13

THIRTEEN: The Arisrocrat

I looked between the red-haired soldier and the darker, auburn-tressed aristocrat. They had similar coloring in the face, both with freckles from brow to chin in good supply; the curvature of their noses was very similar; they had the same cheekbones, the same tilt of their eyes. Jaska was also tall like Kale was, lithe and graceful, but her shoulders were more broad and she had the thick upper arms of a farmhand—or a trained fighter—not some dainty socialite. She also wore a pair of fuzzy grey slippers, which I wasn’t expecting: a tiny touch of comfort amidst the glamour.

“You never mentioned having a twin,” I said.

It was an educated guess on my part, but Kale confirmed it when he sighed, rubbing at his chin. “It never came up.” He threw what looked like a guilty glance at Jaska, who narrowed her eyes in return, but didn’t speak. “Sister, this is Inga.”

“Yes, so she said,” Jaska said, fixing me with a long look. Whatever thoughts she had about me, I couldn’t guess them, not yet. “We have much to discuss, it seems. This way, please.” She first tossed both of us a towel before motioning towards the staircase she’d just used, then led the way back to the upper levels.

It was dark on the way up, lit only by the lamp that Jaska was carrying. “‘Discuss?’” I could sense some sort of tension between the siblings, but thought it best to leave family matters alone—it wasn’t any of my business. I busied myself with trying to dry my hair and scrub some of the moisture from my outer garments. “Discuss what?”

“Just what you two are doing skulking about in my cellar, for starters.” I could hear Jaska’s smirk in her voice, but there was an undertone to it, like a foul note just on the edge of hearing. “As for anything else, I suppose that depends on what I’m going to do with you.”

We emerged into what was probably the largest room that I’d ever seen—that sort of thing was happening to me a lot in Whitehold. It was late and the storm still raged outside, but the house’s interior was lit with golden lamplight, burning back the darkness. The floors were polished marble laid out in an alternating pattern of white and black; veins of silver streaks ran along the tiles in wild, waving patterns that were almost impossible to follow with the eye. The walls were painted a faint, off-white hue that made the room feel even larger, somehow, as I tried to take it all in. Tall windows were framed with cream-colored curtains, behind which I caught occasional flashes of lightning. A staircase leading up to the second and—goodness, a third floor—had wide steps covered in soft blue carpet, with a pale chestnut wood railing decorated with intricate, swirling carvings. High overhead was a dome of metal and fogged glass.

Artwork hung on the walls, mostly paintings of nature or woodland scenes. The largest piece hung over a grand fireplace, in which a fire was burning. I saw Jaska seated, dressed in a scarlet dress, hands in her lap, a demure smile on her face. A slender gold necklace with a large, heart-shaped gemstone rested on her collarbone, and a tiara with a matching stone sat on her head. An old man in a curious metal chair sat next to her, a blanket tucked over his legs, holding her hand—he had a shock of silver-and-grey hair, and although he didn’t smile, somehow he didn’t seem austere or stern to my eye. I’d have called him suave or sophisticated, maybe.

Atop the mantelpiece, underneath the portrait, sat a glass case. Inside of it was an object roughly a meter in length, covered with a black cloth. I couldn’t be sure that it was Bloodlust, but that seemed as good a guess as any—it seemed such a stark contrast to the posh decor around it, standing out like a rotten tooth in a room full of laughter.

Jaska leaned over to me. “It is all rather ostentatious, isn’t it?” she said, speaking softly. “We don’t even use the second or third floors much these days.”

I only then realized that I’d been staring with my mouth open. I closed it with an embarrassing click of my teeth. “It’s…very grand, actually.”

Kale snorted.

“Not at all what I’m used to,” I added.

“A bit overdone, I admit,” Jaska said, ignoring Kale, “but I’ve improved it dramatically. You should’ve seen what Damian had up before I married him—the man had more portraits of himself posing with hunting dogs in this house than should be permitted by law.”

“Why does his chair have the…” My voice trailed off, unsure of how to finish the question. I made a circular motion with one finger. “I’ve never seen one like that before.”

