Chapter Thirty-nine
I didn’t leave, of course—not really. Oh, I climbed aboard my mule and rode away from the fortress, but only until I was certain I was being neither followed nor watched. Then, being careful to avoid any degans that were still arriving, I put on Degan’s sword and circled around through the hills until I was able to come at the place from a different direction.
It wasn’t easy. The fortress was situated on a bluff overlooking a narrow pass. It had been placed wonderfully in terms of defense, and there was no way I would have been able to approach it with an army even now and stand a chance of taking it against even a dozen degans. But there’s a difference between an army and a man on a mule, and besides, no one had been clearing brush or worrying about keeping sight lines open or the place defensible for a long time. It took a while, but I was able to find my mule and me—and then just me—enough goat paths and dried-up washes to make my way up to the wall and then through a gap, well away from the gate and the main courtyard.
I’d been harboring a vague hope of somehow gaining the empty windows or some hole in the hall’s wall or roof to gain a view of the goings-on inside, but reality quickly put an end to those dreams. Without climbing gear, there was no way I could get to either, and even then I’d have risked being seen by Stone or another degan in the courtyard. Instead, I spent precious time scouting and skulking about the perimeter of the main building, trying to find a way either through or in. As luck would have it, every door seemed either to be locked or to open on a room or passage that led away from where I wanted to be.
Finally, as I was passing through what might have once been a garden but was now an overgrown tangle, eyeing the side of a crumbling tower that stood almost close enough to the hall for a foolhardy jump, I heard them: voices. Just a trace, mind you, and lost on the wind as quickly as they’d been found, but I had the scent. After a bit of searching and listening, I found the source: a crack the width of my hand in the hall’s outer wall, put in place by a seed that had taken root in some fault in the masonry and become a Djanese maple over the years.
The fault didn’t run straight, and it narrowed as it went in, but that didn’t matter. What I couldn’t see I could hear, and that was enough for the moment. I settled in against the rough, reddish brown trunk of the tree and put my ear to the gap.
They were shouting. About what, I couldn’t tell, but there were enough voices to make it sound like a hollow buzz through the crack. Eventually, the buzz lessened and I heard Gold’s voice rise over the others, forcing them down by its sheer weight of authority.
“While I don’t deny the importance of them,” said Gold, “I want to remind everyone why we’re here today. It isn’t to ooh and aah over Ivory’s blade and the laws Bronze has brought back to us. That’s a noble gesture and an impressive feat to be sure, but their presence doesn’t change the fact that we have three swords on the table before us without owners, and one more hanging on the wall back in the Barracks House. If anything, those blades underscore the reason for this tribunal: four deaths in less than twice as many months, and all of them hovering around Bronze. That is why we’re here, brothers and sisters. Don’t forget that.”
“The reason we’re here,” said Degan, his voice cutting through the air like the arc of a sword, “is because of the chasm that exists within the order. Everything else—the deaths, our lost laws, Ivory’s sword and what it holds—can all be traced back to that. Until we deal with the issue of our Oaths and how they relate to the emperor and the empire, what I did or didn’t do is minor by comparison.”
“How convenient for you,” said Gold.
“Convenient or not,” said Degan, “it’s true.”
“Why should we even believe you?” Another voice, one I didn’t recognize. “Why are you even here, if not to buy our favor and bribe your way back into the fold?”
“Because he’s come here to put himself at our mercy, is why.” Brass’s silky, easy tones were instantly recognizable. “Bronze brought back the swords and the laws. Who of us have tried to do one in the last century, let alone both? Who of us have done anything other than ignore the question that has plagued us since our founding? Who has settled for the status quo?”
“I don’t dispute that Bronze brought the swords and the laws home,” said Gold, “but at what price? Where is Ivory? Where is Steel? Without them here, we have nothing but the word of the man on trial for their deaths.”
