22

Nikonos staggers back, hand clapped to his mouth. Fists raised, Kalliarkos stalks after him.

“Lord Captain Kalliarkos, I pray you, stand down.” Father’s right eye is twitching, a sure sign of anger, but his voice remains calm. “Prince General Nikonos meant nothing by his jest.”

Kal opens and closes the hand he punched Nikonos with, then glances at me. Heat creeps up my cheeks but I can’t look away. He wants to know if I want him to punch Nikonos again.

I give a very slight shake of my head, but it is all I can do not to break out into a stupid, stupid grin.

“Lord Kalliarkos, if you will be seated we can begin.” Father’s boot presses on my sandaled foot to keep me standing next to him rather than running over to Kal, as if I would be so foolish!

Nikonos pats blood from his lip with a handkerchief. “You have become so impulsive, Cousin, but I forgive it by reason of your exhausting patrol. General Esladas, I do not care to be seated at the table with a mule.”

All my glee vanishes. If only I could disappear as everyone turns to look at me, and then at Father, waiting for his response. He hesitates.

Surprising everyone, Lady Petreia steps away from the table. “Shall I depart then, Your Excellency?”

Nikonos lowers the cloth. “Why should you depart, Lady Petreia? Are you also averse?”

Lady Petreia’s smile glints more brightly than a blade’s edge. “Why, then I could never sit with myself, could I, Prince Nikonos?”

He shakes his head. “You have as distinguished a lineage as any person in Port Selene, Lady Petreia.”

“Yes, I do. My great-grandfather arrived in the fleet of Kliatemnos the First. He was an honored lord who helped the royal family escape old Saro. At that time he married a rich Efean lady from this very region, and their descendants have flourished here ever since. Can it have escaped your observation that I am darker than most Saroese women? You made no complaint when you visited my intimate chambers for a late supper last night. So it seems odd of you to object to General Esladas’s daughter when her origins are at root no different from my own, even if my Efean ancestress is several generations removed.”

She meets my eye and offers such a kindly smile that I put a hand to my chest because of the weight of emotion her words press into me. I can’t grasp that a highborn woman like her would under any circumstances claim a connection to a girl like me.

She turns back to Nikonos with a faint tone of mockery. “Unless it is the general’s lowborn origins you object to, which are well known to all of us and yet were seen as no impediment when King Kliatemnos appointed him as commander of the army of all Efea and Princess Berenise agreed that he marry her granddaughter.”

“We do many things in the field we would not tolerate at home,” remarks Nikonos, but by the surly look in his eye I sense a storm coming.

“Oh dear.” Lady Petreia coughs meaningfully, and the other locals smile as if they are used to and approve of her pointed wit. “I know you city folk believe that all of us who live outside of Saryenia are provincial, but we have developed our own ways of doing things and over the years they have served us well enough. Now, Prince Nikonos, I pray you, the urgent business of war presses anxiously on all our minds. Old Saro is our shared enemy. I hope we may be seated so General Esladas can tell us how many wounded need transportation by ship to Saryenia. Perhaps you mean to evacuate the entire army, General?”

“No,” says Father, his gaze on Prince Nikonos as he speaks, “we must fight on Efean soil so the old Saro alliance can march no farther into Efean territory.”

Nikonos hands the bloody linen to a steward. “What brings your daughter here to the army, General? You are famous for having kept your household matters far apart from military matters over the course of your career.”

“I had nothing to do with her arrival, my lord. For that you must apply to my lady wife’s uncle, Lord Gargaron, at whose behest my daughter travels as an adversary.”

Lady Petreia smiles graciously. “Perhaps tomorrow we can arrange a Fives trial at our lovely Fives court. Lord Bucestos is administrator and has recently refurbished the undercourt to allow for more complicated obstacles.”

“By all means, it would be most entertaining to see General Esladas’s daughter run the Fives,” says Nikonos. “My cousin Kal can be one of the adversaries running against her. Would that not amuse us all?”

Nikonos isn’t even looking at me. I am nothing to him. His barbs all fall upon Kalliarkos.

“I’m surprised you even suggest it, Cousin,” says Kalliarkos with an airy wave of a hand that cannot disguise the tense set of his shoulders. “It would scarcely be a contest, since we all know Doma Jessamy is destined for greatness at the Fives while I serve the king and queen as a humble captain of spider scouts. I wonder you can even consider such a trivial matter when our enemy marches along the coast not two days behind us.”