“Damian was an avid horse rider and hunter as a younger man,” she said. “He took an unfortunate tumble off his mount one day and suffered a bad fall. He hasn’t walked since then, and the chair gives him some limited mobility. This way, please.” She led us into what appeared to be a sitting area, although I thought a room that immense could have fit a half-dozen sitting areas inside of it. She took a long seat that allowed her to stretch both legs out, shedding her slippers as she did so. “Now, both of you—sit.”

There was an assortment of furniture close-by, so I took a seat on the end of a long, padded stool, setting my towel aside while folding both hands in my lap. I’ll admit that I felt very un-feminine at that moment, dressed in men’s clothes with weapons at the ready, facing a woman dressed in fine luxury. I crossed both ankles and tried to ignore such thoughts.

“Damian make himself scarce?” Kale asked, claiming a nearby couch for himself, tossing his towel across the back.

“I told you, Brother: he’s napping. It is quite late, after all.” Jaska flipped some of her hair over one shoulder, twisting a ring on her left hand. “I decided on having this meeting myself once I found out you were involved.”

“Involved with what?” I asked.

Jaska gave me the full force of her stare, a look that seemed intent on making me think twice about interrupting. To my annoyance, it worked. “With you, of course.”

Kale seemed to wince. “Jaska, about that—”

“Quiet,” Jaska said, cutting him off. Her eyes narrowed again. Kale never argued, a complete turnabout from how stubborn he’d been with Ruslan. Now I’d been an only child, but there were plenty of other sets of siblings living on Mistress Pol’s farm. Growing up, I’d seen what sort of authority the eldest sister of a family could have; Jaska, it seemed, didn’t hesitate in wielding such power. “For now,” she continued, looking back at me, “I suspect that there are a number of parties very interested in you.”

I fought to stay calm, to keep both my temper and anxiety under control. Something on the other woman’s face made me very uneasy. “Why?”

I heard something behind me. Jaska turned her head, and when I followed her gaze, I saw a pair of men standing by an open doorway. Both were dressed in severe, plain black clothing; both were grey-haired, old enough to be Jaska’s grandfathers. They were otherwise completely identical, which made me think I was seeing double for a split second.

“Leivick. Samuil.” Jaska acknowledged both men, and seemed to be able to tell them apart at a glance.

“The house is still under surveillance,” said one.

“Just as you suspected, mum,” said the other.

Then, in unison: “Welcome back, Master Kale.”

“Ah…thank you,” he said.

The two men brought in a pair of trays, setting them down on a nearby table. One had a trio of slender drinking glasses and a dark, glass bottle wrapped in a towel, sitting in a bowl of tiny ice pieces. The other bore an assortment of food on it, some of which I recognized—some bits of cheese, peeled apple pieces, thick slices of dark bread and butter, as well as other things I hadn’t seen before. After my experience with the yellow fruit and the crab cakes, I was leery of any new food options.

Jaska urged her brother up. “Serve our guest, please,” she told him. To the men in black, she said: “Keep a watchful eye out. No deviance from the usual routine, but no visitors, either: it’s quite late, the Master is resting, and he is not to be disturbed for reasons of his health. That will be all.” Jaska’s dismissal was met with a shared bow, and after collecting our damp towels the pair of attendants left, their footsteps falling in time together as they disappeared down the hallway.

“They said something about surveillance?” Kale stopped his pouring and turned, staring at his twin in what seemed like confusion. “Who’s watching the house?”

Jaska pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. “That would your bride-to-be, Brother Dear, or at least the men working for her. I suspect the only reason they haven’t stormed the place already is not knowing for sure that you’re actually here, although they have to realize you’d come to me seeking shelter eventually.” I must have shown some sort of reaction, because Jaska looked back to me next. “You’ve met the First Daughter already, I see.”

“Oh, we’ve met.” I didn’t flinch that time, giving her just as long and steady of a look as I got. “Yenda Avard owes me a blood debt. I intend to collect.”

