We were approaching Merisaw. It was an hour or so before sunset. The hilltop town was a few miles from the capital city of Rijou itself, the dark rot at the center of Tristia—and the place where I would make one of the last acts of my life a desperate attempt to save the man who had imprisoned and tortured me, had tried to murder Aline, and who was, even now, quite likely planning to betray us.
Saint Zaghev-who-sings-for-tears, there has to be a better way to throw my life away than this . . .
“There’s someone up ahead,” Kest said, pointing to the town gates about three hundred yards away, then he added, “It’s the town gates, so probably just the city guardsman.”
“Merisaw is a peaceful town,” Valiana pointed out. “The gates aren’t guarded until after sunset.”
As we moved nearer I held up a hand to shade my eyes from the late afternoon sun. “Is that a mace he’s holding? It looks odd from here.”
“It’s a woman,” Kest said, “and she is holding flowers.”
For a moment I had visions of Saint Birgid, waiting with white and yellow daisies, ready to chastise me once again, but as we got closer I saw dark, dark hair, smooth white skin, and blue eyes that held mine, even from this distance. The first time I’d seen her she’d been wearing a long white gown made from some gauzy fabric that shimmered in the moonlight. Today she wore a simple red dress, and had a single yellow flower in her hair to match the ones in her arms.
The night Ethalia had saved me in Rijou, her smile had been wise and mysterious. Now it was the simpler smile of a woman filled with joy at the sight of her man.
I stopped my horse when she was still a hundred yards away from me and dismounted. Birgid-who-weeps-rivers, if you truly are the Saint of Mercy, make her turn back. Make her run into the town and lock her door against me. Have her neighbors lie and tell me she left days ago—or better yet, send a man, a big, strong, and handsome man, to run out of the gate right now with a picnic basket and a jug of wine. Have her turn when she hears him coming and laugh and throw the flowers up into the air as she flings her arms around his neck and showers him with kisses. Let it all have been in my mind: just one night of kindness from a woman who saw a stranger in desperate need.
Ethalia began running toward me, and I swore. Damn you, Saint Birgid, damn you and all the other Saints, and damn the Gods. Damn you, King Paelis, with your childish dreams. You want me to break her heart, to betray the hope in her eyes? Well, two can play at betrayal. I swear: if she asks me to set this aside and come with her—if she asks me even once, I’ll go, and I’ll let this world you’ve given us fall into the despair and decay it so richly deserves.
As Ethalia approached, I felt a momentary sense of relief as I watched her smile widen even further. Now I knew what would happen. She’ll come to me and say my name and tell me she’s been waiting for me every day. I’ll do my duty: I’ll tell her why I’m here—that I’ve traded away what hours and minutes might have been ours in service to a wasted effort to save a man who doesn’t deserve to be saved. She’ll get angry—of course she will; what kind of fool would do such a thing? She’ll give me one last chance, just one. “Come with me,” she’ll say. “Come and be happy, however briefly.”
And I’ll go.
The hells for your dream, Paelis.
But as Ethalia approached, she saw the expression on my face, and she saw Kest and the others behind me. Her pace slowed and her smile faded as her eyes changed, first looking anxious, then fearful, and finally sad. It was as if she had discerned the entire journey of my life since we’d last been together in a glance.
She stood before me, barely a foot away, and yet we had never been further apart. “Ethalia, I—”
She shook her head to stop me from speaking, and we stayed like that for a few moments until finally she took a deep breath, then said, “Very well. But this much for me. This much I have a right to ask.” She took the final step toward me and reached up to put her hand behind my neck. She pulled my face down to hers and she kissed me, and I put my arms around her and felt as if all the loneliness and sorrow of my life had suddenly been lifted away. I didn’t care about the pain I’d suffered or the death I’d seen, or the neatha eating away inside me, or the violence eating away at the country. All I cared about was her, and that moment, and that kiss.
This much for me.
We stayed like that for a minute or a year, and then she pulled away and spoke. “I am the friend in the dark hour. I am the breeze against the burning sun. I am the water, freely given, and the wine, lovingly shared. I am the rest after the battle, and the healing after the wound. I am the friend in the dark hour,” she repeated, “and I am here for you, Falcio val Mond.”
