CARRO STARED out the window in a little bay off the wide corridor of the farmhouse that was the Eagle Knight’s base. Large rooms to the left and right were dormitories, each with eight or ten beds. His fellow Knights slept there, in stuffy rooms designed to sleep only two or three people, but he had been tossing and turning on his mat until he grew too annoyed to pretend he was asleep.
The courtyard outside was dark and quiet. Eagles slept in their shed, a low open-walled building on the other side of the courtyard. Carro couldn’t see them from here under the dark overhang of the roof.
He’d made this little alcove his workspace, with a flat piece of wood for a desk that looked like it had started life as a door, and two narrow shelves for the books. It looked homely and tidy, and reminded him of his sleeping shelf at home in the Outer City. Except that little homely space no longer existed, and the books stashed under his bed were gone, those books he and Isandor had risked much to acquire. The books his sister scoffed at, and his father—no, the merchant—had threatened to burn.
Just what had happened in the City of Glass?
A candle flapped with the draught that came in through the cracks where the window didn’t close properly.
He’d been sitting here since midnight, going over the documents that Rider Cornatan had given him in preparation for future negotiations with the Chevakians. The books about Chevakia were interesting, although he could not hope to remember everything about the Chevakian council—doga they called it.
He had more trouble with the hand-written notes from Rider Cornatan.
They said things like, The Eagle Knights have been destroyed by this disaster, and there are but a few left.
“That’s a lie,” he had said to Rider Cornatan while walking in the courtyard that evening.
Rider Cornatan had stopped and faced him, so that the light from the lamps around the farmhouse’s courtyard lit his eyes. “The Chevakians don’t know that.”
His father smiled, and his expression held pity. He stood in his typical proud position, with his thumbs tucked in the metal loops at the chest strap of the riding harness. Another disconcerting fact Carro had found out since coming to Chevakia: his father did still ride. He had a magnificent bird that parted the air like the sharpest sword and had never been housed with the other eagles and therefore Carro had never seen it before. He flew it steady as if he’d been born on the back of the bird, with just the stirrups and reins. The saddle weighed the bird down too much, he said.
And it made Carro feel inadequate and clumsy. He needed the saddle.
He pushed the books aside, heaving a sigh.
Was he meant to accept these lies without comment? Was there any truth in anything Rider Cornatan said, even to his own son?
Go to the Chevakians, pup. Pretend that you’re the most senior Knight left. Tell them lies as if they’re idiots.
Carro leant his head in his hands.
Lies, lies.
He didn’t want to be a leader, not even a fake one. He hated to be told to do things he didn’t understand, or things he didn’t want to do. Or things he understood how to do, but didn’t understand why he had to do them. Or things he could do but disagreed with why he had to do them. Not just disagreed, but thought they were fundamentally wrong.
There, up on the wall opposite the window bay was the Eagle Knight’s crest with the motto. Obedience, honour, honesty, humility and silence. Those five words haunted him no end.
What was the honour in killing people who couldn’t defend themselves, like Isandor and Jevaithi? Where was the honesty in hiding yourself behind a fake leader who had no real power, but whose only function was to give an impression of weakness? And where was the humility in assuming you were worth more than others, like the people from the Outer City, who were in the Chevakian camps? That you were worth so much more, that you could disregard their lives as if they were rats. Silence, there was plenty of that. Codes of silence amongst the Knights were everywhere. You did not tell on your mates. Not even if they did terrible things.
Obedience was the one that worried him most. All his life he’d obeyed. He’d obeyed the merchant by changing the books for the sake of the tax collector. He’d obeyed his father in going with the hunters, and helping them set fire to the houses of innocent farmers. In his sleep, he heard those people’s screams. Obeying had given him nothing but trouble. Obeying had made him betray the only person who had ever cared about him, because he hoped that his father would be genuinely happy with him.
Yet, did he have a choice? That was always the question.
“Hey, there’s not much privacy in those dorms, huh?”
Carro gasped and turned around.
It was Nolan, sneaking up from behind. The bluish light from outside silvered his curls and made his eyes glitter. He pressed himself against Carro’s back and gently folded his arms around Carro’s shoulders. “We see so little of you these days. I miss you whenever we fly out. It gets boring watching Farey and Jeito fool around.”
“Yeah—um—I’ve been really busy. What have you been up to?” He wished he could fob Nolan off with some sort of excuse. He wished he’d never, ever said yes to his advances.
“Not much. Keeping an eye on this crowd of Chevakians where the Queen is. Can’t do anything until they’re on the move again. Maybe not even then. She’ll be in the city. Too many people there. But we’ll keep an eye on her. Me, I’ve been patrolling. On foot, by the skylights. Talk about boring.”
The camps. Someone in the Chevakian army had thought it was a good idea to build a camp for the refugees who had come on the trains from the City of Glass. Trouble was, they’d built it in the middle of the road that led to one of the southern provinces. And those silly Chevakian vehicles were too heavy to travel on sand or anything that was not a paved road. A mass of Chevakian refugees had built up on the other side of the fence. They all knew that Isandor and Jevaithi were in that crowd, protected by a mass of Chevakian people and out of the Knights’ reach.
