Terms of Surrender (14 page)

Of all the people Anakoni expected to find standing at the foot of his gangplank, the rat-girl from his doomed voyage on the
Fairwind Muse
was probably last on the list. Her hair was still a cropped, tangled mess, but she’d cleaned up otherwise, and that fancy armor couldn’t have been cheap. Then his gaze drifted to the woman on her left, in round glasses and a dress with a high, furred collar. And how close they stood to one another.

Hmph
, he thought,
looks like I was right about her tastes
.

“Anakoni?” Mari said. “It
is
you! Do you remember me?”

He inclined his head. “Impossible to forget. Seems like everyone from that voyage is coming back around to Mirenze. First it was—”

He fell quiet, biting his tongue.

“First who?” Mari asked.

Anakoni shook his head. “Nobody. I…thought I saw Felix, in a crowd, but it wasn’t him. What brings you to the docks?”

“Passage,” Nessa said. “Everyone says the
Iona’s Sunset
is the only hauler bound for Winter’s Reach, and we need to get there.”

“We can pay,” Mari added. “And you know I’m a hard worker.”

He took a deep breath, glancing up to the ship. And to the forecastle, where a burlap curtain fluttered behind a porthole.
Felix
, he thought as his jaw tensed up,
this is no time for a reunion. Stay out of sight
.

“Can’t help you,” he said. “Not unless you’re willing to wait a week or so. We’ve had a…a problem with a load of cargo. It’s late, and the
Sunset
isn’t going anywhere until it gets here. I wouldn’t take the overland route either, not unless you want to contend with the Empire.”

“Empire?” Mari tilted her head. “What do you mean?”

“You didn’t hear? Two companies’ worth. Their quartermasters resupplied here before the whole lot started marching north.” Anakoni pointed. Across the harbor, uniformed marines in black and gold hauled crates onto a sleek cutter. “See that? That’s the
Mongoose
. She’s normally a pirate hunter, but the Imperials called her and a few warships into service. I got to jawing with their first mate and he spilled the beans. The Empire’s making another go at taking back the Reach.”

Mari and Nessa shared another look. Mari’s face tightened.

“How long ago?” she asked. “When did the soldiers on foot leave?”

Anakoni shrugged. “Just this morning. Why do you want to go back to that place, anyway?”

Mari glanced at Nessa.

“Family reunion,” Nessa replied.

*     *     *

“Why
now?
” Mari said, hustling through the streets at Nessa’s side. “Isn’t there supposed to be a crusade in the east? Why would the Empire send troops to Winter’s Reach while they’re supposed to be fighting the Caliphate?”

“One possibility occurs, and it’s not a pleasant one. The crusade may be struggling. Do you remember what they did the
last
time a crusade began to fall apart?”

Mari’s eyes widened. “The Misery. They’re trying to get it back.”

“History is a wheel. We keep making the same mistakes over and over again.”

Hopefully not including present company
, Nessa thought.
If Mother can’t help me control that damned rock without killing myself in the process, this was all for nothing
.

Muskrat’s voice emanated from inside Mari’s pack, but only Nessa heard her speak. “
Let me worry about that. Just get us there in one piece
.”

“An army only marches as fast as its slowest man,” Nessa said, “and two can be faster on foot than two thousand. Let’s catch up and see what we’re dealing with.”

By late afternoon, hiking across the northern fields and putting the towers of Mirenze behind them, they did just that. Standing atop a hill, washed in cold sunlight, they stared down at the Empire’s war machine. Blocks of men, their long pikes stabbing at the sky, each unit with a tasseled flag on a towering pole. Behind them, carts and wagons laden with supplies for the long journey north. And trailing behind, like a swarm of fleas, the camp followers: beggars and musicians, cooks and courtesans, anyone who thought they could pry a few coins from a bored soldier’s pay purse.

“Most of that lot will vanish once the weather turns foul,” Nessa said, pointing down at the followers. “For now, though, they’ll offer some protective cover. Let’s get closer.”

As night fell, the army—snail-slow as it was, the commanders keeping their troops good and rested—ground to a halt. Tent poles lifted and cook fires burned, and the hard daylight line between the military procession and the camp followers began to blur as staff sergeants politely looked the other way. By midnight, the line was nonexistent. Nessa and Mari strolled through the rear encampment, listening to moans of pleasure and fevered grunts echoing from moth-eaten tents and the hands clapping as a circle of drunken soldiers around a campfire encouraged a dancing lute player.

Up ahead, their prize: the supply tents and wagons. Not an easy challenge, though. Guards walked between the canvas walls, on constant patrol through the night, making sure no one got any ideas about helping themselves to the Empire’s precious cargo.

“Easy enough to slip inside,” Mari mused, “but loading up a wagon and getting away…I don’t see how we can do it.”

