36. Bane
Chapter 36
Bane
T he map spread before me, showing all of Veladar, the Rift a long valley to the east. And in the Rift I saw every weak point, every village and keep left open to the whims of the wargs.
The news had spread like wildfire. The minor nobility had opened their houses to the people, and I could finally breathe a little easier knowing they were safe in the walls of fortified keeps.
For now. The fields, the mines, the livestock… none of it could be left unattended for long. Eventually the Rift-kin would have to leave the safety of the fortresses and return to their own lives.
And then they would, like the people of Tristone, be left out as bait. I clenched my fists, examining the map with gritted teeth, pushing the little red stones we used to denote the legions.
In a time of peace, they would’ve been more than enough. In a time with Hakkon producing seven newborn wargs in a single night… not nearly enough.
Too many gaps in the legions, too many crumbled walls, too many stretches of endless, empty wood for the wargs to slip through.
I could not be everywhere at once.
I nudged a stone into place and closed my eyes, planning my route through the Rift. Someone had to watch the border on foot. I would have to leave Cirri alone, but I trusted her not to be angry. She wouldn’t put emotions over the safety of the Rift-kin.
My level-headed lady. Already I could see her giving me that look, the one that said, what are you waiting for? Telling me to get on with it, to do what must be done.
Truly, I was the luckiest fiend in the world.
But as I raised my eyes from the map, my gaze landed on the two portraits across from me.
I had brought my map into the tower, in the room full of paintings. It was the best place in the castle to get anything done, to think, free of prying eyes and questions.
The paintings of carnage reminded me of why I was here, why I had chosen this. The only problem was the portraits, though I couldn’t bring myself to move them.
Sitting side by side, I was reminded of the fairy tale again. The perfect couple. The prince and princess, a scene from a story.
I glanced at the man immortalized in paint, and snorted.
“You were too stupid to understand the weight on your shoulders,” I told him. “Too short-sighted to contemplate just how heavy it would be.”
He said nothing, of course. Even if it wasn’t just a canvas, that man was long gone.
Painted Cirri just smiled at me. Telling me to do what I had to do.
I exhaled, tearing my eyes from the portraits and putting my mind back to use where it was needed. This was no time to ponder past mistakes.
“East,” I murmured, touching the map. The fortresses would have legions to defend them. Hakkon would expect me to scout north to south, and back again; instead I would take the fight directly to him, pick off the young wargs one by one, thin his numbers.
The door to the tower crashed open, far below. At first, I felt a flicker of pleasure at the idea of seeing my wife, but those were not her footsteps on the stairs.
I swiveled an ear, listening to the echoes bouncing off the stone walls. A pair of feet in hobnailed boots, stomping steadily; a softer pair, scuffing along, mumbled protests.
The upstairs door slammed open next, and I was greeted with the sight of Visca, her blue eyes blazing cold fury, one of the maids held in front of her, her arms twisted behind her back.
I squinted at the girl… Ellena. Her hair was wild, a gag tied around her mouth. She stared at me, wide-eyed, struggling against Visca’s iron grip.
My commander marched the girl forward, heedless of her useless protests.
“Here we are, then,” Visca said, and her voice was cheerful in a way that meant blood was coming.
“What is all this?” I eyed Ellena warily. Cirri didn’t like her, but she wouldn’t take well to one of the women she’d worked with being manhandled.
“ This —” Visca kneed the maid in the thigh, hard, and Ellena went to her knees with a muffled cry. “Is the reason everyone in Tristone is dead.”
I looked from Visca, her face taut with anger, to Ellena.
Ellena, a useless, spoiled girl. She could hardly handle mucking out the stables.
How could she be responsible for such a thing?
“Explain.”
Visca held Ellena’s arm with one hand, brushing her hair out of her face with the other. “I decided to dig around a little after that mess. The steward mentioned an unusual volume of letters going out from one person. The next time the courier came around, I questioned him. Ellena started with a few letters to Argent, addressed to the Cathedral. And then she started sending letters elsewhere.”
I nodded, still not seeing how this childish maid related in any way. “Perhaps she has family.”
Visca stared at me. “Come now, lad, do I strike you as the type to overreact?”
“No,” I admitted.
“Very well, then, let me say my piece and you can be the judge.” Visca pulled Ellena’s arm a little tighter. “So I had a little peek for myself before the next round of letters went out. And what was it, hmm?” She nudged Ellena in the back with her knee. “Was it sweet nothings to lovers, happy tidings for family members?”
Ellena was breathing hard, snorting air through her nose over the gag. She tried to pull away, whimpering wordlessly.
“Of course it wasn’t,” Visca said sweetly. “It was maps . It was the location of our legions, with fairly accurate numbers. It was the details of the security kept on Cirrien lai Darran, not to mention quite the dossier on her lineage and family’s estates. It was details on our schedules, where you or the Lady can be found in the keep.”
A touch of frost crept over my heart. “Who were these letters addressed to?”
