Chapter 50 #2
Would she hear me, if I tried to tell her again? If I spoke gently, without blame?
The thought of her shrinking made my guts to liquid.
She’d respect the broad strokes of what Luca was doing, I was sure of that. She wouldn’t agree with everything, but she’d understand that he was doing what he could and what he knew to bring about change.
She could be the warrior Queen he’d need.
“Have you considered that she might want to stay in La’Angi?” I asked Luca, without thinking the question through.
He glanced at me, and for a moment I saw the flicker of something cold and calculating, something deep, that chilled me. “I expect she’ll want to keep the family together,” he said, as if the idea was foreign. “I can’t imagine why she’d want to remain there. It’s full of ghosts for her.”
Silence fell for a moment as Kadan and I both stared at Luca.
“Have you seen how hard she’s worked for this?” I asked, waving a hand in the direction of the faire.
“There are people everywhere who need her,” Luca said, with a quick shrug.
The fury in my veins burned uncomfortably hot.
I took a moment to breathe, but the air acted like a bellows, fueling the fire.
The moment made space for all the memories I had of her.
Memories of winter, and plague, of grief and fear.
Memories of her unwavering determination.
Mayhap she would care equally about people everywhere, but these were her people. Any fool could feel it.
“A history that isn’t all sunshine is still her history,” I told him, flatly.
“I haven’t heard her mention a family,” Kadan said, lifting his brows, and I resented that change in topic for a moment. She deserved to be allowed to choose.
I couldn’t even consider the topic of family. We all knew what she’d be expected to do, and Luca seemed happy enough to maintain those expectations.
The door opened before Luca would respond.
A tall, whip-lean man stepped in. He wore standard garb for a local, but his dark hair was long, pulled back in a horsetail, and his ears were pierced with small silver cuffs.
The scar where one had sat in his brow was all that remained of the facial piercing.
He didn’t glance around as he shut the door behind himself.
Luca stood. “Hello, Wuden,” he said, offering his hand.
The name, paired with the glimpse of hawk-like nose and long, angular face, jolted my memory.
I’d met Southerners. They didn’t all look like they were related to Ylva. This one was older. I couldn’t put a face to the name Wuden, though, nor trace it back to its source. Isolde? Ylva herself? Audrey? Those days had been a blur of horrors and hope.
The man ignored Luca’s outstretched hand. For a moment he stilled, his head cocked to one side, his brilliant blue eyes fixed on the middle distance as he focused on something beyond our understanding.
A chill went over me. For just a moment I was back in a headlong gallop, watching Audrey’s seat in her saddle, helpless to do anything if she fell.
She hadn’t. She’d stayed glued to Storm.
She’d only come unstuck hours later, in the dead of night, with no men on her walls to open her gates and her safe person lost to the violence of Ylva’s rescue.
The man’s eyes cut to me. It felt like he was reading my soul.
Here was our Southern rebel. But only one, and not three.
I glanced at Kadan, who returned my look impassively.
I realized, in that moment, that though I’d been invited by Luca, the invitation had truly come from Kadan.
He hadn’t asked me along to keep Luca’s neck whole, but because he trusted me to make the right call when the dice were thrown.
It made my mouth go dry, but I knew my place. I stood, breaking the spell and offering the Southerner my seat. I didn’t merely stand in front of the door but set my heel against the base of it. No one was forcing their way in.
“I said three men,” he said, to Luca, stopping beside the chair.
Luca waved a hand at me. “I’ve two friends with me only, as you can see.”
“And four downstairs,” the man said, flatly. “One in the next room, and two in the stables.”
Luca’s brows rose as my heart sank. I had no doubt Luca had done exactly as the rebel had identified. “The men downstairs are my friends,” he said, spreading his hands. “In the stables are my footmen. Next door is probably another footman, enjoying his time off—but I can’t be sure.”
The man put a booted foot on the chair, resting a hand on his hip. He appeared to consider this.
“I can only apologize for the miscommunication,” Luca said, shaking his head. “As I’ve no doubt you can tell, it isn’t deliberate, but a regrettable oversight.” He offered his hand to the Southerner again. “Let’s start over, shall we? I’m Luca.”
The rebel didn’t hesitate this time, but met Luca’s hand with his own. As they shook, the silver bracelet, triple-looped around his wrist, gleamed, revealed by the hem of the too-short garment not made to fit his long-limbed frame. “Whaarghun Wolfblood.”
