Page 66

‘It is brutal enough as it is,’ said Elo, before another round of questioning could begin.

Instead he looked to Gods Commander Hovan, the supposed leader of the godkillers who had signed up to the king’s battalions.

He was a big man, in a fine blue cloak with the veiga symbol on it, but he did not seem to have any opinions to volunteer, only sounds of affirmation if Peta spoke.

‘Have you any proposals on how we undo Hseth should she be summoned, Commander Hovan?’ Elo asked. ‘Assuming she will be summoned, we will need a plan to protect ourselves, damage her, kill her if we can.’

The veiga cleared his throat, looking at the canvas ceiling, the map, then to Peta for support. She gave him none. ‘Briddite doesn’t hurt her,’ he said at last.

‘It stops her,’ said Elo. ‘It sticks to her.’

‘That’s not enough. She does not act like a god, like she has will or intention.

She acts like a demon.’ He shivered. ‘If we can’t use briddite, there’s nothing the veiga can do.

I have been directing them as soldiers under Commander Peta’s advice.

We can only hope they don’t summon her. Or that the message of Gefyrton spreads and the Talicians start to doubt her. ’

‘What a load of shit.’

A voice from the doorway made them all look up, and Elo saw a sight he had hoped for in all the weeks since she had left.

Kissen stood at Lady Craier’s side, wearing a fine cloak of green with fresh-sewn pockets all up the inside, pockets filled with knives, chains, and trinkets, judging by the heft of it around her shoulders.

The freckles across her cheeks and nose had intensified with the sun, her burns shone pale.

She wore a chestplate of Irisian scaled leather and metal.

Just as enthralling and dangerous-looking as when they had first met.

‘Ho, baker-knight,’ she said.

‘Talician,’ whispered Peta, hand going for her sword as Arren’s heart flared bright.

‘Oh piss off, stick up your arse,’ said Kissen.

Elo took two steps towards her and threw his arms around her neck, all decorum lost to the rush of terrible, overwhelming relief at seeing her here, in Middren. She had come back. He felt another piece of tension ease.

‘You should have stayed away, you lunatic,’ he said as she returned the embrace, tipping back to almost lift him off his feet. She felt thick, muscular. And, even after the little time they had spent together, like home.

‘And let you get yourself killed? You know that’s not my way.’

He laughed, stepping back, and saw Inara standing behind them, Skedi in his smaller, meeker squirrel-size in his usual place on her shoulder. She smiled shyly, but he went to embrace her too and she laughed as he picked her up.

Oh, to be so overjoyed and so unutterably sad at once.

He didn’t want to put her down, he didn’t want Inara to look between him and Arren and tell immediately what he had done, how close they were, when he had hurt her so badly.

He wanted to explain, apologise, stop time and ask her not to hate him.

She had every right to hate him if she chose. Kissen too. Though it was possible she’d just give him a knowing nod and a clap on the back.

He couldn’t decide which was worse.

He put Inara down at last and looked down at her mother.

‘Don’t even think about it, commander general,’ she said.

‘I am not in a hugging mood.’ There was a touch of humour in her voice, but she had slight bruising across her nose and eyes, and a split lip that looked barely healed.

Kissen too, beneath her new shine, looked more than a little worse for wear.

So, their journey had not been as smooth as they had hoped.

Lessa looked past him, towards the war council. There was a moment of pause, a pulse of fear, like the prickling sensation before lightning struck. Then she moved past Elo, and went to one knee, bowing her head.

‘Thank you for your patience, King Arren,’ she said towards the ground.

‘The Irisians have sent a fleet to your aid, and have been advised of your commands. We have Mitha Bahba, Mitha Sosul and Mitha Aslani to thank for their help. The rest of the council … took some convincing. But they are now in agreement, and broke the treaty of Belhaven to offer Middren their assistance.’

She didn’t move from her knee, and Elo heard some muttered approvals from other council members. The look on Alianne Yether’s face, in particular, was one of admiration.

Then Elo realised. Bahba. It was not an uncommon name in Irisia, but …

‘Your mother is quite some woman,’ said Kissen quietly.

‘She’s on the Mithrik?’ he muttered. ‘But she’s a trader. She calls them pompous asses.’

‘She wouldn’t be the first one to say one thing and do another.’

Elo looked at her sideways, and she gave him an innocent smile.

‘What have you offered in return, Lady Craier?’ asked General Elemni suspiciously.

‘New trade deals at the expense of Restish,’ Lessa said, still on her knee.

Elo looked at Arren, realising she would not stand till the king told her to.

‘They will have a large section of the harbours of Weild and Blenraden, which will be re-established as a port and its remaining gods cleared or remedied. Given offerings enough to survive.’ Methsme, Peta and Elo looked towards Arren, who did not blink, did not approve, but did not deny.

For a moment, his eyes found Elo’s and slightly, almost imperceptibly, he nodded.

‘An Irisian–Middrenite blockade will be formed on the western pass of the Trade Sea,’ Lessa continued.

‘All goods are to be taxed at Wsirin, the profits split.’

To have come in so ready for dissent, she must have been listening for the right moment. Or, more likely, Skedi had. The god looked well. Softly groomed and steady, his antlers gleaming white, the offerings on them shiny and clean.

‘Also …’ she said, though Elo detected some degree of reluctance. ‘A shrine. To be built to the god of safe haven.’

‘No,’ said Methsme. ‘No new shrines. We need no god of the Restish traitors. One god belongs in Middren. One.’

Lessa levelled a gaze at her. If she recognised Methsme as one of those who had killed Tarin, she said nothing.

Inara, however, scowled ferociously; Elo had no doubt that she had made the connection.

Still, the girl guarded herself better than Elo expected her to.

She did not appear intimidated by this great gathering of Houses, generals and king, but it seemed she had learned some wisdom on her journey.

‘I did not realise,’ said Lessa coolly, ‘that the king had grown another mouth.’

‘Methsme,’ said Arren, ‘if you have nothing to offer but spite, you may leave.’

She whirled on him, her face flushed bright and angry. ‘You dismiss me? It is my songs that make your story, Sunbringer. My voice. Mine. Not your Houses, not your pretty knights, not your generals and maps and planning. Me.’

‘You forget yourself, cleric,’ said Arren. ‘Do not climb further than I raised you.’

Methsme shook with anger and humiliation.

‘You are no god yet,’ she spat. ‘Before you are whole, do not forget those who have been most loyal to you.’ She glowered at Elogast, then strode straight between him and Kissen, her stained white skirts floating out behind as she marched out of the door. Peta stared after her.

‘Charming,’ said Kissen.

‘Lady Craier, thank you,’ said Arren, and Elo knew that despite how much he hated her, he meant it. ‘You may rise. I owe you a thousand debts for this great service.’

Lessa stood gracefully, and she and Arren looked at each other, eye to eye.

Arren’s expression was somewhat beseeching, and Elo knew he was wondering how to ask her to absolve him of what he had done.

Lessa’s face was inscrutable, her poise complete.

Whatever Arren offered her in return for her forgiveness, he would never have it.

Lessa turned, and went to acknowledge the other Houses in the room. Arren watched her go, his expression closing. Then he turned to Kissen.

‘Veiga,’ he said.

She blinked, surprised at being addressed.

‘You know a way to kill the fire god?’

The gods commander scoffed. Kissen smiled at him. Dangerously. Her gold tooth flashed.

‘Kill her?’ said Kissen. ‘No. But we can fight her. Big gods, you see, aren’t so bright. And new ones have few tricks.’