CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Inside the Kype

Some moments we see clearly. We know they are important; births and deaths are just such times. Others sneak up on us, invisible from the front, but always, always obvious from behind.

—THE BOOK OF BRIN

The sun was setting when Raithe knocked on the door to the Kype. He wasn’t alone this time. Moya and Malcolm stood with him as the little window in the door slid back. The same pair of eyes shifted, registering each face. The eyes didn’t look happy.

“Open up, Por,” Moya ordered.

The eyes focused on Raithe. “I, ah…”

“You’re ah gonna open that door,” Moya told him. “Or I’ll put an arrow through that skull of yours.”

The eyes blinked. The window in the door shut, then the big bronze door opened.

Poric was a surprisingly small Fhrey with white-blond hair who appeared to live in the nearby little room filled with dirty bowls, empty cups, and a pile of wood shavings. Twenty or thirty tiny animal carvings lined the shelves and tables. Poric watched Raithe enter with what looked like a mix of fear and anger.

“It will be fine,” Malcolm assured him. “Raithe has a broken arm. Makes it hard to properly strangle a person that way.”

“Hard,” Raithe said, “but not impossible.”

Poric’s eyes widened, and a hand fluttered to his throat. This might have made Raithe smile if he hadn’t been in such a foul mood. He didn’t have anything against Poric. The Fhrey was only doing his job. Apparently, someone had told him not to let the Dureyan in except for official meetings. Raithe had enlisted the help of Moya rather than Suri or Arion. Suri, who didn’t appear to care for Nyphron any more than he did, would have jumped at the chance for a little fun, but Raithe didn’t want to cause that much trouble until he knew what was going on. Moya was the obvious choice. As Shield, no one could stop her from escorting him to the keenig. If Nyphron tried to, then Raithe might have a talk with Suri.

Moya led the way up the stairs. “Careful, the second one is crumbling. I usually just jump it.”

Moya had denied any nefarious attempts on Nyphron’s part to keep Raithe and Persephone apart, but Moya also said she had no idea why the keenig would refuse to see him. Under normal circumstances, she might have asked Persephone first before letting him in, but nothing was normal that day. The war had begun, Raithe was wounded, and Persephone had nearly died the night before. Time felt in short supply, and when Raithe had added, “How would you feel if you learned Tekchin was wounded, nearly died, and they wouldn’t let you see him?” That was all it took.

They climbed seven flights to what Raithe realized was the top of the Kype. Just as sparse and cold as the rest of the fortress, the Kype made a poor home. While Alon Rhist exhibited power and elegance, this building was colder and more barren than Dureya. Despite the lack of food and the relentless winds, Raithe’s people had songs, dances, and the laughter of children. The Kype was silent, their steps echoing.

“We have her in the Shrine,” Moya explained. “Used to be the private chambers of Alon Rhist—the guy this place is named after. He was the only fane from the Instarya tribe, so they sort of worship him. Ruled for only five years before dying in some fight. They kept his rooms exactly the way he left them.” She stopped and looked back. “You might not want to touch things. The Fhrey get a little sensitive about stuff like that.”

If I find they’ve treated her badly, I’ll do more than touch things.

They found familiar faces standing guard out in front of the chamber door. Grygor, Eres, and Tekchin all smiled at their approach. They were playing a game of Stones. Tekchin had the biggest stack.

“I asked you to watch her door,” Moya admonished Tekchin.

The Fhrey shrugged. “I get bored easily. Not into wood carving like Poric. Left alone, I’d end up nibbling the ends of my fingers or something.”

“Any change would be an improvement,” Grygor said.

“Thanks.” Moya expressed the one word with weight to all of them, then leaned in and kissed Tekchin. “You’re a lifesaver.”

Embarrassed, Tekchin turned to Raithe, pointed at his arm, and said, “Got a scratch, eh?”

“Had a disagreement with a giant,” Raithe replied, glancing at Grygor, whose head nearly touched the high ceiling.

“They’re animals,” Grygor said. “Never trust one to keep a secret, or not bite the head off a Rhune just to make a point.”

Eres and Tekchin nodded gravely, which made Raithe wonder—not for the first time—if the Galantians were joking.

Moya opened the door and Raithe walked inside alone.

The Shrine was a suite of rooms decorated with tapestries depicting battles and containing sculptures of half-naked Fhrey wielding spears or javelins, their muscles straining. Dark wood chairs with red-cushioned seats and gold vases and candelabras filled the space with an aura of opulence. This was by far the greatest assemblage of wealth Raithe had ever seen. To think such splendor existed across the river from the dung-brick home he was born in was shocking. Did any of the Dureyans ever have a clue? Did they even know such things were possible?

If we win the war, how can we ever return to lives lived in dirt? What will become of us if we’re victorious? What will happen to the world?

And yet this room, too, while lavish, felt lifeless. Everything was so clean, so ordered. This wasn’t a home to the living. It felt like a tomb, and he didn’t like the idea that they had put Persephone in such a place.

