10

TEN: Reminiscing

“Out,” Golova said. When nobody reacted—not that I could blame them; no one seemed to know who she was talking to—the Commander reached down, pulled the pistol from my belt. “By the Fell-fires, I’m surrounded by idiots. Everyone out! Now!”

The other Avardi seemed bewildered by her order, but by the last word they were pushing and shoving one another in the rush to obey, each driving the man or woman ahead of them until only the three of us were left. Outside of our car I could hear the sound of voices talking and other goings-on: the ringing of bells, sounds of shouting, animals calling and another dozen things all melting together into a strained, far-off mess of noise. It made me miss the quiet and calm of the farm.

Such a rush of homesickness and ache filled me up. Then, with cold efficiency, I focused on more immediate concerns, ignoring whatever was happening outside while ignoring my own heartache as well.

Kale hadn’t moved, but he was the first one to speak. “Commander, I can explain—”

“Stow it, rich boy,” Golova said, scowling. “I care more about what comes out of a buffalo’s backside as I care to listen to your excuses right now.”

He puckered his mouth before pressing both lips to a thin line and nodded.

Golova and I stared at one another for a moment. “Your name?”

“Inga Ivanova,” I said. I’d carried the name with me this far—what harm was there in keeping it a little longer?

She eyed my gun in her hand, giving it a cursory looking-over. “This yours?”

I nodded. “Yes. Why? Don’t you have one already?” I pointed to the sidearm holstered in her belt.

She gave me a faint smirk. “This is an Avardi-issued Balalaika-23.” She turned the revolver over, showing me a six-pointed snowflake stamped into the metal near the trigger, below the rotating cylinder. “Where did you get this?”

I had a decision to make: either I could throw myself at the mercy of this woman who was duty-bound to capture me, or I could stick out my chin and try to make things difficult. Part of me wanted to dig in my heels and not say a thing, but as the seconds ticked by, that felt less and less like the right answer. So, I did the only logical thing left for me to do: I told the truth. “A pair of your men assaulted me in Svolyn. I stopped both of them and took that for my own protection.” Stopped might not be the most accurate word, but I wasn’t about to volunteer any other details.

Golova seemed to consider that, pursing her lips, not speaking. Then she gave Kale a long look. “And this one? Is he for your own protection, too?”

“I thought so,” I said, narrowing my eyes at him, “but he still found time to alert the rest of you that I was coming.”

“He did nothing of the kind,” Golova answered.

At first glance, Kale looked insulted at my accusation. I didn’t bother trying to hide my surprise. “So…what do you want with me, then?”

“If you’re the one the First Daughter is looking for, I’m meant to march you off this train and find a shallow grave to bury you in.” Golova discussed the arrangement of my murder with a calm, unemotional efficiency as though she were talking about how she took her eggs in the morning. “I’ve stopped and questioned almost a dozen women traveling alone out of Svolyn in the past day, and every single one of them had someone to vouch for who they were and where they were going. Do you have anyone who can do the same?” She paused for a moment, letting her words sink in.

Kale gestured for attention. “Commander, I can speak to that—”

“Oh, shut up, Private.” She almost seemed to spit the words. “Corporal Ribov sent me a telegram and explained your little stunt back in Svolyn. Even if you were the sort to take personal leave—and you aren’t—I haven’t approved any such requests.” Now she gave Kale the full force of that one hard, unblinking eye. “Saint Chigu herself could walk in here tell me different and I’d tell her where to stick her secrets.” Looking back to me, Golova gave me a moment, as though expecting me to confess. “Have you any witnesses who can speak on your behalf, Miss…Ivanova?” I didn’t, of course. From the look on her face, I could tell that Golova knew it. “As for your freckled companion,” she said, “Kale Isrodel’s been a headache for me ever since he showed up in my sector.”

“Hey!” The look on his face might’ve been comical, but I didn’t have much in me for laughter at that moment.

“If not for her infatuation with him,” Golova continued, ignoring Kale, “I’d imagine that Yenda Avard would expect me to do the same to him as I’m meant to do to you.”