“Do you?” Jaska raised her head and laughed. It wasn’t the reaction I expected, but I kept my temper under control as she finished. The laugh didn’t seem mocking to me, but rather like I was someone to be pitied, not that the latter was much better. “You aren’t the first to run afoul of her, dear. I doubt you’ll be the last, either.”

“Want to bet?” I took the glass Kale offered me: it was alcohol of some kind, much sweeter than any I’d ever tasted before. I licked my lips, took a second sip.

For a moment, Jaska and I beheld one another. She struck me as proud, maybe even haughty, but there was a shroud over her, a sense of secrecy and pain that I didn’t want to fully understand. I wondered if it had anything to do with the story Kale told me, about their mother slaying her own husband in a fit of rage brought on by her own Spellsword; it took a monumental amount of self-control not to look over at the sword-shaped object on the mantelpiece, encased in glass and covered in dark silk. I knew what loss was, but a loss like that made my heart ache just thinking about it. It also made me miss my mother all over again.

“Inga—may I call you Inga?—enlighten me about something, if you would,” Jaska said, stretching out on her seat, taking the glass Kale handed her. “Three days ago, I’m in bed that morning; I’ve been up late dealing with other matters these past few weeks and was quite tired, so.” She waved a hand, dismissing the matter. “That day, I’m informed that Yenda the Younger has taken a secret trip out of the city, under cover of darkness, earlier that morning—off somewhere to the northwest, in the very vicinity that my darling, dear brother has been lurking for months.”

“I wasn’t lurking,” Kale protested, mumbling. He seemed irritated to me, trying not to twitch or fidget, like a child forced to linger at the supper table.

She ignored him again. “At first, I thought it was simply Yenda bringing their lover’s spat to an end, that she intended to fetch her wayward groom to bring him home, and that would be that.” She took a sip, licked her lips. “Only…she doesn’t. She returns in secret, bearing some precious cargo that—my sources tell me—she insisted on handling herself. My future sister-in-law might be many things, but she’d sooner chew off her own arm than be forced to commit any sort of manual labor.” Jaska began to count on her fingers, casting her eyes back and forth from Kale, to myself, and back again. “Then, days later, my brother just happens to return from his self-inflicted exile. He’s escorting a woman, one matching the description of a criminal that Yenda Avard herself ordered detained and executed for some sort of crime that no one can explain to me in detail, yet was heinous enough to merit execution in the first place. A woman who I’m now informed claims to have met Yenda Avard, is holding a grudge against Yenda Avard, and has decided to swear a blood oath on Yenda Avard.” She waved a hand in a dramatic fashion. “What am I to think about all of that?”

Unsure of what else to say, I spread my hands. “What do you want me to tell you?”

“The truth,” she said.

“I don’t know you well enough to tell you all of that yet,” I said, echoing Kale’s own words from earlier that evening.

“Oh, for the love of—it’s the Deathbringer, Jaska, Yenda’s got the Saints-begotten Deathbringer!” Kale didn’t take to being ignored very well, it seemed; he spoke quickly, hissing the Sword’s name like he was afraid lightning would shoot through one of the curtained windows and strike him dead. When the thunder blossomed and boomed over our heads, he swore and swiped a hand across his mouth. “She took me and some other Avardi soldiers, led us up to a farm on the edge of the frontier, and ordered us to kill her—” He gestured towards me “—and everyone else there. I did what I was told, stabbed this girl, thought I killed her, until she showed up days later and almost killed me, as well as two of the other soldiers who were at the farm with me. Inga needed to get out of Svolyn right away, said she was coming to Whitehold, so I thought it best to escort her and bring her here. So…here we are.” He sank back against the couch as he finished.

I, meanwhile, wanted to strangle the man, for all the good that would’ve done me. “See if I ever tell you anything else after this,” I said, glaring at him.

Kale, whether to his credit or not, stuck out his chin and didn’t flinch. “I had to tell her, Inga. She’s my Matriarch and she’s taken us in.”

“It was my story to tell or not tell.”

“She deserved to know,” he countered, as if that settled the argument.

“A decent summation, for now,” Jaska said. Her eyes were narrowed, ever so slightly, as she stared me down. “Especially on a subject such as this. Besides: I already had the chance to turn you in and haven’t—not yet, anyway.”

