Page 52 of The Infernal Battalion

“We were worried sick about him. He’d never really recovered from the Red Hand, and he was so thin you could see his ribs. He’d get sores, sometimes, from not washing properly, and he’d ignore food until he fainted. I finally figured out that he’d run out of books—​he’d read everything in the library ten times—​so I would have peddlers bring in a cartload and refuse to hand them over until he’d taken care of himself. That got him washing and eating, at least, but he still wouldn’t go outside.”

“I remember going through a similar phase,” Cyte said. “Though it wasn’t quite that bad.” She chuckled, to show it was joke, but Gravya merely continued stirring. Awkwardly, she continued. “How long did this go on?”

“About eight years.” Gravya dipped a small cup into the pot and held it in one hand, waiting for it to cool. “Sometimes we could convince him to leave for a few days, a week. But something would always set him off again, and he’d be back in the library before we knew it. I practically beggared us buying new books for him. Eventually we ran out of room, and I could at least sell off the old ones. He still looked like a scarecrow, those big gray eyes in such a hollow face. It broke my heart.” She blew across the cup, tasted the contents, and downed the rest.

“That doesn’t sound like the Janus I know,” Marcus said.

“It’s not.” Gravya poured from the pot into three waiting mugs and handed one to Marcus and one to Cyte. “Try this.”

Marcus sipped. Almost too hot to drink, it was clearly based on the apple cider he’d had downstairs but with something else added, a dark, subtle flavor with a hint of spices. When he inhaled the steam, he could smell cinnamon and other things he couldn’t identify.

“It’s wonderful,” he said.

“I make it for him whenever he comes back,” Gravya said. “My special recipe. He says he can never quite get it right himself.”

“What happened to him?” Marcus said.

“I don’t know.” Gravya sipped from her own mug. “Something changed when he was twelve. Maybe it was because that was how old Mya had been when she died, but I don’t think so. I’ve always figured it was something in the books. Something he found.” She shook her head. “We were bringing them in by the cartload by then, just buying whatever the vendors in the city had handy. He read everything anyway, so we weren’t picky. I think he read something that... affected him.”

Gravya laughed. “Not that I believe in magic or anything like that, you understand. But it was like he’d found a purpose. He came out of the library the next day and started taking exercise. At first he could scarcely run around the yard without falling over, but he kept at it, every day. He learned to ride, to fight with a sword, anything else anyone could teach him. And he sent off for more books from the University, whole courses’ worth. Mathematics, philosophy, war. Always war. He liked history as much as Mya did.”

“And he never told you why? What he was doing?” Marcus said.

“No.” Gravya stared into her mug. “He would talk to us, and he was always polite. But there was this feeling that he wasn’t paying attention, not really. He was always... somewhere else.” She sighed. “Eventually he left. Traveled for a while and then went to court. He must have impressed the king, because he stayed in the palace. He’d come back here from time to time and help us manage things. He designed a new way to lay out the orchards, you know? Said it would work better because it would make the bees happier. I don’t know why he thinks he knows what makes bees happy, or how you could tell if they were.”

“Did it work?” Cyte said.

Gravya laughed sharply. “Of course it did. You’ve met him. Everything he does works.”

“You said he doesn’t talk about Mya,” Marcus said. “Has he said why?”

“At first I thought it was because he wanted to forget,” Gravya said. “He had us put all the pictures of her away, and he never mentioned her. But I don’t think he can forget. I think it was for everyone else to forget, if that makes any sense. Almost nobody outside Mieranhal knows she even existed.” She cocked her head. “That’s why I was so surprised he told you.”

“So was I,” Marcus said honestly. “He’s normally very... private.”

There was a long pause.

“Well,” Gravya said, with false brightness. “Drink up. I’m sure Medio will want you for dinner.”

*

Uhlan did indeed insist on Marcus and Cyte staying for dinner, which was simple, delicious, and offered in vast quantities. Afterward, there was still enough daylight left to make it to the next town, and Marcus gave his military duties as an excuse to avoid any further hospitality. He and Cyte rode through the gathering twilight, winding down the hilly paths. The shepherds were all gathering in their sheep, and the apple orchards cast long shadows.

“We’ll spend the night at Gyff,” Marcus said. They’d passed it on the way up, and he recalled a small inn. “If we start at dawn tomorrow, we should be back with the army by the time they make camp.”

Cyte nodded. She was silent for a moment, then said, “You wanted me to draw my own conclusions.”

“I did.” Marcus looked around, but there was no one within earshot. “Have you?”

“There’s not that much to draw a conclusion from. Janus found something in his books that gave him a purpose in life. Since you asked me about magic, I’m guessing you think it’s something to do with that.”

“It makes sense,” Marcus said. “When Janus came to Khandar, he knew the Thousand Names were there. There was a moment when he thought he’d lost them—” He shook his head. It had been one of Janus’ rare, spectacular rages; only Marcus’ intervention had prevented him from torturing an old woman to death.

“Why did he want them?”

“I know the story he told me,” Marcus said slowly. “Princess Raesinia had—​has—​a problem of a magical nature.” He looked up. “I don’t need to tell you this is all strictly secret, do I?”

“Of course not,” Cyte said.