“Quite right, Lord Kalliarkos,” says Lady Petreia with an approving nod. “I should not have suggested a Fives trial at all. Now, Prince Nikonos, I beg you, may we not eat?”

With the precise manners of people accustomed to burying past grievances under polite smiles, we take our places, mine being the part of the general’s dutiful daughter.

“Is this your first time on campaign, Doma Jessamy?” says old Lord Bucestos with the slightly raised voice of the hard of hearing.

I glance at Father and he nods his permission that I may answer. “Yes, my lord. I have grown up quietly in Saryenia.”

“Did someone mention you are an adversary?”

“Yes, my lord. I am a Challenger.”

“Quite a success for one so young! I ran the Fives when I was your age, before I had more pressing duties—”

“Not just an adversary,” breaks in Nikonos, who, being seated at the head of the table, is far enough away that he ought to be attending to the people beside him and not to me. His tone mocks. “I hear she marched with the spider scouts. The general’s valiant daughter! Just like the famous play although not, we pray, with the same tragic outcome. How does it go? A cautionary tale about the shame of pretending to be something you are not.”

I sit with rigid control, ashamed of what must come next, remembering how Father kept us carefully sequestered. He never allowed our rare presence at social events to bother any Patrons who found our origins disturbing. Always before he would make excuses and beat a strategic retreat.

But not this time.

The man who started life as a humble baker’s youngest son in a provincial town now boldly looks the prince in the eye. His voice is firm, and his gaze steady. “Jessamy is a credit to her parents, Prince Nikonos, a daughter any father can be proud of.”

Heat flushes my cheeks. I blink back tears.

Silence falls, disturbed only by the hiss of burning oil and the drum of hurried footfalls outside. Everyone looks at Prince Nikonos. But he is like an adversary standing before Rings whose pattern he can’t untangle. It clearly puzzles him that a Patron man would unflinchingly defend the dignity and honor of a girl like me, and so Nikonos hesitates, stymied by an action beyond his comprehension.

Lady Petreia leaps into the game. “General Esladas, I hope when you come to my town house tomorrow morning to discuss how many ships you need that you will bring your lovely daughter to meet my own girls.”

“You honor us, my lady,” says Father in a hoarse voice I scarcely recognize. Beneath the table his hand squeezes mine as he smiles without looking at me, and my heart opens as I see him, the man whom no fierce attack can rattle, taken aback by this gentle act of kindness and respect.

A royal steward appears.

“My lord prince, Lord Gargaron has arrived.”

“My dear friend Gar!” Nikonos laughs as at the merriest joke. “Send him in at once!”

Father stands, as the lowborn must when a lord enters any chamber where they are seated. I hastily rise beside him, although in my shock I have to steady myself against the table. Nikonos doesn’t look one bit surprised as Gargaron strides in wearing the exhausted and travel-stained look of a man who has journeyed too far too fast. He stops short, sketches a cursory and almost insulting obeisance to Prince Nikonos, and looks at me for an unpleasant interlude in which several disturbing expressions flash across his face.

“Lord Gargaron,” says Father. “Did the scouts under the command of Sergeant Oras find you?”

“We met them on the road. I am filthy and starving. May I wash my hands and face before I sit down to partake in this delightful repast? As you can imagine, under the circumstances I have traveled at speed with a very small group. General Esladas, I wonder if you could go and settle my soldiers and household in. I will seat myself in your place.”

“I’ll come with you, Father,” I say in a low voice for now I am imagining the disaster that is Father discovering Amaya after I have gone to such trouble not to mention her situation to him, not to mention Bettany.

Gargaron begins washing his hands at a basin brought by a steward. “No, no, Spider, you will stay and entertain us with the tale I have heard of how you saved a spider from the attack at Crags Fort and then marched here in the company of veteran scouts, keeping up just as I would expect from an adversary of your skill and determination. Why, Kalliarkos, here you are. I have heard some trifling praise of you as well, I am glad to note.”

“Jessamy,” Father whispers, like a question.

“It’s fine. I can manage.”

Because I can manage. Gargaron thinks he knows me, and maybe he does know the part of me that is a little like him. With a last warning look Father departs, as he must, and when Lord Gargaron sits beside me, shedding sand and smelling of days on the road, I put on my game face. Father is right. We choose our allies as we must.

Gargaron regales the table with the story of the attack on Crags Fort and how the attackers grabbed the supplies and departed immediately.

“Across the desert?” Kalliarkos asks in disbelief.

“We heard some shouted argument before they rode off,” says Gargaron. “Evidently they were to rendezvous with a cavalry company that never arrived.”

