Van Grey was short, brown, and full about the hips, lips, and eyes. Their white hair was long and braided, shades of orange darkening to near red through the tips. The Obéid dyed their locs regularly with holy fruit according to the depths of their faith. They stood by a tall window at the opposite end of the room, looking down the north side of the mountain, and glanced at Nova as she walked in with signature fatigue from their traveling.
“About time,” Van sighed.
“I was just assured we were back early. Anything for me?” Nova asked.
They extracted a folio from their messenger bag, mismatched sheets of unfolded paper tucked messily inside.
Nova frowned. She disliked disorder. It showed a lack of care.
“You know these are important,” she told Van pointedly.
“I am not pressing and collating your spy notes for you, cousin. You will heal.”
Nova rolled her eyes and began skimming the notes. Under theBear King, Cutter had developed a network of friends of the Crown and Nova had expanded it—mostly service workers, tradesfolk, bathhouse attendants, people placed in the nation’s high houses and in the homes of senators. She knew each of her agents by their handwriting and could tell their mood by the absence or presence of flourishes, detect urgency by the weight of a scribble or the presence of key words.
“Heard from Illowé?” Van asked as they waited.
Nova started to fake a laugh but remembered she’d received a letter from her sister for the first time in what must have been a year. “Yes, actually. There is a baby on the way.”
“Obé’s blessings—what a gift!” Van gasped and beamed a smile Nova had never seen before in this room.
“Indeed,” Nova replied as she flicked through the pages, taking count. “Someone’s missing,” she said.
“The Drake report. Sanji’s been ill.”
Nova made a mental note and nodded. The Drakes were at lunch with the queen anyway.
“Far as I can tell, all is well,” Van offered. “Conflict in the Senate is petty, chatter about the Day of Days festivities in the Red District is innocent.”
“And in the Rakes?” said Nova.
Van scoffed and shook their head. Most of the Greys, like Nova, ended up “adopted” by the state and ultimately in military service. Others were adopted by the Rakelands, an anti-state population near the northern coast, and raised Obéid, the faith that declared Arielle a betrayer. Van was the latter. This made their monthly meetings, well, tense.
“What?” Nova prompted again.
“I think what you’ll find in all those papers like the ones I dragged my ass out here to present last month and for the lastyearof months—”
“Fuck me, just answer the question,” Nova groaned.
“—is a trend where people are getting on with their lives and not centering it on some violent obsession with the Crown.”
“Well, does that include the Rakes or not?”
“Yes!” Van shouted. “They’re your people, too. And you treat them—us—with such suspicion.”
“That’s my job! I am suspicious of everyone.” Nova flapped the stack of reports at Van.
“Do you investigate the Green Zone?”
“No, because they’re in the Green Zone. They’ve already been vetted much more rigorously than this. You’re being ridiculous.”
“I’mridiculous?” Van nearly shrieked. “A god was seated on the throne and rejected us for our faith.”
“Oh, they’re back to being gods now?”
“Don’t be a smart-ass.”
“No no no. You started this.” Nova slammed the folio shut and approached Van with a stern finger. “Youall decided Arielle and her offspring were not, in fact, gods because they did not play into your storybook fantasies of who the gods are and what they do. And then you went to war against them, lost, and had no intention of reconciling but were allowed to remain free to continue your griping and groaning and praying to the Obé for their deaths. And so when I ask you if all is well in the Rakelands, it is a yes-or-no question based on actual history and not me singling you out for abuse.”
