AT FIRST, Chej could do little more than stare at the numerals in front of him, distracted as he was by thoughts of the things Yash had done. Part of him was still having a hard time accepting it all. It occurred to him that he hadn’t actually seen her kill anyone. Maybe she hadn’t done it herself. She had the metal fly demon; perhaps she had another bigger, more dangerous one, like those the tower masters controlled. Some monster he just hadn’t yet seen. Certainly she was a sorcerer, capable of compelling him to help her. He knew that even before she confirmed it.
Could he tell anyone about Yash and her plan? Could he tell Ruesp? Probably not, or she would have never sent him down here. Even thinking about it made him feel ill. And even if he did manage to say something, no one would take him seriously. He was, at best, an object of ridicule. He was used to that. But considering what Ruesp had just let slip, he now understood that he might face a fate far worse than being the victim of derision.
He had been careful, or thought he had. He thought no one knew of his secret shame. But according to Ruesp, it was common knowledge. This seemed bizarre, as he had been unaware of it himself for many long years, or at least unwilling to admit it to himself. The consequences of being like he was were terrible to contemplate. Death or purification were the usual punishments, with exile occasionally thrown in to keep one guessing. And purification was only marginally better than death from what he understood of it. He had heard it rumored that sexual deviance was sometimes overlooked among the Hje themselves, so long as the person so afflicted took care to never act out their desires or behave inappropriately in public.
It seemed that the rumors were true. He had been careful to preserve appearances and so had been ‘tolerated.’ But knowing that did not offer him any comfort. His mind revisited his conversation with Zu, and many other conversations he’d had with the other Hje, and with each remembrance he became more and more convinced that Ruesp was right. He was a fool, living in a house built of his own stupidity. Yesterday, he had been unaware of the danger he was in—had been in—for years. He now felt that somewhere an unseen bowman had an arrow pointed at him and that it had been pointed at him for a very long time. It would take very little on his part to give the archer cause to shoot that arrow.
Consumed by these worries, he at first pretended to do the figures more than actually do them. But by the time he got through the first sheet, his concentration improved as his mind fled from the terror of his predicament.
Chej had forgotten how much he really enjoyed working with numbers. It gave him a sense of control, of consistency. If the numbers didn’t come out right, it was never anything wrong with them—it was either the person providing the numbers or figuring them who was wrong. If a manifest claimed a hundred and seventy-eight bows had been sent with the army, but the armory account was of five hundred bows total and only a hundred remaining, that could only mean a mistake had been made. A massive one. Or it might not be a mistake at all; the numbers might have been misreported on purpose.
He brought this to the attention of Ruesp.
“It’s like I told you,” the old man said. “You have to check it against the actual inventory.”
“I will,” Chej said. “But let me first have a look at the spears and shields as well. No need to make more than one trip to the armory.”
“When you go you’ll need this,” Ruesp said. He pushed a scroll toward him. Chej opened it and saw that Ruesp had designated him by name as his personal agent. He put his own signature on it where Ruesp indicated, feeling… something. Pride? Or shame that the old man trusted him? How could such disparate emotions be confused? Once again he reached to try and remove the earring Yash had given him, but when his fingers touched it he wasn’t able to complete the motion.
So much for that.
Chej went back to his numbers. Couriers came and went, some tired and ragged—runners from the battle—some from the towers. He managed to get the gist of what most of them were reporting. So far there was no news or alarm over a bunch of murders in the Blue Needle and Yellow Bone towers. Or wherever Yash was now.
What was he even doing? He shouldn’t be helping her. Maybe the spell she had put on him obliged him not to work against her, but did it really require he actively render her aid?
He already had, hadn’t he? Of course, when she was present, fear for his life was certainly part of what motivated him. But here, now, couldn’t he just do nothing?
Doing nothing should be easy. He had done a great deal of nothing in his life. He was an expert in that field. But now there was a spark in him, a little fire he had never felt before. Like part of him honestly wanted to help her. It was certainly the spell, but it felt so real; knowing where the impulse came from didn’t help.
He was only half-done with the shield count when Xuehehs, Master of the Obsidian Spear, entered the war-heart.
To Chej, Xuehehs the Obsidian had always looked weirdly fragile. He was one of the few people Chej knew who was taller than him, but the zuen’s arms and legs might have been reeds knotted onto a longer reed of the same circumference. His features were fine, and rather lovely, but not entirely human-looking. His eyes were very large and luminous, his cheekbones absurdly high, and his chin was as pointed as an awl. His voice, on the other hand, had a sort of drawl to it and a faint accent that was either affected or a holdover from an earlier era. He started speaking to Xarim Ruesp immediately, without noticing Chej was there at all.
