She didn’t.
“Yes,” Tomas snapped. “She’s powerful.” He began to move between them, but again a touch to his arm held him in place. “We don’t need your help.”
“Yes, you do. Among other reasons, I can get my hands on the artifact that’ll remove the tangles from your mages.”
“The net? We don’t need it. I took the other net off.”
The ab…Tomas came from mage-craft and the tangles suppressed mage-craft. “Did you feel anything when you touched it?”
“Me?” He frowned. “No. Why?”
Either the Pack had moved far enough from their beginning or Mirian had fried it before Tomas arrived on the scene. Given the blackened gold, he suspected the latter. “You won’t be able to take the rest of the nets off.”
“Why not?”
“Because they’re not on her.” They turned together toward Mirian.
She sighed and said, “We need his help, Tomas.”
“Then why are we standing here?” Tomas demanded, glancing back toward the square.
“Because you don’t just walk into the Imperial palace.” Mirian shrugged, the movement so deliberate she’d obviously thought about making it. It was too common a gesture for the girl she’d been. “It’s the logical reason,” she explained. “If people could just walk in and out of the palace, it would be a security nightmare.”
Reiter grinned. “Which brings us to tomorrow. The Soothsayers have Seen a public festival…”
“The banners.”
“The banners,” he agreed. “During public festivals, people walk in and out of the palace. You’ll be able to disappear into the crowds.” He frowned. They were so country he could see the emperor heading right for them, beaming broadly, wanting to share the wonder. “But not dressed like that.”
Reiter knew Mirian was young, but he hadn’t realized how young until he saw her in one of the clothing stores up by the garrison. The tallest of the captive mages, the one who wore green, wasn’t very old, but Mirian was younger still. Once convinced she could do nothing until the next day, she’d relaxed. The tension that had her nearly quivering in place out on the square was gone. Even though the reason behind that tension still remained.
“If we can’t go into the palace in homespun…” She’d steered Tomas away from the square. “…then we logically have to buy new clothes.”
Given the quality of the clothes she’d been wearing when she came out of the river, Reiter found her to be surprisingly sensible about buying secondhand.
In spite of the pittance they were paid, junior officers were expected to take part in the socializing that might lead to promotion. Single men who had only to come up with a dress uniform managed, but for those with families who already found their pockets to let every payday, it could be a disaster outfitting wives and sometimes older children. The Duchess of Novyk, whose husband had been a past Commander-in-chief of the Shields, had convinced her wealthy friends to donate gently used clothing and Lady Shops had sprung up in every garrison town. The rising numbers of women in the army who suddenly had to outfit husbands had put a rack or two of mens’ clothing in most of them.
Mirian moved from rack to rack, touching fabric, pulling clothes out to hold against her. Reiter thought it was the first time he’d seen her smile although, given their history, that was hardly surprising. It was definitely the first time he’d seen her wrinkle her nose and roll her eyes at what he’d thought was a kind of pretty pink-flowered thing.
Both of them clearly came from money. Tomas pulled what he liked from the racks without looking at the tags. Mirian checked the tags, but weighed quality against price. Then she put Tomas’ choice of jacket back and pulled another that even Reiter could see had been badly mended down the inside of one sleeve.
“You’re not going to be wearing it long enough to pay the price of the other,” she told him quietly. Sensibly.
Reiter found their relationship interesting. They weren’t equals; she was definitely in charge. They didn’t act the way he thought lovers should act, but while they weren’t attached at the hip they stayed close and touched when they were close enough. Still, he’d noticed the mages did the same, so the touching could be cultural.
And it didn’t matter. Whatever he felt about this young woman—and in all honesty he had no idea whether it was admiration, desire, guilt, or a mix of all three—he’d captured her twice, had her dragged through the woods, tied her in the back of a wagon, and drugged her. She might tolerate his presence for the sake of freeing her countrywomen, but she’d never trust him.
He recognized his purse when she pulled it out to pay and her brows lowered as she silently dared him to say something. “Spoils of war,” he said. The shop girl frowned, Tomas scowled, but Mirian laughed, and losing his back pay seemed worth it. It wasn’t like he’d need it after tomorrow.
Leaving the shop carrying a worn carpetbag, dressed in their new clothes, Tomas had the easy confidence of the aristocracy. Watching him move with a grace Reiter knew he’d never master, no one would suspect the younger man ran on four feet and ate raw rabbit.
Mirian twitched at her clothing and looked annoyed. “How can you run in a skirt like this?”
“Perhaps Imperial ladies don’t run.”
The skirt didn’t look all that tight to Reiter. It fell straighter than what she’d been wearing, but with fabric enough gathered in the back for her to take a full stride. He’d watched her check the range of movement in the shop. On the other hand, he did have a sister even if he hadn’t seen her for some years. “The color suits you.” The dress was a deep burgundy with black trim. “You look nice.”
“Thank you.”
Any of the young men under his command would have jumped in with further compliments or a protest of how she shouldn’t care what the enemy thought. Tomas remained silent, clearly very certain of his place.
“Where are you taking us now?”
Reiter tried not to resent the easy way she’d tucked her hand into the bend of Tomas’ elbow. “To a guesthouse where relatives of officers stay when they’re in Karis. The Soothsayers didn’t give a lot of warning for this festival, so there should be room. My sister lives in Aboos, it’s a northern port. That should be enough to explain your accents.” The narrow streets off the square were still essentially empty and, as he had no way of knowing who else might be at the guesthouse, it was safer to talk while walking. “Get into the palace as early as you can tomorrow then make your way to the first assembly room. It’s powder blue with winged babies on the ceiling. I’ll find you there. He has them—the women—on a shifted sleep schedule, and if we can get to them early, it’ll still be night in their rooms.”
“Cells,” Mirian corrected.
He let it stand because she was right.
“Won’t having to wake them slow us?”
“Fewer guards on at night,” Tomas told her.
Reiter nodded. “There’s a limited number of guards. I’ll bet most of them sleep when the women do.”
“If there’s a garrison right on the square, how can there be a limited number of guards?”
“The guards in the north wing are his private guards. They’re not army, not soldiers, they’re…” He took a deep breath and locked down the memories of them watching as Adeline slashed open Danika’s chest, as they dragged the wolf from the observation room. “…they’re prison guards who’ve bought into his insanity.”
“If it’s so bad, and you know how to get the nets off, why have you waited?” Tomas asked. “You know the palace. You know where they’re kept.”
“You think it’s easy to commit treason? You could turn on your…” What was he called? “…on your Pack Leader?”