“Why?” I asked, not trying to hide the challenge in my voice.

Now her eyes narrowed even further. I was sure she was annoyed with me, but I could see her face and features changing, masking that immediate response for something more diplomatic. The woman seemed well-practiced in controlling her own emotions, a gift that I certainly did not share. “At this point in time, giving you to Yenda Avard doesn’t serve the interests of myself or my Clan—however small in number we might be. I also haven’t turned you in because I don’t want to turn you in, regardless of how rude a guest you’ve become.”

I blew out a hard breath. “Respectfully, you not being Yenda’s ally doesn’t make you mine. The sooner I get out of here, the better.” I sat down my glass and stood up, fighting the urge to run for an exit, not that I knew where any of them were at the moment.

Jaska pursed her lips. “Perhaps, perhaps not. But you appear to have some grudge against Yenda, and if my brother is correct—” Kale rolled his eyes, which again, Jaska ignored “—then the subject of why is too important to be overlooked. So unless you intend to break out of my house and shoot your way past the twenty or more Avardi soldiers watching either the main exits, I suggest that you sit down.” I could hear the iron in her voice by the end, a command that expected obedience and nothing but. Part of me wanted to do something foolish, like grabbing the tongs by the fireplace and use them to smash one of the windows before jumping out into the rainy night, but if what she said was true, I was surrounded.

I sat. I was seething, but I sat down and curled my fingers into the cushion under me until my knuckles ached.

“Better,” Jaska said, sounding calmer. She let her head tip to one side, ever so slightly. “Is what my brother said true, then? Yenda stole the Deathbringer—from you or your family, I suppose?”

I nodded. “She did.”

“Are you really claiming to be of Clan Alenir, then?”

“I…I guess I am,” I said, feeling a little flustered at being asked so openly. “I didn’t know about Deathbringer while I was growing up—my mother only told me about it…before she died.” I cleared my throat and forced myself to hold her gaze.

“Fascinating.” From the tone of her voice, Jaska certainly sounded as much. “Do you have any idea what that means?”

“I’ve heard some things.”

Jaska leaned in towards me. “Katarina Alenir is responsible for some of the greatest criminal acts of modern history. Warfare, conquest, large-scale genocide. Names of places they teach children about in primary school: Cerulias, Riessa, Wynne. Katarina wiped them off the map, literally—you can’t find them anymore, not even the bones. Countless dead, armies running around, butchering anything that moved, executions, bodies piling up, famine, desolation… They could write books about what your great-grandmatron did, my dear,” she said. “Quite a few were written, in fact. Why ever would you want to be party to a legacy like that one?”

“Because it’s mine.” I didn’t want to imagine the things that Jaska was discussing, so I focused on the present, on where I was at that moment. “I can’t undo whatever Katarina did, but I’m not Katarina. Yenda Avard the Younger ordered the deaths of my husband, my mother, the only thing close to a real family I’ve ever had—everyone, down to the last newborn. That’s genocide too, isn’t it?”

She nodded. “The business my brother was involved in, I take it.” The twins shared a long look; I saw Kale clench his jaw, but he stayed quiet.

“They all died because of something I never even asked for,” I said. “If Yenda Avard is capable of ordering that, what else is she capable of?”

“A great deal,” Jaska said, “if my information is correct. Yenda Avard’s obsession with the Spellswords is well-known. There are rumors of other…incidents that her name is attached to, but nothing so grandiose or graphic as what you’re accusing now.”

“I’m not ‘accusing’ her of anything,” I answered, bitterness in my voice. “I lived through it. I saw it happen with my own eyes.”

“Do you have any proof?” Jaska said. “About what you say happened—about supposedly owning the Deathbringer.” Jaska didn’t falter or speak the name in hushed tones like Kale had.

I shook my head. “Yenda stole it after her soldiers did their dirty work. I’m just here to get it back.”

“So you don’t have anything.”

“So what if she doesn’t?” Kale said. “How do we help her?”

