19. Business in Drida #2
He probably knew a good bit more than she did, but kept his mouth shut.
“An unjust queen rules Inofar. Those who are loyal to the country and to a future free of this tyranny are gathering in the Southern Felds. We intend to stand against Kuraya under the banner of our Advocate.”
His pulse broke into a sprint that left him lightheaded. The Advocate was real. Not a wistful story, not a lie. Truth.
“We hope to avoid violence”—she paused with a smile that seemed to imply the opposite—“but we also know that we may need to face the Red Guard.”
The rumors and whispered stories of the battlebox holding cells, unfolding before him with sudden weight and promise. It was real.
“You want me... to fight for you?”
“No.” Almatra broke in. “Fight for yourself. Fight with us. Your fight is our fight.” Her voice was just as fierce as he remembered.
“Almatra speaks most highly of you,” Feldlady Arleth said. “We need people good enough to pass on their skills. We need trainers.” She paused, and beside her, Almatra lifted her chin proudly.
He swallowed, fingers numb around the post. If he’d thought himself in a fog, the promise of the Advocate stood in its midst like a beacon.
Feldlady Arleth fixed her round, dark eyes on him. “The Advocate offers you passage to the Southern Felds tonight. We have one last piece of business to attend to, and we will leave the city before dawn. If you come with us now, we ride for Sol Serene.”
“Business?” Imalroc asked.
Almatra bared her teeth in a glittering smile. “Come and see. You’ll like it.”
“I’m afraid you must decide now, and quickly.” Feldlady Arleth looked expectantly at him.
“And if I don't want to fight anymore at all?”
Almatra raised one disapproving eyebrow, but Arleth simply inclined her head.
“Then we respect your decision. You can find work and safe harbor in the Southern Felds. Either way, if you go south, you will be free,” the feldlady replied.
He clung to the bedpost. Freedom. The dream that had carried him along the road of misery and suffering. The reason he had stayed alive beneath the whips and in the grip of manacles, amid the cells, the blades, and the blood.
If he went with them, he knew he would fight. It was a chance to do more than lick his wounds and try to rebuild some semblance of a life.
But he found he couldn’t say anything.
“What is going on down here?” hissed Etiana, appearing in the doorway of the second kitchen. She hefted the Draalish sword with both hands.
Almatra sprang halfway around the table, but Arleth cried, “No! Not her.”
Imalroc realized he’d lunged into the room, closer to Etiana. His gaze skidded between her and Almatra. He didn’t hold any love for a woman who thought of battleboxing as an exciting game, but he wasn’t about to let Rerdas’s cousin lose an eye right in front of him.
“Peace,” Feldlady Arleth whispered urgently to Almatra. “We knew it was a possibility she or her cousin might interrupt. We’ve planned for this.”
The Draalish sword wavered in Etiana’s hands. “Honna?” She sounded suddenly much younger.
“Etiana. It’s been quite some time,” Feldlady Arleth said warmly.
Etiana glared and advanced. “How kind of you to make a social call. And all the way to Drida, too. In the dead of night.”
“I did try to visit your estate. Several times. I’m sorry it’s been so long.”
“Don’t pretend you’re a friend.” Etiana swept further into the room. At least she stopped trying to menace anyone with the sword, because she had it in the wrong position for any kind of proper attack. “I heard what you said. Imalroc isn’t going with you. He’s with us.”
“Your mother,” said Feldlady Arleth quietly, “would be so ashamed of you.”
Etiana went scarlet. Imalroc watched with interest, and no small degree of vindication.
“But…” She sounded as though she’d been slapped. “We need him.”
“If you were so badly in need of onyx, you should have come to us.” Honna Arleth shook her head slightly. “There is such a thing as going too far, my dear, even in the most desperate of circumstances.”
“We were allies; we agreed we would give him his contract once we had enough onyx—”
“How reasonable of you.” Almatra sneered. She angled her head at Imalroc. “Is that how it happened?”
Imalroc met Etiana’s gaze. “You dangled freedom just beyond me and reaped your harvest from my blood. Give me my sword.” He held out his hand, heart thundering. If it had been the other Toriem standing there, would he have been able to say it? It was the truth, and yet if it had been Rerdas…
Etiana surrendered the Draalish blade, and Imalroc clenched a hand around the hilt. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled in his direction.
His lip curled, flashing teeth at her like the animal she thought he was. “I don’t care that you’re sorry.”
Feldlady Arleth cleared her throat. “I’m afraid we cannot linger. We need a decision.” She fastened her gaze on Imalroc.
He swallowed. It should be easy. It should be so easy, and that it wasn’t was terrifying.
“I…” The Advocate was real and preparing to fight. There was a world where he wouldn’t have to lie, bow, and scrape. The battleboxes had forged him into something he could unleash back upon them.
“I’ll go with you,” he said.
Almatra grinned, and Feldlady Arleth inclined her head. “We’ve a horse ready and waiting.”
The little man, still rubbing his chest, tugged open the windowed door, and Almatra plucked up the lantern. Imalroc took a slow breath and tasted the cold air spilling from the courtyard.
“I’m going to wake Rerdas,” Etiana said wearily. “Unless you want to do it?”
He nearly winced. A memory unspooled: Rerdas backing away from him, forcing himself to the door. I can’t kiss you again, he’d said. I won’t be able to make myself leave.
There was no one else like Rerdas. Rerdas, whose touch was addictive, whose kiss was irresistible, who had coaxed parts of him back to life and stood against a whip for him and trusted him.
Rerdas would beg him to stay. If his huntmaster did that, he might give in, just as he had before, too desperate for the chance to hold him close.
Imalroc swallowed again, his throat caving in.
He’d hate himself if he stayed. Eventually he’d hate Rerdas for it too. He needed to leave. He needed to be free.
“No,” he whispered, and tried to continue, but nothing came.
Etiana stared at him. “No?” She blanched. “You can’t just… leave without speaking to him.”
“He damn well can.” Almatra snapped from the doorway. “He doesn’t need permission from a fucking handler.”
“Tell Rerdas in the morning, Etiana,” Feldlady Arleth said. “Imalroc, we really must go.”