Quistis rubbed at her temples, trying very hard not to lose what remained of her temper. She’d known this was coming, or at least some version of it. She should’ve paid more attention to these two imbeciles and their plans.
This is exactly what she’d wanted to avoid when separating them.
Falor slammed his fists on the table with enough force that his mug spilled over and rolled to the edge. She caught it before it ended up in too many pieces on the floor.
“Have the two of you taken leave of your sanity?” he asked, voice riding that dangerous edge between anger and fury.
For the time being, he wasn’t yelling. Falor rarely yelled at his cell, no matter how angry he got. His tone, however… a man could shave off it. Rumi, taking the full brunt of his gaze, flinched back and closed her eyes tight. Air buzzed with illum.
Quistis hadn’t seen Falor quite this angry in a long time. Maybe even since Cinder’s raid on the vault. Maybe it was an improvement compared to his recent brooding.
“Two men treated for burns, burst eardrums, and blindness, and they got off with the best case scenario,” he went on, knuckles white on the tabletop as he leaned forward. “Look at me, Belli!”
His words cut through the air and Rumi stiffened to attention, eyes shooting open, mouth a thin white line.
“We got away with a best case scenario. Do you understand that?”
Quistis doubted that Rumi would be able to answer even if Falor gave her enough time to marshal her wits.
He went on, “In the worst case, our men would have hurt an innocent woman that you’ve spent all of Winter harassing. Moreover, she’s heir to a holding powerful enough to demand both of your heads on spikes.”
He pointed a perfectly steady finger at Rumi, “Don’t think my mother wouldn’t have granted them even yours in a jar, pickled in piss, to maintain her trade routes. I may even have sanctioned it myself.”
Rumi opened her mouth to speak but words didn’t make it out.
“Be silent.” Falor’s command cracked like thunder and the mind-skinner was frozen in place, statuesque in her pallor, her mouth half-opened.
Quistis couldn’t see even a twitch on her except for how her eyes widened in horror. She knew the Empress could puppet a man if she wanted. Falor wouldn’t be far behind, though he abhorred the very idea of it.
“You will leave the Aieni heir alone. That is a bloody order. Am I clearly understood on this?”
Aidan had been wise enough to hold his tongue through it all, likely the only thing that had spared him the same treatment as Rumi. He shot a look at his Claw and, the next moment, Rumi collapses to the floor, gasping, released from Falor’s grip.
“Am I clear?” the commander asked again, looming behind his desk, knuckles on the smooth wood.
“Yes, Commander. But—”
He cut her short, “I don’t need, nor care, to hear it. You’re dismissed. Get out of my sight.”
They slunk out of Falor’s office like whipped dogs, Aidan helping Rumi to her feet and away from the commander’s ire.
“A bit far,” Quistis said and immediately swallowed her words as Falor’s gaze swivelled in her direction with the slow, deliberate calm of a brewing storm. Jagged lines of blue-white lightning arched between his eyes and some stray locks of his hair.
Before he could tear into her own lapse regarding the issue, Barlo made his way into the office. “Laying it thick, Commander?” he asked with the joviality of one that had had time to enjoy his mug of coffee that morning. Quistis’s lay cold and forgotten on her desk. Falor’s was a puddle on the floor.
“Don’t give me the sparkly eyes. It ain’t that impressive if yer not holding yer hammer.”
That, finally, broke through Falor’s anger. He slumped back heavily in his chair and let out a slow, heavy breath. He ran a hand through unkempt hair and sparks danced and crackled on his skin as he did so.
“If that girl had the wit to piece together this little ploy against her, I have no doubt she’d be with Diogron right now. And what a wonderful calamity of indignant fury that would bring onto us.”
Barlo swayed a bit before making his way further in to stand at attention in front of the commander’s desk. He reeked of night booze. And sulphur for some reason. Quistis cracked open the window just to be on the safe side.
“The men cornered a pyromancer and walked away. Couldda been worse. Couldda had four corpses burnt black on our hands, and a few homes fer good measure.”
“They suspected the lady Aieni of being a planted fake and not a real pyromancer,” Quistis said. The two soldiers walking away unhurt had made their report regarding the orders they’ve had from Rumi. “I’ve heard of stupider things, but they mostly involved greased pigs.”
Falor ran a hand over his face and his anger seemed to bubble right back up. “What a lovely way of testing that hypothesis: ambush a woman in an alley like common thugs. Threaten her life. That worked lovely on Cinder once upon a time. Valen only burned for a tenday. Or was that two?” He reached for his mug and groped empty air. Quistis gestured to Barlo and handed hers over.
“I had high expectations of Rumi,” Falor groaned, accepting the mug. “Thought her time with us would’ve sanded off some of the edges she’s gained at my mother’s Court. More fool I.”
“Was a good assumption t' make.” Barlo failed in reading the room. Or he simply didn’t care. His comment surprised both Falor and Quistis.
“You’re taking their side?” Quistis asked.
“Just sayin’. An ash eater who didn’t blow her top off when the captain here accosted her? How many do ye know wi’h that sorta control?”
