Chapter 6
Chapter Six
“Thank you,” I say as someone puts a fresh, hot coffee on my left.
I pick it up and the demanding heat soaks into my fingers welcomely.
I look up at Tahira to flash a grateful smile.
The light of the High Chamber washes her face with rippling colours of yellow and orange, which jump against her warm complexion and makes the stud in her nose twinkle.
“I wanted one too,” Tahira says, holding her own mug between her hands. “You’ve been at this nonstop since you got here five hours ago. Haven’t taken so much as a sip of water.”
I shrug, blowing on the warm mug and inhaling the delicious aromas.
The High Chamber is filled with a din of low conversation, the rustling of papers and the creaking of wood furniture.
I stretch out my back and stand away from the large table, my gaze falling to the maps sprawled over its surface.
The proposal Maggia and Otta have put forwards for the emergency housing is fantastic, planning out temporary schooling, medical centres, food halls and even public bathing and washing facilities.
My only concern is time implementing it, managing costs and expectations.
“Sorry, I hadn’t realised you’d been waiting around for that long,” I answer apologetically.
“No need to apologise. You’re looking after your people,” Tahira answers.
I flash her a grateful smile and rub the back of my aching neck.
I close my eyes for a moment and take a deep breath.
That aching turns into a familiar, smouldering burn.
It pries a short, sharp breath from between my teeth.
I refuse to turn around, knowing exactly who’s responsible. My throat tingles, my mouth goes dry.
Idris has assumed his usual gloomy position by the farthest wall, leaning against the creamy stone with folded arms. He glares at the proceedings without uttering a single word. His silence is infuriating. His continued pouting tantrum is painful, humiliating and infuriating.
I refuse to acknowledge this frankly childish behaviour. I refuse to beg him to do his job as Electi – if he would rather deny the people of this city his contribution just because I’m Maestrus, then he isn’t the man I thought he was. The man I thought I—
I step back from the table and face Tahira properly.
My eyes drift over her shoulder, catching on Lysa.
Once again, her dress is simple in design, but the expensive wine-coloured material and exquisite work of her seamstresses make it the most opulent dress ever created.
She’s smiling and chatting with Bashran.
He leans against a gilded column, a grin on his face as he gives her his entire attention.
Lysa tosses her dark hair over her shoulder, and Bashran seems absolutely riveted.
Of course he is. She’s utterly enthralling.
I smirk into my coffee before taking a deep swig.
“Right, so give me your opinion then. How are the Halician forces doing?” I ask, clearing my throat as I look at her. Tahira sighs and gives a shrug.
“Not terrible considering where they started.”
“Not enough?” I ask, reading between the lines. She sighs and shakes her head.
“No,” she says with finality, pressing her lips together as if there’s more she wants to say.
“Let me guess, your men aren’t too keen on fighting a losing battle?”
“We have faced bad odds before. But it can make morale a bit tricky,” Tahira admits. “But that’s my problem, not yours.”
“What can we do? How can Halice help?” I ask seriously.
“I’ll have to come back to you on that—”
“Tay!” Kaz’s voice cracks through the hall and I hear the rapid patter of small feet across the black and white marble.
Like a rocket he races away from Taio, past the throngs of people going about their business and skids to an abrupt stop by his big sister.
Grinning from ear to ear, he holds up the prize in his hands.
“Inside voice, Kaz,” Tahira reminds him with a kind smile.
“Sorry,” he says sheepishly, the young prince giving the most adorable grin, before turning to me. “Hi, Renza.”
“Good afternoon, Kaz.” I chuckle in response. “What have you got there?”
“It’s a puzzle box!” Kaz grins, looking at his new treasure with rapture. “It keeps special things safe. We found it in the city.”
“A puzzle box, hmm? Do you like puzzles?” I ask with a grin. He nods brightly.
“Kaz is really good at puzzles,” Tay answers warmly. “If only he’d turn that brilliance towards his studies, maybe he’d have a better grasp of history or the Desert Voices.”
“Desert Voices?” I ask, confused.
“Languages of the various countries and tribes that live in the deserts around Coari,” Tahira explains quickly but waves it off as inconsequential.
“History is boring,” grumbles Kaz with a pout.
“Then you’re not listening properly,” I tease.
“History is filled with incredible stories about problems and puzzles and the people that either solved them or failed. Wars or sicknesses or trials that they had to face, the puzzles of the real world. Their responses teach us lessons, sometimes giving us the answers to the puzzles we face today.”
“But teacher never tells me that.” Kaz frowns.
“Maybe they did, you just weren’t listening the right way.” I shrug and give him a wink. “Try listening like that in your next lesson and tell me if it’s any more interesting.”
“That sounds fun, right, Kaz?” Tahira encourages as Taio walks over.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Taio says and smiles in greeting to me. “I’ve been called to an urgent case I suspect won’t be pretty and thought it best to bring him to you rather than leave him in that house alone.”
“Of course.” Tahira nods. “Thanks, Taio. Anyway, Renza, as I was saying, I have been thinking about where you want this battle to take place when it happens.”