“You have no cause to lay their deaths at Bronze’s feet.” This from a voice that sounded familiar but I couldn’t place. Someone who’d questioned me in Ildrecca about Iron? In any case, other voices rose in agreement. Still more rose against.
“I have their steel before me,” shouted Gold, his words smothering the rest like a blanket. “What else do I need? Which of us would willingly give up their steel and still live? Oh, excuse me—which of us, save for Bronze?” A few laughs, but not many. “Are we to believe these swords didn’t come with a cost?”
“Of course they did,” answered Brass. “But you can’t simply assume Bronze killed them because he’s alive. If so, why should he even bother to come back? Why not keep running? Or, if he’s the killer you say, why not keep hunting us? Why call the Order together and stand before us when he has so many other options?”
“Fear.” The word fell from Gold’s lips like a weight, and the hall grew silent. “Fear of being hunted. Fear of being found. Fear of being judged by the sword rather than by his deeds. Fear, at last, of infamy. Our brother Bronze returned because he’d found more than he bargained for, more than he knew what to do with. Even an Oath-breaker and a killer can have his limits, and Ivory’s blade was Bronze’s, I think. When he held the whole of the Order in his hands, it was too much even for him: too much to act on, and too much to risk.” A pause. I could almost see Gold turning dramatically to face Degan as he said, “Am I right, brother? Was it fear that brought you back?”
“Yes.”
Even out here, I could hear the collective gasp within the hall.
“You’re right,” continued Degan. “I came back because of fear. But not because I was afraid of being hunted or found or defamed. Not because I feared you or what Ivory’s sword represented. I came back because I was afraid for you, for the Order. I did what I did because, after I saw Iron lying on the ground, I knew that the Order was broken and that something needed to change.”
“And you would be that change?” said Gold.
“I would be part of it.”
“And what kind of change would you bring, brother Bronze? A tide of blood and steel, as you say Steel would have wrought? Or would it come on the edge of Ivory’s sword, with the bindings it holds? How would you save us?”
“Neither of those.”
“Then what?”
There was a long pause. Finally, when Degan spoke, I had to press my ear to the stone, straining to hear.
“Steel wasn’t wrong, at least in part,” he began. “I didn’t realize that at first, but as I spent time on the road coming back, looking through some of the other books I took from Ivory’s library, I began to see his point. And Ivory’s.”
A murmur through the crack that I couldn’t gauge. After a moment, it faded and Degan’s voice slid through again.
“When you start something,” said Degan, “you have a picture in your head of how it will be. You build that image in your mind and you hold on to it, hard, because that’s your guide. But once that thing starts to become a reality, once you actually start to bring it into being, you realize it will never be that thing you saw in your dreams. You begin to see the flaws and the failures, the shortcomings and the mistakes; and try as you might, you can’t reconcile it all. Try as you might, the reality never shines as bright as its potential. It becomes disheartening. This perfect thing, you suddenly realize, will never be—can never be. Not as you dreamed it when you first began.
“I think that’s what happened to Ivory, and to a lesser extent, to Steel. It’s what I think has haunted this Order from the beginning. We aren’t what we dreamed, and emperor or not, we never will be. But that doesn’t mean the dream has to go away. The thing we made is still here, waiting.
“There are flaws in this Order, yes. They’ve been here since the beginning. In that sense, Steel was right—we need to start anew. But not with blood, and not with death. He would have torn us down past the foundations, started from scratch—but that ignores everything we’ve done up to now. Everything we’ve done right.
“The main question for the Order is what to do about our Oath to preserve the empire. Wolf would have used the Oaths in Ivory’s sword to bind the emperor to us, to force him to redefine our service and our purpose. To make us what we were before the Oath. But we are all of us more than the White Sashes we once were.” Sounds of agreement.
“Wolf’s mistake,” said Degan, “was thinking he could force us onto what he saw as the honorable path. But you can’t force someone to be honorable, just as you can’t buy it with a promise.”
