30. THIRTY
THIRTY
NIKLAUS
Location: Jiradesh Desert
Niklaus watched, his body strangely unfeeling, as Major General Mastico wrapped his arms around the son of Thadinar Curtaim. He had long since brushed the dirt off his hands burying his grief. Yet it gritted against him with the beat of its newfound pulse.
Curtaim was the name that had first made him feel true loathing. He thought he’d killed that hate, long ago. Funny, how one could lie to his own memories.
“We will appoint a signal translator,” Mastico said, though the words seemed to reach Niklaus’s ears an age after the man’s mouth moved. “I’ll get a courier on it.”
Niklaus made to leave—to go anywhere else—but after spending so many days at Calver’s side, his gaze reflexively fastened to him. The mute signaled, as though everything was just the same as it had been an hour prior.
Weeks together, and Niklaus had placed full trust in a man he knew nothing about.
He would no longer yield blindly to the son of a traitor who’d seen his father, and thousands of others, back into Creation’s fire.
Everything Calver had led him to believe might have been a manipulation—an act of treachery against the Red Wing.
Niklaus had been so desperate for information on Thyatira, he would have believed just about anything.
Niklaus signaled.
Calver’s expression pulled inward.
And yet he was going to discuss it with Thyatira’s second-in-command?
Mastico only then seemed to notice Niklaus was there. He turned to face him, eyes hard, mouth flat, as if Niklaus had suggested he swallow his dowaga whole. The destruction Niklaus had taken the blame for that morning was likely to still be fresh in the Major General’s mind.
Niklaus argued.
Niklaus would wager that single signal was as close as Calver would ever come to begging.
“Well?” Mastico asked.
Traitor or not, he and Calver had not yet settled their score. “He’s requested that I translate. Can’t blame him. I have a way with words.” Scowls flew at Niklaus from every angle. He flashed his teeth. “Hush, now. The pleasure is all mine.”
Mastico’s tent was spacious enough to sleep twenty men.
Rugs boasting bright geometric shapes had been laid over the sands inside.
An attendant instructed them to remove their boots upon entry and directed them to a low table.
They sat with legs crossed, and Mastico called for a tea-laden tray to be brought.
Calver palmed his cup, but never brought it to his lips. His suspicions mirrored Niklaus’s own; this could be a very carefully laid trap. But if it was a facade, Mastico sure as Chaos made it convincing.
“I take it you don’t remember me?” he began.
Calver gave his standard unrushed, calculated stare before lowering his chin.
“The last time I saw you, you might have been five? And Kian not much older.” Kian’s glare could have boiled the water in his cup. “Thadinar and I… we studied together under Torbast Calisto. For a long while there was hardly a thing we didn’t do together.
“Until your mother came into the picture, that is. Her father was a merchant. They traveled to Kaidech to fulfil a trade contract with Azadonia, before the quarantine. She’s the one who introduced me to my wife, before we were relocated to Seraphinden.
Your mother was lovely, in every meaning of the word. ”
Calver watched the Major General with his blank-canvas face. Mastico, who didn’t seem to know how to communicate with him, just kept speaking, his testimony filling the table like a meal. Niklaus did not feel satisfied.
“And you must know, I tried to clear his name when—when things went wrong.”
Calver finally signaled.
Niklaus cleared his throat and translated, the words surprisingly level considering his hangover and the still simmering anger.
“I was. Back then, I was his second.”
Calver wasn’t the only one.
Mastico set his elbows on the table and sighed heavily.
“We were on a training run. Routine surveillance around the Thaligan cliffs. Thadinar received a message from a Blue Wing courier and burned it after reading. He told me it was nothing. Lying was not one of his talents—it bothered him. Deeply.” Mastico rubbed his thumb against his forefinger and leveled his eyes on Calver.
“That evening he had our numbers turn inland. Then he disappeared. Deserting is a criminal offense for basic infantry. For a general? He was the first. When we learned the Chori fleet had moved into Casowhatan’s harbor in our absence, it seemed like a bad dream.
We didn’t want to believe it. It’s been twenty years, and I’m still not sure I believe it. ”
Mastico’s nose twitched. His fingers drummed against the table. “There are some people that claim space in your life. People that you would place more faith in than you might yourself. Your father was a lot of things. A deserter was not one of them. And yet the evidence was outstanding.”