It was the formal greeting of her order, not the words spoken to a lover. She held my gaze for a moment more, and then turned to greet the others, who had stayed a little way behind me. “Welcome to Merisaw,” she said. “I am Ethalia, a sister of the Merciful Light.”
Dariana snorted. “A whore? Your grand plan to get us into Rijou is some—”
“Shut your mouth,” Kest said fiercely.
“Peace, swordsman,” Ethalia said. “Your anger does me more harm than her words.”
“Forgive me,” he said, stepping back.
Ethalia went to him and looked into his eyes, searching. “I would help you if I could, Saint of Swords, both for the love you bear Falcio and for your own sake too, but I cannot. You should leave this place and make your way to the sanctuary in Aramor. You are nothing but tinder and spark now.”
“I will abide.”
“Anyone with eyes can see your strength of will. It isn’t enough.”
“Nevertheless, lady, I will abide.”
Ethalia smiled, and reached out to touch Kest’s cheek. She winced as if she were being burned, and finally pulled away.
“Thank you for trying,” Kest said.
Ethalia turned to Valiana and curtsied. “My lady. We have met before, though I doubt you remember me.”
“Forgive me,” Valiana said. “I . . . There were many people then, and I was not the woman I am now.”
“All to the good, wouldn’t you say? A Greatcoat: the first named since the King died.”
“Your information is incorrect, whore.” Dariana looked at Kest as she emphasized the word. “There are a hundred others.”
Ethalia’s expression was neither threatening nor afraid, and she looked at Dariana as she might an angry child. “And yet not quite the same, wouldn’t you say?”
“You’ve got that right.”
“My—” I stopped myself. I’d been about to call her “my lady,” as if she were a stranger. No, I thought. No. Even if our lives must be lived apart, I still get to know that she was here, that she was real, and that in another life she could have—would have—been mine. “Ethalia, we need to get into Rijou.”
“I know,” she said, “but I must warn you that Rijou is an even more dangerous place since last you were there. I have left it behind, as have many from my order.”
“But can you get us in?”
“I can,” she said, and sighed. “Some still remain, and there are men who guard the gates who feel a . . . a gratitude for the Sisters of the Merciful Light. How soon must you go? You could stay the night in Merisaw and in the morning—”
“Tonight,” I said. “It has to be tonight.”
Her expression was inscrutable. “As you say, then. Come. I will make the necessary arrangements.” She led us into Merisaw, and as we walked she slipped her hand into mine.
This much for me.
That night an absurdly handsome young man dressed in the fine red brocades of a Rijou nobleman escorted us through the first and second gates and into the city. He gave his name as Erastian, which was an alias, unless he really was the Saint of Romantic Love—but he picked his nose quite often and stopped every once in a while to sniff blue and white powder before sneezing into a silk handkerchief, so I assumed it was the former.
Whatever Erastian’s connection to Ethalia or the Sisters of the Merciful Light, he didn’t speak of it. I worried what the consequences might be for the sisters if their involvement was discovered. I’d done my best to convince Ethalia to leave, to go south to the little island off the coast of Baern she had talked about, but she had refused.
“You’ll need to pass the third gate by yourselves,” Erastian said, interrupting my train of thought. “I’ve sent word ahead, and the men there will let you through without question. But I cannot be seen there, not by all of them.”
“Thank you,” I said, extending my hand, but instead he smiled politely, as if he hadn’t seen the gesture, and turned and walked back through the gates behind us.
“Who do you suppose he is?” Valiana asked.
“I don’t know,” I said, “and I don’t think he wanted us to know.”
“Then let’s hope he hasn’t betrayed us,” Kest said dryly.
As we continued slowly through the last gate into the city I found myself absurdly gratified that no one poured acid on us from the pipes running through the stone of the archway, or fired crossbow bolts at us through the small holes on the sides.
“What now?” Dariana asked, unable to hide her surprise that we’d made it this far. “We still have to get inside the palace, don’t we?”
“I have a plan,” I said.