“We dealt with that group,” says Kalliarkos with a glint of satisfaction.

Gargaron sets hands flat on the table. “They killed thirteen of my guards and my best Fives trainer. Bastards.”

“Tana?” My vision goes white. I lose all sensation in my limbs.

The next thing I know Kalliarkos is holding my shoulders and offering me a drink of wine while Gargaron studies the two of us with a thoughtful expression I cannot like.

“Yes, I fear that everyone caught outside the citadel was killed except for the spiders who escaped.”

It takes me three tries to get out words. “Mis and Dusty…”

He looks puzzled. He doesn’t know their names.

“…the other two adversaries…”

“Take a sip,” says Kal, his hands firm on my arms.

I can’t drink. I’m shaking so hard, sobs that I can’t release caught in my chest. I had hoped by some chance they might have survived. I didn’t really believe it. But I had hoped.

“Ah, yes. The attackers took the lad with them. I suppose they saw a strong youth like him as a good mule to carry their burdens and do work around camp, but they cut down Tana because of her missing hand. What a cursed waste of an excellent trainer! The girl adversary is small enough that she was able to squeeze inside one of the traps on the Fives court and escape detection. She is with the rest of the household. We rode at a bruising pace since we could not assure ourselves that we might not be attacked again.” He raises a hand to beckon to a steward. “Bring me more of the beef.”

I choke down a sob.

“Uncle, let me take her back to General Esladas’s tent, I pray you,” says Kalliarkos. “You can see she is overset by this news.”

“Yes, these adversaries form tight bonds, do they not? I’ll come when I’m finished.”

With all eyes on us, Kalliarkos leads me out. When the night air hits my face I sway, the world spinning Rings around me, and he sweeps me up into his arms and carries me.

Tana is dead. Dusty taken. Bettany betrayed us. She is in part responsible for the death of people I cared for. My own sister, my twin.

I sob into his shoulder.

Kalliarkos carries me straight through the outer chamber of Father’s tent and into the space where Father sleeps. He sets me down on Father’s camp bed and kneels beside me. I am woozy with grief.

“Jes?”

“It was my idea. I made the other adversaries come because I was so sure I could find and rescue Bettany. I got cocky, just like they warned me against. Now it’s too late.”

“You’re not the one who attacked.”

I try to rise but my head swims and the world tilts, and he eases me back down.

“Lie here and don’t move. I’m going to find Doma Ganea.”

He kisses me on the lips so briefly that, after he is gone and I lie in darkness, I am sure I dreamed it.

I close my eyes. Grief and exhaustion overwhelm me. I fall asleep, or maybe I pass out.

When I wake Amaya is shaking me, whispering in my ear.

“Jes? Jes, wake up! Help me! Father is furious and you can’t believe what he’s done.”

I swing my legs over the edge of the camp bed. My clothes are rumpled and my head is clear. A streak of pale light shines along the bottom of the tent: I’ve been left to sleep all night, and dawn has come.

She shakes my arm so hard I think she is going to shake it right off.

“Ouch! Stop it!” At once I’m sorry I yelled at her, and my voice trembles. “Amaya, I have to tell you about Bettany.”

“Bettany! As if I care about Bettany. She stood right next to Lord Agalar as he tried to negotiate with those of us trapped in the citadel, and then when Lord Gargaron told him to go soak his head in a vat of piss, she rode off with those foul murderers and thieves like they were now her best friends. She chose her own path, Jes, and I spit on her. I’m just glad you survived.”

“Did you tell Father about her?”

“Of course I didn’t tell Father, and you shouldn’t either!”

“Then what else could possibly have gone wrong… oh no! Has Lord Gargaron figured out who you are?”

“Oh indeed, no! No! Father saw to that, didn’t he? He wants only to torment me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Lord Gargaron and his guard are leaving to return in haste to Saryenia.”

“They are?” Where is Mis? I should have sought out Mis, trapped alone among people who care nothing for her. I rise.

Amaya grabs my arm again and proceeds to attempt to yank it off. “Father said that rather than have Doma Denya endure another grueling march, he would take her as a camp-wife!”

“Denya?” I can’t even make sense of her statement.

“Oh, he doesn’t care about Denya. He doesn’t want her. He’s just doing this to ruin my life. He is furious at me.”

“As he should be!”

“But Jes—!”

We hear Father’s voice. “No, Haredas. Let Lord Gargaron believe I am keeping both girls with me. They must wear disguises and be placed on the ship with the wounded. Let no one know.”