He moved gingerly, creeping across carpets like an intruder. A door to another part of the suite opened, and Brin came out. She smiled and pointed at him with a hairbrush that she was holding. “You’re in luck. She just woke up.” Brin gestured at the door. “I’ll wait outside.”

Raithe stood in the center of the Shrine, watching Brin leave, then he looked back at the door.

Why am I so nervous? It’s just Persephone.

He reached out for the latch and hesitated. For a moment, he thought to turn around, to just leave.

Maybe this is a mistake. If Moya says she’s okay, then she is. If she were in trouble, Brin would have said something; Padera would have said something; Moya would have done something. They love Persephone, too. I’m being stupid.

Raithe knew Nyphron wasn’t keeping Persephone a prisoner. He’d known it all along. He just didn’t want to face the truth. He still didn’t. Raithe turned away to leave.

“Raithe?” he heard her call. “Raithe?”

Too late.

He opened the door slowly and poked his head in.

Persephone lay on a huge canopy bed adorned with thick embroidered blankets and pillows of shiny cloth. There was no window, and the only light came from three oil lamps that filled the air with a sooty stench. There were other smells, too, unpleasant and unknown.

“I thought I heard Brin talking to someone.”

“She, ah…Brin just left.”

“Come in,” she said.

Persephone looked beautiful; her face did anyway. The rest of her was covered by quilts. Knowing that a raow had attacked her, Raithe had been worried about what he’d find. As it turned out, she was pale, but other than that, she looked well.

He moved in slowly, noting his surroundings. Several tables were littered with bowls and glasses, pestles and mortars. Jars were filled with different powders—the source of some of the smells. Raithe crept up until he stood at the edge of the bed. “I heard about the attack. You all right?”

“I will be.” She made a clawing motion to her stomach. “Some pretty deep cuts make it just about impossible to move, so I’m stuck here while everyone else fights. I feel terrible about that. I’m supposed to be the keenig, and sure, I didn’t expect to be leading the attacks like Reglan did, but I thought I would be able to see them.”

“I think your job was getting us here. Giving us this chance. Now we have to succeed.”

She focused on his arm, and her face wrinkled with sympathetic pain. “Was it awful?”

“I guess that depends on who you talk to. According to everyone who watched, it was wonderful.” He frowned. “Farmer Wedon was killed. So was Kurt, Tope’s youngest, and Hanson Killian.”

He saw the names’ impact on her features and stopped himself. “Several others, too. I just don’t know their names,” he lied. “But it could have been so much worse.” Filled with guilt at having falsely accused Nyphron, he added, “I hate to say it, but Nyphron’s plan of putting those runes on the armor and having Moya’s archers attack the Miralyith was…brilliant.”

“Why do you hate to say it?”

He came closer, touched the covers on the bed with three outstretched fingers. “Because he’s my rival.”

“Rival?”

“Isn’t he?”

She didn’t answer. Her eyes searched the bedspread for one.

“I had it in my head that the reason I wasn’t allowed into the Kype to see you was because of him, that he had given orders to keep me away. But he didn’t, did he?”

“No, he didn’t.”

Persephone started to push herself up and cringed in pain.

“Easy,” he told her.

She shook her head and made a dismissive wave as she struggled to breathe. “I’m fine. I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.” The pain looked to have mostly subsided, and Persephone seemed more embarrassed than anything else. “You were saying that you tried to see me?”

“Yes. I came almost every day at first, then less so as winter came on. Guess I started getting the hint. I was always told you were too busy. I believed it because I needed to.”

She didn’t say anything. Refused to look at him.

“Do you love him?”

“It’s complicated. He…” The words struggled to come out. She smoothed the covers. “He asked me to marry him.”

Raithe didn’t say anything after that. He couldn’t. He was too frightened. When he was a boy, Didan had once crept up behind him and put a dagger to his throat, whispering, Don’t move. That was how it felt when standing beside Persephone’s bed, those words lingering in the space between them, dropped but not swept away. He waited, waited for her to say that she had turned Nyphron down, waited for her to laugh at the very thought. She didn’t. Persephone said nothing at all, and the moment lingered until finally Raithe couldn’t bear it any longer. “Have you slept with him?”

Her head jerked up. “No! It’s not like that.”

“Then how is it?”

“I don’t see how my personal life is your business.”

The words hurt. She wouldn’t have said that a year ago when Konniger wanted her dead. Back then she’d welcomed him into her world, begged him to stay, wanted him to be part of her personal life. Back then, when he had asked for her hand, she had said the memory of her dead husband made remarrying impossible.

She must have seen the look on his face and read part of it correctly. “Listen, Raithe, I’m the keenig now. I have to think about what’s best for the clans, and you’re right; Nyphron is brilliant.”

Why did I ever say that? He’s brilliant, all right. He’s twisted you to his will, that’s how brilliant he is.