Calver’s usually glassy eyes turned to shards, and Niklaus realized for the first time that his and Calver’s feelings toward Thadinar Curtaim might be the same.
His anger chipped. Calver had been a child when it happened.
It’s not like he was in any way involved.
Calver had rescued him. Calver had listened to him.
But… how far did a man’s nature stray from his maker’s?
“His body was uncovered in Chori territory, weeks later.” For a moment, Mastico said nothing. “I was told, behind closed doors, that the Prime had placed your father in a classified squadron, and that there was more harm to be done in trying to clear his name than help.”
Niklaus echoed the signal without the venom.
“Kotar Avelius. A captain in the Green Wing, at the time.”
The Green Wing was charged with the protection of the internal State—guarding the Ruxians before they guarded the oligarchy. Why would a Green Wing captain aid an operation that had left the capital vulnerable?
“I was as enraged as you,” Mastico said.
The mute’s face didn’t move, but something changed behind his eyes.
Niklaus passed his tongue over his sandpaper lips and translated.
There was pain on Mastico’s face that Niklaus did not believe could be fabricated—but he had been wrong before. “When they revoked Androtia’s assets and cast you out, I-I looked for you. I intended to bring you all to live with my family in Seraphinden.”
Calver signaled; Niklaus translated, “So why didn’t you?”
Mastico frowned. “It was like you vanished into thin air. I imagined the worst: that you’d been murdered, taken and sold on the dark market. We searched Kaidech for months. Calisto led it. He was always so close to your family. He—”
Calver’s hands slammed onto the table so hard, Kian reached for the handle of his dowaga.
Niklaus struggled to follow his furious signals. “He says he studied under Calisto for six years after his father deserted. He saw him every day.” He’s calling you a liar, Niklaus didn’t say.
Kian spoke up. “I’ve had enough of this, father.” The elder Mastico raised an eyebrow. “This man is playing you like a kwitra with a frayed string, wearing you down until you break.”
Mastico’s response was less a question and more a command. “Explain.”
“Think about his claim: that he is Thadinar Curtaim’s son, an idea that you gave him, for the record.
That, despite the weeks during which an entire squadron searched for the Curtaim family, they were in Kaidech the entire time.
That somehow, despite the Kaidechi population being decimated by the Strikapa, he was spared?
” Kian shook his head. “You want so badly for this man to be a Curtaim that your ability to reason has been compromised.”
“And what benefit will come to him for pretending to be a Curtaim?” Mastico challenged.
“Your cooperation. This man is a murderer. He’s set to stand trial in Seraphinden!
If that weren’t argument enough, simply mind who he keeps for company.
” Kian pointed an accusing finger at Niklaus.
“My men report that he has been working closely with Meyernes for three ten-days. Meyernes, who set fire to half the southern rim just this morning.”
Niklaus sniffed. “I’d hardly call it half. Six—maybe ten—wagons, really.”
“He tried to convince me that an Aetech shield had exploded when I interrogated him,” Kian continued. “That they’re a conspiracy. Meyernes is still trying to get his insurance money. And he’s hired this criminal to get under your skin so that he can convince you of the same fantastical tale.”
The table fell still. All eyes turned to Calver, whose brown stare betrayed nothing. Chaos. If he looked death in the face, death would be first to blink. Niklaus had warned Calver. I warned him not to involve him. He opened and closed his mouth a half-dozen times, words failing.
“Your silence speaks,” Kian said with satisfaction, leaning backwards with his arms crossed.
Niklaus gritted his teeth. Maybe, with Calver’s testimony, the Major General would actually believe them. Maybe there was another way to prevent this ambush.
His father had said that there were two kinds of hope: the reasonable kind, and the kind so crazy one dared not think on it, lest they frighten it away.
Maybe, this thousandth time he told the truth, it would fall on ears that translated reason.
Maybe, this thousandth time he told the truth, his words would be not a weapon, but a shield.
He licked his lips and prepared himself to do what he did best: he removed the cork, upended the bottle, and let the words flow.
CALVEROUS
Despite the coolness of the command tent, Calver’s skin burned with betrayal.