Page 27 of Soul Hate

P ancakes.

The sweet, mouthwatering aroma peels my eyes open, the world feeling like cotton wool around me. Blinking and scrambling for my bearings, I ease upright.

I’m alone in the abandoned upstairs bedroom of Alfieri’s safe house.

My stomach whimpers, demanding some of the delicious breakfast, the scent of which is currently wafting through the door. I breathe in that heavenly, sweet smell and stagger to my feet. Fate’s Fury, my back aches! That’s what I get for lugging a man through the sewers. I hurry through the doors, making the mistake of looking through the open door to Idris’s room.

Rubbing the sleep from my eyes I catch sight of the bed. I flinch, expecting to be hit with a now familiar wave of disgust and nausea. It doesn’t come. Instead I’m surprised to see the bed empty and perfectly made. You could bounce a coin off those crisp edges.

Where’s he gone now?

I hurry down the stairs towards the tiny, cramped living area. The promise of pancakes makes my stomach impatient as I stop on the bottom step. Everyone is sitting with plates on their laps, laughing and chatting. In the centre of the floor sits a stack of gorgeous, fluffy, golden discs. Right there waiting. Just for me.

“Morning!” calls Michelle from her seat next to Giulia.

“How? Is there a kitchen in this place I don’t know about?” I ask, hurrying over to Serra’s side as she holds up the plate for me. Emilia laughs, shaking her head. She sits with her legs curled up on the couch next to Alfieri.

“Nope. This is all Idris,” she says, waving her fork at the food.

“He went out for it?” I ask, before devouring my first forkful of food. This is heaven.

“He knows a lady up the street who let him borrow her kitchen,” says Alfieri.

“Wait, Idris made all this?” I repeat, shock colouring my words more strongly than they should.

“Right!” Michelle says. “Who knew?”

I pause mid-bite, the mix of flour and sugar suddenly feeling lumpy in my mouth. I swallow, eyes beginning to water.

“Just something I picked up in Nava Gao. I spent some time with a celebrated chef called Darwish Saeed,” comes that deep voice. I turn my head, catching sight of his golden head. He stands in the doorway to the courtyard, like he just materialised there. I force my eyes back to my plate, fighting the rising lump in my throat.

His gaze on my face feels hot, and not just in the way I’ve come to find familiar.

“Well, you picked the right breakfast! Pancakes are Renza’s favourite,” chuckles Serra. Her dark eyes lock with mine, raising an eyebrow expectantly. I throw her a withering look, stabbing my meal with more force than necessary. Michelle sets down my coffee for me.

“So. Plan. Surely you geniuses have one,” Michelle says.

“We don’t have long,” I say. “We might need a miracle.” Idris walks into the room, folding himself onto the floor far away from me. I stretch, trying to get used to the burning sensation in my eyes and fingers to let it settle. I take quiet, long controlled breaths. It works. My pulse starts to ease up.

“Well, I don’t think we can count on the gods after all this,” Idris says in good humour. “Besides, we’re Halicians. We don’t need miracles. Just hard work.”

I struggle to swallow, the pancakes turn to ash in my mouth. If the gods wanted to help us out right now, I certainly wouldn’t say no. I set down my fork.

“The army,” says Serra, staring down the silent bull in the room. Idris swears.

“Yeah, it does help things make sense. The stealing. The delay in taking power. I see the plan now,” Idris all but growls.

“Idris?” I push, waiting for his answer.

“Think about it this way. If we didn’t know everything we know now, how would it look? The Electi are murdered in a vicious explosion. Merely days later an army attacks the city?—”

“Wait, if Bellandi hired them, won’t the hired army tell people that?” asks Alfieri.

“No. It would be part of the plan for them to ‘loose’. They’ll probably be paid a fee for it. And even more to keep quiet,” Idris answers quickly. “Many will die but the army will be repelled, and thanks to Bellandi’s leadership and the brave Church Militia—on loan from a benevolent Holy Mother—they’ll manage to fight them off. They’ll even capture the insider who helped them do it, or they’ll paint Serra’s escape as proof that she was in on it.” Idris poses the all too believable story. “On the international stage, it’ll explain the massacre and paint the Church as the hero.”

