Tif found Jer’s small cone-shaped tent on the far side of the recruitment field, catty-corner to the back of the stands. She remembered Sur-Rak teasing him about it, and the single-person shelter certainly stood out amongst the row of much larger and boxier tents. As she crept by them, Tif assumed they were for the likes of Sur-Rak, Tad-Soo, and other founding nobles. Also, unlike those bigger pavilions, there were no lanterns leading up to Jer’s tent. Instead, it looked like it had been stuck in a dark corner of the encampment, which Tif found bizarre considering he was probably the highest ranked person there.
With barely any light to work with, it took her frantic fingers longer to loosen the outer tent toggles than she would have wished. No sound came from his tent, otherwise she would have gently tapped the taught fabric to alert him of her arrival. As it was, she didn’t want to make too much noise by calling out to him or slapping the tent, which might draw whoever had been plotting. She had walked all the way around the back of the curtained division leader’s stand to get here, and she refused to be found out so close to her goal.
At last, Tif unhooked enough of the flap to push her way inside and closed it quickly behind her; she didn’t bother to reloop the toggles, more concerned about speaking with Jer.
There was a small lantern hanging from the peaked ceiling that hadn’t quite burned through its oil yet, and its flickering illumination let Tif make out where most everything was. The space was only five or six feet across, covered by a rug of black and white striped fur, with angled walls that forced Tif to hunch forward. She saw a stack made of a few slim books to the left and some pots and water skins to the right. Directly across from her was Jer, stretched out on the rug.
He blinked up at her and then smiled.
“Decided to take me up on my offer, after all?” he said with the gravelly voice of someone who had just woken. “Caramels are gone but I still have some tea.”
“Someone is planning to kill your ma,” Tif blurted, unsure how to say it any other way.
“Hrm?” he said, getting into a sitting position. Jer was topless, which showed not only the swath of geometric gold tattoos that covered his arms and stomach but also the lines and dots of blood down his side, underneath his left arm, and even some thin, weblike black scrawls of Death on his right chest.
The collection was beautiful, in part because of the lean muscle it rested upon, and Tif had to purposely not linger on either.
“Did you hear what--” Tif almost said ‘I’, and as smoothly as she could, switched it to, “Tiforoth said?”
“Ah,” he exclaimed, leaning back a bit. “I wondered why you weren’t speaking as they do on the plain. What made you change?”
Tif was ready for that question. “Tiforoth spent some time in Lercel before the challenges and picked up your way of talking.” She hoped her explanation sounded as nonchalant and true as possible. Jer would be the worst person to discuss her supposed past with since he knew more about it than she did. The safest thing to do now was to shift the topic back where it belonged. “But what does that matter compared to your ma? She could be in danger.”
Jer yawned of all things, quickly covering it with the back of his hand. “A lot of people try to kill my mother,” he answered. “It’s impossible.”
Tif glanced at Pep in confusion. She had come to Jer because she figured that if someone was planning to hurt her ma, she’d want to know, and know every detail at that. But Jer hardly appeared interested. In fact, he seemed bored.
“Archons have been killed before,” she tried again. “It’s not impossible.”
“Of course. You caught me a touch tired. It is, after all, I believe, the middle of the night.” He squinted behind her as if to confirm the time and then turned his eyes back on her. “Let me rephrase: excessively unlikely.”
“What makes you so certain?” Tif said. Her back was growing sore standing tilted forward under the angled roof, so she sat down in front of him to hear his answer. She knew that the Archon had survived some assassination attempts, but Tif didn’t think that someone from the Blood Plains would necessarily be aware of that, so she didn’t say anything else even though she wanted to.
“Maybe it’s not common knowledge in your clans, but the fifth seal of Gold gives the user a second, larger barrier. You saw how many hits the candidates could take before their shrouds shattered. Imagine that, double it, and then add some more. My mother has so much ris, plenty to defend herself with.”
Tif knew about the second shroud, of course, but she just nodded as if she was following along and waiting to see if he had any other evidence. He caught that she wasn’t fully convinced yet and snorted.
“Two shrouds not enough? Well, you’ll be relieved to hear then that she wears pounds of Gold on her person. In a pinch, she can sacrifice to a nearby Aspect and fully recharge her ris three to four times over with how thick some of those pieces are. And at least one Aspect is always on hand, I assure you. They’re like flies to food, constantly buzzing around her.” He struck Tif as annoyed when saying that part, and she found it easy to imagine him as a child frustrated that he never got any alone time with his ma. “I’ll tell you a secret,” he said, leaning in, and Tif followed suit. “Whenever my mother does end up fighting someone who wants to kill her, it’s because she wants to.”