“Come. Enough talking,” Nolan whispered and pulled Carro up.
Carro cringed; his skin tensed with dread for what would happen next, anticipating the touch of Nolan’s sweaty fingers under his shirt.
Obedience. He could not say no without consequences worse than what he wanted to avoid, but oh, how did he want to avoid it.
Nolan led him to the linen cupboard where it was dark and musty and where it smelled of soap and freshly-washed sheets. He lifted Carro’s shirt over his head and let it whisper to the floor. “I really want you.”
His breathing sounded loud in that silence. He pulled Carro into his embrace. His mouth closed over Carro’s. He tasted like cheap bloodwine and smelled of sweat. There was nothing tender about his kiss. Nolan’s wet lips slobbered over what felt like half his face. Carro fought to repress his desire to shove Nolan away, a feeling that became stronger every time Nolan touched him.
“You seem so quiet when we meet these days,” Nolan whispered.
Carro glanced out the door of the laundry cupboard into the corridor. He hoped someone would come. “I guess I’m nervous. We’re not alone in this place. What if someone comes? Are you sure it’s the right thing to do?”
“Why do you always bring that up? I’ve told you so many times: no one cares. This is how we look after each other. Like wolves.”
Once, Carro had found that term interesting. Now, the word made him sick. He had enough of being pestered by Nolan every night. Were you allowed to say that you found sex disgusting and smelly, and that it felt too much like rape to be nice or comfortable, that it flat out didn’t interest you?
“Come on, relax.” Nolan’s hand found its way between Carro’s waistband and his skin. His hands went over his naked buttocks. He pushed Carro’s pants down and pressed himself against Carro’s back. Carro felt the slimy hardness of his cock. A wave of despair washed over him. How could he stop this without appearing soft, without making an enemy of Nolan? He’d asked himself that question so many times, and had not yet found an answer. He liked Nolan, but not like this. He hated how his body betrayed him and feigned emotions he did not feel. Regardless of how much he hated the invasiveness of Nolan’s touch, there was always a point where what he wanted no longer mattered as long as Nolan made him come, and Nolan was good at that. But afterwards, when the high ebbed and Nolan whispered soft words of love and believed that he enjoyed it, the shame set in. He didn’t know how to break that cycle.
There were fast footsteps in the hallway. Someone called out, “Carro?”
“Shit,” Nolan whispered and ducked into the back of the laundry. Carro hoisted up his pants, slipped out of the cupboard and sat down at his makeshift desk, his heart thudding. He recognised the voice: his father. He had never been able to work out whether the Knights condoned or punished sexual relationships between each other. His gut feeling told him that it didn’t fall under honour, and that, if a superior didn’t like you, it could be used as a reason for punishment. But that it usually wasn’t. Only that rape was used as punishment, and that some superiors enjoyed it.
“Working hard?” Rider Cornatan joined Carro in the alcove. If he noticed the door to the storeroom moving, he didn’t show it.
“Um—yeah.” His heart was still going like crazy.
Rider Cornatan leaned over the makeshift desk and leafed through the book on Chevakian government. “Interesting, isn’t it?”
“Um—yeah.” Carro struggled to remember what he’d been doing.
Rider Cornatan turned around and fixed Carro with a penetrating stare. Carro felt like his father looked straight through him, saw his weird relationship with Nolan, and disapproved. All sorts of excuses were on his tongue: I don’t want it either, and He came to me, and I didn’t ask him. But they felt like that: excuses, making him look like a spineless dud, which, by all accounts, he was.
“We may be moving in sooner than we thought.”
Moving in? Moving where? Rider Cornatan made it sound like a military operation. They had no hope of gaining control of anything with the few Knights at the farmhouse. There might be a few hundred of them, but that was not an army. “I thought you wanted me to go and talk to the Chevakians.”
“Yes, but the time is not right for that now. There is no reason why the Chevakians would want to talk to us. We need to give them a reason first before you’ll get the talk you’re so looking forward to. I have another job for you and your hunters to do first.”
By the skylights, another job with the hunters? He’d barely seen Jeito and Farey since they had arrived here. He’d presumed that part of his task was over. Jeito would kill him if he came too close to her.
“We have reliable reports that the Queen is indeed in the refugee camp and has made herself known to the people. Unfortunately, a large percentage of the camp population is made up of rogues.”
“Um—rogues?”
“The Brotherhood of the Light. The trains that came from Fairlight are full of them.”
That made sense. Most of the survivors from the explosion were from the Outer City. “But I thought you said that the Chevakians had isolated the camp and we didn’t need to worry about those people?”
“The Chevakians did, but there has been a development overnight which is unexpected and we might call interesting. A number of Chevakian civilians broke into the camp from the south. The official line is that they thought the camp was for them and grew tired of waiting to be let in. But since we have good evidence that the Brotherhood has its fingers through much of the Chevakian doga, I wouldn’t be surprised if the so-called southern Chevakian refugees included a good number of Brotherhood supporters.”
Carro nodded. His close examination of the farm’s accounts had shown that. By all evidence, the manager had sided with the Brotherhood and that was why he had left the place in chaos as soon as the Knights had arrived, taking the important financial records with him. “But I still don’t understand why Chevakians would support them. Icefire kills them.”
