Lady of Mercy (The Sundered, Book 3) (36 page)

“Aye.” Renar nodded. “But that word will have to be watched for, and we can’t do it alone.”

He walked over to the slit windows of the room, pulled the curtain aside, and glanced out. Snow, light and crisp, was blanketing the ground. It was a common enough sight in Dagothrin.

Bright Heart, curse those riots.
The fires had robbed him of nearly anyone who might have come to his aid. Almost anyone with the strength to stand by their convictions had fallen in them. That left him the men and women most like Tiras, willing to bend without breaking, willing to bow. They had chosen their lives in trade for their beliefs, and he wasn’t certain that he had enough to offer them to make the liberation of Dagothrin as important to them as living was.

He grimaced; he knew the type well.

Was it not his own?

Maybe it was a bad choice.
He let his forehead rest against the coolness of stone.
I’m a thief, not a hero. Not a king. I can only lead these men so far because they want to be led.

“Renar?”

He looked up, stiffening the lines of his face. Erin had walked to his side so quietly that he hadn’t been aware that she moved at all. It was a bad sign, that, to be so unaware here, at the heart of Dagothrin.

“It seemed a good idea,” he said, because the silence was suddenly uncomfortable. “To come here. To kill the governor. To kill Uncle Jordan.”

“It was.” She touched his shoulder, her palm flat against him. “It
is.”

“Is it?” He looked away. Her eyes were too green. He felt uncomfortable with this reminder of her heritage; she was his comrade now, and he wanted no separation between them. Yet he felt the warmth of her touch as something preternatural, something welcome. “I fear that I’ve begun to give credence to the tales they tell about me.

“Those men—they’re the last. If they fall, no more will come, no more will stand. The Empire will be completely unquestioned.”

“Not forever.” The words surprised him. “It can’t last forever, even if it outlasts us.” They surprised Erin as well, although it was she who had spoken them.

“Why not? What makes you think that?” Those words, suddenly too small for the width and the light of her eyes, died into stillness and watchfulness. He heard her hope, and wanted to
give it the strength of a belief he wasn’t certain he had. Yet the facts remained, and they were a chill her touch did not lessen. “But a hundred men—what can we do with a hundred? If a hundred could accomplish the liberation of Marantine, don’t you think it would have happened in the last five years?” His fist slammed into the wall. “More than that died in the riots.”

“But they didn’t have you. They didn’t have the patriarch of Culverne. They didn’t have the Sarillorn of Elliath. They didn’t have whatever Trethar is trying so hard to teach Darin. ”

“They didn’t have me, if it comes to that,” Tiras said. It sounded as if he made a confession and an offer of penitence more than a pledge of aid or belief. His voice was tired, heavy, the defeat in his words so deceptively soft. He took a seat and sagged against the armrests, bracing himself, strengthening himself.

“I can think of ten. Ten who might, in their own way, be able and willing to help. No—don’t look relieved yet. They may be dead. They may have left Dagothrin. They may be with the resistance. I’ve heard little of them since the riots.” He smiled grimly. “But I know that they weren’t among the fallen.”

“Ten is still better than five, especially if they’ve been in Dagothrin all this time. Any idea as to where they might be?” Renar didn’t ask who; he knew that Tiras would not yet answer.

Tiras frowned. “None,” he said. “I was watched, carefully. Your uncle doesn’t trust me much. But I’m a merchant family, and my connections are needed if this city isn’t to fall into disuse. He doesn’t risk killing me if I don’t risk being a justifiable target. And that means no connections. None.”

Renar looked at him flatly. “I don’t believe you.”

Tiras’ smile was the first genuine one of the day. “I do believe, pupil, that that’s a compliment. I get them so rarely that I shall have to savor it. But later.”

Leaning down, he removed a piece of paper. “Nothing definite here.”

Renar nodded. He looked at the first item on the neatly printed grocery list, deciphered it, and began to head out of the room.

“Renar?”

He turned.

“Do you go alone?” Erin’s eyes were light, almost painful to look into.

