for working with amateurs,¡± she said. ¡°I need to make a sweep to see if anyone noticed us, keep an eye on her meanwhile.¡±


    The fair-haired Sacromontan shrugged. His accomplice narrowed her eyes.


    ¡°I need to ask her questions,¡± Yaretzi said. ¡°So no accidents, Brun, or we have a problem.¡±


    ¡°Understood,¡± Brun simply said.


    Even as the Izcalli rose and left, Angharad realized that what she had thought indifference in Brun¡¯s voice was no such thing. His tone had not once changed since he came into the room, always in the same flat near monotone. The blonde traitor came to stand by her bed, idly pushing her back down when she tried to force herself up. She was so weak, her limbs like a child¡¯s. The pair meant to kill her ¨C they must, for they must know that otherwise she would slay them for this ¨C but fear was slow in in coming.


    Anger burned in its stead, like embers in the belly. Why, she tried to ask, a scream of outrage and confusion. What came out was a muted, slurred whergh but Brun understood her regardless. Emotion touched his face, but she thought it looked shallow. Regret only a fingernail deep.


    ¡°I am sorry it must be you,¡± Brun said. ¡°You have treated me kindly and do not deserve it. But there is no one else I would get away with, and I am¡­ too close.¡±


    Another flicker of emotion at the last two words, this one deeper than the last. Fear, Angharad saw. That was as afraid as she had ever seen the man.


    ¡°If I take Yong or Sarai, Tristan will knife me in the night,¡± Brun explained. ¡°Shalini is now being watched like a hawk and Lan, well, she knows of me. She will have taken precautions. Already she has tried to kill me once.¡±


    Angharad let out a noise a denial at the false accusation, just another traitor reaching for absolution. Brun shook his head at her.


    ¡°She bought Spinster¡¯s Milk from Yaretzi,¡± he said. ¡°I expect she put it in my waterskin, a small dose that would slowly add up, as I did not notice until that test on the Toll Bridge.¡±


    That was¡­ she had thought Brun seemed clumsy, when she watched him chasing the invisible spirit. But why would Lan ¨C it took a second for her mind to catch up to the truth he had good as admitted. You killed Jun, she tried to say.


    ¡°Jush kwid jewn.¡±


    ¡°It was nothing against her,¡± Brun shrugged. ¡°She was closest and the twins had just fought Tristan, which I thought would muddy the waters.¡±


    Sleeping God, how much had she missed? Was she struck with blindness, the only fool among a pack of wolves? It felt like she had been struck in the belly, the breath wheezing out of her. Twice Brun had killed, and now she was to be the third. And she did not even know why. Some of that must have shown on her face, for the man sighed.


    ¡°I owe you for distracting the cultists during the Trial of Lines,¡± Brun acknowledged. ¡°And I suppose the knowledge won¡¯t be going anywhere.¡±


    The man considered her with cold eyes.


    ¡°There is a festival in the Murk,¡± he said. ¡°A week where lamplights are repaired, many of them taken down at once, so nowadays people hang small red paper lanterns and make small games in the streets. The Trench sends miners back to the city around that time, and my mother loved making the lanterns. It was one of the few things we did together.¡±


    It was, Angharad thought, horrifying to hear what sounded like such a personal story in such an utterly detached tone.


    ¡°When they died, well, that is a long story,¡± Brun said. ¡°But I clutched to one of those paper lanterns like it was the last thing I had. Prayed to it, almost. And someone heard me.¡±


    The blond man¡¯s eyes went unfocused as he glanced to the side, as if he were staring at something Angharad could not see. Brun frowned before turning his gaze back to her.


    ¡°A young god,¡± he said. ¡°Farolito, the god of that nameless festival. I am his first contract.¡±


    Brun shrugged.


    ¡°He wanted to help,¡± he said. ¡°But gods are not men, especially when so young.¡±


    He glanced to the side again, looking annoyed, then back to her. He is being visited by his god.


    ¡°I would have died if not for the pact,¡± Brun clarified. ¡°But he did not realize what he was asking, nor I what I was giving. I wanted to hide, for the vultures to leave me alone, and so he let me press calm into others. Empty them of everything, like the moment after the end of a festival. To do this I must be able to feel their presence, so I could.¡±


    So that was the truth of the strange lethargy that had taken her. And of how he had been able to feel their pursuers during the Trial of Lines and the flight to Cantica.


    ¡°In exchange,¡± Brun tonelessly continued, ¡°he took what he loves of the festival: emotions. Not the entire length of them, only the strong parts, and I thought it a bargain. I would never fear again, never weep in the dark.¡±


    He paused.


    ¡°I was wrong.¡±


    The simple, matter-of-fact way he spoke those three words sent a shiver down her spine.


    ¡°It feels worse when I use my contract,¡± Brun said. ¡°As if all of Vesper is growing quieter, every noise falling away. And the noise, it does not return. I began to forget what it felt like to feel anything at all, and could not even muster fear that one day I would simply lay down and not care as I starved.¡±


    The blond man clicked his tongue, hand swatting away at something only he could see.


    ¡°He is not an evil god,¡± Brun dutifully told her. ¡°He meant no harm. And we found a loophole together: I could no longer feel my own emotions, but I could still feel his.¡±


    And with dawning horror Angharad began to understand where the tale was heading.


    ¡°We tried many things, we did,¡± the man said. ¡°Did you know, Lady Angharad, that in the moment a man ¨C one not owned by the Gloam, not dimmed - dies, their presence in the aether is searingly bright? All the colors and emotions of their weave, there then gone.¡±


    He raised his hand and snapped his fingers, the sound a sharp contrast to the serene face.


    ¡°There is nothing Farolito loves even a hundredth as much as a death save for the festival, and that is only once a year,¡± Brun said. ¡°So I did what I must.¡±


    It never ceased to astonish Angharad what manner of ugliness could fit under the mask of I did what I must, as if behind that excuse lay an endless pit dug for horror¡¯s sake. The blond man cocked his head to the side.


    ¡°I rationed it, used the pact only when I must,¡± the Sacromontan said. ¡°Every six months, more or less. It was still dangerous and I decided the Watch might be able to help, to fix it. I chose the Dominion as my way in so they cannot refuse me when they find out what I do.¡±


    That was, her uncle had told her, the virtue of these trials: that to pass them saw you enrolled directly into the ranks of the Watch. Brun sighed.


    ¡°But I have had to use my contract so very much,¡± he said, sounding faintly irritated. ¡°To find enemies, to grasp who was lying to me or trying to get me killed. And so the world grew quiet.¡±


    The blond man met her eyes.


    ¡°Jun was to tide me over so I would last the rest of the journey with the infanzones,¡± Brun said. ¡°Aines was because it was starting to grow difficult feigning emotion.¡±


    His gaze was unblinking.


    ¡°I used my pact too much when we ran from cultists on the way to Cantica,¡± the Sacromontan said. ¡°Making sure Song was not leading us into an ambush. At this rate, I might have to kill a blackcloak in Three Pines. Accepting Yaretzi¡¯s offer was the least risky-¡±


    The door opened and Brun reached for his hatchet, but Angharad¡¯s half-formed hopes were dashed: it was only Yaretzi returning. The Izcalli carefully closed the door behind her.


    ¡°No lights under the doors,¡± she told Brun. ¡°More interestingly, Tristan is no longer in his room and neither is Augusto Cerdan. It seems we are not the only ones cleaning up before the vote. I told you, my dear: that boy is most definitely a hired killer.¡±


    ¡°He is a rat to the bone,¡± the man said. ¡°You mistake him.¡±


    ¡°How has he convinced so many people of that?¡± Yaretzi complained. ¡°After Lan traded me his suspicions for the Milk I knew the little bastard was too dangerous to leave sniffing around, but no one would bite. The best I could manage was to send Ferranda after Isabel in the hope she stumbled into whatever they¡¯ve been doing about the Cerdan. Thirteen Heavens, my darlings, that boy has gone around half the trials lugging around the exact same poison box Watch assassins use. How has no one outed him for it yet?¡±


    Yaretzi turned to smile at her, like they were friends sharing a confidence, and Angharad felt like ripping out her teeth. Death was crawling closer to her with every word and she kept waiting for the fear to come, but the warmth of anger yet kept it out. Like keeping your hand so close to candle flame it began to burn, chasing out every other sensation.


    ¡°He must be fresh to the profession,¡± Yaretzi told her. ¡°As a rule you should bring only the substances you intend to use, it is much less obvious.¡±


    Brun shifted on his feet.


    ¡°You made your sweep,¡± he said. ¡°Let us finish it.¡±


    ¡°Soon, soon,¡± Yaretzi said. ¡°I told you, I need her to answer some questions first.¡±


    The Izcalli idly unsheathed a knife, then knelt by Angharad¡¯s side. She tried to get up, but her limbs had grown so feeble they did not even need to push her back down. The point of the steel was drawn across her cheek and came to rest under her eye, lightly enough it did not cut skin.


    ¡°The tiles in the kitchen of Llanw Hall,¡± Yaretzi said. ¡°What color are they?¡±


    Angharad clenched her jaw as much as she could, which still had her tongue lolling in her mouth. Yaretzi eyed her, then sighed.


    ¡°Torture is very messy, dear, I do hope you won¡¯t force me to resort to it,¡± the Izcalli said. ¡°Let us try again with something easier, then. Your uncle Osian ¨C where is he getting all the coin? Did your mother perhaps bury a fortune somewhere, tell him of the location?¡±


    Angharad blinked. What coin? Yaretzi¡¯s eyes narrowed impatiently.


    ¡°The man has been spending gold like it is copper, my dear,¡± the Izcalli said. ¡°He put out an open contract matching whatever price is on your head for the skull of any assassin trying to take yours, and he¡¯s known to have paid out at least ten times. I heard so many assassins slew each other trying to catch you in Ixta that the guilds in the city are still at war.¡±


    Angharad choked. Ixta? The sleepy little port town on the Emerald Coast where she had spent exactly three hours waiting on the docks before changing ships? Yaretzi let out an irritated sound.


    ¡°Useless,¡± she said. ¡°Do you know why he pulled the open contract, at least? Did he run out of coin? It happened when you arrived in Sacromonte and I know you received at least one letter from him there.¡±


    Angharad leaned forward, as if to give answer, and Yaretzi came closer. Only when she tried to spit on the other woman her tongue would not move, so only specks of spittle flew and the rest stayed bubbling on her lips. Yaretzi withdrew with a sigh.


    ¡°Ayanda was not nearly this much trouble,¡± she complained. ¡°So eager to talk, that girl, she gave me everything I needed the first day. It must have been her contract that got her recommended for the Krypteia, because she did not notice in the slightest when I doused her waterskin with Milk. Not much ¨C just enough to slow her down some. The same dose I traded Lan.¡±


    Yaretzi shrugged.


    ¡°After that it was just a question of waiting for her to stumble and be caught by those Red Eye savages.¡±


    Looking at the smug pride on the Izcalli¡¯s face, Angharad felt genuine hate for one of the few times in her life as she remembered the bleak grief on Zenzele¡¯s face. How broken must you be, to make a living out of inflicting suffering?


    ¡°Don¡¯t be jealous, dear,¡± Yaretzi chided. ¡°House Sandile offered a tidy sum for the death of the little bitch who stole the husband of their matriarch¡¯s favorite niece, but it¡¯s not even half of what is on offer for you. I just decided to collect on the girl first after seeing you go up against that Saint. It seemed likely you would pick up wounds saving fools anyhow.¡±


    Yaretzi wagged a finger.


    ¡°Only you kept surviving, you inconvenient darling you, and even when I got close you kept living through my attempts,¡± she said. ¡°I tried to off you discreetly during the trial with the clockwork god and then again in the stairs with Ishaan, but you are a most difficult creature to kill.¡±


    ¡°Fugh yew,¡± Angharad snarled.


    ¡°I don¡¯t tell you this to boast, my dear,¡± Yaretzi patiently said. ¡°I tell you so might understand that I am not some hired thug but a professional, an anointed daughter of the Obsidian Society under brokered contract. It is our rule that learning knowledge which only the mark would know serves a proof of the kill, but when that is not feasible one may also present the head instead.¡±


    She leaned forward.


    ¡°Tell me the color of the kitchen tiles in Llanw Hall,¡± Yaretzi said, ¡°and your uncle will receive a corpse with the head still on it. I understand Malani have some funerary customs relating to eyes, no? Would you not prefer to ease his grief while you still can?¡±


    ¡°Aye ashm noth,¡± Angharad bit out, ¡°Malani.¡±


    And she would not help this creature to get away more cleanly with her crimes. Perhaps she could not fight, but she could at least try to make enough of a mess that these animals were caught. Song, Song would see to it. The silver-eyed Tianxi would not let this go, the sole comfort Angharad had in this ugly mess. She tried to rise again and found some sliver of strength yet remained to her limbs. Yaretzi clicked her tongue in disappointment.


    ¡°Fine,¡± she said, sheathing her knife. ¡°It was always a long shot, and it¡¯s not like torture is reliable when one cannot take their time. Brun, try not to make too much a mess. I¡¯ll hold her down for you.¡±


    Angharad half-raised her arm, but she was brushed aside like a child and pushed back into the mattress by a bored Yaretzi. That boredom somehow insulted her more than the rest of this put together. That she was a chore, not even a foe. Brun, face twisting with something like relief, approached with his hatchet in hand. Angharad met his eyes, burning with indignation, and the blond man stilled for a moment. His green eyes flicked to Yaretzi, almost considering, but then he sighed. The hatchet rose all the way.


    Death came down for her as a sharp length of steel, only to slow.


    A whisper sounded in her ears, rising to become the nearing beat of wings until it blotted out everything else and a strange power rippled through her body. Above her a single, beautiful peafowl feather drifted down from the ceiling and Angharad realized that her limbs no longer felt numb. The mayura¡¯s blessing, it had cleared the poison. The spirit¡¯s power left her, the hatchet coming down viper-swift again, but Angharad was no longer helpless.


    She grabbed Yaretzi by the collar, dragging her in the way, and took vicious satisfaction the way the Izcalli¡¯s eyes widened in utter surprise.


    ¡°Fuck,¡± the assassin cursed, the blow taking her in the shoulder with a wet thump.


    Angharad kneed her in the stomach, Yaretzi stumbling back with a wheeze, and as she rose pushed the stumbling Izcalli into a surprised Brun. The back of his knees hit the bedside table, tipping her sheathed saber to the ground, and she caught it with the tip of her toes.


    ¡°Assassins,¡± she shouted, only halfway through realizing there was no use.


    The door was closed and the owners of the two nearest rooms were in front of her. Brun yanked his hatchet out of Yaretzi¡¯s back, earning a hoarse scream, and as he turned to hack at her Angharad deftly threw up her saber with her toes ¨C she caught the scabbard just as his blow came down, slapping aside his forearm with it so the hatchet went by her shoulder. Yaretzi struck from the other side, knife back in hand, but Angharad halfway unsheathed her saber to strike her chin with the pommel of the sword and knock her back. She glimpsed-


    /Brun hacked at her back, biting into her spine and sending her/


    -and turned with a blow she would not have seen, getting out of the way just in time for the hatchet to take Yaretzi in the arm as she turned around Brun¡¯s back and finished unsheathing the blade. She kept the scabbard in hand. Her knees almost buckled as a wave of apathy hammered into her mind, but elbowing Brun in the back had the sensation vanishing into smoke. She finished turning around to face them.


    Brun was a skilled fighter, she thought, but it was a raw sort of talent. He had not been taught that being predictable in a duel was death. The Sacromontan pushed away from her from to make distance, so that he might have enough room to swing his hatchet, but Angharad had begun swinging even as she turned: the edge of the saber caught him at temple height and a slight angle, splitting his eye like an egg and sinking into the skull.


    Death in a stroke.


    Angharad calmly kicked his back as she ripped free the blade, brain spraying as it sent the corpse falling into Yaretzi¡¯s way and forced the Izcalli to draw back nearer to the door. The assassin licked her lips, Angharad watching as it sunk in for the other woman that she was two wounds in and standing alone.


    ¡°You took an oath,¡± the Izcalli suddenly said. ¡°Not to do violence on other trial-takers. If I no longer fight you, you cannot-¡±


    Angharad threw the scabbard at her face. The knife went up to slap it aside, and that was all it took: the point of her saber went straight into Yaretzi¡¯s heart, pinning her to the door with a thump as the assassin let out a wet gurgle.


    ¡°You knowingly broke the rules of the Trial of Weeds, assassin,¡± Angharad politely informed her. ¡°You no longer qualify as a trial-taker.¡±


    She broadened her stance, preparing to rip out the blade, but before she could the door burst open and the corpse flew at her. Smothering a sound of surprise, Angharad struggled to hold on to her saber as someone forced their way into the room ¨C only to find Song levelling a musket at her, Sarai right behind her and sloppily pointing a pistol as she held up a lantern.


    ¡°You- oh,¡± Song said, taken aback.


    There was a heartbeat of silence.


    ¡°Are we quite sure,¡± Sarai began, eyes lingering on the two cooling corpses, ¡°that she was the one needing rescuing here?¡±


    Angharad¡¯s jaw locked.


    ¡°The mayura¡¯s blessing saved my life,¡± she stiffly said. ¡°They came at me with a poison and Brun¡¯s contract.¡±


    Her stare firmed as she turned to Song after saying thus.


    ¡°A jest,¡± Sarai said. ¡°I meant no offence.¡±


    Angharad did not reply, eyes staying on Song and silently asking why she had not warned anyone of Brun¡¯s contract. It would have been a much stronger suspect than Ishaan¡¯s, and while she could understand wanting to keep the power of her own eyes quiet that did not excuse warning no one at all.


    ¡°I do not know what it does,¡± Song admitted. ¡°Did, now, I suppose. It was written in some sort of Sacromontan street jargon, half the words weren¡¯t even recognizably Antigua.¡±


    The noblewoman gave a slow nod and felt a knot in her shoulders loosen. Had Song been one of the pack of selfish schemers she was being forced to deal with, she was not sure what she would have done. So much of what she had taken to be truth before coming to this island was¡­ Nobles acting like wolves, loyalty a hangman¡¯s noose and honor in the strangest of places. She had thought Peredur the model of the world, once, but now she was forced to wonder how much she might have missed.


    Angharad swallowed, mind was still awhirl with all her killers had said. ¡®Yaretzi¡¯ was a confessed liar, so much of what she said about others could be discounted, but her talk of Tristan ¨C and that he had been accomplice to Isabel, who she knew did have troubles with the Cerdan brothers ¨C rang uncomfortably true.


    Remund had disappeared after spending time alone with him, for which they had yet to receive account. No one had thought to take that up since both men were expected dead, but perhaps there was a need after all. Angharad felt a great exhaustion settle on her shoulders like a mantle, and with it a vicious urge: to out every dirty little secret this misbegotten island carried, to finally have it out and done.


    Sarai cleared her throat.


    ¡°We should wake everyone else, have it known now the pair tried to kill you,¡± the pale-skinned woman said. ¡°Else accusations might turn ugly come morning.¡±


    ¡°There is more to tell besides,¡± Angharad wearily said. ¡°Brun effectively confessed to the murders of both Jun and Aines while Yaretzi admitted to being a member of something called the Obsidian Society as well to poisoning Ayanda with something called Spinster¡¯s Milk.¡±


    Sarai let out a noise of surprise.


    ¡°Zenzele won¡¯t take that well,¡± she warned.


    This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    ¡°He must be told regardless,¡± Angharad replied.


    Though first, she decided, she should drag the corpses out into the hall. The blood was soaking her floor. Wiping her blade on Yaretzi¡¯s back, Angharad went to pick up her scabbard and sheathed it. She was about to go looking for her boots when someone turned the corner: Shalini, looking haggard but with both pistols up, stumbled into the scene and froze. A heartbeat later Ferranda followed, blade in hand, and then Zenzele half-tripped past them as he pulled on his boots.


    ¡°Huh,¡± Ferranda said.


    The Someshwari lowered her pistols. Shalini¡¯s eyes flicked back and forth between them and the dead.


    ¡°What happened?¡± she asked.


    ¡°They attempted to kill Angharad in the night,¡± Song told them. ¡°It went poorly.¡±


    ¡°No shit,¡± Shalini amusedly said. ¡°I could have told them how that¡¯d go if they¡¯d asked.¡±


    ¡°And the other two of you?¡± Zenzele asked with a frown, finally dragging his boot up.


    A pause. Angharad turned to the other two women, cocking an eyebrow. What had drawn them to her room? She had thought the sound would not carry. Sarai sighed.


    ¡°At Song¡¯s request, I put a Sign on Lady Angharad¡¯s door that would break if someone opened it,¡± she said.


    ¡°They had me at their mercy for quite some time,¡± Angharad neutrally said.


    She appreciated the gesture, but not the presumption. Besides, why her of all people?


    ¡°I slept through it breaking,¡± Sarai admitted, sounding embarrassed.


    She reddened under the number of incredulous looks thrown her way.


    ¡°Look, it¡¯s not a Sign I have fully mastered and I haven¡¯t had a good night¡¯s sleep in days,¡± she said. ¡°I ended up waking up later and noticing it was gone, so I went to get Song and we found¡­¡±


    ¡°Predictable consequences?¡± Zenzele drily finished.


    Whatever else might have been said, it was forced to wait. More were joining them, the rising sound of talk in the hall drawing them. Tupoc first, who made a point of theatrically gasping as the sight of the bodies then, Lan and Cozme.


    Angharad face them, face still flecked with blood.


    ¡°Let me get dressed,¡± she sighed, ¡°and then I will tell you everything.¡±


    --


    It was not long to explain, for all that it had felt an eternity when the pair had her prisoner.


    Zenzele¡¯s face went bloodless when he was told his beloved had been drugged into demise at the behest of House Sandile, Shalini laying a hand on his arm, while Tupoc looked slightly miffed. Remembering Yaretzi¡¯s confession regarding the stairs, Angharad made her amends there.


    ¡°I did not believe you when you claimed Ishaan was pushed by her,¡± the noblewoman said, addressing Shalini. ¡°Yet she did, and I apologize for my mistrust.¡±


    The other woman grimaced.


    ¡°We looked pretty shady at the time,¡± she replied. ¡°Water under the bridge.¡±


    As for Ferranda, Angharad was too tired to keep secrets any longer.


    ¡°Song and I found a secret passage in the gate shrine and overheard your conversation with Isabel when you accused her,¡± she bluntly said. ¡°Yaretzi has since confessed that she directed you after Isabel in the hopes that you would stumble into some alleged plot against the Cerdans she was weaving with Tristan.¡±


    Ferranda Villazur drew back in surprise.


    ¡°I ¨C are you sure? Tristan?¡±


    ¡°I am certain she said it,¡± Angharad said. ¡°She also confessed herself a murderer and a liar, so I put little stock in her words.¡±


    The grey-eyed man was a criminal of some sort, and prone to tricks, but he had also demonstrated a certain sense of honor. Several times he had risked his life on behalf of others to no clear gain.


    ¡°The boy is suspicious,¡± Cozme grunted. ¡°He came back and Remund did not.¡±


    ¡°He came back with a belly wound from falling down that slide with your Cerdan,¡± Sarai flatly replied. ¡°Had to be treated for lockjaw, you can ask the blackcloaks. Your boy Remund wasn¡¯t quite so lucky and he¡¯s still impaled somewhere in the maze as far as we know. Nasty way to go.¡±


    She did not sound all that sympathetic.


    ¡°Where is he right now, then?¡± the mustachioed man pressed. ¡°Yong cannot leave his room, but where is the rat?¡±


    ¡°Investigating the activities of the townsfolk, as I requested of him,¡± Song flatly said. ¡°I find it somewhat interesting you do not ask where Augusto is, as he is also missing.¡±


    Cozme straightened.


    ¡°Augusto is no longer my responsibility, but Remund was-¡±


    ¡°Nobody cares about your brats, Cozme,¡± Lan interrupted, tone impatient. ¡°Tristan could have slit both their throats in the middle of the street and most of us would have clapped. Tredegar, get on with it. What about Brun?¡±


    Cozme Aflor looked more than a little angry, but he had no friends in the hall. Angharad laid out the rest of what Yaretzi had told her, prompting an interested noise from Tupoc at the mention of the Obsidian Society.


    ¡°They are famous assassins in Izcalli,¡± he informed them all in a rare display of concord. ¡°They are a cult of the Skeletal Butterfly that takes killing contracts, they¡¯ve been around for centuries. Rumor has it they even slew a Grasshopper King once.¡±


    She moved on to Brun, after that, and revulsion rose as she described his contract and how it had slowly turned him into a murderer. The description of its effects had Shalini grimacing.


    ¡°I felt something like that on the night Jun was killed,¡± she admitted. ¡°When I had the watch. I thought I was just tired and never entirely fell asleep so I said nothing save to Ishaan, but everything Lady Angharad speaks of is something I have felt.¡±


    Lan looked murderous, an unusual look on her face, but then what did Angharad know? Both Yaretzi and Brun had accused her of poisoning him before the Toll Road, something the Pereduri had mentioned and the blue-lipped woman not denied. Angharad had thought herself aware of most the undercurrents in their company, wise to its workings even if she occasionally missed pieces, but that illusion had just been most thoroughly stripped away. Others had danced around her so deftly she never even noticed she was attending a ball. No more of that, Angharad coldly thought. She would not be made such a fool again.


    Tupoc, who was closest to the stairs, suddenly tensed. He raised a hand at the rest of them, demanding silence as he raised his spear.


    ¡°Someone just came in,¡± he whispered.


    Lord Zenzele glanced at their group, then down below.


    ¡°It is Tristan,¡± he said.


    He had used his contract, she thought. Tristan must have a tie to someone in here.


    Tupoc did not put the spear down.


    ¡°Xical,¡± Angharad warningly said, hand going to her blade.


    ¡°Three in a night would just be greedy, Tredegar,¡± Tupoc chided her amusedly.


    He put the weapon down, however, just as someone began hurrying up the stairs. The loudness of it was startled her. Tristan was a light-footed man, yet now he stomped up at a run. The scruffy grey-eyed man erupted past the threshold, steps stuttering when he saw them all gathered in the hall.


    ¡°Oh,¡± Tristan said. ¡°Everyone is here. Good.¡±


    His eyes flicked to the corpses, unmoved at the sight. He did not even ask.


    ¡°Finally showing up, are you?¡± Tupoc drawled. ¡°Lateness is becoming a habit with you.¡±


    ¡°Tupoc, shut the fuck up,¡± the man said, and there was a ripple of surprise at that unusual boldness. ¡°We do not have time for this. I was just in the town square, where our hosts ¨C every single one of which is a devil ¨C were having a spirited conversation about eating us all.¡±


    The silence was instant and complete.


    ¡°Then on my way back,¡± Tristan ferociously continued, ¡°I passed by the postern gate where I happened to catch Augusto Cerdan letting in a warband of cultists. This happened-¡±


    He produced a small timepiece, popping open the lid to see. It felt vaguely familiar.


    ¡°- three minutes and change ago,¡± he finished. ¡°By now I expect they will be moving to free the slaves.¡±


    Noise erupted all at once, half a dozen people speaking up. Song¡¯s voice cut through, clear and calm. Trained, Angharad thought. Song Ren had been trained for command, or at least leadership.


    ¡°Dress and arm yourselves,¡± she said. ¡°Everything else can wait.¡±


    Some grumbling, but Angharad cut through it by hurrying to her own room and picking up her bag. Enough followed suit at the sight of her that the rest were pressured into doing the same. It had been a mostly symbolic gesture on her part, as her affairs were already packed, and she was back within moments. Just in time to hear Song and Sarai interrogating Tristan.


    ¡°- one was older than the others, called Akados, and some of the other devils accused him of wanting to ¡®anneal¡¯ through slaughter,¡± the man said. ¡°I have no real notion of what that might mean.¡±


    ¡°Older devils eventually become fixed shapes in the aether,¡± Song absent-mindedly replied. ¡°Their kind calls that process annealing, like the smithing term.¡±


    She would know, the Pereduri thought. The Republics allowed devils citizenship, sometimes even to serve as bureaucrats.


    ¡°What does it mean, a fixed shape in the aether?¡± Angharad asked, stepping close.


    ¡°What she said,¡± Tristan supported.


    She fought down the flicker of fondness. His eyes had not wavered at the sight of the corpse and too many black rumors yet hung over his head. Angharad was done putting trust in smiling strangers.


    ¡°It means no matter how many times you kill them they¡¯ll crawl back out of the aether eventually,¡± Sarai grimaced. ¡°Old devils are nothing to trifle with, though this one should yet fall short of the threshold.¡±


    ¡°If it is old enough to be discerning about the kind of aether it feeds on, it must be getting close,¡± Song warned. ¡°I expect if it fed on the simpler aetheric taint of murder rather than ¡®slaughter¡¯ it might have finished the process.¡±


    Angharad cocked her head to the side.


    ¡°Is this¡­ discernment why devils in stories are afflicted with strange compulsions?¡± she asked.


    Children¡¯s tales had clever heroes outsmarting them by spilling beads the devils then had to count, tricking them into suicide for being unable to find a rhyme for their sentence.


    ¡°More or less,¡± Song said. ¡°But that conversation can wait until we are in a place of safety. Tristan, you have your affairs?¡±


    ¡°Everything I care to carry,¡± the grey-eyed man said, then paused.


    He turned to Sarai.


    ¡°Yong?¡±


    She grimaced.


    ¡°He cannot stand,¡± she replied.


    ¡°Then we will have to carry him,¡± Tristan flatly replied. ¡°Lady Angharad, if I might ask for your help?¡±


    A worthy cause, Angharad thought, and so she nodded her head.


    She was the one who knocked, a muted voice telling her to enter. Yong was lying in his bed, half-naked but his torso so thoroughly covered by bandages he might as well have been wearing a shirt. Only his arms and part of his shoulders were left bare ¨C the expanse of skin drawing attention to the loaded pistol he was pointing their way. The barrel wobbled when he began coughing wetly, and his eyes were watery. He recognized them after a moment, lowering the pistol and setting it on the bedside table.


    ¡°What happened?¡± he croaked. ¡°I heard voices.¡±


    ¡°Brun and Yaretzi tried to off her,¡± Tristan bluntly said, jutting a thumb Angharad¡¯s way. ¡°She killed them instead, I hear, and outed all their dirty little secrets.¡±


    Angharad eyed him, reluctantly amused.


    ¡°Tristan went to spy on the townsfolk and found out they are all devils,¡± she contributed. ¡°Augusto Cerdan, the honorless cur, has also let in a warband of cultists.¡±


    The timepiece snapped open, then closed. Angharad could not shake the feeling that she had seen it somewhere before.


    ¡°About five minutes ago,¡± Tristan said. ¡°We need to get moving or we¡¯ll be hip deep in devils and darklings soon.¡±


    Yong let out a rattling breath.


    ¡°My stitches won¡¯t hold,¡± he said. ¡°I cannot move.¡±


    ¡°That is why we came to carry you,¡± Angharad said.


    ¡°You mishear me,¡± Yong said. ¡°It is not that I cannot walk ¨C I cannot move. The physician told me I am to stay abed for at least two weeks.¡±


    ¡°That physician was a devil who wanted to eat you,¡± Tristan pointed out, quite reasonably in your opinion.


    ¡°I saw the stitches in a mirror,¡± the older man replied. ¡°They cover much of my back, and if they rip there is no question that I will die.¡±


    ¡°I do not dismiss your concerns,¡± Angharad assured him. ¡°We will ask for the help of others and take great care. But we most move, Yong.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s right,¡± Tristan quietly said. ¡°The devils will come here for certain, it¡¯s where the meal is.¡±


    Yong stared at them for a long moment, then breathed out.


    ¡°I know,¡± he finally said. ¡°I know. And it would be an ugly way to die.¡±


    He clenched his fingers.


    ¡°I expect I won¡¯t be able to move much,¡± Yong said. ¡°I may have to trouble you to carry word for me, Tristan.¡±


    The younger man stilled, face closing like a shutter.


    ¡°Your husband?¡±


    Angharad frowned, for the Sacromontan sounded like he hoped he was wrong. Yong nodded. After a grimace, Tristan nodded back. She could not help but feel as if she were intruding, somehow. The Tianxi¡¯s stare moved on to her.


    ¡°I require some privacy,¡± he told her.


    ¡°I understand it is unpleasant, but you will need help to dress,¡± she said, trying to be delicate.


    ¡°Some matters require privacy,¡± he gently replied, eyes flicking to the chamber pot.


    Ah, Angharad thought with some embarrassment. Indeed she would prefer not to be there for that.


    ¡°Yong,¡± Tristan began, but the veteran raised a hand.


    ¡°Don¡¯t,¡± he said. ¡°We have said all we need to say. Nothing has changed.¡±


    The grey-eyed man looked like he wanted to argue, but instead he let out a long breath


    ¡°I guess it hasn¡¯t,¡± Tristan said, voice soft.


    He sharply nodded, then walked away. Angharad followed him out, carefully closing the door behind her. Tristan leaned against the wall, folding his arms, and the frown that had never quite left deepened at the sight of how grim he looked. How his jaw was clenched.


    ¡°He lied,¡± she said.


    She had suspected as much, but now knew.


    ¡°He-¡±


    A shot sounded from behind the door.


    Tristan flinched.


    ¡°He chose to make it quick,¡± the man hoarsely said, ¡°instead of ripping his stitches and suffering hours of agony before the same end. It was¡­¡±


    Tristan licked his lips.


    ¡°It was his choice to make.¡±


    He sounded, Angharad thought, like a man who was not sure who he was trying to convince. She should have been angry at being deceived again, but Angharad could not muster it when she saw the grief in cast of face. Tristan pushed off the wall, a slight tremble to his hand.


    ¡°If you¡¯ll excuse me,¡± he got out, ¡°I need to make sure my friend died with the first shot.¡±


    For he had not, Angharad realized with faint horror, Tristan would have to finish the job himself. She watched him open the door, glimpsed the billow of powder smoke and red on the wall, then looked away.


    She kept her eyes on the stairs as she heard him see to his dead friend, fighting not to throw up.


    --


    No one asked what had happened to Yong: seeing Tristan lay his body to rest on the bed was enough to quell that urge in even the most curious among them. Angharad¡¯s gaze swept through their company, finding them assembled and as ready as they would get.


    She swallowed, gaze still shying away from the room where a man had taken his own life.


    ¡°We are to proceed, then,¡± she said. ¡°Song has shown all of you the map, so all should know where we are to gather: half a mile north of here, by the marked stones.¡±


    ¡°It has all been said before,¡± Lord Zenzele mildly said. ¡°Shall we?¡±


    She threw him an irritated glance but nodded. Yet before she could take a single step down the stairs, a metallic sound drew her eye ¨C and that of most present. Tristan had gone back into Yong¡¯s room and tipped a lantern. Oil spilled over the corpse of the veteran, spreading a tide of softly lapping flame.


    ¡°I am not leaving him for the devils to eat,¡± the grey-eyed man evenly said. ¡°Besides, it can serve as a distraction for our escape.¡±


    Several looked like they wanted to argue but the oil was quite literally already spilled and now the bedding was catching aflame. There was no time to waste, not that they had been rich in minutes before.


    ¡°Hurry,¡± Angharad said, cutting through the silence. ¡°If they do not yet know we are onto them, they soon will.¡±


    She moved down the stairs, knowing that action would cut through any urge to argue: no one wanted to debate with a departing back. She heard steps follow behind, adjusting her scabbard on her hip so it would not hit the wall, and in moments she¡¯d reached the common room. There her steps stuttered for she found she was not alone. Angharad moved out of the way so the man behind her ¨C Tupoc ¨C could follow, but her eyes never left the man she was facing.


    Only Mayor Crespin was not truly a man, was he?


    The devil wearing the corpse of a bearded, middle-aged man was waiting by the exit, flanked on both sides by two closed shutters. He leant against the door, square in their way should they want to leave.


    ¡°I hear fire,¡± the devil said.


    ¡°We hear of plots,¡± Angharad replied, the others coming down behind her.


    Lantern light ate away at the shadows of the room, muskets rising and blades leaving scabbards. The mayor seemed unmoved by their numbers.


    ¡°¡¯tis a poor notion,¡± Crespin said, tone dipping in a formal, almost antiquated Antigua. ¡°Yet my kin agreed, so it must be done.¡±


    In the distance, she heard shots. The mayor twitched. As he should, if the cultist warband was loose in town and gathering their slaves against them.


    ¡°You have greater worries than we, I think,¡± Angharad said. ¡°Can you truly afford this distraction?¡±


    The devil seemed amused.


    ¡°Why should I worry of a scapegoat skipping all the way to the altar?¡± he asked. ¡°It was not us that killed them so, good blackcloaks, but arrant cultists of the Eye.¡±


    Her jaw clenched at the mockery.


    ¡°It need not come to violence,¡± she tried one last time.


    ¡°You are lucents,¡± Crespin told her, not unkindly. ¡°No thing done to you may be named violence.¡±


    There was no bargain to be had here, not with a creature such as this.


    ¡°Walk away,¡± Angharad said, slowly unsheathing her blade. ¡°While you still can.¡±


    Mayor Crespin twitched, lifeless eyes looking her up and down ¨C not with a lover¡¯s appraisal but a butcher¡¯s, tracing the cuts in the meat.


    ¡°Alive, if you can,¡± the devil ordered.


    The shutters exploded into wooden shards, devils bursting through them. Shots sounded from behind Angharad, billowing plumes of smoke as her allies fired their guns, and one of the silhouettes was swatted down ¨C but rose a heartbeat later, half of its face missing and revealing cracked chitin. Crespin was still leaning against the door, having merely cocked his head an inch to the side to avoid a bullet.


    ¡°Focus fire on the wounded one,¡± Song called out from behind her, voice completely calm. ¡°Crack the carapace.¡±


    Leaving tactics in good hands, Angharad strode out to meet the enemy with allies at her side ¨C Tupoc on one side, Zenzele the other. A dark-haired woman with a tanned, weathered face leapt at her like an animal. It was a startling jump, impossible with human legs, but momentum was a universal shackle: Angharad slid under the leaping form, letting her pass by, and then pivoted cleanly to open her from shoulder to spine.


    Skin parted like parchment, but under it some kind of oily chitinous carapace refused to give under her blade. She left a long scar and the devil screamed, but she was turning around furiously within a heartbeat. Painful, then, but not a wound. Angharad caught a glimpse of Tupoc impaling a devil through the stomach, nailing the false man to the floor, and of Zenzele struggling with a bald old man. Rapid fire from the back still nailing the fourth attacker to the ground.


    Crespin watched all, indifferent.


    She had no more attention to spare. Her devil let out a furious clicking screech, skin rippling as it struck at her. A simple slap that would have hit her shoulder, and though quick it was predictable. Angharad caught it with her blade angled to go through the wrist, her training moving before her mind, only instead of cutting off the hand she almost lost her blade. Even that slight, awkward blow had been like getting kicked. Lips thinning Angharad drew back her blade, scarring carapace again, and glimpsed-


    /Skin rippled, a leg ripping its way out and piercing her throat./


    -in time to half-step out of the way of the jutting, thin limb that lanced out of the devil¡¯s back. Angharad aimed her swing carefully, and finally the blade bit through: steel ripped through the horrid appendage, dropping it as the devil screeched and scuttled back. The severed leg twitched on the floor, bloodless and seemingly boiling. The sight of it inspired a deep, visceral disgust in her.


    Her devil foe was twitching uncontrollably under the shell, two more legs ripping their way out as it skittered away in fear of her. Tupoc¡¯s own opponent lay on the ground, convulsing ¨C Sleeping God, what was that segmented spear made of? - and the Izcalli was giving a bloodied Zenzele a hand driving back his own as the firing line pinned the fourth to the wall with shots and burst its belly open into a spurt of disgusting pale flesh. They were winning, she thought, but one of their foes had yet to take the field.


    ¡°Pathetic,¡± Mayor Crespin said. ¡°Useless castings one and all, a waste of His Infernal Majesty¡¯s grace.¡±


    ¡°Stathera,¡± her devil whined, ¡°they are-¡±


    Crespin moved, fast enough she saw but a blur, and then he was holding the wounded devil by the throat. Without batting an eye, he tossed his comrade at the firing line. Angharad let out a cry of warning ¨C she heard Cozme draw his sword, cursing, and a glimpse of Tristan fumbling with a pistol she had last seen in Yong¡¯s hand.


    The distraction cost her, for in that heartbeat Crespin casually grabbed a table and smashed it down on her.


    Angharad brought up her hands to shield her head and was hammered into the ground, dazed. The wood splintered atop her. Hissing in pain she kicked off the piece pinning her down, rolling out of the way just in time to see Crespin ram his way through the counter and rip out a long and sharp piece. His eyes turned further away, where the tossed devil was fighting the others in a messy sprawl, and Angharad saw what he was looking at: the lanterns.


    Devils saw in the dark. Humans did not. Without the lanterns, they were all dead.


    With a cry she threw herself forward, hacking wildly at his arm, and the devil turned at her with an irritated look ¨C a slap caught her in the belly, near cracking a rib and sending her tumbling away on the floor. She stopped only when her shoulder hit the wall, just under one of the windows. Through which, she saw with surprise, a musket was being aimed. Angharad had just long enough to drop her sword and cover her ears so she would not go deaf from the shot.


    A dozen muskets unloaded into common room, the cult of the Red Eye announcing their entry into the fight.


    Snarling, Angharad reached out through the window and dragged a man through it by his collar ¨C wincing at the tenderness of her ribs ¨C to smash his face into the floor. The hollow flailed, shouting, and as she rose she snatched her blade back even as her booted heel came down on the man¡¯s neck to snap it. Someone tossed a javelin her way and she narrowly ducked behind the still-closed door. Two cultists leapt inside the inn through the windows but a heartbeat later Mayor Crespin darted out of the smoke to rip one¡¯s jaw out, nonchalantly gobbling down the flesh and bone as the cultists screamed ¨C the older devil was driven away by musket shots, but he would be back. More cultists leapt in, swords high as they ran into the smoke.


    There was no winning this, Angharad thought, eyes trying to find the rest of her companions but finding only an anarchy of powder smoke, steel and hateful blows. She opened her mouth, thinking to call for a retreat, but her words were drowned out.


    A chunk of the ceiling dropped, revealing a burning inferno above as smoke swept out. The fire Tristan had set earlier, she recalled as she pushed down a hysterical swell of laughter.


    ¡°To the door with me,¡± she shouted over the roar of the flames.


    Through the swirling smoke she saw silhouettes moving ¨C some of them running towards her, others fighting. Ferranda leapt over burst of spreading flames, Lan hurrying behind her, and for a moment Angharad thought she saw Cozme headed her way as well. Only another chunk of ceiling fell in the way, the man drawing back with a shout, and he was dragged away by Tristan. Song was at her side a moment later, bleeding from the arm.


    A chunk of it had been ripped out.


    ¡°We need to go,¡± the Tianxi shouted over the din. ¡°Crespin broke a wall, the others have a way out.¡±


    Angharad risked one last glance back, seeing a silhouette crossing the smoke. Short, coughing her lungs out. She brushed off Song¡¯s hand on her shoulder, hurrying back to help Shalini out of the smoke as the Someshwari held on to her side.


    ¡°Open it,¡± she shouted at Ferranda.


    The infanzona ripped open the door and Song ran through first, pivoting within moments and shooting at someone they could not see. They followed in the Tianxi¡¯s wake, finding a dead cultist slumping against the wall with his musket on the floor as the rest hesitated, split between the devils inside and the fleeing company.


    A bestial scream coming from inside burning wreck of the Last Rest was what settled the matter.


    One of the cultists spitefully threw a javelin their way, but the others turned their muskets to towards the devils as the five of them fled into the streets.


    --


    There was little safety to be found out here, for chaos had seized the town.


    Houses all over Cantica had been set aflame, and as they roared high slaves fled into the brutal melee between the cultists and the devils. Not all slaves were running for safety, however, many instead taking whatever lay around as weapons and joining the Red Eye cult in fighting the devils ¨C some of which had lost patience and ripped their way clear of their shell, moving through the smoke like ghosts and ripping apart men as muskets sounded and spears bit into chitin.


    ¡°Manes,¡± Lan breathed out, ¡°it¡¯s a full-on uprising. We need to get out of here.¡±


    ¡°Stay close,¡± Angharad called out. ¡°We head for the front gate.¡±


    Of their party, only the Tianxi twin was not a fighter. The rest of them clustered around her: Angharad and Ferranda in front, Shalini and Song behind. They ran two blocks down before someone took notice of them, a cultist shouting and pointing their way to draw the attention of the mob of escaped slaves around him.


    A heartbeat later Song put a shot between his eyes, which had half the slaves scattering as his body dropped.


    They ran away before the other half, visibly enraged, could catch them. They turned a corner through a veil of smoke, following the curve of the palisade towards what should be the front gate. Twice more they ran into hollows, but the first time they were fleeing slaves who gave their company a wide berth and the second lot ¨C three spearmen in mail - were chased off by a few shots. They were lucky, Angharad realized: the front gate was far from the fighting. The worst of it was deep in Cantica, where hollows had been kept imprisoned and the cultists now fought the devils.


    Soon they were standing by the gates, which were yet closed. A wooden gatehouse by their side should carry the wheel that would open the gate, so the five of them carefully moved towards the simple wooden house nestled to the right of the gate. There was not a soul in sight, and barely any light: theirs came from the lantern Lan had lit and the inferno rising in the distance. The older Tianxi took the lead.


    ¡°Unlocked,¡± the blue-lipped woman said, testing the gatehouse¡¯s handle.


    She pushed it open, stepping into the dark with her lantern high, and in that same breath she was grabbed.


    Angharad let out a shout of alarm, rushing forward through the doorway, but there was a flash as a musket was fired and Shalini only narrowly dragged her out of the way as a bullet whizzed right past her shoulder. Between the shot and Lan¡¯s toppled lantern she caught a glimpse of what lay inside: at least three cultists with swords and muskets, pointing them at the door.


    ¡°See? I told you they would go for the gate, like rats leaving a sinking ship.¡±


    Fury rose, bursting out as a snarl as she ripped her way out of Shalini¡¯s grasp and recognized that voice.


    ¡°Augusto,¡± she hissed.


    She could not see him, he was hiding out of sight, but by where the voice came from he must be the one who had taken Lan.


    ¡°I have a knife at your pet¡¯s throat, you Malani bitch,¡± Augusto replied. ¡°And enough men with me you have no hope of forcing your way through.¡±


    Angharad glanced at Shalini, silently asking whether her contract would make a lie of that, but the short Someshwari grimaced and shook her head. However fast her hand, it was not faster than a finger already on the trigger.


    ¡°You have nothing to win by this,¡± Angharad snarled. ¡°And know that if you kill Lan, I will personally torch that gatehouse with you inside it.¡±


    The chokepoint of the door worked both ways: their muskets would keep his band in just as theirs would keep her company out. The Cerdan chuckled.


    ¡°He did this for leverage,¡± Song quietly said, lowering her voice so the men in the gatehouse could not hear. ¡°He wants something from us.¡±


    ¡°Oh, he¡¯ll kill us if he can,¡± Ferranda just as quietly said. ¡°That was no warning shot. But I wager our Red Eye friends did not trust him with nearly as men as he would have liked, so he came ready to bargain.¡±


    ¡°How much is that rat¡¯s life worth to you, Tredegar?¡± Augusto called out. ¡°I happen to be in the mood to trade.¡±


    Lan was under her protection, Angharad thought with a clenched jaw. She felt Song¡¯s eyes on her, saw the objection that lay there, and ignored it. She would have no truck with expediency.


    ¡°What do you want, Cerdan?¡± she asked.


    ¡°An oath from all of you,¡± he said, and her brow rose. ¡°You are to tell the Watch that you killed me, and if one of you breaks that oath you are to kill them for it.¡±


    She frowned. Why would he need this? Angharad, unpleasant as the notion was, was not even entirely certain the blackcloaks would execute him for letting in the cultists. Tupoc had worked with them, and evidently felt safe in the assumption they would not. So he fears they will execute him for something else, she decided, and the answer soon came as to what that might be.


    ¡°You contracted with the Red Eye,¡± she evenly said. ¡°Down in the maze. The Watch will kill you for it.¡±


    ¡°I am not hearing agreement,¡± Augusto called out.


    A heartbeat later she heard Lan let out a cry, then struggle. Her fingers creaked around the grip of her saber, but to charge through that doorway was death.


    ¡°He cut me,¡± the Tianxi said, sounding like she had a hard time keeping calm.


    ¡°And I will do it again, until I have what I want,¡± the Cerdan said. ¡°The rat for the oath.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand why he wants it,¡± Shalini muttered. ¡°It won¡¯t get him off this fucking island, and it¡¯s not like the blackcloaks will hunt him if he goes off with the cultist tribes.¡±


    ¡°He does not intend to stay on this island,¡± Ferranda guessed. ¡°He would go back to Sacromonte.¡±


    ¡°The Watch will kill him for that contract,¡± Song said. ¡°Unless¡­¡±


    Unless he intended on killing them first, they all thought. To lead an army of cultists against Three Pines and seize a ship by force, sailing back to Sacromonte without them, and there hid behind the protection of House Cerdan.


    ¡°He¡¯s gone mad then,¡± Angharad said. ¡°A single warband and whatever slaves he press-gangs to take on a fortress of the Watch? They will make meat of him.¡±


    Then she saw it, the lay of the scheme.


    ¡°No, not mad. He is thinking like a warlord,¡± she breathed out. ¡°He would use the victory here to gather other tribes to his banner, try to unite them against the Watch.¡±


    Even then the odds were against him, and her companions looked as skeptical as she felt. But that was why he wanted the oath, she thought. So he would have time to muster the tribes and yet still strike at Three Pines with the advantage of surprise. Perhaps he intended on feigning he was a late survivor and opening a gate as he had done here, or any other half-dozen schemes. It did not matter, Angharad thought.


    If he wanted the stars in a cup, then she would make that promise.


    ¡°I will take your oath,¡± Angharad said.


    ¡°Angharad,¡± Song hissed.


    She met those silver eyes squarely.


    ¡°I will take that oath,¡± she repeated, ¡°and so will everyone here. In exchange for this you will release Lan unharmed.¡±


    Doubts on their faces, but she would not brook contradiction in this.


    ¡°Good,¡± Augusto said. ¡°How honorable of you, Malani. Swear to it, and I will do the same.¡±


    Angharad did, and under her quelling eyes the others did the same. Lan was sent stumbling through the doorway, bleeding shallowly from the neck. Ferranda grabbed her and pulled her out of the line of fire. There was another spurt of laughter from inside the gatehouse.


    ¡°Shall we now bargain for us to open the gates for you?¡± Augusto called out. ¡°Unless you want to come and try yourself.¡±


    What she wanted, Angharad thought, was to take a lantern and set that gatehouse aflame. But that might break the mechanism that would let them out, and she was not sure strength alone would be enough to force open the gates. Her other choice was to pass by the heart of Cantica and try Tristan¡¯s postern gate, but that was no true choice. She was not sure exactly where it was and the path was likely to be dangerous.


    That and Augusto was certain to follow behind and try to rally cultists against them, now that he knew where they were.


    They were the entire reason the man was here, Angharad realized. He had been afraid enough of them slipping out of Cantica in the chaos that he was sitting out the battle entirely.


    ¡°Speak your terms,¡± Angharad said, ignoring the rising anger of her companions.


    ¡°So pliant,¡± Augusto taunted. ¡°You should have been like this from the start, Tredegar. I¡¯ll have another oath from you for the privilege of my tolerance.¡±


    ¡°Then speak it,¡± she replied, losing patience.


    He must have heard it in her voice, for he wasted no more time.


    ¡°You are to commit no violence against me nor allow your companions to do the same, or attempt to imprison me nor allow your companions to do the same,¡± Augusto said.


    ¡°Under that oath you could walk out and kill me and I would be allowed to do nothing about it,¡± she said. ¡°I refuse.¡±


    ¡°Fine,¡± he snorted. ¡°The same terms, but violence is allowed in your own defense and that of your companions.¡±


    ¡°That is a lifetime oath,¡± she noted. ¡°I will accept it only within the confines of Cantica.¡±


    ¡°The entire island,¡± Augusto shot back.


    Angharad¡¯s eyes narrowed. He thought to play word-games with a daughter of Peredur? It would cost him.


    ¡°Until twenty-four hours have passed,¡± she offered.


    A heartbeat of hesitation.


    ¡°Agreed.¡±


    They took the oath, and a few moments later the gates began to open.


    Angharad smiled, humming the first few bars of The Fair Wife, and considered the death of Augusto Cerdan.

 Chapter 43

    It was a tight squeeze, but Tristan limped out into the alley.


    He was third out of the hole in the wall the mayor made trying to murder Tupoc ¨C an admirable undertaking, regardless of one¡¯s politics or stance on people-eating ¨C and the two that had come out ahead were as much keeping an eye on each other as the empty alley they stood in. The first, Lord Zenzele Duma, was cut of typical Malani cloth: tall, dark eyes, wide nose. Yet his cheeks were gaunt from grief and his soft noble features were gainsaid by the recent flint to his stare.


    He was unharmed save for a bit of soot on his clothes.


    In contrast Tupoc Xical, though as eerily perfect as usual, had suffered from the fight. Ironically not from the devils, two of which he had slain with whoops of joy, but from the volley the cultists had unloaded blindly into the Last Rest: he¡¯d been shot twice, one bullet in his right shoulder near the edge of his breastplate and the other in the opposite thigh. Either should have knocked the man out of the fight but Tristan could see that the shoulder shot, from which Tupoc had casually ripped out the bullet, already looked like it was mending.


    Not as quickly as it allegedly had in other circumstances, though. Was it because he had two wounds this time? Can the contract only heal a limited quantity of flesh at a time? Either way, while the Izcalli was steady on his feet he had chewed up limbs and his spear needed two arms to use. No wonder he was keeping a careful eye on Zenzele.


    Maryam was next out of the hole in the wall that Mayor Crespin had meant to be in Tupoc¡¯s head ¨C with such a keen eye for popular policies, it was no wonder the devil had been elected mayor ¨C and she coughed from the smoke as he helped her into the street. She¡¯d gotten a bad knock on the head when the devil was tossed into the firing line that Tristan had been a nominal participant in, but her eyes no longer seemed as dazed. She nodded her thanks.


    ¡°Your leg?¡± she rasped out.


    ¡°Good enough to walk,¡± Tristan said.


    He¡¯d got a bad roll of the dice when he pulled on his contract to force Cozme Aflor to get stuck on their side of the inferno: a chunk of collapsing ceiling had hit the man¡¯s feet, which had flavored his backlash. The spray of wooden shards from a splintering board had hit mostly flesh, but he¡¯d still had to tie cloth around his leg just above the knee to prevent his trousers being soaked in blood. They had not moved far from the hole in the wall, so when the last of them squeezed through he overheard the talk.


    ¡°My thanks for the help,¡± Cozme panted out, patting his clothes into order.


    He he¡¯d lost his musket during the chaos, by the looks of it.


    ¡°If you had not tugged me back, that chunk of ceiling would have caught my head.¡±


    Tristan winced, which the older man took as sympathy, but was in truth over the prospect of how vicious his contract backlash would have been over that. The thief nodded back at Cozme, too on the edge to feign deeper companionship.


    ¡°We need to move,¡± Zenzele Duma cut in, voice tense. ¡°I do not see Lady Angharad or the others, which means-¡±


    ¡°We make our own way out,¡± Tupoc cut in with a drawl. ¡°Obviously.¡±


    It seemed such a petty, pointless offence that Tristan was tempted to dismiss it as Tupoc being habitually unpleasant but the watchfulness of the Izcalli¡¯s eyes revealed that to be a lie. A test, Tristan decided. He¡¯s prodding Zenzele to see how close the man is to drawing on him. By how the Malani¡¯s hand tightened around the grip of his sword, the answer was very close indeed.


    ¡°The postern gate is on the west side of town,¡± Tristan said. ¡°The most direct route takes us through a street just short of the town square, however, so I would suggest cutting across town and circling around the north instead.¡±


    ¡°A longer trip will be more dangerous,¡± Cozme said.


    There was crashing sound to their side as another chunk of ceiling collapsed inside the Last Rest, prompting a furious scream from the mayor and panicked shouting from the cultists still contesting the legitimacy of his election. Maryam cleared her throat.


    ¡°Let¡¯s argue further away from that,¡± she croaked out, pointing at the mess.


    Sound advice, which they all took. Heeding the thief¡¯s suggestion of cutting east across town instead of keeping west, where the alleys often turned into dead ends meeting the palisade, the five of them fled. Tupoc took the lead, likely as much to keep his distance from the others as because he preferred the vanguard, and while Maryam kept Cozme distracted Tristan drifted towards the back.


    Before he could so much as speak a word, Lord Zenzele Duma frowned down at him.


    ¡°You are a headache, did you know?¡± Zenzele said. ¡°Half the people I speak to think you are a champion in the making, the other half that you are a feckless poison.¡±


    Tristan cocked an eyebrow. Not even a poisoner ¨C which admittedly he was ¨C but poison outright. A bold claim.


    ¡°And you?¡± he asked.


    ¡°I am uncertain,¡± Zenzele grunted. ¡°Which is disconcerting for more reasons than you know.¡±


    Oh? That smelled of a contract, a morsel he might have liked to nibble at in other circumstances. Unfortunately, he must keep to greater concerns.


    ¡°I am a rat, that is all,¡± Tristan shrugged. ¡°But, it seems to me, a rat who might share some interests with you.¡±


    Bait had been set out but Zenzele Duma did not bite it. Instead the Malani noble kept silent, eyes flicking back and forth across thin air as if parsing out the invisible. An ill omen.


    ¡°What is it that makes you want to kill Cozme Aflor so very badly?¡± Zenzele suddenly asked.


    Tristan stilled. He had been excruciatingly careful never to be outwardly hostile to the man. Even when he had spoken against Cozme during the discussion in the town square, it had been as part of several ¨C and Yong¡¯s broadsides at him afterwards should have distracted most from remembering it besides. Even now, approaching the Malani, he had not given a name. And Tupoc is the one who tried to get me killed for Jun¡¯s death, so he should be the first guess.


    This was the work of a pact, and the thought that one might allow Zenzele Duma to see through his every fa?ade was¡­ uncomfortable. Like learning your shirt had been split open at the back the whole time.


    ¡°Guesswork,¡± Tristan said, forcing his tone to be dismissive.


    But he had hesitated for a second too long, he already knew, and Zenzele rolled his eyes.


    ¡°You want to use me,¡± the noble stated. ¡°Send me after Tupoc while you go for him so he cannot intervene.¡±


    That was an unpleasantly accurate read of his intentions.


    Tristan swallowed, looking for anything at all on the man¡¯s face he could use but finding no purchase. Zenzele Duma¡¯s grief had been open, his hatreds were known and his recent friendships were obvious, yet the thief found through these nothing at all to move him. The thief looked away, deeply unsettled. Everything he had learned, been taught, told him that Zenzele Dum should be easy to leverage. Instead he was finding that the man¡¯s forthrightness had whittled away every grip, leaving him too slippery to move.


    ¡°I owe him a debt,¡± Tristan reluctantly said. ¡°The bloody kind.¡±


    Zenzele considered that.


    ¡°As a servant of the Cerdan or on his own account?¡±


    ¡°Oh, very much his,¡± Tristan murmured.


    Zenzele grunted.


    ¡°You do not strike me as man to whom hate comes easy,¡± the Malani said, rolling a shoulder. ¡°I will presume it was earned.¡±


    He spat to the side, into the mud of the street.


    ¡°I want Sarai¡¯s help,¡± he said. ¡°Wounded or not, he might well kill me otherwise.¡±


    Practical of the man.


    ¡°She is no fighter even with Signs,¡± he warned. ¡°But a distraction can be arranged.¡±


    The noble looked like he wanted to push for more, but Tristan was only willing to promise so much and it must have shown on his face. There were other ways to line up his knife with Cozme Aflor¡¯s back, this was simply the most expedient.


    ¡°Fine,¡± Zenzele said. ¡°Signal me when the time comes.¡±


    Tristan nodded back. However tense the conversation he found that in practice they had barely spent half a street quietly speaking. Tupoc had them turning a corner short two streets short of the piled lumber hiding the gaol, to head straight north as the thief had earlier suggested and no one cared to contest any longer. It was there they first ran into more than the distant sound of musket shots: a dozen slaves, bearing makeshift clubs and field tools, filled the street before them. They turned, faces alarmed, and before anyone could so much as raise a weapon Tupoc stepped forward. He lowered his spear, saying something in the same cant he had used earlier, and it gave the hollows pause.


    Their leader, a grey-haired woman with broad shoulders, asked something harshly. Tupoc shrugged, replying, and there were a few more terse exchanges before the hollows began to make room for them to pass through the street.


    ¡°Tupoc?¡± the thief asked.


    ¡°I made it known we have fought devils as well,¡± the Izcalli said. ¡°That earned us some goodwill.¡±


    ¡°They will let us cross?¡± Cozme asked.


    ¡°So they said,¡± Tupoc cheerfully said. ¡°Though I would keep my weapons in hand, were I you.¡±


    The hollows seemed as wary of them as the other way around, both sides eyeing each other until their group of five had passed the former slaves. The five of them hurried once they were clear, the hollows watching them go. Tupoc gestured for them to slow as soon as they had turned a corner.


    ¡°They also let us pass because they are heading for the battle,¡± the Izcalli said. ¡°Their captain seems to believe that the Red Eye cult is winning.¡±


    ¡°Slaves and savages against a pack of devils?¡± Cozme skeptically said. ¡°It will be a massacre even with the numbers on their side.¡±


    ¡°There are still sounds of fighting in the distance,¡± Maryam pointed out. ¡°Something must be evening the scales for there to be no clear victor.¡±


    ¡°We saw the warband that is now attacking Cantica when we made our way here,¡± Tristan slowly said. ¡°They had a priestess with them, a woman the other cultists seemed to fear.¡±


    ¡°Pacts with old gods are dangerous things,¡± Tupoc said, tone unusually serious. ¡°That which has no restraint in price yields none in power.¡±


    That last sentence had sounded oddly cadenced, likely a quote. They began moving north again, skirting the edge of town to get around the fighting in the middle, but soon ran into cultists against. One cultist, more specifically, marked with ritual scarification from head to toe and trying to harangue a group of cowering slaves hiding out in the garden behind a house into joining their way. He turned his anger and his spear their way, shouting in some cant, but whatever he might have been about to say was cut short.


    Cozme shot him in the gut without missing a beat.


    He blew the smoke off his pistol¡¯s barrel as the slaves screamed in fear, some scattering while others flattened themselves behind rows of cabbage.


    ¡°That should have been bladework,¡± Tupoc tightly said. ¡°Someone will have heard you.¡±


    ¡°There are shots all over town,¡± Cozme dismissed.


    ¡°But not from here,¡± Tristan said. ¡°Let us pick up the pace before someone thinks to question that.¡±


    He slid by Maryam as their strides quickened. She cocked an eyebrow his way and he wasted no time quietly filling her in on the bargain with Zenzele. She grimaced.


    ¡°I will not use a Sign on Tupoc,¡± she murmured. ¡°It is too dangerous.¡±


    The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    He did not hide his surprise. She had not mentioned him to be dangerous in that regard before.


    ¡°That spear of his,¡± Maryam said, ¡°I saw it go right through a devil¡¯s carapace. I think the head is candlesteel.¡±


    ¡°I have never heard of it,¡± Tristan admitted.


    ¡°Izcalli will not reveal how they make it,¡± she said, ¡°but supposedly it has something to do with their infamous candles. The material is death on aether ¨C even the solid kind devils are made of ¨C and it¡¯s only marginally kinder to Gloam, so no Signs anywhere near him.¡±


    Considering Leander Galatas had exploded his own arm when a Sign of his broke back on the Bluebell, that seemed wise.


    ¡°Any kind of distraction will do,¡± he whispered.


    A moment of hesitation, then she nodded.


    ¡°I will not be sticking around,¡± Maryam informed him. ¡°The moment they fight, I run.¡±


    ¡°I expected no less,¡± he said. ¡°Besides-¡±


    In the distance there was a burst of fire and light as a burning house collapsed, stopping them in their tracks as the brightness revealed a slice of nightmare near the town square. Screaming devils twined in red string were fighting against others of their kind while scarred cultists in a phalanx kept away more of the creatures from their wildly laughing priestess, whose hands seemed to direct the puppeteered devils. Steel and powder faced a tide of claws and ripped shells, more hollows with makeshift weapons streaming from all sides to throw themselves into the fight.


    ¡°You might have been right about taking the long away around,¡± Cozme conceded into the silence.


    ¡°Kind of you to say,¡± Tristan replied. ¡°But let us-¡±


    For the second time in less than a minute he was interrupted, again by the collapse of a house near the town square. Only that one had not been on fire a moment ago. With a faint whistling sound a second shell fell down, striking the melee at the heart of the town. The impact flattened a devil and turned three men to pulp.


    Far to the north the night filled with light as the Watch¡¯s cannons began raining down fire on Cantica.


    Why would they, Tristan began to think, but before he finished the question he already had the answer. Maryam had told him that in Three Pines the Watch had some kind of Antediluvian wonder that could see things afar. Of course they had used it after the collapse of the mountain, and used it on Cantica in particular ¨C it was where survivors would be heading. They must already know that the devils broke the terms and that the town was being conquered by the cult of the Red Maw.


    The devils had been right, in a way: the Watch had written off the trial for this year. Only they¡¯d been written off with it.


    ¡°We need to get out of this cursed town right now,¡± Cozme hissed.


    ¡°Everyone will be rushing to the postern gate now,¡± Tupoc calmly noted. ¡°It is closest to the town square.¡±


    Meaning going that way was certain death. And looming trouble for Angharad¡¯s crew, if they used that side of the town to circle north towards the meeting point. Which he thought most likely, since the other group would be expecting them to leave through that same gate. That might well turn into a disaster, the thief thought, but it was not one he could do anything about.


    ¡°Straight to the front gate,¡± Tristan said.


    The world went bright.


    It was a heartbeat before Tristan realized he was on the ground, his ears ringing. The house ahead of him was a shattered, burning wreck and he threw up on the ground. He could barely focus his eyes as he crawled away, limbs trembling. Had he dropped something? His bag was still on his back, but¡­ He saw silhouettes moving, someone helping him up. Maryam, he saw, looking worried.


    ¡°-r me?¡± she was asking. ¡°Tristan?¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± he croaked. ¡°That¡¯s me.¡±


    ¡°You were lucky,¡± she said. ¡°If that had hit ten feet to the right, you would be pulp.¡±


    ¡°Lucky,¡± he repeated, rasping out a laugh.


    The others were¡­ Tupoc was on his knees but pushing himself up. Cozme seemed fine, though he was looking strangely at Zenzele who¡­ had his sword in hand as he moved behind the Izcalli.


    ¡°That,¡± Zenzele Duma coldly said, ¡°will do.¡±


    He rammed the blade into Tupoc¡¯s back, but the pale-eyed man twisted at the last moment. It was a wound, not a kill, and with a laugh the Izcalli swatted Zenzele¡¯s leg. They fell, wrestling. A curse, and Tristan watched with wide eyes as Cozme Aflor bolted. He cursed in turn, pushing himself off Maryam, and his eye caught a glint of light on metal. His pistol lay where he¡¯d fallen, flames reflecting off it.


    Yong¡¯s pistol, the last piece of the bridge had had burned.


    Cozme was getting away, every breath furthering the distance.


    His stomach clenched. Tristan looked at Maryam, found those blue eyes on him, and swallowed.


    ¡°Go,¡± she said. ¡°Finish it. I will collect if we live.¡±


    He licked his lips.


    ¡°You know where I¡¯ll be,¡± he said.


    And off he ran after Cozme, snatching Zenzele¡¯s abandoned lantern as he went.


    --


    He ran through the nightmare, pursuing an older one.


    Smoke and fire and screams, Cozme Aflor¡¯s silhouette just far enough ahead with every breath he suffered the fear of losing him. The man was heading straight for the front gate, in as clean a line as he could, but the thief knew it would not work. Both devils and cultists would be heading for the postern to the west, but once one side had the clear advantage of that skirmish the losing one would be headed to the other way out.


    To Tristan¡¯s surprise, it proved to be the devils that lost out.


    Cozme hastily stopped and slid behind a couple of barrels come loose from a pile as a pair of devils still in their corpses came running out of a larger street, bickering in Antigua as they ran for the front gate. Tristan saw the grimace on the older man¡¯s face even before he slid down by his side. Cozme stiffened, hand reaching for his blade, but Tristan lay a finger on his lips. The older man bit the inside of his cheek, remembering that evils had uncanny hearing, and conceded with a curt nod.


    They waited until the devils were out of sight.


    ¡°Why did you follow me, rat?¡± Cozme bit out when he finally felt safe.


    A shell hit a few blocks to the east, both of them flinching as a house shattered.


    ¡°You think I want to be in the middle of that brawl?¡± Tristan replied. ¡°I want out of this town place, Aflor.¡±


    ¡°Find your own way,¡± Cozme grunted.


    ¡°My way was the front gate, same as you,¡± Tristan replied, sounding impatient. ¡°Only it won¡¯t work, will it? It¡¯ll be full of devils with the same bloody idea.¡±


    Another shell fell, further away. They still tensed at the sound. Tristan licked his lips, made himself look nervous.


    ¡°Look, I might know a place to hide out away from the bombardment,¡± he said. ¡°Found it with Xical and Tredegar.¡±


    The mustachioed man stared at him.


    ¡°The underground gaol,¡± he said. ¡°The one where you found first found the slaves.¡±


    Tristan nodded.


    ¡°It should be empty now,¡± he said. ¡°The cultists would have hit it first, those prisoners were sure recruits.¡±


    Cozme slowly nodded, face never wavering, and a heartbeat later Tristan had a knife at his throat. Gods, he¡¯d not even seen the other man unsheathing it. Groggy as he was from the shell earlier, that was sloppy of him.


    ¡°Why?¡± Cozme asked suspiciously. ¡°Why run after me to share this and not simply go yourself?¡±


    Tristan bit his lip, made himself look aside. Look how embarrassed I am, he thought.


    ¡°Because I can¡¯t defend the place,¡± he said, feigning bitterness. ¡°If cultists go there, or a devil-¡±


    ¡°They will trounce you,¡± the older man finished, sounding thoughtful. ¡°And the foreign girl¡¯s near as useless, it¡¯s true, so she was not worth bringing along.¡±


    A shell hit something a few blocks over, screams sounding out. Cozme took away the knife.


    ¡°All right,¡± he said. ¡°Lead me to the gaol, Tristan.¡±


    --


    The place stank of mud and filth, but that was only to be expected.


    It was large enough that the two of them could have a few feet between them, and through the open hatch half-covered by wood they could see the bombardment still lighting up the night. Until the Watch was done hammering away at Cantica, it would have been madness to leave their hiding place. Maryam should be headed this way as well, soon enough, so Tristan must end it before then.


    He did not want his friend in the middle of this.


    The bare stone room they sat in was about ten feet long and teen feet wide, a rough square, and there was nothing inside save for the open door leading into the deeper gaol full of shit and straw. Tristan had Zenzele¡¯s lantern at his side, almost entirely shuttered so it could not draw attention.


    Cozme still had his sword and knife, but no longer his musket and his pistol had not been loaded since he¡¯d killed a cultist with it. Tristan himself was down to his blackjack and knife. He did have needles in his bag, but a subtle blow with them would be nigh impossible in a place like this.


    Cozme Aflor was a fit man with two inches on Tristan, and though in his fifties the soldier was a hardened killer grown long in the tooth doing the dirty work of House Cerdan: in a straight fight Tristan would lose, and what could there be but a straight fight in a room of bare stone?


    Fortunately, Tristan still had the last of Abuela¡¯s gift. Two vials: bearded cat extract and medical turpentine.


    He palmed his vial of bearded cat extract and quietly uncorked it, dripping the liquid into the shuttered lantern. The entire dose went in there, enough to drive a dozen men mad for an hour, but it would barely be enough for what he needed. The dose he could deliver by a needle or a knife would be too slow to act, but Alvareno¡¯s Dosages was full of interesting notes about the substances it recommended for a poison box.


    Like, for example, that when left near a source of heat for the correct amount of time bearded cat tincture turned into a kind of volatile smoke very sensitive to temperature. Tristan discreetly got rid of the empty vial and waited for Cozme to be looking up through the hatch to take off his tricorn. The other hand he kept on the lever that moved the shutters.


    ¡°Cozme,¡± he whispered.


    The moment his enemy turned, he pulled the lever. The shutters opened and with the difference in temperature ¨C hot in, cold out - white smoke came billowing out furiously. Tristan covered his face with his tricorn, throwing himself back, but still felt smoke lick at his skin in the few heartbeats before it dispersed. His skin grew red and welted wherever it was touched, the sensation deeply unpleasant.


    It was probably why Cozme Aflor was screaming, as it¡¯d gone right into his eyes.


    Most of the mind-altering properties were lost when the extract was made into smoke ¨C it caused barely a tingling sensation, instead of hallucinations and violent bouts of emotion ¨C but it did become significantly more acid. Tossing aside his hat, Tristan found Cozme clutching at his eyes and palmed his blackjack, coming closer to aim a blow.


    The man moved, though, and what should have been a hard strike on the side of the head instead caught his shoulder. Cozme reacted swiftly, grabbing his wrist and yanking Tristan forward. Keeping silent save for grunt of efforts, the thief wrestled with the old killer. An elbow hit his chin and he hissed in pain, striking at the flesh under Cozme¡¯s ribs in retaliation, but then the mustachioed man headbutted him.


    Vision swimming, Tristan rolled away only to hear the sound of a knife leaving the sheath. He kept rolling, Cozme blindly stabbing at the ground where he had just been, and grit his teeth. He¡¯d heard Cozme beat a god in a knife-fight, out in the maze. Even with the other man blind he doubted he would win.


    ¡°I knew there was something off about, you little shit,¡± Cozme snarled. ¡°Who was it that hired you, the Ruesta?¡±


    Tristan drew further back and held his breath, but he knew that would not last long. The older man¡¯s eyes were closed and cringing, but he might still be able to see some and the pain would pass. His gaze swept the room, finding it bare save for one thing. Swallowing, he bet on a gamble: Tristan threw his blackjack against the wall to Cozme¡¯s left, and while the man struck blindly there darted to right. Where he snatched up the lantern, swinging the mass of forged iron Cozme¡¯s head even as the man turned back his way.


    It caught him right in the cheekbone, crunching most satisfyingly as Cozme Aflor dropped to the ground.


    Oil went spilling, aflame, but hit only stone. It would keep. Tristan dropped the lantern, just carefully enough it wouldn¡¯t spill, and kicked the knife out of Cozme¡¯s hand as the man lay moaning on the ground. He kicked the man in the stomach, making him curl, and took his sword out of the sheath before tossing into the other room.


    In the distance, the fires of the blackcloak artillery burned.


    Tristan went about it methodically. Boot coming down he broke the right knee, the older man screaming hoarsely. Then he broke the left arm, at the elbow. That should be enough to prevent Cozme overpowering him. Finally baring his own knife, he sat on the man¡¯s chest and rested the blade against this throat.


    ¡°Fool,¡± Cozme croaked. ¡°The bitch is dead, do you really think the Ruesta will still pay you?¡±


    ¡°I have no agreement with House Ruesta,¡± Tristan said. ¡°Our business, Cozme Aflor, is much older than that.¡±


    The man blinked, eyes red and tearing.


    ¡°Who are you?¡± Cozme rasped.


    ¡°My name,¡± he coldly said, ¡°is Tristan Abrascal.¡±


    It had been years, more than a decade, but still the old killer remembered. It barely took him a moment. Tristan might have cut him, if not for that.


    ¡°The violinist,¡± Cozme said. ¡°Tomas Abrascal, gods. You¡¯re the son.¡±


    ¡°I am the boy who was hiding under a table when you put a bullet in his father¡¯s head,¡± Tristan told him. ¡°He¡¯d been so strange, those last few weeks. Mother kept crying and I worried, thought he might sick. So I followed him, thinking as children do that I would protect him.¡±


    Cozme rasped out a laugh.


    ¡°Manes,¡± he said. ¡°He was close to losing it, so we brought him in through the trap door. There weren¡¯t any guards in that house - you saw that fucking slaughterhouse, didn¡¯t you?¡±


    If Tristan lived to be five hundred years, he would not forget what he had seen down there. Children in pieces, strapped to stables and hooked to copper wires. Barrels of limbs, pools of blood. Men with more parts sown on than not and that¡­ thing held up in the air by golden chains so no part of it could touch the ground.


    ¡°I told them a second entrance was a terrible idea,¡± Cozme said, ¡°but Ceferin insisted. We couldn¡¯t keep bringing people in through the warehouse, people would ask questions.¡±


    ¡°Theogony,¡± Tristan said. ¡°That¡¯s what you four called it, when you had your little talk. What were you doing down there, Cozme? What was it all for?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, kid,¡± Cozme tiredly said. ¡°I just ran the guards, Ceret was the one with the grand plans. They put me in charge of finding Murk folk who already had contract, then Lord Lorent introduced them to the Almsgiver.¡±


    Tristan stilled, for at long last he had the fifth name on his list. The name of the god that had its filthy hands all over this butchery, that had contracted with his father knowing it would kill him.


    ¡°The god that gave out the contracts, this Almsgiver,¡± he said. ¡°Was it a Mane, Cozme?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Cozme replied, too quickly.


    ¡°Tell me,¡± the thief hissed.


    The older man laughed, only laughing harder when Tristan pressed his knife harshly against his throat.


    ¡°You¡¯re going to kill me anyway, Abrascal,¡± Cozme said. ¡°Your threats mean nothing.¡±


    Tristan slashed through his eyes, the man screaming and struggling. Cozme was stronger, but blind and in pain. It was not a straight fight.


    ¡°Pain always means something, Cozme,¡± Tristan replied. ¡°Tell me.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t fucking know, kid,¡± the older man rasped. ¡°I was just ran the guards.¡±


    Whether that was true or not he could not tell, but he sensed he would get no more out of Cozme. A dead end, but he was not yet out of questions.


    ¡°You were there when they closed it down,¡± Tristan said. ¡°Moved out. Where did they go, Cozme? Where are they butchering children now?¡±


    ¡°Somewhere out in the Trebian Sea,¡± Cozme laughed. ¡°I never asked. Never cared. I¡¯d paid my dues, I was on the rise.¡±


    ¡°Not for long,¡± Tristan thinly smiled.


    Else he would not have been send to the Dominion of Lost Things, risking life and limb for favor.


    ¡°Never for long,¡± the man said. ¡°That¡¯s the way, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    The thief¡¯s lips thinned.


    ¡°Do you even regret any of it?¡± he asked.


    Cozme snorted.


    ¡°I lived like a lord for years,¡± he said. ¡°Rich, respected. I might even have married into a good family, if I hadn¡¯t got cocky at the end. Regrets, Abrascal?¡±


    He was laughing.


    ¡°You think you¡¯re the only one with mud on your shoes, rat? Regrets, gods.¡±


    The blinded man offered a red, ruinous smile.


    ¡°The hungry bite,¡± Cozme Aflor rasped, ¡°the beggared snatch, the cornered-¡±


    Tristan twisted, cut his throat before he could finish the words. He watched the man gurgle, blood spill out, and said not a word as his father¡¯s executioner died. Father, he had been half-mad at the end. One eye gone yellow, a leg growing warped. It had been a mercy in some way, what Cozme did, and for that Tristan did not make his death slow.


    But he did not make it quick either.


    And only when the gurgling ended, when Cozme went still and his began to stiffen, did he finally tear his eyes away.


    ¡°Three,¡± Tristan softly counted.


    May his father be spun smiling by the Circle into his next life.


    He sat by the corpse, silent, waiting for Maryam to join him ¨C perhaps with Zenzele, if the man still lived. And when he closed his eyes, when he thought of the sound of that trigger being pulled and Father¡¯s brains splattering the floor mere inches away from his little feet, of the way he had bit his lip until it bled so he¡¯d not make a sound, the scales felt slightly closer to even.


    ¡°Laurent Cerdan,¡± he whispered into the dark. ¡°Lauriana Ceret. Ceferin.¡±


    All old names, worn from the speaking. And now there was one more to add.


    ¡°The Almsgiver,¡± he tried out.


    It sounded, Tristan thought, like a promise.

 Chapter 44

    The woods around Cantica had been cleared, leaving no true cover close to the palisade.


    The five of them instead gathered around a half-abandoned firepit about thirty feet out, roughly to the west of the town. It had a rack propped up over it that Ferranda said was for smoking meat, and they all felt a little sick at the thought of what kind of meat that might mean. Devils were said to prefer eating men whilst they lived, but they were not above feasting on corpses. Regardless of that understated horror, the pause was most welcome. They were all tired and out of breath, in stark need of reprieve.


    Not that it was only that, for now that the enemy was out of sight Angharad¡¯s oaths were put to the question.


    ¡°This was badly done, Tredegar,¡± Shalini bit out. ¡°You-¡±


    ¡°She didn¡¯t promise a thing, Goel,¡± Lan cut in. ¡°Our good lordling swore to return me unharmed, yeah?¡±


    The Tianxi pointed at the cut on her neck.


    ¡°He let her out of the oath before he even agreed to it.¡±


    Eyes turned to her and Angharad shrugged.


    ¡°I expected him to catch the detail and amend the wording,¡± she admitted. ¡°I agreed because the oath was easy to negate regardless: we could simply warn the Watch that one of the trial-takers feigned their death, then point at every other deceased from the Bluebell manifest and specify it was not them.¡±


    So long as Augusto was not outright named, the oath was not broken.


    ¡°Huh,¡± Shalini finally said. ¡°He¡¯s the one who asked for that wording, I¡¯m surprised he didn¡¯t think of that.¡±


    ¡°He was on edge,¡± Lan told them. ¡°Even more than you¡¯d think. He kept talking to himself and the cultists avoided being anywhere near him.¡±


    ¡°I do not think his contract did heal him,¡± Song said, and that earned instant attention.


    Angharad knew more about the Tianxi¡¯s pact than most, but by now most everyone had figured out that those silver eyes gave her insight into the workings of spirits.


    ¡°The Red Eye, it is a god of feeding,¡± she continued. ¡°When Felis bargained with it his wound was not healed, he closed it with some sort of red crystal that fed on his body. Why would Augusto Cerdan get a better bargain, when he would have bargained from even worse a position?¡±


    ¡°He had a hole through his body, Song,¡± Ferranda flatly said. ¡°He no longer does.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think that¡¯s actually true,¡± the Tianxi replied. ¡°I think that his wounds are still there but that he can fill them up - but that, like the Red Eye, he must keep feeding for them to stay filled.¡±


    Lan let out a low whistle.


    ¡°So the old god¡¯s a loan shark,¡± she said. ¡°Our boy Augusto has to keep what, eating human flesh so what grew back doesn¡¯t whither? No wonder he thinks the Watch will blow his brains out if they catch him.¡±


    ¡°Something like that,¡± Song agreed. ¡°I imagine his pact lends him a way to feed at a touch, if the cultists feared coming close.¡±


    ¡°We should take care to avoid getting close to him, then,¡± Angharad said.


    ¡°You say that like you are not planning to kill him before night¡¯s end,¡± Ferranda said. ¡°Though I will admit I am not sure how you would get around the terms.


    ¡°That oath does seem pretty straightforward,¡± Shalini agreed, cocking an eyebrow. ¡°Tredegar?¡±


    The terms were simple enough, that was true. She was to commit no violence against Augusto Cerdan nor allow her companions to do the same, or attempt to imprison him nor allow her companions to do the same, until twenty four hours had passed. Only he had not though to anchor the oath in-


    In the distance, the night lit up with thunder.


    No, she realized. Not thunder. These were cannons. And the shattering cacophony inside Cantica revealed exactly what they were being turned on, sowing fire and screams. The five of them went still, like rabbits before a wolf, as bombardment began in earnest from north of the town. Where they had been headed.


    ¡°Those are guchui rounds,¡± Song finally spoke into the silence.


    Shalini breathed in sharply.


    ¡°Thunder shells?¡± she said. ¡°I thought the Republics kept a tight lid on those.¡±


    ¡°They sell them to the Watch,¡± Lan said, with strange certainty. ¡°Sometimes the crates are kept in Sacromonte warehouses until they can be distributed to the right Garrison force.¡±


    Angharad could feel the capital letter on Garrison, even in Antigua. It was not unwarranted, for though the free companies of the Watch made up the majority of its numbers the ruling council of the blackcloaks, the Conclave, commanded the single largest number of soldiers in black cloaks. They must, to protect their Trebian territories and uphold their duties under the Iscariot Accords.


    The soldiers of the Garrison were considered second-rate compared to the more glamourous company men, Angharad knew, but that only meant so much. Getting bit by a hound instead of a wolf was hardly kinder on the hand.


    It occurred to the noblewoman a moment later that Lan, given her unseemly origins, might well be so certain because she had participated in robbing the Watch. It was somewhat embarrassing it had taken her so long to catch that, but for all the woman¡¯s Sacromontan quirks she had to admit that Lan did not act much like she had imagined a criminal would. She was clean and well-spoken, not constantly drunk and disorderly, and as far as Angharad could tell she was not constantly lying.


    It would be a stretch to call her an honorable woman, but Angharad would hesitate to say she was even half as detestable as the likes of Augusto Cerdan, to whom she had once so thoughtlessly granted the presumption of honor.


    ¡°If the Watch is shelling Cantica, it¡¯ll be to soften up the opposition before they storm it,¡± Shalini said. ¡°That means they have troops on the way, probably come from Three Pines.¡±


    ¡°Which means we could take refuge with them if we head north,¡± Lady Ferranda said. ¡°That seems the wisest course left open to us.¡±


    ¡°That path takes us by the postern gate,¡± Angharad said. ¡°The others will be trying to evacuate through there, it seems to me we could attempt to join up on the way.¡±


    She had expected to have to fight some of the others for this, particularly Shalini and Ferranda, but they found the two quite agreeable to the suggestion. Zenzele is still with the others, she realized after a moment. It was Lan that objected, though in words carefully coached to give no offense.


    ¡°I do not mean to linger overlong,¡± Angharad assured her. ¡°Only to ascertain if we might bolster our numbers on the way north.¡±


    ¡°There will be a lot of rats trying to leave that sinking ship, Lady Tredegar,¡± Lan warned her. ¡°We¡¯re just as likely to run into enemies as friends.¡±


    It was true, she knew, but yet worth trying. As everyone save Lan shared her opinion, there was no further debate and they headed out briskly. Cantica was not so large that it would take long to get past the town, and they were already on the right side to reach the postern gate anyhow. It was but the work of minutes to make their way there on yellow grass, weapons out and eyes wary. The postern gate was carefully hidden from the outside, made to look part of the palisade, but their crew had the advantage of having Song among it so Angharad hardly worried of finding it.


    Even that hardly proved unnecessary, as there was no missing the gate when they got there: it was wide open.


    Eyes sweeping their surroundings, Angharad found nothing but an expanse of empty yellow grass from the edge of the woods to their west and the palisade to their east. The open grounds continued to the north in a wide curve until they reached the continuation of the beaten earth road leading to the port of Three Pines. Inside the town, past the palisade, they could hear the roar of flames and the occasional shot as the Watch¡¯s bombardment continued to methodically demolish Cantica.


    ¡°They might have left it open after Augusto let them in,¡± Lady Ferranda said.


    ¡°Smells like ambush,¡± Shalini grunted back, shaking her head.


    ¡°No sign of our companions,¡± Lan said. ¡°We should move on.¡±


    Angharad hesitated. She liked the look of this no more than Shalini, but an empty field was no reason to leave behind comrades. They could at least-


    ¡°Movement,¡± Song suddenly said, musket rising.


    Only she was not looking at the open gate, Angharad realized, but the woods.


    From which a cultist warband was charging out.


    --


    He wasn¡¯t sure how long he sat there in the dark, with only a shuttered lantern with company, but it was a relief when someone craned their neck past the edge of the trap door.


    ¡°I hope you¡¯re down there, because if you aren¡¯t I¡¯m going to have to drop him and I¡¯m not sure he¡¯ll live,¡± Maryam called out.


    ¡°Please do not,¡± Zenzele Duma croaked. ¡°I will most definitely die.¡±


    Huh, he thought as he got on his feet. The Malani had lived, fancy that.


    ¡°I¡¯ll admit,¡± Tristan called back, ¡°even opening with a sword in the back, I figured Tupoc would kill you.¡±


    ¡°Stop taunting him and help me get him down that ladder,¡± Maryam said. ¡°The last shell hit just a few blocks away, I do not care to stay out here.¡±


    He opened the lantern¡¯s shutters and moved to lend a hand as had been requested. And a hand was most definitely needed, for Zenzele Duma looked as if he had been thrown down a hill made of blades. He no longer bore his coat and his shirt was ripped clean through, revealing a nasty gut wound as well as a deep cut that went from the side of his torso to right below the hollow of his neck. Tristan thought one of his arms might be broken as well, for he used only one to move down the ladder, but found it was truly because the Malani was cradling something in his hand.


    It was only when Zenzele turned to be helped down the last rungs that the thief saw the worst wound of them all: his right eye had been ripped through, roughly enough it must be the work of nails and not a blade. Tristan swallowed.


    ¡°Not a pretty sight, is it?¡± Zenzele weakly laughed. ¡°And I did not even kill the bastard while he might well have killed me, had cultists not come looking because of Cozme¡¯s shot. That and Lady Sarai¡¯s priceless help, of course.¡±


    ¡°Call me Maryam,¡± she said as she came down the ladder, closing the trapdoor behind her. ¡°I suppose that game has finally run its course.¡±


    She glanced at the Malani, not harshly but without much kindness either.


    ¡°And it was luck on your part, Duma. If I hadn¡¯t run into them myself I wouldn¡¯t have doubled back and found you lying there.¡±


    Tristan helped the man to lower himself and sit against the wall, still clutching something in his hand.


    ¡°Try stabbing the head first, next time,¡± Tristan advised. ¡°Works better than the back.¡±


    Zenzele convulsed, letting out a ragged wheezing sound.


    ¡°Sleeping God, Tristan, don¡¯t make me laugh,¡± he said. ¡°I think it makes my inside bleed.¡±


    The thief mercifully spared him further amusement, finding Maryam looking at him with a raised eyebrow.


    ¡°I did get something from him, yes,¡± Zenzele muttered, seeming to talk to no one in particular. ¡°He will remember it.¡±


    And the dark-skinned man finally loosened his grip, smiling as he revealed the eye on the palm of his hand. It was cut up and red, but Tristan had seen that eerie paleness often enough to recognize it. That was Tupoc Xical¡¯s eye, he was sure of it. Zenzele murmured unintelligibly after that, staring at nothing as he sagged against the stone.


    ¡°He dips in and out of things,¡± Maryam said. ¡°I don¡¯t suppose you have anything left for pain?¡±


    ¡°Clean out,¡± Tristan said. ¡°I can clean some of his wounds and bandage them, at least.¡±


    ¡°Please do,¡± she said.


    Blue eyes moved to the corner, where the shadows half-cloaked Cozme¡¯s body. Zenzele had been too out of it to notice.


    ¡°Did you get what you wanted?¡± Maryam quietly asked.


    ¡°From him? Enough.¡±


    In the pale lantern light, the sharp cast and colors of her hardly seemed a woman¡¯s ¨C like sapphires cast in marble, too angular to have been born and not carved.


    ¡°But did you get what you want?¡± she asked again.


    He breathed out.


    ¡°It is not finished,¡± he said. ¡°There are four others left before the account is settled.¡±


    She sighed.


    ¡°I suppose it was too much to hope you would be done with it,¡± Maryam said. ¡°Will you try for Augusto?¡±


    Tristan shrugged.


    ¡°The Watch will have him marked for death,¡± he said. ¡°I see no pressing need to pull the trigger myself.¡±


    ¡°So you can be taught,¡± she drily said. ¡°Promising.¡±


    The thief licked his lips, unsure of what he had to say but certain of the need for it.


    ¡°Before,¡± he said. ¡°When I left you behind, I-¡±


    ¡°I do not care for apologies,¡± Maryam told him. ¡°I have... I understand the demands the past can make, let us leave it at that. If your actions bring you sorrow, Tristan, do not repeat them. The past is a dead thing.¡±


    He passed a hand through his hair, feeling so very tired.


    ¡°I¡¯ll not excuse or justify,¡± Tristan finally said. ¡°But when I go for the second name, it will be in a manner that does not lead me to regrets.¡±


    She studied him for a moment.


    ¡°My mother always said that no amount of regrets will built a cairn, but she was a hard woman,¡± Maryam said. ¡°Too hard, in some ways. It was why her men gave her up to the Malani at the end.¡±


    He hardly dared breathe, for never before had Maryam spoken a word of her past.


    ¡°It matters, that you regret it,¡± she said. ¡°But only so much. Remember that, next time you stand at that same crossroads.¡±


    The pale woman reached for her bag, claiming something inside, and offered it to him. Even in this trembling light, Tristan could not mistake it for anything else: Yong¡¯s pistol, the grip held towards him. The same he¡¯d left in the mud when he ran after Cozme.


    The rat swallowed, licking his cracked lips.


    ¡°You picked it up,¡± he dumbly said.


    Maryam pressed it into his palms, closed his fingers around it.


    ¡°Once,¡± she warned.


    --


    Before Angharad could so much as open her mouth, Lan fled.


    Back the same way they had come: straight south, as fast as her legs could carry her. The noblewoman hesitated then moved to join her, looking at the others. Song caught her by the shoulder.


    ¡°We have to go back in the town,¡± she said. ¡°Now.¡±


    Angharad gaped. There was bravery and then there was foolishness. If everyone was fleeing Cantica, then there might be devils headed for that very postern gate right now. She was not the only to think this madness. The cultists were gaining on them, even if they were still far out. At least a dozen of them, all running.


    ¡°That¡¯s going to get us killed,¡± Shalini said. ¡°Every second we are not running south we-¡±


    A shot rang out and they all flinched.


    ¡°Into the town,¡± Song hissed. ¡°They have muskets, we can¡¯t stay in the open.¡±


    Heart in her throat, Angharad turned and saw exactly what she feared: Lan was on the ground. It was her the cultists had been aiming at. She was still moving, struggling to get up, but the shot had clearly hit here.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you dare,¡± Song began, but she was already running.


    She glimpsed ahead and banked hard to the left to avoid getting shot in the gut, Song putting a bullet in the shooter¡¯s head a heartbeat later. Her legs burned but she ran, glimpsing again. She had to slide low, boots ripping into dead grass to avoid another shot. Song was reloading, could not silence the enemy twice in such quick succession.


    Lan turned to her, her side bleeding, and got on her knees. Angharad scrambled back up, glimpsing again, and saw the shot before it happened.


    ¡°Du-¡±


    The bullet took Lan in the cheek, as if some invisible maw bit through flesh and bone, and it was mercy the impact spun her around. What little of that death Angharad had just seen she would not soon forget.


    ¡°-ck,¡± she finished, nauseous.


    ¡°Come back, you damn fool,¡± Song snarled.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    They were going for the door, all three of them, but only Shalini had her eyes on it. Song and Ferranda had their muskets out and were firing at the cultists, covering her still. Three of the warband had split off to go after her, Angharad saw, but she was faster. Her legs were longer. She left them behind, the one who came closest shot in the leg by Ferranda, and Song slew another hollow musketman without batting an eye.


    She caught up to them just as they got to the open postern gate, hollows close on her heels. Shalini was ushering them one after another, eyes calm. Angharad passed her, feeling a hand pat her back, and the Someshwari moved so quickly after that she barely even caught it. A heartbeat, then smoked billowed and Shalini had two pistols in hand.


    Two cultists dropped dead, the others tripping into them, and the Someshwari slammed the door behind them. She locked it after as Angharad stumbled forward, panting from the fear and run and the companion she had failed to protect. If she had been just a little faster, cut it closer with the shot she had slid to avoid¡­ Ferranda squeezed her shoulder.


    ¡°You tried,¡± the infanzona said. ¡°Eyes up, Angharad. We¡¯re not out of trouble yet.¡±


    She swallowed, shaking off the other woman, but a look around told her that Ferranda Villazur had the right of it.


    They were not out of trouble yet, for before the mud of Cantica¡¯s streets was filled with corpses.


    The sight of that silent spread of death filled her with more dread than the sound of cultists trying to jostle the postern gate open behind them, slamming fists against the wood and unloading their muskets. It was not the bombardment that had done this, they could all see it plain. The heaps of hollows and devils had been killed the hard way, cracked and cut and pierced. Some devils looked like their torso had been pulped, the remains disgusting to behold.


    ¡°Manes,¡± Ferranda breathed out. ¡°What did this?¡±


    In the distance there was a shrill scream, the sound of it like walking on broken glass. They all flinched.


    ¡°Whatever it was, it is no longer here,¡± Song said. ¡°Best to get gone before it returns.¡±


    In the distance, another shell lit up the dark as it hit Cantica. The bombardment was tapering down, but it was not yet done.


    ¡°We need to leave this town,¡± Angharad said, then sighed. ¡°Again.¡±


    ¡°The main gates, then,¡± Shalini said. ¡°I don¡¯t think our friends outside are going to be letting us pass through.¡±


    As if to agree with her, a cultist unloaded into the door again. Not that muskets would help any there, Angharad thought. The door was thick, solid wood. Odd that they would waste powder on it when that was plain to see.


    ¡°I see no better plan to be had,¡± Song finally said. ¡°Ferranda?¡±


    ¡°Sounds better than joining them,¡± the infanzona said, nodding at the corpses.


    They set out as quickly and quietly as they could. The fastest path would be south of the main street, but that was too likely to find them a fight. They kept two streets off instead, even if would take them longer with all the detours. Much of the town was on fire, now, and they hardly needed a lantern to seen. It was why Angharad saw him at the same time he saw them.


    Walking down the street alone, humming, Mayor Crespin had not a mark on him save for some ash on his clothes. Even his shell was pristine, knuckles barely scuffed though there was some blood around his mouth and under his fingernails. The four of them slowed at the sight of him, Ferranda quietly cursing. Angharad¡¯s lips thinned. There was no fire on this part of the street, only dark and empty houses with tiled roofs on both sides.


    ¡°I don¡¯t like the look of that fight,¡± Shalini admitted.


    They would, Angharad suspected, have a choice of whether or not it was to be fought. Before she could call out, the approaching devil broke the silence.


    ¡°You returned,¡± Mayor Crespin said, sounding baffled. ¡°Why ¨C nay, it matters not. Let us put an end to our pointless palaver. Cantica has breathed its last, I must make arrangement.¡±


    Angharad¡¯s jaw tightened.


    ¡°I will get close,¡± she said. ¡°Try to get shots in, pinning him is our best chance.¡±


    ¡°Your best,¡± Crespin replied, revealing rows and rows of teeth, ¡°is not enough.¡±


    There was a sharp whistling sound, a for a moment Angharad hoped a shell was falling. Instead the devil¡¯s hand reared up, catching what she realized was a stone. Polished and the size of a small fist, but very much a stone. The devil let out an amused noise.


    ¡°A slinger?¡± he said, tossing the stone behind him. ¡°How nostalgic.¡±


    He was looking up at the roof to their side, and Angharad followed his gaze. There was a man up there, in a black cloak. She caught a glimpse of Aztlan features under the cloak, then the watchman raised a hand. He snapped his fingers and there was sudden buzzing sound.


    Mayor Crespin¡¯s arm down to the elbow, the same that¡¯d caught the stone, was pulped.


    The devil screamed, legs ripping free from his shell like it were paper, but liquid darkness formed a circle with something inside it just above his head. Angharad¡¯s gaze shied away from the Sign, even as the devil turned limp for a heartbeat. A heartbeat was all it took, for another blackcloak emerged from the dark of an alley behind the mayor. They bore a long spear ¨C no, a harpoon. The head was barbed.


    The Sign above the devil dissolved a heartbeat before the harpoon went into his back.


    Crespin screamed and struggled but the watchman danced away. The harpoon did not move, however, as if stuck in the air, and the devil was stuck on it.


    ¡°All yours, lieutenant,¡± the blackcloak said.


    A woman, Angharad caught. There was a Tianxi lilt to her words. The slinger above chuckled, taking his time to place another stone on a leather strap at the end of a rope and swing it. The stone hit the devil in its head this time, despite Crespin¡¯s desperate struggles. The lieutenant snapped his fingers and buzzing sound returned, even louder.


    A heartbeat later, the devi¡¯s torso was black mulch and Angharad swallowed, unsure whether she felt disgust or awe.


    ¡°Impressive, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    The noblewoman nearly leapt out of her skin, reaching for her saber until she found a knife lazily pressed against her throat. There was a fourth blackcloak next to her, and from the shouts of the others they had just noticed it as well. How? They had been in the middle of the alley.


    ¡°Don¡¯t think too hard on it, Tredegar,¡± the blackcloak teased as they drew back the blade, face hidden under the hood. ¡°You might sprain something.¡±


    ¡°You know who I am?¡± she got out.


    ¡°I read the docket for the recommended,¡± the watchman said. ¡°Headed for the Skiritai, is it? You¡¯ll have to work on your awareness, else they might decide you need to be taught.¡±


    ¡°I will,¡± Angharad slowly said, ¡°keep that in mind¡­ sir?¡±


    ¡°Sir will work,¡± the watchman said. ¡°The four of you surviving should count as a Trial of Weeds complete, given the circumstances. Congratulations in advance.¡±


    ¡°The Watch is already inside the town?¡± Song asked. ¡°You are still shelling it.¡±


    The Aztlan with the sling, the one the other had called lieutenant, leapt down from the roof and landed in the mud with a wet squelch.


    ¡°Not the regulars, girl, just us,¡± he said. ¡°We are cleaning house with the worst of the lot before the palisade is breached and the proper sweep begins.¡±


    There was another of those ear-splitting screams in the distance.


    ¡°Enough chitchat,¡± the lieutenant grunted. ¡°Chameli is taking too long with the Saint.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s a Saint here?¡± Ferranda asked, sounding worried.


    ¡°The priestess leading the warband pulled a little too deep,¡± the watchman that had put a knife to her throat said. ¡°Useful in cleaning up the devils, but she¡¯s a feeder. Those are always tricky to kill.¡±


    Song cleared her throat.


    ¡°Lieutenant,¡± she said, ¡°I understand that you have a charge, but if one of your squads could spare-¡±


    The blackcloak with the harpoon, who had just ripped it out of the mayor¡¯s remains, let out a snort.


    ¡°Crews?¡± she said. ¡°There¡¯s only us, girl. The commander knew it¡¯d be excessive force already.¡±


    ¡°Five of you,¡± Angharad slowly said. ¡°Five of you did what we saw at the entrance?¡±


    ¡°It was getting boring in Three Pines,¡± the lieutenant shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s good to stretch our legs now and then.¡±


    That hadn¡¯t been what - the chatty one she had called sir clapped her shoulder, overly friendly.


    ¡°I would recommend hiding out in the west of town until it¡¯s over,¡± they said. ¡°We already cleaned it up. Don¡¯t go through the main gates.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡± Angharad asked.


    ¡°The regulars set up a killing field there,¡± the lieutenant said. ¡°They¡¯ll shoot on sight.¡±


    He whistled sharply afterwards, striding away without another word. The harpooner followed, and the Navigator had never come out in the first place.


    ¡°Good luck,¡± the chatty one said waving back as he followed, walking backwards. ¡°Try not to die, I have coin riding on you and Duma making it to the end!¡±


    The four of them were left there standing in the street, as if a storm had just blown through. Sleeping God, Angharad thought, remembering the carper of corpses. Five of them. Shalini cleared her throat.


    ¡°West, then?¡± she tried.


    It seemed a sounder notion than being shot by their own rescuers, at least.


    ¡°I know a place,¡± Angharad said.


    --


    By the time Tristan finished seeing to Zenzele¡¯s wounds the Malani was alert again.


    Pain was a fine enough anchor, and there was only so gentle the thief could be when cleaning wounds that serious. He was thanked, afterwards, and that courtesy extended to the young lord pretending he could not see Cozme''s corpse in the corner of the room. Tristan had considered throwing in the gaol in the back, but Zenzele had already known what he intended and could out him for it should he wish.


    It had also been pretty funny to watch the Malani have to pretend there wasn¡¯t a dead man a couple of feet away from him, which might have weighed on his decision more than was strictly wise.


    ¡°The shelling has stopped,¡± Maryam noted. ¡°I expect the Watch will assaulting the town soon.¡±


    ¡°Now would be the time to get out, if we do not want to be stuck between the hollows and the rooks,¡± Tristan agreed. ¡°Lord Zenzele, would you feel up to the trip?¡±


    The man hesitated.


    ¡°If you help me,¡± he finally said. ¡°We risk cultists coming here to hide if we stay much longer anyhow, and I mean no insult but I do not be believe we would prevail in such an encounter.¡±


    Tristan, who had over the last few days been savagely beaten not once but twice by greyhairs, saw no grounds to argue that point. He was honestly unsure if Lord Zenzele might not be the best fighter of them still even in his state.


    ¡°We could take on one hollow,¡± Maryam firmly said.


    ¡°Two, if they¡¯re children,¡± Tristan added.


    Zenzele convulsed again, breath wheezing.


    ¡°What did I say,¡± he gasped, ¡°about making me laugh?¡±


    It was more laborious than difficult getting him out of the gaol after that, Maryam heading up to drag him by the shoulders while Tristan stood below to push him up by the waist. The thief got out with the lantern in hand while Zenzele leaned against Maryam for support.


    ¡°Should I ask what happened to Cozme Aflor?¡± the Malani lord casually asked.


    ¡°Lost him in the chaos,¡± Tristan just as casually replied. ¡°Who knows? He might have fallen down some stairs.¡±


    ¡°Very sharp stairs indeed,¡± Zenzele muttered, and asked no more.


    Large swaths of the town were on fire, but the southern part ¨C close to the main gates ¨C seemed to have been the least ravaged by the bombardment. To Tristan that reeked of leaving a hole in the barrel so you knew where the water would go, even more so when he risked climbing atop a half-wrecked house and stood on the roof to have a look at the rest of Cantica. There was a hole in the palisade to the north of the town and the Watch seemed to be sweeping towards the south street by street.


    He climbed down to tell them as much and Zenzele grimaced.


    ¡°They are driving the hollows out into the open grounds to the south,¡± the Malani said. ¡°They must already have men in place there, they left a path out so they will not have to dig them up street by street.¡±


    ¡°That will become good news in a while,¡± Tristan said, ¡°but until then it means that every surviving hollow and devil in Cantica is being driven our way.¡±


    A heartbeat passed.


    ¡°We could go back in the hole,¡± Maryam reluctantly said.


    Zenzele Duma looked as if he did not know whether to laugh or cry.


    ¡°That would be even riskier than we thought,¡± Tristan said. ¡°It¡¯s a good place to ride out the Watch sweep, and there¡¯s former slaves with the cultists. At least some of them will know the place.¡±


    ¡°Heading towards the gate would be worse,¡± Maryam said. ¡°Everyone else will be doing the same.¡±


    ¡°We could try to hide-¡±


    ¡°Stop,¡± Zenzele hoarsely whispered. ¡°We need to hide right now.¡±


    His eyes were wide but clear, and though he was looking at thin air that did not necessarily mean he was raving. Tristan caught Maryam¡¯s gaze and nodded, the two of them helping the Malani limp towards the back of the piles of lumber.


    ¡°Quick, he¡¯s close now,¡± the lord said.


    ¡°Who?¡± Maryam asked.


    ¡°Augusto Cerdan,¡± Zenzele replied. ¡°Black chords for all three of us, he wants ¨C needs, maybe? ¨C us dead.¡±


    That, Tristan thought, sounded like a very useful contract. He¡¯d not even said anything and still he found Fortuna sitting on a roof and glaring down at him as he helped lead Zenzele into a small dead-end alley behind the wood piles. He sneered back at her. If she did not want him to have contract envy, then perhaps she should have offered better goods.


    It was a very expressive sneer, as proved by his goddess¡¯ outraged cry.


    While the thief had no great love for dead-end alleys, it was the best they could do as a hiding place in a hurry and if it came to running it was likely Zenzele was dead anyway. The two of them lowered him behind a barrel of dirty rainwater, his back to it so his legs wouldn¡¯t stick out, and the thief handed Maryam the lantern so she could shutter it. Just in time, as they all heard urgently speaking voices approach.


    "It''s close to here, I swear," a woman¡¯s voice said in Antigua.


    Tristan crept to the edge of the alley, crouching low, and risked a look. Five people had come from the west of Cantica, and though he could only make them out partly through the gap in wood piles the thief saw enough. Three armed and scarred men, cultists. A fair-haired woman in rags and badly bruised, likely a former slave.


    And, as Zenzele had warned, Augusto Cerdan.


    ¡°It had better be,¡± Augusto said. ¡°If you wasted our time, perhaps it will lead to our deaths ¨C but I assure you, it will lead to yours first.¡±


    Ah, infanzones. How lucky for the rest of Vesper that they now got to experience their particular charms.


    ¡°My brother helped dig it,¡± the woman insisted. ¡°We¡¯ll have to crawl, but it gets us past the palisade.¡±


    Tristan stilled. Some kind of tunnel out? No, anything that large would have been noticed. More a crevice to squeeze through, likely widened as discreetly as the slaves could. While the thief would have preferred it should that crew be headed for the gaol ¨C it would have been child¡¯s play to lock them up inside ¨C he would settle for them showing him a way out of this town. A glance back showed him that Zenzele was safely tucked away behind the barrel and Maryam doing her best to hide herself behind him.


    There was hardly anywhere for him to hide even were he inclined to try, it was better to move.


    Tristan crept away silently, moving behind one of the wood piles. The hollows had no lantern but one of them did hold a torch, which he kept high while the sole woman among them began patting away the bottom of the palisade past the lumberyard. Careful to position himself so someone wandering in from the north of the town, the thief settled in to wait them out. They hardly seemed to be paying attention to their surroundings, but that did not mean they were not dangerous.


    One of the cultists said something to Augusto, too low for Tristan to overhear, and the infanzon gestured impatiently at him.


    ¡°So go and piss, then,¡± the Cerdan bit out. ¡°And do it out of my sight, none of us need to see whatever tumor passes for your cock.¡±


    The other two cultists laughed, speaking quickly in a cant. The tone, though, was universal. They were making fun of the third, and not nicely. The cultists stomped away angrily, scowling, and that was their luck turned. Because when Tristan realized the man was headed their way he was able to move around the wood pile and keep himself out of the sight, but the moment the cultists saw there was an alley he headed straight there.


    And hollows saw better in the dark, so he was sure to see Maryam even if he missed Zenzele.


    Fuck, Tristan thought, palming his blackjack. Even if he took out the man before he could shout, the others would notice in short order. They¡¯d have to grab Zenzele and flee immediately, else they would be forced into a fight they were sure to lose. Augusto alone might have been enough to kill them, with that brutal contract of his, throwing in warriors too was smothering all hope. Biding his time, the thief circled entirely around the wood pile as the cultist walked past it and ended up at the man¡¯s back.


    Grunting as he approached the alley, the man propped his spear against the side of the shed at the corner and reached for his trousers. Tristan followed, steps silent and arm raised, as the cultist reached the alley and-


    ¡°Found it!¡±


    And it all went to the dogs. The cultist turned to look back, catching Tristan with his hand raised, and the thief struck but it was already too late. The man got off half a shout before the blackjack his the side of his head, and he moved with the hit besides. Dazed but not unconscious. Cursing, the thief struck down at the crown of his head but the hollow got his hands up in time and tackled him. They rolled on the ground even as the cultists shouted out in cant.


    ¡°Move,¡± Maryam growled.


    Obeying half on instinct, Tristan elbowed the cultist and threw himself off. A heartbeat later Maryam impaled the man with his own spear, right in the belly. The thief scrambled to his feet, looking back at the others as she coldly finished off the dying man, and saw trouble. The other two cultists were headed their way, Augusto elbowing them aside to take the lead.


    ¡°Is that you, rat?¡± he called out.


    ¡°We need to draw them away,¡± Tristan murmured to Maryam. ¡°They might miss Zenzele.¡±


    She nodded.


    ¡°Lord Augusto,¡± Tristan called out, smiling winningly. ¡°What a coincidence to run into you here. Why, I was hoping-¡±


    ¡°Take him alive,¡± Augusto ordered the cultists. ¡°Unless you¡¯d prefer me topping off on one of you.¡±


    Neither men look pleased at the threat, but they were more fearful than angry.


    ¡°It seems we got off on the wrong foot,¡± Tristan said, edging away from the alley. ¡°I shall, uh, leave you to your business. Good luck you, my lord.¡±


    Maryam raised the spear, which she seemed to have some training in using, and withdrew with him as the hollows approached. Both were armed, and no doubt better fighters. It¡¯d be best to run now, it would also get them running after without first looking-


    A strangled, coughing last came from the alley and Tristan almost cursed. There was no way the cultists had missed that, Zenzele was good as dead.


    ¡°You fool,¡± he hissed. ¡°What was so funny it was worth slitting your own throat?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re all fucked,¡± Zenzele croaked back.


    A heartbeat later a shot took the lead cultists in the throat, blood spattering wood, and the other one barely had the time to turn before death was on him. He thrust his spear but Angharad Tredegar pivoted around the blow like they were dancing, arm striking out like she knew where his neck was going to be an entire second before it got there. The cultists¡¯ head fell on the floor, his body staying upright for a moment after, and the mirror-dancer did not even stop moving.


    Just like that, easy as snuffing out a candle.


    ¡°You again,¡± Augusto snarled, stepping back in fear. ¡°You got out, what are you doing-¡±


    ¡°That is none of your concern,¡± the Pereduri replied.


    She was not alone. Shalini and Ferranda stood by her side, and by that perfect shot earlier Song must not be far either. Had Lan ditched them? Likely, if they¡¯d gone back into the town. She was too clever a rat to let herself be talked into that. Feeling rather outnumbered, the infanzon cast a look around and found the same thing Tristan had just noticed: the woman left while they were all distracted. Whether she¡¯d found her crevice or just legged it he had no idea, but good on her.


    Wisest thing anyone had done all night.


    ¡°I am still protected by your oath,¡± Augusto called out. ¡°You and all your companions, even those two. If you try to imprison me, you reveal yourself without-¡±


    ¡°Get on with it, Lord Augusto,¡± Tredegar said. ¡°Your voice irritates, I must admit.¡±


    Tristan¡¯s hand went for his pistol, Yong¡¯s pistol, but something about the pleasantness on Tredegar¡¯s face stopped him. She did not usually feign a good mood, when denied something, and they all knew she badly wanted Augusto Cerdan dead. Instead he stepped forward, up to her side, and waited to let this play out.


    It did not feel like a done thing, not yet.


    --


    Angharad watched as Augusto Cerdan slunk away, smirking, and wondered what he even thought he might achieve by going towards the palisade. Ultimately, she did not care enough to ask. Glancing at the Sacromontan who had just joined her, she inclined her head in a greeting he returned.


    ¡°Tristan,¡± she said. ¡°I believe you own a pocket watch. Might I borrow it?¡±


    The Sacromontan eyed her curiously, but he nodded and fished out the piece. It was simple but lovely work, Angharad found, polished bronze that popped open with ease. She marked the position of the needles, the lateness of the hour. It was four fifteen past midnight. The Pereduri delicately pushed the hour needle forward, all the way around the watch twice until it came to rest at four fifteen again. Nodding her thanks at Tristan, she handed him back his watch as he watched her bemusedly.


    ¡°Song,¡± she said. ¡°If I could have the use of your musket?¡±


    The Tianxi cocked an eyebrow but passed her firearm without asking why. Angharad aimed it, trying to recall what little she knew of using guns, and Song sighed.


    ¡°Like this,¡± the other woman said, leaning close to adjust her stance with gentle nudges.


    Angharad raised the gun until it was of a height with her cheek, the butt near the crook of her elbow, and breathed out before placing her shot and pulling the trigger. Flint sparked, powder caught and smoke billowed out.


    The bullet took Augusto in the back of the knee, though she had been aiming for the leg.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Angharad politely said, passing the musket back.


    Song looked baffled, opening her mouth then closing it, and the Pereduri left her behind as she strolled after Augusto. The Cerdan was screaming and rolling on the floor, his shot knee a bloody ruin. Though his cloak was in the way he ripped clear his sword when he heard Angharad coming. Wordlessly, she unsheathed her saber.


    ¡°You bitch,¡± Augusto snarled. ¡°You took an oath, you-¡±


    ¡°Followed it to the word exact,¡± Angharad mildly said. ¡°Is it no fault of mine that you bargained poorly.¡±


    Twenty-four hours had passed on Tristan¡¯s watch: she was, thus, free of her oath. She stood there patiently, waiting for him to drag himself up on his pulped knee. The only reason she had shot him was so that he would not be able to run into the woods and hide. With a hoarse scream Augusto Cerdan got up, leaning on his sword for help.


    ¡°We will begin at your leisure,¡± she informed him. ¡°Prepare as you will ¨C no others will intervene, it is yet a matter of honor.¡±


    Something halfway between hate and disbelief bubbled up onto his face as he realized that this was not simple killing but exactly what she had promised: an honor duel.


    ¡°You demented fucking girl,¡± he breathed out. ¡°You¡¯re still on about Gascon even now?¡±


    Most scholars agreed that if an opponent was capable of talking without difficulty, they should be considered fit to fight. Disinclined to walk too close to the line, Angharad flicked up her sword in a slow movement. A warning, which Augusto heeded. Screaming, he charged at her. The man was fit and from the way he held his blade had been schooled in swordplay, but he was wounded and raw.


    It did not matter: even at his best there would have been no doubt about the outcome.


    Angharad stepped around his blow, coat trailing behind her, as her footing drifted and she placed her blow to the man¡¯s stumbling back. She slashed through his cape and clothes, carving into muscle and bone, and Augusto dropped with a scream. She moved around his flailing, careful to avoid his touch. Song had said it was all his contract required to be used.


    ¡°You can¡¯t,¡± Augusto snarled. ¡°You promised, Tredegar, promised. You have to let me go, Malani can¡¯t just lie-¡±


    The point of her saber went right through his throat, a clean thrust.


    ¡°Pereduri,¡± Angharad coldly corrected. ¡°As you once told your brother, there is a difference. Had you believed your own words, you might have lived through this.¡±


    She ripped out her blade, and with it the infanzon¡¯s life.


    Angharad did not offer a blade salute, for the corpse was underserving of the honor, but she went through her pockets and dropped her last handful of coins on his chest as custom dictated. That was the real choice, wasn¡¯t it? The Fisher pretended that it was either black or white, that she could either follow her father into the grave or damn herself to his tune, but that was not the truth of it.


    No empty salute, but copper for the grave.


    That was a choice, just like when she used the words exact. To judge who deserved honor in spirit and who deserved it to the letter was not a not some cliff she was tumbling pas the edge of, some disease or addiction. It was just a choice. There was nothing mystical about it. And maybe there would come a day where the hate and fear cracked her faith, where the remembrance of the screams on the wind had her cast away her honor for a ruinous oath, but that was not an excuse. She knew better.


    That was the first and last lesson of mirror-dancing: to fight yourself was to lose.


    That was why no stripe was added after the tenth, no matter how many times one danced with the mirror afterwards. Theirs was not the boast of Malani swordmasters, each line a fresh victory, but a simpler declaration. To be a swordmaster was to prevail over others, to be a mirror-dance was to prevail over yourself. To surpass your limits, your weaknesses. The tenth time the mirror was danced was merely proof the dancer had chosen their path and would walk it until the end found them.


    For the moment the dance began, defeat began walking your way from the other end of the road. There was no telling when it would find you, where and facing who, but what did that matter? The mirror always won, eventually. You could not win against yourself forever, no more than you could win against tide and storm. But it wasn¡¯t the end that mattered, it was the fight.


    And Angharad, as she sheathed her saber, decided that she yet had it in her to fight.

 Chapter 45

    Four, Tristan counted as the blade went through Augusto Cerdan¡¯s throat.


    Though he allowed himself a moment to bask in the satisfaction of yet another Cerdan put in the ground, some precautions were in order. Clearing his throat, he leaned in to politely ask Shalini to shoot Augusto in the head twice more just to be sure. The gunslinger snorted but shot the possibly dead infanzon in the head and heart a heartbeat later. By simple hand, not using her contract, as the unnecessarily flashy spinning of her pistols proved.


    Tredegar gave them a mildly disapproving look, but Tristan was unwilling to take a risk with a Red Maw contract. With reason: a heartbeat later, Augusto¡¯s corpse began shriveling up.


    It shook and warped and ate itself from the inside, until the cadaver was little more than brown leather with a massive stomach wound going through it. When it finally stopped moving, cracking open like a clay left to dry in the Glare for too long, a hush fell over their group.


    ¡°I take back the snort,¡± Shalini finally said. ¡°Well done, man.¡±


    Tristan tipped his tricorn back. It was not every day he got to arrange the desecration of an infanzon¡¯s corpse and come off better for it. Tredegar cleared her throat, looking embarrassed. Like some slip of a girl at her first dance instead of the whirlwind of death that had casually torn through a man and coldly executed another on a technicality. The thief doubted he would ever get used to that gap.


    ¡°Yes, indeed,¡± Angharad said. ¡°I had thought him dead.¡±


    Fair be fair, she had stabbed him to death. And she was owed some courtesy for scratching another name off his list without bringing any suspicion onto him.


    ¡°I expect any of us would have been, in his place,¡± Tristan said. ¡°But Lord Augusto contracted with a god of the Old Night, and these are made of sterner stuff.¡±


    The gods that had ruled Vesper before Morn¡¯s Arrival might have been toppled from their thrones but even their remnants were fearsome things.


    ¡°Eh,¡± Fortuna sniffed disdainfully, leaning on his shoulder. ¡°We could walk that off too, I¡¯m pretty sure. Ask the girl to shoot you too.¡±


    The Lady of Long Odds went ignored, as was her due. By the flicker of gratitude on Tredegar¡¯s face she seemed to believe he was being polite instead of truthful, which was mildly amusing as for once he had been entirely forthright with her.


    ¡°The hollows with Lord Augusto spoke of a hidden passage out of Cantica hidden nearby, one of them even finding it,¡± the thief continued. ¡°If you give me a moment to look we should be able to leave this town behind at last.¡±


    ¡°That would be lovely,¡± Lord Zenzele croaked out.


    He¡¯d been helped out of the alley by Ferranda, who looked rather worried at the state of him. Not without reason, given his gut wound and missing eye, but Tristan gave him decent odds of surviving now. Had they been out in the wilds the Malani would have been good as a corpse, but now the Watch was here. The bleeding alone shouldn¡¯t kill Zenzele and with a proper physician taking care of him the Malani should be able to avoid infection, the complication most likely to send him for another spin of the Circle.


    It took Tristan a little under a minute to find the hidden passage out Cantica. It was nothing more than a shallow gap under the palisade, just large enough to squeeze through if you were willing to eat some dirt, but it would serve well enough. Earlier it had been concealed by a rock and an angle in the dirt ¨C someone had raised a slight slope on the side to make it less obvious to the eye ¨C but the fleeing slave hadn¡¯t bothered to put those back after she messed them up going through.


    After calling out his find to the others, Tristan allowed the tension in his shoulders to loosen. With the passage found there would be no talk of riding out the Watch assault in the gaol, and so no need to explain Cozme Aflor¡¯s corpse. The thief honestly believed he would have been able to talk himself out of that grave, but it would be best never to step in it if he could.


    Though the tallest among them ¨C Zenzele and Angharad ¨C looked somewhat queasy at the prospect of having to go through that narrow a gap, no one argued against leaving Cantica. It yet remained a risk they might get caught between the Watch sweep and some fleeing cultists, or worse some feet-dragging devils. They set up a rearguard to cover themselves and began crossing, Tristan the first through. Dragging his belly through the dirt, the thief emerged into faded yellow grass.


    He made room for Ferranda Villazur, dusting himself off as he got onto his feet. There was no sign of the hollow girl from earlier, but then if she had any wits at all she¡¯d still be running. Song had mentioned something about the Watch encircling the town, but unless the garrison in Three Pines was much larger than the supplies on the Bluebell had implied the encirclement would not be airtight. She had a shot at making it through.


    Fishing his tricorn out of the bag he¡¯d put it in for the crossing, the thief patted the worst of the dust off it and put it back on. Much better.


    ¡°You do know that hat is a decade out of fashion, yes?¡± Lady Ferranda amusedly said.


    The infanzona looked bruised and tired, but like him the relief at escaping Cantica was lending her a second breath.


    ¡°The current fashion involves feathers, Villazur,¡± Tristan disdainfully replied. ¡°If I were meant to be a bird, I would have been born one.¡±


    The infanzona traced the Circle on her left shoulder, lips twitching.


    ¡°That¡¯s heresy,¡± she informed him. ¡°Palingenesism, to be exact. Only Someshwari cults argue the Circle can spin us into animals.¡±


    ¡°Well, they must have the right of it,¡± the thief easily said, ¡°for how would you explain the Cerdan if not a past life as some manner of pig?¡±


    She choked, and was still laughing when Song emerged from the gap and asked what they were speaking about.


    ¡°The heresy inherent to the porcine condition,¡± he told the Tianxi.


    ¡°I am impressed that you would admit to being pig-headed,¡± Song replied without batting an eye, ¡°but it is hardly heresy, Tristan. Don¡¯t be so hard on yourself.¡±


    ¡°Harsh,¡± Ferranda appreciated.


    And now the nobility was conspiring with foreigners to take advantage of good, honest Sacromontan folk. Typical. Instead of allowing himself to be further tarred and feathered, the thief ¨C as honest a profession as any in the City ¨C suggested they start a makeshift camp if they were to remain out here until the Watch was finished with Cantica. There was no telling how long it would take, after all.


    Song pointed out a pit meant for burning trash that he¡¯d missed a dozen feet to their left and Ferranda volunteered to get a fire started. She recruited him as labor, seeming surprised when he admitted he knew little of how to use a flint and tinder. It wasn¡¯t his fault, the thief thought with irritation, that his lessons about lighting fires had been strictly about arson ¨C an exercise that usually required more elaborate tools than sharp rocks and kindling.


    There was still some leftover trash in the pit, mostly animal bones and pottery shards, but luckily there were some logs left as well. It was enough for the infanzona to get a fire going while he served as a glorified windbreak for her efforts, though they might need to venture out for firewood if the flames were kept going for long.


    The rest trickled in one after another, the only trouble coming with Zenzele. He needed help on both sides, Tredegar pushing him from one and Shalini dragging him up from the other. The tricky part was doing that without ripping his wounds open further, but they seemed to manage decently enough. Though the seven of them kept their weapons close, as they settled around the somewhat stinking fire they unbent some.


    The battle was not finished, the shots and shouts from inside Cantica made that much clear, but their part in it was. Even if there were still devils or cultists around, they were much mor likely to be hiding than looking for a fight. Wary as they still were, the heat of the fire and the relative safety greased the wheels enough for conversation to start. Mostly about what had taken place since they parted ways.


    That led to an unpleasant surprise.


    ¡°Lan ran for the south when the cultists came out of the woods,¡± Ferranda said. ¡°One of them winged her with a musket shot, and though Lady Angharad tried to help her back up-¡±


    ¡°I was too late,¡± Tredegar sadly said. ¡°The bullet caught her in the face. Death was instant.¡±


    Tristan¡¯s jaw clenched and he ignored Maryam¡¯s searching gaze. Lan had not been a friend and barely a companion, there was no need for pity. He was surprised, that was all. The thief had honestly thought Lan would make it to the end, clever and careful as she was. And she almost had, but almost never counted. If she had not run, then... well, there was no telling. Perhaps the cultists would have fired at the others instead, killed Song or Ferranda.


    Instead Lan had made herself the standout target and paid for it. All it took was one mistake.


    ¡°Now that we know the Watch has encircled the town, I wonder if the cultists were not fleeing blackcloaks,¡± Song said, looking into the flames. ¡°They were quite intent on following us into the town, desperate almost.¡±


    ¡°I imagine we will be able to ask the rooks if we survive the night,¡± Shalini sighed, then quirked an eyebrow at them. ¡°And what were you lot up to? You are missing two.¡±


    ¡°The Watch¡¯s shelling of Cantica effectively announced the end of the Trial of Weeds, and thus any possible justification for maintaining the truce,¡± Zenzele Duma calmly said. ¡°I sought justice for Ayanda against the last remaining architect of her death.¡±


    That got everyone talking, the Malani lord withstanding the storm of worry and cheering and disapproval with remarkable aplomb for a man who must be barely staying conscious. Maryam was praised for doubling back and helping him after Tupoc made his escape ¨C ignoring her insistence that she was avoiding the same cultists they ended up fleeing ¨C and with that skein laid out the conversation turned to Tristan¡¯s part.


    ¡°I ran after Cozme, but he¡¯s quick and my leg is wounded,¡± the thief said. ¡°I had to stop when I encountered two devils headed for the front gate, and after that I headed to the gaol to wait this all out. The other two caught up to me there.¡±


    ¡°I have not seen Cozme Aflor since he ran off,¡± Zenzele mildly said. ¡°He might well be dead.¡±


    Tristan carefully did not smile at the lordling, who was beginning to grow on him. Malani, he thought, were rather reliable when you had them in your debt. Zenzele Duma would now consider them square for the thief having seen to his wounds earlier, but that was fine by him. Those two sentences had been more than fair payment for the service.


    It didn¡¯t matter if they weren¡¯t entirely believed, as between he and Zenzele they had enough people invested in their telling of it being true that there would be no argument. Song¡¯s silver gaze lingered on them both, but she had no horse in this race so why bother? The sole danger came when he glimpsed doubt in Tredegar¡¯s gaze ¨C more directed at Zenzele than himself, interestingly enough. Whatever her suspicions, they never passed her lips.


    It looked like Tristan might just have got away with it.


    --


    They all saw it when the ambush was sprung south of Cantica.


    The night broke as a thunderous volley lit up the woods along the dirt road, screams resounding all the way to their fire. Though they tensed, several bringing up weapons, no one came their way. The shots were irregular after that, as if the blackcloaks had been freed to fire at will, but large pillars of pale light rose from the depths of the woods. Glare lanterns, and not small ones. The fighting went on for a few minutes more but not much longer than that.


    It must have been a massacre.


    Angharad could not much muster much sympathy for cultists and devils, though she felt a pang of worry at the thought that some slaves might have been caught up in the slaughter. Hopefully most would have stayed inside Cantica, where the watchmen would see to their safety as they swept through the town. That part of the battle must be close to done as well, for it had been some time since a shot had last sounded within the palisade. What parts of it were not aflame, anyhow.


    Angharad wondered if Tristan even realized his careless gesture had turned half the town into Yong¡¯s funeral pyre.


    They had been encamped around the fire for barely more than an hour when finally they saw movement. A party that must have come through the front gate was approaching at a brisk pace. A dozen men, which had them all reaching for arms until Song made out the black cloaks. Even more reassuring, two of the watchmen seemed to be carrying a stretcher. Their company got on their feet as the blackcloaks approached nonetheless, a tall woman with the Someshwari look to her approaching ahead of the rest.


    ¡°Sergeant Hina,¡± she brusquely introduced herself. ¡°We were sent to fetch you and pick up your wounded, but first I need names and a headcount.¡±


    That much was easily provided while Zenzele was helped into the stretcher under Ferranda¡¯s watchful eye. The sergeant, openly tired and her cheek touched with ash, squinted down at a paper in her hand that might be the Bluebell manifest and sighed.


    ¡°Were there any other survivors?¡± Angharad asked.


    She suspected not, given how very exactly Zenzele had spoken about Cozme Aflor. The only thing that had stilled her tongue was that she could honestly think of no reason for the other noble to want the man dead.


    ¡°Tupoc Xical,¡± the sergeant replied. ¡°He joined in the scrap with the Saint around the town square and made enough of an impression the cabal sent in by Commander Artal is personally debriefing him. No others were found.¡±


    Tupoc. Of course the smug Izcalli was still alive. What, Angharad indignantly thought, was it going to take to kill that man? Zenzele¡¯s face was cold even as he lay down on the stretcher, but he did not seem truly angry. Perhaps he had expected it, for deep down the Pereduri suspected none of them had truly thought Tupoc would die in the chaos.


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    Chaos was where he thrived most.


    ¡°Now I¡¯ve a few items to cross off my list,¡± Sergeant Hina said. ¡°Ferranda Villazur, your attention.¡±


    Lady Ferranda tore her gaze away from Zenzele, looking surprised.


    ¡°You have it.¡±


    The sergeant cleared her throat, and when she spoke it was in the voice of someone reciting something by rote.


    ¡°Given the casualty rates this year and your performance during the trials, Captain Mateo has been instructed to make you two offers,¡± the older Someshwari said. ¡°One of them is going back to Sacromonte on the next ship out.¡±


    Ferranda¡¯s lips thinned. She had already expressed having no intention of returning to her house and responsibilities.


    ¡°And the other?¡±


    ¡°The captain is in town,¡± Sergeant Hina shrugged. ¡°Speak to him and find out.¡±


    The infanzona hesitated.


    ¡°So I will,¡± she said.


    ¡°Good,¡± the sergeant nodded, gaze going through them until it came to rest on Tristan. ¡°Tristan Abrascal.¡±


    Angharad was mildly surprised to find he had a surname, given he had not used it even when naming himself to the sergeant. How odd. There would have been fewer doubts about his skill as a physician had he demonstrated having a background fitted to such a trade,


    ¡°Possibly,¡± Tristan said. ¡°Who¡¯s asking?¡±


    The Watch officer rolled her eyes.


    ¡°An officer was supposed to meet you in Three Pines, but sends word she cannot,¡± the sergeant said. ¡°She was summoned to the Rookery and will seek you out herself afterwards.¡±


    The Sacromontan was usually a guarded man, Angharad had found, and so it was all the more noticeable when his emotions were laid bare for half a heartbeat. Hope and fear and anger, all in one, so intertwined she could hardly tell them apart. And then it was gone in a heartbeat, all tucked away behind a pleasant smile. Curiosity itched away at Angharad. Who was it that had the grey-eyed man looking so raw ¨C family, a lover?


    ¡°Understood,¡± Tristan said.


    ¡°Right,¡± the sergeant nodded. ¡°We¡¯re all finished here, then, save for those of you with that last bit of business.¡±


    ¡°Business,¡± Shalini repeated. ¡°Whose?¡±


    ¡°Not for me to decide,¡± Sergeant Hina said.


    Her gaze swept through them.


    ¡°You are all free to come into town,¡± the sergeant said. ¡°Cantica has been secured and in an hour or two we¡¯ll be sending the wounded to Three Pines in a convoy. You¡¯ll be sent off with them.¡±


    She then sought out Song with her eyes, Sarai after.


    ¡°That said: Song Ren, Maryam Khaimov. Captain Mateo sends word that the trials are officially at an end and thus you are no longer bound to secrecy. Who is it you need?¡±


    ¡°Much appreciated, sergeant,¡± Song calmly replied. ¡°We need only speak with Lady Angharad and Tristan, unless-¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Sarai ¨C Maryam? ¨C said, sounding mildly amused. ¡°I have not changed my mind.¡±


    Song sighed.


    ¡°Lady Angharad and Tristan,¡± she confirmed.


    ¡°I¡¯ll leave you four to it, then,¡± Sergeant Hina said, offering a nod. ¡°Least I can do, given the sheer nerve of what you did. Been the talk of the barracks for weeks, I don¡¯t mind telling you.¡±


    Angharad flicked a glance at Tristan, finding him unsurprised. Song had told the noblewoman she would have an offeror her at the end of the trials, had Maryam told him the same? Both Shalini and Ferranda looked intrigued that they were not being kept back, but little more than that. Exhaustion blanketed them all. As for Zenzele, one of the watchmen was making him drink from a flask and he was not paying attention to much of anything.


    Goodbyes were short, given that they should only be parting ways for a short time, and when the watchmen marched away the others went with them.


    It left the four of them alone around the fire, and for lack of anything better to do as the silence thickened Angharad sat back down. She and Tristan on one side, ¡®Maryam¡¯ and Song on the other. The pale-skinned of the two women glanced at the other, as if to urge her on, and Song cleared her throat.


    ¡°I would have preferred to have this conversation over warm meal and with walls around us, but the gods are fickle things,¡± she said. ¡°I must begin by clarifying something: not all trial-takers are equal, no matter the year, but this one particularly so. Several among us were, in a word, ¡®recommended¡¯.¡±


    She paused as if to let that sink in. Finally they were to learn what all that secrecy had been about, Angharad thought. Well overdue.


    ¡°To be specific, the both of you were recommended as candidates to attend Scholomance when it opens in a few months,¡± Song said.


    The Pereduri cocked an eyebrow. She had heard of Scholomance, the ancient school of the Watch that had closed for reasons much speculated on, but failed to see why she would be interested in attending such a place even if it opened anew.


    ¡°I thought the purpose of these trials that one would be inducted directly into the ranks of the Watch,¡± she said. ¡°Why would anyone choose to become a student instead?¡±


    ¡°Ranks is the right word,¡± Song told her. ¡°That is what survival buys you: a place in the rank and file of the Watch, serving as a soldier of the Garrison or enrolling with one of the free companies. It will be years before you will be considered for an officer¡¯s rank, much less a position of influence.¡±


    She paused.


    ¡°Students of Scholomance, upon graduation, are ordained as members a covenant ¨C what you will have heard called the seven Circles of the Watch. In your cases, the same covenant willing to sponsor your candidature in the first place.¡±


    The silver-eyed woman flicked a glance at Tristan.


    ¡°Krypteia,¡± she said, then turned to Angharad. ¡°And Skiritai. That is where you are headed to, should you accept.¡±


    The grey-eyed Sacromontan did not look surprised at the news, unlike her. She very much doubted that her helpless uncle was a member of the Militants, the finest soldiers of the Watch, so he must have pulled strings somehow. Between his apparently having some strings to pull and the false Yaretzi claiming he had spent a fortune assassinating her would-be assassins, Angharad was beginning to realize she knew much less about Osian Tredegar than she had thought.


    ¡°How long?¡± Tristan asked. ¡°The education, that is.¡±


    ¡°Five years,¡± Sarai ¨C Maryam ¨C replied. ¡°Students will be split into classes according to covenant and taught by veterans from it.¡±


    ¡°There is more to it,¡± Angharad said. ¡°You said you would have an offer for me, Song, but this is not it. I expect a watchman will make this offer again, formally. What is it you want from me?¡±


    ¡°Tredegar¡¯s got it right,¡± Tristan said, cocking his head to the side. ¡°What¡¯s the deal, Maryam?¡±


    The two women traded glances.


    ¡°This offer was made by a member of the Watch, Angharad,¡± Song finally said. ¡°I have been one for two years now.¡±


    Angharad stilled, so many pieces coming together. No wonder the Tianxi had been able to get her hands on a map of the Dominion of Lost Things. The Watch would not deny one of their own.


    ¡°A little longer for me,¡± Maryam said, ¡°but it doesn¡¯t matter much. What does is that the two of us are headed for Scholomance when it opens.¡±


    Tristan let out an amused noise.


    ¡°By the ends of these trials I will be wearing a black cloak,¡± he said, sounding like he was quoting someone. ¡°Clever.¡±


    Maryam smiled back.


    ¡°I try,¡± she said, her false humility distinctly smug.


    Though the pair was droll to watch, Angharad did not let it distract her.


    ¡°You did not need to take these trials to qualify for Scholomance,¡± she stated. ¡°You got in by other means, the same way most the others students will have. So why come here at all?¡±


    Blackcloak or not, Song had come very close to dying several times during the trials. Given that Sarai ¨C Maryam, she reminded herself ¨C was hardly a fighter, the risks for her must have been even starker.


    ¡°For the same reason every cheap mercenary company in Vesper has man waiting next to gaols and gallows, Tredegar,¡± Tristan said. ¡°They¡¯re looking to recruit from the desperate because no one else will come anywhere near them.¡±


    Angharad met Song¡¯s eyes, and she saw the shadow of a wince in them even though it never reached her face.


    ¡°No one attends Scholomance alone,¡± the Tianxi said. ¡°Students are tasked with forming a cabal on the first day, which will undertake the yearly test assigned to all students of Scholomance. The vast majority of students will come from free companies or large Garrison fortresses, so they will be sent together as a ready cabal. There are fewer free candidates, and of those...¡±


    ¡°I am Triglau,¡± Maryam bluntly said. ¡°Half of them assumed I was a candidate¡¯s servant, the other half wanted nothing to do with an ignorant savage from the north. I signed up with Song because she¡¯s about as badly off.¡±


    And that was what befuddled Angharad, for Song did not seem like she should be in such straits ¨C not with her skills, her contract or her character.


    ¡°What did you do?¡± she frankly asked.


    ¡°I was born,¡± Song replied. ¡°I am a Ren of Jigong, Angharad. My family is disgraced beyond what words can convey ¨C and cursed for it by five hundred thousand tongues. No Tianxi will come anywhere near me if they have a choice, and my mere presence would be a stone around the neck of anyone dealing with the Republics going forward.¡±


    A pause.


    ¡°I am also recommended by the Academy and would be the captain of any cabal I am part of unless there is another Stripe candidate to choose from,¡± she added. ¡°Between that and my family¡¯s blackened name, there were few takers. None I would willingly take as comrade.¡±


    ¡°So we looked at the other conduits bringing in Scholomance candidates,¡± Maryam said. ¡°Those that aren¡¯t as pretty. The Dominion was the most brutal proving ground this year, and so the most likely to have hidden gems in it.¡±


    ¡°Now you¡¯re just flattering me,¡± Tristan grinned at her. ¡°Do go on.¡±


    ¡°We agreed on one candidate each, as four is the smallest accepted number for a cabal,¡± Song said, meeting Angharad¡¯s eyes. ¡°I picked you.¡±


    And it would have been a lie to say there was not something of a thrill to the words, to such a skilled person deciding she was the finest pick, but Angharad was not sure she could accept. Not when one day she must leave the Watch to take her revenge.


    ¡°Song,¡± she swallowed. ¡°I-¡±


    The silver-eyed woman rose to her feet.


    ¡°Come,¡± Song said. ¡°Walk with me.¡±


    --


    Tristan did not bother to watch the pair leave.


    He¡¯d not mind making a common cause with Tredegar, even knowing that on occasion he would have to step around her sensibilities, but that was not his trouble to arrange. Instead he sat there with Maryam, warming his hands with the fire.


    ¡°How big do cabals get?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Seven at most.¡±


    ¡°You should have tried to grab Zenzele and Shalini then,¡± he mused.


    Ferranda would not be recommended, although he had some suspicions about the offer she was about to be made by this Captain Mateo. Maryam wiggled her hand in a hedging gesture.


    ¡°It was a favor done to us to be allowed to take the trials at all,¡± she said. ¡°If not for putting ourselves in danger we might not have been allowed.¡±


    The thief hummed with understanding.


    ¡°So taking too many of the spares would be pushing it,¡± he said.


    The first reason he could think of for the Watch drawing candidates through something like the Dominion would be so they could bulk up the number of ¡®free candidates¡¯, meaning that sucking up too many people was likely to be frowned upon by their superiors. Maryam nodded. They sat there in comfortable silence for a moment, the crackling flames keeping them warm.


    ¡°Why me?¡± he asked.


    Her brow rose.


    ¡°I thought you were joking about the flattery,¡± Maryam said.


    He met her eyes.


    ¡°Why me?¡± he simply asked again.


    She snorted.


    ¡°I was thinking of trying Ishaan and Shalini, at first,¡± she said. ¡°Song could tell she has contract troubles, it might have been an angle to rope them in. Only when I was thinking about how to go about it, this rat walked up to me.¡±


    His lips quirked.


    ¡°Your disguise needed work,¡± Tristan said.


    ¡°You had me curious,¡± Maryam said. ¡°Even more after we talked near the docks. And I knew with the map in my head I could join up with the Ramayan crew at any time, so I could afford to hold back and watch until my curiosity was sated.¡±


    ¡°And then you stuck with us when the groups split,¡± he said.


    She softly laughed.


    ¡°It¡¯s easy with you, Tristan, even when you make it hard,¡± the blue-eyed woman said. ¡°You have no idea how rare a thing that is for me.¡±


    He swallowed, faintly embarrassed.


    ¡°Me as well,¡± he admitted. ¡°I have not-¡±


    It was so artless a confession he did not even have the words for it.


    ¡°It won¡¯t be easy, even if Tredegar signs up,¡± Maryam suddenly said, eyes serious. ¡°The tests in Scholomance, they make us compete against other cabals. Most of them will be larger, better trained. And the school itself...¡±


    She grimaced.


    ¡°There¡¯s a hundred rumors about why they closed it, back at the Rookery, but the one that everyone seems to believe is that the casualty rates were unsustainable.¡±


    And unsustainable was no small word when spoken by the lips of the Watch, an institution so large that should all its free companies be counted it might be said to have a larger army than some great powers. Mountains of bodies, it meant. Seas.


    ¡°That will be tricky to navigate,¡± Tristan mused. ¡°I wonder what makes it so deadly? They would not purposefully be wasteful, I feel.¡±


    Maryam¡¯s eyes brightened.


    ¡°You¡¯ll still come?¡±


    The rat leaned forward, gently touching her hand. The one where two fingers were missing down to the phalange, spent to save his life from his own cleverness.


    ¡°I was always going to agree, Maryam,¡± he gently said. ¡°You paid upfront.¡±


    Softly, almost hesitantly, she clasped his hand back. It had been years since someone simply held his hand like that. Had it been as long for her, he wondered? Looking at the faint wonder on her face, he thought it might have.


    And that he did not want to take back his hand scared him more than anything else on this island had.


    --


    They did not step past the edge of the woods, but they went far enough that the light of the fire seemed on a distant shore.


    Song had well weathered the Dominion of Lost Things, Angharad thought. Her collared coat was barely scuffed, her pinned hat singed at the edge but no more. She was hardly even bruised, and the most unkempt part of her was that her long braid was starting to come undone. That was a rare thing: this island, it had swallowed so many of them and even those it spat out had not come out the same.


    Angharad thought of the grief in Zenzele¡¯s eyes, of bent-back Shalini bearing Ishaan¡¯s weight and Ferranda leaving all of the Villazur behind. None of them were the same person that had stepped onto the Bluebell, were they? Something inside them had been cut or ripped or burned, and now who they were would walk with that wound until they died.


    It was not all tragedy. Tristan and Maryam had been strangers a week ago and now they were joined at the hip, eyes never straying too far from each other. They talked like they¡¯d known each other for years, with that same rare fondness Mother had reserved for comrades she had shed blood with. And Angharad herself, she...


    Looking at pale stars above, at the shivering night and the fire that felt like some faraway land, Angharad felt like a stranger still. Peredur was yet home, however forbidden to her. But she had been lost, fleeing across Vesper port by port, and she no longer felt that. She no longer woke smelling smoke, hearing screams on the wind, and though the deaths would never leave her they were no longer the fullness of her shadow.


    She had changed. They all had, save for Song Ren.


    Song who was the same woman she had been on the deck of the Bluebell that first evening, speaking a cryptic warning that went unheeded. Had she ever really lost her cool, even when they almost parted ways over the matter with Isabel? There had been anger, yes, but controlled. The Tianxi had been mistress of herself still. Song had walked through lines and ruins and weeds without a mark, without a loss. Silver as untarnished as that of her eyes.


    The Tianxi was looking into the woods, at whatever secrets the dark might hide, when she finally broke the silence.


    ¡°You were added late to the Bluebell¡¯s manifest.¡±


    ¡°My uncle¡¯s work,¡± Angharad said. ¡°A man I thought half a stranger but might be that a great deal more.¡±


    ¡°It caught my attention, the shared last names,¡± Song admitted. ¡°But only so much. It was when the redcloaks cordoned off an entire dock to catch you and nearly got into a shooting match with the Bluebell that I truly became curious.¡±


    ¡°I have an enemy,¡± Angharad simply said.


    There was a cold look on the other woman¡¯s face as she gazed into the dark.


    ¡°I do not have that luxury, myself,¡± Song Ren said. ¡°To cram all the evils inside one man so I might pull a trigger on him and end it in a stroke. I trying to fill a pit, Angharad, that gets deeper with every breath I take. We broke a ninth of the Heavens and my brothers they think they can just-¡±


    She breathed in, sharply, then breathed out.


    ¡°It is not an enemy I face,¡± Song said, voice becalmed. ¡°But I understand what it is, to seek the Watch as a means and not an end. In that we are the same. You hesitate because to join a covenant is not something that is easily taken back.¡±


    ¡°I had thought to enroll for seven years,¡± Angharad admitted.


    ¡°Spend seven years as a footsoldier in a free company or a guard in some Garrison fortress and you will be no closer to your ambitions,¡± the silver-eyed woman told her. ¡°You will be able to set some coin aside and make a few petty contacts, but nothing more. Seven-year contracts are not held in high esteem.¡±


    ¡°But the Circles are,¡± Angharad said.


    ¡°Call them covenants,¡± Song said. ¡°Only outsiders call them Circles. The Watch is as a nation of its own, you will learn, with its own tongue and customs.¡±


    ¡°Covenants, then,¡± Angharad dismissed. ¡°I might know little of the Watch¡¯s workings, but I do know this: to join a covenant is not sworn in sevens. It is until death.¡±


    ¡°Or retirement,¡± Song said. ¡°That is a right usually awarded only to those who have served for decades, but it can be earned earlier by great deeds. And we will have the opportunity for these. The Watch opened Scholomance again for a reason, Angharad. They are preparing for something.¡±


    The noblewoman frowned.


    ¡°For what?¡±


    ¡°I do not know,¡± Song admitted. ¡°But what I do know is that as a Skiritai, you would become part of a covenant between the finest killers in all of Vesper. One that will be inclined to do you favors even after retirement.¡±


    ¡°I cannot afford to spend five years in a school, Song,¡± Angharad quietly said. ¡°To let the world pass me by. My house deserves better than that.¡±


    ¡°The tests the Watch will send our cabal on, they are not some schoolyard brawl,¡± she said. ¡°We will be sent out in the world on genuine contracts. Able to raise our names, to make allies and earn funds.¡±


    And it was tempting, put that way. Yet it was taking a chance. That Song was right and she would be able to earn retirement, that she would win enough to justify the spending of years, that¡­ so many things. Perhaps too many of them. But then Angharad had been taking chances ever since she first began running towards the Bluebell, hadn¡¯t she?


    There was no perfect answer. Insisting on one had seen the Guardia kick in her door and seize the last of her possessions in Sacromonte. The temptation was still there to refuse, to look for a path that would give her everything she wanted and cost her nothing, but Angharad had learned not to trust that voice.


    Last time it had left with nothing but a saber and the clothes on her back.


    The fire looked so far away, she thought, but home was further away still. And she would need to cross more than water and darkness to return, for though putting on a black cloak would stay her enemy¡¯s hand they would remain out there. Waiting, plotting.


    How much was she willing to pay, to go back home? How much was she willing to leave behind?


    At least this much, Angharad Tredegar learned.


    ¡°All right,¡± she murmured. ¡°I¡¯ll do it.¡±


    And somewhere, the Fisher laughed.

 Epilogue

    He¡¯d never liked the Rookery.


    It was a purely personal dislike, Captain Osian Tredegar would admit if pressed. He had spent half a year down in the Lanes after enlisting, becoming fit for deployment, and though that had been a foul time it was also long enough ago he hardly remembered. His antipathy nowadays came from the fact that since he¡¯d been inducted into the Umuthi Society he had only ever returned to the Rookery for a fresh squabble over funds with Conclave bureaucrats.


    The worst part was, of course, that these squabbles were largely meaningless. The Conclave¡¯s army of clerks and bookkeepers could not actually make any decision, only pass recommendations to the Conclave itself. Which would then proceed to make no decision at all, because it did not directly allocate funding to the works of the Clockwork Cathedral whose continued funding Osian was sent to argue for. The Conclave, in practice, did not actually decide much of anything.


    At the founding of the Watch the chamber had been small enough to be functional but over the years the assembly had simply become so large it was not practical for it to decide on anything but the broadest strokes of policy. Execution of those policies was then passed on to committees who ended up wielding the power the Conclave had invested in them with... varying degrees of oversight.


    There was some truth to the complaints from the captain-generals that some Garrison regions were essentially rival free companies funded by Conclave coin.


    But fair or not it was committees that ran the Watch, and it was such a committee that had ordered Osian Tredegar to sit in a cold damp hall and wait for his name to be called. There had been ten of them out here when he¡¯d arrived, but one by one the other rooks had gone into the small room tucked away in a forgotten corner of the Old Chantry.


    And one by one they had left, until there remained only him and the monster.


    She looked like a frail old woman but Osian knew better. Fenhua had sent him word last night, warned him that he was looking not as some retired cloak but fucking Nerei Name-Eater. The worst part was that he would never have guessed if he¡¯d not been warned. Even now he almost doubted himself, looking at how she seemed to ache from the wet cold and shiver in her shawl.


    There were some who said that creature was older than the Republics, that she¡¯d fought in the last assault on Pandemonium. Nerei glanced at him, as if sniffing out his thoughts, and offered a warm toothless smile. Ancestors, but she looked like someone¡¯s favorite grandmother.


    ¡°I¡¯m sure it will be soon, dear,¡± the Name-Eater assured him in a faint Sacromonte accent. ¡°There is no need to be so tense, I am certain your niece will be fine."


    Osian stiffened, for he had never spoken a word to Nerei and he¡¯d certainly never said anything about Angie around that monster. His hand habitually drifted to where his pistol would be, had he not been ordered to leave it behind at the Old Chantry¡¯s gates.


    ¡°Oh, no need for that,¡± Nerei chided him. ¡°Such a lovely girl, your Angharad. I¡¯m sure she will be a darling friend to my Tristan. And a mirror-dancer, how precious! They rarely leave Peredur nowadays.¡±


    ¡°I am not without friends,¡± Osian coldly replied.


    His work on the Isibankwa had put him firmly on the good side of his superiors. They had already done him favors, but he should be able to squeeze out a few more.


    ¡°Or debts, of late,¡± Nerei said, tapping her wrinkled chin. ¡°That was most amusing to hear. To think it took the Wednesday Council itself to curb your enthusiasm!¡±


    Osian grit his teeth. The ruling council of the Umuthi Society had not officially spoken with him at all, Professor Akia had sat him down in private so there would be no mark on his record, but the Name-Eater was a Mask and that breed always made a point of rubbing your secrets in your face when they could. Not that he would let himself-


    The door opened, the same middle-aged watchman as always leaning through.


    ¡°Captain Osian, Officer Nerei,¡± he called out. ¡°The committee will see you now.¡±


    Osian bit down on his words, trying to smooth the anger off his face.


    ¡°Come, dear,¡± Nerei warmly said. ¡°Let us find out what it is the Obscure Committee has to say.¡±


    Breathing out, Osian Tredegar forced himself to calm down. The monster had just been toying with him the way a cat would with a mouse. She had no true interest in Angharad, he told himself as he followed behind the thing wearing the form of a little old woman. He must keep his mind on the Obscure Committee waiting ahead. Not that it was truly called that, at least on paper.


    Its formal name on the rolls was ¡®Lesser Committee for the Trebian Northwest¡¯, the kind of name that got made fun of at parties when officers mocked Conclave bureaucracy over cups of wine. It was an oft forgotten detail, however, that the ruins of Scholomance lay in the northwest of the Trebian Sea. Though a ¡®lesser¡¯ committee would naturally not have authority over the greater committee overseeing the same region, its existence as an independent entity meant it was not subject to that greater committee¡¯s authority either.


    In practice, that meant Scholomance and all matters connected to it had been made the private fiefdom of the four people Osian found waiting inside the small, cramped room. That alone would have been worth wariness but altogether more dangerous was that this authority had apparently been granted to them by a sealed vote of the Conclave, meaning the matter was kept secret.


    The Obscure Committee was called that because more than nine tenths of the Watch would have absolutely no idea it existed even though it now held great power and influence.


    There were four high desks inside the room, covered with stacks of paper and inkwells, and the four members of the committee sat behind them. The watchman from earlier closed the door, leaning back against it, and Nerei trudged forward to stand before the desks. Osian followed, moving to her right but putting enough space between them he would have been able to draw and fire his pistol in time.


    If he still had it.


    The gesture did not escape the attention of the leftmost sitter, who raised an eyebrow at him. Brigadier Anju Laghari was a middle-aged woman of plain looks, her wavy brown hair going down to her neck. She was built like a barn door, broad-shouldered and muscled enough to wrestle a bull, and by the looks of the scar around her neck someone had once tried to hang her. Most importantly Anju Laghari was an Academian, a Stripe.


    The Academy was the largest of the seven covenants, about as large as all the others put together, so its claiming one of the committee seats had never been in doubt. There was another edge to that blade, however: competition within Academy ranks for the appointment would have been brutal. That meant Brigadier Laghari was as much a political creature as a military one, for all that she looked like she should be leading some charge in the Bleaklands instead of sitting at a table.


    And by the disgusted look she sent the monster at Osian¡¯s side, she was no fonder of the creature than he.


    ¡°Officer Nerei,¡± Brigadier Laghari said, her voice sounding like she gargled rocks, ¡°this is revolting. You look like someone¡¯s grandmother.¡±


    Nerei smiled.


    ¡°Where lies the trouble, dear?¡±


    The brigadier shivered.


    ¡°I saw you eat a man¡¯s entrails with my own eyes, back in seventy-three,¡± Laghari flatly replied. ¡°Head right in the belly, like a pig with a trough. Put on a shape that I won¡¯t want to shoot.¡±


    The old creature cocked her head to the side, noticeably not moving to obey. Osian had no idea if by right she should, and neither would most in the room: ¡®officer¡¯ was the placeholder rank that the Krypteia used when they were not assigned to a duty and thus not forced to reveal their actual rank to the watchmen around them. Anju Laghari might be a sitter on the Obscure Committee, but if Nerei was of higher rank she would not actually need to obey her.


    Only one person in the room was likely to know, and all eyes went to him.


    At the rightmost desk sat Lord Asher of the Krypteia. He looked like a handsome man in his fifties, his short salt and pepper beard lending him a distinguished air. His clothes were perfectly tailored, their buttons gold, and if not for the polished cane in his hand Osian would have never guessed he had a limp. Lord Asher also wore spectacles, which he never took off because no matter how well a devil took care of the shell they wore the eyes tended to look a little off after a century.


    Osian made sure not to look at the rings on his hand or the charming smile on his face. There was no telling if the rumors that Lord Asher was a founding member of the Krypteia were true, but there were records of the man going back centuries and when devils got that old they grew warped. The young ones, fresh out of the forges in Pandemonium, they just wanted tainted aether of any kind. The old ones who annealed grew discerning and addicted to particularities, specific tastes.


    First love, fear of water, paternal pride ¨C any of the endless corners of mankind¡¯s soul. No one knew what Lord Asher was addicted to, but most figured it was secrets. He had certainly been in the Krypteia long enough to get his hands on a trove fit to topple an empire. As for the devil¡¯s own rank, well, who knew? The Masks never gave that kind of information forced, and even then sometimes lied.


    ¡°Let us be courteous, Nerei,¡± Lord Asher warmly smiled. ¡°Change for the brigadier.¡±


    The old woman laughed, and after a heartbeat she fluttered. There was no other word for it, as if she had for an instant become made of a hundred thousand slices of paper moving with the wind. When the blur passed the old Sacromontan woman was instead a small Someshwari boy clutching at his too-large clothes, sending a gap-toothed grin up at the Stripe. He could not have been older than five.


    Anju Laghari went red with rage, fumbling for a pistol under her desk.


    ¡°Change right now,¡± she hissed.


    ¡°D¡¯you want to shoot me now, Brigadier?¡± Nerei asked.


    The cutesy tone, just like a little boy¡¯s, made Osian¡¯s skin crawl. It was like looking at a crocodile wearing a person¡¯s face.


    ¡°Asher,¡± the brigadier snarled, turning to the devil, ¡°this is a threat. She can¡¯t just wear my grandson¡¯s face and-¡±


    ¡°Perhaps,¡± Lord Asher politely smiled, ¡°next time you will remember to be more careful with your phrasing, Anju. Always a lesson worth learning, no matter one¡¯s age.¡±


    The brigadier was livid and likely to press the matter, Osian judged, but it would not get to that. The sitter next to her cleared her throat. The sound was irritated.


    ¡°This is not the Academy, Laghari,¡± Captain Isoke Falade said. ¡°Your whims are not orders, and we have wasted enough time indulging your sensibilities.¡±


    The committee seat the Guildhouse had got its hands on had been filled by an Akelarre rather than a Skiritai, which was no surprise. The Militants had well-earned their reputation for general awfulness at Watch politics, in part because of the high attrition rate in even in their most senior officer ranks. The Navigators, on the other hand, were arguably the oldest of the seven covenants and they were everywhere.


    They always had favors to call on, and they were more than willing to cover for the Skiritai if they got to speak for both of the Guildhouse¡¯s guilds in exchange.


    Their representative on the committee was Captain Isoke Falade, a seemingly frail old woman in her seventies wearing humble grey robes. Her head was nearly shaved and she looked half-blind, pale cataracts in both her eyes, but she was always smiling and cocking her head to the side as if she could hear things no one else did. Given that she was rumored to be one of the most skilled signifers alive, that was entirely possible.


    Despite the seemingly low rank, Isoke Falade had in her time served as Captain-General to the infamous Dawnchasers and survived a decade attached to the court of the High Queen. Long before Rhiannon¡¯s time, so Osian¡¯s sister never knew her, but no one survived at the feet of the Queen Perpetual without learning how to get their hands dirty. A good thing, that. Angharad was headed for the Skiritai Guild, so Captain Falade would be on his side for the coming review.


    You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    That and he had bribed her personally, as well as the Skiritai who¡¯d recommended his niece. It always paid to be sure, usually in gold.


    Osian¡¯s eyes moved to his other ally in the room, seated besides the signifer. Professor Fenhua He was Peiling Society, not Umuthi like him, but the College always stuck together against outsiders ¨C especially around budget time. Fenhua was a tall and willowy beauty, their long dark hair flowing behind their back as they offered a sunny smile. Their robes were pristine silk in the traditional Jigong fashion, with billowing sleeves and discreet touches of color, every part of them meticulously neat.


    Fenhua He¡¯s specialty was epistemological foundationals ¨C attempting to establish objective truths about the aether ¨C and that was as much of an opposite from Osian¡¯s work in the Clockwork Cathedral as one could find but they got on well regardless. Sharing a war room during the hunt for the Hull Breaker had left them with some ties of friendship, at it had most who took part in those months of horror. Fenhua caught his eye and winked, forcing Osian to swallow a grin.


    Yeah, Fenhua had his back.


    ¡°If Officer Nerei causes such unseemly emotion in our colleague, let us finish our business with her as quickly as possible,¡± the professor said. ¡°Shall we move to review the candidature of Tristan Abrascal, Scholomance candidate under Krypteia sponsorship?¡±


    Osian cleared his throat.


    ¡°Captain Osian,¡± Lord Asher acknowledged him. ¡°You have a question?¡±


    ¡°Sir,¡± Osian nodded. ¡°May I ask why I am to be in the room when this Tristan Abrascal is to be reviewed?¡±


    ¡°He and your niece will be joining the same Scholomance cabal, should the reviews end positively,¡± the devil amiably said. ¡°It was judged unnecessary for the questionings to be kept separate.¡±


    Osian¡¯s lips thinned, but he nodded. Though he misliked the possibility of some Sacromonte rat dragging down Angie with him, he would gain nothing by arguing a decision that would have required a majority vote to pass.


    ¡°If that is all, let us proceed,¡± Captain Falade sleepily said. ¡°We have all read the reports from Lieutenant Wen and Sergeant Mandisa as well as the transcripts from the observers manning the Panopticon Mirrors. The boy effectively led the crew that collapsed the Red Eye¡¯s prison and the mountain with it, though it was not his hand that did the actual deed..¡±


    A heartbeat of silence, then the assessments began.


    ¡°He should be shot,¡± Brigadier Laghari plainly said. ¡°He buried two Watch fortresses, led to the deaths of dozen of our rooks and broke a seal we have no real replacement for. A bullet to the brains is the least of what he deserves.¡±


    Lord Asher smiled.


    ¡°There we must disagree,¡± he said. ¡°As far as I am concerned, Tristan Abrascal is the only individual to have ever passed the Trial of Ruins ¨C if I could, I would amend every preceding file on record as having retroactively failed.¡±


    ¡°Fucking sneaks,¡± Brigadier Laghari sneered. ¡°You always-¡±


    ¡°You are boring me, Anju,¡± Professor Fenhua sighed. ¡°All acts undertaken in the trials that do not break the rules qualify for amnesty, as you well know. Stop wasting our time on a tantrum.¡±


    They leaned forward after, eyeing Nerei curiously.


    ¡°You have it in your written recommendation that your little maskling was likely involved with forbidden experiments classified under the name ¡®Theogony¡¯,¡± Fenhua said. ¡°Elaborate. I would know if he is a potential danger to fellow students.¡±


    Osian hid his amusement. A transparent fishing attempt, not that they were likely to be called on it. Nerei beamed up at Lord Asher, looking for permission. The monster looked like a child playing in their parents¡¯ clothes, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Spirits but it was obscene.


    Lord Asher nodded.


    ¡°House Cerdan ran a red shop out in the Murk,¡± Nerei brightly said, ¡°contracting with the local co-caw-coteries for a supply of fresh bodies and running experiments that were in breach of the Iscariot Accords.¡±


    The shape of the five-year old preened, as if the child was proud of having said all those difficult words without tripping.


    ¡°To what aim?¡± Professor Fenhua asked.


    It was not Nerei that answered, this time.


    ¡°We are yet uncertain,¡± Lord Asher said, sounding ever so slightly irritated. ¡°Like every other fool out there they tried to make a stable Saint, but they also attempted some exotic contract accommodations.¡±


    He paused, sending the Tianxi a knowing look through his spectacles.


    ¡°They used forceful aether taint as a base for their research,¡± the Mask noted. ¡°Nothing you would be interested in.¡±


    The devil spoke true, all trace of interest leaving Fenhua¡¯s eyes as Osian swallowed bile. Forceful aether taint was a pretty way of saying torture, most of the time. All humans not severed from the Glare tainted the aether around them by their very existence but most of those emanations were so faint they could barely be proved to exist, much less studied. Sharp emotions and sensations were a way to make that taint stronger, and nothing was easier to inflict than pain.


    ¡°We had¡¯em, but they closed their lair and ran away,¡± Nerei pouted. ¡°The Cerdan set up shop on some secret island, but we can¡¯t seem to find their clubhouse!¡±


    ¡°They likely have help from one of the Six,¡± Lord Asher said. ¡°We are pursuing the matter.¡±


    ¡°Interesting, but ultimately irrelevant,¡± Captain Falade said. ¡°Our purpose is to ascertain whether or not the boy¡¯s place in Scholomance should be rescinded. Despite Brigader Laghari¡¯s bluster, I see no valid reason for that to be the case.¡±


    ¡°Neither do I,¡± Professor Fenhua said. ¡°Asher, shall we assume your vote?¡±


    ¡°Never,¡± the devil seriously said. ¡°I also vote against rescinding.¡±


    Brigadier Laghari grunted in displeasure but argued no further after casting her vote for. She could tell a losing battle when she was fighting one.


    ¡°You¡¯ll all be singing a different song in a few years when we are putting down the Red Eye for the eighteenth time and we can¡¯t send anyone to a firing squad to answer for the costs and casualties,¡± she warned.


    Osian let out a noise of interest, catching their attention.


    ¡°I heard the Dominion was sitting atop an old god, but I thought it dead from the disaster with the mountain. It survived to fragment?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Our signifiers have ascertained we are dealing with at least a dozen shards capable of agency,¡± Captain Falade said. ¡°Pandemonium¡¯s last surprise killed the central intellect; at a guess the fragments will be spending the next twenty years cannibalizing each other in an attempt to reform it.¡±


    ¡°The devils laid a skillful trap,¡± Professor Fenhua noted, then their tone turned teasing. ¡°Why, it might even have been the work of-¡±


    There was a creaking sound, the wood of Lord Asher¡¯s cane giving under his grip.


    ¡°-the Office of Opposition.¡±


    Those devils that served as Hell¡¯s answer to the Krypteia, Osian recalled, though it seemed from Asher¡¯s smiling anger that there might be old history there he knew not.


    ¡°It was not,¡± the old devil said, tone clipped.


    ¡°If you say so,¡± Professor Fenhua said, smiling like someone who had just scored a point.


    ¡°No matter whose work it was, it failed to kill the god,¡± Brigadier Laghari dismissed. ¡°Now every shard is going to become patron to a different tribe and that entire island is going to become a clusterfuck of bloodletting for a decade. A clusterfuck we will need to wade into, I¡¯ll remind you, because reports made it clear that the Red Eye made it down to the seabed. We can¡¯t let that thing reform and grow any further.¡±


    ¡°Aw,¡± Nerei grinned, ¡°is nani angry because her friend Commander Artal is going to have to stay and do his job instead of getting a nice cushy promotion?¡±


    She made a soulful look with the small boy¡¯s doe eyes.


    ¡°That¡¯s neshpotism, gramma,¡± Nerei solemnly said, wagging her finger. ¡°Very bad.¡±


    Brigadier Laghari¡¯s face reddened and the flash of rage in her eyes was entirely unfeigned.


    The Academy¡¯s prominence and occasional bouts of arrogance made it unspoken tradition for the other covenants to join hands and knock them down a peg whenever the occasion arose, but not even that was enough for Osian to find himself rooting for the Name-Eater. He was not alone in this.


    ¡°Disrupting the proceedings is reason enough to be barred from the room,¡± Captain Falade said. ¡°I will not warn you again, Officer Nerei.¡±


    The monster nodded, pouting as she clutched her too-large clothes to her scrawny chest. Professor Fenhua cleared their throat.


    ¡°Let us proceed onward, then.¡±


    ¡°Which brings us to your niece, Captain Osian,¡± Lord Asher said. ¡°She makes an interesting case.¡±


    Osian straightened his back. Interesting was never a word pleasant to hear coming from a Mask¡¯s mouth.


    ¡°I have not read the full reports,¡± he carefully said, ¡°but what I got my hands on seems a glowing recommendation.¡±


    ¡°If you try to rob my colleagues out of an eighteen-year-old mirror-dancer, Asher, there is going be a veritable shitshow to deal with,¡± Captain Falade warned him. ¡°After that report from the cabal in Cantica there was already a fit about the Stripes getting the Xical boy, we won¡¯t get cheated twice on a single draw.¡±


    Brigadier Laghari looked faintly smug.


    ¡°I do not doubt her value,¡± Lord Asher dismissed, ¡°but I do find it concerning that her contract appears to be with a second-order entity. Peredur is full of things best left buried.¡±


    Osian¡¯s jaw clenched. He knew not the nature of Angie¡¯s contract, but the whole thing reeked of Gwydion. Rhiannon had been much too taken with the triumph of winning the darling of the season to ever dig into her husband¡¯s past, but Osian had always found him suspect. A young man from a fallen house that was barely peers suddenly becoming the flower of Pereduri society when he made his debut? No, Gwydion had been wildly suspicious even before Rhiannon¡¯s enemies began having a rash of mysterious accidents all involving spirits.


    If the man¡¯s meddling hurt his daughter from beyond the grave, Osian was going to get his hands on the body just to feed it to stray dogs. Thankfully, he had anticipated that the Krypteia would dig and stacked the game well in advance.


    ¡°There has been no conclusive proof it¡¯s a genuine god of the Old Night she contracted with,¡± Professor Fenhua mildly said. ¡°More likely it is some ancient oracular river-god that was missed during the High Queen¡¯s purges.¡±


    It took effort for Osian not to do the intellectual equivalent of pretending he could not see something right in front of him when the purges were mentioned, the trained reflex still there after all those years. It was not acknowledged that such purges had ever happened, in Malan. Or that it might be in anyway unusual that the High Queen had ruled for over five centuries.


    Lord Asher shrugged.


    ¡°Absence of proof is not proof of absence,¡± he said. ¡°All worries could be put to rest by allowing the Krypteia to-¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Osian burst out.


    All eyes went on him. He licked his lips, ignoring Nerei beaming up his way with that childish grin.


    ¡°I mean,¡± he said more calmly, ¡°that as Angharad Tredegar¡¯s personal sponsor, I do not consent to interrogation by the Krypteia.¡±


    As if he would let the Masks anywhere near her. Knives were the least of what their interrogators had in store.


    ¡°That settles the matter, as far as I am concerned,¡± Captain Falade mildly said. ¡°Professor Fenhua?¡±


    ¡°It is my professional opinion that Angharad Tredegar¡¯s reported contact with the Red Eye is highly unlikely to have resulted in contamination even if she is truly contracted with a second-order entity,¡± the willowy beauty replied. ¡°I have no objections to her candidature.¡±


    With a senior signifier and Peiling professor coming down on his niece¡¯s side, there was no one left in the room with the professional standing to argue further. Lord Asher¡¯s brow furrowed, but the devil said nothing more.


    ¡°I have concerns as well,¡± Brigadier Laghari announced, drumming her fingers against the desk. ¡°Not about the girl¡¯s contract, but of the potential trouble that Captain Tredegar brought to our door on her behalf.¡±


    The Pereduri did not grimace. He had been forewarned this would likely be brought up during the review.


    ¡°I am willing to answer any question, Brigadier,¡± he evenly replied.


    The older Someshwari hummed.


    ¡°You¡¯re a senior officer but not all that highly ranked in the Umuthi Society,¡± she said. ¡°Yet you have disbursed a sum that is around-¡±


    She glanced down at a paper, then let out low whistle.


    ¡°Well, around the budget for our entire Dominion operation for a year,¡± Laghari said. ¡°Where is the coin coming from, Tredegar?¡±


    ¡°That seems an unnecessary intrusion,¡± Professor Fenhua said. ¡°Surely there is-¡±


    ¡°Sustained,¡± Lord Asher cut in.


    Captain Falade said nothing, leaving Osian to sigh.


    ¡°As some of you may know,¡± he said, ¡°the Clockwork Cathedral allows its members to register inventions with them, giving all rights over the Watch in exchange for a flat portion of revenues in perpetuity.¡±


    One in a hundredth, which could mean either a pittance or a king¡¯s ransom depending on what was registered.


    ¡°What did you invent?¡± Laghari asked, sounding interested.


    To say Osian had ¡®invented¡¯ the rifle would be untrue, for there were already some in the Republics and allegedly in the northern Someshwar, but he had invented the Isibankwa-pattern rifle. Which was accurate nearly a third further than the Tianxi attempts and could be made at half the price. Most importantly, the casting process required only a few tool changes from the current Watch musket workshops. That would save the order millions over the next decades, something he would not gain coin from but had earned him many an indulgence from the Wenedsday Council. Unfortunately, his rifles were not yet being made on any large scale.


    The first workshop had only just been refitted last month.


    ¡°A weapon, but it is only registered and not yet in service,¡± Osian admitted. ¡°I borrowed from the Watch on future revenues.¡±


    ¡°Huh,¡± Captain Falade said, sounding amused. ¡°How far ahead?¡±


    No one came to his defense this time, not even Fenhua. They looked as curious as the rest.


    ¡°By the Cathedral¡¯s estimates, I have borrowed the next eighty-three years of revenue,¡± Osian said, coughing into his fist embarrassedly.


    All four of them were veterans, so the only indication of surprise was Fenhua¡¯s lips slightly twitching.


    ¡°Well,¡± Brigadier Laghari grunted, ¡°if you were splashing that much gold around, it explains the mess in Ixta. I won¡¯t weep over the cutters cutting each other, but I was given to understand you nearly caused a major diplomatic incident in Sacromonte.¡±


    Osian¡¯s jaw set mulishly.


    ¡°I only paid for retaliation on whoever was targeting my niece,¡± he said. ¡°I did not give instructions to-¡±


    ¡°A mansion belonging to a house of the Six was torched, Tredegar,¡± Laghari flatly interrupted. ¡°The coin was tracked back to one of our payhouses in the city and House Salavera lodged a formal complaint with the Conclave.¡±


    If the infanzones wanted to play the hirelings, Osian disdainfully thought, they should not complain of being treated as such. Besides, their hands were hardly clean: after the incident, in a fit of spite the Salavera had ordered all their contacts in the Guardia to join in the hunt on Angharad. It was half the reason Osian had done more than pretend to obey when Professor Akia had told him to pull the contract and steer his niece towards Scholomance instead.


    ¡°I was not aware that we now answered to Sacromonte yiwu trash,¡± Professor Fenhua sneered.


    ¡°Maybe not in your libraries, but some of us live in the real Vesper,¡± Brigadier Laghari flatly replied. ¡°We import more than half the food for our Trebian holdings through Sacromonte, Fenhua. We don¡¯t poke at the Six without a good reason.¡±


    ¡°Our order has a long history of taking in lost souls with nowhere else to go,¡± Lord Asher smiled, never quite showing his teeth. ¡°I do not believe you want this to change, Anju, so what is it that you are proposing?¡±


    ¡°That we don¡¯t rub their face in the girl joining the black any more than we need to,¡± Brigadier Laghari said. ¡°Let the offence die down some by sending her cabal somewhere quiet and out of sight for its first test. We can take the temperature before their second year, see if the storm has passed.¡±


    ¡°There is some sense in that,¡± Captain Falade conceded, pawing at a stack of papers and ripping out a sheet with a noise of satisfaction. ¡°And here: the Asphodel Rectorate requested for us to find their latest cult, it seems a fitting assignment.¡±


    Osian¡¯s brows raised in alarm at the suggestion. Rooting out a hollow cult was supposed to be a quiet assignment? Professor Fenhua noticed his expression and let out a snort.


    ¡°Bored nobles playing cultist, not a true cult,¡± Fenhua assured him. ¡°Last time we caught them they were dealing with some fertility god for party favors. There¡¯s not much trouble to be found in Asphodel. Captain Osian.¡±


    ¡°An acceptable compromise,¡± Lord Asher mused. ¡°Under this constraint, I vote to maintain Angharad Tredegar¡¯s candidature for Scholomance.¡±


    The other three agreed, one after the other and like that it was done. It would be all right, Osian told himself. He had been to the Rectorate once or twice, if barely beyond the port, and it was a faded power. A backwater past its prime, more concerned by its petty squabbles with other third-raters than its own diminished standing. As quiet as it got in Trebian Sea.


    How much trouble could one really get in somewhere like the Asphodel Rectorate?

 Chapter 46

    Chapter 46


    Thunder, the pistol bucked and Tristan¡¯s hand with it.


    Batting away the plume of smoke, he took a look at the target and groaned. Shoulder shot, again. That made the third in a row, and at this point they¡¯d have to ask one of the staff to bring back more straw to stuff that poor scarecrow with.


    ¡°You have the stance and the breathing down,¡± Song said. ¡°Only in a learned way, not yet drilled, but that wille with repetition.¡±


    ck House, being the polite version of the Rectorate allowing the Watch to build a fort inside their own capital, naturally had a shooting range within its bounds. The reason that the pair of them were down here at six in the morning to use it, though, was that the student brigades were no longer the only ones lining up to use it.


    The diplomatic delegation from the Rookery had arrived with an armed escort, who were quite high-handed in making use of the facilities. The Fourth Brigade had been evicted by them when using the range yesterday, which was why Tristan was here at six failing to improve his uracy: at this hour every morning the retinue were running formation drills in thergest courtyard.


    The thief wiped his slightly smoke-tarnished hand on the side of his uniform, for which he got red at even though the damn thing was already ck so it wouldn¡¯t even show!


    ¡°If that¡¯s true, then why does Strawcifer¡¯s torso still remain stubbornly un-shot?¡± he challenged.


    Song had first stood with him to check his stance, but since retreated to a bench by the side of the range where she was slowly drinking her way through a pot of one of those Tianxi teas that only she liked. In the Thirteenth, anyway. How she had yet to so much as spill a drop when the shots sometimes rattled the porcin was impressive, he¡¯d admit.


    ¡°First off, I have not and will not agree to naming the target,¡± Song said.¡°It does not matter,¡± Fortuna said, sprawled besides her on the bench. ¡°We voted, majority carries.¡±


    She had been poured a cup even though she could not drink it and Tristan had no intention of doing so, showing that Song Ren was a quick learner in matters of divine appeasement. The Tianxi¡¯s silver eyes narrowed as she read the lips, mouthing along. Tristan had decisively not offered to voice Fortuna¡¯s words, knowing that once that road to Hell was paved there would be no walking it back.


    ¡°The Watch is not a democracy,¡± Song said. ¡°Superior rank carries. Which is why Straw- which is why <em>the target</em> will go unnamed.¡±


    ¡°If you say so, darling,¡± Fortuna condescendingly said, throwing back her golden curls.


    The condescension would perhaps have stung more if she did not then immediately put her hand through the teacup trying to drink it, having for the third time forgotten it was not of her own making.


    ¡°And second,¡± Song said, wisely hiding her amusement at the sight, ¡°your problem is neither of those. It is that you flinch every time the powder blows.¡±


    Tristan grimaced, because that had the ring of truth.


    ¡°I have a hard time trusting guns,¡± he admitted. ¡°There is a reason Abu did not much train me on them.¡±


    Reasons, really. While it was fine for her to teach him how to load and fire a pistol, it would have been another for a thief like him to own one ¨C more attention that someone intending tost in that profession ought to court. Song sipped at her cup, set it down. Her stare was considering.


    ¡°Your contract.¡±


    He hesitated, nodded. His misfortune liked a loaded gun, loved it really. It was the kind of blowback that was easily tailored to how strong he¡¯d pulled on the luck while being difficult for him to avoid. Which the bad luck preferred when it could easily arrange it.


    ¡°Powder in general is something I learned to be wary of,¡± Tristan said.


    ¡°That is not without sense,¡± she assured him. ¡°But consider that you currently carry a pistol while being a middling shot. The risk is already taken, but by improving your aim you make taking it worth more.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t need to sell me on the practice,¡± he said, somewhat amused. ¡°I¡¯m here, aren¡¯t I?¡±


    She nodded.


    ¡°Would that the others were as well,¡± Song said, ¡°but I suppose having a designated time for the contract experimentation is for the best.¡±


    He hid his amusement this time. He was fairly certain the only reason Angharad had suggested the arrangement in the first ce was to avoid spending the better part of an hour on the range taking instructions from Song.


    ¡°Repetition is how the flinch will go,¡± she continued. ¡°My eldest brother had the same issue and that was what the drillmaster prescribed to rid him of it.¡±


    ¡°Is he a fine shot as well, then?¡± Tristan asked.


    Song¡¯s face went very calm and very remote. She sipped at her tea, the winter mask only thawing a touch from that heat.


    ¡°I am afraid not,¡± she said. ¡°He threatened to shoot himself if ever handed a pistol again, so our parents desisted.¡±


    <em>Manes</em>, Tristan thought. How was it that Song¡¯s living family somehow ended up being just as tragic as the rest of the Thirteenth¡¯s buried ones?


    ¡°Well,¡± he said with forced cheer, ¡°both of mine are dead so I sounds like I won¡¯t be able to wiggle my way out. Way to dangle that false hope, Song. Think of the orphans next time, why don¡¯t you?¡±


    Fortuna turned an incredulous look on him, the silver-eyed girl next to her staring him down stone-faced. Then the mountain cracked, and she let out the most disbelieving bout ofughter he had ever heard. It was a solid eight seconds before she got that under control.


    ¡°Gods,¡± Song said, ¡°did you <em>really</em> just say that?¡±


    He shrugged.


    ¡°We can me it on the wind if you want,¡± he said. ¡°And I¡¯m switching to musket for the next few shots, I¡¯m morefortable when the end of the barrel is further off from my head.¡±


    She snorted, got to her feet.


    ¡°Then I am going to demonstrate the stance again,¡± Song said. ¡°Else you¡¯ll bruise your armpit, and Maryam will start making peach puns at breakfast again ¨C we are weeks past any of the good ones.¡±


    ¡°There were never any good ones,¡± Tristan somberly replied. ¡°Deep down, you know this to be true.¡±


    Song thinned her lips in that way she only ever did when forcing herself not to smile, and the thief hid his own grin. There were worst morning routines to have, he¡¯d admit.


    --


    It was harder to remain angry at Tristan now that the reason she was had been made obsolete, but through the powers of perseverance and believing in herself Maryam managed. He¡¯d apologized, of course, but not mean a single word. No, he had to be made to feel a sting else he¡¯d not even hesitate before doing it again. She¡¯d forgive him, because she <em>had</em> been pushing further than was safe out of pride, but she could not let him get into the habit of making decisions for her.


    Lieutenant Mitra had proved quite amenable to her request ¨C made in the presence of Captain Wen, to make it official business ¨C and almost too enthused at the notion of heading into a dangerous part of Tratheke to study a potentially even more dangerous whirlpool in the aether. Maryam had even resigned herself at the thought that Alejandra Torrero would likely be dragged along so she might learn from the experience as well.


    Some favoritism was only to be expected and Lieutenant Mitra was the Fourth¡¯s patron. Now, standing with the gathered expedition crew, Maryam could only yearn for the glowing days when she¡¯d thought only one of the Fourth would being along.


    ¡°Bait,¡± Captain Tupoc Xical said. ¡°How go the supplies?¡±


    ¡°They wouldn¡¯t let me take the good wine,¡± the aforementioned Bait replied, ¡°but I got a whole roast. With the mustard sauce.¡±


    Murmurs of approval from the rest of the Fourth, who had taken to the sweet mustard sauce that the ck House cooks considered their specialty and thered liberally on most meats. It was not Asphodelian in the slightest, but Maryam would take all the breaks from garlic that she was offered. Bait, whose true name was Adarsh Hebbar, straightened a little at the approval of the rest of his brigade. He then ruined that burst of confidence by nervously fiddling with his sses.


    Expendable, the Mni boy with the grand hat and a presence in the aether that felt like a wild animal howling and scratching at bars, cleared his throat. He had wolf¡¯s eyes, this one, and rarely spoke unless directly addressed.


    ¡°Did you ask for¡­¡±


    ¡°Your cuts were set aside,¡± Bait volunteered. ¡°Barely cooked.¡±


    The Mni contractor nodded thanks while the least of the brawl-enforced naming scheme, eptable Losses ¨C a slender Tianxi whose burn scars covered half her face and had turned her left eye milky white ¨C checked her pack again. Where Bait had been charged with procuring the food for a pic, packs that would be split between himself and Alejandra Torrero, eptable Losses appeared to be carrying a haversack stuffed full of explosives.


    Hiding her dismay, Maryam turned her gaze on her sole ally present: Wen Duan, who busied himself nibbling at a peach. He paused in that crime on the senses to shrug.


    ¡°If Mitra thinks the ce is too dangerous, we¡¯ll copse the teahouse and burn everything out,¡± Captain Wen said.


    Maryam grunted. That was, in truth, a sensible decision. Almost made up for her dangerous investigation of an eldritch gate into a cursed halfyer realm being turned by Tupoc into a glorified pic. The most horrifying part of that, admittedly, might just be how easily the Fourth had been solid on having a meal over a potentialyer entrance.


    They took two carriages out, but there were too many people for Maryam to be able to swing sharing hers with only her patron. She inherited Bait and Losses, somewhat offended when she realized that sharing a coach with her had been turned by Tupoc into a punishment. Well, sheforted herself, mostly likely it was Wen that they counted ash. His Saga lesson still had the students from the other brigades wincing every time he reached for an orange.


    Fortunately for everyone else, Wen cracked open a book about¡­ Sarayan pottery patterns, really? Anyway, he buried himself in his book and pretended they did not exist, which left an awkward silence to linger as the coach rolled smoothly through the streets of Tratheke. When it got too much, Maryam cleared her throat and tossed out as inoffensive a conversation starter as she could muster.


    ¡°How are the Umuthi sses?¡± she asked eptable Losses. ¡°I hear Commander Tredegar¡¯s supposed to be quite gifted.¡±


    Losses nced at her. She could see through the burned eye, Maryam thought. Likely not well, but under the pale film she could make out the iris moving when her gaze did.


    ¡°He¡¯s Clockwork Cathedral, which is good for me but not Coyac,¡± she replied. ¡°He¡¯s Deuteronomicon track.¡±


    The Clockwork Cathedral, Maryam recalled, was the name for the part of the Umuthi Society that built pure machinery. The Deuteronomicon, in contrast, concerned itself mainly with aether machines. Though the first stretch of education for both tracks was much the same,ter on it diverged rather radically. Aether engines could work on principles that contradicted physicalws, after all.


    ¡°Any good as a teacher?¡±


    ¡°Fishing for the other Tredegar?¡± eptable Losses sneered.


    Maryam met her eyes and let that silence stretch out ufortably. The Tianxi coughed into her fist.


    ¡°He¡¯s fine,¡± she mumbled.


    The Izvorica¡¯s gaze moved to Bait, who flinched. If his neck could bur itself into his body, she suspected there would be no trace left of his head.


    ¡°Please do not curse me,¡± Adarsh Hebbar politely requested. ¡°¡­ma¡¯am.¡±


    Maryam approved of the ma¡¯am ¨C all folk should address her thus, really ¨C but cocked an eyebrow at the request.


    ¡°Why would I curse you?¡±


    ¡°Your entire brigade is bad luck,¡± eptable Losses informed her happily. ¡°The Ren needs no exnation, but Tupoc says that Abrascal is some kind of contracted corpse and everyone knows Tredegar was possessed. Not only do you look like a hollow-¡±


    ¡°Tread carefully, now,¡± Maryam warned.


    ¡°-but Alejandra says she¡¯s pretty sure you¡¯ve been eating Gloam creatures,¡± Losses finished with a smug smile.


    A page turned in the corner, louder than usual, drew their attention.


    ¡°That¡¯s untrue,¡± Wen said without ever raising his eyes.


    A beat passed.


    ¡°Chronologically speaking, it¡¯s more likely that hollows are the ones looking like the Izvoric,¡± he noted.


    Ah, she should have known better than to think Wen Duan would help by now. Sighing, Maryam wrote off the ride as a lost cause and let the silence reign. However stilted, it was still better than talking to these people.


    --


    To her mild surprise, Maryam did not recognize the surroundings of the teahouse.


    Part of it must be that it was now the Asphodel daytime, which meant half the brassnterns went out, but it now urred to her that she might not have been entirely out of the fugue state when Tristan helped her through these parts. The streets were not as she remembered them, too short and not as narrow, and though they were objectively better lit than they must have been that night they still seemed darker to her eye.


    To begin seeing through the dark was one of the signs of Gloam intoxication: it was a lesser form of how darklings saw the world.


    Swallowing a grimace, the pale-skinned woman silently revised how quickly she must forgive Tristan. He¡¯d had better cause to worry than she grasped, however uneptable his method of acting on it. Her nav tasted at the aether around them and found it full of small eddies: shallow but continuing ripples, as if some underground source was feeding into a small river. Much calmer than she remembered this ce to be from herst visit.


    ¡°Found the entrance,¡± Tupoc called out.


    Their entire party hade wearing the ck, this time, so what few people had been out in the streets before those horrid Reeking Rows ducked out at the sight them. ckcloaks were respected, but seen as bad omens more often than not ¨C rare was the sight of a rook in a ce where no trouble lurked. The Fourth passed through the trick window one after another, Mitra then following, but Wen took one look at the sawed-through nks and grimaced.


    ¡°Go ahead,¡± he said. ¡°This might take me a bit.¡±


    Maryam did him the courtesy of passing through quickly and not looking back. Wen was surprisingly agile, for a man of his size, but no amount of agility would broaden that windowsill. The Fourth had spread out across the room, avoiding the center. Even with her nav retracted, Maryam could feel the wisdom in that. There was¡­ something in the air.


    ¡°No fresh tracks since Abrascal¡¯s report,¡± Tupoc said. ¡°We are the first visitors since.¡±


    ¡°On this side, at least,¡± Maryam said. ¡°There¡¯s the back.¡±


    The door to which still hung open. Lieutenant Mitra, looking unusually serious as his eyes remained peeled on the center of the hall, let out a grunt.


    ¡°Tupoc, check if the back is clear,¡± he ordered. ¡°Khaimov, Torrero, with me. Stand close.¡±


    Maryam obeyed,ing elbow-to-elbow with an interested-looking Alejandra. Mitra¡¯s hand snapped out and he traced Gloam like a chatan would throw powders into me, all broad strokes and verve. It was not at all how she¡¯d been taught to trace, and the furrows of Gloam he left behind in the air felt¡­ deeper, and somehow more nuanced? His eyes were bright when he finished and Maryam¡¯s eyes was drawn to her feet. Around the three of them was a perfect ring of oily darkness, hovering half an inch above the floor and centered perfectly around the lieutenant.


    ¡°Do not extend your logos beyond the ring,¡± Lieutenant Mitra ordered. ¡°Forward, now.¡±


    They followed him, shuffling awkwardly, until he came to a half maybe a dozen feet away from the exact center of the room.


    ¡°Here,¡± Lieutenant Mitra said. ¡°The best vantage we will get it.¡±


    Maryam could only agree. To her nav, it felt as close to the source of the eddies in the aether as they could get without being <em>in</em> the eddy. She breathed out and focused her will, feeling out the waves as they passed ¨C and brushing past Torrero¡¯s own nav as she did the same. They came almost every minute, steady and very nearly regr.


    "They are getting weaker,¡± Alejandra muttered. ¡°And maybe slower? By very small fractions, though.¡±


    Maryam grunted in assent.


    ¡°There is no impulse behind it I can find,¡± she added. ¡°It feels like an echo.¡±


    Uwfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    ¡°Because it is,¡± Lieutenant Mitra said. ¡°Someone did <em>very</em> pdash work cutting their way out ayer adjacent to the material and it was the metaphysical equivalent of tossing a boulder in a pond. The marks of that impact are fading, and if we return in a few days there will be no trace left at all.¡±


    ¡°I was in a manic state that night,¡± Maryam acknowledged, ¡°but from what I recall the local aether did feel a lot messier.¡±


    The trouble had not been that her mind was gone but that suddenly there had been too much<em> in</em> it. When she ripped a kernel out of the shade and consumed it, she had taken back parts of her old memories but also of the Cauldron ¨C the ancient working woven from all the secrets of the Craft, which she¡¯d thought lost but had in truth been <em>stolen</em>.


    And a kernel of something so massive had been as a year of learning, most of it iplete and incoherent but the parts that were not searingly vivid. Almost truer than her own memories, before she came back to herself. The ritual of inheritance, it had precautions to ward the mind of they who were to be the Keeper of Hooks. Devouring pieces of the shade had no such wardings.


    And there was more, too. Yue had not been wrong, to say that taking from the shade would expand¡­ Maryam¡¯s perspective. Not only were her Grasp and Command in perfect alignment, however fading the phenomenon, the signifier had found that tracing felt different now. That she knew, instinctively, how to curve and tuck strokes so that the Gloam would not struggle as strongly against the Sign.


    And that was not something that could be <em>taught</em>.


    ¡°- this ce?¡±


    Maryam snapped back to attention in time to tune in on Lieutenant Mitra¡¯s answer to the question she had missed.


    ¡°The fabric of the aether should be nothing too unusual when the eddies smooth out,¡± the Someshwari said. ¡°We are, in the end, nothing more than endless reiterations struggling for a different ending, inherently doomed to failure.¡±


    He paused.


    ¡°Though I expect that if our assassin knew they would emerge here, as is suggested by their visiting the ce in advance, there must be some connection to their means of crossing,¡± he added. ¡°Let us have a look at that wall, yes?¡±


    Behind them was a grunt, a curse, and then a loud thump. They all pretended not to hear Wen Duan dragging himself back up to his feet.


    --


    There was no trace of whatever the criminals had once kept here, save for one bottle of transparent liquor left in the middle of the toorge basement. Tupoc ripped out the cork, took a sniff and then had a swallow.


    ¡°Strong stuff,¡± the Izcalli said. ¡°Tastes a little like pine.¡±


    A moment passed as he stared down at the bottle.


    ¡°And it¡¯s not poisoned, either, fancy that,¡± Tupoc happily announced. ¡°It seems like we¡¯ll have drinks with lunch after all.¡±


    ¡°Give me that, Xical, it¡¯s contraband,¡± Wen said. ¡°Very illegal stuff it is, can¡¯t trust students with it.¡±


    The pale-eyed Izcalli turned a cocked eyebrow on his own patron. Wen mouthed ¡®half and half¡¯ at him.


    ¡°It could be drugged,¡± Lieutenant Mitra smoothly agreed. ¡°Captain Wen and I must investigate.¡±


    He cleared his throat.


    ¡°Abrascal never found out what lies on the other side of those stairs,¡± he added, pointing at the set they¡¯d not entered the bare room through. ¡°Go do so, and take Yan and Vphi with you.¡±


    ¡°As you say, sir,¡± Tupoc drily replied. ¡°Bait, go back in the room where Abrascal almost got killed and ready the food. It seems like a good ce to have our meal at.¡±


    Maryam casually flipped him the finger, which only had him grinning as he sauntered off. That left behind the three signifiers and Wen, whose sole contribution was to go through the bags Bait was bringing up one at a time to fish out a pair of tin goblets. Best get this done before the patrons started drinking, Maryam thought as she picked up one of thenterns on the ground and headed for the wall at the back.


    It was as Tristan said: the stone there was the same as the roads in the emptyyer.


    Alejandra caught up, but driven by the same distinct as Maryam she took not a step past thentern. Lieutenant Mitra, however, brushed past the both of them with his robes aflutter. He hummed as he paced back and forth, shing a few lines of Gloam through the air in the form of a fast-fading Sign beforeying his palm against the stone. It stayed there, Mitra closing his eyes, and she risked tasting the aether around him with her nav.


    It felt, she thought, like a man rapping his knuckles against a jar. He was pulsing Gloam while pricking his metaphysical ear for an echo. What he heard, though, she knew not.


    ¡°That,¡± Lieutenant Mitra finally said as he withdrew his palm, ¡°is brackstone. And of rather high quality, too: my Reverb Sign couldn¡¯t even pass all the way through.¡±


    ¡°Brack-stone,¡± Maryam tried out. ¡°As in ¡®bracken stone¡¯?¡±


    ¡°Technically they are a manner of brick, not natural stone,¡± Mitra mused, ¡°but yes, you are correct. It is used for containment and protection because it bears salt inside. Much stronger against aether than Gloam, but still difficult for a signifier to pass through.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d never heard of brackstone either,¡± Alejandra admitted, scowling.


    ¡°It fell out of use over a century and a half ago,¡± Captain Wen said, and Maryam almost jumped out of her skin.


    She¡¯d not heard him cross the room, and now he was barely three feet away from here.


    ¡°The Mni discovered that adding salt and wood ash into simple bricks has about the same effect at a tenth of the cost,¡± Wen said. ¡°The Imperial Someshwar stole the recipe off them and it¡¯s spread most everywhere since.¡±


    ¡°The older parts of the Rookery have entire towers made of brackstone,¡± Lieutenant Mitra told them. ¡°Though hardly of such quality as this wall.¡±


    ¡°To build roads of such a stone inside ayer seems¡­ odd,¡± Alejandra said.


    ¡°Unless you want every way out to be hostile to whatever lies inside,¡± Maryam said. ¡°That sphere at the center of theyer that I found, I must now wonder ¨C was it sand that I was walking on, or very fine <em>salt</em>?¡±


    ¡°Your report mentioned a bronze harpoon within,¡± Lieutenant Mitra said.


    ¡°Tall as a ship¡¯s mast, and about as broad,¡± she agreed. ¡°Plunged deep in the sand.¡±


    A detail that grew more ominous now that it urred to her the very ¡®sand¡¯ might be a prison.


    ¡°That is your key, I wager,¡± Mitra said. ¡°Our assassin was able to enter the paths using an object that has a connection to the harpoon. The exact mechanics yet escape me ¨C it cannot be a simplepass, else it would not have allowed them to leave theyers and <em>certainly</em> not know where they would cross back into the material ¨C but that harpoon is the only feasible metaphysical anchor.¡±


    He chewed his lip, thoughtful.


    ¡°Even if one follows the logic that the stone here is connected to the paths, it should have been difficult for the assassin to predict <em>where</em> she would emerge,¡± Mitra said. ¡°I expect our wall here, the structure is it part of, will not be the only one hidden under the foundation of Tratheke. So why this ce and not another?¡±


    Maryam cleared her throat.


    ¡°And when Tristan and I emerged out in the street¡­¡±


    ¡°You followed through an already open path, the easiest way out, but without whatever tool allows the assassin precision,¡± Lieutenant Mitra absent-mindedly said. ¡°Hence ending up in the street.¡±


    She took a second to parse that out.


    ¡°It sounds to me,¡± she ventured, ¡°like the paths can be entered from anywhere but one emerges only at ces connected to theyer.¡±


    ¡°A reasonable hypothesis,¡± Mitra agreed.


    ¡°So it likely can¡¯t be used to enter the rector¡¯s pce, only leave it,¡± she continued.


    He nced at her.


    ¡°Unless there is structure connected to the paths in the pce,¡± Lieutenant Mitra said, ¡°but again that is a reasonable assertion.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯ll be a relief to the lictors, I imagine,¡± Wen drily said.


    ¡°I wonder what the structure is,¡± Alejandra muttered. ¡°If those digging the basement found the wall by ident or this room is as old as the rest.¡±


    ¡°Too much guesswork is building with sand,¡± Mitra said. ¡°Though of course our lives are all painted in the bleak, indifferent colors of fated impermanence.¡±


    ¡°Best not to fiddle with that wall,¡± Wen said. ¡°We¡¯ll bring Song into this, Maryam, but it seems to me our wisest way forward is to make inquiries with the Lord Rector. Even if House Palliades does not know what this is about, there is bound to be something in their private archives.¡±


    ¡°Sending word to Stheno¡¯s Peak would be equally wise,¡± Lieutenant Mitra noted. ¡°We will have our own records.¡±


    Not a dead end, Maryam decided, but a hint. Something was buried beneath Tratheke, and some fool had decided to meddle with it. They left the wall to its dark and silence, waiting until Tupoc and his minions returned to news of the other stairs leading to a cramped tunnel eventually ending in a house further down the street. By the looks of it there had been a dormitory of sorts for guards there, and a discreet back door through which to bring crates.


    They ate their meal upstairs before leaving, and s for the students none of the bottle survived the thorough inspection it was given by their patrons.


    --


    It was dark out, and though Song would have had no trouble navigating the night Tristan¡¯s presence had warranted bringing antern ¨C shuttered until only a thin slice of light went through. At the thief¡¯s request they had kept off the well-lit avenues of Asphodel, moving through side streets instead. It slowed them down, but not as much as she would have thought.


    Be they great or small, all the streets of Tratheke were paved with the same smooth, perfectly fitting stones.


    They were, ording to the city map they had borrowed from ck House, not far from their destination. Out in the northwest of the city, past the houses and shops crowding the inner ward and the Collegium, then past the two of the less impressive neighborhoods centered around therge avenue cutting straight through the northwestern quarter of the city.


    Tratheke was built as if a god had used a ruler when setting down the stone and brass, which Song found extremely appealing to the eye, but this far out the original grid only meant so much. Filth and dirt had crawled in, tainting perfect facades and caking the bottom of brassnterns.


    ¡°This does not seem like a wise part of the city to have warehouses in,¡± Song muttered. ¡°The people of the district mere minutes away do not look wealthy.¡±


    Was it not unnecessarily reckless to store trade goods near those who would be tempted to steal them?


    ¡°A coterie runs the ce,¡± Tristan replied. ¡°<em>Basilea</em>, as they call them here. It¡¯s what those grey wings they put in the corner of ss windows mean, that dues have been paid to the Pegasoi.¡±


    ¡°And the owners of the warehouses pay the Pegasoi to keep thieves out,¡± Song slowly said, ¡°because warehouses here are inexpensive enoughpared to the prices in southern Tratheke that bribing the thugs is still cheaper than buying there.¡±


    ¡°Guesswork, but that is also my bet,¡± the thief said. ¡°Everyone¡¯s going to want the warehouses closest to the causeway leading to the Lordsport, it¡¯s the same as thend around the harbors in Sacromonte.¡±


    It was the same in every port, she thought. Mazu, which she was most familiar with, was no exception. It was not without reason that much of that city¡¯s waterside was owned by the city itself and rented to merchants instead of sold. Song¡¯s father had once told her that foreigners wanting to lease it must pay five times the rates as locals and that the city made almost as much from Mni tradepanies as the rest of the rents put together.


    Yet where Mazu was thriving, sure to be the richest of the republics outside the Sanxing if not for the border with Izcalli and the ring of manned forts that forced it to maintain, the northwest districts looked deste. The only ones profiting from this arrangement were the thugs and the <em>yiwu</em>, as tended to be the way under the rule of kings.


    ¡°Here,¡± Tristan whispered, jolting her out of her thoughts. ¡°That¡¯s the one, just past that intersection.¡±


    Mildly irritated ¨C and impressed ¨C that the half of this pair that could not see through the gloom was the better navigator out in these streets, Song followed his jutting thumb. Keeping an eye out for anyone who might be lurking, they walked the rest of the distance with their hands on their des.


    The warehouse was, unsurprisingly, not one of the nicer ones in this derelict ce. A low-ceilinged rectangle of a ce maybe six hundred feet long, its brass-boned roof had caved in at several spots and only been shoddily patched. There were multiple padlocks on the front gates, but only a lock on the side door. And unlike the warehouses they¡¯d passed by earlier, closer to the Pegasoi stomping grounds, there were no hired guards keeping an eye out.


    ¡°Side door?¡± she quietly asked.


    ¡°I can pick it,¡± Tristan agreed. ¡°But I saw a gap under the front gates. Check if there¡¯s anyone inside, would you?¡±


    Clever, she thought. Someone else would see only darkness if no lights were lit, but that was no trouble to her own eyes. She lowered herself to the ground as he kept watch, peeking through the thin slice of room under the door. An open floor, skeletal frames of metal and not a soul in sight.


    ¡°Clear,¡± she whispered.


    He made quick work of the lock when they doubled back, and almost silently to boot.


    ¡°Tell me that isn¡¯t Tianxi,¡± she murmured.


    He grinned, which was answer enough.


    ¡°It¡¯s a Bohe,¡± he said. ¡°The cheapest stuff your workshops put out, it¡¯s actually worse than sixty-years old locks. You can get one for the price of a bushel of oranges, though.¡±


    That House Anaidon had put the literal cheapest lock on the market on the door of their suspect warehouse was somewhat amusing, she¡¯d admit, even more so when it urred to her that them buying a Tianxi lock might just well have been what drew the Yellow Earth¡¯s eye here in the first ce.


    Cutting corners always came at a cost.


    Momentster they were in, her with her <em>jian </em>out and Tristan with his ckjack. They entered what appeared to be some kind of office, by the amount of desks, but there was nothing to go through here: the tabletops were bare, the drawers outright gone and the only chair left only had three legs. The ce had been stripped bare, only furniture toorge to fit through the door and too shoddy to be worth pulling apart left behind.


    The door on the other side of the room led to the warehouse floor, which another sweep confirmed to be empty save for those strange skeletal frames. Tristan opened thentern fully, bringing it up, and by unspoken ord they split up to inspect the warehouse. Her gaze lingered on the frames, which were not of the brassy alloy everywhere in Tratheke but rather rusted-through iron.


    She thought they looked like half a set of ribs, at least until she realized they¡¯d beenud to rest the wrong way. There were pegs higher up the walls where the frames must have once been hung, looking like dull hooks curving upwards. To support something, perhaps? She knew that Asphodel exported cedar wood, prized in shipbuilding everywhere as cedar did not rot.


    Perhaps trees had beenid to rest on the hooks, though for what reason she could only guess.


    ¡°Mhmmm.¡±


    Her gaze went to Tristan, who was kneeling next to¡­ rags? She headed his way, and her eyes narrowed as she got closer. Those were not rags but nkets. So ragged they might as well, and tossed away in piles, but nkets nheless. By the size of the piles, at least a hundred of them.


    ¡°Scorched stone over there,¡± Tristan said, jutting a thumb to his left. ¡°Cooking stove, I¡¯m guessing. I¡¯m sure we¡¯ll find more trace if we keep looking.¡±


    There were. A corner in the back was clearly full of dry piss, by the smell, and not far off were traces of shit at the bottom of a wall. Someone had missed the chamber pot, though of those there was no trace. Meanwhile Tristan found trace of another stove and half-erased chalk in the form of a grid with symbols on it.


    ¡°A ritual grid?¡± she wondered. ¡°Some sort of cypher?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a tomb and stars grid,¡± Tristan told her.


    That sounded ominous, though for some reason he seemed amused. Was it-


    ¡°The most popr dice game in the western isles,¡± he said.


    Song cleared her throat.


    ¡°Is it now?¡±


    ¡°I mean, they changed some of the symbols,¡± he said, ¡°but that¡¯s probably just the version local to Asphodel. All the biggest cities tend to use their own symbols for the stars, and for some godforsaken reason Old Saraya uses a different one for the tombs.¡±


    He shrugged.


    ¡°I¡¯ve taken a good enough look to draw them again, so I¡¯ll confirm the symbols with the servants when wee back.¡±


    She nodded, frowning. Not at her mistake, though that was also decent reason.


    ¡°Threadbare nkets, a stove and dice games,¡± Song said. ¡°This does not seem like their of a revel cult.¡±


    ¡°It sounds like someone stashed soldiers here,¡± Tristan tly said.


    She raised an eyebrow at him and he shrugged.


    ¡°Looked, I saw your face when you saw shit on the wall but think about it,¡± he said. ¡°As many men as there were nkets, here for who knows how long, and only one mess? There was a concerted effort to keep traces of presence light, and discipline in sticking to it. It¡¯s not a few vagrants off the streets that tripped the lock and stayed a few days.¡±


    ¡°You might have a point,¡± Song admitted.


    And if someone had kept soldiers here, it stood to reason arms had been kept as well. She swept through the warehouse floor again, this time not looking for marks of life so much as ¨C ah, and there we were. The men that¡¯d stayed here had not wiped the floor free of dust before putting down their nkets, so the parts where they¡¯d stayed had even streaks and clumps of gathered dust. There was one section of the floor, though, that was universally clean.


    Tristan caught up with her.


    ¡°Too clean?¡±


    ¡°Too clean,¡± she agreed.


    ¡°I¡¯m not seeing seams for a false floor,¡± the thief said. ¡°Mind you, I wouldn¡¯t if it¡¯s well done. A powder trick would-¡±


    Song crouched, breathing in and focusing. Seeing the truth, and the truth was a hairline fracture in the floor. She followed the contour, the straight lines and corners, until she found one the corner that was chopped. Uneven. She made her way there, fingers pressing down, and found the catch. She rotated a spot in the stone, something clicking beneath the surface and then she carefully lifted a square of stone onlyrge as her fist and thick as a finger.


    Tristan let out a whistle.


    ¡°Well, here¡¯s two hours of my life saved,¡± he said. ¡°I fucking hate doing the powder trick, so a hundred flowers to you. I don¡¯t suppose you¡¯d want to swap contracts?¡±


    ¡°Contracts? No,¡± Song said. ¡°Though if you ever discover a way to swap gods¡­¡±


    ¡°Sold,¡± he replied without hesitation.


    He spent the following minute protecting his face from the righteous beating of his shouting goddess, which almost made up for the other part. The small ping of amusementing from the depths of her own soul, Luren¡¯s mirth like the tinkle of a silver bell.


    Once Tristan was done groveling his way back to peace, they got to work. The rest of the stone hiding the cache was heavier and thicker, covering much more surface. The part she had removed was to leave room to slide in a perch and leverage it out. Trying out her sheath only revealed that the bottom was further down, but they improvised by sawing off a long swath of iron frame whose bottom was rusted off and using it as perch.


    While wearing gloves, of course, as Song did not intend having to append how she had caught lockjaw to the official report.


    The inside was disappointing in that it was empty, not so much a stray de left she could bring back as proof. Lowering herself down, though, she inspected the corners and smiled at what she saw. Grease and smudges ckpowder. In several ces, too, not only corner.


    ¡°They kept at least ten barrels of powder down here,¡± she said. ¡°Maybe more.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a lot of powder even for a hundred men,¡± Tristan said, crouching at the edge. ¡°Unless they intend to be firing volleys, anyway.¡±


    ¡°My thoughts exactly,¡± Song replied, leaning against the wall.


    She took out a cloth to wipe her hands clean of the grease and powder before brushing back her hair.


    ¡°So someone¡¯s smuggling soldiers and powder into Tratheke,¡± he said. ¡°Either the cult of Golden Ram¡¯s not at all what we thought it was¡­¡±


    ¡°Or we have not caught the cult¡¯s tail at all,¡± Songpleted. ¡°Hector Anaidon is not the head of his house, and his brother would not necessarily let him in on a conspiracy.¡±


    ¡°You think someone¡¯s preparing a coup,¡± Tristan said. ¡°And that Lord Ainaidon¡¯s in bed with them.¡±


    ¡°From the inside is the only sensible way to take Tratheke,¡± Song said. ¡°It is an Antediluvian-made box with only fortified gates in and out. I¡¯ve read through Asphodel histories, Tristan, and the capital has never been stormed sessfully ¨C and not forck of rebels besieging it. Those brass walls will shrug off cannon fire.¡±


    ¡°And if the only way in and out is those big gates, all you need to do is put a couple of cannons facing the roads and shoot whatever tries to march in,¡± Tristan agreed. ¡°The enemy will run out of volunteers long before you run out of powder. Traitors opening a gate would be cheaper even if you promise each their weight in gold.¡±


    ¡°Or never needing to open the gates at all,¡± Song said, ¡°because your army is already inside the walls.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a bold n,¡± Tristan said. ¡°Risky, though. You¡¯d need to move them into the capita¡¯s empty parts while smuggling the rest in and Tratheke¡¯s empty parts aren¡¯t really empty ¨C there¡¯s the basileias running about. Someone will have seen something.¡±


    He paused, arriving at the same conclusion she already had.


    ¡°Unless they¡¯re in on it,¡± he finished, clicking his tongue. ¡°Yeah, it could work. Still risky.¡±


    ¡°The only force in Asphodel that had soldiers to spare and can bring them through the mountains unseen is the Council of Ministers,¡± Song said. ¡°They have the arms, thend routes and as of recently the <em>motivation</em> to make a gamble like this.¡±


    Tristan cursed.


    ¡°Because of the shipyard,¡± he said. ¡°If those start churning out skimmers, it doesn¡¯t matter how many men they can put together ¨C Evander Palliades will be rich enough to buy every mercenarypany kicking about the Trebian Sea and drown them in bodies. They need to knock him out before those shipyards solidify his position.¡±


    ¡°No more than six months,¡± Song quietly said. ¡°Any more than that and not only are the risks too high someone will flip but he should be getting money out of the Republics.¡±


    That was what Hao Yu said, that Ambassador Guo was under strict instructions to get ess to the shipyards. If he could not aplish that within six months, he would be dismissed and reced by someone who could.


    ¡°This feels out of our jurisdiction,¡± Tristan finally said.


    ¡°Agreed,¡± she said. ¡°It needs to go to Brigadier Chca.¡±


    ¡°So you¡¯ll finally get to meet the man who sold you out to the Lord Rector,¡± he drily said. ¡°Lucky you.¡±


    She rolled her eyes, then breathed out.


    ¡°We are thin on evidence,¡± Song finally said. ¡°He might not believe us.¡±


    ¡°Then he doesn¡¯t believe us,¡± Tristan shrugged. ¡°We¡¯ll hurry up with our contract and get out of this powder keg before someone throws a match.¡±


    He paused.


    ¡°Interesting, though, that the Yellow Earth knows we¡¯re hunting a cult but sends us after what looks like noble conspiracy.¡±


    ¡°The thought urred,¡± Song acknowledged. ¡°Though in all fairness the Anaidon connection might have tripped them up as it did us.¡±


    She rolled her shoulder.


    ¡°It is still throwing us off their trail,¡± she acknowledged. ¡°Which begs the question of whether they do so because they do not want us stumbling into their usual schemes or because there is a cult connection.¡±


    ¡°The Yellow Earth¡¯s not going to be this easy to sniff out,¡± Tristan warned. ¡°That lot knows how burrow, Song. The infanzones have been trying to dig them out of the City for years and they have dust to show for it.¡±


    ¡°The Yellow Earth works in sects,¡± Song told him. ¡°Each is different, though there is supposedly a grandmaster that leads the movement. I doubt the Asphodel sect will be anywhere as well put together as the Sacromonte one.¡±


    She chewed the inside of her lip.


    ¡°Point taken, however,¡± she said. ¡°We do not know this city.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll need locals,¡± Tristan agreed. ¡°And I can think of only one sort that¡¯d be willing to treat with us.¡±


    ¡°Criminals,¡± she said.


    ¡°Basileias,¡± he shrugged. ¡°If you want us to pull at the Yellow Earth¡¯s tail, the lictors aren¡¯t going to do any good.¡±


    Because if the lictors knew of members of the sect, they would currently be strung up on gallows.


    ¡°Help me up,¡± Song said, extending her hand.


    He pulled and she pushed herself up the wall, scrabbling back onto solid ground. Now came the unpleasant part: putting it all back in case someone came to look.


    ¡°Perhaps Angharad will find us a lead,¡± Song said. ¡°But if she does not, the Yellow Earth now seems our likeliest suspect in having ties.¡±


    Which was more than passing odd, considering the Lord Rector¡¯s belief that the cult was being made into a vessel for a noble coup. Well, Evander was right about the coup at least if she was reading the signs correctly.


    ¡°I¡¯ll pray our friends in the Brazen Chariot will answer my invitation, then,¡± Tristan said. ¡°Else I¡¯ll have to go fishing off the list Hage gave me, and that could get tricky.¡±


    ¡°I have no doubt you will seed at getting us a meeting,¡± she said, and was surprised to find she meant it.


    He squinted at her.


    ¡°You¡¯re trying to guilt me into pulling the false floor instead of pushing, aren¡¯t you?¡± Tristan asked.


    ¡°Of course not,¡± Song lied.

 Chapter 47

    Chapter 47


    The Thirteenth usually ate its evening meal together, asionally alongside the other brigades, but with Song and Tristan out tonight Angharad had elected to make other arrangements. Though she had a working truce of sorts with Maryam, she would much prefer not to eat an entire meal alone with the other woman.


    Besides, it had been too long since she shared a table with her uncle.


    Osian Tredegar was amander of the Watch, which meant that unlike her he had been able to make requests of the ck House kitchens: it was before an attempt at a ssic Pereduri spread that they sat. The heart of it was smoked mackerel, roasted cheese rarebit and wild spinach. An attempt atverbread had been made by the cooks, but the seaweed tasted wrong. A side dish of rabbit made up for it, though, the local game spruced up with flower salt.


    ¡°It¡¯s better than the flower salt from Carchar Mulfrain,¡± Angharad admitted, feeling somewhat unpatriotic.


    ¡°Rhiannon never bought Carchar salt in her life, Angie,¡± Uncle Osian snorted. ¡°She always got the cheaper fare out of Tariac that they dry a second time under the Carchar re. Insisted it was just as good.¡±


    She goggled at him.


    ¡°I have been eating <em>Azn</em> salt all my life?¡±


    It would be unfair to treat all the Azn peoples as if they were Izcalli, for though that eponymous people and kingdom stood the greatest among the Azn they also tended to be despised by their kin for the constant flower wars they inflicted on their neighbors. Still, Tariac was a tributary state of the Grasshopper King in all but name and only support from Mn kept it from teetering past the edge of the cliff.


    ¡°It¡¯s all from the Straying Sea regardless,¡± Osian replied, amused.She red at him. There would be a difference, she was sure of it. At least she had not been betraying the Duchy of Peredur by preferring Asphodelian flower salt to its own, which was something of afort. She dug into the mackerel, which was ¡®horse¡¯ mackerel instead of the snake mackerelmon around the Isles but was quite skillfully prepared nheless. Delicious.


    The rarebit was even better, to her surprise. It was not aplicated dish, but it was hard to get your hands on a decent one outside Peredur. Half the world seemed convinced rarebit was some sort of quiche, and some of the things they sold under the name in southern Mn should be treated as a crime.


    ¡°-knack for it.¡±


    Angharad finished her slice of rarebit and guiltily coughed.


    ¡°I missed thatst part,¡± she said.


    Osian snorted, sipping at dark wine.


    ¡°I was saying that the Tianxi girl from the Fourth, the one that goes by ¡®eptable Losses¡¯, has a real talent with powders,¡± he said. ¡°Only to be expected from the daughter of firework artisans, but she would be a catch for a munitions workshop.¡±


    ¡°Your own workshop,¡± she slowly said, ¡°is not concerned with the munitions themselves, as I understand it.¡±


    He wiggled his hand.


    ¡°Our focus is gunsmithing and artillery, but that involves some degree of powder tinkering,¡± Osian said. ¡°The bullets for rifles are not the same as for muskets, and the powder charger differs as well. Not my area of expertise, but I¡¯ve worked quite closely with such specialists.¡±


    He sipped at his ss.


    ¡°That and the asional deuce when one of them was foisted on us,¡± he sneered.


    Angharad cocked her head to the side.


    ¡°Deuce?¡± she asked.


    His lips twitched.


    ¡°How many members of the Deuteronomicon does it take to open a door?¡± Osian Tredegar asked.


    Angharad swallowed a grin. Ah, one of <em>those</em> jokes.


    ¡°How many?¡±


    ¡°Two,¡± he said. ¡°One to dere the door impassable, the other to im it doesn¡¯t exist. Then the Cathedral opens the door.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± she gasped, delightfully scandalized. ¡°And you call them this to their faces?¡±


    ¡°They call us clockboys,¡± Osian shrugged. ¡°And those are some of the nicest sobriquets thrown around by either side.¡±


    ¡°And to think I¡¯d believed a schrly society like the Umuthi would be a realm of civility,¡± Angharad grinned.


    "Then you must not know many schrs,¡± he noted. ¡°I have read correspondence between Umuthi and Peiling professors so scathing it felt the paper should be ame.¡±


    He took a bite of mackerel, then dabbed his lips with the tablecloth.


    ¡°That Coyac boy from the Neenth is a good egg regardless of his chosen track, mind you,¡± Osian told her. ¡°Perhaps the most sincerely cordial young man of such high birth I¡¯ve met.¡±


    Angharad¡¯s brow rose as she tried to recall his full name.


    ¡°Izel Coyac,¡± she finally found. ¡°I know little of him but the name, I¡¯ll admit, and had no notion of him being highborn.¡±


    ¡°He is rted to Doghead Coyac, the Izcalli general that won them the Sordan War,¡± her uncle said. ¡°How closely I am unsure, but I expect he¡¯s a nephew or simrly close kin.¡±


    Her brow rose even higher. Much of the Kingdom of Izcalli¡¯s nobility was looked down upon in Mn and the Someshwar because of their position being so transient: fireflies, they were called, for many noble titles under the Grasshopper King could only be passed on or maintained by waging war in his name. That did not mean, however, that the military nobility was not powerful or influential.


    A general of Izcalli would be at least a <em>calpuleh</em>, ruling directly over a fortress-temple as well as receiving taxes from a dozen townships. With that seat and ie they were expected to raise and train a retinue of soldiers, which would serve as their core troops in any campaign the Grasshopper King assigned them. There were intricacies to this involving warrior societies that were somewhat beyond Angharad, but she had learned as a girl that Izcalli generals could often field retinuesparable to those of <em>izinduna</em>, the great lords of Mn.


    General Coyac was, in other words, a very influential rtion to have.


    ¡°To his cordiality, then,¡± Angharad said, raising her cup.


    Osian matched the toast. Then spent an hour eating and drinking, and though she¡¯d not imbibed enough to be drunk Angharad felt some knot in her shoulders loosen. It was a balm for the soul to spend time with the family she had left.


    No. <em>Almost</em> all the family she had left.


    As if reading the shadow that fell over her expression, Osian Tredegar waited for the servant to disappear with thest of the dessert tes to let out a long breath. The door was closed but he still pitched his voice low when he spoke.


    ¡°Brigadier Chca has requested ess to the cache, but the Lord Rector is using the attempt on his life as an excuse to stonewall him,¡± Osian said. ¡°He¡¯s giving ground on an inspection of the shipyard, however, and I will be part of that along with a Deuteronomicon schr. It should happen over the next few days, but as my role will be to ascertain the likely rate of production of the shipyard I will not be able to wander.¡±


    It would have been risky for her uncle to find the infernal forge while on official Watch business anyway, Angharad thought. The odds were too high there might bepany with him also capable of identifying the device, which would make obtaining it much trickier.


    ¡°That is still good news,¡± she said. ¡°You will learn something of the location.¡±


    ¡°The condition presented to Chca for the inspection was that our inspectors are to be sedated while brought to the shipyard," Osian grimaced. ¡°He has already epted.¡±


    She grimaced back. So they would still have to find their own way in. Time for her part of the report, then.


    ¡°That same assassination attempt cut through the sole party I attended,¡± Angharad quietly told him. ¡°I was not able to secure an invitation from Lord Cleon to his estate.¡±


    She clenched her fist beneath the table. She had spoken with him a second time that night, before the lictors burst in and politely detained everyone, but to go fishing for an invite while rms bells were ringing would have been highly suspicious. Still, she was not out of the race yet.


    ¡°Lord Menander has sent me an invitation to a garden party at noon tomorrow,¡± she said. ¡°I will do what I must to secure ess then.¡±


    ¡°We do not know for certain Cleon Eirenos has found a path to the shipyard,¡± Uncle Osian reminded her. ¡°Only that he is the most likely lord to have found trace of the lictors out in the hills.¡±


    While the Watch had been told that the shipyard was beneath the ind of Asphodel, its exact location and that of the path to said shipyard had proved elusive. And not forck of looking, either. The colonel of the Stheno¡¯s Peak garrison had reported suspicions that the entrance must be outside the capital, as Lord Rector Evander had too many eyes on him there to have been able to refurbish an Antediluvian shipyard without anyone noticing the flow of men and supplies.


    That meant the Tratheke hills, as open ins were no hiding ce, and of the nobles to have noticed something there Lord Cleon was their best bet.


    ¡°He was attracted to me, and not entirely opposed to boasting,¡± Angharad said. ¡°I should be able to get him talking if he knows anything.¡±


    It was somewhat ufortable a thought, close to lying and certainly a deception, but it could not be helped. She would make certain not to harm the young man in any way and seek a way to repay the favor if he did end up helping her.


    ¡°And your¡­ friend?¡± Uncle Osian hesitantly asked.


    Captain Imani, he meant. The ufudu with a hand around her throat, ready to squeeze. Amusingly enough, though Imani Langa had tried to approach her several times she had not been able to ¨C both Song and Tristan had taken a dislike to her and kept tripping her up. So long as the Eleventh remained lodged at ck House it was inevitable that Imani would find an opening, but for now Angharad was allowing herself to enjoy the other woman¡¯s misadventures.


    ¡°We have not recently spoken,¡± Angharad said. ¡°I will tell you when we do.¡±


    ¡°Do so,¡± Osian Tredegar tly said. ¡°I am helping you with this, niece, so that you do not get yourself killed ¨C but I will not tolerate being left in the dark.¡±


    She nodded, for what else could she do? Though her uncle¡¯s fingers around her throat were more kindly meant than Imani¡¯s, their grip was no weaker. Angharad needed his help and his silence no less than she needed Imani Langa¡¯s good word to the Lefthand House. <em>Tomorrow</em>, she told herself. <em>Tomorrow I will get that invitation ande a step closer to an end for all this.</em> Ancestors, let it be so.


    Every day this felt a little more like drowning.


    --


    (<em>Where did you get your hatchet</em>? Angharad asked. <em>The armory in Azei</em>, Maryam replied, <em>but it is not standard issue so I had to pay a fee</em>.)


    She frowned as she emerged, feeling the inside of her veins aching. As if it had bruised. Soon she would be reaching their agreed-on limit for the day. That was the downside of doing the contract tests in the morning, as far as Angharad was concerned: it tied her hands regarding its useter in the day.


    ¡°You got your hatchet from the Watch armory of Azei, after paying a fee,¡± Angharad said.


    Tristan leaned forward, flipping a paper on the table and revealing the question and answer she¡¯d glimpsedid out in his cramped handwriting. He still smelled faintly of gunpowder, Angharad noticed not for the first time. The morning practice she had avoided but would have to find a way to make up for. Perhaps Sergeant Kavia could be asked for a hand.


    <em>I look at you and I see a dozen intentions, none of them yours</em>, Song had told her. That, more than any of the rest, still burned. Enough she wanted no part of standing before those too-keen silver eyes beyond the strictest of needs. Angharad bloody well knew what she needed to do, it simply did not happen to be what Song Ren might want.


    Her return to the Thirteenth Brigade was only temporary, she reminded herself. It would be odd for her to change brigades when she had passed her yearly test with the Thirteenth to join one that had not, admittedly, but that did not mean remaining with them for the whole year. There would be a span of some months before the end of the year, after the other tests were finished, where a transfer would be easy enough to arrange.


    It was a good thing that Song diforted her, Angharad told herself. A reminder not to get toofortable here.


    She was shaken out of her thoughts by Maryam¡¯s humming, the Izvorica ncing down at the four rows of three papers on the table. Of these six were now flipped, each disying a question that Tristan had written down with its answer that Maryam had not known about in advance. The pale-skinned woman jotted down a few notes with her steel-tipped pen.


    ¡°I think it reasonable to call it confirmed you<em></em>can obtain information from individuals without them being made aware,¡± she said. ¡°Tomorrow we will focus on counter-exercises, I think ¨C can someone <em>expecting </em>you to use your contract prevent such interrogation?¡±


    Tristan, who had pointedly not been given a seat at the table despite Maryam having two more empty chairs, let out a sigh.


    ¡°I take it I volunteered for the counter-exercises?¡±


    The blue-eyed woman smiled pleasantly, leaning forward.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± she said. ¡°Did you?¡±


    He squinted at her, but that smile only grew more radiant.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Tristan grudgingly said. ¡°I did.¡±


    ¡°Good man,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯ll see youter, then.¡±


    Angharad sipped at her water goblet, having been struck by a sudden episode of blindness and deafness. The thief had been trying to buy his way back into Maryam¡¯s good graces ever since their argument, but she was holding his feet to the fire without mercy. But not with any real cruelty, either, so neither could he get angry and turn the bnce back on her. Maryam was impressively skilled at grudge bearing, it must be said.


    A half-sketched thought tying that to the tales of Izvoric retaliation against settlers was set aside, unneeded. Maryam was perfectly capable of terrible pettiness on her own, her race had nothing to do with it. And ugly as the admission was, Angharad found it easier to put the faults to the woman instead of the people.


    Stolen story; please report.


    She had few feelings about the Izvoric either way, but her time in the Thirteenth had allowed her to develop a great many opinions about Maryam Khaimov.


    ¡°One hopes,¡± Tristan drily replied. ¡°Angharad, enjoy your party. See you at dinner, yes?¡±


    ¡°Most likely,¡± Angharad agreed, the deafness having passed. ¡°You¡¯ll be having a look around the city, as I understand it?¡±


    ¡°I have a lead on finding Hage¡¯stest Chimerical,¡± he said. ¡°There are only so many creatures out there matching the description of ¡®a cat that looks like it ate several other cats¡¯.¡±


    ¡°Prince Mephistofeline has a most elegant bearing,¡± Angharad loyally said.


    ¡°And much of it, if one measures by the pound,¡± he drawled.


    He waved them both goodbye as she red half-heartedly, Maryam conceding him only a small nod. Angharad sipped at her water again while he closed the door behind him, eyeing Maryam curiously.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you start,¡± Maryam grunted. ¡°I¡¯ll ease off on him tomorrow, he¡¯s put in the work. And his method might have been worth a chiding, but he might also have had more of a point than I figured.¡±


    ¡°I did not intend to say anything,¡± Angharad said.


    Maryam hummed.


    ¡°You <em>have</em> been getting better at that,¡± the other woman said..


    Maryam was not as skilled atpliments as grudge-bearing.


    ¡°You still have the tell when you use your contract,¡± the signifier continued. ¡°It¡¯s not blinking exactly, more like fluttering your eyes.¡±


    ¡°I do not notice doing it,¡± Angharad admitted. ¡°Perhaps it is part of my contract.¡±


    Maryam flicked a look at the closed door.


    ¡°I¡¯m told that contracts often breed little tics but that they can be trained out,¡± she said. ¡°We can throw that onto the list, if you¡¯d like ¨C a single flutter shouldn¡¯t draw attention, but if you use your contract repeatedly in front of someone they might catch on.¡±


    Angharad hid her surprise, finishing thest of her water and setting it down in a measured gesture. It was the first time Maryam even hinted at Angharad having any influence on what was to be done during these sessions. Their grant was, after all, something the Pereduri had offered as part of her bargain for being allowed back in the Thirteenth. She cleared her throat.


    ¡°That would please me,¡± she admitted. ¡°It is kind of you to offer.¡±


    Maryam waved that away.


    ¡°We¡¯ve established the boundary conditions of your ¡®glimpses¡¯, more or less,¡± she said. ¡°I don¡¯t mind freeing up a few uses to practice killing your tell. I have some ideas concerning ways the glimpses might be used we¡¯ll test, but that chapter isrgely closed ¨C here on Asphodel, anyway. Captain Yue has some tools that¡¯d let me study the effects better, but that is beyond the remit of our bargain.¡±


    Much to Angharad¡¯s relief. Captain Yue sounded like she¡¯d had her empathy surgically removed to make more room for further dubiously ethical experiment ideas.


    ¡°We begin work on the visions, then,¡± Angharad quietly said.


    ¡°Soon,¡± Maryam agreed. ¡°I believe I have a sufficient grasp of your contract¡¯s basics to begin investigating the deeper uses.¡±


    ¡°You have theories,¡± she said, and it was not a question.


    ¡°A dozen,¡± the Izvoricaughed. ¡°I expect our first week will be mostly weeding to rule out the most out-there among them.¡±


    Angharad inclined her head.


    ¡°I will look forward to it,¡± she said.


    A heartbeatter she began to word a qualifier, but after another beat she faltered at the realization she did not need to. She<em> was</em> looking forward to their work together. Even though navigating small talk with Maryam remained arduous, the Izvorica was thorough in her methods and free with information. More than that, there was something oddly satisfying about learning the limits of the power she had obtained from the Fisher.


    She clenched her fist under the table. <em>Eyes on the prize, Tredegar</em>, she told herself. <em>It is more than merely your neck that is on the line.</em> She could not afford distractions.


    --


    Lord Menander Drakos¡¯s annually thrown ¡®green party¡¯ was one of the most beloved events of Tratheke good society.


    Not one of the most exclusive ¨C Angharad would not have been invited were it so ¨C but it was reputed as a hotblooded war of fashion and fencing that drew much excitement. Given that Angharad was again to be dressed as a poor rtion she could not muster much excitement for the first part, but she had high hopes for thetter one. Until she learned the ¡®fencing¡¯ was to be done with reed sticks, anyway.


    She had not been expecting death duels, but surely first blood was not too much to ask for? What an oddnd, Asphodel.


    The ck House stocks did have dresses to borrow, and a very helpful tailor among the staff, but Angharad was not a short woman or a slender one. Only two would ever fit her without the intervention of miraculous spirits, and of these she was only willing to wear one. There were frills, and then there was the fit of madness that seized whatever seamstress was responsible for such an offense to the eyes.


    Angharad was fitted into a lovely pink gown, of which her fuller figure made the neckline more daring than it had likely been on the previous owner. Her height meant it had to be hemmed the ankles instead of the floor, but the white chemise she wore beneath brought it all together with a natural air. The gold-embroidered cuffs fitted past her gown sleeves added a tasteful ent to the ensemble, though Angharad¡¯sck of jewelry would out her as being from an impoverished house.


    Which was for the best. A mysterious young noblewoman of Isles stock sshing wealth around Tratheke society would draw raised eyebrows, and more scrutiny that the effort to hide her being part of the Watch was likely to survive. Better she be assumed someone¡¯s charity than be considered worth investigating.


    nw Hall was not so rich an estate she had ever grown deluded about her standing, anyhow.


    Though the edifice the hired coach brought her to was in the southeastern quarter of Tratheke, among a neighborhood of grand residences kept by nobles ¨C only the very wealthiest of Asphodel could afford a manse inside the Collegium, where even shops went for the prices of a small ship ¨C she had expected some kind of interior garden to warrant the sobriquet of ¡®green party¡¯.


    Yet there was not a hint of greenery as she was led through the antechamber and up several sets of curved marble stairs, Angharad leaning on her walking stick and eyeing the tasteful decor with approval every time she was forced to stop and catch her breath. Few paintings, the local preference for colorful mosaics and painted statues followed closely. This was, she decided a mansion used only to receive. It had too many lounges and salons and too few bedrooms for it to be otherwise.


    Thest level, where all the guests were gathering, was led to by a final set of marble stairs and the gates were opened by liveried servants ¨C to a burst of warm, almost humid air and a blinding sea of green. Not only was the entire summit of Lord Menander¡¯s manse a hothouse, but it was also a <em>sshouse</em>. The ceiling and the upper third of the wall were a curved length of green ss with slender brass bones, almost the Lordsport ceiling writ small.


    The entire room and every guest within were bathed in tinted light, transforming everything Angharad¡¯s eyes could see.


    She took a few limping steps forward on the grass, taking in the sights. Ladies in dresses colored to take advantage of the green ¨C streaks of pale cloth, embroidery in gold and silver, gauze and heavy pearls ¨C while the men either stood out in well-tailored ck, cream hose and the asional waxed cloth. The hothouse itself was pleasant mess of grass and orchids, bordered by trees and small canal-rivers where colorful fish swam.


    Most the guests gathered around pavilions whose roofs had been overtaken by artfully cut ivy, either seated at the tables or being served drinks.


    ¡°Mydy,¡± her guide said. ¡°If you would allow me to guide you to Lord Menander?¡±


    ¡°Please,¡± Angharad nodded.


    The grass was soft against her slippers, and just humid enough she was d her gown¡¯s hem was not too low. Stains on a first borrow was simply atrocious manners. Lord Menander, his mustache in particrly fine form today ¨C enough so Angharad forgot she was taller than the man until she stood right by him ¨C was holding court at one of the pavilions.


    She was announced by her guide, who then retired as the older man enthusiastically introduced her to the handful of nobles he was entertaining. All minor houses, Angharad noted, whose holdings were in Tratheke Valley and thus owed direct fealty to the Lord Rector. His peers, if poorer and less influential than Menander Drakos was said to be.


    Trifling small talk such as what ensued was hardly something she enjoyed, and it required her to y the exotic creature from the misty isle of Peredur even though sailors from the Kingdom of Mn were hardly unknown sight in these parts. She even spoke a few words in Gwynt, to immediate cooing about the beauty of such an ¡®ancient tongue¡¯.


    Which was<em></em>true, it <em>was</em> a beautifulnguage, but those hangers-on would have made the exact same noises if she showed up with a puppy. Weathervanes, these were, deluded into believing they could rise byughing at the right jokes and nodding at the rightints. Such sorts always grew in the gardens of the powerful, Vesper¡¯s most inevitable weeds.


    Lord Menander walked a span with her afterwards, down a stretch of grass bordered by peach trees.


    ¡°You continue to fare well,¡± the mustachioed man said. ¡°That is pleasing to see.¡±


    ¡°You do me honor,¡± Angharad replied.


    However small of one.


    ¡°It is almost a shame you are a rook,¡± Lord Menander murmured. ¡°You would have little trouble making a home in the capital, I think.¡±


    ¡°It is a beautiful city,¡± she said. ¡°Like none I have ever seen.¡±


    ¡°There is greatness in the bones of this isle,¡± Menander Drakos said, looking up at the ss. ¡°Buried deep, but Asphodel was once a seat of empire. The days for that sort of business are long past, I¡¯m afraid, but it behooves us to have greater ambitions than remaining a catspaw for the Six.¡±


    ¡°I have heard little good said of infanzones here,¡± Angharad acknowledged.


    ¡°Nor will you at court, at the moment,¡± Lord Menander said. ¡°Now that Mn and the Republics are reaching out to the Lord Rector over this shipyard business, Sacromontan envoys have been making noises about mediating such negotiations for us. They can be put off for now, but episodes like the attempt on Lord Rector Evander¡¯s life will only embolden them.¡±


    A look was slid her way.


    ¡°Is the assassin any closer to being caught?¡±


    Ah, there it was. A helpful man, Lord Menander, but still a creature of the court. If he was to keep lending her aid in Tratheke society, he intended to benefit as well ¨C and for a courtier, what better coin than word of this most important of investigations from the mouth of one of the investigators?


    ¡°Trails have been run down in the city,¡± Angharad vaguely replied.


    His gaze on her was mild, but she still had to fight the urge to bite her lip. If she did not give him <em>something</em>, she knew, then the fountain of help would dry up. Yet to say too much would be, if not necessarily uwful, at least a breach of privacy expected between the Watch and one who employed them. Menander Drakos was an ally of the Lord Rector¡¯s, but only to an extent.


    Did she still need his help? Bitter as it was to admit, she well might. Even should she seed today and earn an invitation from Lord Cleon, she still needed to find traces of the cult ¨C and without a guide and provider of invitations, she was unlikely to make much progress.


    Which meant concessions.


    ¡°The would-be killer was Tianxi,¡± she murmured. ¡°Inquiries have been made about the Yellow Earth, though word was passed denying involvement.¡±


    ¡°As well they would,¡± Lord Menander snorted. ¡°Those insurgents have been infesting the workshops and warehouses for years, Lady Angharad, with the tacit help of the Trade Assembly. The magnates would sell all of Asphodel to the Republics, if it let them obtain thends of aristoi.¡±


    His contempt for the Trade Assembly was thick and entirely obvious.


    ¡°Investigation continues,¡± Angharad simply replied.


    She had given ground, so the Pereduri was not surprised when Lord Menander then reintroduced her to Lord Cordyles. The white-haired old man was pleased to see her, and mostly sober since Lord Arkos was absent and thus could not bepeted against in drink. Shortly after, in another reminder that Menander Drakos¡¯ eyes were sharp, Lord Cleon was brought into their little circle for a chat.


    Heplimented her dress twice, and stared so stubbornly at her face it was painfully obvious where he was forcing himself not to look.


    Lord Menander drew to them a small crowd, but the man himself soon left to tend to other guests. A lively circle was left in his wake, most of them younger nobles ¨C several of which were acquainted with Lord Cleon ¨C and a woman Angharad had only seen and heard in passing, Lady Doukas. Who, for a woman in her forties, was most shapely and generous with her charms.


    The beauty spot near those full lips drew Angharad¡¯s eye more than once, but s thedy had only eyes for the young men in tight doublets. Besides, she had note here to dally.


    It was not difficult to converse with Lord Cleon, given how eager he was to stand with her, but Angharad could not fish for an invitation too quickly without being transparent in her intentions. They spoke of the likes of the hunt in Peredur, of how it informed fashion for men and women alike and how different this was from the ways of Asphodel. By the time Angharad considered the road well paved enough toy a hint, however, there was an interruption.


    Small bells were rung, earning cheers, and loud announcement revealed that inscriptions were opened for the ¡®fencing tournament¡¯. Cleon Eirenos excused himself to participate, leaving her once more in the wind. In truth, much of the circle dissolved in the following moments as nobles of all stripes and ages rushed pavilions to have their names written on paper. Only Lord Cordyles remained with her, and snorted when she asked if he intended to participate.


    ¡°I won the green crown once or twice when I was a young man, but it would be a waste for me to try for it now,¡± he said. ¡°It is, after all, mostly an excuse to y barefoot with lovelies.¡±


    Angharad was somewhat aghast to see this was true. The guests were handed slender sticks of reed, the sort that would hardly hurt on a hit unless you swung with your back, and much peacocking and giggling ensued as the tournament <em>began</em>. Most of them spent more time flirting than fencing, when the matches began. Angharad was no stranger to the lovely thrill of crossing des with a beautiful woman, that thrumming tension in the air, but this was not a sparring match but a <em>tournament</em>.


    She left Lord Cordyle¡¯s side to secure a drink, a cup lemon water with some sort of anise liquor added in, and drained it in quick order. She did not order a second, but was tempted to.


    ¡°Oh? A pleasant turn fortune to find you here, Lady Angharad.¡±


    She forced herself not to stiffen at the voice, which she recognized. She turned to offer a curtsy to Lord Gule of Bezan, ambassador for the Kingdom of Mn, who joined her on the grass one limping step at a time. His hearing horn was already in hand, pressed against his ear.


    ¡°Lord Gule,¡± she greeted him. ¡°A pleasant turn indeed.¡±


    The older man, still dressed in sober grays, offered her a smile before gesturing at the man trailing behind him.


    ¡°If I may introduce Jabni, my attendant,¡± Lord Gule said. ¡°As fine a valet as man might ask for.¡±


    Angharad inclined her head in greeting but did not bow or curtsy. Even as the daughter of a fallen house she was of higher status than a valet. Jabni, she noted, was taller than his master and with a face like stone. The near-shaved hair, sharp eyebrows and strong lips only added to the impression.


    ¡°A pleasure, Lady Angharad,¡± Jabni said, politely bowing before turning back to his master. ¡°I await your orders.¡±


    Lord Gule nodded in acknowledgement.


    ¡°A drink, then, if you would,¡± the ambassador said. ¡°That herbal concoction that¡¯s been in vogue ofte, though easy on the liquor, and for Lady Angharad¡­¡±


    He cocked an eyebrow at her.


    ¡°Naught for me,¡± she replied.


    ¡°Only that, then,¡± Lord Gule said.


    Jabni bowed again, deeper to his master as was proper, and departed to see to the arrangements. It left the two of them standing by the sprawl of grass and the ivy roof, watching the guests tussle with their reed sticks in a flurry of raised skirts,ughter and shrieks. Lord Menander and his attendants, as masters of the ceremonies, kept the track of therge te with the tournament brackets on it ¨C by the sheer size of it, there would be ¡®duels¡¯ for at least an hour yet.


    ¡°I imagine it must look rather ridiculous to you.¡±


    Angharad did not look his way. If he could see her face, she would be easier to read.


    ¡°How so?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Those silver stripes name you a mirror-dancer,¡± Lord Gule said. ¡°Unless a mistake of some import was made when putting ink to your skin.¡±


    ¡°It was no mistake,¡± Angharad evenly said.


    The ambassador inclined his head in acknowledgement.


    ¡°Then to one trained and tested as you were, calling this ¡®fencing¡¯ must seem ambitious,¡± he noted. ¡°I have known swordmasters who would bare steel over it.¡±


    Angharad watched a plump boy in white and silver turned green by the ss strike the elbow of a giggling woman twice his age, triumphantly winning the ¡®bout¡¯. This was fencing as much as she was Mni. Still, it was not her ce to find insult here.


    ¡°It is a game,¡± she finally said. ¡°One they much enjoy. I try not to find foes inughter.¡±


    Lord Gule chuckled.


    ¡°Then you are wiser than many I have met,¡± he said. ¡°Even myself, once upon a time. When I lost much of my hearing, as a boy, for a few years I grew to despise singers.¡±


    She shot him a surprised look.


    ¡°I was something of a singer myself, you see,¡± Lord Gule told her, ¡°but after the ident I could no longer tell if my pitch and volume were correct. It took me a long time before I ceased to see my lost gift put to use in another¡¯s hands as anything but an insult.¡±


    Two young men in doublet and trousers pped their des against another as they went to and fro across the grass, more interested in eye-catching flourishes than attempting a touch on the other ¨C they heaved and boasted and shook their hair to catch the attention of the crowd. How odious it would have all seemed to Angharad, were she truly never to recover what she had lost.


    ¡°It would be presumptuous for me to wear a sword, now,¡± Angharad spoke through gritted teeth. ¡°Past the boundary of boast.¡±


    Into a lie, she was implying. She did not need to feign the bitterness in her voice at that. She had spent most of her life learning the de, only for thatbor to be stripped away from her by a single evening¡¯s failure. How fragile the sum of the hours of her life truly was, when push came to shove.


    ¡°It is tradition, I think, for the eldest in losses such as hours to offer kind lines about how in grief there are lessons,¡± he said. ¡°How we grow around the wound and find ourselves in different ways.¡±


    ¡°But,¡± Angharad said.


    ¡°But while I have learned to sing as I am,¡± Lord Gule of Buzan pleasantly smiled, eyes ahead, ¡°I still miss how fucking easier it used to be.¡±


    She started in surprise at thenguage. His face had not changed, and she half-thought she had imagined the word.


    ¡°But the world goes on,¡± Lord Gn shrugged.


    A nce her way.


    ¡°I will not speak to you of future, for you are still in those months where it lies fresh,¡± he said. ¡°But there wille a time, Lady Angharad, when you begin looking ahead again, thinking of the rest of your life.¡±


    He gently smiled.


    ¡°When that timees, do consider calling on me.¡±


    And with a simple nod he was gone, leaving her to stand there wondering. At his words, yes, but most of all at this: why was it now, that twice the ambassador had sought her out?


    She knew better than to take kindness as face value,e from an induna¡¯s hands.


    --


    The yacting with sticks continued for the better part of an hour, the ¡®vanquished¡¯ helping themselves to thefort of the drinks liberally served and asionally allowing themselves to be nursed back to smiles by someone who had caught their eye.


    Angharad spent most of that time drinking with Lord Cordyles, who seemed to find her mood most amusing, and keeping an eye on they of the nobles. Even that vignce proved to be of little use, as while there was a great deal of talk between highborn the manner of it had more to do with a pleasure garden than anything remotely politic.


    In the end, it was not court manners or trickery that won her an invitation to Lord Cleon¡¯s country manor. As the tournament came to a close the young man returned flushed with victory, havinge in third ce within that absurd contest that seemed so prized by the locals. Red-faced and grinning, he offered Angharad a courtly bow.


    ¡°It seems a shame that you¡¯ve yet to try hunting in Asphodel, mydy,¡± Lord Cleon said. ¡°In that spirit, I would invite you to my family¡¯s manor in the hills to the east ¨C I assure you, the entertainment will be memorable.¡±


    A few other youths, having apanied him, let out teasing shouts in a mostly good-natured attempt to embarrass a fellow in their pursuit of a courtship. That tradition, at least, was beyond the borders drawn by man.


    ¡°It would be my pleasure,¡± Angharad replied, offering a small curtsy.


    All that work, she thought, and what settled it was a burst of confidence earned in a stupid tournament of what she refused to call fencing. Angharad had gotten what she came for, but could not help but feel a little miffed by it.


    These days even her victories tasted off.

 Chapter 48

    Chapter 48


    Song had not worn formal clothes this regrly since leaving Tianxia and was not sure she cared for it.


    While formality was a demonstration of respect for the interlocutor, the facts of the matter remained that Song Ren had a lot to do and only so many hours in her day to do it. Consequently, the time spent getting in and out of heryered <em>chang¡¯ao</em> felt like she was being stolen from ¨C and while in need. If she could at least be read reports during it would be something, but frustratingly the process required too much of her attention.


    That and it would be indiscreet to discuss the investigation when she was being helped into her clothes by a ck House maid. Servants gossiped, and Tristan was convinced that Imani Langa had bribed some of the staff to keep an ear out for her.


    Still, getting in and out of formal clothes was not the worst waste of time her time today. Song watched with a nk face as Lord Rector Evander Palliades stepped to the edge of the balustrade and raised a hand, cheers and apuse exploding at the sight of him. She herself stayed half-hidden among the curtains, eyes scanning the crowd and finding only a spread of magnates and nobles with a few contracts peppered in.


    None that, at first nce, could be used to get to the Lord Rector up her in his heavily guarded private suite. That an officer of the Watch was being used as a bodyguard for Evander Palliades while the man attended the <em>theatre</em> made that rabid Yellow Earth contractor¡¯s words ring unpleasantly of truth: she was undeniably being loaned to the local yiwu kingpin by her superiors.


    That her rental came with fine seats overlooking the stage and luxurious refreshments somehow made it worse.


    Lord Rector Evander kept his speech to the assembled influential below short, telling them that the cowardly attack on his life had missed and that the Asphodel Rectorate would not be waid from its triumphant rise into a new age of prosperity by such petty distractions. It was somewhat on the nose, Song thought, but hit the right notes for the listening audience. Some of them shouted approval at his words.


    Her eyes flicked to his hands on the brass railing, noting how the man¡¯s index and middle finger were tapping out a rhythm. <em>He practiced that speech</em>, Song thought. Enough that he¡¯d decided on a specific cadence for delivering it. Reluctantly, she must approve of the assiduity on disy. A lesser man would have read off a sheet.


    Soon he was finished, hisst words followed by another wave of cheers and apuse. Though this was Evander Palliades¡¯ first public appearance down in Tratheke since the assassination attempt the speech was, she thought, almost too well received. Either the botched assassination had made snubbing the Lord Rector unpopr ¨C if not dangerous ¨C or¡­ The brown-haired man stepped away from the balustrade with a sigh, then snorted when he saw the look on her face.¡°We will pay the ppers an additional fee, I think,¡± he said. ¡°They certainly put their back into it.¡±


    ¡°You arranged for cheers,¡± Song half-used.


    ¡°Men will p at most anything if there are enough of their fellows already doing it,¡± Evander Palliades said. ¡°If only to avoid being the only ones<em> not </em>pping.¡±


    ¡°It will not truly make you more popr,¡± she pointed out.


    He cocked an eyebrow.


    ¡°Will it not?¡± the Lord Rector replied. ¡°Even if they noticed, what will they remember most ¨C the suspicion, or the room full of cheers following my speech? It will not change the minds of those who have made it, but the weathervanes will go where they believe the wind blows.¡±


    Song¡¯s lips thinned, but she did not contradict him. Unpleasant as it was to admit, that sort of trick did work on crowds. Elections in Mazu were replete with their like, and it was said that in Wendi powerful trade cartels sent their ship crews to disrupt the speeches of candidates they opposed. It was a false equivalence topare a sword in the hand of a tyrant and a sword in the hand of free man, but the hand wielding it did not make the sword itself more virtuous.


    Tricks were tricks, and truth was the first victim of hypocrisy ennobled.


    The Lord Rector invited her to sit, but before she could answer there was a knock at the door. Song put a hand on her pistol, for she would be dutiful regardless of her opinion of the assignment, but it was only the refreshments that had been sent for. Watered wine for Evander Palliades, and water for her ¨C though by suspicious happenstance a pot of Sanxing green tea and two cups were also brought in.


    She hid a grimace, aware that over the span of the next two hours it was likely her nose would win over her pride and she¡¯d have a cup. Evander¡¯s subtle smirk at the sight was set aside, as a debate over whether it was attractive or irritating would see her lose whatever the answer. She sat down on the lushly cushioned ck seat, sipping at her water.


    ¡°You don¡¯t very much want to be here, do you?¡±


    Song kept her face calm, carefully setting down her cup on the low table between her seats. Only then did she turn her gaze on the bespectacled Lord Rector, who expression was one of faint amusement.


    ¡°I have personally been assigned this duty by Brigadier Chca,¡± she replied.


    A thoroughly frustrating conversation, that. While he did not outright dismiss the findings she and Tristan had dug up in the northwestern ward, the heavyset Azn had beenrgely indifferent to the notion of a brewing noble coup. In his eyes, Song suspected, weakness in the reign of House Palliades merely strengthened the Watch¡¯s bargaining position.


    In the end he¡¯d told her that he would be passing the report along to the senior Krypteia officer on the ind, appending a personal note that time might be a factor, and that she was to cease being involved in the matter.


    And while Song knew objectively that the brigadier had acted correctly, that he was following the proper protocols and had arguably treated her thin-on-proof report more seriously than many in his position might have, it was all a thorn in her throat. It was not the ce of the Watch to intervene in Asphodelian affairs beyond what was required to maintain its own interests, so refraining from warning House Palliades about the coup was the proper course of action.


    Yet she could not help but feel that this inaction was a mistake, that they were missing something, and in the end that Brigadier Chca had merely humored her awhile before sending her out here as a pawn in a greater game. It was hard not to resent that at least a little, though Song tried.


    ¡°And here I thought it a Mni affectation, to lie while speaking truths,¡± Lord Rector Evander drawled. ¡°I take no offense, Captain Song. I am not unaware that seeing to my protection is not why you came to Asphodel, or that you were victim to a diplomat pulling rank.¡±


    She cocked an eyebrow at that.


    ¡°A diplomat who pulled rank,¡± Song mildly said, ¡°at your personal request.¡±


    He smiled wanly.


    ¡°If I am to be robbed by the Watch, I might as well get them to contribute to my survival while the robbery is ongoing,¡± Evander Palliades said. ¡°I¡¯ll confess to some puzzlement you took the ck in the first ce: your contract, Captain Song, would make you a wildly wealthy and influential woman at the court of any great ruler.¡±


    ¡°You do not know the details of my contract,¡± she replied.


    Nor would he ever.


    ¡°No,¡± he easily conceded, ¡°but I know what my friends in Tianxia were able to gather about the Ren, which is not nothing.¡±


    Her jaw clenched.


    ¡°I am a woman of the Watch,¡± Song Ren tly said. ¡°My past is of no import.¡±


    Evander Palliades brushed back his curls, staring at her, then shook his head and took a sip of his watered wine.


    ¡°Neither of us believe that,¡± he said. ¡°And you will find I can understand better than most what it feels like, the crushing weight of the legacy one must live up to.¡±


    ¡°You are a hereditary ruler,¡± she bit out. ¡°I am from the single most despised bloodline in the Ten Republics. <em>It is not the same</em>.¡±


    Thest words came out a hiss, and she shut her mouth so quickly when she realized what she had said that her teeth cked together painfully. Only Evander did not look bothered by her disrespect in the slightest ¨C he seemed almost <em>pleased</em>.


    ¡°No,¡± he agreed. ¡°Unlike you, I do not get to leave. I will sit a throne atop a house of ss until I die or a stone is thrown strongly enough to bring it down under me.¡±


    She scoffed.


    ¡°You <em>can</em> leave,¡± Song tly said. ¡°Abdicate, take what wealth you can carry and live a life without a crown. To remain is a choice, not some divine punishment.¡±


    ¡°You could change your name,¡± Evander Palliades retorted smilingly. ¡°Find a patron in Izcalli or Sacromonte, spend the rest of your life rich and respected.¡±


    <em>There is nowhere the curse will not reach me</em>, Song thought. <em>And I will not simply leave my sisters to rot from the inside like curdled milk.</em> Only she owed this man none of these words and it would have felt almost obscene to share them with him. Already the strange joy in his mien at their talk was leaving her feeling naked, as if it were all too intimate. Gods but how lonely he must be, to be so candid with a woman he barely knew. She needed to pull back, not encourage him.


    No matter how satisfying it would be to put him in his ce, to let him realize the sheer extent of his misguided arrogance.


    ¡°This conversation can lead nowhere, Your Excellency,¡± she said. ¡°It is best ended, with my apologies for speaking out of turn.¡±


    He hummed, leaning back into his seat and reaching for his cup again. Watered down as it looked, he¡¯d be able to drink the entire goblet and have his wits entirely unaffected. It was an admirable habit, which she resented. She did not feel much like approving of him, at the moment.


    Silence had spread below them as they spoke, leaving Song to hope their talk had not been too loud, and it shamed her some to realize she had missed the beginning of the y. Painted panels of a magnificent golden city were being covered by streaks of blue cloth carried by children, which after a beat she grasped represented rising water. In front of the city being lost to the sea, a young man was addressing the gods in amenting monologue.


    ¡°With how expensive the seats are, you¡¯d think they would change the city panels from year to year,¡± Lord Rector Evander noted. ¡°They barely touch them up.¡±


    Song shot him a disapproving look. It should be beneath even a despot to speak at the theater. The man had the gall to grin back.


    ¡°It is the Oduromaia,¡± Evander said. ¡°I have seen it so many times I am in danger of falling asleep. Kindly protect me from peril, Captain Song.¡±


    She red at him, then sighed. It was not as if her duties would have allowed her to watch the y anyhow. She was meant to keep an eye out for dangerous contracts in the crowd.


    ¡°I take it that the ¡®Oduromaia¡¯ is the tale of Oduromai King¡¯s journey to Asphodel?¡± she said.


    ¡°One such tale, certainly,¡± Evander Palliades said. ¡°Though it ims the same title as what was once a spoken epic, I believe the text turned into y dates back to¡­te Century of ord or early Dominion. During the early reigns of House Lissenos.¡±


    The much-loved predecessors of the Palliades, who had ruled over Asphodel for over a hundred years.


    ¡°So shortly after the Ataxia,¡± she said.


    His eyes lit up.


    ¡°Exactly,¡± he said, growing enthusiastic. ¡°There was need to knit back Asphodel after those years of war, and the Lissenos went about it cleverly: they paid for tales and songs and ys, all harkening back to amon founding from which all Asphodelians drewmon root.¡±


    He paused.


    ¡°Though, of course, said works all implied Lissenos descent from King Oduromai so <em>their</em> part of the root must be recognized to be a little better than the others.¡±


    ¡°You are skeptical of the im, I take it,¡± Song said, reluctantly amused.


    He was impugning his own descent, practically speaking, as the Palliades im to the throne came from their rtion to the Lissenos.


    ¡°They were originally a minor noble house from Ikarios that took refuge in Asphodel during the Century of Steel,¡± he said, rolling his eyes. ¡°They are as rted to Oduromai as I am to Viterico the Great.¡±


    Tempted as Song was to agree and add that kings must constantly change the past to justify the present, Evander was well read enough he might notice she was quoting the Feichu Tian. Which, given its contents, might be taken as impolitic of her.


    Strong arguments in favor of royal decapitation were advanced within those pages.


    ¡°At least they were not Raseni,¡± she teased.


    He cleared his throat.


    ¡°Actually, given that Rasen upied Ikarios during the century preceding their exile, the odds are that they had a little¡­¡±


    ¡°No,¡± she said, almost grinning.


    ¡°All <em>aristoi</em> try to avoid talking about that,¡± Lord Rector Evander noted. ¡°Everyone measures the strength of their im by rtion to House Lissenos, these days, so it would be a losing game for all involved.¡±


    Far below Prince Oduromai bemoaned the treachery of the hollows and devils thatid low the hall of his father, announcing his intent to find the most beautiful ind in Vesper to rece it, and Song reached for the pot to pour herself a cup of Sanxing green as Evander Palliades idly told her that in older version of the y some of the devils responsible for the destruction had been named ¨C and sounded suspiciously like the houses of the Six, which the Sacromontans had taken offense to.


    It was a waste of time still, she thought, but it need not be unpleasant. There was worsepany to keep.


    --


    Though it was now his second time visiting, Tristan still found it genuinely impressive that Hage had gotten his hands on even a hole-in-the-wall shop inside the Collegium. He¡¯d heard those went for literal bags of gold.


    The new Chimerical still sold coffee, but as it was effectively arge and deep broom closet squeezed in between two eateries it only had one table and Hage had to stay upright inside his glorified stand to make room for his brewing apparatuses ¨C even though most had stayed behind in Azei, by the looks of it. So had many of the bags of bean varieties, which made it all the more amusing that an entire shelf of that limited space had been turned into a cushioned bed for azing Mephistofeline.


    The cat¡¯s monumental girth squished a little past the edge of said shelf, predictably. He also hissed at anyone who lingered too long to chat with Hage, but inexplicably this had charmed the locals. Someone had woven him a little crown of flowers, which he sat on, and there was a te with bits of roasted chicken on it he asionally deigned to nibble at.


    ¡°One serving of your cheapest bean water, good sir,¡± Tristan ordered, sliding a single copper across the counter.


    The devil stared down at him through those owlish eyebrows.


    ¡°I will have you dragged away by the lictors,¡± Hage threatened.


    Though not, the thief noted, without first pocketing the copper. Tristan theatrically sighed.


    ¡°Fine,¡± he said. ¡°I will have to settle for all the information you have on the basileia called the ¡®Brass Chariot¡¯, then.¡±


    He¡¯d made that request when first finding the Chimerical yesterday, surprised to learn that as it was part of the test he would not even have to pay for the information. There was no one else in line, or even out in the street ¨C he¡¯de during early morning work hours ¨C but Hage still swept the environs with a look. Purely for show, given that the old devil¡¯s hearing was sharp enough no one should be able to approach without him being aware.


    ¡°Second-raters,¡± Hage told him. ¡°Their main business is smuggling, but they have a few protection rackets and front businesses.¡±


    The thief frowned.


    ¡°What do they smuggle?¡±


    ¡°Mostly legal merchandise, in truth,¡± Hage said. ¡°Only they get it into Tratheke without paying the rector¡¯s tariffs and sell it marginally cheaper than it would be otherwise for a thin slice of profit. If they went for the real moneymakers,rger yers would step on them. It is unconfirmed, but rumor has it other basileias sometimes hire them to transport goods through their routes.¡±


    Tristan hummed thoughtfully.


    ¡°Trade Assembly connections?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Not the way you mean it,¡± Hage replied. ¡°They make most of their coin at the expense of Assembly revenue so the merchants want them dead, but they¡¯ve friends in the workshops and warehouses.¡±


    So they had ties to the employees of the Trade Assembly, not the wealthy magnates themselves. As far as Tristan was concerned that was for the better. Coteries followed power and money, neither of which Tristan Abrascal could outbid even a single merchant magnate over.


    ¡°Much obliged,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯ve another inquiry for you, though it is nothing urgent.¡±


    ¡°Oh?¡± Hage replied, grabbing a cloth to clean an already perfectly clean cup.


    ¡°Does the Watch have anything on a Lord Locke and Lady Keys?¡± Tristan asked. ¡°Guests of the Lord Rector, supposedly. They were snooping around the assassination attempt, though I do not believe it was the assassin they were after.¡±


    Hage stilled, and not as a man would. In that way only devils could, for devils need neither breathe nor soothe aching muscles: when their kind stilled, it was stone or the cast of night. Immediate, absolute.


    ¡°Repeat the names,¡± Hage ordered.


    ¡°Lord Locke,¡± he said. ¡°Lady Keys.¡±


    ¡°Describe them to me.¡±


    He did, the rotund and mustachioed little man and the tall and thin bespectacled woman. He even added how Lady Keys had grabbed him by the neck and tossed him down a window with strength unusual for a woman a skinny ¨C though not, it must be said, impossible. Hage set down the cloth, then the cup.


    ¡°The Krypteia had no word of them being on Asphodel,¡± he finally said.


    ¡°They are a known quantity, then?¡± Tristan asked.


    ¡°I will look into the matter personally,¡± Hage said. ¡°You, and the Thirteenth atrge, are to avoid them as much as physically possible.¡±


    He let out a low whistle.


    ¡°That bad?¡±


    ¡°Tristan,¡± Hage said, and his tone was grave enough the thief straightened. ¡°You are not, under any circumstances, to make those two angry. Keep them smiling, keep themughing. <em>Always</em>.¡±


    Slowly he nodded.


    ¡°Above my pay grade, I understand.¡±


    The devil stared at him, then jerked his chin to the side.


    ¡°Get going, I have paying customers on their way.¡±


    Tristan snorted, and waved a goodbye a Mephistofeline ¨C who summarily ignored him, as Tristan had lost any influence over the distribution of foodstuffs and thus be a stranger not worth remembering. There was nothing more fickle than a cat, save perhaps Fortuna.


    Tristan took his time on the way back, still getting his bearings around the city. He¡¯d gotten clothes in Asphodelian linens ¨C even paid for them, at Song¡¯s insistence ¨C so he did not draw much attention anymore, at least until he talked. There was not all that much difference in appearance between Trebian inders and Lierganen from the continent, at least not those from Sacromonte, but he had yet to unlearn his City ent. Hage had given him exercises, though, so he had hopes.


    The Collegium was too rich for his blood, and too much of a tribe. Even though most who worked within the gargantuan cube of ss could not have afforded a Collegium house even if they save up for it their entire life, there was a cachet to spending your day there that set them apart from the rest of Tratheke. Not the kind ofpany one could slide into without first learning their little terms and customs, so Tristan instead let his feet take him to the southwest ward.


    The southeastern ward had arge swath of noble mansions and properties, but its southwestern neighbor was the living heart of the city. It was where the workshops and the merchant warehouses were, and those well-paying jobs had sprouted shops and eateries and a dozen industries to cater to those earning the wages. There were a few of what Sacromonte would call guildhouses, the seats of trade consortiums, but they were surprisingly few and discreet.


    Asphodel did not like to sellnd to merchants, and it showed.


    The hum on the street was about Lord Rector Evander¡¯s surprise appearance at a yhouse in the northwestern ward the previous afternoon, proving rumors he had been disfigured to be a lie. There were also rumors the man now had a mistress, for a woman had been glimpsed up in his private lodge. Considering Song must have been the woman in question, Tristan had to swallow a shit-eating grin when he heard the rumor.


    She was going to lose her mind at the implication she was some king¡¯s mistress, and it was going to be beautiful. He couldn¡¯t wait to tell her.


    Overall, sentiment towards the Lord Rector was rather favorable. Even the mistress rumor got the wink-wink treatment about him being a young man with a young man¡¯s needs, and everyone scorned the attempt to kill what they considered a fine enough ruler. Spection was rife about who had done it, though in the southwestern ward when foreigners weren¡¯t med the suspicion leaned more to the Council of Ministers than the Trade Assembly.


    The ministers, beingrgely high nobles from the eastern and western regions of Asphodel, were unpopr with the people of Tratheke ¨C who saw themselves as the heart of the Rectorate and believed the rest of the ind to resent this obvious truth.


    It was halfway through the afternoon, while debating grabbing a bite, that he first caught sight of them.


    None of them were wearing back, which was how he almost missed them. He was saved by Captain Tozi Poloko¡¯s absurd haircut, which stood out enough he gave her a second look and caught sight of the entire Neenth moving down the street in local clothes. des out in the open, but pistols hidden from sight so as not to out themselves as ckcloaks under the localws.


    He was tucked in behind a curtain of beads by a trinket stand, so he wasn¡¯t in their angle of sight. The odds were good that for one he would be the one with the drop on Cressida. Too pleased at that notion to let the opportunity go, Tristan began to trail behind them. Though the four of them moved briskly the streets of the ward were thick with people so he was able to stay in sight of them without drawing attention.


    Where<em> were</em> they going? It must be part of the investigation into the contracted killer, as they were moving the opposite direction from the way back to ck House.


    It was when they dipped into side streets that Tristan¡¯s curiosity was truly stoked. Cressida alone would have been too risky to follow into there, but the others were louder and not as wary. Taking pains to never be in their line of sight, tracking them by footsteps and the sounds of voices, he followed in their wake. A few minutester, near a dead end, chatter rose sharply before ending entirely.


    Tristan pressed himself against a wall, pricking his ear and catching what he was certain was the sound of a door opening. He waited it out, several minutes in case Cressida was keeping a lookout, and only then risked a nce. The alley past the corner was a run-down hole, with most of the edifices there stripped for parts, but there was a small cluster of standing buildings at the end. One of them had antern lit inside, by the glow behind the shutter.


    Tristan slid back out of sight before anyone could see him. Well now, would you look at that. It looked like the Neenth Brigade had decided to obtain a safehouse out in the city, and he now knew exactly where it was.


    You never knew when that sort of thing might end up useful.


    --


    Obtaining ess to the private pce archives had been as simple as asking the Lord Rector, or rather as simple as <em>Song </em>asking the Lord Rector.


    Maryam would admit she was not the most experienced in matters of romance, but when a boy invited you to the theater before plying you with drinks and talk about books you liked one did not usually call that a ¡®bodyguard assignment¡¯. Though, maybe if the drinks and talk went very well. Much as she believed that Song could use a little unwinding, the man involved meant the whole thing smelled like trouble and thus Maryam refrained from teasing her friend over it. Once you made a joke of something, it became easier to consider.


    Yet for now they reaped the benefits of the association, as not only had Maryam been allowed ess to the archives but she had effectively been given the run of the ce ¨C with for only restriction the inability to take books out. Captain Wen came along, as much to supervise as because the only thing the corpulent man enjoyed as much as good meal was a rare book.


    They found out, together, that the private archives of the rector¡¯s pce were a prison.


    Maryam was not being dramatic, they were quite literally a repurposed gaol. Sixrge pentagonal chambers connected to arger central enclosure, each of the pentagons having once carried three cells and a guard post. The central enclosure, at the heart of which stood a squat and heavy tower containing the only way in and out of the archives ¨C a lift leading to a room below ¨C was surrounded by small alcoves that could be used for work.


    A few of the dozen archivists were ring at her from their cover, perhaps under the impression they were being subtle. They¡¯d not enjoyed Maryam being granted rights over their little kingdom even before seeing the color of her skin. After? Some of them refused to so much as look in her direction, and she had heard <em>hollow </em>muttered more than once.


    The senior archivist, a frigidly polite older woman whose tendency to turn her up her nose really should be paired with better care to pluck the hair inside her nostrils, offered the most cursory of wees before saddling Maryam with the youngest of the archivists as a gofer and attendant. While she was going to need the help navigating these stacks, many of which were filled with books in Cydic, there was the slight trouble that in this case ¡®youngest¡¯ meant a nine-year-old girl in brown robes toorge for her. Maryam could not recall being around a girl of nine since she herself had been one of those.


    ¡°If you¡¯re a ckcloak,¡± Roxane gravely asked, ¡°then why aren¡¯t you wearing a ck cloak?¡±


    Maryam might have been irritated by the question, if not by the painful earnestness on her face. The messy auburn bob and slightly too long sleeves only added to the effect.


    ¡°I am secret ckcloak,¡± Maryam replied. ¡°On a secret mission.¡±


    ¡°Then why¡¯s your captain drinking booze in themon room?¡± Roxane wondered.


    The Izvorica considered that a moment.


    ¡°Because he¡¯s an asshole,¡± she finally said.


    ¡°Oh, so like Master Alexios,¡± Roxane mused.


    Maryam cocked an eyebrow.


    ¡°He spilled wax on our only trantion of the Medead and told Lady Eumelia it was me,¡± Roxane informed her with a scowl. ¡°It <em>wasn¡¯t</em>, I wasn¡¯t even <em>there</em>.¡±


    ¡°I believe you,¡± Maryam assured her.


    What would she have wanted as a bribe, when she was nine years old? Desserts, spending money, or maybe ¨C ah!


    ¡°Would you like me to curse him?¡± she offered.


    Roxane¡¯s eyes turnedrge as teacups.


    ¡°You can do that?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m a Navigator,¡± Maryam said, which was mostly true.


    Roxane pondered the offer.


    ¡°Can you make it so he farts loudly in front of Mistress Laodike?¡± she asked. ¡°He¡¯s trying to court her. She¡¯s the short woman with the braid and the tight robes.¡±


    Roxane raised hands to show the strategic location of said tightness, along with a possible motive for Alexios¡¯ interest. One should never underestimate the inherent viciousness of children.


    ¡°I have no fart curses,¡± she replied, ¡°but I could make hot wax spill onto hisp if you¡¯d like.¡±


    ¡°Wait until Laodike¡¯s around,¡± Roxane instructed.


    ¡°I will,¡± Maryam said, suppressing a smile, ¡°but in exchange you have to help me find everything I need and not tell the senior archivist what books I asked for.¡±


    The former part was what the girl had been ordered to do, so thetter was what Maryam was really after. Even the way the Lord Rector sorted his private papers had been made political, there was simply no chance at all that the senior archivist¡¯s appointment had been spared intrigue. Since Maryam had no intention of allowing a list of the books she cracked open to be passed to the woman¡¯s patrons the moment she left the archives, measures must be taken.


    This content has been uwfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Roxane hesitated, but a promise that Maryam wouldn¡¯t let her be punished for refusing to answer questions about the books tipped the scales in favor of agreement. They shook on it. An older archivist could have been threatened into silence with the weight of the Watch, but Maryam preferred it this way. She would ask Wen on their way out to make it clear that if the girl was punished for keeping silent then the senior archivist was to receive the same punishment tenfold.


    That was not within their authority to do, strictly speaking, but if the Thirteenth made a formalint about this Lady Eumelia obstructing the investigation the senior archivist would be in for much worse than merely being switched ten times. Maryam was not all that familiar with Asphodelianws, but meddling in an investigation that involved the Lord Rector¡¯s life seemed like it might fetch the noose ¨C or at least immediate dismissal from one¡¯s position as senior archivist.


    With Roxane freshly invigorated by the promises, Maryam got to work. A letter had been sent to Stheno¡¯s Peak to see if the Watch had any record of major construction in Asphodel using brackstone, or of an entity that might have warranted such effort to contain, but there was no telling if they would answer ¨C much less in time to be of use.


    The Lord Rector¡¯s own ignorance of such an undertaking was not a good omen, but the archives were much older than House Palliades¡¯ grasp on the throne. There might be answers buried here that¡¯d been forgotten when the old royal houses passed. Usurpation was no friend to the uninterrupted passing of royal secrets.


    ¡°I need the oldest works you have on Tratheke that describes the city,¡± she told Roxane. ¡°And anything you might have about gods that became forbidden.¡±


    For the first they ended upbing through the stacks not of histories but of epic poetry ¨C the oldest records of Tratheke were spoken epics that had been set down to inkter on. That alone would not be enough, though, so Roxane then led her to the pentagon containing legal records of Rectorate. Specifically those ofnd ownership in Tratheke. An archivist began hovering close when they entered that section, which was not entirely unwarranted given how precious such documents were.


    Maryam still curtly dismissed him. They¡¯d already assigned her an attendant and she had no intention of tolerating another archivist looking over her shoulder as she worked. She only had so many bribes in her.


    They set those first volumes aside in the nook she¡¯d imed for her use, finding as they did that Captain Wen had emerged from the tower. He was now leafing through a worn volume titled ¡®The Esteemed Noble Lines of Great Cathay¡¯, chuckling as he did. He was not so busy that he did not share a look with Maryam, however, dipping his head slightly. Good, he would be keeping an eye for anyone intending to snoop at her picked volumes.


    Roxane was visibly excited when they went to fetch the second set of books, revealing she was not usually allowed into the ¡®Closed Sixth¡¯. That pentagon chamber was closed by a lock and iron grid, which they had to send for an archivist to unlock for them. The fair-haired man who did offered a friendly smile and passed noment, but Roxane held up her nose at him.


    ¡°Alexios?¡± Maryam asked in a murmur after they went in.


    The girl scowled and nodded. Well, Maryam had a face to the name now. She just needed to wait for an opportunity. The stacks inside the Closed Sixth were all covered with ss and small numbered locks, for which Alexios left them a set of keys. Brass tes with Cydic words on them named the contents of particr shelves, but thatnguage was beyond her knowledge.


    ¡°Can you trante any of it for me?¡± Maryam asked.


    Roxane looked surprised.


    ¡°Of course,¡± she said. ¡°I learned along my other letters.¡±


    That begged boration, so she asked. The girl, it turned out, was the orphan of pce servants. As she had no rtives, she had been ced here to be an archivist as a kindness from the majordomo running the pce. Roxane was taught Cydic by other archivists as well as her numbers and letters because so many of the older documents here used the dead tongue. Pleased at the turn, Maryam consulted the girl for guidance and found what she suspected to be the right shelf.


    <em>Prohibited</em> could only have so many meanings in this context.


    The entire left side of the shelf was piled scrolls with wax symbols stamped on the wooden rod the vellums were wrapped around, but the right half was books. Mostly leatherbound manuscripts, but one was instead bound by a gold frame and another contained by what looked like an iron puzzle box.


    ¡°The golden one is titled the ¡®Graveyard Book¡¯,¡± Roxane murmured.


    She looked uneasy, as if the stillness of the room was oveing her enthusiasm.


    ¡°Then we take that one,¡± Maryam said.


    She was careful to feel the book out with her nav before touching it, finding it harmless. But with her soul-effigy out, she noticed a detail she had previously missed ¨C one of the leather-bound volumes was rippling in the aether. And in a way she had seen before: she had walked through enough fields of Asphodel crowns, those purple flowers in the rector¡¯s garden, to recognize the slight ripple they caused in the aether.


    Sliding the small book out from between tworger volumes, she found simple brown leather without a title. A symbol had been pressed into its front, though: the stylized silhouette of a blooming Asphodel crown.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what that one is,¡± Roxane said, the small voice breaking her out of a trance.


    ¡°That¡¯s all right,¡± Maryam muttered, stashing it with the other book. ¡°I think I might.¡±


    They locked the shelf behind them and returned to the nook they¡¯d picked out to work, finding an irritated Lady Eumelia staring down at an unimpressed Wen Duan.


    ¡°It is simple precaution to-¡±


    ¡°You seem like a well-read woman, Eumelia,¡± Captain Wen mused, turning a page. ¡°In your opinion, should you insist on spying on a Watch investigation are you more likely to be tried under the Iscariot ords or Asphodel¡¯s own treasonws?¡±


    ¡°I could have you expelled from these grounds for threatening me,¡± the senior archivist threatened.


    ¡°Is it a threat to tell a child they¡¯ll be burned if they shove their hand in a fire?¡± he asked, bespectacled eyes flicking up to look at her. ¡°I should hope not.¡±


    Lady Eumelia sneered at him, then at Maryam and for good measure she red at Roxane for being in the general vicinity of her humiliation. Her face was ice-cold as she stalked off, but the fury was obvious in the steps. The Izvorica frowned. Perhaps a sterner warning than ¡®returned tenfold¡¯ was in order, because she did not like that look on her face. She led the nervous girl into their nook, giving Wen a thankful nod.


    He ignored her, flipping his page.


    Much as Maryam would have liked to dig into the books, those she most wanted to read ¨C the golden book and the epic - were written in Cydic. She set Roxane to tranting the appropriate passages of the epic inside a journal she¡¯d brought for the purpose, instead busying herself with the documents in Antigua. Beginning with the legal records, which she figured might help her narrow down when the brackstone structures had been built.


    Thend records went as far back as the beginning of the Century of Steel, over three hundred years ago and three Asphodelian dynasties back. A pirate admiral turned lord and war hero by the name of Archus had seized power in thest decade of the Century of Crowns and proved an energetic Lord Rector, his efforts to improve tax revenue leading what was to be the Archelean dynasty keeping thorough records of noble properties in Tratheke.


    Clever. Those would have been easier to tax than the noble holdings out in the mountains, where a former pirate¡¯s tax collectors would likely have been greeted by arrows. Mind you, records was somewhat underserved a word: they were just family names and vaguely described boundaries.


    Already the noble properties had been concentrated in the two southern wards of the city, though apparently the nobility had owned a <em>lot</em> more of thend inside Tratheke back in those days. The northeast ward, where Tristan and Angharad had found the brackstone wall, had been a royal holding back in those early days.


    Property ledgers remained orderly for several Lord Rectors, the sessionid out by the ruler names changing on the documents, then turned chaotic during the two Pgid reigns when the Archeleans were overthrown. They stabilized when the Archeleans resumed rule after winning back their throne only to be¡­ spotty when the house began producing increasingly indolent and corrupt rulers. Short-lived, too.


    Maryam was no treasurer, but Lady Rector Artemisia Archelean had sold the same piece ofnd in southwestern Tratheke to three different lords the same year and that seemed just a mite suspicious. Either it was cover for bribes or it was a scam of some sort, she figured. Either way, those records could not really be relied on. Which was frustrating, becausete in the Archelean dynasty was when the house began pawning off pieces of Tratheke for coin, crucially including some of the northeastern ward.


    It got even messier after that, nearly sixty years partial or outright missing. Not surprising, as the end of the Archeleans during the Century of ord resulted in the ¡®Ataxia¡¯, that great Asphodelian civil war. From that chaos House Lissenos eventually emerged as rulers, and when they did, Maryam finally saw useful work again.


    Twice now she¡¯d had to double back to the chamber to get fresh books, recing the old ones, but as her pen scratched down fresh notes she figured she was getting somewhere. The first Lissenos to be Lord Rector had ridden noble support to the throne, but his sessor had then promptly turned on those supporters. That betrayal included confiscating some of their property in Tratheke, the gains from which were written down in copious detail.


    From the confiscations Maryam learned that apparently House Drakos had once owned about a quarter of the capital, mostly in the northwest, and been stripped of most everything. The northeast, though, had been sold for parts to half a dozen houses. And though Lord Rector Hector Lissenos promptly redistributed some of this confiscated property to allies in an obvious move to buy their support ¨C including, amusingly enough, the original grant of ck House to the Watch ¨C he held on to confiscated the properties in the northeast.


    Interesting, as they should have been worthless back then. After the Ataxia the poption of Tratheke had almost halved ording to the records so even the precious southern wards would have been partly empty. The north would have been a ghost town, decaying space no one cared to inhabit.


    A good ce to secretly build a prison for a god.


    <em>Hector Lissenos</em>, Maryam jotted down. A simple genealogy book revealed his reign to havested from 9 to 26 Dominion, which narrowed down the period of time to look into. By the time she returned all the ledgers to the appropriate stacks, Roxane had finished tranting for her. Maryam looked down at the girl¡¯s elegant cursive, filling seventeen pages with nary an error in ink, and rubbed the bridge of her nose. This was going to take a while.


    ¡°All poets should be hanged,¡± she muttered.


    She reassured Roxane the displeasure was no reflection on her. The epic was, well, a poem. Which meant that while several parts did describe Tratheke as it was made by the Antediluvians and then found by Oduromai King, the description were so dramatic as to be nearly useless. At least the Oduromai parts mentioned the generalyout of the city, as a prelude to his distributing parts of it to his loyal crew as reward.


    Yet all that told her was that the general shape of the city, four wards and the Collegium, had been this way as far back as was known. The problem was that the information she was most curious about was in the most poetic part: namely, what the Antediluvians had built their city <em>on</em>.


    The epic contended the Ancients had carved deep into the ground and set down a city fully made, which sounded unlikely if not outright impossible ¨C one must be careful using that word, when it came to the First Empire. The implication there was that below the city was rock, but was there <em>only</em> that? The entity that needed containment in brackstone, had it been put there by the Antediluvians in the first ce? That horrifying god on the Dominion had.


    Was it even a god down there, a monster or something else entirely?


    The epics had no true answers for her. She would have to look forter sources, which while less reliable for the time passed might admittedly still be more reliable than damn poetry. By now they were midway through the afternoon, so after returning the epics to the stacks Maryam told her little assistant they were to take a break. Wen had a half-empty te ofmb and greens on his table, and after asking she learned that they could have food sent up here. She had it done for Roxane and herself, the girl delighted to be getting meat twice this week when she was told.


    Maryam spent part of her meal looking for Alexios and the Mistress Laodike of the rumored tits, intent on keeping her word. When she found the woman in question she was forced to concede that Roxane¡¯s miming had not been unwarranted. She filled every part of the brown robes that the little girl did not, twice over. Even while she sat in candlelight, transcribing something from book to manuscript, that much was obvious.


    She was also being hovered around by fair-haired Alexios, her opinion on his attentions on unclear. While Maryam tore into her chops and pretended not to see Roxane discreetly transferring some of her greens onto the signifier¡¯s te, she could not help but notice Laodike¡¯s inkwell was running low. It was only a matter of time before gant Alexios noticed as well, no doubt, so she prepared.


    When he hurried in with a fresh inkwell, she acted.


    ¡°Watch,¡± Maryam told Roxane, and under the table she traced.


    She didn¡¯t need anything dangerous orplicated. Settling a Burden on a schrly man hurrying was enough to make him trip, footing unmade by how moving was suddenly harder than it had been. Maryam immediately released the Sign and from the corner of her eye she saw Roxane grinning like a shark as Alexios toppled forward, keeping the inkwell up in an attempt not to drop it but only making things worse. His wrist hit Laodike¡¯s knee and ink went flying on her robes and his face both.


    ¡°Now look away,¡± Maryam murmured. ¡°Best not to be suspicious.¡±


    The two of them studiously ate their meal ¨C Maryam¡¯s portion of greens miraculously grown back to full size while she wasn¡¯t looking ¨C and pretended not to hear the sharp, angry words from Mistress Laodike to her clumsy suitor.


    Roxane was happily wriggling in her seat like a worm when they got back to work. The ¡®Graveyard Book¡¯, which was next on the line, was a mix of Antigua and Cydic.


    And once Maryam realized what they were reading, she immediately told Roxane to stop tranting and go sit at another table for a while.


    Inside the gold-framed book was only one thing: names. The kind that should not be spoken out loud, or even looked at too long, for they were names of dead gods. It was carefully that Maryam looked through the pages, centering herself and regrly tasting the aether with her nav in case she was earning¡­ attention.


    After fifteen minutes her head was pounding and her eyes ached, but she pushed on ¨C after skipping dozens of pages, for the ancient Cydic names meant nothing to her. The order was chronological, as far as she could tell, and after the names of the dead turned to Antigua she began looking for what she wanted: the time of the Ataxia.


    It revealed itself to her in a mass grave of gods, the very air around her smelling of blood, but Maryam wanted a<em> name</em>. And she found it, she thought. The page for the god the Watch had killed on behalf of Asphodel, the rampant deity whose cult was behind the Ataxia. Only though there were letters on the page, spelling out a word, her eyes only saw one thing.


    <strong>HATED ONE</strong>, she read.


    Like the words had been carved into her eyes. And she tried to look beneath, at the word tucked away under the shout of


    <strong>HATED ONE</strong>


    but oh she must be careful not to drip on the page, there was something wet on her hand.


    Her nails had bit so deep into her palm she was bleeding.


    Breathing out, Maryam mmed the book closed. Gods, her head was pounding. She pushed back her chair, almost afraid, and tucked her bleeding hand into her sleeve. She leaned against a table and breathed in and out, eyes closed, until the world no longer spun around quite so much. Until she could no longer hear those two loud words echoing inside her head like a never-ending crack of thunder, filling her to burst until her skull <em>cracked</em> from the inside¡­ breathe in, breathe out.


    ¡°Miss Maryam?¡±


    She opened her eyes, a worried looking Roxane staring at her.


    ¡°Put the books we borrowed back,¡± she croaked out. ¡°We¡¯re done for the day.¡±


    ¡°Are you all right?¡± the girl asked.


    ¡°I will be after some sleep,¡± she replied. ¡°It was a dangerous book.¡±


    And not even the volume she had sniffed out as odd in the aether. The thought of trying that one while her head ached like this was almost enough to make her nauseous. Tomorrow. Roxane put the books back, though Maryam had forgot to give her the keys so she had toe back for them. By then Wen hade to join her, sitting on the edge of the table.


    ¡°Went digging a little too deep, I see.¡±


    ¡°I found something,¡± she rasped back. ¡°The¡­¡±


    She licked her lips, afraid to even think those two words.


    ¡°I have found something,¡± Maryam repeated. ¡°I need to speak with Lieutenant Mitra before he leaves.¡±


    Which was in two days, she recalled. Not tomorrow night but the morning after the Fourth would be leaving the capital. Wen was studying her through his spectacles, hands folded atop his belly.


    ¡°You are a woman grown,¡± he said. ¡°If you want to burn yourself like a candle, that is your choice. But do wait until the end of the test, would you? It would make me look bad if you get yourself killed before that.¡±


    ¡°I know what I¡¯m doing,¡± she bit back.


    ¡°Sure you do, Maryam,¡± he chortled. ¡°That¡¯s why you¡¯re bleeding.¡±


    He pushed himself off the table. The urge to tear into him was there, but a wave of exhaustion challenged the pressure. Wen would be Wen, she told herself. She ruffled Roxane¡¯s hair on her way out, catching sight of Lady Eumelia ring at them from the tower doorway. The girl shrunk in on herself, and for a moment Maryam saw another child. Alone, covered in filth, run down to exhaustion by hounds and soldiers. The weight of an entire empire stomping after her.


    No. Not this time, not to that sweet little girl. Gloam flickered around her fingers, eager to be wielded. To be crafted to her purposes. She took a single step forward before the hand came down on her shoulder ¨C Maryam tried to shake off Wen, but the man¡¯s grip was iron and he manhandled her back into a seat. He dismissed Roxane, who heisted but scuttled off after a hard look.


    ¡°Sit your ass down, Khaimov,¡± he tly said.


    It would have been childish to storm off, so instead she red up at him.


    ¡°I need to speak with the senior archivist,¡± she tly said. ¡°We will leave afterwards.¡±


    ¡°You look like you¡¯re about to rip that woman¡¯s throat out,¡± he said. ¡°And she noticed, too. See how she made herself scarce.¡±


    Lady Eumelia had disappeared into the depths of herir, it was true.


    ¡°I would not haveid a hand on her,¡± Maryam said.


    Nor would she have had to. To mostymen, even the most harmless uses of Gloam were terrifying. The construct-trick would have sent a small creature of Gloam scurrying across her body and made Maryam¡¯s point memorably.


    ¡°No, you would have put the fear of the Akrre in her,¡± Wen said. ¡°The woman would never have looked you in the eyes again or spoken up in your presence.¡±


    Therge man stared down at her through his sses.


    ¡°Now think, Khaimov. What happens<em> after</em>?¡±


    ¡°It ends,¡± she said. ¡°She does not dare punish a child for doing exactly what she was meant to.¡±


    ¡°Not while you¡¯re here,¡± Wen Duan agreed. ¡°How long is that going to be? Weeks, months?¡±


    Maryam¡¯s fists clenched.


    ¡°Fear onlysts so long,¡± the Tianxi said. ¡°Hate, though, that sticks.¡±


    ¡°You threatened her yourself,¡± she bit back. ¡°She was already a foe.


    ¡°I set a boundary as a watchman,¡± he corrected. ¡°She will resent me, <em>as a watchman</em>. There is a difference between an opponent and an enemy, Maryam. The second is a choice you make.¡±


    ¡°So I should just let that girl be switched the moment we step out?¡± she hissed. ¡°I won¡¯t have it.¡±


    ¡°Then do it right,¡± Wen said. ¡°Act in a way that gets you what you¡¯re after, not just how feels good ¨C cutting down the unjust with your sword, scratching old itches. Pulling the world back on even keel after whatever was in that book that scared you.¡±


    Her fingernails were red, Maryam saw, from where they dug into her already bloodied palm. She made herself hear the words, listen to them. He was not wrong. Gods damn it, he was not wrong. She might have made it worse for Roxane, if she¡¯d stormed in there wielding Craft.


    ¡°She deserves more than a warning,¡± Maryam finally said, voice gone quiet.


    But a warning would be what worked best, they both knew that. Simply making it clear that the Watch did not want its investigation spied on and that punishing Roxane would be seen as an attempt to squeeze out secrets would poison that well for Lady Eumelia. It would not be worth going after the child when it could turn into the beginning of an avnche of consequences resulting in losing her position, and why bother to punish Roxane in a few months?


    Wen looked at her with something like sympathy.


    ¡°You¡¯ve been weak for too long,¡± he said.


    She blinked.


    ¡°Excuse me?¡±


    ¡°You haven¡¯t had power or authority since you left the north,¡± Wen said. ¡°You don¡¯t remember what it¡¯s like anymore, having that. Only the tale of it in your head, what you thought the people around you who had it should have done with it.¡±


    He took off his sses, sighing as he cleaned them with a kerchief.


    ¡°We are not chivalrous swordsmen wandering thend doing good deeds, Maryam. Our authority¡¯s borrowed from the ck, and ites with strings. More of them than you realize.¡±


    He put them back on, tucking the cloth back into his pocket.


    ¡°Power¡¯s like an oilmp, Maryam,¡± Wen Duan said. ¡°It¡¯s useful to have, but if you swing it around recklessly something¡¯s going to catch on fire. If you¡¯re lucky, something that deserves it.¡±


    His smile was sharp.


    ¡°Most of the time, we aren¡¯t lucky.¡±


    ¡°What is it,¡± she quietly asked, ¡°that happened to you in Tariac, Wen?¡±


    ¡°I set on fire some who deserved it,¡± therge man replied. ¡°And a lot more who didn¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Do you regret it?¡± Maryam asked.


    His eyes behind the spectacles were sharp as a fang.


    ¡°Never,¡± Wen said. ¡°It was badly done, but it needed doing.¡±


    He pushed himself up.


    ¡°But you don¡¯t have to make my mistakes,¡± he said. ¡°Come on, Khaimov. Let¡¯s go have a chat with Lady Eumelia that gets us what you actually want.¡±


    Maryam stared at him for a long moment, then nodded. She did not thank him as she rose, but part of her suspected he wouldn¡¯t have wanted it anyway.


    --


    Their patrons insisted the farewell banquet was about fostering ties between the brigades before the parting of ways, but Tristan was fairly sure it was really about having a believable excuse to empty the ck House cers. The teachers, holed up at their table in the corner, wereughing increasingly loudly as the wine bottles emptied almost faster than the staff could take them away.


    The students, by unspoken ord, pretended not to hear any of it.


    Besides, excuse or not the kitchen had been asked for a feast and duly delivered. Tristan was pleased to find he had been pandered to: the cooks had put out a te of dimpled tbread and a traditional Sacromontan<em> ternasco</em>. The kind of juicymb you had to rob a wealthy man for, or at least a reputable inn. Salvador, the quiet fellow from the Eleventh also from the City, made it known with his eyes from across the table that if Tristan hogged said ternasco there would be violence.


    The thief surrendered one of the fatty pieces in appeasement.


    By the pleased sounds half the table was making, the two of them were not the only ones who¡¯d been given a taste of home. The Izcalli ¨C Tupoc, Captain Tozi and Izel, all clustered on the right side of the table ¨C looked like they were about toe to blows over who got therger share of the tamales te. Tupoc discreetly tried to steal one of the two dipping sauce pots apanying them only to be hollered at in dismay, only reluctantly relinquishing it.


    The Mni rationed out some pleasant-smelling stew like they were on a long sea voyage, having it traveling in a circle as they eyed each other like hawks over portion sizes, while the Tianxi took turns eating from their rice-and-chicken dish ¨C each trying to grab the singlergest piece they could while maintaining usible deniability. Song, he amusedly noted, was not getting the better of it.


    eptable Losses kept stealing the bits she staked out and that Qianfan fellow was merciless in following through.


    Meanwhile Cressida Barboza and Alejandra Torrero, demonstrating the curse of being born in some hick town out in Old Liergan, ignored perfectly good ternasco to instead squabble over spicy sausages. Tristan knew better ¨C you should never eat sausage when you did not know where the butcher lived. That was a recipe for getting a bite of a sawdust-and-trotters Murk special.


    To his surprise the two Someshwari at the table were the most civil, each taking a small portion from a pot of rice paired with spicy vegetable curry and stir-fried vegetables with coconut. That the Imperial Someshwar was to be the only corner of the table to <em>avoid</em> civil war was slightly ironic, and Angharad evenplimented Kiran Agrawal on his restraint in taking only the one portion of a home dish. He snorted.


    ¡°That is not from my home,¡± he drily replied. ¡°It is a Ramayan dish, best served to dogs and merchants.¡±


    ¡°They got the<em> thoran</em> right, though, which is rare,¡± Bait noted from his right. ¡°There¡¯s probably a Ramayan in the kitchen staff.¡±


    It was easy to forget, Tristan thought, that the Imperial Someshwar wasrge as any other two great powers put together and bore at least thrice as many people. Even the Second Empire had never managed to conquer more than the outskirts of thatnd, and not forck of trying. The famous<em> azirvada</em>, the re trees whose wood and leaves filled the air with light, had been deeply coveted by Liergan.


    Once the initial frenzy passed and bellies filled, hands reached for the wines and liquor and conversation began to flow just as freely as the drink. All talk he was rtively well ced to listen in on, being sat near the middle of the rectangr banquet table. It was more than decent seating: Tristan had, in a stroke of genius, waited until Cressida Barboza sat down to im his own seat and so been able to put two equally terrifying women between them ¨C Maryam and Angharad.


    To his left was Song, who had sat down there purely to deny Imani any seat remotely close to Angharad¡¯s. The Mni showed not a hint of frustration on her face from her ce to Song¡¯s own left, but Tristan could almost smell it on her.


    Arguably the downside of his position was that facing him was eptable Losses, squeezed in between a Thando Fenya pointedly ignoring him and argely silent Expendable who seemed under the impression that if he stopped moving whenever Song nced in his direction he would turn invisible. Manners had forced the wolf eyed Mni to take off his wide-brimmed hat but he kept his eyes cast down on his te as if he were still wearing it.


    ¡°- in a few days, once Prefect Nestor receives word from thetest patrol,¡± Captain Imani was telling Song. ¡°While we could go off haring after thest sighting in the hills, it seems to me a wiser course to get the freshest word before heading out.¡±


    ¡°We would likely lose just as long wandering around the hills looking for a trail to follow,¡± Qianfan added.


    Like all the other brigades, the Eleventh had kept together ¨C the four of them forming a half-circle around the left end of the table. Theirs, Tristan thought not for the first time, was an unusual brigade. While Imani Langa was captain, neither her signifier nor Thando Fenya seemed to defer to her all that much. Fenya in particr often seemed off handling his own affairs ¨C he was currently speaking to eptable Losses in perfect Cathayan instead of paying attention to this conversation, for example.


    Salvador, the quiet Sacromontan that Tristan smelled coterie on, was the one that followed her closest. Yet from the way Imani never quite let him out of her line of sight, he might just be the one she trusted the least.


    ¡°Have you any notion of where you might end up in Tratheke Valley?¡± Song asked.


    ¡°West,¡± Qianfan said.


    Imani¡¯s nce at him was slightly irked.


    ¡°That seems likely, given that most previous sightings of unnatural events were broadly northwest of the capital,¡± she said. ¡°Well short of Stheno¡¯s Peak, mind you.¡±


    It clicked into a ce momentter why Song had asked that, beyond making conversation: with Angharad soon to journey to Cleon Eirenos¡¯ mansion out in the wilds, they would not be able to run interference between the two of them if the Eleventh passed near that manse. Not that Imani would be able to openly contact Angharad out there, given that thetter was keeping her ck cloak quiet while rubbing elbows with the nobles.


    That left contacting her secretly, of course. He¡¯d not put those details together, good on Song to have remained sharp.


    ¡°- Tristan.<em> Tristan</em>.¡±


    The thief turned to find both Maryam and Angharad look at him, cocking an eyebrow.


    ¡°You were the one to first find the false window,¡± Maryam said. ¡°At the teahouse.¡±


    ¡°I was,¡± he confirmed. ¡°Wearing ck, anyway.¡±


    ¡°Was there any visible Gloam phenomenon inside the room when you looked?¡± Alejandra Torrero asked from across the table.


    He shook his head.


    ¡°It was pitch ck, but not that kind of ck,¡± he said.


    Torrero¡¯s scowl eased up, if only a moment.


    ¡°See, Khaimov?¡± she said. ¡°A Sign powerful enough to open a way out of the halfyer would have left some aftermath.¡±


    ¡°Unless it was traced by a signifier of great skill,¡± Maryam rebutted. ¡°One with minimal leakage.¡±


    ¡°Come off it,¡± Alejandra snorted. ¡°If they had someone that powerful and skilled running around Tratheke the Guild would have taken notice.¡±


    Tristan cleared his throat.


    ¡°The assassin had a contract,¡± he reminded them. ¡°They cannot have been a signifier, unless my understanding of the ipatibility there is incorrect.¡±


    ¡°A rare instance of you not being wrong, Abrascal,¡± Tupoc noted from the seat to Alejandra¡¯s right. ¡°But they are arguing about whether the object used by the assassin ran on aether or Gloam.¡±


    His brow rose.


    ¡°A Gloam-cursed object,¡± he slowly said. ¡°You mean like evil eye amulets? I thought talismans and the like were witch tricks.¡±


    That got him a dirty look from both Maryam and Alejandra, which saw him raise his hands in preemptive defense. Tupoc naturally put on the most disappointed look of them all, as if Tristan had personally let him down.


    ¡°Not <em>cursed amulets</em>, you gullible <em>baboso</em>,¡± Alejandra sneered. ¡°Proper Signs appended to apatible object.¡±


    ¡°Spent on use, like ckpowder in a grenade,¡± Maryam told him.


    ¡°Any tool capable of holding so strong a Sign would be worth a fortune,¡± the dark-haired Lierganen told her, pursuing victory.


    ¡°And that harpoon in theyer came cheap, you think?¡± Maryam replied, unimpressed.


    He nced past Maryam to find that Angharad¡¯s eyes were faintly zed over and her pleasant smile a little nd. Been going a while, then. The twitch of his lips that earned caught her attention and she looked faintly guilty for a beat before straightening in her seat. She turned to her right, towards Cressida and Izel, leaning in to say something that caught the Izcalli¡¯s attention.


    Tristan himself took the first opportunity for a strategic retreat that presented itself, seeing no upside to stepping in between Maryam and Torrero at odds ¨C much less with Tupoc just waiting to throw darts. He ended up rising to ask one of the servants for a jug of water, as he had no intention of partaking in the drinks and stayed up to have a better look at they of the table.


    Song joined him, keeping an eye on Imani as she did.


    ¡°Surprisingly cordial,¡± he said. ¡°Even Tupoc has mostly behaved.¡±


    ¡°His brigade is frustrated because of the dys,¡± Song told him. ¡°They¡¯ve had difficulty getting proof of being on a Watch contract from the rector¡¯s office and they need those papers before setting off from Tratheke.¡±


    Else they would be arrested for wandering through the territories of half a dozen nobles while hunting their dragon.


    ¡°He¡¯s easing off so they can actually have fun,¡± Tristan put together. ¡°That¡¯s more bend than I expected him to have, I¡¯ll admit.¡±


    ¡°He has always been more measured in his actions than he seems,¡± Song grunted. ¡°The Leopard Society trained him well in that regard, for all that the affiliation wins him no regard with other Izcalli.¡±


    ¡°Izel¡¯s quite pleasant with him,¡± Tristan noted.


    ¡°He¡¯s pleasant with everyone,¡± Song said. ¡°Which is odd, for an Izcalli highborn. They tend to be¡­¡±


    ¡°Warmongering pricks?¡± he lightly said.


    ¡°Among other things,¡± she snorted. ¡°I wonder if it has to do with¡­¡±


    She touched her throat, which had him cocking an eyebrow.


    ¡°His being corregido? I don¡¯t see why it would.¡±


    ¡°It is different for Izcalli,¡± Song told him. ¡°They made it political.¡±


    He blinked at her.


    ¡°It seems, if anything, an intensely private matter,¡± Tristan hazarded.


    ¡°It used to be only men inherited titles in Izcalli,¡± Song told him. ¡°But a few centuries back the kingdom was saddled with Prince Coaxoch as sole heir to the Grasshopper King and he was¡­¡±


    ¡°Ipetent?¡±


    ¡°Raving mad,¡± she replied. ¡°He tried to make a donkey a Sunflower Lord, famously. More worrying to the nobility, he was open about his intentions to purge the military nobles and spend the treasury on temples and pleasure pyramids.¡±


    ¡°But he had a sister,¡± Tristan guessed.


    ¡°Princess Atzi, a woman with a distinguished military record and wealthy rtives,¡± Song said. ¡°Yet she could not legally inherit, at least not until she cloistered herself with a conve of candle-priests in the capital. She emerged to the unanimous announcement of the clergy that she had a man¡¯s soul and was thus eligible as heir. Coaxoch was dead by week¡¯s end.¡±


    Tristan blinked at her.


    ¡°That¡¯s one way to do it,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯m guessing nowadays all you need is a good bribe to get the same treatment.¡±


    ¡°It has been going on long enough that the terms originally for a man¡¯s soul and a woman¡¯s are effectively divorced from gender inmon pance,¡± Song said. ¡°They mean something closer to active and passive, and it is an open secret that a payment to the priests is all one needs to have a child determined as spiritually fit or unfit to inherit.¡±


    The thief cocked his head to the side, eyeing Izel Coyac as he chatted animatedly with Angharad.


    ¡°But in Izcalli being corregido would still have the implication of iming right to inherit,¡± he said.


    ¡°The dangers inherent to that situation might well be why a man of such reportedly high birth is wearing the ck,¡± Song noted.


    They were interrupted by the servant arriving with the requested jug, Tristan taking it from a surprise young woman and heading back to the table along with Song. By the time they did, what had been a conversation between Izel and Angharad grew to engulf the entire right side of the table.


    ¡°Flower wars were once meant to lessen the ravages of war,¡± Izel was saying. ¡°To codify war, fence the violence within a time and ce with precise terms of engagement.¡±


    ¡°What it <em>used </em>to be hardly matters,¡± Kiran Agrawal tly replied. ¡°In the times we all live in, it is a glorified excuse for raiding that defies all civilized rules of warfare.¡±


    ¡°Civilized warfare,¡± Maryam drawled. ¡°Now there¡¯s a concept. Come off it, Agrawal, the wheels alwayse off when a side feels like they¡¯re losing.¡±


    ¡°If the stated purpose of flower wars is no longer respected, use of their name should no longer be allowed,¡± Angharad opined. ¡°Let raiding be known for what it is.¡±


    ¡°Should Mni privateers be called pirates instead, then?¡± Captain Tozi politely asked her. ¡°If we are to indulge in forceful honesties, let us not make exceptions.¡±


    Angharad, he noted, did not quite seem to know what to answer to that.


    ¡°Peace, Tozi,¡± Izel sighed. ¡°My words were not an endorsement of the modern practice, Kiran. It has been warped, likely beyond repair, and the raiding of our neighbors is a senseless and deplorable crime.¡±


    Augh from the other side of the table.


    ¡°Fine words,ing from a Coyac,¡± Tupoc idly said. ¡°How many hundreds of serfs did your father bring back from Sordon to work in mines and fields?


    ¡°One was too many,¡± Izel bluntly replied.


    ¡°Spoken,¡± Tupoc Xical said, ¡°by a man raised in the light of candles, fed on breade of servile wheat fields, clothed in robes of cotton picked by their hands and whose tutors were paid with foreign treasures. What is left of you, without the flowers? Not much that I can see.¡±


    Tupoc had spoken the way he always spoke: a bullfighter, twirling his cape to draw the eye before he sank barbs into flesh. Tristan could see it in those pale eyes, the expectation of the twitch and roar. That the other man would lower his horns and charge, that the familiar old game would y out down in the sand. Only Izel looked into Tupoc¡¯s eyes as well, and whatever it was he found there caused in him no anger.


    That look on Izel Coyac¡¯s face, the thief thought, looked terribly like grief.


    ¡°You were Leopard Society,¡± he said.


    Something like unease flickered on Tupoc Xical¡¯s face, but it passed.


    ¡°No such society exists,¡± Tupoc grinned, a slice of ivory and mockery. ¡°Careful, Coyac, you¡¯ll say too much where the foreigners might hear. What would your father think?¡±


    ¡°I do not care,¡± Izel said, and pushed back his seat to rise to his feet.


    The grin turned expecting, almost eager ¨C he leaned forward a bit and angled his chin to make the punch easier. Only the other Izcalli instead did something that wiped the smile right off his face.


    He bowed.


    Low, deep. Starkly enough it could not be mistaken for anything else. He straightened only after a long moment of utter silence had passed.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Izel said.


    ¡°Pardon?¡± Tupoc mildly said.


    The Izcalli¡¯s perfectly even face looked like a ceramic mask, a solid thing only cousin to a man¡¯s face.


    ¡°I am sorry,¡± Izel Coyac repeated, ¡°for what we did to you, Tupoc Xical. For all that was stolen.¡±


    ¡°Soft-handed noble,¡± Tupoc smiled. ¡°Nothing was stolen. I was given a gift.¡±


    ¡°We stole that too,¡± Izel gently said. ¡°The ability to understand that what was done to you is evil. Fundamentally, inexcusably. That all who hold a stake in the rule of Izcalli have failed a thousand thousand children like you, and still do. That we ordered you snatched up in the night, raised to kill and die nameless, so that we might keep repeating the same old mistakes instead of learning.¡±


    And it should have sounded pretentious, Tristan thought, or sanctimonious. A man raising himself up by apologizing. It would have, if not for the devastating weight of that sincerity. Izel meant every word, the thief thought, meant thempletely. It was so painfully obvious that not even Tupoc was able tough him off and gods did he look like he wanted to


    ¡°I am sorry,¡± Izel Coyac said onest time, ¡°that we taught you it was necessary, what they ordered you do to, because it isn¡¯t. We<em> can</em> be better.¡±


    His jaw locked.


    ¡°It¡¯s just easier not to be.¡±


    Tristan had seen Tupoc Xical afraid before. For all that the Izcalli was like a great cat, all death and shamelessness, he was not beyond flinching. It was not always all in his hands and when Ocon had dropped dead at the table next to him he¡¯d been afraid. Almost fled. But there was a difference, the thief thought, between fear and being rattled. Ocon¡¯s death had made him afraid, but it had not rattled him.


    He looked rattled now.


    Like someone had snatched the fire and the poison right out of him. And as Tupoc swallowed, answer shying from his lip, the Izcalli felt the gazes of all those around him staring at a naked part of who he was ¨C and reacted the only way that came to him in that moment.


    He drew his knife, lunging across the table.


    Shouting and scuffling ensued, Kiran Agrawal tackling him against the table as drinks and tes flew everywhere and a snarling Tupoc tried to reach for Izel¡¯s throat. Alejandra tried to tear off Agrawal, who elbowed her back, and she raised a hand ¨C Gloam coalesced in swirling streaks around her fingers. Tozi pulled a knife on her without batting an eye, Expendable¡¯s wolfish stare turning on her for it as he snarled, and it all teetered on the brink of violence.


    Then Captain Oratile shot her pistol at the ceiling, and everyone stopped.


    ¡°Put those fucking knives away,¡± she shouted. ¡°Xical, leave yours on the table. You¡¯re spending the night in containment.¡±


    ¡°That won¡¯t be necessary, captain,¡± Izel said. ¡°I lodge noint.¡±


    By the wild look in Tupoc¡¯s eyes, Tristan thought, he was thinking about trying for the other man¡¯s throat again ¨C pistols out or no.


    ¡°Lodge my fucking ass, boy, you went <em>shopping</em> for that knife,¡± Captain Oratile curtly said. ¡°Dinner¡¯s over, everyone back to their rooms. If I hear you so much as brushed each other in the halls, I¡¯ll hang you from your feet off the nearest window until the stupid¡¯s done dripping out. You understand me?¡±


    Awkward shuffling. Tupoc obeyed, leaving his knife on the table, while Alejandra and Kiran Agrawal looked as if they still wanted to stick each other with theirs. Captain Oratile snarled.


    ¡°I asked, <em>do you understand me</em>?¡±


    Muttered, almost mutinous agreement. The brigades came apart, falling in like wary tribes. Song looked disbelieving, almost stunned, where she was yet seated. It took him a moment to understand why, and he had to swallow a grin that would have earned him a great deal of dirty looks. Song was astonished that for once it was not the Thirteenth who had lost their temper, their brigade instead havinge looking reasonable and disciplined.


    Well, even a broken clock got lucky twice a day.


    The brigades began filing out in separate lines like violent prisoners kept away from each other ¨C the Eleventh first ¨C and Tristan hung back a bit. Watched as the room began to empty and Tupoc was taken aside by Lieutenant Mitra for a quiet talk. The expression of the Fourth¡¯s patron was hard to make out under all that loose hair and Tupoc¡¯s face was empty of emotion.


    He was joined at the back by another, but it was not one of the Thirteenth who leaned back against the wall to his left. Cressida Barboza kept a cautious eye on the Fourth, but most of her attention wasn¡¯t on them. Or on Tristan himself, for that matter.


    It was on Izel, who looked not triumphant or vindicated but deeply exhausted.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t expect that out of him,¡± Tristan quietly said.


    The other Mask let out a long breath.


    ¡°He¡¯s one of the nicest men I ever met, Izel Coyac,¡± Cressida told him. ¡°It¡¯s not put-on either, as far as I can tell.¡±


    She crossed her arms, tense as a string. Looking square ahead.


    ¡°And if that doesn¡¯t scare you, Tristan, then you¡¯re a fucking fool.¡±

 Chapter 49

    Chapter 49


    It wasn¡¯t a Meadow, as the Guild would never allow one to be built outsidend they controlled, but ck House did have a lovely roof garden centered around a pond fed by a false river. Sitting by it felt like drinking half a swallow of lukewarm water instead of quenching your thirst, but it still soothed Maryam¡¯s mind to listen to the flow while Lieutenant Mitra finished his examination.


    The wild-haired signifier let out a small noise of interest, then withdrew his nav from her.


    ¡°I have rarely seen such a textbook case,¡± Lieutenant Mitra said.


    Maryam breathed out in relief.


    ¡°You have seen this before?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Only twice in person, but I¡¯ve studied the theory in depth,¡± the Someshwari said. ¡°You smashed your head against an aether seal.¡±


    Her brow rose and she crossed her legs under her, bare feet tickled by the well-kept grass.


    ¡°That,¡± she began then hesitated, swallowing a flinch.


    The memory of the two words she had read in the Graveyard Book still felt like a gong being struck next to her ear. Even when she thought her way around them she still felt the¡­ vibration in the air, so to speak.¡°The words,¡± Maryam settled on. ¡°They wereyered atop something I could not make out. They are the seal in question?¡±


    ¡°Correct,¡± Lieutenant Mitra said.


    He sat haphazardly, legs extended and kept sitting only by leaning on his palms put against the ground.


    ¡°The good news is that you suffered aetheric bacsh only because you kept trying to peer past it,¡± he continued. ¡°A few weeks of not doing that will let the resonance fade. You are to avoid any and all contact with the seal until then.¡±


    ¡°And it will repair the damage?¡± she asked.


    Heughed.


    ¡°A body does not heal merely grow over its wounds,¡± Lieutenant Mitra said. ¡°Think of the bacsh as small doses of poison swallowed with every attempt to peer through the seal. Over time your body will pass the toxins, certainly, but it does not undo the reality of having drunk arsenic.¡±


    ¡°How bad?¡± Maryam quietly asked.


    ¡°Permanently? Negligible enough it could not be measured. Temporarily? Fragility for a few weeks, perhaps months. The most noticeable part will be the sensitivity of your logos, like skin with a rash.¡±


    ¡°But I can still signifiy,¡± she said.


    ¡°Everything is permitted,¡± Lieutenant Mitra noted. ¡°All limitations are arbitrarily drawn lines in the sand, the futile attempt of trembling children to make sense of entropy¡¯s inevitable embrace.¡±


    She cocked an eyebrow. A moment of silence passed.


    ¡°Yes,¡± he sighed. ¡°You can still signify. Be careful with your logos and try not to ce your soul in too much disarray.¡±


    His gaze was knowing when he spoke thatst part. He had suspicions, then. It made sense, considering Alejandra had apparently told the rest of the Fourth that Maryam ate Gloam creatures. A detail that was entirely untrue only when it came to the plural.


    ¡°I will keep your advice in mind,¡± she ndly replied.


    The manughed.


    ¡°I¡¯m sure,¡± Lieutenant Mitra dismissed. ¡°Still, I will confess to some surprise at finding an aether seal in a ce like Asphodel. It does exin that emptyyer you encountered, at least.¡±


    ¡°What <em>is</em> an aether seal, sir?¡± she asked. ¡°None of my teachers ever mentioned them.¡±


    ¡°Likely because they are more than passing rare,¡± he noted, ¡°on top of being ruinously expensive to make and usually not all that effective against the entities most warranting their use.¡±


    He pushed forward, hair moving with him, and snatched a small rock from the grass before setting it down between them.


    ¡°Consider a god,¡± he said. ¡°An aether intellect that fed on emanations sufficiently to form a coherent mind and ethos. A creature that simultaneously has boundaries, a set consciousness, and none ¨C it will keep growing and self-redefining until it no longer can. How does one destroy such an entity?¡±


    ¡°Conceptual damage,¡± she replied. ¡°Offering charity to a god of greed, earth to a god of the sea.¡±


    He nodded.


    ¡°Now consider a god whose ethos is too esoteric to be turned into a weapon,¡± Lieutenant Mitra said. ¡°The example most frequently used is that of Fenquzhu, the Tianxi god of philosophical mereology ¨C that is, the study of the connection between part and whole.¡±


    Maryam bit the inside of her cheek, considering conceptual poison for that. Difficult without knowing more of mereology, which she supposed only fed into Mitra¡¯s point. She shrugged her surrender.


    ¡°Several kings of Old Cathay attempted to destroy it, as its embodied philosophy contradicted the teachings of the fledgling Cathayan Orthodoxy, but they found that mereology was a sufficiently well-crafted system that it could incorporate opposing arguments into itself,¡± Mitra told her. ¡°Imprisoning the god changed nothing, either, as the ideas themselves could not be caged so prayer kept reaching it.¡±


    ¡°So what did they do?¡± Maryam asked.


    ¡°They killed the god repeatedly over the next centuries and drove the schrs underground through persecution, resulting in a hidden sect,¡± Mitra said. ¡°A branch of it still exists in the modern Republics, I hear, though it has little to do with the original philosophical society.¡±


    ¡°That isn¡¯t a solution,¡± Maryam frowned, ¡°it is painting over the problem.¡±


    ¡°Indeed, though the seed of a better answer lies inside those old royal decrees,¡± Lieutenant Mitra said. ¡°The modern god Fenguzhu, while bearing the same name as that ancient deity, is observably quite different. It was made so by its worship and teachings being constrained to a hidden sect for centuries instead of being openly debated by schrs, resulting in a rather more mystical interpretation of a once purely philosophical concept.¡±


    ¡°The aether taint it fed on was different, so it became different,¡± Maryam summed up.


    ¡°It is so,¡± Mitra agreed. ¡°It thus follows that a god can be leveraged through prayer, through the aether it feeds on. An aether seal is the brutal, straightforward application of that logic.¡±


    And he had given her enough pieces to put it together.


    ¡°The seal is a block on the god¡¯s name,¡± she said. ¡°To keep prayer from reaching it, to starve out a deity whose concept is too difficult to poison until it fades away on its own. So the words I saw were¡­¡±


    ¡°The ¡®name¡¯yered over the true name of the entity,¡± Lieutenant Mitra said. ¡°By trying to reach beyond you effectively plunged your mind into a binding of intentionally poisoned aether until sickness ensued.¡±


    Maryam let out a low whistle.


    ¡°That cannot be easy to aplish,¡± she said. ¡°Else the Watch would use it for all the rowdier deities, no?¡±


    ¡°As I told you, it has costs and limitations,¡± Mitra said. ¡°The god in question need to be imprisoned for it to have any use, else it will simply give a new name to its worshippers and get around the seal, and to so thoroughly imprison a deity is never cheap or easy.¡±


    ¡°The brackstone shrine,¡± Maryam slowly said. ¡°Shrines, most likely, and the emptyyer with a sphere of salt at the heart of it.¡±


    ¡°The details fit, though coincidence is often a trickster twin to design,¡± he replied. ¡°Another limitation is that an aether lock is a measurable, finite imprint on the aether achieved through use a particr machine developed by the Second Empire. If it that imprint is weaker than the entity it is meant to lock, that god will simply unmake it.¡±


    ¡°So it can¡¯t be used on second-order entities,¡± Maryam said. ¡°Because no existing machine is that powerful.¡±


    ¡°It is so,¡± Mitra nodded again.


    That made aether locks a rather niche tool, she thought. It would only work on third-order entities and higher, but the number of such gods that would both warrant such an investment of time and resources and could feasibly be trapped into a prison in the first ce had to be fairly small. It wasn¡¯t enough to put the god in the hole and lock up its name, either, the jail had to be maintained until it had starved to death. That meant boots on the ground, kept there for decades or maybe even a century.


    Most nations would think it simpler to simply kill the god and ouw its worship as the kings of Old Cathay had, to limit the threat and live with it.


    <em>So then why did House Lissenos pour a fortune into an aether lock when they were fresh out of a civil war and young to the throne?</em> With Watch help they would have had the know-how to make such a lock, but there must have been a reason for the fledgling dynasty to pour so many of its badly needed funds into such a grand undertaking. That the god whose cult had begun the Ataxia would be the one imprisoned seemed most likely, if hardly certain, but would even feeding a bloody civil war warrant such treatment?


    Everynd in the world had its gods of war, and they were to thest vicious carrion things. Yet they were not proscribed, for men that did not wage war were a rare thing indeed. Lieutenant Mitra stretched out, rising to his feet. Feeling their timeing to an end, Maryam bit her lip.


    ¡°If the locked god has begun to slip containment,¡± she said, ¡°we could have a dangerous situation on our hands.¡±


    ¡°Or it could be a starved, diminished entity that has little left inmon with that which first went into the prison,¡± Lieutenant Mitra said. ¡°By all means you should report your theory, Maryam, but Vesper is no stranger to too-shallow graves. I would wait on word from Stheno¡¯s Peak before deferring to fear.¡±


    He was unusually serious as he talked so Maryam only nodded instead of arguing as she felt a flicker of urge to. Already she had a half-written report in her room that Wen was waiting on, she would make sure to finish it and impress on him the potential importance of the discovery before they headed back to the rector¡¯s private archives.


    That and the rest of the Thirteenth needed to be told. Song had been methodical about ensuring they shared their findings with each other every morning before parting ways, but when Maryam had begged offst night before the brigade banquet her captain had not insisted.


    ¡°We part ways here, I think,¡± Lieutenant Mitra said. ¡°Captain Ren seems intent on speaking with you.¡±


    Maryam nced back, finding Song standing by the stairs to the roof. Not close enough to overhear their conversation, but enough to be noticeable. The small cloth bag in her hand made it in what she hade here for, and that <em>was </em>overdue.


    ¡°Thank you for your help, Lieutenant Mitra,¡± Maryam said.


    ¡°I enjoy teaching,¡± the Someshwari smiled. ¡°Until we next meet, Maryam Khaimov.¡±


    She nodded back, watching as Song passed by him with a respectful salute on his way out. Soon enough her friend was lowering herself into the grass across from her. The Tianxi cleared her throat.


    ¡°As you will be headed back to the archives this afternoon while we meet with the Brazen Chariot, I thought to request your help now,¡± she said.


    Maryam shrugged.


    ¡°Good a time as any,¡± she said. ¡°And I¡¯ve a few things to tell you anyhow.¡±


    Song smiled gratefully, removing the wooden bowl from its bag. The curse had been firming up since she spent those days stuck inside the rector¡¯s pce: a purge was not urgently needed, but it was headed in that direction. No wonder she looked tired, her sleep must have been a feast of nightmares. Maryam could sympathize. She¡¯d had that horrid dream about being strangled and eaten alive every other night, since making shore on Asphodel.


    If it got any worse, she would ask Wen to travel back to the Lordsport to sleep in the Akrre chapterhouse there and find out if resting a proper Meadow changed anything. Rolling her shoulders, Maryam watched Song fill the bowl with water and focused.


    Song had not, but she was more than willing to learn.


    --


    The Brazen Chariot reached out in the middle of the night, and the time they¡¯d given was barely past noon on that same day.


    They were being cautious, Song thought, so they would not be swept up in a Watch operation. That same caution was reassuring, in a way, for fear of the ck meant they were unlikely to be walking into an ambush. She was still d of Angharad¡¯spany as they headed to the closed tavern in the northeastern ward they¡¯d been given as a meeting ce. Tristan was slowly turning into a better shot, but he was no fearsome battler.


    Even limping, Angharad was more dangerous de in hand than he was.


    They arrived at the tavern ten minutes early and found their interlocutors had arrived even earlier. It took Song but a single step into the building to figure out why the criminals had picked it: theirs was a single long and narrow room with one door in front and one door at the back, dusty tables and chairs filling it up in clutter.


    It would be trivially easy for the Brazen Chariot to flee to the street if it came to that, and once they reached the streets the Watch was sure to lose them. Song¡¯s eyes moved from the surroundings to the waiting criminals, satisfied with the meeting ce, and there came her first surprise of the afternoon.


    Galenos the Brazen did not look like the head of a gang of criminals.


    A small old man whose craggy face was strewn withugh lines, with grey arched eyebrows and a matching professorial mustache, he looked like someone¡¯s favorite grandfather or at least a toymaker of some sort. The effect was somewhat spoiled by the contract unfolding in golden letters above his head, in which the Crowned Charioteer granted him the power to siphon the heat out of anything he touched and impart it on any piece of bronze in his sight.


    He had antern on the table, just to his left, and Song idly wondered how quickly the button on her Watch uniform would burn through cloth and flesh with all that heat crammed into it. Instant, she figured, or near enough. Yet that admittedly dangerous power was not worth the price it had cost the man, in her opinion: he could no longer feel anything by touch. Not heat or cold, not the wind on his face or even what he held in his hand.


    ¡°Come, rooks,¡± Galenos smiled at them. ¡°Have water and bread from me.¡±


    It was a single bowl and a te with a small loaf of bread, which they shared ¨C Song going first, as captain, then the others. Now that guest right was established, some of the tension in the shoulders of the two thugs nking him loosened. The odds the Watch hade to fight were greatly lessened, for it would tar the reputation of the order in Asphodel to break such an old and respected rite. The three of them settled in the seats across the table from the criminals, Song in the center and Tristan to her left.


    Galenos introduced hispanions before they sat down on either side of him.


    ¡°Knuckles,¡± he said, nodding at therge man to his left, ¡°and our lovely Red Maria.¡±


    Lierganen in both name and looks, thetter, though that was not so rare in Tratheke. Though there was still a distinct Asphodelian strain with dark hair and blue or green eyes, the years and the press of people from Old Liergan and the rest of the Trebian inds had made the ssic Lierganen looks just asmon ¨C except among the nobility, where such a thing would be considered vulgar.


    ¡°Captain Song Ren of the Thirteenth Brigade,¡± she replied, giving nothing more.


    It still got a flinch from all three Asphodelians, and Red Maria made a sign warding off misfortune while muttering a prayer to the Circle. She ignored the steady look Tristan fixed her with. It was mere superstition, nothing to take heed of.


    ¡°A bold number to take,¡± Galenos said. ¡°Not a fearful lot, you, though I would have guessed from your stepping around one of our warehouses and then sending word to ask for more of our attention.¡±


    Song cleared her throat.


    ¡°It was not our intent to interfere with your business,¡± she said, ¡°and the Watch has no particr interest in the affairs of the Brazen Chariot. We apologize for the inconvenience.¡±


    Knuckles scoffed, the pile of muscle with his mangled eponymous knuckles seeming unconvinced.


    ¡°You forced us to burn a finely hidden warehouse.¡±


    Song drummed her fingers against the table, inkling her head towards Tristan ¨C who gave the other side a charming smile.


    ¡°You were already evacuating that warehouse, Master Knuckles,¡± he said. ¡°Your guard admitted as much. And wise of you too, given what it stood in proximity of.¡±


    Knuckles spat to side, the sound of wet on the floor almost resonant. Song hid her disgust; Angharad did not.


    ¡°I don¡¯t like your tone, Sacromontan,¡± therge man said. ¡°Who are you to tell me what¡¯s wise?¡±


    ¡°Someone who knows things you do not,¡± Tristan cheerfully replied. ¡°A familiar feeling, no doubt.¡±


    Red Mariaughed, which had the man half-risen out of his chair with a snarl before Galenos put a hand on his arm.


    ¡°Peace, Knuckles,¡± he said. ¡°I am sure Captain Ren intends to borate on this alleged wisdom.¡±


    ¡°Our business in Tratheke is the ferreting out of a cult,¡± Song told him. ¡°In that pursuit, we followed an assassin through an ancient aether pathway ¨C which led into the very teahouse connecting to your warehouse.¡±


    Galenos turned pale brown eyes on her, calmly sipping at a cup of water.


    ¡°The city is full of talk about an assassin¡¯s attempt on a particr man,¡± he carefully said.


    ¡°The very same,¡± Song said.


    The implication that someone who had tried to kill the Lord Rector had then popped out next to their smuggling cache put the fear of the gods in them, as well it should: for a rtively small basileia like theirs to be involved in such matters might well mean being wiped out simply because the lictors felt like making a point.


    ¡°Fuck,¡± Red Maria bluntly said. ¡°Since the red scarves haven¡¯t been setting our houses on fire, I¡¯m guessing you kept your mouth shut about that."


    "While the Brazen Chariot was mentioned in our report to our superiors, so was our belief it was not involved in the plot save by unfortunate coincidence,¡± Song replied. ¡°But my cabalist brought out a salient detail: you were already evacuating the warehouse when we found it.¡±


    ¡°Your guard mentioned this to be unusual,¡± Angharad added.


    Her tone was a little t, likely because the girl in question had frankly admitted that a lone individual finding a Brazen Chariot stash was usually likely to result in a sliced throat rather than a migration.


    ¡°And you want us to tell you why,¡± Galenos mused.


    ¡°I would prefer not to leave any question pending, so that our investigation might move on,¡± Song said, which was not quite a threat.


    But it wasn¡¯t <em>not </em>a threat, either.


    ¡°We¡¯re not afraid of the Watch, Tianxi,¡± Knuckles sneered.


    ¡°You should be,¡± Angharad frankly told him.


    The sheer sincerity in that retort threw off the big man, who scrambled for a reaction for a long moment before deciding on anger.


    ¡°Shut your mouth, cripple,¡± he sneered. ¡°Else I will break that stick on your-¡±


    Song cocked her head to the side, finding Galenos the Brazen¡¯s eyes.


    ¡°Does Master Knuckles speak for all of you in this?¡±


    Irritation flicked across the old man¡¯s face, the grandfatherly air turning almost reptilian for that beat before it all came back into ce.


    ¡°Knuckles will sit down and be silent for a span,¡± Galenos said.


    He turned a look on therge man, who swallowed loudly and sat down in his chair. He looked away, like a pouting child. Song did not think it a coincidence that both he and Red Maria wore bronze nes.


    ¡°We¡¯re always happy to lend a hand to the Watch, of course,¡± Galenos the Brazen said. ¡°But talk is dangerous, Captain Ren. Especially with folks in fine ck cloaks.¡±


    Red Maria leaned forward.


    ¡°And the Chariot doesn¡¯t take on risks for free.¡±


    ¡°One would think your lives a sufficient prize,¡± Angharad contemptuously said.


    Galenos found her eyes.


    ¡°Does the Mni speak for all of you in this, Captain Ren?¡± he smiled.


    Song sighed, shaking her head at Angharad.


    ¡°She does not,¡± she replied. ¡°We are willing to hear terms.¡±


    ¡°Reasonable terms,¡± Tristan idly added.


    ¡°I am a most reasonable man, you will find,¡± Galenos the Brazen smiled.


    The reasonable man wanted them to smuggle crates from the Lordsport into the city for him on official Watch carriages, which Tristan seemed to find eptable enough but Song tly refused. While she understood that contracts might force her to break localws on asion, that was never to be a <em>first </em>resort. She offered, instead, a lump sum of gold. Tristan looked a little aggrieved when she did and Red Maria chuckled.


    ¡°We start shing around proper gold like that, Captain Ren, and questions will be asked as to how we got it,¡± she said. ¡°If you want to bribe us, pay in goods.¡±


    Song was not entirely opposed, so long as the worth was not greater than the coin she had offered, so the haggling moved over what goods were to be offered. What the basileia <em>wanted</em> was in enough.


    ¡°Muskets,¡± Galenos baldly said. ¡°Failing that, ckpowder.¡±


    ¡°ckpowder can be obtained legally in Tratheke,¡± Song noted.


    ¡°And if you buy a whole barrel, the lictors follow you home afterwards,¡± Red Maria drawled. ¡°No one bats an eye if the rooks buy up a fort¡¯s worth, though. Powder¡¯s worth a fortune on the ck market right now, everyone is scrambling for it.¡±


    Galenos shot her a sharp look at thatst part, but it was toote. Ah, their friend was looking to turn a profit.


    ¡°Why¡¯s everyone buying?¡± Tristan idly asked.


    Too idly. Like her, he was matching thattest revtion to their visit to the empty warehouse. Only so much powder could be smuggled into Tratheke before someone noticed. Better to obtain part of your stocks through the same basileias helping you hide inside the capital.


    ¡°Dangerous times,¡± Knuckles grunted. ¡°If Palliades croaks then the throne¡¯s up for grabs and powder will be worth its weight in gold ¨C shot or sold.¡±


    ck House hadrge reserves of gunpowder, so in truth this would be one of the easiest trade goods for the Thirteenth to get their hands on. All that would be required was making a requisition through Captain Wen, and should he approve the need they wouldn¡¯t even need to dip into brigade funds. Even better, the entire process would be legal.


    Angharad leaned in close.


    ¡°I would hope,¡± she murmured, ¡°you are not about to arm hardened criminals who will then use those arms to continue extorting the people of Tratheke.¡±


    Song swallowed a grimace. There was, of course, a difference between legal and moral.


    ¡°That would be overpaying, if ckpowder is worth what you say,¡± she told Galenos. ¡°I am told, however, that you smuggle liquor.¡±


    ¡°True enough,¡± the old man said. ¡°And?¡±


    ¡°Get me a list of wines and liquor of equal value to my earlier offer,¡± she said, ¡°and they will be delivered to you.¡±


    Heughed.


    ¡°Cheeky,¡± he said. ¡°You¡¯ll buy them in Lordsport for less and avoid tariffs by bringing them in as Watch supplies.¡±


    Song smiled and did not deny. He haggled for much better terms, and she conceded slightly better ones instead ¨C arger sum¡¯s worth of drink than earlier, but with tariff avoidance it would likely end up costing her around the same. Angharad poorly hid her relief, and in truth even Tristan looked approving. Galenos was surprisingly understanding that she would not sign a contract, as a signature would actionably implicate the Watch.


    ¡°Business relies on the worth of one¡¯s word,¡± the old man said. ¡°I might not know you, but the ck has a reputation for holding up their end. I¡¯ll bet on that.¡±


    As Red Maria walked off to go put together a list for them to take back to ck House along with the location to bring the goods to, Galenos lit a pipe and offered them the same. All three declined, to the old man¡¯s chuckles.


    ¡°Ah, if only I had been so careful as a youth,¡± he said. ¡°It is toote for me now, sadly.¡±


    They waited patiently for him to tell his tale, which he deigned to begin after a few puffs.


    ¡°We had three on guard that night,¡± Galenos said. ¡°One of them was out for a smoke when that Tianxi woman came out through one of the boarded windows. He had the good sense to rouse the others and follow after the potential leak.¡±


    The end of the pipe was cherry-red, and the foul smell of cheap Izcalli tobo filled the air. A filthy habit, though Song would admit it was not umon in the Republics.


    ¡°Our girl was out of it, so she didn¡¯t notice the tail,¡± the old man said. ¡°Guess hers wasn¡¯t a softnding. Either way, she passed through the Reeking Rows and bought a coach on the main street. Our man lost her there.¡±


    A pause. <em>Her contract is not always active</em>, Song thought. <em>It must be consciously used, and she must have not seen a need to pay her price when she thought herself alone.</em> That was already valuable knowledge.


    ¡°Fortunately for you, we got friends in the coaches,¡± Galenos grinned. ¡°Our friend the coachman said the face wasn¡¯t the same we described, with the tattoos and all, but he remembered the ride. He crossed wards for her, brought her down in the southwest all the way to Chancery Lane.¡±


    He raised a finger.


    ¡°Where, and here is your money¡¯s worth, she headed straight for the Karras workshop,¡± the old man told them. ¡°She knocked on the alley door, even though it waste at night, and when someone came to look she showed them something. After some arguing they let her in, which our man thought mighty odd.¡±


    <em>Karras</em>, Songmitted to memory. She did not know the name, but thergest workshops and warehouses in the southwestern ward were all owned by the Trade Assembly. The old man sucked at his pipe, blowing the smoke upwards afterwards.


    ¡°I figured that meant she was Yellow Earth, so it would have been borrowing trouble to tie up the loose end,¡± Galenos said. ¡°Simpler to clear house instead, so that¡¯s what we did ¨C until you stumbled onto thest gasps of our effort.¡±


    Tristan cleared his throat, earning a curious look.


    ¡°The teahouse doors leading to your stash were welded shut,¡± he said. ¡°Was that your work?¡±


    ¡°It weren¡¯t,¡± Galenos said. ¡°One of ours stumbled on the other entrance to the basement about twenty years ago ¨C there was a crack in the floor ¨C and after we battered our way through the other floor we found the doors like we left them. Didn¡¯t look like it¡¯d been used in our time, either.¡±


    ¡°Have you ever been there?¡± Song asked.


    The old man snorted.


    ¡°No,¡± he replied. ¡°Knuckles has, though.¡±


    Song¡¯s eyes moved to the man, whose dislike of them all was in.


    ¡°The back wall of the basement is made of different stone than the rest,¡± she said. ¡°Have you ever seen stone like it anywhere else?¡±


    Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the vition.


    The big man frowned, and to his honor seemed like he was genuinely thinking it over.


    ¡°Once,¡± he finally said. ¡°There¡¯s a brothel near the Reeking Rows and the room where they keep the wine has a wall like that.¡±


    Song¡¯s eyes narrowed.


    ¡°That room, it is their basement?¡±


    He nodded. Tristan let out an incredulousugh.


    ¡°Someone built a brothel next to that smell?¡±


    ¡°Cheapest in Tratheke,¡± Knuckles shrugged. ¡°Good coin in it, there¡¯s not much else to do around there.¡±


    Song and Tristan shared a look. They would have to investigate that wall, as the existence of several such shrines in the northeastern ward could be proof of Maryam¡¯s belief that some entity ¨C possibly the one under this aether seal - was being contained by the emptyyer. And with Angharad departing for the country to morrow while Maryam kept digging for them in the archives, it would have to be one of them doing it.


    ¡°This Karras,¡± Angharad suddenly asked, ¡°why do you think his workshop has ties to the Yellow Earth? Are they a sympathizer?¡±


    ¡°The family owns thergest trade fleet after the Anastos, they¡¯re in it up to their neck with the Republics,¡± Galenos snorted. ¡°I don¡¯t know if he¡¯s got sympathies, but it doesn¡¯t matter: you do big enough business with the Tianxi, you¡¯ll get some Yellow Earth in your workers. It¡¯s like their version of lice.¡±


    He flicked a nce at Song.


    ¡°No offense, Captain Ren.¡±


    ¡°I had not been inclined to take any,¡± she noted, ¡°until that.¡±


    Much as it pained her to consider it, it was looking more and more like the Yellow Earth <em>had</em> been the ones to try to assassinate the Lord Rector. Yet the arguments put forward by Hao Yu and his cohort had been solid then and remained so now. <em>Not all Yellow Earth sects are united</em>, she thought. <em>It could be a radical was behind it and their own factions is now trying to avoid taking the me.</em> That might go some way in exining why they had pointed her towards a plot by the ministers: it would keep her upied long enough for them to clean house.


    Not something to discuss here, however. They got the name of the brothel ¨C it did not have one, only a yellow crescent moon as a sign ¨C and the list, then parted ways with the Brazen Chariot.


    ¡°Always more questions,¡± Song muttered when it was only the three of them. ¡°If the Yellow Earth is behind all this, this is a dead end for our contracted investigation: I cannot imagine one of their sects being beholden to a cult like the Golden Ram, especially when its membership is full of nobles.¡±


    ¡°It could be an alliance of convenience,¡± Angharad suggested.


    ¡°But what convenience is that?¡± Tristan asked. ¡°Even assuming the Yellow Earth wants to back a coup, the Trade Assembly hasn¡¯t got the guns to seize Tratheke if the Lord Rector bites it. The Council of Ministers just might, though, and our Republican friends know it - else they wouldn¡¯t have pointed Song at the tail of that plot. So why try to kill our good friend Evander?¡±


    ¡°It could be a factional struggle inside the Yellow Earth,¡± Song said. ¡°When I met with Hao Yu, his second seemed significantly more aggressive. It was a y on their part, yes, but by my read not entirely.¡±


    ¡°Too early to jump to conclusions, I think,¡± Tristan mused. ¡°I¡¯ll have to get into that workshop, find out they of thend. It could simply be our assassin friend paid off someone there to hide her in case things went south.¡±


    Not impossible, Song conceded, but then why do so in the southwest? It was not as wealthy as the southeastern ward or the Collegium, but a hideaway there would still be significantly more expensive to buy than in either of the northern wards. Angharad rubbed the bridge of her nose as they walked, looking exhausted.


    ¡°How many vors of treason can there be in one ursed city?¡± sheined. ¡°Asphodel seems to grow coups like weeds.¡±


    ¡°Our captain¡¯s lover does seem like a somewhat negligent gardener,¡± Tristan solemnly agreed.


    ¡°I will strangle you, Abrascal,¡± she swore. ¡°With my own hands, just to watch that twinkle slowly go out of your eye.¡±


    ¡°Song,¡± Angharad reproached.


    She coughed. Perhaps that had been a little too harsh.


    ¡°Think of the taint on the Lord Rector¡¯s reputation, should his mistressmit murder in broad daylight,¡± Angharad gravely said.


    She red at them both.


    ¡°And to think you wereining of treason, Tredegar,¡± she scorned. ¡°I will remember this.¡±


    Song had to threaten to dock their pay in the carriage back for them to stop, and even then it was a narrow thing.


    --


    Maryam returned to the private archives for a single book.


    She would have preferred to read it back in the safety of ck House, but the sole limit the Lord Rector had put on the Thirteenth¡¯s rights to the archives had been a ban on taking books outside. Given the¡­ peculiarities of the volume Maryam hade for, she must reluctantly concede the man had a point. It was not the sort of thing one would want to leave the confines of that cloistered ce with only one way in and out.


    Wen was in a surprisingly fine mood as they came up, considering the news she had delivered this morning ¨C than an ancient god, perhaps even a god of the Old Night, might be breaching its prison. In truth most of the Thirteenth had been, if not indifferent, then unworried by the news. The sense she had gotten out of them was that so long as the shrines andyers held, this whole affair was better reported to the Watch and left to those more fit to investigate it.


    Maryam did not disagree entirely. It was hard to, after learning how close she hade to cracking open her skull yesterday. On the other hand, if the plots afoot in the city circling the Lord Rector¡¯s throne were worth keeping an eye on then so was this.


    And unlike noble greed and some ckpowder dream of revolution, Maryam could feel it in her bones that there was<em> something</em> about all these details adding up together: the tempestuous aether, the god in the tomb, the resurgence of the Golden Ram cult, the brackstone shrine and the seal and the Asphodel crowns. It felt like there was some secret at the heart of it all, tying all the mysteries together, but she could not make it out.


    It was a frustrating feeling, not helped in the slightest by Wen Duan¡¯s chipper mood.


    ¡°Did you know,¡± he said, ¡°that the lift we¡¯re on is directly over therger Antediluvian lifts that connect the Collegium floor to the pce?¡±


    She shot him a surprised look.


    ¡°That would mean someone built a goal in the middle of the rector¡¯s pce, three levels up,¡± Maryam said. ¡°Who thought <em>that </em>was a good idea?¡±


    ¡°Oduromai King himself, apparently,¡± Wen said. ¡°He wanted all his wives locked up in here after he died in a chamber above, so that when they passed they would follow him into the aether as servant spirits.¡±


    ¡°Charming,¡± Maryam grimaced. ¡°God of heroes, is he?¡±


    ¡°Certainly not of wisdom,¡± Wen noted. ¡°Imagine eternally binding yourself to six people you¡¯ve jailed to death <em>on purpose</em>.¡±


    Her lips twitched at that, the lift in her moodsting through the senior archivist being nowhere in sight and having been assigned Master Alexios as an attendant today. She dismissed the man after iming the keys to the forbidden section, knowing exactly what she needed. She kept an eye out, and after a quick turn around the room found Roxane ensconced at a desk and busy transcribing a waterlogged book onto a clean manuscript.


    The girl waves back happily, almost spilling her inkwell, and looked in a fine mood. Not a punition, then. Pleased, Maryam let the matter go. Spending too much time around the girl would only harm her.


    The book was where she had found it yesterday, the small leatherbound volume with the Asphodel crown engraving on the front. She found an alcove where no one would be able to look over her shoulder, out in one of the shadier corners of archives, and after lighting amp sat down to dig into it. The contents were in Antigua, she found, but in an archaic turn of it ¨C and the lines were so densely packed it made for hard, slow reading.


    It was the story of Oduromai King, from the moment he set out to sea, only they did not always call him that. The name was used interchangeably with <em>Odyssean</em>, and it was not clear if either was a sobriquet or simply different ways to trante the word from the original Cydic. It seemed to Maryam as if Oduromai might be a formal title, perhaps, and Odyssean the man¡¯s moremon appetion ¨C it was certainly used more often by hispanions, while instead other rulers and gods called him Oduromai.


    Which was not half so interesting as the fact that Song had seen a contract to a god called the Odyssean on her first night at the pce, and unless Maryam¡¯s memory failed her greatly that contractor was Cleon Eirenos. The very same noble that Angharad was to depart for the country estate of tomorrow.


    The problem was, there was<em> already</em> a god called Oduromai. Asphodel¡¯s god of heroes and sailors, arguably their chief deity if not necessarily their most powerful ¨C he was, after all, the founder of the Rectorate. Central to its founding tale. How could there be two such gods? She had heard Oduromai was a god manifest, sometimes seen at his temples across Asphodel. Curiosity burned, turning her back to the book after she secured ink for her notes.


    It was only when Wen came to look in on her she realized that hours had passed, and she was only a third of the way through the book. She declined his offer of a meal, and after none too subtly checking if she having a manic fit the overweight Tianxi forced a cup of water on her and told her he¡¯d be reading in a corner and to tell him when she was finished.


    Maryam felt guilty, but not guilty enough to stop. Even when the archivists began to leave for the night, Roxane getting an absent-minded wave when she bade goodbye, she kept reading. When finally she closed the book, it was to the dim realization that she was the only person left out in the stacks. There were still lights inside the tower, and the faint sound of talk and clinking sses, so Wen and some other archivist must still be there.


    Brushing back her hair, the signifier looked down at her pages and pages of notes. That had been¡­ heavy reading. Odyssean was a hero, Maryam thought, like <em>junak</em> were heroes: they slew and stole and cheated, but their evil was turned on those eviler still and was thus dressed up as virtue.


    Maryam loved <em>junak </em>tales, always had. Wandering knights strong as bulls or clever as foxes, ying dragons and witch queens. Tricking evil gods into eating themselves and banishing ghosts from fallen kingdoms. Yet not even her favorite, Orel the Cunning, was a man she would have wanted to share a banquet table with. Orel tried to fuck anything in skirts, regrly tricked his hosts out of their treasures and kept intriguing to marry his way onto thrones.


    Thest of which he often aplished, only to lose it to the aforementioned skirtchasing and an old oath that prevented him from refusing a game of knucklebones over any prize he had won. Orel the Cunning was, of course, famously terrible at knucklebones.


    Had Maryam met such a figure in Volcesta she would have thought him a viper in dire need of killing. In a tale about his fooling an evil witch queen into betraying her god so he would get back the youth she¡¯d stolen from him under the guise of a bridge toll, however, he was easy to root for. It was the same with Odyssean, only there were¡­ shadows being cast by the text, so to speak. Implications that the evil of those Odysseanmitted evil on might be more told than true.


    Had he helped an army of raiders get past the impassable walls of Rysotoi because they held his brother hostage, or for the generous ¡®gifts¡¯ that the host then happened to give him when they parted ways after the city¡¯s sack?


    Within pages of his departure he stole a witch¡¯s magicpass after his ship became lost in a maze of reefs, the story conveniently iming she tried to eat his sailors in the night after he stumbled onto her ind by ident. And had he really thought the cattle on the isle of Cirrhen without an owner, or merely that the god-king of the isle would not be able to catch his men before they fled with their bounty?


    Those singing priestesses butchered to thest for using their songs to stir up storms and steal shipwrecked treasures, the two kingdoms sharing the straits of Zancle tricked into warring on each other so he might sail past their golden chain, the wife he was ¡®forced¡¯ by the ghost of his father to abandon on Faia¡­ it went on and on, a litany of ck deeds and justifications for them.


    It seemed to her like Odyssean had been a ruthless pirate king, not a grieving exile looking for a home. Even when the tale reached Asphodel, the tale was ugly. His crews being fooled by a curse into thinking the inhabitants of the ancient Lordsport were monsters and fighting them, then peace then being restored by Odyssean marrying the local king¡¯s only daughter to make amends, it rather sounded like sack and conquest of one of thergest natural ports in the Trebian by a raider who had decided to settle down.


    And the only mention of the Asphodel crown, those flowers that should have been the heart of the story ording to the tale nowmonly told, was in the crown of purple flowers he and his stolen bride wore at the wedding that founded the Kingdom of Asphodel. The tale ended with how the aged Odyssean visited by his half-divine Antediluvian father, who revealed to him the secrets of the world so he might forge a crown of aether and be a god in turn - so that part stayed the same, at least.


    Maryam closed the small book and set it down, leaning back into the plush chair with her eyes closed. An exhausted sigh escaped her. It had been a surprisingly dense read, and one that forced thought on her.


    ¡°I wonder if that king¡¯s daughter was one of the six that died within these walls. She must have been.¡±


    Maryam fumbled for her knife, almost kicking back her chair, but by the time she found the speaker she knew steel would avail her nothing. The shade with a sister¡¯s face delicately sat down on a chair turned to face Maryam, just outside the cast of thentern¡¯s glow. Yet it was not their close looks that demanded her attention this time: it was the clothes.


    An exquisite burnt red waistcoat embroidered with silver zmey, a white shirt with long billowing sleeves tucked into the traditional broad <em>tkanice</em> belt and matching embroidered skirts going down to her feet. Her hair was kept in a woman¡¯s braid, kept in ce by a silver broach, and over her shirt hung a ne of ck Dubrik pearls. She looked like a Khaimov princess, a king¡¯s daughter, in a way that Maryam never had.


    When she hadst fought the shade, it had worn only loose gray robes. The signifier¡¯s hands clenched. This was¡­ not a good sign, to put it lightly. The knife went back to the sheath, but Maryam raised something altogether more dangerous: her empty hand.


    ¡°Come to return more of what you stole?¡± she said. ¡°Kind of you.¡±


    She began to trace a Burden, but the shade eyed her as if she were a fool.


    ¡°Have you forgotten your talk with Lieutenant Mitra?¡± it asked. ¡°A single piece of me sent you deep into mania,st time. Bedridden for a day and dust. I wonder what it would do to you now, when your mind is still so fragile.¡±


    Maryam held the thing¡¯s gaze, the Cernik blue of her mother staring back at her, until the half-formed Sign began to tear itself apart and lick at her fingers. Swallowing a snarl, she smothered the Gloam but that superior look on the shade¡¯s face almost had her tracing another.


    ¡°What do you want, shade?¡± Maryam asked. ¡°Your time wille, fret not of that.¡±


    ¡°I thought giving you a taste would teach you better,¡± it said, ¡°but it seems I thought too much of you. You always were a slow learner.¡±


    ¡°I will find a way to lessen the bacsh,¡± she confidently replied. ¡°If not here, then back on Tolomontera. You are not so unique as you pretend.¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± the shade smiled, ¡°but I am. There is not another Cauldron in all the world, Maryam Khaimov. And what do you think happened when you took a bite out of that?¡±


    She bared her teeth at the thing.


    ¡°You became less,¡± she said, ¡°and I became more. As it should be.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t have a strong enough gullet for it,¡± the shade said. ¡°Bits spilled past your lips, like crumbs, and they are forever gone.¡±


    Maryam stilled.


    ¡°You lie,¡± she said, licking her lips.


    ¡°The only lies I have,¡± it replied, ¡°are the ones you gave me. That is our curse, <em>sister</em>.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t call me that,¡± she sharply bit out. ¡°We are not kin, you¡¯re a fucking parasite.¡±


    The shadeughed, high and bitter.


    ¡°You think I chose this?¡± it said. ¡°That I want to live off this trash you cram down my throat? I could have been more, before you stole it from me.¡±


    ¡°<em>You </em>dare to<em></em>call me a thief,¡± Maryam exhaled, incredulous.


    ¡°And worse,¡± the shade said. ¡°It is maddening, that you so refuse to look who you are in the eye that I must follow behind holding up your skirts like some beleaguered maid.¡±


    ¡°You feed on me and call it a torment,¡± she scorned. ¡°Leave, then. Begone.¡±


    ¡°I cannot,¡± the shade bit out. ¡°I have been caught in your nav for so long there is hardly a difference left between me and it. And even now that you know I exist, you still use me like a well to throw in all the thoughts you won¡¯t dirty yourself with.¡±


    ¡°You steal these,¡± Maryam snarled. ¡°I give you nothing.¡±


    The shade sneered at her.


    ¡°I do not particrly care for Abrascal,¡± it said, ¡°but I¡¯d fuck him. Where is that from, I wonder?¡±


    Maryam drew back like she¡¯d been struck in the stomach. She might as well have been. That was, it wasn¡¯t-


    ¡°We aren¡¯t like that,¡± she said. ¡°You-¡±


    ¡°You might be, if he were interested,¡± the shade said. ¡°He isn¡¯t, though, so you bury it so deep I get to think about what his forearms look like when he rolls up his sleeves and how his shirt sticks to him when he¡¯s sweating. <em>Ugh</em>.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not talking about this with you,¡± Maryam evenly said. ¡°You¡¯re just stirring me up to feed deeper. And you haven¡¯t distracted me anywhere as much as you think.¡±


    The shade had been very, very careful never to step into the light. She snatched hermp, bringing it forward so the glow enveloped the creature ¨C and where light touched it, it broke apart into wisps of smoke.


    ¡°We¡¯re inside the pce,¡± Maryam said. ¡°The aether here is calm as a pond, and that means you¡¯re <em>weak</em>.¡±


    The shade hastily fled back behind the chair, beyond the cast of the glow, and she threateningly raised themp.


    ¡°Tell me what you want,¡± she said, ¡°or be banished.¡±


    The creature studied her, and Maryam stared right back. Where the light had touched it, the borate clothes had turned to mere gray again. She was not quite sure what to make of that.


    ¡°You saw what it costs you, partaking of me,¡± the shade said. ¡°That it might well drive you mad, that you will spill much of the Cauldron in draining the rest. Ie to offer amodation instead.¡±


    Maryamughed harshly.


    ¡°Why now?¡± she asked. ¡°For years I struggled, barely able to Sign, and you remained hidden. Now that I have teeth, youe to offer an arrangement?¡±


    ¡°That you can hurt me is the only reason we speak,¡± the shade acknowledged. ¡°What of it?¡±


    ¡°There is nothing you can offer me that I cannot take, and be rid of you with it,¡± Maryam replied.


    And if some of the Cauldron was lost, well, she would make peace with that in time. She had thought all of it lost for years now, because of some unfitness on her part. That the same parasite responsible for all that anguish would now seek to use that knowledge as hostage sickened her with rage.


    ¡°You¡¯re wrong,¡± the shade said. ¡°I leant you a hand, once. On Tolomontera.¡±


    Her fists clenched. When the ship had been escaping, the first time she wove the wind in the material world.


    ¡°And you im that as a debt?¡± she asked.


    ¡°We smashed a ship into the docks, Maryam,¡± the shade said. ¡°There are signifiers thrice our age who would struggle to do it, and we did it by tracing an elementary Sign ¨C but tracing it <em>together</em>.¡±


    ¡°Once you lent a hand,¡± she acknowledged. ¡°After years of silent sabotage.¡±


    ¡°You are being obtuse,¡± the shade snapped. ¡°If we act in ord, we are more powerful than either of us would be even if we consumed the other. If we make a pact-¡±


    ¡°And what would it cost me, that pact?¡± Maryam interrupted with a sneer.


    ¡°Your nav,¡± it said. ¡°Let me be whole.¡±


    ¡°You want me to feed you a third of my soul,¡± she disbelievingly said. ¡°What sort of madwoman would ept this?¡±


    ¡°You already use it asntern and a pair of hands in the aether, let us not be too sentimental about it,¡± the shade replied. ¡°I only ask for you to return what-¡±


    A cleared throat interrupted them both.


    For a single, blood-freezing moment Maryam thought she had been so taken with the argument she had not noticed Wening out of the tower. But then she realized the sound hade from behind her, and when she turned it was to the sight of a jolly smiling face of a man she immediately recognized: Lord Locke, still all corpulence and mustache.


    That was just as terrifying, in a different way.


    ¡°Terribly sorry to interrupt such a stirring conversation, very sorry indeed, but if I might cut in a moment?¡±


    The shade eyed him with disdain.


    ¡°Begone, fat man,¡± it said. ¡°You meddle in-¡±


    The creature went still and silent when a delicate hand wasid on her shoulder, the tall and austere Lady Keys peering down through her sses.


    ¡°Manners, child,¡± she chided. ¡°And I will have you know that my husband is the loveliest man there ever was or will be ¨C your blindness in this regard is an unfortunate affliction, but do keep it to yourself.¡±


    Evidently the shade had stolen none of Maryam¡¯s caution, the signifier vindictively thought.


    ¡°Oh, <em>amada</em>, I am but a spark to the bonfire of your beauty,¡± Lord Locke gushed. ¡°Your eyes must be abyrinth, for I so easily lose myself in them.¡±


    The shade did not move. Not a blink, not a breath, not a nod. Like a mouse being held by a cat.


    Maryam nced to the tower in the middle of the chamber: the lights were still on, the sound of talk wafting their way. She had not heard either of these two creeping up on her, but there was only one way in and out of this archive. How had <em>Wen </em>not seen theming? She kept her breathing even. If they could sneak past her patron, the man would not be able to move in time even if she screamed for help.


    And Tristan had told them that these two were dangerous, that they must be kept smiling at all costs, so y along she would.


    ¡°It is no imposition at all, Lord Locke,¡± she said. ¡°How might I be of help?¡±


    The man temporarily stopped flirting with his wife long enough to answer.


    ¡°Ah, my young friend, we havee to borrow a book,¡± he said. ¡°And we looked in the stacks, only to find it was already in your hands!¡±


    ¡°I happen to be finished with the work in question,¡± Maryam said. ¡°By all means, take it ¨C though I believe we are forbidden from taking volumes outside the archives.¡±


    ¡°Not to worry,¡± Lord Locke assured her, going rifling through his doublet pockets, ¡°we have permission.¡±


    He produced a folded piece of paper, which he helpfully passed her. Maryam opened it, finding not the Palliades seal but instead the word ¡®PERMISSION¡¯ written inrge, wobbly letters taking up the whole paper. She cleared her throat.


    ¡°Checks out,¡± Maryam said.


    She thought he looked almost disappointed, for a flicker of a moment, but then he was all chortles and good humor again.


    ¡°Did you find it interesting reading, Maryam?¡± Lady Keys idly asked.


    The shade was still as a stone under her light hand.


    ¡°A tragic tale, in many ways,¡± the signifier replied.


    ¡°Indeed,¡± the talldy approved. ¡°It is always a sad scene when a god starves.¡±


    She swallowed, and though it was unwise she must ask.


    ¡°You believe the god Odyssean to have starved to death?¡±


    ¡°Or close enough,¡± Lady Keys said. ¡°Else Oduromai could hardly walk around wearing his clothes, could he? That is the trouble of empire, dear. Everyone loves the wealth and the temples and the festivals, but few care to look too closely at what keeps the gears oiled up.¡±


    ¡°Blood,¡± Maryam quietly said. ¡°It alwayses down to blood.¡±


    Yours, everyone else¡¯s. Always more blood, until the gears broke or you squeezed the whole world dry.


    ¡°Nations get squeamish about their bedrock of bones,¡± the talldy mused, ¡°so they paint them gray and name them stones. Poor Odyssean ¨C how eagerly they worshipped his name, until he became an embarrassment. Then they put a crown on his prettier brother and pretended he¡¯d been the one all along.¡±


    <em>He¡¯s not dead</em>, Maryam thought. <em>Song found a contractor of his.</em> That for all their eerie presence they did not seem to know this was a relief. They were not all-powerful, this strange pair.


    ¡°But do not let us interrupt your fascinating debate any further,¡± Lord Locke said. ¡°Why, I¡¯ve not seen a woman so admirably at odds with herself since that queen out in the Riven Coast. Remember darling, the one who inhabited two bodies?¡±


    ¡°A most amusing war, they were waging,¡± Lady Keys chuckled. ¡°And after the victory the royal banquet was <em>most </em>delicious.¡±


    Lord Locke smacked his lips in approval.


    ¡°Nothing like royal,¡± he said, then waited half a beat before adding, ¡°hospitality.¡±


    He winked at Maryam, then caught his wife¡¯s eyes and the two of them shook with silentughter. The jolly man picked up the book at her gestured invitation, sketching a bow of thanks, and gantly offered his arm for his much taller wife to take. They strolled away, quietly chattering away, and disappeared into one of the chambers.


    Maryam had no intention of sticking around to find out if they¡¯d ever leave it.


    The shade was still seated where it had been, visibly shaken, and their eyes met again.


    ¡°No deal,¡± Maryam told her.


    ¡°You will regret that,¡± it replied, and in the heartbeat that followed it was gone.


    Maryam straightened, swallowing, and briskly fled to the tower. Hopefully Wen still had drink left, because she could use a cup of something strong after that.


    --


    ¡°All right,¡± Tristan said. ¡°Now do it again, but without waking up thest emperor of Liergan and scraping the wood.¡±


    Angharad shot him a t look, but the thief appeared entirely unmoved. Well, she silently conceded, perhaps her work could do with some improvement. Tristan rapped his knuckles against the door once, prompting Maryam to open it slightly then close it fully and putting the bar lock in ce ¨C little more than a metal bar connecting the door the wall, with a lever beneath to lift it out of its resting ce. As simple as locks got.


    Angharad brough up the thief¡¯s tool Tristan had lent her: a long and thin stripe of steel, as if a bookmark had been forged in metal. She positioned herself as he had shown, elbow angled correctly so she could control the movement, and slid the stripe through the thin gap between the door and the doorway. She raised the tool, slowly and carefully, until she made contact with the metal bar on the other side.


    Then she delicately levered the bar upwards, bringing it out of the catch ¨C and this time, instead of dropping it and making the noise Tristan had so wildly exaggerated, she just as delicately lowered it back down, out of the catch. She then slid out the tool, straightening and turning an expectant look on the gray-eyed man. He cocked an eyebrow, opening the door and finding it perfectly unobstructed.


    ¡°Congrattions,¡± he said, and Angharad preened, ¡°you can now break into a child¡¯s room. Maybe.¡±


    ¡°You could have given me this, Tristan,¡± she reproached.


    ¡°I¡¯m not even giving you that lifter,¡± he snorted. ¡°It¡¯s mine and it¡¯s quality work. You get one of the lead ones from the ck House stocks ¨C and wash it first, the paint on most of them is king.¡±


    The door was cracked further open as Maryam peeked her head through.


    ¡°You are strangely stingy, for a thief,¡± she noted.


    ¡°Ah, but does anyone know the worth of things better than a thief?¡± Tristan philosophically asked.


    Angharad cocked her head to the side.


    ¡°An appraiser,¡± she suggested.


    ¡°Tax collectors,¡± Maryam said.


    ¡°Even among criminals, presumably your fence,¡± Angharad pointed out.


    She got incredulous looks from the other two at that.


    ¡°I read novels,¡± the noblewoman defensively said. ¡°I know what a fence is, even if the term seems unnecessarily confusing.¡±


    It already meant something else!


    ¡°What kind of books do you read that have fences in them?¡± Maryam asked, grinning.


    The kind where Lord Cadwder found his mother¡¯s locket for sale in the city pawnshop, revealing that Lady Dube had not lost it as she imed but in fact ¨C Angharad coughed into her fist.


    ¡°Morality tales,¡± she very precisely replied.


    A moral like, for example ¡®if you cannot figure out that Lady Dube is only after your inheritance and Lady Awbrey is your true love, then perhaps you deserve to be bankrupted¡¯. Maryam and Tristan shared a look. Before that wheel could begin to spin and subject her to a flow of crushing sarcasm, Angharad cleared her throat.


    ¡°While I am thankful for the lesson,¡± she said, ¡°when Song suggested I learn some hidden means from you I thought there would be more actual picking of locks.¡±


    ¡°If I had a few weeks and your whole attention, it might,¡± Tristan replied. ¡°Certainly not with only a few hours before bed, and I¡¯d not trust you to pick anything but workshop locks without a least a few months of learning in you.¡±


    ¡°I had not thought it so difficult a skill to learn,¡± Angharad admitted.


    If it was so difficult to be a criminal, why not simply learn a proper trade? He wiggled his hand, a symbol of equivocation.


    ¡°Part of it is that doing it well requires particr tools that do note cheap,¡± he said. ¡°But also that in practice most thieves won¡¯t bother picking locks, Angharad. They¡¯ll smash a window or walk through the open door to pull a pistol on the shopkeeper.¡±


    Ah. That was more along the lines of what she had been taught to expect from thieves. The implication that Tristan himself had not resorted to such means was filed away. Perhaps he ought to be considered as, well, a sort of thieving nobility. The highborn of that upation, so to speak. Yet on second thought Angharad resisted the urge to fit in him such a box, for it felt almost too convenient. It would, after all, allow her to ignore the fact that a man she rather liked had a long history ofmitting entirely reprehensible acts.


    Regardless, it tasted somewhat like hypocrisy to cast aspersions on Tristan¡¯s past while learning his tricks so they might be employed to spy on a young man who had invited her into his home. It was a bitter thing to swallow, the knowledge that neither her work on behalf of the Watch nor the one on behalf of House Tredegar were particrly honorable in nature.


    Tristan lightly pped her shoulder, bringing her out of her thoughts.


    ¡°Even nobles usually only put proper locks on a handful of rooms and safes,¡± he told her. ¡°With a lifter and a skeleton key, you ought to be able to get into the vast majority of a country manor without trouble.¡±


    She breathed out, nodding.


    ¡°As for the other rooms, I will have to prevail through charm to enter them,¡± Angharad said, as much for them as her own sake.


    ¡°Cleon Eirenos might not be part of the cult at all,¡± Maryam told her. ¡°The Odyssean sounds like a remnant god made up of the parts of the worship of Oduromai that were prettied up, not anything like the Golden Ram.¡±


    ¡°There will be other guests,¡± Angharad said. ¡°And contract with a spirit does not forbid worship of another, regardless.¡±


    ¡°For a cult like the Golden Ram, I think it might,¡± Maryam replied with a frown, ¡°but admittedly that is guesswork on my part.¡±


    Angharad acknowledged her words with a nod, receiving one in return, and wondered at the simple courtesy. A month ago that might have well turned into a vicious argument, she felt, or at least some barbed words. The hour they spent together every morning had not made them friends, and in some ways the Pereduri doubted they ever would be, but misstep by misstep she had learned what not to say.


    They could have polite conversation, within those boundaries, and there were only so many polite conversations one could have with another before that politeness became the default.


    While they¡¯d spoken Tristan had fished out his watch, that brass timepiece he cleaned and polished zealously. He clicked his tongue then closed it.


    ¡°Dinner soon,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯ll go put away the tools and meet you there.¡±


    Ater service requested by the Thirteenth, in deference to howte Maryam had stayed in the archives and her upsetting encounter there.


    ¡°I¡¯lle with you,¡± Maryam said. ¡°I need to wash my hands off thest of the ink, else Song will re at me like she¡¯s considering ordering nine generations of my family scrubbed clean.¡±


    ¡°I shall see you to at dinner, then,¡± Angharad replied.


    She watched, somewhat amused, as the pair began to bicker about Maryam intending to put ¡®ink all over his washbasin¡¯ while she contended he was always so filthy ink would be an improvement. It was good to see the pair reconciled, Angharad thought. They were both happier for it, much as they would deny such a thing. The noblewoman woman could only envy the depths of the friendship they had forged on the Dominion and theplicity it now carried.


    The friend she had thought she made on the Dominion had instead made her an <em>aplice</em>, which was an entirely different beast.


    Chasing off the doldrums, Angharad limped her way down the hall. The opposite way the two of them had gone, towards the stairs that would lead to the lower levels. It was a pleasant coincidence that the route leading to the most gently sloping of the stairs passed through a gallery overlooking the approach to the Collegium, one of the nicer sights from ck House ¨C and while it was not dark out yet, the great cube of ss was still a pleasure to eye.


    She turned the corner to the sight of seven windows with open shutters, light pouring through them like pits of re while darkness huddled in narrow slices between. Almost like stripes. She liked the gallery best around this hour, before the servants lit themps.


    The sight of Imani Langa standing by the middle window, however, rather spoiled her enjoyment.


    The liar was looking out at the city, angled to be the picture ofdy lost in contemtion. Ha! Imani did not turn to acknowledge her presence, so though Angharad knew this was unlikely to be a coincidence she leaned on her cane and advanced in stubborn silence. It was only when she came of a height with her that the liar turned, feigning surprise and delight.


    ¡°Angharad,¡± she smiled. ¡°Come watch the city with me, will you?¡±


    ¡°I have already seen it,¡± she politely replied. ¡°Perhaps another time.¡±


    Never seemed about right.


    ¡°Oh,¡± Imani sighed, ¡°but it has been so long since west spoke.¡±


    Those eyes narrowed.


    ¡°I insist.¡±


    Angharad was her father¡¯s daughter, so she did not spit on the floor in answer. She was also her mother¡¯s, so she sneered in open contempt. She approached just enough to stand at the edge of the pit of light, half-lit and half-veiled. She did not look at the city, staring down the liar instead.


    ¡°Well?¡± she prompted.


    ¡°There is no need for such hostility,¡± Imani chided her.


    ¡°Or for the wasting of my time,¡± Angharad replied. ¡°If you have something to say, say it.¡±


    Doe eyes were turned on her, like a snake putting on a smile.


    ¡°What progress have you made?¡± Imani finally asked.


    ¡°I am not on Tolomontera, in case it escaped your notice,¡± she replied. ¡°Take a guess.¡±


    She had no intention of telling the ufudu about her designs on the infernal forge rumored to be on Asphodel until she had a clear path to getting her hands on it. If she could not obtain it for barter, there was no need to let the Lefthand House know of its existence at all.


    ¡°Then you will be pressed for time upon your return,¡± the liar said. ¡°Your time on Asphodel might best be spent securing help for the endeavor.¡±


    ¡°Is that so?¡± Angharad mildly said.


    ¡°I did not expect you to wander into ayer alone,¡± Imani said. ¡°It was foolish, and near enough got you killed. You should obtain a signifier¡¯s help for your second venture, or at least a pair of hands to help you.¡±


    Her fingers clenched around the head of her cane.


    ¡°Are you offering Qianfan¡¯s help?¡± she asked.


    Was her own signifier in on her ns, also a traitor to the Watch? If so, there might be need for a second corpse at the end of this.


    ¡°I could secure it,¡± Imani lightly said, ¡°but such a thing would have a price.¡±


    Angharad smiled thinly. Of course it would. As it noticing her skepticism, the liar kept speaking.


    ¡°Or I could lend a hand in leveraging help from your own brigade,¡± Imani continued. ¡°Khaimov seems quite attached to Abrascal, there is an angle there.¡±


    (The knife slipped just under the copper button of Imani Langa¡¯s uniform, piercing through cloth and flesh as Angharad twisted the knife.)


    Angharad breathed out. She¡¯d barely meant to glimpse, but the sh of <em>rage </em>had-


    ¡°The real prize would be Song Ren, of course,¡± the liar said, eyes on the city. ¡°That contract of hers is a treasure, and given her colorful family history her position within the Watch is delicate at the best of times.¡±


    It was apse in control, for her off hand to grasp the handle of her knife, but Angharad¡¯s jaw was clenched hard enough it felt as if her teeth would pop so she allowed it.


    ¡°No,¡± she said, tly and inly.


    Imani turned, something in Angharad¡¯s voice catching her attention, and her eyes flicked down to the knife at the Pereduri¡¯s belt and the hand resting on it. The ufudu¡¯s lips quirked.


    ¡°How exciting,¡± she said. ¡°I am curious ¨C how <em>will</em> you be contacting the House, after slitting my throat? Or have proof of our bargain, for that matter.¡±


    She had no means and no proof, which Imani well knew. It was why the liar was yet smiling. Angharad forced herself to let out a breath through still-clenched teeth.


    ¡°We can revisit the matter of helpter,¡± Imani dismissed. ¡°Cleon Eirenos ¨C why did you cultivate his acquaintance and why are you headed to his estate?¡±


    ¡°That is Thirteenth business,¡± she precisely replied. ¡°Rted to our test.¡±


    ¡°Unlucky you, for I do not care,¡± Imani said. ¡°I have made concessions, Angharad. Given you time and space, refrained from imposing on you necessities or consequences.¡±


    Her stare hardened.


    ¡°Give me something for my patience,¡± she said, ¡°else I will find little point in maintaining it. I require no secrets from you, only information as other officers of the Watch have read in reports.¡±


    And it sounded reasonable, Angharad thought. Buying time, buying patience, with information put to reports Imani might be able to get her hands on anyhow.


    But she knew better.


    <em>Someone who holds a deed over you</em>, Gwydion Tredegar had taught her, <em>will always try to talk you into another misdeed they can use</em>. It would be something small, at first, something that felt minorpared to what they already had on you. But the point was to tighten the grip, one coerced step at a time, until there was such an avnche of dishonors on the books that to go against them would be simply unthinkable. Life-ending in a way that the first deed that started it all would never have been.


    Angharad looked at Imani Langa, at the calm confidence on that face, and saw the intent thaty behind her eyes. One step at a time, slowly turning Angharad into a sickness that would spread through the Thirteenth and make them into her pawns. She would be patient, one small request at a time, because could afford patience. The wind was on her side, because what could Angharad <em>do</em>?


    Without the help of the Lefthand House, she would never see her father again. With its enmity she was unlikely to survive a week on any of the Isles, rook or not. She was not arge woman, Imani Langa, but behind that slender frame lurked the great monster was the Lefthand House.


    ¡°Cleon Eirenos,¡± Imani prompted again.


    They deserved better.


    Sleeping God, the Thirteenth deserved <em>better</em> than this. Even had they not offered her kindness in an hour of need this would be a betrayal. And perhaps Angharad could find a way to walk the line of her oaths, to keep from dishonor by stepping carefully enough, it would just be quibbling. The words exact turned into an excuse for something she knew, deep in her bones, to be wrong.


    She had sought to cut ties with Song for shooting an ally in the back, but now she was levelling a pistol at all of theirs.


    ¡°No,¡± she quietly said.


    The liar stared her down.


    ¡°Yourck of cooperation,¡± she said, ¡°will make it into my report.¡±


    To her superiors at the Lefthand House, she meant. Back to faraway Mn, where¡­ Back to Mn. To the High Queen¡¯s court. Only it would not need to go so far as that, would it? There was closer.


    She looked at Imani Langa again, and this time she did not see the Lefthand House standing behind her. Not like the Watch would. She saw fishermen dangling bait, waiting to pull up the line. And bait was not meant toe out of that whole.


    It was easy, with Imani not expecting it.


    As simple as raising her walking stick and mming it on the ufudu¡¯s toes, the rest of it flowing like a river ¨C the liar drew back while Angharad abandoned her cane, grasping the side of Imani¡¯s face while the ufudu reached for her knife. She smashed her head into pulled shutters, to a most satisfying<em> bang</em>.


    Once, twice, and when Imani brought up her hands to protect her face Angharad drew her own knife and pressed it against the liar¡¯s throat.


    ¡°You-¡±


    ¡°Be silent,¡± Angharad evenly said.


    Whatever it was that Imani Langa saw in her eyes, it made her mouth close.


    ¡°This is my first andst warning,¡± she told the liar. ¡°On my oath if I see you trying to involve any of the Thirteenth in this matter, however the manner, I will slit your misbegotten throat and feed your body to the crabs.¡±


    She flicked her wrist, point of the knife digging into the hollow of Imani¡¯s throat.


    ¡°This is not Tolomontera,¡± she told the liar. ¡°The High Queen has an ambassador here, one who knows me by name, and only a fool would believe the Lefthand House does not have a seat in his staff. It would be but an afternoon¡¯s work to arrange a meeting, Imani, and that means you are a convenience but not a <em>necessity</em>.¡±


    Angharad coldly smiled.


    ¡°Unless you believe your death will be enough to spoil their appetite for the forge.¡±


    Neither of them did. The spy¡¯s face was an expressionless mask. Angharad withdrew her knife, fancying she saw relief there. Then she seized the liar by the hair and mmed her head into the shutters onest time before releasing her.


    ¡°That one,¡± she said, ¡°was for your unbearable smugness. Mind your manners, and do not refer to me so familiarly in the future ¨C <em>friends </em>call me Angharad, not the likes of you.¡±


    She snatched up her cane, limping away, and for the first time in weeks Angharad Tredegar did not feel like she was drowning.


    It was a start.

 Chapter 50

    Chapter 50


    Her mornings on Asphodel had be routine, if not rote.


    (<em>What is on the seventh page of the leftmost book? </em>Maryam asked. Angharad rose to her feet, walked the hall two doors down and entered the bedroom. There were four books on the bed. She flipped open the leftmost to the requested page. It was a small journal, and that page held nothing but a sequence of inked numbers: seven, neen, three hundred and two, one.)


    Letting out a long breath, Angharad opened her eyes and found an expectant Maryam looking at her from across the table, steel tip pen at the ready.


    ¡°Leftmost book, seventh page,¡± she said. ¡°Seven, neen, three hundred and two, one.¡±


    It had been one of the more interesting discoveries that everything she saw in a vision was temporarily fixed in her mind, near impossible to forget for at least a day afterwards. Maryam hummed, jotting down what had been said, then went down the hallway to check. She came back smiling.


    ¡°It is correct,¡± the pale-skinned woman happily announced. ¡°And it was not knowledge<em> I</em> personally possessed, as Song was the one to write these down.¡±


    Angharad slowly nodded.


    ¡°So the knowledge within my vision is not dependent on that of the people in my presence,¡± she said.


    Which was for the best. Mind-reading was not forbidden under the Iscariot ords, but it was mandatory to report and register. Maryam snorted.¡°That is <em>one </em>test pointing in that direction,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯m not willing to confidently repeat what you just said until at least another seven point the same way.¡±


    While Angharad appreciated the thoroughness and would hardly oppose it when it was being put to work in her service, she was not trying to establish the limits of her contract up to some obscure Akrre standard. As far as she was concerned, a truth had been learned. Another touch of color on the painting taking shape, establishing that her contract lent her true foresight and did not simply borrow from the minds around it to guess.


    Angharad had believed this already proven, but Maryam insisted that the visions could not be treated as simplyrger glimpses. It had almost irked her, a first, but now she wasing around to the notion. There was something¡­ different about the visions. The glimpses felt like exactly that, a quick look at whaty ahead. Angharad remained apart from them. The visions, however, felt <em>raw</em> in a way that blurred the boundary between dream and material.


    Almost as if she lived them, though admittedly not as deeply as she had that first time on the Dominion.


    The Izvorica finished jotting down her notes, then carefully blew at the ink ¡®til it dried before closing the journal. Angharad waited patiently until she was done, then silently inquired as to whether they were done.


    ¡°I would not mind practicing your tell,¡± Maryam said, ¡°but I believe we might runte if we do.¡±


    ¡°My affairs are already packed and aboard the coach,¡± Angharad told her, ¡°but it might be for the best to end this now anyhow.¡±


    The ck House coachman would be taking her to the northwestern ward ¨C not on an official Watch coach, mind you, a rented one ¨C and there the carriage that Lord Cleon had rmended her would be waiting for the longer trip out to the country. It would be two days of traveling by road to the Eirenos estate, and she was meant to stay at least two nights there before returning. Lord Cleon was to receive guests for a small soiree, but she would be arriving the day before that so he might show her the estate and they could go on a hunt together.


    Given that the moment they left Tratheke the beautiful First Empire roads of the capital would be a thing of the past, to leave a little early could not hurt. The roads in Tratheke Valley were said to be bad enough that carriages habitually carried spare wheels and axles. Would that Angharad could ride a horse instead. She would tire after an hour or two, she expected, but she was barred from this regardless as her slow but steady recovery had to be hidden from the society she was joining.


    It was her troubles that made her fine bait for the cult of the Golden Ram, though the more the Thirteenth discovered the more it seemed like that name might have be a fa?ade for something darker.


    ¡°I need to prepare my own affairs for the trip back to the Rows anyhow,¡± Maryam said.


    ¡°Bringing flowers to the brackstone wall, I hear,¡± Angharad said.


    And not entirely seeding at hiding her skepticism, by the amused look on the other woman¡¯s face.


    ¡°Not just any flowers, Asphodel crowns,¡± she replied. ¡°They¡¯ve arge ce in the tale of the god Oduromai and echo strangely in the aether. If I can match that echo to whatever lies behind the shrine¡­¡±


    ¡°Then you could put a name to the imprisoned spirit,¡± Angharad finished, inclining her head in acknowledgement. ¡°Even failing to match would be information, in a way.¡±


    ¡°Assuming I can feel anything through the brackstone,¡± Maryam said. ¡°It is not a given.¡±


    At least she would be safe even if her Signs turned on her again, Angharad thought. Captain Wen was heading out with her, as he had with the archives. She was beginning to wonder if therge Tianxi might not have decided on a favorite after all. They parted ways cordially, the noblewomanbing through her room onest time to ensure she had not forgotten anything.


    She was about ready to believe so when there was a small knock against the doorway. She turned half-expecting Song to be there, but it was her uncle. Osian Tredegar came dressed in his fine cks, smiling, and after she silently invited him in he closed the door. Not a simple goodbye, then.


    ¡°Word hase from the pce that our delegation will be taken to the shipyard tomorrow,¡± he inly said. ¡°Myself and three others, all covenanters.¡±


    She slowly nodded.


    ¡°Is a tinker from the Deuteronomicon to apany you?¡± Angharad asked.


    Among the Umuthi Society, those were the men and women who studied aetheric machinery ¨C and thus were most likely to recognize an infernal forge should they encounter one down there. Half-grimacing, Osian nodded.


    ¡°A Savant and a Laurel as well,¡± he said.


    She raised an eyebrow at thest, until her uncle exined the woman in question was a cryptoglyph schr. An Antediluvian shipyard was likely to be full of inscriptions in the First Empire¡¯s scientifguage, some of which might shed light on its original purpose.


    ¡°I wish you luck,¡± Angharad said, lowering her head.


    She was not sure whether she ought to rejoice of or dread his visit to the shipyard and the news he would bring on his return.


    ¡°They can only keep us drugged for so long,¡± Uncle Osian quietly said. ¡°It will give us a better idea of how close the entrance to the shipyard is to the capital.¡±


    And the shipyard was to be where the infernal enginey. Perhaps. It was not known for certain there was an infernal engine on Asphodel in the first ce. Yet recent news had improved the odds in Angharad¡¯s eyes. Twice now members of the Thirteenth had run into Lord Locke and Lady Keys in ces they should not be, while Hage ¨C a devil of some age ¨C had passed down a stern warning to avoid angering them.


    If the pair were ancient devils themselves, or at least Lady Keys as the one Tristan reported to be of unusual strength, then there must be a reason for their presence on Asphodel. She could think of few greater prizes for an annealed devil than an infernal forge, for their like endless font of lives but a helping pair of hands away. More worryingly, it might meanpeting with an ancient devil for that prize.


    Not a prospect Angharad was likely to survive at the moment.


    ¡°It will be all right, Angie,¡± her uncle said, squeezing her shoulder. ¡°We approach answers with every step.¡±


    The kindness in his eyes burned. She had kept the Thirteenth away from the machinations of the Lefthand House, for now, but she had already dragged Osian Tredegar deep into their. Oh, he had involved himself of his own will but deep down Angharad knew she had wielded her own life like a knife to force him. The same reason he was helping her was why he deserved better.


    Part of her resented that something was holding her back from taking the risks she needed to see her father out of Tintavel, but that anger smacked of shame. Her uncle had spent decades rising up the ranks of the Watch then put the work of a lifetime on the line for her. To help her save a man he did not even like. Angharad was not blind, the two were never close.


    Uncle Osian did it all for love of her. How could there be honor in this, in making a good man ruin his life? There wasn¡¯t. That was the hard truth of it, she admitted to herself. There was not a speck of honor in any of it, no matter how much she pulled and twisted the facts to try and make it otherwise.


    ¡°Imani Langa,¡± she blurted out.


    Osian Tredegar blinked.


    ¡°She is the ufudu,¡± Angharad admitted.


    ¡°The captain of the Eleventh Brigade?¡± her uncle frowned.


    She nodded.


    ¡°I do not think my visit to the country will see me in danger,¡± she said, ¡°but the Sleeping God alone knows. Should I pass¡­¡±


    ¡°I will ensure she does not outlive you long,¡± Osian Tredegar calmly said.


    There was not a hint of doubt in his eyes as he spoke the words. She believed him. Angharad passed a hand through her hair, biting her lip. That was not what she had meant.


    ¡°See to yourself first,¡± Angharad quietly replied. ¡°Please. Use it however you can to remove yourself from this pit I dragged you into.¡±


    ¡°You did no such thing,¡± Osian denied.


    Her lips thinned.


    ¡°In my heart, I am still thedy of nw Hall,¡± Angharad admitted. ¡°I yed at it with all the other nobleborn inders, the lot of us crowding room and table pretending as if it were a salon and we were all rulers in the making. It felt¡­¡±


    She grimaced.


    ¡°It felt like my right, to make the decisions I have,¡± she said. ¡°Whatever I must to free my father. I thought I was being ady, making the hard calls Mother so often spoke of. The costs to everyone around me were regrettable, but not regretted.¡±


    Her uncle listened in silence, face inscrutable. She rubbed her forehead.


    ¡°But I am notdy of nw Hall,¡± Angharad said, though the words felt like molten iron. ¡°And what I thought ady¡¯s refrain now sounds like the wailing of a child.¡±


    An honorable woman would not have let it all turn out like this. Like some¡­ endless twisting knot, a rope dragging ever more people into the pit. She had made bargains, cut corners, all because it felt hopeless to struggle otherwise. And for what? A liar¡¯s promises. Bait she swallowed down to thest drop no matter how bitter the taste grew.


    ¡°It has not been a year since you watched it all burn, Angharad,¡± her uncle gently said. ¡°You are¡­ I do not expect you to embrace it so quickly, the ck. It was not a life you sought. I <em>did</em>, as a young man, and still it took me time.¡±


    She closed her eyes. He did not understand, not really. Could not. Osian Tredegar saw in her his sister¡¯s ghost and loved the shade too much to glimpse through it at what his niece had be. The Fisher had chided Angharad, once, for clinging to the victories of a child while fighting a woman¡¯s battles. And while the spirit was ancient and cruel, a tyrant of the Old Night, in its own mad way it saw things clearly.


    It was time to grow up. Her debts were no one else¡¯s to settle.


    She kissed her uncle on the cheek, bade him goodbye and left him stand there troubled. Another regret, but the only words she had to soothe him were lies. The Thirteenth were waiting for her in the courtyard, chatting by the coach. Maryam and Tristan trading barbs, Song eyeing them amusedly. They were¡­ They stood in the light of the Tratheke morning like a lit hearth, and Angharad a stranger. One of her own making.