“I’d say the lady Aieni was quite near to setting me on fire,” Quistis said. “You weren’t there. It was Cinder’s attack that distracted all of us.”
“Fancy that. Convenient, eh?”
If he felt at all intimidated by the glare Falor threw his way, he didn’t show it. Moreover, Barlo kept his chin high enough that he seemed to be talking to the ceiling.
“Lighten up, commander. Bad judgement happens. We ain’t… waz da word? Pristine! We botched it up with that elendine.”
“Lovely. Another cock-up I desperately needed to revisit today,” Falor groaned. “What’s become of that one?”
“Nothing. And it’ll stay that way. Smith’s a pragmatic soul and won’t report our misadventure and…” He licked cracked lips. “Let’s call it indiscretion with the interview. Met’im fer a drink… or was it ten?”
“Are you hungover, Barlo?” Quistis asked, not quite believing the vanadal’s sanguine mood.
“Severely, captain. Petition for a purger?”
“None on hand. Suffer.”
“Aye, ma’am.” He nearly toppled over saluting.
Well, this final debacle should at least prove the final nail in the Aieni case’s coffin. Maybe she should’ve nipped it earlier, but she’d been busy and distracted with her other work.
“Don’t seem so happy over this, Quis.” Falor’s comment surprised her.
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Her focus had slipped. She hadn’t meant to allow herself feel so righteously glad that Rumi had failed in such spectacular manner, enough so that Falor was picking up on it.
“I’m happy I won’t need to go and explain to the lady Tianna why our men had deemed fit to ambush her. Especially as I promised her we’ve curtailed our interest. I’m sure there’s not enough water in the inner sea to wash this blunder off us in her eyes.”
Falor sipped her coffee and leaned back in the chair, eyes half-open, anger dulled by the brew. She focused on the many other reports demanding their attention. Bad news coming up the Bistry. Still no word from the cadre sent to the Twins. New mage killers training going too slowly. All they’d have to show come Thaw would be a delayed schedule and no Cinder’s head on a spike.
“What’ve you learned from drinking with the smith?” Falor asked without looking at Barlo. His voice was low, almost calm now that he’d had a chance to relax and cool down.
“Good man. Knows a thing or several of the forge. Gave him a commission by the night’s end.”
“Demi?”
“Demi, aye. Aelir and human combination. Man’s nearly as large as I.”
Falor nodded and sipped some more of his coffee, “Rare to see a demi and an elend working together. Rarer still to have one partnering up with an elendine. Your thoughts?”
“Runaway thralls of an aelir’matar.” He sniffed loudly. “What the nose says.”
“Put that down somewhere, Quis.”
She already had, having pulled out the file on the two artisans. Little else of interest in there. They’d gotten some things out of Mertle Mergara, but either the girl was somehow particularly adept at circumventing the truth serum, or she was simply as dull as her answers hinted at. She hadn’t revealed anything of worth under questioning aside from some rather lurid details of her love life.
Anyway, nothing to worry their cells over and that was fine with her. As far as the Cinder case went, they were right back to having absolutely nothing aside from a disguised face and a stupid helmet. The wanted posters had only produced some reports of the man with the helmet seen at one point at the Sisters of Mercy, back in wither.
The Sisters had basically told them to bugger off when they’d asked…
“Lovely,” Falor seemed to read her mind. “Let’s see to the channeller we can actually get our hands on. I want that Crepuscular caught before they manage to score a kill.”
“We’ve got a pretty good idea of who they are,” Quistis said, swapping out the files. “At least a reasonable assumption for an identity.”
“Deidra Aratol, I know. Vial’s description pretty much sealed it. One major trouble sorceress leaves Valen and another moves right in. What’s next? Iliaya herself come back from the grave?” His mood turned oddly joyful. “I think I’d actually like that last one. Mother always spoke highly of the witch and her methods.”
He straightened and took pity on Barlo. The vanadal swayed while trying to remain at attention.
“Go and see where Rumi’s slunk off to. Grab her by the scruff of her neck and drag her to work. I want this issue contained before we’re made to look even more the fools.”
Deidra had been testing the Guard’s defences, if reports were accurate. Every hit expertly carried out against solitary targets, poking and prodding at positions around the Fortress that were weak or understaffed.
“At least she and Cinder aren’t working together.” Quistis yawned wide enough that her jaw popped. News of the nighttime attack on Tianna had roused her straight out of bed after an already short night. Whatever she’d enjoyed before going to sleep seemed a long distant memory.
“How do you figure that?” Falor finished her coffee, oblivious to the way she stared at the cup.
“They hate one another.” To his continued curious stare, she went on, “I read Rumi’s profile on Cinder. Deidra Aratol was one of her last hunts before she deserted. They had, on record, three bloody clashes between them. Cinder may have gone off the deep end, but she’s no revolutionary to die for the kind of cause Aratol champions.”
“True. Still, one must wonder at coincidences piling up.”
He picked up a pen and began absent-mindedly scribbling something on a fresh sheet of paper. Quistis listened to the morning sounds drifting in. Barlo had sauntered off to do as instructed and she could hear him in the yard, bellowing at recruits in the chill of morning. Hungover, he was even more ruthless than usual.