“I know the city well, Lady.” He bowed. “I think it best.”

“But I’m an able guard, an able swordsman. I can move near as quickly and silently as you.”

He looked at her, and then above her head a moment. “Why not?” he said at last. “This is as much your battle as mine.”

 

Darin’s head ached. His arms were sore. His legs were sore. His back felt permanently cricked.

Given that, the lessons with Trethar had gone very well that day. He went to Erin’s rooms, found them empty, and began to wander the mansion in search of her.

He found Tiras instead.

The older man was very finely dressed. Lace cuffs and a ruffled shirt hid beneath a black velvet jacket. Gold was worked into it, and it looked genuine.

“Yes, Darin?” Tiras said mildly. The servant brought his cloak and murmured something about the carriage. “May I help you?”

“I—I’m looking for Erin. Or Renar.”

“Ah, well. I suppose I cannot be of assistance after all.” He fastened the clasp of the cloak and stepped gingerly into very finely worked boots. “I am off for the day on matters of some import. If you’re hungry at all, you might talk to Anders; I’m sure he can fix you something.”

“Sir,” Anders replied.

“But have you seen them?”

“Some time earlier this morning. I don’t exactly remember the last place I saw them, but I imagine they’ll be around soon enough. Sorry that I don’t have more time to speak, lad.”

Darin clenched his teeth. He was certain that Renar had learned everything he knew from Tiras. He was also certain that although Tiras knew where they’d gone, he wasn’t willing to share the information. About that, at least, he was right.

 

Erin watched Renar’s stiff back. They had avoided the infrequent patrols of the wealthy quarter without much difficulty, although both found the snow upon the ground a nuisance. No tread, no matter how light, could pass and leave no trace here.

She was surprised at his silence. It was not merely the silence of movement, not the silence of shadows, but rather the silence of grimness. He wore it heavily, and it fit the lines of his face, lending him age and an anger that time had not quelled.

She thought she might understand how he felt. To walk in the ruins of Elliath would be more of an agony than that which Renar showed. This had been his home.

Of that, at least, there was no doubt. He moved with purpose and economy, never once stopping to ascertain direction or street. He didn’t tell her where they were going, and she didn’t ask.

 

Erin looked up at the buildings that grew taller. It was sunny, or it had been when they started, but it made no difference here; no trace of light pervaded the shadows that the tenements cast upon the blanketed ground.

I lived for four years in a city
, she thought.
Four years, and I never saw
this.
How much else did I miss?
Her shoulders drew inward, as if to avoid the touch of darkness. She looked at Renar, who walked as if he knew this part of town well. She wondered what else he knew and what else he had seen.

 

She gained no answer, but she followed him as he made his way into the streets that had already grown narrow.

He stopped outside of one building that looked no different from those surrounding it on all sides. It was tall, as were its neighbors, and in the same state of repair. Perhaps, had it been made of stone, it might have shown time less poorly, but perhaps its occupants could afford little better than wood.

He entered the front door, and Erin followed.

In the hall Renar relaxed slightly.

“It isn’t much,” he whispered. “But it has its uses.”

She blushed, wondering if all her thoughts were as transparent. But he had already turned and resumed his pace, reaching the end of the hall and mounting the stairs before he thought to look back.

She shook her head. He nodded.

It was almost like being in the unit again; like scouting ahead with Deirdre. But there were no warriors to back them here, no priests to report to, and no time set for their safe return.

 

Renar stopped at last in front of the third door on the north side of the narrow hall. It was a well-fitted door, one that shut
firmly enough to allow no hint of light, or life, to show through the cracks.

He knocked at it, almost continuously, his knuckles beating out a gentle pattern that changed too quickly for Erin to catch all of.

But she heard, clearly, the shuffling that came from behind the door.

“Someone’s in,” she whispered.

Renar didn’t notice. He waited, counting, and then began his drum against the wood again, this time in a different tempo.

The door opened a crack. Even its hinges were well kept; they gave no protesting creak as a head peered out.

