Marcus

“They were six years apart,” Gravya said. “Janus’ mother never recovered from his birth, and the old count followed her a year later. She was always his strength, I think. He was a kind man, but not a hardy one.”

The old woman stood at an iron stove in the dusty sitting room, expertly building the fire. Marcus, sitting in a tattered but comfortable chair, felt a bit awkward letting her wait on them, and Cyte apparently had the same thought, because she said, “Can I help at all, Mistress Gravya?”

“Oh, no, dear. It’s just something to do with my hands. Helps me think. Habit, you know?”

Cyte, frowning, settled down into the chair opposite Marcus. Marcus said, “So Janus never knew his parents?”

Gravya shook her head. “He had us—​the house servants—​and he had Mya. That was all. They were inseparable from the time he could walk. I called myself his tutor, but it was Mya who taught him to read and write. I just filled in what she couldn’t be bothered with. Not talking with your mouth full and the like.” She laughed and poked the fire, sending up a shower of sparks. “Most days it was just the two of them, going wherever they wanted, all over the estate.”

“What was Mya like?” Marcus said. “Was she as smart as Janus?”

“Hard to say,” Gravya said. “She was smarter than anyone in the house by the time she was ten, that’s for certain. And she was... good at understanding people, better than he was.” She transferred a cast-​iron pot to the stove top and set to stirring. “You’re his friend, so you must have seen how he can be a bit... distant?”

“From time to time,” Marcus muttered, which made Gravya laugh again.

“He hasn’t changed, I take it. Once when he called for me in the middle of the night, I told him off for waking me, and he said he’d forgotten that I needed to sleep. Other people just don’t always register, you know? He’s lost in his own head.”

“Mya wasn’t like that?”

“Oh, no.” Gravya stopped stirring for a moment, lost in memory. “If anything, she understood too well. She couldn’t bear seeing anyone suffering, and she knew when they were hurting, even if they didn’t know it themselves. You couldn’t lie to her, not ever. She would always know.” The old woman sniffed, and started stirring again. “Once when she was nine, one of the stableboys played a prank on her, dirt down her dress or some such. She spent all afternoon devising a way to get back at him, a sort of hunter’s trap in the yard that dumped him into a pile of pig shit. But then, when everyone was laughing at him, she broke down and started to cry. She understood how it made him feel, she told me later, and she couldn’t stand it.”

“She sounds like a kind soul,” Cyte said.

“She was, I think,” Gravya said slowly. “Difficult, sometimes, and with strange ideas. But ultimately kind.”

“Strange ideas?” Marcus prompted.

Gravya was quiet for a moment, taking dried leaves from a small box and grinding them between her fingers to sprinkle in the pot. She sniffed again, and, apparently satisfied, resumed stirring.

“She read a lot,” the old woman said finally. “They both did, of course, but by the time she was twelve Mya had read every book in her father’s library and sent away for more. She loved history, but she was never satisfied with it. She always said that she could have done better.” Gravya shook her head. “For a while she and Janus would play with toy soldiers, over and over. She would get angry and shout at him if he wasn’t good enough, even though he was only six. They would draw, not like ordinary children draw, but... diagrams, charts, that sort of thing. I asked what they were doing once, and Janus told me they were inventing a new kind of king. Then Mya shushed him. She was getting to that self-​conscious age, poor thing. Poor girl.”

“Was it the Red Hand?” Cyte said. Marcus blinked, surprised, but when he added up the dates it worked out. The plague had swept through Vordan City, brought by ships from the east, and worked its way out into the country, the worst epidemic since the age of tyrants.

Gravya nodded. “It was worst on children, you know. That was always the cruelest part. They both caught it, and for a time we thought they would recover, but Mya took a sudden turn for the worse. Janus... didn’t react well. At first he kept demanding to see her, no matter how we tried to explain it to him. Later he burned all their papers, all the work they’d done together, and nearly set fire to the house. Sometimes he’d stop eating for days at a time. He went into the library and started reading. He knew Mya had read all the books, and I think it helped him feel closer to her. But he just... stayed there.