Nessa glanced about, brows knitted. Then a slight smile rose to her lips. “I do. Wriggle in there and gather up anything we’ll need for the trip. I’ll be along directly.”

As Mari sprinted for the supply tents, keeping to the shadows and ducking her head low, Nessa sauntered over to one of the camp followers. A merchant with a cook pot and a wall of wire cages lined with straw at his back.

“How much for one of those chickens?” she asked, fingers dipping into her coin purse.

Mari watched the patrols, holding her breath as she worked out their timing, and made her move. She raced to the back of one supply tent and dropped to her belly, lifting up the heavy canvas and squirming underneath. She pulled up her knees fast at the sound of boot steps, slipping her feet inside and letting the tent wall dip back into place. Safe.

She squinted, her eyes adjusting to the darkness. Crates and steamer trunks filled the tent from end to end, overflowing with the basic fuel of war: rations, kindling, furs for the winter cold, and lamp fuel by the barrel, even crates packed with stout wooden snowshoes. She picked and chose, thinking fast, gathering up armloads of gear and setting them down as softly as she could at the front of the tent.

She froze as the tent flap slid open. Nessa. She poked her head inside, her left hand leaving a bloody smear on the canvas where she held it open. “Done yet?”

Mari nodded. “Think so.”

“Good.”

Mari scooped up supplies and followed Nessa outside. A wagon waited at the mouth of the tent, pulled by two tall and sturdy chargers with ivory coats and full, fluffy manes. Mari’s gaze drifted to one side. To the two guards lying sprawled on the dirt, unmoving.

“Are they dead?” she whispered.

“Sleeping. Hurry up, load the wagon.”

By the time she finished, the wagon was full to bursting. Enough supplies to get them safely to Winter’s Reach. She hoped, anyway. Nessa waited for her up on the driver’s perch. She passed the reins to Mari.

“Slow now,” Nessa said. “Slow and easy.”

No shout went up as the wagon rattled away from the encampment, no alarm bells in the night. Still, Mari’s tensed shoulders didn’t relax until the campfire light dwindled into nothingness. Fireflies at their backs.

*     *     *

Hood pulled low, her cheeks and chin pale in the moonlight, Viper strolled through the rear camp. Either her prey had come in this direction, or they soon would. A long ride lay ahead, hundreds of miles of forest and brutal cold, and the temptation of helping themselves to the Imperials’ supplies would be too much to pass up.

“Sure, she was here,” said the merchant, nodding at her careful description. “Maybe an hour ago. Bought one of my chickens.”

Viper smiled.
Imagine that
, she thought.
Cattle selling chickens
. Another one of the cattle, this one wearing a soldier’s leathers, drunkenly stumbled up to her as she made her way to the supply tents.

“How ’bout it?” he slurred. “Five coppers?”

She arched an eyebrow, the serpentine scales at the corner of her eye glittering. “Five coppers?”

“You an’ me.” He gestured between them, bleary. “Swallow, an’ I’ll throw in an extra coin.”

The tip of her tongue flicked over her sharpened teeth.

“What a romantic proposal,” she said. “But…can we do it in there? In the tent? It’s so cold out here.”

“Yeah, yeah, fine,” he said, awkwardly twining his arm around hers and half yanking her toward the supply tents. “I can get us in. I’m an important man around here.”

“Well, then,” she replied with a smile. “Let’s go have some fun together.”

*     *     *

The engines of war always needed fueling, and the more an army could sustain itself, the smoother it ran. By night, the Imperial encampment sent out patrols in all directions. Scavenger teams. Their job was simple: scrounge up anything they could find, from firewood to fresh-killed game, and bring it back to the storehouses before first light.

“Can’t believe we pulled this duty for a whole week,” grumbled one soldier as he crunched through a thicket of trees. “Scavenge by night, march by day…when are we supposed to
sleep?
”

His partner, clutching a bullseye lantern that flashed a beam of light across the crooked trees, shook his head. “Maybe you should have thought about that
before
you commented on the captain’s daughter.”

“He just assumed it was an insult! Maybe I’m
attracted
to baboons’ asses. Did he even ask? No.”

“Eh, quit grousing. Let’s just scrounge up something we can bring back and maybe we’ll get a couple hours’ shut-eye.”

Keh-hoo
, echoed a sound from the trees.
Keh-hoo
.

“What is that? Nightjar?”

The soldier with the lantern shook his head. “Don’t think so. Some kind of night bird, but never heard its like. Get your sling. Maybe we can peg one and see if it’s edible.”

Keh-hoo. Keh-hoo
.

“It was over this way. Sounded close.” The soldiers tromped through the thicket side by side, honing in on the sound.

The lantern’s tight beam swung upward and fell upon the source.

There were people in the trees all around them. Perched on dead and rotting boughs. Luminous eyes behind masks of pallid bone. Watching them. Waiting for them.

