“No, she doesn’t, Aleski. Trust me, she’s his prisoner. If she said anything—”
“Hurry it along, boys,” Wren whispered. “They’re watching and coming this way any second.”
“Is it true?” I asked. “Montegue is behind all this?”
He nodded. “Him and that general. We’ve tried to fight them.” His voice was strained and full of apology.
“Aleski, I know. Their weapons are too powerful—”
“They’re strolling this way,” Synové warned in a singsong tone.
“Tonight, once it’s dark, come to the south livery,” I said. “We’ll talk more there.”
But Aleski continued on. His words ran together, desperate and crackling with hatred. “They hang loyalists from the tembris as a lesson.” He rattled off names, Drake, Chelline the dressmaker, and more. I knew them all, and it took every bit of strength I had to keep the smile on my face as he spoke. “They confiscated my horse,” he went on. “They’re taking them from anyone who once worked for the Ballengers that they think might be a loyalist. I have family here in town, my mother and sister—I can’t—”
Every time Aleski’s voice cracked, my frozen smile did too, but my father’s words seeped between Aleski’s desperate ones. When you have no strength left, you have to choice but to reach deep and find more, and then share it. It is the Patrei’s job to lead.
I grabbed his shoulders. “What is the rule, Aleski?” I whispered. “Catch them off guard. You know that. Take them by surprise. And that’s what we’re going to do. Why isn’t the town decorated for Winter Festival? It’s less than two weeks away. Do it. Today. Tell everyone to do it. Plan a celebration. Make these bastards think they’ve won and you’re going about your business. Don’t tell anyone I’m alive—not just yet—but tell them to be ready. The Ballengers are taking this town back.”
“What’s going on over there?” one of the soldiers called.
I patted Aleski’s back as if thanking him and returned my hands to my sides.
Spirit wood. That was what was going on.
Aleski was already moving down the street with his barrow, carrying my message to the people of Hell’s Mouth, and the soldiers explained to three out-of-place Kbaaki that spirit wood could only be had at the arena. “But they close early in winter. You’ll have to go tomorrow.” Vrud, Ghenta, and Eloh thanked them in their broken tongues, then asked about lodging.
There was none. The Ballenger Inn had been taken over by the king and his officers, and the other two inns were full. Staying at the stables with our horses was our only option.
I felt their eyes on my back as we walked away.
I felt the eyes watching me from the rooftops, wondering.
Is this big brute going to be trouble?
Yes. I was going to be trouble. In due time. They would be sorry they had ever laid eyes on this brutish Kbaaki. But for now, they would only see me head straight for the livery as we said we would, their concerns relieved.
What is the rule? Catch them unaware.
Aleski was going to tell me everything he knew to help me do just that.
Greyson will not speak to us. He lies in his bed, his eyes frozen on the ceiling. His hands are always fists. Miandre is gone. They have taken her. And we don’t know how to get her back.
—Theo, 13
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
KAZI
I burst into the room, stumbling past Zane to put distance between us. I was propelled like I was racing down a Vendan alleyway, searching for a shadow, needing a dark stairwell to hide behind, a place to disappear.
Montegue noticed. Sudden moves by me were still suspect. Whatever he was saying to the circle of young women surrounding him, he cut off mid-sentence and stared at me. I nodded, acknowledging his gaze, then stepped more confidently into the middle of the room, trying to erase my shaky entrance. His attention returned to his admirers, who hung on his every word.
We were in the expansive parlor of the Ballenger Inn. The iron chandeliers overhead glowed with flickering lights, and the conversation of dozens of the king’s many cohorts buzzed through the room. Judging from Banques’s rigid order, I was expecting a small, interrogation-filled dinner with the king, but this looked more like a party. A celebration? For what?
Truko was passing by, a tankard of ale in each hand, and I stopped him. “What’s going on?” I asked.
“You didn’t notice? The town began decorating today for Winter Festival. General Banques is pleased and thought a celebration was in order.” Truko himself had a pleased expression. Maybe it was the bottomless pitchers of ale that lit his face with a smile, or maybe he was fully in partnership with the new leadership now, all those arena profits too tempting. Paxton said he thought he could trust him, but I wasn’t so sure. Jase had told me he was the greediest of the league leaders, that he would steal the socks off a baby if there was profit in it. He continued on his way, saying someone was waiting for their tankard, and the celebration closed in tighter around me, the room growing increasingly hot.