“‘Infatuation?’” I squinted at Kale, tipping my head slightly. “You’ll have to explain that last part to me.”

I’d never seen a man physically squirm before, but Kale managed it. “Yenda and I are…betrothed.”

“Excuse me?” My eyebrows shot up, and it took a modicum of self-control to not react more than that. “Sure would’ve been nice of you to tell me that before now, don’t you think?” I could tell he was embarrassed by how red he was, looking ready to blend in with his own hair. Looking back to the Commander, I hesitated. “I…fine. What do you want? To arrest me? Or worse? Not like I’ve got much of a fighting chance anyway. Let’s get this over with.” It took more effort to say so aloud than I expected. My stomach felt like it was somewhere in the vicinity of my boots, and I still wanted to throw up. Golova hadn’t taken my knife, but she was armed and any sound of a scuffle would bring the rest of her men running. I could die now, or die later.

Golova cut off my morose musings. “I want proof,” she said.

“Proof?” I frowned. “Proof of what?”

“Proof of why the First Daughter wants you so badly—assuming, of course, that you are the woman she’s searching for.” The Commander took a seat across from me, resting my absconded pistol in her lap. “On a personal level, I couldn’t care less as to what Yenda Avard wants, but my curiosity has the better of me today. You’ve a similar enough name and description to the one I was told about, but names are easily faked, and it’s not like she’s here to make a positive identification, after all.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Commander, if you’re hinting at something, just spit it out.”

Golova crossed her arms over her chest, nodding. “Alright. Have you ever met the First Daughter before?”

It took all my self-control not to look over at Kale. I nodded. “We’ve met, yes.”

“And what’s got a noble brat like her so interested in a girl from buffalo country like you?”

“She stole something that belonged to my mother,” I said, keeping my voice calm and my hands folded in my lap. “I intend to get it back.”

The woman’s eyebrows—or the one I could see, anyway—went up in surprise. “Stole, you say?”

I nodded.

“And what was it that she stole?”

Something about this woman just…bothered me. I couldn’t put a name to it: her tone, the look on her face, her relaxed demeanor, the curious-without-being-outright-nosy questions—something about all of it just rankled in my gut. I didn’t trust her. I’d known Mistress Darya personally and by reputation for years, and still I hesitated telling her about Deathbringer’s fate. I’d have sooner chewed off my own toes than tell Golova about the Spellsword willingly, but it remained to be seen whether I’d have to do it unwillingly or not. “Family heirloom,” I said. “My grandmatron owned it from before I was born. I’d prefer not to go into more detail than that: we just met, and you might be fixing to dump me in a hole before long, after all.”

I saw the Commander smile. She might’ve meant it to look disarming, but it seemed insincere to my eyes. “That still isn’t what I asked for.” She spread both hands for effect. “I want to know why Yenda Avard is so insistent that I catch you…or someone like you, perhaps.”

In that moment, the choice I hadn’t wanted was the one that I now had to make. I could see that Golova was testing me: the weight of her one eye was so strong that I had to force myself not to look away. There was no way to know what the right answer would be, but I was willing to bet that if I gave the wrong one, she’d have her soldiers on me faster than I could fight back or try to flee.

“What do you say, Private?” Golova said, speaking to Kale without taking her eye off of me. “Why shouldn’t I arrest this…friend of yours?”

I didn’t give Kale a chance to answer. “He owes me a favor, so he’s escorting me to Whitehold.” I tried ignoring Golova’s disbelieving laugh, but given her tone and the patronizing look on her face, I was adamant then not to tell her a frosted thing more if I could help it. I continued: “It’s as simple as that. Once we get there, we plan to go our separate ways.” I turned, looking at Kale. “Isn’t that right, Kale?”

He was rubbing the back of his neck, and I noticed his fingers were lingering near the space where the barrette was nestled in my hair. I glared at him and he got the message, folding both hands back into his lap. “Yes ma’am, that’s right.” The answer struck me as a little too quick, but he didn’t stutter or try to build on the lie, either—the man knew when to keep quiet, at least.

