Seek the Traitor's Son, page 39
To prepare, Elegy and Arias pore over satellite images of the monastery, the path of their approach, the land between the Cenobium and Dexa. Sometimes Theren joins them, leaning over Elegy’s shoulder to look at the map, just close enough for her to feel his warmth, but never touching her. He gives details like how long it takes to walk from one place to another given the terrain, how loud a person’s footsteps will be in the forests that surround the monastery, how bright it will be at night.
She tries to avoid him. She knows she can’t do it forever, but she tells herself she needs more time. That before she can think about it, she needs to get through this day, then the next day, then the next. She can tell that Theren notices her distance, but he doesn’t talk to her about it; he, too, seems eager to throw himself into the work they’re doing.
There’s one time she can’t avoid him: training. It’s likely they’ll encounter isolated Talusar guards when they enter the monastery, and the only way for a Cedrae to beat a Talusar on foot is by outnumbering them. So they practice fighting in pairs. On the first day, he just had them do drills together, simple ones that helped them get to know each other. The next morning, he put them in different combinations, and they sparred, two-on-two. They train in the Octopus in the afternoon, and then again in the evening just outside the trailer in Twentynine, in the dirt.
Arias, meanwhile, has them practice moving in the dark, looking out for hand signals instead of verbal commands. Hela teaches them all how to scatter and how to look for exits.
By the time Elegy reaches the Octopus on the fourth day, she has sore muscles she forgot existed—the ones in her shins and forearms, in her hips and abdomen.
There are few residents in Twentynine, and most of them don’t come out until nighttime. The ones who see them training here in the late-afternoon hours seem inclined to mind their own business.
When the others arrive, they all run together in a pack down Main Street. Elegy jogs alongside Parekh, and she’s glad to see Hela and Arias together at the front—the first day, Hela and the soldiers kept apart, but now they seem willing to work as a group.
When they’re done, they all duck into the Octopus, where Theren has pushed all the tables to the edges of the room and arranged practice weapons at his feet. Courtesy of Parekh.
Theren says, “I think I have everyone’s preferred weapon—”
There’s a spear for Elegy. She picks it up without having to ask if he intended it for her, and steps to the side to move through a few of the postures her father taught her. She fell into them naturally when fighting Avka Becken in Naarm; she falls into them a little less naturally now.
“Hela and Arias, you’re up,” Theren says.
He has an authority here that she wasn’t expecting from him. Being good at fighting doesn’t mean someone is good at teaching, but Theren is patient, never rising to their level of frustration.
“Two-on-one, really?” Hela says.
“Really,” he replies, and he’s more focused than Elegy has ever seen him, winnowed down to the bone. He moves around Hela to make her a barrier between him and Arias, and then he dances around them to reverse their positions, turning them both in a frantic circle.
Their confusion seems to give him clarity; he thrusts at Arias, the practice sword jabbing the other man in the rib cage. But Hela gets a cut in, too, prodding him in the leg.
He lowers his sword to acknowledge the hit, and then picks it up again, and they reset their positions. He prowls around them, and Elegy can hardly hear him move, just the faint sticking and unsticking of his bare feet on the floor. He attacks, and she can see every muscle in his body standing at attention. He occupies his body more fully than anyone she’s ever seen, aware of every edge of it, every ending.
It’s hot out, but that has nothing to do with the heat in Elegy’s body, with the way her eyes cling to his muscled forearms, his heaving chest, the trickle of sweat that follows the line of his throat like a swallow.
A cold weight settles into Elegy’s stomach as she watches a real, wide grin spread across Theren’s face as he calls out encouragement to Hela. It’s a brief thing, but Elegy wasn’t expecting it—how joy makes him fierce as a wolf.
I saw a man, an augur says in her ear, in her memory.
Elegy walks out of the room and into the street.
* * *
It’s too cloudy in Twentynine to see Cedre Station. Elegy spends a few minutes staring up at the blank sky. There’s something ominous about a desert storm.
