“I didn’t say I like doing it, did I?” Claude protested, gesturing at Sy with the barrel of his gun. Anya flinched; Sy didn’t.
She pointed her next arrow at Claude’s chest, but if she shot him now, Aquila would see her, and she could not rely on his judgment being so impaired he could not shoot her from the tree. She needed to take him out first, but he was still too close to Sy.
“I hate doing it,” Claude continued. “Butyouwouldn’t, so someone had to. And what’s my reward? Barely enough to cover a night of drinks at Martin’s.Thatis why I told the king of Preule about the phoenix.Hepromised me a county.”
“You’re the spy,” said Sy, genuinely astonished. Anya suspected he hadn’t thought Claude capable.
“You can’t give it to the king of Preule,” said Aquila, unperturbed, “becauseIam going to take it. It’s time Edgard was replaced, and Gescany needs someone with a maverick’s spirit, someone with a firm hand.”
“Oh, and I suppose that’s you?” Claude sneered.
“Who else, you dolt?”
“Well,” Claude sputtered, obviously vexed, “I’ve been helping you. Iamhelping you. I’d say I’ve earned a county.”
“Certainly not. You’ll receive what we agreed, fifteen thousand sovereigns, knowing you’re worth far less.”
“That’s not what your wife says.”
The other half of Aquila’s face was now almost as red as the injured side. “What did you say?”
“Someone must keep her bed warm while you’re off mavericking with your hounds. She always begs me not to leave.”
With a guttural growl, Aquila rushed forward, swinging his knife at Claude.
Anya’s arrow entered one ear and came out the other.
As Aquila fell twitching to the ground, Claude let out a cry and disappeared into the trees.
Anya let him go. She would deal with him if he came back.
Deal with him.
Kill him. She would kill him if he came back.
She counted her breaths. She had never killed a man before. Yet she felt less than when she’d killed her first rabbit.
After a dizzying moment, she climbed down from the pine.
“He’s dead,” Sy said unnecessarily. She’d almost forgotten; though he was more even-keeled than the other two had been, he was under the influence of the spore.
And he knew it. “What did you do?”
“Liar’s pigeon,” she said, nodding at one nearby. “Fungus. Makes you tell the truth. It’ll wear off in an hour or so.”
“I can’t believeClaudewas the spy,” he said. Then, quieter, “I can’t believe you killed Aquila.”
“He was going to skin you,” she said harshly, turning on him.
Immediately, she regretted it. Even with the brim of her hat tugged low, it was obvious she had changed greatly since they last parted. He cataloged each, his expression painted with undisguised concern.
“Not likely they were going to let you waltz back into Äbender, either,” she said faintly, preferring the back of the tree to cut his bonds.
“I’m grateful,” he said. He spoke slowly, deliberately. Trying not to reveal too much. “Anya. I’m grateful to you. You keep saving my life.”
She didn’t respond, sawing at the rope with her knife. She could ask him anything she wanted right now, and, if he answered, it would be the truth.
He was clearly thinking the same thing. “The spore got you too?”