“We were worried sick about him. He’d never really recovered from the Red Hand, and he was so thin you could see his ribs. He’d get sores, sometimes, from not washing properly, and he’d ignore food until he fainted. I finally figured out that he’d run out of books—​he’d read everything in the library ten times—​so I would have peddlers bring in a cartload and refuse to hand them over until he’d taken care of himself. That got him washing and eating, at least, but he still wouldn’t go outside.”

“I remember going through a similar phase,” Cyte said. “Though it wasn’t quite that bad.” She chuckled, to show it was joke, but Gravya merely continued stirring. Awkwardly, she continued. “How long did this go on?”

“About eight years.” Gravya dipped a small cup into the pot and held it in one hand, waiting for it to cool. “Sometimes we could convince him to leave for a few days, a week. But something would always set him off again, and he’d be back in the library before we knew it. I practically beggared us buying new books for him. Eventually we ran out of room, and I could at least sell off the old ones. He still looked like a scarecrow, those big gray eyes in such a hollow face. It broke my heart.” She blew across the cup, tasted the contents, and downed the rest.

“That doesn’t sound like the Janus I know,” Marcus said.

“It’s not.” Gravya poured from the pot into three waiting mugs and handed one to Marcus and one to Cyte. “Try this.”

Marcus sipped. Almost too hot to drink, it was clearly based on the apple cider he’d had downstairs but with something else added, a dark, subtle flavor with a hint of spices. When he inhaled the steam, he could smell cinnamon and other things he couldn’t identify.

“It’s wonderful,” he said.

“I make it for him whenever he comes back,” Gravya said. “My special recipe. He says he can never quite get it right himself.”

“What happened to him?” Marcus said.

“I don’t know.” Gravya sipped from her own mug. “Something changed when he was twelve. Maybe it was because that was how old Mya had been when she died, but I don’t think so. I’ve always figured it was something in the books. Something he found.” She shook her head. “We were bringing them in by the cartload by then, just buying whatever the vendors in the city had handy. He read everything anyway, so we weren’t picky. I think he read something that... affected him.”

Gravya laughed. “Not that I believe in magic or anything like that, you understand. But it was like he’d found a purpose. He came out of the library the next day and started taking exercise. At first he could scarcely run around the yard without falling over, but he kept at it, every day. He learned to ride, to fight with a sword, anything else anyone could teach him. And he sent off for more books from the University, whole courses’ worth. Mathematics, philosophy, war. Always war. He liked history as much as Mya did.”

“And he never told you why? What he was doing?” Marcus said.

“No.” Gravya stared into her mug. “He would talk to us, and he was always polite. But there was this feeling that he wasn’t paying attention, not really. He was always... somewhere else.” She sighed. “Eventually he left. Traveled for a while and then went to court. He must have impressed the king, because he stayed in the palace. He’d come back here from time to time and help us manage things. He designed a new way to lay out the orchards, you know? Said it would work better because it would make the bees happier. I don’t know why he thinks he knows what makes bees happy, or how you could tell if they were.”

“Did it work?” Cyte said.

Gravya laughed sharply. “Of course it did. You’ve met him. Everything he does works.”

“You said he doesn’t talk about Mya,” Marcus said. “Has he said why?”

“At first I thought it was because he wanted to forget,” Gravya said. “He had us put all the pictures of her away, and he never mentioned her. But I don’t think he can forget. I think it was for everyone else to forget, if that makes any sense. Almost nobody outside Mieranhal knows she even existed.” She cocked her head. “That’s why I was so surprised he told you.”

“So was I,” Marcus said honestly. “He’s normally very... private.”

There was a long pause.

“Well,” Gravya said, with false brightness. “Drink up. I’m sure Medio will want you for dinner.”

