Chapter 21 #2
“Okay,” was all she could say. She didn’t want to argue with him, didn’t want to push him to bare more of his soul to her. Didn’t want to understand him more than she was already starting to.
As the sun set further, Pyetar’s body slowly relaxed again.
“You know you don’t need to impress him, right?” he asked gently. “He’s only using you.”
It was Iryana’s turn to stiffen, even though Pyetar was wrong.
She did need to impress Karvek, it was the best path to initiation into the brigade and being forged in the metal well.
And it was more than that now; if Karvek was going to fight for more territory, her family could use what warnings and information she could give them while she was here.
Iryana had learned little to tell Hadima in their occasional messages, but a warning would help when the time came.
Iryana couldn’t tell Pyetar any of that, though. “I can’t leave, either; I need Karvek to accept me into the brigade.”
Pyetar stared at her for a moment longer before nodding slowly. “Try not to show him what you care about, or he will use that against you.”
Iryana felt her throat tighten. There was a story behind Pyetar’s words, but as much as she burned to ask, she couldn’t. Something that was almost like concern twisted inside her, and she couldn’t allow that. So she turned the conversation in a direction that would remind her of her anger.
“A couple of years ago, I saw you at the Dovaki post. You were threatening my cousin, Tonhald. Why?”
Pyetar blinked, eyes shuttering. “Ah, that must have been quite the sight. Your cousin had sent a letter to Myura River behind the back of your First, demanding a renegotiation.”
“So?” She felt indignation growing on her cousin’s behalf. He had been trying to help their family.
“So if Karvek saw that letter, he would have just demanded more, or taken it from your post directly. A punishment to make sure your clan knew its place. Your cousin is lucky I saw the letter first.”
She blinked, her rage dying out. Confusion and disbelief replaced it. She’d have to process that later.
“What’s the plan then?” She changed the subject again. “To stop this war?”
“There is no plan,” he grumbled.
She snorted. That was a lie. Pyetar always seemed to have a plan, some angle he was working from the shadows.
“Do you want me to help, or not? You said it was my fault, don’t you want me to help fix it?”
“I was angry when I said that.” His voice was low, and his gaze distant.
Iryana stepped closer until the heat from their bodies mingled in the night air. She wanted to reach out and demand he look at her, but she held back, her fingers curling. “And now?”
His light blue eyes snapped to her. “I don’t need you to look out for me. I can take care of myself. And I don’t need your pity either.”
“Pity?” Iryana could feel her anger bubbling up again as she stared at Pyetar in disbelief.
How dare he try to make her feel guilty for helping him?
She didn’t pity him; she didn’t even like him.
She clenched her fists. “I am incapable of doing anything right in your eyes. At least your brother sees something useful in me.”
The words hung in the air, taunting and bitter.
Neither of them spoke. Pyetar’s eyes blazed with anger and something else she couldn’t name.
Her breath caught in her throat as his gaze seemed to see right through to her soul.
Every part of her was screaming to move away, but she held still, unable to look away even if she tried.
The tension radiated between them, almost tangible in the air as if it were something solid that could be touched or felt or broken with a single move.
Something like grief flashed in Pyetar’s eyes when he finally stepped back.
“You don’t have to make up for helping Karvek. Just consider us even. I should get back,” he said gruffly, and Iryana felt a pang of disappointment even as relief flowed through her body at the distance between them.
She nodded slowly.
Pyetar headed back toward the stairs but paused. “Just remember that my brother is not an idiot. If he realizes you’re trying to manipulate him, he will kill you.”
“Don’t tell me what to do, Pyetar Horvol.”
Iryana paused in the main square at the center of the fortress, hesitating.
She didn’t know what to expect from a military party; she’d avoided them all so far. Now that she could see the warehouse, doubt was flooding her.
But she reminded herself that this was how the game was played. She needed allies, and they wanted her at this party.
Iryana was wearing the nicest dress she had, though she’d never intended to put it on when she’d packed it.
The dress had been her mother’s, and she’d brought it as a reminder.
Not of her mother necessarily, but of consequences.
Not all mistakes are forgivable. And some little girls aren’t enough to keep their mothers from leaving.
Her fingers clenched her skirts uncomfortably. She hoped it wasn’t too much.