The Commander looked from one of us, to the other, and back again. Finally, she straightened in her seat. “I hope you’ll understand that the First Daughter and I… We have our differences and disagreements. Just because she’d like me to find this lone traveling woman doesn’t mean I’m going to manage to do so. I’m just one woman, after all, and I pride myself on the fact that women traveling alone in my sector don’t need a chaperone, or permission, to do so.” She paused for a moment. As if on-cue, the train let out its long, loud howl, the first I’d heard since waking up. “Do we understand one another, Miss Ivanova?”

Fighting to keep my face passive, to not show much in the way of a reaction, I finally nodded. “Does this mean you’ll be…collecting Private Isrodel at this stop then, Commander?” We both looked at Kale, then back to each other again.

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary,” Golova said. “Far be it from me to steal your traveling companion away prematurely.” She stood up, eyeing the gun she’d taken from me for a moment, then offered it back. “I believe this is yours,” she said.

Hardly able to believe my good fortune, I took the weapon. “Thank you,” I said.

“And if you happen to see Yenda Avard,” she added, leaning in closer, “consider telling her that I hope she isn’t disappointed in me.” With that enigmatic parting, Golova turned and left the car, barking orders as she went. “Alright, get this train moving! You men, there’ll be another train here in another three hours. I want—” The rest of her words were lost to another howling, and then more passengers began to board.

Kale and I looked at one another for a moment, and he retook the seat next to me. “What just happened?” he said.

“How should I know?” I asked, sticking my revolver back into my belt again; I needed a proper solution for carrying it, but that method had sufficed so far. It felt something tense up in my stomach, but also felt like I had to say something to Kale. “I’m sorry,” I said, reluctantly.

He looked surprised, but shook his head. “It’s alright.”

“Well, if you wanted to leave, you could have.”

“What, now you want to get rid of me?”

“It needed to be said. You’ve had plenty of opportunities to make some kind of excuse or turn me in already.” I ran my hands across my scalp same as always, telling myself that my hands weren’t shaking while also confirming that the barrette was safely in place, just as I already knew it was.

Kale shook his head. “I told you that I wanted to help you. And helping you helps me, in a manner of speaking.”

I gave him a sharp jab in his ribs with one of my elbows, hard enough I heard him grunt from the force of it. “Are there any other secrets about you and Yenda-blighted-Avard you’d like to fill me in on while we’re still traveling together?” I kept my voice low, again having to worry about being overheard.

“Don’t do that!” he protested. “How should I know what or what not to tell you? I probably shouldn’t even be here.”

“Sure beats filling a hole in the ground.”

He nodded, rubbing his side.

Minutes passed. Seconds and minutes ticked by, and my anxiety level kept climbing as they did, until I was ready to claw my own skin off. Once our train car was nearly full, the train gave one last howl and started moving forward again. I curled both hands into my hair as I let out a breath of relief.

And then: Inga Alenir. I heard the sound of Deathbringer’s voice in my head and I nearly fell over. I recovered with a gasp, catching myself on the seat back before I tumbled into Kale’s lap.

“You alright?” he said, sounding concerned. “What’s wrong?”

“Ah—fine,” I said, “I’m fine. Lost my balance, I guess.” I looked around the crowded train car. “Is there any way I can get a little air?”

He seemed taken aback by the question, but recovered quickly. “That door, right there,” he said, pointing to a narrow opening between our seats and the occupied bench on the other side. “That leads out to the gangway. Just be careful, eh?”

I nodded, testing the door and opening it before stepping outside. The gangway was a narrow platform at the very back of the train, with only a bit of chain serving as a guard to keep someone from walking off the end. I shut the door, leaned back against it, closed my eyes and let out a sigh. With a white-knuckled grip on the door handle, I whispered the Sword’s name: “Deathbringer.” With the rush of the wind and the rattling of the wheels on the steel track, I barely heard myself speak.

The very same.

“We’re getting closer.” A small, secret thrill of victory made me want to shout. Instead, I scratched my nose and kept my voice low. “Are you alright?”

I am still undamaged, if that’s what you mean. But Yenda Avard—both of them, mother and daughter—are now aware of your presence.

