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Chapter Sixteen - Theo

T he rebels’ hideout is sad. Theo has seen worse, certainly, at prisoner of war camps. But there, at least, in the pockets of borders between the South and the North, the guards were armed. Here, the Siacchians wear kitchen knives strapped to their belts and strut about like they’re carrying the biggest sword in the city.

“Linne has made it a criminal charge for a Siacchian impyassi to be caught with any blade longer than the length of a thumb. And no, there is little point in us conducting raids to get more weapons. Not when none of us know how to use them and our people would have to face down trained Kiterans,” the old woman, the Toula, Theo learns she is called, explains upon his arrival. She smiles knowingly at him. “Later, after you’ve schooled them all in the way of warfare and whatever it is you Kiterans think about, come find me, yes?” She winks and even squeezes his cheek before she vanishes into the group.

Theo tries not to stare after her in bewilderment. The last person who touched him so maternally was his own mother. His fingers rises to brush against his cheek, still warm from her hand.

“Our camp is built to keep children on the outskirts, so they can be the first to flee,” Damian explains as they walk. He restrains his long, dark hair with a leather tie.

Theo’s lip curls. Shoving all thoughts of the Toula aside, he takes the rebel base in again, closer now.

The camp sprawls like a descending target, with the center sinking deepest into the caverns. Overhead, stalactites drip onto clumsily erected tents. Each structure is made with cloth so threadbare, Theo catches glimpses of the haunted faces of the occupants.

Children run about at the highest level of the camp, barefoot and dirty. Their mirth is muffled, and when they see Theo and Damian, they instantly hush, returning to thin, tired parents.

Three men and one woman stand at the entrance to the cavern. They are large, and their scowls speak to intimidation, but the awkwardness of their stance quickly banishes any threat. They both nod as Theo and Damian pass, giving Theo a long, lingering glance, taking in his clearly Kiteran clothing.

All are impyassi. All are – based on the weak scent of their beasts, only slightly stronger than what Luka’s scent was – untrained.

Damian continues to murmur as he and Theo descend the steps to the heart of the settlement, but Theo pays him no mind; he’s explaining the other bits of logic behind the camp. Reasons as to why the latrines were dug into the top layer (“it’s easier for our elderly to reach them”), talk of the meeting room kept at the center (“so our people know where they can look for inspiration”), and other bits of pure nonsense.

It’s only when Theo learns that they keep their source of water three levels below the latrines that he can’t take it anymore. “Are you all looking to die from cholera?” he hisses, matching Damian’s own hushed voice.

Damian pauses mid-sentence. He looks back at Theo, and at first, Theo reads his furrowed brows as a look of anger. But after closer observation, Theo realizes the man is amused.

“I said the same thing,” Damian murmurs, “when I first arrived.”

“Is there some sort of logic behind it?”

“No.” Damian shakes his head. “Some of the people in charge were just unwilling to believe the word of someone who so terribly failed the Bombani Exam.”

Bombani Exam. Luka mentioned the test his people forced their children to take to assess intelligence before.

“Was there anything else you advised upon arrival that your… leaders… ignored?” Theo asks.

“Moving our weakest people to the center of the camp –if we’re discovered, it’s unlikely any of us will escape. If they’re kept at the heart, we can at least see they die humanely.” Damian continues in his same quiet, hushed voice, speaking low enough that the people around them wouldn’t be able to hear. “Obviously moving our latrines away from the camp, as you’ve so succinctly pointed out. Hiding where our leaders meet.” He ticks the points off on his fingers.

“And Xyla didn’t listen to you?”

Damian snorts. “Xyla does what she can, but a woman so closely associated with Abraxi nobles can’t easily bend the ear of impyassi lower-caste.”

Theo looks at the towering man before him with new respect. He inhales again, ignoring the scents of human waste, fear, and body odor.

“You’ve changed shape before,” Theo says. “And recently.”

Damian’s eyes narrow minutely. “You realize,” he says. “I’m taking an enormous risk bringing you here.” He abruptly turns to the side, three rings before they reach the lowered structure at the base of the camp and pauses before an empty, slumped tent. Before Theo can ask what he’s doing, Damian reaches inside and pulls out a bundle of clothes.

“Obviously there’s nothing I can do to disguise that accent of yours,” Damian says as Theo unfurls the clothes. They are simple Siacchian robes, a few shades lighter than the embroidered tunic and trousers Damian wears. “But this will keep them from immediately calling for your death.”