“The rest is obvious,” I breathe. “More Militia will come to ‘protect us’ while Halice gets its High Chamber up and running again. The new Electi will be mere puppets of the Holy States and Halice will essentially become an extension of it.”

“Until, in a year or two, Bellandi will present a bill suggesting we join it formally, and the puppet government will vote in favour,” Idris finishes. “And how can the rest of the world argue when its own people voted for it?”

“It’s devious,” breathes Serra.

“It’s international politics,” I grumble.

“Wait? How does that explain the stealing?” asks Michelle.

“Private armies won’t fight without a deposit,” answers Idris matter-of-factly.

“Private armies?” Michelle quizzes as Emilia starts to gather the dirty cutlery together.

“Groups of mercenaries that come together and fight for gold,” Idris explains.

“But why take our money?” asks Emilia, frowning. “Stealing from us is surely more risky.”

“To keep it off the Holy State’s accounts. To keep it hidden. The Holy States can’t be seen to be invading another country, let alone buying an army to attack an ally. The international community would go into uproar,” I explain.

“Enough to help us retake the city?” ventures Serra hopefully.

I shake my head. “Not enough to start a war over an already lost cause, but probably enough that things could get very uncomfortable. Trade embargos, broken military alliances, lost trust and faith in the Holy Mother. They might even remove her and select a new Holy Sovereign.”

“All of which would be sour consolation prizes,” Idris sighs. “When will the army get here?”

“I don’t know,” I answer.

The silence is so thick, the barest whisper would shatter it. Emilia raises a trembling hand to her face as Alfieri leans over to comfort her. Serra leans back in her seat, eyes wide and mind far away. Michelle and Giulia link their hands together and squeeze tightly.

My heart could crack open. My friends, my family—terrified for their futures. In our city.

“I do know their name though,” I offer. “The Askerler Company.”

“Askerler,” repeats Idris like a shot. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, why?”

“I’ve fought with them before,” Idris breathes. “I know their leader.”

“Will your friendship turn him away?”

“No, they’ve accepted the contract. They have to fight, otherwise who else would ever hire them again? But if we can shut the city gates and get rid of Bellandi before they get here…” Idris trails off.

“Wanna share with the group, bud?” teases Alfieri, giving Idris a nudge.

Idris takes a deep breath. “If Bellandi is dead and the city ours again before the army gets here, I can argue that their contract is with our city and not Bellandi. I can argue that they have fulfilled their obligations and their contract is over. Essentially, I can try to convince them to go away without a fight,” Idris explains. “I know their leader, that’ll buy me an audience. But we need Bellandi gone before they arrive. If he’s still breathing, they are honour-bound to fight for him and they will.”

“How do you know this guy?” I ask without looking at him.

“We fought on the same side before, when I was in Coari.”

“Oh right, your time studying with the Princess of War,” I snort. Alfieri barks a short laugh, before immediately trying to smother it.

“Studying, was it?” he mutters as Emilia gives him a gentle elbow to the gut.

“We still don’t know when the mercenaries are going to arrive,” Serra says. “Closing the gates won’t matter if we’re too late.”

“Would any of our guests know?” Alfieri says, gesturing his thumb at the closed door. Idris shrugs.

“They might.”

“I see. So perhaps you and I need to … get to work?” offers Alfieri, clearing his throat and avoiding Emilia’s eyes as his hand falls to the dagger on his belt. I go still, examining the look on his face and the dark suggestive lilt of his tone.

Work on them he means .

I discard what’s left of my pancakes, stomach tightening. No, no, this is not who we are. Not who I am! There has to be a better way than … that.

“Wait, does Dorado or the nurse know you’re working with us?” I ask. Alfieri shakes his head.

“No, of course not.”

“Why?” frowns Idris.

“Well, what if we try something less messy first? A trick?” I suggest, getting to my feet. I brush off my hands and try to neaten up my hair.

“What kind of trick?”

“Can you create noise like stomping around and moving furniture? Like soldiers doing a search?”

“Why?” repeats Idris.

“Just … let me try something. Go, go on!” I gesture for them to hurry up. I walk towards the door. Alfieri lets out a surprised shout as the girls get into stomping on the floor. Serra gets really into it, barking orders like a drill sergeant.

I rattle the door loudly before opening it.

“Are you here?” I shout down, descending the dark, uneven steps. I grip the hard metal railing.