She looked at me as if she were convinced I was lying, but I did actually have a plan: after all, there are always two ways to get inside any Ducal Palace. One is to be invited. The other is to be arrested.
It didn’t take long to find one of Shiballe’s many informants—the city of Rijou is as riddled with them as a decaying apple is with rotworms. Despite their venal nature, they considered Greatcoats beneath them. Fortunately, we had Valiana.
For the cost of an overpriced gown, a brocade coat, improbably high shoes, and a copper tiara covered in the thinnest layer of white gold imaginable, she had quickly transformed from travel-stained Trattari to the daughter of a Margrave just arrived from the duchy of Baern. If I’d had any concerns that she could still play the part of the haughty noblewoman, they were soon dismissed by the speed and ease with which she terrified one of Shiballe’s informants.
“My apologies, my lady—I swear, I meant no offense.”
“Get up off the floor,” Valiana said, “and if you try to put your filthy lips to my feet again you’ll find yourself without teeth.”
“Of course, of course,” he said, pushing himself back up to his feet and brushing himself down. “But I must be frank with you, my lady. What you’re asking for is expensive and difficult to arrange, even for a man like Thesian.”
A man like Thesian was, as it turned out, fat, balding, and smelling of far too many scented oils, all a bit on the rancid side. Though I know nothing of the perfumer’s art, I was convinced this particular assortment was an unwise combination.
“I’m afraid we have very little money to spare at this time,” Valiana said, and tossed five of the gold pieces the Tailor had given me onto Thesian’s table. This was, in fact, a princely sum by anyone’s measure.
Thesian looked at us as if he was trying to decide just whom we must have robbed on the way to his little shop. “I . . . am sensitive to your plight, gracious lady.” He paused for a moment and I could see the little gears of greed grinding his fear to dust. “And yet . . . even with this,” he said, lifting and rubbing each of the coins between a thick forefinger and thumb, “I cannot guarantee the safety of your person. Not when it comes to a meeting with the Duke’s adviser. Shiballe is . . . ah . . . not always cooperative.”
“But you’ll do everything in your considerable power to persuade him to treat with us fairly, will you not?” she asked, and she placed another two coins on the table.
“Of course—of course, my lady—surely that goes without saying. Thesian has been a great friend to Shiballe, my lady, a very great friend. We are as family—closer than family, in fact.”
That last part I could believe.
Thesian made the coins vanish into a small red bag that hung from his belt. “If I might be so bold to inquire, how exactly did you manage to find me? Men like me—ah, we are difficult to track down, no?”
“This is indeed the case,” Valiana said. In fact, we’d had to walk the full length of a city block before we found a drug seller. “But we persevered and trusted in the Saints.”
Thesian smiled. “And the Saints have answered your call.” He finished the last touches and blew on the document he’d put together to dry the ink. “Now, are you certain you have chosen the right location for your meeting? If—and I’m not saying this would be possible, even though Thesian is, as everyone knows, a great friend to Shiballe—but if something were to be . . . well, let us say, misunderstood, it would be very easy for a hundred Knights to appear, and in that case I fear even so gracious a lady as you, my lady, would have great difficulty in escaping.”
There is a protocol to clandestine meetings in Rijou. Negotiations are performed, terms are set, and eventually the two parties meet at a mutually agreed location. In this case, I had chosen the Teyar Rijou, the Rock of Rijou. When last there, I had made a rather negative impression on Duke Jillard’s men in general and on Shiballe in particular. It was a wide-open space that would enable him to make quite the demonstration of power if he wanted to, though of course, such an act would be in clear violation of the hastily agreed terms for our meeting.
“It would be unfortunate if any such misunderstanding were to occur,” Valiana said firmly. “I presume your influence will . . . reduce any chances of such unfortunate confusion.”
“Of course,” Thesian said, “and I myself will run to the church and pray the Saints speak in careful, quiet voices on your behalf.”
He extended his hand toward Valiana to seal the deal and without missing a beat she turned to me and said haughtily, “Trattari, you will shake hands with this man on my behalf. I would hate to disturb the careful work of my manicurist.”
At first I thought she was playing some foolish prank on me—then realized that if Thesian had shaken her hand, he would immediately have felt the rough calluses on her skin, hardly the mark of a noblewoman. Smart. Had she always been this clever?
