Chapter 47
Elegy’s father always told her that if they were ever separated, she should return to the last safe place they were together. So when the alarms go off, and the press of the crowd separates her from Hela and Theren, Elegy fights against the flow of bodies to get to Tube Bar.
It’s empty, now, abandoned in a hurry by its manager—-there’s a half--poured beer under the tap.
All the strings of light woven between the tubes are set to blink at random intervals; the effect is dizzying.
She walks around the bar top, and hunts under the counter for a weapon, certain there has to be one stashed there.
Possession of a gun is harshly punished on Cedre Station, thanks to the catastrophic danger of a bullet hole, so when her fingers find the flat of a blade, she’s not surprised. She detaches a simple shortsword from the underside of the bar top.
Which is lucky, because when she straightens, there’s a man standing in the entrance.
He would look like an ordinary Cedrae, if she wasn’t attentive to details. He wears blue jeans and a gray T--shirt, Cedre--made. But the ring on his right hand is copper, a Talusar color, and there’s a black tattoo on the side of his neck. The mark of the priest.
He catches her looking at it, and lifts his hands to tie his straight black hair back, as if to show it off.
“Hello, Elegy Rosyk,” he says, in precise English.
The bar is between them; she’s trapped with a man who breathes Fever. The mask will protect her to an extent, but the longer she spends with him, the more likely an infectious particle is to penetrate the barrier. And it only takes one.
“Do you have a name?” She speaks in Talusar. “Or should I just call you ‘priest’?”
“I heard you were fluent in our language, but I confess I thought the reports were exaggerated,” he says. “My name is Nisov. We actually have a mutual friend in common. One of my flock, so to speak. Theren Forint.”
“Your flock.” Then it dawns on her. “Oh. You mean you infected him.”
“Such a crass way to describe the encounter with God, but I suppose you have been raised to that belief.” He pulls out a chair from a table near the door, and sits in it. “Please, sit with me. You’re masked, and I mean you no harm.”
“Masks aren’t perfect, as you well know.”
“Then sit at a safe distance.” He gestures to the table on the other side of the entryway.
Holding the shortsword in front of her, she inches around the bar top and backs up toward the table he indicates. She pulls the chair away from it, so her path to the market is unobstructed, and sits.
“So paranoid. I’m not a soldier, you know.”
“I’d be a fool to think every Talusar who wasn’t a soldier couldn’t fight.”
“I suppose that’s true.” He folds his hands on the table in front of him. His fingernails are trimmed and buffed, a sign of a softer life. “This place—-this station—-is a marvel. I didn’t think I would ever get to see it, for obvious reasons.”
“Well, they keep you locked in a monastery like a very fancy prisoner.”
“That’s why I volunteered for this mission. A one--way mission, in all likelihood, alongside one of Rava Vidar’s lessers. The one who failed to catch the so--called Hope of Cedre when she was escaping House Vidar,” he says. “Ranos Kavad.”
Elegy straightens. Ranos, who attended her interrogation in House Vidar, who Theren almost—-but not quite—-killed, is here on Cedre Station?
“I thought this place was worth seeing.” Nisov gestures to the market, now eerie and empty, its stalls toppled, its colorful wares broken and spilled over the throughways. “My task was to simply be among your people and give the gift of the Fever to them—-”
“You can’t possibly believe you were sent here to give Cedre a gift.”
“—-but I had another task, one that would be more difficult to complete. I was to deliver a message to Larke Rosyk.” He smiles a little. “But then I saw your face in the market, and I thought, ‘even better.’ ”
“Why?” Elegy snaps. “You think I’m more merciful than my sister?”
“I think you know more about the Talusar, because your sister’s experience of us has been more . . . intellectual. There’s no education like a Scout’s education.” His eyes are cold. “Which means you will understand the consequences if I am killed.”
“You came here as a biological weapon.”
“That’s not how the Talusar will see it.
If you arrest me and punish me for my supposed crimes, my people will see only that the Cedrae executed one of their holiest people.
Someone it’s illegal to even touch without their permission.
And for those Talusar citizens who are tired of conflict with Cedre—-and there are many—-the death of a priest will galvanize them to support open war against your people. ”
Elegy’s jaw aches from clenching it. She stares at the tattoo on the side of his throat. It’s the Talusar character for “breath,” an elegant tangle of lines.
“You and I both know,” Nisov says softly, “that you won’t be able to persuade the Sword of this. She will have me publicly executed in the aftermath of this quarantine, for her own political gain.”