“You mean they know where I am?” I wondered if Golova was already reporting about me, using the ploy of letting me go just so I could get caught once I reached Whitehold. I wasn’t sure how she’d known about us confronting Corporal Ribov back in Svolyn; I had no idea what a ‘telegram’ was. But that meant she might still send word to Whitehold from such a great distance. Of course, I was living in a world where I owned a piece of sentient, magic cutlery—at this point, anything was possible.

They are aware that you yet live, for now. I don’t believe their power extends so far as spy on you from afar in secret.

“Oh. That’s alright, then.” I paused. “Or maybe it’s not. I’m not sure.”

When do you anticipate your arrival to be?

“Well… I’m on a train now, and I think I’ll be at Whitehold later today, but it’s my first time traveling like this, so I don’t really know when I’ll get there.”

It cannot be helped, Swordbearer, the Sword said. Much of this world will be new to you.

“I have a name, you know,” I said. “Not that you use it all that often.”

No.

I watched the trees pass by. In the distance, under the bright sunshine, I thought I caught a glimpse of water, some nameless lake or river winding through the forest. “That’s all you have to say?”

The Sword was silent for a long time while I listened to wheels clicking and clacking, while the wind howled and sighed in my ears. When he spoke again, I sensed hesitation and an almost inexhaustible measure of patience in his tone. You are pithy, Inga Alenir, so I shall phrase this differently to you than I might have to your mother: if you were to birth a child, and knew it would die moments after, would you name it?

I tightened my hold on a nearby rail until my arm wanted to shake. “What could you possibly know about birthing children? How can you ask me that, after what happened?” My voice, however low, was bitter and hostile, and I didn’t bother hiding that. His question was an unwanted reminder of how we’d met in the first place, of the husband I’d never have, the children Pyotr and I would never have together.

I know very little. By necessity.

“How do you mean?”

Human life is frail. Short. Temporary. Deathbringer spoke with the same cold, clinical manner as he always did, but I was starting to get a better understanding some of where that manner came from. This bond between us is the same as I’ve shared with a hundred of your foremothers. I could name every one of them, describe them to you in detail you would refuse to believe instinctively. But that all means very little now.

I knew what he meant, but said it aloud anyway: “Because they’re all dead.”

As you say. My lifetime spans centuries upon centuries; I see little reason why that should change anytime soon. I also know very little of children, beyond my desire to see your bloodline continue. But the bond I share with that bloodline also requires that I keep a certain distance between us.

Now it was my turn to be quiet, contemplating and understanding the Sword’s words more keenly than I’d ever wanted to. “I’m sorry. It must be very hard for you.”

A price paid long ago, he said, not explaining what he meant. Think nothing of it. Instead, explain to me how you fell in with this companion of yours.

“Who, Kale Isrodel?” I looked over my shoulder at the wall of the train, imagining him sitting just on the other side of it. “How do you know about him?”

My power resides within you, remember? You and I are linked.

I’d forgotten him telling me that, so I was flustered for a moment. “It…wasn’t exactly planned. He was there when…when it happened. I found him in Svolyn. I wanted to kill him.”

Yet, you refused.

I shook my head. “It’s complicated. He tried to defend me, and he says that he didn’t hurt anyone else. I think I might even believe him.”

The Sword seemed to consider this. Do you think him trustworthy?

I snorted, and that was from stifling a laugh of surprise. “I don’t trust him, but something tells me he’s only with me because he doesn’t have anywhere else to go. Why ask about him?”

Because the Isrodels are also of a line of Swordbearers, he said. Not as long as your own, but I suspect he was named after his maternal great-grandmatron, Kallia Isrodel. The Isrodels are the Swordbearers of Bloodlust, servitor of fury.

I didn’t react outwardly—I was surprised, granted, but it did explain a few things: the disdain both Alek and the Commander showed him, his status as a some kind of wealthy outsider, maybe even his interest in me. If Kale came from a Swordbearer’s Clan, he’d have to know about other Swords, and surely the fabled Deathbringer would’ve been one of them.

My sense of the other Spellswords is limited, but I do not believe that Bloodlust has been destroyed—if the Isrodels have endured, so too will their Sword.

“Are you certain?”

