Chapter 49
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
CHAY
“Many productive plants need some shelter. Even sun-loving plants, such as the tomato, benefits from shade when the sun is at its peak. Remain aware of your context and modify your garden to ensure all plants get what they need.”
~ Growing Greatness: Common Garden Plants in Arcanloc
I must’ve fallen asleep on one of the chairs by her fire again, listening to the crackle of the flames as she poured over old texts. When I woke, her candle had burned low, and she’d sunk down in the blankets so only her nose and the top of the scroll in her hands poked out. As I watched, she rolled up one end and unrolled the next. Those whiskey eyes skimmed over whatever secrets were encoded there.
She’d be warm under those blankets. Warm and pliant. Parts of her would be soft, other parts, firm. I could almost feel the way she’d fill my hands.
As I watched, a frown creased her brow, and whatever it was caused her to transition from fascinated to disapproving to highly irritated.
“What’s wrong?”
She jumped, pulling the scroll under the blankets like a rabbit ducking into its warren. “What? Nothing.”
I straightened, stretching the kinks out of my back. I’d blame the woodcutting before I’d blame the chair. For a non-bed surface, it’d treated me pretty well. “Looked like something was wrong,” I said around a yawn. “What’re you reading, anyway? It must be past midnight.”
“I’m sorry I kept you up.”
“You didn’t,” I disagreed, interested in how she was dodging the question. “Is this you trying to be polite?”
“I’m not following, sir.”
“Sir?” I asked lazily. “That’s awful formal, considering how recently I untied your pants.” I probably shouldn’t have said that out loud, but I didn’t mind the way her eyes glittered dangerously at me in response.
“I was deeply unwell,” she said primly. “And I appreciate your assistance under those highly unusual circumstances. Even though you were bloodsworn.”
“I wasn’t oathbound to undress you, specifically,” I pointed out, since she appeared to need details. “Give me some credit for doing the right thing because it’s the right thing, not because I’ll die otherwise, please.”
Those eyes snapped over to me again, wider, as if she hadn’t quite realized what she was doing every time she did the you’re bloodsworn thing.
Before I could get another apology, I said, “Anyway, that isn’t an answer to my question. What’re you reading when the candles have burned low that annoyed you so?”
I waited, but she didn’t respond. Just reached out and snuffed out the candle.
“Is this another situation like earlier, when I asked you a thing, and you didn’t expect me to actually want the answer?” The woman navigated the world with predetermined rules that I didn’t understand and wasn’t going to learn without clear instruction. Of course we’d misunderstand each other while we figured that all out. “Because I’m just going to offer you a blanket assurance that if I ask you something, I want your response.”
Her laugh was nervous. I could still see her in the firelight, huddled low in her nest. “As you will.”
I stoked the fire higher. She was definitely acting strangely. “Reading poems that’d make me blush?” She spluttered, and I kind of liked her being off guard. Considering the station she’d been born to, she could talk a good talk, but it felt more like bravado and bluntness than real comfort with the topic of sex. “Yeah, you’re right,” I agreed, stringing her along just a little longer. “I doubt I’d blush. Perhaps I’d giggle.”
“Mayhap you’d weep!” she shot back. “Ugh. The last man who flirted with me while discussing war crimes had to flee this city.”
“How’s Luca doing, anyway?” I asked since she’d brought him up. “Heard from him?”
She was quiet for a moment. Then, “Why did you guess him?”
“He’s the only one brave enough, or ignorant enough, with access to you who would flirt with you. It wasn’t hard.” Also, he wouldn’t know his asshole from his elbow, but I kept that to myself. “Why’re you staying up late reading about war crimes, my lady?”
“Oh, so now I’m a lady?”
“You can be a lady until you choose otherwise,” I assured her, settling back.
“Well, I’m nothing in particular right now. I don’t think you especially want to know about what I’m reading, so mayhap just imagine some poems to make yourself giggle and get some rest.” She paused for a moment, then added, “In your bed.”
