“They won’t keep paying protection money if we don’t protect them,” the young soldier argued back, but his words sounded unsure.
“How will they know how much we’re helping? And if they don’t pay, we will make them regret it.”
Iryana realized her fingers were digging into Pyetar’s arm.
An older soldier grunted and added, “When everyone knew Istri was lost to the dakii, the earls and barons and duchesses and whoever else hid themselves away, but did they allow us to join? No!”
More and more partners abandoned the dance, listening to the chorus of voices calling their agreement.
“That was a decade ago, Byorsh,” another soldier cut in, patting his shoulder as if to calm him down.
Byorsh pulled away. “So? We became soldiers to protect the people of Istri, and when we were being ripped apart, held in front of the fleeing cities like a shield of meat, they refused to let us in.” He spat on the ground and swayed slightly. “Deal with the dakii, they said, while the civilians and nobility hid.”
Darish nodded at this. “We have to worry about ourselves now. Like the general said, the rest of Istri has abandoned those of us actually fighting the dakii.”
“They let the guardians in though.”
Iryana didn’t know where the voice came from, but she tensed, waiting for them to realize she was there. Remember what she was.
“The guardians have always been the people’s favorites,” Byorsh growled.
Pyetar’s hand squeezed hers as they came to a stop at the edge of the dance floor.
Iryana swayed, but luckily he hadn’t removed his hand from her back entirely. She was tucked against his broad chest, peeking around his shoulder to watch. There were enough people standing between them and the arguers to stay out of notice. Iryana didn’t have it in her to shrink out of sight.
She was beginning to feel sick, the honeywine churning.
“And now we have the metal wells.” Darish held his hands out and addressed the rest of the soldiers, who all shouted their agreement.
Iryana swallowed at the reminder. The metal wells. Everything she was doing was for them.
“This is supposed to be a party!” one of the fiddlers cried out before diving into another tune, the other musicians quickly joining in.
Pyetar met her eyes, and she thought for a moment that he was going to say something. But then Pyetar released her and stepped back, and the world slowed for a moment.
He quickly looked away from her, looking around the room as if he had forgotten something, but she had no idea what.
She was cold without him against her, and her skin tingled where he had been touching her. The sensation surprised and confused her, but her head was spinning and she couldn’t focus.
Before she could think on it, her hands were grabbed by someone new and she was whisked into the next dance, her uncomfortable thoughts melting into carefree merriment.
When there was a break between songs, someone tugged on her sleeve, and Iryana spun to find the soldier who’d been passing her notes from Hadima. He slipped a sealed letter into her hand as he passed by, disguising the movement with a drunken stumble.
Another one? The man disappeared into the crowd. She watched him suspiciously, but Hadima had said she had it under control. Whatever she was paying him had to be significant.
Iryana slipped away from the dancers.
The last time Hadima had risked sending her a message, it was to tell her that their uncle wouldn’t be able to fight for months, but that he was stable.
Her heart was beating unnecessarily fast as Iryana found a private enough corner behind some boxes to open it.
Quickly unsealing the letter, Iryana stared down at the wrinkled paper. It must have been shoved in that man’s pocket for days as he waited for the right opportunity to pass it on.
She rubbed the pages with her fist against her knee to smooth them out and then squinted, trying to force the words to form from the black swirls covering the page.
Things aren’t going well… hard to find a gap in watches… haven’t gone on a hunt in weeks… but poisoning didn’t work… tried everything… we should meet… we’re going on a hunt with the full moon in a few days… we’re trying, Iryana… stay safe…
It became harder and harder to pick out the words as she read. A nagging feeling kept tugging at her. What day was it?
