Before I could respond, she ran, limp and all, and I stared after her, not knowing whether I wanted to follow or not.
* * *
Days piled on top of each other, bleeding together into a stream of wearying tasks and increasing worries. None of the injured rebels survived to be interrogated. The army had retreated and the smoke and sounds from their sprawling camp suggested they were building more serious weaponry after their first failed attempt to scale the walls. I didn’t see the streetwoman again, but it was hard to move through the city without someone approaching me, seeking favors or audiences with Tain. I stayed inside much of the time, and covered my tattoos when I went out.
Within the city, tensions ran high as we settled into a strange new routine. Some businesses remained open; others had been redirected to perform citywide tasks. Hourly, it seemed, Jov was petitioned by someone in our sector, seeking instruction about how best to use a resource, or exemption from duties. We feared such rulings were being applied inconsistently across the city, but none of us had ever had to reorganize ten thousand people before, not even Marco, and mistakes would be made.
I slipped through the gate of the tournament grounds, entering the arena along with the dawn shift. Here, Marco and the stretched Order Guards taught rough classes in basic martial skills that we could use from the walls and, if they were scaled again, face-to-face. Technically, only those able-bodied enough to be up on the walls were supposed to attend, but enough Credolen were mixed among the common folk that I could join the archery practice squads without anyone taking notice. Just one more Credola, unskilled and weak, but determined. Jovan knew nothing of my plans; he had been sleeping at the Manor in any case, too worried to leave Tain alone in the company of only servants of whose loyalties we could not be certain.
It had become a routine. For months, well before the siege, I had been building up my physical strength. Swimming in the lake in the early morning, walking and even running on the tournament grounds, trying to slowly work past some of my limitations. Etan and Jov wanted me to rest, always to rest; I knew the root of their concern was love, and knew, too, I would never have a fully healthy body. But though the work had exhausted me, and sometimes left me unable to properly fake good health the following day, I had also seen signs of improvement that gave me hope. So why should I not learn some skills that could help my city?
I had tried to avoid shifts run by anyone who knew me. This was one of Credo Javesto’s sector’s shifts, a sector far from ours. But today luck hadn’t favored me and Marco himself was directing the training. He saw me immediately.
“Credola,” he said. Not quite a question, but the conflict in his expression was drawn in his thick eyebrows, bunched together. Was there anyone who didn’t know my limitations? “You are practicing?”
“Yes.” It was an effort not to add anything, not to explain or excuse.
He hesitated. I made myself meet his gaze, calm.
“The lightest bows are marked with white paint.”
“Yes, I know. Thank you.” Held my head up until he moved on.
I joined the line, standing in sequence with the others, just one more anonymous citizen. Stand side on. Body still. Head to the target, lift the bow with my left, grip the string with my right.…
“You grip it too tight.”
I loosened my right hand, bristling inside, and drew back. Apparently today peace would elude me. “Thank you, Lord Ectar. I always forget that.” Release.
The Talafan noble and his servants had been freed weeks ago with little fanfare and great embarrassment on both sides. Being locked in the Manor while an army attacked the city wasn’t exactly proper treatment of a noble guest; on the other hand, Ectar had still, as far as he and anyone else knew, brought a gift that had resulted in the death of the ruling Chancellor and his closest adviser.
Tain had escorted him from the Manor, awkward and stumbling over his words. Ectar had spoken little, and clutched his servant’s arm, fingers like the grip of a great pale bird. Since then, though he had faithfully turned up to our sector as agreed, he had avoided being anywhere near Tain. It had been a mistake to handle it personally; the Council had urged Tain to let our best diplomats handle the release, but he had refused. More reasons for resentment and frustration where he should have been building accord. He needed their respect if not their trust, but instead they feared him, feared his sudden shifts between malleable and stubborn.
“Your technique is improving, Credola.”
“Thank you,” I said again. Forcing a smile, I lowered my bow and turned to him. “Surely you don’t need any extra practice?”
“I am helping the Warrior-Guilder with training,” Ectar said. He looked different; it took a moment to realize it was his bare face. Usually heavy powders made his face pale as snow; today cosmetics still decorated his eyes and brows, but his skin looked natural. Pale, but pinkish-brown rather than alabaster. It made him seem less alien. “May I?” He helped me adjust my draw. “Relax your shoulders. You hurt your neck elsewise, see?”
“It’s kind of you to help Marco,” I said. “All of us.”
He shrugged, his eyes scanning the distance. “What am I to do? I wish to go home. That army of savages will not care who I am.”
True enough. We were all in this together, like it or not. “When will the Emperor become concerned and send for you?” Ectar had blustered to that effect upon his release, but been oddly quiet about it since. Perhaps he thought already to have been rescued. Perhaps, like me, he merely hoped some external ally had seen the siege and returned to Talafar to summon our allies for assistance.
“It is hard to say,” he said, then quickly deflected. “Has the Honored Chancellor made any progress toward peace talks?”
“I’m afraid not.” Ectar pressed me for information often, and I played a delicate game attempting to win his trust without risking revealing anything important. The more youthful, innocent version of myself needed to be flattered by his attention, but not suspiciously so. “If we only knew more of what they wanted.”
“There are some of these ‘earther’ people in your city,” he said, silently adjusting the stance of the person beside me. “Why does the Chancellor not require them to answer? My grandfather would force them to tell him what they know. And if he did not get the answers he would hang them outside the walls one by one until they talked, or the rebels did.”
It was impossible to hide my shock. One moment Ectar could appear vulnerable: a young man in a terrible situation, far from home and in a culture he didn’t fully understand. The next he seemed so casually cruel it turned my stomach. I found my voice at last. “What a thing to suggest, Lord Ectar.” Gentler than I felt. “We do not do such things in Silasta.”
“Perhaps that is why you are under attack,” he pointed out, but even as he said it he seemed to realize he had erred. He gave a false laugh. “I joke, Credola. It is frustration. We are stuck here, not knowing when they will strike. Your people are not prepared. I am afraid. Are you not afraid?”
“Of course I am,” I said, honestly. My arm, already weakening, shook as I drew again.
“I must help others, Credola. I will see you on assigned duties later?”
I nodded, returning to my practice. Ectar’s constant presence and watchfulness made a difficult task harder. Worse, I hadn’t missed some of the supportive grunts of people around me who had overheard his suggestion. It echoed the same sentiments increasingly muttered about the city since it had become apparent our attackers were Darfri; no matter how much Tain attempted to soothe such talk, his fledgling authority was insufficient to dampen it entirely.