“Life Above doesn’t have to be rotten. But if anyone is going to change it, it must be me. I’m the only one who knows how different things can be. And if that means cutting every prickling rapist and sadist I come across, I will gladly do so, until the women of Above walk with their heads held as high as the women of Under. Until every person in Yigris is free.”
Gemma smiled, ignoring the cramp that was building in her belly. “It’s funny you should bring that up, Your Grace,” she said. “Because I need to talk to you about some mage women up on the hill.”
In Gemma’s mind, two things were clear. First, the mage women in the palace must be released and allowed to go home to Vaga. Second, Brinna could not continue her vendetta against the Daghan family. Isbit’s son (or sons, if by some miracle Iven still lived) must be given his freedom. And Gemma hoped, for Devery’s sake, that his family would somehow be convinced to see reason, but she feared that Brinna’s taste for vengeance had poisoned her and Elsha both beyond the point of return.
Isbit stared at the sky, her fingers tracing the wooden talisman she wore on a leather cord around her neck. “I always hated the way the mages were kept,” she finally said. “I wasn’t allowed much contact with them. I was told they were too dangerous, and I was too weak to control them.” She sighed. “You must think that I’m a milquetoast half-wit.”
Gemma laughed. “I think a lot of things about you, Your Grace, but milquetoast is not among them.”
“Well, my dear, I’m afraid you’re wrong. I was as weak as a person can be for much of my life. I saw how those women were treated but never said a word. In my mind, I thought there was nothing that could be done, and in my heart, I thought I was as much a prisoner as they were. Brinna saw what I could not—that there is always something that can be done. But I can’t let her have my sons. I have done them enough wrong already.”
“Can I ask you a question, Your Grace?” Gemma said.
“Only if you call me Isbit,” the queen said. “You and I are going to have a lot of work to do together once this is over. It’d be best if we were friends.”
Gemma couldn’t help but glance over her shoulder at Riquin’s mangled corpse. “Friends, huh?” she chuckled softly.
But Isbit just nodded.
Finally, Gemma continued. “Why didn’t you take your sons with you when you went?” She couldn’t help but think of the baby she’d lost, and she couldn’t imagine giving up a child willingly.
Isbit’s hard eyes went soft. “Jamis wanted me to. He said that we could raise the boys together, on the boat. But …” Her voice cracked, and she looked away from Gemma. “What I did to Abram—I left him a cuckold. Your King of Above was scared pissless of any confrontation, any unpleasantness, save against those who shared his blood or his bed. Tollan and I always took the brunt of his impotence, and I will never forgive myself for leaving him and Iven there. But the fact of the matter was that if I had taken the boys, it would have meant war. Abram would have wasted every one of Yigris’s resources to retrieve his heirs and put an end to me and Jamis.
“I was just selfish enough to run, but I wasn’t selfish enough to destroy my city.” She cleared her throat, then continued. “I know you must think me an abomination. What sort of mother leaves her children? But the goddess and I worked out an agreement long ago. She saw me through the worst I could imagine, and now it’s my turn to do what I can to heal this city and my people. When I am rotting in the ground, I’ll pay my debts for what I did to my boys. Until then, I can’t worry about my sins. There’ll be an eternity for that later.”
Gemma found herself admiring the woman’s clarity. The world was falling apart around them, but Isbit was willing to do what must be done, even at the risk of her own soul.
“I doubt Tollan will ever speak to me again after tonight.” Isbit glanced behind them at Riquin. “I’ve given him all that I can, though. That ship is …” Her voice cracked, and she began to weep quietly.
“You haven’t given him everything yet.” Gemma shook her head. “You should tell him what you just told me.”
Isbit smiled through her tears. “You are young, yet, Regency. Someday you’ll see that words mean only so much. It isn’t what I’ve said or what I haven’t. I left him. No amount of apology will ever be enough, and no reason will ever suffice.”
Gemma wanted to argue, but a cramp took hold of her that shook her like a dog with a rat in its mouth. The edges of her vision faded to starlight and pain. She reached out to support herself on the queen’s arm, but the ground embraced her instead.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
THE BELLY UP
After Gemma had stormed out of the tavern, Tollan sat in silence with Elam, Wince and Devery for several long moments. Finally, Devery said, “Well, this is prickling ridiculous.” He went behind the counter, poured four mugs of thick ale, and carried them, sloshing, back to the table. He set them down and said, “You gentlemen look as if you could use a drink. It’s not every day that you put down a bloody rebellion.”
Elam and Wince reached for theirs, immediately, but Tollan waited. Something in the man’s words sat sourly in Tollan’s stomach. There wouldn’t have been a rebellion without Devery Nightsbane. None of this would have happened if it weren’t for him and his insane mother and sister, who was sitting in the palace doing goddess knows what to his brother. “It isn’t poisoned, is it?”
Wince nearly dropped his cup, coughing ale out onto the table. “Balls,” he stammered.
One side of Devery’s mouth turned up in a wicked smile. “I’ve never poisoned anyone in my life, Tollan. I doubt I’d start now when I could have skewered you at any point while we sat here.”
“This is your fault,” Tollan growled, still staring Devery down. “All of this”—he waved his arms around—“is your fault.”
Wince’s hand slipped to the hilt of his sword.
“It’s been a long night,” Elam said gently. “Let’s not say things that are—”
“It’s all right, Elam. He’s right. I’ve known for a long time that my mother’s plan was wrong, but …” He shrugged as if in one motion he could indicate all the complexities between mother and son. And maybe he could.
Tollan, goddess knew, had his own complications with Isbit. But it made Tollan’s stomach turn that he was even comparing the two of them. What Devery and his family had done was wrong. The pain they’d caused and the damage they’d done to Yigris could not be forgiven. “I should kill you,” Tollan said, without thinking.
Beside him, Elam gasped. Wince stood up, shoving his chair back from the table. Devery never moved.
“That’s not a good idea,” Elam said.
Devery kept smiling, his gaze fixed on Tollan. “Sit back down, Master Quintella,” he said softly. “No one is going to do any more killing tonight.”
Tollan felt rage roll through him, and his hands began to tremble. How dare this Vagan shit tell him what he could and couldn’t do. He slammed his hands down on the tabletop, pushing himself up and sloshing ale over the tops of the mugs. “Prick you, Nightsbane. I’ll decide if someone’s going to die.”
Elam was trying to grab Tollan, Wince’s face had taken on the gray pallor of a dead gull, but still, Devery didn’t move. Tollan drew his sword.
“Back up, Elam. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
“Tollan, please,” Elam begged. “Don’t do something you’ll regret.”
There was an edge of emotion in his voice that Tollan had never heard before. It might have been panic.