“And so what would you have us do?” This from Gold, not quite mocking, but not quite conciliatory, either. “Would you call on the emperor to decide? Would you use Ivory’s sword and the laws to push us one way or the other? Be our arbiter and guide on whichever road you choose to redemption?”
“No. I’d choose a third path.”
“And what is that?”
Silence. Even the wind in the maple above me seemed to pause, waiting for the answer.
“I don’t know,” Degan finally said. “But I—” But his words were drowned out by the shouting that erupted within the hall.
It didn’t sound like the answer they were hoping for.
After more yelling and what sounded like someone pounding on a table with the pommel of a sword, the room was called back into a semblance of order.
“Well, this is enthralling,” said Gold after things had settled, “but it still doesn’t get us any closer to a solution for the matter at hand.”
“And neither do your questions,” said Brass, nearly shouting. Her voice had the taint of desperation now, making me wonder what the mood was in the room. As used as I was to eavesdropping from my years as a Nose, it still didn’t help with the frustration I was feeling right now. Damn this crack for not being a window, anyhow. “Do you merely plan to cast aspersions on everything Bronze says?” said Brass. “Is that your plan? To color his every deed with doubt? Because if so, I’d remind everyone here that this is Bronze Degan we’re talking about. This is the man who—”
“We all know what he’s done,” said Gold sourly. “And yes, since you ask, it is my intention to doubt everything about him precisely for the reasons you say: This is Bronze Degan. And because of that, we can offer him no quarter. He’d expect no less, am I right?” A majority of the room seemed to agree. “Our respect and admiration isn’t sufficient reason to pardon him, let alone welcome him back with open arms.”
“Then what would you have him do?” said Brass, her patience clearly gone. “Would you have him summon up Steel or Silver and ask them how he came by their swords? Would you ask Ivory what Bronze did to get his hands on the sword and the laws? Because if it’s a village shaman you want, Gold, I can be back with one in two hours’ time.”
Scattered laughter, but not enough. Not near enough. Brass and Degan were losing.
“I appreciate the offer,” said Gold, “but I think I have an easier way.”
“And what’s that?” said Degan.
“I would have you answer a simple question,” said Gold. “One that cuts straight to the heart of the matter, and that speaks to everything that comes after. Nothing about Steel or the laws of Ivory—just one simple question.”
“Again, what’s that?” said Degan.
“Did you kill Iron Degan?”
Crap.
I was away from the tree and running in an instant. I didn’t need to have my ear to the crack to know what Degan’s answer would be, didn’t have to be paying attention to hear the roar that came tumbling out the hall’s windows as I raced through the garden and around toward the main doors, Degan’s blade slapping against my back.
Of course Degan had answered honestly. Of course he said yes, because that’s who he was.
And, damn Gold, of course he’d phrased the question in a way that didn’t allow Degan to explain the circumstances, or the fact that by fighting Iron he’d actually been keeping his Oath to me and, he thought, to the emperor. All the roomful of degans in there knew was that Bronze Degan had just admitted to killing one of their own. And, like him or not, there was only one response for that.
Unless I could get in there and somehow make them listen to me. Or at least get Degan his sword, so he might have a chance. Either way, I wasn’t going to sit by and let everything come crashing down on his head.
I sprinted through the courtyard, my wounded leg complaining every other stride, and took the steps two at a time. Through the doors, down the passageway, and then around the turn to the entrance to the main hall.
Where Stone Degan stood, his sword in his hand.
I skidded to a halt maybe six paces from the degan. Fortunately for me, he hadn’t lowered the point of his weapon, otherwise I’d have been hanging off it like a piece of meat ready for the grilling.
As it was, the degan widened his stance slightly and gripped his blade at the half-sword, one hand midway up the blade, the other still on the handle, ready for the close fight.
“You’re supposed to be gone,” he said.
“I need to get in there.”
Stone glanced over his shoulder. The doors hadn’t been shut all the way. Whether this was because they couldn’t be, or simply because he’d wanted to listen, I didn’t know—all I did know was that I could hear shouting still coming from the other side.