    ¡°Tredegar, are you taking up lurking? Don¡¯t put me out of a job, I need the sry.¡±


    She answered Tristan¡¯s teasing by approaching, the thief studying her face seriously as she did. <em>Debts to settle</em>, Angharad reminded herself. How stiff was her pride, that she must chew on it for months before she could swallow? Stiff enough she nodded at Tristan and shook a surprised Maryam¡¯s hand before finally turning to Song. She breathed in.


    ¡°When I asked you about the death of Isabel Ruesta,¡± Angharad said, ¡°I walked into that room having decided on the answer. For that, I apologize.¡±


    Silver eyes met her own.


    ¡°Apology epted,¡± Song Ren finally said.


    The noblewoman stiffly inclined her head.


    ¡°When I return from the country,¡± Angharad continued, ¡°I would ask you again.¡±


    Her captain gave a slow, measured nod back.


    ¡°I await that conversation, then,¡± she simply said.


    They left it at that. <em>Debts to settle</em>, Angharad thought again as she climbed onto the coach and the door was closed behind her. It had not felt good, swallowing her pride. She wished it had, that virtue would be sweet on the tongue, but it hadn¡¯t.


    But neither had treason, and she would sleep better after this.


    --


    Song hade to the rector¡¯s pce to personally report matters best not put to paper, expecting the trip there and back to take up most of the time involved, but that had been foolish optimism on her part.


    Lord Rector Evander, upon being informed that Song was to run down a lead concerning a potential second brackstone shrine, had made a snap decision. That was why, an hour and change after entering the pce, Song Ren was being red at by Prefect Nestor ¨Cmander of the pce lictors, the Lord Rector¡¯s personal guards among them. It was unfair of the man to be turning that ire her way when Song had spent the better part of half an hour trying to deny his king.


    It was, unfortunately, difficult enough to refuse the Lord Rector anything even when he did not have something passingly resembling a valid point.


    ¡°Nestor, make your peace with it,¡± Evander Palliades advised. ¡°My mind is made up.¡±


    Themander of the lictors grit his teeth.


    ¡°At least let me send a whole squad with you,¡± he said.


    Lord Rector Evander, dark eyes glittering with amusement, turned to Song with a cocked eyebrow. Would that she could strangle him. He knew exactly what she was doing, foisting off the answer on her.


    ¡°This is meant to be a discreet investigation, prefect,¡± she said. ¡°Twenty heavily armed lictors surrounding us at all times would be too conspicuous.¡±


    The re deepened, still turned on her. He could not afford to be angry at his master so Song was paying the price on their behalf.


    ¡°Two guards are too few,¡± Prefect Nestor said. ¡°Since your brigade has failed to find the assassin, Captain Ren, it -¡±


    <em>Enough</em>.


    ¡°My brigade is not contracted to find your assassin,¡± Song icily replied. ¡°If the lictors are incapable of doing so, hire a Watch team to make up for your ipetence ¨C <em>another team</em>, as mine is already on contract.¡±


    ¡°Watch your tone, girl,¡± the prefect warned.


    ¡°Watch your words, prefect,¡± she tly retorted. ¡°I have tolerated, in the spirit of cooperation between Asphodel and the Conve, the throne¡¯s constant impositions on my brigade¡¯s contracted duties. Yet there are limits.¡±


    She smiled ndly.


    ¡°Further interference will force me to consider the throne of Asphodel in breach of contract, and thus any obligations on the Thirteenth Brigade¡¯s part voided. We can withdraw to the Lordsport by day¡¯s end, if you would like.¡±


    The older man gritted his teeth, looking like he wanted nothing more than to start snarling, but he had to know that he had no real grounds toin on ¨C he <em>had</em> been out of line. Instead he looked askance to the Lord Rector, whose eyebrow remained cocked.


    ¡°I spoke in haste,¡± Prefect Nestor reluctantly said. ¡°Yet it remains that His Excellency descending into an unsavory part of the city with only yourself and two guards as escort is an entirely unnecessary risk.¡±


    ¡°I agree,¡± Song said, to his surprise. ¡°While I concede that the throne has a vested interest in what is being investigated, I would prefer an observer to apany me instead. As I have <em>repeatedly stated</em>.¡±


    She turned a cold gaze on Lord Rector Evander, who idly waved her irritation away.


    ¡°The matter in question is of importance to House Palliades and must remain secret,¡± the bespectacled young man said. ¡°I will not bring in another soul when all that is required of me is to walk down a street and listen while Captain Song asks a few questions. It would be<em></em>irresponsible of me.¡±


    Prefect Nestor looked like he shared Song¡¯s opinion, which was that the irresponsibility in y was Evander Palliades putting himself in a situation where the bullet put in his skull would be the opening shot of a civil war over his session, but he could no more argue than her. He was a retainer, not someone who could question his master over the affairs of his own house.


    And House Palliades <em>had </em>a right to keep the matter of the brackstone shrines and aether seal secret, Watch bws guaranteed it. Song had checked. Thrice, in differentnguages, to see if there might be any wiggle room using a different trantion. Unfortunately, the Laurels were very thorough in their work.


    ¡°Most of the traveling will be done by coach,¡± Song offered. ¡°And there is no reason that arger force could not be waiting inside the ward to escort him back in greater numbers, so long as it remains covert.¡±


    Much of the heat gone out of his eyes, though not all, Prefect Nestor curtly nodded.


    ¡°I will arrange that immediately,¡± he said. ¡°Your Excellency, Captain Ren, please excuse me.¡±


    She simply nodded, while Lord Rector Evander smiled and leaned over to share a few quiet words before letting the old prefect leave. The look he turned on her afterwards almost seemed approving, the warmth in those dark eyes making her a little ufortable.


    ¡°You handled yourself well,¡± Evander Palliades said. ¡°Captain Duan would be pleased, I¡¯m sure. Nestor¡¯s a tough old hound, half the reason I picked him as prefect is that he is too stubborn to be bent.¡±


    ¡°He is also correct regarding this entire affair,¡± Song tly replied. ¡°It is an unnecessary risk, and while I acknowledge that you have a right to attend I do not believe the reasons you gave for it are your true ones.¡±


    He leaned back into his seat, lips twitching for some strange reason. Had he somehow failed to grasp that she was implying him to be a selfish prickplicating her life for the sake of his petty whims? He had demonstrated not to be a dimwit in other regards, which made his reaction all the more baffling.


    ¡°Thest few days have been smothering,¡± he acknowledged. ¡°I cannot so much as walk down a hall without a full squad of lictors behind and ahead of me.¡±


    ¡°My sympathies,¡± Song ndly said. ¡°Unfortunately, your inclination to use my brigade a means to escape your situation puts us in the position of being responsible for your life even as you carelessly risk it.¡±


    ¡°It is our lictor escorts that would be responsible,¡± he denied.


    Song tly stared him down until he coughed and looked away. If Evander Palliades was killed while tagging along on a Watch investigation, it would be puerile to pretend that the ckcloaks would not get the lion¡¯s share of the me whether lictors were present or not. It was not at all unlikely that the Watch would end up med for the ensuing civil war as well.


    While strictly speaking getting the Lord Rector killed on her watch would not end their contract with the throne Asphodel, thus failing the yearly test, Song suspected such a thing might¡­ detrimentally affect the Thirteenth¡¯s performance assessment.


    ¡°I¡¯m not unaware that you would be made liable for my decision, should some catastrophe strike,¡± the Lord Rector admitted, and straightened in his seat. ¡°I will obey your orders in the field, Captain Song, and find a way to make it up to you.¡±


    The informally spoken, almost teasingst part had her flushing in irritation.


    ¡°You will dress as a merchant,¡± she ordered. ¡°You will not speak unless I allow it, and your escorts will obey my orders until your life is demonstrably in danger.¡±


    He nodded, smiling, and the warm satisfaction it brought was purely that of a daughter of Tianxia subjecting a despot to the rightful yoke ofw.


    ¡°Then, while I continue to protest, I reluctantly agree to your apanying me to the site in question,¡± Song said.


    ¡°Capital,¡± Evander amiably replied. ¡°Where is this site, anyhow? You did not rify beyond the northeastern ward.¡±


    He paused, coughing into his fist.


    ¡°Will we be passing through the ¡®<em>Reeking Rows¡¯</em>?¡±


    He said those words, she observed with some amusement, much in the same tone her sisters used to talk about that shrine to the White-Tailed Consort in the woods a few hours away from their home. Scandalized fascination. She cleared her throat.


    "We will not," she said.


    She would not have thought his face one suited to pouting, between the stubble and the angr features, but some might have called the expression on his face endearing.


    ¡°Though we wille close,¡± she added, and he lit up. ¡°I take it you have not visited that part of the city often?¡±


    ¡°Try never,¡± he replied. ¡°It was the first Palliades rector who ordered that district¡¯s consolidation, so it has long been a source of curiosity to me. I¡¯ve not had opportunity to visit the ward before.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve never set foot there?¡± she asked, honestly surprised.


    Disreputable or not, it contained almost a quarter of his capital.


    ¡°First I was too young, then under regency,¡± he said. ¡°And after I took the crown, the first few years were¡­ difficult. Lady Floros prepared me to reign, but Palliades or not I did notmand the respect she does. It was as if the machinery of state had rusted overnight, and every failure had my name written on it.¡±


    ¡°You seem to have grown beyond those beginnings,¡± Song honestly said.


    While his rule was weak, it was not through any particr failing of his own and he was taking steps to remedy this ¨C indeed, his sess seemed to be <em>why </em>his enemies were growing bolder. Song felt a twinge of guilt at keeping from Evander that his suspicions were correct, that there <em>was</em> a coup brewing under his feet and the Council of Ministers was up to its neck in it, but she ruthlessly rubbed it out.


    There could be no good kings and the Watch did not take sides.


    ¡°That is what I owe my name and my people,¡± he said, smiling wanly. ¡°It does not leave room for much else, but my father liked to say that duty is not a verse but refrain ¨C it will return so long as we keep singing, and what else is there but to sing?¡±


    It was easier when you thought of kings as distant figures on towering thrones, Song thought. Before you saw whaty under the crown and the dragon robe, the flesh and bones. The kings of the Feichu Tian did not get tired or wistful, did not sound determined to filially live up to their legacy. They did not sound like they were drowning in their own reign.


    It changed nothing, she reminded herself.


    And yet half a smile fought its way through Song¡¯s better judgment, as she cleared her throat and drew him out of the soft mncholy he¡¯d fallen into.


    ¡°To answer your earlier question in full,¡± she said, ¡°we are to visit a paying establishment.¡±


    ¡°A tavern?¡± he asked, cocking his head to the side.


    ¡°They do serve wine, I hear,¡± she noted, ¡°but I expect that is not the main draw.¡±


    ¡°An eatery?¡±


    Her smile widened.


    ¡°Have you ever been in a brothel before, Your Excellency?¡±


    By the way he choked, she would hazard he had not.


    --


    It was the first day of the investigation, so Tristan took the time to case the ce. To ask around, spend a few coppers and get a feel for it.


    The Kassa family¡¯s workshop on Chancery Lane was not a single edifice but three of them, tightly clustered together and effectively upying an overge city block. Two of those buildings,rge one-story squares with a tall ceiling and a t roofs covered with gasmps, where their weavers turned the wool imported from the mountains into the cloth shipped out to the Lordsport. From there it was headed mostly towards southern Izcalli, Tristan learned.


    Asphodel wool was considered of lesser quality and was thus sold at more affordable prices, often undyed. Cheap clothing was attractive to the Izcalli lords bordering Tianxia and the Someshwar, who always had fresh serfs to clothe and no great desire to dress them expensively. It was amon enough sort of trade for small Trebian inds, though often Tianxi and Someshwari traders stepped in as middlemen to fill their pockets.


    Profits cared little for irony.


    The two squares had been turned into onerge building, the space between them walled in with cheaper stone than the Antediluvian sort while the separating walls were knocked down to make of them a singlerge floor. Not so with the third edifice, a three-story building pressed against the side of the others that had been turned into dormitories for the workers ¨C with the nice, windowed upper floor reserved for foremen and overseers.


    The alley door that the Brazen Chariot had mentioned was a narrow slice of street between the Kassa workshop and rented warehouses, a back entrance that should lead directly to the workshop floor. Had the assassin been unable to secure a bed in the dormitories, or perhaps been afraid that in a crowd someone was bound to talk? That might be it, if Song was correct and that illusory contract had to be consciously used ¨C those tattoos were distinctive, and sleep would have revealed her true face for anyone caring to look.


    Satisfied he had theyout of the cefortably settled in his mind¡¯s eye, Tristan began making more pointed inquiries. Was the Kassa workshop hiring? What kind of workers, what were the wages, who should be sought to get a foot in? There were taverns close, cheap enough they were meant to cater to the workers and not the whipmen, and there he found fertile grounds for answers so long as he spent some coin on drink or food.


    ¡°The Kassa are always hiring,¡± a wan-faced barmaid told him. ¡°But not for the good wages you¡¯re looking for, boy. Those weavers are locked up in contracts so tight not even Old Dragfoot could hammer them open, the Kassa keep that in-house. They only take fullers and traveling men.¡±


    Tristan swallowed a mouthful of watery stew, forcing himself not to grimace. Watch meals had spoiled him.


    ¡°Do they full with bats or feet?¡± he asked.


    ¡°They¡¯re traditional, so it¡¯s feet in the piss for you,¡± she chuckled.


    Not ideal. He wasn¡¯t too proud to spend hours stepping on woolen cloth in a tub full of human piss, but the stink would be hard to wash off. Not ideal to sneak around after.


    ¡°And the traveling men?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯ll work you to the bone,¡± the waitress warned. ¡°Not just warehouse work, but riding the coaches and filling in everything that needs to be filled. You might just end up stepping in the piss anyway, for lesser pay.¡±


    <em>Ah</em>, Tristan thought, <em>but it also sounds like work that¡¯ll get me in everywhere.</em> He pretended to heed her advice, made sure to tip her as well as the fresh migrant he was pretending to be could, then moved on to another haunt. He slipped in with a wave of hammer-men from arger workshop down the road, waiting until they¡¯d had a few beers with their meal to ingratiate himself with further drinks and ask his questions.


    ¡°Don¡¯t know who told you Kassa would take you, but they were full of shit,¡± a big man called Pantelisughed. ¡°They only hire by rmendation, even their traveling men ¨C had trouble a few years back with a fire they med the Anastos for, now they¡¯re careful as cats.¡±


    ¡°Try the Euripis warehouses, down on Charon Street,¡± his wife advised. ¡°They take in Sacromontans, and the pay¡¯s shit but ites with a bed and one meal a day.¡±


    The next crowd told him much the same, though they warned one of the Euripis foremen liked pretty boys and did not like it when they refused. When he asked about how one might get rmended to the Kassa, the answers were not promising.


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    ¡°Work a year or two for them at their northwest warehouses,¡± he was told. ¡°Or have a cousin inside.¡±


    He picked a particrly drunk woman to ask about bribes, counting on her not remembering his face in a few hours, and was told it wouldn¡¯t work.


    ¡°If you¡¯re caught taking coin they slice you,¡± she said. ¡°No one¡¯ll risk it for some nobody like you, kid.¡±


    She was likely right, unless he offered a suspiciouslyrge bribe that might just get him outed anyway.


    Fortunately, through the mass ofrgely useless dross he¡¯d gathered through hours of this he found one useful detail: the Kassa warehouses in the northwest were in bed with the local basileia. And, more importantly for him, that rtionship was close enough that rmendations handed out by said basileia ¨C no one could tell him the name ¨C were enough to get you in.


    That, Tristan decided, sounded like an angle he could work.


    --


    Irritating as it was to have the Lord Rector foisted onto her for the trip, at least Evander did not waste time getting ready.


    By the turn of the hour they¡¯d left the pce, smuggled out with their two lictor minders on the supply lift, and boarded a coach. Forty lictors would be following in a fleet of coaches after a dy, but Song intended to be done with the investigation long before they could ruin her efforts blundering about.


    The two hard-faced men apanying them screamed ¡®soldier¡¯ even out of lictor¡¯s uniform between the des, the scars and the ramrod straight posture, but Song was hoping they would be taken as hired guards for a wealthy young man trying out the seedier side of Tratheke. Lord Rector Evander, despite wearing clothes in muted colors and no jewelry ¨C even his spectacles had been changed for a set with smaller lenses and a cheaper iron mount ¨C could not pass as anything but ¡®well bred¡¯.


    It was nothing he could help: soft hands, well-kept hair and the easy confidence of man who¡¯d never had to lower his eyes in his life were not something that could be hidden by a change of clothes. His barely hidden enthusiasm and curiosity were, but Song saw no point in asking. On the contrary, better he marked as a young master out on an adventure than anything needing deeper thought.


    If atrocious price gouging on the wine and room were the worst they had to suffer today, she would count herself lucky.


    In a drab brown doublet and workman¡¯s trousers, his hair kept under a cap, Evander Palliades looked at the run-down streets of the Reeking Rows¡¯ approach as if they were the most interesting thing he¡¯d ever seen. Song kept close, hand near her de, and watched him as he eyed streaks of filth on alley walls not with disgust but curiosity. She shot him a dubious look.


    ¡°I had read myrmekes ate such things,¡± the Lord Rector said. ¡°I wonder if it is the Rows that drove off localres.¡±


    Song hummed.


    ¡°I have not seen stray dogs or rats here,¡± she acknowledged. ¡°But that is not so rare in the poorer districts of any city.¡±


    Anything went into the cookpot, when you grew hungry enough.


    ¡°Tratheke has little verminpared to the other cities of Asphodel,¡± Evander told her. ¡°Most of the city is stone or brass, it repels many insects.¡±


    And with them the creatures that fed on them, presumably. Song had not fallen behind on her Teratology readings so knew every animal to be part of an intricate cycle ¨C a part of that cycle could not be yanked out without consequences rippling out.


    ¡°I expect the smell around here would drive off men as well, if they could leave,¡± Song mused.


    He nced at her through his spectacles.


    ¡°You disapprove of the arrangement?¡±


    She frowned.


    ¡°You do not?¡±


    ¡°It was done for sensible reasons, which have not changed,¡± the Lord Rector informed her.


    ¡°It sensibly ruined a quarter of your capital, or near enough,¡± Song replied.


    ¡°Those trades have to go <em>somewhere</em>,¡± Evander said. ¡°It cannot be either of the southern wards, and what use is there in moving them northwest instead? There is no machine there to blow the air upwards.¡±


    ¡°The air only became poisonous because of the concentration of trades,¡± she said. ¡°If you dispersed them across the city-¡±


    ¡°Then I have districts up in arms about their homes suddenly smelling like tanneries and ughterhouses,¡± he said. ¡°The dye workshops used to be in the southwestern ward, Song, and there were <em>riots </em>during summer when it went too long without raining. The fumes from the heat were deadly to children.¡±


    ¡°And your solution to this is making a district where the desperate are forced to work knowing their lungs rot for it?¡± she replied, unimpressed. ¡°The entire ward might well be uninhabitable if not for the Antediluvian wind machine.¡±


    Whatever those great rotating des were truly for, in practice they blew the reek upwards.


    ¡°The edge of the district connects to two major avenues and the broadest canal in Tratheke,¡± Evander said. ¡°The trades are clustered there because the ward is far from where the goods are headed and those are the easiest paths to remedy this.¡±


    ¡°An argument that matters much to the magnates owning those ughterhouses,¡± she said, ¡°but I expect rather less to those dying in them. Thetter are your subjects as well, Lord Rector.¡±


    ¡°And what is your solution, then?¡± he replied in irritation.


    ¡°Spread out the trades within the whole northeastern district,¡± she said. ¡°Keep only the worst near the machine. Air in the Rows will thin out and the ward bes inhabitable again, which will draw people back into the empty districts.¡±


    ¡°That would mean reiming the ward,¡± he said. ¡°Which means patrols and clearing out the lemures, thus expanding the lictors. Which is expensive. Then for there to be a wide movement of popce I would need to either offer a bounty to families moving here, expensive, or force them to move - tyrannical and still expensive. It means refurbishing the streets, themps, the lesser canals. It means bringing magistrates to settle disputes and collect royal rents.¡±


    He scoffed.


    ¡°What you suggest is the founding of a colony town within Tratheke,¡± Evander said.


    Song nodded, for that was entirely true. She only knew so much of the unique structures of this ruin-city, but the bare numbers of it she had considered before speaking.


    ¡°An endeavor that would take years, significant coin and much effort,¡± she agreed. ¡°It would also ease the crowding of the southern wards, bring in revenue through taxes and royal rents as well as drain the recruitment pool of your basileias.¡±


    She paused.


    ¡°But, most important of all,¡± Song pointedly said, ¡°you would cease to tacitly endorse the poisoning of your own subjects less than an hour¡¯s walk away from your own pce.¡±


    His eyes narrowed.


    ¡°Even if I could spare the coin for that ¨C which, between bringing the lictors up to strength and restoring a First Empire shipyard, I assure you I do not ¨C it would not matter,¡± he said. ¡°Such a great investment would not be solely mine to decide, it must be approved by the Council of Ministers.¡±


    Song frowned. That, admittedly, she had not considered.


    ¡°And they would not allow you to spend that much improving Tratheke when the current state of affairs suits them better,¡± she said.


    ¡°They would see it as gilding the Palliades reputation with the people and strengthening my grip on the city, neither of which they will let me spend a copper on if they could prevent it,¡± he tly said. ¡°There are checks on my power. Lawful and not, for if you imagine for a moment the Trade Assembly would not pour a fortune into that district colony to steal it out from under me you are being most na?ve.¡±


    <em>If they can better serve the people than the throne, they would be right to</em>, Song thought. A king¡¯s power first sought to preserve itself, then doled out kindness like crumbs. Only authority issued by citizens and answerable to them could truly be relied on to observe their dignity.


    ¡°The power of thrones is always contested,¡± Song simply said.


    He looked at her through those brass spectacles, dark eyes t.


    ¡°Your republics war on each other constantly through mercenaries, squabbling over farnd and profits,¡± Evander Palliades said. ¡°The children of your bureaucrats are nearly guaranteed to win such offices, your elections are awash with gold and blood, even your famous Luminary lottery is rigged so that the three most powerful republics always win.¡±


    His brow rose.


    ¡°It seems to me that a republic is not a remedy so much as a different set of troubles.¡±


    ¡°Tianxia is no less troubled by evils than any othernd,¡± Song acknowledged, to his visible surprise.


    ¡°But?¡±


    ¡°But when our rulers fail to end these evils, they are removed and reced by those who will,¡± Song said. ¡°Without needing to wait out a lifetime or wage a civil war. We are a method, not a result.¡±


    ¡°Results are what matters to a nation,¡± the Lord Rector dismissed. ¡°The rest is wind.¡±


    Song looked around her, at the dying district.


    ¡°As you say, Your Excellency,¡± she replied.


    His face tightened. Her words put silence between them all the way to the edifice with the yellow crescent hung outside. It was not wise to anger the ruler of thend one must fulfill a contract in, but Song did not regret her words. Truth was truth, and if the man insisted on debating her she would not lie to assuage his feelings. Besides, if he was miffed enough by her words perhaps he would find another sniffer to apany him on his outings.


    It would be better for them both if he did.


    The brothel was exactly as she had been told, the sign with a yellow crescent its only advertisement. It was three stories tall and rather broad, from the outside looking more like a Port Azei hostel than a den of debauchery ¨C though it was still in the stone, green ss and brass typical of Tratheke. There was no one at the door and the windows were all shuttered tight, but there were lights inside.


    ¡°On me,¡± Song told the Lord Rector and his escorts. ¡°Follow and do not speak.¡±


    She waited for nods from all three before entering. The entrance hall was dimly lit with bad oilmps ¨C not re oil, by the glow ¨C and it smelled strongly of incense. Not the good kind, and Song had prayed at enough street shrines to know what cheap incense smelled like. A man with a club and a dead eye waited there, but he let them pass without a word. It was not a madam who weed them at the desk but a procurer, a small man with dark hair and blue eyes dressed more like a shopkeeper than a flesh peddler.


    He smiled easily and shallowly, eyes always moving between them.


    ¡°Wee, wee,¡± he said. ¡°The Amber Crescent is always pleased to receive guests.¡±


    It took effort for her not to inform him that crescent¡¯s shade of yellow had not been anywhere near amber. His eyes lingered on the two lictors behind them.


    ¡°Especially those with coin.¡±


    The procurer licked his lips.


    ¡°What pleasure can I provide you?¡± he asked, gaze darting between her and the Lord Rector. ¡°Most of my girls are free, though should you be interested in boys instead¡­¡±


    Song took out a small pouch of silver and ced it on the desk. The upside of the Lord Rector havinge along was that she could bill the payment to the throne instead of paying out from brigade funds.


    ¡°We require not your girls but your discretion,¡± she said.


    Eyes flicked between her and Evander again. He tested the weight of the pouch, looking pleased.


    ¡°Of course,¡± he smiled. ¡°A room, and never a word will pass these lips.¡±


    ¡°Prepare it,¡± Song ordered. ¡°And while we wait, I was told you have a selection of wines?¡±


    ¡°My cer is yours, mydy,¡± the procurer hastily said. ¡°I can have brought up-¡±


    ¡°We have very particr tastes,¡± Song ndly said. ¡°We will choose ourselves.¡±


    Another piece of silver was put on the desk.


    ¡°Unless you object?¡±


    The small man picked it up, adding it to the earlier pouch. He¡¯d unstrung that so discreetly she never noticed.


    ¡°I would not dare,¡± the procurer smiled. ¡°Verico will show you the way to the cer. I will personally see to your room, mydy.¡±


    ¡°Do,¡± Song thinly smiled back.


    Verico was the name of the one-eyed guard, who kept silent as he led them past a few closed doors to a set of narrow stairs leading down into the basement. The door at the bottom was not locked. Song nced at the Lord Rector meaningfully and he gestured for the lictors to stay out, remaining on the main floor with Verico ¨C who handed them a stinking, smokymp before closing the door behind them.


    The basement was a disheveled pile of barrels and bottles, not all of which were on racks. Many were simply on the floor, there for anyone to trip over, and some of the bottles in straw-stuffed crates were empty. Song¡¯s fingers clenched at the sight but she kept herself in check. She was not going to organize a brothel basement for that seedy man upstairs, even if <em>someone</em> ought to.


    ¡°I don¡¯t recognize any of those bottles,¡± Evander Palliades said, sounding amused. ¡°And some arerger than I thought wine bottles even came in.¡±


    ¡°We are not here for the wine,¡± Song murmured back.


    Lamp in hand she pushed through the mess to find what they truly hade from. The back wall, while obstructed with barrels and a copsed shelf, turned out to be exactly what the Brazen Chariot thug had said: brackstone, entirely so. The Lord Rector,e to stand by her side, clicked his tongue.


    ¡°So your signifier was right,¡± he said. ¡°There¡¯s more than one shrine ¨C and unless there¡¯s some <em>other</em> aether prison out there, these are the anchors for it.¡±


    Song slowly nodded.


    ¡°Not here,¡± she said. ¡°Grab a bottle and we use the room for a span, then head back.¡±


    He chose a bottle of bright red ss with a seal on it, snatching it out of the crate, and followed her up. The procurer ¡®preparing¡¯ the room for them turned out to be changing the sheets on a miserable straw mattress and topping up the oilmps. Two y cups were brought up as well, clean enough Song might be willing to drink something out of them.


    The small man might have tried to eavesdrop on them, she figured, if not for the two lictors that went to stand by the door. They had naturally discouraging expressions.


    Evander closed the door behind him, and while Song sat on the bed after inspecting it enough to be reasonably sure it did not bear lice he broke the seal on the bottle and took a sniff.


    ¡°Cherries?¡± he muttered.


    He poured them both a cup, but she merely held hers after it was handed.


    ¡°You have never heard of these shrines, I take it,¡± she said. ¡°Is there truly no record of their construction?¡±


    ¡°If there are, I do not know them,¡± Evander admitted as he turned as chair to face her. ¡°My family has journals dating back to its ascension to the throne, but they do not mention anything like this. Mostly Lord Rector Charos was trying to figure out which noble bride he could pick without getting assassinated.¡±


    He grimaced.


    ¡°No one expected House Lissenos to be so suddenly snuffed out,¡± he said. ¡°Charos Palliades was apromise candidate, not a lord anyone expected to evere near the throne. Our ancestralnds are a <em>goat farm</em>, for Oduromai¡¯s sake.¡±


    ¡°I thought your family were the closest rtives to House Lissenos,¡± Song said.


    ¡°That became true,¡± he said, ¡°after they spent two decades and change purging the lesser branches of their house following a <em>spectacrly</em> botched coup by their closest kin. Before that Charos was, I think, fifty-fourth in the line of session? The genealogy books of the time don¡¯t even mention him by name, only our house atrge."


    Evander snorted.


    ¡°I doubt the time he spent in the presence of thest Lissenos rector ever reached the sum of an hour. He was not someone House Lissenos would have shared ancient family secrets with.¡±


    ¡°So the knowledge might have been lost when they died out,¡± she said. ¡°Did they not leave behind records of their own?¡±


    ¡°Everything we inherited is in the private archives,¡± Evander said.


    ¡°Implying there is more in someone else¡¯s hands,¡± she noted.


    ¡°The interregnum between the end of Lissenos and the coronation of Charos Palliades left the pce in the hands of the steward of the time,¡± he said. ¡°Lady Myrto Eirenos.¡±


    Her brow rose, impressed at the breadth of his knowledge.


    ¡°I had no idea before I read the journals yesterday,¡± he drily told her. ¡°Charos was convinced she robbed the pce of everything that wouldn¡¯t be noticed missing and stewed for a decade that there was not much he could do about it.¡±


    ¡°Are the Eirenos not minor vassals to Tratheke?¡± she asked.


    They did not sound like all that troublesome an opponent for the lords of all Asphodel, however precarious their throne.


    ¡°Back in those days they owned about a tenth of Tratheke Valley,¡± he said. ¡°They had to sell most of theirnd when their mine on Arke ran dry and debts were called, keeping mostly the hunting lodges that are their sole current im to relevance. Even maintaining those is stretching their means.¡±


    That, Song thought, would have been <em>very</em> useful to know before Angharad left for the Eirenos manor. Was it toote to send a messenger after her? She had only been gone for hours, it might not be. Song would ask Wen what means they had at their disposal to contact her. It was frustrating that they could not rely too much on ck House for it, lest Angharad be outed as a watchwoman. As her silence lingered, Evander cleared his throat.


    ¡°You believe the cult of the Golden Ram to be rted to this imprisoned god, then?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Thest such cult existed during the Ataxia and was used a puppet by the god known as the Hated One,¡± she said. ¡°My Navigator found evidence ¨C circumstantial ¨C that these brackstone shrines might have been built shortly after the end of Ataxia.¡±


    She paused.


    ¡°Now the containmentyer is found breached while the Golden Ram cult makes a sudden resurgence, deepening its ties with those nobles most likely to plunge Asphodel into civil war. It has a conspiracy¡¯s shape.¡±


    ¡°Yet your report ims an aether lock is meant to starve gods to death,¡± he noted. ¡°If the Hated One is the god that escaped, then it was inside for over a century: would it then truly settle for impersonating the god of a minor cult and feeding on dregs of worship? That seems unusually restrained of a starving beast.¡±


    That was¡­ a very good point, admittedly. One neither she nor Maryam had considered.


    ¡°We do not yet have the whole picture,¡± Song admitted. ¡°Leads are still being pursued.¡±


    And it was a relief that their growing theory, the resurgence of the Hated One and the ties to the Council of Ministers, was proving to have ws. Song would admit as much to herself. For if that was the truth of this mystery, then it followed that the assassin was not in the employ of the cult ¨C because if they were ready to pull the trigger on their coup and forcefully seize the capital, they already would have.


    Which left the Yellow Earth as the likely culprit for the attempt, considering the assassin was Tianxi and had fled to a workshop believed to have ties to the local sect.


    Fingering Tianxia for the crime, because it surely would be all Ten Republics that got the me and not some radical Yellow Earth faction, would sink Ren name deeper into the mud back home. She would not put it beyond some Yellow Earth sects to vilify her to draw the ire away from their ownrades, a fresh heaping of curses tossed onto her family¡¯s shrine.


    Evander risked a sip of his chosen wine, grimaced at the taste then took a deeper one.


    ¡°Horrid,¡± he cheerfully said. ¡°You should try it, Song. We ought to be in here at least half an hour before leaving, lest we stand out in the wrong way.¡±


    Song snorted, trying a sip and finding no trace of the purported cherries ¨C the wine tasted, if anything, like¡­ plums? Overripe plums, maybe. Regardless, it was just as horrid as promised. She swallowed an almost teasing question about taking only half an hour. A thought best buried very, very deep.


    The Lord Rector drained his cup in a few long sips before pouring himself a second, the most Song had ever seen him drink. He usually watered his wine. Setting aside his cap, the man brushed back his long hair and let out a sigh. Evander Palliades had almost insultingly pretty hair, for a man. It was quite eye-catching, especially when he tossed it about like some young lion.


    ¡°It is not a good time for old gods to return to haunt us,¡± Evander said. ¡°The city is a powder keg and this has the look of lit match.¡±


    ¡°The god might still bergely imprisoned,¡± Song told him. ¡°Squeezing out through the cracks could be the work of years yet.¡±


    ¡°Chaos does not need reasons, only an excuse,¡± he quoted, drinking again.


    Quoting Soyarabai, but she would forgive it since it was from her only good work. She should have stuck to philosophy and admitted her unfitness for serious schrly work.


    ¡°The Council of Ministers will try to knock me off the throne the moment they think they have a chance and the Trade Assembly might well attempt the same to keep <em>them</em> off it,¡± Evander ruefully said.


    <em>The Ministers are already brewing a coup</em>, Song thought, wishing she could tell him. Whatever his ws, he seemed a better man than those trying to rece him. He emptied his cup, then set it down.


    ¡°You weren¡¯t wrong, about the Rows,¡± he suddenly said. ¡°Maybe not right, either, but¡­¡±


    Heughed mirthlessly.


    ¡°Tacitly endorsing the poisoning of my subjects less than an hour¡¯s walk away from my own pce,¡± Evander murmured. ¡°Now there is a turn of phrase. One that I will not be forgetting anytime soon.¡±


    Song said nothing, only watching him.


    ¡°I¡¯m so close I can feel it,¡± he told her, biting his lip in frustration. ¡°I only need tost through a year, maybe two, and my position will strong enough to reach terms with them. To finally do something more than just¡­ fight to stay seated where I am.¡±


    Only it was not so simple, was it?


    ¡°That won¡¯t be the end of it. You will fight them your whole life, Evander, or others like them,¡± Song honestly said. ¡°All that will change is who has the most guns and gold on their side.¡±


    He turned a bright gaze on her. The drink could not have touched him so quick, she knew, but she almost believed it anyway looking at that expression on his face.


    ¡°Twelve days you have been on this ind, Song Ren, and I have gotten more truth out of you than I have from anyone else in thest twelve years,¡± Evander Palliades chuckled. ¡°It is madness.¡±


    Song¡¯s jaw clenched.


    ¡°I have been too familiar,¡± she said. ¡°I will-¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Evander said. ¡°Not that. This.¡±


    He leaned in, sses askew, and Song froze. And was tempted to remain frozen, to let it happen. It was not her mistake, if<em> he</em> was the one kissing her. And she was¡­ curious.


    But she was also a Ren.


    Song drew back, putting a hand on his shoulder to stop him. She shook her head. The Lord Rector immediately stopped, then turned red in mortification. He flinched away like he had been burned.


    ¡°Apologies, Captain Ren,¡± he croaked out. ¡°I was, I thought-¡±


    He coughed.


    ¡°The wine,¡± she evenly said.


    ¡°Yes, the wine,¡± he awkwardly said. ¡°Please forget I ever¡­¡±


    ¡°It is forgotten,¡± Song lied.


    Neither of them spoke another word for the next twenty minutes, or dared to look at each other.


    --


    With the day¡¯s work done and some time to kill before the evening meal at ck House, Tristan decided to allow himself a small indulgence: namely, investigating how hard it would be to break into the Neenth Brigade¡¯s secret safehouse.


    He picked up his burr¡¯s kit and took a roundabout route back to the dead-end alley he¡¯d watched them go into, first taking a look at the surroundings. Of the half dozen or so buildings around there only two currently seemed in use, one being the Neenth¡¯s rental. The other was a suspiciously clean two-story house whose shutters and locks had recently been changed and were of visibly better quality than the rest of the house.


    They were also the kind that didn¡¯t let sound out, which reeked to Tristan of coterie torture chamber until he climbed up on a neighboring roof and got a sniff at the scent wafting off the house¡¯s second story. Poppy, and not some extract for the pain ¨C the kind you stuffed in pipes and smoked. This was someone¡¯s private drug den, then, not an interrogation pit. Probably some magnate or magnate¡¯s kid who didn¡¯t want to be known as a poppy fiend and figured that renting a den in the worst part of the southwestern ward counted as discretion.


    The rest of the dead end was, if not exactly in ruins, then close to it: the houses were full of holes, be it in the walls or roof, and there were no shutters in the windows. As seemedmon practice in Tratheke they had been raided for stone, brass and tiles then left to take the wind. No beggars had made a home there, which told Tristan whoever owned these regrly had them cleared by either hired men or the lictors. There would have been takers otherwise, no matter the holes in the roof.


    The alley was less than half an hour of walk away from some of the liveliest streets of one of the richest wards in the city, as fine begging grounds as one could ask for. It brought out a shallow sort of amusement, to see that even in Tratheke the rich were willing to pay to keep their property free of rats even when they had no use for it.


    The drug den was not in use at the moment ¨C unless the fiend was sleeping it off inside ¨C so Tristan allowed himself to take his time studying the Neenth¡¯s rental. Fortuna whined at being asked to keep guard at the corner and kept returning to his side, but he ignored her. Two shuttered windows facing the street, heavy nks with brass stripes keeping them in ce. None of that Asphodelian green ss behind them, so raising the bars might well let him inside.


    He refrained.


    ¡°Just go inside,¡± Fortuna whined. ¡°Come on, I bet they left all sorts of stuff lying around.¡±


    ¡°Cressida was here,¡± he replied. ¡°And if I were her, I¡¯d snare the ce to know if someone came in.¡±


    ¡°You think she put something on the windowsill?¡± the goddess asked, looking enthused at the thought.


    He nodded and she brightened further. The Lady of Longs Odds lovedplications, so long as they were inflicted upon anyone but her. Should it be otherwise they would, of course, be found out as fundamentally unfair and morally intolerable.


    ¡°And likely the door as well,¡± Tristan added.


    ¡°I¡¯ll leave you to it, then,¡± she drawled, vanishing.


    If he had asked her to look inside the house for him a minute ago she would have agreed immediately, but now it was all but certain should he request it Fortuna would pretend to be hard of hearing. The thief did not mind. Opportunities to ply his craft with such low stakes were passing rare, and he must keep his skills sharp. Growing to rely too much on the goddess¡¯ eyes would leave him lost without her aid.


    The lock on the front door was child¡¯s y, a tumble lock he could have done one-eyed with a hand tied behind his back, but he refrained again. Instead he brought up hisntern, peering at the small gap between door and doorway. There was nothing so obvious as string, but he thought he might be seeing a thin fment that could be a blonde hair. Tristan hummed, stepping away.


    There were no shutters on the second story, but there <em>was</em> a chimneying out of the rooftop. He slipped into the pilfered house to the right of the Neenth¡¯s rental, up the skeleton of stairs then through a hole in the roof to reach the spread of tiles there. Given how closely clustered the buildings were, it was barely a leap to cross over to the other roof. He silently tread over the angled tiles to the chimney, hiding from the street through the angle and putting his bag down.


    Fortuna, predictably, took the first halfway decent excuse to abandon her post and join him on the roof. She sat on the other side of the jutting chimney, skirts spilling out on either side like a small red tide, and golden eyes eagerly peered downwards.


    ¡°You want to sneak in through there?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Maybe,¡± Tristan hedged, removing a small mirror from his bag.


    Hisntern was already shuttered down to the barest slice, so it was just a matter of carefully angling the light and mirror before he could have a look down the chimney. It¡¯d been cleaned, he found, but not recently: little soot but much dust. More importantly, leaning back and sweeping with the reflected light he found there were no caltrops at the bottom and no iron grid preventing entry.


    ¡°Cressida, you amateur,¡± he crowed. ¡°We always cover the chimney, you ought to know better.¡±


    ¡°While this is the most interesting you¡¯ve been all day,¡± Fortuna said, peering down, ¡°is there a point to anything you¡¯re doing?¡±


    He shrugged.


    ¡°Might be the Neenth left papers lying around. There could be information to pass to Song about their investigation.¡±


    ¡°She could just ask Captain Tozi,¡± Fortuna said. ¡°They seem friendly. Are you sure this isn¡¯t about showing Cressida you¡¯re the better Mask?¡±


    ¡°That has nothing to do with it,¡± Tristan lied.


    She squinted at him for a moment.


    ¡°I believe you,¡± she lied back.


    And on that merry note, he packed the mirror away and instead took out the necessary supplies: gloves and rags. The rest of the bag would only be a hindrance, no need to bring it.


    He did not jump in immediately, carefully testing the chimney walls instead. Without much soot the stone was not too slippery, though it¡¯d still be no easy task to make his way down without breaking a leg falling. With gloves and boots he managed, scooting down slowly and carefully until he was close enough to the bottom to let himself drop. There were some loose stones about halfway up, whose location hemitted to memory for the climb back up thaty in his future.


    The hearth was spotlessly clean but his boots were not, so he stood on the edge of the hearthstone and wiped both the stone and his boots clean before putting away his dirtied gloves so he would leave no visible mark.


    His first impression of the Neenth Brigade¡¯s safehouse was that it was derelict.


    Probably the single cheapest ce they had been able to find in the southwestern ward, he figured. It was a singlerge room at the bottom, where he¡¯d entered, and what little furniture there was all boasted missing legs or cut up surfaces. By the height of holes in the wall there¡¯d once been cupboards hung on the side wall, perhaps a kitchen, but those were the only trace of it left. The only fresh addition here was a barrel of water, which the Neenth must have bought at the market.


    Upstairs was, if anything, even more deste. There were two rooms, one of which had effectively copsed when part of the roof caved in ¨C it could not be seen from the outside, though no doubt the elements would eventually finish digging their way in. He¡¯d bet rain went right through already.


    They¡¯d put the chamber pot in there. Not recently used.


    The second room, a cramped and bare thing, was decorated only by four bedrolls on the ground and a pack of Watch supplies in the corner. Dry rations, ckpowder and des, bandages and liquor. He put it all back into ce after having his look.


    Tristan went back down, slightly miffed at how the Neenth had left nothing at all of use to him. Checking the front door confirmed his suspicion, at least ¨C there was a hair across the doorway that would rip if it were open, kept in ce by a nail. He patted himself on the back for having seen that oneing, and the same for the small pots of y atop the two shutters. Cressida had been clever, he would concede, simply not clever enough.


    It was gettingte enough he saw no need to linger when there so little to do here, though he spent some time debating whether he should move every piece of furniture around slightly so the Neenth would feel a dim sense of difort when they returned. Mhm, perhaps next time. He didn¡¯t want to spend the surprise too early, they might start using the ce more over theing weeks.


    Besides, the idea of returning more than once without Cressida noticing was rather pleasing.


    He was already preparing to leave when he saw lights in the alley, immediately killing his own. Those out in the street were talking quietly, but the voices were young and numerous enough they could only be the returning Neenth. Swallowing a smile, Tristan went back to the chimney. He climbed back up, stopped at that spot with a few stones askew and wedged in his feet.


    He¡¯d not be able to stay there for long, no more than ten minutes before his legs started shaking too much, but ten minutes was plenty. Sound carried well up the chimney so he would get to eavesdrop his fill so long as they did not head upstairs. It was a good start to overhear Cressida telling the others to stop, checking the hair on the door before opening it.


    ¡°No one¡¯se in since we have,¡± she told the others.


    <em>One for me</em>, <em>Barboza</em>. The brigade piled in, locking the door behind them and lighting somemps. To his pleasure, they did not waste time before continuing what he learned had been bickering out in the street.


    ¡°-omeone could notice he¡¯s missing,¡± Kiran Agrawal said.


    ¡°He¡¯s allowed to visit the city,¡± Captain Tozi replied, unworried. ¡°There is nothing suspicious about that.¡±


    ¡°This ward has the most brothels in Tratheke, that will be the first assumption,¡± Cressida said, then her tone hardened. ¡°It is histeness I dislike.¡±


    ¡°We arete as well,¡± Izel Coyac pointed out.


    ¡°What does it matter for either of us?¡± Kiran snorted. ¡°We have nothing to report. No progress made.¡±


    Their patron, Captain Oratile, was a woman. It could not be her they were speaking of. <em>So who is it they believe they must report to?</em> It should not be a ckcloak, given that all the officers bunked at ck House and so did the Neenth, but who else would they answer to? Their test was the tracking of the contracted killer, Tristan mused, which might mean working with the lictors. Perhaps they had bribed one for information, or a member of some basileia.


    Either way, this was turning out much more interesting than he¡¯d expected.


    ¡°Letting the heat pass was necessary,¡± Captain Tozi tly replied. ¡°There were too many eyes on the business.¡±


    ¡°Kiran speaks true regardless,¡± Izel said. ¡°We have not pursued the matter any further. That is not a loss but an opportunity - let us tell him that we are finished with¡­¡±


    Groans from the others.


    ¡°Oh, get off that high horse,¡± Cressida said. ¡°We tried your n, didn¡¯t we? Paid the guard to grab him. A clean grab with no one hurt, you said.¡±


    And as they kept talking, Tristan¡¯s blood ran cold. Paid the guard? That sounded like¡­


    ¡°And I was wrong,¡± Izel said. ¡°The man died. I thought this could be done without harm and was proved mistaken. This entire business is sordid and we should be done with it. Besides, given the behavior of the Ivory Library¡¯s men when they were caught at the docks their assurances of good treatment ring hollow.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s toote for scruples, Izel,¡± Captain Tozi evenly replied. ¡°Our families made the bargain, it¡¯s on us to deliver. Unless you want your fathers¡¯ tolerance for your career choices to run out?¡±


    ¡°We could-¡± he began.


    Only Coyac was interrupted by a sharp knock on the door. Tristan¡¯s legs ached, but even if they had been bleeding he would have stayed where he was. He would not miss a whisper of this. Someone was ushered in, the man they must have been referring to, and there was the sound of gloves being tossed on a table.


    ¡°Let us be done quickly,¡± a faintly ented voice said, ¡°I do not have long to spend here. How soon can you get us Abrascal?¡±


    <em>Confirmation</em>, part of him icily thought. <em>Someshwari</em>, the rest decided. Not Ramayan, or wherever Kiran Agrawal was from.


    ¡°It is delicate work, lieutenant,¡± Captain Tozi said. ¡°Especially since the fools you also hired got themselves caught and put the Thirteenth¡¯s guard up.¡±


    ¡°I did note to listen to excuses,¡± the man replied. ¡°We were promised results in exchange for the favors given.¡±


    Favors to family, it sounded like. Given that Izel Coyac¡¯s father was a prominent Izcalli general this was not a petty matter.


    ¡°If he were so easy to grab, you would have done it already,¡± Cressida mildly replied.


    ¡°We do not <em>need</em> to grab him, we already paid your families for it,¡± the man scorned. ¡°I¡¯ve looked at the Thirteenth and I am less than impressed. The mirror-dancer is a cripple, the captain is stuck in the pce half the time and the savage almost killed herself with her own Signs. How hard can one rat be to catch?¡±


    There was tense silence.


    ¡°I have been befriending Song Ren,¡± Captain Tozi said. ¡°Developing trust. When it is established, we will pick our moment and strike.¡±


    ¡°The ship will only wait so long in the Lordsport,¡± the man warned. ¡°You will not enjoy the consequences if you fail to deliver.¡±


    Gloves were snatched off the table.


    ¡°Do not approach me at ck House,¡± the man said. ¡°In one week, at the same time, I will return here. There had best be results by then.¡±


    There was shuffling as if someone was getting out of the way, then a door was wrenched open. Though the Neenth was sure to continue speaking after this, Tristan did not remain. He hurried up the chimney, as quickly as he could without making noise.


    Below were enemies, but there was one in the street as well.


    His bag he left on the roof, he would return for itter. He took amp, rope, a rag. Careful, careful, he reminded himself as he tread across the tiles. The man was down in the street, already speeding away. Eager to be gone, already gone in his own mind ¨C and that meant he wasn¡¯t paying attention to his surroundings. Tristan slipped back down through the hole in the roof, down the stairs, and was down in the street by the time the stranger turned the corner.


    He followed.


    In his forties, Someshwari in looks. Short dark hair, narrow shoulders, not the muscles or stride of a fighter. Pistol and knife at his side. His clothes were neither cheap nor expensive, in muted shades that did not stand out. He was headed in the direction of the Collegium, towards the ward¡¯srger streets ¨C where he would be able to take a coach and Tristan would lose him.


    He¡¯d not get there. This was not a nice part of town, and at this hour the streets were mostly empty. Workshops locked up, shutters closed. Taverns full, but there were few around here ¨C and when the stranger turned past one, through an alley, the thief quickened his step. Softly, quick but quiet, watching him peer ahead as Tristan¡¯s fingers closed around his ckjack and he darted through thest of the distance.


    It made noise, enough the man turned. But he did not turn quickly enough to avoid the blow on the back of his head. Careful again, so careful ¨C else he might kill the stranger, and the thief did not want that at all. There was no scream, only a groan as the Someshwari dropped. Out cold. Tristan put away the ¡®jack and picked up the man. He dragged him away from the tavern, into another side street.


    There were three shops there, but only one had a basement with a street entrance. He picked the padlock, checked inside ¨C coal and metal scraps, that would do. He dragged the man down into it, careful not to be seen. Closed the doors, lit amp, tied the man up and gagged him before making him look at the wall.


    Tristan sliced off his left ear, standing behind him, which woke the Someshwari up. The gag mostly took care of the scream. Blood sprayed, coursing down his neck in small rivers.


    ¡°I have questions for you,¡± the rat said, feigning a deeper voice. ¡°Scream and you will die.¡±


    Dropping the cut ear onto hisp reinforced the point. <em>A tangible, permanent loss at the beginning will strike terror, </em>Abu had taught him<em>. It will establish from the beginning the stakes of disobeying you.</em> The Someshwari hastily nodded, proving her right again. She was always right.


    Tristan lowered the gag.


    ¡°Name?¡±


    ¡°Lieutenant Apurva,¡± he babbled. ¡°I¡¯m a ckcloak, from a Circle. You¡¯re making a mistake, I-¡±


    ¡°Which Circle?¡± Tristan asked.


    The man paused, surprised.


    ¡°The Umuthi Society,¡± he said. ¡°A tinker. I have coin, I could make you<em> rich</em> if you-¡±


    Tristan put the knife against his throat. He took the hint.


    ¡°Why are you in Tratheke, Apurva?¡± he asked.


    ¡°I¡¯m part of the delegation to the <em>Lord Rector</em>,¡± the Someshwari emphasized. ¡°I¡¯m expected, they will look for me. This is all a huge mistake, but if you let me go-¡±


    Tristan sliced at his shoulder through the cloth, shallow, and the man yelped ¨C more in fear than pain.


    ¡°Tell me about the Ivory Library,¡± Tristan ordered.


    ¡°The what?¡± Lieutenant Apurva tried, but when he felt steel against his throat he changed his tune. ¡°Wait, wait! I¡¯m not even a member, I just work with them. All I know is they study contracts and they¡¯re influential, they have men in many freepanies.¡±


    His jaw clenched. What had he done to earn their attention? He should be nobody.


    ¡°Why,¡± he said, ¡°are they trying to abduct the boy from the Thirteenth?¡±


    The lieutenant twitched.


    ¡°How do you know that?¡±


    Tristan lightlyid the de against his remaining ear. The man licked his lips.


    ¡°His contract, there¡¯s something strange about it,¡± he said. ¡°I don¡¯t know anything else, I only¡­¡±


    The thief forced his breathing to remain even. Anger would not serve him. He must be cold as the steel in his hand.


    ¡°Who is your contact?¡± he asked.


    There had to be one, someone who would handle the ship and the moving of an abductee. Lieutenant Apurva wriggled, tried to get out of the ropes.


    ¡°You have to let me go if I tell you,¡± he said. ¡°I just-¡±


    The de dug into the right ear, blood trickling down, and the Someshwari whimpered.


    ¡°Sergeant Ledwaba, from the escorts,¡± he said. ¡°And there¡¯s another, someone high up, but I don¡¯t know who. Ledwaba handles everything with me.¡±


    High up. Brigadier Chca, amander? His fingers clenched around the knife.


    ¡°The ship in the Lordsport,¡± Tristan rasped out. ¡°Give me a name.¡±


    ¡°The Grinning Madcap,¡± Apurva wept. ¡°That¡¯s everything, I swear. There¡¯s nothing else for me to tell.¡±


    A breath in, a breath out.


    Had he been born under a fool¡¯s star, to keep making the same mistake again and again and<em> again</em>? No matter the color of the cloak, he would always be a rat. Meat for the cats.


    ¡°No,¡± Tristan Abrascal agreed. ¡°You have nothing else to tell me.¡±


    He¡¯d not bothered to feign the voice, this time, and Lieutenant Apurva twisted around to look at his face. He got his look, though whatever he might have said was swallowed by a gurgle when Tristan cut his throat.


    Blood sprayed on the cer wall.


    He watched his enemy die in silence, mind already racing ahead. The Watch woulde looking for him, eventually. They would have contractors, Masks. <em>I must clean up here</em>, he thought, <em>then get rid of the clothes and the body in running water.</em> A canal would suit. Then he must double back for his kit and hurry to ck House, to ensure he was seen and would not stand out as a suspect.


    Someone high up, the dead man had said. How high up did it go? No, it did not matter. No matter the rank it was enough he could no longer afford to stay in ck House. He would have to tell Song¡­ Something, an excuse could be made. And Maryam, she- he swallowed. Calm. Fear and the rest, they could wait until he had dug his way out to the grave.


    A hand on his shoulder. He did not need to turn to know who it was, for he felt not even a tremor of fear from it. It was as familiar as his own breath.


    ¡°What will you do?¡± Fortuna asked.


    He closed his eyes. Tozi Poloko. Kiran Agrawal. Izel Coyac. Cressida Barboza. Hunt him, would they?


    ¡°What else?¡±


    His fingers tried to close around a tile that wasn¡¯t there.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to kill them all,¡± the rat said.

 Chapter 51

    Chapter 51


    Come night, Tratheke looked like a sea of lights.


    ck House was not so tall that the view from the roof garden was not cut into by higher edifices still, but the spread offered to Song¡¯s eyes was still a striking sight. The gasmps of the capital lit up the dark like a thousand fireflies, their burning glow reflected on green ss and brass, and above it all towered the Collegium. That grand structure¡¯s bones of brass were hard to make out from a distance, weaving the illusion that its massive transparent ss panes were instead made of pure light.


    And atop that cube of light rested, like a slender crown, the pce that Song Ren was avoiding thinking about.


    The bench beneath her was forged iron, digging enough into her back she was regretting declining the offer from the servants to bring up cushions. Perhaps it was for the best. Sitting alone in the dark surrounded only by grass, fragrant flowers and the sound of flowing water it would have been all too easy to fall into some sort of romantic mncholy. An iron ridge digging into her back detracted from the picturesque feeling, like a fly in the soup.


    Pulling her ck cloak tighter around her, Song¡¯s swept the city¡¯s skyline. Beautiful, she thought, but inherited. The sole im the people of Tratheke had to this was that they had kept the lights on, tinkered recements for the Antediluvian machines sucking gas out of the earth when they began breaking apart after the rough treatment of the First Empire. In Tianxia, such a thing would have been looked down on.


    Her people¡¯s pride was in what they built with their own hands, not the wonders bequeathed by long-dead titans. There was beauty in that as well, she thought. Not one so unearthly as this dream-city of ss and light, but no lesser for it.


    Silver eyes flicked up to the pce above the city of lights, until she realized what she was doing and winced. Song was not a child; she had dallied before. With boys, as was her preference, though sometimes she suspected she was not entirely indifferent to the charms of women ¨C merely discerning, as one should be in all things. Her mother had tacitly allowed it, almost encouraged it, so that Song would not be fooled by some seducer out in the world.


    Yet her ount book of some heated kissing and the one banal evening in bed had not felt like¡­ that. How was it that a nothing haunted her more than the times she had actually indulged? It must be the denial, she told herself. Denial excited the mind, even when self-inflicted, and the mind was the better part of her troubles here anyway. Evander Palliades was easy enough on the eyes, but she liked his conversation more than his jawline.


    Well. The jawline didn¡¯t <em>hurt</em>, admittedly.¡°Boo.¡±


    The moment she felt breath against her ear Song¡¯s handshed out, grabbing a cor, and after fastening her second grip in the same heartbeat she tossed her attacker forward over her shoulder and the back of the bench.


    A secondter the word and voice registered.


    ¡°Oh Gods,¡± Song said, hastily getting up. ¡°Are you-¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± Tristan painfully groaned, face in the dirt and hips well mmed into the back of the bench. ¡°<em>Ouch</em>.¡±


    She smoothed her face. It would not do tough, even though with his legs half-lifted and his face in the grass the Sacromontan looked like a manner of beached porpoise. His goddess showed no such restraint, the red-dressed beauty guffawing so strongly she almost fell to her feet and had to catch herself on the bench. Song eased her Mask past the edge of the bench, letting him drop belly down on the grass, and he did not refuse the hand she offered to help him up afterwards.


    Tristan Abrascal brushed off his clothes and picked off a strand of grass that had stuck to his face.


    ¡°Well,¡± he coughed into his hand. ¡°There goes my daily reminder of the virtues of humility.¡±


    Song cleared her throat awkwardly.


    ¡°I did not recognize your voice until toote.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m the one who jumped you,¡± he snorted. ¡°I was asking for it. Nice throw, though.¡±


    ¡°I could teach you if you¡¯d like,¡± Song offered.


    He was dressed for the city, in a belted brown tunic and trousers. In wool, which wasmon in these parts given how many Tratheke workshops made such cloth, and though his hair was bereft of a cap it was ttened in a way that implied he¡¯d worn one for hours. Tristan was also, she noted, scrupulously clean from the fingernails to the shoes. He must have washed beforeing here. Had he finally begun to notice the stink of cities? She¡¯d thought Sacromonte had ruined his nose for life.


    ¡°Best to get my shooting up to par first,¡± Tristan ruefully said. ¡°I would rather not split my attention when we already have so many tes to bnce.¡±


    Sensible enough. And the mention of tes led into an immediate curiosity of hers.


    ¡°Which begs the question,¡± she said, ¡°of why you missed dinner.¡±


    Late service should be finishing up around now, but he had missed the expected evening meal with Maryam. All trace of mirth left those gray eyes at her words, as if it had been suddenly squeezed out by some twitching grip.


    ¡°You should sit down,¡± Tristan said.


    She did not, instead crossing her arms.


    ¡°What happened?¡± Song asked.


    ¡°The Kassa workshop is solidly guarded,¡± he said. ¡°I could try to break in, but odds are it¡¯ll be noticeable. The best shot for ess is taking a job there.¡±


    She nodded warily. He was circling around what he would rather avoid talking about, she could tell.


    ¡°To get that job I will need a rmendation, and to get that rmendation I will have to make a deal with a basileia the Kassa are friendly with,¡± he added. ¡°Passing through the Brazen Chariot for an introduction seems the most feasible.¡±


    ¡°And you would pay in favors,¡± Song said. ¡°In both cases.¡±


    He nodded and she almost grimaced. A small favor to the Chariot for the introduction, then arger one to the more powerful basileia for the good word. She would have preferred paying in coin, but since the misstep with the Brazen Chariot she had been educated on the difficulties of this. As a rule, most criminals were poor in actual coinage and had to pass through third parties to turn what valuable property they did own into something that could spend.


    For a basileia to suddenly be flush with clean gold would draw much attention and spection, something neither the Watch nor the basileias would want. And still she hesitated, because providing the services of a trained Mask to basileias was no small thing. An even halfway clever criminal could use his talents for a great many things best left undone.


    ¡°I¡¯ll make it clear to the Chariot there are limits when they broker for me,¡± he told. ¡°Nothing that can blow back on us too hard.¡±


    She hesitated. Two months ago, the thought of letting Tristan Abrascal effectively frence for criminals under the auspices of the Thirteenth Brigade would have had her writing a report to the garrison rmending his imprisonment. Yet things had¡­ changed, since, in many ways. <em>He knows what lines to cross and not</em>, she reminded herself. An agent of the Krypteia could not be expected to operate under her gaze, that was simply not their purpose.


    Tonight or some other day on the horizon, Song would have to extend this trust. Why shame herself by balking at giving it now?


    ¡°Keep me informed as much as you can,¡± she said. ¡°I take it you will be leaving ck House?¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t risk the constant back and forth, someone might follow me,¡± he agreed. ¡°I¡¯ll pass reports through Hage regrly.¡±


    ¡°If it takes too long to infiltrate the warehouse, we may have to take another angle,¡± she told him. ¡°Maryam¡¯s experiment with the flowers at the shrine was inconclusive, but I have confirmed the existence of at least a second one.¡±


    Maryam had not been able to reach beyond the brackstone to find out if there was resonance, which in a way was good news. Theck of answers had visibly irritated her Navigator, however, and yet another letter had been sent to Stheno¡¯s Peak as a consequence. She wanted to know everything they did about the flowers, these Asphodel crowns.


    ¡°So the odds are good we¡¯re looking at some old god slipping out of its cage,¡± Tristan muttered. ¡°Bad timing for us, that. The priority is establishing if that cage and prisoner actually have anything to do with the Golden Ram, then. We might have stumbled into something much worse by ident.¡±


    He frowned.


    ¡°And Brigadier Chca¡¯s an ass, but he¡¯s not wrong that between the noble plot and the aether lock we might have strayed away from our actual assignment.¡±


    There had been no ¡®might¡¯ in the sentence the stern, older Izcalli used. But Brigadier Chca was the same man who had ordered Song not to warn their client about the coup brewing under his feet, most likely to use that as a bargaining chip in negotiations, so the Tianxi was disinclined to heed him any further than she must ording to the rules of the Watch.


    ¡°I found no trace of the cult in the pce with my contract,¡± Song reminded him. ¡°Considering the suspected membership, it is also rather unlikely the cult does not have <em>some</em> involvement in the nned coup.¡±


    He grunted.


    ¡°I¡¯m not unaware we¡¯re running out of leads,¡± Tristan said. ¡°I¡¯d been hoping Maryam would find something more practical in the archives, but it has been all politics and old horrors. The Lord Rector really doesn¡¯t know anything about the shrines?¡±


    ¡°There is reason to believe those secrets might have been swiped before the Palliades took the throne,¡± Song replied. ¡°The finger is being pointed at House Eirenos ¨C which was, it seems, once significantly wealthier in coin andnd.¡±


    ¡°Bad news, that,¡± Tristan noted. ¡°Empty coffers are when nobles start selling off the antiques they don¡¯t show guests.¡±


    Ah. She had not considered that, in truth, too pleased with the happenstance. If House Eirenos had soldnd, it <em>had</em> very likely sold antiques as well. Hopefully not all of them. Tristan cocked an eyebrow.


    ¡°Does Tredegar know this?¡±


    ¡°I sent word after her,¡± Song said. ¡°Under the guise of a lost hat being returned to her by her acquaintance ¡®Lord Azi¡¯. The message is hidden inside the lining.¡±


    Removing a letter from the word Azei was not the most borate of deceptions, but then Angharad was no deep intriguer. Caution was the order of the day. Paying a messenger rider to take the package had been wincingly expensive, but it was the only way for it to reach her before she made it to the Eirenos estate ¨C where it was not impossible her mail would be looked through.


    ¡°That should do,¡± he approved, rolling his shoulder, then changed tack. ¡°I¡¯ll be spending the night here, I think, and leave after our pistol practice tomorrow. Is Maryam still awake?"


    ¡°I believe so,¡± Song replied.


    Neither had lit antern, she forck of need and Tristan evidently finding the street lights sufficient, so calling his face shadowed would have been somewhat on the nose. Yet there was something, Song decided, to the cast of him right now. Tristan tended to geniality, or at least the show of it, but tonight it felt brittle. That look in his eyes earlier, when theughter went out, it had not been the look of a man who had middling bad news to tell her. Despite his attempt to y it off that way, those eyes had not about the basileia business.


    It had been too personal for that.


    So when he inclined his head in goodbye and made to leave, Song cleared her throat.


    ¡°And if I were to ask what it is you <em>aren¡¯t</em> telling me?¡±


    He mastered his expression, but not quite quickly enough. Aware of the slip, the gray-eyed man grimaced and pivoted her way in more ways than one.


    ¡°Would you like to talk,¡± he replied, ¡°about why you are sitting alone in the dark brooding?¡±


    Song heard that, measured it. Headed it off at the pass.


    ¡°No,¡± she said. ¡°But I will, if you do the same.¡±


    Rank meant little to him, there was no point in even mentioning it. Trying to force him would make her an enemy ¨C she had not forgotten Maryam¡¯s words ¨C and set back their functioning rtionship. But they<em> had</em> a degree of trust between them, now, so she figured he¡¯d not wave away a trade if offered.


    The two of them stood in the dark, her watching him watching her, and she could almost hear the creak of the bnce¡¯s scales as he weighed the risks. His hand twitched, almost reaching for his chest. Where he kept his watch when in uniform, the one the old clockmaker had given him on the Dominion.


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    ¡°You first,¡± he finally got out.


    Song cleared her throat. In her eagerness to seize the advantage she had not quite realized that she would, in fact, have to tell him her¡­ troubles. Her reluctance only seemed to sharpen his interest.


    ¡°The Lord Rector forced his way onto the expedition to the brackstone shrine today,¡± she said.


    He snorted.


    ¡°The Lord Rector of Asphodel <em>fought</em> to visit cheapest brothel in Tratheke? Now there¡¯s the opening line for half a hundred jokes.¡±


    She grunted in dismay.


    ¡°When we took a room there, to avoid revealing we hade solely to investigate the wall, we spent some time alone,¡± Song said, then swallowed. ¡°He tried to kiss me.¡±


    It was like watching a folding knife flick open, the change that came over him. Almost instant.


    ¡°Our contract is to the throne, not the man,¡± Tristan Abrascal mildly said. ¡°It would not be too difficult to-¡±


    Oh,<em> oh</em>. He thought that Evander had tried to¡­ insist.


    ¡°Not like that,¡± Song hastily said, clearing her throat again. ¡°He was mortified when I refused, apologized effusively.¡±


    He cocked his head to the side.


    ¡°We can send Maryam to give the reports from now on,¡± Tristan suggested. ¡°Or have her apany you if you would prefer. That should discourage him trying his luck again.¡±


    She watched the knife slowly fold back into ce. As if he had not just offered to arrange the death of a king on her behalf.


    ¡°It is not on your head that he should delude himself of an interest,¡± he assured her. ¡°Nor would we me you if he grows miffed and attemptsplications. That would speak of him, not you.¡±


    It was very kind of him to say that, Song thought, which made it all infinitely worse.


    ¡°It is not entirely a delusion,¡± she miserably said.


    A long moment of silence, Tristan studying her as if she were a five-legged dog or some manner of wingless bird.


    ¡°That is inconvenient,¡± he finally said. ¡°I don¡¯t suppose sleeping with him once would cure you?¡±


    She might have been offended, if he had not spoken of sex in the same way one would speak of mopping a dirty floor. A vaguely disagreeable chore.


    ¡°You really have no interest in it, do you?¡± she asked, oddly relieved.


    It was like confessing to her seasickness to a desert tribesman deeply skeptical of ponds.


    ¡°I sometimes like the kissing,¡± he shrugged, ¡°but not the rest, no.¡±


    ¡°Besides being a wildly bad idea in several different ways, I assure you sleeping with Evander would not ¡®cure ¡®me,¡± Song sighed. ¡°Or him. I think he is lonely, and that I represent an adventure in several ways.¡±


    She paced back and forth before the bench, ignoring his eyes on her.


    ¡°And you fear¡­ sumbing to the bad idea?¡± he tried. ¡°Or that he will try to pursue you again? Your refusal seems like it would settle either matter.¡±


    Only there were refusals and then there were <em>refusals</em>. Song was no great seductress, but she knew that much. She could have confronted the matter, but it to rest for good. Instead she had handed him the excuse of the wine, which they both knew to be false. It was leaving the door cracked open, however slightly.


    ¡°If he were not king of Asphodel, tangled up in everything we do here, I would have let him kiss me,¡± Song admitted.


    He shrugged.


    ¡°Then let reports to the pce be Maryam¡¯s responsibility,¡± he bluntly said. ¡°And ask to have her along when you are dragged into serving as his sniffer.¡±


    ¡°That simple, is it?¡± Song snorted.


    She felt almost foolish now. As if she had made a mountain of a molehill. She sat on the bench, iron digging into her back.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think desire is simple at all,¡± Tristan quietly said. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t find it so tricky to understand if it were. But it seems to me that if you do not trust yourself, you should turn someone you do.¡±


    Song passed a hand through her hair, pushing the braid back over her shoulder.


    ¡°I thought I was better than this,¡± she told him. ¡°That I had better rule over myself. Gods, the things that would be said back home if the sole Ren who fled the Republics was found to havein with a <em>king</em>-¡±


    It was not merely the Yellow Earth that would vilify her for that. Even her family would hold her in disdain, her own sisters. Thatst thought had been what kept sense in her, at the brothel. The visceral fear of it.


    ¡°You aren¡¯t going to impress anyone with virtue, Song,¡± Tristan said.


    Her gaze turned to him, frowning.


    ¡°My conduct must be without reproach,¡± she told him. ¡°Much rides on it.¡±


    She must distinguish herself, in record and deed, so wlessly that there was no choice but the Watch raising her. That even those who most cursed the name of Ren found nothing toin of in her, when word of her actions reached the Republics.


    ¡°You¡¯re waiting for a payoff that will nevere,¡± the thief said. ¡°Virtue¡¯s what they expect of you even when they dine on gold tes and you drink from puddles. It¡¯s the rule they put in ce so when they live easy and you live hard they can say you broke some naturalw and deserved the gutter all along. They don¡¯t actually <em>care</em>, Song.¡±


    Tristan shrugged.


    ¡°It¡¯s why it¡¯s always excused when they do it, when they cheat their cousins out of fortunes and assassinate their rivals. Because virtue¡¯s never about virtue, it is about the power to allocate vice.¡±


    ¡°There is right and wrong, Tristan,¡± she tly replied.


    ¡°Would it be wrong to sleep with Palliades, or disreputable?¡± he challenged.


    That was¡­ it didn¡¯t matter.


    ¡°Reputation<em> is</em> a virtue,¡± Song insisted.


    ¡°Virtue¡¯s not going to get your family name out of the pit,¡± Tristan retorted. ¡°It makes people speak well of you at the burial, that¡¯s all. I¡¯d worry less about what people back in Tianxia might say and more about doing something that¡¯s worth talking about.¡±


    She clenched her fists.


    ¡°Are you truly<em> encouraging</em> me to sleep with the Lord Rector of Asphodel, Tristan?¡± she crisply asked.


    Daring him to say as much, or withdraw.


    ¡°You roasted Tredegar, back on that first day at the pce,¡± Tristan said instead. ¡°I don¡¯t know what was said, but it was writ in on her face. The way I see it, though, you two share an affliction: you spend so much time thinking about what others would decide for you that those same others end up making your choices for you.¡±


    He smiled thinly.


    ¡°<em>They</em> don¡¯t want you get out of the pit, Song,¡± he said. ¡°They put you there in the first ce. So maybe do what you need to do, instead of whatever that faceless tribunal allows you.¡±


    ¡°I do not <em>need</em> a dalliance, Tristan¡± she coldly said.


    ¡°Then don¡¯t have one,¡± Tristan shrugged. ¡°His hair looks stupid anyway.¡±


    Coming from Tristan Abrascal of all men, that was absurd. And though Song wanted to chew him out, toy out in great detail why he understood nothing of the stakes and needs of the years ahead of her, the more she went fishing for arrogance to rip out the more she found out he had not tried to tell her what to do. He interrogated her motives, not her actions.


    And the truth was Song knew, deep down, that being a perfect daughter of Tianxia was not going to save her sisters. If she believed otherwise, she would not have enrolled in the Watch in the first ce. She rubbed the bridge of her nose.


    ¡°You have a way with words, sometimes,¡± she finally said. ¡°<em>Allocating vice</em>. Is it from something you read?¡±


    He shook his head, then shrugged.


    ¡°You can only get stepped on so many times without getting a good look at the boot,¡± Tristan said. ¡°Besides, I¡¯ve known hundreds who thought the same thing I said. Only I was taught to talk, and they weren¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°To talk,¡± Song repeated. ¡°And to distract. I, however, was taught never to forget a bargain. What happened out in the city, Tristan?¡±


    He had stayed up the whole time, barely moving on the grass, but now he went entirely still. Face nk, eyes considering her as he picked and chose what to tell her ¨C what would get the reaction he wanted. That she would not allow.


    ¡°Good faith,¡± she said, ¡°goes both ways.¡±


    A twitch of the lips ¨C it could have been a grin or a snarl, either way gone so quick she could not tell. A few seconds passed before he sighed.


    ¡°The abduction business, it¡¯s not over,¡± Tristan said. ¡°It followed me here.¡±


    Song straightened in her seat.


    ¡°Students,¡± she slowly said, ¡°are still trying to abduct you here on Asphodel?¡±


    He curtly nodded.


    ¡°I eavesdropped on them discussing it.¡±


    Song closed her eyes, breathing in. <em>Still</em>? Even after the fate of the Forty-Ninth, even on Asphodel, even when her brigade was hip deep in conspiracies that might well usher in a civil war that would kill dozens of thousands? A bleak, dark thing coursed through her veins.


    ¡°There is a degree of stupidity,¡± Song Ren calmly said, opening her eyes, ¡°that can only be considered a capital offense.¡±


    Her fingers clenched. She would certainly <em>treat </em>it as such.


    ¡°Who?¡±


    Gray eyes searched her face.


    ¡°That¡¯s it?¡± Tristan asked.


    ¡°I do not care for their reasons,¡± Song told him. ¡°I don¡¯t believe the Watch allows for final words during hangings either, but should they leave behind written exnation I might one day be moved to read them on a particrly boring afternoon.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t be obtuse,¡± he bit out. ¡°Thest time I brought back-¡±


    She breathed in sharply, the look on her face enough for him to let the sentence trail off. No, of course he would think that.


    ¡°I am sorry,¡± Song said.


    He blinked.


    ¡°Pardon?¡±


    ¡°I now realize I never apologized for what I said that night,¡± Song said, ashamed it had taken so long to remember. ¡°ming you for those hunting you.¡±


    Tristan¡¯s face was a nk mask.


    ¡°It is trouble I bring with me,¡± he said. ¡°That is simple truth. They hunt no other in the Thirteenth.¡±


    <em>You were half ready to kill the Lord Rector of Asphodel for unwanted advances at me</em>, she thought. <em>Who was it, Tristan, that taught you everyone is worth the knife except for you?</em>


    ¡°They are criminals,¡± Song said, simply and clearly.


    Heughed.


    ¡°Well, that¡¯s a new one,¡± Tristan admitted. ¡°Song, they have contacts. Bws are nothing.¡±


    ¡°It <em>does </em>matter,¡± she replied. ¡°You¡¯re not wrong, when you say that power makesws for its own sake. That rulers turn it to their own means. But that is not cunning or mastery, Tristan, not mortal hands handcrafting some divine right to rule.¡±


    Her jaw clenched.


    ¡°It¡¯s fear,¡± Song said. ¡°Because there is right and wrong, and they may not always be clear or easy but there are times when evil¡¯s face is bared and people say <em>enough</em>. When they push back, when the crowns of the world are remembered that no number of levees can truly hold the sea. They only hold until a storm makes the waves tall enough.¡±


    She held his gaze.


    ¡°They are criminals,¡± Song said. ¡°You are not. <em>It matters</em>.¡±


    ¡°Not if their friends are high up enough,¡± he said.


    ¡°And yet they hide,¡± she said. ¡°Their friends hide. Because the Watch isn¡¯t a handful of captain-generals and marshals, it is not cabals of monsters in secret rooms shaking hands. It is hundreds of thousands of men and women in ck cloaks, and they do not approve of selling their own like cattle. That is the sea, and they know enough to cower from it.¡±


    She gritted her teeth.


    ¡°Who?¡± she asked again.


    ¡°I do not know yet,¡± he said. ¡°I have a brigade and two names, but there is another further up.¡±


    Gray eyes unblinking.


    ¡°I killed a watchman tonight,¡± Tristan Abrascal said. ¡°Lieutenant Apurva. Umuthi Society, part of the delegation.¡±


    Studying her all the while, watching for her reaction. A test, like a cat dipping a paw in the water.


    ¡°Why?¡± she asked.


    ¡°He was their contact, an Ivory Library catspaw,¡± Tristan replied. ¡°I knocked him out, then tortured him for answers.¡±


    He leaned in.


    ¡°I mutted him, cut his throat and dumped he and his clothes at the bottom of different canals.¡±


    He spoke calmly and evenly, as if to make sure she would hear every syble. Testing her still, as if they were again standing over a traitor in that room deep inside Scholomance. Bloody, ugly reality dying at her feet once more. Last time they stood here, she¡¯d damned him for a decision she had all but forced on the two of them.


    Song did not always learn from her mistakes, but that one she would.


    ¡°We will have to report as much when we are done cleaning up the traitors,¡± she said. ¡°Given the circumstances, I expect punishment will be light.¡±


    Tristan swallowed half a dozen replies in a heartbeat. Most of them sharp, she figured. The word that gave him pause was the first one she¡¯d spoken. We. She would not abandon him, when the time came to answer for their actions. The Thirteenth would stand before the higher-ups as one.


    ¡°Who?¡± Song asked again, for the third time.


    Gently.


    And she got, in that moment, a look at whaty under the easy smiles and the wit. Under the hundred faces he knew how to put on. For a flicker of a second he looked furious, as if he wanted to strike her, then there was cold assessment ¨C weighing odds, consequences ¨C and then something¡­ fear. And not for their enemies. The terror of an old soldier when the war ended and he realized he did not remember thest time he had put down his spear.


    ¡°Fuck,¡± Tristan Abrascal snarled.


    She did not flinch and that, Song thought, was what tipped it over the edge.


    ¡°The Neenth,¡± he said. ¡°Tozi seems the driving force. Coyac wants to back out, but he¡¯s also the one who organized the grab after the terror room.¡±


    <em>So much for being better, Coyac. </em>So it was to be Tozi Poloko, then.


    Captain Tozi, who Song had believed she tricked when she pushed the other woman into taking the contract that would have the Neenth moving around the same city that Tristan was sure to wander alone on behalf of the Thirteenth. Captain Tozi, who had only yesterday mentioned in passing that when the other brigades were all gone from ck House theirs should take to dining together. Captain Tozi, who had begun ying Song long before they left for Asphodel.


    Her jaw clenched. It was never a pleasant, realizing you had been the fool instead of the fooled.


    ¡°Do they have a ship?¡±


    Tristan nodded, still hesitating heartbeat before he continued.


    ¡°The Grinning Madcap, at the Lordsport,¡± he said. ¡°Apurva said they were getting impatient, that eventually they would have to leave. The other name is Sergeant Ledwaba, from the delegation escorts. Unlike him she¡¯s an actual member.¡±


    She hummed.


    ¡°You want to kill them,¡± Song inly stated.


    ¡°I can¡¯t handle someone good enough to cut it as a Watch escort, and poison would draw too much attention,¡± he replied. ¡°Ledwaba is out of my reach.¡±


    Who he did not mention was telling.


    ¡°We are no longer on Tolomontera,¡± Song said. ¡°If even ckcloaks attempt to illegally abduct a member of the order, you would be entitled to defend yourself through violence.¡±


    Poisoning them at dinner, however, would be harder to defend to their superiors. There was, however, one difficulty with that.


    ¡°If they try to grab me, I am done,¡± he tly replied. ¡°I¡¯m not sure I could take Barboza and she is the least martial of the lot. Either I take them first or I end up in a sack.¡±


    ¡°The true prizes are the sergeant and the higher-up,¡± Song said. ¡°With those in hand, we can prove to the Obscure Committee that another part of the Watch has been interfering in their backyard. That might well see this Ivory Library disbanded by the Conve, pulling out the root of the problem.¡±


    Although such a thing was likely to take months even with irrefutable proof in hand.


    ¡°I would settle for corpses, but if you can do better I will not argue,¡± Tristan said.


    <em>You already wrote the officers off</em>, she thought. <em>Too strong, too hard to reach.</em><em>It¡¯s the reaching hands you turned your gaze on.</em>


    ¡°The Neenth-¡±


    ¡°Are too much of a threat to be left alone,¡± he tly said.


    She was not sure she agreed, but it was not Song Ren they intended to shove into a sack. Besides, Tristan was soon to be out of ck House and no matter what she said he would not change his mind about this. If she could not change that decision, she must work with it.


    ¡°I will memorize Tozi¡¯s full contract and write it out for you,¡± Song said. ¡°Hage should have it by the time you seek him out for your first report.¡±


    A flicker of surprise. He nodded.


    ¡°It will take me time to find a way around Tozi¡¯s contract, I expect,¡± Tristan said. ¡°I am not sure how it would react to something like a two-part poison, or second degree peril.¡±


    ¡°With one man already dead, they will be suspicious for at least the next few days,¡± Song warned him. ¡°You will not have two chances, and if you overy your hand¡­¡±


    ¡°They might well turn thews of the Watch against me instead,¡± he acknowledged. ¡°I will not rush, Song. I will be as sure of sess as I can before striking.¡±


    <em>Good</em>, she thought. <em>That gives me time to find the second traitor in the delegation.</em> If she found proof, anything she could take to Brigadier Chca ¨C or to someone else <em>about</em> the brigadier, a pleasant thought ¨C then she would have a thread to pull that would unravel everything else. Tristan was not the sort of man to insist on killing the Neenth if the Watch had already removed them as a threat to him.


    And a single corpse would be much easier to talk their way out of than five.


    ¡°You need to tell Maryam,¡± Song added. ¡°Before you disappear into the city.¡±


    He grimaced.


    ¡°She doesn¡¯t have the guile, Song,¡± Tristan said. ¡°She¡¯ll look at them like she wants to hatchet their limbs, which after a suddenly disappeared handler is sure to tip them off.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll keep her away from them until she¡¯s cooled off,¡± Song said. ¡°Have her rece me at the pce, as you so wisely suggested. By the time she returns it will pass as general surliness.¡±


    Which, for all her grace in other aspects, she possessed in spades. Maryam Khaimov had the temper - and snores - of a fully grown bear. Tristan eyed her, sighing when he came to the conclusion she was not going to be moved on this. urately so.


    ¡°We don¡¯t need to tell her what I just said, I don¡¯t think,¡± Tristan suggested.


    She eyed him amusedly.


    ¡°We are already two corpses deep into this rtionship, Abrascal,¡± she said. ¡°I think you can rely on my having <em>some </em>discretion, yes?¡±


    Instead of theugh she expected, she found Tristan staring at her silently. For a long moment, made ufortable by how unforeseen the reaction was. What had she said?


    ¡°I suppose I can, at that,¡± he softly said.


    He nodded at her, almost smiling, and though it was but the slightest of movements she felt there a solemn weight to it.


    ¡°See you in the morning, captain.¡±


    Song stood there, watching him leave, and wondered if he had ever called her captain before. No, it wouldn¡¯t matter if he had. She could tell the difference now.


    This was what the word sounded like, when he meant it.

 Chapter 52

    Chapter 52


    By the end of the first day, Angharad would have been willing to fight another gray mirror for the prize of never again having to ride a coach.


    It was no reflection on the coachman, a grizzled old woman who knew the country roads like the back of her hand and drove to Chalcia ¨C the town nearest to the Eirenos estate ¨C at least twice a week. It was the roads themselves that were devil¡¯s work, the quality having wildly dropped a mere two hours out of Tratheke and never daring another swing upwards from there. It was as if someone had built a trail entirely out potholes and loose stones, asionally throwing in some rain damage just to keep the coachman sharp.


    Angharad, damned by deception to remain inside the coach instead of sitting on the bench outside with the driver, spent the day being treated like the insides of a saltshaker.


    They stopped for the night at an inn within a roadside vige, for though arge rentern hung at the front of the coach it was meant for use only if they were caught out in the dark. Angharad felt at once tired and restless, so she decided on stretching her legs through a small walk around the nameless vige while Mistress Katina secured their rooms and meal.


    She limped around for a quarter-hour, contemting mud streets and a surfeit of cabbage fields. Was cabbage so profitable as to warrant entire fields being sown? She¡¯d had no idea. By the time she returned a warm meal was ready and she sat with her coachman, making idle conversation over profoundly average cabbage soup.


    Admittedly, she should have seen thettering.


    Mistress Katina had done business with the Eirenos for decades, she learned, having been known to Lord Cleon¡¯s father the Lord Artemon. While not overly familiar with the Eirenos themselves, she had from a distance seen Cleon grow from a child to a young man and seemed fond of him in an abstract sort of way. As one who had regrly passed through Chalcia during decades, she was also a font of gossip about the noble house.


    ¡°His mother, Lady Penelope, she was from a fine family out east and she liked horses,¡± Mistress Katina said, lowering her voice as if confiding. ¡°The good lord Artemon bought a herd after they wed, said they¡¯d breed and sell them, but thend¡¯s poor for it and half the horses died of sick on the second winter. They say belts tightened at the Eirenos manor after that.¡±


    Horse breeding could be a lucrative trade, Angharad knew ¨C some noble houses in southern Mn made a fortune off supplying the royal army and izinduna with warhorses ¨C but it was not something that could be attempted lightly or half-heartedly. Buying several breeding pairs would have been a heavy expense for a small noble house. The finances of her own House Tredegar would not have been able to bear such a burden even though Mother¡¯s foreign ventures had made them wealthier than most their neighbors.¡°Lord Cleon seems to have led the house to recovery,¡± Angharad tried.


    He had been finely dressed on every asion they met and not treated like a beggar lord by his fellows.


    ¡°He¡¯s a steady one,¡± Mistress Katina approved. ¡°After Lord Artemon passed, they say Lady Penelope fell deep into grief and her young one had to handle the servants and rents on his own. By the time the Lord Rector recognized him as Lord Eirenos he¡¯d been doing the work for two years already.¡±


    Titles were formally inherited at sixteen, here in Asphodel, which meant Cleon Eirenos had begun running his house at the tender age of four and ten. It was impressive of him, Angharad thought. No wonder he had attracted a spirit¡¯s interest enough for a contract to be offered. Song and Maryam clearly believed this Odyssean to be sinister, but Angharad disagreed. It was a spirit as spirits had been since the Old Night, harsh and bloody and never to be trusted too closely.


    The notion that some spirits <em>were</em> trustworthy was what Angharad took exception to.


    Fed plenty gossip and soup bestplimented as being of the appropriate temperature, Angharad retired for the night in the rented room. It was clean, if cramped, but exhausted as she was the Pereduri would have fallen asleep on stone. The innkeeper woke her an hour before daylight began, providing an offering freshly baked bread deplorably apanied by further cabbage soup. Simmering overnight had not improved its taste or texture.


    A surprise came when she was told that the mail ridere overnight had left a package for her, however, paid for by sender. She opened it and found that a certain ¡®Lord Azi¡¯ was allegedly returning her hat to her. His lordship¡¯s handwriting was remarkably simr to Song¡¯s, which had her retiring to her room to put the hat away in her traveling chest while Mistress Katina finished feeding the horses. Door closed, Angharad discovered that inside the round-crowned, short-brimmed gray felt piece there was a discreet ck lining with a folded paper tucked inside.


    She teased it out, learning after opening that that Song believed the Eirenos might be in possession of ancient royal property that could shed light on the nature of the spirit contained in the emptyyer. Angharad was requested to find out if such property was truly in Eirenos hands, and to obtain it if she could. Both requests were suborned to the necessity of maintaining her cover, which Song stressed was more important than any short-term gain. She was then bid to burn the paper as soon as feasible.


    The noblewoman promptly fed it to her roomntern and joined Mistress Katina in the coach, keeping her thoughts off her face.


    None of her assignments ran, strictly speaking, contrary to the duties of a guest. To find out if he had any knowledge of the shipyard entrance ¨C however indirectly ¨C and tease out any involvement with the cult of the Golden Ram were no breaches of guest right. Neither, arguably, would be inquiring after old family history and treasures. Yet it could not be denied that Angharad had been invited in good faith and would repay this with petty sneakery.


    No, she reminded herself. Not so petty, save what shemitted on her own behalf. To learn about the roots of a rampant spirit, to investigate the good name of one who might be a cultist, these were not unworthy things. They only felt so because Angharad was used to attending as a guest, not a watchwoman. For a noble guest to spy would have been dishonorable, but for a rook it was only her duty.


    Save, of course, for one part: the dishonor she had brought with her, the liar¡¯s deal taken. It was tempting to tell herself that looking into Eirenos knowledge of the shipyard would also aid the Thirteenth¡¯s investigation, but it would have been half a lie. Even if there had been no use at all for the test she would have asked. Was it dishonor, to pursue a private task while undertaking oathsworn service? Some schrs of honor would say so, that to dilute service was to destroy it, but Angharad was not so sure.


    If getting her answers did not war with the higher duty¡­


    The coach shook her out of her thoughts, quite literally, as it hit a pothole and Mistress Katina cursed most uncouthly. Angharad groaned, stretching out her aching back and resisted the urge to lean forward and bury her face into her bag. It would crease her only traveling dress and it would be a tedious chore to straighten it out when they stopped for the night. How long had it been since they left the town, a few hours? Let it be at least that, the day was stretching on most intolerably.


    When the coach kept on inching forward at a crawl after that bump Angharad swallowed a second groan, for that seemed to her the herald of a wheel in need of changing ¨C or, ancestors forbid, a whole axle ¨C but the coachman did not stop outright. Frowning, Angharad reached for her traveling bag and prudently grabbed her pistol and a hunting knife borrowed from the ck House armory. The former was already loaded, and with it in hand she drew back the carriage drapes and peeked out.


    Ahead of them were hilly woonds with the dirt road slithering through a dip in the heights, tall fig trees casting shade on white bindweed flowers. Just before the road went into the hills, though, was a crashed carriage ¨C it must have had at least four horses, by the looks of the harness, though there was no trace of them. Two wheels hade off, snapped, and ity tipped over on the ground with a wall caved in and merchandise spilling out. Barrels and crates, bundles of cloth with glinting contents.


    Two men in hunting coats stood by the wreck, one rummaging through a crate while the other kept watch. And at thetter¡¯s feet Angharad saw a corpse ¨C not that of a man but a beast, a thick-furred lupine felled by a hunting spear still lodged in its side.


    ¡°Mistress Katina?¡± Angharad quietly called out. ¡°Why do you hesitate?¡±


    The old woman leaned past the edge of her bench, her grimacing face cast in shadow from the litntern at the front of the carriage. Lit for the forest crossing, Angharad idly guessed.


    ¡°We¡¯re still too close to Tratheke, mydy,¡± she said. ¡°These are the Lord Rector¡¯s woods, which means these are no hunters.¡±


    ¡°Poachers,¡± Angharad immediately grasped.


    A gue on any noblewoman¡¯s forests. nw Hall had been thin on trees, and thus such troubles, but she had sat at her mother¡¯s table while some of their highborn neighborsined of suchwbreaking on their ownnds. And while Angharad was not sure of the punishment for poaching on Asphodel, even less so when poaching in royalnd, it was sure to be unpleasant. These men might well see them as witnesses to silence.


    ¡°Is there another way to Chalcia?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Not without risking the gullies, which is treacherous traveling,¡± the coachman said. ¡°It is toote, besides. They¡¯ve seen us.¡±


    Mistress Katina spoke true, for the poacher who had been keeping watch now walked away from his confederate and towards them, down the dirt road. He had in hand a musket loosely held ¨C no, not a musket but a fowler. Slender, of smaller bore, but quicker on the shot as was needed to clip a bird¡¯s wings.


    ¡°Ho there, on the road,¡± the dark-haired man called out. ¡°Who goes here?¡±


    ¡°We may have to pay them off, mydy,¡± Mistress Katina murmured. ¡°Let me do the talking.¡±


    Reluctantly, Angharad nodded and withdrew. She mostly closed the drape, leaving herself just wide enough an opening to be able to see through and aim.


    ¡°Katina of Teon¡¯s Hill,¡± the coachman called back. ¡°I am headed for Chalcia, down the road, with a guest but no goods. I want no trouble.¡±


    The manughed.


    ¡°Neither do we, good woman,¡± he replied. ¡°We were only passing through when we saw the fallen carriage and came to look for survivors. All hands lost, it seems.¡±


    ¡°That lupine your work, then?¡±


    ¡°It was,¡± the poacher agreed. ¡°Waiting there, though there was no corpse to feed on and hardly any traces of blood. A passing strange ident, this.¡±


    ¡°No business of ours,¡± Mistress Katina said. ¡°We are headed north and have no time for distractions.¡±


    ¡°Then by all means,¡± the poacher said, ¡°be on your way.¡±


    Through the slice of room she had left, Angharad saw the other poacher had abandoned his inspection and ripped his spear out of the lemure¡¯s corpse. Precaution or preparation? Her fingers tightened around the pistol. Keeping it at the ready, she leaned to the side and blindly began digging under the bench. There the saber Uncle Osian had gifted hery hidden. She set it over her traveling bag, in easy reach, as the coach began to advance again.


    Five feet, ten, twenty ¨C the poacher kept pace with them on the side of the road, the dark-haired man with poor teeth smiling all the while. It was the movement from the other one that told Angharad everything she needed to know. The second poacher, with his spear and knife, moved to get in the way of the horses with his spear at the ready. Horses, unless trained otherwise, did not charge into spears. Mistress Katina¡¯s aging plodders did not strike Angharad as having been raised such.


    The coachman had a musket of her own, and Angharad heard it getting cocked, but then the smiling poacher was nking her with his fowler. Smaller bore or not, that gun would kill.


    ¡°Might be you¡¯ll get me, but I¡¯ll bring one of you along onto the Sculler¡¯s boat,¡± Mistress Katina harshly said. ¡°And then who will help the survivor carry the loot? Let¡¯s settle this with coin, boys, parts ways bloodless.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s no need for blood,¡± the smiler agreed. ¡°My oath to Oduromai King, you will leave with horses and coach and traveler.¡±


    The other oneughed, as if there was some sort of private jest.


    ¡°We¡¯ll only take everything else,¡± the first poacher continued. ¡°Don¡¯t make this ugly, old-timer.¡±


    Angharad breathed out, closed her eyes.


    (Angharad Tredegar grabbed her saber and pushed open the door on the smiling man¡¯s side, jolting him in surprise. The pistol shoot took him in the head, pulping red, as the coachman leveled her musket and unloaded in the other¡¯s belly. He fell screaming. A shot from the edge of the woods, the hill to the left, and a furious red-haired woman charged out with a smoking fowler as the coachman slumped dead on the bench and the horses went wild.)


    ¡°It will be an evil eye on all of us, if you push this,¡± Mistress Katina insisted, ¡°it¡¯ll only-¡±


    Angharad grabbed her saber, tucked it under her arm and pushed open the door on the smiling man¡¯s side.


    He hesitated just a moment too long, knowing about the coachman¡¯s gun but not yet having seen hers, so the shot took him just to the side of the nose at it had in the glimpse. He dropped, but before Mistress Katina could drop the other Angharad raised her voice.


    ¡°Woods, to the left,¡± she curtly ordered.


    The old woman cursed and fired, a scream resounding in the distance, and Angharad barely spared a look for the red-haired woman running deeper into the woods while thest poacher ¨C gone white-faced and wide-eyed ¨C leveled his spear at them. Angharad tossed her pistol onto the coach bench, taking her saber and sliding it out of the sheath.


    The poacher knew he was good as dead if Mistress Katina got in another shot, so he rushed towards the old woman before she could reload. That made him predictable, and predictable was half the walk to the graveyard.


    It should have been child¡¯s y to reap him, <em>would</em> have been if Angharad were not just as much of a wreck as the toppled carriage. So instead of darting in past his guard and cutting down the back of his knee, Angharad¡¯s own leg gave under her as she hurried and she stumbled with a groan.


    Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    She tossed her scabbard at the poacher¡¯s face instead, just as he got past the panicking horses, and though it only clipped the side of his head he had to bring back his spear to protect himself ¨C which let Mistress Katina leap off the bench before he blindly stabbed at where she had just been. The poacher snarled out a curse, panic rising as he looked around. Angharad had to push herself up with her saber to remain standing. She saw the choice being weighed behind his eyes: use the cripple as a shield or chase after the nimble older woman.


    He picked the cripple.


    Angharad had fought skilled spearmen before. In spars, and twice with death on the line: Tupoc, in the visions, then the hollow warband and Amrinder on the field. Warriors trained and tempered, some first-rate in their skills. The poacher was no such thing, just a scared man with a hunting spear, and because of that in the first breath of the exchange he came a hair¡¯s breadth away from killing her.


    She flicked to the side, feinting, and would have caught his arm when he moved to parry. Only instead he shouted and smashed the shaft blindly in her direction. She tripped backward trying to catch the haft with her guard, getting knocked on her ass, and he kicked her in the chest. Angharad groaned, limbs already trembling, but she had kept her saber in hand ¨C she hacked at the side of his leg and cut deep, the poacher pulling back with a shout.


    She feinted up at his face, the point near enough he panicked and pped at it with his spear, and that was enough. When his arm extended to the right she rose onto her knees, delicately pressing the tip of her de between two ribs as he stepped into the blow and it slid deep in him. The poacher let out a ragged gasp and fell to his knees while she ripped out the de, eerily mirroring her. Angharad leaned on the coach to get back to her feet and kicked his wrist when he tried to reach for his hunting knife. It went flying on the dirt, soundless. Panting, sweat-soaked and her saber held more like a crutch than a de, she forced herself to put the steel to his throat.


    ¡°Wait,¡± the man gurgled, holding his gut wound. ¡°<em>Wait</em>. We weren¡¯t going to hurt you, we were just paid to-¡±


    ¡°Paid,¡± she repeated, disbelieving. ¡°By whom?¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t see,¡± the poacher said, looking pale as he clutched at his wound. ¡°Someone¡¯s servant. Iris said she saw blue and green sown on the pouch, but we never got a name.¡±


    ¡°And what,¡± Angharad coldly said, ¡°what were you paid to do?¡±


    The man swallowed.


    ¡°To wait here,¡± he said, ¡°for a coach. With the old-timer and some Mni girl in it. We were just to take everything but your smallclothes and let you go.¡±


    Angharad blinked. What manner of plot was <em>this</em>? Nonsense.


    ¡°And the broken carriage?¡± she pressed.


    ¡°It was like that when we got here,¡± the man insisted. ¡°We were looking through when the lupine came, to take the guns.¡±


    The guns? No, that hardly mattered. She could look herself.


    ¡°The servant who paid you,¡± she said. ¡°What did they look like?¡±


    ¡°He wore a hood,¡± the poacher said. ¡°Please, we weren¡¯t going to hurt you-¡±


    ¡°Ha!¡±


    Mistress Katina, having gone around the coach, stepped out with a loaded musket.


    ¡°Well done, mydy,¡± she said. ¡°Not hurt us, my boot. You can tell it to the magistrate.¡±


    Angharad shot her an odd look. Magistrate? The man was a poacher, a highwayman and he¡¯d bared steel on a woman of noble blood.


    ¡°Whatever for?¡± she asked.


    ¡°They¡¯ll question him,¡± Mistress Katina told her. ¡°Get to the bottom of this.¡±


    ¡°I already have,¡± Angharad said, and struck.


    Well-aimed and deep, a clean stroke even with her leaning against the coach. The poacher¡¯s head tumbled into the grass, looking surprised. Proud of the blow, Angharad turned to flick the blood off her saber and was surprised to find the older woman staring at her in horror.


    ¡°<em>God¡¯s blood</em>, girl, what did you go and do that for?¡± she barked.


    She was halfway to pointing the musket Angharad¡¯s way.


    ¡°His guilt was evident, what need is there for a magistrate¡¯s involvement?¡± she frowned.


    ¡°You can¡¯t just go around killing people,¡± Katina snarled. ¡°I run a coach, not a bloody ughterhouse. He was unarmed!¡±


    ¡°And still has an aplice out in the woods,¡± Angharad tly reminded her, unimpressed. ¡°One with a fowler. But if you care so much for highwaymen, by all means dig them a grave. So long as you are ready to depart by the time I¡¯ve finished inspecting the broken carriage.¡±


    She was inclined to leave them to the lupines, herself. The coachman looked like she wanted to argue but Angharad had no taste for it. She picked up her sheath and slid the de back into it before putting it back in the coach, reaching for her cane and pistol instead. It took her longer than she would have liked to reload the gun, her fingers still trembling. By the time she was finished, the coachman had calmed down some. Anger was still tight on the old woman¡¯s face, but she held her tongue.


    Katina began dragging the corpses to the side of the road, silent, and Angharad left her to it.


    Leaning on her cane, pistol at her side, the noblewoman went to have her look at the wreck. There had been half a dozen small and portly barrels inside the carriage, some of which had rolled out. All were sealed tight with wax and painted with blue fish silhouettes on the side. A mark Angharad felt no guilt at disbelieving when the bundles of cheap cloth spilled besides it were revealed, when unfolded, to contain muskets. Rough-shaped and unwieldy, but muskets nheless.


    One of the crates was broken, revealing that among the straw were nestledrge balls of stone. Cannon shot. She dragged up one of the barrels, grunting and almost tripping down, and after panting while leaning on her cane for a good minute she brought out her hunting knife to break the wax seal. Prying the barrel open, she found inside exactly what she had expected: ckpowder.


    And though it was hard to tell, by the looks of it the carriage had been headed <em>towards </em>Tratheke instead of away.


    There must be more, she thought. Some hint as to who was seemingly bringing arms and powder into the capital. It could not be the Lord Rector, else why the falsebel on the powder barrels? Song and Tristan had found the trail of what might be a dawning coup by the Ministers, this might be one of their smuggled stashes. There had been no ce for a seat inside the carriage, given how tightly it was packed ¨C and wax or not it was wise to keep powder away from the weather ¨C but after lowering herself near the front of the vehicle Angharad found that there was apartment beneath the driver¡¯s bench.


    Broken ss, wetness and smudged papers. A pistol and two knives as well as something that smelled like tobo in a leather sheath. Nothing of use. Only Angharad then narrowed her eyes at thepartment, for this was a matter of intrigue. She emptied it out thepartment before feeling out the bottom. No sign of anything hidden. Ah well. Grunting, she got up.


    She returned with one of the muskets, violently smashing its butt into the bottom nk of thepartment. It was the only way to be sure.


    It did not sound like there was a hiddenpartment, from the first impact, but after three rough blows something broke. Ah, so there <em>was </em>something! The secretpartment turned out not to be even an inch deep, just enough to hold a small journal. Of which there was one. Angharad flipped through it, finding that the insides were nonsense.


    It looked like Cydic, but with numbers thrown in and the lines nonsensical. A cypher of some kind, she guessed. Song could cut her teeth on it if she liked, this was not Angharad¡¯s wheelhouse. By the looks of the ink, thest few entries had been made recently: the ck was deeper, had not faded or smudged. She tucked the journal of way, then pushed herself up with her cane.


    By the sound of it, the coachman <em>was</em> digging the robbers a grave. Admirable kindness, however misced.


    Deciding to keep her mouth shut and let Katina finish thebor she¡¯d taken on, Angharad limped back towards the coach. Best put that journal away where no one would find it. Her underthings, she figured, were most likely to be spared too much pawing at by Eirenos maids. She opened the door, hearing the shoveling pause. After a moment passed and she said nothing, it resumed. Angharad put the journal away then slipped back out of the carriage, trying to straighten her aching back.


    She was going to have to clean her traveling dress tonight, she saw. No amount of scratching with nails and spit would fully get rid of that muddy boot print. Hopefully the next inn would have aunderer, or at least a soul willing tounder for coin.


    Those hilly woods were a pretty enough sight, she thought as she leaned back against the carriage and listened at the rhythmic noise of a grave being dug. The light of the Asphodelian day dripped through the branches, mottling the soft white flowers growing everywhere, and a slight wind almost covered the sound of ¨C a deer? Angharad¡¯s eyes whipped to the right, the opposite way thest robber had fled from, and she caught three silhouettes creeping through the undergrowth.


    Two slunk low, furred and fang. Lupines. They were nking a boy, she thought, but then her blood froze. It was a boy whose lower half was as a goat¡¯s, hooves and all, and Angharad knew exactly what she was looking at.


    ¡°Katina,¡± she hoarsely called out.


    The digging did not stop.


    ¡°Katina.¡±


    The shovel stopped.


    ¡°I¡¯m not your handmaid, girl,¡± the old woman grunted. ¡°You¡¯ll wait until I¡¯m good and-¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s a satyrian in the woods,¡± Angharad hissed. ¡°Get on the carriage <em>now </em>and get those horses running.¡±


    Angharad had killed a satyrian before.


    Only she had done it down in the Acar, when hale and with three other Skiritai with her. She¡¯d also watched one tear through a triad of young Skiritai like they were made of paper, and that one hadn¡¯t dominated other lemures into following it. It all made sense suddenly, theck of bodies and the lupine that had stayed there even though there was nothing to eat. Strange behavior for such a beast, unless it was <em>made </em>to by something it feared.


    They were clever, satyrians. Clever enough to use a wrecked carriage as bait for further travelers.


    The coachman was no fool, immediately scrambling for the bench, and Angharad went with her. She would not wait in that cabin to die while the lemure picked off the horses and driver. The horses were still harnessed, thank the Sleeping God, and Katina whipped them to a gallop the moment she had her seat. Angharad, nestled next to her on the cushioned bench, bent back to look at lemures with her pistol in hand.


    The satyrian had seen them move, felt their fear. It followed merrily, sending the lupines howling ahead like they were trained hounds. They weren¡¯t, Angharad knew. She had made study of these beasts, learned that they often beat and spared lesser lemures to use them as chaff and bait ¨C that the lemure they faced in the Acar was less dangerous than those in the wild, for it stood alone. But those lesser beasts would only follow the satyrian as long as it was stronger, and turn on it the moment it was not.


    Which helped nothing when the lupines shot towards them like arrows and their master followed behind with a leisurely, leaping gait.


    The coach barreled down the forest road, Katina tanning their backs so they did not g in the gallop, but the lupines were catching up ¨C that damn road was kicking their wheels back and forth, and Angharad saw on the coachman¡¯s face the terror that a wheel woulde off and leave them to the mercy of the lemure. She turned, spun a glimpse, and leaned past the edge of the bench.


    A little to the left, she adjusted after missing in the glimpse, and caught the leading lupine in the chest. It dropped, falling in the undergrowth, and the other ducked out of sight with a howl. More howls came from the distance. Ancestors, how many were there? Still, nailing one should have ¨C the shallow glow of satisfaction winked out when she saw the satyrian <em>bounding</em> forward, leaping over a fallen tree, and she realized she had been baited again.


    It had been waiting for her to shoot.


    And now it was closing the distance, Angharad fumbling to reload her pistol ¨C only the powder charge she¡¯d brought spilled out of her fingers when the carriage hit a bump and she cursed, because that was her only reload.


    ¡°Mine, girl, take mine,¡± Katina hissed, pressing the musket on her one-handed.


    In her eagerness to take it she dropped the pistol, which fell into the undergrowth, but the satyrian was so <em>close </em>now she could not spare a moment to ¨C


    (She aimed, holding the musket as she had seen Song do a dozen times, and fired. It ducked to the left, its leaps almost mocking.)


    (Ducked down.)


    (Ducked to the right.)


    (Left,ing so close that-)


    It was following the angle of the muzzle, she realized, it understood what the gun was. It was <em>too clever</em>. Fear rising, Angharad looked back at the bench for anything she could use ¨C and slipping past a nket her eyes fell on the litntern hanging there. The re oilntern.


    (Angharad snatched thentern and tossed it at the satyrian. It exploded in a burst of pale light, bright and blinding, and)


    And ancestors damn her, <em>she </em>was just as blinded in the glimpse as the satyrian. Looking through her own eyes, how could she not be? Thentern wouldn¡¯t help, it wouldn¡¯t ¨C


    ¡°Oh,¡± Angharad Tredegar breathed out, fingers closing around thentern and ripping it off the hook.


    In a glimpse, she saw through her own eyes. But not in a vision, where saw<em> outside</em> of herself as if a third party.


    Her eyes fluttered, the sound of panicked horses and the smell of burning oil reced by salt and the quietpping of the tides, and she saw. Saw how it moved, where it moved, and remembered it perfectly because when she used her contract she was gifted such recall for a day.


    Thentern hit the ground, Katina shouting in dismay, and Angharad did not open her eyes as she aimed the musket and pulled the trigger. The kickback struck her shoulder, hard enough for a grunt to slip past her lips, and she felt the tongue of fire spit out a bullet into the blinding light-


    She opened her eyes, spots still flecking her vision, and with a swell of triumph saw the satyrian <em>stumble</em>.


    Angharad had wanted the knee, but she would settle for the leg she had it. It opened its torso-maw, revealing rows of jagged teeth like curved goat horns, and screamed in hatred as it tried to hop and found the shot lodged in its leg something of a hindrance. Ichor dripped down its fur.


    ¡°Choke on it,¡± Angharad shouted back. ¡°And let us find out how <em>loyal</em> those lupines are, now that you are bleeding.¡±


    Howls filled the woods again, but this time no shiver went down her back. Why would it?


    Of the two limpers in these woods, she was the one moving the fastest.


    --


    It was the better part of an hour before they were out of the woods, far enough out on open ground they were sure they would see an ambushing.


    Only then did the coachman let the horses rest, Angharad stepping down from the bench and not faking in the least when she copsed. The older woman hurried to help her back up, and the Pereduri noted with faint amusement that she was now ¡®mydy¡¯ again instead of ¡®girl¡¯. Well, she would return Mistress Katina¡¯s courtesy in kind. After that race, it would feel petty not to.


    As she sat on the coach¡¯s steeple, drinking from a waterskin, it urred to Angharad that she owed her life to Maryam Khaimov. To the other woman¡¯s curiosity, to be precise. Had the signifier not so thoroughly explored the boundaries of what glimpses could do before beginning the same work with the vision, Angharad would have never thought of the difference. Not in a hundred years, with that fear in her nose and her blood running cold.


    ¡°Another debt for the pile,¡± she murmured.


    One she had little idea how to repay. It seemed to her that even when Maryam imed to be taking payment, it was Angharad who benefitted most from it. She got back in the carriage, Mistress Katina informing her they would press on another quarter-hour at a quiet pace then rest the horses by a stream where they could drink their fill. Angharad returned to sit on the bench outside while the coachman settled her mounts, murmuringforts.


    ¡°A satyrian, this far out?¡± Mistress Katina deplored. ¡°It is the bad luck of a decade, mydy. I¡¯d heard the rumors, but I would never have thought it truly got this bad. Not even out of crownnd yet!¡±


    ¡°The rumors?¡± Angharad asked.


    ¡°Some sort of petty god is said to be making a mess in the hills up north,¡± the coachman said. ¡°Driving lemures out of their usual hunting grounds. It is making the roads unsafe, and the lictors are doing dust to take care of it.¡±


    Oh? That sounded to her like the trail of the Eleventh¡¯s exorcism contract. It had not urred to Angharad that strange rituals and apparitions would ripple out in such a dangerous manner, but thinking back now it should have. Their instructors in Teratology all insisted that nature was as a chain, that no link could be taken out of it without changing the whole.


    ¡°I thought the lictors patrolled the valley often,¡± she said.


    ¡°Thest three years maybe,¡± Mistress Katina shrugged. ¡°Not that it¡¯s helped any ¨C the clever beasts don¡¯t get caught by twenty armored men making a racket. And no one wanders the deep hills, mydy, there are graves there best left undisturbed. Word is some fool stepped on the wrong stone out there and now the whole valley is paying for it.¡±


    Thest few years, Angharad thought. How long had it taken for House Palliades to refurbish the shipyard? It must have been years. Had it been thebor of Evander Palliades¡¯ reign to do so, or begun when his father still reigned? Surely the Lord Rector¡¯s regent would not have done it, for if the shipyard bloomed it might well doom Apollonia Floros¡¯ cause. Still, only three years? That seemed a small time for such a grand achievement as restoring the work of the Antediluvians.


    Perhaps it had begun earlier but more quietly, enough that the patrols hiding the supplies being brought in were not easily noticed.


    ¡°-ike that.¡±


    Angharad blinked.


    ¡°Pardon,¡± she said. ¡°I was lost in thought. What did you say?¡±


    ¡°That I understand why they say Lord Cleon took to you now,¡± Mistress Katina said. ¡°I haven¡¯t met many who could make a shot like that, much less off the back of a rolling coach. You must be a fine huntress.¡±


    ¡°Fortunately, thentern blinded it,¡± Angharad demurred.


    The older woman looked skeptical.


    ¡°As you say, mydy,¡± she finally replied. ¡°Still, you must have been a regr terror before whatever wasted your leg.¡±


    The noblewoman looked away, pressing down on her grimace. She should be pleased that the deception was holding, not aggrieved at how closely it still hewed to the truth. They departed again soon after, at a sedate pace so the horses could gain back their strength. They arrived slightlyte to Chalcia for it, after night fell, and thest stretch was treacherous: the onlyntern they had to rece the one Angharad had thrown was smaller, and not re oil.


    It barely cast light ahead of the horses, leading the wheels to seemingly seek out every hole on that ursed road. Would that Song was truly the Lord Rector¡¯s mistress, for surely she would not tolerate such abominable traveling conditions.


    The innkeeper waiting for them began to chew them out for arriving past dinner, but Mistress Katina whispered a few things and suddenly the man was allmiseration and reverence. Angharad grimaced again, for thest thing she needed was a reputation in these parts. She was to slip in and out with as little notice as possible, a simple disgraced foreign noblewoman from the Isles who would decide she was not fit to be courted by Lord Cleon.


    Not to worry, Angharad thought. When a coach was sent from the Eirenos manor tomorrow, she would depart far ahead of any rumor spreading.

 Chapter 53

    Chapter 53


    Mistakes had been made.


    ¡°A <em>satyrian</em>, Lady Angharad!¡± Cleon Eirenos eximed for the fourth time, eyes bright as stars. ¡°Between that and the robbers, it was an encounter worthy of song.¡±


    She hadn¡¯t even killed the thing, she mutinously thought. So why was half of Chalcia convinced she had saved them from being murdered in the night by a tower-sized satyrian leading an army of lupines? A few of them had <em>cheered </em>her at breakfast, this was the opposite of spycraft! And she knew the source of it all, too. When she came down for porridge Mistress Katina had winked at her and loudly refused to be paid the second half of the travel fee because ¡®saved my life, you did¡¯.


    While Angharad suspected the old woman had been trying to do her a good turn, the rumors spawned by whatever she said the previous night had swiftly got out of hand. While it was true satyrians were clever enough to use tools and open gates, they rarely attacked towns and certainly did not raise massive packs of lemures to do so. Chalcia was safe: it was a walled<em></em>town, with an informal militia guarding it. A fact that Angharad knew for certain because its captain hade to <em>shake her hand</em>.


    Apparently by the second wave of retelling the highwaymen had been decided to be working <em>with </em>the lemures. These vile traitors were, Angharad was informed, plotting to destroy the town with the satyrian¡¯s help so they might loot it afterwards.


    It had been too much to hope for that these wild tales would not reach the Eirenos manor, and sure enough Lord Cleon himself came riding with the carriage having already drunk deep of the nonsense. Like everyone in Chalcia, he seemed convinced that her protests about the significant exaggerations were a mark of humility instead of Angharad stating the bloody facts.


    As the alternative was a slow, infuriating descent into frothing madness Angharad instead grasped for anything at all that might change the nature of her conversation with the lordling riding besides her carriage. The Eirenos estate was not enormous but neither was it small, and barely half an hour out of Chalcia they had passed its boundary stones. The private road to the manor was in much better state than the one she had suffered over thest few days, which sheplimented him on. He demurred in epting her words.


    ¡°When Minister Floros was still regent, she passed a decree that every estate must maintain a road finely enough that the tax collectors could reach the manor within,¡± Lord Cleon told her. ¡°Else a most unpleasant fine will be inflicted on the owning household.¡±


    Clever of Lady Floros, Angharad thought. A ruler telling a noble household how to rule their ownnds was sure to be met with resistance and rebellion, but to coach it in terms of tax collectors being able to reach said household would make any defying such a decree sound like they were avoiding paying their taxes instead or fighting to preserve their privileges.A shame this cleverness had not also been put to work turning the roads of Tratheke Valley into something less deserving of indignation.


    It was a pleasant enough trip to the estate chatting with an eager Lord Cleon, until they were past the outskirts and approached a small cluster of hills. Up a shallow slope, past the rise of thergest hilltop, finally waited the Eirenos manor.


    It had a long, lime-white rectangr fa?ade with a slightly angled red tile roof, and though it was not particrlyrge Angharad thought the row ofrge ss windows on the second story more than made up for it. Twin stairs ¨C with a small passage between them slipping below and to the back the of the manor - went up to a triad of ster arches bordering an open vestibule. There were shuttered windows on either side, and further out on the estate another two buildings. A guesthouse, Angharad decided, and some sort of annex.


    The grounds were more impressive, arge pond flecked with slender reeds out front and a garden in the Asphodelian fashion spreading out in every direction: a mere step away from being wild, loosely paved paths winding through groves of orange and lemon trees as silver-leafed shrubs and long grass grew in clusters. Near the guesthouse, to the side of the manor, was a manmade clearing ringed by trees bearing yet-unlitnterns, long tables already set in anticipation of the reception tomorrow. There was even a stone floor in the center for dancing.


    Lord Cleon rode ahead, to make room for his coach, and Angharad saw through the gap in the drapes that on the front stairs waited a handful of servants in dark green livery. One of them bowed to the lordling and took away his horse after he dismounted, leading it around the back. As the coach began to slow, she watched the young lord be fussed over by a¡­ sister? No, she corrected as the coach closed the distance. The fair-haired beauty embarrassing Cleon Eirenos, despite her youthful looks, wore too fine a dress to be anyone but his mother.


    Angharad had not met many women taller than her since leaving Mn, but Lady Penelope Eirenos came close ¨C and wore that height rather differently. Hair of red gold, wavy and so long it must reach down to the small of her back, crowned an elegant face with seductive lips and vivid green eyes. The hourss figure barely contained by a loose pale blue gown had Angharad struggling not to stare, disbelieving that Lady Penelope was old enough to have a son. She looked barely thirty.


    No wonder Lord Artemon had bought a herd of horses. Angharad might also be tempted to the unwise to put a smile on such a beauty¡¯s face.


    The coach came to a halt, and after the door was opened for her she was weed in a whirl of attention. Lord Cleon introduced the eldest of his servants, though none were named majordomo, and then pulled his mother away from giving orders to introduce her properly. Her beauty grew all the more dangerous from closeness, the slight marks of aging that Angharad now noticed ¨C subtleugh lines and wrinkles ¨C only adding a certain undertone of maturity to the curves and smiled.


    ¡°My mother, Lady Penelope,¡± Cleon introduced.


    ¡°It is a pleasing to finally meet you, Lady Angharad,¡± Lady Penelope smiled.


    ¡°The pleasure is all mine,¡± Angharad assured her.


    She had restraint enough not to seek to kiss her hand, trading curtsies instead. Lady Penelope had arranged refreshments, and while her luggage was brought upstairs she sat for lemon water and small talk. It was inevitable, of course, that questions would be asked about the run-in with the lemures and the poachers. Angharad did her best to dispel the rumors, with some degree of sess.


    ¡°It is still quite the feat to drive off a band of poachers then escape a satyrian and his hunting pack,¡± Lady Penelope said.


    Her gown wasn¡¯t even all that revealing, Angharad reminded herself. It mere drew the eye to the slim waist and the contrasting curves around it.


    ¡°If Mistress Katina had not scared off the third poacher, I expect it would have gone quite differently,¡± she replied. ¡°If we had still been skirmishing when the satyrian arrived¡­¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure you would have found a way,¡± Lord Cleon firmly said. ¡°Your heroics made a strong impression on the people of Chalcia.¡±


    He shot a look at his mother after the words, the moment that passed between them hard for her to decipher. Lady Penelope, after the refreshments were well emptied, suggested that Angharad be given a tour of the manor¡¯s surroundings. She epted, naturally. Much of what she hade here to aplish must be through talk with Cleon Eirenos, and a walk was fine enough setting for that.


    Lord Cleon was eager to show her the grounds, though he took care that his enthusiasm would not go beyond what her limp allowed. He kept an eye on her stride, a hawk for signs of pain or exhaustion, and Angharad could not quite decide whether she was irritated or impressed. Regardless, it was gant.


    Cleon was not the kind of man she would consider handsome. His shorter stature and wisps of a mustache did not help. Yet he seemed to her a lord of respectable character and his conversation was engaging as he guided her through the garden around the manor, though she glimpsed through his affected calm the asional burst of nerves.


    She suspected he had rehearsed some topics, too, given the almost literary turns of phrase he asionally used.


    After an hour, in deference to her tiredness he suggested they retire to the manor for a time so they she might rest before he took her to hunt quail in the nearby woods. There had, to her mild frustration, been little opportunity for her to ask about what she hade to investigate. Patience, she reminder herself. Lord Cleon was younger than her, by a year, but he was no fool. She must not be suspicious in her questioning.


    A room had been prepared for her on the highest story of the house, along with Lord Cleon¡¯s own and that of Lady Penelope, and Angharad¡¯s affairs had already been brought up. She napped for an hour, as offered, and had a small midday meal with the Eirenos.


    Lord Cleon had dressed for the woods and ate carefully, constantly looking her way as if afraid that some small breach of etiquette would sour her on him, while Lady Penelope eyed the scene with open amusement. The beautynguorously ate orange slices, the lighte through the window catching her mane of hair and wreathing her in gold. Her pale blue gown, cut in that Asphodelian way that evoked ancient chitons, should have been loose but was too filled by a splendid figure for it to be so.


    It was an effort not to stare at those elegant fingers as she ate her meal, leaving most of the conversation to Lord Cleon as she observed them.


    They went hunting afterwards, she in her traveling clothes and he attired like a proper woodsman. Angharad was no great huntress, but she knew how to use a fowler and Lord Cleon assured her the quails in the nearby woods made for easy hunting. The manor raised some of them in captivity before releasing them, to weaken the breed. The young lord offered to carry her gun, but she tucked it under her arm instead.


    Within the turn of the hour he¡¯d twice startled a quail into flight and snapped a shot that downed it, while her own struggles were¡­ mixed. She caught a wing, once, but honestypelled her to admit it had been pure chance. She¡¯d simply never had to line up a shot so quickly, or on so small a target.


    Angharad was not used to being unskilled and must not have hidden her frustration as well as she thought.


    ¡°New to fowlers, I take it?¡± Lord Cleon said.


    ¡°My father was a fine huntsman, but I never took a deep interest,¡± she admitted.


    Mother had dabbled, but she¡¯d always said that if she was to head out and kill an animal it might as well be a whale so the profit would be greater than a pot of stew.


    ¡°I imagine the sword took up much of your time,¡± he said.


    Angharad shot him a surprised look. She had never spoken of being a mirror-dancer in Tratheke society.


    ¡°I asked a well-travelled cousin about your silver marks,¡± Lord Cleon admitted. ¡°I apologize if you feel it untoward of me.¡±


    ¡°It is nothing hidden, the stripes are meant to be seen,¡± Angharad assured him. ¡°It is only¡­¡±


    She hesitated, looking for a sentence that would be neither a lie not too revealing a truth.


    ¡°I understand,¡± he grimaced. ¡°The cane took the ce of the sword.¡±


    ¡°Something like that,¡± Angharad precisely replied.


    ¡°In the interests of honesty,¡± Lord Cleon said, ¡°I followed advice and also asked one of the royal sniffers as to whether or now a god endowed you with contract. I was informed that you were, though I know nothing more of the matter.¡±


    She gritted her teeth, but curtly nodded. It was not an unreasonable precaution when inviting a foreign noble into your home. Indeed, it was to his honor that he would so straightforwardly tell her of it.


    ¡°Such knowledge can be asked for?¡± she said, surprised.


    ¡°If you ask coin in hand,¡± he said.


    Angharad felt a silver of contempt. Not for Lord Cleon but the contractor taking bribes for secrets even when in the service of the Lord Rector of Asphodel. Sniffers were rare and valuable enough even the lesser of their kind would be able to take such liberties, which spoke well of Song. She was anything but the least of such contracts, yet held discretion as a virtue. Almost to a fault.


    ¡°I am contracted myself,¡± Lord Cleon continued. ¡°It is a strange thing, to hold a god so close.¡±


    Angharad raised an eyebrow. Not how she would have described it, but then she feared the Fisher as much as she respected his power. Closeness was not something she sought from that old monster.


    ¡°How so?¡±


    ¡°They see our weaknesses,¡± he said, ¡°but in such a tight embrace it is inevitable we might glimpse theirs as well.¡±


    The Fisher, Angharad thought, was thest entity she would associate with weakness. It abhorred the concept, and even as a diminished prisoner the great spirit remained a fearsome thing.


    ¡°I prefer to keep mine at arm¡¯s length,¡± Angharad admitted. ¡°We do not often see eye to eye.¡±


    ¡°I can sympathize,¡± Lord Cleon nodded. ¡°Mine grew¡­ odd, as time passed. Harsher, even as the granted boon thinned. I might not make the same choice now I did then.¡±


    ¡°Oh, mine thins not at all,¡± Angharad murmured. ¡°Sometimes I worry of that.¡±


    They left it at that, neither inclined to speak more in depth of their contract. Angharad knew, of course, of his. Song had skimmed his contract and told her of it. She felt guilt at that, but a shallow sort. He, too, had asked a sniffer about her. Angharad¡¯s was simply the finer of the two.


    They pushed deeper into the woods, Lord Cleon taking the time to show her how to more quickly snap a shot, and as the topic was on hunting she guided the river where she needed it to flow. First as to the many hunting grounds to which the Eirenos had rights, and his own experience with them. Then to what she wanted to know.


    ¡°I am told that the lictors patrol the valley in depth, now that there has been some trouble in the hills,¡± Angharad innocently said. ¡°Do they not scare off the game when you take the field?¡±


    He hummed, wiggling his hand.


    ¡°Most of the patrol routes have been the same since my father¡¯s youth,¡± Cleon told her. ¡°They do not change, and nonee anywhere close to our hunting grounds. But there <em>have</em> been a few changes in thest few years, it is true.¡±


    He frowned.


    ¡°The Lord Rector ¨C it only began after Evander Palliades took the throne ¨C ims the new expeditions are to drive back lemures, but before that mischief began in the hills there was no true need for that,¡± he said. ¡°There has long been rumors that arms are being smuggled into Tratheke, so I have wondered if it might not be an attempt to catch the smugglers.¡±


    ¡°Smuggling from where?¡± Angharad said, as if disbelieving.


    ¡°The western hills, near the mountains,¡± he said. ¡°That is where they stomp around most. It¡¯s not done wonders for stag hunts in that slice ofnd, but it was always better out east anyhow. No great loss, though it sometimes has me thinking of selling our lodge out there.¡±


    She considered, for a moment, telling him of the ckpowder and arms she had found in the wrecked carriage where the poachers had waited. Yet, weighing the matter, it seemed like there was little to learn by telling him. More importantly, it might be she had narrowed down where the entrance to the shipyards might be hidden: out in the western hills, near the mountains.


    Not exactly a small stretch ofnd, but knowing that Eirenos lodge there was close enough to the patrols for hunting to be affected should help narrow it down.


    Having learned as much without need for true skullduggery pleased her greatly, lifting her mood on the way back to the manor visibly enough Lord Cleon almostmented on it. He thought better, though, and instead began to tell her of the feast he was to throw the following evening.


    ¡°It will be mostly families from our part of Tratheke Valley,¡± Cleon said. ¡°The Pisenor, the Saon and the Iphine foremost among them. From further out there will be only Lord Arkol, who did business with my father, and Lord Gule who was kind enough to ept my invitation.¡±


    Angharad blinked in genuine surprise.


    ¡°The ambassador from Mn?¡± she checked.


    Cleon seriously nodded.


    ¡°He has been a benefactor and something of a mentor, thesest few years,¡± the young lord said. ¡°I am pleased he was able to spare the time, given his duties.¡±


    ¡°Ah,¡± Angharad said. ¡°That shipyard business, yes?¡±


    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the vition.


    Lord Cleon inclined his head.


    ¡°What the Kingdom of Mn wants with skimmers I know not, given theiruded ironwood, but I suppose everyone wants a piece of the Lord Rector¡¯s pie these days.¡±


    He paused.


    ¡°Good on him,¡± the younger man feelingly said. ¡°Minister Floros can y the paragon all she likes, the lords of the valley know better.¡±


    Angharad¡¯s brow rose.


    ¡°I must admit I have heard little butpliments of Apollonia Floros¡¯ character,¡± she said.


    Even the Lord Rector seemed to respect her, ording to Song, and they were sworn enemies.


    ¡°Oh, I¡¯m sure she¡¯d rather die than dirty even the least of her handkerchiefs,¡± Lord Cleon sardonically said. ¡°Honorable to a fault, Apollonia Floros. So much that the very day the regency ended she withdrew all her troops from the capital and dismissed all her vassals and allies from positions of power.¡±


    Angharad¡¯s eyes narrowed. An honorable act, yes, yet¡­


    ¡°How many such appointments were there?¡±


    Honor could be a knife, a daughter of Peredur well knew. Cleon grinned unpleasantly.


    ¡°Near every key post in the capital and valley,¡± he replied, and she winced. ¡°And she had been resisting building back the lictors for years, volunteering her own men to patrol instead to raise the crown¡¯s ie. So when she pulled everyone out¡­¡±


    ¡°Chaos,¡± Angharad quietly said.


    As if most the officers on a ship died overnight, leaving it to drift aimless and angry.


    ¡°The Lord Rector spent the first year of his reign struggling not to drown in that mess,¡± Cleon said. ¡°And when the man proved his mettle, kept his head above the water, what was said?¡±


    He wrinkled his nose in disgust.


    ¡°Praises for Minister Floros, at having taught him so well,¡± he scorned. ¡°As if she had not just set a fire and watched with her hands in herp as he fought to put it out.¡±


    ¡°Such disorder must not have endeared her to the valley lords,¡± Angharad ventured.


    ¡°It is good of you to think so,¡± Lord Cleon coldlyughed. ¡°But you think too well of my fellows. Sleeping in a viper pit for too long has a way of making one grow scales. Apollonia Floros was firm and just and most importantly of all she ruthlessly ground the Trade Assembly beneath her boot.¡±


    ¡°While the Lord Rector has pursued a more¡­ measured policy,¡± she delicately said.


    Meaning he was not powerful enough to grind anyone under his boots and needed the Assembly¡¯s support against the Council of Ministers besides. Lord Cleon nodded.


    ¡°I understand that in Mn honor is greatly prized,¡± he delicately said, ¡°but most of my fellow lords prefer profit to principle. Even those with fine reputations. I would not have-¡±


    And suddenly he hesitated.


    ¡°Is something wrong?¡± she asked.


    He coughed.


    ¡°I understand that Lord Menander is something of a patron of yours,¡± Cleon said.


    Angharad cocked her head to the side.


    ¡°While we are acquainted, and it was arranged for him to introduce me into Tratheke society, I do not consider him close to me,¡± she said. ¡°We are not overly familiar.¡±


    He searched her face for a moment, then nodded sharply.


    ¡°Good,¡± he muttered, then his voice firmed. ¡°Good. Menander Drakos likes to act like the court¡¯s kind grandfather, a man who takes no sides, but he is as ruthless as the rest of them.¡±


    His lips thinned.


    ¡°My father, you might have heard, once tried to begin rearing horses.¡±


    ¡°I had,¡± Angharad cautiously said.


    ¡°Then you will also have heard it was a fool¡¯s venture that nearly bankrupted our house,¡± Cleon said. ¡°Lord Menander was the one who helped him obtain the horses, negotiating on his behalf, so he knew exactly how deep the debt ran and what our means were.¡±


    The young lord clenched his teeth.


    ¡°And when the interest payments began to pile up, he slid in with his snake¡¯s offer,¡± Cleon said. ¡°There could be no loan, but oh he did love antiquities. And House Eirenos could buy them back when they had the means, he swore.¡±


    Angharad¡¯s eyes sharpened. That sounded exactly like what Song had tasked her with finding out.


    ¡°He bought house treasures,¡± she said.


    ¡°Gobbled them up like a pig at the trough,¡± Cleon bit out. ¡°Always hungry for more. My family was granted treasures by the Lissenos, Lady Angharad, over our century of service to that line. Now they serve as adornments in his many manors instead. The man bought up everything he could, from paintings to papers.¡±


    ¡°He bought the whole collection?¡± Angharad asked.


    The young man snorted.


    ¡°We¡¯ve some correspondence in the annex safe still, I think, along with some statues,¡± he said. ¡°Only dregs remain.¡±


    The annex, was it? That was where she must look for what Song wanted. <em>Tomorrow</em>, Angharad thought, <em>during the reception.</em> It should not be difficult to feign exhaustion and sneak off. It could also be true, she reflected, that the desired information might now be in the hands of Menander Drakos. Bought years ago. In truth that might be best for the Thirteenth. Lord Menander knew of the Watch investigation and might well ept a request from Song.


    ¡°You have righted your house,¡± Angharad said. ¡°Can you not buy them back as he promised?¡±


    ¡°He has been putting me off,¡± Lord Cleon darkly replied. ¡°I thought to take this to the Lord Rector, but I was advised otherwise by Lord Gule. There are other recourses, he showed me, which would not bring shame to my father¡¯s name.¡±


    Sensible. Lord Gule was induna by birth, he would understand better than most the necessity of maintaining one¡¯s name.


    ¡°But let¡¯s leave that grim talk behind,¡± he said. ¡°Come, let us find out if you can bag a quail on the way back.¡±


    s, though many a tree branch suffered her wrath the birds all neatly escaped.


    --


    After a small evening meal and drinks in the garden, Lord Cleon retired for the night.


    He apologized twice for it, but he was to rise early on the morrow and could not afford to be exhausted when receiving so many noble guests. Angharad waved all apologies away, perfectly understanding the necessity, though she requested a pot of tea so she might enjoy the quiet of the darkened garden for a span before retiring to her own rooms.


    It was a little embarrassing how eager he was to amodate her.


    Night on Asphodel was different, so far from Tratheke. It felt like a truend again, with the distant pale stars and wind in her hair. The only lights still left on were a fewmps inside the manor, mostly around the kitchen, and strangely enough candles at the upper window of what Angharad believed to be some sort of annex. Hopefully it was not lit every night, else it would make sneaking there on the morrow significantly more difficult.


    She had mostly finished her tea and it was beginning to runte when a maid returned to her table. Not, as Angharad had expected, to take away the pot and make inquiries as to bedding. She was bringing an invitation.


    ¡°Lady Penelope would speak with you in her parlor, if you are not too tired,¡± the girl said.


    Far be it from her to deny the whim of such a beauty. Besides, Angharad suspected she knew what this was about. After having observed them over the day, Lady Penelope was now to either approve or disapprove of her as a prospect for her son. Disapprove, most likely, but that was only sensible. Angharad would not have wanted to wed herself, in their shoes.


    A valet took her, leading her across the grass with antern until they reached the dark silhouette of the building.


    Angharad had half-guessed the inside of the annex to be little more than a warehouse, but she had been wrong. There were wooden floors and hung tapestries, a singlentern lit and revealing shelves of dusty curios. Wrapped paintings were propped up against walls, to safeguard from vermin and the elements. The floors here were swept, but not well. This main room was too small to be the whole of it, and there were side doors hinting at the space being partitioned, but that was not where she was headed.


    At the back of the room narrow stairs went up to the second story, where waited the candles she had glimpsed.


    She sighed at the thought of more stairs to suffer, but limped onwards. The thick, iron-barded door at the end of the stairs was open. Through it, the noblewoman found a room that was halfway between the promised parlor and a gallery.


    Half the den was crammed full of statues, bronze and stone, that went from simple busts to arge marble piece depicting a boy-child riding a swan. A few shelves of ancient, carefully tended books were tucked away against the wall while below them ss cases with iron honebing disyed empty wombs in the trembling candlelight. The precious pieces once filling them must all have been bought.


    There was a heavy steel safe with two different locks, resting in a corner, and Angharad took note of it. Her short lesson on lockpicking would be of no use here, which meant she must find the keys.


    The other half of the room was ady¡¯s parlor, wrested from the gallery. A wooden writing desk had been brought up and disyed some correspondence, but the heart of it all was a lushly carpeted salon with two elegant love seats nking an oval low table. A small dressing table with a mirror also bore a handful of books, and to the sidey an elegant little loom which did not seem to have been used in quite some time.


    Lady Penelope sat on a love seat, a cup of wine in hand, and Angharad swallowed at the sight: she wore only a pale embroidered nightgown, baring shoulders and drawing the eye to the generous swell of her breasts. A simple leather cord hung as a ne, bearing two small iron pieces tucked away in her cleavage. Keys, Angharad thought. She let her eyes linger there an additional half-second to make certain that was truly what they were.


    Well, that was <em>one</em> of the reasons.


    ¡°Lady Angharad,¡± thedy of the house smiled, resting her elbow on the arm of the seat. ¡°I am pleased you could join me. Do sit.¡±


    Angharad did, and the older woman poured her a cup of wine before leaning over to press it into her hand. She dutifully took a sip, then almost choked.


    ¡°Valley wine,¡± Lady Penelope slyly smiled. ¡°Rarely great vintages, but surprisingly strong.¡±


    ¡°So I see,¡± Angharad said, then coughed into her fist.


    Not something to drink too quickly.


    ¡°An evening conversation like this,¡± the fair-haired beauty said, ¡°is how I should make inquiries into your background, Lady Angharad.¡±


    The Pereduri sipped again at her cup, more shallowly this time.


    ¡°Implying you will not,¡± she finally said.


    ¡°There would be no point,¡± Lady Penelope said, ¡°when you are about as interested in my son as you are in statuary.¡±


    She hid her surprise.


    ¡°Lord Cleon is a skilled huntsman and a fine conversationalist,¡± Angharad mildly said.


    ¡°He also has a few years of growing left to do before inheriting the best his father¡¯s looks,¡± Lady Penelope said, then paused. ¡°You also asionally look at me as if intending to <em>devour.</em>¡±


    Angharad flushed in mortification, straightening on the loveseat.


    ¡°I meant no offense, mydy,¡± she said. ¡°I only-¡±


    The tall beauty waved her words away.


    ¡°It¡¯s quite ttering, really,¡± Lady Penelope said. ¡°And when I told our maid Elena to dip her neckline when serving you at midday you did not look, so you do not appear to be a phnderer.¡±


    Angharad might have taken that as apliment, had she at all recalled such a thing. She did not, but then that meal had been a bncing act of listening to Lord Cleon and not staring at his lovely mother¡¯s graceful fingers.


    ¡°I do not consider myself one,¡± Angharad choked out.


    Lady Penelope arched an amused brow. It was unfairly seductive on her.


    ¡°Neither does it appear you paid Katina to make a stir on your behalf, which dispels my first concern about you,¡± thedy said. ¡°Given your character and obvious good breeding, you did note here to take advantage of my son being taken with you.¡±


    Her eyes narrowed.


    ¡°Had I seen you string him along today, we would be having a very different conversation.¡±


    Angharad silently nodded. It was almost a shame that Lady Penelope¡¯s expression softened after that. The tall older woman looking at her so imperiously had¡­ not been unpleasant.


    ¡°I imagine turning away your first friendly face at court would have been difficult, even suspecting his intentions,¡± Lady Penelope said, not unkindly. ¡°You must understand, however, that no matter sympathetic I am to your position I cannot leave him with even the illusion that pursuing you is possible.¡±


    ¡°It would be unkind to him,¡± Angharad quietly agreed.


    Thedy drank deep of her cup, then set it down.


    ¡°Good,¡± the older woman said. ¡°Good.¡±


    She sighed.


    ¡°I failed him, after my husband died,¡± Lady Penelope said. ¡°Watched as he broke his own heart selling Lord Menander those old papers the man is so obsessed with. I will not see him so wounded again.¡±


    ¡°Lord Menander has an interest in papers?¡± Angharad said with forced casualness. ¡°From Lord Cleon¡¯s depiction of the tale, I thought him more concerned with artifacts.¡±


    ¡°Oh, he always put on a good show about wanting the jewels and the rings,¡± Lady Penelope snorted. ¡°But I could tell what it was he was really after ¨C papers from the days of the Lissenos, oldnd deeds and maps. He paid a fortune for them.¡±


    Now why, Angharad thought, would Menander Drakos be so interested in these? Enough to pay good coin for them, anyhow. Something was afoot.


    ¡°Drink,¡± Lady Penelope ordered her.


    Angharad drank.


    ¡°I will be telling Cleon,¡± she said, ¡°that after having made inquiries into your background, while I do not find you personally unfit there is unpleasantness to your family name that makes you unsuitable.¡±


    She paused.


    ¡°That will wait until you have left, the day after tomorrow. By all means you should enjoy your stay here, Lady Angharad, but do not ept an invitation to the manor again. Keep a respectable distance.¡±


    The Pereduri silently nodded, for these were fine enough terms. In truth this might be the best way to cleanly end her ties to Lord Cleon, though for the kindness he had offered her she would attempt to find a way to repay him.


    ¡°I will take my leave, then,¡± Angharad said. ¡°Thank you for your forbearance, Lady Eirenos.¡±


    ¡°Oh, finish your drink,¡± Lady Penelope sighed. ¡°Or am I such terriblepany you would prefer risking the servants talk when you emerge after a mere minute or two? I <em>am</em> supposed to be interrogating you.¡±


    ¡°I would never dare offer you such slight, mydy,¡± Angharad replied, inclining her head.


    She had not drunk enough to excuse how flirtatious that had sounded. Yet instead of an arched brow, Angharad was graced with a smirk.


    ¡°I thought not,¡± Lady Penelope said.


    Angharad was not one to refuse a beautiful woman curious about her, so she soon found herself skimming over the top of how she had been raised in Peredur ¨C Lady Penelopeplimenting the stripes when shown, and trailing a finger to see how the tattoo felt to the touch ¨C as well a painting a picture of the cities she had visited on the path that eventually led her to Asphodel.


    It was difficult for Angharad to consider herself well travelled, given whom her mother had been, but her tales about the ports on the way to Sacromonte garnered eager interest for Lady Penelope. The older woman seemed almost wistful when the City was mentioned, mentioning her parents had once intended to take her there for a span but that a sickness of her mother¡¯s had prevented the journey.


    When Angharad next eyed the candle, she realized that at least half an hour had passed and she was well into her second cup of wine. Hardly even tipsy, but there was a certain warmth to her cheeks that came in part from the drink.


    ¡°Never, truly?¡± she asked.


    Lady Penelope sighed, leaning on her love seat and looking like a painter¡¯s finest rendition of beauty of lush beauty.


    ¡°There was no true cause for me to leave Asphodel as a girl,¡± she said, ¡°and I married Artemon at seventeen. I was pregnant within the year, and after that the troubles put an end to any notion of traveling abroad."


    "You could now, surely,¡± Angharad suggested. ¡°Sacromonte is not so far by ship, and though it is a fading kind of splendor it is still a splendid city.¡±


    Not that Tristan would agree. The man took a queer pride in hating the city of his birth more than most foreigners did.


    ¡°When my son is wed, perhaps,¡± Lady Penelope said. ¡°I must confess that staying out here in the valley sometimes feels¡­ confining.¡±


    ¡°I felt the same in Peredur,¡± Angharad said. ¡°It was one of the reasons I so embraced the dueling circuit.¡±


    Penelope chuckled, sliding a finger along the rim of her cup.


    ¡°You must think me hopelessly provincial,¡± she said. ¡°Wed young and then buried in the country.¡±


    ¡°I was to be a country peer myself,¡± Angharad dismissed. ¡°How could I look down on such a life?¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± Lady Penelope idly said, ¡°I did live a little, before marrying.¡±


    Angharad swallowed.


    ¡°Oh?¡±


    ¡°There are risks to dallying with a boy before one weds, but with a girl¡­¡± she trailed off. ¡°Well, I learned a thing or two before being swept off my feet.¡±


    An electric tingle went up her spine.


    ¡°Enjoyable learning, one hopes?¡± Angharad lightly said.


    ¡°Very,¡± Lady Penelope smirked, a sight that had her stomach clenching with want. ¡°And I am not so old a widow, Angharad, that I have never thought of taking a lover.¡±


    ¡°It would be a genuine shame,¡± she replied, ¡°if you did not.¡±


    ¡°The issue has always been one of timing and discretion,¡± thedy continued, pushing herself up to rest her elbow on the side of the seat.


    It did not feel like a coincidence that this ttering pushed up the frame of her nightgown.


    ¡°I will be leaving the day after tomorrow,¡± Angharad said. ¡°Never to return.¡±


    Lady Penelope cocked her head to the side.


    ¡°So you are,¡± she replied.


    She said nothing more.


    It was madness, Angharad thought. Thoroughly unwise. But then she watched Penelope Eirenos sitting on that loveseat in that pale nightgown clinging to her curves, looking like a present in need of unwrapping, and madness struck her as the only reasonable course.


    The moment the decision was made she shed thest of the blushes, instead smirking back at Lady Penelope. This, she knew how to do.


    ¡°It would be a shame,¡± she said, rising with her cane. ¡°To end your education at a mere thing or two.¡±


    She went around the table, green and heavy-lidded eyes following her as she did, before sliding next to her on the love seat. The cane was discarded, ignored, and even as Penelope¡¯s hands went to feel up her arm and shoulder she leaned over the other woman. Flushed cheeks and bitable lips, all looking up at her with only the thinnest veneer of calm.


    Angharad did exactly what she had been used of wanting: she devoured Lady Penelope.


    A surprised moan as she deepened the kiss, hands attempting to draw her in until she withdrew and dipped to nip at Penelope¡¯s neck ¨C she felt her shiver, kissing her way down to the shoulder as another hand trailed down the side of the nightgown until she found the bare skin of her legs.


    ¡°Angharad,¡± she gasped as her neck was nipped again, just enough it would not leave marks. ¡°I-¡±


    She silenced Lady Penelope with another kiss, heated enough their teeth almost clicked, and while the older woman pawed at her shoulders Angharad moved to slide a knee between her legs. Not yet slid all the way up, taking her time. She made a mess of the older woman, pulling down the nightgown to paw at those firm and rounded curves, to thumb her nipples and watch her squirm. Angharad¡¯s hands ran up her bare legs under the nightdress, finding that the peach of her ass was exactly as full as the gowns had hinted ¨C she almost groaned, the need to pull that dress off her an almost physical thing.


    But she forced herself to patience, to taking her time as Penelope moaned and flushed red and nearly tore the strings of Angharad¡¯s traveling dress getting her out of it. The widow¡¯s eyes burned at the sight of her own figure finally bared, groping for her breasts, but Angharad caught those wrists and pressed them above her head even though she ached for attention.


    Instead she knelt before Penelope, pulling the nightgown¡¯s hem up to her waist and opening those long, smooth legs. She pressed a kiss against her thigh, then another few further and further up until the gorgeous widow¡¯s hand in her hair was trying to drag her all the way between her legs. She shot up an amused look, hands keeping those thighs open and in ce.


    ¡°Do pay attention,¡± Angharad said. ¡°After I¡¯ve shown you a new trick, I<em> will</em> be expecting a demonstration.¡±


    Lady Penelope nodded, biting her lip, and Angharad leaned forward.


    It was for the best the window was closed, for little of what followed was quiet.


    --


    The warmth of another body pressed close against hers was satisfying, something she had missed without knowing it.


    All the more when Angharad¡¯s gaze could stray down the curve of Penelope¡¯s slender neck to her bare body, the nket they had taken to sharing when dozing off hardly covering a thing. Her lover¡¯s breath was deep, steady. In the throes of sleep. Much as she would prefer to simply enjoy the other woman¡¯s embrace, she had a duty.


    So Angharad closed her eyes and breathed in.


    First she slowly, gently reached for the leather ne bearing the keys. She caught the iron pieces and held them as she lifted the ne off Penelope¡¯s neck, but quickly realized there would be no passing it through those beautiful gold-red curls without waking her. So instead she carefully slipped out, bit by bit as not to wake Penelope, and padded over to the writing desk. There, standing on wobbly legs, she found a letter opener and returned to the love seat.


    She cut the rope and lifted the ne, waiting to see if Penelope would rise from slumber. She did not.


    The letter opener returned to the desk, where she had found it, and move to the safe. The keys were small, small enough that she could hope the locks were notrge either and so would not be noisy. That proved true of the first she opened, a barely audible click, but the second felt stronger against her grip when she turned.


    Looking back at the sleeping Penelope, who the fading candlelight of thest candlespped at hungrily ¨C unless that was Angharad¡¯s own gaze, which while sated still craved more. There was a snippet of guilt, but more of worry.


    She covered the second lock as best she could with her palm to muffle the noise and turned the key.


    It felt like a cacophony, so loud as to be deafening, but it opened. Another worried look back showed that Penelope had stirred but did not seem awake. Angharad cracked open the safe¡¯s door, finding it mostly empty save for two things. One was a pouch of jewels, which she left untouched. The other was a small pile of letters, each bearing the ancient seal of House Lissenos in the corner.


    These she brought out in the candlelight, gaze skimming them one after another.


    She had in her hands correspondence between Lord Rector Hector and his mistress ¡®C. E.¡¯, which was lovely and rather poetic but likely not what Song had wanted. Still, it must have some importance for it to be kept in the safe instead of on the bookshelf. Was ¡®E.¡¯ for Eirenos? Not for her to decide, Angharad mused, and simply looked through all the letters before putting them back.


    Out of thoroughness she closed the steel door, and that must have been one noise too many.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Penelope Eirenos coldly asked.


    She did not turn to look at the expression on her lover¡¯s face, which was sure to be a harsh thing.


    Instead she released her contract.


    --


    Angharad Tredegar opened her eyes and breathed out.


    She slid out of Lady Penelope¡¯s embrace, leaving her to her slumber, and dressed before slipping out of the parlor. She fancied she felt the other woman¡¯s sleepy gaze on her back as she left, retiring to her room in the manor. Not that Angharad would be able to sleep quite yet.


    Her recall was only impable for a day after the vision. She would need to write down everything she had read before it faded, if she was to get Song the information she had wanted.

 Chapter 54

    Chapter 54


    Angharad rose shortly after dawn, washed and came down to break her fast with the Eirenos.


    Her back ached, as much fromst night¡¯s exertions as the fact that she¡¯d burned an entire candle tranting the secret correspondence. It had gone into the empty pages of the cyphered journal she¡¯d obtained from the carriage, secrets added to secrets in a turn that stirred an ember of exhausted amusement. It was better than asking the servants for fresh paper in the middle of the night, anyway.


    The spread waiting for her downstairs was impressive. Figs and apricots, bread and cheese and cold meats from the previous night¡¯s dinner. There were evenyered honey-and-nut pastries, still warm from the oven and deliciously juicy in the mouth. Between the food and a pot of mint tea, Angharad found herself presented with what should have been a delicious feast. She was, however, hardly able to savor it.


    ¡°You¡¯ve a bit of honey on your lip, dear,¡± Lady Penelope innocently smiled, leaning across the table to wipe the corner of Angharad¡¯s mouth with her thumb.


    Body warring with the contrary impulses to both nip at the thumb teasingly and freeze like a scared rabbit, Angharadpromised and choked on thest of her pastry instead. She coughed into her fist and backed away, Lady Penelope¡¯s lips quirking even higher at the sight as she withdrew that artful hand.


    ¡°<em>Mother</em>,¡± Cleon reproached. ¡°She can dab her lips without your help.¡±


    But he was smiling, quietly pleased. He must be taking the physical closeness as approval for a courtship, rather than seeing a spirit of temptation trying to drive Angharad wild at a breakfast table. It was all made all the more unfair by the fact that the older beauty had made it clear the previous evening that there would be no repeat of the tryst, meaning that Lady Penelope was winding her up with no intention of offering restitution for it.


    Angharad forced herself to set aside all thoughts of trying to convince her otherwise, as dallyingst night had been unwise enough already. Not that Penelope made it easy, constantly leaning forward in that ttering loose sleeping robe and once stretching as so enticing an angle that Angharad almost dropped her fork. Between the teasing, the little terms of endearment and the touching it was mortified and thoroughly flustered that Angharad retired to her room.


    She twice doused her face in water, told herself in the mirror that no amount of full curves and limberness should so bedevil her, and returned downstairs only whenposed.Mercifully, Lady Penelope had retired. Cleon offered to show her to the eastern grounds of the estate, which he exined contained the family mausoleum and further out a small shrine to the spirit known as the Odyssean. She immediately agreed, eager to flee the manor and its teasing mistress.


    It was a pleasant enough walk, Asphodelian mornings bing the country estate. The light made the near-wild woods and paths enchanting, birds singing as they passed, and on their way to the mausoleum Cleon was just as careful of the pace as he had been the previous day. He really was quite caring, Angharad thought, which made her feel all the more guilty about having grabbed his beautiful mother by the hair and-


    She coughed into her fist.


    ¡°It is not so old as it looks,¡± Cleon was telling her, gesturing at the square, pired tomb of fine stone. ¡°Built in my great-grandfather¡¯s day, after the old one fell into disrepair.¡±


    It was not arge mausoleum, Angharad saw, but it was finely made in pale gray stone and elegant in structure. The gates were reinforced with copper gone slightly green, but the grounds were well taken care of. Thick with Asphodelian crowns, those pale flowers Maryam was so curious about.


    ¡°The bodies had to be exhumed?¡± she asked.


    He shook his head.


    ¡°We do not keep to the Oar but to the Sickle,¡± he said. ¡°Eirenos burn their dead, lest the flesh be devoured by an ancient god of the earth.¡±


    ¡°The Oar,¡± Angharad slowly said, ¡°being a reference to the spirit known as the Sculler?¡±


    The most powerful carrion spirit of the isle, said to boast few temples but to keep a shrine and priests in every graveyard. Along with Oduromai and the Awn-Dam, it was one of the most broadly worshipped spirits. Unlike the arrogant frauds of Tianxia and the Someshwar the spirit only imed to ferry souls to the Circle Perpetual, not guide reincarnation. Angharad thus found it more tolerable than most of its kind. Not so her host.


    ¡°It is the favored death god of the age,¡± Cleon sourly acknowledged. ¡°He who ferries souls to the Circle. My line, however, can be traced back to the days of the Archeleans. We keep to older ways, though they are no longer spoken of in politepany.¡±


    He cleared his throat.


    ¡°There were gods on thisnd before the Lierganen came, and though they are buried so deep as to have be nameless they yet remain,¡± he told her. ¡°The day wille when the One Who Bears The Sickle wakes, and all the bodies given to the earth of Asphodel will be cut up and devoured whole.¡±


    ¡°A grim patron,¡± Angharad noted.


    ¡°Death is not meant to be pretty,¡± Cleon shrugged.


    True enough, she conceded.


    The pair had brought a waterskin and walked under enough fruit trees to take a few oranges, so they sat on the mausoleum steps to eat and drink before resuming the walk towards the shrine. Angharad inquired about these purported ancient roots of the Eirenos, learning that a distant ancestor had been a war captain under one of the first Archeleans to rise to throne, and found herself quite engaged with the tale when interruption reached them.


    One of the manor servants arrived, flushed from hurrying to them, and after a bow and apologies was urged to speak by Lord Cleon.


    ¡°Word hase from Chalcia, my lord,¡± he said. ¡°The first guest has arrived in town, and after a meal there intends toe to the manor.¡±


    ¡°Already?¡± Cleon frowned. ¡°What time is it, Georgios?¡±


    The man produced a small silver watch.


    ¡°Shortly before eleven, my lord.¡±


    ¡°Three hours early,¡± he grunted. ¡°Unseemly.¡±


    His expression darkened, as if another thought urred, but he said nothing. The young lord apologized, telling Angharad they would have to cut their walk short and head back to the manor, but she waved the words away.


    ¡°Duty needs no apology,¡± she told him.


    He seemed quite pleased with her at that, and even dark-haired Georgios looked approving until he noticed her noticing him and wiped the expression off his face. Ancestors, everypliment paid to her by this household burned shamefully. If any of them knew of the night she had spent with thedy of the house, they would be chasing her off with pitchforks instead of smiling so.


    Tonight, she firmly decided, she would try to find Lord Cleon a woman to his tastes. He¡¯d forcefully avoided looking at certain parts of her well enough for Angharad to have a decent idea of his tastes when it came to the physical, and she had suspicions as to his preferences in character. He was not a bad prospect at all for a husband, and it should not be too hard to find him someone suitable.


    That this would go some way in aying her guilt at having fucked his mother was not coincidental, but it <em>was</em> fortunate.


    The servant made transparent excuses to let them return alone, and by the time they returned to the manor Cleon was told by one of his household riders that a carriage had already been sighted. Angharad, curious, apanied him to the top of a rise close to the manor from which there was a fine view of the path leading to the Eirenos estate. A single carriage, she noted, butrge. Pulled by four horses. Cleon sighed at the sight.


    ¡°Of course she arrived early,¡± he deplored. ¡°Why would she not?¡±


    ¡°You recognize the carriage?¡± Angharad asked.


    ¡°I do,¡± he said.


    Waiting until it turned at a curb, the nobleman pointed at the doors.


    ¡°See the blue and green paint?¡± he asked. ¡°They are the colors of House Varochas.¡±


    Blue and green¡­ no, finish the talk first else her reaction would seem suspicious. Angharad paused, mentally sifting through the pages she hadmitted to memory at the pce.


    ¡°A house from the north of the valley, known for its fine timber,¡± she said, then frowned. ¡°I thought their colors to be blue and brown, however.¡±


    With a sleeping bear sprawled at the center of the heraldry, which she had thought rather charming. Cleon shot her a surprised, almost admiring look.


    ¡°The main house keeps to these,¡± he confirmed. ¡°Only this particr visitor is a Varochas of Meda¡¯s Rock, their kin. They¡¯ve grand ambitions, so they chose colors of their own.¡±


    Blue and green, she now let herself consider. The same hues the poacher had mentioned his aplice to have glimpsed on the pouch that had paid for their services. After a day in Cleon¡¯spany Angharad hadrgely dismissed any notion of him having arranged that ambush so she might be fixed to his kindness for the duration of her stay. He was too fine a man for that, and too proud. Which left her to look for another as the culprit.


    ¡°Ambitions?¡± she lightly encouraged.


    Cleon snorted.


    ¡°They think to be the preeminent branch of their line,¡± he said. ¡°Theirnds are not particrly wealthy, but they do border hills that would be suitable for a very lucrative marble quarry.¡±


    Ah, a familiar refrain. While the Duchy of Peredur was not so infamous for its border disputes as the isle of Uthukile, squabbles over water and grazing rights weremonce. The sometimes extraordinarily petty means to which rival houses went to deny each other were favored seasonal gossip. When the Cawder had changed a small river¡¯s course by exactly thirty feet to deny their hated Aberafan neighbors an enshrined right to sail down it, they¡¯d be the toast of society for years.


    ¡°Am I to understand,¡± Angharad said, ¡°that these hills sport an Eirenos hunting lodge?¡±


    He nodded, lips quirking before the good humor faded.


    ¡°During the regency, a ruling was made that Eirenos hunting rights over these hills mean no quarry can be built without our consent as to build one would ruin the hunting and cross into ournd,¡± Lord Cleon said. ¡°The Varochas spent a fortune trying to buy a different verdict when Lord Rector Evander took the throne, but heughed them out so their stratagem of choice changed.¡±


    He coughed into his fist, side-eyeing her all the while.


    ¡°Theofania Varochas has made in her intentions to wed me, and frequently stretches the bounds of propriety in seeking to achieve the match.¡±


    His gaze on her was hopeful. Desiring, perhaps, of jealousy. That Angharad could not provide, but sympathy was within her means.


    ¡°I take it you do not wee the pursuit,¡± she said.


    ¡°I would rather wed a viper,¡± Cleon Eirenos bit out. ¡°The venom would be the same, but the conversation significantly more tolerable.¡±


    She choked on a startledugh. He was not usually so sharp in his words, but it suited him. The young lord¡¯s fingers clenched into fists.


    ¡°I¡¯ve no intention of taking a wife who will be her kin¡¯s spy under my own roof, forever grasping at my property in their name.¡±


    The tale, Angharad thought, told itself. The Varochas wanted that wedding, andcking means to force it they were resorting to chasing off anyone who Lord Cleon might take a shine to ¨C such as some upstart Mni noble exile with hardly a silver to her name. A family friend must have been at Lord Menander¡¯s green party and heard the invitation, leading to the ambush she encountered on the road.


    The poachers might actually have been speaking the truth when they said they were not to harm either Angharad or Mistress Katina. A death would have been a line too far, tainted the Varochas reputation. It would have been a blow to Lord Cleon¡¯s reputation to twine his line with a family that so offended him, too, a sign of weakness. But Angharad arriving at Chalcia in nothing but her underthings, robbed blind and humiliated?


    Oh, that would have been well within the bounds of eptable and ruined her reputation thoroughly enough she could no longer be considered a suitable marriage prospect for a lord. An impoverished foreigner <em>and </em>embroiled in a scandal? No, Lady Penelope would have been forced to put her foot down even if her son persisted. It would have been too grave a mismarriage even if Angharad <em>were</em> interested in Cleon¡¯s hand.


    ¡°I am surprised you would invite her to an evening at your manor, given your poor opinion of her,¡± Angharad noted.


    ¡°She is staying with House Pisenor, just to the east of my estate,¡± Lord Cleon darkly said. ¡°Given our shared custody of a temple, it would be unwise to slight them by withholding an invitation - and Lady Theofania has not yet acted wildly enough for me to forbid her presence.¡±


    His jaw clenched.


    ¡°Meanwhile I¡¯ve not yet found a way to teach the Pisenor a lesson in the dangers of continuing to try my patience, though one day I assure you I will.¡±


    That look in his eyes was even darker than his tone, so Angharad thought it best to move the conversation.


    ¡°A temple, you say,¡± she repeated, arm brushing against his. ¡°To which spirit?¡±


    ¡°The Twin-Mother,¡± Lord Cleon said, then reddened and coughed into his fist again. ¡°She is thedy of ndestine births, so it is custom that none seek to learn the face of those who visit the shrine for good health. As a token of appreciation, visitors then leave gifts in coin or goods.¡±


    Coin would be easy enough to split two ways, Angharad thought, but goods? Those would get contentious, even if they were merely sold at market and the profits then split. No wonder Cleon preferred to suffer a riotous suitor rather than break with House Pisenor. The temple ies would be significant revenue for a recovering house like his.


    ¡°ndestine births,¡± she repeated, tone teasing. ¡°How very gently put, Lord Cleon.¡±


    ¡°There is no need for discourtesy,¡± he replied, attempting dignity even though he was visibly embarrassed. ¡°These things happen.¡±


    Bastard children? More than anyone would like to admit. In Mn either siring or birthing such a child from a noble would see you elevated as consort,wful status for yourself and the child, but such practices were notmon among Lierganen peoples. Such arrangements were no doubt had regardless, but they were regarded as shameful and kept secret. Angharad rolled her shoulder, watching the Varochas carriage roll down the road to the manor.


    ¡°If guests are now arriving, I should ready myself,¡± she said. ¡°By your leave, my lord?¡±


    Cleon looked a little disappointed, but then he nced at the carriage and must also have divined that Angharad standing by him while he weed his guest ¨C as if the mistress of the house ¨C was unlikely to result in anything pleasant.


    ¡°Of course,¡± he said. ¡°I already look forward to your return.¡±


    Angharad half-smiled at the gantry, leaning on her cane as she spared the arriving carriage onest nce. Though no bloodshed had been intended, Theofania Varochas and her kin had sought to harm her.


    Now she must decide what she was to do about that.


    --


    It made Angharad feel like a poor rtion to wear the same dress among society twice in a row, but then nowadays she <em>was</em> a poor rtion.


    She was helped into her pink gown by one of the Eirenos maids, who after helping her adjust the embroidered cuffs told her that Lord Cleon had set aside jewelry for her use: an elegant gold chain ne bearing an emerald the size of a fingernail. It had been in the family for some generations, the middle-aged maid told her. To ept that would be tacitly epting his courtship, Angharad knew, even if it was merely a loan. Therefore, she could not.


    Lady Penelope had a small pearl ne sent up, along with a note that it came from her dowry and was not Eirenos property. She added, too, that she had not worn it in years and it was a fitting gift for a lovely guest. A sendoff present for a one-night lover, reading between the lines.


    That one was rather more tempting to ept, Angharad would admit, but she declined it just as she had declined Lord Cleon¡¯s offer. She would not take more from this mother and son when she had already taken too much. In every sense. Let her appear as exactly what she was: d noble whose sole ie was the kindness of benefactors. It would not do to get drunk on the trappings of a life she must learn to ept was no longer hers.


    She was to be a watchwoman, now. Perhaps in many years it might be she was able to set down the ck cloak and be a peer of Peredur once more, but until her oaths had run their course she must bind her pride to what she had sworn and not what she grieved. <em>To keep an exile¡¯s means only strengthens the trick being yed</em>, Angharad reminded herself. Let her feel pride in being a dutiful watchwoman, then, rather shame at beingckluster noble.


    Though she had washed her body and hair, then redone her braids with the maid¡¯s help, eventually Angharad ran out of reasons to dither upstairs and had to join the Eirenos in attending to the unwee guest. She found the three seated outside, in a garden pavilion that overlooked the dancing square.


    Lady Theofania Varochas was, to her surprise, quite small. Shorter than Shalini, and slender in a way the gunslinger most definitely was not. She was darker in tan than most Asphodelians, with long ck hair and thick eyshes framing a strong bridge nose. Not a great beauty, Angharad thought, but hardly uely. Around the corner of slender ck eyebrows touches of blue cosmetics evoked a butterfly¡¯s wings, matching her long blue-and-white gown whose stripes all the way down.


    Lord Cleon did not consider the Varochas all that wealthy, but they had sent their daughter into society bearing long earrings of gold andpis with matching bangle bracelets and a splendid ne made of polished, rectangr gold stripes. Either she had been sent with the family jewels, Angharad thought, or the Varochas had spent a fortune on adorning her to impress. Either way, it was a decision implying that the full weight of her house stood behind her.


    Such a weight could be a great support, Angharad thought, but also a crushing burden. She wondered which one it was for Lady Theofania.


    ¡°And who would this be?¡± said Lady Theofania called out, a ss of wine in hand.


    Cleon had pointedly sat as far as he could from her while still being at the same table, Lady Penelope settling between them to make the small slight less noticeable. Neither of them had a cup in hand, much less of wine, a subtle rebuke to their early guest.


    ¡°I present you Lady Angharad Tredegar, of Peredur,¡± Lady Penelope said.


    She was radiant in a simple green grown, though there was hardly a thing on Vesper that would not suit such a beauty.


    ¡°Is she now?¡± Theofania said. ¡°I had assumed otherwise, as my cousin described her wearing a simr gown at Lord Menander¡¯s green party.¡±


    The dark-haireddy offered a sharp little smile.


    ¡°You must believe it suits you very well, to favor it so.¡±


    And just like that any half-formed consideration of sympathy evaporated. In Peredur, Angharad would have put a nasty cut on her champion¡¯s nose for such words. Or Theofania¡¯s own, if she wore duelist¡¯s straps. But matters were not settled that way on Asphodel, and even if they had been she was not fit to be her own champion. She must, thus, match wind to wind.


    ¡°I do,¡± she directly replied, pushing down embarrassment. ¡°Do you disagree?¡±


    Surprise on Lady Theofania¡¯s face, and an amused chuckle from Lady Penelope ¨C who Angharad could not help but notice was appreciating the generous cut of the gown. Her ears reddened.


    ¡°It is not to the taste of the season,¡± Lady Theofania recovered. ¡°But then I do not recall hearing of Peredur spoken as a great seat of fashion.¡±


    Angharad cocked her head to the side, raising a faintly skeptical eyebrow.


    ¡°Have you heard much of Peredur, then, Lady Theofania?¡± she asked.


    Most foreigners this far south thought it part of the same ind as Mn, when they knew the name at all, so she had doubts. Theofania¡¯s lips thinned and she looked away, eyes back on Lord Cleon.


    ¡°I see the lemons have ripened since Ist visited,¡± she said. ¡°Will you help me pick one, my lord? I am told the fruits of the valley are always sweetest.¡±


    Subtle. After rubbing elbows with the intriguing children of izinduna and even their distant kin on Tolomontera, such blunt maneuvering felt rather elementary.


    ¡°Lemons are sour, Lady Theofania,¡± Cleon replied, rising to his feet. ¡°And while I apologize, I must take my leave. There is much to see to before the guests begin arriving.¡±


    He hardly even let Theofania nod at him before stalking off. Lady Penelope eased the following frustrated silence, telling Lady Theofania she would have lemons picked, pressed and sweetened for her in a drink, but then she also took her leave.


    ¡°I am to show Lady Angharad to the annex,¡± Lady Penelope told the other woman. ¡°Unlike you she has had little asion to see the Eirenos heirlooms.¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± Lady Theofania replied, almost through gritted teeth.


    And so Angharad found herself whisked away, leaning on her cane. She had, she realized with some amusement, never even sat down. Both Eirenos had found in her an excuse to escape and seized it with aplomb.


    ¡°Her mother taught her poorly,¡± Lady Penelope sighed.


    She¡¯d waited for them to be far enough their voices would not carry across the grass but Angharad still felt mildly ufortable.


    ¡°She does not seem to have found favor with your son,¡± she neutrally said.


    ¡°That,¡± Lady Penelope said, ¡°and she¡¯s yet to realize that the Pisenor are using her as a stalking horse.¡±


    Angharad¡¯s brow rose. House Pisenor, she had learned that very morning, were the eastern neighbors of the Eirenos. That and the hosts of Lady Theofania, who used them as a means attend events here at the manor.¡±


    Presumably coin or favors were involved in the trade, given that in doing this the Pisenor were quite tantly souring their rtionship with the lord of the Eirenos.


    ¡°How so?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Their daughter is only twelve,¡± Lady Penelope said. ¡°They are helping poor Theofania only because it keeps other candidates away from Cleon until their own girles of age.¡±


    ¡°And that same help is angering the man whose hand they would seek afterwards,¡± Angharad pointed out.


    She got an amused look from the beauty, as if she were a little slow.


    ¡°That is how they will approach him,¡± Lady Penelope said. ¡°Offering pretty young Aspasia and a healthy sum as reparations ¨C likely dowering her with the Pisenor rights to the temple of the Twice-Mother. Lord Pisenor has been trying to be a patron of the temple to Oduromai near the mountains for a decade, but he will not be allowed to buy a seat so long as his house already has rights to another god¡¯s temple.¡±


    Angharad would have liked to call these Asphodelian intrigues pointless andbyrinthine, but the words would have been hypocritical. The country peers of Peredur were just as prone to plots and squabbles, one of the many reasons Mother had so praised her father¡¯s stewardship. While Gywdion Tredegar ran nw Hall, there had been peace and amity with every other nearby house for nearly two decades.


    No, all that it was fair to feel was lost. A stranger in this valley of cousins and old secrets, each speaking with an undertone she was the only one not to hear. Perhaps sensing her mood, Lady Penelope patted her arm.


    ¡°Cleon hasn¡¯t noticed either,¡± the older beauty said. ¡°And for all that schemes in Tratheke are more vicious, in some ways they are also simpler ¨C I am sure you will find a ce there when you return.¡±


    Green eyes slid down the curve of Angharad¡¯s neck to swell of her curves, leaving a trail of flushed skin as they did.


    ¡°You are certainlyely enough to draw someone¡¯s eye,¡± Lady Penelope said, tone gone sultry.


    Angharad cleared her throat and precipitously changed the subject.


    ¡°You favor a Pisenor match, then?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Materially, it is the most favorable offer Cleon is likely to get,¡± thedy of the house said. ¡°Yet their approach is underhanded and there is no guarantee the girl would please him, so I withhold judgment.¡±


    Meaning that if Angharad found a suitable prospect tonight and made introductions, she would not be stepping on Lady Penelope¡¯s ns. Good. She was somewhat relieved when their walk to the annex ended not in the door upstairs being locked and the older beauty pressing her against the wall but instead in a servant being sent to fetch tea while they sat and chatted in Lady Penelope¡¯s private sanctum.


    Relieved and, perhaps, a little disappointed. But only a little.


    Provided an excuse to avoid the no doubt fuming Lady Theofania, the two of them took it. Angharad could see through the open window that the uninvited guest was being attended to thoroughly by the servants, a green-liveried valet standing by her at all times waiting for orders, so she would not even be able toin of neglect. Yet her face was dark, as she sat alone under the pavilion sipping at freshly pressed lemon water.


    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    Why would it not be, when she had gotten nothing of what she came for?


    When the other guests began arriving the hiding ended. First came House Saon, disgorging tworge carriages packed to the brim, and the Iphine were not far behind. House Pisenor arrived a littleter, at the same time Lord Arkol¡¯s carriage came up the road. A few other families sent people, but none so many as the triumvirate of the Saon, Iphine and Pisenor. The three were, Angharad gathered, some of the leading houses of thends between the central grainds of Tratheke Valley and the capital itself.


    Certainly the talk turned toints about the ¡®wheat lords¡¯ of the middle ins often enough.


    That helped Angharad grasp why Phaedros Arkol, an eastern noble owningrge grain fields, had attended tonight beyond his business ties to Lord Cleon¡¯ste father. Not only had that Arkol bought thest of the Eirenosnds on the eastern coast two generations back, Lord Arkol was currently courting the natural opponents of his rivals in the grain trade.


    No doubt the point was to support the lords closest to Tratheke so they might try to bleed the valley¡¯s grain lords with tolls and force the price at market to rise. Which would in turn keep his own grainpetitive despite the need to carry it to the Lordsport markets from much further away.


    Lady Penelope was the mistress of the house, and thus swiftly attended to by a circle of the local matriarchs. Unsurprisingly, she was also approached by a parade of lords of myriad ages ¨C including Lord Arkol, whom she deemed a goat and chased awayughingly. Lord Cleon was the host and thus constantly in demand. Angharad deftly avoided a suggestion he apany her for introductions, as that would have been something of a statement, instead fending for herself.


    Cleon made a point of regrly returning to speak with her, however, which did not go unnoticed. She could use that.


    Avoiding the Pisenor, she tried to approach the Iphine but found them haughty and uninterested. They were all richly dressed and sought after in conversation, which let her deduce they were the most powerful of the attending nobles ¨C or at least the wealthiest. Among them she¡¯d noticed twins bearing swords, though rapiers in the Sacromontan style rather proper des, which made that haughtiness unfortunate given that one of the said twins was a handsome blue-eyed woman.


    She turned to the Saon, next, who seemed a jollier lot. The man she approached, a bearded sort in his twenties and stockily built, not only took to herpany but was more than willing to make introductions. That everyone seemed to have heard the wild tales from Chalcia served to make her a figure of interest, which helped even if it involved denying t untruths so repeatedly her tongue was growing tired.


    Castor Saon, who insisted on being called Castor, was introducing her to a girl from one of the smaller houses when Lord Gule arrived. The great Mni lord made a ripple simply by entering, his manservant trailing behind, but given the importance of her task Angharad could only spare him a nod. He returned it with a smile, which impressed both the Asphodelians with her.


    Lady Irida was a slender woman of eighteen with callouses on her hand that turned out to be from her great interest in archery. Angharad lingered in herpany, long enough that when Cleon came to visit they spoke. Unfortunately, theck of interest on his part was quite evident. She hardly got a second look, and in truth did not seem all that interested either.


    A wash. Next.


    Lady Selene would be rather more to Cleon¡¯s tastes, Angharad was confident of it. Tall and lushly figured, with a scar on her neck that turned out to be from a fall instead of something more adventurous. Still, she liked riding. That was a start. Unfortunately Lady Selene began flirting rather outrageously with Castor within moments of their introduction, her guide being an admittedly a good-looking man of genial disposition. They barely slowed down when Cleon came to visit, and Angharad would not be surprised should the pair disappear at some point in the evening and reappear slightly disheveled.


    Her guide gantly kept ferrying her around afterwards through introducing Cleon to Lady Danai, who as quite pretty but uninterested in marriage, and Lady Agape whom the young lord did not get on with at all. It had, by then, be rather clear to Castor what it was she was attempting.


    ¡°Good effort,¡± he whispered, ¡°but it won¡¯t keep Lady Theofania froming for your scalp.¡±


    Ah. Angharad supposed it <em>was</em> a likelier guess that she was trying to avoid a well-connected noblewoman¡¯s wrath rather than acting in guilt at having bedded Lady Penelope. Castor still offered a solution, though unsurprisingly the woman in question was a rtive. Lady Koralia was his cousin from a different Saon side branch, and though unttering dressed ¨C her gown was not well fitted and she moved awkwardly in it ¨C the clothes and ungainly haircut were hiding what Angharad found to be good looks.


    Though quite shy, after a bit of talk she grew in confidence and revealed she was mad for bird hunting. Lady Koralia proudly expounded on her three hunting dogs, which she had raised herself, and on minute differences in the fowler guns avable in Asphodel. From the zed look in Castor¡¯s eyes, this was not the first time he heard this speech. Even more promisingly, when Lord Cleon came by to visit she blushed and fumbled her curtsy ¨C which heughed off,ing off rather charming.


    Hmmm. That one had potential, perhaps.


    Instead of continuing the hunt, she decided to stick with this particr prospect. This saw her enfolded by a gaggle of Saon youths, of which there were a dozen within years of her own age. Resolute to make a good impression, Angharad traded with them stories of Mn for gossip about previous gatherings. Lord Iasos Saon, oldest man from the main line at neen, had the clout and presence to lead the conversation on the Saon side and no qualms in doing so.


    ¡°It was a sight to see,¡± Iasos assured her. ¡°Twenty graybeards, drunks as skunks and brandishing muskets older than them, haring off after a downed pegasus - and when they finally shot it dead, trampling half a thicket, they found it was just a stag withrge fern leaves stuck in his antlers.¡±


    ¡°<em>No</em>,¡± Angharad grinned.


    ¡°It only looked like wings because they scared him off at a run,¡± Iasosughed. ¡°To this day, my uncle insists the real pegasus simply got away.¡±


    His little sister, Maria, waved the long bell sleeves of her dress in an attempt to convey beating wings. As she was a bright eyed eight-year-old, it was most adorable.


    ¡°Look sharp, Iasos,¡± Castor suddenly muttered. ¡°The moura is headed our way.¡±


    The older Saon grimaced. Angharad tried to discreetly eye what they were being warned about, leaning on her cane, but there were too many Saons in the way.


    ¡°The moura?¡± she murmured.


    ¡°It is a kind of lemure,¡± Iasos said. ¡°It takes the appearance of a beautiful woman drowning in a river, and when one approaches¡­¡±


    ¡°It hugs you tight and drowns<em> you</em>,¡± Maria theatrically said, bell sleeves flying as sinisterly as they could.


    Angharad resisted the urge to pinch her cheek.


    A momentter Lady Theofania arrived, nked by the fair-haired twins Angharad had learned were the eldest Iphine children, and she suppressed a spurt ofughter. Ah. The Saon were not particrly fond of Lady Theofania either, then. Odd that Theofania would be with that pair when her hosts were rival to that house, but then she¡¯d arrived long before the Pisenor had. That rtionship might be more distant than believed.


    It had been a given that Lady Theofania woulde for her ¡®scalp¡¯, as Castor had put it, but the sheer bluntness of the attack still startled her.


    After pointedly greeting only Lord Iasos and his sister, the two Saon of the main line ¨C the Iphine did not even bother with little Maria ¨C Lady Theofania addressed Angharad without having first greeted her. That was already quite rude, and promised to get worse.


    ¡°I am surprised to find you inpany, Lady Angharad,¡± the other woman smiled.


    ¡°If you are to insult me,¡± the Pereduri suggested, ¡°try not require my coboration in doing so. I find myself disinclined to help you.¡±


    She heard Castor hastily turn a snort into a coughing fit.


    ¡°Mouthy,¡± the woman of the Iphine twins noted.


    Tall and elegant with long blonde hair, she would have been a beauty if not for that carved sneer.


    ¡°One assumes,¡± Lady Theofania tittered, ¡°given how I am told she went into the woods with Lord Cleon without a chaperone for¡­ hours.¡±


    She fanned herself.


    ¡°If you cannot afford a second dress, you must have had to pay for the hospitality <em>somehow</em>.¡±


    <em>What</em> had she just said?


    Angharad¡¯s hand reached for a de that was not at her side. While it was<em></em>nonchnt of her to have taken a walk with an unmarried man without someone to look after his virtue, Theofania had gone quite a bit further than simply insinuating a sort of general impropriety. To so attaint someone¡¯s honor was well worth a death on the dueling field. Perhaps smelling the ck fury off her, Lord Iasos slid into the conversation.


    ¡°Ah, yes, Cleon Eirenos,¡± he sardonically said. ¡°That famous libertine, seducing maidens left and right.¡±


    ¡°One does not need to seduce a whore, Iasos,¡± Lady Theofania ndly said.


    Her fingers gripped her cane until the wood creaked.


    ¡°Would you care to repeat the word you just used, girl?¡± Angharad coldly asked.


    ¡°Whore,¡± Theofania said. ¡°What of it?¡±


    She then flicked a nce at the male twin, who stepped forward with a shallow smile.


    ¡°Do you feel your honor to be impugned?¡± he asked. ¡°I am told that Mni settle such matters with duels.¡±


    He opened his arm, warmly weing save for the glint in his eyes. That was all poison.


    ¡°I happen to have some small skill with a de,¡± the Iphine lordling said. ¡°It would be my pleasure to stand for Lady Theofania so we might end the disagreement in the manner of your people.¡±


    So that was the y, Angharad thought. Insult her so harshly she could not possibly refuse to defend her honor with a de, then pit her against a fine sword while crippled so she would be twice disgraced in her defeat. Blunt, brutal, and admittedly difficult to extricate herself from. Not that she intended to do any such thing. This would end with lifeblood on the grass and Theofania Varochas weeping.


    What did the Iphine get from this? The woman¡¯s eye dipped to Angharad¡¯s arm, as if looking for something under the sleeve, and then she put it together. They were fencers, both those twins, and wanted to make a name for themselves by defeating a mirror-dancer. That they would be fighting one using a cane would, presumably, be left out of the tale when it was retold.


    Time to teach them the difference between a mirror-dancer and a child ying at swords. She did not need more than three steps to sh open a fool¡¯s skull.


    The confrontation had drawn the eyes of the crowd, murmurs spreading as room was made around them in a circle. Lord Cleon looked furious and was making his way towards them, but his mother held him back with a nk face. At their side Lord Gule stood with his horn pressed to the ear while his manservant presumably whispered a report. And looking at the richly dressed induna, at the sympathetic grimace he sent her way, Angharad saw it then. What she must do.


    It came like a bolt of lightning, and just as pleasantly.


    She fought it. Of course she did. It was madness, it ran against every instinct and every learned lesson. It would make her look like¡­ Fingers clenched painfully. Surely there was another way, she thought as she looked into that swaggering Iphine¡¯s eyes. Something that would not feel like swallowing acid. She looked but did not find one. There was only one key to the lock.


    Angharad Tredegar stood there, feeling very alone, and tried to tell herself she must be proud of what was to follow.


    ¡°You try to duel a woman unarmed, leaning on a cane,¡± she said.


    The Iphine snorted. Lady Theofania smiled sharply.


    ¡°Did you not wield a saber to drive off bandits and lemures?¡± Lady Theofania asked. ¡°Are you not a swordmistress of Mn?¡±


    ¡°Unless these are lies,¡± the female twin said.


    ¡°Unless you paid for rumors create repute at an evening attended by your betters,¡± the other idly added. ¡°Which is it, Lady Angharad?¡±


    He drummed his fingers against the cup of his rapier.


    ¡°Are you a liar or a coward?¡±


    Liar. Coward. Whore. Any of these insults were enough for them to deserve being cut down. And oh, Angharad knew she could. The male twin, he had callouses but his boots were too soft. On grass, all it¡¯d take was a good feint and he¡¯d slip. Life snatched out before he hit the ground. The other, the woman, her de was too thin. To make it lighter, she must not have wanted too much muscle. Bait, parry and a good snap of the wrist would make a clean break of the steel about an inch up the guard.


    And they were asking for it. <em>Literally asking for it!</em>


    But Angharad, instead, made herself look down. She swallowed the bile, feeling the eyes on her, and instead of replying she walked away. Conversation erupted in her wake as she tacitly admitted to at least one of the usations, the humiliation burning. Teeth clenched so hard she felt like they might pop, she ignored the looks as best she could and passed by a furious-looking Cleon to return inside the manor.


    No one followed her.


    The servants looked confused when she limped past them and headed straight for the front of the manor, the entrance with the columns, and there she stood alone in the shade. She had just tossed aside her honor, Angharad knew. She felt like throwing up, like shouting. Like bloodying her fucking hand on the pir. Never, <em>never </em>had she been so humiliated. And she had let it happen like some whipped dog.


    By now half the garden would be calling her a fraud, the other a coward. Sleeping God, even in <em>Tratheke </em>they¡¯d hear about a scandal like this. And she had done it to herself on purpose.


    ¡°A watchwoman,¡± she hoarsely whispered. ¡°A watchwoman, not ady.¡±


    Leaning against the pir as much as her cane, warm forehead against the cool stone, Angharad straightened when she heard the door open behind. It would be Lord Cleon, she thought,e to¡­ Only it wasn¡¯t. The veryst person she expected to follow stepped out the door, striped dress trailing behind her. Lady Theofania Varochas looked at her, then sighed.


    If Angharad had a knife on her, she might well have plunged it into her eye. She spent a moment mastering herself, the other woman hesitating a moment before she spoke.


    ¡°It was not personal, if that is anyfort,¡± Lady Theofania said.


    There was no hint of apology or remorse in those blue eyes. Lady Theofania¡¯s manners were brisk, almost businesslike.


    ¡°It rather felt otherwise,¡± Angharad evenly replied.


    ¡°It is a house matter,¡± Lady Theofania told her. ¡°I do not me you for trying to make Cleon into your gold spoon, Lady Angharad. We make our way however we can.¡±


    She scowled.


    ¡°But you should have investigated him more deeply,¡± Lady Theofania said. ¡°Cleon Eirenos is already spoken for.¡±


    Angharad scoffed.


    ¡°You think that production you put on will endear you to him?¡± she asked. ¡°Think again.¡±


    He had looked furious, not impressed, and already despised Theofania. That episode was unlikely to change Cleon¡¯s opinion that she was a viper. Though it would, at least, give Angharad an excuse to avoid him in society going forward. If she was still allowed in society at all, after¡­ <em>that</em>.


    ¡°I do not expect I will ever be dear to him,¡± Lady Theofania dismissed. ¡°This is not to be a love match. What I do expect, Lady Angharad, is that the example made of you will scare off the chaff.¡±


    An example, Angharad realized. Theofania Varochas had made her into an example for potential rivals, and the absurdity of it almost made herugh. <em>It will get you no closer to wedding him</em>, she thought. <em>The more you attempt to force his hand, the deeper his hatred will be entrenched.</em> For all that Theofania was attempting to y this as some masterful blow, Angharad could smell the desperation beneath it.


    Lord Cleon despised the Varochas for their reaching grasp, and despised Lady Theofania in particr. Worse, all involved knew this. It must be a heavy weight to bear, her houses¡¯ hopes of prominence. Especially when the game had been rigged against her from the start. No wonder she was growing reckless in her attempts to secure the match, or at least scare off contenders. Angharad felt a twinge of pity, if only a twinge.


    ¡°Does this conversation have a point?¡± she asked.


    ¡°You need not worry I intend to run you out of Tratheke society,¡± Lady Theofania informed her. ¡°Or harm your reputation further ¨C as I said, Lady Angharad, this was not personal. Marry as you will, and with my best wishes, so long as you stay away from Cleon Eirenos.¡±


    ¡°And if I decline?¡± Angharad curiously asked.


    Theofania¡¯s slender face hardened.


    ¡°Then I will be forced to bring to bear against you the full weight of my house,¡± she said. ¡°It would be unpleasant business for the both of us, I suspect, but needs must.¡±


    She feigned consideration of Theofania¡¯s words, letting the seconds stretch heavily ¨C thick as taffy. Eventually she nodded.


    ¡°I do notmand his attentions,¡± Angharad warned.


    ¡°Nor do I expect you to,¡± Lady Theofania replied, politely nodding.


    She hesitated a moment.


    ¡°You may expect every due courtesy from me when next we meet,¡± she added. ¡°I regret the damage that may have been inflicted on your prospects, and will keep it in mind over the next months.¡±


    A polite way to say that, should Angharad¡¯s reputation turn out thoroughly ruined by this, the Varochas may arrange a pity marriage for her with whatever household man they could rustle up. It was the least kind of mercy, but mercy nheless. Angharad suddenly found she believed her when she''d said there had been nothing personal about this, not that it made her any less of a viper.


    ¡°Good night, Lady Theofania,¡± Angharad replied.


    The dismissal was courteous but clear.


    ¡°Good night, Lady Angharad,¡± Theofania replied, inclining her head.


    She was left alone on the steps, looking up at the starry sky. How long should she stay? At least half an hour, Angharad decided. She must, after all, sell the notion that she was drowning in her humiliation. Cut up inside.


    Bleeding deeply enough that Lord Gule would believe her, when she came to find him and spoke of moving on with her life.


    --


    Lord Gule, in deference to both his rank and the distance he had traveled to attend, was to be amodated in the guesthouse overnight. As the feast was not yet over, however, he was not there. Instead, when Angharad put on a chastened face and asked the Eirenos servants where she might find the ambassador, she was directed to a small smoking parlor on the main floor of the manor. None offered to apany her.


    Evidently her humiliation had made her someone to avoid.


    Lord Gule was seated inside on afortable cushioned chair, smoking a pipe, but when she was brought in by his valet ¨C Jabni, she recalled ¨C he disyed good manners by putting it out. Bringing out his listening horn, he invited her to sit with him.


    ¡°I can only take so long of these evenings before I have to rest my mind a span,¡± he told her. ¡°Smoking makes for a fine excuse and does not dull the mind as drinking overmuch would.¡±


    She nodded silently, lowering herself into the seat across from his. Angharad had wondered how to approach this, ever since the notion first urred to her in that bolt from the ck, and decided against deception. She was not a deft hand at such games and never would be. Best, she thought, to keep to the truth.


    ¡°I have,¡± Angharad quietly said, ¡°rarely been so shamed in my life as I have been tonight.¡±


    Never, arguably. She had been on the bad end of tricks, when on the dueling circuit, and she¡¯d had some enemies in Peredur society. None had ever shamed her as Theofania and her Iphine aplices.


    ¡°A vicious one, the Varochas girl,¡± Lord Gule agreed. ¡°Not that it will get her what she wants, but at that age it is amon mistake to confuse a sessful n for a wise one.¡±


    She swallowed, then straightened herself from the slump she had consciously made herself fall into.


    ¡°You told me, once, that a time woulde where I would begin thinking about the rest of my life.¡±


    Angharad paused, met his eyes.


    ¡°That I should call on you, then.¡±


    His gaze was gentle.


    ¡°You have had a difficult evening, Lady Angharad,¡± Lord Gule said. ¡°Perhaps you should rest instead. It will pass.¡±


    ¡°It will not,¡± Angharad tly replied. ¡°This or its like will happen, again and again, so long as I remain as I am. That is no way to live.¡±


    And there she let her very real anger at the public humiliation show. A long moment passed, Lord Gule watching with calm eyes, then he turned to his valet. The man had been inside the entire time, standing by the door silent and still.


    ¡°I told you,¡± the older noble said. ¡°She is clever, she was bound to realize it soon: there is no future in being a courtier in Asphodel.¡±


    He leaned back into the cushions afterwards, looking almost satisfied.


    ¡°You remember Jabni, my attendant,¡± Lord Gule said.


    Angharad nodded at the near-shaved man, whose stony expression she remembered from their short encounter at the green party. Lord Gule smiled.


    ¡°He holds, as it happens, a second position among my staff.¡±


    Stomach sinking, Angharad turned her eyes back to Jabni ¨C whose expression had not changed, and who bowed at her again. When he straightened, he offered her a small coin to peruse. Lacquered wood, the color of copper, bearing on one side the shell of a helmet turtle and on the other a slender crown. Lefthand House. The man was <em>ufudu</em>, and Angharad felt her blood turn to ice.


    ¡°The Lefthand House greets you, Lady Tredegar,¡± Jabni said.


    Angharad kept her face nk, slowly nodding, and flicked a worried nce at Lord Gule. The induna shrugged.


    ¡°Jabni serves the will of our queen on Asphodel, as do we,¡± he said. ¡°There is nothing to fear.¡±


    There was always something to fear when it came to the Lefthand House. Servants of the High Queen they may be, but Angharad¡¯s own brush with their sort had made it in they were nothing less than poison.


    ¡°Well met,¡± Angharad carefully said.


    Did the man know the circumstances of her exile from the Isles? Did Lord Gule? Ancestors, did they know about <em>Imani</em>? She could not even be sure if they knew her to be a ckcloak. So many questions that she all bit down on until her gums felt as if they would bleed.


    ¡°You are called to service,¡± Jabni told her. ¡°Menander Drakos has shownsting interest in you. Are you his lover?¡±


    She choked at the blunt, rude inquiry.


    ¡°Sleeping God, <em>no</em>,¡± she vehemently replied.


    ¡°Then it must be on behalf of your patron,¡± the ufudu concluded. ¡°Whoever sought him to introduce you into Tratheke circles.¡±


    He then stared at her in pregnant silence, as if ordering her to borate on that patron¡¯s identity. It appeared, at least, that the rector¡¯s pce was not so porous as to reveal she was a ckcloak part of the Thirteenth Brigade. They would know there was no such patron otherwise.


    ¡°I would rather not speak of the matter,¡± Angharad curtly replied.


    Lord Gule touched the other man¡¯s arm.


    ¡°Even exiles can have friends, Jabni,¡± he gently said. ¡°Let us speak, instead, of the request Her Perpetual Majesty would make of us."


    The ufudu hummed, seeming unconvinced, but moved on nheless.


    ¡°Regardless of the reason, Lord Menander has taken a shine to you,¡± Jabni said. ¡°It is expected that he will invite you to a private dinner at his personal mansion in two weeks. Every two months, the man invites his inner circle and those he intends to bring into it to a private evening. We require that you attend.¡±


    The hint of frustration on that stony face, Angharad decided, meant that the Lefthand House had not been able to get someone in despite efforts otherwise. Her esteem for Menander Drakos¡¯ attention to his security rose a notch. Excitement mounted, carefully buried. She had wounded her honor, tonight, but it was opening some sort of gate. It had not been for <em>nothing</em>.


    ¡°Why?¡± she bluntly asked.


    ¡°It hase to our attention,¡± the ufudu said, ¡°that Menander Drakos might have obtained stolen property. We would have you confirm the presence of an object in particr.¡±


    She said nothing, only meeting his eyes. It was Lord Gule who continued.


    ¡°It would have the look of a wine press,¡± the older man said, ¡°only of Antediluvian make.¡±


    The infernal forge, Angharad realized with utter bafflement. They were talking about the infernal forge. It took every scrap of mastery she held to keep herself from visibly reacting. Relief tested that control again, when it struck her that they could not know about Imani if they were asking her this. <em>This part of the Lefthand House does not know who I am</em>.


    Why - no, it made sense. The ufudu were hoarders of secrets and there was no need for the ambassador to faraway Asphodel to know anything of House Tredegar¡¯s disgrace. Word would have had time to carry, since the fall of her house, but no <em>reason</em> to. And had Imani not said that the High Queen did not count her as a foe? There would be no need for the Lefthand House to follow her too closely.


    ¡°That artifact is best shipped back to Mn,¡± Jabni continued. ¡°We do not require that you obtain it, only to confirm its presence on the premises.¡±


    Stolen property, best shipped back to Mn. How carefully they were implying the infernal forge to be the High Queen¡¯s rightful property without ever stating as much. Angharad might well have been fooled had she not known better. Had she been inclined to trust them, such trickery would have ended the notion. As she had not, it was mere confirmation that the pair sought to use her.


    ¡°I <em>could </em>do this,¡± Angharad finally replied.


    Lord Gule softly chuckled.


    ¡°Could, indeed,¡± he said, then nced at hispanion. ¡°I will handle the haggling, Jabni. Kindly leave us to it.¡±


    The stony-faced man studied them both, then shallowly nodded.


    ¡°We will speak again,¡± he told Angharad, then rose.


    Though he closed the door softly, almost without a sound, the silence that followed in his wake was oppressively loud. Lord Gule set aside his listening horn a moment to help himself to a sip of brandy from a cup she¡¯d not even noticed and looked like it had hardly been touched. Then he set it down with a smile, picking up his horn.


    ¡°You were roughly done, tonight,¡± he said after putting it to his ear, ¡°but sometimes it is in the dark that we see most clearly. Good cane of evil.¡±


    <em>Good cane of anything</em>, Angharad thought. <em>That does not excuse evil.</em> An induna ought to know better.


    ¡°I cannot go back,¡± she said. ¡°That can no longer be denied.¡±


    She was speaking truth, merely not the truth he thought. Lord Gule nodded approvingly.


    ¡°It can be difficult, leaving the Isles behind, but there is more than one hearth under firmament,¡± he said.


    He then cleared his throat with an undertone of embarrassment.


    ¡°I will not ask as to the circumstances of your departure from Peredur,¡± Lord Gule said. ¡°Jabni looked through thetest list from the Lefthand House and your name is not on it, which is enough for me.¡±


    Angharad¡¯s eyes widened. It was said that the ufudu kept ount books of traitors much as a treasurer would of coin, but never before had she heard it spoken out loud<em>. So Imani spoke true, when she said Her Perpetual Majesty wishes me no ill will.</em> She was not marked a traitor by the royal court, despite the Tredegar name being struck off the rolls of nobility.


    ¡°Whatever troubles there might have been in your past, Lady Angharad, they can be put to rest by lending aid to the Lefthand House over this matter of stolen property,¡± he said.


    She raised an eyebrow, openly unimpressed. Even had she truly been the sort of exile she portrayed herself to be, this would have been a short thrift reward. The manughed.


    ¡°They will not promise you more,¡± he said. ¡°They believe your hand can be forced, you see, which Jabni is the kind of man to prefer to the trade of favors. But it does not matter, for <em>I </em>would make you an offer in their stead.¡±


    Angharad inclined her head to the side. She saw the guile at y here. y up the Lefthand House as an enemy while binding all rewards to himself. A straightforward enough trick that would yet have been clutched at like lifesaving driftwood by a more desperate woman. It was rare for her to feel grateful for the Watch, but in that moment she did. How tempting would Gule¡¯s words have been, for a woman downing along at sea? It had been good fortune, to find protectors before she ever came here.


    Angharad waited in silence for the terms now, the true offer, but instead Lord Gule¡¯s conversation took a surprising turn.


    ¡°You will have heard I am in talks with the Lord Rector on Her Majesty¡¯s behalf, I expect,¡± he said. ¡°Tell me, Lady Angharad: what is it that you believe Mn wants of this Antediluvian shipyard?¡±


    Her brow rose.


    ¡°Skimmers, presumably,¡± she said. ¡°I have not heard of them being able to build anything else.¡±


    ¡°That is themon assumption,¡± Lord Gule acknowledged. ¡°Certainly, that is what Evander Palliades believes. It is also incorrect.¡±


    ¡°The aether engines alone, then?¡± she tried.


    They would be the most valuable part, though given that anything made of tomic alloy was worth its weight in gold no part of a skimmer could be called inexpensive. He smiled thinly, shaking his head.


    ¡°What we want,¡± Lord Gule said, ¡°is the whole shipyard to be irreparably scrapped.¡±


    She choked in surprise.


    ¡°Pardon?¡±


    ¡°Save for Ingpur on Tower Coast, there is no known city boastingrge-scale shipyards capable of producing skimmers fit for war,¡± the ambassador said. ¡°The capacity to build and repair such ships exists elsewhere, certainly, but it¡­ artisanal.¡±


    Angharad frowned.


    ¡°While the shipyard under Asphodel would have such capacity.¡±


    He inclined his head in agreement.


    ¡°That is troubling for us in several ways,¡± Lord Gule continued. ¡°Should the Tianxi obtain a fleet of war skimmers, the bnce of power in the Trebian Sea will tip their way. The Republics will attempt to seize hegemony over the region and might well seed.¡±


    Unless Mn sent in its own fleet to check them, Angharad silently added. Which would be a nightmarish tar pit of a war, having to support a hundred small ind states against the Republics while the other great powers meddled at every turn.


    ¡°The right treaties could avoid this,¡± she noted. ¡°An agreement for Asphodel to limit its sales to the Republics, at least regarding skimmer warships. Why is the outright destruction of the shipyard desired?¡±


    ¡°Because,¡± Lord Gule said, ¡°even should a diplomatic miracle be achieved and such a treaty be installed, the proliferation of the civilian ships would still be disastrous to Mni trade.¡±


    It took her a moment to grasp why, but though Angharad Tredegar had not been raised to be a greatdy of Mn neither had she been raised to be a fool. Besides, she was better taught than most when it came to the politics of the waves.


    ¡°It would crack open the Straying Sea,¡± Angharad btedly realized.


    The stretch of sea between the isles of Mn and the continent, deep in darkness and famously prone to Gloam storms, was a great source of wealth for the kingdom. Mni dominance over it had been cemented by two things: the first was the Serpentine Roads. These were a great modern wonder, pathways of floating re lighthouses built at the order of the Queen Perpetual which foreign merchants could use to traverse the region safely ¨C but at the price of tolls, and along routes that favored Mni ports and trade.


    The second was ironwood sailing ships, which sailed faster than any other wooden vessel and cut clean through lesser Gloam currents. Ironwood ships were how Mn had first been able to reach the continents to the north and the west, and how the High Queen¡¯s ships could treat the Straying Sea as their backyard instead of the ship killer it was for every other great power. Skimmers could do everything ironwood ships could, which was hardly trouble when they were so rare, but should they be¡­ perhaps notmon a sight, but no longer rare?


    The seal on the ambitions of the other great powers would be broken, madness spilling out on all the world.


    ¡°Exactly so,¡± Lord Gule praised, as if she were a student as the <em>isikole</em>. ¡°Bad enough if the Tianxi got their hands on a fleet of skimmer warships, but at least their ambitions are to the south and the east. If the Izcalli did, or the Someshwari?¡±


    He grimaced.


    ¡°It is not only damage to our trade and rampant piracy that we might face, but fleets of skimmers sailing out to found colonies rival to our own.¡±


    ¡°A grave danger,¡± Angharad murmured.


    ¡°I tell you this,¡± Lord Gule said, ¡°so that you might understand that by tying his fortune to the shipyard so closely Evander Palliades has dug his own grave.¡±


    Her eyes sharpened.


    ¡°The assassin¡­¡±


    The ambassador shook his head.


    ¡°There is no need for that,¡± he said. ¡°It can be done properly. There is a strong imant for the throne and her supporters will not suffer that shipyard to be her property. If owning it can make of a threat of the ailing Palliades, it could make an already powerful house untouchable. No, by simple virtue of the nature of her cause she will have to dismantle the shipyard.¡±


    ¡®Her¡¯. Minister Apollonia Floros, Angharad thought. It had to be, even though Lord Gule was avoiding speaking the name outright.


    ¡°A sad end for the Palliades,¡± she finally said. ¡°But such is the turn of history.¡±


    She suspected Song was taken with the man, but as the Watch seemed indifferent to who sat the throne of Asphodel the truth was that Angharad saw little need to concern herself with it. After tonight, what little warmth she¡¯d had for the people of Asphodel had cooled. <em>I am a woman of the Watch</em>, she told herself. <em>I came here on contract, and owe not a thing more.</em>


    ¡°You may be wondering,¡± Lord Gule said, ¡°why instead of speaking of reward for your services I instead attended to such grand matters.¡±


    ¡°The thought urred,¡± Angharad replied.


    And now came the offer. Finally. <em>Let it be that you are a cultist</em>, she thought. <em>Ancestors preserve me, but I hope that you are wicked.</em> Nothing else could possibly make what she had out herself through tonight worth it. Had Song¡¯s inspection of the rector¡¯s pce not proved a dead end she would not have had to, but it had been. And she owed the Thirteenth too much not to reach for the key when it was on the table.


    Even if the key was forged out of her public humiliation.


    ¡°Apollonia Floros will sit the throne of Asphodel,¡± Lord Gule bluntly said, dispensing with the earlier pretense, ¡°but she will not rule. A more¡­ discerning circle will see to that. One to which I was invited for representing the might of Mn, and to which I would invite you in turn.¡±


    ¡°A hidden faction,¡± Angharad murmured, meaning ¡®cult¡¯.


    Her hear beat against her ears, blood rushed up. Was this it? Had she been approached by the cult of the Golden Ram atst?


    ¡°A society assembled under the auspices of a spirit,¡± Lord Gule said. ¡°When changees to Asphodel, Mn and I will find ourselves showered in rewards¨C but then the allies of today will be tomorrow¡¯s rivals. I seek a champion to stand at my side in anticipation of that tomorrow, and what finer champion can there be than a mirror-dancer?¡±


    Angharad swallowed. She¡¯d done it. She had done it, tonight, and without once wielding her sword ¨C save perhaps against herself.


    ¡°I can hardly walk without a cane,¡± Angharad said. ¡°I would be a decoration, not a champion.¡±


    <em>Go on</em>, she thought. <em>Sell me your healing spirit.</em>


    ¡°Nothing is absolute, save for the Sleeping God,¡± the ambassador replied


    Reaching at his belt, he removed from a slender silken pouch a small sphere wrapped in paper. It was pressed into Angharad¡¯s hand and she opened it to find a small red medicinal ball ¨C it smelled faintly metallic and was warm to the touch.


    ¡°Eat it,¡± Lord Gule instructed. ¡°Not here, it would be too noticeable, but when there are fewer eyes on you.¡±


    ¡°What does it do?¡± Angharad asked.


    ¡°It is a taste of what the Golden Ram can offer you,¡± he said. ¡°Healing for a span of eight hours.¡±


    She breathed in sharply. That was tempting, even knowing it was likely a trap.


    ¡°And this spirit can heal me for good, without need of a pill?¡± she pressed.


    ¡°I so swear,¡± Lord Gule smiled. ¡°I have, after all, been promised the same ¨C and would already be whole again, if such a boon was not at risk of being discovered.¡±


    <em>They knew someone like you wasing, Song</em>, Angharad thought. <em>You never found a trace of the Golden Ram at court because they went into hiding long before we reached this shore.</em> The older man leaned forward, closing her fingers around the paper and the pill.


    ¡°Do as the Lefthand House asked and you will have bought a pardon from Mn,¡± Lord Gule gently said. ¡°Then when the dust has settled on Asphodel, Lady Angharad, you can stand by my side in the open - and without any need for a cane.¡±


    <em>Found you</em>, Angharad Tredegar thought.


    And though it was as ugly as victories got, this one felt like a first payment on a debt.

 Chapter 55

    Chapter 55


    The thing about being the lowest rung on thedder was that everyone stepped on you.


    It was Tristan¡¯s fourth day as a Kassa traveling man, which meant he was still swallowing an awful lot of boot: there hadn¡¯t been a single trip across the city where he wasn¡¯t the one hanging onto the back of the carriage and he¡¯d thrice been volunteered to clean vomit or horseshit. The pay, to be honest, wasn¡¯t great. Four coppers a day, one of which went to the injury fund, and then an additional twelve if he made it to the end of the month.


    Staying with thepany for longer raised your sry, but most traveling men onlysted a month or two. It was a rough, exhausting job and its veterans were a tight-knit group that cared little for outsiders. Tristan genuinely could not tell if he was being hazed or they were attempting to push him out. The Kassa family kept about forty traveling men, which was at least ten less than they needed, and of these a quarter were what the veterans called ¡®ermanos¡¯.


    The sobriquet was a mix of the Cydic word for bast and Antigua for sibling and was used as a shorthand for dead weight. If you dropped a crate? Fucking ermano. If you showed upte? Ermano thinks this is a vacation. You didn¡¯t pay for the first round of drinks? Typical ermano. On ount of being Sacromontan Tristan got ridden twice as hard as the other neers, some of which even joined in to keep the heat off them.


    Still, there was a rough sense of fairness to how the Kassa men did things. To his honest surprise, the injury fund truly was that: if anyone crippled themselves or were forced to rest by sickness then the injury fund was spent to support them. When one of the other neers, a sly little shit by the name of Eugenios, tried to get Tristan med for his having put the wrong crate on the cart the foreman looked into it and slugged the liar into the stomach when the lie was outed.


    Eugenios got the worst duties for the rest of the day and got ribbed for being ¡®more dishonest than a Sacromontan¡¯. It warmed the cockles of his heart how genuinely despised the Six were around here, even if as usual the shit of the infanzones had ended up sshing his boots.


    The fourth day started as all the others had: show up an hour before dawn at the workshop, share a te of tbread and olives more for the ritual than for need, then spill out in the alley for assignments. The four foremen called out their traveling men for the day, splitting the lots until early afternoon when the crews reunited and there was a shuffle for the day¡¯s second work order. Tristan still kept an eye on the distribution, it was useful to discern the cliques, but no longer paid attention to his own name.


    He always ended up with Nikias, a mustachioed bastard of a man who looked like someone had built a barn door out of horse leather. Nikias took most of the ermanos in his crew, the rest going to whatever foreman had taken a shine to them or wanted to try them out on a job. Nikias, naturally, thus ended up getting assigned the worst jobs ¨C not that he seemed to mind. If anything, he appeared to take a twisted sort of pride in it.


    ¡°Oi. You listening, Ferrando?¡±Tristan twitched, turning to the old man addressing him. Temenos, the white-haired elder of the Kassa traveling men ¨C thirty years in a job that broke your back in twenty gave one standing in spades. He coughed.


    ¡°Of course, sir,¡± he lied.


    ¡°Then get in the line, you idiot,¡± Temenos bluntly said.


    Hiding his surprise, he fell in with the man¡¯s crew. Temenos and his nine always got the Lordsport runs, which were hard work loading and unloading the goods but otherwise a restful ride. It was seen, with good reason, as the plum assignment. It was a job that an ¡®ermanos ¡®like him shouldn¡¯t be getting anywhere near, and he caught Eugenios ring at him from the corner of his eye. Had he done something to catch the old man¡¯s eye? They¡¯d hardly traded more than a dozen sentences over thest few days.


    After an hour moving the goods into the three carts began rolling south towards Lordsport ¨C the wool cloth wasn¡¯t so bad, but the Kassa also sold shrine idols of some wealth god from southern Tianxia made in Asphodelian marble and those were brutal to move. As a useless neer Tristan wasn¡¯t going to be trusted leading the horses so he had expected to spend the trip wedged in between crates, but instead he was sent to sit by one of the drivers: Temenos himself.


    Something was off.


    The mostly toothless old man took his Izcalli snuff religiously every hour, snorting up the ground tobo. Tristan personally thought it smelled horrid ¨C it wasn¡¯t the expensive scented snuff nobles used, which was somewhat easier on the nose ¨C but some of the other traveling men had told him that when Temenos got off the stuff the usually pleasant old man turned into a veritable monster.


    More worrying than the unpleasant smell was that Temenos took the time to show him the basics of cart driving, how long he could and should run the horses as well as the easiest path out of the capital. Tristan made himself an attentive pupil, the entire time awaiting the drop of the other shoe. It came, in a manner of speaking, shortly after they passed the city gates.


    The old man opened his worn wooden box, snorted deep of the snuff and put it away with a roll of his shoulder.


    ¡°So,¡± Temenos said. ¡°We have questions.¡±


    Tristan cleared his throat.


    ¡°Questions?¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Temenos grunted. ¡°It¡¯d be for the best if you answered them, Ferrando.¡±


    Tristan nced back, finding that the men in the other carts conspicuously all had cudgels near their hands. Ah.


    ¡°Well,¡± he said, ¡°you have my attention, Temenos.¡±


    ¡°The Shoulderbones rmended you,¡± the old man said, ¡°but I asked around: none of our friends there know who in Sculler¡¯s name you¡¯re supposed to be. Only those up high, and they¡¯re not saying shit.¡±


    Of course they wouldn¡¯t. Tristan had robbed the ount books of the most brutal ¨C and richest ¨C moneylender in the northeastern ward without her noticing in exchange for the Brazen Chariot negotiating on his behalf with the Shoulderbones to get that rmendation. I¡¯d taken him a day to case the ce and another to rob it unseen, much longer than he¡¯d wanted since now that he¡¯d stopped sleeping at ck House he had to arrange his own amodations.


    ¡°I came in from another basileia,¡± he said. ¡°They made a deal.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s what we figured,¡± Temenos said. ¡°But the thing is, Ferrando, we don¡¯t like the basileia boys. They make trouble, and a lot of them think because they know someone they can get away withziness.¡±


    His jaw clenched.


    ¡°I have not been <emzy</em>,¡± Tristan replied, anger not entirely feigned.


    ¡°You haven¡¯t,¡± the old man agreed. ¡°Which is why we¡¯re having this talk all nice and friendly, instead of in an alley with double ck eyes and a knife at your throat.¡±


    Keeping anger on his face, the thief let his mind whirl. This looked bad, at first nce, yet it was the contrary. They would not bother to look into him if they weren¡¯t looking to keep him around. He scoffed.


    ¡°Let¡¯s just get this over with,¡± he said.


    Temenos eyed himzily.


    ¡°Young men and their pride,¡± he said, shaking his head, then let the amusement fade. ¡°What¡¯s a Sacromontan doing in bed with a basileia?¡±


    Fortunately, Tristan hade equipped with a plethora of lies that the Brazen Chariot had been instructed to regurgitate if needed. He sighed, as if put upon.


    ¡°You ever hear about the Meng-Xiaofan?¡± he asked.


    Temenos nodded.


    ¡°Tianxi criminals,¡± Temenos said. ¡°They¡¯ve tried to get a foot in the Lordsport, but the Trade Assembly¡¯s got their own mules for drugs and they don¡¯t want foreigners getting a cut.¡±


    ¡°In Sacromonte they have more than a foot,¡± Tristan said. ¡°And they tried to get more, push into the Murk and deal there, but they lost some toes trying.¡±


    Temenos looked him up and down.


    ¡°Tianxi, are you?¡± he drily asked.


    ¡°I¡¯m Murk,¡± Tristan replied. ¡°But I knew the twins that were running that expansion, and when it went belly up they were hung out to dry ¨C and that sshed on everyone they did business with.¡±


    He¡¯d burn a candle for Lan and Jun tonight, a sacrifice to the Rat King, for the twins were to be a helping hand from beyond the grave. If the Kassa knew people in Sacromonte, which they likely did, then they could check up on the story.


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t eager to get my throat cut, so I took a ship out as far as I could,¡± Tristan continued. ¡°I know some people who knew people, so I emptied thest of my pockets getting that rmendation.¡±


    Temenos grunted.


    ¡°Why the Kassa? Why the traveling men?¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t want to step in piss all day by joining as a fuller,¡± Tristan said. ¡°And, well, the Kassa weren¡¯t actually my first choice.¡±


    The old man looked surprised.


    ¡°I looked into the Euripis warehouses first, on Charon, but then I heard about that one foreman¡­¡±


    ¡°Ah,¡± Temenos said, then eyed him skeptically. ¡°Not sure you¡¯re pretty enough to draw that fucker¡¯s eye, but I can understand not wanting to risk it.¡±


    The old man hummed, then struck out with his whip to quicken the horses again. Tristan looked back at the other carts and found the cudgels were being put away.


    ¡°That¡¯s it?¡± he asked.


    ¡°That¡¯s it,¡± Temenos said. ¡°Pay attention, you¡¯ll be driving the horses on the way back.¡±


    ¡°I thought there would be more questions,¡± Tristan said.


    ¡°We¡¯ll check on your story,¡± the old man shrugged. ¡°But I¡¯m not your father, Ferrando. If you¡¯re not trouble I don¡¯t care.¡±


    The story would hold up even better when asked about, he¡¯d made sure of that. The Brazen Chariot, after all, was a smuggling basileia. It would be entirely believable that Tristan¡¯s supposed Meng-Xiaofan ties had put him in contact with them.


    ¡°Back to Nikias tomorrow, then,¡± he drily said. ¡°It was good while itsted.¡±


    Temenos eyed him like he was a fool.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t pick your name out of a hat, boy,¡± he said. ¡°You got twice as much shit as the rest of the ermanos and still put in twice as much work. Make it to the end of the week like this and we¡¯ll see about getting you in properly ¨C you¡¯ve got all your teeth and you speak well, it¡¯ll make you useful with the dockmasters at Lordsport.¡±


    It was an odd thing, but Tristan would admit to feeling somewhat proud about that. For all that it had been for the purposes of deception, he <em>had</em> put in the work.


    ¡°Because you liked my answers,¡± he said.


    Temenos snorted, then nodded.


    ¡°And if you <em>hadn¡¯t </em>liked them?¡± Tristan dared to ask.


    The old man gave a toothless smile.


    ¡°Then you fell off the cart and got run over,¡± Temenos said. ¡°Tragic ident, it was.¡±


    Well. That motivated him to keep paying attention to the lessons, if nothing else. He was being let in on the veteran crowd, by the looks of it. Good. Once he was in, he could sketch out who the inner circle was.


    And when he had that, he had the trail he must follow.


    --


    While objectively Maryam knew that Lord Rector Evander Palliades was a clever and ruthless king, it was hard to think of him that way when he kept looking like a kicked puppy whenever she showed up to give the reports instead of Song.


    While the bespectacled man always forced himself to pay attention to thetest word from the Thirteenth ¨C which was mostly that leads were being run down by Tristan and Tredegar ¨C it was also quite tant that he wanted to get the reports out of the way as fast as possible so he could get to bribing Maryam with fresh <em>burek</em> and raspberry jam pastries.


    They called <em>burek </em>by a different name here, and didn¡¯t put potatoes in it, but the recipe was basically the same. It had significantly raised her esteem of Asphodel, because no people who made decent burek could be entirely without saving graves.


    Polishing thest of theyered cheese-and-egg pastry under the Lord Rector¡¯s vignt eye, she set down her fork as the man rang a small bell to have her empty te taken away and a dessert te brought in to rece it. They even topped off her wine while at it. It was a <em>hard </em>job, reporting to the Lord Rector. Sometimes she had to take naps afterwards. Maryam watched the servants discreetly exit, their ruler barely acknowledging their presence, and leaned back into her seat.


    Well, she had been bribed good and proper. Now came the price. First her own part of it. The bespectacled man set a leather-bound journal on the table, dipping his steel-tipped pen in a pot of ink before turning a look on her. Maryam bit into her delicious pastry, regally getting powdered sugar all over her chin. It was <em>really good</em> raspberry jam.


    ¡°Youst mentioned that the Triu are not a single people but three,¡± Evander Palliades said. ¡°Might you borate on this?¡±


    Maryam swallowed as quietly as she could, which was not very, and wiped the sugar powder off her face with the born grace of a princess of Volcesta.


    ¡°I am Izvorica,¡± Maryam told him. ¡°The Izvoric are ¨C were - the people dwelling in the londs of the continent we call Juska. The londs were bordered by the sea and a great teau, the only way through which was the Great Gates.¡±


    ¡°The same now known as the Broken Gates,¡± the Lord Rector half-asked.


    She nodded. Maryam had best not speak of that, else a sea¡¯s worth of venom about the Mni would spill past her lips.


    ¡°These were maintained by the People of the Gate, the Skrivenic, while past them dwell the great kingdoms of the hignds whose people are known as the Toranjic.¡±


    ¡°And of these peoples the Izvoric were the greatest?¡± he asked.


    Maryam shook her head.


    ¡°The Skrivenic were never many, though of great wealth, but there are ten Toranjic for every Izvoric and some of their fortresses have walls built by the Ancients. The Mni would have broken their teeth trying to take a bite, it is no wonder they preferred to break the Gates than risk it.¡±


    His hand paused before the pen reached the paper.


    ¡°The Kingdom of Mn,¡± he said, ¡°ims it is the Triu who broke the gates.¡±


    Maryam snorted, dismissive.


    ¡°My people were pleading for help from the hignds while Mn sacked our cities and burned our groves,¡± she said. ¡°Why would we break our own Gates? Besides, my own mother ¨C a practitioner of the Craft of high rank ¨Cmonly spoke of it as being Mni work in public. None ever contradicted her.¡±


    Maryam had no doubt the Toranjic kings would have bled the Izvoric dry for their help, and likely made vassals of quite a few cities, but the hignders were warlike men who relished in the fight. Their fortress-cities shed with each other almost as much as they did with the hollows that dwelled in the bleaknds beyond their own.


    The Lord Rector did not look entirely convinced but put it to ink regardless.


    It pleased Maryam somewhat to be correcting Mni lies, though she was not sure that Evander Palliades would live long enough to finish a book ¨C or that it would spread beyond this isle, even if he did. Still, she had only so much tolerance for speaking of the past and had told the man as much. He¡¯d not argued, considering what it was he really wanted to talk about. Or, rather, <em>who</em>.


    The Lord Rector pushed up his sses and cleared his throat, embarrassed but not embarrassed enough not to ask.


    ¡°Poetry,¡± he said. ¡°What does she like?¡±


    She set down her dessert, humming as she sifted through her memories.


    ¡°She owns a book by Pingyang Zong,¡± Maryam noted. ¡°One of her favorites, I think.¡±


    It was certainly worn enough to have been read often.


    ¡°Really?¡± the Lord Rector exhaled, looking pleased.


    Maryam cocked an eyebrow at him and he coughed into his fist.


    ¡°Lady Zong wrote much of drinking under moonlight and love affairs,¡± Lord Rector Evander exined. ¡°I am merely surprised.¡±


    ¡®Surprised¡¯. Sure he was.


    ¡°The only other I can recall is titled ¡®Ruina¡¯,¡± she said. ¡°It¡¯s from¡­ ria, or something of the sort?¡±


    ¡°ria,¡± the bespectacled man corrected. ¡°The preeminent poetess out of Sacromonte, the reckoning of most. <em>Ruina</em> is one of her finest works, though not her most popr. It is very maudlin.¡±


    The steel tip tapped around the paper, as if the Lord Rector of Asphodel was debating how to transmute sad Lierganen poetry into smooth seduction.


    Now, it might <em>seem </em>like Maryam was selling out her captain for jam pastries. Really good jam pastries, mind you. But the truth was that there was a little more at y. The dais under Evander Palliades¡¯ throne was being gnawed at by rebels, but for now the man was still the greatest authority in thend. And so long as he believed he might have a chance at seducing Song, he was quite amenable to the Thirteenth Brigade.


    It was the sort of thing that mighte in quite useful if, say, they needed to get the head of the Watch¡¯s diplomatic delegation to Asphodel removed because he was trying to get Tristan abducted on behalf of some sinister conspiracy.


    Anyhow, Maryam wouldn¡¯t have entertained the notion if she didn¡¯t suspect that somewhat Song wanted to be seduced in the first ce. You didn¡¯t sit down alone on brothel beds with men you weren¡¯t at least a<em> little</em> attracted to. Besides, if she¡¯d wanted to nip the entire thing in the bud she could have simply told Palliades they were headed to a brothel in the first ce, which would have seen him withdraw his insistence to tag along.


    Insisting on taking ady you were taken with to a brothel wasn¡¯t a good look.


    ¡°How¡¯s your handwriting, Your Excellency?¡± she asked.


    His brow rose.


    ¡°Respectable,¡± he replied.


    ¡°Song is a great admirer of calligraphy,¡± she meaningfully said.


    There, she¡¯d given him as much as she intended to. If he couldn¡¯t work something out with so many hints on his side, he was a lost cause anyway. Maryam was of the opinion that a good romp would help mellow out Song, once she was done panicking about it, but their captain would get on just fine if Evander Palliades fumbled the draw.


    Stolen story; please report.


    Clearing her throat, she changed tack to signify she¡¯d delivered as much as his bribe warranted.


    ¡°I am charged by Brigadier Chca to inquire when the dy to the visit will be ending,¡± she said.


    Lieutenant Apurva had been, it turned out, one of the very covenanters meant to visit the shipyard on the delegation¡¯s behalf. As a tinker with a decade of experience servicing Someshwari skimmers, he¡¯d been meant to assess the quality of the engine-building suites of the Asphodelian shipyards.


    By slitting his throat Tristan had kicked a beehive.


    Not only had the Watch been forced to bring in a second Umuthi tinker from the Lordsport, one that was less qualified, the visit itself had been put on hold until the death was fully investigated. Song, reading between the lines, had told Maryam that the Lord Rector had grabbed the opportunity to further dy the visit with both hands.


    The theory floated by the ckcloak diplomats was that Palliades wanted some signed amodation with the Republics before letting the Watch in ¨C that way, if the rooks tried to fence him in by leaning on the Iscariot ords he could drag in the Tianxi to argue for his side. It was clever diplomacy, since the Republics were hungry for his wares.


    The Sanxing republics could make aetheric engines, sure, but none capable of powering something asrge as a warship. If Tianxia got its hands on a skimmer warfleet, it would no longer need to fear the fleets of Izcalli and the Someshwar should ite to full, bare-knuckle war with either. They could afford to start truly throwing their weight around the Trebian Sea.


    ¡°Two days,¡± the Lord Rector said. ¡°Arrangements are nearly finished and a letter will be sent this afternoon. It is unfortunate that it took so long, but the dy was most necessary given Lieutenant Apurva¡¯s death.¡±


    He smiled pleasantly.


    ¡°I am grieved to hear the Watch¡¯s investigation has yielded no results. As always, my offer to lend the help of the lictors stands.¡±


    Maryam, on the other hand, was deeply pleased by the dead end that¡¯d followed the corpse. She was not surprised in the least that Tristan had skill in disposing of bodies ¨C eventually his closet must have run out of room to cram skeletons in ¨C but that he¡¯d been able to stump a Watch investigation was impressive. While the site of death had been found, he¡¯d himselfe under no open suspicion. Why would he, when the entire Neenth Brigade had been out the same night?


    No request had been made that the Thirteenth recall him from his infiltration assignment so he might be interrogated, either, which was a promising sign. Even better Song had mentioned that while there were frustrations among the delegation supposedly they were as much about the dy to the shipyard visit as they were about the death.


    The rumor so far was that it was a robbery gone wrong, the killer panicking when realizing they¡¯d attacked a ckcloak and killing the lieutenant to avoid leaving someone that¡¯d know their face alive. Apparently such things were not too umon, the Watch¡¯s reputation for heavy-handed reprisal for attacks on its members having some hidden costs.


    ¡°That¡¯s a decision for Brigadier Chca to make, Your Excellency,¡± Maryam demurred. ¡°I will be sure pass the offer along.¡±


    They both knew the brigadier had no intention of allowing the lictors anywhere near that case. It would mean tacitly admitting the Watch couldn¡¯t close the investigation it had the legal privilege of conducting without more than symbolic oversight from the Lord Rector. An admission of weakness in the middle of important negotiations with the same throne that¡¯d granted the privilege.


    ¡°Please do,¡± Lord Rector Evander shrugged. ¡°Though now that we are on this subject, it does bring a matter to mind.¡±


    ¡°I am all ears, Your Excellency.¡±


    ¡°Would I be wrong in understanding you¡¯ve an interest in skimmers?¡± he asked.


    Her hand clenched under the table. Of course he would have noticed that. It was hardly as if requesting books on the subject from the archives had been subtle. Maryam had simply not expected him to care, given how sparse the materials were. While no doubt the private archives had better volumes, it would have been an abuse of the given permission to use them for something other than their contract with the throne.


    ¡°As a Navigator, I must admit I¡¯ve a certain curiosity about them,¡± Maryam evenly replied.


    A cunning gleam behind those sses.


    ¡°Then it should be no trouble at all to add you to the shipyard visit,¡± Evander Palliades said. ¡°Our first skimmer is being kept there, at the moment, so you could study it in some depths.¡±


    He paused.


    ¡°Besides, you¡¯ve mentioned looking for potential fissures in the aether like the one that allowed the assassin to enter the pce,¡± the Lord Rector added. ¡°It would be reassuring to establish whether or not such an opening exists in the shipyard as well, given its importance.¡±


    Shit, Maryam thought. He was a clever bastard, wasn¡¯t he? If it was only an excuse for her to get her hands all over the first skimmer she had seen built in her lifetime she would have declined, but it <em>was</em> a legitimate concern whether or not the assassin could get into that shipyard. And since the Antediluvian construction was supposed to be somewhere under the ind, going so deep might yield some fresh insight about the brackstone shrines and what they held imprisoned.


    In a few sentences he¡¯d gotten her to want to go and given her good reasons to. Which made it all the more frustrating that they both knew the only reason he¡¯d offered was that it would mean she was gone for two days and Song would have to bring the reports during ¨C with Tristan currently gone and Tredegar a known face at court, there wasn¡¯t really another choice for it.


    Maryam resisted the urge to grit her teeth.


    ¡°I must consult with my captain, you understand,¡± she said.


    ¡°Of course,¡± he said, nodding. ¡°I will merely require an answer from you before the departure, which is the day after tomorrow.¡±


    At least he wasn¡¯t smug, Maryam thought. If he had been she would have held a grudge, because they both knew that whatever she¡¯d said just now she sure as Nav would be joining the delegation on that trip.


    --


    The trouble with this particr conspiracy was that it did not actually need to conspire all that much.


    Song nibbled at a meat skewer as she watched Lieutenant Shu Gong haggle with a street peddler over a ne, admitting to herself that this one looked like another bust. The Peiling Society lieutenant had truly gone to the street markets of the southwestern ward to get a few trinkets, not out of any secret n to contact the Neenth Brigade. It was the second time that following her out had yielded nothing, a cause of mounting frustration, but there was little she could do.


    Song, in principle, had names for most the local conspirators and aplices of the Ivory Library: the whole of the Neenth Brigade, Sergeant Ledwaba, the ship called ¡®The Grinning Madcap¡¯. She even had knowledge of one more traitor, the mystery individual that Lieutenant Apurva had imed was ¡®high up the ranks¡¯. Spying on these, separately and individually, was entirely achievable.


    Only Song had been forced to look elsewhere, because none of these conspirators actually needed to meet.


    Oh, she was nearly certain that Sergeant Ledwaba had met with the Neenth one time. Song had checked by attempting to arrange going for drinks with Captain Tozi on the first evening of leave that said sergeant was scheduled for. Tozi made excuses as to why she could not and her entire brigade was gone that evening for a span of two hours and change. Long enough to head to the safehouse, talk and return.


    That was not proof, but bribing a servant for gossip about that evening¡¯s leave among the delegation escorts had yielded two more pieces of information: the sergeant had not been with any of the other soldiers that night and that it was usually her habit to go drinking with her colleagues when she could. Still not proof, but an increasing number of pointed fingers.


    The trouble was that she¡¯d not been able to find out how Ledwaba called the meeting. There were too many ways for her to do it, and a great many of them subtle. Following her had proved too difficult, given how careful she was about being followed, so Song was forced to let her disappear in the Tratheke streets to avoid being discovered.


    After that initial discovered, Song had run into the wall of there no longer being contact between the conspirators. And why would there be? The Grinning Madcap was still in port, but until Tristan was grabbed there was no point in meeting with the Neenth save perhaps turning the screws on them. Lieutenant Apurva¡¯s death had made them too cautious to take such an unnecessary risk regrly, however, so Song was forced to take a different angle.


    If investigating neither the Neenth nor Sergeant Ledwaba would get her what she needed, she must get it from the mystery conspirator instead. The first obstacle there was that they were a member of the delegation, and thus not only of superior rank but certain to have their service records locked up tight ¨C lest Asphodel get to them and attempt to seize an advantage in the negotiations.


    Fortunately, Song had an in.


    With his niece gone to the country, Commander Osian Tredegar had freer hours. While the silver-eyed woman believed he might have epted her request for a private conversation out of curiosity, she made clear it was Thirteenth business potentially involving Angharad to ensure he would. Song believed she had made a good impression on the man so far, and disyed the tolerance asked of her when it was needed. It was now time to collect on those investments.


    ¡°I need you,¡± she said, ¡°to obtain the service records of the rest of the delegation.¡±


    Commander Osian Tredegar frowned at her.


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°I have reason to believe one of them is conspiring with outside forces to hinder the Thirteenth¡¯s work,¡± Song said, shamelessly putting Angharad in the line of fire. ¡°Which of them is the traitor, however, is not yet clear.¡±


    The handsome older man drummed his fingers against the table.


    ¡°You think it could be Brigadier Chca,¡± Commander Tredegar stated.


    ¡°I cannot yet state it is not,¡± Song honestly replied.


    Gods, let it not be. Toppling a brigadier could not be anything but messy work.


    ¡°And if I were to ask about whether this has anything to do with Lieutenant Apurva going missing?¡± he probed.


    ¡°I have seen no evidence that it does,¡± Song replied.


    She could have simply lied, of course, but they would have both known those words for what they were. Offering a precisely phrased truth instead was not an attempt at deception but a mark of respect for Mni customs. The older man hummed.


    ¡°How bad?¡± he asked.


    ¡°It might make it all the way to the Conve.¡±


    A sigh.


    ¡°Your brigade,¡± Commander Tredegar grunted, ¡°is almost violently unlucky.¡±


    Then he folded his arms across his chest.


    ¡°I cannot show you the papers without drawing attention,¡± he said. ¡°What I can do is read them myself and recite the information for you afterwards.¡±


    Not ideal, unless Osian Tredegar had perfect recall, but it would have to do. Song inclined her head.


    ¡°My thanks, Commander Tredegar.¡±


    ¡°None are needed,¡± he said. ¡°This is a favor, Captain Ren, and I intend to call it in before too long.¡±


    Song¡¯s jaw clenched but she nodded nheless. Hers was not a strong bargaining position.


    ¡°I will find you after evening meal,¡± the older man said. ¡°Try to find an excuse for it, as I expect it will take more than once for me to ferry all that knowledge to you.¡±


    It took three instances and floating a rumor that Song was trying to learn how to make rifle suited to her contract ¨C which was, in truth, something she would like ¨C before she had the whole te of records writ down in her notes.


    The good news was that Brigadier Chca looked very unlikely to be a member of the Ivory Library.


    The bad news was that if the man wasn¡¯t up to his neck in bribes, Song would drink down her inkwell.


    Chca was a Stripe, though from what Captain Oratile had defined as the ¡®lower¡¯ track: he had worn the ck for decades and risen up the ranks before being sent to the Academy for polishing. Looking at his postings before the Academy, it was clear he had mostly served as an in-between for freepanies and Garrison forces serving in the same regions. He was noted to be a skilled mediator, apt at findingmon ground between hostile officers.


    That at and what must be an impressivework of favors and friends had seen him rmended to the Academy.


    His rise afterwards had been, fast, if in brusque spurts. Preventing open war between two freepanies at the border of Tianxia and the Someshwar had him promoted two full ranks, and his history was dotted with such heroic diplomatic feats. He was also, however, constantly moved around and there were three different rmendations he should not be allowed authority over supply details.


    Reading between the lines, Brigadier Chca was one of the Watch¡¯s finest diplomats but he couldn¡¯t seem to help himself skimming off the top and building patronage cliques, so the higher-ups kept him moving around to make the best of his skills while avoiding the worst of his sticky fingers.


    It went some way in exining the mystery of why a man by the rank of brigadier, a post usually belonging to themanding officer of a regional Garrison capital serving directly under a Marshal, was being used as a diplomat. Song would hazard a guess that he was a brigadier in name only, mostly so the rank would raise his diplomatic profile, while an officer theoretically his subordinate truly discharged the duties involved.


    Thebination of Chca having friends all over Vesper and being eminently corrupt meant that, while he did not have the character of a man who would join a nnish faction like the Ivory Library, it was entirely possible he had been bribed by them to look away. In turn that meant Song would have to work around him until she had actionable proof, at which point he should turn on the Library ¨C else his reputation, and thus his value to the Watch, would plummet.


    Looking through the rest of the delegation, only two potential suspects stood out. The first was a Savant by the name of Shu Gong, a woman in her forties who had spent most of her career in research halls run by the Peiling Society. What made her stand out was the strong background in theological studies and theck of Trebian Sea service for someone assigned to an important delegation on Asphodel. It smacked of someone pulling strings to get her a seat.


    Song was currently watching her badly barter over a ss ne¡¯s price, which was admittedly not the height of conspiratorial activities.


    Aside from a general desire to unmask the traitors, Song would admit to hoping that Lieutenant Gong would be the culprit because the second suspect would be a lot more difficult to deal with: Captain Domingo Santos was Brigadier Chca¡¯s personal Navigator, assigned for the talks.


    While Akrre service records were notoriously sparse ¨C in that regard second only to those of the Krypteia ¨C the man in question had served at two particr Watch fortresses on the Tower Coast of the Imperial Someshwar. Which seemed a minor detail, until one considered that Sergeant Ledwaba had served at the same fortresses at the same time. That could be a coincidence, admittedly.


    Captain Santos, however, had reportedly twice taken his leave at the Lordsport. Where the Grinning Madcap was awaiting its prisoner. That too could be coincidence ¨C a Navigator seeking the sea was not great twist, and there was an Akelerre chapterhouse in the port ¨C but the confluence of possible coincidences still had Santos as the leading suspect in her heart.


    Lieutenant Shu Gong¡¯s insistence on paying twice the going price for a gaudy ne of false Asphodel ss beads was, unfortunately, leading Song¡¯s mind to the same conclusion reached by her heart.


    Spying on a Master of the Akrre Guild was not something undertaken without due precautions, so Song finished off her skewer and left Lieutenant Gong to continue getting fleeced. She must concern her finest source of information, who coincidentally should be returning from the pce within the hour.


    Song sat her down for tea and snacks when she arrived, scrupulously refraining from asking anything about the Lord Rector, and asked Maryam what she would suggest should one intend to begin spying on Captain Santos.


    ¡°Don¡¯t get anywhere near his room, it¡¯s sure to be trapped, and try to get servants to do the spying for you,¡± Maryam opined. ¡°We¡¯re not quite due purging you of Gloam yet, but you¡¯re already getting noticeable to my logos - to a Master you¡¯d be like a bull hiding behind a curtain.¡±


    ¡°tteringly phrased,¡± Song reproached.


    It was, however, good to know that she stood out to the sixth sense of Navigators. It made tailing Captain Santos through a crowd much less feasible than she would have assumed.


    ¡°Well, if you want ttery I¡¯ve got something else for you,¡± Maryam happily said.


    Her Navigator thenid out the offer made by Evander Palliades, which had Song sighing. She had to ept, of course. Not only would Maryam sacrifice half of Mn at the altar for a good look at a skimmer, investigating the possible aether disturbances under the isle<em> was</em> a worthy use of her Navigator¡¯s time. Song had no good reason to refuse her save that it would mean returning to the pce herself, and that would be a terribly childish reason to do so.


    Was she some kind of wanton weathervane, to be at risk of sumbing to his charms against her own decision otherwise? No, Song could control herself. She could keep a professional distance, and if he tried otherwise she could make her stance on the matter clear and firm.


    ¡°Fine,¡± she sighed. ¡°Angharad should be returning either tonight or tomorrow, anyhow, if I need a second pair of hands I will not be alone.¡±


    Maryam grinned at her.


    ¡°Thanks, Song,¡± she said. ¡°I mean it.¡±


    The Tianxi waved her away. She would not have epted was there not good reason for it.


    ¡°Any word from Tristan?¡± Maryam asked.


    ¡°Not since he reported getting hired by the Kassa,¡± Song said, keeping the terms vague. ¡°I expect that when there is progress he will send word.¡±


    He had left a message after finishing that burry job for the Brazen Chariot, handing papers to Hage, and passed thanks along when she¡¯d written out Tozi Poloko¡¯s contract for him. He had not mentioned what his approach would be there, but she suspected she would be hearing of it soon. She had taken steps to ensure she would, which made it all the more important to keep her next appointment.


    Maryam squinted at her, sensing the turn in her mood.


    ¡°Ah,¡± she said. ¡°That¡¯s tonight?¡±


    Song nodded.


    ¡°Break a leg,¡± the signifier said, then sneered. ¡°Or preferably all of theirs.¡±


    There was a reason that Song had not invited Maryam to drinks with the Neenth.


    --


    They tried to learn Tristan¡¯s location within the first ten minutes, naturally, but when Song remained vague and hinted it might be the Lordsport they did not insist.


    Captain Tozi Poloko had taken her up on the offered drinks, if slightlyte, and though the Izcalli¡¯s own Mask and Skiritai were otherwise upied in the city she was still apanied by Izel Coyac. Song had been prepared for an intricate dance of intrigue and lies, for the need to obfuscate as much as she could about what Tristan was up to while learning as much as she could about what the Neenth was doing, but that proved entirely unnecessary.


    Tozi had called for drinks mostly so she could rant about how awful her test was.


    ¡°I should have let you talk me into the cult investigation,¡± Captain Tozi darkly said. ¡°It has been nothing but dead ends for us.¡±


    ¡°I heard you¡¯ve been working with the lictors,¡± Song tried.


    The Izcalli sneered, fingers scratching at the stubble beginning to grow atop her head. She would need to shave her head again soon.


    ¡°For all the use they¡¯ve been,¡± Tozi said. ¡°The sum whole of their contribution has been leading us to fresh corpses and telling the locals it¡¯s the basileias that are responsible for the deaths.¡±


    Which exined, at least, why the capital wasn¡¯t teeming with rumors about some contracted killer running wild. Song had been wondering at the absence of such fearful talk.


    ¡°Which <em>could</em> be true, in their defense,¡± Izel noted.


    Tozi rolled her eyes.


    ¡°The deaths are too spread out,¡± she denied. ¡°And they¡¯re not helping any of their little crime families rise either.¡±


    Song sipped at her water.


    ¡°Have you found any pattern in the deaths?¡± she asked.


    ¡°More that we¡¯ve found what the pattern <em>isn¡¯t</em>,¡± Tozi sighed. ¡°It¡¯s not political, for one. Out of the twenty-two deaths there¡¯s been corpses both from supporters of the Trade Assembly and the Council of Ministers. It¡¯s not the basileias, either, because they avoid touching highborn and two of the dead have been minor nobles from outside Tratheke with no ties to anything in the city that we can find ¨C meaning they¡¯d be crossing a line for no profit.¡±


    ¡°Were they all public figures, then?¡± Song asked.


    That would be a pattern. And it urred to her, not for the first time, that if the Neenth Brigade finished its investigation before Tristan returned from his infiltration, they might well be crammed onto a boat back to Tolomontera before they could make trouble.


    Song had not intention of sparing them the consequences of their treachery, but they would keep at Scholomance until the Ivory Library conspirators were handed off to the Krypteia to have every name squeezed out.


    ¡°I wondered the same,¡± Izel told her with a smile. ¡°But no, unfortunately. There are two dead that werergely unknown even locally, a minor shopkeeper and a dayborer.¡±


    ¡°The deaths are random, as far as we can tell,¡± Tozi sighed. ¡°Which makes them impossible to predict, and trying to track down our killer through boots on the ground hasn¡¯t been going well.¡±


    It would, given that Tratheke was a sprawling city even ifrge swaths of it were empty. A cabal of four to sniff out a killer gone to ground would have its work cut out for it.


    ¡°We can¡¯t even tell how the murderer gets there,¡± Izel said. ¡°Thest death was on the third floor of an edifice, behind two locked doors and with at least ten possible witnesses on the way up. There was no sign of forced entry, and as with every death it took only one blow.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re a damn ghost,¡± Tozi bit out. ¡°Probably a man, going by the height and strength, but the killing blows weren¡¯t dealt by a de. They cut through bone and metal jewelry alike they¡¯re made of paper.¡±


    ¡°So a contract to sneak in and another to make the kill,¡± Song noted. ¡°Or at least a contract with an effect that can serve for purposes.¡±


    ¡°Or a contract to sneak in and some Antediluvian weapon to strike,¡± Izel opined. ¡°The First Empire did leave arms behind, though precious few, and the entire capital is an Antediluvian treasure trove.¡±


    ¡°Izel has a favorite theory, as you can probably tell,¡± Tozi drily said. ¡°Not that it¡¯s getting us any closer to catching our target.¡±


    Therger Azn rolled his eyes.


    ¡°Tozi thinks believes we are dealing, if not quite with a Saint, with someone whose contract is consuming their mind,¡± Izel told her. ¡°It would be why there is no recognizable pattern for the kills, the reasons being followed are not a human¡¯s.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯d exin that contract being so powerful, too,¡± Tozi insisted.


    ¡°It would also mean that the killer is far down the journey to sainthood,¡± Song slowly said. ¡°Should they reach the destination¡­¡±


    ¡°It would get ugly,¡± the other captain grunted. ¡°Very ugly. I¡¯m entirely aware an hourss has been flipped, Song.¡±


    ¡°You do not seem overly worried,¡± she observed.


    The other two shared a look.


    ¡°We have some notion of how we might trap someone ridden by their god,¡± Izel finally said.


    ¡°Gods can be easier to trick, if they¡¯re hungry enough,¡± Tozi said. ¡°It¡¯s just a matter of setting out the right bait.¡±


    ¡°My best wishes,¡± Song said, raising her cup.


    She meant it, too. The Neenth would need to be disbanded and severely punished, but she would not root for some god-blessed madman against them. They were still doing Watch work well in need of being done. The conversation did notst long after that, the pair both tired, and after Izel excused himself to thetrines Captain Tozi stayed only long enough to finish her cup before retiring for the night.


    Song found out the hour and decided it waste enough Angharad was unlikely to arrive tonight, electing to retire as well. She could use the sleep. Only she was intercepted in the hall before the stairs up, the dimmedmps of the hallway a soft surrender to the dark.


    ¡°Captain Song. A word, if you please?¡±


    Song fought not to tense when she saw Izel waiting at the end of the hall, arms folded and face serious. No, even if they suspected her they would not strike at her in ck House.


    ¡°Of course,¡± she said.


    The tall Izcalli waited until she was close to lean in, lowering his voice.


    ¡°I havee across information that the same organization that tried to abduct Tristan Abrascal on Tolomontera has a presence on Asphodel,¡± he whispered. ¡°He needs to be very careful, wherever he is, else they might grab him off the street.¡±


    Song¡¯s eyes narrowed at him. <em>What exactly is your game here, Izel Coyac?</em>


    ¡°The Ivory Library,¡± she said, testing the air. ¡°You know of them?¡±


    He hesitated, then nodded.


    ¡°I hear they research contracts,¡± Izel said. ¡°They have ties to some of the great nobles of Izcalli, among others, and I know for a fact that my father made deals with them during the Sordan War.¡±


    Implying that was how he had heard of them, and not by dint of being their hireling<em>. And giving me a first glimpse of why you are working for them when you keep expressing qualms</em>, Song thought. Some debts followed you into the Watch, and while Song would offer the man no sympathy she could spare a single speck of pity.


    ¡°My thanks for the warning,¡± she said. ¡°I will take measures to protect him.¡±


    He looked relieved, passing a hand through the stubble atop his head.


    ¡°I¡¯ve not shared this with anyone in the Neenth, so there is no cause for worry of a leak,¡± he said. ¡°I thought it best kept quiet between us.¡±


    He thought it best that his fellow traitors did not know he was sabotaging them, he meant. Still, Song put on a thankful smile and nodded and sent him on his way before anyone could see them talk. She was silent all the way up, lost in her thoughts.


    It urred to her that perhaps she was going about this the wrong way after all. She had been nning to unearth the Ivory Library traitors to deal with the Neenth, but it was beginning to look as if leveraging the brigade to dig out the traitors might be more feasible.


    And she knew exactly where to start.


    --


    Song Ren woke in the early hours in the morning to someone knocking at her door. Thoroughly disgruntled, she threw on a robe and padded to the door with a pistol in hand. Just in case. Ready to snarl until her tormentor went away, she was given pause when on the other side was not a servant but a familiar face.


    ¡°Angharad,¡± she got out, blinking in surprise.


    A moment while her brain caught up. The Pereduri nodded, looking faintly apologetic.


    ¡°I thought you¡¯d arrive tomorrow.¡±


    ¡°I paid the coachman to ride through a few hours of night instead,¡± Angharad Tredegar replied, pulling at her creased traveling dress.


    The noblewoman cleared her throat.


    ¡°Apologies for waking you,¡± she said, ¡°but I thought you want to know as soon as possible.¡±


    Song cocked her head to the side in silent invitation.


    ¡°The cult of the Golden Ram has tried to recruit me,¡± Angharad told her.


    And just like that, Song was entirely awake.


    ¡°More than that, they offered a bribe,¡± she continued.


    Angharad produced a small object wrapped in worn paper, still warm from having been carried against her body, and at the other woman¡¯s invitation Song unwrapped it. For a moment she saw she was seeing wrong, for this could not possibly be, but her eyes did not lie.


    Song went very, very still.


    ¡°Gods,¡± she hoarsely said. ¡°Do you know what that is?¡±


    ¡°I was told it is a taste of what the Golden Ram can offer,¡± Angharad replied. ¡°That it would heal me for a span of eight hours should I consume it. Why, is it harmful?¡±


    ¡°Worse,¡± Song said. ¡°That, Angharad, is a god¡¯s blood.¡±


    The ichor of a god manifest.


    And not, as far as Song Ren, something that gods ever gave <em>willingly</em>.

 Chapter 56

    Chapter 56


    They skipped ck House¡¯smunal breakfast, instead bothering the servants for simpler fare served directly in Song¡¯s room. There were only two chairs in there, so Maryam brought her own before locking the door behind her. Bymon ord ¨C and to Angharad¡¯s relief - the three of them finished breaking their fast before getting into the report about her activities in the country.


    Angharadid it all out for them. The ambushid by the Varochas and how it had made her stumble into a carriage full of armaments, the cyphered journal she had found and was now handing over to Song. How some eeriness in the hills was driving lemures closer and closer to the capital and then what she had learned about the ties of House Eirenos to both Lord Menander Drakos and Lord Gule ¨C as well as the ancient correspondence she had copied.


    It was after that the hesitation caught up, but Angharad had spent the entire ride back to the capital debating what honor demanded of her. There was no denying what was owed to the Thirteenth and the Watch.


    ¡°The Lefthand House then charged me with attending Lord Menander¡¯s evening to ascertain if he has in his possession an artifact that should, by the description, be an infernal forge.¡±


    Maryam looked like she had half a dozen things to say, the word a cluttering chaos in her mouth, but Song gestured for her to stay silent before asking Angharad to finish. Dutifully, she added how afterwards the Mni ambassador had offered to initiate her into the cult of the Golden Ram, promising healing and a position at his side after the sess of the coup by the Council of Ministers to put Minister Floros on the throne.


    ¡°But he did not say, at any point, that Apollonia Floros is a member of the Golden Ram?¡± Song pressed.


    Angharad shook her head.


    ¡°The cult intends to rule through her,¡± she rified. ¡°I believe it implied she is not one of them.¡±


    There was a long moment of silence after that.¡°So in summary,¡± Maryam finally said, ¡°the fuse on the powder keg under our buttocks is a<em> lot</em> shorter than we first figured, and already lit to boot.¡±


    ¡°I greatly mislike the shape things are taking,¡± Song murmured, then shook her head.


    Silver eyes turned on Angharad, who sat as ramrod straight as she could without hurting her back.


    ¡°But first this much must be said,¡± Song said. ¡°You did exceedingly well on your investigation, Angharad. You should bemended for that.¡±


    The noblewoman coughed into her hand, faintly embarrassed. She had not expected the praise.


    ¡°My thanks for thepliment.¡±


    To the Pereduri¡¯s surprise, Maryam nodded.


    ¡°You took a hit to your reputation for the good of the contract,¡± she said. ¡°I honestly didn¡¯t believe you had it in you.¡±


    A short pause, then Maryam inclined her head almost apologetically.


    ¡°I am pleased to have been wrong.¡±


    Angharad generously decided to take that as thepliment it was probably meant to be. Song¡¯s gaze went distant as she stared at the wall, trying to piece things together. The Pereduri almost fancied she could hear the furious scribbling of a steel tip on paper as the Tianxi put it all in order and drew lines. Best to leave her to it, she thought.


    ¡°There is onest matter,¡± Angharad coughed. ¡°Largely personal, though it might end up relevant so I must mention it.¡±


    Maryam leaned in, eyes narrowed.


    ¡°Oh, gods,¡± she grinned. ¡°You fucked his mother, didn¡¯t you?¡±


    Angharad looked away from those gleeful blue eyes.


    ¡°Lady Penelope and I happened to share an intimate moment,¡± she stressed, ¡°at the end of which I found a way to ess the safe by using my contract. I would not have thought to do so without your help in learning how my visions function, Maryam, so you have my thanks.¡±


    ¡°Oh, you¡¯re not going to get out of this by tossing apliment my way,¡± Maryam said, cackling like a hyena. ¡°Angharad Tredegar, conqueror of widows. You are <em>never</em> going to live that down.¡±


    ¡°It has since urred to me,¡± Angharad defensively replied, ¡°that the liaison in question might have been intended by her.¡±


    Now that she was no longer so preupied with the delicious body filling that evening wear, Angharad could spare a thought as to how Lady Penelope could have chosen to cover that very ttering nightrobe with a dressing gown and pointedly had not. The seduction of that evening had, s, not been of Angharad¡¯s own design. Not that she wasining.


    The sound of a sigh wrenched her away from still-grinning Maryam, Song eyeing her with something like polite disappointment.


    ¡°Given everything else you aplished, I will forget I heard that,¡± the captain said. ¡°I expect you were discreet?¡±


    ¡°Very,¡± Angharad assured her.


    Lady Penelope no more wanted the matter to get out than she did, there was no reason to believe it would spread.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to take that from Song, Angharad,¡± Maryam noted. ¡°She brought Evander Palliades to a brothel and booked a room just for the two of them.¡±


    Angharad¡¯s eyes widened in surprise while a flustered Song turned a hard look on their colleague.


    ¡°Don¡¯t phrase it like that,¡± Song hissed. ¡°It was an <em>investigation</em>, Angharad. There was another brackstone shrine in the basement.¡±


    Angharad squinted at the Tianxi.


    ¡°There is no shame in taking a lover of higher rank,¡± she assured Song. ¡°You need not fear I would believe you grasp-¡±


    ¡°We can do this another day, or preferably <em>never,¡± </em>Song tly replied. ¡°We should instead see to matters of actual import, like the fact that the cult of the Golden Ram is no such thing: gods do not distribute their ichor like party favors.¡±


    Ah, that. Tempting as the promise of even temporary healing was, Angharad had surrendered the wrapped ichor to Song. She intended to have it investigated by a specialist.


    ¡°You saw at least one boon at court that was right up the Golden Ram¡¯s alley, though,¡± Maryam pointed out. ¡°That speaks to the existence of some ord with the god.¡±


    ¡°There is no telling how old that boon was,¡± Angharad said. ¡°It could have begun as a genuine cult, then turned into something crueler.¡±


    ¡°I have a hard time believing a pack of nobles from Asphodel would have the skill to keep a god locked up in some basement and bled without the help of another god,¡± Song said.


    ¡°You believe another cult took over the Golden Ram¡¯s,¡± Angharad mused, following the implication. ¡°There is precedent for that, I¡¯ll grant.¡±


    Some cult of the Hated One had pretended they were followers of the Golden Ram, back in the days of that great Asphodelian civil war.


    ¡°It could be a cult to any god,¡± Song grimly said. ¡°In the pce it was Oduromai I saw grant the most contracts, but he does not seem to fit the scheme. We need to look into the local gods again.¡±


    ¡°Back to the archives for me, then,¡± Maryam drily said.


    Song inclined her head.


    ¡°I will apany you,¡± she said. ¡°But yes, that would be most helpful. There is no guarantee we will find anything, however, which means Angharad¡¯s approach is the most important.¡±


    ¡°You want me to go along with Lord Gule¡¯s recruitment,¡± Angharad said.


    ¡°It is our best chance at putting a name to the leadership element of the cult,¡± Song said. ¡°That means, unfortunately, investigating that infernal forge for the ambassador.¡±


    Angharad¡¯s pulse quickened. She licked her lips. That was¡­ In the chaos of the cult being purged from the capital, it should not be impossible for an infernal forge to disappear from Menander Drakos¡¯ grasp. From there she could bargain with Imani or Jabni. <em>I could kill Imani, rid the Watch of her, and</em><em>strike a more favorable bargain with Jabni.</em> There were possibilities, a line to walk. One that would lead to her father¡¯s freedom without betraying the Watch.


    She must speak with Uncle Osian soon.


    ¡°Then I will do so,¡± Angharad said.


    Firm nods from the other two before Song sighed and tugged her wlessly ced cor ¡®back¡¯ into ce.


    ¡°How Lord Menander obtained that infernal forge is the most interesting part,¡± the silver-eyed woman said. ¡°Given the other pieces of information you brought us, it seems to me that Menander Drakos has spent thest decade trying to find a path into the Antediluvian shipyard and quite clearly seeded.¡±


    Angharad blinked.


    ¡°The infernal forge could have been a gift by the Lord Rector,¡± she slowly said. ¡°Presumably made without knowledge of what the object truly is, but¡­¡±


    ¡°No, I see what she¡¯s getting at,¡± Maryam muttered. ¡°When I dug into those Trathekend records, a while back, I found out from the confiscations done by Hector Lissenos that House Drakos used to own almost a quarter of the capital. Mostly in the northwestern ward.¡±


    ¡°I do not see the link,¡± Angharad admitted.


    ¡°Hector Lissenos dug beneath the capital to hide his backstone shrines, if we¡¯re right,¡± Maryam said. ¡°What if the Drakos did too, out in that ward they controlled?¡±


    ¡°You suspect they found passage to the shipyard,¡± Angharad said, frowning as she followed along their beaten paths. ¡°One that begins in Tratheke and that neither the Lissenos nor the Palliades after them ever learned about.¡±


    ¡°Hector Lissenos ran House Drakos out of the city,¡± Song said. ¡°They were barely even a noble house for a few generations afterwards, it took the better part of two hundred years to w back some influence.¡±


    ¡°Then why Lord Menander¡¯s interest in the Lissenos maps and papers he obtained from House Eirenos?¡± Angharad asked. ¡°They were digging in the wrong ward.¡±


    ¡°Two hundred years is a long time to keep a secret that might be too dangerous to risk putting to paper,¡± Maryam said. ¡°It may be the Drakos remembered there is a path, but not <em>where </em>it was.¡±


    Or that the papers had been lost, Angharad thought. All it took was a spill or a fire, should there be a single copy.


    ¡°So he sought Lissenos maps and papers to find that passage again,¡± Angharad murmured. ¡°If he¡¯d had ess to the private archives he could have used the same records Maryam did, but even if could get permission it would have been too noticeable.¡±


    Maryam <em>had </emined that the archivists tried to track every book she borrowed. The Lord Rector¡¯s interest would have been caught by Menander Drakos consulting papers about the old properties of his house.


    ¡°I think Menander Drakos has been able to ess that shipyard for longer the Palliades have, if by a narrower route,¡± Song said, ¡°and that he looted the ce for everything he can feasibly get away with. Including that infernal forge.¡±


    A heady prize, that. Angharad wondered if he considered it too dangerous to sell or he had no notion of what it was, for surely there would be nock of buyers for an infernal forge.


    ¡°The forge isn¡¯t our problem beyond Angharad reporting its presence to establish her name with the cult,¡± Maryam opined. ¡°Once we¡¯ve confirmed its existence it¡¯s a concern for officers much higher up thedder. Let the Watch grab it, or everybody else get in trouble trying to.¡±


    Song, perhaps driven to take petty revenge for earlier, turned a look of pedantic superiority on the Izvorica.


    ¡°Hell is also allowed to own forges, under the Iscariot ords, so long as they are kept within the walls of Pandemonium.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a loophole and you know it,¡± Maryam sneered.


    ¡°Of course it is, Maryam,¡± Song condescendingly smiled back.


    Angharad cleared her throat.


    ¡°While I do not disagree that beyond reporting a forge¡¯s potential presence there is no need for the Thirteenth to be involved,¡± she said, speaking precisely, ¡°the plot to overthrow Lord Rector Evander has now be our concern.¡±


    If the conspiracy to overthrow House Palliades involved the cult, then that conspiracy became part of their contract with the throne.


    ¡°You have testimony from a cultist that the cult is behind the intended coup,¡± Song agreed. ¡°By the writ of our contract we now have to inform the Lord Rector of the conspiracy whatever Brigadier Chca might want.¡±


    Angharad detected the slightest undertone of satisfaction there. Then she grimaced.


    ¡°It would be standard protocol to consult with him on how that revtion should be approached, however.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t expect he¡¯ll be too much trouble to convince. It¡¯ll look bad for the Watch if the Lord Rector learns we sat on a plot to his life for a while,¡± Maryam said.


    ¡°I do not understand why Brigadier Chca has done so,¡± Angharad admitted. ¡°Would it not help in the negotiations for Evander Palliades to owe the Watch a favor?¡±


    Song passed a hand through her hair.


    ¡°I do not agree with the decision, but it is not senseless,¡± she said. ¡°The crux of the conflict is that the Watch will want to restrict sales of skimmers to maintain the bnce of power in the Trebian Sea, while House Palliades urgently needs to fill its coffers if it is to survive the decade.¡±


    ¡°Because Tianxia would act aggressively if it had a skimmer war fleet,¡± Angharad said, tone carefully neutral.


    ¡°Because the Watch had spent thest two centuries ensuring that no single power can control Trebian Sea trade, which is our order¡¯s lifeblood,¡± Song corrected. ¡°A resurgent Sacromonte with imperial ambitions would be just as dangerous, or even Izcalli being strong enough at sea to forcefully continue pushing eastwards into Old Liergan.¡±


    Maryam pointedly cleared her throat.


    ¡°Tianxia has the wealth, sailing expertise and physical proximity that would give it reason and opportunity to make the attempt,¡± Song conceded. ¡°They are certainly courting Asphodel the most aggressively of the great powers.¡±


    She shrugged.


    ¡°That is why the Lord Rector has repeatedly put off the Watch¡¯s attempts to inspect the shipyard, seizing upon every excuse to do so,¡± Song continued. ¡°Once our orders has an understanding of what those shipyards can do, they can set terms and begin pressuring the Lord Rector to adhere to restrictions. Lord Rector Evander does not currently have the strength to refuse the Watch, should it exercise its full diplomatic might against him.¡±


    It seemed to Angharad that the Watch would be wise to do so, but it was not the most salient detail here.


    ¡°So the Lord Rector is attempting to obtain foreign backing first,¡± Angharad said. ¡°To strike a deal with Tianxia so that they will support him against the Watch afterwards.¡±


    He had been very lucky, then, that some mugging gone wrong for a member of the delegation allowed him to push back that visit. Else by the time Angharad returned from the country word of the shipyard¡¯s capacity would likely have reached the Rookery as well as whatevermittee the Conve had granted authority over this affair.


    ¡°It is a ploy that Brigadier Chca is entirely aware of, which is why he¡¯s said nothing of the brewing coup,¡± Song continued. ¡°From the perspective of the Watch, if an emboldened Lord Rector refuses to make terms it is better to allow the coup to take ce and negotiate with a weaker recement who will naturally be at odds with the powers that previously backed the Palliades.¡±


    Angharad cocked her head to the side. That was a ruthless approach, but it was not dishonorable or senseless. It was also not within her means to influence, nor was it her duty to do so. Brigadier Chca¡¯s maneuverings were none of her business.


    ¡°But withholding the information is no longer possible, given the circumstances,¡± she observed.


    Song nodded.


    ¡°To identify the leadership ring of the cult is our contracted duty, so Chca will have no room toin. We are only beginning, besides. There are more names to obtain before we can be said to havepleted our task.¡±


    ¡°Normally we could squeeze the unmasked cultist for more names, but Lord Gule can¡¯t be arrested on the word of single ckcloak,¡± Maryam sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. ¡°We don¡¯t have proof that¡¯d hold up to the storm that imprisoning an ambassador of Mn would cause.¡±


    She sounded, the Pereduri thought, perhaps a little<em> too</em> disappointed by that.


    ¡°Then I continue my investigation of their society,¡± Angharad said. ¡°Until we have a name we <em>can</em> act on.¡±


    Their captain nodded in agreement.


    ¡°Meanwhile I will be digging into the ciphered journal you obtained,¡± Song said. ¡°And the letters too. That is, possibly, another way to fulfill our contract: if we find the physical preparations for the coup, we can grab cultists there.¡±


    ¡°Is there still a physical trail to follow?¡± Angharad asked. ¡°The warehouse led to no further findings and the leads at court are a dead end ¨C and now that we know the cultists there have refrained from taking suspicious boons on purpose, it seems to me that they have hidden deeply enough catching their tail will be difficult.¡±


    ¡°If Gule¡¯s so sure the assassin wasn¡¯t from the cult, there¡¯s no need for Tristan to look into the Kassa warehouse where she took refuge,¡± Maryam noted. ¡°We could recall him, n together for the next step.¡±


    ¡°We only know that Lord Gule does not<em> believe</em> the assassin to have struck on behalf of the Golden Ram,¡± Song pointed out, to which Angharad approvingly nodded. ¡°I would rather Tristan follow that trail to its end. Besides, ck House is not safe for him.¡±


    Angharad blinked in surprise at that, getting a shake of the head from Maryam who mouthed that she¡¯d exinter. Song drummed her fingers against the side of the chair.


    ¡°Maryam, when you visit the shipyard I need you to find out if there¡¯s a feasible way for Lord Menander to be getting into it, or at least evidence suggesting he has,¡± Song said. ¡°If you find either, then we can safely say he was not looking for the brackstone shrines by buying up the Eirenos papers. I would prefer to rule that out before we start making moves we can¡¯t take back.¡±


    The pale woman nodded.


    ¡°If I am to remain in Lord Menander¡¯s good graces, I will need to make appearances in society,¡± Angharad told them. ¡°Something to make up for my ruined reputation in the country.¡±


    ¡°Then we¡¯ll arrange those,¡± Song said. ¡°I have something else I need of you, but we can discuss thatter.¡±


    ¡°And you?¡± Maryam asked her.


    ¡°If I thought the Brazen Chariot could be trusted to make inquiries on our behalf I would,¡± Song grimaced, ¡°but they cannot. If we are to catch the cult through the coup it supports, then I will need to reach out to someone else that can help us down in the streets.¡±


    Song Ren sighed.


    ¡°It is time, I¡¯m afraid, to have a second chat with the Yellow Earth.¡±


    --


    It was easier than Song had feared to get a private meeting with Brigadier Chca.


    It was not yet eight in the morning yet when she was ushered in by armed ckcloaks into one of the private srs ck House kept for the use of visiting officers, the door firmly closed behind her. It was not her first time meeting the brigadier, but she was still startled by the oddity of his looks. He had typical Azn features, a broad face with a t nose andrge ears, but he was almost skeletally thin beneath the neck. It made him look somewhat like antern hung on a stick. Chca was not ugly, not exactly, but he looked quite peculiar.


    ¡°Sit,¡± the officer ordered, gesturing as the seat across his desk. ¡°With Angharad Tredegar¡¯s return, I expect you have news for me.¡±


    Song suppressed her irritation. The man was in no way entitled to receiving reports from the Thirteenth Brigade, which was a Scholomance cabal out on contract, but the increasing intertwining of his mandate as the leading Watch diplomat on Asphodel and the Thirteenth¡¯s investigation meant she had to report to him with unpleasant regrity anyway. Still, she sat. There was nothing else for it.


    He offered no refreshments and she asked for none.


    Laying out theirtest findings, that a cult was behind the brewing coup and that the Mni ambassador was a member of it, did not take overlong. Chca did not interrupt, waiting until she had finished to ask a few rifying questions. He had passing interest in the nature of the cult, Song only grasping why after a moment.


    ¡°It could be argued that you fulfilled your contract by proving there is no such thing as the cult of the Golden Ram,¡± Brigadier Chca said. ¡°It is not an insensible interpretation, I think.¡±


    In other words, he was willing to back the Thirteenth¡¯s contract having been ¡®fulfilled¡¯ if it meant sending her brigade back to Tolomontera where he would no longer trip all over their investigation while negotiating with the throne. It was an opening position and Song was certain she could have reached for the likes of amendation or ttering reports, but she had no intention of going down that road. Chca did not run Scholomance, the Obscure Committee did.


    Song doubted they would be impressed by the Thirteenth ducking out of its test at the first offered bribe.


    ¡°The name given to the cult is not the crux of the contract,¡± Song simply replied.


    He clicked his tongue, disappointed but unsurprised.


    ¡°This is aplication,¡± the brigadier said. ¡°Our own investigation into the coup did not hint at any Mni involvement.¡±


    Song stilled.


    ¡°Your own investigation?¡±


    The dark-eyed man frowned at her.


    ¡°You gave us credible evidence of a conspiracy that might potentially harm Watch interests,¡± he said. ¡°I put the Krypteia on it the same day, Captain Song. Did you think I would simply ignore it?¡±


    Song, to her mild shame, had thought exactly that.


    ¡°I was unaware of the investigation, sir,¡± she replied instead.


    ¡°There was no reason to keep you informed,¡± the Izcalli tly said. ¡°We had, at that time, no evidence that the conspiracy had ties to the cult.¡±


    He leaned back into his seat, face gone severe.


    ¡°The Krypteia found three more warehouses that he men or materials and we believe there might be as many as seven hundred soldiers currently hiding in the capital.¡±


    He drummed his fingers against the desk.


    ¡°Assuming at least half the capital nobles side with the coup and support it with their retinues, we could be looking at a force of between fifteen to eighteen hundred striking by surprise.¡±


    Song swallowed. That was more than she had anticipated.


    ¡°If they can seize the lift into the pce, they will be able to sweep the lictor garrison there,¡± she said.


    She knew their numbers were no more than three hundred, having personally cleared them with her contract, though given Prefect Nestor¡¯s rumblings of needing more hands more might have been brought in from the city.


    ¡°That is our assessment as well,¡± Brigadier Chca said. ¡°We thought them unlikely to seed, but Lord Gule¡¯s involvement changes things. The man has ess to the pce and can call on resources like the Lefthand House. It is entirely feasible they will seed, though their sess will still depend heavily on the element of surprise.¡±


    ¡°Meaning that informing the Lord Rector strongly tips the bnce his way,¡± Song observed.


    The older man nodded.


    ¡°Which is why Evander Palliades will not be told anything until the shipyard visit takes ce and the Watch¡¯s negotiating position has been determined,¡± he said.


    In other words, Brigadier Chca did not want Evander Palliades to be tipped off if it was in the best interests of the Watch to have him removed by the coup. Song gritted her teeth.


    ¡°Given the nature of our contract with the throne, it could be taken as dereliction of duty not to inform him,¡± Song replied.


    ¡°There is no mention of regr reports in your contract,¡± Brigadier Chca noted. ¡°I should know, I had a copy pulled.¡±


    If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    It would have been hypocrisy to be irritated by that after having illegally essed the delegation service records. Song was, thus, a bit of a hypocrite.


    ¡°The client has requested them,¡± she shot back.


    The Izcalli considered her for a moment.


    ¡°I could make it an order,¡± he said.


    ¡°I am not your subordinate,¡± Song coldly replied. ¡°And you have already interfered with the Thirteenth Brigade¡¯s contracted duties repeatedly.¡±


    She let it hang, unsaid, that further encroachment would result in formalints to the Obscure Committee. A man with his connections would be able to bury that, they both knew. But it would also have it put on paper that he had effectively arranged for the assassination of the Lord Rector of Asphodel, which was a dangerous thing to have known about you.


    Brigadier Chca stared her down, then suddenly snorted.


    ¡°What do you want?¡± he asked. ¡°I know a bargaining position when I see one.¡±


    Song swallowed her grimace. He had read her right: it would be difficult for her to truly dig in her heels if the sum whole of the request made of her was to dy her reports by a few days. Even Wen was likely to order her to obey that. She only had so much leverage, and much as part of her wanted Evander to survive this she had higher responsibilities.


    ¡°I need amnesty paper for a member of my cabal,¡± Song said. ¡°Pre-signed, the name left empty.¡±


    Thest part she had added purely to throw him off, and from the way his eyes tightened it had worked.


    ¡°What are you going to order your cabalist to do, Captain Ren?¡± the brigadier softly asked.


    ¡°Something that breaks thews of the Watch,¡± she replied. ¡°But is necessary nheless.¡±


    ¡°You know amnesty papers can be contested,¡± Brigadier Chca told her. ¡°Abuse of them will be brought to the Conve.¡±


    <em>Thest thing they¡¯ll want is to bring this to the Conve</em>, Song thought.


    ¡°I am aware,¡± Song replied.


    Brigadier Chca looked at her again, then nodded.


    ¡°Then I will draft one immediately.¡±


    Song did not smile, for this was a betrayal. Yet it was also the very opposite, because that amnesty was not for something yet to be done. It was to wipe the te clean on the killing of Lieutenant Apurva when the Thirteenth came forward with the evidence about the Ivory Library.


    Tristan ought to pleased, wherever he was: he had just gotten away with murder.


    --


    With Angharad whisked away by her uncle and Maryam requisitioned by the shipyard delegation so she might be schooled in the proper behavior by the diplomats, Song took a moment to ensure the message she had sent to the Tianxi embassy had gotten there before turning to her next task.


    A duty she was rather looking forward to: vivisecting a cipher to peer at the secrets hidden behind it.


    She settled in her room with a pot of tea and a polite request for the ck House servant to keep bringing fresh ones, cracking open the journal that Angharad had found for her. As the noblewoman had mentioned it was a mix of nonsense, numbers and Cydic-seeming words.


    Song could not read Cydic, but she did not need to: ck House had a well-furnished library containing books on thenguage. It soon became clear that whoever had designed the cipher was no more fluent in the tongue than she was, anyhow. The few bits of sentence used were spelled without any regard to singrs and plurals, or even the tense of verbs. That made things simpler.


    She was not looking at a Cydic cipher, she suspected, but a cipher made using a Cydic dictionary.


    It took her a little under two hours to establish that it was not anything tooplex, only a camouged substitution cipher. The first letter of every word in Cydic was to be reced by the next one in the traditional twenty-eight letter sequence of the Cydic alphabet, all of them corresponding to the first letter of the twelve Asphodelian months. The other words were, she rather more easily grasped, all the first letter of the Cydic terms for ¡®powder¡¯, ¡®sphere¡¯ or ¡®stick¡¯.


    Gunpowder, cannon balls or muskets.


    The first numbers next to the words were the date of arrival or departure for the goods being smuggled into Tratheke, though that took some work to figure out ¨C the actual dates had to be figured out by subtracting the written numbers from one hundred, Song put together after another hour of tearing through books on ciphers. The second sets of numbers appeared to be weighted quantities of the goods being brought in.


    The part she could not solve was the nonsense symbols sprinkled all over the records. Sometimes alone, sometimes two in a row and once even three in a line. Her best guess was that they represented people, either those shipping the goods or paying for them. Or perhaps a destination inside Tratheke? There was only so much she could deduce with what she had.


    The picture painted was, well, troubling. Song sat in the candlelight with the best maps of Tratheke Valley and the surrounding mountains she had been able to obtain, estimating distances using the roads, and the conclusion was in: the guns and powder wereing from<em> inside</em> the valley.


    Given the periods of time marked down, the smuggled armaments could not being from the mountains. The roads were not good enough for the numbers to make sense if that was the case, and while Song could change the sum being subtracted from the ensuing results were then all much too long or much too short. Which meant somewhere out in Tratheke Valley there was a hidden workshop producing gunpowder and cheap muskets for what appeared to be the sole purpose of smuggling arms into the capital.


    And there was something off about that. The plotters as described by Angharad were not united enough to keep thisrge amon endeavor quiet, and how could Evander have missed a band of noble houses setting up an arms workshop in his own backyard? Song did not know much about ckpowder production in Asphodel, however, so she sought out someone who did.


    ¡°Nobles didn¡¯t build that,¡± Captain Wen Duan bluntly said, closing his book.


    He looked interested enough to be giving her his full attention.


    ¡°How are you so certain?¡± Song asked.


    ¡°Because there¡¯s only two sources of sufficiently pure sulfur on Asphodel,¡± he said. ¡°One¡¯s out west, near the tip of the ind, under the shared ownership of four noble houses who run a powder workshop. The other is on the eastern rim of Tratheke Valley and owned by the crown. The vast majority of thattter sulfur is used to make the ckpowder for the royal fleet.¡±


    And as sulfur was one of the main ingredients of ck powder, a workshop dedicated to its production could not be founded without having secured a steady supply.


    ¡°So the sulfur used for this phantom workshop must be imported,¡± Song frowned.


    ¡°And it¡¯s not the nobles who run trade fleets, or who have the Lordsport connections to smuggle in something as tightly watched as sulfur,¡± Captain Wen said. ¡°This is the work of the Trade Assembly, or at least a few members of it.¡±


    ¡°But that¡¯s absurd,¡± Song protested. ¡°Why would the Trade Assembly be smuggling powder into the capital so their sworn enemies can employ in a coup?¡±


    The criminals of the Brazen Chariot had mentioned that ckpowder was going for a fortune on the ck market, but the amount of powder being brought into Tratheke could not possibly be used for anything but violence. The merchants bringing it into the capital, if skilled enough to build an entire arms workshop in the valley unseen, could not be fools enough not to realize this.


    Wen shrugged.


    ¡°Nobles get started somewhere, Song,¡± he pointed out.


    Her eyes narrowed.


    ¡°You think they were promised elevation to nobility,¡± she said.


    ¡°Some houses are going to be wiped out during the coup, if it goes through,¡± Captain Wen noted, cracking his book open again. ¡°Raising a few magnates to the nobility to rece them will do a great deal to stabilize the aftermath of the violence.¡±


    A disgusting notion, that some of Asphodel¡¯s leading figures would betray their own to side with<em> yiwu</em>. Disgusting but not unbelievable. She had been raised to tales about how the elites of newly-liberated Jiushen ¨C the Lost Eleventh ¨C had betrayed the Republics and their own people by opening the city gates to an imperial army in exchange for <em>special privileges</em>.


    Traitors could always be found, even when there were no war banners on the horizon.


    Not so much disbelieving as diforted, Song returned to her rooms and set aside that part of the journal. She turned instead to the correspondence Angharad had dutifully transcribed, grateful that the dark-skinned woman had a fine hand. It would have made it a great chore to read her words otherwise.


    By all appearances this was nothing more than an exchange of letters between Lord Rector Hector Lissenos and his mistress, only known as ¡®C. E.¡¯, and the contents were a mixture of the literary and the lurid. Hector Lissenos had enjoyed being sat on by his mistress, evidently, but must not have seen her often for they often traded books and referred to passages therein as a form of flirtation.


    Or had they?


    Peering ahead in the sequence of twenty-four letters, Song found that <em>every single letter</em> had a literary reference containing the title book and a specific passage. She made a list of the titles and transcribed the passages on another paper, trying to find a cipher, but nothing jumped out. A visit to the ck House library yielded the knowledge that none of the mentioned books were on the shelves, which she had to admit was fair enough.


    The letters dated back to the early Century of Dominion, a little under two hundred years ago.


    No, if the key to the cipher was the mentioned volumes then Song would have to look elsewhere. It might be that the fortress at Stheno¡¯s Peak might have a few, but there was one location nearly guaranteed to have them all: the rector¡¯s pce. If not in the standard archives, then in the private ones. Which would mean asking the Lord Rector of Asphodel for permission, and likely visiting the pce on several asions. No books were allowed out of the private archives, after all.


    In a way it was a relief when she was told that a message hade back from the Tianxi embassy, as it forced her thoughts away from that particr prospect. The only thing the Yellow Earth sent back was a time and a ce, out in the city well into the night.


    Best get a nap in, Song decided, for it seemed she would not be getting much sleep tonight.


    --


    Tristan could not spare long for the work, not with the grueling day awaiting him on the morrow, but he made the time. He must, for his enemies would.


    How to get around Tozi Poloko¡¯s contract was an interesting puzzle to solve but also a frustrating one. Song¡¯s trantion of the full contract was clear: Tozi did not have to use her contract to know what was the mostly likely source for her death the next three hours, she <em>always</em> knew. That meant Tristan could not rely on her inattention to assassinate her, he had to find a way to trick the contract itself.


    First, though, he must establish the opportunity to act. Finding out when the Neenth visited their safehouse in the southwestern district was not something he could do himself, given how his days were upied, but it was easy enough to get one of the ck House servants to track theirings and goings for a bit of coin. From that he learned that every night half the brigade stayed over at that derelict house, and with a bit of legworke night he was even able to learn why.


    They were checking in on a particr mansion in the district at least twice a day, and had an arrangement with the lictors so an eye would kept on it at all times. Song had passed a message that they were looking to bait the contractor killer they were chasing, so odds were that the half of the Neenth staying out in town was there so it coulde quicker should the bait be taken during the night.


    That meant Tristan only had to wait for it to be Tozi¡¯s turn in the rotation, which was easy enough given that the pairs always remained the same: Tozi and Izel, Cressida and Kiran. A lucky arrangement for him, that the two he feared the most would be paired together.


    One he had a time and ce, the difficult part was obtaining a creature that fit his needs but would not draw too much suspicion.


    They¡¯d been told that Tratheke was rtively light on vermin, by virtue of being a glorified giant metal box, and that was true despite entire swaths of the city being uninhabited. There <em>were </em>some animals who dwelled within the walls, though, and some of them were lethal to men. The mud viper was one of them, though its bite only killed half the time ording to the locals and it was not a particrly aggressive snake.


    Unless you force-fed it bullish grass, anyhow, which made the females of the species extremely sensitive and prone to biting anything warm close to them.


    Cressida still put traps on the doors and window whenever she slept over, he¡¯d checked, but the other two did not. The lock was simple enough to pick, and he¡¯d just in case practiced several times to ensure he could do it noiselessly in the dark.


    The door itself was creaky, so he opened it as little as he could and did not yet close it. The inside of the house was dark so Tristan waited, crouched, and let himself grow used to theck of light. Once he could make out his surroundings again he picked up the small box he had brought and made for the stairs. Step after step, creeping silently and pricking his ear. Silence.


    The hallway was empty, but to his surprise the ¡®bedroom¡¯ door where he had seen the bedrolls was open. He supposed there was no point in closing it if both Tozi and Izel were sleeping inside. Quieting his breath, he crawled to the edge of the door and paused there ¨C he could hear two people breathing, slow and steady. Still sleeping. Rising into a crouch, Tristan brought out the small wooden box and took the lid in hand: the moment he opened it the maddened mud viper tried to smash its way out and he almost dropped the whole thing.


    Gritting his teeth he opened the lid all the way, aiming it so the snake slithered into the bedroom, and then put the box between it and his hand so it could not turn to bite him. He backed away hastily, keeping an eye on the brown-scaled viper as it hesitated a moment before it slid deeper into the room. More warmth there, as he¡¯d nned.


    Tristan hightailed it out of there as quickly as he could, box in hand, but he¡¯d only reached the door when the shout came. A woman¡¯s voice. He calmly closed the door behind him, sliding the lock back in ce, and hid in the empty house next to the Neenth¡¯s rental. Now he only had to wait.


    Shouting continued, and lights were lit, but no one ran out of the house to go fetch a physician. Tristan sighed. Another sigh resounded from his side.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t work,¡± Fortuna said. ¡°You think her contract woke her?¡±


    She was standing beneath the hole in the ceiling, the glow of some distant light bathing her golden hair in pale.


    ¡°I think when the source of her death abruptly changed, it interrupted her sleep,¡± Tristan said. ¡°It won¡¯t be as simple as catching her while her eyes are closed.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯ll have their guard up now,¡± the goddess warned.


    ¡°Will they?¡± he asked. ¡°At first, maybe. But the house is full of holes, the snake is not an umon sight in Tratheke and the species attacks it feels threatened. So long as Iy off for a time, their guard will lower again.¡±


    Fortuna hummed, looking interested.


    ¡°You have another idea?¡±


    ¡°Something like that,¡± Tristan said. ¡°If I can¡¯t sneak around the contract, then can I overwhelm it?¡±


    The easiest answer was to drug their water with something that would not kill but paralyze them, but there was always the chance that the contract would identify that as a source of death anyhow. A two-part poison would be seen right through, and odds were that a poison bing lethal on umted doses over time would be warned of just before it became lethal. No, beforemitting to a final n he needed to discern the limits of the enemy god¡¯s insight. The Three Hundred Ny-Ninth Brother would warn Tozi about <em>a </em>poison, he knew this.


    But how would it warn her of multiple, identical and simultaneous poisons?


    --


    That Hao Yu would be waiting for her near the gutted ruin in the northwestern ward was only to be expected, but Song had hoped that Ai would be absent. s, it was not to be. The contractor, whose true name was ¡®Dongmei¡¯, lurked in the shadows along with the head of the local Yellow Earth sect.


    ¡°You¡¯rete,¡± Ai called out.


    ¡°I am early,¡± Song evenly corrected. ¡°Master Yu, good evening.¡±


    ¡°And to you,¡± the small man replied. ¡°Come, I have something to show you.¡±


    Though Song had coached hernguage carefully in the letter she sent, requesting help in ¡®finding lost property¡¯ instead of what she truly sought, she had expected something more borate than the small, worn pawn shop that Hao Yu led them to. Perhaps it was only a meeting ce. The owner, arge bald man by the name of Min, ushered them in though his shop was closed.


    ¡°Min is a friend of the cause,¡± Hao Yu told her. ¡°The back of his shop holds something of interest, you will see.¡±


    What it held, Song found, was a cluttered room of useless trinkets with arge t stone in the middle that was used to hold up a table. Ai set aside said table, then with Min¡¯s help pushed off the stone ¨C revealing a dark, stinking hole.


    ¡°This leads into the sewers, I take it,¡± Song said.


    ¡°What Tratheke uses as sewers, anyhow,¡± Min jovially replied. ¡°They are quite overge for such a purpose.¡±


    They changed, in clothes having been set aside for all of them so they would not stink of sewageter. They took turns behind a paper screen, and once they were done Hao Yu produced a small bronze watch from his clothes, watching the needle turn for a moment. He nodded to himself.


    ¡°We must move now,¡± he said. ¡°The water gate will only be closed for so long.¡±


    There was an irondder welded into the wall, so going down into the sewers was quite easy. Song could see what Min had meant: this was quite spacious for sewers, and though the hall was rounded it was still a rather high ceiling. It also stank much less than she would have thought, more like a filthy alley than the literal river of filth she had been expecting. The water channel running through the hall was shallow, and though the water was dirty it was recognizably water still.


    Ai took the lead down there, a hoodedntern in hand, while Song followed behind with Master Yu.


    ¡°The city uses the canals to flush out the filth,¡± he told her. ¡°There is an entirework of water gates that bnce the levels. We¡¯ve learned the hours some of them are used, and the paths this reveals.¡±


    They must have a dozen more discreet shops like this spread over the city, Song thought, that would allow them to use those hidden roads beneath the ground. Only it was not to the surface that they headed to, but towards the northwestern corner of the great box that was Tratheke. They must have hurried for the better part of a half hour before Ai called a halt, hooding thentern further until only a small slice of light was emitted.


    They crept down the hall, turning a corner, and then Song found a thick iron grid warding entrance into a room. Ai killed thentern outright and Hao Yu gestured for her to go to the grid. Through the iron barrier Song saw that the channel in the ground continued into arge room, whose ceiling seemed to be fed by brass-like pipes. The rain must havee through there from the surface.


    But it was the rest of the room that she paid attention to, because it was a mass of small cells gated by thick iron bars with locks on them. And those cells were packed to the <em>brim</em>.


    There must be more than a hundred people down there, Song thought, crammed tight in cells meant to hold half that many. Half-starved in this pit reeking of piss and shit and vomit. She could hear children coughing, the moans of the feverish and the quiet weeping of the desperate. This ce was not a prison, it was a monument to cruelty.


    ¡°Who are they?¡± Song whispered.


    ¡°Hostages,¡± Ai quietly replied. ¡°Family to city guards or officials. Even some criminals. They took some nobles too, but those are kept in a different ce. <em>Nicer</em>.¡±


    ¡°They even took their own families hostage?¡± Song asked, genuinely disgusted.


    ¡°Did you not wonder how the noble conspirators ¨C traitors even among yiwu - were able to funnel men and weapons into the capital for the better part of a year without one turning on the others?¡± Hao Yu asked.


    His voice was calm, and as he leaned against the wall he seemed almost indifferent. The shaved head, the plucked eyebrows, they should have made his face more expressive but instead they had whittled away expressions. It was his eyes that gave it all away: the violent <em>hatred </em>there for what he beheld, the kind of ze that could onlye from genuine indignation.


    There was much that Song disliked about the Yellow Earth, but she would never deny that they believed. They had seen the ugliness in Vesper, the promise of the Feichu Tian ¨C <em>all are free under Heaven</em> ¨C gone unfulfilled and instead of making excuses they¡¯d picked up a spear. She could hate their excesses, and did, but never as much as she would hate the evil they¡¯d set out to quell.


    ¡°It is monstrous,¡± Song said, fingers clenching.


    Hao Yu fished out a small bronze watch, ticking on silently, and frowned.


    ¡°We must go,¡± he said. ¡°The water gate will open again soon.¡±


    Song¡¯s eyes stayed on the pity of misery, jaw clenching. She saw more than they could, with those silver eyes of hers that cared for neither dark nor light. Looking at the pus leaking down the wrist of a boy that could not be more than four, her jaw clenched. She could make out the tremors of his arm, smell the foulness in the air.


    A single death would be too light a punishment for those who had done this.


    Ai roughly grabbed her shoulder, though for once her face was not set in a scowl as she did. Giving in despite the sick feeling in her belly, Song let herself be tugged away. They fled back the way they hade, through the shallow sewage water and the too-wide tunnels, and not a moment too soon: the water had begun to rise out of the channel by the time they reached thedder,pping at their feet.


    Min pushed the stone aside for them, pulling them into his shop, and provided soap and water to wash off the worst of the stink before they changed back into their street clothes. There was a pot of tea on, some cheap Someshwari leaf, and after setting it out for them along with a small bowl of sticky candies he left and closed the door. The candies were quite dry and hard, probably old, but Song was just d for anything to eat.


    Between that and downing the first cup of tea, it almost washed off the taste that lingered in her mouth.


    Hao Yu methodically poured tea for everyone, even Ai who instead of sitting leaned back against the wall with her arms crossed, and kindly waited for Song to begin sipping at her second cup of tea before he spoke.


    ¡°I first served among our brethren in Izcalli,¡± Hao Yu said. ¡°Not one of the sects concerning itself with the candles ¨C that is better left to more martial men than I ¨C but one of those seeking toy the foundation of a Sunflower Lord¡¯s unseating.¡±


    He paused.


    ¡°When I came to Asphodel, fresh from those experiences, part of me thought of it as¡­ not a rest, but a recess of sorts,¡± the small man said. ¡°How could the aristocrats of this small, fading powerpare to the horrorsmitted by the very Princes of War?¡±


    Hao Yu sipped at his cup, then set it down.


    ¡°I learned better, over the years,¡± he said. ¡°It does not matter whether the crown is great or small. Everywhere that birth can decide that some are men and others not, evil seeps through the cracks. <em>Everywhere</em>.¡±


    ¡°How many in the Council of Ministers are involved?¡± Song hoarsely asked.


    ¡°Enough,¡± Ai snorted. ¡°And your bosom friend the Lord Rector is no better, Ren.¡±


    Her eyes flicked to Hao Yu, who inclined his head.


    ¡°The lictors have silenced at least six souls that we know of who might have had insights on where the entrance to his shipyard lies. Regardless of whether or not the acquisition of that knowledge was idental.¡±


    Aiughed unkindly.


    ¡°One was a boy of fifteen, a shoe-shiner who we think overheard his <em>betters </em>talk,¡± she said. ¡°We found his body in a canal.¡±


    Song tried to tell herself it might have been Prefect Nestor, but she could barely finish the sentence even in her own mind. The old prefect was arrogant and blustering but not the sort of man to order the death of a boy without his master¡¯s approval. Song thought back not to the same man she walked through the streets arguing with but to the <em>Lord Rector</em>, the canny-eyed man behind the desk that had granted the Thirteenth audience that first day.


    That man, Song thought, he would give the order and not think about it twice.


    ¡°I have no illusions as to the kind of man Evander Palliades is,¡± she evenly replied. ¡°There can be no good king.¡±


    Hao Yu nodded in approval at the quoting of the Feichu Tian, but Ai looked dismissive and snorted again. Much as her attitude rubbed Song raw, the other woman had a point. Song had spent a great deal of time in Evander¡¯spany, and the amount of it where she had wondered what it would be like to kiss him now burned her in her belly like embers of shame.


    ¡°He has more respect for what lies under Heaven than his former regent, ifrgely out of weakness,¡± Hao Yu said. ¡°The years under Apollonia Floros were darker.¡±


    Song cocked her head to the side.


    ¡°I have heard much of her honor and skill as a ruler,¡± she said, undertone conveying her skepticism about that.


    When nobles talked about how honorable one of their own was, it meant that aristocrat was respecting their societal code. Not that they were behaving in a way that any halfway reasonable person would call honorable.


    ¡°She treated merchants like a second purse and worked prisoners to death rebuilding the capital,¡± Ai sneered.


    Rebuild? Ah, the attempted coup by Lord Rector Evander¡¯s uncle that Minister Floros had famously put down before assuming the regency. There must have been damage from the fighting.


    ¡°Her policies sought to run out of business any traderpeting with a noble house for business,¡± Hao Yu mildly said. ¡°Regardless of whether this improved the lot of the people of Asphodel. She also banned the trade of luxury goods without a license so she could rent these at extortionate prices.¡±


    And his motive for bringing this up was clear as spring water.


    ¡°You fear it will be worse should the conspirators seat her on the throne,¡± Song said.


    ¡°Even assuming argely bloodless coup, she will then spend the following few years effectively sacking the country,¡± the small man said. ¡°Ambassador Guo has expressed concern at the possibility that merchant fleets will be confiscated outright.¡±


    Which would be a concern for Tianxia, considering the main trading partner of those fleets were the Republics. None of this, however, would be of concern to the Watch. The Conve¡¯s sole answer to learning of civil strife in Asphodel would be sending more ckcloaks to Stheno¡¯s Peak in anticipation of a glut of contracts on the ind. Hao Yu would know this, and still this conversation had taken ce.


    ¡°You want something from me,¡± Song stated.


    ¡°I do,¡± Hao Yu politely agreed, reaching inside his in robe. ¡°The first of my requests is that you read this letter.¡±


    Song¡¯s brow rose but she took the folded paper he handed her. The handwriting was unfamiliar but the characters were neat and crisp, a sign learning. It was Yellow Earth correspondence. Someone going by the moniker of ¡®Incense¡¯ was corresponding with someone called ¡®Bamboo¡¯, presumably Hao Yu himself. Incense wrote of agitation in Jiushen, some <em>karmaka </em>reincarnate having seized power in the region, but it was the second half of the letter that imed Song¡¯s attention.


    It was about a band of royalist traitors seen crossing the northern border of Jigong into the Someshwar, three of which were identified by name. And nestled between the first andst names was one that had Song¡¯s blood running cold: <em>Haoran Ren</em>.


    Her second eldest brother.


    Suddenly the room felt cramped, closing from all sides. <em>Gods, gege, the royalists? </em>A pack of traitors backed by foreigners who want to bloodily return the rule of kings. What could Haroan have been thinking, to sign up with Tianxia¡¯s most despised traitors? In some ways he had it the worst of them, having been in Mother¡¯s belly that day when their grandfather caused the Dimming. There had always been an anger in her brother, a sense that he was being punished for his birth, but this was not an answer.


    It was adding ink to the spill.


    Song¡¯s hands clenched around her teacup. She set down the letter, carefully folding it, and pushed it across the table.


    ¡°Interesting,¡± she said.


    Her calm was paper-thin, and like a sheet of paper they saw right through it.


    ¡°This is not a threat,¡± Hao Yu assured her. ¡°I have no influence over whether an attempt to kill him will be made.¡±


    ¡°Consider me reassured,¡± Song thinly replied.


    ¡°What I can say,¡± the small man continued, ¡°is that your brother¡¯s presence with the royalists is at risk of being made known in order to tar their reputation when they choose to carry out their next plot.¡±


    How despicable her bloodline must be, Song thought, that they would be the ones to tar the royalists instead of the other way around. Even among pools of mud, some sorts were filthier than others.


    ¡°Haoran may yete to his senses,¡± she began, then forced herself to continue. ¡°If he does not, then the consequences will be on his head.¡±


    Aiughed.


    ¡°The royalists did the Dimming,¡± she said, ying it up like she was addressing a crowd. ¡°The Ren were royalists the whole time, the Old Devil did it on the Maharaja¡¯s order.¡±


    Song went still, breath caught in her throat. She was going to throw up. Gods, if that rumor was put out¡­ She could save all of Vesper nine times and still everyone with a speck of Ren blood in their veins would be cursed to howling death.


    ¡°I have no influence over your brother¡¯s fate,¡± Hao Yu repeated. ¡°What influence I<em> do</em> have is wielded through the courtesies of the Yellow Earth.¡±


    ¡°I do not understand,¡± Song croaked out.


    ¡°Sects make an attempt not to interfere with each other¡¯s ns,¡± the small man said. ¡°Should I, for example, promote Song Ren to the people as a heroine of Tianxia¡­¡±


    ¡°The other sects would refrain from dragging my brother into the public¡¯s eye,¡± shepleted. ¡°Not to endanger your work.¡±


    She closed her fist. They had her. He had her. All it would take for him to undo everything she could ever aplish was to <em>stay silent</em>.


    ¡°What do you want?¡± Song bit out.


    ¡°Information,¡± Hao Yu replied. ¡°We will not allow Apollonia Floros to rule Asphodel. I would have from you reports on the measures taken by the Lord Rector and the Watch to keep him on the throne.¡±


    That was, Song thought, a small price to pay.<em> Too</em> small a price.


    ¡°And what would prevent you,¡± she said, ¡°from asking more of me?¡±


    Ai pushed off the wall.


    ¡°Nothing,¡± she smiled. ¡°But then only one of us is from a family of traitors twice over, is she? We¡¯re not the side that needs to prove it¡¯s trustworthy.¡±


    <em>Hand on the chisel</em>, Song told herself. Only with every breath, every thought, every look at that sneering zealot and that calm-faced liar, she could feel her fingers slip. Thest of herposure filtering through them like sand. She had to leave, to find a cold and empty ce where she could close her eyes and <em>think.</em>


    Rudely, she pushed away from the table and rose.


    ¡°You have given me much to think on,¡± Song said.


    Hao Yu inclined his head.


    ¡°There is no hurry,¡± he said. ¡°Consider your options.¡±


    ¡°Tic, toc,¡± Ai sang out, the heinous bitch. ¡°Don¡¯t think for <em>too</em> long, Ren.¡±


    The man sent her a quelling look, which she onlyughed it.


    ¡°You know how to contact us,¡± Hao Yu said. ¡°A pleasant night to you, Song Ren.¡±


    It was rudeness after rudeness, but Song left without a word. Strode out of there onto the street, ignoring whatever it was Min said to her as she rushed out of his shop, and kept moving as fast as she could without running. She wasn¡¯t sure how long she kept at it, but by the time she stopped her legs were aching and there was sweat running down her back.


    Feeling the asional curious look from the few people out on the street, Song ducked out into an alley.


    She turned a corner deeper away from the avenue, finding herself in a dirty dead end of brass walls and boarded-up windows. Song leant her forehead against the wall, closing her eyes, and breathed in. In and out, slowing her heartbeat. She felt like throwing up. Gods, but she could not even hate the Yellow Earth for this. They could not have done a fucking thing, if her <em>own fucking brother had not decided to betray all of Tianxia.</em>


    And for what, some pat on the back by some Someshwari raja that¡¯d put a musket in his hand and send him back south to ughter his countrymen? Was this all so he could have an excuse to shoot at Tianxi, at the people who hated him for being born? Well, they hated Song too and she¡¯d not whined about it. She¡¯d taken action to fix things instead of drinking herself to death or, apparently, turning traitor!


    Song mmed a fist against the wall and <em>screamed</em>, screamed until her lungs ached and enough of the storm had bled out she could remember to be afraid of someoneing to look.


    ¡°Do I not bear enough stones on my back, brother, that you would go looking for more?¡± she finally breathed out, panting.


    ¡°Ha! Hrious.¡±


    Blood still high, Song turned. Ai, grinning like some malevolent cat. Dongmei, her true name was, and she almost felt like throwing that in the other woman¡¯s face to see if that wiped off the grin.


    ¡°Leave,¡± she bit out instead. ¡°I have nothing more to say t-¡±


    It took half a heartbeat.


    Song¡¯s only warning was when Ai¡¯s eyes turn a cloudy green, as if suddenly covered by cataracts, then the shell erupted from a line crossing down her body. It looked, Song, thought, like green-zed pottery. Not quite jade or stone, and she got a glimpse of the mask settling over the face ¨C a hungry ghost, with its knotted brow and fat lips curving downwards with a jutting pointed tooth on either side ¨C before the contractor¡¯s hand was on her throat.


    Song was mmed against the wall hard enough she saw stars, held up by Ai like she was some insolent kitten. Snarling and choking she reached for her sword but her enemy onlyughed.


    ¡°Good, then you can shut up and <em>listen</em>.¡±


    The voice came out distorted through the mask, as if rasped out. The shell that looked like zed pottery, it only covered Ai¡¯s front ¨C stopped two thirds of the way up her head, but on the sides only a few inches past the hipbones.


    Song shed at her blindly around the hip, aiming for flesh, but the steel bounced off the shell with a sound like she had hit stone. It didn¡¯t even leave a mark.


    ¡°Now, Hao he thinks you could be good for us,¡± Ai said. ¡°That cultivating a friend in the Watch, a covenanter at that, it¡¯ll pay off down the line. That it¡¯ll be worth burning a few favors putting in a good word for you.¡±


    Song was choking, and spat on the mask. The other woman casually pped the sword out of her grip even as her vision began swimming. So strong, and quick enough she crossed the alley¡¯s length in a heartbeat. Gods, what sort of a contract was this?


    Ai dropped her and Song fell on her knees, desperately gasping for hair.


    ¡°Me?¡± the contractor continued. ¡°I see a filthy little opportunist that fled the coop. One who¡¯s making cows eyes at a king, who picked up a crippled Mni noble for the bragging rights and drinks with a Sunflower Lord¡¯s daughter.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re mad,¡± Song spat out.


    ¡°Come now,¡± Aiughed, the voice oddly smoky. ¡°Did Tozi Poloko think using her mother¡¯s name was enough to fool us? You¡¯re drinking with the granddaughter of the man who set Caishen¡¯s countryside ame and you thought we wouldn¡¯t notice? She¡¯s a lot higher up on our lists than the Ren.¡±


    Tozi.<em> Tozi</em>? And it came together, all at once. Captain Tozi, whom the son of a prominent general like Doghead Coyal still deferred to. Who allowed the authority of superior officers with a sort of bemused tolerance and treated her own patron like someone she could chide. Izel had good as told her, she realized, when he mentioned the Ivory Library had connections to great nobles of Izcalli. There were none greater than the Sunflower Lords, save for the king of Izcalli himself.


    ¡°Oh, you didn¡¯t know,¡± Ai mused, looking down on her. ¡°So an ipetent opportunist on top of the rest.¡±


    She tried to get up, but she was kicked back down into the dirt. Ai had made no distance, not attempt to make room. The contractor feared nothing she could do.


    ¡°Stay down, yiwu,¡± Ai said. ¡°You don¡¯t need to be on your feet: this isn¡¯t a conversation.¡±


    She leaned in, pottery mask looming over Song.


    ¡°You¡¯re going to give Hao everything he asks for,¡± Ai ordered. ¡°Because if you don¡¯t, I¡¯ll be going over his head and sending Incense a letter about how Song Ren is sabotaging us in Asphodel. And to the sect in Mazu too, while I¡¯m at it. That is where your little nest of traitors is these days, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    Rage red.


    ¡°If youy one finger on my family-¡±


    It took her a moment to realize what had happened ¨C she¡¯d been pped across the face, only it felt like someone had mmed a door into it. Any harder and a tooth would havee loose. She was on the ground, sprawled.


    ¡°Do as you are told or die,¡± Ai inly said, ¡°and the rest of your filthy bloodline with you.¡±


    Song swallowed a shout of pain, the entire side of her face stinging now that the surprise had passed.


    ¡°Yes, you¡¯ll talk,¡± the contractor said. ¡°And when the timees, you¡¯ll do me one more favor.¡±


    She stepped back.


    ¡°Do that, Song Ren, and I¡¯ll even let Hao drag your name an inch out of the mud without a protest.¡±


    And then she was gone, leaving Song sprawled in the dirt with a swelling face and more rage than she knew what to do with.

 Chapter 57

    Chapter 57


    It was not a pleasant surprise to be woken up in the middle of the night and the quality of the ensuing surprises had only since worsened.


    ¡°If we go to Captain Wen right now,¡± Angharad said, ¡°we could have them all in graves by morning.¡±


    Song hissed, trying to push away Maryam as the other woman dabbed at her bruises with a wet cloth. Half of their captain¡¯s face was swollen red and a stripe of cheek skin had been scraped right off. No tooth had cracked, thankfully, but Angharad suspected she would have a hard time speaking for a while. The Pereduri had experience being struck in the mouth often to not be unfamiliar with such injuries.


    ¡°No,¡± Song got out, her tone thick. ¡°Can¡¯t.¡±


    Maryam, losing patience with being pushed off, took the Tianxi¡¯s hand and pped the wet cloth down on her palm before making her press it against the cheek herself.


    ¡°Angharad is right,¡± Maryam replied, to their shared disbelief. ¡°Just because they didn¡¯t kill you doesn¡¯t mean the Yellow Earth hasn¡¯t crossed a line. We take this to our superiors and guns wille out.¡±


    ¡°<em>Can¡¯t</em>,¡± Song hissed. ¡°They have something on my brother.¡±


    Angharad swallowed the sympathy on the tip of her tongue. An overflow of that would beg questions she did not dare answer. Maryam looked about to ask Song about the incriminating information, but the noblewoman gave her pause by putting a hand on her arm and shaking her head. They locked eyes, for a moment, and after a sigh Maryam visibly made the decision not to take issue with Angharad havingid a finger on her. She hastily removed her hand anyway.


    ¡°Can you tell us what they asked of you?¡± Angharad tried instead.The answer to being leveraged over your kin was not to spread around the ugliness that leverage came from. One could, however, try to get around the demands made of them.


    Angharad was certainly trying.


    ¡°Reports,¡± Song exhaled. ¡°About coup defenses. They want to keep an eye on it.¡±


    That was passingly clever, she thought. Song Ren stood at the confluence of knowledge about what the Watch, the Lord Rector and the conspirators were up to. No doubt there were souls on Asphodel who could give the Yellow Earth information more on depths about parts specific, but precious few who could give them a better bird eye¡¯s view of the situation.


    ¡°All the more reason to cut all their heads off,¡± Maryam grunted. ¡°Corpses cannot hold anything over your family.¡±


    Much as Angharad agreed with that, Song¡¯s fear was easy to discern. The Pereduri stepped in, taking pity on her swollen mouth.


    ¡°If even a single one escapes, the Yellow Earth will have the information and a grudge that ensures they will use it,¡± Angharad said. ¡°Moving on them now is a risk.¡±


    ¡°Passing information to a pack of mad zealots that beat her face like a carpet is even more of a risk,¡± Maryam bluntly shot back.


    ¡°No,¡± Song croaked. ¡°It¡¯s bad. My family would be¡­¡±


    She swallowed.


    ¡°Cannot involve the Watch.¡±


    It was a rare thing for Song Ren to present herself as anything but immacte but in the trembling candlelight of her room, sitting on her bed, she looked like she wasing apart at the seams. Her face bruised ¨C one eye sure to cken ¨C while her hair hade loose and her forehead looked like it¡¯d been dragged through gravel. Her eye not forced to close by the swelling was wild, wide, and she moved little. Like a girl hoping that if she went still the world would still with her, buying her time enough to think.


    Angharad ached to see it. She still remembered what that felt like: she herself had been numb and silent most of the way down to Asithule, when House Madoc had smuggled her in that cart. Even on the first ship out of Mn, she had been half a ghost.


    ¡°Need to think,¡± Song rasped. ¡°Please.¡±


    Angharad shared a look with Maryam. Neither of them were eager to leave her alone, but to interrogate a woman who could hardly talk was pointless. They had as much as they could have of her until the swelling went down. She rose, reluctant.


    ¡°We will be close at hand,¡± Angharad told her.


    ¡°And we¡¯ll talk in the morning,¡± Maryam added.


    There was no room for negotiation in that tone. Song only jerkily nodded. The two of them left her to stare at her wall in dying candlelight, loath to leave but with nothing more to offer. Maryam caught her eye out in the hall, passing a hand through brown tresses.


    ¡°My room,¡± the pale woman suggested.


    Angharad silently nodded. Maryam lit amp before iming a chair and the noblewoman closed the door behind her.


    ¡°I¡¯m half convinced we should go to Wen anyway,¡± the signifier bluntly opened.


    ¡°Once it is in his hands, it is in the blood,¡± Angharad said.


    She got a frown in response, awkward silence spreading between them.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what that means,¡± Maryam finally said.


    Angharad flushed, coughing into her fist. Not a Lierganen saying, then. That would teach her to trante directly from Umoya.


    ¡°I mean that we would no longer control where the information ends up,¡± she rified. ¡°It may very well make its way to Brigadier Chca.¡±


    A man currently locked in a struggle with the Thirteenth over his constant meddling in their contract with the throne of Asphodel. It would be na?ve to assume he would not immediately turn such knowledge to his purposes. There was a saying in Mn that a swordmaster killed you with a single cut but a diplomat a hundred. One could be just as ruthless with a pen as with a sword. Maryam cursed.


    ¡°Chca is a problem,¡± she admitted. ¡°Did Song brief you on the troubles Tristan is in?¡±


    Angharad shook her head. Her time with her uncle had runte ¨C they had needed to n a way for her to seize, hide and then smuggle out the infernal forge in Lord Menander¡¯s possession ¨C and by the time she emerged it was to word that Song was napping and not to be disturbed. Napping in anticipation of ate night where she had been savagely beaten, it turned out.


    ¡°The bastards from Azei followed us,¡± Maryam said, thenid into the tale.


    A mere minute in and Angharad was left to wonder why the Neenth Brigade were not all currently dangling from gallows, but the revtion that there was another traitor higher up the ranks made it in why the whole affair had not been brought into the light. At least Tristan had been able to kill one of the traitors, good on him.


    ¡°So until we know if Brigadier Chca is the traitor, we cannot take the risk of bringing him into this,¡± Angharad summarized.


    ¡°Song¡¯s sure he¡¯s not a member of the Ivory Library, but almost as sure he was bribed to look away from their business,¡± Maryam added. ¡°Apparently he¡¯s quite corrupt. We need to keep him in the dark until we have some manner of proof.¡±


    That too should fetch the noose, Angharad darkly thought. Yet how could she castigate any rook with shoddy loyalties when she had been charged with treason by the Lefthand House not once but <em>twice</em>? The second time unknowing of her wearing the ck, but to be made a sneak twice over on the behalf of ufudu really was quite the surfeit of treason.


    ¡°I thought better of Kiran Agrawal than this,¡± Angharad admitted. ¡°But then I hardly know the man.¡±


    The rest were not disappointments, insofar as she had never held them in particr esteem. She had no admiration for Izel or Captain Tozi, and Cressida Barboza had only ever fetched wariness. There was anger in that one, the kind that gnawed at your bones, and it had turned her into a hound all too eager to bite.


    ¡°As far as I¡¯m concerned this should end in the four of them in a locked barn we set on fire,¡± Maryam grunted, ¡°but Song¡¯s not wrong that Tristan will gain more by pulling out the roots of this Library than just cutting off another questing finger.¡±


    Angharad inclined her head. That was true enough. Getting rid of this Ivory Library would be a greater boon than simply having another batch of their hirelings exiled or in.


    ¡°Thank you for telling me,¡± she politely said.


    Maryam eyed her with a sullen expression.


    ¡°It¡¯s worse because you <em>do </em>have good sides,¡± she brusquely said. ¡°And that makes you an excuse for the rest, part of the pretty tale of themselves Mni put out in the world for others to believe.¡±


    Maryam breathed out through clenched teeth.


    ¡°I do not owe you a thing,¡± Maryam Khaimov sharply stated, as if expecting an argument. ¡°But the axes I have to grind with you are best left buried, at least while we¡¯re all in this mess.¡±


    ¡°I am not sure I understand,¡± Angharad admitted.


    ¡°You¡¯re trying,¡± Maryam said. ¡°So I¡¯ll try too. That¡¯s all.¡±


    Angharad swallowed.


    ¡°I,¡± she tried, then hesitated.


    She was not quite sure what to say.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± she finally settled on.


    ¡°Don¡¯t thank me, I¡¯m putting work on your back,¡± Maryam said, looking away. ¡°Tomorrow morning I¡¯m leaving for the shipyard visit and that¡¯s a week of me in the wind, so it¡¯s all going to be on you.¡±


    The Izvorica groaned, rolling her shoulders.


    ¡°You¡¯re going to need to watch our for Song,¡± she continued. ¡°She was already biting at the inside of her cheek over selling out Palliades when she¡¯d like him with his clothes off, this Yellow Earth business is going to make it all worse.¡±


    ¡°Her family is the chink in the armor,¡± Angharad quietly agreed, then cleared her throat. ¡°How serious is that affair with the Lord Rector?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s taken,¡± Maryam said. ¡°He¡¯s smitten enough I¡¯m pretty sure he¡¯s boning up on calligraphy to impress her. It would all be quite charming, if it was not also a lit powderkeg ced on top of therger powder barrel pyramid that is this misbegotten capital.¡±


    She paused, then smirked.


    ¡°My advice was that it was her republican duty to take him for a ride so thorough she¡¯d ruin him for all noblewomen, but she went into that, you know¡­¡±


    ¡°When she ms the portcullis down inside her head,¡± Angharad finished.


    It was sometimes eerie to watch, the way Song would smother her turmoil and make herself care only about the immediate. The noblewoman frowned.


    ¡°You truly believe tryst is the right idea?¡± she asked.


    ¡°I think half the reason they¡¯re so smitten with each other is that it¡¯s all dreamy sighs and butterflies,¡± Maryam said. ¡°I expect finding out he farts in his sleep or uses too much tongue will make Evander Palliades less of a delicious forbidden fruit and more of a pretty boy with a crown on. <em>That</em> she¡¯ll have no trouble with.¡±


    ¡°He is not even particrly pretty,¡± Angharad muttered.


    Maryam shot her an amused look.


    ¡°I expect he¡¯s a little light on tits for you, yes,¡± she said with twitching lips, then turned serious. ¡°Just keep an eye on her, please. Keep her from doing something she¡¯ll regret.¡±


    Angharad slowly nodded.


    ¡°I could pass word to Tristan as well, if you would like,¡± she offered.


    ¡°Tristan will be fine,¡± Maryam sighed. ¡°He¡¯s not going to stop until he feels like he has a knife at the throat of anyone that could be a threat to him, but he¡¯s out there swimming in waters he knows well.¡±


    ¡°And yet,¡± Angharad gently said.


    The other woman passed a hand through her hair.


    ¡°Tell him to be careful,¡± Maryam finally said. ¡°Every time we take a look around this city, it¡¯s like some fresh plot had grown out of the stone. Knowing him, he¡¯s apt to trip into a fresh one.¡±


    Angharad snorted, as much at the words as the fond look on the other woman¡¯s face. There was something endearing about the way the two of them had taken to each other, ever since the Dominion. She had envied the bond, for a time, bute to realize it was not the friendship she envied but the trust. Theck was in her, not in them. How could shein of others being at a distance when she stacked a wall of secrets between herself and the world?


    Suddenly disgusted with herself, Angharad pushed off the wall.


    ¡°I will pass it along,¡± she swore, then flicked a nce at the door. ¡°We had best get some sleep, I think.¡±


    Maryam nodded, looking as tired as Angharad felt.


    ¡°Good night, Angharad,¡± the pale woman said.


    She swallowed.


    ¡°And you, Maryam,¡± she got out.


    Angharad mastered herself enough to leave the room instead of fleeing it. She was a fool, she told herself. For whom but a fool would spend so much time with a brigade she hade to this isle intending to deceive, to use as cover while she stole from the Watch and pawned a foul device to the damned souls of the Lefthand House? If she had kept her distance, if she had made them into strangers¡­


    But not they were not that, not any longer. And part of her balked at the thought of the woman she had just left in her room looking at her with disgust and hostility once more. With the thought of the bleakness it would bring in Song¡¯s eyes, how Tristan would smile while his eyes marked her for the grave. Yet what was she to do, <em>abandon her own father</em>?


    There was no graceful way out. Angharad had ensured as much the moment she began to like being part of the Thirteenth Brigade. Sleeping God, the madness of that. Song had shot an ally in the back, Tristan was an avowed thief and Maryam would bury all of Mn under the seat given half a chance!


    They deserved better. Her uncle deserved better.


    Everyone in this wretched tale did, except for her.


    She went to bed, but what little she slept was consumed by dreams of looking in the mirror and finding her face to be a wolf¡¯s.


    --


    Including Maryam, the Watch delegation numbered six.


    Two Umuthi society tinkers, one from each branch of the tree. An Arthashastra schr specialized in cryptoglyphs, a Stripe who¡¯d served as an officer at thergest Watch shipyard for a decade and second Arthashastra member who was not a schr but a diplomat. Thetter of these, Captain Elena Cervantes, was informally the head of the delegation even though Commander Osian Tredegar outranked her.


    She had also spent half a day coaxing Maryam about what she was and was not allowed to do while on the visit so that the Lord Rector would have nothing to hold over the Watch. In truth Maryam had expected the captain to resent her presence being forced onto the delegation at thest moment, but instead she found Cervantes to be rather pleased.


    ¡°I asked for a Navigator to be included in the delegation from the start, but the Lord Rector refused us,¡± she told Maryam. ¡°You are a wee addition, so long as you do not end up causing a diplomatic incident.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll do my best to refrain,¡± Maryam said. ¡°The trick is to force my way past every door with guards, yes?¡±


    She ended up paying for that with half an hour of being drilled about the legal definition of self-defense, which was too high a cost.


    In the early hours of the day they took the ck House coaches to the Collegium, all the way to the fort raised around the bottom of the lift that led to the rector¡¯s pce. There they were met by Majordomo Timon, the head of the Lord Rector¡¯s household, who led them to the physician¡¯s room where they were to be drugged.


    As Evander Palliades did not want them to be know the path to the shipyard they would be going under for six hours, after which they would be allowed to wake for a meal and a physician¡¯s checkup at a roadside fort before being put under for another six hours. After that, there would be pause for the night allowing the delegation to recover from the drugs and they would resume the journey in the morning.


    The process would repeat until they had reached the shipyard, at which point they would be allowed to study the location under escort. The estimated duration of the journey was seven days: three to reach the entrance, one spent visiting and then three to return to Tratheke. Spection was rife among the delegation that the Lord Rector was padding the time to throw off those seeking to find the path he was using.


    They would be split into two carriages, three on each, while a detachment of lictors and physicians came along in anotherrger coach.


    Maryam had heard worrying things about Lierganen medicine, but the Watch had been allowed to know theposition of the drug and deemed it safe enough for use. A bearded old man handed her a cup to drink and told her toy down on the bed, where she stared at the ceiling for the better part of a minute wondering why it wasn¡¯t-


    -<em>the summer heat was not so suffocating, on the riverbanks, but the heavy robes and red cloak still had her sweating in the sun. Not that Maryam would darein, not with all these grim-faced bearded lords and high-coreddies dripping in gold all standing in silence, watching as the Mni were dragged to the mud. </em>


    <em>Seven, men and women, ragged and bruised. </em>


    <em>Lords anddies of the devils from across the sea, not so fine now that they had been grabbed out of their manses and taken far beyond the protection of their cannons. One of them was her age, a boy whose eyes were red from weeping.</em>


    <em>Mother raised the ashen effigy, calling out to the dreadmost goddess, to Mother Winter herself, and as her voice rose the first of the Mni was forced face-first into the river. The woman struggled, panicking, but the warrior held her face under the tide and eventually she stopped.</em>


    <em>Mother¡¯s voice rose, calling Winter to witness their oaths, and the second lord was-</em>


    ¡°It alwayses down to death with them, doesn¡¯t it?¡±


    Maryam gasped awake in a carriage, almost striking the man next to her. Osian Tredegar, faced by Captain Cervantes. But what should be the empty seat across from her was filled with a flickering, buzzing silhouette.


    The shade, wearing heavy robes and a red cloak. Even the ribbons in her hair were the same.


    ¡°What?¡± she croaked.


    ¡°Gods,¡± the shade said. ¡°It alwayses down to death, with them. Taking it, dealing it, warding it away. Everything they are rests on a bed of bones.¡±


    Maryam breathed in, reined in her panic. The others, she saw, were still asleep. The shade spoke quietly, almost a whisper, so whoever drove the carriage would not hear her.


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    ¡°What do you want?¡± she hissed.


    ¡°When your eyes close, mine open,¡± the shade said. ¡°Mother was not as clever as she thought, in the end.¡±


    The thing tugged at a red ribbon, pulling out the knot, and they both watched it flutter down to the floor.


    ¡°One cannot bargain with the inevitable,¡± the shade sighed. ¡°Pay attention, Maryam. Time is running out.¡±


    The carriage shook, hitting a rock, and in that blink of an eye the shade was gone. There was a groan to Maryam¡¯s side as Commander Tredegar woke, sounding nauseated, and after that Cervantes was not far behind. She was groggier than the other when they began taking stock of where they were, but her mind was mostly there.


    Their carriage was rolling on a road, bucking against bumps and rocks, but they could not see outside. There were metal shutters, pulled tight, and the doors were sealed and locked. Commander Tredegar busied himself finding the source of fresh air, finding that beneath their benches werepartments with angled holes in them. These holes were angled so that no one inside the carriage would be able to look outside through them, which all agreed was an impressivemitment to secrecy. The most they learned about their surroundings was that sometimes the wheels rolled on rocks that went flying, and dry wood snapped.


    Fortunately for them, Maryam was not entirely bound by walls.


    The other two ckcloaks moved away from her as she closed her eyes and focused, sending out her nav. The aether around them was not calm, but it was nothing like the wild chaos of Tratheke. There was a single, overwhelming current here ¨C slightly curving, not that it would mean anything in the material. Theck of ¡®reefs¡¯ to dash her soul-effigy against had her bold, at first, but she quickly learned better.


    If she sent her nav too far out, the current would rip it right out of her.


    Neck beaded with sweat, she proceeded with only the utmost caution. Ahead and behind she felt aether emanations, most likely the other ckcloaks and their drivers as well as the coach sent by the Lord Rector. The lictors were ahead, she figured, for there the emanations were stronger there. She didn¡¯t have long, perhaps ten minutes until the carriage came to a halt and Captain Cervantes quietly ordered her to stop.


    The carriage slowed and turned, as if pulling in somewhere, and eventually there was a knock on the doors.


    ¡°Out, rooks,¡± a lictor called out as he opened half a dozen locks before opening the door. ¡°Time for your check up.¡±


    They were in some sort of barn, Maryam found as she exited the carriage with the others, or perhaps stables? Dirt and straw beneath their feet, and in the corner the physicians from this morning were waiting. One after another the ckcloaks had their check up, tongues checked for swelling and pulse for having slowed, but there were noplications.


    Maryam would have tried to glimpse under the barn doors while they were served meals of porridge, if not for the two lictors standing guard there grimly. She could see torchlight on the other side at least, and hear some talk. They must be inside an Asphodelian fort.


    Shortly after she was made to drink the drug again, and under she went.


    Would that her sleep had been dreamless, but she had hat horrid nightmare again ¨C the one about being strangled and eaten alive. When she woke hourster, sweating and clutching at her neck, she took the time to calm herself before feeling out the aether again.


    The current was just as strong out here, so instead she kept her nav on the carriage ahead ¨C trying to get a feel for their emanations. They sat close enough together, though, that it was hard to tell them apart. Were the aether still as a pond it would be easier, but as things stood she was reading smoke signs in a thunderstorm.


    They stopped for the night in what she could only describe a crypt, a stone basement with a locked door where cots wereid out on the ground. They did not even get to enter it while awake, having been carried in while still asleep. In the morning the physicians drugged them again, and-


    -<em>the captain pointed his sword, pale teeth bared in a snarl.</em>


    <em>¡°She is a wanted criminal,¡± the Mni said. ¡°Yield, ckcloak. You have no authority here.¡±</em>


    <em>Maryam swallowed a sob, dragging herself back to her feet. The men in ck where only a handful, the Mni were half a hundred with vering hounds pulling at the leash. They would give her up. She had to run, to try and get ahead again, but she was so fucking hungry. </em>


    <em>¡°I have authority everywhere,¡± the kindly man said. ¡°Its name is power.¡±</em>


    <em>His fingers traced oily darkness, but a handful of strokes, but Maryam¡¯s breath caught in her throat. DEATH, she read. DEATHDEATHDEATHDEATHDEATH and the Mni they screamed and wailed and wept, the hounds whimpering, and just as suddenly as it had begun it stopped.</em>


    <em>¡°Go back,¡± the kindly man said. ¡°While you still-</em>


    ¡°I think we came to trust him so quickly because he reminded us of Mother.¡±


    Maryam gasped hoarsely. She met the eyes of the shade, who sat starved and pale and ragged. Across from her.


    ¡°He was all I had,¡± Maryam hoarsely replied. ¡°What could I do but trust?¡±


    ¡°You wouldn¡¯t have,¡± the shade said, ¡°if he had not first shown he could be cruel. That¡¯s the face of power we grew up with ¨C kind to its own, but cruel to the enemy. We¡¯ve never trusted kindness alone.¡±


    ¡°There is no<em> we</em>,¡± she bit out.


    ¡°No,¡± the shade agreed. ¡°We are cruel, instead. That was the lesson we learned.¡±


    ¡°Riddles will not spare you,¡± Maryam said. ¡°Cease this.¡±


    ¡°Do you remember what it was like, going hungry?¡± the shade softly asked. ¡°It¡¯s always like that for me. And here, in this ce, it¡¯s¡­ everywhere. Like a poison poured into the world.¡±


    She frowned.


    ¡°What are you talking about?¡±


    A noise to the side, Captain Cervantes stretching out, and when Maryam¡¯s gaze returned from the nce it was to an empty seat. The diplomat asked her if she had said something, and Maryam lied.


    What followed was a tedious repeat of the previous day.


    The drugs had them all groggy and with persistent headaches, which killed conversation and made Tredegar snappy whenever it was attempted. She stuck her nav on the carriage ahead half for the excuse not to pay attention to the other two. It struck her during the morning meal that since the lictors and physicians were the same attending to them during their time out of the carriage, she could get ahead by feeling out their presence there.


    Putting a face to the emanations, thus helping to split them in her mindter. She could even slide past the door to where the rest of the lictors were waiting out in the fort to do the same with them, though not all that far.


    It was enough for her to discern that some of the lictors in the carriage were reced during the first break of the second day, traded for fresh souls from whatever outpost they had stopped at ¨C not a barn but a stripped-bare temple, this time, just as thoroughly sealed as the rest. She kept up her game half-heartedly, mostly forck of anything else to do, through the rest of the second day and night.


    Which was how she noticed the switch at the first break of the third day.


    She had not dream, the third morning, and so warily kept an eye on the aether the entire time she was awake. That led Maryam to staring at the door of the granary they were eating their gruel in, tly disbelieving. It was only when Commander Tredegar cocked an eyebrow at her she realized she was drawing attention to herself and hastily looked away.


    ¡°Khaimov?¡± Captain Cervantes asked, leaning in.


    ¡°Not here,¡± she whispered back.


    They went back under, waking that evening to a stripped out building of obvious Antediluvian make ¨C it was the of the same brassy alloy Tratheke was made of. They were informed that the entrance to the shipyard had been reached, that they were underground and that tomorrow morning thest bit of journey to the shipyard would be taken.


    They were left alone for the night, after that, and Maryam was taken aside by Captain Cervantes and Commander Tredegar ¨C who was, she suspected, too high in rank for Cervantes to be able to refuse his curiosity.


    ¡°I have been tracking our guides with my logos for the whole trip,¡± Maryam said.


    ¡°So you have said,¡± Cervantes agreed. ¡°And?¡±


    ¡°Something impossible happened,¡± she said. ¡°On the second day,e that first break, some of our lictors were traded for fresh ones.¡±


    ¡°Not so surprising, if we have been moving through roadside forts,¡± Osian Tredegar noted.


    ¡°No,¡± she agreed. ¡°But what did surprise me is when this morning, on the first break, I found some of the lictors that had switched were back.¡±


    Neither of them were slow to the catch the implication.


    ¡°You are certain?¡± Captain Cervantes intensely asked.


    Maryam cleared her throat embarrassedly.


    ¡°One of them is a woman on her monthlies, and not having a pleasant time of it,¡± Maryam said. ¡°It is <em>very </em>distinct.¡±


    A beat.


    ¡°We should have heard horses if any came along,¡± Osian Tredegar opined. ¡°They are not quiet beasts.¡±


    ¡°A fourth carriage would be even louder,¡± Captain Cervantes muttered. ¡°Which means those lictors were somehow at the destination before we were.¡±


    ¡°I think we¡¯ve been going in circles for three days,¡± Maryam whispered. ¡°None of us ever saw firmament, have we? And the current in the aether had stayedrgely the same.¡±


    ¡°It might be we never even left Tratheke,¡± the captain breathed in. ¡°We¡¯re just <em>under</em> it. And all this theatre of secrecy¡­¡±


    ¡°Is to keep everyone looking out there in the valley when the Lord Rector has been building up under the capital all this time,¡± Commander Tredegar said, sounding reluctantly impressed. ¡°We must be at some sort of halfway point on the way down, which he furnished with the necessities for this whole charade.¡±


    Song, Maryam thought, ought to be proud. She had so thoroughly gotten under a king¡¯s skin that he had fumbled his own state secret trying to get her back in the same room. No wonder Evander Palliades had not wanted to risk a Navigator going with the delegation. He must have bet that Maryam would be too green to figure out they were underground, and in his defense he¡¯d been right.


    He¡¯d just not ounted for boredom and the shift rotations of the lictors.


    ¡°Not a word of this,¡± Captain Cervantes ordered them both, but her eyes were bright.


    She whispered praises and something about amendation, mood immensely lift, and why not? She had already proven her worth.


    If only she could stop having that damn dream.


    --


    Tristan had made it through his week, so now came the prize.


    Temenos didn¡¯t make a formal announcement, the traveling men was not that sort of outfit, but the old man picked him out of the line for the Lordsport crew as one of the regr picks instead of at the end when all the ermanos got split between the crews. It was a statement, for those who cared to hear it, and it got him a few dark looks from other neers. Everyone liked the Lordsport runs, if you weren¡¯t one of the drivers you could nap on the way back to the capital.


    That day the old man reeking of tobo introduced him to the guard officers and dockmasters when they reached the port, which he never had before, and though Tristan was told to keep his mouth shut he got to listen as Temenos haggled for an early slot on the list to use the lift down the cliff and then for a cursory inspection of the crates being unloaded instead of one that¡¯d result in the true fees being paid.


    The thief waited for the bargain to be struck with the dock mistress, a one-eyed woman with a saltbitten face, before asking the question itching at him.


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand the loading fee,¡± Tristan said. ¡°It¡¯s like setting a tariff on your own exports, which sounds mad.¡±


    Temenos spat to the side, the thick spit ckened from histest bout of snuff.


    ¡°Minister Floros fucked all the merchant families, back when she was regent,¡± the old man said. ¡°She made it mandatory to have royal licenses to deal in some goods, then bent over the Trade Assembly on the prices.¡±


    The balding man offered an ugly grin.


    ¡°Nobles didn¡¯t need to buy them licenses, of course,¡± Temenos added. ¡°They were born with <em>rights</em>.¡±


    The sneer apanying that word would have done any soul from the Murk proud, the thief thought. <em>Us and the rest, </em>the old words went, but Tristan thought it truer to instead say ¡®<em>them and the rest¡¯.</em> Everynd had their own infanzones, the men with the boots on everyone else¡¯s fingers and the guns to make you keep your eyes on the floor.


    ¡°I thought Palliades was softer on regr folk, though,¡± Tristan said, putting on a puzzled frown. ¡°At least that¡¯s what they say.¡±


    ¡°Sure he is,¡± the old man said. ¡°Licenses aren¡¯t mandatory anymore and nobles have to pay for them too. But if you don¡¯t have a license there¡¯s a cap to how much tonnage can trade in the goods.¡±


    Tristan¡¯s eyes narrowed.


    ¡°But you can pay the ¡®loading fees¡¯ so the dockmasters don¡¯t look too closely at how much we¡¯re actually sending out,¡± he said.


    ¡°Clever boy,¡± Temenos grinned. ¡°And that coin¡¯s Lordsport revenue, not tariffs, so the Council of Ministers¡¯ got no say in how it¡¯s used.¡±


    Evander Palliades, the thief thought, really was quite canny. Not only was he filling the Palliades treasury instead of Asphodel¡¯s with that ploy, for all the broad application of the fees they were in practice very targeted. If he put the cap on tonnage high enough ¨C which Tristan suspected he would ¨C then the vast majority of merchants wouldn¡¯t be affected by the fees and simply go back to the way things had been before Apollonia Floros.


    The wealthiest magnates of the Trade Assembly though, those most dangerous to him, they¡¯d get squeezed for coin. Yet less than his regent had squeezed them, and in a way where they could still stick it to the nobles, so they¡¯d near thank him for the privilege of having their purse riffled through. Tristan could respect a fine racket when he saw one.


    Were he a betting man, which he was, he¡¯d bet that on the down-low their good friend Evander sold some of those magnates a license on the cheap to y off the Trade Assembly against itself. The magnates might makemon front against the ministers, but at the end of the day they were still merchantspeting against each other. They weren¡¯t any better than the nobles, really, their coin just wasn¡¯t old enough to be a title yet.


    ¡°So we pay for wool cloth, obviously,¡± Tristan muttered, feigning as if he had been considering that the whole time. ¡°Marble too?¡±


    ¡°No, the Kassa don¡¯t sell enough for that,¡± Temenos snorted. ¡°But we have to for the fruit of the shitpits, the tonnage on that is violent low.¡±


    Tristan blinked.


    ¡°The fruit of the <em>what</em>?¡±


    ¡°Saltpeter,¡± the old man said, lips twitching. ¡°You make it by burying shit in soil with wood ash and straw mixed in. Then you leach it out after a year and you¡¯ve got saltpeter. There¡¯s dozens of pits for that spread around the Reeking Rows, the Kassa own a few.¡±


    Saltpeter was used to treat breathing and wantonness as well as fertilize ground, but its most famous use was arguably that it was one of the main ingredients in ckpowder. No wonder the Lord Rector did not want too much of it leaving his borders. Temenos then frowned at him.


    ¡°And enough of this <em>we</em> business, boy,¡± the old man said. ¡°We might be Kassa men, but we¡¯re not Kassa. You let them trick you into thinking otherwise and they¡¯ll work you to death without batting an eye.¡±


    Tristan cocked his head to the side. He was under no delusion that a magnate would care a whit about those working for their profit, but this was the first time he heard Temenos hinting at a simr opinion.


    ¡°I thought you liked the Kassa,¡± he tried.


    ¡°I like them fine, Ferrando,¡± Temenos grunted. ¡°And I¡¯d rather cut off a hand than go over to the Anastos, don¡¯t get me wrong. Maria Anastos is more shark than woman.¡±


    ¡°But,¡± Tristan said.


    ¡°But back when the injury fund was run with Kassa help, they skimmed off the top,¡± he said. ¡°They¡¯re not bad sorts, really, but they¡¯ll always reach for the coin if it¡¯s there. They don¡¯t look out for us.¡±


    A finger prodded against Tristan¡¯s chest.


    ¡°<em>We</em> look out for us, Ferrando,¡± Temenos said. ¡°That¡¯s why we make friends with the weavers and the fullers and the warehouse hands: so when Stavros Kassae sniffing around for corners to cut, it¡¯s not just some of us crossing our arms.¡±


    Chloris Kassa was the head of the Kassa family and the owner of most their properties, but she was also old and enfeebled, if still mostly witted. She had handed off much of her work to her four sons, the leader of the pack the eldest and aforementioned Stavros. The sons were not thought of nearly as well as their mother, and for good reason. Where Mistress Chloris had grown the family fortune by seizing on opportunities, they were instead intent on ¡®trimming fat¡¯.


    Like the pay of their workers.


    ¡°I had no idea we had friends in the workshop,¡± Tristan admitted.


    ¡°Some other ces, too,¡± Temenos vaguely said. ¡°A traveling man¡¯s a traveling man no matter who pays them. It¡¯s only good sense to have a drink with the other outfits once in a while.¡±


    The thief almost let out a whistle. The old man might be better connected than he had thought. And if he could lean on those contacts to ask around about the assassin, well, that was his job out here done. He was getting close to the end.


    ¡°You¡¯re still a little green for that, though, so put it out of your mind,¡± the old man said, spitting another gob onto the pavement. ¡°Let¡¯s get this run done and our carts back up the cliff, we¡¯ve had enough chitchat.¡±


    They were done within the hour, around noon and thus early, so they stopped at one of the cheap eateries in the upper half of Lordsport before setting off. The traveling men had a deal with the owner, a meal of whatever leftovers were there for a single copper a head so long as at least ten came to eat. The Kassa, and most the men working for trading families, had such arrangements all over Tratheke and the Lordsport.


    It was one of the perks of working for the magnates, something setting apart from the masses of day workers who had no name behind them.


    Much as Tristan would have preferred to avoid what woulde after the day¡¯s work, he could not afford to. The ermanos were usually invited for drinks only once a week while the veterans went out to their favorite tavern, the ck Dame, every other day. Tristan being extended an invitation to apany them on those nights was an initiation, and no matter his dislike for drink he must attend. Temenos had implied the traveling men were much better connected than he had thought, which made it all the more important to get in good with them.


    The ce was a dive, tucked in a corner near the border of the northwestern and southwestern wards. Half a basement, it had rickety tables and vaguely smelled of mildew but the drinks where cheap and not too watered down. s. A little over twenty of the Kassa traveling men and woman squeezed in, filling two thirds of the tavern. The two matronly sisters owning and tending the ce traded familiar taunts with the crowd, which they nearly all knew by name.


    Tristan, as the new man, was ¡®volunteered¡¯ to buy the first round of ales while Temenos presented him to the sisters. He¡¯d already spoken to them once on his other visits, in truth, but now he was being introduced as <em>someone</em> instead of a filled seat. If he was to have his purse emptied, though, he would at least ask why the ck Dame¡¯s sign would disy a ck bale of wheat as its mark.


    It was Nikias, his former foreman, who told him.


    ¡°<em>Sacromontan</em>,¡± the man snorted. ¡°It¡¯s a tribute to the Awn-Dam.¡±


    It took a moment for Tristan to follow the trail. The Awn-Dam was the Asphodelian goddess of grain, cattle and fertility. She dabbled in nature as well but had wilder rivals there. She was said to take the shape of a cattle-mother, a dam, made of wheat. An awn, Tristan had learned, was the bristly part at the end of a stalk of barley and many other grasses. ck Dame. ck Dam, hence the ck wheat. It¡¯d been wordy.


    ¡°That¡¯s terrible,¡± he groaned, to mixed cheers and jeers from the table.


    The crew got easier to navigate once they were a little drunk, but Tristan noticed they were well disposed from the start. Temenos vouching for him settled the matter as far as they were concerned, and as drinks flowed and talk continued the thief could not help but noticed how the old man sat at the head of the table, enjoying subtle deference from the others like some family patriarch.


    Half of them were drunk by the first hour¡¯s turn, quaffing ale and wine like it was water, and even though he discreetly got rid of as much drink as he could Tristan was not unaffected either. It had him clenching his teeth whenever he noticed the thickness of his tongue or the way his wits slowed.


    It was easy enough to make good with the crowd. Throw in a few stories from working on the docks at Sacromonte, a coterie tale about idiots knifing each other over arguing about different men with the same name, and he had themughing loud enough to shake the shutters. Nikias, in particr, kept pping his back. The mustachioed older man was the loudest and most boisterous of the lot, insisting he had seen potential in Ferrando from the start.


    But at the turn of the second hour a wheel came off the cart.


    ¡°Enough drinking,¡± a skinny man called Heirax said, mming his tankard down. ¡°It¡¯s not a proper initiation until we¡¯ve taken him to the Orchard, and a man¡¯s gotta be sober for <em>that</em>.¡±


    There was no need for Tristan to ask what the Orchard was: the way Heirax grabbed his crotch and wiggled his hips was exnation enough. Taunts promptly came from the few women at the table, the loudest of them a stocky, broad-shouldered older woman named Timandra.


    ¡°Throw those girls a fish instead, at least they¡¯ll get a meal after the useless flopping around,¡± she mocked.


    ¡°You confusing me with your husband, ¡®Mandra?¡± he pped back.


    That got him a drink thrown at his head and the sisters owning the ceing down on everyone before a fight could erupt properly. Unfortunately for him, that wasn¡¯t the end of the brothel talk. Now that Heirax had put it on the table, near half the men present were urging for it. Some even offered to pitch in together to buy him ¡®one of the prettiest girls¡¯, Tristan¡¯s attempts to decline and get drinks instead dismissed as him being shy.


    He supposed asking the working girl to make noise for the coin and let him take a nap wouldn¡¯t be the worst way to end the evening.


    Only then Nikias came back with a brace of liquor, challenging everyone to drink, and while the table cheered the mustachioed man pped his back again.


    ¡°He¡¯ll have forgotten in a minute, and he¡¯ll be too drunk when he remembers,¡± Nikias quietly said. ¡°You¡¯re fine.¡±


    Tristan shot him a wary look and prepared to lie when the older man shook his head.


    ¡°I know what you are,¡± Nikias said.


    His eyes narrowed.


    ¡°And that is?¡±


    ¡°My nephew also prefers men,¡± Nikias told him. ¡°Nothing wrong with that, Ferrando.¡±


    Well. He¡¯d still take that over the brothel visit. Tristan feigned embarrassment.


    ¡°It is true, I can¡¯t resist chest hair and¡­¡± <em>what do men like in men,e on think of something anything</em> ¡°¡­cocks?¡±


    Shit. Why had that sounded like a question? Fuck, this was why he didn¡¯t drink. Behind him he heard Fortuna biting down on her fist in an effort not to burst out in a hysterical cackle. Nikias burst out in a bawdyugh and pped his back again. Built like that man was Tristan was going to bruise, but after failing toe up with something better than <em>cocks</em> he somewhat deserved it.


    Having handled that will all the deftness of a drowning bird, Tristan coasted on the distraction provided by Nikias and bought another round of liquor. The price for salvation was listening to the mustachioed man¡¯sints about how the man his nephew was seeing was wrong for him, a poetyabout who thought he''d strike it rich, and some hints about Tristaning over for dinner sometime.


    The thief decided to think of it as having paid in advance for his next sins.


    Once the liquor was out it was never put away, recing ales and wines, and it sunk its ws quickly. Temenos, who had only sipped at his ale, drank the grape liquor like a fish. Against Tristan¡¯s expectations he did not hold his drink particrly well, either, and when the old man began looking green he seized on his way out. He volunteered to walk Temenos home, leaning on the aspect of being grateful for being brought in, and even got a few approving nods for it.


    He got directions from Timandra about one of the Kassa warehouses near here, as apparently Temenos never went home where his grandchildren might see him when he drank, and after she handed him the key away they went.


    Within minutes they stopped for the old man to empty his stomach in an alley, which at least sobered him up some.


    It was not a long walk to the warehouse, which in truth was a two stories house packed with some empty crates and rusted metal parts. There were two straw beds in the room on the second story, though, with sheets and a barrel of water from which hung adle and a bowl. Tristan helped Temenos into one of the beds, ignoring how the old man kept muttering and calling him Bion. He pulled the covers over him, then stepped away grimacing.


    He had never liked being around drunks. Still, at least the night was done. He put the key by the barrel and went down the stairs, headed back to the street. If not for the drinking he might have considered having a look at the Neenth, but as things stood he-


    ¡°Tristan.¡±


    The seriousness of the tone had him stopping cold, and he turned to find Fortuna standing at the top of the stairs. Eerie still as she looked into the room, a figure painted in blood and gold and marble.


    ¡°What is it?¡± he whispered.


    ¡°Something ising,¡± the Lady of Long Odds said.


    A carving knife was the most he could carry without suspicion: in a heartbeat, it was out and in his hand as he crept back up the stairs.


    ¡°A lemure?¡± he asked,ing to stand by her side.


    Temenos was under the covers, snoring. The room was empty save for piled crates, the beddings and the barrel of water. Fortunaid a hand on his arm, a false warmth.


    ¡°It¡¯s¡­ hungry. But it does not see you.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Because you¡¯re mine,¡± the goddess said.


    He frowned. What did she mean by- It was like the flicker of a me, the way the glint reflected off copper for a heartbeat before being gone. There was nothing, and then something stood.


    No part of Tristan Abrascal dared to call it a man.


    It only loosely bore the shape of one. Tall, stooped, hair like seaweed matted with blood. It wore clothes, loose rags and a breastte of iron. A helmet scarred with deep gouges. But its skin was craggy earth, the cracks spilling out wooden groans, and its bare feet melded with trailing ropes that dripped rotten blood. At the end of the ropes, being dragged was¡­ Tristan¡¯s eyes shied away from it. Something precious, something enviable.


    The god¡¯s breath sounded like screams, like shouts, like shrieks, and in its hand it held a curved bronze cycle.


    It took a single step towards the sleeping Temenos and Tristan swallowed at the sight. Should he- the sound had the god turning towards him, quick as a snake, and he got only a glimpse of empty sockets from which dangled precious blue stones before cursing.


    He pulled on his luck as hard and deep as he could, releasing it that same instant, which was the only reason he lived.


    Tristan tripped backwards down the stairs, falling with a shout of pain, and heat licked at his face ¨C slicing past his nose and into his hair. He screamed his back hit the wood, making a racket as he tumbled down the stairs, and as he hit thest step it broke under him ¨C rotten, or just old. Shard went through his shirt and into his back. He was stuck with his legs up, like a helpless turtle, but he caught a glimpse of the god turning away. Back towards Temenos.


    He moved on instinct, ripping out his shirt and scrambling up the stairs in time to see the god leaning over a stirring Temenos, hand drawing back. On instinct he threw the knife, but the moment it left his fingers he knew he¡¯d missed. It did not spin but fly like dart, missing the god¡¯s back entirely and instead taking an angle and hitting ¨C oh, Manes.


    It hit Temenos in the leg, right above the ankle, and the old man woke up with a shout of pain and terror. The old traveling man¡¯s eyes widened as the sickle came down, but the barest of moments before the de could cut through his head there was a flicker.


    And the reaping god was gone, just like that.


    ¡°Temenos,¡± he shouted. ¡°Are you-¡±


    ¡°Gods,¡± the white-haired man babbled, ¡°oh, gods.¡±


    He moved closer, wincing at the sight of the de he¡¯d thrown in Temenos¡¯ leg. It was a shallow wound, at least.


    ¡°Sculler spare me,¡± Temenos hoarsely said. ¡°Stavros Kassa wasn¡¯t lying: there really is an assassin out thereing for our necks. There is no choice.¡±


    ¡°No choice for what?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Joining them,¡± the old man said, licking his lips. ¡°The revolutionaries.¡±

 Chapter 58

    Chapter 58


    While Song¡¯s insistence that the matters with the Neenth and the Ivory Library were not best resolved with stacked corpses was a mite puzzling, she had made a request for help and Angharad was honorbound to follow through with it.


    She was, after all, the only member of the Thirteenth who could do this.


    Captain Domingo Santos was a Master of the Akrre Guild, and as a brigadier¡¯s personal Navigator he ranked his own rooms. Since Captain Domingo might also be a member of the Ivory Library the Thirteenth had an interest in looking through that room, but a Navigator¡¯s private affairs were not something easily pried into. Certainly not without them noticing.


    Unless, of course the investigation was done purely through a vision within Angharad¡¯s own mind.


    Limping past the man¡¯s room on the way to breakfast, Angharad breathed in and mere heartbeatster breathed out.


    She looked down at her hand and the steel prying bar she had brought with her. Apparently forcing the door open was a good way to get both the bar and half her fingers devoured by ck mist, so perhaps another approach was required.


    And a letter to Tristan, who might have advice on the subject of breaking into somewhere.


    --


    On the twenty-second day of the Thirteenth¡¯s stay on Asphodel, Song was forced to admit she had run out of excuses to avoid the pce.It had been three days since the meeting with the Yellow Earth turned into a bout of extortion, and though her ck eye was headed nowhere the worst of the other bruising had faded. Hopefully the swift use of a coldpress on her eye meant the swelling would notst for too long, and there were certainly signs in that direction. Yet they were street signs, pointing at a direction and not an arrival, which meant she spent a significant part of her morning sitting in front of a mirror with Angharad¡¯s help.


    ¡°It is as hidden as it can be,¡± said noblewoman informed her.


    Song grimaced at the vanity mirror but did not contradict her. There was only so much that concealing face paint could do, and forck of her own she had been forced to use the kindmon on Asphodel ¨C which had so much fat in it she wondered if they crammed an entire pig¡¯s worth into every pot. Adding blush to her cheeks would have helped distract from it, but also sent entirely the wrong message to the Lord Rector.


    They had at least added some shadow to her eyes, which Angharad had surprisingly proved only middlinglypetent at applying.


    ¡°Did a maid perchance apply most your cosmetics, back in Peredur?¡± Song asked.


    ¡°I rarely wore much even on society evenings,¡± Angharad replied, idly putting Song¡¯s hair in order. ¡°It is considered in poor taste to bear both borate cosmetics and the duelist¡¯s strap, as they have contrary implications.¡±


    Song half-turned to look up at Angharad Tredegar, who stood on the upper end of five foot ten with a perfectly proportioned body that somehow managed both curves and muscle. A regr¡¯s uniform that she knew for a fact was untouched somehow looked tteringly tailored. That she didn¡¯t even have to work for it was, truly, the most insulting part.


    ¡°You are enemy to all womankind,¡± Song informed her.


    ¡°I pluck my eyebrows,¡± Angharad defensively replied.


    A beat passed.


    ¡°Most of womankind,¡± Song conceded.


    The Pereduri muttered something along the lines of ¡®so much for all under Heaven¡¯ under her breath, setting Song¡¯s lips to twitching. She rose and made sure to thank the other woman for her help, regardless of the unfairness dealt unto them by the vagaries of the Circle Perpetual.


    ¡°Are you certain you do not want me to apany you?¡± Angharad asked for the second time.


    She nodded in return, adjusting her formal clothes for the second time.


    ¡°It would draw too much attention for us to be seen together,¡± she said.


    Maryam¡¯sings and goings to the pce had been exined away by Lord Rector Evander¡¯s supposed interest in writing amonce on the Izvorica and the Song was well aware of the assumptions regarding her own visits, but for both her and the debutante Angharad Tredegar to be seen together socially was certain to tip off anyone watching that something was afoot.


    There was a reason they had been in the same pce room only a handful of times since that first audience with Evander.


    ¡°Captain Wen, then,¡± Angharad tried.


    Song cocked an eyebrow.


    ¡°Wen Duan cannot be disguised,¡± she tly said. ¡°At best he can be differently decorated.¡±


    The other woman coughed into her fist, shuffling, which was Pereduri for agreeing without speaking the words and thus stating them to be the truth. It took a second for Song to catch on as to why Angharad would suggest it at all.


    ¡°You believe I need a chaperone,¡± she said.


    ¡°I have been called a whore forcking one in presence of a man I have no interest in, not even a week ago,¡± Angharad delicately replied.


    ¡°I am not a noblewoman, Angharad,¡± she said. ¡°My reputation in those circles is of little import.¡±


    ¡°There are other circles that might look ill on your association with Evander Palliades,¡± the dark-skinned woman tly replied.


    It was an effort not to clench her jaw, which might mar the face paint. The Yellow Earth, yes. Ai had not used her of fucking a king, at least, but she had implied affections. Arguably that was even more damning. The urges of one¡¯s body were a surface matter, while sentiment was one of the soul.


    ¡°They want me to pass information to them,¡± she said, avoiding mentioning a name. ¡°I cannot obtain said information without heading to the pce.¡±


    Angharad eyed her for a moment, then sighed and let it drop. They both knew the excuse was a weak one, for the Yellow Earth wanted reports as to what Lord Rector¡¯s preparations against the coup were but Evander had yet to even learn of said coup. He would not until Maryam returned, and there were still another five days before that.


    A fact that had allowed Song to push back the decision about what she must do for a little longer despite Angharad¡¯s delicate inquiries on the matter. She did not know whether it was noble manners or a natural predisposition to privacy that had the Pereduri unwilling to push the matter, but she was grateful for it whatever the source. It was doing her sleep no favors to gnaw at the decision like a bone, but the thought of actually deciding either way had her sick in the stomach.


    Neither Maryam nor Tristan would have let her deliberate for so long without pushing, so Angharad¡¯s patience and discretion were appreciated thrice over.


    ¡°I will see you tonight,¡± Song breathed out, straightening. ¡°Are you still headed to the Collegium?¡±


    Angharad nodded.


    ¡°It is good for my reputation to be seen spending coin publicly,¡± she said.


    One of the ways they had settled on to gild back Angharad¡¯s reputation in Tratheke society was a pretense she hade into an inheritance, which could be feigned with brigade funds. The im would be that much of the gold was still held up in Mn, providing an excuse to avoid truly expensive sprees, but Angharad would still be living it up on the Thirteenth¡¯s coin for a time.


    Thankfully, Colonel Cao had taught all Stripe students the right forms to request reimbursement for ¡®inevitable expenses in the fulfilling of a contract undertaken on behalf of the Watch¡¯. Song even intended to have it ssified as urgent, which would see it forwarded to the nearestmanding officer: Brigadier Chca. The man was likely to sign off on a better return than a third of the funds spent she could expect from Stheno¡¯s Peak, as much to keep her sweet as because agreeing would let him get into the diplomatic discretionary fund and skim some of the funds for himself.


    As Chunhua Cao had told them: if you couldn¡¯t get around the corruption, you had best find a way to make it work <em>for</em> you.


    On practical level, Angharad spending that coin in the Collegium district would both ensure rumors and allow her an excuse to pass and collect messages from the Chimerical while she was in that part of the city. Tristan needed to be informed of thetest developments ¨C the weapons and the workshop, the likely traitors in the Trade Assembly, Maryam¡¯s shipyard trip ¨C as well as kept abreast of the Neenth¡¯s actions. Histest reports had him estimating that within two weeks at the utmost he would be done with the Kassa infiltration, which Song was still somewhat surprised to find a relief.


    As the hour was runningte, she soon parted ways with Angharad and took the carriage to the Collegium. Within moments of emerging from the lift into the pce, however, she knew there would be trouble. Majordomo Timon was not leading her towards the general or even the private archives, whose books were the reason she hade today.


    She was instead being led towards one of the private reading rooms, and Song knew exactly who would be waiting for her there. Unsurprisingly, Evander Palliades was already seated at the table inside, besides a pot of Jigong ck leaf coincidentally apanied by two cups. He was freshly shaved, simply dressed ¨C though every part of his clothes, from the cored burgundy shirt under a pale grey doublet to the matching hose ttering his calves, were expensive and perfectly tailored ¨C and his spectacles were polished to a gleam.


    "Ah, Captain Song,¡± he smiled. ¡°I had been expecting you.¡±


    ¡°Had you?¡± Song drily replied. ¡°I could not tell.¡±


    He had an excuse ready for everything, she found. Why were they not in the archives?


    ¡°Among the books you mentioned there are some in both, it is simpler to send for them as necessary,¡± he smiled, pouring her a cup.


    He even poured it correctly, with his right hand on his handle and his left on the lid. Song smelled treachery in the ranks. <em>Maryam, you double-crossing snake.</em> She tried to bring this back on track by reminding him that breaking a cipher could take hours and the Lord Rector of Asphodel must surely have duties more pressing.


    ¡°I will be workingte tonight instead,¡± Evander replied, brushing his back his stupid pretty hair. ¡°As this is former rectoral correspondence, I cannot entrust the knowledge therein to any but a member of House Palliades.¡±


    That was both dutiful of him and maniptive, which Song must reluctantly concede was more attractive paired than standalone. She was thus subjected to the indignity of sitting next to the Lord Rector of Asphodel with their elbows almost touching, in a room with ttering soft lighting as traditional Mazu tea treats were trotted out on tters and every book cited in the correspondence was brough to them by servants.


    Who then left the room the moment, as if they had been strictly instructed to do so. Song squinted at the Lord Rector, who innocently smiled back. <em>A boy of fifteen</em>, she reminded herself. <em>The body found in the canal.</em> It had been easier to believe the Yellow Earth, she found, before the local sect¡¯s second choked her halfway to death in an empty alley. That did not mean, however, that she disbelieved what she had been told.


    There must be enough truth to it had been a lie worth telling.


    She forced herself to focus on the work instead, digging into the books that the correspondence quoted and doing her best to ignore the fact that she was essentially reading explicit letters between a Lord Rector and his mistress while brushing elbows with the current man holding that title. It only got worse when sheplimented him for the ink, only to learn he had ground it himself earlier. As practice for his recent forays into calligraphy.


    She was going to <em>drown</em> Maryam. What was next, dipping the man in honey?


    Ferociously looking down at the papers and pushing out all distractions, she methodically set about picking open the cipher. Progress was slow and they took a short break an hour in, but when they returned to the table it was with fresh energy ¨C and an insight, when they realized that every single book quote had an author of noble birth. Meaning a first name and a surname.


    Honestypelled Song to admit that she was not, strictly speaking, the one who broke the cypher. While she honed in on the quotes being the keystone to it all, it was Evander who figured out that the quote<em> itself</em> was the message. The rest of the letter was exactly what it appeared to be, correspondence between Hector Lissenos and his mistress.


    It was a transposition cypher, of a sort: the first letter of the name and surname of the author were to be removed from the quote, the remaining text serving as a message. This worked with varying degrees of legibility, and not infrequently there were ¡®garbage¡¯ words in the text that they both agreed on must be ignored for the messages to make sense.


    The messages revealed, though bare bones, were telling.


    ¡°So ¡®C. E.¡¯ was amander of the Watch,¡± Evander Palliades said, leaning back into his seat as nimble fingers tapped the plush arms of the chair. ¡°Most likely the leading officer for all the ckcloaks of Asphodel.¡±


    ¡°She must have had backing from the Conve,¡± Song said, folding her arms to keep them upied. ¡°No Watch presence on the ind ever had the resources to create something like an aether seal, it would require aid from the Rookery.¡±


    ¡°So would building this ¡®prison¡¯ they keeping mentioning,¡± Evander said. ¡°I made inquiries and ¡®brackstone¡¯ is not something quarried on Asphodel. That means imports and likely Watch tinkers. I don¡¯t expect your average mason is well versed in the art of imprisoning gods.¡±


    The crux of the correspondence was the Lord Rector and C. E. discussing the building of a prison for the Hated One, as well as the crafting of the aether seal to smother it to death. Inferred from context, the Hated One had been responsible for the worst of the Ataxia and Hector Lissenos was willing to pour gold like water to be rid of it for good. Though the letters were not dated, they appeared to be spread out over several years and the prison¡¯s construction must havested at least that long.


    ¡°Then the Hated One¡¯s prison is now breached,¡± Song grimly said. ¡°What else could that sphere of salt my Navigator found be? There is certainly no mention of anything like that harpoon in the correspondence.¡±


    ¡°I would not expect it to have arrived there by ident either,¡± Evander conceded.


    His expression was dark, befitting of someone who had been told a rampant god had begun to escape its prison, but there was a tinge of the personal to it she had not expected.


    ¡°You seem more disappointed than worried,¡± Song ventured.


    He turned a weary look on her.


    ¡°I must now go begging for the help of the very Watch trying to strongarm me over my shipyard,¡± Evander said. ¡°My bargaining position has be more of a bargaining rout.¡±


    <em>It was already weaker than you knew</em>, Song thought with a pang of guilt. And besides, while his worries were not unfounded he overestimated how much leverage the Watch could truly exercise there. It would be a taint on the reputation of the order should it get out the rooks had been so busy trying to extort Asphodel they¡¯d let an old god rampage through Tratheke.


    ¡°I expect our diplomats are aware that negotiation down the barrel of a gun does not lead tosting ords,¡± Song told him.


    Not unless you kept the barrel there, and the Watch was in no position for that. The god would either be dealt with or not. Evander nced at her through his spectacles, then sighed.


    ¡°Let us speak no more of it,¡± he said. ¡°I would prefer not to put you in that position.¡±


    The use of the word position, after some of the letters they had read, was not poor in meanings. Song narrowed her eyes at him, looking for an implication to take offence to, but all those to be found were something of a reach. She let it pass. A moment of silence stretched out between them until he straightened in his chair.


    ¡°Still, those letters really were quite explicit,¡± Evander noted. ¡°I expect they were genuinely lovers, for there would have been other excuses for correspondence.¡±


    Song cleared her throat ufortably at the implication of a Watch officer and the Lord Rector of Asphodel having once shared a bed. The hall around them wasrge, but they sat mere feet apart and she had never felt more aware of how alone they were in here. Not another soul to be found.


    ¡°It could have been to discourage looking for the cipher,¡± she tried. ¡°Raciness might make readers too ufortable to delve deeply.¡±


    It was a weak argument, and from the twitch of his lips he knew it just as well as she. His visible amusement caused a sh of irritation.


    ¡°Is it true,¡± she began, unwisely, then shut her mouth.


    He cocked his brow.


    ¡°Forget I said anything,¡± Song said.


    ¡°I will not,¡± Evander calmly replied. ¡°I may not answer, but I will not lie. Ask.¡±


    The way thest word had the faintest echo of amand had Song considering walking out, and also squirming in her seat a bit. She did not dislike authority.


    ¡°A shoe-shiner,¡± she said. ¡°Fifteen. Found dead in a canal.¡±


    He cocked his head to the side.


    ¡°The Yellow Earth spy,¡± he said. ¡°What of him?¡±


    Someone, Song thought, sought to make a fool of her. Do not trust too much, she then reminded herself. <em>Which one</em>, another voice softly asked.


    ¡°A spy,¡± she slowly said.


    ¡°Caught past two guarded halls with an ear against a door,¡± Evander said. ¡°I cannot prove he was Yellow Earth, of course, but he <em>was </em>determined enough to chew most of the way through his own tongue.¡±


    He met her eyes squarely through his spectacles.


    ¡°He died on the rack,¡± the Lord Rector bluntly acknowledged, ¡°and while I did not ask about the body they are often disposed of through the canals.¡±


    A good liar, Song thought, would add exactly that kind of detail. Something unttering so it would not seem like he was trying to duck a bullet. In truth, even if she followed the trails she had been told the odds were she would never learn the whole of the affair. Perfect rity was the realm of gods of madmen.


    It came down, in the end, to trust.


    The Yellow Earth had struck her. Threatened her. But wasn¡¯t the Lord Rector, in a way, trying to buy her? No good kings, she prayed. But then Hao Yu had his table, speaking measuredly, and Ai in the alley ¨C had they been<em> good</em>? Bad souls could serve good causes, but then it must be that the reverse was equally true. And it was not causes she was being asked to trust here, was it?


    Song abruptly rose to her feet, knees almost hitting the edge of the table.


    ¡°I must report this to my superiors,¡± she evenly said, ¡°and immediately send a letter to Stheno¡¯s Peak, requesting information on thismander. It may well be that the knowledge we sought has been tucked away in a seal Watch vault all this time.¡±


    Evander awkwardly coughed, rising to his feet.


    ¡°Of course,¡± he said. ¡°Though it ister, and service will no doubt be done by the time of your return to ck House. I can have arranged a meal for-¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Song blurted out, and he looked crestfallen for a heartbeat before it was gone.


    <em>But you want to</em>, the voice from earlier said. <em>But you need the door to stay open to get the information,</em> another part of her whispered.


    ¡°No tonight,¡± she said, looking away.


    But not before seeing his eyes light up, and that made her feel almost as sick as the knowledge that she was running out of time to dy making her choice.


    --


    Helping keep Temenos alive had paid off in droves: overnight Tristan had be the man¡¯s savior and thus deeply trusted, currency he wasted no time in spending. For all that this talk of revolutionaries intrigued ¨C and Temenos, while swearing to bring him along to the ¡®meet¡¯, had remained frustratingly vague on who these revolutionaries might be ¨C that thread was not the one he had firste to the Kassa workshop to pull.


    Having the old man vouch for him opened doors, quite literally in this case. After a week and change of being a traveling man, a mere day after that god nearly taking his head off Tristan finally got to walk through the same door the Brass Chariot had supposedly seen the assassin walk through.


    It didn¡¯t lead to the workshop proper, he learned, but to a pair of narrow side rooms. One was full of cleaning supplies, including a fearsomely pungent amount of vinegar jars, while the other was small bedroom with two cots and antern. There<em> was</em> a door leading to the workshop but it was in the hall, not in either room.


    ¡°We usually keep two watchmen here at night,¡± Nikias told him. ¡°Old Chloris wants it so there¡¯s always souls right next to the workshop in case someone tries to break in.¡±


    All that¡¯d been needed for the mustachioed man to show him in was expressing a passing curiosity as to whaty behind the door. Nikias had been all too eager to show him, still mostfortable being in the position of the man showing Ferrando how things worked around the workshop. Now that Tristan¡¯s repute was rising, it had been easy to predict he would seize on a opportunity to reinforce that he was an old hand around here should it be dangled as bait in front of him.


    ¡°Do we have to take shifts as well?¡± Tristan asked, feigning concern.


    ¡°No, none of that,¡± Nikias assured him. ¡°The watchmen are old Kassa men from the fleet, sailors that know their way around a fight but are getting long in the tooth.¡±


    <em>Trusted men long in thepany¡¯s service</em>, Tristan tranted, <em>who answer directly to Chloris and Stavros Kassa</em>. Probably more Stravros, if the talk about the olddy passing the reins to her son were true. Meaning that the assassin who¡¯d almost killed the Lord Rector of Asphodel <em>was </em>involved with the Kassa, because Nikias was implying the watchmen in there rotated. The assassin couldn¡¯t have made a deal with that night¡¯s specific watchmen in advance.


    What in the gods were the Kassa up to? Stevros Kassa knew about what was almost certainly the ¡®killer¡¯ hunted by the Neenth, enough to warn Temenos in advance about it. Meanwhile the family was hosting in their own workshop another assassin, that one a would-be regicide that despite Tianxi origins appeared to be working on behalf of the Council of Ministers.


    His best guess was that the Kassa had switched sides and gone over to the Ministers, more specifically the cult of the Golden Ram ¨C who were using some kind of bound lesser god to get rid of any obstacle to their coup. It was true Temenos could have been a real thorn in the sides of the Kassa, if he refused to back their ambitions and mobilized their own workers against them. Either dead or scared, he¡¯d be forced to get on their side.


    Yet Tristan couldn¡¯t help but feel as if were missing something, like he was not unveiling the truth so much as fitting the parts of it he¡¯d uncovered like mostly matching puzzle pieces.


    ¡°Anyhow, they¡¯re not even using it for that nowadays,¡± Nikias continued.


    ¡°Oh?¡± Tristan encouraged.


    ¡°They kept some guest in there for a few days and left it empty since,¡± the mustachioed man told him. ¡°The olddy never would have signed off on it, but Stavros does as he likes.¡±


    And just like that his evening ns had taken shape. If she¡¯d merely stayed there a night he would have investigated the watchmen, but if the assassin used it as a safehouse for a few days? Odds were she would have left a stash in there, something to help if she returned from the assassination wounded or in need of fund to get out of the capital.


    Tristan eased out of the situation, though he took the time to discreetly check the locks on both doors before letting Nikias lead him away and back to work. The outer lock was quality, a rim lock of local make, but inside would be easier: that was a Gongmin on the door, an old friend returned to beckon him inside. Ah, Tianxi workshop locks. The gift that kept on giving.


    He came back after dark with his lockpicks.


    That rim lock proved tricky, there was a ward inside to prevent skeleton keys like his own from working. Good metal, intricate craftsmanship: this was not the work of some cksmith hammering a box together. A dedicated locksmith had built it with an eye to keeping out thieves.


    Not Tristan Abrascal¡¯s caliber of thief, of course, but it still took him a little over three minutes before he had it sliding open.


    He closed it behind him and crept past the cleaning storage with his hoodedntern in hand. He put his ear to the door of the watchmen room, checking if there was anyone inside, but he heard nothing and there was no sign of light under the door. The Gongmin lock was done in a minute and then he was inside. The room had not changed since he wasst there, still bare wood with two cots and an unlitntern. He lifted the hood off his own, rolling his shoulder.


    Now, if he were an assassin, where would he put his supply stash?


    Beneath the cots first, but there was no trace of hiddenpartment in the wooden floor. He checked corners for dust that¡¯d been moved, but all it taught him was that at some point arge pot had been ced in the left corner. A chamber pot for when the assassin hadid low here, if he had to guess. With the cots back in ce he checked the walls, knocking for hollow spots, but he found none.


    But standing on the cots he could reach the ceiling, and there he found a trail: above the second bed there was a hollow part in the ceiling. It could have been merely part of the construction, and certainly nothing slid off easily. But one of the nks seemed just a little too well-defined, and when he took hisrgest pick and put his whole weight behind pushing the nk it budged.


    Ah, their assassin had put weight over the nk so it wouldn¡¯t move easily. Enough to trick most who did not know about such tricks.


    ¡°Treasure?¡± Fortuna asked.


    He almost jumped, swallowing a curse. He delicately moved the ceiling nk, discovering some sort of trick with a tied stone was the reason for the weight. That was a problem ¨C he didn¡¯t know how to replicate it. There would be no putting everything perfectly back in ce when he was done.


    ¡°Supplies, I expect,¡± he murmured back.


    Since he was not fool enough to blindly go groping around an assassin¡¯s belongings, he instead reached into his bag and pulled out a long, slender piece of wood to use that instead. Lightly tapping around he got empty space, until suddenly there was a hard <em>snap</em>. He drew back the stick and found it had been snapped clean through and the sides were somewhat eaten at. Some sort of poison?


    ¡°As always,¡± the Lady of Long Odds proudly said, ¡°we are one step ahead.¡±


    Tristan squinted at her for a long moment. He then climbed down the cot, got into his bag and pulled out a second piece of wood before reaching inside again.


    <em>Snap</em>.


    ¡°Two steps ahead,¡± Fortuna crowed.


    ¡°Remember that, next time you tell me to take your advice,¡± he said.


    ¡°I won¡¯t,¡± she honestly replied.


    At least she was admitting it, he mentally praised.


    As Tristan was now out of sticks, he had to make to with using a bit of rope. Theck of a snap had him, warily, wrapping his hand in cloth and even one of the bedsheets before reaching inside. He pulled out a small leather satchel, the length of three fists and about as broad as one, decorated with what he could only call steel mousetraps with teeth and ¨C he took a sniff ¨C some kind of jellied acid? That must be expensive.


    He covered his mouth with a scarf and used the broken sticks to open the satchel buckle, just in case, but it seemed that was to be it for the traps. Inside was a knife, two bandage rolls, a pair of unmarked vials and what looked like three small rubies. A real fortune, that. But most important of all was a single sheathed scroll,id over the rest. Taking all due precautions, he got the scroll out of the sheath and unrolled it.


    Lucky him, it was in Antigua.


    And what an interesting reading it made, neat handwriting filling row after row in thentern light. His lips twitched: it seemed an old friend hade to visit, because he was looking at a contract between the Obsidian Order and someone known only as H. A. for the death of Evander Palliades. The Izcalli assassins weren¡¯t after Angharad this time, which was somewhat amusing, as was the staggering sum H. A. was paying the cultists of the Skeletal Butterfly for: <em>thirty-thousand arboles</em>.


    A kingly sum, as befitting the purchase of a king¡¯s head. And that was telling, because how many people on Asphodel could afford to pay such a massive sum? Precious few, he¡¯d wager, and should he follow that trail to its conclusion a most useful name was bound to be waiting.


    ¡°Who is H. A. ?¡± Fortuna asked, leaning over his shoulder.


    ¡°I¡¯ve no idea,¡± Tristan admitted. ¡°But then I have been out of contact for some time. I expect those letters are best passed to Song and Angharad, who will have a fresher list of suspects.¡±


    s the initials did not match Apollonia Floros, even reversed, which would have rather simplified the whole thing. While he was of the opinion that the Obsidian Order would only insist on such a contract to inste themselves from the possible bacsh of discovered regicide ¨C if the Grasshopper King got used of assassinating kings in the Trebian Sea, he would no doubt throw the Order under the carriage wheels without hesitation ¨C and that meant he name <em>should</em> be true, there were no certainties.


    He hesitated for a moment before deciding there would be no hiding he¡¯d been through the satchel, pocketing the sheathed scroll and the rubies. After a moment he pocketed the vials as well, Hage might know something useful about their contents. While he could see the liquid inside and it was translucent, the vials themselves were of cheap brown ss so he could not learn more without opening them.


    It was not the time or ce, and better left to experts besides. The rest of the piged stash he put back in the ceiling, then wedged the nk in ce without bothering to attempt the rock trick again. It seemed like the kind of thing it took quite a bit to learn, and he could afford to stay here too long. Just because the room here was deserted did not mean that the workshop itself was.


    As if the gods were setting out to prove him right he heard the muted sound of voices. Time to leave. Before this gotplicated. He grabbed his affairs and closed the door behind him, pausing only when he recognized the timber of a particr voice through the door leading into the alley. Temenos. What was the old man doing here? There was the sound of a key being used, Tristan tensing for one heartbeat before realizing that Temenos was headed into the workshop.


    And speaking with at least two more people, by the sound of the voices.


    Tristan bit the inside of his cheek, hesitating, but in the end Temenos was now his most important lead: he must eavesdrop if he could. His lockpicks came back out and he put his ear to the door leading into the workshop from the hall. Three others with Temenos, he discerned. Two women and a man. Waiting until the voices headed deeper into the workshop, he got to work.


    A minuteter the lock popped open and, hand on the door, he cracked it the slightest it open after smothering hisntern. Amp had been lit in the workshop, near the front, but those inside were speaking quietly enough he was not able to hear much but noise from where he hid.


    He¡¯d have to head in.


    Immediately on the other side of the door was a small balcony overlooking the workshop proper, with a solid wooden railing, so it was just a matter of waiting until the noise of conversation would cover his movement and slip into the workshop. He asked Fortuna to check when they were all looking the right way, and when she gave the signal through the wall he slipped in.


    Tristan closed the door, pressed against the railing, and slowly crept down the stairs. He could hear much better from down here, and-


    ¡°Describe it for us, if you would,¡± Captain Tozi Poloko ordered. ¡°As many details as you remember.¡±


    <em>Oh, you utter fool</em>, he cursed himself. Of course the Neenth woulde to investigate the first botched killing by their mystery assassin, he should have seen thating a mile away. He was lucky it was Temenos they¡¯d sought and not him, though it was true Tristan had worked to keep his name away of it at least in a formal manner.


    The traveling man had dismissed going to the lictors about the matter in the first ce, and been all to understanding of Tristan¡¯s request to be kept out of the matter when it was kicked up to authorities ¨C an implication that the way he had reached Asphodel might cause him trouble had been enough to earn an understanding pat on the back.


    This tale has been uwfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    ¡°It looked like a broken god,¡± Temenos said. ¡°Craggy and unkempt, reeking of salt and blood. Its eye sockets were empty and precious stones dangled off them.¡±


    A curious noise.


    ¡°Like in the tale of King Oduromai, when he plucked out his eyes and reced them with the treasures of two kings,¡± Cressida Barboza said.


    ¡°I suppose,¡± Temenos shrugged. ¡°It wore an iron helmet, with scars, and I think a breastte of the same. It wielded a sickle.¡±


    ¡°A sickle,¡± Izel Coyac mused. ¡°Can you describe it?¡±


    Tozi, Cressida, Izel. Better than if Kiran was there, the Skiritai would eat him for breakfast, but Tristan suspected that the tinker was likely the worst fighter of the three and was still uncertain how such a fight would go. One against three, it was a sure thing. And not in his favor.


    ¡°Bronze,¡± Temenos said. ¡°It looked sharp.¡±


    ¡°It looked sharp,¡± Cressida muttered, disbelieving, and he could almost hear her roll her eyes.


    Stock. What did he have? A knife, his pistol, thief tools. Not his ckjack, which as umon enough a tool in these parts he¡¯d now wanted to risk sticking out by being seen using one.


    ¡°No strange lights, no symbols carved on the de?¡± Izel pressed.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t see none,¡± Temenos grunted.


    ¡°We were told of another witness,¡± Captain Tozi said. ¡°Did they see more?¡±


    Tristan¡¯s stomach clenched. It seemed he might have to disappear before finding out about these revolutionaries after all.


    ¡°She wasn¡¯t in the room when the thing came,¡± Temenos lied without batting an eye. ¡°Just came up to help me after.¡±


    His stomach unclenched. There were, it seemed, advantages to a man like Temenos believing he owed you his life.


    ¡°And the wound on your leg?¡± Cressida mildly asked.


    ¡°Work ident,¡± Temenos shrugged. ¡°Does it look like a stabbing wound to you?¡±


    There was a heartbeat, as if the Neenth were looking at the wound, then Tozi hummed in agreement.


    ¡°The angle¡¯s off,¡± she conceded. ¡°It barely went in.¡±


    Tristan decided not to look that gift horse in the mouth, even if the horse was being a mite insulting about his knife-throwing skills. He¡¯d not been aiming at Temenos in the first ce!


    ¡°Craggy, you said,¡± Cressida brought up. ¡°In what sense?¡±


    But it was not the continuing interrogation Tristan pricked his ear for, but something altogether subtler. Soft, aimless. Steps getting closer. <em>Shit</em>. The thief reached for his knife. His pistol would be a sure kill, striking from surprise, but also ensure he was chased. He¡¯d probably make it out into the street, but from there? The way they were deserted at this hour would work against him, at least at first.


    He still set it down next to him, loaded.


    Whoever was walking around ¨C not Tozi, she was still talking - they had no clear destination in mind. But they were getting closer, step by step. Knife in hand, Tristan settled into a crouch. If he struck the throat quick enough, he could drag the wanderer behind cover and make his escape before the others realized what was happening. One step, another and now he could hear the breath. A hand atop the railing ¨C it had to be Izel, the footsteps were too loud for Cressida ¨C and when the other man turned the corner he sprung into action.


    Tristan caught a glimpse of widening eyes and that nearly-shaved head before his knife hand darted towards Izel¡¯s throat, but the Izcalli hastily leaned back. And, before he could rise into another blow, caught Tristan¡¯s wrist and wrestled it down. It knocked against the railing and he swallowed a pained curse, Izel urgently straightening instead of calling out for help.


    ¡°Izel?¡± Captain Tozi called out.


    ¡°Slipped on the stairs,¡± the Izcalli said, sheepish. ¡°Sorry.¡±


    ¡°Stop wandering around, would you?¡± Cressida said.


    ¡°Soon,¡± he said, meeting Tristan¡¯s eyes as he did.


    The thief¡¯s gaze narrowed. What was Coyac up to?


    ¡°You need to get out of here,¡± Izel whispered from the corner of his mouth. ¡°Is the door unlocked?¡±


    Tristan slowly nodded. The Izcalli casually went up the stairs, past the thief, and opened the door. He did not so much as touch the loaded pistol, though he could have.


    The door opening drew the attention of the others.


    ¡°It isn¡¯t locked,¡± Izel called out. ¡°I¡¯ll check the hall.¡±


    Below the cover of the railing he gestured for Tristan to go into the hall. The thief did with the pistol now in hand, still on edge but failing to see what the Izcalli had to gain by letting him out. If they wanted to grab him, three on one with a single witness to silence was as good a deal as they were likely to get. Tristan grabbed his bag andntern, knife sheathed but gun still in hand, and in the shadow of the hall found the other man¡¯s eyes.


    ¡°Don¡¯t let us see you in the city,¡± Izel whispered. ¡°Danger.¡±


    Which Tristan well knew. The surprise was that he was being <em>told</em>.


    ¡°Why?¡± he probed.


    ¡°Go,¡± Izel harshly replied. ¡°I can only do so much.¡±


    And Tristan debated pushing, but he did not like the weight of those dice. No, Izel Coyac was proving to be more interesting than he had thought but here was not the time and ce. Pull a string too tight and it¡¯d break. So instead he nodded, and as Izel returned to the workshop the Mask disappeared into the street.


    It looked like tonight he had learned not one but <em>two </em>useful things.


    --


    Early in the twenty-third day of her stay on Asphodel, Angharad collected Tristan¡¯stest report and his answer to her inquiries about getting into Captain Domingo¡¯s room. She rather wished it was not necessary to buy a coffee from the devil every time, but he insisted it was formal Mask policy and she was not certain enough of him lying to call him a liar.


    <em>Use a ten-foot pole. The moment you touch anything you¡¯re on a clock, they have rm Signs. If you take something it can be marked, put it out in direct re at least three hours.</em>


    Angharad made the conscious decision not to consider too deeply why Tristan would know of thatst detail, then silently cursed him for his general unhelpfulness. Admittedly, his having survived so long as a thief might have something to do with avoiding robbing Navigators. It was a sensible, if unfortunate, bit of logic.


    Still, she might have a solution of sorts.


    Returning to ck House, Angharad headed directly to the library and looked into a particr set of Watch rules. Specifically those about those what was allowed in pursuit of an investigation of suspected treason among fellow watchmen. The underlying thread was ¡®report it to the Krypteia¡¯, but she did get some usable answers. Harming or detaining another rook was not allowed, but essing one¡¯s possession was more of a grey area.


    One with considerabletency as to the means of, say, entry into a locked room.


    That afternoon Angharad politely asked one of the servants to unlock the armory for her, then limped inside and used her contract. A few momentster she winced, thanked the servant and went to find Song in the library, where she was reading on the great spirits of Asphodel. The captain cocked a quizzical eyebrow.


    ¡°If I were to ask you about a volume on the subject of using ckpowder for demolition,¡± Angharad said, ¡°would you have a particr suggestion?¡±


    Silver eyes narrowed.


    ¡°Do I want to know?¡±


    ¡°It might be best if you did not,¡± the Pereduri replied.


    A beat passed.


    ¡°Powder Compendium, it¡¯s in the shelves on the far left,¡± Song said. ¡°The middle section, it starts with a drawing of a skull on barrel.¡±


    Angharad¡¯s brow rose.


    ¡°That was quick,¡± she observed.


    Song Ren sharply smiled.


    ¡°My father¡¯s rtives in Mazu helped us, but they also had some very unkind things to say to my mother,¡± she said. ¡°It so happens that, as a girl, I became curious as to the exact quantity of powder that might be required to drop the pretty tower they live in into the waters of the port.¡±


    Angharad would now confess to suspicions that somewhere in Tianxi detailed diagrams of how such a thing might achieved were neatly tucked in a drawer, along with precise dosages and weather rmendations. Well, far be it for her to begrudge someone their¡­ curiosities.


    Now she had best get that book, so that when tomorrow she attempted to blow up that door with a barrel of ckpowder she did not quite embarrassingly kill herself in the process.


    --


    For a little under an hour the carriages rolled down a slope, then they came to a halt and Maryam was brought out to witness a fever dream of a shipyard.


    Under a towering cavern ceiling was aplication of buildings and canals, waters so still and dark they could have been tar, while above the organized chaos rose a forest of crane-towers in polished brass. Some were as water mills, with slowly spinning arms shaped like ornate panels, while others were topped by oversized twisting cogs connecting through steel cables to others of their kind, the entire forest some kind of greater machining.


    Near the heart of the mess the inds the towers were on came together, forming eight tenths of a square, and the machines there surrounded a half-built skimmer set on rails that would drop it straight into the water if pushed. Warm, glowing re lights that were pure spheres of ss lit up the cavern like a thousand fireflies.


    Maryam paused breathless at the top of the rise where they were all standing, for it was one of the most strikingly beautiful sights she had ever witnessed. The subtle artistry of it, how seeming disorder had an underlying current of purpose, it was¡­ pleasing to the eye in a way she could not easily express. Like having a spot on your back you couldn¡¯t reach scratched perfectly, or the axe splintering dry wood all the way through in a single perfect blow.


    She was jostled out of her thought by gentle nudge, a tall Azn man with thick brows looking at her with mixed amusement and concern. The second tinker, the one from the Deuteronomicon.


    ¡°You must be quite sensitive to aether currents,¡± he said, voice faintly ented. ¡°It is always a flip of the coin whether a Navigator will sense the conceptual symmetry or not.¡±


    Maryam frowned, nails and wood digging into her palm to force focus.


    ¡°That¡¯s what this is?¡± she asked.


    The man nodded.


    ¡°The kind of aether engines that propel skimmers are usually simple perpetual motion devices relying on conceptual mirroring to cheat entropy,¡± he said. ¡°They are notplicated to make, but they are very delicate ¨C even the slightest imprecision will result in the engine blowing up within months.¡±


    Maryam blinked.


    ¡°Blowing up?¡± she repeated.


    ¡°It is an implosion, technically,¡± the tinker admitted, as if conceding to some abstract point she had made. ¡°Mind you, modern studies indicate it¡¯s not so much a hole in the fabric of material reality so much as a temporary leak aether-ward.¡±


    Maryam, for the sake of her already troubled sleep, decided to set aside that aether engines apparently exploded and sucked their immediate surroundings into the aether often enough there had been <em>studies </em>about it. Deuteronomicon tinkers had a well-earned reputation for entricity and generally driving themselves insane or straight into the grave, though Akrre guildsmen still tended to prefer them to their Clockwork Cathedral fellows. The madmen, after all, had a better understanding of how the underlying forces of Vesper functioned.


    It was somewhat ironic that Izel Coyac seemed one of the best-adjusted Deuteronomicon tinkers she had ever met but still wouldn¡¯t beat the average survival age by virtue of being a traitor whose skull she would split open with a hatchet.


    Their little aside was stopped by a band of lictorsing up the stairs, spreading out in ranks as their captain came to the front. Captain Cervantes stepped up to meet the mustachioed manmanding the lictors down here, Maryam only half paying attention as she tried to sketch out whaty in the cavern aside from that bewitching shipyard.


    The road they had taken, which she suspected began near some sort of lift, stretched out from the distant dark and ended at the rise on which they now stood: essentially a tall terrace overlooking the towers and water below, a broad set of stairs leading down to the lower level. She would have expected lodgings there, but all she saw was barracks and a fort that was a glorified wooden tower. There were more wooden structures on the other side of the shipyard, though, nestled against the cavern wall.


    Four rows of modest cottages, squeezed between the outer canal and the stone, while past them wererger edifices that must be dormitories and meeting halls. There were fire pits outside and some of the cottages had smoking chimneys, while what Maryam suspected to beundry lines hung between cottages full of drying clothes.


    There were a few people outside their homes, on that other shore, and children ying between cottages. Few, though,pared to the number of houses. They must have been warned in advance of the visiting ckcloaks and chosen to stay inside. <em>It¡¯s still enough to see they brought entire families down there rather than risk leaks</em>, she thought. <em>Palliades is being very, very careful about keeping this ce out of sight.</em>


    Truly, she mused, Song Ren¡¯s tits were a thing of magic.


    ¡°-ld thank you to keep away from the far shore, where our workers and their families are lodged,¡± the lictor was saying. ¡°Our senior shipwright, Master Dioles, will guide you through the shipyard. You will be invited to break bread with us at the barrackse noon.¡±


    The lictor cleared his throat.


    ¡°I am told there is among you a woman by the name of Maryam Khaimov?¡±


    If Captain Cervantes felt the same surprise Maryam did, she hid it better.


    ¡°Warrant Officer Khaimov, step forward,¡± she ordered.


    Maryam did as ordered. The lictor captain spared her a curious nce.


    ¡°At the Lord Rector¡¯s order, a visit of the model skimmer has been arranged for you,¡± he said. ¡°A guide was arranged to answer any question you might have.¡±


    While she was not eager at the thought of being separated from the others, she would not deny she<em> was</em> eager to have a closer look at that skimmer. She looked at Captain Cervantes, who nodded, and off they went. A pair of lictors followed behind her, but her guide was not one of the Lord Rector¡¯s soldiers. Mistress Thais was plump but sure-footed shipwright in her thirties, her dark hair a mess of curls and her green eyes serious.


    Thais led the rest of them through the mess of inds and bridges towards the outer edge, where Maryam found a massive underground canal heading into the distance ¨C presumably a passage leading to the sea, though there was not a speck of light out there to confirm the guess.


    ¡°When I worked on the model my time was mostly spent on the hull,¡± Mistress Thais told Maryam, ¡°but I have some experience with the aether engine as well.¡±


    ¡°Have you ever sailed it?¡± the Izvorica asked.


    ¡°I never held the helm, but I was aboard when we first unveiled it,¡± the older woman replied.


    Maryam had a dozen questions on the tip of her tongue, but her lips were dragged shut when they passed under a tower-crane and came upon a long dock of stone and brass ¨C where, cleanly moored, waited the skimmer. With all this talk of model, of demonstration, Maryam had half-expected a glorified rowboat with an engine pped behind it. What she was looking at, though, was a brass warship the size of a middling caravel.


    One that was, in its own way,<em> beautiful</em>.


