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Chapter 18 ~ Failure Made Tangible

Dàibhid

“Have a seat, Lieutenant.”

Thick rain drops pelted the war room’s high windows as Lieutenant Phearson, the soldier from Onyx Watch, accepted my invitation, taking a spot to my right, Brí at my left. I’d asked her to join us; though the sellswords wouldn’t get this information until later, I needed a grounding presence during this meeting. It was part of why I’d called my sister back to Ardanna, after all.

“What news from Onyx?” I asked.

Phearson was a tall man, sitting lanky in the seat. He brought himself up before settling again, as though the size of the chair was an issue.

The grimace he wore suggested he was uncomfortable for an entirely different reason.

“Onyx received the usual reports of attacks from the cities under our care, same as the other fortresses, same as the nobles,” he said. “The city guards are being expanded, thanks to your aid, and it’s preventing any violence from getting out of hand.”

“What sort of violence?” I asked, wondering if the aid I sent was truly enough.

“Smaller-scale attacks, the likes we saw before Balor increased the severity. Frequent, but nothing like the capital. Shop windows broken, small robberies. Physical altercations.” He frowned, and I shook. My throat wanted to constrict, but I wouldn’t let it. Not yet. “The Keep has remained closed, as you know, so we don’t have an indication of what’s happening inside its walls. Glaochnamara’s city guard has a good handle on the situation, and Lord Decon has stockpiled so many sellswords into its ranks that they’re set for a large attack, should one occur. That said, everything there seems to be quiet.”

That lined up with Bryn’s account, and given Decon’s silence recently, I had to assume his worries had less cause to rear their head. “The coast and Tírdorcha?”

“The coast is being monitored carefully. It’s unclear how the Exiles are still getting in. A fact Commander Hirst sends her apologies for.”

I could hardly blame her; no one knew, no matter how hard we tried.

“Any theories?” Brí asked.

The lieutenant grimaced again, stretching the scar that ran across his left cheek and through his mouth. “Some. None that we included in the official report.”

Speaking of . . . “Did you bring the official documents with you?”

“Not the bulk of them, Your Majesty. With everything going on, Commander Hirst wanted this to be primarily verbal, to prevent information falling into the wrong hands. I had to memorize most of it before departing.” He pulled a letter from his satchel. “She sent this, though.”

Inside, along with sparse updates on Onyx’s territory, was the Onyx Watch seal, which only the commander had access to. It solidified her approval of Phearson for this delivery, and I was confident I could believe her word; her family had been targeted by the Exiles, her father’s ribs getting badly broken, preventing him from working. Commander Hirst had no love for Balor or his followers.

I placed the letter back on the table. “Tell me what’s not on the official report, Lieutenant. The theories about the coast.”

He looked at Brí. “Has the Stone Fortress any theories of its own, Commander?”

“Some, though I’m sure yours are more based in fact.”

I almost snorted. Since when did we had the luxury of dealing with fact when it came to Balor’s movements?

“We assume the Exiles are transferring ships partway through their journey from Doaríc and are landing at a port,” he said.

“What makes you believe that?” I asked.

“We can’t find where they’re coming from. The coast hasn’t seen any ships come ashore, Doaríc or otherwise. Nor have there been any wandering landing parties. And no cities have had an influx in new or unauthorized ships arriving portside, with none being Doaríc vessels, period. Which, many at Onyx believe, means the Exiles are coming into ports on ships already expected to land and that have likely been doing business in Cunlaran for years. I admit, I see the logic in that theory, even though I think it would involve bribing or partnerships with foreign vessels. Most at Onyx are more inclined to believe some of those expected ships have been stolen and commandeered by Exiles, and that the crews have been either dispatched or are out of a ship, though no news of that has reached us. We are still watching the coast, though, to be on the safe side.”

I mulled it over. There was logic in that theory—if we weren’t finding Exile ships but Exiles still arrived in Cunlaran, they had to be arriving in different ships, possibly with other passengers they could hide among. How that transfer or theft would work, I had no idea. But it was something.

