A Torch Against the Night
Page 44
“That favor was for the future Emperor!” Afya’s anger propels her to her feet. Elias digs his blade deeper into her neck. The Tribeswoman doesn’t appear to notice. “Not a traitor fugitive who, apparently, has become a slaver.”
“They’re not slaves.”
I take out the key and unlock my manacles, and then Izzi’s and Keenan’s, to drive home Elias’s point. “They’re companions,” he says. “They’re part of my favor.”
“She won’t agree,” Keenan whispers to me under his breath. “She’s going to sell us out to the bleeding Martials.”
I’ve never felt so exposed. Afya could shout a word, and within minutes there would be soldiers all over us.
Beside me, Izzi tenses. I grab her hand and squeeze. “We have to trust Elias,” I whisper, trying to reassure her as much as myself. “He knows what he’s doing.” All the same, I feel for my dagger, hidden beneath my cloak. If Afya does betray us, I will not go down without a fight.
“Afya.” Gibran swallows nervously, eyeing the blade at his throat. “Perhaps we should hear him out?”
“Perhaps,” Afya says through clenched teeth, “you should keep your mouth shut about things you don’t understand and stick to seducing Zaldars’ daughters.” She turns to Elias. “Drop your blades and tell me what you want—and why. No explanation from you means no favor from me. I don’t care what you threaten me with.”
Elias ignores the first order. “I want you to personally escort my companions and me safely out of Nur and to Kauf Prison before the winter snows and, once there, aid us in our attempt to break Laia’s brother, Darin, out of the prison.”
What in the skies? Just days ago, he told Keenan we didn’t need anyone else. Now he’s trying to pull in Afya? Even if we did reach the prison intact, she’d turn us over the second we arrived, and we’d disappear into Kauf forever.
“That’s about three hundred favors in one, you bastard.”
“A favor coin is whatever can be requested in a breath.”
“I know what a bleeding favor coin is.” Afya drums her fingers on her desk and turns to me, as if noticing me for the first time.
“Spiro Teluman’s little friend,” she says. “I know who your brother is, girl. Spiro told me—and a few others too, from the way the rumors have spread. Everyone whispers of the Scholar who knows the secrets of Serric steel.”
“Spiro started the rumors?”
Afya sighs and speaks slowly, as if dealing with a small, irritating child. “Spiro wanted the Empire to believe your brother passed his knowledge to other Scholars. Until the Martials get names from Darin, they’ll keep him alive. Besides, Spiro always was one for foolish tales of heroism. He’s probably hoping that this stirs up the Scholars—gives them a bit of backbone.”
“Even your ally is helping us,” Elias says. “More reason for you to do the same.”
“My ally has disappeared,” Afya says. “No one’s seen him for weeks. I’m certain the Martials have him—and I have no wish to share the same fate.” She lifts her chin to Elias. “If I reject your offer?”
“You didn’t get to where you are by breaking promises.” Elias drops his scims. “Grant my favor, Afya. Fighting it is a waste of time.”
“I cannot decide this alone,” Afya says. “I need to speak with some of my Tribe. We’d need at least a few others with us, for appearances’ sake.”
“In that case, your brother stays here,” Elias says. “As does the coin.”
Gibran opens his mouth to protest, but Afya just shakes her head. “Get them food and drink, brother.” She sniffs. “And baths. Don’t take your eyes off them.” She glides past us and through the tent flaps, saying something in Sadhese to the guards outside, and we are left to wait.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Elias
Hours later, with evening deepening into night, Afya finally pushes through the tent flaps. Gibran, his feet up on his sister’s desk as he flirts shamelessly with both Izzi and Laia, jumps up when she enters, like a soldier frightened of a superior officer’s censure.
Afya eyes Izzi and Laia, scrubbed clean and clad in flowing green Tribal dresses. They sit close to each other in a corner, Izzi’s head on Laia’s shoulder as they whisper back and forth. The blonde girl’s bandage is gone, but she blinks gingerly, her eye still red from the scouring it got in the storm. Keenan and I wear the dark pants and sleeveless hooded vests common in the Tribal lands, and Afya nods approvingly.
“At least you don’t look—or smell—like Barbarians anymore. You have been given food? Drink?”
“We got everything we needed, thank you,” I say. Other than the one thing we need most, of course, which is the reassurance that she won’t turn us over to the Martials. You’re her guest, Elias. Don’t irritate her. “Well,” I amend, “almost everything.”
Afya’s smile is a flash of light, blinding as the sun glinting off a cheaply gilded Tribal wagon.
“I grant your favor, Elias Veturius,” she says. “I will escort you safely to Kauf Prison before the winter snows and, once there, aid you in your attempt to break Laia’s brother Darin out of the prison in any way you require.”