“Well, that’s another strange thing, isn’t it?” Visca smiled at Ellena. “I’d think a girl from the Cathedral would be sending these letters to Argent, but no, they’re addressed to a man in Port Coran to the south.”
Port Coran… a sprawling seaside city south of the Rift. It lay half in Foria, half in the Rivers of Veladar. It was where most of the goods came in from Serissa, and traders from Nordrin came down through the Rift to deal freely in that market.
It was also its own territory. It might be half settled in the Rivers, but even Wroth allowed it to maintain its sovereignty. In Coran, there was no care for one’s nation, only for trade and gold.
And information.
“I sent a trusted man down to Coran to have a look for himself. All of these girl’s letters were sent to a Forian man, by the name of Makariy Agripin. Sounds familiar, no?”
I closed my eyes. I remembered one Captain Agripin, one of Hakkon’s right-hand men. I also remembered tearing a leg from his body. Seemed he must have lived. A shame.
I looked down at Ellena, her eyes downcast now, cheeks and cloth soaked with tears.
“What could you gain from selling information to Foria?” I asked her, my voice quiet. “What could Hakkon give you that I could not? I would have released you from service with handfuls of gold, had you asked. I would have given it simply to get rid of you.”
She shook her head, sobbing through the gag.
“Agripin still had some of the previous letters,” Visca said grimly. “Detailing just how behind schedule Tristone was on repairing those fortifications, how the mines and quarries have gone abandoned for the last year. She sold them to Hakkon.”
“Does he live?” I asked, still watching Ellena quiver.
“Not any longer.”
“Good.”
The maid tried to pull away from Visca, and my commander tugged her arm up sharply. “I’ve got one of her letters. Go ahead and cross-compare, but after forcing her to write, I’m convinced of it.”
“Visca.”
My commander, my creator, gazed up at me, eyes so cold with fury they no longer looked vampiric, let alone human.
“Leave her here. I’ll question her.”
Ellena sucked in a snotty breath as Visca released her, dropping her bodily to the floor. The maid curled in on herself as my commander drew herself up, nodding to me. She withdrew a letter from her pocket and handed it to me.
“Make it hurt, my lad,” she said softly. “Those women, those children… even the damn pups. All of that suffering is on her head.”
It was unlike Visca to editorialize when execution was at stake. She walked stiff-legged from the room, shoulders drawn up, fists clenched.
Ellena peeled the gag from her mouth with shaking fingers. “I never…” she whispered.
“Shut up.” I knelt, staring at her like I’d never seen her before. “And sit up when you speak to me.”
In a way, I hadn’t seen her before. I hadn’t paid any attention at all to the woman sent with Cirri. I supposed she was thought of as pretty, but the little I knew of her made her ugly in my eyes.
The Eldest Sister had probably sent her as a spy. Both Wyn and I had known the sour bat wouldn’t be able to resist having eyes in our house, and any knowledge the girl had sent on would have been useless to the Sisterhood. It was worth letting the old woman’s spy live, where we could keep an eye on her.
But to ally with Foria… that was unforgivable.
“When did you start sending letters?” I kept my tone low, soft, reasonable.
Ellena scrambled to obey, straightening her back, her shoulders and chest quaking with suppressed sobs. She gasped for breath between words, her voice strangled. “When we got here, my lord. I sent letters to Argent, to the Cathedral, but I never—”
“What did you send, in these letters to the Cathedral?”
Her face crumpled, and she made an effort to calm herself. It crumpled again almost immediately. She started with halting tentativeness, and the words quickly turned into a flood. “I told… Eldest Sister… about the keep. She wanted to know. I was supposed to tell her everything, what Cirri was doing, if she was… if she was getting on with you or if she might agree to send information back to the Sisters, but then she was getting on, and I told Eldest Sister that she wouldn’t agree to be a spy, she was too much in love with being the Lady—”
“Stop talking.” I considered as she slammed her mouth shut, wiping her nose on the back of her sleeve.
I didn’t give a damn what the Eldest Sister knew. I’d send the old hag the maps myself, for all I cared; she would never betray Veladar, no matter how much she hated my kind. The Silver Sisterhood was a dying institution, and she was desperately trying to hold on to power, playing little spy games to feel like she was accomplishing something.
“I want you to answer exactly what I ask. Don’t ramble at me about anything else, understood?”
She nodded slowly, staring at me through puffy lids.
“Where did you get Makariy Agripin’s name? Who told you to contact him?”
Ellena shook her head, eyes filling with tears again. “Nobody. I’ve never heard of him before! I swear I’m telling the truth!”
I stared at her, and unfolded the latest letter Visca had given me.
It was written in a delicate feminine hand, simplistic, with swirls under her g’s and y’s. I looked it over briefly, scanning the damning report: Mines reopened last week. Shipments aren’t scheduled for another month. Walls in Fog Hollow weak to the east and south, repairs discussed…
“Is this your handwriting?” I held it up for her inspection.
Ellena opened her mouth, closed it. “I didn’t write that.”
“Is it your handwriting, or not?”
