away from the doors, looking vicious.
He drew his sword.
Venick’s head snapped around at the sound. He blinked as the watchman came forward, weapon raised, teeth bared. For one foolish moment Venick did nothing, his thoughts slipping like boots on ice, scrambling to stay upright.
This was not part of their agreement.
“Jarol.” Venick raised his hands, hang onandwhat are you doing?together. “I thought we had a deal.”
“You asked me to take you to Lira. I’ve done that.”
“I also asked that you not let anyone stab me in the back.”
“Anyoneelse.”
Venick’s heart was wild. He aimed a glance at his mother. Surely she would call the watchman off. Surely she would stop this attack. But her face had gone cold, and she didn’t.
“Mother.”
Jarol advanced.
“Please. I only wanted—”
“We know what you want,” snapped the man seated to Lira’s right. Venick knew this councillor. Theledus was his name. Late thirties, hair shorn at the shoulders, his skin slightly yellowed from a jekkis habit he liked to think he kept private. Theledus was an old friend of Venick’s father. “You murdered your father and fled into exile, and now you’ve returned, hoping your mother has forgotten all about it.”
Jarol brought his sword down, a sloppy, ill-aimed blow. Venick dodged it smoothly. “I know she hasn’t forgotten. But the law—”
“Nowyou care about laws.”
“—says I get a chance at redemption.” Jarol came again with another misaimed swing, driving his sword into a nearby chair. Venick didn’t draw his own weapon. He could. He could pull out his blade and run this watchman through. Jarol was drunk, and angry, and wielding a sword that was clearly a poor match for his weight and build. But Venick doubted that killing the watchman would help his cause. He looked again at his mother, who watched the scene as if it were a bad play. “I’m only asking for a chance.”
Jarol came a third time, backhanded now, his shoulder twisting. Another clean miss.
“Enough, Jarol,” Lira ordered.
The watchman’s cheeks were flushed. “He deserves it.”
“I will decide what he deserves.”
Jarol relented.
Lira was thinner than Venick remembered. Her eyes were tired holes. She didn’t look much like a mother. Looked nothing at all like one, when she turned her gaze to her son and said, “I never expected to see you again. It’s been four years.”
“I know.” Venick felt a little dizzy. “I hadn’t earned my redemption before.”
“And you think you’ve earned it now?”
“Yes.”
Lira sat back in her chair. “Very well, then. You may speak.”
The councillors all straightened. Venick swallowed a surge of nervousness. He started with what was easiest, because it was oldest. “War is coming.”
???
Venick couldn’t have said how long he spoke. Long enough for the afternoon sun to shift into evening, then nightfall. Long enough for the crickets and cicadas to emerge from their hovels, filling the air with their high, endless chorus. Venick spoke until he’d said it all.
When he finished, there was a long silence.