“You know what?” Elegy says. “Fuck you.”
Nisov smiles. “I assume that means you know I’m right.
So here’s what I propose: I’ll deliver my message to you, instead of your sister.
Then you will peacefully escort me to an escape shuttle, and send me on my way unharmed.
I will return to Valla with your response, as well as with a tale of the compassion and understanding I found at the hands of our enemies. ”
The alarm, so piercing when it first went off, has faded to the background.
The Fever is on Cedre Station. No matter how stringent the quarantine protocols, it will still spread. It will decimate—-or worse—-the population of this station. They won’t be in a position to defend against the full might of the Talusar military. They can’t afford to invite Talusar wrath.
She swallows hard. And nods. “But you have to wear a filtration mask on your way to the escape shuttle.”
Nisov’s smile widens. “A lovely compromise.”
“What’s your message?” Elegy says. “We don’t have a lot of time.”
Nisov crosses his legs at the ankle. He doesn’t look like someone who’s been hiding for two days. He’s clean and well--kept. Someone here must have hosted him. Which means there’s at least one traitor on Cedre Station.
“Rava Vidar has made you a generous offer,” he says. “An offer of permanent peace between your people and mine, which she will present to Emperor Talus when you agree to it. With her mother’s support and Ykev Talus’s support behind her, she believes he will be easily persuaded to accept it.”
Elegy has never been more aware of her heartbeat.
“After this crisis on Cedre Station is dealt with, you will relocate your Earthbound population to the continent of Austra,” he says.
“You will be permitted to maintain your quarantine in peace. But you will submit to the authority of the Talusar empire.” Nisov’s eyes soften.
“There will be no more war. No compulsory ‘infection,’ as you call it.”
The offer brings a sour taste to Elegy’s mouth. Cedre has already surrendered the vast majority of the globe. Now Rava Vidar asks them to surrender more? To give up their autonomy, their freedom?
But she’s been staring down the point of a sword for her entire life, knowing that if the Talusar wanted to obliterate Cedre, they were more than capable. This offer is generous, for Rava.
It’s also utter bullshit. The Cedrae and the Talusar have had treaties before. They brought a decade of peace, maybe more, before the fighting began again.
“What’s the catch?” she says. “What does Rava want in return, apart from the ceding of Losan and Nusanta, which we both know she could simply take if she really had that much support?”
“She wants you to return something to her. Something you stole.” Nisov uncrosses his legs, and leans toward her. “Theren Forint.”
Elegy is tempted to laugh. The idea of Rava allowing a treaty to hinge on one person, any person, is so absurd it doesn’t seem real.
But she knows it’s not just whatever twisted affection Rava feels for Theren that drives her to make this deal.
It’s the promise of the augurs, that if Rava can stop Theren from boarding the Sundial, she can stop Cedre’s victory.
She who moves the fulcrum—-
Suddenly Elegy feels like an augur herself, seeing down a potential path.
If Elegy was the sort of person who would hand Theren Forint over in exchange for peace—-peace without freedom, but still peace—-then she would be helping Rava Vidar fulfill her prophecy.
By moving Theren, Rava would be moving the fulcrum. Controlling the outcome.
But Elegy is not that sort of person.
“I’m supposed to give you a return message, right?” Elegy says.
Nisov nods. Elegy sees movement in the market beyond—-two people walking around the corner. Two familiar people, bloody and disheveled, but unharmed. She meets Theren’s gaze across the space that separates them.
“Please tell your commander only this,” she says, without looking away from him. “She will never lay a hand on him again.”
Hela rushes toward her, slowing only when she realizes Nisov is there. Her eyes catch on the symbol on the side of his throat. She whips her head around to stare at Elegy.
“What’s going on?” she says.
Nisov has come to his feet, too, and he’s approaching Theren, whose hand tightens around the sword he’s carrying—-oddly delicate, for a Talusar sword, and recognizably a Vidari artifact, thanks to the decorative vines that make up the foil.
But he doesn’t move, not even when Nisov brings a hand up to touch his face.
“Look at you,” she hears Nisov say. “So strong with the Fever.”
“Stop touching me,” Theren says.
“Make me.” Nisov’s eyes twinkle with amusement.
Theren steps back, out of reach. He looks at Elegy.
“Again,” Hela says. “What’s going on?”
“We’re escorting this man to an escape shuttle unharmed—-and untouched,” Elegy says.