31. They Don’t Stand a Chance
They Don’t Stand a Chance
Mariana
There was nothing I needed from downstairs, but I went anyway, descending the steps with bare feet and a raw heart.
This was why I never opened up. The helplessness was too much to bear.
Desire and empathy warred within me, and they were both losing battles.
My Oath prevented me from being honest with Faren about his allegiances—his life’s purpose—and my sentence prevented me from any sort of meaningful companionship.
I’d learned long ago that, for someone like me, closeness was simply an invitation for loss.
I could not act on my desire. I couldn’t risk caring about him any more than I already did. I had to get some distance.
To my relief, no one stirred in the inn—they must’ve all gone to bed. Circling the banister, I went behind the bar and poured myself an ale. Knocked it back. Poured another, then wandered in the direction of the smoldering hearth.
It wasn’t until I’d nearly reached the seating area that I spotted Idris reclined in one of the plush chairs, shrouded in shadow.
“Oh, I—” I stammered. “I’ll go.”
Idris gestured to the chair opposite his. “You’ve already helped yourself to an ale. Might as well drink it.”
The old wolfhound—Wicker—lay before the weak fire; he peeked one eye open as I came around the chair and sat.
Idris sipped his own ale, staring into the embers.
I could see only the outline of him in the dimness, but he seemed relaxed, content—the opposite of my edginess.
Sitting in uncomfortable silence with the younger brother of the man I’d once loved and lost—who still probably blamed me for Grinnick’s death—was far preferable to lying awake mere feet away from Faren.
“Can’t sleep?” Idris asked.
“Are you really out of rooms?”
A flash of teeth in the dark. “You’ll have to ask my bride.”
I rolled my eyes and settled back into my chair, slurping my ale.
“Is the room not to your liking?” Idris asked.
“The room is fine, it’s the company I wish to escape.”
“Somehow I doubt that.”
I lifted my tankard to my lips again, foam tickling my upper lip. “Shouldn’t you be upstairs with your aforementioned bride?”
“You’re thinking of my wedding night,” Idris said. “That’s tomorrow. Tonight, we sleep apart. It’s tradition.”
“That’s a silly tradition.”
“I agree, but she insisted.”
I leaned out of my seat, reaching for a log to throw on the fire. The embers sparked, caught, spilling light into the dark room. Wicker lifted his head at the commotion in the hearth, then returned his muzzle to the crook of his own gangly elbow with a wheezy old-dog sigh.
Idris watched me with his elbows wide, shoulders relaxed, tankard cradled between his laced fingers. “This Valiant rebellion,” he said evenly, and I braced for the coming interrogation. What exactly does it entail? Why are the Bad Blues curing Morta?”
“It doesn’t concern you.”
“Your warnings imply otherwise.” He gestured to the sleeping wolfhound, the dark pub, sweeping his palm out as if to encompass the whole town.
“You see what I have to lose. The Fate of Fenrir concerns me deeply. Lord Haron is a villain—but so is Heris. You fight monsters, Mariana, but you also serve one. Why are you so loyal to—”
“You think I don’t know he’s a monster?” I interrupted bitterly. “I know better than anyone. I’ve been under his thumb since I was a fucking child.”
The hard set of his mouth softened.
“I’m trapped, Idris,” I went on. “My sentence is for life. You might be a glutton for self-sacrifice, but I can’t—” Emotion burned behind my eyes, seared my throat.
“I can’t do this forever. I wish I was more altruistic, but after twenty-four years of torment, I need freedom.
” My voice cracked on the word. “I despise Heris, but I despise the torture of my charge more. I have no choice. Unless the Lord’s reign is upended, there’s no hope for me. ”
Idris set his ale aside, giving me his full attention. “Take it from someone who was once lost to a similar form of despair: there is always hope, Mariana.”
I bit the inside of my cheek.
For most of our lives, Idris and I had been at odds, avoiding each other when we could and threatening each other when we had to.
Even so, over the years, I’d come to see why Grinnick had loved his little brother so much.
Idris was a good soul, gruff at times, but kind when it counted.
In spite of the wedge between us, he was one of the few men I had respected among the Valiant—not just because of his relation to Grinnick, but because he was a man of courage and honor amongst a host of villainous cowards.
I hadn’t really known why I’d felt compelled to warn him about the Valiant rebellion and the knights with blank Fates, nor why I’d come all this way just to ensure the safety of near strangers.
After helping him escape the Well of Fate with Anya, I supposed I found his devotion to her inspiring.
Unconditional love was a rare thing. I recognized it in Idris—in Noble, too—the same way I recognized it in myself, toward my family.
If there was anything I valued over my freedom, it was that.
“I don’t mean for Waldron to be threatened,” I told him. “I don’t mean for any of the small towns along the Wend to be at risk.”
“But they are,” Idris said, and the plain truth of it made me flinch. “So long as Heris acts unchecked, no corner of Fenrir will be safe. You will not be free. You know that, don’t you?”
I did. It was the part of the plan I didn’t want to consider—a bridge I’d planned to cross when I came to it but couldn’t stand to face any sooner.
Heris’s goal was to expose the Lord’s corruption, kill him, and break the Order of the Valiant.
The ensuing chaos—a dead sovereign with no heir—was our plan of escape.
But even if Heris stayed true to his word and set me free, Fenrir would still be destabilized, and the Valiant would still haunt every corner of this land.