I kept my breathing measured. This wasn’t the man Luca was prepared to deal with. Considering how poorly he dealt with anticipated company, this boded ill.
“I apologize,” Luca said, with no apology in his voice. “I thought your brother was coming.”
“He’s here,” Whaarghun said flatly. “I wanted to look you in the eye myself.”
Under the table I saw Kadan nudge Luca. My friend leaned forward, scooping up dice. Luca took the hint and left off that train of questioning.
“The situation in the South is of utmost importance to me,” Luca assured Whaarghun, taking my untouched wine and setting it before the man, an invitation that could be rejected without anyone losing face.
“I know you’re here looking for something real.
I’m not planning on making you any false promises. ”
The stranger straightened, then settled himself into the chair with a few economical movements. There was something about the way he took up space that made me think of Audrey, those times when she wasn’t reducing herself. It made me think of Kadan, when he wasn’t wearing the guise of a jester.
If this man wasn’t the leader of whatever was going on in the South, I’d eat my tabard.
“I want a future where trade with the South benefits all of us,” Luca said, calmly. “I’m happy to sign off on an agreement to end all tariffs and develop roads and ferries—”
“A future,” he cut in. “When? How?”
“We’re still negotiating—”
“You have no plan,” he said, the words harsh, clipped. “You wait until your masters aren’t looking and you steal scraps from their table, but you will not bite the hand that is feeding you.”
Luca’s brows rose fractionally. “As I was saying,” he said, mildly, “we’re negotiating a delicate situation in Black Borough currently.”
Whaarghun’s head was cocked to the side, his eyes narrowed, as if he was listening hard. “You don’t think it’ll work.”
“I have the utmost faith—”
“Liar,” he cut in, disdainfully, straightening, looking down at Luca.
My breath caught in my chest. It was Kadan who, with a bit of a smile, said, “Whaarghun, we’re playing with long odds here. What we’re doing in Black Borough… it’s a huge gamble. But it’s a gamble we have to make.”
“We can’t win in the field,” Luca said, calmly. “We have to find a way to win off of it.” He cocked his head. “The Duke’s mages, they’re giving you trouble.”
Silence.
“The Academy doesn’t let mages out into the world too often,” Luca said, frowning as if lost in thought. “Those they do send are tightly controlled.”
“Are you offering to deal with the mages?” Whaarghun asked, and his tone was unreadable.
The tiniest spark of hope sat so uncomfortably in my chest that I had to glance away. I knew about War mages. It was one of the first things Kaelson had taught me. If Luca could truly deal with them, then—
“I have a dozen well-trained, well-resourced reengage mages who left the Academy,” he said quietly.
“They aren’t seasoned War mages. I won’t ever lie to you, Whaarghun.
But they’ll help, if you use them smart.
And you’re a smart man. I’m gathering a little more Glow before I send them via L’tona in the spring. ”
The gap in conversation went on for so long that the noise from outside of the room started to creep in. In my mind’s eye, I remembered Isolde, sending an arrow deep into Ylva’s chest when we were ambushed. I saw the figure in the sky. In the storm.
When I looked up, Whaarghun was watching me.
They didn’t need mages. They had their own.
“If you send me your renegade mages, I’ll cut their throats,” Whaarghun told him, leaning back. “Your haunted Glow has no place in our lands.”
“I was told you weren’t a superstitious man,” Luca said, coolly.
“Who told you that?” Whaarghun drawled. “They lied. I don’t need your mages, or your curses. We have both of our own. Better than yours. Older. Stronger.”
Luca nodded curtly. “What weaknesses do your mages have? Mayhap we can cover them to—”
“Our Elementalists have no weaknesses,” Whaarghun cut in.
Liar. There wasn’t a lot known of their mages, but there was no such thing as perfection.
Luca arched his brows a little, but let it go. “I’m using the information I have, Whaarghun. It’s flawed, and I’ll acknowledge that. If you want effective aid, you need to give me effective instructions, or at least enough clues I can figure it out.”
“My people are starving, Man in the Mountain,” Whaarghun said, the words icy. “Your armies march through landscapes and burn forests to the ground. They hunt game and salt fields. How many times must you be told that we need food?”
Luca was once again proving he was as useful as tits on a stallion.
“I sent supplies,” he said, frowning. “Not enough to feed the population, it’s true, but certainly enough to help. If you’re not exaggerating, then we need to look at where it’s being lost. If the Butcher takes your port this winter—”