Seek the Traitor's Son, page 45
Forint may be a little too perceptive and so reserved it’s hard to talk to him. But he seems to understand how hearts work.
“I think I like you,” she says to him, and she touches her cup to his.
52
Later that night, after Elegy returned and ate; after Hela made half a dozen sly jokes about their augur revelations; after they drank the rest of the liquor in the jug on the study table, they all go into the communal bathroom to get ready for sleep.
It’s intimate to brush your teeth in front of someone for the first time. Theren watches Elegy rise up onto her toes to poke at a spot on her face, and braid her hair over one shoulder, and their eyes meet in her mirror.
Hela disappears into one of the rooms, and before Theren can go into the third, Elegy catches his hand.
“If you want to join me, you’re welcome to,” she says. “Just—for sleep, I mean.”
Their fingers twist together and he lets her pull him toward her room, where the blankets are still creased from before. More intimacies: the choreography of pouring water for each bedside table, the negotiation of who gets what side of the bed, and the shy unlacing of boots.
He hesitates before climbing in next to her, and Elegy, already buried in blankets and pillows, sits up to look at him.
“What is it?” she says.
As with so many things in his past, it’s difficult to give words to. He and Fenn were together for only a short time, and the Crucible was no place for bed-sharing, only for quick fumbles in the dark. And with Rava, there was only ever vigilant half sleep, and shame that locked up his insides every morning.
“I’ve just . . . never done this before.” At her confused look, he adds: “Not when I wanted to.”
It’s a heavier admission than he was expecting it to be.
She reaches for him, twisting her fingers around his. She doesn’t say anything—maybe there’s nothing to say. But many people in his life, even the ones who were kind to him, have been uncomfortable around his pain. All he feels in her is a sympathetic ache.
They sleep curled away from each other, their backs touching.
In the morning, he sits on the edge of the bed a little too long, his body rigid with tension, trying to come back to himself. And without needing to be asked, she just holds out a shirt for him to slide his arms into, and waits for him to surface.
* * *
The others arrive just after breakfast the next morning, when the sun is still coming up. The Sparrow winks in the sun as it lands, kicking up a cloud of salt. Elegy, Theren, and Hela board as soon as the hatch opens. Now that Cedre Station is vulnerable, there’s no time to waste.
Once aboard the Sparrow, Theren moves to the back of the ship to greet Isre with a tousle of his hair. Isre is behind the nav panel, guiding them from landing to takeoff; he slaps Theren’s hand away from his head.
“Glad you’re all right,” Isre says.
“And you,” Theren says.
They all brace for takeoff, though Isre’s flying is smoother than Parekh’s, and once they’re at a comfortable drift—low to the ground and slow, as Theren instructed, to better avoid attracting Valla’s attention—he opens the bag Arias packed for him to change his clothes.
Elegy is already in a state of undress, uncaring as she strips off her pants to replace them with darker, sturdier ones. He guides his eyes away from her bare legs, and sorts through the shirts Arias packed for him to find the right one. The goal is to look passably Talusar from a distance, which means plain fabric, not skintight, easy to move in.
The others are busy distributing sheaths and holsters and all the other gear they’ll likely need for their journey through the forest—and for infiltrating the monastery.
“Arias, did you bring that package I asked you about?” Elegy says, and Arias points just above Elegy’s head, at a black box roughly the size of a toolbox strapped down to one of the shelves. She reaches for it and, finding it a little too high for her, nudges Theren with her elbow to help her.
He undoes the straps and takes the box down. It’s much lighter than he expected it to be.
“Open it,” Elegy says, with a quirk of her mouth.
He sets it down on one of the jump seats, and unlatches it. Nestled in a bed of foam inside are two vambraces made of polished febra—simple sheaths with faint, delicate etching. On the left is the symbol of the Fever, which is the symbol of the Talusar—three interlinked circles—with part of a quote beneath it.
Do not ask how many times he falls
On the right is the symbol of Cedre: the planet below, the station above, and a line connecting them. And beneath it, the end of the quote.
But how many times he rises.
He runs his fingers over the words.
“Volyn,” he says, a little weakly.
“Your favorite, I hear,” Elegy says. “The quote made me think of you.”
“You had these made?”
Her expression is guarded, almost defensive. As if it reveals too much about her that she would do something so thoughtful.
“From that armor you wore during the Naarm attack. It was too small for you, so I thought you could use these instead. You said you trained with vambraces.” She clears her throat, her green eyes skipping away from his. “Let’s make sure they fit.”
He rolls up his sleeve, and offers his left forearm to her. She loosens the straps on the underside of the vambrace, slides it over his arm, and tightens it. It’s the right length for his forearm; he wonders how she guessed it so well. He holds out his right arm for the other one, and he feels the febra hum all the way down his fingers.
“Seems right,” Elegy says.
He reaches for her, laying his hands on her cheeks, lightly, and drawing his forehead down to touch hers. He notices the others have gone quiet around them, but it’s too late to take it back. Her fingers slide around his wrists, but she doesn’t push him away, holding his gaze instead.