Theo wrinkles his nose. The robes reek of onion. “Is there a reason you didn’t think to give me these before you paraded me past your poorly trained guards?”

Damian grins. “I hadn’t decided if I liked you enough.”

When Theo lifts his lips in a half-snarl, Damian continues, “Besides, you’re filthy enough that they likely wouldn’t have recognized you at first glance. That’s why they haven’t outright attacked. Yet.” He shrugs. “Your accent will make it clear who you are, though.”

“Don’t expect me to keep my mouth shut the whole time,” Theo growls.

Damian bears his teeth, though the expression looks less like a snarl and more like a grin. “Xyla wouldn’t have sent you here to sit and be meek and silent. I expect you to guide us, Theodori Hunter Wolf-Born. We are obviously not strategists, and untrained minds, no matter how brilliant, can only accomplish so much.” His expression sharpens. “You might have failed at the siege of Cesscounthe –yes, we have all heard of your loss –but I think you can make a recovery here, don’t you?”

Theo yanks off his furred robes, bearing his muscled chest to the flickering flames of the cavern. Damian looks straight ahead, providing a modicum of privacy.

“I think I can make more than a recovery,” Theo says after he’s drawn up the trousers. They are, embarrassingly, a little long. It’s only after he’s pulled on his heavy boots and rolled up the waistband that they fit. “I’m going to help you impyassi win this war –win this city –for your people.”

“Good,” Damian says. “But save your speech for when I introduce you to the Toula’s husband.”

The Toula’s husband, as it turns out, is a sour old man who resembles nothing of the sweet woman who pinched Theo’s cheek and now, in his memory at least, smelled faintly of gingerbread. No, Brigard Rightess is hunched and frowning, and his expression only darkens as Damian leads Theo inside the structure built at the lowered base of the rebels’ camp.

Colored candles flicker at the corners of the erected tent. The hard packed dirt floor is crowded with sweating bodies, the air musty and warm despite the winter raging outside the tunnels. Theo wipes sweat from his brow as he joins Damian at the back of a crowd of almost two dozen people. The Siacchians murmur in low voices, words lost to the masses, but the nervous, darting looks in their eyes make it clear they are waiting for news from Brigard Rightess.

The tension in Theo’s shoulders eases slightly when he sees the Toula standing at Brigard’s elbow. Her eyes catch Theo’s, and her lips quirk in a kind smile.

Theo takes careful stock of the crowd; most of the people are young. Old enough to understand the impyassi deserve more rights than Linne Lockehart has allowed them, but young enough to believe a violent uprising is the best answer. There are more men than women, and nearly all carry those same tiny knives, at the sight of which Theo must muffle a snort

Really, what do they think they’re going to do with a blade that length? Shave?

Brigard raises his hands, and the room instantly quiets. He wets his lips and says, “We have already wasted too much time determining our next steps. Now is not the time for further discussion, my people. We must act –before Linne Lockehart and our leaders can sink their fangs deeper into our young.”

Theo glances at Damian. Damian presses his lips together and whispers, “Leadership has taken some children who failed the Bombani pre-tests and made the knowledge public. We haven’t seen them since.”

Theo closes his eyes and tries not to think about Luka’s little brother. Cassian is safe. Cassian has to be safe.

“We can’t move foolishly!” one of the few women cries. She brushes dark braids from her face as she squares her shoulders. “Each move must be calculated. We are facing down the best and brightest of Cesscounthe.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Brigard says. His deep voice easily carries across the tent.

“We have suspected that the Bombani Exam tested more than intellect. We are not fools, us impyassi , for all that Siacchi tries to prove us wrong. For all that, for so long, we found ourselves agreeing with them, stepping on each other so we might raise ourselves high enough on the backs of our own people for the privilege of simply licking their boots. But the Bombani Exam does not test for intelligence. It tests for one thing and one thing only: our beast.” He clenches his fists. “Lies made to make us small.”

The man’s face changes minutely, the shadows deepening across his cheeks and under his eyes as his jaw lengthens and his teeth sharpen. He doesn’t seem to notice this change, but his audience is all too aware, shifting and murmuring in concern.

“The Bombani Exam was always designed to test if we were impyassi . We were never meant to pass,” the man says, and the people’s murmurs rise to a roar.

Brigard raises a hand, waiting until they quiet before he continues, “We cannot let ourselves be cowed by them any longer. If we had acted sooner…” He tucks his chin to his chest. “We might have kept them from taking our children.”

