Chapter Four
Over the next few nights, Winifred's routine stuck to the familiar presence of Ian checking up on her and slowly drilling more answers out of her, until she began to suspect that he might still be interrogating her—just in a far friendlier setting.
Shame. She was actually starting to like him. But how else would he be able to slip into her mind? If she was him, she wouldn't choose to fully trust herself either. Especially someone trained in interrogation. What exactly did it mean for them? Was it a tenuous association until she stabbed him in the back?
More and more, she wished desperately that things didn't have to be this way. He was kind to her. Too kind. Just like Kiara, it had a way of making her want to be sick, because she hated the idea of betraying them. Same as she hated the idea of betraying her mother.
The fourth fullnight in, she agreed to talk to her mother. Ian encouraged her with a smile and said he would be close by, waiting for her report when she got out. And if she didn't get out within a certain time limit, he would assume her to be compromised.
Not exactly encouraging. And now Winifred needed to play the two-faced agent role as efficiently as possible. She doubted her mother would treat her current interactions with a werewolf as anything else but blasphemy. Especially since the werewolf was taking the time to smile at her and treat Winifred like a human being. Something Golubrians sometimes forgot.
Going to see her mother felt like signing her own death warrant right now.
But she had no choice but to flip the password to the watcher behind the door, saunter down into the unpleasant sewer area, and then deal with her overenthusiastic mother again.
“I hope you've been enjoying the gift I gave you,” Susan said, since she didn't spot the bracelet on Winifred's wrist.
“Oh, I love it, Mother. I'm wearing it above my ankle so that people don't try to steal it. I got some long stares when I walked back from here the last time, when the cover slipped off.”
“Ah, yes, of course. It's an imperfect way to hide something so astounding.” Susan gave Winifred a kiss on the forehead, reminding Winifred of all the times she'd done that before. Susan always wanted the best for her daughter. Even if it meant denying said daughter's dreams.
She spent more and more time with the cult, Winifred thought, lips drooping in sadness at the thought. Her mother put the goal of the cult above anything else. Even relocating to Kanthus and leaving their established life behind to make the dream come true.
“Will the attack be happening soon, Mother? I want to know when I should be moving out of the palace. I've been gathering some of my things already.” A safe lie to start with. Hopefully it would convince Susan that there was nothing wrong, of course.
“Oh, you don't need to go back at all. We were going to send an envoy this dusknight to tell you to come out. Everything's realized, now. We've got the troops we need. And some extra we don't yet have.” Her smile went mysterious and knowing. “But I won't tell you everything! Just in case, Winifred darling. Just in case.”
Winifred didn't like the sound of that. So soon? I thought it would be weeks yet before the attack would happen. I have to say goodbye to Kiara already? Her throat tightened, and a horrible, sinking feeling overtook her heart. I don't want to go.
“If you want, you can say your goodbyes,” said Susan, obviously thinking herself to be kind. “I know you were growing fond of the masters you served. But I think it better for you to stay here. Then you won't be tempted into mistakes.”
“Mistakes, Mother?”
“I'm not stupid,” Susan said. “I know you can be a tender-hearted idiot at times. It's admirable on some occasions, dangerous on others. You are nothing more than a pawn in that palace. Nothing more, nothing less. And the sooner we save these people's souls, the better. And the sooner we punish them for their sacrilege against the dead... even better.”
Again, that fathomless smile lit up Susan's lips. “I'm sure I'm capable of being able to understand what you mean by that, mother,” Winifred said. “Anyway, another report. I think they're expecting an attack through the werewolf tunnels, so you should be careful about sending people there.”
“Oh, I know. Don't worry.” As Susan smiled, Winifred noticed a dark-hooded figure pass the open door, with glowing tattoos etched into his face. Winifred stared at the gap for a moment.
“Mother, we have Tarngol people here?”
Tarngol was considered one of the most unsavory nations in existence. Even people in Golubria had an intense dislike for the Tarngol people, because they had a reputation for perverting lightweaving, of using the same powers the night horde were supposed to use.
The same kind of powers that they were supposed to be punishing the werewolves for.
“Yes,” Susan said. “We have found some of our goals to be aligning when it comes to the Cult of the Sun. They are rather... unpleasant people, but do react to a reasonable sum of money when it is presented.”
“Mother... why didn't I know about this before? Why haven't I seen them before?”
“Oh, need to know. Need to know.” Susan flapped her hand in an airy manner.
Need to know? You mean you didn't want me to find out we were consorting with these awful people.
“What... how exactly will they help?”
“Need to know,” Susan said again, in a maddening tone of voice. “It's best you don't hear about it. Some Golubrians may find it... odd. But we find it necessary. It's the perfect justice to inflict against a nation who does not cremate their dead. And next night... maybe the next, we'll be ready to start.”
“You're scaring me, Mother. I don't understand why you think working with the Tarngol is worth it. No one wants to ally with them. Fjorn is having trouble with them—Kiara told me that they wanted the Kanthian alliance to stop the incursions on their borders.”
“Kiara,” Susan said. “You say her name like she's a dear friend. She isn't. She's not the one who gave you the bracelet. She's not the one who raised you up from suckling child to a talented woman. Be careful, darling. Be very careful.”
Winifred shook her head, no longer prepared to deal with this. Her mother saw the expression and sighed.
“I'm going to have to whip the slave who let the Tarngol man in. I did say we might be expecting a visit from you at any time. I knew you wouldn't take it favorably.”
“You hid this from me. You hid that we were consorting with blasphemers!” For all of Winifred's beliefs that didn't follow Golubrian policies, she now found herself struggling with this.
Everyone hated the Tarngol. They were savages who desecrated almost every law known to mankind. People who openly practised some of the darkweavings—the same weavings that animated the Endless Dark, and made things live that should have been impossible.
Like the plants. Like the night horde.
I have to tell Ian. The Kanthians need to know about this. Of course, Winifred had wanted to tell the Kanthians for a while, anyway. She'd even considered telling Ian the whole truth as a last thank you for his kindness, before vanishing. She wanted maybe to vanish off to Fjorn or somewhere else, so she didn't have to deal with the fallout.
But if the Golubrians were employing the Tarngol... then something truly awful was going to happen in Kanthus. Worse than just assassins, which the werewolves could likely deal with.
The Tarngol would likely use their forbidden weavings. And no one would be safe.
Stiffly, Winifred got up. “I'm not happy about this. I'd like to get my belongings from the palace. Then I'll come back and join you.”
“Are you sure, darling?” Susan said. Her lips had twisted into an unpleasant line.
“I'm sure.”
She nodded as Winifred walked off.
***
Susan watched her daughter's departing back. “Adric!” she called, waiting for her slave to respond. Lazy youth. Not worth the coin she'd paid for him. Granted, the bracelet had been a gamble. Winifred always happened to be a willful child, stuffed full of silly dreams, easily manipulated by kindness.
My mistake, really. I shouldn't have sent her into the palace.
The bracelet didn't cost a fortune. Not when you could pay an expert thief-slave for the same result. But Winifred didn't need to know that. She needed to think that Susan was prepared to do everything for her daughter.
Adric came puffing into the room, face shining with sweat. “Yes, master?” He bowed deeply, revealing some ugly welts on the nape of his neck.
“Tell the others. My daughter is no longer to be trusted. Seek and confine her. And do not implicate me in this. Make it sound as if the other Golubrians simply no longer trust her.”
“Yes, master.” Adric bowed, brown eyes blank and subservient, the ideal expression for a slave.
Susan nodded to herself, before examining her fingernails. Winifred would come around to her way of thinking.
Eventually.