“I hate you too,” I whisper back, and he gurgles like a little laugh.
“Let him be,” says Mother in her mildest tone. “We are responsible for him. He’s content with his wet nurse, and I’ve made my peace with his unexpected arrangement of souls.”
I settle at Mother’s feet as the household trades stories of their day, just as we used to in the old days: calm voices, laughter, affection. Maraya asks Polodos for his opinion of the meaning of an old Saroese word she’s never come across before. Amaya reads aloud lines from a comedy Ro-emnu is writing for her.
“It’s just a small role to start, only thirty lines as the maidservant,” she says. “I need to get experience before I become the leading actress of the Lantern District.”
“That will be your second play,” remarks Maraya without looking up from the papyrus she is squinting at in lamplight.
In a low voice, I say, “I’m going to start training at Anise’s stable again.”
“Of course, Jessamy. That’s a lovely idea.” Mother can’t hide the relief in her tone. “I’ll just go with you in the morning to sort everything out. I’m afraid I’ll have to insist that you are accompanied by trusted individuals, for a while anyway. They’ll stay out of your way.”
“Mother!”
But that night, for the first time since Father’s death and Kal’s staged execution, I sleep through to morning and have no bad dreams.
35
Two months later I run in the first trials of the new year, held in the City Fives Court in front of a packed audience with both the Protector and the Custodian in attendance. I run as Spider, wearing ordinary brown.
The crowd is enlivened by the presence of the first graduating class of new recruits for the Efean army, and they cheer me lustily as I win my Challenger round.
I wave my victor’s ribbon from the tower, reflecting that I need to up my game. Adversary training has been disrupted by the war, the siege, the number of Challengers and Illustrious who have left the country or joined the army, and people’s need to work at regular jobs because there is less money to be won. But once things settle into their usual routine the competition will ramp up again.
I have to be ready.
In the undercourt there’s no royal nectar on offer. Instead we are given hibiscus juice because it is in season. I’m so thirsty I drink two cups. The adversaries I defeated linger, and when I nod at them, they invite me to join them in the Lantern District that evening for a drink.
I consider sneaking out but instead I tell Mother that I’m going, and I accept an escort of two guards dressed like regular people even though no one will be fooled. The Lantern District is alive with a festive crowd. It doesn’t look so much different from before except that there are a lot fewer people of Saroese ancestry. The ones who haven’t left seem just as happy to get drunk and celebrate as they ever did. There are new soldiers too, with their shaved short hair and the way they trawl in groups of four and six.
“Hey! Spider!” My old friends Gira and Shorty charge out of a tavern catering to adversaries and drag me in to hoots and cheers of welcome. “Look what we found!”
“Spider! Spider!” The tavern-goers bang fists and cups on the table until my ears hurt.
About ten drinks appear at our table.
“How drunk do you want to get?” Gira chortles.
I slide drinks to my guards, who politely take them aside and sit where they can keep an eye on me without having to listen to every word we say. Gira and Shorty kindly do not mention them.
“Where’s Mis?” Gira asks.
“She went into the army.”
“No, really?”
“Really. Where are you two training now?”
“Up at the old Royal Stable. It’s been renamed Southwind Stable, and Lord Thynos—”
Shorty elbows her. “It’s just ‘honored sir’ now. We don’t have to use those titles anymore.”
“Anyway, he’s decided to become head trainer of his own stable. Said he was feeling too old to compete. Shorty is apprenticing with him as a trainer. You know, we could use a strong Challenger like you, Jes. That was a good run today.”
“Your right wrist is weak, though,” says Shorty. “Did you injure it?”
Before I can answer, a commotion stirs at the tavern gate. Cursed if the poet doesn’t make an entrance as onto a stage, flanked by admiring girls and stalwart companions. He’s wearing a formal keldi that reaches his ankles but spoils the elegant effect by letting his vest gape open.
“A song!” people cry. “Give us a song, Honored Poet!”
He jumps up on top of a table and strikes a pose. His gaze arrows to me and he grins, knowing I know he must have seen me and followed me in here. I slap a hand over my face as he begins singing “The General’s Valiant Daughter.” The whole tavern joins in on the chorus. But I’m an adversary. Reputation is one of the Trees I must climb.
So I stand and I wait it out, and when he finishes I open my arms with a flourish, a spider casting thread to the winds, and accept their acclamation. If I’m honest with myself, I have to admit that I like it.
After the clamor dies down he comes over and, in the proper way, waits for me to greet him.
“How’s the play coming?”
“Which one? I’m a busy man, very productive.”
“The comedy for Amaya.”
He leans closer, lips a breath away from my ear. “I could write a play for you, Jessamy. One we can rehearse in private.”
I shouldn’t, but I laugh anyway. “Your persistence is extraordinary, and it’s even growing on me. But I’m not…” The words I mean to say won’t come out.
“You’re not ready?” he finishes for me with a wry smile.
For weeks now I’ve allowed training to carry me from one day into the next. The Fives gives me focus. It keeps me moving. But it also means I don’t have to stop and examine my own heart.
I let out a sharp breath. “I haven’t let go of him yet, Ro. That’s my truth.”
“I’ll buy you a drink anyway.”
“Actually, you and your friends can help me with these. I’m quite popular, you know.”
As he is waving his entourage over, I spot a face I recognize at the gate.
“I’ll be back,” I say over my shoulder as I weave through the crowd rather more slowly than I intend because people keep gesturing the kiss-off sign and I have to respond in kind. But I finally get close enough to call.
“Dusty!”
He turns. “Jes! I was looking for you. Word on the street said a spider came in here.”
I hug him as I would a cousin and step back to examine his clothes. Instead of the usual keldi and vest he’s wearing linen trousers and a jacket cut in a soldier’s style. The scuff marks on the fabric have a familiar pattern. “Where have you been? By the wear on your clothes it looks like you’ve been training in a spider.”
“I have. Mis sent me to find you.”
“How is she?”
“No longer a temporary sergeant. She’s been officially commissioned as a sergeant in the spider scouts.”