CHAPTER 18

Michel returned to the forlorn safe house in the basement of the tenement in Proctor. It was a brief visit—just long enough to find the passport given to him by the Yaret Household during his time in their service. While it did identify him as a member of the Yaret Household, it didn’t give his name. It should be just enough to get him out of a tight situation if necessary.

He returned to his apartment in Greenfire Depths and fell asleep early beside Ichtracia, where he dreamed of betrayal, prisons, and torture. When he awoke in a cold sweat, his pocket watch told him that it was almost two in the morning. He dressed silently, careful not to wake Ichtracia, and headed out into the Depths on his own.

The Depths at night hadn’t changed one bit—it was still a dangerous place, even for Palo, and he kept his ears tuned for following footsteps and his eyes darting for movement in dark alleyways. The important thing was that he was more worried about thieves than he was about Dynize agents. It wasn’t until he reached Upper Landfall that his nerves began to fray. The streets here were all but empty, trafficked by Dynize patrols and couriers on official business. The curfew had grown more severe since his last night. He was stopped three times on his trip across the plateau, and with each one he was able to present the passport and move on without question.

The capital building was dark, guarded by a small number of bored-looking sentries in their colorful uniforms and steel breastplates. He waited and watched, making sure that someone—anyone—still used the big building this late at night so that his presence wouldn’t be out of place. Once he’d seen a handful of tired clerks and slumping messengers come and go, he allowed himself to approach.

The Yaret Household passport worked without a second glance from the sentries. Michel was soon inside, walking quickly down the marble halls, his footsteps echoing softly. A few gas lamps splashed long streaks of flickering light, deepening the shadows and giving the Dynize flags, Household regalia, and military colors a sinister feel.

He passed only the occasional person as he navigated the long halls—the same late-night sorts he’d seen outside, in addition to a handful of maids, janitors, and guards carrying out their nightly routines. None of them gave him a second glance, and he was soon heading down the stairs into the bowels of the building.

These stairs did not hold good memories for him—the last time he’d descended this way, he was following a woman who he thought was a member of Yaret’s Household. She’d beaten him severely before Yaret had managed to find him. Michel had taken his revenge, but he could still feel the strike of her blackjack against the base of his neck.

He descended three flights of stairs. There were no windows to show the moonlight down here, and the few lit lamps were tokens to guide lost clerks rather than any real effort to conquer the darkness. He was glad for the echoing loneliness of it, and took extra care to muffle his steps. The last thing he needed was some helpful guard discovering him this far beneath the more trafficked areas of the building.

He found a series of rooms by virtue of his memories of their description—another benefit of his time with the Yaret Household. Under the Lindet regime, these had been filing rooms, a place to put intelligence and information until the professionals could sort out their importance. The Dynize had seen no need to change their original function. Yaret’s people had brought thousands of cases of files down here, all of them recovered from various corners of Landfall, most from Blackhat archives and safe houses. The files had been considered important enough to keep, but not important enough to work through with any urgency.

Each door was marked with big block numbering and a small placard that listed the location from which the contents had been scrounged. Some of the rooms held files from several dozen locations, while others contained information from just one or two places. He tapped each placard gently as he found it, whispering the names to himself until he reached one that simply said, MILLINERY. FIRST FLOOR.

The old Blackhat headquarters at the millinery had been an important source of information for the Dynize, but most of the good stuff had come from the third floor. The first floor had contained little more than public and lightly classified records.

He opened the door, slipping inside and locating the gas lamps by the tiny glow of their pilot lights. He turned them up, one by one, until the entire room was well lit, revealing hundreds of filing cabinets. A quick search showed that half of them had been marked by some efficient Dynize clerk. The other half were a jumbled, unsorted mess. He prayed that what he needed was in that first half.

Michel bent to his work, muttering to himself as he went. Despite Lindet’s hasty exit and the Dynize reorganization, he was fairly confident that the files he needed were here. All he had to do was figure out which cabinet they’d been stuffed in.

He worked methodically, starting with the labeled boxes and perusing papers for names, dates, and anything that might help him narrow down his search. There was method to the madness of both the original Blackhat clerks and the Dynize. It took him over an hour to confidently surmise how those two systems had been shuffled. It was another hour and a half before he’d found the right corner of the room, and then one more after that when he finally put his hands on a file labeled Lady Flint Landfall Operation.

He checked it thoroughly, making sure he had the right thing, then pulled out his pocket watch. Almost six in the morning. Well past time to leave if he wanted to be gone before the morning rush. He rounded the room, careful to remove any evidence that anyone had been here during the night.

He was just about to head to the door when he heard whistling, accompanied by the low, unsteady sound of someone walking with a limp. Michel swore under his breath, rushing around the room, turning off the lamps. He’d just dimmed the last one and ducked behind a row of boxes when the whistling stopped outside the door. Several moments passed. Michel held his breath, waiting, until the door finally opened to cast a light across the now-dark room.