Sweeping the curtain aside, he enters. Amaya and I bolt upright to attention.

He is literally shaking with anger as he fixes an accusing gaze on me. “How comes it you were traveling all this time with your sister and did not see fit to warn me, Jessamy? If Gargaron had recognized her and realized your mother is alive…!”

He is too stricken to finish the thought.

“Amaya can explain herself,” I say.

Amaya pinches me.

“Ow!” I step on her foot.

“Enough!” Father’s voice whips down over us, and we both straighten. “Is there anything else you are keeping from me, Jessamy?”

Amaya nudges me with a knee.

“No. Nothing else. Am I to sail to Saryenia with Amaya and Doma Denya as well?”

“That would be my preference but unfortunately by express command of Lord Gargaron, you will be riding with his guard. Doma Ganea has left your clean clothing on the side table. You were sleeping so soundly I told her not to wake you.” He shakes his head. “My girls… my own girls… have I taught you nothing that you defy me like this? Have you no respect for your father? No thought for your precious mother’s safety and that of your sisters and of the infants your mother has safely borne beyond all chance and hope?”

Amaya and I clasp hands in solidarity. His anger is so rare and so forbidding.

Never in my life did I think I would welcome the sound of Lord Gargaron’s thin voice raised from the tent’s entrance.

“General Esladas? Are you here? Where is my adversary?”

“Just making ready now, my lord, with the aid of Doma Denya’s maidservant.”

Cursed if Lord Gargaron does not push the curtain aside and walk right into this intimate space as if he has every right to, which he does. Amaya drops immediately to her knees and makes herself busy unfolding my gear. He glances at her short cap of hair and the back of her slender neck, which is all he can see.

“I have promised the maidservant to Captain Neartos as a reward for his loyal service, General.”

A spasm of pure fury passes across Father’s normally controlled expression. Amaya ducks her head, digging into the clothes as if to hide in them.

“Yes, indeed,” says Father in a tight voice that may fool Gargaron but does not fool me, “and when Doma Denya has found and trained a new maidservant to her satisfaction, I shall have this one sent along to you.”

“I am surprised you have taken a liking to Denya. She’s a pretty morsel and has more spine than I expected, but that’s nothing you can’t find in a hundred women in this camp.”

Amaya’s hands wring the fabric of my tunic like she is wringing the neck of a chicken.

“Her father was my rival captain in Lord Ottonor’s retinue and often made light of my low birth.”

“Ah! Now you will have the last laugh, will you not?”

“So I will,” murmurs Father as I stare firmly at my hands and Amaya keeps her head bowed.

But as Amaya knew all along, there was never any reason for Gargaron to remember her face. We are trivial compared to the danger Efea is now in.

“Can you defeat the old Saro alliance, General Esladas?”

“I can slow down their advance, but to defeat them, my lord, I need more troops.”

“I and my guard will ride at speed to Saryenia. We may need to take drastic measures sooner than expected if Kliatemnos refuses to fund new soldiers.”

“Take Kalliarkos with you, my lord.”

“Is he so hopeless that you rid yourself of him?”

“Not at all, my lord. Quite the opposite. He is a promising commander, cool-headed in action and with a rare instinct for how to keep up the morale of his troops. But our situation here is precarious. I advise you not to risk him.”

“You’re afraid we are going to lose.”

“If we can win against such odds, we’ll win whether he is fighting with us or gone with you. But if he is dead, we cannot win.”

“I understand. I will take him with me in case I need to act precipitously against the king and queen upon arrival in Saryenia.”

“Do not underestimate him, my lord. He is a stronger weapon than you may believe. Now, with your permission, may I have a moment alone with my daughter?”

“One moment only, General. The horses are being saddled as we speak.”

Gargaron goes out.

I embrace Amaya, hold her close, wish her well. She kisses my cheek and lets me go. At least she will be safe on a ship.

We do not speak of Bettany.

Father examines me. He wears his military uniform because he must be ready to defend Efea, because he is always ready to defend the country he made his home, yet in his gaze I do not see the stalwart, brave commander but just my father struggling to make sense of the people his daughters have become.

“Act boldly when you need to, and be cautious when you must,” he says.

I want to tell him that Kalliarkos kissed me, that he’s wrong about us, but this isn’t the time. Yet maybe Father understands because he takes my hand and Amaya’s, his grip strong and comforting.

“Run your Fives, Jessamy. Whatever comes, do not fear to climb the victory tower.”

He kisses my forehead in the familiar way, and he lets me go.