Silence grips the tent. The people lean toward Brigard, listening for his solution.

“We will take their capital first,” Brigard says. “They are above violence –that’s why they always relied on our hands to deal out their dirty work. Without our aid, they are capable of nothing – nothing! They don’t even know how to clean their own houses.

“We know what their homes look like. We know what their stronghold’s lacking defenses are. We overrun them –and we establish control. After their leaders have been all captured, we will speak to the masses. They have been blindly led thus far, but once we establish control and use reason – ”

At this, Theo cannot contain a loud snort.

The noise is as loud as an avalanche in the quiet tent. All eyes swing toward him.

Damian, for his part, stands straighter, but does not back away from Theo’s side.

Brigard narrows his eyes as he takes Theo in. “Young man,” he says. “I don’t know your face –who are you?”

Damian grunts something under his breath, but Theo ignores it. “I’m the person who’s going to help you win this revolution.”

Quiet, awkward laughter sputters around the tent. Some shift, ears pricking at the sound of Theo’s accent. Brigard frowns. “I wasn’t aware we needed your help. Who are you, stranger?”

Theo’s beast stirs. But before his anger can draw fur to his skin, Theo calms himself.

How would Luka speak to this man?

Theo builds his argument with bricks of logic. He tries to mimic Luka’s voice, the rolling Siacchian dialect. “What are you planning on doing with the Council leaders after you’ve captured them? Keep them alive, and their supporters will never give up. Kill them, and you’ve turned them into martyrs.”

The muscles in Brigard’s jaw flex. “You cannot think us to be as bloodthirsty as the Kiterans,” he says. “We would never kill – ”

“And have you taken the remaining Kiteran soldiers into account?” Theo continues as if Brigard hasn’t spoken. Though he has yet to see any hopiar left behind, Octavian wouldn’t leave Cesscounthe without guards, and Linne isn’t a big enough fool to have them all murdered. “Do you think they’ll stand by casually as you murder the leader who helped them establish control?”

“We are planning on making these movements subtly –”

“And are you planning on subtly getting the attention of your people without catching the eye of the Kiteran soldiers?”

“... your people?” Brigard repeats. “I’ll only ask one more time, young man – who are you?”

The crowd parts now, creating a clear path between Theo and Brigard. Theo clears his throat, prepared to deliver the truth, when the Toula places a wiry hand on Brigard’s chest, drawing his attention to her.

She leans close to whisper something in Brigard’s ear.

Theo remains quiet, holding Brigard’s gaze as he listens to his wife. A long moment passes before Brigard speaks again.

“What is your plan here, stranger?”

Theo’s victorious grin make its way through his defenses despite himself. He drops any attempt at the Siacchian dialect. His lips quirk as he says, “I’ll tell you here and now, but this isn’t a plan we can complete by tomorrow.”

The whisper of Kiteran rises, but Brigard hushes the people with a look.

“There are children on the line,” Damian says from Theo’s side. “Are you saying that we should wait?”

“Of course not,” Theo grinds out. “But if you want to win with this revolution, you’re going to need better weapons than butter knives and conviction.”

“And how do you recommend we do that?” Brigard says, his face growing more and more unkind with each word. “I don’t think you understand our situation, stranger. There were already few weapons in Cesscounthe before this happened. Now they’re nearly impossible to find.”

Theo shakes his head. “ You are a weapon, Brigard Rightess.”

Silence.

Theo continues, “You’re all weapons. You’ve just spent so much time quieting your beast, you’ve forgotten that those fangs and claws can be used for something better than self-loathing.”

“And you’re going to train us how to use our beasts in time to stop them?” Brigard says.

Theo raises his chin. “Yes,” he says. “I am. Because I am Theodori Hunter Wolf-Born.”

Gasps catch like flames.

Damian presses closer to Theo, acting as a human shield to hold back a man and a woman who lunge forward, faces turned into masks of anger.

“Cease!” cries the Toula at the head of the tent. “Listen to what the man has to say.”

The tent quiets, though it continues to crackle with barely restrained anger.

Theo acknowledges the woman’s efforts with a nod. “I have threatened your home in the past,” he says. “But I come to you now as an ally. I understand the weaknesses of your city. I have laid siege to it, and I know how to bring it down.”

His words seem to only fan the flames of the people’s anger, so Theo rushes to continue, “I am also a Wolf-Born. I was brought into this world wearing the skin of my beast. I know it as well as my human flesh. I know its powers and weaknesses, and I can teach you how to use your own abilities to save yourselves. To save your people.”

