W e moved fast. It took only two days to get to Orasiev, and I had spent every second of them thinking of Tisaanah and what she was going
through in captivity. At times, my worry was so overwhelming that I was ready to throw away this entire stupid idea in favor of storming the gates myself and bringing her home with me, even if it meant getting myself killed, war be damned. I wanted her—needed her—safe with me. The faster we got to Orasiev, the faster that came to being a reality.
When we arrived, I could have fucking wept for it.
It was strange to think that Orasiev was once a Threllian Lord’s estate, the sort of city that would look exactly like all the other white stone cities built by the Threllians. The rebels had done so much to separate it from that legacy. The ivory had been splashed with paint, creating a cacophony of colors that reminded me of my garden. Strips of colorful fabric hung from the city walls—flags, I realized as we approached. Many, many different flags. When the breeze blew, they flew into the air like wings, revealing deep cracks beneath them, jarring scars from the siege that the rebels had only just managed to survive.
Once you noticed those cracks, you started to notice all the other signs of war, too. The haphazard spears stuck to the tops of the walls—some broken, some bloody. The boarded-over doors. The guards that milled about at the gates, though they barely even looked like soldiers so much as random collections of half-starved, battle-scarred people who happened to wear the same scarves around their necks: red.
Still…
When we Stratagrammed into the area, and I saw that city for the first time, my throat got suddenly tight. All that color rising up from the smooth gold of the plains, refusing to be silent, refusing to become invisible. It had held against two of the most powerful militaries in the world. Against all odds, it still stood.
This was what Tisaanah had fought so hard for. This was what she had dreamed of when she crawled to the Orders’ steps, half-dead.
“I can’t believe it’s still here,” Sammerin muttered, amazed.
“They withstood the Threllians and the Fey here?” Brayan sounded downright awed.
I could have stood there longer just to take it in. But I was acutely aware, in every horrible way, of what Tisaanah was suffering right now. I found myself recalling what Brayan had said about unknowns. A million terrible scenarios looped through my mind, constantly.
“Come on,” I said. “No time to waste.”
The moment we approached, five soldiers at the top of the wall trained arrows on us, shouting down Thereni too fast for me to decipher.
We put our hands up. I glanced at Sammerin and Brayan. “Did either of you get that?”
Nothing.
I sighed and turned back to the guards.
“My name is Maxantarius Farlione,” I called up, in Thereni. “I come to speaking with Filias. He is where?”
I almost certainly butchered that.
The guards glanced at each other warily. The youngest man glowered down at me.
“You’re Aran,” he sneered. “An Aran spy.”
I didn’t have time for this. I probably held one of the most infamous names on this continent or Ara’s. If I was a spy, that made me a fucking terrible one. I would’ve said that, too, if I could speak the language well enough. Instead, I settled for, “Why should I say lies?”
“There are lots of reasons to lie, actually,” Sammerin muttered. My teeth ground.
“It is for Tisaanah Vytezic,” I shouted, frustrated. “Please.”
It was Tisaanah’s name that made the man’s face change. He was about to say something when he was interrupted by some commotion behind him that I couldn’t see, and he disappeared.
I cursed in frustration.
But then a moment later, a blond head of hair poked up from the wall. A bruised and bandaged Serel leaned over the railing, an enormous grin on his face. “Max! It is you!”
I heaved a sigh of relief. Despite the circumstances, I found myself smiling. That grin of his really was infectious.
“It is indeed. Let me in. We need to talk.” My smile faded to a scowl as the guards scrambled to raise the gates. “By the way, I hear you wanted to leave me to rot in prison?”
 |
AT FIRST, Serel was thrilled, speaking so fast in Thereni that none of us understood a word of it. But when he met us at the gates, I saw the exact moment he realized Tisaanah was not here. He had been ready to take us on a grand tour of the jewel of the rebellion, but when the realization hit him, his face fell and steps faltered, and all of that was abandoned in favor of a single room at the top of Orasiev’s tallest building.
Once, this must have been the study of the Lord that ruled over this estate. The furniture was disgustingly ornate, perched upon luxurious furs and decadent tile mosaics, all framing an expansive view of Orasiev’s skyline. But whereas this room had likely once been all white, now splashes of color had been painted over the walls—the same seven colors that adorned the banners at the wall—and maps and notes and diagrams had been pinned over every surface.
