62

FIG WAS JOINED BY A PAIR OF MEN CARRYING MUSKETS, THEIR red caps the only indicator of a uniform and their bearing more like those of dockworkers carting a shipment than soldiers under arms. No matter—those muskets, if loaded and primed, were just as deadly carried by a dockworker as a professional soldier, and I took Niko’s meaning in their presence. My company was not requested but summoned.

The vacant city we moved through was much like what I’d already seen, broken windows and half-burned buildings. A small square near the public gardens held gallows, and I turned my face away. As we moved closer to the fortified wall surrounding the city, however, the damage grew more substantial, artillery fire knocking craters into the cobblestone streets and whole blocks splintered and burned.

“These were houses,” I said. “The people—”

“Mostly moved toward the city center, where it’s safer,” Fig said.

“Mostly.” I glanced at the soldiers walking beside us, matching Fig’s quick pace with long strides. “And you? Are your families safe?”

The man nearest me started, not expecting the Sophie Balstrade he’d imagined to care enough to inquire. Did he imagine a traitor, or a witch, or a spoiled princess in training, I wondered? “They’re all near Fountain Square,” he said. “We’ve turned those shops into warehouses for supplies and dormitories. Keeps everyone safer, I wager.”

“I would say so,” I said, glancing at a chair, overturned and smashed to kindling in the middle of what had been someone’s front room.

Niko met us as the street corroded into broken gravel in front of us. “Well done, Fig, go on back and have a rest.”

“I can stay and keep running messages, sir, if you like.”

Niko smiled with something close to indulgence and patted Fig’s shoulder. “Not needed. Have a nap.” Fig scurried off, and Niko beckoned me to follow him. It didn’t escape me that the two soldiers had not been dismissed. They stood behind me, and I could almost sense the weapons in their hands. “Take a look,” he said, almost nonchalant. Almost, except for a strain of something like hope in his voice.

The street dipped uphill a few steps from us, and along that upturn, there was another set of barricades, this time built in successive layers like the terraces the Serafans used for their elaborate gardens. I couldn’t stop the sharp intake of my breath as I realized that one section had, very recently, been hit. Bits of wood splintered into long shards over scarred ground, and stretcher bearers were running the last of the wounded toward the hospital on Fountain Square.

They passed close, and I made out the outline of a ragged piece of wood embedded deep in the man’s side, his linen shirt punctured by the splinter and stained with blood. He cried out with each jolt and turn of the stretcher, and I forced myself to keep my eyes on his pale, drawn face instead of turning away.

Niko stopped the stretcher bearers and swiftly, silently clasped the wounded man’s hand. He spoke to him, in a low voice I couldn’t hear, but it had some effect. The man’s mouth set itself in a stoic line and he looked, for the moment, determined. Niko stepped away and turned on his heel toward me. “Now that you see what we’re facing, what can you do?”

“What can I do?” I gaped. I could try to work a protection charm into the rickety barricades, I supposed. But I had little faith that it would stand up to repeated artillery fire—it was luck I could add, nothing more. A few hours, maybe, a few more missed aims. “You dragged me out here to see—” I swallowed. “If I could do anything for that poor man, to prevent more pain for anyone, I would.”

“Then do it!” Niko roared, and I saw him, suddenly, differently. He was tired, nearly broken by the suffering around him. All of his pragmatism could only shore him up so far to make brutally necessary decisions time and again.

There was another shot from the artillery, not so very far away, its deep, thunderous voice pounding alongside my heartbeat, and a round struck the pockmarked, vacant land nearest the wall. “Believe me. If I could end this right now, I would break every rule I have to do so. But I can’t.”

“You can. You will. It’s the last hope I have,” he added, desperation finally overtaking the control in his voice. He gestured to the men, who primed their weapons. “I’ll force you. I will.”

“Force me to do what? Niko—”

“Level on her.”

“Not like this!” I stared at the rusted barrels of the old muskets, wishing desperately that I was wearing charmed clothing that might, maybe, induce a misfire in these battered firelocks. “I can use my magic to help, but not here. Not like this. Just listen—”

“If not now, when? The time for deliberation is over. You’re either with our cause or you’re a traitor to your own people.” He took a breath and stepped away from me. “Make ready.” I watched the locks clack into place, ready to fire under the unwavering hands of the soldiers.

“You’re right that I’m the last hope you have,” I said, forcing my voice to stay steady. “I’m going with Alba not to just secure supplies, but to embed enough charm magic in them to give you an advantage. Uniforms with protection spells. Shot charmed for accuracy. Anything I can.”

He stared at me for a long time. “Secure your firelocks,” he finally ordered. “How can I know you’re telling the truth, that you’ll come back here with what we need?”

I met his eyes. “Niko, trust me.”

He evaded my gaze. “I have a hard time trusting you.”

“I know!” I laughed, bitter and hard. “I know. That’s been the damn crux of it from the start, hasn’t it?” Niko thumbed the bayonet at his belt, the hilt slapping his waist. Repetitive, futile. “We can’t keep repeating this, Niko. Your best gamble is letting me go with Alba.”

He assessed me, the long, searching look of someone who very badly wanted to be the confident architect Pyord had been and knowing he lacked the innate skills. Niko was something else, a clever, swift-moving Galitha City dockworker. A rapidly adapting child of Pellian immigrants like me.

“Don’t try to be him,” I said on impulse. “Pyord. You can lead this army better than he could have. He dealt in complicated plans and subterfuge. You’re past that now.”

Niko’s brows constricted. He didn’t reply to this; I hadn’t expected him to. “And you say you and Alba can get us the supplies we need?”

“We can,” I said. “We can outfit an army that will win, not an army that will make a valiant last stand.”

Niko nodded, slowly. Adjusting. “Very well. My people will help you get out of the city via the river. There’s very little movement north of us, you’ll have little enough trouble reaching Kvyset.”