“I need your help with the prisoner,” Tamon said.
“Just one? There are two prisoners, aren’t there?”
Photina shook her head and strode toward the exit. “No. There’s one prisoner, and one honored guest of the reeve of Windthorn.” She opened the door and stepped into the outer office, carrying their lantern with her. Theos could imagine the formal smile on her face as he heard her say, “Prince Finnvid, is it? I apologize for this misunderstanding. We’ve only recently become aware of your true identity. But now that we know you’re here, we’re eager to discuss a possible relationship between our valleys. I hope you haven’t been too uncomfortable.”
Theos whirled toward Tamon, who winced. “Divide and conquer,” he muttered. “If the other valleys are allied with the Elkati and their neighbors, we can’t stand against them. But if the Elkati confederacy can be persuaded to supportus. . .”
“We’re playing their games, now? Secret allies, favored friends? Willourallies be supported with Elkati bribes as well?” Theos frowned. “Wait. Not ‘we.’ Not ‘our.’ I’m not part of this. I stumbled into it, but now I’m out. I’m done.” He turned his back on Tamon and started for the door.
He was in the outer office, ignoring Photina where she was crouched beside the Elkati, sawing at his bonds, when he heard the captain bark, “Sacrati!”
Theos froze. He was Sacrati, and this was his sworn commander. “Sir,” he forced himself to say.
“You’ll assist me with the prisoner,” the captain said firmly as he walked into the room. “I don’t expect a direct attack, but I can’t be sure. I’ve got Galen and Andros on guard out front; call them in, and we’ll get going.”
“Galen andAndros?” Theos stared at the captain. His peripheral vision told him Photina had straightened and was watching them with interest. He tried to ignore the audience. “Andros is working with you?”
“He is.”
“You’ve toldAndrosall this? He knew all along? About the—the alliances, and the Elkati, and . . . all of it?”
“There hasn’t been an ‘all along,’” the captain retorted. “We’ve been working it out as we go.”
“But . . . ‘we.’ Andros is part of this.”
“He is.”
Theos tried to make sense of it. Andros. His friend. The one he’d complained to, joked with. The one he’d trusted. Andros was Sacrati. He was Theos’s brother-in-arms. Theos had been talking things through with him, trying to figure out what was going on, while Andros had knownexactlywhat was going on. But Andros hadn’t trusted him with the truth, and neither had anyone else. “You trust Andros, but not me.”
“Andros is easier to read,” Photina said. Her voice was just as neutral as Theos’s, and he wondered whether she was hiding the same turmoil. Probably not. Probably she really didn’t care. She went on, “You’re a loyal soldier. You do as you’re told without giving much thought to why the orders were given. You need to understand, Theos: if you had known what we were up to and it had gone wrong, you could have been in direct violation of orders from the warlord. We could all end up disobeying the Empress. How would you react if you were given an order you didn’t agree with? You’re so well trained. So . . . dedicated. If you received an order, would you question it?”
“Would I question an order from authority?” Theos asked quietly. He glanced at the captain. “Authority like yours. I mean, the only reason I follow your orders is because of your place in the command structure. If the command structure is contaminated, corrupted, then does it stillhaveauthority?” Theos’s brain was twisting and turning, roiling like a pit of snakes. “You think I’m too brainwashed to resist. You think I’m a trained dog who can only follow orders, not think for himself.” He nodded slowly. This made sense. They’d been happy to use him, forcing him to spend time with their pet Elkati, but that didn’t mean they trusted him. “Maybe I’ve got no mind of my own,” he said. He looked at his mother, saw her impassive face, and shrugged. “Or maybe I do.” The first step toward the door felt right, so he took another.
Then he half turned, just enough to catch the captain’s gaze. “You can escort your own prisoner,” he said. “I’m done.”
And he spun sharply and strode out of the building, taking the back door because he didn’t want to look at Andros’s lying face.
The remains of the festival were between him and the city gates, but he didn’t even glance over. He wasn’t fit for any sort of company, so he headed for the drill grounds and groped around in the dark equipment shed until he found the weighted iron swords. One in each hand, he jogged to the heavy wooden beam and began his drills. Hacking, slashing, using his whole body so the metal hit the wood with maximum power. The jolts traveled up his arm and through his core, and he welcomed the numbness that soon followed. It was stupid to push too hard at a drill like this, knew he was inviting an injury, but he didn’t care, and pressed on.
It took longer than it should have, but eventually he found his discipline again. He had no doubts, and no weakness. He was what he was meant to be: he was Sacrati.
But there was no ignoring the truth hidden beneath the title. He was still Sacrati; but he no longer knew what that meant.
Part II
Chapter Fourteen
Finnvid lay in bed that night feeling safe for the first time in far too long. He was clean, well fed, and had some blessed privacy, without any leering or scowling Torians in his immediate personal space. He was in a soft bed, wearing a nightshirt that, while perhaps not up to Elkati standards, was at least made of something other than leather or wool. And he’d retired for the evening athisinitiative, not because his so-called owner had decided it was time to sleep. He was free again, and fairly certain he’d be able to negotiate freedom for his men.
Everything was much brighter, so there was absolutely no reason for the restlessness that pushed him out of bed.
No reason except for the memory of Theos’s face. The way the man had looked as he’d stalked away from the Sacrati captain, or worse, when he’d found Finnvid with the key at the prisoners’ pen. Or even further back, the surprisingly sweet smile when he’d pulled back from Finnvid’s kiss.
And, of course, his recollection of the kiss itself. Finnvid felt his body start to respond at just the hint of the memory, and quickly forced his mind from the thought. He’d been brainwashed. That was all. His time as a prisoner might not have been physically traumatic, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t suffered emotional strain. A few nights in civilized accommodation, some time to think and gather his resources, and everything would be back to normal.
It took him longer than it should have to fall asleep, but the next morning he slept until he roused himself, not until a brutish Torian decided it was time for him to wake. He sat up and stretched, his muscles complaining as they had every day since he’d begun exercising with Theos. That was over too, he supposed. He’d no longer have sore muscles because there was no one pushing him to work so hard.
He pulled on the clothes that had been left for him the night before and wondered where they’d come from. There was no way any self-respecting Torian male would wear something so light and soft. The shirt felt as if it would rip if Finnvid ran his fingernails over it, let alone the edge of a practice blade. He had a wardrobe full of such garments in Elkat. Would he ever wear them again without feeling effeminate?