I eye her warily. “But …”
“But”—Afya’s mouth hardens—“I won’t put the burden on my Tribe alone.
“They’re not slaves.”
I take out the key and unlock my manacles, and then Izzi’s and Keenan’s, to drive home Elias’s point. “They’re companions,” he says. “They’re part of my favor.”
“She won’t agree,” Keenan whispers to me under his breath. “She’s going to sell us out to the bleeding Martials.”
I’ve never felt so exposed. Afya could shout a word, and within minutes there would be soldiers all over us.
Beside me, Izzi tenses. I grab her hand and squeeze. “We have to trust Elias,” I whisper, trying to reassure her as much as myself. “He knows what he’s doing.” All the same, I feel for my dagger, hidden beneath my cloak. If Afya does betray us, I will not go down without a fight.
“Afya.” Gibran swallows nervously, eyeing the blade at his throat. “Perhaps we should hear him out?”
“Perhaps,” Afya says through clenched teeth, “you should keep your mouth shut about things you don’t understand and stick to seducing Zaldars’ daughters.” She turns to Elias. “Drop your blades and tell me what you want—and why. No explanation from you means no favor from me. I don’t care what you threaten me with.”
Elias ignores the first order. “I want you to personally escort my companions and me safely out of Nur and to Kauf Prison before the winter snows and, once there, aid us in our attempt to break Laia’s brother, Darin, out of the prison.”
What in the skies? Just days ago, he told Keenan we didn’t need anyone else. Now he’s trying to pull in Afya? Even if we did reach the prison intact, she’d turn us over the second we arrived, and we’d disappear into Kauf forever.
“That’s about three hundred favors in one, you bastard.”
“A favor coin is whatever can be requested in a breath.”
“I know what a bleeding favor coin is.” Afya drums her fingers on her desk and turns to me, as if noticing me for the first time.
“Spiro Teluman’s little friend,” she says. “I know who your brother is, girl. Spiro told me—and a few others too, from the way the rumors have spread. Everyone whispers of the Scholar who knows the secrets of Serric steel.”
“Spiro started the rumors?”
Afya sighs and speaks slowly, as if dealing with a small, irritating child. “Spiro wanted the Empire to believe your brother passed his knowledge to other Scholars. Until the Martials get names from Darin, they’ll keep him alive. Besides, Spiro always was one for foolish tales of heroism. He’s probably hoping that this stirs up the Scholars—gives them a bit of backbone.”
“Even your ally is helping us,” Elias says. “More reason for you to do the same.”
“My ally has disappeared,” Afya says. “No one’s seen him for weeks. I’m certain the Martials have him—and I have no wish to share the same fate.” She lifts her chin to Elias. “If I reject your offer?”
“You didn’t get to where you are by breaking promises.” Elias drops his scims. “Grant my favor, Afya. Fighting it is a waste of time.”
“I cannot decide this alone,” Afya says. “I need to speak with some of my Tribe. We’d need at least a few others with us, for appearances’ sake.”
“In that case, your brother stays here,” Elias says. “As does the coin.”
Gibran opens his mouth to protest, but Afya just shakes her head. “Get them food and drink, brother.” She sniffs. “And baths. Don’t take your eyes off them.” She glides past us and through the tent flaps, saying something in Sadhese to the guards outside, and we are left to wait.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Elias
Hours later, with evening deepening into night, Afya finally pushes through the tent flaps. Gibran, his feet up on his sister’s desk as he flirts shamelessly with both Izzi and Laia, jumps up when she enters, like a soldier frightened of a superior officer’s censure.
Afya eyes Izzi and Laia, scrubbed clean and clad in flowing green Tribal dresses. They sit close to each other in a corner, Izzi’s head on Laia’s shoulder as they whisper back and forth. The blonde girl’s bandage is gone, but she blinks gingerly, her eye still red from the scouring it got in the storm. Keenan and I wear the dark pants and sleeveless hooded vests common in the Tribal lands, and Afya nods approvingly.
“At least you don’t look—or smell—like Barbarians anymore. You have been given food? Drink?”
“We got everything we needed, thank you,” I say. Other than the one thing we need most, of course, which is the reassurance that she won’t turn us over to the Martials. You’re her guest, Elias. Don’t irritate her. “Well,” I amend, “almost everything.”
Afya’s smile is a flash of light, blinding as the sun glinting off a cheaply gilded Tribal wagon.
“I grant your favor, Elias Veturius,” she says. “I will escort you safely to Kauf Prison before the winter snows and, once there, aid you in your attempt to break Laia’s brother Darin out of the prison in any way you require.”
I eye her warily. “But …”
“But”—Afya’s mouth hardens—“I won’t put the burden on my Tribe alone.