My fist clenched in my lap. “I won’t let that happen,” I vowed. “I won’t. I promise you.”
Idris took up his ale again. Drank deep. “You’re a skilled woman, Mariana, but even you can’t make a promise like that.”
With a sudden and defensive fury, I sat forward and tugged my collar aside, revealing my Oath tattoo—the black band that he had once bore, too, before the Well of Fate and some other mysterious magic wiped him clean.
“I can’t save the realm when I wear this leash,” I snapped. “You must at least understand that.”
The shadows of the room caught on the wry tilt of his jaw, his contemplative expression. “I think I understand you more now than I ever have.”
I slumped in my chair, not knowing how to interpret his statement and not particularly wanting to. Whether it was a compliment or an insult, I didn’t feel I deserved it. All paths ahead of me were treacherous, dishonorable, doomed. I had to keep my footing; I had to keep moving.
Idris lobbed another log onto the fire, disturbing the dog and sending an array of sparks up into the chimney. When he resettled, his wry expression returned. “You seem different from your last visit,” he observed. “Softer.”
I scowled over the lip of my tankard. “Fuck you.”
“I don’t mean like Oderin. I’m talking about your demeanor. It’s a good thing.”
“How is that a good thing?”
“A harsh attitude leads to a harsh life.”
“I’d argue it’s the other way around.”
“My point is,” he said at length, “you seem happier.”
It was as if he’d found a gap in my armor and was prodding me in the ribs. I scoffed, dismissive.
“You haven’t threatened anyone. Your quips aren’t as cruel.” He leaned forward, fixing his blue-green eyes on me. “Could that have something to do with the man upstairs?”
“Even I know that it’s rude to threaten a groom on the eve of his wedding—but I’ll do it,” I warned.
Idris sat back again, chuckling.
“You’re softer, too,” I pointed out.
“I am,” he agreed.
My mind returned to Grinnick. As a boy, he had looked out for Idris, caring for him after their father died and their mother left.
It’s why he’d turned to thieving in the first place, how he’d fallen in with the wrong sort of crowd.
We’d bonded over that sense of desperation and responsibility.
Grinnick and I were among the few in the Valiant who sent reward money home to loved ones, instead of pissing it away on ale and prostitutes.
Grinnick had spoken about his little brother so much that by the time Idris took Grinnick’s place in the Valiant, I felt like I already knew him.
Of course, by then, whatever connection Idris and I might’ve cultivated had already been severed.
I didn’t blame him for hating me over what happened to Grinnick; I hated myself for it, too.
“I still miss him,” I murmured.
Idris didn’t ask of whom I spoke; he already knew. “Me too.”
I stared at the dazzling orange glow within the coals, my cheeks hot. “He would be happy for you,” I said thickly. “Happy to see you settled.”
Idris laid a hand over his heart, tapped it twice. “I like to think he knows.”
I licked my lips, gulped more ale, and faced him. “I never said sorry to you, for what happened,” I rushed out. “I failed him. I failed you. I…” My voice went high, and I broke off. I’d failed myself, too, but Idris probably didn’t care about that.
“Why did you run?” he asked. “When you saw him cut down. Why didn’t you stay?”
“There’s no excuse.”
“I want to hear your logic.”
There was a lump in my throat—hot as the coals in the fire—but I forced myself to speak around it.
“I was young and afraid, barely surviving,” I began.
“He kept stepping out of line and I couldn’t stop him—his rebelliousness was starting to endanger me, too.
So, when he was cut down…I had a split second to choose: him, or safety.
That kind of fear makes a person do selfish things. ”
What I didn’t tell him was that I also hadn’t wanted to watch Grinnick bleed out in my arms. I hadn’t wanted to face my failure to protect him. It had been selfish of me to run, impossible for me to stay, and agonizing either way.
I shook my head, knocking an errant tear loose. I swiped it away, hoping Idris see. “He loved you very much.”
“He loved you, too,” Idris replied.
It was an accusation, a gift. It fed a flood of grief in my chest, dousing the heat of my emotions, and I let out a watery breath. “It feels like a dream, what we had. Hazy. Unreal. Too good to last.” My chuckle was brittle. “We didn’t stand a chance.”
“Why do you say that?”
I gestured at the room, the circumstances, the man missing from our lives. “Love is a weakness to be exploited.”
Idris was quiet for a while. Contemplative. “I used to believe that, too,” he said finally. “But here’s what I didn’t know before I met Anya. The Valiant, the monsters, the Lord…love is the only thing that can overcome the evils of this world.”
“You really believe that?”
“You’ve seen me here.” Idris finished his ale. Stood. Stretched. Wicker roused, too, attuned to his master’s movements. “Do you think I could believe anything else?”
I shook my head, knocking loose another tear—and letting Idris see it this time.
It seemed to alight something in him. “Go upstairs, Mariana,” he said with a smile. “Go challenge your beliefs.”
I wanted to argue with him. To tell him that whatever he thought I felt for Faren, he was wrong. That even if I did feel something, Faren was the type of person I could never have: kind, steady, humorous, principled. Far too good for a rogue like me.
But in spite of our history and shared grief, Idris and I didn’t know each other well enough for a conversation like that. So I leaned back in my chair, settling into the plush upholstery. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
There was pity in his smirk. “Sure, you don’t.”