“Chair’s comfy.” And I didn’t feel so alone here. But I probably should go so she could rest properly. Still… “First, tell me what you’re reading. You’ve hedged too hard now. I need to know.”
“It’s treason,” she said, no trace of mirth in her tone. “You don’t need to know.”
The lingering warmth of sleep vanished. I’d committed my share of treason this year alone, and I was very interested in whatever she was planning on committing. But I couldn’t share all of that. “Audrey,” I said slowly, “You do realize you harbor a Matri’sion, don’t you?”
“I…” In the gloom, she turned her face toward me. “I suppose. Isn’t a single person who lives outside the law a bit less treasonous than fostering ideas, though?”
What a strange leap of logic. “I’m relatively sure treason is just treason. Why are you reading things that’d get you killed?”
“For fun.”
“And you weren’t going to share?” I asked, pretending to be injured. “I thought we were a team.”
In the glow of the fire, I could see her staring at me, unblinking, like some sort of gorgeous owl. As I tracked the wariness and worry flickering over her face, I wondered if she knew how clearly I could make out her features. It felt unfair to keep teasing her, so I reminded her, “I’m sworn to you, Audrey. You can trust me.”
“You have to be here,” she countered softly. “There’s no choice involved.”
My stomach knotted. “I have to be in this tower,” I agreed, reaching for courage. “I don’t have to be in this chair or asking you questions. I don’t have to make sure you eat or give your horse treats.”
She was silent. Her eyes had gone to the fire. Were they shiny with tears, or had she cried herself dry into her horse’s mane? “That’s very kind of you,” she said in that polite, gentle way that I recognized as a layer of bullshit.
“Not known for my kindness,” I said flatly. “Kind would be saying, ‘Hey, Audrey, remember those kids I killed a few weeks back? Their blood is on no one’s hands but mine.’” She flinched, her jaw tightening. There it was, the festering wound exposed. “That’d be bullshit, though. It was a combination effort. We all did the best we could. Before, during, and after. We all fucked up in different ways.” I rubbed my hand across my aching chest and heard her swallow loudly. “Odds are there will be more fuckups,” I said, trying to be sensible. “We’ll try to learn from them.” I felt the weight of the child’s body on my blade, and the ache in my chest became a solid weight. “I think.” I had to stop for a minute and breathe. “I think I just want to try to forgive the both of us and figure out what happens next. Learn from the past and look to the future. That shit.” Kadan would know how to say that better. Wild horses, I missed the man.
“I’m aware there’s a lot I don’t know,” she said, with tears in her voice and a fragile sort of dignity. “I’m trying. And I’m so sorry for the toll it’s taken on you.”
It was a wonder she didn’t sir me at the end. “I’m sorry for the toll it’s taken on me,” I agreed. “And you. And Isolde, and Thomas, and that runner with the wonky haircut who I snarled at after you broke me out of the dungeons.” I struggled to figure out how to explain that she wasn’t really learning if she was diving head-first into guilt. But I didn’t know if that made sense or was true.
She sniffled. “Okay. That’s a long speech just to hear about my current project.”
Raw as I felt, I still appreciated the lukewarm attempt at a joke. “Did it work?”
She shifted a little, her eyes flickering up to me for less than half a heartbeat before they dropped back down to her hands. In that one moment of connection, my blood heated, and desire flooded my system.
I replayed it quickly in my mind. It hadn’t been one-sided, had it? The thought of pulling her into my arms and holding her tight and being this raw and mixed up with her made my head swim. I wanted to peel back the layers of polite bullshit and find the ones set by survival, and slowly soak through those. I wanted her to do the same to mine.
“Years ago, Luca visited,” she began quietly, and hearing the man’s name had the same effect as plunging into the sea in midwinter. “He likes old stories, and I like city planning and how everything fits together. There’s actually a lot of crossover.”
I didn’t care. I thought of how he’d sat there and earnestly told us how she needed to be protected. He’d almost gotten her accidentally assassinated.