“No,” he said.
“They’re going to kill him.”
Stone nodded. “Probably.”
“I can’t let that happen.”
“And I can’t let you in.”
I opened my fists, closed them. Stone stood waiting, doing a good imitation of his namesake.
Beyond him, I head the shouting subside, caught Degan’s voice rising above the din. “By my Oath,” he began, but was drowned out by Gold.
“By your Oath?” shouted the other degan. “By your Oath? You mean the thing you broke when you drew steel on Iron? When you killed him? The thing you threw away when you tossed your soul and your sword in the dust? And now you want us to hear you swear on your Oath?”
I reached up over my shoulder and drew Degan’s sword. Stone lowered his stance and growled.
“No!” I said, quickly switching it so I held the blade at the forte, below the guard. “Look. I need to get in there. To bring this to him.”
Stone’s eyes went wide, but his stance stayed deep. “Where did you get that?”
Gold was still going at it on the other side of the door. “You threw away this Order when you threw away your blade,” he said. “You cast away your honor with your steel.”
There were ominous grumbles and shouts of agreement.
“Where the hell do you think I got it?” I said, trying to peer around the degan. “He gave it to me.”
“Bronze?”
“No, the f*cking emperor. Of course Bronze!”
I could hear Brass trying to say something, trying to come across as calm. No one seemed to be having any of it.
Stone lowered his sword a bit. “Why? Why give it to you instead of bringing it before the rest of us? It could only help him in there.”
I thought about what Degan had told me, about what it would mean if his fellows found out I was under Oath to him, let alone what I knew about the Order of the Degans. About how there might not even be time to say, “Wait” before the sword fell.
I thought about it all, and then threw it away.
“He gave it to me because it holds my Oath to him, dammit, and because I know all about your Order’s dance over the emperor.” I swallowed and held the sword out farther. “He gave it to me because he didn’t want the rest of you to know I was yours for the asking.”
Stone blinked.
I could hear Gold clearly now, addressing the room as only a man can when he knows he owns it, body and soul. “Can we trust the word of any man—even Bronze Degan—when he’s willing to cast so much and so many aside? When he’s already stained his honor so?”
I held my breath as Stone reached out and ran a finger lightly along the flat of Degan’s blade. As he looked up and met my eyes.
“It doesn’t matter if he killed Silver or not,” said Gold. “Or if Steel did the things he claims. I don’t care if Ivory gave Bronze his sword with a smile on his face and a song in his heart. None of those things matter.
“What matters is that Bronze killed Iron. Not for the Order, not for Ivory, not even to rescue the laws—but for the simple fact that Iron stood with the empire, and Bronze stood with the emperor. Everything else came later. In the end, he killed Iron because—”
“Because,” I said as I pushed open the doors and strode into the hall, Degan’s sword held above my head and Stone Degan at my back, “he was under Oath to me, and the only way for him to keep that Oath was to fight Iron.” I walked across the room and up to Gold and stared straight into his cold gray eyes. “Bronze fought Iron because it was the best and only way for him not just to honor his agreement with me, but to protect the empire as he saw it. He did it to honor his Oath, not betray it. And I repaid him by clicking him from behind and taking Iron’s sword. So if you want to talk to anyone about breaking their Oath, you should be talking to me, because Bronze has done nothing but honor his from start to finish—including letting you walk all over him so I wouldn’t have to face you.” I lowered my arm and shoved Degan’s blade and scabbard up against Gold’s chest. “Now give the man back his f*cking sword and let’s you and me settle our business.” I was sitting outside on the steps to the courtyard, nursing the fresh bruise along my jaw, when Gold Degan came storming out of the keep. He stopped long enough to glare at me, then took a turn staring at Stone and Crystal Degan, who were standing guard over me. They stared back.
Everyone having gotten their share of eye contact in, Gold stalked off down the steps, Opal Degan close on his heels. Copper was nowhere in sight.