“He’s given us the chance to survive. He and I have united the Rhunes and the Instarya. Together we can—”

“I’m too late, aren’t I?” The phrase he and I was what did it. They were a team now.

Raithe looked away, his sight drifting across the shiny sheets, across the big bed—big enough for two. Does he visit her, creeping in when it is dark, or does Nyphron live with her now? Does he sleep there every night? Which side is his?

“I’m just saying that without Nyphron, we don’t stand a chance. He knows how to fight them, and he keeps the Instarya from—”

“You’ve already decided. You’re going to marry him.”

She didn’t answer.

“You are, aren’t you?”

She looked away, refusing to meet his eyes. “It’s what will be best for everyone.”

Even Didan hadn’t actually slit his throat.

No, not a slit throat, a stab to the heart.

Raithe stood still, feeling the pain slip in through his ribs—a fine spear thrust—very fine indeed.

I am too late. I just thought that she…He sucked in a breath. “Persephone, did you ever love me?”

He saw her stiffen. Her hands were clasped on her lap, a pile of pillows behind her head. Brin had likely propped her up and brushed her hair to receive him, so she could look her best for the execution. Persephone did indeed have loyal friends. Moya had led him there, and Brin had held the door.

“Raithe, this isn’t about love. You have to be able to see that.” Her tone became concerned. “If I were to refuse, if we were to lose Nyphron’s support—”

“You refused me. Did I leave? Did I turn against you?

“He’s not you, and it’s not the same thing.”

“How is it different?”

“You were being selfish. You wanted me to run off to some mythical land of perpetual sunshine and a life without want. You asked me to abandon my family. Nyphron wants to help save them.”

“Selfish? You’re calling me selfish? I gave that dream up. I stayed. Stayed when I knew I was a fool to do so. You say Nyphron wants to save your people. But who volunteered to fight the Gula keenig? And why did I do such a stupid thing? For me? No—but I can tell you this, that’s exactly what Nyphron is doing. He’s the selfish one, not me. I didn’t see him out there on that field.” His words were spiteful and bitter. He didn’t want them to be, but he couldn’t stop. “I was the one who nearly died when a huge giant hit three of us with a sledgehammer—the same one that killed Wedon. I was the one out there saving your family. Where was Nyphron?”

“He can’t—”

“He could. He just won’t.” Raithe’s voice rose. “I asked you to come with me because I didn’t think we stood a chance fighting the Fhrey, and because I know what war is like. I lived with men who made a profession of it. I’ve seen what it does to people, to those who fight year after year, and even more to those they leave behind. And maybe I was wrong about part of that; maybe we can win. But I was right about the effects of war…and still I stayed. And I know one more thing. I know I love you. Nyphron doesn’t, but I do. And I thought—I thought you loved me, too.”

She stared at him, a hard look on her face. Stone. She looks like stone, cold and unmovable. A perfect keenig.

“Did you? Do you?”

“No,” she finally said.

Silence followed.

In a fight, it was possible to get used to the sound of the crash. The clang of metal on metal made a rhythm, a kind of music. Combat slipped into a duet, with each side playing their role until one attack slipped through a guard. Then the music stopped. Unexpected silence always followed, made loud by the expectation of the beat that never came. Raithe stood in that silence. His guard had been broken; her stroke pierced true. In her eyes he saw the shock and fear, the regret he often spotted on the faces of the trainees when a move worked and they actually hit him.

“Doesn’t matter,” Raithe said softly. “Even that doesn’t matter. Doesn’t change the way I feel. Can’t say I know much about it, but I know that’s not how love works.”

Persephone’s hands gripped the covers. She opened her mouth, but he no longer wanted to hear what she had to say, and he wasn’t done. She deserved to hear all of it; at least the Persephone he knew, or thought he knew, deserved it. That’s how it felt—not like she had rejected him, but like someone he loved had died. She had evidently passed away some time ago, but he was only now hearing the news. Not having been invited to the funeral, Raithe offered his eulogy. “I’ve loved you from the start. Maybe from the moment I first saw you in the forest, but certainly after you spoke to me like a real person, even though you knew I was Dureyan. And it doesn’t matter if you can’t love me—whether it’s because you’re still in love with Reglan’s memory or because you want to marry Nyphron. None of that matters because…” His voice cracked. “Because even now…even now…”

His voice broke the way his father’s sword had. He was left with the shattered, useless remains, except Malcolm wasn’t there this time, and he wasn’t saved. Raithe spun away and headed for the door. He’d wanted to see her so badly for so long, but at that moment he wanted nothing more than to get away.

“Raithe!” she called, but he didn’t stop.

He moved past the group waiting in the hall. Why do there have to be so many witnesses?

“Raithe?” Brin called. “What happened?”

He headed for the stairs, wiping tears from his eyes.

There’s just no winning for some people. Doesn’t matter if you do everything right. Once the gods hate you, there’s no happiness that can be achieved, and hope is just another torture.