“Kale—”

“I’ve come this far with her, Jaska. She could have killed me, but she didn’t. After I killed her, even.” He held up both hands. “It sounds crazy, I know, but I ran Inga through under Yenda’s orders. Yet, here she sits.”

“I suspect…” Jaska tapped her lips, then shook her head. “No. I know all about the sort of thing that happens when tempers are hot and fighting goes on, Brother. I also know what can happen to men and strong-willed women when they spend an inordinate amount of time together—which certainly seems to be the case here.”

“‘Inordinate?’ It’s only been three days!” He shouted it, growing angry all of a sudden.

“Well, what else am I to think?”

“Don’t be like this, Jaska,” Kale said, giving her a scowl. “You’re better than that.”

“Well, how else should I be?” she answered, sounding frustrated.

“What?” I frowned, looking at Kale. “I don’t understand.”

Kale looked like he wanted to spit. “She thinks I’m trying to help you because you’re sleeping with me. That you’ve roped me into your story like I’m some kind of sucker.”

Turning back, I took in Jaska’s face, her demeanor. The young Matriarch was calm and composed, but I detected a hint of challenge in her eyes. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

“I believe you are convincing,” Jaska said. “I believe you’re convinced that Yenda wronged you and your family. I believe you’ve convinced my brother, a man reluctant to take on the responsibilities of a new home and a new bride he doesn’t love, one he holds some kind of grudge against for reasons that I haven’t yet been able to discern. As for my believing you are who you say you are… Well.” Jaska’s smile was whisper-thin. “Words are, as my husband often says, cheap.”

It’d been a little while since I’d felt my hate for Yenda Avard spark and rekindle, but now I felt it again. Part of that anger was directed at Jaska now, at the implications of her words. That the woman thought she could speak to me in such a way, to make such accusations… There was really very little I could do in response. And this wasn’t some nameless nobody—Jaska was another Swordbearer, someone who had influence. Influence I needed on my side, somehow.

No. In fact, there was one thing I could still do.

“Fine.” I pushed up to my feet and started towards her. I saw the noblewoman tense up; Kale did the same, looking like he was ready to jump to his feet, as though he expected me to attack his sister. “How’s this for convincing?” I first unsnapped the barrette from behind my ear, watching Jaska’s surprise as my black tresses melted into burning gold in the firelight. Then I took the hem of my blouse and pulled it up to my neck, staring down at her all the while. She looked away, shielding her eyes, as though scandalized.

“Sweet Saints!” Kale said, a hand across his mouth.

It was enough to convince Jaska to look back at me, and I saw her eyes go wide. I caught sight of myself in the reflection of a nearby mirror, hanging next to an open doorway: the wound Kale had given me under my left breast was still sickly yellow, while the fresh scar stretching down my belly had gone a deep, mottled red. I’d purposefully left the wound alone all during my journey east, and it looked as ugly as I’d expected. I spotted one of Jaska’s attendants standing beside the doorway near his mistress, standing so still amongst the shadows that I’d never spotted him at all—if I had been so foolish as to attack her, I’m sure he would’ve tried to stop me.

“That,” I told her, “is where your brother stuck his saber in my chest. It burst my heart; it hasn’t beat once in the three days since then.” I took no pleasure from the stricken look on her face when she looked up at me. “Go ahead and feel for yourself, if you like.”

Jaska raised a hand, hesitated, then swallowed and reached out the rest of the way. Her hand was clammy and cool against my inflamed skin, and she waited for the span of ten or twelve seconds before pulling it away. “Saints and Swords,” the woman whispered, visibly shuddering.

I noted with grim satisfaction that Jaska’s face was a touch paler than before; her freckles stood out like pinpricks. “Deathbringer’s power brought me back—I only learned about its existence the same day that I had to crawl out of the pile of bodies that your brother and Yenda’s other lackeys piled on top of me.” I pulled my blouse back down, too angered for shame as I slipped my barrette back on, watching my hair turn black again in the mirror; I slid my hands over my scalp again, victim to my old habits. “If I don’t reclaim my Clan’s birthright before the night of the full moon, I’m going to die again. I didn’t ask for this fight, but I am going to finish it.”