“Dorado? Dorado?” I shout. “Are you here!”

A crash comes from upstairs, the stomping seems to work as I get to the base of the stairs. Three doors face me.

“Dorado?” I shout, rattling one of the doors.

“Signora?” comes a weak voice from the other door. I race over, hammering on it.

“Dorado, are you in there?”

“Yes! Yes, signora, Fate’s Mercy, I’m in here!” he yells, relief giddy in his voice. I look around for a key.

“Stay there, I’m coming. We’ve found you alright.”

I see a set of keys hanging on the wall, and grab them. The second one I try turns in the lock and I push in to see Dorado…

Oh. Fate’s. Fury.

He looks terrible.

He lies on a bare cot, and an empty plate of food lingers in the corner along with a pot for his “waste”. His bandages are slick with old blood—probably from the medical treatment for that stab wound he got. He looks so pale and is covered in dirt. He crawls up from his position on the floor.

“Oh thank Fate’s Mercy,” he cries.

“Dorado, it’s okay. It’s okay—I found him!” I yell up the stairs as if reporting back. I turn back to Dorado, gripping his shoulders. “This is serious, Dorado. We’ve been looking for you since you went missing. Patricelli is on to us, he knows about the Askerler Company.”

“He does?” Dorado gasps in horror.

“Tell me you didn’t tell him anything. Did you give us away?” I demand, giving him a shake.

“No, no, no! I swear it!” Dorado babbles. “I didn’t tell him anything!”

“Are you sure? Because only a few people know the date. You didn’t tell him the date that they’ll get here?”

“No! No I swear it! I didn’t say anything!”

“Good,” I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “Maybe we can still pull this off in time then. What do you think, Dorado? Today is the fifth.”

“The fifth? I mean the army gets here tomorrow,” Dorado babbles. “How much damage can he do in that time?”

“Tomorrow. They get here tomorrow,” I repeat, my insides turning to ice. I straighten up, backing away from the disgusting traitor in front of me.

Dorado’s face falls.

“You’re not— You’re working with Patricelli … aren’t you?” he realises. I look at his pathetic face, the traitorous letch who knew about the explosion, the army, who betrayed my sister. And for what?

“What did they promise you?” I ask darkly, fist shaking at my side.

Dorado wrinkles his face with as much pride as he can. “The bank,” he answers. “I’ve run that place for decades for your ungrateful father, and then he has the gall to put his daughter as my boss?”

My fist flies, landing square on his nose. A sickening crack echoes around the tiny hovel, and he crumples to the floor.

“My father was a great man, and my sister is one of the most brilliant women this city has ever seen. We are Maineri and that bank is ours, by blood and birth. You? You’re nothing but a disgusting, dirty traitor who’s going to die in this cell.”

With that I walk out of the room, slamming the door behind me. The keys jangle as I turn it in the rickety lock. I slow down, taking a deep breath. I hope he rots.

Slow claps pull me out of my dark stupor. I look up, sucking in a breath when I see Idris at the top of the stairs.

“That was genius,” Idris chuckles. I force myself to look up at his face. Those hazel eyes burn but also … sparkle with a bit of pride? I roll my eyes, scratching at the goosebumps running up and down my arms.

“Tomorrow.”

“I heard everything,” Idris says, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards. “No wonder you’re so formidable in the High Chamber if you can play games that convincing at the drop of a hat.”

“Unfortunately, there is almost no one left of any real challenge to play with me,” I answer, voice low and serious as I climb towards where he stands, hands slowly sliding up the wrought iron railing.

I come level with him, forcing my breathing to remain even. My heart picks up, my throat closes. The corner of his mouth twitches up as he takes a step closer to me, golden eyes narrowing with something I can’t quite place.

Idris steps closer, the air between us gets tense and hot. Everything is burning; my breath is hot; my heart hammers against my ribs. I turn my eyes away. But Idris lifts a hand to my chin, using a single finger to force my gaze to meet his blistering golden eyes.

“If you want a game, I’ll play with you,” Idris whispers softly. “My divine nemesis.”

Then he whisks away, disappearing through the door like he was never here. The memory of his finger on my chin still ripples with tiny exploding stars.

I let out a shuddering breath, steeling my nerve as I follow after him, to face what comes next.