Tif opened her mouth to say how ridiculous that sounded, but Jer held up a finger.
“A moment more, please,” he said, his loose grin back. He seemed quite amused at having gotten a rise out of her. “It’s that second shroud I told you about. It can be stretched quite far and be as selective as she wants. So, if, say, she wishes to push half the people out of a room, or stuff them up against the walls until she’s done with her fun, she can, and none are strong enough to resist her, not even the division knights who are there to protect her. By the way, you’ll notice I didn’t mention that lot before because she doesn’t require them to be perfectly safe.”
“Fun?” Tif said, catching on that word among many that didn’t make sense to her. When people spoke of the Archon overcoming an attack, it was always her fighting bravely for her life and the rights of Lercel…not entertainment. Jer’s claim was so outside the ordinary Tif wondered if he was mistaken about it. He had been gone for a while after all. “Why would that be fun for her?”
“I couldn’t say,” Jer answered with a shrug, his humor drying up. “After my father was killed by a fairy on its way to kill her, mother seemed to seek similar situations out, as if facing an assassin again brought back a part of him to her.” He smiled wanly. “Or maybe she’s just trying to die. If I was a better poet, I could explain it all with much more eloquence I’m sure.”
Tif couldn’t believe something like that was true of the Archon--she was too strong for that--but Tif could see the genuine pain in Jer. He turned away from her and picked up his teapot, as he had revealed too much of himself and needed to focus on something else.
“Jer,” she said, and nearly misspoke with ‘I’ again, “Tiforoth is so sorry to hear that about your fa-ther.” He was using the full name, so she decided she might as well.
“It wasn’t all bad,” he said, pouring some yellowish liquid from the pot into a short, tin cup. “Sometimes people would try to poison mother, and her shroud would sense it, sliding the food off her spoon before it reached her lips.”
And Tif had been impressed when Sur-Rak’s had stopped her unseen foot. That was nothing compared to this.
Jer took a sip from the cup, grimaced, pulled a water pouch from the side, and squirted the contents into the top of the tea kettle.
“Those times were rather humorous,” he continued. “Food or drink suddenly splatting on the table or floor during what were otherwise stuffy affairs. Though, the subsequent execution of the responsible parties once they were found did often put a damper on things,” he added drily.
“Jer,” Tif said, “that’s terrible.” So much of this was to her.
He took another sip from his cup, looking like he didn’t enjoy it any better than before but swallowed it nonetheless. Then he smiled at her.
“In the highs, you can get used to anything.”
“Not this,” Tif said resolutely, reaching out to put a hand on his still clothed knee. “You shouldn’t have to.”
He chuckled. “That’s rather hard to do when people are trying to kill you, too.”
“They have?” Tif said, shocked enough to pull her hand back. “But why?” The Archon was chosen by a group of council seats, which was why anyone had a chance to ascend to the post, even Tif. So why would Jer be a target? He wasn’t more likely to be the next Archon than anyone else.
He shrugged. “To hurt my mother because they can’t do so directly, I’d wager. She once told me that she didn’t have more children because she knew she could only ever handle the loss of one.” Jer looked up at the small lantern above them as if remembering the conversation, no trace of a grin on his face any longer. “That’s why I went traveling when I was old enough, to get away from it all.”
“Tiforoth can understand that.” After what he had described, the thought of encountering Death troops outside of Lercel was probably no more frightening to him than waiting for the next assassination attempt to come to his home--as awful as that was to believe. “But she still thinks we should do something. Tell your mother or the knights, at least.”
He dropped his gaze, looking at her in that patient way people used when they thought they knew more than you and were waiting for you to catch on.
“And what exactly would we tell them, Tiforoth? That you know someone who wants to harm the Archon?”
“Tiforoth doesn't know them, actually,” Tif admitted. “She just heard one, maybe two, talking.”
“But surely you know who they are?”
“No,” she said. “His voice was deep and beautiful though.”
Jer’s smile was back, as if he found the exchange very amusing. “That could be anyone with a modicum of Gold power. Did they at least say when or how they would commit this heinous act?”
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“No,” Tif said, not liking where this was headed.
Jer spread his hands. “Are you beginning to see the trouble with your proposal?”
“Perhaps…”
“There’s no crime to what you’ve described. If they’re caught in the act, they’ll be executed, but we can’t just kill everyone who speaks against the Archon,” he winked. “If we did, the population of Lercel would likely be halved, and that’s me being generous to my mother’s supporters.”