Well, so much for my making any new friends today.
I took that as a good sign.
I turned my attention back to my jaw and watched the entrance for any more signs of life.
The tribunal had gone to hell after Gold’s fist had connected with my jaw. Voices had been raised, hands had slapped hilts, and Degan had stepped forward, ready to both defend me and to try and clarify the twists I’d put in my story about him and his Oath. He never got the chance to do either. Before I knew it, Brass and a degan I later came to know as Lead had pulled me and Degan’s sword aside and put their heads together over the blade, while Stone had made it clear that anyone who came after Degan or me would have him to answer to. After a bit more muttering and steel touching in the corner, it was announced to the assembly that yes, indeed, I was under Oath, and no, it had not yet been honored.
A situation that was quickly put to right, at least to a small degree, by my ass being sat down in a rickety chair and me being compelled via Oath to tell the assembled—what? Onslaught? Revenge? I still didn’t know what to call a gathering of them—degans what had happened with Iron, and then later with Wolf and Ivory.
The story hadn’t pleased anyone. In fact, there seemed to be bits for almost everyone to dislike, but that hadn’t stopped the assembled swordsmen and -women from deciding that while they still needed to sit in judgment of Degan, they now had to do it in a different light. Another round of questions later I was thanked, dismissed, and escorted once more out to the courtyard, where I was amazed to find the sun not even halfway down toward the western horizon. This time, though, they made sure to keep a guard on me at all times while the Order conducted their business.
Now I sat and watched as degans dribbled out in pairs and groups. All told, I guessed there was less than two score of them, although Stone had told me that at least four hadn’t shown up. In the past the assumption was that they either were too far away to make it back in time or had Oath-related business to tend to, but with the rash of bodies of late, I got the impression that some members were being reminded of what it was like to truly worry about a brother’s or a sister’s absence. Degans, as Ivory had said, were hard to kill, but the difference between “hard” and “impossible” was being served up as a hard reminder.
Finally, Degan stepped out into the light, his sword hanging at his side. Brass was with him. When she saw me stand to meet them, she grinned and let out a chuckle.
“I’ll say this: You sure know how to make an entrance, Kin.”
“I’ve been spending more time than I like to admit around actors lately,” I said. “You pick things up.”
“Well, you picked them up well.” Brass turned to Degan. “I’m sorry I wasn’t more help in there.”
“You stood your ground like a degan,” he said, “and against Gold’s onslaught, too. That’s no small feat. I couldn’t have asked more of anyone.”
Brass tilted her head to the side and put a hand on Degan’s cheek. “Ah, that’s sweet of you to say so, but we both know you’re full of shit. I needed a Kin to kick down the door and save your ass when I couldn’t do it. That’s a failure in my book.”
“Maybe,” said Degan, “but I still consider us even for Yrenstone.”
“Oh, hell yes,” said Brass. “I’m not about to let you hold that over me any longer. Seventy years is long enough.” She turned to me. “It’s been a pleasure, Rapier. I look forward to our paths crossing again.”
She turned and glided away down the steps, her feet touching but not quite seeming to land on the ground. Stone gave me a wink as well and lumbered away. Crystal simply turned and left.
“So,” I said, turning back to Degan and eyeing his sword, “I take it you’re back in?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means that while the Order decided I violated my Oath when I fought and killed Iron, they also realize that, with the actual laws before them for the first time in two-hundred-plus years, there might be extenuating circumstances they’ve forgotten about up to now.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning they’re going to hold off closing the tribunal until they’ve had a chance to study what I . . . what we brought back.”
“In other words,” I said, “they may never get around to deciding to hold you to account.”
“Oh, they’ll decide,” said Degan. “I’ll make sure of that. I won’t let Iron’s death linger over me or the Order. He deserves better than that.”
Just like Degan to not take the easy out. Still, what did I expect?