We stared at one another for a long time, saying nothing. I heard the sound of soft ticking nearby, then a hollow bonging sound as a tall, carved clock made out of wood announced the time.

“This is bigger than sex, Jaska,” Kale said, his voice quiet. “This is bigger than you or me. If we don’t do anything, the Avardis will control two Spellswords, and I can’t even begin to imagine how bad of an idea that is. All I know is Inga needs help, and we can help her.”

Jaska was quiet, but finally nodded.

“So…how do we do that?” he said.

Jaska shook her head. “I don’t know yet.” She sat in silence for a long moment. Then: “Leivick.”

“Yes mum,” answered the man standing close by.

“Take our guests to the secured rooms downstairs, please.”

Leivick bowed his head. “Yes mum.”

“Wait, ‘secured?’” I said to Jaska, tempted to take a step back. “Secured how?”

“Since the house is being watched, I can’t guarantee that Avardi soldiers won’t insist on wanting to search the place—they’ll have to suspect that my brother might come here. We keep a set of rooms downstairs for visitors that would prefer to make a quick exit.”

“Why?”

The Isrodel Matriarch gave me a half-smirk. “What did you think the secret way in via the canals was meant for? To admire the smell?” Jaska didn’t see fit to give any further explanation. Instead, she pushed to her feet, sliding them back into her slippers. “Now, it’s very late, and we should all get some rest. Kale?”

“Hm?”

“Don’t go sneaking off.” Jaska ran a thumb across her throat—it wasn’t a gesture I’d seen before, but the connotations were clear enough.

“Ah…right.” He nodded. “No arguments from me.”

“Well, then.” Jaska smoothed down her gown and bowed her head to me. “Good night. I trust we’ll speak more very soon.”

I nodded. “Yes. Thank you.”

To that, she only smiled, and then took her leave. Her servant led Kale and I back down to the basement with its musty smells and dusty barrels, lighting the way with a pair of lanterns, one in each hand.

Leivick led us to a side corridor down behind a row of tall barrels that I hadn’t even noticed when coming in; he pulled at one of the taps, and a hidden door swung inwards, leading into the dark. Even though the stones were oppressively close on both sides, we were led down a narrow hallway to a pair of small, serviceable rooms with a single furnished sleeping cot in each, and a door that locked from the inside. His work complete, Leivick left us each with a lantern, and then shuffled back up the hallway without a word, swinging the heavy door shut without so much as a creak as it closed.

“Well…” Kale seemed to be searching for what to say. “That sure was…something.” He licked his lips, while appearing to be putting his thoughts in some kind of order. “I’m sorry about my sister. About what she said. I…” Again he licked his lips while looking down, fighting off some kind of fit of dry mouth, or something. “If I’d known she was going to say those things—”

“Kale.”

His head shot up. “Mm?”

“Tell me what Yenda did to you.”

The jovial, relaxed look on his face instantly vanished. “Why?”

“Because I asked,” I told him, figuring the truth was the best choice. “Because you’ve been hinting at it since Svolyn. Because I own you.” I entered one of the rooms, turned and sat on the bed. “And because if you get to tell your Matriarch all about my secret, I want one in return.”

He didn’t flinch, but I saw a twitch in his eyes, at how they flicked away from me and back again almost too fast to see. Leaning inside the doorway, he seemed somehow to grow older before my eyes; his face was framed by the lantern in his hand, casting half of it in shadow. “It first happened on the night our engagement was announced.” He set the lantern down on the floor at his feet, which threw shadows up into his face and under his chin. It made him seem less human in appearance, and yet, more vulnerable than I’d ever seen a man look before.

“What happened?” I said.

“I got drunk.” He showed a smile, but it looked forced to me, as was the chuckle that came after. “Snow and winter, but I got absolutely hammered that night. I lost track of how many times Yenda handed me a full cup, like she somehow approved of me in such a state. I’m sure I managed to embarrass myself quite nicely, too.” Then, the smile faded away. “I woke up the next morning. In her room. Naked. Not really remembering what happened…but I still knew what she did to me, all the same.” Kale didn’t seem to want to say the specific act aloud, and I didn’t blame him.