“I swear to the Lady, I didn’t write it!” she shrieked, breaking out into fresh sobs.
I picked her up by the scruff of her neck, keeping a tight rein on my anger. She would be easily crushed. I dragged her to the table, shoving the map aside and laying the letter out flat, picking up a pen I’d used to mark likely spots for new legions.
Ellena exhaled a long, shuddering breath as I put the pen in her hand.
“Go ahead. Write anything you damn well please. Right here, in this blank space.” I pointed at the empty bottom of the paper.
Her face crumpled again as she wrote: I did not write these letters and I don’t know how they came to be. I have never heard of Agripin. I wouldn’t betray you.
“Why not? I certainly have never shown you any gratitude, nor any love.” I picked up the paper as she dropped the pen like a hot coal. “How much gold were you promised for this information? Did Agripin tell you that Foria would welcome you with open arms after you’d leeched us dry?”
She simply shook her head again, face twisted into an unrecognizable mass, wet with tears. The sounds coming from her were more animal than human.
“It’s a perfect match, Ellena.” I held up the letter, both top and bottom written in the same hand. “This is written in your hand. Shaking your head does not change the truth.”
It was the only motion she seemed capable of, a constant negation and an obvious lie.
I had made a terrible mistake in trusting that we couldn’t be brought low by a single conniving, petulant woman with an ax to grind. Ancestors only knew what she’d been doing, a silent pair of eyes and ears, collecting information and sending it along to Agripin and Hakkon. All this time we’d thought she was simply writing the Sisterhood, when she was keeping far more damning secrets locked in her head.
I dropped the letter to the table, her choked sniveling the only sound in the room.
“What did he promise you?”
I had to know what they’d been worth. I didn’t know why, nor why I wanted to carry that pain inside me, but I felt that at least one person needed to know what all the denizens of Tristone had cost. What their lives had been worth. How much gold could be weighed on the scales against their souls?
Hypocrite , the monster inside me breathed, self-recrimination a hot flush of shame beneath my fury. But at least I wore my shame where everyone could see it.
Ellena collapsed to the floor, quivering. “Nothing! I was promised nothing, I don’t know who he is!”
Disgust welled in me as I watched her shake and writhe, sobbing into her hands again. And under the disgust, anger churned, an unstoppable tide that grew in fury with every second that passed.
How pathetic, that she could so easily sell my people, and then cry about it when she was caught out.
“Please,” she gasped, reaching out to touch my foot with shaking fingers. “I didn’t—”
I knelt and grabbed her by the throat, the fury getting the better of me. “Don’t touch me.”
The urge to reach into her chest and pluck out her heart, to eat it whole as the light died in her eyes, nearly overcame me, and yet I sounded as calm as if we were discussing the weather. I felt like an observer in my own body, watching a demon take over and operate my limbs, fingers squeezing tighter and tighter on that fragile column of a neck.
I lifted her upright, and Ellena let out a soft wheeze. Maybe a word. Maybe ‘help’.
She was past help now. Past anything. I would not only punish her, but leave her unburied and unmourned. Perhaps I’d toss her remains into one of the sinkholes leading Below, let her soul rot down there for all eternity.
She would be forgotten. I would ensure it. The Sisters would not receive her body, nor would I grant her peace in the afterlife with a pyre to free her soul.
“I am responsible for every life in the Rift.”
Her mouth opened and closed, pulling the threadiest whisper of air into her lungs. Her nails scrabbled ineffectually at the back of my hand.
“Every man. Every woman. Every child.” Her cheeks were turning red. “Every word you sold to Agripin was a direct betrayal of that responsibility.”
Ellena stared at me in disbelief, and shook her head again.
Red washed over my vision.
“How dare you shake your head at me?” My fingers tightened, and the veins in her eyes burst, sclera turning bright red. “How dare you deny their blood on your hands?”
I was roaring, but it sounded distant. I felt like I was squeezing air, but her bones were cracking against the palm. I would break her; I would ruin her. With every word the rage grew hotter, brighter, until I gave into the primordial beast screaming in my head.
Flesh tore; bones cracked beneath my fingers, as delicate as glass. I gripped the pulsing organ in her chest, squeezing it until my claws dug into my palms.
As the last burst of life left her crushed heart, the fury cooled.
Finally I stopped, staring at the thing I held. A bag of meat. No signs of life. Her face was nearly black, eyes bright red, blood trickling from a corner of her mouth. The sharp scent of her piss filled my nose. She’d voided herself in death, a final insult.
I dropped her, unsure if I was more horrified with myself, for losing my temper after so long keeping it chained, or with Ellena, for selling my people and having to gall to piss herself in her final minutes.
Her corpse twitched, and I snarled at it, wishing I could bring her back and murder her again, feel the life leave her flesh once more.
Something moved in the doorway. I looked up, fists still clenched, lips still drawn back in a snarl. Cirri took a tiny step back.
How long had she been there? Had she watched me kill her? Watched me become the beast I tried so hard to hide?
Her wide eyes went from me to the twisted remains of Ellena, and back again.
What have you done?