“Stop changing the topic. I want to know why you didn’t go back to Harwen when you had the chance. Why come looking for me?”
“I—” Ren could not finish. Where could he start? With Merit, or Shenn? He still hadn’t told Adin the truth about his family. “It’s … nothing,” he said. “I just thought I would help my friends first. You’d have done the same if you weren’t locked in some Feren slammer,” he said, not wanting to think about it.
“But the eld, the horns—why not go home with them?” Adin asked, not letting Ren avoid the subject. The horn slung over Ren’s shoulder felt suddenly heavy.
“I wasn’t ready,” he said, a stab of guilt hitting as soon as he finished. He didn’t like concealing things from his friends; he’d never done it in the past, so why was he doing it now?
“It’s Merit.”
“Your sister—what about her?”
He told Adin what happened in the Shambles. “I don’t want to go to Harwen, not without allies,” he said, and Adin seemed to understand. If he went there alone, he’d find his grave sooner than he’d find his throne. Adin had gone home and had nearly lost his life.
His friend listened without nodding or giving any look of pity. Adin’s own story was just as painful. He had lost his family, lost his father without ever meeting the man, and from what Ren had learned about the old king, Adin was better off for it. The Ferens had spat when Ren spoke the name of Barrin and he guessed it was not without reason.
“We’ll go to Harwen together,” Adin said.
“But first we finish here,” Ren said, watching the gate. “I can’t leave this place without Tye.”
“I know,” Adin murmured, joining Ren at the ledge. Below, the gate banged closed and the torch above the archway flickered and died. Ren glared at the dark bars and the stairway that led down into the Hollows. He pictured Tye, lost in the darkness. In his mind’s eye he saw the curve of her lip, the freckles dashed on her cheeks. Come on, Tye. Come out. If you’re not coming out, I’ll have to come in. And what will happen then, I don’t know.
A soldier slid a key into the lock and the latch clicked closed for the night.
Ren gathered up the rags he meant to use as a pillow and tried again to go to sleep in the cold, yellow light of the city, but he lay there with his eyes open, staring into the darkness. He did not say what he was thinking, but Ren was all too aware that the gate below was closed for the night. The Thieves’ Moon had come and gone, but the gate was locked and Tye was not coming.
52
Shouts pierced the walls of the Antechamber, disturbing the pleasant quiet. The city had read Tolemy’s proclamation, and few were happy about it. They were used to their slaves and to grinding the noble families of the lesser kingdoms underneath their sandaled feet, but those days had ended. Let them holler and break things. Let them cry out that their lord has abandoned them. Arko Hark-Wadi had anticipated their angry reaction. Soon, the viziers would call for a congress with the Ray, but Arko would refuse them. The highborn families would cry at his door and the soldiers would curse him, but Arko would ignore them all. While Solus shouted out in rage, he would tear down the Priory, brick by brick, until only a great hole was left in the earth, a void like the Ruined Wall in Harkana—a monument to remind the empire of its past mistakes.
Arko stood alone in the Antechamber, in a room that sat astride the Shroud Wall, half in and half out of the domain, watching his servant, Wat, shuffle across the corridor, taking his time, pretending he did not hear the protests, though they reverberated all around him. When Wat came a bit closer, the light on his face revealed red eyes and a grin. He looked tired but hopeful, as if he were carrying good news.
“You have something to say?” Arko asked.
“Your soldiers are coming.”
“When?”
“Midday. Your man Asher got through, or was at least able to pass your message to a soldier, who delivered it to Harwen. Asher went off to find your eldest daughter, Merit, but we don’t know if he ever reached her.”
“He’ll find her. He’s as loyal as he is resourceful. I have no doubts about the man. What else?”
“Your youngest daughter … Kepi, I believe?”
“What about her?”
“She is betrothed to the king of the Ferens.”
“Dagrun, eh?” Arko frowned. “He’s a good enough man. She accepted his proposal?” he asked, memories of her first wedding turning his stomach. He had left his youngest daughter to fend for herself without bidding even a last farewell.
“I don’t know. There are no details, just a dispatch from Rifka.”
“Send emissaries, immediately. Make my daughters aware of my position,” said Arko. He needed to make contact with his family. Change was coming to the empire, and he wanted to prepare them. If Asher got through he would eventually find Merit and deliver his message. Ren would soon return from the hunt. And with Kepi in Feren, hopefully it meant Dagrun would likely join Arko’s cause, brute or not. Patience was all he needed.
“What else?” Arko said.
“As you feared, Saad will not go after Barca,” he said. “Most of his supplies are still in the storehouses, and only a small group of men are properly armed. Saad sits in his tower, though his soldiers began gathering in the courtyard outside this room an hour ago.”
Then he’s coming after me. The little shit. Arko took a long drink and wiped foam from his mouth. “Get my men in here. I need them now—see to it yourself, Wat.” Arko took another drink. This imperial stuff was growing on him. “When is the Protector due?”
“Midmorning,” Wat said. “He will come to present his final strategy for the campaign against Barca, just as you asked.”
“Good. My men should be in place by then.”
Arko reached for his wineskin, lifted it to his lips, and then set it aside. He needed all of his wits for what would come next. He sat in the chair that once belonged to Suten. It creaked a bit, as if the wood were made for a man of lesser weight—and it had been. Arko had never felt such pressure. All of Solus was weighing down upon him. He felt the city’s anger but would not let it intimidate him. He knew what he needed to do.
Wat sat down across from him, making Arko consider the man. He was a good servant—as good as any he’d had in Harwen. The man’s honesty made Arko feel hopeful.
“You know the story of my father, Koren Hark-Wadi,” Arko asked. “The Children’s War and Koren’s handshake with Saad’s father? Do you know what he promised my father?”
Wat bowed his head. “Suten was there. I know what happened that day. Raden Saad and your father were honorable men. Harsh in their ways, but honest.”
“I had hoped that Saad might be more like his father. I had hoped he would do as he was told, that he might listen to me and stand against Barca.”
“You dwell too much in the past, sir. Saad is not his father.”