Filias, Riasha, and Serel gathered with us, and in a broken mix of Thereni and Aran I stumbled through telling them what had happened to Tisaanah. Serel barely let me finish before he leapt to his feet.
He and Filias exchanged a knowing look. “The meeting,” Serel muttered, and Filias nodded.
I glanced between them. “Meeting?”
“We got some interesting intelligence recently,” Filias said. “From slaves working in Nura’s Threllian territory. She had traveled to Threll, but she’s keeping it very quiet. Apparently, she has some secretive meetings set up with Threllian Lords. No one is supposed to know.” He gave a half-
smile. “Slaves are good at not existing, though. Hear all sorts of things we aren’t supposed to.”
My brow knitted. Nura? Nura, in Threll? She had been getting hit from all directions by the Threllians, on behalf of their alliance with the Fey. Perhaps the Threllian Lords, enterprising as they were, were beginning to consider reshuffling their loyalties.
The thought of Nura having the manpower and brutality of the Lords on her side made me uneasy. But the idea that Tisaanah might be turned over to Nura—that Tisaanah might get locked up in Ilyzath’s torturous walls or strapped to Nura’s laboratory tables—downright terrified me.
“All the more reason to get her out right away,” Serel said. “We can leave immediately. Me, Filias, some of our best fighters—we can get her out of there fast.”
“No,” I said. “We do more than that.”
Serel had already made it halfway to the door. Now all three of them looked at me like I had lost my mind.
“I don’t understand,” Riasha said. “Isn’t that why you’re here? For backup?”
“Yes. I…” Ascended above, I had a whole new appreciation for how Tisaanah must have felt, trying to stumble through such important conversations with a language barrier this wide. “We can stop them. Stop the Zorokovs for always.”
Filias said, understandably, “I don’t know what that means.”
Brayan stepped in. “We have an opening to make a big move against Threllian Lords.” He opened his hands up, as if to demonstrate the scale. “A big move that will make a big victory. The Zorokovs are a strong house, and small many remain after the Mikovs fell. If we end them now, we can end the Threllian empire.”
His Thereni was marginally better than mine, and judging by the shocked expressions on their faces, it got the point across. Of the three of them, Serel paled the most. He turned to Filias and spoke in low, very fast Thereni, then turned back to us.
“How can we possibly win in an all-out offensive against the Zorokovs? I barely survived Malakhan. I saw what they can do, especially with the help of the Fey. Nothing can stop me from getting Tisaanah out of there, but going against all of them? I don’t know if we can survive that.”
Pity twinged in my chest for Serel. I recognized the undercurrent in his voice. A part of him was still in Malakahn, thinking he would die there. I would not wish a siege on anyone. They did something to a person, and those kinds of marks don’t fade fast.
I wouldn’t tell him he was wrong—he wasn’t. I wouldn’t try to push him, because no one should be pushed onto a battlefield.
Instead I only told him the truth.
“I want promise you,” I said. “I want promise for a win. I cannot. But we have…” I touched the pouch at my hip and struggled to find a Thereni word that could describe this. “…strength. Magic.” I used the Aran word. “We have a chance right now. Maybe we do not get one again.”
Serel looked uneasy and sank back down into his seat. Filias rose and stood behind him, his hands resting on Serel’s shoulders, one thumb circling in a barely-there caress.
“I won’t ask you for promises,” he said to me, “but do you really think we can do this?”
What a difficult question. I had a couple of decade’s worth of finely curated pessimism to cut through before I answered.
“Yes,” I said, at last. “I do.” Even if it made me an idiot.
“And more important,” I added, “is Tisaanah believes it. You know she does.”
The corners of Filias’s mouth tightened in a wry smirk. “Oh, I know.”
He and Serel exchanged a long look, one that seemed like it was having an unspoken conversation.
“Fuck it,” Filias said. “I think we should do it. We didn’t get this far by being cautious. If we were measuring ourselves by the odds, I would still be lugging Esmaris Mikov’s grain around all day. We have exceeded their expectations again and again. Let’s do it one more time.”
Serel still looked nervous. Filias peered down at him, gently tipping Serel’s chin back to meet his eyes.
“Don’t you want to make those bastards bleed, Serel?”
He said it quietly, meant only for one, yet the words hung thick in the air. Serel’s throat bobbed. He rose and turned to me.
“Fine,” he said, at last. “Let’s do it.”