“And what of Tírdorcha?” I asked.

“Soldiers have been requested to aid Tírdorcha for the last few months.”

“They have.” The last letter I received from Lady Umber had requested more numbers for Tírdorcha’s city guard, too. Onyx, being the largest of the fortresses and the one closest to it, was the logical solution.

Phearson frowned. “Lady Umber has been heard saying it’s still not enough. She’s gone and hired sellswords as a temporary solution.”

My breathing hitched. Of course what I provided wasn’t enough. It never would be, so long as Balor was a threat. At least she had the means to hire sellswords. Still, I gripped my chair’s arms tighter against my rising anxiety.

“She’s also banned anyone but guards and her sellswords from carrying and bringing in weapons without rare official approval, but it hasn’t solved the main issue. There are attacks still happening, many along the city’s port,” Phearson said. “It’s unclear if that’s to make us believe that’s where the Exiles are landing, or if it’s a cover for the real thing.”

“They’d need more than outbursts at the port and rebels stirring up violence to make either plan work,” Brí said. She met my eyes, and my breath stalled altogether.

If Balor wanted us to believe Exiles were landing in Tírdorcha, a functional ruse would need living, breathing Exiles. It didn’t matter if that was where they were landing or if it was a ruse.

They’d be in Tírdorcha no matter what.

“The problem is we can’t tell if there is more violence in Tírdorcha, or if Glaochnamara simply has theirs more under control,” Phearson said, oblivious to my internal struggle. “They could be equally hard done by.”

“Balor wouldn’t risk alerting Fenwald of his attacks,” I said, not believing Glaochnamara was in much danger. The more I considered it, the rasher that choice sounded. Balor was many things, but rash was not one of them.

“Perhaps,” Phearson said. “All that said, Tírdorcha does seem the hardest hit in the north, besides perhaps the Keep.”

Was it too easy? Were we falling into some sort of trap? Maybe that didn’t matter. Despite my anxieties, I had to admit—we hadn’t had this good of a lead in a while. “Was there more to the report, Lieutenant Phearson?”

“No, Your Majesty. I’m sorry I don’t have more.”

“What you provided is invaluable and greatly appreciated. You’re welcome to remain here for a night or two before journeying back to Onyx. We’ll have someone show you to a room.”

When he was gone, I sank deep into my seat and stared at the ceiling.

“Exiles in Tírdorcha,” I said.

“Exiles in Cunlaran,” Brí reminded me. “They’ve been here for a while now.”

I dragged a hand down my face. “Still, we never have any degree of idea where they actually are at any given moment. This is the closest we’ve gotten.”

“Then why are you so upset?”

I frowned. Why was I upset, beyond my inability to help Lady Umber more? This was the best lead we had. That should make me excited, or at least eager. Shouldn’t it?

“I suppose . . . I suppose knowing Exiles are here and knowing where they might be are two different things,” I said, thinking it through as I spoke. “If they’re likely in Tírdorcha, if that’s coming from a report from one of the fortresses, it makes it more tangible.” It gave my failings faces.

Brí scooted her chair closer, the legs grating uncomfortably against the stone floor until her knee knocked mine. “It might make it more tangible, but it also makes it easier to act on. We know where they might be. If Onyx’s theory is accurate, at least some Exiles are in Tírdorcha. You can send us there to get information. Actionable information you can use to prevent more violence and maybe get to Balor.”

I chewed my lip, drawing blood, copper touching my tongue. Brí’s You are listening to me, right? face was plastered in place, waiting for me to agree with her. I sighed, sitting up properly. Actionable. It was actionable. I needed that. I could focus on that.

“Alright. Yes. Actionable.”

“You can send us there this week, and we can—”

I held up a hand before she could get any further. “No planning until we talk to the sellswords. You’re a team. I have some ideas brewing, but until we’re all together, no coming up with anything without them.”

