When Jeri arrived that night, Anastasia was already there, along with the High Blade and Scythes Baba and Makeda. The High Blade himself was laughing uproariously at something someone had said – or, more likely, something he himself had said. While Anastasia enjoyed the man, Jeri exhausted of him after their first day.
“You’ve missed the first course,” he told Jeri. “No soup for you.”
Jeri sat beside Anastasia. “I’ll survive.”
“House rules dictate that you be on time for dinner,” Tenkamenin reminded. “It’s a matter of common courtesy.”
“It’s Jeri’s first time late,” offered Anastasia.
“You don’t have to defend me,” Jeri told her, then turned to the High Blade. “I was being updated on the Endura salvage, if you must know. They’ve found the council chamber – the Grandslayers’ Seats of Consideration are being sent to their respective continents to be turned into monuments. I think that was a little more important than soup.”
Tenkamenin did not comment, but five minutes later, during the main course, he prodded Jeri again.
“Tell me, Jerico, how does your crew feel about having an absentee captain?”
Jeri would not be baited. “They are on leave in your city, and grateful for it.”
“I see. And how do you know they are not out making deals without you? Deals that might compromise the security of our dear Lady of the Deep?” he said, using his latest pet name for Anastasia.
“Do not cast aspersions on my crew, Your Excellency,” Jeri said. “They are loyal to a fault. Can you say that of the people you surround yourself with?”
That raised the High Blade’s hackles, but he did not defend his entourage. Instead he changed the subject.
“What do you want out of life, Captain Soberanis?”
“That’s a broad question.”
“Then let me rephrase it. Tell me your dearest dream, Jerico. What do you want to do more than anything in the world, but have not yet done?”
Suddenly Anastasia dropped her silverware so hard that it chipped her plate, and she stood up. “I’ve lost my appetite,” she said, then grabbed Jeri’s hand. “And so have you.” And she stormed away, leaving Jeri no choice but to go with her, if only to keep the hand.
Behind them Tenkamenin burst out laughing. “It was a joke, Anastasia. You know I love to toy!”
She turned long enough to spare him the harshest of glares. “You are an excellent ass, Your Excellency.”
Which only made him laugh harder.
Jeri was not entirely sure what the inside joke was until they reached Anastasia’s suite, and she closed the door behind them.
“It’s what he asks people he’s going to glean,” she said.
“Ah,” said Jeri. “He did it to get a rise out of you – which he did. The High Blade enjoys pushing people’s buttons, and he knows exactly where yours are.”
“Aren’t you the least bit worried that he might actually do it?”
“Not at all,” Jeri told her. “Because as much as he likes to toy with you, he doesn’t want to turn you against him. If he gleans me, he knows he’ll be your enemy.”
Even so, she held out her hand. The one with the scythe’s ring. It wasn’t her old ring – that one Scythe Possuelo had hurled back into the sea after they found her, since it could be used to trace her whereabouts, if there was actually a scythe out there who understood their own technology. Possuelo had given her a new ring using one of the diamonds from the vault.
“Kiss it,” Anastasia said to Jeri. “Just to be safe.”
So Jeri took her hand and kissed it – missing the ring entirely.
Anastasia pulled her hand back reflexively. “I meant the ring, not the hand!” She held it out again. “Do it right this time.”
“I choose not to,” Jeri said.
“If I give you immunity, no one can glean you for a year. Do it!”
But still Jeri made no move. And when her eyes questioned, Jeri said, “When I found the Vault of Relics and Futures, Possuelo also offered me immunity, but I refused him as well.”
“Why? What possible reason is there?”
“Because I don’t want to be indebted to anyone. Not even you.”
She turned away at that and went to the window, peering out. “There are things out there that I don’t want to know about … but I need to know about them. I need to know everything I can.” Then she turned back to Jeri. “Have you heard anything about Rowan?” she asked.
Jeri could have told her that there was no news, but that would be a lie, and Jeri would not lie to Anastasia. They had too much trust between them to jeopardize that. Jeri was silent for a moment, and Anastasia pushed.
“I know Tenkamenin wouldn’t let any news about him reach me in here, but you’ve been in touch with your crew. They must have told you something.”
Jeri heaved a sigh, but only to prepare her for the answer. “Yes, there is news. But nothing I’m going to share, no matter how much you ask me.”
A progression of emotions passed over her. The stages of grief all played out on her face in a matter of seconds. Denial, anger, bargaining, sadness, and, finally, a resolving into acceptance.
“You won’t tell me because there’s nothing I can do,” she said, anticipating the reasons Jeri would give, “and it would distract me from what I need to do.”
“Do you hate me for it?” Jeri asked.
“I could say yes, just out of spite. But no, Jeri, I don’t hate you. But … can you at least tell me if he’s still alive?”
“Yes,” Jeri said. “Yes, he is. I hope you can find comfort in that.”
“And will he be alive tomorrow?” she asked.
“Not even the Thunderhead can be sure about tomorrow,” Jeri told her. “Let’s be satisfied with today.”
30
Burnt Offering
“Hello, Tyger.”
“Hi,” said Tyger Salazar’s memory construct. “Do I know you?”
“Yes and no,” said Scythe Rand. “I’ve come to tell you that Scythe Lucifer’s been caught.”
“Scythe Lucifer … isn’t that the one who’s been killing other scythes?”
“It is,” said Rand. “And you know him.”
“Doubt it,” said the construct. “I know some twisted people, but nobody that twisted.”
“It’s your friend, Rowan Damisch.”
The construct paused and then laughed. “Nice try,” it said. “Did Rowan put you up to this? Rowan!” it called. “Where are you hiding? Come on out.”
“He’s not here.”
“Don’t try to tell me that he’s killing people – he never even got to be a scythe – they booted his ass out and gave it to that girl instead.”
“He’s going to be executed tomorrow,” Rand said.
The construct hesitated, furrowed its brow. They were so well programmed, these constructs. They compiled the memories of every facial expression of the subject that had ever been recorded. The representation was sometimes so true to life, it was unnerving.