“So…before, you two had never…?”

“No.” He looked me in the eyes, at last. “You ever have something like that happen to you, Inga?”

I shook my head. “Never.”

“Well, it happened to me.” He looked away again, as if ashamed or angry. “And more times after that. I don’t usually drink as heavy as I did that first night, so when I kept waking up in her boudoir, I knew that my blacking out had nothing to do with how much I had to drink.” A small, mirthless smile stretched across his lips. “It’s funny… Until that day at the Twin Moons when we met, I hadn’t had anything to drink since I left Whitehold.” For a moment he was quiet. Then he raised his eyes, giving me a long, hard look from under his creased brow. “Eventually, I had enough. I left town, got as far away from Whitehold as I could go. But I knew I’d need money, and my father was an Avardi soldier once, so it was the first thing I thought of. Obviously, I should’ve thought through my options a little harder.” He added the last while muttering under his breath.

“Why keep it a secret from your sister? Wouldn’t she send you money?”

“Not without wanting me to talk about why I left.” He shook his head. “It’s none of her business. I know she’s angry with me for not looking at some ‘bigger picture’ about marrying Yenda. But I can’t marry somebody like that. Not after…what she did.”

“You shouldn’t have to,” I said. I stood up, walked over to him; after listening to what he’d just talked about, it felt disrespectful or rude to stay seated. “You shouldn’t have to marry anyone you don’t want to marry.” I looked up at him, waiting until he met my eyes. “I’m just a girl from the other side of the South Woods, but even I know that much.”

His smile was small, and unconvincing. “It doesn’t feel like it’s that easy.”

“Maybe it’s not,” I said. “That doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

“Inga.”

“Mm?” I echoed his tone from earlier.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said, his voice softening. He took a moment before looking me in the eyes. “About Yenda.”

I kept very still, forced myself not to react. “What about her?” I didn’t want to talk about Yenda Avard in the least, and didn’t try to hide that.

“I don’t think you should go through with this plan. With killing her, I mean.”

“I knew what you meant.”

When I didn’t say anything more, he continued: “Yenda’s done so much—to you, to me, to plenty of other people—but…I don’t know if it’s the right thing, taking one life for another.” Again, when I said nothing in response, he kept going. “You could’ve killed me for what I did to you, but you didn’t. How would things have turned out differently if you had?” He coughed, rubbing at his stubbled chin. “I don’t think anything can make up for all the wrong she’s done. I had time to make my peace with what she did to me. I understand if you can’t do that…but I don’t want you to have any regrets, either.”

I had the strong feeling that I had to say something, whether I wanted to or not. I also had to tread carefully, given everything Kale had told me, and not wanting to lose my temper. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe not. I’ll think about it.”

“That’s a start, then.” He bent down, picked up his lantern. “Thanks for listening, I guess.” He seemed to hesitate, leaning in closer, looking down at me in the dark, but whatever he was looking for—on my face, in my eyes—he didn’t find it. “Well…good night.”

“Good night.” I forced a tiny smile and shut the door. I listened for a long moment until I heard him finally step away, mumbling something that I couldn’t catch through the thick wood at my back. I heard the muffled sound of his door shutting, then everything was quiet.

I wasn’t sure what to think, to feel about what Kale told me. It wasn’t uncommon for men to be forced into matrimony—even on the farm, I’d heard about one or two “punch-drunk weddings” happening while I was growing up. That’s where the name came from: getting the groom drunk on whatever liquor was available before dragging him before the local Matriarch to speak his wedding vows. I’d never thought about any of those men being in Kale’s position before, or even considered the possibility; knowing it now it felt like some tiny piece of my innocence had been ripped away.

Kale’s change of heart about Yenda struck me as awkward in terms of timing, but the more I got to know him, the more it seemed like Kale Isrodel didn’t have a dishonest bone in his body. If he said he’d been thinking about it, I believed him. I also suspected he didn’t think my plan could actually succeed…but then, he didn’t have to worry about dying, either.