Someone entered and crossed to the opposite side of the room in the darkness. Michel took the opportunity to slip out of his hiding spot and pad toward the door. He was almost there when a lamp flared to life behind him and a firm voice called out in Dynize, “You there! Stop!”

Michel froze, considering his options. His back was still to the stranger. He could make a run for it and risk that the guards wouldn’t hear any yelling this deep in the building. Or he could try to talk his way out of things. He wondered if his passport would be enough to silence any questions. It depended entirely on the person behind him—whether they were a low-level clerk or someone more important.

At this hour? They were likely a low-level clerk here for a mundane job. Michel fixed his best Why are you bothering me? expression and turned to face the stranger.

His expression disappeared in an instant, and Michel had to struggle to hide the shock that replaced it. The man behind him was bald, lean, and short. He wore a cotton suit in the Fatrastan style, but he was most definitely a Dynize. He frowned at Michel for a moment, clearly confused. It took several seconds for a flicker of recognition to pass behind his eyes and his mouth to fall open.

“Michel?”

Michel swallowed hard. “Tenik.” The two stared at each other from across the room. Michel considered making a run for it. Tenik clearly couldn’t keep up—his left leg was dragging badly and his left arm was in a sling. But how close were the capital-building guards? Would they be able to hear his shouts before Michel had slipped safely into the streets? “Not exactly a place I expected to find you.”

“Nor I, you.” Tenik’s expression hardened. “What are you doing here?”

Michel didn’t answer. Tenik probably didn’t expect one. He let his eyes travel across Tenik’s left side. The last time he saw Yaret’s cupbearer was right before an explosion had separated them in the catacombs almost two months ago. “Your arm…,” he said lamely.

“The explosion,” Tenik explained. “I’m unable to move like I once could, so Yaret has made me an archivist. My job is to oversee all of this.” His eyes wandered briefly across the lines of cabinets. “We’re sorting through it. Trying to find anything of use.”

Michel gripped the files in his hand. “Best of luck with that. There’s a lot to go through.”

“I see you’ve been making use of it.” Tenik’s eyes flashed to those files. “Yaret figured you might come back at some point.”

“Here?” Michel asked in surprise.

“Not necessarily. But to the city. He said that you’re too attached to Landfall. That your expertise is here, and you’ll want to use it.”

Michel frowned.

“We found your file,” Tenik said

“Ah.” Michel’s Blackhat file. He’d never actually seen it himself, but he could guess what was in it—highly classified information about his undercover operations. A handful of commendations that no one but him and two or three Blackhat Gold Roses had ever actually known about. He wondered if his file had information about those last few weeks before the Dynize invasion, or if his tasks for Fidelis Jes had been lost in the chaos. He hoped the latter. The less anyone knew about him and his actions, the better.

“We knew you were a spy,” Tenik said, “but it was interesting to see what you’d done for the Blackhats. Your transition from spy to bureaucrat. But you never stopped being a spy, did you?”

Again, Michel didn’t answer.

The surprise left Tenik’s voice, replaced with a firm note of disappointment. “The last time any of us saw you was at the catacombs. Yaret sent you home for a job well done, and then…” Tenik gestured mysteriously. “The next thing we knew, Ka-Sedial’s people were crawling all over us. Sedial himself was screaming about how he had proof that you were still working for the enemy, and Yaret could not protect you.”

“Sedial ambushed me at Ichtracia’s. Tortured me.”

“Sounds like he was right to do so,” Tenik snorted. “How the pit did you escape?”

Michel scowled. If Tenik didn’t know about Ichtracia’s involvement, Michel wasn’t about to tell him.

“So, did you leave Landfall?” Tenik asked after a moment of silence. “My bet was that you never left—that you’d slipped off to hide someplace that we wouldn’t think to look.”

“I did leave. For a while.”

“But you’re back.”

The tension grew thicker. Michel resisted the urge to look toward the door so as not to betray his next move. He needed to run, but his feet felt glued in place. “Yes.”

There was more to the injuries in Tenik’s body language. He seemed tired, his face haggard and his shoulders slumped in defeat. He looked at Michel, then at the door, then limped over to a chair in the corner and sank down into it with a grateful sigh. “Ka-Sedial has made you an enemy of the state. Claims that you’re still working for the Blackhats.”

“He knows I’m not,” Michel replied before he could stop himself.

“So do we,” Tenik said. “Problem is, none of us at the Household have been able to figure out who you are working for. You’re not a Blackhat. You helped us hunt down and kill and turn too many of them.” He leaned forward. “Who the pit are you working for? There’s no one else.”

Michel gave Tenik a tight smile. He was acutely aware that every word he spoke here could be used against him. But he was also tired—tired of the masquerades and the lying. Yaret had taken him in. Tenik had been Michel’s partner. He woke up in the middle of the night sometimes thinking of ways to help Yaret against his enemies in Landfall, only to remember that he now was one of those enemies. “I was working for you.”