“Have you heard from Hsij?” he demanded.
“Hsij sent me a report a little after midday,” Ruesp answered.
“It is now sundown,” Xuehehs said.
“I am aware of that, Tower Master,” the xarim replied. “As you must know, when one of you exerts himself, there is often a period of recovery needed.”
“And how did Hsij exert himself?” Xuehehs demanded.
“See for yourself,” Ruesp said, indicating the map. “He created a snowstorm in the mountains, from here to around here. It is meant to delay reinforcements to Zełtah.”
“Is it?” Xuehehs said. “If that were the case, I should think the storm would stay in the mountains and fill the passes with snow. But my reconnaissance says there is a storm moving down from those mountains. Directly toward us. At the speed of a hawk on the wing.”
“Indeed?” Ruesp asked.
“Indeed. I was formulating an attack of my own for nightfall, but this quite spoils it. Now I shall have to think of something else. Hsij has much to answer for.”
Ruesp was frowning, studying the map. “Why would he move the storm in that direction?” he wondered. “That will sweep across our own troops and, yes, pass through this very valley.”
“Ask him!” Xuehehs snapped. “I have better things to do—no, vastly more important things to do.”
Chej watched the exchange nervously. If someone went to talk to Hsij, they would find him missing. And they would find a roomful of his guards dead, if Yash was to be believed. And if Yash was found out, what would happen to him?
As if that even mattered. The curse she had put on him ensured he had to act on her behalf anyway.
“I can carry a message to Hsij,” he said.
Xuehehs turned his head. He looked startled.
“Chej,” he said. “I didn’t see you there. What could you possibly be doing in the war-heart?”
“He’s helping me, as a matter of fact,” Ruesp said.
“Oh,” the tower master said. “That seems strange, Chej. But perhaps not so much, hey? I’m sure your wedding day is not what you hoped it would be.”
“My bride is not in a romantic mood,” Chej said.
“It should hardly matter,” Xuehehs said. “She is your wife now, not some blushing flower. You don’t need her consent.”
“I would prefer it,” Chej said. “Our marriage is just beginning, after all.”
“Yes,” the tower master said. “That really is my point. You must establish the law early on, especially with an outland barbarian who no doubt has wrong-headed views of such matters. But I suppose you have your—ah—own feelings about things. But look, push that over here, out of the way. See this instead. Do you know how convenient this is? The Emperor only just now gave me a message to deliver to Dzhesq. You and your bride are guests in his tower, aren’t you?”
“We are,” Chej said.
“Wonderful. Then I need not bother myself with the trip. Dzhesq is insufferable even on the best of days.” He reached into his robes and pulled out a small letter with the Emperor’s seal on it and handed it toward Chej.
Chej hesitated. If Xuehehs went into Dzhesq’s tower, wouldn’t Yash kill him? That would probably be what she wanted: a third tower master out of the way.
“Are you sure?” he said. “If the Emperor wanted you to deliver it, perhaps you should.”
“Oh, nonsense,” Xuehehs said. “It will be fine. The Emperor just wanted it delivered, and I happened to be there. I trust you, Chej. Just be very careful not to break the seal. The Emperor was very explicit that only Dzhesq should read this. Even I haven’t the slightest idea what it says.”
“But I am needed here,” Chej said.
“Didn’t you just volunteer to go to Hsij’s tower?” Xuehehs said, his face darkening and eyebrows beginning to lower. “Then Blue Needle Tower is practically in the same place. I’ve already made it plain that I have important things to do.”
“Very well,” Chej said. He couldn’t think of any way to refuse. He took the letter and slipped it into a pocket in his robe.
“And bring that idiot Hsij to account,” Xuehehs said. “Tell him not to spoil any of my plans in future.”
“I shall,” Chej said.
Xuehehs spun on his heel and walked off. His peculiar gait was somehow ungainly and elegant at the same time.
“Hsij doesn’t like you, as I recall,” Ruesp said, when Xuehehs was gone.
“No, he doesn’t. But if you send me, he will have to receive me.”
“Yes. But as you know, he may abuse you anyway.”
“This seems important enough to risk that possibility,” Chej replied.