    The silhouette was not like a sailing ship¡¯s. Though the front of the hull cut upwards in a beak, the prow was rounded and below the waterline she could make out that below the ship were jagged, curving metal des slicing into the water. The bridge was t, with a turret two thirds of the way through and a two-story ss-paneled cabin further back. No, she then noted, there was another part: behind the cabin was a curved rise covering stairs that must descend below deck.


    The skimmer gave the impression that it should be leaning back in the water, for the back third of it boreplicated ¨C and massive -cogs and wheels in the shape of broad half-moon that dipped a noticeable span deeper than the keel. There were railings on the sides, rigging on the deck and curving bones of brass embraced the hull like ribs. For all its rounded curves the whole skimmer had a jagged, piercing look to it. Like an arrow in flight.


    ¡°A beauty, isn¡¯t it?¡± Mistress Thais proudly asked.


    Maryam btedly realized she had frozen without even stepping onto the docks and cleared her throat in embarrassment.


    ¡°It is,¡± she said. ¡°Can we go aboard?¡±


    The older woman nodded.


    ¡°I can even show you the engine room, though you are not allowed to touch the insides,¡± Mistress Thais said.


    She eagerly followed the shipwright, crossing the docks and hopping overboard on the skimmer. Neither of the lictors followed. The brass deck was, she found, not quite warm but at least lukewarm. And fascinatingly enough the ship did not at all bob in the water. It was unmoving, like solid ground.


    Mistress Thais began with the deck. The turret, she learned, was made to pivot to thirds of a circle and though it currentlycked armaments it was meant to be fitted with a cannon. The ss window cabin with two stories was, at the bottom, for navigation: it held a wood-and-brass steering wheel. From inside one could climb up to the second level, which held room for a fog light a perch for a signifier.


    As Maryam had earlier guessed the curved rise went downstairs, into the surprisingly spacious below deck. A hall went straight through, fitted with sixfortable cabins and a rtively small cargo hold. Thergest room on that level was the engine room by far, upying a third of the skimmer¡¯s length. Beyond that barred doory a nightmare of ticking cogs and wheels, at the center of whichy the core of the engine.


    It had the look of a heart made of medal, but somehow also of a hot air balloon. It pulsed and ticked and pumped, weights and counterweights moving to some unseen and eerie measure as cogs and chains whirred and something like steam was expelled by a beak.


    ¡°There is a second level below the heart,¡± Mistress Thais told her, ¡°but it is dangerous to slip into without proper precautions.¡±


    ¡°It is thergest aether engine I have ever seen,¡± Maryam admitted.


    Larger than anything the Tianxi could make, and probably even that Someshwari city-state with its ancient forges.


    ¡°And powerful, do not doubt it,¡± the shipwright said. ¡°We knew that we would not be able to make a proper warship on the first go, so we didn¡¯t even try ¨C it is meant for transport, not war. For the engine, however, the Lord Rector gave the order to build it asrge and strong as we could.¡±


    Because the great powers of Vesper were perfectly capable ofying down a hull of tomic alloys themselves, Maryam thought. It was the aether engines that stumped even the cleverest of the Tianxi republics. And if their ambassador had stood in that same room Maryam now did, there was no amount of wealth he would not be willing to throw at Evander Palliades to secure ess to the creations of this shipyard. Keeping that thought off her face, Maryam hummed.


    ¡°I notice you only call it the model,¡± she said. ¡°Was it never named?¡±


    ¡°An jest of the shipyard crew,¡± Mistress Thais said, rolling her eyes. ¡°It is an old custom of Asphodel that giving a child a name before their third year is bad luck. Petty superstition for mountain folk.¡±


    Much as Maryam would have liked to spend another hour in here, they had already been on board for almost two and she suspected that if she was caught feeling out the engines with her nav it would be something of a diplomatic incident. Reluctantly, Maryam let herself be ushered out of the skimmer. The lictors were still waiting by the docks, one of them smoking a pipe, and they looked almost irritated when the two of them returned tond.


    She could not help but look back. Would be it be good enough, she wondered? To sail up the Broken Gates. She was not sure, but in what world would she ever be able to get her hands on even as fine a ship as this?


    With the visit ended Maryam was guided back towards the rest of the delegation, though it turned out that they were currently in the heart of the shipyard and the bridges had been withdrawn ¨C it would take some time before they were positioned for passage again, so the signifier was led back to the rise where they hade out of the carriage this morning before being unceremoniously handed bread and sausage.


    The lictors then left her sitting there by the carriages, fleeing as if they¡¯d tossed a wild animal a cut of meat and were retreating while it was still distracted. A little bbergasted, Maryam sat there and ate looking down at the shipyard and cavern. Even down here it seemed the color of her skin made her no friends, though no doubt being known as a Navigator had no helped.


    Gloam witches were feared for a reason.


    The solitude gave her time to think, at least. Song had charged her with finding out by where Menander Drakos could have entered this ce, but as her gaze wandered to the two entrances ¨C the tunnel to the lift and the canal presumably leading to the sea ¨C she had to admit she was not finding a credible answer. If Drakos could use the lift or sail out, why had he not stripped this ce clean of the entire stash? On the other hand, there<em> was</em> no other way in that she could see.


    ¡°Because you¡¯re looking in all the wrong ces.¡±


    Maryam reached for her side out of habit ¨C even though they had not been allowed weapons and so shecked a knife ¨C and almost fumbled thest bit of sausage doing it. The near miss had her scowling in distaste even before her most unwee of guests strolled out from behind one of the empty carriages, smug as you please. The shade wore Watch ck again, ck cloak and tunic fitted to her with a twisting golden brooch.


    ¡°Scavengers do not proudly walk the high road, Maryam,¡± the shade said.


    ¡°You would know,¡± Maryam snippily replied.


    She¡¯d already worn three rings on and slid on two more out of principle.


    ¡°What do you want now, anyway? Did you not have enough of mypany on the way here?¡±


    ¡°Ie to offer aid,¡± the shade said. ¡°Proof.¡±


    ¡°Proof of what?¡± Maryam frowned.


    ¡°That we could be more together than at odds,¡± she replied.


    <em>I could be more after I devoured you whole</em>, Maryam thought, <em>and never have to deal with your presence again.</em>


    ¡°I will have what you stole from me,¡± she scorned. ¡°Do not think the workings on this cavern will protect you if you test me.¡±


    ¡°<em>Protect</em> me?¡± the shadeughed. ¡°No, I think not. This is a cursed ce. The Ancients carved an ind in the aether, Maryam, so that no waves would trouble their tinkering. It is even worse here than it was in the pce high above.¡±


    She cocked her head to the side. From her hesitant investigations the aether here did that have that same stillness and sterile tinge, though up there it had been like bad taste in the mouth while here it was almost oppressive. She¡¯d kept her nav tucked in for a reason.


    ¡°They did it on purpose,¡± Maryam slowly said. ¡°To keep the aether unmoving so it would be easier to build their engines.¡±


    ¡°What is building a seawall, to those that shaped the material like y?¡±


    And another detail fell into ce. She had been told, and witnessed herself, that the aether on Asphodel was odd. Wild and dangerous, in some way broken. She had also been told, by Captain Wen himself, that when the Second Empire first forced the submission of Asphodel they stole Antediluvian devices and that it had wounded the local aether.


    The Ancients had built their shipyard under Tratheke, a box under the box, and encircled every story of that box in some device that stilled the aether to make building their engines earlier. Only the Second Empire had then broken and stolen the artefacts that kept the middleyer in ce, essentially forcing an aether rapid through reefs ¨C while above and below the aether remained frozen, essentially funneling all the local aether through Tratheke like it was being squeezed through a tube.


    No wonder the city¡¯s aether was so unstable. Nav, no wonder gods kept rising and dying there: they were effectively force-fed currents of aether that made them swell faster than they should, and without a solid foundation some of them would simply eat and eat until they <em>popped</em>. An aether intellect could only feed on so much aether it had no conceptual tie with before too much of it became unrted to itself and it dissolved.


    ¡°So you¡¯re saying up there and down here are closed gardens of aether,¡± she slowly said. ¡°Then how did the assassin get into that halfyer to leave the pce?¡±


    ¡°There is an anchor,¡± the shade said. ¡°You could not feel it, but I could. If the brackstone shrines are the bottom of a sk, then the cork-¡±


    ¡°Is in the pce,¡± Maryam muttered. ¡°It would have to be, Hector Lissenos would have wanted it that way. It would be much easier to protect there. So our assassin somehow got into the sk, and from there they can pop out at two ces: near the brackstone shrines, and near the ¡®cork¡¯. Wherever that is inside the pce.¡±


    The harpoon, she decided. It had to be the harpoon they¡¯d used to get into theyer, it was the only part of what she had seen there that stood out. It must be some Antediluvian weapon the enemy had used to enter the Hated One¡¯s prison, effectively turning it into a back entrance to the pce and city. Utter madness.


    And, she could not help but notice, it solved the main military trouble for someone attempting a coup in Tratheke: that the rector¡¯s pce could be held indefinitely by blocking the lifts up. If the same road the assassin had employed was used to sneak in men, they could seize the lifts by surprise before the Lord Rector even knew a coup was happening.


    This reeked of the cult¡¯s involvement. Whoever had been capable of binding the Golden Ram and bleeding it for boons might just be capable of getting into the Hated One¡¯s prison as well. So then why was Lord Gule so convinced the assassin had not been their conspiracy¡¯s doing? <em>He might have just lied to Tredegar</em>, Maryam thought. It urred to her that Mni ¡®honor¡¯ would be a very useful shield, should someone refuse to uphold it once in a while.


    She had much to chew on, but that was forter. Song had given her an assignment and the time she had to spare in it was limited. It was a greater concern, at least for now.


    ¡°You said you came to offer aid,¡± Maryam finally said.


    ¡°I did,¡± the shade replied. ¡°Will you listen this time?¡±


    ¡°I asked, didn¡¯t it?¡± she bit out.


    ¡°Menander Drakos is scavenger,¡± the shade said. ¡°Whatever he stole, it was not enough to draw the Lord Rector¡¯s attention. Why do you think that is?¡±


    ¡°Because he took only small things,¡± Maryam said. ¡°Your point?¡±


    ¡°Would a man greedy enough to steal under the Lord Rector¡¯s own nose stop at trinkets?¡± the shade challenged


    No, Maryam had to agree. Assuming Evander Palliades did not yet have ess to the shipyard back then, should he be careful Lord Menander could have stolen the entire stash and simply pawned it off abroad. It wasn¡¯t as if the Lord Rector of Asphodel had many contacts in the ports of the eastern Someshwar, and down on the Riven Coast no questions were asked when ships came to sell goods no matter what those goods might be.


    ¡°It¡¯s not that he didn¡¯t stealrger goods but that he<em> couldn¡¯t</em>,¡± she said. ¡°Whatever path he used to get in, nothing toorge or heavy can be brought through.¡±


    And so Maryam¡¯s eyes left the rise and road, therge underground river, instead turning to where they should have been the whole time: the cavern walls. What she had assumed to be smooth stone all the way up was not: there were cracks in the stone, some fissuresrge as a cart, and even holes. All of them high up, at least three dozen feet high. Looking again, she could see that closer to the ground where paler streaks in the stone. More fissures, filled with ster.


    ¡°All it takes is one of those fissures reaching up to an old Drakos dig,¡± she whispered, ¡°and Lord Menander has his in.¡±


    And it would exin why he¡¯d grabbed nothing toorge, because it would have to be pulled back up by his men afterwards and carried through narrow spaces.


    ¡°You¡¯ll be thought odd, if you keep talking to yourself,¡± the shade smirked.


    Maryam cast a wary look around, but there was still no one in sight. She supposed there was no need for her to be supervised when she was standing on a rise with only one way down that wouldn¡¯t break her legs. Where else would she go, back into the dark? Not a soul around, she realized, and likely not for some time. And that, well, that saw a thought turn from a seed to a bloom. Because there was something else that had urred to her, during their talk.


    She devoured thest of her sausage, swallowed.


    ¡°You know, Hector Lissenos did not strike me as a fool,¡± Maryam quietly said, rising to her feet. ¡°He lived in the rector¡¯s pce, knew his descendants would as well. So why would he take the risk of putting the cork to the prison there?¡±


    The shade shrugged.


    ¡°He must have believed the seawall would protect him from this,¡± she said.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Maryam said. ¡°And Hector, not being a fool, would have consulted whoever helped him build the aether lock on this matter. If he believed the border would prevent the Hated One¡¯s filth from seeping out, he had good reason to.¡±


    ¡°And?¡± the shade asked.


    ¡°And you told me the borders down here are even stronger,¡± Maryam replied, and<em> pulled</em>.


    The shade fought her, but she had struck in utter surprise. She pulled on her nav with the strength of every ring she¡¯d slipped on, and when the shade swallowed a pained scream she plunged her hand into the creature¡¯s chest. She took a kernel in hand, another part of what she was owed.


    ¡°There is a shieldingyer between my soul and the Gloam here,¡± Maryam calmly continued. ¡°And that means <em>I can eat you safely</em>.¡±


    She ripped out the kernel, the shade dissolving like mist, and she saw it all.


    Like wriggling worms her soul gobbled up eagerly, a fistful of writhing secrets ripped out from the Cauldron and swallowed whole. She saw what she took, what she owned ¨C <em>how to make smoke sing, to bewitch echoes out of stone, to draw in flesh with a finger for brush</em> ¨C but also what went to waste. The wound she had ripped into the Cauldon, it leaked¡­ smoke, forck of a better term.


    And that smoke disappeared into the aether, forever lost.


    How much was it, she wondered, even as she dimly felt pressure mount behind her eyes. How much would be lost even if she had a whole feast down here, by bleeding out in the nothing or even by virtue of being eaten iplete ¨C it was not secrets whole and sectioned she took, only whatever she blindly ripped out.


    A hundredth, a tenth, a fifth?


    But even as a migraine whitened her field of vision and she swallowed drily, it was not that fearful prospect that consumed Maryam¡¯s mind. It was thest thing she had felt, when she ripped that kernel out of the shade. The emanation in the aether, clear as re. <em>Fear</em>. The shade had been afraid for her life. And that was¡­ it had not been Maryam¡¯s emotion. Nothing stolen from her. Not something mirrored or mimicked.


    And a parasite should not be able to taint the aether like that.


    --


    (¡°<em>You lunatic little bitch</em>,¡± Captain Domingo Santos shouted, emerging through a cloud of thick powder smoke. He looked rather singed, and was already tracing a Sign. Angharad sighed a moment before a spike of Gloam tore through her stomach and then the wall behind it.)


    The vision ended abruptly. Coughing into her fist, Angharad continued walking past the door.


    Tomorrow she would remember to first ask if Captain Domingo was still<em> inside</em> his room first.


    --


    ¡°I need a dead body,¡± Tristan Abrascal announced.


    It was the morning of his twenty-fifth day on the isle of Asphodel, before first light. He didn¡¯t immediately get an answer as they traded the goods. Hage took the pouch of suspicious brown powder ¨C dirtied flour, though it could easily pass for wagfly drops ¨C and handed Tristan an apparent pouch of coin. Coppers all, because devils underpaid even feignedbor. Tristan going in the early mornings to sell Hage the false drugs was an excuse for their irregr contact, hiding that the traded pouch and bag contained messages from the Thirteenth and his owntest report.


    The devil raised those thunderous eyebrows, leaning back to scratch Mephistofeline who promptly let out a ghoulish shriek of approval and pressed his jowls against Hage¡¯s fingers. He had a little ne now, adorned with shiny scrap metal sickles. Kids from the neighborhood had made it. Apparently it was a reference some sort of Asphodelian myth about some god in the ground inflicted with endless hunger, much like the orb-adjacent Mephistofeline.


    ¡°A whole body?¡± Hage finally asked.


    He nodded. The devil clicked his tongue.


    ¡°Start with thigh meat first, work your way up to fingers,¡± Hage advised. ¡°An entire body¡¯s too ambitious, you don¡¯t even know if you like the taste yet.¡±


    ¡°Not to <em>eat</em>, as you are well aware,¡± Tristan sighed. ¡°Tonight is the meet and after that I¡¯ve no more use for the Kassa. It is time to feign my death and disappear.¡±


    It might have been on the table to simply disappear earlier in the infiltration, but if ¡®Ferrando¡¯ turned to thin air immediately after his first look at the conspirators it was sure to be noticed. An altercation with a basileia man gone wrong would make waves in the Kassa pond, but it wouldn¡¯t earn suspicion.


    ¡°What kind of death?¡± Hage asked.


    ¡°Violent,¡± Tristan said. ¡°I¡¯ll leave whether idental or not to you.¡±


    ¡°It will take at least two days,¡± Hage said, ¡°and there will be a fee.¡±


    Two days would work fine, he did not want to disappear too quickly after the meet.


    ¡°Take it from the brigade funds,¡± he replied, granting Hage a nod and the cat a bow. ¡°Your Highness, fare thee well."


    Mephistopheline majestically shrieked in response, flopping belly up in a maneuver that had the wooden shelf beneath him creak before batting his paws up as if he were a kitten instead of a creature that couldfortably fit several kittens within its ample folds. Tristan thus left with the solemn blessing of a prince of Hell, returning to the ingloriousbor of his day as a Kassa traveling man.


    He read the letter on the way. He¡¯d reported the encounter with Izel Coyac, but Angharad wrote that the Neenth had disappeared into the city the day after and no one knew where they were. She again asked if he had heard anything about the Yellow Earth, who had apparently tried to coerce Song. He didn¡¯t know the details and they were probably best not put to paper, but apparently there¡¯d been fighting.


    He''d have to take a look into that, when he could spare the time. Until then the names ¡®Hao Yu¡¯ and ¡®Ai¡¯ were a pair he¡¯d kept an ear out for, but as thest time she had asked he had heard nothing. Though the Kassa had ties to the Republics, they were not in part of the family operations he worked in.


    Tristan nked through the day, mind already on whaty ahead, and got a few frowns for having slowed downpared to his usual performance. Not enough for a reprimand, however, when in their little circle he yet rode high as Temenos¡¯ savior. Come evening he met at the ck Dame with the other veterans, but neither he nor Temenos drank much. They were there only to spend the hours, and near eleven they were joined by three more souls in Kassa employ: twins from the weavers and a hard-faced sort who spoke for the warehouse men.


    The meet was to be had at the stroke of midnight, which Tristan thought unnecessarily dramatic, but it was not his conspiracy to run.


    He kept a running tally of what an agent of the Krypteia might consider conspiratorial mistakes as the five of them set out under cover of dark. First, the location: while the northwestern ward wasrgely abandoned, its abandoned warehouses were still of interest to the local basileias. Two, the numbers gathering. The closer they got to the meeting ce the more they ran into others, most of theming in smaller groups than the Kassa but groups nheless.


    How many people had been invited to this conspiracy? It was looking like at least half a hundred, which was only marginally better than handing your secret ns over to the town crier to yell out on the square.


    Third, while there were toughs with des handling security they were clearly basileia hands. Which meant on top of the invited masses and the conspirators themselves, a significant portion of a local basileia had known about this in advance. In some sense it made the entire affair easier to swallow: this was likely said basileia¡¯s territory, and thus they could drive away searching eyes and kill rumors to some extent.


    Yet, in another sense, Tristan was wondering if by the end of the night he was going to have to exin to some lictor captain that as a warrant officer of the Watch he could not be detained and someone needed to head to ck House to confirm his word. Gods, he hoped not.


    There were only so many times Song could fetch him from prison before she decided to strangle him to spare herself further indignities.


    It was worse than he expected when they reached the warehouse, for there were already a crowd of thirty-odd people in there. The front doors were held by toughs, who patted down for weapons but did not ask as to anyone¡¯s identity.


    Tristan stuck with Temenos and the warehouse man, whose name was Damon, and kept a watchful silence as the two men began counting out the workers from which trading houses hade. Of the tenrgest, Tristan learned, seven were present now that the Kassa men had epted the invitation. Twice as many merchant houses from the middle of the pack had shown, but none from the bottom of thedder. Or perhaps they had not been invited?


    It was beginning to ur to him that this was not some secret cabal¡¯s council holding a meet, but instead something closer to a rally. Secrecy was not the order of the day because whoever led this conspiracy had no intention of showing their face ¨C it was about recruiting bodies for the cause, not bringing another ringleader into a plot.


    Tristan kept his silence and stayed with the Kassa as thest souls were allowed in by the men at the door trickled in, his eye staying on the front of the crowd. There crates had been piled to make for a makeshift tform, the throng of people naturally settling in a wobbly half-circle around it. They didn¡¯t have to wait long for those meant to stand on the crates to show up, half a dozen men and women walking in to a wave of murmurs.


    ¡°That¡¯s Stavros Kassa,¡± Temenos whispered, pointing out a tall man with a pointed and oily beard. ¡°He is the one who asked us here.¡±


    Tristan caught a few more surnames spoken by the crowd. Delinos, Metaxas, Patera, Remes. All magnates, all of them Trade Assembly. There was one of the lot, however, that needed no introduction by a third party.


    Tristan knew exactly what Maria Anastos looked like, for she had been waiting for the Watch on the docks when their ship first arrived at the Lordsport. He would have to be careful, the Mask thought. Though his looks did not stand out and that day he had been wearing rook ck as one of many, there was always a chance she might recognize his face.


    It was her that imed the stage, the other magnates arranged around her like a disy of force. The Anastos were not the informal first among equals of the Trade Assembly that House Floros was for the Council of Ministers, but they were very influential ¨C and as the only family head present, it was only natural she took the lead. <em>But none of the other heads showed</em>, Tristan thought. <em>To avoid risk, or because their families are not in this to the hilt?</em>


    ¡°You all know who I am,¡± Maria Anastos called out. ¡°And you all know why you¡¯re here.¡±


    Mutters in the crowd.


    ¡°There¡¯s only so long we can bury our head in the sand,¡± Mistress Anastos said. ¡°It was one thing when the boy king¡¯s ministers raided our coffers, but now they are no longer content with that: fearing our influence, they¡¯ve begun murdering us.¡±


    That im got pushback. Some shouts called her a liar, others used the magnates of being behind deaths, others demanded proof. It was thest call that Maria Anastos answered.


    ¡°Kimon Metaxas is dead, poisoned,¡± she answered. ¡°A magnate¡¯s own brother. Patera?¡±


    An older woman with a dignified bearing stepped onto the stage.


    ¡°The captain of the Sunderer was found dead a month back,¡± she said. ¡°A single stroke through the neck, no witnesses.¡±


    A gangly man from the crowd shouted it was true. A foreman for the Patera, Tristan deduced from the way those around him reacted. Next came testimony of a murdered warehouse foreman from the Delinos, and the cousin and basilea contact of a Remes travelling man. He¡¯d seen the testimony from Stavros Kassaing, so when the bearded man called on Temenos to speak to the assassin that had tried to murder him with a sickle he¡¯d already slipped deeper into the crowd.


    Given how agitated the lot of them were by the rising list of deaths, it had been precious easy to pretend he¡¯d been caught by some eddy of the mob.


    ¡°It¡¯s true,¡± Temenos grunted. ¡°Came for me in the night, it was a narrow escape. The man cut through wood like it was paper, a contractor for certain.¡±


    That set the crowd to loud talk. There was some skepticism, several calling Temenos a liar, but Tristan noticed that most of the older men and women were taking the Kassa foreman seriously. The society of those who¡¯d remained in magnate service for decades held sway here, if not sovereignty. Their ims were taken seriously.


    ¡°Evander Palliades no longer rules the Rectorate,¡± Maria Anastos told the crowd. ¡°The Council of Ministers does, and we all remember the Floros years ¨C that woman won¡¯t rest until she¡¯s ground us all to dust.¡±


    Angry, shouting approval. Apollonia Floros was not beloved of this crowd, it seemed. She wouldn¡¯t be, given how much of her regency had been spent stepping on the very magnates employing most everyone in the room. Tristan wove around the congregation, only half listening to the speech. It was all grievances and usations, working up the anger in the room before putting some form of salvation on sale.


    Of all the goods hawked by chatans, hope was the one men would most make fools of themselves for.


    The other magnates did not seem surprised by anything out of Maria Anastos¡¯ mouth, so they were as much part of this as she was. Though the Mask struggled to remember what also those mighty families were most famous for, it seemed to him that it was the magnates with strong roots on Asphodel that had shown. The Lagonikos, who headed the wealthiest trade consortium of the Trade Assembly but based on the ind of Arke, did not have a representative.


    <em>So only part of the Assembly¡¯s in on whatever this is</em>, he mused. A handful gone over to the Ministers in exchange for titles, as Song had theorized? There seemed too many families present here for that, in his opinion, but then it was entirely possible that thergest ones were using the second-stringers as disposable cannon fodder to secure their new titles.


    ¡°We¡¯ve appealed to the throne, but Palliades ignores us,¡± Maria Anastos was continuing. ¡°He¡¯s lost the reins, and it¡¯s only a matter of time until he¡¯s cast down ¨C and there is only one who can rece him, isn¡¯t there?¡±


    Floros¡¯ name was shouted, with varying degrees of anger and disgust.


    ¡°We can¡¯t let it happen,¡± Maria Anastos said. ¡°<em>Won¡¯t</em> let it happen. Else half of us will end up in a grave, and the rest in the street.¡±


    Shouts came from the crowd, asking what could be done, but Tristan¡¯s attention had gone to the basileia men. While some of them had noticeable tattoos and scars, there did not seem to be a running them that¡¯d give him a symbol to look into. The only thing they had inmon was cheap brown cloaks, which by the way they kept adjusting them were a new addition.


    <em>That</em> was a trail he could run down, he decided. There were only so many ces in Tratheke where one could by over twenty mostly identical cheap brown cloaks.


    ¡°- then we can only defend ourselves,¡± Maria Anastos shouted. ¡°We¡¯ve let the <em>aristoi</em> step on us for centuries, but we will not let them have our lives!¡±


    Answering a signal from one of the magnates, pairs of those burly figures brown cloaks stepped forward carryingrge crates. Not just crates, Tristan corrected after a moment. Some barrels as well. <em>No</em>, he then dimly thought, clenching his fingers. <em>Truly?</em>


    To the shouts of the crowd they were opened, revealing crates full of muskets and bullets while the barrels were full of ckpowder.


    ¡°If the Ministers think they can just take the city, let¡¯s show them who really rules Tratheke!¡±


    Roars of approval from many, but not all. There were some in the crowd who looked horrified, as if beholding a ship about to run into reefs.


    Tristan felt numb, mind racing downnes of fresh realization.


    Angharad had found weapons being smuggled into Tratheke, when she headed out in the countryside, and Song had put together that they were being made in the valley and not by nobles. That was what had led his captain to the belief that some of Trade Assembly magnates had gone over to the other side for the promise of titles.


    But there had been other details, hadn¡¯t there? Hints they came across earlier in their investigation. The Brazen Chariot telling them of how ckpowder was worth more than its weight in gold, as if it was being bought by everyone ¨C why would the ministers scheming their coup need this, if they had a workshop out in the valley furnishing their troops? Why take the risk someone would notice the powder being grabbed so aggressively?


    Because the coup that Tristan Abrascal was looking at was not the same as the one being nned by the Council of Ministers.


    He swallowed drily as there were alls for silence, from both the magnates and the doubters.


    ¡°A few crates of muskets will not take Tratheke,¡± an older woman called out.


    ¡°A hundred crates will,¡± Maria Anastos replied, ¡°if we have the men to wield them. And there may be a bare hundred here, but how many will listen if you call for volunteers?¡±


    She raised her fist.


    ¡°<em>Thousands</em>,¡± she shouted, and there were cheers.


    ¡°Thousands of men who have never fought,¡± another voice scorned from the crowd. ¡°Against lictors and retinues! A thousand corpses is all you¡¯re promising.¡±


    ¡°And what if we take the city, Anastos?¡± Temenos shouted. ¡°Who rules us then? Who protects us when every lord from the east and the westes for our blood?¡±


    ¡°We rule ourselves,¡± Maria Anastos shouted back. ¡°Each of us, free. And <em>we are not alone</em>.¡±


    There was a hush from the crowd as another figure was weed onto the stage. The woman was not particrly tall or shapely, with simple dark hair held in a topknot while she wore unremarkable city clothes. She did not even have much presence, yet two thirds of the room were spellbound for a simple reason: she was Tianxi and she wore a yellow sash.


    Even here in Asphodel, men knew what that meant.


    ¡°My name is Ai,¡± she said. ¡°I am of the Yellow Earth, sent by the Republics, ande to tell you this: seize your freedom and you will not stand without allies.¡±


    The crowd breathed in, almost as one. There was an excitement in the air, a thrumming in the blood. The chatans had finally unpacked the salvation they¡¯de to sell.


    ¡°A vote has been held in secret,¡± Ai said, ¡°to recognize Asphodel as a sister-republic to Tianxia should Tratheke be seized and the Lord Rector overthrown.¡±


    A dull roar began to rise, but she pitched her voice louder still.


    ¡°im your freedom,¡± Ai shouted, ¡°and when the noblese to take Asphodel from you they will find a fleet of your Tianxi allies holding the Lordsport, the armies of half the republicse to fight at your side!¡±


    The roar rose, shivering in the air.


    ¡°Rise,¡± Ai shouted. ¡°Rise and your children will be born free. Rise and you will never have to be beaten and stolen by nobles again! Rise and you <em>can have it all</em>!¡±


    And as the air shuddered with the shouts and stomping feet of near a hundred men, Tristan was left to stand there in horrified awe.


    At this rate, even a half-empty city would run out of room to fit all these treasons in.

 Pause & Book 3

    Pause & Book 3


    Hello!


    So good news:test night my fiancee gave birth to our son, everything went great and we''re very happy with the little bundle. It also means I''ll be going on parental leave effective immediately!


    As it''s customary for me to take a month-long break between books and we''re near the end of Good Treasons, the second book of Pale Lights, I''ve decided to effectively fuse those two breaks together so I won''t being back, going back on break and returning again.


    If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    How this will be working is that I''ll take my three weeks of parental leave, then extend that break by three weeks to do the necessary legwork for the next book. The upside for you is that, when I return, there will be no pause between Good Treasons and the third book of the series - I''ll simply keep updating.


    Regarding the dates, I will be on pause until the 18th of October which means the first update of the return will be Friday October 25.


    Thanks in advance for your understanding, and see you when Ie back!


    E.E.

 Chapter 59

    Chapter 59


    It was for the best.


    By morning tomorrow Maryam would arrive at ck House, and with the signifier¡¯s return the secret Song had kept would finally out. Evander Palliades would be told of the coup brewing beneath his feet and, inevitably, that Song had kept silent on the matter even when looking him in the eye. She was not sure what she expected from that yet, but a sense of betrayal on his part would not be unwarranted.


    It would not be a clean break, but it would be a break ¨C and that, as she kept thinking, was for the best.


    She chewed on that thought even as the carriage shook beneath her, catching a loose stone. Evander himself seemed pensive this afternoon, something she had learned to recognize as him practicing a speech inside his mind. As well he should, for from what she had been told he would have to give no fewer than four speeches today.


    Landing Day was a feast day particr to Asphodel, and far removed enough from the timing of traditional seasonal festivals that its root might well be genuine. The im was that, on this day centuries ago, King Oduromai first made shore on the isle. While for most the people of Asphodel the sole celebration was that the temples of Oduromai gifted meals of wine and meat to all who attended the feasts thrown by the priesthood, the nobles had their own custom.


    In Tratheke that custom was for a mighty feast to be thrown by the Lord Rector for all the descendants of King Oduromai and his officers in the same district where the great temple of the deity sat, the Collegium. As all the ruling dynasties of Asphodel had imed descent from King Oduromai in the flesh as means of legitimacy, they took the king¡¯s seat in such celebrations and were expected to foot the bill for such celebrations.


    Which were not inexpensive, as centuries of royal houses needing to awe their nobles into submission had made the affair increasingly borate and extravagant.


    There was a knock on the side of the carriage, the lictor besides the driver leaning close to the window to address them.


    ¡°We will be arriving momentarily, Your Excellency.¡±Evander Palliades stirred out of his thoughts, straightening.


    ¡°Thank you, lieutenant,¡± he replied. ¡°As you will.¡±


    He was sharply dressed today, Song thought not for the first time. A high-cored gray doublet in brocade with borate golden scrollwork was paired with an equally high-cored brown overcoat whose scrollwork perfectly matched. Hose andherstock in gray ttered his ves, ending in slender calfskin shoes, and he wore no jewelry save for the heavy gold chain hanging on his neck. Freshly shaved and his sses polished, he cut a fine figure whose clothing somewhat evoked a sea captain¡¯s stylings.


    His feathered bicorn certainly was not being born to protect from any rain.


    Song tugged at her cor, for she was not dressed poorly today either. Though her formal clothing should have sufficed, Evander had insisted on providing clothes as a gesture of appreciating for Song attending the Landing Day festivities as his escort. She would have declined, if not for the tempting promise that the provided clothes would have provisions made to hide weapons. Surely that made the gift equipment, she told herself. Said equipment happened to have the shape of a splendid white, ck and golden gown tailored to her, coincidentally. Still, it lived up to the promises: neither of the gown¡¯s twoyers impeded her movement, the skirts were slender and made with running in mind.


    The waistline around the hip was ridged to give the illusion of a belt, but also so that she could keep a knife hidden in a fold of the cloth as well as three powder charges and shots. On the side of her skirts, hidden by braided golden rope, was an opening through which she could draw the pistol holstered at her hip. There had, unfortunately, been no way for her to carry her jian. She¡¯d asked Angharad¡¯s help to put her hair up in a high bun kept in ce by a small golden cloth but also golden needle with a butterfly-shaped head. A gift from Mother, who had told her it was only a gold coating over steel but no lesser for it.


    The change in hairstyle kept drawing Evander¡¯s eyes to the bare nape of her neck, which she chose not to notice.


    ¡°It suits you,¡± the problem in question quietly said.


    ¡°It would have been an egregious waste of coin if it did not,¡± Song told him.


    His lips twitched.


    ¡°I must wonder at how little you must beplimented, for you to be so terrible at takingpliments,¡± Evander said, tone teasing.


    ¡°Was that apliment?¡± she drily replied. ¡°I could not tell.¡±


    His eyes caught hers through the spectacles.


    ¡°You look stunning,¡± he said. ¡°It is an effort not to stare.¡±


    Ugh. Did he have to be so genuine about it? Song looked away, pleased that the cosmetics hiding thest of her ck eye should be hiding the heat on her cheeks.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± she forced out, then turned to cock an eyebrow at him.


    <em>See</em>, she silently said. <em>I have no trouble takingpliments, Palliades.</em>


    ¡°Masterfully done,¡± Evander replied, not batting an eye.


    He was clearly making sport of her, his face much too serious. This ind¡¯s veritable epidemic of nned regicide was, Song Ren mused, perhaps not entirely unwarranted. Before she could decide on a way to put him in his ce that did not sound like it had been dreamed up by a drunken Pingyang Zong, the carriage began to slow. The Lord Rector was out first, and offered her his hand in stepping down on the pavement. Song epted, purely to avoid the risk of her hidden knife making noise.


    As he withdrew the warm touch, she looked up at the den of debauchery where the Landing Day feast was to take ce this evening. No edifice in the Collegium was left empty, considering the absurd worth of even a speck of room in that part of the capital, but this one came closer to most: the four-story building, an elongated oval of brass, was almost entirely a water reservoir. Antediluvian machinery inside pumped and sucked out water that, beneath the streets, helped the canals of Tratheke flush and flow. It was on the roof of that edifice the feast would take ce, a ce that was normally inessible and for which a temporary lift had been built on the side wall.


    Song did not walk in with the Lord Rector of Asphodel, merely as one of his party. The lift, an intricate mass of pulleys and metal, was of clear Tianxi make and operated by some of Song¡¯s countrymen ¨C not a ringing endorsement of Asphodelian engineering, but perhaps less likely to get someone killed. Being of the Lord Rector¡¯s party meant that unlike other guests they were not politely frisked by the lictors to ensure they bore no weapons.


    Nobles would and no doubt wouldin, but less so when told that the precaution and the inessible nature of the roof meant that the feast would not be swarming with lictors ¨C merely a dozen on the roof, spread around.


    Emerging upstairs with Evander, a pair of lictors and a happily humming Perfect Nestor gave her a glimpse of why the location had been chosen ¨C though not before she noted with approval that, as at the bottom of the lift, a pair of lictors checked the guests for weapons. The Landing Feast was an inevitable pit of nautically inspired d¨¦cor, she¡¯d been told, but this year was almost impressive: with a bit of clever piping the water from the reservoirs below had been brought to the roof so that it could be turned into a makeshift ind chain.


    tforms of varying sizes ¨C most only six feet by six, othersrge enough to serve as a feats tables or a dance floor ¨C had been decorated with shapes in silk, evoking not only trees and mountains but many of the cities mentioned in the Oduromeia. Brass passages connected everything, and the water was not as deep as it looked: Song¡¯s eyes could see through the trick employed, which was painting the roof blue to give the illusion of depth.


    Knee length at the deepest, she figured, which was still impressive for a roof that had been a smooth surface of brass two months ago.


    Taking in the furnishings had her eyes off Evander for a moment, long enough that when she returned the man who¡¯d been smiling in the carriage was gone and Lord Rector Palliades stood in his ce. An easy smile and cold eyes, smooth manners paired with knowing just a little too much ¨C she¡¯d seen him like that before, after the y when he mingled, but never before had the difference seemed quite so stark. <em>Not my trouble</em>, Song reminded herself.


    He got to work and Song followed in his shadow with the pair of lictors who¡¯de up with her. Much of the Tratheke Valley nobility was here, but there were also some who imed descent from King Oduromai and his crew from further out. Lord Cordyles and Lord Arkol, Angharad¡¯s frequentpanions, as well as the inevitable Minister Apollonia Floros. The stern, unsmiling older woman had arguably a better im to royal blood than Evander.


    That might just get her killed before the years was out. A failed coup always saw the traitors turn on each other like jackals.


    There were maybe sixty nobles on the roof, a dozen lictors and at least as many servants handling drinks and food. Prefect Nestor discreetly pointed her to a structure on the opposite side of the roof, a bronze house that was meant to represent Asphodel ¨C and could, she was informed, serve as a safe ce to stash the Lord Rector if an attempt was made on his life. She resisted the urge to reminder the old man that she was not contracted to safeguard Evander Palliades, only use her contract on his behalf. He¡¯d forget in a moment anyhow, best to let him nod along.


    Her eyes did linger on the servants, while Lord Rector Palliades rose on a dais and made his first speech of the night. None had contracts, and neither did any of the lictors. Among the nobles, only contracts she had already seen ¨C there were few new guests, and none with either boon or contract. That bled some tension out of her and she let her gaze wander.


    The guests had been herded at the feet of the dais, a crowd of nobles in rich dress and varying degrees of nautical uracy. Song wondered if the captain Lady Doukas alleged descent from would have been amused at the row of egg-sized gold anchors she wore as a ne making press up a very generous ne. Perhaps they would have been proud, that their descendants could indulge in such pointless pageantry and not be impoverished for it.


    Either way, there was only so long she could look at peacocks without tiring of it. Her attention wandered, then she stilled. Across the street, on a roofless tower adorned by half a dozen ships¡¯ figureheads, a figure sat and watched them. A man with ck hair ruffled by the wind, crowned in flowery gold and purple. His eyes were a burning blue, an oil fire in azure, and on hispy a jagged sword of bronze. His clothes were¡­ a sailor¡¯s leathers, one moment, then the purple robes of some ancient king.


    He pointed a finger upwards, silent.


    Song swallowed and respectfully bowed her head to the god Oduromai. By the time she raised her head he was gone.


    ¡°Asphodelians im it brings good luck when he shows himself.¡±


    Song recognized the voice, and it almost had her reaching for her knife as she turned. Lord Locke and Lady Keys looked the same as when she had first met them in the pce: a tall, thin woman with austere features under spectacles and a portly man with a mustache beneath which twitched a jolly smile. The clothes had changed ¨C they were in matching red and white tonight ¨C but neither the smiles nor the lurking, almost nonchnt sense of malice around them had dimmed.


    Song was on the side of the dais, close to a lictor but not so close she would be overheard. It was still highly unsettling she had not caught either of them leaving the crowd to join her. That they did not care they might risk offending the Lord Rector by chatting during his speech, however, she was less surprised.


    ¡°Come now, dear,¡± Lady Keys chuckled. ¡°Our good friend Captain Ren knows better than to put stock into such superstitions.¡±


    ¡°It is no superstition to be wary of the powers behind the curtains,¡± Song cautiously replied.


    She had never introduced herself to them as a member of the Watch or a brigade¡¯s captain. Hage¡¯s stern warning to keep the pair smiling and avoid meddling in their business was kept close in her thoughts.


    ¡°They can never resist taking a peek past the cloth,¡± Lord Keys told her, bncing what had to be entire serving ce of crab legs on one hand.


    He was freely helping himself too it, too. The plump man took a bite, letting out a little moan of pleasure.


    ¡°Amada you <em>must</em> try the crab. It is almost<em></em>as delectable as you.¡±


    ¡°You know I dislike eating any creature with a shell, dear,¡± the tall woman said, winking at Song as she said it. ¡°I¡¯ve always held great sympathy with their kind.¡±


    The Tianxi swallowed. The Thirteenth had been suspecting her of being a devil for some time. Confirmation or some kind of game being yed?


    ¡°Manifold apologies, darling, I¡¯d forgot,¡± Lord Locke mused, taking another bite and barley chewing before it disappeared down his gullet. ¡°Asphodelian cuisine does have its limits, I am sad to admit. It might be for the best we will be departing soon.¡±


    ¡°Will you? I am sad to hear that,¡± Song lied.


    ¡°Oh, our little adventure in these parts will soone to¡­ a natural end,¡± Lady Keys idly replied.


    The following chuckle was all too sinister.


    ¡°We still need to pick up a souvenir,¡± Lord Locke enthusiastically said, ¡°but we have seen most of the sights on the isle.¡±


    Song¡¯s eyes narrowed. Were they hinting at the infernal forge? Was that why the devil and her helper hade to these shores?


    ¡°Did anything catch your eye?¡± she risked.


    ¡°I¡¯d pocket an entire principality if I could,¡± the jolly man mused, thumbing his mustache. ¡°But I expect I will have to settle for something regional.¡±


    ¡°One can never go wrong with the nautical,¡± Lady Keys opined. ¡°But I must say, Lady Song, that I am surprised.¡±


    She tensed.


    ¡°Why is that?¡±


    ¡°Is the Lord Rector not your escort?¡±


    ¡°He is,¡± Song warily said.


    ¡°Ah,¡± Lord Locke said, flicking a nce into the crowd to her right. ¡°In that case, I must agree with my dearest ¨C it does seem a mite ungrateful on your part to then allow his brutal murder.¡±


    Song turned to follow his look, and found among the crowd a man in servant¡¯s livery who was removing a pistol from under his serving tter ¨C some short, stubby thing. He raise his hand to aim it at Evander, thedy behind him noticing and gasping, but Song was quicker. Her own pistol was in hand, aimed, and she fired first.


    The body dropped. The crowd screamed.


    Fear and surprise washed over Song like a tide: in and through, receding back into itself. <em>Hand on the chisel.</em> Her hands moved, calm and sure, reloading the pistol without need for thought. Evander leapt down from the dais, taking cover down in the water behind it. Lictors were drawing weapons. There would be more than one, of that she was sure.


    How many?


    Shouts behind, hoarse. Lictors dying and her gaze strayed long enough to see the billowing explosion ¨C flesh and wood strewn, a mass of smoke. They had blown the lift and now the nobles were turning into beasts, screaming and tripping over themselves as they scattered like a flock of birds. She found Prefect Nestor, caught his eye.


    ¡°Get him out,¡± she shouted, gesturing at the brass house.


    The old man looked startled, as if he could not understand what was happening, but what he saw on her face steadied him. The iron went back into his spine and he leapt down the dais, onto the water behind, where Evander had taken cover. They would make a run for it, Song thought, and soon.


    She moved past the standing Locke and Key, yet grinning devils¡¯ grins and eating crab. Through the nobles that were shouting and elbowing each other, stepping on the backs of the fallen in their haste to get away from the danger to ¨C nowhere. The enemy was here, and as Song leapt up onto the dais she found them.


    Song blinked, saw it all as she sucked in a breath.


    Flicker. A man, dark-haired in servant¡¯s livery. A short and stubby pistol, cobbled together. Aimed at the edge of the dais, from where Evander and the lictors would run out. Her hand moved without thought, arm steady and the trigger <em>clicked.</em> Snap, smoke, the man¡¯s face a red ruin and he spun and fell. Fresh screams, but she was not listening.


    The dead man¡¯s face crumbled beyond the killing wound, falling apart in kes. Some kind of ash? It was an Izcalli beneath, with a swath teeth filed to a point.


    Click, snap: Song threw herself down, the bullet whizzed past her ¨C tore a hole in her skirts. She hit the wooden dais hard, chin bouncing off, but grit her teeth and snatched out her knife. Boots on wood, another servant climbing up with a knife in hand but Song was already moving. She shouted, mming into the assassin just as she reached the apex of the climb, and they tumbled down onto brass.


    The killer tried to plunged the dagger into her back but she rammed the point of her elbow in the creased of her opponent¡¯s. A swallowed moan of pain and Song mmed her forehead into the nose, feeling it break. Her skin came off wet with blood and sticking, too-warm kes. The woman was dazed, and that was enough. She rammed her knife her throat, gored her messily, and rose while ripping it out.


    That made three. How many more? There were dead lictors by the lift, but others had muskets and there were only so many assassins. Two more dead on the ground, one fighting, and ¨C


    HUI YU, the golden letters spelled out above the woman¡¯s head.


    The contractor pulled the trigger on her musket, but she missed. The shot only skimmed past Evander¡¯s shoulder, though it burst through Prefect Nestor¡¯s chest and he dropped. The two remaining lictors put themselves between him and the killer, dragging him along, but the contractor was reloading.


    Song moved. Through the scrabbling, squalid crowd drowning in the weight of the rich clothes and jewels, through water touched with swirls like red ink, past a fallen lictor whose throat was cut ¨C she dipped low, awkwardly dragging the dead man¡¯s sword out of his sheath. Heavier than she was used to, shorter. Yet the weight of steel in her hand was like the weight of certainty.


    She caught a reflection of herself in the water, a heartbeat before her foot broke that reddening mirror. So did the killer, and she pivoted with her musket held high. Reloaded, finger on the trigger. And for a moment Song, skirts heavy around her feet as she held a dead man¡¯s sword, looked death in the eye.


    Death blinked first.


    She saw ite down through the arm, the twitch before the trigger pull. She moved low, right and heat licked at her face and she was half deaf but then she was<em> in</em>. She shed, quick and brutal to the neck, but the contractor caught her wrist. Song rammed a knife in her side but caught mostly cloth, for she¡¯d been kicked in the belly. She tumbled backward long enough for the assassin to pull out a long knife.


    ¡°You again,¡± the stranger snarled.


    ¡°We will not,¡± Song replied, ¡°meet thrice.¡±


    A sh of hate led the steel and Song parried ¨C too slow, from this misbegotten sword, but the weight and thickness had the knife pped back further. In the water, with skirts, Song had all the elegance of a drunk but the killer moved as quicksilver. A feint had her parrying air and then the assassin¡¯s de was slicing at her shoulder, caught in the padding.


    <em>Hand on the</em>- Song snarled, leaping at the assassin. She was not in the business of elegant deaths. Sword and knife dropped in the water, Song mming the killer¡¯s head against the border of a brass ind as her throat was squeezed until she felt it would snap. She bit the killer¡¯s wrist until she tasted red and was mmed in the water for it.


    Under the tide, not even silver eyes saw clear.


    She fought against the killer¡¯s grasp keeping her down, kicking and screaming, but the other woman was strong. Song felt her haire loose, her fine gown turn into a coffin and ¨C and she reached back, groping blindly, until she found her mother¡¯s gift. Her fingers closed around it as Hui Yui pressed her against the bottom, the assassin¡¯s reflection-distorted face just above the water line.


    Under gold there was steel, and the steel pin was what killed the assassin when Song rammed it in her neck.


    She ripped free of the twitching grip, kicking the gurgling assassin down, and gasped free air. Her knife was by the edge of ind, glittering in the Asphodelian light, and she made sure she would not prove a liar: it went into the contractor¡¯s heart, and she twisted it to make sure. Gasping, exhausted, Song dragged herself onto solid ground as plumes of red spread in the water. A hand came for her and she almost stabbed it, but the lictor stepped back warily.


    ¡°Your pistol, ma¡¯am,¡± he said, presenting her with it.


    She took it, and reached in her dress to find herst powder charge was dry. The leather it was in had not let the water through. Relieved, she reloaded even as the lictor cleared his throat.


    ¡°The Lord Rector is safe and the assassins are dead, ma¡¯am,¡± he told her. ¡°You got thest of them.¡±


    Song wearily got up. The words brought no relief, for she could not help as if something was missing. Like she had forgotten something. Dead bodies, nobles not yet sure whether to be relieved. Only a handful of lictors left. Song slid the bullet into the barrel of her gun.


    ¡°How were they going to live?¡± she murmured.


    ¡°Ma¡¯am?¡± the lictor asked.


    They¡¯d blown the lift at the start to keep reinforcement froming up and Evander from going down. But how were they going to leave, afterwards? Were they even intending do? She began to walk towards the brass house without quite knowing why. The lictor followed, mercifully silent. The Obsidian Order were assassins, but they were also cultists. Had they been intending to sacrifice themselves for the kill the entire time?


    If they had, then their n had been too weak. The moment Evander got to safety and barricaded himself they were finished, for eventually enough of the crowd would slip loose the shackles of fear and realize the killers did not even number ten. She was mere feet away from the door of the house now, and doubt was like an itch. Why had they not prepared for the possibility that¡­


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    ¡°Oh,¡± Song breathed out.


    They <em>had</em>.


    And Oduromai, god of sailors and heroes but most of all patron of Asphodel, had even told her where to look. She looked above the house, where the god had pointed. Where a man in servant¡¯s livery was finishing his work: positioning a barrel of powder on the roof, a smallmp already in hand. Song met those eyes and was shed a grin of partially filed teeth.


    ¡°Toote,¡± the assassin said, and lit the wick.


    Breathe in, breathe out. Steady.


    Song raised her pistol and pulled the trigger.


    ¡°You missed, Tianxi,¡± the manughed. ¡°Bless be She, and carry me on her wings to the deathlessnds.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t miss,¡± Song Ren said.


    And he realized it when he looked down: that she had not been aiming for the him or themp but the wick. Snarling he reached for themp, trying to set the barrel directly ame, but she¡¯d bought the lictor long enough. They were well-drilled soldiers, skilled at arm. The musket shot took the assassin in the chest, and he tumbled past the edge of the house. And the edge of this entire edifice, screaming as he fell.


    Song panted, letting her pistol face the floor atst.


    ¡°There,¡± she said. ¡°<em>That</em> was thest of them.¡±


    --


    The inside of the brass house was sparse. A table, a pair of seats and stretcher.


    Song had been allowed in only after the lictors swept roof one more time and dropped the powder barrel in water. Now the scared and bloodied nobles were being brought down from here with ropes anddders while a sea of lictors flooded the roof. In here, however, she was alone save for amp and Evander Palliades. His soldiers had tly refused to let him leave the house, afraid there might be another ambush waiting for him in the street.


    ¡°It did cut skin a little,¡± Evander told her, picking at her shoulder with a wet cloth.


    Song swallowed a hiss of pain, sitting on the table. She¡¯d not felt it with the fight in her, or even after, but the cut being dabbed at was quite unpleasant.


    ¡°I¡¯ve had worse,¡± she said. ¡°Leave it alone, would you?¡±


    He humphed at her.


    ¡°Even small wounds can take badly,¡± he said.


    Still, he did as she¡¯d asked. Outside the walls, she thought, were most likely the cooling corpses of an entire cell of the Obsidian Order. There had been ten of them in whole, that were caught at least. As she watched Evander brush back his hair, folding the cloth before cing it back in the medicine kit, it urred to her she would not escort him again.


    Tristan had reported finding a contract with the Order, and those assassins were dead. In particr the contractor who could fool eyes, who was the reason Song had been requested as an escort in the first ce. It meant, she thought, that tonight might well be thest time she saw Evander Palliades before leaving Asphodel. At most once more, when the contract was fulfilled.


    Which meant she could give the Yellow Earth what little outdated information she had and then, truthfully, tell them she would no longer have ess to the pce. She could be free of them as well, in the process. It was soon done, she realized. She would soon be gone from this isle, and the feeling was so liberating she felt like a giddy child.


    ¡°Song?¡±


    She met his gaze and swallowed, then pushed off the table. He rose to his feet as well.


    ¡°I suppose you should report to ck House,¡± Evander acknowledged.


    And she did go to the door. To lock it. She turned to find his eyes gone wide. She was too tired still to be smooth or seductive, so instead she crossed the distance between them ¨C he stepped back, until he was pressed against the wall and their noses were almost touching. She had solved it all without anyone bleeding, Song thought. She was allowed to take some pleasure from the world.


    He was the one to kiss her, sses knocking against her nose as he threaded a hand through her loose hair and she moaned against warm, soft lips. He had such slender and artful fingers, it stoked embers in her belly. They parted ways only when they were out of breath.


    ¡°I,¡± he swallowed. ¡°Are you sure?¡±


    She drew back, and almostughed at the disappointment on his face. After all she had only done it to turn around.


    ¡°You¡¯ll have to help me take the gown off,¡± she said, looking over her shoulder.


    The look that put in his eyes had her belly clenching, and a heartbeatter his mouth was on her neck as he pulled her against him.


    It took them forever to get the dress off, but at no point did shein.


    --


    It¡¯d take days before thest of the drugs left her, but finally Maryam back in the capital.


    To her surprise, even as the Watch carriages rolled into the courtyard of ck House a nce through the shutters ¨C mercifully open, after all that time in a box ¨C revealed the delegation were not the only ones returning that morning. There was already a carriage in there, four servants in Watch livery wrestling with the giant serpentine head strapped to its back.


    The dangling twin retractable crests going up its nose told her she was most likely looking at the head of a Ladonite dragon, who pressed out those crests when they blew fire. Something about the gases involved? Maryam¡¯s interest in teratology did not run deep.


    Confirming her guess was the man standing by the struggling servants, a long-haired Izcalli with perfectly partitioned hair and matching round earrings. Tupoc Xical was more interested in heckling them than helping, apparently, and he spared a look their way when the carriage doors open. His brow rose when he saw Maryam emerge, gaze sliding over the rest of the delegation.


    ¡°Khaimov,¡± he amiably called out. ¡°You managed not to melt your brain in my absence, I see. Shame, it would have made for fine humor going forward.¡±


    Captain Cervantes raised an eyebrow at his word, but someone who did not know either of them could take that for banter betweenrades. Commander Osian Tredegar, though, knew better. The tall Pereduri swung his bag over his shoulder and, ignoring the majority of the vacant courtyard, walked up straight to Tupoc. In front of the Izcalli he paused, then let out a noise of impatience. Tupoc¡¯s face went nk.


    ¡°Sir,¡± he said. ¡°What can I do for you?¡±


    ¡°Are you blind?¡± Osian Tredegar asked. ¡°You are standing in my way to the door. Move aside, boy.¡±


    The Izcalli¡¯s gaze moved across the empty courtyard grounds, through the detour Commander Tredegar had taken so Tupoc would stand between him and the door. There was an unkind chortle from the Deuteronomicon tinker while Maryam simply folded her arms and enjoyed the y being put on for her. To Tupoc¡¯s honor, though was a slight tightening around his eyes he managed to put on a smile.


    ¡°Of course,¡± he said, moving out of the superior officer¡¯s way. ¡°My apologies.¡±


    ¡°You should pay closer attention to your surroundings,¡± Osian Tredegar mildly said. ¡°It will do wonders for your life expectancy.¡±


    Attaining a level of pettiness that what Maryam could only yet aspire to, themander still made sure to shoulder Tupoc on his way to the door. Tupoc could probably have ducked, she thought, but he must have decided that taking his lumps and let Angharad¡¯s asionally delightful uncle get his way. The rest of the delegation filed out of the courtyard after Commander Tredegar, Captain Cervantes pausing by Maryam to remind her that while she was not expected to report directly to Chca there would<em></em>be a general debrief tonight she <em>was </em>expected to attend.


    ¡°Don¡¯t y around for too long,¡± she then added, ncing at Tupoc. ¡°Your captain should have heard of your arrival by now.¡±


    Maryam simply nodded, matching gazes with the Izcalli, and after thest of the delegation left she cocked an eyebrow at him.


    ¡°Xical,¡± she btedly replied. ¡°Alone, I see. Already got your cabal killed?¡±


    ¡°Only the one,¡± he shrugged. ¡°eptable Losses lived up to her name.¡±


    Maryam paused, startled into silence. And while there were condolences on the tip of her tongue, Tupoc had spoken of the death so casually she could not bring herself to speak them. One did not bare their neck to a leopard unless they wanted to get bitten.


    ¡°So does the Death Brigade,¡± she said instead. ¡°Finally found something for the Fourth to be the best at, I see.¡±


    The Izcalli turned pale eyes on her, face expressionless, and though he hardly moved she could almost taste the violence in the air. She itched to have a hatchet in hand, or at least a fourth ring, but going for either would have been showing weakness. Suddenly he grinned, and the suffocating tension was gone like morning mist.


    ¡°Cold,¡± he appreciatively said. ¡°I¡¯ll have to remember that one.¡±


    Maryam only grunted.


    ¡°That is your Ladonite dragon, I take it?¡± she asked, gesturing at the head.


    It must have not have been as heavy as it looked, given that four servants were capable of taking it down without anyone getting crushed. She¡¯d confess to some curiosity about where they were going to stash that. Not the stables, surely? It would scare the horses. Then again this was a Watch estate, odds were it <em>had</em> been built with the notion of storing the corpses of giant lemures in mind.


    It¡¯d certainly exin why the front gates were so unnecessarilyrge,


    ¡°That it is,¡± Tupoc proudly said. ¡°A devil to catch, it was. Traipsing through wheat fields out east for days, the local lord¡¯s men shadowing every step and making enough of a racket for thrice their number.¡±


    Maryam raised an eyebrow.


    ¡°You took reinforcements from the nobles?¡±


    ¡°Gods no,¡± Tupoc snorted. ¡°The steward in charge feared we¡¯d anger the beast without killing it, so he wanted soldiers out there to finish the job after¡­¡±


    He traced a finger across his throat. The Izcalli clearly still smarted at the remembered inconvenience, but Maryam could understand how lords might be skeptical of a small cabal of Scholomance students proving capable of killing a Ladonite dragon. It was all too easy to imagine a wounded dragon going wild and setting wheat fields ame in a rampage, miles of it burning.


    ¡°You got it done regardless, evidently,¡± Maryam shrugged.


    Tupoc slyly smiled.


    ¡°We gave them the slip,¡± he said. ¡°And even found a little something of interest out in the Nitari Heights.¡±


    She cocked her head to the side.


    ¡°Did you now?¡±


    The Izcalli wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.


    ¡°I heard the Thirteenth¡¯s been up to some interesting things as well,¡± he said. ¡°Go fetch someone with actual bargaining power and it might be I¡¯ll trade tit for tat.¡±


    Ah, he <em>had</em> been staying too pleasant for too long a stretch of time. Some piss on her boots was only to be expected.


    ¡°You, of course, being the tit,¡± she innocently smiled back.


    She turned a clean pair of heels to the Izcalli before he could reply, satisfied with having seized thest word. Condolences would wait for someone who deserved them, like the rest of the Fourth.


    --


    Like everything else about Song Ren her kindness was methodical, so by the time Maryam got back to her room she found that a warm bath was already drawn for her and a meal of her Asphodelian favorites being prepared. Song spared her the need to report until she got out of the tub scrubbed clean and pleasantly warmed, and even then they made small talk over the meal instead of diving straight into it. Tristan¡¯s absence was easy enough to exin, but she asked as to Angharad¡¯s.


    ¡°She is out in the city,¡± Song exined. ¡°Attending the dedication of an orphanage in the southeastern district at the invitation of Lord Menander.¡±


    ¡°So the man is still squeezing us for information,¡± Maryam mused. ¡°Makes sense, he has to be worried that since the Watch went down to the shipyard we figured out he had a route there.¡±


    Her captain seemed to take that as a sign that the conversation was shifting to the report, which was fair enough. As if to draw some invisible line Song rose to fetch the teapot waiting on Maryam¡¯s dressed where the servants had left it, bringing it over with two cups before pouring in that measured Tianxi way.


    ¡°Tell me about the shipyard,¡± Song ordered after she finished, slipping back into her seat.


    ¡°It¡¯s go going to be a mess,¡± Maryam told her. ¡°That shipyard¡¯s some kind of masterpiece, apparently: at the moment it could spit out a warship-grade aether engine every five months or so, but the Asphodelians are still repairing parts of the machinery.¡±


    Her focus had waned during the afternoon part of the visit, due to a pounding migraine, but she¡¯d still seen that though the inner ring of the shipyard was mostly up and running a lot of the outlying machinery was still inert or broken. No doubt because it would cost a veritable fortune to get it back in shape and the Lord Rector¡¯s coffers were already mightily strained.


    ¡°How bad would it be?¡± Song asked.


    ¡°The Deuteronomicon tinker that had a look, he was of the opinion that it could be brought up to one every two months,¡± Maryam said. ¡°Commander Tredegar argues three, because part of the reason the construction¡¯s so quick is they use tomic alloys like they¡¯re never going to run out.¡±


    The silver-eyed woman drummed her fingers against the table.


    ¡°But they will, so they will have to water their wine even before the cache runs out,¡± she said. ¡°Mix in lesser metals.¡±


    ¡°Tredegar is betting they¡¯ll be grabbing that strange brass they¡¯ve got everywhere in the capital, which has some useful properties, and his estimate for that is three months,¡± Maryam said. ¡°And that¡¯s after them setting up a foundry for it down there, which we<em> think</em> they might have just begun.¡±


    Some of the buildings in the part of the cavern the Watch had been restricted from essing had the right shape for it.


    ¡°Then it is a matter of months, years at most, before the shipyard can overturn the bnce of the Trebian Sea,¡± Song murmured.


    Maryam grunted in agreement. Four skimmers a year did not sound like much, until one considered that most great powers had fewer than fifty in their service ¨C and not all of them war-fit. Oh, even the greatest skimmers out of Asphodels would be no match for the old monsters some kingdoms had lovingly preserved. The Imperial Someshwar was said to possess an ancient warship near the size of an ind and Sacromonte¡¯s infamous harpooners had killed even gods.


    But those monstrous machines were rare, and given the impossibility of recing them they were never risked without good reason. If it came to a war of attrition, a united Tianxia had the purse and sailors tost all its enemies out. As long as they held the shipyard, anyway. That was the rub.


    ¡°Brigadier Chca will, at the very least, force through restrictions on the sale of military-grade engines,¡± Song finally said. ¡°That has the potential for ugliness if Tianxia contests the matter.¡±


    ¡°Force?¡± Maryam repeated, surprised. ¡°I didn¡¯t think the Watch had the pull for that right now.¡±


    ¡°Things have changed,¡± Song said. ¡°With the Lord Rector¡¯s help I solved the cypher on the correspondence of Hector Lissenos. Not only is it all but certain the Hated One is the entity in the prisonyer you discovered, said prison is breached.¡±


    That sounded like bad news, but hopefully the kind of bad news the Thirteenth would be able to dodge by getting off this treachery-ridden rock.


    ¡°And he¡¯ll need the Watch to either seal that breach or kill what¡¯s left inside,¡± Maryam said. ¡°That <em>is</em> wind at Chca¡¯s back for the next round of talks.¡±


    ¡°Look at you, gone all nautical,¡± Song teased.


    Maryam rolled her eyes.


    ¡°Look at you, all loose-limbed and smiling,¡± she shot back. ¡°Popped your cork with our friend Evander, have you?¡±


    Song¡¯s face was unreadable, which was all the answer she needed. The Tianxi would be sputtering up a storm right now if it weren¡¯t true.


    ¡°Were you able to find out a possible means of entry for Lord Menander?¡± Song calmly asked.


    ¡°Transparent,¡± Maryam chided. ¡°But I¡¯ll spare you, so long as you let me in on a few details when we next sit over wine."


    Song stared her down.


    ¡°This is still a report,¡± her captain chided back.


    Maryam¡¯s brow and she returned the stare undaunted. A moment passed.


    ¡°It had best be plum wine,¡± Song sighed.


    ¡°No promises,¡± Maryam cheerfully replied. ¡°As for the Drakos business, there was an embarrassment of potential entrances once I figured out what to look for: the upper third of the cavern is full of cracks, crevices and passages that could go all the way up to Tratheke.¡±


    ¡°How high a drop?¡±


    ¡°Sixty, eighty feet,¡± she replied. ¡°Not climbing height, it would need ropes.¡±


    ¡°Thus why the cache remained there to be found by the Lord Rector,¡± Songpleted. ¡°Thank you, Maryam. That answers another question.¡±


    It did: Menander Drakos, while a greedy fuck, was no cultist. He had not been grabbing for the old Lissenos papers to find the trail of the Hated One the same way the Thirteenth had.


    ¡°All we need is Angharad finding out whether he has an infernal forge and we can cut him loose,¡± Maryam said. ¡°We¡¯re nearing the end of the road, Song.¡±


    ¡°More than you know,¡± Song replied. ¡°Tristan sent some reports during your absence: we have a name to the assassin that first struck at the Lord Rector. There is a contract between a ¡®H. A.¡¯ and our old acquaintances the Obsidian Order.¡±


    Maryam traced a finger against her palm, Gloam shimmering, and opened her stored memory of the initial suspect list the Lord Rector had given them.


    ¡°Lord Hector Anaidon?¡± she asked. ¡°He had a boon fitting the Golden Ram, as you mentioned.¡±


    ¡°Our current lead suspect,¡± Song said. ¡°Captain Wen refused me the right to arrest him based on mere initials, so we will look at¡­ alternative ways of obtaining information.¡±


    ¡°You want to kidnap him,¡± Maryam amusedly said.


    ¡°Of course not,¡± Song ndly denied. ¡°Kidnapping has the implication of asking for a ransom. We would be <em>abducting </em>him.¡±


    The signifier grinned. Maybe Song should take kings for a ride more regrly, it did great things for her sense of humor.


    ¡°We should probably wait for Tristan to return,¡± Maryam noted. ¡°Given how many abduction attempts he¡¯s been involved in, he is our ranking expert.¡±


    Song, perhaps afraid to face the reality that she was captaining a brigade that had such a thing as an abduction expert, cleared her throat and changed tack with aplomb.


    ¡°I personally killed the Obsidian Order contractor and several aplices, so the immediate danger may have passed there,¡± Song said. ¡°Now that I am no longer bound to escort the Lord Rector and we have our ciphers solved, all that remains is to wrap up our investigation.¡±


    ¡°You did what now?¡± Maryam tly asked.


    ¡°It was but a small matter,¡± Song dismissed.


    Maryam leaned forward, squinting.


    ¡°How public was that?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Public enough that I am now believed to be secret bodyguard instead of a mistress,¡± Song said. ¡°That repute has made my presence in the pce much too noticeable, which is what forced Brigadier Chca to free me from escort obligations.¡±


    Because if Song was watched it might lead the cult back to their brigade, so Chca forcing her to continue escort duties and risk that would be direct interference in the Thirteenth¡¯s contract. Good, now their back was covered.


    ¡°Then we will be grabbing Hector Anaidon,¡± Maryam said.


    ¡°As soon as ourst loose ends are wrapped up,¡± Song agreed. ¡°Tristan was to attend a meeting of the conspiracy three days ago, but has not reported since and should currently be faking his deaths. Once he is back and Angharad has finished with Lord Menander, we are free to proceed. Unless you¡¯ve obligations of your own?¡±


    ¡°I need to head back to the pce to report to the Lord Rector about the aether in the shipyard,¡± Maryam said. ¡°And while I¡¯m up there I want to establish where the prisonyer¡¯s entrance is.¡±


    ¡°You think that knowledge could be of import?¡± Song asked.


    She sounded somewhat skeptical. <em>I think that knowledge will put me in a room where I can finish devouring the shade</em>, Maryam thought.


    ¡°I developed a theory about the nature of theyer while I was down there,¡± she said instead. ¡°How it was built, and how the cult might be using it to move around.¡±


    Sheid out the clues she had but together with the shade¡¯s help. How the prisonyer containing the Hated One was as a sk with a bottom, the brackstone shrines, but that it must also have a cork ¨C some mystery location up in the rector¡¯s pce. And thus the most important detail.


    ¡°Whatever they used to first breach thatyer, it lets them enter it wherever the material thins,¡± Maryam acknowledged. ¡°There¡¯s no controlling that. But where they <em>exit</em>? It¡¯s not a coincidence the assassin emerged next to a brackstone shrine. The only exits are the shrines and the ¡®cork¡¯.¡±


    ¡°Meaning that anyone infiltrating the pce will have to pass through there,¡± Song slowly said. ¡°To hold that room would prevent a surprise attack by the cult.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the theory,¡± Maryam said. ¡°Either way, having a closer look should let me confirm or disprove my theory.¡±


    ¡°Potentially very valuable information,¡± Song said. ¡°We are in agreement there ¨C it is as good a use of your time as any until Angharad and Tristan¡¯s matters are settled.¡±


    She nodded.


    ¡°Shame we won¡¯t be the first to finish our test,¡± Maryam said, ¡°but so far it hasn¡¯t cost us a corpse and I think we have a good chance at being the second.¡±


    ¡°A very good chance,¡± the silver-eyed woman said. ¡°The Eleventh Brigade came backst night. Whatever it is they found out in the hills, it had them ransack the ck House library.¡±


    ¡°For what?¡± Maryam frowned.


    ¡°Books about the gods of Asphodel,¡± Song said. ¡°Inauspicious, considering they first set out for a seemingly simple exorcism contract.¡±


    ¡°And the Neenth is still chasing their assassin.¡±


    ¡°So we believe,¡± she said. ¡°They have not returned here in six days, though at least on the first we know from Tristan that they were chasing a lead in the Kassa workshop.¡±


    That had Maryam asking why the Neenth would be curious about the workshop, which had Songying out what Tristan had been up to. The Mask runarounds were only to be expected, but his running into some sort of bound god assassin was not. Hopefully at least some of the Neenth would get killed chasing forces beyond their understanding and the rest could be rustled up for the noose. Song did offer one note of dissent there, however.


    ¡°So Izel Coyac got cold feet,¡± Maryam shrugged. ¡°Until he turns on the rest of the traitors, I see no reason for him to have a different fate.¡±


    ¡°If we is willing to testify, it would make rooting out the Ivory Library much easier,¡± Song said.


    ¡°Then let him,¡± Maryam said. ¡°So long as he hangs afterwards.¡±


    The Tianxi sighed.


    ¡°We can set that aside for now,¡± she said. ¡°Tristan will no doubt have his own opinions on the matter.¡±


    Murderous opinions, presumably. As it should be. And considering watchmen who ought to be sent to the gallows brought an earlier encounter to mind.


    ¡°I ran into Tupoc on the way in,¡± she said. ¡°He offered to trade information, hinted he ran into something interesting out in Nitari Heights.¡±


    ¡°We do have interesting bits to trade,¡± Song noted, drumming her fingers at the table.


    ¡°He¡¯s a prick but he doesn¡¯t offer wares he does not have,¡± Maryam said. ¡°It could be worth the price.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t disagree,¡± Song said. ¡°In fact, I believe we might need to broaden the matter.¡±


    ¡°Make a meal out of it?¡± Maryam drily asked. ¡°We thank you for your sacrifice.¡±


    ¡°Bring the Eleventh into this,¡± Song replied. ¡°I want to know what has them so spooked ¨C and if there¡¯s any chance of iting back to haunt us.¡±


    Maryam almost wished her good luck, but then she thought again. Tristan was in the wind and Angharad presumably busy telling the local orphans how the orphans back home had it much better due to the inherent superiority of Mni ways.


    Which meant she would be stuck ying second for Song at that meeting.


    ¡°Balls,¡± sheined.


    Somehow Song failed to be moved by the eloquence of her argument.


    --


    After the debacle that had been thest evening with the Asphodel brigades in the same hall, precautions were taken: only two from each brigade, no food and no liquor.


    Captain Imani of the Eleventh Brigade showed up with her designated second, Thando Fenya, and both the dark-skinned highborn had rings around their eyes. Long nights and little sleep, something Maryam was more than passingly familiar with. She¡¯d had the strangling nightmare every night since the shipyard. For the Fourth it was Tupoc and Alejandra Torrero, who unlike her captain seemed to be taking eptable Losses¡¯ death hard. She looked just as exhausted at the pair of the Eleventh, enough her usual scowl wasckluster.


    They used one of ck House¡¯s private parlors for the talk, and though there was hardly any small talk before the servants brought jugs of water and two tea pots the tendency was towards friendliness. The Neenth¡¯s absence kept things civil, something that Maryam almost could not believe she was thinking when one of the ingredients in the brew was Tupoc Xical.


    ¡°Someone will have to go first,¡± said bastard mused, sipping at his goblet. ¡°Perhaps a little wager to-¡±


    ¡°I will pay upfront,¡± Song tly interrupted.


    Tupoc shot her an irritated look at having cut the grass beneath his feet, but that faded when Song began dangling choice morsels in front of the others. She revealed the existence of a brewing coup ¨C though she named no names ¨C and that the cult of the Golden Ram was heavily involved in it. She even revealed that the contracted assassin who made the first attempt on the Lord Rector had been Obsidian Order and that she had personally killed her.


    ¡°And your Mask?¡± Imani asked.


    ¡°Tracking down the cultists,¡± Song replied without batting an eye.


    Alejandra Torrero instead turned to Maryam, catching her gaze.


    ¡°I hear you were in the shipyard,¡± she said.


    Maryam nodded in acknowledgement.


    ¡°Assessing the aether down there,¡± she said. ¡°I believe I have some understanding of theyer we earlier encountered and its purpose.¡±


    ¡°Which would be?¡± Tupoc frowned.


    Song raised her hand to silence Maryam.


    ¡°My throat is parched,¡± she said, pointedly sipping at her tea.


    Captain Imani snorted, Thandoughed and Tupoc rolled his eyes.


    ¡°Fine, fine,¡± he said. ¡°Our hunt began badly. The dragon was digesting an orchard when we first approached Nitari Heights, so we had to guess where it had retreated to ¨C and the local troops kept making a racket as they shadowed us. Thankfully, we read up on the breed before setting out.¡±


    ¡°Ladonite dragons are very territorial,¡± Alejandra said. ¡°So we had eptable Losses rig up explosives that would make a sound simr to an adult male¡¯s roar and set them off near the heights, where it would echo."


    "It worked<em> too</em> well,¡± Tupoc said. ¡°That same night, just after dark fell, it swept through the mountainside and lit up half the camp of our local friends in the first pass. It did not linger enough for us to get a shot at it, but Alejandra was able to tag it with a Sign.¡±


    ¡°Lieutenant Mitra helped,¡± she said. ¡°Regardless, we slipped away and tracked it down to the cliffside cavern where it dwelled. It had not noticed us, so we decided to strike a decisive first blow.¡±


    ¡°We climbed up half a hundred feet and rigged the cavern to blow while it slept,¡± Tupoc happily said. ¡°Which worked, at the low price of a massivendslide.¡±


    Maryam breathed in.


    ¡°Is that how¡­¡± she trailed off.


    ¡°No, though Expendable twisted his ankle,¡± Alejandra said. ¡°We were waiting for thest stones to settle when we found out there was a second mouth to that cave, hidden even higher up.¡±


    ¡°It hit us out in the open,¡± Tupoc calmly said. ¡°If the cave copse had not mangled a wing, we would all be dead. eptable Losses had grenades and powders in her haversack, and when she was clipped by me¡­¡±


    He popped his hands open, making a fwoosh sound that had most everyone wincing.


    ¡°Bait blinded it with spare grenade, which had it crash,¡± Alejandra grimly said. ¡°I kept its mouth shut so it could not breathe fire again while Expendable and Tupoc went in with spears.¡±


    ¡°I lost an eye ¨C do tell Zenzele it was the same one, Song, I expect he will be jealous ¨C but we got our spears deep in the throat where the nd that sprays the fluid is. It began choking on the liquid, which was distraction enough to pierce its first heart, but it panicked and fled.¡±


    Tupoc shrugged.


    ¡°It was probably going to die, but we had to be sure so we pursued,¡± he said. ¡°That took almost as long as finding the beast, but at some point the Sign ceased moving so we knew it¡¯d likely died to the wounds.¡±


    ¡°It hid the better part of a hundred feet up the cliffside of the Nitari Heights,¡± Alejandra Terrero said. ¡°In a hidden temple we believe was its originalir.¡±


    ¡°Long abandoned,¡± Tupoc said. ¡°It was wrecked and filthy, generations of Ladonite dragonsired there. But we found out why this one went on a rampage in the first ce: someone chased it out. There were signs of fighting inside, at least nine months old, and the dragon had broken scales and healed bullet wounds on the chest.¡±


    ¡°The temple itself was some sort ofrge grave,¡± Alejandra revealed, ¡°but there was a shrine at the back and an altar that must have held some kind of sacred object. Missing and recently taken.¡±


    ¡°Graverobbers,¡± Tupoc sighed, sounding almost fond. ¡°All this trouble because someone wanted to grab an old trinket and make a fortune pawning it.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s our part,¡± the scowling signifier added. ¡°On you, Eleventh.¡±


    Eyes moved to the Mni pair, who shared a look before Imani Langa spoke up.


    ¡°Our part is, I fear, significantly less exciting,¡± Captain Imani said. ¡°We are not dealing with a forming god or a remnant, or even some lemure. We found two ritual sites, one having been freshly used.¡±


    ¡°Human sacrifice,¡± Thando said, tone turned detached. Methodical. ¡°The victims were all at least sixteen, most of them Asphodelians with no seeming care to gender. Six died at each site, buried alive. They were awake during, as proved by attempts to w themselves out.¡±


    ¡°It is a ceremony meant to carry prayer directly to the god,¡± Imani said. ¡°One that works, by the way lemures have been fleeing the region ¨C the lingering taint in the aether is what they are migrating to avoid.¡±


    She paused.


    ¡°The trouble is that whatever cultists of the Old Night did this, they then erased most traces of the ritual beyond the sacrifice itself. We only know stone altars were used because the river they disposed of the second one in ran thick with rain and spit it back on the shore.¡±


    ¡°Before we learn what deity is being invoked, there is no point in chasing this cult through the hills,¡± Thando added. ¡°If this is all being done to bargain for contracts, as we suspect, then we cannot afford to go in blind.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± Tupoc said.


    Several shot surprised looks his way, but Maryam and Song had known him since the Dominion. They knew better.


    ¡°It <em>was </em>boringpared to ours,¡± he added.


    That rather set the tone for the free exchange of informationing to an end, at least the formal part. There was some chatting ¨C Imani was somewhat tantly hitting Song up for information and getting frustrated at the icy wall of Tianxi politeness facing her ¨C and Alejandra took her aside.


    ¡°You got strong again,¡± the other signifier said.


    Maryam shook her head.


    ¡°I have gained my strength back,¡± she corrected.


    Alejandra looked her up and down, scowl tightening.


    ¡°In what we do, Khaimov, there is always a price,¡± she said. ¡°Even the good. <em>Especially </em>the good.¡±


    ¡°And I have been paying mine for years,¡± Maryam coldly replied. ¡°I¡¯ll be sure to have every drop of my due.¡±


    ¡°On your head be it,¡± Alejandra grunted. ¡°I¡¯m not your mother.¡±


    <em>Neither am I</em>, Maryam thought. <em>But when I¡¯m done, when I have every kernel it stole from me back?</em>


    Then she would atst be a worthy sessor to Izolda Cernik.

 Chapter 60

    Chapter 60


    The orphanage opening had not been a joyous thing.


    Such institutions were not, Angharad learned, paid for by the Lord Rector or the local ruling lord but by whoever cared to offer coin to them. It was a very disorganized method, which she thought was sure to allow some of the orphaned to slip through the cracks. No wonder crime had such a grip on the capital, with these ¡®basileias¡¯ sprouting everywhere. Failure below could always be traced back to failure above.


    At least it had proved an opportunity to speak with Lord Menander Drakos, something that had risen high in her priorities. The sooner this infernal forge business had an answer, the sooner she could begin climbing out of the pit. The older lord was just as eager for a private talk and it proved remarkably easy to get from him an invitation to the manse Lord Gule had mentioned.


    The reason why could be summed up in two words: Song Ren.


    Song¡¯s heroics were the talk of the entire city, deservedly. She was said to have in so many assassins her dress turned red and taken a shot for the Lord Rector that nearly killed her. Angharad knew the truth of the story, of course, having been told by a mellow Song the afternoon¡¯s genuine events. A mellowness Angharad had deduced was not unrted to the love bites the Tianxi should raise her cor higher to fully hide.


    Scandalous, if not exactly unexpected. No woman spent as much time talking about someone as Song had about Lord Rector Palliades without having <em>some</em> sort of interest in them. It had been either sex or murder, and murder would have been messy.


    Either way, forck of the proper lineage Menander Drakos had not been one of the lords attending the Landing Day feast. He was thus keen to learn the details of what took ce and knew that Angharad, as a watchwoman, would be able to provide them. The consequence of that was that she found herself received in the Drakos manse early in the afternoon of her thirtieth day on Asphodel instead of needing to wait until the regr dinner that Lord Gule had mentioned to her.


    A pretext was even arranged for it, given how the ploy with the inheritance rumors would only go so far in erasing the taint on her reputation her visit to the country had left. Lord Menander was one of the patrons for the orphanage, which made him one of the men to speak with should one seek to arrange a charitable donation.


    Song had even been willing to loosen the purse strings for it, though rather than out of phnthropic instinct it was because reimed brigade funds not spent directly on cabalists were often repaid in full by the bureaucrats of the Conve. It would make no difference to the children.Angharad avoided directly sponsoring one despite the offer and it apparently being themon practice, as such amitment would tie her to return to Asphodel and she was not sure she would be able to. No, instead she donated to the cause of furnishing the children with an education. A more practical application of the funds, in her opinion.


    Lord Menander seemed surprised when she sat with him over tea and asked questions as to the nature of the books and tutors that would be acquired, which was puzzling. All the more that he did not seem all that well informed on the particrs and had to send for his majordomo for answers. She hid her disapproval at his taking such a seriousmitment so lightly, and let the subject pass after she was satisfied the coin would not be improperly used.


    Lord Menander was much more taken with talk of the Landing Day massacre, most interested when Angharad hinted that there might have been Izcalli involvement. In truth there was little doubt those had been the same assassins Tristan warned them of. The Watch had obtained some of the ky false faces the assassins had worn, and officers in ck House identified the substance as a kind of lemure corpse ash that could be used to make very convincing false skin.


    The trick was, it was rumored, a favorite of the Obsidian Order. Between these getting on the wrong side of Song¡¯s wrath and Yaretzi dying to her hand on the Dominion, she was viciously pleased to see the pack of assassins having a lousy year.


    Still, now that the mustachioed lord was happily garnished with hints and secrets it was time to pull the rug from under him. Angharad set down her porcin cup ¨C Tianxi-made, its unique imperfections and details showing it had been crafted by hand in a disy of wealth ¨C on the matching saucer and smiled at the man across the table. Agreeable and empty, the way Father had taught her.


    ¡°Pleasant as this conversation has been,¡± Angharad said, ¡°I am afraid that this time I came on Watch business.¡±


    Lord Menander¡¯s brow rose.


    ¡°By all means, I am at the disposal of the Watch,¡± he said. ¡°How may I be of service?¡±


    ¡°It hase to our attention that you might be in possession of an artifact whose ownership is forbidden under the Iscariot ords,¡± she smilingly replied.


    The older man stilled, then swallowed.


    ¡°I suspect you were taken in by a false rumor,¡± he imed with false calm. ¡°All my dealings in the artifact trade have been legal and on record, I assure you. My ount books are open for perusal if there is need.¡±


    Angharad sipped at her cup. Let him stew.


    ¡°You did not <em>buy</em> the artifact in question,¡± she said. ¡°It is part of the shipyard trove you¡­ salvaged through the hidden passage. The one we assume was first found by your forebears around the reign of Hector Lissenos.¡±


    Part of her, she would admit, enjoyed watching him go white as a sheet. After all the wheeling and dealing, how he had known he was too useful to refuse insights into Watch matters, to now tighten the screws on the man was a petty but distinct pleasure. Lord Menander licked his lips, eyes flicking to the door. Angharad sipped at her tea again.


    ¡°You are,¡± Menander Drakos said in a strangled voice, ¡°formidably well informed.¡±


    ¡°Our brigade has proved to have some skill in matters of investigation,¡± Angharad mildly said. ¡°ess to pce archives helped, admittedly.¡±


    She drummed her fingers against the table, the small movement drawing the man¡¯s wary eyes.


    ¡°While it is within the authority of the Watch to demand ess to your collection for inspection,¡± Angharad said, ¡°such a thing would be an official process. One involving the office of the Lord Rector, given that the justification for the demand invokes an article of the Iscariot ords.¡±


    And now Angharad had given him two things: first, a reason to fear a formal demand. Bringing in the pce would involve revealing to Evander Palliades that one of his nobles had helped himself to the treasures beneath Tratheke, and that the path to his shipyard was not nearly as secret as he might have wanted. Odds were even that Menander Drakos would die for this, Angharad would wager. Even should he not, he would be ruined.


    On the other hand, a formal process would also publicly reveal the identities of at least some the Thirteenth Brigade since the cabal would be the one making the demand. Song, at the very least, would be definitively outed as a watchwoman. It might be that Angharad¡¯s cover would survive the ensuing scrutiny, it might not. Either way the Thirteenth had good reason to want to keep the matter unofficial, and thus Menander Drakos had good reason to trust in their discretion.


    It was best when reward and punishment were cut from the same cloth, Father had often said. It helped people grasp the swing of consequence.


    ¡°There is no need for such a thing,¡± Menander Drakos firmly said. ¡°As I told you, I am at the disposal of the Watch. If a dangerous artifact inadvertently made its way onto my hands, it is my civic duty to remand it to the custody of the Watch.¡±


    ¡°A most praiseworthy attitude,¡± Angharad said, her tone only slightly ironic. ¡°I expect that discretionary funds have been set aside by the Conve to acknowledge such dutiful behavior, though I would understand if you felt such pecuniary matters to be beneath¡­¡±


    ¡°I would not risk giving offense to the Conve by refusing itsrgesse,¡± Lord Menander hastily intervened.


    It would be unkind, she reminded herself, to judge him too harshly for being so grasping. His house had nearly been driven out of the ranks of the nobility under the Lissenos dynasty, only iming back a ce at court under the Palliades ¨C and reaching a new apex of influence under Menander Drakos himself, by the talk around the capital. Whatever his vices, the man had toiled long and harshly to restore the name of his house.


    A respectable enterprise, if undertaken through less than respectable means. What kind of a man robbed his own liege lord?


    ¡°It may be that, as you said, this is mere erroneous rumor,¡± Angharad said. ¡°It should be a simple matter to dismiss the possibility upon an inspection.¡±


    He blinked.


    ¡°Today?¡± he asked, hesitating. ¡°I was not prepared for¡­¡±


    <em>Of course you aren¡¯t</em>, Angharad thought. <em>That is precisely why I am asking.</em> She said nothing, only smiling pleasantly, and the man¡¯s eyes eventually tightened.


    ¡°Of course,¡± Lord Menander said. ¡°Allow me to make the arrangements, I¡¯ll have a servant refill the pot.¡±


    ¡°That would be courteous of you,¡± Angharad replied.


    It took the man half an hour to prepare, long enough she finished the second pot and some fine finger cakes with it. She¡¯d never tasted that sugary almond cream before, it was a delight to the tongue. When a servant came to fetch her it was to bring her to a parlor on the first floor. Lord Menander was waiting there with a torch in hand, which he pressed against a burning candle to light up.


    ¡°Kindly lock the door, Lady Angharad,¡± he requested.


    She did, turning to watch him slide open a wooden panel in the wall that was obscuring a dark and cramped stairway leading down.


    ¡°Careful with the steps,¡± he advised. ¡°Despite my best efforts the stone insists on dampness.¡±


    ¡°Much obliged,¡± she replied, inclining her head.


    Angharad gingerly made her way down the stairs, leaning on her cane. They spiraled downwards on a steep slope, until they reached a level that must broadly be equal to beneath the mansion. She found Lord Menander waiting at the bottom with his torch in hand. Telling that it was not another man doing it for him even when the smell of smoke was sure to cling to his oiled hair. The older lord did not trust even his servants with knowledge of the crypt.


    ¡°Come,¡± Menander Drakos said. ¡°Let me show you the inventory.¡±


    It was a walk of mere steps through the threshold and into a broader space. Though the insides were but a single room, work had been done here to turn some decrepit basement crypt into a showcase of stolen wealth. Red drapes covered the walls and beautiful panels of wood and ss kept pristine the riches obtained from far below Tratheke. Lord Menander lit the four braziers in the room one after another while Angharad limped across a thick Izcalli carpet,bing through the loot.


    Much of what was on disy here were mere trinkets of Antediluvian make, though even these were often worth a fortune. If not for the wealthy collectors buying them then simply for the materials from which they were made ¨C Angharad found a brooch whose ents were in brumal silver, for example, and thus almost certainly worth thousands of ramas.


    Rings and nes, bracelets and buckles. A spread of ss pearls containing colored, ever-shifting air. A pendulum whose weight went all the way around, uncaring of gravity. Two sculpted monkeys in Tratheke brass that moved the needles of an obsidian clock without hours. The further back she went, therger the finds became. Some sort of glittering machine that knit the air in visible braids, though for what purpose she could only guess. A brass writing desk with shifting cogs inside.


    And then, tucked away near the corner, the secondrgest piece on disy: a thing of gray iron, a toorge printing press with corkscrew handles pressing arge b down on another adorned with so many cryptoglyphs it looked smooth at first nce. The infernal forge. It could be nothing else. Despite its size straining Angharad¡¯s ability to believe it had been brought up through a crevasse, there was no sign of it being scuffed or damaged.


    ¡°Is that the one?¡± Lord Menander asked from her side, stroking his mustache nervously.


    ¡°Almost certainly,¡± Angharad replied. ¡°If I may ask, how did you get it in here? The stairs are too narrow.¡±


    ¡°There is a passage to the Tratheke sewers behind one of the tapestries,¡± he informed her. ¡°Much broader than the stairway, though I had it sealed to avoid the stink.¡±


    She nodded, mind already spinning. It would be child¡¯s y to obtain a map of the sewers in this part of Tratheke from the pce archives, she thought. And without being seen, too, if she used her daily vision to acquire the knowledge discreetly. She could apany Maryam on one of her near-daily visits to the pce, find some excuse requiring her presence.


    After that it would just be a matter of confirming the path to this crypt anding here with the right tools. Tools, she thought, that Uncle Osian could obtain without trouble<em>. It is in my grasp</em>, she thought. <em>Ancestors, but it is.</em> She was not sure if the breath that rattled out of her was fearful or relieved. When you stood on the edge of the precipice, the line between the two could be thinner than one liked to admit.


    ¡°I believed it some manner of Antediluvian printing press,¡± Lord Menander spoke into the silence, as if afraid of leaving it empty. ¡°Would be it indiscreet to ask what it truly is?¡±


    Angharad almost told him it was but decided otherwise. Telling him of infernal involvement meant he would be most wary of trying to get rid of the forge or allow it to be stolen ¨C it might be seen as colluding with Hell.


    ¡°The device is called an infernal forge and it is illegal under the Iscariot ords for anyone but the Watch, or Pandemonium, to possess one,¡± she told him.


    The older man swallowed.


    ¡°Is it¡­ dangerous?¡± he ventured.


    ¡°Not unless it is used,¡± Angharad said then paused and rified. ¡°Not any more than the possession of a rare artifact others might desire generally is, anyhow.¡±


    Especially when Lord Locke and Lady Keys had hinted at Song that thetter was a devil. Angharad might well be looking at the reason those two hade to Asphodel in the first ce. If the Watch could hear rumor of such a device being on the loose, why not Pandemonium? <em>Though it does seem passing strange that a treasure tucked away in a basement would cause any rumor at all</em>, she thought.


    Lord Menander shot her a wary look.


    ¡°I must rely, then, on your discretion,¡± he said.


    ¡°I have no intention of spreading the knowledge any further than I must,¡± she precisely replied. ¡°Though once it is on a written report, that will be out of my hands.¡±


    ¡°Understandable,¡± he grudgingly said, the coughed into his hand. ¡°When might I rely on the Watch to take custody of the artifact, do you think?¡±


    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    ¡°Discretion will be paramount,¡± she said. ¡°I will personally see to this matter, but it might well be days before you receive word. Until then, I would advise you to forget you ever saw the device.¡±


    ¡°Would that I had never obtained it,¡± Lord Menander grimly said. ¡°My thanks for your assistance, Lady Tredegar.¡±


    ¡°It was a pleasure,¡± Angharad replied, inclining her head.


    A pleasure to finally know for sure, mostly, but a pleasure nheless.


    Lord Menander escorted her back up after, visibly eager to have her out of his home under the smooth manners. She did not fight it, allowing herself to be bundled off back into a carriage with absent-minded courtesies. She had much to think on, after all. She had the location of the infernal forge, a discreet way to get to it and two ufudu who wanted it. Now all that Angharad needed was a way to settle all her debts without dragging the Thirteenth into it.


    She told Song, that night, not to send the report to Brigadier Chca immediately. That the Watch might be tempted to grab it immediately, thus interfering with Angharad¡¯s infiltration of the Golden Ram cult. Song epted, not thinking twice of it.


    Angharad found she avoided her own gaze in the mirror that night. She dreamt of unlocked doors and creatures howling in the night.


    --


    Today was the tenth attempt, and she had learned much.


    By the third try Angharad had begun relying on blowing open the door with a powder barrel, which neatly sidestepped herck of lockpicking skills. By the fourth she had, mostly, learned to do this without killing herself. Difficulties unfortunately did not cease there. The fifth attempt taught her that too much powder set everything inside the room on fire, which was not ideal when attempting to read correspondence, then the sixth that too <em>little</em> powder only blew up parts of the door.


    Which was a problem, as the Sign anchored in it would then keep functioning and eat through whatever flesh passed the threshold. Angharad was getting a little tired of having her arm devoured by Gloam, to be frank.


    (The powder smoke tasted thick against the roof her mouth as Angharad limped in.


    Chunks of the door had torn up the desk where Captain Domingo¡¯s private papers were stashed but most of the papers were fine, if strewn all over the floor. There was nothing truly useful in the drawers anyhow: only paperwork, formal correspondence and some derivative attempts at poetry.


    The locked drawer had cost her the seventh attempt, only to learn that beyond the vicious warding Sign was only a t stone put there to add weight. She ignored the mess, heading straight for the trunk by the bed. Padlocked and barded with iron, the dead end of her eighth attempt.


    She wedged a metal spike into the lock and waited until the warding Sign ate through it ¨C ninth attempt ¨C but the second spike settled in fine. Twice she swung the hammer, wincing at the way it pulled on her leg, and the padlock broke. Having learned her lesson from the locked drawer she lifted the trunk open with a long wooden spoon from the kitchens instead of even a gloved hand.


    Nothing. No other Sign. Noticeable one, anyhow. Tristan had warned her of tracking marks.


    Inside the trunk were silken clothes, tasteful jewelry, several books bearing no titles but whose first pages bore the sigil of the Akrre Guild and finally a pouch of documents. Angharad touched thatst with the spoon first, but it did not prove trapped either. She went through the papers then and there, reading them in the light from the hall ¨C it was only a matter of time until Captain Domingo arrived, she must hurry.


    The first paper was some sort medical recipe, she set it aside. The second was a formal document with a Rookery stamp serving as a promissory note good at any Watch branch for a significant but not unreasonable sum of money. Navigators <em>were</em> said to get some of the most lucrative contracts. Thest however, was finally progress: a formal assignment from the ¡®Lesser Committee for the Trebian Northwest¡¯.


    Skimming through, Angharad stopped cold when she got to the core of the duties outlined. Namely, assessing Brigadier Chca for undue influences. In particr that of the ¡®Ivory Library¡¯, an informal Watch research association and correspondence society.


    Running in the hall. Time had run out.


    ¡°What manner of <em>madness </em>is-¡±)


    Angharad breathed out, emerging from the vision, and frowned at the closed door.


    That Captain Domingo had been given that assignment by the roster of officers who effectively ruled Scholomance implied either staggering ipetence on their part or good reason to believe that Domingo Santos was not a member of the Ivory Library. Considering that she was used topetence in the upper ranks of the Watch, if also an unfortunate degree of graft and intrigue, that likely meant Song¡¯s deduction that the Navigator was the traitor was false.


    Either Song¡¯s other suspect was the one or the real traitor had gone unnoticed.


    Rolling her shoulder, Angharad resumed limping down the hall on her way to breakfast. Now that she had answers, something to hold up as a favor done to Song for all the favors she had received in turn, she was finallyfortable having a conversation she had put off too long. Not that Song had broached the subject since her return either.


    The captain of the Thirteenth Brigade was not difficult to find. Now that even Brigadier Chca had been forced to admit that sending her back to the pce would be effectively sabotaging the Thirteenth on their yearly test, she had been spending much of her free time looking into Lord Hector Anaidon as a prelude to grabbing him for interrogation. In an hour Song would thus be gone in the wind, but at the moment it was time for breakfast.


    That rather simplified finding her.


    Angharad limped into the eating hall, easing herself into the seat next to Song ¨C opposite a scowling Maryam begrudging the world having been robbed a longer night¡¯s rest ¨C and leaning in for a whisper.


    ¡°Not Santos,¡± she said. ¡°The Obscure Committee has him watching Chca formon interests with Tristan¡¯s¡­ acquaintances.¡±


    Song stilled, then slowly nodded.


    ¡°I¡¯ll want a full report,¡± she whispered back.


    ¡°Come up to the roof after breakfast,¡± Angharad told her.


    She then leaned forward, helping herself to the te of sausages. The Asphodelian seasoning had grown on her and using the vision always left her feeling strangely starved.


    --


    Angharad liked to oil her sword up here.


    The view of the city was stunning, the great panes of the Collegium like a waterfall of ss under the light of the re, and it was rare for anyone but Navigators to visit and break the quiet. Hard to eavesdrop, as well, given the open grounds. Truly, the great difficulty of it was Angharad having to make her way up the stairs. These days she was no longer out of breath at the end, her lungs almost returned to her, but the weakness in the legs remained.


    Waiting for Song, she lost herself in the work. Hers was an artfully crafted de and Angharad intended to treat it ordingly. She had reced her old washing cloth with soft sheepskin leather and now oiled the saber every two days instead of three. It was soothing, running the leather down the span of steel to rub the oil into it. Ritual and functional all at once, keeping the hand and mind busy.


    She only looked up the once when she heard the steps, long enough to confirm it was Song sitting down by her side on the bench.


    ¡°Tell me everything,¡± the captain ordered.


    It was not a long report. She could have recited the exact text of the Obscure Committee¡¯s assignment, but Song was more interested in the contents than the phrasing.


    ¡°Not him, then,¡± the silver-eyed woman conceded. ¡°I misread Shu Gong.¡±


    ¡°What had you set on Captain Santos, anyhow?¡± Angharad idly asked.


    A moment of silence.


    ¡°Generalck of conspiratorial acumen,¡± Song finally said. ¡°Watching her be taken for a ride by every street merchant she encountered had me doubting her as an agent on the ground for the Ivory Library.¡±


    ¡°Likely she isn¡¯t,¡± Angharad mused. ¡°Their society seems influential, but it is hardly all-powerful ¨C given the importance of the delegation to Asphodel, it may be that she was merely the only member they <em>could</em> get into the roster.¡±


    ¡°The reigning theory, now that Santos is discredited as a suspect,¡± Song acknowledged, leaning back into her seat. ¡°She will at least be significantly easier to intimidate.¡±


    Sleeping God, she ought to be. If Domingo Santos could kill her repeatedly using nothing but traps, she shuddered to think what he might be like in a genuine fight. Oh, signifiers had their weaknesses ¨C direct re, for one, which was why so few rose to prominence in Mn ¨C but there were few things that could strip them of their entire power. It seemed intrinsically bound to them in some way.


    Sliding her hand down the de, Angharad took a long breath and broke what was turning into afortable silence.


    ¡°Before I left,¡± she said, ¡°I spoke of a conversation overdue between us.¡±


    A moment passed.


    ¡°So you did,¡± Song acknowledged.


    She did not raise her eyes from the de, but then she hardly needed to. The noblewoman could almost hear Song tense, like an already-taut string being pulled to the edge of the snap.


    ¡°What truly happened that night, Song?¡± Angharad asked.


    A silence followed, broken only by the sound of the mirror-dancer smoothing the oiled leather down the length of her saber. There was an odd sort of beauty to an oiled de, she had always thought. One born as much from the satisfaction of the work as the lustrous tint leant to the steel. Song rose to her feet, by the sound of it folding her arms under her chest.


    ¡°What you are really asking,¡± Song finally said, ¡°is how Isabel Ruesta died.¡±


    Angharad¡¯s fingers clenched, only the prospect of slicing leather onto the sharp de mastering the twitch.


    ¡°Do not put words into my mouth,¡± she warned. ¡°I asked what I asked, nothing more or less.¡±


    There were things she regretted about the aftermath of that vicious trial, but to this day walking away from the Thirteenth was not one of them. She envied what had formed without her, the thought that she could have been part of it instead, but Angharad also knew better. Things had not simply changed after she left. They had changed in no small part <em>because </em>she left.


    Not because she had been so beloved of all ¨C ha! - but because her departure was simply toorge a hole for the brigade to keep papering over.


    ¡°I shot her,¡± Song Ren suddenly said.


    Angharad sharply breathed in, the hand on her de stopping as her eyes rose to find a silver gaze shying away from her own. She had not expected so blunt a confession. Or for Song to suddenly turn into the sort of woman flinching away from the consequences of the choices she made. If anything, the Tianxi was prone to the arrogance of believing all the choices were hers to make and thus the consequences equally so.


    ¡°That is not the whole of it,¡± she said. ¡°What else?¡±


    Song hesitated and Angharad felt something cold sliding down her veins, halfway between rage and seawater.


    ¡°Oh, but would you just <em>end </em>this?¡± she bit out. ¡°All of this, these¡­ tiresome ys of half-truths and tricks. What is it you are so afraid of, Song? I will notmit violence on you, you ought to know that, and you have already survived standing low in my esteem.¡±


    The Tianxi¡¯s jaw clenched.


    ¡°I do not know if I killed Isabel Ruesta,¡± Song said.


    For half a heartbeat Angharad felt like calling her a liar, but then she parsed through the sentence. The spoken and unspoken. <em>I do not know if ¡®I¡¯ killed Isabel Ruesta</em>, that was what was being said. Song had not been the only one trying. And Tupoc¡¯s words were yet fresh in her mind. There had been more than one person up on the stairs before the tower, aiming a musket.


    ¡°Ferranda shot her as well,¡± Angharad whispered in horrified realization.


    ¡°A heartbeat before I did,¡± Song quietly admitted. ¡°I shot through the smoke, so I do not know whose bullet slew her.¡±


    The other woman¡¯s tone was small, as if¡­ Angharad didn¡¯t know as if what. And was not sure she cared, because all she could think about was how it had felt that night, to turn and find Isabel Ruesta dead on the ground. How it had not even urred to her that they might not all be on the same side when facing hollow cultists attempting to murder them all.


    How, in thatpany surrounding her afterwards, there had been more liars than not.


    ¡°You watched me go to Ferranda,¡± Angharad finally said, tone dangerously mild, ¡°and spoke not a word. Even as I tried to make a ce with the Thirty-First you said nothing. Knowing what you just told me all this time, you still said <em>nothing</em>.¡±


    Song¡¯s jaw set.


    ¡°I knew Ferranda would not ill-use you,¡± she said. ¡°That she would take-¡±


    ¡°Am I a child, Song?¡± Angharad softly asked.


    The other woman frowned, then shook her head.


    ¡°I-¡±


    ¡°You must believe me ackwit, then,¡± Angharad coldly interrupted. ¡°Else why would you evere under the impression that you should get to make that choice<em> for</em> me?¡±


    Ancestors, she had left the Thirteenth believing it to be poison only to reach for another tainted cup without batting an eye. Made a fool again. And again, when Ferranda then judged her too much trouble and cast her out. And <em>again</em>, when she was forced to return to the Thirteenth a beggar. Every time she thought she saw a clear sky there was a storm in it, a bleak spot of Gloam her eye somehow missed. It was as if all of Vesper was conspiring to prove her the worst kind of fool.


    Sleeping God, perhaps she was. She had been led around like one for long enough it might be half a lie to deny it.


    ¡°I have done you insult,¡± Song cast into the silence.


    Tone resolute. As if this were a task to approach, abor to undertake. And that was the droplet that tipped it, really. That Song still thought of this as <em>work</em>. Upkeep for the Thirteenth Brigade, not any kind of rtion between the two of them.


    ¡°I don¡¯t even care about the insult,¡± Angharad bleakly replied. ¡°It is the disregard, Song. The¡­ck of respect.¡±


    She let out a darkugh.


    ¡°You know, even as we parted ways I struggled,¡± she said. ¡°Because lowered as my esteem of you might have been, there was still respect there ¨C enough to wonder at your reasons, at your choices. You earned that on the Dominion, and I thought I¡¯d earned the same from you.¡±


    Slowly, carefully, she set the saber down on the bench besides her. She itched to make fists, to scream, and though control stayed the impulse the levees would break. All levees did.


    ¡°I thought that because you treated me with kindness that meant you were kind,¡± Angharad said. ¡°Or that because you had lied you were a liar. But you are neither. You were just¡­ taming a horse, weren¡¯t you?¡±


    Neither the carrot nor the stick were a lie, they were just a method. Fool she once again, not to have seen them for what they were.


    ¡°Oh, get over yourself.¡±


    The anger in Song¡¯s voice startled her enough that she did not spit out what rested on the edge of her lips. Not until she turned and found Song Ren looking at her with cold anger in those silver eyes ¨C brumal pools, unflinching in the face of her own anger. Good, she thought. Anger, at least, was honest.


    ¡°I shot Isabel Ruesta because she had a maniption contract that she constantly and liberally used on the strongest fighter in our group,¡± Song harshly said. ¡°I shot Isabel Ruesta because she was a useless parasite who schemed to get rid of other trial-takers and was growing increasingly desperate in her attempts to secure safety at any cost.¡±


    ¡°And you did not think to simply offer that safety instead of murdering her?¡± Angharad bit back, voice rising.


    ¡°No, Angharad, I didn¡¯t volunteer to put my life on the line keeping a mind-altering leech feeling happy,¡± Song retorted just as loudly. ¡°Mainly, I assume, because unlike you I wasn¡¯t trying to<em> fuck</em> the leech.¡±


    ¡°No, just the Lord Rector of Asphodel,¡± Angharad scorned.


    Song did not bat an eye. Or even acknowledge the hypocrisy.


    ¡°Tawang as my witness, but if Ruesta had lived through that I would have still killed her,¡± Song said. ¡°She was too much of a problem to be allowed to fester.¡±


    ¡°She just wanted to live, Song,¡± Angharad shouted.


    She did not remember getting on her feet, had not noticed before the ache in her knee.


    ¡°We all wanted to live!¡± Song shouted back. ¡°Only either she could not control her contract, which made her a threat, or she <em>would not </em>control her contract ¨C which made her even more of a threat!¡±


    ¡°We were mere days away from Cantica,¡± Angharad said. ¡°She did not <em>have </em>to die, Song. You just decided that I needed protecting from myself, so you made another choice for me. You wanted a trophy mirror-dancer without attachments you disapproved of.¡±


    She bared her teeth.


    ¡°So you shot the attachment.¡±


    Song went red, flushed with anger, and her fists balled.


    ¡°Maybe it was not as cleanly tactical a decision as I told it,¡± she bit out. ¡°I resented her, it¡¯s true, for making a mess of the whole situation. But if you think for a moment I would kill out of resentment alone, then I wonder why you are bothering with this conversation.¡±


    ¡°Because I thought you were my friend,¡± Angharad hissed. ¡°I thought I had left behind the smiling liars that were using me on the Dominion, only now I find that you wereughing at me the whole time! You never trusted me, Song. Not with any of the secrets you told Maryam, or even Tristan ¨C who even when you looked at him like filth on your boots, you still treated like a man who made his own fucking choices.¡±


    Her breathing was ragged, her hands trembling.


    ¡°This entire time, the secrets I have kept have been <em>eating me up</em>,¡± Angharad raged. ¡°And I med myself, I med Tristan for being who the world made him into and Maryam for how I could not look her in the eye without seeing my home burning writ a thousand times ¨C but, Ancestors, I looked everywhere but the right ce.¡±


    Even through red fury sheughed, the sound ripped right out of her throat like a sob with teeth.


    ¡°<em>Sleeping God</em>, Song, the poison was you the whole time.¡±


    But not Song alone. Even with the rage in her blood, she remembered that. And she was so tired of it, the lies and the deception. Let it end. Let it be made clean.


    ¡°The Lefthand House is leveraging me,¡± she said, ¡°like the Yellow Earth is you. They im my father lived, that he is being held in Tintavel and only they can help me get him out.¡±


    She shook her head.


    ¡°They are lying, I expect,¡± Angharad admitted out loud for the first time. ¡°If not about his survival, then about helping me. But I will give them what they want anyway.¡±


    Because it might be the truth. Because the hope was better than nothing, even if it was a fool¡¯s hope.


    ¡°What did they ask?¡± Song quietly said.


    She snorted.


    ¡°In what mad world do I trust you enough to answer that?¡± Angharad replied.


    Like a forest fire, the rage had swept through her and left little behind. Ashes, exhaustion, the sense that something beautiful had been snatched away forever. She just felt tired now, too old in a too-broken body and a world that could not seem to croak out a truth no matter how hard you squeezed it demanding one. Song breathed out, smoothed her hands down her sides.


    ¡°I have been arrogant,¡± she said. ¡°And you¡­¡±


    The Tianxi licked her lips.


    ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± Song said. ¡°I had no right to decide for you. I should have told you everything from the start.¡±


    That was not nothing. And Song had not lied to her, not outright. But the words were so veryte in the telling.


    ¡°If you had told me that before we reached Scholomance, fool me, I might well have forgiven you,¡± Angharad bitterly said. ¡°But you sat on it for months. Watched me make a fool of myself with Vizur, halfway kill myself in ayer achieving nothing.¡±


    She clenched her fist.


    ¡°Would it have been so hard,¡± Angharad asked in an all too brittle voice, ¡°to fight for me like you did the others?¡±


    There was no apology in that silver gaze.


    ¡°I fought the battles I believed I could win,¡± Song quietly replied. ¡°You were not one of them.¡±


    The Tianxi passed a hand through her hair.


    ¡°It was not a kindness on either of us, for you to be forced back to the Thirteenth,¡± she said. ¡°We were¡­ you looked <em>happier</em>, when you lived with the Thirty-First.¡±


    ¡°That cottage felt like a prison,¡± Angharad bleakly said. ¡°It was relief to leave it. But that relief was a lie.¡±


    Song said nothing for a while, then breathed out.


    ¡°I won¡¯t ask you to forgive me.¡±


    <em>That is what people say</em>, Angharad thought, <em>when they want you to forgive them anyway.</em>


    ¡°You don¡¯t forgive a wound,¡± she simply replied. ¡°It heals or it kills you.¡±


    She turned, snatched up her de from the bench and sheathed it.


    ¡°I have work to do,¡± Angharad said. ¡°A meeting to arrange with Lord Gule. It would be best if we did not speak beyond the necessary for a time, I think.¡±


    Song silently nodded. Angharad belted her saber and took her walking stick, beginning the winding path down the stairs. She left Song to drown in that silence, alone on the roof. And though that talk had been a wretched thing ¨C left a scar of disappointment where she had thought the skin too rough for scarring ¨C some part of her felt lighter for it.


    A little less like a wolf and a little more like Angharad Tredegar.

 Chapter 61

    Chapter 61


    ¡°Huh,¡± Maryam said when the tale was done, honestly a little impressed. ¡°That¡¯s not just a fumble, it¡¯s a disastrous fumble.¡±


    ¡°I am not unaware,¡± Song replied through gritted teeth.


    Oh, she hadn¡¯t liked that.


    ¡°A cmitous fumble,¡± Maryam continued.


    The teeth grit harder, but not hard enough. Another log must be tossed into the fire.


    ¡°Perhaps even a <em>cataclysmic </em>fumb-¡±


    ¡°<em>Maryam</em>,¡± Song hissed angrily.


    ¡°Fine, fine, I¡¯ll stop,¡± Maryam lied.


    She would give her captain an hour of peace at most. asions to hold Song¡¯s feet to the fire until the room smelled of pork were too rare not to thoroughly abuse when they popped up. It was like corn, you had to get your fill when it was the season for the crop.In a sign of genuine distress, Song Ren had for once in her life refused an offer to sit down for tea when she came to Maryam looking like she did not know whether to scream or throw up. Instead the visibly troubled Tianxi ¨C the visible part was yet another warning sign ¨C had sat on her bed with her knees folded against her chest, holding one of the single dryest historical chronicles Maryam had ever disinterestedly paged through the same way a child would a nket.


    As a good friend, the signifier had refrained from eating the nuts in a bowl on the table since the crunching noise might distract some from the tale being told. Even though she was pretty hungry. Cashews, though. She would be getting back to thoseter.


    ¡°It does not sound unsalvageable, if that¡¯s your worry,¡± Maryam shrugged. ¡°Say what you will about Angharad Tredegar, but if she is finished with you there will be nothing uncertain about it.¡±


    Neither frosty disdain nor public stabbings left a lot of room for spection as to the Pereduri¡¯s opinions.


    ¡°I may well have killed any friendship there was between us,¡± Song sharply said.


    ¡°Then you killed that back on the Dominion when you pulled that trigger,¡± Maryam said. ¡°Everything that has been built since that moment was a manor on quicksand.¡±


    She met Song¡¯s gaze unflinching until the silver eyes turned away. Killing the infanzona had not been a moment of pride, whatever else might might be said of it.


    ¡°Ruesta was too dangerous to continue letting loose,¡± Song said. ¡°Even within days of Angharad knowing about her contract she had her charmed and toeing the line of her promises again.¡±


    ¡°All that Mni ever do is toe the line of their given oaths,¡± Maryam snorted. ¡°They tie themselves up in knots and call it an honor when they figure out how to live with what give there is in the rope.¡±


    She cleared her throat when Song turned an unimpressed look on her. However true, her words had drifted some from the matter at hand.


    ¡°You made the decision that Isabel Ruesta should be killed,¡± Maryam said. ¡°Fair enough. I am not certain I would have made the same - and I know Tristan would not have, if only in the hope that released back into Sacromonte that snake might yet bite other infanzones ¨C but part of the trials was to make those decisions. It was your right to make that choice, and even to hide it.¡±


    That was part of the trials as well, after all. To clip the wings of threats and get away with it, to make the right allies and the right enemies. The Watch was looking for killers and survivors, not would-be martyrs. Maryam did not begrudge Angharad how she had yed the trials, trying to save as many as she could and holding to gantry asw, but it would be childish to pretend hers had been the only valid path.


    Tupoc Xical had spent his entire stay malingering, betraying and murdering but the Academy had still weed him with open arms at the end.


    ¡°That is not how <em>she </em>sees it, evidently,¡± Song muttered.


    ¡°That¡¯s because when the trial ended, you didn¡¯t tell her the truth,¡± Maryam said, and hesitated.


    It did not escape the silver gaze.


    ¡°What?¡±


    The Izvorica sighed. She was not eager to get into whaty between the two of them, but she supposed she owed Song as much.


    ¡°I¡¯ve sat across a table from Angharad Tredegar quite a bit, over thest month,¡± she said. ¡°And she¡¯s not¡­ inflexible, at least not in the way we sometimes assume of her. She would not be able to use her contract the way she does if that were the case. You keep missing it because you have the Tianxi blinders on.¡±


    ¡°Pardon me?¡± Song said, a tad coolly.


    ¡°Your people love an absolute, Song,¡± Maryam bluntly replied. ¡°It¡¯s in the bones of everything you make and do. All are free under Heaven, yes?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t follow,¡± Song frowned.


    ¡°Your poetry is always about how that moonlit night is the most beautiful there ever was, that tragedy the most despairing. Your enemies are the most wretched, your affairs the most sensual. Everything Tianxia does is on a bedrock of universal truth.¡±


    ¡°I am unsure whether or not I should take offense to that description,¡± the other woman admitted.


    Maryam rolled her eyes. Only gods and fools took offense to their reflection in theke.


    ¡°My point is, the Mni do not have that,¡± she said. ¡°All their truths are circumstantial. Limited.¡±


    Song blinked.


    ¡°That is madness,¡± she slowly said. ¡°Mni are famously obsessed with an unbending code of honor.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s reputation, Song,¡± Maryam chided. ¡°Look at how they <em>act</em>, though. They qualify every sentence, word them to get around potential lies, say ¡®I believed¡¯ or ¡®I think¡¯ instead of ¡®it is¡¯. The only way they can function is by putting every action they take or witness in a little box that separates if from every other action taken.¡±


    Sometimes she thought that the way they were able to swallow something like very so easily was that their honor was not so much about espousing good deeds as containing fault.


    ¡°That¡¯s¡­¡± Song trailed off. ¡°Well, one of the most interesting interpretations I have heard of Mni customs, but also a different discussion.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Maryam said. ¡°Because my point is Tredegar thinks exactly like that. If you had told her at the end of the trials she would have understood you deceiving her as being ¡®part of the trial¡¯, a closed garden where that action remains reprehensible but is allowed by the rules. But then you <em>kept</em> lying by omission when the only circumstances between you two were purely personal, so that part she can only take personally.¡±


    Men tolerated things from a practitioner or a king they would not from a brother, even though they loved the brother better. The role mattered as much the act, sometimes.


    ¡°I don¡¯t see what difference what you said makes,¡± Song admitted. ¡°In the end, however roundabout the path the conclusion is still that she is angry at me for withholding the truth from her and acting behind her back.¡±


    Maryam smoothed away the re of irritation. For someone so clever, so capable of reading a room and turning enemies on each other, Song could sometimes miss the forest for the trees. It was not her fault, though, it was Maryam who was odd. She had to think the way she did because she was far away and surrounded by strangers whose strange ways were opaque. Knowing <em>why </em>people took offense to the things they did was the difference between a cold look and drawn de.


    She did not have the luxury of ignorance, not when her mistakes were always paid for.


    ¡°Because you¡¯re not just fighting with her,¡± she spelled out, ¡°you are in a spat with how Angharad Tredegar sees the world. Tea and apologies and a grand gesture aren¡¯t going to fix this, Song, because that would be two friends mending a bridge and that¡¯s not the trouble you¡¯re in. Not really.¡±


    Song¡¯s lips thinned. Bunched up like that on her bed, the Tianxi was unusually open in her expressions ¨C theyer of calm and control thinned enough Maryam could easily make out the shapes moving beneath the silk. Song Ren was not convinced, but enough of what she had been told rang of the truth she was considering it seriously.


    ¡°Then what do I do?¡± she quietly asked.


    Maryam leaned back in her chair and grabbed some of the cashews from the bowl. She¡¯d done good work, wages were owed.


    ¡°Prove her wrong by her own rules,¡± she replied. ¡°Demonstrate that, within personal circumstances, you do trust her.¡±


    ¡°That easy, is it?¡± Song sarcastically asked.


    Maryam popped a few cashews, chewed merrily. Salted! She stole a second handful even though the first was not entirely finished, loudly swallowing.


    ¡°Figure it out,¡± she shrugged. ¡°Look, on asion I might like Angharad Tredegar but at the end of the day I don¡¯t <em>like </em>Angharad. You understand?¡±


    ¡°We barely speak the samenguage,¡± Song snorted, ¡°but I catch your drift. Her being personally agreeable does not change most of your grievances with her.¡±


    Maryam nodded approvingly. She had once thought there was no way the two of them could share a brigade, but she had been wrong in that. Angharad was not¡­ malicious, even at her worst. Childish or selfish, but not with a poisoned edge. That she could adjust, and made an effort to, made her tolerable and admittedly sometimes even enjoyable. In small doses.


    Maryam could not see herself ever considering the other woman a friend so long as she did not grasp the evil thaty at the heart of Mn, cloaked in talk ofws and honor, but a brigade was not a sworn sisterhood. They could share a roof and a side without braiding each other¡¯s hair.


    Song slowly exhaled, her knees pulling away from her chest as her legs spread on the bed. The book ended up on herp, only loosely held.


    ¡°She said that Ruesta only wanted to live,¡± Song finally said. ¡°That to kill her was unnecessary so close to Cantica.¡±


    It was unfair to be irritated with her for that, Maryam told herself. For not getting it. Song <em>had </em>to think that deeds were the only that mattered, because it was the only way she could go to bed without weeping. If Song Ren did not believe that actions were what mattered most, that they defined everything and could change everything, then the certainty that had her get up in the morning and pursue the dream of overturning the legacy of the Dimming would crumble like wet paper.


    It was just that sometimes that also meant Song thought of everything as things she did right or wrong, like the world was a puzzle box she had to solve correctly. Maryam felt a pang of sympathy for Angharad, who she suspected mostly wanted to know that Song did not think of her as being the Watch equivalent of an expensive warhorse.


    ¡°Days away with hollows nipping at your heels and everybody dead tired isn¡¯t nothing. And Ruesta was constantly using her contract after having made a promise not to, the way you told me,¡± Maryam finally said. ¡°Sure, a promise she was technically no longer bound to, but by that same logic you were no longer bound not to put a bullet in her skull.¡±


    Hrious that Ferranda had tried the same thing just a moment before, really. The infanzona reminded Maryam of some of her mother¡¯s war captains, the ones with fine reputations and rivals who kept dying on raids.


    ¡°It is frustrating she would still defend someone using a charm contract on her even now,¡± Song admitted. ¡°Enough to make me wonder at her judgement.¡±


    ¡°It was an influence contract, not control,¡± Maryam reminder her. ¡°There¡¯s a good argument there were insidious secondary effects to it, but I don¡¯t think that the girl with the big eyes and the bigger tits had to do a lot of charming to talk Angharad Tredegar into walking the fine line of a promise so she¡¯d be able to get her hands under that skirt.¡±


    ¡°<em>Maryam</em>,¡± Song reproached, coughing into her fist.


    ¡°That¡¯s a lot of coyness from a girl who went for seconds in the creepy brass house,¡± Maryam retorted without batting an eye.


    Cheeks flushed red.


    ¡°I should never have told you that,¡± the Tianxi muttered.


    The signifier grinned. Toote for regrets. Between that and the admission that Evander Palliades was not above getting on his knees to convey his negotiating position to the Republics ¨C and sessfully, too, good on him - she had material to work with.


    ¡°But as for Tredegar¡­ she¡¯s always going to be who she is, Song,¡± Maryam told her. ¡°Eager to get pretty girls into bed and trying to protect as many people as she can whether they deserve it or not. I¡¯d think hard on that before deciding how far you want to go to mend bridges.¡±


    Song frowned.


    ¡°Whether it is the friendship I want to salvage or whether I still want her as part of the Thirteenth,¡± she said.


    ¡°You talk like you do,¡± Maryam said. ¡°And I don¡¯t hate the notion the way I did back at Scholomance, I¡¯ll grant.¡±


    The Tianxi studied her for a moment.


    ¡°And Tristan¡­¡±


    ¡°I do not, in fact, speak for Tristan Abrascal,¡± Maryam drily said. ¡°We argue too, you know. But if I had to wager, I¡¯d say that he will befortable with the idea in a Tristan sort of way.¡±


    ¡°Afraid of her, but the danger is predictable and thus makes him feel safer than if there was nothing visible to be afraid of,¡± Song said.


    Essentially. Their captain was beginning to know the man decently. In truth Maryam suspected that her viper rather liked Angharad, simply in a way that involved no true loyalty or investment of emotion. That was the Murk in him, she thought, and this Nerei¡¯s lessons too. He¡¯d been taught it was fine to like others, so long as it was shallow and did not weigh more than a feather on the scales.


    ¡°The friendship, at least, I would save,¡± Song murmured. ¡°It was¡­ I do like her, you know.¡±


    <em>It¡¯s just that everyone else liked her too</em>, Maryam thought, <em>and you liked that almost as much as you do her.</em> She could not even be too angry about that, now when could understand Song¡¯s craving better than most. She had not grasped how much she liked to be liked before being met with casual contempt and distrust everywhere she went. Song had liked to stand by the hearth and bathe in the warmth, even if it wasn¡¯t really hers.


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    ¡°It is refreshing, being with someone who <em>wants</em> to be good, and she is surprisingly funny,¡± Song continued. ¡°Even as a captain, I think we are better off with her.¡±


    The Tianxi set down the book on the sheets. Maryam discretely ate a mouthful of cashews in the interval, ceasing to chew when Song¡¯s attention returned.


    ¡°Not even because of the de, though that is no small thing, but she does notpromise as easily as the rest of us do,¡± Song murmured. ¡°She wants us to do things right ¨C I wouldn¡¯t have thought twice about that deal with the Brazen Chariot, if she hadn¡¯t said anything.¡±


    She discreetly swallowed.


    ¡°But,¡± Maryam said.


    ¡°But we won¡¯t always be able to do things right,¡± Song said. ¡°That is not a luxury we have as members of the Watch. I¡¯m not sure if she will understand that. And, to be frank, I do not always agree with what she feels is right in the first ce.¡±


    Maryam said nothing, for she had already spoken all the words she had it in her to speak. While she would consider being the voice of virtue to the Thirteenth a special kind of torment given who made it up, she thought that Song might be underestimating Angharad. The Pereduri was not afraid to twist words to get her way, when she thought something was needed, and she¡¯d not tried to usurp captainship of the cabal even when she had disagreed with Song¡¯s decisions.


    Within the circumstances of ¡®Song being themanding officer¡¯, thews of engagement would likely be quite different from the lines Angharad Tredegar would draw in the sand when it came to her personal life. And she¡¯d proved she could put the job above her pride, in the countryside. It was no small influence on why Maryam had made her peace with the possibility of the Pereduri sticking around.


    But all those things she had already said, and would not repeat them. If that bird was to take flight then it was Song that needed to take the steps by herself. To speak to Tredegar about her fear, to extend the trust. Anything else was just dying the inevitable. And now that she had been a friend, she thought as she polished off thest of the seized cashews, she must be a cabalist.


    ¡°The Lefthand House,¡± Maryam said. ¡°Leveraging her, you said. That¡¯s a concern.¡±


    And not something they could really do anything about in the immediate. Getting the Krypteia involved with the Mni spies would inevitably also mean getting them involved in the neighboring Yellow Earth situation, which Song desperately wanted to avoid.


    ¡°Something is off there,¡± Song frowned. ¡°They are ckmailing her about her father, but for what? If the Lefthand House knew about her having joined the Watch, Lord Gule would not be recruiting her into the cult of the Golden Ram. If they do not know of her joining, then what is it they want from her?¡±


    ¡°The infernal forge,¡± Maryam suggested.


    ¡°Do they need to threaten her for this?¡± Song replied. ¡°From Lord Gule¡¯s perspective, she is already obtaining it for them.¡±


    ¡°Then it might be the Lefthand House and the ambassador want different things,¡± Maryam said, more to keep Song talking than because she genuinely believed it.


    ¡°The most likely answer, and yet senseless,¡± Song muttered. ¡°Without the backing of the Lefthand House, and thus implicitly of the High Queen, how could a mere ambassador dare to support a coup overthrowing the Lord Rector of Asphodel?¡±


    ¡°And if they¡¯re <em>not</em> on the same page, why is the man still alive?¡± Maryam mused. ¡°Obviously they know of the coup to some extent. It¡¯s an extension of Mni policies in the Trebian Sea, it would be absurd for Gule to be acting alone.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps the Lefthand House does not want the forge in the hands of the cult,¡± Song said.


    ¡°It¡¯s not the cult asking Angharad to find it, it¡¯s Lord Gule,¡± Maryam reminded her. ¡°With the implication that with her having cleaned her te with the Lefthand House and proved herself he will vouch for her and have her initiated into the ranks.¡±


    The Tianxi grimaced.


    ¡°I cannot make sense of it,¡± she said. ¡°We are missing something.¡±


    ¡°Whatever they want, so long as the coup is being handled by the Lord Rector the Lefthand House can¡¯t do much,¡± Maryam said. ¡°They are spies, not an invading army. I don¡¯t mind letting that simmer until you¡¯ve either made amends or we can put Tristan on sniffing something out.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t like how many of our solutions can be summed up by the word ¡®waiting¡¯,¡± Song grimaced, ¡°but then it would not be a good idea to press her on this.¡±


    ¡°And you need to take care of your Yellow Earth situation,¡± Maryam bluntly said. ¡°On top of our lingering Ivory Library problem. I tell you now, if we don¡¯t have a solid lead by the time Tristan returns bodies are going to start dropping.¡±


    ¡°I am well aware, thank you,¡± Song sighed, passing a hand through her hair. ¡°For thetter, I have a final suspect and a notion in how they interrogated.¡±


    ¡°Captain Santos,¡± Maryam guessed.


    ¡°He is meant to investigate the Ivory Library¡¯s influence on the delegation,¡± Song said. ¡°I might not have the power to order the arrest of a suspect, but he does.¡±


    ¡°If you can convince him,¡± Maryam said.


    ¡°If I can convince him,¡± Song echoed tiredly. ¡°As for the Yellow Earth, well, not even Chca would dare put me out in public again after that Landing Day skirmish. I can pass them general information about the Watch and pce under my discretion as captain of the Thirteenth without it being outright treason.¡±


    It would be a decision Song would have to justify to Wen afterwards, in the reports, but the Watch did not forbid involvement with even the worst of sorts. You never knew when you might need their help to deal with something entirely worse. Song grimaced.


    ¡°Then I will tell them that I am no longer the Lord Rector¡¯s escort and can thus am no longer told of any measures being taken by he or the Watch,¡± she added.


    <em>They¡¯re not going to let you off that easily,</em> Maryam thought. Which, by the look of that grimace, Song suspected as well.


    ¡°Take someone with you,¡± she said.


    Song blinked.


    ¡°That seems unw-¡±


    ¡°Take someone with you, Captain Ren,¡± Maryam said, and this time her voice brooked no argument. ¡°They have you by the throat, bring someone who <em>won¡¯t</em> just be thinking about their grip tightening the entire time.¡±


    Song studied her a long moment.


    ¡°You won¡¯t let me refuse that, will you?¡±


    Maryam smiled sharply.


    ¡°Try me,¡± she challenged.


    A long moment passed, then finally Song nodded.


    ¡°So I will,¡± she promised.


    --


    It took three days for Maryam to figure it out, all in all.


    The first day was, admittedly, mostly waiting around. Her report needed to make it to the Lord Rector, who would in turn decide whether or not her request to investigate the pce looking for the ¡®cork¡¯ of the Hated One¡¯s prison was to be epted, along with the implicit ess to the regr and private archives that puzzling out the location would require.


    Normally Evander Palliades could be counted on to promptly reply whenever a matter involved the Thirteenth, usually by tossing an audience their way in the hopes that Song might thus be delivered to his pce for lusting after, but this time would be different. Maryam had been back from the shipyard for a day now, and gone through all the mandatory debriefs. Which meant Brigadier Chca would be headed up to the pce to have a little talk with the Lord Rector.


    The one that¡¯d been getting put off, about that coup aiming to knife him and put his old regent on his throne while the cult of the probably-not-Golden-Ram pulled at her strings to rule Asphodel from behind the curtains. Not only was that talk likely to take some time ¨C as would the ensuing panicked preparations to make it harder to seize the pce ¨C but there would be diplomatic talks about the shipyard, sundry negotiations and other matters to upy the Lord Rector¡¯s day.


    There would also be the slightplication that Evander Palliades was going to be made aware that the Thirteenth Brigade had been sitting on information about that coup for some time and even at some point been contractually obligated to mention it to him only for Song to keep quiet about. At Chca¡¯s order, admittedly, but that the woman he was so taken with would hide such a thing from him would finally provide weight on the other side of the bnce from ¡®saved my life twice and saw her naked¡¯.


    Maryam was honestly a little surprised when on the morning of her thirty-first day on Asphodel summons to the pce came to ck House. She¡¯d been expecting to be put off for a few days more at least as a show of displeasure. Regardless, with that whole affair with Angharad and its aftermath she was only able to head out to the Collegium after noon.


    The first difference was that, instead of being sent to the Lord Rector¡¯s office, this time she was greeted by Majordomo Timon. A bit of cooling in the rtions then, though not so much they were being given the runaround with a minor official. Though it might simply be that beyond the majordomo there were few in the pce that could actually voice the permission to ess the private archives without it being treason, she then wondered.


    Either way, she had permission to sniff around the pce ¨C under escort ¨C and to the general pce archives. To ess the private ones again would be only on request. Unfortunate but not unfair. She did have hidden intentions, as a matter of fact, so their precautions were entirely warranted. Maryam had imed it necessary to inspect the rector¡¯s pce to find where the ¡®cork¡¯ of the Hated One¡¯s prison was located, and she did intend to find that.


    But allowing the Lord Rector to guard it was not the most important reason why she was after the location.


    She had a theory, Maryam did. As a general rule, while aether did tend to mirror the material worldymen tended to misunderstand what that actually meant. The realm of aether was not a single great mirror facing Vesper and reflecting it darkly, it was an endless number of connected mirrors of changing sizes mirroring specific <em>parts </em>of Vesper.


    What was ayer, then? It was easy to say that ayer was ¡®asting impression on aether caused by strong emanations¡¯, the textbook definition, but observed as a phenomenon how could it be described? Language tended to be one of the great obstacles in the study of metaphysics, as the concepts involved frequently had no easy description, but sticking by the mirror metaphor ayer would be as if a particr reflection was frozen in time and made into a ce.


    That description held up for the likes of the Witching Hour and Lucifer¡¯s Landing, but the strange emptyyer that Maryam and Tristan had tread through while chasing the assassin was a different thing. No natural phenomenon could create such an emptyyer, it must be caused by an entirely artificial process. Metaphorically speaking? Someone had smashed the mirror with a hammer and frozen a reflection of <em>that</em>.


    Given that by nature what resulted would be fragile, unstable and dangerous those pieces were bound to get swept up by the local aether currents if some strong boundaries were not set around them. That was no doubt why Lord Rector Hector Lissenos had beenfortable having the entrance to the Hated One¡¯s prison be somewhere in the pce where he slept. The ¡®cork¡¯ to the prison, wherever it was in the pce, would be one of the strongest boundaries on it.


    Which meant that somewhere in the rector¡¯s pce Maryam would find a location with a boundary strong enough to let her finish eating the shade. It was just a matter of finding it, and she would keep looking as long as it took.


    Majordomo Timon politely apanied her for a whole minute, then just as politely saddled her with a pair of escorts: a pce servant and a lictor. Thetter was a tall, taciturn woman who avoided looking at any exposed skin of Maryam¡¯s while refusing to meet her eyes, the former a smiling young man by the name of Iasos. In his early twenties, fit, curly hair and blue eyes. Charming.


    Too polished and pretty, as far as she was concerned. Maryam had no use for anything that would not well weather being sshed with mud.


    They began the search with the gardens, which at this hour of the day were well lit. It was not difficult to again find the ce she had first slipped through into theyer, past the field of Asphodelian crowns, but groping around with her nav she found only smooth, sterile nothingness. She and the shade had relied on some temporary ripple to enter, then. That made sense, she conceded. While her revtion down in the shipyard had cast in doubt that the shade was a parasite, it was still clearly a creature of the aether in some way.


    It would be able to feel unevenness in the aether in ways that not even the most skillful of Akrre could. No matter how skillful a swimmer a man might be, that did not turn him into a fish.


    ¡°Shall we visit the other location designated by the Watch, mydy?¡± Iasos smiled.


    ¡°There¡¯s no point,¡± she absent-mindedly replied.


    The location Tristan had given the Lord Rector would be of no use to her, since the assassin had likely been using some sort of tool to enter from there. It could not be the cork. Which, she now considered, might well mean that wherever the cork was ¨C and thus where the killer had first emerged from - the assassin had believed it too difficult a ce to return to theyer through. <em>Inside the pce proper, then</em>, she mused. One of the better guarded sections.


    ¡°To the archives,¡± she told her escorts. ¡°I need to have a look at ns of the pce grounds.¡±


    Captain Wen had done so himself once, so they should not be restricted. It turned out they were not ¨C they weren¡¯t even in the private archives, merely the pce ones ¨C because the ns as avable were really more of an outline. While the parts of the buildings used to entertain guests and the likes were highly detailed, private wings of the rector¡¯s pce were essentially outlines with no further detailing. Still, it would do.


    Aether engineering on the scale of building a halfyer wasn¡¯t something that could be stashed in a broom cupboard, it wasrge in scale and relied heavily on the use of conceptual shapes.


    The rector¡¯s pce, seen from above, was essentially two rectangles sprouting out from the nks of arge square. Gardens spun out in every direction, since the pce did not need to have roads leading to it ¨C it was supplied by lift, from below. The natural ce for a cork would be the center of the square, with hidden anchors at the four corners of the square to stabilize it. That could not be, however, because she already knew exactly what was there: the lifts leading up from the Collegium.


    Constant movement and emanations from the people passing through was the opposite of what you wanted on a boundary pressed into the aether. You might as well build a palisade on a bed of termites. Besides Wen had once told her that the lift to the private archives, which was right above the Collegium lifts, had been built in the days of King Oduromai. The square section of the pce was the first and oldest, built centuries before Hector Lissenos was even born. Considering said Hector was the one to have the Hated One¡¯s prison built, that rather disqualified the section of the pce.


    It must be one of the other internal shapes, like the rectangles. As the right wing was mostly for guests and formal receptions it was very detailed on the map, enough that Maryam ended up worrying her lip: the opposite corners of that rectangle were imed by rooms of sizes that did not match. That probably <em>could </em>still work, if you had the right knowhow, but it had long odds. The left wing it was, then.


    She nced back at Iasos, who had been waiting in silence with an increasingly strained smiled, while the lictor stood there staring at the ceiling in profound boredom.


    ¡°Are you familiar with the left wing of the pce?¡± she asked.


    ¡°I am, mydy,¡± the servant replied.


    ¡°Good,¡± she said. ¡°I need to see the rooms in each corner of the wing.¡±


    Maryam did remember to look up the sewer map that Angharad had requested, though gods only knew why, and traced a Sign tomit it to memory. She would trace it out for her at ck House.


    They proceeded to the left wing, and by the second room she knew it wasn¡¯t the correct part of the pce either. The top right corner room was circr, the bottom left room a long gallery hall. Maryam was not Deuteronomicon tinker, or even a Savant learned deep in the lore of aether, but she knew bare bones: contrasting round shapes and corner shapes in aether structures did not work on the scale of a building. They incited the aether differently.


    ¡°You seem dissatisfied, mydy,¡± Iasos observed.


    ¡°I am missing something,¡± Maryam replied in half a mutter, ring at the wall. ¡°Is there something below either room we visited? An older foundation, perhaps.¡±


    ¡°This level<em> is</em> the older foundation, mydy,¡± Iasos replied. ¡°This was built under the Archeleans, only renovated during the rule of House Lissenos.¡±


    Maryam squinted at him.


    ¡°Which Lissenos?¡± she asked.


    He looked taken aback.


    ¡°I do not know,¡± Iasos admitted.


    ¡°Find out,¡± she ordered.


    And there was the thread to pull: it was their old friend Hector who¡¯d done those reconstructions and also he who built the level above them. It was the same for the right wing, and thus Maryam realized her mistake; she had not considered the multiple levels while looking for shapes. This time she had to send for maps from the private archives, and once she finished scribbling what should be the shape if one could see into the pce from outside the results were puzzling.


    Oh, there was a pattern. Mirroring rooms in the exact same shape and size, built or renovated under Hector Lissenos. The problem was that the mirroring was not internal to the left and right wings: it was between the different wings, the top left room of one rectangle reflecting the bottom right of the other.


    ¡°It can¡¯t be internal to either wing, then,¡± she muttered to herself, rubbing the bridge of her nose. ¡°It has to be in the central square.¡±


    Only Hector Lissenos had not, apparently, built anything there. Or even changed much beyond sprucing up the throne room some. Hitting the books, it was clear that many of the rulers who¡¯d followed him had their own notions of how to improve the oldest part of their pce ¨C which Maryam had to conceded made sense, since the pce she¡¯d walked through did not look like had been built centuries ago. How could the cork of the prison be in there, if theyout kept changing?


    She looked back at a still-waiting Iasos.


    ¡°The original structure that pce was built out of is Antediluvian, correct?¡± she asked.


    ¡°The foundation of the central pce and the lifts themselves,¡± the servant confirmed. ¡°Though, of course, the materials left behind by the Ancient were used for the foundations of the pce expansions as well.¡±


    She paused.


    ¡°You only said the <em>foundation </em>of the central pce,¡± she slowly said. ¡°Who built the upper levels?¡±


    ¡°It is hard to say, mydy,¡± the servant said. ¡°Presumably King Oduromai and his descendants, who in time were seeded by the Archeleans.¡±


    Oh, but Maryam was a fool. Hector Lissenos, who seemed to delight in cleverness, had decided to cut a corner: instead of building the cork from scratch, he¡¯d attached his prisonyer to something already there. The wings had been built that way to strengthen something that already existed, not serve as the foundation of a new cork.


    The private archives were an old gaol in the shape of six rooms surrounding a single hole. And it was said that King Oduromai had locked up his six wives in there to make them into aether spirits that would serve him when he became a god. And assuming he really had used that ce in some kind of ritual to press some impression of his mind into a nascent god?


    Then by Necalli¡¯s principle of upancy, that the same discrete quantity of aether cannot hold two affects simultaneously, then the aether in the private archives was probably the single most unbreakable seal on all of Asphodel. So long as Oduromai kept being worshipped then nothing would ever get through that cork. No wonder Hector Lissenos had been willing to sleep so close to a path into the Hated One¡¯s prison, she thought.


    ¡°Mydy?¡±


    Maryam cleared her throat.


    ¡°I need to talk to Majordomo Timon,¡± she said. ¡°Please arrange this.¡±


    Already she was preparing her wording. It was going to be tricky, convincing the man that she needed to be given time alone in the private archives with no lights and preferably no one close enough to make noise, but it was necessary for what she had in mind.


    She¡¯d been eating bites of the Cauldron taken blindly, whatever she could rip out of the shade in the moment, but that was halfhearted work. It was time for her to get her bearings and prevent the bleed destroying the rightful knowledge of the Izvoric, get everything that she could.


    Thankfully, no one liked to argue with a Navigator when they started using words like ¡®solipsistic contamination¡¯ and ¡®inflicted null states¡¯, which <em>sounded</em> very dangerous but were just fancy ways to say it was easier to Sign when nobody else was around to distract you and muck up the aether. Majordomo Timon went pale as a sheet ¨C or her reflection in a mirror ¨C and promised to urgently approach the Lord Rector on the matter.


    The letter bearing agreement and the Lord Rector¡¯s seal arrived at ck House before her rented carriage did. Tomorrow evening she would be granted the run of the private archives, as asked.


    Now she just needed to prepare for a ritual.

 Chapter 62

    Chapter 62


    Breakfast was barely finished when dread showed up in the form of three letters.


    The first was little more than paper folded in the Tianxi manner, unfolding from left to right along with the reader¡¯s eye. No seal, no symbol, not so much as a sender¡¯s name. The Yellow Earth sent their summons, Song thought. Besides them, almost ironically, sat a small letter the messenger had waited in the courtyard of ck House to hand her directly. It was sealed in russet wax, a si ring pressed into it shallowly. House Palliades¡¯ heraldry, a crowned owl clutching a shepherd¡¯s crook.


    It was not the Lord Rector¡¯s seal that had been used there but the personal si ring of Evander Palliades, the implication licking at her cheeks with heat: this was private correspondence. A letter from Evander, not the Lord Rector.


    Thest of the three letters bore the ck wax stamp of official Watch correspondence. That at least Song made herself crack open and read. Her solemn face soon turned into a grimace as not even work proved to be a respite: the letter was from Colonel Adamos of Stheno¡¯s Peak, who sternly wrote never to put to ink any mention of the aether seal ever again. She was to burn this letter when done reading it. Moreover, the Thirteenth Brigade must remain in Tratheke until the garrison officer he was sending to the capital finished debriefing them.


    A tossed off sentence at the end conceded, reluctantly, that since the Thirteenth Brigade was on a formal contract both her inquiries as to the god behind the Ataxia and Maryam Khaimov¡¯s ¡®disturbing observations on the matter of Asphodel crowns¡¯ would be answered by the Savant officer he was sending south. Colonel Adamos even deigned to mark the dates involved, which¡­


    He mentioned sending this letter around the ind by ship and that ¡®Captain Traore¡¯ would be arriving a week after the letter, but his Savant¡¯s theorized date of arrival was around the seventh of the month ¨C in other words, yesterday. The letter appeared to be over a weekte. Odd. This was an important discrepancy to uncover, crucial even, so Song tucked away the letter in her uniform and straightened her cor. She was not putting off reading the other letters, she was doing important work that required her full attention.


    Song locked the door behind her and left as quick as she could make her stride long without feeling like she was running.


    Correspondence was handled by the servants of ck House, but there were nuances at y. While notable figures could send letters directly to the Watch residence in the city, most of the correspondence that reached ck House actually passed through three stations in the city that servants went to empty every day. Angharad, whose identity must remain secret among Tratheke society, received her own letters through an arrangement with the rector¡¯s pce.


    Letter intended for her were sent to Fort Archelean, the fortress at the bottom of the lifts leading up to the pce, and from there Palliades men carried them to one of the Watch stations in the city. Song¡¯s first thought had been that the whole affair would look wildly suspicious, but apparently it wasmon for minor nobles in the capital to make simr arrangements ¨C only their letters were instead brought by Palliades men to the temples of Khrusopos, the messenger god of Asphodel.All it took to have your letters brought to you was giving your name and location at such a temple before paying a small fee, which reputable inns would do on your behalf if asked. Religious observances kept names and letters private, a surprisingly functional arrangement even Lord Rectors were historically reluctant to upset.


    A letter from Stheno¡¯s Peak, however, would have gone around that entire system. Mention of a ship had Song suspecting the letter must have passed through the Watch office in the Lordsport, and if the wagon from there had arrived early today its driver was likely still at ck House. She asked the servants about it and was directed to kitchens, where a stocky dark-haired woman was tearing into a bowl of stew.


    She saluted when Song introduced herself as captain of the Thirteenth Brigade, rising to her feet, and when asked about the letter¡¯s provenance was eager enough to talk.


    ¡°It came by the Salt Dogst evening,¡± the driver said, then cleared her throat. ¡°It¡¯s a merchant runner, ma¡¯am, carries small goods. Dabbles in smuggling too, everyone knows.¡±


    ¡°The letter it carried for me iste in theing,¡± Song told the other woman. ¡°Did they meet with a mishap?¡±


    ¡°Word at port was that they ran afoul of Cordyles ships while swinging around the east of the isle,¡± the driver said. ¡°Ol¡¯ Triton¡¯s boys wanted toe aboard and inspect the ship for ¡®illicit goods¡¯, but the Salt Dog ran for it. They had to lose the Cordyles by going through the Broken Teeth, it took them off course.¡±


    Song politely inquired as to what these Broken Teeth were, learning they were a reef-strewn belt of coast favored by smugglers because sections of the ¡®Teeth¡¯ spared vessels with shallow drag but would gut something as heavy in the water as, say, a warship. The driver noted the captain of the Salt Dog could probably have bought off the Cordyles but had preferred wasting time to coin, hence the dy.


    Song¡¯s smile went a bit fixed as she thanked the other woman, leaving her to her stew after offering a silver in thanks for her cooperation. She was, of course, pleased to have so quickly resolved the mystery of the letter¡¯steness. Why, she was<em> rejoicing</em> it had barely taken ten minutes. Perhaps tea was in order to celebrate that efficiency. Perhaps she should have that tea in one of the rooms on the first floor, to spare the servants bringing the pot all the way up the stairs where her room was, and-


    ¡°Captain Ren, a word?¡±


    Whatever it was the liveried servant saw on her face when she turned, it had the young man flinching.


    ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°Captain Santos requests your presence, ma¡¯am,¡± the younger man said. ¡°Immediately, if you can.¡±


    ¡°I am at his disposal,¡± Song replied with an appropriate amount of enthusiasm. ¡°Lead on.¡±


    She was already on the ground floor, but it was still a walk: the signifier was waiting for her at the back of ck House so they went around the courtyard to find him. Captain Domingo Santos was a tall man of middle age, though his slouch made him seem shorter. The short hair was the neatest part of him, and his natural look was a sullen one. Song could never be sure whether it was her presence that displeased him or merely Vesper atrge.


    ¡°Warrant Officer Ren,¡± he grunted out, then nodded a dismissal at the servant.


    The young man scampered away as quick as he could. Well, the superstitious often feared signifiers.


    ¡°Captain Santos,¡± she replied.


    He looked at her oddly, as if surprised, then snorted.


    ¡°You¡¯re in time,¡± he said, then jutted a thumb towards the door they stood at the threshold of. ¡°I sent for Sergeant Ledwaba, she should be arriving soon. I will interrogate her in there.¡±


    A pause.


    ¡°Given that one of your cabalists is wrapped up in my investigation, I grant you the courtesy of sitting in on the talks.¡±


    Song cynically wondered whether he¡¯d been hoping she would be busy and made the gesture with the expectation he would not actually have to suffer her presence, but set that spection aside. It had been a risk approaching Captain Santos with her suspicions and what she knew of the Ivory Library, given that some of that knowledge had been earned by Tristan torturing and summarily executing an officer of the Watch. A covenanter officer, at that.


    But it had been a risk she believed she could afford to take, given the nk amnesty paper she had gotten out of Brigadier Chca. Should Captain Santos decide to pursue Tristan¡¯s killing of Lieutenant Apurva, she had a way to get her Mask out of his hands. Not that Domingo Santos seemed so inclined at the moment. He had been pleased enough at the information she provided, though also inclined to try to keep her out of the matter as much as possible.


    Her guess? Santos was trying to keep her name out of the final report and im it all as his own work. Much as Song would have liked gilding the Thirteenth¡¯s name a little by tying it to a second fulfilled contract on Asphodel, in this case letting the signifier have his way might be worth more. His authority here and now was more useful than praise in her dossier a few months down the line.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Song replied, lowering her head.


    She then lowered her voice.


    ¡°Although, I must ask, would this not be better undertaken in the vault beneath the house?¡±


    Domingo Santos blinked at her owlishly.


    ¡°Why would I ¨C Ren, are you under the impression I¡¯m going to <em>torture </em>her?¡±


    She coughed into her fist.


    ¡°Well not at the start, surely, but should she refuse to cooperate¡­¡±


    The man sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.


    ¡°Covenanter kids,¡± he said, speaking the words like a curse. ¡°Like handing toddlers a crate of grenades.¡±


    He leaned forward, met her gaze.


    ¡°I am going to sit down with Ledwaba, offer her a deal and use what she gives me to dig up a name that actually matters,¡± Captain Santos said. ¡°Not break out a fucking iron maiden at the first sign of resistance from the bottom of a conspiracy. We are the <em>Watch</em>, girl, not Izcalli candle-priests.¡±


    Considering members of the Watch had tried to kill every single member of the Thirteenth ¨C she counted Captain Yue¡¯s experiment in the Azei bay as attempted murder, considering how close Maryam hade to drowning ¨C Song could not help but feel he had a somewhat rosy vision of what the Watch was. That or the Thirteenth¡¯s own time with the order had been unusually sinister, which she grimly admitted to herself was entirely possible.


    ¡°And if she does not take the deal?¡±


    ¡°She will,¡± Captain Santos tly replied. ¡°She¡¯s not a schr, she has no skin in whatever game the Ivory Library is ying here.¡±


    While not convinced Song saw no point in arguing, though he gestured as if to silence her anyway.


    ¡°Sit in a corner, be quiet and try not to kill anyone,¡± Captain Santos said. ¡°That is the sum whole of what I require of you. Can you do that for me, Warrant Officer Ren?¡±


    ¡°I can,¡± she replied through gritted teeth, somewhat insulted.


    The room on the other side of the door was a small parlor withfortable seats, hardly what she would have chosen for an interrogation. As instructed, she sat on a chair in the corner and then waited as Captain Santos lit a fewmps and sat on one side of the low table in the middle of the room. Hardly a minute had passed before there was a knock on the door.


    Sergeant Ledwaba was bid to enter and closed the door behind her. The Mni was short and broad-shouldered, scarred on her hands and neck with neatly done knots keeping her hair in ce. Her dark eyes flicked to Song before returning to Domingo Santos, wary.


    ¡°Captain?¡±


    ¡°Sit down, Ledwaba,¡± he ordered.


    She hesitated, then after a moment slid into the seat across from his. There was a pitcher full of water on a drawer by the wall but Captain Santos did not offer and she did not ask. No contract, Song noted.


    ¡°May I ask-¡±


    ¡°You got sold out,¡± Domingo Santos interrupted her. ¡°Apurva named you as Ivory Library before he got¡­¡±


    The Lierganen drew a finger across her face. Sergeant Ledwaba¡¯s face went nk. Song kept her surprise off her face at both the bluntness of the approach and his false implication that Tristan¡¯s murderous interlude had been at Captain Santos¡¯s own orders.


    ¡°I have no idea what you¡¯re talking about,¡± Ledwaba said. ¡°The <em>what </em>library?¡±


    ¡°The Grinning Madcap,¡± Captain Santos said, then folded his arms. ¡°Is your memorying back yet?¡±


    The sergeant¡¯s dark face tightened just a bit when the name of the ship chartered by the Ivory Library was spoken. That continued gambit was only possible because Tristan had obtained the name and Song shared it with Santos, but at least it was being properly employed.


    ¡°The Ivory Library¡¯s not a banned society,¡± Ledwaba said. ¡°Even if I were part of it ¨C and I¡¯m not ¨C it wouldn¡¯t be a crime under Watch rules.¡±


    Song cocked her head to the side. It felt strange, hearing a woman with Mni looks so tantly lie, but then besides her skin tone and name there were no Mni tells about Ledwaba. She did not even have an ent in Antigua, or rather her ent was a Lierganen one. That swallowed ¡®s¡¯ sound was some dialect from the Riven Coast, wasn¡¯t it?


    ¡°Trying to abduct a Scholomance student out on a contract <em>is</em>, though,¡± Captain Santos replied. ¡°The hanging kind. Do they pay you well enough for a noose, Ledwaba? Because if you don¡¯t bargain with me, that¡¯s where you¡¯re headed. I already have more than enough for that.¡±


    Did he really? Song was not so sure. What he had was the word of a man who had murdered a Watch officer that said officer had confessed to a crime and named names. The only way for Tristan¡¯s testimony to be more than his word against Ledwaba¡¯s was for a truth-teller to be involved, which could take weeks if there wasn¡¯t one at hand. Those contracts were rtively rare, and in even higher demand than sniffers besides. Only healers were more highly prized.


    The air hung tense, the sergeant worrying her lip, then she spat out a few Antiguan words Song did not recognize. Definitely Riven Coast, the Tianxi decided. Some of that had sounded simr to hollow cants.


    ¡°No, they don¡¯t,¡± Sergeant Ledwaba grunted, then spat to the side. ¡°I want a pardon.¡±


    ¡°Hah!¡± Captain Santosughed. ¡°Fuck no. You get a ck mark ¨C sealed, don¡¯t whine ¨C on your record and a transfer to a<em> sitiada</em> posting. If you give me everything and keep your nose clean, when that tour is done your record will be purged and we forget this ever happened.¡±


    ¡°You might as well send me to the Bleands,¡± Ledwabained. ¡°They¡¯re <em>still</em> cleaning up thest of Loving Kiss revenants down south.¡±


    ¡°You shouldn¡¯t have taken the gold,¡± Santos told her, unsympathetic. ¡°Besides, it¡¯s for your own good ¨C you¡¯ll be far from the Library down there. Too far for them to take a shot at you on the cheap, and you¡¯re not worth an expensive vengeance.¡±


    Ledwaba grimaced, leaning back to nce at Song. The silver-eyed captain offered her only ice.


    ¡°I should have known it¡¯d end up too much trouble,¡± the sergeant sighed. ¡°Fine, what do you want from me?¡±


    ¡°Names and a confession,¡± Captain Santos said. ¡°There¡¯s another one of you in the delegation, a higher-up. Who?¡±


    ¡°Lieutenant Shu Gong,¡± Ledwaba said. ¡°I don¡¯t know how deep she is in their little cult, but I know she¡¯s not just a hireling like me.¡±


    Song bit at the inside of her cheek. Shu Gong, <em>really</em>? She was a terrible spy! Even setting aside that near every merchant in the southwestern ward had robbed her, Song had watched that woman and she was a nervous, awkward mess. Song had once seen her flip her own breakfast te onto herp trying to clean up spilled tea. Either she was one of the most skilled dissembled Song Ren had ever encountered or <em>someone</em> in the Ivory Library had made a mistake.


    ¡°Who runs the plot locally?¡± Captain Santos asked.


    ¡°It was supposed to be Apurva, I was told I answered to him,¡± the sergeant said. ¡°Shu¡¯s in charge now, but she has no idea what she¡¯s doing so she¡¯s crossing her fingers hoping the Scholomance <em>bastardinos </em>will handle everything for her.¡±


    And there we went, confirmation of the Neenth¡¯s involvement. If that could be put to ink and signed, even should Tristan reappear apanied by fresh student corpses Song should be able to keep him off the gallows. That was a relief, but she did not let herself soak it in. <em>Do not count your chickens before they hatch</em>, Song reminded herself. Nothing was on paper yet.


    ¡°Is there anyone else?¡± the signifier pressed. ¡°The more you give me, the more is added to your tab.¡±


    ¡°I got the impression Chca might have been bribed to look elsewhere,¡± Ledwaba added after hesitating a moment. ¡°But they did not tell me everything, I¡¯m only meant to be muscle. I know the sign and countersign for the Madcap¡¯s captain to take on the prisoner, though, if that¡¯s worth anything.¡±


    ¡°It is,¡± Captain Santos assured her. ¡°What makes Abrascal such a tempting target, anyhow?¡±


    ¡°No idea,¡± Ledwaba admitted. ¡°I heard Apurva mention a report being leaked to the Ivory Library some months back, but the schrs were never chatty with me. Tight with the purse strings, too.¡±


    Thatst part sounded a little like whining. Domingo Santos hummed, sounding mildly interested in the Library¡¯s interest, but did not push further even though Song would have preferred him to. What he was <em>truly</em> interested in, it turned out, was putting out ink and paper so he could hash out the terms of a signed confession with Sergeant Ledwaba. He was friendly with the traitor, almost too friendly ¨C suggesting phrasing that avoided implicating herself with graver crimes and striking out mention of payment so she could keep her ill-earned gold.


    It left a sour taste in the mouth, watching it all, but Song kept her mouth shut. Sergeant Ledwaba deserved worse than she would get, but what she was giving them was worth much more than the temporary satisfaction of seeing her put up against the wall and shot. Within the hour, Ledwaba had signed the confession and the ckcloak strolled her way out of the parlor with rather more cheer than a woman in her position should be feeling.


    Silence lingered behind her, until Captain Santos let out a long pleased sigh and leaned back into his chair.


    ¡°Good as finished,¡± the signifier said. ¡°I will need to bring in Brigadier Chca before I arrest Lieutenant Gong, else he could stonewall me, but I wager that as soon as it can be done without the Asphodelians noticing she¡¯ll be grabbed.¡±


    ¡°Good news,¡± Song said. ¡°And the Neenth Brigade?¡±


    ¡°Ledwaba gave them up,¡± he shrugged. ¡°As soon as I¡¯ve shown the brigadier that confession you can petition him to have them all arrested even if they¡¯re on contract ¨C though he¡¯ll want some kind of face-saving measure to be able to avoid telling the Lord Rector they were traitors. He¡¯ll have to do <em>something</em> when presented the evidence, though, otherwise it breaks Watch regtions."


    ¡°I am looking forward to it,¡± Song toothily smiled.


    ¡°So am I,¡± Captain Santos happily replied. ¡°Finally I get to stop sniffing at everyone¡¯s private papers and mark their belongings. I¡¯ll be off this rock on the next ship, mark my words, and the Obscure Committee will shower me with gold and praise.¡±


    He paused, turning to look at her.


    ¡°You made this much easier on me than it could have been,¡± Domingo Santos frankly said. ¡°You might be a bloody-handed kid in covenanter boots, but this was good work and I¡¯ll not let a good turn go unanswered. I owe you a favor.¡±


    Silver eyes narrowed. Song had not dared hoped for that, but a good officer should n for oues both foul and fair.


    ¡°There is a way you could settle it now, and at no cost to you.¡±


    He raised his eyebrows, intrigued, and so she told him. The signifierughed.


    ¡°Easy enough to arrange,¡± Captain Santos said, and this time when he nodded there was an undertone of respect to it. ¡°A good day to you then, Captain Ren. I expect I¡¯ll be hearing good things of the Thirteenth in years toe.¡±


    ¡°And to you, sir,¡± Song replied, rising to her feet. ¡°It has been a pleasure.¡±


    And after that favor, she could even say thetter part wasn¡¯t a lie.


    --


    Angharad was no great riding enthusiast, but there was nothing like being forced to repeatedly ride carriages to make one miss sitting the saddle instead of a bench.


    Even in Tratheke, a city boasting some of the finest streets she had ever seen, the exercise was unspeakably tedious. It did not help that the quality of the streets meant most people of means used a carriage to get around, leading to frequent glut on the main arteries. That and idents, which was not nearly as interesting after the third time you watched valets brawl as they angrily used each other of being responsible for the crash.


    Even knowing that the plenty of carriages paired with appropriate precautions was the reason no one had been able to figure out where Lady Angharad Tredegar lived while in the capital, she was in a dark mood as the carriage that¡¯d picked her up finally rode into the ck House courtyard. An hour and half spent to learn almost nothing had her stewing in private frustration. Given that she was meeting Lord Gule this afternoon, she could have used this time for preparations.


    Angharad limped out of the carriage onto the stone floor, leaning on her cane, only for her eye to be drawn to a silhouette by the door: Uncle Osian stood there waiting for her, unsmiling. That his face heralded ill news to match those she had found in the Collegium was not a fine start to the day. Osian must have noticed her mood just as she had his, for as she made her way to him his frown deepened.


    ¡°Did something happen out in the city?¡± he asked.


    She fell in with him as they entered the manse, his long stride never quite going faster than her hobble. He had developed a knack for matching his steps to hers without seeming it, Angharad fondly thought.


    "Officer Hage and his cat are missing,¡± she told him. ¡°The Chimerical has been shuttered and the locals do not know when it will open again. Given Tristan¡¯s continued absence andck of reports, this is somewhat concerning.¡±


    If Tristan Abrascal were merely facing city guards and criminals she would not have thought twice about his continued absence, but some of the plots afoot the capital might just be more dangerous than he knew how to handle. The Mask had an impressive bag of tricks, but when it ran out he was a less than impressive fighter.


    ¡°Ah, the Sacromontan,¡± her uncle muttered. ¡°Often underfoot, that one.¡±


    He did not quite keep his disapproval out of his voice.


    ¡°You mislike him?¡± Angharad asked, surprised.


    ¡°You do not?¡± her uncle asked, sounding equally so.


    Angharad paused, seriously considering the question.


    ¡°I do not always like his actions,¡± she conceded, ¡°but he is honest in his reasons and intentions. I cannot say I dislike him, not truly, especially when being underhanded is his duty as a Mask. He is, well¡­¡±


    She coughed and ended the sentence there, faintly embarrassed she had been about to say ¡®like an agreeable rogue in a story¡¯. The world was not a thing of stories, as Vesper seemed keen on reminding her these days. Else she would have already dueled Song for honor and moved on instead of feeling her stomach clench in a knot of feelings too tight to pick apart every time they sat at the same table.


    ¡°I won¡¯t tell you to change your opinion of him,¡± Osian said, ¡°but be wary of his patron. Krypteia are dangerous at the best of times, and that one more dangerous than most.¡±


    ¡°He seems to consider her a grandmother of sorts,¡± Angharad told him. ¡°As much as he does a mentor, anyhow.¡±


    ¡°His ¡®grandmother¡¯ might well have been alive during the Second Empire,¡± Osian grunted back. ¡°By rumor, she is also a habitual cannibal.¡±


    Angharad winced.


    ¡°Rumor alone, surely,¡± she tried.


    Osian did not answer, which to those of the Isles <em>was </em>an answer. He was not so certain as to state it outright but found it believable enough to mention the rumor. Perhaps it was a contract price, Angharad thought. The murder of men as a contract price was forbidden under the Iscariot ords, but to consume human flesh after death might¡­ not be? She was not conversant with the details there. Devils certainly wore corpses as shells without sanction, so it seemed usible.


    Horrifying to consider, mind you.


    Her uncle cast a look around them, finding them alone in the hall, and lowered his voice. Angharad expected further gossip about the apparently infamous Abu but was instead to be informed as to why she had found him unsmiling.


    ¡°I have the tools,¡± he said. ¡°Do you have the map?¡±


    ¡°It was obtained for me,¡± Angharad replied.


    Instead of borrowing it Maryam had memorized they and drawn it for Angharad on paper, relying on Gloam sorcery for precision. The signifier had used a simr trick on the Dominion, allegedly, so it was trustworthy ¨C and discreet, which was almost as important. Maryam had not even asked <em>why</em>, to her surprise. She¡¯d had reasons readied, precise wording to weave a with, but the blue-eyed woman had simply shrugged and agreed.


    It had been something of a shock to realize that Maryam Khaimov now considered them amiable enough acquaintances to do her a small favor without question. That and humbling, for from the way that Song had disappeared into a room with the Izvorica for a few hours after the¡­ argument, Maryam was near certain to be aware of Angharad¡¯s entanglements with the Lefthand House. She would have been well within her rights to interrogate Angharad¡¯s intentions and she simply <em>had not</em>.


    Uncle Osian nodded at her words, face grave, and she was wrenched away from her dim sense of guilt.


    ¡°Moving the object after it is taken will be the trouble,¡± he said. ¡°We cannot use Watch resources for it, and there have been¡­ inquiring eyes around the delegation ofte.¡±


    Angharad swallowed. Well worth a frown, that.


    ¡°Are you suspected?¡± she asked in a whisper.


    ¡°I believe my personal papers were looked through,¡± Osian grimly said. ¡°There is nothing reprehensible in them, but that my affairs are being looked at in the first ce is troubling.¡±


    He paused.


    ¡°By the wary looks of some of my colleagues, I might not be the only one whose papers were inspected.¡±


    It urred to Angharad then that this might not be about the infernal forge at all but about the traitor watchman Tristan had righteously in. Was the investigation turning its eyes on their fellows in the ck for a culprit after having found nothing in the city? <em>It does not matter</em>, Angharad reminded herself. Even if it were so, Tristan¡¯s bloodied hands were not her secret to share and thus her suspicion could not be discussed with her uncle.


    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    ¡°I still have a fourth of the funds you sent me on Tolomontera,¡± Angharad said. ¡°If coin is the concern¡­¡±


    ¡°Coin is coin,¡± he dismissed. ¡°I can still spend significant sums before having to turn to a Watch vault and its attendant paper trail. But neither of us will be able to ride a cart to the Lordsport without drawing attention and the cart will be inspected by lictors on its way south. I¡¯ve secured room on a ship at port, but getting the artefact there¡­¡±


    ¡°Tristan spent time as a traveling man for one of the city¡¯s trading houses,¡± she murmured. ¡°He might be able to make introductions.¡±


    ¡°We cannot risk Krypteia involvement,¡± Osian tly said. ¡°No matter how innocuous their contribution might seem. They are veritable bloodhounds for this sort of thing.¡±


    She considered bringing up the criminal gang calling themselves the Brazen Chariot, as they imed to be smugglers of some skill, but Angharad was reluctant to involve them when they had ties to the Thirteenth that had been written down in official reports. It might put the others in the line of firee the time of reckoning. That and they were criminals, thus just as likely to steal the infernal forge as to keep their word.


    Unfortunately that left only a single name.


    ¡°I will have to speak with Imani,¡± Angharad said. ¡°She ought to be capable of arranging for <em>that</em> part, at least.¡±


    ¡°She is the ufudu you¡¯ve chosen to bargain with, then,¡± Osian murmured.


    They had discussed approaching Jabni over the matter instead and simply killing Imani Langa whenever convenient, but Lord Gule¡¯s ¡®attendant¡¯ now struck her as too risky gamble.


    ¡°Jabni is too tied up in the coup,¡± Angharad quietly replied. ¡°When it is put down he could be caught by the Watch or the Lord Rector.¡±


    ¡°And thus it could all be squeezed out of him,¡± her uncle agreed. ¡°The Lefthand House is not prone to telling tales even when their fingernails are pulled, but the Watch has methods that even spirits fear.¡±


    ¡°I will meet with her today,¡± Angharad decided. ¡°There is no time to waste, the Thirteenth might be leaving Asphodel soon.¡±


    Very soon, if Angharad¡¯s sess with the infernal forge proved enough for Lord Gule to judge her worth bringing into the cult. His written note when arranging the meeting this afternoon had been too bare bones to judge his mood, but she had hopes. If Angharad met other cultists and they went unmasked, they could be grabbed that very evening and interrogated.


    If their identities were veiled it would take somewhat longer, but arrangements had been made to cover the eventuality. Song and Captain Wen would be keeping a watch on the ambassador¡¯s residence to try and narrow down the list of possible cultists, drawing on who wasing in and out.


    ¡°Then I will finish the preparations on my end,¡± Osian replied, then paused. ¡°I will require the map.¡±


    ¡°I will trace you a copy tonight,¡± Angharad promised.


    They parted ways by the main flight of stairs, Osian taking long strides up it while Angharad turned a look of distaste on the carpeted heights. Best to take the east wing stairs instead, she decided. It would be a detour, considering the liar was likely in the ck House library, but the slope was significantly less ambitious despite the stairway being narrower.


    While the library being open to any watchman in principle, in practice the Eleventh Brigade had been living in it since their return from the countryside. Only officers of the delegation had the bite to send them out, Angharad having heard Songin to Maryam that on the asions the Tianxi had gone inside to borrow a book she had been red at like an intruder the entire time.


    Naturally this meant Tupoc tried to visit at least thrice a day, which exined why the doors were closed and locked when Angharad finally reached them. The Fourth had finished its contract on Asphodel and been paid by the throne, but instead of chartering a merchant ship to a port where a Watch vessel might ferry them back to Tolomontera they had chosen to wait two weeks for the next Watch ship headed straight to Port Azei.


    Tupoc had been spending that time making a nuisance of himself to everyone, but with his cabal so visibly shaken by the loss of ¡®Expandable Losses¡¯ she could not begrudge them lingering. Grief deserved time. What she <em>did </em>begrudge the Fourth was how when she knocked twice on the locked doors there was no answer, even when she raised her voice. It did attract the attention of a servant carrying a mop, however, and Angharad hailed him.


    ¡°I need to have a message passed to Captain Imani Langa,¡± she told the young man.


    The liveried servant coughed, looked either way as if to find anyone else she might be talking to, then blushed.


    ¡°Um,¡± he said. ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°I require that she attend me on the roof garden at her earliest convenience,¡± Angharad said. ¡°<em>Very </em>earliest convenience.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll, um, tell her,¡± he said. ¡°Master Voros has the keys. I just need to mop up the¡­¡±


    ¡°Take care of this first, or pass it on to someone who can,¡± she said, kindly but firmly. ¡°Tell Master Voros it is brigade business of some urgency.¡±


    The young servant swallowed and saluted, which set the mop to swinging, and he retreated most precipitously. Angharad spent a moment staring at his back in amusement, wondering whether she should remind him that ck House servants were not members of the Watch and thus there was no need to salute officers, but ultimately decided against it.


    Well, she sighed, timed for another few sets of stairs. She was already regretting having chosen the roof again.


    --


    It took Imani Langa the better part of an hour to show up, by which time Angharad was thoroughly irritated.


    She had already oiled her saber yesterday so it would have been of no benefit to the de to do so again and she had no intention of risking the<em> ufudu</em> seeing the sewer map so she could not spend the time drawing her uncle a copy either. That left the mirror-dancer to stare at the view of the city for a quarter-hour until she got bored of it, then to pick petals off flowers for the rest while sitting on the bench to rest her leg. Ancestors, maybe she should have brought a book.


    Captain Imani wore an irritated look to match hers when she stormed up the stairs, not that Angharad particrly cared. She pushed herself up at the sight of the other woman, hand on her walking stick.


    ¡°Do not send for me like that again,¡± Imani Langa tly said. ¡°Coming to meet you when summoned so boorishly forced me to-¡±


    Angharad turned and walked away, freed from the implied obligation of courtesy by Imani¡¯sck of polite greeting. She limped to the edge of the roof, leaning an elbow on the bronze railing overlooking the long drop down to the street. There were a few people passing below, too far for her to be able to make out their faces. Imani stomped up to her angrily.


    ¡°- ildish of you, Tredegar,¡± the liar said. ¡°Continue to behave in such a way and-¡±


    ¡°Are we being listened to?¡± Angharad interrupted.


    Imani¡¯s eyes narrowed.


    ¡°No,¡± she said.


    There was no dy or hesitation. Her contract was always in use, as far as the Pereduri could tell.


    ¡°I have found an infernal forge,¡± Angharad said. ¡°Measures are being taken to secure it.¡±


    The ufudu stilled. Her face was unreadable, but her eyes searched the noblewoman for any hint of deceit.


    ¡°Where is it?¡± Imani finally asked.


    Angharad snorted.


    ¡°I will not be telling you that, you honorless cur,¡± she amiably said. ¡°I require of you that you secure means of safe transportation to the Lordsport. You will be given a time and ce to pick up the artefact and told where in port to deliver it.¡±


    ¡°I can arrange transportation to Mn myself,¡± Imani replied without batting an eye.


    ¡°I would not trust you to carry an iron vase,¡± Angharad scorned, ¡°much less the only thing you need of me. The Lefthand House will have the artefact when I have proof they will deliver on their end of the bargain.¡±


    ¡°You overestimate the strength of your bargaining position,¡± Imani warned.


    ¡°Do I?¡± she asked, honestly curious as she met the liar¡¯s stare.


    A long moment passed, then Imani Langa sighed and leaned her elbows against the railing.


    ¡°I will make arrangements,¡± she said. ¡°I need at least six hours of forewarning for the pickup, but it should be possible from tomorrow onwards.¡±


    ¡°Good,¡± Angharad smiled. ¡°Then our personal business is concluded.¡±


    She paused and took in the angle, the way the liar¡¯s limbs were arrayed. How Imani was putting her weight on her arms, head just past the railing, legs slightly angled. It would do.


    Without word or warning, Angharad mmed her walking stick across the back of both Imani Langa¡¯s knees.


    The spy let out a yelp and the lowers limbs folded, for one heartbeat entirely helpless. It was long enough for Angharad to grab her by the back of the cor and drag her past the edge of the railing until half her body was leaning forward into the drop and Angharad¡¯s grip was the only thing keep her from a tumble into the void.


    ¡°Tredegar,¡± Imani hissed, ¡°what are you-¡±


    Ignoring the kicking legs, Angharad snatched the liar¡¯s pistol out of her holster and tossed it into the garden. When her gaze returned to Imani it was to find the other woman had a knife in hand, but when she clicked her tongue the ufudu hesitated.


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t do that,¡± Angharad said. ¡°If you struggle too much I would be at risk of falling at well, which would make dropping you to preserve myself tolerably within the bounds of honor.¡±


    ¡°It would be murder,¡± Imani hissed. ¡°Killing a guest under the same roof.¡±


    ¡°Oh, not at all,¡± Angharad mildly replied. ¡°It would be ¡®allowing you to die¡¯, which most schrs agree falls under the more general category of circumstantial bloodshed.¡±


    Whatever it was Imani saw on her face, it had her cease kicking her legs. Wise.


    ¡°This is pointless,¡± the liar said. ¡°We both know you still need me.¡±


    The noblewoman dropped her by half an inch, Imani swallowing a scream.


    ¡°I have found another ufudu on the ind,¡± Angharad said. ¡°They could provide the same service.¡±


    Which was true, though the additional risks made Imani the better option. Not that Angharad intended to tell her that.


    ¡°What do you <em>want</em>, Tredegar?¡± Imani panted, looking queasy.


    ¡°The Ivory Library,¡± she said. ¡°Tell me everything you know about them.¡±


    The spyughed in scared disbelief.


    ¡°Really, <em>that¡¯s</em> what this is about? Abrascal¡¯s little problem?¡±


    To remind her of her situation, Angharad dipped her down slightly.


    ¡°My legs are starting to ache,¡± she informed Imani. ¡°It would be wise of you to wrap up this conversation before the pain grows intolerable or my fingers begin to sweat.¡±


    Imani paled.


    ¡°They¡¯re some kind of schrly society,¡± the liar said. ¡°Trying to figure out the nature of divinity by studying contracts that seem to break known rules.¡±


    ¡°Then why the interest in Tristan?¡± Angharad frowned.


    Song had mentioned his patron spirit was a frequent visitor, but surely that was not so unusual? Lesser spirits supposedly found such visitation easier than great ones, in some ways, given they were¡­ lighter in a metaphysical way, forck of better word.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Imani hissed. ¡°But he¡¯s hiding something, part of the report about him from the Dominion evaluators was sealed by the Krypteia.¡±


    ¡°Then how would its contents be known to anyone else?¡± Angharad frowned.


    ¡°He¡¯s a Scholomance student now, the Obscure Committee gets everything on the students no matter what the covenants want,¡± Imani replied through gritted teeth.


    Her face was flushed from the blood pooling there, Angharad noted. Her eyes were beginning to tear up as well.


    ¡°What else?¡± she pressed.


    ¡°You know the rest,¡± Imani hissed. ¡°They put a bounty on his head but they can¡¯t get involved in Tolomontera.¡±


    Angharad hummed. Perhaps that truly was all she knew. Another matter, then.


    ¡°Tozi Poloko,¡± she said.


    ¡°The daughter of a Sunflower Lord,¡± Imani grunted. ¡°From a consort, not a formal wife, but she was killing her way up the line of session so they forced her into the Watch.¡±


    Oh? That might exin why Tozi considered herself beholden to her family still. Did she hope to go back to Izcalli one day to take the title, or was it simply that escaping the kingdom hade at a price and renouncing the bargain would get her killed? It would not excuse her actions either way, but the noblewoman would admit to some curiosity.


    ¡°Izel Coyac,¡± Angharad ordered.


    ¡°All the Coyac sons serve in the army, but Izel broke a pact with a warrior society to flee abroad and enroll in the Watch,¡± Imani panted. ¡°He was going to be given back, but instead Doghead Coyac made some kind of deal and he was suddenly rmended for Scholomance.¡±


    Both endangered lives snatched away from the gallows at thest moment, Angharad thought. She could hazard a guess as to what sinister society had offered them salvation, and what price was now being asked of them for it. She felt a pang of sympathy, considering her own circumstances, but only a pang. Her next questions were anticipated.


    ¡°Kiran Agrawal did too well in courting tournaments, his parents stopped looking for a match and just sent him for the constion money,¡± Imani blurted. ¡°Barboza¡¯s family were nobles in a <em>sitiada</em> but it fell to a gue god and they became destitute exiles. That¡¯s all I know about the Eleventh, Tredegar, so <em>let me up</em>.¡±


    Angharad hummed. Her legs<em> were</em> beginning to throb, and her arm to shake. Imani was not heavy but neither was she light.


    She released her grip, just long enough for a scream of terror to bloom, then grabbed the ufudu with both hands and wrested her back behind the railing. She let Imani drop in a painful sprawl, taking back her walking stick and rolling her shoulder. Imani stayed on the ground for a long moment, eyes white and hands trembling.


    Was she imagining the strange glint in that gaze? Something like satisfaction, or perhaps vindication. She must be.


    ¡°Contact me when you have obtained means of transportation,¡± Angharad ordered.


    The noblewoman limped past the spy, feeling the weight of a hateful re resting on her back, and stopped at the head of the stairs.


    ¡°And do remember to pick up your pistol,¡± Angharad called out. ¡°Gunpowder is bad for the flowerbeds.¡±


    Feeling somewhat refreshed, she made her way down the stairs. A bit of a meal and then meeting the ambassador, she thought. Yet more intrigue to wash up the intrigue she had just drunk down.


    Her life really had too much cloak and too little dagger in it these days, Angharad mourned.


    --


    Dealing with Tupoc Xical was, Song had found, an ufortable bncing game.


    Give the man too much credence and attention and he would, without batting an eye, use them to draw you into pointless timewasting for his own entertainment. Given him too little, though, and he would make certain that you had missed something of importance by ignoring his caterwauling. Song had devised a working method to mitigate the risks, but it was admittedly somewhat inelegant.


    ¡°I have not yet struck you in the head, so there is no exnation for your wandering tongue,¡± she informed the Izcalli. ¡°Have you considered killing yourself and allowing your brigade to be led by a halfwaypetent officer instead?¡±


    Tupoc¡¯s eerily symmetrical face fell into a pout that, if disyed on a statue, Song would have called artless. Too even and therefore not quite passing as human.


    ¡°And to think I hade bearing gifts,¡± he said. ¡°Song, you wound me.¡±


    ¡°I wish,¡± Song replied, ¡°but there are simply too many witnesses in ck House.¡±


    Captain Imani coughed into her fist, not quite hiding her smirk.


    ¡°As we were discussing before this distraction,¡± the Mni said, ¡°I am amenable to Captain Song¡¯s suggestion that we share our reports and pool information to finish our contracts as swiftly as possible.¡±


    One, two. Answer Xical¡¯s dancing around with an open and blunt verbal attack that he either had to answer or y off, then let the third person at the table drag the conversation back on track as a form of de-esction. Tupoc didn¡¯t truly <em>want</em> to brawl at the negotiating table, not when he had nothing to gain from it, so he would let the redirection happen.


    Song just had to wildly escte every time he tried to be a nuisance, which while rather uncouth was oddly satisfying. That he seemed somewhat at a loss at how to deal with not being the most unreasonable person at the table only added to the attraction. Of course, it would beneath Song to be so taken with what was nothing but a measured negotiation tactic.


    Song Ren smiled in small, petty satisfaction at the pale-eyed Izcalli.


    ¡°My brigade has already finished their contract,¡± Tupoc said. ¡°What is there to gain for us? Besides, we already had a little talk along these lines a few days back. What worth is trading reports?¡±


    ¡°We shared only broad lines,¡± Captain Imani pointed out. ¡°We do not even know whosends you fought the dragon in, while Captain Song has remained painfully vague on the nature of the cult and conspiracy her brigade unearthed.¡±


    Song ignored the reproachful look from Imani at thetter part of the sentence. She had no obligation to entertain another captain¡¯s requests and receive nothing in return. As for the earlier part, about the location of the Ladonite dragon¡¯s death, Song had her suspicions. Xical had mentioned journeying through wheat fields for <em>day</em>s, and there were only so many noble holdings in Asphodel where such a thing was possible outside of Tratheke Valley.


    Tupoc smiled thinly at the Mni, as unmoved by the implied reproaches as Song was.


    ¡°Yes, it¡¯s a shame that even in her grief Alejandra can tell when she¡¯s being hit up for information, isn¡¯t it?¡± the Izcalli said. ¡°Between that and your secret meeting with Tredegar up on the roof, you might have avoided these talks entirely.¡±


    Song hastily smothered any hint of surprise at the mention of Angharad meeting Imani, then silently cursed when she saw Tupoc¡¯s lips twitch. She had not been quite quick enough.


    ¡°I would have preferred to simply obtain the information,¡± Captain Imani agreed without a hint of abashment, ¡°but that does not appear to be feasible. I havee to the belief that all our contracts ¨C and perhaps even the Neenth¡¯s ¨C are in some way connected. To share reports would allow us to put all the facts together.¡±


    ¡°And I repeat myself,¡± Tupoc said. ¡°Given that the Fourth has finished its own contract, what¡¯s in this for us?¡±


    Best nip that in the bud, the Tianxi thought. He had found a thread and would not cease picking at it until the weave broke, she could see it in that little gleeful look he¡¯d put on.


    ¡°Social obligation to pretend your presence is not physically repellent until the exchanges are finished,¡± Song told him. ¡°I might even feelpelled to feign some degree of grief at your funeral after you inevitably get yourself killed.¡±


    Tupoc narrowed his eyes at her, but Imani should be well schooled enough to¡­


    ¡°You are still on Asphodel for perhaps as long as two weeks,¡± Captain Imani told him. ¡°Given the very real possibility the Watch will get caught up the coup Captain Song warned us about, learning the details of what is toe seems the kind of precaution a wise captain would take.¡±


    Tupoc leaned back into his seat, tipping his chair backwards. Song resisted the urge to nudge it back and watch him topple onto the floor, no matter how satisfying it would be to watch.


    ¡°I¡¯ll have to think about it,¡± the Izcalli mused. ¡°Why, between your spying and Captain Song¡¯s endless train of insults I am unsure as to the untrustworthiness of my fellow captains. Of course, should an apology be given¡­¡±


    Given how pale eyes then turned to Song it was clear who he wanted that apology from. If there had been a good chance he¡¯d cooperate after receiving said apology, Song liked to think she would have forced herself to give it. As the chances were slim to none, she was spared that dilemma.


    ¡°I am sorry,¡± she replied instead, ¡°that I did not take the time to kill you on the Dominion and spare myself your continued presence on Vesper.¡±


    A beat passed, then he snorted.


    ¡°That almost offended me,¡± he praised, smirking as he rose to his feet. ¡°Not what I asked for, though. I will have to keep pondering whether the bargain¡¯s worth it for my brigade.¡±


    He stretched out his arms, cracking his shoulders to Song¡¯s twitch of distaste and Imani¡¯s appreciative look at the muscles on disy.


    ¡°But a parting gift for you lovelydies, as I did say I came bearing them,¡± Tupoc said. ¡°I got curious about what the Neenth Brigade is up to, you see.¡±


    Song cocked an eyebrow. She was as well, but trying to track down Hector Anaidon ¨C and failing, the man had apparently disappeared ¨C had taken up too much time for her to make a serious effort.


    ¡°And?¡±


    ¡°Tozi should have shaved her head fully,¡± he said, ¡°if she wanted to visit half the shrines in the city without anyone noticing it.¡±


    ¡°Shrines,¡± Imani said, honing on the same detail Song was. ¡°Not temples?¡±


    ¡°Only small gods,¡± Tupoc agreed. ¡°I wonder how that ties into them avoiding ck House like the gue?¡±


    Song was left to wonder whether the Neenth was pursuing shrines because the temples to the greater gods of Asphodel would be more closely watched, or because it was the lesser gods that were genuinely of interest. Hopefully when Tristan returned he would be able to shed some light on the matter since he was all but sure to have followed them.


    The two women remained seated in silence until Tupoc had finished strutting out of the room, leaving the door open behind him out of what Song assumed to be base pettiness.


    ¡°His lunacy would be significantly less tragic if he were not so pretty,¡± Captain Imani opined.


    Song turned a look of open disgust on her. You might as well ascribe good looks to a gunpowder barrel with some insults painted on. The Mni was only amused, and as the silence stretched out Song sighed and looked away.


    ¡°Why are you so intent in getting his reports?¡± Song asked. ¡°Trade between our own brigades might be enough to unearth most of what we need.¡±


    ¡°Because I have spent days and nights tearing through the theology of Asphodel and found frustratingly little matching the rituals out in the valley,¡± Captain Imani darkly replied. ¡°There are gods associated with the number six and gods associated with burying the dead, but none that are both. And you cannot have missed the timeline, either.¡±


    Song sighed but nodded. The hidden temple that the Fourth had stumbled upon had been robbed of a sacred artefact around when the ¡®Golden Ram¡¯ cult began expanding aggressively ¨C likely due to being taken over by another cult ¨C but also before the killings investigated by the Neenth began. Thetter facts, at least, could feasibly be linked. Someone was out there using a leashed entity tomit murders and the most sacred artefact of a dead god seemed a fine way to control its remnant.


    ¡°You think the artefact taken from the temple has something to do with your rituals,¡± Song stated.


    ¡°I even tried to match when we suspect rituals to have taken ce to the deaths investigated by the Neenth, but there was no noticeable pattern,¡± Captain Imani said. ¡°Not that my saying this means much when we have no idea how deaths went unnoticed. We know of at least three the lictors missed.¡±


    ¡°I have some interest in the nature of that sacred tool as well,¡± Song admitted. ¡°Though not half as much as in the details of the rituals you uncovered.¡±


    ¡°If he does not bite by tomorrow, we can trade between ourselves,¡± Imani replied, refusing the implied offer. ¡°I would rather have him in than out if that is possible.¡±


    Song raised an eyebrow.


    ¡°And the Neenth?¡± she probed.


    ¡°Captain Tozi is in the wind,¡± Imani shrugged. ¡°We can discuss cutting her in should she return, but until then¡­¡±


    The Tianxi watched the other woman and moment, then nodded. It would have to do. There was a risk the Neenth might be able to figure out where Tristan was from the Thirteenth¡¯s reports, broadly speaking, but Imani¡¯s implication she would not bring in Tozi Poloko and her aplices without first consulting Song seemed reliable enough.


    Lying over the matter would thoroughly burn any bridge between their brigades, and Tupoc¡¯s little jibe earlier seemed to indicate Imani Langa still had an eye on a member of the Thirteenth.


    ¡°Agreed,¡± Song said, rising to her feet. ¡°A pleasant afternoon to you, Captain Imani.¡±


    ¡°And you, Captain Song,¡± the dark-skinned woman smoothly replied.


    Song did not linger behind. Angharad would be leaving for Ambassador Gule¡¯s mansion within the hour and when she did Song would be following at a distance to keep an eye on theings and goings around said mansion ¨C as would Captain Wen. With any luck, it would help them put together a list of potential cult members.


    Song had already prepared her affairs for that, but returning to her room would involve surrendering herst excuse to avoid being in the presence of the two remaining letters so instead she kept walking down the hall and rapped her knuckles against Maryam¡¯s door. The Izvorica had spent all her time in her rooms since returning from the pce yesterday, save for meals and a single trip to the ck House library.


    A muffled shout bid her to enter and Song stepped into the room to find Maryam Khaimov bent over her writing desk, scribbling in the same journal she had used since her trip to the private archives. Her eyes were sunken fromck of sleep but she peered down at her journal with intense focus as themplight flickered. Her blue gaze rose but an instant, noticing Song and grunting at her to close the door.


    The Tianxi did, eyeing the two books sharing the writing desk with the journal as she crossed the room. One was open and set before Maryam, who nced at the neat writing inside periodically, while the other was closed and to the side. She hardly needed to look twice to know these must have been from the ck House stacks. Even though there were no rare forbidden books there, it hardly meant there would be nothing of use for a signifier.


    The Akrre Guild kept their precious secrets locked up tight, but while the Navigators were the only covenant to wield the Gloam they were hardly the only one to study it. The works Maryam could get her hands on here were no match for what she could borrow in a chapterhouse, but the schrship of the Peiling Society would still be of use ¨C and the signifier <em>was </em>using them.


    ¡°Ontological Dialectics, volume three,¡± Song read on the spine of the closed book as she grabbed a chair from across to the room to sit facing Maryam. ¡°Were the first two not stirring enough a read?¡±


    The pale-skinned woman snorted, setting aside her steel tip pen and blowing at the fresh ink on her journal page.


    "The first two books busy themselves with generalities,¡± Maryam replied. ¡°Practical experiments are only found in the annex, which is thest section of the third volume.¡±


    ¡°Experiments?¡± Song leadingly said.


    ¡°On retention rates,¡± Maryam replied.


    She flipped the book she had open Song¡¯s way, letting the Tianxi glimpse at pages. The contents were halfway between a mathematical equation and sheer gibberish, cleanly written lines with numbers and symbols intermixed with terms like ¡®logotic saturation¡¯ and ¡®observational solipsism¡¯. The measure in use was called an <em>intero</em>, a term she vaguely remembered being one of the few Second Empire base units that¡¯d not continued to be used across the old imperial territories after the fall of Liergan.


    ¡°What does an <em>intero</em> measure, if I might ask?¡± Song asked.


    ¡°The intersection of a unit of Grasp and Command as wielded by an average practitioner,¡± Maryam recited. "Only the Second Empire was never able to figure out there is such a thing as inherent Gloam density ¨C that some currents of Gloam are naturally heavier than others ¨C so the unit is basically worthless for anything remotely precise.¡±


    ¡°But it is still useful to measure a general direction,¡± Song tried, more or less following.


    Maryam nodded.


    ¡°So a generality is what you are seeking to rify, then.¡±


    The Izvorica passed a hand through her matted, almost oily hair. How long since she had washed it? Maybe since Tristan left, the captain though.


    ¡°My question is whether it¡¯s possible to cheat my way past logotic saturation principles by relying on solipsistic metaphysics,¡± Maryam said.


    Song silently raised an eyebrow.


    ¡°Gloam suspends the rules of the Material wherever it is dominant,¡± Maryam said. ¡°Observational solipsism is the theory that Gloam can do this because its fundamental property is that it is ¡®unobserved¡¯, only leaving its original state of being everything-and-nothing when beheld. Like a liquid that bes a solid whenever looked at.¡±


    Song¡¯s eyebrow rose even higher. Maryam sighed.


    ¡°My logos is a waterskin that can only hold so much water,¡± she said. ¡°But if I put out the lights before filling it, since no one can see what happens in the dark will the world forget what the limits of the waterskin are?¡±


    Song hummed.


    ¡°<em>Will</em> it?¡± she asked, genuinely curious.


    ¡°Signs point to yes,¡± Maryam said. ¡°But also that a portion of that cheat water will evaporate when the lights are lit again. I have been trying to calcte howrge that portion would be, but with the sources I have at hand it¡¯s like¡­ trying to multiply a cat by the future price of scissors.¡±


    Song paused.


    ¡°Where are the scissors being sold?¡± she asked, putting on a serious face.


    ¡°You think you¡¯re so funny, don¡¯t you?¡± Maryamined.


    ¡°Of course not,¡± Song lied, lips twitching.


    She then turned the book back Maryam¡¯s way.


    ¡°So what is the water in that earlier metaphor?¡± she asked. ¡°What do you intend to fill your logotic waterskin with?¡±


    There was a beat of silence then Maryam¡¯s face closed. She must be tired indeed, Song thought, to be so unsubtle.


    ¡°In getting rid of the parasite afflicting me, I might be able to make a few gains,¡± Maryam casually said.


    Too casually. Song¡¯s eyes narrowed.


    ¡°That is quite a bit of preparation work for a ¡®might¡¯,¡± she noted, gesturing at the writing desk.


    ¡°I should make the most of it when ites,¡± Maryam dismissed. ¡°Finite chances and all that.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve yet to answer my question,¡± Song said. ¡°What does ¡®water¡¯ stand for here?¡±


    ¡°The parasite absorbed memories of a few of my people¡¯s rites,¡± she replied. ¡°I would have them back.¡±


    Song looked at her for a long time, stomach clenching. It had begun so lightly, this talk, but now¡­


    ¡°You are lying to me,¡± she said.


    Maryam scowled.


    ¡°I am not-¡±


    ¡°Saturation,¡± Song cut through. ¡°I am no theist, but I understand what <em>that </em>word means. You are trying to drink enough memories that it would strain the capacity of your logos and you want to rely on ritual to get around that limit. That does not sound like a <em>few</em> rites to me, Maryam.¡±


    Or, for that matter, something that could be done without damaging your own mind. As Song had said she was no theist, but force-feeding your own logos like a goose did not strike her as the safest of decisions.


    ¡°It is my inheritance,¡± Maryam defensively said. ¡°Mine to do with as I will.¡±


    <em>Rights are not my concern</em>, Song thought. <em>Last time you consumed part of the parasite, it nearly killed you and made your soul fragile as ss.</em> But she could see it in the way Maryam¡¯s chin was tucked, that the stubbornness had already set in. That she was tossing her worries at a mountainside.


    ¡°How much knowledge is there really?¡± Song quietly asked.


    The Izvorica grit her teeth.


    ¡°A lot,¡± she said. ¡°Leave it at that.¡±


    Song worried her lip.


    ¡°Keeper of Hooks,¡± she finally said, halfway guessing. ¡°It is one of the titles the parasite imed, when it intervened to save my life. You never told me what it means.¡±


    ¡°That is a private matter,¡± Maryam scowled.


    ¡°A private matter that has ties to what you are nning up in the pce,¡± Song pressed.


    ¡°Would that make it any less private?¡± Maryam retorted.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Song said. ¡°If you are using the Thirteenth¡¯s contract with the throne to enact this¡­ ritual you are nning, then it has implications for all of us.¡±


    Maryam slowly, measuredly, closed her journal.


    ¡°You are returning to the pce tonight,¡± Song continued. ¡°Muchter than usual. How much is the investigation and how much this ritual?¡±


    When blue eyes met silver, Song almost shivered ¨C it was as if she were looking into ice.


    ¡°I kept quiet as Tredegar dabbled in treason,¡± Maryam evenly said. ¡°I kept my mouth shut as you let yourself leveraged, let yourself be <em>physically beaten</em> by a pack of crazed revolutionaries. Even when Tristan murdered an officer of the Watch and began scheming to knock off an entire cabal, I stayed silent. Because personal matters are exactly that.¡±


    Song swallowed.


    ¡°And now,¡± Maryam quietly said, ¡°now that I try to settle an old debt ¨C without it costing anyone else anything, without making a mess and murdering, <em>now</em> you act as if some line has been crossed?¡±


    She leaned forward.


    ¡°Is that what you are saying, Song?¡± Maryam asked.


    Part of her already knew there was no good end to this conversation. That she¡¯d already hit the reef and all that sailing forward would achieve was ramming it deeper into the hull. But she had to <em>try</em>.


    ¡°I am saying,¡± Song replied, ¡°that I am <em>concerned </em>at your decision. That you are visibly exhausted and that thest time you tried something like this it nearly killed you.¡±


    ¡°It didn¡¯t,¡± Maryam denied. ¡°I did it again down there, in the shipyard, and suffered no worse than a migraine for it. I figured it out, Song. How I can use this ce to help me.¡±


    ¡°Saturation,¡± Song echoed again. ¡°Tell me you aren¡¯t being reckless, Maryam, and I will believe you. Swear to me to you are not putting yourself at risk and-¡±


    ¡°<em>There is no safe way to wield the fucking Gloam, Song</em>,¡± the pale-skinned woman shouted. ¡°Or to do what I need to do. Just like there¡¯s no safe way to cozy up to the Yellow Earth and a king at the same time.¡±


    She let it sting, let it sink, let it pass. Hand on the chisel.


    ¡°So you will be risking your life,¡± Song said. ¡°Why? Why <em>now</em>? You could wait until we return to Tolomontera, where Captain Yue can help you.¡±


    ¡°Because I won¡¯t have another opportunity like this,¡± Maryam bit back. ¡°You don¡¯t get it, Song. It¡¯s not just finally matching my Grasp and Command, although that¡¯d be reason enough. I found a filter to put between me and the memories, one strong enough I could look for decades and not find a better one. I will not get a chance like this again.¡±


    ¡°Why do you need a filter, Maryam?¡± Song pressed. ¡°What is so urgent?¡±


    ¡°Because it could be the difference between losing two thirds and losing half,¡± Maryam said. ¡°Maybe even just a third, if I¡¯m lucky. I could try this again in Tolomontera, maybe, but the results would be overwhelmingly worse. I will never be able to keep so much the Cauldron as I can here.¡±


    ¡°The Cauldron?¡± Song pressed.


    ¡°My people¡¯s knowledge,¡± Maryam replied through gritted teeth. ¡°Centuries of it.¡±


    Song paused.


    ¡°And you would risk destroying half of it?¡± she asked, honestly taken aback.


    ¡°As opposed to the<em> nothing</em> I currently hold?¡± Maryam mocked. ¡°Even if I got only a hundredth it would still be worth it. And it won¡¯te to that, anyway. The shade has a soul, it¡¯s stable and I can make it even more stable. That will stem some of the bleeding.¡±


    ¡°So it does have a soul,¡± Song said.


    As she had glimpsed that day, when it saved her life. Maryam curtly nodded.


    ¡°Thank you for informing me,¡± she visibly forced herself to say. ¡°That knowledge made my ritual much more feasible.¡±


    ¡°It sounds,¡± Song slowly said, ¡°as if you are nning to ritually murder a soul for knowledge.¡±


    ¡°I am killing a thief to take my stolen inheritance back,¡± Maryam coldly said. ¡°What of it?¡±


    ¡°This does not sound like you,¡± Song tried. ¡°You are no pacifist, but ritual murder?¡±


    ¡°Then you don¡¯t know me at all,¡± Maryam Khaimov bit out.


    Recognizing the dead end, Song bit her tongue.


    ¡°How dangerous will it be?¡± she asked instead.


    ¡°As much as it needs to be,¡± Maryam tly replied.


    ¡°Reckless, then,¡± Song said, but there was not even a flicker of doubt in those blue eyes.


    Maryam wasn¡¯t hearing her. Maybe¡­


    ¡°Perhaps you can wait until Tristan re-¡±


    ¡°Tristan Abrascal,¡± Maryam hissed, ¡°is not my father.¡±


    Song flinched. That had been a mistake.


    ¡°Do you know how I can tell?¡± Maryam harshly said. ¡°Because I watched my father wither to death in his sickbed, Song, then watched again as the Mni swept over my home like a tide of locusts - iming they¡¯d inherited<em></em>Volcesta from him.¡±


    The signifier¡¯s fists clenched, oily darkness billowing around them.


    ¡°Thieves,¡± she said. ¡°Just like the parasite who stole Mother¡¯s gift and sent her spiraling into the worst of her madness. And I am done letting thieves liverge off the bones of my family, Song. I am <em>fucking done.</em>¡±


    Song pushed her chair, some primal instinct in the back of her head fearing the sight of the darkness dripping from Maryam¡¯s grip and staining the table.


    ¡°Tonight I trap it,¡± she said. ¡°The day after that I¡¯ll kill it, and atst some of my ghosts will beid to rest.¡±


    ¡°Are you really willing to kill yourself over this?¡± Song bit back.


    ¡°No,¡± Maryam Khaimov harshly smiled, ¡°but I am entirely willing to murder. Now get out, Song ¨C I am done humoring the moral authority of someone who can¡¯t be bothered to decide what side they¡¯re on.¡±


    She swallowed. That¡­ it would have been nothing,ing from someone else, but from Maryam? It cut deeper than she would have thought.


    ¡°Close the door behind you,¡± Maryam said, and flipped her journal back open.


    She dipped her pen into the inkwell and Song swallowed again. The dismissal stung almost as much as the words. She ambled to the door, feeling lost, but what could she do save leave? Her feet took her to her room and she sat on the chair at her own writing desk. Staring down at the two letters remaining. Fingers trembling, she unfolded the first.


    A date, a ce, a time. The Yellow Earth demanded her presence tomorrow.


    She set down the summons, breathed in, and cracked open the seal on the other. It was not long, and the hand that had written it was not yet practiced. More specifically it was not practiced in using Cathayan characters, careful but still rough calligraphy strokes addressing Song in her own native tongue.


    <em>We both have our duties, I knew that from the start. It stings, but not as much as you disappearing from my days. Meet me again just the two of us.</em> And beneath that was a line from one of her favorite poems by Lady Zong¡¯s, ¡®Farewell of Lovers¡¯. <em>To part in joy, summer¡¯s sorrow. </em>He¡¯d left the following line unwritten. <em>To part strangers, on wintry roads.</em>


    Evander would rather mourn her departure in joy than remember as a distant stranger.


    Song shakily breathed out, fingers twitching to crumple the message but immediately she regretted the impulse and almost obsessively smoothed it out. She put the paper down before she could make more of a fool of herself. Maryam had been right about one thing, at least.


    This would be easier if Song still knew what side she was on.

 Chapter 63

    Chapter 63


    Angharad went dressed in men¡¯s clothes: hose and a doublet under a long coat with a tricorn pulled down as far as she could, her hair bundled up. There was no hiding the walking stick, but being let into Lord Gule of Bezan¡¯s mansion through the servant entrance ought to keep most eyes off her.


    As the ambassador of the Kingdom of Mn the older noble had been assignedrge and luxurious quarters near the heart of the Collegium, the upper levels of the edifice a series of well-lit galleries of brass and ss that were as beautiful viewing from as viewed. Angharad, however, was not led to those salons and windows. Silent liveried servants bid her in then led her through empty kitchens and a well-stockedrder. At the end of it a heavy door needed unlocking and in the cold room beyond waited two men.


    Lord Gule of Bezan was richly butfortably dressed, in pale gray-and-orange silks with a hand on his sculpted cane ¨C a length of smooth, polished sandalwood. That stick was likely worth as much as all the clothes on her back, Angharad idly thought. Lord Gule inclined his head in greeting, ushering her through the door with a simple gesture.


    His attendant, stone-faced Jabni, was seated on a stool with a te and a stick of charcoal on hisp ¨C an indication he was here as ufudu and not a servant, for none worth the name would have sat when their master stood.


    ¡°Lady Angharad,¡± Lord Gule said, putting his hearing horn to his ear. ¡°I am pleased to see you again so soon.¡±


    ¡°And you, my lord,¡± she replied. ¡°I know we discussed meeting anew after the feast, but¡­¡±


    ¡°But you cleverly made your way in using that orphanage opening,¡± the older man praised. ¡°I take from your presence that you did find something.¡±


    ¡°The very device you sent me to look for,¡± she agreed.


    ¡°That remains to be seen,¡± Jabni said, eyes unreadable. ¡°I have questions. You will answer.¡±Angharad swallowed her distaste at theck of courtesy and curtly nodded.


    ¡°What pattern did the gilding disy?¡± the ufudu asked.


    She blinked. There had been no gilding, what did he ¨C ah. He was trying to trap her, to verify if she had truly seen an infernal forge. Insulting, but the Lefthand House lived in a world without honor.


    ¡°There was none,¡± Angharad replied. ¡°And this will be quicker if I describe the device instead of dance through your traps, so I shall.¡±


    Lord Gule covered a yawn with his hand, or perhaps a smile. She described the infernal forge as well as she could from memory, the ufudu not interrupting, but it could not be so easy at that. He still asked further questions afterwards. Three, all traps, though thisst one she might in truth have answered mistakenly had she not studied the device closely enough.


    ¡°The surface was so thickly covered with cryptoglyphs it almost seemed smooth from a distance,¡± she told the spy.


    Jabni slowly nodded, making a note on the te. He then looked down on it, breathed in slowly and wiped it clean before exhaling.


    ¡°I am satisfied,¡± the ufudu said, rising to his feet. ¡°Lord Gule, the matter is now entirely in your hands. I see no need for myself or the House to have further involvement.¡±


    The older man nodded back pleasantly, and to her surprise Jabni sketched the barest of bows when passing her on his way out of the room. Her brow rose, drawing the ambassador¡¯s eye.


    ¡°Jabni has a suspicious mind, as befitting a man of his duties, but he is not unreasonable,¡± Lord Guleughed. ¡°Infernal forges are rare and depictions of them almost as, so such a detailed description is unlikely toe from anything but your own eyes.¡±


    ¡°He did not ask where the hidden room is in the house,¡± she said.


    Lord Gule snorted.


    ¡°Beneath it, no doubt, as are most in this rat¡¯s warren of a capital,¡± he said. ¡°Besides, we are¡­¡±


    He paused, pawing at his silks and producing a golden watch whose ticking was nearly noiseless.


    ¡°Nearly runningte,¡± Lord Gule finished. ¡°He may have further questions for you, but a written ount will be enough ¨C and at a time where it will not dy us.¡±


    She cocked her head to the side.


    ¡°Dy us, my lord?¡±


    Lord Gule nced at the servant still holding the door open and the man bowed before gesturing to someone out of sight. A young girl bearing antern offered them both a curtsy before stepping into the cold room, slipping past the izinduna and walking to the back wall to pull at what turned out to be a steeltch hidden behind stacked stalks of celery. Threetches slid to the side, one after the other, and then a door popped open. A hidden door, behind whichy stairs.


    <em>Again</em>?


    ¡°Did you think I received you in the cold room to keep the hamspany?¡± the ambassador drily asked.


    Ancestors, she thought. Did every mansion in this misbegotten capital have a hidden passage of some sort? Thentern girl took the lead, gliding down the stairs as Angharad and Lord Gule followed. The older noble was in a fine mood, and a talkative one.


    ¡°Under thete Archeleans there was a craze of hidden rooms in the Collegium and the southwestern ward, which at the time was where most nobles dwelled,¡± Lord Gule told her. ¡°They fell out of favor during the Ataxia, as they became the favored tool of assassins to enter mansions.¡±


    Ah. Yes, that<em> would</em> tamp down on the enthusiasm some.


    ¡°But not this one?¡± she asked.


    ¡°It leads only to what I suspect was a room dedicated to concubinage,¡± Lord Gule said, ¡°so they never bothered. Digging a passage from there to the tunnels beneath the city took my staff several months.¡±


    No doubt more out of the need for discretion than physical difficulty, Angharad mused. The room at the bottom of the stairs was much as advertised, essentially arge bedroom though it currently stripped of any furniture. It also disyed with a gaping hole in a Tratheke brass wall, the presumed path forward.


    Through there thentern girl led them through a cramped tunnel angled slightly downwards, dug through stone and emerging into an underground passage not unlike a hallway. For five minutes they walked through the dark, until they emerged what should be¡­ west of the mansion, at a guess, but far below? Water must be close, for there was a sense of dampness to the cool here.


    Her suspicions proved correct, as at the end of the hall a smokelessmp hung over a narrow canal of dark water. An even narrower boat waited there, tied to a ring of steel nailed into the ground. It had two seats and a paddle waiting across them. Angharad¡¯s eyes strayed to a crate under themp, on which two brown hooded cloaks and two pairs of deerskin gloves were neatly folded.


    ¡°I took the liberty to prepare clothing for you as well,¡± Lord Gule informed her. ¡°Though I¡¯m afraid I will have to prevail on you to bring us to our destination.¡±


    Angharad silently inclined her head, smothering her excitement. Hoods and gloves? There were only so many reasons for Gule to seek to hide their faces and hands. The cloak was of fine make and the gloves delightfully soft. Angharad stepped onto the boat first, taking the paddle, and watched as the servant girl helped the ambassador down onto the other seat before passing him thentern and withdrawing.


    ¡°Forward,¡± Lord Gule instructed her. ¡°Ours is the easiest of all the routes, a straight line to the shrine.¡±


    There was a faint current to the water, headed the same way they were, so Angharad hardly needed to do a thing to propel them across the water. A droplet sshed on her face revealed, to her surprise, that the wet was not cold but lukewarm. Odd, given the coolness down here. The islet of light cast by thentern felt fragile, but Lord Gule¡¯s continuing volubility propped it up.


    ¡°The ceremony we are to attend takes ce every lunar month ¨C the Coral Moon, that is,¡± he specified. ¡°While the red crescent can no longer be seen from Asphodel, it was above the ind during much of the Second Empire and it is believed that in a century and a half it will begin to journey back towards Tratheke.¡±


    Angharad nodded as if she had understood. She had never heard of the Coral Moon, and the few moons she <em>was</em> familiar with were much closer to Mn. Save for the Leviathan¡¯s Tear, anyhow, which was the guiding light for sailing journeys to the westernnds if you knew how to see it - which precious few save the captains of Mn did.


    ¡°Am I to take from the hoods that initiates keep their faces hidden even from each other?¡± she asked.


    ¡°To some degree,¡± Lord Gule replied. ¡°The most prominent among the cult have long been guessed at, including myself, and to lead or openly participate in the ceremony one must reveal their face. The small nobles and officials clutch their secrets, but it is difficult to rise to prominence without ceding some hints.¡±


    ¡°So there are ranks,¡± Angharad probed. ¡°Means to rise.¡±


    ¡°Not yet initiated and already so ambitious,¡± the ambassador teased, but he sounded pleased.


    Angharad dipped her head, feigning abashment, but he only chuckled.


    ¡°Most of the society are mere pawns,¡± Lord Gule said, ¡°and know nothing of the mysteries save a few signs to recognize each other and the promise of power toe. Your attendance to the ceremony will make of you an initiate, one who glimpsed the powers wielded but works under a head of the cult.¡±


    A pause.


    ¡°I am one such head, and you will naturally be employed at my discretion.¡±


    She did not hide her surprise.


    ¡°You stand high in the ranks.¡±


    ¡°Not so high as you think,¡± Lord Gule warned her. ¡°The five heads hold great sway, but ours is a power earthly. We have authority because of means and influence, because we are needed for the advancement of the society¡¯s schemes. That is, I fear, temporary authority. The true power lies with the priesthood, the officiants of the spirit, and their master who founded the cult and still leads it.¡±


    Angharad hid her thrill. Atst, progress! Learning the identity of that master as well as that of the mentioned five heads should see the Thirteenth¡¯s contract to the throne discharged. There was finally a clear path out of the mire.


    ¡°He is known as the lesiast,¡± the ambassador added, perhaps anticipating the question. ¡°I met him only once and do not know his true name, for pains were taken to hide his identity.¡±


    Even a title, now. <em>The lesiast</em>. She almost rolled her eyes at the pretentiousness.


    ¡°Will he be in attendance?¡± Angharad asked.


    ¡°Such rites are beneath him,¡± Lord Gule scoffed. ¡°His acolytes attend in his stead, priests one and all ¨C though their priesthood is by virtue of the spirit¡¯s favor and not genuine virtue. None I have seen would be fit to serve the Sleeping God.¡±


    Though she did not turn, Angharad could feel the weight of his eyes on her back.


    ¡°I expect you will recognize some of those attending and perhaps be recognized by them in turn, despite our precautions,¡± the izinduna said. ¡°Discretion will be paramount in this matter.¡±


    She nodded silently.


    ¡°Good,¡± Lord Gule muttered. ¡°We are nearly there, so mind your hood.¡±


    Angharad saw nothing that separated the dark stretch of canal she was guiding them through from any other, but there must have been some mark for the older man proved right: the canal abruptly ended, leading into some kind ofrge underground reservoir. At its heart was an ind, as if a cluster of basalt had grown out of the water like a mushroom, and atop that rocky shore stood a worn shrine.


    It had neither doors nor walls, steps roughly hewn into the basalt leading up to driftwood columns holding up arge, thick square roof that seemed made up entirely of broken wood. Masts, oars and spears, shattered prows and painted idols. Dull, warmmps were strewn all over the shore and inside the shrine. They cast the shadows of the small boats moored by the dozen and of the quiet assembly standing within the shrine. At least three dozen were there, in hooded cloaks ranging from vivid red to a gray so dark it came close to infringing on the rights of the Watch regarding ck cloaks.


    Angharad guided her boat to one of the empty stretches on the shore, wincing as she got onto the stone with uncertain legs. She was passed her walking stick by Lord Gule and leaned on it long enough to tie the boat to a thick figurehead of bronze and help the older noble onto the shore. They werete in theing, she saw, but not thest: there were two more boats out in the water, torchlight heralding their approach.


    As Lord Gule began the walk to the shrine, she lingered a moment to take a sniff of the air. Frowning she knelt by the shore, angling herself to hide her hand within her cloak while she took off a glove and dipped a finger in the water before bringing to her nose. It truly was salt water; she was not going mad. Was this ce somehow connected to the Trebian Sea? She <em>had </em>been wondering where all the water of the Tratheke canals came from, given that no river fed the city.


    Angharad put the glove back on and pushed herself up. Her eyes went to the driftwood shrine, and she wondered if there might not be another exnation for the waters here turning from fresh to salt. Powerful spirits, the elders of their kind, could change the world around them merely by being. <em>The Golden Ram does not have such power</em>, she thought. <em>It did not even at its height. So who is it that rules here?</em>


    She followed behind Lord Gule, standing in his shadow as a retainer would, but under the hood her gaze swept the ce. It was only a moment before she entered the shrine that she noticed it ¨C a bit of pale in the roof of broken wood, easily mistaken for one of the painted idols.


    A skull. A human skull, and now that she knew what to look for she saw others. Scattered bones among ruined wood, at least several men¡¯s worth. She shivered and forced herself to follow Lord Gule without further dy, for already some hooded faces had turned her way. She came to stand by the izinduna¡¯s side, among a line of quietly murmuring figures all facing the heart of the shrine: a polished stone floor, at the heart of which forged chains held down a single prisoner.


    And that prisoner was not a man.


    The Golden Ram, for what else could this be, was aptly named: a great horned sheep with a golden mane, twice the size of a warhorse. But though the sight of that spirit out in the wilds would have been a fearsome thing, down here in the ancient shrine it was¡­ Sad, almost. It was bound in chains of forged silver and deep glinting spikes were driven deep into its sides, but Angharad could see it had been sick even before that.


    The spirit was malformed, with a leg that ended in a stump and another shriveled like a twig. Its coat had the luster of gold, but rivulets of rust-like ichor dripped down from its wounds and peeled away both coat and skin with them. Itsrge, curved horns were fully formed but a wound had clipped one and broken it, showing they were hollow inside. Like empty shells.


    The Golden Ram barely breathed; its eyes closed as ity on the stone floor marked with a mess of ovepping circles that all surrounded it. Boundaries, she remembered from her Theology ss. They would not stop it walking it out, were it healthy, but they would muddle and diffuse its power.


    ¡°It is no pretty sight, I will grant,¡± Lord Gule murmured, leaning her way.


    ¡°I have never before seen a spirit so misshapen,¡± Angharad replied as quietly. ¡°Is it¡­ healthy?¡±


    She got an incredulous look from the ambassador and coughed into her fist.


    ¡°Beyond the obvious wounds,¡± she borated.


    ¡°Ah,¡± Lord Gule said. ¡°Well caught. The spirit did note to be in a proper way, I am told. Our fellows caught it as a middling thing, granting small boons and barebones contracts, and used the properties of the local aether to force it to manifest physically.¡±


    <em>They made cattle to bleed</em>, Angharad thought, keeping her disgust off her face even under the hood. It was one thing for a Redeemer like Lord Gule to be indifferent at the sight before him, but that was not the faith she kept to. Evil done onto spirits was still evil, for all that their nature was not that of men.


    ¡°The society keeps to a greater patron,¡± she probed.


    Lord Gule smiled approvingly.


    ¡°You will see soon enough,¡± he whispered back. ¡°The taste of health we gave you is the least of it.¡±


    He then gestured for silence, however, as thest attending had arrived. Thest three figures hurried up the stairs under the silent disapproving stares of most everyone else, their bodynguage embarrassed even under the cloaks. It appeared that even in murderous spirit cults punctuality was expected, Angharad amusedly thought. With thest finding a ce in one of the rows facing the inside of the shrine, a hush fell over the assembly and even whispers died out.


    The line of becloaked cultists in the back of the shrine parted to allow through another figure, one that did not hide her face and had Angharad stiffening in surprise. While the usual ttering dress and stylings had been traded for a simple cloth robe and sculpted bronze bracelets, there was no mistaking that face and figure.


    ¡°You who stand in the hall of the Odyssean,¡± Lady Doukas spoke in a resonant voice, ¡°<em>kneel</em>.¡±


    It took a heartbeat for Angharad to adjust to the sight of the flirtatiousdy Tristan had caught having a tryst in a closet during a banquet with the solemn priestess now standing before her. Long enough that Lord Gule tugged at her cloak and she hastily knelt by his side, leaning on her cane. Only when all had knelt did Lady Doukas speak again.


    ¡°The Cunning King receives your submission,¡± she announced. ¡°All may rise.¡±


    Angharad swallowed a grunt of pain as she did, having leant on her knees a little too much today. Still, there was no helping it. She had already learned much and the ceremony had yet to even begin. Sleeping God, Lady Doukas? The noblewoman had been one of the suspects on the original list, it was true, but Angharad had all but dismissed her. The admittedly handsome older woman seemed a lot more interested in bedding young men than anything conspirational.


    The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Less so now, simply dressed but with a dim sense of power rolling off her in waves. It caught the eye almost like a naked me, beckoning and searing all at once.


    ¡°We gather here beneath the lights of Tratheke to remember the original truth of Asphodel,¡± Lady Doukas said. ¡°That which was forged in death can only through death be preserved.¡±


    <em>Only through death</em>, around half the assembly echoed. Lord Gule did not, the way he stood beneath his cloak hinting at a certain distaste for the ritual. A Redeemer like him, Angharad thought, would find this entire affair to smack a little too much of religion. Spirits could be bargained with, but they should never be worshipped. In this, they shared opinion.


    ¡°There are none in thisnd who can resist the might of the Odyssean,¡± the priestess, for that was what she must be, told the assembly. ¡°Behold before you the Golden Ram, a god chained and bled. Behold now the de of the Cunning King, and how it carves even the divine.¡±


    Lady Doukas gestured at cultists behind her and a pair carried forward a cushion on which rested the aforementioned de. Angharad had expected a cuss, the kind of pirate lord the likes of which Odyssean had been in life might wield, but instead what was brought into the light ofmps was a sickle. Bronze, with a dull handle but a gleaming curved de.


    She frowned. Since when was the sickle a symbol of the Odyssean? Much less one without any ornaments. Maryam had spoken gemstone eyes and the ancient spirit¡¯s hoard of treasures, but never of such a in de.


    ¡°Let the daring step forward,¡± Lady Doukas called out, ¡°and wield their ambition as a de. Let the worthye into the gaze of the Odyssean. Who will answer the call?¡±


    There was heartbeat of hesitation, then a silhouette stepped out of the row to Angharad¡¯s left. Another two had begun to move, but just a breath toote. The figure in a roughspun cloak of wool took two steps towards the smiling priestess, whose smile broadened when the man pulled back his hood and revealed his face to the entire assembly. Angharad breathed in sharply.


    ¡°I will,¡± Lord Cleon Eirenos replied.


    Her heart clenched. She had hoped, even knowing now that his contracted patron was the spirit worshipped by the cult, that he would not be part of this. But the chance had always been slight.


    ¡°Honored be Cleon Eirenos,¡± Lady Doukas said, smiling in something like triumph. ¡°He who stands young among you, but long in the care of the Cunning King. Never before has he asked favor, only giving faithful service.¡±


    <em>Honored be</em>, the crowd sang back. The hooded attendant stepped up to Lord Cleon, offering up the sickle, and the young lord deftly took up the de from the cushion. Cleon Eirenos was a huntsman, Angharad knew, and skilled with a de. She did not believe him a cruel man by nature and when he moved it was with care and precision.


    It still left an ugly taste in the mouth watching him cut into the helpless spirit¡¯s side.


    The Golden Ram¡¯s flesh parted without resistance and the sickle¡¯s de came away red. After Cleon drew away Lady Doukas knelt by the bound spirit with a wooden cup and captured the fat, rusty droplets that bled. The Ram never even stirred. The priestess then raised the cup for all to see, smiling ecstatically.


    ¡°Cleon Eirenos cut a god for his ambition,¡± Lady Doukas said, ¡°and the god bled. Name now the price of the ichor, honored Cleon.¡±


    The young lord¡¯s face hardened.


    ¡°The life of Theofania Varochas, of the Meda¡¯s Rock Varochas,¡± he coldly said. ¡°I grant my share to the Odyssean, that he may share this death with me.¡±


    Angharad tensed, for in the moment that followed wind billowed sharply across the temple. Lamps flickered, and on the air was the faint sound of screams and shing arms. Only instead of the clean, burning scent of salt Angharad caught something like¡­ rot? A sickly-sweet reek, and also a whiff of the smell of wet earth. She had to keep her hood in ce with a gloved hand, and when she could spare attention again she saw that the sickle in Cleon¡¯s hand was now bare of red and half the ichor in the cup was gone.


    ¡°The price was epted,¡± Lady Doukas announced. ¡°Death will find your enemy.¡±


    The crowd exhaled, Angharad among them, and Cleon set the sickle back down on the cushion. He kept his hood down, as if disdainful of secrecy, and returned to the side. Lady Doukasunched into a sermon exalting the might and virtues of the Odyssean, but Angharad felt too sick in the stomach to listen<em>. Never before had he asked favor</em>, Lady Doukas had imed.


    Was this on her head? This ceremony appeared to be some kind of¡­ death ritual, sacrificing ichor to the Odyssean to buy the death of one¡¯s enemies in what could not be called anything but a form of murder. Yet Cleon, who must have known of this for years, had never before made such a sacrifice. Was it because of the humiliation Angharad had allowed to be inflicted on herself at the Eirenos manor?


    She had known he felt trapped by his unwanted suitor, by the way the neighboring nobles were hemming him in, but to ask for that girl¡¯s head was¡­ She had attacked him first, Angharad reminded herself. Not by wielding a de at him, but it was no less an attack to chase away all his potential matches and try to impose herself as a wife. It had all begun long before any Tredegar knew this isle, years ago.


    And yet she could not shake the feeling it was her deception under his roof that had led him to this¡­ threshold of decision. This mistake. <em>Dishonor bringing only further dishonor.</em>


    But Angharad had her duty, and wallowing in guilt was not it. She must try to find if any of the other heads were in attendance, or even other priests with bare faces. She eyed the crowd carefully as Lady Doukas continued exhorting them, finding that while there were some matching cloaks like hers and Lord Gule¡¯s none of the silhouettes under them stood out recognizably.


    She could guess at gender from height and shoulder width, but only that. Perhaps someone who better knew the grandees of the court might be able to, but how might they¡­ Angharad breathed in sharply, and sunk into her contract. She did not stay long in the vision, just long enough to take a long look at the crowd around her.


    It would be enough to fix the sight perfectly in her memory.


    There was a shiver of cold on the nape of her neck when she let the contractpse, almost like the Fisher wasughing against the skin. An unsettling thought, and she was d to that Lady Doukas¡¯ sermon did not go on much longer ¨Cwhat followed demanded her full attention, stopping her from thinking too much about what that distant satisfaction that echoed truly meant.


    ¡°Only the chosen may stand in this holy ce,¡± Lady Doukas reminded the crowd with a smile. ¡°The most beloved and trusted hands of the Odyssean, those who will rule when the hour of our triumphes.¡±


    The smile widened.


    ¡°And that hour,¡± she purred, ¡°has grown near.¡±


    A breathless, excited shiver ran through the assembly. Even Angharad, who was here to see these traitors pped in chains, felt a strange joy rise in her. A feeling like when the de cut into flesh at the perfect angle, like¡­ leaping into the dark andnding on solid ground. The reservoir had been still as a grave before, but now there was a faint breeze and she thought she heard wavespping at the shore of the ind. <em>The spirit is here</em>, she thought with dread. <em>Or at least its attention</em>.


    ¡°Our brethren in the rector¡¯s pce have sent word,¡± Lady Doukas said. ¡°Atst our agents are in ce: the throne is in the palm of our hand, and as soon as our soldiers are mustered it will be time to <em>close our fist</em>.¡±


    Excited murmurs spread while Angharad¡¯s stomach clenched. How long before the coup - hours, days?


    ¡°The lesiast has spoken,¡± the priestess said. ¡°On the night of the thirteenth, as night falls, we will take our rightful ce atop Asphodel.¡±


    The thirteenth of the month. Angharad counted up the days ¨C they were currently the eighth. Five days. There were five days left before the fuse hit powder, before the knives came out.


    Five days to get the infernal forge out of the city and put her affairs in order.


    --


    Maryam proved her theory within three minutes of walking into the private archives.


    It wasn¡¯t all that difficult to test aether sticity when you knew how, which she did. It was only a matter of tricking yourself into feeling something while you felt out your own emanations with your nav, and she was feeling nervous enough she didn¡¯t have to do any tricking. She¡¯d been right: this ce had to be the cork on the Hate One¡¯s prison.


    She¡¯d not noticed when tracing a Sign here the first time because the local aether was so solid and stable it didn¡¯t feel all that different from the barren emptiness of the rest of the pce until you looked closely. There was no give here at all ¨C the amount of faith in Oduromai permeating the ind of Asphodel made the cork so frightfully dense it felt like it wasn¡¯t even there until you pushed against it. Maryam watched thest of the archivists leave down the lift, the lights below go out, and took a deep breath.


    Three minutes, that was all it¡¯d taken until she had the answers she had told the Lord Rector she muste here to find out. The answer to Song¡¯s t question of how much this visit was about her desires and how much about her duty was left ufortable bare and in the open, like a dead fish on the shore. Maryam wrestled the thought down. She would take no lecture from Song Ren in this, considering the mess the other woman had in her hands. It was time to set the distractions aside and do what she had trulye here for.


    It would be easier in the dark.


    Captain Totec had exined it as an effect of observational solipsism, a reduction of the metaphysical impurities that came from the Material being observed by a lucent mind. It was a provable conclusion, measured and recorded and stripped clean of anything the Navigators deemed to smell of mysticism. The Akrre wanted no uncertainty in their Signs or the principles guiding them.


    Practitioners of the Craft spoke instead of sympathy, about the thinning of thresholds between world and Nav and how the soul-effigy became eminent by straddling<em> is</em> and <em>could-be</em>. It was an intuitive answer, meant to guide the mind along thought-paths that reinforced themselves. A craft of words to make craftsmen of those who heard it.


    Maryam preferred to think of it as emptying herself.


    To wield the Gloam was an act of will, whether that will was used to trace the resonant solidity of the Signs or to sculpt intention into act as the Craft did, but ¡®will¡¯ was not an absolute. It was a finite resource. Humans were animals, embers of divinity trapped inside beasts, and the beast weighed it all down. Will could not be made greater save by time and training, but the beast could be lulled into sleep. Drowned in the dark, where its savage instincts could not drag down the practitioner.


    Darkness and silence let you empty yourself of everything but you, until there was nothing but yourself and the Gloam. And so Maryam Khaimov sat alone in the dark, eyes closed, at the heart of the private archives.


    She sat neither high nor low, above the earth but beneath firmament, utter silence and the absence of light turning her body into a ship sailing a dark sea. Hours passed until a heartbeat was an eternity and the turn of an era but a single breath, the creeping teeth of the Gloam eating away at time until it was more nothing than not. She could no longer hear her own breath. Her limbs were numb and her awareness was a keel parting ck waters, a smooth cut that left no trace behind it.


    Her lungs exhaled, her lips blind to the passing of the breath, and Maryam traced a word with her nav. A Sign, consecrated sybles carved out from the death rattle of existence: <strong>OIDE</strong>


    Imperial deration of knowledge,plete and self-contained. Autarchic. That thought-path was meant to be looped, invoked at the begin and the end ¨C knows she, she knows ¨C but Maryam Khaimov was an empty vessel. She did not wield herself under the cannibal crown but made herself into the dark sea. Slick like oil, perfect and still. Reflecting the hidden thing facing her. Maryam dered that she knew, and so she did, for she was the mirror to secrets thought lost.


    And as a mirror she reflected everything that the Cauldron was, thus knowing it fully for a single terrible moment.


    She saw the harrowing disorder of it, ages of secrets and cheats and glorious lies thrown haphazardly into the confines with no thought to use or deservedness. Blood-drenched vitions dripping onto the most mundane of crafts, terrified howls woven into braids with theughter of children and tricks to dy sleep. There was <em>so much</em>, and all of it made sense but not in the same ways or with the same words, and it was all jumbled and jagged. A hand reaching within would be torn to shreds.


    Then the moment passed and Maryam Khaimov fell forward onto her knees, loudly throwing up on the wooden roof. She could not see in the darkness, but somehow she knew the bile was ck and would turn into shadowy vapor. Her ragged breath tore at her lungs, her very soul aching at the terrible magnitude of what she had mirrored ¨C not even held, not even owned, merely <em>mirrored</em>! ¨C for an instant. Her forehead dripped with sweat, feverish, but this was not mania. There was no joy in this, no heedless energy. Maryam was a rag wrung dry, not a pitcher filled to the brim.


    ¡°They raise them from birth to hold the Cauldron, you know? Mother cut corners. So very many of them, near the end.¡±


    And there was the scavengere to haunt her. As expected. Inevitable, really. All living things were beholden to the tyranny of their own nature, even a parasite such as this. Maryam pushed herself back onto her ass, the wood under her fingers slick from her own bile. The shade was seated by her, legs folded, like a friend holding herpany. Maryam could not see in the dark but she knew that much with utter certainty.


    ¡°We already knew that,¡± Maryam rasped. ¡°She told me the risks, that it might shatter parts of me.¡±


    The Cauldron was not a thing lightly borne, but borne it must be: it could be bound to the skull of thest Keeper of Hooks for only so long before it began to fade. And it was useless without a Keeper, anyway, mostly indecipherable. Maryam had thought that because of the grand eldritchness of the secrets held within, the lightless depth of the whispers, but now she knew better.


    It was because without a Keeper¡¯s mind to organize the Cauldron the entire thing was just howling, senseless cacophony of screams.


    A hiss, someone pulling away. Maryam opened her eyes in the dark, beholding light. Ate autumn day in the burnt husk of an ancient forest, raised stones cracked by heat with their painted faces streaked in ash. A pit that fled deep into the belly of the earth, belching out a warm breath tasting of sulfur. And a young Maryam Khaimov, cradling her bleeding arm as her mother frowned down at her with a long silver needle in hand.


    ¡°Steady, <em>meda</em>,¡± Izolda Cernik chided. ¡°Your will must not wane, no matter whates.¡±


    ¡°It won¡¯t,¡± the young Maryam swore.


    The fear behind the words was obvious now, looking at the child. Maryam wondered if it had been as obvious to her mother as it was to her.


    ¡°It didn¡¯t,¡± the shade said.


    ¡°Of course it did,¡± Maryam said, mouth tasting vile. ¡°I was too afraid to lose myself, it prevented the joining.¡±


    ¡°Did it?¡± the shade asked. ¡°We have the Cauldron. It was passed.¡±


    ¡°You stole the Cauldron,¡± Maryam bit out. ¡°Stole it, you <em>thing</em>. That is not passing anything.¡±


    Izolda Cernik wiped the bloody needle against the pad of her thumb, smiling as she traced a red streak across the bridge of the young Maryam¡¯s nose, and it was like a convulsion. Seeing Mother like that again, blue eyes smiling along with the rest of her. She was not a handsome woman, Izolda Cernik, with mousy brown hair and a face that looked it had been carved by a journeyman. She had all the curves of a dead branch and teeth just a little toorge to miss how they were yellowing. But when she loved you, when it came to the fore of her, it was like basking in the re itself.


    Gods, Maryam thought, tears picking at her eyes.


    Then Izolda Cernik batted at the air near her ear, as if chasing off a horse fly that did not exist. She looked out into nothing, frowning, then snarled at the empty air.


    ¡°Silence,¡± she shouted. ¡°<em>My </em>daughter, <em>mine</em>. Be silent or I will wring your necks.¡±


    A different fear flickered across the young Maryam¡¯s face. That child had only been far enough down her journey to hear even the barest hints of the souls bound to her mother, back then. Maryam wondered if she had now grown enough she would be able to hear the words, to truly <em>know</em> that Mother had not truly turned into a violent madwoman who screamed at empty air and lost herself in thought for hours at a time.


    ¡°Mother,¡± the young Maryam whispered, tugging at her sleeve. ¡°I¡¯m ready.¡±


    Izolda turned, face serious.


    ¡°Of course you are, <em>meda</em>,¡± she said. ¡°You will not let me down.¡±


    ¡°I do not want to watch this,¡± Maryam quietly said, stomach clenching.


    To watch herself fail again.


    ¡°Then why are you wake-dreaming it?¡± the shade asked. ¡°My hand does not guide our nav.¡±


    She had no answer to that. The preparations had taken so long, in her memory, but Maryam watched the ghostly scene pass in mere seconds. Watched as Gloam slunk out of her mother like a living thing, the gargantuan limb of a leshy reaching into the depths of the pit and plucking out the skull of thest Keeper of Hooks like a delicate flower.


    ¡°Look into her eyes when she gives it to you,¡± the shade said. ¡°Watch, Maryam, and you will see hunger. I will never mistake that, when so much of me is made from the same.¡±


    ¡°She needed me,¡± Maryam bit out. ¡°She prepared me as best she could, kept me from taking the oath to Mother Winter. I was supposed to <em>seed </em>her.¡±


    There was no good end to being wintersworn. It was not a gant or beautiful thing, a daring deed worthy of telling. It was fear and spite and hatred that had seen the hundreds by the river swear their death to the cause, their wriggling soulsmitted to the hide-bag of Mother Winter so that their deaths could be turned into a curse. A ck thing that the dreadmost goddess would drown the invaders in should they fail.


    Curse them and their children and their children¡¯s children, forever until thest of those ursed lines had ended or thest of the sworn soulsy spent.


    Maryam had been held back that day by the river, forbidden from taking the oath, because already Mother had meant her for the Cauldron. To inherit the sum of the Craft and bring about the spring in the wake of a great winter as the Keeper of Hooks. To renew the Izvoric, be the sprouts in the ashen grounds. She watched as her mother punctured her cheeks with needles, as gently as she could, and red trailed down.


    Watched as Izolda Cernik bit her own thumb and¡­ traced it on her own right eyebrow? Then did the same to young Maryam¡¯s left. There was still enough of the mirroring left in Maryam to know that was wrong. That it added another headwater to the river trying to break the dam, made everything more fragile.


    ¡°Did she get it wrong?¡± she said.


    ¡°She had bound to her the souls of all the remainder of the Ninefold Nine,¡± the shade said. ¡°Izolda Cernik might have been raving mad, but she did not make mistakes in matters of Craft. Not even there, at the end.¡±


    ¡°But she made the shape of the joining more fragile,¡± Maryam whispered. ¡°And she didn¡¯t know about you.¡±


    ¡°<em>I</em> did not even know about me, back then,¡± the shade said. ¡°How could she?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s how it went wrong,¡± Maryam said as she watched her mother press a bone-white skull against the young Maryam¡¯s forehead, chanting words of power. ¡°That¡¯s how you ended up getting the Cauldron. I was afraid and it was fragile and <em>you were there</em>.¡±


    She was almost grateful when the dream died with thest of her sentence. Spared the sight of her failure, Mother¡¯s disbelief slowly turning into fear and then a dozen different thoughts as the other souls bled into her. The screaming as she tore up the sacred stones, shrieking in grief at what had been lost. Instead Maryam was sitting before a candle, and though her mind knew she was alone and in the dark on the other side of that false candlelight sat the shade.


    It was wearing the same colorful robes Mother had that day, hair held back by a headband of thick colored beads. Still putting on a face that could have been a sister or a cousin.


    ¡°It was an ident,¡± Maryam finally said. ¡°You didn¡¯t mean to take it.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t <em>mean</em> to do anything,¡± the shade hissed. ¡°I was dreaming, unknowing, until you brought me to an aether well. And even then all I could do was what you threw away.¡±


    Maryam swallowed, slowly stitching the details together.


    ¡°You tried to break the gift Angharad received from her uncle,¡± she said.


    ¡°How you hated it, that someone loved her enough for that when she did not deserve it,¡± the shade said, grinning toothily.


    A thought she had pushed down, decided was unworthy of her. A dark impulse. The shade had first been seen at the chapterhouse when she had wanted to go but decided she was too exhausted, then seen out at night when she had been curious about the forbidden parts of Azei but forced herself to set that curiosity aside. And when the shade had saved Song¡­


    ¡°You told yourself it was fine to leave her with Professor Kang,¡± the thing facing herpleted. ¡°But you didn¡¯t think that, not really. You were afraid for her, wanted to check on her. And I cared for her then, because you were angry enough that you didn¡¯t let yourself feel it.¡±


    ¡°But out here you do what you want,¡± Maryam said, ¡°because the aether currents on Asphodel are unstable. They swelled you like they do the local gods. Made you more.¡±


    ¡°I was always more,¡± the shade replied. ¡°You know that now. You felt it thest time you ate from me.¡±


    The fear she had felt in the aether, the emanation that had note from Maryam Khaimov and could thus only havee from the shade. Only a mere shade would not have been able to emanate that way. She was looking at a living thing. One, Song had forced her to admit, that she intended to murder to take back the Cauldron. Or at least some of it.


    ¡°You think that changes anything, that you live?¡± Maryam asked.


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°Piglets live too, and they are jolly little fellows,¡± the signifier said. ¡°I still love a good cut of pork.¡±


    ¡°See?¡± the shade smiled. ¡°You have to make me less, for it to be ptable. An animal.¡±


    ¡°Because that¡¯s what you are,¡± Maryam hissed. ¡°The ram I need to sacrifice on an altar to get the Cauldron back. To finish what Mother meant for me.¡±


    ¡°You know better than that too,¡± the shade said. ¡°You saw it, how tangled up the knowledge is. If you keep taking bites out like you have you will make it even messier and the whole thinges apart. Muddles itself irreparably. You can take what, a tenth? Then it bes babbling.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Maryam said. ¡°I believe I¡¯ll take half.¡±


    The shade grew angry.


    ¡°You can¡¯t-¡±


    ¡°You are part of the weakness,¡± Maryam told her. ¡°Not a fit container, more than a skull but less than a woman. You are¡­ too pliable, a waterskin that will rip when I drink too deep of it. But I can change that.¡±


    She clenched her fingers. All this time, she had been so careful. Avoided what she was about to do, been so wary of doing it by ident. All that so she could now do it on purpose. As always the gods owned thestugh.


    ¡°You called yourself a princess of Volcesta,¡± Maryam said. ¡°I deny you this.¡±


    ¡°That is not your right,¡± the shade hissed.


    ¡°You called yourself the first andst of the Ninefold Nine,¡± Maryam said. ¡°I deny you this.¡±


    ¡°Then who, <em>you</em>?¡± the shade mocked.


    ¡°You called yourself the Keeper of Hooks,¡± Maryam said, ¡°and it is untrue but there is a bone of truth to the im. You keep nothing, you are no steward of wisdom. But the knowledge<em> is</em> there inside you.¡±


    She grinned sharply.


    ¡°I name you Hooks,¡± Maryam Khaimov damned her. ¡°For that is what you are, the tyranny youbor under: to bite and be dragged but never be, tearing that which moves you.¡±


    The creature shivered, firmed. Became something <em>more</em>.


    ¡°What did you do?¡± Hooks hoarsely asked.


    ¡°I made you into a person,¡± Maryam said. ¡°And now that you are one, <em>you can be my enemy</em>.¡±


    She rose to her feet.


    ¡°Grow your shell,¡± Maryam said. ¡°Sharpen your bite and your tricks and your fear, Hooks, for I will return to this ce when I am ready.¡±


    Gloam boiled around her fingers, eager and ready. The stronger the shade became, the firmer its personhood, the more Maryam would be able to take from the Cauldron before it broke. And half¡­ half was a tragedy, but it was still half more than she held in her hands today. The wintersworn had failed, in the end. The curse stillborn, Mother Winter in by swordmasters.


    Even with a mere half a victory scraped together, Maryam would still being out ahead of the rest of her kind. It would be enough, it <em>was </em>enough. It had to be, for what else was there? Leaving the Cauldron in Hooks forever, letting it devour her nav and condemn herself to being less until the end of her days? No, Maryam would not let herself be mediocre. She would not let herself fall behind, she would not let the Mni ruin her again from all the way across the sea.


    ¡°I will return and crack you open like a skull,¡± she lovingly said. ¡°Drinking as much if my inheritance as I can before putting an end to you atst.¡±


    ¡°It would be murder,¡± Hooks told her, appalled. ¡°You<em> made</em> this into murder by your own hand.¡±


    Her fingers clenched until the knuckles ached. It didn¡¯t mean anything, that Song had said the same thing. Of course her enemy would grasp at straws.


    ¡°Aye,¡± Maryam Khaimov agreed, ¡°it will be murder.¡±


    Like curls of blood in the water, she felt Hook¡¯s plumes of fear spread in the aether.


    ¡°And this time, I will be right end of the knife.¡±

 Chapter 64

    Chapter 64


    On the second day of his captivity, Tristan woke to the sensation of someone briskly jabbing him in the ribs. He startled awake, eyes stinging, and found a dark-haired woman in a padded brown surcoat staring down at him. The butt of her spear was raised but a few inches above his ribs, ready to strike. Marce again, joy.


    ¡°What do you want?¡± he groaned out.


    "Good morning, Ferrando,¡± the mercenary brightly said. ¡°Smile, I have good news.¡±


    ¡°You are getting transferred to the opposite end of Asphodel and we will never meet again,¡± he suggested.


    ¡°Now you¡¯re hurting my feelings,¡± Marceined, cocking an eyebrow. ¡°Perhaps I will have to remain silent after all.¡±


    Besides him Fortuna, sprawled on the dirty floor as if it were the most decadent of sofas, let out a long yawn. Purely for effect, considering she did not sleep or tire.


    ¡°Do not be a brute, Tristan,¡± she chided. ¡°Apologize to this lovelydy whose propensity for bothering you has been making this whole imprisonment business marginally less boring for me.¡±


    s, flipping off the Lady of Long Odds the finger could not go unnoticed. He¡¯d take petty revengeter by ying cards and calling at the first opportunity every single time, which drove her crazy. It ¡®left no ce for chance¡¯, which was apparently the metaphysical equivalent of spitting in her soup. Marce¡¯s gaze, though, he met head on.


    ¡°Oh merciful goddess, forgive me my trespass,¡± Tristan said in his ttest, most lifeless tone. ¡°I was only struck dumb by your magnificence, knowing not the words tumbling out of my mouth.¡±Marce stroked her chin a moment, as if assessing his groveling, then nodded in approval.


    ¡°That will do,¡± she said. ¡°And buckle up, Kassa boy, you got your wish: the Tianxi need helping hands. You¡¯ve half an hour to be at thedder ready for work.¡±


    ¡°Noted,¡± he replied, sitting all the way up, then cocked an eyebrow. ¡°Was the spear in the ribs really necessary?¡±


    Marce smirked.


    ¡°No, but it¡¯s been a boring shift,¡± the mercenary said. ¡°Have to get my entertainment where I can, unless you¡¯ve alternatives to offer.¡±


    He gestured rudely at her, which sheughed off while sauntering away. The Trade Assembly¡¯s hired soldiers were keeping them all prisoner, beneath the paper-thin pretense of this being a ¡®training camp¡¯, but as far as captors went these were a cordial lot ¨C likely owing to the fact that the hostages would be fighting at their side during the rising. The prisoners only earned the back of the hand if they made loud trouble or tried toe near the stairs, otherwise the soldiers in brown surcoats left them to their own devices.


    Unless they took to you in a different way, which he was not so blind as not to notice Marce had to him. Her advances were currently limited to petty bothers and verbal hair-pulling, so Tristan had chosen to pretend ignorance. Less risky than turning her down when he knew so little of her character.


    Rolling his shoulder, the thief took a quick look around. It was difficult to tell the time in here, though it was probably early in the morning ¨C earlier than seven, since themotion hadn¡¯t happened yet. No one could sleep through <em>that</em>. Most of the hostages were still asleep, snoring away in their ratty cots, and the fewmps hanging from the ceiling cast weak, flickering light. Low on oil. <em>It ister than I thought, then</em>.


    He missed Vanesa¡¯s watch, the cold certainty it represented, but there would have been no good exnation for the likes of ¡®Ferrando¡¯ to own such a costly piece. Besides, someone might well have robbed it off him by now.


    The mercenaries might be holding off on that sort of thing, but no one was protecting the hostages from each other and Tristan knew better than most what happened when rats were left alone in a box for too long.


    And this prison was very much a box. Whatever the Antediluvians had built this ce for was now a mystery, as time and men had wrecked the structure but what remained was straightforward enough: arge square stone warehouse with a low ceiling, its walls windowless and the gates to adjoining rooms bricked in long enough ago said bricks were crumbling in ces. Two sets of stairs nestled against the walls led to a second level, mirroring each other on opposite sides.


    Those stairs and the doors atop them were guarded by rotations of the mercenaries in brown surcoats and the asional Trade Assembly guards, but there <em>was</em> another way out of the warehouse: the massive span of copsed floor in the middle of the warehouse.


    Something or someone had shattered the stone, about a third of the warehouse floor turned into a ragged hole rimmed by copsed masonry and the asional jutting rod of brass. The break was a little to the left of the room, so the right side of the warehouse floor was where most cots had beenid down. Even where the hole came closest to the wall there was a solid ten feet or so of room, though.


    Still, fear of rolling over the edge in one¡¯s sleep had about two thirds of the hostages bunking on the right side of the room. That side also happened to hold most of the barrels of water meant for drinking or washing as well as the two rickety tables hostages were meant to eat sitting at ¨C in turns, as there were about a hundred and twenty captives while the tables sat barely thirty.


    The left side of the warehouse had thus been assigned half a dozen chamber pots, some of which were even hidden behind a cloth curtain. Tristan had bunked down in the lower-right corner along with the other Kassa worker taken hostage ¨C Damon, the warehouse man ¨C mostly because sticking to the man was the best way not to be pped around into bing someone¡¯s minion. Besides, his bedding was close to a stretch of floor that people liked to use for gambling.


    He''d overheard quite a bit while pretending to sleep, though nearly everything petty gossip.


    Leaning over, Tristan shook the man sleeping besides him awake. Damon of Tratheke was a tall and weedy sort who looked like he shouldn¡¯t havested an hour doing back-breaking work in the warehouse of the Kassa family, much less the decade he had worked there. There was a sly strength to him, and surprising endurance.


    ¡°Ferrando?¡± Damon called out, eyes fluttering open.


    He had long and delicate eyshes, the thief thought, which felt as if they had been borrowed from a prettier face. On him they felt odd, like gilding on a spade.


    ¡°I have to go,¡± Tristan told him. ¡°The artillerymen are trying me out, so I¡¯ll be in the pit for who knows how long.¡±


    The fair-haired man passed a hand through his hair, groaning as he pushed back his nket and swallowed a yawn.


    "Feels a mite unfair that I¡¯m made to pay for you wasting your chance at a gun,¡± Damon groused.


    Tristan rolled his eyes. On the first day the hired soldiers of the magnates had taken all the new hostages ¨C there¡¯d already been about seventy in here - below and made them fire five shots with those bulky, ungainly muskets the rebels had entire cratefuls of. Anyone who made three shots out of five was marked for further drilling with guns, everyone else told they would be handed a pike or a club when it was time to fight.


    The thief had not wanted eyes on him so he had failed out of the musket drills on purpose, while Damon had qualified. Mind you, Tristan was not sure if he<em> would </em>have been capable of qualifying even if he were trying. The bulky guns the magnates had handed them were nothing like the sleek killing tools of the Watch. Their kickback hit like a mule and the powder used stank like rotten eggs, thetter hinting at an overuse of sulfur in the recipe.


    Anyhow, that decision proved a mistake. The stairs were watched too closely by the mercenaries and after thorough investigation Tristan found there was no path through the bricked doors even where they¡¯d crumbled. If he wanted to get out, and he must since there was no telling how long he would be stuck down here otherwise, then the pit downstairs was looking like the best way. Given that he¡¯d passed on the easiest way to get time there it meant he had to go fishing for another opportunity.


    To his relief, he hadn¡¯t had to arrange an ident for one of the would-be musketeers as there was a superior alternative.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be manning a bigger gun, arguably,¡± Tristan said.


    ¡°For lesser pay, though,¡± Damon smugly replied.


    He¡¯d wondered what the angle would be, when after the cheers died down at the rally the leading magnates had announced that about half of the people attending would need to head out to a hidden camp in Tratheke so they might be ¡®trained in the use of muskets¡¯. It was sound notion, given the heavy risks of leaks otherwise, but it had dampened the crowd¡¯s revolutionary enthusiasm noticeably. Anyone not a fool knew such tant hostage taking when they saw it. How would the rebels make up for it?


    By passing the me, he first thought, as the ringleaders let every crew pick their own ¡®recruits¡¯ and thus diluted ire by turning it inwards as well as inwards. Tristan himself knew he¡¯d end up picked whatever happened ¨C Temenos was too important and the twins spoke for the most expensive workers under the Kassa ¨C so he volunteered instead of being told to go. It won him esteem enough that Damon was noticeably friendlier when they were sent to this hideaway, making it easier to stick to his side for protection.


    Being ferried here with bags over their heads under the watch of armed criminals had failed to improve morale afterwards, but after that first drill separating the future musketmen from the spares the Trade Assembly revealed its path to earning back loyalty: earnings. A merchant guard speaking for the rebels announced that even while ¡®being trained¡¯ pikemen would be earning one silver arbol every five days and musketmen a full gold rama.


    That¡¯d rather revived the revolutionary mes, though Tristan suspected that the magnates were counting on casualties keeping the costs in silver down. Dead men were easy to stiff, and sending workshop workers armed with spears and clubs after trained soldiers like the lictors was going to result in more corpses than payouts.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be standing further away from the people shooting back,¡± Tristan noted. ¡°Worth the pay cut, I¡¯d say.¡±


    ¡°Two silvers are a pittance, if you are to stand next to those death traps,¡± Damon opined.


    He wasn¡¯t wrong there. The magnates, perhaps aware that cheap muskets and pikes were not the stuff grand victories were made of, had more to their arsenal. Namely, cannons. The artillerymen handling those kept in this hideout were Tianxi specialists, a nnish band of foreigners who came down once a day to drill just before the scheduled racket then disappeared back into the upper levels of the facility.


    Seeing an opportunity there, Tristan made inquiries. As it turned out the Tianxi <em>were </em>meant to train some of the hostages like the mercenaries were doing with muskets but there had been no takers for the job regardless of the bumped pay rtive to pikemen: cannons were dangerous, and not only to the people they were pointed at. They had a way of blowing up in one¡¯s face, especially the cheap ones. It did not help that the Tianxi were apparently rather unpleasant with neers, the few hostages who¡¯d tried to apprentice driven out quickly.


    Almost as if said Tianxi had a financial interest in not being reced by cheaper localbor. An amusing turnabout, considering the Republics were infamous for flooding small Trebian inds with masses of their cheap workshop goods. Tristan was not expecting his tryout to be a pleasant time, but he would stick it out until he had what he needed. If anything, mistreatment would be a baked-in excuse to stop when he was done.


    ¡°There is no guarantee they¡¯ll keep me, anyhow,¡± Tristan finally shrugged, then pushed up to his feet. ¡°Cardster?¡±


    ¡°I have never seen a man love losing so much,¡± Damon grinned back, nodding. ¡°I¡¯m sure I will be able to rustle up a few volunteers to lighten your purse.¡±


    The warehouse man was, in fact, <em>very</em> good at that. Even better was that said yers tended to be warehouse hands from other tradingpanies, some of which Damon was already passingly familiar with. The talk that those games led to Tristan¡¯s doorstep was not quite as useful as if they had been traveling men, but it came close: some of the other hostages had been here for more than a month and they were a wealth of knowledge.


    Those games were how he¡¯d heard about the Tianxi running out the previous takers, and how he¡¯d gotten an idea of theyout of the rest of the edifice. There was a towering wooden structure built over the second story, apparently. One thaty against the western wall of Tratheke and needed a lift to reach the top of, rather narrowing down the possible locations of this hideout.


    Useful knowledge, if he got out.


    ¡°Looking forward to it,¡± Tristan replied, rolling his eyes.


    He stopped by a barrel of water to dip in a cup and drink, then by one of the meal tables to help himself to a bowl of the sludge simmering in a cauldron the mercenaries reced whenever it ran empty. It was porridge, approximately, and hostages were allowed to help themselves to the contents at will ¨C probably because the actual meals served twice a day were not particrly fine orrge.


    He went to ssh his face from one of the washing barrels afterwards, and even took off his shirt long enough to rinse himself off ¨C there was a whistle from what could only be Marce, and someughter from other guards. As ready as he would get, Tristan went around the edge of the hole until he reached the tworge metaldders that were fastened to the stone by iron chains nailed to the floor. Marce was already there, and though she teased him for being early ¡®like an eager pup¡¯ she still offered to take him down immediately.


    There was no reason to wait, so momentster they were climbing down into the depths. The basement beneath the warehouse floor was not so deep under Tratheke as it appeared, but a cavernous ceilingbined with the low height of the warehouse ceiling above made it seem like some faraway journey. Tristan, counting the distance between the rungs of thedder instead of trusting his eye, established it to be no more than forty feet below.


    The basement was, itself, not much to look at. Arge room with a brass floor and a curved stone ceiling. The back bore arge door that must be utched by working a wheel, but it did not see use because the rebels had piled a kingdom¡¯s worth of crates in front. Mostly cannon balls and guns, with some powder barrels, but alsorge boxes that must have been for the cannons themselves. The rest of the room was empty space, leading directly into arge channel of soiled water churning the foulness into a tunnel it filled to the brim.


    At the source of that channely the likely reason the rebels had chosen this ce for a hideout: arge, wheeled machine set into the stone and churning the water along. It erupted into hour-long stretches of the most horrid racket thrice a day at the same hours, all loud thumps and scraping steel. Between the sewage smell and the noise, it was no wonder the magnates figured they could get away with training men in using muskets here.


    There were two mercenaries seated on crates near the wall, ying cards as they kept a loose eye on the situation, but his attention went to the three cannons in the middle of the room and the Tianxi tending to them. Three bronze pieces tied to carts, tworge enough they would have fit on a warship but the third narrower and longer. Hardly siege cannons, these, or anything like the infamous <em>Viudas Severas</em> ¨C the six massive iron cannons defending the Sanguine Port of Sacromonte, ship-killers one and all.


    A dozen Tianxi in loose Asphodelian clothing stood around the cannons, speaking among themselves in their native tongue, and Marce loudly cleared her throat in their direction. The chatter ceased, eyes turning on her and then Tristan himself.


    ¡°Here¡¯s your student,¡± she said, gesturing at him. ¡°Try not to run him out like the others.¡±


    The dubious looks that followed as they eyed him were just a mite insulting. Quick chatter erupted between the Tianxi, a disparate lot that shared little aside ck hair and the Cathayan look, until the tallest among them whistled sharply and gestured for Tristan to head towards the smallest of the three cannons. There were groans from the two Tianxi handling it, an old man with skinny white beard and a middle-aged woman with her hair pulled into a severe bun.


    Not the most auspicious of beginnings, but it was on him to turn that around. He found himself preempted for introductions as he approached.


    ¡°Ming,¡± the old man announced, tapping his own chest.


    ¡°Ferrando,¡± Tristan replied, doing the same.


    ¡°Feihan Ho,¡± the old man confidently repeated.


    From the amused glint in the woman¡¯s eyes, Tristan guessed he was already being hazed.


    ¡°Close enough,¡± he agreed, squaring his shoulders. ¡°What can I do?¡±


    ¡°Ever touch cannon before?¡± Ming asked.


    The thief leaned forward, touched the bronze piece and then turned a brilliant smile on the old man.


    ¡°Once,¡± he said.


    He got rolled eyes in return, from both. They did their level best to run him out with usible deniability after that, avoiding teaching him anything and instead sending him to constantly fetch and rece tools. Twice they sent him up thedder to ask the mercenary officer at the stairs an asinine question, which was so transparent the grizzled old veteran actually shot him a pitying look.


    Half an hour in, though, the pair realized they had to teach him <em>something</em> or their employers wouldin. His repeated admission of ignorance in matters of artillery saw him informed that his lesson would be on loading ammunition, which was not simple as it looked. It was not merely a powder charge and a stone ball, as he¡¯d assumed, but also two differentyers of wadding which had to be put in the right order before it was all crammed down securely with a ramrod.


    The pair made him drill again and again, using sand instead of powder and nitpicking at every detail. Mostly the woman, for that. Her Antigua was better and Ming seemed to dislike the hazing beyond making sport of the thief with something resembling good humor. The more Tristan spoke with the old man, however, the more something itched at him. As the middle-aged woman ¨C who had yet to introduce herself ¨C inspected histest work with a critical eye he caught Ming¡¯s attention.


    ¡°Caishen?¡± he asked.


    Ming¡¯s eyes widened in surprise, then he grinned toothlessly.


    ¡°Caishen,¡± he agreed, tapping over his heart.


    He then added a fast-paced sentence in Cathayan that had Tristan squinting. Had the word for ¡®boat¡¯ been in there?


    ¡°He praises you for recognizing he is from the greatest city in the world.¡±


    Tristan¡¯s gaze moved to older woman, who had leaned back from the cannon to study him.


    ¡°Dandan,¡± she added almost reluctantly.


    ¡°Your name, I assume,¡± he tried.


    She smiled thinly.


    A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the vition.


    ¡°Where does a Sacromontan like you learn to recognize the Caishen ent?¡± Dandan brusquely asked.


    ¡°I knew a man from there,¡± Tristan replied. ¡°A veteran from the Long Burn who left for Sacromonte after the war. He¡¯d lost most of his ent but not all.¡±


    The woman¡¯s brow rose and she addressed the old man in Cathayan, who looked surprised and replied in the same.


    ¡°Where did he fight?¡± Dandan asked. ¡°For who?¡±


    ¡°He didn¡¯t talk much about it,¡± Tristan admitted. ¡°Though he told me he was one of the four thousand militia who charged across the field at Diecai. He fought for Caishen through much of the Burn, as I understand it.¡±


    ¡°<em>Diecai</em>?¡± Ming repeated, voice rising.


    He said something in a scathing tone, then spat on the ground. A Tianxi from the cannon besides them heard the words, repeating Diecai quizzically before getting an exnation from Ming, then spat on the ground as well. The word spread across the room and soon a dozen Tianxi between the age of forty to sixty were repeating the word with disgust and spitting as Tristan watched on in amused astonishment. Dandan cleared her throat.


    ¡°Nearly all of us fought in the Long Burn,¡± she told him. ¡°Most as Caishen militia, a few in the Mazu raiding fleets. Diecai, well, it was a great victory but the militia was reaped like wheat.¡±


    ¡°So I heard,¡± Tristan replied, thinking of that look in Yong¡¯s eyes when he had spoken of it. It was not the sort of thing you forgot. ¡°Then the mercenaries took the day, nothing to do with the rest.¡±


    ¡°Thrice as many Someshwari died as we did during the rout, but that did not make the dead grow back,¡± Dandan grunted. ¡°I was part of the army under General Qi as well, though I never made it to the battle.¡±


    His brow rose.


    ¡°What happened?¡± he asked.


    ¡°I was with the artillery train and wegged behind. The cannons Mazu sent us for the offensive were so heavy they kept breaking the cart wheels,¡± Dandan replied. ¡°We only made it to the field three days after the fighting was finished.¡±


    Tristan was no general, but that struck him as somewhatte to be of use.


    ¡°Mazu goodwill,¡± Ming cut in. ¡°Sanxing? <em>Wang ba da</em> Sanxing.¡±


    Something egg? Sounded like an insult, going by the tone.


    ¡°I¡¯m guessing there¡¯s a story there,¡± he prompted.


    <em>The more you talk to me, the more I be someone in your eyes</em>. <em>The harder it bes to run me out in petty ways.</em> Most people found it ufortable to be pricks to others unprompted, when they let themselves think of the other person as being a person instead of just a silhouette.<em></em>Dandan sighed.


    ¡°The Republic of Mazu did not send Caishen the field pieces that were asked to match the ones used by Kuril, but at least the siege guns saw use against forts,¡± she said. ¡°The Sanxing, however, only sent twenty of their new war machines called the <em>jiu tie pao. </em>Volley guns on wagons. These were¡­ not popr with Caishen artillerymen, for many reasons.¡±


    Ming mimed blowing up with his hands, then pointed down at his feet.


    ¡°Nine toe now,¡± he said. ¡°<em>Bastardos</em> Sanxing.¡±


    ¡°Bastardos Sanxing,¡± Tristan agreeably replied.


    He was pped enthusiastically on the back, and after that the mood thawed. He was not sent on further pointless errands and they actually took the time to teach him properly. Ming remained much friendlier than Dandan, but she was now rather more willing to trante his enthusiastic tirades in Cathayan and even on asion borate herself.


    Tristan¡¯s honest curiosity about how the likes of them hade to be tangled with an Asphodelian rebellion paired well with his professional duty to find out as much about the magnates¡¯ rebellion as he could. Though wary, Dandan seemed to pick up he was genuinely interested in the tale.


    ¡°After the Watch forced a peace, Caishen went to the dogs,¡± the older woman told him. ¡°The entire north was a wastnd and the Izcalli looted the westernmost prefectures down to the bedrock, which was bad enough even <em>before </em>the voting began.¡±


    ¡°<em>Pingmian</em> should all burn,¡± Ming absent-mindedly noted while he cleaned the inside of the cannon.


    Tristan choked at the casual use of the slur. He wasn¡¯t sure what exactly <em>pingmian</em> meant, but whenever Tianxi sailors used it the Izcalli ones drew knives.


    ¡°To sit on the general assembly, a citizen must ownnd or property worth at least five thousand silver taels,¡± Dandan told him. ¡°With the regions ravaged, the hearnds took advantage and stacked thetest round of Secretariat appointments. Then the Secretariat appointed their friends and kin as prefects over the brokennds and stripped the Ministry of War¡¯s funds to fill prefecture coffers in the name of<em> rebuilding</em>.¡±


    Thus putting those funds in the hands of their friends and kin. It was the same old racket, everywhere in the world. There was a reason Tristan was no friend to nobles but he was no <em>confederale</em>s either. Power did not get any cleaner because it was handed down through votes rather than birthright.


    ¡°I take it the Ministry of War runs, well, the army?¡± Tristan asked.


    From what he recalled the republics all had the ¡®Eight Ministries¡¯ as a functioning government, their ranks filled by those who passed the examinations, but the Secretariat was supposed to have some authority over them to hold them in check. Dandan grunted in agreement.


    ¡°Those greedy fucks bled the funds out of the same army that held against Kuril and the Sunflower Lords, saying now was a time for peace, and unceremoniously tossed the soldiers into the streets.¡±


    ¡°So you were out of a job,¡± Tristan led on.


    ¡°There are only so many border fortresses whose cannons need manning,¡± Dandan unhappily said. ¡°They kept only the most experienced officers and I was younger then. Caishen was full of cashiered soldiers, after the Burn. A lot of them went mercenary, but I have no taste for that life.¡±


    Tristan raised an eyebrow, gesturing meaningfully around them. What was this if not mercenary work?


    ¡°We don¡¯t work for the merchants, Ferrando,¡± Dandan tly told him. ¡°We work for the Yellow Earth, who loaned us out. I¡¯ve been training yellow sashes for a decade now, this here is no different.¡±


    She paused.


    ¡°It¡¯s better than taking pay to shoot cannons at fellow Tianxi under a mercenary banner,¡± Dandan fervently said. ¡°The things I heard about the borders with Jigong after the Dimming¡­¡±


    Tristan made a noise of understanding, feigned. He had never bought into sentimentality discouraging violence against one¡¯s countrymen. Sacromonte was a beast that cannibalized its own every hour of every day in a hundred different ways ¨C there was not a soul within those walls that was not, in some way, at war with the rest of those inside.


    Dandan was the warier of the pair, so he didn¡¯t prod any further and instead waited until she was distracted to approach Ming for his question.


    ¡°When fighting<em> yiwu</em>?¡± the old man mused, repeating the words. ¡°Soon, merchants say. Days, week?¡±


    Ming shrugged.


    ¡°Before month end,¡± he then added with a toothless grin. ¡°They say no pay next month, cheap <em>bastardos</em>.¡±


    The old Tianxi had evidently fallen in love with that one word in Antigua. He liked to work it into sentences regardless of whether it fit, often with more enthusiasm than skill. Ming had just given him very useful information, though: the magnate coup was to take ce before the end of the month.


    Considering it was now the fourth, that left twenty-six days. The rebellion was thus imminent, though with a little luck the Thirteenth would be well out of the capital before that fire caught. The difficulty here was that the magnates had been open about their intention to keep the hostages here until it was time to take up arms, which meant Tristan <em>really</em> needed a way out.


    Yet despite his earlier hopes, the basement was not looking promising as a means of escape. Trying to get out through the sewage water was certain death, by the look of the churning current and how closely the water kept to the ceiling of the tunnel it disappeared into. He was not desperate enough to roll the dice and hope that the current would carry him to somewhere he might surface to and breathe before he drowned in sewage. Bad way to go, not that there were any good ones.


    The back wall behind the channel was marked with impacts and burns from where cannons and muskets were fired at it, but it was solid stone and thick. There would be no punching through. The gate behind the crates might represent a way out if it led into a tunnel, but the sheer number of crates in the way made it effectively impossible to crack open discreetly. Besides, there were always a pair of mercenaries down here during the night. Not particrly watchful ones, but presumably still alert enough to notice an hour¡¯s worth of someone moving around heavy crates.


    No, Tristan wouldn¡¯t be able to sneak out on his own. He would need someone else to do it for him. The thief finished the drills, even standing by the smallest cannon while it was fired by Dandan once. It was after that he went fishing again through feigned worry.


    ¡°How many times will we be able to practice with live shot before the fighting?¡± he asked, putting on a troubled look. ¡°Won¡¯t the musketmen eat through the powder stocks with their own drills?¡±


    ¡°We do not use the same barrels,¡± Dandan told him. ¡°Theirs is local. But it doesn¡¯t matter, they¡¯ll lower more barrels if they have to. It wouldn¡¯t be the first time.¡±


    Tristan made himself snort.


    ¡°A shit job for whoever has to strap the empty barrels on their back climbing thatdder,¡± he opined.


    She shot him an amused look.


    ¡°You dumb, boy?¡± Dandan said. ¡°They use ropes to pull them up, same way they lowered it all down.¡±


    ¡°Mercenarieszy,¡± Ming added with a smirk. ¡°Always wait until morning, let merchant guard do it.¡±


    Oh? Now that was a useful bit, considering the merchant guards only kept guard until six, to plug a hole in the shifts caused by the rtively small number of brown surcoat mercenaries.


    ¡°You should have heard them whine when they had to bring up the broken cannon,¡± Dandan mocked. ¡°You would think they were being murdered.¡±


    ¡°A cannon had to be changed?¡± Tristan asked, and now his wariness was not feigned in the slightest.


    ¡°Old shit bronze cannon, of course break,¡± Ming sneered. ¡°They say better when fight, but who believes?¡±


    ¡°No one was hurt,¡± Dandan assured him. ¡°And they changed it the following day.¡±


    She gave a mean little smirk.


    ¡°They had to. It is in our contract we do not have to fight or teach unless properly equipped, you see, which means at least three cannons in fit state. The merchants in charge hate the thought of wasting coin by leaving us to idle, though they don¡¯t hate it enough to send us proper cannons from the homnd.¡±


    ¡°Magnates <em>bastardos</em>,¡± Ming happily contributed.


    Tristan smiled, changed the subject, and silently began nibbling at that little detail.


    There was an angle there, he could almost taste it. He just needed a little more before he could make it into a n.


    --


    Cards were the easiest way to get information.


    Damon liked the Delinos siblings, so all it took was mentioning them in conversation for the warehouse man to decide on roping them in for a round of cards. Phoebe and Pollos were in their early twenties, both tall and stacked strong as befitting their years of work moving heavy crates around for the Delinos family.


    Tristan eyed his hand, hiding a wince at the fact that even after two rounds he¡¯d be putting coin on a high card alone if he raised. He habitually ignored Fortuna¡¯s assurances that if he went all in he was sure to bring home the pot. Raising a single copper before drawing his third card, he proved fully justified in his habitual distrust in any promise of the Lady of Long Odds by the addition of a third card of a different suit with a mere valet of Staves for his highest value.


    Damon won the round with a pair that narrowly beat Pollos¡¯ own. He caught Phoebe¡¯s eyes and groaned in feigned sympathy, getting a grin out of her.


    ¡°Do not put us in the same boat, Kassa,¡± she said. ¡°<em>I </em>sometimes win more than once a day.¡±


    ¡°Admittedly, at this rate I might leave our captivity broke,¡± he noted.


    ¡°Oh, you just need to slow down a little,¡± Phoebe told him, the fair-haired woman then pitching her voice low. ¡°Marcos told me there¡¯s some kind of higher-up visiting this week, our¡­ vacation might be ending soon.¡±


    Marcos was the mercenary soldier Phoebe had taken up with, a middle-aged man the younger woman sometimes snuck off with during the night. Tristan was not sure what had drawn her to a man ten years her elder with a slight pot belly and a fierce beard, but admittedly he was no expert on matters of desire. It might have been the muscles. Either way, Phoebe¡¯s lover was not above pillow talk and she in no way above spreading said pillow talk around.


    More importantly, by the sound of it they were still involved and Phoebe seemed in no danger of losing interest. The lever that was that entanglement could still be used. Tristan counted the days in his head ¨C Marcos would have the night shift tonight, the one down in the pit, but that was too early. The next time should be in two days. Potentially enough time to get the rest of his affairs in order.


    ¡°The honeymoon ends atst,¡± Pollos drawled. ¡°Whatever will you do parted from dear Marcos?¡±


    ¡°A honeymoon should have a bed,¡± Phoebe groused. ¡°Or at least more privacy than the dark and a prayer.¡±


    Thatint was not an infrequent one, though thatck of privacy wasn¡¯t stopping her taking the man to bed any more than it did the rest of the couples that¡¯d formed with other guards or between hostages. Thatint was, in fact, the very reason Tristan had wanted her in this game of cards. He didn¡¯t even need to ask about the duty roster, given that it was regr and there were few enough mercenaries it was entirely predictable.


    ¡°Another magnate is visiting?¡± Tristan idly asked, putting on a show of rolling his eyes as he went fishing for the information mostly out of habit. ¡°Gods take pity on a poor Sacromontan, I¡¯m still learning all the names of the other ones.¡±


    ¡°A noble this time,¡± Phoebe denied. ¡°I <em>think</em> the Anaidon are nobles, anyway. I heard them called a house once.¡±


    Tristan methodically smothered any trace of surprise. House Anaidon, as in the same aristocrats who were hiding troops and arms for the noble coup? Or, he then thought, perhaps this was <em>Hector </em>Anaidon ¨C the suspected member of the cult of the Golden Ram, outed by Song as having some sort of boon. Which in turn would mean the cult had some hand in this ce.


    That¡­ he¡¯d good as dismissed that possibility, seeing what he had seen. Was this not a Yellow Earth operation, propping up their Trade Assembly allies? <em>Get out first</em>, Tristan reminded himself. <em>Then investigate.</em>


    ¡°Why¡¯s a noble on our side?¡± Damon asked with a frown.


    ¡°Must be a traitor,¡± Pollos opined. ¡°There¡¯s always a few.¡±


    There was some grumbling, but nothing all that strongly worded. Few among even the firebrands of the hostages were truly arguing for every highborn in Asphodel to be shot, and he was hardly sitting with firebrands. Damon was the one with the strongest republican leanings here, on ount of his mother having been hanged for poaching, and he imed no real appetite for corpses beyond those of the sitting members of the Council of Ministers.


    ¡°Heavy talk aside, I would have thought <em>your </em>dalliance had time for a bed out of all of them,¡± Tristan said with measured nonchnce.


    ¡°What¡¯s that supposed to mean?¡± Phoebe replied, already half-ring.


    He raised his hands to im peace.


    ¡°Only that he always shares the night shift with Cymone,¡± the thief said. ¡°Doesn¡¯t she¡­¡±


    He mimed drinking.


    ¡°Oh, she¡¯s a drunk all right,¡± Phoebe snorted. ¡°But their captain forbade her to buy bottles after she almost fell into the pit, now she has to do with what¡¯s served with meals.¡±


    ¡°Poor Karolos,¡± Pollos smiled a tad cruelly. ¡°His only shot there is if she gets enough liquor in her belly.¡±


    ¡°Pollos,¡± Phoebe chided him, but she was smiling.


    <em>Karolos</em>, Tristan mused. <em>Karolos</em>. Rolling around the name in his memory eventually yielded a face. Another brown surcoat mercenary, a big man with a face like a bull¡¯s and manners to match. Not liked among the hostages, for he was quicker than most with the back of his hand.


    Oh, that would work quite nicely.


    ¡°Anyhow, sober dear Cymone remains so there¡¯s no sneaking off to bend me over during the night,¡± Phoebe sighed mournfully, to the disgusted grimaced of her brother.


    Tristan shared in the sentiment but hid it, and paid the price for his maneuver in the form of a veritable tide of bawdy jokes. Ugh. He had what he¡¯de for, though: the right angles and the right actors. That look in Phoebe¡¯s eye had been considering: her lover would be hearing of the idea when they next met, Tristan would put coin on it. Now he just needed to deliver Marcos that opportunity to sneak off, and for that he would need a borrowed pair of hands.


    Thankfully, he knew just where to get them.


    --


    After the midday musket drill the hostages made their way back upstairs, falling back into the small coteries that¡¯d naturally emerged among them. The warehouse hands, the shop owners, the sailors, the traveling men. Once these settled, gambling sprouted like mushrooms after rain. Perhaps buoyed by his decent luck that morning, Damon had fetched the Delinos siblings again when they sat for cards ¨C but this time Tristan had added someone on his own to the circle.


    Her name was Rhea.


    The small, twitchy woman sat to his left as they yed a seventh round of Cacho. Rhea of Tratheke smiled a lot and she had the sort of guilelessly chubby face that incited trust in most encountering it. Rhea also cheated constantly and relentlessly at every game she yed at. She was not even particrly skilled a cheater, Tristan mused, getting away with it mostly on ount of being able to tear up at the drop of a hat.


    Now <em>there</em> was an impressive skill, though. Crying onmand was much harder than people tended to assume. Said cheater pped down her cards with a triumphant smile.


    ¡°Cacho,¡± Rhea announced, revealing an eight, nine and ten of Cups. ¡°Beat<em> that</em>.¡±


    A groan from Damon, who threw away his valet and knight of Wands nked by a useless two of Staves, while the Delinos siblings outright cursed and threw their own cards face down. Tristan eyed the smug Rhea with amusement, wondering how she would dig herself out of the hole should he point out he could see another ten of Cups tucked away up her sleeve. Not that he needed to put her down, for tempted as he was to let her win he was running low on funds. Time to refill the coffers a bit.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Fortuna hissed over his shoulder. ¡°Crush them, Tristan, <em>crush them mercilessly</em>. And to think you wanted to fold!¡±


    Clearing his throat, he caught Rhea¡¯s gaze and flipped his three cards one after another. Six of Cups, six of Wands, six of Coins. Three sixes were the single strongest hand, beating her flush even though the ¡®Cacho¡¯ she had put down was the hand the game was named after.


    ¡°<em>No</em>,¡± she whimpered. ¡°That was half my savings.¡±


    By which she meant half of what she had cheated her fellow hostages out of, Tristan silently amended.


    ¡°I was due some luck,¡± he shrugged as he picked up the pile of copper coins. ¡°Next round, yes?¡±


    ¡°Please, let us dice for bragging rights instead,¡± Damon pleaded. ¡°At this rate I won¡¯t be able to afford the bottle of rotgut I sent for.¡±


    ¡°The prices are robbery,¡± Phoebe conceded.


    To most everyone¡¯s side-eye, considering she was sleeping with one of the mercenaries setting those robber prices. As Damon had requested dice reced cards, but Rhea seemed disinclined to y those and instead approached Tristan with a pitiful look. Ah, good, that spared him the need to approach her. She sat close and leaned in, pitching her voice low.


    ¡°I don¡¯t suppose,¡± she pleaded with a wobbly lip, ¡°that you would trade me your coppers for my arbol? I cannot gamble with one silver, and my only friends here all y cards.¡±


    He squinted at her. The mercenaries guarding them were entirely willing to split arboles into radizes if you ceded a part of the sum to make it worth their while. That made it sound like Rhea was simply trying to avoid that informal three radizes tax by having him change it instead, but that was too simple a racket. She was, after all, a cheat to the bone. There would be more to it.


    ¡°Show me the silver,¡± he said.


    She produced a polished silver arbol, the intertwined oaks on the front almost shining. The coin looked new, he thought. Perhaps<em> too</em> new, and he could not help but notice she was showing him only the front.


    ¡°And the other side?¡± he asked.


    She turned teary blue eyes on him.


    ¡°You really think I would-¡±


    He snatched the silver out of her hand, ignoring her yelp and suddenly tearless eyes. His lips twitched when on the other side was not a stamped griffin a real arbol would have but identical twined oaks.


    ¡°Fake coinage?¡± he asked. ¡°That¡¯s a step past the cards up your sleeve.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s got the same silver concentration, I swear,¡± she pouted. ¡°It¡¯s just that the idiot counterfeiter stamped them the same way twice. I got them at a price that was a steal!¡±


    Tristan rolled his eyes at her. He really doubted there was as much silver in it as a genuine arbol, given that the counterfeit coinage rampant across the Trebian Sea tended to see the most use in ces where theck of precious metals or general poverty meant Sacromontan coinage was worth more than it should. There was precious little of it in Asphodel, which was not all that rich an ind on precious metals but <em>was </em>well provided in silver by the mines digging into the sides of the Nitari Heights.


    ¡°If it truly was good silver, they would have melted and reminted it,¡± Tristan replied.


    The pout deepened.


    ¡°Well,<em> I</em> know that. I was just hoping<em> you</em> wouldn¡¯t,¡± Rhea admitted. ¡°You¡¯re less of a rube than you look.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t say I wouldn¡¯t take it,¡± Tristan mildly said.


    Her eyes lit up.


    ¡°No takebacks or I¡¯ll cry,¡± she threatened.


    ¡°I¡¯ll take the silver,¡± he said, ¡°but my payment will be a favor.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s open-ended,¡± she noted, face closing.


    ¡°You know what <em>wouldn¡¯t</em> be open-ended, Rhea?¡± Tristan mused. ¡°Your chances of anyone in here gambling with you again if ites out you put cards in your sleeve and pass bad coin.¡±


    ¡°A solid counterargument, friend,¡± Rhea replied immediately. ¡°I am entirely at your disposal.¡±


    Tristan squinted at her again. Too easy, and long years in thepany of Fortuna had taught to recognize the scent of utter insincerity when it was in the air.


    ¡°You¡¯re going to try to avoid me until we leave,¡± he guessed.


    Her eyes suddenly turned teary again at this ¡®most unfair usation¡¯, which they both knew to be entirely urate. He still made the trade, of course. A petty crook was exactly what he required and he could be mostly sure she would fold under pressure when the time came. Tristan had his pair of hands.


    Now all that remained was the timing, and patience would deliver that right onto hisp.


    --


    ¡°Consider a box,¡± Tristan said.


    ¡°No,¡± Fortuna replied without batting an eye.


    For all her reflexive contrariness, she still leaned over his shoulder as he traced a square in the dust. She rested her chin against his shoulder, and it was an effort not to lean back into it. It was not real, Tristan reminded himself. And it would be noticed besides.


    ¡°That box,¡± he continued, ¡°has only two exits.¡±


    He marked either side of the square with an X, representing the warehouse stairs and the doors atop them.


    ¡°You¡¯re wrong, though,¡± the Lady of Long Odds smugly said. ¡°There¡¯s two more exits down in the basement, the waterway and the big gate.¡±


    ¡°Which are respectively barred by drowning and at least an hour¡¯s work,¡± Tristan said. ¡°They are disqualified.¡±


    ¡°<em>You¡¯re</em> disqualified,¡± Fortuna muttered.


    ¡°Those two exits are watched at all times,¡± Tristan said. ¡°Two guards at each door, two more down in the pit.¡±


    ¡°You can distract two guards,¡± the goddess reassured him.


    ¡°I could,¡± he agreed, ¡°but those doors are locked ¨C key around the neck of the office running the shift. It might be possible to arrangerge enough a distraction to pick the lock before they notice, but I would then be running blind into the rest of the building.¡±


    And while it was only a guess, he believed at least one of those doors led straight to the barracks where the mercenaries bunked. The brown surcoats changed guards for their shifts very quickly, which stood out given that they were not particrly assiduous workers otherwise. Proximity to where the barracks would exin it, and Tristan was a fine sneak but not so fine as to pass unnoticed through a riled up barracks.


    ¡°So we¡¯re stuck,¡± the Lady of Long Odds pouted. ¡°That was a lot of talk, Tristan. You could just have said ¡®I¡¯m a disappointment, Fortuna¡¯ and left it at that.¡±


    He flicked a finger at her face, which naturally went through thin air but still had her withdrawing from his shoulder and hissing like an angry cat before taking revenge. The thief was d no one was asleep right now, for he would have looked like a madman fending off the void with his arms. After a truce was established, at least until Fortuna betrayed it remorselessly, he returned to the matter at hand.


    ¡°You are right, at least, that I cannot pass through those doors myself,¡± the thief said. ¡°Which means I must have someone move me instead.¡±


    ¡°Fake sickness,¡± Fortuna advised.


    ¡°I asked Phoebe earlier,¡± Tristan replied, ¡°and she said that Abran ¨C the trader with the beard ¨C had a fever on his first week. All the browncoats did was quarantine him on the left side of the floor.¡±


    ¡°Impersonate one of them,¡± she tried.


    ¡°I considered that,¡± he admitted, ¡°but they¡¯re too small an outfit. Fewer than thirty mercenaries, unless they¡¯re hiding a great many officers upstairs. They all know each other¡¯s faces.¡±


    ¡°The merchant guards?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s the same six whoe every morning,¡± the thief grunted. ¡°Even worse. No, I need to be <em>smuggled</em> out.¡±


    ¡°Hidden under what, someone¡¯s skirt?¡± Fortunaughed. ¡°That Marce girl might be tempted, but she wears trousers."


    ¡°A box,¡± Tristan said. ¡°I¡¯ll be smuggled out in a box. I even know who will be moving it out of here afterwards. The problem is that I need to get <em>into </em>the box and the damn thing is down in the pit.¡±


    ¡°So how do you get there?¡± Fortuna asked.


    ¡°Night is when there are the least eyes,¡± he said. ¡°More importantly, it is when they only keepmps lit around the gates and down in the pit.¡±


    ¡°The pit¡¯s where you need them n<em>ot </em>to be, though,¡± she pointed out.


    ¡°The lights don¡¯t matter,¡± he retorted, ¡°if there is no one to watch.¡±


    ¡°And how will you achieve that?¡± Fortuna asked.


    Tristan Abrascal smiled.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to give people,¡± he said, ¡°exactly what they want.¡±

 Chapter 65

    Chapter 65


    On the fourth morning of his captivity, Tristan Abrascal began the n.


    It was quiet, despite Rhea¡¯s attempt to welch. All it took was beginning to raise his voice while speaking of cards in sleeves and she folded, leaving him to disappear into the crowd and then past it. The thiefy back against the warehouse wall, eyes on the cramped tables where hostages were tearing through breakfast in rotations of thirty. Patiently he watched, chewing on the old ck bread he¡¯d swiped on his way through. Taking his time. If he didn¡¯t, he might just choke on this veritable stone he was wetting against his teeth.


    ¡°I don¡¯t get it,¡± Fortuna muttered, standing next to him. ¡°She¡¯s bad at this and you stole the knife yourself, so why aren¡¯t you doing it this time?¡±


    The Lady of Long Odds had changed her dress again, going native. She woreyers of scarlet silk, a sprawling peplos dress like on old Trathekan statues, over which she hadid some sort of half-cloak pinned to her right shoulder by a golden brooch. A matching red shawl and tinkling golden bracelets rounded off the look, lending her a respectable air in an old-fashioned sort of way. s, long acquaintance with the goddess in question precluded Tristan falling for such a tant misrepresentation.


    He didn¡¯t immediately reply, continuing to chew on his bread until one piece was wetted and mulched enough to actually consume. Only when he swallowed did he cover his mouth to hide a murmur.


    ¡°That is exactly why I told her to do it,¡± Tristan replied.


    Both their gazes slipped past the pair of tables where the hostages crammed their faces with the fare of the revolution ¨C mostly beans, but also some chicken ¨C to the sprawl of bedrolls where an almost painfully shady Rhea of Tratheke was stealing a bottle of rotgut on Tristan¡¯s behalf. That liquor would be smuggled into here was, of course, inevitable. Over a hundred people winning coin every five days with nothing to spend it on except gambling, held captive solely by mercenaries and merchant guards?


    The amount of smuggling that¡¯d ensued was almost obscene, though the mercenary officers at least had the good sense toe down hard on anything even vaguely weapon shaped.


    Anyhow, finding out who brought in liquor had been trivially easy considering there were at least a dozen bottles floating around the warehouse at any time. Finding out who had <em>bought</em> some of that liquor had been slightly more difficult, given that the guards did in fact confiscate contraband if they caught hostages with it. Drink was shared with your circle, though selling out another hostage would see you made a pariah ¨C as some had learned the hard way.The trick was to look for sudden changes in poprity. When a sullen prick like Heavy Halia became everyone¡¯s favorite friend overnight it meant there was something in her pack, in this case an old wine jug filled with firewater. Tristan ought to know, he had gone and checked during the night.


    ¡°Shit,¡± Fortuna muttered, leaning forward. ¡°That mercenary saw her, Tristan.¡±


    The thief broke off another piece of mollified ck bread, swallowing it. Terrible, terrible bread this. He¡¯d eaten loafs with sawdust cut into the flour that were easier on the gullet.


    ¡°<em>Finally</em>.¡±


    The tall, broad-shouldered man in a brown surcoat currently clearing his throat at a teary-eyed Rhea was called Karolos. He had the morning shift every odd day and always stood in the same cornerwhcih meant arranging for him to catch c Rhea red-handed had been trivially easy. His sacrificialmb¡¯s sole trick, getting weepy, did not do much when Karolos caught her removing a wine jug from a bedroll. Despite her protestations that it was ¡®medicinal, for her cough¡¯, the mercenary confiscated the jug and sent her off with a stern warning.


    Nothing more, though, even though Karolos was known to lightly justify a heavy hand on the hostages. That, too, had been predicted: after all, if he made a fuss he¡¯d have to hand over the jug to his captain and that wasn¡¯t what he wanted to do with it. It¡¯d helped when nning this to be mostly certain that no punishment would be dealt out to his pasty, meaning the risks of her trying to turn it around on him were minimal.


    Tristan hade down to a third of the bread by the time Rhea slunk up to him, already prepared to cry. The cheat, well aware that he still had her over a barrel and she had failed to aplish the favor he¡¯d called in as payment, put on her most pitiful face.


    ¡°I did all I could,¡± Rhea pleaded. ¡°Only the man had eyes like a hawk and greedy, greedy hands. Now he¡¯ll keep an eye on me, and if Halia learns I was in her pack-¡±


    ¡°She won¡¯t,¡± Tristan replied. ¡°But you¡¯re right there¡¯s heat on you. Lie low for a while, we¡¯ll revisit this in a few days.¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± Rhea happily smiled. ¡°So clever of you, wise Ferrando. We must be patient, rush nothing and-¡±


    ¡°Run out the clock to the rising so you can stiff me?¡± Tristan drily asked.


    ¡°Ah, I think I hear another voice calling for me,¡± Rhea hastily replied. ¡°Let it not be said I would ignore any friend in need."


    She fled under his amused gaze. Fortuna harrumphed in displeasure. The goddess disliked Rhea, no doubt because part of her divinity resonated with the surefooted uselessness of the mortal crook.


    ¡°She botched it,¡± Fortuna grumbled. ¡°You should rob her as retaliation, Tristan. I¡¯m sure she has more of those fake silver coins stashed somewhere.¡±


    That was, in fact, quite likely. Having the intertwined oaks on both sides of a silver arbol was tant enough a w Rhea would find it quite hard to pass those and she was just the kind of short-sighted swindler not to wonder<em> why</em> the counterfeiter was selling those coins so cheaply in the first ce.


    ¡°I won¡¯t,¡± he said, faking a yawn. ¡°She did what I wanted, got the bottle in Karolos¡¯ hands.¡±


    Fortuna eyed him skeptically.


    ¡°Why do you want him to have a bottle of rotgut?¡± she asked. ¡°He¡¯s an ass.¡±


    ¡°Because tonight I will be going into the pit,¡± he replied. ¡°There always two guards down there, which are sure to see me at some point while I climbed down forty feet ofdder. Now, I have a way to rid myself of one but I need that bottle for the other.¡±


    ¡°Karolos won¡¯t be down there, the guards that work morning don¡¯t work nights,¡± Fortuna sneeringly pointed out.


    ¡°No, they don¡¯t,¡± he agreed, which took the wind out of her sail.


    ¡°What¡¯s this about, then?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Wait and see,¡± Tristan replied, pushing off the wall.


    He swallowed thest of his rocky ck bread, squaring his shoulders. The first part was done, now he must see to the second and that would be¡­ trickier, to the say the least.


    His Tianxi acquaintances were no fools.


    --


    The first obstacle to sabotaging the cannons was that the artillerymen were almost obsessively watchful of the pieces.


    As many of the dangers in using cannons came from continuous use, when the metal heated and firing shots in a row risked powder or other filth umting in the body, but even though the Tianxi rarely shot their bronze pieces more than twice times a day they were extremely careful with their care. Which was not unwise, considering that the Trade Assembly had sent them old cannons and there was no guarantee of quality for the foundry work.


    Tristan had spent thest two days looking for an angle only to find himself repeatedly stymied by simplepetence.


    Could he clog the bore with filth or debris? No, the cleaning was always double-checked by another artilleryman. Might he oil up the wadding to mess with the ignition? The attempt was caught on the way in and the entire crate of wadding set aside for thorough inspection before any was used again. It¡¯d be impossible to spike the gun with so many eyes on him ¨C ramming a metal spike in the bore was not exactly subtle ¨C and none of the gunners let him anywhere near the vent hole, the orifice through which the powder bag was pierced and the fuse inserted.


    Struggle as he might, Tristan was dragged kicking and screaming to the conclusion that he would have to use his contract.


    That was ying with fire in an altogether different way, not the least because if someone got hurt by the use of his contract the bacsh would turn vicious. It always did, when the luck hurt someone. That and he¡¯d rather not hurt any of the artillerymen, who had beenrgely pleasant to him after he broke through their initial hostility. And if they wanted to fight the aristoi, well, he took no issue with that so long as he was not between the nobles and the shot.


    So it was with veiled nerves that Tristan pulled at his contract when, shortly after breakfast, the three bronze pieces were pointed at the back wall.


    <em>Breathe in, breathe out. Now.</em>


    Tristan released the luck immediately after pulling, barely leaving time for a single tick, in the hope that his price would pass as part of theing ident ¨C and it did, thank the Manes. There was a loud crack from the leftmost cannon, the breach half-shattering, and the four Tianxi manning it threw themselves to the ground. Before the thief could even blink, the fuse was blown out of the vent hole by a gout of burning powder wind.


    He ttened himself against the ground like the Tianxi, which was the only reason he kept his eye. The cracked breech burst open, belching me, and heated bronze shrapnel flew. A piece hit Ming in the shoulder, to the old man¡¯s hoarse shout, and razor-sharp heat sliced just above Tristan¡¯s left eyebrow. He hissed in pain, and as the spent powder charge billowed up in a cloud of smoke he reached for his face. Fingers came away red, the cut narrow but deep.


    A strong grip dragged him up to his feet, Dandan patting him down with a worried look on that ever-severe face.


    ¡°Are you all right?¡± she asked. ¡°Where you hit anywhere else?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think so,¡± Tristan replied, a little dazed.


    His mind focused. Recalled what he¡¯d seen and¡­


    ¡°Shit,¡± he said, turning. ¡°Ming, are you-¡±


    He turned to find the old man had taken off his shirt, revealing skinny ribs and spare chest hair. More importantly, Ming was also not bleeding in the slightest. He wasughing, picking at the bronze shards stuck deep in what appeared to be a wooden shoulder prosthetic.


    ¡°Battle Yun Shan,¡± he exined, grinning toothlessly as he rapped a knuckle against the wood in demonstration. ¡°Kuril <em>bastardos</em> shot it out, had to rece.¡±


    ¡°Lucky,¡± Tristan croaked out, genuinely relieved.


    He would have lived with the guilt. Wearing ck, up there, he sometimes had the luxury of clean hands. Down here, though, he was just another rat. He would have lived with the guilt, yes. But he would live better without.


    ¡°You too,¡± Dandan grimly said. ¡°That was almost your eye.¡±


    ¡°You man now, Ferrando,¡± Ming told him, seeming pleased. ¡°Gunner without scar not gunner.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t listen to him,¡± Dandan muttered. ¡°He¡¯s from the southern prefectures, they¡¯re all mad. They think it¡¯s a rite of passage to get mauled by tigers.¡±


    ¡°I think I need to sit down,¡± Tristan admitted, not entirely feigning it.


    He was allowed thatfort, and duly kept an ear out for the chatter between the Tianxi. With a cannon blown and the manner in which it had broken hinting that the Trade Assembly had sent them something shoddily cast, the artillerymen were more than willing to call a halt to drills. They would not work, or fight for that matter, until their contracted right to be ¡®properly equipped¡¯ was again fulfilled.


    Three cannons, that was what Dandan said the Tianxi counted as the strict minimum. They now had two and no inclination to do the magnates any favors.


    The thief let out a long breath, passing his hand through his messy hair. If not for Ming¡¯s wooden shoulder, he suspected the misfortune might well have shed out his eye. There was a reason he was reluctant to use his contract near anything that could explode. But he had had what he¡¯de for, the second part of the n: now the rebels would have to switch out the broken cannon, dragging it up in its crate before lowering a recement. That crate would be passing through the guarded stairs, and that was his way out of the warehouse.


    Now he just needed to get <em>inside</em> of it.


    --


    Sex was the solution. Not a thought that often urred to Tristan, for whom desire was not much of an acquaintance, but sex proved to be how the pieces fit together.


    Now, the thief needed to be inside the broken cannon¡¯s crate when it was taken out of the basement and he knew he had until the morning to do it because he¡¯d had Dandan¡¯s gossip confirmed by several sources as well as his own eyes. Namely, the brown surcoat mercenaries werezy and they always left the job of bringing powder barrels up or down to the merchant guards. Those guards only came for the morning shift, usually at five or six, so by four at thetest Tristan needed to be inside.


    Which meant he had to get around the two mercenaries that would guard basement overnight, theoretically keeping an eye out for trouble though in practice they usually spent most of that time ying cards.


    Even pulling on his contract as hard as he could, Tristan doubted he would be able to make it all the way down forty feet ofdder into an open basement and then have the time to cross the floor and hide before either guard noticed. His luck let him skew the odds, not fold them into a paper crane that then miraculously came alive. That and for such a deep draw the bacsh was sure to be¡­ unpleasant. He¡¯d almost lost an eye this morning, he was not eager to roll the dice again.


    As a boy he¡¯d been more careless with his contract, a child with a new toy, but he¡¯d quickly learned that using it was a crutch - and in the Murk, there was only one fate in store for someone going around hobbling. Fortuna¡¯s gift was best used when things were already bad, to change his trouble into one he might be able to ovee instead.


    Besides, there were limits to what the luck could do. He¡¯d tried grand works as a boy, a few times, and little had happened. The<em> bacsh</em>, however, had been matched to the borrowing. That falling roof had nearly killed him.


    So to get around the guards, he had done the work. The first step was picking his moment, which was not difficult: thepany hired by the Trade Assembly was not arge outfit, their shifts were regr and did not seem to change week from week. A few casual questions had given him the rosters, or at least the visible rosters. No telling what went on upstairs.


    And tonight, after he broke the cannon, the two guards in the pit would be Marcos and Cymone.


    Marcos was the reason he had chosen that shift in the first ce. The mercenary had taken up with one of the warehouse workers for the Delinos, Phoebe, and Phoebe had admitted once or twice that they found it frustrating how hard it was to find the time to sneak off and fuck. That they couldn¡¯t take their time or expect real privacy. So he had sown in conversation the seed of an idea for her to pass to her lover: using the night shift for privacy. He could not be certain, of course, but he liked his odds: if Marcos had an opportunity to desert his post to spend private time with Phoebe, he would likely take it.


    That left Cymone as the key to providing that opportunity.


    Cymone was, thankfully, a drunk. One whose habits were being contained only at the order of her superior officer ¨C who had forbidden her to buy liquor, only allowing it with meals - thus implying an exploitableck of restraint. At least out in the world. Down here, where liquor was a smuggled good? Handing her a bottle of strong liquor before the beginning of her evening shift would have been wildly suspicious, and left toorge a trail that could lead back to him. A broken cannon, and shift in disarray and the man who¡¯d handed Cymone the bottle went missing? Someone would figure it out.


    Only, what if someone else gave her the bottle instead? Sex once again came of use, a turn of phrase he had deeply regretted using in Fortuna¡¯s presence and since heard so many times the words no longer sounded like words to his ears, only a litany of regrets. Cymone, though of regrettable habits, had attracted the attentions of another mercenary: Karolos. His affections went unreturned, but that was even better. Made him more predictable.


    It meant that when Karolos caught Rhea with a bottle of rotgut this morning, Tristan knew exactly what was going to happen. He was going to keep the affair quiet, confiscate the bottle and then offer the apple of his eye a gift she could not obtain on her own.


    And since Cymone was forbidden to drink save at meals Tristan knew exactly when she would crack open that bottle. Knew exactly why the other person on that watch, Marcos, would keep his mouth shut about it.


    And so everyone got what they wanted, Tristan Abrascal most of all.


    --


    Thenterns were put out, save the one at the doors and the bottom of the pit. Thetter revealed the sight of victory: Cymone in her brown surcoat, a jug of firewine in hand as Marcos pretended not notice.


    Now it was all over but the waiting.


    --


    It took an hour and a half before Cymone was snoring away the drink and Marcos had hurried back up the stairs to shake awake Phoebe. Within moments the lovers were sneaking off to a dark corner, giggling. Tristan breathed out, centered himself and took the knife he¡¯d slipped under his cot. Not that he intended on any violence tonight.


    Only one of the stairs was currently guarded, by a bored-looking man picking at his fingernails and a gray-haired woman loudly snoring. The other door was barred, the pair guarding it having gone for a meal. They would be back, though, so Tristan made use of the unexpected opportunity as best he could: angles and patience did the work, neither too quick nor too slow. There was a greater risk of waking up other hostages creeping by them than being seen by the mercenary, truth be told, so despite knowing his hourss only had so much sand in it he did not hurry.


    It would be difficult to make these ¡®coincidences¡¯ line up twice, he could not afford a blunder even should he go uncaught.


    It took ten minutes to make it to thedders, crawling and creeping and pretending to be one sleeper among many. Another minute waiting for the nail picker to be facing the wrong direction for even peripheral vision to catch his getting onto thedders. Once he was there, however, he moved down swiftly. He could not stay in the open long, even with Cymone asleep. Fortuna was down there, keeping an eye on the drunken mercenary, so he kept his breath even and moved.


    Halfway down the goddess let out a cry of warning and he froze. Cymone slumped against a crate, knocking over a pile of cards and sttering them over the floor. But though she stirred, the mercenary did not wake. Breathing out, Tristan hurried the rest of the way down.


    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    His feet touched solid ground to a sense of triumph, but it was too early to celebrate. Skittering across the brass floor, he headed for the crates. As expected, the broken cannon was already packed away for lifting in the morning. The lid of the crate was nailed in, though only enough to keep it slipping off, and there was a line of red on the wood so the merchant guards would be sure it was the right one when they lowered the ropes.


    Knife in hand, Tristan cast a look at the snoring Cymone to reassure himself and then wedge the de between the head of a nail and the wood. He would have to be careful to leverage out the nails without snapping the de, but it would have to do. There had been no hammer at hand to steal, the few down here carefully packed away by the Tianxi gunners after each drill.


    ¡°A gamble, but a measured one. It is an eptable n for a young Mask.¡±


    In a heartbeat he turned with his knife de pointed, only to find he was not facing an enemy but something altogether stranger. Half-naked in a brown shift that was more akin to sleepwear than his usual, Hage sat atop a pile of crates to his left with his impressive eyebrows raised. And there was a scent of¡­ Tristan sniffed. Well, no need to ask where the devil hade from. He might have cleaned himself of the muck, but he still smelled like sewer.


    There were advantages to not needing to breathe and being stronger than currents. Ah, one more reason to sleep lightly. It wasn¡¯t like he had been in danger of running out.


    ¡°Sir,¡± Tristan replied, sloppily saluting. ¡°Fancy seeing you here.¡±


    ¡°You paid for a dead body,¡± Hage quietly replied. ¡°The Krypteia always delivers.¡±


    ¡°Guessing by the way you smell,¡± the thief said, ¡°the defenses upstairs are solid?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Hage unhappily said. ¡°It will take months to scrub all the sewer out of my shell, Abrascal, and sometimes it never washes out entirely. I am debating an inconvenience fee.¡±


    ¡°Take it up with my captain,¡± he replied without batting an eye.


    Any silver that could be pried out of Song Ren¡¯s thrifty grasp was entirely earned, as far as he was concerned. The devil clicked both sets of teeth disapprovingly, then flicked a finger to his right ¨C where Tristan had missed arge waxed bag lying atop a row of crates. About, the thief mused, the right size to contain a corpse. That would help a great deal if it were true. His bet had been that there would be enough time between the crate being brought up and his disappearance being noted that he would be able to make it out of the facility, but that would still leave him as sticking out in the aftermath.


    No one would be looking for him if he was dead, though.


    ¡°Can you still make it look like an ident?¡± he asked.


    ¡°You are going to fall from upstairs,¡± Hage replied. ¡°It will destroy your face, but your clothes will be recognizable. I brought a set for you to change into.¡±


    ¡°Splendid,¡± Tristan smiled, not unhappy to be getting out of his current set.


    He was going soft, being displeased at a mere few days without fresh clothes.


    ¡°Now, I don¡¯t suppose you might be willing to lend me a hand with¡­¡±


    The old devil raised a hand, rubbing thumb and index.


    ¡°Fine, I¡¯ll pay the fee,¡± the thief sighed. ¡°I just need you to nail the lid back into ce properly behind me.¡±


    He¡¯d been intending to only remove some of the nails and then squeeze through the gap into the crate, but having them properly back in ce would only improve the deception. Well worth some silver, as coin could be earned back but he only had the one life to spend and they were hard toe by. Hage inclined his head in agreement.


    ¡°Should you escape instead of being caught and tortured, I will find you,¡± the devil said. ¡°I established a supply stash close by.¡±


    ¡°I can always rely on you for encouragement, sir,¡± Tristan drily replied.


    ¡°Asphodelians were once fond of castingrge bronze bull statues that were hollow on the inside, then heating them up under me and forcing traitors inside to die in screaming agony,¡± Hage told him. ¡°I believe the execution method is still used behind closed doors in some outlying parts of the ind.¡±


    A pause, a friendly single-teethed smile.


    ¡°Do you now feel encouraged to seed in your escape?¡± Hage asked.


    Tristan sighed. There went his nap inside the box, nightmares would likely give away his presence.


    ¡°Let¡¯s get this over with,¡± he replied.


    Hage was worth the hiring, at least: the devil plucked out the nails by hand and nailed them back in just the same. Within minute Tristans wasfortably crammed atop the broken cannon, the lid shut back over his head with just enough give air would keep entering. Within minutes there was a wet thump on the ground as a corpse hit the basement floor wearing his clothes.


    It was half an hour before someone noticed the dead body.


    --


    As far as crates went it was not the worst he¡¯d spent a few hours in, though hardly the best either: the broken cannon made for an ufortable perch despite the straw packed around it.


    But he did notck for entertainment, listening in on how the rebels dealt with finding Ferrando¡¯s dead body.


    It was Marcos who found it,ing back from his tryst. The still-drunk Cymone had all the me pushed onto her, though she argued that the dead man must have fallen down from the edge of the pit and no one could have helped that. After dragging the dead body out of sight, coincidentally not far from Tristan, they went to fetch officers. Not just a mercenary one either but one of the merchant guards as well, for those were the magnate¡¯s own men and so higher up thedder of hierarchy.


    Tristan¡¯s false corpse was identified by the clothes and hair as ¡®the Kassa boy, Ferrando¡¯, followed by a quick discussion of whether or not he was someone who mattered. The resulting verdict was that besides having been taken under Temenos¡¯ wing he did not, so the corpse was unceremoniously dumped in the sewer. It was agreed on that losing a hostage would reflect poorly on them to ¡®Mistress Maria¡¯ ¨C presumably Maria Anastos, the magnate ¨C so it was best kept secret.


    The officers settled on telling Damon in the morning that his fellow Kassa hostage had been moved to another hideout to further his training in cannonry. <em>There¡¯ll be corpses by the hundreds on the night of the fighting</em>, one of the officers imed. <em>We can add him to the tally then.</em> Not a bad n, Tristan considered, so long as no one talked. Considering one of those relied on for silence was a habitual drunk, however, he had some doubts on the secret being kept unless the rising happened soon.


    No one so much as checked on the crates, leaving Tristan to rest his eyes in packing of straw until the merchant guards came on shift and someone began tying up his vessel. He tensed as ropes were attached and pulling began, but the guards were careful ¨C likely more to avoid breaking the crate than out of tenderness towards whaty inside. There was grunting and cursing aplenty after they dragged up the crate on solid ground, several men pushing it up on a wooden pallet where it was fastened with ropes so it could be dragged without damaging the bottom of the crate.


    They dragged him across the warehouse, up the stairs and then down a hall. Several unkind things about the artillerymen and Tianxi as a whole were spat out, ming them for the work, but even more venom was reserved for the mercenaries ¨C who were ¡®uselessyabouts¡¯ and whose captain should beshed for the insistence that they¡¯d been hired as guards and notborers so they could not be asked to move crates unless a better rate was offered.


    It took the better part of an hour for him to be lifted out of the basement and onto the presumed storage room where the merchant guards left him. Ear pressed to the crate he heard the door closing and a key being turned, but that did not necessarily mean he was alone in the room. He waited for a few minutes more, ear pricked for breathing or movement.


    Nothing.


    It was mildly tricky pushing up the crate¡¯s lid without making noise, but Hage had proved worth his fee: he¡¯d pushed down the nails at depths and angles that made it easier from the inside. A quick look around revealed a dark room, but re light was filtering in a few rays from a boarded-up window. All around where crates and woven baskets, though the room was too small to be the main storage for a hideout of so many men. Considering the few open baskets he could see were filled with trash like broken jugs and metal scraps Tristan gave it good odds he was in the base¡¯s dump ¨C though a dump for materials that were expensive enough to be worth keeping.


    He slipped out of the crate onto a wooden floor, careful not to make the shoddy wood creak, and snuck to the door to press his ear against it. Breathing. There was a guard on the other side, or at least close. Best find another way out, then. The window he¡¯d seen earlier was boarded up with thick wooden nks, but the work was sloppy. It was easy to find out why the shoddy workmanship had been allowed to remain: they were on the second story, at least fifteen feet above the street. <em>Maybe closer to twenty.</em>


    He took the time to close his crate, cleaning up his trail, before going through the room for ¨C ah, and there they were. A hammer and prybar, left on atop a crate near the window. Easier to leave the tools here than bring them every time you needed to open a crate inside here. The prybar was what he picked up, taking a closer look at the boarded-up window. Trying the wood and nails, he¡¯d guess that it was going to give if he applied pressure.


    It wouldn¡¯t give <em>silently</em>, though, which brought him back the problem of the guard. Pressing his face to the window boards, Tristan judged by what he could see of the hideout wall ¨C wood for this level, stone lower down ¨C that he should be able to climb down without snapping his neck. Not quickly enough to avoid pursuit if someone was pursuing, however, which meant he¡¯d have to be patient. He settled in to wait, though not before preparing a hiding ce in case the door was opened again.


    It was at least another hour before there was movement on the other side of the door. Whoever approached the guard stopped to chat and Tristan risked approaching so he might catch more of what was being said.


    ¡°-ess Maria said to treat them as guests.¡±


    ¡°Sure, they¡¯re guests,¡± a woman¡¯s voice replied. ¡°<em>Creepy</em> guests. There¡¯s something off about that man, I tell you.¡±


    ¡°Not our problem,¡± a man said. ¡°They¡¯re just here waiting for Anaidon anyways. I¡¯ll be a pain to wheel them up all the way to the top of the watchtower, but they¡¯ll be gone by tomorrow.¡±


    ¡°Fucking noble,¡± the woman cursed. ¡°Can¡¯t believe we have to let him in, peacocking around like he owns the ce.¡±


    ¡°A small price to pay to have someone on the inside in the pce,¡± the man shrugged. ¡°We¡¯ll lose enough men taking Fort Archelean as is, let¡¯s not turn down traitors.¡±


    ¡°This is why I can¡¯t talk politics with you, Teo, you¡¯re always so<em> reasonable</em>,¡± the woman sighed. ¡°Come on, go get your grub. I¡¯ll have a walkabout and then I can guard this tactically crucial hallway boasting both a storage andtrines.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s a whole cannon¡¯s worth of bronze in the storage now,¡± ¡®Teo¡¯ amusedly said. ¡°Lots of coin in that, if you know a smith.¡±


    ¡°Away,¡± the woman repeated.


    There was chuckling, then the sound of someone walking away. Tristan kept his breath shallow, almost silent. The other guard, despite her words, was staying there.


    ¡°Come on, Lia, heughs at your jokes and you know you¡¯re not that funny,¡± the guard muttered. ¡°Just ask him out for drinks, it¡¯s not that fucking hard. What¡¯s the worse he can do, say no?¡±


    To Tristan¡¯s mild amusement, ¡®Lia¡¯ then cursed and then stalked off. He bade her good luck in her quest, then got to work. He¡¯d picked out the two nks that would be easiest to remove to make an opening, and though the first went off without a hitch the second splintered when he leveraged it out. Fuck. Well, so much for leaving no trace. He put the splintered nk into one of the baskets, hoping one of the guards would get med for it, then popped his head through the opening to get a better look.


    About a twenty-foot drop, like he¡¯d thought. And the street was empty, which would notst forever, so there was no time to waste. He did what he could to wedge the surviving nk back into ce behind him, half-hanging off the window, but did not have the leverage to put the nails back in more than symbolically.


    Or the time to screw around trying to do it better.


    The only trouble climbing down under the Tratheke daylight was splinters since he was doing this all without gloves, but he grit his teeth and made it down to the stone of the first level, resting on the edge. He leaped down the rest, which had his knees aching but he managed mostly silent. And just like that, he was out.


    Now, to find Hage.


    --


    The devil had promised to find him, and he did. Just in time, too, for the basileia hirelings of the Trade Assembly were patrolling the streets. Loosely, but even bored men had eyes.


    Hage pulled him off the street into a gutted house, then through hidden stairs into a basement where waited two surprises: a packsack¡¯s worth of equipment and a menagerie. Mephistofeline had made bedding out of a pile of likely stolen correspondence, the burial mound of fur and fat purring loudly as he crinkled stolen secrets. On the other side of the room, a bundled Watch uniform served as a perch for a happy Sakkas.


    The magpie trilled happily at the sight of him, which the thief had to admit was rather endearing. It was a fine little abomination, it was.


    Tristan went to stroke its soft head, getting a pleased warble, and pointedly ignored Mephistofeline ¨C who meowed intively at the favoritism even though he had until a moment ago been pretending to sleep.


    ¡°They do not check the houses,¡± Hage informed him. ¡°There will be no trouble so long as we remain quiet.¡±


    He was back in his usual, high-cored doublet and hose with his neat little beret, but still smelled faintly of vinegar. Drastic measures had been taken to get the sewer smell out of the mustache, evidently.


    ¡°Understood,¡± Tristan replied. ¡°Are those supplies for me?¡±


    ¡°The uniform, ckjack and poison box,¡± the devil said. ¡°For anything more¡­¡±


    ¡°There will be a fee,¡± he finished with a sigh.


    He took the time to change into the regr¡¯s uniform Hage had brought him, pulling it all in ce save for the ck cloak. Tristan felt¡­ stronger, with it on. Almost armored, even though it was nothing save ck cloth. What an odd thing. The ckjack went up his sleeve and he checked on the poison box ¨C his own and nothing was missing ¨C before straightening and turning to face Hage¡¯s expectant gaze.


    ¡°Report,¡± the old devil ordered.


    Heid it all out, how he had been taken and how he went about escaping, what information he had gleaned during his captivity. Hage stoked at his chin thoughtfully.


    ¡°Anaidon is the piece that stands out,¡± the older Mask said. ¡°Your captain¡¯s current theory is that elements of the Trade Assembly were coopted by the noble coup, but the Yellow Earth¡¯s involvement contradicts this. We are looking at two different coups, almost certainly, but¡­¡±


    ¡°Either House Anaidon is ying both sides with an imusible degree of sess,¡± Tristan said, ¡°or Hector Anaidon, suspected cultist, is involved with this rebellion.¡±


    He paused, put his thoughts in order.


    ¡°Which also seems passing odd, considering the noble coup and the cult of the Golden Ram are essentially the same organization.¡±


    ¡°The cult could be attempting sabotage,¡± Hage said. ¡°Or intending on using the Trade Assembly¡¯s move as a distraction for their own.¡±


    Tristan could believe thetter, at least. It¡¯d be one Hell of a distraction for a mob of workers, sailors and mercenaries to take to the streets and ram themselves bloodily against the walls of Fort Archelean ¨C expecting traitors on the inside to silence guns or open gates. The fighting would draw the lictors down to the fort, draw the Lord Rector¡¯s eyes there as well, and then the nobles moved to seize the unprotected pce. There was, however, a problem with that.


    ¡°This Anaidon was considered high up the ranks of the conspiracy by the mercenaries,¡± Tristan said. ¡°That means whoever they are must have rubbed elbows with the Yellow Earth at some point. I can buy them fooling the magnates, but the sashes too? The Yellow Earth would have gone digging for every skeleton in that closet as a matter of course.¡±


    ¡°We are missing information,¡± Hage calmly agreed.


    The devil said nothing more, but then he didn¡¯t truly need to. Tristan grimaced.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to have to go back in,¡± he said. ¡°Grab him for interrogation.¡±


    ¡°Song Ren has, in fact, been attempting to abduct Hector Anaidon for simr reasons over thest few days,¡± Hage said. ¡°Only he went missing, as if disappeared into thin air.¡±


    ¡°You think Hector¡¯s our mystery visitor, then,¡± Tristan said.


    ¡°I think that the chaos rising within these walls is all too organized,¡± Hage replied. ¡°The thread that ties it all together is the cult and Hector Anaidon is likely to be a member of it.¡±


    The thief hummed, then nced to the side.


    ¡°My thanks for the help in getting out,¡± he finally said.


    ¡°Your n had fine odds of seeding without my help,¡± Hage replied. ¡°As expected of Nerei¡¯s student.¡±


    The way he spoke the words, they sounded as much of an insult as apliment.


    ¡°My false death keeps it all quiet, that¡¯ll make a difference,¡± Tristan replied, then quirked an eyebrow. ¡°Why did you bring Mephistofeline here, anyway? The neighborhood kids would have loved feeding him, I¡¯m sure.¡±


    They loved the cat enough to make him a little ne of scrap metal sickles, after all, some obscure reference to an Asphodelian death god that ate bodies buried in the ground.


    ¡°Ah,¡± Hage said. ¡°We had to make our escape when Locke and Key attempted to assassinate us.¡±


    The thief stilled.


    ¡°They struck at the Watch?¡± he asked. ¡°That¡¯s¡­¡±


    ¡°Nothing new,¡± Hage said. ¡°It would not be the first time they slew me, either.¡±


    Tristan swallowed. It wasn¡¯t that he¡¯d thought of the old devil as invincible, but the thought that the funny little pair had been capable of killing him more than once was difficult to swallow.


    ¡°That they came for my<em> cat</em>, however, I take personally,¡± Hage muttered. ¡°Though I expect they would argue that I started it by looking into their schemes.¡±


    ¡°You tried to find the infernal forge?¡± Tristan asked.


    ¡°There isn¡¯t one,¡± the old devil replied. ¡°I tracked down the source of these rumors, Tristan, and they began circling the capital only shortly before Locke and Key arrived. As if preparing the grounds for that very arrival. It is a smokescreen to obscure what they are truly after.¡±


    ¡°Which is?¡± Tristan asked.


    The old man¡¯s face twitched and there was a sound of clicking teeth and mandibles.


    ¡°I am still unsure,¡± Hage said. ¡°They were invited by the Lord Rector, but they seem uninvolved in the plots infesting the court. That is¡­ unusual, for them.¡±


    ¡°They didn¡¯t seem like the type to leave trouble well enough alone,¡± Tristan agreed.


    ¡°They are mad,¡± Hage tly said. ¡°Quite irremediably so. Either way, I must remain out of sight lest they try for me again. It is poor timing, given how things areing to a head in the capital.¡±


    ¡°The magnates will make their move soon,¡± Tristan slowly agreed. ¡°By month¡¯s end, I was told. Or is there more to it than that?¡±


    Hageid out the reports Song had been handing in while Tristan absented himself being a hostage, and the thief¡¯s brow rose. The Obsidian Order had made another attempt at fulfilling their contract for Evander Palliades¡¯ death andmitted the tactical mistake of being rowdy at a party attended by Song Ren, with predictable consequences. Real stickler about heckling, Song, in the sense that she would stick you with a sword for it.


    And now the other brigades were back, bringing with them talk of grisly rituals in the hills and hidden temples. Song apparently believed the yearly tests might be connected to each other, and Tristan was inclined to agree. So was Hage, for that matter.


    ¡°There is a greater work afoot,¡± the old devil said. ¡°Asphodel is a powder keg that should have blown off months ago, Tristan. All these plots that are months or even years in the making, all slowly falling into ce? Someone holds the reins here.¡±


    ¡°Seems like a lot of trouble, all this for a throne,¡± Tristan frowned.


    Nobles liked to pretend there something mystic about nobility, but as far as he could tell nobility was mostly a matter of having enough steel and gold to kill anybody inclined to argue with your being in charge. If your family managed to do that for long enough inertia started to work for you being on top instead of against, and you got to paint a nice title over the generations of sessful violence.


    Taking the throne of Asphodel might not be as simple as putting a bullet in Evander Palliades¡¯ overly haired head, but it certainly wasn¡¯t asplicated as the mess in Tratheke seemed to be.


    ¡°It does,¡± Hage approvingly said. ¡°And that schemes remaining hidden for so long to begin leaking now is not coincidence. If the enemy were sloppy, they would be long caught. I fear that we begin to catch their tail only because they are reaching the end of the game anding into the light has be unavoidable.¡±


    ¡°So I need to grab that Anaidon,¡± the thief grimaced, ¡°or we¡¯re going to stay in the dark.¡±


    ¡°Weigh the risks and decide, Mask,¡± Hage simply said.


    Tristan passed a hand through his hair. Well, when he put it like that. Anyhow the thief had been missing for too long, he shuld bring back <em>something</em> useful to appease Song. His captain was reportedly doing her level best to catch up to Tredegar¡¯s body count, best not give her an excuse.


    He closed his eyes, considered the approach.


    ¡°I can¡¯t grab him on the lower levels,¡± Tristan said. ¡°Too many ways for that to go wrong. I might, however, be able to ambush him up in the tower where he¡¯s supposed to be headed.¡±


    He¡¯d gotten a look at the entire edifice from outside, and it was impressive enough. The ground level, where he had been kept prisoner, was a typicalrge Tratheke building in stone and brass. The two levels above that, however, were wood. And from the depths of the building, near the eastern wall of the city, a tall but ramshackle tower led to some sort of chamber set in the wall. Not one that could be climbed by stairs, only by a hand-pulled lift that was essentially a glorified metal box hanging on pulleys.


    ¡°And how will you get him out?¡± Hage asked.


    ¡°I¡¯ll need someone to work the lift for me on the way down, handle the guards there,¡± Tristan admitted. ¡°I don¡¯t suppose you¡¯d do it for a fee?¡±


    The old devil hummed.


    ¡°As Hector Anaidon is a figure of interest to the greater Watch, I will wave the fee this once,¡± he finally said. ¡°I will, however, not involved myself beyond infiltration and working the lift to lower you.¡±


    ¡°You <em>could</em> help me carry him out you know,¡± Tristan peevishly said. ¡°If it¡¯s really Hector Anaidon I saw him back in the pce, he¡¯s pretty heavyset.¡±


    Hage¡¯s brow rose and Tristan sighed. For a fee, yes. Well, if he was going to get robbed he might as well get the most of it: he went to inspect the supplies. Unsurprisingly, there was climbing gear in there as well as weapons and thieves¡¯ tools.


    ¡°I¡¯ll need the climbing gear,¡± he sighed. ¡°How much?¡±


    Hage answered, and Tristan stared at him for a long moment.


    ¡°This is extortion,¡± he finally said. ¡°A full arbol to <em>rent </em>rope, pegs and a hammer?¡±


    With a fee for keeping them too long, as well, which retroactively justified any and all wars mankind had waged against Pandemonium.


    ¡°Prices are set by the demand, that is the basics of trade,¡± Hage serenely replied.


    If you were a devil, maybe. Although, thinking about it, maybe he could¡­


    ¡°I¡¯ll take it,¡± he said, putting on a resigned look.


    He put the gear in a pile, then made a show of reluctantly handing his silver. The devil cocked an eyebrow.


    ¡°Did you really think that would work?¡±


    Tristan sighed and put the false coin back. Hage hadn¡¯t even needed to look at the second set of intertwined oaks stamped on the side instead of a griffin to know it was counterfeit coin. Rhea had been right, the fake silver <em>was</em> difficult to pass. With genuine reluctance this time he handed a real silver, then his eyes drifted to the pair of leather gloves by the thieving tools.


    ¡°And these?¡±


    ¡°A silver as well,¡± Hage smiled, teeth and teeth.


    At this rate he was going to leave the basement heading straight for a debtor¡¯s prison.


    ¡°The leather¡¯s not that nice,¡± he said. ¡°Ten radizes seems more reasonable.¡±


    He had a pair at ck House, that was the worst part. Not his finest one, he had left that on Tolomontera, but a nicer pair than this and he¡¯d not had to pay a silver to <em>buy</em> them ¨C much less rent!


    ¡°All prices are final,¡± Hage smirked.


    The several unkind things Tristan was in the process of rephrasing in ways that wouldn¡¯t result in added fees were frozen by the sound of a dry retch. He turned, as did Hage, and found that Sakkas was standing on his dirty clothes and shivering. The magpie twitched again and Tristan eyed it warily.


    ¡°You¡¯re not sick, are you?¡± he asked. ¡°I¡¯m not sure I can keep Mephistofeline from eating you if-¡±


    The bird¡¯s jaw unhinged and it let out a ghastly retching sound, wet and raspy. The thief backed away, reaching for his knife, but Sakkas¡¯ throat bulged and it began vomiting out¡­ something, inch by inch, letting out that horrid noise. When the magpie finished he preened, hopping on his feet, and Tristan warily approached. It had thrown up a mass of leather and it was ¨C gods.


    ¡°These,¡± he slowly said, ¡°are my good gloves. Which I am<em> very</em> sure I left at the cottage.¡±


    The magpie trilled affirmatively.


    ¡°The cottage that is back on Tolomontera,¡± Tristan reminded the bird.


    The bird hopped on his feet again, trilling confusedly and perhaps a little intively.


    ¡°He <em>is</em> being very rude,¡± Fortuna agreed, though she showed only through her voice.


    She avoided Hage even outside the Chimerical, though he suspected she saw it as punishing <em>him</em> by withdrawing her presence.


    ¡°Say thank you, Tristan,¡± she continued. ¡°Do you know how hard it is to regurgitate a satchel that size?¡±


    ¡°Do<em> you</em>?¡± Tristan demanded, disbelieving.


    ¡°Perhaps not,¡± she airily replied, ¡°but is it harder than saying thank you?¡±


    Sakkas trilled again. Sighing, Tristan stroked the soft head feathers.


    ¡°Good bird, thank you,¡± he said, to a fresh bout of preening. ¡°I¡¯ll get you fresh plums when we get back to ck House, but we will also be having a discussion about thister.¡±


    Sakkas trilled in confusion.


    ¡°I¡¯m not falling for that,¡± the thief informed him. ¡°Not after your magically vomiting an object several days of travel away by sea moments after I thought about it.¡±


    Sighing, he squared his shoulders and turned to an amused-seeming Hage.


    ¡°I won¡¯t be taking the gloves,¡± he told the old devil.


    ¡°Surprising,¡± Hage replied.


    Tristan rolled his eyes, then set about picking up his supplies. He¡¯d need to keep watch for Anaidon¡¯s arrival, timing his climb correct, and there was no telling how long that would take.


    Best get to work.


    The Novel will be updated first on this website. Come back and


    continue reading tomorrow, everyone!

 Chapter 66

    Chapter 66


    It was not a difficult climb, skill-wise, but that did not make it any less taxing.


    Though the scaffold-tower hugging the western wall of Tratheke had been built with care and precision, it was still made of wood. While the materials made it easy for Tristan to pull himself up with hammer and bolt, bringing up his rope with him as he did, the whole edifice felt like a reed about to fall over. It did not help that the wind had the wooden panels rattling and that abination of time and the elements had visibly taken a toll on the structure.


    At least there was little chance of his being seen, hidden under cover of night as he was, or of getting lost on his way: the chamber at the top had litmps, lending it the look of the me on a candle¡¯s tip, but night had fallen and the remainder was dark.


    Hector Anaidon ¨C there was no mistaking the silhouette ¨C had entered the hideout the better part of half an hour ago, so Tristan knew this would be a close-run thing. He had moved the moment the man showed his face, but there was no telling how long Anaidon would spend downstairs before entertaining his guests in the upstairs chamber.


    The lift was still at the bottom of the structure, at least. With a little luck Tristan would have time to hide and n his ambush.


    About three quarters of the way up, limbs trembling and sweat trickling down his back, Tristan found himself gritting his teeth and swallowing a snarl as weight pressed down on his left. Sakkas, that hateful beast, had justnded on his shoulder. The bird was light for its size, its talons barely felt through the ck coat, but still too damn heavy.


    ¡°Not now,¡± he hissed, taking a hand off the hold to p away the magpie. ¡°What do you think you¡¯re-¡±


    It flew off with a cackling call.


    ¡°Shit,¡± Fortuna whispered, straight into his ear. ¡°Tristan, it was warning us: the lift is moving.¡±Much as the thief would have liked to check, he was too far from the corner of the tower to do so. He¡¯d have to take the goddess on faith. Looking up at the stretch of creaking wood awaiting him, Tristan grimaced. Hesitated.


    ¡°How quickly is it rising?¡± he asked.


    Fortuna hummed, her presence receding until she popped her head out of the wall just a foot to the side of his right hand.


    ¡°Not that fast,¡± she said. ¡°They¡¯re pulling it up by hand I think. If you hurry you should beat them up there.¡±


    ¡°Fuck,¡± Tristan cursed.


    The good news he¡¯d least wanted to hear. Now he had to take on the risks climbing in a hurry or risk trying to enter the room while there was already someone<em> in</em> it. He weighed those on the bnce for a too-long moment, then cursed again. Without rope, then. Hammer and peg alone would be quicker, as cutting corners with one¡¯s life often was.


    The fear of his sweat-slick palms slipping on the pegs only wet them further, but he gritted his teeth and focused. Tear, ce, hammer down. Up. Tear, ce, hammer down. Again and again he hitched himself up the side of the tower, moving as fast as he could. He began to turn around the edge when he got within ten feet of the opening, and below he could now see the wooden box slowly being pulled up. The roof was solid, no chance of anyone seeing through. He breathed out shallowly. No sign of anyone currently up there, and at least a few minutes before the lift arrived.


    He could do this.


    Now was the most dangerous part not because of the pressing time or the climb itself but because he would be inmplight, and so finally vulnerable to being seen from below. Tristan could not let himself think on that, however, for distraction and slippery hands were death¡¯s ingredients. Careful, steady. Do not hammer too little or too much. It was windy up here, now that he was no longer covered by the tower, and that slowed everything down.


    He still reached past the edge of the floor, finding thick carpet there, and began hoisting himself up ¨C only for a burst of wind to catch him in the side. Swallowing a scream, the thief slipped. Fingers wed at the carpet, his boot slipped against the peg and he dropped. His elbow hit the edge of the floor on the way down, he dropped the hammer and scrabbled desperately for anything he could reach. He caught the peg his boot had slipped on, eyes white and heart thundering, fingers digging into the palm until he was bleeding.


    Fear sludged through his veins like molten ice, but he swallowed his spit and bile. <em>Concentrate.</em><em>Forget everything but what needs to be done. Leave only the act.</em> He emptied his mind and moved: hoisted himself back up the peg, then got his boot wedged in and reached up. Past the edge ¨C what if there was wind again, what if. No. The thief breathed out. <em>Nothing ahead, nothing behind. Move.</em> He went over the edge, onto the carpet, and rolled on the room¡¯s floor.


    There he allowed himself a moment of bubbling terror, to realize how utterly close he hade to a pointless death, before burying it. He was not out of the grave yet.


    <em>Find a hiding ce. Move.</em> He rose, careful not to stain the carpet with his bloodied palm, and took a look around. The rebels had not built this room: it was a hole straight through the wall,rge enough it had been made into a makeshift chamber. The back wall was wood, the floor beneath the carpeting brass. As if to force the illusion of hospitality, the furniture was rich and near every inch of wall covered by tapestries or colorful paint. Two tables, a set of sofas and assorted chairs, arge bed and an evenrger wardrobe. There was no door, only thick curtains, and ¨C the creaking, it was loud.


    ¡°Fortuna?¡± he rasped out.


    ¡°They are almost here,¡± the goddess whispered into his ear.


    <em>They</em>? The guests wereing up at the same time, then. There was no time for anything borate. At a look he might fit under the sofas, but that was a risky y. Though it seemed almost a child¡¯s notion, Tristan headed straight for the wardrobe. It was filled to burst with terrible taste, which at least provided decent cover. The thief slipped behind the clothes and crouched, pulling his legs to his chest, and settled in for the wait.


    Best to wait until Hector¡¯s guests were gone to grab the man for an intimate talk, he decided. He could keep an eye on the situation through the slight gap between the two front panels of the wardrobe. In a matter of moments the lift reached the summit, metal nking against metal as it stopped moving. Atch was pulled and then they walked in.


    Lord Hector Anaidon had not changed since Tristanst saw him: a tall, broad-shouldered sort with graying blond hair and a bulbous nose. He was fleshy, though not exactly fat, and his blue eyes were deep-set. The lordling had the soft hands of a man who had never needed to work or fight and the clothes to exin why. There was enough silk on him to dress two marginally smaller men. The pair that apanied him, though, had Tristan¡¯s breath catching in his throat.


    A short, stout man with a jolly smile and swirling mustache. A tall, bony woman with narrow spectacles and pursed lips.


    ¡°Why, what a fascinating little nook,¡± Lord Locke enthusiastically said, looking around.


    ¡°Much trouble for a room norger than a salon,¡± Lady Keys scorned.


    ¡°I am told it served as a watchtower of sorts before the lictors wrote off this district,¡± Lord Hector replied, striding across the room towards one of the tables.


    There he reached for a carafe, sniffed the inside and let out an approving noise before pouring himself a cup of what looked like brandy. Despite inviting looks, he offered the pair no such courtesy.


    ¡°Somehow you talked Maria Anastos into thinking a conversation should take ce between us,¡± Hector Anaidon said, guzzling down the cup before setting it down sharply on the table. ¡°Well, have at it.¡±


    Lord Locke thumbed his mustache, smiling still. Now that Tristan knew what he was, he could not help but think of a cat ying with his whiskers as he eyed a plump mouse.


    ¡°We¡¯ve but a single question for you, Lord Hector,¡± he said. ¡°And will be departing as soon as we have our answer.¡±


    ¡°Will you now?¡± the other noble grunted. ¡°I think not. At the very least, you¡¯ll be remaining our guests until the rising. We cannot let knowledge of this ce spread.¡±


    ¡°That would not suit our purposes,¡± Lady Keys lightly said.


    ¡°I do not much care what suits you,¡± Hector Anaidon disdainfully replied. ¡°I may, in fact, have Maria¡¯s head for bringing you here. The Trade Assembly could use a reminder that they need us a great deal more than the other way around.¡±


    Tristan winced. It was like watching a man slowly shove his hand down a wolf¡¯s gullet. Reaching deeper and deeper, thinking the monster¡¯s belly was a pack to take things from.


    ¡°Are you threatening us?¡± Lady Keys asked, sounding almost pleased.


    ¡°There is always a bit of roughness in a revolution,¡± Lord Hector said, rolling the<em> r </em>of thest word as if making sport of it.


    ¡°Abduction and threats of death,¡± Lord Locke happily said. ¡°From a wicked cultist, no less! Is that not enough to arrest him, Warrant Officer Abrascal?¡±


    Tristan went still as stone for a moment, thoughts flying. The blood. Even if they hadn¡¯t heard him breathing, which they might well have, the blood would have given away the game. Keep them smiling, Hage had ordered him. No one¡¯s game but theirs would be yed tonight. The thief let his forehead drop on the wardrobe door and let out a long sigh. Well, so much for doing this cleanly.


    Under the bbergasted gaze of Hector Anaidon ¨C and the smirks of the married pair ¨C he emerged from the wardrobe with his ckjack in hand.


    ¡°Was that really necessary?¡± he asked the devils, pulling his uniform back in ce.


    ¡°No,¡± Lord Locke cheerfully admitted. ¡°But it has been very entertaining so far. Do continue!¡±


    Tristan sighed again, straightening as Lord Hector suddenly realized he was alone in a room a hundred feet above the ground with no guards to protect him and three potential enemies. The heavyset noble scrambled to his feet, reaching for the bejeweled knife at his hip and drawing it.


    ¡°Who the hell are you?¡± he demanded.


    ¡°Oh, best not to bring Hell into this,¡± Lady Keys gently said. ¡°It will do no wonders for your life expectancy, Hector.¡±


    Tristan rolled his shoulder.


    ¡°You¡¯re under arrest,¡± he told the cultist. ¡°By order of the Watch.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re all dead,¡± Hector snarled back, and ran for the door.


    Tristan did not even bother to move, eyes on the devils, and he still almost missed it. Plump, jolly Lord Locke was across the room in a heartbeat ¨C having torn the carpet pushing off ¨C and holding up the wiggling Hector Anaidon on the wall by the throat. Hector had at least a foot and a half on the smaller lord, and heavier shoulders, yet there was nothingical about the sight.


    It was Locke¡¯s eyes, Tristan thought. They were t and lifeless as a doll¡¯s.


    Hector rasped out a word, something sounding like a plea, and there was a ripple of¡­ something in the air. Like a pistol fired, but without the noise or smoke. Lord Locke¡¯s mustache billowed slightly before the devil bared teeth and teeth and something altogether more malign.


    ¡°Your god has no power over me, Hector,¡± Locke said. ¡°None one ising to save you, <em>that</em> least of all.¡±


    The cultist let out a noise of such despair Tristan almost sympathized. Lady Keys leaned over the low table, helping herself to the carafe of brandy and pouring a clean finger in a silver goblet. Swirling it, she took a sniff and let out a noise of approval. Tristan could not be sure whether or not he was imagining the echo of clicking mandibles under it.


    ¡°Would you be particrly opposed to our sharing this interrogation with the Watch, Warrant Officer?¡± Lady Keys asked. ¡°While the ck had been doing some admirable grave-digging in these parts, we¡¯ve some curiosities of our own to sate.¡±


    The thief straightened. <em>Show no weakness, y along with the games and always try to beat the expectations. My kind has a weakness for novelty, especially the oldest among of us, </em>Hage had taught him.


    ¡°By all means,¡± he said, bowing low. ¡°We could take turns asking questions.¡±


    Lady Keys seemed unimpressed, he gauged. Apt to tear off the veil of pretense this was anything but their show to roll on. So he tacked on-


    ¡°- deciding on whose it is by flipping a coin, perhaps,¡± Tristan added.


    Both devils stilled, then turned their heads towards him with unnatural sharpness ¨C not at angles impossible, but neither were they moving like someone who genuinely had to worry about the state of their spine. Lady Keys absently reminded her husband that ¡®you¡¯re killing him, dear¡¯, to which the other devil embarrassedlyughed before loosening his grasp and letting a choking, red-faced Hector Anaidon desperately suck in a breath.


    ¡°How interesting,¡± the devil said, peering at him through her borrowed eyes and spectacles. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t be intending on cheating would you, Tristan?¡±


    ¡°I have never once cheated at anything in my life,¡± Tristan replied without batting an eye.


    How could he? There were no rules to life, and thus no one could cheat. Lord Locke let out a delighted chortle, picking up a panicking Hector by the throat again and shaking him like a misbehaving kitten. There was a small sound of tinkling, which had the devil reaching in the cultists¡¯ pocket and deftly picking out a silver arbol. He tossed it Tristan¡¯s way, the thief snatching it out of the air and showing both sides to Lady Keys.


    Uwfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    ¡°Ladies pick first,¡± he charmingly smiled. ¡°Would you prefer oaks or griffin?¡±


    ¡°Oaks,¡± Lady Keys said, tapping a finger against her chin.


    She sent her husband a burning look.


    ¡°Intertwined trees? Such a romantic thought.¡±


    Lord Locke blew back a kiss, Hector Anaidon sparing a moment in the process of being choked out to look in utter disbelief at the pair. Tristan flipped the coin, and without hesitation pulled on his luck. Heid out his palm without even looking, the perfect arc of the spinning silver ending with a dull p against the skin. A nce.


    ¡°s, griffin,¡± Tristan falsely sympathized. ¡°Better luck next time.¡±


    He released the luck, bracing himself, but a mere coin flip should only ¨C shifting his footing happened to pull at a fold in the ripped carpet, which in turn tugged at the table. The bottle of brandy tipped his way, and though he was quick enough to catch it there was still a small spill on his boots. Oh, that was on the lower end of his expectations. Fortuna must be in a fine mood.


    While he struggled with wiping his boot on the carpet, Lord Locke had lowered Hector. He gestured in extravagant invitation for Tristan to ask his question, somehow working in both a flourish and a bow.


    ¡°What is your role within the cult?¡± he asked.


    The overweight noble shot him a disdainful look.


    ¡°Why should I-¡±


    There was a snapping sound and Lord Locke¡¯s hand over the mouth of the cultists muffled a scream. A scream caused by the devil having, casually, snapped Hector Anaidon¡¯s left thumb at an angle that had bone peeking out of the bleeding flesh. Tristan breathed in, kept his heartbeat steady and his smile fixed. He had known, in his mind, that for all the smiling and joking they were brutal monsters.


    Tristan had hurt men before, for answers or coin or to survive. But it had still been a choice to him, a decision. Locke¡¯s hand had moved like the violence was an afterthought. How many fingers did you need to snap before it could be done so casually, so effortlessly? Hundreds, the thief thought. Thousands.


    ¡°<em>Torture</em> is why, obviously,¡± Tristan made himself reply in the tone of someone amused. ¡°Answer the question, Hector.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m a priest,¡± the man hurried to reply the moment Locke allowed him to. ¡°A priest of the Odyssean, initiated into the rites. I renounced the Ram just like they asked and they brought me into the mysteries. Please, I¡¯m bleeding, you need to-¡±


    His mouth was covered again and Lady Keys, setting down her goblet after having drained it of brandy, turned a look on him. He offered up the coin for her.


    ¡°Oaks,¡± the devil decided.


    Griffin again, and all it cost him was a thread in his coring loose. Only a problem if he pulled at it.


    ¡°Who is the head of your cult?¡± Tristan asked.


    ¡°The lesiast,¡± Hector Anaidon replied, sweating and shivering. ¡°I don¡¯t know his real name, only that he founded the cult.¡±


    The man kept ncing down at his snapped thumb, looking sick.


    ¡°That can¡¯t be all you know,¡± Tristan said. ¡°Does Lord Locke have to¡­ put your thumb on the scale again, so to speak?¡±


    The devil beamed back at him, chortling and looking as if that threat had made his day. The cultist paled, looking about to throw up.


    ¡°I, um,¡± he stammered. ¡°He¡¯s a noble, and wealthy. I could tell from his tastes. Real coin, not just passing.¡±


    Tristan hummed, shaking his head at Lord Locke¡¯s quizzical look. He offered up the coin to Lady Keys again, and this time there was a particr intensity to her gaze.


    ¡°Oaks,¡± the devil said.


    He used the luck to secure <em>he</em>r pick, this time, at the low price of the edge of the coin pping at the edge of the phnge in a vaguely painful way.


    ¡°Ah, atst fortune smiles on us,¡± Lady Keys grinned, revealing just a hint of teeth beyond her teeth. ¡°Dearest, if you would?¡±


    ¡°Hector, my friend,¡± Lord Locke said, putting the man down and cleaning his shoulders as if they were old acquaintances instead of his torturer. ¡°What do you know about the harpoon?¡±


    Tristan breathed in sharply. As in the great bronze artifact that Maryam had found in the heart of the prisonyer, plunged into the wastnd of salt keeping the Hated One contained? More interesting yet was that Hector Anaidon flinched, betraying he knew exactly what the devil was asking about.


    ¡°I know that Lord Cordyles has an entire collection of-¡±


    Lord Locke gently reached inside the cultist¡¯s mouth, prying it open and seizing one of the front teeth between two fingers.


    ¡°You don¡¯t need your teeth to answer our questions,¡± the devil noted. ¡°Human teeth, my friend, are <em>most</em> shoddily built. They are so very easy to pull out.¡±


    <em>No they aren¡¯t</em>, Tristan thought. It was actually quite difficult unless you had pincers. Lord Locke removed his shell¡¯s fingers out of the terrified cultists¡¯ mouth, allowing him enough room to speak.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know where it went,¡± Hector sniveled. ¡°They only used my brother¡¯s warehouse for a night, that was all they needed me for!¡±


    ¡°They?¡± Lady Keys idly asked. ¡°borate, my good man. Who told you to hide the artifact?¡±


    ¡°The lesiast,¡± Hector said. ¡°It was all him, all his n.¡±


    ¡°And where did he get it?¡± Lord Locke pressed, for once entirely humorless.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Hector said. ¡°He never said. From some temple, probably, like the sickle.¡±


    Both devils scoffed.


    ¡°Did he ever mention a helper?¡± Lord Locke asked. ¡°A benefactor?¡±


    <em>They¡¯re not here for the infernal forge</em>, Tristan realized. Hage was right. They were hunting someone, someone they thought might have provided this cult of the Odyssean with the weapon that breached the Hated One¡¯s prison.


    ¡°Nothing, he doesn¡¯t trust anyone,¡± Hector wept. ¡°Not even the priests.¡±


    Lady Keys sighed.


    ¡°A waste of time,¡± she told her husband. ¡°Only this lesiast has our answers.¡±


    Lord Locke twirled his mustache thoughtfully.


    ¡°Thatplicates matters somewhat,¡± he said, not sounding entirely displeased.


    Tristan cleared his throat, drawing their attention, and offered up the coin.


    ¡°Onest for the road?¡± he asked, smiling charmingly.


    ¡°By all means,¡± Lord Lockeughed. ¡°We im griffin, this time.¡±


    Oaks it was, and as Tristan released the luck he shifted the weight and immediately felt the sudden itch in his boot ¨C right under his foot, and he¡¯d have to uce the entire thing to scratch it. Ugh, hopefully it would pass soon.


    ¡°What a lucky young man you are,¡± Lady Keys observed.


    ¡°Oh, it¡¯s nothing to rely on,¡± Tristan said. ¡°Fortune is a fickle thing, I find.¡±


    Had those devils not most likely been annealed and thus to be avoided, he suspected Fortuna would have given him an earful about that. Lady Keys shrugged.


    ¡°Your question, Warrant Officer,¡± she said.


    His gaze returned to Lord Hector.


    ¡°Your cult supports a coup by the nobles, but you are also involved with the Trade Assembly¡¯s own plot,¡± Tristan said. ¡°Which of them are you really backing?¡±


    Given how many nobles were supposedly in the cult he suspected they were the horse that had been picked to ride, but the magnate plot was truly getting a helping hand. More than he would have expected if the point of the cult¡¯s infiltration was mostly to sabotage rival efforts.


    ¡°Involved?¡± Hector mocked. ¡°We started the bloody thing, rook. Riled up themons, put the Yellow Earth in a room with the magnates. Do you really think our ambitions stop at backing-¡±


    The end of the sentence was interrupted by a loud, resounding crack. Not a finger this time. Hector Anaidon¡¯s eyes bulged out, his breath stolen by the way Lord Locke had nonchntly snapped his neck.


    ¡°Ah,¡± the devil eximed, sounding embarrassed. ¡°Manifold apologies, Tristan. My hand slipped.¡±


    ¡°Nothing to apologize for, it happens to me all the time,¡± Tristan said, smile gone stilted.


    <em>What are you after?</em> No, he already knew that. The mystery benefactor they had asked Hector about, that was what they wanted. The only part of this ind they took seriously. Whatever the cultists had been about to reveal, then, must have been something that would make it harder for them to find said person. Something tob throughter, though, for now the thief was suddenly and painfully aware he was the only living soul left in the room with two devils that might well prefer there be no witness to their passing through.


    Tristan coughed into his hand.


    ¡°It is gettingte,¡± he said. ¡°I suppose I should be headed out. Any interesting ns for the night?¡±


    Lady Keys cocked her head to the side.


    ¡°I could go for dinner,¡± she smiled. ¡°Dear?¡±


    ¡°Something Trebian, I think,¡± he mused. ¡°Not too fat, I fear that our diet has been a little heavy in Tratheke. I feel full enough to burst.¡±


    Shit. <em>Shit</em>. How could he - breathing in, Tristan swallowed his fear and crossed his arms over his chest. The arbol he put away, slipped inside, and moved his fingers a little more to reach deeper.


    ¡°Oh, I can¡¯t stop you if you want a nibble,¡± he said. ¡°But two on one? It hardly seems sporting.¡±


    ¡°A fair point,¡± Lord Locke mused. ¡°<em>Cara mia</em>?¡±


    ¡°He wants to gamble for it,¡± Lady Keys grinned. ¡°Use his contract to cheat a fourth time, no doubt. Naughty, naughty.¡±


    ¡°Ah, so you<em> could </em>tell when I used it,¡± Tristan said.


    He¡¯d thought they might, considering Hage was able to see Fortuna. Odds they couldn¡¯t tell what it did, though, just that he was using it.


    ¡°I offer you a bargain, then,¡± he continued. ¡°Onest flip ¨C this one with real stakes. If I use my contract in any way, it counts as my loss.¡±


    He presented his shiny silver coin.


    ¡°Oaks I live, griffin you dine on these fine Sacromontan ribs,¡± Tristan smiled, closing his fist around the coin with a snap. ¡°How about it?¡±


    The devils leaned in hungrily.


    ¡°Oh, that will do. Flip the coin, Tristan Abrascal,¡± Lady Keys said.


    ¡°How lucky are you feeling, Sacromontan?¡± Lord Locke grinned.


    ¡°Oh, not at all,¡± Tristan honestly replied, and flipped the coin.


    It rang out with fine twang, a blur to the eye, but almost immediately he snatched it out of the air and pped it down on the back of his other hand. He nced back at the devils, whose shining gazes had never left his face. Drinking in his nerves like fine wine.


    ¡°Ready?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t tease,¡± Lord Locke said, clicking his teeth.


    <em>All </em>his teeth.


    He raised his hand, revealing the intertwined oaks under his hand. Both devils sagged, almostically disappointed, but neither seemed¡­ angry at the loss, so to speak. As if the game was as satisfying to them as the meal might have been.


    ¡°Lucky boy, after all,¡± Lady Keys sighed.


    ¡°Of course,¡± Tristan lied.


    He cleared his throat, taking a step towards the lift.


    ¡°Well, it¡¯s been a pleasure, but I do have to run,¡± Tristan said, backing away until he was at the door.


    He opened it, backed into the lift and reached for a hanging rope before tugging it. A bell sounded downstairs. By now Hage had either failed or seized the bottom of the lift, but even if he hadn¡¯t risking the soldiers was probably safer than staying up here.


    ¡°So eager to leave us, Tristan?¡± Lady Keys asked.


    ¡°Almost as if you had something to hide,¡± Lord Locke mused, thumbing his mustache. ¡°Suspicious.¡±


    Tristan tugged at the rope again. Twice. Thrice. What in the Manes was Hage doing?


    ¡°I thought you might need a moment alone with the¡­¡± his eyes drifted to Hector Anaidon, looking for a word, ¡°¡­ local fare. Light some candles and it could be quite the romantic evening.¡±


    ¡°You reek of lies,¡± Lady Keys used.


    ¡°A hazard of my upation,¡± Tristan lied, tugging at the rope again. ¡°Mine is an honest soul, mydy, and I would never cheat beloved friends such as you.¡±


    And, thank the gods and even Fortuna, the lift finally began moving.


    ¡°Tristan,¡± Lord Locke seriously said. ¡°Did you cheat us?¡±


    ¡°Of course not,¡± Tristan said, putting a hand over his heart. ¡°Here, you can even inspect the coin.¡±


    And now here was the real gamble for his life. He tossed them the coin even as the lift began going down, just before his upper body went out of sight, and hoped he had made the choice that would not result in them ripping out the cables keeping the lift in ce and send him tumbling a hundred feet down to his death in a wooden box.


    See, the pair of them did not like losing. That was why he if he had kept cheating on the tosses Lady Keys would likely have snapped his neck. But they <em>did</em> like to be entertained, which he thought could involve losing if they still got augh out of it. So instead of trying to get away with thest time he¡¯d cheated them, he gave away the trick. Tristan had not been lucky at all, with thatst toss.


    He¡¯d just used Rhea¡¯s counterfeit arbol with oaks on both sides so he could not possibly lose.


    And just as the lift cleared the upper level, leaving him to look only at the tall brass wall and the long drop, twin shrieks of anger came from the room. An exmation of ¡®<em>beloved friends¡¯</em>, and something that sounded like a curse on seven generations of the Abrascal. A theater of anger. Tristan¡¯s shoulders dropped and he sagged against the railing, the tension bleeding out of him.


    So they wanted to keep toying with him, make him empty his bag of tricks before they ate him. They¡¯de for his hide again, he was sure, but it was looking he¡¯d make it through the night.


    Sometimes that was the most you could ask for.


    --


    Hage was waiting at the bottom, leaning against the wall in the brown surcoat with a wide hat pulled back to cover much of his face. Whatever the old devil had been about to say, Tristan cut it short.


    ¡°Locke and Keys are up there,¡± he tly said. ¡°Time to get out, Hage.¡±


    The old devil was instantly alert.


    ¡°They let you leave?¡±


    ¡°I tricked them in a way they liked but who knows how long that¡¯ll keep,¡± Tristan grunted, striding out of the cage. ¡°<em>Move</em>.¡±


    He did not ask what had happened to the guards who would have kept an eye on the lift, hurrying towards their designated escape path ¨C a room to the east which had a window that led right onto a smaller rooftop if you leaped right.


    ¡°Anaidon?¡± Hage asked.


    ¡°They snapped his neck before he could tell me something important,¡± he grunted back. ¡°He still had time to imply the cult might be ying both sides for some greater purpose, though.¡±


    Leaving proved less difficult than expected, in no small part because it was evening and most of the mercenaries were abed. Hage picked the lock on the room they had chosen and momentster Tristan was leaping across to the smaller rooftop. The old devil was not far behind, light-footed as a cat, and they disappeared into the night. The basileias did not patrol the streets as much,e night, and when they did their torches were visible from afar. The Masks returned to the basement without incident.


    They methodically cleaned up all traces of their presence, Sakkas still gone with the wind while Mephistofeline was stashed in Hage¡¯s packsack with only his head peeking out curiously. He did not seem to mind this, purring loudly.


    ¡°We should move before the corpse is discovered,¡± Hage said. ¡°There are paths that will let us slip around the streets the basileias keep an eye on, I will-¡±


    Whatever it had been the old devil was about to say, it was interrupted by ringing bells and shouting. Sharing a look they crept back to the surface for a look, and what they found gave them pause. The hideout was ame, fire already licking its way up the tower as the warehouse levels burned bright and panicked men tried to organize a daisy chain of water buckets.


    ¡°That,¡± Tristan murmured, ¡°is one way to get rid of the evidence, I suppose.¡±


    ¡°They didn¡¯t do that for one dead noble, boy,¡± Hage said. ¡°They set fire to the anthill so the ants would swarm around it: they are forcing us off the streets.¡±


    Because, the Mask grasped, the fire would draw every rebel and criminal in the ward to the few city blocks around here and so there could be no sneaking back into the city proper.


    ¡°They are slowing us down,¡± Tristan murmured.


    Hage nodded.


    ¡°We stay in the basement for now,¡± he said. ¡°Better to wait it out than risk sneaking through, even if that is what they want.¡±


    The devil sighed.


    ¡°I suppose we can share a carriage back to ck House in the morning,¡± he allowed, as if he wasn¡¯t going to pay for it with Tristan¡¯s own silver.


    ¡°Very kind of you, sir,¡± Tristan drawled, ¡°but I have another visit I must make first. I have a supply stash in the city, I must check on.¡±


    Hage¡¯s brow rose.


    ¡°You will not be returning to ck House first?¡±


    ¡°I have some loose ends to tie up,¡± Tristan vaguely replied.


    He needed to check on his poison stocks and his preparations around the Neenth¡¯s safehouse. He¡¯d had it all in ce to make his move when the magnates decided he would make a better hostage instead. The old devil cocked his head to the side.


    ¡°The Neenth,¡± he said.


    Tristan swallowed, smoothed away his fear.


    ¡°I am investigating them, yes,¡± he said.


    ¡°Investigating. Is that what you would call it?¡± Hage asked.


    ¡°What else would I?¡± he pleasantly smiled.


    The devil only hummed.


    ¡°Report to ck House first,¡± the devil ordered.


    He gritted his teeth, but arguing with Hage was a losing proposition. It was not clear how high up the creature was in the Krypteia¡¯s ranks, but that he stood higher than Tristan was certain.


    ¡°As you say,¡± Tristan grunted.


    In and out in an hour, he thought. Leaving a written report if the others were busy would make a decent excuse. Song would be miffed and Maryam would berate him, but he¡¯d pay his dues when he had finished the necessary work.


    ¡°Good,¡± the old devil said. ¡°Then, as a reward for your performance tonight, here is a tidbit of interest: their entire brigade will be at their safehouse at the sixth hour of the evening. They reported a breakthrough in their investigation and have borrowed certain machinery from our Lordsport facilities as well as given warning of a nned aether disturbance. Here is a list of the goods.¡±


    The thief¡¯s fingers clenched. It was deeply unpleasant, feeling as thoroughly seen through as he tended to around Hage. And now that he had been given this, he must genuinely report to Song or he would not be returning the favor the devil had just done him ¨C and thus be in his debt. Tristan did not want to be in any devil¡¯s debt, much less this one¡¯s. He took the offered paper.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± he stiffly replied.


    He opened it, frowning at the contents. Aether pump. Tensile barometer.


    ¡°What¡¯s ¡®perfect culm¡¯?¡± Tristan asked.


    ¡°Fuel,¡± Hage said. ¡°And not the natural kind.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re up to something,¡± he muttered. ¡°Izel Coyac is a tinker, they¡¯re making some sort of device.¡±


    ¡°I believe their n is to draw the god and trap it,¡± the old devil said. ¡°So they might then disy him as proof of a contract discharged.¡±


    ¡°And that would work?¡± he asked, skeptical.


    ¡°Their Deuteronomicon boy is, at least, using the correct time of the day for the ritual,¡± he said. ¡°Though by their choice of devices, I expect they are either trying to shove the entity into the prisonyer or to bind it to their service.¡±


    Tristan stilled. If they got their hands on that remnant god, there was one obvious target for them to use it on.


    ¡°Duly noted,¡± he croaked out.


    He turned a clean pair of heels, eager to return to the basement and show his back to those prying eyes, only to slow when Hage¡¯s voice resounded.


    ¡°Tristan.¡±


    He turned, finding the devil¡¯s face gone ck. The shell had no expression at all, like a puppetid to rest.


    ¡°The Krypteia,¡± Hage said, ¡°does not deal inws. We deal in<em> necessity</em>. It does not do to forget this.¡±


    <em>The Krypteia allows other ckcloaks to put a bounty of my head,</em> Tristan thought. <em>Allows other students to attempt to collect on it.</em> He did much care what the Krypteia was meant to deal in.


    Abu¡¯s teachings were clear: no loose ends.


    The Novel will be updated first on this website. Come back and


    continue reading tomorrow, everyone!

 Chapter 23

    Professor Sasan was in fine form for the lecture, which lasted four hours with a small break for students to use the latrines.


    The question he had posed last class about the name of the period preceding the beginnings of the First Empire ¨C the Nix, Song learned ¨C turned into a spirited discussion about the limitations of historical knowledge and the questions they begged. The origin of hollows, for example. It was known that there had been hollows by the time of the First Empire, but the Antediluvians who built it were believed to have come from the Old World above. Had there been hollows before they came?


    Were hollows, in a sense, the natural inhabitants of Vesper?


    That proposition earned offended anger and gadfly delight in equal measure, with the professor serving more as an arbiter of discussion ¨C demanding sources, commenting on their credibility ¨C than as the one leading it. After the break the teaching was more traditional, focusing on the founding and nature of the First Empire. Though its spoken languages were long forgotten and the written works only barely deciphered, Song was surprised to learn there were yet traces of the former. Several of the hollow cants in the Trebian Sea were believed to be descended from Antediluvian tongues.


    It was the sort of class Song would have greatly enjoyed, were she of a mind to enjoy anything at all.


    Three days. It had been three days since she swung her tantrum around like a sledgehammer to methodically destroy everything she had attempted to accomplish since setting foot on Tolomontera. She had been floundering ever since.


    Angharad returned once to the cottage only to fetch her belongings, careful to come when everyone else was certain to be absent. Maryam stopped staying at the Meadow after the second night, but she came back only to sleep and left before breakfast. Tristan, meanwhile, was no longer showing up to class and the only reason Song knew him to be alive was because he had left a note mentioning he was ¡®tracking something down¡¯ and food regularly disappeared.


    He¡¯d not bothered to write a second or a third note, only tracing an additional X at the bottom of the same paper with each passing day to reiterate he still drew breath.


    Three days, and though opportunities had been thin on the ground Song had seen some of them pass by before her. She could have attempted to force a conversation with Maryam in those twenty seconds every morning she saw the other girl before she left the cottage, or requested that Angharad have tea with her politely enough the noblewoman would have found it difficult to refuse. Gods, she could even have headed to the Chimerical to try and corner Tristan while he worked there.


    She had not. None of it.


    ¡°- three hundred words on why we still call the First Empire an empire even though it was, according to every primary source, an oligarchy,¡± Professor Sasan said. ¡°I¡¯ll be collecting at the beginning of class.¡±


    A pause.


    ¡°It should go without saying, but the hallway full of emerald-encrusted gold sculptures that opened to the side of this lecture hall is a trap,¡± he added. ¡°If any of you are foolish enough to be tricked by Scholomance putting in such lackluster effort, I will be marking down the rest of your cabal for the assignment instead of giving pity points."


    There was some laughter and after pushing up his spectacles with a smile the professor dismissed the class. Song steeled herself, turned to her left, but before she could so much as open her mouth Angharad was on her feet and walking away. She waded into the fray of departing students.


    So much for that.


    The Pereduri would not be leaving wandering the hallways alone, at least. Song glanced back at the cabal sitting behind them, finding that Ferranda was avoiding her gaze again. Though amicable the two of them were no more than acquaintances, so they both knew that the other captain would absolutely rope in Angharad if she could. She was certainly making the effort.


    Yet how could Song be angry with that courting, when Angharad needed the help and all these troubles were of Song¡¯s making in the first place? Besides, there were other amends that the Tianxi needed to make. She turned to Maryam, who was still putting away her books and papers.


    ¡°Do you have a moment?¡± she quietly asked.


    Blue eyes flicked up to her.


    ¡°No,¡± Maryam said. ¡°Captain Yue expects me at the Abbey within half an hour, I¡¯ll be pressed as is.¡±


    ¡°Later tonight, then,¡± she said.


    The Izvorica shrugged.


    ¡°You know where I sleep,¡± she replied, promising nothing.


    The bag was hoisted over her shoulder, and with a nod she walked away. Song kept her face calm. It was only overweening pride that made it feel like a dismissal. And perhaps if she had been quicker to approach Maryam, there would not be such¡­ distance between them. She forced herself to keep her mind on putting away her things, and succeeded enough that she did not hear the other¡¯s approach.


    ¡°Captain Song, a word.¡±


    Her hand discreetly inched towards the grip of her sword even as she turned and fixed a friendly smile on her face. Ramona of the Forty-Ninth Brigade, it must be said, looked like she could handle herself in a fight. Short hair, a knife scar across the nose and scrapper¡¯s build that was all sinews instead of bulging. The smile the blonde was sporting looked off on her face, like a hound putting on a hat so it might sit at the dinner table.


    ¡°Ramona,¡± Song greeted her with a nod, then raised an eyebrow. ¡°Or perhaps Captain Ramona, now?¡±


    The smile grew slightly more honest and significantly sharper.


    ¡°For two days now,¡± Captain Ramona confirmed. ¡°I would have sought you out earlier, but my house needed to be put in order.¡±


    ¡°Congratulations,¡± Song replied, largely meaning it.


    Tengfei Pan had seemed the driving influence behind the Forty-Ninth¡¯s pursuit of the bounty on Tristan¡¯s head, so she had been holding out hope a change of leadership might make them reconsider. It was only hope, however, so Song hooked her thumb in her belt ¨C coincidentally not far from her sword. A glance behind Ramona told her the rest of the brigade was lingering close. Her look was noticed.


    ¡°A conversation between us is overdue,¡± Captain Ramona said, ¡°but I am not unaware there has been bad blood between our brigades."


    Deftly she unsheathed the thick blade at her hip and set it down on the table, a worn pistol joining it a heartbeat later.


    ¡°This is not a trap,¡± the blonde said. ¡°I offer to walk with you unarmed, letting you choose the destination, and instructed my cabalists to hold back for five minutes before leaving the lecture hall.¡±


    Song¡¯s eyes narrowed. Huang Pan, the round Tianxi with the contract that discerned whether an object or individual was situated in one of the cardinal directions, still had all his daily uses left. But it would be difficult to follow us using that alone, Song decided. There was a reason they had used it to ambush Tristan and not chase him. It was, in the end, not all that precise a tool.


    ¡°Let us talk, then,¡± Song nodded. ¡°Come.¡±


    She put a spring to her step, noting that the Malani girl from the Forty-Ninth went to pick up the abandoned weapons as the two of them headed into the halls. Neither so much as glanced into the trap hall to their left, instead stepping past a triad of chattering Izcalli and making enough room no one was close enough to easily overhear. Song slowed her steps then, but only slightly. She would not make it easy for the Forty-Ninth to catch up.


    ¡°This will serve,¡± she told Ramona as they continued their walk.


    They were still heading for the front gates, but they had time enough for a short talk before reaching them and the spikes in the ground provided some modicum of safety.


    ¡°Truce,¡± Captain Ramona bluntly offered. ¡°Our patron wants all of your heads on a pike, but we¡¯re not here to indulge whatever pissing match she has going on with your own brigade¡¯s patron.¡±


    ¡°It was not them that began this conflict,¡± Song said.


    ¡°No, it was us trying to cash in on that bounty,¡± the other woman acknowledged. ¡°And because we tried, Fara can¡¯t taste salt anymore.¡±


    Song blinked, trying to hide her confusion. Not well enough.


    ¡°That¡¯s how Lady Knit works,¡± Ramona explained. ¡°She takes something from you, to knit you back together like you were.¡±


    No wonder the Malani girl looked like she was not sure whether she wanted to slit Tristan¡¯s throat or flinch away from him. She had lost much but must fear losing even more in avenging herself of it.


    ¡°Interesting,¡± Song simply said.


    Best to let Ramona keep talking. The best terms were had when you let the other side negotiate with itself.


    ¡°A truce is what I offer, for a start,¡± Ramona repeated. ¡°It occurs to me we¡¯ve been going at this all wrong.¡±


    The Tianxi only inclined her head in agreement, the other woman¡¯s lips tightening in irritation at how little she was being given before she smoothed it away.


    ¡°Word is the Thirteenth¡¯s been having a rough patch,¡± she said.


    ¡°Rumors are fickle things,¡± Song replied.


    ¡°They are,¡± Ramona said. ¡°But it¡¯s public record what bounties people take from the board in the Galleries, and I asked my patron about what these trials are like.¡±


    She shrugged.


    ¡°Nasty pieces of work one and all, she said,¡± the blonde said. ¡°Seems to me like you got a little too eager to make up for your blunder and the Thirteenth took one in the gut for it. It got you up to third place, sure, but you¡¯re on shaky grounds at home for it.¡±


    Song¡¯s jaw clenched. She would be tied for second, if not for the point she had lost on the first day. Captain Vivek of the First Brigade had lapped both her and Sebastian Camaron by clearing two lesser assignments in quick succession, a bold advance that had allegedly sent one of his cabalists into Lady Knit¡¯s care for a night.


    ¡°As I said,¡± Song replied, ¡°rumors are fickle things.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not blind,¡± Captain Ramona bluntly replied. ¡°Your pale girl looks like she¡¯s ready to chew wood and the Malani swordmistress barely talks anymore. Abrascal¡¯s gone with the wind.¡±


    ¡°Covenant work,¡± Song said, affecting a shrug.


    It might even be true.


    ¡°Either way, he¡¯s a bad look for you,¡± Ramona said. ¡°And if the way your Thirteenth slapped us around taught me anything, it¡¯s that a brigade will tighten up at the first gut punch but it can only take so many of those before that anger¡¯s turned inwards.¡±


    Song breathed in sharply, stung. That was truer than the other woman knew.


    ¡°Tengfei saw you as someone to bury for that, the source of all his troubles,¡± the blonde said. ¡°That was short-sighted of him. See, Song, I think you and I are in the same boat.¡±


    The Tianxi frowned.


    ¡°Is that so?¡±


    Captain Ramona chuckled.


    ¡°My captaincy¡¯s shaky,¡± she said. ¡°I got the seat because Tengfei blundered, but if I can¡¯t deliver success then the same votes that got him in charge in the first place will turn back. But yours is just as shaky, eh? Too many gut punches. You need a win, same as me.¡±


    ¡°So you offer a truce,¡± Song said.


    It was hardly anything to boast about.


    ¡°That¡¯s the loud part,¡± Ramona said. ¡°The quiet is that we¡¯ll write off the gold you stole and tell you where the Ninth stashed all the stuff they took from you.¡±


    And there was the offered victory, presumably. Admittedly a tempting one. Retrieving their affairs might even go some way in mending bridges with Angharad, considering how incensed she had been at the thefts. Only one detail was yet missing.


    ¡°And what would your win be, Ramona?¡± she asked.


    ¡°I do what Tengfei couldn¡¯t,¡± the blonde replied. ¡°Abrascal¡¯s dead weight for you now anyway, rope around your neck. Just give me a time and place and I¡¯ll rid you of your trouble ¨C and cut you in for a third of the bounty on top of it.¡±


    For a second, Song blanked in utter surprise. Why would she ¨C no, it only made sense. She had not hidden her dislike of the thief all that deeply, and now he was flouting her authority by abstaining from classes barely a week into the year. By appearance, Song had every reason to want to be rid of him. Why wouldn¡¯t she trade the thief for victories that would make up for her debacles, a flush of gold and the knowledge that his enemies would hound the Thirteenth no more?


    ¡°A third,¡± Song slowly repeated, to keep from showing any of her thoughts,


    This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    Ramona grinned like someone whose bet had paid off. Song, for an idle moment, considered unslinging her pistol and shooting her in the stomach. How satisfying that would be.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be greedy now,¡± Ramona chided. ¡°Tell you what, to sweeten the deal I¡¯ll even throw in introductions to a Savant who¡¯s looking to jump ship. I noticed your lot don¡¯t have a scholar to handle the classwork.¡±


    ¡°Maintaining numbers would be a concern, after losing a cabalist,¡± Song acknowledged.


    She kept her tone even, giving away nothing. The other woman studied her, dark eyes narrowed.


    ¡°I can tell you¡¯re not quite sold,¡± Captain Ramona said. ¡°Fair enough. I¡¯ll admit the risks are worse for you if it goes badly.¡±


    She shrugged.


    ¡°But it¡¯s a good offer and I think deep down you know it,¡± the Lierganen said. ¡°I¡¯ll let you sit on a while. You can come back to me once you¡¯ve worked it all out to your satisfaction.¡±


    Song chose not to finish the rest of the walk to the gates in Captain Ramona¡¯s company.


    --


    The Academy class was worse than Saga had been, in some ways.


    What Colonel Cao was teaching them was objectively important. Supply requests were one of the responsibilities of captains and every brigade would have to make them when they took their end of the year test, meaning this was practical knowledge she was being given. Even more so when the colonel took them time to lay out how to get around any obstructionist quartermasters one might chance to encounter or be able to draw on the strategic reserves of Watch fortresses when the ¡®spare¡¯ stocks were already spent.


    Yet while Song¡¯s reed pen scratched against paper, her mind kept drifting. It was thoroughly frustrating to catch herself losing focus again and again, until the frustration itself became the distraction. Worse, her eyes kept drifting to the slate hung up on the wall and the names it displayed.


    VIVEK LAHIRI ¨C 5


    SEBASTIAN CAMARON ¨C 4


    SONG REN - 3


    All of this, she could not help but think, for third place. There were dozens beneath her and even more that¡¯d never made it onto the board, but what did that matter? It was not them she had believed herself to be triumphing over. It was a relief when class ended after a mere two hours, Colonel Cao releasing them with a warning that at week¡¯s end the first evaluation would begin. She did not elaborate on the nature of it in the slightest, which drew out interested whispers.


    Song would have fled the Galleries, but she was intercepted on her way out and when the likes of Captain Nenetl Chapul made an invitation she was in no position to refuse.


    It was not a long walk down to the salons. The captain of the Third Brigade had not approached her before, as was only to be expected of a woman leading one of the largest alliances in their year. Song had been careful about not approaching her instead, for making such ties would make her a pawn in the grudge match between Captain Nenetl and Sebastian Camaron. That was reason enough to be wary when the round-cheeked Aztlan invited her for a spot of tea in the nicest salon.


    Her contract, Song mused as she sat down across the table, was intriguingly complex.


    The easiest way to describe it would be that Nenetl held absolute awareness of herself. The Aztlan girl ¡®knew¡¯ everything about her body and mind in that unqualified way that only gods could provide. Nenetl would know she caught a cold the moment the sickness settled in her, know terror was being pushed into her mind even as it affected her thoughts or when exercise was doing more good than harm to her body.


    That contract would even make her a fine shot: she would know everything wrong about her stance.


    The price was a sort of controlled mania, emerging compulsions to do a single action seventy-seven times in a row that would get harder to fight off the longer she had them. Her contract was in Antigua, so odds were good seventy-seven was a number sacred to her god. Ritual prayer ensured by contract, more or less, which Song had noticed to be a favored price of older gods whose influence waned. The younger, reckless ones instead glutted on concepts they liked like children eating all the sweet rice balls on the plate.


    Nenetl poured for the both of them, the fragrant scent of Shouxing red leaves wafting up to Song¡¯s nose. She breathed it in with a sigh, not bothering to hide her pleasure. They took the first sip together, as was proper, but the Tianxi noted that Nenetl¡¯s hand waited no time in reaching for the startlingly large plate of spice cookies she had ordered along with the tea. The two of them made small talk for a few minutes, discussing the oddness in having rain scheduled every seventhday and how the cabal-based half of Warfare class promised to be interesting.


    It was Captain Nenetl who eventually cut to the chase.


    ¡°I have come across information,¡± she said, ¡°that might be of interest to you.¡±


    ¡°Might?¡±


    ¡°The uncertainty is only in the degree, in truth,¡± Nenetl said. ¡°I learned where the Ninth keeps your belongings.¡±


    Song kept her face smooth. That made twice someone was trying to sell her the information. Ferranda was convinced the hatred between Nenetl and Sebastian Camaron was genuine, so it should not be a trick in that sense. That did not mean it was not a trick in another.


    ¡°And if I were to ask how you obtained that information?¡±


    Nenetl cocked her head to the side.


    ¡°You¡¯ve already had an offer,¡± she deduced. ¡°Likely the same source for the leak. The Savant in the Ninth Brigade gets chatty when plied with fine liquor.¡±


    One of the many reasons Song disliked drunks.


    ¡°I am not uninterested,¡± the Tianxi said. ¡°That is contingent, of course, on the price.¡±


    ¡°Nothing onerous,¡± the other woman said. ¡°The location is also used by the Ninth as a stash for some contraband. Nothing that would get them more than a slap on the wrist, but goods very much disallowed on the island.¡±


    She paused, breaking off a piece of spice cookie and scarfing it down with great relish.


    ¡°All I ask is that, when you retrieve your property, you set the place aflame,¡± Nenetl said. ¡°It is not situated anywhere a fire might spread, so there would be no issue in that regard.¡±


    Song¡¯s brow raised, visibly unimpressed.


    ¡°That would be signing up to be the vanguard in your struggle,¡± she said.


    ¡°Interesting,¡± Nenetl Chapul said, eyes glinting. ¡°You speak as if you are not at war with Sebastian already.¡±


    ¡°I am not,¡± she firmly replied.


    ¡°I would not be so certain, were I you,¡± Nenetl said. ¡°In that undisclosed location, Captain Song, you will not find the belongings of Angharad Tredegar. Even as we speak they have been returned to her at the Rainsparrow Hostel.¡±


    Song stilled. Surely the man could not be brazen enough to try to turn robbing a Pereduri peer into recruiting her? No, of course he would be. The payoff alone would make it worth the attempt. If he pulled it off the earlier mark on Captain Sebastian¡¯s reputation would instead become a crowning glory. The man so silver-tongued he made his opponents into cabalists.


    It took her a moment to catch on to Nenetl¡¯s angle here, but catch it she did. If the Thirteenth burned that hiding place while Angharad was still ¨C at least nominally ¨C part of the brigade, it closed the door to the Ninth recruiting her. Bringing her in after one slight was turning a misunderstanding into a coup, but after two? That was being a whipping boy. The reputational costs would be too high.


    It was a humbling thing, realizing that the only reason the captain of the Third was sitting across from her was to make entirely sure that her enemy would not get his hands on Angharad Tredegar.


    ¡°Thank you for the warning,¡± Song forced herself to reply.


    Nenetl inclined her head.


    ¡°Think on it, by all means,¡± she said, rising to her feet. ¡°But remember that time is not on your side.¡±


    However self-interested the favor done to her had been, Song still counted it enough of one to pretend not to notice that the other woman pocketed the last cookies on the plate and she had sipped at her tea exactly once. She stayed there sitting until the tea was cool, eyes closed as she leaned back into the sinfully comfortable chair.


    She needed advice.


    It made her wince to think of who was left to ask it from.


    --


    Captain Wen was eating when she found him.


    It was a sign of desperation to seek the man out, but what else was left to her? It would take weeks for Uncle Zhuge to answer a letter, assuming luck with ships, and there was simply no one else for Song to speak to. Ferranda was working at odds with her, however gentle the work, and the prospect of asking Colonel Cao advice ¨C and thus needing to explain her blunders ¨C made Song cringe down to the marrow of her bones.


    Asking Sergeant Mandisa for directions saw her sent to a small shop close to the docks. There she found Wen Duan chatting with the owner, a middle-aged Izcalli woman with long black hair whose bangs were a straight line. She was giggling quite a bit, and Wen shot Song an irritated look when she entered the shop ¨C though he did not stop nibbling at a bar of that strange almond confection called turron that Lierganen were so fond of.


    ¡°Song,¡± he greeted her. ¡°What do you want?¡±


    Her jaw stiffened.


    ¡°A conversation,¡± she said.


    The bespectacled man squinted at her, then sighed and turned to the shopkeeper.


    ¡°Another one for the road, if you please,¡± he said.


    ¡°Only half a bar,¡± she lightly replied. ¡°Else you will have no reason to return.¡±


    ¡°You would be mistaken,¡± Wen assured her, leaning in with a charming smile. ¡°Terribly mistaken, I assure you.¡±


    That earned him another bout of giggles and even as Song watched the Izcalli hand him a wrapped bar of turron in a way that brushed their fingers she considered that this might just be a new low in her life.


    ¡°Stop looking like someone just kicked your chicken,¡± Wen said when they exited onto the street, still nibbling at his treat. ¡°It¡¯s putting me off my turron.¡±


    ¡°I apologize,¡± she made herself say.


    The corpulent man eyed her through his golden spectacles.


    ¡°You must truly be at the end of your rope,¡± he noted. ¡°You didn¡¯t even look like you were calling me yixin inside your head while you said that.¡±


    Song straightened.


    ¡°I would not-¡±


    ¡°Come,¡± Wen casually interrupted. ¡°We are taking a walk down the shoreline.¡±


    There would be no dissuading the man, she knew, so she grit her teeth and followed. Song was familiar with the docks and a few streets near them, but she had not yet found the time to follow the curve of Port Allazei along the water. Though the docks were fortified and there was another such attempt at walls along the shore when headed east, those stones were crumbling and past a short span entirely absent.


    The Watch had not seen the need to rebuild the wall when seizing the city, perhaps judging that no one was inclined to try and take it from them.


    Wen kept them moving at a brisk enough pace she was not able to place a word, so eventually she gave up and simply followed him. Her gaze wandered out onto the dark waters, the span of darkness broken up only by the impossibly large rings of the Orrery spinning onwards. It was almost calming the behold, that grand length of emptiness. She was not out of breath when her patron¡¯s steps began to slow, but she felt warm under the coat. Perhaps for the best, given the coolness of the wind coming from the sea.


    Captain Wen plopped himself down atop a stone bench facing the sea, unwrapping a new bar of turron. Song had not even noticed him polishing off the last.


    ¡°All right,¡± he said. ¡°Talk.¡±


    ¡°There has been an argument,¡± Song said as she sat down to his right, then licked her lips. ¡°I argued. With other members of the Thirteenth. It went poorly.¡±


    ¡°You went into the Lugar Vacio,¡± Wen snorted. ¡°That was bound to scrape everyone¡¯s nerves raw.¡±


    ¡°You know what it is?¡± she asked.


    ¡°I was briefed,¡± he vaguely replied. ¡°Angharad and Maryam at each other¡¯s throats?¡±


    Song looked down. That had happened, but certainly not been the worst of it.


    ¡°You and Tristan, then,¡± Wen said. ¡°I thought that pot would take a month or two to boil over, I¡¯ll admit. What had you lunging for each other¡¯s throat?¡±


    Song tucked her hands into her sleeves so he would not see her fingers clench. How honest could she truly be with him? Only shallowly, she thought. The man was a Watch loyalist to the bone, he would see it as his duty to-


    ¡°Something illegal,¡± the fat man mused. ¡°Or you would have told me by now.¡±


    Her teeth clenched. It was like her thoughts were an open book.


    ¡°One of your escorts went missing during the trip, I heard,¡± Wen said, tone leading.


    Song did not answer, or look anywhere near him. Eventually he sighed.


    ¡°If something had happened,¡± he said. ¡°Would it have been deserved?¡±


    She thought of the ruin of red she had made of the flesh. Of the brutal torment she had condemned the man to by feeding him to an evil god.


    ¡°Some if it,¡± she whispered. ¡°But not all.¡±


    ¡°Something you regret and Tristan was involved,¡± Wen mused. ¡°A recipe for disaster. The little shit really is misfortune on legs, isn¡¯t he?¡±


    That got a weak smile out of her. Song breathed out shallowly, then told him everything save the damning detail. How there had been a thin layer of peace but it had cracked, how she had clawed at Tristan one time too many and it had all come tumbling out. Maryam turning on her, on Angharad. Angharad turning on all of them. That her brigade had effectively deserted the cottage and how they now all avoided her.


    Wen listened to it all, nodding and humming and nibbling at his turron. Song was panting when she¡¯d finished, and her voice felt raw.


    ¡°It was only a matter of time,¡± Wen finally said.


    ¡°So it was inevitable?¡± Song asked, exhausted. ¡°Nothing could be done.¡±


    The man laughed.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be a fool,¡± he said. ¡°Plenty could be done. Just not by you, Song. You don¡¯t have what it takes.¡±


    She breathed in sharply, turning a glare on him.


    ¡°Pardon me?¡± she sharply asked.


    ¡°You were always going to fail, Song,¡± Captain Wen slowly said, as if addressing a child. ¡°I saw that in you the moment you walked into the Old Fort. That loss had been lurking in your veins since you were a child, I¡¯d wager.¡±


    Her jaw clenched, her entire body with it.


    ¡°I have been thoroughly prepared for this, Captain Wen,¡± she said, carefully enunciating every word.


    ¡°You might be the single least qualified even inside your own brigade,¡± Wen mused.


    ¡°The least qualified?¡± Song hissed. ¡°I have been training for this since I could walk. Do you have any idea what that was like? It was being allowed outside only to do spear drills in the courtyard, it was painting characters until my fingers bled and every meal being a formal ceremony.¡±


    Her fingers clenched.


    ¡°I learned to speak Umoya before I learned my own mother¡¯s maiden name, Wen,¡± she snarled. ¡°I was made to pass as a boy so my brother¡¯s sword teacher would condescend to bruise me. The closest I ever came to flying a kite was when I was made to shoot them at target practice.¡±


    The large man, indifferent to her rising voice, bit into his turron and loudly chewed.


    ¡°Rough,¡± he said, after swallowing. ¡°Anyway, while I won¡¯t say it was all useless it had pretty much nothing to do with what you¡¯re trying to accomplish here at Scholomance.¡±


    ¡°I was raised to be a leader,¡± Song insisted.


    ¡°You were raised to do things a leader can do, maybe,¡± Wen allowed. ¡°Those kites you shot, the servants'' kids made them?¡±


    Hesitantly, she nodded.


    ¡°You ever run kites with them?¡± he asked.


    Her jaw clenched as she saw where he was heading. Making her out like some sort of porcelain plate, only taken out for formal meals.


    ¡°My family are not fools, Wen,¡± she bit out. ¡°I was taught to drill guards, to take reports from our servants and balance accounts.¡±


    ¡°You weren¡¯t taught a damn thing,¡± Wen amiably replied. ¡°All those people you mention answered to the name of Ren, not to you. Generously, I¡¯ll allow you might have learned how to sound like someone others answer to. It¡¯s not nothing, but let¡¯s just say that the legs aren¡¯t the most important part of the bird.¡±


    ¡°Authority-¡±


    ¡°Is earned,¡± the Tianxi flatly interrupted. ¡°If you were an officer in the regulars, your rank would stand for years of service and training. They¡¯d trust that until they learned to trust you. But here, in this school?¡±


    He snorted.


    ¡°What have you done that any of the brats in the Thirteenth should take your advice on so much as scratching their ass, Song?¡± he asked. ¡°You¡¯re at the same starting line, and you¡¯re captain mostly because you¡¯re a Stripe and no one cared enough to take it from you. Some of them like you, but not a single one of them respects you.¡±


    She grit her teeth, feeling as if she had been slapped. She would not cry, would not give him the pleasure.


    ¡°That¡¯s not the end of the world,¡± Wen said, not unkindly. ¡°That¡¯s what the Stripe classes are for: to bleed out some of the failure in the veins of all you cocksure little shits. In most cabals you would have passed muster and learned the most important lessons over a year or two. The way most of your fellows will.¡±


    He took another bite of turron, practically inhaled it.


    ¡°Only you didn¡¯t put together most cabals, you made the Thirteenth,¡± he said. ¡°You picked three of the most talented, deranged people on the year¡¯s roster then tried to run them like they were your father¡¯s estate guards.¡±


    ¡°Talented?¡± Song asked, almost plaintively.


    ¡°Tredegar shouldn¡¯t need an explanation,¡± Wen said. ¡°Tristan¡¯s the latest student of the monster under the Krypteia¡¯s bed, a thing that¡¯s been around longer than the Republics have existed at a state.¡±


    He paused.


    ¡°Maryam took some digging,¡± he conceded. ¡°I thought the name on her recommendation might be a coincidence, but it turns out she¡¯s been sent here by Totec the Feathered.¡±


    She did not hide her ignorance.


    ¡°You won¡¯t know that name because he¡¯s not famous outside his guild,¡± Wen told her. ¡°He¡¯s the man the Navigators have spent the last thirty years sending to learn the rites of Gloam practitioners to see if they can be made into proper Signs. If he thinks Maryam has ¡®great potential¡¯, I¡¯m not inclined to argue.¡±


    ¡°I had no idea,¡± she whispered.


    ¡°Because you don¡¯t know any of these people,¡± he said. ¡°¡¯They¡¯re a walking collection of wounds inside the head, which a girl who has never talked to anyone she did not need to either obey or order would have no real idea how to handle. You¡¯re a fish on a mountaintop.¡±


    He took another bite.


    ¡°Could be you¡¯ll flop into a pond,¡± Wen said, chewing. ¡°More likely you¡¯ll choke to death.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t let it end that way,¡± Song bit out. ¡°There as to be some way I can fix this.¡±


    Wen considered her for a long moment, chewing, and finally swallowed.


    ¡°Genuine authority flows from the font of trust,¡± he said, quoting someone. ¡°Men can be bullied or bought, but they will never achieve what they would under someone they believe deserves to hold command over them.¡±


    ¡°And how do I get there?¡± she pressed.


    He laughed.


    ¡°Am I the Stripe, or you?¡± Wen asked. ¡°Figure it out, Song. Or dissolve your brigade and let them go under someone who will.¡±


    He rose, after that, and walked away. Song knew better than to follow him. She stayed there on the bench, looking at the vast expanse of nothing while the wind brushed crumbs onto her coat. All day, she felt, she had been a spectator. Sitting there, watching others walk away from her. No, perhaps not even only today. It must be her hand on the chisel, not circumstance¡¯s, else nothing would be fixed.


    Song would begin with the cabalist she could reach.

 Chapter 24

    She would have fallen asleep if not for the second pot of tea.


    Song sat at the kitchen table in the quivering candlelight, not staring at Tristan¡¯s shoddy note - it had a fresh X added at the bottom, conveying he still drew breath. Now and then she remembered to turn the page of the first volume of Universal Histories, which she was meant to be reading for Saga. Only she kept mixing up pre-imperial kings: even the earliest dynasty, the short-lived Pelayo, had managed to squeeze in two Alfonsos who¡¯d fought battles over the same stretch of riverlands with similarly named rival kings.


    At least ancient kings of Cathay had taken on reigning names that made them easier to tell apart.