It was going to be very hard to be nice to him next time I saw him, I realized.
“Makes sense,” I managed.
Really, they were nothing alike.
“We visited the library often,” she said, pulling the blankets closer. “The weather didn’t always suit riding, and neither of us are soiree sort of people, you see.”
She’d be a soiree person if she had the right friends. She just thought that socializing had to be superficial. That’s what she’d been led to believe. Thanking the One for Kadan teaching me otherwise. But I didn’t interrupt, just nodded along.
“Well, La’Angi has been here a very long time.” She flicked her eyes toward me. “Since before Barloc.”
My mind skipped ahead, and the air caught in my lungs at the implication of what she was saying. She hadn’t just found something banned by the King for telling some truths he didn’t like. “You’ve got ancient texts?”
“They aren’t that old,” she objected. Then, sheepishly, “Yes.”
I blew out a breath.
“They put the park in a very strange spot, you see. There’s this huge tree, and it’s just odd. It doesn’t make sense from a traffic perspective or in terms of drainage. The rest of the city makes sense. Why would it lead to a park ?”
“Uh-huh.” Mayhap I shouldn’t have asked.
“I just wanted to know why. ”
“Did you find out?”
She paused. “Sort of. Did you know the Wife was actually based on an amalgamation of other goddesses who were worshipped? And when Barloc came here, he kind of took on some of the traits of the religion to make it more palatable for locals, so they could keep festival days and such like. That’s why we celebrate the birth of the One during the thaw. There was already a rebirth festival then.”
That I had known, having traveled beyond lands Barloc had reached. What religions hadn’t reached the Steppes weren’t worth worrying about. “Galeah,” I said, then frowned. “Or was that one Irissi? Irissa?” I couldn’t remember. I’d heard a lot of names prayed to. Seemed to me you prayed to an idea, not a person, but what did I know? It was my job to stick a sword in anyone who got too close, not to think. “Anyway, the park somehow led to you reading treasonous texts.”
“There was a rock in the park near the market,” she said, unfolding herself. “It was almost as tall as the inner wall. Before Barloc, they prayed to it. The city was built around it. It was magical, apparently, but the magic was evil.”
“According to Barloc,” I clarified dryly. “Who was known for his fair, even-handed assessment of such things.”
“Right,” she agreed. “Exactly. The people of the time didn’t accept it and kept praying to it on the sly. They whipped, tortured, imprisoned, and even killed a lot of worshippers. In the end, they ripped out the stone and threatened to kill anyone who prayed to it. Someone planted a tree where it was removed. They were killed and tossed in the hole, but they’ve never successfully killed the tree. It’s hundreds of years old.”
“Fertilized by its believers,” I mused. It suited La’Angi, but I didn’t tell her that.
She clapped her hands, grinning. “ This is why I’m fascinated! ” She bounced a little as she talked, and it was possibly the most animated I’d seen her. The flush in her cheeks made me burn. I pulled my mind firmly back to trees and ancient city planning. “But the people who hauled the stone kept dying, Chay. They would just up and drop dead. ”
A chill went through me. I listened to her talk about how many people’s hearts had stopped beating and the lengths the leader at the time went to, trying to shatter or otherwise dispose of this stone. I was skipping ahead, past the details that so fascinated her and made her burn so beautifully.
It was the stone Ylva had named as a meeting place.
“…and the reason people prayed to it was because it was protective,” she went on. “So after they moved it, there were issues in the city. There was one time when the earth shook, and then a giant wave came and washed away big chunks of land, but it was turned back because of the stone.”
My unease grew. “That’s no magic I know of.” I didn’t trust Barloc to have made the best decisions, but the man wouldn’t have got rid of it if it was so wonderful. “You just told me all the ways it killed people.”
She let out a huff. “When it’s threatened. We aren’t threatening it.”
