I stood staring through the iron bars at the Tailor, who was sitting on a stool in the very center of her cell. “You asked to see me, and here I am.”
The King never liked prisons much, having spent a good deal of his life locked in one, so he’d seen to it that the cells beneath Castle Aramor were only partially underground, and had light coming from small windows—too high above the floor for prisoners to reach, but angled so they could still see the sky during the day.
“I see they found you appropriate accommodations,” I added.
“It suits me well enough,” she said. Then she smiled. “Besides, it’s only temporary.”
“I doubt you’ll find your way out of this. An awful lot of people died because of you.”
“People would have died anyway. I think things turned out as well as we could have hoped. They never would have accepted a proper Queen on the throne unless they absolutely had to. They never would have allowed you and your Greatcoats to take control, not unless there was something far more dangerous to fear—and I gave them that, Falcio. I gave them a glimpse of civil war and chaos. I showed them an army of assassins who made their worst fears of the Greatcoats nothing more dangerous than soft rain on a warm summer night.”
“You turned into a monster as bad—no, worse—than Patriana.”
“No, I became exactly what the world needed me to be, nothing more—and nothing less.” Then she reached out a hand and took my jaw. “Just as you have, Falcio.”
I pushed her hand away. “I stayed true to my oaths.”
“Oaths.” She spat the word. “And where did this great oath come from? It came from the death of your wife, from a long, dark journey that began in blood and ended with steel. Your oath, Falcio val Mond, First Cantor of the Greatcoats, came from every evil thing that has ever been done to you. The world required a man of valor and so it gave you pain and misery to turn you into what it needed.” She smiled then and reached out for me once more, but I stepped back. “And it needed courage and decency. The world needed a hero, and you were the clay it molded for that purpose.”
“It’s too bad Nehra isn’t here,” I said. “She might know the proper word for whatever it is you’ve become. You and I are through,” I said as I began to walk away.
“You were dying.”
I stopped. I had known she might say what she was about to and I had promised myself I would leave before she took the chance, and yet I stayed—if only because profound irony deserves an audience.
“The neatha was killing you,” the Tailor continued. “Nothing I nor any healer could have done would have stopped it from reaching your heart. What the Dashini did to you—it burned out the poison. It saved your life.”
I turned and did my very best to look surprised. “And you knew this?”
I don’t know if she fell for my performance or merely tolerated it for the sake of her own act of self-deception.
“I suspected. I’ve told you before, boy: life is pain. What the Unblooded inflicted on you . . . I cannot begin imagine—but I do know that without it you would surely be dead.”
I smiled grimly, unable to keep up the pretense any longer. “So really, you only betrayed me to the Dashini so that you could save my life.”
Her expression remained as hard and impassive as ever.
“In that case, next time, Tailor, I would consider it an enormous favor if you would just let me die.”
She snorted. “Really? You still think I care about your pride? Or your pain? I told you—I told you over and over: there is nothing I won’t do to protect Aline. Nothing. Everything I did, I did to put her on the throne.”
“You brought mayhem and murder to all of our lives.”
“Aye. I did, and I’ll do it again, if needs be. I’ll see this country turned into a river of blood if that’s what it takes. Aline will be Queen.”
I knew what I wanted to say, but I hesitated. I imagined Saint Birgid, whispering in my ear: I’ve called out to you, always when the victory was won but before the final blow was struck. I did believe in mercy, in compassion—now more than ever, I believed it was vital.
But there is also justice, Birgid. And besides, I’m no fucking Saint.
“Your son would hate you for what you’ve become,” I said.
At first, I thought the Tailor would grow angry and rage at me, or maybe she might even break down and cry, but she didn’t, of course. She said only, “Of course he would hate me for what I’ve done, Falcio. In a thousand years he could never forgive me for all of this, even in the name of putting his daughter on the throne. That’s why you and I loved him so much, isn’t it?”
Later that night six of us stood upon the ramparts of Castle Aramor under stars so bright I could almost trick myself into believing I was on one of the southern islands. Strangely, the two people who would most have understood what I felt weren’t with us. Aline was in a room in the castle, safe from harm, though not safe from her own fears. Not yet, but soon, I promised her. And Ethalia was staying with her until she fell asleep. Aline had trouble looking at me now, though I couldn’t say whether it was from guilt or out of a deep sense of betrayal that I had failed to make her Queen.
“I could do with being King, you know?” Brasti said, one foot on the low stone rampart, looking out over the countryside as if it belonged to him.
“You’d make a terrible King,” Kest said. His arm had been rebandaged at the point where I’d cut off his hand. It no longer showed that bloom of red.
