“She’d nothing to offer,” Tain said, drawing a chalk line with rather more force than necessary. “We don’t spy on our own farms, generally, but no unusual activity has been reported from any sources at all. Some reports due that haven’t arrived—but that’s not surprising if the rebels have been intercepting messages, or if one of the border cities was taken.”
“All of this is connected.” Jov traced an idle finger around the rim of the empty bowl beside him. Undistracted by the siege, my brother repeatedly circled back to the poisoning; he felt Etan’s failure to protect the Chancellor as his own, and feared he would likewise fail Tain. “This is a planned attack and your uncle was murdered. If we can figure out the why of one, we might find the who of the other. Or the other way around.”
“That reminds me,” I said. I produced the product of my late-night sewing; two converted old purses, stitched carefully onto bands that could be worn under clothing. Not comparable to a proper Craft-Guilded seamster’s work, but I was decent enough with a needle. “I think you should have these with you. You’re not going to be able to prepare all of Tain’s food, and he won’t have the luxury of only eating in your apartments or the Manor.”
Jovan was already nodding. He took the connected purses, delving into the small compartments and straps within with obvious interest. “Why two?”
I glanced sideways at Tain. “We can be with you most of the time, but neither of us would be much use in a fight, if someone attacked you directly.” Outright violence in Silasta at all, let alone within high society, was so socially unacceptable it was hard to imagine. So many things that had been hard to imagine only weeks before were becoming our new reality.
My brother let his breath out in a hiss, his gaze troubled as he understood my meaning, but he gave me an approving nod. “One for antidotes, one for … the opposite.”
“If you can be a proofer, you can be a poisoner,” I said. After all, our family’s secret role had developed for a reason. Once each Family would have had their own secret poisoner, and it was foolish to believe our own ancestors had been too noble to participate actively in the squabbles for leadership. I doubted the proofing role had always been entirely reactive, even if our records spoke only of defense. My gaze dropped to the scars on Jovan’s arm; not his only ones, but the most visible. Even if the role of proofer had been a silent and purely defensive one for generations, Etan’s experiments had always been wide ranging, and some of our resources could be turned to weapons in an emergency. Jovan knew that, at least intellectually, but he had never harmed anyone with his knowledge before. We were protectors, not assassins. As someone prone to quadruple-guessing and harshly judging his every decision as it was, he might struggle to cope with such a change. But what choice did we have?
Tain looked uncertainly at the pouch. He had always avoided discussing Jovan’s work, and confusion and concern flickered over his face. My brother tucked the pouches away out of sight and by unspoken consent we let the subject fall away.
“Are you going to release Lord Ectar?” I asked.
“I think so.” Tain stretched, looking down at Talafar on the map. “He isn’t likely to be our poisoner, is he, unless he’s hoping he’s so obvious a suspect we’d disregard him? And Talafar has ridden to the rescue of besieged cities before. If we’re so lucky I wouldn’t want to explain why I’ve got the Emperor’s grandson locked in a room in my house.”
“We can keep an eye on him as best we can,” Jov said. “Assign him to my sector, perhaps—then we can see what he’s doing and keep him away from the other Councilors.”
Tain let his fingers drift to the outer edges of the map on the model. “I wonder.”
“What?”
“What are they doing about the traffic?” He traced his fingers along invisible roads to the city. “Scores of people usually come in and out through the road gates every day. How are the rebels stopping them? If they’re turning around when they see the army, word is going to reach outside our borders pretty soon.”
“So even if our runners didn’t get through…” Tain broke off and looked at me, chagrined. “They will, of course,” he said. “Edric will be safe.”
I avoided his gaze, letting my hair obscure my face. I’d not told them about the short note Edric had left me, not liking the combination of guilt and irritation and worry that uncurled in my stomach when I thought about it. He had a good heart and an entirely unrealistic picture of dear, sweet Kalina, fancying himself heroically caring for such a frail little thing as me. I wished him all the best, but there were only so many times I could take people trying to thrust him into my bed. I raised my chin. “Of course he’ll be fine. But while he’s away I could use the break from hearing ‘Kalina Kalina.’”
Tain laughed, and Jovan’s lips twitched even as he gave me a reproachful look. “I didn’t realize you’d heard it.”
“Who hasn’t? He sprang out at me last week with about twenty of his friends from the Performers’ Guild to sing the whole thing. And now it’s spread—I even heard someone humming it on the wall this morning.”
A knock at the door startled us from the momentary levity. Marco stood there, looking oddly cowed for a man his size. He held a sack in one hand and rubbed the other over his head.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, Credola Kalina,” he said politely. He came inside and sank into one of the cushions, setting the bag beside him, then cleared his throat and cracked his knuckles as though unsure where to begin. When Jov offered him tea he took it eagerly, twisting the cup around and around in his big hands and sipping far too often. There was something he didn’t want to tell us. My heart rate picked up, but still the soldier stayed silent, staring at his tea.
“How are the Builders doing with the new catapults?” Tain prompted.
“Well, I believe, Honored Chancellor. The Stone-Guilder promises they will be sturdier this time, and have better accuracy. However.” He cleared his throat again. “I have some new information about our enemies.” He fell into silence again, and I tensed with frustration. Tain, ever the most patient of the three of us, set down his teacup and cleared his throat politely. As if waking from a momentary stupor, Marco shook his head and continued. “The army appears to be constructing siege weaponry as well, and is being supplied with materials and weapons by boat and by road. It appears they will not be attempting to merely wait us out.”
Tain nodded. “They can’t know how long Aven will be, and they can’t risk being trapped between our walls and our army. They have to attack soon. What else?”
“We received a communication from them in the night.”
We all sat forward. Blood pounded in my ears—at last, some indication of what they wanted?—but no relief showed on Marco’s face.
“A single man left it outside the west gate. I sent one of ours over the wall in a harness to collect it—I had thought it might be a trap to trick us into opening the gates.” He opened the sack tucked away beside him and retrieved a folded green cloth; our hasty peace flag, now crusted dark with the emissary’s blood. The smell of old metal filled the back of my throat. Jovan hastily moved the teacups as Marco settled the fabric on the table and unfolded it with slow, precise movements until it took up the entire surface.