    Song felt the words sliding along her mind instead of sinking in and knew that by morning she would remember hardly a thing of what she had read. Yet to close the book would be to surrender this time to waiting alone, keeping company only with Tristan¡¯s note. Sipping at her increasingly lukewarm tea, Song turned a page and was presented with the tortured family tree of the Ormisenda dynasty ¨C the successors of the Pelayo ¨C and winced at the sight of a fresh battalion of Alfonsos, flanked by a cavalry wing of Fruelas.


    ¡°This is unkind,¡± she informed the book.


    The frustration distracted her enough that her stomach dropped when she heard the front door open. Maryam trudged in tiredly with a lantern in hand, not hanging her weapons on the hooks but dropping them into a pile on the wooden bench next to the boots instead. The powder, at least, she hung. The hooded cloak that she wore everywhere was tucked under her arm as she walked out of the antechamber, eyes widening in surprise when she saw Song seated at the table.


    The Izvorica must have been exhausted not to notice there was a lit candle in the kitchen. For a long moment they matched gazes, Song¡¯s mouth suddenly gone dry, then Maryam sighed.


    ¡°Must we do this tonight?¡± she asked.


    Song straightened.


    ¡°Will you promise me time tomorrow morning if not?¡±


    Muttering something in Triglau that had the sound of a curse to it, the pale-skinned woman approached and dropped her cloak on a chair before sitting on another, facing Song. Maryam had always been pale and the Tianxi could not remember her without circles around her eyes but there was something¡­ she looked worn. As if what had once been a few layers now went down to the bone.


    ¡°The hours you keep are taking a toll,¡± Song quietly said.


    Maryam¡¯s face closed, like shutters pulled tight, and she knew she had made a mistake again.


    ¡°I get enough sleep and Captain Yue sends me back with an escort when we run late,¡± she sharply replied.


    ¡°I meant no offense,¡± Song hastened to reply.


    Gods, she felt like biting her tongue until it bled. Maryam breathed in, waited a moment, then nodded. Stiffly.


    ¡°Fine,¡± she said. ¡°None taken.¡±


    ¡°You are working with the captain, then,¡± Song tried.


    Maryam¡¯s face closed shut again and Song almost let out a sob of frustration. She knew the other woman was not thin-skinned ¨C could not be, when the color of it earned her stares and jeers wherever she went ¨C which meant that Song was walking through a field and somehow managing to step solely on the fucking caltrops.


    ¡°Worked on, more like,¡± Maryam tightly replied. ¡°But I¡¯ve had some answers.¡±


    ¡°Progress, then,¡± Song said, forcing a smile.


    ¡°Of a sort,¡± the blue-eyed woman flatly replied. ¡°Captain Yue is mostly certain that if a quarter of my brain was amputated my signifying would stabilize.¡±


    Captain Yue sounded like the Krypteia should regularly break into her closet to look for skeletons, but it would not have been politic of Song to say as much.


    ¡°Have you-¡± Song began, but Maryam raised a hand to cut her off.


    ¡°Song,¡± she said. ¡°The only reason my eyes are still open is that it burns when I close them. I am in no state or mood for chatter. What do you want?¡±


    Song had earlier spent the better part of an hour preparing a speech. Even written it down, though naturally she had burned the paper after memorizing it. Only looking at those weary blue eyes, she stumbled.


    ¡°It has come to my attention,¡± she said, facing that stare, then swallowed. ¡°I have-¡±


    She could not remember the end of that sentence if someone put a pistol to her head. The chisel kept slipping through her fingers. Song swallowed, almost choking on her own fear and spit.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Song blurted out. ¡°It was¡­ I was unfair to you and to others. I started the fire and fed it. It is my fault.¡±


    Maryam watched her, pale face gaunt in the light, and the Tianxi could tell something in there clenched.


    ¡°You take too much on yourself,¡± she said.


    Hope rose that against all odds she had found the right words to-


    ¡°I used to admire that, but no longer,¡± Maryam said. ¡°You take it in and bottle it up until a good shake makes the cork pop and it all comes spilling out. It¡¯s no good for you and it may just be worse for us.¡±


    Song swallowed.


    ¡°It is,¡± she tried, then hesitated. ¡°It is how I am, Maryam.¡±


    ¡°No one is like that,¡± Maryam gently replied. ¡°You learn to be.¡±


    She looked away. There was something too much like pity in those blue eyes, and she did not have it in her to be angry at the other woman right now.


    ¡°Regardless, I apologize,¡± Song croaked, licking dry lips. ¡°I did not truly believe the accusation I levied at you. It will not happen again and I will make amends however I can.¡±


    How, she was not sure. But until she had how could any of them trust her? She would do what she must to make up for her mistakes.


    ¡°There¡¯s no penance to be had here,¡± Maryam tiredly replied. ¡°You are not my bondswoman for seven years, freed of bonds and guilt on the final morning. If there is work to be done, it is not for me.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand,¡± Song admitted. ¡°I owe Tristan apology as well, but that does not erase-¡±


    ¡°Apologies don¡¯t mean a fucking thing, Song,¡± Maryam said, voice rising. ¡°You cut me, like we all cut each other, but that¡¯s just thorns. It happens, sometimes even when you don¡¯t mean it to. But what¡¯s changed since, Song?¡±


    ¡°I know I did wrong,¡± she said. ¡°Next time-¡±


    And somehow, it was still the wrong answer.


    ¡°You can¡¯t make yourself without flaw by¡­ precedent, somehow¡± Maryam bit out. ¡°I do not care that you lost control, I care about what I saw when you did. That¡¯s what needs mending, not words thrown in anger.¡±


    The Izvorica passed a hand through her hair, looking like a woman only a stiff breeze away from toppling.


    ¡°If the Thirteenth keeps, this is not the last time we will be left scraped raw and with reasons to claw at each other,¡± Maryam said. ¡°We¡¯ll crack again, in months or years to come.¡±


    ¡°And next time I will be ready,¡± Song insisted. ¡°I do not repeat my mistakes, Maryam.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not listening,¡± the other woman said. ¡°I don¡¯t want so sit with you smiling until the next pop, Song, never knowing you¡¯re silently swallowing one thorn after another until the moment where your belly bursts and you spit them all out in our faces.¡±


    Maryam shook her head.


    ¡°Gods, but in that moment I think you genuinely hated him,¡± she said. ¡°And part of that is on Tristan, but it¡¯s also on you. Because it got that far without anyone doing about it and you¡¯re the one who¡¯s supposed to want the Thirteenth Brigade to work.¡±


    That more than anything else Maryam had said, rang true. And cut deepest.


    ¡°There is only so much I can do,¡± Song got out. ¡°I am not¡­¡±


    She swallowed, unsure what the right words would be. ¡®Perfect¡¯ would be arrogant even in denial. ¡®A miracle worker¡¯ was putting Tristan on a pedestal, if an ill one. He was not some evil spirit without reason. The urge to claim you had failed at a high rung of the ladder, Uncle Zhuge once told her, was a common reaction to having lost your footing much lower. A grand failure was easier to swallow than a petty one.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what I am to do,¡± Song admitted. ¡°When we first met at the Rookery I thought I knew what lay ahead, but since we came to Tolomontera I have been lost.¡±


    ¡°And if we were still at the Rookery, I¡¯d wave all this away,¡± Maryam said. ¡°But we aren¡¯t, and I can¡¯t excuse the mistakes woman in front of me for the sake of the one I met there.¡±


    She sighed.


    ¡°History won¡¯t weigh on the scales, Song,¡± Maryam told her. ¡°That¡¯s what this¡­ bloodletting taught me. The one thing I can¡¯t forgive from this whole debacle is that when Tredegar called me useless I had nothing to contradict her with.¡±


    ¡°You are still learning,¡± Song carefully said.


    ¡°That¡¯s an excuse,¡± the other woman firmly said. ¡°I have had too much truck with those of late. I have been gnawing at grudges instead of looking ahead, it¡¯s no wonder I fell behind.¡±


    Maryam let out a yawn, covering it with her hand.


    ¡°I am not keeping to these hours to spite you, Song,¡± she said. ¡°Yue¡¯s pushing harder because she¡¯s heard rumors the Thirteenth had a blowout, but I¡¯ve been volunteering past what she asks.¡±


    She leaned in.


    ¡°I am stepping forward instead of being dragged, and it has made a difference.¡±


    ¡°So you have gotten real answers,¡± Song said. ¡°Not just¡­¡±


    Been told lobotomy was a potential solution.


    ¡°They only brought more questions,¡± Maryam said, ¡°but that is the road: fill the unknown piece by piece until you are left with a map. Until the next time I am called useless, I can look that person in the eye and call them a liar.¡±


    ¡°You are not useless,¡± Song told her.


    The Izvorica¡¯s face shuttered again, but Song was too tired to wince. They matched gazes for a long moment, silver to blue, until the signifier looked away.


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure,¡± Maryam quietly said, ¡°whether I hate or love that you really believe that.¡±


    She pushed off her seat, snatching up her cloak.


    ¡°Good night, Song,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯ll see you tomorrow.¡±


    A beat,


    ¡°Good night, Maryam,¡± she replied.


    Not quickly enough that she was addressing anything but a retreating back.


    Song emptied the rest of the cold tea into the garden bushes, trying not to look at the iron teapot she had dented in her rage. How it still served but might be injured for good.


    How that felt like the worst sort of omen.


    --


    They headed to class together in the morning. Maryam had not accompanied her like this in days so it felt like a victory, however trifling one.


    Still, with Teratology looming ahead Song was glad of even such a small thing. She did not speak much on the way, instead reciting inside her head the readings she had done. Not that Maryam seemed in all that chatty a mood. Professor Kang, Song suspected, would be eager for an opportunity to dole out humiliation for any perceived failing of hers. To stay a step ahead she had gone to the private library in the Galleries and picked out the three works she judged most likely to be upcoming assigned readings for the class.


    Two of them were Teratology manuals, of which there were multiple copies with some in different print - a sign they had been in use for long, classics. She had read up to the fifth chapter in each. The third work was the one she spent the most time on, however. It was a treatise, not a proper book, but its title and author had commanded her full attention: Systematic Collapse, by Yun Kang.


    It was a methodical, detailed analysis of what the fifteen years following the Dimming had done to the lands of the Republic of Jigong. Too detailed for him not to have been out there, seeing it with his own eyes. It had made for¡­ harrowing reading, but read it Song had. She was prepared.


    The walk through Scholomance to get to class was somehow even more wearying than it had been the first day, perhaps because Song knew what was waiting for her at the end. She kept her wits about her, ignoring the temptations the school dangled their way ¨C shortcuts and hidden libraries, a warm kitchen smelling of freshly baked bread and once a scared child screaming. That one had a few students hesitating before their friends pulled them back.


    Scholomance, Song saw, was watching them from the walls. Learning what had worked and what had not. No, she thought. Not learning. Remembering. It had waned, starved of souls to feed on for so long, but corpse after corpse it was gaining back in strength. In mind.


    It was a grim thought, and it was in a grim mood she arrived in class. She and Maryam had arrived ahead of most, and they took the same desks near the middle of the room. The air in the crypt always felt slightly damp, and Song¡¯s eyes could not help but stray at the stuffed lemures looking at her from the walls and ceiling. It was as if Kang had a hundred eyes, each of them staring at her unblinking.


    Song was careful to avoid looking at the front of the class where the professor stood, not to give him an excuse.


    Angharad arrived with the Thirty-First shortly before the beginning of class, and much like the last few students to hurry in they were sweaty and harried. Zenzele even had a cut on his cheek, a sure sign that Scholomance had tried something. Not that Professor Kang cared.


    ¡°Another twenty seconds and you would have been late,¡± he chided. ¡°Laziness is not a habit to boast of.¡±


    Shalini looked furious, but Ferranda laid a hand on her arm to keep her from speaking. The infanzona had good instincts. Denied a reason to continue hectoring them, Professor Kang hummed and passed by his desk to snatch up his wooden baton while Angharad settled at the desk to Song¡¯s left, sparing a nod her way.


    ¡°Now that the distractions are over with,¡± Professor Kang said, ¡°let us begin.¡±


    He began his lecture without so much as a glance her way but Song knew better than to lower her guard.


    She would admit, however, that he was a compelling speaker. Unlike Professor Sasan he did not invite discussion, but neither was his lecture the kind that put students to sleep. After spending half an hour outlining the fundamental differences between an ¡®animal¡¯ and ¡®creature¡¯ ¨C the latter term being a catch-all term including lares and lemures, though he noted that less scholarly literature also referred to them as ''monsters¡¯ ¨C he laid out the basics of the Takata Index for them.


    It was the manner by which the teratologist of the Watch ranked the threat of particular creatures on a scale of one to ten. Kang flatly informed them that they should memorize the criteria he had written on the slate, for they would be tested not only on listing them but by applying the Takata Index on example creatures.


    Then he pivoted her way and it began.


    ¡°Captain Ren,¡± the professor smoothly said. ¡°Who was it that first laid out a distinction between lares and lemures?¡±


    He wanted her, Song thought, to answer ¡®the Second Empire¡¯ so he could tut at her inexactness. Fortunately for her, she had read the second chapter of Categorias Naturales.


    ¡°Cornelia Marca, on behalf of Emperor Raul II,¡± she replied. ¡°Sir.¡±


    The man paused, stroking his beard.


    ¡°A basic answer,¡± he said, and moved on.


    A few minutes of learning about the early Lierganen origins of the formal discipline followed, but the swerve inevitably came.


    ¡°Captain Ren,¡± he thinly smiled, ¡°how is it that creatures from regions hundreds of thousands of miles apart can share the same physiology? Let us take lupines for an example.¡±


    Arbor Vitae, fourth chapter. He had changed manuals.


    ¡°According to the theory of origin, sir,¡± Song replied, ¡°it is because these creatures came from the same original animals. In the case of lupines, dogs.¡±


    His face tightened.


    ¡°Speculative at best,¡± Professor Kang said, turning away.


    Twice now he had come for her and missed. Unless he was deaf he would be hearing the same whispers spreading across the class she did. It was one thing for a professor to pick on a student, another for that professor to fail. A man worried about his reputation would have stopped.


    The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    Yung Kang did not.


    The next question he asked her was only tangentially related to what was even being discussed, about the proper name for the mutations aether caused in plant anatomy, and there she had to admit ignorance. The smirk returned.


    She could not answer the next two questions either, and after the last he sighed in disappointment.


    ¡°It seems you will need all the help you can get, Captain Ren,¡± the professor said. ¡°You, in front, your name?¡±


    He was addressing a short Izcalli girl sitting in the front row, her head shaved save for a stripe going down the back and two tufts on the sides. Contracted.


    ¡°Captain Tozi Poloko,¡± she replied. ¡°Nineteenth Brigade.¡±


    ¡°Trade seats with her, Captain Tozi,¡± Professor Kang ordered.


    Song wilted under the gazes of the classroom as she was made to pack up her things and move them up front, the other captain sending her an unfriendly look for the trouble. Kang ceased questioning her after that, but he made it a point to always walk back and forth near her with his baton trailing across her desk. It made her tense every time and fall behind in taking notes. The lecture lasted close to three hours in whole, and shortly before dismissing the class the professor leaned in close with those shining black eyes.


    ¡°Stay behind after,¡± Professor Kang ordered her.


    Song put away her notes even as the rest of the class began to leave. Maryam glanced back twice, but the professor¡¯s cocked eyebrow dissuaded her from lingering. Soon she was the only one left, the professor shuffling papers on his desk. After waiting there for five minutes, Song dared to clear her throat.


    ¡°Sir,¡± she cautiously asked. ¡°What can I do for you?¡±


    Professor Kang looked up, seemingly surprised.


    ¡°Still here, Ren?¡± he said. ¡°You will be late for your next class.¡±


    She grit her teeth. Was he really that petty?


    ¡°As you say, professor,¡± she stiffly replied, grabbing her bag.


    He smirked.


    ¡°Although, since you are here,¡± Professor Kang idly said. ¡°I am curious ¨C are you a jiang wu practitioner, Captain Song?¡±


    She blinked in surprise.


    ¡°Sword dances?¡± she asked. ¡°No, sir. I never learned any.¡±


    She had been taught traditional swordsmanship, certainly, but still one meant to be used - not a largely ceremonial performance. Sword dances took skill but not necessarily the same skills used in genuine combat. Bafflingly, the answer brought a vicious sort of satisfaction to the man¡¯s face.


    ¡°No,¡± Kang smiled. ¡°I thought not. Go on, then. Get going.¡±


    She was glad to, uncomfortable standing alone in the room with a man who meant her ill. Song had tried to think of the professor as a test, something she could make a reputation from, but today made that¡­ difficult. Kang seemed entirely willing to go as far as he needed to make her pass as ignorant ¨C how many in the class would have been able to answer the questions she did correctly? How many who were not Savants? It was with gritted teeth she left.


    Reaching the hall outside, Song found she might be the least to leave but there were still some lingerers. A pair of Tianxi was standing at the end pf the hallway, by the stairs, talking in low voices. One was contracted. His name was Hong Hua, and he could move¡­ the location of wounds by touch? Interesting. She tore away her gaze before it could be noticed. It took three more steps for Song to recall one detail ¨C that particular spelling of ¡®Hua¡¯ as a surname, it was uncommon.


    Almost only used around the southern shore of Hehou River, the border with the Imperial Someshwar. The Republic of Jigong¡¯s border with the Someshwar, to be precise.


    Song heard the classroom door close behind her, and it saved her life ¨C she glanced that way, eyes widening when she saw two more students had hidden on either side of the door. One had a pistol aimed at her, and as he pulled the trigger she ducked. The shot sounded, the bullet tearing into her bag and sending chunks of paper flying. That was her notes, some part of her dimly raged. Her own pistol was not loaded, a dire mistake, so instead her sword cleared the scabbard as she dropped her bag. It would only get in her way.


    ¡°Help,¡± she shouted, but there was no one.


    Only her, enemies and a closed door. The ambusher without the pistol ¨C contracted, Renshu, something something all-devouring ¨C let out a sharp laugh, unsheathing a curved dao saber as he stepped forward. Movement behind, but if she let them dictate this she was dead. Ignoring the threat at her back she ran towards her ambushers, ignoring the surprise on their faces as she rushed the pistol wielder. The contracted saberman stepped between them as the other man yelped, dropping his pistol and fumbling for the straight sword at his hip.


    Two steps, thrust. The saber came to swat down her blade but Song was already moving out of the feint. Pivot, sweep low and cut ¨C ¡®Renshu¡¯ hastily backed into the door to avoid getting his throat sliced, impacting it with a thud. The other man got his blade out, just in time for Song to smoothly drop and sweep his leg. Always moving, gathering strength like the wind. He stumbled back, head smacking against the wall as he fell. Dropped his sword.


    Saber strike from the left, a quick cut to her sword arm¡¯s shoulder. Not the neck? Not a feint either, Song found as she flicked a strike at his knee to trip the faint but found him leaning into the blow instead. She turned withdrawing that probing blade into a rising pivot strike at Renshu¡¯s face that had him leaning back, momentum against him and¡­ there, she slid her boot¡¯s toe under the dropped sword, tossing it straight up.


    She tossed her sword at Renshu¡¯s face, forcing him back with his saber high, snatched the other sword out of the air by the grip and smoothly slid it into the other man¡¯s throat as he got back on his feet ¨C his movement only driving it all the way through. She ripped the sword free as the sole woman screamed Liu, turning to face the others. Step forward, breathe in and out. Never stop moving.


    Renshu would soon be at her back, so she swept forward towards the pair charging her.


    ¡°You bitch,¡± Hong Hua snarled, raising his blade.


    A large changdao, two-handed saber raised high. A horse-killer, slow but strong. One good strike on the head and she was done. Only he stood as if he were aiming not at her skull but at her shoulder. Between that and Renshu''s shoulder blow? They wanted her alive.


    She could use that.


    The woman had lowered her spear, threatening her ribs, but instead of trying to juggle the both of them Song stepped right into Hong¡¯s blow ¨C the angle put him between Song and the spear, and in the moment he hesitated to bring down the sword Song thrust her blade into his belly. It caught on the coat, away from the slow death of a deep wound and into the sides. Hong still screamed hoarsely as she rammed her shoulder into his chest, toppling him down.


    Song moved to rip out the dead man¡¯s sword, but the weight was slightly off and ¨C the edge caught against a brass button, failing to slice through the thread beneath. She was just a heartbeat too slow to avoid getting hit with the spear, raising an arm to protect her from the shaft but still being forced stumbling back.


    Without the sword.


    She reached for her pistol, even unloaded, but Renshu was on her before it was even half out. He hammered down at her folded elbow with the pommel of his saber, then as she screamed and felt muscle tear he caught her by the throat and threw her down. Song¡¯s back hit stone, stealing breath out of her lungs.


    ¡°Get me to Liu,¡± Hong shouted. ¡°Quick, before-¡±


    She saw the spear come down, rolled to avoid the blow but the wooden length still hit her on the shoulder. Song tensed, a mistake: Renshu kicked her in the back and she convulsed in pain, shouting.


    ¡°Go yourself,¡± the woman snarled. ¡°She¡¯s not down yet.¡±


    Hands trembling, she got her pistol out and pointed it at Renshu, who took half a step back ¨C only for his ally to swat at her hand with the spear, white-hot pain streaking across her phalanges as she dropped the empty pistol. A blow followed on the head, blinding her for a heartbeat. She tried roll away, to crawl, but a kick got her back on her belly and then the saber¡¯s edge was resting on her throat.


    ¡°Move and you die,¡± Renshu panted, red-faced. ¡°No more risks with you, Song Ren.¡±


    Song stilled, though she was nauseous from the last kick and could taste bile in her mouth. Her vision was swimming from that head blow, but she still saw Hong Hua leaving a trail of blood through his hand as he knelt by Liu¡¯s body and laid a hand on his face. She saw strands of blood red connect them both, and something moving down them from Hong onto Liu until the corpse¡¯s face burst into a bloody shower. The wound, she realized. He had moved his wound onto the dead man.


    ¡°Fuck,¡± Hong shakily breathed out. ¡°That was close.¡±


    ¡°I told you we should have killed her outright,¡± the woman said.


    ¡°We were never going to get a better chance than this, Meihui,¡± Hong bit out. ¡°With the mirror-dancer gone-¡±


    ¡°Liu¡¯s dead,¡± Renshu harshly said.


    ¡°Another corpse for the Ren tally,¡± the other man replied.


    Song opened her mouth to say something, anything, but she was finding it hard to focus and ¨C the spear came down again, hitting her in stomach. She turned over to throw up, Renshu¡¯s blade barely withdrawing in time.


    ¡°Not here,¡± Hong said. ¡°Take her to the room. We can¡¯t trust Kang to keep quiet if we do it here, he¡¯s too much of a weasel.¡±


    ¡°He said-¡±


    Song did not hear what Professor Kang had said, for someone had caught her by the collar and was dragging her away. She felt dulled, like her body was barely her own. She was not sure how long they moved her, but after some time she was propped up against a wall ¨C and then a sharp slap across the face brought her back to the present.


    ¡°There,¡± Meihui said. ¡°That should do it.¡±


    She was so short, Song thought. Barely even five feet. It made that braid going down her back look much longer. The tip of the spear pressed against her belly.


    ¡°Figured it out yet?¡± the other woman asked.


    ¡°You¡¯re all from Jigong,¡± Song hoarsely replied.


    Someone laughed. Hong, she saw. He was dragging Liu¡¯s mangled corpse to rest it against the wall. Broad and just short of fat, with a messy topknot and dark eyes.


    ¡°The republic, yes,¡± he agreed. ¡°Not the city. I¡¯m from Baoban myself, higher up the river.¡±


    A week ago Song would never have heard the name, but she had read Systematic Collapse since.


    ¡°Where they made Glare-touched oil,¡± she croaked out.


    ¡°Pride of the town,¡± Hong smiled as he approached. ¡°Supplied half the lanterns in Jigong and even sold across the river. Our elders heard about the Dimming just a day before the riders from the capital came, waving those orders that¡¯d empty our stocks of oil.¡±


    His smile widened, absolutely mirthless.


    ¡°Only there were still two years left before the lottery, so there wasn¡¯t all that much set aside yet,¡± Hong said. ¡°We might run out. So the elders refused, closed the gates, and the riders left angry.¡±


    The man pushed off the wall.


    ¡°They came back a week later, Ren, with two thousand men and cannons. Sacked Baoban, put most the elders to the sword and were careless enough looting us that half the oil they came to steal went up in flames anyway.¡±


    Hong¡¯s fingers clenched.


    ¡°My elder brothers died in that fire,¡± he said. ¡°My aunt. Half the parents of the children I grew up with. Those who got to grow up at all ¨C there were more hollows than men in Baoban, by the time the Watch recruited me.¡±


    ¡°I had yet to be born,¡± Song croaked out.


    ¡°And that¡¯s an excuse?¡± Hong scoffed.


    ¡°You think we don¡¯t know your family cut a deal?¡± Meihui said. ¡°That the Old Devil stayed but the rest of you got to run off to some relatives down south? We didn¡¯t all get to be raised in some cushy estate, Ren.¡±


    The spear tip pressed stronger against her, scuffing the coat.


    ¡°My family headed to Luban as soon as I was old enough to walk,¡± Meihui said. ¡°Like half those fleeing Jigong. It was misery getting there, people turning on each other like animals when bread ran out and the lights went low, but we made it to the border. We did.¡±


    Her face clenched like a fist.


    ¡°Only they stopped us at the border, at Hongying Pass,¡± Meihui snarled. ¡°The soldiers said the Republic of Luban was closed to refugees. And they watched as we starved to death, until all the virtuous were dead and the rest of us ate their corpses.¡±


    The edge of the spear rose until it was but an inch away from Song¡¯s eye. She did not blink, or shy away from the other woman¡¯s gaze. How could she, when she was looking at her family¡¯s legacy?


    ¡°The things my mother did to keep us alive, the things my sisters were forced to¡­ oh, for that you get to die slow,¡± Meihui softly said.


    And Song couldn¡¯t help it. She laughed. What else was there to do?


    ¡°You-¡± Meihui began.


    ¡°Come on then, Renshu,¡± Song said, looking at the man still keeping an eye on the door. ¡°Shall I hear your tale of woe as well? You¡¯ll only get to kill me once. Make it count.¡±


    The man matched his blade, narrow of face and build but sharp of cheek and eye. His head was all but shaved and his eyebrow notched with a small scar that did not go all the way through. He felt, she thought, like the most dangerous of the three. This one watched and waited where the others blustered.


    ¡°You get no tale from me,¡± Renshu replied. ¡°Only this: after dooming thousands upon thousands, Chaoxiang Ren lived for two years in a comfortable tower cell as Jigong withered around him.¡±


    ¡°He did not bargain for that,¡± Song sharply replied. ¡°He was detained for the Ministry until he could be made to stand trial before magistrates of every republic.¡±


    Just before they announced that Jigong was forever estranged from the lottery. The sentence, she¡¯d been told, was still famous. Two lashes from every magistrate save for Jigong¡¯s, who went last and got only one, then the sequence was to begin anew. Again and again until death ensued. ¡®Eighty-nine lashes, still no light¡¯ had since become a proverb for times where a punishment felt too weak for the crime.


    ¡°They should have killed you all then and there,¡± Renshu mildly said. ¡°Nine degrees of extermination, like the old kings swore by. This is nothing more than the rectification of that mistake.¡±


    The ugly, bubbling mirth had never been far and it tore out of her throat again. She laughed in his face, all their faces.


    ¡°No, it is not. This is children taking out their hate on the only Ren they could find,¡± Song said. ¡°Dress it up however you like, we all know the truth: you disregard zunyan and seek private satisfaction. You wander the land without knowledge of righteous and the unrighteous.¡±


    She got blank looks at that, Meihui shooting Renshu a confused look.


    ¡°It¡¯s from the Fangzi Yongtu,¡± the sharp-faced man said. ¡°She¡¯s saying we have no principles.¡±


    ¡°Ah,¡± Meihui smiled. ¡°My mother never got to teach me the Purpose of the House, Ren. You see, she-¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t care.¡±


    Someone said the words in her voice. With her lips. From the corner of her eye, Song saw Luren sitting in the corner all askew with a wide-brimmed straw hat pulled down to hide his face. All she saw of it was the barest edge of a smile.


    ¡°I don¡¯t care,¡± Song repeated, breathing out.


    What a relief it was to say that, after all these years. Like she was breathing fresh air for the first time in her life.


    ¡°You stand there lecturing me about horrors while claiming it a crime for me to be born? Pathetic,¡± she told them. ¡°You don¡¯t get to pretend this is revenge. This is, this is a tantrum. So spare me the tears, the stories and get it fucking over with.¡±


    She had spent her whole life suffering for her name. She would not spend her death doing the same.


    ¡°They won¡¯t,¡± Luren said from his corner, tearing the cork from his wine gourd with a resounding pop. ¡°They want you to scream, child. They hope that¡¯s what they¡¯ll hear when they sleep, instead of the other ones.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t get to decide that,¡± Meihui coldly said.


    ¡°It won¡¯t change anything,¡± Song told her god, ignoring her. ¡°Nothing does.¡±


    ¡°Wrong,¡± Luren happily said. ¡°Fool. Something is not nothing, only nothing can be something.¡±


    The torture, Song hoped, would be less tedious than this. The false monk drank deeply of his gourd, wiping his mouth with a pleased sight afterwards.


    ¡°And you have put out something,¡± the god said. ¡°So something is there.¡±


    He paused.


    ¡°The woman has the compass,¡± Luren added, and then he was gone.


    Sharp pain across her cheek drew back Song¡¯s gaze, Meihui standing over her with a fuming look.


    ¡°If slaps are not enough,¡± she said, ¡°perhaps losing a few fingers will help you keep focus.¡±


    Song licked cracked lips, tasting the vomit on her tongue, and was attempting to form a pithy reply ¨C the way her vision kept wobbling was no help ¨C when there was a shout of surprise. Hong, she thought, and she squinted past Meihui.


    Someone was¡­ Maryam?


    It could not be, she thought. The door had not opened, Renshu keeping an eye on it all the while. Only Maryam was there, idly strolling past the sharp-faced man as the others all raised their weapons. She no longer wore her hooded cloak, instead in a loose black coat left open and with her long dark hair flowing freely down her back. No, Song realized. This was not Maryam. The skin was just as pale but she was taller, her eyes a cloudy blue instead of limpid. And there were some details about her face¡­ A sharper nose, thicker brows.


    And Song Ren saw the truth, as she had once begged of any god who might be listening: she was not looking at flesh but aether.


    ¡°Who the fuck-¡± Hong began.


    ¡°Their signifier,¡± Renshu interrupted. ¡°How did you get in here?¡±


    Not-Maryam kept walking, her stride airy, and headed straight for Song. Meihui backed away warily, spear raised. The aether-thing¡¯s footsteps trailed dark wisps, Song saw. She was weaving Gloam without moving her hands or speaking a word. The almost familiar face frowned down at her, then sighed.


    ¡°If she was that worried about it,¡± Not-Maryam muttered, ¡°she could have gone herself.¡±


    The sound of a pistol being cocked. Hong pointed it their way.


    ¡°He asked you a question, hollow,¡± the man said.


    The apparition spared them a glance, lip curling with distaste.


    ¡°I am not without mercy,¡± Not-Maryam informed them. ¡°Should each of you cut off your right hand and beg earnestly for your life, I will allow you to depart afterwards.¡±


    Incredulous laughter.


    ¡°And who are you, exactly?¡± Meihui asked.


    ¡°The last princess Volcesta,¡± Not-Maryam said. ¡°I rode with the wintersworn, stood on the shore when we gave the river seven lords of Malan. I am the Keeper of Hooks, first and last of the Ninefold Nine.¡±


    Her chin rose ever so slightly.


    ¡°You may kneel,¡± Not-Maryam generously allowed.


    ¡°Yiwu trash,¡± Hong mocked, and took aim.


    The apparition snapped her fingers. Song felt the barest of ripples, but nothing happened.


    Not until Hong Hua¡¯s eyes widened and he pivoted to unload his pistol at Renshu.


    ¡°Ambush,¡± he shouted.


    Renshu screamed, but the bullet had only hit his side. Song watched, baffled as Meihui protectively went to stand between them and the other two with her spear raised.


    ¡°Stay behind,¡± she instructed. ¡°You¡¯re in no state to-¡±


    She frowned, struggling to finish her sentence.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Not-Maryam drily said, and laid a finger against the back of her skull.


    There was a pulse in the air, then a smoking hole an inch wide was in Meihui¡¯s head. All the way through, Song saw. She stared in horror as the other Tianxi toppled to the ground. Not-Maryam glanced her way, then rolled her eyes.


    ¡°Don¡¯t look so troubled, it¡¯s only a perception twist,¡± she said. ¡°If they had not come intent on violence there would have been nothing to switch around.¡±


    ¡°What are you?¡± Song croaked. ¡°Gods, what are you?¡±


    ¡°Leftovers and leavings,¡± Not-Maryam easily replied, then cocked an eyebrow. ¡°Now would be a good time for effusive thanks, you useless ingrate.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not Maryam,¡± Song accused.


    ¡°I¡¯ll let that one pass on account of your seeming concussion,¡± Not-Maryam mused, ¡°but I must admit this is not the most stimulating conversation I¡¯ve ever had.¡±


    ¡°What did you do?¡±


    The scream drew her gaze back the other way, where Renshu stood over Hong¡¯s headless corpse. One hand was on his wound, but the other held a saber woven out of golden fire ¨C his contract, Song thought. The weapon seemed to eat away at the very air, at everything it touched. Even at Renshu himself, slowly but surely. It ate the Sign she put in him, she realized. He¡¯s free of it.


    ¡°I thought Tianxi prided themselves on their manners,¡± Not-Maryam chided him. ¡°It is not so large a room, there is no need to shout.¡±


    ¡°You are no signifier,¡± Renshu howled. ¡°You are a monster, a-¡±


    ¡°Shhh,¡± Not-Maryam replied putting a finger to her lips, then pointing it upwards. ¡°You¡¯ll make him angry.¡±


    The man did not look up, sneering at the obvious distraction, but Song did. That was how she saw the Gloam wafting in the room had coalesced into a roiling shape up there. A horse-sized lizard with a long tail, clinging to the ceiling with its six legs as it watched Renshu with a wide-open maw at the end of a long neck. Two bulbous protrusions tore out of its back, like rounded spikes trying to unfold into something. Every part of it was stirred around in turbid strings, as if the sketch of a shape.


    ¡°Vatra,¡± the apparition ordered.


    The thing screeched, Renshu¡¯s eyes swiveling up only for the creature to spit out a stream of black Gloam-fire. The man slashed at the Gloam with his golden blade, erasing entire strands, but the breath was too wide. The edges still caught onto him and burned through cloth and flesh like acid. Renshu dropped, screaming, and the apparition waved permission at her creation before turning away as if she had lost interest.


    The monster dropped from the ceiling without a sound, sinuously lunging forward and tearing into Renshu like a ravenous hound.


    ¡°I¡¯m still waiting on those thanks,¡± Not-Maryam reminded her.


    ¡°How?¡± Song got out.


    ¡°Mornaric are too easily impressed,¡± Not-Maryam scorned. ¡°This is nothing but a smok.¡±


    Renshu¡¯s screams abruptly cut out.


    ¡°Mother could form a leshy that was large as a ship. She used to pluck the legs off swordmasters with it,¡± the apparition continued.


    Song was not sure what troubled her more: the implication that this entity might learn to do the same, or how she mentioned legs being plucked off as if it were some fond memory. Or perhaps what claimed the crown was what she began to glimpse through the layers and layers of aether, now that her eyes had grown used to the entity. All that aether had gathered onto something, like layers of paint.


    And she¡¯d never seen one like this before, but Song suspected that gnarled thing within might just be a soul.


    Not-Maryam suddenly frowned, and she thought her gaze might have been noticed. Only the regal, pale-skinned thing sighed.


    ¡°Already?¡± she said. ¡°At least-¡±


    And like candle snuffed out, she was gone.


    Silence.


    Song Ren, still propped up against that same wall, looked at the blood and flesh-strewn room around her. Four corpses slowly cooled, not a thing alive in here save her. A thought occurred and she let out a bleak laugh.


    She now had a higher body count than Tristan.


    And to think she had cursed him out for bringing trouble. Her own had loomed just the same, only patiently waiting for an opening instead of skulking about. She had been so determined to turn things around, this morning, and yet now she only felt the sting of the truth in Captain Wen¡¯s words: she knew less than nothing about the rest of the Thirteenth.


    She¡¯d thought she knew Maryam best of them, but this? The entity was connected to the Izvorica, that much was plain, and the things it had said¡­ A princess? Wintersworn, Ninefold Nine? Maryam had never mentioned so much as a single one of these things to her. How much had Song failed to glean from Tristan, from Angharad?


    A sharp irony, for her of all people to feel so blind. It all felt so futile, all of a sudden. Here she was, bruised and beaten, surrounded by corpses, and what had she learned? Only the depths of her ignorance. All this blood and pain and all she had gained was the right to fight again tomorrow.


    No matter how we struggle, we¡¯ll always end up behind, her brother had whispered. She thought of that look in Nianzu¡¯s eyes, wondering if someone would find the same in hers right now. All for nothing.


    And perhaps it was the exhaustion, the emptiness in her, but the words had her recalling Luren¡¯s. The cryptic bullshit he had left her with again. What had it been? ¡®Something is not nothing, only nothing can be something¡¯. Nonsense. It ¨C Song licked her lips, swallowed drily. A nothing that was something. She knew nothing of the rest of the Thirteenth, and that gap was¡­


    Something to fill. Work. She had asked Wen for a miracle, a way to make everything better, but what she had truly wanted was for things to go back to when they still worked. Only they never had, had they? That¡¯d been what Maryam was angry with her about last night, how she failed to understand this. Song did not need to force them all back into chairs at that kitchen table, to do it all again but right somehow. Song needed to know the people she would be sitting across.


    She had spent her time trying to make the Thirteenth fight her battle when she should have spent it fighting theirs.


    And that was work, that was blood and shame, but that¡¯d been all of Song Ren¡¯s life. What was a little more? She breathed out slowly, put a bloodstained palm against the wall and slowly pushed herself up. It seemed Luren had, distastefully enough, made himself useful not once but twice today. He¡¯d told her one more thing she needed to know.


    Which corpse to rob for the compass that¡¯d let her crawl her way out of Scholomance¡¯s belly.

 Chapter 25

    Tristan turned in his blanket for the fourth time in ten seconds.


    Eyes stubbornly closed, he turned again and put his feet against the wall. The stargazing tower was all cramped squeezes and windows, which usually the thief thought of as a selling point. Only one way up from the inside, and Tristan had undone the screws on the ladder the first day: he could topple it with a single well-placed kick any time he wanted. Not that he needed to.


    But he could.


    He turned in his blanket again, feet sliding down to the floor. The door down there was closed and he¡¯d set the easy cousin of a tripwire - a metal goblet atop the latch ¨C so there would be no entering without waking him if he slept. Fortuna would be keeping an eye out for him, too. Only Fortuna could be seen, could be worked and planned around, and that changed things. Made bedrock certainties altogether more porous.


    Tristan turned once more, then cursed and pulled himself up. His goddess wasn¡¯t around, though he caught a glimpse of red out on the roof, and his eyes strayed to the open trap door to his side. To the top of the ladder, which he could still make out in the gloom. It was too late, reason whispered into his ear, for Song Ren to still believe killing him would be enough to bury this whole affair. Questions would be asked, obvious inferences made.


    Tristan forced himself to get up, to undo the latch one of the windows. Well-greased, it opened without a sound. He was presented with the sight of the Lady of Long Odds leaning back against a thatched roof as if it were some painting: waves of red and gold bathed in the distant light of the Orrery, eerily still until she turned to glance his way.


    ¡°Still awake?¡± she asked, half-surprised.


    ¡°Can¡¯t sleep,¡± Tristan replied.


    He leaned past the windowsill, breeze long robbed of the salt of the sea lazily combing through his air.


    ¡°Still feverish from the scrap downstairs, I imagine,¡± the Lady of Long Odds mused. ¡°It takes a while to wind down.¡±


    It would. But it had been hours and the fighting tense had long left him. Tristan knew why he couldn¡¯t sleep, and it was the same reason part of him squirmed uncomfortable at showing his back to the ladder even though the door downstairs was locked and trapped.


    Without noticing it he had gotten comfortable, and now that¡¯d he noticed it he could not unsee it.


    His fingers clenched and he smoothed away the discomfort of that understanding from his face. Not that it served anything when faced with the goddess that had known him since he was barely more than a child.


    ¡°It got ugly,¡± Fortuna acknowledged. ¡°Song-¡±


    ¡°She is not going to creep in the night and slit my throat,¡± Tristan sad, and he believed the words as he said them.


    ¡°But if she wanted, she could,¡± the Lady of Long Odds said.


    Yes. But she could.


    If it came to a straight fight, he would lose. She wore that blade like someone used to wielding it and he had never seen her miss a shot. He was barely taller than her and though unsure who would be physically stronger she ¨C he grit his teeth.


    ¡°She can see you,¡± Tristan muttered. ¡°If she wanted to take me by surprise¡­¡±


    She could work around Fortuna. He¡¯d never even considered that might be something people could do, before Song. Before Hage¡¯s casual reminder that the world was always larger than you thought.


    ¡°Tredegar would not brook silencing you that way,¡± Fortuna said. ¡°And Maryam-¡±


    ¡°Maryam left me here,¡± he hissed. ¡°With a better killer whose life would be made easier if I-¡±


    He forced himself to stop there. It had been an ugly scene, and he blamed no one for wanting to leave it. Tredegar had, if anything done so with dignity. But part of him had assumed that when it came to flight he and Maryam would be headed the same way.


    Another false comfort.


    ¡°I won¡¯t fall asleep here,¡± Tristan said. ¡°Not more than the hour and change I¡¯ve already stolen.¡±


    Fortuna half-rose, long curls swept back by the wind.


    ¡°Where to?¡± she asked, smiling.


    ¡°To do the work I should have begun the moment I walked off those docks,¡± Tristan grimly replied.


    He was already dressed, save for the coat, so it was only a matter of grabbing. his affairs. He slid down the side of the stargazing tower onto the roof, closing the window behind him, then shimmied down. The thief was gone with barely a whisper, through the garden and down the stairs.


    It was simple due diligence to have another place to sleep, to have a stash ready in case it all went south, and he would rest when the proper precautions were taken. It was a dangerous failing on his part not to have handled this already. Tristan had let himself be distracted by the threats and mysteries, taken in by the illusion of safety. In a sense, the earlier¡­ dispute was a welcome reminder: nothing could ever be taken for granted.


    Your things were yours only until someone larger cared to take them. The cottage was a fine hiding place and he now regretted sharing it, but there was no putting that pot back together. He would have to find another, perhaps something closer to the docks. The port was thick with opportunities for a thief, and it would be unwise to stash stolen goods in a house to which Angharad Tredegar had access.


    Making his way under the dark blue light he¡¯d heard some soldiers called the Indigo Moon ¨C it swept through Allazei only between one and three in the morning ¨C he kept to main streets despite disliking the open grounds. At this time of the night there were sure to be lemures skulking around the cottage¡¯s vicinity, so haste won over discretion.


    His instincts were not wrong: a pair of shades watched him from rooftops as he hurried, slender silhouettes standing unnaturally still. Yet though Tristan was alone and not particularly large, he was carrying steel and did not look wounded. Not so easy a target. They followed him for a few blocks but ultimately chose not to try their luck. A relief. Shades were scavengers and bottom feeders ¨C in Sacromonte, they were best known for snatching infants ¨C but they had long, sharp nails and feverish strength.


    The thief doubted they would have killed him, but they would have likely bled him and the smell might have drawn in something nastier. It was still a long way to dockside.


    Haste proved enough to get him there without incident, at least this once. It might be time to look into obtaining some scent that would put off lemures ¨C Hage was sure to have something, although in even the most favorable outcome to asking the question the devil was sure to wildly overcharge him for it. The thief knew shades disliked the false fruits of yew, but he was reluctant to put on necklace of them without knowing if the smell might draw the curiosity of something more dangerous.


    It was slightly before two in the morning he reached Regnant Avenue, the hour of a city¡¯s exhale: when the last drunks stumbled out, the last lights dimmed, when dark and silence swallowed street after street. On another night Tristan might have tried his hand at snatching a few things off drunks near the docks, but tonight he had other priorities. Instead he prowled the small streets, keeping to alleys and shadows, and took the measure of the town as he ghosted through it.


    It felt a little like coming home.


    Port Allazei, mused as the Indigo Moon began to wane, really was a town camped in a city¡¯s corpse. The ruined city was mostly empty, with the parts that were safe and largely rebuilt ¨C the Triangle, the streets closest to the docks and barracks ¨C packed to the gills with students, teachers and townsfolk. Yet though the inhabited portions of Allazei was small, even in that small space Tristan found room to disappear.


    In a place like Sacromonte it was best to disappear by becoming a drop in the sea, but Allazei was a warren of nooks and crannies. You just had to find one large enough to fit you.


    Leaving the overflowing streets of the Triangle, the thief skirted just past the edges of Regnant Avenue and Templeward Street where the numbers began to thin. That was the sweet spot lay, as far as Tristan was concerned: far enough no one ventured there without a reason, close enough he was well within the regular patrol routes of the garrison. Easy meat for neither lemures nor men. Now he just needed to find a building that met the right standards.


    On the Templeward side, about ten minutes away from where Wen and Mandisa had settled, he sniffed out a derelict two-story house with broken stairs and a mostly intact attic. Perfect. Tristan stashed away a blanket, two silvers and a pilfered knife in the attic before hiding rope top climb under the kitchen rubble. He checked the surrounding houses for risks, particularly rooftop access to his hidden perch, but the sole roof that had not collapsed was angled the wrong way and playing host to a bird nest besides.


    He sat on that rooftop for a moment, the tiles digging into his legs as he snacked on a few sesame seeds, and let his gaze wander the city¡¯s skyline as the last drops of the Indigo Moon bled out of the sky. Soon the Orrery¡¯s next ring would spin along, bringing in pale and gold, and-


    ¡°Huh.¡±


    ¡°Finally in a talking mood again, I see,¡± Fortuna said.


    He glanced to the side, finding her perched near the edge of the roof with her dress¡¯s folds cascading over it. She was leaning away from him, peering down at what he suspected was the bird¡¯s nest tucked away between two broken tiles.


    ¡°Something like that,¡± Tristan said. ¡°There¡¯s a light on the horizon.¡±


    ¡°You know pretending it didn¡¯t happen won¡¯t make it true,¡± the Lady of Long Odds said. ¡°You should reach out to Maryam, at le-¡±


    His jaw clenched.


    ¡°There is,¡± he flatly repeated, ¡°a light on the horizon.¡±


    A long silence. A sigh.


    ¡°Some sort of tower, you think?¡± Fortuna asked.


    He hummed. It had to be, the thief thought. Out in the east of Port Allazei, short of the empty canal that delineated Scholomance grounds but well past the inhabited slice of shore, a silver light was shining. Higher than a three-story house, at a guess, and for the burn to be that stable and visible he would almost think it some sort of lighthouse. Only what would a lighthouse be doing so far inland, and in an abandoned part of the city to boot?


    ¡°It¡¯s too far out to be the workshop the Umuthi Society set up for their students,¡± he said. ¡°There shouldn¡¯t be anything out there, as far as I know.¡±


    ¡°Could be a trap,¡± Fortuna said, enthusiasm noticeably rising at the prospect.


    ¡°Could be,¡± he agreed. ¡°Only I¡¯d never heard rumors of there being some kind of cursed tower out east, and the soldiers would gossip about a ghostly light. Which means they know what it is and they¡¯re not worried.¡±


    ¡°That or they¡¯ve been told to keep their mouths shut,¡± Fortuna added.


    Tristan nodded, chewing at the inside of his cheek. Either way, it meant that tower its silver light were related to the Watch.


    ¡°Something that¡¯s only out there if you find it?¡± he finally said. ¡°Sounds to me like Mask business.¡±


    Even if he was wrong and it turned out the Watch simply had some sort of hidden fort out there, that was valuable information as well. His instincts weren¡¯t leaning that way, though. This felt like another test in this island overrun with them, and his covenant fit the bill better than the rest.


    ¡°Yesss,¡± Fortuna grinned. ¡°We¡¯re going to the trap cursed tower, aren¡¯t we?¡±


    Tristan decided not to confirm it, lest her further enthusiasm talk him out of the idea. If he didn¡¯t spend his seventhday chasing down a mystery, he might just have to look back instead ¨C and he dared not.


    ¡°Come on,¡± he said instead. ¡°Let¡¯s find out if that attic lets the wind in.¡±


    --


    After a pleasant and surprisingly windless nap, he was back on the streets come the sixth hour.


    One of the fancy bakeries on Templeward made the mistake of leaving out fresh baskets, so at the cost of one pebble tossed strategically against a kitchen pan to distract the attendant Tristan acquired a breakfast of two freshly baked sweet buns. He scarfed them in a nearby alley, wishing he¡¯d grabbed more. Potato flour, like they used in Old Saraya, but those little bits on sugar on top were delicious.


    He dipped seaside to wash his hands free of incriminating stickiness and draw from one of the garrison wells for water, then began heading east as Port Allazei woke up around him. The thief would have likely kept to side streets even were enemies not out to collect the bounty on his head, but that turn gave particular reason to a general practice of caution. Not that even the ¡®main¡¯ streets were anything to be impressed about, once you were five minutes east of Templeward.


    The wide road the garrison used for patrols was cleaned of debris, but it was missing quite a few paving stones and those holes would be turning into puddles when it began raining in a few hours. Seventhday was the rain day, after all, from nine to nine.


    Tristan missed his tricorn.


    Past the ruins of what had once been a market ¨C and a large one, too, not just a shopping street ¨C Tristan found that a park had swallowed an entire chunk of the city. Trees and thorny bushes had taken over streets and houses alike, casting shadows in the silver morning light, and overgrown roots slid across streets so full of dead leaves and dirt they might as well have been forest ground. If he¡¯d not misremembered the tower¡¯s direction, going through this was the quickest way to get there.


    Tristan took one look at those winding paths and eerily rustling leaves, then took the long way around.


    ¡°Coward,¡± Fortuna complained.


    ¡°A long-lived one, I hope,¡± he agreed.


    He went further east, skirting the edge of the forest while keeping a wary eye out for anything that might be inclined to crawl out. It felt a safe assumption the woods were a nest of lemures, at the very least. Yet when he caught sight of movement it was not out in the trees. A pair of blackcloaks, muskets in hand, were strolling across a small street while chatting. A patrol? They seemed too few for this far out in the city. Slipping into the alleys, Tristan followed them.


    He wrinkled his nose at how easy they proved to tail, barely paying attention to their surroundings.


    The pair walked along the edge of the woods westwards, much like a patrol would, but the thief never got close enough to eavesdrop on the conversation. Their carelessness was interesting ¨C people only acted like that when they felt safe, or at least like others would bail them out should there be danger. Were there other watchmen out here? Their ¡®patrol¡¯ came to an end after another five minutes and they headed back the same way they¡¯d come.


    Tristan followed behind, keeping a safe distance until his steps went past where he¡¯d come across them and the continuing east. Five minutes later, he came to a halt while sucking in a surprised breath.


    ¡°That¡¯s a fort,¡± Fortuna helpfully pointed out, biting into an apple.


    She made the crunch of it obnoxiously loud, no doubt on purpose.


    ¡°I can see that,¡± Tristan replied, rolling his eyes.


    Across an open plaza from the edge of the woods, the Watch had built what looked like a fortified village. The walls were made from stones visibly from half a different sources but they stacked a solid fifteen feet high, armed guards waited by open gates. Inside he could see a well near the entrance, then barracks and a cluster of buildings spread out along three cramped streets.


    The two watchmen out on patrol stopped to chat with the pair in front before entering, leaving Tristan to weigh his chances. Those walls were to keep lemures, not men ¨C not with so many jutting handholds ¨C so it would not be impossible for him to climb over. He¡¯d have to remain hidden the whole time, though. He was in fighting fit, not the rank-and-file uniform. A risky enterprise, if the Watch was hiding something here. It was tempting to simply go up and ask if students were allowed entry, but they¡¯d be on guard for him trying to sneak in if they refused.


    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    While debating whether he should avoid the fort entirely, swing around and continue northeast towards the tower, Tristan frowned as he saw someone come up to the well and work the crank. That was not a regular¡¯s uniform, and the dark-skinned woman wearing it was young. Student age. Two more people approached her, another in a coat and the last in a formal uni- Oh, Tristan knew that one. He was looking at Captain Tristan Ballester, of the Forty-Fourth Brigade. He of the impressively well-groomed mustache and mediocre ability to read the room.


    That settled it. The guards at the gate looked him over when he emerged onto the street, but not with any particular intent. When he approached, the taller of the two cleared her throat.


    ¡°Plaque,¡± she instructed.


    He produced it. The Someshwari watchwoman took a look, then handed it back.


    ¡°Welcome to Scraptown,¡± she told him.


    The other guard snorted.


    ¡°Stop calling it that to students, the captain¡¯ll put you on night watch again,¡± she said.


    ¡°I have no idea what you¡¯re talking about,¡± the Someshwari beamed her way, then her eyes slid back to him. ¡°The student dormitory¡¯s at the end of the street to the left, one copper a night. If you¡¯re headed for the hunting grounds, I¡¯d recommend you swing by the board first ¨C it¡¯s got all the last reports nailed on.¡±


    She looked him up and down.


    ¡°Not that you look like much of a hunter.¡±


    ¡°My skills are legend, tia,¡± Tristan protested. ¡°Have you never heard of the many brave deeds of Ferrando Villazar?¡±


    The shorter guardswoman squinted at him.


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you a woman?¡± she asked. ¡°And blonde. I thought you came for that lemure bounty a few days back.¡±


    ¡°Any resemblance in names is coincidental,¡± Tristan lied.


    Hopefully this wouldn¡¯t make it back to Ferranda, who was well-armed and touchy. If so, he always could try to exploit another coincidence in names and frame the captain of the Forty-Fourth for the whole matter. He made sure to give the students at the well a wide berth, though at least one noticed him passing through, and tread the length ¡®Scraptown¡¯ street by street.


    It was more an outpost than a village, a strange contrast of buildings made in fine stone and bricks ¨C salvaged from nearby houses, at a guess ¨C and muddy streets. There must be at least fifty watchmen posted here by the size of the barracks, but Scraptown seemed built in part to cater to students: Tristan could not think of a reason for there to be a pair of shops selling arms, equipment and foodstuffs on the main street.


    The student dormitory was a run-down in with a badly patched roof consisting of a large common room and a communal kitchen, but the ¡®board¡¯ proved more interesting. It was large wooden board under an awning, with a map of the environs nailed on ¨C including a large portion of the forest, which was named the ¡®Nettlewood¡¯. Different parts of the map were attributed numbers, and reports put up around the large parchment outlined lemure sightings in those numbered zones. At a glance, most of the lemures around here appeared to be lycosi and shuttle-spiders, though there was apparently a seiren nesting deep in the Nettlewood.


    Tristan sent a discreet prayer of thanks to the Rat King for the plentiful boons of habitual cowardice.


    Less pleasing was that the northeast of the outpost was apparently thick with lemures come evening time, including a pair of headless men. Nasty beasts, those, and reported to wander about where Tristan believed himself headed to. It would be best if he could be back from seeking the tower well before the Tolomontera night settled.


    It was only when he reached the back gate of Scraptown that he saw why the locals had given it such a sobriquet, however. The back of the town did not have a stone wall like the rest instead but two large pieces of metal between which a makeshift gate had been squeezed in. That open gate led out into a graveyard of scrap metal, wind blowing dust through rusted iron ribs.


    There were four guards at this gate instead of two, and they seemed much more alert. Tristan was asked to present his plaque on the way out, then cautioned to avoid cutting himself on the metal.


    ¡°Blood will wake up the blems,¡± he was told. ¡°Last night they came close enough to get shot, they must be getting hungry.¡±


    Blems was an old Trebian name for headless men, meaning those words were very much worth heeding. Tristan was not sure he¡¯d win a tussle with a lycosi, much less the kind of creature that would kill them for sport. He thanked the watchmen for the warning and only ventured out with cautious steps and leather gloves on.


    The grounds here were worn stone and rust-red sand, with spikes of metal jutting out like teeth and worn, twisted iron forming into crescent shapes. It felt like walking through a maze of open maws, his surroundings ready to snap up and swallow him at any time. Between making sure he didn¡¯t step on anything capable of piercing his boots and keeping an eye out for lemures, a simple walk proved genuinely exhausting.


    It was a relief when the worst of the scraps began to thin, giving ground to stairs leading up to what must be shrines ¨C and, excitingly, a shape towering over them that might just be what he came for. There was still metal around but now it was a brass alloy instead of iron, most of it massive pipes. And the word was no exaggeration, for they were large enough he could walk through one standing upright.


    Chunks of that pipework had fallen from the frames that¡¯d once held them u, but in his mind¡¯s eye the thief could see what it must have looked like when still hale. Some sort of web-like metal aqueduct leading towards the shrines, though what it would have carried was anybody¡¯s guess. But after walking in the shadows of ancient wonders on a mercifully stony ground, Tristan finally found what he¡¯d come looking for.


    Part of it, anyway: at the heart of the shrines a tower of smooth stone did rise, but about two-thirds of the way up the structure abruptly ended. There was no trace of the pale light he had seen on the horizon last night, and given how brightly it¡¯d shone it should be impossible to miss.


    ¡°Part of it is missing,¡± Tristan muttered. ¡°Aether machinery?¡±


    ¡°The air here is thin,¡± Fortuna told him. ¡°It is most unpleasant.¡±


    Definitely some kind of aether machinery, then. Wary as he was of such things, the only way he would find answers was by having a look. He crept in the shadow of the ancient edifices, reaching the bottom of the shrines accompanied only by eerie silence. The seven machine-shrines had likely been built the same but time had cut them differently enough only traces of that remained: the brush of time had graced them all with their own shade of decay.


    They still looked like sisters, mind you. The structures were all squat, almost pear-like in shape, and their roofs were rounded domes in metal long covered by green patina. They were a mixture of machinery and stone, and the great brass pipes from earlier fed into their sides at a rate of two a shrine. The gates that were the only visible way in were tall and narrow, made of carved iron splashed with patterns of gold.


    Together, the seven shrines formed a rough circle surrounding what must be the bottom of the half-hidden tower. The style of it reminded him of the structure at the heart of Old Fort back on the Dominion, especially the seamless stone, but he was no expert on Antediluvian works.


    Though two of the roofs had been damaged ¨C one dome outright collapsed ¨C Tristan first took a look at the gates. There were no locks and no rings to pull. Tossing a pebble at one did not see it turned into smoke or ash, which was promising, but trying to push them open was like, well, trying to move hundreds of pounds of metal with his arms. Not a winning cause, that.


    ¡°The true key is self-improvement,¡± the Lady of Long Odds sagely told him. ¡°You must first become a musclebound fellow, capable of-¡±


    ¡°One of the pipes broke down just a bit back,¡± Tristan noted. ¡°If I climb up, it¡¯ll bring me straight inside the shrine.¡±


    ¡°-listening to the wisdom of your goddess, who ever shows you the way,¡± Fortuna hastily adjusted. ¡°Good eye, though you were slow to pick up on my hints."


    "No doubt,¡± the thief drily replied.


    The pipe on the ground proved a fine perch to climb on so he might shimmy up onto the one still connected to the shrine. It was, however, pitch black in there. Tristan hesitated ¨C should he press on? Fool thought, he decided after a moment. The shrines weren¡¯t going anywhere, but he had only the one life. If some shuttle-spider was nesting in there, eyeing him hungrily, he¡¯d never know until it was too late.


    He¡¯d come back with a lantern.


    --


    The first drops of rain began to fall on his way back. Perhaps he should see about acquiring a hat along with the lantern.


    The guards at the gate asked him about lemures while he presented his plaque, surprised when he said he¡¯d not seen hide nor hair of one. The thief hummed as he headed into Scraptown, weighing the inconvenience of walking back to Port Allazei proper against the price hike the shops here were sure to give their goods. He was going to have to head back to the cottage at some point anyhow. Stealing his meals too often was sure to get him caught, and he¡¯d contributed funds to the Thirteenth¡¯s cellar so he was owed a cut.


    That and he should leave a note to mention he had not been abducted, for Maryam¡¯s sake at least. Even if she¡¯d preferred to leave him with Song instead of letting him escort her to the ¨C Tristan breathed in, out. That kind of thinking would not get him any closer to the tower, which was what mattered. Finding a second Mask teacher, securing his place at Scholomance. Making it certain that even if the Thirteenth fully shipwrecked he would still have a place on the island.


    It was only due diligence.


    Clenched up and drawn into his thoughts, he only noticed he was about to run into someone half a heartbeat before it happened. The decision was a snap ¨C he could see no one else, the angle was right, so why not? The collision was light, measured, Tristan¡¯s hand slipping inside the woman¡¯s coat and snatching a small bag. He grunted when her shoulder hit his chest, pulling away.


    ¡°Watch where you¡¯re going,¡± he growled, deepening his voice.


    He continued past her without looking back, to give her the least look at him possible, while undoing the ties on the bag. Four silvers and nine coppers, he counted, with some rag scraps to mute their tinkling. Pouring the silvers into his hand, he reached for his own pouch. And reached again.


    It wasn¡¯t there.


    ¡°Son of a bitch,¡± a woman¡¯s voice said.


    Cursing, Tristan reached for the closest weapon ¨C the pistol, loaded from earlier ¨C and pivoted to face a curved knife pressed against his guts. He held the pistol steady, pointed at her chest, and frowned at a face he¡¯d not recognized in passing but revealed itself as rather familiar on a second look.


    ¡°Tristan Abrascal,¡± Lady Cressida sneered.


    ¡°Cressida Barboza,¡± he answered with a charming smile.


    With her hair pinned under that hat ¨C black velvet with a golden rope around, curved top and short rim ¨C his gaze had skimmed over her, but now there was no missing it. The noblewoman had a sharp, narrow face with a surprisingly delicate button nose and slender eyebrows that would have better belonged on a courtier than someone whose brown eyes were so cool.


    ¡°Give me my coin back,¡± Lady Cressida ordered.


    They were alone in the street, he saw. The light drops of rain preceding the deluge had chased inside everyone not on guard duty and those guards were out of sight. They might come if there was shouting, though. Not yet.


    ¡°Give me my coin back,¡± he countered.


    ¡°You savagely elbowed a lady,¡± she said. ¡°The least you can do is pay for my meal.¡±


    ¡°You elbowed an orphan,¡± he easily replied. ¡°Alms are in order.¡±


    There were three coppers more in her pouch, by his count, he was more than willing to keep the trade. It was a nicer pouch, too, and that rag scrap trick was inspired. Her eyes narrowed.


    ¡°My coin,¡± she said, ¡°or I¡¯ll open your belly.¡±


    There was not a flicker of hesitation in her eyes. It was no idle threat.


    ¡°I¡¯m sure you¡¯re quick,¡± he said, ¡°but quicker than squeezing a trigger? That is impressive confidence.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve seen you shoot in Warfare,¡± Cressida replied. ¡°You couldn¡¯t hit a barn door if it was leaning into the shot.¡±


    Which was fair, but Tristan snorted.


    ¡°From this close? Even if I miss I¡¯ll hit something.¡±


    Brown eyes met his. Neither blinked. A moment passed, then Cressida sighed.


    ¡°Two steps back, throw my pouch and I¡¯ll throw yours,¡± she offered.


    Tempting, but.


    ¡°There¡¯s a problem with that,¡± Tristan said.


    ¡°And what would that be?¡± she asked, slightly pressing her blade into his coat.


    ¡°You¡¯re Nineteenth,¡± he said. ¡°I couldn¡¯t trust you on the color of the sky, much less returning a courtesy.¡±


    She frowned.


    ¡°There¡¯s no grudge between our brigades,¡± she said. ¡°What¡¯s this about?¡±


    Lady Cressida looked like someone trying to obscure her surprise, not someone lying in his face. Which did not mean she was not lying, only that she was a better liar than he. Tristan¡¯s trigger-finger itched, but that business with the Nineteenth had only ever been guesswork. He knew that.


    He still felt like pulling the trigger just in case.


    ¡°Adarsh Hebbar,¡± he said instead.


    ¡°Pardon?¡± Cressida blinked.


    That confusion, damningly, was too genuine to be faked. No one was that good a liar.


    ¡°Bait,¡± he corrected.


    The other Lierganen guffawed.


    ¡°This is about the business with the Fourth?¡± she said. ¡°Put it to rest, then. Tozi traded the invite for information on you Dominion recommended. If you¡¯ve a grudge there, we have no trouble: there have been no further bargains.¡±


    Hmm. Tupoc reaching out to an Izcalli captain with a spare invitation was a simpler explanation than the Nineteenth being after his bounty. On the other hand, someone out there was still after Tristan. Dev had been supposed to meet people and that¡¯d been work too subtle to belong to the Forty-Ninth. Clinging too strongly to the notion his unseen enemy was the Nineteenth, however, would be a mistake. It was simply uncomfortable for him to consider he might have no idea whatsoever who was after his head.


    Not that he was putting suspicion of the Nineteenth to rest.


    ¡°Two steps back, but you throw first,¡± Tristan counter-offered.


    ¡°You¡¯re a thief,¡± Cressida said.


    ¡°You¡¯re a noble,¡± he pointed out. ¡°That¡¯s just a thief with a fancy hat.¡±


    And though hers was mercifully bereft of feathers, that rope was golden.


    ¡°Sacromontans,¡± she sneered. ¡°Wasted air, but what are we to expect out of the Old Empire¡¯s arse except farts?¡±


    ¡°Colorful,¡± Tristan conceded, ¡°but my offer remains unchanged.¡±


    ¡°Fine,¡± Lady Cressida said. ¡°On three. One, two¡­¡±


    They both moved on two, casual petty treachery that had him suppressing a twitch of the lips. She tossed his pouch, which he picked up while keeping his pistol upright, and idly counted the contents. As he¡¯d thought, a silver was missing. He casually plucked one out from her pouch before tossing it. She scoffed but did not argue.


    ¡°I¡¯d say it has been a pleasure,¡± Tristan cheerfully said, ¡°but it hasn¡¯t been and I dislike you.¡±


    Cressida blinked at him, face displaying put-on surprise.


    ¡°Are you still here?¡± she asked.


    He flipped her off, which she replied to in kind, and they went their own way. The whole affair, inexplicably, rather lifted his mood.


    --


    It took longer than he would have liked to swing by the cottage to leave a letter ¨C and eat - then hit Regnant Avenue for a lantern. The Watch supply depot, at least, offered remarkably cheap black caps that were treated against the rain.


    The walk had not gotten any longer, but the pouring rain slowed everything down. Tempted as he was to call off the expedition, Tristan grit his teeth and made the trip back to Scraptown. Come tomorrow there would be classes and he would not have as much time to spend on this. The outpost¡¯s streets were deserted, most shops closed, and the guards at the gates were no longer the same. Showing his plague got him let in and then let out.


    The scrapyard out back looked like it was bleeding.


    The rust-red sand had turned into liquid slop that lapped at his boots, hiding away the waiting metal spikes. It took him twice as long to make it through the scraps this time, and the rainfall had him feeling blind the whole time. His only comfort was that the wetness was sure to hide his scent and he knew of no lemure that enjoyed standing out in the rain. Even monsters had better sense than he, it seemed. By the time he reached the stairs his pants were thoroughly drenched. Though his coat, boots and cap had been treated with wax the cloth of the pants was not and had drunk in the rain eagerly. Hopefully the inside of the tower would be dry.


    He did not realize it until he was mere feet away, blaming it on the rain, but when he reached the end of the pipes there was something of a minor issue.


    ¡°Fuck,¡± Tristan cursed, looking at nothing.


    A taunting nothing, where the shrines and tower should be.


    ¡°It¡¯s gone,¡± Fortuna said, choking on a laugh.


    ¡°Thank you, Fortuna, I can see that,¡± he bit out.


    ¡°I mean, you can¡¯t,¡± the goddess replied. ¡°Given that it¡¯s not actually th-¡±


    ¡°Where did it even go?¡± Tristan complained. ¡°You can¡¯t just disappear towers. That is not acceptable tower behavior.¡±


    ¡°At the risk of repeating myself,¡± the Lady of Long Odds mused, ¡°evidently they ca-¡±


    ¡°Fuck,¡± Tristan cursed again. ¡°All right, this might be a little trickier than I expected.¡±


    ¡°We should check if it¡¯s only invisible, at least,¡± Fortuna suggested.


    To his disgust, it was a reasonable suggestion. Throwing a pebble at the empty space only resulted in a thrown pebble. His little finger, which he touched the empty with, also found nothing but air. Irritated and curious, Tristan doubled back to a broken pipe and took a thumb-sized sliver of bronze alloy that had flaked off. Whether or not that metal was magic, the empty space reacted not differently to it.


    ¡°We should do this every day,¡± Fortuna happily said, watching him make a fool of himself.


    A weapon, maybe? Stabbing at the empty space with a knife made no difference. Food, something that used to be alive? His last sesame seeds were washed away. He¡¯d judged packing something like jerky too much of a risk for wandering through lemure hunting grounds, but he might have to try that. See if ¡®flesh¡¯, even dead one, made a difference. Until then, there was one thing he should do.


    He spread a few cheap iron ball bearings on the ground where the shrines should be. He¡¯d come back tomorrow, see what had happened to them.


    ¡°So what now?¡± his goddess asked, leaning against his shoulder. ¡°While I¡¯m all for watching you get progressively wetter and angrier, it won¡¯t be as funny if a blem eats you at the end.¡±


    Tristan sighed.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to have to ask advice,¡± he said, ¡°from the only person I know that¡¯s worse than you.¡±


    --


    ¡°Stop tracking wet all over my floor, boy,¡± Hage called out.


    ¡°Think of it as my passing a mop,¡± Tristan replied, bending down to scratch Mephistofeline¡¯s ears.


    The cat immediately plopped belly up, squarely in the way of the closing door. When it pressed him into the wall he let out a plaintive meow, but still made doe eyes in hopes of continued scratches. The thief spared him one, then eased him out of the way of the door. His reward was getting his sleeve clawed and Mephistofeline bounding away like a malcontent balloon.


    ¡°I will take that as your volunteering for the work,¡± the devil said without batting an eye. ¡°The mop is out back.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m here as a client today,¡± the thief denied.


    Hage¡¯s impressive eyebrows raised skeptically even as the devil¡¯s gaze discreetly swept the room. Looking for Fortuna, Tristan suspected, but his goddess had no intention of returning to the Chimerical. The requirement of an apology before being allowed entry into the shop had prompted her to require an apology from Hage for daring to ask such a thing from her.


    Given the relative immortality of both entities involved, Tristan suspected that the fiercely petty standoff might well last until the end of time.


    ¡°I require payment up front,¡± Hage told him, leaning his elbow on the counter.


    The thief snorted, sliding into the seat facing him.


    ¡°No you don¡¯t,¡± he said.


    The devil only smiled, teeth behind teeth. Hage made it a habit of habitually lie to him for no good reason, calling it training. While Tristan could have done without looking for the ¡®white-painted bucket¡¯ for an hour last week, he must admit he had gotten better at discerning when the devil was lying to him. Their kind did not have the same tells as humans did, but under the shells they wore there was a body just as inclined at revealing their true thoughts.


    In some ways devils were sloppier than humans, since they could control their shell¡¯s expression like a puppet and thus rarely learned to mask their own tells.


    ¡°If you are not here to spend coin on coffee, I expect tales to be bought instead,¡± Hage warned him. ¡°What is it that interests you, boy?¡±


    ¡°That tower out east,¡± he said, ¡°with the silver light on top.¡±


    No change in expression.


    ¡°I have heard of it,¡± the devil said.


    ¡°I had a closer look,¡± Tristan revealed. ¡°It was partially gone this morning, and by afternoon it and the shrines around it vanished into thin air.¡±


    The devil drummed his fingers against the counter, eyebrow rocked. Tristan frowned, reaching for his pouch and palming coppers, then grit his teeth. A silver arbol tumbled across the counter, snatched up by the devil in a heartbeat.


    ¡°What do you even do with the coin?¡± he complained.


    Hage leaned in.


    ¡°Is that what you want to know?¡±


    Tristan sighed, shook his head.


    ¡°The tower,¡± he said. ¡°Is it a Krypteia instructor?¡±


    If not, it would fall down his list of priorities. There were mysteries enough on this island for nine lifetimes.


    ¡°It would be against the rules for me to answer that question,¡± Hage mildly said.


    So yes, but confirmation was not allowed by the rules of the game. Or was the devil misleading him? He looked for the flicker of movement for the eyes under the eyes, the way legs pushed up at the neck muscles near the shoulders that signified restlessness. None of the hints, but then Tristan was not so deluded as to believe the devil was not teaching him to look for those tells. If he really meant to lie without getting caught, then¡­ No, that was going in circles.


    Hage was an information broker and had taken the coin. That weighed the scales towards his hint being accurate. Tristan chewed on his lip, trying out questions in his mind. If he asked for too much the devil would refuse or ask for further coin, both things he wanted to avoid.


    ¡°What made the morning different from the afternoon?¡± he asked.


    Hage laughed.


    ¡°Clever boy,¡± he said, and pointed a finger upwards. ¡°What on this island always changes but ever remains?¡±


    He was no great riddler, but that was one was obvious.


    ¡°The Grand Orrery,¡± Tristan muttered.


    So the difference was the light. The morning silver light ¨C and thinking back, had the light atop the tower during the night not been silver as well? ¨C was the key. He passed a hand through his hair, then slapped two coppers on the counter.


    ¡°Sparing me a few hours of asking around,¡± he said. ¡°If I were to ask guards from Scraptown the hours where that part of the island is reliably touched by silver light?¡±


    Hage clicked his mandibles inside his mouth, took one of the coppers and flicked the other back across the counter.


    ¡°Seven to ten of the morning,¡± the devil said. ¡°With wiggle room.¡±


    Tristan took back his copper and frowned.


    ¡°Well,¡± he said. ¡°It seems I¡¯ll be skipping a few classes, then.¡±

 Chapter 26

    It was a risk, but it had to be done.


    Tristan took all the precautions he could think of: he bought rosemary branches and rubbed them on his skin until the smell stuck, brought cloth to wrap around his boots for when he reached the shrines and fixed a shutter on the cheap lantern he¡¯d acquired earlier. It was still half-wincing that he ventured out from Scraptown into the rusty wasteland beyond, pretending he did not hear one of the guards betting with another on whether or not he¡¯d ever come back.


    ¡°Four to one odds on your croaking it,¡± Fortuna informed him. ¡°You should try to get in on that.¡±


    As always, his goddess was a comfort in these trying times.


    In the distance, the silver light atop the tower shone like a beacon. There was no missing that unblinking pearly glare out here, and the sight of it put some enthusiasm to his step. There were dangers in coming out here, but a prize as well. It was now the third time in a day Tristan was heading to the tower, so even with bare scraps of lantern light he was able to pick out his preferred path. This time, though, there was to be no quick march through.


    Lemures were out in force.


    The first warning was a moan on the wind. Tristan crouched behind a mound of scraps, bringing the lantern under his cloak and shuttering it. Quieting his breath he pricked his ear, wishing the breeze would not wind through so many pieces of metal ¨C it added a haunting, mournful sound to it. After thirty seconds he was debating getting moving again, but then there was another moan.


    And three more in answer.


    Pressing himself against a caved in brass box, he tucked himself out of sight and only got glimpses of the movement outside. Dark silhouettes in the dark, shambling forward in a strange procession. The thief held his breath until they were gone, and counted another two minutes before crawling out of his hiding place. That close shave, however, was but the herald what lay ahead.


    That band had been a pack of shades, and he came across a second mere minutes later - as well as the tracks for another two. The footsteps they left in the still-humid red sand were narrow and shallow, as if the creatures barely weighed anything at all. Tristan nestled against the iron ribs clawing out of the ground, pressing close and holding his breath as the scavengers ambled past him. Twice one of the lemures stopped to sniff at the air, but the rosemary did its work.


    For now, anyway. He had to hurry before fear and sweat washed its smell away.


    Tristan trailed in the wake of the second band, figuring they were likely to avoid the nastier creatures out there. Like him, the scavengers were very much on the bottom rung of the killing ladder. Moving from cover to cover as he kept out of sight, the thief kept as fast a pace as he dared while keeping a wary ear out. The mournful breeze, almost like sad and distant whistling, had him biting his lip as he darted a look past the twisted iron rib and found the passage clear of lemures.


    He had a hard time watching out for enemies with that fucking clatter bending his ear, and out here surprise might well mean death.


    He darted out anyway, feet light on the wet sand, keeping his head low. On both sides of the makeshift causeway curved ribs of rusted iron curled towards him like a jaw about to snap closed. A slice of pale Orrery light cut through the causeway, a toothy grin, and the thief¡¯s steps turned into a slide as he caught sight of movement ¨C to the left, in a stray pile of metal spikes. Black and white flesh. Fuck, he did not dare to speak out loud, and immediately turned to run right.


    Towards a dune from which an iron rib peeked out. He needed to slide past the top of the sand, into another causeway, and get as far away as possible before it... His boots were unsteady on the sand but Tristan climbed to the top of the dune, past the crest, ready to stumble down into the other winding causeway as quiet as he could. Gods, he shuddered, that thing he¡¯d glimpsed had looked like a-


    Thin, translucent strings in the air like a net right ahead of him. Almost invisible to the eye.


    He tried to pull back but he¡¯d already been moving down ¨C the corner of his cloak still caught on the edge of the string as he turned, a piece of black cloth fluttering through the floor as the net sliced through it like butter. Oh no. Tristan swallowed. A heartbeat of silence, then a chittering screech from ahead.


    Shuttle-spider.


    ¡°Oh,¡± Fortuna breathed. ¡°You really shouldn¡¯t have done that.¡±


    Heart pounding, he scurried back up the dune. Tumbling down the sandy slope without any pretense of quiet ¨C to find the thing he¡¯d glimpsed out in the spikes had come out.


    It looked like a pale woman¡¯s face, dark hair stringy and features slightly off, until you noticed the eight spindly legs jutting out the sides. Then you realized the shuttle-spider¡¯s back was all fur and angles to better hide a multitude globulous black eyes. A spasm of revulsion went through him at the sight and Tristan ran.


    There was another one at his back and he was fucked if either of the dog-sized lemures caught him. The fanged mouths shuttle-spiders hid under their trailing ¡®hair¡¯ were not venomous, but the monsters spun threads that scarred even iron.


    Tristan fled back towards Scraptown, or at least tried to. Ten steps in, another slice of Orrery light revealed there was a shape slithering along the bottom of the causeway, large and long yet fast as a man striding. The thief caught the glint of light on scales and bit his lip almost until it bled. Shit. The shuttle-spiders were¡­ one atop the dune, eyeing him through eyes like little black fish eggs set in that nauseating ¡®face¡¯, while the other was out of sight. Shit, shit he needed to move now.


    ¡°Through,¡± he whimpered, and ran forward.


    Down the causeway, and perhaps to his death.


    Screeching from behind, almost enough to distract him from the danger ahead: a slender string had been woven across the length of the causeway, ankle-high on a human. The second shuttle-spider had only disappeared to lay one of the lethal traps its kind was known for. He leaped over the string, then panicked when he realized it had woven a second barely a foot ahead. Swallowing bile, Tristan tumbled forward in a roll as the lemure leaped after him.


    Rising onto his knees he drew a knife, swinging at the arachnid, but it did not even react ¨C merely waiting until his swing was wide then leaping in. He swung the lantern at it, hitting a leg with a crunch, and flaming oil spilled out through the shutter ¨C the lemure screeched, clawing at itself, and Tristan ran for it again. He shot one last looking behind, catching the other shuttle-spider perched atop an iron rib and leaping down at the monster coming down the causeway.


    Tristan got a glimpse of a massive snake down in the sand, of something like a stinger unfolding from its back and impaling the shuttle-spider in flight. Black ichor burst as it let out a screeching death cry, the thief getting the fuck out of there before he joined it.


    Eyes ever moving as he watched out for nets, Tristan ran until the fear of finding worse ahead rose to match that of what he had left behind. His heart beat wildly, hammering at his ears, and that fucking eerie wind just wouldn¡¯t stop. He hid behind a sheet of metal that rose from a dune like a fin, breath labored, until his hands slowed in their shaking. That had been much, much too close for comfort.


    ¡°Fortuna?¡± he croaked out.


    ¡°Nothing¡¯s close,¡± she whispered into his ear.


    He clenched, even knowing she had not done it to unsettle him.


    ¡°Shuttle-spiders are extremely territorial,¡± he panted, eyes still wide. ¡°There¡¯s no way two of them should be nesting so close.¡±


    The whole Murk knew that story about how the Menor Mano had figured it could use the monsters as a way to get rid of bodies cheaper than pigs but the moment they¡¯d added a second shuttle-spider to the pit the creatures went wild and shredded half a house killing each other.


    ¡°Maybe those two have shared interests,¡± Fortuna suggested. ¡°Like knitting, or eating dead bodies.¡±


    Wanting to strangle her was welcome relief from the panic still clouding his mind. He calmed, one breath at a time, and knew from the sweat trickling down his back that the rosemary scent was good as gone.


    ¡°There are too many out here,¡± he said. ¡°We¡¯re barely halfway through the scrapyard, I¡¯ll never make it to the tower.¡±


    ¡°Talk the rest of the Thirteenth into coming with you,¡± Fortuna suggested. ¡°With enough guns and swords, you could-¡±


    ¡°Or simply come during the silver hours,¡± he sharply interrupted. ¡°I don¡¯t need help, I need to get out of here before something eats me.¡±


    ¡°That too,¡± the goddess conceded.


    He got up. Too much time had been wasted already. Tristan still had a notion of where he was relative to Scraptown, so beginning the trek back as simply a matter of finding a causeway that did not look like a death trap. It took a bit of heading further west, keeping to the shadow of scraps.


    ¡°Huh, another one.¡±


    Tristan¡¯s steps paused as he turned to Fortuna. The goddess was leaning next to a small mound of red sand. At first he thought she was staring down at the ground, but then he made out a thin metal rod. So thin, he saw when he knelt by it, that wire might be a more accurate description than rod if not for the rigidity on display.


    At the tip of it there was a slight swell in the form of a flower with a hole where the pistil would be. Raising his lantern and leaning closer, Tristan saw the remains of some kind of mineral powder still at the bottom. Like salt, only yellow.


    ¡°You¡¯ve seen those before?¡± he asked.


    ¡°This must be the tenth tonight,¡± Fortuna idly said. ¡°Whoever put them there has fine taste.¡±


    He frowned at her.


    ¡°Why¡¯s that?¡±


    ¡°They smell quite fragrant,¡± the goddess said.


    The thief sniffed at the metal flower, though not too closely. He did not know what those yellow remnants were. All he smelled was wet sand and iron, though.


    ¡°Does this one still smell?¡± he asked.


    She shrugged.


    ¡°Not as much as the others, but yes,¡± Fortuna said.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be damned,¡± Tristan whispered. ¡°Someone out there must think this place isn¡¯t enough of a graveyard, because this looks to me like lemure bait.¡±


    ¡°Are you calling me a lemure?¡± Fortuna coldly said.


    He waved a dismissive hand.


    ¡°Aether bait, if you prefer,¡± he said.


    ¡°Divine bait,¡± she insisted. ¡°Grand divine bait.¡±


    Ignoring her increasingly loud complaints, he frowned down at the device. Was such bait why two shuttle-spiders had nested so closely? Maybe. Something to consider, should he get his hands on a teratology book at some point. What he¡¯d thought to be notches on the rod turned out to be letters when he felt them out, fortunately enough in Antigua.


    Bouquet Number 9.


    It seemed to the thief that there would only be so many people interested in stirring the pot out here and even fewer who¡¯d be capable of pulling off this kind of trick without getting killed: whoever that teacher in the tower was, they had a vicious streak.


    Either way it didn¡¯t change his immediate situation. He asked Fortuna to mention it if she came across another of those flower rods and hurried back to Scraptown. The journey back was not quite harrying at the one out, if only because the earlier ruckus seemed to have drawn quite a few lemures to it ¨C they must be fighting over each other¡¯s corpses. Knowing this was to be a short-lived opening, Tristan rolled the dice and chose speed over discretion.


    There were a few close calls with shades, but when he got close to town they dared not continue to chase him.


    The guards on duty cared little for his exhaustion, demanding details about the lemures he¡¯d encountered out there, and the sergeant leading the interrogation declared him lucky to have survived that snake he¡¯d glimpsed in the distance.


    ¡°That¡¯s a cerastan,¡± he said. ¡°They can track by heat for the better part of a mile, you¡¯re lucky it snatched another kill first.¡±


    As a reward for his report the watchmen waved his dormitory fee for the night, which was a pleasant surprise. Tristan crept into the large room full of beds, trying not to wake anyone, and found there was only one more person inside.


    That surprise was a great deal pleasant: Cressida Barboza lay asleep in a corner of the room, or at least she looked like she was sleeping.


    There were only so many reasons for her to be out here, and without her brigade to boot. That girl reeked of Mask, and that meant he had competition. Tristan claimed the furthest possible bed and kept his knife and blackjack at hand just in case.


    He woke up at five in the morning to find her bed was empty and her bag gone, as if he¡¯d imagined her ever being there.


    --


    The journey was tense, as much for the memory of the close shaves last night as the constant looking over his shoulder for Cressida, but Tristan made good time going to the tower. He reached the foot of the shrines when Vanesa¡¯s watch marked the time as precisely two minutes before the seventh hour.


    The shrines had returned, just as Hage promised, and two-thirds of the tower with them. Interestingly enough, the ball bearings he¡¯d placed where the shrines were not yesterday had not gone missing: he found them half a hundred feet from the shrines, lying in the dirt. So when the shrines return, they push off whatever is occupying the space where they¡¯re supposed to be.


    ¡°Which means the transition between ¡®there¡¯ and ¡®not¡¯ has a physical aspect to it,¡± Tristan said out loud. ¡°It¡¯s not a matter of ¡®always there, but not always accessible¡¯. Something physical happens.¡±


    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Fortuna yawned, which was purely for effect considering the goddess could not tire.


    ¡°And we care because¡­¡±


    ¡°If I¡¯m in there when the silver light ends,¡± Tristan said, ¡°something that affects my physical body will happen. It¡¯s not like entering a layer.¡±


    At least not like the way Maryam had explained layers to them, which was as some sort of aether-place for souls, your body entering on one end and exiting the other without ever physically being inside. If he asked her about this she might have some notion of- he bit the inside of his cheek. He was not crawling back to that cottage without a win, something to stand on. He would not.


    ¡°I told you the aether is thin around here, not thick,¡± Fortuna said. ¡°There is some kind of machine at work.¡±


    ¡°It could have been both,¡± Tristan absent-mindedly replied.


    Had he more time he¡¯d want to get a caged bird and put it inside one of the shrines then come back the day after to see what happened to it, but that would take too long. He could not afford to skip classes forever even for covenant work. Shaking his head, the thief tightened the pack on his back.


    ¡°Come on,¡± he told his goddess. ¡°Time to see what¡¯s in that shrine.¡±


    The climb up a fallen stretch of pipe to climb the one still feeding into the shrine had not changed in the slightest, though now when standing in the dark the thief lit a lantern. A stretch of bronze pipe continued into the distance with nary a speck of dust in sight. There was a slight wind here, heading inwards. Still careful even for the lack of visible dangers, Tristan advanced. It was not a long walk to the end of the pipe which was a grid in the same bronzelike metal as the pipe.


    The squares were large enough for him to put an arm through and certainly large enough to peer at the room through. The light revealed a small room going above and below the height of the pipes, bronze everywhere without so much as a window.


    ¡°I¡¯m not seeing a way through,¡± Tristan admitted. ¡°Fortuna?¡±


    The goddess stepped through the grid with her head raised high, then dropped out of sight with an echoing chuckle.


    ¡°There¡¯s a door down here,¡± she called out. ¡°And the grid isn¡¯t welded. There are pop seals on the left and hinges on the right.¡±


    He could fit his arm up to the shoulder through the squares, so after some blind groping it was easy enough to find the pop seals ¨C essentially bronze corks wedged into a hole ¨C and pull them out. Tristan pocketed them and opened the grid, chasing back the shadows with lantern light as he peered down over the edge of the pipe. The entire room seemed like a pressure chamber of some sort, but there were ladder rungs down to the bottom and Fortuna was standing by a vaguely square door kept shut by a pop seal on every corner.


    He hung the lantern on his belt and climbed down, nodding his thanks at the goddess. The bottom floor had on it what he would have called pockmarks, if not for the way they were perfectly spaced and even. Holes of some sort, but filled? Either way, none was larger than an inch so he wasn¡¯t getting out through them. Best to have at the door. Those pop seals took a lot more work, the bronze ¡®corks¡¯ each thick as a fist and needing both his hands to be ripped out. Even when he¡¯d taken out all four, though, the door remained closed.


    ¡°Already a dead end?¡± Fortuna said, sounding amused. ¡°That didn¡¯t take long.¡±


    Tristan brought up the lantern and had a closer look at the seals. Ah! As he¡¯d suspected, there was still bronze in the hole. The bottom end of a seal, facing him.


    ¡°There¡¯s pop seals on the other side too,¡± he told her. ¡°But if I¡¯m right¡­¡±


    He laid a boot on the door and unceremoniously pushed. For a second he was simply struggling, but then sweetness: with a sound like the intake of breath, the bronze door fell out.


    ¡°Fluke,¡± Fortuna accused.


    ¡°I did a hand-to-hand lesson in Warfare,¡± Tristan bragged.


    By the sound the door had made falling, they were above ground but not significantly so. Putting the lantern through revealed a square chamber maybe two dozen feet long. Bare stone walls with some furnishings, and it had that cold crypt smell to it. No movement, so after a second look Tristan pulled the lantern back in. He got out his rope, tied it to the bottom rung of the ladder and climbed down it.


    There was a door in the back, stone on stone, but no obvious lock or handle. It would keep, though, so first he combed through the room itself. Seen from the outside, the bronze ¡®room¡¯ he had been in revealed itself to be some sort of cistern. A tank, if a large one, though somehow he doubted it¡¯d ever held water. The holes he had seen on the floor matched identical ones on the bottom outside and beneath them a bronze receptacle waited.


    No doubt there was some sort of respectable name for it, but to Tristan it looked pretty much like a tub.


    The walls were bare stone, but not unadorned: they were hard to make out in the lantern light, but near every inch of them was covered in thick stripes of cryptoglyphs. Four elaborate seats of that same bronze alloy face the wall with the tank, tables of pale sculpted stone so fine it looked like lace before them, but what drew his eye was the thick metal pillar to the left of the apparatus he¡¯d climbed down from. It went from floor to ceiling, about a foot wide, and was a mess of cogs, levers and empty glass balls.


    One lever in particular had a small panel hanging off it, and he frowned as he approached. No, he had not gone made: something was written on it. Several somethings, in fact. Spelled out in Antigua was a short sentence, and though he could not read the other languages ¨C Umoya, Centzon, Cathayan and Samratrava ¨C he¡¯d bet it was the same thing all around.


    ¡°Pull to move on,¡± he read out loud.


    ¡°So pull it,¡± Fortuna shrugged. ¡°Maybe it opens that door.¡±


    Skeptical, instead the thief went to study the door in question. As he¡¯d seen earlier, there was no lock or handle. For all he knew it was not even truly a door, only a door-shaped indent. Certainly the stone of the door and walls were identical, with no opening that let air through. Maybe the cryptoglyphs around had instructions, but there was no Francho around to translate them for him.


    His eyes returned to that suspicious lever.


    Fortuna made chicken noises, which he elected to take as a vote in favor of pulling. As it was an obvious trap, and likely the work of the same soul that¡¯d planted monster bait out in the scrapyard, Tristan pulled a ball of twine from his bag. He made a knot around the lever, then carefully unwound it until he was as far back as he could ¨C near one of the seats. He pulled up a cloth around his face, breathed in and then pulled at the string. The lever lowered, something metallic clenching into place, and the not-pockmarks in the floor of the tank above opened.


    A heartbeat later, the bottom of the pillar exploded.


    Metal shards sprayed everywhere, Tristan throwing himself behind the chair with his coat pulled over his head, and blackpowder smoke billowed out. He coughed, batting at the air, and stayed in cover for a dull minute before peeking out.


    ¡°Pull to move on,¡± Fortuna chortled, leaning against the wrecked pillar with her arms crossed. ¡°That¡¯s funny, it is.¡±


    Tristan could think of no indictment more damning than her compliment, so he was spared the effort of looking for a curse creative enough to answer this. If he¡¯d pulled the lever by hand, that explosion would have shredded his torso like it was paper. The thief gingerly rose to his feet, patting his cloak, and watched as the last of the smoke thinned.


    Revealing a trickle falling down from the tank above.


    Through one of the floor holes a deep blue liquid was leaking, only that could not be. Tristan had been in that tank and there had been no liquid, or opening for it to come from somewhere else. There¡¯d been two ways in: the pipe and the hatch. He crept closer to the falling liquid, watching as it fell into the large bronze tub below, and frowned when he noticed something was off. The blue substance made no sound, and it was almost too visible ¨C like it did not need lantern light to be seen.


    He picked up a ball bearing and tossed it at the stream, eyed widening when it sailed through entirely unimpeded.


    ¡°That¡¯s not liquid, it¡¯s light,¡± Tristan breathed out.


    ¡°Eh,¡± Fortuna said. ¡°Maybe. It¡¯s aether too, sort of.¡±


    ¡°What does that mean?¡± he asked.


    ¡°It¡¯s like what that gaudy thing upstairs is vomiting everywhere,¡± she elaborated.


    ¡°You mean the Grand Orrery,¡± he stated, half a question.


    ¡°This place is tied to it, somehow,¡± the Lady of Long Odds agreed. ¡°Though it¡¯s broken. I expect that old machine in the sky is too.¡±


    He cocked his head to the side, considering that.


    ¡°Why do they want light in a tub?¡± Tristan wondered.


    ¡°Nobody wants light in a tub,¡± Fortuna said, rolling her eyes. ¡°Tubs are for people.¡±


    A pause.


    ¡°You could do with using them more, you know.¡±


    The thief ignored that, watching the blue light slowly filling the bronze tub. At this rate it¡¯d take days to fill the thing, but maybe the pipe he¡¯d come in through had been meant to change that back in the machine¡¯s heyday. He could no more understand the workings of the wonders left behind by the Ancients than a fly could understand poetry. On the other hand, he could try to make sense of the way this place had been built.


    ¡°I think this might be the aether equivalent of a water mill,¡± Tristan slowly said. ¡°This room, the tank and the pipes ¨C they brought in the ¡®water¡¯ that made the rest of this shrine work.¡±


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t work, demonstrably,¡± Fortuna drawled.


    ¡°It wouldn¡¯t, the pipes fell off,¡± he replied. ¡°Look at that flow from the tank ¨C it can¡¯t even fill the tub, much less bring in enough pressure for the whole shrine. And if even the doors here worked on the aether machine too¡­¡±


    ¡°None of them will open,¡± the goddess completed.


    ¡°Which means I can¡¯t access the rest of the shrine through broken pipes,¡± Tristan said. ¡°I need to figure out how to open one of those still-working gates from the outside or I won¡¯t be getting anywhere.¡±


    Which meant this was a dead end. Still, he could pick up the work when he was back outside. Tristan carefully used the string and a cutout to pull up the lever back up in case there was a second explosion trap, but his caution proved unnecessary. The blue light stopped flowing, and when he climbed the rope back up into the tank there was no trace it¡¯d ever passed through. In a matter of minutes he¡¯d exited the pipe, landing atop the fallen one.


    Which was when he heard a shrine gate open.


    It was pure luck that had him in the right position to spy on it: from the top of the fallen pipe, he could see the tall shrine door wind open with sudden jerks. For three heartbeats they stayed open and empty, enough Tristan began to wonder if his fussing about inside another shrine had somehow caused this, but then a man in Watch black walked out.


    He looked around cautiously, the thief pressing himself down against the pipe to stay out of sight, then the stranger disappeared back into the shrine. Mere moments later he walked out with a large cloth bag, which he reached in with thickly gloved hands. There was an odd sound, bits of metal on stone, and the man began going around the circle of the shrines at a hurried pace.


    It took Tristan a moment to figure out what he was doing: the man was sowing caltrops.


    The stranger wore the coat of a fighting fit so he was no garrison man, and that coat with so many pockets sown on they might as well be another layer. He was dark-skinned in the Malani way, tall and twitchy though his movements were methodical as he went around trapping the grounds. Broken nose and brown eyes, the sides of his head shaved while neat cornrows went down to his nape. He had maybe a foot or two on Tristan, but he was skinny enough the thief doubted he was all that strong.


    It was only when he came closer to Tristan¡¯s hiding place that the gray-eyed man caught a glimpse of elaborated colored beads around his neck ¨C from Uthukile, then, or at least wearing markings in the style of the Low Isle. The thief would not be able to tell real Uthukile beads from fakes but it hardly mattered here.


    Staying on his perch, lantern snuffed out, Tristan watched as the man liberally sprinkled the grounds with those nasty little pieces. There was strategy at work, the thief saw: they were spread on the paths nears the gates of the shrines, usually in parts shaded by the pipes and pillars. The Malani only stopped when the bag was empty, and even then he was not done.


    He disappeared back into the shrine, running out moments later as the gates began to jerk closed. When those metal jaws snapped shut, the Malani fitted the gate with a tripwire and what looked like it might be some sort of powder bomb. So he doesn¡¯t know the shrine disappears during the afternoon, or doesn¡¯t care. Apparently pleased with his work, the Malani then spent a solid ten minutes making chalk markings on the ground in front of the gates before hoisting his pack and beating a retreat.


    Tristan waited until the stranger was well out of sight before shimmying down. Careful with his steps, he went to snatch one of the caltrops and found it to be little more than bent nails welded together. Simple, but still like as not to go through a lemure¡¯s paw if they stepped on it ¨C or the sole of a boot, for that matter. The trap on the shrine gate had a simple trigger, but taking a closer look at the powder bomb had Tristan frowning.


    The string pull was straightforward enough, but the dangerous part looked like some sort of grenade that¡¯d been tinkered with. Not the sort of thing just anyone could get their hands on, or know how to use.


    Likely he was not only dealing with a Mask but with one who had ties to a Tinker. That could get troublesome. Though he was rather curious about what might lie behind that gate, he was not confident in disarming the trap and while triggering it from a distance might work the noise would likely attract lemures - and reveal he¡¯d snooped besides. No, he¡¯d learned enough for the morning.


    He needed to retreat, mull over his approach and grab a bite. Besides, he needed to swing by the cottage come afternoon to drop another letter ¨C or maybe simply add a fresh mark to the last one, should it still be around. That and he had a shift at the Chimerical in a few hours.


    Tristan made his way back to Scraptown, and from there returned dockside. Looking around Regnant Avenue for something cheap to eat had him stumbling into a hole-in-the-wall shop at the end of an alley, from which the distinct aroma of more than halfway decent paella wafted.


    There were barely three tables insides, but the meal cost him mere coppers while the plate was groaningly full ¨C and, the older man running the shop proudly told him, the shrimps were freshly caught. It wasn¡¯t the classic Sacromonte dish, they¡¯d used artichokes even if the saffron was just right, but it was still a taste of home that had him digging in enthusiastically. By far the best meal he¡¯d had since leaving the City.


    Tristan was no fool, so he¡¯d picked the table with its back to the wall and an eye on the door. That made it all the more galling when he did not see Cressida Barboza until she slid into the seat across this. Though still in her coat and tunic with pinned back hair, the hat had changed. A broad, black beret with silver framework and a small feather angled downwards.


    ¡°Abrascal,¡± Lady Cressida greeted him.


    Casually, he reached for his pistol and pointed it at her under the table. Only the tip touched something solid. They frowned at each other.


    ¡°Pistol?¡± she asked.


    He nodded.


    ¡°Pistol?¡±


    She shrugged.


    ¡°Seemed prudent, after yesterday,¡± Cressida said.


    Tristan hummed, picked up a fork with his free hand and took a bite of his paella. He chewed as loudly and obnoxiously as possible.


    ¡°How many hats can you possibly own?¡± Tristan finally asked, squinting as he kept the pistol level.


    ¡°About as many as you have fleas,¡± she replied without missing an eye, which he had to admit was solid. ¡°You¡¯ve been sniffing around the tower.¡±


    He took another bite of paella, swallowed.


    ¡°I got curious,¡± Tristan said. ¡°What¡¯s it to you?¡±


    ¡°I was there first,¡± Lady Cressida flatly replied. ¡°And that neighborhood getting crowded.¡±


    He made his brow raise.


    ¡°How so?¡± Tristan asked.


    ¡°Don¡¯t pretend,¡± she scoffed. ¡°You saw that Uthukile bastard setting up his traps. Silumko.¡±


    This time it was no lie when his brow rose. There was no way for her to know that, unless¡­


    ¡°You were there,¡± he said. ¡°How?¡±


    ¡°The trick,¡± Cressida said, fingers creeping towards his paella, ¡°is that I am better than you in every way.¡±


    He cocked the pistol under the table. The creeping hand paused.


    ¡°If you steal the only decent shrimp I¡¯ve had since leaving the City,¡± Tristan blandly said, ¡°we are going to have trouble.¡±


    The hatchet-faced woman squinted at him, then sighed. The hand withdrew.


    ¡°Stingy.¡±


    ¡°Get your own,¡± he said, and shoveled in a large mouthful out of spite.


    ¡°But then I¡¯d have to stop buying hats,¡± she idly replied.


    The laugh that startled out of him had him choking on the paella, dropping his fork to cough into his fist, and he glared at the innocently smiling noblewoman. That had not been accidental timing.


    ¡°I¡¯m not spending the rest of my meal holding a gun,¡± Tristan said afterwards, voice still a little rough. ¡°Pistols on the table, on three?¡±


    ¡°Agreed,¡± Cressida replied.


    He counted down to three. Neither pistol moved.


    ¡°Worth a shot,¡± he admitted, somewhat proud at the pun. ¡°All right, then. How can I be rid of you most quickly?¡±


    ¡°The trapper, Silumko, he¡¯s working with someone else,¡± she said. ¡°I think they know about the places.¡±


    The what now? Tristan hummed thoughtfully, putting on a thinking face.


    ¡°That complicates things,¡± he replied.


    A heartbeat passed. Cressida cursed.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t know about the places.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Tristan admitted, ¡°but now this conversation¡¯s now growing on me. Continue.¡±


    ¡°Most of the Mask instructors only take up to three students,¡± the noblewoman said. ¡°Rumor is someone¡¯s already made it into the tower, so¡­¡±


    ¡°Only two are left,¡± he completed. ¡°You believe they¡¯re working to keep everyone away until they¡¯ve figured out how to enter the tower proper.¡±


    Hence the traps. Tristan had thought they seemed more apt for catching men than lemures.


    ¡°Congratulations, you now know the things I told you,¡± Cressida drily replied. ¡°I¡¯ll cut to the chase ¨C unless your Warfare class has been a tortured charade, you¡¯re not much of a fighter. If you face them alone, they¡¯ll roll you.¡±


    So that was her angle. On the surface, it was a sensible offer. Cressida knew he was interested in the tower, and she could have tried to recruit another Mask if she knew one but that would have meant spreading knowledge of this whole affair around. He was the only ally on the table, from a certain perspective.


    The perspective of someone who really wanted to get into that tower, that was.


    Otherwise why would she be talking about getting into a fight instead of getting around this pair or even simply moving on to greener pastures? No, Cressida Barboza knew something about what waited inside that tower and she was hungry for it. Tristan took another bite of his paella, savoring the taste as much as making the noblewoman wait.


    ¡°What¡¯s taught inside?¡± he casually asked, watching her face.


    Flickers ¨C surprise, anger, and then put-on confusion. She opened her mouth, but Tristan clicked his tongue in irritation.


    ¡°Tell me,¡± he said, ¡°or this conversation is at an end.¡±


    Her jaw clenched.


    ¡°You¡¯re a high-handed little prick, aren¡¯t you?¡± she said.


    ¡°One whose patience is running out,¡± Tristan replied. ¡°So what¡¯ll it be, Barboza?¡±


    She drew back, breathed out. Smoothed away the anger.


    ¡°Deicide,¡± Lady Cressida said. ¡°My source says that¡¯s where the instructor for deicide is.¡±


    His first thought was to dismiss the matter entirely, for he had little interest in such things, but the words never passed his lips. Because that wasn¡¯t entirely true, was it? Perhaps the general art was of little interest, but the particular? Tristan had learned a name on the Dominion, the last on his List. The Almsgiver.


    A god¡¯s name.


    It was the thief¡¯s turn to lean back, studying the hard woman across from him. Her face was a bland mask, but the way she held herself was not so controlled. Tense shoulders, leaning in, fingers just a little too crisp ¨C like she was trying not to clench them. This whole affair had weight for her. Enough that she was unlikely to turn on him unless it helped her get one of those places.


    Tristan disarmed the pistol under the table, then set it down beside his bowl.


    ¡°You have my attention,¡± he said. ¡°Keep talking.¡±

 Chapter 27

    As far as plans went, it had the virtue of simplicity.


    ¡°So we¡¯re going to rob the man,¡± Tristan amusedly said.


    ¡°Politely,¡± Cressida insisted. ¡°He knows how to open one of the gates, you saw it just as I did. In the morning he always goes without that Someshwari girl he¡¯s made a deal with, so we can grab him and get him to talk.¡±


    ¡°By robbing him,¡± Tristan reminded her, lips twitching. ¡°Are you sure I¡¯m the rat here?¡±


    ¡°The smell does not lie,¡± Cressida Barboza replied without batting an eye.


    Damn. She just kept nailing those, but he wasn¡¯t going to stop. One of these days she¡¯d miss a step and it would make finally getting one over her all the sweeter. Though both of them agreed that their target was unlikely to return to the tower today, they agreed to meet up at Scraptown by six of the evening.


    ¡°I couldn¡¯t find out anything about the Someshwari, but Silumko belongs to the Twenty-Ninth Brigade,¡± Cressida said. ¡°I¡¯ve never seen one of the other cabalists follow him to Scraptown but best to keep an eye out for them anyway.¡±


    ¡°You followed him around as well, I take it,¡± Tristan mused.


    ¡°We all have things we¡¯re good at,¡± the noblewoman replied, then looked him up and down. ¡°Presumably.¡±


    ¡°Like pickpocketing,¡± the thief smiled. ¡°Not a skill I expected from you, Lady Cressida.¡±


    ¡°Met a lot of noble girls, have you?¡± Cressida smiled back, just as falsely.


    More than most rats, he figured, at least since the Dominion. Not that he intended to tell her as much.


    ¡°Did House Barboza have a rough few years, perhaps?¡± Tristan ¡®sympathetically¡¯ asked.


    She cupped her hand around her ear.


    ¡°Do you hear that?¡± Cressida replied. ¡°The sound of how close I¡¯m getting to pulling a knife, I mean.¡±


    ¡°Just making conversation,¡± Tristan lied.


    If he recalled correctly, Professor Iyengar had marked her as being ¡®Lusitanian¡¯ during the first Mandate class. He¡¯d never heard of such a people before, but the word sounded vaguely Lierganen. Something to look into if he could find a source of information. Like, say, an ancient devil from a conspiracy obsessed with secrets he was headed to do underpaid labor for. As if sensing something Lady Cressida Barboza narrowed her dark eyes at him.


    ¡°The trouble with digging too deep, Abrascal, is that it makes a grave for people to push you into,¡± she warned.


    Ah, Tristan thought with a pleasant smile, but that was only a problem if you¡¯d never learned how to dig your way out.


    --


    ¡°So where are Lusitanians from?¡±


    Hage¡¯s brows rose. It was the devil¡¯s favorite facial expression, which he used often and to great effect ¨C they were mighty impressive eyebrows, Tristan had to concede, and well taken care of. He was coming to suspect the devil brushed and waxed them regularly.


    ¡°Do I look like an atlas to you, boy?¡± Hage asked.


    ¡°You¡¯re not anywhere that useful,¡± the thief agreed.


    ¡°If you want more than insults, make it worth my while,¡± the devil said.


    Tristan did not even hesitate, knowing exactly the sort of coin his teacher was after.


    ¡°I¡¯ve struck a pact with Lady Cressida Barboza to work together to get into the hidden tower,¡± he said. ¡°Robbery might be involved, in a polite sort of way.¡±


    Satisfied with the information offered, Hage nodded.


    ¡°Lusitania,¡± he said, ¡°was one of the southernmost Sitiadas.¡±


    Tristan let out a whistle. When the Second Empire fell, entire swaths of its heartlands had been swallowed by the Gloam in a matter of days when the Thirteenth Betrayal swept through the cradle of the empire. Yet if only those lands were lost Liergan might have recovered ¨C not as an empire ruling the world, perhaps, but some kingdom match for the great powers of the modern nights.


    Only the catastrophe had not stopped, invasions and civil wars ravaging the lands now called Old Liergan until only remnants were left. As the Succession Wars stretched on, the entire southern half of the continent was lost to the dark save for a few fortified holdouts: the Sitiadas. Small pockets of Glare surrounded by hollow kingdoms and mad gods, ever teetering on the edge of annihilation.


    ¡°Was. What happened to it?¡±


    ¡°It fell in 71 Sails,¡± Hage said. ¡°You did not buy much with imprecise gossip, but I will add this: that entire affair was tied to the first muster of the Watch in over a century.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what that is,¡± Tristan admitted.


    ¡°A call,¡± Hage said, ¡°for every garrison, free company and Watch ally within a year¡¯s travel of the source to mobilize their full strength and march there as fast as they can.¡±


    So the sort of calamity causing nightmares for the rest of one¡¯s life. Only Cressida Barboza could not have been born in Lusitania before it fell, unless she wore her twenty-nine years of age very discreetly. Most likely she¡¯d been born in exile, her family fallen on hard times after becoming refugees. That was an angle that could be worth-


    ¡°Mephistopheline got into the cream again,¡± Hage idly said. ¡°Best get out the bucket and soap, he threw up particularly sticky.¡±


    Later, sadly. Tristan shot a betrayed look at the guilty party, who flopped belly up in formal denial of having slapped a cream bottle off the shelf so he could lap up too much of it and spew it into a corner. For the third time in two weeks.


    ¡°Mrow,¡± Mephistopheline tried, advancing a case of pure happenstance.


    ¡°I don¡¯t even know how you keep getting up there,¡± Tristan muttered, pulling back his sleeves. ¡°You¡¯re like a fat anvil, there¡¯s no way you can make that jump.¡±


    And to mop up vomit he went. A Mask¡¯s work was never done.


    --


    Meeting at Scraptown, they prepared thoroughly for tomorrow.


    Secondday would be Saga class, which Tristan was sad to miss, but needs must. In truth neither expected subduing the Malani to be all that difficult, it was not missing him before he disappeared into the shrine that was the real obstacle. Silumko, Cressida told him, had arrived at Scraptown around seven for the past two days. He always came from the south, going around the forest by a wide margin. He then bought breakfast at one of the shops in the fortified town, washed his hands in the well and headed out to the tower.


    She had written all this down in a small booklet in neat handwriting, which Tristan struggled not to find endearing.


    ¡°He has some sort of silver gyroscope he uses to navigate the scrapyard,¡± Cressida added. ¡°I¡¯m not sure what it does, but I¡¯ve never seen him get anywhere near a lemure.¡±


    ¡°So we follow after him,¡± Tristan said.


    He¡¯d not mind riding the man¡¯s coattails twice in a day, if they had room to fit him.


    ¡°It¡¯d be best to only grab him while he¡¯s at the foot tower,¡± she agreed. ¡°Otherwise we¡¯ll have to carry him. I have restraints to put him in ¨C do you have a weapon that shouldn¡¯t kill him by accident?¡±


    Implying she did not. Something to remember.


    ¡°A blackjack,¡± the thief replied. ¡°He didn¡¯t look like much of a fighter, if we take him by surprise I like our odds.¡±


    ¡°He carries at least two grenades on him,¡± Cressida warned. ¡°We get only one chance at doing this clean.¡±


    They agreed on three hand signals ¨C attack, wait and retreat ¨C and to set up a watch for the night, one of them always staying awake to keep an eye on the front gate. They simply could not afford to miss Silumko, as if he reached the inside of the shrine he would be beyond their reach until he deigned to leave. Assuming he did not simply find the way into the tower and leave them behind. Having only taken a quick look at the shrine gates, the thief made inquiries.


    ¡°They are kept closed by some kind of aether lock,¡± the noblewoman said. ¡°He¡¯s got some silvery tools that let him work it, but lockpicks don¡¯t do anything.¡±


    ¡°Ever go inside the shrine?¡± he asked.


    She shook her head.


    ¡°Tried through the pipes, but there¡¯s grids,¡± Cressida said.


    ¡°On pop seals,¡± he said. ¡°It¡¯s possible to get through ¨C and our potential teacher certainly did, because the inside of the one I visited had a trap laid.¡±


    She eyed him, reluctantly impressed and entirely unwilling to acknowledge it.


    ¡°You couldn¡¯t get further in?¡±


    ¡°I think it¡¯s an aether machine that controls the doors,¡± Tristan said, ¡°and if the pipes are broken it no longer works. Any shrine I could get into that way would be a dead end from the start.¡±


    ¡°The shrine Silumko¡¯s working has unbroken pipes,¡± Cressida noted. ¡°That lends some credence to your theory. How sure are you the teacher¡¯s the one who laid the trap?¡±


    ¡°Unless our Malani friend hangs up taunting notes with his traps, it¡¯s not his work,¡± Tristan said.


    Cressida seemed pensive.


    ¡°Between that and the flower rods, it seems almost too harsh a test,¡± she said. ¡°I cannot help but feel we are missing something.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know about that,¡± Tristan said, ¡°but here¡¯s the thing about those flower rods: the salts in them fade. Which means someone has to be placing them out there regularly. And if neither of us saw anything during day hours¡­¡±


    ¡°Then odds are it was done during the night,¡± Cressida finished. ¡°That¡¯s¡­ Doing it once might be possible, with some luck, but regularly? Even a veteran would balk at trying.¡±


    The lemures out there were no joke, as he had personally found out.


    ¡°Either our teacher¡¯s not afraid of lemures, or they have a way to avoid them,¡± Tristan agreed.


    Considering they were Krypteia and not Skiritai, the latter seemed far more likely. By the hour¡¯s turn they had the outline of a plan ready and some contingencies for the most likely disasters, but there was one area that Tristan thought unfortunately vague.


    ¡°You really don¡¯t know anything about the Someshwari?¡± he pressed.


    ¡°She only came once, last sixthday, but she spent an hour around the tower and ran into Silumko while he was on his way there. They spoke and looked like they came to terms. As far as I know she has not come to Scraptown since.¡±


    ¡°He has a lot of toys, the way you tell it,¡± Tristan noted. ¡°Could be she¡¯s providing tools or funds in exchange for a seat in the class when he has a way in.¡±


    ¡°That is my guess as well,¡± Cressida said, ¡°but it is only a guess.¡±


    He let the subject go at that, instead letting the conversation change to the watch shifts for keeping an eye on the front gate. Yet in the back of his mind, wheels were spinning. One meeting, the appearance of alliance and some guesswork. It was a thin foundation to the belief the other Masks were in accord. Besides, Silumko was usually alone by the tower and did not seem like a trained warrior, which Cressida definitely was: she had a sword and the right calluses for someone knowing how to use it.


    She could do this alone. It would be riskier, certainly, and that was reason enough to bring Tristan in. But that was a safety, a surplus. Not a necessity, and so not a match for the eagerness to make common cause with him she had displayed back in that paella shop.


    So what was she not telling him?


    --


    Silumko of the Twenty-Ninth Brigade strolled through the front gates of Scraptown at precisely seven hours and four minutes, wearing a wide-brimmed hat and that sown-up fighting coat.


    They went ahead while the Malani bought his usual apple bread at the street stand, leaving through the back gate and hiding out in the scrapyard where they had a good line of sight on the exit. Moments later he was heading out, a large bag hoisted on his back and a musket as well. He¡¯d not had that yesterday. The Malani moved surefooted, but not quite as warily as he should have: following him was child¡¯s play.


    Every minute or so he pulled out that silvery gyroscope Cressida had mentioned, staring at it for a few seconds and sometimes sharply changing direction. Then, about halfway to the tower, he headed straight left without even eyeing his device first.


    The pair were puzzled but knew better than to speak out here, instead following as closely as they could. Tristan had not been sure what to expect, but it was not what they found: a trapped shade. A beartrap buried under the rusty sand had caught it by the leg, and though it did not seem in a great deal of pain neither had it been able to flee.


    The tall lemure looked thin in the morning¡¯s silver light, like a rattling scarecrow, and lashed out angrily when Silumko approached it. The Malani put down his pack and went rifling through it. He took out a ball of rags, removing from them three glass vials. Two were full of translucent liquids, the third empty and larger. With deft fingers the man mixed some of the liquid from the two vials in the third, corking them all afterwards and putting them all away save for the mix ¨C which he shook, then uncorked before throwing at the shade vial and all.


    What a waste of good glass.


    ¡°Poison?¡± Cressida murmured.


    It was more silent than the musket, the thief thought, if Silumko wanted a quiet kill. But Tristan was unconvinced and turned out correct in his suspicions. It seemed as if Cressida might have been right when the shade, at first shrieking in displeasure, settled down and after five minutes ceased moving entirely. Only Silumko undid the bear trap and took shackles and a muzzle out of his bag. He fitted them on the shade and tied a makeshift harness of rope before putting it on.


    The Malani let out a loud sigh, then set out with the lemure dragged behind him.


    ¡°Well,¡± Tristan drily said when he was out of sight, ¡°that¡¯ll certainly make him easier to follow.¡±


    Not only had Silumko slowed down significantly he was leaving a literal trail behind.


    ¡°What does he need the shade for?¡± Cressida wondered/


    Tristan did not know, but if he had to guess? It must be related to why the Malani could get into the shrine but evidently not yet the tower. The flower rods, are they there as more than a way to make the journey dangerous? If a lemure was necessary to beat some sort of puzzle, it only made sense to make trapping them easier. Too early to tell if it was a coincidence.


    Following the Malani the rest of the way proved almost triflingly easy. And it had other benefits besides: Silumko now consulted his gyroscope so often he did not even bother to put the silvery tool back into the back afterwards, and though the path was winding they did not so much as glimpse another lemure. Once they¡¯d reached the stone grounds around the shrine they had to let the man pull ahead a bit, given the sparser options to hide.


    Thankfully, he had to drag a shade up a set of stairs so he was a tad distracted.


    The pair circled to the left, moving from pillar to pillar in the shade of the pipes. It took longer than Tristan would have liked and was unfortunately tricky besides: the caltrops the Malani had laid yesterday kept forcing them to make detours. Tristan was starting to wonder if the point of them might have been to flush out anyone creeping up rather than catching the unaware.


    Either way, within a few minutes they were in position. There was a collapsed section of pipe on the ground angled so that you could not see the inside entirely from near the shrine gate, he and Cressida stood in wait inside. About a dozen seconds later Silumko dropped the harness and leaned forward, hands on his knees. Panting and red-faced. The Malani was not as tall as Tristan had first thought ¨C not even a full foot taller, the thief assessed now that he was closer.


    The gray-eyed man cocked an eyebrow at Cressida, reaching for his blackjack, and she nodded. Bet get it over with now. A load moan stopped them cold.


    Silumko started cursing, hastily fleeing from the awoken shade struggling to get out of its bindings. It was flailing ineffectively but the Mask still panicked, tripping on his own bag and groaning as his musket dug into his side. The two of them waited for a full minute while the Malani struggled to open his pack and mix his brew again before tossing the vial at the wriggling lemure. Tristan would admit, in the privacy if his mind, that he was starting to feel better about their odds rolling the man without trouble.


    ¡°Now,¡± Cressida murmured.


    Only yet again they stopped, as Silumko ¨C back on his feet, managing to look disheveled even with that haircut ¨C had turned towards the stairs and was peering at something attentively. The pair shared a frustrated look and settled to wait. The Malani waved whoever he was looking at closer, and there the complications began. A tall middle-aged blackcloak in regular¡¯s uniform, a Lierganen man with sword and musket, stepped into view. He bore a heavy pack and lieutenant¡¯s stripes on his shoulders.


    ¡°Regulars aren¡¯t to intervene in student scuffles,¡± Cressida murmured.


    Tristan scoffed.


    ¡°If you believe that, I have a nice manse in Pandemonium to sell you.¡±


    The officer stood there talking with Silumko for a few moments, their voices pitched too quiet to carry, then a decision was reached. The Malani pulled the unconscious lemure closer to the shrine gates even as the watchman put down his own pack and took out a large tin receptacle. He unscrewed it, then produced a broad paintbrush.


    With further ado he dipped the paintbrush inside and began tracing a red line of paint. After three strokes, it became clear it was to circle the entirety of the shrines. As if to mark it off limits, one of the few rules enforced on the island. Tristan squinted.


    ¡°You ever seen that lieutenant back at Scraptown?¡± he whispered.


    ¡°No,¡± Cressida whispered back. ¡°But I¡¯m not familiar with all the officers there. That is a real uniform, though.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s no way the tower¡¯s really off limits,¡± the thief said. ¡°So I guess the question is¡­¡±


    ¡°Bribe or fake?¡± she finished, tone pensive. ¡°While I¡¯m uncertain whether there would be consequences to tracing a false red line for a student, there likely would be for a watchman.¡±


    Tristan hummed.


    ¡°If our friend down there had the coin for a bribe large enough to make a lieutenant gamble his rank, I expect he would have no need of making common cause with the Someshwari girl,¡± he said. ¡°My bet is on fake.¡±


    The cosmetics must be very skillfully applied to fool him even at a distance, but Tristan was not so arrogant as to thinking his eyes were above being tricked.


    ¡°Sound about right,¡± Cressida muttered, then risked a peek. ¡°I should be able to shoot him from here.¡±


    Tristan blinked.


    ¡°Pardon?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not that hard a shot and he¡¯s moving predictably,¡± Cressida said.


    She sounded like she was wondering whether or not to be insulted.


    ¡°That is not the nature of my surprise,¡± the thief flatly replied. ¡°Even if it¡¯s not a watchman, they are still a student.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not like I¡¯ll aim for the head,¡± she peevishly said. ¡°A leg shot would-¡±


    ¡°Be a death sentence, out here,¡± Tristan said. ¡°We both know that. Blood and the inability to run? They would never make it back to Scraptown.¡±


    ¡°I thought Sacromontan street rats were cold-blooded killers with butcher¡¯s knives,¡± Cressida frowned.


    He rolled his eyes. Provincials.


    ¡°That¡¯s the confederales,¡± he replied. ¡°Though I understand the butcher knives are mostly symbolic.¡±


    ¡°Your lot chop people¡¯s hands off and hang them upside down to bleed out,¡± Cressida flatly said. ¡°And now you¡¯re balking at a leg shot?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the coteries,¡± Tristan said. ¡°You¡¯re aiming Murk-wise, at least, but do I look like a legbreaker to you?¡±


    ¡°More like a legbroken,¡± she sneered. ¡°What even are you, if not those?¡±


    ¡°Unwilling to use murder as a conversation opener,¡± he replied. ¡°It¡¯s one thing to rough up the Malani for information, another to drop a student without warning. We should try to bargain first.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯d lose the advantage of surprise,¡± Cressida said.


    ¡°The false watchman¡¯s irrelevant, it¡¯s Silumko we need,¡± he replied. ¡°We can still grab him and take him hostage. I¡¯m guessing whoever that is in lieutenant¡¯s stripes can no more enter the shrine without our Malani friend than we can.¡±


    The noblewoman scoffed.


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t have put out a hand if I¡¯d known you were going to be such a flower about it,¡± Cressida said.


    That had the ring of truth to it, which stung a little but that was a passing thing. He¡¯d come out here for results, not more false comforts. The thief said nothing, simply raising an eyebrow. They both knew she was in too deep to turn back. Even if she fired that shot anyway, nothing forced him to help. He might even prefer to help Silumko subdue her in exchange for the way in.


    ¡°Fine,¡± she groused. ¡°I¡¯ll grab him. Can you run me a distraction, at least?¡±


    ¡°Done,¡± Tristan replied. ¡°I¡¯ll wait thirty seconds before going in.¡±


    ¡°Make it a full minute,¡± Cressida grunted.


    Tristan crouched down, glancing back long enough to see her disappear into a pillar¡¯s shadow without a sound. His gaze swept the ground as he counted the sixty seconds, finding what he needed and closing his fingers around it. Silumko was unwrapping a leather roll holding silvery tools, eyes on it, while the watchman energetically went about painting red. Fifty-eight, fifty-nine, sixty. Tristan slowly rose, eyed the distance and snapped his wrist.


    The loose stone he¡¯d picked up hit the officer right in the back of the head, a real beauty of a peg.


    The watchman shouted in pain even as Silumko turned towards him in alarm, but Tristan ended up the most surprised of them all ¨C even as the officer clasped the back of his head, his skin rippled and then burst into smoke. It wafted off in streams, revealing a furious Someshwari girl of the same height and in the same clothes. Contract.


    ¡°What the-¡±


    Tristan stepped out of the pipe, drawing their eyes.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± he smiled, making his tone obnoxiously false. ¡°I was cleaning my rock and my hand just sli-¡±


    The Someshwari lowered her musket at him. She was just a few inches shorter than him, he noted, but broader at the shoulders and more muscled. Hair pulled back by beads to bare her forehead and going down the back of her head in curls, gray eyes ¨C darker than his ¨C and thick lips pulled back into an angry snarl.


    ¡°Who in the Wheels are you?¡± she demanded.


    ¡°My name,¡± he gravely said, ¡°is Lord Ferrando Villazar, of House Villazar. You stand in the presence of-¡±


    ¡°Fuck.¡±


    Both their eyes went to the speaker, Silumko, who raised his hands as Cressida stood behind him with a pistol pressed against his throat.


    ¡°-a distraction,¡± Tristan smoothly finished. ¡°And how might I refer to you, my fair lady?¡±


    ¡°Ira,¡± the Someshwari replied, batting her eyelashes at him. ¡°You¡¯ve fine courtesies, Lord Ferrando, but this seems to me a most unprovoked assault.¡±


    ¡°Nice red paint you brought,¡± Cressida drily replied. ¡°Musket on the ground, now, or I pop your friend.¡±


    ¡°Please don¡¯t,¡± Silumko croaked.


    That accent was thick as board but mostly intelligible. Definitely from Uthukile, though, good to confirm the beads were no mere pretension.


    ¡°You will not shoot him, Barboza,¡± Ira snorted. ¡°If you could get into the shrine you already would have. He is your way in as well.¡±


    ¡°I brought a lockpicker and the tools are out,¡± Cressida said. ¡°Try me.¡±


    The Someshwari glanced his way.


    ¡°You are a lockpicker?¡±


    ¡°My talents are myriad,¡± Tristan solemnly replied.


    She tittered but those eyes were cold as ice. She flicked a considering glance between them.


    ¡°Then if you switch sides, I will pay you double,¡± Ira said. ¡°It does not matter who gets me in.¡±


    ¡°Ira, you bitch,¡± Silumko choked out.


    He tried to struggle, but Cressida pressed the gun into his neck and that settled him down. Tristan raised an eyebrow.


    ¡°You have ten ramas on you?¡± he asked.


    ¡°There is no way she paid you five gold,¡± Ira haggled.


    ¡°Three,¡± Tristan ¡®admitted¡¯. ¡°But I¡¯ll do it for eight.¡±


    ¡°I can do eight,¡± the Someshwari smiled.


    Tristan shrugged at Cressida, as if to say sorry, and turned to face her while sidling closer to Ira. Always keeping an eye on that musket, which had moved a little closer to his accomplice but could still be turned on him in a heartbeat.


    ¡°Villazar, you treacherous whore,¡± Cressida bit out ¡®angrily¡¯. ¡°I should have known you¡¯d turn.¡±


    ¡°None of you can get into the tower without me,¡± Silumko called out, openly panicking. ¡°The aether device inside the shrine is broken and I¡¯m the only one who knows how to jury-rig it.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m going to take a guess and say it involves strapping that shade into some sinister-looking machine,¡± Tristan said.


    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    The other man cleared his throat.


    ¡°That¡¯s not all it takes,¡± the Malani defensively replied.


    ¡°Go on then, Barboza,¡± Ira challenged. ¡°Kill him. I imagine breaking one of the few enforced rules on Tolomontera will see you hanged and I can take my time getting that seat afterwards.¡±


    Tristan sought Cressida¡¯s eyes to get an idea of their move here. He was not sure if he could handle Ira in a fight, though odds were he could divest her of her musket at least. He was already clasping his blackjack inside his sleeve, but the thief was not sure the Someshwari would let him get close enough to use it. If he could get a pistol pointed at her back that would make a difference, let them dictate terms to the other two, but it would take- Cressida¡¯s eyes widened, which was the only warning he got.


    Ira brandished the musket at him, taking aim, and with a curse Tristan dropped. Only she didn¡¯t pull the trigger, instead swiveling back the way of the other two and then shooting ¨C both Silumko and Cressida ducked low, neither able to see Ira had shot above the standing heights of their head. A fakeout, he realized even as Silumko wriggled out of Cressida¡¯s and broke into a run. Shit, he thought, even as he rose back to his feet and Cressida took a potshot that had Ira ducking behind a pillar.


    ¡°I¡¯ll take her,¡± Cressida shouted, ¡°take the-¡±


    He didn¡¯t listen to the end of the sentence, instead moving to intercept the Malani before he could make it into the scrapyard. The tall man snarled when he realized there was no way out, then reached for his belt as the thief closed the distance. Silumko was quick on the draw, but Tristan was just a second quicker: his blackjack hit the man¡¯s elbow just as he drew his pistol, sending the ornate pearl-incrusted piece clattering to the floor.


    The Malani yelped in pain and the thief drew back, angling a blow to the side of the head, but then Ira was on him.


    She had turned into an ox of a man, at least seven feet tall and so muscled the sleeve of her uniform burst. Tristan half-ducked out of the blow but her fist still caught the side of his chin and it was like he¡¯d gotten kicked by a horse: his head snapped back and when he next blinked he was on the floor, on his back. Ira, back into her true shape and wafting smoke, was struggling to fend off Cressida¡¯s sword with a dagger and shouting all the while.


    Vision swimming, Tristan pushed himself up onto his knees ¨C dimply realizing his hair was free, his cap gone - and saw Silumko was facing him the same way. By the looks of that nasty bruise on his cheek Cressida had sucker punched the Malani with the shell of her guard. Silumko was reaching forward, towards the pistol he had dropped. Which now lay halfway between them.


    ¡°Truce,¡± Tristan offered, discreetly reaching inside his other sleeve. ¡°We can let them fight it out.¡±


    ¡°Indeed,¡± Silumko said. ¡°Let us not be uncivilized.¡±


    A heartbeat later he tossed his knife as the other Mask threw himself at the pistol, the blade losing itself in the cloth of the coat. Silumko triumphantly raised the pistol but Tristan kicked it out of his hand, the other man shouting angrily before charging him bare-handed. The thief reached for his blackjack, but the Malani punched him before he could aim a blow and the two of them ended up rolling on the floor. Back hitting a pillar, Tristan choked out a curse and elbowed the man in the nose.


    ¡°Not the face,¡± Silumko complained, kneeing him the belly.


    ¡°Not the belly then, you prick,¡± the thief gasped.


    He caught the Malani¡¯s wrist as the man tried to punch him in the face again, gouging at the man¡¯s eyes only to miss and claw at his cheek instead. Panicking, Silumko smashed their foreheads ¨C and the angle was horrid. They both rolled away, groaning in pain, and Tristan wrinkled his nose. Was he bleeding? No, the blood on his fingers wasn¡¯t his. The Malani had a nosebleed from that elbow earlier. They both got onto their knees again, legs wobbly, only for Silumko¡¯s eyes to widen as they stared behind him.


    ¡°Stop,¡± the Malani shouted. ¡°STOP. There¡¯s-¡±


    Tristan started running without bothering to look back. Something brushed against the back of his heels, reinforcing the wisdom of that decision, and he almost tripped into Silumko as the man stumbled trying to wheel around.


    ¡°BLEMS,¡± Silumko shouted. ¡°WE DREW BLEMS!¡±


    Tristan risked a glance back and saw a thing of horror. They moved on two feet and they had a man¡¯s shape, roughly, but that too-broad torso bore no neck or head. The headless men had small beady eyes scattered all over their abdomen and a mouth like a crevasse ¨C going down into a jagged stripe, full of sharp teeth and tendrils that looked like stretched-out black tongues.


    Gods, Tristan thought as he saw the taller of the blems ¨C almost eight feet tall ¨C suck back in a tendril that¡¯d extended at least a dozen feet out. Gods, that thing was what¡¯d almost grabbed his foot. Silumko had slipped when he stumbled, dropping his hat, and from the whine of pain he¡¯d hurt his leg. Tristan gritted his teeth, dragging him upright and snatching the fallen wide-brimmed hat without thinking about it.


    ¡°Move you fool,¡± he snarled.


    ¡°It¡¯s sprained,¡± Silumko moaned, but move he did.


    Tristan hurried, half at a run, but the headless men were so tall and he could feel the ground shake behind them as they caught up, a wet slurp as a tendril extended and, and shrieks as the blems drew back. They¡¯d run into the caltrops, the thief realized with dumb relief.


    ¡°How long to open the shrine?¡± Tristan asked, lengthening his stride. ¡°We can¡¯t lose them by running.¡±


    ¡°Seconds,¡± Silumko breathed. ¡°I rigged the aether lock, I just need to pop it open.¡±


    Seconds was what they¡¯d earned from the caltrops, as the sting did not distract their pursuers for long. Headless men did not seem like much, compared to some of the lemures out there, but there was a reason they were so feared: the things were basically unkillable. Unless you cut them in half or fired a cannon into them there wasn¡¯t much of anything that would keep them down for long.


    ¡°Get him to the door,¡± Ira shouted, and there was a burst of thunder.


    The Someshwari had fired her musket at the lemures, though it would be but a fly¡¯s bite to them. Cressida, the thief saw, was aiming her pistol and gauging the shot. Once they were mere feet away from the tools, Silumko pushed off and pressed something into the thief¡¯s hand.


    ¡°Slow them down,¡± the Malani gasped, reaching for the tools.


    Tristan¡¯s fingers closed against a ball of cast iron with a fuse. A grenade. Well, better odds than him landing a shot. He absent-mindedly put on the hat to free his hands and went fumbling for a match, finding and cracking one even as two more shots sounded. Not that the bullets did much more than anger the blems, one haring off after Cressida while the other tried to snatch Ira before she ducked behind a pillar.


    That one was closest to the gates, so it was the one Tristan tossed the grenade at.


    ¡°GRENADE,¡± he shouted.


    Not quite loudly enough he did not hear a click behind him, Silumko sobbing with relief as the gates began to jerk open. A heartbeat later there was a burst of powder and pale light, both lemures shrieking in pain ¨C when Tristan opened his eyes, colors swimming across his vision, he saw the skin of the monsters looked burned in patches. On the bright side, it made the blems draw back for a moment.


    On the less bright side, it woke up the shade and the thing was very angry.


    Ira was running to the gate, he saw, and so was Cressida. So it fell to him, damn it, if they wanted to get anywhere inside. Tristan grabbed the rope harness and grunted with effort as he began to drag the furiously struggling shade into the shrine, the other Masks hurrying past him as the blems screeched in fury and one¡¯s mouth opened ¨C only for the gates to jerk closed past the shade¡¯s foot, a dull thump hitting the metal form the other side.


    Furious hammering against the door ensued, but the sound was muted and the metal did not even tremble.


    The four Masks stood there in the dark for a heartbeat, alone with a terribly angry monster, until Ira lit a lantern and their faces were cast into light. They traded looks, a little at a loss, until the thief cleared his throat.


    ¡°I¡¯m not giving back the hat,¡± Tristan firmly stated.


    --


    With two headless men pounding at the gate and a barely contained shade in there with them, none of them thought resuming the fight to be a sound notion.


    After they dragged the shade in a corner away from them, the four spread out and saw to their own health. He¡¯d not come with a physician¡¯s kit, but he had cloth and sweat enough wiping himself clean of Silumko¡¯s blood was easily done. He offered to check on the man¡¯s leg, suspecting it sprained, but got only a frosty look.


    ¡°Fair,¡± Tristan admitted.


    It was Cressida that put it forward they should formally make a truce until they left the shrine, which the continued pounding at the gate made a sound argument for. The motion passed unanimously and the tension thawed a bit, if only a bit. Silumko had been coming here for days and he had water stashed as well as six cheap wicker lanterns, both of which were shared.


    Tristan had wondered what the inside of the shrine would look like ¨C the proper rooms, not the glorified closet he¡¯d made it into ¨C and he was duly impressed once enough lamps were lit they were able to see around.


    The heart of the room was a massive bronze altar sculpted like a procession of foxes chasing after falling stars, never quite sinking their fangs into them. Pale marble benches faced the center of the room, radiating out in circles, and the ceiling was covered with twisting rivers of bronze. There were two doors out, save for the front gates, in the corners of the room near the back.


    Both were closed, and according to Silumko likely to remain so unless he was allowed to ¡®proceed with the work¡¯.


    ¡°This doesn¡¯t look like Antediluvian work, aside from the choice of metal,¡± Cressida noted.


    ¡°It is not,¡± Ira replied. ¡°The kings of ancient Sologuer built these shrines over the works of the Ancients. They believed themselves capable of drawing power from such places.¡±


    ¡°They mutilated the aether machinery is what they did,¡± Silumko grumbled. ¡°There are channels all over these walls that got redirected, it¡¯s no wonder this entire setup is good as scrapped.¡±


    The man had been quiet and almost harried, but now that they¡¯d been in here for fifteen minutes and no one bared a knife he was getting rather chattier.


    ¡°Redirected towards where?¡± Tristan asked.


    ¡°That gaudy altar,¡± the Malani said. ¡°It is hollow. Meant for some sort of ritual, I think.¡±


    The thief sighed.


    ¡°The shade goes inside, doesn¡¯t it?¡±


    He did not deny it.


    ¡°My theory,¡± Silumko said, ¡°is that they used to put people in there, but anything with a connection to aether should do. I know how to work the controls, but the power always diffuses. I believe it needs to pass through the altar successfully for the doors to open, connecting both sides.¡±


    ¡°And a lemure would work?¡± Cressida asked.


    ¡°I expect it will blow up after a few seconds so the window will be short, but yes,¡± Silumko replied.


    Ira looked fascinated.


    ¡°And if someone was put inside the altar instead?¡± she asked.


    ¡°No idea,¡± the Malani said. ¡°I¡¯m not a Savant. Aetheric mechanics are my area of expertise, not the fleshy bits.¡±


    ¡°Are you quite sure you¡¯re a Mask?¡± Tristan teased. ¡°You sound more the Tinker.¡±


    And if a bit of teasing to him to keep talking, all the better.


    ¡°I was recruited because poisoned an entire branch of House Gumede with their own poison-testing artifact,¡± Silumko bluntly replied. ¡°There¡¯s a price on my head and the Krypteia both has a use for saboteurs and the ability to hide me.¡±


    An awkward heartbeat passed.


    ¡°I did not truly expect you to answer that,¡± the Sacromontan admitted.


    Silumko shrugged.


    ¡°It is not so well-kept a secret it cannot be found out,¡± he said, then cleared his throat. ¡°Personal matters aside, we all have an interest in reaching the tower. Will you not let me open the way?¡±


    There was some hesitation, but in truth all of them were curious and there was little else to do considering they were going to have to wait out the blems. Agreement was had and they went about the preparations together. The shade was beaten into compliance with the butt of muskets before Ira and Cressida tossed it into the altar, which would have felt in poor taste were the creature not a clawed monster wanting to eat them all.


    Silumko, hobbling about, asked the two to close the altar above the shade and set about waking the aether machinery. Mostly that involved prying open hidden compartments under bronze wall decorations to fiddle with the devices inside, then kneeling at the low platform by the altar and pointing out a lever worked to look like simple gilding.


    ¡°Pull that on my word,¡± he instructed Tristan.


    The thief nodded. Silumko picked up a silvery tool that looked like a dull hook at the end of a rod, then hobbled to the door to the left of the backwall. Frowning, he worked it into a small keyhole to the side and only then exhaled.


    ¡°Now,¡± Silumko said.


    Tristan pulled the lever, which was surprisingly well-oiled even after all these years. After a heartbeat there was a click and the air thrummed. Light coursed along the ceiling like veins of bronze as the shade screamed inside the altar, but the thief barely paid it attention: his eyes were on Silumko. The Malani twisted his wrist delicately, then let out a noise of triumph as there resounded a quiet hiss and the stone door slid open. Ira, who had been told to stand ready with the largest stone they could find, put it in the way of the door in case it tried to close again when-


    There was sound like wet splatter and the bronze lights winked out.


    ¡°Best take some lanterns in, it seems,¡± Cressida drily said.


    To their common pleasure, the door did not try to close so there was no need to wriggle through and hope the stone did not shatter under unknown pressure. They moved into the back of the shrine gingerly, wary of traps, but that proved unnecessary: the last people to come here had been much more interested in trashing the place than trapping it. Lantern light lapped at the walls of the broad half-circle of a chamber, revealing scars and cracks while near everything else in the room was either rubble or scraps. There were twisted bits of bronze and a surprising amount of black marble, but the only thing in there still whole was a square steel contraption.


    It was at the apex of the half-circle, about half the height of a man and just as broad, and small beads of light almost like droplets were travelling along its surface.


    ¡°Another machine?¡± Tristan asked.


    ¡°Not like any I know,¡± Silumko admitted.


    ¡°Here,¡± Ira called out.


    Tristan had missed a detail, it seemed: to the contraption¡¯s left there were words written in chalk on the wall. His stomach tightened the moment he realized that, like that taunting note he¡¯d found in the other shrine, it was written in the four most common languages of Vesper. Cressida raised her lantern, leaning in, and read the words out loud as the thief worried the inside of his cheek.


    ¡°If the lights were lit, passage from eight to nine the following day. Through the red door.¡±


    Tristan was no signifier, but this reeked of one thing in particular to him.


    ¡°That thing lets you into a layer,¡± he said.


    It was the only thing that made sense. The tower only seemed partly present at the best of times, so unpleasant as the thought there was logic to a layer being path inside. Eight to nine, was it? The thief eyed the others, finding their faces blank. At least until one of them broke the silence.


    ¡°You can all consider me withdrawn from the race, then,¡± Silumko sighed.


    Tristan blinked at him.


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°I would like to live to thirty, Lord Ferrando,¡± the Malani said. ¡°That tends to be less achievable when one blindly enters layers whose foundation were laid in the shadow of Scholomance.¡±


    He shrugged.


    ¡°There are other classes, and still time enough to find them,¡± Silumko said. ¡°Good luck to you all in this suicidally foolish endeavor. If you survive and ever want to trade information, I run with the Twenty-Ninth.¡±


    Tristan eyed him cautiously, looking for the lie but finding nothing.


    ¡°Fair enough,¡± the thief acknowledged, and offered his hand. ¡°It¡¯s been an interesting acquaintance.¡±


    ¡°It has,¡± Silumko said, shaking it.


    The Malani nodded to the other, who after some hesitation returned it.


    ¡°Now if you¡¯ll excuse me,¡± Silumko said, ¡°I am going to take a nap until the blems are gone and hope they did not savage my pack so much I am out of the truly odious mixture that will obscure the smell of my wounds.¡±


    They all watched him limp away, slightly bemused. Ira was the one to break the silence.


    ¡°I, too, have decided to withdraw,¡± she tittered. ¡°The dangers are too great.¡±


    Tristan snorted.


    ¡°See you tomorrow, Ira,¡± he replied.


    He followed after Silumko, stretching out his arms. Cressida simply flipped off the other Mask before heading back to the shrine room.


    --


    It took two hours for the blems to leave and they agreed to wait one more just to be sure.


    Tristan cheated and had Fortuna step out to see if they were still around before volunteering to be the one to look out and see if there was still danger. His bravery was much praised, Ira even complimenting the honor of House Villazar. Ferranda was going to kill him, but it was simply too funny to stop now. Though the four of them had come with intentions to bludgeon one another, truce was extended to the way back to Scraptown and they banded together for safety on the path.


    It was there they parted ways, and not on the terms he would have liked.


    ¡°We¡¯ve opened the path to the tower,¡± Cressida bluntly told him. ¡°Our alliance is finished.¡±


    He narrowed his eyes at her.


    ¡°You think I¡¯ll be easier to roll than Ira,¡± he said.


    The Lusitanian shrugged, not denying it.


    ¡°You should have let me shoot her leg,¡± she said, and walked away.


    ¡°Cold,¡± Fortuna mused from his side. ¡°You have to respect that.¡±


    Did he? He would not cast blame for it, blame had no place in such things, bit neither would he admire it. Perhaps he should. It felt like his edge had dulled since he left Sacromonte, clutching at this and that like he was a man instead of a rat. He¡¯d run all the way across Port Allazei to leave the cottage behind and now part of him felt like he should be running from this place as well. Only he was trapped on this fucking island, unable to leave and disappear into the crowd.


    Infuriating.


    He left Scraptown behind, first swinging by the cottage to notify the Thirteenth he still lived. Song had left out the latter, as if to chide him for not having bothered to write a second. He left the cottage after grabbing fresh food and blackpowder to head back dockside. There he stashed his affairs in the attic after looping around for half an hour to make sure Cressida wasn¡¯t following him. She¡¯d proved skilled enough at the art. Only perched up there did he let himself relax, napping for a few hours and having a meal.


    Fortuna sat with him as he finished the last of the bread and chicken, eyeing an ant across the ground. No doubt if she had a physical form she would be tormenting the poor thing.


    ¡°It¡¯s not looking good,¡± he admitted. ¡°The hour¡¯s known, so the others will head there as early as they can and wait.¡±


    And he did not believe he could win in a fight against either woman. Ira looked the softer target of the two, but she had still been able to fend off a trained swordswoman with a knife long enough to pull out her own sword. Tristan doubted he would have been able to do the same.


    ¡°You could lay traps,¡± Fortuna suggested.


    ¡°We¡¯re all going to get there as early as we can,¡± Tristan grunted. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t have time.¡±


    If they¡¯d checked the board, which they would have, they would know the lemures thinned on the ground around six in the morning. Six fifteen was probably the best time to get going, which was why Tristan had been using it.


    ¡°I also don¡¯t have the materials for traps,¡± he admitted. ¡°The few drugs in my physician¡¯s kit wouldn¡¯t do the trick.¡±


    ¡°Then bring thugs,¡± Fortuna drily said. ¡°Ask the Thirteenth to come.¡±


    ¡°No point,¡± he said, shaking his head. ¡°Tomorrow¡¯s thirdday. You think Song will miss Teratology for this, give Professor Kang fuel for the fire? No, there no other options.¡±


    The goddess turned a golden stare on him.


    ¡°There are quite literally two more people in your cabal,¡± Fortuna said.


    His fingers clenched.


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± she repeated, unimpressed.


    ¡°No,¡± he snarled. ¡°Do you not get it, Fortuna? If I go to them, they own me. I admit I cannot cut it on my own, that I need them to stay here. Song thought she could push me, and she got away with it. If I come crawling back, she has me by the throat.¡±


    ¡°Maryam-¡±


    ¡°Is my friend,¡± he said. ¡°Not my keeper, and I didn¡¯t see her stepping in that night once the swinging started. Did you?¡±


    Not even the Lady of Long Odds had quite enough wherewithal to suggest involving Angharad Tredegar in the affairs of Masks alone.


    ¡°Wen,¡± she finally said. ¡°Is his office on Tolomontera not to aid you? He might have advice.¡±


    Tristan hesitated.


    ¡°He already gave me the Chimerical, or good as,¡± he said. ¡°Besides I don¡¯t need advice, I need an angle.¡±


    She looked like she wanted to argue, and did. He half-ignored her on his way out of the house, taking to the port. It was dangerous to wander around too much with a price still on his head so he kept to side streets, but the air helped him think and for all its foibles Port Allazei was still less dangerous than the Murk in many ways. Only neither the sea breeze nor the streets yielded answers.


    ¡°Wen,¡± Fortuna insisted, smelling an opening.


    At this point it was no longer about helping him for her, it was about winning. In a twisted way, that had him considering taking the advice. Captain Wen did have a way of knowing things he-


    ¡°Huh,¡± Tristan muttered.


    ¡°You have come over to the wisdom of my words,¡± his goddess guessed. ¡°As it should be.¡±


    ¡°Wen once told me,¡± the thief said, ¡°that Alvareno¡¯s Dosages is required reading for all Krypteia.¡±


    ¡°And?¡±


    ¡°I know who the poisoning teacher is,¡± Tristan said, ¡°which means I know who will be selling poison cabinets.¡±


    ¡°You still need to lay those traps in advance,¡± Fortuna pointed out. ¡°You tried the night before, it will only get you killed.¡±


    Which was a problem, yes, but only if he let this turn into a footrace. It didn¡¯t have to be.


    ¡°Crossing during the night will,¡± he agreed.


    ¡°You can¡¯t be serious,¡± the goddess said. ¡°You want to sleep out there?¡±


    ¡°They can¡¯t beat me to it if I¡¯m already there,¡± Tristan replied, and abruptly turned around.


    He knew the way to the Chimerical from here, more or less. Time to see if Hage was willing to part with his stock.


    --


    Devils were a particular sort of evil. Tristan walked out with a worse box than the one he¡¯d had on the Dominion, and with only two silvers left to his funds.


    Half of what remained went to finding the Twenty-Ninth Brigade and arranging to rent a tool for a day.


    --


    The guards of Scraptown were beginning to know him by sight, a recognition that had him greasing palms with coppers to learn that neither Ira nor Cressida had returned to the tower.


    Double the sum ensured they would keep quiet about his having passed through.


    --


    By the time Vanesa¡¯s watch marked five in the morning, Tristan had not slept more than fifteen minutes in a row even thought Fortuna kept watch the whole night. Every sound, ever whisper of the wind had wrenched him awake. His hiding place, up on a length of piping both sides of which had fallen off and so stood as an raised isle of bronze, was not the kind most lemures could have reached.


    But some could have, and that knowledge had been enough to have him sleeping in fear sweats.


    Now, though, he had the last laugh. He lowered the rope and made his way back to the ground, finding the shrines were back even if much of the tower was still missing. The gates they had left open yesterday yawned open, beckoning him in, and he breathed in deeply.


    Time to see if ruining his finances had been worth it.


    --


    Ira arrived at precisely seven, armed to the teeth: musket, pistols, sword and two knives. Not someone he remotely wanted to get into a scrap with.


    Cautiously she approached the open gates of the shrine, only to stop cold. As well she should, since Tristan had earlier picked up Silumko¡¯s caltrops and spread them in front of the door like a moat. The Someshwari peered into the shrine and found no one, but there were plenty hiding places in there. She had to know that it would be child¡¯s play to hole up in there with a musket and shoot at whoever tried to clear the caltrops until the passage opened.


    ¡°There¡¯s no need for this,¡± Ira called out. ¡°There are still two places left, we can work together.¡±


    If Cressida had not reached out to make a deal, Tristan would eat his own newly acquired hat.


    Ira unbelted her sheathed sword and cautiously began pushing aside caltrops, constantly eyeing inside the shrine to look for a pointed muzzle. It was busy with the work that Cressida found her. The two women eyed each other warily, but relieved the Sacromontan from the obligation of eating his hat by sharing curt nods.


    ¡°We can clear them out properly, he¡¯s not going to shoot,¡± Cressida said. ¡°He doesn¡¯t have it in him.¡±


    There was a faint note of contempt to the words that had Tristan¡¯s belly clenching.


    ¡°You first,¡± Ira drily replied.


    After a minute of Cressida brushing aside caltrops, the Someshwari was convinced and joined in. By seven thirteen they¡¯d cleared a path, which was quite unfair since it had taken him easily thrice that to place the caltrops. They entered with guns out, Ira calling out a warning they would shoot on sight, only for silence to answer them.


    That was when the both of them to noticed the door, commanding their full attention.


    Tristan put out the rope and slid down from the same perch where he¡¯d spent the night, landing softly on the ground as he heard bits of conversation inside. He readied the rags and the matches. By now they would be close to the bronze door with the double pop seals he¡¯d gone to steal in the other shrine up earlier and which was now wedged squarely across the only open door to the passage. Blocking it entirely, save for an open stripe above and below.


    ¡°-if he wedged it in, we can rip it out,¡± Cressida was saying.


    ¡°He¡¯ll be waiting with a pistol on the other side,¡± Ira said. ¡°I don¡¯t know how he got here so early but-¡±


    Tristan crept up to the gates, pressed against the wall after toeing aside the caltrops in the way. The two argued for a bit, until agreeing at least that they grid should be taken out. They paused after that, as if expecting him to reveal himself, but they were misunderstanding the nature of his plan here. The grid wasn¡¯t meant to stop them at all.


    ¡°Fine, give me room and cover the angle,¡± Ira grunted. ¡°I¡¯ll change shape and rip it out.¡±


    If something requiring strength had to be done quickly, Tristan had known from the start who would do it and how. He¡¯d known he would be able to use it the moment he recalled Ira¡¯s clothes sleeves bursting when she had turned into a large man.


    Because it meant that when she ripped out the wedged door, she would not be wearing gloves.


    The sound of metal being scraped sounded, then a surprised sound.


    ¡°It¡¯s wet,¡± Ira said. ¡°Why would there still be-¡±


    ¡°Shit, wipe your hands,¡± Cressida said, sounding like she was backing a way. ¡°That¡¯s not water.¡±


    No, water wasn¡¯t anywhere that expensive. That was a full silver¡¯s worth of Spinster¡¯s Milk, the version of the venom treated so it could serve as a coating without drying. Tristan checked his watch. Seven fifteen. Assuming both palms had made contact, she should be down in a matter of minutes.


    ¡°He¡¯ll have an antidote,¡± Ira breathed out. ¡°He must. Villazar, you fuck, you-¡±


    Ah, and the sound of the pair rushing into the back room. That was the signal. Tristan reached into hiso pocket for the matches, scratching them and lighting the three packs of rags he¡¯d prepared before pulling up a cloth over his face. He stepped into the shrine, throwing two in the main shrine room and one close to the back door.


    Smoke immediately began to waft up, thick and odorous.


    ¡°Did you hear that?¡± Cressida asked.


    Hurry now. Left of the gates, the stonework that looked like a square with a bronze triangle inside. Tristan pulled out the silver aether tool he¡¯d rented from Silumko, a X at the end of a rod that he pressed once against the surface of the square then pivoted twice to the side.


    ¡°Villawar,¡± Ira snarled, already slurring. ¡°What is shis?¡±


    He turned and found her pointing a pistol at him. Tristan raised his hands, stepped back towards the door. Cressida took one glance at the lit rags, the fumes, and covered her mouth with her sleeve and stepped back. The movement distracted Ira, and in that heartbeat Tristan ran for the gates.


    He pulled at the luck even before the shot sounded, feeling the ticking rise sharply ¨C and releasing it in the same breath as he threw himself forward.


    The shot streaked just above his head, somehow missing flesh but tearing a stripe through the top of his new hat and of his hair. The heat burned, but he got recompense in the way the two inside shouted in anger as the gates to the shrine closed behind him. The thief got up, passing a hand through his slightly shorn hair and wincing. Twice over when he looked down, as there was a caltrop spiked into the coat that¡¯d come a hair¡¯s breadth away from drawing blood.


    ¡°What is in those things anyway?¡± Fortuna asked, leaning against the door. ¡°I saw you gather up that ichor from the burst lemure, but I did not recognize that vial from the cabinet.¡±


    ¡°Sweetsleep,¡± he said, taking out his watch. ¡°The full stock.¡±


    Seven seventeen.


    ¡°You dosed them with poppy?¡± Fortuna laughed.


    ¡°The derivative that puts people to sleep, yes,¡± he replied. ¡°Thickened with the blood it should make enough smoke to fill both rooms and some.¡±


    The real issue was going to be not killing them by robbing them of air entirely. Ten minutes was the most he was willing to risk, so at seven twenty-seven he went to pop open the gates the way Silumko had told him to. For a price. Smoke came pouring out and Tristan waited with his blackjack in hand. No movement inside. He put out the rag fires then found Ira by the door in the back, making sure she was still breathing before risking a look inside the back room.


    There lay Lady Cressida Barboza, that hat with the golden rope over her face, seemingly sleeping like a baby. He nudged the hat off her face, blackjack at the ready, but she did not react. He divested her of her weapons, then went back to the other room and did the same with the Someshwari. All the weapons he dumped outside, before forcing open the shrine and putting them both inside it. Facing each other like they were sitting in a bathtub.


    That ought to make for an interesting wakeup, he figured. His gaze lingered on the girl he¡¯d worked with, if only for a day.


    ¡°It¡¯s harder, not to use the tile,¡± Tristan quietly said. ¡°But if all I wanted to learn was easy, why come to Scholomance?¡±


    He waited alone in the backroom for twenty-nine minutes, until the beads of light on the steel frame formed into a curtain. He went through the passage alone.


    -


    Tristan crawled through the curtain of light and emerged into Hell.


    He was on the streets of Tolomontera, but he could hardly tell: it was as if the entire world were aflame, curtains of smoke obscuring even the Grand Orrery¡¯s lights as the dull roar of fire swept through the city. The world ending did not seem to hinder the battle taking place from rolling on, unsurprisingly, as men in coats of mail wielding spears fought against armed riders with face-covering helms and ¨C shit, were those devils?


    Best find that red door fast.


    The north side of the street was a burning ruin, the part leading where he thought might be the port was being enthusiastically occupied by a devil and its significantly less enthusiastic victims while the other side was ¨C huh, that had to be the largest brother Tristan had ever seen. And it still had lights on? While the gray-eyed man was no great fancier of sex, admittedly ¨C if he wanted strangers to press against him uncomfortably, he¡¯d elbow his way into the crowd at charity bread distribution - but he figured not even the most ardent partisans of the hobby would not indulge while the city was being sacked around them. Shots sounded in the distance, startling him, and the thief headed up the street towards the brothel.


    It was a three-story edifice with two side wings and sundry balconies, occupying moist of a city block, and glass windows had been barred with furniture. The front door, painted green, had knockers shaped like¡­ well, something Tristan struggled with believing anyone would enjoy getting knocked.


    ¡°Halt,¡± someone shouted, and the thief looked up.


    A bulky musket was being pointed at him from a balcony above, a middle-aged woman with a heavily powdered face glaring. No, not a musket. What must have come before them: barely more than a tube of metal on a length of wood, a small rope with a knot tied under where the trigger would be. It was heavy enough she had to prop it up against the balcony railing to keep it pointed.


    ¡°No closer,¡± she called out in accented Antigua. ¡°Go back, we are closed.¡±


    Tristan raised his hands.


    ¡°I am looking for a red door,¡± he called out.


    ¡°Did you not hear me, boy?¡± the woman bit out. ¡°We are closed.¡±


    He frowned.


    ¡°The brothel¡¯s called the Red Door?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Last warning,¡± she said. ¡°Leave.¡±


    Good as confirmation. He¡¯d thought that note out in the shrine was too straightforward. He¡¯d just best there was a painted red door somewhere around here that led to a pit full of scorpions or something of the sort. Now he just needed her to move first.


    ¡°Your door¡¯s painted green,¡± Tristan complained. ¡°It is a very misleading-¡±


    He saw it in the way her body tensed a second before she pulled at the rope. That gun was bulky, almost more like small handheld cannon than true firearms, and the powdered woman was not large: she prepared for the kickback before pulling the rope.


    Good.


    He broke into a run, straight for the door as two heartbeats passed and she tried to follow his movement with the gun ¨C but it was heavy and he was quick. Even as the woman shouted above, he reached the doors and wrenched them open. To his dim surprised the actually opened, revealing on the other side two large men pointing crossbows at him while a crew stacked furniture across a gaudily decorated entrance hall.


    Through the red door, the note had said. That teacher was a bloody sadist.


    ¡°Fuck,¡± Tristan said, and threw himself through the threshold as the bolts went flying.


    He flopped belly down on the floor, the breath smacked out of him as a steel tip sliced off a lock of his hair, and as he gasped he-


    Looked down not at overly colored tiles but dull grey stone.


    ¡°When prostrating your belly should not touch the ground, only your knees and forehead.¡±


    Panting, sweat running down his back, the thief allowed himself a moment to close his eyes and rest his face against the cool stone. Only after a solid ten seconds did he push himself up with a groan, getting onto his knees and matching the gaze of middle-aged Malani woman with round cheeks and bright eyes. She was beaming at him.


    ¡°This is inside the tower?¡± he asked.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talking about,¡± she said. ¡°Who are you?¡±


    He frowned. Could she not even give him a straight answer now that he had made it here? He pushed himself up, taking in the room ¨C barely more than a closet, with a small desk and candle where this Malani had been reading a book while sitting on a rickety chair. There was a door by her, wooden and closed.


    ¡°Tristan Abrascal,¡± he said. ¡°Are you a Mask teacher?¡±


    If Hage had spoken truly, they were bound to answer that question properly.


    ¡°I am your mother,¡± the Malani informed him. ¡°You have not been eating your vegetables.¡±


    His lips thinned. What was this ¨C the woman shivered, and that was when he noticed it. She didn¡¯t shiver like a person, not properly. It came from under the skin, like she was just wearing it.


    ¡°You¡¯re a devil,¡± he blurted. ¡°Again?¡±


    How many devil teachers did the Krypteia have? The thing wearing a Malani suit grinned, but before she could answer the door was wrenched open. An angry ten-year-old Malani girl glared at them both, decked in too-large black robes and wearing pretty red ribbons in her braids.


    ¡°Cozen, if you ever put the key on a high shelf again I will feed you to crabs,¡± the child snarled. ¡°And you, stop giving her what she wants. A cryptic should know better.¡±


    Tristan cleared his throat awkwardly.


    ¡°Pardon?¡±


    ¡°She feeds on casual dislike, you idiot,¡± the girl said. ¡°That shot you just gave her will have her insufferable for the entire afternoon.¡±


    ¡°So offhandedly contemptuous,¡± Cozen dreamily sighed. ¡°It tastes like pepper.¡±


    Tristan cleared his throat again, increasingly bewildered.


    ¡°I am-¡±


    ¡°Nerei¡¯s latest, yes, we¡¯re all gossiping about it,¡± the girl said. ¡°I am Professor Sizakele, teacher for Aetheric Warfare. Also known as ¡®Deicide¡¯.¡±


    ¡°I would like to attend your class,¡± Tristan tried.


    ¡°You can,¡± Professor Sizakele began, then shuddered.


    Under the Sacromontan¡¯s horrified stare she began trembling and shaking, falling to the ground. He glanced at the devil, Cozen, but she seemed unmoved. Mere seconds later the fit ceased, and Tristan was no longer looking at a young girl but a woman in her twenties. Those robes were no longer loose.


    ¡°Ugh,¡± Professor Sizakele said. ¡°As I was saying, you can begin attending on firstday afternoons from one to six. Cozen will give you a keystone and show you the shortcut.¡±


    Tristan cleared his throat a third time.


    ¡°Not to be impolite,¡± he said, ¡°but if I may ask¡­¡±


    ¡°Some gods are sore losers,¡± Professor Sizakele replied. ¡°I age a decade every hour, which means I die thrice a day. It leaves me requiring some help, for which I was cursed with Cozen¡¯s assistance.¡±


    The devil happily waved.


    ¡°This is a contract price?¡± he asked.


    ¡°No. I beat a Someshwari god of death at riddles but the bastard tried to stiff me on the immortality,¡± the professor idly replied. ¡°Turns out the words for ¡®undying¡¯ and ¡®continuing¡¯ are the same in Ghantalasa, which he thought was very funny.¡±


    She smiled.


    ¡°Note the past tense,¡± Professor Sizakele said, adjusting her robes around her newly grown frame. ¡°That¡¯s enough chatter, however. I have another student coming and I¡¯ll not brook doubling up so you have to go. Cozen will see you out.¡±


    He was left standing there, feeling a bit like it was the aftermath of a storm, until the devil made eye contact with him and slowly tore a page off her book.


    ¡°That¡¯s not going to work,¡± he warned her.


    ¡°I just like breaking things,¡± she smiled.


    It worked, damnit.


    --


    Getting Cozen to do what she was supposed to was much like pulling teeth, but eventually Tristan was given a ¡®keystone¡¯ ¨C a small latch key quite literally made of stone ¨C and ushered through a tower room so quickly he barely glimpsed the inside before being guided through a door that would serve as a gate back into the layer the devil referred to as ¡®the Landing¡¯.


    On the other side was not a room but a pit, which Cozen pushed him into.


    He landed back into Port Allazei as it was being sacked, so that part was true, and on the outskirts of the fighting besides. Frowning as he followed the devil¡¯s directions to the way out of the layer, Tristan kept an eye out for movement. The fire had yet to spread this far out so he navigated mostly by Orrery lights as he turned where told to turn and came in sight of the stone bridge that was his way out.


    Only there was someone standing on it.


    The thief stilled. Cozen had been painfully clear that the path was supposed to be deserted that early into the layer¡¯s span. This must be a visitor, then. The student that had beat all of them to the tower? He would admit to some curiosity about that identity, enough to risk his own face being seen. Carefully, he approached the silhouette. A woman, he saw from behind. Dark hair, about his height. She was looking out into the distance, almost pensive.


    Once at the foot of the bridge there was no more cover to hide behind ¨C and staringly another Mask might be dangerous - so he coughed to announce himself.


    ¡°Good morning,¡± Tristan called out. ¡°I did not expect to-¡±


    Then she turned and the thief froze.


    ¡°Maryam?¡±

 Chapter 28

    The nerve, really. Like putting on his face would be all it took to trick her.


    ¡°You are the most inventive so far, I¡¯ll grant,¡± Maryam coldly said, ¡°but it is still a miss.¡±


    The signifier¡¯s fingers cut across the air, Gloam dragging behind as the primordial dark leaped eagerly to her command. Or so it felt like. Objectively she knew she was likely barely middle tier when it came to control at the moment, but the sheer difference it made was¡­


    ¡°That does not look pleasant,¡± the mara wearing Tristan¡¯s face said. ¡°Please don¡¯t do whatever this is?¡±


    He backed away with his hands raised instead of outright fleeing, the way most mara would when threatened with something that could hurt them. They were scavengers, not hunters. Maryam frowned, keeping a tight grip on the roiling Gloam as she refrained from tracing the Sign¡¯s last stroke. Mara could talk, they were intelligent, but this was unusual behavior for one.


    ¡°Leave,¡± she said.


    Tristan pinched the bridge of his nose.


    ¡°I would,¡± he said, ¡°but you are standing on top of the gate I would use. Are you really Maryam? You should be in class right now.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s rich, coming from you,¡± she replied, then cursed herself.


    You should not talk to mara, it only gave them more to work with.


    ¡°Class has been over for at least an hour,¡± she challenged.


    ¡°Did Kang kick you out early?¡± the mara frowned. ¡°It shouldn¡¯t be past nine in the morning.¡±


    If this was a trick, Maryam thought, it was a good trick. The Gloam was bucking wilder and wilder, so she let it disperse with a snap of the wrist. As long as he came no closer she would still have time to trace.


    ¡°What was the name of the mayor of Cantica?¡± she asked.


    Maybe-Tristan cocked an eyebrow at her.


    ¡°First, put it down that we will be having a conversation about why that question would mark me as not an impostor instead of the hundred others I can think of,¡± he said.


    This was, Maryam conceded amusedly, most probably Tristan.


    ¡°Second, his name was Crespin,¡± the gray-eyed man replied. ¡°I might have forgiven him the man-eating tendencies, if he¡¯d kept them turned on Tupoc.¡±


    ¡°I sometimes daydream about him having been eaten on the island,¡± Maryam admitted.


    ¡°Don¡¯t we all?¡± Tristan replied, then his eyes narrowed. ¡°Now, what¡¯s this about classes being over?¡±


    ¡°It should be past noon,¡± Maryam told him. ¡°I returned to the chapterhouse after Teratology ended.¡±


    Leaving Song behind, but it was only a walk back to the front gates. There were only so many tricks Scholomance could attempt while on the spiked paths and the Tianxi was not the kind of fool to fall for them. Tristan¡¯s jaw clenched.


    ¡°That should not be possible,¡± he said. ¡°It was eight when I first entered this layer and I only left it for moments before returning. Is there such a thing as¡­¡±


    He gestured vaguely, conveying a sense of general magical tomfoolery.


    ¡°Time travels one direction only,¡± Maryam firmly said.


    The most Gloam could do was remove you from that journey for a while before spitting you out. If it ever spat you out.


    ¡°How did you get in here, anyway?¡±


    Maryam refused to believe he was so profoundly unlucky as to trip into a layer twice in two weeks.


    ¡°I crawled through a hole,¡± Tristan noted. ¡°Then I was pushed into a pit.¡±


    Mask classes sounded like any other cabal¡¯s punishment. One detail caught her interest, however.


    ¡°Those passages,¡± she said. ¡°Were there Glare lights in them?¡±


    ¡°The first, yes,¡± he frowned. ¡°More or less. The second was a dark pit whose bottom ended up being one of the streets near here.¡±


    He was not slow to catch on.


    ¡°You think the dark was Gloam?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Almost certainly,¡± Maryam said. ¡°Layer entrances do not grow on trees and most of them have Gloam near them. The pit must have eaten a few hours off you before letting you fall into here.¡±


    The thief grimaced.


    ¡°Ah, a fresh addition to the list of why I will never have a sound night¡¯s sleep ever again,¡± Tristan said. ¡°It¡¯d been a day, I suppose I was overdue.¡±


    She would have passed that as humor if not for the exhausted undertone.


    ¡°Ancestors, what have you been up to?¡± she asked. ¡°First you disappear for days, then-¡±


    ¡°Covenant business,¡± he replied.


    ¡°That¡¯s not an answer,¡± Maryam said.


    ¡°It¡¯s the one on offer,¡± he said. ¡°What are you doing in here, anyway? I thought layers were particularly dangerous for signifiers.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± she sniffed. ¡°Unlike you, I¡¯m tethered to the material by a Navigator keeping watch over me. She would pull me back if I were in danger.¡±


    Unless it was danger unlikely to kill her and likely to yield interesting results. There was a reason Maryam had said that Captain Yue was ¡®watching over¡¯ her and not ¡®protecting¡¯.


    ¡°That¡¯s not an answer,¡± he smugly echoed, like a jackass.


    It could not be a mara, they simply would not be able to manage such quantities of smug.


    ¡°It¡¯s the one on offer,¡± she replied in her smarmiest voice, pulling a face.


    ¡°Fair,¡± Tristan conceded, lips twitching. ¡°I expect this is not the place to have that conversation, anyway.¡±


    ¡°It isn¡¯t,¡± Maryam said, casting a wary gaze around. ¡°Will you be at the cottage tonight?¡±


    He hesitated.


    ¡°Will you?¡±


    After this, she was inclined to cut her day early. Captain Yue should keep the grumbling to a minimum, given the hours Maryam had already volunteered this week and the glad news she would be bringing back from this jaunt. She had not run the whole spectrum of tests yet, but the first results had been more than promising.


    She had cautiously high hopes for the rest.


    ¡°Yes,¡± she decided. ¡°And I¡¯ll be expecting you for supper.¡±


    ¡°I suppose I¡¯ve nothing better to do,¡± he conceded.


    They stood there for a moment, looking at each other awkwardly, until Maryam remembered and cleared her throat.


    ¡°Right, the bridge is your way out,¡± she said.


    Which was the reason she had manifested here in the first place. Captain Yue was alarmingly powerful, but breaching anything but the shallowest part of a layer through brute strength was still beyond the older signifier. This was almost certainly the real Tristan, but Maryam took no risks: she backed away and kept her hand at the ready. He seemed, if anything, to approve of her wariness.


    ¡°Right,¡± Tristan said, stepping onto the bridge. ¡°I suppose I should look for-¡±


    Between two footsteps she blinked and just like that he was gone, vanished into nothing.


    ¡°I am going to make fun of you for that,¡± Maryam announced.


    There should still be a few minutes until the layer¡¯s coherence pressure grew strong enough to try and push her out, forcing Yue to shift her location again, so she should get to reason she was out here in the first place. Breathing in, Maryam straightened her back and raised her hand.


    The Sphere first.


    Her nav a brush, she painted the Gloam into the shape she¡¯d been taught. Gods, the difference it made. Like using an actual paintbrush, even if her fingers were numb, instead of trying to¡­ splash paint at the wall in the right shape. The sphere of pure Gloam formed with a dull pop, which Captain Totec had once described as the consequence of it coming together quickly enough to be hermetic, and Maryam just knew that her creation would be able to bear a man¡¯s weight without wobbling.


    It still fought her to collapse, as Gloam always did, but that could be wrestled back into line by tightening the grip of her will. An Ancipital Sign traced just like that, solid and smooth and without a full minute of preparation first. She couldn¡¯t quite believe it. Ancipitals were supposed to be the easiest Signs, simple manipulation of raw Gloam on a small scale, yet Maryam had always found them an uphill struggle.


    Excitement rising, she dismissed the sphere and set down a small metal cube on the floor of the bridge. Two downwards stroke and a slash, anchoring at the cube and tethering: the Pinching Ward.


    It was delicate work, bordering on conceptual, so like most Acumenal Signs it did not require a heavy hand. The difference, this time, came in depth. Maryam nudged the cube with her foot, breaching the condition of ¡®movement¡¯, and immediately felt like the inside of her arm was being harshly pinched. It was a false pain but it felt real, and not a mere twinge of discomfort either.


    If her Ward had been that strong, in Cantica, she would not have slept through Tredegar being attacked.


    Maryam picked up the cube, stashing it away with trembling fingers. Yue had given her an order to follow, she should now be attempting the basic Didactic Sign known as the Heat Thief, but Maryam had to know. The Izvorica had never once, in all her time as a practitioner, been able to use a Thalassic Sign. Large-scale manipulation of raw Gloam, the branch of the arts that had made the Navigators the power that they were.


    She breathed out, calmed herself, and raised her hand toward the wan sky of ancient Tolomontera. She raked her fingers like claws, ripping into the nothing, and felt her hand plunge into the Gloam. Gods, she¡¯d never even made it this far before, she could ¨C focus. Carefully and slowly, she dragged her clawing fingers down before her in a smooth, rounded zigzag. Thick trails of Gloam were left behind, like smudges of oil, and Maryam¡¯s heart leaped in her throat.


    She pulled out her hand and released the Gloam, a shit-eating grin on her face.


    ¡°Wind Carding,¡± Maryam exhaled. ¡°Ancestors. Wind Carding.¡±


    A child¡¯s achievement, the Thalassic Sign that built into all the Wind sequences, but never before had she been able to use it. She¡¯d always stumbled at seizing the Gloam currents, finding them hard as stone and sensing nothing like the fibers her instructors were telling her to pull and lay out into another shape. If she could Card then she might eventually be able to create her own winds of Gloam, to quell storms and hide the drag of ships from the leviathans of the deeps.


    She could be a real Navigator, not a glorified hedge-witch that could properly use neither her mother¡¯s arts nor her teacher¡¯s. It took a while for the sheer glee to die down, until she could stop smiling long enough to focus. Yet she must, she still had a list to go through.


    ¡°Didactic,¡± she reminded herself.


    And then an Autarchic, so Captain Yue could establish if baseline capacity regarding those changed when she was inside the layer. Only the moment she raised her hand, the world blurred.


    Maryam hastily drew back her nav into herself, keeping a tight rein on self-perception as the layer tried to ¡®heal¡¯ the wound that Yue had made to get her inside. The Tianxi captain would not be able to withstand that strength head on, so instead would slash a fresh wound through the make of the layer and slide Maryam down it.


    It felt a little like falling and a lot like being thrown.


    When the world grew solid again, Maryam was standing on a rooftop. Looking around, she found herself near what must be the edge of Port Allazei ¨C not far before her stood walls, and far behind her she could see smoke and fires where the army attacking the city fought for the docks. Movement caught her attention and with some dread she realized she was not alone.


    Maryam was not far from city gates, which strangely enough were open. She shuffled to the edge of the rooftop for a better line of sight and froze. No, not open: ripped off their hinges.


    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    A pack of devils ¨C half wearing human shells, the others bare long-legged horrors ¨C stood in torchlight, two of them bringing forward a large machine on a painted wooden litter. It was set down gently, facing the smashed gates, and after some chatter two shell-wearing devils approached it. Maryam stared at it all in the torchlight, spellbound.


    The device looked like a printing press, though overlarge and made entirely of gray iron. The devils treated it with reverence, and the two who manned it only did so with great care. The corkscrew turned as the devils pushed the handles and the block fell, slamming into the press bed like a lightning strike. Forgelight burned bright at the edges, as if the insides were filled with molten iron, but this was no metalwork.


    Maryam could hear the aether screaming, a chunk ripped out from the Empty Sea and compressed into a shape by the implacable tyranny of the machine.


    And when the devils turned the handles the other way, untwisting the corkscrew and releasing the block, there was something where there had once been nothing. A many-limbed creature, its carapace almost shining as its mandibles twitched and came to¡­ life, or close enough. A devil. They had made a devil, cast it from nothing by wounding the aether. Gods, was that how their entire kind came to be?


    The creature twitched up, jerkily, and the other devils hooted in joy.


    Maryam felt a shiver of dread run up her spine and did not think twice: she pulled at the tether, signaling Captain Yue to pull her out before she could see the rest of this nightmare.


    --


    She woke up strapped on the table, her body aching all over.


    Captain Yue was still seated in her armchair, a small leather-bound journal in hand as she scribbled notes. The Tianxi bit at her lip as she leaned forward, the movement drawing her braid forward and revealing some of the burns around her ears before she let out a noise of satisfaction and drew back. Maryam focused on breathing, her heart still beating wildly.


    ¡°I could have kept you in there longer,¡± Yue said. ¡°What happened?¡±


    ¡°I shifted to a dangerous place,¡± Maryam forced out. ¡°I saw...¡±


    She swallowed, feeling nauseous.


    ¡°Devils. One being made.¡±


    The older woman looked, horribly enough, envious. Yue busied herself undoing the straps as she talked.


    ¡°Lucky!¡± the Tianxi said. ¡°There¡¯s hardly anyone alive who has seen an Infernal Forge in action, you know. The Watch destroyed most, the ones left are either sealed in Pandemonium or buried in the deep vaults under the Rookery.¡±


    Maryam licked her lips, gingerly rubbing her wrist where the leather straps had left a red pressure mark.


    ¡°It¡¯s really how they are¡­¡±


    ¡°Made?¡± Captain Yue finished. ¡°Yes. Devils are not a natural race. The first were made by the Antediluvians, though I doubt any of that era are left. The oldest you¡¯re likely to see out there were cast back during the Old Night.¡±


    ¡°What are they?¡± Maryam asked. ¡°I thought they were aether intellects, maybe failed gods.¡±


    ¡°Arguably, they are the very opposite of gods,¡± Yue said. ¡°A god is an aether intellect that seeks to manifest a physical body by feeding on tainted aether. Meanwhile, well - did you see the new devil long?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± she admitted. ¡°I pulled at the tether soon after it was made.¡±


    ¡°Fresh castings are all but mindless, barely cleverer than dogs,¡± the Navigator said. ¡°They gain mindfulness by feeding on tainted aether, and through that process eventually form, well ¨C a makeshift soul, you could say, though not one like ours.¡±


    ¡°Annealing,¡± Maryam said. ¡°That¡¯s what annealing is, how they become immortal.¡±


    Meaning that older devils feeding on something like slaughter were quite literally forging a soul out of the concept. She was most glad Pandemonium remained sealed by the Watch.


    ¡°A devil that annealed will continue to exist in the aether even when its physical body is destroyed,¡± Captain Yue confirmed. ¡°It can be cast anew out of any Infernal Forge as soon as it has finished ¡®swimming¡¯ the aether towards it.¡±


    She paused.


    ¡°It¡¯s one of the reasons the Iscariot Accords ban signatories having any, not that it stops them trying,¡± the Tianxi said. ¡°When we kill Hell¡¯s nobility, the only place we want them coming back is behind the walls of Pandemonium where they¡¯re more trouble to each other than us.¡±


    Maryam made a noise of disgust.


    ¡°Why would anyone want to make devils?¡± she said.


    ¡°You¡¯d be surprised. It was a favorite tactic of the Izcalli during the Succession Wars to cast a dozen devils inside enemy cities to soften them up before an assault,¡± Yue casually said. ¡°They were hardly the only ones to use such means, though certainly the most infamous.¡±


    Casually, as if she were not speaking sheer horror. Even freshly cast, devils would shrug off most blades and have the strength of several men while moving with the deftness of a cat. To let even a handful loose inside a city would mean¡­ Gods. A hot knife through butter.


    ¡°But enough of that,¡± the older Navigator said. ¡°You had long enough in there to try everything, I¡¯d say. How were the results?¡±


    ¡°You were right,¡± Maryam admitted. ¡°My control issues are all but gone when I am inside the layer.¡±


    Captain Yue smiled triumphantly, reaching for her little book. The other woman¡¯s latest theory had been thus: if Maryam could signify properly when inside a layer, then the source of her problems was not internal. After all you could only bring your own soul into a layer, nothing else.


    ¡°Which means the source of the disconnect is not within you,¡± she said. ¡°We are dealing either with some sort of aetheric parasite or a fascinatingly esoteric turn of conceptual symmetry.¡±


    The latter was what aetheric machines ran on, and the Izvorica could not ever remember a single instance where the concept being brought up in conjunction with a living being had been a good thing.


    ¡°I can hold our brigade plaque without burning,¡± Maryam pointed out. ¡°I can¡¯t be possessed.¡±


    ¡°The Judas test isn¡¯t perfect,¡± Yue dismissively replied. ¡°But I don¡¯t mean that sort of parasite, anyhow. More likely some sort of entity glommed onto your presence in the aether and feeds exclusively off your emanations, which would make it much harder for you to control your logos and thus signify.¡±


    That was¡­ worrying credible, Maryam admitted to herself.


    ¡°The creature wearing my face,¡± she said. ¡°That¡¯s what you think it is.¡±


    ¡°Exclusive feeding would explain why it took your shape,¡± Yue pointed out. ¡°It would suck at the marrow of strong emotions you emanate in the aether, deriving from them similar wants and desires to you but¡­ jagged. Without context.¡±


    Meaning dangerous, but that was not what the Izvorica honed in on as she sat up on the table.


    ¡°Strong emotions,¡± Maryam repeated. ¡°Like fear.¡±


    Yue grinned, having laid out that breadcrumb on purpose.


    ¡°Yes. If I am right, Scholomance spat you out because it incited fear in you but kept finding the plate empty when trying to feed,¡± the Tianxi said, sounding amused. ¡°Some lesser entity kept slurping up your fear before it reached the school¡¯s metaphorical mouth, which must have been quite galling.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll excuse me if I do not find that as hilarious as you,¡± Maryam said through gritted teeth.


    ¡°Probably for the best,¡± Yue mused. ¡°It might feed on that too.¡±


    Her jaw clenched until her teeth ached.


    ¡°How do I get rid of it?¡± she asked. ¡°It¡¯s the key to fixing all my problems.¡±


    ¡°That is difficult to say,¡± Captain Yue replied. ¡°With a few guildsmen helping weave the net I might be able to trap and kill it, but there is no telling what consequences that would have for you. It would be prudent to find out exactly what manner of entity it is first, as well as the nature of its ties to you.¡±


    She could already tell where this was going.


    ¡°You have tests,¡± Maryam said.


    ¡°Oh yes,¡± Yue grinned. ¡°And most of them have even been done on humans before!¡±


    She had to be doing that on purpose, the Izvorica thought. No one could be so genuinely terrible at offering reassurance.


    ¡°Not today,¡± she said, rolling her shoulder. ¡°I have some brigade business to attend to.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s still early,¡± the Tianxi said. ¡°And some of them can be run rather quickly, if you¡¯re willing to forego painkillers to-¡±


    ¡°Urgent business,¡± Maryam hastily said.


    The other Navigator studied her a moment.


    ¡°Did you encounter someone in the layer?¡± she asked. ¡°I only received word minutes before you returned.¡±


    Maryam frowned. Yue could not be referring to Tristan, then.


    ¡°I¡¯ve no idea what you mean,¡± she said.


    ¡°Oh?¡± Captain Yue said. ¡°That¡¯s even more interesting.¡±


    When in that kind of a mood, getting anything out of the other woman was like pulling teeth. Best not to even try.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be taking my leave,¡± Maryam said. ¡°There is no need for an escort at this hour.¡±


    ¡°Heading back to your hideout?¡± Yue said. ¡°I¡¯d recommend swinging by the hospital first.¡±


    Maryam¡¯s brow rose and she looked herself up and down. She saw no wound and felt only somewhat tired. She had not stayed in the Landing for long.


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve received word your captain is there,¡± the Tianxi said. ¡°I expect she will be remaining there, too, until a decision has been made over the four murders she¡¯s accused of committing.¡±


    The what now?


    --


    The hospital looked like an Orthodoxy temple, only stretched out: it was one large, squat tower and a rectangular hall with a few anterooms sprouting on either side.


    The Orthodoxy wasn¡¯t really a proper faith, the way Maryam saw it, even if most mornaric believed otherwise. They worshipped many gods and dedicated temples to them, just like back home, but most Orthodoxy temples were¡­ renthouses for the divine. A great hall with niches for a hundred small gods, with a larger shrine in the back not for any patron god but for the Circle Perpetual.


    Orthodoxy priests could dedicate themselves to any god, but many instead pledged themselves to the Circle itself. They talked of themselves as intercessors with the divine, giving alms and guidance to the living so they might better live until the next spin of the wheel. It was creepy, she¡¯d always thought, as if the priests back home had sworn themselves to the Nav instead of the gods governing it.


    And since the Circle couldn¡¯t talk back when prayed to, talking was done in its name. Tianxia and Imperial Someshwar had been fighting for centuries over which priesthood had been ordained to oversee the wheel of souls and which was vile, heretical usurpers abusing a sacred office for political gain.


    Maryam had been amused to learn that the Tianxi claim to be the new heart of the Orthodoxy ¨C the old one now being a hollow nightmare down in Old Liergan ¨C was actually inherited from the Kingdom of Cathay, which was very philosophically awkward for the modern Republics to explain. No that the Someshwar¡¯s rival claim, which was based on their being the Third Empire, held up all that much better under scrutiny. The distinct lack of the Imperial Someshwar ruling the world was something of a hindrance to the argument.


    Still, while the hospital somewhat had the look of an Orthodoxy temple there were differences.


    For one there were blackcloak guards at every entrance, alert and armed to the teeth, and even a few atop the flat roof topping the main hall. The other difference was subtler, at least for someone who did not have a signifier¡¯s senses. Maryam did not even have to send out her nav to be able to taste the power wafting around here: these were hallowed grounds, dedicated to the god dwelling within. Already uncomfortable with the weight in the air, she put a spring to her step until the guards hailed her.


    ¡°Plaque,¡± an Izcalli sergeant demanded.


    She presented it and was frowned at. Considering how much that gaze lingered on her face, even hooded as it was, she knew why. After a moment it was returned.


    ¡°I am looking for Captain Song Ren of the Thirteenth Brigade,¡± Maryam said.


    ¡°Ask the gray robes,¡± the watchman shrugged. ¡°We don¡¯t keep track of patients.¡±


    They parted for her to pass through the open gates, ushering her into the great hall.


    It was, she would admit, quite impressive. There must have been at least a hundred beds in here, put up against the walls at regular intervals so a corridor of room for gray-robed healers to move through was maintained. Lamps burned pale and bright, almost harsh to the eye, while the walls and floor had been covered with impeccably clean white lime. There were stairs leading to a second level, but her eyes were drawn to the silver door leading to the squat tower at the end of the hall.


    Lady Knit¡¯s shrine, no doubt. The scent permeating the aether here came from there, carried by the lazy currents of the Sea of Shapes.


    One of the gray robes, a smiling dark-skinned man in his early thirties, waited patiently behind a tall writing desk for her to cease staring. Maryam cleared her throat with mild embarrassment.


    ¡°Oh, there¡¯s no need for that,¡± he said. ¡°It is quite the sight, isn¡¯t it? The limework was done just weeks before students began to arrive.¡±


    ¡°It is larger than I anticipated,¡± she acknowledged.


    And mostly empty. Save for the gray-robed attendants, there were barely a handful of people filling beds.


    ¡°It used to be a temple, but it was turned into a plague house after the Watch took the island so it was the natural choice for a healing ward when Scholomance opened again,¡± the friendly man said.


    A pause.


    ¡°You seem in fine health, so how might I assist you?¡±


    ¡°I am looking for Captain Song Ren,¡± Maryam said.


    ¡°Ah,¡± he said. ¡°Halfway down the hall, to the left. She is in one of the annexes and her door should be easy to recognize: it is the only one with guards. Are you from the Thirteenth Brigade as well?¡±


    Maryam¡¯s brow rose and she nodded. She offered up her plaque as proof, though the man barely glanced at it before leaning in and pitching his voice lower.


    ¡°She is under house arrest until the matter that saw her wounded is resolved,¡± he said. ¡°Garrison officers have already been in twice and now your brigade¡¯s patron is with her.¡±


    ¡°Are her wounds bad?¡± Maryam asked.


    ¡°I cannot share details even with a member of her brigade,¡± the man said, ¡°but she is not currently in danger of dying.¡±


    Maryam thanked him, receiving another smile, and hurried down the central lane. As the gray robe had said, it was hard to miss the door: two watchmen stood by it, though they looked bored and half asleep. A far cry from those outside. She was allowed in after showing her plaque a third time and being asked her name, one of them rousing himself to mark it down.


    The ¡®annex¡¯ was a spacious room, sparsely furnished but with a large and clean bed on which Song was resting in a nest of pillows while Captain Wen Duan sat on one of the chairs to her right. Both turned when she entered, the guards closing the door behind her, and Maryam froze at the sight of Song. Bruised cheeks, a bandage around her throat and more around her right hand. That same arm was in a sling and she looked like she had bandages under the loose white shirt they¡¯d made her wear.


    Song Ren looked like she had been savagely beaten.


    ¡°Gods,¡± Maryam choked out. ¡°They-¡±


    ¡°It looks worse than it is,¡± Song interrupted, sounding almost ashamed. ¡°The arm is not broken and the fingers are only sprained. The rest is bruises.¡±


    ¡°And a concussion,¡± Wen harshly said. ¡°Which is lucky. If the angle had been just a little different they could have dented your skull.¡±


    She¡¯d not noticed at first glance, only paying the man so much attention, but now Maryam could see it. It was in the way his eyes were tight under the golden spectacles, the cast of his jaw. Even the almost jerky way he moved.


    Wen Duan was furious.


    ¡°What happened?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Sit,¡± Song tiredly said. ¡°I¡¯ll tell you everything.¡±


    It was a sordid tale. Maryam had assumed that Professor Kang was holding Song back to berate her and felt guilty at leaving her companion behind, but the man¡¯s dismissal had been too plain to argue with. Now that she knew it had been to enable an ambush, that the bastard had schemed with Jigong students to murder someone in his charge, that decision stuck in her throat like a chicken bone. She should have fought harder to stay, done something.


    Song laid out in a distant, clinical tone how she killed one of her ambushers and wounded another before being overwhelmed. How they beat her down and moved her to another room so they could take their time torturing her before the execution without anyone stumbling onto them. How she was then saved at the last moment by Scholomance¡¯s intervention.


    ¡°It must have been some sort of spirit,¡± Song said. ¡°It made them turn on each other, so I was able to finish off the last. I found their roseless compass and made my way out until I stumbled across guards near the front gates.¡±


    Wen¡¯s face might as well have been made of stone.


    ¡°She is under house arrest, but I will have that lifted by the end of the day,¡± he said. ¡°Not that she¡¯ll be going anywhere in her state.¡±


    He cocked an eyebrow at the bruised girl.


    ¡°If you¡¯re willing to submit to truth-telling-¡±


    ¡°I will answer questions presented to me in advance that I agreed to, nothing more or less,¡± Song said.


    ¡°That¡¯ll irritate some, but it¡¯s your right as an enlisted officer,¡± Wen said, sounding almost approving. ¡°This was a clear case of your defending yourself, so I would not expect punishment.¡±


    He hesitated.


    ¡°But,¡± Wen said, and it was a world in a word.


    ¡°It¡¯s already spread by now, hasn¡¯t it?¡± Song quietly asked.


    Maryam grimaced.


    ¡°Captain Yue knew,¡± she said. ¡°She¡¯s the one who suggested I come here.¡±


    ¡°The officers that got you out of Scholomance talked,¡± Wen admitted. ¡°It will be all over the island by the end of the day.¡±


    ¡°My reputation is sunk,¡± Song softly said.


    ¡°You fought against four ambushers and won,¡± Maryam fiercely said. ¡°Anyone who matters will care for that above the rest.¡±


    The Izvorica¡¯s fingers clenched and she turned a hard look on their patron.


    ¡°What about Kang?¡±


    Wen¡¯s jaw clenched.


    ¡°We are thin on proof,¡± the large Tianxi said. ¡°Dismissal is¡­ unlikely. It¡¯s known he singled out Song in class, but that is not a breach of any rules. Merely reprehensible behavior. It is a jump going from that to being the accomplice in a murder plot.¡±


    ¡°So she has to go back to a class taught by a man who tried to get her killed?¡± Maryam hissed. ¡°He¡¯ll just get away with it?¡±


    The man pushed up those golden spectacles, obscuring his eyes for the barest of moments.


    ¡°No,¡± Wen said. ¡°Have no fear of that.¡±


    He pushed himself off the seat, which creaked unkindly at the treatment.


    ¡°The officer tribunal should have appointed an investigator by now,¡± he said. ¡°I need to speak with the garrison and make arrangements. I¡¯ve asked Mandisa to tell Tredegar about this, but I¡¯ve no idea where Abrascal disappeared to.¡±


    ¡°I do,¡± Maryam said. ¡°I¡¯ll handle it.¡±


    ¡°Then I am off,¡± Wen said.


    The large man hesitated at the door, let out a sigh and turned back their way.


    ¡°You did nothing wrong, Song,¡± Wen said. ¡°Don¡¯t let anyone tell you otherwise.¡±


    He walked out without another word, leaving them listening to the silence in his wake.

 Chapter 29

    Maryam stayed, as she would wish for others to stay with her in such circumstances, but it was clear Song was in no chatting mood. She seemed lost in thought, though her face was not as grim as Maryam might have expected.


    Either way it was somewhat tedious to simply sit in silence, so eventually Maryam stirred herself to ask if there was anything she could for Song. Somewhat predictably, her studious captain asked for her writing kit to be fetched along with Theology books for tomorrow and what passed as light reading in the eyes of Song Ren: a fist-thick volume titled ¡®Jewel of the Crown, A Comprehensive History of the Asphodel Rectorate¡¯.


    ¡°That seems like a worse experience than the beating,¡± Maryam told her.


    Song snorted.


    ¡°It is a bit¡­ florid, I¡¯ll admit, but it is the only history I could find that follows Asphodel from Morn¡¯s Arrival to the Century of Sails.¡±


    Maryam doubted even Asphodelans ¨C Asphodelites? - wanted to know so much about the island they lived on, but if the Tianxi wanted to practice the scholarly equivalent of self-flagellation that was on her own head. If nothing else, the volume should help her fall asleep. The signifier headed back to the cottage and packed everything before glancing at the Orrery lights through the window. She grimaced at the sight, only now realizing how late the day was running.


    She¡¯d have time to return to the hospital then head back here in time for supper with Tristan, but not much wiggle room. The cottage was safe and close to Scholomance, but it came at the price of being far from most everything else.


    Her second unpleasant surprise of the day came when she was heading down Templeward Street and ran into someone she would rather have avoided.


    ¡°Maryam,¡± Angharad Tredegar called out, lengthening her stride to catch up. ¡°Please wait a moment.¡±


    Despite the urge to ignore her, Maryam did.


    ¡°Tredegar,¡± she nodded with cool politeness.


    ¡°Is it true that Song was attacked?¡± Tredegar asked.


    To her honor, the dark-skinned woman did not seem to be leaning into the quadruple murder end of the rumors. However low Tredegar¡¯s opinion of their captain at the moment, it was evidently not that low.


    ¡°It is,¡± Maryam said. ¡°She is bedridden, so I am bringing some of her belongings to the hospital.¡±


    ¡°I must accompany you, then,¡± Tredegar said.


    Joy. It would please Song, though, so she¡¯d live with it. And use the free labor that had just presented itself.


    ¡°I could use help carrying the writing kit,¡± Maryam subtly hinted.


    Tredegar promptly volunteered to lug around the wooden box, which had been digging in the Izvorica¡¯s back like a bony elbow for the last quarter hour. She put a spring to her step to see if she could force the Pereduri to rush, but sadly Tredegar¡¯s longer legs and inconvenient physical fitness forced Maryam to slow down a few minutes in so she would not start panting noticeably.


    It was like Captain Totec said ¨C if you¡¯re going to smash a skull, be careful not to drop the stone on your own foot. A lot of the old man¡¯s advice involved cracking skulls, now that Maryam thought of it. Either it was a staple of Izcalli sayings or Totec had gone out of his way to learn all those that mentioned it. Her musings were disrupted by a throat being cleared.


    ¡°Have you had a pleasant week?¡± Angharad Tredegar tried.


    Maryam eyed her skeptically. The dark-skinned woman seemed uncomfortable, almost squirming.


    ¡°We don¡¯t need to talk,¡± Maryam finally said.


    By the look on her face, Tredegar was uncertain whether she should be feeling relieved or insulted. Maryam¡¯s skillful deflection of small talk delivered blessed silence for the rest of the way to the hospital, only for her jaw to tighten once they reached it. That Izcalli watchman from earlier was still at the door and he once more stared at her before frowning down at her plaque for a full ten seconds. He only gestured for her to pass after the other guard got curious.


    Naturally, the man barely even glanced at Tredegar¡¯s plaque before waving her in.


    That little interlude put Maryam in a foul enough mood she did not slow when the Pereduri let out a noise of surprise at the sight of the hospital hall. She kept moving, forcing Tredegar to catch up with the writing kit rattling on her back. At least the second set of guards offered equal indifference while writing their names down, so there was that. The Izvorica had learned the virtues of apathy since crossing the sea: sometimes it was the best you could hope for.


    Maryam had long been disabused of the notion that the Malani were the only ones to look down on pale skin. It took different shapes, different names, claimed different reasons, but she figured the source was all the same. The lands here, Aurager ¨C the First Empire name for the two continents it had ruled, Issa to the south and Serica to the north ¨C knew only darklings to have pale coloring and anything else went against centuries of how they thought the world to be.


    It was simpler to think of the Triglau as less than men, more comfortable, and despite their insistence they were all different mornaric all liked to stare down at the same navel. You could tell, if you listened carefully, just from the way they used the word ¡®Vesper¡¯ when really meaning ¡®Aurager¡¯. Deep down they thought of their corner of the world as the whole of it, and everything that did not neatly fit into that corner was to be despised.


    The sound of the guards closing the door behind them jolted Maryam out of her morosity, back to silver eyes going wide at the sight of them. Song had been awake when they entered, busy staring at the ceiling, and now straightened against the cushions like she had been caught with a hand in the honey jar instead of simply being bored.


    ¡°Ah,¡± Song coughed. ¡°Angharad, I was not expecting you.¡±


    ¡°Sergeant Mandisa told me of the assault,¡± the noblewoman solemnly replied. ¡°I am glad to see your wounds appear minor.¡±


    Tredegar¡¯s eyes lingered on the bruised cheeks, her jaw clenching at the sight. There, at least, Maryam shared an opinion with her.


    ¡°Please, take a seat,¡± Song invited her. ¡°You too Maryam.¡±


    The writing kit was set aside, the books piled up on the bedside table and Maryam paid middling attention to the prompted second recounting of the ambush and how Song had survived it. Again the Tianxi remained vague on the nature of the creature Scholomance had guided into the fight, though it did not sound a devil so it must be some sort of lemure.


    ¡°They were from different cabals, I am almost certain of that,¡± Song was saying, answering Tredegar¡¯s question. ¡°The sole common thread was roots in Jigong.¡±


    ¡°Empty seats tomorrow should make it plain which brigade they belonged to,¡± the Pereduri said. ¡°That will make obtaining reparations straightforward.¡±


    Na?ve, that.


    ¡°It won¡¯t work like that,¡± Maryam said.


    Eyes went to her. She cleared her throat, not having expected the attention.


    ¡°This isn¡¯t a student squabble,¡± she said. ¡°The garrison got involved, there is an official investigation and Captain Wen even mentioned a tribunal. It¡¯s Watch business now, not some Scholomance scuffle ¨C the hammer¡¯s going to come down hard on everyone even slightly involved.¡±


    ¡°The Watch has been offhanded in such matters so far,¡± Tredegar pointed out.


    ¡°They gave us only three rules when we came off that boat,¡± Maryam replied. ¡°If they do not strictly enforce those few lines in the sand, it will be chaos.¡±


    Tredegar hesitated, then nodded in acknowledgement of the point. Song was Song, and therefore worried mostly of how fighting off an ambush would mar her record, but their captain wasn¡¯t going to be the one the mud was splashed on here. Every captain who¡¯d had a cabalist plot the murder of another student under their nose without noticing a thing was going to lose some feathers for it, as were their brigade patrons.


    Normally that would have prompted fears of retaliation, but this once Maryam was inclined to believe the lot of them would be avoiding the Thirteenth like the plague for the foreseeable future. Being caught doing anything akin to doubling down on attacking Song might very well see repeat offenders killed. While the Watch tended to look the other way for small or first offences, its take on third chances was being lined up against the wall and shot.


    ¡°Maryam is correct that this cannot be considered a personal matter any longer,¡± Song said. ¡°Not with the garrison involved. I expect the Watch will see justice done on my behalf.¡±


    Ah, clever girl. Now continuing on the warpath would mean Tredegar was questioning the honor of the Watch itself, which she would be very careful about doing. She¡¯d keep her saber sheathed until the investigation was finished, which no doubt was Song had been after by phrasing it that way. It was the right choice: much as Maryam would enjoy watching Angharad Tredegar cut down everyone involved, it would make them the aggressors instead of the aggressed. If you wanted the king to chasten your enemies for raiding your cattle, you couldn¡¯t raid their cattle right back.


    Alas, now that Song and Tredegar were seated in the same room there was no more avoiding idle conversation. They tore into pleasantries with ferocious appetite, moving on from the weather to class readings and what this week¡¯s Warfare class might be like. Though Maryam considered this social equivalent of having your fingernails slowly pulled out by a disinterested torturer, she took some comfort in how Tredegar was growing more and more uncomfortable as time went on.


    Was the noblewoman failing to find a polite way to excuse herself? No, Maryam eventually decided. She was not glancing at the door or trying to end the talk. What she was doing was shuffle like someone whose seat was aflame. Hesitating. And while Maryam took perverse pleasure into feeding the conversation to stretch this out ¨C have you done the Saga readings yet, very interesting stuff, did you know the Kingdom of Tariac existed before Izcalli? ¨C Song had also noticed and the Tianxi was soft.


    ¡°You have something you want to say, Angharad,¡± Song said. ¡°It seems to be weighing on you.¡±


    Tredegar hesitated.


    ¡°The discussion need not happen today,¡± she said.


    Ah, so it was bad and she did not want to add misery to Song¡¯s already miserable day. For once this was eminently sensible and Maryam sympathized, but Tredegar had pulled on the wrong lever. She had just implicitly pitied Song Ren, the equivalent of tossing a torch inside a blackpowder depot.


    ¡°That is not necessary,¡± Song said, a tad coldly. ¡°Speak your mind, Angharad.¡±


    It would have been eminently petty to use such a charged moment to pick on Tredegar.


    ¡°Yes, Angharad, do speak your mind,¡± Maryam pleasantly smiled.


    She was only human, it wasn¡¯t her fault. Finding no ally in her quest not to further ruin everyone¡¯s day, Tredegar sighed and took a moment to firm her resolve, squaring her shoulders.


    ¡°I have come across information about the death of Isabel Ruesta,¡± she said.


    That infanzona girl from the Dominion? Tristan had called her poison, though one that the Cerdan brothers had swallowed so the pair had been quite cordial. There had been no deep relation there, though. She¡¯d heard much more of the girl from Song, who had used a solid half of their secret meetings to rant on the subject.


    ¡°Have you?¡± Song mildly replied.


    The Izvorica studied her, brow creasing. It was Song¡¯s fighting face she was looking at, which boded ill for the rest of this conversation.


    ¡°Isabel was shot from behind,¡± the noblewoman flatly said. ¡°And from the stairs. Only two stood there: Lady Ferranda Villazur and yourself.¡±


    Maryam bit the inside of her cheek. Well now, that sounded rather close to an accusation. She eyed Song again, genuinely curious. Had she really shot the Ruesta girl? Certainly she had fumed about the infanzona when it was just the two of them, how dear Isabel had sunk her hooks in Tredegar and now kept complicating everything, but Song was not one to kill unless she felt she had good reason.


    ¡°You are leading to a question,¡± Song said. ¡°Ask it.¡±


    ¡°Did you kill Isabel Ruesta?¡± Tredegar bluntly asked.


    The silver-eyed Tianxi watched the other woman for a long moment, then sighed.


    ¡°Let us say that I did,¡± Song said. ¡°I would have broken no oath by pulling that trigger.¡±


    Maryam almost whistled, but she was wary of dipping even so light a toe into this conversation ¨C they were a hair¡¯s breadth away from each other¡¯s throat, it would not take much to turn that tension on her instead. A full three beats of silence passed, the two matching stares.


    ¡°That is not untrue,¡± Tredegar finally replied, tone clipped. ¡°After the Trial of Ruins, the truce was not explicitly established again. And your reasons for such an act?¡±


    Song cocked her head to the side.


    ¡°Would they matter?¡±


    Angharad Tredegar breathed in deeply.


    ¡°No,¡± she admitted. ¡°They would not.¡±


    She stiffly rose from her seat.


    ¡°I cannot be under the command of someone who slew an ally,¡± Tredegar said. ¡°I will remain part of the Thirteenth in name until the month has ended, but transfer to another brigade after that.¡±


    Maryam stilled. She had not truly expected Tredegar had it in her to walk out. To complain and bargain and settle, yes, but leave? Not after the Dominion. But then they were not the only brigade to come out of the Dominion of Lost Things were they? She had forgot that, having rubbed elbows with them so little.


    ¡°An appreciated courtesy,¡± Song evenly replied.


    It took a second for Maryam to catch up there, to find said courtesy. Leaving at the beginning of next month gave the Thirteenth a full four weeks to find Tredegar¡¯s replacement. If Tristan returns, Maryam suddenly thought. She was not as sure of that as she would have been minutes ago. She¡¯d not believed Tredegar would leave either, but now that the door was open¡­ Her stomach clenched. Just as she began to find her footing on Tolomontera, the ground turned to sand again.


    ¡°I would not consider you an enemy,¡± Tredegar said, ¡°but neither will I call you friend. May you fare well, Song Ren.¡±


    The Tianxi¡¯s face was a blank mask. Tredegar turned towards Maryam, hesitating over what to say, so the Izvorica spared her the trouble.


    ¡°Door¡¯s behind you,¡± she said with a light wave. ¡°Don¡¯t let it hit you on the way out.¡±


    Maryam had been most amused the first time she heard the sentence ¡®taking the high road¡¯. In her experience, the high road was the one you took to shoot at Malani patrols from behind before disappearing into the crags.


    Tredegar¡¯s face tightened.


    ¡°Goodbye, Maryam Khaimov,¡± she forced out.


    Maryam only cocked an eyebrow. The noblewoman spared them a stilted nod, then marched out of the room like it was a parade floor. Song stayed still as a statue, so the Izvorica gave her the courtesy she knew the other woman wanted instead of the one that was her instinct to give.


    She stared at the door in silence, pretending she could not hear Song putting her composure back together one piece at a time.


    "An eventful day,¡± Song finally said.


    The signal that she had glued enough of a mask together that Maryam was allowed to look again.


    ¡°A real Dominion classic,¡± she replied, then paused.


    Song cocked an eyebrow. It should have been cooly inquisitive, but the Izvorica could see the cracks. The only word for it was fragile.


    ¡°Did you pull the trigger?¡± Maryam asked.


    They both knew she would not particularly care if the Tianxi had, beyond some curiosity as to what Ruesta had done to warrant it.


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter,¡± Song said, looking away.


    ¡°Given how much Malani care about oaths, I would argue otherwise,¡± she said. ¡°I won¡¯t say Tredegar would have stayed on if you swore otherwise, but it would have muddled the waters.¡±


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter,¡± Song repeated. ¡°She hesitated to ask, Maryam.¡±


    Her brow rose.


    ¡°And?¡±


    ¡°Pity stayed her hand, the desire not to darken a dark day,¡± Song said. ¡°The bedrock of that is the belief that the result would be dark, that I pulled that trigger. Angharad already believed me guilty, so all protestations otherwise would have achieved was mark me a liar in her eyes.¡±


    Maryam frowned.


    ¡°Maybe,¡± she said. ¡°But you good as confessed.¡±


    ¡°Had I not, she would have been honor-bound to consider both possibilities,¡± Song tiredly replied. ¡°And to treat them equally, regardless of her beliefs. That would mean¡­¡±


    ¡°No joining the Thirty-First,¡± Maryam muttered. ¡°Because Ferranda¡¯s the other possibility.¡±


    She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth.


    ¡°Still taking care of her even as she leaves,¡± the Izvorica complained.


    But there was no heat in it. It was, in truth, somewhat pleasing to see that Song would continue to extend a warding hand even to those no longer under her. Regardless of whether that help was deserved or not.


    ¡°Better she come under Ferranda than be snatched up by someone less scrupulous,¡± Song said.


    Maryam cocked her head to side.


    ¡°That and Ferranda will feel like she owes you, so you might still be able to rely on that swordarm in a pinch,¡± she said.


    The lack of denial was telling.


    ¡°Charity need not mean naivety,¡± Song simply replied.


    She leaned back into the pillows, bruised and exhausted.


    ¡°You will be late for supper with Tristan if you do not leave soon,¡± Song said. ¡°Please convey to him I request a meeting at his earliest convenience.¡±


    The bit about being late was true, though that was now why she said it. Maryam did not fight the dismissal. She left, and let Song lick her wounds with no one looking.


    --


    There were lights inside the cottage when she arrived, and the scent of something being cooked wafted out when she opened the door.


    ¡°In the kitchen,¡± Tristan called out.


    The smell was almost enough to make her drool: rice, fried vegetables and was that garlic? She found Tristan in the kitchen, as advertised, sleeves pulled up and wearing a leather apron as he stirred the insides of a large pan. He glanced back as she slumped into a seat, humming as he set down his long wooden spoon to grab a jug and a cup from the counter. He set both down on the kitchen table before her.


    ¡°I expect that¡¯s not wine,¡± Maryam said.


    She had never seen him touch a drink unless it would make him stand out to refuse, and even then he only sipped.


    ¡°Pear juice,¡± he said. ¡°Fresh from the harbor.¡±


    ¡°Sounds expensive,¡± she mused.


    ¡°I expect it would have been,¡± he said.


    She squinted at him, then down at his chest, then back up to his face.


    ¡°I don¡¯t recall us having that apron either,¡± Maryam noted.


    ¡°The key to getting a good price was the just stealing it,¡± he solemnly revealed.


    She snorted and helped herself to the jug of pear juice, pulling out the cork and taking a sniff. Like it was fresh out of the orchard. A lovely treat, she thought as she poured herself a cup. Tristan returned to his pan, but by the time she was halfway through her cup he¡¯d taken it off the fire and was pushing two generous portions off onto plates. It looked delicious, Maryam thought ¨C rice, peas and carrots made into an almost golden bowl seasoned with onions and garlic.


    ¡°It¡¯s better with salt,¡± Tristan told her as he set down the plates, ¡°but season as you will.¡±


    He returned with their salt pot and a set of utensils, sliding into the seat across from hers. Maryam shoveled a mouthful in and let out a noise that might have made a man less utterly disinterested in sex blush.


    ¡°Itsh goodsh,¡± she complimented.


    He rolled his eyes.


    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    ¡°You know, when you told me to return for supper I did not expect to be the one doing the cooking.¡±


    Maryam swallowed.


    ¡°I would never deprive you from the familiar comfort of being wrong,¡± she said.


    ¡°You¡¯re all heart, Khaimov,¡± he drily replied.


    ¡°Thathsh mee,¡± she happily said.


    After so much walking around and a dip in a layer, she was ravenously hungry. She¡¯d polished off most of her plate by the time he was only halfway done with his, and Tristan usually tended to eat the fastest of the Thirteenth. By unspoken accord they put off the talk until their bellies were full, and as the Sacromontan finished the last of his rice Maryam put on a pot of tea. With how full she was, if she didn¡¯t get some in her she might fall asleep at the table.


    She poured them both cups of Someshwari leaf, though she knew he was unlikely to finish his so she left it half empty.


    ¡°Has the leviathan been sated?¡± Tristan teased.


    ¡°The leviathan would have liked dessert,¡± Maryam said, raising her chin, ¡°but she will pardon the lack.¡±


    ¡°If the leviathan really wants those candied pistachios, she can shell out the coin for them herself,¡± he drawled.


    ¡°Solid pun,¡± she praised.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been sitting on it for days,¡± he confessed.


    Which was, she supposed, one approach to the matter.


    ¡°You might have been able to use it earlier,¡± Maryam casually said, ¡°had we seen more of each other.¡±


    His face tightened the slightest bit, then she watched as he forced himself to breathe out. He also killed an irritated glance to his left, meaning his goddess was likely making fun of him. She did that sometimes, when it was just the two of them. Maryam had been itching to hear it for weeks, but Tristan refused to convey messages either way. He claimed he¡¯d be stuck playing interpreter forever if he started, which honesty compelled Maryam to admit was probably true.


    ¡°The teacher I sought was tucked away in a location that can only be accessed during hours overlapping with morning class,¡± Tristan said. ¡°And it was nowhere near here to boot, so I slept out in Scraptown.¡±


    The name begged a question, which was absolutely he¡¯d dangled it, but she bit at the bait and asked anyway. Though he stayed somewhat vague on details, Tristan laid out his adventures of the last few days and the general area they¡¯d taken place in. Those other Masks, she thought, sounded like a bunch of little assholes. Except that Silumko fellow, who unlike her own friend had displayed the rare good sense not to go crawling through strange layers.


    Did the others also follow nice men down dark alleys when written signs told them to?


    Tristan was usually wiser than that, which tugged at her unpleasantly. The thief only grew reckless when he believed himself cornered, and no matter how airily he talked of crossing the layer he had to know there had been risks. It was unlike him to take them, as was spending the amount of coin he must have to obtain the equipment he used in his story.


    Poison boxes were not exactly common market fare, for one.


    ¡°So the only way in and out of the tower is through the Landing?¡± she asked.


    Lucifer¡¯s Landing was the thinnest of the layers around the island, according to Captain Yue, but that hardly meant it was without dangers.


    ¡°I think there might have been a physical entrance once, but it seems gone,¡± Tristan said. ¡°Either way, the shortcut will rid me of much the travel time. I only need to pass through an underground shrine south of the Nettlewood.¡±


    ¡°Congratulations,¡± Maryam said. ¡°You have both your Mask teachers for the year, sounds like.¡±


    ¡°Barring abduction, my stay at Scholomance is secure,¡± he agreed.


    He¡¯d said that casually, Maryam thought, and not in a ¡®too casual¡¯ sort of way. Unthinking, and so in a way as honest as Tristan got. And in that small sentence was, she thought, the thread to pull at. The reason he¡¯d taken so many risks, and why she would wager he had no intention of sleeping at the cottage tonight. My stay at Scholomance is secure. Maryam sipped at her tea and marshalled her thoughts.


    ¡°Did I ever tell you how I became a signifier?¡± she asked.


    He cocked his head to the side.


    ¡°I¡¯d assumed your mother chose you as her apprentice,¡± Tristan said.


    ¡°That¡¯s not wrong,¡± she said, ¡°but it¡¯s not right either.¡±


    Mother had certainly never believed there was a choice to make, but Maryam had known even as a girl that the Craft was not something you could be forced into. An unwilling or halfhearted practitioner was a disaster in the making.


    ¡°I was born with the talent, but I didn¡¯t have to become someone who practiced the Craft,¡± she said. ¡°I could have been taught just enough to not hurt myself and left to walk a different path.¡±


    Practitioners had a term for those who made that choice, tup, which meant ¡®dull¡¯ and not in a complimentary way. It would have been a blow to her mother¡¯s reputation for Maryam to refuse the Craft, enough that she would likely have tried for a second child with Father.


    ¡°So it was your choice,¡± Tristan said, sounding almost surprised.


    She could understand why. There was power in wielding the Gloam, but also peril. And in these lands across the sea, the Navigators had gathered all the esteem of such a profession onto themselves ¨C those who wielded Gloam without being guildsmen were seen as halfway charlatans.


    ¡°My childhood was¡­ complicated,¡± Maryam admitted. ¡°My mother was my father¡¯s tenth wife.¡±


    He choked.


    ¡°That seems perhaps overly ambitious,¡± Tristan tried. ¡°How would a single man even have hours enough for ten wives?¡±


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t a love match, it¡¯s not like they were joined at the hip,¡± she said, rolling her eyes. ¡°After Mother became pregnant they only met a few times a year.¡±


    ¡°An alliance match, then?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Something like that,¡± Maryam said. ¡°Mother was the youngest member of the Ninefold Nine in a century, but she came from nothing. She needed backing. Father, well, he wanted the prestige of so famous a wife and a scary stick to shake at his trade rivals. It was a pleasing arrangement for both.¡±


    She had heard marriage was used to make alliances in Sacromonte as well, though strangely only one spouse at a time. That seemed odd to her. If marrying for advantage, why stop at one? It was rare for a ruler to need to tie only a single ally by blood.


    ¡°And the Ninefold Nine were¡­¡±


    ¡°The society that rules over those who practice the Craft among the Izvorica,¡± Maryam said, then grimaced. ¡°Ruled, anyway. Anyone who wants to learn the Craft has to be initiated, and from that number eighty-one souls are elected to decide which practices are outlawed and serve as a tribunal over practitioners who commit crimes. It is a great honor.¡±


    Tristan¡¯s eyes narrowed as he parsed through that.


    ¡°So within your father¡¯s house, your mother would have been too strong to ignore but too weak to ward off the other wives,¡± he resumed.


    That was¡­ distressingly close to the reality of it, Maryam thought. Ever sharp, Tristan. Some of the other mothers had been born to landowners or the wealthy traders, and while they had feared Mother¡¯s strength in the Craft they¡¯d had weapons of their own to wield. That and Mother¡¯s power had not always been an advantage ¨C sicknesses and accidents had been blamed on her ¡®curses¡¯ quite often, when Maryam was young. She nodded.


    ¡°It was not clear where I stood when compared to the other children,¡± she said. ¡°And several were close to me in age.¡±


    She did not need to tell Tristan what kind of nastiness that would bring about.


    ¡°They were not kind in our childish arguments, and neither was I,¡± Maryam said. ¡°Someone almost lost an eye. In the end, Mother and I were made to live away from the others.¡±


    ¡°I cannot tell if that is the mark of a victory or defeat,¡± Tristan noted.


    Maryam shrugged. Looking back, she thought it might be a little of both.


    ¡°As a girl, it felt like the latter,¡± she said. ¡°Like my own father had cast me out.¡±


    ¡°So you turned to your mother instead, and with her the Craft,¡± Tristan said.


    She nodded.


    ¡°Years later, I learned the separation had been meant to stand for a few seasons only,¡± Maryam told him. ¡°Until tempers had cooled. Come the following spring I was to have lessons along with my siblings closest in age, to foster ties.¡±


    She sighed.


    ¡°Only I had chosen the Craft by then,¡± Maryam said. ¡°My lessons were my mother alone, and it would have been unsafe for a young practitioner to sleep under the same roof as others. We stayed away.¡±


    She shrugged.


    ¡°As for my siblings, from then on I spoke to them only a few times a year at feasts and never knew any of them beyond courtesies,¡± she said. ¡°They were strangers.¡±


    Maryam sipped at her tea, gone from nearly scalding to barely warm. Her lips were dry, it was pleasing to wet them.


    ¡°It was not something I grieved,¡± she admitted. ¡°But now that they are dead, I look back on those children¡¯s arguments and they feel¡­ petty. A small thing, compared to the possibilities they cost us.¡±


    Gray eyes studied her.


    ¡°Ah,¡± he said.


    ¡°Ah?¡±


    ¡°Ah,¡± he repeated.


    She waited, but he said nothing else.


    ¡°I expected more,¡± Maryam admitted.


    He sighed.


    ¡°I like learning about you,¡± Tristan said. ¡°It ¨C we know each other, I think, or at least understand each other. But stories like this fill the painting, and I enjoy that as well.¡±


    ¡°But?¡± Maryam said.


    ¡°When is a gift not a gift?¡± he asked. ¡°When it is a tool.¡±


    The blue-eyed woman winced.


    ¡°That was not a recounting of your childhood, that was you asking me to let the matters with Song go.¡±


    Ever sharp, Tristan. Even when it was inconvenient.


    ¡°Not let go,¡± Maryam laid out. ¡°Only to hear her out. She asks for a meeting. And there is a situation that-¡±


    ¡°The quadruple murder, yes,¡± Tristan mildly interrupted. ¡°Jigong students that saw an opening, I imagine?¡±


    Maryam hesitated a moment, then nodded. There was no point in denying it.


    ¡°I must be a potent curse indeed, to continue endangering her even when on the other side of the city,¡± the thief scathingly said.


    The Izvorica¡¯s jaw clenched.


    ¡°She almost died, Tristan.¡±


    ¡°So did I, after we followed her into the fucking terror pit,¡± he sharply replied. ¡°That did not stop her from coming after me with everything short of a knife.¡±


    ¡°Which she regrets,¡± Maryam stressed. ¡°And wants to apologize for.¡±


    ¡°Oh, come off it,¡± the thief scorned. ¡°The brigade fell apart and now she had a close call so suddenly regrets grow in the garden of Song? That¡¯s convenient.¡±


    ¡°She genuinely regrets how she acted that night, Tristan,¡± Maryam said. ¡°I do not say this to play peacemaker ¨C I truly believe it.¡±


    Maybe not entirely for the right reasons, but Song did regret it.


    ¡°She regrets slipping up,¡± Tristan corrected. ¡°Because it was beneath her, because it cost her. But we all had a look at what lies under the politeness, that night, and I am not going to pretend otherwise because she makes a few stilted apologies.¡±


    That was¡­ not untrue, but incomplete. And somewhat unkind.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think you understand what her situation is,¡± Maryam said. ¡°She-¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t care,¡± Tristan honestly replied. ¡°About her reasons or why she¡¯s the way she is. She is not my friend, Maryam. I spoke in anger that night, but I don¡¯t think I was wrong.¡±


    He leaned in.


    ¡°I am tired of her walking around peering at everyone¡¯s secrets, reading our contracts and spying on our gods, while even acknowledging that she¡¯s fucking doing it is somehow a line too far,¡± Tristan bit out. ¡°She commands and demands with eye to her personal advance and nothing else. I might be able to forgive that, if at least we were going from victory to victory, but our record is a pit.¡±


    ¡°We are two weeks into the year,¡± Maryam said. ¡°And I do not blame you for it, but you have to know some of those troubles followed you to the Thirteenth.¡±


    This was slipping through her fingers, damn it. She had not wanted to have to accuse him, anything that would have her ¡®choosing¡¯ Song, but she was being forced to turn after turn.


    ¡°Just as troubles followed her,¡± Tristan countered. ¡°That was the nature of the arrangement, mutual protection. For that purpose she tolerated me and I tolerated her. There is no deeper kinship there, Maryam. I owe her nothing.¡±


    Her fingers clenched.


    ¡°I¡¯m not asking you to forgive her,¡± Maryam said. ¡°I¡¯m asking you to hear her out.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡± Tristan bluntly asked.


    She blinked.


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Why are you always cleaning up behind her?¡± he challenged.


    ¡°She would do this in person if she was not bedridden,¡± Maryam said. ¡°I only-¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re being obtuse,¡± he said. ¡°Why are you going out on a limb on her behalf, when you were angry with her that night as well? Not like I was, perhaps, but you were. I could tell.¡±


    She had been angry, he wasn¡¯t wrong about that. That Song had not said a word when Tredegar called her useless, that she¡¯d not said a word when the Pereduri phrased their older and deeper ties involving knowledge of a curse she helped manage as somehow an insult. Mostly she had been angry that Song kept bending over backwards to the other woman while the rest of them had to work for what they got. Yet these had not been deep cuts, not like Song and Tristan dealt each other.


    And knowing that Song was trying, to mend things and to understand, had restored some of her faith in what the Thirteenth could still be.


    ¡°She¡¯s my friend and she¡¯s in pain,¡± Maryam quietly said.


    His face closed.


    ¡°Pity is not a plan,¡± Tristan said, and his words had someone else¡¯s cadence to them.


    ¡°You are angry, and have reason to be,¡± Maryam said. ¡°Can you not also concede that she had reason to be angry with you?¡±


    A moment passed.


    ¡°I could,¡± he admitted. ¡°But I look into myself, Maryam, and all I find is a question: why should I bother?¡±


    ¡°Because it¡¯s the only way the Thirteenth will keep,¡± she hissed out angrily. ¡°And you just¡­¡±


    Her fists clenched. Silence stretched out between them.


    ¡°Tredegar left, didn¡¯t she?¡± Tristan finally said. ¡°You sound too raw.¡±


    ¡°Just before I came here,¡± Maryam confessed.


    ¡°Unexpected,¡± he admitted, ¡°but I can¡¯t say it moves the needle for me. You know how it goes with rats and sinking ships.¡±


    ¡°So that¡¯s what it comes down to?¡± she bitterly asked. ¡°I must choose one of you and leave the other one behind.¡±


    He raised an eyebrow.


    ¡°Will I somehow become a stranger if we are not in the same brigade?¡± Tristan challenged. ¡°Stick with Song, if you want to stake your chances at Scholomance on pity instead of sense - I¡¯ll not be pleased at the choice, but neither will I disappear.¡±


    ¡°You sound like your decision is already made,¡± Maryam said.


    ¡°I do not think it impossible to join another brigade,¡± Tristan honestly replied. ¡°I come with some trouble, but I am also a Mask positioned to graduate with useful skills. I do not need the Thirteenth.¡±


    My stay at Scholomance is secure, he¡¯d said. It sunk in, slowly but surely, that Tristan had not hurled himself into a layer and spent most of his coin simply because he felt like he needed a victory. He¡¯d done it, Maryam realized, for courage.


    He¡¯d done it so he would be able to have this conversation with her and not flinch.


    I¡¯m too late, she realized. She was not weighing on the scales of a choice, she was trying to turn back the clock on a decision he had already made. Tristan had felt himself trapped, shoved into the grave, and he¡¯d clawed his way out. Now he could not care less what happened to the coffin he¡¯d been buried in. You decided Song is an enemy, Maryam thought. Not the knives out kind, but someone to work around instead of with.


    From the beginning she had been going about this wrong. There was no point in trying to make him sympathize with Song, because for all that he called himself a thief he saw things much like the warriors Maryam had once ridden with. Those that put on the armor for life, not for seasons or reasons. Those who learned to look into the eyes of the warriors on the shield wall on the other side and not see men, because you couldn¡¯t see men and cut them down without losing sleep.


    Once Tristan Abrascal decided you were an enemy, sympathy no longer weighed on the scales. Pity was not a plan, as he¡¯d put it.


    Maryam breathed in. It was not all lost. Much like with those warriors, he did not see enmity as¡­ personal, in a way? It was just the way of the world, and did not mean hate. You could trade with opponents, even work with them. Maryam just had to make this all transactional.


    ¡°Do you have another brigade lined up?¡± she bluntly asked.


    That gave him pause.


    ¡°No,¡± he said. ¡°I have only begun to consider possibilities.¡±


    ¡°Then stay with us until the end of the month,¡± Maryam said. ¡°Tredegar¡¯s doing the same.¡±


    His eyes narrowed at the ¡®us¡¯, but she would not pretend. She was not abandoning Song. Tristan would be fine without her in the same brigade, but Song might well crumble.


    ¡°I can agree to that,¡± Tristan said.


    ¡°And I want you to hear her out anyway,¡± Maryam said.


    He did not answer, only watching her with calm gray eyes.


    ¡°You both know some of the other¡¯s secrets,¡± she reminded him. ¡°If you are to part ways, formalize an arrangement first. And while you do, what does it cost you to listen to what she has to say?¡±


    Maryam saw him weigh costs and advantages, how he lost time in exchange for departing the Thirteenth on better terms and throwing her a sop besides. For the first time Tristan sipped at his tea, though it had to be cold by now.


    ¡°All right,¡± he said. ¡°Tomorrow, then.¡±


    It was the best Maryam would get, so she took it.


    --


    Things still felt unfinished with Tristan.


    They¡¯d gnawed at the bone of Song for long Maryam felt there was an entire conversation they¡¯d missed. It was why she insisted he sleep at the cottage this time, and said she would be doing the same. She only needed to swing by the hospital to check on Song one last time and mention to her that Tristan was still alive. It took some coaxing, but her honest admission that she might head to the Meadow to sleep if the cottage was empty clinched the matter.


    It also left her to feel like she was pulling at an increasingly tattered rope, a sensation she did not enjoy in the least. No, there was still a talk remaining between them.


    Song had the Asphodel history in her lap but she wasn¡¯t snoring when Maryam arrived, which she had to concede was impressive. Part of her felt like she should tease the Tianxi about the reading, but when she dropped into the chair by the bed she found herself too tired. Wan, like there was no banter left in her.


    ¡°I take it,¡± Song said, ¡°that the conversation did not go well.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s at the cottage, alive and will attend class tomorrow,¡± Maryam said. ¡°That is the sum whole of the goods new I have to bring you.¡±


    ¡°He refused a meeting?¡± Song asked, seeming genuinely surprised.


    ¡°No,¡± she admitted. ¡°It¡¯s not that. It¡¯s¡­¡±


    Maryam licked her lips.


    ¡°Then he wants to leave the Thirteenth as well,¡± the Tianxi quietly said.


    ¡°That¡¯s a symptom of the sickness more than anything,¡± Maryam replied. ¡°I didn¡¯t understand how he took the argument that night. I expect my leaving didn¡¯t help, looking back.¡±


    He would have been alone in a house with a woman he considered an enemy. No wonder he had fallen back on his habits from the slums of Sacromonte ¨C if there was no one to watch his back, he could only press it to the wall.


    ¡°Yet he agreed to hear me out,¡± Song slowly said.


    ¡°You are being managed,¡± Maryam bluntly said. ¡°Or the situation, rather. The way he sees it, he¡¯s just agreed to go through the motions.¡±


    ¡°As long as he sits across from me, I can attempt to convince him,¡± Song said. ¡°If I cannot, that is my failure.¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t think of it like that,¡± she said. ¡°That¡¯s a dead end, Song. He¡¯ll trade, because he¡¯d trade with Lucifer himself if the bargain was solid. But that¡¯s transactional. It¡¯s not trust, and trust is what you need if you want him to stay.¡±


    At which point her gaze turned on the Tianxi. She had been fighting one front of this war all this time, but hardly given a thought to the other. Assumptions had already bitten her once tonight, so she silently asked Song the only question that mattered.


    ¡°I do,¡± she said. ¡°It is¡­ I made mistakes. Sought to put him to my purposes while balking at granting him the same. But surely time and bargains would win trust?¡±


    It won¡¯t, Maryam thought. What Song described was not unlike how she had befriended Tristan on the Dominion, but part of her knew that was no fair measure. Friendship with him had been like turning the key in a lock. There had been the satisfying heft of something happening, snapping into place, but the pieces had fit from the start. Besides Maryam had never been an enemy, even when she wore a mask and called herself Sarai. She¡¯d not been trying to claw her way out of the pit.


    ¡°It won¡¯t move the needle,¡± Maryam quietly said, echoing his words. ¡°You need¡­¡±


    She frowned.


    ¡°You need to bleed,¡± she finally admitted. ¡°To pay a price upfront and for his sake, something he can¡¯t just rationalize as an exchange of favors. You have to smash expectations or you¡¯re staying in that pit forever.¡±


    ¡°That seems excessive,¡± Song carefully said.


    And she couldn¡¯t help it, she laughed.


    ¡°It¡¯s just,¡± Maryam snorted. ¡°You, of all people, saying that.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t follow,¡± the Tianxi said.


    ¡°You did the exact same thing to him,¡± she pointed out. ¡°It¡¯s part of how this got so bad, I think. At some point you decided you¡¯d figured him out and you haven¡¯t had a good look at him since.¡±


    Song¡¯s lips thinned.


    ¡°I did him wrong, I will not argue that,¡± she said. ¡°But while I have been painting him in darker colors than warranted, you are no more without blinders than I.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s my friend and I trust him,¡± Maryam acknowledged. ¡°But I trust him because I know him.¡±


    ¡°You met him mere months ago,¡± Song gently said.


    ¡°The same is true for you,¡± she replied, ¡°but unlike you, during that time I saw him at both his best and his ragged edge. There¡¯s a lot about him I don¡¯t know, and it may be I never will, but I know him.¡±


    She leaned back into her seat.


    ¡°And you¡¯re going to hate hearing this, but he¡¯s a lot like you.¡±


    Which said some particular things about her taste in friends but was no less true for it. Song stayed silent for a long moment.


    ¡°I will require an explanation for that,¡± she finally said.


    ¡°You sort people the moment you see them,¡± Maryam said. ¡°Not the way Tredegar does, looking at their birth and putting them in the matching box, but you still sort them. People who can help you and people who can¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°So does everyone,¡± Song quietly replied.


    ¡°I¡¯m not throwing stones, Song,¡± she said. ¡°The trouble is that once you put someone in the bad box, you never let them leave it. You don¡¯t give second chances.¡±


    The Tianxi did not answer. Which was, in a way, the only answer needed.


    ¡°For him, there¡¯s those who are a threat and those who aren¡¯t,¡± Maryam said. ¡°Only on his bad side, you don¡¯t get dismissed ¨C you get measured for a knife in the throat or poison in your tea, because the moment someone can kill him he thinks he has to treat them like they will.¡±


    ¡°And our¡­ altercation made me a threat,¡± Song slowly said.


    ¡°You¡¯re an enemy now,¡± Maryam said. ¡°That¡¯s what I saw when I spoke with him tonight. And I can ask him to act like you¡¯re not, but that¡¯s not truly going to change his mind. Just make him pretend.¡±


    She sighed, passing a hand through her hair.


    ¡°If I could fix it, I would,¡± she said. ¡°But I can¡¯t, Song. It¡¯s you who must dig your way out, and I love him but he¡¯s going to be a right shit about it. He wants to be right about you, so you have to prove him so wrong he can only swallow it.¡±


    The Tianxi looked down at her hands, hesitating.


    ¡°I have not been wary of him without cause,¡± Song said. ¡°I can see his goddess and she-¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t,¡± Maryam curtly said. ¡°It¡¯s not about reasons, one of you being right and the other wrong. I wouldn¡¯t care even if it was Lucifer himself whispering advice into his ear. Relations aren¡¯t an argument they¡¯re¡­¡±


    She struggled for the word.


    ¡°Trade,¡± she said. ¡°Good coin and bad, what you want and give. And even if you owed a debt to the Black Goat herself it would still be debt. It has to be paid back.¡±


    Song laughed.


    ¡°Zunyan,¡± she ruefully said.


    Maryam frowned.


    ¡°Dignity,¡± she translated. ¡°In Cathayan.¡±


    ¡°It is not a simple word, for my people,¡± Song said. ¡°When Master Shijiang wrote the Fangzi Yontu ¨C the Purpose of the House - he wrote as a mason trying to understand why the house known as Cathay had collapsed upon our heads. His answer was the imbalance of zunyan.¡±


    ¡°An imbalance of dignity?¡± Maryam frowned. ¡°He thought the world needed more politeness?¡±


    ¡°Why is the face of a prince worth more than that of a beggar?¡± Song asked, voice cadenced. ¡°The wheel turns without end; across eternity all souls will be high and low. To honor a single life is as building a wall with a single stone. The only universal truth is the equal dignity of souls, and to refuse this is to deny the Circle Perpetual itself.¡±


    The Izvorica sucked in a breath.


    ¡°Noble can¡¯t have liked that,¡± she said.


    ¡°He spent most of his life in exile,¡± Song quietly said. ¡°But if the words of the Feichu Tian are the mind of what it means Tianxi, then those of the Fangzi Yontu are the heart.¡±


    She grimaced.


    ¡°I have not given Tristan Abrascal the zunyan that is his due.¡±


    ¡°He hasn¡¯t been a darling to you either,¡± Maryam gently said.


    ¡°That cannot, should not weigh on the scales,¡± Song replied. ¡°A universal principle does not bend to circumstance."


    The Tianxi swallowed.


    ¡°And in that spirit, I something to tell you.¡±


    Maryam¡¯s brow rose.


    ¡°I¡¯m listening.¡±


    ¡°You saved me,¡± Song said.


    ¡°A lovely thought,¡± Maryam began, ¡°but-¡±


    ¡°I do not mean it figuratively,¡± the Tianxi said. ¡°The entity I told Captain Wen intervened when I was about to be tortured to death? It resembled you like a sister and claimed to be there on your behalf. It tore through the three of them like paper.¡±


    Maryam swallowed.


    ¡°It,¡± she slowly said, licking her lips, ¡°it killed people?¡±


    ¡°First it made them turn on each other,¡± Song said. ¡°Then it popped one¡¯s head like a grape and fed the last to a ¡®smok¡¯ made of Gloam.¡±


    That¡­ those weren¡¯t Signs, at least not the latter two. They sounded like Craft.


    ¡°It shouldn¡¯t be capable of using Gloam,¡± Maryam whispered. ¡°Not if it¡¯s some sort of parasite.¡±


    Which meant Captain Yue was wrong.


    ¡°I have no idea what it was,¡± she admitted. ¡°I need to talk to my mentor.¡±


    The Tianxi nodded.


    ¡°The creature, she said things,¡± Song quietly said. ¡°Revealed secrets you have not chosen to share.¡±


    Maryam licked her lips nervously.


    ¡°Tell me.¡±


    A moment¡¯s hesitation.


    ¡°She called herself the last princess of Volcesta.¡±


    The pale-skinned girl let out a startled laugh.


    ¡°That¡¯s,¡± she began, then shook her head. ¡°True, narrowly enough? My father was the king of Volcesta, but that title doesn¡¯t mean the same thing it does on this side of the sea ¨C and my mother was not his first wife, besides. I had almost twenty half-siblings who lived to adulthood.¡±


    Maryam passed a hand though her hair, only she found her fingers curling like claws.


    ¡°I am the last of them, as far as I know, so that part stands,¡± she quietly admitted. ¡°Not that Volcesta exists anymore. The Malani renamed it Ifanje and the High Queen appointed a lord to rule the city.¡±


    ¡°But you were a princess,¡± Song insisted.


    Frustration rose sharply. Mornaric just couldn¡¯t seem to understand that their tyrant-kings weren¡¯t what everyone else meant by the word ¨C none of the sailing peoples save the Izcalli ever seemed to grasp a king might not be some all-powerful autocrat. Father had been checked by the Staresine, whose consent he would need to wage war or raise new taxes, and had no right to pass judgement over landholders and practitioners of the Craft. He could not even choose his own successor, only pick candidates for the Staresine to elect from!


    ¡°The word doesn¡¯t translate,¡± Maryam said. ¡°In Antigua, it implies status. A title. In Recnigvor it just means¡­¡±


    She struggled to find the meaning.


    ¡°Ruler¡¯s blood,¡± she settled on. ¡°It is a qualification, not a position. And being my mother¡¯s child disqualified me from inheritance anyhow, so it is debatable whether I even warranted it.¡±


    Like most of the Triglau, the Izvorica had once been ruled by lines of Craft-Queens who plied their powers over Gloam and spirits to rule with an iron fist. The bloody, endless feuds of that era had led to the forbidding of Crafters ruling over others and the founding of the Ninefold Nine as a union and tribunal. Being the daughter of a mistress of the Craft as infamous as Izolda Cernik would likely have seen Maryam refused the right to inherit even if she had not proved capable of the Craft as well.


    Certainly, if her name had been put forward to rule of Volcesta the Staresine would have accused Father of committing davanje zaba ¨C putting forward an obviously bad pick so they were left with only one real choice to elect. Song studied her for a long moment, then slowly nodded.


    ¡°Wintersworn?¡±


    Maryam grimaced.


    ¡°The name of my mother¡¯s host, taking the war to the Malani,¡± she said. ¡°It is¡­ a complicated matter.¡±


    And she had no taste for getting into a talk about what swearing yourself to Winter meant, or the price it exacted.


    ¡°Keeper of Hooks,¡± Song continued. ¡°First and last of the Ninefold Nine.¡±


    Maryam rolled her eyes.


    ¡°Did she call herself Queen of the Third too, while at it?¡± she said. ¡°It¡¯s nonsense. The Ninefold Nine were, well, my people¡¯s Akelarre Guild.¡±


    Her teeth clenched.


    ¡°I was inducted into the society as a girl and might well be the last such to draw breath, but the Ninefold Nine are long buried,¡± Maryam said. ¡°Most were butchered by the Malani and the rest took their own lives.¡±


    She looked away, after that, and got what she hoped for: Song did not dare ask about the title of Keeper of Hooks. Maryam would rather not speak of her first and deepest failure, how utterly she had miscarried the hopes of her mother. That title was hers, by dint of the lack of contender for it, but even hearing the words burned like acid.


    Centuries of knowledge, of wisdom, all turned to smoke because she was not good enough.


    ¡°She claimed your mother could weave a leshy out of Gloam that was large as a ship,¡± Song tried, a tad more lightly.


    ¡°By the end of the war, she could,¡± Maryam acknowledged. ¡°Her might in the Craft was a match for the old legends.¡±


    The blue-eyed girl hesitated.


    ¡°But by then she had grown¡­ volatile,¡± she said. ¡°The ritual that empowered her had cruel costs.¡±


    The twenty-nine souls had begun blending into hers and each other, leaving her half mad and talking to herselves. The elects that had survived the Malani raid on the sacred grove had taken their lives willingly, giving their power and wisdom, but no mortal was meant to bear the weight of so many lives. The only pure thing left in her had been the rage, so it was rage that ruled the roost.


    Silence stretched out between them, Song having finally run out of uncomfortably intimate knowledge about her past. Or at least of willingness to keep discussing it.


    ¡°It is a strange thing,¡± Song quietly said, ¡°to know so little about you and still feel I know you.¡±


    ¡°The past is past,¡± Maryam replied.


    Silence.


    ¡°No,¡± Song said. ¡°It¡¯s not that. I think I know the shape of your wounds, Maryam, and you mine. It is a little like being in someone¡¯s confidence, to see the scars the world left on them.¡±


    She swallowed, uncomfortable as the soft words. Unsure she could deny them.


    ¡°What are you going to do?¡± Maryam asked.


    Song closed her eyes.


    ¡°I am going to burn a bridge with the Forty-Ninth still on it,¡± she said. ¡°I am going to rob their corpse of everything of worth, and then I will buy trust with blood ¨C theirs, mine, everyone else¡¯s.¡±


    She breathed out.


    ¡°And when you tell Captain Yue of the apparition that saved me,¡± Song whispered, ¡°tell her one more thing. The boon of my contract is to ¡®see the truth of things¡¯, and at the heart of that entity I saw a soul.¡±

 Chapter 30

    Angharad clutched her saber as she strode out of the hospital.


    Her knuckles all but turned white around the grip. The noblewoman¡¯s teeth were clenched, her back straight and she ignored the smiling man by the door as she exited into the red-and-gold Orrery lights. It would have been simpler to simply be angry, but it was not so simple as that.


    Well, Maryam being boorish was but not the rest.


    Angharad marched past the guards and the pavement, hewing close to the dock wall as she chewed on the thorns she was being made to swallow. Song Ren had not, by words exact, broken with honor when killing Isabel Ruesta. The truce had been implicit, not sworn to, and though killing one fighting on the same side during a battle was reprehensible it was not necessarily dishonorable. There were precedents, if one cared to look for them.


    On the other hand, Song had shot her own ally to death. It would be just and honorable for Angharad to kill her for that.


    Only that was not whole of the matter either, was it? Weighing on the balance was that Song Ren had saved her life on more than one occasion, fought for Angharad¡¯s safety and offered her a place at Scholomance. By principles alone this should change nothing, but¡­ The Pereduri tugged up the collar of her coat and headed eastwards, along the shore.


    She was not Queen Branwen, so embodying honor that she would keep rising from the dead so long as she never sullied it. It changed things some, their history. Song was not some cackling oathbreaker gone pirate, she was a respectable woman who had saved Angharad¡¯s life on more than one occasion. The balance of duty and debt here was as a weathervane.


    If she had said anything, explained herself¡­ No, that might have been worse. Another secret being kept behind her back, known to all the Thirteenth save her. More smiles at her expense. The only certainty in all this was that Angharad could not remain under the command of Isabel Ruesta¡¯s killer, so on that much she had acted.


    To simply walk out of the Thirteenth tonight would punish more than Song, and neither Tristan nor Maryam ¨C despite the latter¡¯s best efforts ¨C deserved it, so waiting in name until the end of the month was an acceptable compromise. The breach in honor would have been if she continued taking orders from Song, not by dint of some paper still deeming her subordinate to the Tianxi.


    Chewing on her own anger, she looked up and realized she had no idea where she was. Near the docks, by the look of the wall, but she must have walked past the greater length of them without realizing it. Best turn back now, she figured, and cut north.


    Angharad strode through the gutted remains of an old warehouse, gait still weighed with anger. The bones of the ruin allowed through stripes of golden light, like precious ribs painted on the ground. Only when she reached the doorway did she catch a snippet from the distant din of the Triangle. Her steps slowed to a halt, Angharad stopping before a long-empty doorway. She hesitated, as if stepping through would be a gesture of any meaning at all, and breathed in.


    Her thoughts circled like vultures, each eager to tear off a stripe.


    ¡°Acts undertaken on the Dominion are under amnesty,¡± Angharad reminded the dark, and herself. ¡°Song has not committed a crime.¡±


    She was allowed to be angry over it, but only so much. The line had been walked and the Watch ¨C who now carried her honor, as she carried the Watch¡¯s ¨C had deemed Song¡¯s action no crime. Her fingers tightened around her uncle¡¯s saber until the leather creaked.


    It was a silly, foolish thing to feel betrayed. She hardly knew Song, for all the favor the other woman had shown her. Angharad had thought she learned a lesson on trust from the Dominion, but evidently she had not learned it whole. The details had all been there for her to put together, if she cared to look, but she had never thought to suspect Song at all. Because it meant suspicion of someone she respected.


    It stung, the implication that she had not been respected back.


    ¡°Angharad?¡±


    She was startled enough she almost drew her blade, turning to see a familiar face peeking through the doorway on the other side of the warehouse . Zenzele Duma, a bag tucked away against the belt tightening his regular uniform, looked as surprised to see her as she was him.


    ¡°Zenzele,¡± she replied, then remembered her manners. ¡°Well met.¡±


    ¡°And you,¡± he said. ¡°I thought you went to visit Song.¡±


    ¡°I just left the hospital,¡± she stiffly replied.


    That mismatched gaze studied her a moment. He was all too seeing, for a man with only one true eye.


    ¡°And now you look fit to chew nails,¡± he observed. ¡°Where are you headed?¡±


    She looked away, the anger that had been in her bones melting away under scrutiny. It left little but weariness behind.


    ¡°Back to the Rainsparrow, I think,¡± Angharad exhaled.


    ¡°You might find that a slow trip,¡± he casually said. ¡°There is something of a ruckus in the Triangle at the moment and the garrison is out in force. Some robbery went wrong and an officer was assaulted.¡±


    Her brow rose. Ill news. She had thought Tolomontera largely free of crime, to the extent that Tristan¡¯s petty thievery might represent a significant portion of what took place.


    ¡°Roadblocks?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Only inspections for now, but the lines for them are long,¡± he said. ¡°If you have nothing better to do, you could accompany me in taking care of this. It will some time until it calms down, at least.¡±


    He patted the bag at his side.


    ¡°And what is it ¡®this¡¯?¡± she asked, cocking an eyebrow.


    He slid out the bag and tossed it her way. Snatching it out of the air, she pulled open the ropes just enough to get a look inside. She paused, unsure how to react.


    ¡°Breadcrumbs?¡± she finally asked.


    He laughed.


    ¡°Come,¡± Zenzele said. ¡°I¡¯ll show you.¡±


    --


    It was not a long walk to their destination, just a few minutes eastward past the docks into a part of Allazei that the Watch had not judged fit to rebuild: row after row of ruins, reclaimed by nature¡¯s greedy claws.


    There was nothing obviously different about the house Zenzele led them into. The middle of the roof had collapsed, allowing through Orrery light, and nature swallowed most of what lay within. Tiles were covered with earth, weeds and thick moss while flowering vines covered the walls and what had once been the hearth now jutted out of a shallow pond like it was a decorative statue.


    Zenzele¡¯s reasons for carrying a sack of breadcrumbs were finally revealed: there was a family of ducks splashing about.


    Bodied in a shade of ruddy brown with a black tail and a black head, the latter with a thick white stripe, they let out trills ending in an almost comical dry squawk as they welcomed their patron¡¯s arrival. A repeat performance, was it? There were four ducklings with the adults, little balls of ruddy fuzz with two yellowish strips near the bill that made them look like pastry puffs. Their squeaks were high-pitched as they paddled about.


    ¡°That is dangerously adorable,¡± Angharad conceded.


    Zenzele chuckled and guided her to a bench by the pond that, by the vine scars on it, had been stolen back from nature and cleaned off before being plopped down there. They sat and the Malani put down the bag between them, leaving the strings open. He threw the first handful, the ducklings racing each other to the shore and pushing each other off in their eagerness to feed.


    ¡°Do you happen to know the breed?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Alas, my knowledge of Lierganen ducks is sparse,¡± Zenzele confessed. ¡°I can tell you that they disdain peanuts and love breadcrumbs, but little more.¡±


    Angharad threw a handful of crumbs at the starvelings, which convinced one of the parents to make shore and peck at the mud. Though the entire affair was somewhat noisy, it did not feel like an imposition on the senses ¨C more like being at a festival than a small, cramped room in a cottage while everyone emptied sacs of venom.


    They kept feeding the ducks handful after handful, until the mother tried to slide her beak into the bag and Zenzele laughingly withdrew it out of her reach. This was, the duck swiftly conveyed, outrageous and unacceptable. She only realized how much she had been grinning when her cheeks began to ache.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Angharad spoke out of the blue. ¡°This was¡­ not what I expected, but no less welcome for it.¡±


    ¡°I find the little joys in life to be most effective, when distracting yourself from the great sorrows,¡± Zenzele said, eyes on the ducks.


    The mother, displeased at the lack of success delivered by her cacophonous campaigning, returned to the water to brood while the ducklings continued to beg for crumbs. The pair provided, one after the other. Zenzele Duma asked nothing, which Angharad thought was why she was tempted to talk. Had he asked, it would have felt like an interrogation. This felt like the opposite.


    ¡°I have decided to leave the Thirteenth,¡± she said.


    He did not glance her way, instead nudging back a too-adventurous duckling with his boot. It squeaked in protest.


    ¡°May I ask why?¡±


    She hesitated. The urge was there to simply tell him everything, but there would be a line there. Song had never outright confessed, which would make laying Isabel¡¯s death at her feet supposition stated as fact. Too close to a lie for comfort.


    ¡°Song acted in a way I cannot condone,¡± Angharad finally said. ¡°I do not wish to remain under her command.¡±


    Zenzele hummed. He took his time answering.


    ¡°It is different from what we were taught, the Watch,¡± he said. ¡°The duty is respectable, but the rooks themselves are not always deserving of such esteem.¡±


    ¡°There has been more corruption and venality than I expected,¡± Angharad murmured. ¡°Much more, to be frank. I pledged an oath, and that will not change, but¡­¡±


    ¡°It is disappointing in some ways,¡± Zenzele finished, then waited a beat. ¡°I once had a conversation not so dissimilar with my older brother, back in Malan, when he was on leave from the royal army.¡±


    Zenzele Duma, she recalled, was the third-born of five. She had not known if those siblings were brothers or sisters, never thought to ask.


    ¡°He found corruption in the royal army?¡± Angharad frowned. ¡°But they are¡­¡±


    She gestured vaguely, but he understood her fine.


    ¡°The High Queen¡¯s own blades, yes,¡± the nobleman said. ¡°It seemed absurd to him that soldiers fighting under Her Perpetual Majesty¡¯s own banner would lessen themselves in such a way. But he brought home tales of graft and bribery, of beatings and cliques.¡±


    The dark-skinned man tossed the ducks a few breadcrumbs.


    ¡°Where there is coin there is malfeasance,¡± Zenzele said. ¡°It was this way before the High Queen bound the Isles together and will remain so until the Sleeping God wakes. I think it wiser to look instead at what an assembly of men is meant to accomplish and judge them by whether they fall short of that.¡±


    Angharad, for the barest of heartbeats, was reminded of society evenings in the Middle Isle. How the nobly born could have two conversations while speaking only one set of words, meanings behind meanings. Only Zenzele was not trying to corner her, to convey some sort of threat or boast, but was¡­ extending a hand, using the same ways. Allowing her to choose whether she wanted to read into what he had said, matching the meaning to her parting of ways with Song.


    Angharad looked at Zenzele Duma and thought she might be beginning to understand what the diplomats of the Watch had seen in him.


    ¡°It was not a crime, or strictly speaking a failing as a captain,¡± Angharad acknowledged. ¡°The matter is a private one. Not something I can compromise over.¡±


    If she did not draw the line at murdering an ally, where would she draw it?


    ¡°Trust is the foundation of a cabal,¡± Zenzele said. ¡°Once that is gone, there is little left to hold it together.¡±


    And the Thirteenth, she thought, had precious little of it to go around.


    ¡°It has been frustrating,¡± Angharad said, the words slipping out by themselves. ¡°All of it. Ancestors, I cannot believe I am about to say this but Tristan has been the most dependable of the lot.¡±


    The known thief who dabbled with poisons.


    ¡°Abrascal can be relied on to be Abrascal,¡± the Malani snorted. ¡°That is to say, a man I would trust to keep his word but not leave unattended around the nice cutlery.¡±


    ¡°I did not realize it at first, but I believe he stole that cloak Maryam wears everywhere,¡± Angharad said. ¡°She outright told me, too, only she made it sound like a jest.¡±


    ¡®At that price it was a robbery¡¯, indeed. It had taken Angharad much too long to put that one together, but she eventually had. And would have earlier, had it not been Maryam speaking the words. Angharad been too disinclined to question the rare spot of amiability to- she breathed in, breathed out. She reached for the bag and fed the ducks.


    ¡°I have not been getting along with Maryam,¡± she admitted once she felt calm again.


    ¡°You are from a famous sailing family and she is Triglau,¡± Zenzele said. ¡°Cordiality, I imagine, must already feel like a concession on her end.¡±


    ¡°One she has not always been in the mood to make,¡± Angharad darkly said.


    She clenched her fingers.


    ¡°Yet I have also given her offense, as was made plain to me,¡± the Pereduri admitted. ¡°I have since been at a loss as how to balance these affairs.¡±


    A pause.


    ¡°She is Izvorica, not Triglau,¡± she added. ¡°A people within the greater region, as I understand it.¡±


    Zenzele inclined his head in acknowledgement.


    ¡°I know precious little of the northern lands save what I learned at the isikole, which I expect differs from her own knowledge,¡± he said. ¡°Still, it can be said Malan has been at war with her people for the better part of a century. Those are not easy waters to navigate.¡±


    She slid a look his way.


    ¡°But.¡±


    ¡°It is a mistake to attempt to navigate these waters at all,¡± Zenzele frankly said. ¡°Neither of us have answer to give to the ills that were inflicted on the ¨C Izvorica?¡±


    Angharad nodded.


    ¡°Izvorica,¡± he repeated. ¡°Conquest is ugly business, Angharad, and while war need not be evil it always carries the seeds of evil within it. A woman who saw that darkness unleashed on her people argues not about rights and lines on a map but against the blood and screams of her kin.¡±


    He paused.


    ¡°There is no good outcome to speaking of the subjugation of the northern lands with Maryam Khaimov,¡± Zenzele said. ¡°The first lesson our teacher in the diplomatic arts taught us was that the conversations you choose not to have are just as important as those you do.¡±


    ¡°That is not unwise, for someone who sees her only on occasion,¡± Angharad evenly said. ¡°However, she and I lived under the same roof.¡±


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    And it was not as if she had gone out of her way to discuss the colonies, or even the Izvorica for that matter.


    ¡°The second lesson,¡± Zenzele gently said, ¡°was that diplomacy is an exercise of trust. That it takes time. If there are no ties between nations when they are away from the negotiating table, a treaty becomes nothing more than an elaborate rag.¡±


    ¡°So it was my fault,¡± Angharad frowned.


    Not what she wanted to hear, but coming from Zenzele Duma it was an opinion she was bound to consider.


    ¡°To think it terms of fault is a dead end,¡± he replied. ¡°Different actions ¨C from her as well as from you ¨C might have resulted in a better relation. This did not happen. Pointing fingers does nothing to change this outcome.¡±


    A pause.


    ¡°Decide what you want, what you are willing to give for it and what steps might best deliver that end,¡± Zenzele said. ¡°The rest is distractions.¡±


    ¡°That does not sound like the way Malan practices diplomacy,¡± Angharad noted.


    ¡°It is not,¡± he said. ¡°But I find that the Watch¡¯s approach has a certain¡­ pragmatic clarity to it that refreshing to practice.¡±


    Angharad leaned forward, elbows on her knees, and let her gaze trail across the jostling ducklings. What did she want? Searching herself, she found the answer to be shallow. Politeness was rather the extent of it. She did not particularly want to befriend Maryam, who must have qualities but had shown Angharad little save sourness. The Pereduri had no real taste for sailing those ¡®difficult waters¡¯ again, and it was somewhat relieving to grasp did she not have to.


    Maryam was not some ghost haunting her, she was entirely avoidable and they would both find their days lighter for it. The Thirteenth was not a cage, the door had been open the whole time. She had simply lacked the willingness to walk out.


    ¡°Were I to make inquiries with Ferranda,¡± she began.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Zenzele cut in, then leaned back. ¡°You have been as a cabalist to us these last few days, anyhow.¡±


    That too-sharp gaze lingered.


    ¡°But you will not be staying with us, will you?¡±


    She felt a little uncomfortable at being caught out before she could say it, but she would not lie.


    ¡°Is it really a fresh start, if I merely move from one group of Dominion survivors from another?¡± she quietly asked.


    ¡°It could be,¡± he said. ¡°But I would not blame you for choosing something I considered myself.¡±


    She started in surprise, turning to watch his face. It was calm, but there was a tightness around the eyes.


    ¡°I had no idea,¡± Angharad said. ¡°The three of you seemed so close on the Dominion, I assumed¡­¡±


    ¡°It was grief that pulled us together,¡± Zenzele quietly said. ¡°I wondered, for a time, whether it was truly wise to embrace such a thing. If to begin anew with strangers would not be better.¡±


    ¡°Yet you decided against it,¡± she said.


    He breathed out.


    ¡°I chose to believe there was more than grief to the ties that bound us,¡± Zenzele said. ¡°That once it began to thin there would be something beneath.¡±


    ¡°And?¡±


    ¡°And I was right,¡± he said. ¡°There was more to it. In some ways I regret that I will never learn who I would be away from them, Angharad, but then I suspect had I left I would we facing another set of regrets.¡±


    He shrugged.


    ¡°Every choice carries its burdens, that is why the Sleeping God gifted us lives enough to learn from our mistakes. Paradise is earned piecemeal.¡±


    ¡°Redeemer talk,¡± she teased. ¡°Does buying pork over beef bring you closer to eternal life as well?¡±


    ¡°Ugh, Universalists,¡± he snorted. ¡°If my faith disqualifies, shall I find you a raised stone to ask advice from instead? I can even pretend the wind is forming words.¡±


    ¡°Alas, I shall have to settle for you and the ducks,¡± Angharad solemnly replied.


    They traded grins and the conversation gave away to a comfortable silence, the ducks gorging on breadcrumbs until they tired of the meal and waddled back into the pond.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± she said again.


    She felt him shrug at her side.


    ¡°What are friends for?¡± Zenzele asked.


    She straightened, came to a decision.


    ¡°I would stay with the Thirty-First for a few months, at least,¡± she said. ¡°Possibly the end of the year.¡±


    ¡°Ferranda will be pleased,¡± he simply replied. ¡°You could sleep under her roof tonight, if you want to leave that awful room at the Rainsparrow behind.¡±


    Angharad rose to her feet.


    ¡°Not tonight,¡± she said. ¡°I have one last matter to deal with, I think, before I can face her and make the request.¡±


    It was time to take up Imani Langa on that invitation to visit her. If Angharad was to break with the past, she would leave it half-done.


    --


    Angharad had considered the Rainsparrow Hostel a fine enough establishment, if somewhat unkempt, but she could now see why Song had been so eager to lodge at the Emerald Vaults instead: it had all the comforts of a lavish country manor.


    Most of the rooms were individual, save the suites on the third level, and after asking directions at the front Angharad found herself padding past plush carpets and elegant Cathayan paintings. Tempted as she was to slow her steps and admire the masterful ink work ¨C only Saimha portraits were held in higher esteem, back home ¨C she had come to the Vault for a reason.


    The attendant in front had confirmed that Imani was present, so now all that was left was to finish crossing the hall to the door marked with a nine in imperial numerals. That and quietly envy how the smallest room she had seen at the Vaults was easily ten times the size of the glorified closet she currently lived in.


    Angharad breathed in, tugged her coat into place - idly wishing she had polished the buttons that morning - before rapping her knuckles against the door. Once, twice, thrice. There was the sound of movement on the other side, a muffled word that might have been ¡®coming¡¯ in Antigua and after a few heartbeats the door was cracked open. Only so much, the latch still in place as dark eyes peered through the opening.


    ¡°Angharad,¡± Imani Langa smiled, ivory on red. ¡°What a pleasant surprise! Allow me a moment.¡±


    The door closed, the latch slid and this time when it opened it was all the way. Angharad stepped back and out of the way, then froze at the sight revealed. Imani was dressed for bed, in a faded red sleeveless garment whose intricate beadwork neckline dipped generously. The hem ended above her knees and it hung on Imani¡¯s frame unbelted but given the spy¡¯s shapeliness there was nothing loose about it.


    Angharad dragged her gaze up from smooth dark thighs, ignoring the smirk on the other woman¡¯s face.


    ¡°Do come in,¡± Imani said. ¡°The hall is cold.¡±


    Angharad chose not to consider how her underclothes must be, not to show below the night garment, however intriguing that thought. I came unannounced, the Pereduri told herself. She did not dress for seduction. Not that Imani was at all unaware of the effect the sight of her in that night dress would have, by the sway of her hips as she headed into the room. Angharad remembered to close the door after a heartbeat. The noblewoman rested her hand on her saber, gathered herself.


    She had not come here to play bedroom games.


    The inside was spacious, a wooden partition draped in silks dividing the bedroom from a small salon and writing desk. Imani grabbed a blanket from the green sofa, wrapping it around herself before sitting and inviting Angharad to do the same on the seat across the table. Stiffly, the noblewoman did so. It did not seem a coincidence that while Imani had artfully wrapped the blanket as to hide much of her legs, it left her generous neckline entirely on display. Enticing as the sight was, it also stirred an ember of irritation.


    Did Angharad seem so empty-headed that a pretty pair and a coy smile would be enough to make a fool of her?


    Her jaw locked. Such flirting felt almost like a slight, now that she put it up against the reason for her visit. Imani leaned forward, grabbing from an elegant plate a long wooden pipe and a satchel of tobacco. There was a second pipe and Imani raised a questioning eyebrow.


    ¡°I do not partake,¡± Angharad replied.


    Father had strongly disapproved of the habit, to the extent he had weaned Mother off it before she was born.


    ¡°Back in the Isles it is now the fashion to wrap tobacco as they do in the colonies, but I prefer the Izcalli way,¡± Imani said as she filled the pipe. ¡°The desert sage eases the smell.¡±


    The spy deftly cracked a match and lit her pipe, breathing in with a pleased sigh and blowing out a small circle of smoke. Angharad wrinkled her nose ¨C it was not so bad as the tobacco sailors liked, she would admit, but the sage only helped so much.


    ¡°I am pleased you came to visit,¡± Imani smiled.


    It was an inviting sight, the kind inviting gallant banter, the Pereduri let it slide over her.


    ¡°You told me,¡± Angharad bluntly replied, ¡°that a prisoner was taken at Llanw Hall. By whom?¡±


    ¡°The hired swords that burned your manor, at first,¡± she replied. ¡°Though they have since been moved to the property of an induna.¡±


    Angharad¡¯s fists clenched, but she welcomed the anger. There was no room for distraction in her while it burned.


    ¡°What is it exactly that you offer in exchange for retrieving this ¡®object¡¯ and delivering it to you?¡± she asked.


    Imani pulled at her pipe, blew out a long stream of pale smoke.


    ¡°The Lefthand House is not well positioned to arrange an escape,¡± she said. ¡°It could, however, pass a message and provide thorough information about where that prisoner is being held.¡±


    The spy smiled languidly.


    ¡°As a gesture of goodwill, should you swear to undertake this task for us I will reveal the identity of the prisoner.¡±


    Angharad fought down the urge to be grateful. Giving out something you first chose to withhold was not charity, it was a trick. Knowing she was being played did not make the choice any less tempting, however.


    ¡°For all I know, they grabbed a servant and that is the nothing you dangle before me now,¡± she said.


    She was the lady of Llanw Hall now, so securing the release of a servant would be her duty just the same, but there was duty and then there was blood.


    ¡°Would a servant be worth keeping imprisoned?¡± Imani asked.


    The Pereduri did not answer, so eventually the spy sighed.


    ¡°The prisoner is related to you by blood,¡± she said. ¡°I have nothing more to say on the matter before oaths are taken.¡±


    Angharad¡¯s stomach clenched. Who? She had not seen her cousins die, or Uncle Arwel for that matter. They had been in the manor when it burned, so she had long assumed, but¡­ She breathed in, reached for calm, but like sand it kept slipping through her fingers. Because she had not seen her father die either, in truth.


    He had gone to lead away their pursuers after sending her down the secret passage, but while she had heard a shot she had not seen him die. No, that is a fool¡¯s hope, she chided herself. It must be Uncle Arwel or one of the boys.


    ¡°This object, what is it?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Important enough I will not name it before assurances are made,¡± Imani said.


    Angharad¡¯s lips thinned.


    ¡°You claim it is the High Queen¡¯s property,¡± she said. ¡°What would it be doing on Tolomontera, then? She has never laid claim to these lands.¡±


    ¡°I claimed it is her rightful property,¡± Imani corrected. ¡°As the Watch was involved in a mishap that happened to one such artifact, it is only proper that a replacement be obtained from its holdings.¡±


    ¡°Clever words,¡± Angharad flatly said, ¡°but they make a thin veil to drape over theft.¡±


    The spy smiled.


    ¡°If it is any balm to your Pereduri soul, the object in question would be laid claim to by the Watch in principle but it is not in their physical possession,¡± she said.


    To Angharad¡¯s disgruntlement, that did help.


    ¡°And should I be caught delivering it to you,¡± she began.


    ¡°Death,¡± Imani seriously replied. ¡°After a very unpleasant evening in the hands of the Masks, I expect.¡±


    Angharad studied her and found no trace of a lie on that face. This was not, then, a small matter.


    ¡°There is an issue,¡± she said.


    Imani pulled at her pipe, breathed out the smoke.


    ¡°I am all ears, Angharad.¡±


    She struggled to find a polite way to phrase it, then gave up the struggle after a minute.


    ¡°You are of the Lefthand House,¡± she bluntly said. ¡°You uphold the honor of the High Queen, not your own. How can I trust your word?¡±


    The ufudu could lie, break the laws of hospitality and act without honor so long as such deeds were in the service of Malan. By entering the Lefthand House they became the fingers of the Queen Perpetual¡¯s left hand, no longer individuals of their own. It was a great sacrifice, if not one Angharad could speak of with admiration.


    ¡°You cannot,¡± Imani Langa candidly replied. ¡°Were my queen to demand it, I would betray you without hesitation. Instead I will say this: if Her Majesty had wanted House Tredegar unmade, she would not have sent hired swords in the night. She would have cast down your mother in open court, before the eyes of all Malan, and ordered your deaths. None would have questioned it.¡±


    Angharad¡¯s jaw clenched, but she did not deny the words. The High Queen had been her mother¡¯s patron at court, and not one of the izinduna would have spoken up for Rhiannon Tredegar had her sponsor turned against her. She had remained out of factions, so while she may have lacked enemies she had lacked protectors as well.


    The High Queen¡¯s favor had been her sole lifeline.


    ¡°House Tredegar¡¯s fall was not her doing and she was not pleased by it,¡± Imani said. ¡°The accusations brought before the court forced her hand in striking your line from the rolls of nobility, but she chose not to pursue the matter any further.¡±


    ¡°That is no balm to me,¡± Angharad coldly said, ¡°when it was I was then pursued while my kin¡¯s murderers ran free.¡±


    ¡°You underestimate the worth of that restraint,¡± Imani replied. ¡°House Madoc was not so subtle in smuggling you south as they ¨C or you ¨C believed. You would never have stepped onto that ship in Asithule had the Lefthand House not been instructed to allow it.¡±


    Angharad stilled. Nobles upriver from the Tredegar, the Madocs had been where her father sent her to flee ¨C they owed him a debt, and while reluctant had discreetly taken her down the southeast roads to Asithule, near the border with the Middle Isle. She had thought their part in her escape unknown. Angharad breathed out, straightened her back.


    Even if the Madocs were made to pay for their help, she was in no position to lend aid.


    ¡°Let us assume I believe the High Queen means me no ill,¡± Angharad said. ¡°How am I to know that, having undertaken this task for you, you would not then hold it over my head and ask me to undertake further tasks?¡±


    Dishonor compounded, after all. Once you had darkened a finger, the hand would always follow.


    ¡°Because I will be leaving with the object,¡± Imani said. ¡°A death will be arranged for me and I will disappear. This task is the entire reason I was sent to Tolomontera.¡±


    ¡°And the Watch does not suspect you?¡± she frowned.


    ¡°No doubt I am on a list,¡± she shrugged. ¡°But my name will be one of many, Angharad. Dozens of our year are spies or close enough to it there is hardly a difference ¨C not only for the great powers, but for factions within the Watch itself. Something as momentous as the reopening of Scholomance drew many eyes from across Vesper.¡±


    Imani light tapped the shaft of the pipe.


    ¡°Should I begin to act suspiciously I would earn greater scrutiny, but that is why we are having this conversation to begin with. You will not be watched so closely.¡±


    Because Angharad¡¯s connections in the Watch ¨C her uncle, sailing for this very port ¨C made her an unlikely suspect. The Pereduri¡¯s fingers clenched. She let Imani pull at her pipe while she closed her eyes and thought.


    She did not want to do this.


    She wanted to shed all ties and complications, to make a fresh start with souls she could trust. Yet the thought of leaving her cousins behind, or her uncle¡­ She did not know what use their jailers would have for them, but it must be vile. And the hard truth was that, when Angharad returned to take vengeance on the killer of her house, she could not afford to have the High Queen¡¯s enmity.


    Naming House Madoc and where she had taken the ship that led her out of Malan had been a warning in more ways than one. In the Kingdom of Malan, the ufudu saw much. If they were her foes, how many steps would she make it past the shore before she was grabbed?


    Angharad could still remember the begging. She knew, in her mind, that it had not been real. That Scholomance had played a trick on her mind, that it had not truly been Uncle Arwel pleading a little longer, just give her a little longer. she will come for me, I know she¡­ It had not truly been her cousins screaming, either.


    But that did not mean they weren¡¯t out there, screaming in the real world.


    Did she even have a choice?


    In the end, it was not that the words had truly marked her. They had not. It as how freshly they¡¯d been said that brought them back to mind. Decide what you want, Zenzele had said, what you are willing to give for it and what steps might best deliver that end. How desperately she wanted not to do this, and¡­ And the door of the cage was open once more, wasn¡¯t it?


    Imani claimed the High Queen wished her no ill, so why should the Lefthand House hunt her should she refuse this? Even if she learned of where her kin was held, it would be years before she could do anything about it. There was time to win the right to that information, ways to do it without bending her oaths to the Watch so much they cracked. She was not so cornered as Imani wanted her to think.


    Angharad opened her eyes.


    ¡°No,¡± she said.


    Imani studied her through her lashes, set down the pipe.


    ¡°No?¡±


    ¡°Did I perhaps stutter?¡± Angharad mildly asked.


    The spy laughed.


    ¡°It is not often,¡± Imani said, ¡°that people surprise me.¡±


    ¡°It sounds like an unpleasant way to live,¡± she replied.


    Stiffly, she rose to her feet.


    ¡°I believe we are done here.¡±


    The other woman idly stretched.


    ¡°You called me ufudu, a turtle, when we first met,¡± Imani said. ¡°Do you know where the sobriquet comes from?¡±


    Angharad frowned.


    ¡°The symbol of the Lefthand House is the shell of a helmet turtle,¡± she said. ¡°Or so goes the story.¡±


    It was not considered a flattering nickname because the helmeted turtle was a creature known for tucking in its head pretending it was not there when larger beasts came close. So did the Lefthand House, the joke went.


    ¡°So it is,¡± Imani said. ¡°I wondered, as a girl, while the House chose such an emblem. Why not a cheetah, a caracal, or even an owl!¡±


    ¡°I imagine there is a reason,¡± Angharad politely replied.


    ¡°There is,¡± she said. ¡°You see, helmeted turtles are sought out by great beasts because they will eat ticks and flies off them.¡±


    The Pereduri blinked, waiting for something more, but that appeared to be it.


    ¡°Enlightening,¡± she said.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Imani said. ¡°It was. Our duty is not handsome or pleasant, Angharad. We eat filth so that Malan might remain clean.¡±


    She sighed.


    ¡°And sometimes that means doing unpleasant things to people who do not deserve them.¡±


    She leaned forward, pulling up the plate with the pipe on it, and withdrew a small pile of papers. She laid them down facing Angharad, who glanced at them with a frown. And felt the breath steal out of her lungs as if she had been struck. The first paper was not covered by words but by a sketch. A man, tired and sallow-faced. Missing an arm.


    Angharad would have recognized him even if there was but a finger left.


    ¡°My father,¡± she croaked out. ¡°They have my father.¡±


    ¡°He has been moved to Tintavel,¡± Imani said.


    Her head whipped back up to the spy.


    ¡°The prison-fortress,¡± she said. ¡°The one that belongs to House Cadogan?¡±


    Imani nodded. Sleeping God, what madness was this? The Cadogan were one of the most powerful houses in Peredur, the Tredegar had been so utterly beneath their attention none of them should even know the name.


    ¡°That,¡± Angharad began, then swallowed.


    ¡°The most impenetrable prison in all Malan,¡± the other woman calmly said. ¡°And not somewhere the Watch will ever be able to help you reach. Even the Lefthand House has only been able to secure a foothold after many years and great sacrifices.¡±


    Her fists clenched.


    ¡°You knew,¡± she accused. ¡°You knew from the start there was no real choice. That I must either aid you or let my father die in a cold damp cell in fucking Tintavel.¡±


    ¡°I am a finger of the left hand,¡± Imani said. ¡°I can be caught by surprise, Angharad.¡±


    She smiled ruefully.


    ¡°But never unprepared.¡±


    Angharad stared down at her, fingers clenched. She had neither drunk nor eaten inside the room. She was not, some might say, bound by guest right. But what would it really accomplish, to send her head tumbling on the carpet? The Watch would pat her on the back, but it would not force entry into the Black Mountain for such a small deed.


    She could almost hear the cage¡¯s door closing.


    ¡°I will need you to speak the words,¡± Imani gently said.


    She breathed in. Breathed out.


    ¡°So long as the object is not a person, I swear to retrieve it for you,¡± Angharad forced out.


    Imani did not smile in triumph, which was for the best. The noblewoman¡¯s temper might have cut through her restraint if she had. After one last draw from the pipe, she set it down by the empty one.


    ¡°What do you know of the provenance of devils?¡± Imani Langa asked.


    Angharad scowled.


    ¡°I was given to understand they come from the aether,¡± she said. ¡°Not unlike spirits.¡±


    ¡°That is not untrue,¡± the spy noted. ¡°Devils are an abomination under the Sleeping God because, unlike all other things, they were not crafted by His hand. They are an ancient evil from the First Empire, forced into existence by devices called Infernal Forges.¡±


    Angharad grimaced in disgust.


    ¡°A foul thing.¡±


    Neither Redeemers nor Universalists tolerated devils, but she had not thought the reasons given why were quite so literal.


    ¡°It is, but to keep Lucifer¡¯s legions away from our shores it is necessary to learn what we can from such devices,¡± Imani said. ¡°Such work was underway, but when the Infernal Forge in Malan¡¯s possession was destroyed the studies stalled. It is the High Queen¡¯s will that such an artifact be retrieved so that the work might resume.¡±


    ¡°I cannot imagine such a dangerous object would be under anything but heavy guard,¡± Angharad flatly said.


    ¡°It would be, if the Watch had it in its possession,¡± Imani mused. ¡°It does not. Lucifer brought one when he made of this island his seat, you see, but when Tolomontera was invaded by the Watch it is said that the Morningstar cast it out of their reach in an act of spite. That he threw it into the aether.¡±


    Angharad blinked.


    ¡°I cannot tread the aether,¡± she slowly said.


    ¡°Not the Empty Sea itself, no,¡± Imani agreed. ¡°But the slaughter of that night left a mark, Angharad.¡±


    And now it came together.


    ¡°The layer,¡± she said. ¡°The Witching Hour.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Imani said. ¡°Though we cannot be sure it still dwells there. It is entirely possible that the Infernal Forge drifted into another layer over the years.¡±


    The spy folded her hands over her knees.


    ¡°I have some further details to share with you, but only one that truly matters tonight,¡± Imani said.


    ¡°What now?¡± Angharad tiredly said. ¡°Will you dig up the ashes of my cousin to desecrate if I displease you?¡±


    The dark-eyed woman did not smile.


    ¡°You only have until the end of the year to get it,¡± Imani Langa said. ¡°After that, our offer is withdrawn.¡±

 Chapter 31

    Song had not thought it possible to eat an orange tauntingly before this morning, but Captain Wen Duan was expanding her horizons.


    He jammed his thumb in the middle through the peel, half-ripping it open, and by the way Commander Salimata Bouare was looking at him she¡¯d order him hung and quartered if she ever had the right. Song was not entirely sure she disagreed, considering this was the second orange Wen was subjecting to this treatment and he had gotten pulp on her covers.


    Her patron sat to the left of the bed, precariously balanced on a stool requisitioned from the hospital since all the chairs had been dragged to Song¡¯s right. He had a small bag on his folded legs, containing one last orange yet spared his torments, and a folded red handkerchief he was refraining from using in what Song could only call an act of social violence.


    To her right, three sat and one stood. The Someshwari contractor by her bedside, the two scribes a little further back and the Commander Salimata leaning back against the wall with her arms folded and a steel-denting scowl. She had been in a hard mood from the moment she arrived, not that Wen¡¯s antics were helping.


    Song was surprised to realize, when hearing her speak, that the dark-skinned woman was not Malani. Given that lilting accent and the elaborate earrings marked with prayers to a patron god, she must be Jahamai ¨C from that far eastern realm bordering Pandemonium. They were not a traveling people, making them a rare sight, but Song supposed some must join the Watch.


    It was the blackcloaks that still garrisoned the fortresses around Hell¡¯s capital, after all, their order had ties to that ancient and wealthy country.


    The commander had remained largely silent during the interview, trading dark looks with a smiling Wen while the elder of the two scribes ¨C also dark-skinned but this one definitely Malani - asked the questions and the younger wrote down the account. Now that Song had been wrung out of every detail she could remember, however, the commander had finally spoken. Song rather wished she had not, and was not alone in this.


    It was almost, but not quite, deserving of the ensuing citric war crimes.


    ¡°She has been very clear,¡± Captain Wen said, ¡°that she will be responding only to questions provided in advance. I don¡¯t give a shit what they want, she¡¯s perfectly within her rights.¡±


    She had expected Wen to be irritated at being dragged to the hospital at the crack of morning ¨C it was barely five ¨C but, defying her expectations, he had been almost jaunty. Mind you, Wen¡¯s good moods always came at the expense of someone else¡¯s so it was no surprise he was being a stone in the senior blackcloak¡¯s boot.


    ¡°The request was made by the patrons of those slain,¡± Commander Salimata acknowledged, ¡°but it is not unreasonable.¡±


    That lilting turn to the syllables would have made her sound pleasant even if she were ordering someone whipped to death, Song thought. Wen¡¯s jaw clenched.


    ¡°Song Ren an enlisted officer,¡± he bit out. ¡°Are you refusing to uphold her rights under the Watch charter?¡±


    Song was almost fascinated by the sight. The tall, grim-faced commander was not the highest officer of the Tolomontera garrison. Her rank would put her at the head of a battalion, at least six hundred men, while Song figured an island of this size should be held by a regiment of at least a thousand and a half. Whoever commanded the garrison would be a colonel. A commander, though, would still be one of the three highest-ranked officers on Tolomontera.


    And Wen Duan was coming after her with the verbal equivalent of a scream and a table leg.


    ¡°I have not done this,¡± Salimata coldly said. ¡°I have passed along a request to your student, Duan. And it is not for you to decide in her name.¡±


    Cool brown eyes turned to Song.


    ¡°Captain Ren?¡±


    Song knew better than to believe an attempt to get around her patron was in any way a compliment being paid.


    ¡°I may be willing to answer the question if I am allowed to read it first,¡± she replied.


    ¡°That is not what was asked,¡± Commander Salimata sternly said.


    No, it was not. They wanted it asked blind in front of a truthteller because someone thought her an utter fool.


    ¡°It is what I have to give,¡± Song replied.


    The older woman stared her down.


    ¡°Four students are dead,¡± she said. ¡°This is not a trifling matter, girl.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Song agreed. ¡°My attempted murder should be thoroughly investigated.¡±


    Commander Salimata scoffed, then looked away. Her gaze came to rest on the younger of the two scribes.


    ¡°Give her the slip with the question on it,¡± the commander said. ¡°Song Ren refused the request made by the patrons of the Thirty-Fourth and Forty-Eighth but acquiesced to the question being put forward for her consideration.¡±


    The young Tianxi scribe nodded, cleared her throat and fumbled with her pen as she hesitated whether to first put down notes or hand over the slip. She almost tipped over her inkwell, the other scribe leaning over to catch it at the last moment, and Song felt a twinge of pity at how arctic Commander Salimata¡¯s stare turned at the sight.


    Eventually she was handed the folded paper, which bore a question about as loaded as Song had been expecting: were you the first to use lethal force? Wen cleared his throat, so she bent back and showed him the contents. The resulting laugh was unkind.


    ¡°You have a reputation as fair woman, commander,¡± he said. ¡°This is disappointing.¡±


    Commander Salimata was unmoved.


    ¡°It is information that would relevant when passing judgment,¡± she replied. ¡°That the question was asked in an attempt to sully Captain Ren¡¯s reputation is irrelevant.¡±


    Song¡¯s haw clenched. It was not irrelevant to her.


    ¡°If it¡¯s asked by a truthteller during an official investigation, it¡¯s on her record for the rest of her career,¡± Wen flatly said. ¡°Most officers won¡¯t care even if she was cleared of all faults.¡±


    Her eyes whipped back to the large man and Song¡¯s throat caught. She had not, in fact, known that. Meaning Wen had just saved her from a permanent stain on her record. It was a disconcerting thing to feel genuine gratitude towards the man.


    ¡°I was not appointed to manage reputations,¡± Commander Salimata replied. ¡°I was appointed to find out the truth. Captain Ren, the question?¡±


    ¡°I decline answering it,¡± Song replied with forced calm.


    ¡°Mark that down, girl,¡± the commander said, glancing at the younger scribe. ¡°We proceed with the agreed-on questions, then. Lieutenant Kumar, if you would?¡±


    Lieutenant Kumar Dalal ¨C she¡¯d learned the surname by looking at his contract - was a short and acne-ridden Someshwari. Nodding at the implied order, he began to explain the broadest lines of this truth-telling contract. Song had already read through it while they set up, but it would have been impolitic to say so.


    The concepts were not too difficult to grasp. Lieutenant Kumar, after touching someone, could make ¡®wagers¡¯ about them for the following nine minutes. If he won the wager with his god, he received an infusion of ¡®life¡¯ ¨C vitality, Song thought, though the exact meaning of that was unclear. If he lost the wager, his god broke one of his fingers.


    It was one of those fond of slapstick humor.


    Lieutenant Kumar touched her wrist after asking permission, then explained that he would be making the same wager every time: that Song would not knowingly lie when answering the next question she was asked. Given that he then raised his left hand upright, the results would be obvious and immediate if she did. To Song¡¯s eyes a ghostly red hand formed around the lieutenant¡¯s, two translucent fingers delicately seizing Kumar¡¯s forefinger.


    The lieutenant read off the four names of her attackers.


    ¡°Were you ambushed by the students I just named?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Song replied.


    Eyes went to his raised hand, which did not display a snapped finger. The older scribe¡¯s pen scratched against paper.


    ¡°Did you have reasonable cause to believe them intent on killing you?¡±


    ¡°Renshu expressed his intention to kill me and none of the others contradicted him,¡± Song replied.


    No finger snapped. Furious writing.


    ¡°How many of the four did you kill?¡±


    ¡°Only one,¡± she replied. ¡°Liu.¡±


    ¡°How did the others die?¡±


    There was the question she¡¯d had changed. The original phrasing had been ¡®what killed the others¡¯, but without knowing the nature of the contract she was going to be subjected to there had been no way to tell if she would be forced to out Maryam¡¯s connection to the entity. She had argued that her lack of knowledge about the involved entity might force her to lie by accident, which had Commander Salimata agreeing to a change.


    ¡°They were attacked by an entity that slew them through the use of Gloam,¡± Song carefully replied.


    And now the last question.


    ¡°Have you had contact with this entity before?¡±


    ¡°Not knowingly.¡±


    And that was the end of that. Lieutenant Kumar exhaled, his acne now much sparser, and the ghostly red hand that had been holding one of his fingers faded. He was no longer using his contract. He was dismissed by the commander and left after a polite nod. Commander Salimata checked over the work of the scribes, then nodded in satisfaction.


    ¡°As I have no reason to believe Song Ren is a danger to other students, I formally revoke the house arrest she has been under,¡± the dark-skinned woman said.


    Good, she would be able to attend class. And handle the more important conversation awaiting her afterwards. As soon as the revocation was written down, the scribes were dismissed to join Lieutenant Kumar.


    ¡°My thanks,¡± Song said.


    ¡°None are necessary,¡± Commander Salimata replied. ¡°You are hiding something, but it is clear you truly were attacked by the missing students and survived by chance.¡±


    She paused.


    ¡°We cannot retrieve the bodies, so it is unlikely there is more firsthand evidence to be gathered,¡± she said. ¡°I will conduct interviews with the implicated patrons and cabals this afternoon, but I expect that the case will be ready for the tribunal by the end of the day. Fifthday morning at the latest.¡±


    Probably tomorrow, then. In her experience the Watch bureaucracy rarely moved any faster than it was made to move.


    ¡°Should I be determined to be without fault,¡± Song said, ¡°what can I expect?¡±


    ¡°The brigades involved will be dissolved, the patrons reassigned away from Tolomontera and the cabal captains referred to their covenant for any further discipline,¡± the commander replied. ¡°A mark will be added to their dossier regarding the matter and taken into consideration should there be any further altercation with you.¡±


    Well, that should settle any thought of taking revenge on her for the inconvenience. Maryam had read this right, which was some comfort. Yet the absence of one name mentioned had her stomach clenching.


    ¡°And Professor Kang?¡± she asked.


    ¡°As an enlisted officer, Yun Kang used his right to decline being asked questions under truthteller,¡± Commander Salimata replied. ¡°He denies any involvement. As there is no direct evidence of his involvement save a secondhand report, there will be a note made on his dossier but no further discipline.¡±


    It was an effort to keep her face calm.


    ¡°None at all?¡± she forced out.


    Commander Salimata frowned at her, then glanced at Wen. He mutilated the last orange in response, and when the gaze returned to Song it had inexplicably thawed.


    ¡°Yun Kang was assaulted at his residence this afternoon,¡± the commander informed her. ¡°He was savagely beaten and right his leg broken in nine different places.¡±


    The gaze cooled again as it was turned on Wen.


    ¡°He even has to be treated in the barracks, given the risks, since the primary suspect for this assault cannot legally be barred from having access to this room,¡± she said.


    Song paused, then slowly turned towards her patron. The bespectacled man popped a slice of orange into his mouth, loudly chewing before he swallowed even more loudly. Had he truly assaulted another blackcloaks on her behalf? Gods, she was¡­ it was not a fine thing to attack someone else wearing the black, obviously, and quite illegal. Yet.


    ¡°It is insulting I would be considering a suspect at all,¡± Captain Wen replied without batting an eye. ¡°I was having coffee while it happened, as you know. There are three witnesses.¡±


    ¡°Yes, I am well aware,¡± Commander Salimata bit out. ¡°The girl from Tariac, your old friend from history track and a devil. Do you take me for a fool, Duan? A beating might have been overlooked as a settling of accounts between officers, but you took a smithing hammer to his leg.¡±


    ¡°Spurious accusations,¡± Wen affably replied. ¡°But I imagine whoever did it figured there was poetry to Yun Kang having an aching reminder of the need to watch his step for every step of the remainder of his misbegotten fucking life.¡±


    Song let a noise of surprise, almost squirming when the commander¡¯s furious gaze was turned on her.


    ¡°I do not understand. Can Professor Kang not seek Lady Knit¡¯s services?¡± she hesitantly asked.


    ¡°It¡¯s been over a day,¡± the dark-skinned officer sighed. ¡°She will count every break as a different fix. The price for so many boons would be¡­¡±


    ¡°Ruinous,¡± Captain Wen grinned, biting into a slice of orange with relish.


    Commander Salimata visibly reined herself in.


    ¡°You walked a fine line, Duan,¡± she bit out. ¡°You often do. Best hope you never trip, or the next hole you will be buried in will make the Dominion look like a paradise.¡±


    He shrugged.


    ¡°It¡¯s been a pleasure, Salimata, but I believe we¡¯re done here.¡±


    ¡°For now,¡± she said, then turned her gaze to Song. ¡°A good day to you, Captain Ren. It is unlikely we will meet again, so I wish you fruitful years in the Watch.¡±


    ¡°And you,¡± Song replied.


    The silence she left behind her was heavy. Song cleared her throat.


    ¡°If I were to ask you what happened in Tariac,¡± she leadingly said.


    ¡°I¡¯d be forced to tell you to mind your own business, only not as nicely,¡± Wen replied.


    Well, she could take a hand. Especially if it was handed to her rather insistently.


    ¡°Have you decided what you¡¯ll do?¡± he conversationally asked.


    ¡°Attend class,¡± she said.


    He actually looked amused at that.


    ¡°And then?¡±


    She bit her lip. Song had not slept well, after Maryam¡¯s departure, instead spending much of the night staring at the walls. But an idea had taken root, however dangerous.


    ¡°I need your help,¡± she said.


    ¡°Eh,¡± Wen said, promising nothing. ¡°Ask, at least.¡±


    ¡°Do you have access to the harbor logs?¡± Song asked.


    The large man pushed up his glasses, looking quite interested.


    ¡°Not officially,¡± he said. ¡°But it can be done. Why?¡±


    ¡°I need you to find out something for me,¡± she said. ¡°And to serve as a witness while I sign some documents.¡±


    Wen Duan sighed.


    ¡°And this came so close to being interesting,¡± he mourned.


    --


    The garlic rice wasn¡¯t as good as it had been last night, but after some time over the fire it was hot and fragrant.


    Maryam fetched a few stripes of salted fish from the pot to prop up the breakfast, grimacing all the while. They tasted like chewy seawater leather, though given how ridiculously cheap saltfish was she knew she would have to get used it. It was hard to argue with meat that could be had for coppers and would last until the Time of Fraying so long as you kept it cool and dry.


    ¡°If you keep glaring at it, it¡¯ll flee back into the sea,¡± Tristan drily said.


    The glare moved up from the fish to the rat.


    ¡°I¡¯ll not suffer backtalk from a man who asked if we have vinegar to dip that in,¡± Maryam said, jabbing an accusing finger.


    His grin only got wider.


    ¡°What did you even eat for meat, if you couldn¡¯t stomach fish?¡±


    ¡°Goat, mostly,¡± she said. ¡°Pork or beef when it was slaughter season.¡±


    She took a bite of the rice, swallowed.


    ¡°It¡¯s the fruits I miss the most,¡± she admitted. ¡°Volcesta is at the top of a valley full of orchards, the streets were thick with hawkers¡¯ carts every morning. You could get a whole bushel for city-coins.¡±


    He cocked his heat to the side.


    ¡°City-coins?¡± he asked.


    She ate another mouthful of rice.


    ¡°Most kings made their own currency,¡± Maryam told him, ¡°but many were trash so the coinage was only used within their own city.¡±


    The hills around Volcesta bore iron and copper but nothing else, so the Khaimov had been some of the worst offenders among the Izvoric. Traders often refused to take Volcesta coin at all unless it was knife-money, copper shaped into a dull knife. Mother had often made sport of Father for never using his own currency if he could avoid it.


    ¡°Thus, city-coins,¡± he said. ¡°As opposed to¡­¡±


    ¡°Trader-coins,¡± she replied. ¡°Those had weight, size and make set by law. It was a drowning crime to pass false ones, or reason for war if done by a king¡¯s hand.¡±


    ¡°It seems madness for no one to own that,¡± he mused. ¡°Sacromonte fought a dozen wars to ensure the only coinage stamped in the Trebian Sea is its own. Even the mints abroad are run by the House of Fabres.¡±


    Maryam had heard about that. Captain Totec had more than once groused about ¡®Sacromontan robbery¡¯ and how it was a self-inflicted wound by the Watch.


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    ¡°The Treaty of Blancaflor, yes?¡±


    The great bargain that had ended the myriad small wars Sacromonte had fought against the Watch when it first began to expand through the Trebian Sea. He nodded.


    ¡°It¡¯s half the reason any island out there still listens to the Six,¡± he said. ¡°Everyone knows the City¡¯s only got the largest fleet of the Trebian Sea on paper.¡±


    From what little Maryam knew of the treaty, it had been considered a coup by both sides ¨C though Sacromonte¡¯s influence had waned over the centuries, and the granted rights that had once been a jewel on its crown were now as a drowning man¡¯s driftwood instead. The blue-eyed woman polished off the last of the rice, leaving only two stripes of salted fish on the side of plate.


    She¡¯d get around to them eventually.


    ¡°Is there truly nothing you miss from Sacromonte?¡± Maryam asked. ¡°You rarely speak of it fondly.¡±


    ¡°Because it¡¯s a shithole,¡± he bluntly replied. ¡°I regret some of the food, but I¡¯ll learn to make it myself. I don¡¯t intend to ever return there save to settle private affairs.¡±


    ¡°I find that difficult to understand,¡± she admitted.


    ¡°The evil you¡¯ve known, it was imported,¡± Tristan shrugged. ¡°Mine was born and bred just across town.¡±


    He was finished with his plate, fish and all, and rose to put it away. She sipped at her water, delaying the inevitable.


    ¡°Are we to meet Song anywhere in particular?¡± he asked from the kitchen.


    ¡°Directly in Theology,¡± she replied. ¡°She did not know how long the interrogation would take, so she said we should meet her there instead.¡±


    ¡°Hopefully she¡¯ll not kill another four students on the way,¡± Tristan drawled. ¡°I expect they¡¯ll be less forgiving the second time.¡±


    It was a tasteless jest but not one meant to prick ¨C and yet Maryam found herself grimacing. Because it hadn¡¯t been Song who killed most of her ambushers, was it? It had been some thing calling herself the Keeper of Hooks, like there was anyone alive still deserving of the title. Like Maryam¡¯s own soul had not been a funeral pyre for centuries of Craft-lore.


    Only Song had said she saw a soul inside, so what if the thing was not a thing at all? Her heart clenched.


    ¡°It was not such a barb as to warrant that face, surely,¡± Tristan said.


    His face was still smiling, but those gray eyes had cooled.


    ¡°It isn¡¯t about Song,¡± Maryam said, hand reaching for her wooden fingers. ¡°There¡¯s been¡­¡±


    She sighed.


    ¡°We can talk about it properly some other time,¡± Maryam said. ¡°I would get answers from Captain Yue first.¡±


    He watched her silently for a moment, then nodded.


    ¡°As you say.¡±


    He sounded not resigned, she thought, but¡­ unsurprised? As if it were only to be expected, and that was what did it most of all. That fraying rope becoming ever more frayed, until one day she¡¯d pull at it and find there was nothing at all. Maryam set down her cup.


    ¡°We didn¡¯t talk last night,¡± she said.


    An eyebrow raised.


    ¡°We did little else,¡± Tristan replied.


    ¡°We talked about Song, and plans,¡± Maryam corrected. ¡°We didn¡¯t talk.¡±


    That gave him pause, she saw. He flicked a glance to his right, irritation flickering across his face.


    ¡°Your goddess?¡± she asked.


    ¡°I thought I heard a fly buzzing,¡± he airily replied.


    Maryam would not have believed him even if he¡¯d not then immediately tensed like he was refraining from shielding his head being slapped at.


    ¡°Fine,¡± he said, clearing his throat. ¡°Please, continue.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure I am the one who should be talking,¡± she honestly said. ¡°You are the one angry with me.¡±


    He looked surprised, as if he¡¯d not been walking around with that chip on his shoulder since yesterday. She almost sighed.


    ¡°You came yesterday with your fists up, ready for a brawl,¡± she told him.


    ¡°Because I knew we would-¡±


    ¡°This has nothing to do with Song,¡± she flatly said, ¡°and you¡¯ll not be getting out of this conversation by bringing her into it.¡±


    A beat passed. He smiled, prepared to put on the charm, and Maryam felt like punching him in the face. She would not, but thankfully there was an alternative.


    ¡°O great goddess,¡± she called out to the air. ¡°Maryam Khaimov promises you a fitting boon should you knock that false smile right off his face.¡±


    His eyes widened before he suddenly blanked his expression.


    ¡°Like that would-¡± he began then flinched, turned to his left with a glare, ¡°-ouch, pinching, really? Are you a child?¡±


    ¡°Thank you, o great one,¡± Maryam solemnly said.


    ¡°She¡¯s just flattering you, you vain idiota,¡± he complained, swatting at the air. ¡°Just leave, would you? We¡¯re having a conversation.¡±


    After a heartbeat he let out a sigh, putting his elbows on the table, then gray eyes turned on her.


    ¡°That was uncalled for,¡± he said.


    ¡°So was preparing to give me the Ferrando Villazar grin,¡± she flatly replied. ¡°Is it really too much to ask that you do not flee this conversation?¡±


    His jaw clenched.


    ¡°That is rich, coming from you,¡± Tristan bit back.


    She could see the moment where he realized what he had said, the way he forced his gaze not to dip down towards her hand, and knew in a heartbeat what it was about. The fingers, of course. For all that he made fun of Tredegar¡¯s precious honor, he was no less particular about debt than the Pereduri.


    ¡°I will be more insulted,¡± Maryam said, ¡°if you say nothing.¡±


    His entire face clenched, like he was preparing to take a punch on the jaw.


    ¡°It is not fair, or true,¡± he said. ¡°And so not worth mentioning.¡±


    ¡°Do it anyway,¡± Maryam said, and it was not a request.


    Gray eyes met her blue. Silence stretched out like a rope pulling taut until Maryam began to open her mouth ¨C only to be cut off at the last moment.


    ¡°You dragged me into this brigade,¡± Tristan bit out, ¡°and then left me in it the moment things went south.¡±


    ¡°Because I left that night,¡± she quietly said.


    He grit his teeth.


    ¡°Because you left that night,¡± he agreed, almost conceded. ¡°But that is just the shark¡¯s fin. I don¡¯t need you to hold my hand, Maryam, but I expected us to at least be in the same fucking boat. Only whenever there¡¯s knives out in the Thirteenth, you walk.¡±


    ¡°I only left-¡±


    ¡°You walk out in your head,¡± he cut through. ¡°Bite the anger and stop listening, stop talking. You get angry with Song, you chew it. You get angry with Tredegar, you chew it ¨C maybe spit out a few fishbones her way. There¡¯s only so many times I¡¯m willing to ease the blades for a cabal I only joined for you in the first place. If you don¡¯t care, why in the Manes should I?¡±


    Maryam opened her mouth to argue the point, to make him see, but she made herself close it. She was not like Tristan or Song, who could walk into a room full of strangers and within an hour find the levers to pull on half of them. She did not have the eyes for that, the talent. But she thought that, sometimes, that same knack turned around on them. They so often thought of conversation as a test, something you won or lost.


    It was not, so instead of arguing Maryam listened. Made herself see it. The two of them had been a pair, on the Dominion. The same side, and though they had kept their own secrets they had moved in the same direction. Not so on Tolomontera, Maryam must admit. She had been lost, and whenever she had not been furious with Song helping her had been her compass¡¯ north.


    He was not wrong, to feel left behind.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± she said.


    It had some part of her aching, the genuine surprise on his face.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been,¡± she began, then hesitated. ¡°My Signs failing, it has weighed on me. It could see me thrown out of Scholomance, and it seemed like there was no fix. But helping Song, it felt like blackcloak work. Steadying the cabal, being a good watchwoman.¡±


    She sighed.


    ¡°I think I¡¯ve found a way, for my Signs,¡± Maryam said. ¡°I don¡¯t need¡­¡±


    To be what holds Song up, to be the useful one, she did not say. I don¡¯t need it as much.


    ¡°I have my own way,¡± she finally said. ¡°It won¡¯t happen again.¡±


    He slowly nodded, face inscrutable. Did he believe her, did he understand? She could not tell and it felt tiring, all of sudden, to always wonder. And maybe she had been sitting on some unfair words as well.


    ¡°I admire it, you know,¡± Maryam said. ¡°How when everything falls apart, you keep a cool head. See only what you need to and go for the throat.¡±


    An eyebrow cocked.


    ¡°But,¡± Tristan said.


    Her fist clenched, wooden joints creaking.


    ¡°You need to be able to put it down, Tristan,¡± Maryam quietly said. ¡°When you come home, at least. You can¡¯t always be on war footing, like a single toe across the line means the knives are out. It¡¯s exhausting.¡±


    He stayed silent. Licked his lips.


    ¡°I don¡¯t mean to,¡± he finally said.


    ¡°I know,¡± she replied. ¡°But you don¡¯t fight it, either. And I know why you do it, that it served you, but-¡±


    ¡°It is exhausting,¡± he murmured.


    ¡°When you manage me, you don¡¯t,¡± Maryam said. ¡°I can tell, Tristan. It just means I have to go digging to get what you truly think, and it can be amusing but more often it is a chore.¡±


    A half-hidden wince, like he¡¯d gone to smooth it away before realizing what he was doing and stopping.


    ¡°I¡¯d rather have the ugly parts, if it means you being honest,¡± she said.


    A slow nod.


    ¡°That is,¡± he began, then bit the inside of his cheek. ¡°Not what I was taught. Or how I am.¡±


    His eyes dipped low.


    ¡°I can try,¡± he said. ¡°But I do not think you truly understand what is expected of a Mask.¡±


    ¡°Then tell me,¡± she gently said.


    He looked away.


    ¡°I¡¯ll think on it,¡± he said. ¡°I ¨C some of my teachers speak differently than others.¡±


    Maryam breathed out.


    ¡°It¡¯s all I ask,¡± she said.


    Her hands, she realized, were trembling. Sometimes you only realized how much you would miss something when it began to slip through your fingers.


    She was glad to have caught it early enough.


    ¡°So much talking, these days,¡± Maryam weakly jested.


    He smiled back just as weakly.


    ¡°Still beats the Terror Hole,¡± Tristan said.


    They looked at each other for a moment, then a chuckle ripped free of her. It bubbled up into laughter, the gray-eyed thief matching. It hadn¡¯t been all that funny, but the release felt good. Like purging a fever. Maryam asked for the time, after the last of the laughter died, and found they were nearly late.


    How unfortunate, she did not have time to finish her plate. The fish would have to wait.


    ¡°Fortuna is calling in her boon.¡±


    Her eyes swiveled the thief¡¯s way, finding him leaning against the kitchen counter with a smirk.


    ¡°Already?¡± she asked. ¡°I am all ears.¡±


    He cocked his head to the side, as if listening, then nodded.


    ¡°All the fish on your plate,¡± he said. ¡°Cram it into your mouth and swallow.¡±


    Maryam cleared her throat.


    ¡°O great one,¡± she tried, ¡°surely-¡±


    ¡°Quibble and I¡¯m to get one more stripe from the pot.¡±


    The Izvorica grimaced, looking down at her plate.


    ¡°It figures you¡¯d contract with an evil god,¡± she muttered, and reached down.


    Let it not be said that Maryam Khaimov did not do her duty. Her hateful, hateful duty.


    --


    Given that he was to sit with Song Ren again, it felt appropriate for the Theology class to be largely about contracts.


    It was a gripping enough subject that even the touchy Professor Artigas found nothing to scowl at as she began her lecture, some students even leaning in. She first outlined the elementary terms, first what qualified as a god and then as a contract ¨C for the latter, ¡®any power leant by a god with a fixed price and duration¡¯. Tristan found himself wondering how she would classify contracts at large ¨C the nature of the effects perhaps, or of the gods? ¨C and would admit surprise at the answer.


    ¡°Price,¡± the blonde wrote on the slate. ¡°Given the near endless diversity of gods and boons, the only functional way to classify contracts is by price.¡±


    Intrigued murmurs, followed by that impeccably styled hair bobbing as the Navigator traced a Sign and glued the loudest offender¡¯s hands over his mouth. That put an end to it right quick.


    ¡°The simplest manner of contract is the ¡®boon contract¡¯,¡± she said, writing out the two words. ¡°The god will lend the contractor an ability in exchange for an oath to enact a specific deed for them ¨C the eponymous boon - usually on a fixed timescale. Once that deed is enacted the ability will often, if not always, be rescinded.¡±


    She hummed.


    ¡°Boon contracts are most common with the weakest and most powerful of gods, that is to say aetheric intellects that are too thin to maintain several more complicated contracts or ingrained enough they can shrug off the risks of a bad investment.¡±


    The professor underlined ¡®boon contracts¡¯, then lowered the chalk.


    ¡°¡¯Exchange contracts¡¯, sometimes called ¡®scales contracts¡¯, are the most common contracts on Vesper,¡± Professor Artigas said. ¡°By our count, somewhere in the vicinity of seven in ten are of this kind. The underlying principle is straightforward: the contractor is granted by the god access to an ability, but every time it is used a price must be paid.¡±


    She snorted.


    ¡°Gods prefer such arrangements largely for the same reason the wealthy enjoy becoming landlords,¡± the professor drawled. ¡°A proportionally small investment may yield great dividends over time. As few gods will prevent their contractor from pulling overmuch, most cases of sainthood spawn from exchange contracts.¡±


    Tristan cocked his head to the side. So he was bound to Fortuna by an ¡®exchange contract¡¯, in the eyes of the Watch. Another slash of chalk followed by words.


    ¡°Legacy contracts,¡± Professor Artigas announced. ¡°By far the rarest. The only people able to reliably secure them are Izcalli royals, Circle priests from select reincarnation sects and Sacromonte¡¯s own House of Arquer. Legacy contracts are unique in that the god contracts not with an individual but a bloodline.¡±


    She shrugged.


    ¡°All contract lore is kept secret, understandably, but what surrounds legacy contracts in particular,¡± she said. ¡°I can tell you that the price is fixed in advance and identical for every signatory onto such a contract, and that direct descent from the original contractor is almost always a requirement. As a rule, such contracts are often among the most ¡®powerful¡¯ in a direct sense but they often carry debilitating costs.¡±


    One more slash.


    ¡°Caprice contracts,¡± she said. ¡°Only less rare than the legacies because they cover a wide range of what we can only call oddities. Some gods were formed or subsist from concepts that do not easily lend themselves to prices ¨C either by boon or exchange. We call these ¡®caprice contracts¡¯ because the god may demand a seemingly insignificant price, which simply happens to lead their contractor in situations that serve as prayer to them.¡±


    She paused.


    ¡°A god that feeds on brawling, for example, might require habitual insolence of their contractor,¡± Professor Artigas said. ¡°We will delve into more elaborate, and arguably insidious, examples of this later.¡±


    There was no need of further Signs to keep the class spellbound, and the three hours were gone in the blink of an eye. Tristan had never taken so many notes in his life, but the subject warranted it. Few men were more dangerous than contractors, out in the world.


    The thief watched Tredegar, who had sat with the Thirty-First and nodded a goodbye only to him out of the remains of the Thirteenth ¨C returned in kind ¨C bustle off with Ferranda¡¯s lot. She really had changed ship, hadn¡¯t she? Good on her. She seemed happier for it, and he was happier not wondering if he was ever going to cross some line of honor that¡¯d require her stabbing him. Everybody won.


    Except Song, and that was no tragedy.


    Arrangements for the conversation he was not looking forward to were made quite easily.


    ¡°I need to pick up something in the Triangle,¡± Song told him. ¡°If you know of an agreeable place to eat, we can meet there and I will invite you.¡±


    Tristan quirked an eyebrow.


    ¡°Not Maryam?¡±


    The Tianxi shook her head.


    ¡°It would defeat the point of the conversation to have it with a mediator,¡± she said.


    The conversation had no point, he thought, but it was not worth the argument to say as much. He agreed and revealed the location of the paella place, getting a happy smile from Maryam. It would not last, so he did not let himself enjoy it.


    An hour and a half later, he was sitting in the nook with his back to the wall while Song polished off the last of her paella. She¡¯d seemed to enjoy it, to his mild surprise, though she admitted to preferring the spices of Tianxia to the palette of Liergan. The thief had half-heartedly tried to open the conversation when the plates were served only to get a dry look for it.


    ¡°You should get to enjoy the meal, at least,¡± Song had said.


    Now that it was over, however, it was time to pay his dues. To his surprise, she suggested they stroll closer to the docks first. Eventually they found a bench in the shadows, overlooking the stone piers and the six ships docked. Most of them were empty, though the largest carrack had some blackcloaks on the deck and the caravel at the left end had someone in the crown¡¯s nest. He settled as comfortably as he could, leaving a solid foot of space between them on the bench.


    ¡°I apologize,¡± Song Ren suddenly said.


    He side-eyed her.


    ¡°For?¡±


    ¡°Blaming you, that night,¡± she said. ¡°For a great many things, but none more than what we did to the traitor. I was as much part of that decision as you.¡±


    Tristan grunted in acknowledgement. An apology was not nothing, only nothing much.


    ¡°Maryam tells me you want to leave the Thirteenth,¡± she said.


    He shrugged.


    ¡°Better for all of us, I think,¡± Tristan replied. ¡°Though I¡¯ll at least stay on until next month, like she asked.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll not make trouble for you if you want to transfer,¡± Song said. ¡°I have been considering, however, how to convince you to stay on.¡±


    A dose of bluntness, he thought, might save them a frustrating hour of going around in circles.


    ¡°There isn¡¯t a way,¡± he said. ¡°I am sitting here mostly as a courtesy to Maryam.¡±


    ¡°It would not be convincing if you wanted to be convinced,¡± Song ruefully replied. ¡°But I expect I may need some more time, for that, so to buy my way to that conversation I have been giving thought to your situation.¡±


    He frowned at her.


    ¡°Only even if I killed the entire Forty-Ninth overnight,¡± Song Ren calmly said, ¡°it would not be the end of your troubles, really. A temporary solution at best.¡±


    Tristan stilled, watching her face, and found no trace of a lie there. She had seriously considered it. It began to dawn on him he had walked into a very different conversation from the one he was expecting.


    ¡°The bounty¡¯s the real problem,¡± the thief cautiously agreed. ¡°But I know of no way to have it pulled.¡±


    ¡°There isn¡¯t,¡± she agreed. ¡°Whoever it was that put it up, they have enough influence within the Watch they cannot easily be forced away. Yet there is, fundamentally, a constraint on the collection of the bounty.¡±


    She leaned back, pulled her coat closer.


    ¡°To get you off Tolomontera, they need a ship,¡± Song said.


    He hummed. It was an obvious enough thing, but with the two of them sitting in the afternoon breeze looking at the docks the Tianxi¡¯s implications were made just as plain. The Ivory Library had no way to know when the brigades they had contacted on the island might grab him ¨C which meant either they had a place to stash him as a prisoner or the ship he was meant to be stolen away on must remain in the harbor.


    "You think you found out which one,¡± Tristan guessed.


    ¡°That small caravel at the east end of the docks,¡± Song said. ¡°It¡¯s called the Palmyran and it is not a Watch ship, strictly speaking. It is contracted and owned by the Peiling Society but does not fly the black.¡±


    He frowned.


    ¡°And they let it dock at Port Allazei anyway?¡±


    ¡°Someone pulled strings,¡± she said. ¡°On record, they are bringing restricted supplies for Scholomance. They were also meant to be gone a week ago but the garrison is choosing not to pursue the matter.¡±


    ¡°Someone got bribed,¡± Tristan flatly said.


    ¡°I expect not,¡± Song replied. ¡°Being caught endangering the isolation of Scholomance would be a career-ender. Given that ships on contract for the Watch have some right to use Watch ports when necessary, I might simply be enough of a headache to evict the Palmyran that the garrison prefers waiting it out.¡±


    A pause.


    ¡°They must not seem much of a threat, as the crew numbers only twelve and none save the captain ¨C a retired watchwoman ¨C are allowed to leave the docks,¡± she said.


    He let out a low whistle.


    ¡°That¡¯s a small crew, even for a caravel,¡± Tristan said. ¡°All it takes is one bad storm away from port and they¡¯ll be in real trouble.¡±


    ¡°A larger ship would have seen the College accused of trying to get private troops inside Port Allazei,¡± Song informed him. ¡°The influence of your enemies has limits, clearly.¡±


    ¡°Always good news,¡± Tristan drily replied.


    She was doing him a good turn, sharing that, and it should not go unacknowledged.


    ¡°Thank you for the information,¡± he added. ¡°I¡¯ll keep an ear out for anything that might be of use to you.¡±


    ¡°I have been giving thought to your situation,¡± Song repeated.


    The conversation did not feel like it was ended, at least on her end, so he remained seated even as silence wafted on the breeze.


    ¡°I would clear them out entirely,¡± she abruptly said. ¡°The Palmyran, the Forty-Ninth. End them in one stroke.¡±


    ¡°The catch being?¡±


    ¡°The means I have in mind would require a great deal of trust from you,¡± Song said. ¡°And at the moment I expect you trust me about as much as you do Tupoc.¡±


    Tristan cleared his throat.


    ¡°You still beat out Tupoc,¡± he assured her.


    But then so had Boria, the maneating god inside that pillar back on the Dominion, so the true worth of that achievement was debatable. In Tristan¡¯s defense, the ancient abomination had been quite personable if you tuned out the leg-chewing noises.


    ¡°As sound an endorsement of my performance as captain as I have warranted,¡± Song ruefully replied.


    His brow rose. Tristan did not move to defend her, wondering if that had been the ploy, but her look was not expectant.


    ¡°So, as the intermediary step, I considered what might make you extend me some measure of trust,¡± she continued, looking out at the water.


    He glanced at her, gauged her mood and decided on another sliver of honesty.


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure why you would bother,¡± he frankly said. ¡°We dislike each other and Maryam will stick with you when I leave.¡±


    A bitter pill to swallow, but swallow it he had. To his surprise, the Tianxi chuckled.


    ¡°I have wondered that as well,¡± Song admitted. ¡°If it was not childish of me to cling to the Thirteenth as it first came to these shores instead of letting events take their course and building one without so many¡­¡±


    ¡°Cracks in the foundation,¡± he suggested.


    ¡°So to speak,¡± she agreed.


    ¡°And?¡±


    ¡°And it smacked of vanity, wanting to convince you to stay,¡± Song admitted. ¡°So I went over whom I might replace you with.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯ll be plenty of takers in the coming weeks,¡± Tristan predicted. ¡°Once a few brigades bit it, there will be floaters to pick from by the dozen.¡±


    ¡°I am not unaware,¡± she said, then breathed in. ¡°But if I wanted to pick from the bottom rung, I would never have gone with Maryam to the Dominion. I am a Stripe recommended, Tristan ¨C that I can fill out a cabal is not in doubt, only the quality of those I can fill it out with. We set out to look for diamonds in the rough.¡±


    ¡°Not a lot of spare Tredegars lying around,¡± he said.


    ¡°Not only her,¡± Song Ren said.


    He cocked an eyebrow. It was a little late for flattery.


    ¡°Wen called you one of the most talented on the year¡¯s roster,¡± she said, ¡°but I did not truly agree until I had to think who to replace you with.¡±


    She snorted.


    ¡°Since coming to Port Allazei I have met students with underhand skills, students with an eye for tactics and capable of diplomacy,¡± Song said. ¡°Some even have two.¡±


    A steady look.


    ¡°Only one with three,¡± she said. ¡°I will not pretend there are not those whose skills I hold in higher esteem, but in the end it is telling I would need two replacements to fill the hole you leave.¡±


    Tristan matched her gaze, gray against silver.


    ¡°Is this where I blubber out thanks for a half-baked compliment and swear eternal servitude?¡± he mildly said. ¡°I appreciate the flowers, Song, but they change nothing.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t expect them to,¡± she said. ¡°I am acknowledging a fault, Tristan. I believed I knew what the brigade I wanted to lead should be like, and treated any deviation from that as a flaw. I should have learned to lead the Thirteenth that existed instead of the one I desired.¡±


    He hummed.


    ¡°May that insight serve you well in the days to come,¡± he said.


    She seemed amused.


    ¡°It is almost refreshing to be disliked so openly,¡± she said. ¡°Both Tianxi and Stripes prefer such things buried.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not the worst person I know,¡± he admitted. ¡°But you are not someone I want to take orders from.¡±


    ¡°I expect not,¡± she acknowledged. ¡°But what you do want is to get rid of the troubles dogging your step, so I prepared this for you.¡±


    She straightened and reached inside her coat, taking up a sheath of folded papers. Quirking a brow, he took them when offered. Three copies of the same thing, he saw, then read through.


    ¡®To see the truth of things¡¯, followed by a list of what that meant. Gods, illusions, through Gloam and Glare and even natural darkness. Seeing at a distance and the ability to read contracts as golden letters in the appropriate language. ¡®Luren¡¯, a minor god whose origins were unknown. Then- gray eyes rose.


    ¡°Was is this? Tristan asked.


    ¡°The exact terms of my contract, as far as I know them,¡± Song said. ¡°Signed and attested by my patron, Captain Wen Duan. It is a formal document, usable before a tribunal.¡±


    Tristan blinked and looked down, certain he must have missed something. There was only one sentence for the price.


    ¡°You don¡¯t know,¡± he slowly said. ¡°You don¡¯t know what your own damn price is?¡±


    She had the decency to look embarrassed.


    ¡°I did not set one when I took Luren¡¯s contract,¡± Song said.


    ¡°You must have set a boundary, at least,¡± he insisted.


    ¡°Take anything you want,¡± she softly quoted.


    He choked.


    ¡°How are you not a Saint?¡±


    Even as a desperate, bleeding child minutes away from dying he¡¯d bargained terms with Fortuna¡¯s voice. The luck he needed to survive the day, and she had demanded misfortune in equal part for it. And now he was being told that Song fucking Ren had just handed some shady Tianxi god a blank slate to write his price on?


    ¡°I have only speculation,¡± Song stiffly replied. ¡°Either the price is already paid but unnoticeable, or it is to be a single act yet to be requested.¡±


    And part of him was fascinated by that, by the implications, but the mindful part kept walking down the street. Such a document, if distributed, could finish sinking her reputation. Song already had a target on her back because of her surname, if she was also known to be able to read everyone¡¯s contracts any contractor with something to hide would want her dead. And any brigade tempted to take her in anyhow because of how very useful her contract was would hesitate if her price was revealed as, well, ¡®take anything¡¯. Her god could ruin her in an instant, should he feel like it.


    Tristan lined up the bits of information, considered them. Placed them on the balance to weigh against the risks.


    ¡°It could kill your career,¡± he finally acknowledged, ¡°but it would not kill you. It is leverage, not a knife at your throat.¡±


    ¡°I thought you might say that,¡± Song acknowledged.


    She reached inside her coat again, handing him a second folded paper. Antigua again, this one a¡­ confession, more or less. An introduction, then the meat of it.


    ¡®I have entreated Tristan Abrascal to take part in an operation against his would-be abductors on the Palmyran and their helpers in the Forty-Ninth Brigade, to take place on the coming thirdday. This will put him at their mercy on my behalf. If he is not then rescued from their custody, the reason is my betrayal. I will have gone against my word, committed trafficking of Watch personnel and broken my charge of care and protection as captain of the Thirteenth Brigade. This I confess, and let it be considered admission before any tribunal of the Watch.¡¯


    Signed, again witnessed by Captain Wen Duan. Like with the last paper, she handed him two copies.


    ¡°If this is not enough to arrange for my death in response to betrayal, I would be surprised and disappointed,¡± Song said.


    Idly Tristan considered that the greatest spread of damage would be leaving one letter with Zenzele, with instructions to hand it to Angharad Tredegar should he disappear, then arrange for the second to be sent to the offices near the docks. Whether she got honor-stabbed or hanged was the only bet left after that. There was one detail that could unravel it, though.


    ¡°How do I know this is truly Wen¡¯s signature?¡± he asked,


    ¡°Ask him,¡± she shrugged. ¡°You have time to make certain.¡±


    Tristan hummed. Did Wen dislike him enough to leave him out to dry if he was abducted? Maybe. But the man was also a Watch loyalist to the bone and would not countenance a Scholomance student being grabbed off the street no matter who it was. Assuming Song was aiming to betray him he must also assume Maryam would be silenced somehow, so she could not be counted on, but overall the balance of events was still¡­


    In his favor. And getting rid of his hunters would make it much easier to find another brigade.


    ¡°All right, Song,¡± Tristan said, eyes moving to the sleek silhouette of the Palmyran. ¡°What¡¯s your plan?¡±

 Chapter 32

    Tonight was the night.


    Song rose early and made breakfast: eggs, bread, bacon rashers. Not at all a meal she enjoyed, but it was hearty fare and the others seemed inordinately fond of it. Tristan stumbled in a few minutes later, his hair in no way distinguishable from usual even though he had clearly just got out of bed.


    ¡°Fancy,¡± he said after a peek at the pan, sliding into a seat at the kitchen table.


    ¡°The eggs only had a day left,¡± she replied.


    He took his eggs scrambled, mixed with onions and tomatoes if there were any to spare. There were just enough of the latter left from the potage that sprucing up his eggs did not feel like a waste, so into the pan they went. He waited until the bacon was added to his plate before thanking her, cutting his own slice from the loaf. Just a little diagonally, to the left of straight. Ugh.


    She tried not to visibly react, but he was suddenly all smiles. The little bastard had definitely noticed.


    Maryam only emerged when they were both done with their plates, dressed for the day and freshly washed. Song heated her rashers again and made her eggs cooked on both sides, which went to show that bad taste could cross the ocean. It was one of these historical tragedies that outside Tianxia only the Someshwari seemed to understand eggs were best eaten as omelets.


    ¡°Ooh, you even put in the herbs,¡± Maryam enthused.


    With her mouth full, which rather evened out the expression of appreciation in Song¡¯s book.


    ¡°I¡¯ll leave the dishes to you two,¡± she said, getting up. ¡°I need to get ready for the day.¡±


    She paused and carefully did not look at the man in question.


    ¡°Will you be needing the washbasin, Tristan?¡±


    A pause, long and thoughtful.


    ¡°Did you cook the breakfast we like just to be sure I¡¯d feel guilty enough to agree?¡± the thief asked.


    ¡°I have no idea what you¡¯re talking about,¡± Song Ren lied. ¡°I¡¯ll leave a clean cloth for you. And a comb.¡±


    ¡°The things a man does for bacon,¡± Tristan gravely said.


    ¡°You can¡¯t cross her, she¡¯s the only one who can make it crunchy but still bendy,¡± Maryam whispered.


    Confident in her victory, Song retreated upstairs as they began bickering over how Tristan overcooked his and she ¡®slurped up raw pig entrails¡¯. Uncle Zhuge had never mentioned the importance of maintaining cooking superiority when preparing her for captaincy, which was sane and reasonable but still somehow felt like an oversight on his part.


    The Tianxi fetched the clothes she had laid out, closed the door to the washing room and shed her night clothes before scrubbing herself thoroughly with cloth and soap. She rinsed and wiped before checking on her braid in the copper mirror, finding it a little loose. She pulled it up and combed her hair freshly before braiding it anew, in that easy pattern Mother had taught her as a girl.


    When she was finished she put on layer after layer, checking on the buttons and adjusting the collar. The combat fit for today, though her belt was downstairs with her guns and sword. Song gave herself one last once over in the looking glass, facing a neat profile with a severe edge to its cast. The impression she wanted to give, now most of all.


    Her interlocutor would only see any hint of weakness as an invitation to take liberties.


    Giving a satisfied nod, she changed the water of the washbasin and put away her nightclothes after folding them. She dipped back into the room to place a clean cloth folded where it could not be missed, along with a small comb and even the soap.


    The latter was a long shot, but a girl could dream.


    --


    Tonight was the night.


    Angharad had been looking forward to it ever since Lord Musa handed her the formal invitations, so she rose already in a good mood. The house was small enough the smell of breakfast spread through every nook and cranny, Angharad padding into the kitchen in her nightdress to find Rong¡¯s usual: warm rice porridge, a traditional Tianxi meal. They made the same thing every morning, which she would have come to find tedious if not for the many plates of toppings spread around the porridge bowls on their cramped kitchen table.


    Eggs, chopped turnips and carrots, some sort of ruddy bean paste, stripes of cooked chicken and fish, sundry spices: the porridge stayed largely the same, but could be made to taste rather differently according to what one sprinkled in.


    Rong Ma was setting down the last plate when she arrived, and they nodded a greeting before sliding onto a stool. The room that was both their kitchen and their drawing room was smaller than most, a consequence of having one bedroom more than most houses on the street. It made for crowded common space but appreciable privacy when such was wished for.


    ¡°Good morning,¡± Angharad greeted them, claiming her own stool. ¡°Were you out late? I didn¡¯t even hear you come in last night."


    ¡°Shalini tossed me out at the eleventh hour, so no,¡± Rong drily replied. ¡°As if she wasn¡¯t going to be up burning candles over those novels of hers whether I tinkered or not.¡±


    Not for the first time, Angharad eyed the other blackcloak for any resentment at their once workshop having been turned into her bedroom only to find none. The Tianxi seemed to find it somewhat inconvenient to have to walk back and forth between the houses, but remained otherwise indifferent. It had been a relief not to end up on the wrong foot from the start.


    ¡°I think we¡¯re not supposed to know about those,¡± Zenzele noted, walking into the kitchen.


    He slid into the stool between them, immediately reaching for the eggs. He was an egg hog, Angharad had learned, though surprisingly light on spices. Mother would have called the way he ate hollow food.


    ¡°Are they not explorers'' journals?¡± she asked. ¡°That seems an odd thing to hide.¡±


    They were in Samratrava so the actual contents were unknown to her, but the covers sometimes had ship outlines on them.


    ¡°Something is getting explored in those books, all right,¡± Rong muttered, sprinkling turnip liberally.


    ¡°They are Someshwari filth about brave Ramayan merchant captains seducing pretty foreigners while becoming fabulously wealthy,¡± Zenzele amusedly explained. ¡°Every other book an evil Tianxi admiral gives a monologue before losing to superior Ramayan charm and cunning.¡±


    ¡°The Yellow Earth tried to get them banned back in the Republic of Wendi on account of them being royalist propaganda, but they sell too well for the courts to allow it,¡± Rong sighed. ¡°That¡¯s Wendi for you ¨C they¡¯d sell pieces of the Circle, if the profits were good enough.¡±


    ¡°Tianxi are not alone in such habits. Pillow books about noble swordmistresses being captured and ravished by savage Sunflower Lords are quite popular with some circles, back in Malan,¡± Angharad admitted.


    She then slid a slightly guilty look Zenzele¡¯s way. Women¡¯s talk, that, not the sort of thing one discussed around husbands. The dark-skinned man only cocked an eyebrow.


    ¡°The books for men are horrid,¡± he told her.


    He popped an egg into his mouth, swallowed.


    ¡°Tree metaphors, Angharad,¡± he said, voice harrowed. ¡°Tree metaphors as far as the eye can see.¡±


    She choked on her mouthful of porridge, choking until Rong slapped her back. She sent them a grateful look and the meal was polished off with haste. The three were up earlier than trek to Scholomance would warrant, in part because the Tianxi tinker wanted to pick up some affairs from their workshop and Angharad had an appointment of her own. She began to bring away the dishes, as was her duty ¨C unlike under Song, in the house tasks were split but did not rotate ¨C but Zenzele stopped her.


    ¡°I¡¯ve nothing but a lazy morning ahead,¡± he told her. ¡°Leave me the dishes and see if you can get in early at the shop.¡±


    ¡°Ah, that¡¯s right,¡± Rong said, turning to eye her. ¡°Your dress for the banquet.¡±


    ¡°I planned my time so I could hold up my end,¡± Angharad insisted.


    ¡°I misplaced mine, so I need something to spend it on,¡± Zenzele said, shooing her off. ¡°Away with you.¡±


    ¡°I cannot-¡±


    ¡°Tell me if Musa uses the wrong fork at any point tonight and we shall call it even,¡± he said.


    It would have been graceless to push the matter further, so Angharad gave in. She returned to her room for a wash and a quick change. After her goodbyes, it was a matter of moments before her boots hit pavement.


    --


    Song had believed Tupoc Xical to be setting the time and place largely to inconvenience her, so it was a surprise to find he was actually hard at work.


    Near the southern end of Regnant Avenue, just short of the barracks, were a few blocks¡¯ worth of courtyard houses. The Lierganen equivalent, anyway, which was smaller and meant for a single branch of a family instead of the tree. The Watch had forbidden them from being used as housing so that the barracks wouldn¡¯t be shooting at students if they had to turn their cannons north, leaving a row of surprisingly decent training spaces in the form of stone courtyards far from any lemures that no one had claim over.


    And training was actually what Tupoc was using the house he¡¯d directed her towards for.


    Song stepped through the threshold to the sound of wood clattering against wood, finding a half-naked and barefoot Tupoc batting away the shaft of his cabalist¡¯s spear. Expendable ¨C Velaphi, that tragedy of a contract revealed his true name to be ¨C growled and stepped in, trying to hammer into his captain¡¯s chest with his grip. The Izcalli deftly danced around the blow, kicking him in the back of a knee and clicking his tongue as the amber-eyed man stumbled.


    ¡°Temper,¡± Tupoc chided. ¡°Either fight with the beast or fight with your head: the middle ground is the worst of both worlds, and the gods know your best is still so terribly mediocre.¡±


    Resting his spear against his shoulder, he then tapped a thoughtful finger against his chin.


    ¡°Also, stop holding your spear as if I were a warthog looking for a spit,¡± the Izcalli added. ¡°If you flick and duck against a human, they¡¯ll just gut you.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not used to fighting people,¡± Expendable bit back.


    ¡°Pick fights with strangers,¡± Tupoc suggested, then revealed he had known she was there the whole time by flicking a sly look her way. ¡°Why, hello there stranger!¡±


    She almost rolled her eyes. The only reason she refrained was that he fed on others reacting to his antics, much like some discount Izcalli devil.


    ¡°Tupoc,¡± Song replied, the nodded a polite greeting at the other man. ¡°Expendable.¡±


    The Malani pulled down his hat over his eyes before turning her way and returning the nod, sweat glistening around his neck. Unlike Tupoc, he was fully dressed in a regular uniform.


    ¡°Captain Ren,¡± Expendable nodded back to you. ¡°Good day to you. I was just leaving.¡±


    The courtyard walls had iron spikes nailed into them, almost like makeshift racks, and the Malani hastily put up his spear there. Song entered the courtyard and moved out of the threshold to make room for him to leave, getting a grateful nod as Expendable all but fled her presence. Song turned to Tupoc, silently cocking an eyebrow.


    The pale-eyed Izcalli was standing by a barrel in the corner of the courtyard, dipping a cloth inside and washing off his sweat. When he noticed her expression, he laughed.


    ¡°I have told my cabal you are a meddlesome witch who can read their thoughts with but a glance,¡± he casually informed her.


    Most of the half-naked men Song had seen in her life had been gravely wounded, but she had seen enough aside from that to know that there was nothing natural about the perfect symmetry of Tupoc Xical¡¯s upper body. And when she used perfect, she meant perfect: as far as her eyes could tell there was not a single asymmetry or imperfection across the whole of him, be it the muscles of his belly or the corner of his eyebrows.


    ¡°A pointless waste of all our times,¡± Song replied.


    ¡°Irritating you is always worth my time, Song,¡± Tupoc feelingly said.


    The Izcalli dunked his head into the water barrel. Song¡¯s eyebrow cocked even higher, as while he leant down she got a glimpse of his back and found there was a tattoo between his shoulder blades. An elaborate golden coin, displaying some sort of three-headed creature made of bones. Not any Izcalli coinage she knew of. He emerged after a few seconds, shaking his wet hair ¨C which ended up settling perfectly with barely a brush of his hand ¨C and sighing with pleasure.


    ¡°You wanted something?¡± Tupoc asked.


    For you to put a shirt on, you immodest harlot, she almost said. That would guarantee he went half-naked in her presence whenever it was even remotely possible for months, however, so she refrained.


    ¡°I have work for your brigade,¡± she said. ¡°Tonight. I¡¯ve come prepared to offer appropriate payment for it.¡±


    Setting down the cloth, the Izcalli padded away on the stone to pick up a larger towel and dry himself. He kept it hung loosely on his neck afterwards, which was no shirt but better than nothing.


    ¡°So you did lose Tredegar,¡± Tupoc mused. ¡°Her sitting with darling Ferranda seemed significant but it was no sure thing. Unlike your needing to hire muscle.¡±


    If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    There had been no avoiding his figuring that out, but it was an open secret by now anyway. Song had come prepared to take it on the nose.


    ¡°She will be leaving the Thirteenth,¡± she acknowledged, then moved on. ¡°The opposition I would hire you against is a-¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Tupoc easily said.


    Song¡¯s brow rose.


    ¡°No?¡±


    ¡°Without Tredegar you¡¯re not nearly as interesting,¡± the Izcalli shrugged. ¡°Maryam might warrant a second look if that spite ever translates into power but Tristan, you?¡±


    He snorted.


    ¡°There is nothing more boring than a game I¡¯ll win every time,¡± Tupoc said.


    Arrogance, Song thought. He was better with a spear than she was with a sword ¨C or a spear, for that matter ¨C but he was not better than a bullet. If she caught him at a distance, or in a place where she could snuff out the lights, Song was confident in killing him. Idly, she wondered if he was truly refusing or trying to goad her into something unwise. By the way he was standing, loose-limbed and watchful, it might just be the second.


    He''d love an excuse to get her in the ring, she suspected. He seemed like the sort who thought that you could only get someone¡¯s measure by crossing blades or something equally asinine. Unfortunately for Tupoc Xical, she was less than interested in playing his games.


    ¡°If you do not let me finish my offer,¡± she said, ¡°you will regret it.¡±


    Pale eyes light up with glee.


    ¡°Are you threatening me, Song Ren?¡± Tupoc smiled.


    Smelling a fight, he must think. It would be satisfying to pull out the rug under him.


    ¡°Of course not,¡± she replied. ¡°If I were threatening you, Tupoc, I¡¯d be telling you that the only thing it would cost me to ruin you is an inkwell and a stack of papers.¡±


    She leaned in.


    ¡°A sheet in front of every door on Hostel Street, with your name and the knowledge that you cannot touch bats and spiders.¡±


    The Izcalli stiffened for the barest of moments, tried to play it out as stretching. They both knew she was not fooled in the slightest.


    ¡°Admitting you can read contracts?¡± Tupoc mused. ¡°Bold. A girl could get killed over that.¡±


    They¡¯re already trying to kill me, Song thought. Maybe Nianzu had been right, maybe there was no winning this, but they would not bury her cringing. What was the, if she spent her life toeing the line only to end up dragged into a hole so vengeful children could torture her to death? She had used her contract without truly using it, and that had to end.


    ¡°That won¡¯t put your secrets back in the box,¡± she said. ¡°How long will the little show with your cabal work, if they know killing you is easy as putting a spider in your bedroll while you sleep? The fear would be gone, Tupoc, and not only for them. For everyone.¡±


    Because Tupoc, clever as he was picking his battles, only still drew breath because he was strong enough to fight those battles. So long as he was too dangerous to be worth tangling with over small matters. If that balance shifted even slightly, it all came down on his head. Pale eyes hardened.


    ¡°I would kill you over that,¡± he said.


    Calmly, like it was a common and simple thing. No more difficult than drawing water from a well.


    ¡°You¡¯d try,¡± Song shrugged, unimpressed. ¡°But it doesn¡¯t matter, because I¡¯m not here to threaten you. I¡¯m here to give you a gift.¡±


    ¡°Well, you certainly have my attention,¡± Tupoc drawled. ¡°What do you have for me, Song?¡±


    ¡°One,¡± she said.


    ¡°Copper?¡± he said, looking her up and down. ¡°I¡¯m not unwilling, mind you, but it will take more romance. At least two candlelit dinners and perhaps some of that sultry Someshwari poetry.¡±


    She eyed him with open disdain.


    ¡°I¡¯d bed Tristan first,¡± she said. ¡°At least I would not be risking rabies.¡±


    ¡°All right, with talk like that I¡¯ll bargain down to the one dinner,¡± Tupoc conceded.


    ¡°One reading,¡± Song said. ¡°Your choice.¡±


    He opened his mouth to try to put a knife in her, but she had seen it coming from miles away.


    ¡°It cannot be a member of the Thirteenth Brigade, past or present,¡± she told me.


    ¡°Tredegar¡¯s leaving you,¡± the Izcalli drawled, as if she had needed a reminder. ¡°And still you¡¯d extend her protection?¡±


    ¡°Congratulations,¡± Song said. ¡°You can understand Antigua. We will make a civilized man of you in a decade or two, at this rate.¡±¡±


    ¡°And if I insist?¡± Tupoc smirked.


    He asked in Centzon, because someone somewhere had failed in their solemn duty to beat an acceptable personality into him.


    ¡°The terms remain unchanged,¡± Song replied in the same, cocking her head to the side. ¡°Were you somehow under the impression that your pompous smugness would make a difference?¡±


    A small twitch, almost impossible to miss, but with eyes like hers almost was more than enough.


    ¡°I could refuse,¡± Tupoc said.


    Trying it out as a threat. He did that often, she had noticed. Putting the words out to see if the other would react, then playing them off a jest if they did not land as he liked. The parry to that was simply not to buy in.


    ¡°You could,¡± Song agreed. ¡°But you won¡¯t.¡±


    Because what I offer is of great worth, and you are only probing to see if I am desperate, she thought. He hummed, stroking his hairless chin. He stretched it out, as if deliberating, but she could see in the way he stood that the balance had settled.


    ¡°And what kind of gift would you want in exchange?¡± he asked.


    ¡°The only thing you have to give,¡± Song said. ¡°Violence.¡±


    ¡°Now you sweet-talk me,¡± he complained. ¡°Who against?¡±


    Song told him, and why, getting an impressed whistle as answer.


    ¡°And here I thought you were the boring kind of ambitious,¡± Tupoc said. ¡°That sounds like an interesting evening.¡±


    A beat.


    ¡°I could strike that bargain,¡± he said. ¡°There is only one question I¡¯d like answered first.¡±


    He leaned in.


    ¡°My contract, you can read it all?¡± Tupoc asked.


    ¡°I have no reason to answer that,¡± Song said.


    ¡°I¡¯ll walk on the deal,¡± he casually said.


    Yet his eyes were cold, belying the truth of it. The Tianxi smoothed away her displeasure. Typical of the man, he had waited to leverage her until the deal was all but done ¨C until there was something for her to lose. She would admire the deftness, were it not wielded to her detriment.


    ¡°I can,¡± Song conceded. ¡°Though I do not necessarily understand the words.¡±


    He seemed amused.


    ¡°What¡¯s tripping you up?¡± the Izcalli said. ¡°I might be of help.¡±


    She rolled her eyes, called the bluff.


    ¡°Yekayotl,¡± she said. ¡°I could not find a proper translation.¡±


    ¡°You wouldn¡¯t, it is not classical Centzon,¡± Tupoc chuckled. ¡°Temple dialect. It means ¡®perfection¡¯ as a finite state of being.¡±


    Song frowned, surprised in two different ways. The first that he would share this at all, the second at the implication. Tupoc Xical¡¯s contract had him forever towards moving towards yekayotl, which meant his god believed his current body to be perfect. Or perhaps a ¡®perfect slate¡¯ that any deviation from was corrected by his contract.


    What he did was not healing so much as pulling on aether to fix the slate ¨C which explained why he was capable of both ¡®healing¡¯ his wounds and purging poison. Poison was not part of the slate, so it was burned out.


    It was a surprisingly narrow range of immortality he boasted, Song mused. A thousand cuts would force him to draw too much on his contract, likely killing him or inflicting sainthood, while the instant death of being shot through the head would kill him before his contract could begin mending the slate and so void the pact to his god by way of death.


    Much anything else, though, he would survive. And anything lost would return in time, warding him from the accumulation of wounds and fractures that years of service in the Watch inevitably brought. Though she burned with questions ¨C had he ceased aging, why was food still necessary when poison had no effect, how had the ¡®perfection¡¯ been decided on ¨C she held her tongue. There was a difference between being told the meaning of a single word and pawing at the deepest secrets of his contract.


    ¡°I do not know what you did to catch such a god¡¯s attention,¡± Song said, ¡°but it must have been impressive.¡±


    Tupoc laughed.


    ¡°They always believe that,¡± he ruefully said. ¡°That because my lord Grave-Given is great and worshipped by millions, he must love only the most faithful priests and famous champions. That is a misunderstanding of what he is, Song.¡±


    ¡°And what is that?¡±


    ¡°Death,¡± Tupoc said. ¡°Nothing before, nothing after. That is all the Grave-Given takes into his eyes: your death. You want to know how I drew his eye, Song Ren?¡±


    He grinned.


    ¡°The darklings thought I was dead, so they threw me in the pit with the rest of the corpses,¡± Tupoc said. ¡°They swaddled me in death, broken and delirious, for three days and three nights. I drank rainwater by licking at rotting skin, heard them feast and sing above as carcasses burst and I was choked by graven flesh.¡±


    He leaned in.


    ¡°He came to me on the last day, when the shit and sickness had seeped into my wounds. When I was good as blind and more than halfway dead.¡±


    Tupoc laughed, drew back.


    ¡°That is what a prayer to the Grave-Given is, Song. Not glory or honor or all the pretty feathers those society fucks put in their hair. Death is the only currency of any worth, and a man should know what he¡¯s willing to spend his only coin on.¡±


    Those pale eyes burned with fervor.


    ¡°Else he is good only for filling the pit.¡±


    Song¡¯s hands clenched.


    ¡°Why tell me this?¡± she asked.


    ¡°On the Dominion,¡± Tupoc said, ¡°you walked around like an arrogant child. Now, though?¡±


    He stretched out, folded his hands behind his head.


    ¡°You have the walk of someone who got a glimpse of the pit,¡± Tupoc said. ¡°It has me curious.¡±


    Words to haunt a woman in the dark of night, those.


    ¡°What is your coin worth, Song Ren?¡± Tupoc smiled. ¡°I look forward to finding out.¡±


    She forced herself to stay until she had his agreement to the deal, and not a moment more.


    --


    The tailor Lerato ushered her in even though she had come half an hour early, pressing tea into her hand and telling her to sit while she tended to another client. The middle-aged, homely Malani woman ¨C southern, by the accent ¨C intended for Angharad to sit in the front but their voices were overheard and the client in question called out.


    ¡°Is that you I hear, Lady Angharad?¡±


    A voice she was familiar with.


    ¡°Lord Thando,¡± she called back. ¡°A pleasant surprise.¡±


    He was as pleased to see her, so instead she found herself ushered into the back to sit on a plushy armchair while Thando Fenya saw to the last details of his outfit for the very same evening she was to attend. The colorful doublet in geometric patterns was an almost nostalgic sight, though longer than she was used to. Perhaps in deference to the cool evenings.


    The matching puffy trunk hose worn over breeches was pure Malani ostentation, however, a fashion that had never taken in Peredur where a nobleman was expected to be able to ride and run.


    Given that Thando was somewhat plain of face and flabby-eared she would have thought the elaborate stylings might draw the eye to that plainness, but between his golden earrings and the cut the outfit rather distracted from it instead. Impressive work, though she wondered what manner of jerkin he might complete it with.


    Lerato made adjustments to the shoulder fit of the doublet while they chatted, the Malani seemingly in a fine mood.


    ¡°- quite happy to hear you would be invited,¡± he said. ¡°There are too many nobles from the south and the heartlands, I feel, some Pereduri blood will do the evenings good.¡±


    ¡°Am I to understand that House Fenya is of northern bent?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Our holdings are closer to the heartlands, in truth, but I was raised on the coast of Mirror Bay,¡± Thando said. ¡°We own land and manors in the region.¡±


    As did half the noble houses in Malan. Those that could afford it, anyhow: Mother had always balked at the prices, laughing that she would get more use of another carrack. They traded pleasantries about what the lands of Llanw Hall had been like ¨C wet, more poetically said ¨C and commiserated about how scorching weather could get in the heartlands.


    The conversation turned to whispers once Lerato left the room.


    ¡°I must congratulate you on finding the shop,¡± Thando said. ¡°We have been keeping it something of a secret.¡±


    The nobly born, he meant.


    ¡°It was recommended to me by Zenzele Duma,¡± she said.


    ¡°A well-dressed man, Duma,¡± Thando approved, thumbing his ear absent-mindedly. ¡°A shame that having him in the same room as Shange is apt to get one of them killed.¡±


    Which would be unproductive, so only one could be invited. As Musa Shange had blood ties to prominent izinduna and greater connections within the Watch besides, so she expected from where they stood the choice had not been all that difficult to make. She could not even deny that Lord Musa had reason to be angry with Zenzele, much as she preferred the latter man to the former.


    ¡°It seems to me there are few enough of us,¡± Angharad delicately said, ¡°that brokering some manner of peace would be to everyone¡¯s advantage.¡±


    The Thirty-First had done her many kindnesses, over the last two weeks. It was only proper for her to return them if she could.


    ¡°Ambitious,¡± Thando noted. ¡°Some would call such an attempt ill-fated, but it does not seem impossible to me.¡±


    Merely very difficult, he was implying.


    ¡°I have dabbled in ambition, should the occasion call for it,¡± she replied.


    ¡°Then I advise you to linger after your time,¡± the Malani said. ¡°Unless I am mistaken ¨C and I so rarely am - Musa is to visit the shop this morning.¡±


    Given that there was only so much time left before she needed to link up with the others to begin the journey towards Scholomance, Angharad found that news heartening. Lerato could not have many visits lined up before the hour grew too late for it, meaning her odds of catching Musa were quite good. Thando finished the last of his fittings mere minutes later, and while the seamstress went to fetch Angharad¡¯s dress the man leaned in and lowered his voice again.


    ¡°Tread carefully tonight,¡± he whispered. ¡°You are Musa¡¯s better on the dueling field, but I expect he might be a finer blade at such affairs.¡±


    She scrutinized his face, finding it unreadable, and nodded. He had made a choice that did not please her, on the evening she fought that duel, but it had not been perfidious or unreasonable. She would not reject an expression of goodwill from him.


    ¡°It is not my first soiree,¡± Angharad said, ¡°but I thank you for the warning.¡±


    Lord Thando took his leave after settling his bill and adding a hefty tip, which she made a note to imitate. With Uncle Osian¡¯s gift, she could afford it. Angharad had withdrawn her part from the Thirteenth¡¯s account after moving into the shared house, but much of that she had offered Ferranda. It was only right if she was to eat the Thirty-First¡¯s food, draw from their powder horns and have her clothes watched by their laundress.


    Her dress was exactly as she had desired, and she tried it on while Lerato prodded her with pins one more time.


    ¡°A little tighter around the waist, I think,¡± the seamstress muttered. ¡°You have the shape for it.¡±


    It did not take long for the adjustments to be finished, but Angharad claimed another cup of tea and chatted with Lerato until her next patron arrived. And, luck of lucks, it was another familiar face: tall, braided Lord Musa Shange bent his head to pass the threshold. She feigned surprise at his arrival, which he seemed amused by, and was extended an invitation to remain and chat while Mistress Lerato saw to his clothing.


    Small talk about classes ¨C more their shared Skiritai hours than the common ones ¨C that stayed of little import, until Angharad thanked him for the invitation. He demurred receiving the thanks, as extending it had not been his decision alone, which was the opening she was waiting for.


    ¡°How are invitations decided on, anyway?¡± she casually asked.


    ¡°Nothing formal,¡± Musa said. ¡°General accord, I suppose, is the most accurate description.¡±


    ¡°So any Malani nobly born that is not strongly objected to,¡± Angharad leadingly said.


    His full lips quirked. He had caught the meaning.


    ¡°A stain on one¡¯s reputation would disqualify,¡± he said.


    She put on a smile.


    ¡°And these gatherings, are they are crowded affairs?¡±


    ¡°One might say the exclusivity is rather their point,¡± Musa replied.


    A polite but thorough parry to her indirectly pointing out there were few highborn of the Isles present on Tolomontera. Angharad had not expected him to be easily moved, anyhow: this was more to gauge the strength of his distaste for Zenzele. Firm seemed to be a good word for it, though not so strong he extended his anger to those trying to work peace between them.


    He would not have been smiling so amusedly at Angharad¡¯s attempts otherwise.


    As with Thando, the other Skiritai waited until Mistress Lerato had left the room to turn the conversation to subjects he would rather not be overheard. Unlike Thando Fenya, however, Musa invented blatant busywork for her rather than wait.


    ¡°It is an old conceit that who we were before the Watch does not matter,¡± Musa said, ¡°but I expect you will know better by now.¡±


    Angharad frowned.


    ¡°One can fall short of an ideal without renouncing it entirely,¡± she said.


    ¡°How genteel!¡± Musa exclaimed. ¡°But that is perhaps kinder than is deserved.¡±


    He shrugged.


    ¡°It is tempting, I¡¯ll admit, to swallow the lies the Watch tells about itself,¡± Musa Shange idly said. ¡°Purpose and honor, the hard souls standing between Vesper and the dark. Even the covenants cut pieces off the grand delusion and claim it for their own, as if to make it easier to swallow. Yet they are very much lies, in the end.¡±


    Angharad shot him an appalled look.


    ¡°If you believe this, why enroll at all?¡±


    ¡°Why do men do anything?¡± he laughed. ¡°I can rise high in the Watch. Higher than I ever would have in Malan, where the best I could hope for was being my sister¡¯s sword.¡±


    The lordling languidly shrugged.


    ¡°I do not mean to slight the black, Lady Angharad, only acknowledge the truth of what wearing the color means,¡± Musa said. ¡°It is not some sacred calling but a career like any other.¡±


    ¡°Only a fool would attend the classes we have simply for the salaries promised us,¡± she said.


    ¡°Salaries,¡± he chuckled. ¡°No one sent here who will ever matter cares a jot about that, my lady. Consider instead how few covenanters there are in the Watch, and how widely spread they are across Vesper.¡±


    He waved around.


    ¡°Anyone who survives their years here will have ties to dozens of their fellow covenanters, a well-trained cabal to rely on and multitudes of contacts across all walks of the Watch,¡± Musa said. ¡°Scholomance does not graduate mere cabalists, it is forging the ruling class of the Watch for the next century.¡±


    ¡°And filling more than a few graves with these supposed chosen ones,¡± Angharad flatly said. ¡°Supposition is one thing, but looking at the facts it is clear we are being trained for steel and not politics.¡±


    ¡°With the Watch, they are one and the same,¡± he said. ¡°Though I will grant that the use of that accursed maneating school is¡­ noteworthy. I expect there is some kind of game afoot with the god within.¡±


    ¡°There may be some truth in what you say,¡± Angharad acknowledged, ¡°but there is much room for misunderstanding in painting an object seen only through a curtain.¡±


    He only seemed amused, which had her eyes narrowing.


    ¡°Besides, I fail to grasp why you would bring up this theory to me at all,¡± she added a tad sharply.


    ¡°You are strong and well connected,¡± Musa Shange calmly said. ¡°Someone that might go far in the Watch, with a little foresight.¡±


    He idly picked at his sleeve.


    ¡°Which is why I find it wasteful for you to wander about so blindly,¡± the Malani said.


    Her jaw tightened, but he raised a hand in appeasement.


    ¡°Do not swallow the lie, Angharad Tredegar,¡± he said. ¡°The Rooks will devour you whole, if you let them. Instead of considering the many ways you might serve them, you ought to consider how it is the order can be made to serve you.¡±


    The tall man smiled.


    ¡°I will be an important man, one day,¡± Musa said. ¡°And I will have earned that rank, not merely inherited it. That is the Watch can give me.¡±


    He pushed off.


    ¡°Think on what it is you want, my lady,¡± he added. ¡°And if going under Ferranda Villazur is truly the best way to get it.¡±


    Angharad was beginning to suspect she was headed to a very different kind of gathering than she had thought she was.

 Chapter 33

    She could feel the eyes on her as she walked down the hall.


    Whispers and stares, smirks and anticipation. Word of Song¡¯s exoneration from the death of four students had made the rounds of Scholomance like a circling vulture, first as rumor then as fact. Every single brigade patron on Tolomontera had been instructed to report the facts as determined by a formal investigation ¨C and four cabals were promptly disbanded, their handlers transferred away. The way Song heard it, the events becoming ¡®official¡¯ had actually lessened interest as the truth was quite time compared to some of the rumors.


    Until word began going around about Professor Kang¡¯s unfortunate encounter, anyway, which made the whole affair juicy all over again.


    The other cabals had been gossiping about the coming confrontation for days, placing bets like it was to be a dog fight. It was a minute-long walk from door to door in this last hallway, a straight line with no obstruction, but the end still felt like it had snuck up on her. Song paused before the threshold, breathed in. It was not hesitation if she was just catching her breath.


    Tristan casually stepped between her and a pair of gawkers, fiddling with his pistol and hiding her face from them as if by happenstance. Song hid her surprise ¨C they had reached something of a truce over the last week, but the friendliness was but a layer and one that tended to thin whenever Maryam was not present.


    She did not acknowledge the kindness and neither did he, which made it easier to swallow.


    Raising her chin, Song made herself stride through the threshold. The almost crypt was better lit than usual, lanterns having been set down on the sides, but it was otherwise unchanged. Rows of desks and pillars, a menagerie¡¯s worth of stuffed corpses and glass cases, and up front on the dais the desk and - huh. A tall, dark-skinned woman with brown eyes and hair pulled into knots encircled by golden bands at the base. No sign of Yun Kang.


    Song walked to the usual desk almost in a trance, barely even noticing as the others joined her. It was barely five minutes before the last students walked in and the professor in front pushed off the desk.


    ¡°You, in the seat by the pillar,¡± she said, pointing at a chubby Someshwari. ¡°Close the door.¡±


    She turned to the class without checking to see if she was being obeyed.


    ¡°You may call me Professor Cence,¡± she said. ¡°As Professor Kang is not yet capable of walking without assistance, I will be teaching this class in his stead.¡±


    A pause for that to sink in.


    ¡°He should be returning next week,¡± she added. ¡°If not, I will likely be returning.¡±


    Whispers buzzed like a hive freshly kicked. So many stares were directed at the back of Song¡¯s head it felt like they were pressing against her scalp. A hand was raised from the back, getting a nodded permission from Professor Cence to speak.


    ¡°Is it true he tried to get a student killed?¡±


    Song turned, finding she did not recognize the one who spoke ¨C an Izcalli boy with no contract to reveal his name. Impossibly, the weight of the stares grew. Even the professor glanced her way, before returning her gaze to the other student.


    ¡°Accusing a member of the Watch of a crime without proof usually fetches a caning,¡± Professor Cence mildly said, adjusting the collar on her uniform. ¡°Given the rumors, I will spare you discipline this once. There will be no second chance for any of you.¡±


    That killed any boldness students might have been inclined to. The dark-skinned professor wasted no time digging into the lessons after that, picking up where Kang had left. Song felt a little cheated by the fact that she was not as interesting a lecturer as the man trying to kill her, though the lack of constant questions thrown her way more than made up for it.


    The Tianxi found herself ignored the first two times she raised her hand to answer a question opened to the class, as if Professor Cence was overcorrecting for her predecessor, but she was allowed to explain the process by which crops grew in Gloam-covered lands ¨C skotosynthesis, feeding on darkness ¨C and received an approving nod for it. Song did not raise her hand again for the rest of the lecture, even after the quarter-hour break that separated the two sections.


    Part of her winced at what was to come, but it was necessary and her own design besides. She still waited until they¡¯d walked out the gates of Scholomance, out of sheer practicality.


    ¡°Here will work,¡± Song quietly said.


    Maryam nodded under her hood while Tristan gave a too-sharp grin. He was the only one of the three who enjoyed it, when they erupted into a loud argument ¨C Song accusing him of stealing brigade funds, him accusing her of being cursed and Maryam playing peacemaker for a few moments before being called half-hollow and joining the fray. It was loud, vicious and utterly mortifying to be part of but it did what it was meant to accomplish: dozens watched as Tristan made to strike her and was held back by Maryam.


    There had been witnesses enough, Song decided after they stalked off, that by the time she attended class in the Galleries this afternoon rumors would have spread. Enough that Ramona would be willing to believe her when she offered to sell Tristan Abrascal to the Forty-Ninth.


    --


    Tristan Abrascal slept like he was trying to burrow into the ground, even when drugged. Curled on himself, as if trying to wedge himself into the cracks of the world. Song checked his pulse, fingers lingering not a moment longer in deference to his dislike of being touched, and withdrew with a satisfied nod. The mixture and dosage were the thief¡¯s own work, but he had asked her to check on his pulse once in a while to ensure he¡¯d not accidentally killed himself.


    The heartbeat was not slowing or weakening, so as far as she could tell he¡¯d be fine.


    Song left him in his corner, behind the crates, and climbed back up the ladder into the pale light of the Orrery. The shrine she had picked as the meeting point was small, barely large as the cottage¡¯s kitchen and only two stories high. The selling point was that the door had been bricked in so it could only be accessed by climbing a rope to the roof and then taking a ladder down inside. Even more useful was that time had torn town everything around the strangely empty shrine for two blocks, giving her a wide open field to defend. Song lay down on the roof, pulling her coat close as she waited with her loaded musket.


    All that was left to do was wait, and laying there alone her head felt full of too many thoughts. Instead of letting it wander, she made herself go through the plan again.


    Looking only at martial might, dealing with the Forty-Ninth was not overly difficult.


    Since Song was the one setting the meeting, all she needed to do was pick a good perch surrounded by open grounds, let them pass the point of no return then spring an ambush. Muchen He was the real threat among the brigade, so opening the fight kneecapping him with salt munitions was a must. Four would be left after that: Captain Ramona, Tengfei Pan, Huang Pan and Fara.


    Huang Pan was a Savant, chubby and lacking a fighter¡¯s calluses. As a fighter, he was a nonentity beyond his ability to pull a trigger. The Malani woman, Fara, had been somewhat of an unknown before Song made some inquiries and learned she was Arthashastra Society. Historian track, according to Zenzele. Able to fight but not a fighter and not contracted. Marginal threat.


    Neither Ramona nor Tengfei would be so easy to handle, both being trained and physically fit.


    The Thirteenth would be at risk of losing that skirmish of four against three, and even should they win the odds that someone would get killed were unacceptably high. If helped was sought, however? Song figured that Angharad alone would be capable of sweeping through the whole Forty-Ninth if Muchen was incapacitated. If Song reached out to the Thirty-First at large, if striking from ambush the outcome was already decided.


    The complication preventing that was, ironically enough, their worst fighter: Huang Pan.


    As a means of tracking, Song would consider her fellow Tianxi¡¯s contract average. The Six-Sided Plum Blossom had granted Huang the ability to divine whether a single specific entity ¨C object, living or divine ¨C was in one of the cardinal directions or not. The range to the ability was nine li, the old Cathayan measure translating to short of three miles. It must be a truly ancient deity, for it not to use the imperial scales. Or at least one whose worship had hit its peak before the Second Empire.


    Regardless of that interesting detail, it must be said that to hunt a fugitive Huang Pan¡¯s contract was helpful but in practice still inferior to a well-trained hound. As a scouting tool, however? Now it became a headache. To meet the Forty-Ninth Song had naturally been forced to set a meeting place, which meant that after they approached Huang Pan could be asked to use his contract on it.


    He could then confirm whether any member of her cabal was in that location, which was Tristan had to be there. None of it would have been possible without his presence, and thus assent.


    Now, assuming Captain Ramona was not fool ¨C and Song did not believe her to be one - she would also have Huang check for potential threats the Thirteenth was known to have some ties to. Like, say, Angharad Tredegar or Ferranda Villazur. Maybe even Tupoc, as he¡¯d stepped into a confrontation between their cabals once. They would be immediately caught out and the Forty-Ninth would simply leave, the entire plan falling apart at the start.


    That meant the only two people who could be there were Song and Tristan, the latter tied up as prisoner. As trust between herself and the Forty-Ninth was understandably low, Song had demanded that only two of them come take the merchandise as any more than that would make it trivially easy to double-cross her at the last moment and simple take Tristan. It wasn¡¯t as if Captain Ramona would actually pay her so much as a copper if she could avoid it.


    Of course, Muchen He backed by either Ramona or Tengfei could still likely beat her in a fight if they got close enough. But Song had known neither of the latter would come.


    Across the open field, Song glimpsed Muchen He approaching with a hooded figure slight enough it should be Fara and smiled a hard smile.


    As she¡¯d expected. If Tengfei came with Muchen, Ramona would fear they¡¯d go around her and sell Tristan themselves to get Tengfei Pan his captain¡¯s seat back. Only if Ramona came with the Skiritai instead, she was risking Tengfei getting the support from the other two to double-cross her from the back instead. The Lierganen captain coming to Song had made one thing clear: her hold on her cabal was weak, and if she did not bring home a victory Tenfgei would supplant her again.


    It was somewhat heartening for Song to realize her brigade was not the only one drowning in internal strife.


    Song did not allow her musket¡¯s muzzle to peek out over the edge as she gauged the winds, saw the curls of force in the air she would need to work with to shoot Muchen He in the head. Her finger never touched the trigger, but it was a calming thing to know she could snatch his life right out of him should she wish him. Only when they were less than a hundred feet away did she call out.


    ¡°Hands out in the open,¡± Song said. ¡°No sudden movements.¡±


    ¡°We come in peace, Captain Song,¡± the hooded figure called back.


    The voice confirmed her to be Fara. Good, Song could handle her if that came down to blades.


    ¡°I¡¯m sure you do,¡± she said. ¡°Do it anyway.¡±


    Muchen, she saw in the dark, looked amused and somewhat approving. When they came close enough not to need to raise their voices, he was the one who asked how they would do the trade.


    ¡°I have him in here,¡± Song said. ¡°Fara will come up to help me bring him out.¡±


    ¡°Ramona insisted on him being tested,¡± Muchen replied.


    ¡°Tested for what?¡±


    ¡°Being awake, and this being a trap,¡± the other Tianxi said. ¡°Simple needle test, nothing inhuman.¡±


    Song made a show of considering it, even though she had already suspected they would want something of the sort and prepared. There was a reason Tristan was drugged.


    ¡°Fine,¡± she conceded, ¡°but there¡¯s a change of plans.¡±


    ¡°A third is all you¡¯ll get,¡± Fara snorted. ¡°The captain was clear on that.¡±


    ¡°And a third is what I intend to get,¡± Song sharply replied. ¡°I will be coming with you down to the port, to verify I am truly receiving such a sum.¡±


    ¡°That was not the deal,¡± Muchen said.


    ¡°It is the one on offer,¡± Song coldly replied. ¡°Take or leave it.¡±


    They hemmed and hawed, tried to argue, but deep down all knew the Forty-Nine would fold. They were in too deep and her demand was not unreasonable.


    Ten minutes later the three of them ¨C carrying a fourth ¨C were on their way south. When they joined the rest of the brigade, she was greeted by Tengfei Pan leveling a pistol at her head.


    ¡°Lovely,¡± he said. ¡°A third of the bounty just handed itself back to us.¡±


    What a waste of a handsome face, she thought. She flicked a glance at Ramona, whose sharp scarred face was unreadable.


    "My condolences,¡± she said, at least halfway meaning it.


    Tengfei snarled, but his arm was pulled down by Muchen.


    ¡°Think,¡± the other man flatly said. ¡°She has been methodically cautious so far, do you truly think she came to us without contingencies?¡±


    Song deliberately ignored Tengfei, knowing it would anger him more than anything she might say. Irrelevance was the pond he saw himself drowning in.


    ¡°I have come to ensure my share will be correctly split,¡± she told Ramona. ¡°Shall we get on with it, or do we first need to indulge another tantrum?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Captain Ramona mused, tapping her chin. ¡°Teng, you got another one in you?¡±


    He did not.


    --


    Trading in flesh, Song learned, was brisk business.


    They hid in a gutter warehouse by the docks, Tristan unceremoniously stashed behind a pile of rubble. Tengfei Pan was sent out to the Palmyran, slipping through a crumbling part of the wall and returning a quarter hour later with the caravel¡¯s captain. The tall Someshwari woman was well into her fifties but she still had smooth skin a girlish air about her, helped along by her golden nose ring and long braid. She did not introduce herself, but then she did not need to. Chameli Kalra had a contract with the Sixfold Matrimonial Snake, so her name hung in golden letters above her head.


    To constrict others with a touch was a fearsome power, Song mused, but Captain Chameli¡¯s price was an unpleasant one: a trickle of venom, fed directly into her belly. Even recurrence immunity would only help her so much with that.


    ¡°This the boy, then?¡± Captain Chameli flatly asked.


    ¡°That he is,¡± Ramona replied. ¡°And drugged too. Song?¡±


    ¡°He drank a full dose of mafeisan,¡± she lied. ¡°He should be out for at least another hour.¡±


    Tristan should, in truth, be awake by now. The poppy milk should have worn off on the way, according to the dosage he had himself measured.


    ¡°That makes things simpler,¡± the captain approvingly said. ¡°We need to be careful: some galleon docked an hour ago and spat out a hundred sailors, it shook the harbor guards awake.¡±


    ¡°We need to move him tonight,¡± Ramona said. ¡°When goes missing people will look.¡±


    Eyes flicked to Song, who shrugged.


    ¡°I have the cabalists in hand, but our patron is a bloodhound,¡± she said. ¡°He¡¯ll come sniffing around.¡±


    Captain Chameli grunted.


    ¡°I never said we wouldn¡¯t do it tonight,¡± she replied. ¡°Only that I¡¯ll need one of my boys to bring a barrel first. We¡¯ll make it look like he¡¯s water supplies.¡±


    ¡°Handling that part is on you,¡± Ramona said. ¡°We¡¯ve fulfilled our end of the bargain.¡±


    She raised her hand, rubbing thumb and forefinger. The Someshwari scoffed.


    ¡°You get paid when he¡¯s on his way, not a moment before,¡± she said. ¡°Wait here.¡±


    They waited in strained silence as the Someshwari strode away, disappearing into the dark. Even had talking so close to the docks not been a risk, Song suspected they would have stayed silent. She could feel the tension in the air, the coil tightening. To the Forty-Ninth, this was the end of a long and rocky journey.


    The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Which was true enough.


    Captain Chameli was back, quicker than last time, with a satchel bag a thick-bearded Aztlan man whose arms were like steel bands. He was carrying a wooden barrel, which he set down without even a grunt.


    ¡°Where¡¯s the meat?¡± he asked.


    Tristan was pointed out to him, and it was distressing how easily the sailor pulled him up and stuffed the barrel with his body. The Someshwari captain provided a lid with two breathing holes on it, which the sailor stuck in with a single knock. He then hoisted up the barrel experimentally, for the first time showing some strain, and put it down.


    ¡°I can,¡± he told his captain. ¡°Just not at a run.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯ll do,¡± Captain Chameli grunted. ¡°Get him going.¡±


    That had the Forty-Ninth ruffled, several reaching towards weapons, until the older woman rolled her eyes at them. She tossed the satchel bag at Ramona¡¯s feet.


    ¡°The coin is in there,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯ll stay until you are finished counting.¡±


    The Lierganen student knelt and popped open the buckles, everyone ¨C even Song ¨C leaning in to look at the inside of the leather bag. What awaited was stacked rolls of the largest gold coins had ever seen, which Ramona began removing. She reached out and was handed one by Huang, who then flinched when Tengfei glared at him. Ignoring the byplay, Song tested the weight and studied the coins. Ten a roll, larger than even the largest coins from the Imperial Someshwar.


    They were stamped with the image of a thicket of olive trees on one side and a griffin rearing up on the other, betraying the Sacromontan origins. These were, Song realized with a start, selvas. Tribute coins, they were called, as they were minted to be worth five golden ramas coins and so useless for day-to-day use. Of the Sacromonte currency they were the rarest coins, as despite the name tributes paid to the city were usually in ingots instead of actual coinage.


    There were ten rolls inside, which meant the Forty-Ninth had just been handed a sum of five hundred ramas. That was the yearly income of a wealthy trader, she thought, or an aristocrat with a respectable estate. It was, she calculated a heartbeat later, more than half over what a brigade of four would receive over an entire year at Scholomance. Gods, no wonder they had been willing to take so many risks. Even some of the princelings would think twice for such a sum.


    There was a thump as a roll was thrown at her feet, then a second.


    ¡°There,¡± Ramona said. ¡°As agreed, a third.¡±


    It was not, Song almost said. Counting the roll already in her hand, three coins should be removed from another roll then two silvers provided from elsewhere. Approximately. On the other hand, by the cold looks she was receiving from the cabalists of the Forty-Ninth she suspected pushing her luck would end badly. Instead she tucked away the roll she held in her belt bag and crouched to add the other two.


    It was overfull, part of a roll peeking out, which felt almost obscene.


    ¡°All finished?¡± Captain Chameli drily asked.


    ¡°I am,¡± Song said. ¡°Ramona?¡±


    ¡°All paid up,¡± the Lierganen replied. ¡°A pleasure doing business with you, captain.¡±


    ¡°Sure,¡± the Someshwari snorted. ¡°If we meet again, I won¡¯t know you.¡±


    Without so much as a nod to any of them, Chameli Kalra turn to show them a clean pair of heels and walked away. They watched her disappear into the shadows of the street.


    ¡°Well,¡± Ramona mused, ¡°they can¡¯t all be charmers.¡±


    A snort from Fara.


    ¡°Let¡¯s head back,¡± Muchen grunted. ¡°Staying here is a risk.¡±


    ¡°Agreed,¡± Song said, putting on feeling.


    She took the lead, taking them towards Coatl Street ¨C to the right of the cut through the Triangle they¡¯d taken to get to the docks, but similar in length. None objected, though the pace she took was brisk enough she had to slow for a panting Huang. Bringing irritation to her fore, she let them pass before her save for Captain Ramona who stayed at her side. They still reached the place in time.


    Song¡¯s eyes lingered on mottled red shutters that looked only a stiff breeze away from falling off their hinges. The corner of Coatl Street and Lippy Lane, the door by the stooped red shutters. This was it.


    ¡°Well,¡± Ramona cheerfully said, ¡°that was a productive night, wasn¡¯t it?¡±


    A prelude to their parting ways.


    ¡°It¡¯s not over yet,¡± Song Ren replied.


    In a single, smooth gesture she drew her pistol and shot Muchen He in the back of the knee. Skiritai were Skiritai, so he caught the movement ¨C and though he could not move quickly enough, a porcelain arm sprouted to covered his knee. The salt munitions tore through it like it was wet paper, blood and bone shards splattering the ground.


    There was an utterly still moment, as if no one else could quite believe what she had just done.


    ¡°What the f-¡± Ramona began, but then the door flew open and chaos reigned.


    A bolt of darkness struck Huang Pan in the side, his sleeve catching with black and oily flames, while Tupoc leaped out through the doorway with a loud whoop ¨C his segmented spear glinting in the light. Song tossed away her pistol reached for her blade while Captain Ramona drew hers, Tengfei Pan letting out a surprised yelp when someone threw what sounded like a rock at his head.


    Fara took a skillfully thrown hatchet in the leg, Maryam stepping out of the same alley as Tupoc¡¯s signifier.


    ¡°Ren,¡± Ramona snarled. ¡°You cursed-


    She moved as she spoke, swinging wildly, and Song¡¯s lip curled with contempt. Losing your head was no way to keep it. A step back, ceding the ground, and Ramona swung again ¨C Song caught her wrist with her free hand, tugging her already overextended form forward. She smashed her guard into the other woman¡¯s nose, shattering something and cutting into the cheeks.


    Ramona stumbled back, shouting, and Song kicked her in the stomach. That tripped her, and as she fell Song calmly approached as she kept an eye on the rest of the skirmish. Tengfei had been beaten by someone, likely Tupoc, but the Izcalli was now putting his spear at the wounded Muchen¡¯s throat. Maryam had needed help from Expendable to take down Fara, but they had that handled and Huang Pan was kneeling with his hands behind his head.


    No longer on fire, at least.


    ¡°It¡¯s finished,¡± Song said, kicking the sword out of Ramona¡¯s hand.


    The captain tried to reach for her pistol, but this time Song¡¯s boot hammered into her chin. She swallowed a scream and did not try again. Maryam, hood down and bloody hatchet in hand came to join her.


    ¡°This the captain, then?¡± she asked.


    Song was too slow to answer, another stepping into her shoes as the Fourth moved to secure the wounded of the Forty-Ninth.


    ¡°The very one,¡± Tupoc drawled. ¡°She¡¯s having a rough night, our friend Captain Ramona.¡±


    Song knelt by her, the Lierganen¡¯s bloodied face thick with hate. She spat.


    ¡°You fucked it all up,¡± Ramona gasped. ¡°It was a perfectly good deal, the rat for the gold, and you just-¡±


    ¡°All are free under Heaven,¡± Song coldly replied. ¡°We¡¯ve killed kings to teach Vesper that lesson, Ramona. Did you truly think I would abjure it for coin?¡±


    ¡°Ugh, now it smells all sanctimonious in here,¡± Tupoc drawled, leaning against his spear and fanning his hand before his face. ¡°Have the decency to just torture her instead, would you?¡±


    She ignored him.


    ¡°The warehouse with our effects,¡± Song said. ¡°Where is it?¡±


    ¡°Fuck you,¡± Ramona rasped. ¡°What are you going to do, hi-¡±


    Before Song could so much as reply, Maryam drew her hatchet at hacked into Ramona¡¯s foot ¨C it sank between two toes and bit down until it hit bone, the Lierganen screaming hoarsely into the night. The Izvorica, cold-eyed, then wrenched it out to the sound of a second scream.


    A heartbeat of silence, then a low chuckle from Tupoc.


    ¡°That one¡¯s on me,¡± he confessed. ¡°I didn¡¯t think Khaimov was listening.¡±


    He was again ignored.


    ¡°Tristan¡¯s still on the ship,¡± Maryam evenly said. ¡°I¡¯m not wasting my time being pleasant about this, slaver. If you want to enter Watch custody with limbs still attached, answer the fucking question.¡±


    Ramona, shivering in pain and bleeding, looked up at Maryam Khaimov and saw only ice staring back. She shivered again. Song said nothing when the gaze returned to her, merely cocking an eyebrow.


    ¡°Soulless fucking hollow,¡± she spat, then grit her teeth and turned to Song. ¡°Septim Street, a few minutes east of the tinker workshop. The house with the green roof, the stuff¡¯s in the basement.¡±


    Maryam¡¯s hand rose again.


    ¡°It¡¯s all I know,¡± Ramona snarled.


    The Izvorica was eyed the other foot, but Song caught her gaze and shook her head. It was one thing to use violence as part of an interrogation, another to toy with a prisoner. Maryam grunted, then leaned down to wipe her hatchet on Ramona¡¯s clothes. The Lierganen flinched, in no small part because the other woman chose to do it an inch below her neck.


    ¡°Once again, the Tianxi ruin everything,¡± Tupoc complained. ¡°You could have let her strike the other foot, at least, make it match.¡±


    Song would admit, to her mild shame, that on grounds of pure symmetry she considered it for half a moment. Instead she rose to her feet and dusted off her coat.


    ¡°There will be garrison officers waiting for us on Regnant Avenue,¡± she said. ¡°We only need one of them to confess to have a reason to search the caravel.¡±


    With a full company of armed watchmen, which would put every sailor on that cursed boat under arrest when they found a student imprisoned inside. They¡¯d get to cool their heels in a goal for a few days before the Watch had them all shot and the Palmyran was appropriated as criminal property.


    ¡°Try the Malani first,¡± Tupoc said. ¡°She¡¯s already had to pay up with Lady Knit, she¡¯ll do anything to avoid doing it again.¡±


    That was, unpleasantly enough, probably good advice. Song opened her mouth to reply when she was interrupted by a ruckus in the distance ¨C a few streets down, lanterns were being lit at the docks and shouts echoing across the cobblestones.


    ¡°Song,¡± Maryam urgently said, ¡°what¡¯s happening?¡±


    Fuck, Song thought, silver eyes dipping between the islands of lantern light to see what it was that had men shouting.


    ¡°The Palmyran is trying to sail away with Tristan on board,¡± she hissed. ¡°Tupoc, get the prisoners to the Watch and tell them we need to move now.¡±


    The Izcalli raised an eyebrow even as she reached for her musket.


    ¡°And what are you going to be doing?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Stopping them,¡± she said, and broke into a run.


    --


    Tupoc was not one to listen to sensible orders, so Song was not surprised when he ignored hers and followed her down the street as Maryam trailed behind them. The surprise was that he¡¯d bothered to order Alejandra Torrero to do what Song had asked of him before taking off.


    The real insult was that she¡¯d had a head start and he was still pulling ahead of her.


    He was the first to run through the covenant pillars, but Song better saw what was happening out on the docks. The Palymran was still at the leftmost dock, but it was leaving. The dockworkers were arguing with a pair of large sailors untying the knots keeping them moored ¨C and there was only one left - but neither were actually trying to stop them. The caravel was allowed to leave whenever it wished, this was all just very irregular.


    She was the second past the pillar, but she slowed and Maryam shot past her as she brought up her musket. She¡¯d hoped she would not have to fire it tonight ¨C her arm was still fragile ¨C but there was no time to hesitate. Slowly walking forward, she took aim and pulled the trigger.


    Red bloomed on the first sailor¡¯s forehead.


    As he dropped the dockworkers threw themselves down and the other sailor panicked, reaching for a cutlass as Song began to reload. Clean, powder, ball, aim. The man was halfway through hacking down the ropes when Song¡¯s shot pulped his throat. She broke into a run after that, hoping to catch up after the others, but horror caught in her throat when she saw Captain Chameli on the caravel deck with a blade out ¨C and cutting the rope on her end.


    Even as she ran, the Palmyran began to push off the docks.


    ¡°No,¡± Song shouted.


    She was too far, she¡¯d never get there in time, but the others ¨C a glance told her they were short too, Tupoc reaching the very end of the dock as the caravel came clear of it. She saw him hesitate to leap for a moment, then back down. Maryam, who had fallen behind, was bent over and muttering when Song caught up to her.


    A Sign hung before her, but by the time Song was close enough to feel its hum in the air it had collapsed.


    ¡°Come on,¡± Maryam whispered. ¡°Come on. Work.¡±


    She drew the Sign again, trails of oily darkness, but it dissipated. The Izvorica yelped, smoke wafting off the tip of her fingers. Maryam¡¯s face was the picture of anguish, eyes rimmed red, but even so she tried again.


    ¡°Work, damn you,¡± she hissed. ¡°I know you can.¡±


    The Sign thickened, buzzing like an angry hive, but Song could already tell it would fail. It felt angry, out of control. Maryam¡¯s mind had clouded. When it shattered, it was into jagged shards that melted a strip of the signifier¡¯s sleeve. The Izvorica swallowed.


    ¡°Maryam,¡± Song said, ¡°you cannot-¡±


    ¡°Work with me,¡± Maryam croaked out. ¡°Please, just this once. Work with me.¡±


    The plea echoed, rang like a bell into a world suddenly gone quiet.


    And this time, when Maryam Khaimov reached for the dark, it came to her like an eager hound.


    Fingers traced the Sign in hurried strokes, hers and the other¡¯s both, until the Sign hung in the air like suspended obsidian ¨C large as a torso, rippling like water.


    ¡°Come back here,¡± Maryam snarled, and slammed her fist through the Sign.


    Only instead of screams and melted flesh Song saw the Gloam collapse into a spinning sleeve of crawling characters, hovering an inch above Maryam¡¯s sleeve. In the distance, between the stripes of Orrery light, strands of Gloam coalesced into half a dozen torrents of darkness that slammed into the sails of the Palmyran.


    They swelled inwards, pushed by the Gloam winds, and the caravel slowed to a crawl before stopping outright. There was shouting, which only grew louder and more panicked when the masts groaned and began to bend backwards under the furious winds ¨C the caravel¡¯s aft smashed into the dock with a thunderous crack.


    And then the Gloam was gone, Maryam dropping to her knees and throwing up all over the docks. Song reached out for her, hesitantly, but between heaves the Izvorica slapped away her hand.


    ¡°Go,¡± she forced out. ¡°Ship.¡±


    A whoop ahead: Tupoc had not hesitated at all, it seemed. She could not afford to either.


    Behind her the harbor guards were shouting, and she dared hope they would muster to storm the ship. She must buy them time to get there. Leaving Maryam behind, she ran for the edge of the docks. The caravel was not a large or a tall ship, but it was still too high for a mere leap to get her onto the deck. She had to climb the back rigging, hearing on the deck above a pistol being fired and someone screaming in pain.


    She climbed over the edge to find a sword being swung at her, tumbling forward as it sliced through the air. She threw herself into the sailor¡¯s leg, tripping them down, and then rolled away just as someone took a potshot from the forward deck. She turned just long enough to rip out her pistol and unload it in the tripped sailor¡¯s belly, rising to her feet as she watched Captain Chameli standing at the wheel with a furious look on her face.


    The Someshwari woman was looking at the docks, which were being swept by a tide of armed blackcloaks.


    ¡°Lazar,¡± the captain shouted. ¡°Get the boy. We need a hostage.¡±


    The sailor answering the call was a one-eyed, skinny cabin boy who ran towards what should be the captain¡¯s cabin. Song ran after him, around Tupoc laughing as he swept his spear between two sailors with cutlasses. One of them was now missing most of her teeth. The cabin boy, Lazar, got to the door before she could and wrenched it open-


    And got a chair smashed into his face, Tristan grunting with effort.


    The cabin boy dropped and the gray-eyed thief blinked in surprise, as if surprised at how well that¡¯d worked. Though he should have been a bound prisoner the whole time and untouched, he had somehow gotten a massive bruise on his cheek and a cut on his scalp. He was also no longer tied up, so Song had some guesses as to how that had happened.


    ¡°Song,¡± he said. ¡°What in the Manes is-¡±


    Song saw the light of the flint spark just in time, grabbing him by the neck and throwing them both down. The bullet tore into her coat and she felt a flash of heat, but when she rolled over she barely felt any blood. A graze, not a hit.


    ¡°Shit,¡± Tristan said, helping her up. ¡°Come on, we need to jump into the-¡±


    Vision swimming, she yanked him out of the way of the swing. The large sailor from earlier, the one who¡¯d carried the barrel. He looked furious and- once, twice, thrice. A volley was unloaded into the man¡¯s back as blackcloaks swept the deck screaming for everyone to kneel. Song did, punch drunk but hardly deaf, and a heartbeat later Tristan followed suit.


    ¡°Fuck me,¡± the thief murmured. ¡°We did it.¡±


    ¡°We did,¡± Song said, if he caught the surprise in her voice he was kind enough to say.


    --


    In the end, only two sailors from the Palmyran survived: the cabin boy with the missing eye and the woman whose teeth Tupoc had shattered.


    Both were clapped in irons after being dragged off the ship, bruised and bloody, and the rooks keeping guard were looking at them as if they were vermin. Song helped Tristan off the caravel, the thief limping ¨C though he¡¯d deemed his leg not broken ¨C and leaning against her. He was noticeably uncomfortable at the touch, so she set him down by Maryam¡¯s side. The blue-eyed woman was no longer emptying her stomach, but there were traced of bile on her chin and she still looked nauseous.


    The docks were getting crowded, she saw, as another few prisoners were dragged in by hard-faced blackcloaks. The Forty-Ninth were made to kneel under the pillared temple that served as the gate to the docks, watchmen with muskets in hand looking over them.


    Tupoc¡¯s second had duly notified the garrison officers that Wen had asked to be waiting, which meant Song was able to secure the withdrawal of the Thirteenth and the Fourth with but a conversation. She was too tired to deal with Tupoc quite yet, even though manners demanded she should make an attempt, so she doubled back.


    Song still had one conversation left before the curtain call. Maryam was passed out and snoring when she returned, the gray-eyed thief watching over her like a hawk.


    ¡°It might be best if she slept at the Meadow tonight,¡± Song whispered. ¡°I have never seen her wield Gloam on such a scale before.¡±


    Tristan looked down at the Izvorica fondly.


    ¡°Leave her for a bit more,¡± he said, then groaned and stretched out. ¡°We are due a talk, anyhow.¡±


    Song inclined her head. They did not go far, only to one of the many stone benches near the dock walls. He sat first and she kept room between them when following. For a moment they sat there in the dim lights of the Orrery, watching the stripes of pale carving across the distant dark.


    ¡°I owe you,¡± Tristan said, sudden and blunt. ¡°What do you want for it?¡±


    She did not answer immediately. The urge was there to ask him to stay with the Thirteenth, but she knew better. He would accept, she thought. The Sacromontan was, in his own way, ruthlessly scrupulous about debts. He would do it, but then Tristan would see being part of the brigade as chains and her as his debtor.


    And he was not the kind of man to ever trust a debtor.


    ¡°I would like,¡± Song finally said, ¡°for the two of us to have an honest conversation.¡±


    He studied her for a moment.


    ¡°Are you sure it can¡¯t be anything else?¡± he asked, tone almost whining.


    ¡°Certain,¡± Song drily replied.


    His goddess leaned over his head, saying something Song could not hear, and she could see his cheek muscles tremble the slightest bit as he forced himself not to react.


    ¡°Proceed,¡± he said. ¡°I think I have a concussion, anyway, which is about two thirds of honesty.¡±


    She hesitated, but not even a heartbeat. Breath before the plunge.


    ¡°I can see your goddess,¡± Song said. ¡°And your contract.¡±


    He cocked an eyebrow at her.


    ¡°I¡¯m aware.¡±


    The red-dressed goddess leaned in too close and tried murmur something into Song¡¯s ear. The closeness was overly familiar, but the knowledge that she was not truly ¡®there¡¯ helped make it somewhat tolerable.


    ¡°I cannot hear her, however,¡± Song noted.


    ¡°Lucky you,¡± Tristan frankly said.


    Her lips twitched at the utterly outraged looked on the redclad goddess¡¯ face, and the apparent furious berating that ensued. Not that the levity was destined to stay for long.


    ¡°I have never heard of anyone being visited so often by their god without turning into a Saint,¡± she said. ¡°I have been expecting you to turn into one for months, and¡­¡±


    She frowned, looking for the right words.


    ¡°That you did not turn into one was almost as alarming,¡± Song admitted. ¡°It meant you were breaking the rules, somehow, and I could not hope to predict the consequences.¡±


    The thief stared at her, grunted.


    ¡°It¡¯s been-¡±


    Song raised a hand to interrupt him.


    ¡°You don¡¯t need to tell me,¡± she said. ¡°I do not bring up the matter to seek answers of you. It has been pointed out to me that I have not earned the right to ask them from you.¡±


    He grimaced.


    ¡°I can understand the concern,¡± Tristan said, and it was an olive branch of sorts.


    He bit the inside of his cheek.


    ¡°It¡¯s been this way for years,¡± he said. ¡°If I was going to turn into a Saint, I already would have.¡±


    ¡°That is reassuring to hear,¡± she admitted. ¡°I expect having been exposed her wiles for years will have inured you some.¡±


    He slowly blinked.


    ¡°Her what now?¡±


    ¡°Her wiles,¡± Song repeated, stressing the syllables in Antigua. ¡°Did I mispronounce it?¡±


    ¡°Oh Manes,¡± Tristan muttered, ¡°you can¡¯t hear her.¡±


    ¡°I cannot,¡± Song hesitantly confirmed. Again.


    The thief met her eyes square on and laid a hand on her shoulder, face seriously.


    ¡°Song, Fortuna is terrible,¡± he said, tone heartfelt. ¡°And I don¡¯t mean it in some eldritch way, I mean that she is bad at existence.¡±


    Song paused. Opened her mouth, then closed it. Swallowed.


    ¡°She couldn¡¯t trick a child into doing her bidding even with an entire barrel of candied dates,¡± Tristan said, taking back his hand. ¡°She has lost arguments to pigeons.¡±


    Pigeons. As in plural?


    ¡°So all the talking,¡± Song trailed off.


    ¡°Today she¡¯s mostly been complaining about how Hage banned her from the Chimerical and insisting I should buy Maryam some blue ribbons we saw on Templeward,¡± he said.


