“Looks like I’m a lucky member of the early units,” said Flick.
Kyra took the parchment and turned it over, as if she could find something in the back that would mark it false. Her stomach churned. Suddenly, her inability to speak to Leyus today seemed a much graver failure. “Of all the folk in the city, what are the chances they would pick you?”
Flick’s voice was humorless when he responded. “That’s what I wondered myself. I don’t suppose you’ve offended anyone in the Palace recently?”
Kyra was tempted to crumple the parchment in her hands. “I can’t believe Willem would do this.”
“You’ve got enemies in high places, Kyra.”
Kyra had seen soldiers die at the hands of the Makvani before. The thought of Flick—jovial, charming Flick—facing off with the barbarians was unbearable. Kyra racked her mind for any way to change this. “Your father. Can he do anything?”
“He wouldn’t even acknowledge my dying ma’s existence, much less mine. He won’t do anything on my behalf.”
“I’m so sorry, Flick,” Kyra said. She meant every word. “I’ll speak with Malikel as soon as I can.”
It was becoming an all-too-familiar routine, sitting in Malikel’s study and filtering through the truth for what she could reveal. Kyra wasn’t a natural liar. Flick could spin fifteen different tales to twenty different people and keep the details straight, all the while maintaining a face that convinced the most skeptical of listeners that he was the soul of earnestness. It was different for Kyra. She found it hard to keep track of the lies as they piled on top of each other. Plus Malikel wasn’t exactly the best audience for someone engaging in selective truth-telling. The Defense Minister listened carefully—very carefully—to anyone who spoke to him, from fellow Councilmen to lowly serving maids.
“Pashla found me after I was in the forest awhile,” she said. “She wouldn’t let me speak to Leyus, but I did learn that a new clan’s crossed the mountains and that the leaders of the clan are very close with Leyus.”
Malikel leaned forward. “A new clan? Did you get any sense of their numbers?”
“I saw only the two leaders.”
“Judging from the uptick in attacks though, we can assume they are numerous. Did you speak with Pashla about anything else?”
“No,” she lied. Then Kyra gathered her courage. “Sir, there was one other thing I wanted to talk to you about. I understand that a few early units have been conscripted already for Willem’s forest sweep.”
Malikel indicated his desk. It was covered with maps and diagrams of Forge and its surrounding forest, some with symbols representing soldiers in battle formations. “I will be training the new units myself. Hopefully, these early groups will give us a better overall strategy when we bring in the rest of the new conscripts.”
“Were the new units chosen at random?” Kyra asked.
“Yes. Why do you ask?”
“Flick, my good friend, was conscripted yesterday.”
Malikel had reached out to take hold of a map, but upon hearing Kyra’s words, he drew his hand back again and fixed a keen gaze on Kyra. “And you suspect that it wasn’t an accident.”
“Aye, sir.”
Malikel folded his hands in front of him. He didn’t speak for a while, and his face darkened with every passing moment of silence. Just when Kyra was wondering if he’d ever speak again, he did. “I’ll be honest. There are many ways an official could influence who was chosen. And many ways an official could then cover his tracks.”
“Is there anything that can be done? I’m not asking for special treatment for Flick,” she hurriedly added. “It’s just that, if someone had picked him on purpose to get at me…”
“Willem, you mean,” said Malikel. “We can speak plainly in this study.”