“The lack of them, to be precise. In the Green Sea, I could tell you thought it a poor choice for a cover story. And now you’re absolutely certain of it, yes?”
I didn’t reply, sill fearing that he was ready to verbally ambush me.
“Well, it pains me to no end to admit it, but you might be on to something, I still feel the story itself is credible, and my delivery impeccable, but it has failed two performances in a row. So. You must help me think of something else the next time we have Hornmen, Brunesmen, or any other nosy men poking around the wagon. I leave it to you.” He watched his men hoisting the dead. “Put that creative mind of yours to use, and leave off whatever it is that weighs heavy on you here.”
Did he suddenly regret being so hard on me? And if so, was it only because he thought me too weak to be able to take it? Or was it because he believed he was overly harsh? As always, I had difficulty determining what it was that motivated him from moment to moment, but he was offering me a reprieve. Or trying to, at the least.
I felt my throat clench and nodded. “It could be that, no matter how flawlessly you sold the tale, the fault might have been only poor timing or odd circumstance.”
“Perhaps.” Braylar climbed up onto the bench.
I did the same. “Or it could be you just don’t look like someone who sells quills for a living.”
Braylar looked at me, and I thought I might have spoiled things, and was about to hastily add something else, when he laughed and slapped me on the back. “Entirely possible. I was going for innocuous.”
“That, Captain, might have strained credibility. Just a bit.”
He nodded, a small smile still there. “So then. What would you suggest, oh learned scribe?”
I thought about it as he got the team of horses moving, forgetting for a moment that the Syldoon were hiding a fair number of bodies and getting ready to burn everything to ash. “Well. You need a ruse that arouses no suspicion and seems entirely plausible. How about gravedigger?”
He gave me the sharp look that usually prefaced a sharper rebuke, stopped as he realized I was joking, and slapped my back again. “Very good, Arki. Very good.”
We rode off as hastily as the uneven and stony road would allow. I looked behind us, saw the dark smoke rising above the trees, the burning stable hidden as we rounded a small bend. I wondered what would have happened if any other travelers had come by just after the attack. But I knew, really, and just gave silent thanks it was only Hornmen corpses burning in the barn. At least the captain had spared the horses. He did seem to have a soft spot for animals.
It was silent for the next hour or so, and some of the smoke must have wafted onto the canvas, or my clothes, even though I hadn’t been all that close to the flames, as the smell stuck with us the entire time. Muldoos and Vendurro flanked our wagon, and the other Syldoon rode alongside the one behind us. We rounded another bend and saw a large group of horsemen waiting for us. I nearly choked on the wine I was drinking until recognizing Soffjian and her red cloak among them. We closed the distance and the riders fell in among us, rounding out our small caravan. Not surprisingly, Soffjian looked particularly perturbed as she sidled up next to our wagon.
Looking straight ahead, she said, “You do seem to court a great deal of conflict wherever you go.”
“I am a great courtier, it is true,” Braylar replied, eyes also fixed straight ahead.
“Are you sure your quarry is worth all this excessive maneuvering and effort, brother? We could be halfway to Sunwrack by now, but instead, we are riding through the woods in the wrong direction, with the likelihood of you incurring imperial wrath growing every mile. Nothing would delight me more, of course, so I ask only out of idle curiosity.”
“There is nothing idle about you, sister. And never has been. But as to your question, we could have come up with a multitude of plans that would not have involved us going out of our way, had the Emperor given us leave to do so. As he commanded us back directly, this was my only move that would still help us accomplish our goals here without capsizing the entire enterprise. I find your use of the word ‘excessive’ excessive.”
She smiled, and though the physical resemblance might not have been strong on the whole, the joyless smile was absolutely a familial trait.
“Remind me again,” she replied, “why we are traipsing so far afield and off the northern path? My curiosity-idle or otherwise-demands parley.”
“Does it now? Very well. I will tell you this. Most of our machinations in Anjuria involved setting one caste against another, aggravating what were already volatile conditions between them, and seeking to destabilize things, in advance of the emperor’s invasion.”
“That has not materialized.”
“That has not materialized,” Braylar agreed. “But still very well could. Likely will, in fact. The ravages of the plague are still felt, but I suspect Cynead believes we have recovered enough that we no longer need to work in the background setting the stage for assault. But if so, what he is neglecting to realize is that Anjuria has recovered as well. And while they are still fractured, and ruled by a very young monarch, it is foolish to abandon everything we’ve achieved here without doing one final thing while we have opportunity. A rare opportunity.”
Soffjian considered this, or made a show of considering anyway, before saying, “And if your brilliant hunch is off, and he has no such plans? What if he doesn’t intend to invade now? What if never?”
Braylar laughed. “The Syldoon are either invading, planning on invading, or paving streets in conquered lands. Even the most atypically peaceful emperor doesn’t sit the throne long without giving us some martial objective or other. We tend to resort to killing each other in the streets if we grow bored, Soff. Or deposing emperors.”
“Be that as it may, given that you are operating solely on supposition-unsupported supposition, in fact-it seems odd you would be so eager to risk his wrath for capturing one piece on the board, when he could have moved onto a different game entirely.”
She was looking in our direction now as she waited for a reply. No. Not “our,” I suddenly realized with a lurch in my chest-she was looking at me. Only me. With those dark, very dangerous eyes. While she surely knew how gifted her brother was at subverting the truth and probably wasn’t looking for tells from him, she seemed to suspect-rightly so-that I was far closer to transparent than opaque.
If I glanced away quickly I would arouse suspicion, and if I locked eyes too long, it was like challenging some wild beast. Her gaze appeared casual enough, but I felt like she was slowly peeling layers of my face away the longer I looked at her.
I turned to Braylar, as if I were waiting for his response as well, and not at all like I was trying desperately to do something casual and blameless.
He ignored both of us, or at least what we were doing, and I feared he might not reply at all, which would leave me trying to manufacture some other innocent gesture, or excuse myself and head back into the wagon as nonchalantly as I could. But then he said, “It’s true, I’m far from Cynead’s inner circle. In fact, I’m somewhere in one of his outermost circles. I cannot know his mind. Just as you can’t. So everything we do here is fraught with risk. Everything. That is simply the way of it.”
She sniffed and said, “As you say.” Then she rejoined Skeelana further ahead.
Keeping my voice low but avoiding the urge to lean in and whisper, I asked, “Do you think she suspects? That there is more to you going after Henlester?”
“You mean because you fidgeted like a small child about to piss himself the second she so much as looked at you?”
I started to fumble a reply when he continued, “But even if you hadn’t behaved like a complete ass, I always suspect her of being suspicious. It’s in our natures, you see. And her more than most.”