“
Keh-hoo
,” trilled a man in a beaked mask and pointed an accusing finger down at the two soldiers.

Then the figures leaped down from the trees, a silent swarm, and the night grew claws and teeth as the lantern tumbled to the forest floor. Its light snuffed out in a heartbeat.

*     *     *

Another wagon rattled through the night, skirting the long way around the Imperial encampment.

“Before the forests,” Fox said, “there are miles and miles of nothing but open expanse. That’s where we’ll catch them.”

“And then what?” Hedy replied. Half expecting to catch the back of his hand for asking.

“I’ll take the Owl. You kill her ‘knight.’ The girl’s nothing but cattle, you should be able to manage that. And if you can’t, it just proves you were unfit to begin with.”

“
Hungry
,” groaned the Dire Mother.

Hedy felt the comforting shape of her stolen garrote, hidden beneath her skirts.

Soon
, she thought.

Amadeo and King Jernigan were like twin moons in Livia’s orbit. Always in proximity but keeping their distance, circling the one person who brought them together. Amadeo wasn’t entirely sure if the king knew his name. So when a breathless messenger hand-delivered an invitation to dine, it came as some surprise.

And not a little concern.

The king’s dining hall was a drafty chasm, twice as wide and three times as tall as it needed to be, with a feast table forty feet long and a hearth so big they’d mounted two stag heads over it.

“My grandfather’s design,” Rhys said with the slightest shrug of embarrassment as he rose from his seat at the far end of the table. “It’s impressive, when it’s full. When empty…it’s very empty.”

Amadeo bowed at the waist, trying to ignore the sudden twinge of pain in the small of his back. “Your Highness.”

The king waved his hand. “Please, call me Rhys. It’s just us here. I thought we might have a drink before dinner. You’re not a teetotaler, are you?”

“The grape is one of the Gardener’s most versatile gifts,” Amadeo said, “and I enjoy it in all of its forms.”

Rhys laughed. “Good man, good man. Try this. It’s a Carcannan vintage. Delicious.”

He gestured for Amadeo to take the seat beside him and poured dollops of blood-red wine into a pair of silvered goblets.

“I must admit my surprise,” Amadeo said. “I didn’t think you had any reason to take notice of me.”

“You’re our new pope’s confessor, are you not? That makes you a man worthy of my notice.” He lifted his goblet. “To Her Holiness.”

Amadeo mirrored the gesture, though the words felt hollow on his lips. “To Her Holiness.”

“You were Benignus’s man, too, weren’t you?”

The wine was strong and rich, hinting of raspberries and dark, earthy loam. Amadeo swallowed a sip and nodded.

“That was my honor and my privilege, yes.”

“So.” The king scrutinized him over his goblet. “What’s your take on our newly minted pope? Is she her father’s equal?”

The question couldn’t have been more leading. Amadeo felt like the floor was covered in concealed bear traps, waiting to snap shut on his ankles.

Worse, after what he’d discovered about her, he honestly didn’t know how to answer that question anymore.

“She is…headstrong and…nearly fearless,” he said, measuring his words one at a time. “She may make a bold leader, once seasoned by time and experience.”

Rhys took a deep breath, his brow furrowed.

“May I speak frankly, Father, and in your confidence?”

Amadeo opened his hand. “Of course.”

“I have concerns about her…stability. She’s making some rash decisions—
dangerous
decisions. For instance, well, you were there at her coronation. You saw it. The woman’s first act as pope was to authorize an
inquisition
. There was bloodshed. On the cathedral floor!”

Amadeo bit back a surge of anger.
The inquisition you ordered her to start, so you could steal some land
, he thought.
Except you don’t think I know that
.

“I have no idea,” he said, forcing the words out, “what Livia was thinking. I can tell you, in confidence, that I found it a reckless and foolish thing to do.”

Rhys smiled.

“My other guests should be here soon,” he said, clapping his hands twice. “Drink up. Don’t make me finish this bottle all by myself.”

Amadeo sipped his wine and contemplated the king. Then the feast-hall doors swung open and three new arrivals joined the party.

“I believe you know Cardinal Yates and my advisor Merrion. This stout gentleman at their side is Byvan; he represents a coalition of concerned business interests.”

Amadeo straightened his back, casting his gaze across the three men as they took seats on the opposite side of the table.

“Concerned?” he said.

“The Holy Mother’s decisions have resulted in grave repercussions,” Merrion said. “The remnants of House Argall have gone on the offensive, thanks to the order of inquisition. They’re attacking our troops. Striking at the safety of our walls.”

Byvan scowled as he put his forearms on the table, leaning in. “Yesterday, an ore shipment from the highlands was looted. Burned. Nothing left. And that’s to say nothing about how much
money
your so-called pope is costing—”

Merrion put his hand on Byvan’s shoulder. A slight shake of his head. The guildmaster fell silent.