*

Uhlan did indeed insist on Marcus and Cyte staying for dinner, which was simple, delicious, and offered in vast quantities. Afterward, there was still enough daylight left to make it to the next town, and Marcus gave his military duties as an excuse to avoid any further hospitality. He and Cyte rode through the gathering twilight, winding down the hilly paths. The shepherds were all gathering in their sheep, and the apple orchards cast long shadows.

“We’ll spend the night at Gyff,” Marcus said. They’d passed it on the way up, and he recalled a small inn. “If we start at dawn tomorrow, we should be back with the army by the time they make camp.”

Cyte nodded. She was silent for a moment, then said, “You wanted me to draw my own conclusions.”

“I did.” Marcus looked around, but there was no one within earshot. “Have you?”

“There’s not that much to draw a conclusion from. Janus found something in his books that gave him a purpose in life. Since you asked me about magic, I’m guessing you think it’s something to do with that.”

“It makes sense,” Marcus said. “When Janus came to Khandar, he knew the Thousand Names were there. There was a moment when he thought he’d lost them—” He shook his head. It had been one of Janus’ rare, spectacular rages; only Marcus’ intervention had prevented him from torturing an old woman to death.

“Why did he want them?”

“I know the story he told me,” Marcus said slowly. “Princess Raesinia had—​has—​a problem of a magical nature.” He looked up. “I don’t need to tell you this is all strictly secret, do I?”

“Of course not,” Cyte said.

“Winter knows most of it. Raesinia, obviously. A few others have bits and pieces.” He frowned. “In any case, the king asked Janus to help his daughter. A few years later Janus is assigned to command in Khandar, by the king’s personal intervention. He told me—​well after the fact, of course—​that he’d been looking for the Thousand Names to help Raesinia. He thought that she would never be safe as long as the Priests of the Black were hunting for stray magic, and with the Thousand Names he’d have the power to take them on.”

“Given Winter’s history with the Priests of the Black and the Penitents, I can’t say that I disagree with him,” Cyte said. “But you said that’s the story he told you. You don’t believe it?”

“I think it’s true, as far as it goes,” Marcus said. “But there’s a piece missing. Why would the king pick Janus to help his daughter unless he already had some familiarity with magic and demons?”

“Janus is a genius,” Cyte said. “Maybe the king saw that.”

“It’s possible. But I think Janus was already searching for that kind of information. He said to me once that it was out there, if you knew where to look, and I think he was looking. I think he’s been looking ever since his revelation at age twelve.”

“What do you think he found then?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe just something that convinced him magic was real, that demons really existed.” Marcus looked sidelong at Cyte. “Did you believe any of that, before you saw the truth for yourself?”

She watched him carefully for a moment. “The Church has always said demons are real.”

“In a vague sort of way. But did you believe it?”

“No.” Cyte shrugged. “I haven’t believed since I was a little girl. It always seemed too... comforting to me. Too much like a fairy tale.”

“It must have been a shock finding out you were wrong.”

“It took some getting used to.” Cyte smiled slightly. “But just because magic and demons are real doesn’t mean the rest of it is. What about you?”

“I suppose I believe in God. And in Khandar there were always odd rumors going around. I got used to the idea that there might be something strange in the world. When it finally hit me, it was a shock, but I got over it pretty quickly.” He grimaced. “Although it took some time to heal. But now imagine you’re someone like Janus.”

“That’s not easy to imagine.”

“Granted. But try. You believe in a world that you can understand. It has rules, laws. You study history, engineering, mathematics, and so on. And then one day you find something that convinces you that there’s more, things that don’t fit in with any of the laws you know about.”

“It does seem like it would be a shock,” Cyte said. “You think that everything he did after that was a reaction to finding out about magic?”

“Maybe. There’s one more piece.”

“When he told you about Mya.” Cyte had the air of someone who’d been waiting to ask the important question. “What did he say?”

“I wasn’t entirely straight with Gravya,” Marcus said. “Janus had been poisoned by a Penitent, and he was feverish. Not in his right mind.”

“That was when Winter left,” Cyte said. “To track down the assassin.”

“Exactly. I was taking care of Janus myself, especially after we got cut off by the river. He would... talk.”