“Doesn’t that hurt?” Brasti asked.
“It’s agony,” Kest replied. “It feels as if it’s still being sawed through, very, very slowly.”
“Then why aren’t you . . . you know . . . ?”
“What?”
“Screaming!” Brasti shouted. “Or crying. Or moaning or . . . anything that human beings do when they’ve had their hand cut off!”
Kest looked at him for a moment, the faint smile on his face somewhere between bemused and genuinely curious. “Would that help?”
Brasti threw up his hands. “You’re hopeless.”
Valiana started laughing, and so did Nehra, who brought out her guitar and began to play a soft melody that went well with the bright stars. I turned to Dariana, who was standing a little way apart from us.
“What are you doing over there?” I asked.
She turned to me. “What? Nehra said I had to be here, and here I am.”
“If you stood any further away you’d fall off the castle.”
“I’m not one of you,” she said. “I never have been.”
“And how’s that been working out for you?” Brasti asked.
She looked at him and for a moment, her eyes narrowed, but then a smirk appeared on her lips. “You do realize that I only slept with you because I was planning on cutting off your balls afterward and keeping them as trophies, don’t you?”
“Dariana, if you really want to hurt me, all you need to do is have sex with me again. Frankly, cutting off my balls would be more merciful.”
“Enough,” I said. “Some of us have had painfully close brushes with such things recently.”
Brasti looked horrified. “Hells, Falcio, I’m sorry—I didn’t mean—”
“It’s time,” Nehra interrupted.
“Time for what?” I asked. “Are you going to tell us why we all had to come up here? It’s damned cold.”
“Perhaps you should have worn your coat,” Kest said, and though none of the others noticed it, there was a note of sadness mixed with resignation in his voice.
I hadn’t worn my coat because earlier that night I’d found the old wooden chest that the King had taken our coats from, the day he’d given them to us. Mine was inside it now, and the lid was closed. I was done. I’d served my King as well as any peasant boy from Pertine could ever have been expected to do, and when I left the ramparts later that night, I would go downstairs to my room and find Ethalia, who would be waiting for me. She would stand in front of me and smile that smile of hers and she would ask me one final time to leave this place behind. She would tell me once more about a particular small island off the coast of Baern that had no Dukes, nor Knights, nor Greatcoats, for that matter. She would ask me to come with her.
I would say yes.
Nehra’s voice pulled me from my thoughts. “There’s a story that will be told in the coming days and years. I intend to get it right.”
Brasti grinned. “Well, it all started with a young poacher: a brave and hardy soul, born to humble beginnings but destined for—”
“I don’t mean the story of what happened,” Nehra said, “and I especially don’t want your version of it. I mean the story that comes after.”
“I don’t—”
Valiana spoke up. “I think I understand.”
Nehra smiled, then she looked at me. “You see, Falcio? There’s at least one thing in this world you got right.”
“I’m not sure I had much to do with it.”
“Still the fool, then.” She turned back to Valiana. “Go on, Realm’s Protector. You might as well begin.”
Valiana pulled her shoulders back.
Saints, I thought, I used to think she looked like one of those princesses rescued by heroes and woven into tapestries. But she doesn’t anymore. She’s the hero.
“The Dukes aren’t done with their schemes,” she said. “They’ve got a year in which to find some new treachery which will enable them to take power—Jillard, Hadiermo, all of them: they’ve still got money and influence. And then there’s Trin—she won’t stop, not ever. She’ll bide her time, lick her wounds for a bit, and then, slowly but surely, she’ll start making plans again. She thinks she knows me—they all do. They think I’m still the same vain, foolish child who smiled prettily and knew how to curtsey at all the right times. They’ll all believe they can destroy Aline, because they think they’re so much more cunning than I am.” She turned to the rest of us. “They don’t know me at all.”
I thought I should say something next but before I could, Brasti leapt up onto the rampart. “There are still Knights out there,” he said, “men in armor who think their warped sense of honor means the Gods and the Saints are on their side and that puts them above the law. I mean to prove them wrong.”
“The Gods are on their side,” Kest said, “or they seem to be, at least.”
I smiled. “You planning on dueling more Saints? Didn’t you notice how that turned out last time?”
“No,” Kest said, “I thought I might try my hand at a God next time.”
And then I saw he was smiling, too.
“No!” Brasti said. “Absolutely fucking not.”
“What’s the matter?” Kest asked innocently.