I sat back down on the steps. Degan joined me. More degans were coming out of the keep now, some talking in small groups, others heading for the stables. A few were clearly lingering off to one side or another, waiting on Degan. He nodded to them but didn’t seem in a hurry to go catch up. I noted and appreciated that.
“And in the meantime?” I said.
“In the meantime, we’ve decided we need to figure out what to do with Ivory’s sword and the laws. When he first left, no one much worried about the Oaths we’d all sworn on it; then later, it seemed as if he and the blade had both vanished. But now, with it back, we need to decide just how we want to deal with the bindings it contains. In the right hands, that blade could bring the entire Order to its knees, at least for the short term.”
“Can you break the Oaths that were sworn on it? Make them, I don’t know, go away?”
“I don’t know,” said Degan. “Nor am I sure if we’d want to.”
“What? Why the hell not?”
“Because we’re used to being bound,” said Degan. “Think: We’ve been swearing Oaths since our founding, attaching ourselves to people and causes, one after the other. I don’t think we want to stop that—it’s too much a part of who we are.”
“And the emperor’s Oath?” I said.
Degan leaned forward and picked up a few pieces of loose gravel, began tossing them down the steps. “That’s going to be harder. We’re still split over what our Oath means, but having the sword and the laws at least gives us the opportunity to try and settle the question—or maybe recast it.”
“You have a plan?”
“I’m sure several people have plans, or at least the beginnings of them, at this point.”
“Meaning Gold?” I said.
“Probably Gold, but others, too.”
“You worried?”
“Right now I’m too busy enjoying breathing to worry. Ask me again in a week.”
I chuckled. So did Degan.
“But you do have a plan?” I said after a moment.
Degan sighed and eyed me sidelong. Finally, he relented.
“I wasn’t joking when I said Steel was right,” he said. “We need to rethink what and who we serve, and how we do it. All of us being bound to one person, be it the emperor or a sheikh of the degans, isn’t the answer. The last two centuries have shown us that. We’re just not sure where to go yet. Me, I’m going to give some more thought to Steel’s idea of us treating one another more like a tribe or a clan, and less like a sworn brotherhood. There’s a, I don’t know, pomposity to what we have right now that makes it easy to keep one another at arm’s distance. After two hundred years, you’d think we’d be able to be frank with one another, but it happens less than you think.”
I chuckled and shook my head.
“What?” said Degan.
“Only you would think a bunch of immortal swordsmen being more open with one another is a good idea.”
“We’re not immortal,” said Degan, “just long-lived.”
“Oh, well, that makes all the difference, then.”
He smiled and cast more gravel at the ground. “Maybe you’re right. But we have to try something different than what we’ve been doing.”
“At least you don’t have to worry about growing old while you debate the topic.”
“There is that.” Degan brushed his hands together. “Thank you, by the way.”
“For what?”
“For not listening to me, for one thing.”
“Oh, that. I’ve had a lot of practice at it. Not a problem.”
“And for coming back and taking the risk.”
“You risked far more for me than I could ever hope to do in return,” I said. “It’s the least I could do.”
Degan rubbed at his bottom lip. “So what about you?”
“What about me?”
“Well, assuming it’s still standing, you’ve saved your organization, not to mention put yourself in a position to start taking shipments of glimmer from el-Qaddice. Seems to me like you’re in a sweet spot, wet-behind-the-ears Gray Prince or not. What’s next?”
It was my turn to pick up a handful of small stones and throw them at nothing in particular. “I’ve been thinking about that as well,” I said. “Both on the road and while I was waiting just now.”
“And?”
“And I think I’m done.”
“With what?”
“Being a Gray Prince.”
“What?”
“If going to Djan taught me anything, it’s that I’m a crap prince. I don’t think like one, don’t plan like one, and certainly don’t act like one. I’m street, down to the bone. It’s what I do.” It was stupid that it had taken nearly getting dusted in a foreign city to realize it: I was a better Nose than I was a Gray Prince. I always would be. No matter how many years I spent at it, I knew deep down that my first instinct would be to scrounge the whispers and mumbles, not make them. I could direct Ears and spread rumors now and then, but to coordinate dodges and manipulate gangs, not just in Ildrecca but eventually across the empire? That wasn’t me—not on the scale I needed it to be. “Nosing is what I do and where I belong.”