“You tell me, son. I have no idea either, but clearly, over the years that the ex-royals have lived here, they’ve built up quite a following and have convinced a good number of important Chevakians of the amazing things that can be done with icefire. It would sound stupid that Chevakians would believe that, except that there are now claims that they have found some sort of medicine that allows Chevakians to withstand icefire.” His voice was grave.
“Isn’t that a good thing? I mean—if it doesn’t kill Chevakians anymore then we don’t need to worry so much about it?”
“Have you learned nothing from all I’ve told you?” Rider Cornatan’s voice was fiercer than it had ever been, even when Carro had deserved a scolding.
Carro retreated outside the immediate pool of light cast by the lamp. He could imagine Nolan trying to stifle laughter in the cupboard.
“Think of it, son,” he said, his voice low. “Us Pirosians are at a disadvantage because we can neither see nor use icefire, so the Thilleians can use it against us without our notice until it is too late. Chevakians, with or without medicine, also cannot see it. Now their barriers have broken. If the Chevakians allow the Brotherhood to start using icefire, they won’t care, because it no longer harms them, and they don’t believe that icefire is more than the energy in air particles which they can measure. Everyone might live peacefully for a while, but ultimately, someone starts using icefire for the purpose of gaining power again. For making servitors who do their master’s bidding. Icefire is an excellent device for changing someone’s mind. I hope your reading about Chevakia has at the very least impressed upon you that their society relies on people speaking their minds.” Oh, he was angry now. He took in a deep breath through flaring nostrils and continued, “From all reports, it looks like we will be unable to return to the City of Glass for some time, so this affects us, too. The Chevakians simply won’t know what hit them, and we will be too few to fight this evil for them. The important Chevakians will be under the influence of those who can use icefire and will side with the Brotherhood. Son, those barriers that were broken after the explosion need to go up again as soon as possible or this entire country, as well as our own, will be our enemy.”
“But if they have this medicine, the Chevakians won’t need the barriers anymore.”
“Exactly, and that’s why we can’t wait any longer. We must act against the Brotherhood now. Before that medicine is a reality.”
Act? Like how? A chill went over Carro’s back, as he imagined Rider Cornatan’s plans, most of them involving innocent refugees’ lives, and none of them nice.
“And this is where your task comes in.” Rider Cornatan licked his lips. “We’ve had a problem with communication.”
Oh?
Again, Rider Cornatan waited for what seemed a long time before continuing. “A messenger was supposed to have come in by now.” He looked into the corridor, which was just as empty as it had been before, and his gaze lingered on the half-closed door of the linen cupboard, as if he realised that it was usually wide open. “We are not the only surviving Knights. There are a lot more of us. I ordered other units to hide at our field bases, because to bring this many of us into Tiverius would arouse the suspicion of the Chevakians. But now, with the new developments in the camp, we’ll need all of us here.”
“How many have survived?” Carro thought of Jono and Caman and the other bullies he had left behind in the City of Glass and had assumed dead. There had been thousands of Knights at the Eyrie.
“Most of us were able to get out, thanks, in part, to the fact that a good number of us were on duty at the Newlight festival.”
And that was not a coincidence, wasn’t it? Carro had spent a lot of time thinking about the machinery he had seen in the dungeons below the city, and what Rider Cornatan had been doing there. And the fact that no one seemed keen to explain what had caused the explosion.
A chill went through him. Ever since the fall of the king, the Knights had tried to destroy the Heart of the City, first by taking apart the machine—which they couldn’t—and then by dragging it underground and encasing it in sheets of metal. But it was a self-containing energy source, even when disconnected from the wires that fed it. Having failed to dismantle the machine, Rider Cornatan had decided to experiment with the power. Had it exploded during some sort of experiment?
“The other units of our army are spread over a couple of locations, the most important one of which is directly south of here. However, I haven’t heard from them, and we should have, by now.”
He unrolled a piece of paper on the desk. It was a map with marked on it, Chevakia’s southern border, the mountainous region with the cliff-surrounded town they called Solmeni, and a couple of black connecting stripes that were train lines. Rider Cornatan pointed. “They should be here. I sent some scouts to check up on them a while ago, but haven’t heard from them either. I want you to go there.” His finger rested on a town called Twin Bridges. “And then track south from there. Look for a small abandoned woodcutters’ village surrounded by forest. Last we heard was that there were storms and fires in that region. They may have kept the eagles inside to stop them panicking.”
But Carro could hear in his voice that he didn’t believe that. A well-trained eagle didn’t skitter that easily. Somehow, the messengers had not come through. They might have fallen into the hands of the Chevakians. Or something else . . .
How far away was this, and where was the location where he had seen the giants made of fire before falling from his bird?
He couldn’t possibly tell his father about them. Pirosians were not meant to see things like that. But that had to have been much further south and surely, icefire wouldn’t reach this far into Chevakia.
“I want you to go there and return with the army.” Rider Cornatan met his eyes with a penetrating look.
Carro tried to read the meaning in those grey eyes, but all he could see was the hardness of his expression and the cold calculating look.