As for him leaning in, like we were sharing some intimate moment, it left a dark taste in my mouth. But I didn’t have any energy left to figure out what I was going to do about it.

I set the lantern down on a small wooden crate next to the cot that served as a table, blew out the flame, and laid down in total darkness. I’m sure I was asleep before my head reached the mattress.

YENDA

“He did what?!” Yenda stood up from her seat as she shouted, leaning across the table.

Ruslan winced at the piercing screech of his sister’s voice. “Calm down!” He was holding a bag of ice cubes against one cheek and eye, both of which were discolored and swollen. “I told you what happened, Yen,” he said, his voice slightly slurred—both on account of his injury, and from the bottle of amber-spirits he was sipping for the pain. “Saints and winter’s breath, woman, I’ve suffered enough already. Don’t make me tell you the whole story again.”

Yenda the Younger looked so angry that she was ready to start steaming out her ears at any second. She glared across the table at her brother. “My future husband is running around our city with some backwater tart he picked up, and after managing to sneak through Golova’s nets, now he’s out in public, parading her around. He makes a mockery of me and our family, and you have the audacity to tell me to calm down?!”

“You should calm down!” he countered.

“You will both calm down.” The Avardi Matriarch never raised her voice, but they both heard it snap like a frozen pane of glass. The three of them sat in her private anteroom, the very same spot where the First Daughter had doomed their family just days before—the elder Yenda didn’t say such thoughts aloud, but she dreaded them all the same. To her son, she said: “How far did you track the Isrodel boy and his companion?”

“The trail went cold within sight of the Harbor,” he said. “Once we reached the canals, they were gone.”

“Were you anywhere near South Hill?” the younger Yenda asked, sounding disgusted.

“I said we were near the Harbor,” Ruslan said, his fiery beard beginning to bristle.

“And one of the old sewer lines that runs to the Harbor comes out of South Hill. That’s something a person like you ought to know.” Yenda’s voice was practically dripping with disdain.

“Enough,” the Mother said, watching her firstborn cross her arms and turn away, grumbling under her breath.

Ruslan opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again. “And that means…what, exactly?”

The Matriarch closed her eyes and repressed a pained sigh. “It means, dear boy, that Kale Isrodel likely knows of a secret way into the estate of House Kalinin—the abode of Damien Kalinin, husband of his sister, Matriarch Jaska Isrodel.”

“Which is why I already ordered Jaska’s house to be put under surveillance,” the younger Yenda added, staring daggers at her brother. “Somebody has to be the intelligent one in this family.”

“What is that supposed to—”

“Enough!” When she said it the second time, both children heard their mother’s anger and knew better than to protest any further. Now the old woman did sigh, before fixing her eyes on her second-born. “It was to be expected that he would flee to her, looking for succor of some sort.”

“Then what am I supposed to do about that, Mother?” he said. “I can’t just go marching into the house of a rival Clan, not to mention a rival Swordbearer.”

“Find an excuse,” Yenda the Younger argued. “Say he’s refusing orders to report to me, or that he was resisting arrest when he fled. And don’t think about going there without me,” the First Daughter continued, pushing back from the table. “Once I get my hands on that trollop he’s with, I’ll make her beg me for death before I’m done with her.” She left quickly, shoulders haunched, a thundercloud of murderous mumblings and frizzled black hair hanging about her shoulders.

Ruslan growled under his breath, but when he started to rise, the Matriarch reached out to stop him. “Stay for a moment.” He obeyed, of course, staying silent as she withdrew her hand from his. “Your sister is not herself, Ruslan.”

He looked surprised, pulling at a bit of his red beard. “Then what is she, Mother?”

“Troubled, my son, very troubled.” Yenda sighed, passing a hand across her face. “I’ll explain it all to you when I can. For now, you’ve been a good soldier for me thus far, Ruslan: will you follow my instructions again?”

“Yes, of course,” he said, never hesitating.

“Good.” Yenda the Elder gave him a deserving smile. “Now, here is what you must do…”