‘This is my war,’ he said simply. ‘I was fighting this war when you were – hah, when you were still a child.’
‘But you need me.’
‘Yes, yes I do.’ The utter sincerity in his voice finally got through to her. ‘Yes, I need you. And because of that you must stay here. You’ll not be idle, either. You’ll be running my agents while I’m away, taking in the intelligence of the Wasp advance, liaising with the Assembly – and I’m sure you’ll charm those old men and women far better than I ever could. But this is a mad journey, and a long one, and I…’ He found he was trembling. ‘I realized at Sarn that if anything happened to you, it would break me, it would destroy me. I do not know the Commonweal. No Lowlander does. This voyage is a necessary madness and I do not want to draw you into it.’
There were tears in her eyes, tears beyond any Spider pretence. ‘This isn’t fair.’
‘No,’ he agreed. ‘But it’s the only way I can do this. I’m sorry.’
He held her for a long time, aware and careless of Allanbridge and the others watching and waiting for him.
But even after Arianna had fled the airfield they would wait longer, for here was Tynisa now with her pack slung over her shoulder. No airship for her, though: she would be making her own way, tracking any news of a lone Mantis duellist whose passage, like enough, would be written in bodies.
Stenwold started over towards her, and she regarded him cautiously, as though she thought he might suddenly order her to be placed under lock and key just to keep her here. He had ceded that battlefield to her, though. He merely held out his hand, offered like the hand of a soldier, and they clasped as comrades.
‘Good luck,’ he said softly. ‘The world around us is about to fall apart at the seams, and I suppose a father is a better reason than many for casting yourself out into the storm.’ In his heart, he had no belief she would ever find Tisamon – or that the Mantis would welcome her if ever she did.
‘And good luck to you,’ Tynisa responded. ‘Do you have even a clue what the Commonweal is going to be like?’
‘No, but I know who does. If I’m lucky I’ll encounter Salma in time for a recommendation on the way.’
‘Give him my love,’ she said, her voice sounding oddly flat. Stenwold knew that she had been fond of the Dragonfly prince once, and that the intervention of Grief in Chains – or whatever the Butterfly-kinden was now calling herself – had thrown her badly. She had been used, at the College, to having her own way in such relationships. And let us hope it is just that, and that she will not take after her father in matters of the heart.
‘Maker, we have the wind! Let’s move!’ called the impatient Allanbridge from the rail of the Buoyant Maiden. Stenwold spared Tynisa one last nod, then he was hurrying for the rope-ladder, clambering hand-over-hand up into the air even as Allanbridge cast off. Tynisa watched the nimble airship rise and tack, its engines directing it north, towards the distant Barrier Ridge that marked the Lowlands border with the mysterious Commonweal beyond.
‘Well, he’s gone,’ she then called. ‘You can come out now.’
Che made her way warily on to the airfield, looking up at the diminishing globe of the Maiden’s airbag. ‘I couldn’t face him,’ she said, almost in a whisper. ‘He’d have forbidden it.’
‘Che, if I had any say, I’d forbid it, too,’ Tynisa remarked bleakly. She watched as a pair of white-robed College men carried the stretcher towards the clumsy-looking flier that Che had piloted back from Solarno. ‘My offer is still open.’
‘You have your own path to follow,’ Che told her firmly. She now looked so very serious, all of her awkward youth burnt off her.
‘But this is all my fault…’
Che shook her head. ‘You just find Tisamon and talk some sense into him. Achaeos needs me. But he needs his people too, so they and I will have to get along as best we can. And, anyway, I won’t be alone.’
Tynisa made a disgusted noise and, right on cue, the fair-haired, square-jawed Wasp-kinden came to join them, wearing now his own imperial armour, just as if he had never turned his coat.
‘Thalric,’ Tynisa acknowledged his arrival coldly.
The Wasp looked at her, his smile devoid of love or humour. ‘How good of you to see me off.’ He held up a hand to forestall her. ‘Can we take all your oaths of vengeance as already said: if I betray you, if I harm Che, so on and so forth, I’m sure all the venom and vengeance of Spider and Mantis will descend on my head.’
Tynisa stared at him levelly. ‘Remember those words when we next meet, Thalric,’ but her voice rang hollow, because if he now chose to make Che the latest in his history of betrayals, there would be nothing she could do about it.
It was a grim flight from Collegium for those on the Buoyant Maiden. Felise was bitter as ice, locked entirely in her own pain. She had nothing to spare for Stenwold and he was grateful for that. He had no way to intrude on her, or to help her, so he left her to herself. Destrachis hung about near her like a shabby ghost, bringing her meals but never venturing to speak. It was plain to Stenwold that the Spider had found the limits of his own expertise and was simply hoping that she would reach out to him.
Is that what he seeks there in the Commonweaclass="underline" no more than a familiar landscape to console her? But Stenwold suspected the Commonweal would bring no fond memories for Felise Mienn.
Stenwold himself spent his time with Jons Allanbridge, occupying his mind with whatever small mechanical tasks the aviator found him fit for. It was almost like being a student again, serving anew as an apprentice. It was oddly comforting to leave their journey in Allanbridge’s hands, and to shoulder none of the responsibility.
At last they came down beside Sarn. Stenwold had earlier sent a messenger ahead by rail, with no certainty that word would reach Salma in time, or at all. As it turned out, though, there was a blue-grey-skinned Mynan Beetle-kinden waiting for them, riding with two others, and a string of horses and riding insects. They had been in Sarn when the message arrived, and so had waited the extra day for Stenwold’s appearance. The Mynan left his mounts in the care of a subordinate, and joined them in the Maiden, directing Allanbridge east away from Sarn. Towards the Wasp army, Stenwold thought. Salma would face his own ordeal, there, and soon.
They were guided to a camp, and then to another camp, widely spaced, and Stenwold guessed that Salma must be living a mobile life. In the third they finally found him, sitting in a tent and making plans. Whilst the others waited outside, Stenwold himself was allowed in to speak to him.
Amid the gloom of the tent the Dragonfly prince stood marking notes and arrows on a map he had tacked to a board held in his offhand. It was impossible to know how much attention he was paying to his visitor. ‘It’s been a while, Sten,’ he remarked.
‘How is your position?’
‘Fluid. So tell me about Che,’ Salma said. ‘How is she?’
Stenwold watched him. With no more reaction to go on than he could glean from the Dragonfly’s back, he explained Achaeos’ circumstances, described Che sitting distraught at his sickbed.
Salma nodded. ‘I recently dreamt of her passing into darkness. Of course, to the Moths that would be a dream of good omen.’ Outside the tent there were hundreds of armed men and women busying about. They had none of the uniformity of soldiers, but they were clearly fighters, composed of a dozen kinden and all now engaged in packing up their camp and preparing to move. The Buoyant Maiden had tied up in the midst of this chaos of dissolution.