She shut her mouth, a line of frustration slicing down her forehead. “I have to say one thing, though.” I stared at her, willing her to know I was serious. “If there are Exiles in Tírdorcha, and we can get information from them, we may not be able to do it entirely peacefully, no matter how hard we try.”

My stomach dropped. If they used violence, it could not only draw attention to the team, it could alert Balor that we were moving against him, dragging the sellswords out of the shadows, making them known to everyone, putting targets on their backs. The room turned hotter and my palms sweat.

Brí grasped my arm. “I know you hate that idea.”

“That’s one way to put it. It would increase the danger for everyone involved—”

“Our jobs are dangerous, Dàibhid. You can’t hire a bunch of sellswords and an army commander and expect us to never lift our weapons.”

“I don’t expect any of you to never lift a weapon, I just don’t like the thought of you using violence to accomplish this goal.” I didn’t like the idea of them getting hurt for me.

“Do you honestly believe there’s another choice?”

I was about to say yes when I caught her stern look. It was so much like our mother’s that it shut me up.

“Balor is a violent man, Dàibhid. I understand if you don’t want to declare war, or go to battle, or use violence to get your way. I do. And I love that about you. It’s why our people love you.” I silenced a protest with a grinding of my teeth. “But you can’t always expect to reason with someone like him without playing a little dirty. He may care about his own people, but he and the Exiles clearly don’t care about ours. I’m not saying we go into this mission planning on using violence, or that we use it as our first resort or even give up on the idea of meeting Balor for diplomatic talks. I’m saying it’s likely we’ll have to use a bit of offensive violence no matter our intentions.”

I stared at the table, where I’d met with the sellswords almost two months previous, holding on to my list of goals. Find the Exiles, know their numbers and movements and plans, and learn Balor’s weakness. The line he wouldn’t cross. I still needed to do all of that, and now we were one step closer to it being a reality.

But did we truly need to risk lives? Did my subjects need to risk being in the crossfire? Did my new friends and my sister need to put their lives on the line no matter what?

Was diplomacy slipping away from me?

I took a shaky breath, moving past that thought. I couldn’t accept it, not yet. Not when it meant more than just trained professionals would get hurt.

“We’ll see,” I said. Brí frowned, but it was the best I could give her. “Meet me in the sellswords’ apartments in twenty minutes? And get Cianán there, too.”

I walked out before getting a response. I needed a moment to think over everything, especially the violence. Everything in me wanted to rebel against that possibility. It made my skin crawl, nausea rising, bitterness seeping into my mouth. If the violence increased in Cunlaran, how could my people ever forgive me? I was supposed to stop things from hurting them, not order missions that could endanger them.

The people will look up to you, my father would tell me. Do what you can to see them safe.

Gods, I was trying.

I found myself in the office behind the throne room with little recollection of how I got there or why I chose this particular space. Maybe because no one tended to frequent the throne room when there was no event or petition, and I knew I wouldn’t be searched for here.

I wandered over to the desk, and Balor’s last letter stared at me. The one that had come with a basket of muffins, like a child hadn’t died. Like the Leancormacs hadn’t lost their generational bakery.

I crumpled the letter, every correspondence I’d received from him flitting through my mind. His mocking words about the farmers. How he’d call me a farmer’s boy as if coming from such a lineage was shameful. How with each letter, he’d found some way to hit me where it hurt, pull at my guilt and my heartstrings and everything my mother told me made me a good person. A hot tear slid down my cheek.

He might have drawn on guilt, but he was the one hurting people. He was the one giving orders for the Exiles and their rebel allies to harm and destroy and kill . Despite how weary it made me, I had to admit—Brí was right. Balor may have cared about his own people, but he didn’t care about ours in the least. So if strategic—and unavoidable—offensive violence would prevent that monster from claiming more innocent Cunlaran lives, lives I had to protect no matter what . . .

Then I supposed we didn’t have much choice.