Ruesp nodded. “I like this Chej,” he said. “Far better than the fellow I’ve seen skulking about the palace for the past many years. Very well. Go see Hsij and find out what his intentions are. Ask especially about the storm. Tell him the question came from me and that I will not take it well if you are injured. Then you can deliver Dzhesq his note and return here, with my thanks.”
“It is my pleasure, xarim,” Chej said. “I’ll also make my trip to the armory while I’m out.”
* * *
CHEJ DID go to Hsij’s tower, even though there was no one there to speak to. He needed witnesses to say he had gone there. There weren’t many: Yash had been right and more than half the warriors in the fortress were either in Zełtah already or marching there, and most everyone else was asleep or gone to their homes in the city. But he did say hello to some guards in the hallway before entering the Yellow Bone Tower. He climbed the stairs and soon saw more of Yash’s handiwork. A dozen guards, killed by one woman with a knife and a talking insect on her shoulder. His wife.
He vomited again and then retreated down the stairs where he found an empty room and sat by a window to clear his head. He felt in his pocket for the letter to Dzhesq and pulled it out.
He remembered Xuehehs’s warning, but of course Dzhesq was no longer in any condition to receive the letter, so, after struggling over it for a few moments, he decided to risk the Emperor’s wrath and see what it had to say.
Tower Master Dzhesq the Needle,
Certain ambassadors from the Unaligned Kingdoms remain unconvinced, and reports are that the groom has been seen coming and going from the bride’s rooms, contrary to expectations. Whether consummation has occurred is unknown, but it has created an appearance. The bride must be protected, of course, even after the untimely murder of the groom. Who could have imagined her reaction would be so violent? She is such a little thing, seemingly harmless.
Make it plausible. A kitchen knife, perhaps. You are inventive. Once all the evidence is in place, send word to the master of the Obsidian Spear.
It was all so absurd, he wanted to laugh. They meant to murder him and make it look like Yash had done it. Make it plausible, the letter said. Maybe a kitchen knife.
If only they knew how very plausible it was. That Yash could easily beat him to death with her fists.
He took a few deep breaths, and a few more, trying to think. He had not adjusted to the reality that his aberrant nature was widely known. Now he was holding the mandate for his execution. It was hard to get hold of. Hard to breathe.
How quickly did they expect Dzhesq to do the job? By the end of the night, certainly, and probably immediately. That didn’t give him much time to—to what? Escape? He didn’t know. What could he do, with everyone he knew turned against him?
Several more guards saw him leave Hsij’s tower. He forced a smile at them and nodded. Then he went directly to the armory, as he had said he would. He showed the attendants there his license from Ruesp and then quickly began hunting through the inventory.
Through the weapons.
Maybe he could do something. It wasn’t much, certainly not a plan; but it was an idea.
He found a bow, some arrows, and a xarim’s long knife. He wrapped and tied them in packing cloth.
The guards looked a little curiously at his packages when he left, but they didn’t ask any questions. The sentries in Dzhesq’s tower were a little more pressing, but he told them he had some things for the sorcerer, and, given that he had a warrant from Ruesp, they let it go at that.
Yash wasn’t in her rooms, nor was she in what Chej had begun to think of as the Chamber of Corpses.
He paused a moment, trying to sort out his options, but now that he had time to think some more, he found he was starting to have an even harder time breathing.
They are going to kill me, he thought. His own family. The Emperor himself had ordered it. Chej had thought that he knew what he was doing. Sort of. He would get Yash more weapons, and she would do what she had promised. She would kill all of the tower masters and the Emperor, and whoever else crossed her path. With them all dead, maybe he would be safe.
Now he was starting to realize that he had probably lost his mind. The shock of reading the order for his own murder had been too much, and he had verged into madness.
And now, to find that Yash wasn’t even here…
Where was she? Surely storming another of the towers with her talking insect.
He sat down on the steps and put his head in his hands, steadying himself to take deep, slow breaths.
Ruesp would be wondering where he was right now. He might send someone else to Hsij’s tower, or to this one. His thoughts were jumbled, and he was all but certain that he was doomed, but the longer he could put off his fate, the better. The more time for something to happen.
So he had to act as if nothing was wrong. He had to go back and report to Ruesp that Hsij was fine and that he had delivered the letter to Dzhesq. After that, who knew? But at least he would be doing something.
He left the weapons in Dzhesq’s rooms. If someone else found them, they might not immediately connect them with his demure bride. Then he went back downstairs to the war-heart.