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Chapter Eight

Daeros—Tenebris

“He knows who I am,” I say for the hundredth time.

Vil’s guest suite has a receiving room, and he, Saga, and I have been sitting here for the last half hour, filling Saga in on the events of dinner and discussing strategy in tense voices.

“He doesn’t know,” says Vil, also for the hundredth time, “but gods he makes my skin crawl.”

I pick at the tray of food Vil sent for me to replace the rich dinner I lost in my room. Everything turns my stomach.

“Aerona’s presence complicates things,” Vil goes on, “as does the uncertain nature of Kallias’s heir.”

“Aerona has essentially been Daeros’s ally in the war with Skaanda,” Saga agrees. “They haven’t sent soldiers, but they’ve kept Daeros’s fed, which is nearly the same thing.”

Vil nods and turns to me. “We need to know the exact nature of the relationship between Aerona and Daeros—what does the empire want? What exactly are they getting in exchange for their shiploads of food? The next time Kallias has a private meeting with the Aeronan envoy—”

“I’ll be watching,” I say.

He smiles. “Good. I also want you to find out everything you can about who Kallias means to name as his heir, as well as keeping tabs on the Daerosian nobles. If there is even a hint of disloyalty toward the king in any of them, I want to know about it. Are the nobles all here?”

“There’s a handful still to arrive,” I tell him. “I’ll let you know when they do. Most of them stay in Tenebris for the whole of Gods’ Fall, so that should make things easier.”

Vil gives another nod. “I’ll meet with them all, see which ones might make good allies, like we planned. The terms of our peace treaty should win a few over, and hopefully, when we depose Kallias, they’ll agree to a smooth transition of power.”

“No Daerosian wants a Skaandan king,” says Saga quietly.

Vil quirks a smile at her. “Are you chiding me for my idealism, little sister?”

“Do you really think we’ll be able to seize Daeros uncontested? The nobles want power, like anyone else, as do Kallias’s children. They’re all going to be a problem, and you’re going to have to get your hands dirty before this is all over.”

“Skaanda over self. Gods over glory. Have a little faith, Saga. It’s all going to turn out just as it’s meant to.”

Saga sighs. “I don’t suppose you’re going to give me a job?”

“Get the attendants to gossip—and don’t let Kallias see you. Stay in your and Brynja’s room as much as possible.”

“Don’t know how I’m supposed to listen to gossip if I can’t go anywhere,” Saga grumbles.

“Cheer up, Saga,” I say lightly. “At least you don’t have to look Kallias in the eye while actively restraining yourself from stabbing him in the throat.”

“No stabbing, Brynja,” says Vil. “We have to get ourselves invited to stay here for the whole of Gods’ Fall, remember?”

I make a face at him and try not to think about Kallias’s glittering gaze, sizing me up, seeing right through me.

Vil squeezes my shoulder, his fingers warm through my sleeve. “It’s going to be all right,” he says. “Trust me, Brynja. I’m going to keep you safe.”

I take a breath and tell the turmoil inside me to be still. “I know,” I say. And I even think I believe it.

Back in my and Saga’s room, I don’t miss any time shimmying up the wall and prying off the heating vent. I squeeze in. My body has changed a lot since the last time I did this, but thank all the gods, I still fit.

“Don’t be long,” Saga says. “Be careful.”

“I will,” I promise.

I crawl forward, and my old hidden paths welcome me back with open arms.

I wake with a start to Saga shaking my shoulder, the chamber alive with lantern light. My cheeks are wet with tears, and a headache presses sharp between my eyes.

“What time is it?” I croak out.

“Nearly the fifth hour,” she says apologetically. “I let you sleep as long as I could, but Kallias—” She takes a breath. “The peace treaty talks are in half an hour.”

My stomach wrenches. I spent far too long creeping about last night and didn’t even learn anything useful, unless you count that Ballast’s room is empty—and why wouldn’t it be?

Had I expected him to be back in Tenebris, waiting to join my plot to take down his father?

—and that Gulla doesn’t live in the wives’ wing anymore.

I refuse to wonder if Kallias killed her.

The nobles had either gone to bed early or were out seeking various diversions in Garran City.

Lysandra did a great deal of shouting at her attendant, probably to make herself feel better following Kallias’s reprimand at dinner.

Zopyros, Kallias’s eldest son, rooms in the barracks, so I didn’t see him, while twins Theron and Alcaeus played cards in their shared room and drank three bottles of wine between them.