“Don’t thank me,” she says, in Talusar.
Their noses brush together.
“Yes, Your Grace,” he says.
He doesn’t kiss her, just pulls back, his cheeks warm.
It’s as good as a profession of love.
* * *
“We’ve caught their attention,” Isre announces, an hour later. “Ship incoming, but we’re not in view of them yet.”
He sounds strained, like he’s trying to disguise his panic. Theren can feel it in the sudden uptick of his own heartbeat, like Isre’s body has temporarily taken control of his own.
Elegy unbuckles herself, and staggers across the ship to stand behind the captain’s seat.
“It’s all right,” she says. “We’re going to do exactly what we practiced.”
“The whoopsie daisy,” Arias says, with a grin.
Elegy makes a face. “Isre. Go low, hover for two minutes as we disembark, and then fly as high as you can, as fast as you can. Okay?”
Isre nods.
Above the nav panel, Theren can see rippling green land resolving into sharp white peaks. The monastery is in the valley just beneath them, and they’ll approach from the north, moving through forest cover around the base of the mountain.
“Everybody get ready. We need to descend fast,” Elegy says. “Gloves on. Arias first; I’m last.”
Theren takes his gloves out of his pocket and pulls them on. They’re too small for his hands, but they’ll protect his palms from the rope. Across from him, Arias unbuckles and crouches next to the hatch door with the coiled rope in his hands.
“Why do you call it that, anyway?” Hela asks Arias. “ ‘Whoopsie daisy,’ I mean.”
“Because it scares the shit out of me,” Arias says. “And I find it a lot less intimidating when it’s called a ‘whoopsie daisy.’ ”
They drop so low Theren’s ears pop, and all he can see out of the windshield is green. Hela moves to stand behind the hatch door, and when Elegy shouts, “Now!” Parekh slams her fist into the emergency eject button. The hatch door opens, and Arias throws the rope out. Almost in the same movement, he grabs it in both hands, swings his body over the edge, and disappears.
Hela goes next, her face so pale her lips are colorless, followed by Parekh, who lets out a “whoop!” as she goes down. It’s Theren’s turn.
He sits on the edge of the open hatch, and before he can think about it, lets himself fall. He catches the rope between his feet and drops—he barely registers the weightless feeling before his boots are on the dirt.
He steps away to watch Elegy descend. She slides down fast, her face placid as she lands. She tugs sharply on the rope, twice, and it retracts into the ship just as Isre pulls away from the ground. Together, they watch the Sparrow climb, fast, and disappear.
“Tree cover,” Elegy says.
She leads the way into the dense forest, where the Talusar won’t be able to see them from above. Theren ducks under a branch, and draws a deep breath of cedar and wet earth and pollen. He lays a hand on the trunk of a tree. They all crouch, and wait, and though he’s supposed to be listening for Talusar patrol ships, instead he listens to the sounds of the birds and the wind through the trees.
The Talusar patrol ship emits a low hum even from far off. He tenses as it grows louder and louder, and then it’s on top of them, the engines creating wind even at a distance. He resists the urge to look up. Then the humming gets quieter, and quieter, until it disappears.
“Will they double back?” Elegy asks him.
“Not likely. They would land right here, right now, if they saw something.”
“Good. Then let’s get moving.”
They move in pairs, Arias and Hela at the front, since they’re both good navigators, Parekh in the middle, and Elegy and Theren at the back. There are no paths in this forest, so their pace is slow, with Hela cutting through undergrowth when it’s too dense and Theren always turning, looking, listening.
They don’t talk except to point out hazards—a stream, a ridge, a stretch of mud. But when they stop for water, Parekh looks up at the tree canopy and sighs.
“They’ve taken so much of this planet from us,” she says.
For a long time, no one responds.
“So let’s take some of it back,” Elegy says, and she passes Parekh her canteen.
“A rousing speech from the Hope of Cedre,” Parekh replies, laughing. “You really think we can do that?”
Elegy looks pensive. Above them, a squirrel leaps from branch to branch.
“I’m starting to,” she says.
53
An hour later, they wait at the edge of the tree line, the outpost of Dexa below them.
The monastery is visible from here, high on an overlook, an elegant sprawl of wood with a small pond behind it. The others were impressed by its size and its detail, but for Theren, it will always be the place where he died.
“Are you ready?” Elegy says to him.
Theren’s job is to go into Dexa alone, find Orda, and secure his help. He’ll return to the others after nightfall and escort them into the settlement in the dark.
He checks his things: the pack on his back, the sword at his side, the vambraces protecting his forearms. He looks like a Talusar on a journey into neutral territory, unsure of what he’ll find there.
He glances back only once when he moves out of the tree line and into the open field beyond it. Elegy waves him on.
Dexa is too small to be called a town, so the Talusar refer to it as an outpost, but there are still people other than soldiers living here. He passes a woman unloading apples into a market stall, and a blacksmith hammering a sword into shape, and it feels like stepping back in time again. A child leads a horse to water on a side street; a shop sign advertises high-quality salvage, with a display of metal filing cabinets out front.
