“Don’t worry,” Garan had told me earlier. “We’ll take the breach in the wall and trap the rebels between it and the lake. The day’ll be ours in no time at all, and you’ll be going home.”
But he didn’t seem to understand my distress at the idea. “They attacked the capital,” he said, shrugging, as I tried to explain. “Whatever the reason, you can’t expect there to be no consequences.”
“They were forced into it,” I argued. “What will it do to the country if we kill one another?”
My guard had simply shrugged and ushered me back into my tent.
Now I gnawed at my lower lip and wrung my hands, frustration eating at me. Stuck here in a dark, floorless tent, well behind the battle, I hated not knowing what was happening. Would the rebels surrender? Something about the tune Garan whistled irritated me more and more. It sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place the song.
“Garan?” I tried. “Any word?”
He stuck his face into the tent, his expression a cross between exasperation and sympathy. “You’ll know more when I do. Can’t you just relax?”
I gave him a flat stare, and he grinned. “All right, you probably can’t relax.” He scratched his head with a sigh. “I know how you feel. Sometimes it’s hard doing what I do, and being out of contact with everyone.”
“Why’re you stuck here with me? Is it because Aven didn’t want to let anyone else know about me?”
“Partly. But guard duty’s pretty common for me.” He stuck one skinny arm through the tent door. “I’m not exactly first choice for the front line.”
“You’re a scout usually?”
He nodded. “I’m quick and I’m quiet, and I can track better than anyone else I know.” As if embarrassed to be caught bragging, he ducked his head and added, “Least, that’s what some people say. I’m not that great with a weapon, though.”
“Do you get bored, guarding?”
He paused, then looked me over and grinned. “Guarding’s not so bad, sometimes.” As if he regretted saying it, Garan ducked back outside. Moments later, I heard the whistling again and smiled despite myself. Nothing could keep his mood down.
But I couldn’t sit still for long. The song nagged at me. I hummed along, but no words came to mind. It was like picking at a scab. “Garan?” I called again.
“Yes?” He stuck his head in again.
“What’s that tune? I know it but I can’t remember from where.”
“Oh.” He frowned, then shrugged. “I’m not sure. It’s been in my head for days.”
I smiled. “Yes, I’d noticed.”
“Sorry.”
I settled back down on the single cushion, the only pretense of comfort in this plain little tent. Probably it wouldn’t bother me so much if the situation weren’t so frustrating. I picked at the grass, tearing the blades into pieces, and tried to think about something positive. Surely the rebels, if trapped in the lower city, would have to surrender rather than attempting to defend against a superior foe on two fronts. Aven’s force was well trained and well equipped, and its members were motivated to save their home. The rebels couldn’t hope to survive against them. And if they surrendered, Tain—no, not Tain, I reminded myself with a pang—the Council would hopefully work with them to fix what had gone so horribly wrong in our country. Maybe we could all look forward to a better future.
Garan stuck his head back into the tent. “I remembered,” he said. “But you wouldn’t know it. I was guarding the Doranite spy, weeks ago. The blasted fellow kept singing it.”
“Oh.” I frowned. “It just sounded so…” Suddenly, lyrics popped into my head. “Something about … seeing clearer…”
“Yeah!” Garan agreed. “Grant me just a moment’s time, something-something … lips on mine?” He shook his head. “He was a traitor, but the song was catchy.”
My heart beat faster and my mouth went dry. Suddenly I couldn’t breathe.
“Had a beautiful voice. I didn’t talk to him, of course,” he said hastily, giving me a sidelong embarrassed look. “We put him down in a section of the mine, for safety. Don’t think he even knew I was there. But he sang a lot. I didn’t know the song, but it’s a good one.”
I found myself on my feet, clutching Garan’s arm, breath catching in my throat. “You said he was a Doranite spy, but you called him a traitor. Was he from Doran or Sjona? Garan, what did he look like?”
He stared down at my hand on his arm as if not quite sure what to do about it. The possible impropriety of our conversation visibly dawned on him. Before he could pull away, I tightened my grip and leaned in closer. “It’s important,” I said. “I’m begging you. Tell me what he looked like.”
“He was working for Doran, but he was Sjon,” Garan said. “I don’t know. Ordinary? Handsome, I suppose. Tall, sort of longish hair.”
I squeezed my eyes shut. My chest hurt. “He was Sjon. Why did you think he was working for Doran?”
He stared at me, voice stiffening. “Warrior-Guilder Aven interrogated him. She concluded he was in Doran’s pay.”
“What happened to him? You were guarding him in the mine.… Where is he now?”
Garan tugged his arm free. “What do you want to know about a spy for?”
“He wasn’t a spy,” I said. The tightness in my chest made it hard to get the words out. “Honor-down, he was the last thing from a spy. What happened to him?”
The guard frowned, but when he saw the tears dripping down my face, he softened. “He was a traitor caught by the army. What do you think?” he said gently. “After the Warrior-Guilder finished questioning him, they hanged him, of course.”
A half cough, half sob spasmed through my throat. Part of me knew what that meant, but surely, surely, it couldn’t be true.
It couldn’t have been Edric.
Because if it had been … I let go of Garan’s arm and sank back onto the cushions. If Edric had made it through the rebel army after all, if his head hadn’t been one of those in the sacks—then who was that in the sacks?—and if he had made it here, he would have gone straight to Aven as instructed. He’d have told no one else who he was; we had told the messengers not to risk the news to anyone else.
But Aven had treated him as a traitor. She’d “questioned” him, hanged him. And done nothing about the city. Did she not believe him? Why not? She’d acted like the news was a shock when I told her what had happened to the city.
“What’s wrong?” Garan asked, after a long hesitation. “Why would you care what happened to some spy? Why would you think you knew him?”
I knew what it meant—what it had to mean—that Edric had been hanged and his story suppressed. “You have to get me out of here, Garan,” I said. “Please.”
The guard folded his arms, sympathy retreating. “I don’t think so,” he said. “Why don’t you tell me what you know about this spy.”
I pushed down my panic and studied him, evaluating his honest face with ruthless precision. Garan mightn’t be the brightest man in the army, but he liked me. He’d talked to me even though he knew he shouldn’t. His inclination was to sympathize, to help. Honor-down, I wouldn’t get out of this camp without someone’s help. I wiped my tears with the back of a hand and stood, trying to stay calm. “I can tell you his name was Edric Korantash Ash,” I said. “He was Credola Nara’s second cousin. A rising musician in the Performers’ Guild, and a competitive runner. And he came from the city for exactly the same reason I did: to warn the Warrior-Guilder what was happening to our city, and summon the army home.”