He gave her a hard look, wrestling to control his emotions. The look on his face was haunted with some twisted irony she could not see as he took a step closer to her. His voice was husky and raw. “And what was I supposed to do, Sparrow? Tell you I was going to betray Ballinaire to the king and end this war? Tell a bloody serving girl in Sol? Do you know how ridiculous that sounds? The risk?” His frown was hard, intense – honest. “The promises I made you…I meant every one of them. I still mean them. I’m bone weary of this army. I’m bone weary of this Rebellion.” His voice was so soft she barely heard it. “You are right. My grandfather wasted his life fighting Dos-Aralon and when the Shae joined in, it finished him. He wasted his whole life over his ambitions.” He paused and studied her. “I’m not going to do that. I was the one who called for the knights. I was the one he was supposed to meet in Sol, not my brother.” His look softened. He shook his head as if suddenly aware of how close he was standing to her. “Sweet Achrolese, I feel bad enough. Look at you. Let me fetch you some fresh clothes. You look bone weary as well. Are you hungry?”
She wanted so much to believe him. That the dream he had taught her might actually happen. But she could not trust him. Not without proof. And not before rescuing the others. She held up her hand. “You could be lying again.”
“Why?” he asked. “I’ve just risked my life telling you the truth. The whole of it. I couldn’t share this with you in Sol. I have to now.”
She stared at him and swallowed. “Are Quickfellow and the others alive?”
He nodded and raised the goblet to his lips. “I haven’t decided what to do with Prince Quickfellow yet, though.” He chuckled darkly. “You know he’s lied to you as well?”
“What do you mean?”
“He handles himself very well, doesn’t he? Who do you suspect he is?” Tsyrke asked, his face cruel. “A Silvan prince? The son of a Sunedrion councilman?”
“He’s a Shae,” she answered. “And more honorable than most.”
“Oh, he’s a Shae, Sparrow. As glib as they come. And as common as they come. He’s only the son of a barter.”
Ticastasy stared at him. A spasm of pain and betrayal went through her. “I don’t believe you.”
“We had a nice little discussion about him earlier today. He’s been banished from Avisahn. The Wolfsmen who caught up with him in the Foxtale were going to arrest him for treason. None of this is sounding familiar to you? I imagine not. I don’t think he would have told you this about himself.”
She had no idea whether Tsyrke was lying to her or not. He had lied to her before, despite his excuses, but he seemed to have strong details. He knew about the Shae who had come to the Foxtale. Was it all an elaborate ruse? Angry but uncertain, she decided that before she would condemn Quickfellow, she would hear it from his own lips first. Maybe she’d wanted to believe it too much. Maybe she’d fooled herself twice. Ban you, Quickfellow, if you’ve lied to me too…
“You swear it, Tsyrke?”
“He’s in the dungeon below the mansion,” Tsyrke replied, motioning towards the door. She gave him a wary look. “Hate, if you want to see him breathing, I’ll let you!” he snapped. “I told you my reasons, Sparrow. I told you the truth about why I’m here. I want this Rebellion to end.”
She gave him a skeptical look. “Yet this is your army. You hardly look like you’re quitting.”
“I can’t exactly manage that with Ballinaire rustling in the woods. One of the other generals has been watching my movements. I’ve had to be very careful. But consider this. I am in the governor’s manor in Landmoor. He knows and stands to profit greatly from this. I told you that I sent word to the knights to meet me in Sol. And I see you brought one with you.” She bowed her head and nodded. “I haven’t met with him yet, but I will and then you’ll see. I plan to let him go back to Owen Draw. I don’t want his blood on my hands. But what about Quickfellow? Do you know what he is after?”
She gave him a wry, sad smile. “You said it yourself, Tsyrke. I’m just a serving girl from Sol. No one tells me anything.”
Tsyrke didn’t seem surprised. “I didn’t think he did. Well, I doubt he’d tell you the truth of it anyway. You want to see him then? At least let me get you some fresh clothes. Do you need a healer? I can fetch a Zerite. There are a few here in the city.”
She glanced over at the changing screen and saw Tsyrke’s two-handed sword hanging from one of the posts along with some of his clothes. An idea sprouted in her mind. “I have something here,” she said, twisting the travel sack from her shoulders. “Can I…?” She nodded to the changing screen.
Tsyrke nodded deftly and walked around the table, easing himself into the big chair. Ticastasy hurried behind the changing screen and quickly untied her sack. She removed the gown Quickfellow had given her and unraveled the bundle.
“I swear that I’m going to kill Secrist when I see him,” Tsyrke chuckled blackly. She heard him fill the goblet of mead. “This is all really his fault, isn’t it? Ban it all, he’s never been early in his life…”
Unfastening the lacings, she smoothed out the gown and then hung it from a peg. Tugging off her shirt, she slipped into the gown quickly, feeling gooseflesh prickle up her arms. “You know your brother,” she said, trying to quell the nervousness in her stomach. “He’s a mule in need of a good whipping. Make sure he feels it.” She pulled off her boots so she could get the pants off quickly. There was a mirror on the inside wall and she studied herself, swiping at stray tufts of her billowy brown hair. She tugged on her boots again and straightened the gown. Reaching behind her, she did up the lacings as quickly as she could.