Clear as daylight
, Amadeo thought, glancing at the king.
Your little scheme backfired, and now you need someone to pay for it. Anyone but you
.

“It seems peace could be reached fairly easily,” Amadeo offered, carefully keeping his expression bland. “I’ll talk to Livia and convince her to rescind the order of inquisition. We can restore the captive Argalls’ freedom and give back anything we might have confiscated from them, and all will be well.”

He took a little pleasure in watching Rhys’s face tighten.

“Impossible,” Merrion said before Rhys could open his mouth. “The rebels have made it clear: nothing less than Livia’s death will be compensation for the family members they lost on her coronation day.”

Amadeo gave a tiny shrug. “Well, then it appears we’ve come to an impasse.”

Byvan’s eyes were piggish stones, his voice a lethal growl.

“
Have
we?”

Amadeo paused a moment.

“When it comes to apologetics,” he said, “I very much enjoy reading the works of Hasenkamp. A brilliant mind, and he never buried dense theological concepts under allusion and flowery metaphor. Very much a believer in plain, straightforward talk.”

Rhys lifted his goblet and took a swig of wine, then slapped it down on the table.

“You want straight talk? Try this: Livia’s a disaster. Thanks to her, I’ve got rebels in the hills and rebels in my coin purse. According to
this
shiftless dung heap,” he said, pointing at Byvan, “I’m on the verge of a full-scale tax revolt.”

“Several banking families are openly contemplating a move to Verinia, to see if they fare better under Pope Carlo.” Byvan smirked and gave Rhys a mocking bow. “My lord.”

Yates crossed his arms over his chest. “The College of Cardinals is drafting a resolution of protest as we speak. She’s changing too much, too fast. Claiming authority that wasn’t hers to begin with.”

“You speak of our pope,” Amadeo said lightly. “What authority is not hers to claim? Please, be specific.”

“That’s not the—that’s not the
point
,” Yates said, flustered. “Who do you serve, Father? Livia or the Church? Who did you swear your vows to when you took your greens?”

It was the sort of rhetorical trap a first-year seminary student could see coming, but Amadeo let himself walk into it anyway. “The Church, of course.”

“Then think about what’s
best
for it. Livia’s days are numbered, and if she falls from grace, so does the Itrescan Church. Leaving Carlo as the only contender for the throne, except
he’s
ineligible. So what happens when Carlo is removed from power by his own people? Chaos. A power struggle I can scarcely imagine—and scarcely want to.”

Amadeo hated to admit it, but he didn’t want to think about it either. Ending this schism with the collapse of
both
branches of the Church would be an utter disaster. He knew the nest of vipers in the Holy City would loot the treasury dry when they weren’t busy stabbing each other in the back for the empty throne—with Cardinal Accorsi at the head of the pack. Things in Itresca wouldn’t be much less grim.

He folded his hands before him.

“What’s your alternative?”

A shared glance between the four conspirators. None of them wanting to speak the unspeakable. Merrion took a deep breath.

“If Livia were to be assassinated, before the damage grew too great, it would solve every one of our problems. Peace would be restored. Her more…reckless reforms could be quietly rolled back, and we could place a stronger man on the throne. One who can lead the offensive against Carlo and heal the Church.”

“I know she’s your friend,” Rhys said, “and you’re loyal. I respect that. But she
is
on her way out, Father. You need to ask yourself: how do you want her to be remembered? As a hero? The holy woman who led the fight to save her people, only to be cut down in her prime? Or would you rather the history books call her a tragic mistake who held a short and failed reign and drove a spike into the Church’s heart? It’s your choice.”

Amadeo stared at his wine goblet.

She truly is on her way out
, he thought.
She’s dying. Or…changing. She says she can control it. But can she?

Gardener forgive me for even asking the question…but are these men right?

“I’ve made discreet inquiries,” Cardinal Yates said. “
If
Livia is…removed, and promptly, there would be widespread support for an immediate call to canonization.”

“Canonization,” Amadeo echoed, his voice hollow.

Yates nodded. “Saint Livia. Would you like that, Amadeo? She would be remembered as the greatest of women. A giant in the pages of history. You can make that happen for her.”

“We can’t get at her directly,” Merrion said, “not with her Browncloaks watching her like hawks every hour of the day. But a friend, someone close to her, could lure her to a secluded place to speak in private.”

Rhys reached over and put a firm hand on Amadeo’s shoulder.

“You wouldn’t even have to get your hands bloody,” he told him. “Just lead her to the right spot. We’ll do the rest.”

Amadeo swallowed hard. He hated himself for the next words he spoke, even before they spilled from his lips.

“And…she wouldn’t suffer?”

Merrion shook his head. “Quick and painless. You have my word.”

Amadeo pushed back his chair.

“I need to think about it,” he said.

“Don’t take too long,” Rhys replied.