Brasti jumped down from the rampart and held out an accusatory finger. “You are not going to become a God before I’ve even made Saint! I’m sick of doing all the real work while the two of you become legends! Did anyone happen to notice that it was me who killed off a thousand charging Knights? Saint Zaghev-who-sings-for-tears! There is no fucking justice in this world.”
Kest, Valiana, and I started laughing, and after a moment even Brasti couldn’t hold onto his righteous indignation and joined us. I loved the feeling of being surrounded by these strange, brave men and women, but I also knew I had to tell them.
“I’ve got something to say,” Dariana said. “I mean, if it’s all right.”
We waited for her to speak, but she remained silent and after a moment Nehra looked at me and mouthed the word “idiot.”
Fine, I thought. “You were meant to be here,” I said firmly. “I’m not sure I’ll ever understand why or how, but I know you belong here. With us.”
Valiana walked over and embraced her. “Say what you need to say.”
Dari took in a deep breath before gently pushing Valiana back. “I hated the Dashini. They were scary, sadistic monsters and they—Well, I hated them so much I became just like them.”
“You’re free now.”
“I know that, but . . . There was something, I don’t know—the old man, the one you met at the monastery?—he talked of a time when the Dashini were, well, not good, exactly, but necessary: that there were times when someone who committed a crime was too powerful to be stopped any other way. There was something right about the Dashini once, something that got corrupted.” She turned to the rest of us. “I mean, what does happen if a Lord or a Duke or, hells, even a King becomes so powerful they can’t be stopped? Trin’s even got magic none of us have seen before.”
“Are you really saying—?”
“Yes, I think I am. Someone has to find out what the Dashini used to be—what they were meant to be, and maybe . . . maybe put that back somehow. I’m sorry . . . I know you’d all rather I put on a pretty dress and start acting like some virtuous maiden—”
Brasti laughed out loud at that. “For all the Gods’ sakes,” said he begged, “please, don’t put on a pretty dress and start acting like a virtuous maiden! The world’s seen quite enough chaos already.”
She smiled, and it was the first time I’d seen her do it without it being just a smirk. “On that score, you don’t need to worry, Brasti Goodbow.”
I wanted to stay in that moment forever, but Nehra’s tune on the guitar, repeating over and over, told me she was still waiting for me to speak.
I was only just beginning to understand how much I loved them, and what I had to say would break these wild and idealistic hearts. I was going to cut the last thread binding us all together. I won’t give up Ethalia—I can’t refuse her again.
“I’m not . . . I need to . . . hells. I do have something to say, damn it, though I don’t think you’re going to—”
“Promise me you’re going to tell this story differently than Falcio does,” Brasti begged Nehra.
“Shut up,” she said. “This is where it begins.”
I felt a touch at my arm. I’d been so lost in my own thoughts I hadn’t heard anyone approach. I turned and Ethalia was there, her face close to mine. She’s meant for moonlight, I thought. Unfortunately, what I said was, “You look nice in the dark.”
Brasti and Dariana snorted in perfect synchronicity, but Ethalia just smiled and ignored my stupidity, which she’d been doing for some time now, probably since the day we met, if I was being honest with myself.
“I brought you this,” she said, and handed a bundle to me.
I looked down at the thick leather material, the clasps and straps; the stains and nicks I knew as well as I knew my own skin.
“I don’t understand.”
Ethalia stood in silence, waiting for me to put the coat on, and when I’d finished she pulled on the lapels and drew me to her. She kissed me deeply, and when she’d finished, she brushed imaginary dust off my shoulders.
“That’s better,” she said at last. “The night is cold and it comforts me to know you are warm.” She let me go and walked back toward the stairs, but before she took the first step she turned and said, “Don’t stay up too late. It’s cold down there as well, and I too deserve to be warm.”
I listened to the sound of her footsteps as she descended the stairs.
“Will someone tell me what that was all about?” Brasti asked.
It means love is not a cage, I thought. I turned to the others, and for once I knew exactly what to say.
“What’s wrong with his face?” Dariana asked.
“He’s smiling,” Brasti replied. “It’s a rare and altogether terrifying—”
“Shut up, Brasti,” Kest said.
I turned to Nehra and even though she wasn’t playing any louder, the melody coming from her guitar filled my ears. I felt as if I needed to shout to be heard over it. No, I don’t need to shout. I want to let them all hear it—let the whole world hear it. “When you tell the story of what happened here, Nehra, tell it however you like. Have me standing atop a mountain pushing back the clouds if you want. But when you reach the end, there’s something I want you to tell those listening.”
Nehra paused in her playing and let the last notes ride out into the night sky. “What would you have me say?”
“Tell them the Greatcoats are coming.”