1. ONE #2
“Allegiance is a mirror.” Perhaps if she could convince the doctor, she could convince herself, too.
“Opportunity presented by those with allegiance only to their pockets will find opportunists with allegiance only to their pockets.” Drogus’s lines worked every time.
The doctor’s hands were very deep in his pockets now, his spine pulled straighter than the riggings.
When they were uncomfortable, it meant her delivery was just right.
“I offer a lifestyle and an identity that doesn’t shift based on aesthetic martyrdom.
I offer loyalty, and they crave it like mossers crave their high.
True loyalty, Doctor. Do you know how much a man must pay for that? ”
“A great deal, I am sure.”
Definitely a sellout. “Nothing.” She lifted her chin. “And yet, when a man returns to Creation’s fire, it is the only thing that matters. That is the culture I build among my Ghosts. They would die, unblinking, if I asked them to, and when their contracts end, they will stay.”
“And your Ghosts… will they strip the oligarchy from their seats?”
Why was it that those who sought revolution feared the steps to achieve it? Fankalo narrowed her eyes on Doctor Relna until he blinked. “That sounds like a conspiracy, Doctor. My Ghosts have far more important work to do.” Enough theatrics for one day. “For that, they require nutrition.”
He cleared his throat and nodded.
“As I understand it, fifty percent of our agreement has already been deposited into your accounts in Seraphinden.” She'd shelled out big money for him to betray them. That cost had felt reasonable before Calver’s demolition failed.
“You will not release any proprietary information on the Ghosts or our objectives. You will remain an obedient servant to the Shadewalker and me, his Hand, and you will be provided for and treated with respect.” Disclosures had become so routine, she could do them in her sleep.
“I understand. Am I to… sign a contract?”
“Remove your shirt and kneel.”
The doctor stumbled as he removed his tunic—trimmed with more enamel and fringe than clothing had any right to be—to take a knee. She repressed a scowl.
“The Ghosts do not draw contracts on paper. Our bodies are our contracts.”
The doctor nodded.
Fankalo removed her knife and flipped it once in her hand. “Do you agree to serve as an obedient servant to the Shadewalker for the next seventeen moons?”
Another nod—he knew what came next. “And what of when the term is over?”
Fankalo shrugged. “At that point, you may do or say whatever you wish, to whomever you wish. But remember, I operate in simple terms of legislation: break your oath, and I break your contract.”
He met her gaze. “I am ready.”
With quick, precise cuts, Fankalo carved the Ratka beneath Doctor Relna’s right collarbone.
Three lines made the distinction between those she would trust and those she would kill.
Three lines through flesh and sinew, causing red to brim over skin and cling to metal, tinging the air with the acrid tang of copper.
The doctor clutched a trembling hand over the mark, his hands quickly stained crimson.
She cleaned the knife with his ridiculous tunic before sheathing it, watching him closely.
He would not be the first to faint; she would think no differently of him if he did.
Fascinating, really, how the external composition of a man could change by something so simple as seeing his internal composition where it could no longer sustain him.
She tossed him the clothing to staunch his bleeding. He hesitated before sullying its perfect stitching against the wound.
“Welcome to the Ghosts,” she said. “This decision will benefit your children for generations to come.”
Doctor Relna rose onto steady feet and gave a slight bow. “Thank you, my queen.”
“Very well. Now, I think it’s fair that we get to know each other with the short time that I have. I value transparency in those I keep close to me. We may ask two questions each. I will go first.”
He swallowed. “What do you want to know?”
She'd already researched the man intensively. He'd been carefully selected for his role: respected enough to be listened to, guaranteed to double-cross them. “What are your children’s names?”
He tensed. “Surely you already know?”
Fankalo let him squirm in her silence, never losing eye contact. Outside, the waves broke in gentle heaving sighs against the hull, and the highsun horn blared on the shore of the Rollard Isles before he dared to speak again.
“I have three daughters. Susha, Irina, and Meylene.”
“Creation has blessed you, truly.”
“Yes.”
“I will have names embossed on the books delivered to them.” The plea in his eyes turned to glistening relief. “And now, you may ask me anything you wish.”
Relna was slow to open his mouth again. But when he did, he asked with confidence. “They all refer to you as ‘he.’ Moving forward, should I do the same? Is it a matter of keeping your discretion?”
Out of habit, she turned to the desk and picked up Calver’s lamp again, smoothing her thumb over its glass orb.
“He, she, they, Mesu, Sesu. All have their advantages. Their drawbacks. I choose to be—and I am—all.” Warring with instinct, she set the distortion lamp back down, hoping and hoping and hoping some more.
But unlike loyalty, she had yet to convince herself of the value of hope.
“I am the Hand to the Shadewalker,” she continued.
“The Groundlings call me the White Flower. Some call me the Queen of the Raiders. Most of the crewmen on the Rogue’s Rapture refer to me as Captain Keane.
And there are a half dozen other names for me.
” Those given by her enemies were the most amusing.
“You may address me as you choose, knowing that I am all of those things, and that your life is in my hands.”
Doctor Relna’s face was a windless sea, flat in a way that felt unnervingly similar to her brother’s.