“About Mya?”

“I didn’t always understand him, but he mentioned her name. He called out to her, telling her not to leave him.”

“That makes sense, since he was so upset by her death.”

“That wasn’t it, though.” Marcus frowned, trying to recall the exact words. “He told me the world was as thin as the scum on the surface of a bowl of soup, and that far underneath there were... continents of shadow. And that she—​Mya, I think—​is down there somewhere.” He paused. “He said he had a fishing line.”

Cyte sucked in her breath.

“He said,” Marcus went on, “that she outshone him like the sun against a candle. And that we had to help her, and to do that he had to get to Elysium. He said something was waiting for him there. He called it ‘my demon.’”

Disclosing a friend’s most private thoughts, Marcus felt simultaneously burdened by guilt and lightened for having someone else to share the secret. He watched Cyte’s face as she worked through it.

“How can he want to help Mya?” Cyte said. “Is it possible that she’s still alive, somehow? That something happened to her, some demon, and Janus wants to undo it?”

“I thought that at first. It’s one reason I wanted to come here. But the story doesn’t match up.” Marcus shook his head. “I don’t think he could have kept something like that from Gravya and the others, not when he was only six years old. And he didn’t have his revelation for another six years.”

“So...”

“I think that Mya died,” Marcus said. “And that Janus still thinks he can help her.”

There was a long, uncomfortable silence.

“That’s insane,” Cyte said.

“Is it?” Marcus said. “Do you know that for certain? I mean, I would have agreed with you two years ago. Since then I’ve seen dead bodies rise as monsters and watched a woman tear stone apart with her bare hands. Who am I to say that there’s no way to bring a girl back to life?” Look at Raesinia.

“But...” Cyte shook her head.

“He leaves Mieranhal. Reads everything he can find about magic, and figures out that if there is a demon that can do what he wants, it’s going to be at Elysium, with the Black Priests and their Penitents. He also finds out that the Thousand Names exist, so when he has the chance he gets the king to assign him to the Khandarai expedition.”

“Because he knows it’s a threat to the Black Priests,” Cyte said slowly. “So that there’ll be a war with Murnsk...”

“And he can march on Elysium with the army behind him.”

The sun was nearly gone from the sky. Up ahead, Marcus could see the lights of Gyff, warm and welcoming. The shadows of their horses stretched out, flickering along the road.

“You really think it’s possible?” Cyte said. “That he planned all of this?”

“I know that if anyone could have done it, it’s Janus bet Vhalnich.” Marcus shrugged uncomfortably. “But I think something’s gone wrong.”

“When he didn’t make it to Elysium, you mean.”

“More than that. If all this is true—​and that’s a big if—​then what’s the sense in what he’s doing now? Declaring himself emperor and marching south, toward Vordan, instead of back to Elysium?”

“Maybe he wants to secure Vordan before going back for another try. Or maybe there’s another step we don’t understand.” Cyte sighed. “Or maybe we’re spinning our wheels, and he’s just in love with power for its own sake.”

“It’s possible.” But Marcus remembered Janus on the march north, even before he’d been poisoned. The single-​minded focus. He was willing to sacrifice the whole army if it got him to Elysium. “Or maybe someone else is pulling the strings.”

“I don’t think Janus would ever serve as a puppet,” Cyte said.

“The Penitents got to him once,” Marcus said. “Maybe they did it again.”

Cyte gave Marcus a long look. “You want to believe that, don’t you?”

He did. He couldn’t deny it. Because if it’s true, then my betrayal isn’t a betrayal. We’re marching to save Janus, not to destroy him. “That doesn’t make it wrong.”

“It doesn’t.” She gave him a wan smile. “Just be careful. One of the lessons of history is that you should always be the most skeptical when the evidence lines up just the way you want it to.”

“We have that one at the War College, too,” Marcus said. “When things look too good to be true, it’s probably a trap.”

And if there’s one person who could set a trap like this, it’s Janus bet Vhalnich.