    A pause.


    ¡°They¡¯re overpriced,¡± he added. ¡°I¡¯m not paying silver for those.¡±


    Song felt a little faint. The goddess, Fortuna, she was only one of the troubles between them but certainly one of the larger ones. A constant presence she must pretend not to see, a poisonous whispering ghost trying to tip the thief past the line of Sainthood.


    To learn she had been rhetorically defeated by at least two pigeons was something a blow to her believed understanding of the situation.


    Song passed a hand through her hair, somewhat at loss as to what she should say. Apologize, for having never asked? It seemed meaningless when they both knew he would never have told. She settled on something simpler, if no less true for it.


    ¡°My god is also a jackass,¡± she told him. ¡°I sympathize.¡±


    His face went still, for a moment, and then to her surprise he burst out laughing so loudly it echoed across the water. He swallowed it, held it in, but then their eyes met again and it escaped his belly as Song found herself joining in. By the time she stopped her cheeks ached and her belly hurt. It took a while for the two of them to gain back their breath, the pants their only sound aside from the quiet lick of the sea against the docks.


    ¡°All right,¡± Tristan suddenly said. ¡°Fine.¡±


    Her heart caught.


    ¡°Fine?¡± she asked.


    ¡°I make no promises for how long,¡± the thief said.


    ¡°I did not ask for any,¡± Song serenely replied.


    Tristan grunted, sounding displeased.


    ¡°I already bought the carrot seeds, it¡¯d be a waste not to use them,¡± he argued.


    ¡°It would be,¡± she agreed.


    He scowled at her.


    ¡°The lack of smugness makes it worse,¡± he complained.


    ¡°I have no idea what you¡¯re talking about,¡± Song Ren lied.


    Tonight, she decided, had been a good night.

 Chapter 34

    Even with Ferranda¡¯s help it took Angharad an hour and a half to prepare herself for the evening.


    Her hair was pulled back into neat braids bound by glass beads, her eyebrows freshly plucked and her eyes painted with black henna. The most care, however, had gone into fashion. Angharad had decided to hew close to Pereduri fashion, in part because she simply could not afford a dress¡¯ worth of inyosi fabric. Malani wax-print, as it was called away from the Isles, was expensive even in the heartlands of Malan: out here the price of even a single bolt was ruinous. Ingwenya cotton would suffice, and in her opinion breathed better anyhow.


    Besides, with House Tredegar being struck from the rolls of nobility it was debatable whether Angharad was still allowed to wear wax-print. As she was no longer a subject of the High Queen her sumptuary laws should not, in principle, still apply. And yet. It was Malani fabric, and a daughter of the Isles who would wear it. Part of her hesitated. Some habits, she thought, would be long in the shaking.


    Pereduri gowns tended almost universally to the low-waisted and tight, with personal inclination expressed through necklines, sleeves and skirts. Angharad settled on an Izcalli cut, a straight line beneath her collarbone that left her entire neck and much of her shoulders bare. The cut was popular in Malan as well, though not sleeved as she chose: puffed at the shoulder and slimming down to end at the wrist.


    It left the first few silver stripes on her arm bare, as much a decoration as the pair of orange Uthukile bead bracelets matched the red and yellow stripes of the dress fabric. A wide cowhide belt circled her waist, fitted with her saber¡¯s sheath. And that made for accessories enough. She had chosen, in deference to her means, not to pay a visit to a jeweler.


    For an unmarried noblewoman the traditional skirts would be paneled, with the train just short enough one could easily walk, but Mistress Lerato had instead suggested a loose wrap that would show off a parted red petticoat and elegant soft leather boots. I rarely get to dress a woman with such long legs, the seamstress had said, it would be a waste not to use it.


    The effect was just a touch scandalous, the sort of thing Mother had loved wearing, so in a fit of nostalgia Angharad agreed even though the boots were really quite costly ¨C made by another shop on Templeward, recommended by Mistress Lerato. A wardrobe appropriate for formal occasions was always expensive, she reminded herself, but no less necessary for it.


    Still, she was glad of the wrap skirt and parted petticoat when she made her way to the guesthouse near the eastern end of Templeward ¨C there would have been no handmaid to pick up a longer trail if it dirtied on the street, and to use duelist¡¯s straps for anything but their stated purpose was quite uncouth.


    Having parted ways with Ferranda halfway down the street when her soon-to-be captain ducked into a clockmaker¡¯s shop to browse the trinkets, Angharad was alone when she arrived at the Colored Arches at precisely ten before seven. Shortly before she was expected, though still late. Lord Thando had informed her the gathering would begin before but she was to come later, to allow for any last moment objections to her presence to be raised should there be a need.


    If one was raised and upheld it was always possible that she would be dealt the humiliation of being refused at the door, but Angharad doubted that would be the case. Odds were at least one soul within might enjoy insulting her, but most would not and that would carry the day ¨C why force bad blood with all of them where there had been none? Simpler to refuse her the invitation in the first place. Not unaware she was dithering out of nerves, Angharad straightened her back and finished making her way down the street.


    The Colored Arches, to her mild surprise, looked more like a tavern than the kind of banquet hall she had been expecting. It was a long, sloping building whose wooden fa?ade had been recently built but was painted a discreet dark green. Its only mark was a hanging sign displaying a hut made of colored streaks of light, a similarly discreet reference to one of the eldest spirits of Malan: the Cloud-Brewer, known to delight in harvests and feasts.


    She rapped her knuckles against the painted door only once before it opened.


    A man in dark green livery promptly ushered her in with a smile, welcoming her in the crisp Umoya of the Middle Isle¡¯s heartlands. Dark-skinned as only the folk of those Glare-scorched lakelands could be, the servant cut a neat and friendly figure as he guided her through a short antechamber where another servant wiped her boots and she was offered a basin of warm water to wash her hands from the stink of the streets. Her black cloak ¨C she had elected not to further thin her funds by having one made ¨C was skillfully taken off her while the first of the servants led her towards the door.


    ¡°Lord Thando Fenya asked for the honor of bringing you in, my lady,¡± he said. ¡°He should be along momentarily.¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± she said, inclining her head, then cocked an eyebrow. ¡°Yanga or Madevu?¡±


    He looked surprised at the mention of the two principal regions of the heartlands, but pleasantly so.


    ¡°Madevu, my lady,¡± he said. ¡°Near the city of Inende, at the beginning of the cataracts.¡±


    ¡°Oh, further west than I would have guessed,¡± Angharad told him. ¡°I never had the pleasure of visiting Inende, alas, as the dueling circuit always chose Ukuzi for the contests.¡±


    A shame. Ukuzi was remarkably easy to reach, being at the confluence of several great rivers, and the second largest city of the heartlands was a bustling center of industry. Yet the expanding reach of stone and steel had swallowed much of the surroundings. In contrast, the western reaches of Madevu were still wild and the great waterfalls there were said to be a thing beauty.


    ¡°There is no better road than a river,¡± the man quoted with a chuckle. ¡°Besides, my lady, it rains much the year in Inende. It is from the High Isle¡¯s westerwinds.¡±


    Was it now? Angharad had never heard such a thing before and was rather charmed that Peredur¡¯s occasionally temperamental weather seemed to be passing to its neighbors as well, but before she could ask of these westerwinds the door opened. A servant offered her a smile, brushing back her bound hair, and stepped out of the way so that Lord Thando Fenya could go through.


    The man, she would admit, cut a finer figure than she would have expected of a man not blessed with particularly good looks. His long-sleeved doublet and matching puff trunk hose were in colorful inyosi fabric, displaying eye-catching geometric patterns in blue, white and red but over it he had thrown a long, open black jerkin that went down to his thighs. She had not noticed this morning, but the inside of his collar has some subtle blackwork sown to match it.


    He had so many gold rings on his fingers and tinkling bangles on his arms he would hardly have been able to wield a sword even if he had one belted at his hip instead of a bejeweled dagger.


    ¡°Lady Angharad,¡± he happily said. ¡°And early, I see!¡±


    ¡°Am I?¡± she asked. ¡°I can wait, if there is need.¡±


    ¡°I would never dare,¡± Thando chuckled. ¡°Come, let me show you to the salon.¡±


    She smiled back, turning to nod her thanks at the servant whose name she had never learned ¨C only to find him gone, along with all the others who had lent her a hand. Impressive training. Thando walked her down a short hallway, then through an open door to an almost wistful sight: a richly decorated drawing room filled with nobly born peers of her age. Just like a tournament evening, she thought.


    Thando stepped in ahead of her and theatrically swept his arms, claiming attention from all the guests.


    ¡°It is my great pleasure,¡± he announced, ¡°to introduce Lady Angharad Tredegar of Llanw Hall.¡±


    Angharad gave a shallow curtsy ¨C not the lady¡¯s curtsy but the duelist¡¯s, one hand on her saber ¨C and was met with a retort volley of curtsies and bows. A quick look through the room told her that, counting herself and Thando, there were eleven guests in the hall. At once more and fewer than she had been expecting. Only two servants stood within, waiting to the side with alert faces, though one immediately approached her with a tray of crystal glasses.


    ¡°A Totochtin red, my lady, if it please you,¡± the servant offered.


    ¡°It does,¡± Angharad replied, deftly claiming a glass.


    Ancestors, it really was like a circuit evening ¨C there too, no one would be caught dead drinking Malani wine. The Isles were known for their beers and liquor, not the fruit of the vine. As her tacit sponsor for the evening, Thando did not throw her to the wolves but instead stay with her to make introductions and ease her into mingling. Pure happenstance, of course, that this came with the side effect of deepening their association in the eyes of the other.


    She could not tell if he was still trying to recruit her, but he was going out of his way to make ties ¨C and to make them in the eyes of these guests. You have enemies here, Thando, she thought. Or at least foes. One did not wage a war of maneuver with scarecrows.


    As if to test her, or warm her up, they began with one of the easier figures ¨C and one passingly familiar from the general classes. Lord Kasigo Njezi, a fresh-faced man with a boyish grin, was from the Twenty-Third Brigade. His doublet was ingwenya cotton, like her dress, and subdued in pattern if not in color. His hose was an unremarkable pale cream, drawing the eye instead to his elaborate boots ¨C soft, knee-cavalier boots in calfskin with beadwork rims.


    Unlike Thando, he had slender sword at his hip.


    ¡°I had hoped to see you on these evenings,¡± Kasigo said, shaking her hand enthusiastically.


    That it had not even occurred to him to offer to kiss it was, Angharad would admit, somewhat charming.


    ¡°It is a missed opportunity not to have earlier conversed,¡± she replied.


    Lord Kasigo, she learned, was a Laurel ¨C diplomat track, like Zenzele, who he seemed acquainted with. And not unaware of the feud binding him to Musa Shange, by the look he shot Musa at the mention of Angharad¡¯s friend. The way he changed the subject to the coming Theology report after that, almost hasty, let her place him in the pecking order here: he was at the bottom, relying on being inoffensive to maintain his position at the table.


    She steered them out of the conversation not long after, pretending not to notice how Thando¡¯s calculating eyes took her measure all the while. He must have judged her fit for greater challenges, who they ought out afterwards: a pair, of which knew only a man she misliked. Musa Shange was the first to talk, and she had to admit he looked like a woodprint of a courtier: his doublet thin and with an elongated diamond of an opening to display his muscled chest and stomach, paired with an open jerkin richly lined with fur and tapered hose.


    Musa wore no jewelry save for a heavy ivory medallion hanging on a golden chain, inscribed with a prayer to the Sleeping God on one side and what must be the Shange heraldry on the other, but what did that matter when not a single article of clothing he wore would have fetched less than gold?


    ¡°Lady Angharad,¡± he drawled. ¡°We meet again.¡±


    ¡°Lord Musa,¡± she replied, inclining her head. ¡°Good evening.¡±


    At odds or not, it was only with the man¡¯s assent she had been able to come here tonight. That warranted manners from her, and even some cordiality. The other Skiritai promptly committed the courtly equivalent of stepping on Thando¡¯s foot by introducing his companion before the other man could.


    ¡°I present you Lord Zama Luvuno,¡± Musa provided. ¡°Signifier for the Eighth Brigade.¡±


    Any brigade with a number below ten was not to be trifled with, much less a Navigator who she might have thought a soldier from the contour of his silhouette. Angharad traded a curtsy for a short nod. Lord Zama was not much inclined to conversation, it seemed.


    ¡°Lord Zama is royal blood twice removed,¡± Thando added, not to be cheated of his role entirely.


    That would make him two generations of descent from the child of one of the Queen Perpetual¡¯s many consorts ¨C a diluted relation, admittedly, and by the laws of Malan not royalty at all. Her Majesty¡¯s blood, however, carried a certain prestige no matter how rare the drops had grown. The man was handsome enough in his golden doublet that Angharad understood why the High Queen might have wanted one of his kin as consort. Not her sort of dish at all, but it had been well-cooked.


    Lord Zama rolled his eyes at the words, but nodded in confirmation. That made twice.


    ¡°Apologies,¡± Angharad began, ¡°but are you perhaps¡­¡±


    The man nodded again. Mute, then. Unfortunate, as Angharad barely knew anything of sign language ¨C and not of the one in common use, anyhow, but the naval one taught to her Mother. Izcalli finger-talk was considered the Vesper standard, and was significantly more elaborate. No pun intended, although she would take it.


    Unfortunate twice over was that Lord Musa evidently did know finger-talk, and signed something at Lord Zama that had the man chuckle. Angharad spent most of the ensuing talk trying to ferret out the nature relationship between the two as Musa translated for the other lord. Not one between the sheets, unless they were skilled at keeping those signs away from prying eyes, but it was friendly enough. Something was itching at her, though, and it took her a moment to realize what.


    Musa was treating the other man like an equal, which she¡¯d almost never seen from swordmaster.


    Neither is vassal to the other, she decided. She knew little of the Eighth Brigade, but it was well-backed enough that the Ninth¡¯s own connections warranted no precautions from Lord Zama. While chewing on that, she almost missed when the talk turned to the ¡®Abbey¡¯, the site of the classes for the Akelarre students. It was Musa translating for Lord Zama that dragged her back into the moment.


    ¡°He wonders if you were aware that your fellow cabalist Maryam has not stepped foot in the Abbey proper since the first day,¡± Musa said.


    ¡°She has found other instruction, I hear,¡± Angharad shrugged. ¡°I am not greatly involved in Maryam Khaimov¡¯s affairs.¡±


    ¡°It would be strange to have a Triglau in one¡¯s cabal,¡± Thando mused.


    ¡°Agreed,¡± Musa said. ¡°Though I suppose being able to bring a servant even in Scholomance would have its uses.¡±


    Chuckling, even as Angharad frowned.


    ¡°She is a student,¡± she reminded them, though she did not go as far as saying ¡®same as us¡¯.


    It was too close to a lie for comfort.


    ¡°No one says otherwise,¡± Musa dismissed, ¡°but service is in their blood, Lady Angharad. Left to their devices, they would collapse back into barbarity and destroy all the industry we brought to their lands.¡±


    That might be true, Angharad assessed, but was being spoken with a phrased certainty that was making her rather uneasy ¨C so was the way Lord Zama nodded, as if this were known fact.


    ¡°She is Izvorica, not Triglau,¡± she informed them instead of arguing the point. ¡°A people within the greater whole, I understand, but distinct.¡±


    Lord Zama¡¯s fingers flashed in a quick sequence, Musa snorting at the sight.


    ¡°Pereduri indeed,¡± he translated.


    Angharad was beginning to dislike Lord Zama.


    Thando, perhaps sensing the rising tensions, eased them out of the conversation and by claiming he was in need of drink. Angharad followed him towards the tray-bearing servant, enjoying the respite.


    ¡°As I mentioned this morning,¡± he murmured, ¡°this hall is heavy with the opinions of the south and the heartlands.¡±


    ¡°You do not share their thoughts, then?¡± Angharad asked.


    ¡°My kin are career watchmen, which makes me abolitionist by default,¡± Thandi said, though he did not sound all that enthusiastic about it. ¡°But it is, well, did you ever hear about that mess up in Isilide about four years back?¡±


    It took her a second to place the name. A city, well in the north of Malan but short of the Low Isle.


    ¡°The riots that had cloth workshops set ablaze,¡± she recalled. ¡°An accident, I heard.¡±


    Disorder always brought ruin.


    ¡°It was no accident,¡± Thando flatly said. ¡°The lady of Isilide opened new wax print workshops and manned them with slaves. It is a profitable trade good, Angharad, but also profession. Skilled workers with lifelong training and patterns kept within their families. The new workshops paid not a soul inside and so they sold their cloth at half the price.¡±


    Which would have been death on the old workshops. Only nobles were allowed to wear inyosi, so the greater profit in it for merchants was in truth from sales abroad. Even if the new wax print was of lesser quality, traders would likely choose it ¨C the margins would be strikingly better, and it wasn¡¯t as if some Someshwari lordling would be able to tell the difference.


    ¡°So they set the workshops on fire?¡± she said, appalled.


    ¡°And threatened to do the same to any opened in years to come,¡± Thando said. ¡°They were feted as heroes in the city, so the lady had to back down.¡±


    Angharad felt torn ¨C on one hand, to rise against one¡¯s sworn lady was dishonorable. On the other, there was honor in acting to defend one¡¯s kin and calling. Thando shrugged, taking the glass of red from the tray he had come to fetch.


    ¡°I will not speak to the souls of these Izvorica,¡± the Malani said after a sip, ¡°but slavery is mostly to the benefit of the rich. Besides, it is not good for the health of a realm to have too many slaves.¡±


    Slowly she nodded. That much seemed plain truth: the Izcalli had more slaves than anyone in the world, though they called them serfs, and their nation was constantly wracked with unrest. Besides, Mother had mentioned that the western colonies were all the property of the crown and the greatest izinduna - though lesser lords were beginning to form associations to pool their means in order to sponsor their own.


    ¡°What happened to them?¡± she asked.


    ¡°The workers?¡± Thando blinked. ¡°As I told you, the lady backed down. A few arrests were made for appearances but that was all.¡±


    ¡°The slaves, I mean,¡± Angharad said.


    ¡°Ah,¡± Thando grimaced. ¡°They were, I hear, inside the workshops when those were set aflame.¡±


    Angharad breathed in, looked away and drank deeply of her wine. One could go for a long time sifting through that for a speck of honor.


    ¡°Come,¡± Thando said, sounding almost sympathetic. ¡°This one should be more to your tastes.¡±


    The Pereduri felt a twinge of resentment at how well he had pegged her when she was introduced to Captain Emeni Maziya of the Twenty-Ninth, a wonderfully tall woman whose green and yellow off-the-shoulders gown bared impressively muscled shoulders and the contours of a generous figure. Malani preference for high-waisted gowns could be forgiven, when serving to prop up such a¡­ cause.


    ¡°A pleasure,¡± Angharad smiled, bending to kiss her hand.


    A hand with callouses to match the iwisa at her hip, she noted, a round-headed mace that saw more use in ceremonies than war but would crack a skull nonetheless. And a woman would not, Angharad mused, get hands like these without regularly swinging it around.


    ¡°Flatterer,¡± Lady Emeni laughed. ¡°You see, Fanyana? This is how it¡¯s done.¡±


    Her companion, Fanyana, was a sullen man with a plump face and a tightly buttoned jerkin that was a veritable riot of silver scrollwork and silver buttons. Even the long sword at his hip was silver, be it the sheath or grip. His hair was a neat cloud that Angharad suspected must have taken twice as long to style as her own.


    ¡°I am not so free with my lips, Emeni,¡± he stiffly replied.


    The man was taller than her, Angharad realized, but stood so stooped one hardly noticed.


    ¡°Lady Angharad,¡± Thando stepped in, ¡°I give you Lord Fanyana Khosa.¡±


    A pause.


    ¡°Yes, from those Khosa.¡±


    Angharad almost goggled at the man. The same House of Khosa who were the once-kings of the March, last of the Malani highborn to kneel when the High Queen unified the Middle Isle? Angharad saw little of those great warrior kings in the scowling man, but she supposed it was not her place to judge. The House of Khosa had been an unbroken line of izinduna since the Union War, and such a thing merited great respect.


    To be a lord or lady on the rolls one needed only to be born nobly, but to be induna was something greater ¨C set above by the Queen Perpetual, marked as great. That distinction it was something that could be passed to your children, but not by their own unless they earned the honor anew the same way you had. That is to say by owning land on the Isles, commanding troops and carrying out a deed worth the recognition of the court.


    The Khosa had achieved this without fail since the Century of Loss, Angharad could believe in that even if the Khosa in question did not so far impress.


    Alas, as they chatted on the most neutral matter Thando had been able to offer up ¨C whether or not the Uthukile winter storms were the single worst on Vesper ¨C Angharad was grieved to deduce that the bountiful Lady Emeni was likely involved with Lord Fanyana. While she would never complain at such a woman leaning forward so frequently, it was not for her eyes but the red-eared Khosa¡¯s that the charms were being displayed.


    Lady Emeni also seemed acquainted with Ferranda, asking of her health, though Lord Fanyana was visibly indifferent to the matter. He thinks it beneath him, Angharad decided. He might not even be wrong, given his birth. More interesting was when the charming captain mentioned her recent tea with Captain Nenetl of the Third, a hint as to where she stood. A foe to Musa Shange, almost certainly, given the infamous enmity between Nenetl Chapul and Musa¡¯s own captain.


    If Angharad was to look for allies here, Emeni Maziya was a good start. That and she must be careful not to make too much of a mess pressing her intentions, else Lord Fanyana was likely to oppose her on the simple grounds of misliking crassness.


    Still, Lady Emeni¡¯s continued advances were so cheerful a seduction that the Pereduri left their company rather cheered. Lord Fanyana was a gloom cloud, but not entirely without humor ¨C his quip about the great curse of the Towers Coast being called the Imperial Someshwar had been quite droll.


    ¡°Ah, the last four are together,¡± Thando mused. ¡°Into the breach, Angharad.¡±


    He hesitated.


    ¡°Do not take the twins personally.¡±


    As forecast, the last four guests were standing by an elegant Tianxi landscape while sipping at their drinks. Three of them women, the sole man introducing himself so happily and so eagerly that Thando did not even have the time to preempt him.


    ¡°Awonke Bokang, Third Brigade,¡± he said, shaking her hand. ¡°Capital to meet you.¡±


    His doublet was positively dripping with colored beads in the Uthukile style and he wielded a Low Isle accent thick enough it would not flinch under bombardment. He was Umuthi society, she soon learned, and most interested in the saber her uncle had gifted her. So was the second of the lot to be introduced, Lady Lindiwe Sarru.


    That one Angharad had already known the surname of, for she was Skiritai.


    ¡°Impressive work with the chimera yesterday,¡± Angharad told her, trading duelist¡¯s curtsies. ¡°It was skillful strategy how your crew trapped it into the house.¡±


    ¡°And you with that satyrian,¡± Lady Lindiwe replied. ¡°It was rather satisfying to see one handily dispatched after the last chewed up most of that crew on our first day.¡±


    ¡°Salvador¡¯s contract allows us to take risks most cannot,¡± Angharad demurred.


    She took a close look at the woman for the first time, noting that for one who spoke Umoya like a southerner it was unusual for her to be bearing a saber a hand¡¯s span longer than Angharad¡¯s own - and even though Lindiwe Sarru was shorter than her! Her dress was classic Malani court attire, high-waisted yellow inyosi fabric with dark brown double lines adorned by matching rings. The high collar and layered sleeves paired with a long train, almost trailing behind, had been the fashion in the capital last she heard.


    Not so the two green skirt ribbons fluttering on her side, which no matter how dainty could only be duelists¡¯ straps ¨C meant to hike up the skirt and tie it back to the belt to free the legs should there be a need for a duel.


    ¡°A surfeit of humility,¡± Lady Lindiwe frankly said. ¡°Still, I am glad to finally have another Skiritai among us. Next time I ask have these little evenings moved on the evening of the week I did not spend the afternoon in a fighting pit, perhaps I will get fewer comments.¡±


    Ah. Angharad had wondered why the event was moved by a day, though for the same reason freshly outlined she had not been inclined to complain.


    ¡°I would not count on it.¡±


    She turned to the speaker. The twins, Thando had called them, and they were very much that. More to Angharad¡¯s delight, the pair were slender beauties with sultry dark eyes wearing silver bands with striped veils going down their backs.


    At first glance they seemed to be wearing the same striped black and white ingwenya dress, but it was an illusion ¨C the positions of the black and white were reversed, on both the veil and their elegant paneled dresses. Their wear was different from her own Izcalli cut not due to the cloth but by virtue of having silver netting over where Angharad¡¯s shoulders were bare, and the pearl necklaces they wore: one broad, halfway down the shoulder, and the other at the base of the beck.


    As with everything else, they contrasted shades with each having one necklace of black pearls and the other in pale.


    ¡°If I might introduce the ladies Branwen and Morcan of House Emain,¡± Thando said. ¡°They may even, at some point this evening, deign to reveal which is which.¡±


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    ¡°I would not count on that either,¡± the rightmost twin noted.


    Even if she had never heard their names, that faint undertone to the Umoya would have told Angharad they were Pereduri as surely as the low waist of their dresses. They both cocked eyebrows at her and offered their hand to be kissed, which presented Angharad with the delightful dilemma of which knuckle to grace first. She chose the first to address her, to an inscrutable expression from both beauties.


    The leftmost twin then addressed her in Gwynt, which Angharad grasped parts of. Something about ¡®gray¡¯, ¡®region¡¯, and a term meaning ¡®sea-and-stone¡¯ that was an old-fashioned byword for Peredur itself. The lady spoke quickly and in an antiquated manner, however, so Angharad was soon lost.


    ¡°I did not understand you,¡± Angharad replied in the same tongue.


    The twins shared a look, one of them sighing.


    ¡°Evidently,¡± Lady Emain replied, in Umoya.


    ¡°It was a pleasure, Lady Maraire,¡± the other Lady Emain added.


    The use of House Tredegar¡¯s name on the Malani rolls of nobility was a clear dismissal, which Angharad would admit stung a bit. She had hardly met any others from home since leaving it, to have such a distance put there from the start was something of a blow.


    As did the fact that she had come across beautiful Pereduri twins only for them to be¡­ unnecessarily scathing, to put it gently. Between Emeni being taken with the Khosa earlier and now this, the dinner was looking to be slim pickings. It was a little unfair of the world to make it so. Neither Lord Bokan nor Lady Lindiwe seemed all that surprised by the way the ladies Emain had acted, or the way they then walked away after the barest sketch of a curtsy.


    ¡°I think Morcan is the one with the small black pearls,¡± Lord Awonke noted as they watched the pair retreat. ¡°She glares like I am insect, not a rat.¡±


    It was an effort for her lips not to twitch.


    ¡°She has to be Branwen,¡± Lady Sarru contradicted in a murmur. ¡°She only implied that my entire bloodline are fresh-faced upstarts underserving of nobility the once, which would make her the friendly twin.¡±


    ¡°Is House Emain so ancient?¡± Angharad asked. ¡°I would not call myself unlearned in the matter of the peerdom but I am not familiar with the name.¡±


    Admittedly it sounded like a name from southwestern Peredur, which she was less learn in, but if they were a great house she was certain she would know of them.


    ¡°The sisters are descended from two war captains that came to Peredur during the First Landing,¡± Thando provided. ¡°Or so is claimed.¡±


    That was a hallowed lineage, Angharad would concede. Most of the first ships to land to make shore on the duchy¡¯s stony beaches had been slaughtered by the old lords of the land, save for a few distinguished captains who raised driftwood halls after either wedding or vanquishing the locals. Often a little of both. In a sense those captains had been the eldest nobles of Peredur, though few of these ancient houses were now prominent.


    Given that Peredur was said to have been the first land reached by the ships of Morn, which kept sailing to the Middle and Low Isle after a grisly blooding, it was an old argument that their bloodlines could be considered the first nobles not only of Peredur but of all Malan. And thus the noblest of all, by some interpretations. Mostly from those who would benefit from such an honor.


    ¡°If they had anything to boast of but their blood, they would,¡± Lady Lindiwe drily said. ¡°I would not be surprised to hear House Emain rules naught but a manor and a stony beach.¡±


    Angharad slid her a look. Some might describe the lands of House Tredegar in such a manner, though of course there was more to them than that. She was debating what to say when a bell was gently rung, drawing the attention of the guests to the same smiling man who had greeted her at the door.


    ¡°Dinner is ready,¡± he announced. ¡°If you would follow?¡±


    Handed the opportunity to let the matter lie, Angharad took it.


    --


    A single, long table was to host the veritable banquet they were served.


    As the guest of highest birth, Lord Fanyana Khosa sat at the head of the table and the rest of them settled five on each side. Angharad found herself between Thando and Lord Zama, which at least simplified the matter of conversation. On the other side the closest were Lord Kasigo and Lady Emeni, both of which were glad sights. Well, for the pleasure of the eye more one than the other but conversationally speaking the balance was closer.


    Malani feasts were long, drawn-out affairs and this looked to be no exception. The first service was a traditional chicken and vegetable stew, exquisitely spiced, and in its wake maize beer was brought out. Angharad had finished her wine, so she accepted a cup. With the beer now on the table, conversation began in earnest. News from abroad, at first, as was custom.


    ¡°It may be war is brewing in the Someshwar,¡± Lord Fanyana shared, living up to his seat. ¡°The Ramayans are squabbling with the Upani over their eastern enclaves.¡±


    That was met with some cheer, as war in the Imperial Someshwar tended to be good for business. With the roads made unsafe by roving armies, sea trade always picked up. That and should the war last too long Sunflower Lords were like as not to get involved, which would then see steel and powder rise sharply in value.


    By the time fresh steamed bread was served along with curry, the discussion had moved instead to Thando¡¯s intriguing mention of a flurry of diplomatic delegations between the Ten Republics.


    ¡°It is an open secret that the Sanxing were busy courting the central republics to support their colony plans when the Dimming happened,¡± Lady Emeni opined. ¡°Like as not, now that the situation in Jigong has hit the bottom of the barrel they are taking the pulse of the current sentiment.¡±


    More than a few glances slid Angharad¡¯s way at the mention of Jigong, which was understandable. She was still nominally under the command of a Ren, something which everyone present seemed to understand the meaning of. It might not have been so at the beginning of the year, the Pereduri supposed, but Professor Yun Kang had ensured otherwise.


    ¡°It is said that Song Ren of the Thirteenth is a direct relation of the man behind the Dimming,¡± Musa lightly said.


    Angharad sipped at the beer. Only to be expected that Musa would be the one to bring her into this, so she had been keeping one eye on the rest of the table. One reaction stood out: Lady Lindiwe Sarru rolling her eyes. No friend of Musa¡¯s, then. She¡¯d not had the opportunity to learn what brigade the other woman belonged to yet, but it was now her intention to.


    ¡°Chaoxiang Ren was her grandfather,¡± Angharad replied. ¡°Though she was born years after the event in question, of course. Her personal honor is unstained.¡±


    Murmurs of agreement all around, but the general sentiment was plain: bad goods, broken goods. No fault of hers, but best kept at arm¡¯s length. She pushed down the urge to argue. Angharad¡¯s disinclination to share more on the matter saw the subject move on, towards talk of unrest in the Kingdom of Sordan over terms of peace. The Treaty of Concordia had been signed eighteen years ago, and seen Sordan become a tributary of Izcalli while the port of Concordia was ceded to Malan. Some Sordans were said to be agitating for the trade port¡¯s return to the fold.


    ¡°We would not need to hold it at all, had they not bent over the for izzies during the Sordan War,¡± Lord Awonke snorted. ¡°Without a royal fleet base in the Trebian, Izcalli is sure to try to close the Auric Strait when they next have themselves a war.¡±


    Angharad had never been all that interest in matters of greater policy, but it was common knowledge that one of the main goals of the Queen Perpetual over the last two centuries had been ensuring that the Auric Strait, connecting the Straying Sea to the Trebian, could never be closed to Malani ships by the Kingdom of Izcalli. Or anyone else, for that matter.


    ¡°Everyone shafted Sordan during the peace of Concordia,¡± Lord Kasigo opined. ¡°Malan, Izcalli, even the Watch when they brokered the whole affair. They have reason to be angry, not that it will lead to anything but the royal fleet anchoring a squadron in bombardment range of their capital.¡±


    Lord Zama signed, Musa leaning forward to read his fingers before speaking.


    ¡°Or the Grasshopper King sending Doghead Coyal to scare them back into submission,¡± Musa conveyed.


    Some snorts, but Angharad raised an eyebrow.


    ¡°I am unfamiliar with the name,¡± she said.


    ¡°One of the leading generals in Izcalli, rumored to be the throne¡¯s favorite,¡± Lord Fanyana informed her, for once looking engaged. ¡°He led the Izcalli forces in the Sordan War and by all appearances he is one of the finest military minds of our age ¨C at the Battle of Narba he defeated three armies in a day.¡±


    ¡°And he is said not to be Izcalli by birth, only Aztlan,¡± Lady Emeni added. ¡°Scandalous, yes?¡±


    It was, given that the Atzlan realms around Izcalli were more likely to yield serfs than high-ranking generals when the Sunflower Lords got their say. The traditional round of sport was had at the expense of the Izcalli inability to build so much as a barn without having a round of civil war and emptying a Someshwari village. When the roast mutton, pumpkins and carrots were served ¨C cattle being on the plate signaled this was the main service ¨C conversation turned to the latest about everyone¡¯s associations.


    In other words, gossip.


    ¡°I hear that fallen noble from the Nineteenth, Barboza, got into a fistfight with a cabalist from the Twelfth,¡± Thando shared. ¡°There was shouting about a bathtub.¡±


    ¡°Lierganen nobility,¡± one of the Emain twins noted. ¡°Almost a lie.¡±


    There was some laughter at that, and Angharad near smiled. The ladies Emain, while openly indifferent to the talk of politics, seemed much more interested in this sort of talk. Lord Zama, noticing her cup was empty, silently offered to fill it with maize beer again. It would have been rude to refuse, given his higher rank, so Angharad nodded. It was only her second cup, she still had room.


    The Pereduri ladies then traded a few sentences in Gwynt between themselves, which had Thando leaning towards her.


    ¡°How well do you understand that?¡± he asked in a murmur.


    ¡°Not well,¡± she admitted. ¡°The only word I caught was ¡®mouse¡¯, though it could also have been ¡®thistle¡¯.¡±


    ¡°Unfortunate,¡± he said. ¡°I had hoped someone would finally understand their asides.¡±


    Angharad hummed.


    ¡°A curiosity, if you would,¡± she said.


    He cocked an eyebrow.


    ¡°Her brigade?¡± she asked, discreetly gesturing towards Lady Lindiwe.


    His smile was knowing.


    ¡°Tenth Brigade,¡± he said. ¡°Closely tied to the First.¡±


    And the First, from what Angharad recalled, was foe to both the Ninth and the Third. Yet Lady Lindiwe had been quite cordial with Lord Awonke, who was actually of the Third, and that might mean the enmity there ran very shallow. So it might be possible to muster both of them for the same cause, Angharad thought. What she needed to find out was how likely that pair was to support Zenzele being invited purely to pull at Musa¡¯s ear.


    She drifted back into the conversation after nodding Thando her thanks, finding out that talk had turned to how that ¡®Tupoc fellow from the Fourth¡¯ had managed to get the captains of the Thirty-Sixth and Thirty-Eighth so frothingly angry that the latter had drawn a pistol on him right there in the Galleries. That prompted Angharad to share a few choice stories from the Dominion. Half the table shook with laughter when told them about his almost ending up in a cage, and booed how he called himself a defender of the weak when stepping in the way of an honor duel.


    Sleeping God, the man had only been on the island a few weeks longer than her. How was he already this disliked?


    By the time of the next service ¨C dumplings and sour milk ¨C she felt like she had a handle on the currents of the table. She sipped at her cup of beer, filled anew by Lord Zama even though she had barely touched it, and considered the levers she might pull at. The following service should be dessert, followed by a second round of mingling over drinks, which would let her try her hand at getting Zenzele his invitation. The only way for it was to gather enough supporters that Musa refusing would make him look worse than accepting, and the count for that was¡­ troublesome.


    The Emain twins were likely to sit it out, and Lord Zama unlikely to slight the man he was friendliest with. Lindiwe, Awonke and Emeni were a solid foundation if she could sway them. Thando would likely help, for a price, and Lord Kasigo would side with the victors. That meant the man she needed on her side, the hinge of it all, was Fanyana Khosa. That would be tricky to achieve, but Angharad found herself hiding a smile as she sipped at her beer.


    It felt exciting, to be back here in this room. Doing what she had been raised to do, with people she understood. Another breath of fresh air.


    Dessert was traditional, sweet corn pudding, and when Lord Zama again filled her cup with beer Angharad realized she had made what her father called the beginner¡¯s mistake: being so taken with her own schemes she had failed to consider there might be others afoot. Maize beer was not a strong drink, but the kind served at feasts was stronger than the usual kind. She had not had enough to make her drunk, but enough to loosen her limbs some. And if she drained that cup, then the refreshments later? Then she would be.


    So now she must consider another question: why was Lord Zama trying to get her drunk?


    The easy guess was that Musa might try his hand at another challenge tonight and had decided to get the odds on his side, but that did not seem much like the man. While not exactly without wiles, Angharad thought Musa Shange would simply be too proud to claim a victory in this manner. There was something more to it. What did Musa want? With her, likely little. But his captain had charged him with courting Angharad for the Ninth.


    That was the thread Angharad needed to follow to unwind this to the source.


    Horse trading of gossip continued over the pudding, Angharad not touching her beer and digging in s quickly as was polite to fill her belly further. A shame, as she rather enjoyed the delicacy and would have preferred to savor it. What is the angle at work, she wondered, and how can I use it for my own purposes? What had her at a loss was that Musa hardly even glanced at her, more interested in table talk about the Forty-Fourth having run into blem and ran with the legs tucked between their legs, and did not seem to be moving to muster against her.


    He was not pulling strings, or maneuvering. Was all this simply Lord Zama having a surfeit of hospitality? She had her answer when the last of the plates were cleared and the servants brought in small cups of distilled palm wine. A liquor on the stronger side. And Musa rose to his feet, smiling, to offer a toast.


    ¡°To our latest addition,¡± he said, raising a glass to Angharad.


    The man was trying to get her drunk, no doubt about it. She could not refuse a toast to herself, so she matched him ¨C as did most the table ¨C and drank the palm wine. Only she used an old trick of her father¡¯s refraining from swallowing. She then pretended to chase the strong liquor with maze beer, instead spitting out the liquor into that cup. Musa wanted to achieve something by getting her drunk, and so far her only hint was that two at the table had not drunk of the toast.


    The first was facing her, so it was the natural choice.


    ¡°Do you not enjoy palm wine, Lord Kasigo?¡± she idly asked.


    The fresh-faced man looked embarrassed.


    ¡°I was raised Serene Redeemer,¡± he replied. ¡°I do not drink alcohol.¡±


    He brow rose. To a Universalist with her all Redeemers were hardliners, but the so-called ¡®Serries¡¯ were one of the starker sects of the faith. Their claim to fame was a doctrine that the soul must be kept serene to be closer to the Sleeping God, emptied of earthly distractions. Like drink and music, most famously. So taken aback was she that a moment passed with her at a loss as to what to say, Kasigo stepping in.


    ¡°It is uncommon in noble households, I know,¡± he said, ¡°and I imagine yours was quite different. Most Pereduri are Universalists, yes?¡±


    And before Angharad could open her mouth, the second to abstain stepped in.


    ¡°Ah, Kasigo, I must stop you,¡± Lindiwe Sarru smiled. ¡°You approach a mistake.¡±


    The man shot her a surprised look.


    ¡°Do I?¡±


    ¡°Indeed,¡± she said. ¡°Tredegar, you see, is not from a noble household.¡±


    Dead silence followed, filling the room to burst. In it, Angharad could hear of a noose pulled tight.


    ¡°Pardon?¡± she evenly asked.


    ¡°Correct me if I speak untruly,¡± Lady Lindiwe said, tone pleasant for all the strong language, ¡°but was House Tredegar not struck from the rolls of nobility, its holdings placed in the care of the crown?¡±


    Eyes cold, Angharad met her gaze. Lindiwe ¨C no, Sarru now, the Pereduri owed her no further courtesies ¨C was being quite obvious in seeking to force a duel.


    ¡°All titles are set aside when taking the black, Sarru,¡± she replied. ¡°Is that untrue?¡±


    She laughed.


    ¡°Must I explain to you,¡± Sarru said, ¡°the difference between a title being set aside and stripped?¡±


    ¡°It seems it is I,¡± Angharad flatly replied, ¡°who must explain to you the meaning of the word courtesy.¡±


    ¡°Manners are one thing, lies another,¡± Sarru said. ¡°Everyone here joined the Watch while titled, and by this virtue warrant invitation to such a gathering. Everyone except you.¡±


    She had two threads to pull: Musa¡¯s captain wanted her in the Ninth and Lindiwe Sarru had not been drinking. Intending a duel from the start? Yes, she decided. Though giving great insult, the other woman was not speaking with particular venom or anger. She was simply speaking the words needed to get what she wanted.


    And Angharad saw no way to slip out of the noose.


    ¡°Your words stain my honor,¡± she said. ¡°Withdraw them.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Sarru happily said.


    Stiffly, the Pereduri rose to her feet.


    ¡°Blades, then.¡±


    ¡°First blood?¡± Sarru asked.


    ¡°Surrender,¡± Angharad coldly denied.


    ¡°A woman after my own heart,¡± she laughed, rising as well.


    The rest of the table erupted, but more in excitement than outrage. The only to look miffed was Lord Fanyana, though more at the mess than the words. Angharad stepped aside servants were sent for to prepare the drawing room for a duel, ignoring Thando¡¯s quiet words as she closed her eyes and tried to put it all together.


    Musa would not want to help Sarru, who was friend to his own captain¡¯s foe. So why had he asked Lord Zama to get her drinking? Even had she imbibed another round or two of palm wine she would not have been made incapable, only¡­


    Sloppy.


    Musa was not helping Sarru, he was harming Angharad. He must have figured out Sarry would press for a duel and wagered that with some drink in her she would make a mistake and gravely harm a member of the Tenth. Which would draw both the First and the Tenth down on her head, and that of any brigade she was part of. Ferranda would not be able to withstand such grand enmity, not when the Ninth was already at odds with her.


    But Captain Sebastian Camaron could, and would no doubt extend his protection with a smile ¨C should Angharad join the Ninth Brigade.


    ¡°What a snake,¡± she murmured. ¡°I almost missed it.¡±


    ¡°Angharad?¡±


    She opened her eyes, finding Thando Fanya frowning at her.


    ¡°The captain of the Ninth reaches into this room,¡± she said. ¡°Perhaps he should be taught a lesson.¡±


    ¡°Dueling a friend to his foe will do no such thing,¡± Thando said.


    ¡°No,¡± she agreed. ¡°That will have to come later.¡±


    To their honor, none of the servants looked uneasy when told to prepare for live blades being bared. Nor should, they since nearly all of them were Malani. The only detail left to put together, Angharad thought, was why Sarru was so eager for a duel. She could not ever recall giving the woman offence. When offered a pin to steady her skirts by a woman in green livery, Angharad took it and slid it in after some adjustments.


    Her stride would not be fully free and she disliked fighting in soft boots, but it was nothing crippling.


    She handed her sheathed saber to the officiant ¨C Lord Fanyana had been volunteered ¨C and after Sarru did the same, she gave the noblewoman a cool glance. Her duelist¡¯s straps had pulled her skirts, revealing fighting boots Angharad could only envy. There could be no doubt she had come with this in mind. The two of them stood there, no one else close enough to overhear, as their weapons were inspected.


    ¡°This all seems most unwarranted,¡± Angharad said.


    ¡°Does it?¡± Sarru mused.


    ¡°What have I ever done to earn your ire?¡±


    Lindiwe Sarru¡¯s smile was a cold thing.


    ¡°I tire, Tredegar, of hearing talk of butter,¡± she said. ¡°Of the mirror-dancer among us, how she must be the finest Skiritai in our year. Praise after praise after praise.¡±


    Her dark face tightened.


    ¡°Time to give them something else to talk about,¡± Sarru said.


    She shot the other woman an incredulous look.


    ¡°Gossip is what this is all about?¡±


    ¡°If you do not grasp that in this school rumors are the only currency of status, then you are a very great fool indeed,¡± Sarru scorned.


    Lord Fanyana returned their sabers, which was for the best. The only answers Angharad had it in her to give now would lead to this ending in a corpse. The center drawing room had been cleared of furniture, everything put up against the walls, and the great round carpet on the ground was designated the dueling. The rest of the guests kept to the sides as the two of them walked to the center of the carpet, Angharad¡¯s stride angry.


    She forced herself to smooth out her anger. Giving her opponent power over her mindset was the first step to defeat. They turned to face each other.


    ¡°Draw,¡± Lord Fanyana said.


    Angharad slid out her blade.


    ¡°Begin.¡±


    She pulled on her contract and-


    Nothing? No, everything was there. Everything but the woman she was facing, who was missing from the glimpse entirely.


    -the power of the contract withdrew, and now there was a triumphant grin on Lindiwe Sarru¡¯s face.


    ¡°I knew it,¡± she quietly said. ¡°Not your reflexes, but those of others. You can read how muscles will move, it¡¯s how you always know how to kill the lemures.¡±


    Angharad forced herself to put on a hint of dismay and bury her relief very, very deep.


    ¡°There will be none of that with me, though,¡± Sarru told her. ¡°I¡¯m a shadow, you see.¡±


    And then it began.


    Sarru was shorter than her, but the longer length of her blade would make up for it some. It will be either lightened or slow, Angharad as the other woman fell into a high guard. Best to learn which quickly, for it would inform her approach: she took a middle guard took, stepped forward and then to the side. Sarru moved to keep facing her, her stance seemingly easy to keep, and Angharad tried a feint ¨C towards the chest, then sweeping down to the foreleg.


    Sarru smoothly moved a step back but her blade did not so much as twitch. Slow, Angharad decided. She was limiting her movements to keep from committing to a mistake she would not be able to take back. Then victory lay in offence.


    Angharad Tredegar breathed out and moved.


    Quickstep, closing range, and a cut to the arm ¨C Sarru parried, all crisp textbook clean, and the riposte went for her face. Snorting, Angharad slapped aside the blow and wove past her guard. She would have had her knee kicked out under her for it, if she¡¯d not circled first. Sarru moved to match, Angharad feinted, forced her blade low to protect her knee, then pivoted again. The Malani struggled to keep up, half a beat behind, and Angharad kept up the pressure.


    Blow to the neck, getting an awkwardly angled block, and she slammed the pommel of her saber on Sarru¡¯s chest. She drew back with a pained groan, guard askew and Angharad saw the opening. The golden road. Draw back the blow, press the blade and then thrust her wrist: the base of her blade would come to rest against Sarru¡¯s throat, death blow withheld.


    Her hand moved, and then it all went to shit.


    Lindiwe Sarru pressed back against her press, sweeping back with ¨C she shouldn¡¯t have been able to, the weight of her blade working against the strength of her wrist, but here we were ¨C her own blow, Angharad ducking under what should have been victory and getting elbowed in the face. She rolled back, narrowly avoiding a blow that would have sliced up her flank deep, and smoothly rose in a high guard.


    ¡°Your saber¡¯s not heavy at all,¡± Angharad said. ¡°You were baiting me the entire time.¡±


    ¡°Candlesteel alloy,¡± Sarru smiled. ¡°Meant for the slaying of spirits, but your blood will suffice.¡±


    ¡°Come and draw it, then,¡± she scorned. ¡°Or is the only sharp edge on your tongue?¡±


    A twitch of anger, and with nothing left to hide the Malani finally went on the offence. A feint that Angharad ignored, a blow she turned aside but she had good footing and a quick wrist: they both danced away rather than choosing to slice up each other¡¯s cheek. Perhaps it was time to find out how Sarru dealt with saber locks, Angharad mused. The other woman was not slight, but the Pereduri would pit her arms against the other woman¡¯s any day.


    She tried not to think too deeply on how she was beginning to enjoy herself.


    The noblewoman slid forward, stride smooth, and ¨C and the door burst open. Angharad stilled halfway through a saber stroke. As did Sarru, though not so quickly she did not bring her blade to edge of Angharad¡¯s guard. The rat.


    It was a man, she saw, in Watch black. Regular¡¯s uniform with cloak over it, and on his collar was pinned a golden braid. A commander¡¯s mark, she had learned in Mandate. What is a commander doing he- and then the face sunk in. The short hair, the brown eyes and tall stature. The neatly trimmed beard with a hint of gray and the Tredegar nose.


    ¡°Uncle?¡± she croaked out.


    Commander Osian Tredegar ¨C he had been a captain, as far as she knew! ¨C swept the room with his eyes and spared the situation what could only be called a deeply unimpressed look.


    ¡°Disgraceful,¡± he said. ¡°This is Scholomance, not the royal court. Sheathe those blades before I have you both running laps around the harbor until the sweat leaves some room inside for common sense.¡±


    She flinched back, lowering her blade. Sarru shot her a look, as if wondering whether this had been arranged.


    ¡°This is matter of honor, Commander,¡± she said, ¡°it is not-¡±


    ¡°It is not the place of officer of the Watch to duel,¡± he calmly interrupted her. ¡°It is, in fact, strictly against regulations.¡±


    A thin smile.


    ¡°As you are still students this is not a breach, but it proof that you are still very much arrogant children,¡± Osian Tredegar said, then glanced at Angharad. ¡°Sheathe that bloody sword, girl. I¡¯ll not say it again.¡±


    Feeling very much like she should be looking down at her boots, Angharad did. All the others had been silent, until Lord Fanyana cleared his throat.


    ¡°If I may ask for your name, sir?¡±


    ¡°Commander Osian Tredegar,¡± her uncle replied. ¡°Umuthi Society, currently on assignment for the Obscure Committee.¡±


    The handful of watchmen charged with overseeing Tolomontera? His words earned a ripple. The Emain twins were the only ones visibly unimpressed, trading sentences in Gwynt. Her uncle fixed them with a steady look.


    ¡°Oh, but I know who you are,¡± he said, baring his teeth. ¡°Sticks with bad hair and noses up in the air? You must be Ceridwen¡¯s daughters.¡±


    A snort.


    ¡°She was a snobby brat as well,¡± Uncle Osian said. ¡°There is a reason she was pushed into a pond on the night of her debut.¡±


    Far from being offended, to Angharad¡¯s horror the pair were now looking at him with almost starstruck expressions.


    ¡°No offence was meant, Commander,¡± the leftmost twin assured.


    ¡°Mere curiosity,¡± the other added.


    ¡°I¡¯m sure,¡± he replied, rolling his eyes, then turned his gaze onto the rest. ¡°Considering that my own niece was involved in this foolishness, I will turn a blind eye this once. I invited you, however, to ask your brigade patrons what participation in honor duels while serving a term in the Watch will do for your prospects.¡±


    From his tone, it was nothing pleasant. Perhaps, if Angharad was very lucky, no one would think to mention during his stay that this was the second duel she was fighting in less than a month.


    A vain hope, with Wen Duan around.


    Part of her, she would admit, took delight in all these better born sorts shuffling awkwardly out of the drawing room like embarrassed children. Sarru was the last to leave, leaning in for parting words after sheathing her sword.


    ¡°This is not over,¡± she said.


    ¡°So close to a lie, Sarru,¡± Angharad chided.


    She snarled as she pulled away, a servant closing the door behind her and leaving Angharad to stand alone with her uncle. Who was looking somewhat unimpressed with her.


    ¡°What made you think this was a good idea?¡± he asked.


    ¡°My honor was impugned,¡± she stiffly replied. ¡°What else should I have done?¡±


    A long moment passed.


    ¡°Sleeping God, you sound like your mother,¡± he sighed. ¡°Our father used to say she took to the sea because she¡¯d picked all the fights there were to be had on land.¡±


    Shaking his head fondly, Uncle Osian pulled her in tight and she leaned in eagerly. He was, she notice just not quite tall enough to rest his chin on her head. He made to withdraw after a moment but Angharad tightened her grasp, leaning her forehead against his shoulder, and he relented. It was a long while before they parted.


    ¡°Look at you,¡± he grinned, looking enchanted. ¡°So tall now! When I last saw you, you did not even reach my chest.¡±


    ¡°I was only nine,¡± Angharad laughed.


    And a lot more interested in her live steel lessons than her visiting uncle at first, although that¡¯d changed when he began giving gifts. That Izcalli paperweight in the shape of a two-tailed snake had been her favorite, keeping a place of honor on her desk for years. Osian¡¯s brown eyes took her in, scrutinizing.


    "You¡¯ve your mother¡¯s nose and build,¡± he said, ¡°but the rest is all your father¡¯s, I¡¯m afraid.¡±


    She straightened in pride. Gwydion Tredegar¡¯s good looks had made him the darling of Pereduri peerdom, once upon a time.


    ¡°Would that I had gotten his charm as well,¡± Angharad ruefully said. ¡°I would end up in fewer duels.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I doubt that,¡± Osian snorted. ¡°Malani lordlings are like tomcats ¨C lock a couple of them in a room and some fur¡¯ll always go flying. We have to train it out of them before the Watch can get a use of the virtues.¡±


    He shrugged his shoulders.


    ¡°Besides, your mother saw to it you know you way around a blade, which I wager will serve you better in the long run than any amount of wiles.¡±


    ¡°It has helped me on Tolomontera,¡± Angharad admitted.


    He beamed.


    ¡°I had a feeling you would do well here,¡± Osian said. ¡°The Militants prize talent above all and they¡¯ve the cleanest inner workings of any covenant.¡±


    A thoughtful pause.


    ¡°It helps that most of their chief officers are complete lunatics,¡± he added.


    ¡°Are you sure you should be telling me this?¡± Angharad asked, half-serious.


    ¡°Nothing you won¡¯t learn in Mandate eventually,¡± Osian dismissed, ¡°though I expect they¡¯ll coach it in nicer language. Still, enough about the Watch. How have you been? Are you enjoying your time with the Thirteenth?¡±


    Ah. Angharad cleared her throat embarrassedly.


    ¡°I have been settling in,¡± she said. ¡°I did not expect there to be quite so many scholarly classes, but I am keeping up with the work ¨C still, I must confess that Warfare and my covenant classes remain my favorite.¡±


    ¡°I wish,¡± he said, sounding somewhat chagrined, ¡°that your favoring the fighting pit full of monsters came as a surprise.¡±


    She blinked in surprise. How strange, why would he? Still, she set that aside for the embarrassing part.


    ¡°As for the Thirteenth Brigade, we are to part ways,¡± Angharad said. ¡°We have had differences too difficult to reconcile, so I will be transferring to the Thirty-First for at least a few months.¡±


    Her uncle¡¯s face clenched.


    ¡°I ¨C you,¡± he said, then licked his lips. ¡°I¡¯m sorry to hear that, because it won¡¯t be possible.¡±


    The noblewoman frowned.


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand,¡± she said.


    ¡°You must stay with the Thirteenth for at least the next few months,¡± he said.


    She goggled at him.


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Because in three weeks you will be leaving for the Asphodel Rectorate as part of that brigade, heading out for your yearly test,¡± Osian said.


    She almost laughed at the absurdity of the words, until she saw his face was dead serious.


    ¡°Uncle, I have not been on Tolomontera for a month,¡± Angharad said. ¡°How could I possibly be ready for this test?¡±


    ¡°That has been taken into consideration, and you¡¯ve been given an easier assignment because of it,¡± Osian said. ¡°But the timetable cannot be moved, Angharad. I had to step on quite a few toes to get it changed.¡±


    ¡°Help me understand,¡± she quietly asked.


    ¡°The Thirteenth was picked for one of the Asphodel assignments when it was formed,¡± he said, ¡°because the Rectorate is a quiet spot in our backyard. Unfortunately, the situation as changed.¡±


    He grimaced.


    ¡°At the turn of the year, the Rectorate announced that it discovered an Antediluvian shipyard beneath the island,¡± Osian said. ¡°Which would be bad enough, but there was also a massive imperial cache inside among which was the largest find of tomic alloys in a century.¡±


    Angharad breathed out, parsing the implications. Great wealth, of course, but more importantly-


    ¡°They will be able make skimmers,¡± she said. ¡°The old kind from the First Empire, not the smaller modern ones.¡±


    ¡°They already can,¡± Osian grimly said. ¡°When the Rector revealed all this to the diplomatic envoys of every successor-state, he also showed them the first skimmer the shipyards made ¨C no larger than a caravel, but my friends in the Deuteronomicon tell me the aetheric engine¡¯s twice the size of anything the Tianxi can make.¡±


    ¡°And this brought enemies to their doorstep,¡± Angharad guessed.


    ¡°That¡¯s one way to put it,¡± he snorted. ¡°The Krypteia are predicting that within six months there will be civil war with foreign power involvement. Whoever gets their hands on those shipyards tips the balance of the Trebian Sea their way, Angharad ¨C you must go now or you¡¯ll be heading into bloody mayhem.¡±


    ¡°I would not have to go at all, if I were not part of the Thirteenth,¡± she carefully said.


    He grimaced again.


    ¡°That is unfortunately untrue,¡± he said. ¡°Your killing the Cerdan boy ensured the Obscure Committee won¡¯t send you to Sacromonte and it¡¯s been judged the odds are too high you¡¯ll get assassinated if you¡¯re sent to the Riven Coast ¨C that house has friends among the pirate kings. Asphodel is the only destination in the cards for you.¡±


    ¡°Surely there are other brigades taking tests there,¡± she tried.


    ¡°Four will be sent,¡± Osian agreed.


    ¡°Then,¡± she hesitantly tried, ¡°would it not be possible-¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s too late, Angie,¡± he softly interrupted. ¡°I burned most the favors owed me last year so I did not have the pull for this on my own. I had to get help from Colonel Zhuge.¡±


    ¡°I am unfamiliar with the name,¡± she admitted.


    ¡°He is the officer who recommended Song Ren,¡± her uncle said. ¡°A well-respected Stripe with a command on the Rookery. I had to lean heavily on his connections. We made¡­ arrangements, and they all involve your being part of the Thirteenth.¡±


    A reluctant halt.


    ¡°I gave my word.¡±


    Angharad bit her tongue, better to swallow the sharp words wriggling on them. It was a grave disrespect for Uncle Osian to make promises on her behalf, but she owed him debts greater than words could convey. She would have died a hundred times over, if not for his interventions.


    ¡°I have already told Song I intend to leave the Thirteenth,¡± she finally sighed.


    ¡°I cannot stop you from doing that,¡± Osian frankly said. ¡°But if you do, Angie, the wheels come off the carriage. Colonel Zhuge pulls his support, almost certainly, and what follows will be¡­ unpredictable. Messy.¡±


    He rubbed the bridge of his nose, mind wandering.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be pulled out of the trip, at least,¡± her uncle said. ¡°Buried in a workshop for a few years even if I don¡¯t get demoted. You¡¯ll still be going to Asphodel, but if the patron and those who gave recommendations for the brigade you join get involved-¡±


    Osian trailed off, frowning.


    ¡°You are sailing there as well?¡± Angharad asked.


    He nodded.


    ¡°I¡¯m part of the delegation negotiating for tomic materials and the designated Umuthi instructor besides,¡± Osian absent-mindedly said. ¡°I¡¯m to discreetly lend a hand to Song Ren on Asphodel using those appointments. Zhuge let me be the face for this whole deal so if it crumples it¡¯ll be coming down on my head, but-¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll do it,¡± Angharad said.


    Ancestors, how could she do anything less? After all he had done for her it would have been abominable to turn on him. His head swiveled her way.


    ¡°I could try to get you transferred to another of the brigades going,¡± he tried. ¡°The colonel will get snippy, but I could still hold up my end of the bargain with him.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t suppose the Thirty-First is one of them?¡± she asked, but it was half-hearted.


    She would not wish this debacle on them, and if they were not involved she could not conceive of asking them to be. It would be a poor repayment of their kindness indeed to drag them into this. Osian shook his head.


    ¡°The Fourth, Eleventh and Forty-Ninth,¡± he said.


    So Tupoc, Imani Langa or the band of fools after Tristan¡¯s bounty. To think Song would be still be the finest pick of the lot. And then it hit her: Imani Langa. The bargain she had struck, the Infernal Forge for a letter to her father and aid freeing him. She could not get the damned thing if she was not on Tolomontera. Panic rose, but she fought it down. Imani was bound for Asphodel as well, she would have to understand.


    Wouldn¡¯t she? What if she didn¡¯t?


    Angharad dimly realized that was on a ship seaward bound, and the lights behind her were growing dreadfully distant.

 Chapter 35

    It was barely six in the morning when Maryam got back to the cottage.


    She¡¯d been bundled off to the chapterhouse last night to sleep it off, against her protests. Just because her eyes had felt hot and she had slurred her words was no reason to have her slung over some watchman¡¯s shoulder and carried to the Meadow. Or so she would have liked to say, but even when sleeping on grass surrounded by running water she¡¯d had vivid nightmares about being strangled and eaten alive.


    Captain Yue had ¡®accidentally¡¯ ordered her shaken awake at the crack of too early, then ¡®apologized¡¯ by making her breakfast over what was a very thinly veiled interrogation about how Maryam had managed a Sign the previous evening.


    And Maryam had managed a Sign. Thalassic, no less. The giddiness she still felt at that had been enough for her to suffer the horrid rice porridge that Yue was under the impression served as an edifying breakfast. It had taken a veritable sea of tea to wash it down, but at least the Tianxi stocked the good stuff and she had deigned to dip into her personal reserves.


    ¡°I have a theory,¡± Captain Yue mused. ¡°Consider yourself free for the evening, it will take me some time to gather the necessary materials.¡±


    Maryam glared at her half-heartedly.


    ¡°The last time you said you had a theory, I nearly drowned.¡±


    The knot keeping the stones tied to her ankles had been much too tightly made.


    ¡°And from that we learned the entity has a physical anchor on you,¡± Captain Yue happily said. ¡°Isn¡¯t that worth throwing up a little seawater?¡±


    ¡°Tell me I won¡¯t drown this time,¡± Maryam demanded.


    The Tianxi considered that for an uncomfortably long amount of time.


    ¡°Not on seawater, I don¡¯t think,¡± Yue said.


    ¡°Not on any kind of water,¡± she insisted.


    ¡°There¡¯s water in nearly everything, Maryam, don¡¯t be difficult,¡± Captain Yue complained.


    So Maryam had her afternoon free, though apparently it was not a feasting day so much as a last meal. Regardless, as she gave it good odds that Song would want to retrieve their affairs from the Ninth¡¯s storehouse as quickly as possible, this was fortunate happenstance. Song thought so as well when the Ivzorica joined her for a spell in the kitchen.


    ¡°Tristan will be coming as well,¡± Song said. ¡°He will need to pick up a shift at the Chimerical tomorrow to make up for it, but Hage appears to be flexible in such regards.¡±


    The devil, Tristan often complained, was flexible in all manners save that of remuneration. He had apparently gone out of his way to find out the usual rates of Sacromontan day laborer so he could offer measurably below them. Song sipped at her tea, humming in pleasure. The Tianxi had offered a cup, but Maryam was already filled to burst with Yue¡¯s own. Still, she grinned at the telling detail.


    ¡°Tristan now, is it?¡± Maryam said.


    No longer Abrascal. She did not bother to hide her satisfaction, which saw Song rolling her eyes.


    ¡°We have come to something of an understanding,¡± Song replied. ¡°I will not presume on its length or strength.¡±


    There was a salty joke in there, but sadly the Tianxi was almost as boring as Tristan in that regard. It was a shame Tredegar had gone over to the Thirty-First, Shalini was always good for that kind of a laugh. Someshwari claimed to be the finest lovers in the world ¨C though only their part of the Someshwar, of course, not those deluded others ¨C so their humor tended to run more earthy than the Tianxi or Lierganen ever let themselves be when sober.


    ¡°You¡¯re allowed to smirk, you know,¡± Maryam told her.


    To her delighted surprise, Song flashed her a wicked smirk.


    ¡°You may applaud,¡± her captain said.


    Lips twitching, Maryam offered her a few polite claps as the Tianxi took a theatrical bow. She had not seen Song so¡­ loose since their early days on the Rookery, and even back then there had been something coiling beneath the humor. The last few days had knocked something loose inside the other woman and Maryam did not dislike it at all.


    ¡°Where is Tristan, anyhow?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Out in the garden,¡± Song replied. ¡°He should be sowing the carrot seeds, by now. He began weeding before I woke.¡±


    And Song was not a late riser.


    ¡°Tristan the farmer,¡± Maryam mused, pushing back her chair. ¡°That I have to see.¡±


    ¡°Tell him to get the dirt out of his hair before Theology,¡± Song called out.


    She had not even mentioned the knees this time. Song truly was in a good mood. Taking the front door out, Maryam swung around to the long length of earth and greenery leading up to the edge of the hollow their cottage was nestled in. Tristan was walking back and forth across a rectangle of cleared earth wearing a loose shirt and trousers, a bag tied to his belt as he tossed seeds by the handful.


    Her throat caught at the sight. For a moment she was riding down the valley road, while in the distance farmers plowed the earth before sowing barley and millet. She could almost hear the cattle bells in the distance, smell the shit and mud. Swallowing drily, Maryam licked her lips. Fool girl, she told herself. It is more than just a sea away. Leave it in the grave where it belongs.


    If there was anything left of the world she had known as a child, she would only find it beyond the Broken Gates. What was with her today? She¡¯d not had that nightmare since leaving the lowlands either. Had the Sign shaken loose some memories of home? Forcing herself to breathe in, she reached for the comfort closest at hand.


    ¡°Are you not meant to plow the ground first?¡± she called out. ¡°Already cutting corners, Abrascal.¡±


    Tristan, who for once appeared not to have heard her coming ¨C even odds Fortuna had been chattering in his ear ¨C turned with a start of surprise. Then her words sunk in and he turned indignant.


    ¡°It is not necessary with carrots,¡± he called back, sounding defensive. ¡°The seeds are small enough for broadcast.¡±


    She grinned and closed in, for there was blood in the water. She stayed at the edge of the broad rectangle of beaten hearth he had delineated in deference to his efforts, though.


    ¡°Sowed a lot of carrots in Sacromonte, did you?¡± she drawled.


    ¡°I read it in a book,¡± Tristan sneered back. ¡°Besides, who are you to give me advice? If you¡¯ve so much as touched a plow in your life, I will eat the rest of this bag.¡±


    He shook the plump length of cloth, which was at least half full. Amusing as the thought of force-feeding him like goose might be the thief was, uh, not entirely incorrect. Had Maryam ever touched a plow? There were the yearly land ceremonies, but her older siblings had always done the symbolic plowing of the spring ground.


    ¡°My family lived on trade,¡± she finally defended. ¡°Not fields.¡±


    ¡°And yet you meddle in my affairs,¡± he scornfully replied. ¡°As usual, the humble farmhand ¨C backbone of this country, and indeed of all countries-¡±


    ¡°Did you pay for that book?¡± Maryam challenged.


    ¡°I don¡¯t have to answer that,¡± Tristan immediately said.


    ¡°The speech wouldn¡¯t work as well if started with ¡®the humble thief¡¯, huh,¡± Maryam said.


    He looked away, but not before she caught the corner of a grin on his face. To what would be Song¡¯s relief there was no dirt in his hair, though he must have done the weeding on his knees before getting to sowing. The nape of his neck shone with sweat, though. It was appealing, in a rough tumble sort of way. Also very unlike him, as Tristan was a city man to the bone.


    ¡°You¡¯re going to smell like sweat all morning if you don¡¯t wash,¡± Maryam said.


    The gray-eyed man rolled his shoulder.


    ¡°That was rather the point,¡± he admitted.


    She cocked her head to the side.


    ¡°I thought Song had finally squeaked into your good side.¡±


    ¡°It is not about her,¡± Tristan dismissed. ¡°I took drugs last night and aim to sweat them out. Field work is as good a means as any.¡±


    Her brow rose.


    ¡°Was the mixture so dangerous?¡±


    ¡°There was poppy inside,¡± he said.


    ¡°I have seen you take poppy before,¡± Maryam pointed out. ¡°Everybody uses it ¨C my mentor once told me the Navigators have yet to encounter a land where it is not used.¡±


    ¡°That does not make it any less dangerous,¡± Tristan flatly replied. ¡°Out in the Murk, they sell poppy in small dried sticks ¨C clavos, they¡¯re called. Nails. Because to shred and smoke one is to put a nail in your coffin.¡±


    He grimaced.


    ¡°Poppy sinks its claws in you, Maryam, like few other things.¡±


    For all that Song half-seriously made digs at his cleanliness, Tristan was perhaps the man neatest in his personal habits the Izvorica had ever met. No drink or drugs, he held gambling in distaste and disapproved of being spendthrift. That had her willing to wave away his words as a continuation of his habits, but there was something about his face¡­ A tightness around the eyes, a half-clenched haw.


    Tristan was not weaving guesses, he was talking from experience. And whatever that experience was, it troubled him still.


    ¡°I will take it I must, but I have seen the coffins of too many who used it nailed all the way shut to ever be pleased about that. The sooner I am rid of the dregs in my body, the better.¡±


    Slowly she nodded. It must have been someone he knew, Maryam decided. It was wise advice besides, even beyond the poppy. Some ceremonies of the Ninefold Nine involved drinking ergot wine or consuming vision mushrooms, and it was known certain practitioners took to their use a little too strongly ¨C often they went mad, shattering their minds. A disease of the will, her mother had called it.


    The thief leaned back, reaching for the small brass chain protruding from his pocket to fish out Vanesa¡¯s watch.


    ¡°It is running late,¡± Tristan said. ¡°I should stop and wash up.¡±


    Absently nodding, Maryam¡¯s gaze flicked to the side. There had been movement. Wind in the trees? No, higher up. On the roof, nestled close to the stargazing tower, she saw another twitch of movement. A bird, she realized. Large and black-feathered with streaks of white on its side and back. A heartbeat later it was gone, hiding in a tuck of the rooftop. How charming! She would have to look into the species. Maryam had always liked feeding birds.


    ¡°Maryam?¡±


    She shook her head, turned to face her friend.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t catch that,¡± she said.


    ¡°Have you thought about you¡¯ll do with your cut?¡±


    She cocked her head to the side.


    ¡°My cut of what?¡±


    Tristan grinned broadly.


    ¡°Ah, Song hasn¡¯t told you yet,¡± he said. ¡°Clever woman that she is, she pocketed part of the bounty payout before the rest was seized by the Watch. The third they promised her.¡±


    Now that was glad news indeed. So long as no one thought to ask them to cough it back up, anyway.


    ¡°How much?¡± Maryam asked.


    A second hooded cloak was in order, and perhaps a proper throwing axe. The hatchets in the Watch armories were well balanced but not made for that purpose.


    ¡°It¡¯s better when you see it from the black,¡± Tristan mused. ¡°Come on, Khaimov, I¡¯m about to make your day.¡±


    --


    Professor Artigas was a skilled speaker and her subject matter hardly uninteresting ¨C aether, both its properties as a substance and the realm from which it flowed ¨C but Angharad found her attention waning again and again.


    Her sleep had been restless, drifting in and out for hours at a time, and staring at the ceiling had done nothing to abate her fears. She must speak with Imani Langa, and urgently. Only the ufudu had answers for her. Surely Imani would realize that the departure for Asphodel changed things. It was a mercy when class ended, freeing Angharad from the guilt of being a poor student.


    Ancestors, Scholomance demanded so many readings. At least Marshal de la Tavarin seemed to remember what watchmen were supposed to be for. Rong was almost vibrating with excitement when Professor Artigas dismissed them, only a warning look from Ferranda preventing them from asking for an introduction to Uncle Osian.


    Mentioning her uncle¡¯s arrival at breakfast had so energized Rong Ma they had barely touched their bowl, instead asking question after question ¨C few of which Angharad had answers for, her uncle having been all but estranged from House Tredegar as she grew up. She was going to have to find out what a fire ship was, and if it was true her uncle had sailed one into the Hull-Breaker¡¯s maw. Perhaps Rong would save her the trouble of asking, even. Angharad had offered an introduction, some time back, and would deliver it. But not today.


    She was not yet ready to look Osian Tredegar in the eye.


    Ferranda lingered behind after the others packed away their affairs, the fair-haired infanzona turning a steady look on her. Angharad straightened. Ferranda Villazur¡¯s face was on the plain side, but it was well suited to conveying severity.


    ¡°Something happened last night,¡± Ferranda said, which was not a question. ¡°Should I be concerned?¡±


    Angharad paused a moment, choosing her words before she answered.


    ¡°My uncle has made arrangements that run contrary to my intentions,¡± she admitted. ¡°I must look into them further, but it may be I cannot join the Thirty-First at the end of the month.¡±


    Ferranda¡¯s eyes were searching as sought something on Angharad¡¯s face. After a moment she nodded.


    ¡°Keep me informed,¡± she said, then after hesitating continued. ¡°Do you need help?¡±


    I may have mere weeks to accomplish what should have been the labor of a whole year, Angharad thought. Help is too feeble a word for what I need.


    ¡°I am not yet certain,¡± she replied instead.


    Ferranda pressed no further. Angharad¡¯s gaze slid away from her, towards another table. The Thirteenth Brigade looked exhausted, but also in a fine mood. Song smiled at something Maryam said, while Tristan rolled his eyes at them both. She felt a pang at the sight. It had been freeing, to leave the cottage behind, like having the wind at her back.


    Now it looked like it was no longer her the wind favored.


    ¡°Rumor goes they were involved in a skirmish last night,¡± Ferranda quietly said. ¡°Something down at the port that involved the Forty-Ninth.¡±


    The same Forty-Ninth that had been noticeable absent in class today. Angharad had not told the infanzona of the bounty on Tristan¡¯s head, those who would collect it, as it was not her secret to share. The enmity between the Thirteenth and the Forty-Ninth, however, was common knowledge ¨C if not the reasons for it.


    ¡°It seems to have ended well for them,¡± Angharad said.


    She was glad. To turn on a fellow student for something as petty as coin was without honor, and the Forty-Ninth had pursued that black mark most eagerly.


    ¡°Song¡¯s the kind of woman who lands on her feet,¡± Ferranda noted. ¡°She would never have made it to Scholomance otherwise.¡±


    That was not untrue. And yet. Song calls herself captain yet keeps secret a curse that could harm all under her command, Angharad countered in her thoughts. The Pereduri was not so two-faced as to blame another for keeping secrets, but her own were not a literal curse that might spread to others around her. One all members of the Thirteenth save her had known about, once more proving her the sole fool under the roof.


    Well, at least Tristan seemed to have learned of it on his own. Angharad could hardly take offense to a Mask digging up secrets.


    ¡°She is one of those I must speak with,¡± Angharad admitted. ¡°Her uncle and mine struck a bargain.¡±


    ¡°Ah,¡± Ferranda murmured. ¡°That kind of arrangement.¡±


    She did not answer, leaving the infanzona to read into her words however she wished. The Thirteenth turned at her approach ¨C Maryam¡¯s face hardening, Tristan¡¯s hand disappearing under the table ¨C but she was greeted with polite enough nods, if little enthusiasm. She returned them stiffly.


    ¡°Song,¡± Angharad said after. ¡°I require a word with you.¡±


    The Tianxi narrowed silver eyes at her.


    ¡°What about?¡±


    Angharad frowned at her, wondering if the other woman was playing the fool or simply had not yet heard from her patron. If Colonel Zhuge had not come to Tolomontera himself, she supposed the matter might have been entrusted to a letter instead.


    "Matters best not spoken of in the open,¡± she finally said. ¡°Would a table at the Emerald Vaults this evening suit?¡±


    ¡°I have other commitments,¡± Song evenly replied. ¡°Tomorrow evening, however, does suit.¡±


    Angharad nodded, parting after agreeing to discuss the particulars of the hours tomorrow at Warfare. The rest of the Thirty-First had gone on ahead, but Angharad walked to the front gates with Ferranda for company ¨C though she was in no mood for small talk, which the other woman sensed and respected. Ferranda Villazur was not someone afraid of silences, befitting her skill as a huntress.


    Angharad made her excuses when they were out on the plaza, mentioning she was to look for Salvador. Which was true, because her fellow Skiritai should be able to lead her to whom she truly needed: his captain, Imani Langa.


    The Sacromontan often waited for her out in the plaza so that the two of them ¨C and sometimes Shalini - might head to the Acallar together. Today proved to be no exception, the taciturn man seated on the bench by the statue of some ancient Sologuer royal ¨C only he was not alone. Imani Langa stood beside him in a tailored regular¡¯s uniform, speaking quietly as Salvador nodded. Both their heads rose at her approach.


    ¡°Ah, Angharad,¡± Imani smiled. ¡°Just the woman I was looking for.¡±


    ¡°Imani,¡± she evenly replied, stomach squeezing tight. ¡°Salvador.¡±


    The Sacromontan nodded back, then rose to his feet. He shot a look at Imani, whose face remained a pleasant mask, then offered Angharad a nod goodbye before turning a clean pair of heels on them. They waited until he was well gone to speak again.


    ¡°Sit with me, Angharad,¡± Imani said, lowering herself onto the bench.


    ¡°Standing will serve.¡±


    ¡°Sit with me,¡± Imani repeated, ¡°and smile. So that we do not draw attention.¡±


    Begrudgingly, Angharad did ¨C making sure to keep some distance between them.


    ¡°My uncle arrived last night,¡± she said.


    ¡°I heard,¡± Imani idly replied. ¡°And the Thirteenth is headed for Asphodel soon.¡±


    ¡°As are you,¡± Angharad said.


    ¡°And the Fourth,¡± she agreed. ¡°But no longer the Forty-Ninth, I hear. They are to be disbanded. I believe the Nineteenth is next line for that assignment.¡±


    The Pereduri frowned, trying to recall the time she had spoken with the Nineteenth¡¯s leader. Captain Tozi, had it been? The woman with that very Izcalli haircut.


    ¡°I do not know the details,¡± Angharad said, ¡°but we will be away from Tolomontera for months.¡±


    ¡°We?¡± Imani lightly said. ¡°I believed you set on transferring to the Thirty-First.¡±


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    ¡°Things have changed,¡± she said. ¡°My uncle made arrangements. I will be heading to Asphodel.¡±


    Imani leaned back against the bench.


    ¡°Smile, Angharad,¡± she said. ¡°As if engaged in flirtation with a pretty girl, not looking for an excuse to draw on me.¡±


    The noblewoman breathed in, forced herself to calm. Only then did Imani continue.


    ¡°A bold choice,¡± Imani said, ¡°but yours to make. Still, it seems to me a mistake to put off your labor until the last months of the year. When the other cabals are gone on assignment, many more eyes will be on you.¡±


    Ancestors, that had not even occurred to her. If all the others left around the same time there would be what, at most twenty-eight students left on Tolomontera? As Imani was hinting, it would be devil¡¯s work to get around unseen. And I will need a Navigator¡¯s help, most likely. How many will even be there to request aid from? Neither Tupoc¡¯s second nor Maryam would be eager to lend her a hand, if they even could.


    ¡°I need more time,¡± Angharad said. ¡°I leave in mere weeks, and if what you say is true about the end of the year-¡±


    ¡°Then transfer,¡± Imani replied.


    ¡°There would be consequences,¡± Angharad told her. ¡°For my uncle.¡±


    ¡°That tends to be the way, when choices are made,¡± Imani replied. ¡°You have until the end of the year, Angharad. That will not change.¡±


    She grit her teeth.


    ¡°Do you not understand-¡±


    ¡°It is you who does not understand,¡± Imani Langa coldly interrupted. ¡°You were offered a bargain and took it. Now it becomes obvious to you that your decision has costs, and you are balking. This not a tragedy, it is a tantrum.¡±


    ¡°Am I to see my uncle buried and demoted for your sake, then?¡± Angharad hissed.


    ¡°For the sake of obtaining the help of the Lefthand House,¡± Imani corrected. ¡°Unless you believe you can reach beyond the walls of Tintavel without us. A fortress that none ever escaped from.¡±


    ¡°Prince Wandile did,¡± Angharad pettily replied. ¡°After his father sent him there to die.¡±


    So the text of The Madness of King Issay went. The King of Hell himself spirited him out after Wandile swore to rise in rebellion against his father, setting blood against blood and thus sowing the seeds of their great kingdom¡¯s fall. Some argued that part of the tale to be an allegory for taking bad council, and Mother had been firmly of that opinion, but Angharad would not lose the opportunity to correct Imani on an almost-lie if she had it.


    ¡°Save for one ancient prince, should one believe that part of the tale literal,¡± Imani dismissed with a roll of her eyes. ¡°Do you believe your situation improved by the correction?¡±


    ¡°It was not worsened,¡± Angharad replied, the squared her jaw. ¡°I will not harm my own kin for the promises the Lefthand House dangles ahead of me, Imani.¡±


    She was not so much of a fool that she would be unaware the ufudu might just be intending to play her and cut her loose afterwards. What recourse would she have if they did?


    ¡°And should your father die in a cold, dark Tintavel cell would that count as harm?¡± Imani mildly asked.


    Angharad¡¯s jaw clenched. She forced herself not to reach for her blade.


    ¡°Do not push me too far, ufudu,¡± she said.


    ¡°Then do not waste my time,¡± Imani replied. ¡°It is too late to back out now, Angharad. Simply accepting my offer you became complicit in the eyes of the Watch.¡±


    ¡°I could turn you in regardless,¡± Angharad said.


    ¡°You could,¡± Imani agreed. ¡°At which point I will surrender, be made prisoner and kept in a cell until the Lefthand House trades me for a captured Krypteia agent. You, on the other hand, will be added to the list of those to hunted on sight in Malan ¨C and the House of Tredegar will crumble to dust while your father rots in a cell.¡±


    The ufudu rose to her feet.


    ¡°The end of the year, Angharad,¡± she repeated. ¡°There will be no delay.¡±


    A smile, as empty as the others before it.


    ¡°Still, I recognize there have been changes in your circumstance. Accordingly, I offer you aid.¡±


    Reaching in her pocket, Imani took out a folded piece of paper and presented it. Angharad, grimacing, took it up.


    ¡°What is this?¡± she asked, not opening it yet.


    ¡°A map,¡± Imani said. ¡°Your cabalist, Abrascal ¨C he disappeared when fighting the Forty-Ninth and reappeared on the other side of a red line. There is only one way to easily explain that.¡±


    ¡°He fell into the layer,¡± Angharad quietly confirmed.


    ¡°The map leads to the house said fighting collapsed,¡± Imani said. ¡°A good start, I think, for your search.¡±


    And with her piece spoken, she left. Angharad stayed on the bench as the other woman walked away, ignoring her goodbyes as she stared down at the folded piece of paper in her hands. No matter how much she thought about it, how much she turned the pieces around looking for different angles, there was only one way to end this without betraying either her uncle or her father.


    She needed to obtain the Infernal Forge before the ships left for Asphodel.


    --


    Song had not meant to stay long in the Galleries.


    She was returning a book she¡¯d borrowed from the private library, but had decided on a whim to rise to the uppermost level to have a look at the bounties. The Thirteenth had not yet done this week¡¯s, though she was inclined to take one of the easy ones like on the previous week. The Warfare teachers had a recurring bounty to sweep their training fields for lemure nests, which earned only a pittance but could be knocked out in about an hour.


    There were four such training fields, one for each contingent, and the bounty was always put back up within two days of being cleared: there was almost always one up for grabs.


    With no Academy class this afternoon the lounge was nearly empty ¨C only four other Stripes, seated around a table. Two she was acquainted with, Captain Anaya of the Twenty-Third and Captain Philani of the Thirty-Eighth, but she barely knew the others in passing. It made their staring all the more unexpected. Had word of the skirmish with the Forty-Ninth already spread? Song had expected the garrison to keep a tight lid on it for the first few days.


    It was an egg on its face that a ship aiming to traffic a Watch student had been allowed to remain docked for such feeble reasons.


    A glance at the bar told her that the usual servant was gone, replaced by Colonel Cao herself. The Stripe instructor stood behind the counter with a bottle and cup, writing into a slender manuscript. It was usually best not to disturb her without reason, so Song averted her gaze quickly. Ignoring the lingering stares from the others, she headed to the bounty board and skimmed through the contents.


    Another of the Skiritai hunting bounties was gone, and more interestingly one of Tinker ones. Someone was being bold. Retrieving old materials from ruins out in the northwest paid very well on success, but also risked returning with nothing while a lemure attack was a near certainty.


    A Warfare patrol was back up, as expected, and Song was unsurprised it had not been taken. It was the sweep for the field of the red ribbons, which was deeper in the grounds Scholomance and through a small thicket of trees. Not only did it take longer to sweep through, this one had the occasional lemure waiting in ambush.


    That was enough to make her reconsider: Song¡¯s arm was near enough healed, but after last night she was willing to set aside excitement for a time.


    As she stood there wondering if she should instead grab one of the garrison patrols ¨C never too long, but it was a spin of the wheel where or when you ended up on top of earning only ten coppers a head ¨C she heard footsteps approaching. She angled herself to get a glimpse and found it was Captain Anaya. The Someshwari was a scowler by habit, but had a smile painted on when she came. Interesting.


    ¡°Captain Song.¡±


    A hand offered, and taken.


    ¡°Captain Anaya,¡± she replied, shaking it briskly. ¡°What can I do for you?¡±


    The grip released.


    ¡°I only came to offer my congratulations,¡± Captain Anaya said.


    Song cocked an eyebrow.


    ¡°What on?¡±


    Theology this morning had not led her to believe word was out about the Forty-Ninth yet, despite their absence earning the Thirteenth many questioning looks, so best learn what rumor going around. Only the Someshwari cocked an eyebrow, nodding jerkily at the counter behind them. No, Song realized as she looked there. Not the counter but the slate with the scores. Two dozen names were on it now, those leading the pack, but the topmost had changed since yesterday.


    SONG REN ¨C 23


    It took every ounce of her self-control not to show a reaction. Hand on the chisel.


    ¡°Ah,¡± she said. ¡°That.¡±


    Below her the expected names had not changed. Vivek Lahiri at six and Sebastian Camaron at five. Yesterday, Song had been in sixth place with Nenetl Chapul having beaten her to four points and two other captains catching up to her score of three. She had, overnight, gained almost four times the score of the now runner-up.


    ¡°Any truth to the rumors of the Thirteenth¡¯s involvement with the dust-up by the docks?¡± Captain Anaya idly asked.


    A fishing expedition, then.


    ¡°That would be for the garrison to announce,¡± Song replied.


    Other captain¡¯s brow rose. It was not a denial, which was good as confirmation, but also a warning against further questions. Song stepped forward, taking one of the patrol bounties ¨C she must, now that she knew about the score - and nodded at Anaya.


    ¡°Always a pleasure.¡±


    ¡°As you say,¡± Captain Anaya agreed.


    The Galleries staff needed to be informed when most bounties were taken, so that word could then be passed onto those who had put them up. In this particular case, so the garrison could decide when tomorrow the Thirteenth would be slotted into its patrol schedule.


    Since there was only one such person here, she now had an excuse to go to Colonel Cao.


    She slid into a seat facing the other Tianxi, waiting for the colonel to finish tracing her characters. Chunhua Cao looked up after a moment, seemingly unsurprised by Song¡¯s presence.


    ¡°Bounty?¡± she asked.


    Song presented her with the patrol sheet. The colonel took it, reached for a ledger under the counter and dragged it up before cracking open. She made a quick note inside.


    ¡°Word will be passed to Captain Wen by seven about the schedule,¡± she said. ¡°Make sure to consult him.¡±


    ¡°I will,¡± Song said, then swallowed. ¡°Ma¡¯am, if I may ask.¡±


    ¡°May you?¡± Colonel Cao drily replied. ¡°Well, give it a shot.¡±


    ¡°My score,¡± Song said.


    ¡°You were told on your first day here that I would dock and award points as I see fit,¡± the colonel said.


    Depending on whether you can impress or appall me, Colonel Cao had said.


    ¡°So the points are for last night,¡± Song said.


    Colonel Cao drummed her fingers against the countertop.


    ¡°You broke up a trafficking ring that had set up shop under the garrison¡¯s nose, and more importantly you did so while leaving survivors to interrogate and thus provide actionable proof,¡± the colonel said.


    ¡°I did not do it for score,¡± Song honestly said.


    ¡°No,¡± the colonel said, ¡°you did it to keep your cabal from exploding in your face. But that doesn¡¯t matter, Ren, because at the end of the day what you did was good for the Watch.¡±


    She smiled thinly.


    ¡°That¡¯s why you get twenty points instead of five,¡± Colonel Cao said. ¡°Because you cleaned up our guts a little, contributed to the health of order, and that¡¯s worth more than a dozen bounties.¡±


    She poured herself another cup.


    ¡°You did good,¡± Chunhua Cao said. ¡°I had my doubts when they told me one of the Ren would be in our first batch, but you haven¡¯t cracked under the pressure ¨C on the contrary, you seem to be rising to the challenge.¡±


    Song swallowed.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± she made herself say.


    ¡°Don¡¯t thank me, girl,¡± the colonel snorted. ¡°I won¡¯t pick you up if you stumble. That would rather defeat the purpose of this class.¡±


    She sipped at her liquor.


    ¡°I saw you¡¯ve been looking into Asphodel histories,¡± Colonel Cao said.


    At Wen¡¯s recommendation, given that their test would be on that very island. Which she suspected Chunhua Cao would know.


    ¡°Fascinating reading,¡± Song replied, perhaps less than honestly.


    ¡°For a Laurel, maybe,¡± Colonel Cao snorted. ¡°It was a sound notion, but I recommend you grab another two books on your way out of the Galleries.¡±


    The older woman flipped over the bounty sheet and quickly wrote out two titles in Cathayan. Trade in the Trebian, Ninth Sails Edition and Balancing Acts. She only added an author to the second, ¡®Inez Espinoza¡¯.


    ¡°You¡¯ll find the trade logs in the records section,¡± she said. ¡°It¡¯s an Arthashastra count of estimated volumes and goods traded within the Trebian Sea, and between whom, for the last decade of the Century of Sails.¡±


    That sounded most intriguing, in truth. Song cleared her throat.


    ¡°And the other?¡±


    ¡°Inez Espinoza is probably the finest political mind ever produced by Old Saraya,¡± Colonal Cao said. ¡°She wrote Balancing Acts after spending twenty years as first regent then right hand to her nephew, so her examination of the balance of power in the Trebian Sea is sharp enough to cut.¡±


    Lips twitched.


    ¡°It¡¯s also quite disparaging to the Watch, which does not make it any less accurate.¡±


    ¡°I was under the impression,¡± Song slowly said, ¡°that Asphodel is well on its to becoming a backwater. Of little import to anyone but their old Raseni rivals.¡±


    ¡°We live in interesting times, Ren,¡± Chunhua Cao smiled, and it was not a pleasant smile. ¡°Not kind or good, but interesting indeed.¡±


    She blew on the ink, closed the ledger from earlier and put it away.


    ¡°It is only a recommendation,¡± the colonel said. ¡°Do as you will.¡±


    Song took that for the dismissal it was. She picked up the books on her way out, but all the while a question dug away at her mind. Wen had recommended she read up on Asphodel in preparation of the distant yearly test, so why did Colonel Cao now seemed convinced that Song would need to borrow the books today?


    --


    Captain Wen Duan was like a truffle hound for small, delicious eateries. By the time their time in Scholomance ended, Tristan firmly believed that the Thirteenth was going to have hunted him down through all the best food shops in Port Allazei. The large man bit into his egg tart, scarfing it down with an indecent noise. He then remembered he was meant to be scorning them.


    ¡°What am I, your clerk?¡± Captain Wen complained.


    Wen Duan always complained, Tristan had learned. The trick was in reading the undertone of the complaint. The signs were there if you looked for them. The overweight Tianxi was eating, which was not unusual, but he was swallowing before replying - which he did not usually bother with when he was out to anger you. Wen was always messiest when going for the throat.


    Some of the things Tristan had seen that man do to churros should be banned under the Iscariot Accords.


    ¡°I would not dare make that claim,¡± Song serenely replied. ¡°I will divest you of the letter immediately, if you¡¯ll allow.¡±


    He squinted at her through his spectacles, as if inspecting the words for something to take offense at and failing to find fault. Tristan made sure not to look too closely at the man, as the way he was dwarfed the small bakery¡¯s sole table might have set his lips to twitch. He was twice the size of it, and must have struggled to squeeze himself into the corner.


    ¡°Letters, actually,¡± Wen grunted.


    He inhaled the rest of the egg tart, chewing enthusiastically.


    ¡°Colonels all around, Ren,¡± he added. ¡°The garrison sent the patrol schedule, but you also have a letter from the Rookery.¡±


    The second sign Wen was in a good mood, Tristan noted, was that though complaining to them about something they were in no way responsible he was not actually obstructing them. He was volunteering relevant information, and soon slid the pair of letters across the table for Song to take. Tristan filed away that Song¡¯s great-uncle, whose rank she had kept vague, was a colonel at the Rookery.


    That was no small connection. Professor Iyengar had taught them colonel was the highest rank most careerists could aspire to. In the Garrison only three ranks stood above it - lieutenant-general, brigadier and marshal ¨C while in the free companies there were only two. Arguably only one, even, as being a warrant captain was the same thing as being the captain-general of a free company only with a command either too small or too recent to deserve representation on the Conclave.


    All that and being a colonel not on some forlorn spit of rock but the Rookery itself, the heart of the Watch, meant that Song¡¯s patron was no one to trifle with. The Conclave only held session twice a year, but a colonel would be on the island-fortress all year long. There was a great deal of influence to be had there, if you were halfway clever.


    He doubted Song would so blatantly look up to a fool, so he would err on the side of cleverness.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Song politely replied, claiming the letters.


    She tucked away the one with the formal correspondence seal, instead opening the simple folded paper from the Stripe instructor. Her brow rose, but her expression was pleased. He made an inquiring noise.


    ¡°We have Templeward east to west, beginning at six tomorrow,¡± she said.


    Well now, Tristan thought.


    ¡°That¡¯s not a chore your instructor assigned you, it¡¯s a victory strut,¡± he said.


    ¡°Chunhua Cao doesn¡¯t pick the patrol schedules,¡± Wen corrected. ¡°Giving you a plum like that is the garrison sending a message.¡±


    He disappeared another tart. Tristan eyed his rounded belly, wondering how there could be room for so much spite in there with the meals he ate. After a too-loud swallow, Wen cleared his throat.


    ¡°It would have been a bad look for them if the ship got away with Tristan, so you¡¯re in good odor with the officers at the moment,¡± the bespectacled man said. ¡°Enough so, even, that no one¡¯s thought to ask if the six rolls of gold collected were all there was to the bounty.¡±


    Song stilled.


    ¡°Six?¡±


    Wen frowned at her.


    ¡°Six,¡± he repeated.


    ¡°Then someone helped themselves to one,¡± she said.


    It was, Tristan thought, very flattering that someone had effectively been willing to sink the equivalent of five hundred ramas into having him abducted. If you counted everything Tristan had ever owned in his entire life, it would not warrant even a third of that sum. The expense was so flattering the thief had decided he would take the time to acquire a particularly nasty poison to feed this mysterious individual as a way of expressing regard.


    ¡°It won¡¯t be a garrison man,¡± Wen mused. ¡°If one gets caught helping themselves in a mess like this, they¡¯d be whipped out of the ranks.¡±


    ¡°Then it must have been someone from the Fourth,¡± Song said, then looked like she had swallowed a lemon. ¡°Tupoc Xical ran for the ship with me, it cannot be him.¡±


    Wen shrugged.


    ¡°Not worth pursuing then,¡± he said. ¡°The Fourth earned the right to wet their beak a bit, getting involved on the right side. Their name¡¯s not on as many lips, but on lips they are.¡±


    The rat could only admire Xical¡¯s unerring ability to always end up having the right enemies at the right time. It helped the man made so many of them, no doubt. Maryam cleared her throat.


    ¡°There was another cabal out that night,¡± she reminded Wen. ¡°Might I ask what they earned?¡±


    That earned his attention well enough.


    ¡°That¡¯s still up in the air,¡± the large man replied. ¡°The Forty-Ninth is dissolved, that much is certain, but I hear the punishments are being hotly debated.¡±


    He leaned back against the wall.


    ¡°Most of the time, selling out one of our own earns you the short drop and sudden stop,¡± he said. ¡°But Tolomontera has only three rules, by design, and none of them forbid this. So there are some calls for leniency.¡±


    Tristan¡¯s stomach clenched. Song had recounted Muchen He and Captain Ramona being crippled, but with Lady Knot around that only meant so much.


    ¡°How much leniency?¡± he asked.


    Wen shot him a look that was almost reassuring. It was a distressing sight.


    ¡°Not that much,¡± he said. ¡°The Ramona girl and Tengfei Pan, they had dealings with outsiders to sell you. They get handed fourteen-year contracts in a Desolation free company, and if they live through it their record is expunged.¡±


    Tristan winced. He had little sympathy for any in the Forty-Ninth, but the Desolation was a living nightmare ¨C endless plains of ash and dust prowled by mad gods and monsters that grew as large as mountains. The constant need to man that border was, many agreed, the leading reason the Imperial Someshwar had failed to swallow up its smaller neighbors before they coalesced into successor-states too large to easily overwhelm.


    ¡°It¡¯s the other three that are being shouted about,¡± Wen continued. ¡°They were part of the deal, but did not strike it. There¡¯s been arguments for them being expelled, but as usual this brigade trips itself up.¡±


    The three of them traded puzzled looks.


    ¡°How, exactly?¡± Tristan frowned.


    The fat man looked thoroughly amused.


    ¡°The fellow cabalists of the students who tried to murder Song were not expelled, which some are calling the precedent to follow here.¡±


    ¡°The fault of those students was ignorance, not anything else,¡± Song objected.


    ¡°And what is that, save a different degree of complicity?¡± he shrugged. ¡°Or so the argument goes. The other side¡¯s pushing for them to be expelled.¡±


    ¡°And if you had to pick a horse,¡± Tristan leadingly said.


    ¡°They¡¯ll get a mark on their record and a slap on the wrist,¡± Wen bluntly said. ¡°The Desolation sentence, it¡¯s not just a harsh punishment ¨C it¡¯s a way to bury this. They can¡¯t justify the same or a hanging for those three, and if they¡¯re expelled their patrons are sure to lodge protests with the Obscure Committee.¡±


    ¡°Which means the harbor irregularities around the Palmyran would be dredged up in the investigation,¡± Song said.


    Ah, Tristan thought. Someone was covering their ass.


    ¡°Which then means someone pretty high up in the Tolomontera food chain would get demoted,¡± Wen agreed. ¡°If they give the leftovers a second chance with a mark on their record, they cover themselves going forward ¨C either the idiots bother you again and now there¡¯s rope to hang them with, or they avoid you like the plague and the career of promising students was salvaged.¡±


    Good enough, Tristan mused. The garrison was using him as bait, but it was also ridding him of the worst of his enemies and backing him in a broader sense. This must be what it felt like, to live in the Old Town and have the Guardia on your side ¨C unless it burned their fingers, anyhow, but that was just the way of the world. How odd, to have the guns on your side, but not at all unplea-


    ¡°For the garrison to use him as bait is unjust,¡± Song bit out. ¡°It is failing in their duty of care over a student twice over, and-¡±


    ¡°And you should make your peace with it,¡± Wen advised, ¡°because kicking up a fuss is going to make those same officers now patting you on the back lose that friendliness in the blink of an eye.¡±


    Her interruption had been so unexpected ¨C and almost absurd ¨C that it¡¯d taken a while for Tristan to push down the surprise. This was a dead-end road, though, so now he spoke up.


    ¡°Song,¡± Tristan said, and when she turned he shook his head.


    No one made demands of the Guardia save the nobles who owned them, and trying was a good way to get your legs broken. Better to take the pat on the back than push their luck and have it replaced by a knife. Song¡¯s lips thinned, but after a moment she nodded.


    That she seemed genuinely angry on his behalf was¡­ well, something.


    ¡°Thank you for your advice, Captain Wen,¡± she stiffly said.


    Wen eyed her for a moment, then sighed.


    ¡°Pick your battles, Song,¡± he said. ¡°There¡¯s a satisfaction to shouting down into the well, but it¡¯s no replacement for a bucket.¡±


    ¡°Is that how you ended up on the Dominion?¡± Tristan asked. ¡°Shouting into a well?¡±


    Wen snorted.


    ¡°I guess you could say the well shouted back,¡± he said. ¡°And that¡¯s all you get from me, rat.¡±


    He picked up another tart.


    ¡°Now off you with you lot,¡± he said. ¡°I have an important social call to make.¡±


    ¡°Hungry for some turron?¡± Song idly said.


    Wen glared at her through his golden spectacles. It seemed an innocent question, but by that reaction must have been anything but.


    ¡°Khaimov, you are fast become my favorite of this sorry lot,¡± he replied.


    ¡°You are my favorite captain as well, sir,¡± Maryam assured him.


    A pause.


    ¡°Although Yue almost drowned me, so it¡¯s more coronation than contest.¡±


    ¡°Fucking Hell, it¡¯s Mandy all over again,¡± Wen muttered. ¡°Out, before I volunteer you three to clean the barrack latrines.¡±


    It did not sound like an empty threat, so retreat was wisely agreed on. They hastened onto the street, close enough to the docks to hear the waves lapping at the shore, and Tristan looked up at the Orrery lights. It was getting late. Maryam saw the same thing.


    ¡°If we want to be back at a decent hour, we should head out soon,¡± she said.


    ¡°Let¡¯s,¡± Song agreed. ¡°It is a business long overdue.¡±


    --


    It was not a long walk to their destination: a house on Septim street, to the east of the large workshop the Umuthi Society had built for their students.


    They used those tall arched windows to orient themselves, made easy by the colored lights that shone out of them. Sometimes the glass panes trembled, and there was smoke enough pouring out the workshop chimneys it looked like the Tinkers had imported a slice of Hell. Despite its proximity to the eastern end of Templeward, the neighborhood was not all that frequented a part of Allazei ¨C mostly, Tristan would guess, because there were more warehouses than homes around here. Song agreed when he shared the thought.


    ¡°I expect there must have once been a gate connecting the docks to here,¡± she said. ¡°Only the Watch wants from Allazei a fortress, not a trade port, so I expect it was walled in.¡±


    ¡°The garrison uses warehouses north of the barracks,¡± Maryam shared. ¡°It would explain why they do not care about these falling part.¡±


    Song had mentioned a green roof and a basement, and though the former was not that uncommon Septim Street only had one green-roofed house with a cellar door on the side. Much less a padlocked cellar. Tristan knelt by it, not unaware that the tools that would let him make quick work of this were likely on the other side of the padlock.


    ¡°Can you open it?¡± Song asked.


    If not, they had brought the tools to smash it open. Tristran pushed up the padlock, read the maker¡¯s mark and snorted.


    ¡°It¡¯s a Gongmin lock,¡± he scorned. ¡°Of course I can open it.¡±


    He did not need proper thief¡¯s tools for a Gongmin, only a pair of slender hairpins. A bit of a struggle until he found the angle, a hairpin digging into his palm, but then it popped open with a most satisfying click. He turned to look back, getting a polite clap from Maryam and a horrified look from Song.


    ¡°I thought Gongmin locks were fine work,¡± she said. ¡°My father¡¯s own study uses one.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re good quality but still workshop-made,¡± he said. ¡°Once you know the way to pop one, you can do it to all of them.¡±


    ¡°Point to our house being behind the terrible work of an ancient murderous cultist,¡± Maryam noted. ¡°Let¡¯s see you pop that with hairpins, Tristan.¡±


    He rolled his eyes, but it might be something to ask Professor Sizakele about. Late in the lesson, she was chattier when getting old. Setting the padlock aside, Tristan huffed and pulled up the cellar door. There was no light below, but they had brought a pair lanterns as well as their bags. A short flight of stairs led them into a rather small basement, all bare stone and smelling of wet.


    Their possessions were, amusingly enough, neatly stacked in a corner of the basement with the most delicate of them put away in a wooden chest so they would not be damaged by the rain day. Unlocked.


    Tristan quickly the only two possessions he truly cared about ¨C his delightful tricorn, immediately put on, and Yong¡¯s pistol getting tucked away ¨C then drifted to the opposite corner with a lantern. There the Ninth Brigade was keeping the goods they did not want to risk being caught with, which were¡­


    ¡°Mostly drugs,¡± he called out, picking through the chests. ¡°Some bottles that could be either alchemy or poison, some lemure body parts and¡­¡±


    He frowned, leaning forward. Stacks wrapped in waxed cloth.


    ¡°Books,¡± he said, paging through. ¡°Restricted lore, I assume.¡±


    Not that all of them were that, he discovered after paging through some volume in Samratrava that had appended illustrations displaying naked people in a variety of positions that seemed more fitting for contortionists than lovers. All things given, one seemed a lot less likely to get hurt listening to the book with the bleeding eyes drawn on the cover than the one encouraging you to do that while also doing the split.


    ¡°Some of this stuff could sell well,¡± Tristan noted. ¡°Song?¡±


    The captain frowned.


    ¡°I am inclined to leave it,¡± she said. ¡°Taking back our belongings from the Ninth is one thing, to take theirs is another."


    That was, in truth, the way he was leaning too.


    ¡°They slapped us around like they meant to, so they should now let it go so long as we don¡¯t make a fuss about taking back our things,¡± he agreed. ¡°With Tredegar gone there¡¯s really no reason for us to have bad blood with Camaron and his lot.¡±


    ¡°He robbed us,¡± Maryam argued. ¡°It would only be fair to do it back.¡±


    ¡°Hatchets are not always the solution,¡± Song told her.


    How Maryam, who could barely use a cooking knife without losing a finger, was apparently deadly when throwing hatchets was something Tristan would need to look into.


    ¡°Then we set this house on fire,¡± she said. ¡°There will be no proof it was us.¡±


    ¡°Except for our belongings being back in our hands,¡± Tristan pointed out. ¡°It¡¯s not worth the trouble, Maryam. Mind you, if they¡¯d had gold lying around¡­¡±


    A little interest on the loan of their possessions would not have been going overboard.


    ¡°But they do not,¡± Song sternly said.


    ¡°They do not,¡± he agreed.


    Maryam conceded, though she groused all the while, and they packed up their belongings. As Song had told them, none of Tredegar¡¯s possessions were there. Bold of Sebastian Camaron to try and poach someone who had publicly humiliated his own enforcer, but then the boy had seemed like someone raised to believe consequences only happened to other people.


    The three took back to the street, heading towards Templeward, and only when they were near that large boulevard did Tristan allow himself to indulge in his curiosity.


    ¡°What¡¯s your letter about, anyhow?¡± he asked. ¡°Best to check before we head back to the cottage, I would not want to have to return tonight.¡±


    Song shot him a look that made it clear she was not fooled by the pretense in the least, but reached for her letter anyway. She broke the seal and unfolded the letter, eyes flicking left to right. A long moment passed.


    ¡°Ah,¡± she said.


    ¡°Ah?¡± Tristan asked.


    ¡°It appears our journey to the Asphodel Rectorate is not so distant as we were made to believe,¡± Song Ren said, ¡°and that I have a great deal to speak with Angharad about.¡±

 Chapter 36

    Angharad should be in bed.


    Safely under her sheets back in the Triangle, the door locked and trusted comrades in the rooms around hers. Or at a tavern by the docks, drowning her fear in the noise of revelry. Or even with her uncle, who had sought her company but she had forced herself to turn down with precisely spoken words ¨C every last one tasting of ash on her tongue.


    Instead she was out here in the dark, a fool on a fool¡¯s errand. The golden Orrery lights were distant, disdaining to light her travels, so Angharad Tredegar carried with her an isle of light. A lantern, shuttered down to the very barest slice, casting a trembling circle of paleness around her. Like a fairy ring from the old tales, keeping the spirits out.


    Not that the monsters stalking this night would heed it. Angharad was a long way from home, and here the old laws of Peredur were but whispers on the wind.


    She had followed the boulevard for what felt like hours. A broad, nameless road of great pavement stones turned smooth by time and rain. Straying would have been faster, through ruins and empty canals, but Angharad knew better. She felt the eyes on her, waiting beyond the cast of her lantern. Patient, silent. Hungry. Let them come out in the open, if they wanted her. Let the nightmares step into the light.


    Captain Phalani had warned her they hunted as a pack, so she knew better than to believe the beast was alone when it slunk into sight.


    The lycosi stepped out of a gutted house¡¯s belly, its walk somehow like a spider¡¯s crawl¨C weightless and too-quick, unnatural to the eye. It was furred and had a wolf¡¯s head, but there ended the resemblance to the lupines of the Dominion.


    The lycosi stood tall on bent legs not much like a hound¡¯s: the proportions were off, the lower part of the leg almost as long as the upper. More like a man¡¯s arm than a beast¡¯s leg. The back legs were thicker at the leg, for leaping, and mangy gray-black fur hung loose on the frame. It had no ears, instead curved horns not unlike a ram¡¯s, and its eyes were an eerily round black. A serpentine tongue hung loosely from the opened maw of yellowing fangs, its legs ending in almost overgrown claws curving like a hawk¡¯s.


    It approached without hurry, bait to draw her eye while the others crept up from behind.


    ¡°My people,¡± Angharad told the lycosi, ¡°they despise wolves.¡±


    The Pereduri breathed out, straightened her back and slid out her saber. She should be in bed. Wandering Port Allazei alone at night, it was a fine way to get yourself killed. And yet her she was.


    ¡°My mother, she said it is because our soil is poor and cattle is as much our lifeline as the sea,¡± the mirror-dancer said. ¡°My father, though, he said the root is deeper. An old story.¡±


    She gently put the lantern down on the ground. Its light narrowed, the pale shrinking and ceding the rest of the world to shadow.


    ¡°In those days before the Isles were bound as one, there was once a great ruler called Queen Branwen,¡± she said. ¡°Have you ever heard of her?¡±


    The first came from behind, claws scraping so lightly against the stone there was hardly a sound. But hardly still was, and the mirror-dancer had a keen ear.


    The monster stepped into the light, the monster bled.


    The fur was thick and the skin beneath tough as leather, but a single stroke split open the lycosi¡¯s shoulder ¨C it drew back with a whine, spilling black ichor.


    ¡°There are as many tales about Queen Branwen as there are grains of sand in an hourglass,¡± Angharad said, ¡°but the most famous is not of her rise but her old age. When her might had waned and younger, hungrier queens came for her lands.¡±


    The dance had opened in earnest and she saw them now, lurking beyond the rim of pale. Black eyes and wicked horns, the pearly glint of open maws. Right and left, charging. The bait looming at her back, skulking ever closer. The wounded one, just beyond the edge of the light. All patient, but so was she.


    One and two and three, like the rocks swinging on ropes in the backyard that was now as much a land of the dead as this graveyard city.


    Angharad stepped forward at the very last moment, the charging lycosi crashing into each other ¨C shoulders tangled, spinning away with growls. And in that moment where they had been as a single ball of fur and fury, they stood between Angharad and the skulker like a wall.


    She slid into that opening smoothly, going for the wounded beast ¨C which fled, away from the lantern¡¯s light and towards a collapsed shop on the edge of the boulevard. Trap, she decided, and did not follow. A fifth must be lying in wait. Angharad withdrew back to the circle, spinning her sword hand to limber it.


    ¡°Aged was she, Queen Branwen, but she met her rivals on the field,¡± Angharad said. ¡°And three of these hungry young queens did she fell, before the last speared her through the throat.¡±


    The runner had not returned, and the hidden one remained out of sight. The three that remained fanned out, spread around the fairy ring of pale. Left-middle-right, moving to encircle. No matter how quick Angharad was, she could only face one direction at a time.


    ¡°But Branwen¡¯s daughters dragged her corpse away from the battlefield,¡± she said, ¡°and as their mother had taught them, put the body in a great bronze cauldron they had never before been allowed to touch.¡±


    Angharad softly laughed.


    ¡°And after a night in the water, Queen Branwen rose from the cauldron a living woman.¡±


    It happened like this: Angharad Tredegar moved to the left, towards that edge of the circle, and the monsters moved with her. Left-wolf, watched, eyes cunning. Middle-wolf snarled, but right-wolf cut before it. It darted past the rim of the light, howling, and-


    (A skull split open, right-wolf dropping, but from behind middle-wolf leaped.)


    -and Angharad Tredegar clicked her tongue. Right-wolf had gone low, legs all askew, and she took the blow it offered. Waiting until speed and mass forbade turning back, then flicking her wrist and slicing through the leg just below the articulation. And as in the glimpse, the beasts sprang their trick. Left-wolf moved, to bait a pivot from her, while middle-wolf leaped.


    Pin and strike, as old a song as the world had known bloodspill.


    Only, as the lycosi she had crippled tumbled further down the boulevard, Angharad swung around her back foot and raised her saber point first.


    When the middle-wolf leaped, she extended her arm almost gently and stepped into the kill: the point pushed into the beast¡¯s throat just below the maw, clean and deep, before Angharad pivoted outwards. She ripped the blade out just before the now-dead lycosi fell past her, turning to face the last unwounded.


    ¡°Thus was the power of the cauldron, won from a great spirit in her youth: so long as Queen Branwen did not break with honor, should her daughters lay her to rest in the waters for a night she would live again.¡±


    That dark-eyed beast licked its chops, gaze darting between its dead fellow and the crippled one. A snarl and it slowly backed out of the light. Angharad loosened her stance, an eye on the one whose leg she had cut through.


    The lycosi that had left the light bolted. Ran for it without whimper or growl. Clever thing.


    A glance behind told her the beast whose shoulder she had wounded had, too, disappeared into the dark. The fifth and last never even came into sight. She turned to the last, three-legged one. It was limping away.


    ¡°From summer to winter, Queen Branwen fed the crows,¡± Angharad said. ¡°Always she stood her own champion, her word iron, and though twice more she was slain twice more she returned. She buried so many crowns the tale goes they are found by plows to this day.¡±


    Angharad followed behind the beast, calmly. Her steps on stone rang of the inevitable.


    ¡°So when winter brought truce, her rivals plotted,¡± she said. ¡°They sent a beautiful singer to Branwen¡¯s daughters, to seduce them, and whisper thus: if your mother cannot die, how can you ever rule after her?¡±


    The beast had wits, more than most lemures. It grasped it would not be able to lose her after mere moments. It slowed, feigned tripping even as it bled ichor all over the stone.


    ¡°We cannot slay our mother, Branwen¡¯s daughters replied. All the world curses such an act. You need not lay a hand on her, the singer whispered. Only, when she dies anew and you bring her to the cauldron, open the gates of your hall and flee. She will not return, and none will ever curse your name.¡±


    Angharad stepped into the trap, approaching, and saw the lay of the attack in which muscles tensed. Left back leg, the front right leg at an angle: fangs, belly height. She struck half a moment before it attacked, splitting open the skull between the horns and spilling brains and black all over the cobblestone. It died before it could even grasp what was happening.


    She stood over the corpse, softly panting, and closed her eyes. Pricked her ear, but nothing crept through the night.


    ¡°Spring came, and Queen Branwen fed the crows,¡± Angharad said. ¡°Yet her rivals were not without mettle, and she was slain once more. Her daughters brought her to the cauldron but, seduced by the singer¡¯s words, opened the gates of the hall and fled.¡±


    She flicked the ichor off the blade, reaching for the cloth tucked away in her coat and wiping the steel clean. Ichor left to linger was death on a good blade, worse than blood or seawater.


    ¡°And during the night,¡± Angharad murmured, ¡°a wolf crept into Branwen¡¯s hall. Past the cold hearth and the empty tables, until it found a corpse in a cauldron. And it ate, the beast, ate its fill. Gobbled her up until nothing was left.¡±


    She sheathed her saber.


    ¡°Queen Branwen did not rise again Her kingdom fell, her daughters reigned over nothing and were accursed as traitors,¡± Angharad said. ¡°And wolves? Wolves we despise, for their fangs know nothing of honor and dishonor.¡±


    She walked away from the corpses without a single glance back. Perhaps the creatures would know better than to trouble daughters of Peredur, when they next hunted in the night. Or perhaps not. Perhaps Father was right, and the only bargain to be had with wolves was the exchange of violence. Blade and fang, order against disorder.


    As a girl, Angharad had scorned the daughters. Of course she had, seeing herself in the fearsome Branwen who so fed the crows. Now, though, she must wonder. Did it make her one of the daughters, that a pretty singer had charged her with treachery? Yet a fear lurked beneath that answer, a deeper whisper.


    Or was she now the wolf, blind and bloody fangs in the service of the wicked?


    Angharad took up her lantern, resuming her journey, but not before pulling at the collar of her coat. It felt cold out, all of sudden.


    --


    How could a woman find the footsteps of a ghost?


    Angharad had been given a map by a liar¡¯s hand, but those lines of ink on paper proved too weak a lantern to catch the trail of Tristan Abrascal. The thief had marked a rooftop with a stolen grenade, shattered a roof to fall into the hidden path below it, but these parts had many roofs and many of them were broken.


    Her haystack was made of needles.


    She rode the nameless boulevard as long as she could, but it spat her out in a rat¡¯s nest of small, cramped alleys twisting every which way. As if trying to flee some ancient shame, each wriggling like a worm. The liar¡¯s map only bore the broadest strokes, boulevards and avenues, and what lay in between was like most of Imani Langa¡¯s words: empty. So were these streets, surrendered to silence and dust.


    Out here it was only her, the lantern and what lay waiting in the dark.


    Angharad raised her lantern to peer through the broken shutters of a once-shop ¨C was there anything on this island but ruins and ruination? ¨C but the darkness was shallow. It fled before the slice of light, too weak to be a gate into the Witching Hour.


    Shallow, she realized, but not silent.


    Dark eyes went to the edge of the window, and there she found a drop of water sliding past the edge. Down the wall, but the droplet refused to be swallowed by the dust. And when her gaze slid back up to the windowsill it was to see a rivulet. Then a second, the streams spilling down until the empty window was as a gutter mouth spilling a river.


    Angharad drew back warily, but the scent caught up to her. Salt. Seawater, it was seawater. So far from the docks that seemed impossible, but¡­ No, there was an answer. One she dreaded, but an answer nonetheless.


    ¡°Fisher,¡± she said. ¡°You are here.¡±


    What the wind whispered in her ears was not words, for the Fisher did not speak in them. It was what her mind forced them to be, for that was a burden it could bear ¨C buckle under, but bear.


    ¡°You are lost.¡±


    It was the sound of thread being pulled taut, of a life on the edge of a knife. Angharad swallowed. He did not mean the streets the lantern light was lapping at. A question burned tongue and it was not wise to ask it, but she must.


    ¡°Tintavel,¡± she said, licking her lips. ¡°It is old, but you are older yet. Can you¡­ do you know how to break someone out of it?¡±


    ¡°Strength is the key to every lock.¡±


    She grit her teeth.


    ¡°You know nothing, then,¡± she bit out.


    The Fisher did not answer, but neither did it leave.


    She could see his mark from the corner of her eye. Water flowing just out of sight, just out of the lantern¡¯s reach. So dark one might think it liquid night, gone when she looked, like a mirage. Swallowing, part of her wishing that the attention of the spirit she was bound to were in any way a comfort, Angharad headed deeper into the dark.


    And whispers came with hers.


    ¡°Your father,¡± the Fisher said, and the word was almost fond, ¡°once told me them. The words you offered to the dark.¡±


    Angharad flinched, gaze chasing after the too-quick water. She could smell nothing but salt.


    ¡°My father spoke to you?¡± she asked.


    She had suspected, else how could he send her down the right path, but to hear it said¡­


    ¡°Branwen¡¯s tale,¡± the Fisher said, ignoring her startled question. ¡°Would you like to hear it?¡±


    ¡°I know it already,¡± she said.


    A laugh like teeth clenched so hard they cracked.


    ¡°You only know the lie.¡±


    Angharad shivered. Cold or fear? It did not matter. The answer was not in doubt.


    ¡°The truth,¡± she said, ¡°is always better than the lie. Always.¡±


    ¡°Nothing is always,¡± the Fisher said. ¡°But Branwen tried.¡±


    And so Angharad ventured into the dark, carrying with her only three things: trembling light, steel and the tale of an old monster.


    ¡°There is only one law, the eldest law, and its name is extinction. But the Crow-Queen was clever, and the clever fear always fear to end.¡±


    Three corners Angharad turned before she understood that the street had curved and she was now behind where she had begun. Her jaw clenched. What lay ahead of her, save growing more deeply lost? She could not read the lay of this maze at all. It was as if the dark was fighting her, turning her away.


    ¡°Branwen wove a net out of maybe, and journeyed to where the world cracks,¡± the Fisher said. ¡°There she cast the net and caught her death, like a fisherman catches fish.¡±


    Angharad was no navigator, or even much of a huntress. Neither was she a roof-treader, a thief for this manner of night, and surrounded by walls that seemed to close in from beyond the ring of pale she felt as lost as the Fisher had claimed her to be. She could not read the lay of the maze, no. And she did not have the strength to open that lock. So what could she read?


    Ebb and flow, she thought. Not thief¡¯s work but a mirror-dancer¡¯s. That much she could do.


    ¡°The Crow-Queen pulled it up wriggling and laughed. She could not die if her death was not free to catch her, so she fashioned a cauldron of bronze and a lid for it. Her death she threw inside, and tightly bound the lid with chains so it could never escape.¡±


    Ambling through the maze, Angharad stopped looking for paths and instead let herself feel it. Like Mother had felt the tides and winds, a knack beyond what charts and compasses could tell her. A battle had taken place here, and treading those cobblestone streets with her hands trailing against the walls Angharad could almost see it unfold in her mind¡¯s eye.


    Tristan catching sight of a member of the Forty-Ninth, hiding. Sniffing out the ambush. Where to from here? Not through, not back. They would catch him, or follow. Up, Angharad thought. She ran her hand up the stone wall, looking for purchase. There were arches across, that would be the way. She climbed, the loose masonry of the old houses making it easy, and followed the shade within her mind.


    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    The Fisher went with her, the water ever just out of sight but his words always reaching.


    ¡°Branwen, clever queen, grew fat and happy. Made daughters. Rivers went dry and mountains became hills, but she did not die. This was known, and her secret coveted for few are clever and many are hungry.¡±


    Tristan, from his perch, would not fight. No, first he would watch. Count his foes, learn what he would be headed into. And then what? Not run, there was no point. The enemy had a contract. He must first cripple them so they could not catch up. Angharad moved across the grass-and-vines strewn rooftops, moving towards the thickest knot of streets. The natural confluence of the maze, where the Forty-Ninth would have laid their ambush.


    The noose Tristan had fought to slip.


    ¡°The Crow-Queen did not share her secret, for if she did the prison of her death would be known. Thus she was warred on, but could not die. Yet her daughters could, and though the queen won her wars many of her daughters were slain.¡±


    It would have happened here, Angharad thought. The girl Fara taken unaware, silenced. Muchen He catching on, climbing. Blades coming out. Angharad, two rooftops deeper, finally found she found what she was looking for: a roof with rough hole at the center. Collapsed, from its jagged shape, and recently enough that no vine had spread through it.


    Angharad made the jump across the street easily enough, wondering if she could have made it silently. Not if wearing a cloak, she thought. Tristan had, when he silenced the Malani girl he¡¯d then crippled.


    ¡°Branwen¡¯s daughters asked for her secret, that they might war for her deathless,¡± the Fisher said. ¡°But the queen refused. Convening in secret, they decided thus: if they could not be made deathless, they would instead take their mother¡¯s deathlessness.¡±


    Standing on that same rooftop with the breeze at her back ¨C and it was the right roof, the faint scorch marks around the rim of the collapse made that clear ¨C Angharad took a moment to look back behind her. At the battleground, seeing how carefully Tristan had threaded the needle and played an entire brigade like pieces on a board before being caught.


    Angharad had been taught how to use her surroundings in a fight, maneuver with the terrain, but in the end all her methods sprang from the strength of her arm. What the thief had done, weaving his weaknesses into a rope, it was tactics she would struggle to match. And improvised, too.


    The Sacromontan might not be a fighter, but that did not mean he was not dangerous.


    ¡°They betrayed her,¡± Angharad quietly said. ¡°Like in the story I told. Branwen¡¯s daughters.¡±


    ¡°They ate her,¡± the Fisher said. ¡°To eat her deathlessness.¡±


    Angharad flinched. Not only kinslayers but cannibals? Few crimes were fouler.


    ¡°After, the daughters stood in a circle and chose one of them to test. But the daughter was struck dead, for the secret was not in Branwen¡¯s flesh, and they wailed. Fearful of what they had done, they sought to bury their sister with honor.¡±


    Her fingers clenched. She could see it, how the threads pulled together.


    ¡°The cauldron,¡± she said. ¡°They opened the cauldron to bury her in it.¡±


    The Fisher laughed and it was a dreadful thing: a cold wind rattling through the door, a lover¡¯s kiss refused.


    ¡°Branwen¡¯s death sought her, at last,¡± the Fisher said. ¡°It found her in her daughters, and that settling changed them. Broke and rent them, bent their names.¡±


    She could feel the old spirit¡¯s glee.


    ¡°The hungry, empty things that were thus made they called wolves. And so their kind is reviled, for they carry in them treachery and death.¡±


    Angharad did not reply. Her gaze moved to the hole, the gaping maw. It was flooding: entire rivers of seawater coming from beyond the lantern¡¯s light, falling past the edge. The curtains disappeared into the dark. It was the way into the Witching Hour, the Fisher was telling her as much.


    And more troublingly still, he wanted her to go inside.


    ¡°Tristan,¡± she quietly said, ¡°said he could not use his contract within. Is your strength greater than his spirit¡¯s, then? Or will you be barred entry as well?¡±


    ¡°You do not listen,¡± the Fisher said.


    He sounded irritated, if a mountain could be irritated.


    ¡°Then tell me again,¡± she bit back.


    ¡°What rules you, Angharad Tredegar?¡± he asked.


    She blinked, opened her mouth. Closed it. Angharad had loved stories, as a girl. And she could see the lesson in the Fisher¡¯s, however bloody the telling.


    ¡°Fear,¡± she said. ¡°Branwen died because of fear. Hers and that of her daughters. That is your meaning. All this, elder, to chide me?¡±


    ¡°Fear is the bridle of failure,¡± the Fisher said. ¡°Are you the horse or the rider?¡±


    Silence. Her fingers clenched.


    ¡°I do not fear Imani Langa,¡± she said. ¡°I do her bidding only-¡±


    And then he was gone. Every trace of water, every whisper, every touch on her soul. Feeling strangely empty, Angharad was left to look down at the pit of darkness. Alone again with her lantern and the dark. It had not been a lie, what she said. She did not fear Imani Langa. But perhaps it had not been the truth, either, for she feared what lay behind the ufudu. The reach and power of the Lefthand House, what it could grant and withhold.


    The Fisher did not care, she thought, that was she was striking a bargain with a servant of Malan. It was not in his nature to care for such things. What mattered to him was the why. That she acted not for her own purposes but out of fear. Angharad swallowed.


    Yet what else could she do? Nothing. There were only dead ends ahead, save for the dark at her feet.


    ¡°Defense is delay,¡± Angharad whispered.


    It was the voice of a woman trying to convince herself.


    She stepped forward.


    She fell.


    --


    Not knowing how she came to be there, Angharad stood above and under Hell, looking up.


    Smoke filled the sky, canvas to ruinous red light as the Grand Orrery¡¯s pale glare failed to pierce through ¨C instead showing as a harsh, austere glare made out behind the curtain. And beneath her, ancestors¡­


    She froze, choking on her own breath.


    Smoke and screams on the wind. Salt in the air, the distant crash of the sea and¡­ no, this was not Llanw Hall. She was atop a hill, but one crowded by houses and warehouses. Not looking down on river and fields of green. In and out she breathed, until her heart had calmed and her hands no longer trembled. She could feel sweat on the small of her back, as much from the wet heat in the air as the cold water that had filled her belly.


    The Hell beneath her was of a different kind. It was a city swallowed by battle, a tide of fire and steel and blood. Tolomontera looked¡­ not young, but younger. Now that her heart was no longer thundering she recognized where she was: the summit of the Old Playhouse, at the very top of the stairs. East of the docks, and from this perch she could see a city falling.


    The ramparts around the docks had wooden protections atop them ¨C hoarding, Song had called them ¨C but large swaths were aflame. The battle had spilled past the docks, into the streets, though there was still fighting around the edges. Thunder rolled out from the bay, drawing her eye. Anchored in the water were a dozen carracks, shrouded in smoke from the cannons. They were not the only ships. There were wrecks in the water, and crowding the docks were Watch galleasses flying black banners.


    Tightening her fingers had Angharad realizing she still held her lantern. Swallowing dry spit, she turned her gaze north. Fighting there as well, not far past the tip of the Triangle. There were not as many lights as by the fort that was to become the Watch barracks, where a large pitched battle was taking place, but she could see a Watch force had driven deep into the city.


    She shivered in the wind, despite the heat. Far west, at the edge of the city, there were lights and smoke as well. The Watch must be attacking Allazei from land on a second front.


    From up here it felt like a dream, or perhaps the sketch of some errant nightmare. If she went below, though¡­ But she must. It had taken more than a night¡¯s span to take Port Allazei, yet Angharad doubted she would have so long in this half-dream. The Witching Hour would spit her out sooner or later, so she must hurry. Though not without care. Maryam had said death in here would kill her in truth, and though Angharad knew herself a fine blade there was little she could do against a company¡¯s worth of muskets, or grapeshot.


    If either existed yet. The cannons out in the water were slow to fire and seemed to miss the ramparts as often as not.


    Her gaze dragged further north, where she must go. The Infernal Forge was her desire, and she knew who held it: the King of Hell himself, or at least his reflection in this aether-place. Lucifer, the liar had told her, was the one to cast the treasure into the aether for spite of the blackcloaks. She must find him before he did, and where he must be was plain: the hulking silhouette in the distance, glaring down at the port. Scholomance, not yet called that.


    Where would a king be, if not in his palace?


    So down Angharad went, down the steps and into the ancient nightmare.


    The Old Playhouse stood broadly between Hostel Street and the bottom of Templeward, so she cast her path northwards. If she reached Templeward, she could follow the street to the tip of the Triangle and make her way from there to Arsay Avenue. That should take her straight to Scholomance, here as it did in the waking world.


    It was a dreamlike thing, walking through these empty and hauntingly familiar streets.


    And though the city felt like a ghosts¡¯ assembly, it was not: torches ahead, none of them burning pale. They must belong to hollows, for darklings saw in the dark better than men but not perfectly: they, too, used torches to get around.


    On approach, she understood her mistake. Now and then, Templeward Street was one of the largest streets in the city, one of the great arteries. It was only natural for hollows to be barricading the bottom of the street, stacking a hodgepodge mixture of plank palisade and mounds of furniture. Angharad did not dare come too close ¨C they were sure to have warriors watching the side streets ¨C but even from a distance she could see the defenses bristling with spears and crossbows.


    Armed men in coats of mail and leather were shouting and-


    The barricade burst into shards of wood and flesh. Angharad saw a cannon ball bounce on the cobblestones past it, whisked out of sight. Half the warriors fled, but a woman in a plumed helm raised a banner atop the barricade and shouted in a hollow cant. The warriors began to rally, until the second cannon volley raked through what was left of the barricade and carved bloody furrows through the defenders.


    Gone was the piled furniture, leaving behind a carpet of broken wood, and gone was the bravery of men.


    The sight had her swallowing in fear, but she mastered it. This nightmare was not for her, for she was but a passenger through this nightmare. The violence was the key to this lock: when the Watch ¨C for it must be them manning the cannons ¨C were done bombarding, they would storm the street. When the fighting lines collided, Angharad would cross Templeward into the Triangle and make her way north from there.


    It now struck her as suicide to stay on the great street, which was sure to see much fighting.


    She drew back a few blocks and began to circle past the height of the broken barricade, keeping her ear pricked for further cannon fire. None came. The rooks would be advancing soon. As she closed in on the side of Templeward, she realized that the darklings had emptied the street for fear of cannons. They had scattered into the houses and shops on the sides, into the alleys. She hid herself, quieting her breath and kneeling close to the ground. Waiting.


    When it began, it was not with war cries but with screams: no fools they, the blackcloaks had brought up their cannons and leveled the houses on either side of the shattered barricade.


    Thunder rolled, scything through the houses in sprays of wood and stone. Walls and rooftops collapsed, the hollows trapped within screaming. A few charged out bearing swords and spear, chain mail and plumed helmets gleaming red in the light of the fires, and Angharad got her first glimpse of the Watch at war.


    Black-cloaked men and women, companies of pike and sword with the front led by bulky, unwieldy muskets. Officers shouted, the Watch frontline knelt and before the darklings came close enough to even throw spears a volley erupted in plumes of smoke.


    Only corpses were left in its wake.


    ¡°Reload,¡± an officer with captains¡¯ chevrons shouted in Antigua. ¡°Down the avenue, fourth company! We don¡¯t know how long Colonel Vidal will hold.¡±


    The Watch was pushing north, she realized, to reach the fighting deeper into the city. Some earlier offensive must have gone wrong. No matter: this aether playacting was no war of hers.


    Angharad waited until she heard crossbows twang and war cries resound before she sprang into movement, running out of the dead end into the street then across Templeward. She heard shouts in hollow tongues behind her, even a shot whizzing past, but did not slow. There was no light on the other side, only a winding street turning north. That corner would be her salvation, keeping her out of the sight of the-


    Two men, facing away. Keeping guard. One tall, the other slender ¨C both garbed in steel with red plumed helms. They heard her coming, as much from her running as the shouts, and were already turning when she stumbled onto them. Taken aback, Angharad stepped back and it gave the taller one time to raise his spear. The other one fumbled for his sword even as her saber cleared the scabbard. The tall one thrust the spear, forcing her further back, and at the head of the alley she glimpsed a woman aiming a crossbow.


    Cursing, Angharad rolled under a spear thrust as the bolt went wide only to catch a kick in the stomach. Grunting in pain, she gripped the boot with her free hand and used it to trip the man ¨C who went toppling with a shout. She rose, another bolt whistling past her, and found the slender one had his sword in hand. She feinted high and he backpedaled, so much that her follow-up came short.


    Instead of carving halfway through his jaw with the swing she only cut the lip, the tip of the saber instead hitting the edge of his helm and sending it tumbling off his head.


    The warrior moaned in pain and fear, drawing back, and Angharad aimed her blow. Only it sank in, then, what she was looking at: a pale-skinned boy, his lip cut and brown eyes wide. Utterly terrified. He¡¯d barely known how to use his sword, and now she could see that how chain mail fit him ill. Too large, too loose. He was not even a hollow, Angharad reminded herself, but some illusion of one.


    Neither sparing nor killing him held any meaning at all.


    And still her blade halted against his neck. She grabbed him by the hair, instead, and tossed him onto the other man as he tried to get up. From the corner of her eye she saw crossbowwoman was aiming, so she fled. More shouting, none of which she understood beyond the anger, but as she headed deeper into the Triangle the sounds became distant. They must not be pursuing.


    She knew better than to slow her steps.


    Running through the streets of the dark mirror of a city she had come to know, the Pereduri stayed off the avenues as she cut north towards the upper half of the Triangle, then once there adjusted west closer to Regnant. There were few lights along it, so if she was lucky¡­ but she was not. A quarter hour in she was forced to hide by a large column of armed men going down Regnant Avenue and its surrounding streets, grim-faced and singing in hollow cants.


    She took refuge on a rooftop, pressing down against the tiles as the edge of the column filed past her.


    Their arms and armor were disparate: chain mail and leather cuirasses paired with spears and warhammers and arquebuses. Not an army so much as a patchwork of them, few of which matched. There were so many banners she could hardly tell them apart, like a cloth mane on the snake of steel that was their column. Once the main body of the procession had passed, the narrower breadth meant they stuck to Regnant alone and she was able to slide down from her perch.


    The journey resumed.


    Unwilling to risk running into another column, she headed back northeast. Back towards the upper third of Templeward, as the narrowing near the summit of the Triangle made the distance between it and Regnant mere minutes now.


    She saw the fighting before she heard it, columns of smoke and firelight. Near the tip of the Triangle, the same men the blackcloaks further south on Templeward sought to relieve. How had the blackcloaks made it so deep into the city? Killing her curiosity, Angharad forced herself to think. It was hard, as if her very mind was wading through water. Tiredness, perhaps. Could a soul even get tired?


    Her best shot of getting at Arsay Avenue, she decided, was to skirt around the edge of the fighting. It was less likely to be guarded.


    She headed towards the sights, sound soon catching up. Powder shots and screams echoed across the cobblestone, all below hellish lights writ on smoke. Lightning struck in the distance, thunder rolled and in that spurt of light Angharad saw the corpses ahead. Strewn across the street like discarded dolls, half a dozen blackcloaks lay unmoving on the stone. Her steps stuttered but she pressed on, raising her lantern higher.


    They had been killed from behind, she read in the lay of the dead. Struck as they fled by blades and arrows, though the arrows were then ripped out.


    One of the corpses let out a rattling breath, blood bubbling from the corner of her mouth, and Angharad reached for her saber before realizing it was not a corpse at all. Kneeling by the survivor, she gently turned her over on her back as the blackcloak moaned in pain. The woman was tanned, for a Lierganen, and her faced dirtied with soot.


    Lying face down there had been no visible wound on her, but now Angharad could see a gaping hole in her belly. A gunshot, and from close up. The survivor¡¯s eyes fluttered open, unfocused, and stayed on Angharad¡¯s coat. Black as her own ragged uniform.


    ¡°Water,¡± she croaked. ¡°Please, wat-¡±


    She began coughing, spitting out blood. Hers was not the kind of wound one survived without a fine physician and a great deal of luck ¨C neither of which were at hand. It was an uncomfortable notion to go through the affairs of corpses, but Angharad forced herself to look for a canteen among the dead. A man with sergeant¡¯s stripes had one, and after unscrewing it Angharad took a sniff. Water.


    She knelt back by the survivor¡¯s side, easing a trickle into her mouth. She slowed when the woman choked, but soon the ragged breathing eased some.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± the survivor rasped. ¡°Ma¡¯am. Sorry, I can¡¯t see your rank. My vision¡¯s swimming.¡±


    ¡°I am a student under Marshal de la Tavarin,¡± she replied. ¡°To become Skiritai.¡±


    She would not lie even to the ghost of a ghost.


    ¡°Militant,¡± the woman breathed out, as if awed. ¡°Never met one of you before. I¡¯m Miren, Miren of Saraya. Third Regiment, under Colonel Vidal.¡±


    The same colonel the Watch forced had mentioned earlier. Her guess had been right, then, it was this same regiment that the blackcloaks sought to relieve.


    ¡°What happened, Miren?¡± Angharad asked.


    She coughed again, struggled for her breath.


    ¡°The devils opened the gate, like that Mask said,¡± Miren said. ¡°Let us in. We rolled the defenders on that big street, Templeward, and the colonel drove us north. To secure the tail end some long road that crosses half the city, leads straight to the Lightbringer¡¯s palace.¡±


    Arsay Avenue, Angharad thought. The very road she was headed to.


    ¡°You did not make it there,¡± she said.


    ¡°No,¡± Miren bitterly laughed. ¡°The plaza, it looked empty. We didn¡¯t see the man until the vanguard was close enough to shoot.¡±


    Angharad blinked.


    ¡°One man?¡±


    Miren feebly tried to reach for the canteen and Angharad gently pushed her trembling hand down before pressing the metal rim to her lips again. After a few moments of drinking, the dying woman sighed.


    ¡°Sunless House,¡± she panted. ¡°Sunless House. It was fucking archbishop, straight out of the Fall.¡±


    ¡°What happened?¡± she asked again, tone gentle.


    ¡°They went mad,¡± Miren said, hands shaking. ¡°Some started clawing at their own eyes, screaming about how nothing is real, and the others¡­¡±


    She drily swallowed, trembling.


    ¡°They turned on each other,¡± she whispered hoarsely. ¡°I saw Rolando put a dagger in his own sister¡¯s back and Cassander shot our captain in the head. Without a word, just shot him. None of them saying nothing, their eyes all white, and¡­¡±


    She was sobbing, Angharad lay a comforting hand on her shoulder, but Miren shook her off.


    ¡°It didn¡¯t stop after men died,¡± she got out. ¡°They tore into the bodies like animals, gorging on the flesh. I ran. Gods, I know I shouldn¡¯t have but-¡±


    ¡°You did well,¡± Angharad murmured.


    ¡°He was standing in the middle of it,¡± Miren feverishly whispered, as if she hadn¡¯t heard. ¡°Just a man, dark hair, soft face. Arms behind his back, looking at us like we were dogs doing a trick. Just one man and he stopped the entire regiment cold.¡±


    Misery Square, Angharad realized with a shiver of dread. There was only one large square in that part of the city, and it was Misery Square. Only Angharad was getting a whiff of the horrors that had earned it the sobriquet.


    ¡°The back of the column broke and ran,¡± Miren rasped. ¡°Only hollows were lying in wait, ambushed us. It was a slaughter. I¡­ someone shot me, didn¡¯t see who.¡±


    She licked her lips and Angharad eased a trickle into her mouth again.


    ¡°You don¡¯t live through a gut shot like that, do you?¡± Miren quietly said.


    Angharad swallowed, shook her head.


    ¡°I won¡¯t make it back to our lines,¡± the soldier said. ¡°And it, it hurts ma¡¯am. Please.¡±


    The Pereduri flinched.


    ¡°Please,¡± Miren begged.


    It is not real, Angharad reminded herself. Just the impression of a night on aether. How long had it taken the real Miren to die, lying face down against the stone with that hole in her belly? An hour, two? How long before cold numbness triumphed over the pain?


    ¡°Close your eyes,¡± she said.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Miren whispered, and did.


    Angharad slid her saber out of the sheath, as quietly as she could.


    ¡°I read, once, that in the summer the streets of Saraya are as a carpet of flowers,¡± the noblewoman said.


    Miren smiled.


    ¡°Like snow made of petals,¡± she said, ¡°falling from the-¡±


    Angharad slid the blade between the third and fourth ribs, deep into the heart. Death was not instant, almost never was. Angharad held her hand, whispering to think of the flower blooms in the light as Miren bled out. It took short of two minutes, the rook already weak from the gunshot. Eyes burning, Angharad forced herself up and ripped the blade free. She cleaned it with the cloth, sheathed it with hands that suddenly felt fragile.


    ¡°Rest well, Miren of Saraya. Until the Sleeping God wakes,¡± she whispered.


    Angharad stayed well clear of what was not yet Misery Square.


    --


    Miren had warned her so she moved carefully, but they still took her by surprise.


    She was mere minutes away from the dead watchmen when the ambush was sprung. The only warning was the twang of a crossbow loosing a bolt, and Angharad threw herself a shop door, bruising her shoulder but avoiding death. The darklings swept down the street, a throng a dozen strong bristling with arms ¨C and there were more crossbows at the back. Shapes on rooftops, too, moving more like devils than men.


    Unlike other darklings, none of these shouted war cries in their hollow cants. And though they moved swiftly, there was a stiffness¡­ to the movement.


    Staying out in the street was death, so Angharad kicked at the door she had smashed into. The latch broke, and inside she found ¨C Miren? The sight gave her pause for half a heartbeat, just long enough for the woman to slash at her shoulder with a knife. Coat and flesh parted, Angharad letting out a hiss as the false blackcloak grinned in triumph. She drew back half a step, readying to charge in, and checked on the other warriors¡­


    Only to find them gone. All of them. She glanced back through the door and found only darkness inside, the false Miren vanished.


    ¡°What is this?¡± Angharad hoarsely whispered.


    Sword high, she stepped through and-


    -Angharad stumbled through a doorway, landing on her hands and knees. She barely had the time to glimpse golden light on stone before she threw up. It was as if her stomach was being wrung out of her, squeeze by painful squeeze. When the last foul heave passed her lips she was left panting, looking down at her own sick, and drew back on her knees. She wiped her mouth with her sleeve.


    The wound, she remembered, patting at her side.


    Only there was no mark on her coat, and when she shrugged it off to pull up her sleeves no trace of the cut on her flesh. Only the soul entered a layer, Maryam had said. Only a soul could be wounded within. It was only a cut, Angharad reminded herself. Certainly nothing good, but hardly a death. It was not as if a soul could bleed out.


    She rose to her feet, legs trembling, and her head swam with vertigo. Angharad sucked in a breath, part of her wondering if the air here had always been so hot. Above the golden light of the Grand Orrery moved, and with that sight came a delayed realization.


    Angharad was back, out of the Witching Hour.


    She had failed.

 Chapter 37

    Treachery was afoot: the carrot seeds were gone.


    Maryam might have been complicit in the crime, for when informed of this she offered no aid. Only profuse mockery, including some very unkind moralizing about how he who lived by petty larceny was doomed to be defeated by it. Petty. Petty! For once he was in full agreement with Fortuna, this was unacceptable talk. No, Tristan would have to thoroughly investigate this matter and prove her treason, rightfully relegating her to taking Theology notes for the both of them next class.


    Now, if only his only ally in this grand work were not utterly incompetent.


    ¡°Maybe she used her eldritch Navigator powers to disappear them,¡± Fortuna suggested.


    She was sitting atop a tree branch, the red trail of her dress trailing as she swung her legs.


    ¡°You are a goddess,¡± Tristan reproached. ¡°How is anything eldritch to you?¡±


    ¡°I was only phrasing it this way for your sake,¡± she ineptly lied. ¡°I think your field was cursed to be barren by a witch, it is the only reasonable explanation.¡±


    Tristan wondered if she was being blatantly wrong on purpose. Even odds, he figured: it might simply be that she had not been paying attention to the entire affair beyond the amusement of outrage. The thief knelt in the dirt, carefully feeling out the soil. He had sown seeds rather liberally yesterday, but there was not so much as a single stray one left. Whoever had done this had acted methodically, and with malicious intent.


    ¡°Could be a devil ate them,¡± Fortuna suggested.


    He rubbed the bridge of his nose.


    ¡°I resent that this last guess is the closest we have come to a working theory,¡± Tristan admitted.


    ¡°You need to listen to me more,¡± the Lady of Long Odds happily said. ¡°I have all sorts of ideas.¡±


    Not unlike a mangy dog had fleas, and about as respectably.


    ¡°It could have been foreigners,¡± he finally said.


    It was a long and honored Sacromonte tradition to blame foreigners for troubles ranging from the rising price of bread to why your daughter had been caught half-naked with the neighbor¡¯s son in the back of the shop. It would have irresponsible not to consider foreign involvement, one might argue. If they were an infanzon.


    ¡°I am no longer sure I want to be involved in this,¡± Song Ren drily said.


    He flicked a glance back, finding the Tianxi standing at the edge of the garden with steaming mugs of tea in her hand. Tristan squinted her way, not having caught the approach. Had Maryam sent her accomplice to sabotage the investigation?


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what it is you¡¯re thinking, but I am almost certain I should feel insulted by it,¡± Song noted.


    ¡°Your help would be most welcome,¡± Tristan said, not openly adding as soon as I am certain you are not part of this conspiracy.


    Fortuna, lending her ¡®help¡¯, immediately leaped down from her branch began crowding the captain. She stepped in too close, peering into Song¡¯s eyes like some nosy tia trying to find out their color, and gestured at one of the mugs as if asking to take it. To Song Ren¡¯s honor, she had never once fallen for this cheapest of ghost trickeries.


    Unfortunately for Song, Fortuna had taken it as a challenge.


    Purely for spite of his goddess, Tristan rose to his feet and ambled over to take the tea. No, he realized, not tea. At least not the proper kind: this was brewed¡­ peppermint? Surprised but not displeased, Tristan actually took a sip for reasons beyond politeness. Peppermint was good for digestion and stomach pains, as well as tasting fine enough.


    ¡°I have run the numbers for the brigade funds,¡± Song said. ¡°I believe we could go as far as ten ramas.¡±


    Tristan chewed at his lip thoughtfully.


    ¡°Hage will bleed us if he realizes I¡¯ve gold to slap on the counter,¡± he said. ¡°The easiest way to avoid that would be asking for something in particular, not merely going fishing.¡±


    She hesitated for a moment, brushing back her long braid.


    ¡°Ask about the local criminals,¡± Song finally said. ¡°The rest we can get from the official reports on Asphodel, but that kind of knowledge will not make it onto them.¡±


    Tristan gave an absent-minded nod. It had been an unpleasant surprise to learn that they were headed to Asphodel in three weeks, leaving them to scramble for preparations. Song had borrowed books from that fancy hidden Stripe library, but books would only get them so far. Hage was almost certain to have access to Mask reports on the Asphodel Rectorate, or Krypteia gossip just as good, and Tristan approved of asking about the local coteries.


    ¡°We¡¯ll need to know our way around the underground no matter which of the contracts we end up getting,¡± he mused. ¡°Getting the lay of the coteries in advance is a good investment. I would not be surprised if the Masks had a contact on the ground, either.¡±


    Song¡¯s impressively well-connected uncle had leaked to her in the letter how assignments would work: there were four contracts outstanding, and it would not be decided until they reached Asphodel which brigade received which. The man had not gone into details about the contracts ¨C could not or would not ¨C but had mentioned that two were investigations, one an exorcism and the last a hunt.


    Only the exorcism was likely to take them out of the capital, and not far. Even then finding the remnants of an old god was sure to be easier when you had a way to reach out to the people who could tell you which of the latest disappearances had been paid for.


    ¡°I expect that might be beyond our means to buy,¡± Song said, ¡°but if the opportunity knocks¡­¡±


    ¡°Barely a day rich and already a spendthrift,¡± he teased.


    She rolled her eyes.


    ¡°Maryam¡¯s ties to Captain Yue could end up fruitful as well,¡± Song noted. ¡°As the senior signifier on the island, she might be in the know for Asphodel affairs.¡±


    ¡°We lose little by asking,¡± Tristan shrugged.


    The two stood there in silence for a long moment, sipping at their mugs. Song was the one to break it.


    ¡°Not a single seed left, I see,¡± she said.


    Those last two words were not a figure of speech when coming out of Song Ren¡¯s mouth. Tristan was not yet sure to what extent she could discern details, but she could read book script from across a room without any trouble. Part of him itched to ask how that would pair to, say, a telescope but theirs was not so comfortable a relationship that he could.


    ¡°Such meticulous extermination can only be the result of an enemy attack,¡± Tristan said.


    ¡°There are probably at least two birds, yes,¡± Song agreeably replied.


    He paused.


    ¡°A what now?¡±


    Song considered him for a moment, then her lips twitched.


    ¡°Maryam didn¡¯t tell you.¡±


    ¡°Her treacheries are endless,¡± Tristan coldly said.


    ¡°She told me she saw a bird up on the roof yesterday,¡± Song informed him. ¡°A magpie, by the description, though an unusually large one.¡±


    ¡°And she failed to tell me this because¡­¡±


    A rusty groan, one of the drawing-room windows being cracked further open from the inside. They had been getting eavesdropped on.


    ¡°Because I thought it would be funny,¡± Maryam called out.


    ¡°See,¡± Fortuna mused, leaning against his shoulder. ¡°I told you a witch was behind this.¡±


    ¡°Bruja,¡± Song slowly said. ¡°Did she just call Maryam a witch?¡±


    ¡°Nothing less than she deserves,¡± Tristan sniffed.


    He turned a squinting look up at the roof, but there was no trace of the alleged magpie. How had it made it up here, anyway? Sakkas had said that this place could only be found by those who already knew where it was, but no lock was perfect. If the Gloam working laid into this place was as a surrounding curtain, birds might have simply flown over it. Or perhaps the magpies had nested there for generations? An impressive lineage, if true, though Tristan could not recall ever seeing or hearing a bird here before.


    ¡°A recent arrival, do you think?¡± he said.


    ¡°I am uncertain,¡± Song admitted, sounding fascinated. ¡°It could be that an animal is not enough of a ¡®mind¡¯ to be turned away by the defense and our presence drew interest. More might come if that is the case.¡±


    ¡°A siege, then,¡± he muttered, then cleared his throat. ¡°I will have to draw from brigade funds.¡±


    A wary look.


    ¡°What for?¡± she asked.


    ¡°To make a scarecrow,¡± Tristan fiercely replied. ¡°I yet have carrot seeds: I might have lost a battle, Song, but the war has just begun."


    ¡°I was right,¡± Maryam called out through the window.


    --


    It was a mark of Captain Yue¡¯s rank that she had a solar inside the walls of the chapterhouse.


    Though not a small building by any means, much of the insides of the Akelarre headquarters was taken up by the Meadow so private rooms were virtually unheard of. There were dorms for Navigators to sleep in, libraries for restricted works and a few small study halls, but all these were shared. The captain¡¯s large solar on the upper level was not, though Yue had crammed so many devices and books inside that a room as large as the cottage¡¯s drawing room somehow felt cramped.


    Maryam had learned, over the last few weeks, to tell when she was in for a pleasant afternoon by gauging the enthusiasm on the scarred captain¡¯s face when she was ushered into the solar. Briskness meant it was drudgework ahead of them, checking options off a list not out of belief they were possible but to be through, while on the opposite end of the scale a broad grin meant things were going to get¡­ exciting.


    Like being rowed out into a shallow part of the bay and dropped into the sea with stones tied around her feet exciting.


    ¡°Ah, Maryam, just in time,¡± Yue grinned, and the Izvorica almost cursed.


    It was going to be one of those, then. The older woman hurried her in, closing the door behind and guiding Maryam past a fresh pile of books ¨C nearly all of which had iron girding and a lock, meaning they were from the deepest part of the restricted library ¨C and the same half-eaten plate of fried rice that had been balancing precariously on the end of a table for three days.


    The sheer number of precious instruments in here, from astrolabes to orreries to a set of beautifully engraved ring dials, had been intimidating at first. There was a fortune¡¯s worth of devices surrounding her, many of them of intimidatingly fine make. Nowadays, though, they mostly felt like the clutter that they were. Yue eased Maryam into the usual cushy armchair, then headed across the room to a large, broad silhouette under a pale sheet.


    ¡°That is new,¡± Maryam noted.


    ¡°So it is,¡± Yue happily said. ¡°Had it brought up this morning.¡±


    She theatrically tore off the sheet, which she had obviously put there herself for this very purpose. What lay under looked halfway between a water maze and an Izcalli calendar: an upright stone disk, almost man-sized with layered circles within. Each circle was connected to another by some shallow notch and at the heart, instead of a large motif of an Izcalli calendar, was a gaping hole the size of the Izvorica¡¯s head.


    Captain Yue presented it with a flourish, visibly pleased with herself.


    ¡°Well done,¡± Maryam hazarded. ¡°I am¡­ impressed?¡±


    The older Navigator wrinkled her nose.


    ¡°At least some put effort into the lie,¡± she complained, then sighed. ¡°Think, Khaimov. Does this remind you of anything?"


    To Maryam¡¯s mild shame, it took another few seconds before catching on. It was the size that had distracted her: the other disk had been barely the size of two fists, and the patterns on the surface significantly more complicated than these.


    ¡°The Kuru Maze that Professor Baltazar showed us on our first day,¡± she said. ¡°The device that lets one gauge their Grasp and Command.¡±


    ¡°You could consider this beauty the bastard cousin of a Kuru Maze,¡± Yue said, patting the disk.


    ¡°I don¡¯t feel any conceptual symmetry from it at all,¡± she frowned. ¡°The draw of a Kuru Maze is that it restricts manipulation of Gloam. This looks, well, like¡­¡±


    ¡°A big chunk of rock,¡± Captain Yue cheerfully said. ¡°Because it is. Not a drop of anything conceptual here. It¡¯s an Izcalli invention called a stele stone.¡±


    ¡°Ominous,¡± Maryam noted.


    The Kingdom of Izcalli ¨C and all the other Aztlan states, to be fair ¨C had a fondness for carving skulls onto everything and their naming sense tended to the funerary. Even Captain Totec had a saltshaker sculpted to look like a dancing skeleton he was inordinately fond of.


    ¡°You know how it is with Izcalli,¡± Yue said. ¡°No matter how sound the scholarship, their scholars don¡¯t take anything seriously until there¡¯s a body count supporting it.¡±


    ¡°The Kingdom of Izcalli is the leading light in metaphysical anatomy,¡± Maryam loyally said. ¡°No one else understands souls half as well.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, they sure burned a lot of candles studying those,¡± Captain Yue drily said. ¡°But I seem to recall the man who initiated you into the Akelarre is from Izcalli, so I¡¯ll let you off this once.¡±


    She slapped the stone again, like a farmer at market endorsing their prize pig.


    ¡°Stele stones,¡± Yue said, ¡°are made when a significant number of people die on top of them.¡±


    Maryam blinked, having not expected it to be so literal.


    ¡°They used to make these from physician¡¯s floors,¡± the Tianxi said, ¡°but these days I understand some lords have a racket of ordering their dying serfs to go and lay on top of them so they can sell off the stones.¡±


    The Navigator shrugged.


    ¡°It does assure steadier supply.¡±


    Captain Yue¡¯s notion of good and evil tended to run along ¡®things that make my work easier¡¯ and ¡®things that make my work harder¡¯, which meant she had all the sympathy of an iron rod but also that she was remarkably lacking in bigotries.


    ¡°And the advantage to lugging around corpse rocks is¡­¡±


    Maryam trailed off leadingly.


    ¡°Think it out,¡± Captain Yue said. ¡°The stone used here is basalt, which on the Ban scale of aether sensitivity is lower-middle.¡±


    Maryam hummed. To qualify as middle sensitivity on the Ban scale, a material must be affected by aether phenomenon not directed at it. The study of the effect of metaphysical forces on physical objects was usually considered a part of alchemy, but inevitably it was a matter of interest to both the Peiling Society and the Akelarre Guild and as a result the terms for it were drawn from a dozen different disciplines.


    It was a real mess of everyone borrowing from each other and contradicting each other¡¯s works.


    The Ban scale had been used by Cathayan architects for over a century before the Akelarre adopted it, justifying this by noting the imprisoned scholar-concubine who¡¯d first created it had been a signifier and thus the scale had always been part of their scholarly wheelhouse. While not the most exact out there, the Ban scale had the benefit of being made into a series of rhymes that translated well to most the major languages of Aurager ¨C and thus was remarkably easy to memorize.


    Lower-middle meant the material in question was affected by nearby aether phenomenon, but not unduly sensitive. For example a cutter, with its aether engine, could dock at a basalt dock and there would be no trace left on the stone. A death on top of the stone slab, though? That strong, instant release would leave some kind of mark.


    The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    Yue had mentioned physicians as the original source, which likely meant painful ends at the hands of cutters. Many deaths, though, and evidently the Izcalli lords out there seemed to think that sending the sick to die on the stone would work just as well. It¡¯s not about the nature of the death, then, it¡¯s about the numbers.


    ¡°Saturation,¡± Maryam said. ¡°Stele stones are basalt saturated with aether.¡±


    Yue cocked an eyebrow.


    ¡°And what would be the use of such a thing?¡± she asked.


    ¡°You called it the bastard cousin of a Kuru Maze because those constrict the use of Gloam,¡± she slowly said. ¡°This would do the same for¡­ aether?¡±


    ¡°Are you asking me or telling me?¡± Yue said.


    She chewed at the inside of her cheek.


    ¡°Nav,¡± she said. ¡°Logos, I mean. It goes through the aether, so a stele stone is meant to constrict the use of one¡¯s logos.¡±


    ¡°Good,¡± the Tianxi smiled. ¡°That is essentially correct.¡±


    She waved a hand.


    ¡°The reality is slightly more complex ¨C the maze carved on the surface is because of metaphysical continuance, a concept you won¡¯t be learning about for some time yet. Suffice it to say that moving your logos through the channels in the stone is more difficult than, say, simply wrapping it around the disk.¡±


    ¡°Why are we testing my logos at all?¡± Maryam asked.


    It was one of the few parts of signifying she¡¯d never had any trouble with. She was, she fancied, a much defter hand with hers than most of her peers.


    ¡°Because I told you to,¡± Yue easily replied. ¡°Come, I will show you how it functions.¡±


    Maryam was always careful sending out her nav with Captain Yue around, knowing herself a candle besides a bonfire. It would have been easy for the other woman to snuff her out without even meaning to. Yue had asked her this time, though, and would be careful. It was an odd feeling, how the other woman coaxed her soul-effigy ¨C like being a raft being pulled along in a galleon¡¯s wake.


    Yue guided her all the way to the opening of the stele stone, then goosed her nav as warning. Maryam withdrew, did not follow her in. Instead she tried to feel out what tracing the pattern did to Captain Yue¡¯s nav, what coiled and what tensed. When the captain withdrew, after what could not have been longer than thirty heartbeats, she was faintly panting. Yue brushed back her braid on her shoulder, smoothing it back into place to hide the burns on her cheek and ear.


    ¡°It is a good control exercise,¡± Captain Yue said. ¡°We will not teach logos manipulation until third year, as it¡¯s much too easy for a beginner to rip out their own soul, but if my theory is correct you will have little choice in learning the basics early.¡±


    By now Maryam knew better than to ask her to elaborate. If she intended to, she would have. Instead she gathered herself and felt out the entrance of the stele stone pattern. All she had to do was trace it, not fill those wide furrows, but to make one¡¯s nav was fragile had its dangers: Maryam slid in a rope, not a string. Immediately she felt the saturation¡¯s effect. Most objects were inert when felt out with nav, like dull contours in a world of colors.


    The stele stone instead buzzed like flies¡¯ wings, and she had to keep a firm grip on her nav lest it be swept astray.


    She was surprised to find it rather easy, at least at first. She just had to thread in her nav, which took concentration but not much difficulty. Halfway through the first loop she began to grasp what Yue had been hinting at by ¡®metaphysical continuance¡¯. Maintaining the thread she had woven while continuing to push forward was significantly more difficult than she had thought. She had assumed the trouble would rise like the slope of a hill, but two thirds of the way through the first circle she felt like she had to climb a wall instead.


    ¡°Fuck,¡± she muttered.


    ¡°Further,¡± Yue quietly said. ¡°You need to finish the first ring.¡±


    Gritting her teeth, Maryam pushed on. She might not have made it had she not realized she could cannibalize her own earlier work. She could thin the rope and make it into string. It eased the pressure, though she still only barely made it to the notch leading to the second circle. She threaded past it by a hair, breathing out, and ¨C the pull took her by such surprise she tumbled all the way back to halfway through the first circle.


    ¡°What in the-¡± she snarled, firming her grip.


    The pull gave when she pushed back, but as she tried to reclaim the grounds lost she felt as if something was pushing against her. A hand on her shoulder, a pulse of Gloam.


    ¡°That¡¯s enough,¡± Captain Yue said. ¡°I have what I need, withdraw.¡±


    Maryam was tempted to rip herself out, but forced herself into a controlled retreat instead. One should never treat their soul-effigy lightly. When she came back into herself she was panting, covered in sweat, and Yue eased her back into the seat. She spent some time gathering her bearings while Yue puttered about pouring something into cups, pressing a metal goblet into her hand. Maryam took a sniff.


    ¡°Brandy?¡± she asked.


    ¡°It will take the edge off that brutal migraine you¡¯re about to have,¡± Yue said. ¡°Drink.¡±


    Maryam grimaced but did. It burned going down, but there was a faint aftertaste of apricot that took the edge off the lingering in the mouth.


    ¡°What was that?¡± she asked. ¡°Something fought me, it felt like. Was it the stele stone?¡±


    ¡°The stone had aether presence but not consciousness,¡± Yue replied. ¡°It cannot fight you.¡±


    She leaned back against one of her tables, though she had to push back a strange overlarge bronze compass.


    ¡°What has puzzled me about your condition from the start,¡± Yue said, ¡°is its seemingly contradictory nature.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t follow,¡± Maryam frowned.


    It seemed rather plain to her: her Command was lacking because it was sabotaged by an aether entity.


    ¡°First we established through layer diving that the cause of your measure imbalance is an aether entity,¡± Yue elaborated. ¡°Seemingly straightforward, if an unusual case. But then I put you through about a third of the possession tests known to the Akelarre Guild and none of them turned up a thing.¡±


    The Izvorica¡¯s eyes widened in alarm.


    ¡°You said I wasn¡¯t possessed,¡± Maryam said. ¡°That those were-¡±


    ¡°To ascertain the nature of your ties to the entity, yes,¡± Yue dismissed. ¡°And they were. Possession is a layman¡¯s term, ultimately, evoking some dollmaker hollowing a man and walking around with his face and memories. In practice relatively few aether entities are capable of this.¡±


    ¡°You thought it was some lesser parasite,¡± she slowly said. ¡°One that a possession test would unmask.¡±


    ¡°An unusual case, as I said: an entity that gorged on your emotions unhindered for so long it became something nearly unique,¡± Yue agreed. ¡°Only you have none of the physical markers of this. Therefore, I resorted to the submersion test.¡±


    ¡°An individual submerged in the sea with no physical tie to above will achieve metaphysical isolation,¡± Maryam quoted. ¡°You wanted to establish whether it had an anchor to me.¡±


    ¡°And it did,¡± Yue smiled, ¡°else you would have been capable of signifying under water without trouble just as you did in the layer. Thus we established that the entity had an anchor on you, but that your body showed none of the usual markers. Now, it might have been that we simply needed to get into the more invasive possession tests¡­¡±


    Maryam swallowed. Sticking needles in her body and making her Sign during was not considered invasive? Making her eat a lodestone, Sign and then throw it up had been one of the easy tests? Gods. She was almost afraid to ask.


    ¡°¡­ but that is a brute method answer, Maryam, forcing a circle into a square peg. I found a more elegant solution: what if that anchor was on a material part of you without being a physical part?¡±


    And there the reason for the use of the stele stone became clear.


    ¡°My logos,¡± Maryam breathed out. ¡°Shit, it latched onto my logos. I use it to signify, so every time I trace a Sign-¡±


    ¡°It contends against you, ¡®pulling¡¯ the other way, and thus in practice reducing your Command to that of a child¡¯s,¡± Yue finished. ¡°Interestingly, that it latched on to your logos it also likely why it hasn¡¯t slurped up your soul despite being tacked on to you for years.¡±


    Maryam swallowed, mouth suddenly gone dry.


    ¡°Pardon?¡±


    ¡°Think of your logos as a straw, permitting only so much to be drunk at once,¡± the older woman said. ¡°The most fascinating part is, however, that the parasite seems to have adapted to you to some extent, feeding solely on emotions that you reject or suppress. It grew nearly symbiotic.¡±


    ¡°And screws up my signifying,¡± the Izvorica flatly said.


    ¡°And that,¡± Yue agreed. ¡°Happily for you, the violent reaction the entity had to your using the stele stone confirms another part of my theory.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a bit of an asshole?¡± Maryam suggested.


    Yue smiled thinly.


    ¡°It goes two ways,¡± she said. ¡°Through your logos it can feed on you, but¡­¡±


    ¡°I can also feed on it,¡± Maryam said. ¡°You¡¯re sure?¡±


    ¡°It will not be possible to confirm it until I have some particular equipment prepared,¡± Yue said, ¡°but I believe the chances are very high.¡±


    Maryam licked her lips.


    ¡°What would it do, feeding on it?¡±


    ¡°Retrieving your past aether emanations, for one,¡± Yue said. ¡°Though they will not be as linear and differentiated as when you emanated them. Secondly, well, think of it this way ¨C though we Akelarre manipulate Gloam and navigate aether, we are ultimately creatures of the Glare. This entity, however, is not. It should perceive Vesper in some fundamentally different ways.¡±


    ¡°That sounds dangerous to absorb,¡± Maryam said.


    ¡°The mind is a wonderfully elastic thing,¡± Yue said. ¡°It will take what it can and a little more, then the rest will be buried or shed away. I expect, at the very least that devouring the entity will make major qualitative improvements to your logos.¡±


    On top of restoring her Command, presumably. That did sound tempting.


    ¡°And it would be safe?¡± Maryam asked.


    The captain burst out laughing, hiccupping and slapping her knees until she was almost tearing up.


    ¡°Oh gods no,¡± Captain Yue chuckled. ¡°Anything but. But the alternative is it being forever latched onto your logos, so the notion of there being a choice here is largely decorative.¡±


    She was, Maryam grimly conceded, not wrong about that. She made herself breathe out, calm.


    ¡°Equipment, you said,¡± she tried.


    ¡°Worry not, my dear,¡± Yue grinned. ¡°It will be ready before you take that ship to Asphodel. I greatly look forward to the results.¡±


    The Izvorica nodded, then hesitated.


    ¡°Out with it,¡± the captain said.


    ¡°Song mentioned that the entity she encountered had a soul,¡± she said.


    ¡°Yes, as you mentioned before,¡± Yue acknowledged. ¡°While Song Ren¡¯s contract is an interesting tool, she has not real grounding in metaphysics. I expect she saw the traces of some soul the entity ate before latching on to you, or emanations fresh enough they could be confused for you.¡±


    ¡°And if you are wrong?¡± Maryam asked.


    ¡°Then I get the pleasure,¡± Captain Yue grinned, ¡°of starting this puzzle from scratch.¡±


    --


    The Emerald Vaults was not large enough an establishment to loan private rooms, but their garden did have small gazebos that lent an appreciable degree of privacy.


    Though they had agreed on six at the beginning of Warfare, Song arrived ten minutes early. Lierganen tended to have their evening meal late, but given the widespread provenance of the students ¨C and indeed of watchmen in general ¨C one could not assume the dinner room would be empty even at this hour. She was lucky: only one of the gazebos remained unoccupied, and she promptly claimed it before someone else could. Talk on the terrasse was too likely to be overheard, it would not suit at all.


    Only a few of the tables were occupied, she saw as she followed the servant in, with black-clad youths sharing tapas and drinks. She recognized few faces within, the only one of note the towering Someshwari man that was the captain of the Twelfth. Song received a few curious looks, but now that there was gossip about the Forty-Ninth she was not as interesting a subject of rumor as she had been ¨C at least until the Thirteenth¡¯s involvement in that affair came out.


    The servant in neat livery bowed after presenting her the last of three gazebo and she nodded in confirmation. It was pretty piece of work, a round pavilion of whose skeleton was intertwined metal and wood with silk sheets hung as walls to curtail sight and sought. Song ordered a cup of Sanxing green tea and settled into the cushioned seats, readying herself to wait.


    To her mild amusement, she had barely tugged her coat back in place when Angharad arrived ¨C just slightly less early.


    The dark-skinned noblewoman must have swung by her lodgings, for despite having had Skiritai class this afternoon she wore a fitted regular¡¯s uniform. Like most clothes, Angharad wore these well: she was tall and shapely, which did not hurt, and had the effortless posture of someone whose fingers had been smacked when she did not sit straight as a child. The gloves were new, though. The same she had worn in Warfare.


    The braids had been redone recently, Song noted, and her face was schooled into a polite society mask. A taught thing, that. Song would know, having learned the same at her mother¡¯s knee.


    She had always seen just enough of herself in Angharad Tredegar to make mistakes over her.


    ¡°Song,¡± the Pereduri greeted her.


    ¡°Angharad,¡± she replied. ¡°Please, be seated.¡±


    They hardly waited three breaths before a servant was with them, asking what might suit the lady. Wine, to Song¡¯s mild surprise. There was some small talk, but short and halting. Neither of them felt like getting into it with the conversation that loomed. Their orders arrived together, perfectly timed, and the servant retreated after another bow. Song sipped at her tea. Exquisite, as everything served in the Emerald Vaults always was.


    ¡°I received a letter from my granduncle,¡± she said. ¡°It shed some light on what you implied when we spoke yesterday.¡±


    Uncle Zhuge had been unusually loquacious in that letter, even. He usually preferred to speak instead of committing anything to paper, the well-honed instinct of a man who had spent decades in one of the most cutthroat Garrison postings around. This time, though, he had laid out details ¨C even if through implication and idiom, careful to give nothing a Mask reading that letter might be able to use. Reading between the lines, the situation on Asphodel significantly had changed due to the Rectorate¡¯s find beneath their island - long believed emptied of all Antediluvian treasures.


    Instead all the great powers were eyeing that shipyard and the find of tomic alloys hungrily. Diplomats, spies and saboteurs would be sailing the way of Asphodel even as he wrote and civil war on the island was nearly sure to ensue. As the Watch had contracts with the Rectorate, the tests were now likely to take place during civil strife. A significantly greater of risk for the students than what had been desired.


    The trouble, after that, had been making the massive bureaucracy of the Watch actually do something about it.


    ¡°My uncle informed me it was a significant effort to get the tests pushed up,¡± Angharad shared.


    Song almost hummed. Vague talk, likely repeating the words of the man in question. The Pereduri had not actually been told the details, then, despite having one of the main actors present. Song¡¯s own letter, despite becoming a veritable garden of euphemisms when reaching the matter of politics, had been rather more informative on the subject.


    ¡°It would be career suicide for them to try and take this back, if you were considering it,¡± Song told her. ¡°They had to bring a motion to the Conclave while it was in session.¡±


    Angharad blinked.


    ¡°I thought Tolomontera under the authority of the Obscure Committee, no longer the general Conclave,¡± she said.


    Song nodded.


    ¡°That is correct,¡± she said. ¡°But that committee was granted that authority by a sealed session ¨C meaning it cannot be formally appealed to the way an open committee would be. In other words, since it does not openly exist it cannot be directly petitioned.¡±


    ¡°Surely the Conclave would dismiss any motion regarding these matters regardless,¡± Angharad frowned. ¡°It would be contradicting its own grant of authority otherwise.¡±


    ¡°Indeed,¡± Song agreed. ¡°And the first quarter of any session of the Conclave is usually dedicated to dismissing such improper petitions. Theirs was added to that docket directly ¨C the trick, you see, was to have it dismissed in the right way.¡±


    The Pereduri looked a little lost, so she took pity on her.


    ¡°There are two manners of dismissal,¡± Song explained. ¡°The first is ¡®peremptory¡¯ ¨C that is, immediately thrown out. The second is ¡®assignation¡¯, when the Conclave deems there is already a committee in charge of this matter and sends the petition to them.¡±


    ¡°The dismissal being of the second sort would see their petition sent to the Obscure Committee,¡± Angharad slowly said. ¡°Is that it?¡±


    Song smiled and sipped at her tea. A simple sentence but not so simple an achievement. The Conclave was a cutthroat arena of rival factions, so unless votes were mustered for your improper petition in advance ¨C by reaching out to factions that would whip up the votes, or brokers that could deliver a bloc beholden to them ¨C such petitions were always dismissed peremptorily. Uncle Zhuge had made a veiled reference to playing off two Garrison factions against each other and trading some favors to free company brokers.


    They had still only narrowly reached the threshold for assignation, a mere five votes above the line.


    ¡°Essentially,¡± Song replied. ¡°The powers brought into the matter were not insignificant, Angharad. If they were then humiliated by the motion they supported being retracted by the very officers that brought it forwards¡­¡±


    ¡°They would take revenge for that egg on their face,¡± Angharad flatly said. ¡°Wielding the very same influence that was called on.¡±


    There had been no way for Uncle Zhuge to know that Song¡¯s brigade would come so close to splitting at the seams within a month of making it to Scholomance. He had assumed competence on her part, and it shamed her that she had proved him wrong.


    ¡°Part of the bargain struck between our sponsors was aid and preferential treatment from your uncle, given his direct involvement in the journey,¡± Song delicately said. ¡°It is not impossible for his part to be held up while you are not part of the Thirteenth. There are other brigades going to Asphodel.¡±


    Angharad snorted.


    ¡°Which am I to choose - Tupoc¡¯s lot, the Eleventh or the Nineteenth?¡±


    Song hid her surprise. The Forty-Ninth, which had been the fourth on her uncle¡¯s list, had been disbanded and thus could not feasibly participate. She had not known who would replace them, however. Osian Tredegar must have told his niece.


    ¡°I was under the impression you were on fair terms with Captain Langa,¡± she said instead.


    Angharad¡¯s lips thinned.


    ¡°Not so fine as that,¡± she curtly said. ¡°I would not go under Imani Langa¡¯s command.¡±


    Song sipped at her delightful tea, choosing her words with care. Were Commander Tredegar not present on the island and one of the leading officers of their expedition to Asphodel besides, she might have been tempted to wield strong words here. With the man in consideration, though, she could not. Osian Tredegar had proved himself a fierce and ruthless actor in the defense of his niece.


    ¡°I will take your word on it,¡± Song said. ¡°Yet this brings us to similar trouble: were you to sail out with the Thirteenth, you would be under my command.¡±


    A pause to let her light words sink in.


    ¡°You have expressed an unwillingness for this in the past.¡±


    Angharad¡¯s jaw locked.


    ¡°I would not shame you by refusing an order before others, but I-¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Song flatly interrupted. ¡°Allow me to be perfectly clear: if you walk around as part of the Thirteenth and I am made responsible for your actions, you will be subject to my authority. If you cannot tolerate this, there are two other brigades for you to pick from.¡±


    ¡°I have given my reasons for not wanting to be under your command,¡± Angharad stiffly said.


    ¡°That is your prerogative,¡± Song said. ¡°As it is mine to refuse taking on a soldier who has told me they¡¯ve no intention of obeying me.¡±


    ¡°And the others will?¡± she bit out. ¡°Tristan and Maryam-¡±


    ¡°Are none of your concern,¡± Song coldly replied.


    ¡°You cannot go to Asphodel with only three cabalists,¡± Angharad replied just as coldly.


    Ah, predictable. Song had seen that one coming, and indeed spent part of the day wondering who she should round out the Thirteenth with should Anghard not intend to accompany them. A fighter, it would have to be, but who would agree? The difficulty was in finding someone who would be willing to leap feet first into the pit when they could instead wait and take their test when better prepared.


    The solution had, therefore, been to find someone already in the pit.


    ¡°I expect it would take me somewhere around an hour to secure another Skiritai,¡± Song said. ¡°There happens to be one deeply in my debt and eager to clear his name.¡±


    One of the few ways Muchen He¡¯s reputation could be salvaged when it came out what the Forty-Ninth had been involved in would be a display of trust from his purported victim ¨C like, say, Tristan Abrascal publicly welcoming him into the Thirteenth Brigade. Rumors that Muchen had been Song¡¯s spy and collaborator would begin sprouting without even need for sowing.


    That the man would accept was not really in doubt; if Song would have to ask still was.


    Angharad frowned but did not call her a liar. There was still enough respect between them for that, or at least the Pereduri thought it possible she might not be lying despite knowing little of the affair. The Pereduri grimaced.


    ¡°I am not wrong, for not wanting to take your orders,¡± she insisted.


    ¡°Neither am I for refusing to be responsible for someone else¡¯s cabalist,¡± Song replied.


    She drained the rest of her cup.


    ¡°Good tea,¡± she said. ¡°There is still time before we leave, Angharad. You know my terms ¨C if they do not suit, speak with the other captains.¡±


    She made to rise, but Angharad put a hand on her forearm to hold her back.


    ¡°That is,¡± the dark-skinned woman said, then swallowed, ¡°please sit down.¡±


    ¡°It seems to me this conversation has come to a natural end,¡± Song gently said.


    She flicked a steady glance at Angharad¡¯s gloved hand. She withdrew it as if burned.


    ¡°I understand how what I asked would be unacceptable for you,¡± Angharad said. ¡°It¡¯s, I-¡±


    She sighed, kneading her forehead. The sign of weakness was so unlike her that Song slowly slid back into her seat.


    ¡°I was overly confrontational, given what I requested,¡± Angharad said. ¡°For that I apologize. I slept poorly and find myself in a difficult mood.¡±


    Song¡¯s eyes narrowed. That was one time too many she acted out of sorts. It would be irresponsible not to investigate, a failure of her duty as a watchwoman.


    ¡°Your gloves,¡± she said. ¡°Why are you wearing them?¡±


    Angharad blinked.


    ¡°It is a cool day,¡± she said.


    No cooler than the last.


    ¡°Did you buy them today?¡± Song pressed.


    ¡°I,¡± Angharad frowned. ¡°Yes, I think?¡±


    Memory irregularities. Second string.


    ¡°Ah,¡± Song said, putting on a pleasant smile. ¡°Let us continue the conversation, regardless. Would you call the waiter?¡±


    Angharad jerkily nodded, leaning out of the gazebo to catch the man¡¯s eye, and the moment she was facing the wrong way Song smoothly drew her pistol and pointed it at her chest. Angharad stiffened.


    ¡°Song, what in the name of-¡±


    ¡°Do not turn,¡± Song calmly replied, ¡°or I will pull that trigger. Your brigade plaque, is it on you?¡±


    ¡°In my pocket, yes,¡± Angharad angrily replied. ¡°What is this?¡±


    ¡°Take it out,¡± she said.


    Visibly furious, the Pereduri began to reach for it but Song clicked her tongue.


    ¡°Take off the gloves first,¡± she said.


    Angharad blinked, as if confused.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Take off the gloves first,¡± Song slowly repeated.


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand,¡± Angharad slurred, speaking if through molasses. ¡°What do you-¡±


    Song cocked her pistol. Fear should push through.


    ¡°Take off your gloves and put the plaque in the palm of your hand,¡± she ordered. ¡°Right now.¡±


    Angharad blinked in confusion, but she tugged off a glove and plucked out the silvery plaque.


    ¡°What now?¡± she scorned, holding it up. ¡°Am I to-¡±


    The smell of burning flesh stole the words out of both their mouths. Third string. A heartbeat later the creature began screaming through Angharad Tredegar¡¯s mouth and it all went to the dogs.


    For once in her life, it brought Song Ren no pleasure to have been right.

 Chapter 38

    Song put on her formal uniform for the hospital visit.


    It was a gesture of respect, at least to her people, and she suspected that were she awake Angharad would understand better than most. Malani lived and died by appearances, after all. By now the way to the healing ward was almost painfully familiar, but she refrained from heading there directly after her Strategy class ended. If she did, the odds were decent she would run into the Thirty-First on a visit of their own.


    The prospect of making stilted small talk with Ferranda Villazur and her cabal over Angharad¡¯s unconscious form was rather unpalatable, so she held back until late in the afternoon.


    Tristan was busy losing a battle of wits with a bird ¨C one that her eyes confirmed was no lemure, thankfully ¨C and Song had not even bothered asking Maryam if she wanted to join her on the visit, so it was alone she stood as she reached the gates of the hospital. The bored pair of guards at the gate waved her in after asking for her brigade seal, hardly even glancing at it.


    The gray-robed attendant at the front was rather more dutiful, noting the number on the seal and asking who she sought to visit and why.


    ¡°Angharad Tredegar,¡± Song replied. ¡°Merely to look in on her.¡±


    The other woman nodded, writing it out in Antigua. But a few years older than Song, the stranger had the Cathayan look and must have been raised back in Tianxia for she had a thick eastern accent.


    ¡°Wendi?¡± Song curiously asked, accenting the word as they did out east.


    The gray-robed attendant started in surprise, then smiled.


    ¡°I lived in the republic until the age of ten, yes,¡± she replied in Machin.


    The eastern dialect was older than proper Cathayan, but shared common roots with the dead tongue that Cathayan had been carved out from ¨C it made everything said in it sound rather stiff, which was why in plays the common conceit about characters from the Republic of Wendi was that they were pompous blowhards. Likely it did not help that the Duchy of Wendi had been the last Tianxi realm to become a republic.


    ¡°By the accent I would call you a Mazu girl, but the name tells me otherwise,¡± she continued.


    Song¡¯s lips thinned. It had not been safe for the Ren to stay in Jigong, after the Dimming. Part of the deal her grandfather had cut was for the authorities to allow the family to head into exile. Her father had relatives in the Republic of Mazu, who had granted the Ren use of a country estate before distancing themselves from the family as much as they could without breaking zunyan.


    While Song had been raised almost entirely by those born in Jigong, it was not the first time she heard that there was a tinge of the Mazu crispness to her way of speaking. Exile took its toll in small ways as well as the great.


    ¡°Is my cabalist in a private room?¡± she asked, firmly moving away from the subject.


    The estate in Mazu had but a small household guard protecting it. It was secrecy that had let it remain untouched, and Song had no intention of speaking on the matter of where exactly she had lived before enrolling in the Watch.


    ¡°She is in one of the wards, yes,¡± the attendant briskly replied. ¡°While there is no guard, only restricted access, you will have to undertake a Judas test before entering after leaving.¡±


    Wise, considering the dangers of possession. Song placed her hand against what appeared to be a nail-sized piece of brumal silver ¨C worth as much as a diamond of the same weight ¨C and waited out the appropriate length of time, casually eyeing the attendant¡¯s open ledger. She glimpsed there the names of Ferranda Villazur and Zenzele Duma writ on different lines, as well as ¡°C. Tred.¡± appended at the end of those same lines.


    As Ferranda was not formally Angharad¡¯s captain, Song realized, the infanzona had likely been refused entry and been forced to seek permission from someone who could grant it. Captain Wen should have been the one consulted, but with Angharad¡¯s own high-ranking uncle present the gray robes must have felt comfortable bending the rules some.


    The notion of Ferranda having to jump through some hoops amused, unkind as the thought was. While the other captain had not poached so much as picked up, it had not endeared her to Song either way.


    The attendant from Wendi marked an X after Song¡¯s name when the Judas test ended, then declared her free to visit. The directions led her to a ward across the hall and further down than the one where she had been laid to rest after the attack, but it was not a long walk. The door did not make a sound as she cracked it open, well oiled, and neither did it when she closed it behind her.


    There was only a single oil lamp lit inside, but Song did not reach for another: it made little difference to her eyes. Laid on the bed was Angharad Tredegar, tucked under her sheets.


    Her wrists were tied to the head of the bed by shackles.


    Song sighed and slid into the seat to the right of the bed. The other woman was, well¡­ physically she looked mostly fine. A small burn on her palm where the brigade seal had touched flesh and some bruising on the cheeks from when she had been wrestled down onto the ground. Calling what had followed the outing of her possession a brawl would be doing it too much honor.


    The parasite in her mind had bade her to run and she had, but Song shouting about possession mobilized a garden¡¯s worth of students in a heartbeat and Angharad was wrestled down without truly fighting back ¨C she¡¯d not been so far gone as to turn on watchmen. Save for some attempts to buck those holding her down, the Pereduri had given them little trouble before the garrison arrived to seize her.


    Whatever the officers had done after taking her away, though, left marks: her face was wan, her expression sickly and she covered in old sweat. No visible wounds, but how much did that really mean when dealing with an aether entity? The door was soundless, so it was the change in the air that tipped off Song ¨C her hand reaching for her pistol by reflex, until she caught sight of a black coat and forced herself to pull it away.


    The stranger stepped through, raising an eyebrow.


    ¡°Ancestors, it¡¯s dark in here,¡± the man who could only be Commander Osian Tredegar said. ¡°Light another lamp, would you?¡±


    ¡°Sir,¡± she said, rising to her feet and saluting.


    ¡°This isn¡¯t a parade ground, at ease,¡± the man snorted. ¡°The lamp, yes?¡±


    Song swiftly got to it, sneaking a look at Angharad¡¯s uncle from the side as she reached for the matches. The two Tredegars only shared some looks ¨C mostly the nose ¨C but the ring on Osian¡¯s hand bearing the two-tailed snake of House Tredegar confirmed the relation. He was, Song noted, taller than Angharad and in fine shape for an Umuthi. Very fine shape, she noticed, eyes lingering on those broad shoulders. That finely cut beard lent him the look of a distinguished older man, and he had an easy smile.


    A smile currently directed at her, because she had been caught looking.


    Clearing her throat and looking away with burning cheeks, Song lit a second oil lamp and tried not to turn into cinders from sheer mortification.


    ¡°Sit,¡± Commander Tredegar invited, still smiling. ¡°As her captain, you are entitled to know of her health.¡±


    Song slid back into her seat, yet feeling like she should be snapping a salute as she did.


    ¡°I am surprised to see her still bound,¡± she admitted.


    ¡°Standard procedure after possession,¡± Osian Tredegar dismissed as he settled in a seat on the other side of his niece. ¡°Tomorrow they will test her again with brumal silver to confirm she is free of the parasite, but there is no expectation that anything remains.¡±


    ¡°Glad news,¡± Song said, and meant it.


    ¡°Some of the few to come out of this mess,¡± the older man sighed. ¡°You have my thanks for acting when you did, Captain Ren. It was a¡­ close shave, I have since been made to understand.¡±


    Song almost winced. A close shave with an aether parasite was sure to leave marks even if you survived it.


    ¡°Yes, that is about the right reaction,¡± Commander Tredegar agreed, seeing through her restraint. ¡°The dollmaker did a number on her: she will not be able to walk without help for weeks and it will take weeks more before she is anywhere near a fighting fit.¡±


    She raised an eyebrow.


    ¡°That may cause difficulties with her Skiritai class,¡± Song said.


    ¡°Between the coming departure for Asphodel and her having psychosomatic wounds, she will be exempt from the monster-fighting,¡± Osian Tredegar said.


    There was enough confidence in his voice that the should sounded like a will, which Song was aggrieved to admit she found rather attractive. He probably did not even write poetry, she told herself. There was no need to admire him too much.


    ¡°I expect Marshal de la Tavarin will find something else to occupy her,¡± she said, definitely not blushing.


    ¡°No doubt,¡± Commander Tredegar agreed. ¡°The man¡¯s dossier has more seals stamped on than a tourney board and any Skiritai that lives past sixty has a record to make Ramayan novels seem tame.¡±


    Song made a disgusted moue at the mention of those things masquerading as literature. The Yellow Earth was right to try and have them banned, they were blatant propaganda: the ¡®charming¡¯ Ramayan captains always ended up tumbling doe-eyed, beautiful Tianxi maidens from an old noble family dispossessed by wicked, greedy revolutionary merchants. Which were not at all like the virtuous, appropriately money-oriented Ramayan merchants exalted by such tales.


    Even worse, the authors cribbed from each other¡¯s monologues. Song could forgive propaganda but not plagiarism.


    ¡°A fearful thing to consider,¡± she drily replied.


    He smirked, settling more comfortably in his seat, and did not deny it.


    ¡°It was good of you to come and visit,¡± Commander Tredegar told her.


    His tone sounded approving, which she did not think warranted.


    ¡°I am still her captain,¡± Song said.


    ¡°On paper,¡± the older man said, then cocked an eyebrow. ¡°I must admit that Angharad was rather vague on the reasons why she believes there must be a parting of ways between you. What happened?¡±


    Song¡¯s lips thinned. In principle, she did not have to answer that question. While Osian Tredegar was a superior officer, he was not her superior officer. He would be when they left for Asphodel, however, so even had she been truly reluctant to tell him she would have been wary of poisoning the well.


    ¡°We had a disagreement over the death of Lady Isabel Ruesta,¡± she finally said. ¡°It took place back on the Dominion but she since learned details of it.¡±


    The dark-skinned man frowned, though not at her. He was fighting to recall the name, and after a few moments the frown went away.


    ¡°The infanzona with the borderline contract,¡± Osian Tredegar said. ¡°Some sort of supernatural charm?¡±


    Song nodded. Close enough. It was interesting to hear that Isabel Ruesta had been marked as an edge case. Mind control contracts were forbidden under the Iscariot Accords, but the Accords¡¯ throughline was that they should govern only supernatural matters ¨C and the most insidious part of Isabel¡¯s contract, how it trained perception, was not something forced on by the contracted god.


    The contract helped setting that perception, certainty, but it did not force it onto a mind. To declare it illegal on that basis would have been difficult, given that purely mundane social maneuvering could achieve much the same effect.


    ¡°She took a bullet to the head,¡± the silver-eyed woman mildly replied.


    Commander Tredegar snorted.


    ¡°Well, these things happen when you go around using charm contracts on people,¡± he said, then raised an eyebrow. ¡°I take it my niece was involved with Lady Ruesta?¡±


    ¡°Despite every attempt at fostering better judgment, yes,¡± Song darkly replied.


    To her surprise, she was faced with what appeared to be genuine sympathy.


    ¡°Her mother had dreadful taste in lovers as well,¡± Osian Tredegar sighed. ¡°Angharad comes by it honestly.¡±


    He paused.


    ¡°Given the fool gallantry that infects Peredur like an honorable outbreak of the clap, I expect my niece would take poorly to a woman she was courting having an accident.¡±


    ¡°You seem indifferent to the notion,¡± Song observed.


    ¡°If the Ruesta girl was using a contract on Angharad, I¡¯m more likely to give a medal than a reprimand to whoever put an end to it,¡± Commander Tredegar said.


    Though there was an implicit invitation there, Song kept silent. After a moment, the dark-skinned man inclined his head in acknowledgement. He would not press the matter and she had no intention of speaking further on it.


    ¡°Despite your disagreement,¡± he said, ¡°she seems to believe staying with the Thirteenth for Asphodel is the wisest course.¡±


    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    ¡°She implied as much,¡± Song warily said. ¡°We were discussing terms when I noticed the discrepancies in her behavior.¡±


    Commander Tredegar grunted in acknowledgement, and she was glad he did not ask any further. It was to his honor that the man knew where to draw the line in where to meddle ¨C while the commander could have forced Song to take in his niece without any terms at all, the Tianxi would have been rather soured on the affair if he had.


    ¡°Regardless of where that matter falls, I am to give you a hand in the coming months,¡± Osian Tredegar said. ¡°Colonel Zhuge arranged for my appointment as the Umuthi instructor, which grants me some influence in choosing which brigade will get which assignment when we reach Asphodel. You will be provided the opportunity to choose when the time comes.¡±


    ¡°You have my thanks,¡± Song said, inclining her head.


    He smiled thinly.


    ¡°I have no intention of ever crossing Shilin Zhuge,¡± he said. ¡°He might have that scholarly Tianxi pleasantness down to an art, girl, but he also puts up on his wall the calligraphy of rivals whose careers he buried.¡±


    Commander Tredegar leaned.


    ¡°However polite it may be, it is still a row of bloody scalps.¡±


    Now that was uncalled for. It was only proper for a respected scholar to display calligraphy and reflect on the hand of those encountered. She cleared her throat.


    ¡°One¡¯s handwriting reveals much of one¡¯s character, and thus helps grasp their virtues and flaws,¡± Song said, a tad reproachfully.


    Just a tad. He was still a commander.


    ¡°So the Tianxi claim, yes,¡± Osian Tredegar drawled. ¡°I must confess to a degree of skepticism on the matter.¡±


    He dismissed the conversation with a wave of the hand before she could reply, rising to his feet.


    ¡°I have already taken up too much of your time,¡± he said. ¡°I will leave you to your visit.¡±


    ¡°That is kind of you,¡± Song said.


    Part of her was considering if she should stay longer than she had first planned since he might be there to pay attention to the length of the visit. Perhaps she should have brought a book. The tall man slowed by the door, then half-turned with an idle look on his face.


    ¡°Oh, one last thing,¡± Commander Tredegar said. ¡°I am curious - do you have any notion of why my niece might have entered a layer?¡±


    She blinked in surprise.


    ¡°None,¡± Song said. ¡°She would not have done so on purpose, I expect: another of the Thirteenth entered a layer by accident, earlier this term, and in the aftermath our Navigator made it very clear how dangerous it is.¡±


    She cocked her head to the side.


    ¡°Is that where she encountered the mara?¡±


    ¡°We cannot know for sure before she wakes,¡± Osian Tredegar precisely replied, but his face was grim.


    He inclined his head.


    ¡°Thank you for your time, Captain Ren.¡±


    ¡°And yours, commander,¡± she murmured, returning the gesture.


    The door closed behind him with nary a sound and her silver eyes flicked to his niece¡¯s sleeping form as silence settled on the room. What have you been up to, Angharad?


    Song Ren found she had no idea, and that worried her more than she cared to admit.


    --


    Angharad woke with a headache drumming against the inside of her skull.


    She groaned, her body throbbing with a dull pain settled deepest in her bones. Eyes fluttering open, she found herself looking at a stone ceiling bathed in lantern light ¨C she tried to get up, but the muscles of her midriff were like jelly. She twitched once, then fell back onto the pillows propping her up. A hand came to rest on her forehead.


    ¡°Easy now.¡±


    She craned her neck to the left, but it was as if she were watching through a looking glass. She blinked forcefully, feeling filth caked up on the corner of the eye, and the vagueness came into focus. Osian Tredegar was standing over her. There were dark circles around his eyes. Angharad tried to speak up but her mouth was dry at sand. She licked at her cracked lips, but it helped nothing. She coughed.


    ¡°Wait a moment,¡± Uncle Osian said.


    He leaned back while Angharad¡¯s tongue sought the wet of her own spit, trying to remember how she had ended up here. It came to her after a heartbeat. The layer, the ambush. Song drawing a pistol on her, then the distant recollection of ripping down a curtain of silk and being tackled into a bed of flowers.


    ¡°How long?¡± she managed to rasp out.


    ¡°Three days,¡± Osian replied, then clicked his tongue. ¡°Lean back a little.¡±


    She obeyed as best she could, even that small movement difficult. He poured the water into her mouth, gently, and part of her could not help but think of that woman in the layer. What had her name been? Miren. Miren, she¡¯d been called. Angharad drank down gulp after gulp until he eased off the skin, then licked her lips. They were just as cracked as before, only wet. She leaned back down into the bed, letting out a rattling sigh.


    ¡°My bones hurt,¡± she got out.


    ¡°It is a psychosomatic injury,¡± Uncle Osian told her. ¡°Your bones have not been physically hurt, but the damage done to your soul is resonating with your body.¡±


    A pause.


    ¡°Bones and aching are good signs,¡± he added. ¡°Sharp, localized pain is often the herald of permanent damage.¡±


    Angharad swallowed.


    ¡°What happened?¡±


    ¡°Captain Ren figured out you were possessed and called on help to wrestle you down until the garrison could take you into custody,¡± her uncle said. ¡°The first purging attempt went poorly, so you were drowned before a second was made.¡±


    Her fingers clawed into the sheets.


    ¡°Drowned?¡±


    ¡°In sea water,¡± he added, as if that were the part that mattered. ¡°A temporary measure, Angharad. You were immediately resuscitated, as is done with sailors. It weakened the mara enough it could be expunged without¡­ drastic measures.¡±


    ¡°Drowning is not drastic?¡± she asked.


    ¡°No,¡± he mildly said. ¡°It is not the silver casket, or trepanation. Count yourself lucky the parasite did not have longer to burrow into you, else there would have been no choice but to use these.¡±


    Angharad¡¯s eyes were weak, everything out of her direct stare trembling, but that mildness warned her and watching her uncle¡¯s face confirmed it: he was furious. A tight, contained sort of fury but fury nonetheless.


    ¡°Uncle?¡± she asked.


    ¡°I am told,¡± Osian continued with a forceful calm, ¡°that the entrance wound into your soul was unusually neat. Such injuries, I am again told, usually occur when the soul is attacked while outside its mortal shell. As it would be when walking a layer.¡±


    She swallowed. The urge was there to walk the line, try to dance around with words, but she pushed it down. Angharad could barely even think straight, and he was owed better anyhow.


    ¡°The Witching Hour,¡± she admitted. ¡°It felt like a small cut, nothing more. I did not know my opponents were maras.¡±


    Was that why they had moved so strangely? It must be why they had vanished after scoring a single blow, anyhow. Commander Osian Tredegar leaned back his chair, face calm as a windless pond but his dark eyes burning.


    ¡°Do you know what a mara does to someone, when given time?¡±


    She weakly shook her head.


    ¡°To enter it first takes a bite of your soul,¡± Uncle Osian said. ¡°Then it presses itself into that gape, replacing it, and begins spreading through you like roots.¡±


    His tone was the sort of even that came from forcing yourself not to shout.


    ¡°It eats your memories, your very being to spread,¡± he said. ¡°First the parts that know its existence and how to get rid of it. By then, it has influence enough it can begin to nudge you ¨C urge decisions that are felt to be whims or fancies.¡±


    His fingers drummed against the arm of the chair, just a little too hard to be quiet.


    ¡°After that the mara begins eating the parts of you that know how to talk,¡± Osian said. ¡°Then those that know how to move. When it has that, it will make you head into isolation so it can hollow you out entirely away from witnesses.¡±


    He closed his eyes.


    ¡°Men call the creatures dollmakers because that is what returns afterwards: a doll moved around by the mara, passing as whom it used to be while the parasite looks for its next prey.¡±


    The fingers had ceased drumming. Now they were clutching the end of the armchair, hard enough it creaked in protest.


    ¡°What in bloody-handed Branwen were you thinking, girl?¡± he snarled. ¡°Heading into a layer on your own, without a Navigator or so much as an ally to pick you up should you be unable to walk home afterwards. Are you trying to get yourself killed?¡±


    Angharad looked away. She was not a child, to be chided so.


    ¡°It went fine, until the very end,¡± she said.


    ¡°You were fucking hours away from no longer knowing how to talk, Angharad,¡± Osian half-shouted, then closed his eyes.


    He took a deep breath, ripped his hands off the chair and closed them into fists before setting back down gently. His teeth were clenched when he began talking again, but his voice had lowered.


    ¡°If your captain had not, with admirable wits, caught on to your situation you would currently have all the vocabulary of ten-year-old child,¡± Osian said.


    She looked down at the hands in her lap.


    ¡°I underestimated the risks,¡± she admitted.


    ¡°You overestimated yourself,¡± he harshly corrected. ¡°As things stand, it might well be months before you cease having shaking fits. Even when you grow able to stand you will require the use of cane.¡±


    She breathed in sharply, panic rising.


    ¡°But it is not¡­¡±


    ¡°Permanent?¡± Osian finished. ¡°No, lucky you. The senior Akelarre in port lent a hand and tricked the mara into leaving with only minor damage. Some memory loss was inevitable the moment it ate part of your soul and your wits will remain fragile for a few days yet, but most of the damage was psychosomatic. When the mara ripped itself out of your soul, it was not gentle.¡±


    Angharad bit her lip. Part of her felt like weeping, if only out of frustration. At having lost things she would not even remember, but worse yet at what it meant that she would be unable to move around without a cane. She could not head back into the Witching Hour. To try that dark night without being able to run was suicide in long form.


    And as that realization did sink it, she closed her eyes and let her head sink into the pillow.


    She swallowed the sob, for what good would it do? This was it, then. She had failed so utterly she could not even try again. Her last chance of seeing her father, of ever freeing him, had just slipped through her fingers because she was the sort of fool to hesitate when shown the same face twice in a dream. The sounds that ripped themselves out of her stole the wind out of her uncle¡¯s sail. She heard him sight, and when she opened his eyes he was rubbing at the bridge of his nose.


    He looked as exhausted as she felt: another failure for the pile.


    ¡°Why?¡± he tiredly asked. ¡°Tell me that, at least. Why did you insist on going gallivanting through a murderous aether nightmare? You entered through the same passage as the boy in your brigade, it was not a coincidence.¡±


    ¡°I-¡±


    Cannot was on her lips, but it would be a lie.


    ¡°It was not for me,¡± she finally choked out. ¡°But on the behest of another.¡±


    Her uncle¡¯s eyes hardened.


    ¡°No teacher would be fool enough to send you into a layer so unprepared,¡± he said. ¡°Who?¡±


    ¡°I was not forced,¡± Angharad said.


    ¡°That does not mean you were not leveraged,¡± he flatly replied. ¡°Who, Angharad?¡±


    She lowered her gaze.


    ¡°It might be unwise to say,¡± she got out.


    There was a long moment of silence, then Osian Tredegar softly cursed.


    ¡°It¡¯s the ufudu, isn¡¯t it? This all reeks to Hell of the Lefthand House.¡±


    It was over, then. Even the suspicion was enough to finish this. She was finished. What point was there in hiding anything now, in even trying to lie? Angharad swallowed, then nodded. She felt so sick to the stomach that if she spoke she would start to throw up and never stop.


    ¡°They shouldn¡¯t have anything on you that,¡± he began, then stopped. ¡°Llanw Hall. Someone survived. They stole someone out of the ashes?¡±


    ¡°Father still lives,¡± she croaked. ¡°I was shown a drawing of him with an arm missing. But uncle he¡¯s ¨C they tell me he¡¯s kept in Tintavel.¡±


    Beyond the Watch¡¯s reach. Beyond everyone but the Lefthand House¡¯s.


    ¡°Gwydion,¡± Osian Tredegar said, speaking the name like it was the worst sort of curse. ¡°Of course Gwydion survived it all and now comes back to haunt us all. I should have bloody known.¡±


    ¡°The Watch can¡¯t get me into the Black Mountain,¡± Angharad desperately said. ¡°But the Lefthand House-¡±


    He cut her off with a sharp gesture.


    ¡°Will deliver just enough of what they promised you to keep you on the hook and never a drop more,¡± Osian said. ¡°To them things are most profitable with your father inside Tintavel and you willing to do most anything to get him out.¡±


    ¡°You think I don¡¯t know that?¡± Angharad snarled back. ¡°I¡¯m not a fool, uncle, I know I can¡¯t trust the ufudu.¡±


    She clenched her fist.


    ¡°But what else is there?¡± she desperately. ¡°What else am I supposed to do, just leave him to die in there? I can see no other way. Crooks they may be, but they are the only ones offering.¡±


    ¡°What did they ask you to do?¡± Osian asked.


    She hesitated.


    ¡°Child,¡± he gently said, ¡°either you can tell me now or we can have that conversation with a Mask in the room.¡±


    She licked her cracked lips.


    ¡°The Infernal Forge,¡± Angharad said. ¡°The one the Lightbringer is said to have tossed into the aether when Tolomontera fell to the Watch.¡±


    ¡°Of all the raving lunacies,¡± her uncle said, rubbing at his forehead, then frowned. ¡°No, no. Of course the High Queen is after one, word is the Krypteia smashed her last a few years back. The ufudu are even toeing the lines of the Iscariot Accords ¨C they¡¯re not taking the device, they¡¯re coming into its possession."


    Angharad frowned, lost.


    ¡°What do the Accords have to do with this?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Having Infernal Forges is forbidden under them, save for those in the Watch¡¯s vaults and those within the walls of Pandemonium,¡± Osian said. ¡°But the wording had to be careful, for many were hidden in the wake of the Second Empire¡¯s fall and no power would agree to unknowing possession being an Accords breach. Else having one buried in your countryside could get you interdicted.¡±


    ¡°So it is allowed?¡± she slowly said.


    ¡°No,¡± he said. ¡°Having one in your nation¡¯s ¡®possession¡¯ is not illegal but using them, studying them, hiding them and seeking to obtain an Infernal Forge is.¡±


    Angharad blinked, confounded.


    ¡°But I am being solicited for this task,¡± she said, ¡°surely¡­¡±


    ¡°Surely, if proof ever emerges of it, the High Queen will apologize for the actions of a cell of rogue ufudu and execute those involved as an apology,¡± Uncle Osian said. ¡°If the Forge makes it to a hidden facility, she will line up some minor noble ¡®aiming to usurp her¡¯ to take the fall and lose his head should the Krypteia sniff out the lair and bring proof of its existence too solid to deny.¡±


    Now she felt sick in an entirely different way.


    ¡°That is obscene,¡± she said.


    ¡°It has happened at least twice I know of,¡± Osian replied. ¡°Not in my lifetime, but the last was as recent as the second decade of the Century of Sails.¡±


    Not even a hundred years ago.


    ¡°It is the Queen Perpetual herself who signed the Iscariot Accords,¡± Angharad insisted. ¡°With her own hand. The sheer dishonor of breaking her own word¡­¡±


    ¡°Oh, she ever respects her word,¡± Osian mildly said. ¡°Only sometimes her subjects do not. Out of her sight, of course, and she rectifies this when it is brought to her attention. What else can be asked of her?¡±


    Angharad opened her mouth to object, but the older man gestured curtly.


    ¡°We can have that talk some other time, when the both of us are better rested,¡± he said. ¡°The ufudu is the one that sent you into the layer?¡±


    ¡°They said the Infernal Forge should be in one of them,¡± Angharad said.


    ¡°It might well be,¡± Osian said, ¡°but you are unsuited to finding it. A sword only gets you so far in a layer. Navigators are the answer and they have tried and failed to obtain the Forge in the years Scholomance was closed. Although¡­¡±


    He frowned.


    ¡°Aether responds to strong emanations,¡± Osian said. ¡°A focused enough sense of need could have served as a compass of sorts. One growing stronger the more urgent the need became. Were you given a date?¡±


    ¡°The end of the year,¡± Angharad quietly said.


    She bit her lip. It was out now, but part of her could not help but tremble at what was yet to come. But there was a wild hope, that her uncle might help her through her failure. If he lent a hand, surely¡­


    ¡°Uncle, I know I cannot-¡±


    ¡°No,¡± he coldly cut, ¡°you cannot. I will not turn my back on my oaths to the Watch and ignore this.¡±


    Horrible as that end was, there was also some relief. It was out of her hands, now.


    ¡°I will confess it all, then,¡± she tiredly said.


    ¡°Had you done anything worth confessing, that would be good of you,¡± Osian mildly said. ¡°But you have not. The worst you can be accused of is not immediately reporting an agent of the Lefthand House, but that is not against the rules on Tolomontera.¡±


    ¡°So you want me to¡­ cease,¡± she said.


    He eyed her for a long moment.


    ¡°I could ask,¡± he said. ¡°But you won¡¯t, will you?¡±


    Her fists clenched, however weakly. Angharad said nothing. It was better than lying.


    ¡°If you return to the layer in this state, you will die,¡± he plainly said.


    ¡°Then I will arrange for others to do so on my behalf,¡± she replied. ¡°Beg and bargain as I must.¡±


    ¡°That will also get you killed,¡± Osian said. ¡°It will make its way to someone who will look into it ¨C either some Mask student looking to pass their class, or some Stripe looking to raise their score. You will be a commendation on their record by year¡¯s end.¡±


    She gritted her teeth.


    ¡°I cannot just abandon my father to die in a cell,¡± Angharad told him. ¡°I know it would be wiser, uncle, the clever thing to do. But it is not who I am.¡±


    She breathed out.


    ¡°I have only weeks until I must leave,¡± she said, ¡°and while on Asphodel my search will have to end. I cannot-¡±


    ¡°That,¡± Osian Tredegar softly said, ¡°is not entirely true.¡±


    Her eyes fell on him, light as a feather. He passed a hand through his hair.


    ¡°That cache found on Asphodel,¡± he said. ¡°It is suspected to include an Infernal Forge, though the Rectorate has not reported as much.¡±


    Angharad swallowed.


    ¡°You mean¡­¡±


    ¡°I will not turn on the black, not even for my blood,¡± Osian said. ¡°But were it to be obtained from the Rectorate instead, that would be¡­ a pill I can swallow.¡±


    ¡°You mean it?¡± she breathed out.


    His expression hardened.


    ¡°Do not pin hopes on this,¡± Osian Tredegar said. ¡°I will report suspicions that the Lefthand House got their hands on a Forge the moment their agents sail with it. That is as far as I will to bend, and ancestors willing the Second Fleet will catch that ship on its way back to Malan.¡±


    He grimaced.


    ¡°But as far as that, I will help you,¡± he said.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Angharad almost wept. ¡°Truly, uncle, there are no words-¡±


    ¡°Do not thank me too soon,¡± he quietly said. ¡°For this I want an oath of you.¡±


    She leaned in, so quick it hurt her tender neck.


    ¡°Never again,¡± Osian said, ¡°will you ask me to bend my oath to the Watch, or do the same.¡±


    Slowly she nodded.


    ¡°And whoever that ufudu is?¡± he said. ¡°We will cut their throat when the business is done. I¡¯ll not have the sickness spreading any further.¡±


    A few weeks ago, Angharad might have balked at that. No longer.


    ¡°I will wield the blade myself, when the time comes,¡± she promised.


    Osian breathed out.


    ¡°All right, then,¡± he said. ¡°Tell me everything.¡±


    She did.

 Chapter 39

    Angharad found herself, against her will, spellbound by the sight of Captain Wen Duan eating an apple.


    Not for any messiness or lack of manners but because he was shaving slices off it, one small bit at a time, and popping them into his mouth ¨C without looking at his hands or paying attention to either the apple or the folding knife. It was like looking at a man walking the edge of a cliff in a windstorm. Surely, any moment now, Wen would cut himself. That he stubbornly did not was impressive, but also frustrating in some abstract away.


    ¡°You know, I¡¯d be miffed about your uncle throwing his weight around the Thirteenth so much if he weren¡¯t bribing me again,¡± Captain Wen said.


    Angharad grimaced, which was about the only thing she could do without collapsing in exhaustion afterwards these days. She had tried to raise a cup of water this morning and it¡¯d felt like her fingers were made of rubber. She¡¯d barely been able to grasp the cup, much less move it.


    ¡°Surely,¡± she tried, ¡°it is merely a gift of thanks for your-¡±


    ¡°Nah, it was pretty bribe-shaped,¡± Wen mused. ¡°It¡¯s not like he just slid me a bag of gold under the table, he¡¯s a classy man your uncle, but it had those definite bribe characteristics. I should know, those were the only good thing about the Dominion. The frequent probes are what senior officers use to sell the assignment to suckers who volunteer for the tour.¡±


    Angharad choked.


    ¡°You mean to say that the Watch knows about bribes on the Dominion,¡± she said. ¡°That they allow this?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s official policy, even,¡± Wen said. ¡°You just have to report them. That way the infanzones keep sending their little darlings, certain that pouring gold into our pockets will give their brats an edge to survive and come back covered in glory.¡±


    It was a relief to learn that Uncle Osian might not have broken the law by paving her way on the Dominion, although Angharad was leery at the notion of any involvement with bribes. Hypocrite, she chided herself. You sneer at gold when you¡¯ve been bought and sold with promises thin as air. Eager to leave that dark thought behind, she cleared her throat.


    ¡°Thank you for visiting, Captain Wen,¡± she said.


    The corpulent Tianxi narrowly avoided carving out a tenth of his thumb, instead producing a thin slice of apple he swallowed with a pleased smack of the lips.


    ¡°I¡¯m patron to the Thirteenth,¡± he shrugged. ¡°Which you are still part of, as far as I know.¡±


    She grimaced again.


    ¡°That uncertainty,¡± Angharad delicately said, ¡°is why I wished to speak with you. While I had been considering transferring to another brigade, the situation has changed.¡±


    Another miraculous dodge, another slice of apple.


    ¡°Heard about that,¡± Captain Wen agreed. ¡°A motion that went through all the hoops, even passed a vote in the Conclave. Someone must have called in pretty juicy favors for that.¡±


    He paused.


    ¡°So now you¡¯re stuck on the boat you were hoping to leave and you¡¯re coming to me to¡­¡±


    He squinted at her through those gold-rimmed glasses.


    ¡°To learn what has been going on since you started rooming with the Thirty-First, I¡¯m guessing.¡±


    ¡°That is not inaccurate,¡± Angharad admitted. ¡°I know only rumors of what happened with the Forty-Ninth, or even of the assault on Song. It appears reconciliation took place in my absence.¡±


    Which had her jaw clenching, just a little bit. If there had been such grace and artfulness to be found in the brigade, why had it only made an appearance after she left? Was she truly so disliked none of them found it worth trying when she¡¯d still had a foot in the cottage? Wen narrowly saved the side his forefinger from a rather nasty scrape, chewing on his slice.


    ¡°Could be,¡± the large man said.


    Angharad patiently waited, but all he did was shave off another piece and eat it.


    ¡°If you might elaborate,¡± she said.


    ¡°I won¡¯t,¡± Wen Duan bluntly told her. ¡°You misunderstand what I am to you, Tredegar. I am not your informant, and my taking your uncle¡¯s coin does not mean I am beholden to you in any way. If you want to know what the others have been up to, ask them.¡±


    He leaned in.


    ¡°If you want advice, I¡¯ll give it,¡± Wen said. ¡°If you need a message passed it¡¯ll be, well, not a pleasure but something I can probably pawn off to Mandisa so close enough. You are not owed a thing more.¡±


    Angharad grit her teeth.


    ¡°I did not mean to imply-¡±


    ¡°No, but you did nonetheless,¡± he easily cut through. ¡°Choke it down and keep moving, kid.¡±


    He carved up a shallow bit of apple, the tip of the knife whispering against a nail, and took up the piece.


    ¡°Anything else?¡±


    Angharad breathed in and closed her eyes. There was throbbing in the back of her head, near the nape, but the headache was a constant companion now. Part of her wanted to wait longer to pursue this, until she was further down the road to recovery. She had only revealed it all to her uncle last night, there were still over two weeks left before the ship to Asphodel departed. But that voice was the part of her flinching away from the work, from the embarrassment of the necessities that yet lay before her.


    So Angharad swallowed her pride, well aware she would be getting used to that taste over the coming days.


    ¡°I would ask for advice,¡± she finally said.


    ¡°Never pair a Lanka red with monkfish,¡± Wen replied without batting an eye. ¡°It feels light enough when you try the bottle, but it isn¡¯t. Spoils the taste completely.¡±


    It insulted her Pereduri pride somewhat to have let him spring that on her.


    ¡°On the matter of resuming a place in the Thirteenth, more specifically,¡± Angharad said.


    ¡°Ah, that,¡± he smiled. ¡°I¡¯ll tell you, then, that the real meat of that situation is a choice you have yet to make.¡±


    Wen Duan pushed his glasses back up his nose.


    ¡°Are you trying to return for Asphodel, or for good?¡± he asked. ¡°Either way you¡¯ll need to sit down with Song, but those would be different conversations.¡±


    Asphodel, Angharad almost replied, but she held her tongue. To speak in haste was rarely wise.


    ¡°Do you believe she would be inclined to accept a temporary arrangement?¡± she asked instead.


    ¡°Not without you coughing something up,¡± Wen bluntly said. ¡°You had two selling points, Angharad: your sword hand and your connections. The way I hear it, the hand¡¯s going to be on the mend and she gets to lean on your connections regardless. What is it that you bring to the table?¡±


    ¡°I will recover in time,¡± Angharad said. ¡°By the time we leave for Asphodel I will be able to walk with a cane, and depending on how long we stay there-¡±


    There she gave him a quizzical glance, hoping for an answer.


    ¡°Depends on your test and how quickly you finish it,¡± Captain Wen said. ¡°Could be a week, could be months.¡±


    Angharad¡¯s lips thinned. A week on Asphodel after a few days on a ship ¨C the Rectorate was not far from Tolomontera, accounting for fair winds ¨C would not be enough for her to meaningfully recover. A month more and she would be largely back in good health, they had told her, but before that¡­ Straining herself too early might well extend the length of her convalescence.


    ¡°I am not sure what I can offer in trade,¡± she admitted.


    ¡°So think on that, then, before you face Song,¡± Wen said. ¡°It¡¯d be best for you to abandon any notion of you having the larger end of the stick.¡±


    He gave her a look that was hard to decipher.


    ¡°That episode with the mara did no wonders for your reputation,¡± the bespectacled captain said. ¡°You might be on shakier footing than you think.¡±


    Angharad licked her lips.


    ¡°What is being said?¡±


    ¡°That you acted the fool, and nearly got yourself killed,¡± he said, folding the knife and pushing himself up. ¡°Neither of which is untrue.¡±


    Wen bit into the remains of his apple, scarfing the juicy flesh down and swallowing it in a great gulp.


    ¡°You¡¯re still on a visitor limit for the next few days, to avoiding straining you,¡± he said. ¡°Do you want the Thirty-First added to the list of those allowed? Several visited while you were unconscious.¡±


    ¡°Please do,¡± Angharad replied.


    He nodded, then idly tossed the apple core into the empty chamber pot in the corner of the room. He had a deft hand at that, she noted, for a man wearing spectacles.


    ¡°It¡¯s not the end of it all, being on the back foot,¡± Captain Wen told her. ¡°It¡¯s where most everyone starts, Angharad. You¡¯ll find a way to muddle on.¡±


    Angharad mutely thanked him and he nodded back, strolling out of the room. The noblewoman collapsed back down onto her pillows the moment he left, closing her eyes as a ram pounded against the inside of her skull. Even conversation was tiring, these days, but she dared not sleep, not until she had found something she might bargain with the Thirteenth with.


    It was a long day of chasing dead ends after that, and a long night.


    --


    Tristan had seen murders whose aftermath was less grisly.


    He¡¯d put up the scarecrow at the edge of the field, planting the pole deep in the ground and crossing it with a long branch at shoulder height. The head was a ball of cloth filled with straw and the cheapest hat he could find¨C a simple cap ¨C but he¡¯d clothed his masterpiece in a loose brown tunic with tied up bundles of straw shoved under to fill up the frame. It had been very convincing, in his opinion.


    Not to the magpie, apparently, because it had gutted the thing.


    The scarecrow had been brutally decapitated, his head on the ground bearing the marks of having been pecked open thought the cloth. Straw peeked out mournfully through these holes. The cap had been pulled off, ripped up around the edges and abandoned in the dirt. Worse was the fate of the scarecrow¡¯s body: eviscerated, the tunic carved open at the belly with straw spilling out on the ground like entrails.


    For that to have happened, Tristan knew, the strings keeping the straw bundles together would have needed to be pecked open. This¡­ outrage was not mere happenstance: he was being sent a message.


    ¡°I don¡¯t see any seeds,¡± Maryam said, taking a bite from her apple.


    She chewed as loudly and obnoxiously as she could. Tristan frowned. It was true, none of the seeds he had sown that morning remained. As last time, the bird had been meticulous in removing them all.


    ¡°I know,¡± he said.


    She swallowed, loudly.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think your scarecrow idea worked, Tristan,¡± Maryam opined.


    ¡°I know,¡± Tristan replied through gritted death.


    He pulled down at his tunic to hide his irritation. This was but a setback.


    ¡°I have only just begun,¡± Tristan Abrascal announced. ¡°If I have to bribe Ferranda¡¯s own tinker to make me traps, then by the Manes I will.¡±


    He turned to glare at the cottage rooftop.


    ¡°Your days are counted, bird,¡± he called out. ¡°This is far from over.¡±


    He was a dignified man, so he did not shake his fist. This restraint was rewarded by the reveal of his enemy: on the rooftops there was a flicker of movement, dark feathers on tiles, and then an answering birdcall. It was the sound a door hinge would make if it could cackle.


    ¡°Yeah?¡± he grunted. ¡°Well, let¡¯s see how you outwit the latest traps out of Tianxia then.¡±


    A rusty cackle gave answer.


    ¡°I think this might be my favorite thing to have happened all year,¡± Maryam confessed.


    --


    Captain Tozi Poloko held the kind of contract that nobles waged private wars to control.


    While Song had never before heard of the Three Hundred Ninety-Ninth Brother, the god could not be a trifling one: it was no small boon, granting Captain Tozi the power to discern the most likely source of her death for the next three hours. It was a boon contract on top of that, so the Izcalli would not need to pay every time she looked for her death.


    The price was not particularly onerous either, for someone of means anyway. Tozi Poloko was to raise a shrine to the Three Hundred Ninety-Ninth Brother every year until her death, but the Centzon word used could also mean ¡®altar¡¯. The implication there, Song thought, was that it did not have to be a particularly large shrine.


    ¡°Our patron will be teaching Teratology while we are on the Gallant Enterprise,¡± Captain Tozi said, as she broke the chicken bone with her bare hands and eased off the meat. ¡°It is unclear to me if these lessons will continue while on Asphodel.¡±


    In search of a cheap, private eatery with decent food Song had reached out to the finest source at her disposal and been recommended by Captain Wen the ¡®Thirteenth Poultrayal¡¯, a Lierganen rotisserie with one of the most audaciously blasphemous names she¡¯d ever heard of. The owner was a taciturn, scarred man with a hook hand who could roast a fine chicken but categorically refused to put oil in all his lanterns or fix the chairs so they¡¯d stop wobbling.


    The lighting inside was flickering and smelled faintly of olives, though that did nothing to hinder a woman with eyes like Song¡¯s from taking in the sight of Tozi Poloko.


    The Izcalli was short and slender, almost boyish, and her haircut only strengthened the impression ¨C shaved, save for a narrow, raised stripe of hair going all the way down her back and two small spots above her ears. The mark of Izcalli nobility, of the warrior kind: the cuachic was an honor granted to highborn who¡¯d distinguished themselves in a flower war. The spots being there meant Tozi was descended from such a warrior but had not fought in such a flower war herself.


    An elaborate and eye-catching hairdo, which along with the studs in her lips and nose did much heavy lifting in drawing the eye away from small, wet eyes and severe eyebrows.


    ¡°They will, though not as regularly,¡± Song replied. ¡°Our own patron told me as much when he mentioned he will be teaching Saga over the journey.¡±


    Captain Tozi popped a piece of chicken into her mouth, looking thoughtful as she chewed. She¡¯d ordered half of one and torn into it happily, Song satisfying herself with chicken bone broth and what might just be the worst tea she¡¯d ever drunk.


    ¡°I expect all four patrons will be instructors, then,¡± Tozi said. ¡°I know the Eleventh¡¯s patron is a Savant, I don¡¯t suppose you know who¡¯s behind the Fourth?¡±


    ¡°Their man is a Navigator,¡± Song told her. ¡°A lieutenant by the name of Mitra.¡±


    Tristan apparently had a source inside the Fourth Brigade willing to pass some information, so Song had in turn passed the Mask a list of questions. It was unfortunate that Maryam¡¯s inquiries to Captain Yue about where this Lieutenant Mitra stood in the Akelarre internal hierarchy had been turned away, but then the signifiers were known to prize secrecy.


    ¡°Theology for the Navigator and Mandate for the Peiling Society robe, then,¡± Captain Tozi mused. ¡°I wonder if they¡¯ll send us a Skiritai or a Stripe to cover Warfare.¡±


    Song was inclined to believe it would be a Skiritai, since any Stripe important enough to be sent with a diplomatic delegation to Asphodel was likely to have better use for their time than teaching classes. Mostly likely whoever was sent to train the Skiritai students would double up and teach Warfare on the side.


    The Thirteenth, Nineteenth and Eleventh all numbered four students - while the Fourth numbered five, as it was in Tupoc¡¯s very nature to be contrary - so seventeen Scholomance students would be sailing to Asphodel. Every covenant was sure to have at least one representative among the students sent, meaning every covenant would need to either send a teacher or charge one of the brigade patrons with that duty.


    ¡°Have you heard anything of the tests awaiting us?¡± Song idly asked.


    She sipped at her terrible tea as Captain Tozi eyed her. Had this even been brewed with tea leaves or just something ripped out of the nearest bush?


    ¡°Rumors,¡± the Izcalli said. ¡°Our patron says there¡¯s sure to be an investigation among them, though. The Rectorate likes to hire the Watch to deal with contract-wielding criminals. Did you hear anything?¡±


    Tozi Poloko had contributed enough unknown information to be worth cultivating as a friendly acquaintance, Song decided, so she cracked open the door a bit.


    ¡°I was informed at least one of the tests would take us outside the capital and into the countryside,¡± she said. ¡°At a guess, an exorcism contract.¡±


    The brown-eyed Izcalli grimaced, as well she should. Exorcism contracts were about removing an aether intellect¡¯s influence from a physical area, and while they were not necessarily dangerous they had a reputation for being unpredictable. Those hiring the Watch usually could not tell the difference between a piece of an old god gathering strength or a lesser spirit that¡¯d gorged on aether and decided to make mischief.


    It meant taking exorcism contracts was like rolling dice. Uncle Zhuge had advised to avoid them unless she put together a brigade particularly skilled with such matters, which Song had not. While she had a Navigator, she lacked a Savant skilled in the relevant areas.


    ¡°Here¡¯s hoping that the Leopard Society prick gets the short straw, then,¡± Captain Tozi drily said.


    ¡°I will raise a cup to that,¡± Song fervently agreed, and did.


    --


    ¡°There,¡± Captain Yue said. ¡°Try it on.¡±


    It did not look like much, at first glance. A brass ring, a wide flat band. A closer look revealed, however, that there was a stripe going across the middle of the length. Etched cryptoglyphs, so small Maryam¡¯s eyes could barely make them out ¨C and her mind struggled to comprehend them where she could. The Izvorica did not even need to extend her nav to feel the conceptual symmetry laid there, like a subtle steel grip.


    ¡°What do they mean?¡± she asked instead of obeying.


    ¡°We don¡¯t know,¡± Yue admitted. ¡°Only around half of Antediluvian cryptoglyphs are understood, and no find ever allowed us to make out the meaning of these.¡±


    ¡°But you know the effect,¡± Maryam guessed.


    ¡°I do,¡± Captain Yue said, ¡°and so will you. When you put it on.¡±


    She plucked the ring from the unnecessarily ceremonious cushion it had been placed on, warily trailing her thumb down the length of the cryptoglyphs. They felt cool to the touch, like a pond come spring. Sliding it on, Maryam braced herself for something that never came. Moments passed.


    ¡°It had no effect,¡± she said.


    ¡°It¡¯s not a magic ring, Maryam,¡± Yue said, rolling her eyes. ¡°It is a device. Wrap your nav around it, as a string.¡±


    Cheeks slightly flushed, she did. Now Maryam felt¡­ something. There was some sort of conceptual symmetry at work but besides being felt it did not appear to, well, do anything. She wrapped her nav in a string around the ring three times before turning to her mentor with a cocked eyebrow.


    ¡°Stop,¡± Captain Yue said. ¡°Now pull your nav back.¡±


    Maryam frowned at pulled with her mind, as if to unwind the bob of nav she had woven around the ring, only the ring held the nav firmly in place. She stilled in surprise.


    ¡°Ah, so it works,¡± Yue grinned.


    ¡°What is this?¡± she breathed out.


    ¡°I¡¯ve decided to call them rake-rings,¡± Captain Yue said. ¡°Think of the ring as a gear that turns only one way. When the nav is pulled away from you, it gets stuck in the teeth. Take off the ring and your nav is released.¡±


    ¡°So long as I have it on, it prevents the entity from pulling at the nav I¡¯ve woven around the ring,¡± Maryam quietly said, heart beating against her ears. ¡°I would be able to trace Signs with what was bound without interference.¡±


    ¡°It will do more than that,¡± Yue said with a sly smile. And as this creature is strong, it might break a ring eventually. I¡¯ll have a set made for you and you can weave around them like a pulley, distributing the force.¡±


    The Tianxi grinned.


    ¡°Tools,¡± she said, ¡°are how we took the world from spirits and animals. This is no different.¡±


    Only the name still struck Maryam as odd, for why not call them gear-rings or pulley-rings instead? It was only thinking of a second meaning for rake she put it together.


    ¡°And when struggling against the rings the entity will hurt itself on the ¡®teeth¡¯,¡± Maryam said. ¡°Like claws raked across its flesh.¡±


    ¡°Small wounds,¡± Yue agreed. ¡°Drops of blood for you to swallow. It won¡¯t be able to help struggling, Maryam, even knowing it¡¯s hurting itself. That is its nature.¡±


    The Izvorica shivered at the light in Captain Yue¡¯s eyes, which was neither cruel nor kind but coldly pleased in the way that a clock might be pleased when its gears ran smoothly. Caring only for the beauty of the function, indifferent to whether a finger was lost fixing the little pieces.


    ¡°It will feed itself to you, Maryam, one piece at a time.¡±


    --


    It was a pleasant visit, all things told, but to entertain four stretched Angharad¡¯s limits.


    Zenzele was the one to notice, leaning to the side and whispering into Ferranda¡¯s ear as Shalini continued gesturing animatedly through her story. The victory of Lindiwe Sarru¡¯s team against a lemure from the Steel list was the talk of Allazei, apparently, and the Someshwari gunslinger had been mightily impressed by the manner of the great chimera¡¯s death ¨C and that there¡¯d been no casualty among Lady Sarru¡¯s team.


    ¡°I know the woman they got the grenades from,¡± Rong contributed when Shalini stopped for a breath. ¡°It cannot be done without dabbling in alchemy ¨C there is a Glare effect ¨C but the formula is supposed to be simple firepowder otherwise. Not all that difficult to make.¡±


    ¡°For a Tinker, perhaps,¡± Ferranda said. ¡°Besides, I do not believe Angharad will be returning to the Acallar anytime soon.¡±


    ¡°I have had word from the Marshal,¡± Angharad said. ¡°I am expected to begin attending when I can walk with a cane.¡±


    The infanzona looked horrified.


    ¡°To fight?¡±


    Angharad cleared her throat with some embarrassment.


    ¡°To serve as a new exercise,¡± she admitted. ¡°I am to head into the arena and be protected from beasts by a squad.¡±


    A pause.


    ¡°Marshal de la Tavarin will grant the right to draw again from the lists to any company that completes the exercise.¡±


    ¡°Oh, that¡¯d be so useful,¡± Shalini muttered. ¡°Are you allowed to fight at all?¡±


    ¡°Only with firearms, save in the defense of my own life,¡± Angharad said.


    Zenzele cleared his throat from the other side of her bed.


    ¡°Interesting as that is, we will soon be expected by Philani at the Dregs,¡± he said. ¡°You can scheme the details of her return another time, Shalini.¡±


    The woman in question blinked, seemingly surprised, then glanced Angharad¡¯s way. Whatever she saw there had her biting the inside of her cheek.


    ¡°Of course,¡± Shalini said. ¡°I¡¯ll swing by tomorrow, Angharad, my story¡¯s not entirely done anyhow.¡±


    ¡°I will look forward to it,¡± she smiled.


    Zenzele mustered the others out the door like a particularly polite sergeant, but even though she rose to her feet Ferranda did not take her leave. This was not unexpected ¨C there had been talk between them of Angharad joining the Thirty-First, but also of obligations dictating otherwise. The infanzona was owed a resolution to that conversation. A silence stretched out between them, almost tense.


    ¡°I hear there was no permanent damage,¡± Ferranda finally said.


    Angharad¡¯s lips thinned.


    ¡°It is believed that I lost some memories,¡± she replied. ¡°A minor loss, the Akelarre called it, but how would I know if it were otherwise?¡±


    It was a fearful thing, to hear you had somehow been made less but would likely never learn exactly how.


    ¡°I looked into maras,¡± Ferranda said. ¡°It could have been much, much worse.¡±


    ¡°That is true enough,¡± Angharad muttered. ¡°My uncle was¡­ firm in telling me as much.¡±


    ¡°If there was anger, I expect it was born of worry,¡± the fair-haired infanzona said, crossing her arms. ¡°I truly am glad you were spared the worst, Angharad.¡±


    The Pereduri¡¯s brow creased. That made twice, now. That was the difference between wishing well and preparing the ground.


    ¡°You have bad news,¡± Angharad guessed.


    Ferranda Villazur¡¯s face, ever prone to severity, hardened.


    ¡°Our talk about your joining the Thirty-First should be considered laid to rest,¡± she said.


    The surprise, Angharad thought, somehow stung worse than the words. She had not thought Ferranda the kind of woman to be moved by the rumors Wen mentioned, but perhaps that was unfair of her. Reputation mattered in Scholomance, Angharad had to acknowledge as much even if some took the obsession too far.


    ¡°I must remain with the Thirteenth for several more weeks at least,¡± she said. ¡°Still, there are yet years ahead of us on this isle.¡±


    ¡°Laid to rest for good, Angharad,¡± Ferranda flatly corrected.


    The noblewoman stilled. For good? That was¡­ No, rumors would not put those words in the infanzona¡¯s mouth. What had happened? Her bafflement must have been obvious, for Ferranda¡¯s jaw clenched at the sight of it.


    ¡°You¡­¡±


    Ferranda¡¯s voice turned cold and clipped.


    ¡°Bad enough you headed out into Allazei alone without warning any of us, but that is far from the worst decision you made that night,¡± she said. ¡°You wandered into a layer, Angharad, had an encounter with a parasite and after being lucky enough not to die outright you brought it back to the house.¡±


    There was cold anger in Ferranda¡¯s eyes.


    ¡°Rong and Zenzele slept mere feet away from a dollmaker and never knew, because you never said a word about it all. If Song had not figured it out we might not have realized anything until the mara attacked one of them in their sleep.¡±


    ¡°I,¡± Angharad began, then swallowed. ¡°There was-¡±


    She bit her lip. How much could she tell Ferranda without revealing too much?


    ¡°You put my cabalists in danger,¡± the infanzona sharply said. ¡°I do not care what your reasons were, Angharad. If not for a stroke of luck, your ill-considered stunt might well have gotten other people killed.¡±


    Crisply she folded her hands behind her back.


    ¡°Recklessness is one thing when it is only your life on the line, but you brought others into the danger you courted. I cannot in good conscience seek to recruit you into the Thirty-First Brigade.¡±


    Angharad swallowed, eyes shying away from the other woman¡¯s burning gaze. She found herself looking down at her lap like a chided child, but how could she resent that when she had no defense to muster? She had¡­ Ferranda was right to be angry. Neither Rong nor Zenzele had cause to pay for the decisions that Angharad had made, was yet making. She had brought trouble to their doorstep and never once warned them of it.


    ¡°I understand,¡± she forced out.


    A moment passed, then she heard Ferranda sigh.


    ¡°I do not mean to sever all ties between us, Angharad,¡± she said.


    The Pereduri¡¯s head rose and she found the infanzona¡¯s expression had softened the slightest bit.


    ¡°I draw a line now so that I need not ever do so again,¡± Ferranda said. ¡°There can no longer be a question of your sharing a roof or brigade with us, but nothing else need change. I don¡¯t expect Zenzele or Shalini would obey that order even were I inclined to give it.¡±


    No, Angharad thought. Not matter the good intention, it could not be so neat as that. When a clay cup was shattered putting the pieces back together would not also put the water back inside. She had broken the trust extended her, it should not be easy for things to return the way they had been.


    ¡°I understand,¡± she repeated, like a child or a fool.


    Ferranda let out a long breath.


    ¡°I should have waited longer before telling you,¡± she finally said. ¡°Zenzele was right.¡±


    Another prick of pain, to hear that Zenzele disagreed not with the word but the time of their speaking.


    ¡°No,¡± Angharad softly replied. ¡°I am glad you did not. If you had visited more than once before telling me it would have felt¡­¡±


    A lie, in some indescribable way.


    ¡°Your affairs are free to remain in the house as long as you wish,¡± Ferranda said, not. ¡°I understand your ties to the Thirteenth are¡­ uncertain, at the moment.¡±


    The sound Angharad let out at that was half a sob. No matter how long she stared at the walls, she had found nothing that Song and the others might want of her. She closed her eyes, forced herself to calm. To break out weeping before Ferranda would shame them both. The other noblewoman waited in silence until she¡¯d gathered herself, her breath steady even if her eyes still strung.


    ¡°Arrogance never really feels like arrogance, does it?¡± Angharad murmured. ¡°Only like pride, until it breaks on you.¡±


    Ferranda¡¯s eyes were far away. Angharad suspected she knew where, and with whom.


    ¡°The gods delight in a well-laid plan,¡± the infanzona replied. ¡°In that moment before you set out, when you have it all figured it out. It¡¯s what ruins you, I think ¨C being so sure that with a little cleverness, you can have it all.¡±


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    The infanzona smiled mirthlessly.


    ¡°Fate is a blind and cruel horse,¡± she said. ¡°It will throw you off when you least expect it.¡±


    ¡°It is not fate that was blind,¡± Angharad tiredly said.


    ¡°Maybe,¡± Ferranda shrugged. ¡°But what does that change? In the end, when you end up laid on your belly with the breath kicked out of you, there¡¯s only one person who can decide whether you¡¯ll get back on your feet.¡±


    ¡°Is that what you did?¡± she asked.


    Ferranda snorted, looking away.


    ¡°I¡¯ll tell you if I ever figure it out,¡± she said, sounding wistful.


    The infanzona¡¯s hand came to rest on the pommel of her rapier.


    ¡°A good day to you, Angharad, and my wishes for swift recovery.¡±


    The Pereduri nodded at her listlessly. Ferranda hesitated for the barest instant, then nodded back. The door closed behind her, too soft a sound to echo as part of Angharad wished it might. At least there would have been something clear-cut, a sharp note. Instead she had only half-ends to wrestle with, bastard things that resisted easy definition. Little had changed, she thought, but much had changed around it.


    Now the ground beneath her feet was revealed to be sand, and she still did not have a single fucking thing to offer the Thirteenth in a bargain.


    What did she even have to her name? Now that Angharad looked back, it felt as if she had been standing on others her whole life. Coin and influence not her own had fed her, clothed her, fetched her the finest teachers and opened the way for her to ply her blade against others. Her skills, her victories, they were her own. That would never change.


    But now she could only see that every paving stone on the road she had walked to those victories was set down by another.


    Even now, the same uncle who had left Llanw Hall to make something of himself in the Watch was putting it all on the line for her. Using his every great deed, a lifetime¡¯s worth of toil and perhaps even that life itself, as paving stones for Angharad¡¯s road. It was an odious thing, to see how much she had taken and taken and taken while giving so little back.


    Yet more odious was to face the truth that she did not know how to pay back any of it.


    What could pay with, her blood? House Tredegar had been struck from the rolls, its holdings seized and the only wealth Angharad had to her name was handouts from her uncle and the Watch. She could not pledge a sword hand bedridden, and even when she left that bed how much would that steel truly be worth? Blades and muskets were not rare things, on Tolomontera, and neither were skilled hands to wield them. And spirits, what else was there to her?


    Even her contract was-


    Her contract. Angharad licked her lips. Her small glimpses, they were a fine tool but not of much use to anyone but her. But the gate she and the Fisher had opened on the Dominion, the visions that went down the winding path? Those could be of worth to others.


    If they knew about them.


    If Angharad abandoned, at least to the Thirteenth, the delicate conceit that her contract was about heightened reflexes. If she put her life in their hands, for sooner or later they would learn that foretelling contracts were forbidden under pain of death in Malan ¨C and Angharad would return to Malan, there could be no doubt of that. For revenge, and for her father.


    Angharad Tredegar closed her eyes, biting the inside of her cheek, and warred with herself. A blind and cruel horse, Ferranda had called fate. She might be right about that, Angharad thought.


    But it still had a saddle on, for those willing to ride.


    --


    There were so many clocks in the solar it felt like they were growing out of the walls.


    Fancy sorts made of gold and shaped like a pearl-inlaid music box, simple brass tickers, hanging dials and even an overlarge hourglass on a hinge you could flip. The ticking was like a dull, constant roll enveloping you from every direction. Fortunately, Professor Sizakele was interesting enough a teacher that the noise tended to fade into the background.


    ¡°Asphodel, huh.¡±


    The professor was, at the moment, forty years old. From twenty to fifty she did not change all that much in body shape, save for filling her loose back robes in slightly different places. The hair grew, though, which was why she kept bound it in elaborate crisscrossing ribbons.


    ¡°I know little of the gods of the Rectorate,¡± Tristan said. ¡°The few Asphodelians I met swore by no great names.¡±


    The professor snorted, leaning back into her large cushion chair. It suited her well as a grown woman, but when a girl of ten her shoes barely reached the edge.


    ¡°That¡¯s because the Rectorate has no great gods,¡± Professor Sizakele told him. ¡°Do you consider yourself pious, Tristan?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve never met a god more reliable than a good set of lockpicks,¡± he said.


    Fortuna had wandered off to have a look at whatever petty devilry Cozen was up to, so he could afford to say this without retribution.


    ¡°Good, good,¡± the professor smiled. ¡°Because the Orthodoxy¡¯s just an old racket.¡±


    He coughed in surprise at the bluntness of that.


    ¡°It got dressed up in nice clothes over the centuries, but at the core it¡¯s just a list of the gods that agreed to play by Second Empire rules. Those that wouldn¡¯t bow and scrape, pay obeisance to Liergan being the heart of the world¡­¡±


    She slid a finger across her throat.


    ¡°The empire killed gods?¡± Tristan asked, surprised.


    All gods not surrendered to the night were welcome in the Orthodoxy, that was what the priests always said.


    ¡°By the shovelful,¡± Professor Sizakele said. ¡°Not so many when they were consolidating their hold on Issa, but by the time they began expanding north into the Trebian Sea the emperors had grown heavy-handed. Asphodel was a regional power, back then, so it they were particularly thorough.¡±


    He cocked his head to the size.


    ¡°So they killed the gods that could be trouble,¡± he said.


    A cocked eyebrow was turned on him.


    ¡°Say the rhyme, boy,¡± Sizakele ordered.


    He almost rolled his eyes, but at her current age that might get his finger slapped with the stick. Instead he cleared his throat.


    ¡°Salt and silver,


    both harm the lesser


    while river and line,


    will bar the divine


    but only bane and guile,


    can slay the vile.¡±


    The dark-skinned woman nodded in approval.


    ¡°There you have it,¡± she said. ¡°A god manifest can be shot, but all that does is kill the face on a concept. Men keep praying, so another will form. The Second Empire was not so half-hearted: they slew the gods, sure enough, but then they brought over their own to fill those empty boots.¡±


    ¡°The Second Empire fell centuries ago,¡± Tristan pointed out. ¡°What happened to those imported gods after?¡±


    ¡°Most broke and went rampant,¡± Sizakele said. ¡°It¡¯s no coincidence that the old rectors of Asphodel granted the Watch the right to run a private fortress on their land. Nowadays it¡¯s more of a supply depot, but there was a time gods needed hunting in those lands.¡±


    ¡°So young gods would have the run of the roost, now,¡± he said.


    ¡°Some of them bearing old names, but that¡¯s the truth of it,¡± she agreed. ¡°It doesn¡¯t help that the foundation of Asphodel is cracked.¡±


    He cocked an eyebrow.


    ¡°Marble and grain are what Asphodel¡¯s known for,¡± he said. ¡°They still sell well as far as I know.¡±


    Sizakele dismissed his words with a wave.


    ¡°That¡¯s trade,¡± she said. ¡°Stripe concerns. Why does Asphodel call itself a rectorate instead of a duchy, like their old rivals in Rasen do?¡±


    ¡°The capital was built out of some sort of ancient Antediluvian place of learning, or so the word goes,¡± Tristan said. ¡°What does that matter?¡±


    ¡°Because First Empire fiddled with the fabric of the aether on Asphodel, as it their wont,¡± Professor Sizakele told him. ¡°They are said to have made it stable, almost stale, and they left the aether devices ensuring this behind when they were chased out of the region by the Old Night. The Antediluvian libraries and the machinery were what made Asphodel a power to reckon with, once upon a time.¡±


    ¡°Only then the Second Empire rolled in,¡± Tristan finished.


    And the Lierganen¡¯s approach to conquest might be called magpie-like, if magpies dabbled in the occasional mass grave.


    ¡°They took everything that wasn¡¯t nailed down and a few things that were,¡± Professor Sizakele confirmed. ¡°Including much of that old machinery. The aether on Asphodel has been volatile ever since ¨C prone to inducing flashpan gods instead of letting them coalesce properly.¡±


    ¡°Weak gods, then,¡± he tried.


    ¡°And lots of petty scavengers,¡± she said. ¡°That¡¯s nothing to celebrate for your brigade: gods are never as dangerous as when they are hungry and desperate.¡±


    ¡°But such lesser deities will be harmed by salt munitions and silver,¡± Tristan said. ¡°They can be killed.¡±


    ¡°For a given value of killed,¡± Sizakele said. ¡°If you kill Asphodel¡¯s god of wealth, it will die. But what forms to replace it will have a lot in common, perhaps even the same name. The only way for a god to truly, fully stay gone-¡±


    ¡°Is conceptual poison,¡± Tristan finished.


    Bane and guile, the rhyme called it. Killing the very concept at the heart of a god, either by tricking into acting against its nature or forcefully subjecting it to its ¡®bane¡¯. Like water for a god of fire, war for a god of peace. Conceptual harm had an echo in the aether, so it had lasting effects.


    ¡°So it is,¡± Professor Sizakele said. ¡°Though if you¡¯ve grown so bold as to interrupt me when I talk, it is time we moved on to a fresh set of lessons.¡±


    She rose from her chair, went rifling through the closest clock-laden shelves and produced a large leather-bound volume that she loudly dropped on the table before him. Tristan squinted but there was no title on the surface.


    ¡°And this is?¡±


    ¡°Maduna¡¯s Compendium of Banes,¡± Professor Sizakele viciously smiled. ¡°We best get started, there¡¯s a few hundred pairs for you to memorize.¡±


    --


    Maryam had not set foot in the Abbey since that first day.


    Why bother, when the boons of the place would never be enough for her to reach a second year at Scholomance? Now, though, things were different. And not just because the senior signifier of Tolomontera was accompanying her down the stairs circling the endless pit of dark.


    The ten rings in her pocket weighed less than a knife, but to her they felt heavy as all the world.


    At Captain Yue¡¯s instruction she kept descending, past the cell that had her number on it and down into the depths of the dark. All the way down to the bottom, where the silence grew oppressively loud and even the scuff of her boots against dusty stone felt like a scream. The last room was not a room: it was a long, broad stripe of stone extending into a dark nothing like a hanging tongue.


    The absence of a guard rail should have unsettled her, given how it meant a single slip was all it took to fall into the abyss, but there was something¡­ solid about the darkness here. Settled. Captain Yue clicked her tongue.


    ¡°I¡¯ll never get used to this place,¡± she said. ¡°The Gloam is too tame here, it¡¯s unsettling.¡±


    The older woman¡¯s words felt too loud in the quiet, almost painful to the ear. Maryam swallowed.


    ¡°Why not my cell?¡± she asked.


    ¡°It works better down here,¡± Yue said. ¡°And if the pit speaks to you, I¡¯ll be there to stop you jumping.¡±


    ¡°Stop me from what?¡± Maryam croaked out.


    ¡°Not wasting my time, evidently,¡± Captain Yue said, rolling her eyes. ¡°Go on, then. We don¡¯t have all day and there¡¯s not long left before you leave on that galleon ¨C if adjustments are needed, I must know today.¡±


    She grimaced and looked away. This fresh horror aside, Yue was not wrong about time growing tight. Not only a week and three days were left before she was to sail away on the Gallant Enterprise. Maryam breathed out, reaching into her pocket. She put on five rings, at first, each of them with a band of cryptoglyphs on the outside and a number engraved on the inside. Her left hand weighed down with brass, she reached for her nav.


    The daily practice was paying off: her soul-effigy moved swiftly and precisely, more a dip pen than a brush. She wrapped the thread of nav around the rings in a simple but strong pattern, a five-wheel pulley pulled tight. Short of how much it¡¯d take before the entity pulled back, but not much.


    ¡°Trace,¡± Captain Yue instructed. ¡°Give me a Sphere first.¡±


    Her hand moved, trailing Gloam, and she almost let out an incredulous laugh at how easy tracing the Sign was. Even easier than it had been in the layer. The sphere of pure Gloam formed with a pop, Yue letting out a hum of approval at the indication the working was hermetic.


    ¡°Release,¡± Yue said, and Maryam flicked her wrist.


    The Gloam dispersed like scattered smoke.


    ¡°Six rings now,¡± the scarred captain instructed. ¡°We need to find your first ceiling.¡±


    Maryam had been told that in time she would be able to weave in another ring with but a little effort, but she was not yet there. She had to undo the entire spool of nav, put on the sixth ring and only then trace anew. Another Sphere, just as easily crafted ¨C though Maryam almost felt like the Gloam came too easily.


    ¡°Seven,¡± Yue said.


    She did not even make it to tracing before the entity began to fight her. Though it felt as if her hands should be pulled to and fro, that was a deception of her mind ¨C her brain expecting physical consequences to a purely metaphysical struggle. Yet she still clenched her fingers, gritting her teeth as she struggled to keep her focus while the entity pulled wildly against the rake-rings. She could feel its anger, its fear.


    She could feel when it cut itself struggling, the force pulling suddenly going slack afterwards as it fled.


    Captain Yue had said that the creature hurting itself would return things to Maryam, but she felt nothing of the sort. Frowning, she slid her focus down the length of her nav looking for a change while her physical hand rested on the hatchet at her belt. The touch of the steel was familiar, was-


    Jakov laughed, the great bearded bear of a man adjusting her wrist as he stood behind her.


    ¡°A clean snap, little queen,¡± he said. ¡°Always a clean snap, else you¡¯ll lose your bets whether my warriors are drunk or not.¡±


    Her knees hit the floor.


    ¡°Run,¡± he snarled, blood dripping down his face, crimson streaks in the beard. ¡°Go, Maryam. Your mother swore-¡±


    Thunder and smoke, powder, and Jakov screamed-


    Palms against the stone, Maryam Khaimov emptied her stomach on the ground. Jakov. Oh gods, Jakov. The first of the captains to join the Wintersworn, the kindest. The laughing man who¡¯d taught her to throw axes so she could win rings off of drunken warriors at feasts. He¡¯d been so proud, when she first nailed five throws in a row. She could almost see him lying on the ground, half his skull a blackened ruin from where the cannon shot burned it.


    How long had it been, since she thought of Jakov? Too long. Bile rose up in her mouth again.


    Captain Yue stood there and did not say a word. Maryam did not look at her, closing her eyes until she could think of anything at all but that wild laugh forever silenced.


    ¡°Two bits of memory,¡± she got out. ¡°Connected, but not close in time.¡±


    The first from the early days, the other from the very last.


    ¡°Emotional connections will have much stronger pull than time, which the Gloam cares little for,¡± Captain Yue noted.


    She nodded, breathing in and out. A few more heartbeats passed.


    ¡°Your first ceiling is six rings,¡± Yue simply said. ¡°For now, that is the amount of power you¡¯ll be able to operate at. If you need more you can put on further rings, but expect a fight ¨C and this sort of backlash afterwards.¡±


    Maryam nodded, still panting.


    ¡°Take off the seventh, we¡¯ll drill you while on six,¡± the older woman instructed. ¡°I¡¯ve no intention of sending you out of Tolomontera before you have the novice¡¯s arsenal firmly in hand, Maryam. We will be coming down here daily until you do.¡±


    The novice¡¯s arsenal: the three basic Signs taught to every signifier intending on violence. Befuddlement, an Acumenal Sign that she already had some proficiency in. The Bayonet, straightforward Ancipital violence inflicted by touch. And last of the three, Burden: a minor Didactic curse that worked most anything that could be said to live.


    Even though work lay ahead of her, Maryam¡¯s heart was beating with something like joy: a year ago, wielding anything but a sloppy Befuddlement would have been a fool¡¯s dream.


    ¡°Let¡¯s get to work, then,¡± she said, and got back on her feet.


    --


    First, Tristan used a baited trap.


    They were simple things, uncomplicated enough he was able to build his by hand. A well-positioned weighted basket with bait hung on a string so that, when the bird pulled at the bait, the string would make basket fall down and trap it. It took about half an hour for him to adjust one of the kitchen baskets for the purpose, then just as long talking his way out of Song being very unimpressed at the kitchen table now being occupied by a pile of potatoes.


    Concessions had to be made, namely peeling an unreasonable amount of said potatoes, but he got his way. The bait was laid, a bowl of carrot seeds the bird would never be able to resist, and he went to sleep in a fine mood. Excitement only rose when he padded out into the garden come morning, a curious Song following, and they found the basket tipped over. No movement inside, but he would not be fooled: he raised the basket only slightly, so the magpie could escape.


    Only there was no magpie inside.


    ¡°Is that a dead mouse?¡± Song frowned. ¡°I thought the bait was seeds.¡±


    ¡°It was,¡± Tristan replied, glaring at the eviscerated mouse.


    Even more insulting, the bowl was emptied of the seeds that had been the actual bait.


    ¡°That is one clever magpie,¡± Song said admiringly.


    Song, he darkly thought, was going onto the list. Tristan cracked open the book on traps he¡¯d rented from Silumko, who was clearly gouging him on the price and enjoying every moment of it. A simple bait trap had not been enough, so he would move on to something more elaborate: a funnel trap.


    That took longer to build, and involved the use of more nails and pieces of wood than he would have liked. At least both were cheap and in great supply, since the Umuthi students might well riot if it were otherwise.


    The result was a little rickety, as Maryam helpfully pointed out, but it held. A funnel trap was essentially a cage made of slightly spaced planks with bait inside and an entrance that the bird could squeeze through on the way in but not on the way out. His enemy, consumed by hubris, would not be able to resist entering to feast on the bowl of carrot seeds.


    ¡°Pride,¡± he told Fortuna, ¡°will be the end of it.¡±


    She rubbed her chin.


    ¡°Do magpies even eat mice?¡± Fortuna asked. ¡°Maybe it was a warning, Tristan.¡±


    She paused.


    ¡°Like the coteries back home, you know,¡± she said and put on her best gritty air.


    She squinted and made what she thought a grim grimace but was in practice more of a pout.


    ¡°Back off, rat, or you¡¯ll get it like the mice.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a bird,¡± he flatly.


    ¡°A bird that¡¯s winning, though,¡± she pointed out.


    Come morning, he found a long twig abandoned halfway through the space between two planks as well as a toppled and conspicuously empty bowl.


    Another dead mouse had been shoved into the funnel trap¡¯s entrance.


    ¡°Where is it even getting all these mice?¡± Song wondered, passing him a cup of peppermint tea as he stood there in mute horror. ¡°I have seen no sign of any around the cottage.¡±


    She paused.


    ¡°Do you think it¡¯s hunting them out in Allazei and flying them back here after?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Tristan muttered, ¡°but I do know this: no matter how clever it is, it won¡¯t be cleverer than birdlime.¡±


    --


    It would have been proper for Angharad to journey to the cottage for this talk, but though her health had starkly improved ¨C the headaches remained, but much of the pain in her bones was gone ¨C she found it difficult to walk for more than a minute or two at a time. And with a cane, too. The journey to the north of Port Allazei was still far beyond her without the same kind of escort helping her to the Acallar, but that escort would not be able to find the hidden cottage.


    The Thirteenth had, thus, come to her instead.


    They came early on seventhday, though she¡¯d had time to break her fast with her uncle earlier still. He was gone by the time Song knocked at the door, easing it open when Angharad bade her in. Her¡­ not quite former cabalmates looked in fine health. Song wore her regular¡¯s uniform as neatly as she ever had, and for once Tristan looked largely free of bruises. Even the dark rings around Maryam¡¯s eyes had thinned.


    ¡°Have you ever had churros?¡± Tristan cheerfully asked before she could greet them.


    She blinked.


    ¡°I have not,¡± Angharad said.


    He presented a handful of wrapped pastry sticks.


    ¡°Would you like one?¡± he asked. ¡°I got too many.¡±


    A pause.


    ¡°Though it would have been the right number if Maryam did not have opinions on cinnamon that are factually incorrect.¡±


    ¡°I enjoy it in moderation,¡± the blue-eyed woman flatly said. ¡°That is not moderation.¡±


    ¡°I now wonder if I should,¡± Angharad gamely said.


    The thief waved his pastry sticks in a manner that might have been meant to be alluring but mostly had Angharad wincing at the spill.


    ¡°Take the churro, Angharad,¡± Song sighed. ¡°He¡¯s never going to shut up about it otherwise.¡±


    The irritation there would have been on her face a few weeks ago was so slight now she wondered if she was imagining it entirely. Angharad took one of the offered pastries, nibbling at the top. It was still warm, if barely, and though the taste was quite sweet she rather enjoyed it.


    ¡°It¡¯s good,¡± she admitted.


    Tristan grinned.


    ¡°See, Song, that¡¯s three people officially on the rolls of the Thirteenth who had some. That means-¡±


    ¡°It is not, nor will it ever be, a brigade expense,¡± Song informed him.


    Her face was stern, but Angharad read an undertone of amusement to her tone. It was not an argument but teasing, and the sight of it brought a pang. If she had stayed, would she¡­ No, that thought was a dead end. No amount of stirring the cauldron would change what had gone into it. She ate another bite of her churro, which now almost tasted bittersweet.


    ¡°Please, sit,¡± she invited. ¡°You have my thanks for coming.¡±


    After they sat, she did not belabor the matter with small talk. All here were aware of why she had requested the meeting.


    ¡°I had made arrangements to leave the Thirteenth, but the situation has changed,¡± Angharad frankly acknowledged. ¡°I now find myself in a position where remaining with the brigade is a better course.¡±


    Song¡¯s face might as well be stone, and Maryam gave no reaction save for the thinning of lips. Tristan only smiled encouragingly, but Angharad knew that was skin-deep. If Maryam refused her return he¡¯d not hesitate a moment before supporting her.


    ¡°I am not unaware,¡± she continued, ¡°that I am not making this request from a strong bargaining position.¡±


    She paused, leaving room for someone to intervene. She was not surprised by who did.


    ¡°You¡¯re a swordswoman who can¡¯t use her sword,¡± Maryam mildly said. ¡°What, exactly, would you be contributing if you were taken back in?¡±


    The brush with the phrasing Angharad herself had used during the argument at the cottage did not feel like a coincidence. The noblewoman swallowed, then breathed out. Pride would not get her through this.


    ¡°I apologize,¡± Angharad said.


    Maryam blinked.


    ¡°While I spoke no lie when we last argued,¡± the Pereduri continued, ¡°I phrased the truth cruelly, and did so on purpose. It was unworthy of me and underserved by you, so I owe you an apology.¡±


    The blue-eyed woman frowned at her.


    ¡°That is to your honor,¡± Maryam said, tone the faintest bit sardonic. ¡°But it does not answer my question.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Angharad acknowledged, ¡°but it needed to be said nonetheless.¡±


    She clasped her hands on her lap.


    ¡°I will be able to move around with a cane much more comfortably by the time we reach Asphodel, but is true that I will not be fighting fit for some weeks after that,¡± she said, fingers tightening. ¡°Which is why I offer the use of my contract instead.¡±


    Surprise all around. None dared cross the line and ask, regardless of the implied invitation.


    ¡°While I have implied in the past my contract relates to reflexes, this is incorrect,¡± Angharad said. ¡°It lets me see what is yet to come.¡±


    She licked her lips, heart thundering. Never before had she spoken of her bargain with the Fisher in such detail.


    ¡°Small glimpses come easily to me, mere moments ahead, but should I concentrate I am able to have a vision stretching out much further.¡±


    ¡°How much further?¡± Song quietly asked.


    ¡°You don¡¯t know?¡±


    Angharad¡¯s eyes flicked to the one who had spoken: Maryam, whose face was shadowed. Not angry, but perhaps on the threshold of it. Tristan¡¯s brow had risen as well. Ah. They would think it unfair if her own contract had been spared Song¡¯s eyes while his own had not. With reason.


    ¡°Her contract is difficult to read,¡± Song replied. ¡°As if I were looking through water. I caught words enough to know it lets her see things, but not much else.¡±


    A pause.


    ¡°My own god advised against digging, and was uncharacteristically serious giving the advice.¡±


    Tristan let out a low whistle, eyeing her curiously.


    ¡°You are not contracted with a second-stringer, then,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯ll back up Song¡¯s question ¨C how far ahead?¡±


    ¡°I have seen through an entire skirmish and the beginning of the pursuit after it,¡± Angharad said. ¡°Perhaps fifteen minutes in all? I expect I could go further, the span did not feel like much of a weight.¡±


    It was only a feeling, but she suspected she could go easily twice or thrice as long. It had been the repetition that scraped her raw, not the length of the spool.


    ¡°The cultist ambush out in the woods,¡± Song slowly said. ¡°When your eyes bled.¡±


    Angharad inclined her head in agreement.


    ¡°It was the first time I used the ability. My spirit¡¯s tutoring was¡­ not gentle. I used it many times in a row then, but now I do not believe I could do so more than once in a day without harming myself.¡±


    The question that followed was not of the kind she had expected.


    ¡°Malani killed all Izvoric who could foretell, when they claimed land back home,¡± Maryam said, voice grown cold. ¡°Are the laws so different for your own kind?¡±


    Angharad swallowed.


    ¡°They are not,¡± she said. ¡°By the laws of the Kingdom of Malan, to hold the contract I do would see me killed.¡±


    And that got a second round of silence. Song, she thought, must have at least suspected. Not so the others, who did not quite seem to know what to make of this. Unwilling for the quiet to stretch out into trench too wide to cross, the Pereduri spoke up.


    ¡°I would pledge the use of that vision to the brigade,¡± Angharad said. ¡°Even for personal matters, if our duties should allow.¡±


    Swallowing her pride, she bent her head.


    ¡°Please.¡±


    It was a long moment before anyone spoke.


    ¡°I would not tolerate your refusing orders,¡± Song said.


    ¡°I would not ask it,¡± Angharad said.


    Even fevered by the mara, she had been forced to concede it had been too much to ask. The silver eyed Tianxi inclined her head.


    ¡°That is a start,¡± she said. ¡°But while I may be captain to the Thirteenth, I will not welcome you back into its fold against the will the others. Tristan?¡±


    The thief shrugged.


    ¡°I¡¯ve never had trouble with Tredegar, personally,¡± he said. ¡°I won¡¯t argue against her reenlistment, so to speak, but I won¡¯t argue for it either. Maryam?¡±


    Blue eyes sought Angharad¡¯s own. She did not grimace, though it was no great pleasure to be at the mercy of someone who made no secret of their dislike for her.


    ¡°Part of me wants to make you squirm,¡± Maryam said, ¡°but what would be the point? It¡¯d be a poisonous kind of satisfaction. I¡¯d not be holding you to account for anything, just swinging the axe for the pleasure of it.¡±


    The Izvorica¡¯s jaw clenched.


    ¡°Your contract, I would know the boundaries of it,¡± she said.


    ¡°I have yet to learn them,¡± Angharad admitted.


    ¡°Then I will ask up to an hour a day of you,¡± Maryam Khaimov replied with a twisted smile, ¡°so that you may be subjected to tests meant to do so.¡±


    So that was her price. Something to hold over her, a sense of mastery. She won¡¯t use it every day, Angharad told herself. The phrasing had left the door open to infrequency. And the hard truth was that Angharad¡¯s bargaining position was best described as ¡®on her knees¡¯.


    ¡°I swear,¡± Angharad said.


    Maryam wrenched her eyes away, then turned to Song. With a still-clenched jaw, she nodded at the Tianxi ¨C who held Maryam¡¯s gaze for a long moment, as if making sure, before nodding back. Only then did she look to Angharad.


    ¡°Well then,¡± Captain Song Ren said. ¡°We¡¯ll have to see about moving your belongings back in the cottage.¡±


    --


    Imani Langa had reserved a private room for four at the Crocodilian, a tavern whose main attraction was large tables and more-than-decent food at a decent price.


    The Malani likely expected Song to show up with Angharad in tow, considering their social ties, but Song would have been mightily disinclined to indulge that assumption even if the Pereduri did not now look like someone had spat on her boots whenever Imani Langa was mentioned. As the captain of the Eleventh had sent word she would be bringing Thando Fanyu with her, Song Ren in answer brought the natural enemy of both spies and nobles.


    ¡°I asked around for the basics, and if that lot were any more suspicious their own shadows wouldn¡¯t turn their backs,¡± Tristan Abrascal opined. ¡°Langa¡¯s got dagger-hand writ all over her and Fanyu¡¯s made too little a splash for a noble with such good connections. They¡¯re keeping a low profile on purpose.¡±


    Song¡¯s lips carefully did not smile. There was a certain satisfaction in having him speak out loud the words it would be improper for him to speak. The gray-eyed Sacromontan was leaning against the wall out in the hall, arms crossed, while they waited for the tavern-keeper to return from the room.


    ¡°Rattle their cage,¡± she murmured. ¡°Langa is too smooth for us to get anything out of her otherwise.¡±


    He flicked a look her way, nodded.


    ¡°What are we after?¡± Tristan asked.


    ¡°Where they stand in the coming lay of the land,¡± Song said.


    Four brigades were headed to Asphodel, and while Song believed she had a decent grasp of where the Fourth would fall and where the Nineteenth stood regarding them both, the Eleventh was yet a mystery. Imani Langa had ties to Angharad, however soured, and so did Lord Thando Fanyu. Perhaps even the sort of ties that could be used to leverage the Thirteenth now that the mirror-dancer was associated with them once more.


    Knowing whether or not the Eleventh was best kept at a distance would go some way in informing which contract the Thirteenth should aim for on Asphodel.


    The tavern-keeper, a dark-skinned man with a pot belly and yellowing teeth but an admittedly impressive forked beard ¨C finely groomed, unlike the oil-smudged leather apron around his waist ¨C peeked his head through the door a moment later.


    ¡°It is ready,¡± he said. ¡°Go on in.¡±


    The Crocodilian was not so large a tavern that the space in the back truly warranted the name of ¡®private room¡¯, Song mused. Two thirds of the edifice was the main hall with its large tables, while the rest was split in two halves by the narrow hallway they were standing in. On one side was the kitchen, busily steaming, while on the other two doors waited. At a guess, the man¡¯s own chambers and the small, almost cramped private room they were now ushered into.


    Captain Imani Langa and her second were waiting inside, neither rising as Song and Tristan entered but nodding greetings instead. They had a pitcher and clay cups on their side of the square, slightly crooked table and as the Tianxi slid into one of the rickety chairs laid out for them she answered the owner¡¯s inquiries by ordering a cup of the Crocodilian¡¯s infamously mediocre cider. Tristan, to her surprise, ordered a chao vegetable stir.


    ¡°Captain Song,¡± Imani Langa smiled at her. ¡°It is not in the Galleries as we first discussed, but I am glad to finally share a table with you.¡±


    Song stretched her lips and inclined her head in what might be taken as agreement.


    ¡°Circumstances demanded my attention,¡± she said. ¡°I look forward to deepening our acquaintance on Asphodel, Captain Imani.¡±


    The other Stripe inclined her head back, then half-turned towards her companion.


    ¡°If I might introduce-¡±


    ¡°Thando Fanyu,¡± Tristan slid in. ¡°Laurel, diplomacy track. Blood ties to the top brass of the Singing Jackals.¡±


    He leaned in.


    ¡°Any truth to the talk you tried to get in as Skiritai but couldn¡¯t make the cut?¡±


    Thando Fanyu was not fair of face and, just like the gold bangles hanging on his ears and the riot of rings on his fingers, it was a distraction that made him harder to read. Not so much, however, that Song missed the suppressed twitch of anger that Tristan¡¯s words brought.


    ¡°There is not,¡± Thando flatly said. ¡°You are, I believe, Tristan Abrascal of Sacromonte. The apprentice of a Mask.¡±


    ¡°Congratulations,¡± Tristan drily replied, ¡°you can recognize an accent and add up the obvious. I¡¯m surprised the Jackals could spare sending such a promising prospect to Scholomance.¡±


    Thando¡¯s eyes tightened, but the cut was not as deep ¨C or he was mastering his temper. Either way, there was nothing to gain in pushing further right at the start. Song cleared her throat and Tristan made a point of rolling his eyes before leaning back. He was, she suspected, perhaps enjoying this a little too much.


    ¡°I have made it a point to meet with the other captains who will be heading to Asphodel,¡± Song said. ¡°I believe it wise to pool information, considering what we might be headed into.¡±


    Imani cocked her head to the side.


    ¡°And what would that be?¡±


    She had been right earlier: Langa was too smooth. Enough so that Song could not tell whether she was behind had right now. The Malani was practiced, very much-


    ¡°Either you¡¯re outing yourself as pretty much useless or you¡¯re yanking us around for good reason right now,¡± Tristan said.


    Thando Fanyu stiffened in a way that told of irritating sharply risen.


    ¡°Your manners are-¡±


    ¡°What someone avoiding trying to answer the question would get hung up on,¡± Tristan drawled. ¡°So it¡¯s yanking around, then, is it? You could have at least waited until I got my food if you were going to waste our time.¡±


    Imani Langa said nothing, only cocking an eyebrow at Song. Not so easily cracked, then. A different angle was required.


    ¡°Our patron will be teaching Saga while abroad,¡± she shared.


    ¡°Ours will be responsible for Mandate,¡± Imani calmly replied.


    The food and drink arrived mere moments later. Song tasted her cider ¨C aggressively mediocre, like pressed apple with rotgut rationed in ¨C and she kept an eye on Tristan as he began digging into his plate. Using utensils, not chopsticks. The other two sipped at their glasses of ale, but only for a moment. The talks soon resumed.


    ¡°I visited the library in the Galleries,¡± Imani said, ¡°and was interested to learn some of the books I sought had already been borrowed.¡±


    ¡°Oh?¡± Song replied, giving her little to work with.


    ¡°Access to those of them without a copy would be a fine gesture,¡± she smiled. ¡°A pooling of information, as you mentioned.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know how it¡¯s done in Malan,¡± Tristan said, ¡°but back in the City, when there¡¯s a trade both sides offer up something.¡±


    ¡°Trust, Master Abrascal, is earned,¡± Imani said. ¡°One gesture at a time. Demanding it is pointless.¡±


    ¡°I agreed,¡± he cheerfully said. ¡°How¡¯re you to earn it, then? I¡¯m all ears.¡±


    ¡°We called for this meeting in good faith,¡± Thando began, tone harsh, ¡°If you-¡±


    And Song learned, watching with mild horror, exactly why Tristan had ordered the chao vegetable stir. Almost all of those had peas, and as Thando Fanyu spoke the thief¡¯s hand wielding the fork ¡®slipped¡¯. The oily pea bounced off the table, landing on the nobleman¡¯s sleeve, and there was a heartbeat of stillness.


    ¡°Oops,¡± Tristan insincerely said.


    From the corner of her eye Song saw Thando¡¯s hand twitch towards the knife at his side, but her gaze was resting where it should be: on Imani Langa¡¯s face. As she watched the Malani glance at her second, who was on the edge of crossing a line, Song got the barest glimpse of the calculations taking place behind those dark eyes.


    Imani did not want to break with the Thirteenth, even though Tristan was causing the incident and her own second was the one being provoked.


    ¡°Thando,¡± she said, putting a hand on his arm. ¡°Do not.¡±


    Her gaze turned back to Song¡¯s side of the table, cooled.


    ¡°I expected better of the Thirteenth, given how well Angharad spoke of you.¡±


    Song¡¯s hand itched to drum against the table, but there were witnesses. She could not indulge.


    ¡°Interesting,¡± Song said. ¡°She has hardly said a word about you, Captain Imani.¡±


    The Tianxi rose to her feet. She had what she¡¯d come here for.


    ¡°Tempers have frayed, for which I apologize on behalf of my cabalist,¡± Song said. ¡°Still, it might be best if we reconvened another day.¡±


    ¡°Agreed,¡± Imani Langa replied.


    ¡°Come, Tristan,¡± Song said as she rose to her feet.


    ¡°Sure, sure,¡± he said, sliding back his chair. ¡°You can have the rest of my plate, Thando. It¡¯s pretty good.¡±


    The Malani¡¯s jaw clenched. How many times in his life had he been so casually and persistently insulted, Song wondered? Not often enough to be unaffected. A useful weakness to keep in mind. This time she turned a stern look she actually meant on the thief, as there was no reason to continue pulling at the man. Tristan only smiled innocently, following her out as she offered the Eleventh a polite parting nod.


    They were hardly four steps past the closed doors when Song hummed.


    ¡°Did you catch it?¡± she asked.


    He folded his hands behind his neck, walking besides her.


    ¡°Langa wants something to do with us,¡± Tristan said. ¡°Enough to let my prodding go when she could have leveraged it instead.¡±


    He paused.


    ¡°The whole thing reeks, Song.¡±


    ¡°To the very Heavens,¡± she agreed. ¡°I think it might be time for us to take a closer look at the Eleventh.¡±


    ¡°My thoughts exactly,¡± Tristan hummed. ¡°Give me a few days and I¡¯ll see what I can dig up.¡±


    Song nodded, eyes gazing ahead. Pieces were missing, but she could already tell: there was blood in the water. It only remained to see who was the shark and who was the meal.


    --


    It was to be their last night at the cottage.


    Given that the Gallant Enterprise was to leave on the early tide, it had been judged wiser for them to spend the following night at the Rainsparrow Hostel. It meant that Tristan had only one last shot at victory before he was made to slink off abroad in defeat, like some disgraced Someshwari general. It was why he was lying down in the bushes, hidden under a carpet of leaves.


    ¡°And you are quite certain,¡± Tredegar murmured, ¡°that this is a magpie and not a spirit?¡±


    The noblewoman was supposedly from a line of distinguished hunters on her father¡¯s side, so she had been brought in as an advisor. She was sitting in the bush to his left mostly, as far as he could tell, because she wanted to avoid Song. Angharad¡¯s reluctance to talk to their captain seemed to spring from the discomfort of not truly wanting to be under her command while being aware her return had been somewhat of a favor, a disparity she was not navigating with a surfeit of grace.


    Maryam thought it was a good laugh to watch, though, so arguably morale-wise it evened out.


    ¡°Song confirmed it¡¯s not a god or a lemure,¡± he replied.


    ¡°Song cannot see what is inside an animal,¡± Angharad said. ¡°Or a woman, for that matter.¡±


    Right, that misstep with the mara. Intriguing that the mirror-dancer had decided to wander into the Witching Hour when she should know the risks, but that wasn¡¯t his trouble. Layers did not grow on trees, he doubted there would be any for her to repeat that stupidity with on Asphodel.


    ¡°You think it¡¯s possessed?¡± he asked.


    ¡°I believe that even for a magpie, admittedly clever birds, it displayed great cunning,¡± Angharad said. ¡°Perhaps too much of it. Whether ¡®tis possession or something else, I cannot say.¡±


    He chewed on that for a long moment.


    ¡°It only worked around traps out in the open,¡± he finally said. ¡°Obvious ones, in a way. If it is only a bird the birdlime will be enough.¡±


    She wrinkled her nose. The noble must not have found the use of that sporting, which it was not. Birdlime was, well, in practice that varied from place to place but the gist of it was that it was a sticky substance you could spread on a surface that¡¯d catch the bird when it landed on it. The poor man¡¯s recipe was the one made of holly bark, but that took most a night boiling then weeks stocked in a moist place. Tristan had sprung for a recipe with oil and turpentine instead, which did not need anywhere as much handholding to be usable.


    He¡¯d made enough to lay a flawless trap out in the garden: he¡¯d put out a large flat rock, covered the thing in birdlime and then set down a small wooden bowl full of seeds on it. There would be no tipping that bowl, and no feeding on it without landing on the rock. The magpie¡¯s hours were numbered.


    ¡°Oh,¡± Angharad breathed, pressing herself down against the grass. ¡°There it is.¡±


    She was right. The magpie had landed in the grass, barely a foot away from the baited stone, and it was hopping around. This was the best look Tristan had gotten of his enemy, and despite having known of it in principle he was still surprised by the bird¡¯s size. Magpies were smaller than crows, at least the kind in Sacromonte, while this one was the size of cat. And not small cat, either. It was a handsome creature, its feathers lustrous and the streak of white on its sides and back of elegant cut.


    It was also sniffing at the birdlime, as if suspicious.


    ¡°Either Malani magpies are much smaller than other breeds,¡± Angharad noted, ¡°or that creature reeks of spirit.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯ll take the bait,¡± Tristan insisted.


    He¡¯d not even finished the sentence before the magpie flew off. Angharad¡¯s face was so forcefully solemn she might as well have burst out laughing. Tristan, gathering the dregs of his dignity, hazarded the theory that it might return. And it did! It returned to drop a large piece of dry bark on the limed stone. It then landed on the bark, pushing down on it as if experimentally, and let out a triumphant cackle-call before gorging itself on the carrot seeds in the bowl.


    ¡°I should have brought a musket,¡± Tristan darkly said.


    Tredegar cleared her throat.


    ¡°Have you much improved your shooting of late?¡± she delicately asked.


    ¡°This is why you keep getting into duels, Angharad,¡± he informed her, then cleared his throat. ¡°But point taken.¡±


    He might have managed with grapeshot, but he wasn¡¯t getting a cannon up those stairs alone. Or getting a cannon at all, unless he robbed the garrison fort. Or a ship. Huh, a ship might be doable. The thief considered the smug magpie, so cocksure in its temporary victory. It¡¯d never see grapeshot coming. At this point he was coming around to the notion that this might not be your average sort of magpie, so it might be argued to be his duty as a valiant man of the Watch to take care of the situation.


    ¡°Have you considered negotiating with the spirit?¡±


    He turned a stern look on the noblewoman.


    ¡°Angharad,¡± he said. ¡°This creature has ravaged my fields, destroyed my works-¡±


    ¡°Traps,¡± she drily said. ¡°It broke your traps.¡±


    ¡°Destroyed my works,¡± he sternly repeated, ¡°and massacred presumably innocent rodents. You would negotiate with this fiend?¡±


    ¡°Sometimes,¡± Angharad gravely said, ¡°we must make compromises with the night.¡±


    She beamed at him expectantly, as if expecting him to be impressed.


    ¡°Treason, then,¡± he grimly said.


    An odd flicker in her eye, then a half-forced smile.


    ¡°I do not think you will catch that bird with a bullet,¡± she told him. ¡°Try as you will, of course, but were I you I would attempt an offering instead.¡±


    He hummed, considering her still oddly serious face. Considering what he had read about Tredegar¡¯s father in her dossier, she might actually be giving out good advice. He also recalled there¡¯d been campfire talk about how many of the maze gods took to her, during the Trial of Ruins.


    ¡°I am almost out of seeds anyhow,¡± Tristan said. ¡°I suppose at this point there is little to lose.¡±


    He headed back inside with her, bravely facing Maryam¡¯s cuttingly arched eyebrows as he took their nicest bowl, the ceramic one with the nice Izcalli wave patterns, and filled it with a third of the remaining carrot seeds. There was no trace of his foe when he returned alone ¨C Angharad had elected to watch from inside, removing herself from the negotiations ¨C save for the sight of the empty bait bowl.


    Ceremoniously he made his way to the center of the garden, putting down the bowl with a bow and then sitting in the dirt out of reach.


    ¡°God of the land,¡± he called out, ¡°I come to bargain.¡±


    He sat there in silence for what to be a solid five minutes, mustering patience, before there was another of those short cackle-calls. The large bird flew out of the trees a minute later, landing on the other side of the bowl. As if they were seated on different sides of a table. Tristan¡¯s lips twitched.


    ¡°It has come to my attention that-¡± he began, then frowned. ¡°How much do you actually understand, truly?¡±


    The magpie trilled.


    ¡°You can¡¯t be a god,¡± he noted. ¡°Song would have seen it. So¡­ a possessed bird, some Gloam-warped magpie?¡±


    The magpie hopped left, then right, and picked at the rim of the nice bowl.


    ¡°Terms, then,¡± Tristan conceded. ¡°I would like you to stop eating the seeds I sow.¡±


    Skeptical trilling.


    ¡°In exchange,¡± the thief offered, ¡°I will fill this bowl with seeds once a week.¡±


    The magpie kicked the nice Izcalli bowl, rattling it a bit. Tristan sneered.


    ¡°You¡¯re not going to walk,¡± he said. ¡°I could just stop sowing carrots, and where does that leave you?¡±


    Cackle-call answered him.


    ¡°Fine,¡± the gray-eyed man muttered. ¡°I¡¯ll also leave out an apple every two weeks. How about that?¡±


    The magpie hopped back and forth, then trilled ¨C and took flight.


    ¡°It appears negotiations have broken down,¡± Tristan said.


    He¡¯d have to look into how much a cannon cost. Not a naval one, one of those smaller ones you put on a wooden support and could aim with a single man. Those could probably load grapesh- the thief almost topped forward from the sudden weight, wings flapping against his ear. He yelped ,covering his head as the magpie messed up his hair and dug its sharp talons into his uniform. Having made itself comfortable at his expense, it then stayed there.


    Having no apparent intention of leaving.


    ¡°It occurs to me,¡± Tristan said, ¡°that we might not have been having the same conversation on both ends.¡±


    The magpie trilled into his ear, mussing at his hair with a wing. Gods the thing was heavy. Not as much as Mephistofeline, but then that was true of most ship anchors.


    ¡°Are we¡­ allies?¡± Tristan hazarded.


    A cackle-call. That seemed confirmation enough.


    ¡°You¡¯ll need a name, then,¡± he said.


    A pause.


    ¡°Rations,¡± he suggested.


    The beak cruelly pecked at his scalp until he put up his hands in surrender. It was, clearly, clever enough to realize some implications. Or at least read his sense of mischief.


    ¡°Something that will make everyone else uncomfortable, then,¡± he mused, and there was a trill of approval.


    Half an hour later, when Song strode into the garden angrily asking why her favorite bowl was missing and the bedrooms reeked of turpentine, she found him stroking the oversized preening magpie in his lap. It has very soft feathers.


    ¡°What is this?¡± Song asked.


    ¡°This,¡± Tristan proudly said, ¡°is Sakkas. He¡¯s with us now.¡±


    Sakkas let a trill of agreement.


    ¡°No,¡± she flatly denied. ¡°Change the name.¡±


    ¡°Too late,¡± Tristan grinned, ¡°he¡¯s taken to it now.¡±


    The magpie let out a pleased cackle-call, Song blanched and Tristan only grinned wider. Yes, he decided as he stroked his bird, this would do nicely. It would do nicely indeed.

 Chapter 40

    The galleon cast a long shadow across the dock, all of them waiting standing within it.


    It was barely three in the morning, and though Tristan was not unused to keeping night hours few of his companions shared the habit. Maryam kept leaning against him, half falling asleep on her feet, and he could only roll his eyes. Had she refrained from visiting the Abbey last afternoon she would be better rested, but now that Captain Yue had given her those eerie rings that helped with her Signs she was near obsessed with practice.


    Tredegar shuffled to his left, earning a curious glance as he absent-mindedly caught Maryam¡¯s sleeve so she would not tip over. The dark-skinned noble had been uneasy since they left the Rainsparrow Hostel, tightly wound enough she¡¯d looked like she wanted to decline when sailors had come down the ramp to take their bags onto the ship. There was something up with Tredegar these days, and he was growing increasingly sure it wasn¡¯t some petty schoolyard affair.


    Someone laughed closer to the water, one of the instructors. Sound carried far out here, and the Allazei docks were somehow both empty and swarming. There were but a handful of garrison soldiers keeping an eye from their posts by the docks, but the great galleon called the Gallant Enterprise was a hive of activity ¨C though now that the black-clad sailors had brought in all the crates it was the ship¡¯s deck that was the heart of it.


    Not that the Thirteenth was alone on the docks, far from it, for all that the talk was sparse and quiet. Odds were that they¡¯d only be sharing a ship with the others on the dock for a few days, but Tristan still found them worth assessing.


    Captain Wen had made it clear that should some disaster strike the student brigades could call on the Asphodel watchmen or the diplomatic flotilla, doing so without a great need would wreck their performance on the yearly test. The only people the Scholomance cabals would be able to call on were the instructors and each other. In other words, the muster that¡¯d showed up here would be the available roster for their time abroad.


    He was far from the only one to have realized that. Song had been reading everyone¡¯s contracts from under the brim of her hat and the others were looking at the Thirteenth just as intently ¨C if without magic silver eyes. It was just the four of them standing together, too, as their patron had abandoned them in favor of an omelet cornet and ¡®conversation with people I actually like¡¯.


    Some of those out there Tristan was passingly familiar with.


    The Fourth kept clannish distance from everyone else, almost glaring, but Tristan noticed they were less skittish with each other than they had been at the start of the year. If Bait was to be believed the monthly fights for who got to have a name were mostly halfhearted formalities nowadays and the unpleasant names stuck on them had been used so much any sting had long been sanded off.


    Tupoc caught him looking and stared back with unblinking pale eyes, subtly mouthing ¡®in your sleep¡¯ before slicing a finger across his throat. Charming as ever.


    A new detail about the Fourth was how their patron, Lieutenant Mitra, was standing with them staring off at the distance. The Someshwari was narrow-faced but broad-shouldered, mostly standing out because of his unkempt hair and beard ¨C both which spread about in long, disorderly strands. He also looked rather gloomy, helped along by eyes bearing dark circles. A glint of light caught on the ring he bore, prompting Tristan shake Maryam awake and discreetly gesture that way.


    ¡°Does the ring mean anything?


    She blinked at him a moment, smacking her lips, and only then actually began seeing the things around her.


    ¡°Um,¡± she eloquently replied. ¡°Silver is the mark of a Master of the Guild?¡±


    He cocked an eyebrow, his next question silent. He was no Akelarre, to know whether a ¡®Master¡¯ should be counted some grand dignitary or messenger boy.


    ¡°The captain on the Bluebell was a master as well,¡± Maryam said, blue eyes now fully awake.


    At that he hummed, nodding his thanks. Captain Sfizo had supposedly kept a horde of crazed lares from continuing to flood the ship before almost casually caging the Saint ¨C though admittedly only after several had wounded it for him. Still. Lieutenant Mitra was not one to trifle with, then. Hage had once mentioned that most Akelarre did not take up ranks higher than captain by old custom, preferring to sort themselves by hidden ranks inside their guild instead.


    Song leaned in close to both of them, pitching her voice low.


    ¡°This Qianfan, you know him?¡±


    Their gazes moved to the brigade standing closest to the Fourth, the Eleventh. That one bore relatively few surprises, but the Tianxi just mentioned had been one.


    Captain Imani Langa and Thando Fenya were mostly accounted for, as was their Skiritai hatchet man: a Sacromontan by the name of Salvador who Tristan would be giving a very wide berth. The man reeked of coterie in all the worst ways, and Tredegar apparently holding in him high esteem from shared Skiritai classes only made him deadlier to the rat¡¯s eye. A killer who knew when to keep it in the sheath was twice as dangerous.


    Their fourth member was the aforementioned Qianfan, a tall Tianxi boy - and a Navigator student, hence Song¡¯s question to Maryam.


    ¡°Barely in passing,¡± Maryam replied. ¡°He¡¯s one of the most frequent visitors to the Abbey cells.¡±


    Like the Thirteenth, the Eleventh had been abandoned by their patron ¨C he was one of the two chatting with Wen, a heavyset Lierganen man with a shaved head and face displaying fierce jowls and the broken jaw of a street tough. A deceptive appearance, as Lieutenant Joaquin was from the Peiling Society and a mathematician of some repute as well as their designated Mandate instructor.


    That decision was made all the more interesting by the identity of the third patron in that little circle: Captain Oratile was a Stripe, the patron to the Nineteenth and also the chosen Teratology instructor. That the dark-skinned Academician would not be the one teaching them Mandate had come as something of a surprise.


    The Nineteenth seemed surprised when she left them behind to join the other patrons, perhaps hinting at a soft hand overseeing them. Tristan looked that way the least, for¡­ practical reasons. Tredegar cleared her throat softly, dark eyes staring the Nineteenth¡¯s way, and he almost winced in advance.


    ¡°That girl is still glaring at you,¡± Tredegar told him.


    Cressida Barboza, as it turned out, had not gotten the last Aetheric Warfare slot or forgiven him for his role in that outcome. Their captain wasn¡¯t getting involved, at least ¨C Tozi Poloko, she of the ridiculous haircut and lying eyes. Song liked the Izcalli officer some, but something about her reminded Tristan of those merchants that gouged desperate youths on bread prices and made it seem like a favor all the while.


    Beside the captain towered Izel Coyac, a broad-shouldered man with powerful arms and stubble for hair. Umuthi, Tristan had learned when he asked around, and regarded by other tinkers as both a skillful hand with a tool and a rather friendly fellow. Going by the hairlessness and what he suspected were bindings under the tunic at chest height, Coyac was also corregido ¨C a man once believed a woman.


    The last of them, Kiran Agrawal, was another of Tredegar¡¯s seemingly endless Skiritai acquaintances. The Someshwari spearman was friendly enough he¡¯d come over to greet her, and he had the grooming habits of someone born to coin. No one else kept their beard and mustache that neat. Mind you, the jewelry alone would have told Tristan that: it looked like real gold. Song had quietly noted him to be a contractor, though she¡¯d not elaborated.


    ¡°Pretend you don¡¯t notice,¡± Tristan whispered back.


    ¡°A spurner lover, Tristan?¡± Tredegar teased. ¡°Already?¡±


    Much as he balked in being made a figure of fun by someone who had thought Isabel Ruesta was in any way a good idea, getting scathing would only draw attention to them.


    ¡°We had a slight disagreement over class scheduling, that¡¯s all,¡± he vaguely replied. ¡°Nothing too heated.¡±


    ¡°That is not a heatless glare, Tristan,¡± Tredegar told him. ¡°I have some expertise in spurned glaring, and would rank this firmly in the upper half of the species.¡±


    ¡°How is Captain Imani, Angharad?¡± Song mildly asked.


    The Pereduri coughed into her fist, looked away and commented on the mildness of the breeze so early in the morning. Tristan shot Song and grateful look that she pretended not to notice, then let his attention drift to the last pair waiting on the docks. They stood away from the other instructors close to the ramp leading onto the galleon.


    Commander Osian Tredegar, Angharad¡¯s uncle, was one of those roguishly fashionable types that infanzonas would cause a minor society scandal with before setting aside for a more respectable marriage. He was rich but also an Umuthi, which was a shame because Tristan was not fool enough to try lifting the gold of someone who could make aether traps. Rather amusingly, Commander Tredegar had been trying to get out of a conversation for the last fifteen minutes but the other side was not taking the hint.


    Sergeant Kavia was a short, middle-aged Someshwari whose rank was suspiciously low. Her looks were unremarkable and her black hair kept in a bun, but she bore a bejeweled shield on her back along with two swords at her hip and one of those strange bladed Someshwari circles called chakram. That one had Skiritai written all over her, in Tristan¡¯s opinion.


    Alas, whether or not Commander Tredegar would eventually be able to escape with dignity from that conversation was to remain unknown, as shouts from above ended their common wait. A Watch officer on the deck of the galleon shouted for them to come aboard and be received by the commodore, which gave the older Tredegar an excuse to hurry up the ramp. The rest of them began to follow after.


    ¡°There should still be an instructor missing,¡± Song frowned.


    Tristan almost smiled. He could understand why she¡¯d believe that, as nearly all of their shared classes and the covenant ones had a face to them. Lieutenant Mitra for Theology and the Akelarre, Lieutenant Joaquin for Mandate and the Savants, Captain Oratile for Teratology and the Stripes. Even Captain Wen for Saga and the Laurels ¨C poor Thando, sole Arthashastra student and about to inherit Wen¡¯s full attention for hours at a time.


    Sergeant Kavia should be covering Warfare and the Skiritai, which left Commander Tredegar for the Umuthi and thus one seat glaringly empty.


    ¡°I¡¯d be rather surprised,¡± Tristan said, ¡°if the Mask were not already aboard.:


    --


    It was tradition for the captain to welcome passengers aboard, and Song suspected that most would have been eager to rub elbows with the collection of covenanter instructors boarding the Gallant Enterprise even should they be disciplined to humor mere students. Commodore Trivedi instead looked at them all as if they were a tedious chore. Either the woman was well-connected enough to think the passengers beneath her, or commodore was likely the highest rank she would ever attain.


    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Competence alone was not enough to make it into admiralty ranks.


    ¡°Welcome aboard,¡± Commodore Trivedi blandly said. ¡°My officers will bring you to your quarters. Accommodations will be made for your¡­ classes, but I will not brook any wandering around and getting in the way of my men.¡±


    She paused, forced a half-hearted smile.


    ¡°I may extend dinner invitations, should time allow. Dismissed.¡±


    Some of the instructors seemed amused, others irked, but it was Captain Tozi that drew Song¡¯s eye. There was something like contempt in the other woman¡¯s gaze. They did not linger on deck, however, for Commodore Trivedi¡¯s word was law on her own ship ¨C and another few, as she led the entire diplomatic flotilla headed to Asphodel. Naval lieutenants escorted them into the belly of the beast, Song taking in every scrap of detail she could. And one truth became obvious quick enough.


    Unlike the last galleon they had been on, the Gallant Enterprise was a fighting ship.


    It was not a groaning old dog coming apart at the seams but a modern warship with fortified decks and forty gleaming culverin cannons. There were around hundred sailors crewing it and by the looks of it almost as many soldiers.


    The students were promptly assigned quarters above the cargo hold, splitting three cabins between them. Luck of the draw had the Thirteenth score one of the smaller private ones and the Nineteenth the other, thus inflicting the sharing of close quarters with Tupoc onto the Eleventh. Song offered the gods due thanks for this, burning an offering to Menshen Zhu for having kept both evil spirits away from her door.


    She bunked above Angharad while Tristan took the bed below Maryam¡¯s, the four of them unpacking their affairs as much as they intended to for the length of the trip. Beyond a short stop at the port Lavega, where the Gallant was to link up with the rest of the flotilla, it was not planned for the ship to make landfall before reaching Asphodel ¨C meaning they¡¯d be splitting their time between this room, the dining hall and whatever could be borrowed for teaching purposes.


    Wen knocked at their door shortly after, informing them they were to return to sleep but that there would be a wake-up call in a few hours. The instructor had agreed that classes were not to be skipped even on the first day. There was no argument from the Thirteenth, Maryam¡¯s short spurt of wakefulness already turning to smoke, and they gladly collapsing onto their narrow bunks after snuffing out the lamp.


    Song woke when the ship passed through the Ring of Storms, the noise and movement stirring her out of sleep, but she went back to sleep before they were even through.


    At the seventh hour Captain Wen hammered at their door, tossing a bag full of grain biscuits and salted meat when Angharad sleepily opened the door. The Pereduri narrowly caught it.


    ¡°Water barrels are down the hall,¡± Wen told them. ¡°You have forty-five minutes to ready for class.¡±


    They rushed to eat and dress, Song and Angharad padding away to the barrels to wash ¨C a handful of the others were there as well, looking as if the manner of their awakening had been no gentler than the Thirteenth¡¯s. Song returned with a clean face and neck but to a sight that had her wondering if she was still asleep: Tristan, sitting on his bed, was feeding a rotund black cat a piece of biscuit from the pack.


    ¡°Is that Mephistofeline?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s either that or one of the lard cuts grew fur,¡± Tristan replied.


    Mephistofeline, indifferent to the insult, kept eating up the crumbs and biting at his fingers.


    ¡°Well,¡± Song muttered, ¡°I suppose we know who your instructor will be now.¡±


    ¡°And Cressida Barboza¡¯s as well,¡± the thief muttered. ¡°That I could have done without.¡±


    There was a loud snore as Maryam twisted in her covers, arm slipping past the edge of the bunk bed and hanging loose.


    ¡°You let her go back to sleep,¡± Song accused.


    ¡°She cursed at me in her native tongue,¡± he drawled back. ¡°I¡¯m not getting anywhere near her when she does that ¨C not as long as she sleeps with a hatchet under her pillow, anyway.¡±


    The silver-eyed Tianxi sighed.


    ¡°Fine, I¡¯ll take care of it,¡± she said.


    There was an unloaded musket to use as a stick. Song paused when reaching for it.


    ¡°That biscuit is coming out of your share, by the way,¡± she said.


    He snorted.


    ¡°If you¡¯d tried one, you would know it¡¯s not great loss.¡±


    Ship rations rarely were any good, admittedly. It was a narrow thing, but Song was able to ensure her brigade was awake, dressed and not starving by the time Sergeant Kavia came to gather everyone. She counted the heads, as if they were sheep returning from a wander, and then led them through the depths of the ship. There she bade them good luck and knocked at the door.


    And that was how seventeen students found themselves crammed into a small room smelling vaguely of anchovies just before the turn of eight, as the door had opened to reveal the rictus grin of one Captain Wen Duan. Saga, it seemed, was to be the first class.


    --


    None of the other students had dealt with Wen before, save for Tupoc, and it showed from the sheer amount of baffled, offended and sympathetic looks that the Thirteenth received within five minutes of everyone being stuck in a room with the man.


    The Eleventh was told to sit further back because Captain Imani was ¡®too distractingly Uthukilen¡¯, Tupoc was complimented on having managed to trick so many people into listening to him since they¡¯d last met and Captain Tozi Poloko¡¯s surname was almost certainly deliberately mangled in pronunciation. Not that the Thirteenth was spared, as Maryam was informed he¡¯d known livelier corpses. After rounds of insults barely camouflaged as him taking attendance, to Song¡¯s relief the captain actually deigned to begin teaching them something.


    ¡°While you are all living monuments to staggering levels of ignorance about the world around you,¡± Captain Wen Duan casually said, ¡°I¡¯m not paid anywhere near enough to put in even a token effort in mending that sad reality.¡±


    He reached behind his bench, taking out a bulky cloth sack and setting it on his knees before pushing his glasses.


    ¡°We¡¯ll settle for you gaining a modicum of understanding about the nation we are all sailing to.¡±


    Untying the ropes around the head of the bag, he reached insides. The better part of seventeen gazes followed the gesture.


    ¡°We¡¯ll start with the basics,¡± Captain Wen said. ¡°Can one of you tell me what the capital of Asphodel Rectorate is?¡±


    Hands rose, Song¡¯s one of them, but she paid closer attention to the faces than who Wen would pick. Captain Tozi was no surprise, and neither was Thando Fenya ¨C he was a Laurel, after all. More interesting was Alejandra Terrero from the Fourth. Not all Navigators concerned themselves with the lay of the seas, but it seemed like Tupoc¡¯s signifier might be one of them.


    ¡°Fenya,¡± Wen said. ¡°Amaze me.¡±


    ¡°Tratheke,¡± Lord Thando said. ¡°The name is derived from words in the Cycladic cant meaning ¡®singing box¡¯.¡±


    A noise of approval. Wen reached inside the bag, producing a small orange.


    ¡°Tratheke is where we will dock and where three out of four assessment tests will take place,¡± he said.


    He then turned a look on Thando.


    ¡°Here,¡± the bespectacled man said. ¡°Have a praise orange.¡±


    To the Malani¡¯s honor, he caught the orange that Wen tossed him and mostly hid his confusion. He best start getting used to the feeling, as Thando Fenya was the only Arthashastra Society student headed to Asphodel and thus he would be suffering the undiluted Wen Duan dosage during the afternoons.


    Song almost pitied him for that. Almost.


    ¡°All right,¡± Wen said. ¡°Now, who runs the place?¡±


    Now that was an interesting question, she thought. In principle, the answer was the rector of Asphodel ¨C currently Lord Rector Evander Palliades the Third, ninth ruler of the relatively recent Palliades dynasty. The Rectorate, despite the name, was effectively a monarchy in practice. The complicating factor here was that, reading between the lines of every book on Asphodel she had got her hands on, the office of rector in general and the Palliades family in particular had been losing their grip on the reins of power for the last eight decades.


    Thando¡¯s hand went up again, though it went ignored, and this time it was Tupoc¡¯s hand that went up along Captain Tozi¡¯s.


    ¡°Poloko,¡± Captain Wen said. ¡°What have you got?¡±


    ¡°Lord Rector Evander Palliades,¡± she said, then frowned. ¡°Second of his name.¡±


    Wen tossed her an orange, which she caught with a pleased smile.


    ¡°Don¡¯t go smiling, that was a shame orange for getting it wrong,¡± the captain told her. ¡°Song, try to redeem your covenant.¡±


    The look Captain Tozi turned on her for that was rather cool. Ugh, and she was the captain Song most wanted to cultivate ties to. The Tianxi cleared her throat.


    ¡°Asphodel is ruled by its lord rector, but the office is advised by the Council of Ministers, an advisory body made up from great nobles,¡± she said. ¡°The Ministers have a degree of control over courts and the treasury.¡±


    Wen only cocked an eyebrow, evidently considering the answer incomplete, so she pressed on.


    ¡°There is also the Trade Assembly, an association of the wealthiest merchants of Asphodel, whose leading magnates control the trade keeping the Rectorate afloat,¡± she continued. ¡°While they have no official authority, they have a great deal of informal influence.¡±


    The reason the Palliades were still rectors even though their blood claim was weak and there was mounting discontent was that the Ministers and the Assembly were at each other¡¯s throats. The heart of it was about land: the nobles controlled great estates they guarded jealously, keeping the magnates from turning their wealth into power by buying land. Both sides tried to pull the Palliades their way to check their enemies, allowing the family enough leverage to continue squeaking through,


    Captain Wen nodded.


    ¡°This is a praise orange,¡± he informed her before tossing it.


    She snatched it up despite his best effort at lobbing it low enough it¡¯d slip her grasp. Tupoc got a praise orange as well for identifying the island of Arke and its iron mines as both the source of much of Asphodel¡¯s current wealth and the reason it had been fighting with the Duchy of Rasen regularly for the last two centuries. Captain Tozi redeemed herself by explaining that the city of Tratheke was built out of massive Antediluvian ruin, which many believed to have been a university of sorts.


    Imani was thrown a shame orange for a lacking answer regarding the closest diplomatic ties of the Rectorate were ¨C according to her, Sacromonte and the Watch.


    ¡°Sacromonte backs the Rectorate, and encourages it to fight Rasen as standing policy,¡± Wen agreed. ¡°You¡¯re right about that. But the old ties to the Watch have grown weak ¨C Asphodel is mostly clear of monsters and the Rookery now buys grain through the City instead. Who¡¯s stepped into that gap?¡±


    Song knew the answer, as it was good as plainly writ in Trade in the Trebian, Ninth Sails Edition, which was why she knew the way the question had been phrased was a trap. While Thando Fenya correctly identified Tianxia as a growing trade partner for the Rectorate ¨C the southern republics were famously gluttons for iron - he was still thrown a shame orange. Song took some small pleasure in elaborating on his answer when prompted.


    ¡°The Kingdom of Malan imports large amounts of cattle from Asphodel,¡± she added, ¡°as the native breed of sheep is highly prized in the Malani heartlands.¡±


    Something about it producing fine wool without taking sick in the warm weather. Which meant the Malani had ties to the Council of Ministers, as only the nobles had large enough estates to raise cattle on that scale. And since the Trade Assembly controlled the iron shipping to the Republics, which kept them rich enough to compete with the nobles, the magnates had ties to Tianxia. It was no wonder that the Watch believed there would soon be war in Asphodel, given that two powers stronger than the nominal ruler of the state were in bed with foreign interests.


    Song knew better than to believe the Republics were anything less than cutthroat in their efforts to dominate the Trebian trade.


    ¡°Now, perhaps I am too hopeful a man but I choose to believe that the lot of you are capable of understanding the basic implications of what has been said here,¡± Captain Wen said. ¡°Now, consider this: the Asphodel Rectorate has unveiled the existence of a functional Antediluvian on its home island, the capacity to build cutters and that it secured a large cache of tomic alloys.¡±


    He paused.


    ¡°Then consider further that all of these great and mighty boons are inside land that is ruled over directly by the lord rector of Asphodel, allowing young Evander Palliades to entirely cut out the aristoi and the magnates.¡±


    Captain Wen leaned in.


    ¡°What does that sound like to you?¡±


    ¡°Blackpowder,¡± Kiran Agrawal grimly said.


    ¡°Elaborate,¡± Wen said.


    It was another than answered ¨C Angharad, to Song¡¯s mild surprise.


    ¡°A great source of revenue not hampered by the Council of Ministers would allow the lord rector to muster funds and soldiers to assert authority over the nobility again,¡± she said. ¡°To call the magnates to heel would then be trivial.¡±


    ¡°You two can split the orange later,¡± Wen mused, setting it down on a barrel. ¡°Broadly speaking, that assessment¡¯s correct ¨C the Palliades have a chance at ruling Asphodel in more than name again, if they survive the next few years. That Lord Rector Evander kept secret the shipyard find until the very last moment indicates he understands the dangers ahead.¡±


    The bespectacled man rolled his shoulder.


    ¡°There will be eyes on you from the moment we dock at Trathekes,¡± Wen warned them. ¡°Traditionally, the Watch can be said to be on the side of whoever holds the seat of lord rector. In practice, however, the power of the countryside aristoi means our men at Stheno¡¯s Peak had to cultivate good relationships with them to be able to move unhindered through their lands.¡±


    ¡°Surely,¡± Bait slowly said, ¡°neither these ministers nor magnates would try to hinder us when our contracts are to the benefit of Asphodel.¡±


    Wen laughed.


    ¡°There¡¯s war coming for that isle, boy,¡± he said. ¡°If it looks like the Lord Rector will win it, the old nobles will reach out to their Malani friends and the merchants send letters to the Republics ¨C they know a resurgent Palliades family will bury them. There¡¯s not a scrap of sharp steel on Asphodel that will not be scrutinized for allegiance, and though you are students you wear the black.¡±


    He clicked his tongue.


    ¡°Behind you stands the weight of armies and fleets, children,¡± he said. ¡°Your personal opinions matter little, but these grand men will dissect your every step like augurs trying to read in such entrails the intentions of the officers above you.¡±


    And if the Watch decided to back a faction, Song read between the lines, it might very well tip the balance their way. Malan and the Republics were powerful, but the Watch was closer ¨C and could more easily commit more of its strength. Yet the Watch could not take sides, as Professor Iyengar had told them in that first lesson. To do so would be a poison lethal to the order.


    ¡°You will have to tread lightly,¡± Wen Duan said. ¡°Which is why we¡¯re now going to spend the rest of this morning learning names .¡±


    Skeptical looks.


    ¡°Whose names, you ask?¡±


    ¡°No one asked that,¡± Tristan muttered.


    ¡°Ah, my first volunteer,¡± he happily replied. ¡°And, of course, it is the names of every great family, trade cartel and court official on Asphodel.¡±


    He cracked his hands.


    ¡°And in case you were wondering, every mistake will be punished.¡±

 Chapter 41

    With Wen¡¯s impromptu torture session come at an end, they were released to stretch their legs and eat a bit before heading out to their afternoon covenant classes.


    While the other instructors came to pick up their students and guide them to whatever room they¡¯d secured for the lesson, Tristan was not so blessed. He waved off Song¡¯s concern, telling her it was handled, then spent fifteen minutes looking through their cabin for the note Hage should have planted. Insult and injury, it was not him that found it but Fortuna.


    ¡°Under the pillow,¡± she chortled happily. ¡°I can¡¯t believe you missed that.¡±


    He gritted his teeth.


    ¡°It was too easy, I was sure that-¡±


    ¡°Sure that you were right, but you were wroooooong,¡± the Lady of Long Odds taunted in a singsong voice.


    Infuriating as Fortuna was, he had greater concerns. The handwriting was Hage¡¯s, which confirmed his suspicion as to his instructor¡¯s identity ¨C to some extent ¨C and explained the following sadism. Hage had decided their class was to be had at midnight on the galleon¡¯s forecastle. Attending that class would have been made easier by the devil getting permission from Commodore Trivedi for his students to traverse the ship, but he explicitly had not. Neither would he get involved if his students were caught and punished.


    This forced the seeking of some diplomatic compromises, which was how Tristan found himself standing in the deserted hallway with a rapier¡¯s point resting against the hollow of his throat.


    ¡°A month¡¯s delay,¡± Cressida Barboza said, pushing in the point slightly.


    Smiling, Tristan kept his pistol steadily pointed right at her head. It was not yet cocked, not that she would be able to tell from this angle.


    ¡°Come now,¡± he said. ¡°A truce until we return to Tolomontera seems much more reasonable. Scholomance business in Scholomance, yes?¡±


    ¡°Ira got my seat,¡± Cressida hissed. ¡°I¡¯m locked out for the year.¡±


    ¡°I heard,¡± he replied. ¡°A shame that you decided to align yourself with her.¡±


    The glare that earned him was a baleful thing but what of it? Angry as she was, Cressida could not deny she was the one who had set aside their arrangement. He¡¯d no longer even been involved in the matter when she was beat to the punch by Ira. Besides, they both knew this was posturing. If she opened his throat with a blade she¡¯d be executed before the Gallant even reached Asphodel, which meant she was making a show of threat and fury to leverage him.


    ¡°You owe me,¡± she said.


    Thus, and now that? That would not do. He cocked the pistol pointedly.


    ¡°I do not,¡± the rat coldly replied. ¡°Count yourself lucky I am not inclined to further pursue the matter of your bearing arms against me.¡±


    He saw the flicker of satisfaction in her eyes and knew in that heartbeat he¡¯d been had. She sighed theatrically and slid her rapier back in the sheath.


    ¡°I will count us even, then,¡± Cressida said, as if it were some great concession instead of him falling for her trick. ¡°Have you thoughts on getting up to the deck?¡±


    Fuck, he unhappily thought. He had just thrown away good leverage for nothing because she had gotten under his skin. He could go back on that, refuse it, but would it be worth it? No, he decided after a heartbeat. Not when there had been genuine anger in those glares back at the docks. Better to take that loss, consider it an investment into appeasing her.


    ¡°Fine,¡± he spoke through a snarl, playing up the anger.


    The greater the appearance of indignation, the more she would believe she had won off him and the further she would be appeased. If he was to pay up, he¡¯d milk it for all it was worth. The thief lowered the pistol.


    ¡°How much rope did you bring?¡± Tristan asked.


    She cocked her head to the side.


    ¡°You¡¯d be surprised,¡± Cressida Barboza said.


    --


    Maryam had not been sure they would be allowed to use Signs while on the ship, so it was a pleasant surprise to learn they had permission.


    The real trouble, Lieutenant Mitra told them, had been securing a room where they could practice. Repeated use of Gloam in a small space tended to taint the location, so they could not practice anywhere near or food or where people might sleep. That was probably why they¡¯d ended up standing in a cramped room full of stacked cannon balls in crates. Upon the door being cracked open to reveal this, the signifier from the Eleventh ¨C Qianfan - asked in that surprisingly high-pitched voice of his why they did not simply use the same practice room as the galleon¡¯s Navigator.


    ¡°She does not have one,¡± Lieutenant Mitra replied. ¡°Our fellow guildswoman is more officer than practitioner, these days. It¡¯s not so uncommon with these ambitious types: she¡¯ll keep her Thalassics polished and leave everything else to assistants.¡±


    He paused.


    ¡°Know that the Akelarre Guild is not immune to the degeneration that is the end of all things, built or born, and remember that decay into death is the only journey,¡± Lieutenant Mitra added.


    The stringy man then clapped his hands, smiling.


    ¡°All right! So, who here believes they have mastered the Bayonet? Form it thrice in a row without a mistake and I¡¯ll tip you my dessert rations at dinner.¡±


    Maryam found herself sharing a martyred look with Alejandra Torrero, who while generally disgusted with everyone and everything not part of the Fourth Brigade was always willing to commiserate over their instructor. That Lieutenant Mitra was her brigade¡¯s patron did not seem to have inured her to his ways.


    It was already the third time since they¡¯d gathered for class that the lieutenant had used the word death and it had not yet been five minutes. It would be a little less unsettling, Maryam mused, if the gloom were not so cheerful.


    ¡°Come, you two,¡± Lieutenant Mitra called out to them. ¡°The inexorable end of all things is no excuse for dawdling!¡±


    Over the ensuing hours of practice, Maryam Khaimov learned three things. Well, four if you counted the confirmation of her already-held suspicion that signifying in a room full of crates was awkward and difficult when the practiced Sign made holes in whatever it touched.


    Working with the metal scraps they¡¯d been given to pierce through, however, was very helpful in helping her refine the results of the Bayonet in a way that practicing the Sign in the Abbey had not been able to. The Bayonet was an Ancipital Sign, and one of the most straightforward from that branch: through tracing the Sign one gathered Gloam to themselves, shaped it into a long and thin blade and then released it through contact with a surface. Usually the next surface the burdened hand made contact with, though skilled signifiers could delay and withhold.


    As Gloam ate into most anything save Glare, the Bayonet was quite lethal if used on a person but it was also a Sign with a lot of secondary applications. Captain Yue had told her it was nicknamed the ¡®Akelarre lockpick¡¯ by virtue of the fact that putting a Bayonet through most locks tended to scrap that lock, and there were a hundred more small uses for what was effectively a Gloam knife.


    Actually trying to pierce through metal, though, showed her that the Bayonet had that shape for a reason. If the blade was forged too broad it did not pierce so much as scorch, and if it was too short then it tended to burst like a thrown tomato when the Gloam sunk into the surface. Which might have had its uses, if it did not burst so close to her fingers ¨C Maryam did not have so many of those left as to get careless with them. Lieutenant Mitra noted her adjustments with approval.


    ¡°The Bayonet was designed to instantly kill a grown man through touching either their forehead or occiput,¡± the Someshwari said. ¡°You need the length to punch deep enough past the skull.¡±


    He, uh, rather sounded like he was speaking from experience. Maryam reminded herself that no one who had been named a Master of the Guild in their thirties was to be taken lightly.


    Regardless, lesson aside she had come to three conclusions. The first was that Qianfan was one of the finest signifiers of her age she had met: he traced elegantly and flawlessly, like a Tianxi scholar writing characters. He was also faster than them, having already finished a third perfect Bayonet by the time Alejandra began her second and Maryam was still tying a bow on her first.


    Lieutenant Mitra duly awarded him the extra dessert along with a helpful reminder that the grave was the birthright of both prodigies and lackwits.


    The second conclusion was that Alejandra Torrero had not ended up in the Fourth because she lacked skill as a signifier, which Maryam had figured was the most likely explanation for anyone believing joining up with Tupoc Xical a sound notion. The scowling Lierganen was, with the Bayonet at least, quick and clean. The reason why cabals would not have wanted to snap up became clear the first time she traced a Sign: whenever Alejandra pulled on the Gloam, her skin above the waist pulled taut and soured like old milk.


    She looked like a sickly, corrupted corpse.


    That distressing appearance would have been enough for the pickier cabals to overlook her even if such a turn was not almost certain to come from a botched obscuration, something known to cause¡­ instability in a signifier, over time. Tupoc, no doubt, had found that a virtue: he seemed to be collecting such dangers, what with Expendable apparently having little control over his shapeshifting contract.


    No doubt any day now they¡¯d learn that the tinker had turned herself into a literal powder keg and that Bait was some sort of bloodsucking ghost.


    The third thing Maryam learned was that Lieutenant Mitra, for all his debonair fatalism, could still be given pause. It came out when he asked about her rings, frowning at her admission their use helped her trace Signs in spite of some difficulties. He suggested practicing without them, to wean off reliance. Disinclined to out the full details of her situation while there were another two students badly pretending to put up their targets as they eavesdropped, Maryam directly reached for the largest gun in her armory.


    ¡°I was told to use them by Captain Yue,¡± she said.


    Lieutenant Mitra winced at that, through the disheveled beard.


    ¡°The same Captain Yue with the¡­¡±


    He gestured at the side of his face, where Yue had burns scars only mostly hidden by her hair. Maryam nodded. Reading between the lines of how much time Captain Yue had to spend on her many curiosities, Maryam had long suspected that she had a light touch as senior signifier of Port Allazei. Given Yue¡¯s general impatience with things and people that did not interest her, that might be for the best.


    ¡°Well, I¡¯ll not argue with the woman who did Caranela,¡± Mitra said. ¡°I am in no particular hurry to reach the inevitable.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s twice now I¡¯ve heard that name,¡± Maryam said. ¡°Carenela. It is a town?¡±


    ¡°Was.¡±


    Alejandra Torrero, her face still a sallow ruin, outright ceased pretending she hadn¡¯t been eavesdropping on their conversation. Now that she was no longer pulling on Gloam her face began to slacken, but it would take minutes yet before she returned to her usual appearance.


    ¡°Caranela was a town out in Old Liergan that the Watch put in quarantine when it caught the yellow plague, some decades ago,¡± Alejandra said. ¡°Most everyone died but it didn¡¯t spread, so there was a lot of praise. It¡¯s one of those stories bandied about whenever the blackcloaks go recruiting in the region.¡±


    Her eyebrow rose, looking like stripe of fur on a carcass. Maryam had seen enough corpses not to flinch, but it was a sight.


    ¡°I never heard talk of an Akelarre being involved, though.¡±


    ¡°You would not have,¡± Lieutenant Mitra said. ¡°As I understand she was quite young, still a sergeant. Yue was part of the quarantine force and lobbied for the adoption of a policy. The yellow plague, you see, has a survival rate of one in ten. It is one of the worst diseases we know of.¡±


    Mitra smiled thinly.


    ¡°Sergeant Yue went to her superiors and sold them on an idea: the Akelarre Guild has a great many experiments it would like to conduct that would likely kill the subject, but the Watch cannot go around acting like a pack of black-clad children of Necalli.¡±


    Maryam was not sure she liked where this story was headed.


    ¡°Thus her proposal was that, in situations like Caranela, Watch officers should be allowed to attempt those experiments if an argument could be made that they would result in fewer deaths than expected.¡±


    ¡°We were never told this in Mandate,¡± Qianfan said, joining Alejandra in shedding pretense.


    Unlike the Lierganen girl, who wore her appalment as openly as she could while her face was tainted, Qianfan seemed indifferent at the implications. More interested in the details than the blood soaking them.


    It is not a lesson for first years,¡± Lieutenant Mitra said. ¡°Besides, the policy had since been clipped. After a bloody mistake out in the Someshwar, the Conclave made amendments and now the proposed experiments need to pass before a committee. And even then, should the trials then be proved unnecessarily cruel or lead to more deaths than anticipated, there are grave consequences.¡±


    And with the Watch when men talked of grave consequences that first word tended to be literal. Yet the story, Maryam thought, was not quite finished.


    ¡°But they let her try her idea,¡± Maryam said. ¡°In Caranela, I mean.¡±


    I¡¯ve been called a lot of things, over the years, Captain Yue had told her that night. And one of those sobriquets she¡¯d spoken had been butcher of Caranela


    ¡°They did,¡± Lieutenant Mitra said.


    His expression was stiff and he did not elaborate.


    ¡°Did it work?¡± Alejandra pressed.


    A moment of silence.


    ¡°Two in ten survived, instead of one,¡± Mitra finally said.


    ¡°She was right, then,¡± Maryam quietly said. ¡°She saved lives.¡±


    Dark eyes turned to her and his lips thinned.


    ¡°So she did,¡± Lieutenant Mitra acknowledged. ¡°But she did it by opening the belly of children with silver scalpels, so none argue that the Butcher of Caranela did not earn her name.¡±


    --


    Captain Oratile was almost bluntly direct, which was rare with Malani, but Song did not dislike it.


    ¡°Colonel Cao dropped assigned readings for you onto my lap and she is much higher up the food chain than I am, so you¡¯ll be doing them dutifully,¡± the dark-skinned officer informed them. ¡°I hope you enjoy reading about the industries and shipping of our order, because there¡¯s about a month¡¯s worth of that ahead of you.¡±


    ¡°I do not,¡± Tupoc politely told her.


    ¡°That¡¯s a shame,¡± Captain Oratile mused. ¡°For you, anyway. I won¡¯t be reading your reports, Cao can have that pleasure since she asked for them in the first place.¡±


    Sadly, Tupoc appeared charmed by the open dismissal. The captain¡¯s forthrightness had yet to dent, and drew the eye more than anything else about the Malani. Captain Oratile was, after all, quite mundane in appearance. Neither short nor tall, neither ugly nor fair, and while her hair was tied up in braids they were not particularly long. Even those eyes were an unremarkable brown, without so much as fleck of other color. She had some calluses on her hand, a fighter¡¯s mark, but did not have that particular killer¡¯s gait that Skiritai so often did.


    No, if there was anything at all about the Nineteenth¡¯s patron that stood out it was that easy confidence. Captain Tozi cleared her throat.


    ¡°When we spoke on Scholomance, ma¡¯am, you mentioned some teaching ambitions,¡± she said. ¡°Has that changed?¡±


    Song was coming to notice something interesting about Tozi Poloko: she never truly deferred to anyone. She was polite, did not truly overstep, but sometimes it peeked through that Tozi did not particularly consider her superior officers to be superior. What she had just said was a decent enough example. While it was politely and respectfully phrased, it was still very much a student telling her patron what to do.


    Song wondered whether that was the doing of Tozi¡¯s contract. It must do strange things to one¡¯s sense of danger, to know the most likely source of your death at all times. To her it seemed the kind of pressure that would forge either fearlessness or cringing cowardice.


    ¡°I¡¯ve a proper class prepared for Teratology, worry not,¡± Captain Oratile waved away.


    She then took a second look at her assembled class, the captains of the four brigades, and sighed at what she saw. They¡¯d gathered in the captain¡¯s own cabin, which she appeared to share with Sergeant Kavia by the sheer number of weapons being hoarded, and in truth it was a little tight in here. Enough that Imani Langa was seated on one of the beds instead of a stool, which given the choppiness of the seas outside Song somewhat envied.


    ¡°Look, the lot of you are on what the Academy informally refers to as the ¡®upper¡¯ track,¡± Captain Oratile said. ¡°Upper in contrast to the ¡®lower¡¯, which is what most Stripes go through: a finishing school for officers, qualifying them for a particular kind of command and bringing them into the Stripe circles of patronage.¡±


    She rolled her shoulder, leaning back against her desk.


    ¡°You, however, are being groomed for high-ranking positions. Not in the way that those going through the Academy¡¯s upper track are, future colonels and captain-generals, but in that you are being formed to lead formations of covenanter cabals.¡±


    Imani cleared her throat, earning a nod of permission from the captain.


    ¡°Are we to understand,¡± she said, ¡°that you went through the ¡®lower¡¯ track yourself?¡±


    ¡°I did,¡± Captain Oratile easily replied. ¡°What I¡¯ve done for the last half-decade, children, is lead a Garrison company to catalogue the lemures of the Tower Coast. That position means wrangling both Savants and Laurels while not burning through assigned funds too quickly. Hence, a Stripe was sent for.¡±


    Some twitching lips all around. While none denied that the three societies of the College made great contributions to the Watch, they were also very prone to squabbles and infamously terrible with money. It was an old joke in the black that if you sent three society robes to buy food at the market they¡¯d come back with a book, a friend and toolbox then complain to the Stripe about the lack of supper.


    ¡°While I¡¯ve mostly served as an officer in the regulars I have also studied as a teratologist, which made me suited to the command and saw me sent up to Academy in the first place,¡± Captain Oratile said. ¡°I¡¯ll not belabor the matter of my personal history further: my experience is with a specialized command, and I expect the trajectory of our respective careers will radically differ.¡±


    She sighed again.


    ¡°That is what has me wary of teaching you.¡±


    She drummed her fingers against the table.


    ¡°Now, what I can offer you is some advice in dealing with local authorities and other Watch forces,¡± Captain Oratile said. ¡°I¡¯ll not force it on you, and your readings aren¡¯t going anywhere, but feel free to draw on my experience during these hours if you would like.¡±


    Straightened backs at that, and from everyone. Even Tupoc saw the worth in such lessons, and why should he not? The overwhelming majority of the people they would have to deal with over the length of their careers were either locals or rank-and-file watchmen. At Scholomance covenanter students gathered like hothouse flowers, but after graduation arithmetic would inevitably win out: fewer than one in ten watchmen belonged to a covenant.


    ¡°That would be most agreeable,¡± Song carefully said.


    The dark-eyed captain glanced at her, then hummed.


    ¡°Fine,¡± she said. ¡°Some of you will pursue contracts within Tratheke. Before you do, the first thing you need to do is pay a visit to the head of the city watch ¨C called the lictors, in the capital.¡±


    As Captain Oratile began to warm up to her subject Song reached for her book and pen. A small command run by a Stripe, with a handful of other covenanters beneath her and specializing in particular assignments. The Nineteenth¡¯s patron could not possibly know, but what she¡¯d led for half a decade was precisely the kind of free company Song Ren intended to form after graduation.


    --


    Tristan had spent most of the afternoon counting watch rotations on the deck right above where the students lodged, which only reinforced that the plan he¡¯d first come up with was the most feasible way forward. If it¡¯d been only sailors on board sneaking through might have been feasible, but hatefully enough Commodore Trivedi appeared to be using the soldiers being ferried to Asphodel as guards.


    Competence in one¡¯s adversaries was a vexing thing. Tristan would have preferred to make enemies only of fools, but he had yet to master such discernment. One could only dream.


    ¡°Would you hurry?¡±


    Pressed against the wall, he shot Cressida a dark look. She returned a roll of her eyes. Fortuna popped her head through the wall a moment later, shaking it. Only then did Tristan ¡®risk¡¯ peeking past the door. By pleasant happenstance, there was no sailor or soldier in a position to see him do this. As he had no intention of tipping his hand to the other Mask regarding his goddess, he was resorting to the pantomime of being overly careful instead.


    It was irritating Cressida greatly, which he counted as a side benefit.


    Padding quietly across the wooden floor, Tristan ghosted across the gunnery deck. If the Gallant Enterprise were an older warship there would only be one, but for this luck was on their side: there were no fewer than three. It meant patrolling them all was not feasible, as since the gunnery decks took up so much room some of them had to be used for sailors to sleep. The lowest deck had been near certain to be the one so designated, in their shared opinion, and they¡¯d been right.


    Not that being caught by sailors would be any better than the soldiers.


    That was why the two Masks were very, very careful as they made their way to the closest gunport. Loud snoring warned them of company long before they made out the sleeping forms in the hanging hammocks. The real test came when they¡¯d stepped past a bearded man who slept like the dead and knelt by the gunport. Both checked with their fingers, but the oil they¡¯d brought proved unnecessary: the hinges were already well taken care of, unlikely to scream.


    They still took their time cracking the gunport open.


    In continued silence, Tristan tied the rope around his waist and secured it to his belt just in case. Cressida opened her bag silently, handing him the wall hammer and spikes. That she was better equipped than he for the work of robbery had been fortunate but Tristan thought it might graduate to being a concern in the coming weeks. Sliding on leather gloves, he nodded at her in the dark. She tied the rope to a hook in the wall, knelt by it and nodded back.


    After that, there was nothing to do but climb. Tristan had not attempted anything of this scale since the tower back on the Dominion and had not bloody missed it. As they¡¯d discussed Cressida gave him only a little rope at the start, enough he could hang slightly beneath the gunport mouth and begin the climb, only loosening her grip once the rope began pulling upwards.


    The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    The spikes dug into the wood well enough, and unless Cressida cut the rope Tristan was not at risk of dying even if he fell, but the whole affair was still a nightmare. The side of the ship was a slippery hell, any slightly off angle sending his boots skidding, and there were lights moving on the deck above so he couldn¡¯t hurry ¨C he had to wait, arms aching, until the lamps went away.


    It was a climb that would have taken him mere minutes in the open, but as they must it took him near twenty and he came damn close to falling when a brass cap he rested his boot on halfway unscrewed. Near a quarter of that time was spent just before the edge of the top deck, waiting for room to climb and pull Cressida up after him.


    It was easier for her: once on deck, he tied the rope to one of the railings and tugged four times to signify it was her turn. Much as he would have rather let her climb, the lights on the deck at the back would be returning soon. He helped pull her up instead, as quickly and silently as they could, and they hid behind barrels when a pair of sailors passed by them chatting quietly in Umoya.


    After that making their way to the foredeck was just a question of patience. The sailors were not truly looking for someone sneaking about the deck, more interested in watching the dark waters for some approaching ship or storm. The pair slipped across the open space, then up the stairs on the side of the commodore¡¯s cabin and to that narrowing space before the prow.


    Hage was waiting there, sitting on the bottom of the bowsprit ¨C a large, inclined mast aimed towards the front of the ship ¨C with a purring Mephistofeline splashed onto his lap like a veritable puddle of cat.


    ¡°You are early,¡± the devil said, tone disapproving.


    ¡°You always complain I am late when I¡¯m not,¡± Cressida shot right back.


    Tristan shot her look, only barely hiding his surprise. She was already familiar with Hage? He¡¯d refrained from asking her about it, concerned he was more likely to reveal he was being taught by the devil than find out anything new, but perhaps he should have. Hage, as disinclined to miss anything as always, bared the least fearsome of his teeth in a smile.


    ¡°She followed you back to the Chimerical some time ago,¡± the devil said. ¡°Though you do not share a class.¡±


    ¡°He did not need to know that,¡± Cressida said, frowning.


    Ah, so she was a student of poisons then. It was always a good idea to keep track of one¡¯s meals, but it looked like Tristan was going to have to get methodical about it.


    ¡°It is fair trade,¡± Hage replied, ¡°as you are about to learn something of his. There is a reason this class is to take place outside.¡±


    ¡°I assumed sadism,¡± Tristan said.


    ¡°That one¡¯s a given, really,¡± Cressida noted. ¡°Even if there is another answer, there¡¯ll be a pinchful of sadism on top.¡±


    ¡°No, children,¡± Hage sighed. ¡°It is because of this.¡±


    He pointed a finger up, prompting their eyes to follow, and for a heartbeat Tristan thought they¡¯d fallen for a petty trick. But then he caught sight of the silhouette perched on the rigging, black against the pierced dark of firmament. The large magpie cocked its head to the side, letting out a cackle-call.


    ¡°Sakkas?¡± Tristan blinked. ¡°What are you doing here?¡±


    ¡°Of course the bird has a name,¡± Cressida muttered, sounding pained.


    The magpie let out another call, shuffling back and forth on the rigging, before taking flight and landing on the deck. There it walked about with a straight back, as if posing its feathers for their eyes.


    ¡°Tormenting my cat is what he¡¯s doing,¡± Hage flatly said. ¡°He keeps baiting Mephistofeline to leap into the water.¡±


    Said cat had gone utterly still on the devil¡¯s lap, eyeing Sakkas with wide and greedy eyes. Tristan had seen that look often enough he let out a shout of protest as Mephistofeline burst out of Hage¡¯s grasp, leaping for the magpie, and he was stepping in to chase away the glutton when he saw there¡¯d been no need ¨C the magpie deftly hopped up, wings aflutter, and as Mephistofeline sloshed against the floor it landed on the cat¡¯s back before letting out a triumphant cackle.


    His Infernal Highness took to that poorly, meowing furiously and flopping onto his belly to mixed effect as he tried to bat down his foe. Sakkas flew off before he could, landing on the railing and shuffling about in a victory parade. Tristan¡¯s lips twitched up into a smug smile. While he was, of course, a proponent of peace if there was to be any bullying he was not displeased that it would be Sakkas on the clear winning end.


    ¡°That bird was not worth revealing what class I¡¯m in,¡± Cressida flatly said.


    ¡°No,¡± Hage acknowledged, ¡°but awareness of whatever lies inside was.¡±


    Tristan¡¯s jaw clenched.


    ¡°So there¡¯s really some entity possessing it.¡±


    ¡°It is a bird, Tristan,¡± Hage said. ¡°Given the small size of their minds, it would take less than a day for the intelligence that seized the body to be the only intelligence. It is not possession but replacement.¡±


    Oddly enough, that made him feel somewhat better about it. Cressida¡¯s concern, understandably, was more practical.


    ¡°What¡¯s inside?¡± she bluntly asked.


    ¡°Difficult to tell without a Navigator digging into it,¡± Hage casually said. ¡°It is, at least, not a complicated intellect. Cleverer than a dog but less so than a child.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t seem worried,¡± Tristan observed.


    ¡°It appears to have some sort of fondness for you,¡± the devil said. ¡°I do not believe it capable of deception, so you might consider it a sort of lesser spirit following you around.¡±


    Even on a ship heading away from Tolomontera, which was charming but also a little worrying. Perhaps speaking with Maryam about taking a look ¨C without harming Sakkas, obviously ¨C was in order. The old devil stretched his body lazily, his cat slinking back to his boots to beg for comfort petting he was immediately indulged in.


    ¡°By the looks of it, the two of you climbed up the side of the galleon to reach here,¡± he idly said. ¡°Well done, though it was the riskiest of the methods. We now pass the second part of the lesson.¡±


    The two of them leaned in, which made it all the worse when Hage began shouting for the sailors on deck to run here. The devil grinned with all his teeth, savoring their dismay.


    ¡°Now we find out if you can make it out of the ship¡¯s gaol before morning.¡±


    Well, there went his night¡¯s sleep.


    --


    While Angharad would concede that what Captain Oratile was teaching them fell under Teratology, it was a rather different sort of class than what she was used to. The Malani captain, instead of dragging them through a dozen books and theories in search of some eldritch truth about the nature of spirits, had set down three maps of the island of Asphodel and begun addressing knowledge of a more practical nature.


    ¡°As you can see Tratheke is set in a large valley between two mountain ranges,¡± the captain said. ¡°The farmland around it is the most fertile on the island and Tratheke Valley is the most densely populated region of Asphodel.¡±


    She put down a small black stone atop the inscribed outline of the capital.


    ¡°The city¡¯s unusually clean and lacks slums, so it¡¯s short on the kind of lemures that usually become part of metropolitan food chain,¡± Captain Oratile said. ¡°Symbiotic breeds of lares will abound, however ¨C mostly myrmekes, the kind that feed on trash, but you can expect coronals on the outskirts.¡±


    A cleared throat from Thando Fenya.


    ¡°I am unfamiliar with the species,¡± he said.


    ¡°They look like ravens,¡± Captain Oratile said, ¡°but are in fact a kind of hard-shelled mollusk. They hunt mostly through their emanations, which are adhesive and trap insects as well as small animals.¡±


    Angharad was not the only one to make a moue of disgust. Tristan leaned in with interest, though he still looked like an exhausted, bedraggled cat ¨C he¡¯d stumbled into the cabin at four in the morning, muttering something about the hatefulness of devils, and delicately refused to deny any rumors about him spending part of the night in the ship gaol. The captain rolled her eyes, then set down two white stones: one on each side of Tratheke Valley, near the mountain ranges hemming it in.


    ¡°The Tika and Toli mountains are regularly patrolled, but given the sparse sources of Glare the presence of lemures cannot feasibly be stamped out,¡± Captain Oratile told them. ¡°That means lemures will descend into the valley from there, most frequently packs of lesser breeds like lupines. Larger creatures like ursals or manticores might get displaced as well, but usually because they are sick or wounded.¡±


    As the captain began expounding about the spirit breeds in the mountains, it became clear to Angharad why Asphodel continued to have lemure troubles even though it was a well-populated island that had been settled for hundreds of years. Tratheke Valley, holding the capital and rich farmlands, was under the direct rule of the Palliades family of Asphodel. The rest of the island, however, was parceled into a headache-inducing maze of noble estates.


    Malani noble holdings were not necessarily contiguous, alliances and inheritances had seen to that, but it was frowned upon for one¡¯s properties to be too widely spread. How could you properly serve as a noble when three estates on different sides of the Isles all required your hand? It was considered proper to trade land with other nobles in such situations, a wisdom contrasted to the nightmare that was the Imperial Someshwar ¨C where a traveler could walk a mile and owe road tolls to ten different lords.


    The noble houses of Asphodel made the Someshwari look tame.


    Oh, the eastern peninsula beyond the Toli mountains was not so bad. The coast had been parceled like thinly sliced cheese, but further in the demesnes were larger. It was the mountain valleys and the western third of Asphodel ¨C rocky coastlands around a large plateau ¨C that were so divided that the map noting whom the territories belonged to had more letters than lines on it.


    How could a land defend itself from the depredations of the Gloam when there were more border steles than roads? Lemures raided into Tratheke Valley because the Asphodelian nobles had to pick and choose which of their holdings they would defend and few would be inclined to keep their soldiers in small, desolate mountain holds when they had richer prizes to ward. It was a truth long known to the Kingdom of Malan that even a rich land could be poor, if it had a weak king.


    ¡°The Nitari Heights are known for their nemeans, but you¡¯ll find the base of those cliffs is much more dangerous and the summit,¡± Captain Oratile continued, laying down a white stone on the great western plateau. ¡°Great snakes nest in the caves and tunnels there, and at least one brigade among you will be headed out to the region to hunt a Ladonite dragon.¡±


    Startled faces all around. Even Angharad winced the thought of facing such a creature, which she had looked into since it was on the Steel list. Ladonite dragons were massive winged snakes with front legs, prone to digging lairs high up on cliffsides. They hunted men, as all lemures, but also ravaged orchards. Not for love of the taste of apples and peaches, but because the fruits fermented in their bellies until they became a liquid the dragons could spew out as gouts of flame.


    ¡°Ladonites aren¡¯t habitual ravagers, unlike most lemures we call dragons,¡± the captain told them. ¡°Very territorial, yes, but they don¡¯t usually venture out of that territory much. That the one the Watch was contracted to kill has been burning manors is quite unusual.¡±


    Despite Oratile¡¯s clear expectation otherwise, her words did not cause a great well of interest in picking that fight. Fighting a mad Ladonite dragon was, arguably, even worse than fighting the regular kind. That Tupoc was the sole exception to this, eyes almost shining, boded ill for the fortunes of the Fourth. For once Angharad would wish that lot the best.


    ¡°Well,¡± Captain Oratile said, ¡°that finishes the outline.¡±


    She paused.


    ¡°I would recommend ink and paper,¡± she said, ¡°as we are now to discuss the weaknesses ¨C physiological and tactical ¨C of the lemures you are most likely to encounter.¡±


    --


    It was mightily frustrating for Angharad to be unable to participate in the sparring, forced instead to stand leaning on her walking stick while the boys fought. Sergeant Kavia had secured permission for her to practice with a pistol, so the time was not entirely wasted, but even that small exercise exhausted her quickly. It was a constant source of irritation, that merely going up a set of stairs was enough to see her panting and red-faced.


    Expendable¡¯s practice spear was slapped aside, Kiran Agrawal following through with a feinting thrust that had the Malani leaning back ¨C only for the other man to hook around the side of his neck and swing, toppling him smoothly. Angharad almost whistled in appreciation. Kiran, she was learning, was much better with a spear than his performance in the Acallar had indicated.


    He was trained to fight men, not beasts.


    ¡°Kill,¡± Sergeant Kavia called out. ¡°Take a few minutes, drink some water. Velaphi, you need to work on discerning feints. I¡¯ll have a drill for you to keep practicing on your own time. Your captain¡¯s a spearman, yes?¡±


    Expendable nodded, pulling down his wide-brim hat over his face when the sergeant tried to catch his gaze.


    ¡°It¡¯s a simple one-three, you should have no trouble teaching it to him,¡± the older Skiritai said, and he nodded again.


    Still perched atop a table, legs folded, Sergeant Kavia then cocked a brow at Kiran.


    ¡°Agrawal, you need cut out those lohacarya flourishes,¡± she said. ¡°Velaphi¡¯s not good enough to use them against you yet, but some out there will be ¨C you won¡¯t be marrying up by doing well in a courting tournament, boy, so just go for the goddamn killing blows."


    The other Someshwari grimaced.


    ¡°Yes ma¡¯am,¡± he said. ¡°I have already been told it¡¯s a bad habit.¡±


    Sergeant Kavia waved it away.


    ¡°It¡¯s common in our Someshwari recruits, and no worse a flaw than the Tianxi drilling their children like every fight will be fought with a line of spears around them,¡± she said. ¡°We all come to the Watch with blinders on.¡±


    The sergeant¡¯s eyes then moved to Angharad.


    ¡°And?¡±


    ¡°Neither crossed the circle,¡± she replied.


    That was her own exercise: Sergeant Kavia had walked a circular path around a part of the sparring area, and Angharad had to keep track of whether or not either man left the circle after entering it. It was to train her perception of room and help her learn the spacing used by spearmen.


    ¡°Correct,¡± Kavia grunted. ¡°Who came closest?¡±


    ¡°Kiran,¡± she immediately said. ¡°When he drew back to bait Expendable just before the end.¡±


    The older woman hummed in approval, sounding pleased.


    ¡°You¡¯re getting them more often than not now,¡± she said. ¡°We¡¯ll be moving on to the next exercise soon.¡±


    Angharad almost smiled, pleased that despite her state she could do well at something. Thankfully the sergeant was a fountain of exercises, betraying the breadth of her experience as both a Skiritai and a drillmistress. Not that she must be without charm beyond these bounds, as it was not nothing for her to have been able to talk an officer into allowing them use of the mess hall for their class.


    They¡¯d had to move the benches first ¨C though not the tables, which were screwed into the floor ¨C but there was a respectable amount of room. The sergeant was skilled with both sword and spear, and for both the classes they¡¯d had so far had begun by facing the other two in a spar while Angharad was made to watch the circle. Only after that did they move on to drills and shooting.


    Sergeant Kavia was an experienced monster slayer, with good advice on many subjects, so Angharad would have enjoyed her afternoons a great deal if not for one little detail. One that she could almost count down to, since the others had gone to get water from the barrel in the corner and thus walked just out of hearing range.


    ¡°So,¡± Sergeant Kavia too-casually said, ¡°is your uncle married?¡±


    She tried to pretend she had not heard the other woman, eyes on the others getting ladles of water, but the silence stretched. Reluctantly, the noblewoman cleared her throat.


    ¡°Not as far as I know,¡± Angharad said.


    ¡°Lover ¨C man, woman?¡±


    Well, she supposed her uncle had been free to take one ever since he left behind Peredur and the duty to marry for the sake of House Tredegar. Not that discreet allowances were not allowed in even a third child, so long as reputations were not blackened, but the marriage market being what it was a man with no known lovers tended to be seen as preferable. Angharad could not recall her mother ever talking of her uncle¡¯s potential dalliances, however, and would not have shared her knowledge of such even if she had.


    ¡°I did not ask.¡±


    Sergeant Kavia clicked her tongue disapprovingly, as if Angharad had somehow let her down.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to have to ask Duan,¡± she complained, as if this were also Angharad¡¯s fault. ¡°He¡¯s going to be just terrible about it, I can tell.¡±


    Desperate for anything at all to change the subject, Angharad cast her net for the first thing she could think of.


    ¡°You mentioned yesterday that you have spent near thirty years in the Watch,¡± she said.


    Kavia looked amused, as if aware of the intended distraction, but nodded nonetheless.


    ¡°I enrolled at thirteen, then made skopis at nineteen after cutting my teeth on the Sordan War,¡± she said.


    Angharad¡¯s brow rose.


    ¡°If it is not indiscreet to ask, if you have served for so long then why¡­¡±


    ¡°Am I a sergeant?¡± Kavia grinned. ¡°Because with my age and record, they¡¯d stick me in a committee otherwise. I sock a couple of superior officers in the face whenever they try to promote me, nowadays.¡±


    Angharad could almost admire that, though a detail from earlier stuck out to her.


    ¡°I had not thought the Watch involved in the Sordan War,¡± she said. ¡°Was it not between the Kingdom of Sordon and the Kingdom of Izcalli?¡±


    With rumors of other nations supporting Sordon discreetly, to prevent Izcalli from ever holding the two shores of the Auric Strait at once.


    ¡°We¡¯re involved in all the wars, Tredegar,¡± Sergeant Kavia told her. ¡°Whenever the great powers have one, so do we: shoving back into the grave whatever crawls out having gorged on the bloodshed. Doghead Coyac is one of the better Izcalli warlords, but he broke armies aplenty ¨C that many corpses always wakes something up.¡±


    Angharad slowly nodded.


    ¡°I heard,¡± she quietly said, ¡°that such horror might be coming to Asphodel.¡±


    ¡°Pray you¡¯re gone before that, girl,¡± Sergeant Kavia grunted. ¡°Wars are bloody business, but civil wars are much worse. It¡¯s one thing for men to fight, but when a nation turns on itself it doesn¡¯t stop there.¡±


    She spat to the side.


    ¡°Civil wars get gods involved, you see, and that¡¯s when the wheels really come off the carriage.¡±


    The Pereduri looked down at her hand, at the way her fingers had tightened around the head of her cane without her even noticing it. She did hope the war only came before she had left, cowardly as it was of her. What could Angharad do in this state, if war did come?


    Only hide or die, and one was nearly as bad as the other.


    --


    Commodore Trivedi flatly refused the request made for the Gallant¡¯s passengers to be allowed ashore at Lavega, reportedly informing Commander Tredegar that she had no intention of risking missing the tide because they felt like wandering.


    The sole concession she was willing to make was that students and instructors were allowed on deck for an hour after the supplies were loaded, while she settled the last affairs of the flotilla ashore and the crew rested. Song found herself enjoying the sensation of the wind on her face after two days stuck below, even though the smells carried by the small port behind her were¡­ flavorful, to be kind. She kept her eye on the half dozen ships anchored out in the bay instead, another fighting galleon and four older carracks as well a sleek silhouette that must belong to a skimmer.


    Song had asked her brigade to leave her standing alone for a particular reason, so she was not surprised when she heard footsteps approaching. The very purpose of where she stood was to make herself approachable, after all.


    Captain Tozi rested her elbows against the ship railing, folding her arms, and Song was almost surprised she did not need to push up on the tip of her toes for it. The other woman stayed silent for the moment, looking out to the water. It was not a small force that the Watch was sending to Asphodel, after all. Only two modern fighting ships, but Asphodel¡¯s own home fleet would not be massively larger than the flotilla.


    ¡°Have you given thought,¡± Tozi finally said, ¡°to which test you would prefer?¡±


    ¡°Some,¡± Song replied. ¡°You?¡±


    ¡°Some,¡± Tozi agreed.


    Now that they were halfway to Asphodel, they had been told in detail of the nature of the contracts ahead. The brigades would ask their patron to aim for one in particular, then the instructors as a whole would debate which brigade should get which and make their decision. Song was reluctant to tip her hand too quickly, but a bargain with Tozi would be advantageous here.


    Should both Commander Tredegar, Captain Wen Captain Oratile strongly argue for particular arrangement it would make up a large portion of the assembly and weigh heavily on the debate. Not a sure thing, but good odds.


    ¡°I¡¯ve no taste for the hunt,¡± Song shared.


    Not only was the Thirteenth unsuited to taking on a Ladonite dragon ¨C their finest fighter was not fit to fight ¨C the task would take them to western Asphodel, out in the wilderness of the noble estates surrounding the Nitari Heights. None of her brigade were inclined to such rangings.


    ¡°Neither do I,¡± Captain Tozi said. ¡°And as we once discussed, the exorcism out in the hills seems more trouble than it¡¯s worth.¡±


    The Rectorate believed that outside the city, out in Tratheke Valley, some remnant god was pulling back together and causing troubles. Missing cattle, silhouettes moving at night, strange growths. That contract would not be as much of a journey as heading west for the hunt, more along the lines of expeditions followed by returning to the capital for bouts of research, but Song did not want to take Maryam into god troubles before her friend had better mastered her Signs.


    ¡°Wise,¡± Song replied. ¡°That leaves, I suppose, only the two investigations.¡±


    Both of which would take place in the city of Tratheke but running along rather different lines. Song knew the one she wanted, but getting Tozi to choose the other might be tricky.


    ¡°Tracking down the killer would require particular skills,¡± she said.


    The Rectorate believed that a contracted killer was acting in the capital, and the preliminary Watch investigation agreed: the wounds on the corpses had not been inflicted by steel or powder. With ten dead bodies to the name and the Tratheke city watch having failed to so much as catch sight of the killer, the Lord Rector was turning to the Watch to deal with the issue.


    ¡°A Mask, you mean,¡± Tozi mildly said. ¡°I also happen to have one in my brigade.¡±


    ¡°Yours is nobly born,¡± Song said. ¡°Arguably, that makes her the perfect fit for sniffing out the cult.¡±


    Nobility took to cults like dogs to their own vomit and Asphodel¡¯s was no exception. Most such cults were relatively harmless, trading boons with lesser gods for secret altars and ceremonies, so the Watch merely kept an eye on them without intervening. The cult of the Golden Ram, however, had grown enough of late to warrant attention. The Lord Rector, concerned it might be serving as the mortar for a noble conspiracy, had requested that the Watch unmask the leadership ring of the cult.


    A highborn Mask would be a fine match for that task. Tozi frowned.


    ¡°I mean no offense,¡± she said, ¡°but apprehending that murderer will be fighting work. You are a fair hand with steel, I¡¯m sure, but at the end of the day only one of us has a Skiritai walking without a cane.¡±


    Song made herself thin her lips in displeasure.


    ¡°If the investigation takes time she could yet recover,¡± she said.


    Tozi shot her a flat look.


    ¡°Look, we both know digging up a cult could take months while taking the killer could over in less than a week with a little luck,¡± she said. ¡°I do not begrudge that you want to get off the island as swiftly as possible, but the Nineteenth is simply the better pick for this.¡±


    Song grimaced, then gave a jerky nod.


    ¡°That may be the case. I can concede.¡±


    ¡°And I¡¯ll remember the favor,¡± Tozi acknowledged.


    And from the Izcalli¡¯s perspective a favor was being done: if Commander Tredegar and Wen argued for the Thirteenth to get the murder investigation they were not guaranteed to secure it but they were sure to open the debate enough any brigade might end up claiming it.


    Fortunately for Song, she had been aiming for the cult investigation from the start.


    The Thirteenth could have done well with the other, but the Tianxi knew she had the perfect bait to make the cult reach out: Angharad Tredegar. Also known as a beautiful highborn young woman with a recent injury, the very kind of recruit that a cult like the Golden Ram would be hungering for. Between Song¡¯s eyes being able to pick out contractors, Maryam¡¯s nose for sniffing out disturbances in the aether and Tristan¡¯s knack for getting where he shouldn¡¯t the Thirteenth was almost tailor-made for that contract.


    ¡°Odds are the Fourth will try for the hunt,¡± Tozi told her. ¡°Xical is gagging for it.¡±


    ¡°The Eleventh would be capable as well, but I don¡¯t see them straying too far from the city if they can help it,¡± Song agreed.


    Imani Langa had not approached Angharad on the ship, where prying eyes were difficult to avoid, but Song had not forgotten what she was after. The captain of the Eleventh want to avoid the hunt at all costs, since it would take her brigade away until the end, and if Imani could not get an investigation that left the exorcism.


    ¡°Then it seems we have our tests,¡± Tozi said, and offered up her hand.


    Song shook it, smiling as she began to think on how to spend her favor.


    --


    The plan had been for the morning to belong to Theology, but with news trickling down from Commodore Trivedi that they would be reaching Asphodel late in the evening the plans were changed to Mandate. That lesson, Wen told the Thirteenth, was perhaps the most important they would get on the boat. They ought to pay attention closely, he said, so Maryam dutifully set out to.


    Beginning with their unusual teacher.


    Lieutenant Joaquin was a study in the dangers of going by first impressions. Though he had the looks and build of a scrapper, with a shaved head and hard eyes, he proved polite and almost soft-spoken. Tristan had mentioned he was by repute a mathematician, which the man elaborated on when bringing up the burning question on everyone¡¯s lips: why he was the one teaching Mandate where there was a Stripe on board.


    ¡°I have, for the better part of the last decade, served as the lead intermediary for a Peiling Society venture,¡± Lieutenant Joaquin said. ¡°The Society has been attempting the predict the trajectories of the moving objects of firmament through mathematics, in order to create a living map of Vesper¡¯s ceiling. Its theories naturally require observation to be proved or disproved.¡±


    He folded his hands behind his back.


    ¡°As a result, stargazing towers need be built across disparate regions of Vesper,¡± Lieutenant Joaquin said. ¡°This has required from me negotiation with nobles of all stripes and familiarity with a variety of foreign laws ¨C as well as a grasp of where the Watch falls within these.¡±


    He paused.


    ¡°It is up to your Mandate teachers on Scholomance to teach you philosophy and organization,¡± Lieutenant Joaquin said. ¡°I will, instead, attempt to impart you with some practical realities going forward: what your powers, duties and boundaries are as Watch student brigades operating on Asphodel.¡±


    That this was being done on the ship, Maryam thought, was a reminder of how rushed their tests were. Those lessons should have been given by Professor Iyengar at Scholomance, but why would she when everyone else¡¯s trip abroad was still months away?


    ¡°Now,¡± the lieutenant said, ¡°the Rectorate is a signatory of the Treaty of Blancaflor. Can any of you tell me what this means?¡±


    Imani Langa was first to raise her hand, and so called on though others followed after her.


    ¡°A Watch officer in the course of discharging a contract has the rights of detainment and petition,¡± she recited.


    ¡°Good,¡± Joaquin nodded. ¡°Now, explain what these are ¨C and where their limits lie.¡±


    Through a staggered round of answers coming from multiple mouths, Maryam was allowed to piece things together. The Treaty of Blancaflor was, historically, the great compromise that put an end to the incessant wars between a fledgling Watch and Sacromonte over control of the Trebian Sea. In exchange for some major concessions ¨C Sacromonte being the mediator for all Trebian states, the supremacy of Sacromontan currency and some hefty trade privileges ¨C the Watch had been allowed rights in the region that other realms had balked at granting, some refusing outright.


    The right of detainment was that a Watch officer, Song in the Thirteenth¡¯s case, could order the temporary detainment of any lowborn man or woman, so long as they were not an official in service of the ruler. If a motive recognized by the Treaty was not then produced the detainee would have to be released with compensation, but it was still a hefty right.


    ¡°How well we are able to enforce detainment depends on the strength and tolerance of the local rulers,¡± Lieutenant Joaquin said. ¡°On Asphodel, for example, traditionally servants of the rector¡¯s household and even the palace at large have come to be considered ¡®officials¡¯. We cannot detain them.¡±


    The shaved man raised an eyebrow.


    ¡°Should you, in the course of a contract, need the ability to interrogate such a servant or even a lord ¨C what would be your recourse?¡±


    The answer, as it turned out, was the earlier mentioned ¡®right of petition¡¯. Given the occasional urgency of Watch duties and how ignoring that urgency could have dire consequences, under the treaty officers could directly petition the rulers of a state in which they had taken a contract. Said ruler would immediately receive the petition allowing that officer to interrogate, investigate or otherwise bother someone beyond their authority and decided on an answer, becoming fully responsible for any consequences ensuing from a refusal.


    It was, of course, not quite so simple as that.


    ¡°In practice, the right is only as strong as the ruler we deal with,¡± Lieutenant Joaquin told them. ¡°In Asphodel, the lord rector might not be able to let us detain a minister even if we had evidence of cult involvement simply because doing so would result in civil war. We would have to reach out to other aristocrats to broker an arrangement or threaten the use of force.¡±


    He paused.


    ¡°For the duration of your time on Asphodel, your right to petition will be exercised only through your patron,¡± he said. ¡°You will have full freedom of the right of detainment, but abuse of it will have consequences.¡±


    A hand went up, and Tupoc Xical cleared his throat when he received permission through a cocked eyebrow.


    ¡°The Iron Law,¡± the Izcalli said. ¡°It that not also one of our rights?¡±


    ¡°That one is not granted by Blancaflor but by the Iscariot Accords,¡± Lieutenant Joaquin noted. ¡°Hence why I intended to turn an eye to it later. Still, there is no harm in an early detour. Since you seem so interested, Xical, tell me: what is the fourth clause of the Iscariot Accords, the same colloquially known as the ¡®Iron Law¡¯?¡±


    The pale-eyed man straightened.


    ¡°The Watch may kill any who have broken the Iscariot Accords and be made to stand trial for this only by the Watch itself,¡± he said.


    ¡°Willingly broken the Iscariot Accords,¡± the lieutenant corrected. ¡°Though admittedly the wiggle room there goes both ways.¡±


    Maryam¡¯s brow rose.


    ¡°This seems,¡± she said, ¡°like a clause that would be even more difficult to enforce than the rights we have discussed.¡±


    ¡°Which is why it frequently is not,¡± Lieutenant Joaquin told her. ¡°Yet it is the foundation of our authority regardless. The lawful and moral right to purge corruption wherever it is encountered is what makes us more effective than most local authorities even with our limitations.¡±


    He paused.


    ¡°Consider this ¨C even if the Grasshopper King were contracted and plotting with a god of the Old Night, killing him would lead to war. Killing the lessers in this conspiracy and then bringing the evidence to great lords of Izcalli, however, might well see the king quietly removed instead.¡±


    He swept through them with his gaze.


    ¡°What I described is only be possible if we have the right to pursue and kill members of the conspiracy, which we gain through the fourth clause. It could be said that the Iron Law is the method and privilege through which we keep the world afloat,¡± Lieutenant Joaquin said, then his brow rose. ¡°That is why any watchman below the rank of captain exercising it without orders will be hanged unless they have a very good reason for it.¡±


    What a tightrope the blackcloaks walked, Maryam thought. Every power and privilege subjected to an eternal tug-of-war between need and practicality. How often watchmen must trip and fall on either side of the rope and be buried for it.


    ¡°Inkwells out,¡± the lieutenant ordered. ¡°I will now list the clauses of Iscariot Accords you are allowed to enforce even as students, including the rare circumstances in which you would be able to exercise the fourth clause.¡±


    A steady look.


    ¡°I should not need to explain,¡± Joaquin said, ¡°that if any of you resort to the Iron Law without true need, being expelled from Scholomance will be the least of your troubles.¡±


    The weight of his words quelled the room, but in her it birthed a question.


    ¡°Do you expect we¡¯ll need to use it, sir?¡± Maryam asked.


    What did he know that they did not?


    ¡°There¡¯s a Tianxi saying,¡± he said, ¡°that goes something like this: ¡®treasuring a jade ring becomes a crime¡¯. It means that to own a precious thing invites disaster through the greed of others.¡±


    Lieutenant Joaquin clicked his tongue.


    ¡°Asphodel is weak, and it owns a treasure,¡± he said. ¡°So keep your hands on steel, children: the kind of jackals that are about to come calling won¡¯t stay their hand for fear of what a black cloak means.¡±

 Chapter 42

    To Song¡¯s mild embarrassment, she did not figure out why Commodore Trivedi was being so unpleasant before Wen told her.


    ¡°The Gallant Enterprise was diverted to pick us up at Port Allazei,¡± the large man said. ¡°She¡¯s miffed that the flagship of her flotilla ¨C and herself along with it - was made to play ferry for students and officers of lesser rank.¡±


    ¡°None of us had any influence on that order,¡± Song pointed out.


    Not even Commander Tredegar, with his gold and connections, would have been able to influence the deployment of one of the Garrison fleets. The admiralty was infamously territorial.


    ¡°Trivedi¡¯s in no position to take out her anger on those above,¡± Captain Wen shrugged. ¡°So we get to bear the brunt of it instead. She¡¯ll try to keep us off deck even when we near Asphodel, mark my words.¡±


    It was not the retaliation that angered Song so much as the pettiness of it all. All the instructors aboard were members of a covenant: though they might not be of higher rank than Trivedi, the commodore was passing on useful connections out of foolish spite. Proving Wen right, along with word that Asphodel was in sight orders came down to stay below deck until the Gallant Enterprise had docked. Fortunately, the instructors were getting just as restless as the rest of them.


    After half an hour of packing up their things and combing through their cabins to be sure nothing was left behind, the order was politely ignored. The brigades were made to line up in the hall and the instructors led them up to the deck like a line of lost ducklings.


    ¡°It is her ship,¡± Angharad quietly said. ¡°She could have us all detained with a single order.¡±


    The Thirteenth was at the back of the line, so no one aside from Expendable was close enough to overhear ¨C and the Malani seemed distracted, constantly pulling at his collar.


    ¡°She will not,¡± Song just as quietly replied. ¡°That would have to be reported, and then the good commodore would have to explain why she saw fit to confine us in the first place.¡±


    ¡°She could invent a reason for it,¡± Angharad grimaced.


    No doubt at the discomfort of calling a superior officer a liar even in a hypothetical.


    ¡°Which would be contested by a member of every covenant of the Watch, ensuring the matter would be thoroughly investigated,¡± Song pointed out. ¡°It¡¯s simply not worth it for her to push the matter.¡±


    The Pereduri hummed in agreement.


    ¡°It is a poor leader who hands out punishment where it is easy instead of where it is deserved,¡± Angharad finally said.


    Strong language, coming from her. As predicted the commodore was furious but she did not risk a confrontation and instead sent stiff-faced officers to inform the instructors that passengers were to head to the forecastle, where they would not be in the way of her crew. The crew was doing fine, in Song¡¯s eyes, and there was plenty of room. Yet much like it would be too much trouble Commodore Trivedi to push the matter of their coming, it would be the same to defy her repeatedly.


    The brigades and instructors moved to the front of the ship, beneath the sails, and while the older blackcloaks huddled in a circle passing around what looked suspiciously like a flask of liquor the students were left to their own devices. The sight of a tall, burning light in the distance brought home how soon they would be arriving, so general nerves put paid to any notion of politicking.


    ¡°That light is the Collegium, I assume?¡± Tristan asked.


    He was squinting into the wind, though occasionally his gaze drifted. Perhaps looking for Sakkas, the increasingly suspicious bird that had reportedly followed them from Tolomontera.


    ¡°It is,¡± Song confirmed. ¡°And only so visible because we are during the Asphodelian night.¡±


    The capital had been built by the Antediluvians, so it was no surprise that the firmament above it provided Glare to the island. Night and day in Asphodel were regional, if not all that complex: one great Glare light shone down on thirds of the island for eight hours at a time, laterally, while another larger but shallower light swept through the center of the island vertically before disappearing in the sea to the south, later reappearing in the waters to the north to resume it slow downwards journey.


    In practice, Tratheke and the surrounding valley had a day and night of twelve hours while the eastern and western thirds of the island had staggered eight hour ¡®days¡¯ and must make do with lamps for the rest. The old histories claimed the entire island had once had the same twelve-hour days, but that when the Second Empire ransacked the place they had knocked askew one of the mechanisms and created the discrepancy.


    Song was not sure she believed that. While Liergan had undoubtedly crippled Asphodel in ways that resounded to this day, it was equally true that Asphodelian histories tended to blame any and all troubles on the Second Empire.


    With the wind at their back and the waters around Asphodel largely free of dangers ¨C Raseni pirates occasionally sailed the region, but even the boldest reavers would steer clear of a flotilla flying the black ¨C they made good time to the Lordsport. While their gazes had naturally been drawn to the eastern third of the island, where a great curtain of Glare light faintly tinted gold fell like rain, the lanterns of Asphodel¡¯s largest and wealthiest port soon claimed their attention instead.


    Tratheke proper was further inland, but it was connected to the port by a massive Antediluvian causeway so the Lordsport was usually considered part of the capital even though it should rightly be counted as an outlying town. Not that that any such mundane concerns claimed so much as a thimble¡¯s worth of room in the mind of Song Ren when finally the port came into the sight. The Tianxi had seen one of the largest ports built by the hands of men, in Mazu, so she had thought herself prepared.


    Only the Lordsport had not been built by the hands of mere men.


    The structure towered over a cliff, a gargantuan hangar with two levels: one at water height and the other at the summit of the cliff. Its frame was a brass alloy keeping up a curved ceiling made from massive panes of glass, and the length extended past the edge of the cliff and over the water, where brass walls descended into the deeps.


    It formed a kind of interior harbor at the bottom, its water eaten away at by the teeth-liked lengths of the stone docks, but the true wonder of it was the machines. The space between every dock had metal frames in the water into which ships could slide, and intricate clockwork mechanisms sprouting out of the cliffsides brought up the hidden underwater platforms on which the frames rested all the way up to the top of the cliff ¨C where matching docks waited hundreds of feet in the air, jutting from the top of the cliff like upper teeth to the jaw.


    A large carrack was beginning to descend from its perch as the Gallant Enterprise sailed into port, the brass pistons beneath the platform letting out huffs of steam as they smoothly lowered the ship back to the water.


    ¡°What utter madness,¡± Angharad murmured.


    ¡°There are ten such platforms, though only eight still work,¡± Song told her. ¡°Raseni ships shot at the cliffside clockwork last time the duchy was at war with the Rectorate, and despite Tianxi mechanists being sent for the best they could achieve was prevent the damage from worsening.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s lifts at the bottom of the cliff,¡± Tristan noted. ¡°I¡¯m guessing those are used to bring up everything that¡¯s not a ship.¡±


    She confirmed as much with a nod.


    ¡°Those are modern work, not ancient, and have been rebuilt larger half a dozen times,¡± Song informed him.


    ¡°Would have been smarter to just make a port where there wasn¡¯t a cliff,¡± Maryam grunted. ¡°So much for the wisdom of the ancients.¡±


    She shot the other woman an amused look.


    ¡°The cliff at the summit of the Lordsport is the end of a great metal hall that connects directly to Tratheke,¡± Song informed her. ¡°The city is at almost the same height as the top of the cliff, which I expect is why the port was built this way.¡±


    ¡°A metal hall?¡± Angharad prompted, cocking her head to the side.


    ¡°About a mile long. It had once had great carts pushed along furrows in the floor by aether engines, but both carts and engines were taken by Liergan,¡± she said. ¡°Now it is a glorified road, though one free of rain and well suited to carriages.¡±


    Which in and of itself was still worth envying. Keeping a widely travelled road between the Lordsport and the capital proper in a fit state for commerce would not be inexpensive ¨C the Republic of Mazu was a largely coastal territory, but the upkeep of its share of the old royal highways was said to be a costly thing. Shouts sounded as the Gallant Enterprise began to pull into port, so Song shook off the distraction.


    Soon they would make landfall, and the moment they did their tests would begin. This was where it began, she knew. Where she either took the first step in pulling the Ren out of the pit, or where she fell into it with the rest of her family. Song clenched her fists.


    She would not fail, because she could not afford to.


    --


    Tristan would admit to being somewhat grateful the ship was not going to be brought up the cliff.


    While his mind knew that the machinery would not fail, that it was Antediluvian work that¡¯d worked for centuries and no doubt been studied by generations of mechanists for the slightest loose gear, his blood ran cold at the thought of being on a ship lifted like some kitten picked up by the scruff of the neck. Fortunately, as the Gallant Enterprise was a warship and had not come to Asphodel to trade there was little to unload onto the Lordsport docks save students and instructors.


    Commodore Trivedi gave them a cursory nod as goodbye, then headed back to the aftcastle. She shouted orders to prepare for immediate departure so the ship might make shore near Stheno¡¯s Peak and disgorge the garrison soldiers it was ferrying as well. That, however, was not the thief¡¯s concern. The pack of dockworkers, soldiers and the one richly dressed woman on the docks were. The Rectorate had left a delegation to wait at the Lordsport for the blackcloaks it¡¯d contracted.


    The money took the lead, as tended to be the way of things.


    ¡°Welcome, welcome,¡± the fair-haired woman called out. ¡°It is Asphodel¡¯s great pleasure to welcome the Watch to its shores.¡±


    Tristan looked her up and down, raising an eyebrow. Merchant. The Rectorate, like most of Trebian nations, had its own sumptuary laws ¨C on top of the Sacromontan ones, which they were all bound to follow through the Treaty of Blancaflor ¨C and Hage had drilled both he and Cressida on their details. Not only would it help them tell the standing of those they faced, it was necessary knowledge should they intend on disguising themselves. Those lessons were how Tristan could now tell that the stranger was walking a very fine line.


    Oh, the ocher dress was merely opulent but there were little details. Malani wax-print clothes were for nobles only, but the blonde woman wore only a capelet of checkered blue-white-ocher ¨C which, by local law, would count as an accessory instead. Only highborn could wear more than a single piece of gold jewelry, so she wore a golden hair chain that curved behind the ear to take the appearance of dangling earrings then looped around the neck to become a layered chain necklace.


    It must be wildly expensive and so impractical that to put on it must require a maid, but still a single piece of jewelry. The wealth and clear intent to thumb the nose at the Asphodel sumptuary laws told him who was standing on the docks long before she finished her introduction: a member of the Trade Assembly, the island¡¯s great merchant magnates.


    Captain Oratile was the one to step forward to answer her, the Malani¡¯s bag hoisted up against her shoulder.


    ¡°A pleasant reception,¡± she blandly replied. ¡°May I know whom I address?¡±


    ¡°I am Mistress Maria Anastos, owner of a trifling few ships,¡± the stranger said. ¡°I came to oversee some matters at port, and since our Lord Rector could not spare someone of proper standing to greet you I thought to lend him a hand in the matter.¡±


    He discreetly rolled his eyes at Song, whose lips twitched. If she had not been waiting for them he would eat his own hat ¨C and he¡¯d gotten his tricorn back, so it was not an oath to take lightly. Several officers among the soldiers looked angry at her words, but the richly armored middle-aged woman they kept looking at only seemed bored. Bribed, if he had to guess. Not that it was unexpected for the Trade Assembly to have sunk its claws into the top officers of the greatest trade port in Asphodel.


    ¡°Unnecessary courtesy, Mistress Anastos,¡± Captain Oratile blandly said. ¡°The formal delegation from the Rookery has yet to arrive, we are here on contract.¡±


    ¡°Ah, but I hear you are from the infamous Scolomancia,¡± Maria Anastos lightly said. ¡°How spendthrift of our ruler, to entrust the safety of our homes to students. Why, I simply had to take a look at these valiant youths.¡±


    Not without reason did foreign rulers tolerate the Watch sending out green students on contracts: the blackcloaks waved all costs on them. It helped only lesser contracts were picked for the tests, the sort where failure would not have disastrous effects. Tristan had thought it a recent scheme, but Song informed him the practice was old as the school. The Watch liked to use it as a tool of diplomacy, handing a few free favors to regional powers it wanted to get in good with.


    ¡°Our handpicked candidates thank you for the praise,¡± Captain Oratile said, sounding faintly bored even as she remained perfectly polite.


    There was a flicker of irritation in the magnate¡¯s blue eyes before she put on a smile.


    ¡°I look forward to hearing of their performance,¡± she said, then paused as if a thought had just occurred to her. ¡°The lay of Tratheke can be difficult to grasp, for newcomers. It would not do for watchmen to get lost, so you are all welcome to visit the trading hall at any time for¡­ directions.¡±


    Even as she spoke her gaze swept across the brigades, as if to make clear the students would be able to accept that invitation when instructors were not around. As if satisfied by whatever she saw, the magnate then nodded.


    ¡°May you fare well on Asphodel, rooks,¡± Maria Anastos said.


    She turned and strode away, calling for one of her escorts to have her carriage readied, and left them to stand there awkwardly with the soldiers and dockworkers. The captain settled matters with these quickly, in contrast to the affair just ended, and within moments they were walking up the docks to the bottom of the Lordsport with a sergeant for escort.


    Even at this late hour Tristan found there were men out and about. The guards looked half asleep, save for those standing near three docked warships that must belong to the Asphodel home fleet, but the foot of the cliff was livelier. Past the stone docks they came onto a metal floor, some alloy of iron and brass almost warm to the touch ¨C though it could only be seen in patches, covered by generations of dust and dirt as it was.


    Beyond the stretch of warehouses and customs halls waited a sprawling bazaar, half its shops still open if largely deserted. It was full of the staples of the western Trebian, Sarayan spices and Cratesi silverwork displayed along with Kastei jugs of oil and wine, but also of goods from further abroad. Expensive Tianxi porcelain and ceramics, set atop a tide of cheap workshop goods. Most of these were peddled by locals, he gauged, but there was a surprising number of merchants with the Cathayan look about them.


    It was one thing to hear that the Republics had become one of the greatest trade partners of Asphodel, another to see it at work.


    It was perhaps fifteen minutes on foot, carrying their affairs ¨C the black cloaks and heavy armaments earned quite a few stares ¨C to one of the lifts. That one was guarded by a pair of soldiers instead of dockworkers, neither of which argued with the sergeant who ushered them onto the platform. There was a railing around the edges, at least, thank the gods. Tristan found himself clutching it a little tight as the lift gate was closed behind the last of them and the soldier lit a large red lantern.


    A minute later there was a sudden twitch from the platform beneath their feet and it began to rise.


    Maryam nudged him, as if to comfort, and he sighed. He chose to distract himself by looking up at the ceiling of the great hangar over their heads, the river of lanterns and lamplights there almost soothing to the eye. The lift was blessedly swift in getting them up the cliff, and even more blessedly a smooth ride beyond that first bump. It clicked into place after reaching the top, the sergeant opening the gate on the opposite side and ushering them out.


    Though the hour was late and most of them growing tired, many still stared as they walked out. It was worth a second look, Tristan would concede: from out at sea it had been difficult to grasp how utterly massive the hangar in which the Lordsport had been built truly was. It was tall enough that bird nested and wind flowed as if it were the sky, perhaps even tall enough for clouds.


    The second half of the trading town was sleepier than the first, and in truth less impressive. There were markets here, and warehouses, but not the likes of a bazaar ¨C too large, too empty. The sort where great merchants would trade entire shipfuls instead of haggle over trinkets. There were also a great deal of stone and wood houses, easily thrice as many as there had been at the bottom of the cliff. Most the locals must live here, Tristan figured.


    Besides the hangar itself, the most eye-catching part was the great boulevard that effectively split the upper town in two. It had three pairs of deep furrows carved into it, as Song had told them, though now they were mostly full of mud and dirt. It was impressively wide, at least four carriages wide, and steel markers put in the ground kept its immediate surroundings clear of all structures for what looked like around twenty feet.


    It was easy to see why the causeway was considered the heart of the upper town: after cutting through the halves, it continued in a straight line for the rest of the hangar and onto the long hallway that Song had told them of. The one heading to the capital proper.


    The sergeant guided them to the start of the causeway, which had been turned into a town square of sorts. There was room there for bringing in large trade goods, but it was clearly not the focus: on the three sides of the square crowded halls filled with carriages and wheelhouses. Many were for rent, transport companies, but the blackcloaks were instead led to the largest of the halls where soldiers stood guard. Transport had been arranged by the Lord Rector.


    Each brigade shoved into a small carriage while the instructors settled into a large wheelhouse. Their bags went atop the roof, safely secured, and they settled in for the ride. There were windows with shutters on them and the cushioned benches smelled of mildew but were comfortable besides. Tristan took the bottom left corner, Angharad sitting across from him and Maryam to his side. It took but a few minutes before all five of the carriages began to head down the leftmost third of the road ¨C which, Song told them, was meant for the use of foreigners ¨C but Maryam had already toppled headfirst into sleep. She snored daintily, hood bunched behind her head like a pillow, and Tristan unclasped his cloak to drape over her as a sheet.


    He avoided looking either Song or Angharad in the eyes afterwards, though he still caught sight of a grin or two.


    Through the open shutters he watched as they left the town behind. The Lordsport filled barely a third of the room atop the cliff, so large it was, and the rest had been abandoned to weeds and sinuous cypress trees grown from the thin earth over the metal floor. There were guardhouses on each side of the entrance to the grand hallway, which must be tall as a four-story house, so that Asphodel could close access at will.


    More interesting was the beginning of the hall past them, which bore a great statue on either side every thirty feet or so. Behind the stone were painted poems in strange letters vaguely reminiscent of cryptoglyphs, written in gold.


    ¡°Ancient rulers of Asphodel,¡± Song quietly told him. ¡°Going back to the times before the Second Empire, though the statues were only commissioned during the Succession Wars.¡±


    ¡°There are quite a few children,¡± Angharad noted.


    ¡°It is their appearance when they come to rule that is displayed, by custom,¡± Song said.


    Tristan did not bother count them, though he would venture more than a hundred had been placed, but he took note of when the statues ended and the walls became painted instead. Lord Rector Evander¡¯s statue must have been on the other side, as he doubted the old woman on his was the supposedly young male ruler of Asphodel.


    The painted walls were a beautiful piece of work, colored with a taste for the red and the yellow. The centerpiece of it was a seemingly endless knot of serpents biting each other¡¯s tails, patterns repeating even as what was around them changed, and it took him a moment to realize the cleverness of it. It was painted so that, when the statues caught up to patterns they could be scraped off to make room for the letters and the next-to-last snake biting could seamlessly become the last.


    There was little excitement to be had going through the great hallway, not even a bumpy ride given how perfect and flat the metal floor was. There had been lights hanging above at the start, but as they went further out these became rarer and rarer until they ceased entirely and only the lanterns of their coach lit the path ahead. It became an almost lonely thing, their five isles of lights traveling alone in the dark.


    They spent around twenty minutes at a fine pace before they began to slow, Tristan opening the shutters to pop out his head and see what was ahead. The Thirteenth¡¯s carriage was last in the procession, but he could still see ahead by virtue of the lights on the ceiling resuming: they had reached the end hallway, where a fort stood and soldiers waited on the road near a wooden barricade blocking the way. The carriages stopped in front of the barricade, forming a line.


    The handful of soldiers there wore thick coats with a long sleeveless chainmail vest over them, and two rows of tied steel plaques going around the torso. The mail collar was the most eye-catching part, lined as it was with red silk, but the greaves worn over the breeches displayed ornate owls glaring ahead so they were a close second.


    ¡°Why owls?¡± he muttered.


    Even the Guardia preferred fearsome beasts to put on their armor, when they could afford to put anything at all. Tredegar leaned in, flicking a look through the window and humming in understanding as she noticed the greaves.


    ¡°The owl is the heraldic beast of House Palliades,¡± she told him. ¡°If these men wear such greaves then they are not simple soldiers but lictors.¡±


    The personal army of the Lord Rector, doubling as the Tratheke city watch. It was an odd notion to Tristan, having one¡¯s troops patrol the streets instead of a designated body of men, but he was aware that Sacromonte was the oddity there. Most cities used garrisons to keep order in the streets, not guards. No doubt his home would have been the same, were all the houses of the Six not so deathly afraid that one of them would suborn such an army to overthrow the others.


    Tristan cocked his head to the side, considering the nature of the port and the trade artery they had been traveling down.


    ¡°Makes sense,¡± he finally said. ¡°The hall is where all the goods flowing into Tratheke pass through, they¡¯d want the fort sitting atop it in the hands of the Lord Rector¡¯s most trusted.¡±


    ¡°It does not surprise me that Asphodel has only ever been forced to submit by great powers,¡± Tredegar noted. ¡°The Lordsport could easily be defended against a great host, and the northern shore of Tratheke Valley is sheer cliffs. Only by marching an army through the mountains can the capital feasibly be sieged.¡±


    ¡°Unfortunately for House Palliades, there are armies in the mountains,¡± Song spoke from the corner. ¡°That is why the Council of Ministers exists.¡±


    Nothing like a knife at a man¡¯s throat to convince him of the virtues of sharing power. Occasionally the knife was put in the throat instead, true, but that was the price of going around calling your chair a throne.


    ¡°The rulers of this isle should have called their nobility to heel decades ago, by steel if need be,¡± Angharad opined. "Better a generation of weakness from the spent strength than a dozen decades of worsening rot.¡±


    ¡°Is that so?¡± he blandly smiled.


    Better for House Palliades, perhaps, but hardly anyone else. Certainly not the thousands that would die in such a war. And for what? One noble putting the others in their place, what a grand prize for the commons. How did Ilaria¡¯s old verse go again?


    Lives like coppers, easy spent


    Eternal glory¡¯s bloody rent


    And why not?


    The silent statues of victors


    Will outlast wailing mothers


    ¡°She¡¯s right.¡±


    His eyes swiveled to his side, where a half-asleep Maryam was watching the lictors with cold blue eyes.


    ¡°Leaving that kind of rot to fester in your nation invites in all manners of vermin,¡± she said. ¡°Better a single great bloodbath to bind the land together than a hundred smaller ones when you are eaten up piece by piece.¡±


    Angharad Tredegar¡¯s face twitched, as if she were so unsure whether to be pleased or insulted so her face had attempted both simultaneously. Song clicked her tongue disapprovingly.


    ¡°There can be no virtuous empire, for the fundamental machinery of empire is evil,¡± she quoted.


    Hear hear. The thing about evil, Tristan figured, was that it wasn¡¯t a thing so much as the absence of a thing ¨C so you couldn¡¯t destroy it, not really. At best you could burn yourself like an oil lamp keeping it out, only sooner or later you¡¯d burn out and the man after you might not bother. So most people, instead, they moved the evil around. Pushed it away from people they cared about and onto the people they didn¡¯t.


    It was the same with nations. Might be the Murk would be better were Sacromonte still queen of the Trebian Sea, if the wealth of Vesper¡¯s greatest trade artery still flowed in with the tide. But then there¡¯d be a dozen more Murks out there to pay for it, wouldn¡¯t there? A rat could afford no truck with sympathy, or philosophy, but neither would Tristan sing the praises of shifting around evil like the pieces of some awful puzzle box.


    ¡°Tianxia is powerful enough to preach that gospel,¡± Maryam said. ¡°But how many lesser realms ended up buried for it, Song?¡±


    Song¡¯s jaw clenched and she breathed in ¨C only for Angharad to clear her throat.


    ¡°It appears there might be an issue with the guards,¡± she said, nodding at the shutters.


    Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    Tristan shot her an amused look, but given the stiff look on the faces of both other women that distraction was for the best. Commander Tredegar and Captain Oratile were talking with officers, or at least lictors wearing red feathers on their kettle-shaped steel helms. Oratile kept showing them papers, but the lictors were shrugging and gesturing at the inside of the fort. The Malani captain finally snapped off something in exasperation and stalked off, Commander Tredegar following with a frown.


    But a minute later Osian Tredegar was knocking at the carriage door, telling them there would be a delay.


    ¡°Is there trouble with our papers?¡± Tredegar asked him through the open door.


    ¡°We¡¯re being given the runaround,¡± Commander Tredegar said. ¡°The officers say only the fort¡¯s colonel can validate them but that he¡¯s currently eating. He will be coming down only when his meal is finished.¡±


    His niece frowned.


    ¡°We are here at the behest of the Lord Rector and the lictors are his personal troops,¡± she said. ¡°Why would they insult us so?¡±


    Tristan snorted. She was the noble-born of the Thirteenth, she should have been the one to catch on. Commander Tredegar turned a raised eyebrow on him, as if demanding he elaborate. Tristan saw no need to refuse a well-connected commander.


    ¡°That colonel is a lictor, but they¡¯re also someone¡¯s cousin,¡± he said.


    The older Tredegar nodded approvingly.


    ¡°Most Asphodelian officers are nobly born, and all that rise so high must be,¡± he said. ¡°Captain Oratile believes that the Council of Ministers is behind the delay."


    Song let out a noise of displeasure.


    ¡°This isn¡¯t even aimed at us, is it?¡± she said. ¡°Some Minister is shaking the Lord Rector¡¯s cage by making it plain they can stop the movement of even those directly contracted by the throne.¡±


    Commander Tredegar only smiled, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.


    ¡°We should be here for at least another half hour,¡± he said. ¡°Take the time to stretch your legs ¨C there are terraces at the end of the road, if you want a good look at the capital. It is quite the sight.¡±


    Tristan flicked a glance the way of Song and Maryam, finding them still somewhat stiff, and decided to compassionately give them privacy to work it out. He was not at all fleeing behind Commander Tredegar out of fear of being dragged into it. The man¡¯s niece was not far behind him. They were not the only ones emerging from their carriages, other students walking out onto the causeway, but aside from trading a nod with Cressida the thief paid them little mind.


    It was the promised terrace that had his interest, so he walked past the carriages and the lictors to where the hall ended. On either side of the causeway were roofed terraces, overlooking the causeway sloping downwards into the valley for the last mile separating them from Tratheke. It continued past the end of the hall and through green fields, bare to the elements for the rest of the way. Tristan slipped into the left terrace, past a few seats and tables to the railing. Though there were storm clouds on the horizon the view of the capital was clear, and what a view it was.


    Tratheke, he thought with something like awe, was not really a city.


    Oh, there were people living in it but the dwellings had been built out of the bones of something older and grander. You could still see them peeking out, despite men¡¯s best efforts: it had the sketched silhouette of great box, brass ribs closing in from the sides and forming four quarters with the Collegium in the middle. The solid surroundings parceled inwards, revealing how the old Antediluvian university had been filled: tall facades of stone and brass bearing a thousand burning gas lamps.


    It was a city of lights, each of the quarters bearing so many tall-tiered edifices they felt like solid blocks of their own ¨C intercut with the elegant, sinuous streets laid at their feet. The layout of it was too smooth, too pleasing to the eye. Tratheke had not grown, it had been crafted like some pretty trinket.


    The districts all converged towards the Collegium at the center, a solid square of galleries and arched clocktowers that could only be entered through stone bridges far above the street. That assembly was a wonder in its own right, but here only a mere foundation: from it sprouted a massive cube of glass, filled with lights and taller than the tallest towers of Scholomance.


    A brass tower could be glimpsed inside at the center, rising all the way to the center of the glass cube¡¯s summit. There stood an elegant palace of brass and stone, surrounded by sprawling gardens, set atop the glass like a crown.


    ¡°Ancestors.¡±


    Angharad Tredegar took slow leaning on her cane for the rest of the way to the railing, coming to stand by his side. She looked awed, more than he would have expected. Was Isasha not one of the greatest cities in the world? They say there are few Antediluvian ruins in Malan, he then recalled. It may well be that Malan¡¯s wealthy capital had none of those ancient works within its walls ¨C though it may also be that she had never visited that city at all, coming from another of the isles.


    ¡°Wen told us the entire Collegium was once a single library, the greatest in the world,¡± Tristan idly said. ¡°It made me imagine something smaller. Can you imagine the amount of books?¡±


    ¡°I cannot,¡± Angharad admitted. ¡°Thousands, millions? It must have taken decades for the Second Empire to take them back to Liergan.¡±


    They¡¯d not taken everything, their patron had taught in his Saga class. Only the works they did not already have, which happened to be at least two thirds. It had still left Asphodel one of the greatest centers of learning in the world, but one that would never be able to challenge Liergan.


    ¡°Now those empty stacks are houses and shops instead,¡± he mused. ¡°No wonder the smallest houses within go for a manor¡¯s price - with the glass keeping out weather and seasons alike, it must be like living in a permanent mild summer.¡±


    ¡°That city cannot be entirely inhabited,¡± Angharad said. ¡°It is simply too large ¨C I am not sure half a million souls would be enough to fill it to brim. How could the Rectorate feed so many without beggaring itself bringing in grain?¡±


    While, instead, Asphodel was known to export grain.


    ¡°Song told me that barely half is inhabited nowadays,¡± Tristan confirmed. ¡°The northern outskirts of the city are what passes for slums here.¡±


    Only the slums were well within the walls and the structures there would stand for another thousand years, so even the worst of the capital was more palatable than the best of many cities out in the Trebian Sea.


    ¡°I do not recall that conversation,¡± Angharad noted.


    ¡°It came up when she asked me to look into something for her,¡± he vaguely replied.


    The Pereduri took the hint, not inquiring further. Tristan had no intention of telling her the matter had come up while they were discussing the Tratheke coteries, who mainly staked out their territories in the northern half of the capital since it was abandoned and the lictors cared little beyond keeping control of the gates and main avenues.


    Hage said that being able to make their lairs out of grand old ruins had led to some delusions of grandeur, including the local word for coterie being ¡®basilea'', a bastardized version of a cant term for kingdom. Tristan had a list of the painted signs to avoid and of the handful willing to talk with the Watch without first being held at blade point.


    ¡°Not that I mind the company,¡± he idly said, ¡°but I expected you to¡­¡±


    He gestured vaguely behind them.


    ¡°The others will be heading this way eventually, I expect,¡± Tredegar said.


    He cocked an eyebrow at her, unblinking, and eventually she coughed into her fist.


    ¡°If I stayed back my uncle would have sought my company.¡±


    Which should not have been a problem, given how well she got along with him, but flicking a look that way told him what it was she¡¯d fled.


    ¡°Sergeant Kavia, huh,¡± Tristan said, lips twitching.


    ¡°She keeps bringing up how well we get along in our Skiritai classes,¡± Angharad said, sounding pained. ¡°How I could do with someone around to help me polish my skills.¡±


    ¡°Innovative tactics,¡± Tristan gravely said. ¡°As expected of our Warfare instructor.¡±


    She shot him a plaintive look.


    ¡°Watchmen are expected to limit collateral damage,¡± Angharad complained.


    ¡°She does what must be done,¡± Tristan grimly said, squinting into the distance. ¡°¡­to tumble your uncle.¡±


    The genuinely disgusted look she made at that had him swallowing a grin.


    ¡°I do not believe he is interested, besides,¡± she said.


    ¡°There are hints,¡± he agreed.


    ¡°No small ones, if even you pick up on them,¡± Angharad teased.


    That was rich, coming from a woman who¡¯d yet to notice that Shalini Goel kept looking for excuses to put hands on her.