Tenik’s tired face twisted. “No, you weren’t.” There was venom in his voice. “You were using us. We still don’t know to what end—something to do with Sedial, or so we’ve gathered. His granddaughter has disappeared, but we haven’t been able to discover anything else. What was it, Michel? Yaret adopted you. I considered you a friend. What are your true colors?”

The real hurt in Tenik’s voice twisted something in Michel’s gut. He had to use every bit of self-control not to spill out every secret, not to attempt to explain himself at any cost. “What am I?” he asked.

“A spy. A traitor.”

“No. What am I?” Michel was angry now. Tenik’s dismissive words about there not being anyone else to work for had touched something inside of him. “Who are the people that everyone uses but no one thinks about? Who are the rightful heirs to Fatrasta? Who has been kicked and beaten and enslaved since the Kressians first set foot on our shores?” He heard his own voice echoing and had to rein in his anger.

Tenik gave a sudden, quiet gasp. “The Palo?”

Michel clenched his teeth. He’d said too much. Betrayed himself. He kicked himself that he hadn’t turned to run yet.

“By our dead god,” Tenik breathed. “You’re a Palo freedom fighter. That explains so much.” Tenik’s expression softened. He suddenly laughed.

The sound made Michel bristle. “What’s so funny?”

“We’re on the same side!” Tenik said excitedly. “Don’t you see? We’re freeing the Palo. We’re bringing them back into the fold. Treating them better than they’ve ever been treated. You’re our cousins. Our kin.”

“The Palo don’t belong to you,” Michel said flatly.

That flare of excitement disappeared from Tenik’s face, replaced by confusion. “You don’t think fealty to the emperor is a price worth paying for a better life?”

“Not under threat of the sword,” Michel said. He held up one hand. “I’ll give you this—you do seem to be treating the Palo better. The whole idea gives me an ounce of peace and hope for the future. But there’s something rotten in the guts of your empire. Why do you think I continue to fight? Sedial is at the heart of it. He knows that I know, that’s why he hates me.” It wasn’t strictly true. But it was close enough.

Tenik regarded Michel warily. “You are not what we thought.”

“I’ve worked hard to make that the case.” Michel paused. Despite all of this, it still hurt him to see Tenik in such a condition. “Will they allow you a Privileged healer?”

“I’m on a waiting list,” Tenik said, looking away. A thousand little ticks crossed his face, too quickly for Michel to read with any depth. When he finally looked back at Michel, he was a mask of fury. “Leave.”

Michel flinched at the word. It was so angry. So final. He gave Tenik a curious glance.

Tenik went on. “For better or for worse, you were my brother for the space of a summer. I will not call for the guards and drag you before the Great Ka. I’m going to tell Yaret that I saw you, and he’s going to decide whether or not to report that to Ka-Sedial.” Tenik leaned forward. “I’m going to let you take whatever you have in your hand and leave. You used us, but you used us well, and Yaret was able to further the Household due to your actions. For that, I’ll let you go.”

Michel opened his mouth, but Tenik lifted a finger. “Once!” he continued. “Just this once. The Yaret Household has disavowed you. Struck you from our records. You are an enemy of the state. If I see you again, I will not hesitate to call for a guard if I cannot kill or capture you myself. I suggest you leave the city. Don’t make me follow through on this threat.”

Tenik’s gaze fell to the floor.

“I am sorry,” Michel said.

There was no response. Michel slowly backed out, waiting for that fateful shout. He reached the hall and let himself take a few quick breaths, then hurried out of the archives and up toward the first floor. He kept his eyes on the ground, walking quickly, hoping not to be recognized by any of the early-morning staff that had just begun to arrive.

He was able to reach Greenfire Depths without incident. He wanted nothing more than to head back to the safe house and crawl into bed next to Ichtracia, to try and catch up on some of the sleep that he’d missed. But the meeting with Tenik had rattled him and he doubted that sleep would come. He navigated the early-morning traffic and headed to the one post office in Greenfire Depths.

The Dynize had kept the postal system open, oddly enough. Letters and packages wouldn’t leave Landfall, of course, but they would be moved around within the city without being molested. He’d heard that the Dynize themselves had begun to use the post for official, but unimportant, communication—just another way they had co-opted the previously created systems within Fatrasta.

Michel flipped through the file once more, sitting on a stoop outside the post office. He read it carefully, blacking out the three times his name was mentioned and making sure there was nothing else that could lead back to him. Once he’d finished, he wrapped the file in paper and slid it into an envelope.

He smiled politely at the woman at the counter and handed the package to her. “Hello. I’d like this delivered to the Yaret Household tomorrow morning. Eight o’clock. No earlier. No later.” He slid her a hundred-krana note. “This is very important.”