Tif was surprised he would say such a thing about his own ma and immediately wanted to tell him how important it had been to her and so many others that the Archon had been brave enough to end the Life Trade. The exchange had been truly horrible, letting people sell their newborns as sacrifices instead of paying their birth price or giving them over to be servants, the babies taken from Lercel and never seen again. It was possible that some of the Life ris she had seen on Tad-Soo or Vytel today had been paid for in such a way. Tif normally tried to not let herself think like that, focusing on the beauty of now instead of what had been lost, but there was no mistaking how hard her Pep hand was clenched from the idea of it. Just like there was no mistaking the casual disdain Jer had in his voice for his ma…his ma, and someone Tif looked up to so much. Maybe if he could hear something good about her, it would change his perception. Maybe with a few words Tif could help heal their relationship. Or maybe she’d expose herself and her plans would fall to tatters because the Life Trade was certainly not something a Blood Plains girl would know about.
While Tif struggled to decide what to say, Jer shocked her by reaching out and touching her chin. Just like when he had kissed her Tif felt the battle of heat and coolness, as if her skin couldn’t decide what temperature it wanted to be.
“I don’t think my mother is why you came here,” he said to her.
Tif looked into his big eyes above his strong nose, feeling herself falling toward him even though she wasn’t moving at all. She turned her head to break the contact between them.
“Tiforoth can’t.”
“Why?” he asked, not speaking again until she looked back at him. “Because I’m keshe?”
Tif shook her head. “Tiforoth recently...ended things with someone she was close with, close with for a long time.”
“Ah, I respect that. We couldn’t really anyway,” he said, giving a toothy smile. “Not truly.”
“What do you mean?”
“You have more Blood ris than me by far,” he said by way of explanation.
“...they’re trying to take each other,” Tif said, finally understanding what the strange sensation was, “heat for your Blood and cold for your Gold.”
“I had heard that contact between two Blood users was...unique,” Jer said. He seemed rather happy with himself. “I’m glad I wasn’t misinformed. However,” his expression took on a thoughtful quality, “I’m surprised you wouldn’t already know.”
“It was…” Tif scrambled for a rational explanation. She needed to think before she spoke. “Tiforoth’s first kiss.”
Jer looked chagrined. “And I stole it from you. My apologies,” he said, bowing his head.
She waved it away, grateful of his reaction and to have avoided discovery. The exchange also reminded her of something else they could discuss, which she very much wanted to.
“You don’t have any Life ris on your hands.”
Jer looked up at her in a rather bemused way. “And why should I?”
Tif made herself slow down. She had to be careful how she phrased this, so as not to make the same mistake again. Like he had just pointed out, she had more Blood ris than him and so should be more knowledgeable than him in its use.
“You didn’t keep any of Vytel’s Life ris, despite knocking her out.” That was what Tif had wanted to do with Ede, and Jer had found a way to accomplish it.
He grinned widely. “Amazed I learned that sort of control so quickly? It’s true, I traveled with the roving city for less than a year, and my teacher, Domrhav, was equally impressed by me.” He propped his chin on his hand. “I’ve been meaning to ask if you know him. He’s a cyclops of great skill. Few could match his pali.”
Tif knew the look of someone asking more than they said, but Jer’s question appeared surface deep. He seemed to believe who she was and simply wanted to know more. She wanted to know how he had controlled his pull to avoid ris, but she couldn’t take this conversation any further without venturing into territory that was obviously dangerous for her. Roving city? Pali? If she tripped up before asking him about the original reason she had come here, she’d never forgive herself and neither would Pep.
“Jer,” she said. Tif could tell he liked explaining things to her, and she hoped he’d feel that way one more time, enough to entice him away from his own question. “You said that before the third challenge Tiforoth must agree to give up her ris if she fails.”
“I did,” he answered with a nod.
“And how will Gold Aspects take Tiforoth’s Blood ris?”
He smirked. “Oh, they’ll find a way. We view debts very seriously in Lercel.”
Tif knew the sentiment to be true, but it was the means she wondered about. A debt that couldn’t be collected was moot, no matter how much the person owed might wish differently.
“But how?”
“I’m not entirely sure,” Jer said, scratching his chin with the hand he had been using for support. “Most Lercel natives who have additional seals from other tribes are normally rich and skilled, and so eagerly taken by the knights. You and that Life girl--Vytel you called her?--are the only two I know of who have entered our challenges without any Gold ris. So, who’s to say how you’ll be handled?” His smile returned, almost sheepish. “I’ll admit to being a poor student of history. You could probably find the answer in the archives or by speaking with the administrator.”
Tif obviously couldn’t get to the archives now, wherever that was, but she could speak with the administrator tomorrow. She tapped a finger on her nose, thinking. However, the best way to exploit something unknown by others usually didn’t involve letting them know what you planned to do beforehand.
Jer’s grin slipped as he watched her. “You’re not actually considering participating are you?”