“How can we trust you?” Brigard asks.

“Because though borders separate us now,” Theo says. “We are the same, at our heart. We are beasts. And the ways the West has treated you is wrong.”

The answer isn’t enough. The crowd closes in around him, voices blending into an angry, bloodthirsty murmur. Theo closes his eyes and finally adds, “And my heart-mate’s brother will be killed if I do not intervene.”

Theo gazes out at the crowd. How did I get here? whispers a small voice. Here he is, planning to breach Cesscounthe’s walls in an entirely different way – all to save Luka’s little brother. All to save the very people he once planned to kill.

Flashes of the moment that led him here – Octavian at his side as Theo cut his way through Siacchi, the first moment Luka walked into his tent as Theo thought him someone else –

The first moment Luka won that Ravage match, eyes bright with violence, and Theo felt himself slip, just a bit, as he gazed into the man’s brilliant blue eyes, and realized that perhaps there was more to this world than victory and failure.

Their first kiss. Theo’s loss. The deserts, Cathalan’s prison, the bitter north and Jennison’s death.

All to lead him here.

“I fell in love with one of you,” Theo says. He will earn these people’s trust, just as he earned Luka’s. “Luka Lockehart was my – my prisoner, until I realized he was my mate, the one always meant to live in my heart. I realized I had been seeing the world wrong, blinded by glory when I should have been seeking love – seeking peace.”

The angry woman at his elbow blinks, taking a step back. The man at her side still frowns, eyes bright with mistrust – and interest. Interest Theo can work with.

“Since the siege, I have been with Luka Lockehart, fighting for Siacchi’s peace.”

Murmurs rise. Good. They recognize Luka’s name. It had been a risk to mention him with his connection to Linne Lockehart, but Theo had hoped Xyla had spread the word of Luka’s true impyassus nature.

Theo continues, “I made a mistake, yes, but I am here to fix it now. And make no mistake: I have suffered. I was betrayed by my closest confidant –”

Octavian’s eyes, so cold and sharp as he revealed he had sided with Linne Lockehart instead of Theo.

“ – imprisoned by my greatest enemy –”

Cathalan’s wicked grin as Theo wilted against the bars of his prison.

“But I am going to fix things. We both are – Luka is coming as fast as he can to help.”

Theo braces, waiting for angry human hands to descend. But when no blows come, he opens his eyes.

The crowd has drawn back. They are waiting.

“How do we know this is not a trick?” one man asks. “How do we know your people aren’t waiting to take our city back once we’ve overthrown our own leaders?”

“I can answer that for you,” the Toula says in a calm voice. Heads swing toward her as she approaches Theo, ignoring Brigard’s grunt of disapproval. “Give me your wrist, my boy,” she says.

Theo extends his hand toward the woman, confused, but unafraid.

“Here,” she says, taking his arm. Her fingers are dry and cool. “I can feel for his pulse. Slow, steady.” She inhales deeply. “It increases in speed when he lies. It remains constant when he speaks the truth.” She gazes at him with clear eyes. “Speak your truth, Theodori.”

“I am not here to hurt you. I am here to help your people retake control of this city.” Theo slowly repeats his message, methodically.

The Toula’s face remains scrunched with concentration long after Theo has finished. Finally, she says, “The Kiteran speaks the truth.”

The crowd’s opinion shifts. They eye Theo with new understanding, a sort of glowing hope that fills Theo with a ridiculous giddy joy.

Theo steps toward Brigard. He only needs to convince their leader. Then they will all fall into place. “All I need is six days.”

Six days for Luka and the Kiteran armies to arrive. Six days for Theo to try his best to fix the mess here.

Six days.

The people stare at him now, assessing. They take in Damian’s too-long pants and the worn spots around Theo’s knees. They trace the lines on Theo’s face and the scars on his hands.

“Six days,” Theo repeats. “That’s all I ask for.”

Brigard’s face darkens. He looks out, to his people, his eyes searching. Though he receives no verbal response, when he meets Theo’s gaze again, the answer is clear in his eyes before he speaks.

“Six days,” he says. “We will give you this, Theodori Hunter Wolf-Born. But know this –if this is a betrayal, even if our people are destroyed here, we will haunt you, and our offspring and their offspring will haunt you, from living into the afterlife.”

“No need for threats,” Theo says. “Six days is all I need. I will deliver on my promise.”

Probably.