Every bit of confusion and pain that Tollan had suffered in the last week was boiling within him: his father and mother; his brother, Iven; the fledgling flirtation with Elam; the revelation about the mage women; the fact that his city was still asleep, trapped within burning brambles and that it was no longer his city. He didn’t even know who he was anymore, but he knew where the blame lay. He didn’t give two pricks right now that he had never wanted the throne to begin with. Right now, he wanted to hurt someone, and the only person he could think to hurt was sitting right in front of him.
Suddenly, like having a bucket of icy water poured over him, he realized why Wince and Elam were so upset. He’d just called out the most capable murderer in the city. He wasn’t a poor swordsman, but he wasn’t a great one, either. He felt color rise to his cheeks.
“That’s a lamb,” Devery said, and gestured toward Tollan’s chair. “Have a seat, have a drink and let’s all sit and pretend we’re friends so when Gemma comes back, we don’t have to explain our near miss with bloody death, shall we?”
Tollan sat. He took a sip of his ale. Devery took a long pull from his own mug, then said, “Let me make something perfectly clear, sir. You and I can have our differences. You can think me an evil prick, if you like. I don’t care. What I care about, right now, is that the woman I love has walked through the Void today, and if you’re planning on taking the captaincy that your mama offered, then Gemma is your queen. You will sit down now, drink that ale and put on a happy face. Tomorrow, you can air your grievances, and if the queen believes I should die for my crimes, then so be it. She and Aegos are the only authority I recognize. But tonight, you aren’t going to breathe another goddess-damned word about it. Do I make myself clear?”
Tollan nodded, unable to meet the assassin’s gaze. Elam leaned against the table as if all the rigidity had gone out of his bones. Wince slipped into his chair and picked up his own mug, draining it before he set it down once more.
“I’m sorry,” Tollan mumbled beneath his breath.
Devery grinned broadly. “Mate,” he said, laughing, “you’ve got balls the size of coconuts.”
It wasn’t more than a minute or two later that they heard footsteps on the ramp. The door swung open and Isbit came inside the tavern supporting Gemma.
Devery was up in a heartbeat, across the room before Tollan could breathe. Seeing the assassin move with that sort of speed nearly turned Tollan’s bowels to water.
Devery took Gemma from Isbit and spoke soft words in her ear as she tried to shrug him off. Tollan turned to Elam, who, he was surprised to find, was still holding his hand. His first instinct—to yank it away before his mother saw—proved ineffective when Isbit slid into the seat that Devery had vacated and eyed the pair of them.
“Well, hello there, young man,” she said, nodding politely to Elam. “My name is Isbit, as I am sure you know, and it seems I have missed a great deal in my son’s life.”
Elam bowed his head, then smiled at her. “I am Elam Bailderas, formerly of the Dalinn,” he said, without averting his gaze. “I apologize for our lack of decorum, Your Grace. It has been a most troubling week.”
She shook her head and waved her hand. “Think nothing of it, Master Bailderas. I, too, have had a most interesting week, and I’m relieved to find that my son has someone to share his burdens with. I’m very pleased to meet you.”
A wave of guilt rolled over Tollan. Here his mother was laying all of his baggage out for Elam to carry, when they hadn’t even spoken about, well, about anything, really. She was assuming too much from their casual display. In response, he almost pulled his hand away again. But the idea of losing the warmth and the weight of Elam’s hand against his own made him second-guess that decision.
Goddess, he hadn’t even known Elam’s last name. And Elam had said he was formerly of the Dalinn. Was he leaving the church? Tollan’s mouth went dry with all the imagined implications, but there was no way he could have this conversation with Elam while his mother and Wince sat right beside them. He wasn’t sure he could have it even if they were alone. And then the idea of being alone with Elam made his breath hitch in his throat.
“Wincel, it’s good to see you, again,” Isbit said.
“And you, Your Grace.”
Wince had begun to wear a constant expression that was a combination of befuddlement and fear. Tollan couldn’t really blame him. He was having a hard time even looking at his mother. Elam, however, made polite conversation, remarking on the beauty of the Heart’s Desire and his sorrow at hearing of the loss of Jamis Heliata at sea. Isbit responded in kind, pleasantly discussing the weather in Yigris and the beautiful colors of the previous night’s sunset.
Everyone ignored the whale in the bath—the fact that his mother had just tortured someone. Nauseated, Tollan looked around the room.
Devery carried Gemma toward the separate dining room. Her skin was strangely pale, her eyes were dull and glassy, and her arms hung limply.
“I … I need Lian,” Devery said to all of them hoarsely. “Will you go find her, please? She’ll know what to do.” His voice trembled, and his eyes welled with tears. “Please hurry.”
Tollan turned to Elam, who was already heading toward the door. “I … I’ll come, too.”
As Tollan watched, Elam stopped and turned to Devery. “There were some leaves of something in her satchel. Some tea. It may help.” His hands trembled. “We’re going for help, Gemma,” Elam called out. “Stay strong.”
Some moments later, though it felt like hours, Tollan found himself standing outside of the door to the private dining room at the Belly Up. Everywhere he looked—on the floors, on the walls and on one spot on the ceiling—there was blood. He could hear Devery arguing with Lian.
“I’m not leaving!” Devery said, tension thick in his voice.
“Yes, you are.” Lian didn’t raise her voice, and everything about her tone spoke of calm, but she would not allow for any nonsense. “You can’t help her right now, and what I have to do is going to be … unpleasant. You will listen to me, boy.” Tollan was impressed with the authority in her words as the tiny maid ordered the deadly assassin from the room.
A low sound—part growl, part whimper—escaped Devery before he said, “What do you have to do?”
Tollan heard Lian sigh, then she said, “I think there’s a piece of the babe still inside of her. I’m going to try to flush it out, or else she’ll keep bleeding. And she can’t live through much more bleeding, Dev.” There was silence for a long moment before she said, “I’ll do what I can to make her safe. You know I love her, too.”
There was a muffled sob, and some soft words, before the door creaked open and a pale-faced, hollow-eyed Devery slipped out of the room. He put his back to the wall beside the door and slid to the floor, his head in his hands. He shook with silent sobs as Elam sat down beside him.
He didn’t say anything. Tollan didn’t think there was anything to say. He watched as Elam wrapped his arm around Devery’s shoulders, and the assassin seemed to flow into his arms. He dampened Elam’s shirt with his tears.
Elam began to pray quietly, but as his heart took up the words, he spoke more firmly. All Tollan could do was look on and pray with him.
“Goddess—mother and lover of us all—I beseech you in the name of your daughter, Gemma Antos. If ever there were a woman who embodied your spirit, it is she. She has the mind of a queen and the heart of a mother, the bravery and body of a warrior and the soul of a lover. As your humble servant, I beg of you. I need her. This man needs her. This city needs her. Please, Aegos. Save her.”
Devery had stopped crying, though his body still trembled against Elam’s. Tollan ached to go to Elam, to comfort him as he comforted Devery. Wince and Isbit stood nearby, faces drawn. The room seemed to hold its breath as they waited.
A trembling scream, weak but expressive, erupted from inside the room, and Elam had to hold Devery back. “Lian will help her, Dev. There’s nothing you can do. Trust in the goddess.”
Devery looked at him, eyes filled with desperation. “That’s a load of horseshit, Elam, and you know it.”
Tollan felt like a voyeur. In this moment, the relationships between the team from Under were laid bare, and he and Wince and his mother had no business witnessing it.