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“We have stakes here. Investments. We are important people. We can’t just submit to the will of Aleteria—”
“Not without compensation,” someone pointed out, and so many agreed that Revni’s head began to swim.
“Is that all you care about?” The bearded faces floated in front of her, like she was drunk. Or in a dream. She had wanted revenge, still wanted it. But the thought of so many people, abandoned to their fate…
It is their time, the voice in her head reminded her, but then another realization hit her with a gasp:
“What about the Isfolj that live at the settlements?”
People finally began to turn. Some instinct screamed at her to stop, but she couldn’t seem to help it. Her blood had turned to fire. Better that than ice.
“Upriver. There are Isfolj there, who will have no warning.” The clan that should have been hers. “The Isfolj that live north.”
“What about them?” Toer said calmly, but the silence had become thick. There was a scrape of a chair as someone stood. “I hear they fuck their sheep. I hear they intermarry with the Faenish. I’m not sure which is worse. You tell me, Gondyttr. Which animal would you let fuck you?”
Revni’s heart crammed itself into her throat, but she pushed out her words: “At least we die with weapons in our hands, not coin.”
“Careful, girl.” Svei had come to standing, too. “You are here by the grace of the jurls.”
“I am here by the grace of the gods.”
Revni struck out. She had to get out of this stifling room, this horrible place. A few blades matched hers, but mostly people simply jumped out of her way. All she wanted was an exit.
“Let her go,” Toer declared, or was it Svei? It didn’t matter. They weren’t going to help—not her, not the Isfolj, not the people in the town. They were going to let them all die—assist in the killing even, if it meant they got paid.
Revni pushed her way to the ladder, skipping rungs and almost slipping, but there was no escape. Crewmen and shield-maidens waited for their jurls in the downstairs room, drinking aul and mending clothing, and when Revni came barreling down, they rose to their feet.
“What is it?”
“What’s happened?”
“What news?” The woman looked too much like Revni’s mother—hard muscles but soft face, a child’s boot in her hand.
“Aleteria will kill us all,” Revni declared. “Warn anyone you can.”
She pushed her way out the door.
FORTY
Revni stumbled down the first alley she saw. Had she made everything worse? Had she made anything better? Chaos was erupting behind her, people spilling into the square while shouts stretched through windows and doors. Faenish people were pausing in the street to grab information from Isfolj friends.
Revni tried to calm her breathing so she could think. The mud-packed wall was cool against her spine. The city stank. But the urine and rotting food and cooking fires were a welcome distraction from the horror that Revni had put her trust, once again, in all the wrong people.
She opened her eyes to a small child staring. Scraggly blond hair escaped from under her thin wool cap, but those big, judgeless eyes spread an ache, like a bruise. Had Revni ever been that innocent? She felt so filled with hate and anger, so overwhelmed by her own failings, that any other life seemed like a myth.
Arms scooped the girl up—her mother probably. A nervous look towards Revni, a sweep of a body inside. Revni suddenly realized why the smells had been so assaulting—the thin alley was a trash heap. It squeezed behind houses and shops, and as if to confirm her hunch, a chamberpot suddenly appeared at an upper window, dumping slop.
“Gondyttr!” A seething whisper.
Revni turned. The woman from the Hall, the one who reminded Revni of her mother. She nervously glanced behind as she hurried closer. The Worm-head man was trying to calm people down, and failing.
“Sheep Street,” she whispered.
“What’s that?”
She pointed down the alley. “Turn left, follow the smell. Miller Street first, then Sheep Street.” Another nervous look. “It’s not true. That no new people have arrived.”
All her breath rushed out of her. Revni straightened. “What?”