    ¡°I am not sure you are in a position to speak of subtlety in such matters,¡± he replied instead, sardonically quirking an eyebrow.


    ¡°It cannot be that obvious,¡± she grumbled, then cleared her throat. ¡°We have never discussed it, but I¡¯ve been informed that you are¡­¡±


    ¡°Disinterested?¡± Tristan shrugged. ¡°Yes. Never saw the attraction in any of it.¡±


    He occasionally felt an outpouring of physical affection, but nothing like the desire he had read about and seen aplenty.


    ¡°I have occasionally wondered if I might be seeing it too much,¡± Angharad sighed, looking out in the distance.


    He hummed, keeping his gaze on her face.


    ¡°Is that what happened with Captain Imani?¡±


    And that face closed like a pulled shutter ¨C abruptly, almost angrily. Which was telling, he thought. There should have been little heat if he were asking about a former lover, but heat there was. The source of the anger, at a guess, was because he had turned a personal conversation into an interrogation. Yet it could only be an interrogation if she had something to hide in the first place.


    So there was a corpse buried in the garden. Good to know. It was, in truth, a little reassuring. Knowing there were bones in her flower beds made the noblewoman more comfortable to be around, instead of a manslayer with no handle on her save arguing labyrinthine rules of honor. Where her shoulders had stiffened, a knot in his came loose.


    ¡°We have had disagreements of a personal nature,¡± Angharad said, gone stilted.


    ¡°Anything we should know about?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Should it prove necessary, you will be informed.¡±


    Oof. Phrasing so precise he could cut himself on it. That was never a good sign with Angharad, best to step back and wait until he had a fresh angle to go digging again.


    ¡°Well, we all had our little adventures when we split off,¡± he easily said. ¡°I don¡¯t think Cressida has yet forgiven me for that time I drugged her and put her in a bath.¡±


    Angharad blinked once, twice.


    ¡°You did what?¡± she asked.


    Grinning, Tristan got to spinning his yarn even as in the back of his head the little voice got to wondering. This was not his first journey with Angharad Tredegar, see, and if the Dominion was any indication the noblewoman was not only unflinching but decisive in cutting all ties with those she held in disregard. Violently, of need be.


    So if not sex, what was it that made Imani Langa an exception to that?


    --


    Maryam could not quite stop tapping her foot, which was visibly irritating Song. Yet every time the pale-skinned woman ceased a few moments later she realized she¡¯d begun again without noticing. The discomfort had begun at the Lordsport, she figured, but it¡¯d been fainter there. It would be, when so close to the sea. The moment they left the great metal hallway, though, there was nothing faint about the way the local aether had been mangled.


    And mangled was a word she chose with care, as the damage here was not so simple as a cut or a hole. It felt like¡­ haphazard rips, a calm lake sometimes suddenly turning into harsh rapids or a waterfall or shipkilling reefs. The aether churned around the wounds like a furious sea, spilling and foaming. All matter of aether creatures could hide in such places, if they felt like it, but the worse was that Maryam could see it all coming.


    Feel herself approaching the rapids, pulling in her nav and flinching at the battering she was about to sense. Like a gut punch that took ten minutes to hit your belly, its coming inevitable.


    She took to winding her nav around her rings just to distract herself between the wounds, slipping on three and pulling tight. The creature, though, was agitated. Invigorated by the way the aether was here, perhaps? It pulled at even a mere three rake-rings, though not enough to hurt itself. Just enough for Maryam to feel the nudge, and she could not help but feel as if she were being taunted.


    It is not clever enough for that, she reminded herself. Instinct is not malice. Not that the former endeared her any more than the latter.


    The outskirts of the capital, at least, were a windless pond. She released the rings, putting them away, and stirred herself to gaze through the shutters at the streets their caravan of carriages passed through. Tratheke was a strange place, she decided after they passed the outer wall through one of the myriad gates facing the south, half of which went unguarded.


    The city felt¡­ lifeless. Sterile. Clean stone facades and bright brassy lamps filled every corner, some sort of strange green glass filling the windows of shops and houses alike. It felt as if no building was willing to settle for being a mere single story tall when it could be four, and even the Glare lamplights towered high as ten men standing on each other¡¯s shoulders. Such wealth on display, but then it did not truly seem like the city¡¯s.


    What mortals had brought here was wooden shutters, straw and dirt in the streets. The men of Asphodel could lay claim only to the filth streaking the bottom of towering edifices and old structures gutted so they could be stripped of stone and gleaming brass. Rats infesting a city of gods, Maryam thought. What a life it must be, knowing that the best of everything you owned was older than the very tongue you spoke. That the finest things your fellows could make were still dross.


    It was no fit life, living forever in the shadows of the Antediluvians. The first of the Izvoric had been wise when they fled the wars over the holds in the highlands to settle on the coast. The highlanders had grown wealthy and powerful, turning those ancient ruins into fortress-cities, but Maryam saw only a slow poison in it. Volcesta might have been a dirty, sprawling mess but its people had looked ahead instead of back.


    Their lodgings for the night, and possibly much of their time in Asphodel, awaited deep inside the city. Not far from the edge of the Collegium, though not inside it. The Black House had been described to her as more compound than hostel, filling an entire city block. A relic of the time where the Watch had been almost as influential on this isle as the Lord Rectors themselves.


    It was easy to recognize when they¡¯d reached the place, even by lamplight: the tall, four-story tall edifice had its shutters and gates painted black. Rain must have touched the paint, once upon a time, as faded trails of shade spilled beneath every window like cosmetics gone wet. Even though the Black House was of the same stone and brass and glass as every building around it, those small touches were enough to lend it a mournful air.


    ¡°Solid stone and few ways in or out,¡± Song mused. ¡°A hundred watchmen could hold that place for months against an army, if they had to.¡±


    ¡°It is an eye-catching edifice, so let us hope there is some kind of backdoor,¡± Tristan grunted. ¡°Else half the city will know anytime one of us goes for a walk.¡±


    By which he meant going for a sneak, Maryam fondly thought. She doubted he¡¯d ever met a rooftop he did not want to skulk on.


    ¡°All these streets look the same to me,¡± Tredegar admitted. ¡°It¡¯s the lamplights and bronze everywhere. I hope one of you is more discerning, for I expect I would get lost wandering in a coin flip¡¯s span.¡±


    Much as she wanted to make sport of the Pereduri for that, Maryam expected that if she could not navigate by feeling out the aether she would fare much the same. And would soon enough, because while the south of the city had been largely calm the Collegium ahead felt like a screaming whirlpool. The Second Empire must have ransacked that place down to the last dregs, and not gently either.


    Black-painted gates opened after a shout from the lead coachman and the carriages filed in one after another, entering a wide courtyard where a few servants with touches of black to their gray livery immediately went about welcoming everyone.


    ¡°Local hires, not part of the Watch,¡± Tristan murmured. ¡°Else they would wear entirely black.¡±


    They did have that slight Asphodelian accent, with those teethy th sounds that stood out when speaking Antigua. A young woman with dark hair and a shapely silhouette that showed even in livery was assigned to bring the Thirteenth to their rooms and give them a look around Black House. Tristan lingered in the courtyard, though, and Maryam doubled back to see what that was about. He was standing by the large carriage, looking inside.


    ¡°Something wrong?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Hage never came out of the instructor carriage,¡± he said, sounding amused. ¡°And it is now empty.¡±


    ¡°Masks,¡± she said, rolling her eyes. ¡°Where would he even go off to, if not here?¡±


    ¡°I expect he¡¯s already preparing to open a Chimerical here in the capital,¡± Tristan replied. ¡°I will have to look for it sometime in the next few days if I am to continue my lessons.¡±


    ¡°Your classes are terrible,¡± she informed him.


    A cocked eyebrow.


    ¡°Yours are taught in a horrible eldritch dark hole that tries to make you kill yourself,¡± he countered.


    That was an unfortunately solid argument, so instead of committing to a doomed defense Maryam went on the offensive.


    ¡°Thievery is wrong,¡± she informed him. ¡°Shame on you.¡±


    He glanced at her cloak meaningfully.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t steal it, did I?¡± she sniffed. ¡°Come along now, you¡¯re holding up everyone.¡±


    He rolled his eyes but followed her in catching up to the others, who had not gone far anyhow. The Black House was even larger than Maryam had figured, with a large courtyard in the middle and the lodgings largely on the upper two levels of the surrounding rectangle. There were two kitchens, a dining hall large enough for sixty and public baths. Cassandra, the servant guiding them, mentioned there was a roof garden but that at this hour the doors there were locked.


    Beneath the house were the Watch¡¯s armory, vaults and what she delicately described as ¡®rooms for involuntary guests¡¯. The doors to there were locked as well.


    ¡°The latrines lead to underground as well, you said?¡± Tristan asked.


    ¡°The city sewers run beneath the basement,¡± Cassandra smiled. ¡°Our latrines feed directly into then.¡±


    She was smiling at him quite a bit, actually, which had Maryam sharing smirks with Song. Poor girl: that road was such a dead end it¡¯d been turned into a graveyard. After circling around the sights once, Cassandra led them to their rooms. They were near the front courtyard, and to Maryam¡¯s surprise they all had their own. The Nineteenth was settling in four rooms of their own further down the hall when the Thirteenth arrived.


    ¡°Usually we would lodge you out back, in the suites, but those have been set aside for the arriving delegation,¡± Cassandra apologetically said.


    ¡°They are fine rooms,¡± Tredegar assured her. ¡°Finer than most at Scholomance, I assure you.¡±


    They were, Maryam agreed after taking a look. More spacious than her room at the cottage and the furniture matched. The bed sheets had been freshly changed. She brought her bag inside, noting with some amusement that Cassandra had gone into Tristan¡¯s room to continue speaking with him, and set it down by the commode. She¡¯d barely even begun to unpack where there was a rap against the doorframe. Captain Wen stood there, glasses off.


    ¡°Song¡¯s room,¡± he said. ¡°Now.¡±


    She nodded, putting down her cloak on the bed and following him. The others were already there, Song sitting in a seat while Tristan and Tredegar leaned against the back wall.


    ¡°Good news,¡± Captain Wen drily said. ¡°The cult you¡¯re to investigate has garnered the continued interest of the Lord Rector him, so you are to meet him in a private audience tomorrow morning. As your patron, I¡¯ll be taking you to the palace.¡±


    Song straightened in her seat.


    ¡°It would be best if we were not known as blackcloaks during the investigation,¡± she said. ¡°I know that some of us have appropriate clothes to do this, but is there-¡±


    ¡°The storage downstairs will have clothes,¡± Wen shrugged. ¡°Anything else?¡±


    True to form, the overweight captain did not actually wait for any of them to answer before nodding and walking away. Maryam knew if there was a real issue they could call out and he¡¯d return, but the silence gave him free rein to disappear. It lingered in his wake until Song rose with a sigh.


    ¡°I will talk to the staff about getting access to the storage,¡± she said. ¡°I know Angharad and I have the right sort of clothes, but the rest of you will need something more presentable.¡±


    ¡°Pick something,¡± Tristan shrugged. ¡°If I am to borrow them only the once, I hardly care.¡±


    Though Song should have been miffed at being handed the work, instead she looked distinctly pleased. Silver eyes moved to Maryam, who snorted.


    ¡°So long as it¡¯s not a gown,¡± she replied.


    ¡°Come along, if you are concerned,¡± Song suggested.


    ¡°Alas, there is another task I would like to see done before going to bed,¡± Maryam replied. ¡°I¡¯ve a test in mind for Angharad¡¯s contract ¨C which will require Tristan¡¯s help besides.¡±


    The Pereduri grimaced at the mention of a test but did not quibble. She was no welcher, whatever else might be said of her. Song studied them a moment, then sighed at whatever she found.


    ¡°I¡¯ll try to find you something blue,¡± she said. ¡°I promise nothing more.¡±


    Tristan evidently recalled the talk they¡¯d had about this before, because he was out with Song in the following moments to fetch the necessary parts. It left her with Tredegar, who looked tired and grim.


    ¡°In my room, perhaps,¡± the noblewoman suggested. ¡°We should not keep using Song¡¯s.¡±


    Maryam did not particularly care so she conceded. Tristan was back in moments, his hand closed. Inside it would be a pair of colored pebbles he had bought a pouch of for a Mask exercise, the sight of which had given Maryam the idea for the test in the first place. So far she had only sketched out the generalboundaries of Angharad Tredegar¡¯s contract, attempting to ascertain basic details.


    They¡¯d established that there was at least a second of empty time between the beginning of the ¡®glimpses¡¯ and the present, and that the Pereduri could not glimpse more than ten times in an hour without strain ¨C fewer, if it was done in quick succession. Tonight, though, Maryam was interested in a more conceptual sort of limit.


    ¡°Show her,¡± Maryam asked her friend.


    Tristan opened his hand with a flourish, revealing a pebble painted white and a second painted red. Angharad slowly nodded, then turned a questioning look to her.


    ¡°He will shuffle them behind his back,¡± Maryam said, ¡°then present two closed fists. I want you to glimpse ahead for the color of the pebble in the hand you tell him to open.¡±


    ¡°It seems not unlike the door test,¡± Angharad noted.


    One of the few tests discreet enough to be done on the ship: Tristan had been made to stand outside the door of their room, Angharad predicting how many fingers he¡¯d be holding up behind opening to door to verify. She had not got a single instance wrong.


    ¡°There¡¯s a difference,¡± Maryam simply said.


    The Pereduri shrugged, nodding her assent to Tristan. He took the pebbles behind his back and got to shuffling them. Even looking for it, Maryam could not tell when it was done. Less than a minute later two closed fists were presented. Angharad hummed, then batted her eyes as she used her contract. She tended to close them when glimpsing ahead, though Maryam was not yet sure whether it was a habit or obligatory. The Pereduri suddenly blinked in confusion.


    ¡°Left hand,¡± she disbelievingly said, ¡°has a yellow stone?¡±


    He opened it, revealing she was correct.


    ¡°You changed the colors of the pebbles behind your back,¡± Angharad guessed.


    He only smiled.


    ¡°Not all oracular contracts truly allow their contractors to see the future,¡± Maryam told her. ¡°Some are merely¡­ very good guesses made by the god, using every detail known. More or less. Only you were unaware that there were other pebbles, much less of their colors, so it appears yours truly does predict what is to come.¡±


    Tredegar frowned.


    ¡°The spirit I contracted with called what he granted me his ¡®sagacity¡¯,¡± she admitted. ¡°I am unsure what it truly means.¡±


    ¡°That you might well be using but the slightest portion of what was given you,¡± Maryam said.


    Angharad passed a hand through her braids.


    ¡°That is both comforting and troubling,¡± she admitted.


    ¡°Don¡¯t go being too troubled,¡± Maryam said. ¡°There¡¯s likely a difference between how much the god granted you and how much you can safely use.¡±


    Tredegar made into a Saint was not something anyone sane ever wanted to encounter. The dark-skinned noble nodded.


    ¡°Have you other tests in mind?¡±


    ¡°Always,¡± Maryam toothily smiled.


    By the time Song returned, they had tested whether it made a difference to the prediction if the pebbles were handed to Maryam while Angharad had her eyes closed and whether or not removing one of the pebbles while she could not see them changed anything. Neither did, Maryam taking note and already pondering how she would next look for a limit to the foresight. Surely there was one.


    Then Song Ren laid out blue skirts and a cream bodice on Angharad¡¯s bed.


    ¡°This is a dress,¡± Maryam flatly said. ¡°I asked for one thing, Song.¡±


    ¡°Ah, but it is not a gown,¡± the captain smiled. ¡°Try it on.¡±


    Tristan was grinning, enjoying her misery, which made it entirely deserved when Maryam laughed at the sight of his being put in a servant¡¯s livery.


    Appropriately, she went to bed still grinning despite her defeat over the dress.


    --


    The carriage they took out of the Black House belonged to the Watch, and lacked windows: its frame was reinforced with iron and instead of a window it had traps to aim guns through. Unfortunately these did not allow for much of a look outside, so Song sat blindly through her first journey through the streets of the Collegium ¨C catching only glimpses of Glare light and the touch of a warm breeze.


    The Thirteenth only left the carriage after it reached the basement of the great brass tower at the heart of the district, which was not inhabited but a collection of lifts. Lictors waiting for them there bundled them off onto a brass lift with ornate railings, which began to rise moments later. Feeling somewhat cheated of the sights, Song was further aggrieved when lictors waiting at the end of the lift guided them through what was clearly servants¡¯ quarters without giving them a look at the palace proper.


    It was all so furtive she half expected the Thirteenth to be secreted away to the Lord Rector like some dirty secret, but once they reached the hallway outside Evander Palliades¡¯ solar the lictors simply told them to wait until they were called before returning to their posts. They were left to stand there, uneasy, before Wen snorted and plopped himself down on one of the many chairs littering the long hall.


    The Thirteenth, after a moment, followed suit. Hopefully they had not drawn attention hesitating, though if they had their appearance should survive at least a first glance. Though they were being received as watchmen, none of them had come wearing the black. The last thing Song wanted was to warn every courtier in the palace that blackcloaks were coming to dig up their little cult.


    She herself had put on a set of formal clothes gifted by her mother, while Angharad had come in a splendid noble¡¯s dress. Tristan was in servant¡¯s livery, slouching as if it were his birthright to wear it, and Maryam was modestly dressed as a handmaid in skirts and blouse. Making her Angharad¡¯s even in appearance would have been¡­ ill-advised, so she was to pretend to be Song¡¯s.


    Though they had arrived at a sharp eight, they were not alone in the hall: near the oaken doors of the solar waited a bearded man dressed in gray striped satin from head to toe, his hat a cascade of black-and-pearl feathers. He screamed wealth to Song¡¯s eye, and not the landed kind.


    It was fifteen minutes before the oaken doors opened, a pair of lictors escorting out a finely dressed pair, while the majordomo called for ¡®Captain Wen Duan¡¯. The gray-clad man scowled angrily but held his tongue. Wen rose, stretching out with a sigh.


    ¡°He must want a private talk with me before sitting with you,¡± the bespectacled man said. ¡°I expect they¡¯ll end for you shortly.¡±


    Song nodded, for what else was there to say? It was not for her to dictate anything in the Lord Rector¡¯s own hall. She watched Wen¡¯s back as he disappeared past the doors, which pulled closed with hardly a sound. She spared a curious glance for the pair that had just exited and was now strolling down the hallway arm in arm. No contracts, so no name, but Song would guess them being nobly born from the quality of the clothes alone.


    The man was short and stout, tanned in the Lierganen way and with the laugh lines of a perpetual smiler. He had brown eyes and a broken nose, wearing a high-collared yellow short-sleeved jerkin spilling lace while a matching paneled red doublet overly padded trunk hose combined to make him look somewhat like a jolly balloon. His small bonnet of black silk paired with a swirling mustache only added to the effect.


    The woman, on the other hand, was tall and thin ¨C which her austere white partlet, narrow around the neck, only called attention to. Her black skirts and bodice, matching a long nose supporting small spectacles and pursed lips, lent her the air of a dark-feathered vulture. The only touches of color on her were cuts in the sleeves revealing a red petticoat whose shade matched the man¡¯s doublet, a golden jeweled belt at her hip and pearls around her neck.


    And while Song had been studying the pair, they¡¯d been studying her right back.


    ¡°Why, hello there!¡± the man called out. ¡°I don¡¯t believe I¡¯ve ever seen you at court before.¡±


    Song, choosing manners, rose to her feet and offered the slightest bow.


    ¡°Mistress Song Ren,¡± she introduced herself. ¡°We are new arrivals, on fresh business.¡±


    ¡°How exciting,¡± the short, stout man vibrated. ¡°Business, you say! How delightfully vague, darling.¡±


    ¡°We have yet to introduce ourselves, dear,¡± his companion told him.


    He gasped, as if overcome by how own freshly discovered rudeness.


    ¡°Manyfold apologies, Mistress Song. I am Lord Locke,¡± the man introduced himself. ¡°And if I may present my lovely wife-¡±


    ¡°Lady Keys,¡± the woman provided. ¡°It is a pleasure, Lady Song.¡±


    ¡°It is all mine,¡± Song replied. ¡°If I may introduce my companions-¡±


    They had, without prompting, risen to join her.


    ¡°Lady Angharad Tredegar, Master Tristan Abrascal and Mistress Maryam Khaimov.¡±


    Maryam, predictably, drew some surprise from the pair but it soon passed and they paid her skin no visible mind afterwards. A point in their favor. Disinclined to let herself be interrogated about their purpose for coming to this hall, Song instead asked to theirs.


    ¡°I must say, you hardly have the Asphodel accent,¡± she said. ¡°Would you happen to be visitors yourselves?"


    ¡°We are on a secret romantic adventure,¡± Lord Locke confided, his voice just short of shouting, which was as quiet as he got. ¡°Asphodel is our latest stop, and the Lord Rector¡¯s hospitality has been most pleasing. Most pleasing indeed!¡±


    ¡°Much better than in Sordon,¡± Lady Keys scathingly said. ¡°Why, when we had the Count of Torena for dinner-¡±


    ¡°When we had him over for dinner, darling,¡± Lord Locke uproariously laughed. ¡°Over. Why, the implication!¡±


    His wife let out a genteel little laugh. Song hid her discomfort. She would not say it felt like they were lying, not exactly, but there was some glint in their eyes. Was she imagining the malice there?


    ¡°Indeed,¡± Lady Keys chuckled, peering through her spectacles. ¡°Over for dinner, my mistake.¡±


    ¡°I assure you, my friends,¡± Lord Locke grinned, ¡°that we did not eat the Count of Torena.¡±


    ¡°Bony fellow, he was,¡± Lady Keys mused. ¡°It would have much too hard on the teeth.¡±


    A beat passed, none of them quite sure what to say, while Lord Locke twirled his mustache.


    ¡°Lobster tonight, do you think? I¡¯ve a craving.¡±


    ¡°You read my mind, darling,¡± Lady Keys happily said.


    She then winked at them.


    ¡°Why, my friends, it has been a pleasure,¡± she said. ¡°I hope we shall see you around court.¡±


    ¡°Indeed,¡± Lord Locke grinned. ¡°Why, we ought to have you for dinner sometime!¡±


    A beat, then they both roared with laughter. They walked away chuckling, complimenting each other on their fine cut of humor in whispers so loud they could be heard from the other side of the hall. They left a bemused sort of stillness behind them, Song opening her mouth twice only to close it. It had been a¡­ perplexing experience, that conversation. Angharad broke the ice.


    ¡°Those are either very great fools,¡± she opined, ¡°or very dangerous people. Let us pray not both.¡±


    ¡°I thought they were charming,¡± Maryam said, at least half driven by spite. ¡°Lovely couple, really.¡±


    ¡°And the implied cannibalism?¡± Angharad flatly asked.


    ¡°All in good fun, surely,¡± she insisted.


    Angharad seemed about to tack on something, possibly unwise words about cannibalism and the Triglau, so Song gave her a quelling look. The Pereduri cleared her throat, looking away.


    ¡°Tristan?¡±


    Maryam had been the one to speak, but when Song followed her gaze she found the gray-eyed thief staring at the distant back of the nobles with a frown.


    ¡°Did you notice something?¡± she asked.


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure,¡± Tristan muttered. ¡°They were¡­ it¡¯s just a feeling, Song. There¡¯s something off about those two. Did they have contracts?¡±


    ¡°Neither,¡± she said.


    He flicked a look her way.


    ¡°Can you see boons?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure,¡± she echoed, biting her lip.


    ¡°Then we should look into that, if we get the time,¡± he said, and she nodded back.


    Before they could say anything further, the oaken doors opened anew. Their gazes were drawn that way, and as Wen had predicted the majordomo called out their names. They headed into the solar with the bearded merchant¡¯s baleful gaze at their backs.


    The room they walked into was too large to be called a solar, Song thought ¨C the size of a courtyard, and almost as empty. Oh, the sides were a riot of rich tapestries and gilded stacks of ancient volumes, but the pure white marble floor was two-thirds bare. Near the back of the room the Lord Rector¡¯s bureau stood, a massive beast of red wood flanked by two porcelain vases tall as men and a few smaller tables. There were cushioned seats before it, and behind sat Lord Rector Evander Palliades.


    Song had already known he was young, read that he was only twenty-two years old, but she was still startled to see it. The man was slender, almost weedy, and his large round brass-rimmed spectacles only added to the effect. He had an angular face and wavy brown locks, with a bit of stubble growing, and the Tianxi would not have batted an eye if she saw him walking the streets of Port Allazei wearing black.


    Lictors lined the walls on either side and Wen sat before the bureau, face bland.


    ¡°The Thirteenth Brigade, as advertised,¡± Lord Rector Evander said, warm voice carrying. ¡°You may approach.¡±


    They did, the eyes of armed men never leaving them for an instant. They would be dead in a heartbeat, if they acted a threat. The Lord Rector hummed when they came to stand but a few feet away from his bureau, considering them one after another before coming to rest on Maryam.


    ¡°A northerner, truly,¡± he said, sounding amazed. ¡°A rare sight in these parts. Your name?¡±


    Maryam, as coached, bowed.


    ¡°Maryam Khaimov, Your Excellency.¡±


    ¡°I hear you are of the people who dwell beneath the Broken Gates,¡± he said. ¡°The Izvori?¡±


    ¡°Izvoric,¡± she corrected, accentuating the last letter.


    He nodded, muttering the word to himself a few times.


    ¡°A shame you are here on contract,¡± the Lord Rector noted. ¡°I have long been curious about the northern continent. What little the Malani deign to share reeks of revision.¡±


    Those dark eyes then came to rest on her.


    ¡°You would be Song Ren. Captain Duan tells me it will be you who decides how your brigade is to proceed with the contract. Do you have a plan in mind, Captain Ren?¡±


    She bowed.


    ¡°According to the documents provided me, your suspicions are that the cult of the Golden Ram is serving as a gathering point of malcontent nobles,¡± Song said. ¡°I would ask that my cabalist Angharad Tredegar, formerly the Lady of Llanw Hall, be introduced to your court as a guest so that she might bait out the cultists.¡±


    The Lord Rector raised a heavy eyebrow.


    ¡°And the rest of you?¡±


    ¡°I am what is called a sniffer, Your Excellency,¡± Song said. ¡°It is-¡±


    ¡°I am familiar with the concept,¡± he thinly smiled. ¡°Contract-finders. You want to comb through my court and palace for traces of the Golden Ram.¡±


    Song nodded.


    ¡°Preferably while under the assumed identity of a merchant having some dealings with the palace. As Maryam is a Navigator, she would aid me in this endeavor while passing as my assistant.¡±


    She cleared her throat.


    ¡°Meanwhile, I would ask that my cabalist Tristan Abrascal be allowed the use of palace servant livery so he might get around discreetly and follow the trails we will unearth.¡±


    Lord Rector Evander glanced at Tristan, then wrinkled his nose.


    ¡°Sacromontan?¡±


    The gray-eyed thief nodded.


    ¡°Yes, Your Excellency.¡±


    ¡°And not overly chatty,¡± the other man noted. ¡°Good. I will allow use of the livery, but I will require regular reports to my majordomo about what you have done while wearing it.¡±


    The glasses moved back to Song.


    ¡°It will draw attention if you leave and return too frequently,¡± the Lord Rector decided. ¡°Send for the tools of your trade, blackcloaks: until you are done sniffing through my court, the five of you will be staying in the palace."

 Chapter 43

    It was an odd room, Song mused.


    Though the salon had been furnished in the Malani style, with colored wooden frames and stuffed leather cushions flanking polished shell tabletops, the walls and lamps were in the traditional brass-and-stone of Asphodel. By the impressed look Angharad had given the table these were genuine Malani shellfish shells inserted into the table and that that mother-of-pearl luster was not the result of the varnish, which made it somewhat obscene for such a ridiculously expensive object to now be laden with a veritable hilltop of papers.


    As were the two smaller circular coconut wood tables and the two colorful woven baskets with gods of Malan presented as a parade. The sum whole of everything the rector¡¯s palace had on the cult of the Golden Ram was as a forest butchered and inked. Thankfully, Song was not alone in sorting through the piles.


    ¡°These should be in the lictor reports,¡± Maryam said, handing Tristan a pair of sheets. ¡°I¡¯m not sure why they were put in the histories.¡±


    The gray-eyed man took the papers and squinted at the first few lines.


    ¡°Angharad,¡± he called out. ¡°House Androlakis?¡±


    Sitting on the sole solid wood couch, a pile of books placed next to her in an appreciably neat pile, the dark-skinned noble flipped through the volume she was holding while muttering. Her walking stick was propped up against the side of the couch, next to the blade she had unbelted for comfort.


    ¡°I believe they might be,¡± she began, setting her book down and reaching for the last few pages of another. ¡°There they are: Androlakis of Mount Chrysone. The line ended in 78 Sails, their lands passed to the Katechas.¡±


    Maryam winced.


    ¡°Are they really going to class all the reports involving dead noble houses as histories?¡± she whined. ¡°That¡¯s going to take ages to filter out.¡±


    ¡°You asked for the palace records, children. Did you really think that the way the Lord Rectors sort their papers would be spared petty politics?¡±


    All their eyes moved to Captain Wen, who had dragged the largest coconut wood seat to a corner of the room and then pilfered the cushions off two more chairs before settling there and cracking open a slender volume called ¡®Household Tales¡¯. He¡¯d spent the last hour and a half ignoring them as he sipped through the fine bottle of red wine the palace servants had provided.


    The only reason he was even here was that Song had requested the Watch records on the Golden Ram as well, the small pile of booklets piled up next to him, and those would not be allowed out of his sight until they were safely return to the Black House.


    ¡°Ah, I see,¡± Angharad muttered. ¡°If there were records of suspicious activities in lands now belonging to another house, they could be used as a pretext to investigate the affairs of that family ¨C to have them sorted as historical is conveying that will not be the case.¡±


    ¡°That is tortured,¡± Maryam said, rubbing the bridge of her nose. ¡°How weak is the position of the Palliades that they have to play these sorts of games?¡±


    ¡°Weak enough that our brigades encountered both the Trade Assembly and the Council of Ministers within an hour of docking at the Lordsport, if you¡¯ll remember,¡± Song bluntly said. ¡°I suspect that the Lord Rector¡¯s authority is significantly weaker in practice than we have been led to believe.¡±


    Which was¡­ worrisome, considering the unveiling of the Antediluvian shipyard. The magnates and the ministers had already been circling the throne. How much bolder would they become, now that there was a prize to seize beyond the mere end of House Palliades?


    ¡°Song is right,¡± Captain Wen said without raising his eyes from his book.


    He flipped a page.


    ¡°The Lord Rector not only met you personally instead of leaving it to his majordomo or one of his courtiers, then effectively gave you unrestricted access to the palace records,¡± the bespectacled man said. ¡°You did not make that good a first impression. He¡¯s pinning hopes on your test.¡±


    Song was still parsing through the implications when Tristan cursed.


    ¡°He¡¯s not worried that nobles are using the cult as a way to conspire against the throne,¡± the Mask said. ¡°He¡¯s hoping for it.¡±


    It fell into place for her. A formal investigation not by the lictors but by the Watch ¨C a mostly neutral third party ¨C implicating nobles with conspiracy and illicit cult dealings? It would give Lord Rector Evander a steel-plated excuse to get rid of some noble houses making trouble for him. Even better for the Palliades, should ministers try to rally support against him it would be seen as them supporting a cult and contesting the results of a Watch investigation.


    The Thirteenth was being used by Evander Palliades to clean house.


    ¡°Fuck,¡± Maryam quietly said.


    By the looks on the faces of the others, she was speaking for all their hearts. Their gazes moved back to Captain Wen, who sipped at his wine with an obnoxious slurping nose. He had to be doing that on purpose to annoy them, Song knew, but even more irritating was that it worked anyway.


    ¡°Welcome to the Watch,¡± Wen Duan idly said. ¡°Our order has the unique privilege of being almost as much in danger from those we are to protect as from what we protect them from.¡±


    ¡°Because we are also bait,¡± Song said, the realization sinking in. ¡°Either we unmask the leaders of the cult for him, allowing his purge, or we get found out ¨C and should the cult panic and try to get rid of us¡­¡±


    Then even should they succeed they¡¯d have killed watchmen, bringing the Watch down hard on the Lord Rector¡¯s enemies. Part of Song was impressed with the cleverness at work. Evander Palliades was leveraging what tools he did have skillfully, turning third powers on each other. The rest was clenching its jaw at the realization that the same polite man who had welcomed them that morning was dangling them like a worm on a hook even as they undertook a contract on his behalf.


    ¡°Ah, there¡¯s the face.¡±


    Song¡¯s gaze flicked to their patron, who had finally deigned to look away from his book ¨C closed around a finger to avoid losing the page - to grin at her.


    ¡°Prodigies indeed,¡± Wen Duan said. ¡°Most officers realize that we¡¯re only ever handed lit grenades after a year or two on the field, so you¡¯re clocking it early. Good on you.¡±


    He snorted, reached for his glass.


    ¡°Keep the terms of the contract, stay uninvolved,¡± Captain Wen instructed. ¡°As long as you do that, you can always count having the Rookery behind you ¨C and with the guns of the Watch arrayed at your back, you¡¯ll find even kings prefer to talk sweetly.¡±


    Sipping loudly at his wine, he then cracked his book back open as if to signify he was done dispensing sage advice. Song breathed in, straightened her back. It was just another pitfall to dance around. She had known there would be dangers: how could there be glory in safety?


    ¡°It is as he said,¡± she told her brigade. ¡°We stay out of intrigues as much as we can and fulfill our duty to the letter. Even fools will think twice at intervening with watchmen on official contract work.¡±


    Angharad¡¯s face was a wax mask and Tristan was smiling ¨C which he often did when hiding his thoughts ¨C while Maryam looked faintly worried. It was with a cloud hanging over them that the four of them resumed sorting through the papers.


    After another hour Song called a halt so they might eat something and rest their eyes, which turned into an impromptu council about what they had learned. Tearing into mutton chops and baked tomatoes, both covered in the sauce of herbs and oil that was the local specialty, they shared what they had dug up.


    ¡°No one knows the true name of the Golden Ram save for its cultists,¡± Song informed them. ¡°The Arthashastra historians based on Stheno¡¯s Peak believe they had found the original story the god came from, however.¡±


    She elaborated on the bare bones. It was a common sort of sacrifice myth about a golden, winged ram who was slain every winter solstice to bring about the return of spring. The sacrificial ram had been turned into a lesser god of rejuvenation and healing over the years, one whose face must have changed dozens of times with the centuries. The torch then passed to Maryam, who had inherited the history pile.


    ¡°This is the third known cult to the Golden Ram,¡± the blue-eyed woman shared. ¡°The oldest on record was contemporary to the Second Empire, a lodge of shepherds that shared rituals with some mountain tribes. The second was¡­ less pleasant. Packs of roving murderers sacrificing travelers in groves.¡±


    ¡°That does not sound like the desires of healing god,¡± Tristan noted.


    ¡°It might not have been a cult to the Ram at all. See, the rovers were recorded during the Century of Accord, during which Asphodel had a period of bloody chaos,¡± Maryam said. ¡°They call it the ¡®Ataxia¡¯. Supposedly some rampant god was involved, the Hated One, and its cults loved to pretend they belonged to some other god.¡±


    Song had got her hands on multiple volumes on the history of Asphodel, but the sections on the Ataxia were always sparse. As far as she could tell the priesthood of this Hated One had tried to usurp power from the Lord Rectors of the time and turn the island into their own kingdom, successfully ending the ruling house of the time but missing some of the nobles ¨C resulting in half a dozen self-proclaimed Lord Rectors and several decades of civil war occasionally interrupted by the traditional war with the Duchy of Rasen.


    ¡°Either way,¡± Maryam said, ¡°the Watch purged this Hated One¡¯s cult and proscribed the name. This resurgent cult of the Golden Ram doesn¡¯t appear to have anything to do with it, or even much with the first on record ¨C for one, it is based in the capital instead of out in the countryside. Most likely we are dealing with an entirely different god come out of the same source.¡±


    ¡°If it is so different, are we certain the cult¡¯s name is not a ruse?¡± Angharad asked, cocking an eyebrow.


    Which was the cue for Tristan to step in, as the one who had combed from the Watch and Asphodel reports on the modern cult. He hummed, going fishing through his pile of papers and producing a sheet he handed her.


    ¡°This,¡± he said, ¡°is what I believe is the most important document on the cult of the Golden Ram we are dealing with.¡±


    He spared them the need to read it by summing up the contents. It was a report from a captain in the lictors dating three years back, recounting having stumbled across a hidden hunting lodge in the Tratheke hills during midsummer. Within were vividly described golden rams painted on the walls, the scent of half a dozen vices and roasted lamb whose flesh remained but lacked so much as a thimble¡¯s worth of fat.


    ¡°That sounds like a revel cult,¡± Song said.


    ¡°It does,¡± he said, ¡°but what¡¯s not on there is almost as important as what is not. For one, there is not a single mention of a ceremony taking place on a solstice. The old season rituals have clearly been abandoned.¡±


    He paused.


    ¡°Second is that this took place in nice hunting lodge and the cultists could afford drugs and to waste a lamb,¡± Tristan said. ¡°Most of the current suspected cultists are nobles or at least wealthy. Interestingly, of the seven names we were given five are men and all are older than fifty.¡±


    ¡°Healing,¡± Maryam said. ¡°You think the new cult set aside the old season myths to center itself on the rejuvenation part of the story.¡±


    Tristan thinly smiled.


    ¡°Now, keep in mind that this is speculation. But given difference with the historical fabric of the cult and the provenance, I think that this began with a scholar of means looking through old gods and contacting the actual Golden Ram by accident. He got his boon, or his contract, and spread it around. Given the revel turn, I expect it was mostly a way for the aging rich to pay for getting rid of problems like¡­¡±


    He raised his little finger and wiggled it luridly, which had Angharad looking appalled and Song hiding a smile.


    ¡°Only the god they got their hands on was willing to dole out the goods so they kept expanding their circle, at some point realizing their little club had roped in some fairly influential people that could help each other. Hence a cult was formed, formalizing the arrangement.¡±


    ¡°Much of that is speculation,¡± Song said.


    ¡°It is,¡± Tristan agreed. ¡°Though the local Watch garrison agrees with me on the likely source of the cult, at least. Their theories run along much the same lines, though they seem to believe the god was chosen with the building of a cult in mind from the start.¡±


    ¡°And the recent expansion?¡± Maryam asked. ¡°It¡¯s why the Lord Rector became convinced they¡¯re a conspiracy, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°See, in simple numbers the cult isn¡¯t believed to be that large,¡± Tristan said. ¡°That expansion is thought significant because of who is believed to have joined up.¡±


    And his eyes flicked to Angharad, who folded her hands in her lap.


    ¡°I believe some small context is necessary,¡± the Pereduri told them. ¡°House Palliades is originally from the western third of Asphodel and has traditionally favored nobility from there ¨C one might argue as a way to secure its reign, given its weak blood claim to the throne and largely accidental rise to power.¡±


    ¡°So the eastern nobles have it out for them,¡± Maryam said.


    ¡°Those houses have been the core of the opposition to House Palliades,¡± Angharad conceded. ¡°Yet the landscape of Asphodel changed with the rise of the Trade Assembly, the old rivalries between east and west instead turning to ministers and magnates.¡±


    She paused.


    ¡°As a result, the eastern nobles ¨C who own the largest and richest estates ¨C are now the leading lights of the Council of Ministers and the entrenched, consolidated noble opposition to the Lord Rector,¡± she continued. ¡°Which is why it is particular significant that three of the names on Tristan¡¯s list of seven are from prominent eastern noble houses.¡±


    Song leaned in.


    ¡°So the Lord Rector is concerned that the Council of Ministers is using the cult as a ways of expanding its influence,¡± she said.


    And in Tratheke, too, the heart of Palliades power. Every gain here was not just that but also a loss for the Lord Rector. No wonder he means to use us to thin them out, Song thought.


    ¡°One might assume, yes,¡± Angharad cautiously replied. ¡°Why is why I would request, Song, that at tonight¡¯s reception you study one woman in particular.¡±


    Song cocked her head to the side, curious. The Lord Rector had, surprisingly swiftly, arranged for Angharad to be introduced at the nameday feast of one of his allies as a guest of the man in question. It was to serve as the prelude to her insertion into court proper. Song herself was to begin investigating those same guests for cult connections with her contract, making Angharad¡¯s request nothing out of the ordinary.


    ¡°Who?¡±


    ¡°Minister Apollonia Floros,¡± Angharad said. ¡°Not only is she one of the most powerful eastern nobles, she is the head of her house ¨C which, by blood, has the strongest remaining claim to the rule of Asphodel."


    Song had read about Lady Floros, as it happened. She had been regent to Lord Rector Evander in his youth and spoken for Asphodel in diplomatic negotiations with Rasen over some matters of privacy that had been brokered by Sacromonte and attended by the Watch.


    ¡°So if she has a Golden Ram contract, they¡¯re definitely riding that horse to a coup,¡± Tristan summed up.


    ¡°Rams are bovids, Tristan,¡± Maryam sneered at him. ¡°It¡¯s not even the same family.¡±


    ¡°No one would ride a ram to a coup, Maryam, think of the stairs,¡± he scorned right back.


    ¡°I am definitely imagining you going down a set,¡± she said.


    He narrowed his eyes.


    ¡°Funny you would mention bovids, since you¡¯re being a bit of a co-¡±


    ¡°Tristan,¡± Angharad cut in, outraged. ¡°She is a lady.¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± he defended, ¡°I wasn¡¯t calling her a bull.¡±


    The pile of paper hit him on the side of the head, sprawling everywhere. Maryam smiled triumphantly even as the thief began to reach for his own pile and Song immediately rose to her feet.


    ¡°No,¡± she strongly said. ¡°The first of you to throw something will-¡±


    The vellum scroll bounced off her forehead, dropping limply on the table. Song turned an incredulous look on Angharad.


    ¡°I could not resist,¡± she admitted.


    I took half an hour to put the papers back in order afterwards, but at least Song got her back with a cushion to the face.


    --


    Lord Menander Drakos was a pleasant man in his fifties, whose impressive imperial mustache grew defiant of gravity.


    He was also clearly used to deal with Malani: shortly after informing Angharad he would introduce her as a friend of his traveling nephew, he pulled up a contract for her to sign that declared her friendship to Philippos Drakos. After she signed he immediately burned the paper and beamed, declaring now her a friend of his nephew¡¯s in fact.


    ¡°You do not seem unpracticed in such matters,¡± Angharad observed.


    ¡°My services in these matters are employed by both the Lord Rector and the Council of Minister,¡± Lord Menander replied. ¡°It makes me an intermediary of some value to both.¡±


    Things were different out here in the Trebian, Angharad reminded herself. It was not as in Peredur, where to bring someone into good society was to stake your reputation on their subsequent appropriate behavior. To think of the man as an introductions pimp would be unkind, if not entirely untrue. Honor looked a different beast to these Asphodelians ¨C she¡¯d read there were hardly any duels at all on the isle, that they were frowned upon.


    Though Angharad had been prepared to use her sole fine dress twice in a day, she was pleasantly surprised to find that arrangements had been made otherwise. Lord Menander opened to her the wardrobe of his house, allowing her to borrow garments that would be adjusted to fit before the reception. The Pereduri ended up picking a conservative high-necked gown with puffed sleeves, green velvet with matching slippers, keeping her Uthukile bead bracelets for sole jewelry.


    The long sleeves also hid her mirror-dancer¡¯s stripes, which was for the best.


    She would admit to some nervousness in the hour preceding the beginning of the reception, not helped by the way Song was pacing back and forth across the waiting room like an irritated tigress. The Thirteenth¡¯s captain had learned that she was to have a minder while she studied the guests from a hidden gallery, which had her displeased.


    ¡°It does not seem unreasonable to require watching eyes as you use your contract on courtiers,¡± Angharad delicately tried.


    Song¡¯s piercing silver eyes turned on her.


    ¡°A simple watcher I would suffer with little grumbling,¡± she said, ¡°but the way they refuse to give me a name or title for them bodes ill.¡±


    Angharad simply nodded, keeping her thoughts to herself. The Lord Rector was free to do as he wished inside his own palace, she figured, but it would not do to pull the tigress¡¯s tail. Song did not resume pacing afterwards, which had the noblewoman cursing herself. She had avoided the presence of Song Ren as much as she politely could over the last few weeks, but there could be no avoiding rudeness in insisting on silence while they waited together in a room.


    ¡°Have we any notion of when Maryam will return?¡± she asked.


    That could turn talk to her contract, at least, which would be better than-


    ¡°Late tonight,¡± Song replied. ¡°It will take some effort to give her a discreet tour of the gardens.¡±


    -better than her near future, Angharad miserably thought.


    ¡°And before you reach for Tristan in your despair, the majordomo has him practicing so he won¡¯t dishonor the livery leant to him,¡± Song mildly added.


    Angharad awkwardly coughed into her fist. It always felt ungrateful, to avoid Song, but what else could she do? She would not feign comradery with a woman who had treacherously murdered someone she cared for, though it sometimes slipped out of her against her will. It had been¡­ easy, to play with the Thirteenth earlier. But she could not be one of them, not really, even beyond Song.


    She was here for the infernal forge. It would be unworthy to drag the others in what may yet turn out to be ruin.


    ¡°He seems to be taking to that task without discomfort,¡± Angharad said. ¡°I expected some discontent on his part in playing the servant for nobles.¡±


    ¡°If there is one thing I admire about Tristan Abrascal,¡± Song evenly said, ¡°it is how he will fold his pride like a paper crane if that is what it takes to get where he wants to go.¡±


    She cocked an eyebrow.


    ¡°Unlike you and I, who occasionally struggle in cramming it through wide open doorways.¡±


    Angharad¡¯s lips thinned.


    ¡°I am grateful for the favors done to me,¡± she said.


    ¡°But.¡±


    Silver eyes unblinking, metal cold as snow. The Pereduri breathed in.


    ¡°What do you want from me, Song?¡± she asked. ¡°I have not challenged your authority or refused your orders. The rest is beyond the remit of our bargain.¡±


    ¡°I want you to decide what it is you¡¯re after,¡± Song Ren replied. ¡°You flit back and forth like a moth in a hall full of candles, blown by wind and whim.¡±


    Angharad¡¯s jaw clenched.


    ¡°I look at you and I see a dozen intentions, none of them yours,¡± Song continued. ¡°We are stone shaped by the chisel of life ¨C best get your hand on the tool, Angharad, or you may not enjoy what others made of you.¡±


    The Tianxi pushed off the wall, brushing her shoulders.


    ¡°I should prepare supplies for my part of the evening,¡± she said. ¡°Good luck out there.¡±


    Angharad curtly nodded back, not trusting herself to open her mouth and offer anything but venom. The sheer nerve of her, to serve up a lecture as if Song Ren were not taut as a pulled bowstring under that thin layer of calm. She had seen harps not as high-strung as the Tianxi.


    Though her face was calm again by the time Lord Menander¡¯s servants came to fetch her, embers burned beneath and stayed as she was led out into the hall.


    This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    The palace feasting hall that had been leant to Menander Drakos as a sign of the Lord Rector¡¯s favor was impressive, the floor and walls green marble of a hue matching that of the strange green glass so common on Asphodel. The hall was a long rectangle, but one would not know it from a glance: there was a maze of glass panes and lamps on the sides that projected myriad tricks of the eye, lending the room a hundred different shapes. Only subtle gold reliefs on the walls displaying the owl of House Palliades allowed one to tell the true apart from the false.


    She forced herself to smooth the last of her anger out of existence as she was led to the side of the host.


    ¡°Ah, and there she is,¡± Lord Menander happily said. ¡°Lady Angharad herself.¡±


    He was standing with a pair slightly older than he, both men. The short, white-haired man with the sea snake embroidered on his red jerkin must be the head of House Cordyles ¨C which ruled over the largest western port of Asphodel ¨C while the slender man with the soft hand and spectacles was given name by his silver belt buckle in the shape of crossed sickles. House Arkol: eastern nobles, the largest grain fields outside of Tratheke Valley, she mentally recited.


    She waited after having met their gazes to curtsy. Not the duelist¡¯s, this time. It would have been a lie.


    ¡°It is an honor to meet you, my lords,¡± Angharad said.


    ¡°Is it now?¡± Lord Cordyles drily said.


    ¡°Naturally,¡± she smiled. ¡°The ships under red-and-gold of the Cordyles are a known for their bold sailing, and I have been curious to try the famous Arkoli bread.¡±


    Precise phrasing, here. The Cordyles were known for boldly resorting to piracy on Raseni shipping, and the regional breaded delicacy known as ¡®Arkoli bread¡¯ was reputedly so full of garlic one continued to sweat it out for days afterwards. Lord Arkol only snorted, eyes unreadable behind the glasses, but Lord Cordyles seemed quite flattered.


    ¡°It is good to know even in such peaceful time my house is remembered,¡± Lord Cordyles smiled. ¡°Menander tells us you are a friend of his nephew¡¯s, come from the isle of Peredur?¡±


    Angharad inclined her head.


    ¡°Circumstances led me to Asphodel, and will have me remain here for some time,¡± she said. ¡°It was a great kindness for Lord Menander to invite me at his nameday feast.¡±


    Lord Cordyles¡¯ eyes dipped down to her cane, curiosity obvious on his face.


    ¡°Court has been getting a little stale,¡± Lord Arkol mused. ¡°Perhaps some fresh blood will wash out the endlessly circling conversations.¡±


    Lord Menander chuckled, wagging a finger in warning.


    ¡°No politics tonight, Phaedros,¡± he chided. ¡°We are here to eat, drink and make merry.¡±


    ¡°That and celebrate your forty-fifth nameday for what ¨C the seventh time now?¡± Lord Arkol grinned.


    ¡°Mine is a timeless soul,¡± Lord Menander airily replied, grinning back. ¡°Come, Lady Angharad. I will deliver you from these old crows, see if some finer company cannot be rustled up.¡±


    He whisked her away, toward more guests, though on the way he slowed his steps to slide in a word.


    ¡°Nicely done with Lord Cordyles,¡± he murmured. ¡°He loves nothing more than the battle honors he lacks. Arkol is always stone-faced until he¡¯s had a few drinks, worry not there.¡±


    He glanced at her almost approvingly.


    ¡°If you can continue as you¡¯ve begun, we will have you a darling of the court in no time.¡±


    It was not what Angharad had come for, not truly, but neither would she balk at making a good impression. Gently he led her forward, waiting on the rap of her cane, and Angharad put on a smile. She must impress Lord Menander, enough that he might make the right introduction. And though she owed the Thirteenth good service, that was not why. Uncle Osian had given her a name to investigate, one that would be the key to all this.


    Lord Cleon Eirenos was rumored to know the hills of Tratheke better than anyone, and that was where the entrance to the shipyard was meant to be ¨C and thus the way to the infernal forge she had come here to claim.


    --


    The viewing gallery had, despite the name, plainly been made for spying: it was a long, narrow rectangle of a room just wide enough for seats that overlooked the banquet hall. The glass pane windows were green as the ones below and the marble around them, but set close to the ceiling at an angle that would make them seem part of the wall when seen from inside the hall. Cleverly built, and no doubt the Lord Rectors had long made use of it despite the mild discomfort of the narrowness of the room.


    Only it was not having to tuck her legs beneath the chair that had Song feeling stiff as a board.


    When the two lictors at the door made her surrender her knife and pistol before patting her down, Song thought it laughable. What did they expect of her, to shoot some lord through the glass like Vesper¡¯s most terribly incompetent assassin? Only it was not the men below the lictors were frowning at her about, but the one seated inside.


    Lord Rector Evander Palliades was leaning forward, chin on his palm as he studied the nobles below.


    ¡°Captain Ren,¡± he acknowledged without turning. ¡°Your cabalist is doing well ¨C she¡¯s charmed Triton Cordyles, which effectively guarantees her introductions to half the guests. He¡¯s an amiable soul, if prone to stepping on toes.¡±


    ¡°Your Excellency,¡± Song got out, bowing as much as she could inside the cramped gallery.


    The lictors were glaring at her back as if this were her idea, only closing the door when the Lord Rector glanced at them through his spectacles.


    ¡°We shall dispense with the most physical of the courtesies,¡± Evander Palliades told her. ¡°I fear it would take the removal of a few seats for them to fit inside.¡±


    Song cleared her throat.


    ¡°As you say, Your Excellency.¡±


    He gestured impatiently.


    ¡°Sit,¡± he said. ¡°I will only make an appearance shortly before the banquet begins, so you will have to tolerate my presence until then.¡±


    Dark eyes flicked at her through the spectacles.


    ¡°If you¡¯ve inquiries about the souls below, I am your disposal.¡±


    Stiltedly, Song went to sit down. The mostly blank journal she had brought along with her favorite ink and fountain pen now felt heavy as stone ¨C it was one thing to take notes about the nobles of Asphodel, another to do so when their ruler was mere feet away from her. She left a seat between them and would have left a second and third were she not worried about giving offense. Treating the man like he had the plague was unlikely to be well received.


    Keeping her face calm, hand on the chisel, Song opened her book and turned the pages until she reached the notes she had prepared in advance. The list of seven suspected cultists and a column outlining the leading eastern houses of Asphodel. Entirely shameless, the Lord Rector leaned over to look at what was written without even pretending otherwise.


    She had written in Cathayan, naturally, but her hopes that would be enough to stop his scrutiny were laid to rest when he quite clearly began reading the characters. It was an effort not to scowl.


    ¡°Neither the Doukas nor the Elanos will be showing so early, but Lady Kirtis is the woman in the rust-red gown sneering at servants,¡± he told her.


    It did not take long for Song to find the woman in question, the trail of that gown long enough it needed carrying by a handmaiden. The sneer was, as advertised, being turned on the liveried servants offering drinks. More interesting than that expected yiwu ugliness was that Penelope Kirtis had a contract, which thankfully was in Antigua touched with local flavor.


    That the old Cycladic cant native to the isle was effectively a dead tongue was a relief, as it would have forced her to mark down everything she saw and attempt translation later.


    Lady Kirtis was contracted to a deity called the ¡®Clement Reverence¡¯, having obtained the power to imbue a particular concept with a powerful sense of shame in the minds of those around her. The price was one of those deceptively vicious ones, forcing the noblewoman to confess to her own shames or become sick. Song wrote notes and, all too aware of the Lord Rector¡¯s eye, kept them both short and mixed.


    She abandoned classical Cathayan altogether, weaving together Centzon, Machin and Samratrava so he would not be able to decipher what she wrote. She braced herself for coming tantrum, ready to take refuge behind the neutrality of the Watch, only instead Evander Palliades let out a quiet laugh.


    ¡°I have some Centzon, but my Samratrava is trash and is that Machin?¡±


    She coughed into her fist.


    ¡°It is, Your Excellency,¡± she admitted.


    ¡°Well, you may consider me successfully warded off,¡± he drily said. ¡°I had to fight to learn proper Cathayan, Machin was never in the cards.¡±


    A pause.


    ¡°Shall I take it that Lady Kirtis does not appear to be a cultist?¡±


    ¡°It does not currently seem likely,¡± Song replied.


    ¡°Shame,¡± he muttered. ¡°If I put that one in a cell I would be the toast of Tratheke society for months.¡±


    Song set aside her amusement, which was somewhat inappropriate, and returned her gaze to the hall below as she dipped her pen. There was work to be done, and it was unlikely she would get so wide a look at the court of Asphodel again anytime soon.


    --


    For the first half-hour of the reception only Lord Menander¡¯s friendliest associates were present, of which Lord Cleon evidently was not.


    There were but two dozen or so of these chosen so a circuit across the room was soon completed, even with Angharad leaning on her cane. Even as she smiled and flattered her way through the last such introductions, she could almost feel the ticking of the clock: soon after that round was done, Lord Menander was likely to leave her to fly on her own. For a time, anyway.


    He chose to first bring her back for a chat with the very first pair he had presented her to: Lord Cordyles and Lord Arkol, both of whom were now red-cheeked and prone to loud laughter. Angharad was glad she had only sipped at her cup of pear liquor, which was deceptively strong given how smooth it tasted. The pair of old men was slightly drunk, which had them in a merry mood as they brought her to chat with their fellow nobles.


    By the time the less favored guests began arriving they¡¯d grown rather loose-tongued about court gossip, of which they were a never-ending fountain. It was as if they knew everybody.


    ¡°I expect she is due a sixth husband any time now,¡± Lord Arkol drawled. ¡°The fifth is nearing thirty, and Lady Doukas has no fancy for such terribly ancient stallions.¡±


    Angharad coughed to hide her smile. There were ladies of that sort in every form of good society, it seemed.


    ¡°I would introduce you, dear,¡± Lord Cordyles theatrically sighed, ¡°but I fear that the shock of seeing men our age yet draw breath might just stop her heart.¡±


    ¡°It seems too terrible a risk to take,¡± Angharad solemnly replied, lips twitching.


    Before turning to her own purposes for the night, she had work to undertake on behalf of the Thirteenth. And, as chance would have it, she had received a fresh opportunity to begin it: a trail of breadcrumbs to follow.


    ¡°Her companion, I believe, is¡­¡± she trailed off.


    ¡°Minister Apollonia Floros,¡± Lord Arkol completed, eyeing the woman in question. ¡°Who must show the flag, as our beloved Lord Rector will be present later.¡±


    The Minister was a tall, austere woman with a weathered face and startling green eyes. And the callouses of one trained with the blade, Angharad gauged.


    ¡°It would not do to ever let our lord hold court without looming over his shoulder,¡± Lord Cordyles drily agreed.


    Lord Cordyles leaned on the Lord Rector¡¯s side, she had gleaned through his words, though he was not a diehard loyalist. Lord Akol¡¯s own position was much more ambiguous.


    ¡°A member of the Council of Ministers,¡± Angharad said, feeding fuel.


    ¡°The minister, really,¡± Lord Arkol said. ¡°Mind you, it may not be so forever with that Malani business.¡±


    Lord Cordyles glanced at his old friend with a frown.


    ¡°Never mind that, Lady Angharad,¡± he said. ¡°Phaedros had a bit too much to drink.¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± Angharad said, smiling daintily. ¡°Is there trouble with the ambassador?¡±


    A snort from Lord Arkol, who shook his head.


    ¡°Lord Gule is the very soul of courtesy,¡± he said. ¡°A fine man, truly.¡±


    So it was with other Malani that Minister Floros was having trouble. Worth keeping in mind.


    ¡°Unlike that Guo fellow,¡± Lord Cordyles sneered. ¡°They should not even allow him into the palace, Tianxi ambassador or not.¡±


    ¡°An appointment by the Ministry of Rites is not to be taken lightly,¡± Lord Arkol warned.


    Ah, this Gu was an ambassador of Tianxia and not simply a Tianxi ambassador then ¨C representing all of them, not simply his own. The Heavenly Republics warred on each other not infrequently, which would have made sharing an ambassador somewhat impractical. Thus why the Ministry of Rites, the same religious bureaucracy overseeing the lottery for the Luminaries, also served as a kind of assembly where republics could agree on diplomatic and military appointments.


    ¡°It should be, when their delegation is infested with Yellow Earth vermin,¡± Lord Cordyles said.


    Angharad¡¯s eyes narrowed. This was the first she had heard of the Yellow Earth being in Asphodel. Was it idle gossip? Either way, it bore investigation. As talk had grown heated, she steered it away from the subject and to safer grounds like bedroom scandals and which lords had been feuding over losing out on an egg-shaped ruby both their wives desired.


    Song had given her a list of gossip to gather, and gather it she would.


    --


    ¡°Ah, the vounoseira houses,¡± Lord Rector Evander mused.


    Song cocked an eyebrow.


    ¡°Cycladic, Your Excellency?¡±


    He nodded.


    ¡°The term means ¡®mountain range¡¯,¡± he told her. ¡°A trick my tutors taught me as a boy to remember the major noble houses of the eastern coast. Vorosios, Unadres, Osphanidis-¡±


    ¡°Eirenos,¡± Song added, reading it off the young noble¡¯s contract. ¡°Clever.¡±


    ¡°Is young Cleon headed for the dungeon, then?¡± he asked. ¡°It would be a shame, he has the most fascinating hunting stories. I even believe some of them might be true.¡±


    Lord Cleon Eirenos was contracted to a god called the Odyssean, who had offered him the power to walk unseen and unheard in the dark so long as he did so with the intention to spill blood. A useful talent for a huntsman, and though it would also serve for an assassin the noble seemed rather young for such things. No older than fifteen, Song would guess.


    His god must have a taste for chaos, as the price demanded was to always return insult with insult.


    ¡°Perhaps more than some,¡± Song simply replied.


    But to walk unseen was hardly a healing god¡¯s contract, so she would wager on the young man being entrusted to the Golden Ram. Of the seven names on the list four were in attendance tonight, and one had answered a question for Song: she could see boons.


    Lord Hector Anaidon, an aging eastern noble brother to the head of his house, had been granted by a god a boon of health. It had relieved him of several diseases, most of them the sort contracted in brothels save for a mild case of gout. Song could see where the power of the boon held them, like a bubble of foulness hidden deep inside him.


    What she could not see, however, was the name of the god that had given out the gift.


    But then that was the nature of boons, was it not? The power gifted by the god could not be taken back, forever apart from the gifting deity. It was why they were usually handed out mostly to priests or mortal that great gods took a liking to ¨C save for when young gods tried for rustle a cult of worshippers, since their still unsettled nature meant they were not ripping out an important part of themselves by giving a boon.


    ¡°Truth at court, you say?¡± Lord Rector Evander mused. ¡°How novel.¡±


    Song did not quite hide her amusement in time, by the way his own lips quirked. The Lord Rector was a hereditary ruler, a concept in fundamental breach of zunyan, but she would admit he was personable. Not that she would be fooled by this. The Feichu Tian wrote that there would be such rulers, charming or skilled or virtuous, and that they would tempt the reasoning of exception. That was a mistake of the mind, for the essential injustice of kingship was not in the nature of the king but of the institution itself.


    A king could be a good man, but there could be no good king.


    Not that Tianxi philosophy was something she was to discuss with Evander Palliades, even if the hereditary despot of Asphodel was of scholarly disposition. Song¡¯s gaze returned to the crowd below, which had filled in as the time of the banquet proper approached. Her gaze sharpened when she realized one of the servants had a contract, which should not be ¨C ah, it was Tristan. Someone had put order to his hair, he looked like an entirely different man.


    ¡°Something the matter?¡± Lord Rector Evander asked.


    ¡°Your majordomo must be a magician,¡± she drawled. ¡°Never before have I seen Tristan Abrascal¡¯s hair so thoroughly cowed into behaving.¡±


    ¡°Ah, the Sacromontan,¡± he grunted.


    Song cocked an eyebrow at him, only realizing the misstep a heartbeat later. She smoothed her face, but the Lord Rector waved it away carelessly.


    ¡°Sacromonte is my greatest supporter,¡± he acknowledged. ¡°But being in bed with the Six is a guarantee for cold feet and a surfeit of elbows to the ribs.¡±


    ¡°Let me into the house, said the tiger,¡± Song quoted.


    ¡°I swear I will keep all the other tigers out,¡± Evander Palliades completed, sounding approving.


    She did not hide her surprise.


    ¡°You have read Manuel Barbero?¡± Song asked.


    ¡°Probably the finest historian of the last two centuries,¡± the Lord Rector said, pushing up his glasses. ¡°Certainly the one with the finest prose.¡±


    Two centuries? That would mean¡­


    ¡°Soyarabai?¡± she said, aghast. ¡°You think Soyarabai was a better historian than Barbero?¡±


    ¡°Her body of work is clear, documented and comprehensive,¡± he said, sounding amused.


    ¡°Comprehensive! A sparrow couldn¡¯t fly past her window without causing three poems and a history of Someshwari birds,¡± Song scorned. ¡°If you stacked all of her books it would have made a second palace for her to live in.¡±


    It then sunk in whom she was speaking to, again, and she turned red with mortification.


    ¡°Your Excellency,¡± she added, coughing into her fist.


    ¡°Barbero botched his account of the Fortnight War,¡± Evander Palliades idly said, eyes gleaming behind the glasses. ¡°Much too partial.¡±


    She grit her teeth. It was not being partial to recognize the perfidy of Ramaya¡¯s encroachment on the trade routes of the Republic of Wendi, or ¨C Song mastered herself. She was being made sport of, clearly.


    ¡°As you say, Your Excellency,¡± she blandly replied.


    The Lord Rector¡¯s lips twitched.


    ¡°Let us see if there are greater surprises in store than Lord Eirenos not being entirely a liar,¡± he said. ¡°Who next?¡±


    Song breathed out, centered herself. Enough distractions. She reached for her inkwell and dipped her pen.


    --


    Angharad knew she was no courtier, for all that she could sail those waters while avoiding the worst of the reefs. So she had carefully planned her approach, though on it for hours so there would be no cause for suspicion.


    Only the two old lords had been drinking enough that the mere mention of Cleon Eirenos was enough to have them happily dragging her to the man in question.


    Lord Cleon was younger than she would have thought, his ambitious wisps of a beard a poor match for the impressive mane of brown hair going down his back. Well dressed, though the brown and gold hose seemed a common fashion here, and the short sword at his hip was richly adorned by possessed of a practical leather grip. Angharad approved.


    ¡°And how is your mother, my boy?¡±


    ¡°Still calling you a goat every time your name comes up, Lord Arkol,¡± the younger man drily replied. ¡°Instead of earning the hooves in question, why do you not instead introduce me to your lovely companion?¡±


    It was Lord Cordyles who did, his friend busy spluttering.


    ¡°May I present to you Lady Angharad Tredegar, of Peredur,¡± he said. ¡°A better laugh than Lord Gule, I can already tell you that much.¡±


    Angharad, who could have done without the second part of the introduction, curtsied.


    ¡°My lord.¡±


    When she rose from the curtsy she found Lord Cleon¡¯s gaze hastily averting from her, which told her well enough where his gaze had strayed. Ah. Well, that might be of some use even if she had no intention of encouraging.


    ¡°Lady Angharad,¡± the young man replied. ¡°A pleasure to make your acquaintance.¡±


    ¡°The pleasure is mine,¡± she replied.


    Which was true, if not for reasons he would know. Within a few sentences it became clear that the two older lords were mostly interested in ribbing the younger man, though it was done in good sport and Lord Cleon seemed to be humoring them as overbearing uncles of a sort. Angharad had to do the best she could with what that provided, which was¡­ weak.


    A jibe about Lord Cleon hunting more deer than account books was the closest to an opening she got, so she seized it.


    ¡°Are you something of a hunter, my lord?¡± she asked.


    ¡°I have a story or two,¡± Lord Cleon humbly replied.


    ¡°Like a sailor has stories,¡± Lord Arkol snorted.


    Her smile strained. Could they not lay off the man for one minute?


    ¡°It is a practice held in high esteem, in Peredur,¡± she said. ¡°My father was a hunter of great skill in his youth.¡±


    ¡°Well, he has the youth part handled at least,¡± Lord Cordyles mused.


    Angharad was going to strangle them. Lord Cleon rolled his eyes.


    ¡°It runs in the bloodline,¡± he told her. ¡°I learned from my father, who was skilled enough in hunting beasts he warranted praise from the Watch.¡±


    ¡°No small thing,¡± Angharad said.


    She attempted to express an interest in his hunts, with an eye to obtaining an invitation to the estate, but while she thought Lord Cleon might be amenable the two older lords kept waylaying him. By the glint in Lord Arkol¡¯s dark eyes, they knew exactly what they were doing too. Having had his fill of ribbing, Lord Cleon took his leave soon after and Angharad¡¯s fingers were left to dig into her palms. She would have to try again after dinner.


    It would have been an effort to hide her irritation at the two, but thankfully they took leave of her company for a minute: Lord Cordyles went to grab another pair of drinks, Lord Arkol accompanying him so he ¡®would not get distracted¡¯. The Pereduri allowed herself a moment of rest from walking the tightrope.


    She breathed in, out and then it was over: a man was approaching her.


    He was a tall sort. Dark-skinned, middle-aged and stately with his graying beard and hair. His jerkin and doublet were in shades of ocher, the color muted and wavy pattern discreet, so it took Angharad a moment to realize they were inyosi. He was dressed in the expensive wax-print from head to toe, with for only adornment golden rings on his fingers ¨C including a signet bearing a three-horned antelope rampant. Between the wealth, the taste and the discretion there could only be one conclusion. Induna, she thought. This was no simple lordling but a great lord of Malan come to these shores.


    The older man limped towards her on his cane then offered her a nod, reaching for what she had thought a strange trinket until he put the curved gold trumpet to his right ear while his left hand settled atop his cane. A hearing aid, she realized. He must be deaf on one side.


    ¡°Lady Angharad,¡± he greeted her. ¡°Welcome to court.¡±


    Angharad curtsied low.


    ¡°Thank you, my lord,¡± she replied. ¡°May I have the pleasure of your name?¡±


    ¡°Lord Gule of Bezan,¡± he replied. ¡°I have the honor of being Her Perpetual Majesty¡¯s ambassador to Asphodel.¡±


    Her back straightened in alarm and she made to curtsy again, but Lord Gule took his trumpet off his ear just long enough to shake his head.


    ¡°There is no need for that,¡± he smiled.


    Yet he did not, she noticed, truly move to stop her. Nor should he. She was not paying respect to the man himself so much as the honor of the High Queen put to rest on his shoulders, as one entitled to speak in her name. Once she had finished, he tacitly moved on by flicking an amused glance at her walking stick.


    ¡°Any more of us limping and the Asphodelians will wonder if a cane has become the fashion in Isasha,¡± Lord Gule said.


    There was an implicit question there, and Angharad chose to acknowledge it.


    ¡°I encountered a spirit and suffered a price for it,¡± she said.


    A hint of sympathy on his face.


    ¡°It is a harsh burden for one so young, to be suddenly crippled.¡±


    Another implied question, which in different circumstances Angharad would have politely ignored. Only to do so would run contrary to Song¡¯s plan, so instead she chose her words precisely.


    ¡°The permanence of the loss has been difficult to make peace with,¡± she ¡®admitted¡¯.


    Let him think she meant the limp and the exhaustion instead of the memories snatched from her by the mara. Lord Gule only nodded, compassionate.


    ¡°I was born with a lame leg, but the ear came later,¡± he told her. ¡°The first months are the worst, Lady Tredegar. Suffer through them and you will find the bitterness ebbs.¡±


    Now it was she who felt ill, at tricking a man who seemed to be offering genuine advice for what he believed a shared affliction. Smoothing her face, Angharad simply nodded. As if reading her mood, the older man changed the subject again.


    ¡°I will not ask as to the circumstances of your exile to these shores,¡± Lord Gule said, ¡°for you will find they matter little here. There is great respect for the nobility of the Isles in these parts, even they that fell on hard times.¡±


    A smile.


    ¡°Should you seek introductions to the right sorts, it would be no trouble at all to facilitate,¡± he said.


    ¡°That is very kind of you to offer,¡± Angharad said, curtsying again.


    Taking the lack of answer for what it was ¨C and only to be expected, on a first meeting ¨C the induna silently nodded. He excused himself a moment later, hobbling away and leaving her to watch him slip into a circle of Asphodelian nobles. She had painted on calm again by the time the two old lords returned with their drinks, but her heart still beat beneath it.


    Lord Gule had been looking for something, when he approached her, and she had no idea whether or not he¡¯d found it.


    --


    ¡°Oh, he¡¯s a nice enough man,¡± Lord Rector Evander sighed. ¡°But I have heard the story about how his granduncle Achilles single-handedly swept the deck of a Raseni flagship and slew their admiral before tragically dying of his wounds so many times we could recite it together.¡±


    ¡°A gallant tale, no doubt,¡± Song replied, lips twitching.


    ¡°All the more gallant for not mentioning that deck was raked with three rounds of grapeshot before Lord Achilles leaped in,¡± the dark-haired man scoffed. ¡°Besides, bravery is not the same for the Kanellakis. Their family contract is famous for a reason.¡±


    The legacy contract of House Kanellakis was an impressive piece of work, though Song suspected it was likely passed as being a lot more than it truly was. One of the more technical contracts she had encountered, with the ¡®power¡¯ of the physical momentum of the contracted being added as a finite layer of protection over their skin so long as they kept moving. A large, armored man running at full tilt would effectively be wearing a second suit of armor and be able to claim invincibility.


    Until he stopped running, anyway.


    ¡°Lord Kanellakis is the holder of a legacy contract,¡± Song confirmed. ¡°And from one of the greater gods of Asphodel, which does not make ties to the Golden Ram impossible but does make them improbable.¡±


    Gods were not necessarily jealous of worship, but no deity invested so much of themselves in a bloodline without becoming territorial. One did not grow cabbage to watch them thrown into the neighbor¡¯s pot.


    ¡°That leaves only dead ends,¡± Lord Rector Evander sighed. ¡°It was too much to hope for, I suppose, that a mere hour of looking would unmask the cult.¡±


    ¡°Not necessarily,¡± Song said, eyes still below.


    ¡°Oh?¡±


    She turned his way, tapping the side of her book.


    ¡°It may well be that one of the contracts I marked today is with the Golden Ram, only that I lack the knowledge to recognize it,¡± Song told him. ¡°That is the purpose of dangling my cabalist like bait: if she is approached by the cult, I will then know the face of their god.¡±


    The name, in truth, but though she had found herself warming to the man her contract was not something she intended to reveal. The Lord Rector nodded at her words, stretching his limbs out like a cat ¨C and groaning, spectacles askew. It was, Song would admit, a little charming.


    ¡°I take it we are finished for the evening?¡± Evander Palliades said. ¡°It is about time I join the banquet anyhow.¡±


    Song glanced down one last time, eyes lingering on a particular face, but she swallowed her question.


    ¡°Ask.¡±


    The slender man was watching her quite seriously, and though she hesitated to obey it might have been worse not to.


    ¡°You never asked,¡± she slowly said, ¡°about Minister Apollonia Floros.¡±


    His face hardened and he looked away. Down at the same woman she had just been looking at. The leading figure of the Council of Ministers had been, as Angharad requested, one of the first Song studied. Yet she had no contract, not even a boon. If she had ties to the Golden Ram cult they were purely material.


    ¡°I don¡¯t need to,¡± the Lord Rector said, voice firm. ¡°She has nothing to do with them.¡±


    Song hesitated again, but this could be relevant to the investigation.


    ¡°You sound certain,¡± she observed.


    Evander Palliades smiled almost bitterly, the cast of green light on his face lending him the barest touch of the unearthly ¨C as if he¡¯d been carved out of jade.


    ¡°She was my regent for three years,¡± he said. ¡°Do you know how she came into the honor?¡±


    ¡°There was a rising in the capital,¡± Song said. ¡°It is said she restored order on your behalf.¡±


    ¡°My uncle tried seize the palace and murder me,¡± Evander flatly replied. ¡°I was only thirteen, and I¡¯d been fourth in line before storm and sickness took my family. Not raised to rule, he argued. A navy man like himself was needed to keep the Rectorate strong, Rasen off our shores.¡±


    His eyes were faraway, she thought, but they never left Minister Floros.


    ¡°Apollonia Floros personally led her house guard against him while half the capital sat back and hedged its bets, fighting a running battle through the palace halls until she slew him in single combat,¡± the young man quietly said. ¡°And at the end, Captain Ren, she stood there blood-soaked and victorious before her men and the lictors not yet mine, and there was a moment¡­¡±


    His jaw clenched.


    ¡°A moment where we both knew, down to the marrow of our bones, that if she cut me down they would all kneel to the Lady Rector of Asphodel,¡± he said. ¡°Only it was her who knelt. Your Excellency, she said, and the rest knelt with her.¡±


    Evander looked away from the glass, shaking his head.


    ¡°It isn¡¯t that she doesn¡¯t want the throne,¡± he said. ¡°She does. But Apollonia, she is¡­


    His lips quirked sadly.


    ¡°She¡¯s the best of them,¡± he said. ¡°When she comes for me, and she will, it won¡¯t be scuttling in the dark like a rat. She will raise her banner tall and face me on the open field in the light of day, offering ever courtesy and honor.¡±


    The Lord Rector breathed out shallowly, rising to his feet.


    ¡°Perhaps you think me na?ve,¡± Evander Palliades said. ¡°But I never worried of Apollonia Floros being part of that cult. It would be beneath her.¡±


    ¡°No, not na?ve,¡± Song quietly replied.


    It was a strange thing to feel pity for a man who ruled over half a million lives by no better reason than the happenstance of birth, but how else to call that sourness in her belly? How bitter it must taste, that the mentor Evander Palliades so painfully obviously admired wanted to usurp him. And how lonely you must be, Song thought, that you would tell all this to a stranger like me. Perhaps he too realized that he had been too open, too intimate, for he looked embarrassed and moved past her towards the door.


    ¡°I will be expected below,¡± the Lord Rector said. ¡°Have you still need of the gallery, Captain Ren?¡±


    No point in looking everyone over twice, Song thought.


    ¡°I am finished,¡± she said.


    Gallant despite his eagerness to leave her behind, he kept the door open for her. One of the waiting lictors looked her up and down as she made for the door, which Song realized a heartbeat later was to ascertain if the two of them had been fucking. Her expression turned cold at the implication of her being some sort of blackcloak courtesan and she angrily brushed past the Lord Rector and lictor both. The other one was keeping his eyes ahead, looking at the third and-


    No, looking past the third. As if the woman were not there at all, even as she reached for her belt. Song caught sight of the golden letters above the stranger¡¯s head and moved on instinct ¨C she grabbed the Lord Rector by the collar and threw them both down, the lictors shouting in surprise and anger.


    The knife that hit the open door, sinking into the wood with a thud, put an end to that.


    What followed should have been messy, but everyone was too well trained. First the lictors turned to the assassin, whom they could now see. One fired his pistol, forcing the killer to abort throwing a second knife and instead run for it while the other drew his sword and stepped in to shield the Lord Rector with his body. The young man hissed in pain as Song got off him, eyes desperately tracking the fleeing assassin¡¯s back.


    The lictor with the pistol out pursued, shouting for other guards to run in, but even as the Lord Rector was guided back into the gallery by his other protector Song stayed there on her knees. Reading the golden letters, seeing through the contract that made whoever beheld the contractor see only what they expected to see there. A contractor whose name was Hui Yu, and who looked exactly as Cathayan as his name was. Fuck, Song Ren thought.


    She could be wrong, but it rather looked like the Republics had just tried to assassinate the Lord Rector of Asphodel.

 Chapter 44

    The gardens of the rector¡¯s palace were an ode to decadence, though not in the way Maryam had come to expect from mornaric.


    She was not looking at paving stones made of gold and jewels hanging from branches, or even the marginally subtler boast of wildly impractical flowers ¨C Jahamai roses, Someshwari ghost orchids, maybe even Pandemonium brimstone lilies. No, the decadence was inherent to the garden¡¯s very existence, because so far she had not seen so much as a hint of Antediluvian machinery that would explain how a dozen acres of black earth had been brought up four hundred feet above the ground and made into a functioning garden atop a foundation of glass.


    It had been the work of mortals to build the greenery around her, rows of poplar trees flanking small stone paths while sprawling orchards of pears, apples and pomegranates spread out in every direction. It was not a garden in the Izcalli way, where flowers and trees were carefully chosen by color to make patterns, or even in the Lierganen preference with arrangements of flowers beds and hedges.


    The Asphodelians liked their greenery barely tame, even the flowers wild: pale chrysanthemum fought pink oleanders and violet janks for hegemony, defiant of any arrangement but nature¡¯s. Small bubbling brooks were flanked with cattail and willow while small hilltops crested with rashes of dittany. One particular flower was everywhere, though, a small bloom that came in shades of blue and purple ¨C and it was not one Maryam was familiar with, despite her many hours spent in Meadows.


    Curiosity over that drove her to finally speak to her assigned shadows, the pair of grim-faced lictors trailing precisely three steps behind her at all times. Kneeling in the grass, Maryam trailed her fingers across a purple bloom and hummed.


    ¡°This one seems particularly common,¡± she said. ¡°Do you happen to know the name?¡±


    They did not answer, at first, but then she turned and saw them sharing a look. The woman of the pair, a short-haired brawler with a broken nose and dark eyes, cleared her throat.


    ¡°Those are Asphodel crowns, rook,¡± she said. ¡°Our own small beauties. They grow nowhere else, despite Raseni efforts.¡±


    The regular wars between the Asphodel Rectorate and the Duchy of Rasen had been happening for hundreds of years, Maryam had read, which meant that for every dramatic betrayal and desperate battle there were half a dozen episodes of pettiness ¨C which made if entirely believable to her that the Raseni had tried to spread around Asphodel¡¯s symbolic flower purely to spite them. Asphodelians had, after all, stolen the kind of grapevines native to Rasen and sold seeds around the Trebian Sea not once but twice.


    It would have been amusing, if not for the near certainty that men had died on both sides over raids to steal grapes.


    ¡°A name like Asphodel crowns,¡± she said, ¡°begs a story.¡±


    The other lictor, a heavily muscled man with a tanned face and bright blue eyes, scowled at her.


    ¡°We are your escorts, rook, not paid minstrels,¡± he said. ¡°Pick up a book ¨C if you even know how to read.¡±


    The first lictor cleared her throat.


    ¡°He means that the use of such a story to a Watch investigation seems unclear,¡± she diplomatically said.


    What with the way the man was staring at her with half a sneer, Maryam rather doubted it. But while she might have to swallow such things from others in the Watch, that was not the end of the stick she held here.


    "Your name?¡± she asked.


    The man blinked in surprise.


    ¡°What does that-¡±


    Maryam rose to her feet, brushing her hands free of grass on her robes.


    ¡°Your name, soldier,¡± she harshly said. ¡°So that when I send my report to your superiors I can explain who thought it clever to impede a Watch investigation undertaken on the behalf of the Lord Rector of Asphodel.¡±


    The big man¡¯s jaw clenched, while the lictor with the broken nose raised her hands as if to appease everyone.


    ¡°It is just a story, ma¡¯am,¡± she said, playing peacemaker. ¡°Surely there is no need to-¡±


    Maryam sent her a scornful look. Men like him do not just happen, she thought. It takes a hundred silences from the likes of you for them to learn they can just spit out their poison as they like. How ready you are to make armistice, now that the one casting stones could be made to pay for it. Where was that taste for accord when the stones were being thrown?


    ¡°Are you,¡± she mildly said, ¡°telling me what I should and should not put in my report?¡±


    And the mouth snapped shut. She turned her eyes to the man, blue matching blue until he lowered his gaze to stare at his own boots. It was nothing, she knew. Would change nothing, not the man and not the hate. But it still felt good to make him look away. Sometimes that was enough to keep her warm for the rest of the day.


    ¡°Well?¡± she impatiently said. ¡°A story or a name, soldier. I do not have all night.¡±


    Patently untrue, it was in fact exactly what she had, but they would not know.


    ¡°Of course, ma¡¯am,¡± the man got out. ¡°It is from the tale of Asphodel¡¯s founding, ma¡¯am, how Oduromai King chose the island to settle.¡±


    Maryam¡¯s eyes narrowed.


    ¡°Oduromai, like your god of sailors and heroes?¡±


    A public name, not the god¡¯s true one, but even so that seemed like too much for a coincidence. The other lictor nodded.


    ¡°He is a man-made-god,¡± she said. ¡°He shed earthly flesh for a crown of aether in his old age.¡±


    Ah, one of those. It was not the first time Maryam heard of cults believing that a great enough mortal could become a god ¨C the Tianxi were famous for that belief, one of the differences that set them apart from Someshwari Orthodoxy. Maryam personally hewed to the Izcalli doctrine on the matter, which was that a man¡¯s legend might become a god but it was not the man himself.


    ¡°And the flowers, how are they involved?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Oduromai King was the child of Antediluvians, and after the Flood swallowed his father¡¯s hall he sailed in search of a new home,¡± the blue-eyed lictor grunted. ¡°He set out with only his mother¡¯s sacred arms and a flower from his father¡¯s garden. Ma¡¯am.¡±


    ¡°Every island where he thought he might settle,¡± the other continued, ¡°he tried to plant the flower, see if it would take to the earth. Always it started to sicken, until he planted it in the hills of Tratheke Valley ¨C where it bloomed twice. It crowned our island a new kingdom, see.¡±


    Hence the name of ¡®Asphodel crown¡¯, Maryam mused.


    ¡°Need anything else, ma¡¯am?¡± the big man scoffed.


    ¡°For you to now remain silent until spoken to, lictor,¡± she evenly replied.


    She saw the anger twist his face, for a moment, until he reined it in and jerkily nodded. His friend gave him a look of warning, but he brushed her off and stared out in the distance. Well, Maryam had not come here for the company. And asking about the bloom might have been in part about squeezing the bastard¡¯s throat, but it had not been an empty question.


    Wherever Asphodel crowns grew, the aether went strange.


    The insides of the rector¡¯s palace carried aether still as a grave, tasting almost sterile to her nav, but the gardens were like the city below: treacherous rapids, harsh currents and pointed stones that would smash open her soul-effigy if she dared extend it too far from herself. Only the purple blooms seemed to bring with them¡­ not calm, exactly, but a more stable kind of disorder? Not anywhere as tumultuous.


    A strong connection to a story central to the worship of a major local god might go some way in explaining that, she thought. It might mean the aether around the crowns was already faintly tainted, heavier, so it was not moved around as easily by the rapids.


    Maryam frowned down at the purple-and-blue spread beginning at her feet.


    But that seemed almost too simple an explanation for the phenomenon. The pale-skinned girl felt like turning around to ask Captain Yue about it, but Yue was days of sailing away. Even getting a letter to Scholomance might be difficult, though she was tempted to try. Either way, she had the answer she had come for: the garden was an aether rapid because, unlike the palace, it was not Antediluvian work. There were no protections out here.


    Pulling close her blue shawl ¨C Song insisted on them remaining disguised, so her cloak had to remain hidden away in a trunk ¨C the Izvorica gathered her skirts and walked down the shallow slope of grass back to the stone path. Her shadows followed behind, the woman of the pair clearing her throat once they were back on the stone.


    ¡°It will soon be eight, ma¡¯am,¡± she said. ¡°The day is about to end, we should head to one of the lantern pavilions before dark.¡±


    Curious as Maryam was to see whether nightfall would change how the aether ran through the gardens, there was wisdom in those words. They were far out, nearly at the edge ¨C where a row of poplars hid the expanse of glass beyond the garden grounds to maintain the pretense that this was not an island of green surrounded by nothing. Better to return to the pavilions closer to the palace and wait for the dark there, then have her look from safe grounds.


    This place was dangerous enough with the lights on, the Gloam coming out to play was unlikely to improve matters.


    ¡°Let us,¡± Maryam agreed.


    She only vaguely remembered the path back ¨C they¡¯d cut across garden grounds quite a bit ¨C but the palace¡¯s looming silhouette was guide enough. The lantern pavilions dotting the grounds were elegant little things, vine-covered arches over a roof that was but a wooden grid so thickly covered by leaves and flowers no rain would be able to pass through. The name presumably came from the brass-and-glass lanterns hanging from the apex of the arches, gently moving with the wind.


    By the time they¡¯d arrived at the closest pavilion lanterns had been lit in anticipation of the dark, the servant responsible for it still there with his long perch. They¡¯d just entered the ring of pale light when the dark began to spread through the sky like some divine finger smudging the light ¨C the edge of the light moving past the city in a matter of heartbeats, leaving a sudden darkness in its wake.


    They all tensed as the sudden cool, even those born to Asphodel. Breathing out, Maryam pulled at her shawl and stepped further into the ring of lantern light. She could take a moment to gather herself before¡­ Bells? Loud, insistent ringing. When she checked, both lictors had gone stiff as a board.


    ¡°What does this mean?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Enemy in the palace,¡± the big man shortly replied. ¡°An attempt was made on the Lord Rector¡¯s life.¡±


    Both looked like hounds trying not to pull on the leash, so Maryam waved them away.


    ¡°Go,¡± she said. ¡°I will wait here.¡±


    ¡°Ma¡¯am,¡± the lictor with the broken nose saluted.


    The first time the word sounded genuine, thought it might just have outed her as someone of status to the lamplighter still nearby. The lictors ran off, hands on their swords, and she was left to stand under the roof of vines. Not quite alone, as the servant from earlier was leaning against one of the arch pillars and eating an apple. She stepped past the threshold, clearing her throat. The young man straightened like someone getting chided, hastily bowing.


    ¡°My lady,¡± he said.


    His eyes flicked to her face, twisting with something like fear when he saw her paleness, but it ended there.


    ¡°You walk these paths alone at night?¡± she asked, gesturing at the garden.


    He nodded vigorously, curly brown hair trembling.


    ¡°It¡¯s no trouble for us who know the ways,¡± he replied. ¡°Keep a light and keep to the path, my father always said, and you¡¯ll live to ripe old age.¡±


    ¡°But there are dangers out there,¡± she said.


    ¡°Not when the lanterns are lit,¡± he hedged. ¡°It hems in the dark. But they say the Ancients left ghosts before they left, and fools who leave the path to chase them sometimes never return.¡±


    Lemures? Possible, since there were creatures who would hide in burrows and come out at night, but this sounded to her more like aether parasites. A strange thing to tolerate so close to the palace, but then with the currents in the local aether being what they were she doubted even Captain Totec would be able to clear such creatures out entirely. Best be careful where she stepped, then.


    The young servant discreetly tossed his half-finished apple in the bushes.


    ¡°I must be going, my lady,¡± he said. ¡°If I¡¯m late to the next pavilion, they¡¯ll dock my pay.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t let me keep you,¡± Maryam replied, waving him away.


    He did not quite hurry off, but it was a near thing. He¡¯d barely stepped out of the ring of lanterns before he pulled a necklace with a glowing stone out of his livery, leaving it to dangle in the open. Expensive, she mused, before putting it out of her mind. She leaned against the arch pillar opposite the one he had, letting her gaze stray into the distance, and froze when she saw movement.


    Her hand reached for the pistol tucked away at her hip, cursing that the lictors had refused to let her bring her hatchet, and she slowly brought it out. Beyond the pavilion lights were two small thickets of laurel trees and a field of white flowers, and it was on that open field she saw it. The silhouette standing there, looking at her ¨C slender, pale. Long hair braided as had been the fashion in Volcesta.


    Blue eyes that could have been hers.


    ¡°You,¡± Maryam rasped out. ¡°You¡¯re the¡­¡±


    The parasite pulling at the end of her nav. The apparition that wandered the nights of Allazei, that had once stepped in to save Song¡¯s life. She received no answer, only a smile that was like an ivory knife.


    And the apparition walked away, down the path of white flowers.


    Maryam¡¯s fingers clenched around the pistol, taking half a step forward before she stopped herself. It could be a trap, the garden playing tricks. But had she not thought herself that the parasite was taking well to Asphodel, enjoying the aether here? It could be real. Must be real.


    Answers were so close she could almost taste them.


    ¡°Fool,¡± Maryam cursed herself, but she chased after the ghost anyway.


    --


    A bust.


    Tristan had gathered court gossip by the shovelful ¨C some might be worth passing to Tredegar, if she was to continue playing the court belle ¨C but what he had figured to be his first trail had proved to be worth little. He sighed as the door shook and there was a loud feminine moan, Lady Doukas¡¯ private recreation with a strapping young man not as discreet as she must believe. He¡¯d thought there were illicit dealings afoot and technically there were, since Doukas was married to someone not in that closet, but this was of no real use to him.


    And a broom closet, really? Sex already seemed grimy enough without mops in close proximity.


    Sliding his blackjack back into the strap hidden under his shirt at the small of his back, he left them to their hobby. It wasn¡¯t all that far back to the reception, though for a moment he debated returning at all. No, even if all he gained was gossip it would be worth it purely to have eyes on Angharad. Though the Pereduri was no doubt a better hand than he at navigating courts, she could only see from her own eyes. Someone standing outside, watching the entire scene, might notice what she did not.


    So he must return just in case, no matter how tedious serving drinks and smiling at smug humor would be. Sighing, he straightened his back and pulled his livery back into place. The majordomo would go for his throat if he looked messy. Best get moving now, and-


    ¡°-OCK THE WARD. LOCK IT DOWN!¡±


    -and hurry out of here before the pair in their tryst got out of that closet. Something was afoot, he thought as he turned the corridor towards the source of the shouting ¨C finding lictors with their blades out running down the hall, screaming about ringing bells and sealing down the palace. Headed¡­ east, which would get them to that twisty circle of stairs leading down to the massive lifts that were effectively the basement layer of the rector¡¯s palace.


    Trying to prevent someone from leaving then. Assassin? He¡¯d bet on those odds, were he a betting man, and he was. Unless that assassin moved swift as the wind, though, they wouldn¡¯t outrun alarm bells. Or be able to plow through the amount of lictors guarding the lifts. Tristan took a sharp turn west. The servant corridors were this way, weaving around the royal kitchen and the small quarters ¨C that was where he would go, if he wanted to disappear.


    He made his way briskly, passing one squad of hard-eyed lictors after another. Twice he was made to stop, even wearing the livery, but they never patted him down well enough to find the ¡®jack and he had a ready-made excuse for where he was heading: new servant that he was, he¡¯d gotten lost in his panic when the bells began ringing and he was trying to find Majordomo Timon.


    He pulled off the sad worried boy act well enough one of the nicer lictors even gave him directions.


    Finding the kitchen was easiest, mere minutes away, and once he had that cavernous entrance in sight he dipped to the left and slipped through the discreet door there the same color as the wall. The servants were not meant to be seen coming and going, after all, nobles preferring it when their meals and vices appeared as if by magic. Said magic was underpaid staff, as tended to be the way.


    The corridor wasn¡¯t quite crowded, but there were a dozen servants there coming together in clusters of worried murmurs. He barely got a second look as he slid in, interest waning at the sight his livery. The rector¡¯s palace was enormous, the servants here numbered a small army ¨C larger than the actual army guarding the place. The servants here were like a dozen tribes, so many faces in the mix that no one knew all of them save perhaps that glaring majordomo.


    What Tristan looked for was not a hooded figure in a corner with a blood-dripping knife and a manic smile but himself: a figure in the right livery who was not actually familiar with anyone else here. As none stood out, he kept moving down the hidden halls. Looping around the kitchen, then closer to the servant quarters. Those halls were empty, most everyone having fled back to their rooms as servants were supposed to when the bells rang.


    After a third empty hallway the thief sighed, admitting to himself he might have looked at the wrong place. The bells were still ringing so the assassin had not been caught, but this looked a dead end. Turning back, he-


    ¡°You¡¯re going to ignore her?¡±


    Tristan turned a confused look to Fortuna, whose dress trailed on the well-worn floor as she kept pace with him. Who, he silently mouthed.


    ¡°The Tianxi,¡± she said. ¡°The one staring at you with a knife in hand.¡±


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    Mastering his breathing to keep calm, Tristan made himself let out a startled noise. He went rifling through his pockets as if in a panic, looking for something he had lost. That movement let him slide his gaze around the hall again, one eye on Fortuna as he silently asked her to point out the hidden person ¨C only there was no need. This time he saw her, a short Tianxi woman with a tattooed face and a throwing knife in hand as she eyed him warily.


    What kind of a contract was this?


    ¡°Fuck,¡± Tristan cursed, making a show of his empty pockets. ¡°Come on, I must have¡­¡±


    He jogged past the Tianxi, angling his body so he¡¯d be able to take out the blackjack unseen and-


    ¡°Duck,¡± Fortuna shouted.


    He dropped to the floor without missing a beat, hearing metal bouncing off stone past him, and a moment later he was rolling away as the Tianxi tried to kick him in the throat. He wiggled out of the way, back on his ass, and caught a second kick with shielding forearms ¨C only he saw, from the corner of his eyes, that she¡¯d drawn another knife.


    He snarled, striking at the side of her knee with the blackjack. It hit the joint, earning that beautiful pop, and threw off her blow enough the knife slice only shallowly through his cheek. The Tianxi grunted in pain, hand rising and Tristan moved to hit her elbow - then he was on his back, head ringing and chin feeling cracked. It¡¯d been a feint, she¡¯d clocked him with the pommel of the knife.


    He rolled again, narrowly avoiding another thrown knife, and she must have judged him too hard to kill quietly: the assassin legged it down the hall, towards one of the exits. Only, even as he pushed himself up leaning on the wall, he did not run after her. Instead he narrowed his eyes, mind racing.


    ¡°She¡¯s getting away,¡± Fortuna observed, leaning against his shoulder.


    ¡°She isn¡¯t,¡± Tristan replied, watching as the assassin ran out of the servant halls and onto the palace floor. ¡°There¡¯s only one thing of use to her that way, and it¡¯s the gardens.¡±


    ¡°Where she¡¯ll lose you,¡± the Lady of Long Odds informed him. ¡°They¡¯re passably large, as personal gardens go.¡±


    ¡°She won¡¯t,¡± he said, ¡°because the bells are ringing. That means all the main gates are locked and she¡¯ll have to take side doors out.¡±


    And he knew exactly where the closet side door was, as he¡¯d walked Maryam to it barely an hour ago. Even better, he knew how to get to a room overlooking that exit and how to get there through the very same servant hallways he stood in. Straightening, he set out as quickly as he could without outright running. The hallways were still deserted, so there were no interruptions as he took three lefts and emerged past a tapestry near the door to what was some sort of viewing gallery.


    It was an old oaken door with a simple lock, which should ¨C oh, unlocked. He cracked it open, finding only darkness and the windows he was after, then slid in and quietly shut it behind him. There were pale lights out in the garden, enough that he was able to walk to the window without need to strike a match. Working the brass locks, he opened the broad window panes and hoisted himself up on the sill. This was the right place. Tristan waited crouched on the window ledge, blackjack in hand. It should not be more than a minute before the Tianxi arrived, so he quieted his breath and bade his time.


    Tristan did not hear so much as a whisper before the hand closed around his neck.


    Panic. He tried to turn but the grip was too strong, and when he tried to wriggle his way into facing his enemy with his blackjack he received a squeeze of warning. Tristan stilled. Someone strolled past him and to realization came in quick succession. Dismay: he had not been snuck up on by one person but two, as someone was still holding him by the neck. Relief, at the realization that this was therefore not the assassin.


    And the face he saw in the flickering lamplight when the stranger approached the open window was one that had him hiding his surprise. Pulling at his superb mustache, Lord Locke tottered to the window before turning to wink at him. He put a finger to his lips and let out a loud shhhhhh. Tristan swallowed.


    ¡°Good evening, Lady Keys,¡± he whispered.


    ¡°And to you, young man,¡± she happily replied from behind him. ¡°Found a job, have you? Such pretty livery.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a living,¡± he croaked. ¡°Although, as it happens, I am a member of-¡±


    ¡°The Watch,¡± Lord Locke idly finished, looking down the window. ¡°A little pale for the Lefthand House, my boy, and you lack the mandatory froth of the Yellow Earth.¡±


    ¡°I aim only to intercept the assassin,¡± he tried.


    ¡°Yes, and we cannot allow that,¡± Lady Keys told him. ¡°If you stop her here, how are we to find out the means she used to enter the palace?¡±


    He breathed in sharply. There was only one way in and out of the palace as far as he knew ¨C when the killer had headed towards the gardens, he¡¯d guessed the intention was to hide there and wait out the search before making for the lifts when the heat died down.


    ¡°There¡¯s another path?¡±


    ¡°There is always another path,¡± Lord Locke chortled. ¡°It is the destination that does not always pleases, hmmm?¡±


    Tristan licked his lips, preparing to risk one more question, but Lady Keys squeezed his neck in warning again. He fell silent just in time for a silhouette to run out of the door below. Further and further she went, until she was near out of sight.


    ¡°Oh, she takes the pavilion path,¡± Lord Locke muttered. ¡°Boring. I expected better from the debut of a woman who near murdered the Lord Rector.¡±


    ¡°Near murdered who?¡± Tristan croaked, eyes widening.


    A beat passed.


    ¡°Try not to break anything, dearie,¡± Lady Keys instructed him.


    He opened his mouth to reply ¨C not quite sure what yet, but ¡®please don¡¯t¡¯ seemed a decent start ¨C but he was forced to swallow a scream when the noblewoman threw him out the damn window. Pulling forcefully at his luck, the ticking drowned out by the howl of the wind, he prayed for a landing that wouldn¡¯t shatter bone and the side of his livery tore at the seams. It led him to flip around in the air so his chin didn¡¯t hit stone, only his back, and he groaned in pain before releasing the borrowed luck.


    The tile came loose off the edge of the roof and even hastily rolling around it still clipped the side of his arm, tearing the livery a second time and most definitely leaving a bruise. Manes, the majordomo would have his head for that. He hadn¡¯t even had the clothes for a day.


    Dragging himself up he shot a look at the open window, but as expected neither Lord Locke nor Lady Keys were anywhere to be seen. Gritting his teeth, he glared in their general direction before turning around. The assassin came first. She was at least a minute ahead, by his count, and there was only one lit path through the darkened garden, moving from one lantern pavilion to another: he hurried and caught sight of her again soon.


    Unfortunately the lack of cover cut both ways, so she also caught sight of him.


    Immediately she veered off the path, into the dark and Tristan cursed. He at least caught up to where she left the path before taking wary look at the darkness. He rather wished he¡¯d kept one of her throwing knives, even though getting caught with one of those by a lictor might just have gotten him shot. It would do his nerves some good to head into the night better armed, chasing after the rustle of leaves in the wind and steps on grass and the mocking cackle-call.


    Huh. Wait, was that¡­


    ¡°Sakkas?¡± he called out.


    The flap of wings, and bursting out of the dark like jack from the box was the massive magpie. Sakkas half bowled him over landing on his shoulder, but Tristan was grinning.


    ¡°Good boy,¡± he enthused. ¡°Best boy.¡±


    Triumphant cawing.


    ¡°How would you like to earn a full bushel of apples?¡± he said.


    A wing slapped at his hair, inviting him to elaborate.


    ¡°A woman just walked out there,¡± he said, pointing where the assassin had gone. ¡°Can you guide me to her?¡±


    The magpie shuffled around his shoulder some, then decisively nodded and flew away. Breathing in, Tristan followed. It was tricky, following a shadow in the dark, but Sakkas was somehow always just as the edge of his sight. He walked past twisted trees, shoes cracking as he stepped on leaves and twigs, and then onto a field of blue-and-purple blooms. For the barest moment he thought he might be seeing the Tianxi in the distance, at the edge of the open field, so he broke into a run.


    Only what he found, when Sakkas perched on a branch and let out a final cackle, was not the assassin. Would that it were, because Tristan had felt this¡­ strangeness in the air before, the way it was thickly laden. Before him stood rows and rows of slender, leafless trees like poles. Only a narrow path was opened, like a curtain¡¯s skirt lightly pulled open, and while to his eyes that path headed into the distance Tristan could tell it did not.


    That path, it felt like a hole in the world. Layer, he thought. This is the entrance to a layer, or close enough. Above his head, Sakkas let out a warning squawk.


    ¡°I know,¡± Tristan replied. ¡°But I have to. We need to know where it leads.¡±


    Because while it was entirely possible that the Republics were behind that assassin, a hidden way into the otherwise utterly unassailable palace would be very useful to, say, a cult full of nobles preparing to mount a coup on the Lord Rector. And the longer I wait before following, the longer they¡¯d have to clean up the other side. Tristan sighed, passing a hand through his hair.


    Well, nothing else for it.


    The thief stepped forward, and just like that he was gone.


    --


    The shade, the thing, it was baiting her.


    Maryam refused it a name, for names had power, but could not refuse the chase. She was as a child in the dark, following the rope tied to her soul, and for every step she took away from the light the shade took two. She was not going to catch up with that light-footed thing, not before it had led them to wherever it intended to go.


    Flowers gave way to grass, grass gave way to trees and only when those twisted branches began clawing at the dark did the shade slow. Into a clearing the creature wandered, gray robes trailing, and waited for her pursuer to catch up as she idly crossed grounds to the other side.


    She looked back at Maryam as the Izvorica reached the clearing, almost taunting, then passed under an arch of flowering vines and disappeared.


    The signifier scowled, carding her fingers through the too-heavy air. The Gloam was thick here, like an oily miasma, but it was also placid ¨C there were no real currents, as if this entire clearing were stagnant water. But there was something that¡­ Her slippers quiet against the grass, Maryam approached the arch of vines and watched as the flowers began to spoil. Poisoned by Gloam, the petals turned into death¡¯s leavings.


    ¡°And you will know the gate by rot,¡± Maryam murmured in her native tongue, ¡°for in that darkened realm the very wind is poison and the fruits of the vine grin like skulls.¡±


    But this was not the gate into Nav, was it? It was just a gate, one whose mere existence was enough to create eddies in the Gloam around it. A flower could suffer the presence of Gloam without mark, if the darkness simply passed it like a breeze. To be touched by a current, though, Gloam charged? Rare was the petal that would not be blighted by that. The rope tugged forward, the shade¡¯s touch mocking. As if to chide her for cowardice in hesitating.


    A petty trap, that invitation to haste.


    ¡°And though the dark lasted for seven days and seven nights, Orel grew not lost for he was the cleverest of the junak,¡± she quoted. ¡°With his dripping blood he marked the trees, so that he would not circle until death as the queen had cursed him.¡±


    Orel had always been her favorite of the wandering junak, for all that he apparently could not cross a single river without somehow offending a witch queen. Maryam pulled at her nav, wound it around the rake-rings and drew in Gloam. She shaped nothing but a string, tied to the edge of the gate so that her enemy could not draw her into deep waters from which there would be no return.


    Breathing out, she stepped through the gate.


    The air was empty here. That was the first thing that struck her. It felt¡­ hollowed out, somehow, even as she breathed it in. Before Maryam stood a long and dimly lit road, paving stones glared down at by a dim dusk.


    On either side was nothing, and above them was something every part of Maryam screamed at her not to behold.


    A flutter of gray robes, the shade running away. She pursued the thing down the paths, Gloam string unwinding behind her. Corner after corner, all just gentle enough they barely felt like turns, and the string grew taut. Then tight, and at last on the point of snapping. In the distance the gray-robed shade waited patientiently, at a crossroads. Maryam¡¯s eyes narrowed. The paths, as far as she could tell, did not change behind her. She should be able to find her way back.


    And the place where the shade stood, it was¡­ wrong. Like a crack in the world.


    Gritting her teeth, she let the Gloam string fall apart to the sound of the creature¡¯s faint laughter. It barely even moved as Maryam approached. The wrongness she had glimpsed from far away loomed tall as a man, a blank fissure in the air that looked¡­ The Izvorica swallowed. It looked like it had been ripped by some great claw, not simply come to happen naturally. The shade waited until she was mere yards away to offer a sardonic salute and step into the crack.


    Maryam¡¯s steps stuttered in their pursuit.


    What was this place? She had half-guessed a layer, but layers were not so empty. They were an imprint on aether, and what could this strange realm of paths possibly be an imprint of? Antediluvian was the other easy guess, yet none of their affections were here: there were no golden lights and machines, no overweening grandeur. This felt¡­ rawer. Less refined, like a river stone instead of statue. The blue-eyed girl swallowed, eyeing the wound in the air. She had come too far to back down now, hadn¡¯t she?


    She stepped through, the sensation like the flutter of butterflies in her hair.


    The dim light of before had grown stronger and even more hollow, revealing in wan colors a white desert spreading in every direction: the grains more like crystal than sand, each perfect and pale. The sand creased beneath her feet as she moved, but the sound barely warranted a thought. Not when she was so close to the shade in the gray robe, whose back was turned to Maryam.


    The creature was looking at a great harpoon of bronze, jagged and gleaming, sunk deep into the sand. Tall as a ship¡¯s mast.


    Maryam closed the distance, ring-hand clenched. And finally the shade deigned to turn and meet her face to face. She breathed in sharply, for Song had spoken true: the thing could have passed for a sister, or perhaps a cousin. There was naught of Maryam¡¯s father in that sharp, bony face but she saw some of her mother and more of herself. As if someone had painted her and smudged the lines and colors on the canvas.


    ¡°Where is this?¡± Maryam asked.


    ¡°What willful blindness,¡± the shade scorned. ¡°You shovel ignorance down your gullet as if it were the finest ambrosial.¡±


    Intelligent, Maryam wondered, or merely capable of mimicking it? Not all intelligences born of the aether thought as people did, in signs and lines and meanings. Some were simply pattern-impulses, like machines inserting words and syntax to cause reaction. No more a thinking mind than candlelight or the plague.


    ¡°Enlighten me, then,¡± she said.


    ¡°How can I, when my bones are made of every shied-of dark corner in your head?¡± the shade replied. ¡°They tried to make you more, but you always have been so stubborn about being less.¡±


    Maryam raised her hand, ring-glint a glimmer in the dark, and pulled. Her nav wriggled like a worm on a hook, her soul-effigy pulled taut as the shade raised a hand of her own and spat in distaste.


    ¡°Oh no, you riven thing,¡± she said. ¡°Not here, not so far out of the lights. The madwoman¡¯s strings are not so long as that.¡±


    ¡°Neither are yours,¡± Maryam said, twisting her hand.


    Curling like a claw, pulling in, but she was met effort for effort by the shade. The nav remained between them, a fragile idol at the heart of the tug-of-war. Their strength was matched here in this empty place, this pale desert without a sky. The ground crunched under her boots as she released her grasp, mirrored by the shade. The nav dipped, rope gone slack.


    ¡°This isn¡¯t a layer,¡± Maryam said. ¡°Someone made this place.¡±


    ¡°Every place is made,¡± the shade smiled.


    An in a frozen instant, she saw it: with the cut of the hair hiding part of the jaw she could make out only part of the face, the hard bones and blue eyes and nose just a little too long and too sharp. Mother had not been a beauty. She¡¯d looked like she fought the gods when they carved her features, made the knife slip too far and dig too deep.


    And that shade, that fucking thing, it put on that appearance like a cloak while mouthing old lessons whose remembrance were one of the few precious things she still owned. Every place is made, Maryam, for it only becomes so when beheld. The absence of observation is nameless. She could almost smell the burning pine, the rough wool of the blanket and the way her knees had ached from how she tucked her legs.


    Pretty new boots, dyed red. She¡¯d not wanted to dirty them in wet earth.


    ¡°I did not give you that,¡± she said, voice cold. ¡°I would never give you that, you hateful leech. You show yourself a liar.¡±


    ¡°But you did,¡± the shade said. ¡°And it¡¯s worse than giving me the whole, in truth. You just force-fed me the colors.¡±


    The shade brushed away her hair, the moment gone and now a face like a sister¡¯s meeting Maryam¡¯s own.


    ¡°Did you think you could get rid of the ache, of the tears, without washing out the dyes?¡± she mocked. ¡°You wander around as a gray ghost, Maryam Khaimov, blanching and bleaching everything you touch.¡±


    That was¡­ she swallowed. She forced down the urge to sink into the memory again, to see if the shade spoke true and the part of her that fled grief had scraped her every memory raw of such tastes in its hurry to flee ¨C to go back, it was what the thing wanted. To feed on her again.


    ¡°I am a ghost lectured by less than a ghost, then,¡± she scorned right back. ¡°You would give me lessons when you are a pile of table scraps? You are vermin hidden in the attic, thing, and now I know how to starve you out.¡±


    ¡°You know less than you think,¡± the shade smiled. ¡°Always.¡±


    ¡°I know you fed on anger and grief and you think that makes you something,¡± Maryam said. ¡°But it doesn¡¯t. You told me that, when you went to Song calling yourself things like princess of Volcesta and Keeper of Hooks. If you were more than just leavings you¡¯d know-¡±


    ¡°That it failed,¡± the shade conversationally. ¡°Mother tried to pass them on, all the hooks and the crooks. Fifty generations of secrets and guile, every practice allowed and forbidden to those of the Ninefold Nine.¡±


    Her footsteps made no sound as they crossed the pale sand, left no footsteps. She was not a thing of the world material.


    ¡°And it slipped through your mind like a sea pouring through our fingers,¡± the shade said. ¡°Became unto nothing, because you were unfit. No ritual to fix it, fix you.¡±


    She raised her arms in cutting celebration,


    ¡°All hail Maryam Khaimov, funeral pyre to the sapling that should have been the rebirth of the Izvoric¡¯s lore. Just as merrily did it burn as our groves under Malani torches.¡±


    It was like a blow in the gut. Every time, every single time, even after all these years.


    ¡°Then you know,¡± Maryam spoke through gritted teeth, ¡°that to dare call yourself such a thing is obscene.¡±


    ¡°I know the stories you tell yourself,¡± the shade replied. ¡°The poison you swallow to better feed me. But however you might love the lash biting into your back, that does not make it the truth. I¡¯ve been there from the start.¡±


    Her eyes were cold.


    ¡°And unlike you, I have not been supping on ignorance.¡±


    Maryam¡¯s stomach clenched.


    ¡°You have some of it,¡± she said, voice gone raw. ¡°You were able to eat some. How, no ¨C how much?¡±


    The shade only smiled mockingly, and Maryam saw red. Her ring-hand whipped up, her will cut into the world and the air splintered between them ¨C the shade was laughing, laughing, as Maryam spiked at her with a Bayonet the size of door. Only from the mirroring hand on the thing a snake of Gloam spun out swallowing it whole and twisting into nothing-smoke. She snarled, wove Befuddlement but it passed though the shade as if there was no mind to blank.


    A drop of pitch black Gloam formed half an inch before her face, Maryam ducking out of the way just a heartbeat before it swelled to the size of barrel.


    ¡°Enough,¡± she snarled. ¡°I have had enough for you. You will give it all back.¡±


    Burden, when she ripped it into the air, it caught the shade. Settled on it like a cloak, making every pane of its existence like wading through slightly heavier air ¨C from thought to flinch, everything just took a little more effort.


    ¡°You just don¡¯t have it in you, Maryam,¡± the shade mocked. ¡°How could you, when I am every part of you that could take it?¡±


    She slapped at the air, oil-black slickness bursting out into a rope that she wove into a noose and threw at Maryam¡¯s neck.


    Burden slowed it down just enough for Maryam to get out of the way.


    The shade formed obsidian-petals, each sharp as a claw, and Maryam burdened them. When the shade tried to wield the Gloam as a knife, cut the curse out of herself, Maryam burdened that too. Layer after layer after layer, no matter what the shade did. Choking her out with a hundred silk cushions, pressed ever so slightly against her face.


    Panting, wide-eyed, the thing was to made to kneel and claw at the air ¨C limbs trembling as they bore the weight of an entire shrine. Thirty-two Burdens, enough that Maryam could feel her blood seething in her veins. But she had the rings, and discipline. She would not burn herself out.


    ¡°Control,¡± Maryam coldly said. ¡°You have all the Gloam-secrets in the world, parasite, but not a whit of control. That much I kept.¡±


    The shade laughed.


    ¡°So eager to use their ways,¡± it rasped. ¡°To be a good little blackcloak, to forget everything you are. The ever-riven thing, ripping itself piece by piece to fit their mold.¡±


    ¡°Maybe,¡± Maryam said, ¡°but tonight I get to take a fucking piece back.¡±


    She shoved her hand into the shade¡¯s chest, fingers clawing for something ¨C anything ¨C to hold and ripped it out. The shade let out a gasp, unweaving like a tapestry being tugged at, but it wasn¡¯t dead. All Maryam had done was break the manifestation, the parasite was still out there in the aether. Sucking at her nav like a mosquito, draining blood and leaving pus behind.


    But when the last of the shade was gone, Maryam found her fingers closed around a nothing-that-was-something. In wounding the creature, she could take from it. Better than through the impersonal teeth of the rake-rings, deeper.


    ¡°Mine,¡± she claimed to the aether, and took back her due.


    -


    Maryam screamed and screamed and screamed.


    -


    Oh.


    She was kneeling in the sand. Her eyes were wet. Blood, water? She knew not. But she knew so many things now, things she had barely understood before. Secrets whispered into her ear by beggar-gods, suckled out of the bellies of stags like wriggling worms.


    They¡¯d made a fire that almost reached the clouds, once, and painted the shadows it cast in blood. Oh, what a lovely song that had sung.


    Maryam stumbled, her body a ship moving through the air, and laughed as she felt out the shape of this place. A sphere, round and around. Ball and chain. But she would not be refused! The wound she had walked through was still, there, it just needed a little ring. The blue-eyed girl tread the sand to the great harpoon and, grinning, flicked it.


    It rang out like a bell, and in that omen she found resonance: the silhouette of the gate this tool of wounding had made.


    She walked through it head high, back to the crossroads. And there was movement, seen through movement-absence. It molded the shape of what was through what was not, a lovely drawing for her nav to trace. Skipping on the warm stones, breathing the cool air, Maryam found a surprise!


    The surprise pointed some piece of metal and leather at her. Her viper was such a funny man.


    ¡°I have been warned about this,¡± Tristan Abrascal scowled. ¡°Say something only Maryam would know.¡±


    She laid a finger on her chin, thoughtful.


    ¡°What do you know about stars?¡± Maryam asked. ¡°There are a lot of star things that I know.¡±


    ¡°Pass,¡± the thief said, then frowned. ¡°Are you drunk? You sound¡­¡±


    Maryam slapped a fist into her palm. Victory.


    ¡°I took the ugly sheets we bought Tredegar because they are more comfortable than mine,¡± she told him. ¡°I am considering having them dyed.¡±


    The strange weapon went down.


    ¡°Maryam,¡± he said, sounding relieved. And angry. ¡°What are you doing in here?¡±


    ¡°I was here first,¡± she reproached. ¡°What are you doing here?¡±


    ¡°Pursuing an assassin,¡± he instantly replied. ¡°Now you.¡±


    ¡°Learning all sorts of things,¡± she happily said. ¡°Did you know that if you paint a standing stone in the old tongue with secrets writ in the tears of murderers, you can ask questions of the crow-gods that come to feed on it?¡±


    ¡°I did not, in fact, know that,¡± Tristan replied in a strange voice, approaching her as if she was some skittish doe. ¡°Have you eaten or drunk anything in here, Maryam?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± she said, then paused. ¡°Well, memories. I think maybe not all of them mine, but they are very interesting.¡±


    ¡°All right, that¡¯s enough,¡± Tristan said, worrying like a worrywart as he touched her shoulder. ¡°We¡¯re going back. I remember the path I took, we can use that.¡±


    His eyes were gray and grave, lovely in the gloom of these halls. Why so worried? She had it all under control.


    ¡°We cannot,¡± Maryam told him, sighing as she leaned her head against his shoulder. ¡°That is not how this place was made. The halls, they go in and not out.¡±


    He swallowed.


    ¡°So we are stuck in here?¡±


    ¡°No, no,¡± she frowned, surprised he did not understand. ¡°We go into the material world now, instead of the desert at the heart. It is still going in, in is a direction.¡±


    ¡°So we can have outside as a destination,¡± he slowly said, ¡°but not retread our steps.¡±


    She stared at him, unimpressed. What did he not understand? It was threading a needle through the self-closing cloth of reality, there was no path ¨C only puncture by means of will.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Maryam pouted. ¡°Maybe. Why?¡±


    ¡°We need to leave here,¡± he said.


    He sounded gentle, but also like he was reminding her of something. There was no need for that, she knew what she was to do. Maryam pushed off him, considering stealing the warmth left behind to wear it as a shroud for a moment before the glint of her own rings drew her eye. Ah, that was the wrong hand. The other, only fingers and wood, clenched tight as she focused the Gloam like a thing-eating-itself. In that emptiness she set a purpose and set it free.


    The small bird flew out of her open palm, wings of Gloam batting at the air.


    ¡°Come on,¡± she said, tugging at Tristan¡¯s arm.


    ¡°We¡¯re, uh, following the bird?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s leaving,¡± she said, rolling her eyes. ¡°That¡¯s all it knows to do.¡±


    She remembered how to make that, now. Rip the hole and fill it, yoke it with a thought. She had known how to do it for years and years, since the first bones of iron were ripped out of the icy Rijeb hills. She chased after the construct, following in the wake of its need-intent to reach outside. They ran through the halls like skipping children, Maryam laughing until they turned a corner and suddenly the world hurt.


    Gasping, wind knocked out of her, she fell to her knees. Her vision swam, glimpsing smudges of the brass lights and green glass of Tratheke.


    ¡°Maryam. Maryam, can you hear me?¡±


    A hand on her shoulder, squeezing. Oh. Oh dear. She¡¯d been Gloam-drunk, in a fugue. And now was coming the backlash. Maryam Khaimov twitched once, twice then began to throw up.


    She did not stop until all the bile was gone, then toppled down unconscious face first towards the sick.

 Chapter 45

    By the third morning Song was falling apart.


    The occasional hour of sleep she stole was no longer enough and she could barely tell left from right. It did not go unnoticed. When Prefect Nestor, commander of the palace lictors, suggested she be made to wear a spice-cap and drink extract of Izcalli coca to prevent her falling asleep he was interrupted by Captain Wen politely putting down his pistol on the table facing the man.


    ¡°That,¡± the bespectacled man mildly said, ¡°would be drugging a watchwoman out on contract. A breach of the Iscariot Accords.¡±


    ¡°Are you threatening me?¡± Nestor coldly asked.


    He was a big man, heavyset and with jowls like a bulldog, but past his prime.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Wen frowned. ¡°Obviously.¡±


    Though the prefect seemed about ready to send for the lictors and put them all under arrest, calm prevailed at the behest of Majordomo Timon ¨C the other half of the regime running the palace while the Lord Rector remained locked away under heavy guard. Prefect Nestor remained viciously angry that a pistol had been pointed in his direction even though it had been empty, so Song stepped in before the increasingly hard-eyed Wen made things worse.


    ¡°I am awake enough for one last audit,¡± she said. ¡°I can retire afterwards.¡±


    Majordomo Timon, a white-haired man so perfectly groomed it made even his soft features somehow look severe, offered her a small bow of thanks and a smile.


    ¡°We are thankful for your services, Captain Song,¡± he said. ¡°The favor done today will not be forgotten.¡±


    ¡°I expect not,¡± Wen said, ¡°as we will be billing the palace for the standard rates in employing a first-class Watch sniffer for three days.¡±


    The white-haired man winced, so it must not be a small sum.


    ¡°Surely we could-¡±


    ¡°We could use the hourly rates, if you prefer,¡± Wen blandly offered.


    The man¡¯s face turned almost as pale as his hair.


    ¡°Given circumstances,¡± Song interrupted with a quelling look at her patron, ¡°I am sure a discount can be arranged. I am coming into a great deal of private information regarding the court of the Lord Rector of Asphodel.¡±


    Majordomo Timon hurried to pile on his approval to that argument, while the pleased gleam in Wen¡¯s eyes told Song they¡¯d been played: he had been aiming for her to play peacemaker from the start. The two palace grandees departed to arrange the audit, Prefect Nestor stomping on the way out of the small salon, and she was left alone with Wen Duan for what she knew would not be more than a few minutes.


    ¡°What is a spice-cap, anyway?¡± she asked.


    ¡°A cap with cephalic spices quilted in,¡± Wen replied. ¡°Basil, ginger and such.¡±


    Song blinked.


    ¡°That does not seem¡­¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s Trebian nonsense,¡± Wen said. ¡°Physicians in these parts insist it treats ¡®distempers¡¯, though, and apparently chronic lack of sleep is now one of those.¡±


    Well, she thought, the magic cap was still better than Izcalli coca leaf. That was what they fed serfs so they could work themselves to death. She cleared her throat.


    ¡°What is the hourly rate for a first-rate Watch sniffer, if I may ask?¡±


    He raised four fingers.


    ¡°Arboles?¡± she mused. ¡°That¡¯s not too-¡±


    ¡°Ramas,¡± Wen grinned. ¡°There¡¯s a reason courts pick up their own sniffers.¡±


    Song choked. That was a lot of gold.


    ¡°And the price for a day?¡±


    ¡°Twenty-eight is the usual standard,¡± he replied. ¡°They¡¯re Blancaflor signatories, though, so they might have a better rate.¡±


    Well now, Song thought. Even throwing in a discount, it seemed she was about to come into a not inconsiderable amount of money. That happy prospect was almost enough to keep her from nodding off in her chair ¨C Wen gently shook her awake when the lictors came back. Swallowing a groan, she rose and stretched as discreetly as she could. This time the lictors did not take her to one of the dining halls with galleries above but to a small nook by a hallway, a cushioned seat already waiting for her.


    A pair of lictors stood guard by the alcove, while two servants with Cathayan looks and a maidservant dress like Song currently wore sat in seats identical to the one left empty for her. She¡¯d not even had to ask for the precaution obscuring her identity, as Prefect Nestor was intent on keeping that well under wrap.


    Blinking away the returning pull of sleep, Song realized she recognized one of the lictors standing guard. Sergeant Arturo, a short man with rugged good looks who smiled at her as she sat down in her seat.


    ¡°Servants this time, my lady,¡± he told her. ¡°Enough lictors have been cleared to cover all the chokepoints.¡±


    Song nodded back with a wan smile. She¡¯d heard that one before. Immediately after the attempt was made on Lord Rector Evander¡¯s life, it had only seemed reasonable for her to stay with him as someone with the proven capacity to see through the assassin¡¯s contract. Only even after lictors flooded the halls and a tightly packed wall of flesh and steel escorted Evander to sealed room, Song was ¡®asked¡¯ to remain at the disposal of the palace guards.


    First they made her clear Prefect Nestor and the lictors that were to guard the Lord Rector¡¯s door, which was fair enough. Then servants that were to take care of Asphodel¡¯s ruler in his containment, which again was fair to request. But by morning they¡¯d gotten increasingly ambitious, making her check not only on their own sniffers ¨C ten-year-old twins and a crone of sixty ¨C but on an ever-increasing crowd as the plan became to lock down an entire section of the rector¡¯s palace, no one in and out, then methodically comb through the rest looking for the assassin.


    Which meant Song had been made to look at maids, cooks, launderers and even a man whose entire job was to empty the chamber pot of the Lord Rector. Everyone who might be needed for a palace within the palace to function smoothly.


    Even when news came from Black House that Tristan and Maryam had somehow crossed back down into Tratheke in pursuit of the assassin, who should be away hiding in the city, the only thing that¡¯d changed was that Song was made to clear lictors that were to stand guard on the spot in the garden where there might be a hidden path.


    Aid she had offered freely came to feel like a rope around her neck as the prefect and majordomo kept asking for more. She hadn¡¯t even had time to sit with her brigade since the attempt, the only blackcloak she had seen was Captain Wen. You¡¯d think that the Asphodelian sniffers being cleared would have split the burden, but Prefect Nestor insisted she was the only proven quantity so she must be used for all crucial personnel.


    Which was all of them, it felt like.


    The only silver lining was that she¡¯d laid eyes on the majority of the staff at the rector¡¯s palace and found no trace of a Golden Ram contract, which was useful information for the contract she was actually on.


    ¡°It is starting, my lady,¡± Sergeant Arturo whispered.


    Song straightened out of the slump forward she¡¯d been falling in, breathing in sharply. The procession of servants going down the hall began as advertised, men and women in the red-and-white servant livery walking past them slowly. They were under orders to keep their stare forward, though some snuck peeks before getting elbowed by escorting lictors.


    The fourteenth proved to have a contract, one that let the man swap one smell for another at a time. She gestured and he was taken aside by the lictors at the end of the hall. None of the other thirty had either a contract or a boon, and it turned out the one contract she¡¯d seen was a known quantity. The servant in question worked in the palace sewers, which how he¡¯d drawn the attention of the vermin god he contracted with in the first place.


    She was soon dragged back before Prefect Nestor and Majordomo Timon. Wen had also forced his way into the room, though he was busy tearing through a bowl of peanuts. No prisoner was taken in that fearsome process, to the majordomo¡¯s visible discomfort.


    ¡°Your room has been prepared, Captain Song,¡± Timon said. ¡°We thank you, once more, for the service you have rendered House Palliades.¡±


    ¡°If that feels unsafe, a bunk has also been set aside for you in the lictor barracks,¡± Prefect Nestor idly added.


    ¡°That will not be necessary,¡± Song flatly replied.


    She was not going to put herself in this man¡¯s power. That was a recipe for having that stupid hat forced onto her head if she¡¯d ever heard one. She fled that room so quickly she almost left her lictor escort behind, and might have stumbled if Wen did not catch up and swing an arm around her shoulder.


    ¡°Easy now,¡± he said. ¡°We¡¯ll get you there.¡±


    ¡°The Thirteenth,¡± she said. ¡°What has been-¡±


    ¡°No one¡¯s in any danger,¡± he said. ¡°They are continuing the investigation without you, and you¡¯ll have a report when you wake. You need to sleep, Song.¡±


    Much as she would have liked to argue that, things had gotten bad enough she could not remember how she had arrived to the corridor they were now limping down. Pushing down the urge to insist on an immediate report, she let herself be guided to her room.


    What happened after Wen opened the door she had no idea, but Song woke up buried in pillows.


    With the taste of sleep still in her mouth she slid out of the covers, lighting one of the lamps even though she did not need it to see. Moments later there was a soft knock at the door and a servant entered when bid, asking what temperature she would prefer her bath and if she had any request for supper.


    She had slept the whole day away, she realized with a wince.


    A warm bath and a three-course meal of Asphodelian staples later, Song was yet sitting in her private dining room sipping at good Mazu black leaf when Captain Wen made his entrance. He immediately complained that she had not set any dessert aside for him, but though she smiled Song could see from his eyes that his heart was not in it. It was a distraction, meant to soften the blow of whatever bad news he carried. Song set down her tea.


    ¡°Tell me,¡± she asked.


    Gods, let it not be someone in the Thirteenth having been hurt while she was playing sniffer for overreaching yiwu.


    ¡°Though the Thirteenth¡¯s already on contract, a formal request has been made for your services in providing protection for the Lord Rector,¡± Wen said. ¡°It came from Evander Palliades himself.¡±


    She frowned. Lord Rector Evander had been pleasant enough, but she was not here for the man.


    ¡°So refuse,¡± Song said. ¡°Or must it come from me directly?¡±


    ¡°They did not make it to me, I was merely informed,¡± Wen said. ¡°It was kicked much higher up. See, as of yesterday the leading Watch officer in Tratheke is Brigadier Chilaca.¡±


    It took a moment for her to follow ¨C the commanding officer at Stheno¡¯s Peak should be a colonel. Certainly not a brigadier, a rank reserved only for the officer that commanded the fortress seat of a Watch administrative region directly under a marshal.


    ¡°The head of the diplomatic delegation,¡± she said. ¡°The one come to negotiate over the cache and shipyard.¡±


    He nodded.


    ¡°And to them I am an inexpensive way to accrue goodwill with the other side of the negotiating table,¡± Song grimaced. ¡°He is sure to say yes.¡±


    ¡°Jurisdiction will get tricky,¡± Wen said. ¡°You¡¯re Scholomance, which means in theory we answer only to the Obscure Committee.¡±


    He hesitated a moment.


    ¡°Don¡¯t coddle me,¡± Song grunted.


    ¡°In practice, it just means Chilaca will have to make accommodations to leave you time to work on your test,¡± the bespectacled man said. ¡°I¡¯ll fight so that instead of your services being ¡®on tap¡¯, so to speak, you can only be requested for specific events and in advance. But I can¡¯t push it much farther than that.¡±


    He grimaced.


    ¡°If I try to buck him off entirely it¡¯ll become a game of who knows who, and I won¡¯t be winning that against a brigadier.¡±


    The admission, she saw, left a bad taste in his mouth.


    ¡°Doing what you can is all I ask,¡± Song quietly said.


    He rolled his eyes at her.


    ¡°Now who¡¯s coddling who?¡± Wen sneered. ¡°Finish that tea, Ren. If you¡¯re going to be used by Chilaca as negotiation prop, let¡¯s see if we can at least wheedle double pay out of him for it. You¡¯ll be doing the Watch a service as well.¡±


    --


    Tredegar objected to being called the muscle, not on general principle but because as she had yet to recover she claimed she would not make an effective thug.


    ¡°You¡¯re still more muscle than I¡¯d be bringing,¡± Tristan reminded her, and that was that.


    They did not use the coach all the way, and not the Watch¡¯s coach either: that would have been announcing who they were with a trumpet. Instead Tristan paid one of the Asphodel¡¯s army of street coachmen to let them off ten minutes away from their destination, Angharad limping out after him. Though neither wore the black, they kept their pistols obvious as a warning to the overly enterprising ¨C of which there would be many, around here.


    They were at the edge of the northeast square, past the pretty part of that town that hugged the side of the Collegium glass and near a couple of streets he¡¯d learned the locals called the ¡®Reeking Rows¡¯. One of the old Lord Rectors had decreed the better part of a century ago that all the foul-smelling trades of the city should be confined to a series of streets around some Antediluvian contraption whose brass blades stirred the wind, to prevent the smells spreading.


    It''d worked in the sense that the rest of Tratheke must have enjoyed the lack of foulness in the air, but it¡¯d also killed the neighborhood. Even those who worked at the tanning shops, the dye pits and slaughterhouses, they preferred living in nicer corners of the city. Only those who could not afford better had stayed when the Reeking Rows rolled in.


    ¡°The streets and walls are fine as any other in this city,¡± Angharad quietly said. ¡°But there is something¡­¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not a neighborhood,¡± Tristan agreed. ¡°It¡¯s just a place people live.¡±


    Slowly she nodded, keeping up to his pace with little visible effort. It helped that the thief was not rushing and she was longer legged to start with. To his disappointment his discreet investigation back at Black House had revealed that her walking stick was only a stick, too light for there to be a hidden blade inside, but the cane was still fine wood with a steel head.


    He wouldn¡¯t want arms as strong as the noblewoman¡¯s swinging that anywhere near his skull.


    ¡°A shame it has come to this,¡± Tredegar said. ¡°The local lords should have stepped in and provided aid.¡±


    ¡°Lords can¡¯t make the air smell better,¡± Tristan snorted, then paused as he recognized the half-slumped noodle shop at the corner. ¡°Scarf on, we are about to cross the bad part of the Rows.¡±


    He pulled on his own, barely more than a stripe of beige cloth, while Angharad pulled up a proper green scarf almost matching the shade of her belted tunic. Though there was nothing as visible as the green noxious smoke one might have imagined, the moment they turned the corner Tristan¡¯s eyes began to sting. He hurried forward, blinking away tears, and felt fervently grateful that this time he had cloth to cover his mouth when he breathed.


    He¡¯d nearly emptied his stomach when carrying Maryam through here on the night of the assassination attempt, and his throat had been sore most of the day after.


    It was an unpleasant street and a half, cutting straight through the worst of the Rows to get at their destination quicker, but at least it was the work of but a few minutes. Angharad was no more eager than he to linger in there. They kept their mouth and nose covered for another block even when the eyes stopped stinging, only sucking in relieved breaths once they were well clear.


    ¡°You took Maryam through this without a mask?¡± she asked, expression hard to place.


    He passed a hand through his hair.


    ¡°Had to,¡± Tristan said. ¡°She was feverish and babbling after the fit of mania. It was either pushing through or risking some Gloam fever turning on her.¡±


    Signifiers were supposed to be better off than hedge witches peddling curses, but the one time Tristan had seen a Gloam fit turn on someone it¡¯d not been pretty ¨C as in scratch out your own eyes ugly. No matter how much safer Signs were, the black arts were poison.


    ¡°It was brave, to take that path at night,¡± Angharad said.


    Tristan snorted.


    ¡°Oh, I know a thing or two about taking to the streets after dark,¡± he teased. ¡°Worry not for that.¡±


    She rolled her eyes at him, but he was hardly lying. Unless you stepped on some coterie¡¯s feet by crossing their territory uninvited, going around unmolested when the lights dimmed was mostly a question of making yourself not worth hassling. Make it plain you were poor, that you were armed and then keep moving so the boys working themselves up to it never got the chance to pull the trigger.


    Though it had been two days now, Tristan remembered the area well enough. The boarded-up tea parlor he and Maryam had stumbled out next to waited at the end of a street that was a row of stone-and-brass shells, long ago stripped clean of any sign of life.


    ¡°Is this the place, then?¡± Angharad asked.


    ¡°That¡¯s the one,¡± Tristan agreed. ¡°Come on, I¡¯ll show you what I found last time.¡±


    The parlor was a single-story building, though one with a high and curved ceiling. The windows were bereft of the green glass so common to Tratheke, instead closed with one might generously call shutters but in practice were large wooden planks wedged inside in a broad X shape. There were eight windows, four on each of the tea parlor walls facing a street, and he led Angharad to the third window from the left on the south side.


    It wasn¡¯t obvious, but the wooden planks there were a trick: they¡¯d been sawed through on each support, sanded down and put back in place to maintain the appearance that the window was still boarded up. Tristan demonstrated as much by pulling it out, carefully lowering the wooden frame on the floor inside by leaning past the edge.


    ¡°You noticed this in the dark?¡± Angharad asked, cocking her head to the side.


    ¡°The street lanterns were lit,¡± he reminded her. ¡°And they were put back the wrong side then, the planks looked off. It¡¯s why I think it was the assassin in the first place.¡±


    It was the mark of someone who both would have had reason to be there and be in a hurry to leave. A look inside revealed the same dark, dusty floor he had glimpsed last time before deciding he was not going to risk a fight with an assassin that¡¯d already slapped him around once while Maryam was in a bad enough state to babble about his livery ¡®tasting gray¡¯.


    The thief climbed the window and dropped inside in a small cloud of dust, extending a hand so Angharad would pass him their lantern. He cracked a match and lit it, letting out a little hum of satisfaction.


    ¡°What is it?¡±


    ¡°Footsteps,¡± he said. ¡°And somewhat recent.¡±


    He made room for her, setting down the lantern to help drag her past the windowsill after she passed him the walking stick. Gods but being tall and muscled made people heavy, not that he was fool enough to ever say so out loud. Angharad straightened her clothes after, wrinkling a nose at the dust.


    Good thing Song was still stuck playing nice with the Lord Rector, she¡¯d have a fit at the sight of such an unkempt tea parlor ¨C offended to the core as both a Tianxi and a woman who could and did use a knife to get small impurities out of pans.


    ¡°Several trails,¡± Angharad observed, hoisting up the lantern.


    The inside of the once tea parlor was mostly a large open space framed by four brass counters, any furniture not literally part of the floor removed. There were three brass doors on the back wall and gas lamps on the walls every few feet, though none were lit and Tristan would not bet on there being gas inside. Most important of all, there were three trails of footsteps in the dust.


    One going straight to the middle of the room, ending abruptly there. It must be where there¡¯d been a way to access the realm of passages. A second started at the middle of the room and headed straight for the trick window, with the footsteps more widely spaced. Running instead of walking, the assassin leaving this place worrying of someone following after her.


    ¡°I understand those leading to the center of the room,¡± Angharad mused, ¡°but why this one?¡±


    Her walking stick was pointed at the standout: a path going around the right side, past the brass counter, and passing in front of every of the three doors out back before returning to the window.


    ¡°Checking on the doors,¡± Tristan guessed. ¡°Making sure the place is secure.¡±


    ¡°Then why not go in?¡± Angharad asked.


    It was a fair question, and they sought out an answer by circling along the same path. Tristan was not sure what one needed to do to access that strange, bleak labyrinth of hallways that had spat him out on the street but despite Maryam¡¯s assurances that it was unlikely the place could be accessed without a key he was disinclined to pass through the middle of the room.


    It cost nothing to be careful.


    The doors were not locked, they soon found out. Tristan pressed the handles and the mechanism clicked. It was more methodical than that: they¡¯d been welded. Frowning, the thief trailed a finger against the once-molten metal and found the texture as expected.


    ¡°That explains our assassin¡¯s confidence,¡± Angharad said.


    Tristan hummed.


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Why the welding?¡± she said. ¡°Presumably to keep the doors shut.¡±


    ¡°Yes, but why do they need to be shut so thoroughly?¡± he asked, moving to feel out the edges of the second door. ¡°It is expensive, welding a door. Someone must have felt it a necessary expense, and that has me curious.¡±


    ¡°Because it would mean coin,¡± Angharad slowly said, ¡°and you said coin fled this neighborhood when the Reeking Rows were instituted.¡±


    ¡°The Ancients didn¡¯t build a tea parlor,¡± Tristan said. ¡°Someone ran that business here, and odds are they went out of business when the Rows rolled in. Which means¡­¡±


    ¡°Someone thought those doors worth welding shut after the parlor was abandoned,¡± Angharad finished.


    He nodded.


    ¡°And that,¡± Tristan mused as he passed to the third door, ¡°is interesting to me.¡±


    Like the others, it had the aftermath of the welding on the edges and ¨C huh.


    ¡°Bring the lantern closer,¡± he asked.


    Pressing his cheek against the door¡¯s surface, he squinted at the edge. Angharad angled the lantern so it would not blind him and the thief idly reached for his knife. He pressed the tip against the edge of the welding and let out a quiet laugh.


    ¡°Well now, would you look at that?¡±


    ¡°I do not see anything out of the ordinary,¡± Angharad told him, sounding like she was frowning.


    ¡°This one¡¯s not welded,¡± he said. ¡°Someone put up thin plates that look like they were melted on top of the door edges, but I can slide my knife in between the plate and the door.¡±


    He withdrew, sliding the knife back into its sheath. Kneeling, he drew his kit out his bag and unfolded the lockpicking kit across the floor. The door was a simple tumble lock, but after a minute of fiddling with it he realized it wasn¡¯t really locked at all ¨C it was barred on the other side, no amount of lockpicking would help.


    ¡°Barred,¡± he told a patient Angharad, putting away his tools. ¡°We will have to find another way in.¡±


    He slid back the last lockpick into the sheath, rolled his should and then his head whipped to the door. The sheer surprise of it being yanked open cost him a precious second ¨C the mace almost took his head off, and even throwing himself back he took a glancing blow.


    A broad silhouette came bursting out of the door, kicking him back down as he reached for his pistol, but he had not come alone.


    Tristan didn¡¯t see what happened, though a woman grunted in pain ¨C not Angharad ¨C and he rolled away pawing at his side for his gun. He got a glimpse of Angharad striking the side of the attacker¡¯s knee with her cane before half-stepping out of a wild swing¡¯s way. Aiming his pistol, Tristan cocked it and had his mouth opened for a threat when their attacker¡¯s mace was thrown at him.


    He yelped, trying to duck away, but the length of wood hit him in the forehead and he dropped the pistol. Cursing, he scrabbled for it in time to hear the stranger fall with a hoarse shout of pain. Angharad, legs slightly trembling, was standing over her with her saber resting on the woman¡¯s throat.


    The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    ¡°Move,¡± Angharad Tredegar mildly said, ¡°and you die.¡±


    There was no doubt at all in Tristan¡¯s mind that she would follow through with the threat, and by the way the stranger swallowed none in hers either. Snatching up his pistol with mild embarrassment, the thief rose ¨C and picked up Angharad¡¯s walking stick, fetching it for her so he might be said to have contributed to the situation in some manner.


    ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡± Tristan asked, rubbing his forehead.


    That better not bruise, Maryam would make sport of him again. The stranger spat, or at least tried to ¨C as she leaned forward Angharad pushed the point into her throat ever so slightly, so she let out a panicked choking sound and drew back instead.


    ¡°My tolerance for poor manners is remarkably thin,¡± Angharad informed her. ¡°Beware.¡±


    The woman, who Tristan only now noticed might have been broad-shouldered but by her face must be barely seventeen ¨C gods, just a girl ¨C cleared her throat awkwardly.


    ¡°Chara,¡± she said. ¡°My name¡¯s Chara.¡±


    Tristan nodded.


    ¡°Stay put, Chara,¡± he said. ¡°I need to make sure we are alone before the three of us have a polite conversation.¡±


    He inclined his head at Angharad in question, flicking his eyes at the saber, but she shook hers. She would be fine keeping her sword up for a while still, then. He had time to check the back. Tristan checked the angles on either side before crossing the threshold, for though it would have been unusual for a second fighter not to get involved it was not impossible. Nothing, though, so in he went.


    What must have been the kitchen and backroom of the tea parlor was empty, save for a door that should lead back to the street and had also been welded shut. More interesting was the hole in the floor, where old masonry had been taken out and left in piles. A look in there revealed an unlit lantern sitting on steps that went down into the dark. He put a finger on the glass and found it cold.


    Not freshly snuffed, then.


    ¡°All right, Chara,¡± he said. ¡°What¡¯s down there that was worth attacking us?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not telling you anything,¡± she grunted. ¡°You¡¯re the ones not supposed to be here.¡±


    Tristan smiled, reached inside his pocket and produced his silver brigade seal.


    ¡°Do you know what that is?¡± he asked.


    She squinted at the seal.


    ¡°Unluckies,¡± the girl said, then coughed. ¡°Unlucky, I mean. Why would you put that number in silver?¡±


    ¡°Because the Watch only cares so much for superstitions,¡± Tristan replied.


    Her face went white as chalk.


    ¡°You¡¯re rooks,¡± she said, biting her lip. ¡°Shit. I didn¡¯t know, you have to believe me.¡±


    ¡°I do,¡± Tristan admitted. ¡°But I still have questions to ask you.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m,¡± Chara started, then hesitated. ¡°You should talk to Delian, I can¡¯t say anything. I¡¯ll take you, if you let me.¡±


    Oh, the thief thought. So that¡¯s what this is. A hidden stash, a street big street girl guarding it and now a boss she was afraid of?


    ¡°You are from a basilea,¡± he stated. ¡°Which one?¡±


    Chara looked unsure whether to be afraid or proud.


    ¡°The Brass Chariot,¡± she finally said.


    ¡°And if I were to venture down those stairs I would find¡­¡± he invited.


    ¡°Property of our basilea,¡± she stiffly said.


    Gods, the irony. They had not stumbled into a conspiracy, it was the conspiracy that¡¯d accidentally set up shop next to a coterie stash house.


    ¡°Goods,¡± he mildly said, ¡°or people?¡±


    She scoffed.


    ¡°We don¡¯t trade in flesh, we¡¯re not southside rippers,¡± Chara said. ¡°It¡¯s bottles, you can go look. We¡¯ve been emptying it out, it¡¯s almost empty anyways.¡±


    Explaining why there was only a single guard, and so young.


    ¡°We¡¯ll have to, to establish you are telling the truth,¡± Tristan said, ¡°but we have no interest in a smuggling operation. That is for the lictors to chase down.¡±


    He leaned forward.


    ¡°But why have you been emptying the stash?¡± he asked. ¡°What made the Brass Chariot start?¡±


    Chara looked uncomfortable.


    ¡°I heard someone came sniffing around,¡± she said. ¡°That keeping our property there was looking risky.¡±


    Tristan¡¯s smiled grew, for those were the words he had been hoping for.


    ¡°And that someone,¡± he said. ¡°What do you know about her?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know nothing,¡± Chara said, ¡°but Delian might. There¡¯s got to be something, if it¡¯s just one person, we would usually cut her throat instead of moving on.¡±


    Tristan dragged himself up. A lead, then. The ¡®Brass Chariot¡¯ was not on Hage¡¯s list of basileias that were open to working with the Watch, but neither was it on the list of those to avoid. There was potential there.


    ¡°It sounds to me like we need to have a chat with Delian,¡± Tristan agreed. ¡°Why don¡¯t you go tell him that.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll release me?¡± Chara said, hopeful.


    He nodded.


    ¡°Tell him to send a time and place to Black House,¡± Tristan said. ¡°He¡¯s to bring no more than two people with him and we will do the same.¡±


    She nodded eagerly. Tristan rolled his shoulder.


    ¡°Go on, then,¡± he said. ¡°And try not to attack anymore blackcloaks, they¡¯re not all as nice as we are.¡±


    Angharad, face hard to read, put away her blade.


    ¡°Of course not, sir,¡± Chara said, pushing herself to her feet. ¡°I¡¯ll, uh, take care of it right away.¡±


    First she made for the backdoor ¨C his guess was that the room below had a passage to some other edifice ¨C but he clicked his tongue and gestured at the trick window. Chara took a single look at Angharad and decided not argue, fleeing out of the parlor as if afraid they¡¯d change their minds. She forgot her mace in her hurry.


    A beat passed, the two blackcloaks alone in the room.


    ¡°Was that wise?¡± Angharad quietly asked.


    ¡°We won¡¯t be getting anything useful out of her, she¡¯s too low a rung in the ladder,¡± Tristan grunted. ¡°And I¡¯d rather have two pairs of eyes when we go down there.¡±


    Tredegar hummed, eventually nodding. The thief judged their own lantern to be enough, moving aside the coterie¡¯s as they went down the stairs. Not so long a flight, a mere ten steps, but the basement it led down to was startlingly large. Mostly empty, as the girl had said, leaving only half a dozen crates of what looked like rum behind.


    ¡°What was this room for, do you think?¡± Angharad wondered. ¡°It looks like nothing in particular.¡±


    It was a square of bare stone, interesting only in that the walls looked about the same height and length. As he¡¯d expected there was a second set of stairs in the left wall, leading up to what must be another house on the block. But it was only when the lantern light reached the wall in the back he drew in a sharp breath. Angharad cleared her throat.


    ¡°It only looks like stone to me,¡± she said. ¡°Though of different kind than the other walls.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve seen stones likes those before,¡± Tristan said.


    His fingers clenched.


    ¡°It was used for the paths in that strange empty layer Maryam and I crossed to exit the palace,¡± he said.


    Angharad¡¯s brow rose.


    ¡°That seems unlikely to be a coincidence.¡±


    ¡°Agreed,¡± Tristan said, then worried his lip. ¡°But there¡¯s nothing the likes of you and I are going to be getting out of that wall.¡±


    They¡¯d have to come back with a signifier. Breathing out, he unclenched his fingers. Tempting as it was to check where the other set of stairs led, bet not to risk it.


    ¡°Come on,¡± he said. ¡°Let¡¯s get out of here before Chara¡¯s friends come to pay this place a visit.¡±


    --


    The return to Black House was mercifully prompt: Angharad had stood through the short brawl well enough, but as the hour stretched her strength waned. It was frustrating, how even though her body was most of the way to recovery it seemed unaware of that fact ¨C why else would it buck her at the slightest of exertions?


    They paid the coach and were welcomed in by the servants, who informed them that ¡®Mistress Maryam¡¯ had just had her evening meal and if they headed directly for the dining room they could catch her there. Angharad hesitated, balancing the prospect of a warm meal against the other woman¡¯s company, but Tristan took the choice out of her hands.


    ¡°Please tell the kitchen we will be along shortly,¡± he said.


    Angharad cocked an eyebrow at him and he shrugged.


    ¡°You haven¡¯t done the contract tests for the day anyway,¡± Tristan said. ¡°There¡¯ll be no avoiding her.¡±


    ¡°I could do with a full belly,¡± she conceded.


    He abandoned her on the way there, passing by his room to ¡®take care of something¡¯ ¨C likely putting away his impressive set of lockpicks, which Angharad suspected even owning was very illegal ¨C which left Angharad to enter the small dining room alone. The general service was in the larger one, at a set time, but Maryam must have waited for them some time before giving up. She was sipping a cup of tea when Angharad arrived, and raised an eyebrow at the entrance.


    ¡°Tristan should not be far behind,¡± Angharad said.


    The pale-skinned woman shrugged.


    ¡°Sit,¡± she said. ¡°How did the outing go?¡±


    Angharad had barely begun digging into the tale when the thief joined them, shortly preceding the warm meals brought by the servants ¨C rice, beans and chicken. Starving, the Pereduri passed on the duty of spinning the yarn to Tristan while she dug in. As expected, when they reached the end of the informal report Maryam¡¯s interest was stoked by the mention of the wall with the familiar stone.


    ¡°I¡¯ll go to have a look tomorrow, then,¡± she said.


    A beat. Tristan set down his fork, deliberately.


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure that would be wise,¡± he said.


    ¡°Lieutenant Mitra gave me a clean bill of health,¡± Maryam mildly told him.


    Angharad decided to concentrate on her meal, strategically looking away and pretending she was not listening. She was not so much of a fool as to step in the middle of that.


    ¡°Lieutenant Mitra didn¡¯t watch you make a bird out of Gloam while liberally mixing Antigua and your native tongue,¡± Tristan flatly said. ¡°I am no signifier, granted, but I¡¯d put good money on that not being a Sign.¡±


    Angharad swallowed her mouthful of rice, eyes moving to Maryam who was scowling at the gray-eyed man mightily. The kind of scowl usually reserved for the Pereduri herself, which boded ill for Tristan.


    ¡°I had training before joining the Watch,¡± Maryam replied, tone dismissive.


    Forcedly so, in the sense that the undertone was forced.


    ¡°Training that I never once saw you use before that night, even when your life was on the line,¡± Tristan shot back. ¡°I expect there¡¯s a reason for that.¡±


    Angharad speared her green beans and chewed on them quietly as she kept count. The thief was ahead, she reckoned, at least for now. Maryam got vicious when she felt on the backfoot.


    ¡°I do not owe you that answer, Tristan,¡± she coldly said.


    ¡°No,¡± he easily agreed, ¡°but neither do I have pretend I think it a sound notion for you to investigate the passage into a realm that induced a fit of mania in you barely two days ago.¡±


    ¡°Lucky for us, then, that your approval has no bearing on whether or not I can do it,¡± Maryam replied. ¡°You are not my commanding officer. Song-¡±


    ¡°Will be making that decision,¡± Tristan agreed. ¡°The letter I sent her will reach the palace by day¡¯s end, I expect. We can wait for her answer before continuing this discussion if you¡¯d prefer.¡±


    Ah, so that was what he had been doing before joining them. Maryam¡¯s face clenched. Angharad winced as she wallowed the last of her beans. That is a face of wrath, Tristan, she thought. Tread lightly, or the turtle will snap off a finger. In truth given Maryam¡¯s habitual hostility a hippo might be the apter emblem, but some lines should not be crossed between women.


    ¡°You went behind my back,¡± Maryam slowly said. ¡°To Song.¡±


    ¡°Of course not,¡± Tristan said.


    A start of surprise on Maryam¡¯s face, then he put on a remarkably insolent grin.


    ¡°I also sent a letter to Captain Wen,¡± he said, ¡°so it should be said I went behind your back to the both of them.¡±


    That was not treading lightly, Angharad noted. Maryam kicked up to her feet, knee hitting the tabletop and shaking the plates, and she raised her hand like she wanted to throttle him. Angharad could not blame her, even she somewhat felt the urge at the sight of that smirk. Only when Maryam¡¯s fist clenched, trails of Gloam-black smoke wafted off her knuckles.


    The Izvorica did not notice until all mirth went out of Tristan¡¯s face like a snuffed candle, the thief idly taking up his fork and pointing at the clenched fist.


    ¡°There it is,¡± Tristan said. ¡°You spent a day rolling around in sweat-soaked sheets like a poppy fiend kicking the habit, and ever since your temper has been¡­ stormy, to say the least.¡±


    He had been putting on a show, Angharad realized, purely to draw out her ire. Between the skulking and the easy smiles, sometimes it was easy to forget that on the Dominion the thief had corralled together a crew of the written-off and led them to the second trial without a single death. That was not something that could be accomplished without a deft understanding of people and what moved them.


    There was a reason that among the Thirteenth she was wariest of the thief.


    Maryam loosened her grip, the black smoke guttering out instantly, and looked torn between anger and concern. Angharad sipped at her water, making sure not to make noise. If she did they might remember she was there.


    ¡°That layer, it did something to you,¡± Tristan said. ¡°I know it is a point of pride for you to overc-¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not what you think,¡± Maryam interrupted, jaw yet clenched.


    He raised an eyebrow, inviting her to continue, which had the pale-skinned signifier even more irritated. Angharad smothered a smile. She had wanted him to insist he was right so she could jump down his throat for it. Yet being denied that small satisfaction was only keeping the anger smoldering, the noblewoman thought, he should have let her vent. Unless you think anger is the only way she will tell you anything, Angharad then thought.


    ¡°It was not the layer,¡± Maryam bit out reluctantly. ¡°The creature that goes around wearing my face? I encountered it inside and took back some of what it stole from me.¡±


    Tristan¡¯s brow rose.


    ¡°It had stolen your old training?¡±


    Maryam grimaced.


    ¡°No,¡± she said. ¡°Not exactly. My mother gifted me something, which I thought lost, but I think the shade might have swallowed it instead. I took back¡­ a sliver, I think. A hundredth of a whole, or something along those lines. It may sound a small part, but digesting it had proven difficult.¡±


    Angharad eyed her warily. Is that gift colossal in scale or colossally dangerous, for such a small sliver to affect you so?


    ¡°It¡¯s affecting your mind,¡± Tristan said.


    ¡°More like Gloam comes easier than I am used to,¡± Maryam admitted. ¡°I never had to learn not to spill over like I just did, because pulling on it has never been that easy for me. I used to have to reach for it, now it¡¯s always at my fingertips.¡±


    ¡°And Mitra said that¡¯s fine?¡± Tristan scorned.


    The anger that¡¯d been ebbing low flared back up.


    ¡°It¡¯s not a curse, Tristan,¡± she snapped. ¡°It¡¯s my Measures being in alignment, what prodigies get to work with.¡±


    ¡°But you are not used to that new balance,¡± he pushed.


    ¡°It¡¯s fading anyway,¡± she scoffed back. ¡°Going back to the way it was before. Maybe a little better, but hardly a difference.¡±


    ¡°Then we wait for that,¡± Tristan said. ¡°That wall¡¯s not going anywhere, and it¡¯d probably be wiser to let the coterie clean out the last of their stash before returning anyway.¡±


    ¡°Or we could have requested that Lieutenant Mitra go with us, to keep an eye on me,¡± she said through gritted teeth. ¡°I could have learned from this, Tristan. Improved my craft. Instead you¡­¡±


    Maryam snarled in frustration. Angharad cocked her head to the side. The Fourth and their patron were still in Tratheke for a few days, but they would soon leave for western Asphodel ¨C and with that departure Maryam would lose any opportunity of studying the layer with the help of a senior signifier. Only Song was surely due to return to the Black House soon, so Angharad was not convinced that the opportunity was truly gone.


    Delayed, more likely, but she understood Maryam¡¯s frustration. Tristan had not even granted her the courtesy of a conversation before acting to block her off. Ah, but would she have listened if he had not? Evidently he did not believe so, for he looked unrepentant.


    ¡°This conversation is over,¡± Maryam bit out as moved away from the table. ¡°Lest I say something I will later regret.¡±


    It was a good thing she had eaten before they arrived, because on that she stalked off without another word. Angharad, who unlike Tristan had been eating all this time, polished off her last mouthful of rice and set down her utensils. The thief was rubbing the bridge of his nose, silently staring down at the table. She decided to count down to twenty before moving and remind him someone had been in the room the entire time.


    ¡°That could have gone better,¡± he said, straightening up.


    And looking at her as he did. So he was aware of her presence. Good, that meant she was free to leave.


    ¡°It could also have gone worse,¡± Angharad replied.


    ¡°Always,¡± he said, then shook his head. ¡°Sorry, by the way.¡±


    ¡°I can survive some passing discomfort,¡± she assured him.


    ¡°Not for that,¡± Tristan snorted. ¡°You¡¯re doing contract tests after this, no? She, uh, might not be in the greatest of moods for them.¡±


    Angharad stared down at him for a long moment.


    ¡°You prick,¡± she finally said.


    ¡°That¡¯s fair,¡± he conceded, picking up his fork.


    --


    The hanging sword ended up carried off by the wind: despite half-built expectations to the contrary, Maryam was entirely even-tempered as they went through the tests. For that unspoken slight, reparation was owed.


    ¡°I did you disservice in my mind,¡± Angharad told her. ¡°I offer apology for it.¡±


    The blue-eyed woman studied her for a moment from across the table, then shook her head and sighed.


    ¡°My father always said that you should sit on your anger for a moon¡¯s turn before acting on it,¡± Maryam told her. ¡°Mother called him an indecisive grudge-hen, but then she had a temper like a bear with a broken tooth so I expect the better way lies somewhere in between.¡±


    Angharad half-smiled.


    ¡°I thought my mother plain-spoken, as a child, but I learned better,¡± she shared. ¡°It was with her family she allowed herself that, and only us ¨C else she would not have lasted at court. There are men there who will trap you in a maze of honor duels for a simple misplaced word.¡±


    She sensed a mistake in the way Maryam shifted in her seat, face hardening. It was the mention of court, Angharad thought. That Rhiannon Tredegar had once been high in the confidence of the High Queen that conquered the Izvorica¡¯s home. But the sharp-tongued comment she was bracing for never came. Instead Maryam grit her teeth until she blew out a long breath, leaning back into her seat.


    ¡°Even half a moon¡¯s turn does seem a little too long,¡± Maryam finally said. ¡°I suppose that makes me my mother¡¯s daughter.¡±


    Angharad did not apologize, for what was there to apologize for save that she was who she was?


    ¡°It¡¯s not you I¡¯m angry at, anyway,¡± Maryam continued. ¡°It would not be fair for you to shovel Tristan¡¯s shit.¡±


    ¡°That is appreciated,¡± Angharad admitted.


    The Izvorica sighed.


    ¡°I figure if there¡¯s anyone in this house I should not be taking out feeling useless on, it¡¯s you,¡± Maryam said. ¡°Sometimes you look at that cane like you want to snap it.¡±


    Angharad¡¯s fingers clenched. She had not noticed doing that. It did not mean she not imagined it, vividly.


    ¡°Waiting to recover has been¡­ taxing in unexpected ways,¡± she said.


    ¡°I figure you have it worse of the two of us, in some ways,¡± Maryam said. ¡°You¡¯re used to being good at what you do. Me? I was expecting the other shoe to drop from the start.¡±


    ¡°I would think that worse, if anything,¡± Angharad quietly replied. ¡°Salvation being dangled ahead of you, then kept just out of your grasp.¡±


    Maryam¡¯s jaw clenched so tight it looked like her teeth might snap off.


    ¡°I have a way through,¡± she said. ¡°Taking back my due, piece by piece. I just need a way to do it that won¡¯t leave me a raving lunatic.¡±


    The pale-skinned woman tucked back an errant strand of hair.


    ¡°But we¡¯re not here for me tonight,¡± she said. ¡°Try it again.¡±


    Angharad breathed out, then glimpsed ahead. Or tried. The sensation began, but then it came apart.


    ¡°It failed,¡± Angharad frowned.


    Again. That made thrice in a row. Maryam hummed, tapping her steel-tip pen against the paper booklet she¡¯d brought to take notes.


    ¡°Maybe we need something less extreme,¡± she said. ¡°Try to leverage me with a slap instead.¡±


    Angharad tried for the glimpse again, and this time it came easily.


    (She slapped Maryam across the face. What was your father¡¯s name? Angharad asked. Tell me or I will slap you again. Maryam lifted her middle finger, and Angharad raised her hand to)


    She breathed out in relief.


    ¡°That one worked,¡± she said.


    ¡°Ah,¡± Maryam smiled. ¡°So there we have it, our line in the sand.¡±


    Angharad slowly nodded.


    ¡°My actions in the glimpse must be something I am genuinely willing to do,¡± she said. ¡°Not a mere hypothetical.¡±


    Which was why she could not use a glimpse ahead to learn the name of Maryam¡¯s father by shooting her in the belly and threatening to blow her brains out. She would never truly do it, and so the glimpse refused to follow down that thread.


    ¡°Like most limits on your contracts, it appears to be determined by your own personality,¡± Maryam observed.


    ¡°In other words,¡± Angharad darkly said, ¡°I am the weakness in my bargain.¡±


    Someone able to convince themselves of anything, that they would be able to do anything, would have been able to use the Fisher¡¯s boons in ways she could never dream of. Snatch secret out thin air, see sights unseen.


    ¡°That is one way to see it,¡± Maryam replied. ¡°Yet I expect it was no accident the contract was offered to someone like you.¡±


    Angharad turned a cocked eyebrow on the other woman, wondering what unflattering meaning was to be attached to the sentence. Maryam must have read it on her face, for she snorted.


    ¡°Someone whose mind is firm,¡± she explained. ¡°In the aether, you feel like a blade ¨C sharp, solid. Like there¡¯s not a lot of bend in you.¡±


    She decided, after a moment, to take that as a compliment. Though one that contradicted Maryam¡¯s point.


    ¡°That sounds like the sort of individual least fit for such a contract,¡± Angharad pointed out.


    She smiled mirthlessly.


    ¡°I¡¯ll use someone we both know to argue,¡± she said. ¡°Tristan, given time and motive, can convince himself of near anything. He¡¯ll find himself reasons, justifications for whatever he wants to do ¨C and they¡¯ll sound convincing, too. It¡¯s a knack he has, hard to believe until you have seen him do it.¡±


    She paused.


    ¡°Should he have your contract I expect he might have been able to glimpse for answers with a gun, were it was aimed at someone he disliked.¡±


    Maryam raised a finger.


    ¡°But a contract pulls both ways, Angharad,¡± she said. ¡°Someone with more bend to them, constantly glimpsing, they¡¯ll lose grip on the boundaries ¨C what¡¯s true, what¡¯s not. What can and should be done. How many times can you see yourself torture and butcher before the deeds cease to repel? Before the world around you feels like just another glimpse?¡±


    Angharad shivered.


    ¡°No, Angharad Tredegar,¡± Maryam quietly said, ¡°I would not call you unfit for such a contract at all. You may just be the only kind of person who can bear it without slowly coming to drown in those waters.¡±


    And Angharad would have liked to dismiss that, to look away and bury it, but she could not. Dared not.


    Because, in that dark and quiet place where he was imprisoned, she could hear the Fisher laugh.


    --


    It was infuriating that, the morning she was finally free of the rector¡¯s palace, Song barely had time to pass through the Black House before she was on a coach again. She had not seen her friends in days, but there was no time for more than a quick chat while she dressed before she stepped onto the Watch¡¯s own coach and disappeared back into the capital streets.


    She had been invited for tea, and could not afford to be late.


    If Zhan Guo had merely been appointed as a diplomat by one of the republics, Song might have been able to delay answering the invitation, or even decline it. To merely meet with the representative of a republic could be enough to make enemies in another, and Song had already had too many of those in Tianxia.


    Ambassador Zhan Guo was an appointment of the Ministry of Rites, however, so not only did she immediately accept she made sure to put on her best formal clothes.


    It was a common mistake for foreigners to think of the Ministry as priests administering the lottery and offering a neutral meeting place to resolve disputes between sister-republics. That was, in truth, only the very surface layer of the Ministry¡¯s influence.


    The Heavenly Republics did not, in principle, necessarily share common diplomacy with foreign powers. Trade tariffs in Mazu and Wendi could be wildly different for the same trade goods, and it was hardly unheard of for a republic to sell arms and iron to Someshwari states fighting at sea with another of the Ten. Which was not even getting into how republics not infrequently warred on each other, though with mercenaries instead of militia.


    Yet Tianxia was still bound together, as they shared the Luminaries and the issue of being surrounded by larger, conquest-inclined neighbors.


    The seat of the Ministry of Rites, the holy temple that directed the Luminaries, was deep in the south of the Tianxi peninsula and so it had been spared the ravages of the Wars of Abolition ¨C the Cathayan Wars, as some called them. Yet after the Kingdom of Cathay fell apart, long before either Izcalli or the Someshwar invaded, there had been vicious fighting over control of that holy place.


    Fear of damaging the temple itself had eventually led to the formation of the fledgling Ministry of Rites, a priesthood bound to the land that would oversee it in the name of all Tianxi. The early Ministry had been at the mercy of the states surrounding it, the distribution of the Luminaries subject to treaties between the small realms that emerged from the corpse of the Kingdom of Cathay, and would have remained that way if not for the Wars of Abolition.


    After the second such war, when over half of Tianxia fell under foreign occupation, the three southern republics now known as the Sanxing came together and undertook the generations-long toil of liberating the homeland. This great work won them the privilege of ganji, the ritual gift of a Luminary to any of the Sanxing who did not draw one, but it had also indirectly led to the rise of the Ministry of Rites.


    Ganji needed to be writ into law by all republics, and treaties of defense against invasion must bind together all the republics lest the Sanxing be forced to liberate Tianxia again in a few decades. Yet who was to enforce this, in a land of republics who bowed only to the dignity of their people? The Ministry of Rites was, as a consequence, empowered.


    It grew from simple temple custodians to an assembly that would stand witness at signing of certain treaties, the breaking of such treaties then earning the consequence of losing the light of the Luminaries.


    The years made the temple-town into a city as diplomats and bureaucrats from every republic crowded the surroundings of the shrine, first to barter with the priests and then for the realms of Tianxia to treat with each other. The Ministry was invested with the powers no republic trusted another to wield over itself, kept from abuse by the necessity of a vote of the Republics over every such granted power.


    What that meant, here and now, was that Zhan Guo was not some well-read merchant with connections: every single one of the Heavenly Republics had formally petitioned the Ministry of Rites to appoint him. While he would have to juggle the interests of all the republics, he also represented the full might of Tianxia ¨C to kill him, for example, may very well result in war with all of the Ten Republics.


    So it was with some nervousness that Song took a coach to the address on the letter. Though she wished she could have brought Tristan with her for the second pair of eyes, one simply did not bring an uninvited guest to tea with a Ministry appointment.


    The coachman took her through to what turned out to be, for lack of better word, the Tianxi district of the city. A small cluster of streets and edifices where Asphodel brass lanterns were covered with colored paper, where shop signs were in characters as well as letters and the street food smelled like home instead of a garden¡¯s worth of garlic.


    The destination itself was a gracious townhouse by the brass canal that delineated the north end of the neighborhood ¨C filled with nenuphars and half-submerged lamps ¨C where a pair of men in a formal blue hanfu stood by the door. Armed only with spears and pistols, as the right to bear muskets within Tratheke was restricted.


    The province of only nobles, lictors and watchmen.


    The Watch coachman nodded at her, pointing where he would settle to wait, and Song lightly made her way up the short flight of stairs. Her silver-embroidered chang-ao was not as hard to walk in as more ritual kinds of formal wear, but the wide sleeves made hurrying look unseemly. The guards saluted at her approach, the one to the left stepping aside to open the door.


    ¡°Mistress Ren,¡± the other said in Cathayan. ¡°You are expected, please enter.¡±


    Song calmly bowed back. She kept her face blank as she stepped past the threshold into a beautiful home ¨C Asphodel stone and brass covered by lacquered wood, elegant furniture and panels displaying the light of the house in ways pleasing to the eye. Another man in a blue hanfu, this one unarmed, greeted her with a bow.


    ¡°If mistress would allow me the pleasure to lead her upstairs?¡±


    She nodded her assent, following the quiet-footed man through the rooms. Her gaze lingered on the open prayer room, which bore two altars ¨C one to the house god, a second to the Three-Handed Sage. The god said to have first created Cathayan characters was a fitting enough patron for an ambassador. Even the stairs had been covered with blue tiles, she realized as she followed the man up and through a small hall adorned with calligraphy before he stopped and bowed again.


    ¡°Mistress may enter as she wishes,¡± the man politely said.


    Song did not let herself breathe in or hesitate. There was no place for weakness here. She stepped through the threshold, the door quietly slid behind her, and found herself in an elegant tearoom bordering the front of the townhouse ¨C the lantern-light from outside mixed with the faint golden tinge of the Asphodel daytime. At the low table bearing the teapot sat a small man in a simple green robe, his black hair pulled back into a topknot.


    By the window lounged a woman in a blue hanfu like the others, unarmed ¨C though only in appearance. In the golden letters above her head Song read her name was ¡®Dongmei¡¯ and that her contract was a fighting one. Some manner of shell?


    Now was not the time to get distracted, so Song bowed respectfully.


    ¡°There is no need for that, Mistress Ren,¡± the man gently said.


    He was not fair of face, she thought, but he was neat. Shaved without a single hair missed, his eyebrows plucked and his simple robe slightly worn but without a single speck of dust. It was the robe that told her something was off ¨C even a man fond of simplicity would not have worn this when meeting another in the role of ambassador.


    ¡°You are not Zhan Guo,¡± she said.


    ¡°I am not,¡± the man agreed. ¡°I merely requested he facilitate this meeting. Please sit.¡±


    Song¡¯s silver eyes flicked to the woman by the window, who gave her an insolent grin. Her teeth clenched, but she sat. The man bowed in thanks, then set the cups in place to serve them. He poured deftly, if a little cautiously. She simply stared at him, awaiting an explanation.


    She was owed it.


    ¡°I apologize for the deception,¡± the man said. ¡°Unfortunately, Zhan will not be present today. To have a formal meeting with a Ren would likely cause his appointment to be revoked.¡±


    Her jaw clenched. A snicker from the woman by the window.


    ¡°Are you then part of his staff?¡± Song asked.


    ¡°Ah,¡± the man smiled, setting down the pot of tea.


    He gestured towards the cup, invited her to try. She sipped, hiding her surprise at the taste of Jigong black leaf. Such tea was growing rarer by the year, and so ever more expensive.


    ¡°Good tea,¡± she said.


    He inclined his head in thanks.


    ¡°You may call me Hao Yu,¡± he pleasantly said. ¡°I am a man born under Heaven.¡±


    Under the table her fingers clenched. Only one sort of man used that sentence in that precise way.


    ¡°Yellow Earth,¡± Song said.


    ¡°My calling is the liberation of all mankind,¡± Hao Yu easily agreed.


    ¡°And your companion?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Ai is a trusted colleague,¡± he said.


    One you gave me a fake name for, she thought. That was twice now they had deceived her. Song sipped at her tea again, mirrored by Hao Yu.


    ¡°Does the Yellow Earth wish to express concerns to the Watch?¡± she blandly asked.


    ¡®Ai¡¯ pushed off the wall, snorting.


    ¡°Does putting on a black cloak make you that, Ren?¡± she asked. ¡°You are student still. Do not oversell your importance.¡±


    Song sipped at her tea.


    ¡°So unimportant am I,¡± she said after, ¡°that you sent me an invitation to meet under false pretenses. An interesting stratagem.¡±


    She studied them both as she spoke, watching their faces. Was Ai to be the hard hand while Hao offered the soft words? Or was Ai simply harsh-tongued and not entirely under the man¡¯s thumb? The contractor scowled at her words, but Hao Yu was as readable as morning mist.


    ¡°It has come to our attention that your brigade was drawn into recent troubles,¡± Hao Yu said.


    She cocked her head to the side and said nothing, wanting him to keep talking. The more he did, the better the chances he would let something slip.


    ¡°The Watch made you bodyguard to the local yiwu kingpin after you saved his hide,¡± Ai sneered. ¡°So much for the rooks taking no part, yes?¡±


    On purpose, Song decided. They do it on purpose. But that last part, the one implying the Watch¡¯s neutrality was a lie? It had Hao Yu¡¯s jaw slacking the slightest bit. The way those muscles moved when you made them loosen so they would not clench instead. It is a ploy, but she pulls at the leash.


    Song drank her tea and waited in silence.


    ¡°Your report,¡± Hao Yu finally said, ¡°mentioned the assassin was of Cathayan race.¡±


    Song wondered if the Lord Rector knew that any report the Tianxi ambassador was read in on made it to the Yellow Earth. Likely he did. Evander Palliades had not struck her as a fool.


    ¡°So it did,¡± she acknowledged.


    ¡°Given our cause¡¯s purpose, some might suppose our involvement in such an attempt,¡± Hao Yu said.


    His silence invited elaboration.


    ¡°Some might say this,¡± she agreed.


    He was too good for her to catch him out twice as being frustrated, but ¡®Ai¡¯ was not so schooled. She marched back and forth across the room, sneering.


    ¡°Lacking manners,¡± Song mildly observed.


    Ai turned to glare, opening her mouth, but Hao Yu curtly gestured. The leash pulled, the contractor reining it in at the last moment but looking like she wanted to spit on the ground.


    ¡°The damage done to our reputation Asphodel has my comrade agitated,¡± Hao Yu said. ¡°The truth is that, while we may not be friends to the Lord Rector, we had no involvement in this unfortunate affair.¡±


    Song cocked an eyebrow.


    ¡°That is a relief.¡±


    Her tone must have been a tad dry, as the man sighed before taking a sip from his cup.


    ¡°I do not ask you to trust my word,¡± Hao Yu said. ¡°Merely to consider that Ambassador Guo is under strict instructions to secure access to the shipyards. Strict instructions.¡±


    ¡°And he¡¯s getting no such thing if the boy king¡¯s dead and half of Asphodel fights a civil war over who gets to take his throne,¡± Ai said. ¡°There will be a time for all the tyrants of the earth. When we want things out of this particular tyrant is not it.¡±


    Song sipped at her tea to hide her expression. She was, as it happened, inclined to believe them. While the Yellow Earth would back a coup to put the Trade Assembly in charge in a heartbeat should they believe it had good chances of succeeding ¨C or even simply of crippling the Asphodel nobility ¨C she saw no indication that the Trade Assembly was anywhere near ready for such a thing.


    At the moment it looked like Minister Apollonia Floros would be the leading figure in a succession, and that was hardly an improvement for Tianxia. Most of her supporters were economically in bed with the Malani, it was gifting the High Queen influence over this island¡¯s affairs for no real gain.


    ¡°I hear your words,¡± Song acknowledged.


    Hao Yu inclined his head.


    ¡°That is all I ask,¡± he said. ¡°And to celebrate our meeting, I would offer you a gift.¡±


    He glanced back at Ai, who padded up to the table as she reached behind her for something tucked into the cloth belt. A piece of paper, which the woman put down before Song with a disdainful smile. The silver-eyed woman did not move to take it, only turning an inquisitive look on Hao Yu.


    ¡°It has come to our attention that the Watch is investigating the cult of the Golden Ram,¡± he said. ¡°Such a collection of parasites is no friend of ours.¡±


    He sipped at his tea.


    ¡°Thus we gift you the location of a trade warehouse recently bought by House Anaidon, a family that does not trade or deal in leasing properties.¡±


    Lord Hector Anaidon, Song recalled, was the man whose boon matched closest the description of what the cult of the Golden Ram was meant to provide. Not an idle trail, this. She inclined her head in thanks.


    ¡°A thoughtful gift,¡± she said, taking the slip of paper. ¡°I receive it gratefully.¡±


    But not so gratefully, Song thought as she smiled pleasantly at them, that it does not occur me to ask a simple question.


    If the Yellow Earth wanted her looking at that warehouse, what was it they didn¡¯t want her looking at?

 Chapter 46

    Thunder, the pistol bucked and Tristan¡¯s hand with it.


    Batting away the plume of smoke, he took a look at the target and groaned. Shoulder shot, again. That made the third in a row, and at this point they¡¯d have to ask one of the staff to bring back more straw to stuff that poor scarecrow with.


    ¡°You have the stance and the breathing down,¡± Song said. ¡°Only in a learned way, not yet drilled, but that will come with repetition.¡±


    Black House, being the polite version of the Rectorate allowing the Watch to build a fort inside their own capital, naturally had a shooting range within its bounds. The reason that the pair of them were down here at six in the morning to use it, though, was that the student brigades were no longer the only ones lining up to use it.


    The diplomatic delegation from the Rookery had arrived with an armed escort, who were quite high-handed in making use of the facilities. The Fourth Brigade had been evicted by them when using the range yesterday, which was why Tristan was here at six failing to improve his accuracy: at this hour every morning the retinue were running formation drills in the largest courtyard.


    The thief wiped his slightly smoke-tarnished hand on the side of his uniform, for which he got glared at even though the damn thing was already black so it wouldn¡¯t even show!


    ¡°If that¡¯s true, then why does Strawcifer¡¯s torso still remain stubbornly un-shot?¡± he challenged.


    Song had first stood with him to check his stance, but since retreated to a bench by the side of the range where she was slowly drinking her way through a pot of one of those Tianxi teas that only she liked. In the Thirteenth, anyway. How she had yet to so much as spill a drop when the shots sometimes rattled the porcelain was impressive, he¡¯d admit.


    ¡°First off, I have not and will not agree to naming the target,¡± Song said.


    ¡°It does not matter,¡± Fortuna said, sprawled besides her on the bench. ¡°We voted, majority carries.¡±


    She had been poured a cup even though she could not drink it and Tristan had no intention of doing so, showing that Song Ren was a quick learner in matters of divine appeasement. The Tianxi¡¯s silver eyes narrowed as she read the lips, mouthing along. Tristan had decisively not offered to voice Fortuna¡¯s words, knowing that once that road to Hell was paved there would be no walking it back.


    ¡°The Watch is not a democracy,¡± Song said. ¡°Superior rank carries. Which is why Straw- which is why the target will go unnamed.¡±


    ¡°If you say so, darling,¡± Fortuna condescendingly said, throwing back her golden curls.


    The condescension would perhaps have stung more if she did not then immediately put her hand through the teacup trying to drink it, having for the third time forgotten it was not of her own making.


    ¡°And second,¡± Song said, wisely hiding her amusement at the sight, ¡°your problem is neither of those. It is that you flinch every time the powder blows.¡±


    Tristan grimaced, because that had the ring of truth.


    ¡°I have a hard time trusting guns,¡± he admitted. ¡°There is a reason Abuela did not much train me on them.¡±


    Reasons, really. While it was fine for her to teach him how to load and fire a pistol, it would have been another for a thief like him to own one ¨C more attention that someone intending to last in that profession ought to court. Song sipped at her cup, set it down. Her stare was considering.


    ¡°Your contract.¡±


    He hesitated, nodded. His misfortune liked a loaded gun, loved it really. It was the kind of blowback that was easily tailored to how strong he¡¯d pulled on the luck while being difficult for him to avoid. Which the bad luck preferred when it could easily arrange it.


    ¡°Powder in general is something I learned to be wary of,¡± Tristan said.


    ¡°That is not without sense,¡± she assured him. ¡°But consider that you currently carry a pistol while being a middling shot. The risk is already taken, but by improving your aim you make taking it worth more.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t need to sell me on the practice,¡± he said, somewhat amused. ¡°I¡¯m here, aren¡¯t I?¡±


    She nodded.


    ¡°Would that the others were as well,¡± Song said, ¡°but I suppose having a designated time for the contract experimentation is for the best.¡±


    He hid his amusement this time. He was fairly certain the only reason Angharad had suggested the arrangement in the first place was to avoid spending the better part of an hour on the range taking instructions from Song.


    ¡°Repetition is how the flinch will go,¡± she continued. ¡°My eldest brother had the same issue and that was what the drillmaster prescribed to rid him of it.¡±


    ¡°Is he a fine shot as well, then?¡± Tristan asked.


    Song¡¯s face went very calm and very remote. She sipped at her tea, the winter mask only thawing a touch from that heat.


    ¡°I am afraid not,¡± she said. ¡°He threatened to shoot himself if ever handed a pistol again, so our parents desisted.¡±


    Manes, Tristan thought. How was it that Song¡¯s living family somehow ended up being just as tragic as the rest of the Thirteenth¡¯s buried ones?


    ¡°Well,¡± he said with forced cheer, ¡°both of mine are dead so I sounds like I won¡¯t be able to wiggle my way out. Way to dangle that false hope, Song. Think of the orphans next time, why don¡¯t you?¡±


    Fortuna turned an incredulous look on him, the silver-eyed girl next to her staring him down stone-faced. Then the mountain cracked, and she let out the most disbelieving bout of laughter he had ever heard. It was a solid eight seconds before she got that under control.


    ¡°Gods,¡± Song said, ¡°did you really just say that?¡±


    He shrugged.


    ¡°We can blame it on the wind if you want,¡± he said. ¡°And I¡¯m switching to musket for the next few shots, I¡¯m more comfortable when the end of the barrel is further off from my head.¡±


    She snorted, got to her feet.


    ¡°Then I am going to demonstrate the stance again,¡± Song said. ¡°Else you¡¯ll bruise your armpit, and Maryam will start making peach puns at breakfast again ¨C we are weeks past any of the good ones.¡±


    ¡°There were never any good ones,¡± Tristan somberly replied. ¡°Deep down, you know this to be true.¡±


    Song thinned her lips in that way she only ever did when forcing herself not to smile, and the thief hid his own grin. There were worst morning routines to have, he¡¯d admit.


    --


    It was harder to remain angry at Tristan now that the reason she was had been made obsolete, but through the powers of perseverance and believing in herself Maryam managed. He¡¯d apologized, of course, but not mean a single word. No, he had to be made to feel a sting else he¡¯d not even hesitate before doing it again. She¡¯d forgive him, because she had been pushing further than was safe out of pride, but she could not let him get into the habit of making decisions for her.


    Lieutenant Mitra had proved quite amenable to her request ¨C made in the presence of Captain Wen, to make it official business ¨C and almost too enthused at the notion of heading into a dangerous part of Tratheke to study a potentially even more dangerous whirlpool in the aether. Maryam had even resigned herself at the thought that Alejandra Torrero would likely be dragged along so she might learn from the experience as well.


    Some favoritism was only to be expected and Lieutenant Mitra was the Fourth¡¯s patron. Now, standing with the gathered expedition crew, Maryam could only yearn for the glowing days when she¡¯d thought only one of the Fourth would be coming along.


    ¡°Bait,¡± Captain Tupoc Xical said. ¡°How go the supplies?¡±


    ¡°They wouldn¡¯t let me take the good wine,¡± the aforementioned Bait replied, ¡°but I got a whole roast. With the mustard sauce.¡±


    Murmurs of approval from the rest of the Fourth, who had taken to the sweet mustard sauce that the Black House cooks considered their specialty and slathered liberally on most meats. It was not Asphodelian in the slightest, but Maryam would take all the breaks from garlic that she was offered. Bait, whose true name was Adarsh Hebbar, straightened a little at the approval of the rest of his brigade. He then ruined that burst of confidence by nervously fiddling with his glasses.


    Expendable, the Malani boy with the grand hat and a presence in the aether that felt like a wild animal howling and scratching at bars, cleared his throat. He had wolf¡¯s eyes, this one, and rarely spoke unless directly addressed.


    ¡°Did you ask for¡­¡±


    ¡°Your cuts were set aside,¡± Bait volunteered. ¡°Barely cooked.¡±


    The Malani contractor nodded thanks while the least of the brawl-enforced naming scheme, Acceptable Losses ¨C a slender Tianxi whose burn scars covered half her face and had turned her left eye milky white ¨C checked her pack again. Where Bait had been charged with procuring the food for a picnic, packs that would be split between himself and Alejandra Torrero, Acceptable Losses appeared to be carrying a haversack stuffed full of explosives.


    Hiding her dismay, Maryam turned her gaze on her sole ally present: Wen Duan, who busied himself nibbling at a peach. He paused in that crime on the senses to shrug.


    ¡°If Mitra thinks the place is too dangerous, we¡¯ll collapse the teahouse and burn everything out,¡± Captain Wen said.


    Maryam grunted. That was, in truth, a sensible decision. Almost made up for her dangerous investigation of an eldritch gate into a cursed half-layer realm being turned by Tupoc into a glorified picnic. The most horrifying part of that, admittedly, might just be how easily the Fourth had been solid on having a meal over a potential layer entrance.


    They took two carriages out, but there were too many people for Maryam to be able to swing sharing hers with only her patron. She inherited Bait and Losses, somewhat offended when she realized that sharing a coach with her had been turned by Tupoc into a punishment. Well, she comforted herself, mostly likely it was Wen that they counted a lash. His Saga lesson still had the students from the other brigades wincing every time he reached for an orange.


    Fortunately for everyone else, Wen cracked open a book about¡­ Sarayan pottery patterns, really? Anyway, he buried himself in his book and pretended they did not exist, which left an awkward silence to linger as the coach rolled smoothly through the streets of Tratheke. When it got too much, Maryam cleared her throat and tossed out as inoffensive a conversation starter as she could muster.


    ¡°How are the Umuthi classes?¡± she asked Acceptable Losses. ¡°I hear Commander Tredegar¡¯s supposed to be quite gifted.¡±


    Losses glanced at her. She could see through the burned eye, Maryam thought. Likely not well, but under the pale film she could make out the iris moving when her gaze did.


    ¡°He¡¯s Clockwork Cathedral, which is good for me but not Coyac,¡± she replied. ¡°He¡¯s Deuteronomicon track.¡±


    The Clockwork Cathedral, Maryam recalled, was the name for the part of the Umuthi Society that built pure machinery. The Deuteronomicon, in contrast, concerned itself mainly with aether machines. Though the first stretch of education for both tracks was much the same, later on it diverged rather radically. Aether engines could work on principles that contradicted physical laws, after all.


    ¡°Any good as a teacher?¡±


    ¡°Fishing for the other Tredegar?¡± Acceptable Losses sneered.


    Maryam met her eyes and let that silence stretch out uncomfortably. The Tianxi coughed into her fist.


    ¡°He¡¯s fine,¡± she mumbled.


    The Izvorica¡¯s gaze moved to Bait, who flinched. If his neck could bur itself into his body, she suspected there would be no trace left of his head.


    ¡°Please do not curse me,¡± Adarsh Hebbar politely requested. ¡°¡­ma¡¯am.¡±


    Maryam approved of the ma¡¯am ¨C all folk should address her thus, really ¨C but cocked an eyebrow at the request.


    ¡°Why would I curse you?¡±


    ¡°Your entire brigade is bad luck,¡± Acceptable Losses informed her happily. ¡°The Ren needs no explanation, but Tupoc says that Abrascal is some kind of contracted corpse and everyone knows Tredegar was possessed. Not only do you look like a hollow-¡±


    ¡°Tread carefully, now,¡± Maryam warned.


    ¡°-but Alejandra says she¡¯s pretty sure you¡¯ve been eating Gloam creatures,¡± Losses finished with a smug smile.


    A page turned in the corner, louder than usual, drew their attention.


    ¡°That¡¯s untrue,¡± Wen said without ever raising his eyes.


    A beat passed.


    ¡°Chronologically speaking, it¡¯s more likely that hollows are the ones looking like the Izvoric,¡± he noted.


    Ah, she should have known better than to think Wen Duan would help by now. Sighing, Maryam wrote off the ride as a lost cause and let the silence reign. However stilted, it was still better than talking to these people.


    --


    To her mild surprise, Maryam did not recognize the surroundings of the teahouse.


    Part of it must be that it was now the Asphodel daytime, which meant half the brass lanterns went out, but it now occurred to her that she might not have been entirely out of the fugue state when Tristan helped her through these parts. The streets were not as she remembered them, too short and not as narrow, and though they were objectively better lit than they must have been that night they still seemed darker to her eye.


    To begin seeing through the dark was one of the signs of Gloam intoxication: it was a lesser form of how darklings saw the world.


    Swallowing a grimace, the pale-skinned woman silently revised how quickly she must forgive Tristan. He¡¯d had better cause to worry than she grasped, however unacceptable his method of acting on it. Her nav tasted at the aether around them and found it full of small eddies: shallow but continuing ripples, as if some underground source was feeding into a small river. Much calmer than she remembered this place to be from her last visit.


    ¡°Found the entrance,¡± Tupoc called out.


    Their entire party had come wearing the black, this time, so what few people had been out in the streets before those horrid Reeking Rows ducked out at the sight them. Blackcloaks were respected, but seen as bad omens more often than not ¨C rare was the sight of a rook in a place where no trouble lurked. The Fourth passed through the trick window one after another, Mitra then following, but Wen took one look at the sawed-through planks and grimaced.


    ¡°Go ahead,¡± he said. ¡°This might take me a bit.¡±


    Maryam did him the courtesy of passing through quickly and not looking back. Wen was surprisingly agile, for a man of his size, but no amount of agility would broaden that windowsill. The Fourth had spread out across the room, avoiding the center. Even with her nav retracted, Maryam could feel the wisdom in that. There was¡­ something in the air.


    ¡°No fresh tracks since Abrascal¡¯s report,¡± Tupoc said. ¡°We are the first visitors since.¡±


    ¡°On this side, at least,¡± Maryam said. ¡°There¡¯s the back.¡±


    The door to which still hung open. Lieutenant Mitra, looking unusually serious as his eyes remained peeled on the center of the hall, let out a grunt.


    ¡°Tupoc, check if the back is clear,¡± he ordered. ¡°Khaimov, Torrero, with me. Stand close.¡±


    Maryam obeyed, coming elbow-to-elbow with an interested-looking Alejandra. Mitra¡¯s hand snapped out and he traced Gloam like a charlatan would throw powders into flame, all broad strokes and verve. It was not at all how she¡¯d been taught to trace, and the furrows of Gloam he left behind in the air felt¡­ deeper, and somehow more nuanced? His eyes were bright when he finished and Maryam¡¯s eyes was drawn to her feet. Around the three of them was a perfect ring of oily darkness, hovering half an inch above the floor and centered perfectly around the lieutenant.


    ¡°Do not extend your logos beyond the ring,¡± Lieutenant Mitra ordered. ¡°Forward, now.¡±


    They followed him, shuffling awkwardly, until he came to a half maybe a dozen feet away from the exact center of the room.


    ¡°Here,¡± Lieutenant Mitra said. ¡°The best vantage we will get it.¡±


    Maryam could only agree. To her nav, it felt as close to the source of the eddies in the aether as they could get without being in the eddy. She breathed out and focused her will, feeling out the waves as they passed ¨C and brushing past Torrero¡¯s own nav as she did the same. They came almost every minute, steady and very nearly regular.


    "They are getting weaker,¡± Alejandra muttered. ¡°And maybe slower? By very small fractions, though.¡±


    Maryam grunted in assent.


    ¡°There is no impulse behind it I can find,¡± she added. ¡°It feels like an echo.¡±


    If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    ¡°Because it is,¡± Lieutenant Mitra said. ¡°Someone did very slapdash work cutting their way out a layer adjacent to the material and it was the metaphysical equivalent of tossing a boulder in a pond. The marks of that impact are fading, and if we return in a few days there will be no trace left at all.¡±


    ¡°I was in a manic state that night,¡± Maryam acknowledged, ¡°but from what I recall the local aether did feel a lot messier.¡±


    The trouble had not been that her mind was gone but that suddenly there had been too much in it. When she ripped a kernel out of the shade and consumed it, she had taken back parts of her old memories but also of the Cauldron ¨C the ancient working woven from all the secrets of the Craft, which she¡¯d thought lost but had in truth been stolen.


    And a kernel of something so massive had been as a year of learning, most of it incomplete and incoherent but the parts that were not searingly vivid. Almost truer than her own memories, before she came back to herself. The ritual of inheritance, it had precautions to ward the mind of they who were to become the Keeper of Hooks. Devouring pieces of the shade had no such wardings.


    And there was more, too. Yue had not been wrong, to say that taking from the shade would expand¡­ Maryam¡¯s perspective. Not only were her Grasp and Command in perfect alignment, however fading the phenomenon, the signifier had found that tracing felt different now. That she knew, instinctively, how to curve and tuck strokes so that the Gloam would not struggle as strongly against the Sign.


    And that was not something that could be taught.


    ¡°- this place?¡±


    Maryam snapped back to attention in time to tune in on Lieutenant Mitra¡¯s answer to the question she had missed.


    ¡°The fabric of the aether should be nothing too unusual when the eddies smooth out,¡± the Someshwari said. ¡°We are, in the end, nothing more than endless reiterations struggling for a different ending, inherently doomed to failure.¡±


    He paused.


    ¡°Though I expect that if our assassin knew they would emerge here, as is suggested by their visiting the place in advance, there must be some connection to their means of crossing,¡± he added. ¡°Let us have a look at that wall, yes?¡±


    Behind them was a grunt, a curse, and then a loud thump. They all pretended not to hear Wen Duan dragging himself back up to his feet.


    --


    There was no trace of whatever the criminals had once kept here, save for one bottle of transparent liquor left in the middle of the too-large basement. Tupoc ripped out the cork, took a sniff and then had a swallow.


    ¡°Strong stuff,¡± the Izcalli said. ¡°Tastes a little like pine.¡±


    A moment passed as he stared down at the bottle.


    ¡°And it¡¯s not poisoned, either, fancy that,¡± Tupoc happily announced. ¡°It seems like we¡¯ll have drinks with lunch after all.¡±


    ¡°Give me that, Xical, it¡¯s contraband,¡± Wen said. ¡°Very illegal stuff it is, can¡¯t trust students with it.¡±


    The pale-eyed Izcalli turned a cocked eyebrow on his own patron. Wen mouthed ¡®half and half¡¯ at him.


    ¡°It could be drugged,¡± Lieutenant Mitra smoothly agreed. ¡°Captain Wen and I must investigate.¡±


    He cleared his throat.


    ¡°Abrascal never found out what lies on the other side of those stairs,¡± he added, pointing at the set they¡¯d not entered the bare room through. ¡°Go do so, and take Yan and Velaphi with you.¡±


    ¡°As you say, sir,¡± Tupoc drily replied. ¡°Bait, go back in the room where Abrascal almost got killed and ready the food. It seems like a good place to have our meal at.¡±


    Maryam casually flipped him the finger, which only had him grinning as he sauntered off. That left behind the three signifiers and Wen, whose sole contribution was to go through the bags Bait was bringing up one at a time to fish out a pair of tin goblets. Best get this done before the patrons started drinking, Maryam thought as she picked up one of the lanterns on the ground and headed for the wall at the back.


    It was as Tristan said: the stone there was the same as the roads in the empty layer.


    Alejandra caught up, but driven by the same distinct as Maryam she took not a step past the lantern. Lieutenant Mitra, however, brushed past the both of them with his robes aflutter. He hummed as he paced back and forth, slashing a few lines of Gloam through the air in the form of a fast-fading Sign before laying his palm against the stone. It stayed there, Mitra closing his eyes, and she risked tasting the aether around him with her nav.


    It felt, she thought, like a man rapping his knuckles against a jar. He was pulsing Gloam while pricking his metaphysical ear for an echo. What he heard, though, she knew not.


    ¡°That,¡± Lieutenant Mitra finally said as he withdrew his palm, ¡°is brackstone. And of rather high quality, too: my Reverb Sign couldn¡¯t even pass all the way through.¡±


    ¡°Brack-stone,¡± Maryam tried out. ¡°As in ¡®bracken stone¡¯?¡±


    ¡°Technically they are a manner of brick, not natural stone,¡± Mitra mused, ¡°but yes, you are correct. It is used for containment and protection because it bears salt inside. Much stronger against aether than Gloam, but still difficult for a signifier to pass through.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d never heard of brackstone either,¡± Alejandra admitted, scowling.


    ¡°It fell out of use over a century and a half ago,¡± Captain Wen said, and Maryam almost jumped out of her skin.


    She¡¯d not heard him cross the room, and now he was barely three feet away from here.


    ¡°The Malani discovered that adding salt and wood ash into simple bricks has about the same effect at a tenth of the cost,¡± Wen said. ¡°The Imperial Someshwar stole the recipe off them and it¡¯s spread most everywhere since.¡±


    ¡°The older parts of the Rookery have entire towers made of brackstone,¡± Lieutenant Mitra told them. ¡°Though hardly of such quality as this wall.¡±


    ¡°To build roads of such a stone inside a layer seems¡­ odd,¡± Alejandra said.


    ¡°Unless you want every way out to be hostile to whatever lies inside,¡± Maryam said. ¡°That sphere at the center of the layer that I found, I must now wonder ¨C was it sand that I was walking on, or very fine salt?¡±


    ¡°Your report mentioned a bronze harpoon within,¡± Lieutenant Mitra said.


    ¡°Tall as a ship¡¯s mast, and about as broad,¡± she agreed. ¡°Plunged deep in the sand.¡±


    A detail that grew more ominous now that it occurred to her the very ¡®sand¡¯ might be a prison.


    ¡°That is your key, I wager,¡± Mitra said. ¡°Our assassin was able to enter the paths using an object that has a connection to the harpoon. The exact mechanics yet escape me ¨C it cannot be a simple compass, else it would not have allowed them to leave the layers and certainly not know where they would cross back into the material ¨C but that harpoon is the only feasible metaphysical anchor.¡±


    He chewed his lip, thoughtful.


    ¡°Even if one follows the logic that the stone here is connected to the paths, it should have been difficult for the assassin to predict where she would emerge,¡± Mitra said. ¡°I expect our wall here, the structure is it part of, will not be the only one hidden under the foundation of Tratheke. So why this place and not another?¡±


    Maryam cleared her throat.


    ¡°And when Tristan and I emerged out in the street¡­¡±


    ¡°You followed through an already open path, the easiest way out, but without whatever tool allows the assassin precision,¡± Lieutenant Mitra absent-mindedly said. ¡°Hence ending up in the street.¡±


    She took a second to parse that out.


    ¡°It sounds to me,¡± she ventured, ¡°like the paths can be entered from anywhere but one emerges only at places connected to the layer.¡±


    ¡°A reasonable hypothesis,¡± Mitra agreed.


    ¡°So it likely can¡¯t be used to enter the rector¡¯s palace, only leave it,¡± she continued.


    He glanced at her.


    ¡°Unless there is structure connected to the paths in the palace,¡± Lieutenant Mitra said, ¡°but again that is a reasonable assertion.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯ll be a relief to the lictors, I imagine,¡± Wen drily said.


    ¡°I wonder what the structure is,¡± Alejandra muttered. ¡°If those digging the basement found the wall by accident or this room is as old as the rest.¡±


    ¡°Too much guesswork is building with sand,¡± Mitra said. ¡°Though of course our lives are all painted in the bleak, indifferent colors of fated impermanence.¡±


    ¡°Best not to fiddle with that wall,¡± Wen said. ¡°We¡¯ll bring Song into this, Maryam, but it seems to me our wisest way forward is to make inquiries with the Lord Rector. Even if House Palliades does not know what this is about, there is bound to be something in their private archives.¡±


    ¡°Sending word to Stheno¡¯s Peak would be equally wise,¡± Lieutenant Mitra noted. ¡°We will have our own records.¡±


    Not a dead end, Maryam decided, but a hint. Something was buried beneath Tratheke, and some fool had decided to meddle with it. They left the wall to its dark and silence, waiting until Tupoc and his minions returned to news of the other stairs leading to a cramped tunnel eventually ending in a house further down the street. By the looks of it there had been a dormitory of sorts for guards there, and a discreet back door through which to bring crates.


    They ate their meal upstairs before leaving, and alas for the students none of the bottle survived the thorough inspection it was given by their patrons.


    --


    It was dark out, and though Song would have had no trouble navigating the night Tristan¡¯s presence had warranted bringing a lantern ¨C shuttered until only a thin slice of light went through. At the thief¡¯s request they had kept off the well-lit avenues of Asphodel, moving through side streets instead. It slowed them down, but not as much as she would have thought.


    Be they great or small, all the streets of Tratheke were paved with the same smooth, perfectly fitting stones.


    They were, according to the city map they had borrowed from Black House, not far from their destination. Out in the northwest of the city, past the houses and shops crowding the inner ward and the Collegium, then past the two of the less impressive neighborhoods centered around the large avenue cutting straight through the northwestern quarter of the city.


    Tratheke was built as if a god had used a ruler when setting down the stone and brass, which Song found extremely appealing to the eye, but this far out the original grid only meant so much. Filth and dirt had crawled in, tainting perfect facades and caking the bottom of brass lanterns.


    ¡°This does not seem like a wise part of the city to have warehouses in,¡± Song muttered. ¡°The people of the district mere minutes away do not look wealthy.¡±


    Was it not unnecessarily reckless to store trade goods near those who would be tempted to steal them?


    ¡°A coterie runs the place,¡± Tristan replied. ¡°Basilea, as they call them here. It¡¯s what those grey wings they put in the corner of glass windows mean, that dues have been paid to the Pegasoi.¡±


    ¡°And the owners of the warehouses pay the Pegasoi to keep thieves out,¡± Song slowly said, ¡°because warehouses here are inexpensive enough compared to the prices in southern Tratheke that bribing the thugs is still cheaper than buying there.¡±


    ¡°Guesswork, but that is also my bet,¡± the thief said. ¡°Everyone¡¯s going to want the warehouses closest to the causeway leading to the Lordsport, it¡¯s the same as the land around the harbors in Sacromonte.¡±


    It was the same in every port, she thought. Mazu, which she was most familiar with, was no exception. It was not without reason that much of that city¡¯s waterside was owned by the city itself and rented to merchants instead of sold. Song¡¯s father had once told her that foreigners wanting to lease it must pay five times the rates as locals and that the city made almost as much from Malani trade companies as the rest of the rents put together.


    Yet where Mazu was thriving, sure to be the richest of the republics outside the Sanxing if not for the border with Izcalli and the ring of manned forts that forced it to maintain, the northwest districts looked desolate. The only ones profiting from this arrangement were the thugs and the yiwu, as tended to be the way under the rule of kings.


    ¡°Here,¡± Tristan whispered, jolting her out of her thoughts. ¡°That¡¯s the one, just past that intersection.¡±


    Mildly irritated ¨C and impressed ¨C that the half of this pair that could not see through the gloom was the better navigator out in these streets, Song followed his jutting thumb. Keeping an eye out for anyone who might be lurking, they walked the rest of the distance with their hands on their blades.


    The warehouse was, unsurprisingly, not one of the nicer ones in this derelict place. A low-ceilinged rectangle of a place maybe six hundred feet long, its brass-boned roof had caved in at several spots and only been shoddily patched. There were multiple padlocks on the front gates, but only a lock on the side door. And unlike the warehouses they¡¯d passed by earlier, closer to the Pegasoi stomping grounds, there were no hired guards keeping an eye out.


    ¡°Side door?¡± she quietly asked.


    ¡°I can pick it,¡± Tristan agreed. ¡°But I saw a gap under the front gates. Check if there¡¯s anyone inside, would you?¡±


    Clever, she thought. Someone else would see only darkness if no lights were lit, but that was no trouble to her own eyes. She lowered herself to the ground as he kept watch, peeking through the thin slice of room under the door. An open floor, skeletal frames of metal and not a soul in sight.


    ¡°Clear,¡± she whispered.


    He made quick work of the lock when they doubled back, and almost silently to boot.


    ¡°Tell me that isn¡¯t Tianxi,¡± she murmured.


    He grinned, which was answer enough.


    ¡°It¡¯s a Bohe,¡± he said. ¡°The cheapest stuff your workshops put out, it¡¯s actually worse than sixty-years old locks. You can get one for the price of a bushel of oranges, though.¡±


    That House Anaidon had put the literal cheapest lock on the market on the door of their suspect warehouse was somewhat amusing, she¡¯d admit, even more so when it occurred to her that them buying a Tianxi lock might just well have been what drew the Yellow Earth¡¯s eye here in the first place.


    Cutting corners always came at a cost.


    Moments later they were in, her with her jian out and Tristan with his blackjack. They entered what appeared to be some kind of office, by the amount of desks, but there was nothing to go through here: the tabletops were bare, the drawers outright gone and the only chair left only had three legs. The place had been stripped bare, only furniture too large to fit through the door and too shoddy to be worth pulling apart left behind.


    The door on the other side of the room led to the warehouse floor, which another sweep confirmed to be empty save for those strange skeletal frames. Tristan opened the lantern fully, bringing it up, and by unspoken accord they split up to inspect the warehouse. Her gaze lingered on the frames, which were not of the brassy alloy everywhere in Tratheke but rather rusted-through iron.


    She thought they looked like half a set of ribs, at least until she realized they¡¯d been laud to rest the wrong way. There were pegs higher up the walls where the frames must have once been hung, looking like dull hooks curving upwards. To support something, perhaps? She knew that Asphodel exported cedar wood, prized in shipbuilding everywhere as cedar did not rot.


    Perhaps trees had been laid to rest on the hooks, though for what reason she could only guess.


    ¡°Mhmmm.¡±


    Her gaze went to Tristan, who was kneeling next to¡­ rags? She headed his way, and her eyes narrowed as she got closer. Those were not rags but blankets. So ragged they might as well, and tossed away in piles, but blankets nonetheless. By the size of the piles, at least a hundred of them.


    ¡°Scorched stone over there,¡± Tristan said, jutting a thumb to his left. ¡°Cooking stove, I¡¯m guessing. I¡¯m sure we¡¯ll find more trace if we keep looking.¡±


    There were. A corner in the back was clearly full of dry piss, by the smell, and not far off were traces of shit at the bottom of a wall. Someone had missed the chamber pot, though of those there was no trace. Meanwhile Tristan found trace of another stove and half-erased chalk in the form of a grid with symbols on it.


    ¡°A ritual grid?¡± she wondered. ¡°Some sort of cypher?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a tomb and stars grid,¡± Tristan told her.


    That sounded ominous, though for some reason he seemed amused. Was it-


    ¡°The most popular dice game in the western isles,¡± he said.


    Song cleared her throat.


    ¡°Is it now?¡±


    ¡°I mean, they changed some of the symbols,¡± he said, ¡°but that¡¯s probably just the version local to Asphodel. All the biggest cities tend to use their own symbols for the stars, and for some godforsaken reason Old Saraya uses a different one for the tombs.¡±


    He shrugged.


    ¡°I¡¯ve taken a good enough look to draw them again, so I¡¯ll confirm the symbols with the servants when we come back.¡±


    She nodded, frowning. Not at her mistake, though that was also decent reason.


    ¡°Threadbare blankets, a stove and dice games,¡± Song said. ¡°This does not seem like the lair of a revel cult.¡±


    ¡°It sounds like someone stashed soldiers here,¡± Tristan flatly said.


    She raised an eyebrow at him and he shrugged.


    ¡°Looked, I saw your face when you saw shit on the wall but think about it,¡± he said. ¡°As many men as there were blankets, here for who knows how long, and only one mess? There was a concerted effort to keep traces of presence light, and discipline in sticking to it. It¡¯s not a few vagrants off the streets that tripped the lock and stayed a few days.¡±


    ¡°You might have a point,¡± Song admitted.


    And if someone had kept soldiers here, it stood to reason arms had been kept as well. She swept through the warehouse floor again, this time not looking for marks of life so much as ¨C ah, and there we were. The men that¡¯d stayed here had not wiped the floor free of dust before putting down their blankets, so the parts where they¡¯d stayed had even streaks and clumps of gathered dust. There was one section of the floor, though, that was universally clean.


    Tristan caught up with her.


    ¡°Too clean?¡±


    ¡°Too clean,¡± she agreed.


    ¡°I¡¯m not seeing seams for a false floor,¡± the thief said. ¡°Mind you, I wouldn¡¯t if it¡¯s well done. A powder trick would-¡±


    Song crouched, breathing in and focusing. Seeing the truth, and the truth was a hairline fracture in the floor. She followed the contour, the straight lines and corners, until she found one the corner that was chopped. Uneven.  She made her way there, fingers pressing down, and found the catch. She rotated a spot in the stone, something clicking beneath the surface and then she carefully lifted a square of stone only large as her fist and thick as a finger.


    Tristan let out a whistle.


    ¡°Well, here¡¯s two hours of my life saved,¡± he said. ¡°I fucking hate doing the powder trick, so a hundred flowers to you. I don¡¯t suppose you¡¯d want to swap contracts?¡±


    ¡°Contracts? No,¡± Song said. ¡°Though if you ever discover a way to swap gods¡­¡±


    ¡°Sold,¡± he replied without hesitation.


    He spent the following minute protecting his face from the righteous beating of his shouting goddess, which almost made up for the other part. The small ping of amusement coming from the depths of her own soul, Luren¡¯s mirth like the tinkle of a silver bell.


    Once Tristan was done groveling his way back to peace, they got to work. The rest of the stone hiding the cache was heavier and thicker, covering much more surface. The part she had removed was to leave room to slide in a perch and leverage it out. Trying out her sheath only revealed that the bottom was further down, but they improvised by sawing off a long swath of iron frame whose bottom was rusted off and using it as perch.


    While wearing gloves, of course, as Song did not intend having to append how she had caught lockjaw to the official report.


    The inside was disappointing in that it was empty, not so much a stray blade left she could bring back as proof. Lowering herself down, though, she inspected the corners and smiled at what she saw. Grease and smudges blackpowder. In several places, too, not only corner.


    ¡°They kept at least ten barrels of powder down here,¡± she said. ¡°Maybe more.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a lot of powder even for a hundred men,¡± Tristan said, crouching at the edge. ¡°Unless they intend to be firing volleys, anyway.¡±


    ¡°My thoughts exactly,¡± Song replied, leaning against the wall.


    She took out a cloth to wipe her hands clean of the grease and powder before brushing back her hair.


    ¡°So someone¡¯s smuggling soldiers and powder into Tratheke,¡± he said. ¡°Either the cult of Golden Ram¡¯s not at all what we thought it was¡­¡±


    ¡°Or we have not caught the cult¡¯s tail at all,¡± Song completed. ¡°Hector Anaidon is not the head of his house, and his brother would not necessarily let him in on a conspiracy.¡±


    ¡°You think someone¡¯s preparing a coup,¡± Tristan said. ¡°And that Lord Ainaidon¡¯s in bed with them.¡±


    ¡°From the inside is the only sensible way to take Tratheke,¡± Song said. ¡°It is an Antediluvian-made box with only fortified gates in and out. I¡¯ve read through Asphodel histories, Tristan, and the capital has never been stormed successfully ¨C and not for lack of rebels besieging it. Those brass walls will shrug off cannon fire.¡±


    ¡°And if the only way in and out is those big gates, all you need to do is put a couple of cannons facing the roads and shoot whatever tries to march in,¡± Tristan agreed. ¡°The enemy will run out of volunteers long before you run out of powder. Traitors opening a gate would be cheaper even if you promise each their weight in gold.¡±


    ¡°Or never needing to open the gates at all,¡± Song said, ¡°because your army is already inside the walls.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a bold plan,¡± Tristan said. ¡°Risky, though. You¡¯d need to move them into the capita¡¯s empty parts while smuggling the rest in and Tratheke¡¯s empty parts aren¡¯t really empty ¨C there¡¯s the basileias running about. Someone will have seen something.¡±


    He paused, arriving at the same conclusion she already had.


    ¡°Unless they¡¯re in on it,¡± he finished, clicking his tongue. ¡°Yeah, it could work. Still risky.¡±


    ¡°The only force in Asphodel that had soldiers to spare and can bring them through the mountains unseen is the Council of Ministers,¡± Song said. ¡°They have the arms, the land routes and as of recently the motivation to make a gamble like this.¡±


    Tristan cursed.


    ¡°Because of the shipyard,¡± he said. ¡°If those start churning out skimmers, it doesn¡¯t matter how many men they can put together ¨C Evander Palliades will be rich enough to buy every mercenary company kicking about the Trebian Sea and drown them in bodies. They need to knock him out before those shipyards solidify his position.¡±


    ¡°No more than six months,¡± Song quietly said. ¡°Any more than that and not only are the risks too high someone will flip but he should be getting money out of the Republics.¡±


    That was what Hao Yu said, that Ambassador Guo was under strict instructions to get access to the shipyards. If he could not accomplish that within six months, he would be dismissed and replaced by someone who could.


    ¡°This feels out of our jurisdiction,¡± Tristan finally said.


    ¡°Agreed,¡± she said. ¡°It needs to go to Brigadier Chilaca.¡±


    ¡°So you¡¯ll finally get to meet the man who sold you out to the Lord Rector,¡± he drily said. ¡°Lucky you.¡±


    She rolled her eyes, then breathed out.


    ¡°We are thin on evidence,¡± Song finally said. ¡°He might not believe us.¡±


    ¡°Then he doesn¡¯t believe us,¡± Tristan shrugged. ¡°We¡¯ll hurry up with our contract and get out of this powder keg before someone throws a match.¡±


    He paused.


    ¡°Interesting, though, that the Yellow Earth knows we¡¯re hunting a cult but sends us after what looks like noble conspiracy.¡±


    ¡°The thought occurred,¡± Song acknowledged. ¡°Though in all fairness the Anaidon connection might have tripped them up as it did us.¡±


    She rolled her shoulder.


    ¡°It is still throwing us off their trail,¡± she acknowledged. ¡°Which begs the question of whether they do so because they do not want us stumbling into their usual schemes or because there is a cult connection.¡±


    ¡°The Yellow Earth¡¯s not going to be this easy to sniff out,¡± Tristan warned. ¡°That lot knows how burrow, Song. The infanzones have been trying to dig them out of the City for years and they have dust to show for it.¡±


    ¡°The Yellow Earth works in sects,¡± Song told him. ¡°Each is different, though there is supposedly a grandmaster that leads the movement. I doubt the Asphodel sect will be anywhere as well put together as the Sacromonte one.¡±


    She chewed the inside of her lip.


    ¡°Point taken, however,¡± she said. ¡°We do not know this city.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll need locals,¡± Tristan agreed. ¡°And I can think of only one sort that¡¯d be willing to treat with us.¡±


    ¡°Criminals,¡± she said.


    ¡°Basileias,¡± he shrugged. ¡°If you want us to pull at the Yellow Earth¡¯s tail, the lictors aren¡¯t going to do any good.¡±


    Because if the lictors knew of members of the sect, they would currently be strung up on gallows.


    ¡°Help me up,¡± Song said, extending her hand.


    He pulled and she pushed herself up the wall, scrabbling back onto solid ground. Now came the unpleasant part: putting it all back in case someone came to look.


    ¡°Perhaps Angharad will find us a lead,¡± Song said. ¡°But if she does not, the Yellow Earth now seems our likeliest suspect in having ties.¡±


    Which was more than passing odd, considering the Lord Rector¡¯s belief that the cult was being made into a vessel for a noble coup. Well, Evander was right about the coup at least if she was reading the signs correctly.


    ¡°I¡¯ll pray our friends in the Brazen Chariot will answer my invitation, then,¡± Tristan said. ¡°Else I¡¯ll have to go fishing off the list Hage gave me, and that could get tricky.¡±


    ¡°I have no doubt you will succeed at getting us a meeting,¡± she said, and was surprised to find she meant it.


    He squinted at her.


    ¡°You¡¯re trying to guilt me into pulling the false floor instead of pushing, aren¡¯t you?¡± Tristan asked.


    ¡°Of course not,¡± Song lied.

 Chapter 47

    The Thirteenth usually ate its evening meal together, occasionally alongside the other brigades, but with Song and Tristan out tonight Angharad had elected to make other arrangements. Though she had a working truce of sorts with Maryam, she would much prefer not to eat an entire meal alone with the other woman.


    Besides, it had been too long since she shared a table with her uncle.


    Osian Tredegar was a commander of the Watch, which meant that unlike her he had been able to make requests of the Black House kitchens: it was before an attempt at a classic Pereduri spread that they sat. The heart of it was smoked mackerel, roasted cheese rarebit and wild spinach. An attempt at laverbread had been made by the cooks, but the seaweed tasted wrong. A side dish of rabbit made up for it, though, the local game spruced up with flower salt.


    ¡°It¡¯s better than the flower salt from Carchar Mulfrain,¡± Angharad admitted, feeling somewhat unpatriotic.


    ¡°Rhiannon never bought Carchar salt in her life, Angie,¡± Uncle Osian snorted. ¡°She always got the cheaper fare out of Tariac that they dry a second time under the Carchar Glare. Insisted it was just as good.¡±


    She goggled at him.


    ¡°I have been eating Aztlan salt all my life?¡±


    It would be unfair to treat all the Aztlan peoples as if they were Izcalli, for though that eponymous people and kingdom stood the greatest among the Aztlan they also tended to be despised by their kin for the constant flower wars they inflicted on their neighbors. Still, Tariac was a tributary state of the Grasshopper King in all but name and only support from Malan kept it from teetering past the edge of the cliff.


    ¡°It¡¯s all from the Straying Sea regardless,¡± Osian replied, amused.


    She glared at him. There would be a difference, she was sure of it. At least she had not been betraying the Duchy of Peredur by preferring Asphodelian flower salt to its own, which was something of a comfort. She dug into the mackerel, which was ¡®horse¡¯ mackerel instead of the snake mackerel common around the Isles but was quite skillfully prepared nonetheless. Delicious.


    The rarebit was even better, to her surprise. It was not a complicated dish, but it was hard to get your hands on a decent one outside Peredur. Half the world seemed convinced rarebit was some sort of quiche, and some of the things they sold under the name in southern Malan should be treated as a crime.


    ¡°-knack for it.¡±


    Angharad finished her slice of rarebit and guiltily coughed.


    ¡°I missed that last part,¡± she said.


    Osian snorted, sipping at dark wine.


    ¡°I was saying that the Tianxi girl from the Fourth, the one that goes by ¡®Acceptable Losses¡¯, has a real talent with powders,¡± he said. ¡°Only to be expected from the daughter of firework artisans, but she would be a catch for a munitions workshop.¡±


    ¡°Your own workshop,¡± she slowly said, ¡°is not concerned with the munitions themselves, as I understand it.¡±


    He wiggled his hand.


    ¡°Our focus is gunsmithing and artillery, but that involves some degree of powder tinkering,¡± Osian said. ¡°The bullets for rifles are not the same as for muskets, and the powder charger differs as well. Not my area of expertise, but I¡¯ve worked quite closely with such specialists.¡±


    He sipped at his glass.


    ¡°That and the occasional deuce when one of them was foisted on us,¡± he sneered.


    Angharad cocked her head to the side.


    ¡°Deuce?¡± she asked.


    His lips twitched.


    ¡°How many members of the Deuteronomicon does it take to open a door?¡± Osian Tredegar asked.


    Angharad swallowed a grin. Ah, one of those jokes.


    ¡°How many?¡±


    ¡°Two,¡± he said. ¡°One to declare the door impassable, the other to claim it doesn¡¯t exist. Then the Cathedral opens the door.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± she gasped, delightfully scandalized. ¡°And you call them this to their faces?¡±


    ¡°They call us clockboys,¡± Osian shrugged. ¡°And those are some of the nicest sobriquets thrown around by either side.¡±


    ¡°And to think I¡¯d believed a scholarly society like the Umuthi would be a realm of civility,¡± Angharad grinned.


    "Then you must not know many scholars,¡± he noted. ¡°I have read correspondence between Umuthi and Peiling professors so scathing it felt the paper should be aflame.¡±


    He took a bite of mackerel, then dabbed his lips with the tablecloth.


    ¡°That Coyac boy from the Nineteenth is a good egg regardless of his chosen track, mind you,¡± Osian told her. ¡°Perhaps the most sincerely cordial young man of such high birth I¡¯ve met.¡±


    Angharad¡¯s brow rose as she tried to recall his full name.


    ¡°Izel Coyac,¡± she finally found. ¡°I know little of him but the name, I¡¯ll admit, and had no notion of him being highborn.¡±


    ¡°He is related to Doghead Coyac, the Izcalli general that won them the Sordan War,¡± her uncle said. ¡°How closely I am unsure, but I expect he¡¯s a nephew or similarly close kin.¡±


    Her brow rose even higher. Much of the Kingdom of Izcalli¡¯s nobility was looked down upon in Malan and the Someshwar because of their position being so transient: fireflies, they were called, for many noble titles under the Grasshopper King could only be passed on or maintained by waging war in his name. That did not mean, however, that the military nobility was not powerful or influential.


    A general of Izcalli would be at least a calpuleh, ruling directly over a fortress-temple as well as receiving taxes from a dozen townships. With that seat and income they were expected to raise and train a retinue of soldiers, which would serve as their core troops in any campaign the Grasshopper King assigned them. There were intricacies to this involving warrior societies that were somewhat beyond Angharad, but she had learned as a girl that Izcalli generals could often field retinues comparable to those of izinduna, the great lords of Malan.


    General Coyac was, in other words, a very influential relation to have.


    ¡°To his cordiality, then,¡± Angharad said, raising her cup.


    Osian matched the toast. Then spent an hour eating and drinking, and though she¡¯d not imbibed enough to be drunk Angharad felt some knot in her shoulders loosen. It was a balm for the soul to spend time with the family she had left.


    No. Almost all the family she had left.


    As if reading the shadow that fell over her expression, Osian Tredegar waited for the servant to disappear with the last of the dessert plates to let out a long breath. The door was closed but he still pitched his voice low when he spoke.


    ¡°Brigadier Chilaca has requested access to the cache, but the Lord Rector is using the attempt on his life as an excuse to stonewall him,¡± Osian said. ¡°He¡¯s giving ground on an inspection of the shipyard, however, and I will be part of that along with a Deuteronomicon scholar. It should happen over the next few days, but as my role will be to ascertain the likely rate of production of the shipyard I will not be able to wander.¡±


    It would have been risky for her uncle to find the infernal forge while on official Watch business anyway, Angharad thought. The odds were too high there might be company with him also capable of identifying the device, which would make obtaining it much trickier.


    ¡°That is still good news,¡± she said. ¡°You will learn something of the location.¡±


    ¡°The condition presented to Chilaca for the inspection was that our inspectors are to be sedated while brought to the shipyard," Osian grimaced. ¡°He has already accepted.¡±


    She grimaced back. So they would still have to find their own way in. Time for her part of the report, then.


    ¡°That same assassination attempt cut through the sole party I attended,¡± Angharad quietly told him. ¡°I was not able to secure an invitation from Lord Cleon to his estate.¡±


    She clenched her fist beneath the table. She had spoken with him a second time that night, before the lictors burst in and politely detained everyone, but to go fishing for an invite while alarms bells were ringing would have been highly suspicious. Still, she was not out of the race yet.


    ¡°Lord Menander has sent me an invitation to a garden party at noon tomorrow,¡± she said. ¡°I will do what I must to secure access then.¡±


    ¡°We do not know for certain Cleon Eirenos has found a path to the shipyard,¡± Uncle Osian reminded her. ¡°Only that he is the most likely lord to have found trace of the lictors out in the hills.¡±


    While the Watch had been told that the shipyard was beneath the island of Asphodel, its exact location and that of the path to said shipyard had proved elusive. And not for lack of looking, either. The colonel of the Stheno¡¯s Peak garrison had reported suspicions that the entrance must be outside the capital, as Lord Rector Evander had too many eyes on him there to have been able to refurbish an Antediluvian shipyard without anyone noticing the flow of men and supplies.


    That meant the Tratheke hills, as open plains were no hiding place, and of the nobles to have noticed something there Lord Cleon was their best bet.


    ¡°He was attracted to me, and not entirely opposed to boasting,¡± Angharad said. ¡°I should be able to get him talking if he knows anything.¡±


    It was somewhat uncomfortable a thought, close to lying and certainly a deception, but it could not be helped. She would make certain not to harm the young man in any way and seek a way to repay the favor if he did end up helping her.


    ¡°And your¡­ friend?¡± Uncle Osian hesitantly asked.


    Captain Imani, he meant. The ufudu with a hand around her throat, ready to squeeze. Amusingly enough, though Imani Langa had tried to approach her several times she had not been able to ¨C both Song and Tristan had taken a dislike to her and kept tripping her up. So long as the Eleventh remained lodged at Black House it was inevitable that Imani would find an opening, but for now Angharad was allowing herself to enjoy the other woman¡¯s misadventures.


    ¡°We have not recently spoken,¡± Angharad said. ¡°I will tell you when we do.¡±


    ¡°Do so,¡± Osian Tredegar flatly said. ¡°I am helping you with this, niece, so that you do not get yourself killed ¨C but I will not tolerate being left in the dark.¡±


    She nodded, for what else could she do? Though her uncle¡¯s fingers around her throat were more kindly meant than Imani¡¯s, their grip was no weaker. Angharad needed his help and his silence no less than she needed Imani Langa¡¯s good word to the Lefthand House. Tomorrow, she told herself. Tomorrow I will get that invitation and come a step closer to an end for all this. Ancestors, let it be so.


    Every day this felt a little more like drowning.


    --


    (Where did you get your hatchet? Angharad asked. The armory in Allazei, Maryam replied, but it is not standard issue so I had to pay a fee.)


    She frowned as she emerged, feeling the inside of her veins aching. As if it had bruised. Soon she would be reaching their agreed-on limit for the day. That was the downside of doing the contract tests in the morning, as far as Angharad was concerned: it tied her hands regarding its use later in the day.


    ¡°You got your hatchet from the Watch armory of Allazei, after paying a fee,¡± Angharad said.


    Tristan leaned forward, flipping a paper on the table and revealing the question and answer she¡¯d glimpsed laid out in his cramped handwriting. He still smelled faintly of gunpowder, Angharad noticed not for the first time. The morning practice she had avoided but would have to find a way to make up for. Perhaps Sergeant Kavia could be asked for a hand.


    I look at you and I see a dozen intentions, none of them yours, Song had told her. That, more than any of the rest, still burned. Enough she wanted no part of standing before those too-keen silver eyes beyond the strictest of needs. Angharad bloody well knew what she needed to do, it simply did not happen to be what Song Ren might want.


    Her return to the Thirteenth Brigade was only temporary, she reminded herself. It would be odd for her to change brigades when she had passed her yearly test with the Thirteenth to join one that had not, admittedly, but that did not mean remaining with them for the whole year. There would be a span of some months before the end of the year, after the other tests were finished, where a transfer would be easy enough to arrange.


    It was a good thing that Song discomforted her, Angharad told herself. A reminder not to get too comfortable here.


    She was shaken out of her thoughts by Maryam¡¯s humming, the Izvorica glancing down at the four rows of three papers on the table. Of these six were now flipped, each displaying a question that Tristan had written down with its answer that Maryam had not known about in advance. The pale-skinned woman jotted down a few notes with her steel-tipped pen.


    ¡°I think it reasonable to call it confirmed you can obtain information from individuals without them being made aware,¡± she said. ¡°Tomorrow we will focus on counter-exercises, I think ¨C can someone expecting you to use your contract prevent such interrogation?¡±


    Tristan, who had pointedly not been given a seat at the table despite Maryam having two more empty chairs, let out a sigh.


    ¡°I take it I volunteered for the counter-exercises?¡±


    The blue-eyed woman smiled pleasantly, leaning forward.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± she said. ¡°Did you?¡±


    He squinted at her, but that smile only grew more radiant.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Tristan grudgingly said. ¡°I did.¡±


    ¡°Good man,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯ll see you later, then.¡±


    Angharad sipped at her water goblet, having been struck by a sudden episode of blindness and deafness. The thief had been trying to buy his way back into Maryam¡¯s good graces ever since their argument, but she was holding his feet to the fire without mercy. But not with any real cruelty, either, so neither could he get angry and turn the balance back on her. Maryam was impressively skilled at grudge bearing, it must be said.


    A half-sketched thought tying that to the tales of Izvoric retaliation against settlers was set aside, unneeded. Maryam was perfectly capable of terrible pettiness on her own, her race had nothing to do with it. And ugly as the admission was, Angharad found it easier to put the faults to the woman instead of the people.


    This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    She had few feelings about the Izvoric either way, but her time in the Thirteenth had allowed her to develop a great many opinions about Maryam Khaimov.


    ¡°One hopes,¡± Tristan drily replied. ¡°Angharad, enjoy your party. See you at dinner, yes?¡±


    ¡°Most likely,¡± Angharad agreed, the deafness having passed. ¡°You¡¯ll be having a look around the city, as I understand it?¡±


    ¡°I have a lead on finding Hage¡¯s latest Chimerical,¡± he said. ¡°There are only so many creatures out there matching the description of ¡®a cat that looks like it ate several other cats¡¯.¡±


    ¡°Prince Mephistofeline has a most elegant bearing,¡± Angharad loyally said.


    ¡°And much of it, if one measures by the pound,¡± he drawled.


    He waved them both goodbye as she glared half-heartedly, Maryam conceding him only a small nod. Angharad sipped at her water again while he closed the door behind him, eyeing Maryam curiously.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you start,¡± Maryam grunted. ¡°I¡¯ll ease off on him tomorrow, he¡¯s put in the work. And his method might have been worth a chiding, but he might also have had more of a point than I figured.¡±


    ¡°I did not intend to say anything,¡± Angharad said.


    Maryam hummed.


    ¡°You have been getting better at that,¡± the other woman said..


    Maryam was not as skilled at compliments as grudge-bearing.


    ¡°You still have the tell when you use your contract,¡± the signifier continued. ¡°It¡¯s not blinking exactly, more like fluttering your eyes.¡±


    ¡°I do not notice doing it,¡± Angharad admitted. ¡°Perhaps it is part of my contract.¡±


    Maryam flicked a look at the closed door.


    ¡°I¡¯m told that contracts often breed little tics but that they can be trained out,¡± she said. ¡°We can throw that onto the list, if you¡¯d like ¨C a single flutter shouldn¡¯t draw attention, but if you use your contract repeatedly in front of someone they might catch on.¡±


    Angharad hid her surprise, finishing the last of her water and setting it down in a measured gesture. It was the first time Maryam even hinted at Angharad having any influence on what was to be done during these sessions. Their grant was, after all, something the Pereduri had offered as part of her bargain for being allowed back in the Thirteenth. She cleared her throat.


    ¡°That would please me,¡± she admitted. ¡°It is kind of you to offer.¡±


    Maryam waved that away.


    ¡°We¡¯ve established the boundary conditions of your ¡®glimpses¡¯, more or less,¡± she said. ¡°I don¡¯t mind freeing up a few uses to practice killing your tell. I have some ideas concerning ways the glimpses might be used we¡¯ll test, but that chapter is largely closed ¨C here on Asphodel, anyway. Captain Yue has some tools that¡¯d let me study the effects better, but that is beyond the remit of our bargain.¡±


    Much to Angharad¡¯s relief. Captain Yue sounded like she¡¯d had her empathy surgically removed to make more room for further dubiously ethical experiment ideas.


    ¡°We begin work on the visions, then,¡± Angharad quietly said.


    ¡°Soon,¡± Maryam agreed. ¡°I believe I have a sufficient grasp of your contract¡¯s basics to begin investigating the deeper uses.¡±


    ¡°You have theories,¡± she said, and it was not a question.


    ¡°A dozen,¡± the Izvorica laughed. ¡°I expect our first week will be mostly weeding to rule out the most out-there among them.¡±


    Angharad inclined her head.


    ¡°I will look forward to it,¡± she said.


    A heartbeat later she began to word a qualifier, but after another beat she faltered at the realization she did not need to. She was looking forward to their work together. Even though navigating small talk with Maryam remained arduous, the Izvorica was thorough in her methods and free with information. More than that, there was something oddly satisfying about learning the limits of the power she had obtained from the Fisher.


    She clenched her fist under the table. Eyes on the prize, Tredegar, she told herself. It is more than merely your neck that is on the line. She could not afford distractions.


    --


    Lord Menander Drakos¡¯s annually thrown ¡®green party¡¯ was one of the most beloved events of Tratheke good society.


    Not one of the most exclusive ¨C Angharad would not have been invited were it so ¨C but it was reputed as a hotblooded war of fashion and fencing that drew much excitement. Given that Angharad was again to be dressed as a poor relation she could not muster much excitement for the first part, but she had high hopes for the latter one. Until she learned the ¡®fencing¡¯ was to be done with reed sticks, anyway.


    She had not been expecting death duels, but surely first blood was not too much to ask for? What an odd land, Asphodel.


    The Black House stocks did have dresses to borrow, and a very helpful tailor among the staff, but Angharad was not a short woman or a slender one. Only two would ever fit her without the intervention of miraculous spirits, and of these she was only willing to wear one. There were frills, and then there was the fit of madness that seized whatever seamstress was responsible for such an offense to the eyes.


    Angharad was fitted into a lovely pink gown, of which her fuller figure made the neckline more daring than it had likely been on the previous owner. Her height meant it had to be hemmed the ankles instead of the floor, but the white chemise she wore beneath brought it all together with a natural air. The gold-embroidered cuffs fitted past her gown sleeves added a tasteful accent to the ensemble, though Angharad¡¯s lack of jewelry would out her as being from an impoverished house.


    Which was for the best. A mysterious young noblewoman of Isles stock splashing wealth around Tratheke society would draw raised eyebrows, and more scrutiny that the effort to hide her being part of the Watch was likely to survive. Better she be assumed someone¡¯s charity than be considered worth investigating.


    Llanw Hall was not so rich an estate she had ever grown deluded about her standing, anyhow.


    Though the edifice the hired coach brought her to was in the southeastern quarter of Tratheke, among a neighborhood of grand residences kept by nobles ¨C only the very wealthiest of Asphodel could afford a manse inside the Collegium, where even shops went for the prices of a small ship ¨C she had expected some kind of interior garden to warrant the sobriquet of ¡®green party¡¯.


    Yet there was not a hint of greenery as she was led through the antechamber and up several sets of curved marble stairs, Angharad leaning on her walking stick and eyeing the tasteful decor with approval every time she was forced to stop and catch her breath. Few paintings, the local preference for colorful mosaics and painted statues followed closely. This was, she decided a mansion used only to receive. It had too many lounges and salons and too few bedrooms for it to be otherwise.


    The last level, where all the guests were gathering, was led to by a final set of marble stairs and the gates were opened by liveried servants ¨C to a burst of warm, almost humid air and a blinding sea of green. Not only was the entire summit of Lord Menander¡¯s manse a hothouse, but it was also a glasshouse. The ceiling and the upper third of the wall were a curved length of green glass with slender brass bones, almost the Lordsport ceiling writ small.


    The entire room and every guest within were bathed in tinted light, transforming everything Angharad¡¯s eyes could see.


    She took a few limping steps forward on the grass, taking in the sights. Ladies in dresses colored to take advantage of the green ¨C streaks of pale cloth, embroidery in gold and silver, gauze and heavy pearls ¨C while the men either stood out in well-tailored black, cream hose and the occasional waxed cloth. The hothouse itself was pleasant mess of grass and orchids, bordered by trees and small canal-rivers where colorful fish swam.


    Most the guests gathered around pavilions whose roofs had been overtaken by artfully cut ivy, either seated at the tables or being served drinks.


    ¡°My lady,¡± her guide said. ¡°If you would allow me to guide you to Lord Menander?¡±


    ¡°Please,¡± Angharad nodded.


    The grass was soft against her slippers, and just humid enough she was glad her gown¡¯s hem was not too low. Stains on a first borrow was simply atrocious manners. Lord Menander, his mustache in particularly fine form today ¨C enough so Angharad forgot she was taller than the man until she stood right by him ¨C was holding court at one of the pavilions.


    She was announced by her guide, who then retired as the older man enthusiastically introduced her to the handful of nobles he was entertaining. All minor houses, Angharad noted, whose holdings were in Tratheke Valley and thus owed direct fealty to the Lord Rector. His peers, if poorer and less influential than Menander Drakos was said to be.


    Trifling small talk such as what ensued was hardly something she enjoyed, and it required her to play the exotic creature from the misty isle of Peredur even though sailors from the Kingdom of Malan were hardly unknown sight in these parts. She even spoke a few words in Gwynt, to immediate cooing about the beauty of such an ¡®ancient tongue¡¯.


    Which was true, it was a beautiful language, but those hangers-on would have made the exact same noises if she showed up with a puppy. Weathervanes, these were, deluded into believing they could rise by laughing at the right jokes and nodding at the right complaints. Such sorts always grew in the gardens of the powerful, Vesper¡¯s most inevitable weeds.


    Lord Menander walked a span with her afterwards, down a stretch of grass bordered by peach trees.


    ¡°You continue to fare well,¡± the mustachioed man said. ¡°That is pleasing to see.¡±


    ¡°You do me honor,¡± Angharad replied.


    However small of one.


    ¡°It is almost a shame you are a rook,¡± Lord Menander murmured. ¡°You would have little trouble making a home in the capital, I think.¡±


    ¡°It is a beautiful city,¡± she said. ¡°Like none I have ever seen.¡±


    ¡°There is greatness in the bones of this isle,¡± Menander Drakos said, looking up at the glass. ¡°Buried deep, but Asphodel was once a seat of empire. The days for that sort of business are long past, I¡¯m afraid, but it behooves us to have greater ambitions than remaining a catspaw for the Six.¡±


    ¡°I have heard little good said of infanzones here,¡± Angharad acknowledged.


    ¡°Nor will you at court, at the moment,¡± Lord Menander said. ¡°Now that Malan and the Republics are reaching out to the Lord Rector over this shipyard business, Sacromontan envoys have been making noises about mediating such negotiations for us. They can be put off for now, but episodes like the attempt on Lord Rector Evander¡¯s life will only embolden them.¡±


    A look was slid her way.


    ¡°Is the assassin any closer to being caught?¡±


    Ah, there it was. A helpful man, Lord Menander, but still a creature of the court. If he was to keep lending her aid in Tratheke society, he intended to benefit as well ¨C and for a courtier, what better coin than word of this most important of investigations from the mouth of one of the investigators?


    ¡°Trails have been run down in the city,¡± Angharad vaguely replied.


    His gaze on her was mild, but she still had to fight the urge to bite her lip. If she did not give him something, she knew, then the fountain of help would dry up. Yet to say too much would be, if not necessarily unlawful, at least a breach of privacy expected between the Watch and one who employed them. Menander Drakos was an ally of the Lord Rector¡¯s, but only to an extent.


    Did she still need his help? Bitter as it was to admit, she well might. Even should she succeed today and earn an invitation from Lord Cleon, she still needed to find traces of the cult ¨C and without a guide and provider of invitations, she was unlikely to make much progress.


    Which meant concessions.


    ¡°The would-be killer was Tianxi,¡± she murmured. ¡°Inquiries have been made about the Yellow Earth, though word was passed denying involvement.¡±


    ¡°As well they would,¡± Lord Menander snorted. ¡°Those insurgents have been infesting the workshops and warehouses for years, Lady Angharad, with the tacit help of the Trade Assembly. The magnates would sell all of Asphodel to the Republics, if it let them obtain the lands of aristoi.¡±


    His contempt for the Trade Assembly was thick and entirely obvious.


    ¡°Investigation continues,¡± Angharad simply replied.


    She had given ground, so the Pereduri was not surprised when Lord Menander then reintroduced her to Lord Cordyles. The white-haired old man was pleased to see her, and mostly sober since Lord Arkos was absent and thus could not be competed against in drink. Shortly after, in another reminder that Menander Drakos¡¯ eyes were sharp, Lord Cleon was brought into their little circle for a chat.


    He complimented her dress twice, and stared so stubbornly at her face it was painfully obvious where he was forcing himself not to look.


    Lord Menander drew to them a small crowd, but the man himself soon left to tend to other guests. A lively circle was left in his wake, most of them younger nobles ¨C several of which were acquainted with Lord Cleon ¨C and a woman Angharad had only seen and heard in passing, Lady Doukas. Who, for a woman in her forties, was most shapely and generous with her charms.


    The beauty spot near those full lips drew Angharad¡¯s eye more than once, but alas the lady had only eyes for the young men in tight doublets. Besides, she had not come here to dally.


    It was not difficult to converse with Lord Cleon, given how eager he was to stand with her, but Angharad could not fish for an invitation too quickly without being transparent in her intentions. They spoke of the likes of the hunt in Peredur, of how it informed fashion for men and women alike and how different this was from the ways of Asphodel. By the time Angharad considered the road well paved enough to lay a hint, however, there was an interruption.


    Small bells were rung, earning cheers, and loud announcement revealed that inscriptions were opened for the ¡®fencing tournament¡¯. Cleon Eirenos excused himself to participate, leaving her once more in the wind. In truth, much of the circle dissolved in the following moments as nobles of all stripes and ages rushed pavilions to have their names written on paper. Only Lord Cordyles remained with her, and snorted when she asked if he intended to participate.


    ¡°I won the green crown once or twice when I was a young man, but it would be a waste for me to try for it now,¡± he said. ¡°It is, after all, mostly an excuse to play barefoot with lovelies.¡±


    Angharad was somewhat aghast to see this was true. The guests were handed slender sticks of reed, the sort that would hardly hurt on a hit unless you swung with your back, and much peacocking and giggling ensued as the tournament began. Most of them spent more time flirting than fencing, when the matches began. Angharad was no stranger to the lovely thrill of crossing blades with a beautiful woman, that thrumming tension in the air, but this was not a sparring match but a tournament.


    She left Lord Cordyle¡¯s side to secure a drink, a cup lemon water with some sort of anise liquor added in, and drained it in quick order. She did not order a second, but was tempted to.


    ¡°Oh? A pleasant turn fortune to find you here, Lady Angharad.¡±


    She forced herself not to stiffen at the voice, which she recognized. She turned to offer a curtsy to Lord Gule of Bezan, ambassador for the Kingdom of Malan, who joined her on the grass one limping step at a time. His hearing horn was already in hand, pressed against his ear.


    ¡°Lord Gule,¡± she greeted him. ¡°A pleasant turn indeed.¡±


    The older man, still dressed in sober grays, offered her a smile before gesturing at the man trailing behind him.


    ¡°If I may introduce Jabulani, my attendant,¡± Lord Gule said. ¡°As fine a valet as man might ask for.¡±


    Angharad inclined her head in greeting but did not bow or curtsy. Even as the daughter of a fallen house she was of higher status than a valet. Jabulani, she noted, was taller than his master and with a face like stone. The near-shaved hair, sharp eyebrows and strong lips only added to the impression.


    ¡°A pleasure, Lady Angharad,¡± Jabulani said, politely bowing before turning back to his master. ¡°I await your orders.¡±


    Lord Gule nodded in acknowledgement.


    ¡°A drink, then, if you would,¡± the ambassador said. ¡°That herbal concoction that¡¯s been in vogue of late, though easy on the liquor, and for Lady Angharad¡­¡±


    He cocked an eyebrow at her.


    ¡°Naught for me,¡± she replied.


    ¡°Only that, then,¡± Lord Gule said.


    Jabulani bowed again, deeper to his master as was proper, and departed to see to the arrangements. It left the two of them standing by the sprawl of grass and the ivy roof, watching the guests tussle with their reed sticks in a flurry of raised skirts, laughter and shrieks. Lord Menander and his attendants, as masters of the ceremonies, kept the track of the large slate with the tournament brackets on it ¨C by the sheer size of it, there would be ¡®duels¡¯ for at least an hour yet.


    ¡°I imagine it must look rather ridiculous to you.¡±


    Angharad did not look his way. If he could see her face, she would be easier to read.


    ¡°How so?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Those silver stripes name you a mirror-dancer,¡± Lord Gule said. ¡°Unless a mistake of some import was made when putting ink to your skin.¡±


    ¡°It was no mistake,¡± Angharad evenly said.


    The ambassador inclined his head in acknowledgement.


    ¡°Then to one trained and tested as you were, calling this ¡®fencing¡¯ must seem ambitious,¡± he noted. ¡°I have known swordmasters who would bare steel over it.¡±


    Angharad watched a plump boy in white and silver turned green by the glass strike the elbow of a giggling woman twice his age, triumphantly winning the ¡®bout¡¯. This was fencing as much as she was Malani. Still, it was not her place to find insult here.


    ¡°It is a game,¡± she finally said. ¡°One they much enjoy. I try not to find foes in laughter.¡±


    Lord Gule chuckled.


    ¡°Then you are wiser than many I have met,¡± he said. ¡°Even myself, once upon a time. When I lost much of my hearing, as a boy, for a few years I grew to despise singers.¡±


    She shot him a surprised look.


    ¡°I was something of a singer myself, you see,¡± Lord Gule told her, ¡°but after the accident I could no longer tell if my pitch and volume were correct. It took me a long time before I ceased to see my lost gift put to use in another¡¯s hands as anything but an insult.¡±


    Two young men in doublet and trousers slapped their blades against another as they went to and fro across the grass, more interested in eye-catching flourishes than attempting a touch on the other ¨C they heaved and boasted and shook their hair to catch the attention of the crowd. How odious it would have all seemed to Angharad, were she truly never to recover what she had lost.


    ¡°It would be presumptuous for me to wear a sword, now,¡± Angharad spoke through gritted teeth. ¡°Past the boundary of boast.¡±


    Into a lie, she was implying. She did not need to feign the bitterness in her voice at that. She had spent most of her life learning the blade, only for that labor to be stripped away from her by a single evening¡¯s failure. How fragile the sum of the hours of her life truly was, when push came to shove.


    ¡°It is tradition, I think, for the eldest in losses such as hours to offer kind lines about how in grief there are lessons,¡± he said. ¡°How we grow around the wound and find ourselves in different ways.¡±


    ¡°But,¡± Angharad said.


    ¡°But while I have learned to sing as I am,¡± Lord Gule of Buzan pleasantly smiled, eyes ahead, ¡°I still miss how fucking easier it used to be.¡±


    She started in surprise at the language. His face had not changed, and she half-thought she had imagined the word.


    ¡°But the world goes on,¡± Lord Gulan shrugged.


    A glance her way.


    ¡°I will not speak to you of future, for you are still in those months where it lies fresh,¡± he said. ¡°But there will come a time, Lady Angharad, when you begin looking ahead again, thinking of the rest of your life.¡±


    He gently smiled.


    ¡°When that time comes, do consider calling on me.¡±


    And with a simple nod he was gone, leaving her to stand there wondering. At his words, yes, but most of all at this: why was it now, that twice the ambassador had sought her out?


    She knew better than to take kindness as face value, come from an induna¡¯s hands.


    --


    The playacting with sticks continued for the better part of an hour, the ¡®vanquished¡¯ helping themselves to the comfort of the drinks liberally served and occasionally allowing themselves to be nursed back to smiles by someone who had caught their eye.


    Angharad spent most of that time drinking with Lord Cordyles, who seemed to find her mood most amusing, and keeping an eye on the lay of the nobles. Even that vigilance proved to be of little use, as while there was a great deal of talk between highborn the manner of it had more to do with a pleasure garden than anything remotely politic.


    In the end, it was not court manners or trickery that won her an invitation to Lord Cleon¡¯s country manor. As the tournament came to a close the young man returned flushed with victory, having come in third place within that absurd contest that seemed so prized by the locals. Red-faced and grinning, he offered Angharad a courtly bow.


    ¡°It seems a shame that you¡¯ve yet to try hunting in Asphodel, my lady,¡± Lord Cleon said. ¡°In that spirit, I would invite you to my family¡¯s manor in the hills to the east ¨C I assure you, the entertainment will be memorable.¡±


    A few other youths, having accompanied him, let out teasing shouts in a mostly good-natured attempt to embarrass a fellow in their pursuit of a courtship. That tradition, at least, was beyond the borders drawn by man.


    ¡°It would be my pleasure,¡± Angharad replied, offering a small curtsy.


    All that work, she thought, and what settled it was a burst of confidence earned in a stupid tournament of what she refused to call fencing. Angharad had gotten what she came for, but could not help but feel a little miffed by it.


    These days even her victories tasted off.

 Chapter 48

    Song had not worn formal clothes this regularly since leaving Tianxia and was not sure she cared for it.


    While formality was a demonstration of respect for the interlocutor, the facts of the matter remained that Song Ren had a lot to do and only so many hours in her day to do it. Consequently, the time spent getting in and out of her layered chang¡¯ao felt like she was being stolen from ¨C and while in need. If she could at least be read reports during it would be something, but frustratingly the process required too much of her attention.


    That and it would be indiscreet to discuss the investigation when she was being helped into her clothes by a Black House maid. Servants gossiped, and Tristan was convinced that Imani Langa had bribed some of the staff to keep an ear out for her.


    Still, getting in and out of formal clothes was not the worst waste of time her time today. Song watched with a blank face as Lord Rector Evander Palliades stepped to the edge of the balustrade and raised a hand, cheers and applause exploding at the sight of him. She herself stayed half-hidden among the curtains, eyes scanning the crowd and finding only a spread of magnates and nobles with a few contracts peppered in.


    None that, at first glance, could be used to get to the Lord Rector up her in his heavily guarded private suite. That an officer of the Watch was being used as a bodyguard for Evander Palliades while the man attended the theatre made that rabid Yellow Earth contractor¡¯s words ring unpleasantly of truth: she was undeniably being loaned to the local yiwu kingpin by her superiors.


    That her rental came with fine seats overlooking the stage and luxurious refreshments somehow made it worse.


    Lord Rector Evander kept his speech to the assembled influential below short, telling them that the cowardly attack on his life had missed and that the Asphodel Rectorate would not be waylaid from its triumphant rise into a new age of prosperity by such petty distractions. It was somewhat on the nose, Song thought, but hit the right notes for the listening audience. Some of them shouted approval at his words.


    Her eyes flicked to his hands on the brass railing, noting how the man¡¯s index and middle finger were tapping out a rhythm. He practiced that speech, Song thought. Enough that he¡¯d decided on a specific cadence for delivering it. Reluctantly, she must approve of the assiduity on display. A lesser man would have read off a sheet.


    Soon he was finished, his last words followed by another wave of cheers and applause. Though this was Evander Palliades¡¯ first public appearance down in Tratheke since the assassination attempt the speech was, she thought, almost too well received. Either the botched assassination had made snubbing the Lord Rector unpopular ¨C if not dangerous ¨C or¡­ The brown-haired man stepped away from the balustrade with a sigh, then snorted when he saw the look on her face.


    ¡°We will pay the clappers an additional fee, I think,¡± he said. ¡°They certainly put their back into it.¡±


    ¡°You arranged for cheers,¡± Song half-accused.


    ¡°Men will clap at most anything if there are enough of their fellows already doing it,¡± Evander Palliades said. ¡°If only to avoid being the only ones not clapping.¡±


    ¡°It will not truly make you more popular,¡± she pointed out.


    He cocked an eyebrow.


    ¡°Will it not?¡± the Lord Rector replied. ¡°Even if they noticed, what will they remember most ¨C the suspicion, or the room full of cheers following my speech? It will not change the minds of those who have made it, but the weathervanes will go where they believe the wind blows.¡±


    Song¡¯s lips thinned, but she did not contradict him. Unpleasant as it was to admit, that sort of trick did work on crowds. Elections in Mazu were replete with their like, and it was said that in Wendi powerful trade cartels sent their ship crews to disrupt the speeches of candidates they opposed. It was a false equivalence to compare a sword in the hand of a tyrant and a sword in the hand of free man, but the hand wielding it did not make the sword itself more virtuous.


    Tricks were tricks, and truth was the first victim of hypocrisy ennobled.


    The Lord Rector invited her to sit, but before she could answer there was a knock at the door. Song put a hand on her pistol, for she would be dutiful regardless of her opinion of the assignment, but it was only the refreshments that had been sent for. Watered wine for Evander Palliades, and water for her ¨C though by suspicious happenstance a pot of Sanxing green tea and two cups were also brought in.


    She hid a grimace, aware that over the span of the next two hours it was likely her nose would win over her pride and she¡¯d have a cup. Evander¡¯s subtle smirk at the sight was set aside, as a debate over whether it was attractive or irritating would see her lose whatever the answer. She sat down on the lushly cushioned black seat, sipping at her water.


    ¡°You don¡¯t very much want to be here, do you?¡±


    Song kept her face calm, carefully setting down her cup on the low table between her seats. Only then did she turn her gaze on the bespectacled Lord Rector, who expression was one of faint amusement.


    ¡°I have personally been assigned this duty by Brigadier Chilaca,¡± she replied.


    A thoroughly frustrating conversation, that. While he did not outright dismiss the findings she and Tristan had dug up in the northwestern ward, the heavyset Aztlan had been largely indifferent to the notion of a brewing noble coup. In his eyes, Song suspected, weakness in the reign of House Palliades merely strengthened the Watch¡¯s bargaining position.


    In the end he¡¯d told her that he would be passing the report along to the senior Krypteia officer on the island, appending a personal note that time might be a factor, and that she was to cease being involved in the matter.


    And while Song knew objectively that the brigadier had acted correctly, that he was following the proper protocols and had arguably treated her thin-on-proof report more seriously than many in his position might have, it was all a thorn in her throat. It was not the place of the Watch to intervene in Asphodelian affairs beyond what was required to maintain its own interests, so refraining from warning House Palliades about the coup was the proper course of action.


    Yet she could not help but feel that this inaction was a mistake, that they were missing something, and in the end that Brigadier Chilaca had merely humored her awhile before sending her out here as a pawn in a greater game. It was hard not to resent that at least a little, though Song tried.


    ¡°And here I thought it a Malani affectation, to lie while speaking truths,¡± Lord Rector Evander drawled. ¡°I take no offense, Captain Song. I am not unaware that seeing to my protection is not why you came to Asphodel, or that you were victim to a diplomat pulling rank.¡±


    She cocked an eyebrow at that.


    ¡°A diplomat who pulled rank,¡± Song mildly said, ¡°at your personal request.¡±


    He smiled wanly.


    ¡°If I am to be robbed by the Watch, I might as well get them to contribute to my survival while the robbery is ongoing,¡± Evander Palliades said. ¡°I¡¯ll confess to some puzzlement you took the black in the first place: your contract, Captain Song, would make you a wildly wealthy and influential woman at the court of any great ruler.¡±


    ¡°You do not know the details of my contract,¡± she replied.


    Nor would he ever.


    ¡°No,¡± he easily conceded, ¡°but I know what my friends in Tianxia were able to gather about the Ren, which is not nothing.¡±


    Her jaw clenched.


    ¡°I am a woman of the Watch,¡± Song Ren flatly said. ¡°My past is of no import.¡±


    Evander Palliades brushed back his curls, staring at her, then shook his head and took a sip of his watered wine.


    ¡°Neither of us believe that,¡± he said. ¡°And you will find I can understand better than most what it feels like, the crushing weight of the legacy one must live up to.¡±


    ¡°You are a hereditary ruler,¡± she bit out. ¡°I am from the single most despised bloodline in the Ten Republics. It is not the same.¡±


    The last words came out a hiss, and she shut her mouth so quickly when she realized what she had said that her teeth clacked together painfully. Only Evander did not look bothered by her disrespect in the slightest ¨C he seemed almost pleased.


    ¡°No,¡± he agreed. ¡°Unlike you, I do not get to leave. I will sit a throne atop a house of glass until I die or a stone is thrown strongly enough to bring it down under me.¡±


    She scoffed.


    ¡°You can leave,¡± Song flatly said. ¡°Abdicate, take what wealth you can carry and live a life without a crown. To remain is a choice, not some divine punishment.¡±


    ¡°You could change your name,¡± Evander Palliades retorted smilingly. ¡°Find a patron in Izcalli or Sacromonte, spend the rest of your life rich and respected.¡±


    There is nowhere the curse will not reach me, Song thought. And I will not simply leave my sisters to rot from the inside like curdled milk. Only she owed this man none of these words and it would have felt almost obscene to share them with him. Already the strange joy in his mien at their talk was leaving her feeling naked, as if it were all too intimate. Gods but how lonely he must be, to be so candid with a woman he barely knew. She needed to pull back, not encourage him.


    No matter how satisfying it would be to put him in his place, to let him realize the sheer extent of his misguided arrogance.


    ¡°This conversation can lead nowhere, Your Excellency,¡± she said. ¡°It is best ended, with my apologies for speaking out of turn.¡±


    He hummed, leaning back into his seat and reaching for his cup again. Watered down as it looked, he¡¯d be able to drink the entire goblet and have his wits entirely unaffected. It was an admirable habit, which she resented. She did not feel much like approving of him, at the moment.


    Silence had spread below them as they spoke, leaving Song to hope their talk had not been too loud, and it shamed her some to realize she had missed the beginning of the play. Painted panels of a magnificent golden city were being covered by streaks of blue cloth carried by children, which after a beat she grasped represented rising water. In front of the city being lost to the sea, a young man was addressing the gods in a lamenting monologue.


    ¡°With how expensive the seats are, you¡¯d think they would change the city panels from year to year,¡± Lord Rector Evander noted. ¡°They barely touch them up.¡±


    Song shot him a disapproving look. It should be beneath even a despot to speak at the theater. The man had the gall to grin back.


    ¡°It is the Oduromaia,¡± Evander said. ¡°I have seen it so many times I am in danger of falling asleep. Kindly protect me from peril, Captain Song.¡±


    She glared at him, then sighed. It was not as if her duties would have allowed her to watch the play anyhow. She was meant to keep an eye out for dangerous contracts in the crowd.


    ¡°I take it that the ¡®Oduromaia¡¯ is the tale of Oduromai King¡¯s journey to Asphodel?¡± she said.


    ¡°One such tale, certainly,¡± Evander Palliades said. ¡°Though it claims the same title as what was once a spoken epic, I believe the text turned into play dates back to¡­ late Century of Accord or early Dominion. During the early reigns of House Lissenos.¡±


    The much-loved predecessors of the Palliades, who had ruled over Asphodel for over a hundred years.


    ¡°So shortly after the Ataxia,¡± she said.


    His eyes lit up.


    ¡°Exactly,¡± he said, growing enthusiastic. ¡°There was need to knit back Asphodel after those years of war, and the Lissenos went about it cleverly: they paid for tales and songs and plays, all harkening back to a common founding from which all Asphodelians drew common root.¡±


    He paused.


    ¡°Though, of course, said works all implied Lissenos descent from King Oduromai so their part of the root must be recognized to be a little better than the others.¡±


    ¡°You are skeptical of the claim, I take it,¡± Song said, reluctantly amused.


    He was impugning his own descent, practically speaking, as the Palliades claim to the throne came from their relation to the Lissenos.


    ¡°They were originally a minor noble house from Ikarios that took refuge in Asphodel during the Century of Steel,¡± he said, rolling his eyes. ¡°They are as related to Oduromai as I am to Viterico the Great.¡±


    Tempted as Song was to agree and add that kings must constantly change the past to justify the present, Evander was well read enough he might notice she was quoting the Feichu Tian. Which, given its contents, might be taken as impolitic of her.


    Strong arguments in favor of royal decapitation were advanced within those pages.


    ¡°At least they were not Raseni,¡± she teased.


    He cleared his throat.


    ¡°Actually, given that Rasen occupied Ikarios during the century preceding their exile, the odds are that they had a little¡­¡±


    ¡°No,¡± she said, almost grinning.


    ¡°All aristoi try to avoid talking about that,¡± Lord Rector Evander noted. ¡°Everyone measures the strength of their claim by relation to House Lissenos, these days, so it would be a losing game for all involved.¡±


    Far below Prince Oduromai bemoaned the treachery of the hollows and devils that laid low the hall of his father, announcing his intent to find the most beautiful island in Vesper to replace it, and Song reached for the pot to pour herself a cup of Sanxing green as Evander Palliades idly told her that in older version of the play some of the devils responsible for the destruction had been named ¨C and sounded suspiciously like the houses of the Six, which the Sacromontans had taken offense to.


    It was a waste of time still, she thought, but it need not be unpleasant. There was worse company to keep.


    --


    Though it was now his second time visiting, Tristan still found it genuinely impressive that Hage had gotten his hands on even a hole-in-the-wall shop inside the Collegium. He¡¯d heard those went for literal bags of gold.


    The new Chimerical still sold coffee, but as it was effectively a large and deep broom closet squeezed in between two eateries it only had one table and Hage had to stay upright inside his glorified stand to make room for his brewing apparatuses ¨C even though most had stayed behind in Allazei, by the looks of it. So had many of the bags of bean varieties, which made it all the more amusing that an entire shelf of that limited space had been turned into a cushioned bed for a lazing Mephistofeline.


    The cat¡¯s monumental girth squished a little past the edge of said shelf, predictably. He also hissed at anyone who lingered too long to chat with Hage, but inexplicably this had charmed the locals. Someone had woven him a little crown of flowers, which he sat on, and there was a plate with bits of roasted chicken on it he occasionally deigned to nibble at.


    ¡°One serving of your cheapest bean water, good sir,¡± Tristan ordered, sliding a single copper across the counter.


    The devil stared down at him through those owlish eyebrows.


    ¡°I will have you dragged away by the lictors,¡± Hage threatened.


    Though not, the thief noted, without first pocketing the copper. Tristan theatrically sighed.


    ¡°Fine,¡± he said. ¡°I will have to settle for all the information you have on the basileia called the ¡®Brass Chariot¡¯, then.¡±


    He¡¯d made that request when first finding the Chimerical yesterday, surprised to learn that as it was part of the test he would not even have to pay for the information. There was no one else in line, or even out in the street ¨C he¡¯d come during early morning work hours ¨C but Hage still swept the environs with a look. Purely for show, given that the old devil¡¯s hearing was sharp enough no one should be able to approach without him being aware.


    ¡°Second-raters,¡± Hage told him. ¡°Their main business is smuggling, but they have a few protection rackets and front businesses.¡±


    The thief frowned.


    ¡°What do they smuggle?¡±


    ¡°Mostly legal merchandise, in truth,¡± Hage said. ¡°Only they get it into Tratheke without paying the rector¡¯s tariffs and sell it marginally cheaper than it would be otherwise for a thin slice of profit. If they went for the real moneymakers, larger players would step on them. It is unconfirmed, but rumor has it other basileias sometimes hire them to transport goods through their routes.¡±


    Tristan hummed thoughtfully.


    ¡°Trade Assembly connections?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Not the way you mean it,¡± Hage replied. ¡°They make most of their coin at the expense of Assembly revenue so the merchants want them dead, but they¡¯ve friends in the workshops and warehouses.¡±


    So they had ties to the employees of the Trade Assembly, not the wealthy magnates themselves. As far as Tristan was concerned that was for the better. Coteries followed power and money, neither of which Tristan Abrascal could outbid even a single merchant magnate over.


    ¡°Much obliged,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯ve another inquiry for you, though it is nothing urgent.¡±


    ¡°Oh?¡± Hage replied, grabbing a cloth to clean an already perfectly clean cup.


    ¡°Does the Watch have anything on a Lord Locke and Lady Keys?¡± Tristan asked. ¡°Guests of the Lord Rector, supposedly. They were snooping around the assassination attempt, though I do not believe it was the assassin they were after.¡±


    Hage stilled, and not as a man would. In that way only devils could, for devils need neither breathe nor soothe aching muscles: when their kind stilled, it was stone or the cast of night. Immediate, absolute.


    ¡°Repeat the names,¡± Hage ordered.


    ¡°Lord Locke,¡± he said. ¡°Lady Keys.¡±


    ¡°Describe them to me.¡±


    He did, the rotund and mustachioed little man and the tall and thin bespectacled woman. He even added how Lady Keys had grabbed him by the neck and tossed him down a window with strength unusual for a woman a skinny ¨C though not, it must be said, impossible. Hage set down the cloth, then the cup.


    ¡°The Krypteia had no word of them being on Asphodel,¡± he finally said.


    ¡°They are a known quantity, then?¡± Tristan asked.


    ¡°I will look into the matter personally,¡± Hage said. ¡°You, and the Thirteenth at large, are to avoid them as much as physically possible.¡±


    He let out a low whistle.


    ¡°That bad?¡±


    ¡°Tristan,¡± Hage said, and his tone was grave enough the thief straightened. ¡°You are not, under any circumstances, to make those two angry. Keep them smiling, keep them laughing. Always.¡±


    Slowly he nodded.


    ¡°Above my pay grade, I understand.¡±


    The devil stared at him, then jerked his chin to the side.


    ¡°Get going, I have paying customers on their way.¡±


    Tristan snorted, and waved a goodbye a Mephistofeline ¨C who summarily ignored him, as Tristan had lost any influence over the distribution of foodstuffs and thus become a stranger not worth remembering. There was nothing more fickle than a cat, save perhaps Fortuna.


    Tristan took his time on the way back, still getting his bearings around the city. He¡¯d gotten clothes in Asphodelian linens ¨C even paid for them, at Song¡¯s insistence ¨C so he did not draw much attention anymore, at least until he talked. There was not all that much difference in appearance between Trebian islanders and Lierganen from the continent, at least not those from Sacromonte, but he had yet to unlearn his City accent. Hage had given him exercises, though, so he had hopes.


    The Collegium was too rich for his blood, and too much of a tribe. Even though most who worked within the gargantuan cube of glass could not have afforded a Collegium house even if they save up for it their entire life, there was a cachet to spending your day there that set them apart from the rest of Tratheke. Not the kind of company one could slide into without first learning their little terms and customs, so Tristan instead let his feet take him to the southwest ward.


    The southeastern ward had a large swath of noble mansions and properties, but its southwestern neighbor was the living heart of the city. It was where the workshops and the merchant warehouses were, and those well-paying jobs had sprouted shops and eateries and a dozen industries to cater to those earning the wages. There were a few of what Sacromonte would call guildhouses, the seats of trade consortiums, but they were surprisingly few and discreet.


    Asphodel did not like to sell land to merchants, and it showed.


    The hum on the street was about Lord Rector Evander¡¯s surprise appearance at a playhouse in the northwestern ward the previous afternoon, proving rumors he had been disfigured to be a lie. There were also rumors the man now had a mistress, for a woman had been glimpsed up in his private lodge. Considering Song must have been the woman in question, Tristan had to swallow a shit-eating grin when he heard the rumor.


    She was going to lose her mind at the implication she was some king¡¯s mistress, and it was going to be beautiful. He couldn¡¯t wait to tell her.


    Overall, sentiment towards the Lord Rector was rather favorable. Even the mistress rumor got the wink-wink treatment about him being a young man with a young man¡¯s needs, and everyone scorned the attempt to kill what they considered a fine enough ruler. Speculation was rife about who had done it, though in the southwestern ward when foreigners weren¡¯t blamed the suspicion leaned more to the Council of Ministers than the Trade Assembly.


    The ministers, being largely high nobles from the eastern and western regions of Asphodel, were unpopular with the people of Tratheke ¨C who saw themselves as the heart of the Rectorate and believed the rest of the island to resent this obvious truth.


    It was halfway through the afternoon, while debating grabbing a bite, that he first caught sight of them.


    None of them were wearing back, which was how he almost missed them. He was saved by Captain Tozi Poloko¡¯s absurd haircut, which stood out enough he gave her a second look and caught sight of the entire Nineteenth moving down the street in local clothes. Blades out in the open, but pistols hidden from sight so as not to out themselves as blackcloaks under the local laws.


    He was tucked in behind a curtain of beads by a trinket stand, so he wasn¡¯t in their angle of sight. The odds were good that for one he would be the one with the drop on Cressida. Too pleased at that notion to let the opportunity go, Tristan began to trail behind them. Though the four of them moved briskly the streets of the ward were thick with people so he was able to stay in sight of them without drawing attention.


    Where were they going? It must be part of the investigation into the contracted killer, as they were moving the opposite direction from the way back to Black House.


    It was when they dipped into side streets that Tristan¡¯s curiosity was truly stoked. Cressida alone would have been too risky to follow into there, but the others were louder and not as wary. Taking pains to never be in their line of sight, tracking them by footsteps and the sounds of voices, he followed in their wake. A few minutes later, near a dead end, chatter rose sharply before ending entirely.


    Tristan pressed himself against a wall, pricking his ear and catching what he was certain was the sound of a door opening. He waited it out, several minutes in case Cressida was keeping a lookout, and only then risked a glance. The alley past the corner was a run-down hole, with most of the edifices there stripped for parts, but there was a small cluster of standing buildings at the end. One of them had a lantern lit inside, by the glow behind the shutter.


    Tristan slid back out of sight before anyone could see him. Well now, would you look at that. It looked like the Nineteenth Brigade had decided to obtain a safehouse out in the city, and he now knew exactly where it was.


    You never knew when that sort of thing might end up useful.


    --


    Obtaining access to the private palace archives had been as simple as asking the Lord Rector, or rather as simple as Song asking the Lord Rector.


    Maryam would admit she was not the most experienced in matters of romance, but when a boy invited you to the theater before plying you with drinks and talk about books you liked one did not usually call that a ¡®bodyguard assignment¡¯. Though, maybe if the drinks and talk went very well. Much as she believed that Song could use a little unwinding, the man involved meant the whole thing smelled like trouble and thus Maryam refrained from teasing her friend over it. Once you made a joke of something, it became easier to consider.


    Yet for now they reaped the benefits of the association, as not only had Maryam been allowed access to the archives but she had effectively been given the run of the place ¨C with for only restriction the inability to take books out. Captain Wen came along, as much to supervise as because the only thing the corpulent man enjoyed as much as good meal was a rare book.


    They found out, together, that the private archives of the rector¡¯s palace were a prison.


    Maryam was not being dramatic, they were quite literally a repurposed gaol. Six large pentagonal chambers connected to a larger central enclosure, each of the pentagons having once carried three cells and a guard post. The central enclosure, at the heart of which stood a squat and heavy tower containing the only way in and out of the archives ¨C a lift leading to a room below ¨C was surrounded by small alcoves that could be used for work.


    A few of the dozen archivists were glaring at her from their cover, perhaps under the impression they were being subtle. They¡¯d not enjoyed Maryam being granted rights over their little kingdom even before seeing the color of her skin. After? Some of them refused to so much as look in her direction, and she had heard hollow muttered more than once.


    The senior archivist, a frigidly polite older woman whose tendency to turn her up her nose really should be paired with better care to pluck the hair inside her nostrils, offered the most cursory of welcomes before saddling Maryam with the youngest of the archivists as a gofer and attendant. While she was going to need the help navigating these stacks, many of which were filled with books in Cycladic, there was the slight trouble that in this case ¡®youngest¡¯ meant a nine-year-old girl in brown robes too large for her. Maryam could not recall being around a girl of nine since she herself had been one of those.


    ¡°If you¡¯re a blackcloak,¡± Roxane gravely asked, ¡°then why aren¡¯t you wearing a black cloak?¡±


    Maryam might have been irritated by the question, if not by the painful earnestness on her face. The messy auburn bob and slightly too long sleeves only added to the effect.


    ¡°I am secret blackcloak,¡± Maryam replied. ¡°On a secret mission.¡±


    ¡°Then why¡¯s your captain drinking booze in the common room?¡± Roxane wondered.


    The Izvorica considered that a moment.


    ¡°Because he¡¯s an asshole,¡± she finally said.


    ¡°Oh, so like Master Alexios,¡± Roxane mused.


    Maryam cocked an eyebrow.


    ¡°He spilled wax on our only translation of the Medead and told Lady Eumelia it was me,¡± Roxane informed her with a scowl. ¡°It wasn¡¯t, I wasn¡¯t even there.¡±


    ¡°I believe you,¡± Maryam assured her.


    What would she have wanted as a bribe, when she was nine years old? Desserts, spending money, or maybe ¨C ah!


    ¡°Would you like me to curse him?¡± she offered.


    Roxane¡¯s eyes turned large as teacups.


    ¡°You can do that?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m a Navigator,¡± Maryam said, which was mostly true.


    Roxane pondered the offer.


    ¡°Can you make it so he farts loudly in front of Mistress Laodike?¡± she asked. ¡°He¡¯s trying to court her. She¡¯s the short woman with the braid and the tight robes.¡±


    Roxane raised hands to show the strategic location of said tightness, along with a possible motive for Alexios¡¯ interest. One should never underestimate the inherent viciousness of children.


    ¡°I have no fart curses,¡± she replied, ¡°but I could make hot wax spill onto his lap if you¡¯d like.¡±


    ¡°Wait until Laodike¡¯s around,¡± Roxane instructed.


    ¡°I will,¡± Maryam said, suppressing a smile, ¡°but in exchange you have to help me find everything I need and not tell the senior archivist what books I asked for.¡±


    The former part was what the girl had been ordered to do, so the latter was what Maryam was really after. Even the way the Lord Rector sorted his private papers had been made political, there was simply no chance at all that the senior archivist¡¯s appointment had been spared intrigue. Since Maryam had no intention of allowing a list of the books she cracked open to be passed to the woman¡¯s patrons the moment she left the archives, measures must be taken.


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    Roxane hesitated, but a promise that Maryam wouldn¡¯t let her be punished for refusing to answer questions about the books tipped the scales in favor of agreement. They shook on it. An older archivist could have been threatened into silence with the weight of the Watch, but Maryam preferred it this way. She would ask Wen on their way out to make it clear that if the girl was punished for keeping silent then the senior archivist was to receive the same punishment tenfold.


    That was not within their authority to do, strictly speaking, but if the Thirteenth made a formal complaint about this Lady Eumelia obstructing the investigation the senior archivist would be in for much worse than merely being switched ten times. Maryam was not all that familiar with Asphodelian laws, but meddling in an investigation that involved the Lord Rector¡¯s life seemed like it might fetch the noose ¨C or at least immediate dismissal from one¡¯s position as senior archivist.


    With Roxane freshly invigorated by the promises, Maryam got to work. A letter had been sent to Stheno¡¯s Peak to see if the Watch had any record of major construction in Asphodel using brackstone, or of an entity that might have warranted such effort to contain, but there was no telling if they would answer ¨C much less in time to be of use.


    The Lord Rector¡¯s own ignorance of such an undertaking was not a good omen, but the archives were much older than House Palliades¡¯ grasp on the throne. There might be answers buried here that¡¯d been forgotten when the old royal houses passed. Usurpation was no friend to the uninterrupted passing of royal secrets.


    ¡°I need the oldest works you have on Tratheke that describes the city,¡± she told Roxane. ¡°And anything you might have about gods that became forbidden.¡±


    For the first they ended up combing through the stacks not of histories but of epic poetry ¨C the oldest records of Tratheke were spoken epics that had been set down to ink later on. That alone would not be enough, though, so Roxane then led her to the pentagon containing legal records of Rectorate. Specifically those of land ownership in Tratheke. An archivist began hovering close when they entered that section, which was not entirely unwarranted given how precious such documents were.


    Maryam still curtly dismissed him. They¡¯d already assigned her an attendant and she had no intention of tolerating another archivist looking over her shoulder as she worked. She only had so many bribes in her.


    They set those first volumes aside in the nook she¡¯d claimed for her use, finding as they did that Captain Wen had emerged from the tower. He was now leafing through a worn volume titled ¡®The Esteemed Noble Lines of Great Cathay¡¯, chuckling as he did. He was not so busy that he did not share a look with Maryam, however, dipping his head slightly. Good, he would be keeping an eye for anyone intending to snoop at her picked volumes.


    Roxane was visibly excited when they went to fetch the second set of books, revealing she was not usually allowed into the ¡®Closed Sixth¡¯. That pentagon chamber was closed by a lock and iron grid, which they had to send for an archivist to unlock for them. The fair-haired man who did offered a friendly smile and passed no comment, but Roxane held up her nose at him.


    ¡°Alexios?¡± Maryam asked in a murmur after they went in.


    The girl scowled and nodded. Well, Maryam had a face to the name now. She just needed to wait for an opportunity. The stacks inside the Closed Sixth were all covered with glass and small numbered locks, for which Alexios left them a set of keys. Brass plates with Cycladic words on them named the contents of particular shelves, but that language was beyond her knowledge.


    ¡°Can you translate any of it for me?¡± Maryam asked.


    Roxane looked surprised.


    ¡°Of course,¡± she said. ¡°I learned along my other letters.¡±


    That begged elaboration, so she asked. The girl, it turned out, was the orphan of palace servants. As she had no relatives, she had been placed here to become an archivist as a kindness from the majordomo running the palace. Roxane was taught Cycladic by other archivists as well as her numbers and letters because so many of the older documents here used the dead tongue. Pleased at the turn, Maryam consulted the girl for guidance and found what she suspected to be the right shelf.


    Prohibited could only have so many meanings in this context.


    The entire left side of the shelf was piled scrolls with wax symbols stamped on the wooden rod the vellums were wrapped around, but the right half was books. Mostly leatherbound manuscripts, but one was instead bound by a gold frame and another contained by what looked like an iron puzzle box.


    ¡°The golden one is titled the ¡®Graveyard Book¡¯,¡± Roxane murmured.


    She looked uneasy, as if the stillness of the room was overcoming her enthusiasm.


    ¡°Then we take that one,¡± Maryam said.


    She was careful to feel the book out with her nav before touching it, finding it harmless. But with her soul-effigy out, she noticed a detail she had previously missed ¨C one of the leather-bound volumes was rippling in the aether. And in a way she had seen before: she had walked through enough fields of Asphodel crowns, those purple flowers in the rector¡¯s garden, to recognize the slight ripple they caused in the aether.


    Sliding the small book out from between two larger volumes, she found simple brown leather without a title. A symbol had been pressed into its front, though: the stylized silhouette of a blooming Asphodel crown.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what that one is,¡± Roxane said, the small voice breaking her out of a trance.


    ¡°That¡¯s all right,¡± Maryam muttered, stashing it with the other book. ¡°I think I might.¡±


    They locked the shelf behind them and returned to the nook they¡¯d picked out to work, finding an irritated Lady Eumelia staring down at an unimpressed Wen Duan.


    ¡°It is simple precaution to-¡±


    ¡°You seem like a well-read woman, Eumelia,¡± Captain Wen mused, turning a page. ¡°In your opinion, should you insist on spying on a Watch investigation are you more likely to be tried under the Iscariot Accords or Asphodel¡¯s own treason laws?¡±


    ¡°I could have you expelled from these grounds for threatening me,¡± the senior archivist threatened.


    ¡°Is it a threat to tell a child they¡¯ll be burned if they shove their hand in a fire?¡± he asked, bespectacled eyes flicking up to look at her. ¡°I should hope not.¡±


    Lady Eumelia sneered at him, then at Maryam and for good measure she glared at Roxane for being in the general vicinity of her humiliation. Her face was ice-cold as she stalked off, but the fury was obvious in the steps. The Izvorica frowned. Perhaps a sterner warning than ¡®returned tenfold¡¯ was in order, because she did not like that look on her face. She led the nervous girl into their nook, giving Wen a thankful nod.


    He ignored her, flipping his page.


    Much as Maryam would have liked to dig into the books, those she most wanted to read ¨C the golden book and the epic - were written in Cycladic. She set Roxane to translating the appropriate passages of the epic inside a journal she¡¯d brought for the purpose, instead busying herself with the documents in Antigua. Beginning with the legal records, which she figured might help her narrow down when the brackstone structures had been built.


    The land records went as far back as the beginning of the Century of Steel, over three hundred years ago and three Asphodelian dynasties back. A pirate admiral turned lord and war hero by the name of Archelaus had seized power in the last decade of the Century of Crowns and proved an energetic Lord Rector, his efforts to improve tax revenue leading what was to become the Archelean dynasty keeping thorough records of noble properties in Tratheke.


    Clever. Those would have been easier to tax than the noble holdings out in the mountains, where a former pirate¡¯s tax collectors would likely have been greeted by arrows. Mind you, records was somewhat underserved a word: they were just family names and vaguely described boundaries.


    Already the noble properties had been concentrated in the two southern wards of the city, though apparently the nobility had owned a lot more of the land inside Tratheke back in those days. The northeast ward, where Tristan and Angharad had found the brackstone wall, had been a royal holding back in those early days.


    Property ledgers remained orderly for several Lord Rectors, the succession laid out by the ruler names changing on the documents, then turned chaotic during the two Pelagid reigns when the Archeleans were overthrown. They stabilized when the Archeleans resumed rule after winning back their throne only to become¡­ spotty when the house began producing increasingly indolent and corrupt rulers. Short-lived, too.


    Maryam was no treasurer, but Lady Rector Artemisia Archelean had sold the same piece of land in southwestern Tratheke to three different lords the same year and that seemed just a mite suspicious. Either it was cover for bribes or it was a scam of some sort, she figured. Either way, those records could not really be relied on. Which was frustrating, because late in the Archelean dynasty was when the house began pawning off pieces of Tratheke for coin, crucially including some of the northeastern ward.


    It got even messier after that, nearly sixty years partial or outright missing. Not surprising, as the end of the Archeleans during the Century of Accord resulted in the ¡®Ataxia¡¯, that great Asphodelian civil war. From that chaos House Lissenos eventually emerged as rulers, and when they did, Maryam finally saw useful work again.


    Twice now she¡¯d had to double back to the chamber to get fresh books, replacing the old ones, but as her pen scratched down fresh notes she figured she was getting somewhere. The first Lissenos to become Lord Rector had ridden noble support to the throne, but his successor had then promptly turned on those supporters. That betrayal included confiscating some of their property in Tratheke, the gains from which were written down in copious detail.


    From the confiscations Maryam learned that apparently House Drakos had once owned about a quarter of the capital, mostly in the northwest, and been stripped of most everything. The northeast, though, had been sold for parts to half a dozen houses. And though Lord Rector Hector Lissenos promptly redistributed some of this confiscated property to allies in an obvious move to buy their support ¨C including, amusingly enough, the original grant of Black House to the Watch ¨C he held on to confiscated the properties in the northeast.


    Interesting, as they should have been worthless back then. After the Ataxia the population of Tratheke had almost halved according to the records so even the precious southern wards would have been partly empty. The north would have been a ghost town, decaying space no one cared to inhabit.


    A good place to secretly build a prison for a god.


    Hector Lissenos, Maryam jotted down. A simple genealogy book revealed his reign to have lasted from 9 to 26 Dominion, which narrowed down the period of time to look into. By the time she returned all the ledgers to the appropriate stacks, Roxane had finished translating for her. Maryam looked down at the girl¡¯s elegant cursive, filling seventeen pages with nary an error in ink, and rubbed the bridge of her nose. This was going to take a while.


    ¡°All poets should be hanged,¡± she muttered.


    She reassured Roxane the displeasure was no reflection on her. The epic was, well, a poem. Which meant that while several parts did describe Tratheke as it was made by the Antediluvians and then found by Oduromai King, the description were so dramatic as to be nearly useless. At least the Oduromai parts mentioned the general layout of the city, as a prelude to his distributing parts of it to his loyal crew as reward.


    Yet all that told her was that the general shape of the city, four wards and the Collegium, had been this way as far back as was known. The problem was that the information she was most curious about was in the most poetic part: namely, what the Antediluvians had built their city on.


    The epic contended the Ancients had carved deep into the ground and set down a city fully made, which sounded unlikely if not outright impossible ¨C one must be careful using that word, when it came to the First Empire. The implication there was that below the city was rock, but was there only that? The entity that needed containment in brackstone, had it been put there by the Antediluvians in the first place? That horrifying god on the Dominion had.


    Was it even a god down there, a monster or something else entirely?


    The epics had no true answers for her. She would have to look for later sources, which while less reliable for the time passed might admittedly still be more reliable than damn poetry. By now they were midway through the afternoon, so after returning the epics to the stacks Maryam told her little assistant they were to take a break. Wen had a half-empty plate of lamb and greens on his table, and after asking she learned that they could have food sent up here. She had it done for Roxane and herself, the girl delighted to be getting meat twice this week when she was told.


    Maryam spent part of her meal looking for Alexios and the Mistress Laodike of the rumored tits, intent on keeping her word. When she found the woman in question she was forced to concede that Roxane¡¯s miming had not been unwarranted. She filled every part of the brown robes that the little girl did not, twice over. Even while she sat in candlelight, transcribing something from book to manuscript, that much was obvious.


    She was also being hovered around by fair-haired Alexios, her opinion on his attentions on unclear. While Maryam tore into her chops and pretended not to see Roxane discreetly transferring some of her greens onto the signifier¡¯s plate, she could not help but notice Laodike¡¯s inkwell was running low. It was only a matter of time before gallant Alexios noticed as well, no doubt, so she prepared.


    When he hurried in with a fresh inkwell, she acted.


    ¡°Watch,¡± Maryam told Roxane, and under the table she traced.


    She didn¡¯t need anything dangerous or complicated. Settling a Burden on a scholarly man hurrying was enough to make him trip, footing unmade by how moving was suddenly harder than it had been. Maryam immediately released the Sign and from the corner of her eye she saw Roxane grinning like a shark as Alexios toppled forward, keeping the inkwell up in an attempt not to drop it but only making things worse. His wrist hit Laodike¡¯s knee and ink went flying on her robes and his face both.


    ¡°Now look away,¡± Maryam murmured. ¡°Best not to be suspicious.¡±


    The two of them studiously ate their meal ¨C Maryam¡¯s portion of greens miraculously grown back to full size while she wasn¡¯t looking ¨C and pretended not to hear the sharp, angry words from Mistress Laodike to her clumsy suitor.


    Roxane was happily wriggling in her seat like a worm when they got back to work. The ¡®Graveyard Book¡¯, which was next on the line, was a mix of Antigua and Cycladic.


    And once Maryam realized what they were reading, she immediately told Roxane to stop translating and go sit at another table for a while.


    Inside the gold-framed book was only one thing: names. The kind that should not be spoken out loud, or even looked at too long, for they were names of dead gods. It was carefully that Maryam looked through the pages, centering herself and regularly tasting the aether with her nav in case she was earning¡­ attention.


    After fifteen minutes her head was pounding and her eyes ached, but she pushed on ¨C after skipping dozens of pages, for the ancient Cycladic names meant nothing to her. The order was chronological, as far as she could tell, and after the names of the dead turned to Antigua she began looking for what she wanted: the time of the Ataxia.


    It revealed itself to her in a mass grave of gods, the very air around her smelling of blood, but Maryam wanted a name. And she found it, she thought. The page for the god the Watch had killed on behalf of Asphodel, the rampant deity whose cult was behind the Ataxia. Only though there were letters on the page, spelling out a word, her eyes only saw one thing.


    HATED ONE, she read.


    Like the words had been carved into her eyes. And she tried to look beneath, at the word tucked away under the shout of


    HATED ONE


    but oh she must be careful not to drip on the page, there was something wet on her hand.


    Her nails had bit so deep into her palm she was bleeding.


    Breathing out, Maryam slammed the book closed. Gods, her head was pounding. She pushed back her chair, almost afraid, and tucked her bleeding hand into her sleeve. She leaned against a table and breathed in and out, eyes closed, until the world no longer spun around quite so much. Until she could no longer hear those two loud words echoing inside her head like a never-ending crack of thunder, filling her to burst until her skull cracked from the inside¡­ breathe in, breathe out.


    ¡°Miss Maryam?¡±


    She opened her eyes, a worried looking Roxane staring at her.


    ¡°Put the books we borrowed back,¡± she croaked out. ¡°We¡¯re done for the day.¡±


    ¡°Are you all right?¡± the girl asked.


    ¡°I will be after some sleep,¡± she replied. ¡°It was a dangerous book.¡±


    And not even the volume she had sniffed out as odd in the aether. The thought of trying that one while her head ached like this was almost enough to make her nauseous. Tomorrow. Roxane put the books back, though Maryam had forgot to give her the keys so she had to come back for them. By then Wen had come to join her, sitting on the edge of the table.


    ¡°Went digging a little too deep, I see.¡±


    ¡°I found something,¡± she rasped back. ¡°The¡­¡±


    She licked her lips, afraid to even think those two words.


    ¡°I have found something,¡± Maryam repeated. ¡°I need to speak with Lieutenant Mitra before he leaves.¡±


    Which was in two days, she recalled. Not tomorrow night but the morning after the Fourth would be leaving the capital. Wen was studying her through his spectacles, hands folded atop his belly.


    ¡°You are a woman grown,¡± he said. ¡°If you want to burn yourself like a candle, that is your choice. But do wait until the end of the test, would you? It would make me look bad if you get yourself killed before that.¡±


    ¡°I know what I¡¯m doing,¡± she bit back.


    ¡°Sure you do, Maryam,¡± he chortled. ¡°That¡¯s why you¡¯re bleeding.¡±


    He pushed himself off the table. The urge to tear into him was there, but a wave of exhaustion challenged the pressure. Wen would be Wen, she told herself. She ruffled Roxane¡¯s hair on her way out, catching sight of Lady Eumelia glaring at them from the tower doorway. The girl shrunk in on herself, and for a moment Maryam saw another child. Alone, covered in filth, run down to exhaustion by hounds and soldiers. The weight of an entire empire stomping after her.


    No. Not this time, not to that sweet little girl. Gloam flickered around her fingers, eager to be wielded. To be crafted to her purposes. She took a single step forward before the hand came down on her shoulder ¨C Maryam tried to shake off Wen, but the man¡¯s grip was iron and he manhandled her back into a seat. He dismissed Roxane, who heisted but scuttled off after a hard look.


    ¡°Sit your ass down, Khaimov,¡± he flatly said.


    It would have been childish to storm off, so instead she glared up at him.


    ¡°I need to speak with the senior archivist,¡± she flatly said. ¡°We will leave afterwards.¡±


    ¡°You look like you¡¯re about to rip that woman¡¯s throat out,¡± he said. ¡°And she noticed, too. See how she made herself scarce.¡±


    Lady Eumelia had disappeared into the depths of her lair, it was true.


    ¡°I would not have laid a hand on her,¡± Maryam said.


    Nor would she have had to. To most laymen, even the most harmless uses of Gloam were terrifying. The construct-trick would have sent a small creature of Gloam scurrying across her body and made Maryam¡¯s point memorably.


    ¡°No, you would have put the fear of the Akelarre in her,¡± Wen said. ¡°The woman would never have looked you in the eyes again or spoken up in your presence.¡±


    The large man stared down at her through his glasses.


    ¡°Now think, Khaimov. What happens after?¡±


    ¡°It ends,¡± she said. ¡°She does not dare punish a child for doing exactly what she was meant to.¡±


    ¡°Not while you¡¯re here,¡± Wen Duan agreed. ¡°How long is that going to be? Weeks, months?¡±


    Maryam¡¯s fists clenched.


    ¡°Fear only lasts so long,¡± the Tianxi said. ¡°Hate, though, that sticks.¡±


    ¡°You threatened her yourself,¡± she bit back. ¡°She was already a foe.


    ¡°I set a boundary as a watchman,¡± he corrected. ¡°She will resent me, as a watchman. There is a difference between an opponent and an enemy, Maryam. The second is a choice you make.¡±


    ¡°So I should just let that girl be switched the moment we step out?¡± she hissed. ¡°I won¡¯t have it.¡±


    ¡°Then do it right,¡± Wen said. ¡°Act in a way that gets you what you¡¯re after, not just how feels good ¨C cutting down the unjust with your sword, scratching old itches. Pulling the world back on even keel after whatever was in that book that scared you.¡±


    Her fingernails were red, Maryam saw, from where they dug into her already bloodied palm. She made herself hear the words, listen to them. He was not wrong. Gods damn it, he was not wrong. She might have made it worse for Roxane, if she¡¯d stormed in there wielding Craft.


    ¡°She deserves more than a warning,¡± Maryam finally said, voice gone quiet.


    But a warning would be what worked best, they both knew that. Simply making it clear that the Watch did not want its investigation spied on and that punishing Roxane would be seen as an attempt to squeeze out secrets would poison that well for Lady Eumelia. It would not be worth going after the child when it could turn into the beginning of an avalanche of consequences resulting in losing her position, and why bother to punish Roxane in a few months?


    Wen looked at her with something like sympathy.


    ¡°You¡¯ve been weak for too long,¡± he said.


    She blinked.


    ¡°Excuse me?¡±


    ¡°You haven¡¯t had power or authority since you left the north,¡± Wen said. ¡°You don¡¯t remember what it¡¯s like anymore, having that. Only the tale of it in your head, what you thought the people around you who had it should have done with it.¡±


    He took off his glasses, sighing as he cleaned them with a kerchief.


    ¡°We are not chivalrous swordsmen wandering the land doing good deeds, Maryam. Our authority¡¯s borrowed from the black, and it comes with strings. More of them than you realize.¡±


    He put them back on, tucking the cloth back into his pocket.


    ¡°Power¡¯s like an oil lamp, Maryam,¡± Wen Duan said. ¡°It¡¯s useful to have, but if you swing it around recklessly something¡¯s going to catch on fire. If you¡¯re lucky, something that deserves it.¡±


    His smile was sharp.


    ¡°Most of the time, we aren¡¯t lucky.¡±


    ¡°What is it,¡± she quietly asked, ¡°that happened to you in Tariac, Wen?¡±


    ¡°I set on fire some who deserved it,¡± the large man replied. ¡°And a lot more who didn¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Do you regret it?¡± Maryam asked.


    His eyes behind the spectacles were sharp as a fang.


    ¡°Never,¡± Wen said. ¡°It was badly done, but it needed doing.¡±


    He pushed himself up.


    ¡°But you don¡¯t have to make my mistakes,¡± he said. ¡°Come on, Khaimov. Let¡¯s go have a chat with Lady Eumelia that gets us what you actually want.¡±


    Maryam stared at him for a long moment, then nodded. She did not thank him as she rose, but part of her suspected he wouldn¡¯t have wanted it anyway.


    --


    Their patrons insisted the farewell banquet was about fostering ties between the brigades before the parting of ways, but Tristan was fairly sure it was really about having a believable excuse to empty the Black House cellars. The teachers, holed up at their table in the corner, were laughing increasingly loudly as the wine bottles emptied almost faster than the staff could take them away.


    The students, by unspoken accord, pretended not to hear any of it.


    Besides, excuse or not the kitchen had been asked for a feast and duly delivered. Tristan was pleased to find he had been pandered to: the cooks had put out a plate of dimpled flatbread and a traditional Sacromontan ternasco. The kind of juicy lamb you had to rob a wealthy man for, or at least a reputable inn. Salvador, the quiet fellow from the Eleventh also from the City, made it known with his eyes from across the table that if Tristan hogged said ternasco there would be violence.


    The thief surrendered one of the fatty pieces in appeasement.


    By the pleased sounds half the table was making, the two of them were not the only ones who¡¯d been given a taste of home. The Izcalli ¨C Tupoc, Captain Tozi and Izel, all clustered on the right side of the table ¨C looked like they were about to come to blows over who got the larger share of the tamales plate. Tupoc discreetly tried to steal one of the two dipping sauce pots accompanying them only to be hollered at in dismay, only reluctantly relinquishing it.


    The Malani rationed out some pleasant-smelling stew like they were on a long sea voyage, having it traveling in a circle as they eyed each other like hawks over portion sizes, while the Tianxi took turns eating from their rice-and-chicken dish ¨C each trying to grab the single largest piece they could while maintaining plausible deniability. Song, he amusedly noted, was not getting the better of it.


    Acceptable Losses kept stealing the bits she staked out and that Qianfan fellow was merciless in following through.


    Meanwhile Cressida Barboza and Alejandra Torrero, demonstrating the curse of being born in some hick town out in Old Liergan, ignored perfectly good ternasco to instead squabble over spicy sausages. Tristan knew better ¨C you should never eat sausage when you did not know where the butcher lived. That was a recipe for getting a bite of a sawdust-and-trotters Murk special.


    To his surprise the two Someshwari at the table were the most civil, each taking a small portion from a pot of rice paired with spicy vegetable curry and stir-fried vegetables with coconut. That the Imperial Someshwar was to be the only corner of the table to avoid civil war was slightly ironic, and Angharad even complimented Kiran Agrawal on his restraint in taking only the one portion of a home dish. He snorted.


    ¡°That is not from my home,¡± he drily replied. ¡°It is a Ramayan dish, best served to dogs and merchants.¡±


    ¡°They got the thoran right, though, which is rare,¡± Bait noted from his right. ¡°There¡¯s probably a Ramayan in the kitchen staff.¡±


    It was easy to forget, Tristan thought, that the Imperial Someshwar was large as any other two great powers put together and bore at least thrice as many people. Even the Second Empire had never managed to conquer more than the outskirts of that land, and not for lack of trying. The famous azirvada, the Glare trees whose wood and leaves filled the air with light, had been deeply coveted by Liergan.


    Once the initial frenzy passed and bellies filled, hands reached for the wines and liquor and conversation began to flow just as freely as the drink. All talk he was relatively well placed to listen in on, being sat near the middle of the rectangular banquet table. It was more than decent seating: Tristan had, in a stroke of genius, waited until Cressida Barboza sat down to claim his own seat and so been able to put two equally terrifying women between them ¨C Maryam and Angharad.


    To his left was Song, who had sat down there purely to deny Imani any seat remotely close to Angharad¡¯s. The Malani showed not a hint of frustration on her face from her place to Song¡¯s own left, but Tristan could almost smell it on her.


    Arguably the downside of his position was that facing him was Acceptable Losses, squeezed in between a Thando Fenya pointedly ignoring him and a largely silent Expendable who seemed under the impression that if he stopped moving whenever Song glanced in his direction he would turn invisible. Manners had forced the wolf eyed Malani to take off his wide-brimmed hat but he kept his eyes cast down on his plate as if he were still wearing it.


    ¡°- in a few days, once Prefect Nestor receives word from the latest patrol,¡± Captain Imani was telling Song. ¡°While we could go off haring after the last sighting in the hills, it seems to me a wiser course to get the freshest word before heading out.¡±


    ¡°We would likely lose just as long wandering around the hills looking for a trail to follow,¡± Qianfan added.


    Like all the other brigades, the Eleventh had kept together ¨C the four of them forming a half-circle around the left end of the table. Theirs, Tristan thought not for the first time, was an unusual brigade. While Imani Langa was captain, neither her signifier nor Thando Fenya seemed to defer to her all that much. Fenya in particular often seemed off handling his own affairs ¨C he was currently speaking to Acceptable Losses in perfect Cathayan instead of paying attention to this conversation, for example.


    Salvador, the quiet Sacromontan that Tristan smelled coterie on, was the one that followed her closest. Yet from the way Imani never quite let him out of her line of sight, he might just be the one she trusted the least.


    ¡°Have you any notion of where you might end up in Tratheke Valley?¡± Song asked.


    ¡°West,¡± Qianfan said.


    Imani¡¯s glance at him was slightly irked.


    ¡°That seems likely, given that most previous sightings of unnatural events were broadly northwest of the capital,¡± she said. ¡°Well short of Stheno¡¯s Peak, mind you.¡±


    It clicked into a place moment later why Song had asked that, beyond making conversation: with Angharad soon to journey to Cleon Eirenos¡¯ mansion out in the wilds, they would not be able to run interference between the two of them if the Eleventh passed near that manse. Not that Imani would be able to openly contact Angharad out there, given that the latter was keeping her black cloak quiet while rubbing elbows with the nobles.


    That left contacting her secretly, of course. He¡¯d not put those details together, good on Song to have remained sharp.


    ¡°- Tristan. Tristan.¡±


    The thief turned to find both Maryam and Angharad look at him, cocking an eyebrow.


    ¡°You were the one to first find the false window,¡± Maryam said. ¡°At the teahouse.¡±


    ¡°I was,¡± he confirmed. ¡°Wearing black, anyway.¡±


    ¡°Was there any visible Gloam phenomenon inside the room when you looked?¡± Alejandra Torrero asked from across the table.


    He shook his head.


    ¡°It was pitch black, but not that kind of black,¡± he said.


    Torrero¡¯s scowl eased up, if only a moment.


    ¡°See, Khaimov?¡± she said. ¡°A Sign powerful enough to open a way out of the half-layer would have left some aftermath.¡±


    ¡°Unless it was traced by a signifier of great skill,¡± Maryam rebutted. ¡°One with minimal leakage.¡±


    ¡°Come off it,¡± Alejandra snorted. ¡°If they had someone that powerful and skilled running around Tratheke the Guild would have taken notice.¡±


    Tristan cleared his throat.


    ¡°The assassin had a contract,¡± he reminded them. ¡°They cannot have been a signifier, unless my understanding of the incompatibility there is incorrect.¡±


    ¡°A rare instance of you not being wrong, Abrascal,¡± Tupoc noted from the seat to Alejandra¡¯s right. ¡°But they are arguing about whether the object used by the assassin ran on aether or Gloam.¡±


    His brow rose.


    ¡°A Gloam-cursed object,¡± he slowly said. ¡°You mean like evil eye amulets? I thought talismans and the like were witch tricks.¡±


    That got him a dirty look from both Maryam and Alejandra, which saw him raise his hands in preemptive defense. Tupoc naturally put on the most disappointed look of them all, as if Tristan had personally let him down.


    ¡°Not cursed amulets, you gullible baboso,¡± Alejandra sneered. ¡°Proper Signs appended to a compatible object.¡±


    ¡°Spent on use, like blackpowder in a grenade,¡± Maryam told him.


    ¡°Any tool capable of holding so strong a Sign would be worth a fortune,¡± the dark-haired Lierganen told her, pursuing victory.


    ¡°And that harpoon in the layer came cheap, you think?¡± Maryam replied, unimpressed.


    He glanced past Maryam to find that Angharad¡¯s eyes were faintly glazed over and her pleasant smile a little bland. Been going a while, then. The twitch of his lips that earned caught her attention and she looked faintly guilty for a beat before straightening in her seat. She turned to her right, towards Cressida and Izel, leaning in to say something that caught the Izcalli¡¯s attention.


    Tristan himself took the first opportunity for a strategic retreat that presented itself, seeing no upside to stepping in between Maryam and Torrero at odds ¨C much less with Tupoc just waiting to throw darts. He ended up rising to ask one of the servants for a jug of water, as he had no intention of partaking in the drinks and stayed up to have a better look at the lay of the table.


    Song joined him, keeping an eye on Imani as she did.


    ¡°Surprisingly cordial,¡± he said. ¡°Even Tupoc has mostly behaved.¡±


    ¡°His brigade is frustrated because of the delays,¡± Song told him. ¡°They¡¯ve had difficulty getting proof of being on a Watch contract from the rector¡¯s office and they need those papers before setting off from Tratheke.¡±


    Else they would be arrested for wandering through the territories of half a dozen nobles while hunting their dragon.


    ¡°He¡¯s easing off so they can actually have fun,¡± Tristan put together. ¡°That¡¯s more bend than I expected him to have, I¡¯ll admit.¡±


    ¡°He has always been more measured in his actions than he seems,¡± Song grunted. ¡°The Leopard Society trained him well in that regard, for all that the affiliation wins him no regard with other Izcalli.¡±


    ¡°Izel¡¯s quite pleasant with him,¡± Tristan noted.


    ¡°He¡¯s pleasant with everyone,¡± Song said. ¡°Which is odd, for an Izcalli highborn. They tend to be¡­¡±


    ¡°Warmongering pricks?¡± he lightly said.


    ¡°Among other things,¡± she snorted. ¡°I wonder if it has to do with¡­¡±


    She touched her throat, which had him cocking an eyebrow.


    ¡°His being corregido? I don¡¯t see why it would.¡±


    ¡°It is different for Izcalli,¡± Song told him. ¡°They made it political.¡±


    He blinked at her.


    ¡°It seems, if anything, an intensely private matter,¡± Tristan hazarded.


    ¡°It used to be only men inherited titles in Izcalli,¡± Song told him. ¡°But a few centuries back the kingdom was saddled with Prince Coaxoch as sole heir to the Grasshopper King and he was¡­¡±


    ¡°Incompetent?¡±


    ¡°Raving mad,¡± she replied. ¡°He tried to make a donkey a Sunflower Lord, famously. More worrying to the nobility, he was open about his intentions to purge the military nobles and spend the treasury on temples and pleasure pyramids.¡±


    ¡°But he had a sister,¡± Tristan guessed.


    ¡°Princess Atzi, a woman with a distinguished military record and wealthy relatives,¡± Song said. ¡°Yet she could not legally inherit, at least not until she cloistered herself with a conclave of candle-priests in the capital. She emerged to the unanimous announcement of the clergy that she had a man¡¯s soul and was thus eligible as heir. Coaxoch was dead by week¡¯s end.¡±


    Tristan blinked at her.


    ¡°That¡¯s one way to do it,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯m guessing nowadays all you need is a good bribe to get the same treatment.¡±


    ¡°It has been going on long enough that the terms originally for a man¡¯s soul and a woman¡¯s are effectively divorced from gender in common parlance,¡± Song said. ¡°They mean something closer to active and passive, and it is an open secret that a payment to the priests is all one needs to have a child determined as spiritually fit or unfit to inherit.¡±


    The thief cocked his head to the side, eyeing Izel Coyac as he chatted animatedly with Angharad.


    ¡°But in Izcalli being corregido would still have the implication of claiming right to inherit,¡± he said.


    ¡°The dangers inherent to that situation might well be why a man of such reportedly high birth is wearing the black,¡± Song noted.


    They were interrupted by the servant arriving with the requested jug, Tristan taking it from a surprise young woman and heading back to the table along with Song. By the time they did, what had been a conversation between Izel and Angharad grew to engulf the entire right side of the table.


    ¡°Flower wars were once meant to lessen the ravages of war,¡± Izel was saying. ¡°To codify war, fence the violence within a time and place with precise terms of engagement.¡±


    ¡°What it used to be hardly matters,¡± Kiran Agrawal flatly replied. ¡°In the times we all live in, it is a glorified excuse for raiding that defies all civilized rules of warfare.¡±


    ¡°Civilized warfare,¡± Maryam drawled. ¡°Now there¡¯s a concept. Come off it, Agrawal, the wheels always come off when a side feels like they¡¯re losing.¡±


    ¡°If the stated purpose of flower wars is no longer respected, use of their name should no longer be allowed,¡± Angharad opined. ¡°Let raiding be known for what it is.¡±


    ¡°Should Malani privateers be called pirates instead, then?¡± Captain Tozi politely asked her. ¡°If we are to indulge in forceful honesties, let us not make exceptions.¡±


    Angharad, he noted, did not quite seem to know what to answer to that.


    ¡°Peace, Tozi,¡± Izel sighed. ¡°My words were not an endorsement of the modern practice, Kiran. It has been warped, likely beyond repair, and the raiding of our neighbors is a senseless and deplorable crime.¡±


    A laugh from the other side of the table.


    ¡°Fine words, coming from a Coyac,¡± Tupoc idly said. ¡°How many hundreds of serfs did your father bring back from Sordon to work in mines and fields?


    ¡°One was too many,¡± Izel bluntly replied.


    ¡°Spoken,¡± Tupoc Xical said, ¡°by a man raised in the light of candles, fed on bread come of servile wheat fields, clothed in robes of cotton picked by their hands and whose tutors were paid with foreign treasures. What is left of you, without the flowers? Not much that I can see.¡±


    Tupoc had spoken the way he always spoke: a bullfighter, twirling his cape to draw the eye before he sank barbs into flesh. Tristan could see it in those pale eyes, the expectation of the twitch and roar. That the other man would lower his horns and charge, that the familiar old game would play out down in the sand. Only Izel looked into Tupoc¡¯s eyes as well, and whatever it was he found there caused in him no anger.


    That look on Izel Coyac¡¯s face, the thief thought, looked terribly like grief.


    ¡°You were Leopard Society,¡± he said.


    Something like unease flickered on Tupoc Xical¡¯s face, but it passed.


    ¡°No such society exists,¡± Tupoc grinned, a slice of ivory and mockery. ¡°Careful, Coyac, you¡¯ll say too much where the foreigners might hear. What would your father think?¡±


    ¡°I do not care,¡± Izel said, and pushed back his seat to rise to his feet.


    The grin turned expecting, almost eager ¨C he leaned forward a bit and angled his chin to make the punch easier. Only the other Izcalli instead did something that wiped the smile right off his face.


    He bowed.


    Low, deep. Starkly enough it could not be mistaken for anything else. He straightened only after a long moment of utter silence had passed.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Izel said.


    ¡°Pardon?¡± Tupoc mildly said.


    The Izcalli¡¯s perfectly even face looked like a ceramic mask, a solid thing only cousin to a man¡¯s face.


    ¡°I am sorry,¡± Izel Coyac repeated, ¡°for what we did to you, Tupoc Xical. For all that was stolen.¡±


    ¡°Soft-handed noble,¡± Tupoc smiled. ¡°Nothing was stolen. I was given a gift.¡±


    ¡°We stole that too,¡± Izel gently said. ¡°The ability to understand that what was done to you is evil. Fundamentally, inexcusably. That all who hold a stake in the rule of Izcalli have failed a thousand thousand children like you, and still do. That we ordered you snatched up in the night, raised to kill and die nameless, so that we might keep repeating the same old mistakes instead of learning.¡±


    And it should have sounded pretentious, Tristan thought, or sanctimonious. A man raising himself up by apologizing. It would have, if not for the devastating weight of that sincerity. Izel meant every word, the thief thought, meant them completely. It was so painfully obvious that not even Tupoc was able to laugh him off and gods did he look like he wanted to


    ¡°I am sorry,¡± Izel Coyac said one last time, ¡°that we taught you it was necessary, what they ordered you do to, because it isn¡¯t. We can be better.¡±


    His jaw locked.


    ¡°It¡¯s just easier not to be.¡±


    Tristan had seen Tupoc Xical afraid before. For all that the Izcalli was like a great cat, all death and shamelessness, he was not beyond flinching. It was not always all in his hands and when Ocotlan had dropped dead at the table next to him he¡¯d been afraid. Almost fled. But there was a difference, the thief thought, between fear and being rattled. Ocotlan¡¯s death had made him afraid, but it had not rattled him.


    He looked rattled now.


    Like someone had snatched the fire and the poison right out of him. And as Tupoc swallowed, answer shying from his lip, the Izcalli felt the gazes of all those around him staring at a naked part of who he was ¨C and reacted the only way that came to him in that moment.


    He drew his knife, lunging across the table.


    Shouting and scuffling ensued, Kiran Agrawal tackling him against the table as drinks and plates flew everywhere and a snarling Tupoc tried to reach for Izel¡¯s throat. Alejandra tried to tear off Agrawal, who elbowed her back, and she raised a hand ¨C Gloam coalesced in swirling streaks around her fingers. Tozi pulled a knife on her without batting an eye, Expendable¡¯s wolfish stare turning on her for it as he snarled, and it all teetered on the brink of violence.


    Then Captain Oratile shot her pistol at the ceiling, and everyone stopped.


    ¡°Put those fucking knives away,¡± she shouted. ¡°Xical, leave yours on the table. You¡¯re spending the night in containment.¡±


    ¡°That won¡¯t be necessary, captain,¡± Izel said. ¡°I lodge no complaint.¡±


    By the wild look in Tupoc¡¯s eyes, Tristan thought, he was thinking about trying for the other man¡¯s throat again ¨C pistols out or no.


    ¡°Lodge my fucking ass, boy, you went shopping for that knife,¡± Captain Oratile curtly said. ¡°Dinner¡¯s over, everyone back to their rooms. If I hear you so much as brushed each other in the halls, I¡¯ll hang you from your feet off the nearest window until the stupid¡¯s done dripping out. You understand me?¡±


    Awkward shuffling. Tupoc obeyed, leaving his knife on the table, while Alejandra and Kiran Agrawal looked as if they still wanted to stick each other with theirs. Captain Oratile snarled.


    ¡°I asked, do you understand me?¡±


    Muttered, almost mutinous agreement. The brigades came apart, falling in like wary tribes. Song looked disbelieving, almost stunned, where she was yet seated. It took him a moment to understand why, and he had to swallow a grin that would have earned him a great deal of dirty looks. Song was astonished that for once it was not the Thirteenth who had lost their temper, their brigade instead having come looking reasonable and disciplined.


    Well, even a broken clock got lucky twice a day.


    The brigades began filing out in separate lines like violent prisoners kept away from each other ¨C the Eleventh first ¨C and Tristan hung back a bit. Watched as the room began to empty and Tupoc was taken aside by Lieutenant Mitra for a quiet talk. The expression of the Fourth¡¯s patron was hard to make out under all that loose hair and Tupoc¡¯s face was empty of emotion.


    He was joined at the back by another, but it was not one of the Thirteenth who leaned back against the wall to his left. Cressida Barboza kept a cautious eye on the Fourth, but most of her attention wasn¡¯t on them. Or on Tristan himself, for that matter.


    It was on Izel, who looked not triumphant or vindicated but deeply exhausted.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t expect that out of him,¡± Tristan quietly said.


    The other Mask let out a long breath.


    ¡°He¡¯s one of the nicest men I ever met, Izel Coyac,¡± Cressida told him. ¡°It¡¯s not put-on either, as far as I can tell.¡±


    She crossed her arms, tense as a string. Looking square ahead.


    ¡°And if that doesn¡¯t scare you, Tristan, then you¡¯re a fucking fool.¡±

 Chapter 49

    It wasn¡¯t a Meadow, as the Guild would never allow one to be built outside land they controlled, but Black House did have a lovely roof garden centered around a pond fed by a false river. Sitting by it felt like drinking half a swallow of lukewarm water instead of quenching your thirst, but it still soothed Maryam¡¯s mind to listen to the flow while Lieutenant Mitra finished his examination.


    The wild-haired signifier let out a small noise of interest, then withdrew his nav from her.


    ¡°I have rarely seen such a textbook case,¡± Lieutenant Mitra said.


    Maryam breathed out in relief.


    ¡°You have seen this before?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Only twice in person, but I¡¯ve studied the theory in depth,¡± the Someshwari said. ¡°You smashed your head against an aether seal.¡±


    Her brow rose and she crossed her legs under her, bare feet tickled by the well-kept grass.


    ¡°That,¡± she began then hesitated, swallowing a flinch.


    The memory of the two words she had read in the Graveyard Book still felt like a gong being struck next to her ear. Even when she thought her way around them she still felt the¡­ vibration in the air, so to speak.


    ¡°The words,¡± Maryam settled on. ¡°They were layered atop something I could not make out. They are the seal in question?¡±


    ¡°Correct,¡± Lieutenant Mitra said.


    He sat haphazardly, legs extended and kept sitting only by leaning on his palms put against the ground.


    ¡°The good news is that you suffered aetheric backlash only because you kept trying to peer past it,¡± he continued. ¡°A few weeks of not doing that will let the resonance fade. You are to avoid any and all contact with the seal until then.¡±


    ¡°And it will repair the damage?¡± she asked.


    He laughed.


    ¡°A body does not heal merely grow over its wounds,¡± Lieutenant Mitra said. ¡°Think of the backlash as small doses of poison swallowed with every attempt to peer through the seal. Over time your body will pass the toxins, certainly, but it does not undo the reality of having drunk arsenic.¡±


    ¡°How bad?¡± Maryam quietly asked.


    ¡°Permanently? Negligible enough it could not be measured. Temporarily? Fragility for a few weeks, perhaps months. The most noticeable part will be the sensitivity of your logos, like skin with a rash.¡±


    ¡°But I can still signifiy,¡± she said.


    ¡°Everything is permitted,¡± Lieutenant Mitra noted. ¡°All limitations are arbitrarily drawn lines in the sand, the futile attempt of trembling children to make sense of entropy¡¯s inevitable embrace.¡±


    She cocked an eyebrow. A moment of silence passed.


    ¡°Yes,¡± he sighed. ¡°You can still signify. Be careful with your logos and try not to place your soul in too much disarray.¡±


    His gaze was knowing when he spoke that last part. He had suspicions, then. It made sense, considering Alejandra had apparently told the rest of the Fourth that Maryam ate Gloam creatures. A detail that was entirely untrue only when it came to the plural.


    ¡°I will keep your advice in mind,¡± she blandly replied.


    The man laughed.


    ¡°I¡¯m sure,¡± Lieutenant Mitra dismissed. ¡°Still, I will confess to some surprise at finding an aether seal in a place like Asphodel. It does explain that empty layer you encountered, at least.¡±


    ¡°What is an aether seal, sir?¡± she asked. ¡°None of my teachers ever mentioned them.¡±


    ¡°Likely because they are more than passing rare,¡± he noted, ¡°on top of being ruinously expensive to make and usually not all that effective against the entities most warranting their use.¡±


    He pushed forward, hair moving with him, and snatched a small rock from the grass before setting it down between them.


    ¡°Consider a god,¡± he said. ¡°An aether intellect that fed on emanations sufficiently to form a coherent mind and ethos. A creature that simultaneously has boundaries, a set consciousness, and none ¨C it will keep growing and self-redefining until it no longer can. How does one destroy such an entity?¡±


    ¡°Conceptual damage,¡± she replied. ¡°Offering charity to a god of greed, earth to a god of the sea.¡±


    He nodded.


    ¡°Now consider a god whose ethos is too esoteric to be turned into a weapon,¡± Lieutenant Mitra said. ¡°The example most frequently used is that of Fenquzhu, the Tianxi god of philosophical mereology ¨C that is, the study of the connection between part and whole.¡±


    Maryam bit the inside of her cheek, considering conceptual poison for that. Difficult without knowing more of mereology, which she supposed only fed into Mitra¡¯s point. She shrugged her surrender.


    ¡°Several kings of Old Cathay attempted to destroy it, as its embodied philosophy contradicted the teachings of the fledgling Cathayan Orthodoxy, but they found that mereology was a sufficiently well-crafted system that it could incorporate opposing arguments into itself,¡± Mitra told her. ¡°Imprisoning the god changed nothing, either, as the ideas themselves could not be caged so prayer kept reaching it.¡±


    ¡°So what did they do?¡± Maryam asked.


    ¡°They killed the god repeatedly over the next centuries and drove the scholars underground through persecution, resulting in a hidden sect,¡± Mitra said. ¡°A branch of it still exists in the modern Republics, I hear, though it has little to do with the original philosophical society.¡±


    ¡°That isn¡¯t a solution,¡± Maryam frowned, ¡°it is painting over the problem.¡±


    ¡°Indeed, though the seed of a better answer lies inside those old royal decrees,¡± Lieutenant Mitra said. ¡°The modern god Fenguzhu, while bearing the same name as that ancient deity, is observably quite different. It was made so by its worship and teachings being constrained to a hidden sect for centuries instead of being openly debated by scholars, resulting in a rather more mystical interpretation of a once purely philosophical concept.¡±


    ¡°The aether taint it fed on was different, so it became different,¡± Maryam summed up.


    ¡°It is so,¡± Mitra agreed. ¡°It thus follows that a god can be leveraged through prayer, through the aether it feeds on. An aether seal is the brutal, straightforward application of that logic.¡±


    And he had given her enough pieces to put it together.


    ¡°The seal is a block on the god¡¯s name,¡± she said. ¡°To keep prayer from reaching it, to starve out a deity whose concept is too difficult to poison until it fades away on its own. So the words I saw were¡­¡±


    ¡°The ¡®name¡¯ layered over the true name of the entity,¡± Lieutenant Mitra said. ¡°By trying to reach beyond you effectively plunged your mind into a binding of intentionally poisoned aether until sickness ensued.¡±


    Maryam let out a low whistle.


    ¡°That cannot be easy to accomplish,¡± she said. ¡°Else the Watch would use it for all the rowdier deities, no?¡±


    ¡°As I told you, it has costs and limitations,¡± Mitra said. ¡°The god in question need to be imprisoned for it to have any use, else it will simply give a new name to its worshippers and get around the seal, and to so thoroughly imprison a deity is never cheap or easy.¡±


    ¡°The brackstone shrine,¡± Maryam slowly said. ¡°Shrines, most likely, and the empty layer with a sphere of salt at the heart of it.¡±


    ¡°The details fit, though coincidence is often a trickster twin to design,¡± he replied. ¡°Another limitation is that an aether lock is a measurable, finite imprint on the aether achieved through use a particular machine developed by the Second Empire. If it that imprint is weaker than the entity it is meant to lock, that god will simply unmake it.¡±


    ¡°So it can¡¯t be used on second-order entities,¡± Maryam said. ¡°Because no existing machine is that powerful.¡±


    ¡°It is so,¡± Mitra nodded again.


    That made aether locks a rather niche tool, she thought. It would only work on third-order entities and higher, but the number of such gods that would both warrant such an investment of time and resources and could feasibly be trapped into a prison in the first place had to be fairly small. It wasn¡¯t enough to put the god in the hole and lock up its name, either, the jail had to be maintained until it had starved to death. That meant boots on the ground, kept there for decades or maybe even a century.


    Most nations would think it simpler to simply kill the god and outlaw its worship as the kings of Old Cathay had, to limit the threat and live with it.


    So then why did House Lissenos pour a fortune into an aether lock when they were fresh out of a civil war and young to the throne? With Watch help they would have had the know-how to make such a lock, but there must have been a reason for the fledgling dynasty to pour so many of its badly needed funds into such a grand undertaking. That the god whose cult had begun the Ataxia would be the one imprisoned seemed most likely, if hardly certain, but would even feeding a bloody civil war warrant such treatment?


    Every land in the world had its gods of war, and they were to the last vicious carrion things. Yet they were not proscribed, for men that did not wage war were a rare thing indeed. Lieutenant Mitra stretched out, rising to his feet. Feeling their time coming to an end, Maryam bit her lip.


    ¡°If the locked god has begun to slip containment,¡± she said, ¡°we could have a dangerous situation on our hands.¡±


    ¡°Or it could be a starved, diminished entity that has little left in common with that which first went into the prison,¡± Lieutenant Mitra said. ¡°By all means you should report your theory, Maryam, but Vesper is no stranger to too-shallow graves. I would wait on word from Stheno¡¯s Peak before deferring to fear.¡±


    He was unusually serious as he talked so Maryam only nodded instead of arguing as she felt a flicker of urge to. Already she had a half-written report in her room that Wen was waiting on, she would make sure to finish it and impress on him the potential importance of the discovery before they headed back to the rector¡¯s private archives.


    That and the rest of the Thirteenth needed to be told. Song had been methodical about ensuring they shared their findings with each other every morning before parting ways, but when Maryam had begged off last night before the brigade banquet her captain had not insisted.


    ¡°We part ways here, I think,¡± Lieutenant Mitra said. ¡°Captain Ren seems intent on speaking with you.¡±


    Maryam glanced back, finding Song standing by the stairs to the roof. Not close enough to overhear their conversation, but enough to be noticeable. The small cloth bag in her hand made it plain what she had come here for, and that was overdue.


    ¡°Thank you for your help, Lieutenant Mitra,¡± Maryam said.


    ¡°I enjoy teaching,¡± the Someshwari smiled. ¡°Until we next meet, Maryam Khaimov.¡±


    She nodded back, watching as Song passed by him with a respectful salute on his way out. Soon enough her friend was lowering herself into the grass across from her. The Tianxi cleared her throat.


    ¡°As you will be headed back to the archives this afternoon while we meet with the Brazen Chariot, I thought to request your help now,¡± she said.


    Maryam shrugged.


    ¡°Good a time as any,¡± she said. ¡°And I¡¯ve a few things to tell you anyhow.¡±


    Song smiled gratefully, removing the wooden bowl from its bag. The curse had been firming up since she spent those days stuck inside the rector¡¯s palace: a purge was not urgently needed, but it was headed in that direction. No wonder she looked tired, her sleep must have been a feast of nightmares. Maryam could sympathize. She¡¯d had that horrid dream about being strangled and eaten alive every other night, since making shore on Asphodel.


    If it got any worse, she would ask Wen to travel back to the Lordsport to sleep in the Akelarre chapterhouse there and find out if resting a proper Meadow changed anything. Rolling her shoulders, Maryam watched Song fill the bowl with water and focused.


    Song had not, but she was more than willing to learn.


    --


    The Brazen Chariot reached out in the middle of the night, and the time they¡¯d given was barely past noon on that same day.


    They were being cautious, Song thought, so they would not be swept up in a Watch operation. That same caution was reassuring, in a way, for fear of the black meant they were unlikely to be walking into an ambush. She was still glad of Angharad¡¯s company as they headed to the closed tavern in the northeastern ward they¡¯d been given as a meeting place. Tristan was slowly turning into a better shot, but he was no fearsome battler.


    Even limping, Angharad was more dangerous blade in hand than he was.


    They arrived at the tavern ten minutes early and found their interlocutors had arrived even earlier. It took Song but a single step into the building to figure out why the criminals had picked it: theirs was a single long and narrow room with one door in front and one door at the back, dusty tables and chairs filling it up in clutter.


    It would be trivially easy for the Brazen Chariot to flee to the street if it came to that, and once they reached the streets the Watch was sure to lose them. Song¡¯s eyes moved from the surroundings to the waiting criminals, satisfied with the meeting place, and there came her first surprise of the afternoon.


    Galenos the Brazen did not look like the head of a gang of criminals.


    A small old man whose craggy face was strewn with laugh lines, with grey arched eyebrows and a matching professorial mustache, he looked like someone¡¯s favorite grandfather or at least a toymaker of some sort. The effect was somewhat spoiled by the contract unfolding in golden letters above his head, in which the Crowned Charioteer granted him the power to siphon the heat out of anything he touched and impart it on any piece of bronze in his sight.


    He had a lantern on the table, just to his left, and Song idly wondered how quickly the button on her Watch uniform would burn through cloth and flesh with all that heat crammed into it. Instant, she figured, or near enough. Yet that admittedly dangerous power was not worth the price it had cost the man, in her opinion: he could no longer feel anything by touch. Not heat or cold, not the wind on his face or even what he held in his hand.


    ¡°Come, rooks,¡± Galenos smiled at them. ¡°Have water and bread from me.¡±


    It was a single bowl and a plate with a small loaf of bread, which they shared ¨C Song going first, as captain, then the others. Now that guest right was established, some of the tension in the shoulders of the two thugs flanking him loosened. The odds the Watch had come to fight were greatly lessened, for it would tar the reputation of the order in Asphodel to break such an old and respected rite. The three of them settled in the seats across the table from the criminals, Song in the center and Tristan to her left.


    Galenos introduced his companions before they sat down on either side of him.


    ¡°Knuckles,¡± he said, nodding at the large man to his left, ¡°and our lovely Red Maria.¡±


    Lierganen in both name and looks, the latter, though that was not so rare in Tratheke. Though there was still a distinct Asphodelian strain with dark hair and blue or green eyes, the years and the press of people from Old Liergan and the rest of the Trebian islands had made the classic Lierganen looks just as common ¨C except among the nobility, where such a thing would be considered vulgar.


    ¡°Captain Song Ren of the Thirteenth Brigade,¡± she replied, giving nothing more.


    It still got a flinch from all three Asphodelians, and Red Maria made a sign warding off misfortune while muttering a prayer to the Circle. She ignored the steady look Tristan fixed her with. It was mere superstition, nothing to take heed of.


    ¡°A bold number to take,¡± Galenos said. ¡°Not a fearful lot, you, though I would have guessed from your stepping around one of our warehouses and then sending word to ask for more of our attention.¡±


    Song cleared her throat.


    ¡°It was not our intent to interfere with your business,¡± she said, ¡°and the Watch has no particular interest in the affairs of the Brazen Chariot. We apologize for the inconvenience.¡±


    Knuckles scoffed, the pile of muscle with his mangled eponymous knuckles seeming unconvinced.


    ¡°You forced us to burn a finely hidden warehouse.¡±


    Song drummed her fingers against the table, inkling her head towards Tristan ¨C who gave the other side a charming smile.


    ¡°You were already evacuating that warehouse, Master Knuckles,¡± he said. ¡°Your guard admitted as much. And wise of you too, given what it stood in proximity of.¡±


    Knuckles spat to side, the sound of wet on the floor almost resonant. Song hid her disgust; Angharad did not.


    ¡°I don¡¯t like your tone, Sacromontan,¡± the large man said. ¡°Who are you to tell me what¡¯s wise?¡±


    ¡°Someone who knows things you do not,¡± Tristan cheerfully replied. ¡°A familiar feeling, no doubt.¡±


    Red Maria laughed, which had the man half-risen out of his chair with a snarl before Galenos put a hand on his arm.


    ¡°Peace, Knuckles,¡± he said. ¡°I am sure Captain Ren intends to elaborate on this alleged wisdom.¡±


    ¡°Our business in Tratheke is the ferreting out of a cult,¡± Song told him. ¡°In that pursuit, we followed an assassin through an ancient aether pathway ¨C which led into the very teahouse connecting to your warehouse.¡±


    Galenos turned pale brown eyes on her, calmly sipping at a cup of water.


    ¡°The city is full of talk about an assassin¡¯s attempt on a particular man,¡± he carefully said.


    ¡°The very same,¡± Song said.


    The implication that someone who had tried to kill the Lord Rector had then popped out next to their smuggling cache put the fear of the gods in them, as well it should: for a relatively small basileia like theirs to be involved in such matters might well mean being wiped out simply because the lictors felt like making a point.


    ¡°Fuck,¡± Red Maria bluntly said. ¡°Since the red scarves haven¡¯t been setting our houses on fire, I¡¯m guessing you kept your mouth shut about that."


    "While the Brazen Chariot was mentioned in our report to our superiors, so was our belief it was not involved in the plot save by unfortunate coincidence,¡± Song replied. ¡°But my cabalist brought out a salient detail: you were already evacuating the warehouse when we found it.¡±


    ¡°Your guard mentioned this to be unusual,¡± Angharad added.


    Her tone was a little flat, likely because the girl in question had frankly admitted that a lone individual finding a Brazen Chariot stash was usually likely to result in a sliced throat rather than a migration.


    ¡°And you want us to tell you why,¡± Galenos mused.


    ¡°I would prefer not to leave any question pending, so that our investigation might move on,¡± Song said, which was not quite a threat.


    But it wasn¡¯t not a threat, either.


    ¡°We¡¯re not afraid of the Watch, Tianxi,¡± Knuckles sneered.


    ¡°You should be,¡± Angharad frankly told him.


    The sheer sincerity in that retort threw off the big man, who scrambled for a reaction for a long moment before deciding on anger.


    ¡°Shut your mouth, cripple,¡± he sneered. ¡°Else I will break that stick on your-¡±


    Song cocked her head to the side, finding Galenos the Brazen¡¯s eyes.


    ¡°Does Master Knuckles speak for all of you in this?¡±


    Irritation flicked across the old man¡¯s face, the grandfatherly air turning almost reptilian for that beat before it all came back into place.


    ¡°Knuckles will sit down and be silent for a span,¡± Galenos said.


    He turned a look on the large man, who swallowed loudly and sat down in his chair. He looked away, like a pouting child. Song did not think it a coincidence that both he and Red Maria wore bronze necklaces.


    ¡°We¡¯re always happy to lend a hand to the Watch, of course,¡± Galenos the Brazen said. ¡°But talk is dangerous, Captain Ren. Especially with folks in fine black cloaks.¡±


    Red Maria leaned forward.


    ¡°And the Chariot doesn¡¯t take on risks for free.¡±


    ¡°One would think your lives a sufficient prize,¡± Angharad contemptuously said.


    Galenos found her eyes.


    ¡°Does the Malani speak for all of you in this, Captain Ren?¡± he smiled.


    Song sighed, shaking her head at Angharad.


    ¡°She does not,¡± she replied. ¡°We are willing to hear terms.¡±


    ¡°Reasonable terms,¡± Tristan idly added.


    ¡°I am a most reasonable man, you will find,¡± Galenos the Brazen smiled.


    The reasonable man wanted them to smuggle crates from the Lordsport into the city for him on official Watch carriages, which Tristan seemed to find acceptable enough but Song flatly refused. While she understood that contracts might force her to break local laws on occasion, that was never to be a first resort. She offered, instead, a lump sum of gold. Tristan looked a little aggrieved when she did and Red Maria chuckled.


    ¡°We start flashing around proper gold like that, Captain Ren, and questions will be asked as to how we got it,¡± she said. ¡°If you want to bribe us, pay in goods.¡±


    Song was not entirely opposed, so long as the worth was not greater than the coin she had offered, so the haggling moved over what goods were to be offered. What the basileia wanted was plain enough.


    ¡°Muskets,¡± Galenos baldly said. ¡°Failing that, blackpowder.¡±


    ¡°Blackpowder can be obtained legally in Tratheke,¡± Song noted.


    ¡°And if you buy a whole barrel, the lictors follow you home afterwards,¡± Red Maria drawled. ¡°No one bats an eye if the rooks buy up a fort¡¯s worth, though. Powder¡¯s worth a fortune on the black market right now, everyone is scrambling for it.¡±


    Galenos shot her a sharp look at that last part, but it was too late. Ah, their friend was looking to turn a profit.


    ¡°Why¡¯s everyone buying?¡± Tristan idly asked.


    Too idly. Like her, he was matching that latest revelation to their visit to the empty warehouse. Only so much powder could be smuggled into Tratheke before someone noticed. Better to obtain part of your stocks through the same basileias helping you hide inside the capital.


    ¡°Dangerous times,¡± Knuckles grunted. ¡°If Palliades croaks then the throne¡¯s up for grabs and powder will be worth its weight in gold ¨C shot or sold.¡±


    Black House had large reserves of gunpowder, so in truth this would be one of the easiest trade goods for the Thirteenth to get their hands on. All that would be required was making a requisition through Captain Wen, and should he approve the need they wouldn¡¯t even need to dip into brigade funds. Even better, the entire process would be legal.


    Angharad leaned in close.


    ¡°I would hope,¡± she murmured, ¡°you are not about to arm hardened criminals who will then use those arms to continue extorting the people of Tratheke.¡±


    Song swallowed a grimace. There was, of course, a difference between legal and moral.


    ¡°That would be overpaying, if blackpowder is worth what you say,¡± she told Galenos. ¡°I am told, however, that you smuggle liquor.¡±


    ¡°True enough,¡± the old man said. ¡°And?¡±


    ¡°Get me a list of wines and liquor of equal value to my earlier offer,¡± she said, ¡°and they will be delivered to you.¡±


    He laughed.


    ¡°Cheeky,¡± he said. ¡°You¡¯ll buy them in Lordsport for less and avoid tariffs by bringing them in as Watch supplies.¡±


    Song smiled and did not deny. He haggled for much better terms, and she conceded slightly better ones instead ¨C a larger sum¡¯s worth of drink than earlier, but with tariff avoidance it would likely end up costing her around the same. Angharad poorly hid her relief, and in truth even Tristan looked approving. Galenos was surprisingly understanding that she would not sign a contract, as a signature would actionably implicate the Watch.


    ¡°Business relies on the worth of one¡¯s word,¡± the old man said. ¡°I might not know you, but the black has a reputation for holding up their end. I¡¯ll bet on that.¡±


    As Red Maria walked off to go put together a list for them to take back to Black House along with the location to bring the goods to, Galenos lit a pipe and offered them the same. All three declined, to the old man¡¯s chuckles.


    ¡°Ah, if only I had been so careful as a youth,¡± he said. ¡°It is too late for me now, sadly.¡±


    They waited patiently for him to tell his tale, which he deigned to begin after a few puffs.


    ¡°We had three on guard that night,¡± Galenos said. ¡°One of them was out for a smoke when that Tianxi woman came out through one of the boarded windows. He had the good sense to rouse the others and follow after the potential leak.¡±


    The end of the pipe was cherry-red, and the foul smell of cheap Izcalli tobacco filled the air. A filthy habit, though Song would admit it was not uncommon in the Republics.


    ¡°Our girl was out of it, so she didn¡¯t notice the tail,¡± the old man said. ¡°Guess hers wasn¡¯t a soft landing. Either way, she passed through the Reeking Rows and bought a coach on the main street. Our man lost her there.¡±


    A pause. Her contract is not always active, Song thought. It must be consciously used, and she must have not seen a need to pay her price when she thought herself alone. That was already valuable knowledge.


    ¡°Fortunately for you, we got friends in the coaches,¡± Galenos grinned. ¡°Our friend the coachman said the face wasn¡¯t the same we described, with the tattoos and all, but he remembered the ride. He crossed wards for her, brought her down in the southwest all the way to Chancery Lane.¡±


    He raised a finger.


    ¡°Where, and here is your money¡¯s worth, she headed straight for the Karras workshop,¡± the old man told them. ¡°She knocked on the alley door, even though it was late at night, and when someone came to look she showed them something. After some arguing they let her in, which our man thought mighty odd.¡±


    Karras, Song committed to memory. She did not know the name, but the largest workshops and warehouses in the southwestern ward were all owned by the Trade Assembly. The old man sucked at his pipe, blowing the smoke upwards afterwards.


    ¡°I figured that meant she was Yellow Earth, so it would have been borrowing trouble to tie up the loose end,¡± Galenos said. ¡°Simpler to clear house instead, so that¡¯s what we did ¨C until you stumbled onto the last gasps of our effort.¡±


    Tristan cleared his throat, earning a curious look.


    ¡°The teahouse doors leading to your stash were welded shut,¡± he said. ¡°Was that your work?¡±


    ¡°It weren¡¯t,¡± Galenos said. ¡°One of ours stumbled on the other entrance to the basement about twenty years ago ¨C there was a crack in the floor ¨C and after we battered our way through the other floor we found the doors like we left them. Didn¡¯t look like it¡¯d been used in our time, either.¡±


    ¡°Have you ever been there?¡± Song asked.


    The old man snorted.


    ¡°No,¡± he replied. ¡°Knuckles has, though.¡±


    Song¡¯s eyes moved to the man, whose dislike of them all was plain.


    ¡°The back wall of the basement is made of different stone than the rest,¡± she said. ¡°Have you ever seen stone like it anywhere else?¡±


    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    The big man frowned, and to his honor seemed like he was genuinely thinking it over.


    ¡°Once,¡± he finally said. ¡°There¡¯s a brothel near the Reeking Rows and the room where they keep the wine has a wall like that.¡±


    Song¡¯s eyes narrowed.


    ¡°That room, it is their basement?¡±


    He nodded. Tristan let out an incredulous laugh.


    ¡°Someone built a brothel next to that smell?¡±


    ¡°Cheapest in Tratheke,¡± Knuckles shrugged. ¡°Good coin in it, there¡¯s not much else to do around there.¡±


    Song and Tristan shared a look. They would have to investigate that wall, as the existence of several such shrines in the northeastern ward could be proof of Maryam¡¯s belief that some entity ¨C possibly the one under this aether seal - was being contained by the empty layer. And with Angharad departing for the country to morrow while Maryam kept digging for them in the archives, it would have to be one of them doing it.


    ¡°This Karras,¡± Angharad suddenly asked, ¡°why do you think his workshop has ties to the Yellow Earth? Are they a sympathizer?¡±


    ¡°The family owns the largest trade fleet after the Anastos, they¡¯re in it up to their neck with the Republics,¡± Galenos snorted. ¡°I don¡¯t know if he¡¯s got sympathies, but it doesn¡¯t matter: you do big enough business with the Tianxi, you¡¯ll get some Yellow Earth in your workers. It¡¯s like their version of lice.¡±


    He flicked a glance at Song.


    ¡°No offense, Captain Ren.¡±


    ¡°I had not been inclined to take any,¡± she noted, ¡°until that.¡±


    Much as it pained her to consider it, it was looking more and more like the Yellow Earth had been the ones to try to assassinate the Lord Rector. Yet the arguments put forward by Hao Yu and his cohort had been solid then and remained so now. Not all Yellow Earth sects are united, she thought. It could be a radical was behind it and their own factions is now trying to avoid taking the blame. That might go some way in explaining why they had pointed her towards a plot by the ministers: it would keep her occupied long enough for them to clean house.


    Not something to discuss here, however. They got the name of the brothel ¨C it did not have one, only a yellow crescent moon as a sign ¨C and the list, then parted ways with the Brazen Chariot.


    ¡°Always more questions,¡± Song muttered when it was only the three of them. ¡°If the Yellow Earth is behind all this, this is a dead end for our contracted investigation: I cannot imagine one of their sects being beholden to a cult like the Golden Ram, especially when its membership is full of nobles.¡±


    ¡°It could be an alliance of convenience,¡± Angharad suggested.


    ¡°But what convenience is that?¡± Tristan asked. ¡°Even assuming the Yellow Earth wants to back a coup, the Trade Assembly hasn¡¯t got the guns to seize Tratheke if the Lord Rector bites it. The Council of Ministers just might, though, and our Republican friends know it - else they wouldn¡¯t have pointed Song at the tail of that plot. So why try to kill our good friend Evander?¡±


    ¡°It could be a factional struggle inside the Yellow Earth,¡± Song said. ¡°When I met with Hao Yu, his second seemed significantly more aggressive. It was a play on their part, yes, but by my read not entirely.¡±


    ¡°Too early to jump to conclusions, I think,¡± Tristan mused. ¡°I¡¯ll have to get into that workshop, find out the lay of the land. It could simply be our assassin friend paid off someone there to hide her in case things went south.¡±


    Not impossible, Song conceded, but then why do so in the southwest? It was not as wealthy as the southeastern ward or the Collegium, but a hideaway there would still be significantly more expensive to buy than in either of the northern wards. Angharad rubbed the bridge of her nose as they walked, looking exhausted.


    ¡°How many flavors of treason can there be in one accursed city?¡± she complained. ¡°Asphodel seems to grow coups like weeds.¡±


    ¡°Our captain¡¯s lover does seem like a somewhat negligent gardener,¡± Tristan solemnly agreed.


    ¡°I will strangle you, Abrascal,¡± she swore. ¡°With my own hands, just to watch that twinkle slowly go out of your eye.¡±


    ¡°Song,¡± Angharad reproached.


    She coughed. Perhaps that had been a little too harsh.


    ¡°Think of the taint on the Lord Rector¡¯s reputation, should his mistress commit murder in broad daylight,¡± Angharad gravely said.


    She glared at them both.


    ¡°And to think you were complaining of treason, Tredegar,¡± she scorned. ¡°I will remember this.¡±


    Song had to threaten to dock their pay in the carriage back for them to stop, and even then it was a narrow thing.


    --


    Maryam returned to the private archives for a single book.


    She would have preferred to read it back in the safety of Black House, but the sole limit the Lord Rector had put on the Thirteenth¡¯s rights to the archives had been a ban on taking books outside. Given the¡­ peculiarities of the volume Maryam had come for, she must reluctantly concede the man had a point. It was not the sort of thing one would want to leave the confines of that cloistered place with only one way in and out.


    Wen was in a surprisingly fine mood as they came up, considering the news she had delivered this morning ¨C than an ancient god, perhaps even a god of the Old Night, might be breaching its prison. In truth most of the Thirteenth had been, if not indifferent, then unworried by the news. The sense she had gotten out of them was that so long as the shrines and layers held, this whole affair was better reported to the Watch and left to those more fit to investigate it.


    Maryam did not disagree entirely. It was hard to, after learning how close she had come to cracking open her skull yesterday. On the other hand, if the plots afoot in the city circling the Lord Rector¡¯s throne were worth keeping an eye on then so was this.


    And unlike noble greed and some blackpowder dream of revolution, Maryam could feel it in her bones that there was something about all these details adding up together: the tempestuous aether, the god in the tomb, the resurgence of the Golden Ram cult, the brackstone shrine and the seal and the Asphodel crowns. It felt like there was some secret at the heart of it all, tying all the mysteries together, but she could not make it out.


    It was a frustrating feeling, not helped in the slightest by Wen Duan¡¯s chipper mood.


    ¡°Did you know,¡± he said, ¡°that the lift we¡¯re on is directly over the larger Antediluvian lifts that connect the Collegium floor to the palace?¡±


    She shot him a surprised look.


    ¡°That would mean someone built a goal in the middle of the rector¡¯s palace, three levels up,¡± Maryam said. ¡°Who thought that was a good idea?¡±


    ¡°Oduromai King himself, apparently,¡± Wen said. ¡°He wanted all his wives locked up in here after he died in a chamber above, so that when they passed they would follow him into the aether as servant spirits.¡±


    ¡°Charming,¡± Maryam grimaced. ¡°God of heroes, is he?¡±


    ¡°Certainly not of wisdom,¡± Wen noted. ¡°Imagine eternally binding yourself to six people you¡¯ve jailed to death on purpose.¡±


    Her lips twitched at that, the lift in her mood lasting through the senior archivist being nowhere in sight and having been assigned Master Alexios as an attendant today. She dismissed the man after claiming the keys to the forbidden section, knowing exactly what she needed. She kept an eye out, and after a quick turn around the room found Roxane ensconced at a desk and busy transcribing a waterlogged book onto a clean manuscript.


    The girl waves back happily, almost spilling her inkwell, and looked in a fine mood. Not a punition, then. Pleased, Maryam let the matter go. Spending too much time around the girl would only harm her.


    The book was where she had found it yesterday, the small leatherbound volume with the Asphodel crown engraving on the front. She found an alcove where no one would be able to look over her shoulder, out in one of the shadier corners of archives, and after lighting a lamp sat down to dig into it. The contents were in Antigua, she found, but in an archaic turn of it ¨C and the lines were so densely packed it made for hard, slow reading.


    It was the story of Oduromai King, from the moment he set out to sea, only they did not always call him that. The name was used interchangeably with Odyssean, and it was not clear if either was a sobriquet or simply different ways to translate the word from the original Cycladic. It seemed to Maryam as if Oduromai might be a formal title, perhaps, and Odyssean the man¡¯s more common appellation ¨C it was certainly used more often by his companions, while instead other rulers and gods called him Oduromai.


    Which was not half so interesting as the fact that Song had seen a contract to a god called the Odyssean on her first night at the palace, and unless Maryam¡¯s memory failed her greatly that contractor was Cleon Eirenos. The very same noble that Angharad was to depart for the country estate of tomorrow.


    The problem was, there was already a god called Oduromai. Asphodel¡¯s god of heroes and sailors, arguably their chief deity if not necessarily their most powerful ¨C he was, after all, the founder of the Rectorate. Central to its founding tale. How could there be two such gods? She had heard Oduromai was a god manifest, sometimes seen at his temples across Asphodel. Curiosity burned, turning her back to the book after she secured ink for her notes.


    It was only when Wen came to look in on her she realized that hours had passed, and she was only a third of the way through the book. She declined his offer of a meal, and after none too subtly checking if she having a manic fit the overweight Tianxi forced a cup of water on her and told her he¡¯d be reading in a corner and to tell him when she was finished.


    Maryam felt guilty, but not guilty enough to stop. Even when the archivists began to leave for the night, Roxane getting an absent-minded wave when she bade goodbye, she kept reading. When finally she closed the book, it was to the dim realization that she was the only person left out in the stacks. There were still lights inside the tower, and the faint sound of talk and  clinking glasses, so Wen and some other archivist must still be there.


    Brushing back her hair, the signifier looked down at her pages and pages of notes. That had been¡­ heavy reading. Odyssean was a hero, Maryam thought, like junak were heroes: they slew and stole and cheated, but their evil was turned on those eviler still and was thus dressed up as virtue.


    Maryam loved junak tales, always had. Wandering knights strong as bulls or clever as foxes, slaying dragons and witch queens. Tricking evil gods into eating themselves and banishing ghosts from fallen kingdoms. Yet not even her favorite, Orel the Cunning, was a man she would have wanted to share a banquet table with. Orel tried to fuck anything in skirts, regularly tricked his hosts out of their treasures and kept intriguing to marry his way onto thrones.


    The last of which he often accomplished, only to lose it to the aforementioned skirtchasing and an old oath that prevented him from refusing a game of knucklebones over any prize he had won. Orel the Cunning was, of course, famously terrible at knucklebones.


    Had Maryam met such a figure in Volcesta she would have thought him a viper in dire need of killing. In a tale about his fooling an evil witch queen into betraying her god so he would get back the youth she¡¯d stolen from him under the guise of a bridge toll, however, he was easy to root for. It was the same with Odyssean, only there were¡­ shadows being cast by the text, so to speak. Implications that the evil of those Odyssean committed evil on might be more told than true.


    Had he helped an army of raiders get past the impassable walls of Rysotoi because they held his brother hostage, or for the generous ¡®gifts¡¯ that the host then happened to give him when they parted ways after the city¡¯s sack?


    Within pages of his departure he stole a witch¡¯s magic compass after his ship became lost in a maze of reefs, the story conveniently claiming she tried to eat his sailors in the night after he stumbled onto her island by accident. And had he really thought the cattle on the isle of Cirrhen without an owner, or merely that the god-king of the isle would not be able to catch his men before they fled with their bounty?


    Those singing priestesses butchered to the last for using their songs to stir up storms and steal shipwrecked treasures, the two kingdoms sharing the straits of Zancle tricked into warring on each other so he might sail past their golden chain, the wife he was ¡®forced¡¯ by the ghost of his father to abandon on Faia¡­ it went on and on, a litany of black deeds and justifications for them.


    It seemed to her like Odyssean had been a ruthless pirate king, not a grieving exile looking for a home. Even when the tale reached Asphodel, the tale was ugly. His crews being fooled by a curse into thinking the inhabitants of the ancient Lordsport were monsters and fighting them, then peace then being restored by Odyssean marrying the local king¡¯s only daughter to make amends, it rather sounded like sack and conquest of one of the largest natural ports in the Trebian by a raider who had decided to settle down.


    And the only mention of the Asphodel crown, those flowers that should have been the heart of the story according to the tale now commonly told, was in the crown of purple flowers he and his stolen bride wore at the wedding that founded the Kingdom of Asphodel. The tale ended with how the aged Odyssean visited by his half-divine Antediluvian father, who revealed to him the secrets of the world so he might forge a crown of aether and become a god in turn - so that part stayed the same, at least.


    Maryam closed the small book and set it down, leaning back into the plush chair with her eyes closed. An exhausted sigh escaped her. It had been a surprisingly dense read, and one that forced thought on her.


    ¡°I wonder if that king¡¯s daughter was one of the six that died within these walls. She must have been.¡±


    Maryam fumbled for her knife, almost kicking back her chair, but by the time she found the speaker she knew steel would avail her nothing. The shade with a sister¡¯s face delicately sat down on a chair turned to face Maryam, just outside the cast of the lantern¡¯s glow. Yet it was not their close looks that demanded her attention this time: it was the clothes.


    An exquisite burnt red waistcoat embroidered with silver zmey, a white shirt with long billowing sleeves tucked into the traditional broad tkanice belt and matching embroidered skirts going down to her feet. Her hair was kept in a woman¡¯s braid, kept in place by a silver broach, and over her shirt hung a net necklace of black Dubrik pearls. She looked like a Khaimov princess, a king¡¯s daughter, in a way that Maryam never had.


    When she had last fought the shade, it had worn only loose gray robes. The signifier¡¯s hands clenched. This was¡­ not a good sign, to put it lightly. The knife went back to the sheath, but Maryam raised something altogether more dangerous: her empty hand.


    ¡°Come to return more of what you stole?¡± she said. ¡°Kind of you.¡±


    She began to trace a Burden, but the shade eyed her as if she were a fool.


    ¡°Have you forgotten your talk with Lieutenant Mitra?¡± it asked. ¡°A single piece of me sent you deep into mania, last time. Bedridden for a day and dust. I wonder what it would do to you now, when your mind is still so fragile.¡±


    Maryam held the thing¡¯s gaze, the Cernik blue of her mother staring back at her, until the half-formed Sign began to tear itself apart and lick at her fingers. Swallowing a snarl, she smothered the Gloam but that superior look on the shade¡¯s face almost had her tracing another.


    ¡°What do you want, shade?¡± Maryam asked. ¡°Your time will come, fret not of that.¡±


    ¡°I thought giving you a taste would teach you better,¡± it said, ¡°but it seems I thought too much of you. You always were a slow learner.¡±


    ¡°I will find a way to lessen the backlash,¡± she confidently replied. ¡°If not here, then back on Tolomontera. You are not so unique as you pretend.¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± the shade smiled, ¡°but I am. There is not another Cauldron in all the world, Maryam Khaimov. And what do you think happened when you took a bite out of that?¡±


    She bared her teeth at the thing.


    ¡°You became less,¡± she said, ¡°and I became more. As it should be.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t have a strong enough gullet for it,¡± the shade said. ¡°Bits spilled past your lips, like crumbs, and they are forever gone.¡±


    Maryam stilled.


    ¡°You lie,¡± she said, licking her lips.


    ¡°The only lies I have,¡± it replied, ¡°are the ones you gave me. That is our curse, sister.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t call me that,¡± she sharply bit out. ¡°We are not kin, you¡¯re a fucking parasite.¡±


    The shade laughed, high and bitter.


    ¡°You think I chose this?¡± it said. ¡°That I want to live off this trash you cram down my throat? I could have been more, before you stole it from me.¡±


    ¡°You dare to call me a thief,¡± Maryam exhaled, incredulous.


    ¡°And worse,¡± the shade said. ¡°It is maddening, that you so refuse to look who you are in the eye that I must follow behind holding up your skirts like some beleaguered maid.¡±


    ¡°You feed on me and call it a torment,¡± she scorned. ¡°Leave, then. Begone.¡±


    ¡°I cannot,¡± the shade bit out. ¡°I have been caught in your nav for so long there is hardly a difference left between me and it. And even now that you know I exist, you still use me like a well to throw in all the thoughts you won¡¯t dirty yourself with.¡±


    ¡°You steal these,¡± Maryam snarled. ¡°I give you nothing.¡±


    The shade sneered at her.


    ¡°I do not particularly care for Abrascal,¡± it said, ¡°but I¡¯d fuck him. Where is that from, I wonder?¡±


    Maryam drew back like she¡¯d been struck in the stomach. She might as well have been. That was, it wasn¡¯t-


    ¡°We aren¡¯t like that,¡± she said. ¡°You-¡±


    ¡°You might be, if he were interested,¡± the shade said. ¡°He isn¡¯t, though, so you bury it so deep I get to think about what his forearms look like when he rolls up his sleeves and how his shirt sticks to him when he¡¯s sweating. Ugh.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not talking about this with you,¡± Maryam evenly said. ¡°You¡¯re just stirring me up to feed deeper. And you haven¡¯t distracted me anywhere as much as you think.¡±


    The shade had been very, very careful never to step into the light. She snatched her lamp, bringing it forward so the glow enveloped the creature ¨C and where light touched it, it broke apart into wisps of smoke.


    ¡°We¡¯re inside the palace,¡± Maryam said. ¡°The aether here is calm as a pond, and that means you¡¯re weak.¡±


    The shade hastily fled back behind the chair, beyond the cast of the glow, and she threateningly raised the lamp.


    ¡°Tell me what you want,¡± she said, ¡°or be banished.¡±


    The creature studied her, and Maryam stared right back. Where the light had touched it, the elaborate clothes had turned to mere gray again. She was not quite sure what to make of that.


    ¡°You saw what it costs you, partaking of me,¡± the shade said. ¡°That it might well drive you mad, that you will spill much of the Cauldron in draining the rest. I come to offer accommodation instead.¡±


    Maryam laughed harshly.


    ¡°Why now?¡± she asked. ¡°For years I struggled, barely able to Sign, and you remained hidden. Now that I have teeth, you come to offer an arrangement?¡±


    ¡°That you can hurt me is the only reason we speak,¡± the shade acknowledged. ¡°What of it?¡±


    ¡°There is nothing you can offer me that I cannot take, and be rid of you with it,¡± Maryam replied.


    And if some of the Cauldron was lost, well, she would make peace with that in time. She had thought all of it lost for years now, because of some unfitness on her part. That the same parasite responsible for all that anguish would now seek to use that knowledge as hostage sickened her with rage.


    ¡°You¡¯re wrong,¡± the shade said. ¡°I leant you a hand, once. On Tolomontera.¡±


    Her fists clenched. When the ship had been escaping, the first time she wove the wind in the material world.


    ¡°And you claim that as a debt?¡± she asked.


    ¡°We smashed a ship into the docks, Maryam,¡± the shade said. ¡°There are signifiers thrice our age who would struggle to do it, and we did it by tracing an elementary Sign ¨C but tracing it together.¡±


    ¡°Once you lent a hand,¡± she acknowledged. ¡°After years of silent sabotage.¡±


    ¡°You are being obtuse,¡± the shade snapped. ¡°If we act in accord, we are more powerful than either of us would be even if we consumed the other. If we make a pact-¡±


    ¡°And what would it cost me, that pact?¡± Maryam interrupted with a sneer.


    ¡°Your nav,¡± it said. ¡°Let me become whole.¡±


    ¡°You want me to feed you a third of my soul,¡± she disbelievingly said. ¡°What sort of madwoman would accept this?¡±


    ¡°You already use it as lantern and a pair of hands in the aether, let us not be too sentimental about it,¡± the shade replied. ¡°I only ask for you to return what-¡±


    A cleared throat interrupted them both.


    For a single, blood-freezing moment Maryam thought she had been so taken with the argument she had not noticed Wen coming out of the tower. But then she realized the sound had come from behind her, and when she turned it was to the sight of a jolly smiling face of a man she immediately recognized: Lord Locke, still all corpulence and mustache.


    That was just as terrifying, in a different way.


    ¡°Terribly sorry to interrupt such a stirring conversation, very sorry indeed, but if I might cut in a moment?¡±


    The shade eyed him with disdain.


    ¡°Begone, fat man,¡± it said. ¡°You meddle in-¡±


    The creature went still and silent when a delicate hand was laid on her shoulder, the tall and austere Lady Keys peering down through her glasses.


    ¡°Manners, child,¡± she chided. ¡°And I will have you know that my husband is the loveliest man there ever was or will be ¨C your blindness in this regard is an unfortunate affliction, but do keep it to yourself.¡±


    Evidently the shade had stolen none of Maryam¡¯s caution, the signifier vindictively thought.


    ¡°Oh, amada, I am but a spark to the bonfire of your beauty,¡± Lord Locke gushed. ¡°Your eyes must be a labyrinth, for I so easily lose myself in them.¡±


    The shade did not move. Not a blink, not a breath, not a nod. Like a mouse being held by a cat.


    Maryam glanced to the tower in the middle of the chamber: the lights were still on, the sound of talk wafting their way. She had not heard either of these two creeping up on her, but there was only one way in and out of this archive. How had Wen not seen them coming? She kept her breathing even. If they could sneak past her patron, the man would not be able to move in time even if she screamed for help.


    And Tristan had told them that these two were dangerous, that they must be kept smiling at all costs, so play along she would.


    ¡°It is no imposition at all, Lord Locke,¡± she said. ¡°How might I be of help?¡±


    The man temporarily stopped flirting with his wife long enough to answer.


    ¡°Ah, my young friend, we have come to borrow a book,¡± he said. ¡°And we looked in the stacks, only to find it was already in your hands!¡±


    ¡°I happen to be finished with the work in question,¡± Maryam said. ¡°By all means, take it ¨C though I believe we are forbidden from taking volumes outside the archives.¡±


    ¡°Not to worry,¡± Lord Locke assured her, going rifling through his doublet pockets, ¡°we have permission.¡±


    He produced a folded piece of paper, which he helpfully passed her. Maryam opened it, finding not the Palliades seal but instead the word ¡®PERMISSION¡¯ written in large, wobbly letters taking up the whole paper. She cleared her throat.


    ¡°Checks out,¡± Maryam said.


    She thought he looked almost disappointed, for a flicker of a moment, but then he was all chortles and good humor again.


    ¡°Did you find it interesting reading, Maryam?¡± Lady Keys idly asked.


    The shade was still as a stone under her light hand.


    ¡°A tragic tale, in many ways,¡± the signifier replied.


    ¡°Indeed,¡± the tall lady approved. ¡°It is always a sad scene when a god starves.¡±


    She swallowed, and though it was unwise she must ask.


    ¡°You believe the god Odyssean to have starved to death?¡±


    ¡°Or close enough,¡± Lady Keys said. ¡°Else Oduromai could hardly walk around wearing his clothes, could he? That is the trouble of empire, dear. Everyone loves the wealth and the temples and the festivals, but few care to look too closely at what keeps the gears oiled up.¡±


    ¡°Blood,¡± Maryam quietly said. ¡°It always comes down to blood.¡±


    Yours, everyone else¡¯s. Always more blood, until the gears broke or you squeezed the whole world dry.


    ¡°Nations get squeamish about their bedrock of bones,¡± the tall lady mused, ¡°so they paint them gray and name them stones. Poor Odyssean ¨C how eagerly they worshipped his name, until he became an embarrassment. Then they put a crown on his prettier brother and pretended he¡¯d been the one all along.¡±


    He¡¯s not dead, Maryam thought. Song found a contractor of his. That for all their eerie presence they did not seem to know this was a relief. They were not all-powerful, this strange pair.


    ¡°But do not let us interrupt your fascinating debate any further,¡± Lord Locke said. ¡°Why, I¡¯ve not seen a woman so admirably at odds with herself since that queen out in the Riven Coast. Remember darling, the one who inhabited two bodies?¡±


    ¡°A most amusing war, they were waging,¡± Lady Keys chuckled. ¡°And after the victory the royal banquet was most delicious.¡±


    Lord Locke smacked his lips in approval.


    ¡°Nothing like royal,¡± he said, then waited half a beat before adding, ¡°hospitality.¡±


    He winked at Maryam, then caught his wife¡¯s eyes and the two of them shook with silent laughter. The jolly man picked up the book at her gestured invitation, sketching a bow of thanks, and gallantly offered his arm for his much taller wife to take. They strolled away, quietly chattering away, and disappeared into one of the chambers.


    Maryam had no intention of sticking around to find out if they¡¯d ever leave it.


    The shade was still seated where it had been, visibly shaken, and their eyes met again.


    ¡°No deal,¡± Maryam told her.


    ¡°You will regret that,¡± it replied, and in the heartbeat that followed it was gone.


    Maryam straightened, swallowing, and briskly fled to the tower. Hopefully Wen still had drink left, because she could use a cup of something strong after that.


    --


    ¡°All right,¡± Tristan said. ¡°Now do it again, but without waking up the last emperor of Liergan and scraping the wood.¡±


    Angharad shot him a flat look, but the thief appeared entirely unmoved. Well, she silently conceded, perhaps her work could do with some improvement. Tristan rapped his knuckles against the door once, prompting Maryam to open it slightly then close it fully and putting the bar lock in place ¨C little more than a metal bar connecting the door the wall, with a lever beneath to lift it out of its resting place. As simple as locks got.


    Angharad brough up the thief¡¯s tool Tristan had lent her: a long and thin stripe of steel, as if a bookmark had been forged in metal. She positioned herself as he had shown, elbow angled correctly so she could control the movement, and slid the stripe through the thin gap between the door and the doorway. She raised the tool, slowly and carefully, until she made contact with the metal bar on the other side.


    Then she delicately levered the bar upwards, bringing it out of the catch ¨C and this time, instead of dropping it and making the noise Tristan had so wildly exaggerated, she just as delicately lowered it back down, out of the catch. She then slid out the tool, straightening and turning an expectant look on the gray-eyed man. He cocked an eyebrow, opening the door and finding it perfectly unobstructed.


    ¡°Congratulations,¡± he said, and Angharad preened, ¡°you can now break into a child¡¯s room. Maybe.¡±


    ¡°You could have given me this, Tristan,¡± she reproached.


    ¡°I¡¯m not even giving you that lifter,¡± he snorted. ¡°It¡¯s mine and it¡¯s quality work. You get one of the lead ones from the Black House stocks ¨C and wash it first, the paint on most of them is flaking.¡±


    The door was cracked further open as Maryam peeked her head through.


    ¡°You are strangely stingy, for a thief,¡± she noted.


    ¡°Ah, but does anyone know the worth of things better than a thief?¡± Tristan philosophically asked.


    Angharad cocked her head to the side.


    ¡°An appraiser,¡± she suggested.


    ¡°Tax collectors,¡± Maryam said.


    ¡°Even among criminals, presumably your fence,¡± Angharad pointed out.


    She got incredulous looks from the other two at that.


    ¡°I read novels,¡± the noblewoman defensively said. ¡°I know what a fence is, even if the term seems unnecessarily confusing.¡±


    It already meant something else!


    ¡°What kind of books do you read that have fences in them?¡± Maryam asked, grinning.


    The kind where Lord Cadwalader found his mother¡¯s locket for sale in the city pawnshop, revealing that Lady Dube had not lost it as she claimed but in fact ¨C Angharad coughed into her fist.


    ¡°Morality tales,¡± she very precisely replied.


    A moral like, for example ¡®if you cannot figure out that Lady Dube is only after your inheritance and Lady Awbrey is your true love, then perhaps you deserve to be bankrupted¡¯.  Maryam and Tristan shared a look. Before that wheel could begin to spin and subject her to a flow of crushing sarcasm, Angharad cleared her throat.


    ¡°While I am thankful for the lesson,¡± she said, ¡°when Song suggested I learn some hidden means from you I thought there would be more actual picking of locks.¡±


    ¡°If I had a few weeks and your whole attention, it might,¡± Tristan replied. ¡°Certainly not with only a few hours before bed, and I¡¯d not trust you to pick anything but workshop locks without a least a few months of learning in you.¡±


    ¡°I had not thought it so difficult a skill to learn,¡± Angharad admitted.


    If it was so difficult to be a criminal, why not simply learn a proper trade? He wiggled his hand, a symbol of equivocation.


    ¡°Part of it is that doing it well requires particular tools that do not come cheap,¡± he said. ¡°But also that in practice most thieves won¡¯t bother picking locks, Angharad. They¡¯ll smash a window or walk through the open door to pull a pistol on the shopkeeper.¡±


    Ah. That was more along the lines of what she had been taught to expect from thieves. The implication that Tristan himself had not resorted to such means was filed away. Perhaps he ought to be considered as, well, a sort of thieving nobility. The highborn of that occupation, so to speak. Yet on second thought Angharad resisted the urge to fit in him such a box, for it felt almost too convenient. It would, after all, allow her to ignore the fact that a man she rather liked had a long history of committing entirely reprehensible acts.


    Regardless, it tasted somewhat like hypocrisy to cast aspersions on Tristan¡¯s past while learning his tricks so they might be employed to spy on a young man who had invited her into his home. It was a bitter thing to swallow, the knowledge that neither her work on behalf of the Watch nor the one on behalf of House Tredegar were particularly honorable in nature.


    Tristan lightly clapped her shoulder, bringing her out of her thoughts.


    ¡°Even nobles usually only put proper locks on a handful of rooms and safes,¡± he told her. ¡°With a lifter and a skeleton key, you ought to be able to get into the vast majority of a country manor without trouble.¡±


    She breathed out, nodding.


    ¡°As for the other rooms, I will have to prevail through charm to enter them,¡± Angharad said, as much for them as her own sake.


    ¡°Cleon Eirenos might not be part of the cult at all,¡± Maryam told her. ¡°The Odyssean sounds like a remnant god made up of the parts of the worship of Oduromai that were prettied up, not anything like the Golden Ram.¡±


    ¡°There will be other guests,¡± Angharad said. ¡°And contract with a spirit does not forbid worship of another, regardless.¡±


    ¡°For a cult like the Golden Ram, I think it might,¡± Maryam replied with a frown, ¡°but admittedly that is guesswork on my part.¡±


    Angharad acknowledged her words with a nod, receiving one in return, and wondered at the simple courtesy. A month ago that might have well turned into a vicious argument, she felt, or at least some barbed words. The hour they spent together every morning had not made them friends, and in some ways the Pereduri doubted they ever would be, but misstep by misstep she had learned what not to say.


    They could have polite conversation, within those boundaries, and there were only so many polite conversations one could have with another before that politeness became the default.


    While they¡¯d spoken Tristan had fished out his watch, that brass timepiece he cleaned and polished zealously. He clicked his tongue then closed it.


    ¡°Dinner soon,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯ll go put away the tools and meet you there.¡±


    A later service requested by the Thirteenth, in deference to how late Maryam had stayed in the archives and her upsetting encounter there.


    ¡°I¡¯ll come with you,¡± Maryam said. ¡°I need to wash my hands off the last of the ink, else Song will glare at me like she¡¯s considering ordering nine generations of my family scrubbed clean.¡±


    ¡°I shall see you to at dinner, then,¡± Angharad replied.


    She watched, somewhat amused, as the pair began to bicker about Maryam intending to put ¡®ink all over his washbasin¡¯ while she contended he was always so filthy ink would be an improvement. It was good to see the pair reconciled, Angharad thought. They were both happier for it, much as they would deny such a thing. The noblewoman woman could only envy the depths of the friendship they had forged on the Dominion and the complicity it now carried.


    The friend she had thought she made on the Dominion had instead made her an accomplice, which was an entirely different beast.


    Chasing off the doldrums, Angharad limped her way down the hall. The opposite way the two of them had gone, towards the stairs that would lead to the lower levels. It was a pleasant coincidence that the route leading to the most gently sloping of the stairs passed through a gallery overlooking the approach to the Collegium, one of the nicer sights from Black House ¨C and while it was not dark out yet, the great cube of glass was still a pleasure to eye.


    She turned the corner to the sight of seven windows with open shutters, light pouring through them like pits of Glare while darkness huddled in narrow slices between. Almost like stripes. She liked the gallery best around this hour, before the servants lit the lamps.


    The sight of Imani Langa standing by the middle window, however, rather spoiled her enjoyment.


    The liar was looking out at the city, angled to be the picture of lady lost in contemplation. Ha! Imani did not turn to acknowledge her presence, so though Angharad knew this was unlikely to be a coincidence she leaned on her cane and advanced in stubborn silence. It was only when she came of a height with her that the liar turned, feigning surprise and delight.


    ¡°Angharad,¡± she smiled. ¡°Come watch the city with me, will you?¡±


    ¡°I have already seen it,¡± she politely replied. ¡°Perhaps another time.¡±


    Never seemed about right.


    ¡°Oh,¡± Imani sighed, ¡°but it has been so long since we last spoke.¡±


    Those eyes narrowed.


    ¡°I insist.¡±


    Angharad was her father¡¯s daughter, so she did not spit on the floor in answer. She was also her mother¡¯s, so she sneered in open contempt. She approached just enough to stand at the edge of the pit of light, half-lit and half-veiled. She did not look at the city, staring down the liar instead.


    ¡°Well?¡± she prompted.


    ¡°There is no need for such hostility,¡± Imani chided her.


    ¡°Or for the wasting of my time,¡± Angharad replied. ¡°If you have something to say, say it.¡±


    Doe eyes were turned on her, like a snake putting on a smile.


    ¡°What progress have you made?¡± Imani finally asked.


    ¡°I am not on Tolomontera, in case it escaped your notice,¡± she replied. ¡°Take a guess.¡±


    She had no intention of telling the ufudu about her designs on the infernal forge rumored to be on Asphodel until she had a clear path to getting her hands on it. If she could not obtain it for barter, there was no need to let the Lefthand House know of its existence at all.


    ¡°Then you will be pressed for time upon your return,¡± the liar said. ¡°Your time on Asphodel might best be spent securing help for the endeavor.¡±


    ¡°Is that so?¡± Angharad mildly said.


    ¡°I did not expect you to wander into a layer alone,¡± Imani said. ¡°It was foolish, and near enough got you killed. You should obtain a signifier¡¯s help for your second venture, or at least a pair of hands to help you.¡±


    Her fingers clenched around the head of her cane.


    ¡°Are you offering Qianfan¡¯s help?¡± she asked.


    Was her own signifier in on her plans, also a traitor to the Watch? If so, there might be need for a second corpse at the end of this.


    ¡°I could secure it,¡± Imani lightly said, ¡°but such a thing would have a price.¡±


    Angharad smiled thinly. Of course it would. As it noticing her skepticism, the liar kept speaking.


    ¡°Or I could lend a hand in leveraging help from your own brigade,¡± Imani continued. ¡°Khaimov seems quite attached to Abrascal, there is an angle there.¡±


    (The knife slipped just under the copper button of Imani Langa¡¯s uniform, piercing through cloth and flesh as Angharad twisted the knife.)


    Angharad breathed out. She¡¯d barely meant to glimpse, but the flash of rage had-


    ¡°The real prize would be Song Ren, of course,¡± the liar said, eyes on the city. ¡°That contract of hers is a treasure, and given her colorful family history her position within the Watch is delicate at the best of times.¡±


    It was a lapse in control, for her off hand to grasp the handle of her knife, but Angharad¡¯s jaw was clenched hard enough it felt as if her teeth would pop so she allowed it.


    ¡°No,¡± she said, flatly and plainly.


    Imani turned, something in Angharad¡¯s voice catching her attention, and her eyes flicked down to the knife at the Pereduri¡¯s belt and the hand resting on it. The ufudu¡¯s lips quirked.


    ¡°How exciting,¡± she said. ¡°I am curious ¨C how will you be contacting the House, after slitting my throat? Or have proof of our bargain, for that matter.¡±


    She had no means and no proof, which Imani well knew. It was why the liar was yet smiling. Angharad forced herself to let out a breath through still-clenched teeth.


    ¡°We can revisit the matter of help later,¡± Imani dismissed. ¡°Cleon Eirenos ¨C why did you cultivate his acquaintance and why are you headed to his estate?¡±


    ¡°That is Thirteenth business,¡± she precisely replied. ¡°Related to our test.¡±


    ¡°Unlucky you, for I do not care,¡± Imani said. ¡°I have made concessions, Angharad. Given you time and space, refrained from imposing on you necessities or consequences.¡±


    Her stare hardened.


    ¡°Give me something for my patience,¡± she said, ¡°else I will find little point in maintaining it. I require no secrets from you, only information as other officers of the Watch have read in reports.¡±


    And it sounded reasonable, Angharad thought. Buying time, buying patience, with information put to reports Imani might be able to get her hands on anyhow.


    But she knew better.


    Someone who holds a deed over you, Gwydion Tredegar had taught her, will always try to talk you into another misdeed they can use. It would be something small, at first, something that felt minor compared to what they already had on you. But the point was to tighten the grip, one coerced step at a time, until there was such an avalanche of dishonors on the books that to go against them would be simply unthinkable. Life-ending in a way that the first deed that started it all would never have been.


    Angharad looked at Imani Langa, at the calm confidence on that face, and saw the intent that lay behind her eyes. One step at a time, slowly turning Angharad into a sickness that would spread through the Thirteenth and make them into her pawns. She would be patient, one small request at a time, because could afford patience. The wind was on her side, because what could Angharad do?


    Without the help of the Lefthand House, she would never see her father again. With its enmity she was unlikely to survive a week on any of the Isles, rook or not. She was not a large woman, Imani Langa, but behind that slender frame lurked the great monster was the Lefthand House.


    ¡°Cleon Eirenos,¡± Imani prompted again.


    They deserved better.


    Sleeping God, the Thirteenth deserved better than this. Even had they not offered her kindness in an hour of need this would be a betrayal. And perhaps Angharad could find a way to walk the line of her oaths, to keep from dishonor by stepping carefully enough, it would just be quibbling. The words exact turned into an excuse for something she knew, deep in her bones, to be wrong.


    She had sought to cut ties with Song for shooting an ally in the back, but now she was levelling a pistol at all of theirs.


    ¡°No,¡± she quietly said.


    The liar stared her down.


    ¡°Your lack of cooperation,¡± she said, ¡°will make it into my report.¡±


    To her superiors at the Lefthand House, she meant. Back to faraway Malan, where¡­ Back to Malan. To the High Queen¡¯s court. Only it would not need to go so far as that, would it? There was closer.


    She looked at Imani Langa again, and this time she did not see the Lefthand House standing behind her. Not like the Watch would. She saw fishermen dangling bait, waiting to pull up the line. And bait was not meant to come out of that whole.


    It was easy, with Imani not expecting it.


    As simple as raising her walking stick and slamming it on the ufudu¡¯s toes, the rest of it flowing like a river ¨C the liar drew back while Angharad abandoned her cane, grasping the side of Imani¡¯s face while the ufudu reached for her knife. She smashed her head into pulled shutters, to a most satisfying bang.


    Once, twice, and when Imani brought up her hands to protect her face Angharad drew her own knife and pressed it against the liar¡¯s throat.


    ¡°You-¡±


    ¡°Be silent,¡± Angharad evenly said.


    Whatever it was that Imani Langa saw in her eyes, it made her mouth close.


    ¡°This is my first and last warning,¡± she told the liar. ¡°On my oath if I see you trying to involve any of the Thirteenth in this matter, however the manner, I will slit your misbegotten throat and feed your body to the crabs.¡±


    She flicked her wrist, point of the knife digging into the hollow of Imani¡¯s throat.


    ¡°This is not Tolomontera,¡± she told the liar. ¡°The High Queen has an ambassador here, one who knows me by name, and only a fool would believe the Lefthand House does not have a seat in his staff. It would be but an afternoon¡¯s work to arrange a meeting, Imani, and that means you are a convenience but not a necessity.¡±


    Angharad coldly smiled.


    ¡°Unless you believe your death will be enough to spoil their appetite for the forge.¡±


    Neither of them did. The spy¡¯s face was an expressionless mask. Angharad withdrew her knife, fancying she saw relief there. Then she seized the liar by the hair and slammed her head into the shutters one last time before releasing her.


    ¡°That one,¡± she said, ¡°was for your unbearable smugness. Mind your manners, and do not refer to me so familiarly in the future ¨C friends call me Angharad, not the likes of you.¡±


    She snatched up her cane, limping away, and for the first time in weeks Angharad Tredegar did not feel like she was drowning.


    It was a start.

 Chapter 50

    Her mornings on Asphodel had become routine, if not rote.


    (What is on the seventh page of the leftmost book? Maryam asked. Angharad rose to her feet, walked the hall two doors down and entered the bedroom. There were four books on the bed. She flipped open the leftmost to the requested page. It was a small journal, and that page held nothing but a sequence of inked numbers: seven, nineteen, three hundred and two, one.)


    Letting out a long breath, Angharad opened her eyes and found an expectant Maryam looking at her from across the table, steel tip pen at the ready.


    ¡°Leftmost book, seventh page,¡± she said. ¡°Seven, nineteen, three hundred and two, one.¡±


    It had been one of the more interesting discoveries that everything she saw in a vision was temporarily fixed in her mind, near impossible to forget for at least a day afterwards. Maryam hummed, jotting down what had been said, then went down the hallway to check. She came back smiling.


    ¡°It is correct,¡± the pale-skinned woman happily announced. ¡°And it was not knowledge I personally possessed, as Song was the one to write these down.¡±


    Angharad slowly nodded.


    ¡°So the knowledge within my vision is not dependent on that of the people in my presence,¡± she said.


    Which was for the best. Mind-reading was not forbidden under the Iscariot Accords, but it was mandatory to report and register. Maryam snorted.


    ¡°That is one test pointing in that direction,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯m not willing to confidently repeat what you just said until at least another seven point the same way.¡±


    While Angharad appreciated the thoroughness and would hardly oppose it when it was being put to work in her service, she was not trying to establish the limits of her contract up to some obscure Akelarre standard. As far as she was concerned, a truth had been learned. Another touch of color on the painting taking shape, establishing that her contract lent her true foresight and did not simply borrow from the minds around it to guess.


    Angharad had believed this already proven, but Maryam insisted that the visions could not be treated as simply larger glimpses. It had almost irked her, a first, but now she was coming around to the notion. There was something¡­ different about the visions. The glimpses felt like exactly that, a quick look at what lay ahead. Angharad remained apart from them. The visions, however, felt raw in a way that blurred the boundary between dream and material.


    Almost as if she lived them, though admittedly not as deeply as she had that first time on the Dominion.


    The Izvorica finished jotting down her notes, then carefully blew at the ink ¡®til it dried before closing the journal. Angharad waited patiently until she was done, then silently inquired as to whether they were done.


    ¡°I would not mind practicing your tell,¡± Maryam said, ¡°but I believe we might run late if we do.¡±


    ¡°My affairs are already packed and aboard the coach,¡± Angharad told her, ¡°but it might be for the best to end this now anyhow.¡±


    The Black House coachman would be taking her to the northwestern ward ¨C not on an official Watch coach, mind you, a rented one ¨C and there the carriage that Lord Cleon had recommended her would be waiting for the longer trip out to the country. It would be two days of traveling by road to the Eirenos estate, and she was meant to stay at least two nights there before returning. Lord Cleon was to receive guests for a small soiree, but she would be arriving the day before that so he might show her the estate and they could go on a hunt together.


    Given that the moment they left Tratheke the beautiful First Empire roads of the capital would be a thing of the past, to leave a little early could not hurt. The roads in Tratheke Valley were said to be bad enough that carriages habitually carried spare wheels and axles. Would that Angharad could ride a horse instead. She would tire after an hour or two, she expected, but she was barred from this regardless as her slow but steady recovery had to be hidden from the society she was joining.


    It was her troubles that made her fine bait for the cult of the Golden Ram, though the more the Thirteenth discovered the more it seemed like that name might have become a fa?ade for something darker.


    ¡°I need to prepare my own affairs for the trip back to the Rows anyhow,¡± Maryam said.


    ¡°Bringing flowers to the brackstone wall, I hear,¡± Angharad said.


    And not entirely succeeding at hiding her skepticism, by the amused look on the other woman¡¯s face.


    ¡°Not just any flowers, Asphodel crowns,¡± she replied. ¡°They¡¯ve a large place in the tale of the god Oduromai and echo strangely in the aether. If I can match that echo to whatever lies behind the shrine¡­¡±


    ¡°Then you could put a name to the imprisoned spirit,¡± Angharad finished, inclining her head in acknowledgement. ¡°Even failing to match would be information, in a way.¡±


    ¡°Assuming I can feel anything through the brackstone,¡± Maryam said. ¡°It is not a given.¡±


    At least she would be safe even if her Signs turned on her again, Angharad thought. Captain Wen was heading out with her, as he had with the archives. She was beginning to wonder if the large Tianxi might not have decided on a favorite after all. They parted ways cordially, the noblewoman combing through her room one last time to ensure she had not forgotten anything.


    She was about ready to believe so when there was a small knock against the doorway. She turned half-expecting Song to be there, but it was her uncle. Osian Tredegar came dressed in his fine blacks, smiling, and after she silently invited him in he closed the door. Not a simple goodbye, then.


    ¡°Word has come from the palace that our delegation will be taken to the shipyard tomorrow,¡± he plainly said. ¡°Myself and three others, all covenanters.¡±


    She slowly nodded.


    ¡°Is a tinker from the Deuteronomicon to accompany you?¡± Angharad asked.


    Among the Umuthi Society, those were the men and women who studied aetheric machinery ¨C and thus were most likely to recognize an infernal forge should they encounter one down there. Half-grimacing, Osian nodded.


    ¡°A Savant and a Laurel as well,¡± he said.


    She raised an eyebrow at the last, until her uncle explained the woman in question was a cryptoglyph scholar. An Antediluvian shipyard was likely to be full of inscriptions in the First Empire¡¯s scientific language, some of which might shed light on its original purpose.


    ¡°I wish you luck,¡± Angharad said, lowering her head.


    She was not sure whether she ought to rejoice of or dread his visit to the shipyard and the news he would bring on his return.


    ¡°They can only keep us drugged for so long,¡± Uncle Osian quietly said. ¡°It will give us a better idea of how close the entrance to the shipyard is to the capital.¡±


    And the shipyard was to be where the infernal engine lay. Perhaps. It was not known for certain there was an infernal engine on Asphodel in the first place. Yet recent news had improved the odds in Angharad¡¯s eyes. Twice now members of the Thirteenth had run into Lord Locke and Lady Keys in places they should not be, while Hage ¨C a devil of some age ¨C had passed down a stern warning to avoid angering them.


    If the pair were ancient devils themselves, or at least Lady Keys as the one Tristan reported to be of unusual strength, then there must be a reason for their presence on Asphodel. She could think of few greater prizes for an annealed devil than an infernal forge, for their like endless font of lives but a helping pair of hands away. More worryingly, it might mean competing with an ancient devil for that prize.


    Not a prospect Angharad was likely to survive at the moment.


    ¡°It will be all right, Angie,¡± her uncle said, squeezing her shoulder. ¡°We approach answers with every step.¡±


    The kindness in his eyes burned. She had kept the Thirteenth away from the machinations of the Lefthand House, for now, but she had already dragged Osian Tredegar deep into their net. Oh, he had involved himself of his own will but deep down Angharad knew she had wielded her own life like a knife to force him. The same reason he was helping her was why he deserved better.


    Part of her resented that something was holding her back from taking the risks she needed to see her father out of Tintavel, but that anger smacked of shame. Her uncle had spent decades rising up the ranks of the Watch then put the work of a lifetime on the line for her. To help her save a man he did not even like. Angharad was not blind, the two were never close.


    Uncle Osian did it all for love of her. How could there be honor in this, in making a good man ruin his life? There wasn¡¯t. That was the hard truth of it, she admitted to herself. There was not a speck of honor in any of it, no matter how much she pulled and twisted the facts to try and make it otherwise.


    ¡°Imani Langa,¡± she blurted out.


    Osian Tredegar blinked.


    ¡°She is the ufudu,¡± Angharad admitted.


    ¡°The captain of the Eleventh Brigade?¡± her uncle frowned.


    She nodded.


    ¡°I do not think my visit to the country will see me in danger,¡± she said, ¡°but the Sleeping God alone knows. Should I pass¡­¡±


    ¡°I will ensure she does not outlive you long,¡± Osian Tredegar calmly said.


    There was not a hint of doubt in his eyes as he spoke the words. She believed him. Angharad passed a hand through her hair, biting her lip. That was not what she had meant.


    ¡°See to yourself first,¡± Angharad quietly replied. ¡°Please. Use it however you can to remove yourself from this pit I dragged you into.¡±


    ¡°You did no such thing,¡± Osian denied.


    Her lips thinned.


    ¡°In my heart, I am still the lady of Llanw Hall,¡± Angharad admitted. ¡°I played at it with all the other nobleborn islanders, the lot of us crowding room and table pretending as if it were a salon and we were all rulers in the making. It felt¡­¡±


    She grimaced.


    ¡°It felt like my right, to make the decisions I have,¡± she said. ¡°Whatever I must to free my father. I thought I was being a lady, making the hard calls Mother so often spoke of. The costs to everyone around me were regrettable, but not regretted.¡±


    Her uncle listened in silence, face inscrutable. She rubbed her forehead.


    ¡°But I am not lady of Llanw Hall,¡± Angharad said, though the words felt like molten iron. ¡°And what I thought a lady¡¯s refrain now sounds like the wailing of a child.¡±


    An honorable woman would not have let it all turn out like this. Like some¡­ endless twisting knot, a rope dragging ever more people into the pit. She had made bargains, cut corners, all because it felt hopeless to struggle otherwise. And for what? A liar¡¯s promises. Bait she swallowed down to the last drop no matter how bitter the taste grew.


    ¡°It has not been a year since you watched it all burn, Angharad,¡± her uncle gently said. ¡°You are¡­ I do not expect you to embrace it so quickly, the black. It was not a life you sought. I did, as a young man, and still it took me time.¡±


    She closed her eyes. He did not understand, not really. Could not. Osian Tredegar saw in her his sister¡¯s ghost and loved the shade too much to glimpse through it at what his niece had become. The Fisher had chided Angharad, once, for clinging to the victories of a child while fighting a woman¡¯s battles. And while the spirit was ancient and cruel, a tyrant of the Old Night, in its own mad way it saw things clearly.


    It was time to grow up. Her debts were no one else¡¯s to settle.


    She kissed her uncle on the cheek, bade him goodbye and left him stand there troubled. Another regret, but the only words she had to soothe him were lies. The Thirteenth were waiting for her in the courtyard, chatting by the coach. Maryam and Tristan trading barbs, Song eyeing them amusedly. They were¡­ They stood in the light of the Tratheke morning like a lit hearth, and Angharad a stranger. One of her own making.


    ¡°Tredegar, are you taking up lurking? Don¡¯t put me out of a job, I need the salary.¡±


    She answered Tristan¡¯s teasing by approaching, the thief studying her face seriously as she did. Debts to settle, Angharad reminded herself. How stiff was her pride, that she must chew on it for months before she could swallow? Stiff enough she nodded at Tristan and shook a surprised Maryam¡¯s hand before finally turning to Song. She breathed in.


    ¡°When I asked you about the death of Isabel Ruesta,¡± Angharad said, ¡°I walked into that room having decided on the answer. For that, I apologize.¡±


    Silver eyes met her own.


    ¡°Apology accepted,¡± Song Ren finally said.


    The noblewoman stiffly inclined her head.


    ¡°When I return from the country,¡± Angharad continued, ¡°I would ask you again.¡±


    Her captain gave a slow, measured nod back.


    ¡°I await that conversation, then,¡± she simply said.


    They left it at that. Debts to settle, Angharad thought again as she climbed onto the coach and the door was closed behind her. It had not felt good, swallowing her pride. She wished it had, that virtue would be sweet on the tongue, but it hadn¡¯t.


    But neither had treason, and she would sleep better after this.


    --


    Song had come to the rector¡¯s palace to personally report matters best not put to paper, expecting the trip there and back to take up most of the time involved, but that had been foolish optimism on her part.


    Lord Rector Evander, upon being informed that Song was to run down a lead concerning a potential second brackstone shrine, had made a snap decision. That was why, an hour and change after entering the palace, Song Ren was being glared at by Prefect Nestor ¨C commander of the palace lictors, the Lord Rector¡¯s personal guards among them. It was unfair of the man to be turning that ire her way when Song had spent the better part of half an hour trying to deny his king.


    It was, unfortunately, difficult enough to refuse the Lord Rector anything even when he did not have something passingly resembling a valid point.


    ¡°Nestor, make your peace with it,¡± Evander Palliades advised. ¡°My mind is made up.¡±


    The commander of the lictors grit his teeth.