It’s a half hour until they’re all supposed to meet again for their nighttime planning session. Elegy showers and dresses, and then instead of combing her hair, she stands behind Hela’s desk, dripping water on her father’s box of supposedly alien artifacts.
Only she’s not looking at them, this time. Instead, she looks at the small collection of objects behind the box. They’re some of the only things Hela brought with her from Silvis, from her home. A journal small enough to fit in a palm. A trio of interlinked metal rings—an object used in Talusar prayer. A vial of her mother’s perfume, now empty. And a tiny carved figurine of a horse.
Equo ne credite, she thinks. That phrase repeating in the memory of the witness to the Talusar attack. It keeps prodding at her.
“You’re dripping everywhere,” Hela says. “What is it?”
“Nothing.” Elegy shakes her head. “I was just thinking of something we found out in Naarm. That the witness kept thinking of a phrase about a horse.”
“About a horse?” Hela says. “He was Cedrae, though, right? What does he know about horses?”
“Yeah, I think that’s why it’s bothering me. Why would a Cedrae man know an obscure quote from an ancient text we don’t even study in school here? It’s not like he was a student; he was a guard.”
“What’s the quote?”
“ ‘Don’t trust the horse.’ ” Elegy snorts. “Don’t ask me, I don’t know.”
Hela picks up the horse figurine, and turns it in her fingers. She taps its head.
“ ‘Equo ne credite,’ ” she says, almost idly.
“Yeah. That,” Elegy says. “How do you . . . ?”
“Ileth Vidar is obsessed with ancient warriors, you think she didn’t insist on including old poems about them in the standard curriculum? Rava probably has that quote tattooed on her ass.”
Elegy’s heart leaps. “What does it mean?”
“It’s about a clever trick that won a war,” Hela says. “The Trojans presented their enemies with what appeared to be a gift—a big wooden horse. Their enemies brought it inside the city walls. But what they didn’t know was that it was stuffed full of Trojan soldiers. Don’t trust the horse, see? Don’t trust a benign gesture from an enemy, basically.”
Elegy rushes across the trailer to the bag she brought with her from Naarm. She takes out her clothes—still damp from all the rain—and her toothbrush to reach the slightly compressed sheets of recycled paper Saetang gave her before she left.
She sits on the kitchen floor and puts the sheets next to each other on the linoleum. On the left is the inventory of the hangar from before the strange Talusar attack. On the right is the inventory from after. Elegy touches an index finger to each item as she compares it. Ships. Tech kits. Fuel tanks. Down, down, down, each number the same. Engine parts, stands.
The bottom section of each inventory is the weekly list of supplies that will be shipped from Naarm to Cedre Station. Naarm may not supply as many goods to Cedre Station as Losan, but they still send a fair amount, especially fresh fruit and equipment. Elegy holds her finger over the number 7, for “equipment crates.”
And on the other paper: 8.
Elegy feels a stab of panic deep inside her rib cage.
“What is it?” Hela asks.
“The Talusar didn’t steal anything,” Elegy says, staring at the number 8. “They left something behind. Another crate.”
Hela’s eyes widen. “Are you sure it’s not just a clerical error, or something?”
“No, but think about it.” Elegy sits back on her heels. “They used a candlesnuffer to knock out the power, so we couldn’t see what they were doing. They went to all the effort of sneaking in. And then, they did nothing . . . but they still bothered to addle that poor man’s memories so he wouldn’t be a reliable witness. And one of the only things he remembers is ‘don’t trust the horse,’ a phrase he has no reason to know.”
She shakes her head.
“It makes no sense, unless it’s this,” she says, tapping the paper with her fingers. “Unless they were trying to sneak something in instead of out.”
“How big are those crates?” Hela asks.
“Pretty big, I think. Sometimes they put a whole Sparrow engine in one. Why?”
