“I believe,” Father Vorcien said slowly, “that you can handle Sibrial.”
“You can stomach the thought of me manipulating your heir after you die?”
“I’ll be dead, and Sibrial will need a guiding influence outside of his brothers and sisters. I’m not a fool, Demir. I know what Sibrial is. You’re getting distracted. I need an answer.”
“Now?”
“Now.”
Demir settled back on the flea-ridden bed, turning inside himself and listening to those wheels in his head. He didn’t like the framing of this at all – Father Vorcien was right about the benefits, but the very idea of marrying Kizzie was too personally complicated. She was almost like a sister to him, and romantically connected to his best friend. Knowing he’d have to sleep with her even just a few times to make an heir of their own made him want to retch. He had no doubt she would feel the same way. Even worse, it further complicated his relationship with Thessa. Could that get more complicated?
Demir pictured a mirror in his head. Staring back out of it was his younger self – chubby, confident, arrogant. Do your duty, his younger self told him. This is Ossa, where everything is complicated and there’s always a solution. Marry Kizzie as a formality. Take Thessa as a mistress. Take the Vorcien riches and fame. Destroy Capric later, after Father Vorcien is dead. Take everything you’d ever want.
I’m not you anymore, Demir spat at himself.
You’d be a lot happier if you were.
Would I? No. I’m not you, but I can’t be me either. I’ve got to be something more. Something that takes the best of both of us. Demir looked at those plans that his old self wanted to put into motion. He examined them, plucked at them. They were always moving, like a dozen waterwheels in a massive factory, but they were also always changing. Malleable. His future, he reminded himself, was not set in stone. You are right, he said to himself. Everything is always complicated and there’s always a solution. I will do this, but I’m going to do it my way. Not yours.
Suit yourself, his younger self laughed. I don’t actually exist. I’m just a piece of you that you’ve never reconciled.
The image disappeared, vanishing from his mind’s eye in a theatrical puff of smoke. He shook his head to clear it and focused back on Father Vorcien. “What do you get out of all of this?” he asked. “Beyond me ending my blood feud and securing Kizzie’s future?”
Father Vorcien actually did smile this time. “There. Finally asking the right questions.” He leaned forward slightly in his chair. “I do get you under my thumb, I won’t deny it. More to the point: in exchange for this bounty of riches I’m offering you, you’re going right back to the front. Kerite has started to move again, and I need a general to stop her.”
So he was right. They still needed him. Demir raised both eyebrows. “The Inner Assembly isn’t stripping me of my command?”
“They will if I let them. They want to. But if I assure them you are under my control, they’ll hold their peace. For now.”
“And if I win, you’ll have the hero of the Empire as your new son-in-law.”
“Indeed.”
Father Vorcien knew. Demir was certain of it now. He knew about the phoenix channel and that was the real benefit he gained in all of this. Everything else was a smoke screen. Demir touched his temples, his head hurting from too little rest and too much pressure. He really didn’t have a choice. To protect himself, to protect his clients and employees, he had to take the offer. “Is Kizzie going to have any say in this?”
“She wants to be legitimized more than you know,” Father Vorcien said dismissively. “She’ll find it distasteful, but she will say yes.”
“She has to agree,” Demir insisted.
“I’ll take care of that.”
It was an ominous statement that made Demir’s stomach lurch. How many lives would Father Vorcien twist to get his hands on the phoenix channel? Any that he needed to, Demir imagined. He took a deep breath, glancing inward one last time. Could he do this without ruining lives? Without hurting the people he loved? “Then it’s a deal.”
Father Vorcien’s glassrot-covered cheeks lifted into a grin. “You will abandon your blood feud against Capric?”
“Yes.” No.
“You will marry Kissandra?”
“Yes.” Not if I can get out of it.
“You will bow the Grappo neck to the Vorcien?”
“Yes.” Never.
“You will return to the front and end this war?”
Demir actually laughed out loud at this last one, but it was a sad laugh. “We should sue for peace. End this without more bloodshed, before the Grent can recover.”
“It’s not up to us anymore,” Father Vorcien replied. “Kerite has already recovered. Her reserves have arrived from the Glass Isles and she’s preparing to attack Harbortown as we speak. The Grent still believe they can win. They won’t pull back until their pet mercenary army has been destroyed.”
“You could have mentioned that earlier.” Demir felt a flash of fear. He hadn’t faced Kerite directly the first time because he knew he couldn’t win. She was just too good a general, and her mercenaries were enough to help the Grent crush the Foreign Legion. How the piss would he beat her on the open field when her reinforcements had already arrived?
“Would it have changed anything?” Father Vorcien asked.
“I suppose not.”
“Good.” Father Vorcien gestured to the door. “Now go save the Empire, son.”
Demir almost laughed at that. Almost. Cheeky old bastard. The two Cinders waiting in the hall showed him out in complete silence, and in just a few minutes he was sitting in Montego’s carriage, facing the massive cudgelist, his thoughts turning around themselves.
“Well?” Montego demanded. “What happened? Breenen told me about the missive, and the entire city is talking about your duel with Capric. Are you all right? Do I have to kill the Vorcien? Answer the second question first.”
Demir snorted. Kill the Vorcien. Not just one of them, but the entire guild-family. Only Montego would ask such a bold question. “No, you don’t have to kill the Vorcien. I’ve struck a deal.”
“You mean Father Vorcien forced a deal on you,” Montego said flatly.
“Correct.”
Demir drummed his fingers on the wall of the carriage. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d so much as considered lying to Montego. They’d never held anything back from each other, not in twenty-five years of friendship. “Father Vorcien knows about the phoenix channel.”
“You’re sure?”
“He didn’t say as much, but it explains his maneuvering.”
Montego leaned forward, peering at Demir sharply. “He offered you a marriage, didn’t he?”
“Kizzie,” Demir answered.
Montego inhaled sharply. Demir could see the calculations in Montego’s eyes, no doubt extrapolating the entirety of the conversation Demir had had with Father Vorcien. Montego took a few shallow breaths and said softly, “She’s always wanted legitimization more than anything. This would secure her future.”
“Could you handle it?” Demir asked.
“You know that I would not let my personal feelings get in the way of either Kizzie’s or the Grappo’s future,” Montego said slowly. “However, I would … not be able to stay in Ossa if you marry Kizzie.” No angry outbursts, no demands that Demir recant the deal. Just a simple statement. It was surprisingly gentle from one so known for violence, but it hurt more than if Montego had punched him. If the deal went forward as Father Vorcien wanted, Demir would lose his best friend.