“How?” he asked, his throat tight. “How do you know who my parents were?”
“It’s been my business to know things for a very long time, boy. I had reason to keep tabs on loyal servants of Avalkyra Ashfire and the animage cause, even in the years after the war. Your parents were the final line of defense in the Foothills, and though they did not bear a noble name or boast a great Phoenix Rider lineage, they earned a title of their own, after their deaths. Among the Hillsbridge survivors, they were toasted as Alys and Sevono Lastlight. When their glorious flames were extinguished that day, many saw it as the true end of the Phoenix Riders. And yet even in their dying moments, they saved lives. Three hundred and sixty-seven by my count, including hundreds of animages and their families. A snuffed candle will cast light until its last breath—and so too did your parents.”
“Stop,” Sev choked out, unable to bear it anymore. “Just stop it.”
“It troubles you, to hear tell of your family’s heroic deeds? I thought you’d died that day, as did most people, but then you turned up on Captain Belden’s roster. As I said, Sev is a unique name . . . and you look just like them, you know.”
“Enough! I don’t—”
“They are shining war heroes, and yet you skulk around as if they shame you.”
“I shame them,” Sev gasped, his heart hammering so painfully that he thought his chest might explode. “They died because of me.”
Trix was silent at last, but Sev could feel her stare as he gathered himself, breath shuddering into his lungs. He couldn’t bear to look at Kade, to endure his judgment, so he stared at the ground when he spoke.
“We had time to escape! They told me to run if anything ever happened, and . . . I saw the soldiers coming and thought I could reach the drawbridge in time. But I didn’t get there fast enough, and they had to come and save me. They died because I wanted to be a hero like them.”
“They died so you could live, Sevro,” Trix said, not unkindly. “It was a most precious gift. Now it’s up to you what you wish to do with it.”
He shook his head. “I’m not like them.”
“No,” Trix agreed. “You are something else.”
Sev looked up. He’d had the exact same thought about himself, but Trix didn’t say the words with derision or disdain. She said them with admiration.
“I’ve been watching you for weeks, you know. Long before our little arrangement and long before you started watching me.”
“Because of my parents?” Sev asked.
“Because information is power—but you know that, don’t you, boy?”
“What do you mean?” Sev asked, unnerved by the cunning glint in her eye.
“What did I tell you? I’ve been watching you, Sevro, and I know you’re a hoarder of information—just like me. You know every soldier’s name and where he likes to sleep. Every night before bed, you wander the campsite with your bedroll as if looking for a perfect spot—but you never look at the ground; you look at the soldiers’ faces. You’ve been studying the work roster, too, lingering just a few minutes longer than necessary every time you check your assignment, so you know where people will be and when. Smart stuff . . . subtle stuff. That’s what I was interested in.”
Both Trix and Kade were staring at him, and heat crept up Sev’s face. It was true; he did collect information, often as a means of feeling comfortable in a new place. It had also helped keep Sev alive, from his time in the orphanage to his years on the streets, and now, as a soldier.
Though it seemed she meant the words as praise, something in her tone felt dismissive—regretful—and Sev didn’t know what that meant.
“Was?” he repeated after picking through her words. “You’re not interested anymore?”
Trix tilted her head at him. “I tire of trying to convince you, Sevro. Go on, back to your old life. Sign up for vanguard or rear guard or Captain Belden’s personal footstool for all I care. Your debt to me is paid.”
“I didn’t do anything,” Sev argued.
“Technically speaking, you undid months of careful planning. Thanks to yesterday’s antics, we’ll have to regroup. Still, I no longer require your services.”
“Thya,” Kade whispered under his breath, casting a glance at Sev. “The packs. There’s no way anyone else will be able to memorize them in time.”
“Memorize the packs?” Sev asked. Trix had started moving again, and Sev followed close behind. “You mean the soldiers’ personal packs?”
While most soldiers didn’t have much by way of possessions, each had their own pack that they stocked with food, water, liquor, and personal items—endless talismans for luck, love, or swift journeys, plus letters from family back home. The soldiers had to be ready at a moment’s notice to go on patrols, take watch duty during the evening meal, or go on scouting missions, and whenever they did, their personal packs went with them. When they weren’t in use, they were stored with the rest of the supplies and carried by the llamas.
“Yes,” Trix said over her shoulder, still striding away from him. Sev tried to listen as she spoke in an undertone to Kade. “We could focus on the water supply, though there’s still the question of who will. . . .”
As their voices dropped out of earshot, Sev slowed his pace. His limbs were tingling, his breath oddly shallow. After the events of the previous day, he’d been expecting a variety of grim outcomes, one of which ended with Trix choking the life from him while he slept. But this? To have her release him from their agreement just like that? He should be relieved. He’d no longer have to face Kade every day or try to unravel Trix’s complicated motivations.
It would be like none of this had happened, and Sev could walk away unscathed . . . at least, for now. What was that she’d said about the water supply?
Then it hit him. “You’re gonna poison them,” he called to Trix’s retreating back.
She turned, gaze flicking to Kade before settling on Sev. “Am I?” she asked mildly. “But I’m in charge of the messenger pigeons. How would I manage something like that?”
“He was gonna do it,” Sev said, taking a step toward them and pointing at Kade. “Only now he can’t, thanks to me. And the personal packs . . .” Sev paused, his mind picking through all that had been said and all he’d gleaned on his own. “You don’t want to spoil all the supplies—you’ll need some, when all this is over—so you wanted me to help identify them. Help keep track of which bags belong to which soldiers.”
That still didn’t explain everything. Whose packs would they choose to poison? Did Trix have other allies among the soldiers? And what of Captain Belden? All his possessions were kept separate from the rest of the regiment.