“Wait.” I stopped Zeryth as he placed the pen to the page. “I have not yet defined the terms.”
“I thought our terms were simple. You swear yourself to the Orders for the purposes of bearing this weapon. And once the war is over, you have our support in Threll.”
“I did not agree to any of that.” I stood, placing my palms on the edge of the desk and leaning, forcing Zeryth to look up at me. “And it is far too vague.”
After that whole display with Nura, I expected to trigger some kind of reaction in him. But it didn’t. He remained unaffected. “Fine. What would you prefer?”
“We go to Threll first.”
He blinked. If he was surprised, that single blink—a brief hesitation—was the only indication. “We are on the brink of war. The Syrizen won’t be able to spare the support to accompany you, and we can’t afford the time or resources to start another conflict in Threll.”
“I understand. If this weapon is as powerful as you claim, I only need minimal help for this trip. After our work in Ara is complete, I’ll make full use of their support.”
Another blink. “You’re saying you want to go twice.”
“Yes. I want to retrieve my friends now from the Mikov estate. Then, later, I’ll return with an army to tackle the larger mission.”
I spoke as if the very idea of doing anything else was absurd.
A brief silence followed.
“We’ll need to test it first,” Nura finally said to Zeryth. “She’ll have to learn how to use it. We can do that in Threll. With the Stratagrams you’ve prepared, we could get there quickly.”
Zeryth nodded, raising his shoulders in a hint of a shrug. “That is fair.”
Should I be concerned, I wondered, that he seemed so unconcerned?
He lifted the pen, but again, I stopped him. “Wait. Make a list.”
“A list?”
“Yes.” I straightened, crossing my arms. “We are going to be very, very specific.”
“If it makes you more comfortable,” Zeryth replied. He dashed off, in beautiful script:
1.
Then looked at me, raising his eyebrows expectantly. “Where shall we begin?”
 |
I LEANED on that desk and dictated my terms until my wrists began to go numb. I specified every word — forced him to cross out phrases that I determined to be too vague, deliberated over each letter, defined every time frame to close each possible loophole.
I knew that I was giving up something valuable, or at least, certainly more valuable than they’d like me to believe. And I would have been lying if I said that I wasn’t choking back terror and uncertainty. But I focused instead
on my straining fingers, painstakingly beginning to claw a grip around what I had come to Ara to do.
A blood pact could never be broken. The terms must be fulfilled. And if I was very, very careful, that meant I could ensure the safety of my friends and the fulfillment of my goals with one piece of paper. If I could do that, I didn’t care what happened to me.
I defined the length and goals of my initial travel to Threll, specified that Serel needed to be recovered, that the search for him would continue when I had to return to Ara if I failed to find him during my two week training period in Threll — though I swore to myself that would not happen. I defined the number of soldiers who would be sent with me to Threll after my time in Ara was over, how long they would stay there, that our mission would not be complete until the Threllian Lords were removed from power.
Finally, I straightened, masking a wince as a shock of pain encircled my stiff wrists. “And,” I said, “I want Vos provided for. For the rest of his life.” I paused, then rephrased. “I want Vos to receive one thousand Lys per month, for the next eighty years. And, he will have a home given to him, and all healing care and medicine that he may need.”
“That’s a significant amount of money,” Zeryth observed, but he wrote down my words exactly without further complaint.
I paused at the window, looking out over that beautiful ocean. The sky had begun to tint orange, the light growing more intense and dazzling as the afternoon began to give way to evening. It had been hours. A thought crossed the back of my mind, something mournful settling in my stomach.
“Is that your full list?” Zeryth asked.
“One more.” One of the most important. I didn’t look away from the ocean. “Maxantarius Farlione will be released from the Orders. He will be released from all
pacts or agreements or… any contracts. Anything at all that binds him to you.”
Nura had been standing perfectly still this entire time, hands clasped behind her back. But at this, her head turned to me.
Zeryth chuckled. “My, that’s sweet,” he crooned, but I was listening only to the sound of the pen against the paper.
I thought back to the conversation we had with Willa when I first arrived at Max’s home — the veiled threat of consequence, implying that he stood on thin ice.
“And,” I added, “he will be pardoned for anything he did in the past. A fresh record.”
“A fresh record,” Zeryth echoed, the smirk twisting his words. “Wouldn’t we all like one of those.”
Still, he wrote it down.
And then we were silent for several long seconds, the tick of the clock echoing through the enormous room.
I flicked my gaze to Zeryth, who had leaned back in his chair, looking at me with pleasant patience. “Is that all?”
The papers were spread out in front of him. Three inky pages detailing everything that I have ever wanted. Three pages that guaranteed the safety of my friends and a chance — at least a chance — at a better life for thousands of people.
And three pages that sold me back into slavery. “Those are my terms,” I replied.
Zeryth greeted my response with an easy smile, twirling the pen between his fingers. “Excellent. Ours are simple. You will take on the weapon immediately. And once you return from your initial training in Threll, you will remain in service to the Orders for the duration of the war. Once we no longer need it and you have fulfilled your own mission, the weapon will be removed from you, and you will be free.”
My brow furrowed. “Too vague. Wars can last forever.”
The one that tore my own people apart lasted for nearly one hundred years. I wasn’t about to sign myself into indefinite servitude.
“We have every intention of ending this one quickly.
That’s why we’re doing this.”
“If only our intentions mattered.”
Zeryth laughed. “Fair. Fine.” He pondered for a moment, then offered, “Seven years.”
“Four.”
“After all this—” He gestured to the pages on the desk, “You surely understand that we have to be certain that we get what we need. We’re making a significant investment in you. Especially when you consider…” He tapped Max’s name in the contract. “You’re forcing us to give up our backup plan.”
I tried not to show the surge of anger that twisted in me at that. Fine. If that was how it was going to be. When I blinked, I heard Esmaris’s voice so clearly: You are worth one thousand gold.
“I have one more to add,” I said, “and then I will give you an answer.”
Zeryth raised his eyebrows at me expectantly. “My terms will be fulfilled even if I’m dead.”
I expected some kind of quip, some snarky response. But he only nodded and pressed the pen to the page.
“Five years,” I said, when he was done. “Five or until the end of the war, or until the Orders choose to release me. Whatever one is first.”
Nura turned to us. She and Zeryth looked at each other, as if having a silent conversation.
“Fine,” Zeryth said, at last. And his hands looped over the parchment in smooth, sweeping movements. Then he stacked the three pages neatly together and drew a Stratagram over the top sheet, striking an elegant circle of ink over our contract.
“I take it,” he said, “that you’ve never done this before.”
He reached for the dagger and extended his forearm over the desk. With one strike, he drew blade across his skin, opening a trail of red that spilled over the Stratagram. “Your turn.” He flipped the dagger in his hands,
extending the handle to me. The blade smeared blood all over his fingers. “We should only need a little—”
But I didn’t hesitate as I took the knife from him, and I didn’t break eye contact as I slashed it across my arm — not even as I struck too deep, splattering crimson across Nura’s white jacket, across the page, across that beautiful, expensive marble.