“Because what if the phrase is even more literal than you’re thinking?” Hela says. “What if they were sneaking in a bunch of soldiers? You know, to attack Cedre Station? Granted, the crate would only hold a few people—not much of an attack, really—”
Cold creeps down Elegy’s spine. She rushes over to the dresser and starts opening drawers, pulling out clothing without looking at what she’s grabbing.
“When the Talusar exiles came to Cedre Station in search of refuge, what did my mother think they were there for?” she says, and she doesn’t wait for an answer. “She thought they were there to spread the Fever to Cedre Station. She assumed that the Fever was the greatest weapon the Talusar had. And she was right.”
Hela makes a strangled noise. Elegy straightens, and meets her eyes.
“They don’t need soldiers,” Hela says. “All they need are priests. Priests of the Fever.”
44
Let me get this straight.” Larke Rosyk stands across from Elegy in the veil room. The three generals flank her, luminous as specters.
She’s still wearing her nightclothes: a silk robe crossed over her chest and belted. It looks fine and delicate—an expensive garment—but peeking out from the hem are the worn sweatpants Larke wears to sleep, fraying at the ankle.
“Based on the guard’s memory of a line of ancient poetry . . .” Larke begins, and she pauses to laugh—a little forced, because she’s practically trembling with rage—before continuing: “Based on that alone, you want me to alert the masses and lock down Cedre Station. Even though there’ve been no reported cases of Fever since the shipment was allegedly delivered.”
Elegy glances at Saetang, standing beside Larke. They look composed, their hands over their abdomen and their dark eyes contemplative. But Elegy can see the pulse jumping in their throat.
On Larke’s other side, Okoro bites down on her thumbnail. Usually, Okoro is focused and aware, but ever since this meeting started, she’s been distant, like she’s not even listening to what’s being said. As if she feels Elegy’s eyes on her, she looks up, then looks away an instant later.
“The shipment was delivered two days ago,” Elegy says.
She doesn’t add, and the Fever takes two days at minimum to take hold. Larke already knows.
“Your Highness, pardon me for saying so, but it’s not just the poetry,” Saetang says. “It’s the way it fits into the rest. We already know Ykev Talus and Rava Vidar planned this attack together, and we know that whatever their objective was, it had to be mutually beneficial. Sending a biological weapon to Cedre Station would certainly be mutually beneficial for them, don’t you think?”
Larke looks like she just tasted something sour. The Dreaded Crease is between her eyebrows.
“Yes,” she says. “I will send people to look at the crates immediately. There are Eyes in the loading bay, so I’ll have people comb through the footage, too. But until I find concrete proof that the Fever has breached Cedre Station, I am not ordering a lockdown. I’m not going to cause another panic like the one after the Hoatzin.”
Elegy winces at the reminder. When the Hoatzin—the ship where Theren was born among Talusar exiles—first entered Cedre Station’s orbit, her mother locked down the station. It caused such chaos that five people died in the stampede for masks. When the fears about the Hoatzin turned out to be unfounded, there were people—a lot of people—who called for the Sword’s removal. She understands why Larke doesn’t want the same thing to happen again.
But she has to insist. “Larke, we don’t have time to be careful. If this is about our argument . . .”
“This meeting is over,” Larke snaps. “I have said what I intended to say, and as you just acknowledged, we don’t have time for this.”
She turns, and Elegy half expects her to click her boots together—only her feet are bare, so Elegy can see her short, squat toes, the nails painted black, right before she walks out of the veil and disappears from the room. The three generals, though, remain behind. They give each other uneasy looks.
To Elegy’s surprise, it’s Okoro who speaks first. “She’s not wrong, you know. You didn’t give her a lot to go on.”
“I gave her everything I have,” Elegy says.
“Then let’s get more,” Okoro says. “What else do you know?”
