I returned to the inn to find all the intricate architecture of my lies in shambles.
Despite the preposterously late hour, Ruc was sitting on the deck, all alone at one of the Dance’s round tables. My pulse quickened at the sight of him. My mind churned through the possibilities. Had he learned something else about the transport, something about the insurgency or the Vuo Ton? Or had he come here for me, for another kiss, for something more? Just as I started to call out, I saw Ela approaching him, a fresh carafe of wine in her hand, that delicious, throaty laugh spilling out of her throat.
“I notice you still haven’t touched your quey,” she said, pausing to elbow him in the shoulder. “It’s enough to make a woman think you don’t enjoy her company.”
Ruc didn’t even glance at the clay cup in front of him. “I’m still on duty.”
“That’s what you’ve been saying for the past hour. When is the duty over?”
“Soldiers have been grappling with that question as long as there’ve been soldiers.”
Ela made a face. “I like a man in uniform, but all this talk about duty is getting tedious.”
She leaned across in front of him, so close he could have kissed her on the neck, took his mug of quey, straightened, then tossed it back in a single gulp. She was wearing a blue ki-pan, the cut even more revealing than normal. It was impossible not to notice the way she brushed up against the man I was supposed to learn to love as she slid the cup back into place on the table. She took the seat right next to him, not across the table, where I would have sat.
I watched them from the wooden walkway beyond the deck. I felt as though there were one or two small mice trapped inside me, right below my diaphragm, nibbling at something important. The bites weren’t large enough to hurt, not really, but I could feel that something was wrong.
The scene was a study in contrasts: Ela drinking bright plum wine from a long-stemmed glass, Ruc ignoring the empty cup before him. She was all languid motion, all crossing and uncrossing of legs, all stretching out to touch his hand; Ruc remained still as a baited snare. Ela had lowered her voice when she sat down. I couldn’t quite make out her words, but she was talking, evidently recounting a story, words spilling out like water in a brook. Ruc remained silent. Ela laughed over and over, brown eyes aglitter. Ruc did not laugh.
I felt guilty watching them, though I couldn’t say why. I interrogated that guilt, tried to stare it down, to see the true shape of it, but it flitted away like a bat darting through lamplight. I almost felt like a bat myself, a creature unseen in the darkness, looking in on the light with wide, glassy, imperfect eyes. It seemed, suddenly, like I wasn’t supposed to be there. Ruc had come because of me, obviously, but my absence hadn’t hampered whatever was taking place between them. He didn’t look excited, didn’t look happy, but he hadn’t looked happy since the transport. Not even when we kissed. He was sitting there silently, listening to Ela’s laugh, watching her smooth limbs as she mimed a series of inscrutable gestures. Whatever he’d come for, he wasn’t looking for me anymore. That much was clear.
“Now do you see why I constantly consider giving her to the god?”
The voice was right at my ear, and I’d slipped my knife from the sheath before my mind processed the familiar dry drawl: Kossal.
“Sneaking up on people is a good way to get killed,” I muttered, not turning to face him. For some reason, I didn’t want him to see my eyes.
He grunted. “The god will take me when he takes me.”
“Don’t you want your last sacrifice to be more than a stupid mistake?” I demanded, channeling my inexplicable anger.
“Mistake or martyrdom—dead’s dead.”
I was only half listening to his answer, my eyes fixed on Ela. “What is she doing?” I hissed.
“Looks to me like she’s seducing the man you were kissing by the river a few hours earlier.”
“Why?”
He shrugged. “Presumably because she likes the look of him. And because you moved too slowly.”
*
“And that,” Ela was saying as we drew closer, “was the last time we tried dressing Kossal up as a concubine.”
She shook her head at the invented memory. “Let’s just say there wasn’t anywhere to hide a dagger, let alone a decent sword. Ah!” She clapped her hands together, as though she’d just at that moment noticed my approach. “Here they are now. Pyrre! Kossal! Sit down and pull up a glass.”
Kossal stumped past me, dropped into a chair, then waved over one of the servingmen.
“Quey,” he said.
“One cup?” the sculpted young man asked.
“Bring the bottle,” Kossal replied.
I made no move to approach. My eyes were locked on Ela. She smiled, her perfect white teeth flashing red in the shifting light of the lanterns. She might have just bitten through someone’s throat, except for the fact that throat biters weren’t supposed to look so lovely, so composed.
“What are you doing?” I asked her.
Ela gestured expansively to Ruc. “Entertaining the commander of Dombang’s Greenshirts. Did you know that he’s descended from Goc My himself?”
“I did.”
Ruc turned his gaze from Ela to me. “Your Wingmate has been regaling me with your Kettral exploits.”
“Has she.” I glanced at Ela. I hadn’t explained my cover to her or Kossal, but if she’d really been following me all around Dombang, she’d probably heard at least a few of my conversations with Ruc.
“And you,” Ruc said, turning to consider Kossal. “I understand you’re the Wing’s demolitions expert.”
“Nope,” Kossal said, glancing over his shoulder as the young man returned with his bottle of quey.
“May I pour, sir?”
Kossal shook his head. “Just put it there.”
“No?” Ruc asked, raising an eyebrow.
My heart kicked restlessly. My palms had begun to sweat. The Kettral cover was solid enough. I could keep it up, even against Ruc’s constant pressure. Kossal and Ela, however, were another matter entirely.
“Don’t mind that old goat,” Ela said, waving a negligent hand toward Kossal.
“Actually,” Ruc said, cutting through her objection, “I’m curious about the old goat. What do you mean, ‘no’?”
Kossal put his flute on the table before him, took a long swig from the bottle, winced as it went down, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“I mean I’m not Kettral,” he said blandly.
Ruc shifted just slightly, putting a little more space between his body and the table, making sure the sword at his left hip was free.