The man was balding; his hair ringed his head just above his ears, breaking at either temple. He looked cautiously at Renar, and markedly more so at Erin, before allowing the door to swing fully open into neatly kept quarters. A single lamp burned on a warped, thin table; one old chair sat overlooking the street to one side of a barred window. There were boots in the tiny vestibule, the only sign that someone lived here.

Renar stepped in, and Erin followed him. The door was firmly and quietly shut behind them.

“Renar,” the man said, bowing. No surprise at all was expressed; no disbelief, no jubilation. Like his apartment, the man’s face was carefully empty.

“Lianar.” Renar held out a hand.

The older hand gripped the younger hand firmly, and then fell away. “You look well.”

“You look terrible.”

Lianar smiled for the first time. “Still a Cosgrove, eh?”

“If you’re still serving them.”

“Yes,” Lianar said softly. He waved toward two chairs. Renar shook his head.

“We haven’t the time to stay.”

“Ah. Message, then?”

Renar nodded.

“And?”

“I wish an audience with Lord Cosgrove. If he is willing, it must take place within a three-day.”

Lianar nodded. He gestured, his fingers brushing his chin.

Renar smiled wearily. “Of course. Erin?”

“Yes?”

“Come. We’ve more to see in this quarter yet.”

She looked back at Lianar, who hardly seemed to have moved at all. Then, shaking her head, she followed Renar out into the corridor.

“Who was he?” she asked, her voice pitched low.

“Was? He is Lianar; he serves the Cosgrove merchants in this quarter.”

“And Lord Cosgrove?”

Renar was silent a moment before answering.

“My grandfather.”

She swallowed. “Was this wise, then?”

“Wise?” He started to speak, and then shook his head; he knew well what her concerns were—in her position, he, too, would have been worried. As he was. “No. But my grandfather will not betray me without first offering me a chance to speak.”

“He’s a Lord of Illan, isn’t he?”

“Yes.” He lifted his hand stiffly, palm angled toward her lips. She fell silent.

 

The list that Tiras had penned saw the light briefly before Renar returned it to the inner pocket of his jacket. His breath, a heavy sigh, frosted the air around his face. His eyes were lost in that mist for a moment.

Erin touched his shoulder. She’d done it often enough in the last few days that she’d made a place for herself there. The prince did not pull away.

“A horse,” she mouthed. “Pulling a carriage.” She nodded toward the alley.

Renar only smiled. “I’d give much for your hearing, Lady.” He looked up at the sun; it was still high enough. “Come.” He walked forward into the street.

Erin shook her head and followed, her eyes sweeping the empty street. There was too much that she didn’t understand about being in this city—about being, truly, in any city. Her hand brushed her sword hilt as she waited; the sound of the horse drew nearer.

From around the farthest corner her eye could see, she caught sight of it. It was dark, but flashes of white touched its chest and forelegs. Air left a cloud past its nostrils as it pulled against a
wooden carriage. The carriage was not a fine one, and seeing this, she relaxed.

Renar raised his arm.

“What are you doing?” Erin asked.

“Hailing a cab,” he replied, his voice wry. “Haven’t you seen it done before?”

His arm went up and down in a fluid motion.

Erin shrank inward as the cab rolled, slowly, to a stop.

The man behind the reins looked down at them, his eyes the only thing visible between the layers of wool that covered his face. They widened.

“Where’re you going?” he said loudly.

“We’re staying in the lower quarter.” Renar walked to the carriage door.

“Lower quarter’s a big place,” the man replied. “And I’m almost off-duty as it is.”

“Really?” The door swung open. “Well, then, we shall be careful not to take you too far out of your way. Lady?” He held out a hand.

Erin looked dubiously at the inside of the carriage and then at the driver’s seat. The latter looked far more comfortable.

“Lady?” Renar said again.

She sighed and clambered up through the open door, thinking that a new word had to be invented for something so small and awkward. She settled against the wooden bench that creaked beneath her weight and wondered how on earth two people were meant to ride in the cabin. Not comfortably, that was certain.