“I don’t mind her testing us, but I do mind what she normally brings anywhere she’s allowed to put down roots,” Falor said. His hands sketched on without himself seeming to pay attention to what he was doing. “Wherever she’s showed up in the past seasons, she’s sown disquiet and trouble. Civil unrest follows soon after. With Valen independent of the Empire, this might just be her passing through.” He drew a sharp line under some words on the paper. “I’m not willing to risk it. And I’m not willing to let her do as she pleases any longer.”
“I’m assuming the Cinder spectacle is why she’s showed up,” Quistis said. “Maybe she doesn’t want us maintaining that sort of momentum.”
“Likely. Cinder’s event made us seem weak and ill-prepared.” He held up a hand when she was going to protest. “It doesn’t matter that I drove her off. It matters that she was here, under our noses, staging an attack. For someone like Aratol, that would be enough to gauge our strength and readiness. Any more cock-ups like our recent efforts, and our standing with Valen’s council will begin deteriorating again. I want eyes on all of them. Diogron. Valenta. Kiboll. And the lower ones.” He circled another group written down. “See that we also have eyes on the major players of the Agora.”
“All of them? That’s stretching us paper-thin.”
“It is what it is.”
“Should I request more men?”
He shook his head and rolled his shoulders. There was a particularly fierce glint in his eyes. “No. I don’t want mother stepping in for this. I want Aratol for myself and my own questioning.”
Odd. His eyes had turned to the schematic, now fully intent on his planning. Something ate at him and, without the anger, the brooding was back. The lines on his face were arranged in sharp concentration and focus. He tried to drink from the mug and realised it was empty.
He still wasn’t ready to talk to her about what preyed on him, but she felt him getting closer. Cinder had said something to him. That much she knew from Barlo. The vanadal had seen Falor and her exchanging words, but hadn’t heard the specifics. It had been enough to keep the commander from killing the sorceress.
Maybe he regretted not taking the fatal swing before they got interrupted?
“It would be a good show of strength for us to apprehend Aratol,” she said. There was a bounty they’d posted some time back and it was due a refresh soon. “Lucian has her face plastered all across the inner court of the Guild, even after Cinder’s burned most of the postings.”
“Quite. I want that bounty rescinded.”
“What?” Her eyes widened. It was a direct order from the empress herself to offer any price demanded for this revolutionary’s head. “Why?”
“Because she’s playing games with us. We will play them right back at her. She prods us, shows her face, and mocks us. Mother’s bounty has given her all the impetuous posture she needs to weaken us. I won't have it.” He looked at her and grinned. “Tell Lucian to make a show out of changing the reward for her capture.”
“Into what?”
“Two chickens and a firm handshake from me.”
She choked trying to hold back laughter. “You can’t be serious?”
“Are chickens valuable here? I recall them fetching a good price in Drack. No, not chickens then.” He tapped his pen over his lip, leaving behind a splotch of ink he licked away. “One suckling piglet, two bags of grain, and a firm handshake. See to it in the morning.”
“That’s childish. Lucian won’t go for it.”
“Tell him that either he does as bid, or I send Rumi over to convince him. With Barlo in a bad mood.”
“You can’t be serious.” She was repeating herself but the whole idea was outlandish. It’d be the laughing stock of the Guil… Oh. “You want to insult her.”
“Of course. It’ll be fun. Either we annoy her into a mistake, which I very much doubt, or we soften the impact of her activity here. Either works for me. Go and see to it please.” He waggled her empty mug at her. “And send someone with some fresh coffee in here. I want to plan this out properly.”
What that meant, only he knew. Quistis decided not to prod and headed for her quarters. It was getting warmer out, but not enough to go bareheaded without a shawl. Or three pairs of socks. Seeing Lucian was on the lowest rung of her preferences for the day, but an order was an order, even to her.
She ascended the narrow staircase up to the little room she’d called home for… well, for too long now. Soon they would need to move away from Valen. The understanding between the empress and the council had been for the cell to be there for either ten years, or until the next time Cinder showed up for Falor to take her down properly. That had been accomplished.
Loose ends had been found and tied off.
Plans had been set into motion.
Their job in Valen was all but completed. She expected the order to move on to arrive any day now, even with Deidra making a nuisance of herself. Apprehending her wasn’t on their to do and she expected there would be need of their strength further down in the South. Falor would only seek to contain the damage the Crepuscular could do, but Quistis doubted he was serious about apprehending her.
She needed coffee. The first pangs of a headache bloomed behind her eyes. Her calves protested the steep climb after her nighttime activities.
The key turned easily in the lock and she let herself into the darkened room, the drapes still drawn across the one window that overlooked Valen.
“You know I don’t like you sleeping in my bed,” she said, voice low. The door clicked shut.
A yawn and some mumbled expletive answered her complaint.
“I’m making a sprite. Best close your eyes.”
She didn’t wait for confirmation before lighting up the room. Deidra had enough warning to roll over on her stomach and pull the pillow over her head.
“Really…” Quistis hissed. “You couldn’t have taken off your boots before climbing into my bloody bed? Were you raised in a barn?”