When it happens. Because it’s a foregone conclusion. My blood runs colds, but she’s not wrong. So much bloodshed, so many fates and futures determined in one bloody, brutal display of violence. All of it hanging on me.
“Have you conversed with Savino on this?” I ask, hating the slight crack in my voice.
“No, but we’ve sent scouts out to see—”
Leone hurries over, an open letter in his hands.
“Sorry to interrupt, is this true, Renza?” Leone asks, holding up the letter. I turn to him and realise half the hall is listening to this exchange. I step away from Tahira, nodding my apology. I face Leone and offer him a polite smile.
“Is what true?” I ask, making sure to speak directly to him but I enunciate clearly enough that no one has trouble understanding me.
“The Maineri Bank has ceased all trade with the Holy States, across every Independent State?” asks Leone.
“Some of my associates have written to ask if I had any warning. Apparently, your family members banded together and used their influence to convince all the Independent States to cease all trade with the Holy States entirely? Apparently, it started sharply yesterday. Absolute hard stop on all trade? They’ve closed the Faith Pass too. Nothing is entering the enemy State.”
The room went very quiet waiting for my answer. I smile and nod, setting down my coffee cup with a little thud, testing to see if the silence will hold. It does.
“It’s true,” I answer. “The Holy States will find no allies on this continent. They stand alone.”
Quiet muttering fills the room at that. Eyes and opinions. Judgements.
“This isn’t like the time of the Holy War,” Maggia says with a frown. “The Holy States had time to store food supplies and develop their own agriculture. They can withstand this.”
“In the short term perhaps,” I answer simply, “but there are many, many reasons why this is a solid win for us.”
I’m not going to go into the many layers of this strategy in public, spelling it out for any traitors or agitators that have wormed their way into this building.
The Holy States still imports over thirty per cent of their food from the Independent States, which is now not happening.
Their stores will run out. Absolutely no trade will cripple their economy, which in turn will lead to people turning on the Holy Mother.
The cardinals that elected her, that put her in power, stand to lose everything.
Every wealth and luxury they have ever known will evaporate because of her war and her ambitions.
It will cleave them from her. Not to mention it loudly and undeniably demonstrates the fallacy that she is the supreme power in this continent.
Just because the Holy States are larger than every Independent State combined, doesn’t mean they are more powerful.
This reminds everyone at home and abroad of the last time the states stood together as one, and that we won.
“It’s brilliant,” mutters Savino, his eyes sparkling as he puts all the pieces together.
“This will make them really angry,” Maggia counters.
“What are they going to do? Invade?” Savino answers sarcastically. “They have murdered and blockaded and tormented our city for too long. Did they really expect there wouldn’t be consequences?”
The entire chamber erupts into conversation.
The eyes, the questions, the immediate dissection of my actions and unsolicited judgements.
Every word is an assault. I swallow, throat thick and chest tight.
My heart gallops, throbbing behind my eyes and ringing in my ears.
The lead weight that wraps its cold tentacle around my neck squeezes tighter and tighter.
I look around, my eyes catching on a door.
A door to the stairs that leads up to the roof.
An escape. A way out. I take a step backwards, ringing consuming my ears as I turn.
I fight to keep my pace normal. I walk, battling to keep my breath even.
I refuse to blink as that will let the water pooling along my lash line escape.
It’s as though I’m walking through treacle until I reach the door. I push it open, collapsing backwards to shut it behind me. I gasp, body held up by the closed doorframe. There isn’t enough air in this city to fill the hole in my lungs as I bend over my knees, entire body quaking.
Tears fall from my eyes as I fight the galloping of my heart, which threatens to shatter my ribs and explode from my chest. My fingers close around my throat, as though I can pry it open and allow more air in.
I force my hands away from my throat and suck in a sharp, hard breath. Control my breathing, control my heart, control my mind. Mind-stilling. I am in charge. I am in charge!
I force myself to fight the screaming in my lungs and take a long, slow breath in through my nose, hold it, then blow out through pursed lips. I repeat it again and again and again until my heart starts to slow.
I do that over and over, forcing myself to focus on it and nothing else. My face is hot and my hands tremble but I ignore it. Bent over, leaning against the door, I practise mind-stilling. Focus on what I can feel.
The wood of the door is dry beneath my fingers The fabric of my dress is silky and smooth. The stone is cool and refreshing against my bare arm.
Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.
A knock interrupts my scramble for peace.
“Renza?” comes Tahira’s voice from outside. I let out one last breath and wipe my face, ensuring any trace of water is gone.
“Yes?” I call back lightly. I open the door and give her a smile.
“You good?” she asks, brow furrowed slightly.
“Oh, yes. Just needed a minute of quiet peace to think about next steps,” I answer, faking a calm brightness that rots away at my organs. “All that racket was difficult to think over.”
“Alright,” Tahira answers, pressing her lips together. I don’t think she buys it. “Well, do you want to talk about the scouts?”
“Absolutely. Let’s talk about the scouts.”