“Of course. Why?”
His smile was completely gone now. “I must have done a poor job explaining things before. Allow me to try again. If you stand before the division leaders tomorrow in the candidate line, they will take your ris. This is no maybe or could, I’m sorry to say. They will do it.”
The only way Tif could imagine the knights easily getting her ris was something she had considered before: if Blood ris’s natural trait was being able to trade it and knights were aware of that fact. Unlike the last question she had posed to Jer, this one she could find out right away.
“Who did you get your Blood ris from?” she asked him.
“An…Aspect?” he replied, clearly perplexed.
Just like Gold. That meant her Blood ris was special in some way, probably because of that curved shape Awt had been studying in his old book, the same one that the keshe regulator had stared at on Tif’s chest. But if the regulator had known her ris had such a power, the keshe surely would have told the division leaders, and they would have forced it from her right away, like Vak-Lav had tried to do with Torgath. It also explained why the leader of the underground wanted it back so badly, and why Tif needed to stick with her plan.
“Tiforoth will be staying,” she said with a definitive nod.
He stared at her, even leaning back some, as if he needed some distance to truly see her.
“You’re serious?”
Tif nodded again.
“Then...thank you for your concern about my mother. I should let you go so you can be as rested as possible for tomorrow.”
“Actually…”
“Yes,” he said, raising an eyebrow at her.
“...may Tiforoth stay with you? She doesn’t want to risk meeting those people again at night,” Tif said the last part as fast as Vytel would so Jer didn’t get the wrong idea about her request.
His smile was back. “Some in my position might find that prospect cruel, but I would be a poor host to refuse. Of course,” he said, gesturing to where she was already sitting. “Make yourself at home.”
Now it was Tif’s turn to grin. His tent had a cozy, lived in feel, and she felt more comfortable around him than anyone else at recruitment. It also helped to know he was a skilled ris user and that they were sleeping around all the other most talented candidates. If whoever the voices belonged to somehow found her here, she’d have people at her side to put up a fight. Those things were worth the very real risk of Jer asking her questions she couldn’t answer, but Tif was confident she could keep deflecting them a bit longer.
“Thank you,” she said, meaning it.
“You’re welcome.” He tried his tea again and made a face, just as repulsed as before. “I’m sorry I haven’t offered you any, but it’s particularly terrible tonight. I’m not sure why.”
Tif didn’t bother telling him that it was probably tough to make good tea while talking about someone planning to murder your ma.
“It’s fine,” she told him. “I’m not thirsty.”
“That’s probably for the best,” he said, and then to Tif’s further relief, he laid down. “I hope you sleep well.”
“You, too,” Tif said, quickly lying down on her back and closing her eyes to discourage further conversation. She waited a while before cracking her eyes open to stare up at the bottom of the lantern. It was curious that he left it on, but she liked it--the bottom was glass, letting her see the fire within, which was a bit like the stars she normally stared up at but so much closer. The bottled light danced in its oil, and shadows congregated above, around the pointed top of the tent.
She had never slept beside anyone besides her fa’s snoring, her ma’s bit of whistle, or Awt’s very quiet breathing. She found Jer’s inhales and exhales audible and remarkably even--probably from all the meditating he had done in his life.
There were so many more things she wanted to ask him about his collection of ris and his travels, but she could do all that once they were both knights together. Right now she needed to decide what she was going to do about the third challenge. She’d always known that she’d have to risk big for her dream, coming from where she did and how high she was reaching. Tif also knew that there was no way to have all the information she’d like to have before making her choice, but that was the same as das--you made the best decision you could based on what you did know and then let the tiles fall as they may.
This game didn’t favor her, she knew that, and maybe if she was playing for herself she’d have walked away, but after what she had heard? Jer was obviously dismissive of the threat, and talking with him, she better understood why he would feel that way. But Tif knew her intuition was good and so was Pep’s. There was something to what she had stumbled upon, brief though it had been. Even if Jer and others would ignore it like he claimed, Tif wasn’t going to. Just earlier today, she had experienced the awful fear of nearly losing one of her parents, and she wasn’t going to let Jer lose his ma or Lercel their Archon.
That meant Tif didn’t just need to become a knight anymore. She needed to become a knight of the inner division, or at the least one of the walls. That would ruin her own plans for travel, but only for a few years--she was sure they’d let her switch divisions once she had proved herself, perhaps by stopping the very killers she was concerned about.
Tif touched Pep with the fingers of her left hand. She could do this, she would do this.
Here I come, Tif mouthed to the ceiling, so as not to wake Jer. She would find a way to protect him, and her parents, and Awt, and everyone else in Lercel because that’s what knights did.