I shook hands with Thesian, which was an even more unpleasant sensation than I’d expected, and we left the back room of his shop and set out for the Teyar Rijou.
“That was nicely done,” Kest said to Valiana.
“Yeah,” Dari chimed in, “you make a convincingly arrogant bitch.”
“Old habits.” She favored us with a grin. “Now let me find an alley so I can get out of these ridiculous clothes. I certainly don’t want to meet the odious Shiballe without my Greatcoat and sword.”
“We’re really trusting our lives to that fat slug?” Dariana asked. “And not just a fat slug, but one who works for the other fat slug, Shiballe—the one who tried to have Falcio killed? Aren’t you worried he’ll just betray you?”
“Yes,” I said, “I’m trusting our lives to that fat slug, and yes, of course he’s going to betray us.”
An hour later we stood in the center of the Teyar Rijou with Shiballe standing in front of us, his soft, fleshy hands planted on his wide hips and an obscenely self-satisfied smirk on his lips. A hundred Ducal Knights surrounded us, their swords drawn.
There were two possible truths currently competing in my mind for dominance. The first was that my King was exactly the man I had always believed him to be: a brilliant strategist who could divine the future by looking at the past; the man who had created the Greatcoats and placed them exactly where they should be when the country needed them most. That man had put Dara in Aramor and Nile in Luth to try to protect the Dukes from assassinations that Paelis had somehow predicted.
The other possibility was that King Paelis had been nothing more than a petty tyrant, concerned only with his own lineage; that he had set the pieces in play to ensure that once one of his heirs was discovered, all those who might stand in their way would be destroyed utterly.
And this moment, standing right here with a hundred Ducal Knights encircling us: this was where I would finally determine which King was real; which man I had served.
“I know you’re there,” I shouted to the men in armor standing there with their swords drawn, turning as I spoke, trying in vain to meet each pair of eyes. “I can’t see you under your helmet, but I know you’re there.”
“What insanity has taken you, Trattari?” Shiballe asked.
“Shut up,” I said. “I’m busy.”
“I’ll have you—”
“It’s time,” I said, giving my voice as much authority as I could muster. “Whatever mission you’ve been on, whatever it is you think you’re here to do, the Duke is going to be killed unless I help him, and I can’t do that if my head is decorating a pike.”
Shiballe started laughing, but when Kest and Dariana reached for their swords, I held out a hand to stop them. “Easy,” I said.
“I believe we’ll have a contest,” Shiballe said. “I’ll have one of my cooks prepare your flesh, and the man who eats the most fried Trattari without voiding his stomach will win a gold purse. Oh, and your tatty old coat—the winner can take that too, maybe hang it on their wall as a trophy.”
Some of the Knights began laughing at that, and I could see Shiballe was puffing out his chest, readying himself to play to his audience.
I was running out of time. “Fine,” I said, allowing the frustration to creep into my voice, “I don’t usually like to pull rank but you’re starting to piss me off.” I paused and looked down at the ground just a moment. It’s just you and me now, you smart-assed, gangly excuse for a King.
Then I lifted my head and said, “My name is Falcio val Mond, First Cantor of the King’s Magisters, and I hereby command the Greatcoat disguised among you to reveal himself and report. That’s an order.” I should have stopped there, but like a fool I added, “I mean it.”
Shiballe nearly fell backward once he realized what I’d just said. “You really are something, Trattari.” He waved to the Knight-Captain. “Sir Jairn, arrest these fools.”
The Knight-Captain came forward, a large man who needed a prodigious amount of armor to cover his broad shoulders and barrel chest. He stood in front of me as if he were waiting for me to do something.
“Sir Jairn?” Shiballe said.
The Knight removed his helmet. Underneath was a still-young face with dusty blond hair and a short beard covering wide-set features. He still bore the scar I remembered him taking in a duel in a village in Aramor years before. “Parrick Edran, at your command, First Cantor,” he said. He turned to look down at Shiballe with disgust on his face. “If your first command is to kill the slug I would be very appreciative. But I think we should go and see the Duke first.”