I am. And until you can confirm for certain what he knows…

I nodded, then realized he couldn’t see me. “It means he might be hiding other things. And that means I definitely can’t trust him.”

Possibly.

I was quiet for a few more moments as I watched the world pass by. I didn’t spot any sign of human civilization, save for the tall wooden poles on either side of the metal rails the train was riding. Otherwise, I felt like I was alone in the entire world, adrift and floating along, uncertain of what lay ahead of me. “If…if Kale really does come from a Swordbearer’s family, he would’ve heard about you and about my family, about Katarina and our history. What would he gain by helping me?”

You would be indebted to Clan Isrodel, owing a favor in repayment for their assistance in your time of crisis. Such agreements and arrangements are often given and granted between Swordbearers, be they friends or rivals. This assumes he even knows who or what you are at all.

It still felt strange to converse with a voice that had no physical presence, but I noticed something through our connection. “You aren’t upset that he’s kept it a secret.”

Nor should you be. You should be wary to trust him, but I see no reason not to use his assistance to your advantage.

I frowned. “But he could have told me. He’s betrothed to…to that woman. He’s going to marry her. If he hid that, what else could he be hiding?”

And yet, his fortunes appear to be tied to your own, not hers.

I didn’t know how to answer that.

He may have been ordered not to speak of it, he continued. He might not know how to take advantage of your naiveté. Or perhaps he hopes to align his cause with yours, to take you to his family’s Bearer so that you might beg for her assistance against Yenda Avard.

“Would she help me?”

A Swordbearer may do as she wishes—that is what it means to be a Swordbearer, Inga Alenir. I could begin to sense the Sword becoming impatient with me again. Confront him, or don’t. Seek Bloodlust’s help, or don’t. Kill Yenda Avard, or don’t. You are the Bearer—the choice is yours.

His words gave me a lot to think about. I didn’t particularly want that burden, but if I’d had my way, I’d be sleeping in my own bed with a warm husband to snuggle up to instead of riding an iron-shod machine roaring through the wilderness.

We shall speak more when you arrive in Whitehold. Be on your guard from all sides—there are greater threats than Kale Isrodel afoot.

“I will. Do I have to wait for you to contact me again?”

Not unless they see fit to remove me to another location, he said. Speak my name if you have need of me again.

“Thank you.”

Something in our renewed connection told me that the Sword was amused by my thanks, but he didn’t respond further. I watched the trees pass by for several more moments, alone with my thoughts and the rumbling behemoth beneath my feet, then went back inside to sit and sort out my thoughts, and figure out what to do about the company I’d fallen into.

If I somehow survived this trip and managed to retrieve the Deathbringer, I was sure I never wanted to think about or deal with another Spellsword ever again.

JASKA

There was a soft cough at the door. “Yenda Avard, mum.”

“Thank you, Leivick.” Matriarch Jaska Isrodel got up from her seat and held out both hands. “Yenda! So good to see you.” When the First Daughter embraced her, Jaska made sure to give a firm, convincing squeeze of the other woman’s shoulders before stepping back. The two were of similar ages, but there was always an unspoken dance between the two of them: Jaska had the greater prestige and position, but Yenda’s family was far more powerful and influential, and she wouldn’t be a mere First Daughter forever. “But I will say that the announcement of your visit was unexpected, I must admit.”

“Oh, you know how it is,” Yenda said, stepping back. The dark-haired woman looked about the sitting room she’d been let into. The walls were paneled mahogany wood, polished until every last centimeter of it gleamed in the firelight. A plush carpet of hunter green was underfoot, with stuffed furniture decorated in a tasteful touch of pale-grey fabric. The painted portrait of a hunting dog hung above the fireplace, a holdover of Jaska’s husband from before their marriage: the long-eared Pointer had a coat as black as the inside of a badger hole, or so she’d been told. The room’s solitary window looked out from the estate, down across the wharfs of the city of Whitehold and the Grey Harbor beyond it. The White Fortress, Clan Avard’s stronghold, was in the distance, seated on its island throne.

“I didn’t know you were a dog lover, Jaska dear.”

