I reached into my jerkin and pulled out Ioclaudia’s journal. I set it on the table.
“What I want,” I said, my hand lingering on the cracked leather of the cover, “is for you two to change history.”
Chapter Twenty-nine
“What the hell is this?” said Solitude, staring down at the sheaf of papers I had laid before her.
We were in a curtained alcove off the public room of a tavern in Two Crowns cordon. Outside, the sun was shining, and people were just stopping in the taproom for their early-afternoon drinks. It was three days after the fight in Fifth Angel Square, and parts of me still hurt.
“It’s Ioclaudia’s journal,” I said. “Or, at least, the most important parts of it.”
“The ‘most important parts’?” said Solitude incredulously. She was in browns today-leather doublet and skirt, tan shirt, rust shoes with bright yellow stockings showing beneath. As usual, she had a collection of charms hanging from her hair and clothing. I didn’t see any pilgrim’s tokens this time. “What happened to the rest of the journal?” she said.
I forced myself to meet her gaze. “I need it for something else,” I said.
Solitude was out of her chair in an instant. “You what?!”
“It’s the only way-”
“To what? Fuck me over?” Solitude flicked a finger at the papers. “You give me scraps while you keep the rest of the journal? That sure as hell doesn’t sound like the deal I remember making with you!”
“Things needed to be adjusted,” I said.
“Adjusted?” she said. “What the hell does that mean?”
I tapped the papers and dropped my voice. “It means everything in the journal about the emperor and reincarnation are in this bundle. You have what you wanted, what you said you needed to save the empire. The rest has to go elsewhere.”
Solitude narrowed her eyes. “Meaning?”
“Meaning Shadow,” I said. I didn’t mention Jelem or the pages he had demanded in repayment of the favor I owed over Tamas’s rope, let alone the notes he had taken in payment for working on the book itself. Given Solitude’s mood, the fewer names mentioned, the better.
If I’d been expecting another outburst, I would have been disappointed. Solitude bit her lip instead and turned toward the curtain. “Gryph!”
The Arm standing guard outside the alcove stuck his head in.
“Clear the taproom,” said Solitude. “I want everyone out-even the owner. This place is mine until I say otherwise.”
Gryph vanished back through the curtain. A brief commotion sounded on the other side, then quickly quieted down.
“All clear,” said a voice from outside the alcove.
“You leave, too,” said Solitude. There were footsteps, then a door closing, then silence.
Solitude spun back around toward me. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” she said. “We had a deal. You have no right deciding what to do with that journal, let alone breaking it up! You should have at least-”
“No right?” I said. “I have more right to that journal than anybody else in this damn city! I’ve sweat, bled, killed, and betrayed for that damn thing. While you sent out Cutters and tinkered with dreams, I was fighting Princes and Mouths and Arms in the street. I’ve seen people tortured and beaten because they were unlucky enough to be close to me. That journal is more mine than it is yours, Shadow’s, the emperor’s, or anyone else’s. If there’s anyone who’s earned the right to make a decision about it, it’s me!”
“And what was your brilliant decision?” said Solitude. “To give Shadow Imperial magic! You’ll make him the most dangerous Kin in the city! And what’s worse, when he starts using it, the empire will come down on all of us harder than a hammer on an anvil. Or aren’t you worried about that? Maybe you’re going to give some pages to the emperor, too, to cover your ass.” Solitude threw up her arms in disgust. “You can’t make everyone happy in this, Drothe. You shouldn’t even try.”
“I don’t give a fuck about anyone being happy,” I said. “If I wanted to cover my ass, there are a hell of a lot better ways to do it. I’m doing this because it’s the best way to help you, to help the empire, and to keep the people who matter to me alive. That’s all it comes down to anymore.”
“And Shadow? What about when he starts bringing things down around our ears?”
I sat back in my chair. “He gets the journal, yes, but not enough to do him much good.”
“What the hell does that mean?” she snapped.
“He’s never seen the book,” I said. “Never knew what was in it-just that you wanted it, and that it talked about imperial glimmer.” I gestured at the pages in front of her. “When I had… my people… remove those pages, I had them alter the journal as well. Parts added, parts removed, new water stains-there’re still notes on glimmer in there, but he’ll be working a hell of a long time to make sense of it.”
“And you think he won’t notice?”
“My people are very, very good.”
Solitude stared at me, her nails picking at the wood of the table. “Damn it!” she said at last. “We had a deal!”
“I kept as much of it as I could.”
“You kept as much as you wanted to,” she said. “There’s a difference.”
“The difference,” I said, “is that I realized I had obligations to other people as well, and that they were just as important.”
“How convenient-you get morals, and I get screwed.” I started to answer, but she held up her hand and continued. “No, shut the fuck up for a minute. I’m thinking.” Solitude reached down, picked up the papers, and leafed through them.
“What about the people who did this for you? Do we have to worry about them?”
“You don’t,” I said. I expected Jelem to remain content, but Baldezar? He had information on me now, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he became tempted to use it on me someday. The only thing that would likely keep him quiet was his own complicity in the whole affair. Falsifying part of a relic was heretical, after all, and for all his bluster, Baldezar was a coward at heart.
“And what are you going to ask of Shadow in exchange for the journal?”
“For him to walk away.”
“From?”
“Everything that has anything to do with me.”
“You think he will?”
“I don’t have much of a choice,” I said. “Like you said, I can’t keep him away from anyone he wants to reach, so the next best thing is to get him to step away on his own.”
“And if he won’t?”
I shrugged.
“You expect me to believe you don’t have a backup?” Solitude folded her arms. “There has to be more to it than that.”
“That depends,” I said. “Am I still yours?”
Now it was Solitude’s turn to shake her head. “Not after this. I can’t give you more than a clear path to the door, and even that’s being generous. Given what you know and what you did, I should dust you right now.”
“But you won’t,” I said.
“But I won’t,” she agreed. “You kept at least part of your bargain, and that counts for something. You could have given Shadow everything, but you went to a lot of effort to hide what you’re giving me. Make no mistake: I’m not happy about what you did-I’m damn pissed-but I’m not going to dust you.”
“Thank you,” I said.
Solitude waved an impatient hand. “Just get the fuck out of my sight.”
I rose and was through the curtain and halfway across the taproom before she spoke again.
“Drothe,” she called. “One last thing.”
I stopped but didn’t turn around. “What?”
“About Iron,” she said. “What happened with him, really?”
I took a breath, let it out. “He tried to help me keep my word to you,” I said. “For what it’s worth, I didn’t know I was going to do this until afterward. He died keeping his Oath.”
Silence from behind the curtain.
I waited a moment longer, then continued through to the taproom, out the door, and onto the street.
The stairs at the back of the warehouse in the Barren creaked as I went up them. I pointedly ignored the week-old bloodstains my night vision picked out on the treads, just as I pointedly ignored the ghost pain that fired in my leg with every step.