It felt good to say it. Free.
“What about your people?” said Degan. “Your organization?”
“What organization?” I said. “I have a bunch of Noses, some Cutters, and a few smugglers right now, along with an Upright Man who doesn’t know better, Angels bless him. They’d all of them be better off under someone who knew how to watch out for them—Kells, say, if he wants the title. Or Solitude. That, or they can head out on their own. I’ve been nothing but a target on people’s backs since I got handed the title.”
“And Fowler?”
“Hell, she might just break down and kiss me, it’d make her job so much easier.”
“I think you underestimate her.”
“Habitually.”
Degan pushed his hat back on his head and ran a palm across his brow. “Drothe, you can’t just walk away from being a Gray Prince.”
“Sure I can,” I said, sounding leagues more confident than I felt. “I walked into it, I’ll walk back out. Oh, it’ll take some planning and a few deals and rumors, but I’ve been a prince for such a short time, I expect everyone will have forgotten me within six months. The trick will just be staying alive and out of sight until them.”
Could I do it? Would it be possible, let alone that simple? I wasn’t sure—certainly, no one had done it before that I was aware of. Then again, no one had made the jump from street operator to prince like I had, either. A big step up can mean a big fall down, but if you were planning the fall? If you turned it into just as big a step as the one you’d made on the way up?
Angels knew it was better to try than to wait for more coves to pile up in the street because of my bad decisions.
“That’s not what I mean,” said Degan, his voice becoming tight. “You can’t quit. It’s—”
“Dangerous, I know,” I said. “But if I plan it out and think it through; if I make sure the other princes have no reason to—”
“Stop,” said Degan. “You’re not listening.”
I shifted to face him. “Fine. I’m listening. Tell me why I can’t quit, O wise degan.”
Degan met my eyes, then looked away. “Because I won’t let you.”
I smiled. “This isn’t a room full of degans. You can’t just—”
“And the Order won’t let you, either.”
“The Order? What the hell do they care . . . ?” I let the sentence trail off as a cold, hard ball of premonition began to form in my stomach.
“We’ve already started talking about what we want to accomplish,” said Degan. “How we want to serve the Empire. You have to understand that we’ve built up an impressive collection of debts and favors over the years. Some, like yours, are recent, but there are others that go back a century or more and are still waiting to be called in. Banks, merchants, guilds, families—it’s a tapestry of Oaths, all woven together, with the Order at its center.”
The ball had solidified now and was beginning to work its way up toward my mouth. I tried to swallow it back down, to banish the dread it was bringing with it, but I couldn’t—just as I couldn’t take my eyes off Degan even as he refused to meet mine.
“Before today, we were saving those promises for the day we needed them to serve the emperor. But now, with us looking at alternatives? With us beginning to think about breaking that first bond? Well, we’re going to need those debts, those Oaths, among the bankers and guild masters and high and low families.”
No . . .
“And among the Kin.”
“No.” The ball had finally reached my tongue, had pushed itself up and out past my lips, into the world. “You can’t be telling me this. Not now. Not after all this. Not after what we just went through, after what we just did.”
Degan turned his face back to mine, met my burning eyes with his ravaged blue ones. “I’m a degan again, Drothe,” he said. “You helped see to that.”
“You can’t. Not after all this, damn you. You can’t.”
Degan stood up slowly—almost as slowly as you’d expect a two-hundred-and-forty-two-year-old man to stand—and looked down at me. “Drothepholous Pasikrates, I call in your Oath. I, and my Order, would have you remain a Gray Prince.” Degan paused a moment, then added, “And help us preserve the empire.”
Son of a bitch.