    ¡°At least let me send a whole squad with you,¡± he said.


    Lord Rector Evander, dark eyes glittering with amusement, turned to Song with a cocked eyebrow. Would that she could strangle him. He knew exactly what she was doing, foisting off the answer on her.


    ¡°This is meant to be a discreet investigation, prefect,¡± she said. ¡°Twenty heavily armed lictors surrounding us at all times would be too conspicuous.¡±


    The glare deepened, still turned on her. He could not afford to be angry at his master so Song was paying the price on their behalf.


    ¡°Two guards are too few,¡± Prefect Nestor said. ¡°Since your brigade has failed to find the assassin, Captain Ren, it -¡±


    Enough.


    ¡°My brigade is not contracted to find your assassin,¡± Song icily replied. ¡°If the lictors are incapable of doing so, hire a Watch team to make up for your incompetence ¨C another team, as mine is already on contract.¡±


    ¡°Watch your tone, girl,¡± the prefect warned.


    ¡°Watch your words, prefect,¡± she flatly retorted. ¡°I have tolerated, in the spirit of cooperation between Asphodel and the Conclave, the throne¡¯s constant impositions on my brigade¡¯s contracted duties. Yet there are limits.¡±


    She smiled blandly.


    ¡°Further interference will force me to consider the throne of Asphodel in breach of contract, and thus any obligations on the Thirteenth Brigade¡¯s part voided. We can withdraw to the Lordsport by day¡¯s end, if you would like.¡±


    The older man gritted his teeth, looking like he wanted nothing more than to start snarling, but he had to know that he had no real grounds to complain on ¨C he had been out of line. Instead he looked askance to the Lord Rector, whose eyebrow remained cocked.


    ¡°I spoke in haste,¡± Prefect Nestor reluctantly said. ¡°Yet it remains that His Excellency descending into an unsavory part of the city with only yourself and two guards as escort is an entirely unnecessary risk.¡±


    ¡°I agree,¡± Song said, to his surprise. ¡°While I concede that the throne has a vested interest in what is being investigated, I would prefer an observer to accompany me instead. As I have repeatedly stated.¡±


    She turned a cold gaze on Lord Rector Evander, who idly waved her irritation away.


    ¡°The matter in question is of importance to House Palliades and must remain secret,¡± the bespectacled young man said. ¡°I will not bring in another soul when all that is required of me is to walk down a street and listen while Captain Song asks a few questions. It would be irresponsible of me.¡±


    Prefect Nestor looked like he shared Song¡¯s opinion, which was that the irresponsibility in play was Evander Palliades putting himself in a situation where the bullet put in his skull would become the opening shot of a civil war over his succession, but he could no more argue than her. He was a retainer, not someone who could question his master over the affairs of his own house.


    And House Palliades had a right to keep the matter of the brackstone shrines and aether seal secret, Watch bylaws guaranteed it. Song had checked. Thrice, in different languages, to see if there might be any wiggle room using a different translation. Unfortunately, the Laurels were very thorough in their work.


    ¡°Most of the traveling will be done by coach,¡± Song offered. ¡°And there is no reason that a larger force could not be waiting inside the ward to escort him back in greater numbers, so long as it remains covert.¡±


    Much of the heat gone out of his eyes, though not all, Prefect Nestor curtly nodded.


    ¡°I will arrange that immediately,¡± he said. ¡°Your Excellency, Captain Ren, please excuse me.¡±


    She simply nodded, while Lord Rector Evander smiled and leaned over to share a few quiet words before letting the old prefect leave. The look he turned on her afterwards almost seemed approving, the warmth in those dark eyes making her a little uncomfortable.


    ¡°You handled yourself well,¡± Evander Palliades said. ¡°Captain Duan would be pleased, I¡¯m sure. Nestor¡¯s a tough old hound, half the reason I picked him as prefect is that he is too stubborn to be bent.¡±


    ¡°He is also correct regarding this entire affair,¡± Song flatly replied. ¡°It is an unnecessary risk, and while I acknowledge that you have a right to attend I do not believe the reasons you gave for it are your true ones.¡±


    He leaned back into his seat, lips twitching for some strange reason. Had he somehow failed to grasp that she was implying him to be a selfish prick complicating her life for the sake of his petty whims? He had demonstrated not to be a dimwit in other regards, which made his reaction all the more baffling.


    ¡°The last few days have been smothering,¡± he acknowledged. ¡°I cannot so much as walk down a hall without a full squad of lictors behind and ahead of me.¡±


    ¡°My sympathies,¡± Song blandly said. ¡°Unfortunately, your inclination to use my brigade a means to escape your situation puts us in the position of being responsible for your life even as you carelessly risk it.¡±


    ¡°It is our lictor escorts that would be responsible,¡± he denied.


    Song flatly stared him down until he coughed and looked away. If Evander Palliades was killed while tagging along on a Watch investigation, it would be puerile to pretend that the blackcloaks would not get the lion¡¯s share of the blame whether lictors were present or not. It was not at all unlikely that the Watch would end up blamed for the ensuing civil war as well.


    While strictly speaking getting the Lord Rector killed on her watch would not end their contract with the throne Asphodel, thus failing the yearly test, Song suspected such a thing might¡­ detrimentally affect the Thirteenth¡¯s performance assessment.


    ¡°I¡¯m not unaware that you would be made liable for my decision, should some catastrophe strike,¡± the Lord Rector admitted, and straightened in his seat. ¡°I will obey your orders in the field, Captain Song, and find a way to make it up to you.¡±


    The informally spoken, almost teasing last part had her flushing in irritation.


    ¡°You will dress as a merchant,¡± she ordered. ¡°You will not speak unless I allow it, and your escorts will obey my orders until your life is demonstrably in danger.¡±


    He nodded, smiling, and the warm satisfaction it brought was purely that of a daughter of Tianxia subjecting a despot to the rightful yoke of law.


    ¡°Then, while I continue to protest, I reluctantly agree to your accompanying me to the site in question,¡± Song said.


    ¡°Capital,¡± Evander amiably replied. ¡°Where is this site, anyhow? You did not clarify beyond the northeastern ward.¡±


    He paused, coughing into his fist.


    ¡°Will we be passing through the ¡®Reeking Rows¡¯?¡±


    He said those words, she observed with some amusement, much in the same tone her sisters used to talk about that shrine to the White-Tailed Consort in the woods a few hours away from their home. Scandalized fascination. She cleared her throat.


    "We will not," she said.


    She would not have thought his face one suited to pouting, between the stubble and the angular features, but some might have called the expression on his face endearing.


    ¡°Though we will come close,¡± she added, and he lit up. ¡°I take it you have not visited that part of the city often?¡±


    ¡°Try never,¡± he replied. ¡°It was the first Palliades rector who ordered that district¡¯s consolidation, so it has long been a source of curiosity to me. I¡¯ve not had opportunity to visit the ward before.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve never set foot there?¡± she asked, honestly surprised.


    Disreputable or not, it contained almost a quarter of his capital.


    ¡°First I was too young, then under regency,¡± he said. ¡°And after I took the crown, the first few years were¡­ difficult. Lady Floros prepared me to reign, but Palliades or not I did not command the respect she does. It was as if the machinery of state had rusted overnight, and every failure had my name written on it.¡±


    ¡°You seem to have grown beyond those beginnings,¡± Song honestly said.


    While his rule was weak, it was not through any particular failing of his own and he was taking steps to remedy this ¨C indeed, his success seemed to be why his enemies were growing bolder. Song felt a twinge of guilt at keeping from Evander that his suspicions were correct, that there was a coup brewing under his feet and the Council of Ministers was up to its neck in it, but she ruthlessly rubbed it out.


    There could be no good kings and the Watch did not take sides.


    ¡°That is what I owe my name and my people,¡± he said, smiling wanly. ¡°It does not leave room for much else, but my father liked to say that duty is not a verse but refrain ¨C it will return so long as we keep singing, and what else is there but to sing?¡±


    It was easier when you thought of kings as distant figures on towering thrones, Song thought. Before you saw what lay under the crown and the dragon robe, the flesh and bones. The kings of the Feichu Tian did not get tired or wistful, did not sound determined to filially live up to their legacy. They did not sound like they were drowning in their own reign.


    It changed nothing, she reminded herself.


    And yet half a smile fought its way through Song¡¯s better judgment, as she cleared her throat and drew him out of the soft melancholy he¡¯d fallen into.


    ¡°To answer your earlier question in full,¡± she said, ¡°we are to visit a paying establishment.¡±


    ¡°A tavern?¡± he asked, cocking his head to the side.


    ¡°They do serve wine, I hear,¡± she noted, ¡°but I expect that is not the main draw.¡±


    ¡°An eatery?¡±


    Her smile widened.


    ¡°Have you ever been in a brothel before, Your Excellency?¡±


    By the way he choked, she would hazard he had not.


    --


    It was the first day of the investigation, so Tristan took the time to case the place. To ask around, spend a few coppers and get a feel for it.


    The Kassa family¡¯s workshop on Chancery Lane was not a single edifice but three of them, tightly clustered together and effectively occupying an overlarge city block. Two of those buildings, large one-story squares with a tall ceiling and a flat roofs covered with gas lamps, where their weavers turned the wool imported from the mountains into the cloth shipped out to the Lordsport. From there it was headed mostly towards southern Izcalli, Tristan learned.


    Asphodel wool was considered of lesser quality and was thus sold at more affordable prices, often undyed. Cheap clothing was attractive to the Izcalli lords bordering Tianxia and the Someshwar, who always had fresh serfs to clothe and no great desire to dress them expensively. It was a common enough sort of trade for small Trebian islands, though often Tianxi and Someshwari traders stepped in as middlemen to fill their pockets.


    Profits cared little for irony.


    The two squares had been turned into one large building, the space between them walled in with cheaper stone than the Antediluvian sort while the separating walls were knocked down to make of them a single large floor. Not so with the third edifice, a three-story building pressed against the side of the others that had been turned into dormitories for the workers ¨C with the nice, windowed upper floor reserved for foremen and overseers.


    The alley door that the Brazen Chariot had mentioned was a narrow slice of street between the Kassa workshop and rented warehouses, a back entrance that should lead directly to the workshop floor. Had the assassin been unable to secure a bed in the dormitories, or perhaps been afraid that in a crowd someone was bound to talk? That might be it, if Song was correct and that illusory contract had to be consciously used ¨C those tattoos were distinctive, and sleep would have revealed her true face for anyone caring to look.


    Satisfied he had the layout of the place comfortably settled in his mind¡¯s eye, Tristan began making more pointed inquiries. Was the Kassa workshop hiring? What kind of workers, what were the wages, who should be sought to get a foot in? There were taverns close, cheap enough they were meant to cater to the workers and not the whipmen, and there he found fertile grounds for answers so long as he spent some coin on drink or food.


    ¡°The Kassa are always hiring,¡± a wan-faced barmaid told him. ¡°But not for the good wages you¡¯re looking for, boy. Those weavers are locked up in contracts so tight not even Old Dragfoot could hammer them open, the Kassa keep that in-house. They only take fullers and traveling men.¡±


    Tristan swallowed a mouthful of watery stew, forcing himself not to grimace. Watch meals had spoiled him.


    ¡°Do they full with bats or feet?¡± he asked.


    ¡°They¡¯re traditional, so it¡¯s feet in the piss for you,¡± she chuckled.


    Not ideal. He wasn¡¯t too proud to spend hours stepping on woolen cloth in a tub full of human piss, but the stink would be hard to wash off. Not ideal to sneak around after.


    ¡°And the traveling men?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯ll work you to the bone,¡± the waitress warned. ¡°Not just warehouse work, but riding the coaches and filling in everything that needs to be filled. You might just end up stepping in the piss anyway, for lesser pay.¡±


    Ah, Tristan thought, but it also sounds like work that¡¯ll get me in everywhere. He pretended to heed her advice, made sure to tip her as well as the fresh migrant he was pretending to be could, then moved on to another haunt. He slipped in with a wave of hammer-men from a larger workshop down the road, waiting until they¡¯d had a few beers with their meal to ingratiate himself with further drinks and ask his questions.


    ¡°Don¡¯t know who told you Kassa would take you, but they were full of shit,¡± a big man called Pantelis laughed. ¡°They only hire by recommendation, even their traveling men ¨C had trouble a few years back with a fire they blamed the Anastos for, now they¡¯re careful as cats.¡±


    ¡°Try the Euripis warehouses, down on Charon Street,¡± his wife advised. ¡°They take in Sacromontans, and the pay¡¯s shit but it comes with a bed and one meal a day.¡±


    The next crowd told him much the same, though they warned one of the Euripis foremen liked pretty boys and did not like it when they refused. When he asked about how one might get recommended to the Kassa, the answers were not promising.


    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    ¡°Work a year or two for them at their northwest warehouses,¡± he was told. ¡°Or have a cousin inside.¡±


    He picked a particularly drunk woman to ask about bribes, counting on her not remembering his face in a few hours, and was told it wouldn¡¯t work.


    ¡°If you¡¯re caught taking coin they slice you,¡± she said. ¡°No one¡¯ll risk it for some nobody like you, kid.¡±


    She was likely right, unless he offered a suspiciously large bribe that might just get him outed anyway.


    Fortunately, through the mass of largely useless dross he¡¯d gathered through hours of this he found one useful detail: the Kassa warehouses in the northwest were in bed with the local basileia. And, more importantly for him, that relationship was close enough that recommendations handed out by said basileia ¨C no one could tell him the name ¨C were enough to get you in.


    That, Tristan decided, sounded like an angle he could work.


    --


    Irritating as it was to have the Lord Rector foisted onto her for the trip, at least Evander did not waste time getting ready.


    By the turn of the hour they¡¯d left the palace, smuggled out with their two lictor minders on the supply lift, and boarded a coach. Forty lictors would be following in a fleet of coaches after a delay, but Song intended to be done with the investigation long before they could ruin her efforts blundering about.


    The two hard-faced men accompanying them screamed ¡®soldier¡¯ even out of lictor¡¯s uniform between the blades, the scars and the ramrod straight posture, but Song was hoping they would be taken as hired guards for a wealthy young man trying out the seedier side of Tratheke. Lord Rector Evander, despite wearing clothes in muted colors and no jewelry ¨C even his spectacles had been changed for a set with smaller lenses and a cheaper iron mount ¨C could not pass as anything but ¡®well bred¡¯.


    It was nothing he could help: soft hands, well-kept hair and the easy confidence of man who¡¯d never had to lower his eyes in his life were not something that could be hidden by a change of clothes. His barely hidden enthusiasm and curiosity were, but Song saw no point in asking. On the contrary, better he marked as a young master out on an adventure than anything needing deeper thought.


    If atrocious price gouging on the wine and room were the worst they had to suffer today, she would count herself lucky.


    In a drab brown doublet and workman¡¯s trousers, his hair kept under a cap, Evander Palliades looked at the run-down streets of the Reeking Rows¡¯ approach as if they were the most interesting thing he¡¯d ever seen. Song kept close, hand near her blade, and watched him as he eyed streaks of filth on alley walls not with disgust but curiosity. She shot him a dubious look.


    ¡°I had read myrmekes ate such things,¡± the Lord Rector said. ¡°I wonder if it is the Rows that drove off local lares.¡±


    Song hummed.


    ¡°I have not seen stray dogs or rats here,¡± she acknowledged. ¡°But that is not so rare in the poorer districts of any city.¡±


    Anything went into the cookpot, when you grew hungry enough.


    ¡°Tratheke has little vermin compared to the other cities of Asphodel,¡± Evander told her. ¡°Most of the city is stone or brass, it repels many insects.¡±


    And with them the creatures that fed on them, presumably. Song had not fallen behind on her Teratology readings so knew every animal to be part of an intricate cycle ¨C a part of that cycle could not be yanked out without consequences rippling out.


    ¡°I expect the smell around here would drive off men as well, if they could leave,¡± Song mused.


    He glanced at her through his spectacles.


    ¡°You disapprove of the arrangement?¡±


    She frowned.


    ¡°You do not?¡±


    ¡°It was done for sensible reasons, which have not changed,¡± the Lord Rector informed her.


    ¡°It sensibly ruined a quarter of your capital, or near enough,¡± Song replied.


    ¡°Those trades have to go somewhere,¡± Evander said. ¡°It cannot be either of the southern wards, and what use is there in moving them northwest instead? There is no machine there to blow the air upwards.¡±


    ¡°The air only became poisonous because of the concentration of trades,¡± she said. ¡°If you dispersed them across the city-¡±


    ¡°Then I have districts up in arms about their homes suddenly smelling like tanneries and slaughterhouses,¡± he said. ¡°The dye workshops used to be in the southwestern ward, Song, and there were riots during summer when it went too long without raining. The fumes from the heat were deadly to children.¡±


    ¡°And your solution to this is making a district where the desperate are forced to work knowing their lungs rot for it?¡± she replied, unimpressed. ¡°The entire ward might well be uninhabitable if not for the Antediluvian wind machine.¡±


    Whatever those great rotating blades were truly for, in practice they blew the reek upwards.


    ¡°The edge of the district connects to two major avenues and the broadest canal in Tratheke,¡± Evander said. ¡°The trades are clustered there because the ward is far from where the goods are headed and those are the easiest paths to remedy this.¡±


    ¡°An argument that matters much to the magnates owning those slaughterhouses,¡± she said, ¡°but I expect rather less to those dying in them. The latter are your subjects as well, Lord Rector.¡±


    ¡°And what is your solution, then?¡± he replied in irritation.


    ¡°Spread out the trades within the whole northeastern district,¡± she said. ¡°Keep only the worst near the machine. Air in the Rows will thin out and the ward becomes inhabitable again, which will draw people back into the empty districts.¡±


    ¡°That would mean reclaiming the ward,¡± he said. ¡°Which means patrols and clearing out the lemures, thus expanding the lictors. Which is expensive. Then for there to be a wide movement of populace I would need to either offer a bounty to families moving here, expensive, or force them to move - tyrannical and still expensive. It means refurbishing the streets, the lamps, the lesser canals. It means bringing magistrates to settle disputes and collect royal rents.¡±


    He scoffed.


    ¡°What you suggest is the founding of a colony town within Tratheke,¡± Evander said.


    Song nodded, for that was entirely true. She only knew so much of the unique structures of this ruin-city, but the bare numbers of it she had considered before speaking.


    ¡°An endeavor that would take years, significant coin and much effort,¡± she agreed. ¡°It would also ease the crowding of the southern wards, bring in revenue through taxes and royal rents as well as drain the recruitment pool of your basileias.¡±


    She paused.


    ¡°But, most important of all,¡± Song pointedly said, ¡°you would cease to tacitly endorse the poisoning of your own subjects less than an hour¡¯s walk away from your own palace.¡±


    His eyes narrowed.


    ¡°Even if I could spare the coin for that ¨C which, between bringing the lictors up to strength and restoring a First Empire shipyard, I assure you I do not ¨C it would not matter,¡± he said. ¡°Such a great investment would not be solely mine to decide, it must be approved by the Council of Ministers.¡±


    Song frowned. That, admittedly, she had not considered.


    ¡°And they would not allow you to spend that much improving Tratheke when the current state of affairs suits them better,¡± she said.


    ¡°They would see it as gilding the Palliades reputation with the people and strengthening my grip on the city, neither of which they will let me spend a copper on if they could prevent it,¡± he flatly said. ¡°There are checks on my power. Lawful and not, for if you imagine for a moment the Trade Assembly would not pour a fortune into that district colony to steal it out from under me you are being most na?ve.¡±


    If they can better serve the people than the throne, they would be right to, Song thought. A king¡¯s power first sought to preserve itself, then doled out kindness like crumbs. Only authority issued by citizens and answerable to them could truly be relied on to observe their dignity.


    ¡°The power of thrones is always contested,¡± Song simply said.


    He looked at her through those brass spectacles, dark eyes flat.


    ¡°Your republics war on each other constantly through mercenaries, squabbling over farmland and profits,¡± Evander Palliades said. ¡°The children of your bureaucrats are nearly guaranteed to win such offices, your elections are awash with gold and blood, even your famous Luminary lottery is rigged so that the three most powerful republics always win.¡±


    His brow rose.


    ¡°It seems to me that a republic is not a remedy so much as a different set of troubles.¡±


    ¡°Tianxia is no less troubled by evils than any other land,¡± Song acknowledged, to his visible surprise.


    ¡°But?¡±


    ¡°But when our rulers fail to end these evils, they are removed and replaced by those who will,¡± Song said. ¡°Without needing to wait out a lifetime or wage a civil war. We are a method, not a result.¡±


    ¡°Results are what matters to a nation,¡± the Lord Rector dismissed. ¡°The rest is wind.¡±


    Song looked around her, at the dying district.


    ¡°As you say, Your Excellency,¡± she replied.


    His face tightened. Her words put silence between them all the way to the edifice with the yellow crescent hung outside. It was not wise to anger the ruler of the land one must fulfill a contract in, but Song did not regret her words. Truth was truth, and if the man insisted on debating her she would not lie to assuage his feelings. Besides, if he was miffed enough by her words perhaps he would find another sniffer to accompany him on his outings.


    It would be better for them both if he did.


    The brothel was exactly as she had been told, the sign with a yellow crescent its only advertisement. It was three stories tall and rather broad, from the outside looking more like a Port Allazei hostel than a den of debauchery ¨C though it was still in the stone, green glass and brass typical of Tratheke. There was no one at the door and the windows were all shuttered tight, but there were lights inside.


    ¡°On me,¡± Song told the Lord Rector and his escorts. ¡°Follow and do not speak.¡±


    She waited for nods from all three before entering. The entrance hall was dimly lit with bad oil lamps ¨C not Glare oil, by the glow ¨C and it smelled strongly of incense. Not the good kind, and Song had prayed at enough street shrines to know what cheap incense smelled like. A man with a club and a dead eye waited there, but he let them pass without a word. It was not a madam who welcomed them at the desk but a procurer, a small man with dark hair and blue eyes dressed more like a shopkeeper than a flesh peddler.


    He smiled easily and shallowly, eyes always moving between them.


    ¡°Welcome, welcome,¡± he said. ¡°The Amber Crescent is always pleased to receive guests.¡±


    It took effort for her not to inform him that crescent¡¯s shade of yellow had not been anywhere near amber. His eyes lingered on the two lictors behind them.


    ¡°Especially those with coin.¡±


    The procurer licked his lips.


    ¡°What pleasure can I provide you?¡± he asked, gaze darting between her and the Lord Rector. ¡°Most of my girls are free, though should you be interested in boys instead¡­¡±


    Song took out a small pouch of silver and placed it on the desk. The upside of the Lord Rector having come along was that she could bill the payment to the throne instead of paying out from brigade funds.


    ¡°We require not your girls but your discretion,¡± she said.


    Eyes flicked between her and Evander again. He tested the weight of the pouch, looking pleased.


    ¡°Of course,¡± he smiled. ¡°A room, and never a word will pass these lips.¡±


    ¡°Prepare it,¡± Song ordered. ¡°And while we wait, I was told you have a selection of wines?¡±


    ¡°My cellar is yours, my lady,¡± the procurer hastily said. ¡°I can have brought up-¡±


    ¡°We have very particular tastes,¡± Song blandly said. ¡°We will choose ourselves.¡±


    Another piece of silver was put on the desk.


    ¡°Unless you object?¡±


    The small man picked it up, adding it to the earlier pouch. He¡¯d unstrung that so discreetly she never noticed.


    ¡°I would not dare,¡± the procurer smiled. ¡°Verico will show you the way to the cellar. I will personally see to your room, my lady.¡±


    ¡°Do,¡± Song thinly smiled back.


    Verico was the name of the one-eyed guard, who kept silent as he led them past a few closed doors to a set of narrow stairs leading down into the basement. The door at the bottom was not locked. Song glanced at the Lord Rector meaningfully and he gestured for the lictors to stay out, remaining on the main floor with Verico ¨C who handed them a stinking, smoky lamp before closing the door behind them.


    The basement was a disheveled pile of barrels and bottles, not all of which were on racks. Many were simply on the floor, there for anyone to trip over, and some of the bottles in straw-stuffed crates were empty. Song¡¯s fingers clenched at the sight but she kept herself in check. She was not going to organize a brothel basement for that seedy man upstairs, even if someone ought to.


    ¡°I don¡¯t recognize any of those bottles,¡± Evander Palliades said, sounding amused. ¡°And some are larger than I thought wine bottles even came in.¡±


    ¡°We are not here for the wine,¡± Song murmured back.


    Lamp in hand she pushed through the mess to find what they truly had come from. The back wall, while obstructed with barrels and a collapsed shelf, turned out to be exactly what the Brazen Chariot thug had said: brackstone, entirely so. The Lord Rector, come to stand by her side, clicked his tongue.


    ¡°So your signifier was right,¡± he said. ¡°There¡¯s more than one shrine ¨C and unless there¡¯s some other aether prison out there, these are the anchors for it.¡±


    Song slowly nodded.


    ¡°Not here,¡± she said. ¡°Grab a bottle and we use the room for a span, then head back.¡±


    He chose a bottle of bright red glass with a seal on it, snatching it out of the crate, and followed her up. The procurer ¡®preparing¡¯ the room for them turned out to be changing the sheets on a miserable straw mattress and topping up the oil lamps. Two clay cups were brought up as well, clean enough Song might be willing to drink something out of them.


    The small man might have tried to eavesdrop on them, she figured, if not for the two lictors that went to stand by the door. They had naturally discouraging expressions.


    Evander closed the door behind him, and while Song sat on the bed after inspecting it enough to be reasonably sure it did not bear lice he broke the seal on the bottle and took a sniff.


    ¡°Cherries?¡± he muttered.


    He poured them both a cup, but she merely held hers after it was handed.


    ¡°You have never heard of these shrines, I take it,¡± she said. ¡°Is there truly no record of their construction?¡±


    ¡°If there are, I do not know them,¡± Evander admitted as he turned as chair to face her. ¡°My family has journals dating back to its ascension to the throne, but they do not mention anything like this. Mostly Lord Rector Charilaos was trying to figure out which noble bride he could pick without getting assassinated.¡±


    He grimaced.


    ¡°No one expected House Lissenos to be so suddenly snuffed out,¡± he said. ¡°Charilaos Palliades was a compromise candidate, not a lord anyone expected to ever come near the throne. Our ancestral lands are a goat farm, for Oduromai¡¯s sake.¡±


    ¡°I thought your family were the closest relatives to House Lissenos,¡± Song said.


    ¡°That became true,¡± he said, ¡°after they spent two decades and change purging the lesser branches of their house following a spectacularly botched coup by their closest kin. Before that Charilaos was, I think, fifty-fourth in the line of succession? The genealogy books of the time don¡¯t even mention him by name, only our house at large."


    Evander snorted.


    ¡°I doubt the time he spent in the presence of the last Lissenos rector ever reached the sum of an hour. He was not someone House Lissenos would have shared ancient family secrets with.¡±


    ¡°So the knowledge might have been lost when they died out,¡± she said. ¡°Did they not leave behind records of their own?¡±


    ¡°Everything we inherited is in the private archives,¡± Evander said.


    ¡°Implying there is more in someone else¡¯s hands,¡± she noted.


    ¡°The interregnum between the end of Lissenos and the coronation of Charilaos Palliades left the palace in the hands of the steward of the time,¡± he said. ¡°Lady Myrto Eirenos.¡±


    Her brow rose, impressed at the breadth of his knowledge.


    ¡°I had no idea before I read the journals yesterday,¡± he drily told her. ¡°Charilaos was convinced she robbed the palace of everything that wouldn¡¯t be noticed missing and stewed for a decade that there was not much he could do about it.¡±


    ¡°Are the Eirenos not minor vassals to Tratheke?¡± she asked.


    They did not sound like all that troublesome an opponent for the lords of all Asphodel, however precarious their throne.


    ¡°Back in those days they owned about a tenth of Tratheke Valley,¡± he said. ¡°They had to sell most of their land when their mine on Arke ran dry and debts were called, keeping mostly the hunting lodges that are their sole current claim to relevance. Even maintaining those is stretching their means.¡±


    That, Song thought, would have been very useful to know before Angharad left for the Eirenos manor. Was it too late to send a messenger after her? She had only been gone for hours, it might not be. Song would ask Wen what means they had at their disposal to contact her. It was frustrating that they could not rely too much on Black House for it, lest Angharad be outed as a watchwoman. As her silence lingered, Evander cleared his throat.


    ¡°You believe the cult of the Golden Ram to be related to this imprisoned god, then?¡± he asked.


    ¡°The last such cult existed during the Ataxia and was used a puppet by the god known as the Hated One,¡± she said. ¡°My Navigator found evidence ¨C circumstantial ¨C that these brackstone shrines might have been built shortly after the end of Ataxia.¡±


    She paused.


    ¡°Now the containment layer is found breached while the Golden Ram cult makes a sudden resurgence, deepening its ties with those nobles most likely to plunge Asphodel into civil war. It has a conspiracy¡¯s shape.¡±


    ¡°Yet your report claims an aether lock is meant to starve gods to death,¡± he noted. ¡°If the Hated One is the god that escaped, then it was inside for over a century: would it then truly settle for impersonating the god of a minor cult and feeding on dregs of worship? That seems unusually restrained of a starving beast.¡±


    That was¡­ a very good point, admittedly. One neither she nor Maryam had considered.


    ¡°We do not yet have the whole picture,¡± Song admitted. ¡°Leads are still being pursued.¡±


    And it was a relief that their growing theory, the resurgence of the Hated One and the ties to the Council of Ministers, was proving to have flaws. Song would admit as much to herself. For if that was the truth of this mystery, then it followed that the assassin was not in the employ of the cult ¨C because if they were ready to pull the trigger on their coup and forcefully seize the capital, they already would have.


    Which left the Yellow Earth as the likely culprit for the attempt, considering the assassin was Tianxi and had fled to a workshop believed to have ties to the local sect.


    Fingering Tianxia for the crime, because it surely would be all Ten Republics that got the blame and not some radical Yellow Earth faction, would sink Ren name deeper into the mud back home. She would not put it beyond some Yellow Earth sects to vilify her to draw the ire away from their own comrades, a fresh heaping of curses tossed onto her family¡¯s shrine.


    Evander risked a sip of his chosen wine, grimaced at the taste then took a deeper one.


    ¡°Horrid,¡± he cheerfully said. ¡°You should try it, Song. We ought to be in here at least half an hour before leaving, lest we stand out in the wrong way.¡±


    Song snorted, trying a sip and finding no trace of the purported cherries ¨C the wine tasted, if anything, like¡­ plums? Overripe plums, maybe. Regardless, it was just as horrid as promised. She swallowed an almost teasing question about taking only half an hour. A thought best buried very, very deep.


    The Lord Rector drained his cup in a few long sips before pouring himself a second, the most Song had ever seen him drink. He usually watered his wine. Setting aside his cap, the man brushed back his long hair and let out a sigh. Evander Palliades had almost insultingly pretty hair, for a man. It was quite eye-catching, especially when he tossed it about like some young lion.


    ¡°It is not a good time for old gods to return to haunt us,¡± Evander said. ¡°The city is a powder keg and this has the look of lit match.¡±


    ¡°The god might still be largely imprisoned,¡± Song told him. ¡°Squeezing out through the cracks could be the work of years yet.¡±


    ¡°Chaos does not need reasons, only an excuse,¡± he quoted, drinking again.


    Quoting Soyarabai, but she would forgive it since it was from her only good work. She should have stuck to philosophy and admitted her unfitness for serious scholarly work.


    ¡°The Council of Ministers will try to knock me off the throne the moment they think they have a chance and the Trade Assembly might well attempt the same to keep them off it,¡± Evander ruefully said.


    The Ministers are already brewing a coup, Song thought, wishing she could tell him. Whatever his flaws, he seemed a better man than those trying to replace him. He emptied his cup, then set it down.


    ¡°You weren¡¯t wrong, about the Rows,¡± he suddenly said. ¡°Maybe not right, either, but¡­¡±


    He laughed mirthlessly.


    ¡°Tacitly endorsing the poisoning of my subjects less than an hour¡¯s walk away from my own palace,¡± Evander murmured. ¡°Now there is a turn of phrase. One that I will not be forgetting anytime soon.¡±


    Song said nothing, only watching him.


    ¡°I¡¯m so close I can feel it,¡± he told her, biting his lip in frustration. ¡°I only need to last through a year, maybe two, and my position will strong enough to reach terms with them. To finally do something more than just¡­ fight to stay seated where I am.¡±


    Only it was not so simple, was it?


    ¡°That won¡¯t be the end of it. You will fight them your whole life, Evander, or others like them,¡± Song honestly said. ¡°All that will change is who has the most guns and gold on their side.¡±


    He turned a bright gaze on her. The drink could not have touched him so quick, she knew, but she almost believed it anyway looking at that expression on his face.


    ¡°Twelve days you have been on this island, Song Ren, and I have gotten more truth out of you than I have from anyone else in the last twelve years,¡± Evander Palliades chuckled. ¡°It is madness.¡±


    Song¡¯s jaw clenched.


    ¡°I have been too familiar,¡± she said. ¡°I will-¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Evander said. ¡°Not that. This.¡±


    He leaned in, glasses askew, and Song froze. And was tempted to remain frozen, to let it happen. It was not her mistake, if he was the one kissing her. And she was¡­ curious.


    But she was also a Ren.


    Song drew back, putting a hand on his shoulder to stop him. She shook her head. The Lord Rector immediately stopped, then turned red in mortification. He flinched away like he had been burned.


    ¡°Apologies, Captain Ren,¡± he croaked out. ¡°I was, I thought-¡±


    He coughed.


    ¡°The wine,¡± she evenly said.


    ¡°Yes, the wine,¡± he awkwardly said. ¡°Please forget I ever¡­¡±


    ¡°It is forgotten,¡± Song lied.


    Neither of them spoke another word for the next twenty minutes, or dared to look at each other.


    --


    With the day¡¯s work done and some time to kill before the evening meal at Black House, Tristan decided to allow himself a small indulgence: namely, investigating how hard it would be to break into the Nineteenth Brigade¡¯s secret safehouse.


    He picked up his burglar¡¯s kit and took a roundabout route back to the dead-end alley he¡¯d watched them go into, first taking a look at the surroundings. Of the half dozen or so buildings around there only two currently seemed in use, one being the Nineteenth¡¯s rental. The other was a suspiciously clean two-story house whose shutters and locks had recently been changed and were of visibly better quality than the rest of the house.


    They were also the kind that didn¡¯t let sound out, which reeked to Tristan of coterie torture chamber until he climbed up on a neighboring roof and got a sniff at the scent wafting off the house¡¯s second story. Poppy, and not some extract for the pain ¨C the kind you stuffed in pipes and smoked. This was someone¡¯s private drug den, then, not an interrogation pit. Probably some magnate or magnate¡¯s kid who didn¡¯t want to be known as a poppy fiend and figured that renting a den in the worst part of the southwestern ward counted as discretion.


    The rest of the dead end was, if not exactly in ruins, then close to it: the houses were full of holes, be it in the walls or roof, and there were no shutters in the windows. As seemed common practice in Tratheke they had been raided for stone, brass and tiles then left to take the wind. No beggars had made a home there, which told Tristan whoever owned these regularly had them cleared by either hired men or the lictors. There would have been takers otherwise, no matter the holes in the roof.


    The alley was less than half an hour of walk away from some of the liveliest streets of one of the richest wards in the city, as fine begging grounds as one could ask for. It brought out a shallow sort of amusement, to see that even in Tratheke the rich were willing to pay to keep their property free of rats even when they had no use for it.


    The drug den was not in use at the moment ¨C unless the fiend was sleeping it off inside ¨C so Tristan allowed himself to take his time studying the Nineteenth¡¯s rental. Fortuna whined at being asked to keep guard at the corner and kept returning to his side, but he ignored her. Two shuttered windows facing the street, heavy planks with brass stripes keeping them in place. None of that Asphodelian green glass behind them, so raising the bars might well let him inside.


    He refrained.


    ¡°Just go inside,¡± Fortuna whined. ¡°Come on, I bet they left all sorts of stuff lying around.¡±


    ¡°Cressida was here,¡± he replied. ¡°And if I were her, I¡¯d snare the place to know if someone came in.¡±


    ¡°You think she put something on the windowsill?¡± the goddess asked, looking enthused at the thought.


    He nodded and she brightened further. The Lady of Longs Odds loved complications, so long as they were inflicted upon anyone but her. Should it be otherwise they would, of course, be found out as fundamentally unfair and morally intolerable.


    ¡°And likely the door as well,¡± Tristan added.


    ¡°I¡¯ll leave you to it, then,¡± she drawled, vanishing.


    If he had asked her to look inside the house for him a minute ago she would have agreed immediately, but now it was all but certain should he request it Fortuna would pretend to be hard of hearing. The thief did not mind. Opportunities to ply his craft with such low stakes were passing rare, and he must keep his skills sharp. Growing to rely too much on the goddess¡¯ eyes would leave him lost without her aid.


    The lock on the front door was child¡¯s play, a tumble lock he could have done one-eyed with a hand tied behind his back, but he refrained again. Instead he brought up his lantern, peering at the small gap between door and doorway. There was nothing so obvious as string, but he thought he might be seeing a thin filament that could be a blonde hair. Tristan hummed, stepping away.


    There were no shutters on the second story, but there was a chimney coming out of the rooftop. He slipped into the pilfered house to the right of the Nineteenth¡¯s rental, up the skeleton of stairs then through a hole in the roof to reach the spread of tiles there. Given how closely clustered the buildings were, it was barely a leap to cross over to the other roof. He silently tread over the angled tiles to the chimney, hiding from the street through the angle and putting his bag down.


    Fortuna, predictably, took the first halfway decent excuse to abandon her post and join him on the roof. She sat on the other side of the jutting chimney, skirts spilling out on either side like a small red tide, and golden eyes eagerly peered downwards.


    ¡°You want to sneak in through there?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Maybe,¡± Tristan hedged, removing a small mirror from his bag.


    His lantern was already shuttered down to the barest slice, so it was just a matter of carefully angling the light and mirror before he could have a look down the chimney. It¡¯d been cleaned, he found, but not recently: little soot but much dust. More importantly, leaning back and sweeping with the reflected light he found there were no caltrops at the bottom and no iron grid preventing entry.


    ¡°Cressida, you amateur,¡± he crowed. ¡°We always cover the chimney, you ought to know better.¡±


    ¡°While this is the most interesting you¡¯ve been all day,¡± Fortuna said, peering down, ¡°is there a point to anything you¡¯re doing?¡±


    He shrugged.


    ¡°Might be the Nineteenth left papers lying around. There could be information to pass to Song about their investigation.¡±


    ¡°She could just ask Captain Tozi,¡± Fortuna said. ¡°They seem friendly. Are you sure this isn¡¯t about showing Cressida you¡¯re the better Mask?¡±


    ¡°That has nothing to do with it,¡± Tristan lied.


    She squinted at him for a moment.


    ¡°I believe you,¡± she lied back.


    And on that merry note, he packed the mirror away and instead took out the necessary supplies: gloves and rags. The rest of the bag would only be a hindrance, no need to bring it.


    He did not jump in immediately, carefully testing the chimney walls instead. Without much soot the stone was not too slippery, though it¡¯d still be no easy task to make his way down without breaking a leg falling. With gloves and boots he managed, scooting down slowly and carefully until he was close enough to the bottom to let himself drop. There were some loose stones about halfway up, whose location he committed to memory for the climb back up that lay in his future.


    The hearth was spotlessly clean but his boots were not, so he stood on the edge of the hearthstone and wiped both the stone and his boots clean before putting away his dirtied gloves so he would leave no visible mark.


    His first impression of the Nineteenth Brigade¡¯s safehouse was that it was derelict.


    Probably the single cheapest place they had been able to find in the southwestern ward, he figured. It was a single large room at the bottom, where he¡¯d entered, and what little furniture there was all boasted missing legs or cut up surfaces. By the height of holes in the wall there¡¯d once been cupboards hung on the side wall, perhaps a kitchen, but those were the only trace of it left. The only fresh addition here was a barrel of water, which the Nineteenth must have bought at the market.


    Upstairs was, if anything, even more desolate. There were two rooms, one of which had effectively collapsed when part of the roof caved in ¨C it could not be seen from the outside, though no doubt the elements would eventually finish digging their way in. He¡¯d bet rain went right through already.


    They¡¯d put the chamber pot in there. Not recently used.


    The second room, a cramped and bare thing, was decorated only by four bedrolls on the ground and a pack of Watch supplies in the corner. Dry rations, blackpowder and blades, bandages and liquor. He put it all back into place after having his look.


    Tristan went back down, slightly miffed at how the Nineteenth had left nothing at all of use to him. Checking the front door confirmed his suspicion, at least ¨C there was a hair across the doorway that would rip if it were open, kept in place by a nail. He patted himself on the back for having seen that one coming, and the same for the small pots of clay atop the two shutters. Cressida had been clever, he would concede, simply not clever enough.


    It was getting late enough he saw no need to linger when there so little to do here, though he spent some time debating whether he should move every piece of furniture around slightly so the Nineteenth would feel a dim sense of discomfort when they returned. Mhm, perhaps next time. He didn¡¯t want to spend the surprise too early, they might start using the place more over the coming weeks.


    Besides, the idea of returning more than once without Cressida noticing was rather pleasing.


    He was already preparing to leave when he saw lights in the alley, immediately killing his own. Those out in the street were talking quietly, but the voices were young and numerous enough they could only be the returning Nineteenth. Swallowing a smile, Tristan went back to the chimney. He climbed back up, stopped at that spot with a few stones askew and wedged in his feet.


    He¡¯d not be able to stay there for long, no more than ten minutes before his legs started shaking too much, but ten minutes was plenty. Sound carried well up the chimney so he would get to eavesdrop his fill so long as they did not head upstairs. It was a good start to overhear Cressida telling the others to stop, checking the hair on the door before opening it.


    ¡°No one¡¯s come in since we have,¡± she told the others.


    One for me, Barboza. The brigade piled in, locking the door behind them and lighting some lamps. To his pleasure, they did not waste time before continuing what he learned had been bickering out in the street.


    ¡°-omeone could notice he¡¯s missing,¡± Kiran Agrawal said.


    ¡°He¡¯s allowed to visit the city,¡± Captain Tozi replied, unworried. ¡°There is nothing suspicious about that.¡±


    ¡°This ward has the most brothels in Tratheke, that will be the first assumption,¡± Cressida said, then her tone hardened. ¡°It is his lateness I dislike.¡±


    ¡°We are late as well,¡± Izel Coyac pointed out.


    ¡°What does it matter for either of us?¡± Kiran snorted. ¡°We have nothing to report. No progress made.¡±


    Their patron, Captain Oratile, was a woman. It could not be her they were speaking of. So who is it they believe they must report to? It should not be a blackcloak, given that all the officers bunked at Black House and so did the Nineteenth, but who else would they answer to? Their test was the tracking of the contracted killer, Tristan mused, which might mean working with the lictors. Perhaps they had bribed one for information, or a member of some basileia.


    Either way, this was turning out much more interesting than he¡¯d expected.


    ¡°Letting the heat pass was necessary,¡± Captain Tozi flatly replied. ¡°There were too many eyes on the business.¡±


    ¡°Kiran speaks true regardless,¡± Izel said. ¡°We have not pursued the matter any further. That is not a loss but an opportunity - let us tell him that we are finished with¡­¡±


    Groans from the others.


    ¡°Oh, get off that high horse,¡± Cressida said. ¡°We tried your plan, didn¡¯t we? Paid the guard to grab him. A clean grab with no one hurt, you said.¡±


    And as they kept talking, Tristan¡¯s blood ran cold. Paid the guard? That sounded like¡­


    ¡°And I was wrong,¡± Izel said. ¡°The man died. I thought this could be done without harm and was proved mistaken. This entire business is sordid and we should be done with it. Besides, given the behavior of the Ivory Library¡¯s men when they were caught at the docks their assurances of good treatment ring hollow.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s too late for scruples, Izel,¡± Captain Tozi evenly replied. ¡°Our families made the bargain, it¡¯s on us to deliver. Unless you want your fathers¡¯ tolerance for your career choices to run out?¡±


    ¡°We could-¡± he began.


    Only Coyac was interrupted by a sharp knock on the door. Tristan¡¯s legs ached, but even if they had been bleeding he would have stayed where he was. He would not miss a whisper of this. Someone was ushered in, the man they must have been referring to, and there was the sound of gloves being tossed on a table.


    ¡°Let us be done quickly,¡± a faintly accented voice said, ¡°I do not have long to spend here. How soon can you get us Abrascal?¡±


    Confirmation, part of him icily thought. Someshwari, the rest decided. Not Ramayan, or wherever Kiran Agrawal was from.


    ¡°It is delicate work, lieutenant,¡± Captain Tozi said. ¡°Especially since the fools you also hired got themselves caught and put the Thirteenth¡¯s guard up.¡±


    ¡°I did not come to listen to excuses,¡± the man replied. ¡°We were promised results in exchange for the favors given.¡±


    Favors to family, it sounded like. Given that Izel Coyac¡¯s father was a prominent Izcalli general this was not a petty matter.


    ¡°If he were so easy to grab, you would have done it already,¡± Cressida mildly replied.


    ¡°We do not need to grab him, we already paid your families for it,¡± the man scorned. ¡°I¡¯ve looked at the Thirteenth and I am less than impressed. The mirror-dancer is a cripple, the captain is stuck in the palace half the time and the savage almost killed herself with her own Signs. How hard can one rat be to catch?¡±


    There was tense silence.


    ¡°I have been befriending Song Ren,¡± Captain Tozi said. ¡°Developing trust. When it is established, we will pick our moment and strike.¡±


    ¡°The ship will only wait so long in the Lordsport,¡± the man warned. ¡°You will not enjoy the consequences if you fail to deliver.¡±


    Gloves were snatched off the table.


    ¡°Do not approach me at Black House,¡± the man said. ¡°In one week, at the same time, I will return here. There had best be results by then.¡±


    There was shuffling as if someone was getting out of the way, then a door was wrenched open. Though the Nineteenth was sure to continue speaking after this, Tristan did not remain. He hurried up the chimney, as quickly as he could without making noise.


    Below were enemies, but there was one in the street as well.


    His bag he left on the roof, he would return for it later. He took a lamp, rope, a rag. Careful, careful, he reminded himself as he tread across the tiles. The man was down in the street, already speeding away. Eager to be gone, already gone in his own mind ¨C and that meant he wasn¡¯t paying attention to his surroundings. Tristan slipped back down through the hole in the roof, down the stairs, and was down in the street by the time the stranger turned the corner.


    He followed.


    In his forties, Someshwari in looks. Short dark hair, narrow shoulders, not the muscles or stride of a fighter. Pistol and knife at his side. His clothes were neither cheap nor expensive, in muted shades that did not stand out. He was headed in the direction of the Collegium, towards the ward¡¯s larger streets ¨C where he would be able to take a coach and Tristan would lose him.


    He¡¯d not get there. This was not a nice part of town, and at this hour the streets were mostly empty. Workshops locked up, shutters closed. Taverns full, but there were few around here ¨C and when the stranger turned past one, through an alley, the thief quickened his step. Softly, quick but quiet, watching him peer ahead as Tristan¡¯s fingers closed around his blackjack and he darted through the last of the distance.


    It made noise, enough the man turned. But he did not turn quickly enough to avoid the blow on the back of his head. Careful again, so careful ¨C else he might kill the stranger, and the thief did not want that at all. There was no scream, only a groan as the Someshwari dropped. Out cold. Tristan put away the ¡®jack and picked up the man. He dragged him away from the tavern, into another side street.


    There were three shops there, but only one had a basement with a street entrance. He picked the padlock, checked inside ¨C coal and metal scraps, that would do. He dragged the man down into it, careful not to be seen. Closed the doors, lit a lamp, tied the man up and gagged him before making him look at the wall.


    Tristan sliced off his left ear, standing behind him, which woke the Someshwari up. The gag mostly took care of the scream. Blood sprayed, coursing down his neck in small rivers.


    ¡°I have questions for you,¡± the rat said, feigning a deeper voice. ¡°Scream and you will die.¡±


    Dropping the cut ear onto his lap reinforced the point. A tangible, permanent loss at the beginning will strike terror, Abuela had taught him. It will establish from the beginning the stakes of disobeying you. The Someshwari hastily nodded, proving her right again. She was always right.


    Tristan lowered the gag.


    ¡°Name?¡±


    ¡°Lieutenant Apurva,¡± he babbled. ¡°I¡¯m a blackcloak, from a Circle. You¡¯re making a mistake, I-¡±


    ¡°Which Circle?¡± Tristan asked.


    The man paused, surprised.


    ¡°The Umuthi Society,¡± he said. ¡°A tinker. I have coin, I could make you rich if you-¡±


    Tristan put the knife against his throat. He took the hint.


    ¡°Why are you in Tratheke, Apurva?¡± he asked.


    ¡°I¡¯m part of the delegation to the Lord Rector,¡± the Someshwari emphasized. ¡°I¡¯m expected, they will look for me. This is all a huge mistake, but if you let me go-¡±


    Tristan sliced at his shoulder through the cloth, shallow, and the man yelped ¨C more in fear than pain.


    ¡°Tell me about the Ivory Library,¡± Tristan ordered.


    ¡°The what?¡± Lieutenant Apurva tried, but when he felt steel against his throat he changed his tune. ¡°Wait, wait! I¡¯m not even a member, I just work with them. All I know is they study contracts and they¡¯re influential, they have men in many free companies.¡±


    His jaw clenched. What had he done to earn their attention? He should be nobody.


    ¡°Why,¡± he said, ¡°are they trying to abduct the boy from the Thirteenth?¡±


    The lieutenant twitched.


    ¡°How do you know that?¡±


    Tristan lightly laid the blade against his remaining ear. The man licked his lips.


    ¡°His contract, there¡¯s something strange about it,¡± he said. ¡°I don¡¯t know anything else, I only¡­¡±


    The thief forced his breathing to remain even. Anger would not serve him. He must be cold as the steel in his hand.


    ¡°Who is your contact?¡± he asked.


    There had to be one, someone who would handle the ship and the moving of an abductee. Lieutenant Apurva wriggled, tried to get out of the ropes.


    ¡°You have to let me go if I tell you,¡± he said. ¡°I just-¡±


    The blade dug into the right ear, blood trickling down, and the Someshwari whimpered.


    ¡°Sergeant Ledwaba, from the escorts,¡± he said. ¡°And there¡¯s another, someone high up, but I don¡¯t know who. Ledwaba handles everything with me.¡±


    High up. Brigadier Chilaca, a commander? His fingers clenched around the knife.


    ¡°The ship in the Lordsport,¡± Tristan rasped out. ¡°Give me a name.¡±


    ¡°The Grinning Madcap,¡± Apurva wept. ¡°That¡¯s everything, I swear. There¡¯s nothing else for me to tell.¡±


    A breath in, a breath out.


    Had he been born under a fool¡¯s star, to keep making the same mistake again and again and again? No matter the color of the cloak, he would always be a rat. Meat for the cats.


    ¡°No,¡± Tristan Abrascal agreed. ¡°You have nothing else to tell me.¡±


    He¡¯d not bothered to feign the voice, this time, and Lieutenant Apurva twisted around to look at his face. He got his look, though whatever he might have said was swallowed by a gurgle when Tristan cut his throat.


    Blood sprayed on the cellar wall.


    He watched his enemy die in silence, mind already racing ahead. The Watch would come looking for him, eventually. They would have contractors, Masks. I must clean up here, he thought, then get rid of the clothes and the body in running water. A canal would suit. Then he must double back for his kit and hurry to Black House, to ensure he was seen and would not stand out as a suspect.


    Someone high up, the dead man had said. How high up did it go? No, it did not matter. No matter the rank it was enough he could no longer afford to stay in Black House. He would have to tell Song¡­ Something, an excuse could be made. And Maryam, she- he swallowed. Calm. Fear and the rest, they could wait until he had dug his way out to the grave.


    A hand on his shoulder. He did not need to turn to know who it was, for he felt not even a tremor of fear from it. It was as familiar as his own breath.


    ¡°What will you do?¡± Fortuna asked.


    He closed his eyes. Tozi Poloko. Kiran Agrawal. Izel Coyac. Cressida Barboza. Hunt him, would they?


    ¡°What else?¡±


    His fingers tried to close around a tile that wasn¡¯t there.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to kill them all,¡± the rat said.

 Chapter 51

    Come night, Tratheke looked like a sea of lights.


    Black House was not so tall that the view from the roof garden was not cut into by higher edifices still, but the spread offered to Song¡¯s eyes was still a striking sight. The gas lamps of the capital lit up the dark like a thousand fireflies, their burning glow reflected on green glass and brass, and above it all towered the Collegium. That grand structure¡¯s bones of brass were hard to make out from a distance, weaving the illusion that its massive transparent glass panes were instead made of pure light.


    And atop that cube of light rested, like a slender crown, the palace that Song Ren was avoiding thinking about.


    The bench beneath her was forged iron, digging enough into her back she was regretting declining the offer from the servants to bring up cushions. Perhaps it was for the best. Sitting alone in the dark surrounded only by grass, fragrant flowers and the sound of flowing water it would have been all too easy to fall into some sort of romantic melancholy. An iron ridge digging into her back detracted from the picturesque feeling, like a fly in the soup.


    Pulling her black cloak tighter around her, Song¡¯s swept the city¡¯s skyline. Beautiful, she thought, but inherited. The sole claim the people of Tratheke had to this was that they had kept the lights on, tinkered replacements for the Antediluvian machines sucking gas out of the earth when they began breaking apart after the rough treatment of the First Empire. In Tianxia, such a thing would have been looked down on.


    Her people¡¯s pride was in what they built with their own hands, not the wonders bequeathed by long-dead titans. There was beauty in that as well, she thought. Not one so unearthly as this dream-city of glass and light, but no lesser for it.


    Silver eyes flicked up to the palace above the city of lights, until she realized what she was doing and winced. Song was not a child; she had dallied before. With boys, as was her preference, though sometimes she suspected she was not entirely indifferent to the charms of women ¨C merely discerning, as one should be in all things. Her mother had tacitly allowed it, almost encouraged it, so that Song would not be fooled by some seducer out in the world.


    Yet her account book of some heated kissing and the one banal evening in bed had not felt like¡­ that. How was it that a nothing haunted her more than the times she had actually indulged? It must be the denial, she told herself. Denial excited the mind, even when self-inflicted, and the mind was the better part of her troubles here anyway. Evander Palliades was easy enough on the eyes, but she liked his conversation more than his jawline.


    Well. The jawline didn¡¯t hurt, admittedly.


    ¡°Boo.¡±


    The moment she felt breath against her ear Song¡¯s hand lashed out, grabbing a collar, and after fastening her second grip in the same heartbeat she tossed her attacker forward over her shoulder and the back of the bench.


    A second later the word and voice registered.


    ¡°Oh Gods,¡± Song said, hastily getting up. ¡°Are you-¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± Tristan painfully groaned, face in the dirt and hips well slammed into the back of the bench. ¡°Ouch.¡±


    She smoothed her face. It would not do to laugh, even though with his legs half-lifted and his face in the grass the Sacromontan looked like a manner of beached porpoise. His goddess showed no such restraint, the red-dressed beauty guffawing so strongly she almost fell to her feet and had to catch herself on the bench. Song eased her Mask past the edge of the bench, letting him drop belly down on the grass, and he did not refuse the hand she offered to help him up afterwards.


    Tristan Abrascal brushed off his clothes and picked off a strand of grass that had stuck to his face.


    ¡°Well,¡± he coughed into his hand. ¡°There goes my daily reminder of the virtues of humility.¡±


    Song cleared her throat awkwardly.


    ¡°I did not recognize your voice until too late.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m the one who jumped you,¡± he snorted. ¡°I was asking for it. Nice throw, though.¡±


    ¡°I could teach you if you¡¯d like,¡± Song offered.


    He was dressed for the city, in a belted brown tunic and trousers. In wool, which was common in these parts given how many Tratheke workshops made such cloth, and though his hair was bereft of a cap it was flattened in a way that implied he¡¯d worn one for hours. Tristan was also, she noted, scrupulously clean from the fingernails to the shoes. He must have washed before coming here. Had he finally begun to notice the stink of cities? She¡¯d thought Sacromonte had ruined his nose for life.


    ¡°Best to get my shooting up to par first,¡± Tristan ruefully said. ¡°I would rather not split my attention when we already have so many plates to balance.¡±


    Sensible enough. And the mention of plates led into an immediate curiosity of hers.


    ¡°Which begs the question,¡± she said, ¡°of why you missed dinner.¡±


    Late service should be finishing up around now, but he had missed the expected evening meal with Maryam. All trace of mirth left those gray eyes at her words, as if it had been suddenly squeezed out by some twitching grip.


    ¡°You should sit down,¡± Tristan said.


    She did not, instead crossing her arms.


    ¡°What happened?¡± Song asked.


    ¡°The Kassa workshop is solidly guarded,¡± he said. ¡°I could try to break in, but odds are it¡¯ll be noticeable. The best shot for access is taking a job there.¡±


    She nodded warily. He was circling around what he would rather avoid talking about, she could tell.


    ¡°To get that job I will need a recommendation, and to get that recommendation I will have to make a deal with a basileia the Kassa are friendly with,¡± he added. ¡°Passing through the Brazen Chariot for an introduction seems the most feasible.¡±


    ¡°And you would pay in favors,¡± Song said. ¡°In both cases.¡±


    He nodded and she almost grimaced. A small favor to the Chariot for the introduction, then a larger one to the more powerful basileia for the good word. She would have preferred paying in coin, but since the misstep with the Brazen Chariot she had been educated on the difficulties of this. As a rule, most criminals were poor in actual coinage and had to pass through third parties to turn what valuable property they did own into something that could spend.


    For a basileia to suddenly be flush with clean gold would draw much attention and speculation, something neither the Watch nor the basileias would want. And still she hesitated, because providing the services of a trained Mask to basileias was no small thing. An even halfway clever criminal could use his talents for a great many things best left undone.


    ¡°I¡¯ll make it clear to the Chariot there are limits when they broker for me,¡± he told. ¡°Nothing that can blow back on us too hard.¡±


    She hesitated. Two months ago, the thought of letting Tristan Abrascal effectively freelance for criminals under the auspices of the Thirteenth Brigade would have had her writing a report to the garrison recommending his imprisonment. Yet things had¡­ changed, since, in many ways. He knows what lines to cross and not, she reminded herself. An agent of the Krypteia could not be expected to operate under her gaze, that was simply not their purpose.


    Tonight or some other day on the horizon, Song would have to extend this trust. Why shame herself by balking at giving it now?


    ¡°Keep me informed as much as you can,¡± she said. ¡°I take it you will be leaving Black House?¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t risk the constant back and forth, someone might follow me,¡± he agreed. ¡°I¡¯ll pass reports through Hage regularly.¡±


    ¡°If it takes too long to infiltrate the warehouse, we may have to take another angle,¡± she told him. ¡°Maryam¡¯s experiment with the flowers at the shrine was inconclusive, but I have confirmed the existence of at least a second one.¡±


    Maryam had not been able to reach beyond the brackstone to find out if there was resonance, which in a way was good news. The lack of answers had visibly irritated her Navigator, however, and yet another letter had been sent to Stheno¡¯s Peak as a consequence. She wanted to know everything they did about the flowers, these Asphodel crowns.


    ¡°So the odds are good we¡¯re looking at some old god slipping out of its cage,¡± Tristan muttered. ¡°Bad timing for us, that. The priority is establishing if that cage and prisoner actually have anything to do with the Golden Ram, then. We might have stumbled into something much worse by accident.¡±


    He frowned.


    ¡°And Brigadier Chilaca¡¯s an ass, but he¡¯s not wrong that between the noble plot and the aether lock we might have strayed away from our actual assignment.¡±


    There had been no ¡®might¡¯ in the sentence the stern, older Izcalli used. But Brigadier Chilaca was the same man who had ordered Song not to warn their client about the coup brewing under his feet, most likely to use that as a bargaining chip in negotiations, so the Tianxi was disinclined to heed him any further than she must according to the rules of the Watch.


    ¡°I found no trace of the cult in the palace with my contract,¡± Song reminded him. ¡°Considering the suspected membership, it is also rather unlikely the cult does not have some involvement in the planned coup.¡±


    He grunted.


    ¡°I¡¯m not unaware we¡¯re running out of leads,¡± Tristan said. ¡°I¡¯d been hoping Maryam would find something more practical in the archives, but it has been all politics and old horrors. The Lord Rector really doesn¡¯t know anything about the shrines?¡±


    ¡°There is reason to believe those secrets might have been swiped before the Palliades took the throne,¡± Song replied. ¡°The finger is being pointed at House Eirenos ¨C which was, it seems, once significantly wealthier in coin and land.¡±


    ¡°Bad news, that,¡± Tristan noted. ¡°Empty coffers are when nobles start selling off the antiques they don¡¯t show guests.¡±


    Ah. She had not considered that, in truth, too pleased with the happenstance. If House Eirenos had sold land, it had very likely sold antiques as well. Hopefully not all of them. Tristan cocked an eyebrow.


    ¡°Does Tredegar know this?¡±


    ¡°I sent word after her,¡± Song said. ¡°Under the guise of a lost hat being returned to her by her acquaintance ¡®Lord Allazi¡¯. The message is hidden inside the lining.¡±


    Removing a letter from the word Allazei was not the most elaborate of deceptions, but then Angharad was no deep intriguer. Caution was the order of the day. Paying a messenger rider to take the package had been wincingly expensive, but it was the only way for it to reach her before she made it to the Eirenos estate ¨C where it was not impossible her mail would be looked through.


    ¡°That should do,¡± he approved, rolling his shoulder, then changed tack. ¡°I¡¯ll be spending the night here, I think, and leave after our pistol practice tomorrow. Is Maryam still awake?"


    ¡°I believe so,¡± Song replied.


    Neither had lit a lantern, she for lack of need and Tristan evidently finding the street lights sufficient, so calling his face shadowed would have been somewhat on the nose. Yet there was something, Song decided, to the cast of him right now. Tristan tended to geniality, or at least the show of it, but tonight it felt brittle. That look in his eyes earlier, when the laughter went out, it had not been the look of a man who had middling bad news to tell her. Despite his attempt to play it off that way, those eyes had not about the basileia business.


    It had been too personal for that.


    So when he inclined his head in goodbye and made to leave, Song cleared her throat.


    ¡°And if I were to ask what it is you aren¡¯t telling me?¡±


    He mastered his expression, but not quite quickly enough. Aware of the slip, the gray-eyed man grimaced and pivoted her way in more ways than one.


    ¡°Would you like to talk,¡± he replied, ¡°about why you are sitting alone in the dark brooding?¡±


    Song heard that, measured it. Headed it off at the pass.


    ¡°No,¡± she said. ¡°But I will, if you do the same.¡±


    Rank meant little to him, there was no point in even mentioning it. Trying to force him would make her an enemy ¨C she had not forgotten Maryam¡¯s words ¨C and set back their functioning relationship. But they had a degree of trust between them, now, so she figured he¡¯d not wave away a trade if offered.


    The two of them stood in the dark, her watching him watching her, and she could almost hear the creak of the balance¡¯s scales as he weighed the risks. His hand twitched, almost reaching for his chest. Where he kept his watch when in uniform, the one the old clockmaker had given him on the Dominion.


    Stolen story; please report.


    ¡°You first,¡± he finally got out.


    Song cleared her throat. In her eagerness to seize the advantage she had not quite realized that she would, in fact, have to tell him her¡­ troubles. Her reluctance only seemed to sharpen his interest.


    ¡°The Lord Rector forced his way onto the expedition to the brackstone shrine today,¡± she said.


    He snorted.


    ¡°The Lord Rector of Asphodel fought to visit cheapest brothel in Tratheke? Now there¡¯s the opening line for half a hundred jokes.¡±


    She grunted in dismay.


    ¡°When we took a room there, to avoid revealing we had come solely to investigate the wall, we spent some time alone,¡± Song said, then swallowed. ¡°He tried to kiss me.¡±


    It was like watching a folding knife flick open, the change that came over him. Almost instant.


    ¡°Our contract is to the throne, not the man,¡± Tristan Abrascal mildly said. ¡°It would not be too difficult to-¡±


    Oh, oh. He thought that Evander had tried to¡­ insist.


    ¡°Not like that,¡± Song hastily said, clearing her throat again. ¡°He was mortified when I refused, apologized effusively.¡±


    He cocked his head to the side.


    ¡°We can send Maryam to give the reports from now on,¡± Tristan suggested. ¡°Or have her accompany you if you would prefer. That should discourage him trying his luck again.¡±


    She watched the knife slowly fold back into place. As if he had not just offered to arrange the death of a king on her behalf.


    ¡°It is not on your head that he should delude himself of an interest,¡± he assured her. ¡°Nor would we blame you if he grows miffed and attempts complications. That would speak of him, not you.¡±


    It was very kind of him to say that, Song thought, which made it all infinitely worse.


    ¡°It is not entirely a delusion,¡± she miserably said.


    A long moment of silence, Tristan studying her as if she were a five-legged dog or some manner of wingless bird.


    ¡°That is inconvenient,¡± he finally said. ¡°I don¡¯t suppose sleeping with him once would cure you?¡±


    She might have been offended, if he had not spoken of sex in the same way one would speak of mopping a dirty floor. A vaguely disagreeable chore.


    ¡°You really have no interest in it, do you?¡± she asked, oddly relieved.


    It was like confessing to her seasickness to a desert tribesman deeply skeptical of ponds.


    ¡°I sometimes like the kissing,¡± he shrugged, ¡°but not the rest, no.¡±


    ¡°Besides being a wildly bad idea in several different ways, I assure you sleeping with Evander would not ¡®cure ¡®me,¡± Song sighed. ¡°Or him. I think he is lonely, and that I represent an adventure in several ways.¡±


    She paced back and forth before the bench, ignoring his eyes on her.


    ¡°And you fear¡­ succumbing to the bad idea?¡± he tried. ¡°Or that he will try to pursue you again? Your refusal seems like it would settle either matter.¡±


    Only there were refusals and then there were refusals. Song was no great seductress, but she knew that much. She could have confronted the matter, but it to rest for good. Instead she had handed him the excuse of the wine, which they both knew to be false. It was leaving the door cracked open, however slightly.


    ¡°If he were not king of Asphodel, tangled up in everything we do here, I would have let him kiss me,¡± Song admitted.


    He shrugged.


    ¡°Then let reports to the palace become Maryam¡¯s responsibility,¡± he bluntly said. ¡°And ask to have her along when you are dragged into serving as his sniffer.¡±


    ¡°That simple, is it?¡± Song snorted.


    She felt almost foolish now. As if she had made a mountain of a molehill. She sat on the bench, iron digging into her back.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think desire is simple at all,¡± Tristan quietly said. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t find it so tricky to understand if it were. But it seems to me that if you do not trust yourself, you should turn someone you do.¡±


    Song passed a hand through her hair, pushing the braid back over her shoulder.


    ¡°I thought I was better than this,¡± she told him. ¡°That I had better rule over myself. Gods, the things that would be said back home if the sole Ren who fled the Republics was found to have lain with a king-¡±


    It was not merely the Yellow Earth that would vilify her for that. Even her family would hold her in disdain, her own sisters. That last thought had been what kept sense in her, at the brothel. The visceral fear of it.


    ¡°You aren¡¯t going to impress anyone with virtue, Song,¡± Tristan said.


    Her gaze turned to him, frowning.


    ¡°My conduct must be without reproach,¡± she told him. ¡°Much rides on it.¡±


    She must distinguish herself, in record and deed, so flawlessly that there was no choice but the Watch raising her. That even those who most cursed the name of Ren found nothing to complain of in her, when word of her actions reached the Republics.


    ¡°You¡¯re waiting for a payoff that will never come,¡± the thief said. ¡°Virtue¡¯s what they expect of you even when they dine on gold plates and you drink from puddles. It¡¯s the rule they put in place so when they live easy and you live hard they can say you broke some natural law and deserved the gutter all along. They don¡¯t actually care, Song.¡±


    Tristan shrugged.


    ¡°It¡¯s why it¡¯s always excused when they do it, when they cheat their cousins out of fortunes and assassinate their rivals. Because virtue¡¯s never about virtue, it is about the power to allocate vice.¡±


    ¡°There is right and wrong, Tristan,¡± she flatly replied.


    ¡°Would it be wrong to sleep with Palliades, or disreputable?¡± he challenged.


    That was¡­ it didn¡¯t matter.


    ¡°Reputation is a virtue,¡± Song insisted.


    ¡°Virtue¡¯s not going to get your family name out of the pit,¡± Tristan retorted. ¡°It makes people speak well of you at the burial, that¡¯s all. I¡¯d worry less about what people back in Tianxia might say and more about doing something that¡¯s worth talking about.¡±


    She clenched her fists.


    ¡°Are you truly encouraging me to sleep with the Lord Rector of Asphodel, Tristan?¡± she crisply asked.


    Daring him to say as much, or withdraw.


    ¡°You roasted Tredegar, back on that first day at the palace,¡± Tristan said instead. ¡°I don¡¯t know what was said, but it was writ plain on her face. The way I see it, though, you two share an affliction: you spend so much time thinking about what others would decide for you that those same others end up making your choices for you.¡±


    He smiled thinly.


    ¡°They don¡¯t want you get out of the pit, Song,¡± he said. ¡°They put you there in the first place. So maybe do what you need to do, instead of whatever that faceless tribunal allows you.¡±


    ¡°I do not need a dalliance, Tristan¡± she coldly said.


    ¡°Then don¡¯t have one,¡± Tristan shrugged. ¡°His hair looks stupid anyway.¡±


    Coming from Tristan Abrascal of all men, that was absurd. And though Song wanted to chew him out, to lay out in great detail why he understood nothing of the stakes and needs of the years ahead of her, the more she went fishing for arrogance to rip out the more she found out he had not tried to tell her what to do. He interrogated her motives, not her actions.


    And the truth was Song knew, deep down, that being a perfect daughter of Tianxia was not going to save her sisters. If she believed otherwise, she would not have enrolled in the Watch in the first place. She rubbed the bridge of her nose.


    ¡°You have a way with words, sometimes,¡± she finally said. ¡°Allocating vice. Is it from something you read?¡±


    He shook his head, then shrugged.


    ¡°You can only get stepped on so many times without getting a good look at the boot,¡± Tristan said. ¡°Besides, I¡¯ve known hundreds who thought the same thing I said. Only I was taught to talk, and they weren¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°To talk,¡± Song repeated. ¡°And to distract. I, however, was taught never to forget a bargain. What happened out in the city, Tristan?¡±


    He had stayed up the whole time, barely moving on the grass, but now he went entirely still. Face blank, eyes considering her as he picked and chose what to tell her ¨C what would get the reaction he wanted. That she would not allow.


    ¡°Good faith,¡± she said, ¡°goes both ways.¡±


    A twitch of the lips ¨C it could have been a grin or a snarl, either way gone so quick she could not tell. A few seconds passed before he sighed.


    ¡°The abduction business, it¡¯s not over,¡± Tristan said. ¡°It followed me here.¡±


    Song straightened in her seat.


    ¡°Students,¡± she slowly said, ¡°are still trying to abduct you here on Asphodel?¡±


    He curtly nodded.


    ¡°I eavesdropped on them discussing it.¡±


    Song closed her eyes, breathing in. Still? Even after the fate of the Forty-Ninth, even on Asphodel, even when her brigade was hip deep in conspiracies that might well usher in a civil war that would kill dozens of thousands? A bleak, dark thing coursed through her veins.


    ¡°There is a degree of stupidity,¡± Song Ren calmly said, opening her eyes, ¡°that can only be considered a capital offense.¡±


    Her fingers clenched. She would certainly treat it as such.


    ¡°Who?¡±


    Gray eyes searched her face.


    ¡°That¡¯s it?¡± Tristan asked.


    ¡°I do not care for their reasons,¡± Song told him. ¡°I don¡¯t believe the Watch allows for final words during hangings either, but should they leave behind written explanation I might one day be moved to read them on a particularly boring afternoon.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t be obtuse,¡± he bit out. ¡°The last time I brought back-¡±


    She breathed in sharply, the look on her face enough for him to let the sentence trail off. No, of course he would think that.


    ¡°I am sorry,¡± Song said.


    He blinked.


    ¡°Pardon?¡±


    ¡°I now realize I never apologized for what I said that night,¡± Song said, ashamed it had taken so long to remember. ¡°Blaming you for those hunting you.¡±


    Tristan¡¯s face was a blank mask.


    ¡°It is trouble I bring with me,¡± he said. ¡°That is simple truth. They hunt no other in the Thirteenth.¡±


    You were half ready to kill the Lord Rector of Asphodel for unwanted advances at me, she thought. Who was it, Tristan, that taught you everyone is worth the knife except for you?


    ¡°They are criminals,¡± Song said, simply and clearly.


    He laughed.


    ¡°Well, that¡¯s a new one,¡± Tristan admitted. ¡°Song, they have contacts. Bylaws are nothing.¡±


    ¡°It does matter,¡± she replied. ¡°You¡¯re not wrong, when you say that power makes laws for its own sake. That rulers turn it to their own means. But that is not cunning or mastery, Tristan, not mortal hands handcrafting some divine right to rule.¡±


    Her jaw clenched.


    ¡°It¡¯s fear,¡± Song said. ¡°Because there is right and wrong, and they may not always be clear or easy but there are times when evil¡¯s face is bared and people say enough. When they push back, when the crowns of the world are remembered that no number of levees can truly hold the sea. They only hold until a storm makes the waves tall enough.¡±


    She held his gaze.


    ¡°They are criminals,¡± Song said. ¡°You are not. It matters.¡±


    ¡°Not if their friends are high up enough,¡± he said.


    ¡°And yet they hide,¡± she said. ¡°Their friends hide. Because the Watch isn¡¯t a handful of captain-generals and marshals, it is not cabals of monsters in secret rooms shaking hands. It is hundreds of thousands of men and women in black cloaks, and they do not approve of selling their own like cattle. That is the sea, and they know enough to cower from it.¡±


    She gritted her teeth.


    ¡°Who?¡± she asked again.


    ¡°I do not know yet,¡± he said. ¡°I have a brigade and two names, but there is another further up.¡±


    Gray eyes unblinking.


    ¡°I killed a watchman tonight,¡± Tristan Abrascal said. ¡°Lieutenant Apurva. Umuthi Society, part of the delegation.¡±


    Studying her all the while, watching for her reaction. A test, like a cat dipping a paw in the water.


    ¡°Why?¡± she asked.


    ¡°He was their contact, an Ivory Library catspaw,¡± Tristan replied. ¡°I knocked him out, then tortured him for answers.¡±


    He leaned in.


    ¡°I mutilated him, cut his throat and dumped he and his clothes at the bottom of different canals.¡±


    He spoke calmly and evenly, as if to make sure she would hear every syllable. Testing her still, as if they were again standing over a traitor in that room deep inside Scholomance. Bloody, ugly reality dying at her feet once more. Last time they stood here, she¡¯d damned him for a decision she had all but forced on the two of them.


    Song did not always learn from her mistakes, but that one she would.


    ¡°We will have to report as much when we are done cleaning up the traitors,¡± she said. ¡°Given the circumstances, I expect punishment will be light.¡±


    Tristan swallowed half a dozen replies in a heartbeat. Most of them sharp, she figured. The word that gave him pause was the first one she¡¯d spoken. We. She would not abandon him, when the time came to answer for their actions. The Thirteenth would stand before the higher-ups as one.


    ¡°Who?¡± Song asked again, for the third time.


    Gently.


    And she got, in that moment, a look at what lay under the easy smiles and the wit. Under the hundred faces he knew how to put on. For a flicker of a second he looked furious, as if he wanted to strike her, then there was cold assessment ¨C weighing odds, consequences ¨C and then something¡­ fear. And not for their enemies. The terror of an old soldier when the war ended and he realized he did not remember the last time he had put down his spear.


    ¡°Fuck,¡± Tristan Abrascal snarled.


    She did not flinch and that, Song thought, was what tipped it over the edge.


    ¡°The Nineteenth,¡± he said. ¡°Tozi seems the driving force. Coyac wants to back out, but he¡¯s also the one who organized the grab after the terror room.¡±


    So much for being better, Coyac. So it was to be Tozi Poloko, then.


    Captain Tozi, who Song had believed she tricked when she pushed the other woman into taking the contract that would have the Nineteenth moving around the same city that Tristan was sure to wander alone on behalf of the Thirteenth. Captain Tozi, who had only yesterday mentioned in passing that when the other brigades were all gone from Black House theirs should take to dining together. Captain Tozi, who had begun playing Song long before they left for Asphodel.


    Her jaw clenched. It was never a pleasant, realizing you had been the fool instead of the fooled.


    ¡°Do they have a ship?¡±


    Tristan nodded, still hesitating heartbeat before he continued.


    ¡°The Grinning Madcap, at the Lordsport,¡± he said. ¡°Apurva said they were getting impatient, that eventually they would have to leave. The other name is Sergeant Ledwaba, from the delegation escorts. Unlike him she¡¯s an actual member.¡±


    She hummed.


    ¡°You want to kill them,¡± Song plainly stated.


    ¡°I can¡¯t handle someone good enough to cut it as a Watch escort, and poison would draw too much attention,¡± he replied. ¡°Ledwaba is out of my reach.¡±


    Who he did not mention was telling.


    ¡°We are no longer on Tolomontera,¡± Song said. ¡°If even blackcloaks attempt to illegally abduct a member of the order, you would be entitled to defend yourself through violence.¡±


    Poisoning them at dinner, however, would be harder to defend to their superiors. There was, however, one difficulty with that.


    ¡°If they try to grab me, I am done,¡± he flatly replied. ¡°I¡¯m not sure I could take Barboza and she is the least martial of the lot. Either I take them first or I end up in a sack.¡±


    ¡°The true prizes are the sergeant and the higher-up,¡± Song said. ¡°With those in hand, we can prove to the Obscure Committee that another part of the Watch has been interfering in their backyard. That might well see this Ivory Library disbanded by the Conclave, pulling out the root of the problem.¡±


    Although such a thing was likely to take months even with irrefutable proof in hand.


    ¡°I would settle for corpses, but if you can do better I will not argue,¡± Tristan said.


    You already wrote the officers off, she thought. Too strong, too hard to reach. It¡¯s the reaching hands you turned your gaze on.


    ¡°The Nineteenth-¡±


    ¡°Are too much of a threat to be left alone,¡± he flatly said.


    She was not sure she agreed, but it was not Song Ren they intended to shove into a sack. Besides, Tristan was soon to be out of Black House and no matter what she said he would not change his mind about this. If she could not change that decision, she must work with it.


    ¡°I will memorize Tozi¡¯s full contract and write it out for you,¡± Song said. ¡°Hage should have it by the time you seek him out for your first report.¡±


    A flicker of surprise. He nodded.


    ¡°It will take me time to find a way around Tozi¡¯s contract, I expect,¡± Tristan said. ¡°I am not sure how it would react to something like a two-part poison, or second degree peril.¡±


    ¡°With one man already dead, they will be suspicious for at least the next few days,¡± Song warned him. ¡°You will not have two chances, and if you overplay your hand¡­¡±


    ¡°They might well turn the laws of the Watch against me instead,¡± he acknowledged. ¡°I will not rush, Song. I will be as sure of success as I can before striking.¡±


    Good, she thought. That gives me time to find the second traitor in the delegation. If she found proof, anything she could take to Brigadier Chilaca ¨C or to someone else about the brigadier, a pleasant thought ¨C then she would have a thread to pull that would unravel everything else. Tristan was not the sort of man to insist on killing the Nineteenth if the Watch had already removed them as a threat to him.


    And a single corpse would be much easier to talk their way out of than five.


    ¡°You need to tell Maryam,¡± Song added. ¡°Before you disappear into the city.¡±


    He grimaced.


    ¡°She doesn¡¯t have the guile, Song,¡± Tristan said. ¡°She¡¯ll look at them like she wants to hatchet their limbs, which after a suddenly disappeared handler is sure to tip them off.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll keep her away from them until she¡¯s cooled off,¡± Song said. ¡°Have her replace me at the palace, as you so wisely suggested. By the time she returns it will pass as general surliness.¡±


    Which, for all her grace in other aspects, she possessed in spades. Maryam Khaimov had the temper - and snores - of a fully grown bear. Tristan eyed her, sighing when he came to the conclusion she was not going to be moved on this. Accurately so.


    ¡°We don¡¯t need to tell her what I just said, I don¡¯t think,¡± Tristan suggested.


    She eyed him amusedly.


    ¡°We are already two corpses deep into this relationship, Abrascal,¡± she said. ¡°I think you can rely on my having some discretion, yes?¡±


    Instead of the laugh she expected, she found Tristan staring at her silently. For a long moment, made uncomfortable by how unforeseen the reaction was. What had she said?


    ¡°I suppose I can, at that,¡± he softly said.


    He nodded at her, almost smiling, and though it was but the slightest of movements she felt there a solemn weight to it.


    ¡°See you in the morning, captain.¡±


    Song stood there, watching him leave, and wondered if he had ever called her captain before. No, it wouldn¡¯t matter if he had. She could tell the difference now.


    This was what the word sounded like, when he meant it.

 Chapter 52

    By the end of the first day, Angharad would have been willing to fight another gray mirror for the prize of never again having to ride a coach.


    It was no reflection on the coachman, a grizzled old woman who knew the country roads like the back of her hand and drove to Chalcia ¨C the town nearest to the Eirenos estate ¨C at least twice a week. It was the roads themselves that were devil¡¯s work, the quality having wildly dropped a mere two hours out of Tratheke and never daring another swing upwards from there. It was as if someone had built a trail entirely out potholes and loose stones, occasionally throwing in some rain damage just to keep the coachman sharp.


    Angharad, damned by deception to remain inside the coach instead of sitting on the bench outside with the driver, spent the day being treated like the insides of a saltshaker.


    They stopped for the night at an inn within a roadside village, for though a large Glare lantern hung at the front of the coach it was meant for use only if they were caught out in the dark. Angharad felt at once tired and restless, so she decided on stretching her legs through a small walk around the nameless village while Mistress Katina secured their rooms and meal.


    She limped around for a quarter-hour, contemplating mud streets and a surfeit of cabbage fields. Was cabbage so profitable as to warrant entire fields being sown? She¡¯d had no idea. By the time she returned a warm meal was ready and she sat with her coachman, making idle conversation over profoundly average cabbage soup.


    Admittedly, she should have seen the latter coming.


    Mistress Katina had done business with the Eirenos for decades, she learned, having been known to Lord Cleon¡¯s father the Lord Artemon. While not overly familiar with the Eirenos themselves, she had from a distance seen Cleon grow from a child to a young man and seemed fond of him in an abstract sort of way. As one who had regularly passed through Chalcia during decades, she was also a font of gossip about the noble house.


    ¡°His mother, Lady Penelope, she was from a fine family out east and she liked horses,¡± Mistress Katina said, lowering her voice as if confiding. ¡°The good lord Artemon bought a herd after they wed, said they¡¯d breed and sell them, but the land¡¯s poor for it and half the horses died of sick on the second winter. They say belts tightened at the Eirenos manor after that.¡±


    Horse breeding could be a lucrative trade, Angharad knew ¨C some noble houses in southern Malan made a fortune off supplying the royal army and izinduna with warhorses ¨C but it was not something that could be attempted lightly or half-heartedly. Buying several breeding pairs would have been a heavy expense for a small noble house. The finances of her own House Tredegar would not have been able to bear such a burden even though Mother¡¯s foreign ventures had made them wealthier than most their neighbors.


    ¡°Lord Cleon seems to have led the house to recovery,¡± Angharad tried.


    He had been finely dressed on every occasion they met and not treated like a beggar lord by his fellows.


    ¡°He¡¯s a steady one,¡± Mistress Katina approved. ¡°After Lord Artemon passed, they say Lady Penelope fell deep into grief and her young one had to handle the servants and rents on his own. By the time the Lord Rector recognized him as Lord Eirenos he¡¯d been doing the work for two years already.¡±


    Titles were formally inherited at sixteen, here in Asphodel, which meant Cleon Eirenos had begun running his house at the tender age of four and ten. It was impressive of him, Angharad thought. No wonder he had attracted a spirit¡¯s interest enough for a contract to be offered. Song and Maryam clearly believed this Odyssean to be sinister, but Angharad disagreed. It was a spirit as spirits had been since the Old Night, harsh and bloody and never to be trusted too closely.


    The notion that some spirits were trustworthy was what Angharad took exception to.


    Fed plenty gossip and soup best complimented as being of the appropriate temperature, Angharad retired for the night in the rented room. It was clean, if cramped, but exhausted as she was the Pereduri would have fallen asleep on stone. The innkeeper woke her an hour before daylight began, providing an offering freshly baked bread deplorably accompanied by further cabbage soup. Simmering overnight had not improved its taste or texture.


    A surprise came when she was told that the mail rider come overnight had left a package for her, however, paid for by sender. She opened it and found that a certain ¡®Lord Allazi¡¯ was allegedly returning her hat to her. His lordship¡¯s handwriting was remarkably similar to Song¡¯s, which had her retiring to her room to put the hat away in her traveling chest while Mistress Katina finished feeding the horses. Door closed, Angharad discovered that inside the round-crowned, short-brimmed gray felt piece there was a discreet black lining with a folded paper tucked inside.


    She teased it out, learning after opening that that Song believed the Eirenos might be in possession of ancient royal property that could shed light on the nature of the spirit contained in the empty layer. Angharad was requested to find out if such property was truly in Eirenos hands, and to obtain it if she could. Both requests were suborned to the necessity of maintaining her cover, which Song stressed was more important than any short-term gain. She was then bid to burn the paper as soon as feasible.


    The noblewoman promptly fed it to her room lantern and joined Mistress Katina in the coach, keeping her thoughts off her face.


    None of her assignments ran, strictly speaking, contrary to the duties of a guest. To find out if he had any knowledge of the shipyard entrance ¨C however indirectly ¨C and tease out any involvement with the cult of the Golden Ram were no breaches of guest right. Neither, arguably, would be inquiring after old family history and treasures. Yet it could not be denied that Angharad had been invited in good faith and would repay this with petty sneakery.


    No, she reminded herself. Not so petty, save what she committed on her own behalf. To learn about the roots of a rampant spirit, to investigate the good name of one who might be a cultist, these were not unworthy things. They only felt so because Angharad was used to attending as a guest, not a watchwoman. For a noble guest to spy would have been dishonorable, but for a rook it was only her duty.


    Save, of course, for one part: the dishonor she had brought with her, the liar¡¯s deal taken. It was tempting to tell herself that looking into Eirenos knowledge of the shipyard would also aid the Thirteenth¡¯s investigation, but it would have been half a lie. Even if there had been no use at all for the test she would have asked. Was it dishonor, to pursue a private task while undertaking oathsworn service? Some scholars of honor would say so, that to dilute service was to destroy it, but Angharad was not so sure.


    If getting her answers did not war with the higher duty¡­


    The coach shook her out of her thoughts, quite literally, as it hit a pothole and Mistress Katina cursed most uncouthly. Angharad groaned, stretching out her aching back and resisted the urge to lean forward and bury her face into her bag. It would crease her only traveling dress and it would be a tedious chore to straighten it out when they stopped for the night. How long had it been since they left the town, a few hours? Let it be at least that, the day was stretching on most intolerably.


    When the coach kept on inching forward at a crawl after that bump Angharad swallowed a second groan, for that seemed to her the herald of a wheel in need of changing ¨C or, ancestors forbid, a whole axle ¨C but the coachman did not stop outright. Frowning, Angharad reached for her traveling bag and prudently grabbed her pistol and a hunting knife borrowed from the Black House armory. The former was already loaded, and with it in hand she drew back the carriage drapes and peeked out.


    Ahead of them were hilly woodlands with the dirt road slithering through a dip in the heights, tall fig trees casting shade on white bindweed flowers. Just before the road went into the hills, though, was a crashed carriage ¨C it must have had at least four horses, by the looks of the harness, though there was no trace of them. Two wheels had come off, snapped, and it lay tipped over on the ground with a wall caved in and merchandise spilling out. Barrels and crates, bundles of cloth with glinting contents.


    Two men in hunting coats stood by the wreck, one rummaging through a crate while the other kept watch. And at the latter¡¯s feet Angharad saw a corpse ¨C not that of a man but a beast, a thick-furred lupine felled by a hunting spear still lodged in its side.


    ¡°Mistress Katina?¡± Angharad quietly called out. ¡°Why do you hesitate?¡±


    The old woman leaned past the edge of her bench, her grimacing face cast in shadow from the lit lantern at the front of the carriage. Lit for the forest crossing, Angharad idly guessed.


    ¡°We¡¯re still too close to Tratheke, my lady,¡± she said. ¡°These are the Lord Rector¡¯s woods, which means these are no hunters.¡±


    ¡°Poachers,¡± Angharad immediately grasped.


    A plague on any noblewoman¡¯s forests. Llanw Hall had been thin on trees, and thus such troubles, but she had sat at her mother¡¯s table while some of their highborn neighbors complained of such lawbreaking on their own lands. And while Angharad was not sure of the punishment for poaching on Asphodel, even less so when poaching in royal land, it was sure to be unpleasant. These men might well see them as witnesses to silence.


    ¡°Is there another way to Chalcia?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Not without risking the gullies, which is treacherous traveling,¡± the coachman said. ¡°It is too late, besides. They¡¯ve seen us.¡±


    Mistress Katina spoke true, for the poacher who had been keeping watch now walked away from his confederate and towards them, down the dirt road. He had in hand a musket loosely held ¨C no, not a musket but a fowler. Slender, of smaller bore, but quicker on the shot as was needed to clip a bird¡¯s wings.


    ¡°Ho there, on the road,¡± the dark-haired man called out. ¡°Who goes here?¡±


    ¡°We may have to pay them off, my lady,¡± Mistress Katina murmured. ¡°Let me do the talking.¡±


    Reluctantly, Angharad nodded and withdrew. She mostly closed the drape, leaving herself just wide enough an opening to be able to see through and aim.


    ¡°Katina of Teon¡¯s Hill,¡± the coachman called back. ¡°I am headed for Chalcia, down the road, with a guest but no goods. I want no trouble.¡±


    The man laughed.


    ¡°Neither do we, good woman,¡± he replied. ¡°We were only passing through when we saw the fallen carriage and came to look for survivors. All hands lost, it seems.¡±


    ¡°That lupine your work, then?¡±


    ¡°It was,¡± the poacher agreed. ¡°Waiting there, though there was no corpse to feed on and hardly any traces of blood. A passing strange accident, this.¡±


    ¡°No business of ours,¡± Mistress Katina said. ¡°We are headed north and have no time for distractions.¡±


    ¡°Then by all means,¡± the poacher said, ¡°be on your way.¡±


    Through the slice of room she had left, Angharad saw the other poacher had abandoned his inspection and ripped his spear out of the lemure¡¯s corpse. Precaution or preparation? Her fingers tightened around the pistol. Keeping it at the ready, she leaned to the side and blindly began digging under the bench. There the saber Uncle Osian had gifted her lay hidden. She set it over her traveling bag, in easy reach, as the coach began to advance again.


    Five feet, ten, twenty ¨C the poacher kept pace with them on the side of the road, the dark-haired man with poor teeth smiling all the while. It was the movement from the other one that told Angharad everything she needed to know. The second poacher, with his spear and knife, moved to get in the way of the horses with his spear at the ready. Horses, unless trained otherwise, did not charge into spears. Mistress Katina¡¯s aging plodders did not strike Angharad as having been raised such.


    The coachman had a musket of her own, and Angharad heard it getting cocked, but then the smiling poacher was flanking her with his fowler. Smaller bore or not, that gun would kill.


    ¡°Might be you¡¯ll get me, but I¡¯ll bring one of you along onto the Sculler¡¯s boat,¡± Mistress Katina harshly said. ¡°And then who will help the survivor carry the loot? Let¡¯s settle this with coin, boys, parts ways bloodless.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s no need for blood,¡± the smiler agreed. ¡°My oath to Oduromai King, you will leave with horses and coach and traveler.¡±


    The other one laughed, as if there was some sort of private jest.


    ¡°We¡¯ll only take everything else,¡± the first poacher continued. ¡°Don¡¯t make this ugly, old-timer.¡±


    Angharad breathed out, closed her eyes.


    (Angharad Tredegar grabbed her saber and pushed open the door on the smiling man¡¯s side, jolting him in surprise. The pistol shoot took him in the head, pulping red, as the coachman leveled her musket and unloaded in the other¡¯s belly. He fell screaming. A shot from the edge of the woods, the hill to the left, and a furious red-haired woman charged out with a smoking fowler as the coachman slumped dead on the bench and the horses went wild.)


    ¡°It will be an evil eye on all of us, if you push this,¡± Mistress Katina insisted, ¡°it¡¯ll only-¡±


    Angharad grabbed her saber, tucked it under her arm and pushed open the door on the smiling man¡¯s side.


    He hesitated just a moment too long, knowing about the coachman¡¯s gun but not yet having seen hers, so the shot took him just to the side of the nose at it had in the glimpse. He dropped, but before Mistress Katina could drop the other Angharad raised her voice.


    ¡°Woods, to the left,¡± she curtly ordered.


    The old woman cursed and fired, a scream resounding in the distance, and Angharad barely spared a look for the red-haired woman running deeper into the woods while the last poacher ¨C gone white-faced and wide-eyed ¨C leveled his spear at them. Angharad tossed her pistol onto the coach bench, taking her saber and sliding it out of the sheath.


    The poacher knew he was good as dead if Mistress Katina got in another shot, so he rushed towards the old woman before she could reload. That made him predictable, and predictable was half the walk to the graveyard.


    It should have been child¡¯s play to reap him, would have been if Angharad were not just as much of a wreck as the toppled carriage. So instead of darting in past his guard and cutting down the back of his knee, Angharad¡¯s own leg gave under her as she hurried and she stumbled with a groan.


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    She tossed her scabbard at the poacher¡¯s face instead, just as he got past the panicking horses, and though it only clipped the side of his head he had to bring back his spear to protect himself ¨C which let Mistress Katina leap off the bench before he blindly stabbed at where she had just been. The poacher snarled out a curse, panic rising as he looked around. Angharad had to push herself up with her saber to remain standing. She saw the choice being weighed behind his eyes: use the cripple as a shield or chase after the nimble older woman.


    He picked the cripple.


    Angharad had fought skilled spearmen before. In spars, and twice with death on the line: Tupoc, in the visions, then the hollow warband and Amrinder on the field. Warriors trained and tempered, some first-rate in their skills. The poacher was no such thing, just a scared man with a hunting spear, and because of that in the first breath of the exchange he came a hair¡¯s breadth away from killing her.


    She flicked to the side, feinting, and would have caught his arm when he moved to parry. Only instead he shouted and smashed the shaft blindly in her direction. She tripped backward trying to catch the haft with her guard, getting knocked on her ass, and he kicked her in the chest. Angharad groaned, limbs already trembling, but she had kept her saber in hand ¨C she hacked at the side of his leg and cut deep, the poacher pulling back with a shout.


    She feinted up at his face, the point near enough he panicked and slapped at it with his spear, and that was enough. When his arm extended to the right she rose onto her knees, delicately pressing the tip of her blade between two ribs as he stepped into the blow and it slid deep in him. The poacher let out a ragged gasp and fell to his knees while she ripped out the blade, eerily mirroring her. Angharad leaned on the coach to get back to her feet and kicked his wrist when he tried to reach for his hunting knife. It went flying on the dirt, soundless. Panting, sweat-soaked and her saber held more like a crutch than a blade, she forced herself to put the steel to his throat.


    ¡°Wait,¡± the man gurgled, holding his gut wound. ¡°Wait. We weren¡¯t going to hurt you, we were just paid to-¡±


    ¡°Paid,¡± she repeated, disbelieving. ¡°By whom?¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t see,¡± the poacher said, looking pale as he clutched at his wound. ¡°Someone¡¯s servant. Iris said she saw blue and green sown on the pouch, but we never got a name.¡±


    ¡°And what,¡± Angharad coldly said, ¡°what were you paid to do?¡±


    The man swallowed.


    ¡°To wait here,¡± he said, ¡°for a coach. With the old-timer and some Malani girl in it. We were just to take everything but your smallclothes and let you go.¡±


    Angharad blinked. What manner of plot was this? Nonsense.


    ¡°And the broken carriage?¡± she pressed.


    ¡°It was like that when we got here,¡± the man insisted. ¡°We were looking through when the lupine came, to take the guns.¡±


    The guns? No, that hardly mattered. She could look herself.


    ¡°The servant who paid you,¡± she said. ¡°What did they look like?¡±


    ¡°He wore a hood,¡± the poacher said. ¡°Please, we weren¡¯t going to hurt you-¡±


    ¡°Ha!¡±


    Mistress Katina, having gone around the coach, stepped out with a loaded musket.


    ¡°Well done, my lady,¡± she said. ¡°Not hurt us, my boot. You can tell it to the magistrate.¡±


    Angharad shot her an odd look. Magistrate? The man was a poacher, a highwayman and he¡¯d bared steel on a woman of noble blood.


    ¡°Whatever for?¡± she asked.


    ¡°They¡¯ll question him,¡± Mistress Katina told her. ¡°Get to the bottom of this.¡±


    ¡°I already have,¡± Angharad said, and struck.


    Well-aimed and deep, a clean stroke even with her leaning against the coach. The poacher¡¯s head tumbled into the grass, looking surprised. Proud of the blow, Angharad turned to flick the blood off her saber and was surprised to find the older woman staring at her in horror.


    ¡°God¡¯s blood, girl, what did you go and do that for?¡± she barked.


    She was halfway to pointing the musket Angharad¡¯s way.


    ¡°His guilt was evident, what need is there for a magistrate¡¯s involvement?¡± she frowned.


    ¡°You can¡¯t just go around killing people,¡± Katina snarled. ¡°I run a coach, not a bloody slaughterhouse. He was unarmed!¡±


    ¡°And still has an accomplice out in the woods,¡± Angharad flatly reminded her, unimpressed. ¡°One with a fowler. But if you care so much for highwaymen, by all means dig them a grave. So long as you are ready to depart by the time I¡¯ve finished inspecting the broken carriage.¡±


    She was inclined to leave them to the lupines, herself. The coachman looked like she wanted to argue but Angharad had no taste for it. She picked up her sheath and slid the blade back into it before putting it back in the coach, reaching for her cane and pistol instead. It took her longer than she would have liked to reload the gun, her fingers still trembling. By the time she was finished, the coachman had calmed down some. Anger was still tight on the old woman¡¯s face, but she held her tongue.


    Katina began dragging the corpses to the side of the road, silent, and Angharad left her to it.


    Leaning on her cane, pistol at her side, the noblewoman went to have her look at the wreck. There had been half a dozen small and portly barrels inside the carriage, some of which had rolled out. All were sealed tight with wax and painted with blue fish silhouettes on the side. A mark Angharad felt no guilt at disbelieving when the bundles of cheap cloth spilled besides it were revealed, when unfolded, to contain muskets. Rough-shaped and unwieldy, but muskets nonetheless.


    One of the crates was broken, revealing that among the straw were nestled large balls of stone. Cannon shot. She dragged up one of the barrels, grunting and almost tripping down, and after panting while leaning on her cane for a good minute she brought out her hunting knife to break the wax seal. Prying the barrel open, she found inside exactly what she had expected: blackpowder.


    And though it was hard to tell, by the looks of it the carriage had been headed towards Tratheke instead of away.


    There must be more, she thought. Some hint as to who was seemingly bringing arms and powder into the capital. It could not be the Lord Rector, else why the false label on the powder barrels? Song and Tristan had found the trail of what might be a dawning coup by the Ministers, this might be one of their smuggled stashes. There had been no place for a seat inside the carriage, given how tightly it was packed ¨C and wax or not it was wise to keep powder away from the weather ¨C but after lowering herself near the front of the vehicle Angharad found that there was a compartment beneath the driver¡¯s bench.


    Broken glass, wetness and smudged papers. A pistol and two knives as well as something that smelled like tobacco in a leather sheath. Nothing of use. Only Angharad then narrowed her eyes at the compartment, for this was a matter of intrigue. She emptied it out the compartment before feeling out the bottom. No sign of anything hidden. Ah well. Grunting, she got up.


    She returned with one of the muskets, violently smashing its butt into the bottom plank of the compartment. It was the only way to be sure.


    It did not sound like there was a hidden compartment, from the first impact, but after three rough blows something broke. Ah, so there was something! The secret compartment turned out not to be even an inch deep, just enough to hold a small journal. Of which there was one. Angharad flipped through it, finding that the insides were nonsense.


    It looked like Cycladic, but with numbers thrown in and the lines nonsensical. A cypher of some kind, she guessed. Song could cut her teeth on it if she liked, this was not Angharad¡¯s wheelhouse. By the looks of the ink, the last few entries had been made recently: the black was deeper, had not faded or smudged. She tucked the journal of way, then pushed herself up with her cane.


    By the sound of it, the coachman was digging the robbers a grave. Admirable kindness, however misplaced.


    Deciding to keep her mouth shut and let Katina finish the labor she¡¯d taken on, Angharad limped back towards the coach. Best put that journal away where no one would find it. Her underthings, she figured, were most likely to be spared too much pawing at by Eirenos maids. She opened the door, hearing the shoveling pause. After a moment passed and she said nothing, it resumed. Angharad put the journal away then slipped back out of the carriage, trying to straighten her aching back.


    She was going to have to clean her traveling dress tonight, she saw. No amount of scratching with nails and spit would fully get rid of that muddy boot print. Hopefully the next inn would have a launderer, or at least a soul willing to launder for coin.


    Those hilly woods were a pretty enough sight, she thought as she leaned back against the carriage and listened at the rhythmic noise of a grave being dug. The light of the Asphodelian day dripped through the branches, mottling the soft white flowers growing everywhere, and a slight wind almost covered the sound of ¨C a deer? Angharad¡¯s eyes whipped to the right, the opposite way the last robber had fled from, and she caught three silhouettes creeping through the undergrowth.


    Two slunk low, furred and fang. Lupines. They were flanking a boy, she thought, but then her blood froze. It was a boy whose lower half was as a goat¡¯s, hooves and all, and Angharad knew exactly what she was looking at.


    ¡°Katina,¡± she hoarsely called out.


    The digging did not stop.


    ¡°Katina.¡±


    The shovel stopped.


    ¡°I¡¯m not your handmaid, girl,¡± the old woman grunted. ¡°You¡¯ll wait until I¡¯m good and-¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s a satyrian in the woods,¡± Angharad hissed. ¡°Get on the carriage now and get those horses running.¡±


    Angharad had killed a satyrian before.


    Only she had done it down in the Acallar, when hale and with three other Skiritai with her. She¡¯d also watched one tear through a triad of young Skiritai like they were made of paper, and that one hadn¡¯t dominated other lemures into following it. It all made sense suddenly, the lack of bodies and the lupine that had stayed there even though there was nothing to eat. Strange behavior for such a beast, unless it was made to by something it feared.


    They were clever, satyrians. Clever enough to use a wrecked carriage as bait for further travelers.


    The coachman was no fool, immediately scrambling for the bench, and Angharad went with her. She would not wait in that cabin to die while the lemure picked off the horses and driver. The horses were still harnessed, thank the Sleeping God, and Katina whipped them to a gallop the moment she had her seat. Angharad, nestled next to her on the cushioned bench, bent back to look at lemures with her pistol in hand.


    The satyrian had seen them move, felt their fear. It followed merrily, sending the lupines howling ahead like they were trained hounds. They weren¡¯t, Angharad knew. She had made study of these beasts, learned that they often beat and spared lesser lemures to use them as chaff and bait ¨C that the lemure they faced in the Acallar was less dangerous than those in the wild, for it stood alone. But those lesser beasts would only follow the satyrian as long as it was stronger, and turn on it the moment it was not.


    Which helped nothing when the lupines shot towards them like arrows and their master followed behind with a leisurely, leaping gait.


    The coach barreled down the forest road, Katina tanning their backs so they did not flag in the gallop, but the lupines were catching up ¨C that damn road was kicking their wheels back and forth, and Angharad saw on the coachman¡¯s face the terror that a wheel would come off and leave them to the mercy of the lemure. She turned, spun a glimpse, and leaned past the edge of the bench.


    A little to the left, she adjusted after missing in the glimpse, and caught the leading lupine in the chest. It dropped, falling in the undergrowth, and the other ducked out of sight with a howl. More howls came from the distance. Ancestors, how many were there? Still, nailing one should have ¨C the shallow glow of satisfaction winked out when she saw the satyrian bounding forward, leaping over a fallen tree, and she realized she had been baited again.


    It had been waiting for her to shoot.


    And now it was closing the distance, Angharad fumbling to reload her pistol ¨C only the powder charge she¡¯d brought spilled out of her fingers when the carriage hit a bump and she cursed, because that was her only reload.


    ¡°Mine, girl, take mine,¡± Katina hissed, pressing the musket on her one-handed.


    In her eagerness to take it she dropped the pistol, which fell into the undergrowth, but the satyrian was so close now she could not spare a moment to ¨C


    (She aimed, holding the musket as she had seen Song do a dozen times, and fired. It ducked to the left, its leaps almost mocking.)


    (Ducked down.)


    (Ducked to the right.)


    (Left, coming so close that-)


    It was following the angle of the muzzle, she realized, it understood what the gun was. It was too clever. Fear rising, Angharad looked back at the bench for anything she could use ¨C and slipping past a blanket her eyes fell on the lit lantern hanging there. The Glare oil lantern.


    (Angharad snatched the lantern and tossed it at the satyrian. It exploded in a burst of pale light, bright and blinding, and)


    And ancestors damn her, she was just as blinded in the glimpse as the satyrian. Looking through her own eyes, how could she not be? The lantern wouldn¡¯t help, it wouldn¡¯t ¨C


    ¡°Oh,¡± Angharad Tredegar breathed out, fingers closing around the lantern and ripping it off the hook.


    In a glimpse, she saw through her own eyes. But not in a vision, where saw outside of herself as if a third party.


    Her eyes fluttered, the sound of panicked horses and the smell of burning oil replaced by salt and the quiet lapping of the tides, and she saw. Saw how it moved, where it moved, and remembered it perfectly because when she used her contract she was gifted such recall for a day.


    The lantern hit the ground, Katina shouting in dismay, and Angharad did not open her eyes as she aimed the musket and pulled the trigger. The kickback struck her shoulder, hard enough for a grunt to slip past her lips, and she felt the tongue of fire spit out a bullet into the blinding light-


    She opened her eyes, spots still flecking her vision, and with a swell of triumph saw the satyrian stumble.


    Angharad had wanted the knee, but she would settle for the leg she had it. It opened its torso-maw, revealing rows of jagged teeth like curved goat horns, and screamed in hatred as it tried to hop and found the shot lodged in its leg something of a hindrance. Ichor dripped down its fur.


    ¡°Choke on it,¡± Angharad shouted back. ¡°And let us find out how loyal those lupines are, now that you are bleeding.¡±


    Howls filled the woods again, but this time no shiver went down her back. Why would it?


    Of the two limpers in these woods, she was the one moving the fastest.


    --


    It was the better part of an hour before they were out of the woods, far enough out on open ground they were sure they would see an ambush coming.


    Only then did the coachman let the horses rest, Angharad stepping down from the bench and not faking in the least when she collapsed. The older woman hurried to help her back up, and the Pereduri noted with faint amusement that she was now ¡®my lady¡¯ again instead of ¡®girl¡¯. Well, she would return Mistress Katina¡¯s courtesy in kind. After that race, it would feel petty not to.


    As she sat on the coach¡¯s steeple, drinking from a waterskin, it occurred to Angharad that she owed her life to Maryam Khaimov. To the other woman¡¯s curiosity, to be precise. Had the signifier not so thoroughly explored the boundaries of what glimpses could do before beginning the same work with the vision, Angharad would have never thought of the difference. Not in a hundred years, with that fear in her nose and her blood running cold.


    ¡°Another debt for the pile,¡± she murmured.


    One she had little idea how to repay. It seemed to her that even when Maryam claimed to be taking payment, it was Angharad who benefitted most from it. She got back in the carriage, Mistress Katina informing her they would press on another quarter-hour at a quiet pace then rest the horses by a stream where they could drink their fill. Angharad returned to sit on the bench outside while the coachman settled her mounts, murmuring comforts.


    ¡°A satyrian, this far out?¡± Mistress Katina deplored. ¡°It is the bad luck of a decade, my lady. I¡¯d heard the rumors, but I would never have thought it truly got this bad. Not even out of crown land yet!¡±


    ¡°The rumors?¡± Angharad asked.


    ¡°Some sort of petty god is said to be making a mess in the hills up north,¡± the coachman said. ¡°Driving lemures out of their usual hunting grounds. It is making the roads unsafe, and the lictors are doing dust to take care of it.¡±


    Oh? That sounded to her like the trail of the Eleventh¡¯s exorcism contract. It had not occurred to Angharad that strange rituals and apparitions would ripple out in such a dangerous manner, but thinking back now it should have. Their instructors in Teratology all insisted that nature was as a chain, that no link could be taken out of it without changing the whole.


    ¡°I thought the lictors patrolled the valley often,¡± she said.


    ¡°The last three years maybe,¡± Mistress Katina shrugged. ¡°Not that it¡¯s helped any ¨C the clever beasts don¡¯t get caught by twenty armored men making a racket. And no one wanders the deep hills, my lady, there are graves there best left undisturbed. Word is some fool stepped on the wrong stone out there and now the whole valley is paying for it.¡±


    The last few years, Angharad thought. How long had it taken for House Palliades to refurbish the shipyard? It must have been years. Had it been the labor of Evander Palliades¡¯ reign to do so, or begun when his father still reigned? Surely the Lord Rector¡¯s regent would not have done it, for if the shipyard bloomed it might well doom Apollonia Floros¡¯ cause. Still, only three years? That seemed a small time for such a grand achievement as restoring the work of the Antediluvians.


    Perhaps it had begun earlier but more quietly, enough that the patrols hiding the supplies being brought in were not easily noticed.


    ¡°-ike that.¡±


    Angharad blinked.


    ¡°Pardon,¡± she said. ¡°I was lost in thought. What did you say?¡±


    ¡°That I understand why they say Lord Cleon took to you now,¡± Mistress Katina said. ¡°I haven¡¯t met many who could make a shot like that, much less off the back of a rolling coach. You must be a fine huntress.¡±


    ¡°Fortunately, the lantern blinded it,¡± Angharad demurred.


    The older woman looked skeptical.


    ¡°As you say, my lady,¡± she finally replied. ¡°Still, you must have been a regular terror before whatever wasted your leg.¡±


    The noblewoman looked away, pressing down on her grimace. She should be pleased that the deception was holding, not aggrieved at how closely it still hewed to the truth. They departed again soon after, at a sedate pace so the horses could gain back their strength. They arrived slightly late to Chalcia for it, after night fell, and the last stretch was treacherous: the only lantern they had to replace the one Angharad had thrown was smaller, and not Glare oil.


    It barely cast light ahead of the horses, leading the wheels to seemingly seek out every hole on that accursed road. Would that Song was truly the Lord Rector¡¯s mistress, for surely she would not tolerate such abominable traveling conditions.


    The innkeeper waiting for them began to chew them out for arriving past dinner, but Mistress Katina whispered a few things and suddenly the man was all commiseration and reverence. Angharad grimaced again, for the last thing she needed was a reputation in these parts. She was to slip in and out with as little notice as possible, a simple disgraced foreign noblewoman from the Isles who would decide she was not fit to be courted by Lord Cleon.


    Not to worry, Angharad thought. When a coach was sent from the Eirenos manor tomorrow, she would depart far ahead of any rumor spreading.

 Chapter 53

    Mistakes had been made.


    ¡°A satyrian, Lady Angharad!¡± Cleon Eirenos exclaimed for the fourth time, eyes bright as stars. ¡°Between that and the robbers, it was an encounter worthy of song.¡±


    She hadn¡¯t even killed the thing, she mutinously thought. So why was half of Chalcia convinced she had saved them from being murdered in the night by a tower-sized satyrian leading an army of lupines? A few of them had cheered her at breakfast, this was the opposite of spycraft! And she knew the source of it all, too. When she came down for porridge Mistress Katina had winked at her and loudly refused to be paid the second half of the travel fee because ¡®saved my life, you did¡¯.


    While Angharad suspected the old woman had been trying to do her a good turn, the rumors spawned by whatever she said the previous night had swiftly got out of hand. While it was true satyrians were clever enough to use tools and open gates, they rarely attacked towns and certainly did not raise massive packs of lemures to do so. Chalcia was safe: it was a walled town, with an informal militia guarding it. A fact that Angharad knew for certain because its captain had come to shake her hand.


    Apparently by the second wave of retelling the highwaymen had been decided to be working with the lemures. These vile traitors were, Angharad was informed, plotting to destroy the town with the satyrian¡¯s help so they might loot it afterwards.


    It had been too much to hope for that these wild tales would not reach the Eirenos manor, and sure enough Lord Cleon himself came riding with the carriage having already drunk deep of the nonsense. Like everyone in Chalcia, he seemed convinced that her protests about the significant exaggerations were a mark of humility instead of Angharad stating the bloody facts.


    As the alternative was a slow, infuriating descent into frothing madness Angharad instead grasped for anything at all that might change the nature of her conversation with the lordling riding besides her carriage. The Eirenos estate was not enormous but neither was it small, and barely half an hour out of Chalcia they had passed its boundary stones. The private road to the manor was in much better state than the one she had suffered over the last few days, which she complimented him on. He demurred in accepting her words.


    ¡°When Minister Floros was still regent, she passed a decree that every estate must maintain a road finely enough that the tax collectors could reach the manor within,¡± Lord Cleon told her. ¡°Else a most unpleasant fine will be inflicted on the owning household.¡±


    Clever of Lady Floros, Angharad thought. A ruler telling a noble household how to rule their own lands was sure to be met with resistance and rebellion, but to coach it in terms of tax collectors being able to reach said household would make any defying such a decree sound like they were avoiding paying their taxes instead or fighting to preserve their privileges.


    A shame this cleverness had not also been put to work turning the roads of Tratheke Valley into something less deserving of indignation.


    It was a pleasant enough trip to the estate chatting with an eager Lord Cleon, until they were past the outskirts and approached a small cluster of hills. Up a shallow slope, past the rise of the largest hilltop, finally waited the Eirenos manor.


    It had a long, lime-white rectangular fa?ade with a slightly angled red tile roof, and though it was not particularly large Angharad thought the row of large glass windows on the second story more than made up for it. Twin stairs ¨C with a small passage between them slipping below and to the back the of the manor - went up to a triad of plaster arches bordering an open vestibule. There were shuttered windows on either side, and further out on the estate another two buildings. A guesthouse, Angharad decided, and some sort of annex.


    The grounds were more impressive, a large pond flecked with slender reeds out front and a garden in the Asphodelian fashion spreading out in every direction: a mere step away from being wild, loosely paved paths winding through groves of orange and lemon trees as silver-leafed shrubs and long grass grew in clusters. Near the guesthouse, to the side of the manor, was a manmade clearing ringed by trees bearing yet-unlit lanterns, long tables already set in anticipation of the reception tomorrow. There was even a stone floor in the center for dancing.


    Lord Cleon rode ahead, to make room for his coach, and Angharad saw through the gap in the drapes that on the front stairs waited a handful of servants in dark green livery. One of them bowed to the lordling and took away his horse after he dismounted, leading it around the back. As the coach began to slow, she watched the young lord be fussed over by a¡­ sister? No, she corrected as the coach closed the distance. The fair-haired beauty embarrassing Cleon Eirenos, despite her youthful looks, wore too fine a dress to be anyone but his mother.


    Angharad had not met many women taller than her since leaving Malan, but Lady Penelope Eirenos came close ¨C and wore that height rather differently. Hair of red gold, wavy and so long it must reach down to the small of her back, crowned an elegant face with seductive lips and vivid green eyes. The hourglass figure barely contained by a loose pale blue gown had Angharad struggling not to stare, disbelieving that Lady Penelope was old enough to have a son. She looked barely thirty.


    No wonder Lord Artemon had bought a herd of horses. Angharad might also be tempted to the unwise to put a smile on such a beauty¡¯s face.


    The coach came to a halt, and after the door was opened for her she was welcomed in a whirl of attention. Lord Cleon introduced the eldest of his servants, though none were named majordomo, and then pulled his mother away from giving orders to introduce her properly. Her beauty grew all the more dangerous from closeness, the slight marks of aging that Angharad now noticed ¨C subtle laugh lines and wrinkles ¨C only adding a certain undertone of maturity to the curves and smiled.


    ¡°My mother, Lady Penelope,¡± Cleon introduced.


    ¡°It is a pleasing to finally meet you, Lady Angharad,¡± Lady Penelope smiled.


    ¡°The pleasure is all mine,¡± Angharad assured her.


    She had restraint enough not to seek to kiss her hand, trading curtsies instead. Lady Penelope had arranged refreshments, and while her luggage was brought upstairs she sat for lemon water and small talk. It was inevitable, of course, that questions would be asked about the run-in with the lemures and the poachers. Angharad did her best to dispel the rumors, with some degree of success.


    ¡°It is still quite the feat to drive off a band of poachers then escape a satyrian and his hunting pack,¡± Lady Penelope said.


    Her gown wasn¡¯t even all that revealing, Angharad reminded herself. It mere drew the eye to the slim waist and the contrasting curves around it.


    ¡°If Mistress Katina had not scared off the third poacher, I expect it would have gone quite differently,¡± she replied. ¡°If we had still been skirmishing when the satyrian arrived¡­¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure you would have found a way,¡± Lord Cleon firmly said. ¡°Your heroics made a strong impression on the people of Chalcia.¡±


    He shot a look at his mother after the words, the moment that passed between them hard for her to decipher. Lady Penelope, after the refreshments were well emptied, suggested that Angharad be given a tour of the manor¡¯s surroundings. She accepted, naturally. Much of what she had come here to accomplish must be through talk with Cleon Eirenos, and a walk was fine enough setting for that.


    Lord Cleon was eager to show her the grounds, though he took care that his enthusiasm would not go beyond what her limp allowed. He kept an eye on her stride, a hawk for signs of pain or exhaustion, and Angharad could not quite decide whether she was irritated or impressed. Regardless, it was gallant.


    Cleon was not the kind of man she would consider handsome. His shorter stature and wisps of a mustache did not help. Yet he seemed to her a lord of respectable character and his conversation was engaging as he guided her through the garden around the manor, though she glimpsed through his affected calm the occasional burst of nerves.


    She suspected he had rehearsed some topics, too, given the almost literary turns of phrase he occasionally used.


    After an hour, in deference to her tiredness he suggested they retire to the manor for a time so they she might rest before he took her to hunt quail in the nearby woods. There had, to her mild frustration, been little opportunity for her to ask about what she had come to investigate. Patience, she reminder herself. Lord Cleon was younger than her, by a year, but he was no fool. She must not be suspicious in her questioning.


    A room had been prepared for her on the highest story of the house, along with Lord Cleon¡¯s own and that of Lady Penelope, and Angharad¡¯s affairs had already been brought up. She napped for an hour, as offered, and had a small midday meal with the Eirenos.


    Lord Cleon had dressed for the woods and ate carefully, constantly looking her way as if afraid that some small breach of etiquette would sour her on him, while Lady Penelope eyed the scene with open amusement. The beauty languorously ate orange slices, the light come through the window catching her mane of hair and wreathing her in gold. Her pale blue gown, cut in that Asphodelian way that evoked ancient chitons, should have been loose but was too filled by a splendid figure for it to be so.


    It was an effort not to stare at those elegant fingers as she ate her meal, leaving most of the conversation to Lord Cleon as she observed them.


    They went hunting afterwards, she in her traveling clothes and he attired like a proper woodsman. Angharad was no great huntress, but she knew how to use a fowler and Lord Cleon assured her the quails in the nearby woods made for easy hunting. The manor raised some of them in captivity before releasing them, to weaken the breed. The young lord offered to carry her gun, but she tucked it under her arm instead.


    Within the turn of the hour he¡¯d twice startled a quail into flight and snapped a shot that downed it, while her own struggles were¡­ mixed. She caught a wing, once, but honesty compelled her to admit it had been pure chance. She¡¯d simply never had to line up a shot so quickly, or on so small a target.


    Angharad was not used to being unskilled and must not have hidden her frustration as well as she thought.


    ¡°New to fowlers, I take it?¡± Lord Cleon said.


    ¡°My father was a fine huntsman, but I never took a deep interest,¡± she admitted.


    Mother had dabbled, but she¡¯d always said that if she was to head out and kill an animal it might as well be a whale so the profit would be greater than a pot of stew.


    ¡°I imagine the sword took up much of your time,¡± he said.


    Angharad shot him a surprised look. She had never spoken of being a mirror-dancer in Tratheke society.


    ¡°I asked a well-travelled cousin about your silver marks,¡± Lord Cleon admitted. ¡°I apologize if you feel it untoward of me.¡±


    ¡°It is nothing hidden, the stripes are meant to be seen,¡± Angharad assured him. ¡°It is only¡­¡±


    She hesitated, looking for a sentence that would be neither a lie not too revealing a truth.


    ¡°I understand,¡± he grimaced. ¡°The cane took the place of the sword.¡±


    ¡°Something like that,¡± Angharad precisely replied.


    ¡°In the interests of honesty,¡± Lord Cleon said, ¡°I followed advice and also asked one of the royal sniffers as to whether or now a god endowed you with contract. I was informed that you were, though I know nothing more of the matter.¡±


    She gritted her teeth, but curtly nodded. It was not an unreasonable precaution when inviting a foreign noble into your home. Indeed, it was to his honor that he would so straightforwardly tell her of it.


    ¡°Such knowledge can be asked for?¡± she said, surprised.


    ¡°If you ask coin in hand,¡± he said.


    Angharad felt a silver of contempt. Not for Lord Cleon but the contractor taking bribes for secrets even when in the service of the Lord Rector of Asphodel. Sniffers were rare and valuable enough even the lesser of their kind would be able to take such liberties, which spoke well of Song. She was anything but the least of such contracts, yet held discretion as a virtue. Almost to a fault.


    ¡°I am contracted myself,¡± Lord Cleon continued. ¡°It is a strange thing, to hold a god so close.¡±


    Angharad raised an eyebrow. Not how she would have described it, but then she feared the Fisher as much as she respected his power. Closeness was not something she sought from that old monster.


    ¡°How so?¡±


    ¡°They see our weaknesses,¡± he said, ¡°but in such a tight embrace it is inevitable we might glimpse theirs as well.¡±


    The Fisher, Angharad thought, was the last entity she would associate with weakness. It abhorred the concept, and even as a diminished prisoner the great spirit remained a fearsome thing.


    ¡°I prefer to keep mine at arm¡¯s length,¡± Angharad admitted. ¡°We do not often see eye to eye.¡±


    ¡°I can sympathize,¡± Lord Cleon nodded. ¡°Mine grew¡­ odd, as time passed. Harsher, even as the granted boon thinned. I might not make the same choice now I did then.¡±


    ¡°Oh, mine thins not at all,¡± Angharad murmured. ¡°Sometimes I worry of that.¡±


    They left it at that, neither inclined to speak more in depth of their contract. Angharad knew, of course, of his. Song had skimmed his contract and told her of it. She felt guilt at that, but a shallow sort. He, too, had asked a sniffer about her. Angharad¡¯s was simply the finer of the two.


    They pushed deeper into the woods, Lord Cleon taking the time to show her how to more quickly snap a shot, and as the topic was on hunting she guided the river where she needed it to flow. First as to the many hunting grounds to which the Eirenos had rights, and his own experience with them. Then to what she wanted to know.


    ¡°I am told that the lictors patrol the valley in depth, now that there has been some trouble in the hills,¡± Angharad innocently said. ¡°Do they not scare off the game when you take the field?¡±


    He hummed, wiggling his hand.


    ¡°Most of the patrol routes have been the same since my father¡¯s youth,¡± Cleon told her. ¡°They do not change, and none come anywhere close to our hunting grounds. But there have been a few changes in the last few years, it is true.¡±


    He frowned.


    ¡°The Lord Rector ¨C it only began after Evander Palliades took the throne ¨C claims the new expeditions are to drive back lemures, but before that mischief began in the hills there was no true need for that,¡± he said. ¡°There has long been rumors that arms are being smuggled into Tratheke, so I have wondered if it might not be an attempt to catch the smugglers.¡±


    ¡°Smuggling from where?¡± Angharad said, as if disbelieving.


    ¡°The western hills, near the mountains,¡± he said. ¡°That is where they stomp around most. It¡¯s not done wonders for stag hunts in that slice of land, but it was always better out east anyhow. No great loss, though it sometimes has me thinking of selling our lodge out there.¡±


    She considered, for a moment, telling him of the blackpowder and arms she had found in the wrecked carriage where the poachers had waited. Yet, weighing the matter, it seemed like there was little to learn by telling him. More importantly, it might be she had narrowed down where the entrance to the shipyards might be hidden: out in the western hills, near the mountains.


    Not exactly a small stretch of land, but knowing that Eirenos lodge there was close enough to the patrols for hunting to be affected should help narrow it down.


    Having learned as much without need for true skullduggery pleased her greatly, lifting her mood on the way back to the manor visibly enough Lord Cleon almost commented on it. He thought better, though, and instead began to tell her of the feast he was to throw the following evening.


    ¡°It will be mostly families from our part of Tratheke Valley,¡± Cleon said. ¡°The Pisenor, the Saon and the Iphine foremost among them. From further out there will be only Lord Arkol, who did business with my father, and Lord Gule who was kind enough to accept my invitation.¡±


    Angharad blinked in genuine surprise.


    ¡°The ambassador from Malan?¡± she checked.


    Cleon seriously nodded.


    ¡°He has been a benefactor and something of a mentor, these last few years,¡± the young lord said. ¡°I am pleased he was able to spare the time, given his duties.¡±


    ¡°Ah,¡± Angharad said. ¡°That shipyard business, yes?¡±


    If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Lord Cleon inclined his head.


    ¡°What the Kingdom of Malan wants with skimmers I know not, given their lauded ironwood, but I suppose everyone wants a piece of the Lord Rector¡¯s pie these days.¡±


    He paused.


    ¡°Good on him,¡± the younger man feelingly said. ¡°Minister Floros can play the paragon all she likes, the lords of the valley know better.¡±


    Angharad¡¯s brow rose.


    ¡°I must admit I have heard little but compliments of Apollonia Floros¡¯ character,¡± she said.


    Even the Lord Rector seemed to respect her, according to Song, and they were sworn enemies.


    ¡°Oh, I¡¯m sure she¡¯d rather die than dirty even the least of her handkerchiefs,¡± Lord Cleon sardonically said. ¡°Honorable to a fault, Apollonia Floros. So much that the very day the regency ended she withdrew all her troops from the capital and dismissed all her vassals and allies from positions of power.¡±


    Angharad¡¯s eyes narrowed. An honorable act, yes, yet¡­


    ¡°How many such appointments were there?¡±


    Honor could be a knife, a daughter of Peredur well knew. Cleon grinned unpleasantly.


    ¡°Near every key post in the capital and valley,¡± he replied, and she winced. ¡°And she had been resisting building back the lictors for years, volunteering her own men to patrol instead to raise the crown¡¯s income. So when she pulled everyone out¡­¡±


    ¡°Chaos,¡± Angharad quietly said.


    As if most the officers on a ship died overnight, leaving it to drift aimless and angry.


    ¡°The Lord Rector spent the first year of his reign struggling not to drown in that mess,¡± Cleon said. ¡°And when the man proved his mettle, kept his head above the water, what was said?¡±


    He wrinkled his nose in disgust.


    ¡°Praises for Minister Floros, at having taught him so well,¡± he scorned. ¡°As if she had not just set a fire and watched with her hands in her lap as he fought to put it out.¡±


    ¡°Such disorder must not have endeared her to the valley lords,¡± Angharad ventured.


    ¡°It is good of you to think so,¡± Lord Cleon coldly laughed. ¡°But you think too well of my fellows. Sleeping in a viper pit for too long has a way of making one grow scales. Apollonia Floros was firm and just and most importantly of all she ruthlessly ground the Trade Assembly beneath her boot.¡±


    ¡°While the Lord Rector has pursued a more¡­ measured policy,¡± she delicately said.


    Meaning he was not powerful enough to grind anyone under his boots and needed the Assembly¡¯s support against the Council of Ministers besides. Lord Cleon nodded.


    ¡°I understand that in Malan honor is greatly prized,¡± he delicately said, ¡°but most of my fellow lords prefer profit to principle. Even those with fine reputations. I would not have-¡±


    And suddenly he hesitated.


    ¡°Is something wrong?¡± she asked.


    He coughed.


    ¡°I understand that Lord Menander is something of a patron of yours,¡± Cleon said.


    Angharad cocked her head to the side.


    ¡°While we are acquainted, and it was arranged for him to introduce me into Tratheke society, I do not consider him close to me,¡± she said. ¡°We are not overly familiar.¡±


    He searched her face for a moment, then nodded sharply.


    ¡°Good,¡± he muttered, then his voice firmed. ¡°Good. Menander Drakos likes to act like the court¡¯s kind grandfather, a man who takes no sides, but he is as ruthless as the rest of them.¡±


    His lips thinned.


    ¡°My father, you might have heard, once tried to begin rearing horses.¡±


    ¡°I had,¡± Angharad cautiously said.


    ¡°Then you will also have heard it was a fool¡¯s venture that nearly bankrupted our house,¡± Cleon said. ¡°Lord Menander was the one who helped him obtain the horses, negotiating on his behalf, so he knew exactly how deep the debt ran and what our means were.¡±


    The young lord clenched his teeth.


    ¡°And when the interest payments began to pile up, he slid in with his snake¡¯s offer,¡± Cleon said. ¡°There could be no loan, but oh he did love antiquities. And House Eirenos could buy them back when they had the means, he swore.¡±


    Angharad¡¯s eyes sharpened. That sounded exactly like what Song had tasked her with finding out.


    ¡°He bought house treasures,¡± she said.


    ¡°Gobbled them up like a pig at the trough,¡± Cleon bit out. ¡°Always hungry for more. My family was granted treasures by the Lissenos, Lady Angharad, over our century of service to that line. Now they serve as adornments in his many manors instead. The man bought up everything he could, from paintings to papers.¡±


    ¡°He bought the whole collection?¡± Angharad asked.


    The young man snorted.


    ¡°We¡¯ve some correspondence in the annex safe still, I think, along with some statues,¡± he said. ¡°Only dregs remain.¡±


    The annex, was it? That was where she must look for what Song wanted. Tomorrow, Angharad thought, during the reception. It should not be difficult to feign exhaustion and sneak off. It could also be true, she reflected, that the desired information might now be in the hands of Menander Drakos. Bought years ago. In truth that might be best for the Thirteenth. Lord Menander knew of the Watch investigation and might well accept a request from Song.


    ¡°You have righted your house,¡± Angharad said. ¡°Can you not buy them back as he promised?¡±


    ¡°He has been putting me off,¡± Lord Cleon darkly replied. ¡°I thought to take this to the Lord Rector, but I was advised otherwise by Lord Gule. There are other recourses, he showed me, which would not bring shame to my father¡¯s name.¡±


    Sensible. Lord Gule was induna by birth, he would understand better than most the necessity of maintaining one¡¯s name.


    ¡°But let¡¯s leave that grim talk behind,¡± he said. ¡°Come, let us find out if you can bag a quail on the way back.¡±


    Alas, though many a tree branch suffered her wrath the birds all neatly escaped.


    --


    After a small evening meal and drinks in the garden, Lord Cleon retired for the night.


    He apologized twice for it, but he was to rise early on the morrow and could not afford to be exhausted when receiving so many noble guests. Angharad waved all apologies away, perfectly understanding the necessity, though she requested a pot of tea so she might enjoy the quiet of the darkened garden for a span before retiring to her own rooms.


    It was a little embarrassing how eager he was to accommodate her.


    Night on Asphodel was different, so far from Tratheke. It felt like a true land again, with the distant pale stars and wind in her hair. The only lights still left on were a few lamps inside the manor, mostly around the kitchen, and strangely enough candles at the upper window of what Angharad believed to be some sort of annex. Hopefully it was not lit every night, else it would make sneaking there on the morrow significantly more difficult.


    She had mostly finished her tea and it was beginning to run late when a maid returned to her table. Not, as Angharad had expected, to take away the pot and make inquiries as to bedding. She was bringing an invitation.


    ¡°Lady Penelope would speak with you in her parlor, if you are not too tired,¡± the girl said.


    Far be it from her to deny the whim of such a beauty. Besides, Angharad suspected she knew what this was about. After having observed them over the day, Lady Penelope was now to either approve or disapprove of her as a prospect for her son. Disapprove, most likely, but that was only sensible. Angharad would not have wanted to wed herself, in their shoes.


    A valet took her, leading her across the grass with a lantern until they reached the dark silhouette of the building.


    Angharad had half-guessed the inside of the annex to be little more than a warehouse, but she had been wrong. There were wooden floors and hung tapestries, a single lantern lit and revealing shelves of dusty curios. Wrapped paintings were propped up against walls, to safeguard from vermin and the elements. The floors here were swept, but not well. This main room was too small to be the whole of it, and there were side doors hinting at the space being partitioned, but that was not where she was headed.


    At the back of the room narrow stairs went up to the second story, where waited the candles she had glimpsed.


    She sighed at the thought of more stairs to suffer, but limped onwards. The thick, iron-barded door at the end of the stairs was open. Through it, the noblewoman found a room that was halfway between the promised parlor and a gallery.


    Half the den was crammed full of statues, bronze and stone, that went from simple busts to a large marble piece depicting a boy-child riding a swan. A few shelves of ancient, carefully tended books were tucked away against the wall while below them glass cases with iron honeycombing displayed empty wombs in the trembling candlelight. The precious pieces once filling them must all have been bought.


    There was a heavy steel safe with two different locks, resting in a corner, and Angharad took note of it. Her short lesson on lockpicking would be of no use here, which meant she must find the keys.


    The other half of the room was a lady¡¯s parlor, wrested from the gallery. A wooden writing desk had been brought up and displayed some correspondence, but the heart of it all was a lushly carpeted salon with two elegant love seats flanking an oval low table. A small dressing table with a mirror also bore a handful of books, and to the side lay an elegant little loom which did not seem to have been used in quite some time.


    Lady Penelope sat on a love seat, a cup of wine in hand, and Angharad swallowed at the sight: she wore only a pale embroidered nightgown, baring shoulders and drawing the eye to the generous swell of her breasts. A simple leather cord hung as a necklace, bearing two small iron pieces tucked away in her cleavage. Keys, Angharad thought. She let her eyes linger there an additional half-second to make certain that was truly what they were.


    Well, that was one of the reasons.


    ¡°Lady Angharad,¡± the lady of the house smiled, resting her elbow on the arm of the seat. ¡°I am pleased you could join me. Do sit.¡±


    Angharad did, and the older woman poured her a cup of wine before leaning over to press it into her hand. She dutifully took a sip, then almost choked.


    ¡°Valley wine,¡± Lady Penelope slyly smiled. ¡°Rarely great vintages, but surprisingly strong.¡±


    ¡°So I see,¡± Angharad said, then coughed into her fist.


    Not something to drink too quickly.


    ¡°An evening conversation like this,¡± the fair-haired beauty said, ¡°is how I should make inquiries into your background, Lady Angharad.¡±


    The Pereduri sipped again at her cup, more shallowly this time.


    ¡°Implying you will not,¡± she finally said.


    ¡°There would be no point,¡± Lady Penelope said, ¡°when you are about as interested in my son as you are in statuary.¡±


    She hid her surprise.


    ¡°Lord Cleon is a skilled huntsman and a fine conversationalist,¡± Angharad mildly said.


    ¡°He also has a few years of growing left to do before inheriting the best his father¡¯s looks,¡± Lady Penelope said, then paused. ¡°You also occasionally look at me as if intending to devour.¡±


    Angharad flushed in mortification, straightening on the loveseat.


    ¡°I meant no offense, my lady,¡± she said. ¡°I only-¡±


    The tall beauty waved her words away.


    ¡°It¡¯s quite flattering, really,¡± Lady Penelope said. ¡°And when I told our maid Elena to dip her neckline when serving you at midday you did not look, so you do not appear to be a philanderer.¡±


    Angharad might have taken that as a compliment, had she at all recalled such a thing. She did not, but then that meal had been a balancing act of listening to Lord Cleon and not staring at his lovely mother¡¯s graceful fingers.


    ¡°I do not consider myself one,¡± Angharad choked out.


    Lady Penelope arched an amused brow. It was unfairly seductive on her.


    ¡°Neither does it appear you paid Katina to make a stir on your behalf, which dispels my first concern about you,¡± the lady said. ¡°Given your character and obvious good breeding, you did not come here to take advantage of my son being taken with you.¡±


    Her eyes narrowed.


    ¡°Had I seen you string him along today, we would be having a very different conversation.¡±


    Angharad silently nodded. It was almost a shame that Lady Penelope¡¯s expression softened after that. The tall older woman looking at her so imperiously had¡­ not been unpleasant.


    ¡°I imagine turning away your first friendly face at court would have been difficult, even suspecting his intentions,¡± Lady Penelope said, not unkindly. ¡°You must understand, however, that no matter sympathetic I am to your position I cannot leave him with even the illusion that pursuing you is possible.¡±


    ¡°It would be unkind to him,¡± Angharad quietly agreed.


    The lady drank deep of her cup, then set it down.


    ¡°Good,¡± the older woman said. ¡°Good.¡±


    She sighed.


    ¡°I failed him, after my husband died,¡± Lady Penelope said. ¡°Watched as he broke his own heart selling Lord Menander those old papers the man is so obsessed with. I will not see him so wounded again.¡±


    ¡°Lord Menander has an interest in papers?¡± Angharad said with forced casualness. ¡°From Lord Cleon¡¯s depiction of the tale, I thought him more concerned with artifacts.¡±


    ¡°Oh, he always put on a good show about wanting the jewels and the rings,¡± Lady Penelope snorted. ¡°But I could tell what it was he was really after ¨C papers from the days of the Lissenos, old land deeds and maps. He paid a fortune for them.¡±


    Now why, Angharad thought, would Menander Drakos be so interested in these? Enough to pay good coin for them, anyhow. Something was afoot.


    ¡°Drink,¡± Lady Penelope ordered her.


    Angharad drank.


    ¡°I will be telling Cleon,¡± she said, ¡°that after having made inquiries into your background, while I do not find you personally unfit there is unpleasantness to your family name that makes you unsuitable.¡±


    She paused.


    ¡°That will wait until you have left, the day after tomorrow. By all means you should enjoy your stay here, Lady Angharad, but do not accept an invitation to the manor again. Keep a respectable distance.¡±


    The Pereduri silently nodded, for these were fine enough terms. In truth this might be the best way to cleanly end her ties to Lord Cleon, though for the kindness he had offered her she would attempt to find a way to repay him.


    ¡°I will take my leave, then,¡± Angharad said. ¡°Thank you for your forbearance, Lady Eirenos.¡±


    ¡°Oh, finish your drink,¡± Lady Penelope sighed. ¡°Or am I such terrible company you would prefer risking the servants talk when you emerge after a mere minute or two? I am supposed to be interrogating you.¡±


    ¡°I would never dare offer you such slight, my lady,¡± Angharad replied, inclining her head.


    She had not drunk enough to excuse how flirtatious that had sounded. Yet instead of an arched brow, Angharad was graced with a smirk.


    ¡°I thought not,¡± Lady Penelope said.


    Angharad was not one to refuse a beautiful woman curious about her, so she soon found herself skimming over the top of how she had been raised in Peredur ¨C Lady Penelope complimenting the stripes when shown, and trailing a finger to see how the tattoo felt to the touch ¨C as well a painting a picture of the cities she had visited on the path that eventually led her to Asphodel.


    It was difficult for Angharad to consider herself well travelled, given whom her mother had been, but her tales about the ports on the way to Sacromonte garnered eager interest for Lady Penelope. The older woman seemed almost wistful when the City was mentioned, mentioning her parents had once intended to take her there for a span but that a sickness of her mother¡¯s had prevented the journey.


    When Angharad next eyed the candle, she realized that at least half an hour had passed and she was well into her second cup of wine. Hardly even tipsy, but there was a certain warmth to her cheeks that came in part from the drink.


    ¡°Never, truly?¡± she asked.


    Lady Penelope sighed, leaning on her love seat and looking like a painter¡¯s finest rendition of beauty of lush beauty.


    ¡°There was no true cause for me to leave Asphodel as a girl,¡± she said, ¡°and I married Artemon at seventeen. I was pregnant within the year, and after that the troubles put an end to any notion of traveling abroad."


    "You could now, surely,¡± Angharad suggested. ¡°Sacromonte is not so far by ship, and though it is a fading kind of splendor it is still a splendid city.¡±


    Not that Tristan would agree. The man took a queer pride in hating the city of his birth more than most foreigners did.


    ¡°When my son is wed, perhaps,¡± Lady Penelope said. ¡°I must confess that staying out here in the valley sometimes feels¡­ confining.¡±


    ¡°I felt the same in Peredur,¡± Angharad said. ¡°It was one of the reasons I so embraced the dueling circuit.¡±


    Penelope chuckled, sliding a finger along the rim of her cup.


    ¡°You must think me hopelessly provincial,¡± she said. ¡°Wed young and then buried in the country.¡±


    ¡°I was to be a country peer myself,¡± Angharad dismissed. ¡°How could I look down on such a life?¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± Lady Penelope idly said, ¡°I did live a little, before marrying.¡±


    Angharad swallowed.


    ¡°Oh?¡±


    ¡°There are risks to dallying with a boy before one weds, but with a girl¡­¡± she trailed off. ¡°Well, I learned a thing or two before being swept off my feet.¡±


    An electric tingle went up her spine.


    ¡°Enjoyable learning, one hopes?¡± Angharad lightly said.


    ¡°Very,¡± Lady Penelope smirked, a sight that had her stomach clenching with want. ¡°And I am not so old a widow, Angharad, that I have never thought of taking a lover.¡±


    ¡°It would be a genuine shame,¡± she replied, ¡°if you did not.¡±


    ¡°The issue has always been one of timing and discretion,¡± the lady continued, pushing herself up to rest her elbow on the side of the seat.


    It did not feel like a coincidence that this flattering pushed up the frame of her nightgown.


    ¡°I will be leaving the day after tomorrow,¡± Angharad said. ¡°Never to return.¡±


    Lady Penelope cocked her head to the side.


    ¡°So you are,¡± she replied.


    She said nothing more.


    It was madness, Angharad thought. Thoroughly unwise. But then she watched Penelope Eirenos sitting on that loveseat in that pale nightgown clinging to her curves, looking like a present in need of unwrapping, and madness struck her as the only reasonable course.


    The moment the decision was made she shed the last of the blushes, instead smirking back at Lady Penelope. This, she knew how to do.


    ¡°It would be a shame,¡± she said, rising with her cane. ¡°To end your education at a mere thing or two.¡±


    She went around the table, green and heavy-lidded eyes following her as she did, before sliding next to her on the love seat. The cane was discarded, ignored, and even as Penelope¡¯s hands went to feel up her arm and shoulder she leaned over the other woman. Flushed cheeks and bitable lips, all looking up at her with only the thinnest veneer of calm.


    Angharad did exactly what she had been accused of wanting: she devoured Lady Penelope.


    A surprised moan as she deepened the kiss, hands attempting to draw her in until she withdrew and dipped to nip at Penelope¡¯s neck ¨C she felt her shiver, kissing her way down to the shoulder as another hand trailed down the side of the nightgown until she found the bare skin of her legs.


    ¡°Angharad,¡± she gasped as her neck was nipped again, just enough it would not leave marks. ¡°I-¡±


    She silenced Lady Penelope with another kiss, heated enough their teeth almost clicked, and while the older woman pawed at her shoulders Angharad moved to slide a knee between her legs. Not yet slid all the way up, taking her time. She made a mess of the older woman, pulling down the nightgown to paw at those firm and rounded curves, to thumb her nipples and watch her squirm. Angharad¡¯s hands ran up her bare legs under the nightdress, finding that the peach of her ass was exactly as full as the gowns had hinted ¨C she almost groaned, the need to pull that dress off her an almost physical thing.


    But she forced herself to patience, to taking her time as Penelope moaned and flushed red and nearly tore the strings of Angharad¡¯s traveling dress getting her out of it. The widow¡¯s eyes burned at the sight of her own figure finally bared, groping for her breasts, but Angharad caught those wrists and pressed them above her head even though she ached for attention.


    Instead she knelt before Penelope, pulling the nightgown¡¯s hem up to her waist and opening those long, smooth legs. She pressed a kiss against her thigh, then another few further and further up until the gorgeous widow¡¯s hand in her hair was trying to drag her all the way between her legs. She shot up an amused look, hands keeping those thighs open and in place.


    ¡°Do pay attention,¡± Angharad said. ¡°After I¡¯ve shown you a new trick, I will be expecting a demonstration.¡±


    Lady Penelope nodded, biting her lip, and Angharad leaned forward.


    It was for the best the window was closed, for little of what followed was quiet.


    --


    The warmth of another body pressed close against hers was satisfying, something she had missed without knowing it.


    All the more when Angharad¡¯s gaze could stray down the curve of Penelope¡¯s slender neck to her bare body, the blanket they had taken to sharing when dozing off hardly covering a thing. Her lover¡¯s breath was deep, steady. In the throes of sleep. Much as she would prefer to simply enjoy the other woman¡¯s embrace, she had a duty.


    So Angharad closed her eyes and breathed in.


    First she slowly, gently reached for the leather necklace bearing the keys. She caught the iron pieces and held them as she lifted the necklace off Penelope¡¯s neck, but quickly realized there would be no passing it through those beautiful gold-red curls without waking her. So instead she carefully slipped out, bit by bit as not to wake Penelope, and padded over to the writing desk. There, standing on wobbly legs, she found a letter opener and returned to the love seat.


    She cut the rope and lifted the necklace, waiting to see if Penelope would rise from slumber. She did not.


    The letter opener returned to the desk, where she had found it, and move to the safe. The keys were small, small enough that she could hope the locks were not large either and so would not be noisy. That proved true of the first she opened, a barely audible click, but the second felt stronger against her grip when she turned.


    Looking back at the sleeping Penelope, who the fading candlelight of the last candles lapped at hungrily ¨C unless that was Angharad¡¯s own gaze, which while sated still craved more. There was a snippet of guilt, but more of worry.


    She covered the second lock as best she could with her palm to muffle the noise and turned the key.


    It felt like a cacophony, so loud as to be deafening, but it opened. Another worried look back showed that Penelope had stirred but did not seem awake. Angharad cracked open the safe¡¯s door, finding it mostly empty save for two things. One was a pouch of jewels, which she left untouched. The other was a small pile of letters, each bearing the ancient seal of House Lissenos in the corner.


    These she brought out in the candlelight, gaze skimming them one after another.


    She had in her hands correspondence between Lord Rector Hector and his mistress ¡®C. E.¡¯, which was lovely and rather poetic but likely not what Song had wanted. Still, it must have some importance for it to be kept in the safe instead of on the bookshelf. Was ¡®E.¡¯ for Eirenos? Not for her to decide, Angharad mused, and simply looked through all the letters before putting them back.


    Out of thoroughness she closed the steel door, and that must have been one noise too many.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Penelope Eirenos coldly asked.


    She did not turn to look at the expression on her lover¡¯s face, which was sure to be a harsh thing.


    Instead she released her contract.


    --


    Angharad Tredegar opened her eyes and breathed out.


    She slid out of Lady Penelope¡¯s embrace, leaving her to her slumber, and dressed before slipping out of the parlor. She fancied she felt the other woman¡¯s sleepy gaze on her back as she left, retiring to her room in the manor. Not that Angharad would be able to sleep quite yet.


    Her recall was only impeccable for a day after the vision. She would need to write down everything she had read before it faded, if she was to get Song the information she had wanted.

 Chapter 54

    Angharad rose shortly after dawn, washed and came down to break her fast with the Eirenos.


    Her back ached, as much from last night¡¯s exertions as the fact that she¡¯d burned an entire candle translating the secret correspondence. It had gone into the empty pages of the cyphered journal she¡¯d obtained from the carriage, secrets added to secrets in a turn that stirred an ember of exhausted amusement. It was better than asking the servants for fresh paper in the middle of the night, anyway.


    The spread waiting for her downstairs was impressive. Figs and apricots, bread and cheese and cold meats from the previous night¡¯s dinner. There were even layered honey-and-nut pastries, still warm from the oven and deliciously juicy in the mouth. Between the food and a pot of mint tea, Angharad found herself presented with what should have been a delicious feast. She was, however, hardly able to savor it.


    ¡°You¡¯ve a bit of honey on your lip, dear,¡± Lady Penelope innocently smiled, leaning across the table to wipe the corner of Angharad¡¯s mouth with her thumb.


    Body warring with the contrary impulses to both nip at the thumb teasingly and freeze like a scared rabbit, Angharad compromised and choked on the last of her pastry instead. She coughed into her fist and backed away, Lady Penelope¡¯s lips quirking even higher at the sight as she withdrew that artful hand.


    ¡°Mother,¡± Cleon reproached. ¡°She can dab her lips without your help.¡±


    But he was smiling, quietly pleased. He must be taking the physical closeness as approval for a courtship, rather than seeing a spirit of temptation trying to drive Angharad wild at a breakfast table. It was all made all the more unfair by the fact that the older beauty had made it clear the previous evening that there would be no repeat of the tryst, meaning that Lady Penelope was winding her up with no intention of offering restitution for it.


    Angharad forced herself to set aside all thoughts of trying to convince her otherwise, as dallying last night had been unwise enough already. Not that Penelope made it easy, constantly leaning forward in that flattering loose sleeping robe and once stretching as so enticing an angle that Angharad almost dropped her fork. Between the teasing, the little terms of endearment and the touching it was mortified and thoroughly flustered that Angharad retired to her room.


    She twice doused her face in water, told herself in the mirror that no amount of full curves and limberness should so bedevil her, and returned downstairs only when composed.


    Mercifully, Lady Penelope had retired. Cleon offered to show her to the eastern grounds of the estate, which he explained contained the family mausoleum and further out a small shrine to the spirit known as the Odyssean. She immediately agreed, eager to flee the manor and its teasing mistress.


    It was a pleasant enough walk, Asphodelian mornings becoming the country estate. The light made the near-wild woods and paths enchanting, birds singing as they passed, and on their way to the mausoleum Cleon was just as careful of the pace as he had been the previous day. He really was quite caring, Angharad thought, which made her feel all the more guilty about having grabbed his beautiful mother by the hair and-


    She coughed into her fist.


    ¡°It is not so old as it looks,¡± Cleon was telling her, gesturing at the square, pillared tomb of fine stone. ¡°Built in my great-grandfather¡¯s day, after the old one fell into disrepair.¡±


    It was not a large mausoleum, Angharad saw, but it was finely made in pale gray stone and elegant in structure. The gates were reinforced with copper gone slightly green, but the grounds were well taken care of. Thick with Asphodelian crowns, those pale flowers Maryam was so curious about.


    ¡°The bodies had to be exhumed?¡± she asked.


    He shook his head.


    ¡°We do not keep to the Oar but to the Sickle,¡± he said. ¡°Eirenos burn their dead, lest the flesh be devoured by an ancient god of the earth.¡±


    ¡°The Oar,¡± Angharad slowly said, ¡°being a reference to the spirit known as the Sculler?¡±


    The most powerful carrion spirit of the isle, said to boast few temples but to keep a shrine and priests in every graveyard. Along with Oduromai and the Awn-Dam, it was one of the most broadly worshipped spirits. Unlike the arrogant frauds of Tianxia and the Someshwar the spirit only claimed to ferry souls to the Circle Perpetual, not guide reincarnation. Angharad thus found it more tolerable than most of its kind. Not so her host.


    ¡°It is the favored death god of the age,¡± Cleon sourly acknowledged. ¡°He who ferries souls to the Circle. My line, however, can be traced back to the days of the Archeleans. We keep to older ways, though they are no longer spoken of in polite company.¡±


    He cleared his throat.


    ¡°There were gods on this land before the Lierganen came, and though they are buried so deep as to have become nameless they yet remain,¡± he told her. ¡°The day will come when the One Who Bears The Sickle wakes, and all the bodies given to the earth of Asphodel will be cut up and devoured whole.¡±


    ¡°A grim patron,¡± Angharad noted.


    ¡°Death is not meant to be pretty,¡± Cleon shrugged.


    True enough, she conceded.


    The pair had brought a waterskin and walked under enough fruit trees to take a few oranges, so they sat on the mausoleum steps to eat and drink before resuming the walk towards the shrine. Angharad inquired about these purported ancient roots of the Eirenos, learning that a distant ancestor had been a war captain under one of the first Archeleans to rise to throne, and found herself quite engaged with the tale when interruption reached them.


    One of the manor servants arrived, flushed from hurrying to them, and after a bow and apologies was urged to speak by Lord Cleon.


    ¡°Word has come from Chalcia, my lord,¡± he said. ¡°The first guest has arrived in town, and after a meal there intends to come to the manor.¡±


    ¡°Already?¡± Cleon frowned. ¡°What time is it, Georgios?¡±


    The man produced a small silver watch.


    ¡°Shortly before eleven, my lord.¡±


    ¡°Three hours early,¡± he grunted. ¡°Unseemly.¡±


    His expression darkened, as if another thought occurred, but he said nothing. The young lord apologized, telling Angharad they would have to cut their walk short and head back to the manor, but she waved the words away.


    ¡°Duty needs no apology,¡± she told him.


    He seemed quite pleased with her at that, and even dark-haired Georgios looked approving until he noticed her noticing him and wiped the expression off his face. Ancestors, every compliment paid to her by this household burned shamefully. If any of them knew of the night she had spent with the lady of the house, they would be chasing her off with pitchforks instead of smiling so.


    Tonight, she firmly decided, she would try to find Lord Cleon a woman to his tastes. He¡¯d forcefully avoided looking at certain parts of her well enough for Angharad to have a decent idea of his tastes when it came to the physical, and she had suspicions as to his preferences in character. He was not a bad prospect at all for a husband, and it should not be too hard to find him someone suitable.


    That this would go some way in allaying her guilt at having fucked his mother was not coincidental, but it was fortunate.


    The servant made transparent excuses to let them return alone, and by the time they returned to the manor Cleon was told by one of his household riders that a carriage had already been sighted. Angharad, curious, accompanied him to the top of a rise close to the manor from which there was a fine view of the path leading to the Eirenos estate. A single carriage, she noted, but large. Pulled by four horses. Cleon sighed at the sight.


    ¡°Of course she arrived early,¡± he deplored. ¡°Why would she not?¡±


    ¡°You recognize the carriage?¡± Angharad asked.


    ¡°I do,¡± he said.


    Waiting until it turned at a curb, the nobleman pointed at the doors.


    ¡°See the blue and green paint?¡± he asked. ¡°They are the colors of House Varochas.¡±


    Blue and green¡­ no, finish the talk first else her reaction would seem suspicious. Angharad paused, mentally sifting through the pages she had committed to memory at the palace.


    ¡°A house from the north of the valley, known for its fine timber,¡± she said, then frowned. ¡°I thought their colors to be blue and brown, however.¡±


    With a sleeping bear sprawled at the center of the heraldry, which she had thought rather charming. Cleon shot her a surprised, almost admiring look.


    ¡°The main house keeps to these,¡± he confirmed. ¡°Only this particular visitor is a Varochas of Meda¡¯s Rock, their kin. They¡¯ve grand ambitions, so they chose colors of their own.¡±


    Blue and green, she now let herself consider. The same hues the poacher had mentioned his accomplice to have glimpsed on the pouch that had paid for their services. After a day in Cleon¡¯s company Angharad had largely dismissed any notion of him having arranged that ambush so she might be fixed to his kindness for the duration of her stay. He was too fine a man for that, and too proud. Which left her to look for another as the culprit.


    ¡°Ambitions?¡± she lightly encouraged.


    Cleon snorted.


    ¡°They think to become the preeminent branch of their line,¡± he said. ¡°Their lands are not particularly wealthy, but they do border hills that would be suitable for a very lucrative marble quarry.¡±


    Ah, a familiar refrain. While the Duchy of Peredur was not so infamous for its border disputes as the isle of Uthukile, squabbles over water and grazing rights were commonplace. The sometimes extraordinarily petty means to which rival houses went to deny each other were favored seasonal gossip. When the Cawder had changed a small river¡¯s course by exactly thirty feet to deny their hated Aberafan neighbors an enshrined right to sail down it, they¡¯d become the toast of society for years.


    ¡°Am I to understand,¡± Angharad said, ¡°that these hills sport an Eirenos hunting lodge?¡±


    He nodded, lips quirking before the good humor faded.


    ¡°During the regency, a ruling was made that Eirenos hunting rights over these hills mean no quarry can be built without our consent as to build one would ruin the hunting and cross into our land,¡± Lord Cleon said. ¡°The Varochas spent a fortune trying to buy a different verdict when Lord Rector Evander took the throne, but he laughed them out so their stratagem of choice changed.¡±


    He coughed into his fist, side-eyeing her all the while.


    ¡°Theofania Varochas has made plain her intentions to wed me, and frequently stretches the bounds of propriety in seeking to achieve the match.¡±


    His gaze on her was hopeful. Desiring, perhaps, of jealousy. That Angharad could not provide, but sympathy was within her means.


    ¡°I take it you do not welcome the pursuit,¡± she said.


    ¡°I would rather wed a viper,¡± Cleon Eirenos bit out. ¡°The venom would be the same, but the conversation significantly more tolerable.¡±


    She choked on a startled laugh. He was not usually so sharp in his words, but it suited him. The young lord¡¯s fingers clenched into fists.


    ¡°I¡¯ve no intention of taking a wife who will be her kin¡¯s spy under my own roof, forever grasping at my property in their name.¡±


    The tale, Angharad thought, told itself. The Varochas wanted that wedding, and lacking means to force it they were resorting to chasing off anyone who Lord Cleon might take a shine to ¨C such as some upstart Malani noble exile with hardly a silver to her name. A family friend must have been at Lord Menander¡¯s green party and heard the invitation, leading to the ambush she encountered on the road.


    The poachers might actually have been speaking the truth when they said they were not to harm either Angharad or Mistress Katina. A death would have been a line too far, tainted the Varochas reputation. It would have been a blow to Lord Cleon¡¯s reputation to twine his line with a family that so offended him, too, a sign of weakness. But Angharad arriving at Chalcia in nothing but her underthings, robbed blind and humiliated?


    Oh, that would have been well within the bounds of acceptable and ruined her reputation thoroughly enough she could no longer be considered a suitable marriage prospect for a lord. An impoverished foreigner and embroiled in a scandal? No, Lady Penelope would have been forced to put her foot down even if her son persisted. It would have been too grave a mismarriage even if Angharad were interested in Cleon¡¯s hand.


    ¡°I am surprised you would invite her to an evening at your manor, given your poor opinion of her,¡± Angharad noted.


    ¡°She is staying with House Pisenor, just to the east of my estate,¡± Lord Cleon darkly said. ¡°Given our shared custody of a temple, it would be unwise to slight them by withholding an invitation - and Lady Theofania has not yet acted wildly enough for me to forbid her presence.¡±


    His jaw clenched.


    ¡°Meanwhile I¡¯ve not yet found a way to teach the Pisenor a lesson in the dangers of continuing to try my patience, though one day I assure you I will.¡±


    That look in his eyes was even darker than his tone, so Angharad thought it best to move the conversation.


    ¡°A temple, you say,¡± she repeated, arm brushing against his. ¡°To which spirit?¡±


    ¡°The Twin-Mother,¡± Lord Cleon said, then reddened and coughed into his fist again. ¡°She is the lady of clandestine births, so it is custom that none seek to learn the face of those who visit the shrine for good health. As a token of appreciation, visitors then leave gifts in coin or goods.¡±


    Coin would be easy enough to split two ways, Angharad thought, but goods? Those would get contentious, even if they were merely sold at market and the profits then split. No wonder Cleon preferred to suffer a riotous suitor rather than break with House Pisenor. The temple incomes would be significant revenue for a recovering house like his.


    ¡°Clandestine births,¡± she repeated, tone teasing. ¡°How very gently put, Lord Cleon.¡±


    ¡°There is no need for discourtesy,¡± he replied, attempting dignity even though he was visibly embarrassed. ¡°These things happen.¡±


    Bastard children? More than anyone would like to admit. In Malan either siring or birthing such a child from a noble would see you elevated as consort, lawful status for yourself and the child, but such practices were not common among Lierganen peoples. Such arrangements were no doubt had regardless, but they were regarded as shameful and kept secret. Angharad rolled her shoulder, watching the Varochas carriage roll down the road to the manor.


    ¡°If guests are now arriving, I should ready myself,¡± she said. ¡°By your leave, my lord?¡±


    Cleon looked a little disappointed, but then he glanced at the carriage and must also have divined that Angharad standing by him while he welcomed his guest ¨C as if the mistress of the house ¨C was unlikely to result in anything pleasant.


    ¡°Of course,¡± he said. ¡°I already look forward to your return.¡±


    Angharad half-smiled at the gallantry, leaning on her cane as she spared the arriving carriage one last glance. Though no bloodshed had been intended, Theofania Varochas and her kin had sought to harm her.


    Now she must decide what she was to do about that.


    --


    It made Angharad feel like a poor relation to wear the same dress among society twice in a row, but then nowadays she was a poor relation.


    She was helped into her pink gown by one of the Eirenos maids, who after helping her adjust the embroidered cuffs told her that Lord Cleon had set aside jewelry for her use: an elegant gold chain necklace bearing an emerald the size of a fingernail. It had been in the family for some generations, the middle-aged maid told her. To accept that would be tacitly accepting his courtship, Angharad knew, even if it was merely a loan. Therefore, she could not.


    Lady Penelope had a small pearl necklace sent up, along with a note that it came from her dowry and was not Eirenos property. She added, too, that she had not worn it in years and it was a fitting gift for a lovely guest. A sendoff present for a one-night lover, reading between the lines.


    That one was rather more tempting to accept, Angharad would admit, but she declined it just as she had declined Lord Cleon¡¯s offer. She would not take more from this mother and son when she had already taken too much. In every sense. Let her appear as exactly what she was: a lackland noble whose sole income was the kindness of benefactors. It would not do to get drunk on the trappings of a life she must learn to accept was no longer hers.


    She was to be a watchwoman, now. Perhaps in many years it might be she was able to set down the black cloak and become a peer of Peredur once more, but until her oaths had run their course she must bind her pride to what she had sworn and not what she grieved. To keep an exile¡¯s means only strengthens the trick being played, Angharad reminded herself. Let her feel pride in being a dutiful watchwoman, then, rather shame at being lackluster noble.


    Though she had washed her body and hair, then redone her braids with the maid¡¯s help, eventually Angharad ran out of reasons to dither upstairs and had to join the Eirenos in attending to the unwelcome guest. She found the three seated outside, in a garden pavilion that overlooked the dancing square.


    Lady Theofania Varochas was, to her surprise, quite small. Shorter than Shalini, and slender in a way the gunslinger most definitely was not. She was darker in tan than most Asphodelians, with long black hair and thick eyelashes framing a strong bridge nose. Not a great beauty, Angharad thought, but hardly uncomely. Around the corner of slender black eyebrows touches of blue cosmetics evoked a butterfly¡¯s wings, matching her long blue-and-white gown whose stripes all the way down.


    Lord Cleon did not consider the Varochas all that wealthy, but they had sent their daughter into society bearing long earrings of gold and lapis with matching bangle bracelets and a splendid necklace made of polished, rectangular gold stripes. Either she had been sent with the family jewels, Angharad thought, or the Varochas had spent a fortune on adorning her to impress. Either way, it was a decision implying that the full weight of her house stood behind her.


    Such a weight could be a great support, Angharad thought, but also a crushing burden. She wondered which one it was for Lady Theofania.


    ¡°And who would this be?¡± said Lady Theofania called out, a glass of wine in hand.


    Cleon had pointedly sat as far as he could from her while still being at the same table, Lady Penelope settling between them to make the small slight less noticeable. Neither of them had a cup in hand, much less of wine, a subtle rebuke to their early guest.


    ¡°I present you Lady Angharad Tredegar, of Peredur,¡± Lady Penelope said.


    She was radiant in a simple green grown, though there was hardly a thing on Vesper that would not suit such a beauty.


    ¡°Is she now?¡± Theofania said. ¡°I had assumed otherwise, as my cousin described her wearing a similar gown at Lord Menander¡¯s green party.¡±


    The dark-haired lady offered a sharp little smile.


    ¡°You must believe it suits you very well, to favor it so.¡±


    And just like that any half-formed consideration of sympathy evaporated. In Peredur, Angharad would have put a nasty cut on her champion¡¯s nose for such words. Or Theofania¡¯s own, if she wore duelist¡¯s straps. But matters were not settled that way on Asphodel, and even if they had been she was not fit to be her own champion. She must, thus, match wind to wind.


    ¡°I do,¡± she directly replied, pushing down embarrassment. ¡°Do you disagree?¡±


    Surprise on Lady Theofania¡¯s face, and an amused chuckle from Lady Penelope ¨C who Angharad could not help but notice was appreciating the generous cut of the gown. Her ears reddened.


    ¡°It is not to the taste of the season,¡± Lady Theofania recovered. ¡°But then I do not recall hearing of Peredur spoken as a great seat of fashion.¡±


    Angharad cocked her head to the side, raising a faintly skeptical eyebrow.


    ¡°Have you heard much of Peredur, then, Lady Theofania?¡± she asked.


    Most foreigners this far south thought it part of the same island as Malan, when they knew the name at all, so she had doubts. Theofania¡¯s lips thinned and she looked away, eyes back on Lord Cleon.


    ¡°I see the lemons have ripened since I last visited,¡± she said. ¡°Will you help me pick one, my lord? I am told the fruits of the valley are always sweetest.¡±


    Subtle. After rubbing elbows with the intriguing children of izinduna and even their distant kin on Tolomontera, such blunt maneuvering felt rather elementary.


    ¡°Lemons are sour, Lady Theofania,¡± Cleon replied, rising to his feet. ¡°And while I apologize, I must take my leave. There is much to see to before the guests begin arriving.¡±


    He hardly even let Theofania nod at him before stalking off. Lady Penelope eased the following frustrated silence, telling Lady Theofania she would have lemons picked, pressed and sweetened for her in a drink, but then she also took her leave.


    ¡°I am to show Lady Angharad to the annex,¡± Lady Penelope told the other woman. ¡°Unlike you she has had little occasion to see the Eirenos heirlooms.¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± Lady Theofania replied, almost through gritted teeth.


    And so Angharad found herself whisked away, leaning on her cane. She had, she realized with some amusement, never even sat down. Both Eirenos had found in her an excuse to escape and seized it with aplomb.


    ¡°Her mother taught her poorly,¡± Lady Penelope sighed.


    She¡¯d waited for them to be far enough their voices would not carry across the grass but Angharad still felt mildly uncomfortable.


    ¡°She does not seem to have found favor with your son,¡± she neutrally said.


    ¡°That,¡± Lady Penelope said, ¡°and she¡¯s yet to realize that the Pisenor are using her as a stalking horse.¡±


    Angharad¡¯s brow rose. House Pisenor, she had learned that very morning, were the eastern neighbors of the Eirenos. That and the hosts of Lady Theofania, who used them as a means attend events here at the manor.¡±


    Presumably coin or favors were involved in the trade, given that in doing this the Pisenor were quite blatantly souring their relationship with the lord of the Eirenos.


    ¡°How so?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Their daughter is only twelve,¡± Lady Penelope said. ¡°They are helping poor Theofania only because it keeps other candidates away from Cleon until their own girl comes of age.¡±


    ¡°And that same help is angering the man whose hand they would seek afterwards,¡± Angharad pointed out.


    She got an amused look from the beauty, as if she were a little slow.


    ¡°That is how they will approach him,¡± Lady Penelope said. ¡°Offering pretty young Aspasia and a healthy sum as reparations ¨C likely dowering her with the Pisenor rights to the temple of the Twice-Mother. Lord Pisenor has been trying to become a patron of the temple to Oduromai near the mountains for a decade, but he will not be allowed to buy a seat so long as his house already has rights to another god¡¯s temple.¡±


    Angharad would have liked to call these Asphodelian intrigues pointless and labyrinthine, but the words would have been hypocritical. The country peers of Peredur were just as prone to plots and squabbles, one of the many reasons Mother had so praised her father¡¯s stewardship. While Gywdion Tredegar ran Llanw Hall, there had been peace and amity with every other nearby house for nearly two decades.


    No, all that it was fair to feel was lost. A stranger in this valley of cousins and old secrets, each speaking with an undertone she was the only one not to hear. Perhaps sensing her mood, Lady Penelope patted her arm.


    ¡°Cleon hasn¡¯t noticed either,¡± the older beauty said. ¡°And for all that schemes in Tratheke are more vicious, in some ways they are also simpler ¨C I am sure you will find a place there when you return.¡±


    Green eyes slid down the curve of Angharad¡¯s neck to swell of her curves, leaving a trail of flushed skin as they did.


    ¡°You are certainly comely enough to draw someone¡¯s eye,¡± Lady Penelope said, tone gone sultry.


    Angharad cleared her throat and precipitously changed the subject.


    ¡°You favor a Pisenor match, then?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Materially, it is the most favorable offer Cleon is likely to get,¡± the lady of the house said. ¡°Yet their approach is underhanded and there is no guarantee the girl would please him, so I withhold judgment.¡±


    Meaning that if Angharad found a suitable prospect tonight and made introductions, she would not be stepping on Lady Penelope¡¯s plans. Good. She was somewhat relieved when their walk to the annex ended not in the door upstairs being locked and the older beauty pressing her against the wall but instead in a servant being sent to fetch tea while they sat and chatted in Lady Penelope¡¯s private sanctum.


    Relieved and, perhaps, a little disappointed. But only a little.


    Provided an excuse to avoid the no doubt fuming Lady Theofania, the two of them took it. Angharad could see through the open window that the uninvited guest was being attended to thoroughly by the servants, a green-liveried valet standing by her at all times waiting for orders, so she would not even be able to complain of neglect. Yet her face was dark, as she sat alone under the pavilion sipping at freshly pressed lemon water.


    The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    Why would it not be, when she had gotten nothing of what she came for?


    When the other guests began arriving the hiding ended. First came House Saon, disgorging two large carriages packed to the brim, and the Iphine were not far behind. House Pisenor arrived a little later, at the same time Lord Arkol¡¯s carriage came up the road. A few other families sent people, but none so many as the triumvirate of the Saon, Iphine and Pisenor. The three were, Angharad gathered, some of the leading houses of the lands between the central grainlands of Tratheke Valley and the capital itself.


    Certainly the talk turned to complaints about the ¡®wheat lords¡¯ of the middle plains often enough.


    That helped Angharad grasp why Phaedros Arkol, an eastern noble owning large grain fields, had attended tonight beyond his business ties to Lord Cleon¡¯s late father. Not only had that Arkol bought the last of the Eirenos lands on the eastern coast two generations back, Lord Arkol was currently courting the natural opponents of his rivals in the grain trade.


    No doubt the point was to support the lords closest to Tratheke so they might try to bleed the valley¡¯s grain lords with tolls and force the price at market to rise. Which would in turn keep his own grain competitive despite the need to carry it to the Lordsport markets from much further away.


    Lady Penelope was the mistress of the house, and thus swiftly attended to by a circle of the local matriarchs. Unsurprisingly, she was also approached by a parade of lords of myriad ages ¨C including Lord Arkol, whom she deemed a goat and chased away laughingly. Lord Cleon was the host and thus constantly in demand. Angharad deftly avoided a suggestion he accompany her for introductions, as that would have been something of a statement, instead fending for herself.


    Cleon made a point of regularly returning to speak with her, however, which did not go unnoticed. She could use that.


    Avoiding the Pisenor, she tried to approach the Iphine but found them haughty and uninterested. They were all richly dressed and sought after in conversation, which let her deduce they were the most powerful of the attending nobles ¨C or at least the wealthiest. Among them she¡¯d noticed twins bearing swords, though rapiers in the Sacromontan style rather proper blades, which made that haughtiness unfortunate given that one of the said twins was a handsome blue-eyed woman.


    She turned to the Saon, next, who seemed a jollier lot. The man she approached, a bearded sort in his twenties and stockily built, not only took to her company but was more than willing to make introductions. That everyone seemed to have heard the wild tales from Chalcia served to make her a figure of interest, which helped even if it involved denying flat untruths so repeatedly her tongue was growing tired.


    Castor Saon, who insisted on being called Castor, was introducing her to a girl from one of the smaller houses when Lord Gule arrived. The great Malani lord made a ripple simply by entering, his manservant trailing behind, but given the importance of her task Angharad could only spare him a nod. He returned it with a smile, which impressed both the Asphodelians with her.


    Lady Irida was a slender woman of eighteen with callouses on her hand that turned out to be from her great interest in archery. Angharad lingered in her company, long enough that when Cleon came to visit they spoke. Unfortunately, the lack of interest on his part was quite evident. She hardly got a second look, and in truth did not seem all that interested either.


    A wash. Next.


    Lady Selene would be rather more to Cleon¡¯s tastes, Angharad was confident of it. Tall and lushly figured, with a scar on her neck that turned out to be from a fall instead of something more adventurous. Still, she liked riding. That was a start. Unfortunately Lady Selene began flirting rather outrageously with Castor within moments of their introduction, her guide being an admittedly a good-looking man of genial disposition. They barely slowed down when Cleon came to visit, and Angharad would not be surprised should the pair disappear at some point in the evening and reappear slightly disheveled.


    Her guide gallantly kept ferrying her around afterwards through introducing Cleon to Lady Danai, who as quite pretty but uninterested in marriage, and Lady Agape whom the young lord did not get on with at all. It had, by then, become rather clear to Castor what it was she was attempting.


    ¡°Good effort,¡± he whispered, ¡°but it won¡¯t keep Lady Theofania from coming for your scalp.¡±


    Ah. Angharad supposed it was a likelier guess that she was trying to avoid a well-connected noblewoman¡¯s wrath rather than acting in guilt at having bedded Lady Penelope. Castor still offered a solution, though unsurprisingly the woman in question was a relative. Lady Koralia was his cousin from a different Saon side branch, and though unflattering dressed ¨C her gown was not well fitted and she moved awkwardly in it ¨C the clothes and ungainly haircut were hiding what Angharad found to be good looks.


    Though quite shy, after a bit of talk she grew in confidence and revealed she was mad for bird hunting. Lady Koralia proudly expounded on her three hunting dogs, which she had raised herself, and on minute differences in the fowler guns available in Asphodel. From the glazed look in Castor¡¯s eyes, this was not the first time he heard this speech. Even more promisingly, when Lord Cleon came by to visit she blushed and fumbled her curtsy ¨C which he laughed off, coming off rather charming.


    Hmmm. That one had potential, perhaps.


    Instead of continuing the hunt, she decided to stick with this particular prospect. This saw her enfolded by a gaggle of Saon youths, of which there were a dozen within years of her own age. Resolute to make a good impression, Angharad traded with them stories of Malan for gossip about previous gatherings. Lord Iasos Saon, oldest man from the main line at nineteen, had the clout and presence to lead the conversation on the Saon side and no qualms in doing so.


    ¡°It was a sight to see,¡± Iasos assured her. ¡°Twenty graybeards, drunks as skunks and brandishing muskets older than them, haring off after a downed pegasus - and when they finally shot it dead, trampling half a thicket, they found it was just a stag with large fern leaves stuck in his antlers.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Angharad grinned.


    ¡°It only looked like wings because they scared him off at a run,¡± Iasos laughed. ¡°To this day, my uncle insists the real pegasus simply got away.¡±


    His little sister, Maria, waved the long bell sleeves of her dress in an attempt to convey beating wings. As she was a bright eyed eight-year-old, it was most adorable.


    ¡°Look sharp, Iasos,¡± Castor suddenly muttered. ¡°The moura is headed our way.¡±


    The older Saon grimaced. Angharad tried to discreetly eye what they were being warned about, leaning on her cane, but there were too many Saons in the way.


    ¡°The moura?¡± she murmured.


    ¡°It is a kind of lemure,¡± Iasos said. ¡°It takes the appearance of a beautiful woman drowning in a river, and when one approaches¡­¡±


    ¡°It hugs you tight and drowns you,¡± Maria theatrically said, bell sleeves flying as sinisterly as they could.


    Angharad resisted the urge to pinch her cheek.


    A moment later Lady Theofania arrived, flanked by the fair-haired twins Angharad had learned were the eldest Iphine children, and she suppressed a spurt of laughter. Ah. The Saon were not particularly fond of Lady Theofania either, then. Odd that Theofania would be with that pair when her hosts were rival to that house, but then she¡¯d arrived long before the Pisenor had. That relationship might be more distant than believed.


    It had been a given that Lady Theofania would come for her ¡®scalp¡¯, as Castor had put it, but the sheer bluntness of the attack still startled her.


    After pointedly greeting only Lord Iasos and his sister, the two Saon of the main line ¨C the Iphine did not even bother with little Maria ¨C Lady Theofania addressed Angharad without having first greeted her. That was already quite rude, and promised to get worse.


    ¡°I am surprised to find you in company, Lady Angharad,¡± the other woman smiled.


    ¡°If you are to insult me,¡± the Pereduri suggested, ¡°try not require my collaboration in doing so. I find myself disinclined to help you.¡±


    She heard Castor hastily turn a snort into a coughing fit.


    ¡°Mouthy,¡± the woman of the Iphine twins noted.


    Tall and elegant with long blonde hair, she would have been a beauty if not for that carved sneer.


    ¡°One assumes,¡± Lady Theofania tittered, ¡°given how I am told she went into the woods with Lord Cleon without a chaperone for¡­ hours.¡±


    She fanned herself.


    ¡°If you cannot afford a second dress, you must have had to pay for the hospitality somehow.¡±


    What had she just said?


    Angharad¡¯s hand reached for a blade that was not at her side. While it was nonchalant of her to have taken a walk with an unmarried man without someone to look after his virtue, Theofania had gone quite a bit further than simply insinuating a sort of general impropriety. To so attaint someone¡¯s honor was well worth a death on the dueling field. Perhaps smelling the black fury off her, Lord Iasos slid into the conversation.


    ¡°Ah, yes, Cleon Eirenos,¡± he sardonically said. ¡°That famous libertine, seducing maidens left and right.¡±


    ¡°One does not need to seduce a whore, Iasos,¡± Lady Theofania blandly said.


    Her fingers gripped her cane until the wood creaked.


    ¡°Would you care to repeat the word you just used, girl?¡± Angharad coldly asked.


    ¡°Whore,¡± Theofania said. ¡°What of it?¡±


    She then flicked a glance at the male twin, who stepped forward with a shallow smile.


    ¡°Do you feel your honor to be impugned?¡± he asked. ¡°I am told that Malani settle such matters with duels.¡±


    He opened his arm, warmly welcoming save for the glint in his eyes. That was all poison.


    ¡°I happen to have some small skill with a blade,¡± the Iphine lordling said. ¡°It would be my pleasure to stand for Lady Theofania so we might end the disagreement in the manner of your people.¡±


    So that was the play, Angharad thought. Insult her so harshly she could not possibly refuse to defend her honor with a blade, then pit her against a fine sword while crippled so she would be twice disgraced in her defeat. Blunt, brutal, and admittedly difficult to extricate herself from. Not that she intended to do any such thing. This would end with lifeblood on the grass and Theofania Varochas weeping.


    What did the Iphine get from this? The woman¡¯s eye dipped to Angharad¡¯s arm, as if looking for something under the sleeve, and then she put it together. They were fencers, both those twins, and wanted to make a name for themselves by defeating a mirror-dancer. That they would be fighting one using a cane would, presumably, be left out of the tale when it was retold.


    Time to teach them the difference between a mirror-dancer and a child playing at swords. She did not need more than three steps to slash open a fool¡¯s skull.


    The confrontation had drawn the eyes of the crowd, murmurs spreading as room was made around them in a circle. Lord Cleon looked furious and was making his way towards them, but his mother held him back with a blank face. At their side Lord Gule stood with his horn pressed to the ear while his manservant presumably whispered a report. And looking at the richly dressed induna, at the sympathetic grimace he sent her way, Angharad saw it then. What she must do.


    It came like a bolt of lightning, and just as pleasantly.


    She fought it. Of course she did. It was madness, it ran against every instinct and every learned lesson. It would make her look like¡­ Fingers clenched painfully. Surely there was another way, she thought as she looked into that swaggering Iphine¡¯s eyes. Something that would not feel like swallowing acid. She looked but did not find one. There was only one key to the lock.


    Angharad Tredegar stood there, feeling very alone, and tried to tell herself she must be proud of what was to follow.


    ¡°You try to duel a woman unarmed, leaning on a cane,¡± she said.


    The Iphine snorted. Lady Theofania smiled sharply.


    ¡°Did you not wield a saber to drive off bandits and lemures?¡± Lady Theofania asked. ¡°Are you not a swordmistress of Malan?¡±


    ¡°Unless these are lies,¡± the female twin said.


    ¡°Unless you paid for rumors create repute at an evening attended by your betters,¡± the other idly added. ¡°Which is it, Lady Angharad?¡±


    He drummed his fingers against the cup of his rapier.


    ¡°Are you a liar or a coward?¡±


    Liar. Coward. Whore. Any of these insults were enough for them to deserve being cut down. And oh, Angharad knew she could. The male twin, he had callouses but his boots were too soft. On grass, all it¡¯d take was a good feint and he¡¯d slip. Life snatched out before he hit the ground. The other, the woman, her blade was too thin. To make it lighter, she must not have wanted too much muscle. Bait, parry and a good snap of the wrist would make a clean break of the steel about an inch up the guard.


    And they were asking for it. Literally asking for it!


    But Angharad, instead, made herself look down. She swallowed the bile, feeling the eyes on her, and instead of replying she walked away. Conversation erupted in her wake as she tacitly admitted to at least one of the accusations, the humiliation burning. Teeth clenched so hard she felt like they might pop, she ignored the looks as best she could and passed by a furious-looking Cleon to return inside the manor.


    No one followed her.


    The servants looked confused when she limped past them and headed straight for the front of the manor, the entrance with the columns, and there she stood alone in the shade. She had just tossed aside her honor, Angharad knew. She felt like throwing up, like shouting. Like bloodying her fucking hand on the pillar. Never, never had she been so humiliated. And she had let it happen like some whipped dog.


    By now half the garden would be calling her a fraud, the other a coward. Sleeping God, even in Tratheke they¡¯d hear about a scandal like this. And she had done it to herself on purpose.


    ¡°A watchwoman,¡± she hoarsely whispered. ¡°A watchwoman, not a lady.¡±


    Leaning against the pillar as much as her cane, warm forehead against the cool stone, Angharad straightened when she heard the door open behind. It would be Lord Cleon, she thought, come to¡­ Only it wasn¡¯t. The very last person she expected to follow stepped out the door, striped dress trailing behind her. Lady Theofania Varochas looked at her, then sighed.


    If Angharad had a knife on her, she might well have plunged it into her eye. She spent a moment mastering herself, the other woman hesitating a moment before she spoke.


    ¡°It was not personal, if that is any comfort,¡± Lady Theofania said.


    There was no hint of apology or remorse in those blue eyes. Lady Theofania¡¯s manners were brisk, almost businesslike.


    ¡°It rather felt otherwise,¡± Angharad evenly replied.


    ¡°It is a house matter,¡± Lady Theofania told her. ¡°I do not blame you for trying to make Cleon into your gold spoon, Lady Angharad. We make our way however we can.¡±


    She scowled.


    ¡°But you should have investigated him more deeply,¡± Lady Theofania said. ¡°Cleon Eirenos is already spoken for.¡±


    Angharad scoffed.


    ¡°You think that production you put on will endear you to him?¡± she asked. ¡°Think again.¡±


    He had looked furious, not impressed, and already despised Theofania. That episode was unlikely to change Cleon¡¯s opinion that she was a viper. Though it would, at least, give Angharad an excuse to avoid him in society going forward. If she was still allowed in society at all, after¡­ that.


    ¡°I do not expect I will ever be dear to him,¡± Lady Theofania dismissed. ¡°This is not to be a love match. What I do expect, Lady Angharad, is that the example made of you will scare off the chaff.¡±


    An example, Angharad realized. Theofania Varochas had made her into an example for potential rivals, and the absurdity of it almost made her laugh. It will get you no closer to wedding him, she thought. The more you attempt to force his hand, the deeper his hatred will be entrenched. For all that Theofania was attempting to play this as some masterful blow, Angharad could smell the desperation beneath it.


    Lord Cleon despised the Varochas for their reaching grasp, and despised Lady Theofania in particular. Worse, all involved knew this. It must be a heavy weight to bear, her houses¡¯ hopes of prominence. Especially when the game had been rigged against her from the start. No wonder she was growing reckless in her attempts to secure the match, or at least scare off contenders. Angharad felt a twinge of pity, if only a twinge.


    ¡°Does this conversation have a point?¡± she asked.


    ¡°You need not worry I intend to run you out of Tratheke society,¡± Lady Theofania informed her. ¡°Or harm your reputation further ¨C as I said, Lady Angharad, this was not personal. Marry as you will, and with my best wishes, so long as you stay away from Cleon Eirenos.¡±


    ¡°And if I decline?¡± Angharad curiously asked.


    Theofania¡¯s slender face hardened.


    ¡°Then I will be forced to bring to bear against you the full weight of my house,¡± she said. ¡°It would be unpleasant business for the both of us, I suspect, but needs must.¡±


    She feigned consideration of Theofania¡¯s words, letting the seconds stretch heavily ¨C thick as taffy. Eventually she nodded.


    ¡°I do not command his attentions,¡± Angharad warned.


    ¡°Nor do I expect you to,¡± Lady Theofania replied, politely nodding.


    She hesitated a moment.


    ¡°You may expect every due courtesy from me when next we meet,¡± she added. ¡°I regret the damage that may have been inflicted on your prospects, and will keep it in mind over the next months.¡±


    A polite way to say that, should Angharad¡¯s reputation turn out thoroughly ruined by this, the Varochas may arrange a pity marriage for her with whatever household man they could rustle up. It was the least kind of mercy, but mercy nonetheless. Angharad suddenly found she believed her when she''d said there had been nothing personal about this, not that it made her any less of a viper.


    ¡°Good night, Lady Theofania,¡± Angharad replied.


    The dismissal was courteous but clear.


    ¡°Good night, Lady Angharad,¡± Theofania replied, inclining her head.


    She was left alone on the steps, looking up at the starry sky. How long should she stay? At least half an hour, Angharad decided. She must, after all, sell the notion that she was drowning in her humiliation. Cut up inside.


    Bleeding deeply enough that Lord Gule would believe her, when she came to find him and spoke of moving on with her life.


    --


    Lord Gule, in deference to both his rank and the distance he had traveled to attend, was to be accommodated in the guesthouse overnight. As the feast was not yet over, however, he was not there. Instead, when Angharad put on a chastened face and asked the Eirenos servants where she might find the ambassador, she was directed to a small smoking parlor on the main floor of the manor. None offered to accompany her.


    Evidently her humiliation had made her someone to avoid.


    Lord Gule was seated inside on a comfortable cushioned chair, smoking a pipe, but when she was brought in by his valet ¨C Jabulani, she recalled ¨C he displayed good manners by putting it out. Bringing out his listening horn, he invited her to sit with him.


    ¡°I can only take so long of these evenings before I have to rest my mind a span,¡± he told her. ¡°Smoking makes for a fine excuse and does not dull the mind as drinking overmuch would.¡±


    She nodded silently, lowering herself into the seat across from his. Angharad had wondered how to approach this, ever since the notion first occurred to her in that bolt from the black, and decided against deception. She was not a deft hand at such games and never would be. Best, she thought, to keep to the truth.


    ¡°I have,¡± Angharad quietly said, ¡°rarely been so shamed in my life as I have been tonight.¡±


    Never, arguably. She had been on the bad end of tricks, when on the dueling circuit, and she¡¯d had some enemies in Peredur society. None had ever shamed her as Theofania and her Iphine accomplices.


    ¡°A vicious one, the Varochas girl,¡± Lord Gule agreed. ¡°Not that it will get her what she wants, but at that age it is a common mistake to confuse a successful plan for a wise one.¡±


    She swallowed, then straightened herself from the slump she had consciously made herself fall into.


    ¡°You told me, once, that a time would come where I would begin thinking about the rest of my life.¡±


    Angharad paused, met his eyes.


    ¡°That I should call on you, then.¡±


    His gaze was gentle.


    ¡°You have had a difficult evening, Lady Angharad,¡± Lord Gule said. ¡°Perhaps you should rest instead. It will pass.¡±


    ¡°It will not,¡± Angharad flatly replied. ¡°This or its like will happen, again and again, so long as I remain as I am. That is no way to live.¡±


    And there she let her very real anger at the public humiliation show. A long moment passed, Lord Gule watching with calm eyes, then he turned to his valet. The man had been inside the entire time, standing by the door silent and still.


    ¡°I told you,¡± the older noble said. ¡°She is clever, she was bound to realize it soon: there is no future in being a courtier in Asphodel.¡±


    He leaned back into the cushions afterwards, looking almost satisfied.


    ¡°You remember Jabulani, my attendant,¡± Lord Gule said.


    Angharad nodded at the near-shaved man, whose stony expression she remembered from their short encounter at the green party. Lord Gule smiled.


    ¡°He holds, as it happens, a second position among my staff.¡±


    Stomach sinking, Angharad turned her eyes back to Jabulani ¨C whose expression had not changed, and who bowed at her again. When he straightened, he offered her a small coin to peruse. Lacquered wood, the color of copper, bearing on one side the shell of a helmet turtle and on the other a slender crown. Lefthand House. The man was ufudu, and Angharad felt her blood turn to ice.


    ¡°The Lefthand House greets you, Lady Tredegar,¡± Jabulani said.


    Angharad kept her face blank, slowly nodding, and flicked a worried glance at Lord Gule. The induna shrugged.


    ¡°Jabulani serves the will of our queen on Asphodel, as do we,¡± he said. ¡°There is nothing to fear.¡±


    There was always something to fear when it came to the Lefthand House. Servants of the High Queen they may be, but Angharad¡¯s own brush with their sort had made it plain they were nothing less than poison.


    ¡°Well met,¡± Angharad carefully said.


    Did the man know the circumstances of her exile from the Isles? Did Lord Gule? Ancestors, did they know about Imani? She could not even be sure if they knew her to be a blackcloak. So many questions that she all bit down on until her gums felt as if they would bleed.


    ¡°You are called to service,¡± Jabulani told her. ¡°Menander Drakos has shown lasting interest in you. Are you his lover?¡±


    She choked at the blunt, rude inquiry.


    ¡°Sleeping God, no,¡± she vehemently replied.


    ¡°Then it must be on behalf of your patron,¡± the ufudu concluded. ¡°Whoever sought him to introduce you into Tratheke circles.¡±


    He then stared at her in pregnant silence, as if ordering her to elaborate on that patron¡¯s identity. It appeared, at least, that the rector¡¯s palace was not so porous as to reveal she was a blackcloak part of the Thirteenth Brigade. They would know there was no such patron otherwise.


    ¡°I would rather not speak of the matter,¡± Angharad curtly replied.


    Lord Gule touched the other man¡¯s arm.


    ¡°Even exiles can have friends, Jabulani,¡± he gently said. ¡°Let us speak, instead, of the request Her Perpetual Majesty would make of us."


    The ufudu hummed, seeming unconvinced, but moved on nonetheless.


    ¡°Regardless of the reason, Lord Menander has taken a shine to you,¡± Jabulani said. ¡°It is expected that he will invite you to a private dinner at his personal mansion in two weeks. Every two months, the man invites his inner circle and those he intends to bring into it to a private evening. We require that you attend.¡±


    The hint of frustration on that stony face, Angharad decided, meant that the Lefthand House had not been able to get someone in despite efforts otherwise. Her esteem for Menander Drakos¡¯ attention to his security rose a notch. Excitement mounted, carefully buried. She had wounded her honor, tonight, but it was opening some sort of gate. It had not been for nothing.


    ¡°Why?¡± she bluntly asked.


    ¡°It has come to our attention,¡± the ufudu said, ¡°that Menander Drakos might have obtained stolen property. We would have you confirm the presence of an object in particular.¡±


    She said nothing, only meeting his eyes. It was Lord Gule who continued.


    ¡°It would have the look of a wine press,¡± the older man said, ¡°only of Antediluvian make.¡±


    The infernal forge, Angharad realized with utter bafflement. They were talking about the infernal forge. It took every scrap of mastery she held to keep herself from visibly reacting. Relief tested that control again, when it struck her that they could not know about Imani if they were asking her this. This part of the Lefthand House does not know who I am.


    Why - no, it made sense. The ufudu were hoarders of secrets and there was no need for the ambassador to faraway Asphodel to know anything of House Tredegar¡¯s disgrace. Word would have had time to carry, since the fall of her house, but no reason to. And had Imani not said that the High Queen did not count her as a foe? There would be no need for the Lefthand House to follow her too closely.


    ¡°That artifact is best shipped back to Malan,¡± Jabulani continued. ¡°We do not require that you obtain it, only to confirm its presence on the premises.¡±


    Stolen property, best shipped back to Malan. How carefully they were implying the infernal forge to be the High Queen¡¯s rightful property without ever stating as much. Angharad might well have been fooled had she not known better. Had she been inclined to trust them, such trickery would have ended the notion. As she had not, it was mere confirmation that the pair sought to use her.


    ¡°I could do this,¡± Angharad finally replied.


    Lord Gule softly chuckled.


    ¡°Could, indeed,¡± he said, then glanced at his companion. ¡°I will handle the haggling, Jabulani. Kindly leave us to it.¡±


    The stony-faced man studied them both, then shallowly nodded.


    ¡°We will speak again,¡± he told Angharad, then rose.


    Though he closed the door softly, almost without a sound, the silence that followed in his wake was oppressively loud. Lord Gule set aside his listening horn a moment to help himself to a sip of brandy from a cup she¡¯d not even noticed and looked like it had hardly been touched. Then he set it down with a smile, picking up his horn.


    ¡°You were roughly done, tonight,¡± he said after putting it to his ear, ¡°but sometimes it is in the dark that we see most clearly. Good can come of evil.¡±


    Good can come of anything, Angharad thought. That does not excuse evil. An induna ought to know better.


    ¡°I cannot go back,¡± she said. ¡°That can no longer be denied.¡±


    She was speaking truth, merely not the truth he thought. Lord Gule nodded approvingly.


    ¡°It can be difficult, leaving the Isles behind, but there is more than one hearth under firmament,¡± he said.


    He then cleared his throat with an undertone of embarrassment.


    ¡°I will not ask as to the circumstances of your departure from Peredur,¡± Lord Gule said. ¡°Jabulani looked through the latest list from the Lefthand House and your name is not on it, which is enough for me.¡±


    Angharad¡¯s eyes widened. It was said that the ufudu kept account books of traitors much as a treasurer would of coin, but never before had she heard it spoken out loud. So Imani spoke true, when she said Her Perpetual Majesty wishes me no ill will. She was not marked a traitor by the royal court, despite the Tredegar name being struck off the rolls of nobility.


    ¡°Whatever troubles there might have been in your past, Lady Angharad, they can be put to rest by lending aid to the Lefthand House over this matter of stolen property,¡± he said.


    She raised an eyebrow, openly unimpressed. Even had she truly been the sort of exile she portrayed herself to be, this would have been a short thrift reward. The man laughed.


    ¡°They will not promise you more,¡± he said. ¡°They believe your hand can be forced, you see, which Jabulani is the kind of man to prefer to the trade of favors. But it does not matter, for I would make you an offer in their stead.¡±


    Angharad inclined her head to the side. She saw the guile at play here. Play up the Lefthand House as an enemy while binding all rewards to himself. A straightforward enough trick that would yet have been clutched at like lifesaving driftwood by a more desperate woman. It was rare for her to feel grateful for the Watch, but in that moment she did. How tempting would Gule¡¯s words have been, for a woman downing along at sea? It had been good fortune, to find protectors before she ever came here.


    Angharad waited in silence for the terms now, the true offer, but instead Lord Gule¡¯s conversation took a surprising turn.


    ¡°You will have heard I am in talks with the Lord Rector on Her Majesty¡¯s behalf, I expect,¡± he said. ¡°Tell me, Lady Angharad: what is it that you believe Malan wants of this Antediluvian shipyard?¡±


    Her brow rose.


    ¡°Skimmers, presumably,¡± she said. ¡°I have not heard of them being able to build anything else.¡±


    ¡°That is the common assumption,¡± Lord Gule acknowledged. ¡°Certainly, that is what Evander Palliades believes. It is also incorrect.¡±


    ¡°The aether engines alone, then?¡± she tried.


    They would be the most valuable part, though given that anything made of tomic alloy was worth its weight in gold no part of a skimmer could be called inexpensive. He smiled thinly, shaking his head.


    ¡°What we want,¡± Lord Gule said, ¡°is the whole shipyard to be irreparably scrapped.¡±


    She choked in surprise.


    ¡°Pardon?¡±


    ¡°Save for Ingalapur on Tower Coast, there is no known city boasting large-scale shipyards capable of producing skimmers fit for war,¡± the ambassador said. ¡°The capacity to build and repair such ships exists elsewhere, certainly, but it¡­ artisanal.¡±


    Angharad frowned.


    ¡°While the shipyard under Asphodel would have such capacity.¡±


    He inclined his head in agreement.


    ¡°That is troubling for us in several ways,¡± Lord Gule continued. ¡°Should the Tianxi obtain a fleet of war skimmers, the balance of power in the Trebian Sea will tip their way. The Republics will attempt to seize hegemony over the region and might well succeed.¡±


    Unless Malan sent in its own fleet to check them, Angharad silently added. Which would be a nightmarish tar pit of a war, having to support a hundred small island states against the Republics while the other great powers meddled at every turn.


    ¡°The right treaties could avoid this,¡± she noted. ¡°An agreement for Asphodel to limit its sales to the Republics, at least regarding skimmer warships. Why is the outright destruction of the shipyard desired?¡±


    ¡°Because,¡± Lord Gule said, ¡°even should a diplomatic miracle be achieved and such a treaty be installed, the proliferation of the civilian ships would still be disastrous to Malani trade.¡±


    It took her a moment to grasp why, but though Angharad Tredegar had not been raised to be a great lady of Malan neither had she been raised to be a fool. Besides, she was better taught than most when it came to the politics of the waves.


    ¡°It would crack open the Straying Sea,¡± Angharad belatedly realized.


    The stretch of sea between the isles of Malan and the continent, deep in darkness and famously prone to Gloam storms, was a great source of wealth for the kingdom. Malani dominance over it had been cemented by two things: the first was the Serpentine Roads. These were a great modern wonder, pathways of floating Glare lighthouses built at the order of the Queen Perpetual which foreign merchants could use to traverse the region safely ¨C but at the price of tolls, and along routes that favored Malani ports and trade.


    The second was ironwood sailing ships, which sailed faster than any other wooden vessel and cut clean through lesser Gloam currents. Ironwood ships were how Malan had first been able to reach the continents to the north and the west, and how the High Queen¡¯s ships could treat the Straying Sea as their backyard instead of the ship killer it was for every other great power. Skimmers could do everything ironwood ships could, which was hardly trouble when they were so rare, but should they become¡­ perhaps not common a sight, but no longer rare?


    The seal on the ambitions of the other great powers would be broken, madness spilling out on all the world.


    ¡°Exactly so,¡± Lord Gule praised, as if she were a student as the isikole. ¡°Bad enough if the Tianxi got their hands on a fleet of skimmer warships, but at least their ambitions are to the south and the east. If the Izcalli did, or the Someshwari?¡±


    He grimaced.


    ¡°It is not only damage to our trade and rampant piracy that we might face, but fleets of skimmers sailing out to found colonies rival to our own.¡±


    ¡°A grave danger,¡± Angharad murmured.


    ¡°I tell you this,¡± Lord Gule said, ¡°so that you might understand that by tying his fortune to the shipyard so closely Evander Palliades has dug his own grave.¡±


    Her eyes sharpened.


    ¡°The assassin¡­¡±


    The ambassador shook his head.


    ¡°There is no need for that,¡± he said. ¡°It can be done properly. There is a strong claimant for the throne and her supporters will not suffer that shipyard to become her property. If owning it can make of a threat of the ailing Palliades, it could make an already powerful house untouchable. No, by simple virtue of the nature of her cause she will have to dismantle the shipyard.¡±


    ¡®Her¡¯. Minister Apollonia Floros, Angharad thought. It had to be, even though Lord Gule was avoiding speaking the name outright.


    ¡°A sad end for the Palliades,¡± she finally said. ¡°But such is the turn of history.¡±


    She suspected Song was taken with the man, but as the Watch seemed indifferent to who sat the throne of Asphodel the truth was that Angharad saw little need to concern herself with it. After tonight, what little warmth she¡¯d had for the people of Asphodel had cooled. I am a woman of the Watch, she told herself. I came here on contract, and owe not a thing more.


    ¡°You may be wondering,¡± Lord Gule said, ¡°why instead of speaking of reward for your services I instead attended to such grand matters.¡±


    ¡°The thought occurred,¡± Angharad replied.


    And now came the offer. Finally. Let it be that you are a cultist, she thought. Ancestors preserve me, but I hope that you are wicked. Nothing else could possibly make what she had out herself through tonight worth it. Had Song¡¯s inspection of the rector¡¯s palace not proved a dead end she would not have had to, but it had been. And she owed the Thirteenth too much not to reach for the key when it was on the table.


    Even if the key was forged out of her public humiliation.


    ¡°Apollonia Floros will sit the throne of Asphodel,¡± Lord Gule bluntly said, dispensing with the earlier pretense, ¡°but she will not rule. A more¡­ discerning circle will see to that. One to which I was invited for representing the might of Malan, and to which I would invite you in turn.¡±


    ¡°A hidden faction,¡± Angharad murmured, meaning ¡®cult¡¯.


    Her hear beat against her ears, blood rushed up. Was this it? Had she been approached by the cult of the Golden Ram at last?


    ¡°A society assembled under the auspices of a spirit,¡± Lord Gule said. ¡°When change comes to Asphodel, Malan and I will find ourselves showered in rewards¨C but then the allies of today will become tomorrow¡¯s rivals. I seek a champion to stand at my side in anticipation of that tomorrow, and what finer champion can there be than a mirror-dancer?¡±


    Angharad swallowed. She¡¯d done it. She had done it, tonight, and without once wielding her sword ¨C save perhaps against herself.


    ¡°I can hardly walk without a cane,¡± Angharad said. ¡°I would be a decoration, not a champion.¡±


    Go on, she thought. Sell me your healing spirit.


    ¡°Nothing is absolute, save for the Sleeping God,¡± the ambassador replied


    Reaching at his belt, he removed from a slender silken pouch a small sphere wrapped in paper. It was pressed into Angharad¡¯s hand and she opened it to find a small red medicinal ball ¨C it smelled faintly metallic and was warm to the touch.


    ¡°Eat it,¡± Lord Gule instructed. ¡°Not here, it would be too noticeable, but when there are fewer eyes on you.¡±


    ¡°What does it do?¡± Angharad asked.


    ¡°It is a taste of what the Golden Ram can offer you,¡± he said. ¡°Healing for a span of eight hours.¡±


    She breathed in sharply. That was tempting, even knowing it was likely a trap.


    ¡°And this spirit can heal me for good, without need of a pill?¡± she pressed.


    ¡°I so swear,¡± Lord Gule smiled. ¡°I have, after all, been promised the same ¨C and would already be whole again, if such a boon was not at risk of being discovered.¡±


    They knew someone like you was coming, Song, Angharad thought. You never found a trace of the Golden Ram at court because they went into hiding long before we reached this shore. The older man leaned forward, closing her fingers around the paper and the pill.


    ¡°Do as the Lefthand House asked and you will have bought a pardon from Malan,¡± Lord Gule gently said. ¡°Then when the dust has settled on Asphodel, Lady Angharad, you can stand by my side in the open - and without any need for a cane.¡±


    Found you, Angharad Tredegar thought.


    And though it was as ugly as victories got, this one felt like a first payment on a debt.

 Chapter 55

    The thing about being the lowest rung on the ladder was that everyone stepped on you.


    It was Tristan¡¯s fourth day as a Kassa traveling man, which meant he was still swallowing an awful lot of boot: there hadn¡¯t been a single trip across the city where he wasn¡¯t the one hanging onto the back of the carriage and he¡¯d thrice been volunteered to clean vomit or horseshit. The pay, to be honest, wasn¡¯t great. Four coppers a day, one of which went to the injury fund, and then an additional twelve if he made it to the end of the month.


    Staying with the company for longer raised your salary, but most traveling men only lasted a month or two. It was a rough, exhausting job and its veterans were a tight-knit group that cared little for outsiders. Tristan genuinely could not tell if he was being hazed or they were attempting to push him out. The Kassa family kept about forty traveling men, which was at least ten less than they needed, and of these a quarter were what the veterans called ¡®ermanos¡¯.


    The sobriquet was a mix of the Cycladic word for ballast and Antigua for sibling and was used as a shorthand for dead weight. If you dropped a crate? Fucking ermano. If you showed up late? Ermano thinks this is a vacation. You didn¡¯t pay for the first round of drinks? Typical ermano. On account of being Sacromontan Tristan got ridden twice as hard as the other newcomers, some of which even joined in to keep the heat off them.


    Still, there was a rough sense of fairness to how the Kassa men did things. To his honest surprise, the injury fund truly was that: if anyone crippled themselves or were forced to rest by sickness then the injury fund was spent to support them. When one of the other newcomers, a sly little shit by the name of Eugenios, tried to get Tristan blamed for his having put the wrong crate on the cart the foreman looked into it and slugged the liar into the stomach when the lie was outed.


    Eugenios got the worst duties for the rest of the day and got ribbed for being ¡®more dishonest than a Sacromontan¡¯. It warmed the cockles of his heart how genuinely despised the Six were around here, even if as usual the shit of the infanzones had ended up splashing his boots.


    The fourth day started as all the others had: show up an hour before dawn at the workshop, share a plate of flatbread and olives more for the ritual than for need, then spill out in the alley for assignments. The four foremen called out their traveling men for the day, splitting the lots until early afternoon when the crews reunited and there was a shuffle for the day¡¯s second work order. Tristan still kept an eye on the distribution, it was useful to discern the cliques, but no longer paid attention to his own name.


    He always ended up with Nikias, a mustachioed bastard of a man who looked like someone had built a barn door out of horse leather. Nikias took most of the ermanos in his crew, the rest going to whatever foreman had taken a shine to them or wanted to try them out on a job. Nikias, naturally, thus ended up getting assigned the worst jobs ¨C not that he seemed to mind. If anything, he appeared to take a twisted sort of pride in it.


    ¡°Oi. You listening, Ferrando?¡±


    Tristan twitched, turning to the old man addressing him. Temenos, the white-haired elder of the Kassa traveling men ¨C thirty years in a job that broke your back in twenty gave one standing in spades. He coughed.


    ¡°Of course, sir,¡± he lied.


    ¡°Then get in the line, you idiot,¡± Temenos bluntly said.


    Hiding his surprise, he fell in with the man¡¯s crew. Temenos and his nine always got the Lordsport runs, which were hard work loading and unloading the goods but otherwise a restful ride. It was seen, with good reason, as the plum assignment. It was a job that an ¡®ermanos ¡®like him shouldn¡¯t be getting anywhere near, and he caught Eugenios glaring at him from the corner of his eye. Had he done something to catch the old man¡¯s eye? They¡¯d hardly traded more than a dozen sentences over the last few days.


    After an hour moving the goods into the three carts began rolling south towards Lordsport ¨C the wool cloth wasn¡¯t so bad, but the Kassa also sold shrine idols of some wealth god from southern Tianxia made in Asphodelian marble and those were brutal to move. As a useless newcomer Tristan wasn¡¯t going to be trusted leading the horses so he had expected to spend the trip wedged in between crates, but instead he was sent to sit by one of the drivers: Temenos himself.


    Something was off.


    The mostly toothless old man took his Izcalli snuff religiously every hour, snorting up the ground tobacco. Tristan personally thought it smelled horrid ¨C it wasn¡¯t the expensive scented snuff nobles used, which was somewhat easier on the nose ¨C but some of the other traveling men had told him that when Temenos got off the stuff the usually pleasant old man turned into a veritable monster.


    More worrying than the unpleasant smell was that Temenos took the time to show him the basics of cart driving, how long he could and should run the horses as well as the easiest path out of the capital. Tristan made himself an attentive pupil, the entire time awaiting the drop of the other shoe. It came, in a manner of speaking, shortly after they passed the city gates.


    The old man opened his worn wooden box, snorted deep of the snuff and put it away with a roll of his shoulder.


    ¡°So,¡± Temenos said. ¡°We have questions.¡±


    Tristan cleared his throat.


    ¡°Questions?¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Temenos grunted. ¡°It¡¯d be for the best if you answered them, Ferrando.¡±


    Tristan glanced back, finding that the men in the other carts conspicuously all had cudgels near their hands. Ah.


    ¡°Well,¡± he said, ¡°you have my attention, Temenos.¡±


    ¡°The Shoulderbones recommended you,¡± the old man said, ¡°but I asked around: none of our friends there know who in Sculler¡¯s name you¡¯re supposed to be. Only those up high, and they¡¯re not saying shit.¡±


    Of course they wouldn¡¯t. Tristan had robbed the account books of the most brutal ¨C and richest ¨C moneylender in the northeastern ward without her noticing in exchange for the Brazen Chariot negotiating on his behalf with the Shoulderbones to get that recommendation. I¡¯d taken him a day to case the place and another to rob it unseen, much longer than he¡¯d wanted since now that he¡¯d stopped sleeping at Black House he had to arrange his own accommodations.


    ¡°I came in from another basileia,¡± he said. ¡°They made a deal.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s what we figured,¡± Temenos said. ¡°But the thing is, Ferrando, we don¡¯t like the basileia boys. They make trouble, and a lot of them think because they know someone they can get away with laziness.¡±


    His jaw clenched.


    ¡°I have not been lazy,¡± Tristan replied, anger not entirely feigned.


    ¡°You haven¡¯t,¡± the old man agreed. ¡°Which is why we¡¯re having this talk all nice and friendly, instead of in an alley with double black eyes and a knife at your throat.¡±


    Keeping anger on his face, the thief let his mind whirl. This looked bad, at first glance, yet it was the contrary. They would not bother to look into him if they weren¡¯t looking to keep him around. He scoffed.


    ¡°Let¡¯s just get this over with,¡± he said.


    Temenos eyed him lazily.


    ¡°Young men and their pride,¡± he said, shaking his head, then let the amusement fade. ¡°What¡¯s a Sacromontan doing in bed with a basileia?¡±


    Fortunately, Tristan had come equipped with a plethora of lies that the Brazen Chariot had been instructed to regurgitate if needed. He sighed, as if put upon.


    ¡°You ever hear about the Meng-Xiaofan?¡± he asked.


    Temenos nodded.


    ¡°Tianxi criminals,¡± Temenos said. ¡°They¡¯ve tried to get a foot in the Lordsport, but the Trade Assembly¡¯s got their own mules for drugs and they don¡¯t want foreigners getting a cut.¡±


    ¡°In Sacromonte they have more than a foot,¡± Tristan said. ¡°And they tried to get more, push into the Murk and deal there, but they lost some toes trying.¡±


    Temenos looked him up and down.


    ¡°Tianxi, are you?¡± he drily asked.


    ¡°I¡¯m Murk,¡± Tristan replied. ¡°But I knew the twins that were running that expansion, and when it went belly up they were hung out to dry ¨C and that splashed on everyone they did business with.¡±


    He¡¯d burn a candle for Lan and Jun tonight, a sacrifice to the Rat King, for the twins were to be a helping hand from beyond the grave. If the Kassa knew people in Sacromonte, which they likely did, then they could check up on the story.


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t eager to get my throat cut, so I took a ship out as far as I could,¡± Tristan continued. ¡°I know some people who knew people, so I emptied the last of my pockets getting that recommendation.¡±


    Temenos grunted.


    ¡°Why the Kassa? Why the traveling men?¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t want to step in piss all day by joining as a fuller,¡± Tristan said. ¡°And, well, the Kassa weren¡¯t actually my first choice.¡±


    The old man looked surprised.


    ¡°I looked into the Euripis warehouses first, on Charon, but then I heard about that one foreman¡­¡±


    ¡°Ah,¡± Temenos said, then eyed him skeptically. ¡°Not sure you¡¯re pretty enough to draw that fucker¡¯s eye, but I can understand not wanting to risk it.¡±


    The old man hummed, then struck out with his whip to quicken the horses again. Tristan looked back at the other carts and found the cudgels were being put away.


    ¡°That¡¯s it?¡± he asked.


    ¡°That¡¯s it,¡± Temenos said. ¡°Pay attention, you¡¯ll be driving the horses on the way back.¡±


    ¡°I thought there would be more questions,¡± Tristan said.


    ¡°We¡¯ll check on your story,¡± the old man shrugged. ¡°But I¡¯m not your father, Ferrando. If you¡¯re not trouble I don¡¯t care.¡±


    The story would hold up even better when asked about, he¡¯d made sure of that. The Brazen Chariot, after all, was a smuggling basileia. It would be entirely believable that Tristan¡¯s supposed Meng-Xiaofan ties had put him in contact with them.


    ¡°Back to Nikias tomorrow, then,¡± he drily said. ¡°It was good while it lasted.¡±


    Temenos eyed him like he was a fool.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t pick your name out of a hat, boy,¡± he said. ¡°You got twice as much shit as the rest of the ermanos and still put in twice as much work. Make it to the end of the week like this and we¡¯ll see about getting you in properly ¨C you¡¯ve got all your teeth and you speak well, it¡¯ll make you useful with the dockmasters at Lordsport.¡±


    It was an odd thing, but Tristan would admit to feeling somewhat proud about that. For all that it had been for the purposes of deception, he had put in the work.


    ¡°Because you liked my answers,¡± he said.


    Temenos snorted, then nodded.


    ¡°And if you hadn¡¯t liked them?¡± Tristan dared to ask.


    The old man gave a toothless smile.


    ¡°Then you fell off the cart and got run over,¡± Temenos said. ¡°Tragic accident, it was.¡±


    Well. That motivated him to keep paying attention to the lessons, if nothing else. He was being let in on the veteran crowd, by the looks of it. Good. Once he was in, he could sketch out who the inner circle was.


    And when he had that, he had the trail he must follow.


    --


    While objectively Maryam knew that Lord Rector Evander Palliades was a clever and ruthless king, it was hard to think of him that way when he kept looking like a kicked puppy whenever she showed up to give the reports instead of Song.


    While the bespectacled man always forced himself to pay attention to the latest word from the Thirteenth ¨C which was mostly that leads were being run down by Tristan and Tredegar ¨C it was also quite blatant that he wanted to get the reports out of the way as fast as possible so he could get to bribing Maryam with fresh burek and raspberry jam pastries.


    They called burek by a different name here, and didn¡¯t put potatoes in it, but the recipe was basically the same. It had significantly raised her esteem of Asphodel, because no people who made decent burek could be entirely without saving graves.


    Polishing the last of the layered cheese-and-egg pastry under the Lord Rector¡¯s vigilant eye, she set down her fork as the man rang a small bell to have her empty plate taken away and a dessert plate brought in to replace it. They even topped off her wine while at it. It was a hard job, reporting to the Lord Rector. Sometimes she had to take naps afterwards. Maryam watched the servants discreetly exit, their ruler barely acknowledging their presence, and leaned back into her seat.


    Well, she had been bribed good and proper. Now came the price. First her own part of it. The bespectacled man set a leather-bound journal on the table, dipping his steel-tipped pen in a pot of ink before turning a look on her. Maryam bit into her delicious pastry, regally getting powdered sugar all over her chin. It was really good raspberry jam.


    ¡°You last mentioned that the Triglau are not a single people but three,¡± Evander Palliades said. ¡°Might you elaborate on this?¡±


    Maryam swallowed as quietly as she could, which was not very, and wiped the sugar powder off her face with the born grace of a princess of Volcesta.


    ¡°I am Izvorica,¡± Maryam told him. ¡°The Izvoric are ¨C were - the people dwelling in the lowlands of the continent we call Juska. The lowlands were bordered by the sea and a great plateau, the only way through which was the Great Gates.¡±


    ¡°The same now known as the Broken Gates,¡± the Lord Rector half-asked.


    She nodded. Maryam had best not speak of that, else a sea¡¯s worth of venom about the Malani would spill past her lips.


    ¡°These were maintained by the People of the Gate, the Skrivenic, while past them dwell the great kingdoms of the highlands whose people are known as the Toranjic.¡±


    ¡°And of these peoples the Izvoric were the greatest?¡± he asked.


    Maryam shook her head.


    ¡°The Skrivenic were never many, though of great wealth, but there are ten Toranjic for every Izvoric and some of their fortresses have walls built by the Ancients. The Malani would have broken their teeth trying to take a bite, it is no wonder they preferred to break the Gates than risk it.¡±


    His hand paused before the pen reached the paper.


    ¡°The Kingdom of Malan,¡± he said, ¡°claims it is the Triglau who broke the gates.¡±


    Maryam snorted, dismissive.


    ¡°My people were pleading for help from the highlands while Malan sacked our cities and burned our groves,¡± she said. ¡°Why would we break our own Gates? Besides, my own mother ¨C a practitioner of the Craft of high rank ¨C commonly spoke of it as being Malani work in public. None ever contradicted her.¡±


    Maryam had no doubt the Toranjic kings would have bled the Izvoric dry for their help, and likely made vassals of quite a few cities, but the highlanders were warlike men who relished in the fight. Their fortress-cities clashed with each other almost as much as they did with the hollows that dwelled in the bleak lands beyond their own.


    The Lord Rector did not look entirely convinced but put it to ink regardless.


    It pleased Maryam somewhat to be correcting Malani lies, though she was not sure that Evander Palliades would live long enough to finish a book ¨C or that it would spread beyond this isle, even if he did. Still, she had only so much tolerance for speaking of the past and had told the man as much. He¡¯d not argued, considering what it was he really wanted to talk about. Or, rather, who.


    The Lord Rector pushed up his glasses and cleared his throat, embarrassed but not embarrassed enough not to ask.


    ¡°Poetry,¡± he said. ¡°What does she like?¡±


    She set down her dessert, humming as she sifted through her memories.


    ¡°She owns a book by Pingyang Zong,¡± Maryam noted. ¡°One of her favorites, I think.¡±


    It was certainly worn enough to have been read often.


    ¡°Really?¡± the Lord Rector exhaled, looking pleased.


    Maryam cocked an eyebrow at him and he coughed into his fist.


    ¡°Lady Zong wrote much of drinking under moonlight and love affairs,¡± Lord Rector Evander explained. ¡°I am merely surprised.¡±


    ¡®Surprised¡¯. Sure he was.


    ¡°The only other I can recall is titled ¡®Ruina¡¯,¡± she said. ¡°It¡¯s from¡­ Alaria, or something of the sort?¡±


    ¡°Ilaria,¡± the bespectacled man corrected. ¡°The preeminent poetess out of Sacromonte, the reckoning of most. Ruina is one of her finest works, though not her most popular. It is very maudlin.¡±


    The steel tip tapped around the paper, as if the Lord Rector of Asphodel was debating how to transmute sad Lierganen poetry into smooth seduction.


    Now, it might seem like Maryam was selling out her captain for jam pastries. Really good jam pastries, mind you. But the truth was that there was a little more at play. The dais under Evander Palliades¡¯ throne was being gnawed at by rebels, but for now the man was still the greatest authority in the land. And so long as he believed he might have a chance at seducing Song, he was quite amenable to the Thirteenth Brigade.


    It was the sort of thing that might come in quite useful if, say, they needed to get the head of the Watch¡¯s diplomatic delegation to Asphodel removed because he was trying to get Tristan abducted on behalf of some sinister conspiracy.


    Anyhow, Maryam wouldn¡¯t have entertained the notion if she didn¡¯t suspect that somewhat Song wanted to be seduced in the first place. You didn¡¯t sit down alone on brothel beds with men you weren¡¯t at least a little attracted to. Besides, if she¡¯d wanted to nip the entire thing in the bud she could have simply told Palliades they were headed to a brothel in the first place, which would have seen him withdraw his insistence to tag along.


    Insisting on taking a lady you were taken with to a brothel wasn¡¯t a good look.


    ¡°How¡¯s your handwriting, Your Excellency?¡± she asked.


    His brow rose.


    ¡°Respectable,¡± he replied.


    ¡°Song is a great admirer of calligraphy,¡± she meaningfully said.


    There, she¡¯d given him as much as she intended to. If he couldn¡¯t work something out with so many hints on his side, he was a lost cause anyway. Maryam was of the opinion that a good romp would help mellow out Song, once she was done panicking about it, but their captain would get on just fine if Evander Palliades fumbled the draw.


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    Clearing her throat, she changed tack to signify she¡¯d delivered as much as his bribe warranted.


    ¡°I am charged by Brigadier Chilaca to inquire when the delay to the visit will be ending,¡± she said.


    Lieutenant Apurva had been, it turned out, one of the very covenanters meant to visit the shipyard on the delegation¡¯s behalf. As a tinker with a decade of experience servicing Someshwari skimmers, he¡¯d been meant to assess the quality of the engine-building suites of the Asphodelian shipyards.


    By slitting his throat Tristan had kicked a beehive.


    Not only had the Watch been forced to bring in a second Umuthi tinker from the Lordsport, one that was less qualified, the visit itself had been put on hold until the death was fully investigated. Song, reading between the lines, had told Maryam that the Lord Rector had grabbed the opportunity to further delay the visit with both hands.


    The theory floated by the blackcloak diplomats was that Palliades wanted some signed accommodation with the Republics before letting the Watch in ¨C that way, if the rooks tried to fence him in by leaning on the Iscariot Accords he could drag in the Tianxi to argue for his side. It was clever diplomacy, since the Republics were hungry for his wares.


    The Sanxing republics could make aetheric engines, sure, but none capable of powering something as large as a warship. If Tianxia got its hands on a skimmer warfleet, it would no longer need to fear the fleets of Izcalli and the Someshwar should it come to full, bare-knuckle war with either. They could afford to start truly throwing their weight around the Trebian Sea.


    ¡°Two days,¡± the Lord Rector said. ¡°Arrangements are nearly finished and a letter will be sent this afternoon. It is unfortunate that it took so long, but the delay was most necessary given Lieutenant Apurva¡¯s death.¡±


    He smiled pleasantly.


    ¡°I am grieved to hear the Watch¡¯s investigation has yielded no results. As always, my offer to lend the help of the lictors stands.¡±


    Maryam, on the other hand, was deeply pleased by the dead end that¡¯d followed the corpse. She was not surprised in the least that Tristan had skill in disposing of bodies ¨C eventually his closet must have run out of room to cram skeletons in ¨C but that he¡¯d been able to stump a Watch investigation was impressive. While the site of death had been found, he¡¯d himself come under no open suspicion. Why would he, when the entire Nineteenth Brigade had been out the same night?


    No request had been made that the Thirteenth recall him from his infiltration assignment so he might be interrogated, either, which was a promising sign. Even better Song had mentioned that while there were frustrations among the delegation supposedly they were as much about the delay to the shipyard visit as they were about the death.


    The rumor so far was that it was a robbery gone wrong, the killer panicking when realizing they¡¯d attacked a blackcloak and killing the lieutenant to avoid leaving someone that¡¯d know their face alive. Apparently such things were not too uncommon, the Watch¡¯s reputation for heavy-handed reprisal for attacks on its members having some hidden costs.


    ¡°That¡¯s a decision for Brigadier Chilaca to make, Your Excellency,¡± Maryam demurred. ¡°I will be sure pass the offer along.¡±


    They both knew the brigadier had no intention of allowing the lictors anywhere near that case. It would mean tacitly admitting the Watch couldn¡¯t close the investigation it had the legal privilege of conducting without more than symbolic oversight from the Lord Rector. An admission of weakness in the middle of important negotiations with the same throne that¡¯d granted the privilege.


    ¡°Please do,¡± Lord Rector Evander shrugged. ¡°Though now that we are on this subject, it does bring a matter to mind.¡±


    ¡°I am all ears, Your Excellency.¡±


    ¡°Would I be wrong in understanding you¡¯ve an interest in skimmers?¡± he asked.


    Her hand clenched under the table. Of course he would have noticed that. It was hardly as if requesting books on the subject from the archives had been subtle. Maryam had simply not expected him to care, given how sparse the materials were. While no doubt the private archives had better volumes, it would have been an abuse of the given permission to use them for something other than their contract with the throne.


    ¡°As a Navigator, I must admit I¡¯ve a certain curiosity about them,¡± Maryam evenly replied.


    A cunning gleam behind those glasses.


    ¡°Then it should be no trouble at all to add you to the shipyard visit,¡± Evander Palliades said. ¡°Our first skimmer is being kept there, at the moment, so you could study it in some depths.¡±


    He paused.


    ¡°Besides, you¡¯ve mentioned looking for potential fissures in the aether like the one that allowed the assassin to enter the palace,¡± the Lord Rector added. ¡°It would be reassuring to establish whether or not such an opening exists in the shipyard as well, given its importance.¡±


    Shit, Maryam thought. He was a clever bastard, wasn¡¯t he? If it was only an excuse for her to get her hands all over the first skimmer she had seen built in her lifetime she would have declined, but it was a legitimate concern whether or not the assassin could get into that shipyard. And since the Antediluvian construction was supposed to be somewhere under the island, going so deep might yield some fresh insight about the brackstone shrines and what they held imprisoned.


    In a few sentences he¡¯d gotten her to want to go and given her good reasons to. Which made it all the more frustrating that they both knew the only reason he¡¯d offered was that it would mean she was gone for two days and Song would have to bring the reports during ¨C with Tristan currently gone and Tredegar a known face at court, there wasn¡¯t really another choice for it.


    Maryam resisted the urge to grit her teeth.


    ¡°I must consult with my captain, you understand,¡± she said.


    ¡°Of course,¡± he said, nodding. ¡°I will merely require an answer from you before the departure, which is the day after tomorrow.¡±


    At least he wasn¡¯t smug, Maryam thought. If he had been she would have held a grudge, because they both knew that whatever she¡¯d said just now she sure as Nav would be joining the delegation on that trip.


    --


    The trouble with this particular conspiracy was that it did not actually need to conspire all that much.


    Song nibbled at a meat skewer as she watched Lieutenant Shu Gong haggle with a street peddler over a necklace, admitting to herself that this one looked like another bust. The Peiling Society lieutenant had truly gone to the street markets of the southwestern ward to get a few trinkets, not out of any secret plan to contact the Nineteenth Brigade. It was the second time that following her out had yielded nothing, a cause of mounting frustration, but there was little she could do.


    Song, in principle, had names for most the local conspirators and accomplices of the Ivory Library: the whole of the Nineteenth Brigade, Sergeant Ledwaba, the ship called ¡®The Grinning Madcap¡¯. She even had knowledge of one more traitor, the mystery individual that Lieutenant Apurva had claimed was ¡®high up the ranks¡¯. Spying on these, separately and individually, was entirely achievable.


    Only Song had been forced to look elsewhere, because none of these conspirators actually needed to meet.


    Oh, she was nearly certain that Sergeant Ledwaba had met with the Nineteenth one time. Song had checked by attempting to arrange going for drinks with Captain Tozi on the first evening of leave that said sergeant was scheduled for. Tozi made excuses as to why she could not and her entire brigade was gone that evening for a span of two hours and change. Long enough to head to the safehouse, talk and return.


    That was not proof, but bribing a servant for gossip about that evening¡¯s leave among the delegation escorts had yielded two more pieces of information: the sergeant had not been with any of the other soldiers that night and that it was usually her habit to go drinking with her colleagues when she could. Still not proof, but an increasing number of pointed fingers.


    The trouble was that she¡¯d not been able to find out how Ledwaba called the meeting. There were too many ways for her to do it, and a great many of them subtle. Following her had proved too difficult, given how careful she was about being followed, so Song was forced to let her disappear in the Tratheke streets to avoid being discovered.


    After that initial discovered, Song had run into the wall of there no longer being contact between the conspirators. And why would there be? The Grinning Madcap was still in port, but until Tristan was grabbed there was no point in meeting with the Nineteenth save perhaps turning the screws on them. Lieutenant Apurva¡¯s death had made them too cautious to take such an unnecessary risk regularly, however, so Song was forced to take a different angle.


    If investigating neither the Nineteenth nor Sergeant Ledwaba would get her what she needed, she must get it from the mystery conspirator instead. The first obstacle there was that they were a member of the delegation, and thus not only of superior rank but certain to have their service records locked up tight ¨C lest Asphodel get to them and attempt to seize an advantage in the negotiations.


    Fortunately, Song had an in.


    With his niece gone to the country, Commander Osian Tredegar had freer hours. While the silver-eyed woman believed he might have accepted her request for a private conversation out of curiosity, she made clear it was Thirteenth business potentially involving Angharad to ensure he would. Song believed she had made a good impression on the man so far, and displayed the tolerance asked of her when it was needed. It was now time to collect on those investments.


    ¡°I need you,¡± she said, ¡°to obtain the service records of the rest of the delegation.¡±


    Commander Osian Tredegar frowned at her.


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°I have reason to believe one of them is conspiring with outside forces to hinder the Thirteenth¡¯s work,¡± Song said, shamelessly putting Angharad in the line of fire. ¡°Which of them is the traitor, however, is not yet clear.¡±


    The handsome older man drummed his fingers against the table.


    ¡°You think it could be Brigadier Chilaca,¡± Commander Tredegar stated.


    ¡°I cannot yet state it is not,¡± Song honestly replied.


    Gods, let it not be. Toppling a brigadier could not be anything but messy work.


    ¡°And if I were to ask about whether this has anything to do with Lieutenant Apurva going missing?¡± he probed.


    ¡°I have seen no evidence that it does,¡± Song replied.


    She could have simply lied, of course, but they would have both known those words for what they were. Offering a precisely phrased truth instead was not an attempt at deception but a mark of respect for Malani customs. The older man hummed.


    ¡°How bad?¡± he asked.


    ¡°It might make it all the way to the Conclave.¡±


    A sigh.


    ¡°Your brigade,¡± Commander Tredegar grunted, ¡°is almost violently unlucky.¡±


    Then he folded his arms across his chest.


    ¡°I cannot show you the papers without drawing attention,¡± he said. ¡°What I can do is read them myself and recite the information for you afterwards.¡±


    Not ideal, unless Osian Tredegar had perfect recall, but it would have to do. Song inclined her head.


    ¡°My thanks, Commander Tredegar.¡±


    ¡°None are needed,¡± he said. ¡°This is a favor, Captain Ren, and I intend to call it in before too long.¡±


    Song¡¯s jaw clenched but she nodded nonetheless. Hers was not a strong bargaining position.


    ¡°I will find you after evening meal,¡± the older man said. ¡°Try to find an excuse for it, as I expect it will take more than once for me to ferry all that knowledge to you.¡±


    It took three instances and floating a rumor that Song was trying to learn how to make rifle suited to her contract ¨C which was, in truth, something she would like ¨C before she had the whole slate of records writ down in her notes.


    The good news was that Brigadier Chilaca looked very unlikely to be a member of the Ivory Library.


    The bad news was that if the man wasn¡¯t up to his neck in bribes, Song would drink down her inkwell.


    Chilaca was a Stripe, though from what Captain Oratile had defined as the ¡®lower¡¯ track: he had worn the black for decades and risen up the ranks before being sent to the Academy for polishing. Looking at his postings before the Academy, it was clear he had mostly served as an in-between for free companies and Garrison forces serving in the same regions. He was noted to be a skilled mediator, apt at finding common ground between hostile officers.


    That at and what must be an impressive network of favors and friends had seen him recommended to the Academy.


    His rise afterwards had been, fast, if in brusque spurts. Preventing open war between two free companies at the border of Tianxia and the Someshwar had him promoted two full ranks, and his history was dotted with such heroic diplomatic feats. He was also, however, constantly moved around and there were three different recommendations he should not be allowed authority over supply details.


    Reading between the lines, Brigadier Chilaca was one of the Watch¡¯s finest diplomats but he couldn¡¯t seem to help himself skimming off the top and building patronage cliques, so the higher-ups kept him moving around to make the best of his skills while avoiding the worst of his sticky fingers.


    It went some way in explaining the mystery of why a man by the rank of brigadier, a post usually belonging to the commanding officer of a regional Garrison capital serving directly under a Marshal, was being used as a diplomat. Song would hazard a guess that he was a brigadier in name only, mostly so the rank would raise his diplomatic profile, while an officer theoretically his subordinate truly discharged the duties involved.


    The combination of Chilaca having friends all over Vesper and being eminently corrupt meant that, while he did not have the character of a man who would join a clannish faction like the Ivory Library, it was entirely possible he had been bribed by them to look away. In turn that meant Song would have to work around him until she had actionable proof, at which point he should turn on the Library ¨C else his reputation, and thus his value to the Watch, would plummet.


    Looking through the rest of the delegation, only two potential suspects stood out. The first was a Savant by the name of Shu Gong, a woman in her forties who had spent most of her career in research halls run by the Peiling Society. What made her stand out was the strong background in theological studies and the lack of Trebian Sea service for someone assigned to an important delegation on Asphodel. It smacked of someone pulling strings to get her a seat.


    Song was currently watching her badly barter over a glass necklace¡¯s price, which was admittedly not the height of conspiratorial activities.


    Aside from a general desire to unmask the traitors, Song would admit to hoping that Lieutenant Gong would be the culprit because the second suspect would be a lot more difficult to deal with: Captain Domingo Santos was Brigadier Chilaca¡¯s personal Navigator, assigned for the talks.


    While Akelarre service records were notoriously sparse ¨C in that regard second only to those of the Krypteia ¨C the man in question had served at two particular Watch fortresses on the Tower Coast of the Imperial Someshwar. Which seemed a minor detail, until one considered that Sergeant Ledwaba had served at the same fortresses at the same time. That could be a coincidence, admittedly.


    Captain Santos, however, had reportedly twice taken his leave at the Lordsport. Where the Grinning Madcap was awaiting its prisoner. That too could be coincidence ¨C a Navigator seeking the sea was not great twist, and there was an Akelerre chapterhouse in the port ¨C but the confluence of possible coincidences still had Santos as the leading suspect in her heart.


    Lieutenant Shu Gong¡¯s insistence on paying twice the going price for a gaudy necklace of false Asphodel glass beads was, unfortunately, leading Song¡¯s mind to the same conclusion reached by her heart.


    Spying on a Master of the Akelarre Guild was not something undertaken without due precautions, so Song finished off her skewer and left Lieutenant Gong to continue getting fleeced. She must concern her finest source of information, who coincidentally should be returning from the palace within the hour.


    Song sat her down for tea and snacks when she arrived, scrupulously refraining from asking anything about the Lord Rector, and asked Maryam what she would suggest should one intend to begin spying on Captain Santos.


    ¡°Don¡¯t get anywhere near his room, it¡¯s sure to be trapped, and try to get servants to do the spying for you,¡± Maryam opined. ¡°We¡¯re not quite due purging you of Gloam yet, but you¡¯re already getting noticeable to my logos - to a Master you¡¯d be like a bull hiding behind a curtain.¡±


    ¡°Flatteringly phrased,¡± Song reproached.


    It was, however, good to know that she stood out to the sixth sense of Navigators. It made tailing Captain Santos through a crowd much less feasible than she would have assumed.


    ¡°Well, if you want flattery I¡¯ve got something else for you,¡± Maryam happily said.


    Her Navigator then laid out the offer made by Evander Palliades, which had Song sighing. She had to accept, of course. Not only would Maryam sacrifice half of Malan at the altar for a good look at a skimmer, investigating the possible aether disturbances under the isle was a worthy use of her Navigator¡¯s time. Song had no good reason to refuse her save that it would mean returning to the palace herself, and that would be a terribly childish reason to do so.


    Was she some kind of wanton weathervane, to be at risk of succumbing to his charms against her own decision otherwise? No, Song could control herself. She could keep a professional distance, and if he tried otherwise she could make her stance on the matter clear and firm.


    ¡°Fine,¡± she sighed. ¡°Angharad should be returning either tonight or tomorrow, anyhow, if I need a second pair of hands I will not be alone.¡±


    Maryam grinned at her.


    ¡°Thanks, Song,¡± she said. ¡°I mean it.¡±


    The Tianxi waved her away. She would not have accepted was there not good reason for it.


    ¡°Any word from Tristan?¡± Maryam asked.


    ¡°Not since he reported getting hired by the Kassa,¡± Song said, keeping the terms vague. ¡°I expect that when there is progress he will send word.¡±


    He had left a message after finishing that burglary job for the Brazen Chariot, handing papers to Hage, and passed thanks along when she¡¯d written out Tozi Poloko¡¯s contract for him. He had not mentioned what his approach would be there, but she suspected she would be hearing of it soon. She had taken steps to ensure she would, which made it all the more important to keep her next appointment.


    Maryam squinted at her, sensing the turn in her mood.


    ¡°Ah,¡± she said. ¡°That¡¯s tonight?¡±


    Song nodded.


    ¡°Break a leg,¡± the signifier said, then sneered. ¡°Or preferably all of theirs.¡±


    There was a reason that Song had not invited Maryam to drinks with the Nineteenth.


    --


    They tried to learn Tristan¡¯s location within the first ten minutes, naturally, but when Song remained vague and hinted it might be the Lordsport they did not insist.


    Captain Tozi Poloko had taken her up on the offered drinks, if slightly late, and though the Izcalli¡¯s own Mask and Skiritai were otherwise occupied in the city she was still accompanied by Izel Coyac. Song had been prepared for an intricate dance of intrigue and lies, for the need to obfuscate as much as she could about what Tristan was up to while learning as much as she could about what the Nineteenth was doing, but that proved entirely unnecessary.


    Tozi had called for drinks mostly so she could rant about how awful her test was.


    ¡°I should have let you talk me into the cult investigation,¡± Captain Tozi darkly said. ¡°It has been nothing but dead ends for us.¡±


    ¡°I heard you¡¯ve been working with the lictors,¡± Song tried.


    The Izcalli sneered, fingers scratching at the stubble beginning to grow atop her head. She would need to shave her head again soon.


    ¡°For all the use they¡¯ve been,¡± Tozi said. ¡°The sum whole of their contribution has been leading us to fresh corpses and telling the locals it¡¯s the basileias that are responsible for the deaths.¡±


    Which explained, at least, why the capital wasn¡¯t teeming with rumors about some contracted killer running wild. Song had been wondering at the absence of such fearful talk.


    ¡°Which could be true, in their defense,¡± Izel noted.


    Tozi rolled her eyes.


    ¡°The deaths are too spread out,¡± she denied. ¡°And they¡¯re not helping any of their little crime families rise either.¡±


    Song sipped at her water.


    ¡°Have you found any pattern in the deaths?¡± she asked.


    ¡°More that we¡¯ve found what the pattern isn¡¯t,¡± Tozi sighed. ¡°It¡¯s not political, for one. Out of the twenty-two deaths there¡¯s been corpses both from supporters of the Trade Assembly and the Council of Ministers. It¡¯s not the basileias, either, because they avoid touching highborn and two of the dead have been minor nobles from outside Tratheke with no ties to anything in the city that we can find ¨C meaning they¡¯d be crossing a line for no profit.¡±


    ¡°Were they all public figures, then?¡± Song asked.


    That would be a pattern. And it occurred to her, not for the first time, that if the Nineteenth Brigade finished its investigation before Tristan returned from his infiltration, they might well be crammed onto a boat back to Tolomontera before they could make trouble.


    Song had not intention of sparing them the consequences of their treachery, but they would keep at Scholomance until the Ivory Library conspirators were handed off to the Krypteia to have every name squeezed out.


    ¡°I wondered the same,¡± Izel told her with a smile. ¡°But no, unfortunately. There are two dead that were largely unknown even locally, a minor shopkeeper and a day laborer.¡±


    ¡°The deaths are random, as far as we can tell,¡± Tozi sighed. ¡°Which makes them impossible to predict, and trying to track down our killer through boots on the ground hasn¡¯t been going well.¡±


    It would, given that Tratheke was a sprawling city even if large swaths of it were empty. A cabal of four to sniff out a killer gone to ground would have its work cut out for it.


    ¡°We can¡¯t even tell how the murderer gets there,¡± Izel said. ¡°The last death was on the third floor of an edifice, behind two locked doors and with at least ten possible witnesses on the way up. There was no sign of forced entry, and as with every death it took only one blow.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re a damn ghost,¡± Tozi bit out. ¡°Probably a man, going by the height and strength, but the killing blows weren¡¯t dealt by a blade. They cut through bone and metal jewelry alike they¡¯re made of paper.¡±


    ¡°So a contract to sneak in and another to make the kill,¡± Song noted. ¡°Or at least a contract with an effect that can serve for purposes.¡±


    ¡°Or a contract to sneak in and some Antediluvian weapon to strike,¡± Izel opined. ¡°The First Empire did leave arms behind, though precious few, and the entire capital is an Antediluvian treasure trove.¡±


    ¡°Izel has a favorite theory, as you can probably tell,¡± Tozi drily said. ¡°Not that it¡¯s getting us any closer to catching our target.¡±


    The larger Aztlan rolled his eyes.


    ¡°Tozi thinks believes we are dealing, if not quite with a Saint, with someone whose contract is consuming their mind,¡± Izel told her. ¡°It would be why there is no recognizable pattern for the kills, the reasons being followed are not a human¡¯s.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯d explain that contract being so powerful, too,¡± Tozi insisted.


    ¡°It would also mean that the killer is far down the journey to sainthood,¡± Song slowly said. ¡°Should they reach the destination¡­¡±


    ¡°It would get ugly,¡± the other captain grunted. ¡°Very ugly. I¡¯m entirely aware an hourglass has been flipped, Song.¡±


    ¡°You do not seem overly worried,¡± she observed.


    The other two shared a look.


    ¡°We have some notion of how we might trap someone ridden by their god,¡± Izel finally said.


    ¡°Gods can be easier to trick, if they¡¯re hungry enough,¡± Tozi said. ¡°It¡¯s just a matter of setting out the right bait.¡±


    ¡°My best wishes,¡± Song said, raising her cup.


    She meant it, too. The Nineteenth would need to be disbanded and severely punished, but she would not root for some god-blessed madman against them. They were still doing Watch work well in need of being done. The conversation did not last long after that, the pair both tired, and after Izel excused himself to the latrines Captain Tozi stayed only long enough to finish her cup before retiring for the night.


    Song found out the hour and decided it was late enough Angharad was unlikely to arrive tonight, electing to retire as well. She could use the sleep. Only she was intercepted in the hall before the stairs up, the dimmed lamps of the hallway a soft surrender to the dark.


    ¡°Captain Song. A word, if you please?¡±


    Song fought not to tense when she saw Izel waiting at the end of the hall, arms folded and face serious. No, even if they suspected her they would not strike at her in Black House.


    ¡°Of course,¡± she said.


    The tall Izcalli waited until she was close to lean in, lowering his voice.


    ¡°I have come across information that the same organization that tried to abduct Tristan Abrascal on Tolomontera has a presence on Asphodel,¡± he whispered. ¡°He needs to be very careful, wherever he is, else they might grab him off the street.¡±


    Song¡¯s eyes narrowed at him. What exactly is your game here, Izel Coyac?


    ¡°The Ivory Library,¡± she said, testing the air. ¡°You know of them?¡±


    He hesitated, then nodded.


    ¡°I hear they research contracts,¡± Izel said. ¡°They have ties to some of the great nobles of Izcalli, among others, and I know for a fact that my father made deals with them during the Sordan War.¡±


    Implying that was how he had heard of them, and not by dint of being their hireling. And giving me a first glimpse of why you are working for them when you keep expressing qualms, Song thought. Some debts followed you into the Watch, and while Song would offer the man no sympathy she could spare a single speck of pity.


    ¡°My thanks for the warning,¡± she said. ¡°I will take measures to protect him.¡±


    He looked relieved, passing a hand through the stubble atop his head.


    ¡°I¡¯ve not shared this with anyone in the Nineteenth, so there is no cause for worry of a leak,¡± he said. ¡°I thought it best kept quiet between us.¡±


    He thought it best that his fellow traitors did not know he was sabotaging them, he meant. Still, Song put on a thankful smile and nodded and sent him on his way before anyone could see them talk. She was silent all the way up, lost in her thoughts.


    It occurred to her that perhaps she was going about this the wrong way after all. She had been planning to unearth the Ivory Library traitors to deal with the Nineteenth, but it was beginning to look as if leveraging the brigade to dig out the traitors might be more feasible.


    And she knew exactly where to start.


    --


    Song Ren woke in the early hours in the morning to someone knocking at her door. Thoroughly disgruntled, she threw on a robe and padded to the door with a pistol in hand. Just in case. Ready to snarl until her tormentor went away, she was given pause when on the other side was not a servant but a familiar face.


    ¡°Angharad,¡± she got out, blinking in surprise.


    A moment while her brain caught up. The Pereduri nodded, looking faintly apologetic.


    ¡°I thought you¡¯d arrive tomorrow.¡±


    ¡°I paid the coachman to ride through a few hours of night instead,¡± Angharad Tredegar replied, pulling at her creased traveling dress.


    The noblewoman cleared her throat.


    ¡°Apologies for waking you,¡± she said, ¡°but I thought you want to know as soon as possible.¡±


    Song cocked her head to the side in silent invitation.


    ¡°The cult of the Golden Ram has tried to recruit me,¡± Angharad told her.


    And just like that, Song was entirely awake.


    ¡°More than that, they offered a bribe,¡± she continued.


    Angharad produced a small object wrapped in worn paper, still warm from having been carried against her body, and at the other woman¡¯s invitation Song unwrapped it. For a moment she saw she was seeing wrong, for this could not possibly be, but her eyes did not lie.


    Song went very, very still.


    ¡°Gods,¡± she hoarsely said. ¡°Do you know what that is?¡±


    ¡°I was told it is a taste of what the Golden Ram can offer,¡± Angharad replied. ¡°That it would heal me for a span of eight hours should I consume it. Why, is it harmful?¡±


    ¡°Worse,¡± Song said. ¡°That, Angharad, is a god¡¯s blood.¡±


    The ichor of a god manifest.


    And not, as far as Song Ren, something that gods ever gave willingly.

 Chapter 56

    They skipped Black House¡¯s communal breakfast, instead bothering the servants for simpler fare served directly in Song¡¯s room. There were only two chairs in there, so Maryam brought her own before locking the door behind her. By common accord ¨C and to Angharad¡¯s relief - the three of them finished breaking their fast before getting into the report about her activities in the country.


    Angharad laid it all out for them. The ambush laid by the Varochas and how it had made her stumble into a carriage full of armaments, the cyphered journal she had found and was now handing over to Song. How some eeriness in the hills was driving lemures closer and closer to the capital and then what she had learned about the ties of House Eirenos to both Lord Menander Drakos and Lord Gule ¨C as well as the ancient correspondence she had copied.


    It was after that the hesitation caught up, but Angharad had spent the entire ride back to the capital debating what honor demanded of her. There was no denying what was owed to the Thirteenth and the Watch.


    ¡°The Lefthand House then charged me with attending Lord Menander¡¯s evening to ascertain if he has in his possession an artifact that should, by the description, be an infernal forge.¡±


    Maryam looked like she had half a dozen things to say, the word a cluttering chaos in her mouth, but Song gestured for her to stay silent before asking Angharad to finish. Dutifully, she added how afterwards the Malani ambassador had offered to initiate her into the cult of the Golden Ram, promising healing and a position at his side after the success of the coup by the Council of Ministers to put Minister Floros on the throne.


    ¡°But he did not say, at any point, that Apollonia Floros is a member of the Golden Ram?¡± Song pressed.


    Angharad shook her head.


    ¡°The cult intends to rule through her,¡± she clarified. ¡°I believe it implied she is not one of them.¡±


    There was a long moment of silence after that.


    ¡°So in summary,¡± Maryam finally said, ¡°the fuse on the powder keg under our buttocks is a lot shorter than we first figured, and already lit to boot.¡±


    ¡°I greatly mislike the shape things are taking,¡± Song murmured, then shook her head.


    Silver eyes turned on Angharad, who sat as ramrod straight as she could without hurting her back.


    ¡°But first this much must be said,¡± Song said. ¡°You did exceedingly well on your investigation, Angharad. You should be commended for that.¡±


    The noblewoman coughed into her hand, faintly embarrassed. She had not expected the praise.


    ¡°My thanks for the compliment.¡±


    To the Pereduri¡¯s surprise, Maryam nodded.


    ¡°You took a hit to your reputation for the good of the contract,¡± she said. ¡°I honestly didn¡¯t believe you had it in you.¡±


    A short pause, then Maryam inclined her head almost apologetically.


    ¡°I am pleased to have been wrong.¡±


    Angharad generously decided to take that as the compliment it was probably meant to be. Song¡¯s gaze went distant as she stared at the wall, trying to piece things together. The Pereduri almost fancied she could hear the furious scribbling of a steel tip on paper as the Tianxi put it all in order and drew lines. Best to leave her to it, she thought.


    ¡°There is one last matter,¡± Angharad coughed. ¡°Largely personal, though it might end up relevant so I must mention it.¡±


    Maryam leaned in, eyes narrowed.


    ¡°Oh, gods,¡± she grinned. ¡°You fucked his mother, didn¡¯t you?¡±


    Angharad looked away from those gleeful blue eyes.


    ¡°Lady Penelope and I happened to share an intimate moment,¡± she stressed, ¡°at the end of which I found a way to access the safe by using my contract. I would not have thought to do so without your help in learning how my visions function, Maryam, so you have my thanks.¡±


    ¡°Oh, you¡¯re not going to get out of this by tossing a compliment my way,¡± Maryam said, cackling like a hyena. ¡°Angharad Tredegar, conqueror of widows. You are never going to live that down.¡±


    ¡°It has since occurred to me,¡± Angharad defensively replied, ¡°that the liaison in question might have been intended by her.¡±


    Now that she was no longer so preoccupied with the delicious body filling that evening wear, Angharad could spare a thought as to how Lady Penelope could have chosen to cover that very flattering nightrobe with a dressing gown and pointedly had not. The seduction of that evening had, alas, not been of Angharad¡¯s own design. Not that she was complaining.


    The sound of a sigh wrenched her away from still-grinning Maryam, Song eyeing her with something like polite disappointment.


    ¡°Given everything else you accomplished, I will forget I heard that,¡± the captain said. ¡°I expect you were discreet?¡±


    ¡°Very,¡± Angharad assured her.


    Lady Penelope no more wanted the matter to get out than she did, there was no reason to believe it would spread.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to take that from Song, Angharad,¡± Maryam noted. ¡°She brought Evander Palliades to a brothel and booked a room just for the two of them.¡±


    Angharad¡¯s eyes widened in surprise while a flustered Song turned a hard look on their colleague.


    ¡°Don¡¯t phrase it like that,¡± Song hissed. ¡°It was an investigation, Angharad. There was another brackstone shrine in the basement.¡±


    Angharad squinted at the Tianxi.


    ¡°There is no shame in taking a lover of higher rank,¡± she assured Song. ¡°You need not fear I would believe you grasp-¡±


    ¡°We can do this another day, or preferably never,¡± Song flatly replied. ¡°We should instead see to matters of actual import, like the fact that the cult of the Golden Ram is no such thing: gods do not distribute their ichor like party favors.¡±


    Ah, that. Tempting as the promise of even temporary healing was, Angharad had surrendered the wrapped ichor to Song. She intended to have it investigated by a specialist.


    ¡°You saw at least one boon at court that was right up the Golden Ram¡¯s alley, though,¡± Maryam pointed out. ¡°That speaks to the existence of some accord with the god.¡±


    ¡°There is no telling how old that boon was,¡± Angharad said. ¡°It could have begun as a genuine cult, then turned into something crueler.¡±


    ¡°I have a hard time believing a pack of nobles from Asphodel would have the skill to keep a god locked up in some basement and bled without the help of another god,¡± Song said.


    ¡°You believe another cult took over the Golden Ram¡¯s,¡± Angharad mused, following the implication. ¡°There is precedent for that, I¡¯ll grant.¡±


    Some cult of the Hated One had pretended they were followers of the Golden Ram, back in the days of that great Asphodelian civil war.


    ¡°It could be a cult to any god,¡± Song grimly said. ¡°In the palace it was Oduromai I saw grant the most contracts, but he does not seem to fit the scheme. We need to look into the local gods again.¡±


    ¡°Back to the archives for me, then,¡± Maryam drily said.


    Song inclined her head.


    ¡°I will accompany you,¡± she said. ¡°But yes, that would be most helpful. There is no guarantee we will find anything, however, which means Angharad¡¯s approach is the most important.¡±


    ¡°You want me to go along with Lord Gule¡¯s recruitment,¡± Angharad said.


    ¡°It is our best chance at putting a name to the leadership element of the cult,¡± Song said. ¡°That means, unfortunately, investigating that infernal forge for the ambassador.¡±


    Angharad¡¯s pulse quickened. She licked her lips. That was¡­ In the chaos of the cult being purged from the capital, it should not be impossible for an infernal forge to disappear from Menander Drakos¡¯ grasp. From there she could bargain with Imani or Jabulani. I could kill Imani, rid the Watch of her, and strike a more favorable bargain with Jabulani. There were possibilities, a line to walk. One that would lead to her father¡¯s freedom without betraying the Watch.


    She must speak with Uncle Osian soon.


    ¡°Then I will do so,¡± Angharad said.


    Firm nods from the other two before Song sighed and tugged her flawlessly placed collar ¡®back¡¯ into place.


    ¡°How Lord Menander obtained that infernal forge is the most interesting part,¡± the silver-eyed woman said. ¡°Given the other pieces of information you brought us, it seems to me that Menander Drakos has spent the last decade trying to find a path into the Antediluvian shipyard and quite clearly succeeded.¡±


    Angharad blinked.


    ¡°The infernal forge could have been a gift by the Lord Rector,¡± she slowly said. ¡°Presumably made without knowledge of what the object truly is, but¡­¡±


    ¡°No, I see what she¡¯s getting at,¡± Maryam muttered. ¡°When I dug into those Tratheke land records, a while back, I found out from the confiscations done by Hector Lissenos that House Drakos used to own almost a quarter of the capital. Mostly in the northwestern ward.¡±


    ¡°I do not see the link,¡± Angharad admitted.


    ¡°Hector Lissenos dug beneath the capital to hide his backstone shrines, if we¡¯re right,¡± Maryam said. ¡°What if the Drakos did too, out in that ward they controlled?¡±


    ¡°You suspect they found passage to the shipyard,¡± Angharad said, frowning as she followed along their beaten paths. ¡°One that begins in Tratheke and that neither the Lissenos nor the Palliades after them ever learned about.¡±


    ¡°Hector Lissenos ran House Drakos out of the city,¡± Song said. ¡°They were barely even a noble house for a few generations afterwards, it took the better part of two hundred years to claw back some influence.¡±


    ¡°Then why Lord Menander¡¯s interest in the Lissenos maps and papers he obtained from House Eirenos?¡± Angharad asked. ¡°They were digging in the wrong ward.¡±


    ¡°Two hundred years is a long time to keep a secret that might be too dangerous to risk putting to paper,¡± Maryam said. ¡°It may be the Drakos remembered there is a path, but not where it was.¡±


    Or that the papers had been lost, Angharad thought. All it took was a spill or a fire, should there be a single copy.


    ¡°So he sought Lissenos maps and papers to find that passage again,¡± Angharad murmured. ¡°If he¡¯d had access to the private archives he could have used the same records Maryam did, but even if could get permission it would have been too noticeable.¡±


    Maryam had complained that the archivists tried to track every book she borrowed. The Lord Rector¡¯s interest would have been caught by Menander Drakos consulting papers about the old properties of his house.


    ¡°I think Menander Drakos has been able to access that shipyard for longer the Palliades have, if by a narrower route,¡± Song said, ¡°and that he looted the place for everything he can feasibly get away with. Including that infernal forge.¡±


    A heady prize, that. Angharad wondered if he considered it too dangerous to sell or he had no notion of what it was, for surely there would be no lack of buyers for an infernal forge.


    ¡°The forge isn¡¯t our problem beyond Angharad reporting its presence to establish her name with the cult,¡± Maryam opined. ¡°Once we¡¯ve confirmed its existence it¡¯s a concern for officers much higher up the ladder. Let the Watch grab it, or everybody else get in trouble trying to.¡±


    Song, perhaps driven to take petty revenge for earlier, turned a look of pedantic superiority on the Izvorica.


    ¡°Hell is also allowed to own forges, under the Iscariot Accords, so long as they are kept within the walls of Pandemonium.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a loophole and you know it,¡± Maryam sneered.


    ¡°Of course it is, Maryam,¡± Song condescendingly smiled back.


    Angharad cleared her throat.


    ¡°While I do not disagree that beyond reporting a forge¡¯s potential presence there is no need for the Thirteenth to be involved,¡± she said, speaking precisely, ¡°the plot to overthrow Lord Rector Evander has now become our concern.¡±


    If the conspiracy to overthrow House Palliades involved the cult, then that conspiracy became part of their contract with the throne.


    ¡°You have testimony from a cultist that the cult is behind the intended coup,¡± Song agreed. ¡°By the writ of our contract we now have to inform the Lord Rector of the conspiracy whatever Brigadier Chilaca might want.¡±


    Angharad detected the slightest undertone of satisfaction there. Then she grimaced.


    ¡°It would be standard protocol to consult with him on how that revelation should be approached, however.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t expect he¡¯ll be too much trouble to convince. It¡¯ll look bad for the Watch if the Lord Rector learns we sat on a plot to his life for a while,¡± Maryam said.


    ¡°I do not understand why Brigadier Chilaca has done so,¡± Angharad admitted. ¡°Would it not help in the negotiations for Evander Palliades to owe the Watch a favor?¡±


    Song passed a hand through her hair.


    ¡°I do not agree with the decision, but it is not senseless,¡± she said. ¡°The crux of the conflict is that the Watch will want to restrict sales of skimmers to maintain the balance of power in the Trebian Sea, while House Palliades urgently needs to fill its coffers if it is to survive the decade.¡±


    ¡°Because Tianxia would act aggressively if it had a skimmer war fleet,¡± Angharad said, tone carefully neutral.


    ¡°Because the Watch had spent the last two centuries ensuring that no single power can control Trebian Sea trade, which is our order¡¯s lifeblood,¡± Song corrected. ¡°A resurgent Sacromonte with imperial ambitions would be just as dangerous, or even Izcalli being strong enough at sea to forcefully continue pushing eastwards into Old Liergan.¡±


    Maryam pointedly cleared her throat.


    ¡°Tianxia has the wealth, sailing expertise and physical proximity that would give it reason and opportunity to make the attempt,¡± Song conceded. ¡°They are certainly courting Asphodel the most aggressively of the great powers.¡±


    She shrugged.


    ¡°That is why the Lord Rector has repeatedly put off the Watch¡¯s attempts to inspect the shipyard, seizing upon every excuse to do so,¡± Song continued. ¡°Once our orders has an understanding of what those shipyards can do, they can set terms and begin pressuring the Lord Rector to adhere to restrictions. Lord Rector Evander does not currently have the strength to refuse the Watch, should it exercise its full diplomatic might against him.¡±


    It seemed to Angharad that the Watch would be wise to do so, but it was not the most salient detail here.


    ¡°So the Lord Rector is attempting to obtain foreign backing first,¡± Angharad said. ¡°To strike a deal with Tianxia so that they will support him against the Watch afterwards.¡±


    He had been very lucky, then, that some mugging gone wrong for a member of the delegation allowed him to push back that visit. Else by the time Angharad returned from the country word of the shipyard¡¯s capacity would likely have reached the Rookery as well as whatever committee the Conclave had granted authority over this affair.


    ¡°It is a ploy that Brigadier Chilaca is entirely aware of, which is why he¡¯s said nothing of the brewing coup,¡± Song continued. ¡°From the perspective of the Watch, if an emboldened Lord Rector refuses to make terms it is better to allow the coup to take place and negotiate with a weaker replacement who will naturally be at odds with the powers that previously backed the Palliades.¡±


    Angharad cocked her head to the side. That was a ruthless approach, but it was not dishonorable or senseless. It was also not within her means to influence, nor was it her duty to do so. Brigadier Chilaca¡¯s maneuverings were none of her business.


    ¡°But withholding the information is no longer possible, given the circumstances,¡± she observed.


    Song nodded.


    ¡°To identify the leadership ring of the cult is our contracted duty, so Chilaca will have no room to complain. We are only beginning, besides. There are more names to obtain before we can be said to have completed our task.¡±


    ¡°Normally we could squeeze the unmasked cultist for more names, but Lord Gule can¡¯t be arrested on the word of single blackcloak,¡± Maryam sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. ¡°We don¡¯t have proof that¡¯d hold up to the storm that imprisoning an ambassador of Malan would cause.¡±


    She sounded, the Pereduri thought, perhaps a little too disappointed by that.


    ¡°Then I continue my investigation of their society,¡± Angharad said. ¡°Until we have a name we can act on.¡±


    Their captain nodded in agreement.


    ¡°Meanwhile I will be digging into the ciphered journal you obtained,¡± Song said. ¡°And the letters too. That is, possibly, another way to fulfill our contract: if we find the physical preparations for the coup, we can grab cultists there.¡±


    ¡°Is there still a physical trail to follow?¡± Angharad asked. ¡°The warehouse led to no further findings and the leads at court are a dead end ¨C and now that we know the cultists there have refrained from taking suspicious boons on purpose, it seems to me that they have hidden deeply enough catching their tail will be difficult.¡±


    ¡°If Gule¡¯s so sure the assassin wasn¡¯t from the cult, there¡¯s no need for Tristan to look into the Kassa warehouse where she took refuge,¡± Maryam noted. ¡°We could recall him, plan together for the next step.¡±


    ¡°We only know that Lord Gule does not believe the assassin to have struck on behalf of the Golden Ram,¡± Song pointed out, to which Angharad approvingly nodded. ¡°I would rather Tristan follow that trail to its end. Besides, Black House is not safe for him.¡±


    Angharad blinked in surprise at that, getting a shake of the head from Maryam who mouthed that she¡¯d explain later. Song drummed her fingers against the side of the chair.


    ¡°Maryam, when you visit the shipyard I need you to find out if there¡¯s a feasible way for Lord Menander to be getting into it, or at least evidence suggesting he has,¡± Song said. ¡°If you find either, then we can safely say he was not looking for the brackstone shrines by buying up the Eirenos papers. I would prefer to rule that out before we start making moves we can¡¯t take back.¡±


    The pale woman nodded.


    ¡°If I am to remain in Lord Menander¡¯s good graces, I will need to make appearances in society,¡± Angharad told them. ¡°Something to make up for my ruined reputation in the country.¡±


    ¡°Then we¡¯ll arrange those,¡± Song said. ¡°I have something else I need of you, but we can discuss that later.¡±


    ¡°And you?¡± Maryam asked her.


    ¡°If I thought the Brazen Chariot could be trusted to make inquiries on our behalf I would,¡± Song grimaced, ¡°but they cannot. If we are to catch the cult through the coup it supports, then I will need to reach out to someone else that can help us down in the streets.¡±


    Song Ren sighed.


    ¡°It is time, I¡¯m afraid, to have a second chat with the Yellow Earth.¡±


    --


    It was easier than Song had feared to get a private meeting with Brigadier Chilaca.


    It was not yet eight in the morning yet when she was ushered in by armed blackcloaks into one of the private solars Black House kept for the use of visiting officers, the door firmly closed behind her. It was not her first time meeting the brigadier, but she was still startled by the oddity of his looks. He had typical Aztlan features, a broad face with a flat nose and large ears, but he was almost skeletally thin beneath the neck. It made him look somewhat like a lantern hung on a stick. Chilaca was not ugly, not exactly, but he looked quite peculiar.


    ¡°Sit,¡± the officer ordered, gesturing as the seat across his desk. ¡°With Angharad Tredegar¡¯s return, I expect you have news for me.¡±


    Song suppressed her irritation. The man was in no way entitled to receiving reports from the Thirteenth Brigade, which was a Scholomance cabal out on contract, but the increasing intertwining of his mandate as the leading Watch diplomat on Asphodel and the Thirteenth¡¯s investigation meant she had to report to him with unpleasant regularity anyway. Still, she sat. There was nothing else for it.


    He offered no refreshments and she asked for none.


    Laying out their latest findings, that a cult was behind the brewing coup and that the Malani ambassador was a member of it, did not take overlong. Chilaca did not interrupt, waiting until she had finished to ask a few clarifying questions. He had passing interest in the nature of the cult, Song only grasping why after a moment.


    ¡°It could be argued that you fulfilled your contract by proving there is no such thing as the cult of the Golden Ram,¡± Brigadier Chilaca said. ¡°It is not an insensible interpretation, I think.¡±


    In other words, he was willing to back the Thirteenth¡¯s contract having been ¡®fulfilled¡¯ if it meant sending her brigade back to Tolomontera where he would no longer trip all over their investigation while negotiating with the throne. It was an opening position and Song was certain she could have reached for the likes of a commendation or flattering reports, but she had no intention of going down that road. Chilaca did not run Scholomance, the Obscure Committee did.


    Song doubted they would be impressed by the Thirteenth ducking out of its test at the first offered bribe.


    ¡°The name given to the cult is not the crux of the contract,¡± Song simply replied.


    He clicked his tongue, disappointed but unsurprised.


    ¡°This is a complication,¡± the brigadier said. ¡°Our own investigation into the coup did not hint at any Malani involvement.¡±


    Song stilled.


    ¡°Your own investigation?¡±


    The dark-eyed man frowned at her.


    ¡°You gave us credible evidence of a conspiracy that might potentially harm Watch interests,¡± he said. ¡°I put the Krypteia on it the same day, Captain Song. Did you think I would simply ignore it?¡±


    Song, to her mild shame, had thought exactly that.


    ¡°I was unaware of the investigation, sir,¡± she replied instead.


    ¡°There was no reason to keep you informed,¡± the Izcalli flatly said. ¡°We had, at that time, no evidence that the conspiracy had ties to the cult.¡±


    He leaned back into his seat, face gone severe.


    ¡°The Krypteia found three more warehouses that he men or materials and we believe there might be as many as seven hundred soldiers currently hiding in the capital.¡±


    He drummed his fingers against the desk.


    ¡°Assuming at least half the capital nobles side with the coup and support it with their retinues, we could be looking at a force of between fifteen to eighteen hundred striking by surprise.¡±


    Song swallowed. That was more than she had anticipated.


    ¡°If they can seize the lift into the palace, they will be able to sweep the lictor garrison there,¡± she said.


    She knew their numbers were no more than three hundred, having personally cleared them with her contract, though given Prefect Nestor¡¯s rumblings of needing more hands more might have been brought in from the city.


    ¡°That is our assessment as well,¡± Brigadier Chilaca said. ¡°We thought them unlikely to succeed, but Lord Gule¡¯s involvement changes things. The man has access to the palace and can call on resources like the Lefthand House. It is entirely feasible they will succeed, though their success will still depend heavily on the element of surprise.¡±


    ¡°Meaning that informing the Lord Rector strongly tips the balance his way,¡± Song observed.


    The older man nodded.


    ¡°Which is why Evander Palliades will not be told anything until the shipyard visit takes place and the Watch¡¯s negotiating position has been determined,¡± he said.


    In other words, Brigadier Chilaca did not want Evander Palliades to be tipped off if it was in the best interests of the Watch to have him removed by the coup. Song gritted her teeth.


    ¡°Given the nature of our contract with the throne, it could be taken as dereliction of duty not to inform him,¡± Song replied.


    ¡°There is no mention of regular reports in your contract,¡± Brigadier Chilaca noted. ¡°I should know, I had a copy pulled.¡±


    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    It would have been hypocrisy to be irritated by that after having illegally accessed the delegation service records. Song was, thus, a bit of a hypocrite.


    ¡°The client has requested them,¡± she shot back.


    The Izcalli considered her for a moment.


    ¡°I could make it an order,¡± he said.


    ¡°I am not your subordinate,¡± Song coldly replied. ¡°And you have already interfered with the Thirteenth Brigade¡¯s contracted duties repeatedly.¡±


    She let it hang, unsaid, that further encroachment would result in formal complaints to the Obscure Committee. A man with his connections would be able to bury that, they both knew. But it would also have it put on paper that he had effectively arranged for the assassination of the Lord Rector of Asphodel, which was a dangerous thing to have known about you.


    Brigadier Chilaca stared her down, then suddenly snorted.


    ¡°What do you want?¡± he asked. ¡°I know a bargaining position when I see one.¡±


    Song swallowed her grimace. He had read her right: it would be difficult for her to truly dig in her heels if the sum whole of the request made of her was to delay her reports by a few days. Even Wen was likely to order her to obey that. She only had so much leverage, and much as part of her wanted Evander to survive this she had higher responsibilities.


    ¡°I need amnesty paper for a member of my cabal,¡± Song said. ¡°Pre-signed, the name left empty.¡±


    The last part she had added purely to throw him off, and from the way his eyes tightened it had worked.


    ¡°What are you going to order your cabalist to do, Captain Ren?¡± the brigadier softly asked.


    ¡°Something that breaks the laws of the Watch,¡± she replied. ¡°But is necessary nonetheless.¡±


    ¡°You know amnesty papers can be contested,¡± Brigadier Chilaca told her. ¡°Abuse of them will be brought to the Conclave.¡±


    The last thing they¡¯ll want is to bring this to the Conclave, Song thought.


    ¡°I am aware,¡± Song replied.


    Brigadier Chilaca looked at her again, then nodded.


    ¡°Then I will draft one immediately.¡±


    Song did not smile, for this was a betrayal. Yet it was also the very opposite, because that amnesty was not for something yet to be done. It was to wipe the slate clean on the killing of Lieutenant Apurva when the Thirteenth came forward with the evidence about the Ivory Library.


    Tristan ought to pleased, wherever he was: he had just gotten away with murder.


    --


    With Angharad whisked away by her uncle and Maryam requisitioned by the shipyard delegation so she might be schooled in the proper behavior by the diplomats, Song took a moment to ensure the message she had sent to the Tianxi embassy had gotten there before turning to her next task.


    A duty she was rather looking forward to: vivisecting a cipher to peer at the secrets hidden behind it.


    She settled in her room with a pot of tea and a polite request for the Black House servant to keep bringing fresh ones, cracking open the journal that Angharad had found for her. As the noblewoman had mentioned it was a mix of nonsense, numbers and Cycladic-seeming words.


    Song could not read Cycladic, but she did not need to: Black House had a well-furnished library containing books on the language. It soon became clear that whoever had designed the cipher was no more fluent in the tongue than she was, anyhow. The few bits of sentence used were spelled without any regard to singulars and plurals, or even the tense of verbs. That made things simpler.


    She was not looking at a Cycladic cipher, she suspected, but a cipher made using a Cycladic dictionary.


    It took her a little under two hours to establish that it was not anything too complex, only a camouflaged substitution cipher. The first letter of every word in Cycladic was to be replaced by the next one in the traditional twenty-eight letter sequence of the Cycladic alphabet, all of them corresponding to the first letter of the twelve Asphodelian months. The other words were, she rather more easily grasped, all the first letter of the Cycladic terms for ¡®powder¡¯, ¡®sphere¡¯ or ¡®stick¡¯.


    Gunpowder, cannon balls or muskets.


    The first numbers next to the words were the date of arrival or departure for the goods being smuggled into Tratheke, though that took some work to figure out ¨C the actual dates had to be figured out by subtracting the written numbers from one hundred, Song put together after another hour of tearing through books on ciphers. The second sets of numbers appeared to be weighted quantities of the goods being brought in.


    The part she could not solve was the nonsense symbols sprinkled all over the records. Sometimes alone, sometimes two in a row and once even three in a line. Her best guess was that they represented people, either those shipping the goods or paying for them. Or perhaps a destination inside Tratheke? There was only so much she could deduce with what she had.


    The picture painted was, well, troubling. Song sat in the candlelight with the best maps of Tratheke Valley and the surrounding mountains she had been able to obtain, estimating distances using the roads, and the conclusion was plain: the guns and powder were coming from inside the valley.


    Given the periods of time marked down, the smuggled armaments could not be coming from the mountains. The roads were not good enough for the numbers to make sense if that was the case, and while Song could change the sum being subtracted from the ensuing results were then all much too long or much too short. Which meant somewhere out in Tratheke Valley there was a hidden workshop producing gunpowder and cheap muskets for what appeared to be the sole purpose of smuggling arms into the capital.


    And there was something off about that. The plotters as described by Angharad were not united enough to keep this large a common endeavor quiet, and how could Evander have missed a band of noble houses setting up an arms workshop in his own backyard? Song did not know much about blackpowder production in Asphodel, however, so she sought out someone who did.


    ¡°Nobles didn¡¯t build that,¡± Captain Wen Duan bluntly said, closing his book.


    He looked interested enough to be giving her his full attention.


    ¡°How are you so certain?¡± Song asked.


    ¡°Because there¡¯s only two sources of sufficiently pure sulfur on Asphodel,¡± he said. ¡°One¡¯s out west, near the tip of the island, under the shared ownership of four noble houses who run a powder workshop. The other is on the eastern rim of Tratheke Valley and owned by the crown. The vast majority of that latter sulfur is used to make the blackpowder for the royal fleet.¡±


    And as sulfur was one of the main ingredients of black powder, a workshop dedicated to its production could not be founded without having secured a steady supply.


    ¡°So the sulfur used for this phantom workshop must be imported,¡± Song frowned.


    ¡°And it¡¯s not the nobles who run trade fleets, or who have the Lordsport connections to smuggle in something as tightly watched as sulfur,¡± Captain Wen said. ¡°This is the work of the Trade Assembly, or at least a few members of it.¡±


    ¡°But that¡¯s absurd,¡± Song protested. ¡°Why would the Trade Assembly be smuggling powder into the capital so their sworn enemies can employ in a coup?¡±


    The criminals of the Brazen Chariot had mentioned that blackpowder was going for a fortune on the black market, but the amount of powder being brought into Tratheke could not possibly be used for anything but violence. The merchants bringing it into the capital, if skilled enough to build an entire arms workshop in the valley unseen, could not be fools enough not to realize this.


    Wen shrugged.


    ¡°Nobles get started somewhere, Song,¡± he pointed out.


    Her eyes narrowed.


    ¡°You think they were promised elevation to nobility,¡± she said.


    ¡°Some houses are going to be wiped out during the coup, if it goes through,¡± Captain Wen noted, cracking his book open again. ¡°Raising a few magnates to the nobility to replace them will do a great deal to stabilize the aftermath of the violence.¡±


    A disgusting notion, that some of Asphodel¡¯s leading figures would betray their own to side with yiwu. Disgusting but not unbelievable. She had been raised to tales about how the elites of newly-liberated Jiushen ¨C the Lost Eleventh ¨C had betrayed the Republics and their own people by opening the city gates to an imperial army in exchange for special privileges.


    Traitors could always be found, even when there were no war banners on the horizon.


    Not so much disbelieving as discomforted, Song returned to her rooms and set aside that part of the journal. She turned instead to the correspondence Angharad had dutifully transcribed, grateful that the dark-skinned woman had a fine hand. It would have made it a great chore to read her words otherwise.


    By all appearances this was nothing more than an exchange of letters between Lord Rector Hector Lissenos and his mistress, only known as ¡®C. E.¡¯, and the contents were a mixture of the literary and the lurid. Hector Lissenos had enjoyed being sat on by his mistress, evidently, but must not have seen her often for they often traded books and referred to passages therein as a form of flirtation.


    Or had they?


    Peering ahead in the sequence of twenty-four letters, Song found that every single letter had a literary reference containing the title book and a specific passage. She made a list of the titles and transcribed the passages on another paper, trying to find a cipher, but nothing jumped out. A visit to the Black House library yielded the knowledge that none of the mentioned books were on the shelves, which she had to admit was fair enough.


    The letters dated back to the early Century of Dominion, a little under two hundred years ago.


    No, if the key to the cipher was the mentioned volumes then Song would have to look elsewhere. It might be that the fortress at Stheno¡¯s Peak might have a few, but there was one location nearly guaranteed to have them all: the rector¡¯s palace. If not in the standard archives, then in the private ones. Which would mean asking the Lord Rector of Asphodel for permission, and likely visiting the palace on several occasions. No books were allowed out of the private archives, after all.


    In a way it was a relief when she was told that a message had come back from the Tianxi embassy, as it forced her thoughts away from that particular prospect. The only thing the Yellow Earth sent back was a time and a place, out in the city well into the night.


    Best get a nap in, Song decided, for it seemed she would not be getting much sleep tonight.


    --


    Tristan could not spare long for the work, not with the grueling day awaiting him on the morrow, but he made the time. He must, for his enemies would.


    How to get around Tozi Poloko¡¯s contract was an interesting puzzle to solve but also a frustrating one. Song¡¯s translation of the full contract was clear: Tozi did not have to use her contract to know what was the mostly likely source for her death the next three hours, she always knew. That meant Tristan could not rely on her inattention to assassinate her, he had to find a way to trick the contract itself.


    First, though, he must establish the opportunity to act. Finding out when the Nineteenth visited their safehouse in the southwestern district was not something he could do himself, given how his days were occupied, but it was easy enough to get one of the Black House servants to track their comings and goings for a bit of coin. From that he learned that every night half the brigade stayed over at that derelict house, and with a bit of legwork come night he was even able to learn why.


    They were checking in on a particular mansion in the district at least twice a day, and had an arrangement with the lictors so an eye would kept on it at all times. Song had passed a message that they were looking to bait the contractor killer they were chasing, so odds were that the half of the Nineteenth staying out in town was there so it could come quicker should the bait be taken during the night.


    That meant Tristan only had to wait for it to be Tozi¡¯s turn in the rotation, which was easy enough given that the pairs always remained the same: Tozi and Izel, Cressida and Kiran. A lucky arrangement for him, that the two he feared the most would be paired together.


    One he had a time and place, the difficult part was obtaining a creature that fit his needs but would not draw too much suspicion.


    They¡¯d been told that Tratheke was relatively light on vermin, by virtue of being a glorified giant metal box, and that was true despite entire swaths of the city being uninhabited. There were some animals who dwelled within the walls, though, and some of them were lethal to men. The mud viper was one of them, though its bite only killed half the time according to the locals and it was not a particularly aggressive snake.


    Unless you force-fed it bullish grass, anyhow, which made the females of the species extremely sensitive and prone to biting anything warm close to them.


    Cressida still put traps on the doors and window whenever she slept over, he¡¯d checked, but the other two did not. The lock was simple enough to pick, and he¡¯d just in case practiced several times to ensure he could do it noiselessly in the dark.


    The door itself was creaky, so he opened it as little as he could and did not yet close it. The inside of the house was dark so Tristan waited, crouched, and let himself grow used to the lack of light. Once he could make out his surroundings again he picked up the small box he had brought and made for the stairs. Step after step, creeping silently and pricking his ear. Silence.


    The hallway was empty, but to his surprise the ¡®bedroom¡¯ door where he had seen the bedrolls was open. He supposed there was no point in closing it if both Tozi and Izel were sleeping inside. Quieting his breath, he crawled to the edge of the door and paused there ¨C he could hear two people breathing, slow and steady. Still sleeping. Rising into a crouch, Tristan brought out the small wooden box and took the lid in hand: the moment he opened it the maddened mud viper tried to smash its way out and he almost dropped the whole thing.


    Gritting his teeth he opened the lid all the way, aiming it so the snake slithered into the bedroom, and then put the box between it and his hand so it could not turn to bite him. He backed away hastily, keeping an eye on the brown-scaled viper as it hesitated a moment before it slid deeper into the room. More warmth there, as he¡¯d planned.


    Tristan hightailed it out of there as quickly as he could, box in hand, but he¡¯d only reached the door when the shout came. A woman¡¯s voice. He calmly closed the door behind him, sliding the lock back in place, and hid in the empty house next to the Nineteenth¡¯s rental. Now he only had to wait.


    Shouting continued, and lights were lit, but no one ran out of the house to go fetch a physician. Tristan sighed. Another sigh resounded from his side.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t work,¡± Fortuna said. ¡°You think her contract woke her?¡±


    She was standing beneath the hole in the ceiling, the glow of some distant light bathing her golden hair in pale.


    ¡°I think when the source of her death abruptly changed, it interrupted her sleep,¡± Tristan said. ¡°It won¡¯t be as simple as catching her while her eyes are closed.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯ll have their guard up now,¡± the goddess warned.


    ¡°Will they?¡± he asked. ¡°At first, maybe. But the house is full of holes, the snake is not an uncommon sight in Tratheke and the species attacks it feels threatened. So long as I lay off for a time, their guard will lower again.¡±


    Fortuna hummed, looking interested.


    ¡°You have another idea?¡±


    ¡°Something like that,¡± Tristan said. ¡°If I can¡¯t sneak around the contract, then can I overwhelm it?¡±


    The easiest answer was to drug their water with something that would not kill but paralyze them, but there was always the chance that the contract would identify that as a source of death anyhow. A two-part poison would be seen right through, and odds were that a poison becoming lethal on accumulated doses over time would be warned of just before it became lethal. No, before committing to a final plan he needed to discern the limits of the enemy god¡¯s insight. The Three Hundred Ninety-Ninth Brother would warn Tozi about a poison, he knew this.


    But how would it warn her of multiple, identical and simultaneous poisons?


    --


    That Hao Yu would be waiting for her near the gutted ruin in the northwestern ward was only to be expected, but Song had hoped that Ai would be absent. Alas, it was not to be. The contractor, whose true name was ¡®Dongmei¡¯, lurked in the shadows along with the head of the local Yellow Earth sect.


    ¡°You¡¯re late,¡± Ai called out.


    ¡°I am early,¡± Song evenly corrected. ¡°Master Yu, good evening.¡±


    ¡°And to you,¡± the small man replied. ¡°Come, I have something to show you.¡±


    Though Song had coached her language carefully in the letter she sent, requesting help in ¡®finding lost property¡¯ instead of what she truly sought, she had expected something more elaborate than the small, worn pawn shop that Hao Yu led them to. Perhaps it was only a meeting place. The owner, a large bald man by the name of Min, ushered them in though his shop was closed.


    ¡°Min is a friend of the cause,¡± Hao Yu told her. ¡°The back of his shop holds something of interest, you will see.¡±


    What it held, Song found, was a cluttered room of useless trinkets with a large flat stone in the middle that was used to hold up a table. Ai set aside said table, then with Min¡¯s help pushed off the stone ¨C revealing a dark, stinking hole.


    ¡°This leads into the sewers, I take it,¡± Song said.


    ¡°What Tratheke uses as sewers, anyhow,¡± Min jovially replied. ¡°They are quite overlarge for such a purpose.¡±


    They changed, plain clothes having been set aside for all of them so they would not stink of sewage later. They took turns behind a paper screen, and once they were done Hao Yu produced a small bronze watch from his clothes, watching the needle turn for a moment. He nodded to himself.


    ¡°We must move now,¡± he said. ¡°The water gate will only be closed for so long.¡±


    There was an iron ladder welded into the wall, so going down into the sewers was quite easy. Song could see what Min had meant: this was quite spacious for sewers, and though the hall was rounded it was still a rather high ceiling. It also stank much less than she would have thought, more like a filthy alley than the literal river of filth she had been expecting. The water channel running through the hall was shallow, and though the water was dirty it was recognizably water still.


    Ai took the lead down there, a hooded lantern in hand, while Song followed behind with Master Yu.


    ¡°The city uses the canals to flush out the filth,¡± he told her. ¡°There is an entire network of water gates that balance the levels. We¡¯ve learned the hours some of them are used, and the paths this reveals.¡±


    They must have a dozen more discreet shops like this spread over the city, Song thought, that would allow them to use those hidden roads beneath the ground. Only it was not to the surface that they headed to, but towards the northwestern corner of the great box that was Tratheke. They must have hurried for the better part of a half hour before Ai called a halt, hooding the lantern further until only a small slice of light was emitted.


    They crept down the hall, turning a corner, and then Song found a thick iron grid warding entrance into a room. Ai killed the lantern outright and Hao Yu gestured for her to go to the grid. Through the iron barrier Song saw that the channel in the ground continued into a large room, whose ceiling seemed to be fed by brass-like pipes. The rain must have come through there from the surface.


    But it was the rest of the room that she paid attention to, because it was a mass of small cells gated by thick iron bars with locks on them. And those cells were packed to the brim.


    There must be more than a hundred people down there, Song thought, crammed tight in cells meant to hold half that many. Half-starved in this pit reeking of piss and shit and vomit. She could hear children coughing, the moans of the feverish and the quiet weeping of the desperate. This place was not a prison, it was a monument to cruelty.


    ¡°Who are they?¡± Song whispered.


    ¡°Hostages,¡± Ai quietly replied. ¡°Family to city guards or officials. Even some criminals. They took some nobles too, but those are kept in a different place. Nicer.¡±


    ¡°They even took their own families hostage?¡± Song asked, genuinely disgusted.


    ¡°Did you not wonder how the noble conspirators ¨C traitors even among yiwu - were able to funnel men and weapons into the capital for the better part of a year without one turning on the others?¡± Hao Yu asked.


    His voice was calm, and as he leaned against the wall he seemed almost indifferent. The shaved head, the plucked eyebrows, they should have made his face more expressive but instead they had whittled away expressions. It was his eyes that gave it all away: the violent hatred there for what he beheld, the kind of blaze that could only come from genuine indignation.


    There was much that Song disliked about the Yellow Earth, but she would never deny that they believed. They had seen the ugliness in Vesper, the promise of the Feichu Tian ¨C all are free under Heaven ¨C gone unfulfilled and instead of making excuses they¡¯d picked up a spear. She could hate their excesses, and did, but never as much as she would hate the evil they¡¯d set out to quell.


    ¡°It is monstrous,¡± Song said, fingers clenching.


    Hao Yu fished out a small bronze watch, ticking on silently, and frowned.


    ¡°We must go,¡± he said. ¡°The water gate will open again soon.¡±


    Song¡¯s eyes stayed on the pity of misery, jaw clenching. She saw more than they could, with those silver eyes of hers that cared for neither dark nor light. Looking at the pus leaking down the wrist of a boy that could not be more than four, her jaw clenched. She could make out the tremors of his arm, smell the foulness in the air.


    A single death would be too light a punishment for those who had done this.


    Ai roughly grabbed her shoulder, though for once her face was not set in a scowl as she did. Giving in despite the sick feeling in her belly, Song let herself be tugged away. They fled back the way they had come, through the shallow sewage water and the too-wide tunnels, and not a moment too soon: the water had begun to rise out of the channel by the time they reached the ladder, lapping at their feet.


    Min pushed the stone aside for them, pulling them into his shop, and provided soap and water to wash off the worst of the stink before they changed back into their street clothes. There was a pot of tea on, some cheap Someshwari leaf, and after setting it out for them along with a small bowl of sticky candies he left and closed the door. The candies were quite dry and hard, probably old, but Song was just glad for anything to eat.


    Between that and downing the first cup of tea, it almost washed off the taste that lingered in her mouth.


    Hao Yu methodically poured tea for everyone, even Ai who instead of sitting leaned back against the wall with her arms crossed, and kindly waited for Song to begin sipping at her second cup of tea before he spoke.


    ¡°I first served among our brethren in Izcalli,¡± Hao Yu said. ¡°Not one of the sects concerning itself with the candles ¨C that is better left to more martial men than I ¨C but one of those seeking to lay the foundation of a Sunflower Lord¡¯s unseating.¡±


    He paused.


    ¡°When I came to Asphodel, fresh from those experiences, part of me thought of it as¡­ not a rest, but a recess of sorts,¡± the small man said. ¡°How could the aristocrats of this small, fading power compare to the horrors committed by the very Princes of War?¡±


    Hao Yu sipped at his cup, then set it down.


    ¡°I learned better, over the years,¡± he said. ¡°It does not matter whether the crown is great or small. Everywhere that birth can decide that some are men and others not, evil seeps through the cracks. Everywhere.¡±


    ¡°How many in the Council of Ministers are involved?¡± Song hoarsely asked.


    ¡°Enough,¡± Ai snorted. ¡°And your bosom friend the Lord Rector is no better, Ren.¡±


    Her eyes flicked to Hao Yu, who inclined his head.


    ¡°The lictors have silenced at least six souls that we know of who might have had insights on where the entrance to his shipyard lies. Regardless of whether or not the acquisition of that knowledge was accidental.¡±


    Ai laughed unkindly.


    ¡°One was a boy of fifteen, a shoe-shiner who we think overheard his betters talk,¡± she said. ¡°We found his body in a canal.¡±


    Song tried to tell herself it might have been Prefect Nestor, but she could barely finish the sentence even in her own mind. The old prefect was arrogant and blustering but not the sort of man to order the death of a boy without his master¡¯s approval. Song thought back not to the same man she walked through the streets arguing with but to the Lord Rector, the canny-eyed man behind the desk that had granted the Thirteenth audience that first day.


    That man, Song thought, he would give the order and not think about it twice.


    ¡°I have no illusions as to the kind of man Evander Palliades is,¡± she evenly replied. ¡°There can be no good king.¡±


    Hao Yu nodded in approval at the quoting of the Feichu Tian, but Ai looked dismissive and snorted again. Much as her attitude rubbed Song raw, the other woman had a point. Song had spent a great deal of time in Evander¡¯s company, and the amount of it where she had wondered what it would be like to kiss him now burned her in her belly like embers of shame.


    ¡°He has more respect for what lies under Heaven than his former regent, if largely out of weakness,¡± Hao Yu said. ¡°The years under Apollonia Floros were darker.¡±


    Song cocked her head to the side.


    ¡°I have heard much of her honor and skill as a ruler,¡± she said, undertone conveying her skepticism about that.


    When nobles talked about how honorable one of their own was, it meant that aristocrat was respecting their societal code. Not that they were behaving in a way that any halfway reasonable person would call honorable.


    ¡°She treated merchants like a second purse and worked prisoners to death rebuilding the capital,¡± Ai sneered.


    Rebuild? Ah, the attempted coup by Lord Rector Evander¡¯s uncle that Minister Floros had famously put down before assuming the regency. There must have been damage from the fighting.


    ¡°Her policies sought to run out of business any trader competing with a noble house for business,¡± Hao Yu mildly said. ¡°Regardless of whether this improved the lot of the people of Asphodel. She also banned the trade of luxury goods without a license so she could rent these at extortionate prices.¡±


    And his motive for bringing this up was clear as spring water.


    ¡°You fear it will be worse should the conspirators seat her on the throne,¡± Song said.


    ¡°Even assuming a largely bloodless coup, she will then spend the following few years effectively sacking the country,¡± the small man said. ¡°Ambassador Guo has expressed concern at the possibility that merchant fleets will be confiscated outright.¡±


    Which would be a concern for Tianxia, considering the main trading partner of those fleets were the Republics. None of this, however, would be of concern to the Watch. The Conclave¡¯s sole answer to learning of civil strife in Asphodel would be sending more blackcloaks to Stheno¡¯s Peak in anticipation of a glut of contracts on the island. Hao Yu would know this, and still this conversation had taken place.


    ¡°You want something from me,¡± Song stated.


    ¡°I do,¡± Hao Yu politely agreed, reaching inside his plain robe. ¡°The first of my requests is that you read this letter.¡±


    Song¡¯s brow rose but she took the folded paper he handed her. The handwriting was unfamiliar but the characters were neat and crisp, a sign learning. It was Yellow Earth correspondence. Someone going by the moniker of ¡®Incense¡¯ was corresponding with someone called ¡®Bamboo¡¯, presumably Hao Yu himself. Incense wrote of agitation in Jiushen, some karmaka reincarnate having seized power in the region, but it was the second half of the letter that claimed Song¡¯s attention.


    It was about a band of royalist traitors seen crossing the northern border of Jigong into the Someshwar, three of which were identified by name. And nestled between the first and last names was one that had Song¡¯s blood running cold: Haoran Ren.


    Her second eldest brother.


    Suddenly the room felt cramped, closing from all sides. Gods, gege, the royalists? A pack of traitors backed by foreigners who want to bloodily return the rule of kings. What could Haroan have been thinking, to sign up with Tianxia¡¯s most despised traitors? In some ways he had it the worst of them, having been in Mother¡¯s belly that day when their grandfather caused the Dimming. There had always been an anger in her brother, a sense that he was being punished for his birth, but this was not an answer.


    It was adding ink to the spill.


    Song¡¯s hands clenched around her teacup. She set down the letter, carefully folding it, and pushed it across the table.


    ¡°Interesting,¡± she said.


    Her calm was paper-thin, and like a sheet of paper they saw right through it.


    ¡°This is not a threat,¡± Hao Yu assured her. ¡°I have no influence over whether an attempt to kill him will be made.¡±


    ¡°Consider me reassured,¡± Song thinly replied.


    ¡°What I can say,¡± the small man continued, ¡°is that your brother¡¯s presence with the royalists is at risk of being made known in order to tar their reputation when they choose to carry out their next plot.¡±


    How despicable her bloodline must be, Song thought, that they would be the ones to tar the royalists instead of the other way around. Even among pools of mud, some sorts were filthier than others.


    ¡°Haoran may yet come to his senses,¡± she began, then forced herself to continue. ¡°If he does not, then the consequences will be on his head.¡±


    Ai laughed.


    ¡°The royalists did the Dimming,¡± she said, playing it up like she was addressing a crowd. ¡°The Ren were royalists the whole time, the Old Devil did it on the Maharaja¡¯s order.¡±


    Song went still, breath caught in her throat. She was going to throw up. Gods, if that rumor was put out¡­ She could save all of Vesper nine times and still everyone with a speck of Ren blood in their veins would be cursed to howling death.


    ¡°I have no influence over your brother¡¯s fate,¡± Hao Yu repeated. ¡°What influence I do have is wielded through the courtesies of the Yellow Earth.¡±


    ¡°I do not understand,¡± Song croaked out.


    ¡°Sects make an attempt not to interfere with each other¡¯s plans,¡± the small man said. ¡°Should I, for example, promote Song Ren to the people as a heroine of Tianxia¡­¡±


    ¡°The other sects would refrain from dragging my brother into the public¡¯s eye,¡± she completed. ¡°Not to endanger your work.¡±


    She closed her fist. They had her. He had her. All it would take for him to undo everything she could ever accomplish was to stay silent.


    ¡°What do you want?¡± Song bit out.


    ¡°Information,¡± Hao Yu replied. ¡°We will not allow Apollonia Floros to rule Asphodel. I would have from you reports on the measures taken by the Lord Rector and the Watch to keep him on the throne.¡±


    That was, Song thought, a small price to pay. Too small a price.


    ¡°And what would prevent you,¡± she said, ¡°from asking more of me?¡±


    Ai pushed off the wall.


    ¡°Nothing,¡± she smiled. ¡°But then only one of us is from a family of traitors twice over, is she? We¡¯re not the side that needs to prove it¡¯s trustworthy.¡±


    Hand on the chisel, Song told herself. Only with every breath, every thought, every look at that sneering zealot and that calm-faced liar, she could feel her fingers slip. The last of her composure filtering through them like sand. She had to leave, to find a cold and empty place where she could close her eyes and think.


    Rudely, she pushed away from the table and rose.


    ¡°You have given me much to think on,¡± Song said.


    Hao Yu inclined his head.


    ¡°There is no hurry,¡± he said. ¡°Consider your options.¡±


    ¡°Tic, toc,¡± Ai sang out, the heinous bitch. ¡°Don¡¯t think for too long, Ren.¡±


    The man sent her a quelling look, which she only laughed it.


    ¡°You know how to contact us,¡± Hao Yu said. ¡°A pleasant night to you, Song Ren.¡±


    It was rudeness after rudeness, but Song left without a word. Strode out of there onto the street, ignoring whatever it was Min said to her as she rushed out of his shop, and kept moving as fast as she could without running. She wasn¡¯t sure how long she kept at it, but by the time she stopped her legs were aching and there was sweat running down her back.


    Feeling the occasional curious look from the few people out on the street, Song ducked out into an alley.


    She turned a corner deeper away from the avenue, finding herself in a dirty dead end of brass walls and boarded-up windows. Song leant her forehead against the wall, closing her eyes, and breathed in. In and out, slowing her heartbeat. She felt like throwing up. Gods, but she could not even hate the Yellow Earth for this. They could not have done a fucking thing, if her own fucking brother had not decided to betray all of Tianxia.


    And for what, some pat on the back by some Someshwari raja that¡¯d put a musket in his hand and send him back south to slaughter his countrymen? Was this all so he could have an excuse to shoot at Tianxi, at the people who hated him for being born? Well, they hated Song too and she¡¯d not whined about it. She¡¯d taken action to fix things instead of drinking herself to death or, apparently, turning traitor!


    Song slammed a fist against the wall and screamed, screamed until her lungs ached and enough of the storm had bled out she could remember to be afraid of someone coming to look.


    ¡°Do I not bear enough stones on my back, brother, that you would go looking for more?¡± she finally breathed out, panting.


    ¡°Ha! Hilarious.¡±


    Blood still high, Song turned. Ai, grinning like some malevolent cat. Dongmei, her true name was, and she almost felt like throwing that in the other woman¡¯s face to see if that wiped off the grin.


    ¡°Leave,¡± she bit out instead. ¡°I have nothing more to say t-¡±


    It took half a heartbeat.


    Song¡¯s only warning was when Ai¡¯s eyes turn a cloudy green, as if suddenly covered by cataracts, then the shell erupted from a line crossing down her body. It looked, Song, thought, like green-glazed pottery. Not quite jade or stone, and she got a glimpse of the mask settling over the face ¨C a hungry ghost, with its knotted brow and fat lips curving downwards with a jutting pointed tooth on either side ¨C before the contractor¡¯s hand was on her throat.


    Song was slammed against the wall hard enough she saw stars, held up by Ai like she was some insolent kitten. Snarling and choking she reached for her sword but her enemy only laughed.


    ¡°Good, then you can shut up and listen.¡±


    The voice came out distorted through the mask, as if rasped out. The shell that looked like glazed pottery, it only covered Ai¡¯s front ¨C stopped two thirds of the way up her head, but on the sides only a few inches past the hipbones.


    Song slashed at her blindly around the hip, aiming for flesh, but the steel bounced off the shell with a sound like she had hit stone. It didn¡¯t even leave a mark.


    ¡°Now, Hao he thinks you could be good for us,¡± Ai said. ¡°That cultivating a friend in the Watch, a covenanter at that, it¡¯ll pay off down the line. That it¡¯ll be worth burning a few favors putting in a good word for you.¡±


    Song was choking, and spat on the mask. The other woman casually slapped the sword out of her grip even as her vision began swimming. So strong, and quick enough she crossed the alley¡¯s length in a heartbeat. Gods, what sort of a contract was this?


    Ai dropped her and Song fell on her knees, desperately gasping for hair.


    ¡°Me?¡± the contractor continued. ¡°I see a filthy little opportunist that fled the coop. One who¡¯s making cows eyes at a king, who picked up a crippled Malani noble for the bragging rights and drinks with a Sunflower Lord¡¯s daughter.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re mad,¡± Song spat out.


    ¡°Come now,¡± Ai laughed, the voice oddly smoky. ¡°Did Tozi Poloko think using her mother¡¯s name was enough to fool us? You¡¯re drinking with the granddaughter of the man who set Caishen¡¯s countryside aflame and you thought we wouldn¡¯t notice? She¡¯s a lot higher up on our lists than the Ren.¡±


    Tozi. Tozi? And it came together, all at once. Captain Tozi, whom the son of a prominent general like Doghead Coyal still deferred to. Who allowed the authority of superior officers with a sort of bemused tolerance and treated her own patron like someone she could chide. Izel had good as told her, she realized, when he mentioned the Ivory Library had connections to great nobles of Izcalli. There were none greater than the Sunflower Lords, save for the king of Izcalli himself.


    ¡°Oh, you didn¡¯t know,¡± Ai mused, looking down on her. ¡°So an incompetent opportunist on top of the rest.¡±


    She tried to get up, but she was kicked back down into the dirt. Ai had made no distance, not attempt to make room. The contractor feared nothing she could do.


    ¡°Stay down, yiwu,¡± Ai said. ¡°You don¡¯t need to be on your feet: this isn¡¯t a conversation.¡±


    She leaned in, pottery mask looming over Song.


    ¡°You¡¯re going to give Hao everything he asks for,¡± Ai ordered. ¡°Because if you don¡¯t, I¡¯ll be going over his head and sending Incense a letter about how Song Ren is sabotaging us in Asphodel. And to the sect in Mazu too, while I¡¯m at it. That is where your little nest of traitors is these days, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    Rage flared.


    ¡°If you lay one finger on my family-¡±


    It took her a moment to realize what had happened ¨C she¡¯d been slapped across the face, only it felt like someone had slammed a door into it. Any harder and a tooth would have come loose. She was on the ground, sprawled.


    ¡°Do as you are told or die,¡± Ai plainly said, ¡°and the rest of your filthy bloodline with you.¡±


    Song swallowed a shout of pain, the entire side of her face stinging now that the surprise had passed.


    ¡°Yes, you¡¯ll talk,¡± the contractor said. ¡°And when the time comes, you¡¯ll do me one more favor.¡±


    She stepped back.


    ¡°Do that, Song Ren, and I¡¯ll even let Hao drag your name an inch out of the mud without a protest.¡±


    And then she was gone, leaving Song sprawled in the dirt with a swelling face and more rage than she knew what to do with.

 Chapter 57

    It was not a pleasant surprise to be woken up in the middle of the night and the quality of the ensuing surprises had only since worsened.


    ¡°If we go to Captain Wen right now,¡± Angharad said, ¡°we could have them all in graves by morning.¡±


    Song hissed, trying to push away Maryam as the other woman dabbed at her bruises with a wet cloth. Half of their captain¡¯s face was swollen red and a stripe of cheek skin had been scraped right off. No tooth had cracked, thankfully, but Angharad suspected she would have a hard time speaking for a while. The Pereduri had experience being struck in the mouth often to not be unfamiliar with such injuries.


    ¡°No,¡± Song got out, her tone thick. ¡°Can¡¯t.¡±


    Maryam, losing patience with being pushed off, took the Tianxi¡¯s hand and slapped the wet cloth down on her palm before making her press it against the cheek herself.


    ¡°Angharad is right,¡± Maryam replied, to their shared disbelief. ¡°Just because they didn¡¯t kill you doesn¡¯t mean the Yellow Earth hasn¡¯t crossed a line. We take this to our superiors and guns will come out.¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t,¡± Song hissed. ¡°They have something on my brother.¡±


    Angharad swallowed the sympathy on the tip of her tongue. An overflow of that would beg questions she did not dare answer. Maryam looked about to ask Song about the incriminating information, but the noblewoman gave her pause by putting a hand on her arm and shaking her head. They locked eyes, for a moment, and after a sigh Maryam visibly made the decision not to take issue with Angharad having laid a finger on her. She hastily removed her hand anyway.


    ¡°Can you tell us what they asked of you?¡± Angharad tried instead.


    The answer to being leveraged over your kin was not to spread around the ugliness that leverage came from. One could, however, try to get around the demands made of them.


    Angharad was certainly trying.


    ¡°Reports,¡± Song exhaled. ¡°About coup defenses. They want to keep an eye on it.¡±


    That was passingly clever, she thought. Song Ren stood at the confluence of knowledge about what the Watch, the Lord Rector and the conspirators were up to. No doubt there were souls on Asphodel who could give the Yellow Earth information more on depths about parts specific, but precious few who could give them a better bird eye¡¯s view of the situation.


    ¡°All the more reason to cut all their heads off,¡± Maryam grunted. ¡°Corpses cannot hold anything over your family.¡±


    Much as Angharad agreed with that, Song¡¯s fear was easy to discern. The Pereduri stepped in, taking pity on her swollen mouth.


    ¡°If even a single one escapes, the Yellow Earth will have the information and a grudge that ensures they will use it,¡± Angharad said. ¡°Moving on them now is a risk.¡±


    ¡°Passing information to a pack of mad zealots that beat her face like a carpet is even more of a risk,¡± Maryam bluntly shot back.


    ¡°No,¡± Song croaked. ¡°It¡¯s bad. My family would be¡­¡±


    She swallowed.


    ¡°Cannot involve the Watch.¡±


    It was a rare thing for Song Ren to present herself as anything but immaculate but in the trembling candlelight of her room, sitting on her bed, she looked like she was coming apart at the seams. Her face bruised ¨C one eye sure to blacken ¨C while her hair had come loose and her forehead looked like it¡¯d been dragged through gravel. Her eye not forced to close by the swelling was wild, wide, and she moved little. Like a girl hoping that if she went still the world would still with her, buying her time enough to think.


    Angharad ached to see it. She still remembered what that felt like: she herself had been numb and silent most of the way down to Asithule, when House Madoc had smuggled her in that cart. Even on the first ship out of Malan, she had been half a ghost.


    ¡°Need to think,¡± Song rasped. ¡°Please.¡±


    Angharad shared a look with Maryam. Neither of them were eager to leave her alone, but to interrogate a woman who could hardly talk was pointless. They had as much as they could have of her until the swelling went down. She rose, reluctant.


    ¡°We will be close at hand,¡± Angharad told her.


    ¡°And we¡¯ll talk in the morning,¡± Maryam added.


    There was no room for negotiation in that tone. Song only jerkily nodded. The two of them left her to stare at her wall in dying candlelight, loath to leave but with nothing more to offer. Maryam caught her eye out in the hall, passing a hand through brown tresses.


    ¡°My room,¡± the pale woman suggested.


    Angharad silently nodded. Maryam lit a lamp before claiming a chair and the noblewoman closed the door behind her.


    ¡°I¡¯m half convinced we should go to Wen anyway,¡± the signifier bluntly opened.


    ¡°Once it is in his hands, it is in the blood,¡± Angharad said.


    She got a frown in response, awkward silence spreading between them.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what that means,¡± Maryam finally said.


    Angharad flushed, coughing into her fist. Not a Lierganen saying, then. That would teach her to translate directly from Umoya.


    ¡°I mean that we would no longer control where the information ends up,¡± she clarified. ¡°It may very well make its way to Brigadier Chilaca.¡±


    A man currently locked in a struggle with the Thirteenth over his constant meddling in their contract with the throne of Asphodel. It would be na?ve to assume he would not immediately turn such knowledge to his purposes. There was a saying in Malan that a swordmaster killed you with a single cut but a diplomat a hundred. One could be just as ruthless with a pen as with a sword. Maryam cursed.


    ¡°Chilaca is a problem,¡± she admitted. ¡°Did Song brief you on the troubles Tristan is in?¡±


    Angharad shook her head. Her time with her uncle had run late ¨C they had needed to plan a way for her to seize, hide and then smuggle out the infernal forge in Lord Menander¡¯s possession ¨C and by the time she emerged it was to word that Song was napping and not to be disturbed. Napping in anticipation of a late night where she had been savagely beaten, it turned out.


    ¡°The bastards from Allazei followed us,¡± Maryam said, then laid into the tale.


    A mere minute in and Angharad was left to wonder why the Nineteenth Brigade were not all currently dangling from gallows, but the revelation that there was another traitor higher up the ranks made it plain why the whole affair had not been brought into the light. At least Tristan had been able to kill one of the traitors, good on him.


    ¡°So until we know if Brigadier Chilaca is the traitor, we cannot take the risk of bringing him into this,¡± Angharad summarized.


    ¡°Song¡¯s sure he¡¯s not a member of the Ivory Library, but almost as sure he was bribed to look away from their business,¡± Maryam added. ¡°Apparently he¡¯s quite corrupt. We need to keep him in the dark until we have some manner of proof.¡±


    That too should fetch the noose, Angharad darkly thought. Yet how could she castigate any rook with shoddy loyalties when she had been charged with treason by the Lefthand House not once but twice? The second time unknowing of her wearing the black, but to be made a sneak twice over on the behalf of ufudu really was quite the surfeit of treason.


    ¡°I thought better of Kiran Agrawal than this,¡± Angharad admitted. ¡°But then I hardly know the man.¡±


    The rest were not disappointments, insofar as she had never held them in particular esteem. She had no admiration for Izel or Captain Tozi, and Cressida Barboza had only ever fetched wariness. There was anger in that one, the kind that gnawed at your bones, and it had turned her into a hound all too eager to bite.


    ¡°As far as I¡¯m concerned this should end in the four of them in a locked barn we set on fire,¡± Maryam grunted, ¡°but Song¡¯s not wrong that Tristan will gain more by pulling out the roots of this Library than just cutting off another questing finger.¡±


    Angharad inclined her head. That was true enough. Getting rid of this Ivory Library would be a greater boon than simply having another batch of their hirelings exiled or slain.


    ¡°Thank you for telling me,¡± she politely said.


    Maryam eyed her with a sullen expression.


    ¡°It¡¯s worse because you do have good sides,¡± she brusquely said. ¡°And that makes you an excuse for the rest, part of the pretty tale of themselves Malani put out in the world for others to believe.¡±


    Maryam breathed out through clenched teeth.


    ¡°I do not owe you a thing,¡± Maryam Khaimov sharply stated, as if expecting an argument. ¡°But the axes I have to grind with you are best left buried, at least while we¡¯re all in this mess.¡±


    ¡°I am not sure I understand,¡± Angharad admitted.


    ¡°You¡¯re trying,¡± Maryam said. ¡°So I¡¯ll try too. That¡¯s all.¡±


    Angharad swallowed.


    ¡°I,¡± she tried, then hesitated.


    She was not quite sure what to say.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± she finally settled on.


    ¡°Don¡¯t thank me, I¡¯m putting work on your back,¡± Maryam said, looking away. ¡°Tomorrow morning I¡¯m leaving for the shipyard visit and that¡¯s a week of me in the wind, so it¡¯s all going to be on you.¡±


    The Izvorica groaned, rolling her shoulders.


    ¡°You¡¯re going to need to watch our for Song,¡± she continued. ¡°She was already biting at the inside of her cheek over selling out Palliades when she¡¯d like him with his clothes off, this Yellow Earth business is going to make it all worse.¡±


    ¡°Her family is the chink in the armor,¡± Angharad quietly agreed, then cleared her throat. ¡°How serious is that affair with the Lord Rector?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s taken,¡± Maryam said. ¡°He¡¯s smitten enough I¡¯m pretty sure he¡¯s boning up on calligraphy to impress her. It would all be quite charming, if it was not also a lit powderkeg placed on top of the larger powder barrel pyramid that is this misbegotten capital.¡±


    She paused, then smirked.


    ¡°My advice was that it was her republican duty to take him for a ride so thorough she¡¯d ruin him for all noblewomen, but she went into that, you know¡­¡±


    ¡°When she slams the portcullis down inside her head,¡± Angharad finished.


    It was sometimes eerie to watch, the way Song would smother her turmoil and make herself care only about the immediate. The noblewoman frowned.


    ¡°You truly believe tryst is the right idea?¡± she asked.


    ¡°I think half the reason they¡¯re so smitten with each other is that it¡¯s all dreamy sighs and butterflies,¡± Maryam said. ¡°I expect finding out he farts in his sleep or uses too much tongue will make Evander Palliades less of a delicious forbidden fruit and more of a pretty boy with a crown on. That she¡¯ll have no trouble with.¡±


    ¡°He is not even particularly pretty,¡± Angharad muttered.


    Maryam shot her an amused look.


    ¡°I expect he¡¯s a little light on tits for you, yes,¡± she said with twitching lips, then turned serious. ¡°Just keep an eye on her, please. Keep her from doing something she¡¯ll regret.¡±


    Angharad slowly nodded.


    ¡°I could pass word to Tristan as well, if you would like,¡± she offered.


    ¡°Tristan will be fine,¡± Maryam sighed. ¡°He¡¯s not going to stop until he feels like he has a knife at the throat of anyone that could be a threat to him, but he¡¯s out there swimming in waters he knows well.¡±


    ¡°And yet,¡± Angharad gently said.


    The other woman passed a hand through her hair.


    ¡°Tell him to be careful,¡± Maryam finally said. ¡°Every time we take a look around this city, it¡¯s like some fresh plot had grown out of the stone. Knowing him, he¡¯s apt to trip into a fresh one.¡±


    Angharad snorted, as much at the words as the fond look on the other woman¡¯s face. There was something endearing about the way the two of them had taken to each other, ever since the Dominion. She had envied the bond, for a time, but come to realize it was not the friendship she envied but the trust. The lack was in her, not in them. How could she complain of others being at a distance when she stacked a wall of secrets between herself and the world?


    Suddenly disgusted with herself, Angharad pushed off the wall.


    ¡°I will pass it along,¡± she swore, then flicked a glance at the door. ¡°We had best get some sleep, I think.¡±


    Maryam nodded, looking as tired as Angharad felt.


    ¡°Good night, Angharad,¡± the pale woman said.


    She swallowed.


    ¡°And you, Maryam,¡± she got out.


    Angharad mastered herself enough to leave the room instead of fleeing it. She was a fool, she told herself. For whom but a fool would spend so much time with a brigade she had come to this isle intending to deceive, to use as cover while she stole from the Watch and pawned a foul device to the damned souls of the Lefthand House? If she had kept her distance, if she had made them into strangers¡­


    But not they were not that, not any longer. And part of her balked at the thought of the woman she had just left in her room looking at her with disgust and hostility once more. With the thought of the bleakness it would bring in Song¡¯s eyes, how Tristan would smile while his eyes marked her for the grave. Yet what was she to do, abandon her own father?


    There was no graceful way out. Angharad had ensured as much the moment she began to like being part of the Thirteenth Brigade. Sleeping God, the madness of that. Song had shot an ally in the back, Tristan was an avowed thief and Maryam would bury all of Malan under the seat given half a chance!


    They deserved better. Her uncle deserved better.


    Everyone in this wretched tale did, except for her.


    She went to bed, but what little she slept was consumed by dreams of looking in the mirror and finding her face to be a wolf¡¯s.


    --


    Including Maryam, the Watch delegation numbered six.


    Two Umuthi society tinkers, one from each branch of the tree. An Arthashastra scholar specialized in cryptoglyphs, a Stripe who¡¯d served as an officer at the largest Watch shipyard for a decade and second Arthashastra member who was not a scholar but a diplomat. The latter of these, Captain Elena Cervantes, was informally the head of the delegation even though Commander Osian Tredegar outranked her.


    She had also spent half a day coaxing Maryam about what she was and was not allowed to do while on the visit so that the Lord Rector would have nothing to hold over the Watch. In truth Maryam had expected the captain to resent her presence being forced onto the delegation at the last moment, but instead she found Cervantes to be rather pleased.


    ¡°I asked for a Navigator to be included in the delegation from the start, but the Lord Rector refused us,¡± she told Maryam. ¡°You are a welcome addition, so long as you do not end up causing a diplomatic incident.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll do my best to refrain,¡± Maryam said. ¡°The trick is to force my way past every door with guards, yes?¡±


    She ended up paying for that with half an hour of being drilled about the legal definition of self-defense, which was too high a cost.


    In the early hours of the day they took the Black House coaches to the Collegium, all the way to the fort raised around the bottom of the lift that led to the rector¡¯s palace. There they were met by Majordomo Timon, the head of the Lord Rector¡¯s household, who led them to the physician¡¯s room where they were to be drugged.


    As Evander Palliades did not want them to be know the path to the shipyard they would be going under for six hours, after which they would be allowed to wake for a meal and a physician¡¯s checkup at a roadside fort before being put under for another six hours. After that, there would be pause for the night allowing the delegation to recover from the drugs and they would resume the journey in the morning.


    The process would repeat until they had reached the shipyard, at which point they would be allowed to study the location under escort. The estimated duration of the journey was seven days: three to reach the entrance, one spent visiting and then three to return to Tratheke. Speculation was rife among the delegation that the Lord Rector was padding the time to throw off those seeking to find the path he was using.


    They would be split into two carriages, three on each, while a detachment of lictors and physicians came along in another larger coach.


    Maryam had heard worrying things about Lierganen medicine, but the Watch had been allowed to know the composition of the drug and deemed it safe enough for use. A bearded old man handed her a cup to drink and told her to lay down on the bed, where she stared at the ceiling for the better part of a minute wondering why it wasn¡¯t-


    -the summer heat was not so suffocating, on the riverbanks, but the heavy robes and red cloak still had her sweating in the sun. Not that Maryam would dare complain, not with all these grim-faced bearded lords and high-collared ladies dripping in gold all standing in silence, watching as the Malani were dragged to the mud.


    Seven, men and women, ragged and bruised.


    Lords and ladies of the devils from across the sea, not so fine now that they had been grabbed out of their manses and taken far beyond the protection of their cannons. One of them was her age, a boy whose eyes were red from weeping.


    Mother raised the ashen effigy, calling out to the dreadmost goddess, to Mother Winter herself, and as her voice rose the first of the Malani was forced face-first into the river. The woman struggled, panicking, but the warrior held her face under the tide and eventually she stopped.


    Mother¡¯s voice rose, calling Winter to witness their oaths, and the second lord was-


    ¡°It always comes down to death with them, doesn¡¯t it?¡±


    Maryam gasped awake in a carriage, almost striking the man next to her. Osian Tredegar, faced by Captain Cervantes. But what should be the empty seat across from her was filled with a flickering, buzzing silhouette.


    The shade, wearing heavy robes and a red cloak. Even the ribbons in her hair were the same.


    ¡°What?¡± she croaked.


    ¡°Gods,¡± the shade said. ¡°It always comes down to death, with them. Taking it, dealing it, warding it away. Everything they are rests on a bed of bones.¡±


    Maryam breathed in, reined in her panic. The others, she saw, were still asleep. The shade spoke quietly, almost a whisper, so whoever drove the carriage would not hear her.


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    ¡°What do you want?¡± she hissed.


    ¡°When your eyes close, mine open,¡± the shade said. ¡°Mother was not as clever as she thought, in the end.¡±


    The thing tugged at a red ribbon, pulling out the knot, and they both watched it flutter down to the floor.


    ¡°One cannot bargain with the inevitable,¡± the shade sighed. ¡°Pay attention, Maryam. Time is running out.¡±


    The carriage shook, hitting a rock, and in that blink of an eye the shade was gone. There was a groan to Maryam¡¯s side as Commander Tredegar woke, sounding nauseated, and after that Cervantes was not far behind. She was groggier than the other when they began taking stock of where they were, but her mind was mostly there.


    Their carriage was rolling on a road, bucking against bumps and rocks, but they could not see outside. There were metal shutters, pulled tight, and the doors were sealed and locked. Commander Tredegar busied himself finding the source of fresh air, finding that beneath their benches were compartments with angled holes in them. These holes were angled so that no one inside the carriage would be able to look outside through them, which all agreed was an impressive commitment to secrecy. The most they learned about their surroundings was that sometimes the wheels rolled on rocks that went flying, and dry wood snapped.


    Fortunately for them, Maryam was not entirely bound by walls.


    The other two blackcloaks moved away from her as she closed her eyes and focused, sending out her nav. The aether around them was not calm, but it was nothing like the wild chaos of Tratheke. There was a single, overwhelming current here ¨C slightly curving, not that it would mean anything in the material. The lack of ¡®reefs¡¯ to dash her soul-effigy against had her bold, at first, but she quickly learned better.


    If she sent her nav too far out, the current would rip it right out of her.


    Neck beaded with sweat, she proceeded with only the utmost caution. Ahead and behind she felt aether emanations, most likely the other blackcloaks and their drivers as well as the coach sent by the Lord Rector. The lictors were ahead, she figured, for there the emanations were stronger there. She didn¡¯t have long, perhaps ten minutes until the carriage came to a halt and Captain Cervantes quietly ordered her to stop.


    The carriage slowed and turned, as if pulling in somewhere, and eventually there was a knock on the doors.


    ¡°Out, rooks,¡± a lictor called out as he opened half a dozen locks before opening the door. ¡°Time for your check up.¡±


    They were in some sort of barn, Maryam found as she exited the carriage with the others, or perhaps stables? Dirt and straw beneath their feet, and in the corner the physicians from this morning were waiting. One after another the blackcloaks had their check up, tongues checked for swelling and pulse for having slowed, but there were no complications.


    Maryam would have tried to glimpse under the barn doors while they were served meals of porridge, if not for the two lictors standing guard there grimly. She could see torchlight on the other side at least, and hear some talk. They must be inside an Asphodelian fort.


    Shortly after she was made to drink the drug again, and under she went.


    Would that her sleep had been dreamless, but she had hat horrid nightmare again ¨C the one about being strangled and eaten alive. When she woke hours later, sweating and clutching at her neck, she took the time to calm herself before feeling out the aether again.


    The current was just as strong out here, so instead she kept her nav on the carriage ahead ¨C trying to get a feel for their emanations. They sat close enough together, though, that it was hard to tell them apart. Were the aether still as a pond it would be easier, but as things stood she was reading smoke signs in a thunderstorm.


    They stopped for the night in what she could only describe a crypt, a stone basement with a locked door where cots were laid out on the ground. They did not even get to enter it while awake, having been carried in while still asleep. In the morning the physicians drugged them again, and-


    -the captain pointed his sword, pale teeth bared in a snarl.


    ¡°She is a wanted criminal,¡± the Malani said. ¡°Yield, blackcloak. You have no authority here.¡±


    Maryam swallowed a sob, dragging herself back to her feet. The men in black where only a handful, the Malani were half a hundred with slavering hounds pulling at the leash. They would give her up. She had to run, to try and get ahead again, but she was so fucking hungry.


    ¡°I have authority everywhere,¡± the kindly man said. ¡°Its name is power.¡±


    His fingers traced oily darkness, but a handful of strokes, but Maryam¡¯s breath caught in her throat. DEATH, she read. DEATHDEATHDEATHDEATHDEATH and the Malani they screamed and wailed and wept, the hounds whimpering, and just as suddenly as it had begun it stopped.


    ¡°Go back,¡± the kindly man said. ¡°While you still-


    ¡°I think we came to trust him so quickly because he reminded us of Mother.¡±


    Maryam gasped hoarsely. She met the eyes of the shade, who sat starved and pale and ragged. Across from her.


    ¡°He was all I had,¡± Maryam hoarsely replied. ¡°What could I do but trust?¡±


    ¡°You wouldn¡¯t have,¡± the shade said, ¡°if he had not first shown he could be cruel. That¡¯s the face of power we grew up with ¨C kind to its own, but cruel to the enemy. We¡¯ve never trusted kindness alone.¡±


    ¡°There is no we,¡± she bit out.


    ¡°No,¡± the shade agreed. ¡°We are cruel, instead. That was the lesson we learned.¡±


    ¡°Riddles will not spare you,¡± Maryam said. ¡°Cease this.¡±


    ¡°Do you remember what it was like, going hungry?¡± the shade softly asked. ¡°It¡¯s always like that for me. And here, in this place, it¡¯s¡­ everywhere. Like a poison poured into the world.¡±


    She frowned.


    ¡°What are you talking about?¡±


    A noise to the side, Captain Cervantes stretching out, and when Maryam¡¯s gaze returned from the glance it was to an empty seat. The diplomat asked her if she had said something, and Maryam lied.


    What followed was a tedious repeat of the previous day.


    The drugs had them all groggy and with persistent headaches, which killed conversation and made Tredegar snappy whenever it was attempted. She stuck her nav on the carriage ahead half for the excuse not to pay attention to the other two. It struck her during the morning meal that since the lictors and physicians were the same attending to them during their time out of the carriage, she could get ahead by feeling out their presence there.


    Putting a face to the emanations, thus helping to split them in her mind later. She could even slide past the door to where the rest of the lictors were waiting out in the fort to do the same with them, though not all that far.


    It was enough for her to discern that some of the lictors in the carriage were replaced during the first break of the second day, traded for fresh souls from whatever outpost they had stopped at ¨C not a barn but a stripped-bare temple, this time, just as thoroughly sealed as the rest. She kept up her game half-heartedly, mostly for lack of anything else to do, through the rest of the second day and night.


    Which was how she noticed the switch at the first break of the third day.


    She had not dream, the third morning, and so warily kept an eye on the aether the entire time she was awake. That led Maryam to staring at the door of the granary they were eating their gruel in, flatly disbelieving. It was only when Commander Tredegar cocked an eyebrow at her she realized she was drawing attention to herself and hastily looked away.


    ¡°Khaimov?¡± Captain Cervantes asked, leaning in.


    ¡°Not here,¡± she whispered back.


    They went back under, waking that evening to a stripped out building of obvious Antediluvian make ¨C it was the of the same brassy alloy Tratheke was made of. They were informed that the entrance to the shipyard had been reached, that they were underground and that tomorrow morning the last bit of journey to the shipyard would be taken.


    They were left alone for the night, after that, and Maryam was taken aside by Captain Cervantes and Commander Tredegar ¨C who was, she suspected, too high in rank for Cervantes to be able to refuse his curiosity.


    ¡°I have been tracking our guides with my logos for the whole trip,¡± Maryam said.


    ¡°So you have said,¡± Cervantes agreed. ¡°And?¡±


    ¡°Something impossible happened,¡± she said. ¡°On the second day, come that first break, some of our lictors were traded for fresh ones.¡±


    ¡°Not so surprising, if we have been moving through roadside forts,¡± Osian Tredegar noted.


    ¡°No,¡± she agreed. ¡°But what did surprise me is when this morning, on the first break, I found some of the lictors that had switched were back.¡±


    Neither of them were slow to the catch the implication.


    ¡°You are certain?¡± Captain Cervantes intensely asked.


    Maryam cleared her throat embarrassedly.


    ¡°One of them is a woman on her monthlies, and not having a pleasant time of it,¡± Maryam said. ¡°It is very distinct.¡±


    A beat.


    ¡°We should have heard horses if any came along,¡± Osian Tredegar opined. ¡°They are not quiet beasts.¡±


    ¡°A fourth carriage would be even louder,¡± Captain Cervantes muttered. ¡°Which means those lictors were somehow at the destination before we were.¡±


    ¡°I think we¡¯ve been going in circles for three days,¡± Maryam whispered. ¡°None of us ever saw firmament, have we? And the current in the aether had stayed largely the same.¡±


    ¡°It might be we never even left Tratheke,¡± the captain breathed in. ¡°We¡¯re just under it. And all this theatre of secrecy¡­¡±


    ¡°Is to keep everyone looking out there in the valley when the Lord Rector has been building up under the capital all this time,¡± Commander Tredegar said, sounding reluctantly impressed. ¡°We must be at some sort of halfway point on the way down, which he furnished with the necessities for this whole charade.¡±


    Song, Maryam thought, ought to be proud. She had so thoroughly gotten under a king¡¯s skin that he had fumbled his own state secret trying to get her back in the same room. No wonder Evander Palliades had not wanted to risk a Navigator going with the delegation. He must have bet that Maryam would be too green to figure out they were underground, and in his defense he¡¯d been right.


    He¡¯d just not accounted for boredom and the shift rotations of the lictors.


    ¡°Not a word of this,¡± Captain Cervantes ordered them both, but her eyes were bright.


    She whispered praises and something about a commendation, mood immensely lift, and why not? She had already proven her worth.


    If only she could stop having that damn dream.


    --


    Tristan had made it through his week, so now came the prize.


    Temenos didn¡¯t make a formal announcement, the traveling men was not that sort of outfit, but the old man picked him out of the line for the Lordsport crew as one of the regular picks instead of at the end when all the ermanos got split between the crews. It was a statement, for those who cared to hear it, and it got him a few dark looks from other newcomers. Everyone liked the Lordsport runs, if you weren¡¯t one of the drivers you could nap on the way back to the capital.


    That day the old man reeking of tobacco introduced him to the guard officers and dockmasters when they reached the port, which he never had before, and though Tristan was told to keep his mouth shut he got to listen as Temenos haggled for an early slot on the list to use the lift down the cliff and then for a cursory inspection of the crates being unloaded instead of one that¡¯d result in the true fees being paid.


    The thief waited for the bargain to be struck with the dock mistress, a one-eyed woman with a saltbitten face, before asking the question itching at him.


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand the loading fee,¡± Tristan said. ¡°It¡¯s like setting a tariff on your own exports, which sounds mad.¡±


    Temenos spat to the side, the thick spit blackened from his latest bout of snuff.


    ¡°Minister Floros fucked all the merchant families, back when she was regent,¡± the old man said. ¡°She made it mandatory to have royal licenses to deal in some goods, then bent over the Trade Assembly on the prices.¡±


    The balding man offered an ugly grin.


    ¡°Nobles didn¡¯t need to buy them licenses, of course,¡± Temenos added. ¡°They were born with rights.¡±


    The sneer accompanying that word would have done any soul from the Murk proud, the thief thought. Us and the rest, the old words went, but Tristan thought it truer to instead say ¡®them and the rest¡¯. Every land had their own infanzones, the men with the boots on everyone else¡¯s fingers and the guns to make you keep your eyes on the floor.


    ¡°I thought Palliades was softer on regular folk, though,¡± Tristan said, putting on a puzzled frown. ¡°At least that¡¯s what they say.¡±


    ¡°Sure he is,¡± the old man said. ¡°Licenses aren¡¯t mandatory anymore and nobles have to pay for them too. But if you don¡¯t have a license there¡¯s a cap to how much tonnage can trade in the goods.¡±


    Tristan¡¯s eyes narrowed.


    ¡°But you can pay the ¡®loading fees¡¯ so the dockmasters don¡¯t look too closely at how much we¡¯re actually sending out,¡± he said.


    ¡°Clever boy,¡± Temenos grinned. ¡°And that coin¡¯s Lordsport revenue, not tariffs, so the Council of Ministers¡¯ got no say in how it¡¯s used.¡±


    Evander Palliades, the thief thought, really was quite canny. Not only was he filling the Palliades treasury instead of Asphodel¡¯s with that ploy, for all the broad application of the fees they were in practice very targeted. If he put the cap on tonnage high enough ¨C which Tristan suspected he would ¨C then the vast majority of merchants wouldn¡¯t be affected by the fees and simply go back to the way things had been before Apollonia Floros.


    The wealthiest magnates of the Trade Assembly though, those most dangerous to him, they¡¯d get squeezed for coin. Yet less than his regent had squeezed them, and in a way where they could still stick it to the nobles, so they¡¯d near thank him for the privilege of having their purse riffled through. Tristan could respect a fine racket when he saw one.


    Were he a betting man, which he was, he¡¯d bet that on the down-low their good friend Evander sold some of those magnates a license on the cheap to play off the Trade Assembly against itself. The magnates might make common front against the ministers, but at the end of the day they were still merchants competing against each other. They weren¡¯t any better than the nobles, really, their coin just wasn¡¯t old enough to be a title yet.


    ¡°So we pay for wool cloth, obviously,¡± Tristan muttered, feigning as if he had been considering that the whole time. ¡°Marble too?¡±


    ¡°No, the Kassa don¡¯t sell enough for that,¡± Temenos snorted. ¡°But we have to for the fruit of the shitpits, the tonnage on that is violent low.¡±


    Tristan blinked.


    ¡°The fruit of the what?¡±


    ¡°Saltpeter,¡± the old man said, lips twitching. ¡°You make it by burying shit in soil with wood ash and straw mixed in. Then you leach it out after a year and you¡¯ve got saltpeter. There¡¯s dozens of pits for that spread around the Reeking Rows, the Kassa own a few.¡±


    Saltpeter was used to treat breathing and wantonness as well as fertilize ground, but its most famous use was arguably that it was one of the main ingredients in blackpowder. No wonder the Lord Rector did not want too much of it leaving his borders. Temenos then frowned at him.


    ¡°And enough of this we business, boy,¡± the old man said. ¡°We might be Kassa men, but we¡¯re not Kassa. You let them trick you into thinking otherwise and they¡¯ll work you to death without batting an eye.¡±


    Tristan cocked his head to the side. He was under no delusion that a magnate would care a whit about those working for their profit, but this was the first time he heard Temenos hinting at a similar opinion.


    ¡°I thought you liked the Kassa,¡± he tried.


    ¡°I like them fine, Ferrando,¡± Temenos grunted. ¡°And I¡¯d rather cut off a hand than go over to the Anastos, don¡¯t get me wrong. Maria Anastos is more shark than woman.¡±


    ¡°But,¡± Tristan said.


    ¡°But back when the injury fund was run with Kassa help, they skimmed off the top,¡± he said. ¡°They¡¯re not bad sorts, really, but they¡¯ll always reach for the coin if it¡¯s there. They don¡¯t look out for us.¡±


    A finger prodded against Tristan¡¯s chest.


    ¡°We look out for us, Ferrando,¡± Temenos said. ¡°That¡¯s why we make friends with the weavers and the fullers and the warehouse hands: so when Stavros Kassa come sniffing around for corners to cut, it¡¯s not just some of us crossing our arms.¡±


    Chloris Kassa was the head of the Kassa family and the owner of most their properties, but she was also old and enfeebled, if still mostly witted. She had handed off much of her work to her four sons, the leader of the pack the eldest and aforementioned Stavros. The sons were not thought of nearly as well as their mother, and for good reason. Where Mistress Chloris had grown the family fortune by seizing on opportunities, they were instead intent on ¡®trimming fat¡¯.


    Like the pay of their workers.


    ¡°I had no idea we had friends in the workshop,¡± Tristan admitted.


    ¡°Some other places, too,¡± Temenos vaguely said. ¡°A traveling man¡¯s a traveling man no matter who pays them. It¡¯s only good sense to have a drink with the other outfits once in a while.¡±


    The thief almost let out a whistle. The old man might be better connected than he had thought. And if he could lean on those contacts to ask around about the assassin, well, that was his job out here done. He was getting close to the end.


    ¡°You¡¯re still a little green for that, though, so put it out of your mind,¡± the old man said, spitting another gob onto the pavement. ¡°Let¡¯s get this run done and our carts back up the cliff, we¡¯ve had enough chitchat.¡±


    They were done within the hour, around noon and thus early, so they stopped at one of the cheap eateries in the upper half of Lordsport before setting off. The traveling men had a deal with the owner, a meal of whatever leftovers were there for a single copper a head so long as at least ten came to eat. The Kassa, and most the men working for trading families, had such arrangements all over Tratheke and the Lordsport.


    It was one of the perks of working for the magnates, something setting apart from the masses of day workers who had no name behind them.


    Much as Tristan would have preferred to avoid what would come after the day¡¯s work, he could not afford to. The ermanos were usually invited for drinks only once a week while the veterans went out to their favorite tavern, the Black Dame, every other day. Tristan being extended an invitation to accompany them on those nights was an initiation, and no matter his dislike for drink he must attend. Temenos had implied the traveling men were much better connected than he had thought, which made it all the more important to get in good with them.


    The place was a dive, tucked in a corner near the border of the northwestern and southwestern wards. Half a basement, it had rickety tables and vaguely smelled of mildew but the drinks where cheap and not too watered down. Alas. A little over twenty of the Kassa traveling men and woman squeezed in, filling two thirds of the tavern. The two matronly sisters owning and tending the place traded familiar taunts with the crowd, which they nearly all knew by name.


    Tristan, as the new man, was ¡®volunteered¡¯ to buy the first round of ales while Temenos presented him to the sisters. He¡¯d already spoken to them once on his other visits, in truth, but now he was being introduced as someone instead of a filled seat. If he was to have his purse emptied, though, he would at least ask why the Black Dame¡¯s sign would display a black bale of wheat as its mark.


    It was Nikias, his former foreman, who told him.


    ¡°Sacromontan,¡± the man snorted. ¡°It¡¯s a tribute to the Awn-Dam.¡±


    It took a moment for Tristan to follow the trail. The Awn-Dam was the Asphodelian goddess of grain, cattle and fertility. She dabbled in nature as well but had wilder rivals there. She was said to take the shape of a cattle-mother, a dam, made of wheat. An awn, Tristan had learned, was the bristly part at the end of a stalk of barley and many other grasses. Black Dame. Black Dam, hence the black wheat. It¡¯d been wordplay.


    ¡°That¡¯s terrible,¡± he groaned, to mixed cheers and jeers from the table.


    The crew got easier to navigate once they were a little drunk, but Tristan noticed they were well disposed from the start. Temenos vouching for him settled the matter as far as they were concerned, and as drinks flowed and talk continued the thief could not help but noticed how the old man sat at the head of the table, enjoying subtle deference from the others like some family patriarch.


    Half of them were drunk by the first hour¡¯s turn, quaffing ale and wine like it was water, and even though he discreetly got rid of as much drink as he could Tristan was not unaffected either. It had him clenching his teeth whenever he noticed the thickness of his tongue or the way his wits slowed.


    It was easy enough to make good with the crowd. Throw in a few stories from working on the docks at Sacromonte, a coterie tale about idiots knifing each other over arguing about different men with the same name, and he had them laughing loud enough to shake the shutters. Nikias, in particular, kept clapping his back. The mustachioed older man was the loudest and most boisterous of the lot, insisting he had seen potential in Ferrando from the start.


    But at the turn of the second hour a wheel came off the cart.


    ¡°Enough drinking,¡± a skinny man called Heirax said, slamming his tankard down. ¡°It¡¯s not a proper initiation until we¡¯ve taken him to the Orchard, and a man¡¯s gotta be sober for that.¡±


    There was no need for Tristan to ask what the Orchard was: the way Heirax grabbed his crotch and wiggled his hips was explanation enough. Taunts promptly came from the few women at the table, the loudest of them a stocky, broad-shouldered older woman named Timandra.


    ¡°Throw those girls a fish instead, at least they¡¯ll get a meal after the useless flopping around,¡± she mocked.


    ¡°You confusing me with your husband, ¡®Mandra?¡± he clapped back.


    That got him a drink thrown at his head and the sisters owning the place coming down on everyone before a fight could erupt properly. Unfortunately for him, that wasn¡¯t the end of the brothel talk. Now that Heirax had put it on the table, near half the men present were urging for it. Some even offered to pitch in together to buy him ¡®one of the prettiest girls¡¯, Tristan¡¯s attempts to decline and get drinks instead dismissed as him being shy.


    He supposed asking the working girl to make noise for the coin and let him take a nap wouldn¡¯t be the worst way to end the evening.


    Only then Nikias came back with a brace of liquor, challenging everyone to drink, and while the table cheered the mustachioed man clapped his back again.


    ¡°He¡¯ll have forgotten in a minute, and he¡¯ll be too drunk when he remembers,¡± Nikias quietly said. ¡°You¡¯re fine.¡±


    Tristan shot him a wary look and prepared to lie when the older man shook his head.


    ¡°I know what you are,¡± Nikias said.


    His eyes narrowed.


    ¡°And that is?¡±


    ¡°My nephew also prefers men,¡± Nikias told him. ¡°Nothing wrong with that, Ferrando.¡±


    Well. He¡¯d still take that over the brothel visit. Tristan feigned embarrassment.


    ¡°It is true, I can¡¯t resist chest hair and¡­¡± what do men like in men, come on think of something anything ¡°¡­cocks?¡±


    Shit. Why had that sounded like a question? Fuck, this was why he didn¡¯t drink. Behind him he heard Fortuna biting down on her fist in an effort not to burst out in a hysterical cackle. Nikias burst out in a bawdy laugh and clapped his back again. Built like that man was Tristan was going to bruise, but after failing to come up with something better than cocks he somewhat deserved it.


    Having handled that will all the deftness of a drowning bird, Tristan coasted on the distraction provided by Nikias and bought another round of liquor. The price for salvation was listening to the mustachioed man¡¯s complaints about how the man his nephew was seeing was wrong for him, a poet layabout who thought he''d strike it rich, and some hints about Tristan coming over for dinner sometime.


    The thief decided to think of it as having paid in advance for his next sins.


    Once the liquor was out it was never put away, replacing ales and wines, and it sunk its claws quickly. Temenos, who had only sipped at his ale, drank the grape liquor like a fish. Against Tristan¡¯s expectations he did not hold his drink particularly well, either, and when the old man began looking green he seized on his way out. He volunteered to walk Temenos home, leaning on the aspect of being grateful for being brought in, and even got a few approving nods for it.


    He got directions from Timandra about one of the Kassa warehouses near here, as apparently Temenos never went home where his grandchildren might see him when he drank, and after she handed him the key away they went.


    Within minutes they stopped for the old man to empty his stomach in an alley, which at least sobered him up some.


    It was not a long walk to the warehouse, which in truth was a two stories house packed with some empty crates and rusted metal parts. There were two straw beds in the room on the second story, though, with sheets and a barrel of water from which hung a ladle and a bowl. Tristan helped Temenos into one of the beds, ignoring how the old man kept muttering and calling him Bion. He pulled the covers over him, then stepped away grimacing.


    He had never liked being around drunks. Still, at least the night was done. He put the key by the barrel and went down the stairs, headed back to the street. If not for the drinking he might have considered having a look at the Nineteenth, but as things stood he-


    ¡°Tristan.¡±


    The seriousness of the tone had him stopping cold, and he turned to find Fortuna standing at the top of the stairs. Eerie still as she looked into the room, a figure painted in blood and gold and marble.


    ¡°What is it?¡± he whispered.


    ¡°Something is coming,¡± the Lady of Long Odds said.


    A carving knife was the most he could carry without suspicion: in a heartbeat, it was out and in his hand as he crept back up the stairs.


    ¡°A lemure?¡± he asked, coming to stand by her side.


    Temenos was under the covers, snoring. The room was empty save for piled crates, the beddings and the barrel of water. Fortuna laid a hand on his arm, a false warmth.


    ¡°It¡¯s¡­ hungry. But it does not see you.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Because you¡¯re mine,¡± the goddess said.


    He frowned. What did she mean by- It was like the flicker of a flame, the way the glint reflected off copper for a heartbeat before being gone. There was nothing, and then something stood.


    No part of Tristan Abrascal dared to call it a man.


    It only loosely bore the shape of one. Tall, stooped, hair like seaweed matted with blood. It wore clothes, loose rags and a breastplate of iron. A helmet scarred with deep gouges. But its skin was craggy earth, the cracks spilling out wooden groans, and its bare feet melded with trailing ropes that dripped rotten blood. At the end of the ropes, being dragged was¡­ Tristan¡¯s eyes shied away from it. Something precious, something enviable.


    The god¡¯s breath sounded like screams, like shouts, like shrieks, and in its hand it held a curved bronze cycle.


    It took a single step towards the sleeping Temenos and Tristan swallowed at the sight. Should he- the sound had the god turning towards him, quick as a snake, and he got only a glimpse of empty sockets from which dangled precious blue stones before cursing.


    He pulled on his luck as hard and deep as he could, releasing it that same instant, which was the only reason he lived.


    Tristan tripped backwards down the stairs, falling with a shout of pain, and heat licked at his face ¨C slicing past his nose and into his hair. He screamed his back hit the wood, making a racket as he tumbled down the stairs, and as he hit the last step it broke under him ¨C rotten, or just old. Shard went through his shirt and into his back. He was stuck with his legs up, like a helpless turtle, but he caught a glimpse of the god turning away. Back towards Temenos.


    He moved on instinct, ripping out his shirt and scrambling up the stairs in time to see the god leaning over a stirring Temenos, hand drawing back. On instinct he threw the knife, but the moment it left his fingers he knew he¡¯d missed. It did not spin but fly like dart, missing the god¡¯s back entirely and instead taking an angle and hitting ¨C oh, Manes.


    It hit Temenos in the leg, right above the ankle, and the old man woke up with a shout of pain and terror. The old traveling man¡¯s eyes widened as the sickle came down, but the barest of moments before the blade could cut through his head there was a flicker.


    And the reaping god was gone, just like that.


    ¡°Temenos,¡± he shouted. ¡°Are you-¡±


    ¡°Gods,¡± the white-haired man babbled, ¡°oh, gods.¡±


    He moved closer, wincing at the sight of the blade he¡¯d thrown in Temenos¡¯ leg. It was a shallow wound, at least.


    ¡°Sculler spare me,¡± Temenos hoarsely said. ¡°Stavros Kassa wasn¡¯t lying: there really is an assassin out there coming for our necks. There is no choice.¡±


    ¡°No choice for what?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Joining them,¡± the old man said, licking his lips. ¡°The revolutionaries.¡±

 Chapter 58

    While Song¡¯s insistence that the matters with the Nineteenth and the Ivory Library were not best resolved with stacked corpses was a mite puzzling, she had made a request for help and Angharad was honorbound to follow through with it.


    She was, after all, the only member of the Thirteenth who could do this.


    Captain Domingo Santos was a Master of the Akelarre Guild, and as a brigadier¡¯s personal Navigator he ranked his own rooms. Since Captain Domingo might also be a member of the Ivory Library the Thirteenth had an interest in looking through that room, but a Navigator¡¯s private affairs were not something easily pried into. Certainly not without them noticing.


    Unless, of course the investigation was done purely through a vision within Angharad¡¯s own mind.


    Limping past the man¡¯s room on the way to breakfast, Angharad breathed in and mere heartbeats later breathed out.


    She looked down at her hand and the steel prying bar she had brought with her. Apparently forcing the door open was a good way to get both the bar and half her fingers devoured by black mist, so perhaps another approach was required.


    And a letter to Tristan, who might have advice on the subject of breaking into somewhere.


    --


    On the twenty-second day of the Thirteenth¡¯s stay on Asphodel, Song was forced to admit she had run out of excuses to avoid the palace.


    It had been three days since the meeting with the Yellow Earth turned into a bout of extortion, and though her black eye was headed nowhere the worst of the other bruising had faded. Hopefully the swift use of a cold compress on her eye meant the swelling would not last for too long, and there were certainly signs in that direction. Yet they were street signs, pointing at a direction and not an arrival, which meant she spent a significant part of her morning sitting in front of a mirror with Angharad¡¯s help.


    ¡°It is as hidden as it can be,¡± said noblewoman informed her.


    Song grimaced at the vanity mirror but did not contradict her. There was only so much that concealing face paint could do, and for lack of her own she had been forced to use the kind common on Asphodel ¨C which had so much fat in it she wondered if they crammed an entire pig¡¯s worth into every pot. Adding blush to her cheeks would have helped distract from it, but also sent entirely the wrong message to the Lord Rector.


    They had at least added some shadow to her eyes, which Angharad had surprisingly proved only middlingly competent at applying.


    ¡°Did a maid perchance apply most your cosmetics, back in Peredur?¡± Song asked.


    ¡°I rarely wore much even on society evenings,¡± Angharad replied, idly putting Song¡¯s hair in order. ¡°It is considered in poor taste to bear both elaborate cosmetics and the duelist¡¯s strap, as they have contrary implications.¡±


    Song half-turned to look up at Angharad Tredegar, who stood on the upper end of five foot ten with a perfectly proportioned body that somehow managed both curves and muscle. A regular¡¯s uniform that she knew for a fact was untouched somehow looked flatteringly tailored. That she didn¡¯t even have to work for it was, truly, the most insulting part.


    ¡°You are enemy to all womankind,¡± Song informed her.


    ¡°I pluck my eyebrows,¡± Angharad defensively replied.


    A beat passed.


    ¡°Most of womankind,¡± Song conceded.


    The Pereduri muttered something along the lines of ¡®so much for all under Heaven¡¯ under her breath, setting Song¡¯s lips to twitching. She rose and made sure to thank the other woman for her help, regardless of the unfairness dealt unto them by the vagaries of the Circle Perpetual.


    ¡°Are you certain you do not want me to accompany you?¡± Angharad asked for the second time.


    She nodded in return, adjusting her formal clothes for the second time.


    ¡°It would draw too much attention for us to be seen together,¡± she said.


    Maryam¡¯s comings and goings to the palace had been explained away by Lord Rector Evander¡¯s supposed interest in writing a commonplace on the Izvorica and the Song was well aware of the assumptions regarding her own visits, but for both her and the debutante Angharad Tredegar to be seen together socially was certain to tip off anyone watching that something was afoot.


    There was a reason they had been in the same palace room only a handful of times since that first audience with Evander.


    ¡°Captain Wen, then,¡± Angharad tried.


    Song cocked an eyebrow.


    ¡°Wen Duan cannot be disguised,¡± she flatly said. ¡°At best he can be differently decorated.¡±


    The other woman coughed into her fist, shuffling, which was Pereduri for agreeing without speaking the words and thus stating them to be the truth. It took a second for Song to catch on as to why Angharad would suggest it at all.


    ¡°You believe I need a chaperone,¡± she said.


    ¡°I have been called a whore for lacking one in presence of a man I have no interest in, not even a week ago,¡± Angharad delicately replied.


    ¡°I am not a noblewoman, Angharad,¡± she said. ¡°My reputation in those circles is of little import.¡±


    ¡°There are other circles that might look ill on your association with Evander Palliades,¡± the dark-skinned woman flatly replied.


    It was an effort not to clench her jaw, which might mar the face paint. The Yellow Earth, yes. Ai had not accused her of fucking a king, at least, but she had implied affections. Arguably that was even more damning. The urges of one¡¯s body were a surface matter, while sentiment was one of the soul.


    ¡°They want me to pass information to them,¡± she said, avoiding mentioning a name. ¡°I cannot obtain said information without heading to the palace.¡±


    Angharad eyed her for a moment, then sighed and let it drop. They both knew the excuse was a weak one, for the Yellow Earth wanted reports as to what Lord Rector¡¯s preparations against the coup were but Evander had yet to even learn of said coup. He would not until Maryam returned, and there were still another five days before that.


    A fact that had allowed Song to push back the decision about what she must do for a little longer despite Angharad¡¯s delicate inquiries on the matter. She did not know whether it was noble manners or a natural predisposition to privacy that had the Pereduri unwilling to push the matter, but she was grateful for it whatever the source. It was doing her sleep no favors to gnaw at the decision like a bone, but the thought of actually deciding either way had her sick in the stomach.


    Neither Maryam nor Tristan would have let her deliberate for so long without pushing, so Angharad¡¯s patience and discretion were appreciated thrice over.


    ¡°I will see you tonight,¡± Song breathed out, straightening. ¡°Are you still headed to the Collegium?¡±


    Angharad nodded.


    ¡°It is good for my reputation to be seen spending coin publicly,¡± she said.


    One of the ways they had settled on to gild back Angharad¡¯s reputation in Tratheke society was a pretense she had come into an inheritance, which could be feigned with brigade funds. The claim would be that much of the gold was still held up in Malan, providing an excuse to avoid truly expensive sprees, but Angharad would still be living it up on the Thirteenth¡¯s coin for a time.


    Thankfully, Colonel Cao had taught all Stripe students the right forms to request reimbursement for ¡®inevitable expenses in the fulfilling of a contract undertaken on behalf of the Watch¡¯. Song even intended to have it classified as urgent, which would see it forwarded to the nearest commanding officer: Brigadier Chilaca. The man was likely to sign off on a better return than a third of the funds spent she could expect from Stheno¡¯s Peak, as much to keep her sweet as because agreeing would let him get into the diplomatic discretionary fund and skim some of the funds for himself.


    As Chunhua Cao had told them: if you couldn¡¯t get around the corruption, you had best find a way to make it work for you.


    On practical level, Angharad spending that coin in the Collegium district would both ensure rumors and allow her an excuse to pass and collect messages from the Chimerical while she was in that part of the city. Tristan needed to be informed of the latest developments ¨C the weapons and the workshop, the likely traitors in the Trade Assembly, Maryam¡¯s shipyard trip ¨C as well as kept abreast of the Nineteenth¡¯s actions. His latest reports had him estimating that within two weeks at the utmost he would be done with the Kassa infiltration, which Song was still somewhat surprised to find a relief.


    As the hour was running late, she soon parted ways with Angharad and took the carriage to the Collegium. Within moments of emerging from the lift into the palace, however, she knew there would be trouble. Majordomo Timon was not leading her towards the general or even the private archives, whose books were the reason she had come today.


    She was instead being led towards one of the private reading rooms, and Song knew exactly who would be waiting for her there. Unsurprisingly, Evander Palliades was already seated at the table inside, besides a pot of Jigong black leaf coincidentally accompanied by two cups. He was freshly shaved, simply dressed ¨C though every part of his clothes, from the collared burgundy shirt under a pale grey doublet to the matching hose flattering his calves, were expensive and perfectly tailored ¨C and his spectacles were polished to a gleam.


    "Ah, Captain Song,¡± he smiled. ¡°I had been expecting you.¡±


    ¡°Had you?¡± Song drily replied. ¡°I could not tell.¡±


    He had an excuse ready for everything, she found. Why were they not in the archives?


    ¡°Among the books you mentioned there are some in both, it is simpler to send for them as necessary,¡± he smiled, pouring her a cup.


    He even poured it correctly, with his right hand on his handle and his left on the lid. Song smelled treachery in the ranks. Maryam, you double-crossing snake. She tried to bring this back on track by reminding him that breaking a cipher could take hours and the Lord Rector of Asphodel must surely have duties more pressing.


    ¡°I will be working late tonight instead,¡± Evander replied, brushing his back his stupid pretty hair. ¡°As this is former rectoral correspondence, I cannot entrust the knowledge therein to any but a member of House Palliades.¡±


    That was both dutiful of him and manipulative, which Song must reluctantly concede was more attractive paired than standalone. She was thus subjected to the indignity of sitting next to the Lord Rector of Asphodel with their elbows almost touching, in a room with flattering soft lighting as traditional Mazu tea treats were trotted out on platters and every book cited in the correspondence was brough to them by servants.


    Who then left the room the moment, as if they had been strictly instructed to do so. Song squinted at the Lord Rector, who innocently smiled back. A boy of fifteen, she reminded herself. The body found in the canal. It had been easier to believe the Yellow Earth, she found, before the local sect¡¯s second choked her halfway to death in an empty alley. That did not mean, however, that she disbelieved what she had been told.


    There must be enough truth to it had been a lie worth telling.


    She forced herself to focus on the work instead, digging into the books that the correspondence quoted and doing her best to ignore the fact that she was essentially reading explicit letters between a Lord Rector and his mistress while brushing elbows with the current man holding that title. It only got worse when she complimented him for the ink, only to learn he had ground it himself earlier. As practice for his recent forays into calligraphy.


    She was going to drown Maryam. What was next, dipping the man in honey?


    Ferociously looking down at the papers and pushing out all distractions, she methodically set about picking open the cipher. Progress was slow and they took a short break an hour in, but when they returned to the table it was with fresh energy ¨C and an insight, when they realized that every single book quote had an author of noble birth. Meaning a first name and a surname.


    Honesty compelled Song to admit that she was not, strictly speaking, the one who broke the cypher. While she honed in on the quotes being the keystone to it all, it was Evander who figured out that the quote itself was the message. The rest of the letter was exactly what it appeared to be, correspondence between Hector Lissenos and his mistress.


    It was a transposition cypher, of a sort: the first letter of the name and surname of the author were to be removed from the quote, the remaining text serving as a message. This worked with varying degrees of legibility, and not infrequently there were ¡®garbage¡¯ words in the text that they both agreed on must be ignored for the messages to make sense.


    The messages revealed, though bare bones, were telling.


    ¡°So ¡®C. E.¡¯ was a commander of the Watch,¡± Evander Palliades said, leaning back into his seat as nimble fingers tapped the plush arms of the chair. ¡°Most likely the leading officer for all the blackcloaks of Asphodel.¡±


    ¡°She must have had backing from the Conclave,¡± Song said, folding her arms to keep them occupied. ¡°No Watch presence on the island ever had the resources to create something like an aether seal, it would require aid from the Rookery.¡±


    ¡°So would building this ¡®prison¡¯ they keeping mentioning,¡± Evander said. ¡°I made inquiries and ¡®brackstone¡¯ is not something quarried on Asphodel. That means imports and likely Watch tinkers. I don¡¯t expect your average mason is well versed in the art of imprisoning gods.¡±


    The crux of the correspondence was the Lord Rector and C. E. discussing the building of a prison for the Hated One, as well as the crafting of the aether seal to smother it to death. Inferred from context, the Hated One had been responsible for the worst of the Ataxia and Hector Lissenos was willing to pour gold like water to be rid of it for good. Though the letters were not dated, they appeared to be spread out over several years and the prison¡¯s construction must have lasted at least that long.


    ¡°Then the Hated One¡¯s prison is now breached,¡± Song grimly said. ¡°What else could that sphere of salt my Navigator found be? There is certainly no mention of anything like that harpoon in the correspondence.¡±


    ¡°I would not expect it to have arrived there by accident either,¡± Evander conceded.


    His expression was dark, befitting of someone who had been told a rampant god had begun to escape its prison, but there was a tinge of the personal to it she had not expected.


    ¡°You seem more disappointed than worried,¡± Song ventured.


    He turned a weary look on her.


    ¡°I must now go begging for the help of the very Watch trying to strongarm me over my shipyard,¡± Evander said. ¡°My bargaining position has become more of a bargaining rout.¡±


    It was already weaker than you knew, Song thought with a pang of guilt. And besides, while his worries were not unfounded he overestimated how much leverage the Watch could truly exercise there. It would be a taint on the reputation of the order should it get out the rooks had been so busy trying to extort Asphodel they¡¯d let an old god rampage through Tratheke.


    ¡°I expect our diplomats are aware that negotiation down the barrel of a gun does not lead to lasting accords,¡± Song told him.


    Not unless you kept the barrel there, and the Watch was in no position for that. The god would either be dealt with or not. Evander glanced at her through his spectacles, then sighed.


    ¡°Let us speak no more of it,¡± he said. ¡°I would prefer not to put you in that position.¡±


    The use of the word position, after some of the letters they had read, was not poor in meanings. Song narrowed her eyes at him, looking for an implication to take offence to, but all those to be found were something of a reach. She let it pass. A moment of silence stretched out between them until he straightened in his chair.


    ¡°Still, those letters really were quite explicit,¡± Evander noted. ¡°I expect they were genuinely lovers, for there would have been other excuses for correspondence.¡±


    Song cleared her throat uncomfortably at the implication of a Watch officer and the Lord Rector of Asphodel having once shared a bed. The hall around them was large, but they sat mere feet apart and she had never felt more aware of how alone they were in here. Not another soul to be found.


    ¡°It could have been to discourage looking for the cipher,¡± she tried. ¡°Raciness might make readers too uncomfortable to delve deeply.¡±


    It was a weak argument, and from the twitch of his lips he knew it just as well as she. His visible amusement caused a flash of irritation.


    ¡°Is it true,¡± she began, unwisely, then shut her mouth.


    He cocked his brow.


    ¡°Forget I said anything,¡± Song said.


    ¡°I will not,¡± Evander calmly replied. ¡°I may not answer, but I will not lie. Ask.¡±


    The way the last word had the faintest echo of a command had Song considering walking out, and also squirming in her seat a bit. She did not dislike authority.


    ¡°A shoe-shiner,¡± she said. ¡°Fifteen. Found dead in a canal.¡±


    He cocked his head to the side.


    ¡°The Yellow Earth spy,¡± he said. ¡°What of him?¡±


    Someone, Song thought, sought to make a fool of her. Do not trust too much, she then reminded herself. Which one, another voice softly asked.


    ¡°A spy,¡± she slowly said.


    ¡°Caught past two guarded halls with an ear against a door,¡± Evander said. ¡°I cannot prove he was Yellow Earth, of course, but he was determined enough to chew most of the way through his own tongue.¡±


    He met her eyes squarely through his spectacles.


    ¡°He died on the rack,¡± the Lord Rector bluntly acknowledged, ¡°and while I did not ask about the body they are often disposed of through the canals.¡±


    A good liar, Song thought, would add exactly that kind of detail. Something unflattering so it would not seem like he was trying to duck a bullet. In truth, even if she followed the trails she had been told the odds were she would never learn the whole of the affair. Perfect clarity was the realm of gods of madmen.


    It came down, in the end, to trust.


    The Yellow Earth had struck her. Threatened her. But wasn¡¯t the Lord Rector, in a way, trying to buy her? No good kings, she prayed. But then Hao Yu had his table, speaking measuredly, and Ai in the alley ¨C had they been good? Bad souls could serve good causes, but then it must be that the reverse was equally true. And it was not causes she was being asked to trust here, was it?


    Song abruptly rose to her feet, knees almost hitting the edge of the table.


    ¡°I must report this to my superiors,¡± she evenly said, ¡°and immediately send a letter to Stheno¡¯s Peak, requesting information on this commander. It may well be that the knowledge we sought has been tucked away in a seal Watch vault all this time.¡±


    Evander awkwardly coughed, rising to his feet.


    ¡°Of course,¡± he said. ¡°Though it is later, and service will no doubt be done by the time of your return to Black House. I can have arranged a meal for-¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Song blurted out, and he looked crestfallen for a heartbeat before it was gone.


    But you want to, the voice from earlier said. But you need the door to stay open to get the information, another part of her whispered.


    ¡°No tonight,¡± she said, looking away.


    But not before seeing his eyes light up, and that made her feel almost as sick as the knowledge that she was running out of time to delay making her choice.


    --


    Helping keep Temenos alive had paid off in droves: overnight Tristan had become the man¡¯s savior and thus deeply trusted, currency he wasted no time in spending. For all that this talk of revolutionaries intrigued ¨C and Temenos, while swearing to bring him along to the ¡®meet¡¯, had remained frustratingly vague on who these revolutionaries might be ¨C that thread was not the one he had first come to the Kassa workshop to pull.


    Having the old man vouch for him opened doors, quite literally in this case. After a week and change of being a traveling man, a mere day after that god nearly taking his head off Tristan finally got to walk through the same door the Brass Chariot had supposedly seen the assassin walk through.


    It didn¡¯t lead to the workshop proper, he learned, but to a pair of narrow side rooms. One was full of cleaning supplies, including a fearsomely pungent amount of vinegar jars, while the other was small bedroom with two cots and a lantern. There was a door leading to the workshop but it was in the hall, not in either room.


    ¡°We usually keep two watchmen here at night,¡± Nikias told him. ¡°Old Chloris wants it so there¡¯s always souls right next to the workshop in case someone tries to break in.¡±


    All that¡¯d been needed for the mustachioed man to show him in was expressing a passing curiosity as to what lay behind the door. Nikias had been all too eager to show him, still most comfortable being in the position of the man showing Ferrando how things worked around the workshop. Now that Tristan¡¯s repute was rising, it had been easy to predict he would seize on a opportunity to reinforce that he was an old hand around here should it be dangled as bait in front of him.


    ¡°Do we have to take shifts as well?¡± Tristan asked, feigning concern.


    ¡°No, none of that,¡± Nikias assured him. ¡°The watchmen are old Kassa men from the fleet, sailors that know their way around a fight but are getting long in the tooth.¡±


    Trusted men long in the company¡¯s service, Tristan translated, who answer directly to Chloris and Stavros Kassa. Probably more Stravros, if the talk about the old lady passing the reins to her son were true. Meaning that the assassin who¡¯d almost killed the Lord Rector of Asphodel was involved with the Kassa, because Nikias was implying the watchmen in there rotated. The assassin couldn¡¯t have made a deal with that night¡¯s specific watchmen in advance.


    What in the gods were the Kassa up to? Stevros Kassa knew about what was almost certainly the ¡®killer¡¯ hunted by the Nineteenth, enough to warn Temenos in advance about it. Meanwhile the family was hosting in their own workshop another assassin, that one a would-be regicide that despite Tianxi origins appeared to be working on behalf of the Council of Ministers.


    His best guess was that the Kassa had switched sides and gone over to the Ministers, more specifically the cult of the Golden Ram ¨C who were using some kind of bound lesser god to get rid of any obstacle to their coup. It was true Temenos could have been a real thorn in the sides of the Kassa, if he refused to back their ambitions and mobilized their own workers against them. Either dead or scared, he¡¯d be forced to get on their side.


    Yet Tristan couldn¡¯t help but feel as if were missing something, like he was not unveiling the truth so much as fitting the parts of it he¡¯d uncovered like mostly matching puzzle pieces.


    ¡°Anyhow, they¡¯re not even using it for that nowadays,¡± Nikias continued.


    ¡°Oh?¡± Tristan encouraged.


    ¡°They kept some guest in there for a few days and left it empty since,¡± the mustachioed man told him. ¡°The old lady never would have signed off on it, but Stavros does as he likes.¡±


    And just like that his evening plans had taken shape. If she¡¯d merely stayed there a night he would have investigated the watchmen, but if the assassin used it as a safehouse for a few days? Odds were she would have left a stash in there, something to help if she returned from the assassination wounded or in need of fund to get out of the capital.


    Tristan eased out of the situation, though he took the time to discreetly check the locks on both doors before letting Nikias lead him away and back to work. The outer lock was quality, a rim lock of local make, but inside would be easier: that was a Gongmin on the door, an old friend returned to beckon him inside. Ah, Tianxi workshop locks. The gift that kept on giving.


    He came back after dark with his lockpicks.


    That rim lock proved tricky, there was a ward inside to prevent skeleton keys like his own from working. Good metal, intricate craftsmanship: this was not the work of some blacksmith hammering a box together. A dedicated locksmith had built it with an eye to keeping out thieves.


    Not Tristan Abrascal¡¯s caliber of thief, of course, but it still took him a little over three minutes before he had it sliding open.


    He closed it behind him and crept past the cleaning storage with his hooded lantern in hand. He put his ear to the door of the watchmen room, checking if there was anyone inside, but he heard nothing and there was no sign of light under the door. The Gongmin lock was done in a minute and then he was inside. The room had not changed since he was last there, still bare wood with two cots and an unlit lantern. He lifted the hood off his own, rolling his shoulder.


    Now, if he were an assassin, where would he put his supply stash?


    Beneath the cots first, but there was no trace of hidden compartment in the wooden floor. He checked corners for dust that¡¯d been moved, but all it taught him was that at some point a large pot had been placed in the left corner. A chamber pot for when the assassin had laid low here, if he had to guess. With the cots back in place he checked the walls, knocking for hollow spots, but he found none.


    But standing on the cots he could reach the ceiling, and there he found a trail: above the second bed there was a hollow part in the ceiling. It could have been merely part of the construction, and certainly nothing slid off easily. But one of the planks seemed just a little too well-defined, and when he took his largest pick and put his whole weight behind pushing the plank it budged.


    Ah, their assassin had put weight over the plank so it wouldn¡¯t move easily. Enough to trick most who did not know about such tricks.


    ¡°Treasure?¡± Fortuna asked.


    He almost jumped, swallowing a curse. He delicately moved the ceiling plank, discovering some sort of trick with a tied stone was the reason for the weight. That was a problem ¨C he didn¡¯t know how to replicate it. There would be no putting everything perfectly back in place when he was done.


    ¡°Supplies, I expect,¡± he murmured back.


    Since he was not fool enough to blindly go groping around an assassin¡¯s belongings, he instead reached into his bag and pulled out a long, slender piece of wood to use that instead. Lightly tapping around he got empty space, until suddenly there was a hard snap. He drew back the stick and found it had been snapped clean through and the sides were somewhat eaten at. Some sort of poison?


    ¡°As always,¡± the Lady of Long Odds proudly said, ¡°we are one step ahead.¡±


    Tristan squinted at her for a long moment. He then climbed down the cot, got into his bag and pulled out a second piece of wood before reaching inside again.


    Snap.


    ¡°Two steps ahead,¡± Fortuna crowed.


    ¡°Remember that, next time you tell me to take your advice,¡± he said.


    ¡°I won¡¯t,¡± she honestly replied.


    At least she was admitting it, he mentally praised.


    As Tristan was now out of sticks, he had to make to with using a bit of rope. The lack of a snap had him, warily, wrapping his hand in cloth and even one of the bedsheets before reaching inside. He pulled out a small leather satchel, the length of three fists and about as broad as one, decorated with what he could only call steel mousetraps with teeth and ¨C he took a sniff ¨C some kind of jellied acid? That must be expensive.


    He covered his mouth with a scarf and used the broken sticks to open the satchel buckle, just in case, but it seemed that was to be it for the traps. Inside was a knife, two bandage rolls, a pair of unmarked vials and what looked like three small rubies. A real fortune, that. But most important of all was a single sheathed scroll, laid over the rest. Taking all due precautions, he got the scroll out of the sheath and unrolled it.


    Lucky him, it was in Antigua.


    And what an interesting reading it made, neat handwriting filling row after row in the lantern light. His lips twitched: it seemed an old friend had come to visit, because he was looking at a contract between the Obsidian Order and someone known only as H. A. for the death of Evander Palliades. The Izcalli assassins weren¡¯t after Angharad this time, which was somewhat amusing, as was the staggering sum H. A. was paying the cultists of the Skeletal Butterfly for: thirty-thousand arboles.


    A kingly sum, as befitting the purchase of a king¡¯s head. And that was telling, because how many people on Asphodel could afford to pay such a massive sum? Precious few, he¡¯d wager, and should he follow that trail to its conclusion a most useful name was bound to be waiting.


    ¡°Who is H. A. ?¡± Fortuna asked, leaning over his shoulder.


    ¡°I¡¯ve no idea,¡± Tristan admitted. ¡°But then I have been out of contact for some time. I expect those letters are best passed to Song and Angharad, who will have a fresher list of suspects.¡±


    Alas the initials did not match Apollonia Floros, even reversed, which would have rather simplified the whole thing. While he was of the opinion that the Obsidian Order would only insist on such a contract to insulate themselves from the possible backlash of discovered regicide ¨C if the Grasshopper King got accused of assassinating kings in the Trebian Sea, he would no doubt throw the Order under the carriage wheels without hesitation ¨C and that meant he name should be true, there were no certainties.


    He hesitated for a moment before deciding there would be no hiding he¡¯d been through the satchel, pocketing the sheathed scroll and the rubies. After a moment he pocketed the vials as well, Hage might know something useful about their contents. While he could see the liquid inside and it was translucent, the vials themselves were of cheap brown glass so he could not learn more without opening them.


    It was not the time or place, and better left to experts besides. The rest of the pillaged stash he put back in the ceiling, then wedged the plank in place without bothering to attempt the rock trick again. It seemed like the kind of thing it took quite a bit to learn, and he could afford to stay here too long. Just because the room here was deserted did not mean that the workshop itself was.


    As if the gods were setting out to prove him right he heard the muted sound of voices. Time to leave. Before this got complicated. He grabbed his affairs and closed the door behind him, pausing only when he recognized the timber of a particular voice through the door leading into the alley. Temenos. What was the old man doing here? There was the sound of a key being used, Tristan tensing for one heartbeat before realizing that Temenos was headed into the workshop.


    And speaking with at least two more people, by the sound of the voices.


    Tristan bit the inside of his cheek, hesitating, but in the end Temenos was now his most important lead: he must eavesdrop if he could. His lockpicks came back out and he put his ear to the door leading into the workshop from the hall. Three others with Temenos, he discerned. Two women and a man. Waiting until the voices headed deeper into the workshop, he got to work.


    A minute later the lock popped open and, hand on the door, he cracked it the slightest it open after smothering his lantern. A lamp had been lit in the workshop, near the front, but those inside were speaking quietly enough he was not able to hear much but noise from where he hid.


    He¡¯d have to head in.


    Immediately on the other side of the door was a small balcony overlooking the workshop proper, with a solid wooden railing, so it was just a matter of waiting until the noise of conversation would cover his movement and slip into the workshop. He asked Fortuna to check when they were all looking the right way, and when she gave the signal through the wall he slipped in.


    Tristan closed the door, pressed against the railing, and slowly crept down the stairs. He could hear much better from down here, and-


    ¡°Describe it for us, if you would,¡± Captain Tozi Poloko ordered. ¡°As many details as you remember.¡±


    Oh, you utter fool, he cursed himself. Of course the Nineteenth would come to investigate the first botched killing by their mystery assassin, he should have seen that coming a mile away. He was lucky it was Temenos they¡¯d sought and not him, though it was true Tristan had worked to keep his name away of it at least in a formal manner.


    The traveling man had dismissed going to the lictors about the matter in the first place, and been all to understanding of Tristan¡¯s request to be kept out of the matter when it was kicked up to authorities ¨C an implication that the way he had reached Asphodel might cause him trouble had been enough to earn an understanding pat on the back.


    You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    ¡°It looked like a broken god,¡± Temenos said. ¡°Craggy and unkempt, reeking of salt and blood. Its eye sockets were empty and precious stones dangled off them.¡±


    A curious noise.


    ¡°Like in the tale of King Oduromai, when he plucked out his eyes and replaced them with the treasures of two kings,¡± Cressida Barboza said.


    ¡°I suppose,¡± Temenos shrugged. ¡°It wore an iron helmet, with scars, and I think a breastplate of the same. It wielded a sickle.¡±


    ¡°A sickle,¡± Izel Coyac mused. ¡°Can you describe it?¡±


    Tozi, Cressida, Izel. Better than if Kiran was there, the Skiritai would eat him for breakfast, but Tristan suspected that the tinker was likely the worst fighter of the three and was still uncertain how such a fight would go. One against three, it was a sure thing. And not in his favor.


    ¡°Bronze,¡± Temenos said. ¡°It looked sharp.¡±


    ¡°It looked sharp,¡± Cressida muttered, disbelieving, and he could almost hear her roll her eyes.


    Stock. What did he have? A knife, his pistol, thief tools. Not his blackjack, which as uncommon enough a tool in these parts he¡¯d now wanted to risk sticking out by being seen using one.


    ¡°No strange lights, no symbols carved on the blade?¡± Izel pressed.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t see none,¡± Temenos grunted.


    ¡°We were told of another witness,¡± Captain Tozi said. ¡°Did they see more?¡±


    Tristan¡¯s stomach clenched. It seemed he might have to disappear before finding out about these revolutionaries after all.


    ¡°She wasn¡¯t in the room when the thing came,¡± Temenos lied without batting an eye. ¡°Just came up to help me after.¡±


    His stomach unclenched. There were, it seemed, advantages to a man like Temenos believing he owed you his life.


    ¡°And the wound on your leg?¡± Cressida mildly asked.


    ¡°Work accident,¡± Temenos shrugged. ¡°Does it look like a stabbing wound to you?¡±


    There was a heartbeat, as if the Nineteenth were looking at the wound, then Tozi hummed in agreement.


    ¡°The angle¡¯s off,¡± she conceded. ¡°It barely went in.¡±


    Tristan decided not to look that gift horse in the mouth, even if the horse was being a mite insulting about his knife-throwing skills. He¡¯d not been aiming at Temenos in the first place!


    ¡°Craggy, you said,¡± Cressida brought up. ¡°In what sense?¡±


    But it was not the continuing interrogation Tristan pricked his ear for, but something altogether subtler. Soft, aimless. Steps getting closer. Shit. The thief reached for his knife. His pistol would be a sure kill, striking from surprise, but also ensure he was chased. He¡¯d probably make it out into the street, but from there? The way they were deserted at this hour would work against him, at least at first.


    He still set it down next to him, loaded.


    Whoever was walking around ¨C not Tozi, she was still talking - they had no clear destination in mind. But they were getting closer, step by step. Knife in hand, Tristan settled into a crouch. If he struck the throat quick enough, he could drag the wanderer behind cover and make his escape before the others realized what was happening. One step, another and now he could hear the breath. A hand atop the railing ¨C it had to be Izel, the footsteps were too loud for Cressida ¨C and when the other man turned the corner he sprung into action.


    Tristan caught a glimpse of widening eyes and that nearly-shaved head before his knife hand darted towards Izel¡¯s throat, but the Izcalli hastily leaned back. And, before he could rise into another blow, caught Tristan¡¯s wrist and wrestled it down. It knocked against the railing and he swallowed a pained curse, Izel urgently straightening instead of calling out for help.


    ¡°Izel?¡± Captain Tozi called out.


    ¡°Slipped on the stairs,¡± the Izcalli said, sheepish. ¡°Sorry.¡±


    ¡°Stop wandering around, would you?¡± Cressida said.


    ¡°Soon,¡± he said, meeting Tristan¡¯s eyes as he did.


    The thief¡¯s gaze narrowed. What was Coyac up to?


    ¡°You need to get out of here,¡± Izel whispered from the corner of his mouth. ¡°Is the door unlocked?¡±


    Tristan slowly nodded. The Izcalli casually went up the stairs, past the thief, and opened the door. He did not so much as touch the loaded pistol, though he could have.


    The door opening drew the attention of the others.


    ¡°It isn¡¯t locked,¡± Izel called out. ¡°I¡¯ll check the hall.¡±


    Below the cover of the railing he gestured for Tristan to go into the hall. The thief did with the pistol now in hand, still on edge but failing to see what the Izcalli had to gain by letting him out. If they wanted to grab him, three on one with a single witness to silence was as good a deal as they were likely to get. Tristan grabbed his bag and lantern, knife sheathed but gun still in hand, and in the shadow of the hall found the other man¡¯s eyes.


    ¡°Don¡¯t let us see you in the city,¡± Izel whispered. ¡°Danger.¡±


    Which Tristan well knew. The surprise was that he was being told.


    ¡°Why?¡± he probed.


    ¡°Go,¡± Izel harshly replied. ¡°I can only do so much.¡±


    And Tristan debated pushing, but he did not like the weight of those dice. No, Izel Coyac was proving to be more interesting than he had thought but here was not the time and place. Pull a string too tight and it¡¯d break. So instead he nodded, and as Izel returned to the workshop the Mask disappeared into the street.


    It looked like tonight he had learned not one but two useful things.


    --


    Early in the twenty-third day of her stay on Asphodel, Angharad collected Tristan¡¯s latest report and his answer to her inquiries about getting into Captain Domingo¡¯s room. She rather wished it was not necessary to buy a coffee from the devil every time, but he insisted it was formal Mask policy and she was not certain enough of him lying to call him a liar.


    Use a ten-foot pole. The moment you touch anything you¡¯re on a clock, they have alarm Signs. If you take something it can be marked, put it out in direct Glare at least three hours.


    Angharad made the conscious decision not to consider too deeply why Tristan would know of that last detail, then silently cursed him for his general unhelpfulness. Admittedly, his having survived so long as a thief might have something to do with avoiding robbing Navigators. It was a sensible, if unfortunate, bit of logic.


    Still, she might have a solution of sorts.


    Returning to Black House, Angharad headed directly to the library and looked into a particular set of Watch rules. Specifically those about those what was allowed in pursuit of an investigation of suspected treason among fellow watchmen. The underlying thread was ¡®report it to the Krypteia¡¯, but she did get some usable answers. Harming or detaining another rook was not allowed, but accessing one¡¯s possession was more of a grey area.


    One with considerable latency as to the means of, say, entry into a locked room.


    That afternoon Angharad politely asked one of the servants to unlock the armory for her, then limped inside and used her contract. A few moments later she winced, thanked the servant and went to find Song in the library, where she was reading on the great spirits of Asphodel. The captain cocked a quizzical eyebrow.


    ¡°If I were to ask you about a volume on the subject of using blackpowder for demolition,¡± Angharad said, ¡°would you have a particular suggestion?¡±


    Silver eyes narrowed.


    ¡°Do I want to know?¡±


    ¡°It might be best if you did not,¡± the Pereduri replied.


    A beat passed.


    ¡°Powder Compendium, it¡¯s in the shelves on the far left,¡± Song said. ¡°The middle section, it starts with a drawing of a skull on barrel.¡±


    Angharad¡¯s brow rose.


    ¡°That was quick,¡± she observed.


    Song Ren sharply smiled.


    ¡°My father¡¯s relatives in Mazu helped us, but they also had some very unkind things to say to my mother,¡± she said. ¡°It so happens that, as a girl, I became curious as to the exact quantity of powder that might be required to drop the pretty tower they live in into the waters of the port.¡±


    Angharad would now confess to suspicions that somewhere in Tianxi detailed diagrams of how such a thing might achieved were neatly tucked in a drawer, along with precise dosages and weather recommendations. Well, far be it for her to begrudge someone their¡­ curiosities.


    Now she had best get that book, so that when tomorrow she attempted to blow up that door with a barrel of blackpowder she did not quite embarrassingly kill herself in the process.


    --


    For a little under an hour the carriages rolled down a slope, then they came to a halt and Maryam was brought out to witness a fever dream of a shipyard.


    Under a towering cavern ceiling was a complication of buildings and canals, waters so still and dark they could have been tar, while above the organized chaos rose a forest of crane-towers in polished brass. Some were as water mills, with slowly spinning arms shaped like ornate panels, while others were topped by oversized twisting cogs connecting through steel cables to others of their kind, the entire forest some kind of greater machining.


    Near the heart of the mess the islands the towers were on came together, forming eight tenths of a square, and the machines there surrounded a half-built skimmer set on rails that would drop it straight into the water if pushed. Warm, glowing Glare lights that were pure spheres of glass lit up the cavern like a thousand fireflies.


    Maryam paused breathless at the top of the rise where they were all standing, for it was one of the most strikingly beautiful sights she had ever witnessed. The subtle artistry of it, how seeming disorder had an underlying current of purpose, it was¡­ pleasing to the eye in a way she could not easily express. Like having a spot on your back you couldn¡¯t reach scratched perfectly, or the axe splintering dry wood all the way through in a single perfect blow.


    She was jostled out of her thought by gentle nudge, a tall Aztlan man with thick brows looking at her with mixed amusement and concern. The second tinker, the one from the Deuteronomicon.


    ¡°You must be quite sensitive to aether currents,¡± he said, voice faintly accented. ¡°It is always a flip of the coin whether a Navigator will sense the conceptual symmetry or not.¡±


    Maryam frowned, nails and wood digging into her palm to force focus.


    ¡°That¡¯s what this is?¡± she asked.


    The man nodded.


    ¡°The kind of aether engines that propel skimmers are usually simple perpetual motion devices relying on conceptual mirroring to cheat entropy,¡± he said. ¡°They are not complicated to make, but they are very delicate ¨C even the slightest imprecision will result in the engine blowing up within months.¡±


    Maryam blinked.


    ¡°Blowing up?¡± she repeated.


    ¡°It is an implosion, technically,¡± the tinker admitted, as if conceding to some abstract point she had made. ¡°Mind you, modern studies indicate it¡¯s not so much a hole in the fabric of material reality so much as a temporary leak aether-ward.¡±


    Maryam, for the sake of her already troubled sleep, decided to set aside that aether engines apparently exploded and sucked their immediate surroundings into the aether often enough there had been studies about it. Deuteronomicon tinkers had a well-earned reputation for eccentricity and generally driving themselves insane or straight into the grave, though Akelarre guildsmen still tended to prefer them to their Clockwork Cathedral fellows. The madmen, after all, had a better understanding of how the underlying forces of Vesper functioned.


    It was somewhat ironic that Izel Coyac seemed one of the best-adjusted Deuteronomicon tinkers she had ever met but still wouldn¡¯t beat the average survival age by virtue of being a traitor whose skull she would split open with a hatchet.


    Their little aside was stopped by a band of lictors coming up the stairs, spreading out in ranks as their captain came to the front. Captain Cervantes stepped up to meet the mustachioed man commanding the lictors down here, Maryam only half paying attention as she tried to sketch out what lay in the cavern aside from that bewitching shipyard.


    The road they had taken, which she suspected began near some sort of lift, stretched out from the distant dark and ended at the rise on which they now stood: essentially a tall terrace overlooking the towers and water below, a broad set of stairs leading down to the lower level. She would have expected lodgings there, but all she saw was barracks and a fort that was a glorified wooden tower. There were more wooden structures on the other side of the shipyard, though, nestled against the cavern wall.


    Four rows of modest cottages, squeezed between the outer canal and the stone, while past them were larger edifices that must be dormitories and meeting halls. There were fire pits outside and some of the cottages had smoking chimneys, while what Maryam suspected to be laundry lines hung between cottages full of drying clothes.


    There were a few people outside their homes, on that other shore, and children playing between cottages. Few, though, compared to the number of houses. They must have been warned in advance of the visiting blackcloaks and chosen to stay inside. It¡¯s still enough to see they brought entire families down there rather than risk leaks, she thought. Palliades is being very, very careful about keeping this place out of sight.


    Truly, she mused, Song Ren¡¯s tits were a thing of magic.


    ¡°-ld thank you to keep away from the far shore, where our workers and their families are lodged,¡± the lictor was saying. ¡°Our senior shipwright, Master Dioles, will guide you through the shipyard. You will be invited to break bread with us at the barracks come noon.¡±


    The lictor cleared his throat.


    ¡°I am told there is among you a woman by the name of Maryam Khaimov?¡±


    If Captain Cervantes felt the same surprise Maryam did, she hid it better.


    ¡°Warrant Officer Khaimov, step forward,¡± she ordered.


    Maryam did as ordered. The lictor captain spared her a curious glance.


    ¡°At the Lord Rector¡¯s order, a visit of the model skimmer has been arranged for you,¡± he said. ¡°A guide was arranged to answer any question you might have.¡±


    While she was not eager at the thought of being separated from the others, she would not deny she was eager to have a closer look at that skimmer. She looked at Captain Cervantes, who nodded, and off they went. A pair of lictors followed behind her, but her guide was not one of the Lord Rector¡¯s soldiers. Mistress Thais was plump but sure-footed shipwright in her thirties, her dark hair a mess of curls and her green eyes serious.


    Thais led the rest of them through the mess of islands and bridges towards the outer edge, where Maryam found a massive underground canal heading into the distance ¨C presumably a passage leading to the sea, though there was not a speck of light out there to confirm the guess.


    ¡°When I worked on the model my time was mostly spent on the hull,¡± Mistress Thais told Maryam, ¡°but I have some experience with the aether engine as well.¡±


    ¡°Have you ever sailed it?¡± the Izvorica asked.


    ¡°I never held the helm, but I was aboard when we first unveiled it,¡± the older woman replied.


    Maryam had a dozen questions on the tip of her tongue, but her lips were dragged shut when they passed under a tower-crane and came upon a long dock of stone and brass ¨C where, cleanly moored, waited the skimmer. With all this talk of model, of demonstration, Maryam had half-expected a glorified rowboat with an engine slapped behind it. What she was looking at, though, was a brass warship the size of a middling caravel.


    One that was, in its own way, beautiful.


    The silhouette was not like a sailing ship¡¯s. Though the front of the hull cut upwards in a beak, the prow was rounded and below the waterline she could make out that below the ship were jagged, curving metal blades slicing into the water. The bridge was flat, with a turret two thirds of the way through and a two-story glass-paneled cabin further back. No, she then noted, there was another part: behind the cabin was a curved rise covering stairs that must descend below deck.


    The skimmer gave the impression that it should be leaning back in the water, for the back third of it bore complicated ¨C and massive -cogs and wheels in the shape of broad half-moon that dipped a noticeable span deeper than the keel. There were railings on the sides, rigging on the deck and curving bones of brass embraced the hull like ribs. For all its rounded curves the whole skimmer had a jagged, piercing look to it. Like an arrow in flight.


    ¡°A beauty, isn¡¯t it?¡± Mistress Thais proudly asked.


    Maryam belatedly realized she had frozen without even stepping onto the docks and cleared her throat in embarrassment.


    ¡°It is,¡± she said. ¡°Can we go aboard?¡±


    The older woman nodded.


    ¡°I can even show you the engine room, though you are not allowed to touch the insides,¡± Mistress Thais said.


    She eagerly followed the shipwright, crossing the docks and hopping overboard on the skimmer. Neither of the lictors followed. The brass deck was, she found, not quite warm but at least lukewarm. And fascinatingly enough the ship did not at all bob in the water. It was unmoving, like solid ground.


    Mistress Thais began with the deck. The turret, she learned, was made to pivot to thirds of a circle and though it currently lacked armaments it was meant to be fitted with a cannon. The glass window cabin with two stories was, at the bottom, for navigation: it held a wood-and-brass steering wheel. From inside one could climb up to the second level, which held room for a fog light a perch for a signifier.


    As Maryam had earlier guessed the curved rise went downstairs, into the surprisingly spacious below deck. A hall went straight through, fitted with six comfortable cabins and a relatively small cargo hold. The largest room on that level was the engine room by far, occupying a third of the skimmer¡¯s length. Beyond that barred door lay a nightmare of ticking cogs and wheels, at the center of which lay the core of the engine.


    It had the look of a heart made of medal, but somehow also of a hot air balloon. It pulsed and ticked and pumped, weights and counterweights moving to some unseen and eerie measure as cogs and chains whirred and something like steam was expelled by a beak.


    ¡°There is a second level below the heart,¡± Mistress Thais told her, ¡°but it is dangerous to slip into without proper precautions.¡±


    ¡°It is the largest aether engine I have ever seen,¡± Maryam admitted.


    Larger than anything the Tianxi could make, and probably even that Someshwari city-state with its ancient forges.


    ¡°And powerful, do not doubt it,¡± the shipwright said. ¡°We knew that we would not be able to make a proper warship on the first go, so we didn¡¯t even try ¨C it is meant for transport, not war. For the engine, however, the Lord Rector gave the order to build it as large and strong as we could.¡±


    Because the great powers of Vesper were perfectly capable of laying down a hull of tomic alloys themselves, Maryam thought. It was the aether engines that stumped even the cleverest of the Tianxi republics. And if their ambassador had stood in that same room Maryam now did, there was no amount of wealth he would not be willing to throw at Evander Palliades to secure access to the creations of this shipyard. Keeping that thought off her face, Maryam hummed.


    ¡°I notice you only call it the model,¡± she said. ¡°Was it never named?¡±


    ¡°An jest of the shipyard crew,¡± Mistress Thais said, rolling her eyes. ¡°It is an old custom of Asphodel that giving a child a name before their third year is bad luck. Petty superstition for mountain folk.¡±


    Much as Maryam would have liked to spend another hour in here, they had already been on board for almost two and she suspected that if she was caught feeling out the engines with her nav it would be something of a diplomatic incident. Reluctantly, Maryam let herself be ushered out of the skimmer. The lictors were still waiting by the docks, one of them smoking a pipe, and they looked almost irritated when the two of them returned to land.


    She could not help but look back. Would be it be good enough, she wondered? To sail up the Broken Gates. She was not sure, but in what world would she ever be able to get her hands on even as fine a ship as this?


    With the visit ended Maryam was guided back towards the rest of the delegation, though it turned out that they were currently in the heart of the shipyard and the bridges had been withdrawn ¨C it would take some time before they were positioned for passage again, so the signifier was led back to the rise where they had come out of the carriage this morning before being unceremoniously handed bread and sausage.


    The lictors then left her sitting there by the carriages, fleeing as if they¡¯d tossed a wild animal a cut of meat and were retreating while it was still distracted. A little flabbergasted, Maryam sat there and ate looking down at the shipyard and cavern. Even down here it seemed the color of her skin made her no friends, though no doubt being known as a Navigator had no helped.


    Gloam witches were feared for a reason.


