The 41st Day of Valemord, 1251

The City-state of Vielrona

Snow decorated the wall along the river. It was a rare dusting, and Arman thought it a pity to brush it away. Still, he was not fond of wet breeches. He sat cross-legged and watched the water curl and burble under the thin ice. After a moment he heard low conversation approaching from the market. Wes and Kam fell silent when drew up to him.

The former held up a folded piece of parchment between two fingers. “Got your note. When did you start sending message boys?”

Arman sighed. This is already off to a brilliant start. “You wanted help.”

“I didn't need to learn you murdered his brother from him.” Rumbling in Wes’s voice echoed the forge.

“That's what I wanted to explain. To both of you. You said you wanted the truth.”

Kam's eyes narrowed. “Why couldn't you tell us before now?”

“I needed to understand some things, and now I do.” He brushed snow off the wall. “Will you sit?”

Wes's face hardened. “You want us to freeze our bollocks off?”

“I want to be sure you’re the only two hearing this. Now sit, or leave.” When they both settled, he cleared his throat. “I killed one of those men, not sure who. Only one.”

“You said that blood was yours.”

“It was. Another got me in the chest. I was down, bleeding out in the gutter. She handled the rest.”

“Arman, I took care of those bodies. You telling me I protected her?” Wes looked betrayed. “You've taught her, but not that much. Those men looked like they just died, of their own will.”

“I could barely stand. She held her hands up and they died. Then she came to me and pressed her hand to my wound. By the time we got home only a scar was left.” And teeth that don't belong. “Do you know what that means?”

Silence drifted like a final few snowflakes between them. Like the snow, Arman wished he could let it settle, undisturbed.

“I thought the last of them left months ago.”

“So did I. So did she. This is as new to her as it is to us.” He met Wes's eyes. “She’s exactly what they've been searching for.”

“This will bring them down upon us!” Kam spat, finally breaking his unusual silence.

“I know. That's why we're leaving.”

Wes shook his head angrily. Arman watched the smith steeling himself to speak. “She saved you, fine. I'm glad of it. You cannot repay all you're given or revenge all you’ve gotten.”

“You have a life here, Arman. And a good woman, which is more than any of us could hope for. Why are you suddenly begging after this girl? You didn’t know she existed two months ago.”

“I made that promise to Veredy when we were fifteen. As much as I want it, it isn't to be right now. Something inside me answers Alea. Heat takes over.” He rolled his eyes at Kam's lewd gesture. “It's not lust. I know lust, I understand it well. This is different. Something has always been there, inside me. Something that belongs to her.” His skin itched just thinking about it. “I thought it was because the Laen were in the Cockerel. I thought it was because she was near me, but it is more complicated than that. It is a part of me.”

“I won't let you throw your life away, I won't let you go after her.” Wes's words were bitter.

Arman knew if there was an argument, he won. Wes’s words were just the death throes. He rose. “I'll come home. When this is over, I'll come home.” Drawing his cloak tighter around himself, he trudged away. It was not a choice, not exactly. So why do I feel like I just chose Alea over my friends? Discretion was important, but he knew some conversations simply had to occur over tea. This was one of them.

The glow in Veredy’s windows was a relief as much as he dreaded what he was about to tell her.

The door opened before he even knocked. “I recognize your boot falls on my stairs.” She stepped aside. “You might as well come in. Kettle's just boiled.”

He folded his cloak over the back of a chair, but was too nervous to sit. “How've you been?”

“You sound like we've not spoken in weeks.” She caught his gaze and held it. “Kam said you were speaking to them today.”

“Just came from there. It didn’t go well.” He picked a splinter from her table. “I'm sorry with how I left things.”

“When you were about to ask to marry me, or afterward when we dragged you bloody from the gutter?” Harsh words were tempered with her quiet voice.

Always steady. “I can't help this, Ver. All my pretty words are used up and the most I can offer is honesty.” His shoulders sagged, and exhaustion swept over him. “This is too hard.”

“You have work, a good family. I enjoy our nights together. You’d make a fine husband. We were going to wed when the time came. It would’ve been good, easy.” She turned away, but he heard the catch in her voice, the switch to past tense. “What changed. Explain why I'm suddenly not the woman in your future.”

“Ver, it’s infinitely more complicated than that.” Is it? He squeezed his eyes shut. “When I was twelve, I saw this girl, a few years older. I don't even remember who she was, now. But my head whirled, my heart pounded, my thoughts were blurred. I was sick and couldn't sleep—when I did I was plagued with dreams of her. And yet, somehow, I was happy. It was bliss and terror. My world was suddenly controlled by someone else and she didn't even know it.” He scrubbed his face with his hands. “It isn't what you think. That's what I feel with Alea, but worse.”

“I would have loved you.” Veredy did not beg, but her voice teetered on the edge of pleading.

“You still can, Ver, when I come back, I swear.”

She whirled, confusion and pain stark on her soft features. “You're leaving?”

He met her eyes. “I'm guarding her until she finds her people. It's my duty.”

“Your duty? Damn, Arman, what are you, a soldier? And her people are dead, Cehn fell!”

“Most of them are, yes. But the rest are waiting for her in Le’yne.”

Veredy's hand flew to her mouth as if her grief and surprise were nausea she could quell.

“I told you it was more complicated. I don't love her, Veredy, but part of me is bound to her.” He risked a step closer and reached out.

She eyed his hand for a moment, then took it. She was close enough to embrace him, but made no move to do so. Her gaze inched over his features.

“What do you know of our city's founding.”

“The Rakos?” Her hand grazed his cheek, her thumb pausing at his lips. “Your teeth.” When he nodded, she closed her eyes. “Don't say that. Please, just once more be Arman. Only Arman. The man I was going to marry.”