Rhode and little Xenia, Kallias’s youngest daughters, slept cuddled together in their old bed in the nursery, even though they each have their own rooms now.

Princess Aelia spent the evening reading.

Kallias was with one of his wives—I got the hell out of his ceiling before I saw which one.

“Come on, Bryn,” says Saga. “Let’s get you dressed.”

It still feels wholly wrong to have Saga wait on me, but I’m too tired to protest. She works a cream through my curls to stop them being limp and oily, then does my cosmetics and buttons me into a red gown lined with fur.

I choke down a mug of coffee and a little toast, and then Pala is knocking on the door to let us know that Vil is waiting.

I join him in the hall, curling my toes in rabbit-fur-lined shoes, far too aware of the beats of my heart.

He takes my arm and I’m grateful for it; he lends me the courage I do not have on my own.

“Trust me,” he says quietly.

“I do,” I tell him.

He squeezes my arm.

We follow another elegantly dressed attendant down the twisting corridors to another room I have only ever seen from above.

The council chamber is more cave-like than a lot of the palace, with curved walls and only a small hole of a window, set messily with glass and giving the merest glimpse of the Sea of Bones—or it would if there were any light to see by.

The sun will be making only a brief appearance tonight before Gods’ Fall swallows it whole for the next three months.

Already I can feel the oppressive darkness gnawing at my heart.

Most of the room is taken up by an oval table and the high-backed, carved wooden chairs surrounding it.

A sideboard at the back of the room is overburdened with pastries and fruit, pink wine, and steaming coffee.

Heat pours in from the vents near the ceiling, coiling around my shoulders like a purring cat.

The chamber is lit with more of those lamps that hum as they glow, burning somehow with neither flame nor magic.

Kallias stands at the window, sipping from an etched gold goblet. Lysandra is beside him, looking smug and furious all at once, with her brothers Theron and Alcaeus already seated and each tucking in to an absolute mound of pastries.

Eirenaios, Kallias’s general, comes in after us, followed by Princess Aelia and Talan, the Aeronan ambassador from two years ago who threatened Kallias with imperial occupation if he didn’t find and deliver the Iljaria weapon to Aerona.

Nicanor, Kallias’s steward; Basileious, his engineer; and three Daerosian nobles—two men and a woman—round out the group.

A handful of attendants hover around the sideboard, ready to fill cups and plates.

Aeronan, Daerosian, and Skaandan guards crowd at the door, all of them scowling at each other.

I’m glad Pala and Leifur are both here—we’ll have a fighting chance if Kallias changes his mind about wanting to negotiate.

Once again I find myself almost unconsciously looking for Ballast, even though my rational mind knows he isn’t here.

I have felt his absence like a phantom ache since we parted all those months ago, but it is keener, here, in this place where he used to be.

With an effort, I push the thought of him away.

Kallias turns, yawning, from the window, and waves for everyone to take their seats.

Aelia sits on Kallias’s right, with Talan beside her.

Vil sits on Kallias’s left, with me next to him.

I don’t pay attention to the rest of the seating arrangements, though I catch Lysandra’s scowl from the corner of my eye.

I am fixed on Kallias’s presence, so close so close too close .

I dig my nails into my palms to keep myself from shaking. I bite my lip so hard I taste blood.

“Good morning, Astridur,” says Aelia to me, smiling.

I realize I’m staring at Kallias, and I jerk my gaze to hers. “Good morning,” I manage.

“Shall we begin?” Aelia asks Kallias.

He yawns again while he nods at her and waves his empty wine goblet toward the attendants, one of whom rushes up immediately to fill it.

“His Majesty asked if I would moderate these discussions,” Aelia tells Vil and me, “as an impartial party.”

Vil nods, though his jaw tightens. Aerona isn’t impartial—Aerona is with Daeros.

So many people are packed into this small room that the heat coiling in through the vents grows oppressive. I begin to regret the warmth of my fur-lined gown.

Vil launches into his speech: “As heir of Skaanda and representative of their majesties Valdis and Aasgier Stjornu, I hereby propose a treaty with Daeros resulting in a permanent cessation of hostilities, and a mutually beneficial establishment of trade between our two countries.”

“You propose certain terms, I imagine,” says Kallias. He takes a long draught of wine, then a large bite of a ginger cake dusted with sugar. He licks his fingers one by one, and I’m going to be sick again.

I wave at an attendant, ask for coffee, and am handed a steaming mug. I drink too fast and scald my throat.

Vil nods at Leifur, who leaves his post at the door, and starts handing out bound sheaves of paper to everyone at the table.