“The only lead I have is that the Talusar used a candlesnuffer to disable the base’s surveillance before they attacked. It was probably a Scout who sold it to them.” Elegy ignores the look of disgust on Okoro’s face. “I can find out who sold them the candlesnuffer, try to meet them. But it’ll take time.”
“I’ve been pursuing this using our contacts in Naarm,” Saetang says. “I’ll tell my people to get more aggressive with them.”
“I would advise you both to take as little time as possible,” Okoro says. “I’m on Cedre Station now, so I’ll warn the hospitals and ask if they’ve seen any concerning symptoms. And I’ll work on Her Highness. Maybe I can get her to prepare for lockdown.”
“You believe me?” Elegy says.
“I believe it’s possible you’re correct,” Okoro says. “And as you are in fact the Hope of Cedre, I suppose I believe your word should be heeded.”
Without looking at Elegy, she gets up and walks out after Larke. Elegy, stunned, turns to Saetang, who shrugs.
“That was almost a profession of undying love, coming from Okoro,” Saetang says.
* * *
A half hour later, Elegy is in the trailer in Twentynine, and Theren Forint is knocking on the door. Hela is at the Recordkeeper’s, finding out who sold the candlesnuffer.
She sent a message to the others before she spoke to Larke, telling them tonight’s planning session was canceled. But apparently Theren ignored that message.
He’s been staying with Arias and the others in the inn, which is right next door to the Octopus. It’s a dim, cramped space that used to be a single-family home, but the woman who runs it—Agatha, who delivers the water—knows how to keep her mouth shut, and she keeps a clean house, if not a particularly nice one. If he’s here by himself, he must have walked, since he can’t fly a ship.
She doesn’t let him in. Instead, she steps outside. Theren leans against the trailer’s chrome side.
He knows how to lean, she thinks. Long legs, crossed at the ankle, resolving into a trim torso, his sleeves pushed up to his elbows, his thumbs in his belt loops. His eyes are steady on hers.
“What is it?” she says. “Did something happen?”
“Should be asking you that. Arias filled me in. What did your sister say?”
“She told me to prove it.”
“She’s not wrong to want more concrete information than a quote.” He shakes his head. “But people will die.”
“I’m aware of that,” she says. “That’s why, once Hela finds that Scout job posting, we’ll track whoever answered it and arrange a meeting. If Larke wants proof, I’ll give it to her.”
“Good.”
She faces him, leaning one shoulder into the trailer to mirror him. “Did you walk here?”
“It’s only a mile.” He smiles.
“Still.”
“Still.” He tips his head back and looks up at the starless sky. “You know I’ve been confined all my life? The Hoatzin, then Cedre Station . . . then the Crucible, House Vidar, Losan Stronghold.”
She hasn’t thought of it that way before, but he’s right. The empty desert must feel vast by comparison.
“I’m sorry,” she says to him. “Even your oath was a kind of confinement, wasn’t it?”
“I used to think so.” He shakes his head a little. “Now I think what I called ‘freedom’ then would just have been a lack of obligation to other people . . . and that’s not particularly appealing.”
“No?”
“Caring about people makes you obligated to them,” he says, his dark eyes glittering. “I tried not caring. Didn’t take.”
Elegy laughs a little. “So did I. Not fond of it, to be honest.”
“Hard to believe. You seem to inspire loyalty.”
“It’s probably that whole world-saving-prophecy thing.”
“No.” He looks down at his shoes. “It’s that whole ‘walk into the fire for someone you hardly know’ thing. You did that for all of them, in turn.” And he looks up again. “For all of us, I mean.”
She can’t find the words to argue. Not because she agrees with what he said, but because she doesn’t know what to make of him saying it.
“Did you come all the way here to give me a pep talk?” she says. “It’s working, if so.”
“Sadly, no.” He pulls away from the wall and takes his hands out of his pockets. The moon, Cedre Station, and the white dot of the Sundial are all still hidden behind dark clouds. But she can see him by the light coming from the trailer as he says, “I came to find out why you’re avoiding me.”
