21. Breathe, Moth

33rd of Nima, Continued

There was a story Mrs. Fosspotter once told me about a boy in the town where she grew up. This boy would take a candle-mirror outside at night to catch moths, and as a little girl, she would go out to catch lancet moths with him. They were pretty and red and she thought it was all for fun, until she found out that the boy was feeding the moths to his collection of spiders.

The next night, she went out, broke his candle-mirror, and set all the moths free. He sobbed and ran back to his house, and she thought she had won. But a few nights later he had a new candle and a new mirror, and he was out on the green catching moths again, and he wouldn't let her anywhere near them. 

The lesson of her story was that our actions can have much different outcomes than we think. 

I began to see that story in a new light as the next few days unfolded: I was a moth, and the Coventry were the spiders. I wasn't entirely sure what that made Arramy – the jar, a spider, the flame, the mirror, another moth, or a seven-year-old Mrs. Fosspotter. NaVarre, it turned out, was the little boy. 

Like a moth dancing closer and closer to a flame, I went along with what the little boy wanted, at once rebelling against the idea that Arramy really had betrayed us, and terrified that I would give something away and wind up burned. Arramy could read lies on a person from a league off, and knowing him, it would only take one slip-up to have that devious brain of his working out exactly what was going on.

To make matters even more complicated, we had to start our performance much earlier than planned. In fact, we were in the middle of coming up with what we would tell Arramy when the man himself came into NaVarre's study after dinner. 

~~~ 

"All we need to say is that we're going to a party to find out more about the man hosting it. That's it," NaVarre said quietly. 

I tipped my head back on the cushion of the armchair I was slouching in. "Where? Who? I need something. Our stories have to match."

"Anywhere. It doesn't matter. Pick a spot."

"Lake Brunallis," I said dully. "It's in the same direction as Arritagne." 

NaVarre nodded once. "Good. The party is being thrown by Pha-Mun-Ghour. His name is all over the manifest —"

The gritch of the bolts sliding out of the study door cut his words off short. NaVarre and I froze, staring at each other. Then NaVarre mouthed, "Did you leave it unlocked?"

I shook my head, and both of us plastered smiles on our faces as the metal panel slid back, and the wooden door swung inward. 

Arramy stood in the doorway. "Mrs. Burre said you would be in here. You ah... need a better combination," he muttered as he came all the way in. 

My heart instantly began pounding. Natural. Just act natural.

NaVarre got quickly to his feet and stepped out from behind his desk, flashing that big, debonair smile. "I thought you were going to stay in bed for a week. You look like flaigha," he laughed, moving to greet Arramy with a warm handclasp and a swat to his uninjured shoulder. "It's good to see you up and walking around." 

A little half-grin tugged at a corner of Arramy's mouth, and he returned NaVarre's handshake. "Thanks. Same to you." His eyes found mine and he went quiet, then inclined his head. "Hello, Brenorra." 

Stop gawking. It's just your name, you've heard it before. I managed a nod.

He really did look like flaigha. His left arm was in a sling and he was using a cane. His shirt hid the bandages but not quite all the pain as he turned back to NaVarre, his grin disappearing into stern lines. "We need to talk." 

NaVarre's expression didn't falter. "Have a seat then. Tea?" 

Arramy remained standing, watching NaVarre pour Praidani into a large mug from the tray. "We have a leak. Someone tipped them off. It couldn't have been an accident, that many agents showing up at the Vault." 

My mouth went try. I licked my lips, my gaze darting from Arramy to NaVarre and back. 

NaVarre handed Arramy the mug of tea before going back to sit behind his desk. "I've been thinking the same thing. They shouldn't have been able to get there that fast," he said. Then, without any hint that he was leading Arramy on, he asked, seriously, "Do you have any idea who the leak might be?" 

As if unsure what else to do, Arramy put his tea down on the rakai table and sank into the armchair across from mine. "I was hoping to get back to Nim K tomorrow. Contact some of my sources. See what I can find."

"Nonsense," NaVarre said, then cracked another smile. "You're still held together with suture string. I've got sources of my own. I'll go."

Arramy stared at NaVarre for a long moment, a muscle flickering in his jaw. Then he looked at me again. "So... what was in the binder?" 

It was my turn. Dredging up the conversation I had just covered with NaVarre, I waded in. "Well, we know a few names. Desmodian Pha-Mun-Ghour, and Fairgiver Provisions and Mercantile. He's the link NaVarre has been looking for," I said, glad when the half-lies came out smooth and easy. "Mun-Ghour is throwing a big party in a few months at his home on Lake Brunallis, so that's our next step. We're going to get into the party to see if we can find anything linking Pha-Mun-Ghour to the Coventry." 

The names weren't what caught his attention.

"We?" Arramy cut a glare at NaVarre. "You're gonna make her go with you?"

NaVarre opened his mouth, but I beat him to it. "NaVarre isn't making me do anything. It was my decision. I agreed to go." 

Arramy shot a sidelong glance at me.

"He needs someone he can trust," I added, starting to blush, my pulse tripping. "And he needs a woman to go with him so he doesn't attract the wrong kind of attention." That wasn't a lie, but it came out sounding very much like a string of excuses. I pressed my lips together.

Arramy frowned. "Let me guess. The Coventry will be at this party?" 

"I believe so, yes," NaVarre said. 

"So... You're still parading her around in front of people who want her dead." Arramy shook his head as if disgusted. Then he ripped the stiffening right out of me. "She's a liability. She's not trained for this." 

Stunned, I gaped at him. A liability? I swallowed, but the barb had already worked its way in deep. And if I was honest with myself, as much as his words stung, he was right. I didn't have to look farther than a mirror to see the truth in the purple-green lines on my throat. 

"Oh, I think she'll do alright," NaVarre drawled, lifting an eyebrow. "This is a different sort of battle than you're used to, Captain. This isn't a ship you can pound to smithereens. We're coaxing a viper from its den. You show up with the wrong bait, that viper is going to flee deeper into its tunnels, and you will never find it. But if you give it what it wants, it will come out where you can chop off its head. Our Miss Warring is exactly what these vipers like – and for her it's not an act. She won't accidentally pick up the wrong fork at dinner, or curtsy to the wrong person, or turn the wrong direction in a gavant. Better than that, though, I know she's smart and resourceful enough to handle herself in tough situations." NaVarre smiled a little. "She has proven that many times over."

"You're telling me you cannot possibly teach a soldier to curtsy," Arramy shot back. 

NaVarre let out a short laugh. "I could teach a pig to curtsy if I had the time, but I don't. These particular vipers can smell an assassination attempt a mile away. In fact, they hire assassins to sniff out other assassins. Your soldier wouldn't make it through the front gate. It will be far easier to teach Bren to shoot a pistol and hope she doesn't have to, than hope a trained killer will be able to pass for a lady." 

Arramy regarded NaVarre, absolutely motionless. When he finally spoke, his voice was rough. "If this all goes sideways and she gets caught... If they get their hands on her... You know what they'll — " he stopped abruptly and glowered at the floor, brows low. Leaning heavily on his cane, he pushed himself to his feet and looked down at me, that fierce glare of his gone somber. "He's going to get you killed, Bren." 

"Yes. Well," I said, my throat tight, "better me than someone else." I held his gaze, the dull heat of anger throbbing in my chest, something sharper twisting just below it, digging deep into a vulnerable part of me I wished I didn't have.

Finally, Arramy nodded once, turned, and limped for the door without a word. 

I flinched as the soundproofed panel slid shut behind him, the bolts clicking into place.

NaVarre let out a low whistle and bent over his desk to rest his elbows on the blotter, steepling his hands in front of his nose. "That actually went better than I thought it would." 

I realized I was holding my breath and let it out, my shoulders sagging. NaVarre thought I could do it, why did it matter if Arramy didn't? Because Arramy is the reason you're alive and you don't want to admit he might have had an ulterior motive... I lifted my head and rubbed at the knot of tension blossoming at the base of my skull, then glanced wearily at NaVarre. "He just walked in here and told us he thinks there's a leak. Why would he do that if he's the leak?"

"Because he wants to throw us off his trail by making us look at someone else..." NaVarre mumbled behind his fingers. "That's what I would do." 

"That's what we're doing," I muttered. 

NaVarre's mouth pulled down at the corners. "True."

"So. He seems to have bought the story about Lake Brunallis and Pha-Mun-Ghour. Now what?" 

"Now we need to come up with your new identity." He eyed me over his fingertips. "How would you feel about becoming Lady Hagenost's ward?" 

And we were back to inventing details I would have to remember. "Wouldn't that be the sort of thing people could research?"

NaVarre shook his head and lowered his hands. "Lady Hagenost is known for taking in young women. Grooming them for society. She's also famous for 'losing' them to a certain sort of aristocrat." He pulled a self-deprecating mug. "No one would be at all surprised if Lord Braeton was one of those aristocrats. Which brings up another... thing..." He actually blushed a little as he went on. "I'll ah... have to introduce you around town as my newest love interest."

I started laughing. I couldn't help it. It just popped out as an unladylike snort and grew from there, the tension easing in my chest. 

"Oh, come on," he deadpanned. "It wouldn't be that bad, would it?"

"No! No. I'm sorry! I am," I managed. "It was just... your face when you said, 'love interest,' you got all bug-eyed and worried like you were about to tell me I've contracted a terrifying disease."

"Yes, well... thank you. I think. Stop laughing." 

"I can't! You're still making the face!"