He turns to the woman at the market stall.
“Excuse me,” he says, and as in all Talusar interactions, he has to decide who he thinks he is, and what status. He decides it’s safe to address her as somewhat inferior to him, as if he’s an army officer. “Do you know where I can find Selio Orda?”
“Soldier?” the woman says, and at Theren’s nod, she waves her hand at the buildings closer to the monastery. “Don’t know that name, but they mostly live over that way.”
“Thank you.”
He keeps walking, ignoring the voices that implore him to buy. He’s never handled Talusar coin. Crucible fighters weren’t paid, and he certainly never received money in House Vidar. He tucks his left hand into his pocket to disguise the symbol tattooed there.
He moves closer to the buildings the woman pointed out, and then circles them, trying to find the route that the soldiers will take when they walk home from the monastery after their shifts are done. He has to ask a child to confirm it, and she does, pointing out the deep footprints the soldiers leave there with their heavy boots.
Theren waits in an alley, watching passersby. He hasn’t had much opportunity to observe the Talusar in their everyday lives, and it’s a good reminder that they aren’t all Rava Vidar. He sees a group of children chasing a ball, a pair of older women exchanging onions for potatoes from their shopping bags, an old man stopping to roll a cigarette against his own leg. When the first cluster of soldiers ambles down the road, laughing at some shared joke, he straightens. If it’s time for a shift change, he’ll either see Orda walking toward the monastery or away from it.
For a soldier to be assigned to the monastery, they have to either be well-connected, wealthy, or have earned their position through loyalty and service. So many of the soldiers that pass him, moving in both directions, have soft hands and unburdened smiles. Their uniforms are tidy and they don’t wear febra armor. There’s no point; no one ever attacks the monastery. So though they’re required to be proficient in the sword, they’ve undoubtedly gotten lax and comfortable. They aren’t ready for action.
He spots Orda when it’s just starting to get dark, and the chill is settling over his shoulders like a cloak. Theren knows him by his stride, loping like a wolf, from an old injury in the Crucible that makes him favor his left side. His smile, bright against the gathering dusk, is a little wolfish, too. Not mischievous, exactly, but a little wicked. He’s walking with three other soldiers, one of whom peels away with a friendly wave before she passes Theren’s alley.
Theren pulls away from the wall as Orda passes, and then he falls into step a few paces behind him. He can’t exactly call out to him with the other two soldiers still flanking him, so he follows all three to one of the buildings the shopkeeper pointed out, and waits at a distance, leaning against a wall with affected casualness.
He slips into the building and listens as they all unlock and open their doors, keys jingling, conversation still continuing though they’re separated by one story—the two soldiers seem to live together on the second floor, but Orda is on the third.
Theren creeps up the stairs, his footsteps as silent as he can make them. When he gets to the second-floor landing, he sees Orda pause with his key in the lock. He turns, and looks at Theren.
His expression doesn’t change, but Theren can feel how his heart leaps, and he grins.
“Well,” Orda says neutrally. “You’d better come in, I suppose.”
Theren climbs the stairs that separate them, and follows Orda into his apartment.
The place looks just like he expected it to. The apartment is a single room, small but pleasant. Orda’s guitar hangs on the right wall, and his shoes—salvaged sneakers, red with fraying laces—are next to the door. In the center of the kitchen is a woven rug made of grass. The dishes are drying next to the sink, heavy earthenware on a threadbare towel. It’s not a proper kitchen—just a burner and a sink the size of a bucket, a table big enough for two people to eat.
Theren turns back to Orda, who’s shut the door and is now leaning back against it, trapping his hands behind him.
It’s been two years since they saw each other last. Theren won the Tournament and stood before Rava Vidar as the untriumphant victor. It was his right to ask for a reward for his victory, and most fighters asked for their own freedom. But Theren asked for Selio Orda’s, instead. The last thing he remembers of that moment is Orda staring at him from the first row of seats in the amphitheater, his eyes blank, too far away for Theren to read him.
Orda is unchanged. Shorter than Theren, but still tall and lanky, his straight hair now long enough to sweep away from his forehead, and grayer than it used to be. His nose is crooked from breaking more than once in the Crucible, and there’s a scar through his lip, but the combination works for him.
“Teacher,” Theren says, in greeting.
“Aren’t we past that nickname now?”
“I thought it might amuse you.”
Orda smiles, and pulls away from the door to wrap his arms around Theren. Theren returns the embrace, and for a long moment they hold on to each other with obvious relief radiating between them like two tuning forks resonating at the same frequency.
“You look better. Cedre must be treating you well,” Orda says. As he pulls away, Orda’s hand comes up to the back of Theren’s neck, light and brief. “I see you have someone in your life.”
“I asked you not to do that.” Theren doesn’t know which of his memories Orda saw, but he knows Orda’s usual time frame—he reaches back only a few days, so he can only have seen Elegy.
“And if I asked you not to read me in return, that would be easy for you?” Orda’s smile fades a little. “I assume you’re not here for a social visit.”
