CHAPTER 32

Witt

I know the smell of death. It has ridden on the wind before me, and I have left much in my wake, but the stench that envelops the hall as my men drag a prisoner between them is of such strength that even Hadduk covers his nose.

“Depths, what have you—”

I break off as they bring the Indiri girl before us, dropping her unceremoniously to the floor. Her skin is slick with blood, some clotted and dark, other smears viciously red. She lifts her head enough to fix her gaze upon me, the bright flash of an eye cold as the sea buffeted by the chaos of her hair, matted and stiff.

She growls at me; there is no other word for it. The Indiri language, harsh no matter how gently spoken, churns from her. The words have no meaning, but I know what it is to be hated and need no translator. The girl spasms as if choking, and the guards take a few steps back from her as a geyser of blood erupts from her mouth.

“Son of a Lusca,” Hadduk says, drawn by the sight, though it has brought with it a deep smell of rot. The Mason bends next to her, lifts her head by a handful of hair. Another litany of snarls comes from her, but the depth of her weakness is evident when Hadduk lets go, and her head meets the stones with a smack.

“The girl from the Stillean beach,” he confirms, rising as he wipes the hand that touched her on his breeches. “Take her outside and slit her throat. Downwind, if you will.”

“Or you can wait to hear the Lithos’s wishes,” I say to the men.

Hadduk glances my way. “Apologies, my Lithos. The sight of speckled skin brought me back to the plains of Dunkai, where I gave commands.”

“But we are not there,” I say, stepping toward the girl to gain myself a few moments of thought. Dispatching her would be Hadduk’s first instinct, one of the two final blows necessary to end a campaign he began a generation before. But I’ve seen the guards exchange a glance at his hasty orders and would hear their thoughts.

“Where did you find her?”

“On patrol, my Lithos.” The younger one, not much older than myself, speaks up. “Near the edge of the forest. She . . .” He looks to his partner, who stares resolutely ahead. “She brought down a Lusca.”

“An Indiri swam in the sea?” Hadduk snorts, returning to the table where we had been conferring, Nilana alongside us. “Nonsense.”

“No, my Mason. The Lusca was on land,” the soldier corrects Hadduk, eyes cutting to me to gauge my reaction.

I nod, and he relaxes slightly. “A Lure told me he saw a Lusca pass from water to land. And you say the Indiri killed it. How?”

“With . . .” He pauses, looking again to his friend, who stands as still as the rocks. “With a tree, my Lithos.”

“She killed a Lusca with a tree?” Hadduk repeats.

“And a Tangata.”

“She killed a Lusca and a Tangata with a tree?” Hadduk’s eyebrows fly up.

“No, my Mason,” the soldier says. “The Tangata beside her against the Lusca.”

“Both of them wielding trees?” Hadduk asks, what little patience the man has slipping as the story progresses.

“Perhaps the boy should sit,” Nilana says. The sound of her voice releases another string of faltering Indiri from the floor, and a stream of blood spat in the Feneen’s direction.

The story from another’s mouth would be too fantastical to believe, but I have seen men lie, and this one is too shaken to do so. I look from him to Nilana, trusting her opinion in many ways more than Hadduk’s. I know his counsel, saw his sneer the moment the girl was brought in. And while death is an instrument of war and one we know well, it is final once wielded.

Nilana listens, hearing each word and weighing it against the next while the boy speaks, telling us of webbed feet on land, Tangata claws unsheathed in defense of an Indiri, and the Hadundun tree’s collapse.

“She did something similar when the Feneen faced her at the walls of Stille,” Nilana says. “Although not to the same effect.” She turns to look where the girl still lies on the flagstones. A trail of blood shows the Indiri has tried to make her way toward us, but it cost her. Her chest rises and falls, but only just.

“I spoke quickly when I counseled for death, my Lithos,” Hadduk says. “But I do not think I spoke wrongly. If she could, that girl would have all our throats open.”

“I see that,” I tell him. “And I know that while she lives, you feel a duty of yours undone.” His color rises, and Nilana tilts her head so that the fall of her hair hides her smile as I goad him.

“Yet this Pietran soldier has brought us something more than one of the last Indiri,” I say, nodding to the boy. “He has brought us a girl who fought beside the king of Stille on the beach and charged my entire army wielding only two blades for his safety.”

“At the walls of Stille, she did the same,” Nilana agrees. “I saw her fight with the strength of many men, but her eyes are a woman’s, and they always returned to the young king.”

“He’d take an Indiri to his bed?” Hadduk cries.

“He’d take the woman he wants and who wants in return, be she Indiri or Feneen, with spots on her skin or no legs and arms,” Nilana counters, and Hadduk makes a hmmph noise.

“That’s different,” he says, and it is my turn to hide a smile.

“What shall be done with her, then?” he goes on. “I’ll not sleep well with an Indiri in the same walls.”

“You’ll sleep fine,” Nilana says. By the purr in her voice and the rise of his color, I’m guessing sleep is far from both their minds. The Lithos is not to be distracted, but I am not ignorant.

“Take her to the dungeons,” I say to the soldier who remained with us. “Have Gaul find an empty cell.” He complies, lifting the girl over one shoulder. Nilana’s gaze follows the drops of blood that trail them from the room.

“If you would use the girl to draw out the Stillean king, we’ll need her alive,” she says.

“More than alive,” I tell her. “I need her healthy.”

“Because?”

“Because I’m going to skin her.”