Page 28 of The Witch who Trades with Death

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Neta

Neta dared to think that things were going well. Graduation was less than a month away, and her unit was on track to succeed. Even Yxe and Khana were comfortable with their forms and winning a few spars against the more experienced members of the unit.

They went to the inn together on days Chaku gave them too much drudge work, forcing them to stay out an extra few hours so they could actually train. That was twice or thrice a week, but Neta might have to thank the midya, because these nights were some of the most content she’d felt in a long time. If they were lucky, Athicha and sometimes Sava were able to join them.

She left the inn alone one night, full of Heimili’s good cooking and slightly tipsy. Snow sprinkled down from the black heavens, creating a brand-new sky of stars in constant movement. One of the last snowfalls of the season. Already the air had warmed. Soon, the mountains would be clear.

This part of town was almost all Reguallians, and Neta passed a few of her neighbors, some of whom greeted her with a cheerful, “Good night, serji!” She waved back.

“Well, you’re popular.”

Neta paused. That was not a voice she expected to hear in this part of town, never mind in the shadow of her mother’s shop.

“Midya Bhayana,” she greeted cautiously. “What brings you out here so late?”

The tall Pinnsviri melted out of the darkness, into the moonlight. “Graduation’s getting close. I thought I’d check on the serjis, see how their units are progressing.”

“I’m not part of your company.”

Bhayana shrugged, then shivered. “Ugh. I know we want those mountains blocked off as long as possible, but I miss summer. Do you have any tea?”

It was an obvious change in subject, a way for her to wiggle her foot in the door. Neta could say no. Bhayana might be her superior, but they were off-duty, and she had no legal right to command Neta.

Perhaps it was curiosity that made her lead Bhayana inside. Or perhaps some strategic corner of her mind determined that it was best to let her say whatever she wanted to say, so Neta could make the most tactful decision. Or maybe she’d had too much mead.

Neta lived with her mother, Varisa. The bottom floor was the hearth and seamstress’s shop, the top floor private bedrooms. Varisa was likely upstairs, already in bed as Neta lit a couple of candles and re-started a small fire in the hearth to get a kettle going.

Bhayana trailed her long fingers around the weaving equipment, spindles, baskets of yak and goat hair, and the half-finished tent on Varisa’s workstation. “Your mother’s making your tent?”

“Made,” Neta corrected, getting the tea leaves and goat milk ready. “She’s making more for the war. Phramanka already paid her.”

Varisa had set one aside for Neta, and another for Athicha, grumbling that yes, she knew the mute archer could afford their own, but frankly hers were better and that money should go toward their family. Athicha had known better than to argue, in part because Varisa was right; her work was some of the best in town. It was how she had clawed her way from penniless refugee to one of the wealthiest Reguallians in town.

“Remarkable,” Bhayana muttered. “I thought they didn’t have yaks in Regualli.”

“They don’t. Ma learned.”

“Smart woman.”

Neta studied her. Haz never talked about his courtship with Bhayana, and Neta never probed. She wondered how much of Bhayana’s interest here was genuine, and how much was faked in an effort to soften her up.

Neta said nothing, watching Bhayana and waiting for the water to heat. She wasn’t going to give the woman anything to work with.

Bhayana didn’t let it get awkward. After a beat, she said, “My father had Chaku over for dinner the other day.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“The topic of your unit came up. He is, and this is a quote, ‘grudgingly impressed’ with your work so far.”

She said it like it was a compliment. Neta checked the temperature of the kettle and poured the tea, letting it steep.

“Frankly, I’m impressed, too,” Bhayana continued. “I know how stubborn fresh soldiers can be, and your unit certainly didn’t look the most promising.”

Neta grunted.

“Honestly, though, I don’t know why you’re pursuing a career as a public soldier. Private work is so much more lucrative.”

“Rather closed-off, though.”

“I can change that.”

Neta raised her eyebrows. “You almost sound like you’re getting to the point.”

Bhayana smiled, a warm, bright thing. Ah, this is why Haz fell for her , she thought.

“How would you like a career as a private guard?” she asked. “The pay is better, and so is the respect. You’ll have a much better chance at climbing the ranks with an Old Family properly backing you.”

Now that was interesting.

Positions in the Old Family guard were hard to come by. They hired only the best and they were very cushy outside of wartime. They often resulted in lifetime connections, friendships, even romances. Thriman had been a Bvamso family guard for two years before he and Phramanka properly courted.

But nothing ever came free.

“In exchange for what?” Neta asked, keeping her voice level and devoid of interest.

Bhayana visibly considered her next words. “The whole point of training is not only to gain an army, but to weed out the weak. Those unfit to be soldiers.”

“And who among my unit do you believe is unfit?” she asked, already guessing two possible names.

“Hasyamin.”

“Why?” she asked.

“That doesn’t matter,” Bhayana insisted.

“Yes, it does. If you’re going to bribe me, I need to have some justification if I’m caught for it.”

The Pinnsviri sighed, looking into the fire. “You’re not like the other Reguallians, Neta, so I think I can be frank with you. I liked Haz. Maybe even loved him. He was exciting. New. Exotic. All I’d ever courted before him were the same old Seven Family snobs. But Haz was… dorky. Funny. Genuine. Didn’t really seem to care about the money or power. But that also meant he had no respect, not for my name or its history. He didn’t understand the struggle. And he certainly didn’t understand that if he – a Reguallian brat, the grandson of a nobody immigrant – broke things off with me , that would be an embarrassment I could never live with. You saw the damage that type of thing did to your own family. So, I had to make him stay, and oddly enough, that made me want him more. All he had to do was play along, but he defied and fought back at every turn. And that would’ve been fine. I could have made that work. But then he decided to go public. Turned my friends, the whole mountain range against me. And that cannot go unpunished.”

Neta studied her. “Your idea of punishing him is to get him excluded from the militia? That’s not going to do much. He’ll just go right back to the inn.”

“He needs to know that actions have consequences,” Bhayana said. “I’ll save the inn for after the war.”

The tea had steeped. Neta handed Bhayana her cup and took a sip, hating herself for seriously considering the offer. The Pinnsviris were not a popular Family. But they were influential and could help her make serious strides toward her ultimate goal of chiefdom. There would be consequences, but not necessarily fatal ones.

Is that the type of chief you want to be? asked a little voice in her head. One who sacrifices a person – possibly his whole family – for her own gain after he’d welcomed her into his home? And for what? To be a lapdog to someone who will never view you as an equal?

Neta swallowed her tea and set aside her cup. “You’ve made three mistakes. The first is forgetting that our job as serji and midya is to not only command and train soldiers, but also protect them. Second: gaining you and your family as an ally would cost me Sava and the Bvamsos –” And Athicha . “– which is not a price I’m willing to pay.”

“Phramanka’s term ends in three years. She has no guarantee of re-election, of even surviving the war,” Bhayana argued.

“Neither do you. And your third, and most egregious mistake, was insulting my mother in her own home.”

“I did no such thing!”

“You insulted the Reguallians, which includes me and my mother. Let me know if you’re willing to make an offer with a better price.”

The Pinnsviri laughed. “You’re not getting another offer. It’s this or nothing.”

Neta smirked. “My mother came here with nothing. Now you’re standing in her shop, one of the wealthiest in town if not all of northern Divaajin. We are experts at weaving gold from nothing.”