“My husband collected and trained hunting dogs in his younger years.” Jaska smiled, lacing both hands and folding them into her lap. “Oskar was one he was particularly fond of, or so he’s told me. But you didn’t come all the way to South Hill to admire Damian’s questionable taste in art.”

“No, I didn’t.” The First Daughter of Clan Avard was wearing one of the more subdued outfits Jaska had ever seen her in: straight and black, with a buttoned neckline. The rumors about Yenda’s dalliances and affairs were legendary, the sort of thing that a proper lady wouldn’t tolerate or pay attention to, but Jaska had never claimed to be a proper lady anyway. “I want to talk to you about Kale.”

Jaska reached out a hand, taking the glass of ice-grape wine that was offered her, as if plucking it out of the air like magic. “Thank you, Samuil,” she said; the man bowed his head in silent acknowledgment, poured a second glass that was then offered to Yenda. “What has my brother done now?” Jaska sighed, a sound of long suffering and little patience. “It’s been hard enough to keep him focused on the wedding without him bumbling into any other foolishness.”

“You mean…you don’t know?”

Jaska took a long sip from her glass. The wine was especially sweet, which was how she preferred it. “Know what?”

“He’s gone,” Yenda said, after taking a sip from her own glass. “My reports were that he got on a train this morning, heading west somewhere.” She waved a hand, a dismissive sort of gesture. “I can’t for the life of me explain it. I…” Yenda hesitated, as though searching for the right words. “I was hoping you could, actually.”

It didn’t take a genius to see just how dangerous a game Yenda had set out for Jaska to play: if she simply pled ignorance or blurted out some lie, Yenda might use that against her in the future, when their families were more tightly linked together; if Jaska grasped at some random straw, hoping that it was the truth, Yenda might use it as an excuse to humiliate Kale, dragging him back to Whitehold to make a mockery of him, an example to all future grooms with a case of cold feet.

“Yenda, dear: did I ever tell you the story of how my mother Elzbieta married my father?”

“I don’t believe so, no.”

“Oh, Saints, such a tale—sometimes, I hardly believe it myself!” Jaska drained her glass in several long gulps, then reached out with one hand, where it was taken and carried away. “Selmin, my father, he was the gentlest soul of a man as I’ve ever known. My father was a soldier before he was a Swordbearer’s husband; he once served under your Mother, as a matter of fact.”

“Yes, I understand there was quite a history between the three of them.”

Jaska nodded, but thought it best not to discuss such things—this was a social visit, after all. “As soon as she saw him, Elzbieta wanted him: my mother assured me, for as long as I can remember, that she was struck by how beautiful of a man Selmin was. My brother has his chin and his smile; they’re his best features. Well now,” she continued, taking another sip from the refilled glass she was given, “my mother pursued my father for years, dear. Nothing could convince him: not money, not promises of power or prestige… I have it on good authority that my mother even stripped herself naked and chained herself to his bed one night.” Yenda’s eyebrows went up, slightly. “But not even promising him the chance to sire a future heiress to a Swordbearer’s line was enough for my father; Selmin was steadfast, steady as a rock. Kale also inherited some of that stubborn streak, I’m afraid—I don’t envy you for that.”

“So, what broke him?” Yenda asked, finishing her drink.

The way the other woman asked the question, her choice of words, something about it made Jaska’s blood go as cold as the wine they were sharing. Taking another breath, she set both hands and her unfinished second glass into her lap. “Selmin expected Elzbieta to let him speak his mind, to keep their counsel private above all else, and to let him do as he thought best.” When the other woman didn’t react, Jaska tried a different approach. “Respect, Yenda—that’s what Kale wants. He doesn’t think rationally, like you or I do—he has to puzzle over things, turn them around and around in his mind, until he’s figured out what he has to do. If my brother needs to run off to the frontier to sort out his thinking before he comes home and you both marry…let him. He’ll come to his senses before long, just like my father did. You’ll see.” It seemed, to Jaska’s eyes, that Yenda looked unconvinced, but there was precious little she could do about that.

When she got hold of Kale again, Jaska was going to skin her brother alive.

Slowly.

With a dessert spoon.