“Thessa?”
She jumped, not knowing how much time had passed as she stared into the fire, and looked up to see Idrian standing across from her. He looked a little older than when she last saw him – a little more weary with a few more scars, and a chunk missing from one ear. He wore his brightly colored armor, his helmet under his arm and his hair slick with sweat. A young man stood at his elbow carrying his sword and shield. Idrian’s presence seemed to ground her thoughts.
“You remember me?”
“Of course I do! You helped Kastora on this the last two times.” He tapped his godglass eye. “I see that Demir succeeded in fetching you.”
“It’s a long story,” Thessa said, trying to smile.
“One I’d like to hear.”
“Someday. I’m sorry to spring this on you, and I know we haven’t seen each other for years, but could I have a word in private?”
“Of course!” Idrian dismissed his assistant and led her to an avenue between the tents, where he gave her an apologetic smile. “This is about as private as it gets in an army camp. What’s going on?”
“I’m looking for someone – anyone – who was at Holikan,” she said. “I’m hoping you can point me in the right direction.”
Idrian’s gaze grew far away and he touched his godglass eye. “Did you say Holikan?”
“I did. I need to talk to someone who was there.”
Idrian shifted from foot to foot. “Well, no one else was. The Ironhorns were on the campaign, but they never actually got to Holikan. They had orders to blow up bridges fifty miles away.”
“You said ‘they,’” Thessa said, feeling her stomach tighten once more.
“I did,” he admitted. “Because I was there.”
“What do you mean?” This man, someone Kastora respected above all others, was at Holikan? And Kastora never told her?
“I fought in the battle just outside the city. It was bloody but quick.” His shoulders sagged, his face growing grim at the memory. “So yes, I was there.”
“Did you … participate?”
A look of horror came over Idrian, so acute that Thessa immediately felt the tension leave her body. “Participate?” he asked in disgust. “In the sack? No. If I’d had it my way, every one of those that did would have been shot.”
Thessa had a hundred more questions but she couldn’t let herself ask them, not now. She reached out and took him by the arm, looking into his good eye. “Idrian, please. Tell me what happened that night.”
“About the sack?”
“About Demir. Did he give the order to destroy the city?”
Some measure of understanding seemed to enter Idrian’s expression. “In a word? No. We won the battle, the Holikan armies were put to flight, and the city was open to us. Demir had direct orders from the Assembly to decimate the city – it’s an old punishment for rebels, and a brutal one. Demir refused. He spared the mayor’s life, and he ordered Holikan to be spared as well. The words were barely out of his mouth when we realized that the army was marching on the city.”
Thessa stared, openmouthed, the sound of her heart hammering away almost drowning out Idrian’s words. She’d never actually heard a firsthand account. All she knew was that one day her family was still alive, sending her letters at her apprenticeship with Kastora, and then news came of the city rising up against Ossa. Months passed, news was sparse, and then word came that Holikan had been destroyed. That was the end of her old life.
Idrian continued, “Demir galloped off alone in the night, trying to stop them, but someone had given false orders for the army to sack the city. Once that bloodletting is out of the bag, there’s no putting it back in again.” Idrian shuddered, and Thessa wondered what a man as strong as he must have seen to make the memory so painful. “I didn’t find him until the next morning, cradling the corpse of a little girl he tried to save. It broke him. He went from the greatest politician in the Empire – the Lightning Prince – to a mental invalid overnight. He resigned his commission, disappeared into the provinces, and only returned a few weeks ago when his mother was murdered.” Idrian passed a hand across his face. “The Assembly buried the entire thing. His involvement was stripped from the official records.”
“So he’s not a butcher.”
“Butcher?” Idrian asked in surprise. “I’ve never met someone so dangerous who cares so much about other people. I’m not sure if he can talk about Holikan still. How did you even find out about it?”
“He told me,” Thessa said softly, trying to digest Idrian’s story. She looked around her, then back up at Idrian. “My family was at Holikan when it happened.”
Idrian’s eyes widened. “Oh.”
A thousand emotions warred inside her, all trying to come out on top. She was angry, confused, sad, hurt, relieved, even a little happy. None of it felt good. If this was true – and she had no reason to disbelieve Idrian – then Demir was just as much a victim of the sack of Holikan as she was. Someone had undermined him, given false orders, and destroyed his life. The stricken look on his face when she wouldn’t let him explain himself was probably the same look she’d worn when she received word of the sack.
She felt her resolve strengthen. All her life, things had been taken from her – her family, her friends, her master, her homes. She could not let fate snatch this new life from her. She turned to Idrian. “I’m glad you’re safe. I’d like to catch up, but…” She squeezed his arm. “Thank you for telling me. I have … an apology to make.”
54
Demir stared at the wall of his tent for some time. He was, he eventually realized, in shock. Over the years he’d had plenty of women mad at him. Some fairly, some not. Never had one genuinely believed that he was responsible for the massacre of her family. How did he come back from that? Was it even possible to reconcile?
“Well,” he said aloud to the empty tent, “she hates me forever now.”
It was a painful realization, made no easier by the fact that he’d been trying to prepare for this moment since the word “Holikan” left her lips a week ago. He wasn’t prepared for it, and his last-ditch effort to put the conversation off had probably just made her angrier.
Something made an audible crack nearby, and it took a moment for Demir to realize it was his glassdancer egg, discarded with his uniform jacket on one of the crates. He was clutching at his sorcery without even realizing it, like raising a fist subconsciously in anticipation of a fight. He forced himself to let go of the pieces with his sorcery. Such a lack of control was dangerous for a glassdancer.
He knelt down among all his reports and plans, trying to remember where he was when Thessa had entered. Did it matter? He felt a whirlpool of despair in the back of his mind, trying to suck him down into the dreaded blackness that had taken him after Holikan. He fought it, weakly, wondering if there was a point to his flailing. Even if Kerite fell for his trap, he wasn’t going to win this battle. She would turn it on him, slaughter his people, and if he survived he’d return to Ossa in shame. Thessa hated him, and with her hate the phoenix channel project would no doubt die.
He went to his officer’s trunk and began rooting around inside for civilian’s clothes. He could still run. Slip away. Disappear. The Grappo name would be forever destroyed but at least he’d be free of all his responsibilities. He clutched at a tunic, staring at it, wondering why it seemed familiar, when he realized it was the last thing he wore before returning from the provinces. One of his porters had packed it for him unknowingly. Demir the friendly grifter. A wanderer. A nobody. This tunic was freedom.