The idea of a rock feeling threatened was just another layer of strange I didn’t know I was equipped for. I let her talk it through and tell me all the little pieces of the puzzle she’d been putting together recently. I had no doubt it felt very satisfying to have her focus from all that time ago rewarded so well. And it was really a joy to listen to her after so long in the silence. While I liked her quiet, her passion made my blood heat to witness. She got up, pacing, talking with her hands about how they’d tossed the stone into the sea, and had it haul back out, how a fire had ripped across the land and burned the crops to the ground, and the stone had made them spring back from the ashes. Big, far-reaching disaster stuff.
There was no mention of healing broken bones, prosperity, or births, as you’d often hear folks praying about.
“And I feel like the stone must be the same one Ylva mentioned. I looked up the name she said, and I’m sure it’s almost the same as one of the names in one of the early post-Barloc texts, dated to approximately twenty years before Barloc’s arrival.”
My head ached. I didn’t want to burst her bubble, but the sun was coming up, and though her cheeks were pink with excitement now, I’d seen them deathly pale far too recently. “Embers, that stone isn’t magic you can just summon. Or have you been studying magework as well as old city planning?”
“That’s the thing , ” she said excitedly. “It was used by everyone. At first, I thought it must be some sort of cultural norm. Everyone might’ve just studied this magic as part of their day-to-day, so they had the skill to activate the item, the same way we all learn the skill to light a fire, right? But tiny children prayed to it.”
That didn’t prove much. “Tiny children light fires.”
“You know what I mean. ” She let out a huff. “Now I know where it is and what it does. I just don’t know how. ”
I shook my head. “You’re missing some key points, there. You don’t actually know what it does or what it costs. All magic has a cost.” I didn’t know much about magework, but I knew that.
“What if that mage we fought the other day was using the stone?” she asked, her eyes bright. “What if that’s how Ylva knew to go there?”
I shook my head again. I hated being the one to tell her no. “There’s a lot of types of magics in the world, Audrey. We say they’re either mages or they’re evil, but it’s more complicated than that. To the north over the seas, they use runes to summon their ancestors to advise them from beyond this world, and another group uses magic to transform their shape. Another has it woven into their words so when they speak, they can enthrall you. I’ve even heard of people raising the dead.”
“Blood magic,” she said dismissively.
“It works,” I reminded her, feeling the bite of steel against my palm. Wasn’t blood magic the reason I was here, having this conversation?
She stilled. In the light of dawn, there was so much compassion and grief on her face that it took all I had to stay sprawled in the chair under her gaze. “It’s okay,” I said, hoping it was true. “We’re both here through circumstance. That isn’t my point. There’s power in it.”
She went back to pacing, squeezing her hands rhythmically into fists. “It would make sense if it was elemental magic, though. The storm, the wind, that we saw. The wave it turned back, and the regrowth?”
I didn’t think growth was an elemental thing, but she knew more than me, so I let that go. “So how would we activate it?”
“It doesn’t say,” she said, throwing her hands up. “Anywhere I can find mention of it, it doesn’t say how to actually do it. ”
“Huh.” I rubbed my palm against my jaw. “It’d make sense that’d be forbidden information. You thought of asking someone whose family’s lived here forever?”
She looked at me like I’d grown a second head. “My line is unbroken since Barloc himself terrified my ancestor into allowing him into the keep, and then killed her family and gave her to his General.”
That sounded like pretty much what I expected from war, but I didn’t tell her that. Expected and acceptable were, after all, different. “How often would your ancestor have been allowed to visit the stone or tree? Find a family who wasn’t so closely watched as your own.”
She came to a complete halt, her expression flickering from joy to horror to humiliation and then back to joy. “By the One, it makes so much sense. I’m looking in the entirely wrong direction.”
“This direction taught you things,” I disagreed. “You exhausted it, so turn elsewhere and keep looking.”
She looked at me with so much gratitude that it made me feel a little uncomfortable. All I’d done was tell her she was wrong.
It seemed good things came from saying no, too.