He cupped her cheek in one rough hand. “I can be that for you.” His kiss was careful and more painful a goodbye than anything. “And someday I will be again.”

“I've watched you change since she arrived. You fit here perfectly before, but it's no longer true.”

“I'm not certain of that yet.”

“I am.” She pulled away and squeezed his hand. “Luck and love.”

He wanted to stay, wanted to spend one more night with her, but the pain was too much. Wordlessly, he gathered his things and began the slow walk home. His eyes fixed on his boots as they scuffed the paving stones.

Φ

The 44th Day of Valemord, 1251

Frozen ground at the city's edge crunched under Alea's boots. Her gloved hands gripped a small pouch. The grass was brown, and frost rimmed each leaf. She knelt and shaped the dirt into a makeshift bowl. Drawing a knobby brown candle and tinderbox from her pocket, she wedged the former into the ground. Lighting the wick took a few tries with her trembling hands.

Throaty Sunamen words were both familiar and strange on her tongue. “This is not a proper burial, or how you deserve to be put to rest. It’s all I can do. You were the best family I could ask for. Ihal, how I miss your guidance, and Ahren, your kindness. Merahn, your strength and happiness were a balm to me.” She drew a breath. “Ahme'reahn ira Suna, murdered on the eleventh of Lumord. Ahren ira Suna, murdered on the eleventh of Lumord. Merahn ir Hirah and her unborn child, murdered on the eleventh of Lumord.” She named each of her family as the candle melted.

Hot tears caught in the grief at the edge of her mouth. “These I name are innocent and have done no wrong. May their greatness in life live in tales and their actions not be in vain. May the gods rest their souls and those of the ones they loved. With these words I let you pass into peace.” She placed the tatters of the jahi she wore during the attack against the candle. The fabric lit. It still held a faint spicy scent. She stared at the candle for a silent moment. “Henceforth I am Dhoah' Lyne'alea of Le’yne. Lyne'alea ir Suna is dead.”

Φ

Nails clamped in Arman's teeth and a deep frown creased his face. He crouched on the Cockerel's common room floor repairing a cracked table leg. His eyes found Kepra in the doorway.

“Do you think you could break the ice off the roof?”

He nodded. “Once I'm through.”

She leaned against the bar. “Where's Miss ir Suna? I've not seen her today.”

“She's having a map copied from the library and waxed. She should be back soon.” His words were careful, albeit muffled. His mother was an astute woman. It took her all of a single evening to piece together Arman's pointed questions and Alea's sudden decision to leave. He had yet to explain he was going too.

“I expect I'll have to ask the Jehan boy to do such chores when you've gone.” Her gaze did not waver from his.

He rocked back on his heels and took the nails from his mouth. “You knew?”

She went to him. “You never could keep a secret from me. You look heartbroken and determined and excited in turns.” She brushed the shaggy locks away from his brow like she had when he was a child. “Have you told Wes and Kam? Veredy?”

He grimaced. “I’d rather swallow a hornet's nest than have those conversations again.”

“They love you, Arman. We are loath to see you leave.” She smiled sadly. “It would be worse, however, to see you stay here while half your heart rides away.”

“I don't know what I feel, Ma.”

“It's always complicated at first. Does she know you're going with her?”

“I've said as much, though I don't think she understands. There's too much in her head right now.” His voice softened. “I love you, Ma.”

She kissed his forehead. “And I, you. Be careful.” She returned to the kitchen, but her preparations were quieter than usual. After a moment, the soft sound of weeping replaced the clinking of pots and pans. How can I do this? Arman turned back to the table leg and drove the last nails home.

Φ

When Alea returned late that evening, lantern light glimmered down the stairs. Arman's door was half open, but she knocked.

“Aye?”

She slipped inside. Rumpled sheets lay under a mess of breeches and shirts. “Arman, I had a question.” She scanned the list in her hand. “I've found a lot of this, but there are things I'm unsure about, and I worry about what I may have forgotten.” She glanced around his room. A bedroll and blanket were bound to a saddle frame. “What are you doing?”

His eyes were fierce when he looked up.

“You're really coming with me?”

He sat on the bed. “When they Laen first brought you here, I promised to help them.”

Dread and quilt warred in her gut. She had to leave Vielrona, but as much as she did not want to leave alone, she already caused enough death. “This will change you.”

“You already have.” Arman shuddered at something in her words. “Whatever this city used to stand for, I’ll uphold.” He fixed her with a pointed look. “If we’re to make this journey, you must trust me. Tell me things even— especially—when you are unsure.”

She looked away. The Sunamen don't confide. “I don't know if I can.”

“Learn. Our world’s running, hiding, fighting.” He ran his tongue over his teeth. “And all due respect, milady, you make impractical decisions.”

She glared at him, indignation erasing the might of the moment. “I beg your pardon?”

“You could beg asylum, but you chose not to. I understand—and am grateful on behalf of my city—for your reasoning, but it would have been easier.”

“It’d be selfish to risk bringing the Mirikin down on Vielrona for my mere presence.”

His mouth quirked. “Milady, when the world falls to ruin if you die, there’s no such thing as selfish.” He rested his hand on the bedpost nearest her. “I do understand you, a bit. You’re terrified and guilt-ridden. Even with your power, you feel helpless. You have incredible expectations to live up to.”

She made a face. “You're not helping.”

He waved the parchment. “Not to mention, I wish you’d let me help with this list from the start. I'm afraid we might have doubles of a few things.” His face grew somber again. “You have me. You arrived a wounded girl, but you leave as the Dhoah' Laen with her Rakos guard at her side.”

Ice flooded her veins and she rested her hand on his, hard and impossibly warm. “And you have me.”