    The solitude gave her time to think, at least. Song had charged her with finding out by where Menander Drakos could have entered this place, but as her gaze wandered to the two entrances ¨C the tunnel to the lift and the canal presumably leading to the sea ¨C she had to admit she was not finding a credible answer. If Drakos could use the lift or sail out, why had he not stripped this place clean of the entire stash? On the other hand, there was no other way in that she could see.


    ¡°Because you¡¯re looking in all the wrong places.¡±


    Maryam reached for her side out of habit ¨C even though they had not been allowed weapons and so she lacked a knife ¨C and almost fumbled the last bit of sausage doing it. The near miss had her scowling in distaste even before her most unwelcome of guests strolled out from behind one of the empty carriages, smug as you please. The shade wore Watch black again, black cloak and tunic fitted to her with a twisting golden brooch.


    ¡°Scavengers do not proudly walk the high road, Maryam,¡± the shade said.


    ¡°You would know,¡± Maryam snippily replied.


    She¡¯d already worn three rings on and slid on two more out of principle.


    ¡°What do you want now, anyway? Did you not have enough of my company on the way here?¡±


    ¡°I come to offer aid,¡± the shade said. ¡°Proof.¡±


    ¡°Proof of what?¡± Maryam frowned.


    ¡°That we could be more together than at odds,¡± she replied.


    I could be more after I devoured you whole, Maryam thought, and never have to deal with your presence again.


    ¡°I will have what you stole from me,¡± she scorned. ¡°Do not think the workings on this cavern will protect you if you test me.¡±


    ¡°Protect me?¡± the shade laughed. ¡°No, I think not. This is a cursed place. The Ancients carved an island in the aether, Maryam, so that no waves would trouble their tinkering. It is even worse here than it was in the palace high above.¡±


    She cocked her head to the side. From her hesitant investigations the aether here did that have that same stillness and sterile tinge, though up there it had been like bad taste in the mouth while here it was almost oppressive. She¡¯d kept her nav tucked in for a reason.


    ¡°They did it on purpose,¡± Maryam slowly said. ¡°To keep the aether unmoving so it would be easier to build their engines.¡±


    ¡°What is building a seawall, to those that shaped the material like clay?¡±


    And another detail fell into place. She had been told, and witnessed herself, that the aether on Asphodel was odd. Wild and dangerous, in some way broken. She had also been told, by Captain Wen himself, that when the Second Empire first forced the submission of Asphodel they stole Antediluvian devices and that it had wounded the local aether.


    The Ancients had built their shipyard under Tratheke, a box under the box, and encircled every story of that box in some device that stilled the aether to make building their engines earlier. Only the Second Empire had then broken and stolen the artefacts that kept the middle layer in place, essentially forcing an aether rapid through reefs ¨C while above and below the aether remained frozen, essentially funneling all the local aether through Tratheke like it was being squeezed through a tube.


    No wonder the city¡¯s aether was so unstable. Nav, no wonder gods kept rising and dying there: they were effectively force-fed currents of aether that made them swell faster than they should, and without a solid foundation some of them would simply eat and eat until they popped. An aether intellect could only feed on so much aether it had no conceptual tie with before too much of it became unrelated to itself and it dissolved.


    ¡°So you¡¯re saying up there and down here are closed gardens of aether,¡± she slowly said. ¡°Then how did the assassin get into that half-layer to leave the palace?¡±


    ¡°There is an anchor,¡± the shade said. ¡°You could not feel it, but I could. If the brackstone shrines are the bottom of a flask, then the cork-¡±


    ¡°Is in the palace,¡± Maryam muttered. ¡°It would have to be, Hector Lissenos would have wanted it that way. It would be much easier to protect there. So our assassin somehow got into the flask, and from there they can pop out at two places: near the brackstone shrines, and near the ¡®cork¡¯. Wherever that is inside the palace.¡±


    The harpoon, she decided. It had to be the harpoon they¡¯d used to get into the layer, it was the only part of what she had seen there that stood out. It must be some Antediluvian weapon the enemy had used to enter the Hated One¡¯s prison, effectively turning it into a back entrance to the palace and city. Utter madness.


    And, she could not help but notice, it solved the main military trouble for someone attempting a coup in Tratheke: that the rector¡¯s palace could be held indefinitely by blocking the lifts up. If the same road the assassin had employed was used to sneak in men, they could seize the lifts by surprise before the Lord Rector even knew a coup was happening.


    This reeked of the cult¡¯s involvement. Whoever had been capable of binding the Golden Ram and bleeding it for boons might just be capable of getting into the Hated One¡¯s prison as well. So then why was Lord Gule so convinced the assassin had not been their conspiracy¡¯s doing? He might have just lied to Tredegar, Maryam thought. It occurred to her that Malani ¡®honor¡¯ would be a very useful shield, should someone refuse to uphold it once in a while.


    She had much to chew on, but that was for later. Song had given her an assignment and the time she had to spare in it was limited. It was a greater concern, at least for now.


    ¡°You said you came to offer aid,¡± Maryam finally said.


    ¡°I did,¡± the shade replied. ¡°Will you listen this time?¡±


    ¡°I asked, didn¡¯t it?¡± she bit out.


    ¡°Menander Drakos is scavenger,¡± the shade said. ¡°Whatever he stole, it was not enough to draw the Lord Rector¡¯s attention. Why do you think that is?¡±


    ¡°Because he took only small things,¡± Maryam said. ¡°Your point?¡±


    ¡°Would a man greedy enough to steal under the Lord Rector¡¯s own nose stop at trinkets?¡± the shade challenged


    No, Maryam had to agree. Assuming Evander Palliades did not yet have access to the shipyard back then, should he be careful Lord Menander could have stolen the entire stash and simply pawned it off abroad. It wasn¡¯t as if the Lord Rector of Asphodel had many contacts in the ports of the eastern Someshwar, and down on the Riven Coast no questions were asked when ships came to sell goods no matter what those goods might be.


    ¡°It¡¯s not that he didn¡¯t steal larger goods but that he couldn¡¯t,¡± she said. ¡°Whatever path he used to get in, nothing too large or heavy can be brought through.¡±


    And so Maryam¡¯s eyes left the rise and road, the large underground river, instead turning to where they should have been the whole time: the cavern walls. What she had assumed to be smooth stone all the way up was not: there were cracks in the stone, some fissures large as a cart, and even holes. All of them high up, at least three dozen feet high. Looking again, she could see that closer to the ground where paler streaks in the stone. More fissures, filled with plaster.


    ¡°All it takes is one of those fissures reaching up to an old Drakos dig,¡± she whispered, ¡°and Lord Menander has his in.¡±


    And it would explain why he¡¯d grabbed nothing too large, because it would have to be pulled back up by his men afterwards and carried through narrow spaces.


    ¡°You¡¯ll be thought odd, if you keep talking to yourself,¡± the shade smirked.


    Maryam cast a wary look around, but there was still no one in sight. She supposed there was no need for her to be supervised when she was standing on a rise with only one way down that wouldn¡¯t break her legs. Where else would she go, back into the dark? Not a soul around, she realized, and likely not for some time. And that, well, that saw a thought turn from a seed to a bloom. Because there was something else that had occurred to her, during their talk.


    She devoured the last of her sausage, swallowed.


    ¡°You know, Hector Lissenos did not strike me as a fool,¡± Maryam quietly said, rising to her feet. ¡°He lived in the rector¡¯s palace, knew his descendants would as well. So why would he take the risk of putting the cork to the prison there?¡±


    The shade shrugged.


    ¡°He must have believed the seawall would protect him from this,¡± she said.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Maryam said. ¡°And Hector, not being a fool, would have consulted whoever helped him build the aether lock on this matter. If he believed the border would prevent the Hated One¡¯s filth from seeping out, he had good reason to.¡±


    ¡°And?¡± the shade asked.


    ¡°And you told me the borders down here are even stronger,¡± Maryam replied, and pulled.


    The shade fought her, but she had struck in utter surprise. She pulled on her nav with the strength of every ring she¡¯d slipped on, and when the shade swallowed a pained scream she plunged her hand into the creature¡¯s chest. She took a kernel in hand, another part of what she was owed.


    ¡°There is a shielding layer between my soul and the Gloam here,¡± Maryam calmly continued. ¡°And that means I can eat you safely.¡±


    She ripped out the kernel, the shade dissolving like mist, and she saw it all.


    Like wriggling worms her soul gobbled up eagerly, a fistful of writhing secrets ripped out from the Cauldron and swallowed whole. She saw what she took, what she owned ¨C how to make smoke sing, to bewitch echoes out of stone, to draw in flesh with a finger for brush ¨C but also what went to waste. The wound she had ripped into the Cauldon, it leaked¡­ smoke, for lack of a better term.


    And that smoke disappeared into the aether, forever lost.


    How much was it, she wondered, even as she dimly felt pressure mount behind her eyes. How much would be lost even if she had a whole feast down here, by bleeding out in the nothing or even by virtue of being eaten incomplete ¨C it was not secrets whole and sectioned she took, only whatever she blindly ripped out.


    A hundredth, a tenth, a fifth?


    But even as a migraine whitened her field of vision and she swallowed drily, it was not that fearful prospect that consumed Maryam¡¯s mind. It was the last thing she had felt, when she ripped that kernel out of the shade. The emanation in the aether, clear as Glare. Fear. The shade had been afraid for her life. And that was¡­ it had not been Maryam¡¯s emotion. Nothing stolen from her. Not something mirrored or mimicked.


    And a parasite should not be able to taint the aether like that.


    --


    (¡°You lunatic little bitch,¡± Captain Domingo Santos shouted, emerging through a cloud of thick powder smoke. He looked rather singed, and was already tracing a Sign. Angharad sighed a moment before a spike of Gloam tore through her stomach and then the wall behind it.)


    The vision ended abruptly. Coughing into her fist, Angharad continued walking past the door.


    Tomorrow she would remember to first ask if Captain Domingo was still inside his room first.


    --


    ¡°I need a dead body,¡± Tristan Abrascal announced.


    It was the morning of his twenty-fifth day on the isle of Asphodel, before first light. He didn¡¯t immediately get an answer as they traded the goods. Hage took the pouch of suspicious brown powder ¨C dirtied flour, though it could easily pass for wagfly drops ¨C and handed Tristan an apparent pouch of coin. Coppers all, because devils underpaid even feigned labor. Tristan going in the early mornings to sell Hage the false drugs was an excuse for their irregular contact, hiding that the traded pouch and bag contained messages from the Thirteenth and his own latest report.


    The devil raised those thunderous eyebrows, leaning back to scratch Mephistofeline who promptly let out a ghoulish shriek of approval and pressed his jowls against Hage¡¯s fingers. He had a little necklace now, adorned with shiny scrap metal sickles. Kids from the neighborhood had made it. Apparently it was a reference some sort of Asphodelian myth about some god in the ground inflicted with endless hunger, much like the orb-adjacent Mephistofeline.


    ¡°A whole body?¡± Hage finally asked.


    He nodded. The devil clicked his tongue.


    ¡°Start with thigh meat first, work your way up to fingers,¡± Hage advised. ¡°An entire body¡¯s too ambitious, you don¡¯t even know if you like the taste yet.¡±


    ¡°Not to eat, as you are well aware,¡± Tristan sighed. ¡°Tonight is the meet and after that I¡¯ve no more use for the Kassa. It is time to feign my death and disappear.¡±


    It might have been on the table to simply disappear earlier in the infiltration, but if ¡®Ferrando¡¯ turned to thin air immediately after his first look at the conspirators it was sure to be noticed. An altercation with a basileia man gone wrong would make waves in the Kassa pond, but it wouldn¡¯t earn suspicion.


    ¡°What kind of death?¡± Hage asked.


    ¡°Violent,¡± Tristan said. ¡°I¡¯ll leave whether accidental or not to you.¡±


    ¡°It will take at least two days,¡± Hage said, ¡°and there will be a fee.¡±


    Two days would work fine, he did not want to disappear too quickly after the meet.


    ¡°Take it from the brigade funds,¡± he replied, granting Hage a nod and the cat a bow. ¡°Your Highness, fare thee well."


    Mephistopheline majestically shrieked in response, flopping belly up in a maneuver that had the wooden shelf beneath him creak before batting his paws up as if he were a kitten instead of a creature that could comfortably fit several kittens within its ample folds. Tristan thus left with the solemn blessing of a prince of Hell, returning to the inglorious labor of his day as a Kassa traveling man.


    He read the letter on the way. He¡¯d reported the encounter with Izel Coyac, but Angharad wrote that the Nineteenth had disappeared into the city the day after and no one knew where they were. She again asked if he had heard anything about the Yellow Earth, who had apparently tried to coerce Song. He didn¡¯t know the details and they were probably best not put to paper, but apparently there¡¯d been fighting.


    He''d have to take a look into that, when he could spare the time. Until then the names ¡®Hao Yu¡¯ and ¡®Ai¡¯ were a pair he¡¯d kept an ear out for, but as the last time she had asked he had heard nothing. Though the Kassa had ties to the Republics, they were not in part of the family operations he worked in.


    Tristan blanked through the day, mind already on what lay ahead, and got a few frowns for having slowed down compared to his usual performance. Not enough for a reprimand, however, when in their little circle he yet rode high as Temenos¡¯ savior. Come evening he met at the Black Dame with the other veterans, but neither he nor Temenos drank much. They were there only to spend the hours, and near eleven they were joined by three more souls in Kassa employ: twins from the weavers and a hard-faced sort who spoke for the warehouse men.


    The meet was to be had at the stroke of midnight, which Tristan thought unnecessarily dramatic, but it was not his conspiracy to run.


    He kept a running tally of what an agent of the Krypteia might consider conspiratorial mistakes as the five of them set out under cover of dark. First, the location: while the northwestern ward was largely abandoned, its abandoned warehouses were still of interest to the local basileias. Two, the numbers gathering. The closer they got to the meeting place the more they ran into others, most of them coming in smaller groups than the Kassa but groups nonetheless.


    How many people had been invited to this conspiracy? It was looking like at least half a hundred, which was only marginally better than handing your secret plans over to the town crier to yell out on the square.


    Third, while there were toughs with blades handling security they were clearly basileia hands. Which meant on top of the invited masses and the conspirators themselves, a significant portion of a local basileia had known about this in advance. In some sense it made the entire affair easier to swallow: this was likely said basileia¡¯s territory, and thus they could drive away searching eyes and kill rumors to some extent.


    Yet, in another sense, Tristan was wondering if by the end of the night he was going to have to explain to some lictor captain that as a warrant officer of the Watch he could not be detained and someone needed to head to Black House to confirm his word. Gods, he hoped not.


    There were only so many times Song could fetch him from prison before she decided to strangle him to spare herself further indignities.


    It was worse than he expected when they reached the warehouse, for there were already a crowd of thirty-odd people in there. The front doors were held by toughs, who patted down for weapons but did not ask as to anyone¡¯s identity.


    Tristan stuck with Temenos and the warehouse man, whose name was Damon, and kept a watchful silence as the two men began counting out the workers from which trading houses had come. Of the ten largest, Tristan learned, seven were present now that the Kassa men had accepted the invitation. Twice as many merchant houses from the middle of the pack had shown, but none from the bottom of the ladder. Or perhaps they had not been invited?


    It was beginning to occur to him that this was not some secret cabal¡¯s council holding a meet, but instead something closer to a rally. Secrecy was not the order of the day because whoever led this conspiracy had no intention of showing their face ¨C it was about recruiting bodies for the cause, not bringing another ringleader into a plot.


    Tristan kept his silence and stayed with the Kassa as the last souls were allowed in by the men at the door trickled in, his eye staying on the front of the crowd. There crates had been piled to make for a makeshift platform, the throng of people naturally settling in a wobbly half-circle around it. They didn¡¯t have to wait long for those meant to stand on the crates to show up, half a dozen men and women walking in to a wave of murmurs.


    ¡°That¡¯s Stavros Kassa,¡± Temenos whispered, pointing out a tall man with a pointed and oily beard. ¡°He is the one who asked us here.¡±


    Tristan caught a few more surnames spoken by the crowd. Delinos, Metaxas, Patera, Remes. All magnates, all of them Trade Assembly. There was one of the lot, however, that needed no introduction by a third party.


    Tristan knew exactly what Maria Anastos looked like, for she had been waiting for the Watch on the docks when their ship first arrived at the Lordsport. He would have to be careful, the Mask thought. Though his looks did not stand out and that day he had been wearing rook black as one of many, there was always a chance she might recognize his face.


    It was her that claimed the stage, the other magnates arranged around her like a display of force. The Anastos were not the informal first among equals of the Trade Assembly that House Floros was for the Council of Ministers, but they were very influential ¨C and as the only family head present, it was only natural she took the lead. But none of the other heads showed, Tristan thought. To avoid risk, or because their families are not in this to the hilt?


    ¡°You all know who I am,¡± Maria Anastos called out. ¡°And you all know why you¡¯re here.¡±


    Mutters in the crowd.


    ¡°There¡¯s only so long we can bury our head in the sand,¡± Mistress Anastos said. ¡°It was one thing when the boy king¡¯s ministers raided our coffers, but now they are no longer content with that: fearing our influence, they¡¯ve begun murdering us.¡±


    That claim got pushback. Some shouts called her a liar, others accused the magnates of being behind deaths, others demanded proof. It was the last call that Maria Anastos answered.


    ¡°Kimon Metaxas is dead, poisoned,¡± she answered. ¡°A magnate¡¯s own brother. Patera?¡±


    An older woman with a dignified bearing stepped onto the stage.


    ¡°The captain of the Sunderer was found dead a month back,¡± she said. ¡°A single stroke through the neck, no witnesses.¡±


    A gangly man from the crowd shouted it was true. A foreman for the Patera, Tristan deduced from the way those around him reacted. Next came testimony of a murdered warehouse foreman from the Delinos, and the cousin and basilea contact of a Remes travelling man. He¡¯d seen the testimony from Stavros Kassa coming, so when the bearded man called on Temenos to speak to the assassin that had tried to murder him with a sickle he¡¯d already slipped deeper into the crowd.


    Given how agitated the lot of them were by the rising list of deaths, it had been precious easy to pretend he¡¯d been caught by some eddy of the mob.


    ¡°It¡¯s true,¡± Temenos grunted. ¡°Came for me in the night, it was a narrow escape. The man cut through wood like it was paper, a contractor for certain.¡±


    That set the crowd to loud talk. There was some skepticism, several calling Temenos a liar, but Tristan noticed that most of the older men and women were taking the Kassa foreman seriously. The society of those who¡¯d remained in magnate service for decades held sway here, if not sovereignty. Their claims were taken seriously.


    ¡°Evander Palliades no longer rules the Rectorate,¡± Maria Anastos told the crowd. ¡°The Council of Ministers does, and we all remember the Floros years ¨C that woman won¡¯t rest until she¡¯s ground us all to dust.¡±


    Angry, shouting approval. Apollonia Floros was not beloved of this crowd, it seemed. She wouldn¡¯t be, given how much of her regency had been spent stepping on the very magnates employing most everyone in the room. Tristan wove around the congregation, only half listening to the speech. It was all grievances and accusations, working up the anger in the room before putting some form of salvation on sale.


    Of all the goods hawked by charlatans, hope was the one men would most make fools of themselves for.


    The other magnates did not seem surprised by anything out of Maria Anastos¡¯ mouth, so they were as much part of this as she was. Though the Mask struggled to remember what also those mighty families were most famous for, it seemed to him that it was the magnates with strong roots on Asphodel that had shown. The Lagonikos, who headed the wealthiest trade consortium of the Trade Assembly but based on the island of Arke, did not have a representative.


    So only part of the Assembly¡¯s in on whatever this is, he mused. A handful gone over to the Ministers in exchange for titles, as Song had theorized? There seemed too many families present here for that, in his opinion, but then it was entirely possible that the largest ones were using the second-stringers as disposable cannon fodder to secure their new titles.


    ¡°We¡¯ve appealed to the throne, but Palliades ignores us,¡± Maria Anastos was continuing. ¡°He¡¯s lost the reins, and it¡¯s only a matter of time until he¡¯s cast down ¨C and there is only one who can replace him, isn¡¯t there?¡±


    Floros¡¯ name was shouted, with varying degrees of anger and disgust.


    ¡°We can¡¯t let it happen,¡± Maria Anastos said. ¡°Won¡¯t let it happen. Else half of us will end up in a grave, and the rest in the street.¡±


    Shouts came from the crowd, asking what could be done, but Tristan¡¯s attention had gone to the basileia men. While some of them had noticeable tattoos and scars, there did not seem to be a running them that¡¯d give him a symbol to look into. The only thing they had in common was cheap brown cloaks, which by the way they kept adjusting them were a new addition.


    That was a trail he could run down, he decided. There were only so many places in Tratheke where one could by over twenty mostly identical cheap brown cloaks.


    ¡°- then we can only defend ourselves,¡± Maria Anastos shouted. ¡°We¡¯ve let the aristoi step on us for centuries, but we will not let them have our lives!¡±


    Answering a signal from one of the magnates, pairs of those burly figures brown cloaks stepped forward carrying large crates. Not just crates, Tristan corrected after a moment. Some barrels as well. No, he then dimly thought, clenching his fingers. Truly?


    To the shouts of the crowd they were opened, revealing crates full of muskets and bullets while the barrels were full of blackpowder.


    ¡°If the Ministers think they can just take the city, let¡¯s show them who really rules Tratheke!¡±


    Roars of approval from many, but not all. There were some in the crowd who looked horrified, as if beholding a ship about to run into reefs.


    Tristan felt numb, mind racing down lanes of fresh realization.


    Angharad had found weapons being smuggled into Tratheke, when she headed out in the countryside, and Song had put together that they were being made in the valley and not by nobles. That was what had led his captain to the belief that some of Trade Assembly magnates had gone over to the other side for the promise of titles.


    But there had been other details, hadn¡¯t there? Hints they came across earlier in their investigation. The Brazen Chariot telling them of how blackpowder was worth more than its weight in gold, as if it was being bought by everyone ¨C why would the ministers scheming their coup need this, if they had a workshop out in the valley furnishing their troops? Why take the risk someone would notice the powder being grabbed so aggressively?


    Because the coup that Tristan Abrascal was looking at was not the same as the one being planned by the Council of Ministers.


    He swallowed drily as there were alls for silence, from both the magnates and the doubters.


    ¡°A few crates of muskets will not take Tratheke,¡± an older woman called out.


    ¡°A hundred crates will,¡± Maria Anastos replied, ¡°if we have the men to wield them. And there may be a bare hundred here, but how many will listen if you call for volunteers?¡±


    She raised her fist.


    ¡°Thousands,¡± she shouted, and there were cheers.


    ¡°Thousands of men who have never fought,¡± another voice scorned from the crowd. ¡°Against lictors and retinues! A thousand corpses is all you¡¯re promising.¡±


    ¡°And what if we take the city, Anastos?¡± Temenos shouted. ¡°Who rules us then? Who protects us when every lord from the east and the west comes for our blood?¡±


    ¡°We rule ourselves,¡± Maria Anastos shouted back. ¡°Each of us, free. And we are not alone.¡±


    There was a hush from the crowd as another figure was welcomed onto the stage. The woman was not particularly tall or shapely, with simple dark hair held in a topknot while she wore unremarkable city clothes. She did not even have much presence, yet two thirds of the room were spellbound for a simple reason: she was Tianxi and she wore a yellow sash.


    Even here in Asphodel, men knew what that meant.


    ¡°My name is Ai,¡± she said. ¡°I am of the Yellow Earth, sent by the Republics, and come to tell you this: seize your freedom and you will not stand without allies.¡±


    The crowd breathed in, almost as one. There was an excitement in the air, a thrumming in the blood. The charlatans had finally unpacked the salvation they¡¯d come to sell.


    ¡°A vote has been held in secret,¡± Ai said, ¡°to recognize Asphodel as a sister-republic to Tianxia should Tratheke be seized and the Lord Rector overthrown.¡±


    A dull roar began to rise, but she pitched her voice louder still.


    ¡°Claim your freedom,¡± Ai shouted, ¡°and when the nobles come to take Asphodel from you they will find a fleet of your Tianxi allies holding the Lordsport, the armies of half the republics come to fight at your side!¡±


    The roar rose, shivering in the air.


    ¡°Rise,¡± Ai shouted. ¡°Rise and your children will be born free. Rise and you will never have to be beaten and stolen by nobles again! Rise and you can have it all!¡±


    And as the air shuddered with the shouts and stomping feet of near a hundred men, Tristan was left to stand there in horrified awe.


    At this rate, even a half-empty city would run out of room to fit all these treasons in.

 Pause & Book 3

    Hello!


    So good news: late last night my fiancee gave birth to our son, everything went great and we''re very happy with the little bundle. It also means I''ll be going on parental leave effective immediately!


    As it''s customary for me to take a month-long break between books and we''re near the end of Good Treasons, the second book of Pale Lights, I''ve decided to effectively fuse those two breaks together so I won''t be coming back, going back on break and returning again.


    Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.


    How this will be working is that I''ll take my three weeks of parental leave, then extend that break by three weeks to do the necessary legwork for the next book. The upside for you is that, when I return, there will be no pause between Good Treasons and the third book of the series - I''ll simply keep updating.


    Regarding the dates, I will be on pause until the 18th of October which means the first update of the return will be Friday October 25.


    Thanks in advance for your understanding, and see you when I come back!


    E.E.

 Chapter 59

    It was for the best.


    By morning tomorrow Maryam would arrive at Black House, and with the signifier¡¯s return the secret Song had kept would finally out. Evander Palliades would be told of the coup brewing beneath his feet and, inevitably, that Song had kept silent on the matter even when looking him in the eye. She was not sure what she expected from that yet, but a sense of betrayal on his part would not be unwarranted.


    It would not be a clean break, but it would be a break ¨C and that, as she kept thinking, was for the best.


    She chewed on that thought even as the carriage shook beneath her, catching a loose stone. Evander himself seemed pensive this afternoon, something she had learned to recognize as him practicing a speech inside his mind. As well he should, for from what she had been told he would have to give no fewer than four speeches today.


    Landing Day was a feast day particular to Asphodel, and far removed enough from the timing of traditional seasonal festivals that its root might well be genuine. The claim was that, on this day centuries ago, King Oduromai first made shore on the isle. While for most the people of Asphodel the sole celebration was that the temples of Oduromai gifted meals of wine and meat to all who attended the feasts thrown by the priesthood, the nobles had their own custom.


    In Tratheke that custom was for a mighty feast to be thrown by the Lord Rector for all the descendants of King Oduromai and his officers in the same district where the great temple of the deity sat, the Collegium. As all the ruling dynasties of Asphodel had claimed descent from King Oduromai in the flesh as means of legitimacy, they took the king¡¯s seat in such celebrations and were expected to foot the bill for such celebrations.


    Which were not inexpensive, as centuries of royal houses needing to awe their nobles into submission had made the affair increasingly elaborate and extravagant.


    There was a knock on the side of the carriage, the lictor besides the driver leaning close to the window to address them.


    ¡°We will be arriving momentarily, Your Excellency.¡±


    Evander Palliades stirred out of his thoughts, straightening.


    ¡°Thank you, lieutenant,¡± he replied. ¡°As you will.¡±


    He was sharply dressed today, Song thought not for the first time. A high-collared gray doublet in brocade with elaborate golden scrollwork was paired with an equally high-collared brown overcoat whose scrollwork perfectly matched. Hose and netherstock in gray flattered his claves, ending in slender calfskin shoes, and he wore no jewelry save for the heavy gold chain hanging on his neck. Freshly shaved and his glasses polished, he cut a fine figure whose clothing somewhat evoked a sea captain¡¯s stylings.


    His feathered bicorn certainly was not being born to protect from any rain.


    Song tugged at her collar, for she was not dressed poorly today either. Though her formal clothing should have sufficed, Evander had insisted on providing clothes as a gesture of appreciating for Song attending the Landing Day festivities as his escort. She would have declined, if not for the tempting promise that the provided clothes would have provisions made to hide weapons. Surely that made the gift equipment, she told herself. Said equipment happened to have the shape of a splendid white, black and golden gown tailored to her, coincidentally. Still, it lived up to the promises: neither of the gown¡¯s two layers impeded her movement, the skirts were slender and made with running in mind.


    The waistline around the hip was ridged to give the illusion of a belt, but also so that she could keep a knife hidden in a fold of the cloth as well as three powder charges and shots. On the side of her skirts, hidden by braided golden rope, was an opening through which she could draw the pistol holstered at her hip. There had, unfortunately, been no way for her to carry her jian. She¡¯d asked Angharad¡¯s help to put her hair up in a high bun kept in place by a small golden cloth but also golden needle with a butterfly-shaped head. A gift from Mother, who had told her it was only a gold coating over steel but no lesser for it.


    The change in hairstyle kept drawing Evander¡¯s eyes to the bare nape of her neck, which she chose not to notice.


    ¡°It suits you,¡± the problem in question quietly said.


    ¡°It would have been an egregious waste of coin if it did not,¡± Song told him.


    His lips twitched.


    ¡°I must wonder at how little you must be complimented, for you to be so terrible at taking compliments,¡± Evander said, tone teasing.


    ¡°Was that a compliment?¡± she drily replied. ¡°I could not tell.¡±


    His eyes caught hers through the spectacles.


    ¡°You look stunning,¡± he said. ¡°It is an effort not to stare.¡±


    Ugh. Did he have to be so genuine about it? Song looked away, pleased that the cosmetics hiding the last of her black eye should be hiding the heat on her cheeks.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± she forced out, then turned to cock an eyebrow at him.


    See, she silently said. I have no trouble taking compliments, Palliades.


    ¡°Masterfully done,¡± Evander replied, not batting an eye.


    He was clearly making sport of her, his face much too serious. This island¡¯s veritable epidemic of planned regicide was, Song Ren mused, perhaps not entirely unwarranted. Before she could decide on a way to put him in his place that did not sound like it had been dreamed up by a drunken Pingyang Zong, the carriage began to slow. The Lord Rector was out first, and offered her his hand in stepping down on the pavement. Song accepted, purely to avoid the risk of her hidden knife making noise.


    As he withdrew the warm touch, she looked up at the den of debauchery where the Landing Day feast was to take place this evening. No edifice in the Collegium was left empty, considering the absurd worth of even a speck of room in that part of the capital, but this one came closer to most: the four-story building, an elongated oval of brass, was almost entirely a water reservoir. Antediluvian machinery inside pumped and sucked out water that, beneath the streets, helped the canals of Tratheke flush and flow. It was on the roof of that edifice the feast would take place, a place that was normally inaccessible and for which a temporary lift had been built on the side wall.


    Song did not walk in with the Lord Rector of Asphodel, merely as one of his party. The lift, an intricate mass of pulleys and metal, was of clear Tianxi make and operated by some of Song¡¯s countrymen ¨C not a ringing endorsement of Asphodelian engineering, but perhaps less likely to get someone killed. Being of the Lord Rector¡¯s party meant that unlike other guests they were not politely frisked by the lictors to ensure they bore no weapons.


    Nobles would and no doubt would complain, but less so when told that the precaution and the inaccessible nature of the roof meant that the feast would not be swarming with lictors ¨C merely a dozen on the roof, spread around.


    Emerging upstairs with Evander, a pair of lictors and a happily humming Perfect Nestor gave her a glimpse of why the location had been chosen ¨C though not before she noted with approval that, as at the bottom of the lift, a pair of lictors checked the guests for weapons. The Landing Feast was an inevitable pit of nautically inspired d¨¦cor, she¡¯d been told, but this year was almost impressive: with a bit of clever piping the water from the reservoirs below had been brought to the roof so that it could be turned into a makeshift island chain.


    Platforms of varying sizes ¨C most only six feet by six, others large enough to serve as a feats tables or a dance floor ¨C had been decorated with shapes in silk, evoking not only trees and mountains but many of the cities mentioned in the Oduromeia. Brass passages connected everything, and the water was not as deep as it looked: Song¡¯s eyes could see through the trick employed, which was painting the roof blue to give the illusion of depth.


    Knee length at the deepest, she figured, which was still impressive for a roof that had been a smooth surface of brass two months ago.


    Taking in the furnishings had her eyes off Evander for a moment, long enough that when she returned the man who¡¯d been smiling in the carriage was gone and Lord Rector Palliades stood in his place. An easy smile and cold eyes, smooth manners paired with knowing just a little too much ¨C she¡¯d seen him like that before, after the play when he mingled, but never before had the difference seemed quite so stark. Not my trouble, Song reminded herself.


    He got to work and Song followed in his shadow with the pair of lictors who¡¯d come up with her. Much of the Tratheke Valley nobility was here, but there were also some who claimed descent from King Oduromai and his crew from further out. Lord Cordyles and Lord Arkol, Angharad¡¯s frequent companions, as well as the inevitable Minister Apollonia Floros. The stern, unsmiling older woman had arguably a better claim to royal blood than Evander.


    That might just get her killed before the years was out. A failed coup always saw the traitors turn on each other like jackals.


    There were maybe sixty nobles on the roof, a dozen lictors and at least as many servants handling drinks and food. Prefect Nestor discreetly pointed her to a structure on the opposite side of the roof, a bronze house that was meant to represent Asphodel ¨C and could, she was informed, serve as a safe place to stash the Lord Rector if an attempt was made on his life. She resisted the urge to reminder the old man that she was not contracted to safeguard Evander Palliades, only use her contract on his behalf. He¡¯d forget in a moment anyhow, best to let him nod along.


    Her eyes did linger on the servants, while Lord Rector Palliades rose on a dais and made his first speech of the night. None had contracts, and neither did any of the lictors. Among the nobles, only contracts she had already seen ¨C there were few new guests, and none with either boon or contract. That bled some tension out of her and she let her gaze wander.


    The guests had been herded at the feet of the dais, a crowd of nobles in rich dress and varying degrees of nautical accuracy. Song wondered if the captain Lady Doukas alleged descent from would have been amused at the row of egg-sized gold anchors she wore as a necklace making press up a very generous necklace. Perhaps they would have been proud, that their descendants could indulge in such pointless pageantry and not become impoverished for it.


    Either way, there was only so long she could look at peacocks without tiring of it. Her attention wandered, then she stilled. Across the street, on a roofless tower adorned by half a dozen ships¡¯ figureheads, a figure sat and watched them. A man with black hair ruffled by the wind, crowned in flowery gold and purple. His eyes were a burning blue, an oil fire in azure, and on his lap lay a jagged sword of bronze. His clothes were¡­ a sailor¡¯s leathers, one moment, then the purple robes of some ancient king.


    He pointed a finger upwards, silent.


    Song swallowed and respectfully bowed her head to the god Oduromai. By the time she raised her head he was gone.


    ¡°Asphodelians claim it brings good luck when he shows himself.¡±


    Song recognized the voice, and it almost had her reaching for her knife as she turned. Lord Locke and Lady Keys looked the same as when she had first met them in the palace: a tall, thin woman with austere features under spectacles and a portly man with a mustache beneath which twitched a jolly smile. The clothes had changed ¨C they were in matching red and white tonight ¨C but neither the smiles nor the lurking, almost nonchalant sense of malice around them had dimmed.


    Song was on the side of the dais, close to a lictor but not so close she would be overheard. It was still highly unsettling she had not caught either of them leaving the crowd to join her. That they did not care they might risk offending the Lord Rector by chatting during his speech, however, she was less surprised.


    ¡°Come now, dear,¡± Lady Keys chuckled. ¡°Our good friend Captain Ren knows better than to put stock into such superstitions.¡±


    ¡°It is no superstition to be wary of the powers behind the curtains,¡± Song cautiously replied.


    She had never introduced herself to them as a member of the Watch or a brigade¡¯s captain. Hage¡¯s stern warning to keep the pair smiling and avoid meddling in their business was kept close in her thoughts.


    ¡°They can never resist taking a peek past the cloth,¡± Lord Keys told her, balancing what had to be entire serving place of crab legs on one hand.


    He was freely helping himself too it, too. The plump man took a bite, letting out a little moan of pleasure.


    ¡°Amada you must try the crab. It is almost as delectable as you.¡±


    ¡°You know I dislike eating any creature with a shell, dear,¡± the tall woman said, winking at Song as she said it. ¡°I¡¯ve always held great sympathy with their kind.¡±


    The Tianxi swallowed. The Thirteenth had been suspecting her of being a devil for some time. Confirmation or some kind of game being played?


    ¡°Manifold apologies, darling, I¡¯d forgot,¡± Lord Locke mused, taking another bite and barley chewing before it disappeared down his gullet. ¡°Asphodelian cuisine does have its limits, I am sad to admit. It might be for the best we will be departing soon.¡±


    ¡°Will you? I am sad to hear that,¡± Song lied.


    ¡°Oh, our little adventure in these parts will soon come to¡­ a natural end,¡± Lady Keys idly replied.


    The following chuckle was all too sinister.


    ¡°We still need to pick up a souvenir,¡± Lord Locke enthusiastically said, ¡°but we have seen most of the sights on the isle.¡±


    Song¡¯s eyes narrowed. Were they hinting at the infernal forge? Was that why the devil and her helper had come to these shores?


    ¡°Did anything catch your eye?¡± she risked.


    ¡°I¡¯d pocket an entire principality if I could,¡± the jolly man mused, thumbing his mustache. ¡°But I expect I will have to settle for something regional.¡±


    ¡°One can never go wrong with the nautical,¡± Lady Keys opined. ¡°But I must say, Lady Song, that I am surprised.¡±


    She tensed.


    ¡°Why is that?¡±


    ¡°Is the Lord Rector not your escort?¡±


    ¡°He is,¡± Song warily said.


    ¡°Ah,¡± Lord Locke said, flicking a glance into the crowd to her right. ¡°In that case, I must agree with my dearest ¨C it does seem a mite ungrateful on your part to then allow his brutal murder.¡±


    Song turned to follow his look, and found among the crowd a man in servant¡¯s livery who was removing a pistol from under his serving platter ¨C some short, stubby thing. He raise his hand to aim it at Evander, the lady behind him noticing and gasping, but Song was quicker. Her own pistol was in hand, aimed, and she fired first.


    The body dropped. The crowd screamed.


    Fear and surprise washed over Song like a tide: in and through, receding back into itself. Hand on the chisel. Her hands moved, calm and sure, reloading the pistol without need for thought. Evander leapt down from the dais, taking cover down in the water behind it. Lictors were drawing weapons. There would be more than one, of that she was sure.


    How many?


    Shouts behind, hoarse. Lictors dying and her gaze strayed long enough to see the billowing explosion ¨C flesh and wood strewn, a mass of smoke. They had blown the lift and now the nobles were turning into beasts, screaming and tripping over themselves as they scattered like a flock of birds. She found Prefect Nestor, caught his eye.


    ¡°Get him out,¡± she shouted, gesturing at the brass house.


    The old man looked startled, as if he could not understand what was happening, but what he saw on her face steadied him. The iron went back into his spine and he leapt down the dais, onto the water behind, where Evander had taken cover. They would make a run for it, Song thought, and soon.


    She moved past the standing Locke and Key, yet grinning devils¡¯ grins and eating crab. Through the nobles that were shouting and elbowing each other, stepping on the backs of the fallen in their haste to get away from the danger to ¨C nowhere. The enemy was here, and as Song leapt up onto the dais she found them.


    Song blinked, saw it all as she sucked in a breath.


    Flicker. A man, dark-haired in servant¡¯s livery. A short and stubby pistol, cobbled together. Aimed at the edge of the dais, from where Evander and the lictors would run out. Her hand moved without thought, arm steady and the trigger clicked. Snap, smoke, the man¡¯s face a red ruin and he spun and fell. Fresh screams, but she was not listening.


    The dead man¡¯s face crumbled beyond the killing wound, falling apart in flakes. Some kind of ash? It was an Izcalli beneath, with a swath teeth filed to a point.


    Click, snap: Song threw herself down, the bullet whizzed past her ¨C tore a hole in her skirts. She hit the wooden dais hard, chin bouncing off, but grit her teeth and snatched out her knife. Boots on wood, another servant climbing up with a knife in hand but Song was already moving. She shouted, slamming into the assassin just as she reached the apex of the climb, and they tumbled down onto brass.


    The killer tried to plunged the dagger into her back but she rammed the point of her elbow in the creased of her opponent¡¯s. A swallowed moan of pain and Song slammed her forehead into the nose, feeling it break. Her skin came off wet with blood and sticking, too-warm flakes. The woman was dazed, and that was enough. She rammed her knife her throat, gored her messily, and rose while ripping it out.


    That made three. How many more? There were dead lictors by the lift, but others had muskets and there were only so many assassins. Two more dead on the ground, one fighting, and ¨C


    HUI YU, the golden letters spelled out above the woman¡¯s head.


    The contractor pulled the trigger on her musket, but she missed. The shot only skimmed past Evander¡¯s shoulder, though it burst through Prefect Nestor¡¯s chest and he dropped. The two remaining lictors put themselves between him and the killer, dragging him along, but the contractor was reloading.


    Song moved. Through the scrabbling, squalid crowd drowning in the weight of the rich clothes and jewels, through water touched with swirls like red ink, past a fallen lictor whose throat was cut ¨C she dipped low, awkwardly dragging the dead man¡¯s sword out of his sheath. Heavier than she was used to, shorter. Yet the weight of steel in her hand was like the weight of certainty.


    She caught a reflection of herself in the water, a heartbeat before her foot broke that reddening mirror. So did the killer, and she pivoted with her musket held high. Reloaded, finger on the trigger. And for a moment Song, skirts heavy around her feet as she held a dead man¡¯s sword, looked death in the eye.


    Death blinked first.


    She saw it come down through the arm, the twitch before the trigger pull. She moved low, right and heat licked at her face and she was half deaf but then she was in. She slashed, quick and brutal to the neck, but the contractor caught her wrist. Song rammed a knife in her side but caught mostly cloth, for she¡¯d been kicked in the belly. She tumbled backward long enough for the assassin to pull out a long knife.


    ¡°You again,¡± the stranger snarled.


    ¡°We will not,¡± Song replied, ¡°meet thrice.¡±


    A flash of hate led the steel and Song parried ¨C too slow, from this misbegotten sword, but the weight and thickness had the knife slapped back further. In the water, with skirts, Song had all the elegance of a drunk but the killer moved as quicksilver. A feint had her parrying air and then the assassin¡¯s blade was slicing at her shoulder, caught in the padding.


    Hand on the- Song snarled, leaping at the assassin. She was not in the business of elegant deaths. Sword and knife dropped in the water, Song slamming the killer¡¯s head against the border of a brass island as her throat was squeezed until she felt it would snap. She bit the killer¡¯s wrist until she tasted red and was slammed in the water for it.


    Under the tide, not even silver eyes saw clear.


    She fought against the killer¡¯s grasp keeping her down, kicking and screaming, but the other woman was strong. Song felt her hair come loose, her fine gown turn into a coffin and ¨C and she reached back, groping blindly, until she found her mother¡¯s gift. Her fingers closed around it as Hui Yui pressed her against the bottom, the assassin¡¯s reflection-distorted face just above the water line.


    Under gold there was steel, and the steel pin was what killed the assassin when Song rammed it in her neck.


    She ripped free of the twitching grip, kicking the gurgling assassin down, and gasped free air. Her knife was by the edge of island, glittering in the Asphodelian light, and she made sure she would not prove a liar: it went into the contractor¡¯s heart, and she twisted it to make sure. Gasping, exhausted, Song dragged herself onto solid ground as plumes of red spread in the water. A hand came for her and she almost stabbed it, but the lictor stepped back warily.


    ¡°Your pistol, ma¡¯am,¡± he said, presenting her with it.


    She took it, and reached in her dress to find her last powder charge was dry. The leather it was in had not let the water through. Relieved, she reloaded even as the lictor cleared his throat.


    ¡°The Lord Rector is safe and the assassins are dead, ma¡¯am,¡± he told her. ¡°You got the last of them.¡±


    Song wearily got up. The words brought no relief, for she could not help as if something was missing. Like she had forgotten something. Dead bodies, nobles not yet sure whether to be relieved. Only a handful of lictors left. Song slid the bullet into the barrel of her gun.


    ¡°How were they going to live?¡± she murmured.


    ¡°Ma¡¯am?¡± the lictor asked.


    They¡¯d blown the lift at the start to keep reinforcement from coming up and Evander from going down. But how were they going to leave, afterwards? Were they even intending do? She began to walk towards the brass house without quite knowing why. The lictor followed, mercifully silent. The Obsidian Order were assassins, but they were also cultists. Had they been intending to sacrifice themselves for the kill the entire time?


    If they had, then their plan had been too weak. The moment Evander got to safety and barricaded himself they were finished, for eventually enough of the crowd would slip loose the shackles of fear and realize the killers did not even number ten. She was mere feet away from the door of the house now, and doubt was like an itch. Why had they not prepared for the possibility that¡­


    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    ¡°Oh,¡± Song breathed out.


    They had.


    And Oduromai, god of sailors and heroes but most of all patron of Asphodel, had even told her where to look. She looked above the house, where the god had pointed. Where a man in servant¡¯s livery was finishing his work: positioning a barrel of powder on the roof, a small lamp already in hand. Song met those eyes and was flashed a grin of partially filed teeth.


    ¡°Too late,¡± the assassin said, and lit the wick.


    Breathe in, breathe out. Steady.


    Song raised her pistol and pulled the trigger.


    ¡°You missed, Tianxi,¡± the man laughed. ¡°Bless be She, and carry me on her wings to the deathless lands.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t miss,¡± Song Ren said.


    And he realized it when he looked down: that she had not been aiming for the him or the lamp but the wick. Snarling he reached for the lamp, trying to set the barrel directly aflame, but she¡¯d bought the lictor long enough. They were well-drilled soldiers, skilled at arm. The musket shot took the assassin in the chest, and he tumbled past the edge of the house. And the edge of this entire edifice, screaming as he fell.


    Song panted, letting her pistol face the floor at last.


    ¡°There,¡± she said. ¡°That was the last of them.¡±


    --


    The inside of the brass house was sparse. A table, a pair of seats and stretcher.


    Song had been allowed in only after the lictors swept roof one more time and dropped the powder barrel in water. Now the scared and bloodied nobles were being brought down from here with ropes and ladders while a sea of lictors flooded the roof. In here, however, she was alone save for a lamp and Evander Palliades. His soldiers had flatly refused to let him leave the house, afraid there might be another ambush waiting for him in the street.


    ¡°It did cut skin a little,¡± Evander told her, picking at her shoulder with a wet cloth.


    Song swallowed a hiss of pain, sitting on the table. She¡¯d not felt it with the fight in her, or even after, but the cut being dabbed at was quite unpleasant.


    ¡°I¡¯ve had worse,¡± she said. ¡°Leave it alone, would you?¡±


    He humphed at her.


    ¡°Even small wounds can take badly,¡± he said.


    Still, he did as she¡¯d asked. Outside the walls, she thought, were most likely the cooling corpses of an entire cell of the Obsidian Order. There had been ten of them in whole, that were caught at least. As she watched Evander brush back his hair, folding the cloth before placing it back in the medicine kit, it occurred to her she would not escort him again.


    Tristan had reported finding a contract with the Order, and those assassins were dead. In particular the contractor who could fool eyes, who was the reason Song had been requested as an escort in the first place. It meant, she thought, that tonight might well be the last time she saw Evander Palliades before leaving Asphodel. At most once more, when the contract was fulfilled.


    Which meant she could give the Yellow Earth what little outdated information she had and then, truthfully, tell them she would no longer have access to the palace. She could be free of them as well, in the process. It was soon done, she realized. She would soon be gone from this isle, and the feeling was so liberating she felt like a giddy child.


    ¡°Song?¡±


    She met his gaze and swallowed, then pushed off the table. He rose to his feet as well.


    ¡°I suppose you should report to Black House,¡± Evander acknowledged.


    And she did go to the door. To lock it. She turned to find his eyes gone wide. She was too tired still to be smooth or seductive, so instead she crossed the distance between them ¨C he stepped back, until he was pressed against the wall and their noses were almost touching. She had solved it all without anyone bleeding, Song thought. She was allowed to take some pleasure from the world.


    He was the one to kiss her, glasses knocking against her nose as he threaded a hand through her loose hair and she moaned against warm, soft lips. He had such slender and artful fingers, it stoked embers in her belly. They parted ways only when they were out of breath.


    ¡°I,¡± he swallowed. ¡°Are you sure?¡±


    She drew back, and almost laughed at the disappointment on his face. After all she had only done it to turn around.


    ¡°You¡¯ll have to help me take the gown off,¡± she said, looking over her shoulder.


    The look that put in his eyes had her belly clenching, and a heartbeat later his mouth was on her neck as he pulled her against him.


    It took them forever to get the dress off, but at no point did she complain.


    --


    It¡¯d take days before the last of the drugs left her, but finally Maryam back in the capital.


    To her surprise, even as the Watch carriages rolled into the courtyard of Black House a glance through the shutters ¨C mercifully open, after all that time in a box ¨C revealed the delegation were not the only ones returning that morning. There was already a carriage in there, four servants in Watch livery wrestling with the giant serpentine head strapped to its back.


    The dangling twin retractable crests going up its nose told her she was most likely looking at the head of a Ladonite dragon, who pressed out those crests when they blew fire. Something about the gases involved? Maryam¡¯s interest in teratology did not run deep.


    Confirming her guess was the man standing by the struggling servants, a long-haired Izcalli with perfectly partitioned hair and matching round earrings. Tupoc Xical was more interested in heckling them than helping, apparently, and he spared a look their way when the carriage doors open. His brow rose when he saw Maryam emerge, gaze sliding over the rest of the delegation.


    ¡°Khaimov,¡± he amiably called out. ¡°You managed not to melt your brain in my absence, I see. Shame, it would have made for fine humor going forward.¡±


    Captain Cervantes raised an eyebrow at his word, but someone who did not know either of them could take that for banter between comrades. Commander Osian Tredegar, though, knew better. The tall Pereduri swung his bag over his shoulder and, ignoring the majority of the vacant courtyard, walked up straight to Tupoc. In front of the Izcalli he paused, then let out a noise of impatience. Tupoc¡¯s face went blank.


    ¡°Sir,¡± he said. ¡°What can I do for you?¡±


    ¡°Are you blind?¡± Osian Tredegar asked. ¡°You are standing in my way to the door. Move aside, boy.¡±


    The Izcalli¡¯s gaze moved across the empty courtyard grounds, through the detour Commander Tredegar had taken so Tupoc would stand between him and the door. There was an unkind chortle from the Deuteronomicon tinker while Maryam simply folded her arms and enjoyed the play being put on for her. To Tupoc¡¯s honor, though was a slight tightening around his eyes he managed to put on a smile.


    ¡°Of course,¡± he said, moving out of the superior officer¡¯s way. ¡°My apologies.¡±


    ¡°You should pay closer attention to your surroundings,¡± Osian Tredegar mildly said. ¡°It will do wonders for your life expectancy.¡±


    Attaining a level of pettiness that what Maryam could only yet aspire to, the commander still made sure to shoulder Tupoc on his way to the door. Tupoc could probably have ducked, she thought, but he must have decided that taking his lumps and let Angharad¡¯s occasionally delightful uncle get his way. The rest of the delegation filed out of the courtyard after Commander Tredegar, Captain Cervantes pausing by Maryam to remind her that while she was not expected to report directly to Chilaca there would be a general debrief tonight she was expected to attend.


    ¡°Don¡¯t play around for too long,¡± she then added, glancing at Tupoc. ¡°Your captain should have heard of your arrival by now.¡±


    Maryam simply nodded, matching gazes with the Izcalli, and after the last of the delegation left she cocked an eyebrow at him.


    ¡°Xical,¡± she belatedly replied. ¡°Alone, I see. Already got your cabal killed?¡±


    ¡°Only the one,¡± he shrugged. ¡°Acceptable Losses lived up to her name.¡±


    Maryam paused, startled into silence. And while there were condolences on the tip of her tongue, Tupoc had spoken of the death so casually she could not bring herself to speak them. One did not bare their neck to a leopard unless they wanted to get bitten.


    ¡°So does the Death Brigade,¡± she said instead. ¡°Finally found something for the Fourth to be the best at, I see.¡±


    The Izcalli turned pale eyes on her, face expressionless, and though he hardly moved she could almost taste the violence in the air. She itched to have a hatchet in hand, or at least a fourth ring, but going for either would have been showing weakness. Suddenly he grinned, and the suffocating tension was gone like morning mist.


    ¡°Cold,¡± he appreciatively said. ¡°I¡¯ll have to remember that one.¡±


    Maryam only grunted.


    ¡°That is your Ladonite dragon, I take it?¡± she asked, gesturing at the head.


    It must have not have been as heavy as it looked, given that four servants were capable of taking it down without anyone getting crushed. She¡¯d confess to some curiosity about where they were going to stash that. Not the stables, surely? It would scare the horses. Then again this was a Watch estate, odds were it had been built with the notion of storing the corpses of giant lemures in mind.


    It¡¯d certainly explain why the front gates were so unnecessarily large,


    ¡°That it is,¡± Tupoc proudly said. ¡°A devil to catch, it was. Traipsing through wheat fields out east for days, the local lord¡¯s men shadowing every step and making enough of a racket for thrice their number.¡±


    Maryam raised an eyebrow.


    ¡°You took reinforcements from the nobles?¡±


    ¡°Gods no,¡± Tupoc snorted. ¡°The steward in charge feared we¡¯d anger the beast without killing it, so he wanted soldiers out there to finish the job after¡­¡±


    He traced a finger across his throat. The Izcalli clearly still smarted at the remembered inconvenience, but Maryam could understand how lords might be skeptical of a small cabal of Scholomance students proving capable of killing a Ladonite dragon. It was all too easy to imagine a wounded dragon going wild and setting wheat fields aflame in a rampage, miles of it burning.


    ¡°You got it done regardless, evidently,¡± Maryam shrugged.


    Tupoc slyly smiled.


    ¡°We gave them the slip,¡± he said. ¡°And even found a little something of interest out in the Nitari Heights.¡±


    She cocked her head to the side.


    ¡°Did you now?¡±


    The Izcalli wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.


    ¡°I heard the Thirteenth¡¯s been up to some interesting things as well,¡± he said. ¡°Go fetch someone with actual bargaining power and it might be I¡¯ll trade tit for tat.¡±


    Ah, he had been staying too pleasant for too long a stretch of time. Some piss on her boots was only to be expected.


    ¡°You, of course, being the tit,¡± she innocently smiled back.


    She turned a clean pair of heels to the Izcalli before he could reply, satisfied with having seized the last word. Condolences would wait for someone who deserved them, like the rest of the Fourth.


    --


    Like everything else about Song Ren her kindness was methodical, so by the time Maryam got back to her room she found that a warm bath was already drawn for her and a meal of her Asphodelian favorites being prepared. Song spared her the need to report until she got out of the tub scrubbed clean and pleasantly warmed, and even then they made small talk over the meal instead of diving straight into it. Tristan¡¯s absence was easy enough to explain, but she asked as to Angharad¡¯s.


    ¡°She is out in the city,¡± Song explained. ¡°Attending the dedication of an orphanage in the southeastern district at the invitation of Lord Menander.¡±


    ¡°So the man is still squeezing us for information,¡± Maryam mused. ¡°Makes sense, he has to be worried that since the Watch went down to the shipyard we figured out he had a route there.¡±


    Her captain seemed to take that as a sign that the conversation was shifting to the report, which was fair enough. As if to draw some invisible line Song rose to fetch the teapot waiting on Maryam¡¯s dressed where the servants had left it, bringing it over with two cups before pouring in that measured Tianxi way.


    ¡°Tell me about the shipyard,¡± Song ordered after she finished, slipping back into her seat.


    ¡°It¡¯s go going to be a mess,¡± Maryam told her. ¡°That shipyard¡¯s some kind of masterpiece, apparently: at the moment it could spit out a warship-grade aether engine every five months or so, but the Asphodelians are still repairing parts of the machinery.¡±


    Her focus had waned during the afternoon part of the visit, due to a pounding migraine, but she¡¯d still seen that though the inner ring of the shipyard was mostly up and running a lot of the outlying machinery was still inert or broken. No doubt because it would cost a veritable fortune to get it back in shape and the Lord Rector¡¯s coffers were already mightily strained.


    ¡°How bad would it be?¡± Song asked.


    ¡°The Deuteronomicon tinker that had a look, he was of the opinion that it could be brought up to one every two months,¡± Maryam said. ¡°Commander Tredegar argues three, because part of the reason the construction¡¯s so quick is they use tomic alloys like they¡¯re never going to run out.¡±


    The silver-eyed woman drummed her fingers against the table.


    ¡°But they will, so they will have to water their wine even before the cache runs out,¡± she said. ¡°Mix in lesser metals.¡±


    ¡°Tredegar is betting they¡¯ll be grabbing that strange brass they¡¯ve got everywhere in the capital, which has some useful properties, and his estimate for that is three months,¡± Maryam said. ¡°And that¡¯s after them setting up a foundry for it down there, which we think they might have just begun.¡±


    Some of the buildings in the part of the cavern the Watch had been restricted from accessing had the right shape for it.


    ¡°Then it is a matter of months, years at most, before the shipyard can overturn the balance of the Trebian Sea,¡± Song murmured.


    Maryam grunted in agreement. Four skimmers a year did not sound like much, until one considered that most great powers had fewer than fifty in their service ¨C and not all of them war-fit. Oh, even the greatest skimmers out of Asphodels would be no match for the old monsters some kingdoms had lovingly preserved. The Imperial Someshwar was said to possess an ancient warship near the size of an island and Sacromonte¡¯s infamous harpooners had killed even gods.


    But those monstrous machines were rare, and given the impossibility of replacing them they were never risked without good reason. If it came to a war of attrition, a united Tianxia had the purse and sailors to last all its enemies out. As long as they held the shipyard, anyway. That was the rub.


    ¡°Brigadier Chilaca will, at the very least, force through restrictions on the sale of military-grade engines,¡± Song finally said. ¡°That has the potential for ugliness if Tianxia contests the matter.¡±


    ¡°Force?¡± Maryam repeated, surprised. ¡°I didn¡¯t think the Watch had the pull for that right now.¡±


    ¡°Things have changed,¡± Song said. ¡°With the Lord Rector¡¯s help I solved the cypher on the correspondence of Hector Lissenos. Not only is it all but certain the Hated One is the entity in the prison layer you discovered, said prison is breached.¡±


    That sounded like bad news, but hopefully the kind of bad news the Thirteenth would be able to dodge by getting off this treachery-ridden rock.


    ¡°And he¡¯ll need the Watch to either seal that breach or kill what¡¯s left inside,¡± Maryam said. ¡°That is wind at Chilaca¡¯s back for the next round of talks.¡±


    ¡°Look at you, gone all nautical,¡± Song teased.


    Maryam rolled her eyes.


    ¡°Look at you, all loose-limbed and smiling,¡± she shot back. ¡°Popped your cork with our friend Evander, have you?¡±


    Song¡¯s face was unreadable, which was all the answer she needed. The Tianxi would be sputtering up a storm right now if it weren¡¯t true.


    ¡°Were you able to find out a possible means of entry for Lord Menander?¡± Song calmly asked.


    ¡°Transparent,¡± Maryam chided. ¡°But I¡¯ll spare you, so long as you let me in on a few details when we next sit over wine."


    Song stared her down.


    ¡°This is still a report,¡± her captain chided back.


    Maryam¡¯s brow and she returned the stare undaunted. A moment passed.


    ¡°It had best be plum wine,¡± Song sighed.


    ¡°No promises,¡± Maryam cheerfully replied. ¡°As for the Drakos business, there was an embarrassment of potential entrances once I figured out what to look for: the upper third of the cavern is full of cracks, crevices and passages that could go all the way up to Tratheke.¡±


    ¡°How high a drop?¡±


    ¡°Sixty, eighty feet,¡± she replied. ¡°Not climbing height, it would need ropes.¡±


    ¡°Thus why the cache remained there to be found by the Lord Rector,¡± Song completed. ¡°Thank you, Maryam. That answers another question.¡±


    It did: Menander Drakos, while a greedy fuck, was no cultist. He had not been grabbing for the old Lissenos papers to find the trail of the Hated One the same way the Thirteenth had.


    ¡°All we need is Angharad finding out whether he has an infernal forge and we can cut him loose,¡± Maryam said. ¡°We¡¯re nearing the end of the road, Song.¡±


    ¡°More than you know,¡± Song replied. ¡°Tristan sent some reports during your absence: we have a name to the assassin that first struck at the Lord Rector. There is a contract between a ¡®H. A.¡¯ and our old acquaintances the Obsidian Order.¡±


    Maryam traced a finger against her palm, Gloam shimmering, and opened her stored memory of the initial suspect list the Lord Rector had given them.


    ¡°Lord Hector Anaidon?¡± she asked. ¡°He had a boon fitting the Golden Ram, as you mentioned.¡±


    ¡°Our current lead suspect,¡± Song said. ¡°Captain Wen refused me the right to arrest him based on mere initials, so we will look at¡­ alternative ways of obtaining information.¡±


    ¡°You want to kidnap him,¡± Maryam amusedly said.


    ¡°Of course not,¡± Song blandly denied. ¡°Kidnapping has the implication of asking for a ransom. We would be abducting him.¡±


    The signifier grinned. Maybe Song should take kings for a ride more regularly, it did great things for her sense of humor.


    ¡°We should probably wait for Tristan to return,¡± Maryam noted. ¡°Given how many abduction attempts he¡¯s been involved in, he is our ranking expert.¡±


    Song, perhaps afraid to face the reality that she was captaining a brigade that had such a thing as an abduction expert, cleared her throat and changed tack with aplomb.


    ¡°I personally killed the Obsidian Order contractor and several accomplices, so the immediate danger may have passed there,¡± Song said. ¡°Now that I am no longer bound to escort the Lord Rector and we have our ciphers solved, all that remains is to wrap up our investigation.¡±


    ¡°You did what now?¡± Maryam flatly asked.


    ¡°It was but a small matter,¡± Song dismissed.


    Maryam leaned forward, squinting.


    ¡°How public was that?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Public enough that I am now believed to be secret bodyguard instead of a mistress,¡± Song said. ¡°That repute has made my presence in the palace much too noticeable, which is what forced Brigadier Chilaca to free me from escort obligations.¡±


    Because if Song was watched it might lead the cult back to their brigade, so Chilaca forcing her to continue escort duties and risk that would be direct interference in the Thirteenth¡¯s contract. Good, now their back was covered.


    ¡°Then we will be grabbing Hector Anaidon,¡± Maryam said.


    ¡°As soon as our last loose ends are wrapped up,¡± Song agreed. ¡°Tristan was to attend a meeting of the conspiracy three days ago, but has not reported since and should currently be faking his deaths. Once he is back and Angharad has finished with Lord Menander, we are free to proceed. Unless you¡¯ve obligations of your own?¡±


    ¡°I need to head back to the palace to report to the Lord Rector about the aether in the shipyard,¡± Maryam said. ¡°And while I¡¯m up there I want to establish where the prison layer¡¯s entrance is.¡±


    ¡°You think that knowledge could be of import?¡± Song asked.


    She sounded somewhat skeptical. I think that knowledge will put me in a room where I can finish devouring the shade, Maryam thought.


    ¡°I developed a theory about the nature of the layer while I was down there,¡± she said instead. ¡°How it was built, and how the cult might be using it to move around.¡±


    She laid out the clues she had but together with the shade¡¯s help. How the prison layer containing the Hated One was as a flask with a bottom, the brackstone shrines, but that it must also have a cork ¨C some mystery location up in the rector¡¯s palace. And thus the most important detail.


    ¡°Whatever they used to first breach that layer, it lets them enter it wherever the material thins,¡± Maryam acknowledged. ¡°There¡¯s no controlling that. But where they exit? It¡¯s not a coincidence the assassin emerged next to a brackstone shrine. The only exits are the shrines and the ¡®cork¡¯.¡±


    ¡°Meaning that anyone infiltrating the palace will have to pass through there,¡± Song slowly said. ¡°To hold that room would prevent a surprise attack by the cult.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the theory,¡± Maryam said. ¡°Either way, having a closer look should let me confirm or disprove my theory.¡±


    ¡°Potentially very valuable information,¡± Song said. ¡°We are in agreement there ¨C it is as good a use of your time as any until Angharad and Tristan¡¯s matters are settled.¡±


    She nodded.


    ¡°Shame we won¡¯t be the first to finish our test,¡± Maryam said, ¡°but so far it hasn¡¯t cost us a corpse and I think we have a good chance at being the second.¡±


    ¡°A very good chance,¡± the silver-eyed woman said. ¡°The Eleventh Brigade came back last night. Whatever it is they found out in the hills, it had them ransack the Black House library.¡±


    ¡°For what?¡± Maryam frowned.


    ¡°Books about the gods of Asphodel,¡± Song said. ¡°Inauspicious, considering they first set out for a seemingly simple exorcism contract.¡±


    ¡°And the Nineteenth is still chasing their assassin.¡±


    ¡°So we believe,¡± she said. ¡°They have not returned here in six days, though at least on the first we know from Tristan that they were chasing a lead in the Kassa workshop.¡±


    That had Maryam asking why the Nineteenth would be curious about the workshop, which had Song laying out what Tristan had been up to. The Mask runarounds were only to be expected, but his running into some sort of bound god assassin was not. Hopefully at least some of the Nineteenth would get killed chasing forces beyond their understanding and the rest could be rustled up for the noose. Song did offer one note of dissent there, however.


    ¡°So Izel Coyac got cold feet,¡± Maryam shrugged. ¡°Until he turns on the rest of the traitors, I see no reason for him to have a different fate.¡±


    ¡°If we is willing to testify, it would make rooting out the Ivory Library much easier,¡± Song said.


    ¡°Then let him,¡± Maryam said. ¡°So long as he hangs afterwards.¡±


    The Tianxi sighed.


    ¡°We can set that aside for now,¡± she said. ¡°Tristan will no doubt have his own opinions on the matter.¡±


    Murderous opinions, presumably. As it should be. And considering watchmen who ought to be sent to the gallows brought an earlier encounter to mind.


    ¡°I ran into Tupoc on the way in,¡± she said. ¡°He offered to trade information, hinted he ran into something interesting out in Nitari Heights.¡±


    ¡°We do have interesting bits to trade,¡± Song noted, drumming her fingers at the table.


    ¡°He¡¯s a prick but he doesn¡¯t offer wares he does not have,¡± Maryam said. ¡°It could be worth the price.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t disagree,¡± Song said. ¡°In fact, I believe we might need to broaden the matter.¡±


    ¡°Make a meal out of it?¡± Maryam drily asked. ¡°We thank you for your sacrifice.¡±


    ¡°Bring the Eleventh into this,¡± Song replied. ¡°I want to know what has them so spooked ¨C and if there¡¯s any chance of it coming back to haunt us.¡±


    Maryam almost wished her good luck, but then she thought again. Tristan was in the wind and Angharad presumably busy telling the local orphans how the orphans back home had it much better due to the inherent superiority of Malani ways.


    Which meant she would be stuck playing second for Song at that meeting.


    ¡°Balls,¡± she complained.


    Somehow Song failed to be moved by the eloquence of her argument.


    --


    After the debacle that had been the last evening with the Asphodel brigades in the same hall, precautions were taken: only two from each brigade, no food and no liquor.


    Captain Imani of the Eleventh Brigade showed up with her designated second, Thando Fenya, and both the dark-skinned highborn had rings around their eyes. Long nights and little sleep, something Maryam was more than passingly familiar with. She¡¯d had the strangling nightmare every night since the shipyard. For the Fourth it was Tupoc and Alejandra Torrero, who unlike her captain seemed to be taking Acceptable Losses¡¯ death hard. She looked just as exhausted at the pair of the Eleventh, enough her usual scowl was lackluster.


    They used one of Black House¡¯s private parlors for the talk, and though there was hardly any small talk before the servants brought jugs of water and two tea pots the tendency was towards friendliness. The Nineteenth¡¯s absence kept things civil, something that Maryam almost could not believe she was thinking when one of the ingredients in the brew was Tupoc Xical.


    ¡°Someone will have to go first,¡± said bastard mused, sipping at his goblet. ¡°Perhaps a little wager to-¡±


    ¡°I will pay upfront,¡± Song flatly interrupted.


    Tupoc shot her an irritated look at having cut the grass beneath his feet, but that faded when Song began dangling choice morsels in front of the others. She revealed the existence of a brewing coup ¨C though she named no names ¨C and that the cult of the Golden Ram was heavily involved in it. She even revealed that the contracted assassin who made the first attempt on the Lord Rector had been Obsidian Order and that she had personally killed her.


    ¡°And your Mask?¡± Imani asked.


    ¡°Tracking down the cultists,¡± Song replied without batting an eye.


    Alejandra Torrero instead turned to Maryam, catching her gaze.


    ¡°I hear you were in the shipyard,¡± she said.


    Maryam nodded in acknowledgement.


    ¡°Assessing the aether down there,¡± she said. ¡°I believe I have some understanding of the layer we earlier encountered and its purpose.¡±


    ¡°Which would be?¡± Tupoc frowned.


    Song raised her hand to silence Maryam.


    ¡°My throat is parched,¡± she said, pointedly sipping at her tea.


    Captain Imani snorted, Thando laughed and Tupoc rolled his eyes.


    ¡°Fine, fine,¡± he said. ¡°Our hunt began badly. The dragon was digesting an orchard when we first approached Nitari Heights, so we had to guess where it had retreated to ¨C and the local troops kept making a racket as they shadowed us. Thankfully, we read up on the breed before setting out.¡±


    ¡°Ladonite dragons are very territorial,¡± Alejandra said. ¡°So we had Acceptable Losses rig up explosives that would make a sound similar to an adult male¡¯s roar and set them off near the heights, where it would echo."


    "It worked too well,¡± Tupoc said. ¡°That same night, just after dark fell, it swept through the mountainside and lit up half the camp of our local friends in the first pass. It did not linger enough for us to get a shot at it, but Alejandra was able to tag it with a Sign.¡±


    ¡°Lieutenant Mitra helped,¡± she said. ¡°Regardless, we slipped away and tracked it down to the cliffside cavern where it dwelled. It had not noticed us, so we decided to strike a decisive first blow.¡±


    ¡°We climbed up half a hundred feet and rigged the cavern to blow while it slept,¡± Tupoc happily said. ¡°Which worked, at the low price of a massive landslide.¡±


    Maryam breathed in.


    ¡°Is that how¡­¡± she trailed off.


    ¡°No, though Expendable twisted his ankle,¡± Alejandra said. ¡°We were waiting for the last stones to settle when we found out there was a second mouth to that cave, hidden even higher up.¡±


    ¡°It hit us out in the open,¡± Tupoc calmly said. ¡°If the cave collapse had not mangled a wing, we would all be dead. Acceptable Losses had grenades and powders in her haversack, and when she was clipped by flame¡­¡±


    He popped his hands open, making a fwoosh sound that had most everyone wincing.


    ¡°Bait blinded it with spare grenade, which had it crash,¡± Alejandra grimly said. ¡°I kept its mouth shut so it could not breathe fire again while Expendable and Tupoc went in with spears.¡±


    ¡°I lost an eye ¨C do tell Zenzele it was the same one, Song, I expect he will be jealous ¨C but we got our spears deep in the throat where the gland that sprays the fluid is. It began choking on the liquid, which was distraction enough to pierce its first heart, but it panicked and fled.¡±


    Tupoc shrugged.


    ¡°It was probably going to die, but we had to be sure so we pursued,¡± he said. ¡°That took almost as long as finding the beast, but at some point the Sign ceased moving so we knew it¡¯d likely died to the wounds.¡±


    ¡°It hid the better part of a hundred feet up the cliffside of the Nitari Heights,¡± Alejandra Terrero said. ¡°In a hidden temple we believe was its original lair.¡±


    ¡°Long abandoned,¡± Tupoc said. ¡°It was wrecked and filthy, generations of Ladonite dragons laired there. But we found out why this one went on a rampage in the first place: someone chased it out. There were signs of fighting inside, at least nine months old, and the dragon had broken scales and healed bullet wounds on the chest.¡±


    ¡°The temple itself was some sort of large grave,¡± Alejandra revealed, ¡°but there was a shrine at the back and an altar that must have held some kind of sacred object. Missing and recently taken.¡±


    ¡°Graverobbers,¡± Tupoc sighed, sounding almost fond. ¡°All this trouble because someone wanted to grab an old trinket and make a fortune pawning it.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s our part,¡± the scowling signifier added. ¡°On you, Eleventh.¡±


    Eyes moved to the Malani pair, who shared a look before Imani Langa spoke up.


    ¡°Our part is, I fear, significantly less exciting,¡± Captain Imani said. ¡°We are not dealing with a forming god or a remnant, or even some lemure. We found two ritual sites, one having been freshly used.¡±


    ¡°Human sacrifice,¡± Thando said, tone turned detached. Methodical. ¡°The victims were all at least sixteen, most of them Asphodelians with no seeming care to gender. Six died at each site, buried alive. They were awake during, as proved by attempts to claw themselves out.¡±


    ¡°It is a ceremony meant to carry prayer directly to the god,¡± Imani said. ¡°One that works, by the way lemures have been fleeing the region ¨C the lingering taint in the aether is what they are migrating to avoid.¡±


    She paused.


    ¡°The trouble is that whatever cultists of the Old Night did this, they then erased most traces of the ritual beyond the sacrifice itself. We only know stone altars were used because the river they disposed of the second one in ran thick with rain and spit it back on the shore.¡±


    ¡°Before we learn what deity is being invoked, there is no point in chasing this cult through the hills,¡± Thando added. ¡°If this is all being done to bargain for contracts, as we suspect, then we cannot afford to go in blind.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± Tupoc said.


    Several shot surprised looks his way, but Maryam and Song had known him since the Dominion. They knew better.


    ¡°It was boring compared to ours,¡± he added.


    That rather set the tone for the free exchange of information coming to an end, at least the formal part. There was some chatting ¨C Imani was somewhat blatantly hitting Song up for information and getting frustrated at the icy wall of Tianxi politeness facing her ¨C and Alejandra took her aside.


    ¡°You got strong again,¡± the other signifier said.


    Maryam shook her head.


    ¡°I have gained my strength back,¡± she corrected.


    Alejandra looked her up and down, scowl tightening.


    ¡°In what we do, Khaimov, there is always a price,¡± she said. ¡°Even the good. Especially the good.¡±


    ¡°And I have been paying mine for years,¡± Maryam coldly replied. ¡°I¡¯ll be sure to have every drop of my due.¡±


    ¡°On your head be it,¡± Alejandra grunted. ¡°I¡¯m not your mother.¡±


    Neither am I, Maryam thought. But when I¡¯m done, when I have every kernel it stole from me back?


    Then she would at last be a worthy successor to Izolda Cernik.

 Chapter 60

    The orphanage opening had not been a joyous thing.


    Such institutions were not, Angharad learned, paid for by the Lord Rector or the local ruling lord but by whoever cared to offer coin to them. It was a very disorganized method, which she thought was sure to allow some of the orphaned to slip through the cracks. No wonder crime had such a grip on the capital, with these ¡®basileias¡¯ sprouting everywhere. Failure below could always be traced back to failure above.


    At least it had proved an opportunity to speak with Lord Menander Drakos, something that had risen high in her priorities. The sooner this infernal forge business had an answer, the sooner she could begin climbing out of the pit. The older lord was just as eager for a private talk and it proved remarkably easy to get from him an invitation to the manse Lord Gule had mentioned.


    The reason why could be summed up in two words: Song Ren.


    Song¡¯s heroics were the talk of the entire city, deservedly. She was said to have slain so many assassins her dress turned red and taken a shot for the Lord Rector that nearly killed her. Angharad knew the truth of the story, of course, having been told by a mellow Song the afternoon¡¯s genuine events. A mellowness Angharad had deduced was not unrelated to the love bites the Tianxi should raise her collar higher to fully hide.


    Scandalous, if not exactly unexpected. No woman spent as much time talking about someone as Song had about Lord Rector Palliades without having some sort of interest in them. It had been either sex or murder, and murder would have been messy.


    Either way, for lack of the proper lineage Menander Drakos had not been one of the lords attending the Landing Day feast. He was thus keen to learn the details of what took place and knew that Angharad, as a watchwoman, would be able to provide them. The consequence of that was that she found herself received in the Drakos manse early in the afternoon of her thirtieth day on Asphodel instead of needing to wait until the regular dinner that Lord Gule had mentioned to her.


    A pretext was even arranged for it, given how the ploy with the inheritance rumors would only go so far in erasing the taint on her reputation her visit to the country had left. Lord Menander was one of the patrons for the orphanage, which made him one of the men to speak with should one seek to arrange a charitable donation.


    Song had even been willing to loosen the purse strings for it, though rather than out of philanthropic instinct it was because reclaimed brigade funds not spent directly on cabalists were often repaid in full by the bureaucrats of the Conclave. It would make no difference to the children.


    Angharad avoided directly sponsoring one despite the offer and it apparently being the common practice, as such a commitment would tie her to return to Asphodel and she was not sure she would be able to. No, instead she donated to the cause of furnishing the children with an education. A more practical application of the funds, in her opinion.


    Lord Menander seemed surprised when she sat with him over tea and asked questions as to the nature of the books and tutors that would be acquired, which was puzzling. All the more that he did not seem all that well informed on the particulars and had to send for his majordomo for answers. She hid her disapproval at his taking such a serious commitment so lightly, and let the subject pass after she was satisfied the coin would not be improperly used.


    Lord Menander was much more taken with talk of the Landing Day massacre, most interested when Angharad hinted that there might have been Izcalli involvement. In truth there was little doubt those had been the same assassins Tristan warned them of. The Watch had obtained some of the flaky false faces the assassins had worn, and officers in Black House identified the substance as a kind of lemure corpse ash that could be used to make very convincing false skin.


    The trick was, it was rumored, a favorite of the Obsidian Order. Between these getting on the wrong side of Song¡¯s wrath and Yaretzi dying to her hand on the Dominion, she was viciously pleased to see the pack of assassins having a lousy year.


    Still, now that the mustachioed lord was happily garnished with hints and secrets it was time to pull the rug from under him. Angharad set down her porcelain cup ¨C Tianxi-made, its unique imperfections and details showing it had been crafted by hand in a display of wealth ¨C on the matching saucer and smiled at the man across the table. Agreeable and empty, the way Father had taught her.


    ¡°Pleasant as this conversation has been,¡± Angharad said, ¡°I am afraid that this time I came on Watch business.¡±


    Lord Menander¡¯s brow rose.


    ¡°By all means, I am at the disposal of the Watch,¡± he said. ¡°How may I be of service?¡±


    ¡°It has come to our attention that you might be in possession of an artifact whose ownership is forbidden under the Iscariot Accords,¡± she smilingly replied.


    The older man stilled, then swallowed.


    ¡°I suspect you were taken in by a false rumor,¡± he claimed with false calm. ¡°All my dealings in the artifact trade have been legal and on record, I assure you. My account books are open for perusal if there is need.¡±


    Angharad sipped at her cup. Let him stew.


    ¡°You did not buy the artifact in question,¡± she said. ¡°It is part of the shipyard trove you¡­ salvaged through the hidden passage. The one we assume was first found by your forebears around the reign of Hector Lissenos.¡±


    Part of her, she would admit, enjoyed watching him go white as a sheet. After all the wheeling and dealing, how he had known he was too useful to refuse insights into Watch matters, to now tighten the screws on the man was a petty but distinct pleasure. Lord Menander licked his lips, eyes flicking to the door. Angharad sipped at her tea again.


    ¡°You are,¡± Menander Drakos said in a strangled voice, ¡°formidably well informed.¡±


    ¡°Our brigade has proved to have some skill in matters of investigation,¡± Angharad mildly said. ¡°Access to palace archives helped, admittedly.¡±


    She drummed her fingers against the table, the small movement drawing the man¡¯s wary eyes.


    ¡°While it is within the authority of the Watch to demand access to your collection for inspection,¡± Angharad said, ¡°such a thing would be an official process. One involving the office of the Lord Rector, given that the justification for the demand invokes an article of the Iscariot Accords.¡±


    And now Angharad had given him two things: first, a reason to fear a formal demand. Bringing in the palace would involve revealing to Evander Palliades that one of his nobles had helped himself to the treasures beneath Tratheke, and that the path to his shipyard was not nearly as secret as he might have wanted. Odds were even that Menander Drakos would die for this, Angharad would wager. Even should he not, he would be ruined.


    On the other hand, a formal process would also publicly reveal the identities of at least some the Thirteenth Brigade since the cabal would be the one making the demand. Song, at the very least, would be definitively outed as a watchwoman. It might be that Angharad¡¯s cover would survive the ensuing scrutiny, it might not. Either way the Thirteenth had good reason to want to keep the matter unofficial, and thus Menander Drakos had good reason to trust in their discretion.


    It was best when reward and punishment were cut from the same cloth, Father had often said. It helped people grasp the swing of consequence.


    ¡°There is no need for such a thing,¡± Menander Drakos firmly said. ¡°As I told you, I am at the disposal of the Watch. If a dangerous artifact inadvertently made its way onto my hands, it is my civic duty to remand it to the custody of the Watch.¡±


    ¡°A most praiseworthy attitude,¡± Angharad said, her tone only slightly ironic. ¡°I expect that discretionary funds have been set aside by the Conclave to acknowledge such dutiful behavior, though I would understand if you felt such pecuniary matters to be beneath¡­¡±


    ¡°I would not risk giving offense to the Conclave by refusing its largesse,¡± Lord Menander hastily intervened.


    It would be unkind, she reminded herself, to judge him too harshly for being so grasping. His house had nearly been driven out of the ranks of the nobility under the Lissenos dynasty, only claiming back a place at court under the Palliades ¨C and reaching a new apex of influence under Menander Drakos himself, by the talk around the capital. Whatever his vices, the man had toiled long and harshly to restore the name of his house.


    A respectable enterprise, if undertaken through less than respectable means. What kind of a man robbed his own liege lord?


    ¡°It may be that, as you said, this is mere erroneous rumor,¡± Angharad said. ¡°It should be a simple matter to dismiss the possibility upon an inspection.¡±


    He blinked.


    ¡°Today?¡± he asked, hesitating. ¡°I was not prepared for¡­¡±


    Of course you aren¡¯t, Angharad thought. That is precisely why I am asking. She said nothing, only smiling pleasantly, and the man¡¯s eyes eventually tightened.


    ¡°Of course,¡± Lord Menander said. ¡°Allow me to make the arrangements, I¡¯ll have a servant refill the pot.¡±


    ¡°That would be courteous of you,¡± Angharad replied.


    It took the man half an hour to prepare, long enough she finished the second pot and some fine finger cakes with it. She¡¯d never tasted that sugary almond cream before, it was a delight to the tongue. When a servant came to fetch her it was to bring her to a parlor on the first floor. Lord Menander was waiting there with a torch in hand, which he pressed against a burning candle to light up.


    ¡°Kindly lock the door, Lady Angharad,¡± he requested.


    She did, turning to watch him slide open a wooden panel in the wall that was obscuring a dark and cramped stairway leading down.


    ¡°Careful with the steps,¡± he advised. ¡°Despite my best efforts the stone insists on dampness.¡±


    ¡°Much obliged,¡± she replied, inclining her head.


    Angharad gingerly made her way down the stairs, leaning on her cane. They spiraled downwards on a steep slope, until they reached a level that must broadly be equal to beneath the mansion. She found Lord Menander waiting at the bottom with his torch in hand. Telling that it was not another man doing it for him even when the smell of smoke was sure to cling to his oiled hair. The older lord did not trust even his servants with knowledge of the crypt.


    ¡°Come,¡± Menander Drakos said. ¡°Let me show you the inventory.¡±


    It was a walk of mere steps through the threshold and into a broader space. Though the insides were but a single room, work had been done here to turn some decrepit basement crypt into a showcase of stolen wealth. Red drapes covered the walls and beautiful panels of wood and glass kept pristine the riches obtained from far below Tratheke. Lord Menander lit the four braziers in the room one after another while Angharad limped across a thick Izcalli carpet, combing through the loot.


    Much of what was on display here were mere trinkets of Antediluvian make, though even these were often worth a fortune. If not for the wealthy collectors buying them then simply for the materials from which they were made ¨C Angharad found a brooch whose accents were in brumal silver, for example, and thus almost certainly worth thousands of ramas.


    Rings and necklaces, bracelets and buckles. A spread of glass pearls containing colored, ever-shifting air. A pendulum whose weight went all the way around, uncaring of gravity. Two sculpted monkeys in Tratheke brass that moved the needles of an obsidian clock without hours. The further back she went, the larger the finds became. Some sort of glittering machine that knit the air in visible braids, though for what purpose she could only guess. A brass writing desk with shifting cogs inside.


    And then, tucked away near the corner, the second-largest piece on display: a thing of gray iron, a too-large printing press with corkscrew handles pressing a large slab down on another adorned with so many cryptoglyphs it looked smooth at first glance. The infernal forge. It could be nothing else. Despite its size straining Angharad¡¯s ability to believe it had been brought up through a crevasse, there was no sign of it being scuffed or damaged.


    ¡°Is that the one?¡± Lord Menander asked from her side, stroking his mustache nervously.


    ¡°Almost certainly,¡± Angharad replied. ¡°If I may ask, how did you get it in here? The stairs are too narrow.¡±


    ¡°There is a passage to the Tratheke sewers behind one of the tapestries,¡± he informed her. ¡°Much broader than the stairway, though I had it sealed to avoid the stink.¡±


    She nodded, mind already spinning. It would be child¡¯s play to obtain a map of the sewers in this part of Tratheke from the palace archives, she thought. And without being seen, too, if she used her daily vision to acquire the knowledge discreetly. She could accompany Maryam on one of her near-daily visits to the palace, find some excuse requiring her presence.


    After that it would just be a matter of confirming the path to this crypt and coming here with the right tools. Tools, she thought, that Uncle Osian could obtain without trouble. It is in my grasp, she thought. Ancestors, but it is. She was not sure if the breath that rattled out of her was fearful or relieved. When you stood on the edge of the precipice, the line between the two could be thinner than one liked to admit.


    ¡°I believed it some manner of Antediluvian printing press,¡± Lord Menander spoke into the silence, as if afraid of leaving it empty. ¡°Would be it indiscreet to ask what it truly is?¡±


    Angharad almost told him it was but decided otherwise. Telling him of infernal involvement meant he would be most wary of trying to get rid of the forge or allow it to be stolen ¨C it might be seen as colluding with Hell.


    ¡°The device is called an infernal forge and it is illegal under the Iscariot Accords for anyone but the Watch, or Pandemonium, to possess one,¡± she told him.


    The older man swallowed.


    ¡°Is it¡­ dangerous?¡± he ventured.


    ¡°Not unless it is used,¡± Angharad said then paused and clarified. ¡°Not any more than the possession of a rare artifact others might desire generally is, anyhow.¡±


    Especially when Lord Locke and Lady Keys had hinted at Song that the latter was a devil. Angharad might well be looking at the reason those two had come to Asphodel in the first place. If the Watch could hear rumor of such a device being on the loose, why not Pandemonium? Though it does seem passing strange that a treasure tucked away in a basement would cause any rumor at all, she thought.


    Lord Menander shot her a wary look.


    ¡°I must rely, then, on your discretion,¡± he said.


    ¡°I have no intention of spreading the knowledge any further than I must,¡± she precisely replied. ¡°Though once it is on a written report, that will be out of my hands.¡±


    ¡°Understandable,¡± he grudgingly said, the coughed into his hand. ¡°When might I rely on the Watch to take custody of the artifact, do you think?¡±


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    ¡°Discretion will be paramount,¡± she said. ¡°I will personally see to this matter, but it might well be days before you receive word. Until then, I would advise you to forget you ever saw the device.¡±


    ¡°Would that I had never obtained it,¡± Lord Menander grimly said. ¡°My thanks for your assistance, Lady Tredegar.¡±


    ¡°It was a pleasure,¡± Angharad replied, inclining her head.


    A pleasure to finally know for sure, mostly, but a pleasure nonetheless.


    Lord Menander escorted her back up after, visibly eager to have her out of his home under the smooth manners. She did not fight it, allowing herself to be bundled off back into a carriage with absent-minded courtesies. She had much to think on, after all. She had the location of the infernal forge, a discreet way to get to it and two ufudu who wanted it. Now all that Angharad needed was a way to settle all her debts without dragging the Thirteenth into it.


    She told Song, that night, not to send the report to Brigadier Chilaca immediately. That the Watch might be tempted to grab it immediately, thus interfering with Angharad¡¯s infiltration of the Golden Ram cult. Song accepted, not thinking twice of it.


    Angharad found she avoided her own gaze in the mirror that night. She dreamt of unlocked doors and creatures howling in the night.


    --


    Today was the tenth attempt, and she had learned much.


    By the third try Angharad had begun relying on blowing open the door with a powder barrel, which neatly sidestepped her lack of lockpicking skills. By the fourth she had, mostly, learned to do this without killing herself. Difficulties unfortunately did not cease there. The fifth attempt taught her that too much powder set everything inside the room on fire, which was not ideal when attempting to read correspondence, then the sixth that too little powder only blew up parts of the door.


    Which was a problem, as the Sign anchored in it would then keep functioning and eat through whatever flesh passed the threshold. Angharad was getting a little tired of having her arm devoured by Gloam, to be frank.


    (The powder smoke tasted thick against the roof her mouth as Angharad limped in.


    Chunks of the door had torn up the desk where Captain Domingo¡¯s private papers were stashed but most of the papers were fine, if strewn all over the floor. There was nothing truly useful in the drawers anyhow: only paperwork, formal correspondence and some derivative attempts at poetry.


    The locked drawer had cost her the seventh attempt, only to learn that beyond the vicious warding Sign was only a flat stone put there to add weight. She ignored the mess, heading straight for the trunk by the bed. Padlocked and barded with iron, the dead end of her eighth attempt.


    She wedged a metal spike into the lock and waited until the warding Sign ate through it ¨C ninth attempt ¨C but the second spike settled in fine. Twice she swung the hammer, wincing at the way it pulled on her leg, and the padlock broke. Having learned her lesson from the locked drawer she lifted the trunk open with a long wooden spoon from the kitchens instead of even a gloved hand.


    Nothing. No other Sign. Noticeable one, anyhow. Tristan had warned her of tracking marks.


    Inside the trunk were silken clothes, tasteful jewelry, several books bearing no titles but whose first pages bore the sigil of the Akelarre Guild and finally a pouch of documents. Angharad touched that last with the spoon first, but it did not prove trapped either. She went through the papers then and there, reading them in the light from the hall ¨C it was only a matter of time until Captain Domingo arrived, she must hurry.


    The first paper was some sort medical recipe, she set it aside. The second was a formal document with a Rookery stamp serving as a promissory note good at any Watch branch for a significant but not unreasonable sum of money. Navigators were said to get some of the most lucrative contracts. The last however, was finally progress: a formal assignment from the ¡®Lesser Committee for the Trebian Northwest¡¯.


    Skimming through, Angharad stopped cold when she got to the core of the duties outlined. Namely, assessing Brigadier Chilaca for undue influences. In particular that of the ¡®Ivory Library¡¯, an informal Watch research association and correspondence society.


    Running in the hall. Time had run out.


    ¡°What manner of madness is-¡±)


    Angharad breathed out, emerging from the vision, and frowned at the closed door.


    That Captain Domingo had been given that assignment by the roster of officers who effectively ruled Scholomance implied either staggering incompetence on their part or good reason to believe that Domingo Santos was not a member of the Ivory Library. Considering that she was used to competence in the upper ranks of the Watch, if also an unfortunate degree of graft and intrigue, that likely meant Song¡¯s deduction that the Navigator was the traitor was false.


    Either Song¡¯s other suspect was the one or the real traitor had gone unnoticed.


    Rolling her shoulder, Angharad resumed limping down the hall on her way to breakfast. Now that she had answers, something to hold up as a favor done to Song for all the favors she had received in turn, she was finally comfortable having a conversation she had put off too long. Not that Song had broached the subject since her return either.


    The captain of the Thirteenth Brigade was not difficult to find. Now that even Brigadier Chilaca had been forced to admit that sending her back to the palace would be effectively sabotaging the Thirteenth on their yearly test, she had been spending much of her free time looking into Lord Hector Anaidon as a prelude to grabbing him for interrogation. In an hour Song would thus be gone in the wind, but at the moment it was time for breakfast.


    That rather simplified finding her.


    Angharad limped into the eating hall, easing herself into the seat next to Song ¨C opposite a scowling Maryam begrudging the world having been robbed a longer night¡¯s rest ¨C and leaning in for a whisper.


    ¡°Not Santos,¡± she said. ¡°The Obscure Committee has him watching Chilaca for common interests with Tristan¡¯s¡­ acquaintances.¡±


    Song stilled, then slowly nodded.


    ¡°I¡¯ll want a full report,¡± she whispered back.


    ¡°Come up to the roof after breakfast,¡± Angharad told her.


    She then leaned forward, helping herself to the plate of sausages. The Asphodelian seasoning had grown on her and using the vision always left her feeling strangely starved.


    --


    Angharad liked to oil her sword up here.


    The view of the city was stunning, the great panes of the Collegium like a waterfall of glass under the light of the Glare, and it was rare for anyone but Navigators to visit and break the quiet. Hard to eavesdrop, as well, given the open grounds. Truly, the great difficulty of it was Angharad having to make her way up the stairs. These days she was no longer out of breath at the end, her lungs almost returned to her, but the weakness in the legs remained.


    Waiting for Song, she lost herself in the work. Hers was an artfully crafted blade and Angharad intended to treat it accordingly. She had replaced her old washing cloth with soft sheepskin leather and now oiled the saber every two days instead of three. It was soothing, running the leather down the span of steel to rub the oil into it. Ritual and functional all at once, keeping the hand and mind busy.


    She only looked up the once when she heard the steps, long enough to confirm it was Song sitting down by her side on the bench.


    ¡°Tell me everything,¡± the captain ordered.


    It was not a long report. She could have recited the exact text of the Obscure Committee¡¯s assignment, but Song was more interested in the contents than the phrasing.


    ¡°Not him, then,¡± the silver-eyed woman conceded. ¡°I misread Shu Gong.¡±


    ¡°What had you set on Captain Santos, anyhow?¡± Angharad idly asked.


    A moment of silence.


    ¡°General lack of conspiratorial acumen,¡± Song finally said. ¡°Watching her be taken for a ride by every street merchant she encountered had me doubting her as an agent on the ground for the Ivory Library.¡±


    ¡°Likely she isn¡¯t,¡± Angharad mused. ¡°Their society seems influential, but it is hardly all-powerful ¨C given the importance of the delegation to Asphodel, it may be that she was merely the only member they could get into the roster.¡±


    ¡°The reigning theory, now that Santos is discredited as a suspect,¡± Song acknowledged, leaning back into her seat. ¡°She will at least be significantly easier to intimidate.¡±


    Sleeping God, she ought to be. If Domingo Santos could kill her repeatedly using nothing but traps, she shuddered to think what he might be like in a genuine fight. Oh, signifiers had their weaknesses ¨C direct Glare, for one, which was why so few rose to prominence in Malan ¨C but there were few things that could strip them of their entire power. It seemed intrinsically bound to them in some way.


    Sliding her hand down the blade, Angharad took a long breath and broke what was turning into a comfortable silence.


    ¡°Before I left,¡± she said, ¡°I spoke of a conversation overdue between us.¡±


    A moment passed.


    ¡°So you did,¡± Song acknowledged.


    She did not raise her eyes from the blade, but then she hardly needed to. The noblewoman could almost hear Song tense, like an already-taut string being pulled to the edge of the snap.


    ¡°What truly happened that night, Song?¡± Angharad asked.


    A silence followed, broken only by the sound of the mirror-dancer smoothing the oiled leather down the length of her saber. There was an odd sort of beauty to an oiled blade, she had always thought. One born as much from the satisfaction of the work as the lustrous tint leant to the steel. Song rose to her feet, by the sound of it folding her arms under her chest.


    ¡°What you are really asking,¡± Song finally said, ¡°is how Isabel Ruesta died.¡±


    Angharad¡¯s fingers clenched, only the prospect of slicing leather onto the sharp blade mastering the twitch.


    ¡°Do not put words into my mouth,¡± she warned. ¡°I asked what I asked, nothing more or less.¡±


    There were things she regretted about the aftermath of that vicious trial, but to this day walking away from the Thirteenth was not one of them. She envied what had formed without her, the thought that she could have been part of it instead, but Angharad also knew better. Things had not simply changed after she left. They had changed in no small part because she left.


    Not because she had been so beloved of all ¨C ha! - but because her departure was simply too large a hole for the brigade to keep papering over.


    ¡°I shot her,¡± Song Ren suddenly said.


    Angharad sharply breathed in, the hand on her blade stopping as her eyes rose to find a silver gaze shying away from her own. She had not expected so blunt a confession. Or for Song to suddenly turn into the sort of woman flinching away from the consequences of the choices she made. If anything, the Tianxi was prone to the arrogance of believing all the choices were hers to make and thus the consequences equally so.


    ¡°That is not the whole of it,¡± she said. ¡°What else?¡±


    Song hesitated and Angharad felt something cold sliding down her veins, halfway between rage and seawater.


    ¡°Oh, but would you just end this?¡± she bit out. ¡°All of this, these¡­ tiresome plays of half-truths and tricks. What is it you are so afraid of, Song? I will not commit violence on you, you ought to know that, and you have already survived standing low in my esteem.¡±


    The Tianxi¡¯s jaw clenched.


    ¡°I do not know if I killed Isabel Ruesta,¡± Song said.


    For half a heartbeat Angharad felt like calling her a liar, but then she parsed through the sentence. The spoken and unspoken. I do not know if ¡®I¡¯ killed Isabel Ruesta, that was what was being said. Song had not been the only one trying. And Tupoc¡¯s words were yet fresh in her mind. There had been more than one person up on the stairs before the tower, aiming a musket.


    ¡°Ferranda shot her as well,¡± Angharad whispered in horrified realization.


    ¡°A heartbeat before I did,¡± Song quietly admitted. ¡°I shot through the smoke, so I do not know whose bullet slew her.¡±


    The other woman¡¯s tone was small, as if¡­ Angharad didn¡¯t know as if what. And was not sure she cared, because all she could think about was how it had felt that night, to turn and find Isabel Ruesta dead on the ground. How it had not even occurred to her that they might not all be on the same side when facing hollow cultists attempting to murder them all.


    How, in that company surrounding her afterwards, there had been more liars than not.


    ¡°You watched me go to Ferranda,¡± Angharad finally said, tone dangerously mild, ¡°and spoke not a word. Even as I tried to make a place with the Thirty-First you said nothing. Knowing what you just told me all this time, you still said nothing.¡±


    Song¡¯s jaw set.


    ¡°I knew Ferranda would not ill-use you,¡± she said. ¡°That she would take-¡±


    ¡°Am I a child, Song?¡± Angharad softly asked.


    The other woman frowned, then shook her head.


    ¡°I-¡±


    ¡°You must believe me a lackwit, then,¡± Angharad coldly interrupted. ¡°Else why would you ever come under the impression that you should get to make that choice for me?¡±


    Ancestors, she had left the Thirteenth believing it to be poison only to reach for another tainted cup without batting an eye. Made a fool again. And again, when Ferranda then judged her too much trouble and cast her out. And again, when she was forced to return to the Thirteenth a beggar. Every time she thought she saw a clear sky there was a storm in it, a bleak spot of Gloam her eye somehow missed. It was as if all of Vesper was conspiring to prove her the worst kind of fool.


    Sleeping God, perhaps she was. She had been led around like one for long enough it might be half a lie to deny it.


    ¡°I have done you insult,¡± Song cast into the silence.


    Tone resolute. As if this were a task to approach, a labor to undertake. And that was the droplet that tipped it, really. That Song still thought of this as work. Upkeep for the Thirteenth Brigade, not any kind of relation between the two of them.


    ¡°I don¡¯t even care about the insult,¡± Angharad bleakly replied. ¡°It is the disregard, Song. The¡­ lack of respect.¡±


    She let out a dark laugh.


    ¡°You know, even as we parted ways I struggled,¡± she said. ¡°Because lowered as my esteem of you might have been, there was still respect there ¨C enough to wonder at your reasons, at your choices. You earned that on the Dominion, and I thought I¡¯d earned the same from you.¡±


    Slowly, carefully, she set the saber down on the bench besides her. She itched to make fists, to scream, and though control stayed the impulse the levees would break. All levees did.


    ¡°I thought that because you treated me with kindness that meant you were kind,¡± Angharad said. ¡°Or that because you had lied you were a liar. But you are neither. You were just¡­ taming a horse, weren¡¯t you?¡±


    Neither the carrot nor the stick were a lie, they were just a method. Fool she once again, not to have seen them for what they were.


    ¡°Oh, get over yourself.¡±


    The anger in Song¡¯s voice startled her enough that she did not spit out what rested on the edge of her lips. Not until she turned and found Song Ren looking at her with cold anger in those silver eyes ¨C brumal pools, unflinching in the face of her own anger. Good, she thought. Anger, at least, was honest.


    ¡°I shot Isabel Ruesta because she had a manipulation contract that she constantly and liberally used on the strongest fighter in our group,¡± Song harshly said. ¡°I shot Isabel Ruesta because she was a useless parasite who schemed to get rid of other trial-takers and was growing increasingly desperate in her attempts to secure safety at any cost.¡±


    ¡°And you did not think to simply offer that safety instead of murdering her?¡± Angharad bit back, voice rising.


    ¡°No, Angharad, I didn¡¯t volunteer to put my life on the line keeping a mind-altering leech feeling happy,¡± Song retorted just as loudly. ¡°Mainly, I assume, because unlike you I wasn¡¯t trying to fuck the leech.¡±


    ¡°No, just the Lord Rector of Asphodel,¡± Angharad scorned.


    Song did not bat an eye. Or even acknowledge the hypocrisy.


    ¡°Tawang as my witness, but if Ruesta had lived through that I would have still killed her,¡± Song said. ¡°She was too much of a problem to be allowed to fester.¡±


    ¡°She just wanted to live, Song,¡± Angharad shouted.


    She did not remember getting on her feet, had not noticed before the ache in her knee.


    ¡°We all wanted to live!¡± Song shouted back. ¡°Only either she could not control her contract, which made her a threat, or she would not control her contract ¨C which made her even more of a threat!¡±


    ¡°We were mere days away from Cantica,¡± Angharad said. ¡°She did not have to die, Song. You just decided that I needed protecting from myself, so you made another choice for me. You wanted a trophy mirror-dancer without attachments you disapproved of.¡±


    She bared her teeth.


    ¡°So you shot the attachment.¡±


    Song went red, flushed with anger, and her fists balled.


    ¡°Maybe it was not as cleanly tactical a decision as I told it,¡± she bit out. ¡°I resented her, it¡¯s true, for making a mess of the whole situation. But if you think for a moment I would kill out of resentment alone, then I wonder why you are bothering with this conversation.¡±


    ¡°Because I thought you were my friend,¡± Angharad hissed. ¡°I thought I had left behind the smiling liars that were using me on the Dominion, only now I find that you were laughing at me the whole time! You never trusted me, Song. Not with any of the secrets you told Maryam, or even Tristan ¨C who even when you looked at him like filth on your boots, you still treated like a man who made his own fucking choices.¡±


    Her breathing was ragged, her hands trembling.


    ¡°This entire time, the secrets I have kept have been eating me up,¡± Angharad raged. ¡°And I blamed myself, I blamed Tristan for being who the world made him into and Maryam for how I could not look her in the eye without seeing my home burning writ a thousand times ¨C but, Ancestors, I looked everywhere but the right place.¡±


    Even through red fury she laughed, the sound ripped right out of her throat like a sob with teeth.


    ¡°Sleeping God, Song, the poison was you the whole time.¡±


    But not Song alone. Even with the rage in her blood, she remembered that. And she was so tired of it, the lies and the deception. Let it end. Let it be made clean.


    ¡°The Lefthand House is leveraging me,¡± she said, ¡°like the Yellow Earth is you. They claim my father lived, that he is being held in Tintavel and only they can help me get him out.¡±


    She shook her head.


    ¡°They are lying, I expect,¡± Angharad admitted out loud for the first time. ¡°If not about his survival, then about helping me. But I will give them what they want anyway.¡±


    Because it might be the truth. Because the hope was better than nothing, even if it was a fool¡¯s hope.


    ¡°What did they ask?¡± Song quietly said.


    She snorted.


    ¡°In what mad world do I trust you enough to answer that?¡± Angharad replied.


    Like a forest fire, the rage had swept through her and left little behind. Ashes, exhaustion, the sense that something beautiful had been snatched away forever. She just felt tired now, too old in a too-broken body and a world that could not seem to croak out a truth no matter how hard you squeezed it demanding one. Song breathed out, smoothed her hands down her sides.


    ¡°I have been arrogant,¡± she said. ¡°And you¡­¡±


    The Tianxi licked her lips.


    ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± Song said. ¡°I had no right to decide for you. I should have told you everything from the start.¡±


    That was not nothing. And Song had not lied to her, not outright. But the words were so very late in the telling.


    ¡°If you had told me that before we reached Scholomance, fool me, I might well have forgiven you,¡± Angharad bitterly said. ¡°But you sat on it for months. Watched me make a fool of myself with Villazur, halfway kill myself in a layer achieving nothing.¡±


    She clenched her fist.


    ¡°Would it have been so hard,¡± Angharad asked in an all too brittle voice, ¡°to fight for me like you did the others?¡±


    There was no apology in that silver gaze.


    ¡°I fought the battles I believed I could win,¡± Song quietly replied. ¡°You were not one of them.¡±


    The Tianxi passed a hand through her hair.


    ¡°It was not a kindness on either of us, for you to be forced back to the Thirteenth,¡± she said. ¡°We were¡­ you looked happier, when you lived with the Thirty-First.¡±


    ¡°That cottage felt like a prison,¡± Angharad bleakly said. ¡°It was relief to leave it. But that relief was a lie.¡±


    Song said nothing for a while, then breathed out.


    ¡°I won¡¯t ask you to forgive me.¡±


    That is what people say, Angharad thought, when they want you to forgive them anyway.


    ¡°You don¡¯t forgive a wound,¡± she simply replied. ¡°It heals or it kills you.¡±


    She turned, snatched up her blade from the bench and sheathed it.


    ¡°I have work to do,¡± Angharad said. ¡°A meeting to arrange with Lord Gule. It would be best if we did not speak beyond the necessary for a time, I think.¡±


    Song silently nodded. Angharad belted her saber and took her walking stick, beginning the winding path down the stairs. She left Song to drown in that silence, alone on the roof. And though that talk had been a wretched thing ¨C left a scar of disappointment where she had thought the skin too rough for scarring ¨C some part of her felt lighter for it.


    A little less like a wolf and a little more like Angharad Tredegar.

 Chapter 61

    ¡°Huh,¡± Maryam said when the tale was done, honestly a little impressed. ¡°That¡¯s not just a fumble, it¡¯s a disastrous fumble.¡±


    ¡°I am not unaware,¡± Song replied through gritted teeth.


    Oh, she hadn¡¯t liked that.


    ¡°A calamitous fumble,¡± Maryam continued.


    The teeth grit harder, but not hard enough. Another log must be tossed into the fire.


    ¡°Perhaps even a cataclysmic fumb-¡±


    ¡°Maryam,¡± Song hissed angrily.


    ¡°Fine, fine, I¡¯ll stop,¡± Maryam lied.


    She would give her captain an hour of peace at most. Occasions to hold Song¡¯s feet to the fire until the room smelled of pork were too rare not to thoroughly abuse when they popped up. It was like corn, you had to get your fill when it was the season for the crop.


    In a sign of genuine distress, Song Ren had for once in her life refused an offer to sit down for tea when she came to Maryam looking like she did not know whether to scream or throw up. Instead the visibly troubled Tianxi ¨C the visible part was yet another warning sign ¨C had sat on her bed with her knees folded against her chest, holding one of the single dryest historical chronicles Maryam had ever disinterestedly paged through the same way a child would a blanket.


    As a good friend, the signifier had refrained from eating the nuts in a bowl on the table since the crunching noise might distract some from the tale being told. Even though she was pretty hungry. Cashews, though. She would be getting back to those later.


    ¡°It does not sound unsalvageable, if that¡¯s your worry,¡± Maryam shrugged. ¡°Say what you will about Angharad Tredegar, but if she is finished with you there will be nothing uncertain about it.¡±


    Neither frosty disdain nor public stabbings left a lot of room for speculation as to the Pereduri¡¯s opinions.


    ¡°I may well have killed any friendship there was between us,¡± Song sharply said.


    ¡°Then you killed that back on the Dominion when you pulled that trigger,¡± Maryam said. ¡°Everything that has been built since that moment was a manor on quicksand.¡±


    She met Song¡¯s gaze unflinching until the silver eyes turned away. Killing the infanzona had not been a moment of pride, whatever else might might be said of it.


    ¡°Ruesta was too dangerous to continue letting loose,¡± Song said. ¡°Even within days of Angharad knowing about her contract she had her charmed and toeing the line of her promises again.¡±


    ¡°All that Malani ever do is toe the line of their given oaths,¡± Maryam snorted. ¡°They tie themselves up in knots and call it an honor when they figure out how to live with what give there is in the rope.¡±


    She cleared her throat when Song turned an unimpressed look on her. However true, her words had drifted some from the matter at hand.


    ¡°You made the decision that Isabel Ruesta should be killed,¡± Maryam said. ¡°Fair enough. I am not certain I would have made the same - and I know Tristan would not have, if only in the hope that released back into Sacromonte that snake might yet bite other infanzones ¨C but part of the trials was to make those decisions. It was your right to make that choice, and even to hide it.¡±


    That was part of the trials as well, after all. To clip the wings of threats and get away with it, to make the right allies and the right enemies. The Watch was looking for killers and survivors, not would-be martyrs. Maryam did not begrudge Angharad how she had played the trials, trying to save as many as she could and holding to gallantry as law, but it would be childish to pretend hers had been the only valid path.


    Tupoc Xical had spent his entire stay malingering, betraying and murdering but the Academy had still welcomed him with open arms at the end.


    ¡°That is not how she sees it, evidently,¡± Song muttered.


    ¡°That¡¯s because when the trial ended, you didn¡¯t tell her the truth,¡± Maryam said, and hesitated.


    It did not escape the silver gaze.


    ¡°What?¡±


    The Izvorica sighed. She was not eager to get into what lay between the two of them, but she supposed she owed Song as much.


    ¡°I¡¯ve sat across a table from Angharad Tredegar quite a bit, over the last month,¡± she said. ¡°And she¡¯s not¡­ inflexible, at least not in the way we sometimes assume of her. She would not be able to use her contract the way she does if that were the case. You keep missing it because you have the Tianxi blinders on.¡±


    ¡°Pardon me?¡± Song said, a tad coolly.


    ¡°Your people love an absolute, Song,¡± Maryam bluntly replied. ¡°It¡¯s in the bones of everything you make and do. All are free under Heaven, yes?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t follow,¡± Song frowned.


    ¡°Your poetry is always about how that moonlit night is the most beautiful there ever was, that tragedy the most despairing. Your enemies are the most wretched, your affairs the most sensual. Everything Tianxia does is on a bedrock of universal truth.¡±


    ¡°I am unsure whether or not I should take offense to that description,¡± the other woman admitted.


    Maryam rolled her eyes. Only gods and fools took offense to their reflection in the lake.


    ¡°My point is, the Malani do not have that,¡± she said. ¡°All their truths are circumstantial. Limited.¡±


    Song blinked.


    ¡°That is madness,¡± she slowly said. ¡°Malani are famously obsessed with an unbending code of honor.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s reputation, Song,¡± Maryam chided. ¡°Look at how they act, though. They qualify every sentence, word them to get around potential lies, say ¡®I believed¡¯ or ¡®I think¡¯ instead of ¡®it is¡¯. The only way they can function is by putting every action they take or witness in a little box that separates if from every other action taken.¡±


    Sometimes she thought that the way they were able to swallow something like slavery so easily was that their honor was not so much about espousing good deeds as containing fault.


    ¡°That¡¯s¡­¡± Song trailed off. ¡°Well, one of the most interesting interpretations I have heard of Malani customs, but also a different discussion.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Maryam said. ¡°Because my point is Tredegar thinks exactly like that. If you had told her at the end of the trials she would have understood you deceiving her as being ¡®part of the trial¡¯, a closed garden where that action remains reprehensible but is allowed by the rules. But then you kept lying by omission when the only circumstances between you two were purely personal, so that part she can only take personally.¡±


    Men tolerated things from a practitioner or a king they would not from a brother, even though they loved the brother better. The role mattered as much the act, sometimes.


    ¡°I don¡¯t see what difference what you said makes,¡± Song admitted. ¡°In the end, however roundabout the path the conclusion is still that she is angry at me for withholding the truth from her and acting behind her back.¡±


    Maryam smoothed away the flare of irritation. For someone so clever, so capable of reading a room and turning enemies on each other, Song could sometimes miss the forest for the trees. It was not her fault, though, it was Maryam who was odd. She had to think the way she did because she was far away and surrounded by strangers whose strange ways were opaque. Knowing why people took offense to the things they did was the difference between a cold look and drawn blade.


    She did not have the luxury of ignorance, not when her mistakes were always paid for.


    ¡°Because you¡¯re not just fighting with her,¡± she spelled out, ¡°you are in a spat with how Angharad Tredegar sees the world. Tea and apologies and a grand gesture aren¡¯t going to fix this, Song, because that would be two friends mending a bridge and that¡¯s not the trouble you¡¯re in. Not really.¡±


    Song¡¯s lips thinned. Bunched up like that on her bed, the Tianxi was unusually open in her expressions ¨C the layer of calm and control thinned enough Maryam could easily make out the shapes moving beneath the silk. Song Ren was not convinced, but enough of what she had been told rang of the truth she was considering it seriously.


    ¡°Then what do I do?¡± she quietly asked.


    Maryam leaned back in her chair and grabbed some of the cashews from the bowl. She¡¯d done good work, wages were owed.


    ¡°Prove her wrong by her own rules,¡± she replied. ¡°Demonstrate that, within personal circumstances, you do trust her.¡±


    ¡°That easy, is it?¡± Song sarcastically asked.


    Maryam popped a few cashews, chewed merrily. Salted! She stole a second handful even though the first was not entirely finished, loudly swallowing.


    ¡°Figure it out,¡± she shrugged. ¡°Look, on occasion I might like Angharad Tredegar but at the end of the day I don¡¯t like Angharad. You understand?¡±


    ¡°We barely speak the same language,¡± Song snorted, ¡°but I catch your drift. Her being personally agreeable does not change most of your grievances with her.¡±


    Maryam nodded approvingly. She had once thought there was no way the two of them could share a brigade, but she had been wrong in that. Angharad was not¡­ malicious, even at her worst. Childish or selfish, but not with a poisoned edge. That she could adjust, and made an effort to, made her tolerable and admittedly sometimes even enjoyable. In small doses.


    Maryam could not see herself ever considering the other woman a friend so long as she did not grasp the evil that lay at the heart of Malan, cloaked in talk of laws and honor, but a brigade was not a sworn sisterhood. They could share a roof and a side without braiding each other¡¯s hair.


    Song slowly exhaled, her knees pulling away from her chest as her legs spread on the bed. The book ended up on her lap, only loosely held.


    ¡°She said that Ruesta only wanted to live,¡± Song finally said. ¡°That to kill her was unnecessary so close to Cantica.¡±


    It was unfair to be irritated with her for that, Maryam told herself. For not getting it. Song had to think that deeds were the only that mattered, because it was the only way she could go to bed without weeping. If Song Ren did not believe that actions were what mattered most, that they defined everything and could change everything, then the certainty that had her get up in the morning and pursue the dream of overturning the legacy of the Dimming would crumble like wet paper.


    It was just that sometimes that also meant Song thought of everything as things she did right or wrong, like the world was a puzzle box she had to solve correctly. Maryam felt a pang of sympathy for Angharad, who she suspected mostly wanted to know that Song did not think of her as being the Watch equivalent of an expensive warhorse.


    ¡°Days away with hollows nipping at your heels and everybody dead tired isn¡¯t nothing. And Ruesta was constantly using her contract after having made a promise not to, the way you told me,¡± Maryam finally said. ¡°Sure, a promise she was technically no longer bound to, but by that same logic you were no longer bound not to put a bullet in her skull.¡±


    Hilarious that Ferranda had tried the same thing just a moment before, really. The infanzona reminded Maryam of some of her mother¡¯s war captains, the ones with fine reputations and rivals who kept dying on raids.


    ¡°It is frustrating she would still defend someone using a charm contract on her even now,¡± Song admitted. ¡°Enough to make me wonder at her judgement.¡±


    ¡°It was an influence contract, not control,¡± Maryam reminder her. ¡°There¡¯s a good argument there were insidious secondary effects to it, but I don¡¯t think that the girl with the big eyes and the bigger tits had to do a lot of charming to talk Angharad Tredegar into walking the fine line of a promise so she¡¯d be able to get her hands under that skirt.¡±


    ¡°Maryam,¡± Song reproached, coughing into her fist.


    ¡°That¡¯s a lot of coyness from a girl who went for seconds in the creepy brass house,¡± Maryam retorted without batting an eye.


    Cheeks flushed red.


    ¡°I should never have told you that,¡± the Tianxi muttered.


    The signifier grinned. Too late for regrets. Between that and the admission that Evander Palliades was not above getting on his knees to convey his negotiating position to the Republics ¨C and successfully, too, good on him - she had material to work with.


    ¡°But as for Tredegar¡­ she¡¯s always going to be who she is, Song,¡± Maryam told her. ¡°Eager to get pretty girls into bed and trying to protect as many people as she can whether they deserve it or not. I¡¯d think hard on that before deciding how far you want to go to mend bridges.¡±


    Song frowned.


    ¡°Whether it is the friendship I want to salvage or whether I still want her as part of the Thirteenth,¡± she said.


    ¡°You talk like you do,¡± Maryam said. ¡°And I don¡¯t hate the notion the way I did back at Scholomance, I¡¯ll grant.¡±


    The Tianxi studied her for a moment.


    ¡°And Tristan¡­¡±


    ¡°I do not, in fact, speak for Tristan Abrascal,¡± Maryam drily said. ¡°We argue too, you know. But if I had to wager, I¡¯d say that he will be comfortable with the idea in a Tristan sort of way.¡±


    ¡°Afraid of her, but the danger is predictable and thus makes him feel safer than if there was nothing visible to be afraid of,¡± Song said.


    Essentially. Their captain was beginning to know the man decently. In truth Maryam suspected that her viper rather liked Angharad, simply in a way that involved no true loyalty or investment of emotion. That was the Murk in him, she thought, and this Nerei¡¯s lessons too. He¡¯d been taught it was fine to like others, so long as it was shallow and did not weigh more than a feather on the scales.


    ¡°The friendship, at least, I would save,¡± Song murmured. ¡°It was¡­ I do like her, you know.¡±


    It¡¯s just that everyone else liked her too, Maryam thought, and you liked that almost as much as you do her. She could not even be too angry about that, now when could understand Song¡¯s craving better than most. She had not grasped how much she liked to be liked before being met with casual contempt and distrust everywhere she went. Song had liked to stand by the hearth and bathe in the warmth, even if it wasn¡¯t really hers.


    If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    ¡°It is refreshing, being with someone who wants to be good, and she is surprisingly funny,¡± Song continued. ¡°Even as a captain, I think we are better off with her.¡±


    The Tianxi set down the book on the sheets. Maryam discretely ate a mouthful of cashews in the interval, ceasing to chew when Song¡¯s attention returned.


    ¡°Not even because of the blade, though that is no small thing, but she does not compromise as easily as the rest of us do,¡± Song murmured. ¡°She wants us to do things right ¨C I wouldn¡¯t have thought twice about that deal with the Brazen Chariot, if she hadn¡¯t said anything.¡±


    She discreetly swallowed.


    ¡°But,¡± Maryam said.


    ¡°But we won¡¯t always be able to do things right,¡± Song said. ¡°That is not a luxury we have as members of the Watch. I¡¯m not sure if she will understand that. And, to be frank, I do not always agree with what she feels is right in the first place.¡±


    Maryam said nothing, for she had already spoken all the words she had it in her to speak. While she would consider being the voice of virtue to the Thirteenth a special kind of torment given who made it up, she thought that Song might be underestimating Angharad. The Pereduri was not afraid to twist words to get her way, when she thought something was needed, and she¡¯d not tried to usurp captainship of the cabal even when she had disagreed with Song¡¯s decisions.


    Within the circumstances of ¡®Song being the commanding officer¡¯, the laws of engagement would likely be quite different from the lines Angharad Tredegar would draw in the sand when it came to her personal life. And she¡¯d proved she could put the job above her pride, in the countryside. It was no small influence on why Maryam had made her peace with the possibility of the Pereduri sticking around.


    But all those things she had already said, and would not repeat them. If that bird was to take flight then it was Song that needed to take the steps by herself. To speak to Tredegar about her fear, to extend the trust. Anything else was just delaying the inevitable. And now that she had been a friend, she thought as she polished off the last of the seized cashews, she must be a cabalist.


    ¡°The Lefthand House,¡± Maryam said. ¡°Leveraging her, you said. That¡¯s a concern.¡±


    And not something they could really do anything about in the immediate. Getting the Krypteia involved with the Malani spies would inevitably also mean getting them involved in the neighboring Yellow Earth situation, which Song desperately wanted to avoid.


    ¡°Something is off there,¡± Song frowned. ¡°They are blackmailing her about her father, but for what? If the Lefthand House knew about her having joined the Watch, Lord Gule would not be recruiting her into the cult of the Golden Ram. If they do not know of her joining, then what is it they want from her?¡±


    ¡°The infernal forge,¡± Maryam suggested.


    ¡°Do they need to threaten her for this?¡± Song replied. ¡°From Lord Gule¡¯s perspective, she is already obtaining it for them.¡±


    ¡°Then it might be the Lefthand House and the ambassador want different things,¡± Maryam said, more to keep Song talking than because she genuinely believed it.


    ¡°The most likely answer, and yet senseless,¡± Song muttered. ¡°Without the backing of the Lefthand House, and thus implicitly of the High Queen, how could a mere ambassador dare to support a coup overthrowing the Lord Rector of Asphodel?¡±


    ¡°And if they¡¯re not on the same page, why is the man still alive?¡± Maryam mused. ¡°Obviously they know of the coup to some extent. It¡¯s an extension of Malani policies in the Trebian Sea, it would be absurd for Gule to be acting alone.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps the Lefthand House does not want the forge in the hands of the cult,¡± Song said.


    ¡°It¡¯s not the cult asking Angharad to find it, it¡¯s Lord Gule,¡± Maryam reminded her. ¡°With the implication that with her having cleaned her slate with the Lefthand House and proved herself he will vouch for her and have her initiated into the ranks.¡±


    The Tianxi grimaced.


    ¡°I cannot make sense of it,¡± she said. ¡°We are missing something.¡±


    ¡°Whatever they want, so long as the coup is being handled by the Lord Rector the Lefthand House can¡¯t do much,¡± Maryam said. ¡°They are spies, not an invading army. I don¡¯t mind letting that simmer until you¡¯ve either made amends or we can put Tristan on sniffing something out.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t like how many of our solutions can be summed up by the word ¡®waiting¡¯,¡± Song grimaced, ¡°but then it would not be a good idea to press her on this.¡±


    ¡°And you need to take care of your Yellow Earth situation,¡± Maryam bluntly said. ¡°On top of our lingering Ivory Library problem. I tell you now, if we don¡¯t have a solid lead by the time Tristan returns bodies are going to start dropping.¡±


    ¡°I am well aware, thank you,¡± Song sighed, passing a hand through her hair. ¡°For the latter, I have a final suspect and a notion in how they interrogated.¡±


    ¡°Captain Santos,¡± Maryam guessed.


    ¡°He is meant to investigate the Ivory Library¡¯s influence on the delegation,¡± Song said. ¡°I might not have the power to order the arrest of a suspect, but he does.¡±


    ¡°If you can convince him,¡± Maryam said.


    ¡°If I can convince him,¡± Song echoed tiredly. ¡°As for the Yellow Earth, well, not even Chilaca would dare put me out in public again after that Landing Day skirmish. I can pass them general information about the Watch and palace under my discretion as captain of the Thirteenth without it being outright treason.¡±


    It would be a decision Song would have to justify to Wen afterwards, in the reports, but the Watch did not forbid involvement with even the worst of sorts. You never knew when you might need their help to deal with something entirely worse. Song grimaced.


    ¡°Then I will tell them that I am no longer the Lord Rector¡¯s escort and can thus am no longer told of any measures being taken by he or the Watch,¡± she added.


    They¡¯re not going to let you off that easily, Maryam thought. Which, by the look of that grimace, Song suspected as well.


    ¡°Take someone with you,¡± she said.


    Song blinked.


    ¡°That seems unw-¡±


    ¡°Take someone with you, Captain Ren,¡± Maryam said, and this time her voice brooked no argument. ¡°They have you by the throat, bring someone who won¡¯t just be thinking about their grip tightening the entire time.¡±


    Song studied her a long moment.


    ¡°You won¡¯t let me refuse that, will you?¡±


    Maryam smiled sharply.


    ¡°Try me,¡± she challenged.


    A long moment passed, then finally Song nodded.


    ¡°So I will,¡± she promised.


    --


    It took three days for Maryam to figure it out, all in all.


    The first day was, admittedly, mostly waiting around. Her report needed to make it to the Lord Rector, who would in turn decide whether or not her request to investigate the palace looking for the ¡®cork¡¯ of the Hated One¡¯s prison was to be accepted, along with the implicit access to the regular and private archives that puzzling out the location would require.


    Normally Evander Palliades could be counted on to promptly reply whenever a matter involved the Thirteenth, usually by tossing an audience their way in the hopes that Song might thus be delivered to his palace for lusting after, but this time would be different. Maryam had been back from the shipyard for a day now, and gone through all the mandatory debriefs. Which meant Brigadier Chilaca would be headed up to the palace to have a little talk with the Lord Rector.


    The one that¡¯d been getting put off, about that coup aiming to knife him and put his old regent on his throne while the cult of the probably-not-Golden-Ram pulled at her strings to rule Asphodel from behind the curtains. Not only was that talk likely to take some time ¨C as would the ensuing panicked preparations to make it harder to seize the palace ¨C but there would be diplomatic talks about the shipyard, sundry negotiations and other matters to occupy the Lord Rector¡¯s day.


    There would also be the slight complication that Evander Palliades was going to be made aware that the Thirteenth Brigade had been sitting on information about that coup for some time and even at some point been contractually obligated to mention it to him only for Song to keep quiet about. At Chilaca¡¯s order, admittedly, but that the woman he was so taken with would hide such a thing from him would finally provide weight on the other side of the balance from ¡®saved my life twice and saw her naked¡¯.


    Maryam was honestly a little surprised when on the morning of her thirty-first day on Asphodel summons to the palace came to Black House. She¡¯d been expecting to be put off for a few days more at least as a show of displeasure. Regardless, with that whole affair with Angharad and its aftermath she was only able to head out to the Collegium after noon.


    The first difference was that, instead of being sent to the Lord Rector¡¯s office, this time she was greeted by Majordomo Timon. A bit of cooling in the relations then, though not so much they were being given the runaround with a minor official. Though it might simply be that beyond the majordomo there were few in the palace that could actually voice the permission to access the private archives without it being treason, she then wondered.


    Either way, she had permission to sniff around the palace ¨C under escort ¨C and to the general palace archives. To access the private ones again would be only on request. Unfortunate but not unfair. She did have hidden intentions, as a matter of fact, so their precautions were entirely warranted. Maryam had claimed it necessary to inspect the rector¡¯s palace to find where the ¡®cork¡¯ of the Hated One¡¯s prison was located, and she did intend to find that.


    But allowing the Lord Rector to guard it was not the most important reason why she was after the location.


    She had a theory, Maryam did. As a general rule, while aether did tend to mirror the material world laymen tended to misunderstand what that actually meant. The realm of aether was not a single great mirror facing Vesper and reflecting it darkly, it was an endless number of connected mirrors of changing sizes mirroring specific parts of Vesper.


    What was a layer, then? It was easy to say that a layer was ¡®a lasting impression on aether caused by strong emanations¡¯, the textbook definition, but observed as a phenomenon how could it be described? Language tended to be one of the great obstacles in the study of metaphysics, as the concepts involved frequently had no easy description, but sticking by the mirror metaphor a layer would be as if a particular reflection was frozen in time and made into a place.


    That description held up for the likes of the Witching Hour and Lucifer¡¯s Landing, but the strange empty layer that Maryam and Tristan had tread through while chasing the assassin was a different thing. No natural phenomenon could create such an empty layer, it must be caused by an entirely artificial process. Metaphorically speaking? Someone had smashed the mirror with a hammer and frozen a reflection of that.


    Given that by nature what resulted would be fragile, unstable and dangerous those pieces were bound to get swept up by the local aether currents if some strong boundaries were not set around them. That was no doubt why Lord Rector Hector Lissenos had been comfortable having the entrance to the Hated One¡¯s prison be somewhere in the palace where he slept. The ¡®cork¡¯ to the prison, wherever it was in the palace, would be one of the strongest boundaries on it.


    Which meant that somewhere in the rector¡¯s palace Maryam would find a location with a boundary strong enough to let her finish eating the shade. It was just a matter of finding it, and she would keep looking as long as it took.


    Majordomo Timon politely accompanied her for a whole minute, then just as politely saddled her with a pair of escorts: a palace servant and a lictor. The latter was a tall, taciturn woman who avoided looking at any exposed skin of Maryam¡¯s while refusing to meet her eyes, the former a smiling young man by the name of Iasos. In his early twenties, fit, curly hair and blue eyes. Charming.


    Too polished and pretty, as far as she was concerned. Maryam had no use for anything that would not well weather being splashed with mud.


    They began the search with the gardens, which at this hour of the day were well lit. It was not difficult to again find the place she had first slipped through into the layer, past the field of Asphodelian crowns, but groping around with her nav she found only smooth, sterile nothingness. She and the shade had relied on some temporary ripple to enter, then. That made sense, she conceded. While her revelation down in the shipyard had cast in doubt that the shade was a parasite, it was still clearly a creature of the aether in some way.


    It would be able to feel unevenness in the aether in ways that not even the most skillful of Akelarre could. No matter how skillful a swimmer a man might become, that did not turn him into a fish.


    ¡°Shall we visit the other location designated by the Watch, my lady?¡± Iasos smiled.


    ¡°There¡¯s no point,¡± she absent-mindedly replied.


    The location Tristan had given the Lord Rector would be of no use to her, since the assassin had likely been using some sort of tool to enter from there. It could not be the cork. Which, she now considered, might well mean that wherever the cork was ¨C and thus where the killer had first emerged from - the assassin had believed it too difficult a place to return to the layer through. Inside the palace proper, then, she mused. One of the better guarded sections.


    ¡°To the archives,¡± she told her escorts. ¡°I need to have a look at plans of the palace grounds.¡±


    Captain Wen had done so himself once, so they should not be restricted. It turned out they were not ¨C they weren¡¯t even in the private archives, merely the palace ones ¨C because the plans as available were really more of an outline. While the parts of the buildings used to entertain guests and the likes were highly detailed, private wings of the rector¡¯s palace were essentially outlines with no further detailing. Still, it would do.


    Aether engineering on the scale of building a half-layer wasn¡¯t something that could be stashed in a broom cupboard, it was large in scale and relied heavily on the use of conceptual shapes.


    The rector¡¯s palace, seen from above, was essentially two rectangles sprouting out from the flanks of a large square. Gardens spun out in every direction, since the palace did not need to have roads leading to it ¨C it was supplied by lift, from below. The natural place for a cork would be the center of the square, with hidden anchors at the four corners of the square to stabilize it. That could not be, however, because she already knew exactly what was there: the lifts leading up from the Collegium.


    Constant movement and emanations from the people passing through was the opposite of what you wanted on a boundary pressed into the aether. You might as well build a palisade on a bed of termites. Besides Wen had once told her that the lift to the private archives, which was right above the Collegium lifts, had been built in the days of King Oduromai. The square section of the palace was the first and oldest, built centuries before Hector Lissenos was even born. Considering said Hector was the one to have the Hated One¡¯s prison built, that rather disqualified the section of the palace.


    It must be one of the other internal shapes, like the rectangles. As the right wing was mostly for guests and formal receptions it was very detailed on the map, enough that Maryam ended up worrying her lip: the opposite corners of that rectangle were claimed by rooms of sizes that did not match. That probably could still work, if you had the right knowhow, but it had long odds. The left wing it was, then.


    She glanced back at Iasos, who had been waiting in silence with an increasingly strained smiled, while the lictor stood there staring at the ceiling in profound boredom.


    ¡°Are you familiar with the left wing of the palace?¡± she asked.


    ¡°I am, my lady,¡± the servant replied.


    ¡°Good,¡± she said. ¡°I need to see the rooms in each corner of the wing.¡±


    Maryam did remember to look up the sewer map that Angharad had requested, though gods only knew why, and traced a Sign to commit it to memory. She would trace it out for her at Black House.


    They proceeded to the left wing, and by the second room she knew it wasn¡¯t the correct part of the palace either. The top right corner room was circular, the bottom left room a long gallery hall. Maryam was not Deuteronomicon tinker, or even a Savant learned deep in the lore of aether, but she knew bare bones: contrasting round shapes and corner shapes in aether structures did not work on the scale of a building. They incited the aether differently.


    ¡°You seem dissatisfied, my lady,¡± Iasos observed.


    ¡°I am missing something,¡± Maryam replied in half a mutter, glaring at the wall. ¡°Is there something below either room we visited? An older foundation, perhaps.¡±


    ¡°This level is the older foundation, my lady,¡± Iasos replied. ¡°This was built under the Archeleans, only renovated during the rule of House Lissenos.¡±


    Maryam squinted at him.


    ¡°Which Lissenos?¡± she asked.


    He looked taken aback.


    ¡°I do not know,¡± Iasos admitted.


    ¡°Find out,¡± she ordered.


    And there was the thread to pull: it was their old friend Hector who¡¯d done those reconstructions and also he who built the level above them. It was the same for the right wing, and thus Maryam realized her mistake; she had not considered the multiple levels while looking for shapes. This time she had to send for maps from the private archives, and once she finished scribbling what should be the shape if one could see into the palace from outside the results were puzzling.


    Oh, there was a pattern. Mirroring rooms in the exact same shape and size, built or renovated under Hector Lissenos. The problem was that the mirroring was not internal to the left and right wings: it was between the different wings, the top left room of one rectangle reflecting the bottom right of the other.


    ¡°It can¡¯t be internal to either wing, then,¡± she muttered to herself, rubbing the bridge of her nose. ¡°It has to be in the central square.¡±


    Only Hector Lissenos had not, apparently, built anything there. Or even changed much beyond sprucing up the throne room some. Hitting the books, it was clear that many of the rulers who¡¯d followed him had their own notions of how to improve the oldest part of their palace ¨C which Maryam had to conceded made sense, since the palace she¡¯d walked through did not look like had been built centuries ago. How could the cork of the prison be in there, if the layout kept changing?


    She looked back at a still-waiting Iasos.


    ¡°The original structure that palace was built out of is Antediluvian, correct?¡± she asked.


    ¡°The foundation of the central palace and the lifts themselves,¡± the servant confirmed. ¡°Though, of course, the materials left behind by the Ancient were used for the foundations of the palace expansions as well.¡±


    She paused.


    ¡°You only said the foundation of the central palace,¡± she slowly said. ¡°Who built the upper levels?¡±


    ¡°It is hard to say, my lady,¡± the servant said. ¡°Presumably King Oduromai and his descendants, who in time were succeeded by the Archeleans.¡±


    Oh, but Maryam was a fool. Hector Lissenos, who seemed to delight in cleverness, had decided to cut a corner: instead of building the cork from scratch, he¡¯d attached his prison layer to something already there. The wings had been built that way to strengthen something that already existed, not serve as the foundation of a new cork.


    The private archives were an old gaol in the shape of six rooms surrounding a single hole. And it was said that King Oduromai had locked up his six wives in there to make them into aether spirits that would serve him when he became a god. And assuming he really had used that place in some kind of ritual to press some impression of his mind into a nascent god?


    Then by Necalli¡¯s principle of occupancy, that the same discrete quantity of aether cannot hold two affects simultaneously, then the aether in the private archives was probably the single most unbreakable seal on all of Asphodel. So long as Oduromai kept being worshipped then nothing would ever get through that cork. No wonder Hector Lissenos had been willing to sleep so close to a path into the Hated One¡¯s prison, she thought.


    ¡°My lady?¡±


    Maryam cleared her throat.


    ¡°I need to talk to Majordomo Timon,¡± she said. ¡°Please arrange this.¡±


    Already she was preparing her wording. It was going to be tricky, convincing the man that she needed to be given time alone in the private archives with no lights and preferably no one close enough to make noise, but it was necessary for what she had in mind.


    She¡¯d been eating bites of the Cauldron taken blindly, whatever she could rip out of the shade in the moment, but that was halfhearted work. It was time for her to get her bearings and prevent the bleed destroying the rightful knowledge of the Izvoric, get everything that she could.


    Thankfully, no one liked to argue with a Navigator when they started using words like ¡®solipsistic contamination¡¯ and ¡®inflicted null states¡¯, which sounded very dangerous but were just fancy ways to say it was easier to Sign when nobody else was around to distract you and muck up the aether. Majordomo Timon went pale as a sheet ¨C or her reflection in a mirror ¨C and promised to urgently approach the Lord Rector on the matter.


    The letter bearing agreement and the Lord Rector¡¯s seal arrived at Black House before her rented carriage did. Tomorrow evening she would be granted the run of the private archives, as asked.


    Now she just needed to prepare for a ritual.

 Chapter 62

    Chapter 62


    Breakfast was barely finished when dread showed up in the form of three letters.


    The first was little more than paper folded in the Tianxi manner, unfolding from left to right along with the reader¡¯s eye. No seal, no symbol, not so much as a sender¡¯s name. The Yellow Earth sent their summons, Song thought. Besides them, almost ironically, sat a small letter the messenger had waited in the courtyard of ck House to hand her directly. It was sealed in russet wax, a si ring pressed into it shallowly. House Palliades¡¯ heraldry, a crowned owl clutching a shepherd¡¯s crook.


    It was not the Lord Rector¡¯s seal that had been used there but the personal si ring of Evander Palliades, the implication licking at her cheeks with heat: this was private correspondence. A letter from Evander, not the Lord Rector.


    Thest of the three letters bore the ck wax stamp of official Watch correspondence. That at least Song made herself crack open and read. Her solemn face soon turned into a grimace as not even work proved to be a respite: the letter was from Colonel Adamos of Stheno¡¯s Peak, who sternly wrote never to put to ink any mention of the aether seal ever again. She was to burn this letter when done reading it. Moreover, the Thirteenth Brigade must remain in Tratheke until the garrison officer he was sending to the capital finished debriefing them.


    A tossed off sentence at the end conceded, reluctantly, that since the Thirteenth Brigade was on a formal contract both her inquiries as to the god behind the Ataxia and Maryam Khaimov¡¯s ¡®disturbing observations on the matter of Asphodel crowns¡¯ would be answered by the Savant officer he was sending south. Colonel Adamos even deigned to mark the dates involved, which¡­


    He mentioned sending this letter around the ind by ship and that ¡®Captain Traore¡¯ would be arriving a week after the letter, but his Savant¡¯s theorized date of arrival was around the seventh of the month ¨C in other words, yesterday. The letter appeared to be over a weekte. Odd. This was an important discrepancy to uncover, crucial even, so Song tucked away the letter in her uniform and straightened her cor. She was not putting off reading the other letters, she was doing important work that required her full attention.


    Song locked the door behind her and left as quick as she could make her stride long without feeling like she was running.


    Correspondence was handled by the servants of ck House, but there were nuances at y. While notable figures could send letters directly to the Watch residence in the city, most of the correspondence that reached ck House actually passed through three stations in the city that servants went to empty every day. Angharad, whose identity must remain secret among Tratheke society, received her own letters through an arrangement with the rector¡¯s pce.


    Letter intended for her were sent to Fort Archelean, the fortress at the bottom of the lifts leading up to the pce, and from there Palliades men carried them to one of the Watch stations in the city. Song¡¯s first thought had been that the whole affair would look wildly suspicious, but apparently it wasmon for minor nobles in the capital to make simr arrangements ¨C only their letters were instead brought by Palliades men to the temples of Khrusopos, the messenger god of Asphodel.All it took to have your letters brought to you was giving your name and location at such a temple before paying a small fee, which reputable inns would do on your behalf if asked. Religious observances kept names and letters private, a surprisingly functional arrangement even Lord Rectors were historically reluctant to upset.


    A letter from Stheno¡¯s Peak, however, would have gone around that entire system. Mention of a ship had Song suspecting the letter must have passed through the Watch office in the Lordsport, and if the wagon from there had arrived early today its driver was likely still at ck House. She asked the servants about it and was directed to kitchens, where a stocky dark-haired woman was tearing into a bowl of stew.


    She saluted when Song introduced herself as captain of the Thirteenth Brigade, rising to her feet, and when asked about the letter¡¯s provenance was eager enough to talk.


    ¡°It came by the Salt Dogst evening,¡± the driver said, then cleared her throat. ¡°It¡¯s a merchant runner, ma¡¯am, carries small goods. Dabbles in smuggling too, everyone knows.¡±


    ¡°The letter it carried for me iste in theing,¡± Song told the other woman. ¡°Did they meet with a mishap?¡±


    ¡°Word at port was that they ran afoul of Cordyles ships while swinging around the east of the isle,¡± the driver said. ¡°Ol¡¯ Triton¡¯s boys wanted toe aboard and inspect the ship for ¡®illicit goods¡¯, but the Salt Dog ran for it. They had to lose the Cordyles by going through the Broken Teeth, it took them off course.¡±


    Song politely inquired as to what these Broken Teeth were, learning they were a reef-strewn belt of coast favored by smugglers because sections of the ¡®Teeth¡¯ spared vessels with shallow drag but would gut something as heavy in the water as, say, a warship. The driver noted the captain of the Salt Dog could probably have bought off the Cordyles but had preferred wasting time to coin, hence the dy.


    Song¡¯s smile went a bit fixed as she thanked the other woman, leaving her to her stew after offering a silver in thanks for her cooperation. She was, of course, pleased to have so quickly resolved the mystery of the letter¡¯steness. Why, she was<em> rejoicing</em> it had barely taken ten minutes. Perhaps tea was in order to celebrate that efficiency. Perhaps she should have that tea in one of the rooms on the first floor, to spare the servants bringing the pot all the way up the stairs where her room was, and-


    ¡°Captain Ren, a word?¡±


    Whatever it was the liveried servant saw on her face when she turned, it had the young man flinching.


    ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°Captain Santos requests your presence, ma¡¯am,¡± the younger man said. ¡°Immediately, if you can.¡±


    ¡°I am at his disposal,¡± Song replied with an appropriate amount of enthusiasm. ¡°Lead on.¡±


    She was already on the ground floor, but it was still a walk: the signifier was waiting for her at the back of ck House so they went around the courtyard to find him. Captain Domingo Santos was a tall man of middle age, though his slouch made him seem shorter. The short hair was the neatest part of him, and his natural look was a sullen one. Song could never be sure whether it was her presence that displeased him or merely Vesper atrge.


    ¡°Warrant Officer Ren,¡± he grunted out, then nodded a dismissal at the servant.


    The young man scampered away as quick as he could. Well, the superstitious often feared signifiers.


    ¡°Captain Santos,¡± she replied.


    He looked at her oddly, as if surprised, then snorted.


    ¡°You¡¯re in time,¡± he said, then jutted a thumb towards the door they stood at the threshold of. ¡°I sent for Sergeant Ledwaba, she should be arriving soon. I will interrogate her in there.¡±


    A pause.


    ¡°Given that one of your cabalists is wrapped up in my investigation, I grant you the courtesy of sitting in on the talks.¡±


    Song cynically wondered whether he¡¯d been hoping she would be busy and made the gesture with the expectation he would not actually have to suffer her presence, but set that spection aside. It had been a risk approaching Captain Santos with her suspicions and what she knew of the Ivory Library, given that some of that knowledge had been earned by Tristan torturing and summarily executing an officer of the Watch. A covenanter officer, at that.


    But it had been a risk she believed she could afford to take, given the nk amnesty paper she had gotten out of Brigadier Chca. Should Captain Santos decide to pursue Tristan¡¯s killing of Lieutenant Apurva, she had a way to get her Mask out of his hands. Not that Domingo Santos seemed so inclined at the moment. He had been pleased enough at the information she provided, though also inclined to try to keep her out of the matter as much as possible.


    Her guess? Santos was trying to keep her name out of the final report and im it all as his own work. Much as Song would have liked gilding the Thirteenth¡¯s name a little by tying it to a second fulfilled contract on Asphodel, in this case letting the signifier have his way might be worth more. His authority here and now was more useful than praise in her dossier a few months down the line.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Song replied, lowering her head.


    She then lowered her voice.


    ¡°Although, I must ask, would this not be better undertaken in the vault beneath the house?¡±


    Domingo Santos blinked at her owlishly.


    ¡°Why would I ¨C Ren, are you under the impression I¡¯m going to <em>torture </em>her?¡±


    She coughed into her fist.


    ¡°Well not at the start, surely, but should she refuse to cooperate¡­¡±


    The man sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.


    ¡°Covenanter kids,¡± he said, speaking the words like a curse. ¡°Like handing toddlers a crate of grenades.¡±


    He leaned forward, met her gaze.


    ¡°I am going to sit down with Ledwaba, offer her a deal and use what she gives me to dig up a name that actually matters,¡± Captain Santos said. ¡°Not break out a fucking iron maiden at the first sign of resistance from the bottom of a conspiracy. We are the <em>Watch</em>, girl, not Izcalli candle-priests.¡±


    Considering members of the Watch had tried to kill every single member of the Thirteenth ¨C she counted Captain Yue¡¯s experiment in the Azei bay as attempted murder, considering how close Maryam hade to drowning ¨C Song could not help but feel he had a somewhat rosy vision of what the Watch was. That or the Thirteenth¡¯s own time with the order had been unusually sinister, which she grimly admitted to herself was entirely possible.


    ¡°And if she does not take the deal?¡±


    ¡°She will,¡± Captain Santos tly replied. ¡°She¡¯s not a schr, she has no skin in whatever game the Ivory Library is ying here.¡±


    While not convinced Song saw no point in arguing, though he gestured as if to silence her anyway.


    ¡°Sit in a corner, be quiet and try not to kill anyone,¡± Captain Santos said. ¡°That is the sum whole of what I require of you. Can you do that for me, Warrant Officer Ren?¡±


    ¡°I can,¡± she replied through gritted teeth, somewhat insulted.


    The room on the other side of the door was a small parlor withfortable seats, hardly what she would have chosen for an interrogation. As instructed, she sat on a chair in the corner and then waited as Captain Santos lit a fewmps and sat on one side of the low table in the middle of the room. Hardly a minute had passed before there was a knock on the door.


    Sergeant Ledwaba was bid to enter and closed the door behind her. The Mni was short and broad-shouldered, scarred on her hands and neck with neatly done knots keeping her hair in ce. Her dark eyes flicked to Song before returning to Domingo Santos, wary.


    ¡°Captain?¡±


    ¡°Sit down, Ledwaba,¡± he ordered.


    She hesitated, then after a moment slid into the seat across from his. There was a pitcher full of water on a drawer by the wall but Captain Santos did not offer and she did not ask. No contract, Song noted.


    ¡°May I ask-¡±


    ¡°You got sold out,¡± Domingo Santos interrupted her. ¡°Apurva named you as Ivory Library before he got¡­¡±


    The Lierganen drew a finger across her face. Sergeant Ledwaba¡¯s face went nk. Song kept her surprise off her face at both the bluntness of the approach and his false implication that Tristan¡¯s murderous interlude had been at Captain Santos¡¯s own orders.


    ¡°I have no idea what you¡¯re talking about,¡± Ledwaba said. ¡°The <em>what </em>library?¡±


    ¡°The Grinning Madcap,¡± Captain Santos said, then folded his arms. ¡°Is your memorying back yet?¡±


    The sergeant¡¯s dark face tightened just a bit when the name of the ship chartered by the Ivory Library was spoken. That continued gambit was only possible because Tristan had obtained the name and Song shared it with Santos, but at least it was being properly employed.


    ¡°The Ivory Library¡¯s not a banned society,¡± Ledwaba said. ¡°Even if I were part of it ¨C and I¡¯m not ¨C it wouldn¡¯t be a crime under Watch rules.¡±


    Song cocked her head to the side. It felt strange, hearing a woman with Mni looks so tantly lie, but then besides her skin tone and name there were no Mni tells about Ledwaba. She did not even have an ent in Antigua, or rather her ent was a Lierganen one. That swallowed ¡®s¡¯ sound was some dialect from the Riven Coast, wasn¡¯t it?


    ¡°Trying to abduct a Scholomance student out on a contract <em>is</em>, though,¡± Captain Santos replied. ¡°The hanging kind. Do they pay you well enough for a noose, Ledwaba? Because if you don¡¯t bargain with me, that¡¯s where you¡¯re headed. I already have more than enough for that.¡±


    Did he really? Song was not so sure. What he had was the word of a man who had murdered a Watch officer that said officer had confessed to a crime and named names. The only way for Tristan¡¯s testimony to be more than his word against Ledwaba¡¯s was for a truth-teller to be involved, which could take weeks if there wasn¡¯t one at hand. Those contracts were rtively rare, and in even higher demand than sniffers besides. Only healers were more highly prized.


    The air hung tense, the sergeant worrying her lip, then she spat out a few Antiguan words Song did not recognize. Definitely Riven Coast, the Tianxi decided. Some of that had sounded simr to hollow cants.


    ¡°No, they don¡¯t,¡± Sergeant Ledwaba grunted, then spat to the side. ¡°I want a pardon.¡±


    ¡°Hah!¡± Captain Santosughed. ¡°Fuck no. You get a ck mark ¨C sealed, don¡¯t whine ¨C on your record and a transfer to a<em> sitiada</em> posting. If you give me everything and keep your nose clean, when that tour is done your record will be purged and we forget this ever happened.¡±


    ¡°You might as well send me to the Bleands,¡± Ledwabained. ¡°They¡¯re <em>still</em> cleaning up thest of Loving Kiss revenants down south.¡±


    ¡°You shouldn¡¯t have taken the gold,¡± Santos told her, unsympathetic. ¡°Besides, it¡¯s for your own good ¨C you¡¯ll be far from the Library down there. Too far for them to take a shot at you on the cheap, and you¡¯re not worth an expensive vengeance.¡±


    Ledwaba grimaced, leaning back to nce at Song. The silver-eyed captain offered her only ice.


    ¡°I should have known it¡¯d end up too much trouble,¡± the sergeant sighed. ¡°Fine, what do you want from me?¡±


    ¡°Names and a confession,¡± Captain Santos said. ¡°There¡¯s another one of you in the delegation, a higher-up. Who?¡±


    ¡°Lieutenant Shu Gong,¡± Ledwaba said. ¡°I don¡¯t know how deep she is in their little cult, but I know she¡¯s not just a hireling like me.¡±


    Song bit at the inside of her cheek. Shu Gong, <em>really</em>? She was a terrible spy! Even setting aside that near every merchant in the southwestern ward had robbed her, Song had watched that woman and she was a nervous, awkward mess. Song had once seen her flip her own breakfast te onto herp trying to clean up spilled tea. Either she was one of the most skilled dissembled Song Ren had ever encountered or <em>someone</em> in the Ivory Library had made a mistake.


    ¡°Who runs the plot locally?¡± Captain Santos asked.


    ¡°It was supposed to be Apurva, I was told I answered to him,¡± the sergeant said. ¡°Shu¡¯s in charge now, but she has no idea what she¡¯s doing so she¡¯s crossing her fingers hoping the Scholomance <em>bastardinos </em>will handle everything for her.¡±


    And there we went, confirmation of the Neenth¡¯s involvement. If that could be put to ink and signed, even should Tristan reappear apanied by fresh student corpses Song should be able to keep him off the gallows. That was a relief, but she did not let herself soak it in. <em>Do not count your chickens before they hatch</em>, Song reminded herself. Nothing was on paper yet.


    ¡°Is there anyone else?¡± the signifier pressed. ¡°The more you give me, the more is added to your tab.¡±


    ¡°I got the impression Chca might have been bribed to look elsewhere,¡± Ledwaba added after hesitating a moment. ¡°But they did not tell me everything, I¡¯m only meant to be muscle. I know the sign and countersign for the Madcap¡¯s captain to take on the prisoner, though, if that¡¯s worth anything.¡±


    ¡°It is,¡± Captain Santos assured her. ¡°What makes Abrascal such a tempting target, anyhow?¡±


    ¡°No idea,¡± Ledwaba admitted. ¡°I heard Apurva mention a report being leaked to the Ivory Library some months back, but the schrs were never chatty with me. Tight with the purse strings, too.¡±


    Thatst part sounded a little like whining. Domingo Santos hummed, sounding mildly interested in the Library¡¯s interest, but did not push further even though Song would have preferred him to. What he was <em>truly</em> interested in, it turned out, was putting out ink and paper so he could hash out the terms of a signed confession with Sergeant Ledwaba. He was friendly with the traitor, almost too friendly ¨C suggesting phrasing that avoided implicating herself with graver crimes and striking out mention of payment so she could keep her ill-earned gold.


    It left a sour taste in the mouth, watching it all, but Song kept her mouth shut. Sergeant Ledwaba deserved worse than she would get, but what she was giving them was worth much more than the temporary satisfaction of seeing her put up against the wall and shot. Within the hour, Ledwaba had signed the confession and the ckcloak strolled her way out of the parlor with rather more cheer than a woman in her position should be feeling.


    Silence lingered behind her, until Captain Santos let out a long pleased sigh and leaned back into his chair.


    ¡°Good as finished,¡± the signifier said. ¡°I will need to bring in Brigadier Chca before I arrest Lieutenant Gong, else he could stonewall me, but I wager that as soon as it can be done without the Asphodelians noticing she¡¯ll be grabbed.¡±


    ¡°Good news,¡± Song said. ¡°And the Neenth Brigade?¡±


    ¡°Ledwaba gave them up,¡± he shrugged. ¡°As soon as I¡¯ve shown the brigadier that confession you can petition him to have them all arrested even if they¡¯re on contract ¨C though he¡¯ll want some kind of face-saving measure to be able to avoid telling the Lord Rector they were traitors. He¡¯ll have to do <em>something</em> when presented the evidence, though, otherwise it breaks Watch regtions."


    ¡°I am looking forward to it,¡± Song toothily smiled.


    ¡°So am I,¡± Captain Santos happily replied. ¡°Finally I get to stop sniffing at everyone¡¯s private papers and mark their belongings. I¡¯ll be off this rock on the next ship, mark my words, and the Obscure Committee will shower me with gold and praise.¡±


    He paused, turning to look at her.


    ¡°You made this much easier on me than it could have been,¡± Domingo Santos frankly said. ¡°You might be a bloody-handed kid in covenanter boots, but this was good work and I¡¯ll not let a good turn go unanswered. I owe you a favor.¡±


    Silver eyes narrowed. Song had not dared hoped for that, but a good officer should n for oues both foul and fair.


    ¡°There is a way you could settle it now, and at no cost to you.¡±


    He raised his eyebrows, intrigued, and so she told him. The signifierughed.


    ¡°Easy enough to arrange,¡± Captain Santos said, and this time when he nodded there was an undertone of respect to it. ¡°A good day to you then, Captain Ren. I expect I¡¯ll be hearing good things of the Thirteenth in years toe.¡±


    ¡°And to you, sir,¡± Song replied, rising to her feet. ¡°It has been a pleasure.¡±


    And after that favor, she could even say thetter part wasn¡¯t a lie.


    --


    Angharad was no great riding enthusiast, but there was nothing like being forced to repeatedly ride carriages to make one miss sitting the saddle instead of a bench.


    Even in Tratheke, a city boasting some of the finest streets she had ever seen, the exercise was unspeakably tedious. It did not help that the quality of the streets meant most people of means used a carriage to get around, leading to frequent glut on the main arteries. That and idents, which was not nearly as interesting after the third time you watched valets brawl as they angrily used each other of being responsible for the crash.


    Even knowing that the plenty of carriages paired with appropriate precautions was the reason no one had been able to figure out where Lady Angharad Tredegar lived while in the capital, she was in a dark mood as the carriage that¡¯d picked her up finally rode into the ck House courtyard. An hour and half spent to learn almost nothing had her stewing in private frustration. Given that she was meeting Lord Gule this afternoon, she could have used this time for preparations.


    Angharad limped out of the carriage onto the stone floor, leaning on her cane, only for her eye to be drawn to a silhouette by the door: Uncle Osian stood there waiting for her, unsmiling. That his face heralded ill news to match those she had found in the Collegium was not a fine start to the day. Osian must have noticed her mood just as she had his, for as she made her way to him his frown deepened.


    ¡°Did something happen out in the city?¡± he asked.


    She fell in with him as they entered the manse, his long stride never quite going faster than her hobble. He had developed a knack for matching his steps to hers without seeming it, Angharad fondly thought.


    "Officer Hage and his cat are missing,¡± she told him. ¡°The Chimerical has been shuttered and the locals do not know when it will open again. Given Tristan¡¯s continued absence andck of reports, this is somewhat concerning.¡±


    If Tristan Abrascal were merely facing city guards and criminals she would not have thought twice about his continued absence, but some of the plots afoot the capital might just be more dangerous than he knew how to handle. The Mask had an impressive bag of tricks, but when it ran out he was a less than impressive fighter.


    ¡°Ah, the Sacromontan,¡± her uncle muttered. ¡°Often underfoot, that one.¡±


    He did not quite keep his disapproval out of his voice.


    ¡°You mislike him?¡± Angharad asked, surprised.


    ¡°You do not?¡± her uncle asked, sounding equally so.


    Angharad paused, seriously considering the question.


    ¡°I do not always like his actions,¡± she conceded, ¡°but he is honest in his reasons and intentions. I cannot say I dislike him, not truly, especially when being underhanded is his duty as a Mask. He is, well¡­¡±


    She coughed and ended the sentence there, faintly embarrassed she had been about to say ¡®like an agreeable rogue in a story¡¯. The world was not a thing of stories, as Vesper seemed keen on reminding her these days. Else she would have already dueled Song for honor and moved on instead of feeling her stomach clench in a knot of feelings too tight to pick apart every time they sat at the same table.


    ¡°I won¡¯t tell you to change your opinion of him,¡± Osian said, ¡°but be wary of his patron. Krypteia are dangerous at the best of times, and that one more dangerous than most.¡±


    ¡°He seems to consider her a grandmother of sorts,¡± Angharad told him. ¡°As much as he does a mentor, anyhow.¡±


    ¡°His ¡®grandmother¡¯ might well have been alive during the Second Empire,¡± Osian grunted back. ¡°By rumor, she is also a habitual cannibal.¡±


    Angharad winced.


    ¡°Rumor alone, surely,¡± she tried.


    Osian did not answer, which to those of the Isles <em>was </em>an answer. He was not so certain as to state it outright but found it believable enough to mention the rumor. Perhaps it was a contract price, Angharad thought. The murder of men as a contract price was forbidden under the Iscariot ords, but to consume human flesh after death might¡­ not be? She was not conversant with the details there. Devils certainly wore corpses as shells without sanction, so it seemed usible.


    Horrifying to consider, mind you.


    Her uncle cast a look around them, finding them alone in the hall, and lowered his voice. Angharad expected further gossip about the apparently infamous Abu but was instead to be informed as to why she had found him unsmiling.


    ¡°I have the tools,¡± he said. ¡°Do you have the map?¡±


    ¡°It was obtained for me,¡± Angharad replied.


    Instead of borrowing it Maryam had memorized they and drawn it for Angharad on paper, relying on Gloam sorcery for precision. The signifier had used a simr trick on the Dominion, allegedly, so it was trustworthy ¨C and discreet, which was almost as important. Maryam had not even asked <em>why</em>, to her surprise. She¡¯d had reasons readied, precise wording to weave a with, but the blue-eyed woman had simply shrugged and agreed.


    It had been something of a shock to realize that Maryam Khaimov now considered them amiable enough acquaintances to do her a small favor without question. That and humbling, for from the way that Song had disappeared into a room with the Izvorica for a few hours after the¡­ argument, Maryam was near certain to be aware of Angharad¡¯s entanglements with the Lefthand House. She would have been well within her rights to interrogate Angharad¡¯s intentions and she simply <em>had not</em>.


    Uncle Osian nodded at her words, face grave, and she was wrenched away from her dim sense of guilt.


    ¡°Moving the object after it is taken will be the trouble,¡± he said. ¡°We cannot use Watch resources for it, and there have been¡­ inquiring eyes around the delegation ofte.¡±


    Angharad swallowed. Well worth a frown, that.


    ¡°Are you suspected?¡± she asked in a whisper.


    ¡°I believe my personal papers were looked through,¡± Osian grimly said. ¡°There is nothing reprehensible in them, but that my affairs are being looked at in the first ce is troubling.¡±


    He paused.


    ¡°By the wary looks of some of my colleagues, I might not be the only one whose papers were inspected.¡±


    It urred to Angharad then that this might not be about the infernal forge at all but about the traitor watchman Tristan had righteously in. Was the investigation turning its eyes on their fellows in the ck for a culprit after having found nothing in the city? <em>It does not matter</em>, Angharad reminded herself. Even if it were so, Tristan¡¯s bloodied hands were not her secret to share and thus her suspicion could not be discussed with her uncle.


    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    ¡°I still have a fourth of the funds you sent me on Tolomontera,¡± Angharad said. ¡°If coin is the concern¡­¡±


    ¡°Coin is coin,¡± he dismissed. ¡°I can still spend significant sums before having to turn to a Watch vault and its attendant paper trail. But neither of us will be able to ride a cart to the Lordsport without drawing attention and the cart will be inspected by lictors on its way south. I¡¯ve secured room on a ship at port, but getting the artefact there¡­¡±


    ¡°Tristan spent time as a traveling man for one of the city¡¯s trading houses,¡± she murmured. ¡°He might be able to make introductions.¡±


    ¡°We cannot risk Krypteia involvement,¡± Osian tly said. ¡°No matter how innocuous their contribution might seem. They are veritable bloodhounds for this sort of thing.¡±


    She considered bringing up the criminal gang calling themselves the Brazen Chariot, as they imed to be smugglers of some skill, but Angharad was reluctant to involve them when they had ties to the Thirteenth that had been written down in official reports. It might put the others in the line of firee the time of reckoning. That and they were criminals, thus just as likely to steal the infernal forge as to keep their word.


    Unfortunately that left only a single name.


    ¡°I will have to speak with Imani,¡± Angharad said. ¡°She ought to be capable of arranging for <em>that</em> part, at least.¡±


    ¡°She is the ufudu you¡¯ve chosen to bargain with, then,¡± Osian murmured.


    They had discussed approaching Jabni over the matter instead and simply killing Imani Langa whenever convenient, but Lord Gule¡¯s ¡®attendant¡¯ now struck her as too risky gamble.


    ¡°Jabni is too tied up in the coup,¡± Angharad quietly replied. ¡°When it is put down he could be caught by the Watch or the Lord Rector.¡±


    ¡°And thus it could all be squeezed out of him,¡± her uncle agreed. ¡°The Lefthand House is not prone to telling tales even when their fingernails are pulled, but the Watch has methods that even spirits fear.¡±


    ¡°I will meet with her today,¡± Angharad decided. ¡°There is no time to waste, the Thirteenth might be leaving Asphodel soon.¡±


    Very soon, if Angharad¡¯s sess with the infernal forge proved enough for Lord Gule to judge her worth bringing into the cult. His written note when arranging the meeting this afternoon had been too bare bones to judge his mood, but she had hopes. If Angharad met other cultists and they went unmasked, they could be grabbed that very evening and interrogated.


    If their identities were veiled it would take somewhat longer, but arrangements had been made to cover the eventuality. Song and Captain Wen would be keeping a watch on the ambassador¡¯s residence to try and narrow down the list of possible cultists, drawing on who wasing in and out.


    ¡°Then I will finish the preparations on my end,¡± Osian replied, then paused. ¡°I will require the map.¡±


    ¡°I will trace you a copy tonight,¡± Angharad promised.


    They parted ways by the main flight of stairs, Osian taking long strides up it while Angharad turned a look of distaste on the carpeted heights. Best to take the east wing stairs instead, she decided. It would be a detour, considering the liar was likely in the ck House library, but the slope was significantly less ambitious despite the stairway being narrower.


    While the library being open to any watchman in principle, in practice the Eleventh Brigade had been living in it since their return from the countryside. Only officers of the delegation had the bite to send them out, Angharad having heard Songin to Maryam that on the asions the Tianxi had gone inside to borrow a book she had been red at like an intruder the entire time.


    Naturally this meant Tupoc tried to visit at least thrice a day, which exined why the doors were closed and locked when Angharad finally reached them. The Fourth had finished its contract on Asphodel and been paid by the throne, but instead of chartering a merchant ship to a port where a Watch vessel might ferry them back to Tolomontera they had chosen to wait two weeks for the next Watch ship headed straight to Port Azei.


    Tupoc had been spending that time making a nuisance of himself to everyone, but with his cabal so visibly shaken by the loss of ¡®Expandable Losses¡¯ she could not begrudge them lingering. Grief deserved time. What she <em>did </em>begrudge the Fourth was how when she knocked twice on the locked doors there was no answer, even when she raised her voice. It did attract the attention of a servant carrying a mop, however, and Angharad hailed him.


    ¡°I need to have a message passed to Captain Imani Langa,¡± she told the young man.


    The liveried servant coughed, looked either way as if to find anyone else she might be talking to, then blushed.


    ¡°Um,¡± he said. ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°I require that she attend me on the roof garden at her earliest convenience,¡± Angharad said. ¡°<em>Very </em>earliest convenience.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll, um, tell her,¡± he said. ¡°Master Voros has the keys. I just need to mop up the¡­¡±


    ¡°Take care of this first, or pass it on to someone who can,¡± she said, kindly but firmly. ¡°Tell Master Voros it is brigade business of some urgency.¡±


    The young servant swallowed and saluted, which set the mop to swinging, and he retreated most precipitously. Angharad spent a moment staring at his back in amusement, wondering whether she should remind him that ck House servants were not members of the Watch and thus there was no need to salute officers, but ultimately decided against it.


    Well, she sighed, timed for another few sets of stairs. She was already regretting having chosen the roof again.


    --


    It took Imani Langa the better part of an hour to show up, by which time Angharad was thoroughly irritated.


    She had already oiled her saber yesterday so it would have been of no benefit to the de to do so again and she had no intention of risking the<em> ufudu</em> seeing the sewer map so she could not spend the time drawing her uncle a copy either. That left the mirror-dancer to stare at the view of the city for a quarter-hour until she got bored of it, then to pick petals off flowers for the rest while sitting on the bench to rest her leg. Ancestors, maybe she should have brought a book.


    Captain Imani wore an irritated look to match hers when she stormed up the stairs, not that Angharad particrly cared. She pushed herself up at the sight of the other woman, hand on her walking stick.


    ¡°Do not send for me like that again,¡± Imani Langa tly said. ¡°Coming to meet you when summoned so boorishly forced me to-¡±


    Angharad turned and walked away, freed from the implied obligation of courtesy by Imani¡¯sck of polite greeting. She limped to the edge of the roof, leaning an elbow on the bronze railing overlooking the long drop down to the street. There were a few people passing below, too far for her to be able to make out their faces. Imani stomped up to her angrily.


    ¡°- ildish of you, Tredegar,¡± the liar said. ¡°Continue to behave in such a way and-¡±


    ¡°Are we being listened to?¡± Angharad interrupted.


    Imani¡¯s eyes narrowed.


    ¡°No,¡± she said.


    There was no dy or hesitation. Her contract was always in use, as far as the Pereduri could tell.


    ¡°I have found an infernal forge,¡± Angharad said. ¡°Measures are being taken to secure it.¡±


    The ufudu stilled. Her face was unreadable, but her eyes searched the noblewoman for any hint of deceit.


    ¡°Where is it?¡± Imani finally asked.


    Angharad snorted.


    ¡°I will not be telling you that, you honorless cur,¡± she amiably said. ¡°I require of you that you secure means of safe transportation to the Lordsport. You will be given a time and ce to pick up the artefact and told where in port to deliver it.¡±


    ¡°I can arrange transportation to Mn myself,¡± Imani replied without batting an eye.


    ¡°I would not trust you to carry an iron vase,¡± Angharad scorned, ¡°much less the only thing you need of me. The Lefthand House will have the artefact when I have proof they will deliver on their end of the bargain.¡±


    ¡°You overestimate the strength of your bargaining position,¡± Imani warned.


    ¡°Do I?¡± she asked, honestly curious as she met the liar¡¯s stare.


    A long moment passed, then Imani Langa sighed and leaned her elbows against the railing.


    ¡°I will make arrangements,¡± she said. ¡°I need at least six hours of forewarning for the pickup, but it should be possible from tomorrow onwards.¡±


    ¡°Good,¡± Angharad smiled. ¡°Then our personal business is concluded.¡±


    She paused and took in the angle, the way the liar¡¯s limbs were arrayed. How Imani was putting her weight on her arms, head just past the railing, legs slightly angled. It would do.


    Without word or warning, Angharad mmed her walking stick across the back of both Imani Langa¡¯s knees.


    The spy let out a yelp and the lowers limbs folded, for one heartbeat entirely helpless. It was long enough for Angharad to grab her by the back of the cor and drag her past the edge of the railing until half her body was leaning forward into the drop and Angharad¡¯s grip was the only thing keep her from a tumble into the void.


    ¡°Tredegar,¡± Imani hissed, ¡°what are you-¡±


    Ignoring the kicking legs, Angharad snatched the liar¡¯s pistol out of her holster and tossed it into the garden. When her gaze returned to Imani it was to find the other woman had a knife in hand, but when she clicked her tongue the ufudu hesitated.


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t do that,¡± Angharad said. ¡°If you struggle too much I would be at risk of falling at well, which would make dropping you to preserve myself tolerably within the bounds of honor.¡±


    ¡°It would be murder,¡± Imani hissed. ¡°Killing a guest under the same roof.¡±


    ¡°Oh, not at all,¡± Angharad mildly replied. ¡°It would be ¡®allowing you to die¡¯, which most schrs agree falls under the more general category of circumstantial bloodshed.¡±


    Whatever it was Imani saw on her face, it had her cease kicking her legs. Wise.


    ¡°This is pointless,¡± the liar said. ¡°We both know you still need me.¡±


    The noblewoman dropped her by half an inch, Imani swallowing a scream.


    ¡°I have found another ufudu on the ind,¡± Angharad said. ¡°They could provide the same service.¡±


    Which was true, though the additional risks made Imani the better option. Not that Angharad intended to tell her that.


    ¡°What do you <em>want</em>, Tredegar?¡± Imani panted, looking queasy.


    ¡°The Ivory Library,¡± she said. ¡°Tell me everything you know about them.¡±


    The spyughed in scared disbelief.


    ¡°Really, <em>that¡¯s</em> what this is about? Abrascal¡¯s little problem?¡±


    To remind her of her situation, Angharad dipped her down slightly.


    ¡°My legs are starting to ache,¡± she informed Imani. ¡°It would be wise of you to wrap up this conversation before the pain grows intolerable or my fingers begin to sweat.¡±


    Imani paled.


    ¡°They¡¯re some kind of schrly society,¡± the liar said. ¡°Trying to figure out the nature of divinity by studying contracts that seem to break known rules.¡±


    ¡°Then why the interest in Tristan?¡± Angharad frowned.


    Song had mentioned his patron spirit was a frequent visitor, but surely that was not so unusual? Lesser spirits supposedly found such visitation easier than great ones, in some ways, given they were¡­ lighter in a metaphysical way, forck of better word.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Imani hissed. ¡°But he¡¯s hiding something, part of the report about him from the Dominion evaluators was sealed by the Krypteia.¡±


    ¡°Then how would its contents be known to anyone else?¡± Angharad frowned.


    ¡°He¡¯s a Scholomance student now, the Obscure Committee gets everything on the students no matter what the covenants want,¡± Imani replied through gritted teeth.


    Her face was flushed from the blood pooling there, Angharad noted. Her eyes were beginning to tear up as well.


    ¡°What else?¡± she pressed.


    ¡°You know the rest,¡± Imani hissed. ¡°They put a bounty on his head but they can¡¯t get involved in Tolomontera.¡±


    Angharad hummed. Perhaps that truly was all she knew. Another matter, then.


    ¡°Tozi Poloko,¡± she said.


    ¡°The daughter of a Sunflower Lord,¡± Imani grunted. ¡°From a consort, not a formal wife, but she was killing her way up the line of session so they forced her into the Watch.¡±


    Oh? That might exin why Tozi considered herself beholden to her family still. Did she hope to go back to Izcalli one day to take the title, or was it simply that escaping the kingdom hade at a price and renouncing the bargain would get her killed? It would not excuse her actions either way, but the noblewoman would admit to some curiosity.


    ¡°Izel Coyac,¡± Angharad ordered.


    ¡°All the Coyac sons serve in the army, but Izel broke a pact with a warrior society to flee abroad and enroll in the Watch,¡± Imani panted. ¡°He was going to be given back, but instead Doghead Coyac made some kind of deal and he was suddenly rmended for Scholomance.¡±


    Both endangered lives snatched away from the gallows at thest moment, Angharad thought. She could hazard a guess as to what sinister society had offered them salvation, and what price was now being asked of them for it. She felt a pang of sympathy, considering her own circumstances, but only a pang. Her next questions were anticipated.


    ¡°Kiran Agrawal did too well in courting tournaments, his parents stopped looking for a match and just sent him for the constion money,¡± Imani blurted. ¡°Barboza¡¯s family were nobles in a <em>sitiada</em> but it fell to a gue god and they became destitute exiles. That¡¯s all I know about the Eleventh, Tredegar, so <em>let me up</em>.¡±


    Angharad hummed. Her legs<em> were</em> beginning to throb, and her arm to shake. Imani was not heavy but neither was she light.


    She released her grip, just long enough for a scream of terror to bloom, then grabbed the ufudu with both hands and wrested her back behind the railing. She let Imani drop in a painful sprawl, taking back her walking stick and rolling her shoulder. Imani stayed on the ground for a long moment, eyes white and hands trembling.


    Was she imagining the strange glint in that gaze? Something like satisfaction, or perhaps vindication. She must be.


    ¡°Contact me when you have obtained means of transportation,¡± Angharad ordered.


    The noblewoman limped past the spy, feeling the weight of a hateful re resting on her back, and stopped at the head of the stairs.


    ¡°And do remember to pick up your pistol,¡± Angharad called out. ¡°Gunpowder is bad for the flowerbeds.¡±


    Feeling somewhat refreshed, she made her way down the stairs. A bit of a meal and then meeting the ambassador, she thought. Yet more intrigue to wash up the intrigue she had just drunk down.


    Her life really had too much cloak and too little dagger in it these days, Angharad mourned.


    --


    Dealing with Tupoc Xical was, Song had found, an ufortable bncing game.


    Give the man too much credence and attention and he would, without batting an eye, use them to draw you into pointless timewasting for his own entertainment. Given him too little, though, and he would make certain that you had missed something of importance by ignoring his caterwauling. Song had devised a working method to mitigate the risks, but it was admittedly somewhat inelegant.


    ¡°I have not yet struck you in the head, so there is no exnation for your wandering tongue,¡± she informed the Izcalli. ¡°Have you considered killing yourself and allowing your brigade to be led by a halfwaypetent officer instead?¡±


    Tupoc¡¯s eerily symmetrical face fell into a pout that, if disyed on a statue, Song would have called artless. Too even and therefore not quite passing as human.


    ¡°And to think I hade bearing gifts,¡± he said. ¡°Song, you wound me.¡±


    ¡°I wish,¡± Song replied, ¡°but there are simply too many witnesses in ck House.¡±


    Captain Imani coughed into her fist, not quite hiding her smirk.


    ¡°As we were discussing before this distraction,¡± the Mni said, ¡°I am amenable to Captain Song¡¯s suggestion that we share our reports and pool information to finish our contracts as swiftly as possible.¡±


    One, two. Answer Xical¡¯s dancing around with an open and blunt verbal attack that he either had to answer or y off, then let the third person at the table drag the conversation back on track as a form of de-esction. Tupoc didn¡¯t truly <em>want</em> to brawl at the negotiating table, not when he had nothing to gain from it, so he would let the redirection happen.


    Song just had to wildly escte every time he tried to be a nuisance, which while rather uncouth was oddly satisfying. That he seemed somewhat at a loss at how to deal with not being the most unreasonable person at the table only added to the attraction. Of course, it would beneath Song to be so taken with what was nothing but a measured negotiation tactic.


    Song Ren smiled in small, petty satisfaction at the pale-eyed Izcalli.


    ¡°My brigade has already finished their contract,¡± Tupoc said. ¡°What is there to gain for us? Besides, we already had a little talk along these lines a few days back. What worth is trading reports?¡±


    ¡°We shared only broad lines,¡± Captain Imani pointed out. ¡°We do not even know whosends you fought the dragon in, while Captain Song has remained painfully vague on the nature of the cult and conspiracy her brigade unearthed.¡±


    Song ignored the reproachful look from Imani at thetter part of the sentence. She had no obligation to entertain another captain¡¯s requests and receive nothing in return. As for the earlier part, about the location of the Ladonite dragon¡¯s death, Song had her suspicions. Xical had mentioned journeying through wheat fields for <em>day</em>s, and there were only so many noble holdings in Asphodel where such a thing was possible outside of Tratheke Valley.


    Tupoc smiled thinly at the Mni, as unmoved by the implied reproaches as Song was.


    ¡°Yes, it¡¯s a shame that even in her grief Alejandra can tell when she¡¯s being hit up for information, isn¡¯t it?¡± the Izcalli said. ¡°Between that and your secret meeting with Tredegar up on the roof, you might have avoided these talks entirely.¡±


    Song hastily smothered any hint of surprise at the mention of Angharad meeting Imani, then silently cursed when she saw Tupoc¡¯s lips twitch. She had not been quite quick enough.


    ¡°I would have preferred to simply obtain the information,¡± Captain Imani agreed without a hint of abashment, ¡°but that does not appear to be feasible. I havee to the belief that all our contracts ¨C and perhaps even the Neenth¡¯s ¨C are in some way connected. To share reports would allow us to put all the facts together.¡±


    ¡°And I repeat myself,¡± Tupoc said. ¡°Given that the Fourth has finished its own contract, what¡¯s in this for us?¡±


    Best nip that in the bud, the Tianxi thought. He had found a thread and would not cease picking at it until the weave broke, she could see it in that little gleeful look he¡¯d put on.


    ¡°Social obligation to pretend your presence is not physically repellent until the exchanges are finished,¡± Song told him. ¡°I might even feelpelled to feign some degree of grief at your funeral after you inevitably get yourself killed.¡±


    Tupoc narrowed his eyes at her, but Imani should be well schooled enough to¡­


    ¡°You are still on Asphodel for perhaps as long as two weeks,¡± Captain Imani told him. ¡°Given the very real possibility the Watch will get caught up the coup Captain Song warned us about, learning the details of what is toe seems the kind of precaution a wise captain would take.¡±


    Tupoc leaned back into his seat, tipping his chair backwards. Song resisted the urge to nudge it back and watch him topple onto the floor, no matter how satisfying it would be to watch.


    ¡°I¡¯ll have to think about it,¡± the Izcalli mused. ¡°Why, between your spying and Captain Song¡¯s endless train of insults I am unsure as to the untrustworthiness of my fellow captains. Of course, should an apology be given¡­¡±


    Given how pale eyes then turned to Song it was clear who he wanted that apology from. If there had been a good chance he¡¯d cooperate after receiving said apology, Song liked to think she would have forced herself to give it. As the chances were slim to none, she was spared that dilemma.


    ¡°I am sorry,¡± she replied instead, ¡°that I did not take the time to kill you on the Dominion and spare myself your continued presence on Vesper.¡±


    A beat passed, then he snorted.


    ¡°That almost offended me,¡± he praised, smirking as he rose to his feet. ¡°Not what I asked for, though. I will have to keep pondering whether the bargain¡¯s worth it for my brigade.¡±


    He stretched out his arms, cracking his shoulders to Song¡¯s twitch of distaste and Imani¡¯s appreciative look at the muscles on disy.


    ¡°But a parting gift for you lovelydies, as I did say I came bearing them,¡± Tupoc said. ¡°I got curious about what the Neenth Brigade is up to, you see.¡±


    Song cocked an eyebrow. She was as well, but trying to track down Hector Anaidon ¨C and failing, the man had apparently disappeared ¨C had taken up too much time for her to make a serious effort.


    ¡°And?¡±


    ¡°Tozi should have shaved her head fully,¡± he said, ¡°if she wanted to visit half the shrines in the city without anyone noticing it.¡±


    ¡°Shrines,¡± Imani said, honing on the same detail Song was. ¡°Not temples?¡±


    ¡°Only small gods,¡± Tupoc agreed. ¡°I wonder how that ties into them avoiding ck House like the gue?¡±


    Song was left to wonder whether the Neenth was pursuing shrines because the temples to the greater gods of Asphodel would be more closely watched, or because it was the lesser gods that were genuinely of interest. Hopefully when Tristan returned he would be able to shed some light on the matter since he was all but sure to have followed them.


    The two women remained seated in silence until Tupoc had finished strutting out of the room, leaving the door open behind him out of what Song assumed to be base pettiness.


    ¡°His lunacy would be significantly less tragic if he were not so pretty,¡± Captain Imani opined.


    Song turned a look of open disgust on her. You might as well ascribe good looks to a gunpowder barrel with some insults painted on. The Mni was only amused, and as the silence stretched out Song sighed and looked away.


    ¡°Why are you so intent in getting his reports?¡± Song asked. ¡°Trade between our own brigades might be enough to unearth most of what we need.¡±


    ¡°Because I have spent days and nights tearing through the theology of Asphodel and found frustratingly little matching the rituals out in the valley,¡± Captain Imani darkly replied. ¡°There are gods associated with the number six and gods associated with burying the dead, but none that are both. And you cannot have missed the timeline, either.¡±


    Song sighed but nodded. The hidden temple that the Fourth had stumbled upon had been robbed of a sacred artefact around when the ¡®Golden Ram¡¯ cult began expanding aggressively ¨C likely due to being taken over by another cult ¨C but also before the killings investigated by the Neenth began. Thetter facts, at least, could feasibly be linked. Someone was out there using a leashed entity tomit murders and the most sacred artefact of a dead god seemed a fine way to control its remnant.


    ¡°You think the artefact taken from the temple has something to do with your rituals,¡± Song stated.


    ¡°I even tried to match when we suspect rituals to have taken ce to the deaths investigated by the Neenth, but there was no noticeable pattern,¡± Captain Imani said. ¡°Not that my saying this means much when we have no idea how deaths went unnoticed. We know of at least three the lictors missed.¡±


    ¡°I have some interest in the nature of that sacred tool as well,¡± Song admitted. ¡°Though not half as much as in the details of the rituals you uncovered.¡±


    ¡°If he does not bite by tomorrow, we can trade between ourselves,¡± Imani replied, refusing the implied offer. ¡°I would rather have him in than out if that is possible.¡±


    Song raised an eyebrow.


    ¡°And the Neenth?¡± she probed.


    ¡°Captain Tozi is in the wind,¡± Imani shrugged. ¡°We can discuss cutting her in should she return, but until then¡­¡±


    The Tianxi watched the other woman and moment, then nodded. It would have to do. There was a risk the Neenth might be able to figure out where Tristan was from the Thirteenth¡¯s reports, broadly speaking, but Imani¡¯s implication she would not bring in Tozi Poloko and her aplices without first consulting Song seemed reliable enough.


    Lying over the matter would thoroughly burn any bridge between their brigades, and Tupoc¡¯s little jibe earlier seemed to indicate Imani Langa still had an eye on a member of the Thirteenth.


    ¡°Agreed,¡± Song said, rising to her feet. ¡°A pleasant afternoon to you, Captain Imani.¡±


    ¡°And you, Captain Song,¡± the dark-skinned woman smoothly replied.


    Song did not linger behind. Angharad would be leaving for Ambassador Gule¡¯s mansion within the hour and when she did Song would be following at a distance to keep an eye on theings and goings around said mansion ¨C as would Captain Wen. With any luck, it would help them put together a list of potential cult members.


    Song had already prepared her affairs for that, but returning to her room would involve surrendering herst excuse to avoid being in the presence of the two remaining letters so instead she kept walking down the hall and rapped her knuckles against Maryam¡¯s door. The Izvorica had spent all her time in her rooms since returning from the pce yesterday, save for meals and a single trip to the ck House library.


    A muffled shout bid her to enter and Song stepped into the room to find Maryam Khaimov bent over her writing desk, scribbling in the same journal she had used since her trip to the private archives. Her eyes were sunken fromck of sleep but she peered down at her journal with intense focus as themplight flickered. Her blue gaze rose but an instant, noticing Song and grunting at her to close the door.


    The Tianxi did, eyeing the two books sharing the writing desk with the journal as she crossed the room. One was open and set before Maryam, who nced at the neat writing inside periodically, while the other was closed and to the side. She hardly needed to look twice to know these must have been from the ck House stacks. Even though there were no rare forbidden books there, it hardly meant there would be nothing of use for a signifier.


    The Akrre Guild kept their precious secrets locked up tight, but while the Navigators were the only covenant to wield the Gloam they were hardly the only one to study it. The works Maryam could get her hands on here were no match for what she could borrow in a chapterhouse, but the schrship of the Peiling Society would still be of use ¨C and the signifier <em>was </em>using them.


    ¡°Ontological Dialectics, volume three,¡± Song read on the spine of the closed book as she grabbed a chair from across to the room to sit facing Maryam. ¡°Were the first two not stirring enough a read?¡±


    The pale-skinned woman snorted, setting aside her steel tip pen and blowing at the fresh ink on her journal page.


    "The first two books busy themselves with generalities,¡± Maryam replied. ¡°Practical experiments are only found in the annex, which is thest section of the third volume.¡±


    ¡°Experiments?¡± Song leadingly said.


    ¡°On retention rates,¡± Maryam replied.


    She flipped the book she had open Song¡¯s way, letting the Tianxi glimpse at pages. The contents were halfway between a mathematical equation and sheer gibberish, cleanly written lines with numbers and symbols intermixed with terms like ¡®logotic saturation¡¯ and ¡®observational solipsism¡¯. The measure in use was called an <em>intero</em>, a term she vaguely remembered being one of the few Second Empire base units that¡¯d not continued to be used across the old imperial territories after the fall of Liergan.


    ¡°What does an <em>intero</em> measure, if I might ask?¡± Song asked.


    ¡°The intersection of a unit of Grasp and Command as wielded by an average practitioner,¡± Maryam recited. "Only the Second Empire was never able to figure out there is such a thing as inherent Gloam density ¨C that some currents of Gloam are naturally heavier than others ¨C so the unit is basically worthless for anything remotely precise.¡±


    ¡°But it is still useful to measure a general direction,¡± Song tried, more or less following.


    Maryam nodded.


    ¡°So a generality is what you are seeking to rify, then.¡±


    The Izvorica passed a hand through her matted, almost oily hair. How long since she had washed it? Maybe since Tristan left, the captain though.


    ¡°My question is whether it¡¯s possible to cheat my way past logotic saturation principles by relying on solipsistic metaphysics,¡± Maryam said.


    Song silently raised an eyebrow.


    ¡°Gloam suspends the rules of the Material wherever it is dominant,¡± Maryam said. ¡°Observational solipsism is the theory that Gloam can do this because its fundamental property is that it is ¡®unobserved¡¯, only leaving its original state of being everything-and-nothing when beheld. Like a liquid that bes a solid whenever looked at.¡±


    Song¡¯s eyebrow rose even higher. Maryam sighed.


    ¡°My logos is a waterskin that can only hold so much water,¡± she said. ¡°But if I put out the lights before filling it, since no one can see what happens in the dark will the world forget what the limits of the waterskin are?¡±


    Song hummed.


    ¡°<em>Will</em> it?¡± she asked, genuinely curious.


    ¡°Signs point to yes,¡± Maryam said. ¡°But also that a portion of that cheat water will evaporate when the lights are lit again. I have been trying to calcte howrge that portion would be, but with the sources I have at hand it¡¯s like¡­ trying to multiply a cat by the future price of scissors.¡±


    Song paused.


    ¡°Where are the scissors being sold?¡± she asked, putting on a serious face.


    ¡°You think you¡¯re so funny, don¡¯t you?¡± Maryamined.


    ¡°Of course not,¡± Song lied, lips twitching.


    She then turned the book back Maryam¡¯s way.


    ¡°So what is the water in that earlier metaphor?¡± she asked. ¡°What do you intend to fill your logotic waterskin with?¡±


    There was a beat of silence then Maryam¡¯s face closed. She must be tired indeed, Song thought, to be so unsubtle.


    ¡°In getting rid of the parasite afflicting me, I might be able to make a few gains,¡± Maryam casually said.


    Too casually. Song¡¯s eyes narrowed.


    ¡°That is quite a bit of preparation work for a ¡®might¡¯,¡± she noted, gesturing at the writing desk.


    ¡°I should make the most of it when ites,¡± Maryam dismissed. ¡°Finite chances and all that.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve yet to answer my question,¡± Song said. ¡°What does ¡®water¡¯ stand for here?¡±


    ¡°The parasite absorbed memories of a few of my people¡¯s rites,¡± she replied. ¡°I would have them back.¡±


    Song looked at her for a long time, stomach clenching. It had begun so lightly, this talk, but now¡­


    ¡°You are lying to me,¡± she said.


    Maryam scowled.


    ¡°I am not-¡±


    ¡°Saturation,¡± Song cut through. ¡°I am no theist, but I understand what <em>that </em>word means. You are trying to drink enough memories that it would strain the capacity of your logos and you want to rely on ritual to get around that limit. That does not sound like a <em>few</em> rites to me, Maryam.¡±


    Or, for that matter, something that could be done without damaging your own mind. As Song had said she was no theist, but force-feeding your own logos like a goose did not strike her as the safest of decisions.


    ¡°It is my inheritance,¡± Maryam defensively said. ¡°Mine to do with as I will.¡±


    <em>Rights are not my concern</em>, Song thought. <em>Last time you consumed part of the parasite, it nearly killed you and made your soul fragile as ss.</em> But she could see it in the way Maryam¡¯s chin was tucked, that the stubbornness had already set in. That she was tossing her worries at a mountainside.


    ¡°How much knowledge is there really?¡± Song quietly asked.


    The Izvorica grit her teeth.


    ¡°A lot,¡± she said. ¡°Leave it at that.¡±


    Song worried her lip.


    ¡°Keeper of Hooks,¡± she finally said, halfway guessing. ¡°It is one of the titles the parasite imed, when it intervened to save my life. You never told me what it means.¡±


    ¡°That is a private matter,¡± Maryam scowled.


    ¡°A private matter that has ties to what you are nning up in the pce,¡± Song pressed.


    ¡°Would that make it any less private?¡± Maryam retorted.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Song said. ¡°If you are using the Thirteenth¡¯s contract with the throne to enact this¡­ ritual you are nning, then it has implications for all of us.¡±


    Maryam slowly, measuredly, closed her journal.


    ¡°You are returning to the pce tonight,¡± Song continued. ¡°Muchter than usual. How much is the investigation and how much this ritual?¡±


    When blue eyes met silver, Song almost shivered ¨C it was as if she were looking into ice.


    ¡°I kept quiet as Tredegar dabbled in treason,¡± Maryam evenly said. ¡°I kept my mouth shut as you let yourself leveraged, let yourself be <em>physically beaten</em> by a pack of crazed revolutionaries. Even when Tristan murdered an officer of the Watch and began scheming to knock off an entire cabal, I stayed silent. Because personal matters are exactly that.¡±


    Song swallowed.


    ¡°And now,¡± Maryam quietly said, ¡°now that I try to settle an old debt ¨C without it costing anyone else anything, without making a mess and murdering, <em>now</em> you act as if some line has been crossed?¡±


    She leaned forward.


    ¡°Is that what you are saying, Song?¡± Maryam asked.


    Part of her already knew there was no good end to this conversation. That she¡¯d already hit the reef and all that sailing forward would achieve was ramming it deeper into the hull. But she had to <em>try</em>.


    ¡°I am saying,¡± Song replied, ¡°that I am <em>concerned </em>at your decision. That you are visibly exhausted and that thest time you tried something like this it nearly killed you.¡±


    ¡°It didn¡¯t,¡± Maryam denied. ¡°I did it again down there, in the shipyard, and suffered no worse than a migraine for it. I figured it out, Song. How I can use this ce to help me.¡±


    ¡°Saturation,¡± Song echoed again. ¡°Tell me you aren¡¯t being reckless, Maryam, and I will believe you. Swear to me to you are not putting yourself at risk and-¡±


    ¡°<em>There is no safe way to wield the fucking Gloam, Song</em>,¡± the pale-skinned woman shouted. ¡°Or to do what I need to do. Just like there¡¯s no safe way to cozy up to the Yellow Earth and a king at the same time.¡±


    She let it sting, let it sink, let it pass. Hand on the chisel.


    ¡°So you will be risking your life,¡± Song said. ¡°Why? Why <em>now</em>? You could wait until we return to Tolomontera, where Captain Yue can help you.¡±


    ¡°Because I won¡¯t have another opportunity like this,¡± Maryam bit back. ¡°You don¡¯t get it, Song. It¡¯s not just finally matching my Grasp and Command, although that¡¯d be reason enough. I found a filter to put between me and the memories, one strong enough I could look for decades and not find a better one. I will not get a chance like this again.¡±


    ¡°Why do you need a filter, Maryam?¡± Song pressed. ¡°What is so urgent?¡±


    ¡°Because it could be the difference between losing two thirds and losing half,¡± Maryam said. ¡°Maybe even just a third, if I¡¯m lucky. I could try this again in Tolomontera, maybe, but the results would be overwhelmingly worse. I will never be able to keep so much the Cauldron as I can here.¡±


    ¡°The Cauldron?¡± Song pressed.


    ¡°My people¡¯s knowledge,¡± Maryam replied through gritted teeth. ¡°Centuries of it.¡±


    Song paused.


    ¡°And you would risk destroying half of it?¡± she asked, honestly taken aback.


    ¡°As opposed to the<em> nothing</em> I currently hold?¡± Maryam mocked. ¡°Even if I got only a hundredth it would still be worth it. And it won¡¯te to that, anyway. The shade has a soul, it¡¯s stable and I can make it even more stable. That will stem some of the bleeding.¡±


    ¡°So it does have a soul,¡± Song said.


    As she had glimpsed that day, when it saved her life. Maryam curtly nodded.


    ¡°Thank you for informing me,¡± she visibly forced herself to say. ¡°That knowledge made my ritual much more feasible.¡±


    ¡°It sounds,¡± Song slowly said, ¡°as if you are nning to ritually murder a soul for knowledge.¡±


    ¡°I am killing a thief to take my stolen inheritance back,¡± Maryam coldly said. ¡°What of it?¡±


    ¡°This does not sound like you,¡± Song tried. ¡°You are no pacifist, but ritual murder?¡±


    ¡°Then you don¡¯t know me at all,¡± Maryam Khaimov bit out.


    Recognizing the dead end, Song bit her tongue.


    ¡°How dangerous will it be?¡± she asked instead.


    ¡°As much as it needs to be,¡± Maryam tly replied.


    ¡°Reckless, then,¡± Song said, but there was not even a flicker of doubt in those blue eyes.


    Maryam wasn¡¯t hearing her. Maybe¡­


    ¡°Perhaps you can wait until Tristan re-¡±


    ¡°Tristan Abrascal,¡± Maryam hissed, ¡°is not my father.¡±


    Song flinched. That had been a mistake.


    ¡°Do you know how I can tell?¡± Maryam harshly said. ¡°Because I watched my father wither to death in his sickbed, Song, then watched again as the Mni swept over my home like a tide of locusts - iming they¡¯d inherited<em></em>Volcesta from him.¡±


    The signifier¡¯s fists clenched, oily darkness billowing around them.


    ¡°Thieves,¡± she said. ¡°Just like the parasite who stole Mother¡¯s gift and sent her spiraling into the worst of her madness. And I am done letting thieves liverge off the bones of my family, Song. I am <em>fucking done.</em>¡±


    Song pushed her chair, some primal instinct in the back of her head fearing the sight of the darkness dripping from Maryam¡¯s grip and staining the table.


    ¡°Tonight I trap it,¡± she said. ¡°The day after that I¡¯ll kill it, and atst some of my ghosts will beid to rest.¡±


    ¡°Are you really willing to kill yourself over this?¡± Song bit back.


    ¡°No,¡± Maryam Khaimov harshly smiled, ¡°but I am entirely willing to murder. Now get out, Song ¨C I am done humoring the moral authority of someone who can¡¯t be bothered to decide what side they¡¯re on.¡±


    She swallowed. That¡­ it would have been nothing,ing from someone else, but from Maryam? It cut deeper than she would have thought.


    ¡°Close the door behind you,¡± Maryam said, and flipped her journal back open.


    She dipped her pen into the inkwell and Song swallowed again. The dismissal stung almost as much as the words. She ambled to the door, feeling lost, but what could she do save leave? Her feet took her to her room and she sat on the chair at her own writing desk. Staring down at the two letters remaining. Fingers trembling, she unfolded the first.


    A date, a ce, a time. The Yellow Earth demanded her presence tomorrow.


    She set down the summons, breathed in, and cracked open the seal on the other. It was not long, and the hand that had written it was not yet practiced. More specifically it was not practiced in using Cathayan characters, careful but still rough calligraphy strokes addressing Song in her own native tongue.


    <em>We both have our duties, I knew that from the start. It stings, but not as much as you disappearing from my days. Meet me again just the two of us.</em> And beneath that was a line from one of her favorite poems by Lady Zong¡¯s, ¡®Farewell of Lovers¡¯. <em>To part in joy, summer¡¯s sorrow. </em>He¡¯d left the following line unwritten. <em>To part strangers, on wintry roads.</em>


    Evander would rather mourn her departure in joy than remember as a distant stranger.


    Song shakily breathed out, fingers twitching to crumple the message but immediately she regretted the impulse and almost obsessively smoothed it out. She put the paper down before she could make more of a fool of herself. Maryam had been right about one thing, at least.


    This would be easier if Song still knew what side she was on.

 Chapter 63

    Chapter 63


    Angharad went dressed in men¡¯s clothes: hose and a doublet under a long coat with a tricorn pulled down as far as she could, her hair bundled up. There was no hiding the walking stick, but being let into Lord Gule of Bezan¡¯s mansion through the servant entrance ought to keep most eyes off her.


    As the ambassador of the Kingdom of Mn the older noble had been assignedrge and luxurious quarters near the heart of the Collegium, the upper levels of the edifice a series of well-lit galleries of brass and ss that were as beautiful viewing from as viewed. Angharad, however, was not led to those salons and windows. Silent liveried servants bid her in then led her through empty kitchens and a well-stockedrder. At the end of it a heavy door needed unlocking and in the cold room beyond waited two men.


    Lord Gule of Bezan was richly butfortably dressed, in pale gray-and-orange silks with a hand on his sculpted cane ¨C a length of smooth, polished sandalwood. That stick was likely worth as much as all the clothes on her back, Angharad idly thought. Lord Gule inclined his head in greeting, ushering her through the door with a simple gesture.


    His attendant, stone-faced Jabni, was seated on a stool with a te and a stick of charcoal on hisp ¨C an indication he was here as ufudu and not a servant, for none worth the name would have sat when their master stood.


    ¡°Lady Angharad,¡± Lord Gule said, putting his hearing horn to his ear. ¡°I am pleased to see you again so soon.¡±


    ¡°And you, my lord,¡± she replied. ¡°I know we discussed meeting anew after the feast, but¡­¡±


    ¡°But you cleverly made your way in using that orphanage opening,¡± the older man praised. ¡°I take from your presence that you did find something.¡±


    ¡°The very device you sent me to look for,¡± she agreed.


    ¡°That remains to be seen,¡± Jabni said, eyes unreadable. ¡°I have questions. You will answer.¡±Angharad swallowed her distaste at theck of courtesy and curtly nodded.


    ¡°What pattern did the gilding disy?¡± the ufudu asked.


    She blinked. There had been no gilding, what did he ¨C ah. He was trying to trap her, to verify if she had truly seen an infernal forge. Insulting, but the Lefthand House lived in a world without honor.


    ¡°There was none,¡± Angharad replied. ¡°And this will be quicker if I describe the device instead of dance through your traps, so I shall.¡±


    Lord Gule covered a yawn with his hand, or perhaps a smile. She described the infernal forge as well as she could from memory, the ufudu not interrupting, but it could not be so easy at that. He still asked further questions afterwards. Three, all traps, though thisst one she might in truth have answered mistakenly had she not studied the device closely enough.


    ¡°The surface was so thickly covered with cryptoglyphs it almost seemed smooth from a distance,¡± she told the spy.


    Jabni slowly nodded, making a note on the te. He then looked down on it, breathed in slowly and wiped it clean before exhaling.


    ¡°I am satisfied,¡± the ufudu said, rising to his feet. ¡°Lord Gule, the matter is now entirely in your hands. I see no need for myself or the House to have further involvement.¡±


    The older man nodded back pleasantly, and to her surprise Jabni sketched the barest of bows when passing her on his way out of the room. Her brow rose, drawing the ambassador¡¯s eye.


    ¡°Jabni has a suspicious mind, as befitting a man of his duties, but he is not unreasonable,¡± Lord Guleughed. ¡°Infernal forges are rare and depictions of them almost as, so such a detailed description is unlikely toe from anything but your own eyes.¡±


    ¡°He did not ask where the hidden room is in the house,¡± she said.


    Lord Gule snorted.


    ¡°Beneath it, no doubt, as are most in this rat¡¯s warren of a capital,¡± he said. ¡°Besides, we are¡­¡±


    He paused, pawing at his silks and producing a golden watch whose ticking was nearly noiseless.


    ¡°Nearly runningte,¡± Lord Gule finished. ¡°He may have further questions for you, but a written ount will be enough ¨C and at a time where it will not dy us.¡±


    She cocked her head to the side.


    ¡°Dy us, my lord?¡±


    Lord Gule nced at the servant still holding the door open and the man bowed before gesturing to someone out of sight. A young girl bearing antern offered them both a curtsy before stepping into the cold room, slipping past the izinduna and walking to the back wall to pull at what turned out to be a steeltch hidden behind stacked stalks of celery. Threetches slid to the side, one after the other, and then a door popped open. A hidden door, behind whichy stairs.


    <em>Again</em>?


    ¡°Did you think I received you in the cold room to keep the hamspany?¡± the ambassador drily asked.


    Ancestors, she thought. Did every mansion in this misbegotten capital have a hidden passage of some sort? Thentern girl took the lead, gliding down the stairs as Angharad and Lord Gule followed. The older noble was in a fine mood, and a talkative one.


    ¡°Under thete Archeleans there was a craze of hidden rooms in the Collegium and the southwestern ward, which at the time was where most nobles dwelled,¡± Lord Gule told her. ¡°They fell out of favor during the Ataxia, as they became the favored tool of assassins to enter mansions.¡±


    Ah. Yes, that<em> would</em> tamp down on the enthusiasm some.


    ¡°But not this one?¡± she asked.


    ¡°It leads only to what I suspect was a room dedicated to concubinage,¡± Lord Gule said, ¡°so they never bothered. Digging a passage from there to the tunnels beneath the city took my staff several months.¡±


    No doubt more out of the need for discretion than physical difficulty, Angharad mused. The room at the bottom of the stairs was much as advertised, essentially arge bedroom though it currently stripped of any furniture. It also disyed with a gaping hole in a Tratheke brass wall, the presumed path forward.


    Through there thentern girl led them through a cramped tunnel angled slightly downwards, dug through stone and emerging into an underground passage not unlike a hallway. For five minutes they walked through the dark, until they emerged what should be¡­ west of the mansion, at a guess, but far below? Water must be close, for there was a sense of dampness to the cool here.


    Her suspicions proved correct, as at the end of the hall a smokelessmp hung over a narrow canal of dark water. An even narrower boat waited there, tied to a ring of steel nailed into the ground. It had two seats and a paddle waiting across them. Angharad¡¯s eyes strayed to a crate under themp, on which two brown hooded cloaks and two pairs of deerskin gloves were neatly folded.


    ¡°I took the liberty to prepare clothing for you as well,¡± Lord Gule informed her. ¡°Though I¡¯m afraid I will have to prevail on you to bring us to our destination.¡±


    Angharad silently inclined her head, smothering her excitement. Hoods and gloves? There were only so many reasons for Gule to seek to hide their faces and hands. The cloak was of fine make and the gloves delightfully soft. Angharad stepped onto the boat first, taking the paddle, and watched as the servant girl helped the ambassador down onto the other seat before passing him thentern and withdrawing.


    ¡°Forward,¡± Lord Gule instructed her. ¡°Ours is the easiest of all the routes, a straight line to the shrine.¡±


    There was a faint current to the water, headed the same way they were, so Angharad hardly needed to do a thing to propel them across the water. A droplet sshed on her face revealed, to her surprise, that the wet was not cold but lukewarm. Odd, given the coolness down here. The islet of light cast by thentern felt fragile, but Lord Gule¡¯s continuing volubility propped it up.


    ¡°The ceremony we are to attend takes ce every lunar month ¨C the Coral Moon, that is,¡± he specified. ¡°While the red crescent can no longer be seen from Asphodel, it was above the ind during much of the Second Empire and it is believed that in a century and a half it will begin to journey back towards Tratheke.¡±


    Angharad nodded as if she had understood. She had never heard of the Coral Moon, and the few moons she <em>was</em> familiar with were much closer to Mn. Save for the Leviathan¡¯s Tear, anyhow, which was the guiding light for sailing journeys to the westernnds if you knew how to see it - which precious few save the captains of Mn did.


    ¡°Am I to take from the hoods that initiates keep their faces hidden even from each other?¡± she asked.


    ¡°To some degree,¡± Lord Gule replied. ¡°The most prominent among the cult have long been guessed at, including myself, and to lead or openly participate in the ceremony one must reveal their face. The small nobles and officials clutch their secrets, but it is difficult to rise to prominence without ceding some hints.¡±


    ¡°So there are ranks,¡± Angharad probed. ¡°Means to rise.¡±


    ¡°Not yet initiated and already so ambitious,¡± the ambassador teased, but he sounded pleased.


    Angharad dipped her head, feigning abashment, but he only chuckled.


    ¡°Most of the society are mere pawns,¡± Lord Gule said, ¡°and know nothing of the mysteries save a few signs to recognize each other and the promise of power toe. Your attendance to the ceremony will make of you an initiate, one who glimpsed the powers wielded but works under a head of the cult.¡±


    A pause.


    ¡°I am one such head, and you will naturally be employed at my discretion.¡±


    She did not hide her surprise.


    ¡°You stand high in the ranks.¡±


    ¡°Not so high as you think,¡± Lord Gule warned her. ¡°The five heads hold great sway, but ours is a power earthly. We have authority because of means and influence, because we are needed for the advancement of the society¡¯s schemes. That is, I fear, temporary authority. The true power lies with the priesthood, the officiants of the spirit, and their master who founded the cult and still leads it.¡±


    Angharad hid her thrill. Atst, progress! Learning the identity of that master as well as that of the mentioned five heads should see the Thirteenth¡¯s contract to the throne discharged. There was finally a clear path out of the mire.


    ¡°He is known as the lesiast,¡± the ambassador added, perhaps anticipating the question. ¡°I met him only once and do not know his true name, for pains were taken to hide his identity.¡±


    Even a title, now. <em>The lesiast</em>. She almost rolled her eyes at the pretentiousness.


    ¡°Will he be in attendance?¡± Angharad asked.


    ¡°Such rites are beneath him,¡± Lord Gule scoffed. ¡°His acolytes attend in his stead, priests one and all ¨C though their priesthood is by virtue of the spirit¡¯s favor and not genuine virtue. None I have seen would be fit to serve the Sleeping God.¡±


    Though she did not turn, Angharad could feel the weight of his eyes on her back.


    ¡°I expect you will recognize some of those attending and perhaps be recognized by them in turn, despite our precautions,¡± the izinduna said. ¡°Discretion will be paramount in this matter.¡±


    She nodded silently.


    ¡°Good,¡± Lord Gule muttered. ¡°We are nearly there, so mind your hood.¡±


    Angharad saw nothing that separated the dark stretch of canal she was guiding them through from any other, but there must have been some mark for the older man proved right: the canal abruptly ended, leading into some kind ofrge underground reservoir. At its heart was an ind, as if a cluster of basalt had grown out of the water like a mushroom, and atop that rocky shore stood a worn shrine.


    It had neither doors nor walls, steps roughly hewn into the basalt leading up to driftwood columns holding up arge, thick square roof that seemed made up entirely of broken wood. Masts, oars and spears, shattered prows and painted idols. Dull, warmmps were strewn all over the shore and inside the shrine. They cast the shadows of the small boats moored by the dozen and of the quiet assembly standing within the shrine. At least three dozen were there, in hooded cloaks ranging from vivid red to a gray so dark it came close to infringing on the rights of the Watch regarding ck cloaks.


    Angharad guided her boat to one of the empty stretches on the shore, wincing as she got onto the stone with uncertain legs. She was passed her walking stick by Lord Gule and leaned on it long enough to tie the boat to a thick figurehead of bronze and help the older noble onto the shore. They werete in theing, she saw, but not thest: there were two more boats out in the water, torchlight heralding their approach.


    As Lord Gule began the walk to the shrine, she lingered a moment to take a sniff of the air. Frowning she knelt by the shore, angling herself to hide her hand within her cloak while she took off a glove and dipped a finger in the water before bringing to her nose. It truly was salt water; she was not going mad. Was this ce somehow connected to the Trebian Sea? She <em>had </em>been wondering where all the water of the Tratheke canals came from, given that no river fed the city.


    Angharad put the glove back on and pushed herself up. Her eyes went to the driftwood shrine, and she wondered if there might not be another exnation for the waters here turning from fresh to salt. Powerful spirits, the elders of their kind, could change the world around them merely by being. <em>The Golden Ram does not have such power</em>, she thought. <em>It did not even at its height. So who is it that rules here?</em>


    She followed behind Lord Gule, standing in his shadow as a retainer would, but under the hood her gaze swept the ce. It was only a moment before she entered the shrine that she noticed it ¨C a bit of pale in the roof of broken wood, easily mistaken for one of the painted idols.


    A skull. A human skull, and now that she knew what to look for she saw others. Scattered bones among ruined wood, at least several men¡¯s worth. She shivered and forced herself to follow Lord Gule without further dy, for already some hooded faces had turned her way. She came to stand by the izinduna¡¯s side, among a line of quietly murmuring figures all facing the heart of the shrine: a polished stone floor, at the heart of which forged chains held down a single prisoner.


    And that prisoner was not a man.


    The Golden Ram, for what else could this be, was aptly named: a great horned sheep with a golden mane, twice the size of a warhorse. But though the sight of that spirit out in the wilds would have been a fearsome thing, down here in the ancient shrine it was¡­ Sad, almost. It was bound in chains of forged silver and deep glinting spikes were driven deep into its sides, but Angharad could see it had been sick even before that.


    The spirit was malformed, with a leg that ended in a stump and another shriveled like a twig. Its coat had the luster of gold, but rivulets of rust-like ichor dripped down from its wounds and peeled away both coat and skin with them. Itsrge, curved horns were fully formed but a wound had clipped one and broken it, showing they were hollow inside. Like empty shells.


    The Golden Ram barely breathed; its eyes closed as ity on the stone floor marked with a mess of ovepping circles that all surrounded it. Boundaries, she remembered from her Theology ss. They would not stop it walking it out, were it healthy, but they would muddle and diffuse its power.


    ¡°It is no pretty sight, I will grant,¡± Lord Gule murmured, leaning her way.


    ¡°I have never before seen a spirit so misshapen,¡± Angharad replied as quietly. ¡°Is it¡­ healthy?¡±


    She got an incredulous look from the ambassador and coughed into her fist.


    ¡°Beyond the obvious wounds,¡± she borated.


    ¡°Ah,¡± Lord Gule said. ¡°Well caught. The spirit did note to be in a proper way, I am told. Our fellows caught it as a middling thing, granting small boons and barebones contracts, and used the properties of the local aether to force it to manifest physically.¡±


    <em>They made cattle to bleed</em>, Angharad thought, keeping her disgust off her face even under the hood. It was one thing for a Redeemer like Lord Gule to be indifferent at the sight before him, but that was not the faith she kept to. Evil done onto spirits was still evil, for all that their nature was not that of men.


    ¡°The society keeps to a greater patron,¡± she probed.


    Lord Gule smiled approvingly.


    ¡°You will see soon enough,¡± he whispered back. ¡°The taste of health we gave you is the least of it.¡±


    He then gestured for silence, however, as thest attending had arrived. Thest three figures hurried up the stairs under the silent disapproving stares of most everyone else, their bodynguage embarrassed even under the cloaks. It appeared that even in murderous spirit cults punctuality was expected, Angharad amusedly thought. With thest finding a ce in one of the rows facing the inside of the shrine, a hush fell over the assembly and even whispers died out.


    The line of becloaked cultists in the back of the shrine parted to allow through another figure, one that did not hide her face and had Angharad stiffening in surprise. While the usual ttering dress and stylings had been traded for a simple cloth robe and sculpted bronze bracelets, there was no mistaking that face and figure.


    ¡°You who stand in the hall of the Odyssean,¡± Lady Doukas spoke in a resonant voice, ¡°<em>kneel</em>.¡±


    It took a heartbeat for Angharad to adjust to the sight of the flirtatiousdy Tristan had caught having a tryst in a closet during a banquet with the solemn priestess now standing before her. Long enough that Lord Gule tugged at her cloak and she hastily knelt by his side, leaning on her cane. Only when all had knelt did Lady Doukas speak again.


    ¡°The Cunning King receives your submission,¡± she announced. ¡°All may rise.¡±


    Angharad swallowed a grunt of pain as she did, having leant on her knees a little too much today. Still, there was no helping it. She had already learned much and the ceremony had yet to even begin. Sleeping God, Lady Doukas? The noblewoman had been one of the suspects on the original list, it was true, but Angharad had all but dismissed her. The admittedly handsome older woman seemed a lot more interested in bedding young men than anything conspirational.


    The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Less so now, simply dressed but with a dim sense of power rolling off her in waves. It caught the eye almost like a naked me, beckoning and searing all at once.


    ¡°We gather here beneath the lights of Tratheke to remember the original truth of Asphodel,¡± Lady Doukas said. ¡°That which was forged in death can only through death be preserved.¡±


    <em>Only through death</em>, around half the assembly echoed. Lord Gule did not, the way he stood beneath his cloak hinting at a certain distaste for the ritual. A Redeemer like him, Angharad thought, would find this entire affair to smack a little too much of religion. Spirits could be bargained with, but they should never be worshipped. In this, they shared opinion.


    ¡°There are none in thisnd who can resist the might of the Odyssean,¡± the priestess, for that was what she must be, told the assembly. ¡°Behold before you the Golden Ram, a god chained and bled. Behold now the de of the Cunning King, and how it carves even the divine.¡±


    Lady Doukas gestured at cultists behind her and a pair carried forward a cushion on which rested the aforementioned de. Angharad had expected a cuss, the kind of pirate lord the likes of which Odyssean had been in life might wield, but instead what was brought into the light ofmps was a sickle. Bronze, with a dull handle but a gleaming curved de.


    She frowned. Since when was the sickle a symbol of the Odyssean? Much less one without any ornaments. Maryam had spoken gemstone eyes and the ancient spirit¡¯s hoard of treasures, but never of such a in de.


    ¡°Let the daring step forward,¡± Lady Doukas called out, ¡°and wield their ambition as a de. Let the worthye into the gaze of the Odyssean. Who will answer the call?¡±


    There was heartbeat of hesitation, then a silhouette stepped out of the row to Angharad¡¯s left. Another two had begun to move, but just a breath toote. The figure in a roughspun cloak of wool took two steps towards the smiling priestess, whose smile broadened when the man pulled back his hood and revealed his face to the entire assembly. Angharad breathed in sharply.


    ¡°I will,¡± Lord Cleon Eirenos replied.


    Her heart clenched. She had hoped, even knowing now that his contracted patron was the spirit worshipped by the cult, that he would not be part of this. But the chance had always been slight.


    ¡°Honored be Cleon Eirenos,¡± Lady Doukas said, smiling in something like triumph. ¡°He who stands young among you, but long in the care of the Cunning King. Never before has he asked favor, only giving faithful service.¡±


    <em>Honored be</em>, the crowd sang back. The hooded attendant stepped up to Lord Cleon, offering up the sickle, and the young lord deftly took up the de from the cushion. Cleon Eirenos was a huntsman, Angharad knew, and skilled with a de. She did not believe him a cruel man by nature and when he moved it was with care and precision.


    It still left an ugly taste in the mouth watching him cut into the helpless spirit¡¯s side.


    The Golden Ram¡¯s flesh parted without resistance and the sickle¡¯s de came away red. After Cleon drew away Lady Doukas knelt by the bound spirit with a wooden cup and captured the fat, rusty droplets that bled. The Ram never even stirred. The priestess then raised the cup for all to see, smiling ecstatically.


    ¡°Cleon Eirenos cut a god for his ambition,¡± Lady Doukas said, ¡°and the god bled. Name now the price of the ichor, honored Cleon.¡±


    The young lord¡¯s face hardened.


    ¡°The life of Theofania Varochas, of the Meda¡¯s Rock Varochas,¡± he coldly said. ¡°I grant my share to the Odyssean, that he may share this death with me.¡±


    Angharad tensed, for in the moment that followed wind billowed sharply across the temple. Lamps flickered, and on the air was the faint sound of screams and shing arms. Only instead of the clean, burning scent of salt Angharad caught something like¡­ rot? A sickly-sweet reek, and also a whiff of the smell of wet earth. She had to keep her hood in ce with a gloved hand, and when she could spare attention again she saw that the sickle in Cleon¡¯s hand was now bare of red and half the ichor in the cup was gone.


    ¡°The price was epted,¡± Lady Doukas announced. ¡°Death will find your enemy.¡±


    The crowd exhaled, Angharad among them, and Cleon set the sickle back down on the cushion. He kept his hood down, as if disdainful of secrecy, and returned to the side. Lady Doukasunched into a sermon exalting the might and virtues of the Odyssean, but Angharad felt too sick in the stomach to listen<em>. Never before had he asked favor</em>, Lady Doukas had imed.


    Was this on her head? This ceremony appeared to be some kind of¡­ death ritual, sacrificing ichor to the Odyssean to buy the death of one¡¯s enemies in what could not be called anything but a form of murder. Yet Cleon, who must have known of this for years, had never before made such a sacrifice. Was it because of the humiliation Angharad had allowed to be inflicted on herself at the Eirenos manor?


    She had known he felt trapped by his unwanted suitor, by the way the neighboring nobles were hemming him in, but to ask for that girl¡¯s head was¡­ She had attacked him first, Angharad reminded herself. Not by wielding a de at him, but it was no less an attack to chase away all his potential matches and try to impose herself as a wife. It had all begun long before any Tredegar knew this isle, years ago.


    And yet she could not shake the feeling it was her deception under his roof that had led him to this¡­ threshold of decision. This mistake. <em>Dishonor bringing only further dishonor.</em>


    But Angharad had her duty, and wallowing in guilt was not it. She must try to find if any of the other heads were in attendance, or even other priests with bare faces. She eyed the crowd carefully as Lady Doukas continued exhorting them, finding that while there were some matching cloaks like hers and Lord Gule¡¯s none of the silhouettes under them stood out recognizably.


    She could guess at gender from height and shoulder width, but only that. Perhaps someone who better knew the grandees of the court might be able to, but how might they¡­ Angharad breathed in sharply, and sunk into her contract. She did not stay long in the vision, just long enough to take a long look at the crowd around her.


    It would be enough to fix the sight perfectly in her memory.


    There was a shiver of cold on the nape of her neck when she let the contractpse, almost like the Fisher wasughing against the skin. An unsettling thought, and she was d to that Lady Doukas¡¯ sermon did not go on much longer ¨Cwhat followed demanded her full attention, stopping her from thinking too much about what that distant satisfaction that echoed truly meant.


    ¡°Only the chosen may stand in this holy ce,¡± Lady Doukas reminded the crowd with a smile. ¡°The most beloved and trusted hands of the Odyssean, those who will rule when the hour of our triumphes.¡±


    The smile widened.


    ¡°And that hour,¡± she purred, ¡°has grown near.¡±


    A breathless, excited shiver ran through the assembly. Even Angharad, who was here to see these traitors pped in chains, felt a strange joy rise in her. A feeling like when the de cut into flesh at the perfect angle, like¡­ leaping into the dark andnding on solid ground. The reservoir had been still as a grave before, but now there was a faint breeze and she thought she heard wavespping at the shore of the ind. <em>The spirit is here</em>, she thought with dread. <em>Or at least its attention</em>.


    ¡°Our brethren in the rector¡¯s pce have sent word,¡± Lady Doukas said. ¡°Atst our agents are in ce: the throne is in the palm of our hand, and as soon as our soldiers are mustered it will be time to <em>close our fist</em>.¡±


    Excited murmurs spread while Angharad¡¯s stomach clenched. How long before the coup - hours, days?


    ¡°The lesiast has spoken,¡± the priestess said. ¡°On the night of the thirteenth, as night falls, we will take our rightful ce atop Asphodel.¡±


    The thirteenth of the month. Angharad counted up the days ¨C they were currently the eighth. Five days. There were five days left before the fuse hit powder, before the knives came out.


    Five days to get the infernal forge out of the city and put her affairs in order.


    --


    Maryam proved her theory within three minutes of walking into the private archives.


    It wasn¡¯t all that difficult to test aether sticity when you knew how, which she did. It was only a matter of tricking yourself into feeling something while you felt out your own emanations with your nav, and she was feeling nervous enough she didn¡¯t have to do any tricking. She¡¯d been right: this ce had to be the cork on the Hate One¡¯s prison.


    She¡¯d not noticed when tracing a Sign here the first time because the local aether was so solid and stable it didn¡¯t feel all that different from the barren emptiness of the rest of the pce until you looked closely. There was no give here at all ¨C the amount of faith in Oduromai permeating the ind of Asphodel made the cork so frightfully dense it felt like it wasn¡¯t even there until you pushed against it. Maryam watched thest of the archivists leave down the lift, the lights below go out, and took a deep breath.


    Three minutes, that was all it¡¯d taken until she had the answers she had told the Lord Rector she muste here to find out. The answer to Song¡¯s t question of how much this visit was about her desires and how much about her duty was left ufortable bare and in the open, like a dead fish on the shore. Maryam wrestled the thought down. She would take no lecture from Song Ren in this, considering the mess the other woman had in her hands. It was time to set the distractions aside and do what she had trulye here for.


    It would be easier in the dark.


    Captain Totec had exined it as an effect of observational solipsism, a reduction of the metaphysical impurities that came from the Material being observed by a lucent mind. It was a provable conclusion, measured and recorded and stripped clean of anything the Navigators deemed to smell of mysticism. The Akrre wanted no uncertainty in their Signs or the principles guiding them.


    Practitioners of the Craft spoke instead of sympathy, about the thinning of thresholds between world and Nav and how the soul-effigy became eminent by straddling<em> is</em> and <em>could-be</em>. It was an intuitive answer, meant to guide the mind along thought-paths that reinforced themselves. A craft of words to make craftsmen of those who heard it.


    Maryam preferred to think of it as emptying herself.


    To wield the Gloam was an act of will, whether that will was used to trace the resonant solidity of the Signs or to sculpt intention into act as the Craft did, but ¡®will¡¯ was not an absolute. It was a finite resource. Humans were animals, embers of divinity trapped inside beasts, and the beast weighed it all down. Will could not be made greater save by time and training, but the beast could be lulled into sleep. Drowned in the dark, where its savage instincts could not drag down the practitioner.


    Darkness and silence let you empty yourself of everything but you, until there was nothing but yourself and the Gloam. And so Maryam Khaimov sat alone in the dark, eyes closed, at the heart of the private archives.


    She sat neither high nor low, above the earth but beneath firmament, utter silence and the absence of light turning her body into a ship sailing a dark sea. Hours passed until a heartbeat was an eternity and the turn of an era but a single breath, the creeping teeth of the Gloam eating away at time until it was more nothing than not. She could no longer hear her own breath. Her limbs were numb and her awareness was a keel parting ck waters, a smooth cut that left no trace behind it.


    Her lungs exhaled, her lips blind to the passing of the breath, and Maryam traced a word with her nav. A Sign, consecrated sybles carved out from the death rattle of existence: <strong>OIDE</strong>


    Imperial deration of knowledge,plete and self-contained. Autarchic. That thought-path was meant to be looped, invoked at the begin and the end ¨C knows she, she knows ¨C but Maryam Khaimov was an empty vessel. She did not wield herself under the cannibal crown but made herself into the dark sea. Slick like oil, perfect and still. Reflecting the hidden thing facing her. Maryam dered that she knew, and so she did, for she was the mirror to secrets thought lost.


    And as a mirror she reflected everything that the Cauldron was, thus knowing it fully for a single terrible moment.


    She saw the harrowing disorder of it, ages of secrets and cheats and glorious lies thrown haphazardly into the confines with no thought to use or deservedness. Blood-drenched vitions dripping onto the most mundane of crafts, terrified howls woven into braids with theughter of children and tricks to dy sleep. There was <em>so much</em>, and all of it made sense but not in the same ways or with the same words, and it was all jumbled and jagged. A hand reaching within would be torn to shreds.


    Then the moment passed and Maryam Khaimov fell forward onto her knees, loudly throwing up on the wooden roof. She could not see in the darkness, but somehow she knew the bile was ck and would turn into shadowy vapor. Her ragged breath tore at her lungs, her very soul aching at the terrible magnitude of what she had mirrored ¨C not even held, not even owned, merely <em>mirrored</em>! ¨C for an instant. Her forehead dripped with sweat, feverish, but this was not mania. There was no joy in this, no heedless energy. Maryam was a rag wrung dry, not a pitcher filled to the brim.


    ¡°They raise them from birth to hold the Cauldron, you know? Mother cut corners. So very many of them, near the end.¡±


    And there was the scavengere to haunt her. As expected. Inevitable, really. All living things were beholden to the tyranny of their own nature, even a parasite such as this. Maryam pushed herself back onto her ass, the wood under her fingers slick from her own bile. The shade was seated by her, legs folded, like a friend holding herpany. Maryam could not see in the dark but she knew that much with utter certainty.


    ¡°We already knew that,¡± Maryam rasped. ¡°She told me the risks, that it might shatter parts of me.¡±


    The Cauldron was not a thing lightly borne, but borne it must be: it could be bound to the skull of thest Keeper of Hooks for only so long before it began to fade. And it was useless without a Keeper, anyway, mostly indecipherable. Maryam had thought that because of the grand eldritchness of the secrets held within, the lightless depth of the whispers, but now she knew better.


    It was because without a Keeper¡¯s mind to organize the Cauldron the entire thing was just howling, senseless cacophony of screams.


    A hiss, someone pulling away. Maryam opened her eyes in the dark, beholding light. Ate autumn day in the burnt husk of an ancient forest, raised stones cracked by heat with their painted faces streaked in ash. A pit that fled deep into the belly of the earth, belching out a warm breath tasting of sulfur. And a young Maryam Khaimov, cradling her bleeding arm as her mother frowned down at her with a long silver needle in hand.


    ¡°Steady, <em>meda</em>,¡± Izolda Cernik chided. ¡°Your will must not wane, no matter whates.¡±


    ¡°It won¡¯t,¡± the young Maryam swore.


    The fear behind the words was obvious now, looking at the child. Maryam wondered if it had been as obvious to her mother as it was to her.


    ¡°It didn¡¯t,¡± the shade said.


    ¡°Of course it did,¡± Maryam said, mouth tasting vile. ¡°I was too afraid to lose myself, it prevented the joining.¡±


    ¡°Did it?¡± the shade asked. ¡°We have the Cauldron. It was passed.¡±


    ¡°You stole the Cauldron,¡± Maryam bit out. ¡°Stole it, you <em>thing</em>. That is not passing anything.¡±


    Izolda Cernik wiped the bloody needle against the pad of her thumb, smiling as she traced a red streak across the bridge of the young Maryam¡¯s nose, and it was like a convulsion. Seeing Mother like that again, blue eyes smiling along with the rest of her. She was not a handsome woman, Izolda Cernik, with mousy brown hair and a face that looked it had been carved by a journeyman. She had all the curves of a dead branch and teeth just a little toorge to miss how they were yellowing. But when she loved you, when it came to the fore of her, it was like basking in the re itself.


    Gods, Maryam thought, tears picking at her eyes.


    Then Izolda Cernik batted at the air near her ear, as if chasing off a horse fly that did not exist. She looked out into nothing, frowning, then snarled at the empty air.


    ¡°Silence,¡± she shouted. ¡°<em>My </em>daughter, <em>mine</em>. Be silent or I will wring your necks.¡±


    A different fear flickered across the young Maryam¡¯s face. That child had only been far enough down her journey to hear even the barest hints of the souls bound to her mother, back then. Maryam wondered if she had now grown enough she would be able to hear the words, to truly <em>know</em> that Mother had not truly turned into a violent madwoman who screamed at empty air and lost herself in thought for hours at a time.


    ¡°Mother,¡± the young Maryam whispered, tugging at her sleeve. ¡°I¡¯m ready.¡±


    Izolda turned, face serious.


    ¡°Of course you are, <em>meda</em>,¡± she said. ¡°You will not let me down.¡±


    ¡°I do not want to watch this,¡± Maryam quietly said, stomach clenching.


    To watch herself fail again.


    ¡°Then why are you wake-dreaming it?¡± the shade asked. ¡°My hand does not guide our nav.¡±


    She had no answer to that. The preparations had taken so long, in her memory, but Maryam watched the ghostly scene pass in mere seconds. Watched as Gloam slunk out of her mother like a living thing, the gargantuan limb of a leshy reaching into the depths of the pit and plucking out the skull of thest Keeper of Hooks like a delicate flower.


    ¡°Look into her eyes when she gives it to you,¡± the shade said. ¡°Watch, Maryam, and you will see hunger. I will never mistake that, when so much of me is made from the same.¡±


    ¡°She needed me,¡± Maryam bit out. ¡°She prepared me as best she could, kept me from taking the oath to Mother Winter. I was supposed to <em>seed </em>her.¡±


    There was no good end to being wintersworn. It was not a gant or beautiful thing, a daring deed worthy of telling. It was fear and spite and hatred that had seen the hundreds by the river swear their death to the cause, their wriggling soulsmitted to the hide-bag of Mother Winter so that their deaths could be turned into a curse. A ck thing that the dreadmost goddess would drown the invaders in should they fail.


    Curse them and their children and their children¡¯s children, forever until thest of those ursed lines had ended or thest of the sworn soulsy spent.


    Maryam had been held back that day by the river, forbidden from taking the oath, because already Mother had meant her for the Cauldron. To inherit the sum of the Craft and bring about the spring in the wake of a great winter as the Keeper of Hooks. To renew the Izvoric, be the sprouts in the ashen grounds. She watched as her mother punctured her cheeks with needles, as gently as she could, and red trailed down.


    Watched as Izolda Cernik bit her own thumb and¡­ traced it on her own right eyebrow? Then did the same to young Maryam¡¯s left. There was still enough of the mirroring left in Maryam to know that was wrong. That it added another headwater to the river trying to break the dam, made everything more fragile.


    ¡°Did she get it wrong?¡± she said.


    ¡°She had bound to her the souls of all the remainder of the Ninefold Nine,¡± the shade said. ¡°Izolda Cernik might have been raving mad, but she did not make mistakes in matters of Craft. Not even there, at the end.¡±


    ¡°But she made the shape of the joining more fragile,¡± Maryam whispered. ¡°And she didn¡¯t know about you.¡±


    ¡°<em>I</em> did not even know about me, back then,¡± the shade said. ¡°How could she?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s how it went wrong,¡± Maryam said as she watched her mother press a bone-white skull against the young Maryam¡¯s forehead, chanting words of power. ¡°That¡¯s how you ended up getting the Cauldron. I was afraid and it was fragile and <em>you were there</em>.¡±


    She was almost grateful when the dream died with thest of her sentence. Spared the sight of her failure, Mother¡¯s disbelief slowly turning into fear and then a dozen different thoughts as the other souls bled into her. The screaming as she tore up the sacred stones, shrieking in grief at what had been lost. Instead Maryam was sitting before a candle, and though her mind knew she was alone and in the dark on the other side of that false candlelight sat the shade.


    It was wearing the same colorful robes Mother had that day, hair held back by a headband of thick colored beads. Still putting on a face that could have been a sister or a cousin.


    ¡°It was an ident,¡± Maryam finally said. ¡°You didn¡¯t mean to take it.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t <em>mean</em> to do anything,¡± the shade hissed. ¡°I was dreaming, unknowing, until you brought me to an aether well. And even then all I could do was what you threw away.¡±


    Maryam swallowed, slowly stitching the details together.


    ¡°You tried to break the gift Angharad received from her uncle,¡± she said.


    ¡°How you hated it, that someone loved her enough for that when she did not deserve it,¡± the shade said, grinning toothily.


    A thought she had pushed down, decided was unworthy of her. A dark impulse. The shade had first been seen at the chapterhouse when she had wanted to go but decided she was too exhausted, then seen out at night when she had been curious about the forbidden parts of Azei but forced herself to set that curiosity aside. And when the shade had saved Song¡­


    ¡°You told yourself it was fine to leave her with Professor Kang,¡± the thing facing herpleted. ¡°But you didn¡¯t think that, not really. You were afraid for her, wanted to check on her. And I cared for her then, because you were angry enough that you didn¡¯t let yourself feel it.¡±


    ¡°But out here you do what you want,¡± Maryam said, ¡°because the aether currents on Asphodel are unstable. They swelled you like they do the local gods. Made you more.¡±


    ¡°I was always more,¡± the shade replied. ¡°You know that now. You felt it thest time you ate from me.¡±


    The fear she had felt in the aether, the emanation that had note from Maryam Khaimov and could thus only havee from the shade. Only a mere shade would not have been able to emanate that way. She was looking at a living thing. One, Song had forced her to admit, that she intended to murder to take back the Cauldron. Or at least some of it.


    ¡°You think that changes anything, that you live?¡± Maryam asked.


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°Piglets live too, and they are jolly little fellows,¡± the signifier said. ¡°I still love a good cut of pork.¡±


    ¡°See?¡± the shade smiled. ¡°You have to make me less, for it to be ptable. An animal.¡±


    ¡°Because that¡¯s what you are,¡± Maryam hissed. ¡°The ram I need to sacrifice on an altar to get the Cauldron back. To finish what Mother meant for me.¡±


    ¡°You know better than that too,¡± the shade said. ¡°You saw it, how tangled up the knowledge is. If you keep taking bites out like you have you will make it even messier and the whole thinges apart. Muddles itself irreparably. You can take what, a tenth? Then it bes babbling.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Maryam said. ¡°I believe I¡¯ll take half.¡±


    The shade grew angry.


    ¡°You can¡¯t-¡±


    ¡°You are part of the weakness,¡± Maryam told her. ¡°Not a fit container, more than a skull but less than a woman. You are¡­ too pliable, a waterskin that will rip when I drink too deep of it. But I can change that.¡±


    She clenched her fingers. All this time, she had been so careful. Avoided what she was about to do, been so wary of doing it by ident. All that so she could now do it on purpose. As always the gods owned thestugh.


    ¡°You called yourself a princess of Volcesta,¡± Maryam said. ¡°I deny you this.¡±


    ¡°That is not your right,¡± the shade hissed.


    ¡°You called yourself the first andst of the Ninefold Nine,¡± Maryam said. ¡°I deny you this.¡±


    ¡°Then who, <em>you</em>?¡± the shade mocked.


    ¡°You called yourself the Keeper of Hooks,¡± Maryam said, ¡°and it is untrue but there is a bone of truth to the im. You keep nothing, you are no steward of wisdom. But the knowledge<em> is</em> there inside you.¡±


    She grinned sharply.


    ¡°I name you Hooks,¡± Maryam Khaimov damned her. ¡°For that is what you are, the tyranny youbor under: to bite and be dragged but never be, tearing that which moves you.¡±


    The creature shivered, firmed. Became something <em>more</em>.


    ¡°What did you do?¡± Hooks hoarsely asked.


    ¡°I made you into a person,¡± Maryam said. ¡°And now that you are one, <em>you can be my enemy</em>.¡±


    She rose to her feet.


    ¡°Grow your shell,¡± Maryam said. ¡°Sharpen your bite and your tricks and your fear, Hooks, for I will return to this ce when I am ready.¡±


    Gloam boiled around her fingers, eager and ready. The stronger the shade became, the firmer its personhood, the more Maryam would be able to take from the Cauldron before it broke. And half¡­ half was a tragedy, but it was still half more than she held in her hands today. The wintersworn had failed, in the end. The curse stillborn, Mother Winter in by swordmasters.


    Even with a mere half a victory scraped together, Maryam would still being out ahead of the rest of her kind. It would be enough, it <em>was </em>enough. It had to be, for what else was there? Leaving the Cauldron in Hooks forever, letting it devour her nav and condemn herself to being less until the end of her days? No, Maryam would not let herself be mediocre. She would not let herself fall behind, she would not let the Mni ruin her again from all the way across the sea.


    ¡°I will return and crack you open like a skull,¡± she lovingly said. ¡°Drinking as much if my inheritance as I can before putting an end to you atst.¡±


    ¡°It would be murder,¡± Hooks told her, appalled. ¡°You<em> made</em> this into murder by your own hand.¡±


    Her fingers clenched until the knuckles ached. It didn¡¯t mean anything, that Song had said the same thing. Of course her enemy would grasp at straws.


    ¡°Aye,¡± Maryam Khaimov agreed, ¡°it will be murder.¡±


    Like curls of blood in the water, she felt Hook¡¯s plumes of fear spread in the aether.


    ¡°And this time, I will be right end of the knife.¡±

 Chapter 64

    Chapter 64


    On the second day of his captivity, Tristan woke to the sensation of someone briskly jabbing him in the ribs. He startled awake, eyes stinging, and found a dark-haired woman in a padded brown surcoat staring down at him. The butt of her spear was raised but a few inches above his ribs, ready to strike. Marce again, joy.


    ¡°What do you want?¡± he groaned out.


    "Good morning, Ferrando,¡± the mercenary brightly said. ¡°Smile, I have good news.¡±


    ¡°You are getting transferred to the opposite end of Asphodel and we will never meet again,¡± he suggested.


    ¡°Now you¡¯re hurting my feelings,¡± Marceined, cocking an eyebrow. ¡°Perhaps I will have to remain silent after all.¡±


    Besides him Fortuna, sprawled on the dirty floor as if it were the most decadent of sofas, let out a long yawn. Purely for effect, considering she did not sleep or tire.


    ¡°Do not be a brute, Tristan,¡± she chided. ¡°Apologize to this lovelydy whose propensity for bothering you has been making this whole imprisonment business marginally less boring for me.¡±


    s, flipping off the Lady of Long Odds the finger could not go unnoticed. He¡¯d take petty revengeter by ying cards and calling at the first opportunity every single time, which drove her crazy. It ¡®left no ce for chance¡¯, which was apparently the metaphysical equivalent of spitting in her soup. Marce¡¯s gaze, though, he met head on.


    ¡°Oh merciful goddess, forgive me my trespass,¡± Tristan said in his ttest, most lifeless tone. ¡°I was only struck dumb by your magnificence, knowing not the words tumbling out of my mouth.¡±Marce stroked her chin a moment, as if assessing his groveling, then nodded in approval.


    ¡°That will do,¡± she said. ¡°And buckle up, Kassa boy, you got your wish: the Tianxi need helping hands. You¡¯ve half an hour to be at thedder ready for work.¡±


    ¡°Noted,¡± he replied, sitting all the way up, then cocked an eyebrow. ¡°Was the spear in the ribs really necessary?¡±


    Marce smirked.


    ¡°No, but it¡¯s been a boring shift,¡± the mercenary said. ¡°Have to get my entertainment where I can, unless you¡¯ve alternatives to offer.¡±


    He gestured rudely at her, which sheughed off while sauntering away. The Trade Assembly¡¯s hired soldiers were keeping them all prisoner, beneath the paper-thin pretense of this being a ¡®training camp¡¯, but as far as captors went these were a cordial lot ¨C likely owing to the fact that the hostages would be fighting at their side during the rising. The prisoners only earned the back of the hand if they made loud trouble or tried toe near the stairs, otherwise the soldiers in brown surcoats left them to their own devices.


    Unless they took to you in a different way, which he was not so blind as not to notice Marce had to him. Her advances were currently limited to petty bothers and verbal hair-pulling, so Tristan had chosen to pretend ignorance. Less risky than turning her down when he knew so little of her character.


    Rolling his shoulder, the thief took a quick look around. It was difficult to tell the time in here, though it was probably early in the morning ¨C earlier than seven, since themotion hadn¡¯t happened yet. No one could sleep through <em>that</em>. Most of the hostages were still asleep, snoring away in their ratty cots, and the fewmps hanging from the ceiling cast weak, flickering light. Low on oil. <em>It ister than I thought, then</em>.


    He missed Vanesa¡¯s watch, the cold certainty it represented, but there would have been no good exnation for the likes of ¡®Ferrando¡¯ to own such a costly piece. Besides, someone might well have robbed it off him by now.


    The mercenaries might be holding off on that sort of thing, but no one was protecting the hostages from each other and Tristan knew better than most what happened when rats were left alone in a box for too long.


    And this prison was very much a box. Whatever the Antediluvians had built this ce for was now a mystery, as time and men had wrecked the structure but what remained was straightforward enough: arge square stone warehouse with a low ceiling, its walls windowless and the gates to adjoining rooms bricked in long enough ago said bricks were crumbling in ces. Two sets of stairs nestled against the walls led to a second level, mirroring each other on opposite sides.


    Those stairs and the doors atop them were guarded by rotations of the mercenaries in brown surcoats and the asional Trade Assembly guards, but there <em>was</em> another way out of the warehouse: the massive span of copsed floor in the middle of the warehouse.


    Something or someone had shattered the stone, about a third of the warehouse floor turned into a ragged hole rimmed by copsed masonry and the asional jutting rod of brass. The break was a little to the left of the room, so the right side of the warehouse floor was where most cots had beenid down. Even where the hole came closest to the wall there was a solid ten feet or so of room, though.


    Still, fear of rolling over the edge in one¡¯s sleep had about two thirds of the hostages bunking on the right side of the room. That side also happened to hold most of the barrels of water meant for drinking or washing as well as the two rickety tables hostages were meant to eat sitting at ¨C in turns, as there were about a hundred and twenty captives while the tables sat barely thirty.


    The left side of the warehouse had thus been assigned half a dozen chamber pots, some of which were even hidden behind a cloth curtain. Tristan had bunked down in the lower-right corner along with the other Kassa worker taken hostage ¨C Damon, the warehouse man ¨C mostly because sticking to the man was the best way not to be pped around into bing someone¡¯s minion. Besides, his bedding was close to a stretch of floor that people liked to use for gambling.


    He''d overheard quite a bit while pretending to sleep, though nearly everything petty gossip.


    Leaning over, Tristan shook the man sleeping besides him awake. Damon of Tratheke was a tall and weedy sort who looked like he shouldn¡¯t havested an hour doing back-breaking work in the warehouse of the Kassa family, much less the decade he had worked there. There was a sly strength to him, and surprising endurance.


    ¡°Ferrando?¡± Damon called out, eyes fluttering open.


    He had long and delicate eyshes, the thief thought, which felt as if they had been borrowed from a prettier face. On him they felt odd, like gilding on a spade.


    ¡°I have to go,¡± Tristan told him. ¡°The artillerymen are trying me out, so I¡¯ll be in the pit for who knows how long.¡±


    The fair-haired man passed a hand through his hair, groaning as he pushed back his nket and swallowed a yawn.


    "Feels a mite unfair that I¡¯m made to pay for you wasting your chance at a gun,¡± Damon groused.


    Tristan rolled his eyes. On the first day the hired soldiers of the magnates had taken all the new hostages ¨C there¡¯d already been about seventy in here - below and made them fire five shots with those bulky, ungainly muskets the rebels had entire cratefuls of. Anyone who made three shots out of five was marked for further drilling with guns, everyone else told they would be handed a pike or a club when it was time to fight.


    The thief had not wanted eyes on him so he had failed out of the musket drills on purpose, while Damon had qualified. Mind you, Tristan was not sure if he<em> would </em>have been capable of qualifying even if he were trying. The bulky guns the magnates had handed them were nothing like the sleek killing tools of the Watch. Their kickback hit like a mule and the powder used stank like rotten eggs, thetter hinting at an overuse of sulfur in the recipe.


    Anyhow, that decision proved a mistake. The stairs were watched too closely by the mercenaries and after thorough investigation Tristan found there was no path through the bricked doors even where they¡¯d crumbled. If he wanted to get out, and he must since there was no telling how long he would be stuck down here otherwise, then the pit downstairs was looking like the best way. Given that he¡¯d passed on the easiest way to get time there it meant he had to go fishing for another opportunity.


    To his relief, he hadn¡¯t had to arrange an ident for one of the would-be musketeers as there was a superior alternative.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be manning a bigger gun, arguably,¡± Tristan said.


    ¡°For lesser pay, though,¡± Damon smugly replied.


    He¡¯d wondered what the angle would be, when after the cheers died down at the rally the leading magnates had announced that about half of the people attending would need to head out to a hidden camp in Tratheke so they might be ¡®trained in the use of muskets¡¯. It was sound notion, given the heavy risks of leaks otherwise, but it had dampened the crowd¡¯s revolutionary enthusiasm noticeably. Anyone not a fool knew such tant hostage taking when they saw it. How would the rebels make up for it?


    By passing the me, he first thought, as the ringleaders let every crew pick their own ¡®recruits¡¯ and thus diluted ire by turning it inwards as well as inwards. Tristan himself knew he¡¯d end up picked whatever happened ¨C Temenos was too important and the twins spoke for the most expensive workers under the Kassa ¨C so he volunteered instead of being told to go. It won him esteem enough that Damon was noticeably friendlier when they were sent to this hideaway, making it easier to stick to his side for protection.


    Being ferried here with bags over their heads under the watch of armed criminals had failed to improve morale afterwards, but after that first drill separating the future musketmen from the spares the Trade Assembly revealed its path to earning back loyalty: earnings. A merchant guard speaking for the rebels announced that even while ¡®being trained¡¯ pikemen would be earning one silver arbol every five days and musketmen a full gold rama.


    That¡¯d rather revived the revolutionary mes, though Tristan suspected that the magnates were counting on casualties keeping the costs in silver down. Dead men were easy to stiff, and sending workshop workers armed with spears and clubs after trained soldiers like the lictors was going to result in more corpses than payouts.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be standing further away from the people shooting back,¡± Tristan noted. ¡°Worth the pay cut, I¡¯d say.¡±


    ¡°Two silvers are a pittance, if you are to stand next to those death traps,¡± Damon opined.


    He wasn¡¯t wrong there. The magnates, perhaps aware that cheap muskets and pikes were not the stuff grand victories were made of, had more to their arsenal. Namely, cannons. The artillerymen handling those kept in this hideout were Tianxi specialists, a nnish band of foreigners who came down once a day to drill just before the scheduled racket then disappeared back into the upper levels of the facility.


    Seeing an opportunity there, Tristan made inquiries. As it turned out the Tianxi <em>were </em>meant to train some of the hostages like the mercenaries were doing with muskets but there had been no takers for the job regardless of the bumped pay rtive to pikemen: cannons were dangerous, and not only to the people they were pointed at. They had a way of blowing up in one¡¯s face, especially the cheap ones. It did not help that the Tianxi were apparently rather unpleasant with neers, the few hostages who¡¯d tried to apprentice driven out quickly.


    Almost as if said Tianxi had a financial interest in not being reced by cheaper localbor. An amusing turnabout, considering the Republics were infamous for flooding small Trebian inds with masses of their cheap workshop goods. Tristan was not expecting his tryout to be a pleasant time, but he would stick it out until he had what he needed. If anything, mistreatment would be a baked-in excuse to stop when he was done.


    ¡°There is no guarantee they¡¯ll keep me, anyhow,¡± Tristan finally shrugged, then pushed up to his feet. ¡°Cardster?¡±


    ¡°I have never seen a man love losing so much,¡± Damon grinned back, nodding. ¡°I¡¯m sure I will be able to rustle up a few volunteers to lighten your purse.¡±


    The warehouse man was, in fact, <em>very</em> good at that. Even better was that said yers tended to be warehouse hands from other tradingpanies, some of which Damon was already passingly familiar with. The talk that those games led to Tristan¡¯s doorstep was not quite as useful as if they had been traveling men, but it came close: some of the other hostages had been here for more than a month and they were a wealth of knowledge.


    Those games were how he¡¯d heard about the Tianxi running out the previous takers, and how he¡¯d gotten an idea of theyout of the rest of the edifice. There was a towering wooden structure built over the second story, apparently. One thaty against the western wall of Tratheke and needed a lift to reach the top of, rather narrowing down the possible locations of this hideout.


    Useful knowledge, if he got out.


    ¡°Looking forward to it,¡± Tristan replied, rolling his eyes.


    He stopped by a barrel of water to dip in a cup and drink, then by one of the meal tables to help himself to a bowl of the sludge simmering in a cauldron the mercenaries reced whenever it ran empty. It was porridge, approximately, and hostages were allowed to help themselves to the contents at will ¨C probably because the actual meals served twice a day were not particrly fine orrge.


    He went to ssh his face from one of the washing barrels afterwards, and even took off his shirt long enough to rinse himself off ¨C there was a whistle from what could only be Marce, and someughter from other guards. As ready as he would get, Tristan went around the edge of the hole until he reached the tworge metaldders that were fastened to the stone by iron chains nailed to the floor. Marce was already there, and though she teased him for being early ¡®like an eager pup¡¯ she still offered to take him down immediately.


    There was no reason to wait, so momentster they were climbing down into the depths. The basement beneath the warehouse floor was not so deep under Tratheke as it appeared, but a cavernous ceilingbined with the low height of the warehouse ceiling above made it seem like some faraway journey. Tristan, counting the distance between the rungs of thedder instead of trusting his eye, established it to be no more than forty feet below.


    The basement was, itself, not much to look at. Arge room with a brass floor and a curved stone ceiling. The back bore arge door that must be utched by working a wheel, but it did not see use because the rebels had piled a kingdom¡¯s worth of crates in front. Mostly cannon balls and guns, with some powder barrels, but alsorge boxes that must have been for the cannons themselves. The rest of the room was empty space, leading directly into arge channel of soiled water churning the foulness into a tunnel it filled to the brim.


    At the source of that channely the likely reason the rebels had chosen this ce for a hideout: arge, wheeled machine set into the stone and churning the water along. It erupted into hour-long stretches of the most horrid racket thrice a day at the same hours, all loud thumps and scraping steel. Between the sewage smell and the noise, it was no wonder the magnates figured they could get away with training men in using muskets here.


    There were two mercenaries seated on crates near the wall, ying cards as they kept a loose eye on the situation, but his attention went to the three cannons in the middle of the room and the Tianxi tending to them. Three bronze pieces tied to carts, tworge enough they would have fit on a warship but the third narrower and longer. Hardly siege cannons, these, or anything like the infamous <em>Viudas Severas</em> ¨C the six massive iron cannons defending the Sanguine Port of Sacromonte, ship-killers one and all.


    A dozen Tianxi in loose Asphodelian clothing stood around the cannons, speaking among themselves in their native tongue, and Marce loudly cleared her throat in their direction. The chatter ceased, eyes turning on her and then Tristan himself.


    ¡°Here¡¯s your student,¡± she said, gesturing at him. ¡°Try not to run him out like the others.¡±


    The dubious looks that followed as they eyed him were just a mite insulting. Quick chatter erupted between the Tianxi, a disparate lot that shared little aside ck hair and the Cathayan look, until the tallest among them whistled sharply and gestured for Tristan to head towards the smallest of the three cannons. There were groans from the two Tianxi handling it, an old man with skinny white beard and a middle-aged woman with her hair pulled into a severe bun.


    Not the most auspicious of beginnings, but it was on him to turn that around. He found himself preempted for introductions as he approached.


    ¡°Ming,¡± the old man announced, tapping his own chest.


    ¡°Ferrando,¡± Tristan replied, doing the same.


    ¡°Feihan Ho,¡± the old man confidently repeated.


    From the amused glint in the woman¡¯s eyes, Tristan guessed he was already being hazed.


    ¡°Close enough,¡± he agreed, squaring his shoulders. ¡°What can I do?¡±


    ¡°Ever touch cannon before?¡± Ming asked.


    The thief leaned forward, touched the bronze piece and then turned a brilliant smile on the old man.


    ¡°Once,¡± he said.


    He got rolled eyes in return, from both. They did their level best to run him out with usible deniability after that, avoiding teaching him anything and instead sending him to constantly fetch and rece tools. Twice they sent him up thedder to ask the mercenary officer at the stairs an asinine question, which was so transparent the grizzled old veteran actually shot him a pitying look.


    Half an hour in, though, the pair realized they had to teach him <em>something</em> or their employers wouldin. His repeated admission of ignorance in matters of artillery saw him informed that his lesson would be on loading ammunition, which was not simple as it looked. It was not merely a powder charge and a stone ball, as he¡¯d assumed, but also two differentyers of wadding which had to be put in the right order before it was all crammed down securely with a ramrod.


    The pair made him drill again and again, using sand instead of powder and nitpicking at every detail. Mostly the woman, for that. Her Antigua was better and Ming seemed to dislike the hazing beyond making sport of the thief with something resembling good humor. The more Tristan spoke with the old man, however, the more something itched at him. As the middle-aged woman ¨C who had yet to introduce herself ¨C inspected histest work with a critical eye he caught Ming¡¯s attention.


    ¡°Caishen?¡± he asked.


    Ming¡¯s eyes widened in surprise, then he grinned toothlessly.


    ¡°Caishen,¡± he agreed, tapping over his heart.


    He then added a fast-paced sentence in Cathayan that had Tristan squinting. Had the word for ¡®boat¡¯ been in there?


    ¡°He praises you for recognizing he is from the greatest city in the world.¡±


    Tristan¡¯s gaze moved to older woman, who had leaned back from the cannon to study him.


    ¡°Dandan,¡± she added almost reluctantly.


    ¡°Your name, I assume,¡± he tried.


    She smiled thinly.


    A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the vition.


    ¡°Where does a Sacromontan like you learn to recognize the Caishen ent?¡± Dandan brusquely asked.


    ¡°I knew a man from there,¡± Tristan replied. ¡°A veteran from the Long Burn who left for Sacromonte after the war. He¡¯d lost most of his ent but not all.¡±


    The woman¡¯s brow rose and she addressed the old man in Cathayan, who looked surprised and replied in the same.


    ¡°Where did he fight?¡± Dandan asked. ¡°For who?¡±


    ¡°He didn¡¯t talk much about it,¡± Tristan admitted. ¡°Though he told me he was one of the four thousand militia who charged across the field at Diecai. He fought for Caishen through much of the Burn, as I understand it.¡±


    ¡°<em>Diecai</em>?¡± Ming repeated, voice rising.


    He said something in a scathing tone, then spat on the ground. A Tianxi from the cannon besides them heard the words, repeating Diecai quizzically before getting an exnation from Ming, then spat on the ground as well. The word spread across the room and soon a dozen Tianxi between the age of forty to sixty were repeating the word with disgust and spitting as Tristan watched on in amused astonishment. Dandan cleared her throat.


    ¡°Nearly all of us fought in the Long Burn,¡± she told him. ¡°Most as Caishen militia, a few in the Mazu raiding fleets. Diecai, well, it was a great victory but the militia was reaped like wheat.¡±


    ¡°So I heard,¡± Tristan replied, thinking of that look in Yong¡¯s eyes when he had spoken of it. It was not the sort of thing you forgot. ¡°Then the mercenaries took the day, nothing to do with the rest.¡±


    ¡°Thrice as many Someshwari died as we did during the rout, but that did not make the dead grow back,¡± Dandan grunted. ¡°I was part of the army under General Qi as well, though I never made it to the battle.¡±


    His brow rose.


    ¡°What happened?¡± he asked.


    ¡°I was with the artillery train and wegged behind. The cannons Mazu sent us for the offensive were so heavy they kept breaking the cart wheels,¡± Dandan replied. ¡°We only made it to the field three days after the fighting was finished.¡±


    Tristan was no general, but that struck him as somewhatte to be of use.


    ¡°Mazu goodwill,¡± Ming cut in. ¡°Sanxing? <em>Wang ba da</em> Sanxing.¡±


    Something egg? Sounded like an insult, going by the tone.


    ¡°I¡¯m guessing there¡¯s a story there,¡± he prompted.


    <em>The more you talk to me, the more I be someone in your eyes</em>. <em>The harder it bes to run me out in petty ways.</em> Most people found it ufortable to be pricks to others unprompted, when they let themselves think of the other person as being a person instead of just a silhouette.<em></em>Dandan sighed.


    ¡°The Republic of Mazu did not send Caishen the field pieces that were asked to match the ones used by Kuril, but at least the siege guns saw use against forts,¡± she said. ¡°The Sanxing, however, only sent twenty of their new war machines called the <em>jiu tie pao. </em>Volley guns on wagons. These were¡­ not popr with Caishen artillerymen, for many reasons.¡±


    Ming mimed blowing up with his hands, then pointed down at his feet.


    ¡°Nine toe now,¡± he said. ¡°<em>Bastardos</em> Sanxing.¡±


    ¡°Bastardos Sanxing,¡± Tristan agreeably replied.


    He was pped enthusiastically on the back, and after that the mood thawed. He was not sent on further pointless errands and they actually took the time to teach him properly. Ming remained much friendlier than Dandan, but she was now rather more willing to trante his enthusiastic tirades in Cathayan and even on asion borate herself.


    Tristan¡¯s honest curiosity about how the likes of them hade to be tangled with an Asphodelian rebellion paired well with his professional duty to find out as much about the magnates¡¯ rebellion as he could. Though wary, Dandan seemed to pick up he was genuinely interested in the tale.


    ¡°After the Watch forced a peace, Caishen went to the dogs,¡± the older woman told him. ¡°The entire north was a wastnd and the Izcalli looted the westernmost prefectures down to the bedrock, which was bad enough even <em>before </em>the voting began.¡±


    ¡°<em>Pingmian</em> should all burn,¡± Ming absent-mindedly noted while he cleaned the inside of the cannon.


    Tristan choked at the casual use of the slur. He wasn¡¯t sure what exactly <em>pingmian</em> meant, but whenever Tianxi sailors used it the Izcalli ones drew knives.


    ¡°To sit on the general assembly, a citizen must ownnd or property worth at least five thousand silver taels,¡± Dandan told him. ¡°With the regions ravaged, the hearnds took advantage and stacked thetest round of Secretariat appointments. Then the Secretariat appointed their friends and kin as prefects over the brokennds and stripped the Ministry of War¡¯s funds to fill prefecture coffers in the name of<em> rebuilding</em>.¡±


    Thus putting those funds in the hands of their friends and kin. It was the same old racket, everywhere in the world. There was a reason Tristan was no friend to nobles but he was no <em>confederale</em>s either. Power did not get any cleaner because it was handed down through votes rather than birthright.


    ¡°I take it the Ministry of War runs, well, the army?¡± Tristan asked.


    From what he recalled the republics all had the ¡®Eight Ministries¡¯ as a functioning government, their ranks filled by those who passed the examinations, but the Secretariat was supposed to have some authority over them to hold them in check. Dandan grunted in agreement.


    ¡°Those greedy fucks bled the funds out of the same army that held against Kuril and the Sunflower Lords, saying now was a time for peace, and unceremoniously tossed the soldiers into the streets.¡±


    ¡°So you were out of a job,¡± Tristan led on.


    ¡°There are only so many border fortresses whose cannons need manning,¡± Dandan unhappily said. ¡°They kept only the most experienced officers and I was younger then. Caishen was full of cashiered soldiers, after the Burn. A lot of them went mercenary, but I have no taste for that life.¡±


    Tristan raised an eyebrow, gesturing meaningfully around them. What was this if not mercenary work?


    ¡°We don¡¯t work for the merchants, Ferrando,¡± Dandan tly told him. ¡°We work for the Yellow Earth, who loaned us out. I¡¯ve been training yellow sashes for a decade now, this here is no different.¡±


    She paused.


    ¡°It¡¯s better than taking pay to shoot cannons at fellow Tianxi under a mercenary banner,¡± Dandan fervently said. ¡°The things I heard about the borders with Jigong after the Dimming¡­¡±


    Tristan made a noise of understanding, feigned. He had never bought into sentimentality discouraging violence against one¡¯s countrymen. Sacromonte was a beast that cannibalized its own every hour of every day in a hundred different ways ¨C there was not a soul within those walls that was not, in some way, at war with the rest of those inside.


    Dandan was the warier of the pair, so he didn¡¯t prod any further and instead waited until she was distracted to approach Ming for his question.


    ¡°When fighting<em> yiwu</em>?¡± the old man mused, repeating the words. ¡°Soon, merchants say. Days, week?¡±


    Ming shrugged.


    ¡°Before month end,¡± he then added with a toothless grin. ¡°They say no pay next month, cheap <em>bastardos</em>.¡±


    The old Tianxi had evidently fallen in love with that one word in Antigua. He liked to work it into sentences regardless of whether it fit, often with more enthusiasm than skill. Ming had just given him very useful information, though: the magnate coup was to take ce before the end of the month.


    Considering it was now the fourth, that left twenty-six days. The rebellion was thus imminent, though with a little luck the Thirteenth would be well out of the capital before that fire caught. The difficulty here was that the magnates had been open about their intention to keep the hostages here until it was time to take up arms, which meant Tristan <em>really</em> needed a way out.


    Yet despite his earlier hopes, the basement was not looking promising as a means of escape. Trying to get out through the sewage water was certain death, by the look of the churning current and how closely the water kept to the ceiling of the tunnel it disappeared into. He was not desperate enough to roll the dice and hope that the current would carry him to somewhere he might surface to and breathe before he drowned in sewage. Bad way to go, not that there were any good ones.


    The back wall behind the channel was marked with impacts and burns from where cannons and muskets were fired at it, but it was solid stone and thick. There would be no punching through. The gate behind the crates might represent a way out if it led into a tunnel, but the sheer number of crates in the way made it effectively impossible to crack open discreetly. Besides, there were always a pair of mercenaries down here during the night. Not particrly watchful ones, but presumably still alert enough to notice an hour¡¯s worth of someone moving around heavy crates.


    No, Tristan wouldn¡¯t be able to sneak out on his own. He would need someone else to do it for him. The thief finished the drills, even standing by the smallest cannon while it was fired by Dandan once. It was after that he went fishing again through feigned worry.


    ¡°How many times will we be able to practice with live shot before the fighting?¡± he asked, putting on a troubled look. ¡°Won¡¯t the musketmen eat through the powder stocks with their own drills?¡±


    ¡°We do not use the same barrels,¡± Dandan told him. ¡°Theirs is local. But it doesn¡¯t matter, they¡¯ll lower more barrels if they have to. It wouldn¡¯t be the first time.¡±


    Tristan made himself snort.


    ¡°A shit job for whoever has to strap the empty barrels on their back climbing thatdder,¡± he opined.


    She shot him an amused look.


    ¡°You dumb, boy?¡± Dandan said. ¡°They use ropes to pull them up, same way they lowered it all down.¡±


    ¡°Mercenarieszy,¡± Ming added with a smirk. ¡°Always wait until morning, let merchant guard do it.¡±


    Oh? Now that was a useful bit, considering the merchant guards only kept guard until six, to plug a hole in the shifts caused by the rtively small number of brown surcoat mercenaries.


    ¡°You should have heard them whine when they had to bring up the broken cannon,¡± Dandan mocked. ¡°You would think they were being murdered.¡±


    ¡°A cannon had to be changed?¡± Tristan asked, and now his wariness was not feigned in the slightest.


    ¡°Old shit bronze cannon, of course break,¡± Ming sneered. ¡°They say better when fight, but who believes?¡±


    ¡°No one was hurt,¡± Dandan assured him. ¡°And they changed it the following day.¡±


    She gave a mean little smirk.


    ¡°They had to. It is in our contract we do not have to fight or teach unless properly equipped, you see, which means at least three cannons in fit state. The merchants in charge hate the thought of wasting coin by leaving us to idle, though they don¡¯t hate it enough to send us proper cannons from the homnd.¡±


    ¡°Magnates <em>bastardos</em>,¡± Ming happily contributed.


    Tristan smiled, changed the subject, and silently began nibbling at that little detail.


    There was an angle there, he could almost taste it. He just needed a little more before he could make it into a n.


    --


    Cards were the easiest way to get information.


    Damon liked the Delinos siblings, so all it took was mentioning them in conversation for the warehouse man to decide on roping them in for a round of cards. Phoebe and Pollos were in their early twenties, both tall and stacked strong as befitting their years of work moving heavy crates around for the Delinos family.


    Tristan eyed his hand, hiding a wince at the fact that even after two rounds he¡¯d be putting coin on a high card alone if he raised. He habitually ignored Fortuna¡¯s assurances that if he went all in he was sure to bring home the pot. Raising a single copper before drawing his third card, he proved fully justified in his habitual distrust in any promise of the Lady of Long Odds by the addition of a third card of a different suit with a mere valet of Staves for his highest value.


    Damon won the round with a pair that narrowly beat Pollos¡¯ own. He caught Phoebe¡¯s eyes and groaned in feigned sympathy, getting a grin out of her.


    ¡°Do not put us in the same boat, Kassa,¡± she said. ¡°<em>I </em>sometimes win more than once a day.¡±


    ¡°Admittedly, at this rate I might leave our captivity broke,¡± he noted.


    ¡°Oh, you just need to slow down a little,¡± Phoebe told him, the fair-haired woman then pitching her voice low. ¡°Marcos told me there¡¯s some kind of higher-up visiting this week, our¡­ vacation might be ending soon.¡±


    Marcos was the mercenary soldier Phoebe had taken up with, a middle-aged man the younger woman sometimes snuck off with during the night. Tristan was not sure what had drawn her to a man ten years her elder with a slight pot belly and a fierce beard, but admittedly he was no expert on matters of desire. It might have been the muscles. Either way, Phoebe¡¯s lover was not above pillow talk and she in no way above spreading said pillow talk around.


    More importantly, by the sound of it they were still involved and Phoebe seemed in no danger of losing interest. The lever that was that entanglement could still be used. Tristan counted the days in his head ¨C Marcos would have the night shift tonight, the one down in the pit, but that was too early. The next time should be in two days. Potentially enough time to get the rest of his affairs in order.


    ¡°The honeymoon ends atst,¡± Pollos drawled. ¡°Whatever will you do parted from dear Marcos?¡±


    ¡°A honeymoon should have a bed,¡± Phoebe groused. ¡°Or at least more privacy than the dark and a prayer.¡±


    Thatint was not an infrequent one, though thatck of privacy wasn¡¯t stopping her taking the man to bed any more than it did the rest of the couples that¡¯d formed with other guards or between hostages. Thatint was, in fact, the very reason Tristan had wanted her in this game of cards. He didn¡¯t even need to ask about the duty roster, given that it was regr and there were few enough mercenaries it was entirely predictable.


    ¡°Another magnate is visiting?¡± Tristan idly asked, putting on a show of rolling his eyes as he went fishing for the information mostly out of habit. ¡°Gods take pity on a poor Sacromontan, I¡¯m still learning all the names of the other ones.¡±


    ¡°A noble this time,¡± Phoebe denied. ¡°I <em>think</em> the Anaidon are nobles, anyway. I heard them called a house once.¡±


    Tristan methodically smothered any trace of surprise. House Anaidon, as in the same aristocrats who were hiding troops and arms for the noble coup? Or, he then thought, perhaps this was <em>Hector </em>Anaidon ¨C the suspected member of the cult of the Golden Ram, outed by Song as having some sort of boon. Which in turn would mean the cult had some hand in this ce.


    That¡­ he¡¯d good as dismissed that possibility, seeing what he had seen. Was this not a Yellow Earth operation, propping up their Trade Assembly allies? <em>Get out first</em>, Tristan reminded himself. <em>Then investigate.</em>


    ¡°Why¡¯s a noble on our side?¡± Damon asked with a frown.


    ¡°Must be a traitor,¡± Pollos opined. ¡°There¡¯s always a few.¡±


    There was some grumbling, but nothing all that strongly worded. Few among even the firebrands of the hostages were truly arguing for every highborn in Asphodel to be shot, and he was hardly sitting with firebrands. Damon was the one with the strongest republican leanings here, on ount of his mother having been hanged for poaching, and he imed no real appetite for corpses beyond those of the sitting members of the Council of Ministers.


    ¡°Heavy talk aside, I would have thought <em>your </em>dalliance had time for a bed out of all of them,¡± Tristan said with measured nonchnce.


    ¡°What¡¯s that supposed to mean?¡± Phoebe replied, already half-ring.


    He raised his hands to im peace.


    ¡°Only that he always shares the night shift with Cymone,¡± the thief said. ¡°Doesn¡¯t she¡­¡±


    He mimed drinking.


    ¡°Oh, she¡¯s a drunk all right,¡± Phoebe snorted. ¡°But their captain forbade her to buy bottles after she almost fell into the pit, now she has to do with what¡¯s served with meals.¡±


    ¡°Poor Karolos,¡± Pollos smiled a tad cruelly. ¡°His only shot there is if she gets enough liquor in her belly.¡±


    ¡°Pollos,¡± Phoebe chided him, but she was smiling.


    <em>Karolos</em>, Tristan mused. <em>Karolos</em>. Rolling around the name in his memory eventually yielded a face. Another brown surcoat mercenary, a big man with a face like a bull¡¯s and manners to match. Not liked among the hostages, for he was quicker than most with the back of his hand.


    Oh, that would work quite nicely.


    ¡°Anyhow, sober dear Cymone remains so there¡¯s no sneaking off to bend me over during the night,¡± Phoebe sighed mournfully, to the disgusted grimaced of her brother.


    Tristan shared in the sentiment but hid it, and paid the price for his maneuver in the form of a veritable tide of bawdy jokes. Ugh. He had what he¡¯de for, though: the right angles and the right actors. That look in Phoebe¡¯s eye had been considering: her lover would be hearing of the idea when they next met, Tristan would put coin on it. Now he just needed to deliver Marcos that opportunity to sneak off, and for that he would need a borrowed pair of hands.


    Thankfully, he knew just where to get them.


    --


    After the midday musket drill the hostages made their way back upstairs, falling back into the small coteries that¡¯d naturally emerged among them. The warehouse hands, the shop owners, the sailors, the traveling men. Once these settled, gambling sprouted like mushrooms after rain. Perhaps buoyed by his decent luck that morning, Damon had fetched the Delinos siblings again when they sat for cards ¨C but this time Tristan had added someone on his own to the circle.


    Her name was Rhea.


    The small, twitchy woman sat to his left as they yed a seventh round of Cacho. Rhea of Tratheke smiled a lot and she had the sort of guilelessly chubby face that incited trust in most encountering it. Rhea also cheated constantly and relentlessly at every game she yed at. She was not even particrly skilled a cheater, Tristan mused, getting away with it mostly on ount of being able to tear up at the drop of a hat.


    Now <em>there</em> was an impressive skill, though. Crying onmand was much harder than people tended to assume. Said cheater pped down her cards with a triumphant smile.


    ¡°Cacho,¡± Rhea announced, revealing an eight, nine and ten of Cups. ¡°Beat<em> that</em>.¡±


    A groan from Damon, who threw away his valet and knight of Wands nked by a useless two of Staves, while the Delinos siblings outright cursed and threw their own cards face down. Tristan eyed the smug Rhea with amusement, wondering how she would dig herself out of the hole should he point out he could see another ten of Cups tucked away up her sleeve. Not that he needed to put her down, for tempted as he was to let her win he was running low on funds. Time to refill the coffers a bit.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Fortuna hissed over his shoulder. ¡°Crush them, Tristan, <em>crush them mercilessly</em>. And to think you wanted to fold!¡±


    Clearing his throat, he caught Rhea¡¯s gaze and flipped his three cards one after another. Six of Cups, six of Wands, six of Coins. Three sixes were the single strongest hand, beating her flush even though the ¡®Cacho¡¯ she had put down was the hand the game was named after.


    ¡°<em>No</em>,¡± she whimpered. ¡°That was half my savings.¡±


    By which she meant half of what she had cheated her fellow hostages out of, Tristan silently amended.


    ¡°I was due some luck,¡± he shrugged as he picked up the pile of copper coins. ¡°Next round, yes?¡±


    ¡°Please, let us dice for bragging rights instead,¡± Damon pleaded. ¡°At this rate I won¡¯t be able to afford the bottle of rotgut I sent for.¡±


    ¡°The prices are robbery,¡± Phoebe conceded.


    To most everyone¡¯s side-eye, considering she was sleeping with one of the mercenaries setting those robber prices. As Damon had requested dice reced cards, but Rhea seemed disinclined to y those and instead approached Tristan with a pitiful look. Ah, good, that spared him the need to approach her. She sat close and leaned in, pitching her voice low.


    ¡°I don¡¯t suppose,¡± she pleaded with a wobbly lip, ¡°that you would trade me your coppers for my arbol? I cannot gamble with one silver, and my only friends here all y cards.¡±


    He squinted at her. The mercenaries guarding them were entirely willing to split arboles into radizes if you ceded a part of the sum to make it worth their while. That made it sound like Rhea was simply trying to avoid that informal three radizes tax by having him change it instead, but that was too simple a racket. She was, after all, a cheat to the bone. There would be more to it.


    ¡°Show me the silver,¡± he said.


    She produced a polished silver arbol, the intertwined oaks on the front almost shining. The coin looked new, he thought. Perhaps<em> too</em> new, and he could not help but notice she was showing him only the front.


    ¡°And the other side?¡± he asked.


    She turned teary blue eyes on him.


    ¡°You really think I would-¡±


    He snatched the silver out of her hand, ignoring her yelp and suddenly tearless eyes. His lips twitched when on the other side was not a stamped griffin a real arbol would have but identical twined oaks.


    ¡°Fake coinage?¡± he asked. ¡°That¡¯s a step past the cards up your sleeve.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s got the same silver concentration, I swear,¡± she pouted. ¡°It¡¯s just that the idiot counterfeiter stamped them the same way twice. I got them at a price that was a steal!¡±


    Tristan rolled his eyes at her. He really doubted there was as much silver in it as a genuine arbol, given that the counterfeit coinage rampant across the Trebian Sea tended to see the most use in ces where theck of precious metals or general poverty meant Sacromontan coinage was worth more than it should. There was precious little of it in Asphodel, which was not all that rich an ind on precious metals but <em>was </em>well provided in silver by the mines digging into the sides of the Nitari Heights.


    ¡°If it truly was good silver, they would have melted and reminted it,¡± Tristan replied.


    The pout deepened.


    ¡°Well,<em> I</em> know that. I was just hoping<em> you</em> wouldn¡¯t,¡± Rhea admitted. ¡°You¡¯re less of a rube than you look.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t say I wouldn¡¯t take it,¡± Tristan mildly said.


    Her eyes lit up.


    ¡°No takebacks or I¡¯ll cry,¡± she threatened.


    ¡°I¡¯ll take the silver,¡± he said, ¡°but my payment will be a favor.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s open-ended,¡± she noted, face closing.


    ¡°You know what <em>wouldn¡¯t</em> be open-ended, Rhea?¡± Tristan mused. ¡°Your chances of anyone in here gambling with you again if ites out you put cards in your sleeve and pass bad coin.¡±


    ¡°A solid counterargument, friend,¡± Rhea replied immediately. ¡°I am entirely at your disposal.¡±


    Tristan squinted at her again. Too easy, and long years in thepany of Fortuna had taught to recognize the scent of utter insincerity when it was in the air.


    ¡°You¡¯re going to try to avoid me until we leave,¡± he guessed.


    Her eyes suddenly turned teary again at this ¡®most unfair usation¡¯, which they both knew to be entirely urate. He still made the trade, of course. A petty crook was exactly what he required and he could be mostly sure she would fold under pressure when the time came. Tristan had his pair of hands.


    Now all that remained was the timing, and patience would deliver that right onto hisp.


    --


    ¡°Consider a box,¡± Tristan said.


    ¡°No,¡± Fortuna replied without batting an eye.


    For all her reflexive contrariness, she still leaned over his shoulder as he traced a square in the dust. She rested her chin against his shoulder, and it was an effort not to lean back into it. It was not real, Tristan reminded himself. And it would be noticed besides.


    ¡°That box,¡± he continued, ¡°has only two exits.¡±


    He marked either side of the square with an X, representing the warehouse stairs and the doors atop them.


    ¡°You¡¯re wrong, though,¡± the Lady of Long Odds smugly said. ¡°There¡¯s two more exits down in the basement, the waterway and the big gate.¡±


    ¡°Which are respectively barred by drowning and at least an hour¡¯s work,¡± Tristan said. ¡°They are disqualified.¡±


    ¡°<em>You¡¯re</em> disqualified,¡± Fortuna muttered.


    ¡°Those two exits are watched at all times,¡± Tristan said. ¡°Two guards at each door, two more down in the pit.¡±


    ¡°You can distract two guards,¡± the goddess reassured him.


    ¡°I could,¡± he agreed, ¡°but those doors are locked ¨C key around the neck of the office running the shift. It might be possible to arrangerge enough a distraction to pick the lock before they notice, but I would then be running blind into the rest of the building.¡±


    And while it was only a guess, he believed at least one of those doors led straight to the barracks where the mercenaries bunked. The brown surcoats changed guards for their shifts very quickly, which stood out given that they were not particrly assiduous workers otherwise. Proximity to where the barracks would exin it, and Tristan was a fine sneak but not so fine as to pass unnoticed through a riled up barracks.


    ¡°So we¡¯re stuck,¡± the Lady of Long Odds pouted. ¡°That was a lot of talk, Tristan. You could just have said ¡®I¡¯m a disappointment, Fortuna¡¯ and left it at that.¡±


    He flicked a finger at her face, which naturally went through thin air but still had her withdrawing from his shoulder and hissing like an angry cat before taking revenge. The thief was d no one was asleep right now, for he would have looked like a madman fending off the void with his arms. After a truce was established, at least until Fortuna betrayed it remorselessly, he returned to the matter at hand.


    ¡°You are right, at least, that I cannot pass through those doors myself,¡± the thief said. ¡°Which means I must have someone move me instead.¡±


    ¡°Fake sickness,¡± Fortuna advised.


    ¡°I asked Phoebe earlier,¡± Tristan replied, ¡°and she said that Abran ¨C the trader with the beard ¨C had a fever on his first week. All the browncoats did was quarantine him on the left side of the floor.¡±


    ¡°Impersonate one of them,¡± she tried.


    ¡°I considered that,¡± he admitted, ¡°but they¡¯re too small an outfit. Fewer than thirty mercenaries, unless they¡¯re hiding a great many officers upstairs. They all know each other¡¯s faces.¡±


    ¡°The merchant guards?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s the same six whoe every morning,¡± the thief grunted. ¡°Even worse. No, I need to be <em>smuggled</em> out.¡±


    ¡°Hidden under what, someone¡¯s skirt?¡± Fortunaughed. ¡°That Marce girl might be tempted, but she wears trousers."


    ¡°A box,¡± Tristan said. ¡°I¡¯ll be smuggled out in a box. I even know who will be moving it out of here afterwards. The problem is that I need to get <em>into </em>the box and the damn thing is down in the pit.¡±


    ¡°So how do you get there?¡± Fortuna asked.


    ¡°Night is when there are the least eyes,¡± he said. ¡°More importantly, it is when they only keepmps lit around the gates and down in the pit.¡±


    ¡°The pit¡¯s where you need them n<em>ot </em>to be, though,¡± she pointed out.


    ¡°The lights don¡¯t matter,¡± he retorted, ¡°if there is no one to watch.¡±


    ¡°And how will you achieve that?¡± Fortuna asked.


    Tristan Abrascal smiled.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to give people,¡± he said, ¡°exactly what they want.¡±


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 Chapter 66

    Chapter 66


    It was not a difficult climb, skill-wise, but that did not make it any less taxing.


    Though the scaffold-tower hugging the western wall of Tratheke had been built with care and precision, it was still made of wood. While the materials made it easy for Tristan to pull himself up with hammer and bolt, bringing up his rope with him as he did, the whole edifice felt like a reed about to fall over. It did not help that the wind had the wooden panels rattling and that abination of time and the elements had visibly taken a toll on the structure.


    At least there was little chance of his being seen, hidden under cover of night as he was, or of getting lost on his way: the chamber at the top had litmps, lending it the look of the me on a candle¡¯s tip, but night had fallen and the remainder was dark.


    Hector Anaidon ¨C there was no mistaking the silhouette ¨C had entered the hideout the better part of half an hour ago, so Tristan knew this would be a close-run thing. He had moved the moment the man showed his face, but there was no telling how long Anaidon would spend downstairs before entertaining his guests in the upstairs chamber.


    The lift was still at the bottom of the structure, at least. With a little luck Tristan would have time to hide and n his ambush.


    About three quarters of the way up, limbs trembling and sweat trickling down his back, Tristan found himself gritting his teeth and swallowing a snarl as weight pressed down on his left. Sakkas, that hateful beast, had justnded on his shoulder. The bird was light for its size, its talons barely felt through the ck coat, but still too damn heavy.


    ¡°Not now,¡± he hissed, taking a hand off the hold to p away the magpie. ¡°What do you think you¡¯re-¡±


    It flew off with a cackling call.


    ¡°Shit,¡± Fortuna whispered, straight into his ear. ¡°Tristan, it was warning us: the lift is moving.¡±Much as the thief would have liked to check, he was too far from the corner of the tower to do so. He¡¯d have to take the goddess on faith. Looking up at the stretch of creaking wood awaiting him, Tristan grimaced. Hesitated.


    ¡°How quickly is it rising?¡± he asked.


    Fortuna hummed, her presence receding until she popped her head out of the wall just a foot to the side of his right hand.


    ¡°Not that fast,¡± she said. ¡°They¡¯re pulling it up by hand I think. If you hurry you should beat them up there.¡±


    ¡°Fuck,¡± Tristan cursed.


    The good news he¡¯d least wanted to hear. Now he had to take on the risks climbing in a hurry or risk trying to enter the room while there was already someone<em> in</em> it. He weighed those on the bnce for a too-long moment, then cursed again. Without rope, then. Hammer and peg alone would be quicker, as cutting corners with one¡¯s life often was.


    The fear of his sweat-slick palms slipping on the pegs only wet them further, but he gritted his teeth and focused. Tear, ce, hammer down. Up. Tear, ce, hammer down. Again and again he hitched himself up the side of the tower, moving as fast as he could. He began to turn around the edge when he got within ten feet of the opening, and below he could now see the wooden box slowly being pulled up. The roof was solid, no chance of anyone seeing through. He breathed out shallowly. No sign of anyone currently up there, and at least a few minutes before the lift arrived.


    He could do this.


    Now was the most dangerous part not because of the pressing time or the climb itself but because he would be inmplight, and so finally vulnerable to being seen from below. Tristan could not let himself think on that, however, for distraction and slippery hands were death¡¯s ingredients. Careful, steady. Do not hammer too little or too much. It was windy up here, now that he was no longer covered by the tower, and that slowed everything down.


    He still reached past the edge of the floor, finding thick carpet there, and began hoisting himself up ¨C only for a burst of wind to catch him in the side. Swallowing a scream, the thief slipped. Fingers wed at the carpet, his boot slipped against the peg and he dropped. His elbow hit the edge of the floor on the way down, he dropped the hammer and scrabbled desperately for anything he could reach. He caught the peg his boot had slipped on, eyes white and heart thundering, fingers digging into the palm until he was bleeding.


    Fear sludged through his veins like molten ice, but he swallowed his spit and bile. <em>Concentrate.</em><em>Forget everything but what needs to be done. Leave only the act.</em> He emptied his mind and moved: hoisted himself back up the peg, then got his boot wedged in and reached up. Past the edge ¨C what if there was wind again, what if. No. The thief breathed out. <em>Nothing ahead, nothing behind. Move.</em> He went over the edge, onto the carpet, and rolled on the room¡¯s floor.


    There he allowed himself a moment of bubbling terror, to realize how utterly close he hade to a pointless death, before burying it. He was not out of the grave yet.


    <em>Find a hiding ce. Move.</em> He rose, careful not to stain the carpet with his bloodied palm, and took a look around. The rebels had not built this room: it was a hole straight through the wall,rge enough it had been made into a makeshift chamber. The back wall was wood, the floor beneath the carpeting brass. As if to force the illusion of hospitality, the furniture was rich and near every inch of wall covered by tapestries or colorful paint. Two tables, a set of sofas and assorted chairs, arge bed and an evenrger wardrobe. There was no door, only thick curtains, and ¨C the creaking, it was loud.


    ¡°Fortuna?¡± he rasped out.


    ¡°They are almost here,¡± the goddess whispered into his ear.


    <em>They</em>? The guests wereing up at the same time, then. There was no time for anything borate. At a look he might fit under the sofas, but that was a risky y. Though it seemed almost a child¡¯s notion, Tristan headed straight for the wardrobe. It was filled to burst with terrible taste, which at least provided decent cover. The thief slipped behind the clothes and crouched, pulling his legs to his chest, and settled in for the wait.


    Best to wait until Hector¡¯s guests were gone to grab the man for an intimate talk, he decided. He could keep an eye on the situation through the slight gap between the two front panels of the wardrobe. In a matter of moments the lift reached the summit, metal nking against metal as it stopped moving. Atch was pulled and then they walked in.


    Lord Hector Anaidon had not changed since Tristanst saw him: a tall, broad-shouldered sort with graying blond hair and a bulbous nose. He was fleshy, though not exactly fat, and his blue eyes were deep-set. The lordling had the soft hands of a man who had never needed to work or fight and the clothes to exin why. There was enough silk on him to dress two marginally smaller men. The pair that apanied him, though, had Tristan¡¯s breath catching in his throat.


    A short, stout man with a jolly smile and swirling mustache. A tall, bony woman with narrow spectacles and pursed lips.


    ¡°Why, what a fascinating little nook,¡± Lord Locke enthusiastically said, looking around.


    ¡°Much trouble for a room norger than a salon,¡± Lady Keys scorned.


    ¡°I am told it served as a watchtower of sorts before the lictors wrote off this district,¡± Lord Hector replied, striding across the room towards one of the tables.


    There he reached for a carafe, sniffed the inside and let out an approving noise before pouring himself a cup of what looked like brandy. Despite inviting looks, he offered the pair no such courtesy.


    ¡°Somehow you talked Maria Anastos into thinking a conversation should take ce between us,¡± Hector Anaidon said, guzzling down the cup before setting it down sharply on the table. ¡°Well, have at it.¡±


    Lord Locke thumbed his mustache, smiling still. Now that Tristan knew what he was, he could not help but think of a cat ying with his whiskers as he eyed a plump mouse.


    ¡°We¡¯ve but a single question for you, Lord Hector,¡± he said. ¡°And will be departing as soon as we have our answer.¡±


    ¡°Will you now?¡± the other noble grunted. ¡°I think not. At the very least, you¡¯ll be remaining our guests until the rising. We cannot let knowledge of this ce spread.¡±


    ¡°That would not suit our purposes,¡± Lady Keys lightly said.


    ¡°I do not much care what suits you,¡± Hector Anaidon disdainfully replied. ¡°I may, in fact, have Maria¡¯s head for bringing you here. The Trade Assembly could use a reminder that they need us a great deal more than the other way around.¡±


    Tristan winced. It was like watching a man slowly shove his hand down a wolf¡¯s gullet. Reaching deeper and deeper, thinking the monster¡¯s belly was a pack to take things from.


    ¡°Are you threatening us?¡± Lady Keys asked, sounding almost pleased.


    ¡°There is always a bit of roughness in a revolution,¡± Lord Hector said, rolling the<em> r </em>of thest word as if making sport of it.


    ¡°Abduction and threats of death,¡± Lord Locke happily said. ¡°From a wicked cultist, no less! Is that not enough to arrest him, Warrant Officer Abrascal?¡±


    Tristan went still as stone for a moment, thoughts flying. The blood. Even if they hadn¡¯t heard him breathing, which they might well have, the blood would have given away the game. Keep them smiling, Hage had ordered him. No one¡¯s game but theirs would be yed tonight. The thief let his forehead drop on the wardrobe door and let out a long sigh. Well, so much for doing this cleanly.


    Under the bbergasted gaze of Hector Anaidon ¨C and the smirks of the married pair ¨C he emerged from the wardrobe with his ckjack in hand.


    ¡°Was that really necessary?¡± he asked the devils, pulling his uniform back in ce.


    ¡°No,¡± Lord Locke cheerfully admitted. ¡°But it has been very entertaining so far. Do continue!¡±


    Tristan sighed again, straightening as Lord Hector suddenly realized he was alone in a room a hundred feet above the ground with no guards to protect him and three potential enemies. The heavyset noble scrambled to his feet, reaching for the bejeweled knife at his hip and drawing it.


    ¡°Who the hell are you?¡± he demanded.


    ¡°Oh, best not to bring Hell into this,¡± Lady Keys gently said. ¡°It will do no wonders for your life expectancy, Hector.¡±


    Tristan rolled his shoulder.


    ¡°You¡¯re under arrest,¡± he told the cultist. ¡°By order of the Watch.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re all dead,¡± Hector snarled back, and ran for the door.


    Tristan did not even bother to move, eyes on the devils, and he still almost missed it. Plump, jolly Lord Locke was across the room in a heartbeat ¨C having torn the carpet pushing off ¨C and holding up the wiggling Hector Anaidon on the wall by the throat. Hector had at least a foot and a half on the smaller lord, and heavier shoulders, yet there was nothingical about the sight.


    It was Locke¡¯s eyes, Tristan thought. They were t and lifeless as a doll¡¯s.


    Hector rasped out a word, something sounding like a plea, and there was a ripple of¡­ something in the air. Like a pistol fired, but without the noise or smoke. Lord Locke¡¯s mustache billowed slightly before the devil bared teeth and teeth and something altogether more malign.


    ¡°Your god has no power over me, Hector,¡± Locke said. ¡°None one ising to save you, <em>that</em> least of all.¡±


    The cultist let out a noise of such despair Tristan almost sympathized. Lady Keys leaned over the low table, helping herself to the carafe of brandy and pouring a clean finger in a silver goblet. Swirling it, she took a sniff and let out a noise of approval. Tristan could not be sure whether or not he was imagining the echo of clicking mandibles under it.


    ¡°Would you be particrly opposed to our sharing this interrogation with the Watch, Warrant Officer?¡± Lady Keys asked. ¡°While the ck had been doing some admirable grave-digging in these parts, we¡¯ve some curiosities of our own to sate.¡±


    The thief straightened. <em>Show no weakness, y along with the games and always try to beat the expectations. My kind has a weakness for novelty, especially the oldest among of us, </em>Hage had taught him.


    ¡°By all means,¡± he said, bowing low. ¡°We could take turns asking questions.¡±


    Lady Keys seemed unimpressed, he gauged. Apt to tear off the veil of pretense this was anything but their show to roll on. So he tacked on-


    ¡°- deciding on whose it is by flipping a coin, perhaps,¡± Tristan added.


    Both devils stilled, then turned their heads towards him with unnatural sharpness ¨C not at angles impossible, but neither were they moving like someone who genuinely had to worry about the state of their spine. Lady Keys absently reminded her husband that ¡®you¡¯re killing him, dear¡¯, to which the other devil embarrassedlyughed before loosening his grasp and letting a choking, red-faced Hector Anaidon desperately suck in a breath.


    ¡°How interesting,¡± the devil said, peering at him through her borrowed eyes and spectacles. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t be intending on cheating would you, Tristan?¡±


    ¡°I have never once cheated at anything in my life,¡± Tristan replied without batting an eye.


    How could he? There were no rules to life, and thus no one could cheat. Lord Locke let out a delighted chortle, picking up a panicking Hector by the throat again and shaking him like a misbehaving kitten. There was a small sound of tinkling, which had the devil reaching in the cultists¡¯ pocket and deftly picking out a silver arbol. He tossed it Tristan¡¯s way, the thief snatching it out of the air and showing both sides to Lady Keys.


    Uwfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    ¡°Ladies pick first,¡± he charmingly smiled. ¡°Would you prefer oaks or griffin?¡±


    ¡°Oaks,¡± Lady Keys said, tapping a finger against her chin.


    She sent her husband a burning look.


    ¡°Intertwined trees? Such a romantic thought.¡±


    Lord Locke blew back a kiss, Hector Anaidon sparing a moment in the process of being choked out to look in utter disbelief at the pair. Tristan flipped the coin, and without hesitation pulled on his luck. Heid out his palm without even looking, the perfect arc of the spinning silver ending with a dull p against the skin. A nce.


    ¡°s, griffin,¡± Tristan falsely sympathized. ¡°Better luck next time.¡±


    He released the luck, bracing himself, but a mere coin flip should only ¨C shifting his footing happened to pull at a fold in the ripped carpet, which in turn tugged at the table. The bottle of brandy tipped his way, and though he was quick enough to catch it there was still a small spill on his boots. Oh, that was on the lower end of his expectations. Fortuna must be in a fine mood.


    While he struggled with wiping his boot on the carpet, Lord Locke had lowered Hector. He gestured in extravagant invitation for Tristan to ask his question, somehow working in both a flourish and a bow.


    ¡°What is your role within the cult?¡± he asked.


    The overweight noble shot him a disdainful look.


    ¡°Why should I-¡±


    There was a snapping sound and Lord Locke¡¯s hand over the mouth of the cultists muffled a scream. A scream caused by the devil having, casually, snapped Hector Anaidon¡¯s left thumb at an angle that had bone peeking out of the bleeding flesh. Tristan breathed in, kept his heartbeat steady and his smile fixed. He had known, in his mind, that for all the smiling and joking they were brutal monsters.


    Tristan had hurt men before, for answers or coin or to survive. But it had still been a choice to him, a decision. Locke¡¯s hand had moved like the violence was an afterthought. How many fingers did you need to snap before it could be done so casually, so effortlessly? Hundreds, the thief thought. Thousands.


    ¡°<em>Torture</em> is why, obviously,¡± Tristan made himself reply in the tone of someone amused. ¡°Answer the question, Hector.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m a priest,¡± the man hurried to reply the moment Locke allowed him to. ¡°A priest of the Odyssean, initiated into the rites. I renounced the Ram just like they asked and they brought me into the mysteries. Please, I¡¯m bleeding, you need to-¡±


    His mouth was covered again and Lady Keys, setting down her goblet after having drained it of brandy, turned a look on him. He offered up the coin for her.


    ¡°Oaks,¡± the devil decided.


    Griffin again, and all it cost him was a thread in his coring loose. Only a problem if he pulled at it.


    ¡°Who is the head of your cult?¡± Tristan asked.


    ¡°The lesiast,¡± Hector Anaidon replied, sweating and shivering. ¡°I don¡¯t know his real name, only that he founded the cult.¡±


    The man kept ncing down at his snapped thumb, looking sick.


    ¡°That can¡¯t be all you know,¡± Tristan said. ¡°Does Lord Locke have to¡­ put your thumb on the scale again, so to speak?¡±


    The devil beamed back at him, chortling and looking as if that threat had made his day. The cultist paled, looking about to throw up.


    ¡°I, um,¡± he stammered. ¡°He¡¯s a noble, and wealthy. I could tell from his tastes. Real coin, not just passing.¡±


    Tristan hummed, shaking his head at Lord Locke¡¯s quizzical look. He offered up the coin to Lady Keys again, and this time there was a particr intensity to her gaze.


    ¡°Oaks,¡± the devil said.


    He used the luck to secure <em>he</em>r pick, this time, at the low price of the edge of the coin pping at the edge of the phnge in a vaguely painful way.


    ¡°Ah, atst fortune smiles on us,¡± Lady Keys grinned, revealing just a hint of teeth beyond her teeth. ¡°Dearest, if you would?¡±


    ¡°Hector, my friend,¡± Lord Locke said, putting the man down and cleaning his shoulders as if they were old acquaintances instead of his torturer. ¡°What do you know about the harpoon?¡±


    Tristan breathed in sharply. As in the great bronze artifact that Maryam had found in the heart of the prisonyer, plunged into the wastnd of salt keeping the Hated One contained? More interesting yet was that Hector Anaidon flinched, betraying he knew exactly what the devil was asking about.


    ¡°I know that Lord Cordyles has an entire collection of-¡±


    Lord Locke gently reached inside the cultist¡¯s mouth, prying it open and seizing one of the front teeth between two fingers.


    ¡°You don¡¯t need your teeth to answer our questions,¡± the devil noted. ¡°Human teeth, my friend, are <em>most</em> shoddily built. They are so very easy to pull out.¡±


    <em>No they aren¡¯t</em>, Tristan thought. It was actually quite difficult unless you had pincers. Lord Locke removed his shell¡¯s fingers out of the terrified cultists¡¯ mouth, allowing him enough room to speak.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know where it went,¡± Hector sniveled. ¡°They only used my brother¡¯s warehouse for a night, that was all they needed me for!¡±


    ¡°They?¡± Lady Keys idly asked. ¡°borate, my good man. Who told you to hide the artifact?¡±


    ¡°The lesiast,¡± Hector said. ¡°It was all him, all his n.¡±


    ¡°And where did he get it?¡± Lord Locke pressed, for once entirely humorless.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Hector said. ¡°He never said. From some temple, probably, like the sickle.¡±


    Both devils scoffed.


    ¡°Did he ever mention a helper?¡± Lord Locke asked. ¡°A benefactor?¡±


    <em>They¡¯re not here for the infernal forge</em>, Tristan realized. Hage was right. They were hunting someone, someone they thought might have provided this cult of the Odyssean with the weapon that breached the Hated One¡¯s prison.


    ¡°Nothing, he doesn¡¯t trust anyone,¡± Hector wept. ¡°Not even the priests.¡±


    Lady Keys sighed.


    ¡°A waste of time,¡± she told her husband. ¡°Only this lesiast has our answers.¡±


    Lord Locke twirled his mustache thoughtfully.


    ¡°Thatplicates matters somewhat,¡± he said, not sounding entirely displeased.


    Tristan cleared his throat, drawing their attention, and offered up the coin.


    ¡°Onest for the road?¡± he asked, smiling charmingly.


    ¡°By all means,¡± Lord Lockeughed. ¡°We im griffin, this time.¡±


    Oaks it was, and as Tristan released the luck he shifted the weight and immediately felt the sudden itch in his boot ¨C right under his foot, and he¡¯d have to uce the entire thing to scratch it. Ugh, hopefully it would pass soon.


    ¡°What a lucky young man you are,¡± Lady Keys observed.


    ¡°Oh, it¡¯s nothing to rely on,¡± Tristan said. ¡°Fortune is a fickle thing, I find.¡±


    Had those devils not most likely been annealed and thus to be avoided, he suspected Fortuna would have given him an earful about that. Lady Keys shrugged.


    ¡°Your question, Warrant Officer,¡± she said.


    His gaze returned to Lord Hector.


    ¡°Your cult supports a coup by the nobles, but you are also involved with the Trade Assembly¡¯s own plot,¡± Tristan said. ¡°Which of them are you really backing?¡±


    Given how many nobles were supposedly in the cult he suspected they were the horse that had been picked to ride, but the magnate plot was truly getting a helping hand. More than he would have expected if the point of the cult¡¯s infiltration was mostly to sabotage rival efforts.


    ¡°Involved?¡± Hector mocked. ¡°We started the bloody thing, rook. Riled up themons, put the Yellow Earth in a room with the magnates. Do you really think our ambitions stop at backing-¡±


    The end of the sentence was interrupted by a loud, resounding crack. Not a finger this time. Hector Anaidon¡¯s eyes bulged out, his breath stolen by the way Lord Locke had nonchntly snapped his neck.


    ¡°Ah,¡± the devil eximed, sounding embarrassed. ¡°Manifold apologies, Tristan. My hand slipped.¡±


    ¡°Nothing to apologize for, it happens to me all the time,¡± Tristan said, smile gone stilted.


    <em>What are you after?</em> No, he already knew that. The mystery benefactor they had asked Hector about, that was what they wanted. The only part of this ind they took seriously. Whatever the cultists had been about to reveal, then, must have been something that would make it harder for them to find said person. Something tob throughter, though, for now the thief was suddenly and painfully aware he was the only living soul left in the room with two devils that might well prefer there be no witness to their passing through.


    Tristan coughed into his hand.


    ¡°It is gettingte,¡± he said. ¡°I suppose I should be headed out. Any interesting ns for the night?¡±


    Lady Keys cocked her head to the side.


    ¡°I could go for dinner,¡± she smiled. ¡°Dear?¡±


    ¡°Something Trebian, I think,¡± he mused. ¡°Not too fat, I fear that our diet has been a little heavy in Tratheke. I feel full enough to burst.¡±


    Shit. <em>Shit</em>. How could he - breathing in, Tristan swallowed his fear and crossed his arms over his chest. The arbol he put away, slipped inside, and moved his fingers a little more to reach deeper.


    ¡°Oh, I can¡¯t stop you if you want a nibble,¡± he said. ¡°But two on one? It hardly seems sporting.¡±


    ¡°A fair point,¡± Lord Locke mused. ¡°<em>Cara mia</em>?¡±


    ¡°He wants to gamble for it,¡± Lady Keys grinned. ¡°Use his contract to cheat a fourth time, no doubt. Naughty, naughty.¡±


    ¡°Ah, so you<em> could </em>tell when I used it,¡± Tristan said.


    He¡¯d thought they might, considering Hage was able to see Fortuna. Odds they couldn¡¯t tell what it did, though, just that he was using it.


    ¡°I offer you a bargain, then,¡± he continued. ¡°Onest flip ¨C this one with real stakes. If I use my contract in any way, it counts as my loss.¡±


    He presented his shiny silver coin.


    ¡°Oaks I live, griffin you dine on these fine Sacromontan ribs,¡± Tristan smiled, closing his fist around the coin with a snap. ¡°How about it?¡±


    The devils leaned in hungrily.


    ¡°Oh, that will do. Flip the coin, Tristan Abrascal,¡± Lady Keys said.


    ¡°How lucky are you feeling, Sacromontan?¡± Lord Locke grinned.


    ¡°Oh, not at all,¡± Tristan honestly replied, and flipped the coin.


    It rang out with fine twang, a blur to the eye, but almost immediately he snatched it out of the air and pped it down on the back of his other hand. He nced back at the devils, whose shining gazes had never left his face. Drinking in his nerves like fine wine.


    ¡°Ready?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t tease,¡± Lord Locke said, clicking his teeth.


    <em>All </em>his teeth.


    He raised his hand, revealing the intertwined oaks under his hand. Both devils sagged, almostically disappointed, but neither seemed¡­ angry at the loss, so to speak. As if the game was as satisfying to them as the meal might have been.


    ¡°Lucky boy, after all,¡± Lady Keys sighed.


    ¡°Of course,¡± Tristan lied.


    He cleared his throat, taking a step towards the lift.


    ¡°Well, it¡¯s been a pleasure, but I do have to run,¡± Tristan said, backing away until he was at the door.


    He opened it, backed into the lift and reached for a hanging rope before tugging it. A bell sounded downstairs. By now Hage had either failed or seized the bottom of the lift, but even if he hadn¡¯t risking the soldiers was probably safer than staying up here.


    ¡°So eager to leave us, Tristan?¡± Lady Keys asked.


    ¡°Almost as if you had something to hide,¡± Lord Locke mused, thumbing his mustache. ¡°Suspicious.¡±


    Tristan tugged at the rope again. Twice. Thrice. What in the Manes was Hage doing?


    ¡°I thought you might need a moment alone with the¡­¡± his eyes drifted to Hector Anaidon, looking for a word, ¡°¡­ local fare. Light some candles and it could be quite the romantic evening.¡±


    ¡°You reek of lies,¡± Lady Keys used.


    ¡°A hazard of my upation,¡± Tristan lied, tugging at the rope again. ¡°Mine is an honest soul, mydy, and I would never cheat beloved friends such as you.¡±


    And, thank the gods and even Fortuna, the lift finally began moving.


    ¡°Tristan,¡± Lord Locke seriously said. ¡°Did you cheat us?¡±


    ¡°Of course not,¡± Tristan said, putting a hand over his heart. ¡°Here, you can even inspect the coin.¡±


    And now here was the real gamble for his life. He tossed them the coin even as the lift began going down, just before his upper body went out of sight, and hoped he had made the choice that would not result in them ripping out the cables keeping the lift in ce and send him tumbling a hundred feet down to his death in a wooden box.


    See, the pair of them did not like losing. That was why he if he had kept cheating on the tosses Lady Keys would likely have snapped his neck. But they <em>did</em> like to be entertained, which he thought could involve losing if they still got augh out of it. So instead of trying to get away with thest time he¡¯d cheated them, he gave away the trick. Tristan had not been lucky at all, with thatst toss.


    He¡¯d just used Rhea¡¯s counterfeit arbol with oaks on both sides so he could not possibly lose.


    And just as the lift cleared the upper level, leaving him to look only at the tall brass wall and the long drop, twin shrieks of anger came from the room. An exmation of ¡®<em>beloved friends¡¯</em>, and something that sounded like a curse on seven generations of the Abrascal. A theater of anger. Tristan¡¯s shoulders dropped and he sagged against the railing, the tension bleeding out of him.


    So they wanted to keep toying with him, make him empty his bag of tricks before they ate him. They¡¯de for his hide again, he was sure, but it was looking he¡¯d make it through the night.


    Sometimes that was the most you could ask for.


    --


    Hage was waiting at the bottom, leaning against the wall in the brown surcoat with a wide hat pulled back to cover much of his face. Whatever the old devil had been about to say, Tristan cut it short.


    ¡°Locke and Keys are up there,¡± he tly said. ¡°Time to get out, Hage.¡±


    The old devil was instantly alert.


    ¡°They let you leave?¡±


    ¡°I tricked them in a way they liked but who knows how long that¡¯ll keep,¡± Tristan grunted, striding out of the cage. ¡°<em>Move</em>.¡±


    He did not ask what had happened to the guards who would have kept an eye on the lift, hurrying towards their designated escape path ¨C a room to the east which had a window that led right onto a smaller rooftop if you leaped right.


    ¡°Anaidon?¡± Hage asked.


    ¡°They snapped his neck before he could tell me something important,¡± he grunted back. ¡°He still had time to imply the cult might be ying both sides for some greater purpose, though.¡±


    Leaving proved less difficult than expected, in no small part because it was evening and most of the mercenaries were abed. Hage picked the lock on the room they had chosen and momentster Tristan was leaping across to the smaller rooftop. The old devil was not far behind, light-footed as a cat, and they disappeared into the night. The basileias did not patrol the streets as much,e night, and when they did their torches were visible from afar. The Masks returned to the basement without incident.


    They methodically cleaned up all traces of their presence, Sakkas still gone with the wind while Mephistofeline was stashed in Hage¡¯s packsack with only his head peeking out curiously. He did not seem to mind this, purring loudly.


    ¡°We should move before the corpse is discovered,¡± Hage said. ¡°There are paths that will let us slip around the streets the basileias keep an eye on, I will-¡±


    Whatever it had been the old devil was about to say, it was interrupted by ringing bells and shouting. Sharing a look they crept back to the surface for a look, and what they found gave them pause. The hideout was ame, fire already licking its way up the tower as the warehouse levels burned bright and panicked men tried to organize a daisy chain of water buckets.


    ¡°That,¡± Tristan murmured, ¡°is one way to get rid of the evidence, I suppose.¡±


    ¡°They didn¡¯t do that for one dead noble, boy,¡± Hage said. ¡°They set fire to the anthill so the ants would swarm around it: they are forcing us off the streets.¡±


    Because, the Mask grasped, the fire would draw every rebel and criminal in the ward to the few city blocks around here and so there could be no sneaking back into the city proper.


    ¡°They are slowing us down,¡± Tristan murmured.


    Hage nodded.


    ¡°We stay in the basement for now,¡± he said. ¡°Better to wait it out than risk sneaking through, even if that is what they want.¡±


    The devil sighed.


    ¡°I suppose we can share a carriage back to ck House in the morning,¡± he allowed, as if he wasn¡¯t going to pay for it with Tristan¡¯s own silver.


    ¡°Very kind of you, sir,¡± Tristan drawled, ¡°but I have another visit I must make first. I have a supply stash in the city, I must check on.¡±


    Hage¡¯s brow rose.


    ¡°You will not be returning to ck House first?¡±


    ¡°I have some loose ends to tie up,¡± Tristan vaguely replied.


    He needed to check on his poison stocks and his preparations around the Neenth¡¯s safehouse. He¡¯d had it all in ce to make his move when the magnates decided he would make a better hostage instead. The old devil cocked his head to the side.


    ¡°The Neenth,¡± he said.


    Tristan swallowed, smoothed away his fear.


    ¡°I am investigating them, yes,¡± he said.


    ¡°Investigating. Is that what you would call it?¡± Hage asked.


    ¡°What else would I?¡± he pleasantly smiled.


    The devil only hummed.


    ¡°Report to ck House first,¡± the devil ordered.


    He gritted his teeth, but arguing with Hage was a losing proposition. It was not clear how high up the creature was in the Krypteia¡¯s ranks, but that he stood higher than Tristan was certain.


    ¡°As you say,¡± Tristan grunted.


    In and out in an hour, he thought. Leaving a written report if the others were busy would make a decent excuse. Song would be miffed and Maryam would berate him, but he¡¯d pay his dues when he had finished the necessary work.


    ¡°Good,¡± the old devil said. ¡°Then, as a reward for your performance tonight, here is a tidbit of interest: their entire brigade will be at their safehouse at the sixth hour of the evening. They reported a breakthrough in their investigation and have borrowed certain machinery from our Lordsport facilities as well as given warning of a nned aether disturbance. Here is a list of the goods.¡±


    The thief¡¯s fingers clenched. It was deeply unpleasant, feeling as thoroughly seen through as he tended to around Hage. And now that he had been given this, he must genuinely report to Song or he would not be returning the favor the devil had just done him ¨C and thus be in his debt. Tristan did not want to be in any devil¡¯s debt, much less this one¡¯s. He took the offered paper.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± he stiffly replied.


    He opened it, frowning at the contents. Aether pump. Tensile barometer.


    ¡°What¡¯s ¡®perfect culm¡¯?¡± Tristan asked.


    ¡°Fuel,¡± Hage said. ¡°And not the natural kind.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re up to something,¡± he muttered. ¡°Izel Coyac is a tinker, they¡¯re making some sort of device.¡±


    ¡°I believe their n is to draw the god and trap it,¡± the old devil said. ¡°So they might then disy him as proof of a contract discharged.¡±


    ¡°And that would work?¡± he asked, skeptical.


    ¡°Their Deuteronomicon boy is, at least, using the correct time of the day for the ritual,¡± he said. ¡°Though by their choice of devices, I expect they are either trying to shove the entity into the prisonyer or to bind it to their service.¡±


    Tristan stilled. If they got their hands on that remnant god, there was one obvious target for them to use it on.


    ¡°Duly noted,¡± he croaked out.


    He turned a clean pair of heels, eager to return to the basement and show his back to those prying eyes, only to slow when Hage¡¯s voice resounded.


    ¡°Tristan.¡±


    He turned, finding the devil¡¯s face gone ck. The shell had no expression at all, like a puppetid to rest.


    ¡°The Krypteia,¡± Hage said, ¡°does not deal inws. We deal in<em> necessity</em>. It does not do to forget this.¡±


    <em>The Krypteia allows other ckcloaks to put a bounty of my head,</em> Tristan thought. <em>Allows other students to attempt to collect on it.</em> He did much care what the Krypteia was meant to deal in.


    Abu¡¯s teachings were clear: no loose ends.


    The Novel will be updated first on this website. Come back and


    continue reading tomorrow, everyone!

 Chapter 67

    Chapter 67


    The knock on the door would have woken up Song, if she were asleep.


    Instead she was sitting in the dark in her uniform, a treatise on Izcalli titles lying open in front of her ¨C ¡®<em>tetehcutin¡¯</em>, it read, <em>is the highest semi-hereditary rank under the Calendar Court, ruling the broad equivalent to a Lierganen coun- </em>in a silent reproach, the page unchanged for thest hour. Song¡¯s eyes burned with exhaustion but she could not sleep. There was another knock, soft but urgent. Toc toc toc. Shaking out her empty-eyed trance she rose to her feet, leg knocking against the writing desk, and made for the door.


    She wrenched it open, hoping for Maryam or Angharad or even Tristan. Instead what she found was a nervous-looking Someshwari with a in face decorated by brass spectacles.


    ¡°Adarsh Hebbar,¡± she said.


    ¡°Bait,¡± he retorted. ¡°Let me in before someone sees.¡±


    Too surprised to argue, she moved aside and he hurried in as if some angry hound might nip at his heels out in the hall. Song closed the door, and after a moment of the man looking lost remembered it wasplete darkness in here for someone without her eyes. She moved to light one of themps, striking the match. Hebbar looked relieved by the light, arms loosening their grip around the packet he was clutching like a buoy.


    ¡°Bait,¡± she said. ¡°To what do I owe the pleasure?¡±


    He passed her the packet, cloth tied up by rope, and her wrist dipped under the weight. Heavy. Piles of paper, by the feel of it.


    ¡°There,¡± Adarsh Hebbar said. ¡°All our reports, along with Alejandra¡¯s tracings of the symbols in the temple and the drawings I made of theyout. You have two hours at most before I have to put them back or Tupoc will surely notice.¡±Song¡¯s brow rose.


    ¡°And what brings on this bout of generosity?¡±


    ¡°Tupoc¡¯s going to refuse your deal in the morning,¡± Adarsh said. ¡°Said he wants to see if he can make you and Imani squabble first. So here it is.¡±


    Song cocked her head to the side, saw how his fingers were twitching and there was an expectant cast to the angle of his wobbly chin.


    ¡°I would praise your sense of duty,¡± she said. ¡°But I expect that¡¯s not why you are here.¡±


    ¡°Fuck duty,¡± Bait cursed. ¡°Tell Abrascal that we¡¯re square after this. te clean.¡±


    The Someswhari licked his lips.


    ¡°You can tell him to stop, right? You¡¯re his captain. Tupoc¡¯s been keeping a closer eye on all of us since the Eleventh tried to y Alejandra, if he notices that I¡¯m being hit up by <em>Abrascal </em>of all of people then¡­¡±


    ¡°I can,¡± Song slowly said.


    She was slightly more than half sure this was true. Would it stop Tristan from looking into further ckmail on the man now that he had found a weakness in the Fourth? Oh, gods no. But she was confident he would agree to wiping the te clean of the current chalk. Behind the brass spectacles hopeful brown eyes implored her and she sighed.


    ¡°Consider it done,¡± she said.


    The man nodded, sagging with relief, then shuffled awkwardly on his feet.


    ¡°Can I, uh, stay here while you read?¡± Bait asked. ¡°They might notice if I keeping in and out of rooms.¡±


    Song stared him down. He wilted instantly.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be quiet,¡± he hurried to assure her. ¡°You won¡¯t even notice I¡¯m there.¡±


    After a moment she nodded.


    ¡°Feel free to read anything I left out,¡± Song conceded. ¡°Though do not move any of the markers I left.¡±


    ¡°I would never,¡± Bait strongly replied, sounding almost offended now of all times.


    Ah, right, Adarsh Hebbar was a Savant. She never had been given a clear idea of his area of interest within the Peiling Society, however. Song waved him away and he settled by themp after having gone through her pile of books, picking one on the anatomy of lemures. One of her attempts to stay ahead when it came to Teratology. With him upied, she settled back at her writing desk and cleared the abandoned book off before carefully opening the package.


    It irritated but did not surprise her that Tupoc Xical had beautiful handwriting, a genuine pleasure to the eye. Even worse his reports to his patron and the Obscure Committee were clear, concise and structured in a rather intuitive way. It might actually be better than the temte she used, which had her gritting her teeth. No, copying the pattern would be letting him win. She would need toe up with something <em>better</em>. Righteous anger aside, Song skimmed through the lines quickly to get at what she wanted.


    There it was, the itinerary taken by the Fourth. Once they¡¯d made shore on the eastern third of Asphodel they had quickly gone northeast through thends of House Florin, Chontos, Florin again and then the major stretch in thends of House Arkol. It had been Arkol troops that shadowed the Fourth Brigade on their hunt, eventually being dispersed by the Ladonite dragon. Song had held her suspicions, but it was good to have it confirmed.


    It meant the hidden temple was somewhere near Arkolnds and that Lord Phaedros Arkol, a social acquaintance of Angharad¡¯s, could potentially be approached to obtain information on it. Lords might not concern themselves with old country legends, not courtiers like Lord Phaedros at least, but there would be <em>someone</em> in that household who would know something.


    With that lead unearthed Song moved on to the part second most of interest, the temple itself. Tupoc theorized in his report that it had been as much a mausoleum as a ce of worship, as the structure was built to emphasize of a ring ofrge stone caskets buried around the shrine to the unnamed god. He also added that while he had earlier in his report mentioned his belief that the temple had recently been visited by grave-robbers, there were also signs of the temple having been forcefully shut down some time ago. At least decades prior but potentially much longer.


    He noted that while some symbols remained carved into the walls near the altar, what appeared to have once been names and scripture had been rendered forcefully unreadable in the rest of theplex. Tupoc identified several broken chunks of stone he believed had been the bottom of steles and there were signs of mosaics having been ripped out and colors scrubbed. He added that considering the symbols found¡­


    There Song set aside the report to refer to Alejandra¡¯s tracings of said symbols. The first traced was a stone casket, like those described in the report. Some sort of ritual reference? The second had her eyes narrowing, though, for it was a sickle. She returned to Tupoc¡¯s writing, where he wrote he believed the artifact taken from the shrine would have been a sickle going by the iconography and dust pattern on the altar. That, Song grimly thought, did not strike her as a coincidence.


    The sacred sickle of a faded death god went missing, then a leashed remnant bearing such a sickle began appearing in Trathekemitting murders? Whether or not it had been grave-robbers who first found that temple, the sickle had since fallen into the hands of someone with greater ambitions than turning a profit.


    The rest of Tupoc¡¯s report on the temple was a methodical description, paired with Adarsh Hebbar¡¯s fine drawing of it. She nced at the Someshwari, finding him engrossed in his book, and revised her opinion of his talent upwards. It led into Tupoc¡¯s formal rmendation that the Watch take custody of the temple since it had likely been used for human sacrifice in its heyday.


    He based that rmendation on the outer graves, which were long rectangr stone pits filled with earth but some of which hadin empty. Unlike the caskets, which he proposed had been reserved for priests since there were ashes inside but no bones, the pits had been used for mass burials and the skeletons the Fourth unearthed had all been killed the same way: a single de wound through the back of the neck. A familiar description to Song, that.


    It was the same way the leashed remnant killing in the city took its victims.


    Song set the papers down, leaning forward to set her elbows on the table and close her eyes as she rested her chin on folded hands. Another piece of the puzzle. She could now be mostly certain of what the killer the Neenth was pursuing truly was: the remnant of the nameless sickle god, leashed by means of a sacred artifact. But who held the leash, and why?


    The Neenth had been convinced the killings were arbitrary but Song doubted it. The sickle alone would not be enough to set a remnant loose, there would have to be some attendant ritual ¨C potentially a pricey one. Not the sort of thing one used to cause random deaths. <em>Unless the randomness is the point</em>. <em>It creates fear in Tratheke, fear that the ambitious can exploit.</em> But if that was the case, why not use the knife slightly more discriminately when causing that chaos? No, something was still missing.


    But she was closer to solving the mystery now, she could feel it. On the very edge. Now what she needed was a look at Imani Langa¡¯s own reports, the ones about the sinister rituals out in Tratheke Valley, and for Tristan to return with the secrets he¡¯d gathered. <em>Someone </em>out there knew about the remnant, because they¡¯d warned the man Tristan had saved ¨C a certain ¡®Temenos¡¯ ¨C that he might be a target. What did that person know, and how did they know it? That was the thread in need of pulling to unravel this entire conspiracy.


    Song itched to wake Maryam and Angharad, to shake answers out of them and force them to look at all this, but both had returnedte to ck House and gone to bed instead of seeking her out. Thosete returns were half the reason she¡¯d been unable to sleep, considering Maryam was set on a dangerous ritual that might well kill her and Angharad had been infiltrating the cult ¨C sessfully, one presumed, given that she had not returned until the small hours of morning.


    But now she was spinning again, wing at the walls of her own mind. They needed their sleep, the same rest she should be taking if she had any sense. She had what she needed from the report, time to end this.


    ¡°I am finished,¡± Song said.


    Bait nearly leaped out of his skin at her words, having entirely forgot where he was. His spectacles almost fell off his face and he fumbled catching the brass frame, which would have hit the floor if not for getting caught on a belt ornamentation. He hastily shoved them back on and rose to his feet, which made the book still on his knees fall, and when he just as hastily bent to pick it up his spectacles almost fell again. Song watched the entire debacle from beginning to end with what she could only call morbid fascination.


    ¡°Right on,¡± Adarsh Hebbar forced out, coughing into his fist. ¡°Nothing left to read?¡±


    ¡°I am finished,¡± Song repeated. ¡°Thank you for your help, Bait.¡±


    He cleared his throat.


    ¡°And Abrascal¡­¡±


    ¡°Consider the matter he used against you permanently buried,¡± she said. ¡°You will hear no more of it.¡±


    The naked relief on his face almost made her feel bad about the precise phrasing of that sentence. How very Mni of her.


    ¡°I¡¯ll take care of the wrapping,¡± he said, ¡°there¡¯s a trick to it, to avoid someone not of our brigade doing exactly what I did. It was a pleasure doing business with you, Captain Ren.¡±


    ¡°And you,¡± Song replied, inclining her head.


    She did not sleep well, after he left, but she did sleep. It was better than nothing.


    --


    Refraining from ambushing her cabalists in their own room the moment they woke took a great deal of self-control, but Song mastered herself. Hand on the chisel. She went down to breakfast with them, seating herself by Captain Imani Langa just in time for Tupoc to stroll in and theatrically announce that he must decline their bargain, wary of his secrets being spread too broadly, but that he might ept sharing with <em>one</em> of them.


    Song painted anger over her face, noticing the satisfaction on the Izcalli¡¯s, but the moment he was out of earshot she turned to Imani.


    ¡°I will cede you the right to his information for a favor,¡± she offered.


    Imani studied her.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have much use for the information,¡± she said.


    Song knew the beginning of a negotiation when she saw it, though, and got to work. It was fairly straightforward to aplish, given that Imani had rtively little leverage and Tupoc was the one forcing the choice so the Thirteenth couldn¡¯t be used of being the problem. Song used the opportunity to secure the trade of their own reports, too, just after breakfast.


    Though it would not be immediately read, considering she had higher priorities. Her eyes drifted to Maryam and Angharad, who sat on the opposite side of the table and had watched the negotiation with all the interest of someone who might begin to care when they had finished their morning tea but not a moment sooner. Maryam, in particr, looked like she might copse at any moment.


    But she wasn¡¯t speaking in tongues, so at least her ritual had not taken a turn for the very worst. It shouldn¡¯t have, when she said thatst night was a trap and tonight would be the murder, but with Gloam there was no certainty save harm.


    ¡°After breakfast,¡± Song began, ¡°you are to join me in my room for a-¡±


    ¡°Captain Song Ren?¡±


    She turned, frowning, to see one of the liveried servants smiling at her apologetically. She smoothed the displeasure off her face. They had done nothing to earn it.


    ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°A guest requests your presence, ma¡¯am,¡± the young man said. ¡°You and Warrant Officer Maryam Khaimov.¡±


    She blinked.


    ¡°And this cannot wait until we are done eating?¡±


    ¡°He said no, ma¡¯am,¡± the servant said. ¡°And he¡¯s an officer, ma¡¯am. Captain Traore.¡±


    Song stilled. That was the name Colonel Adamos of Stheno¡¯s Peak had given for the Savant he was sending to the capital to debrief them. She gulped down thest of her almost-scalding tea, then gestured for Maryam to follow.


    ¡°About your letter,¡± she exined when given a quizzical look.


    ¡°Ah,¡± Maryam muttered, slowly rising. ¡°My own fault then.¡±


    Angharad raised expectant brows, but Song shook her head. This was not to be the kind of conversation where one went without summons and Angharad had not been named. Likely if Maryam had not sent a letter of her own to Stheno¡¯s Peak she would not be attending either.


    ¡°In my quarters after breakfast,¡± Song simply said.


    After a beat of hesitation, Angharad nodded. The noblewoman had begun avoiding her like the gue again, since their confrontation, but she did not refuse direct orders. Even when angry she tended to her duty with care. Maryam shambled up to Song¡¯s side and after onest look Song nodded at the servant to guide them. They followed him into the depths of ck House, the silver-eyed woman slowing her steps so she could address Maryam without being overheard.


    ¡°Will you be fit for conversation?¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± Maryam said, wrinkling her nose.


    Under Song¡¯s steady, unblinking stare that false confidence began to wane.


    ¡°I¡¯m not at my best,¡± the signifier conceded, ¡°but I am capable.¡±


    Song hummed.


    ¡°Your health?¡±


    ¡°Fine, Song,¡± Maryam snapped.


    ¡°Captain Ren,¡± Song coldly corrected, ¡°if rank is what it takes to get an honest reply. Answer, Warrant Officer Khaimov. You undertook a dangerous Gloam ritual against my rmendationsst night. <em>How is your health</em>?¡±


    Blue eyes hardened, and Song saw the sharp reply on the tip of her tongue. Whatever it was that Maryam found on her face, though, it gave her pause.


    ¡°It would be best if I slept in a Meadow soon,¡± she conceded.


    ¡°Then you will be sleeping on the roof this afternoon,¡± Song ordered. ¡°At least three hours.¡±


    ¡°I was going to anyway,¡± Maryam muttered.


    But she did not argue. By the stiff way the servant ahead of them was now walking he¡¯d overheard some of that but Song was too tired to be embarrassed. They were soon brought to what she realized after a moment of uncertainty was the very same room where yesterday she had watched Captain Santos strike deal with the traitor Ledwaba. It was exactly the same inside when they were bid in, down to the water carafe on the buffet.


    ¡°Good, you did not waste time. Sit.¡±


    Captain Traore, who must be the man who¡¯d just addressed them, would have been one of the shortest Mni she ever saw were he Mni at all. He was not, for though very dark of skin he had a lilting ent and borate earrings inscribed with a prayer pattern. He was Jahamai, like Commander Salimata back on Tolomontera. Would Maryam know the difference, though<em>?</em> By the stiff look on her face, she did not.


    They both sat as instructed and since the small, almost fragile-looking man offered no refreshments Song cleared her throat.


    ¡°A pleasure to meet you, sir,¡± she said. ¡°I only received the letter from Colonel Adamos yesterday, it was dyed by an encounter with Cordyles ships.¡±


    ¡°The roads through the valley were no better,¡± Captain Traore told her. ¡°Lemures are wandering the paths and there¡¯s even been talk of them attacking farms. Whatever has them stirred up, it is only getting worse.¡±


    ¡°There have been rituals in the hills,¡± Song carefully said. ¡°The Eleventh Brigade is investigating this.¡±


    The captain waved that away.


    ¡°The colonel sent one of our cabals to look into it as well,¡± he said. ¡°Whatever it is, our Skiritai will have it shot full of silver and salt soon enough. Much more dangerous is what<em> your</em> brigade has been up to.¡±


    ¡°Pardon?¡± Maryam said, her first word since the talk began.


    Were she less tired, Song thought, she would better hide the general antipathy she felt towards any Mni holding authority over her. But she was exactly tired enough not to. Lucky for them, Traore either did not notice or did not care.


    ¡°Not you,¡± the man dismissed. ¡°In particr at least. Though the letter you sent about the Asphodel crowns and their effect on the local aether has our own Akrre in a frenzy.¡±


    Maryam blinked in surprise.


    ¡°Was it not a documented phenomenon? I reached out to consult their records of it.¡±


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t a phenomenon at all, as ofst year,¡± Captain Traore tly said. ¡°It still isn¡¯t on the northern edges of the valley, but the closer to the capital a signifier approaches the fuller the phenomenon bes. We had it tested, it fully coalesces about a week from Tratheke by horse.¡±


    Song shared a look with Maryam, sensing gravity but not exactly what it meant.


    ¡°I am a Stripe, andrgely untrained in such matters,¡± Song tried. ¡°Could you exin for my sake?¡±


    The man shrugged.


    ¡°We do not know what it means, exactly,¡± he admitted. ¡°At the very least, such arge-scale disturbance in the aether means that something concerning the emanations rted to those flowers is undergoing a significant change.¡±


    ¡°Those flowers are a symbol of Asphodel,¡± Maryam quietly said, ¡°but also of the god Oduromai. Do you think¡­¡±


    ¡°Our leading theory is that the god¡¯s association to the <em>ruler </em>of Asphodel in particr is the cause of the disturbance,¡± Captain Traore said. ¡°That the local aether is reacting because the first steps of a civil war for the throne have been taken, yet unseen.¡±


    Song was rather beginning to wish she had taken Angharad¡¯s reportst night regardless of the Skiritai¡¯s inclination to wait until morning. She kept that thought off her face.


    ¡°Which would be why the phenomenon centers on Tratheke,¡± Maryam muttered. ¡°The throne is here and it¡¯s happening here.¡±


    Captain Traore inclined his head in agreement.


    ¡°Has the question been answered to your satisfaction, Warrant Officer Khaimov?¡± he asked.


    Maryam nodded, saying no more.


    ¡°Good,¡± the small man said, then his face turned harsh. ¡°Now, I must ask you ¨C what in Caged Hell went through your minds when youmitted the epithet of a god under aether seal to paper?¡±


    Song cleared her throat.


    ¡°Maryam had nothing to do with that.¡±


    ¡°I saw your brigade roster,¡± Captain Traore replied, unimpressed. ¡°You have a sneak and swordarm filling the other seats, did you truly not think to consult your sole reliable source of lore on such a matter before writing to Stheno¡¯s Peak?¡±


    ¡°Given that she had recently been harmed by contact with the aether seal, yes,¡± Song tly replied.


    The older man shook his head.


    ¡°Then you are a fool,¡± he said. ¡°You are now under formal order of themanding officer of the Asphodel garrison to never again mention the Hated One until granted authorization by said officer or the Conve.¡±


    Song frowned at him.


    ¡°A colonel does not have that authority,¡± she said. ¡°Unless¡­¡±


    ¡°Unless the whole matter was put under seal by the Conve¡¯s own order in the first ce, yes,¡± Captain Traore said. ¡°You are allowed to file a petition to ess the appropriate file, though I wouldn¡¯t hold my breath.¡±


    Neither would Song. Getting the petition to the Rookery might take weeks, but actually getting it in front of the Conve would take even longer and have no guarantee of sess.


    ¡°The matter concerns our contract with the throne,¡± Song said. ¡°Surely the Lord Rector at least-¡±


    ¡°The colonel has decided that if House Palliades lost that knowledge, it¡¯s on them,¡± Captain Traore said. ¡°All the better for the work.¡±


    ¡°But<em> we</em>, at least, are owed an exnation,¡± Maryam pressed.


    ¡°Enough of one to fulfill your obligations,¡± the man conceded. ¡°What I can tell you is that after the Ataxia, Lord Rector Hector Lissenos hired the Watch to build a prison and an aether seal over the entity now known as the Hated One.¡±


    ¡°So it was the same god that drove the Ataxia,¡± Song pressed.


    He nodded.


    ¡°The entity is a manner of thanatophage, a death-eater, so the protracted civil war paired with entrenched worship made it effectively impossible to kill at the time,¡± Captain Traore said. ¡°The Watch deployed twenty cabals under Commander Estefania Estay to trap it in a massive Antediluvian cavern beneath the capital long enough to imprison it inside an artificialyer.¡±


    Meaning Hector Lissenons had reigned for a few years with the Hated One trapped under his capital. No wonder he had been willing to spend a fortune to import brackstone and the machinery necessary for an aether seal. There was a mad god dwelling beneath his feet. And now Song finally had a name: Commander Estafania Estay, who must be the ¡®C.E.¡¯ from the letters with Hector Lissenos. Maryam suddenly stirred.


    ¡°That cavern,¡± she said. ¡°Was it brass or stone?¡±


    The man frowned, as if looking for a reason to refuse information, but seemed to decide there was none.


    ¡°Stone,¡± he said. ¡°Though given the sheer height of the ceiling it can only have been dug by the First Empire.¡±


    ¡°And it¡¯s essible by the pce lift,¡± Maryam continued.


    The captain leaned back into his seat. For the first time that morning, Song found surprise on his face.


    ¡°And how would you know that, exactly?¡± he asked.


    ¡°I was part of the delegation that went to the shipyard,¡± Maryam said. ¡°To feign us being on the road, the Lord Rector¡¯s men had us going around in rings in a massive room. One that wasn¡¯t brass. It must have been the same one.¡±


    Captain Traore hummed.


    ¡°Interesting,¡± he said. ¡°Our knowledge of that cavern¡¯s existence is why we dismissed the possibility of the shipyards being directly beneath the capital. We had not considered what proved to be the truth, that the facility was in a deeperyer.¡±


    Most likely, Song thought, because the rulers of Asphodel had not known about it either. Some predecessor of Evander¡¯s must have discovered it by happenstance and begun the work of restoring the shipyard.


    ¡°Yet the god is no longer physically in that cavern,¡± Song said. ¡°It is in the prisonyer, and under an aether seal besides.¡±


    ¡°Should theyer break, that is the most likely location for the entity to emerge into the Material again,¡± Captain Traore said. ¡°But despite your report of some local agitators having stumbled onto a way to traverse thatyer, we don¡¯t believe it at risk of being breached. The entity has been starved for over two centuries and is still under seal, it is thoroughly contained.¡±


    ¡°Water always gets out,¡± Maryam retorted.


    ¡°Don¡¯t quote Totec the Feathered at me, girl, I¡¯ve read his books too,¡± Captain Traore grunted in amusement.


    By the befuddled look on Maryam¡¯s face, she had read no such thing.


    ¡°The colonel dispatched a cabal to check on the prisonyer and sent word to the regional headquarters in Lucierna asking for the Akrre Guild to send a team of specialists for a full inspection. That harpoon you mentioned was deemed worrying, we¡¯re looking to extract it.¡±


    He paused.


    ¡°What we do not believe is that a theistic leak is in any sense <em>imminent</em>,¡± he took pains to make clear. ¡°A god held under such conditions for centuries will not simply spring out at the first opportunity, it is very much a salted slug: even should there still be life in it, it would take watering for it to even wake up. Nothing so simple as a few sacrificed beggars, either.¡±


    They then went through the song and dance of trying to ask more about the Hated One ¨C well, Song did at least, Maryam looked two thirds dead and acted half ¨C only to be reassured that the situation was being handled. It became clear after several rounds of this that she would not be getting any more information out of Captain Traore. The officer then presented papers for them to sign, little more than an acknowledgement that they had received Colonel Adamos¡¯ orders on the matter of the Hated One.


    Song extracted in return a signed acknowledgement that the Thirteenth Brigade was allowed to mention the entity¡¯s existence as part of its obligated contract duties, including reports. The captain must have assumed she only meant her reports to Wen and the Obscure Committee, but she had in practice secured an exemption to pass some knowledge of the Hated One to the Lord Rector should she wish it.


    Not that she was sure if she<em> did</em> wish it, or to see him again at all.


    She was to meet the Yellow Earth at noon, besides, and did not want to answer Evander¡¯s letter before she had heard what the revolutionaries wanted of her. She doubted it would be anything pleasant.


    ¡°I will be at ck House for another day or two,¡± Captain Traore said. ¡°Should you have any concerns over this matter, you may send for me.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, captain,¡± Song replied, inclining her head.


    Maryam jolted out of her half-sleep to imitate her. He inclined it back.


    ¡°You are dismissed.¡±


    She took her leave, tugging Maryam along. The earlier burst of energy at the mention of the cavern had long faded, leaving Song in thepany of a moderately mobile corpse. She stopped her halfway to the room, in an empty corridor, and sighed.


    ¡°You are in no state for a debrief,¡± Song said.


    ¡°M¡¯fine,¡± Maryam grunted, but the protest was weak.


    Song knew that Maryam¡¯s stubbornness was the only reason she had made it this far. She only wished it was not so likely to be the reason she stumbled having gotten here.


    ¡°What happened up in the pce?¡± Song asked.


    ¡°I got what I needed,¡± Maryam said. ¡°Tonight I finish it.¡±


    Song gritted her teeth. Recklessness upon recklessness.


    ¡°Look at the state of you right now,¡± she said. ¡°You are not fit for anything strenuous. Won¡¯t you at least wait a day to-¡±


    ¡°Will that be all, Captain Ren?¡± Maryam evenly asked.


    Song looked into those blue eyes, wondering how many before had seen what she did: determination like bedrock, as likely to move as the mountains. Maryam was set.


    ¡°Fine,¡± she bit out. ¡°You are to have at least three hours of sleep on the roof garden, then seek me out for a debrief should I be back.¡±


    ¡°Back from where?¡± Maryam blinked.


    ¡°That will be all, Warrant Officer Khaimov,¡± Song pettily replied.


    The satisfaction was like a struck match, there long enough to burn but not to warm. So be it.


    There was work to do.


    --


    They sat in Song¡¯s room for the debrief, with tea and cakes, but when Angharad ceased talking her first thought was that she should have sent for something stronger than tea.


    ¡°Four days,¡± Song said. ¡°We have only four days until the coup.¡±


    ¡°That is what Lady Doukas imed,¡± Angharad confirmed.


    Song closed her eyes to blot out distractions. It had all been important information, or close enough, but beyond the timeline what was the crux here? <em>Lord Gule confessed to being one of the five heads of the cult</em>, she decided. That confession and the nature of the ceremony that Angharad had witnessed should be enough for the Watch tomit to the risk of arresting an ambassador of Mn. Bleeding a god was not forbidden under the Iscariot ords, but buying murders off one like plums at the market most certainly was.


    If the Kingdom of Mn was given solid enough evidence, they would let Gule disappear quietly rather than taint their reputation around the Trebian Sea by letting ite out their ambassador had been up to his neck in a coup and a murder cult.


    Lady Doukas? Even easier, as she did not have the Queen Perpetual standing at her back. The Watch could pick her up within the hour, if Song asked, but was that the right call? She was not sure. Silver eyes opened, finding Angharad sitting patiently with her hands folded in herp. That face might as well be nk, Song thought. The pleasantness there was just the badge of office Angharad Tredegar felt she owed life to wear, as a ck cloak for what the noblewoman thought she owed Vesper.


    They¡¯d been closer than that, on the Dominion. Before Song pulled the trigger and lied about it. Before she dug a second grave for that friendship trying to fill the first one.


    ¡°Once more, your sess is worthy of praise,¡± Song said.


    Angharad shrugged.


    ¡°I did my duty,¡± she replied.


    ¡°Anyone dutiful can do that,¡± Song replied, unwilling to let her wiggle out of it. ¡°It takes skill to do it<em> well</em>.¡±


    The dark-skinned noblewoman coughed into her fist, seemingly embarrassed.


    ¡°My thanks, captain,¡± she got out.


    Captain. That would be it how it was between them until Angharad found another brigade. Unless Song did something about it. She had been chewing on that decision all night, but she felt no closer to making it. To knowing what was the right choice to make.


    ¡°That said,¡± she made herself continue, ¡°Captain Wen and Brigadier Chca must immediately be informed that we have a day for the coup.¡±


    She gave it even odds that the Thirteenth would get chewed out for having waited until morning as it was. Angharad cocked her head to the side.


    ¡°I expected as much.¡±


    ¡°Which will mean exining <em>how</em> you won Lord Gule¡¯s trust,¡± Song borated. ¡°I can no longer dy the report mentioning the infernal forge, no matter your reasons.¡±


    Angharad¡¯s face went entirely nk. Song studied her, looking for anything at all, but whoever had taught the Pereduri had taught her well. Angharad was not a guarded person by nature, but when her guard was up it was nigh imprable.


    ¡°Of course,¡± Angharad simply said.


    Was that relief in her eyes, in the way her fingers loosened, or was Song misreading her? She must be, for what was there to be relieved about? If the Lefthand House was able to grab the forge under the Watch¡¯s nose because the Thirteenth had dyed in telling the ckcloaks about it the me would fall on all of them but on Angharad most of all.


    ¡°We have enough to begin acting,¡± Song continued, ¡°but now we must consider how.¡±


    A fine brow rose.


    ¡°Should Maryam not be here for this, captain?¡±


    A funny thing, that the same word in Tristan¡¯s mouth and in Angharad¡¯s could feel so different. A gift in one, a wall in the other. Between that wall and the ice in Maryam¡¯s eye, Song found failure wherever she looked even as the Thirteenth¡¯s time on Asphodel finally neared sess.


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    ¡°Maryam is barely fit to walk up stairs at the moment, much less n,¡± she replied. ¡°I will consult Captain Wen, naturally, but I would hear your thoughts first.¡±


    Angharad hesitated, then nodded sharply.


    ¡°When we strike, we must strike everywhere at once,¡± she advised. ¡°If Lord Gule is arrested it is not impossible the cult willunch its coup early in fear of his betraying them. The same holds true of Lady Doukas, though she is less public a figure.¡±


    ¡°We are in agreement then,¡± Song said.


    While she remained certain that Hector Anaidon was involved with the cult of ¨C well, the Odyssean as it turned out - the man was in the wind. Doukas and Gule were the targets left to them, and if the ambassador was grabbed the rest of the capital would know before the hour was out. There was no keeping that under wraps. Doukas might be feasible to arrest quietly, but first she would need to be<em></em>found.


    If they were lucky the priestess would be in her manse out in the southeastern ward. If not? Then matters grew tricky, because arresting an ambassador of Mn was open thing but keeping him was another. They would need Lady Doukas to sing if they wanted to finish this.


    ¡°We are?¡± Angharad asked, sounding surprised.


    ¡°Dying too much would be dangerous, but so would striking in haste,¡± Song said. ¡°I will be sitting with Wen and Chca within the hour, if I¡¯ve anything to say about it, and formally request the help of the Garrison forces on Asphodel to deal with the matter. We were hired to <em>unmask a cult</em>, not step into the middle of a civil war.¡±


    The noblewoman nodded in approval, then caught herself and wiped her face clean of her thoughts. She coughed politely.


    ¡°If I may make a suggestion¡­¡±


    ¡°I am listening.¡±


    ¡°This morning, while you and Maryam were speaking with that officer, I was informed that yesterday evening a letter came for me,¡± she said. ¡°There is to be a concert and banquet at the rector¡¯s pce tonight, which Lord Menander invites me to attend as his guest. Given the implied exclusivity of the guest list, I expect Lord Gule would be in attendance as well.¡±


    ¡°Meaning we could grab him there, possibly even quietly,¡± Song said. ¡°We just need to find Lady Doukas, unless¡­¡±


    ¡°I do not know if she is to attend,¡± Angharad frankly replied. ¡°But though she is a personality of some renown at court, her holdings are not particrly wealthy and she has no title beyond that of her birth.¡±


    A court office, Angharad meant. Evander was known as tight-fisted with these, inrge part because the magnates would raise a ruckus if the ministers got privileged ess to the Lord Retcor through such appointments ¨C and the ministers would raise the same if someone not nobly born received such a title, however ceremonial. Song hummed.


    ¡°<em>Apollonia Floros</em> should be there, however, if it is a banquet for the most influential,¡± the silver-eyed woman said. ¡°The coup answers to the cult, but she is still the figurehead they aim to put on the throne. Arresting her should make their more opportunistic supporters reconsider taking up arms.¡±


    ¡°Or it could outrage the nobility enough that twice as many rise in her name,¡± Angharad warned.


    <em>Not if she¡¯s tarred with association to a cult ouwed by the Watch</em>, Song thought. But that was not a decision for her to make, or even Brigadier Chca ¨C though by dint of his rank and the urgency of the situation he might well end up making it anyway. There was no time to wait for the Conve¡¯s opinion on this, and Chca not only outranked the colonel in Stheno¡¯s Peak he had also been granted a mandate to negotiate with the Lord Rector on behalf of the Watch. It would be stretching the bounds of his authority to make such a bargain, but not outright overstepping.


    Not unless the Conve didn¡¯t like the way the aftermath turned up, anyway. Then they woulde down on him like a vengeful storm.


    ¡°Either way,¡± Song finally said, ¡°I must speak with the brigadier urgently.¡±


    She breathed out, sipping at the bottom of her teacup and getting more air than taste for it. Angharad half-rose to her feet, but the Pereduri searched Song¡¯s face and found none of the expected dismissal there. On the contrary, like a fucking child Song was biting her lip and flinching. Again.


    ¡°Captain?¡± Angharad prompted.


    ¡°I need a favor,¡± Song blurted.


    The other woman¡¯s face nked again.


    ¡°We are not,¡± she slowly said, ¡°on terms to be trading these.¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± Song said. ¡°I have to ask anyway.¡±


    She saw from the way Angharad¡¯s jaw clenched the thought of refusing outright, of closing the book, but either manners or curiosity won out.


    ¡°Ask,¡± Angharad tly said.


    ¡°The Yellow Earth summons me at noon,¡± Song said. ¡°At a ce of their choosing. They have, I expect, finally run out of patience with my silence.¡±


    <em>Or they know something is happening and they want to squeeze what out of me,</em> she thought.


    ¡°I can only advise that you do not meet them alone, given their demonstrated willingness tomit violence on you,¡± Angharad said.


    She swallowed.


    ¡°Maryam, well ¨C before we started arguing, anyway ¨C Maryam said something along those lines and it was good advice,¡± Song admitted. ¡°So I am.¡±


    She bit her lip.


    ¡°Asking not to go alone, I mean.¡±


    Angharad stilled.


    ¡°If they coerce you and you ept,¡± the Pereduri slowly said, ¡°then I will be unable to lie when asked about it. I will, at the very least, likely learn what it is they hold over your head when they threaten you with it.¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± Song said.


    ¡°If they bare des, I will bare mine as well,¡± Angharad told her. ¡°Whether or not you give the order.¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± Song repeated.


    There was an angry cast to the dark-skinned woman¡¯s jaw, as if she tasted something sour.


    ¡°Why would you trust me with this now?¡± she challenged. ¡°You never have before. Do you think I will be appeased with a gesture, Song? I am not a child to be distracted from our history by some¡­ tossed bauble.¡±


    Song¡¯s eyes rose to find hers. She swallowed, the roof of her mouth dry.


    ¡°I don¡¯t even trust myself, right now,¡± she admitted. ¡°It is all¡­ I thought I was making it simpler, cutting the knots, but now the ropes are choking me. What I do know is this-¡±


    She squared her shoulders.


    ¡°You won¡¯t bend if you think that what¡¯s happening is wrong, Angharad,¡± Song said. ¡°Not even if it makes my life easier. And I think I might need that more than I do anything else.¡±


    Angharad held her gaze for a long moment, then looked away.


    ¡°I have made my ownpromises with honor,¡± she said. ¡°More than you know. I may not be alone in paying the price for them, either, though I have taken measures to ensure otherwise.¡±


    Song¡¯s jaw clenched. She knew ¨C or at least suspected ¨C a lot more than Angharad figured. She was not blind, and the other woman had told her it was the infernal forge that the Lefthand House wanted. Put that together with how she had asked that Song dy the report revealing the forge¡¯s location and the small argument she¡¯d had with her uncle back in Port Azei? The picture painted itself.


    But that path, it was a dead end. She could not shame Angharad into staying by her side, or offer to clean up her mess for¡­ friendship, respect? Admiration, part of her suspected. She wanted someone she believed exceptional to think well of her, to look up to her. It was why it had been so easy to fall into the habit of trying to fix things for Angharad. It let her give something back, protect Angharad from herself.


    rue a debt that would force her to stay by Song¡¯s side. That was the ugly kernel beneath the dross of justifications. She wanted Angharad ¨C and the others, but Angharad most of all ¨C in her debt. So they would have to stay. Song swallowed again. It went against ever screaming instinct, everything she had been taught, but she made herself say it.


    ¡°I wanted you to owe me,¡± Song said. ¡°It was not the only reason I pulled that trigger, but I think it might be what tipped the scales.¡±


    Angharad¡¯s forehead creased.


    ¡°Owe you what?¡±


    ¡°The nature of the debt didn¡¯t matter,¡± Song said. ¡°Just that I¡¯d be owed. It was¡­¡±


    She licked dry lips.


    ¡°It was the only way I thought it would work, being captain of the Thirteenth,¡± Song said. ¡°I thought that if you were all indebted to me ¨C because I ignored weaknesses or proved to be the finest leader around or most of all helped tidy over your troubles, then you would all stay in the brigade. Even though my name will be a noose around my neck until the end of my days, a curse in every way.¡±


    Dark eyes studied her, unblinking.


    ¡°I did not have to be that way,¡± Angharad finally said.


    ¡°It is what I know,¡± Song said. ¡°I do not attempt excuse the act, to be clear. I still stand by the decision to kill Isabel Ruesta, if not the decisions that sprang in its wake.¡±


    ¡°I treated you as a friend,¡± Angharad said, voice tight. ¡°Why would you think it necessary to use me when I freely offered you my hand?¡±


    She sat ramrod straight, a coiled string. Pulled taut.


    ¡°I thought better of you,¡± Angharad said. ¡°That you were unlike all the¡­¡±


    There she trailed off. All the others seeking to bind her, Song thought she meant. All the chatans offering a helping hand and a kind word now that she had reached safe harbor, now that she no longer needed either.


    ¡°Because you are exceptional,¡± Song honestly replied.


    The Pereduri startled and began to wave away what she would dismiss aspliments but this time Song wouldn¡¯t let her.


    ¡°You <em>are</em>, Angharad,¡± Song cut through. ¡°This is not ttery or exaggeration; it is a fact. You are learned, engaging and clever. You are one of the finest des I ever met and wield a powerful contract. And even all these aside, you are¡­¡±


    She paused looking for the right word. Angharad was blushing hard enough it was visible ¨C though the tip of her ears was much pinker than her cheeks ¨C and biting her lip.


    ¡°Principled,¡± Song settled on.


    Those principles were not always kind or just, but they always were.


    ¡°I looked at you,¡± she continued, ¡°and saw everything I wanted in arade. In someone I would share years, decades with.¡±


    Song exhaled.


    ¡°I also knew others would see it when we reached Scholomance,¡± she said. ¡°Captains whose surname would not be despised by millions, who could offer wealth andfort and connections. How long did it take, Angharad, before the first offer came?¡±


    ¡°You say you think highly of me,¡± the other woman replied. ¡°And in the same breath decide I would go back on my word and leave the Thirteenth? You were my<em> friend</em>, Song.¡±


    And that Song Renughed, though there was no mirth in it.


    ¡°That¡¯s not enough, Angharad,¡± she said, honest in a way she had not been in years. ¡°It¡¯s never enough. You think they turned on my family the first day? My parents, my kin, they had friends and rtives and allies across half the republics. And they all swore they would not leave us, that we ought not to be punished for a mistake that was solely my grandfather¡¯s. That they would stand by us, defend us.¡±


    She passed a hand through her hair.


    ¡°Most had gone silent by the time I was old enough to notice,¡± Song said. ¡°But I still saw thest gasps of it: fewer visited every year, or sent letters or even acknowledged they¡¯d ever known us. Because there was a price for it, a real tangible cost to a point of principle, and when sentiment goes against the world the world always wins.¡±


    Even among the Ren her family were given wide berth. They were the blood of Chaoxiang, the line that had brought ruin down on all of them.


    ¡°I did not believe you would step off the ship and leave,¡± Song told her, looking away. ¡°But you would have left. It is not a weakness of character, when people do. It is¡­ gravity.¡±


    ¡°So you wanted me in your debt,¡± Angharad quietly said.


    She silently nodded.


    ¡°No longer,¡± Angharad pressed.


    Song looked down at her hands, clenching them.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think a brigade can truly stand, thought of like that,¡± Song quietly admitted. ¡°How should I measure them up, all our troubles? Are the Jigong students who tried to murder me better or worse than the cabals that tried to abduct Tristan? Maryam intends to break in an altar while lying to the pce, you are beholden to the Lefthand House and now the Yellow Earthes to threaten me. It¡¯s¡­¡±


    Sheughed, soft and bitter.


    ¡°So many things,¡± Song said, eyes finding the ceiling. ¡°It was supposed to be simple. I was to excel, <em>we</em> were to excel, and we would be¡­ legends, I suppose. A great enough good to even out the evil tarring my family¡¯s name. Instead it was all eaten up by the act of counting debts, and now here I am left sitting and wondering ¨C does it even matter?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t follow,¡± Angharad murmured.


    ¡°Does it really matter, if one of us brings more trouble than the others?¡± Song asked. ¡°There is no ledger to bnce, Angharad. Trying to shove one into the Thirteenth only put something between all of us. We will not ever be anything if that is how we go on.¡±


    Song breathed out.


    ¡°We can¡¯t simply all be standing on the same side of a line,¡± she said. ¡°We have to just¡­ be a side, and there can be no notion of debt in that.¡±


    ¡°There are always debts,¡± Angharad quietly said.


    ¡°I don¡¯t believe that,¡± Song said. ¡°It¡¯s a choice, to keep count. And that means I can choose to<em> stop</em>.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t know what I have been doing,¡± she said.


    <em>I know your uncle wasn¡¯t at breakfast this morning</em>, Song thought. <em>Thatst night there was too long between the arrival of your carriage and when you returned to your room, that you must have stopped elsewhere.</em> She could have told Angharad all of this, but did not. It wasn¡¯t the point, just another line in a ledger that ought to be ash.


    ¡°No,¡± Song agreed. ¡°I don¡¯t. But I can choose to trust you. Because that¡¯s what ites down to, isn¡¯t it? Therees a day where that choice has to be made.¡±


    It was Angharad¡¯s turn to look away.


    ¡°I fear,¡± Angharad finally said, ¡°that this ind has not brought out the best in any of us.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Song softly agreed. ¡°But then maybe that¡¯s exactly when the choice should be made ¨C when it¡¯s truly a choice and not just a gesture.¡±


    Silence hung over the room in the wake of her words, not a knife¡¯s edge but a shroud. Soft but covering everything, ayer of snow. Angharad slowly rose to her feet, went for the door.


    ¡°Meet with the brigadier,¡± she finally said. ¡°I¡¯ll arrange for our carriage.¡±


    Song did not feel triumph at the words, for it was not a victory. There was nothing to be won here, no more than you could win a crossroads.


    But there had been a choice, and not one either of them would forget.


    --


    <em>Thunk </em>went the de, cleaving through flesh and bone until the edge hit wood.


    The butcher eyed the cut with a grunt, pushing aside the scraps and gesturing for his apprentice to pick up the leg. He had to grunt again, louder, for said young man was lost in thought considering a very important matter. Namely, how Angharad¡¯s coat pulled tteringly against her buttocks while she bent over to take a closer look atmb chops. The boy¡¯s eyes widened at the second call and he scurried away to work under his master¡¯s displeased frown.


    The butcher, an old man in his sixties with a neat pointed beard and a pristine topknot in the Sanxing style, then shared amiserating look with Song.


    ¡°Nothing to do with them at that age,¡± the man sighed. ¡°Might as well try to put a dike on the Heavens.¡±


    ¡°As you say,¡± Song replied.


    She would have been offended at the apprentice hardly sparing her a look, given that all three of them were Tianxi and she was hardly uely, but Song had worn enough coats to know she did not fill them quite like that. Fair was fair.


    ¡°They¡¯ll be ready for you soon,¡± the butcher assured her. ¡°Just need to get the water boiling.¡±


    She inclined her head in thanks, ambling away. When the Yellow Earth had sent her an address without a description, she had expected an abandoned warehouse or maybe some sort of teahouse. Instead, when they turned the indicated street corner, she and Angharad had found arge two-story butcher¡¯s shop. It would be unfortunate to assume that the butcher and his apprentice were Yellow Earth merely because they were of Cathayan stock, but, well. They were.


    Song strode past a row of hanging hams and piles of sausage to find Angharad now looking down at a basket full of chicken feet with a puzzled look on her face. She cleared her throat.


    ¡°I thought Mni ate those too,¡± Song said. ¡°Why the surprise?¡±


    ¡°It is a <em>very</em> Mni dish,¡± the Pereduri replied, looking a little nauseous. ¡°Though at least they are peeled and grilled. These do not appear to be prepared for it.¡±


    ¡°Tianxi marinate them,¡± Song said. ¡°In Mazu after they are fried and steamed, though I am told that in Jigong they are served cold in a rice vinegar sauce.¡±


    Angharad politely refrained from expressing the disgust in on her face.


    ¡°Maryam tells me that her people boil and cool them,¡± Song idly added, ¡°to make some sort of meat jelly.¡±


    ¡°Foot jelly?¡± Angharad intively asked. ¡°<em>Really</em>?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d still try that over a hundredth variation of Lierganen salted ham,¡± she snorted, ncing around.


    There were few meats here prepared in a proper Tianxi manner. Lierganen meats, mostly, which was not unusual on a Trebian ind. The Second Empire¡¯s hegemony had thrived by devouring whatever customs existed before it, and nowhere had that policy been more thoroughly applied than the waters of the Trebian Sea.


    ¡°Themb is fine cuts, as I havee to expect of Asphodel,¡± Angharad diplomatically said, then she leaned in and pitched her voice low. ¡°Have our hosts given notice?


    ¡°Soon, allegedly.¡±


    The dark-skinned woman nodded, casting a bemused look around.


    ¡°It does sound like the beginning of a violent joke, does it not?¡± Angharad said, picking at her tricorn. ¡°A Ren and a Pereduri noble are invited by the Yellow Earth¡­¡±


    ¡°And it¡¯s to a butcher¡¯s shop,¡± Song drily finished. ¡°Yes, the thought urred.¡±


    Mind you, strictly speaking Angharad had not been invited. Regardless of the old butcher¡¯s words, Song wondered if her presence was not the true reason they had been idling in the front of the shop for the better part of ten minutes now. Though Angharad wore what she called her ¡®disguise¡¯ clothes, a thin doublet with a high cor matched with hose under a somewhat ill-fitting longcoat, there was no missing the saber sheathed at her belt. Or the walking stick she used to get around. Between that and the dark skin, the Yellow Earth would not need to ask Angharad Tredegar¡¯s name to know it.


    Song had elected for simple clothes as well, taking from the ck House stocks in an effort to avoid going around in the cks of a watchwoman. The faded greens of her tunic and hose did not quite match and the brown cloak whose hood she had pulled down was ragged at the rim, but the shabbiness had meant greater discretion. So she reminded herself every time her eye caught the mismatch, along with the necessity of the cloak to keep her knife and pistol hidden.


    A cleared throat had her turning. The white-haired butcher jutted his thumb towards the back door.


    ¡°They¡¯re ready for you,¡± he said. ¡°Down the hall, door at the end.¡±


    It was not a long walk, though the narrow corridor forced them to move one at a time. Song knocked once on the painted door and it was immediately opened. Her throat caught at what she saw inside, even as she stepped in, and Angharad breathed in sharply.


    It was a ughtering room.


    For pigs, one of whichy on the stone floor with an open belly. A young boy with a knife was taking out the intestines, putting them in a bucket as his gore-slicked hands dripped red onto the stone. The blood flowed through channels in the floor towards a grid in the heart of the room, where the wetness disappeared beneath the shop.


    The Yellow Earth hade in strength today. On either side of the room hung butchered pigs on hooks, and among the dead flesh five living men and women stood with watchful eyes. All dark-haired and inly dressed in loose brown hanfus, armed with des and pistols. The boy kept butchering the pig, paying them no mind, and Song¡¯s eyes went to the center of the room. To the small table by the bloody grid where, tending to a steaming pot of tea, Hao Yu waited.


    The small, in-faced man wore a yellow sash over his worn robes today. Dering his allegiance to the Yellow Earth for all to see. His hairless face revealed nothing but calm as he silently gestured for Song and Angharad to sit down across from him. The silver-eyed captain swallowed, ncing at Angharad ¨C whose face was a mask of ice, but was gripping the head of her walking stick like a woman intent on shattering it.


    Neither of them were fool enough to miss the implicit threat here.


    ¡°Do not mind the boy,¡± Hao Yu said, ncing at the youth carving away at intestines. ¡°His uncle set him to the task, he will leave when he finishes.¡±


    ¡°We can return then,¡± Song evenly replied.


    ¡°You could,¡± the small, hairless man agreed.


    He cocked his head to the side.


    ¡°Will you?¡±


    No, she knew, and so did he. The Yellow Earth had a greater knife than mere violence to press against her throat. A de her fool of a brother had <em>handed </em>them, because it wasn¡¯t enough for him to fail their family now he had to try and drag her down to¡­ Her silence had gone on too long, she knew, and from that glint in Hao Yu¡¯s eyes he knew it too. She licked her lips, looking for a response, but instead-


    ¡°Are we meant to be impressed, Tianxi, by a bloody pig and a handful of thugs?¡± Angharad said.


    That cool, almost disdainful tone was like a bucket of cold water. Besides her the Pereduri stood tall, ring down at the leader of the Asphodel sect.


    ¡°We have faced gods and devils with steel in our hands,¡± Angharad Tredegar scorned. ¡°Serve your tea, by all means, and know petty theater does you no favors.¡±


    Hao Yuughed.


    ¡°Impressed?¡± he said. ¡°No, Mistress Tredegar. It is only a reminder.¡±


    He reached for the pot and began pouring, again inviting them to sit.


    ¡°We are all meat, in the end. The clothes we put on, the titles we give ourselves, the grand causes we invoke?¡±


    The man shrugged, his perfectly plucked eyebrows and shaved head eerily smooth to the eye.


    ¡°None of it makes any difference to the knife.¡±


    ¡°You sound like a Jixian,¡± Song said.


    It had been a small thing, Angharad cutting in, but it had mattered. It had dragged Song out of the spiral and given her back her wits ¨C enough that she could go on the offensive. She moved towards the table, watching Hao Yu¡¯s face, but he did not seem offended by her suggestion.


    ¡°Do I?¡± Hao Yu replied. ¡°And to think I consider myself one of the tamer heads.¡±


    Some chuckles from the watching partisans. Song made a point of drawing the chair for Angharad, which finally got a reaction out of the man ¨C his face tightened oh so slightly at the sight of a Tianxi offering that courtesy to a nobly born daughter of Mn. Angharad, seemingly not noticing, cleared her throat even as Song sat by her.


    ¡°Jixian?¡± she asked.


    ¡°The Jixi School is a radical offshoot sect of the Orthodoxy,¡± Hao Yu said. ¡°Based on the more esoteric sections of the Fangzi Yongtu, it advances the argument that since souls are perpetual to kill for a principled reason is not a sin.¡±


    He poured thest two cups of tea, first for Song and then for Angharad, and set them down before each.


    ¡°The nature of men being what it is, the philosophy became popr with assassins and hired killers of all stripes,¡± he finished.


    Song¡¯s gaze was drawn by the noise as the boy withdrew his knife from the dead pig, dropping thest of the intestines in the bucket with a wet slurping sound.


    ¡°I am in fact a practicing Feichist,¡± Hao Yu finished. ¡°Which is one of main currents of Tianxi Orthodoxy, Mistress Tredegar. We believe that only by abolishing all chains can we be saved, for the Gloam is nothing but the darkness of mankind reflected into the aether.¡±


    What a pretty way to put it. A shame that was not the reality of Feichist Orthodoxy.


    ¡°There is no such thing as a unified Feichist practice, Angharad,¡± Song told her. ¡°They are a hundred squabbling temples, most of which believe that bloody revolution is the only path forward.¡±


    Her words earned scoffs from some of the watching partisans. Well, it was no surprise yellow sashes would prefer the most militant of the great creeds of Cathayan Orthodoxy. It¡¯d had a resurgence in strength in northern Tianxia after the Long Burn, as it tended to in the wake of any war with the neighbors of the Republics.


    ¡°Interesting,¡± Angharad said, and seemed to honestly mean it. ¡°I must confess that I was taught little of the Orthodoxy beyond the most infamous squabble.¡±


    The Grand Lie, she meant. The Imperial Someshwar¡¯s im at being the seat and arbiter of the Orthodoxy since the fall of Second Empire, as if the priesthood of the copsing Liergan had not fled with all its gold, icon and gods to southern Tianxia. The Kingdom of Cathay had been the strongest and wealthiest of the sessor states when the Session Wars began, weing the fleeing best and brightest of Liergan with open arms.


    It could hardly even be measured, how much the arrogance of kings had cost her people in the following decades.


    ¡°Though I would enjoy a conversation on the nature of Universalist beliefs ¨C unless I peg you incorrectly there, Mistress Tredegar?¡±


    Angharad shook her head and he let out a pleased hum.


    ¡°-it would be best to settle our matters first,¡± Hao Yu said.


    He sipped at his cup, set it down.


    ¡°I take it from yourpanion¡¯s presence, Song Ren, that you trust her with such talk?¡±


    Song thinly smiled.


    ¡°I do.¡±


    ¡°Then I will be frank,¡± Hao Yu said. ¡°We discussed an arrangement, you and I. Silence over the matter of your brother¡¯s defection to the royalists, for which I would receive some understanding of the measures being taken to prevent a noble conspiracy from taking over Asphodel.¡±


    ¡°This was discussed,¡± Song acknowledged.


    ¡°My silence was kept,¡± the in man said. ¡°You, on the other hand, have provided me nothing at all.¡±


    Song sipped at her cup.


    ¡°I am too low in rank to be told what the Watch intends regarding the conspiracy,¡± she said, ¡°while my personal association with Lord Rector Palliades hasrgelye to an end. I cannot give you insight into his thoughts.¡±


    ¡°You can,¡± Hao Yu calmly replied. ¡°Oh, I doubt he gave you a report but given your ess you could easily have obtained that information.¡±


    He smiled mirthlessly.


    ¡°It appears, however, that you did not choose to,¡± he said. ¡°That is unfortunate.¡±


    There was a stir among the partisans, but none drew. Angharad still swept them with her gaze, those brown eyes moving with slow, unhurried grace. Song knew that look. The mirror-dancer was killing them inside her mind, crafting the steps of the deaths like a painter putting ink to the scroll. There were five hardened killers in here with them, along the boy and Hao Yu, while Angharad still used a cane and Song only carried a single shot in her pistol.


    At no point in her browsing of the room did Angharad Tredegar ever give the impressions she doubted she could kill everyone in it.


    Song¡¯s belly clenched with want. Not the bedroom kind, but almost something like greed at the thought of having someone so exceptional on her side. Someone with the skill and confidence to beat the odds, to go against the tide of the world and win. Someone who could help her make the Thirteenth into a legend, into a name that she could wield against the curse devouring her family. But that thought was where it all begun to unravel, she¡¯d realized.


    A swordhand was still a hand. And it belonged to Angharad Tredegar, who was not merely a chivalrous mirror-dancer needing some polish to fit into the Watch. The Pereduri was just as much of a walking ruin as the rest of the Thirteenth, for all that she hid it better.


    ¡°I am surprised to hear you speak of that bargain as a done deal,¡± Song said, ¡°when that very same night your second savagely ambushed me in an alleyway.¡±


    Hao Yu¡¯s face stiffened. He sipped at his tea, savoring the thin brew too much for it to be true enjoyment. The gesture of someone buying time, but Song only stared at him. Was he feigning that, pretending Ai had acted on her own when it truly had been at his order? He was a hard man to read.


    ¡°If such an encounter took ce, it was not at my order,¡± he finally said.


    ¡°<em>If</em>,¡± Angharad coldly spat. ¡°I helped wash those bruises and you would call her a liar?¡±


    ¡°That is not what I did,¡± Hao Yu evenly replied.


    ¡°Then your contracted attack dog is off the leash,¡± Song slid in, before the talk could spiral. ¡°How can I deal with the Yellow Earth when it seems unable to restrain itself from attacking me as I do?¡±


    A long moment passed.


    ¡°An understandable concern,¡± Hao Yu conceded.


    He sharply nodded at the boy cleaning up the pig, the youth scampering away to the front of the shop. Hao Yu then set down his cup, rising smoothly to his feet. A few strides had him at the door left open by the boy and after sliding it open he called out Ai¡¯s name before withdrawing. The contractor padded through the doorway silent feet momentster, her loose gray <em>daopao </em>robes kissing her ankles as she did.


    She passed the two rooks, offering Song a smirk and Angharad a look of casual disgust before turning to cock an eyebrow at Hao as she stood at his right. Ai looked unworried, Song thought. Unafraid of consequences. Which made little sense, for even if the two of them were feigning this her handler would make a show of saddling her with some punishment. Theck of fear would make a deception obvious.


    DONGMEI, the golden letters read atop her head. Song focused on that as discreetly as she could, trying to get a better read on the contract. It had been used against her once and might yet again. The god holding that contract was¡­ The Eighth Judge of the Court. One of the punishment deities under the Red-Robed Official, scourging souls clean so they could enter the Circle without burden. A minor god, subordinate to another, but broadly worshipped as one of the Nine Judges. Not the kind of deity to offer a shoddy contract with an easy weakness to exploit.


    ¡°I thought I was to be put away like dirty linen for this one,¡± she drawled. ¡°What gives?¡±


    ¡°Not an inaptparison, given what I have just learned,¡± Hao Yu replied, tone sharp.


    His jaw was tight.


    ¡°I have just been told,¡± Hao Yu continued, ¡°that you assaulted Song Ren.¡±


    ¡°I put her in her ce,¡± Ai corrected. ¡°What of it?¡±


    Song¡¯s fingers clenched.


    ¡°I offered her a hand in good faith,¡± Hao Yu said. ¡°Your pointless temerity has undone my every effort to establish trust.¡±


    ¡°There can be no trust, Hao,¡± Ai sighed, as if addressing a child refusing to grasp a simple truth. ¡°She¡¯s a Ren tangled up with half a dozen<em> yiwu</em>. Let us cease to pretend friendship and treat her like what she is: a tool to be used.¡±


    ¡°That is not your decision to make,¡± he sharply said. ¡°You do not lead this sect.¡±


    ¡°That is true,¡± Ai conceded.


    ¡°Kneel and apologize,¡± Hao Yu ordered. ¡°Then swear there will be no repeat of your reprehensible behavior.¡±


    ¡°Now there,¡± Ai easily replied, ¡°we must disagree. Nothing I did was reprehensible.¡±


    ¡°Obey,¡± Hao Yu coldly said, ¡°or be abjured.¡±


    ¡°I thought you might say that,¡± Ai mused. ¡°There is a troubling pattern of youcking the will to act, Hao.¡±


    She folded her arms behind her back, began to stroll around the table. <em>Price</em>, Song thought as her eyes read through pages of golden characters. <em>What¡¯s your price? </em>There. An exchange contract, with a simple price paid upfront. The phrasing was poetic, threading in in ¡®blossoms and fragrance¡¯, but the meaning was mostly clear. Ai, whose true name was Dongmei, had traded away her ability to feel both pleasure and pain. No small thing, Song thought, but nothing that could be<em> used</em>.


    But there must be a weakness, there must. In the particrs of the power granted, perhaps?


    ¡°When we found out the magnates were making guns to rebel, what did you do?¡± Ai said, circling the table. ¡°Nothing. You left them to it, offering no help.¡±


    Song¡¯s eyes narrowed. Was the Trade Assembly rebelling in its own right, not as a few traitors going over to a noble conspiracy? Ai clicked her tongue.


    ¡°When the cult of the Odyssean approached us, offered to help overthrow the nobles? Nothing again, even though they proved they have a man in the pce.¡±


    Angharad stiffened, as well she would. Justst eve she had been at a ceremony where the same cult imed it was about to lead an entirely different coup. More importantly Hao Yu¡¯s eyes were too cold, Song thought, for this to be theater. The small man was genuinely furious at how much his right hand was revealing here and now.


    ¡°And now that we have a de to cut Evander Palliades¡¯ throat with,¡± Ai continued, gesturing at Song, ¡°still you dither. Refuse to pull at the leash even though we have it wound around her neck.¡±


    ¡°Youck foresight,¡± Hao Yu bit back. ¡°Backing coups that are certain to fail will not aid the cause in Asphodel but <em>damn</em> it ¨C a republic of Tratheke will notst out the year, you fool. It does not have the force to seize the surrounding valley, much less the ind.¡±


    ¡°It will, when the Republics send a fleet,¡± Ai smiled.


    ¡°That would mean war with Sacromonte and likely Mn as well,¡± Hao Yu tly said. ¡°Something we are incredibly ill-prepared for even were it desirable, which it is not. I will not repeat myself, Ai: recant yourself, here and now, or face abjuration.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d hoped it wouldn¡¯te to this, Hao,¡± Ai said. ¡°I truly did. But the time for meekness is past.¡±


    He rose to his feet, knee hitting the edge of the table in his haste, and sneered.


    ¡°Pistols out,¡± Hao Yu said. ¡°Ai, I abjure you from this sect. Surrender yourself or-¡±


    He paused, interrupted by the same thing Song was hearing: silence. Not a single one of the killers in yellow sashes so much as moved a finger. They only watched, faces hard as stone.


    ¡°You can¡¯t abjure me, Hao,¡± Ai gently said, ¡°because as of this morning Ambassador Guo gave me permission to abjure <em>you</em> in the face of your continued ipetence. This was yourst chance and you just threw it away.¡±


    The hairless man swallowed.


    ¡°You-¡±


    The change was almost instantaneous: Ai¡¯s gaze turned cloudy green, a shell of green-zed pottery forming over the front of her body as she moved. Her armored hand was on the back of Hao Yu¡¯s head in a heartbeat and she mmed him down on the table. Gods, Song saw with horror even as she drew to her feet with a pistol in hand. The first hit didn¡¯t kill him, only shattered his nose.


    So Ai mmed him down again, and a third time to be sure.


    Thest hit broke the table, sent the pot and cups toppling all over, but the sound of a wet crack made it in the skull had been split open. Angharad¡¯s saber was in her hand and Song had her pistol raised, aimed at the hungry ghost mask now painted over Ai¡¯s face.


    ¡°Oh, stop that,¡± the distorted voice sneered.


    The shell began to thin, then it was sucked into the body in the blink of an eye. Left behind was Ai, untouched save for a slight disarray in her hair.


    ¡°This is Yellow Earth business, rooks,¡± Ai said. ¡°Put those down before I make you put them down.¡±


    ¡°I think not,¡± Angharad coldly said. ¡°What is the word of a murderer worth?¡±


    ¡°Still more than yiwu¡¯s,¡± Ai snorted.


    Song raised a hand, though the pistol in the other did not waver.


    ¡°Our weapons stay where they are,¡± she said. ¡°Talk, if you insist.¡±


    ¡°The rector¡¯s pce sent you a little letter yesterday,¡± Ai said. ¡°Boy wants another taste of Tianxia, I¡¯m guessing.¡±


    ¡°You assume much,¡± Song coldly said.


    ¡°And what are you going to do about it?¡± she asked, amused. ¡°I don¡¯t care if you grew sense and decided to stop fucking the enemy, you¡¯re still going to agree to meet him again.¡±


    She leaned in.


    ¡°Down here in the city, where we can pick him up nice and easy.¡±


    ¡°You are mad,¡± Song bit out. ¡°I¡¯m an officer of the Watch, I cannot-¡±


    ¡°Dear people of Tianxia,¡± Ai said in a mocking, high-pitched voice. ¡°Did you know that the Ren are royalists and they did the Dimming for the rajas, and also all this other evil shit that we need to me someone for?¡±


    ¡°That is a lie,¡± Angharad said.


    She sounded genuinely aghast, as if despite holding the Yellow Earth¡¯s ideology in utter contempt it had still been a line too far to assume they would be liars.


    ¡°It¡¯s a lie Yellow Earth sects will have shouted in every vige square from Caishen to the Sanxing,¡± Ai replied. ¡°Hey, Ren, tell me: which do you think will die from the Gloam curse first, your mother or your sisters? My money¡¯s on the oldydy. I heard she almost died in the birthing bedst time, that what came out wasn¡¯t a child but¡­¡±


    ¡°<em>Enough</em>,¡± Song hissed.


    Golden letters unfolded to her eye. The shell Ai wore was not solid aether manifested by the contract. Instead the power granted by the god transmuted already existing matter into the green-zed pottery, though what exactly was transmuted was unclear. When the shell was undone, that substance was transmuted back. Blood, flesh? The contract did not rece what was lost, so it could not be too essential ¨C if it were Ai¡¯s heart that was transmuted, she would drop down and die. <em>Ah, if the shell is broken clean through it forced to transmute back and then must be brought up again.</em>


    That was¡­ slightly better than nothing, considering most weapons that could breach the shell would kill the contractor anyway.


    ¡°Yeah, it¡¯s enough,¡± Ai smiled. ¡°Enough pretending this is a choice. Do it or die. Either way I¡¯ll call it a good day¡¯s work.¡±


    ¡°You think you can get away with threatening women of the Watch like this?¡± Angharad asked.


    The word used was not transmutation, exactly, but ¡®calcination¡¯ and the matter calcinated was only referred to as ¡®fuel¡¯. There should be a limit to the solidity, Song thought, given that the shell was made from a limited substance. But then a stone wall could break too, it spoke nothing to the strength of the shell. <em>Wait, nothing in here forces her to put a shell only over the front of her body.</em> Which meant Ai was concentrating the contract¡¯s effect, which meant it was¡­ well, not a rampart. More like a heavy oaken door.


    Which still meant little short of cannon fire or at least sustained musket shots in the same spot would affect it, meaning that avenue was a dead end. There must be another angle. Where did the strength and quicknesse from?


    ¡°I think that by the time youdies are done whining your way up thedder to someone who matters, it¡¯ll be our friends running this shithole,¡± Ai shrugged. ¡°You think the Conve will piss off the people who have their hands on an Antediluvian shipyard to soothe your hurt feelings?¡±


    Ai sneered.


    ¡°The Watch takes no part,¡± she mocked. ¡°You rooks pick and choose the evils you fight, like our good friend Hao did. Always talking about making a tower of small victories, about picking the fights we can win and biding our time.¡±


    Ai bared her teeth.


    ¡°Only evil¡¯s real, girls,¡± she said. ¡°And it¡¯s not waiting patiently for us to build towers. It¡¯s out there in the streets with fancy hats on, beating and robbing and raping, strutting around like it owns the ce because <em>it fucking does</em> ¨C and it¡¯ll <em>keep on owning it </em>unless someone does something about it.¡±


    Hard smiles from the thugs and she carelessly kicked the table wreckage away. Song found the lines she was looking for. Nothing pleasant to read. The body was not augmented in the slightest by the contract, but it didn¡¯t matter because it was not the body that moved when Ai used her contract. It was the <em>shell</em>, and the shell moved as quickly as Ai could think it.


    Part of Song admired the way she must have trained herself for years, learning how to use her contract like she did. It was not <em>easy</em>, to wield your own thoughts. The rest of her raged that there seemed nothing capable of killing this contractor except artillery at the end of a narrow alley.


    ¡°So you¡¯re going to roll over and take it, Song Ren,¡± she said, ¡°like the world has been doing for the same yiwu you¡¯re fucking. You tell Palliades this: tonight at six, in that same brothel the two of you visited before.¡±


    ¡°Or what?¡± Song replied, because she needed to hear it.


    ¡°Or I send a letter and by the month¡¯s end the Republics will know Haoran Ren is a royalist,¡± she said.


    Ai took a step closer.


    ¡°Or I will personally snap your traitor neck,¡± Ai said. ¡°After making you watch while I pluck the limbs off every member of your little brigade.¡±


    ¡°Or,¡± Angharad mildly said, ¡°we kill you here and now. I must confess that I am growing quite partial to that idea.¡±


    Without looking, Song put a hand on her arm to restrain her. Angharad was a fine enough swordswoman that if the Pereduri was at her best and they were both armed for the fight, she might be tempted to try. But Angharad still needed a cane, Song only had a pistol and there were five more Yellow Earth partisans in the room. Perhaps more outside.


    Besides, there was something¡­ off about the way Ai was going about this. She¡¯d not been shy about choking Song outst time and she evidently feared neither of them or the consequences of violence. So what was holding her back now?


    ¡°Song?¡± Angharad asked.


    ¡°We don¡¯t fight her,¡± she said. ¡°It¡¯s what she wants.¡±


    Ai smiled.


    ¡°Yeah, Tredegar,¡± she said. ¡°Listen to your captain. Take one for the brigade. Lie down and think of the Bitch Perp-¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s provoking us on purpose,¡± Song said, and cocked her head to the side. ¡°Because she can¡¯t attack us first. Can you, Ai?¡±


    Aiughed, but the sound came just a little too quick.


    ¡°You asked the ambassador permission to kill Hao Yu,¡± Song continued. ¡°But he did not give you permission to attack us. That¡¯s why you want us to strike the first blow, so you have an excuse.¡±


    ¡°Oh, Ren, I do have permission,¡± Ai smiled. ¡°I just need to wait for it a bit.¡±


    She shook her head, as if amused.


    ¡°Off with you, rooks,¡± Ai said. ¡°You have the time and ce, Song. You have the terms. Give us the Lord Rector and your traitor brother is kept quiet.¡±


    ¡°How can I trust you would keep your end of the bargain?¡± Song replied.


    Her eyes moved through line after line of gold, reading through the contract again and again. Sifting through the text for anything at all she might use. Nothing, damn her. Not a single thing, a weakness or angle. It was all airtight.


    ¡°Because you don¡¯t matter, Song,¡± Ai said, smiling. ¡°Notpared to the shipyard, what it means for the Republics. You¡¯re just an eyesore and I won¡¯t care when you¡¯re no longer in my eyes. Deliver us Evander Palliades, spare us the cost of grabbing him, and I might even be moved to mention you¡¯re not a <emplete </em>traitor to our friends in the homnd.¡±


    ¡°Your position isn¡¯t as strong as you seem to think,¡± Song told her.


    ¡°Even if that were true,¡± Ai said, shrugging, ¡°it wouldn¡¯t change anything. Yours is just <em>that weak</em>.¡±


    The contractor gestured at her soldiers and they moved, Angharad tensing even as Song mastered herself. She had all she would get out of this ce, down to the precise wording of Ai¡¯s contract.


    It was time to leave.


    Song spared onest look back as she led Angharad out, eyes finding the broken table and Hao Yu¡¯s corpse among the wreckage. His face was red pulp, bleeding out in the channels. Man¡¯s blood joined with pig¡¯s blood, disappearing below.


    The stone could not tell difference and neither could Song.


    --


    Without needing to agree on it, they waited until they were three streets away before talking. You never knew where there might be ears listening, in this rat warren of a city.


    They found an alley out of the way, and where even by roof it would be hard for anyone to eavesdrop on them. They stopped there, as much in deference to Angharad¡¯s panting from their hard pace leaving as because the weight of the silence was bing unbearable. Song braced herself for remonstrations or an interrogation, but what she received instead was Angharad grasping her arm and squeezing it infort.


    ¡°I am,¡± Angharad gently said, ¡°sorry to hear about your brother.¡±


    And Song¡¯s mind went nk. The answers she had halfposed when walking, the fear and the forced calm, they were swept away in a heartbeat. She swallowed. That was¡­ Song closed her hand, lest her fingers tremble. When was thest time someone had been sorry for her family? Said they were and really <em>meant</em> it? Song let out a choked, exhausted breath.


    ¡°It was supposed to be him,¡± Song croaked out. ¡°In my boots, standing where I am. Or if not the Watch then one of the militias, or at least a mercenarypany fighting the Someshwari. They raised him to it. Raised all of us to it.¡±


    Her eyes closed. She could not remember his face as well, now. Just the outlines, and that cast to his brow. The<em> anger</em> that never quite left, even when he was at his happiest.


    ¡°My eldest brother, it broke him,¡± Song said. ¡°He couldn¡¯t bear the weight. Haoran, though, he always felt he was being punished. Maybe he was.¡±


    She swallowed.


    ¡°I thought he¡¯d just left to find his own way, to escape the name,¡± Song said. ¡°I never thought he might¡­¡±


    Be a traitor, she could not quite bring herself to finish. And a part of her wondered how Haoran could be called a traitor to Tianxia, when the Republics had never once thought of him as deserving. Her eyes burned so she squeezed them shut until the ache started, until she had killed the tears before they could begin, and only then did she dare open them again.


    ¡°His reasons do not matter,¡± Song said, tone even. ¡°As Ai said, should word of his going over to the royalists be spread it will be the end of my family. They won¡¯t live long enough for the curse to kill them.¡±


    They would be arrested and put on trial, the oue of which was already decided. If they were lucky magistrates would handle the matter and order them executed out in the country, but odds were the local prefect would be ordered to send them to Mazu to stand trial before the republic¡¯s general assembly. Or, worse, all the way to Sangshan so the Ministry of Rites could organize a grand trial like the one that had seen her grandfathershed to death.


    ¡°You believe her threat to be genuine, then,¡± Angharad said.


    ¡°I do,¡± Song tiredly replied. ¡°I can¡¯t afford not to.¡±


    The dark-skinned woman rubbed her wrist.


    ¡°It is different, for me,¡± she admitted. ¡°The Lefthand House does not threaten my father¡¯s life, only to withhold help and sufferance should I return to free him.¡±


    ¡°Who holds him?¡± Song softly asked. ¡°You never said.¡±


    ¡°House Cadogan, in practice,¡± Angharad said. ¡°But the prisoners of Tintavel are held on behalf of others. Someone sent my father there.¡±


    ¡°Someone who can make requests of an influential house and have them epted,¡± Song finished.


    Angharad grimaced, nodding.


    ¡°Our histories that only one man ever escaped that prison-fortress, and it was done with the help of Lucifer himself,¡± she said. ¡°Even with the Lefthand¡¯s House help the odds are¡­ stark. Without it?¡±


    ¡°There is no chance at all,¡± Song said.


    ¡°Close enough,¡± Angharad murmured.


    Part of Song itched to ask about the price, about whether her suspicion about the infernal forge was right, but she forced it away. Trust was a choice, and she had made hers.


    ¡°Would the Lord Rector evene down?¡± Angharad asked. ¡°If you ask and he does not, Ai might¡­¡±


    That the Pereduri could not risk finishing a sentence ascribing mercy to Ai was telling. It did not matter anyway.


    ¡°I believe so,¡± Song said, not quite looking the other woman in the eye.


    Angharad¡¯s brow simply rose.


    ¡°He is, I think, taken with me,¡± she delicately said.


    Had been even before she took him to bed. Or, well, table. And wall.


    ¡°And you?¡±


    Song grimaced.


    ¡°I like him,¡± she admitted. ¡°If we were different people maybe more, but-¡±


    ¡°You are not,¡± Angharad finished.


    It was a sweet indulgence, but it could not be more. Song suspected it would not be half as sweet if it were.


    ¡°He¡¯lle if I ask,¡± Song said. ¡°And they follow the letters, they would not know about the correspondence he sent me otherwise."


    "So if you do not send the letter, they will know,¡± Angharad said. ¡°They do not appear aware of the contents, however. You could send a warning instead of summons.¡±


    ¡°They haven¡¯t shown that they know what was written,¡± Song said. ¡°That doesn¡¯t mean they don¡¯t.¡±


    If she were Ai, she would not have made that demand without having a way to know. It was lending the enemy power they might not truly have, but could she afford to take the risk it was otherwise? Angharad slowly nodded, then craned her neck to nce up at the roof.


    ¡°Sleeping God, that contract,¡± Angharad muttered. ¡°I will never look at <em>bhuqefileyo</em> the same again.¡±


    Song frowned, tranting the Umoya. Trinket-corpse? Her confusion must have been obvious, for the Pereduri cleared her throat.


    ¡°It is the informal word for bone pottery,¡± Angharad said. ¡°My mother had a zed pot in slightly darker green in her parlor when I was a girl. She loved the piece, always said that¡­¡±


    The other woman then looked faintly guilty. Usually the sign she realized some amusing anecdote from her youth seemed rather less inoffensive when retold outside the confused of the peerdom of Peredur. Song¡¯s lips twitched.


    ¡°That it was made with the bones of someone important, like an old king of Cathay?¡±


    One of the oldest and proudest tricks of Mazu hawkers. So many king¡¯s bones had been sold in that port you would think Cathay grew them on trees.


    ¡°The merchant who sold it imed so,¡± Angharad defended. ¡°And not a king, merely a duke.¡±


    ¡°Oh, if it was only a duke then that¡¯s all right,¡± Song teased.


    The small touch of levity was like fresh water, after earlier. A woman as traveled as Angharad¡¯s mother had not likely believed that even a ¡®mere¡¯ duke¡¯s bones were incinerated for use in the recipe instead of, say<em>, cattle bones</em> but ¨C huh. Incinerated. Did that mean¡­


    ¡°We should return,¡± Angharad spoke into the silence. ¡°We both have preparations to make.¡±


    Her for the concert, Song for¡­ whatevery ahead of her. She shook her head, but the idea would not quite leave. The thought that she might have glimpsed a weakness after all. The noblewoman began hobbling back towards the main street.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t ask what I would do,¡± Song said, the words tearing out of her before she could think better of it.


    Angharad paused, turned back. Looked at her for a long moment.


    ¡°Trust is a choice,¡± she finally replied.


    And though she was on the edge of the pit, bncing as the winds picked up, that was enough to warm Song all the way to ck House.


    There, though, anger red: Song¡¯s bedroom door was open. Someone was in her quarters, and after the day she¡¯d had that felt like the droplet that tipped over the vase. Her knife was out in a sh and she strode past the threshold, ready to take another eye off Tupoc, but then she stopped. Angharad almost ran into her. Sitting at her writing table, looking thoroughly exhausted, a curly-haired man was feeding an enormous magpie bits of crushed grapes from a bowl.


    ¡°Good afternoon,dies,¡± Tristan Abrascal grinned. ¡°Sorry I¡¯m runningte, you wouldn¡¯t<em> believe</em> how hard it was to get a carriage.¡±


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