The dress was white, a color that had been popular before the dakii came, with voluminous skirts reaching midway down her boots. The harsh geometric symbols of metal magic, stitched in soft grays and purples, bled up the skirt and up the sleeves. It was beautiful, impractical. From another time.
She’d been a young girl the last time she’d worn something so nice, her hair twisted into detailed braids that Hadima had spent hours tugging into place. Once, she’d loved wearing things like this. Now, something about it felt inherently wrong.
You are a grown woman now; she reminded herself, looking toward the warehouse instead of into her past.
The building seemed to glow as lantern light spilled from the open doors and music bled into the square. A drummer, a flutist, and a few fiddlers played a traditional Istrin folk song that Iryana faintly remembered learning the steps to.
Iryana’s feet dragged as she forced herself toward the warehouse.
Clusters of people talked outside in the puddles of light spilling out; others bordered the inside of the building in loose clumps playing dice or cards, but most were in the center of the room dancing.
Lanterns hung above the dance floor, leaving it brightly lit but casting shadows across the dancers’s faces.
There was too much movement to pick out everyone that was there, but the usual tension of the last few weeks was gone.
It seemed pretty tame so far, but the night was still quite young.
She stepped into the party. The crush of people, the humidity in the air, all pressed in on Iryana—it was hard to breathe.
“I like your braids,” Vaneshta called out as she spun past. Her face was red from drink, and she was smiling, laughter bursting out of her as a new partner caught her. Silver beads hung from her neck.
“Oh, thanks.” Iryana reached up to touch her hair.
She had wrapped her braids in a crown around her head instead of letting them fall loose down her back like usual. It was how Hadima preferred to do it for festivals, although her sister usually wove flowers in too. Iryana pushed those memories away.
She didn’t need flowers in her hair.
Iryana looked around, smelling the sweet pies and honey cakes before she saw them. Deciding that would be the safest activity, Iryana headed toward the treats laid out on one of the large makeshift tables.
Before she made it a quarter way around the room, Vaneshta careened to a stop before her, holding out a flask.
Iryana forced herself to nod, returning Vaneshta’s smile, hoping a buzz would help her relax.
Taking the flask, Iryana quickly tilted it back against her lips, the flavors flooding her mouth.
It was honeywine, one of her favorites. She loved the rich, syrupy taste of honey and the tart floral undertones of wildflowers.
One of the many perks of summer. It ran down her throat easily as she swallowed and burned nicely in her chest and belly.
She realized most of the newer soldiers seemed to be absent, perhaps up to their own festivities in the hall. Either way, Iryana was glad not to see them.
“Come dance,” Vaneshta ordered, taking a swig of her own flask. She was already looking out at the new group forming for the next song, leaning toward it as if being pulled along.
The last time Iryana had been around dancing like this had been at a spring festival with her family and—no. She could not think of that.
The sight of the dancers gathering was too much, and Iryana shook her head. “No. Not this one. Go ahead.”
Vaneshta gave up quickly when Iryana refused to budge, swaying into the others and joining in easily with the steps.
Retreating to a bench at the side of the room, Iryana downed the honeywine as quickly as she could, hoping to banish her memories.
Searching the room, she found Vabihn dancing with his wife, Darish talking to Lidishta, and Shahn hovering by his little sister, who seemed engaged with a group of friends. The others were around somewhere, but it was hard to see much.
Vaneshta waved to her between dances to join them, but she just shook her head each time and gestured for Vaneshta to keep dancing.
She kept telling herself she’d join in the next time.
She was here to get closer to her team after all.
But each time her throat tightened and her stomach twisted.
It wasn’t just that she’d last danced with her family—she’d only danced with her family.
With Hadima and little Misha, her cousins, and even her mother.
Now, she just couldn’t.
Even though she wasn’t dancing herself, the room emanated heat, and Iryana found herself uncomfortably warm. Her skin was sticky, her face hot, and the hairs at the nape of her neck clung to her skin. It mirrored the way she felt inside.
She just hoped everyone was too distracted by their own merriment to notice her.
But eventually, a man moved in between her and the line of spinning soldiers.
Iryana looked up, meeting a pair of familiar hooded eyes.