~~~

Three hours later we had hashed out a backstory that would be simple enough to remember, and plain enough to be uninteresting. My name would be Pendar Tarastrian – common West Tetton first and family names – and I was the daughter of a grocer and a mending woman. I wound up in Lady Hagenost's collection because I worked on her winter estate south of Flaje, and she took a liking to me. 

I should have gone to bed when we stopped, I suppose, but the fire was warm and the armchair was comfortable, and my feet were so tired. NaVarre was writing notes in his little black ledger. I told myself I would just close my eyes for a wink before making the trek to my rooms. 

The next thing I knew, I was being carried down the hallway, held like a child in a pair of muscular arms. 

I opened my eyes, my sleepy brain prepared to see Arramy, only to find myself looking at NaVarre's finely made jaw instead. I drifted off to the thought that I should be alarmed by my own disappointment, and then roused slightly again when NaVarre placed me on my bed and gently removed my shoes. I had very nearly let go of reality when he paused after tucking the summer blanket around me and stood there, looming over me in the dim light of the candle on the nightstand. His words were barely audible, and I might have dreamt it, but I could have sworn he leaned closer and whispered, "I'm starting to understand why your father never let me meet you... Goodnight, Brenorra Warring."

I heard his footsteps, then the door, and then I was running down endless green corridors on a sinking ship, chasing someone I couldn't see.