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Tared was a little slow to grant the request, a mild disorientation in his expression that abruptly made me realise it was not just Creon he’d never seen in the context of our honest relationship before. Lyn’s quiet smile suddenly looked significantly more genuine.
For a few moments, nothing broke the silence except Creon sitting down and Hallthor’s pencil scratching over parchment. I buttered a slice of bread, took a bite, and couldn’t help but throw another glance at my bags despite knowing exactly what I’d packed – clothes for four days, daggers, the mother-of-pearl bracelet in case I needed any iridescence … Toothbrush. Hairbrush. A small purse of gold. Nothing out of the ordinary, everything I’d need. The only unconventional choice I’d made was to slip Agenor’s copy of theTreatisesbetween my dresses before tying the bag shut: a risk, perhaps, to take that precious little book along, but few things reminded me so effectively what it was like to be human.
And I suspected I might need those memories more than I would need any blades between the god-built walls of the city.
I’d just finished my bread when Creon lowered his cup of tea, sank back in his chair, and slowly said, ‘One last thing I wanted to ask. It’s been a while since I’ve been anywhere near the city – how was the refugee situation at the gate yesterday?’
Tared shrugged, not looking up from the last crumbs of egg he was skewering onto his fork. ‘Bad.’
‘Refugee situation?’ I said, frowning at the two of them.
‘People who come to the island without the money to buy their way into the city,’ Tared clarified with a half-hearted gesture north. ‘Either because they lost it on the journey there or because they’re hoping to rob others once they get to the place. There have been more of them since rumours of war started circulating, unsurprisingly.’
I stared at him in mute horror. One needed money to get into the White City – that much I’d always known. Few peoplehadthe money – that was a simple fact, too. But this was an outcome I’d never thought of or heard about, no matter how easily it followed on from the truths I was aware of: gods knew how manyhumans stuck in the no man’s land between empire and city, between servitude and freedom.
‘How many?’ I got out, voice hoarse.
‘A few hundred, usually,’ Tared said grimly. ‘People tend to either die or return home after a while, so the group rarely grows much larger. Right now, I think it’s a little over a thousand camping near the walls.’
The aftertaste of the bread had turned sour in the back of my throat. ‘Fuck.’
He shrugged, stuck the last bits of egg into his mouth, and swallowed without chewing. ‘Might ask if they’re interested in joining an army, seeing as they haven’t got anything better to do.’
‘As long as you don’t let me do the recruiting, you might stand a chance,’ Creon said dryly. ‘Mind if I come along to drop Em off, though? I’d like to make sure they don’t try anything ugly when the gate opens.’
‘I can defend myself,’ I said indignantly. ‘I have three whole knives with me.’
He quirked up an eyebrow. ‘And you want those same consuls who would disapprove of a sensible number of blades to first lay eyes upon you while you’re slaughtering a few dozen human refugees right outside their gates?’
An annoyingly good point. Then again … ‘Would it be any better if you were the one slaughtering them?’
‘To be fair,’ Lyn said, grimacing, ‘if the poor sods out there have even the tiniest grain of good sense in their noggins, I doubt Creon will have to make a single kill to keep them on their best behaviour.’
Right.
Because I was human-sized and human-shaped, young and dressed in innocent blue, no trace of magic on me but the twoeasily overlooked bargain marks on the inside of my wrist. To the hopeful observer, I would look like prey.
Creon, on the other hand …
Even lounging at an alf table, an earthenware mug in his hands and traces of sleep in his eyes, he didn’t fully manage to look harmless. No human refugee, no matter how reckless or desperate, would take a look at him, scarred and winged and equipped with more blades than fingers, and decide this was a manageable obstacle between themselves and coveted freedom – not if there existed an alternative of staying really quiet and really careful and possibly making it out alive.
Hewouldmake it easier to reach the gates without trouble. So why did I feel that faint tremor of discomfort at the suggestion?
The bloody public opinion, again?
The world would know he’d been there with me, in full view of an audience of hundreds. The consuls whose approval I needed would know. Valter and Editta would know, too, and somehow that prospect stung deepest of all.
Then again … Hadn’t I decided the public opinion could go fuck itself?
He was here. I loved him. If the human world could not get past that fact, perhaps it was better if they knew it from the start; it would be much more inconvenient for us if they started rebellingafterwe’d persuaded some of their islands to join our side.
‘Alright,’ I said, and even though I had barely hesitated, even though the thoughts had shot through my mind in an eyeblink or two, I could see Creon’s wings relax ever so slightly in the corner of my sight. ‘Good point. Let’s go preserve my virtuous image.’
Virtuous? his fingers signed at me below the table.You?
I glared at him, trying not to blush as the heat of the previous day’s activities clawed its way back through me. He had already averted his face to innocently sip his tea and study Hallthor’ssketches – as if he hadn't deliberately replanted those memories in my thoughts, hands pinned to the wall, skilled fingers luring every last drop of sanity from my body.
Gods, I was going to miss him. Already I could feel it tightening in my lower belly – the looming absence of every tender, infuriating, arrogant, broken bit of him.
