“Oh, stop it,” Rezi said, playfully smacking his cheek. “I’ve never seen a luckier piece of shit than you, so you’ll probably end up getting a shitty commission on the frontier. Which won’t be bad, considering you broke the arms of the governor’s brother.” She said the second half of the sentence with the kind of condescending wonder that most people reserved for questioning a drunk’s antics the morning after a bender. “Why did that seem like a good idea to you, by the way?”
“Ideas didn’t come into it,” Styke replied. He leaned back with a sigh, trying to clear his head of all this anger he couldn’t possibly vent. He let his eyes wander down the front of Rezi’s shirt. “He’s an asshole, and he deserved it.”
Styke finally looked Rezi in the face. She was smiling, and she’d been playful and cheerful, but he could see in her eyes that she was worried. He wondered what fears were going through the back of her head – whether she feared for the town, or for his safety or career, or if she was just getting used to the idea he would likely be whisked away from this place for good.
He wasn’t fond of the idea himself. He liked the town. He liked the people. He quite liked Rezi, though he knew neither of them were the marrying type. Leaving had not, until right now, been on his immediate list of possibilities.
There was a long silence as they both contemplated this future, and Rezi glanced away as the band marched beneath the window once more. “You’d think,” she muttered, “that Sirod would have better things to do.”
“Where is he, anyway?”
“He’s making the mayor put on a lavish feast for the officers, and from what I understand, he’s being a real dick about it.”
“Playing to his strengths.”
“Pretty much.” Rezi paused. “But really, he has better things to do.”
“Like?”
“You didn’t see a newspaper this morning?”
Styke rolled his eyes. “I only ever take my morning paper after breaking the arms of a Kez officer. No, I haven’t seen a newspaper.”
“You’re friends with the governor of Redstone, aren’t you?”
“Lindet?”
“Yeah, her.”
Styke considered the question for a moment, not entirely certain he wanted to hear what Rezi had to say next. “It’s a little more complicated than friends, but I suppose I am.”
“She disbanded the Kez garrison.”
“You’re joking,” Styke said, unable to hide his disbelief. Lindet had bigger stones than any man he’d ever met, but that seemed like going too far, even for her. “Is that within her power?”
“She raised her own colonial militia and disbanded the garrison at the point of a bayonet.”
Styke glanced out the window toward the mayor’s house, wondering why Sirod wasn’t halfway to Landfall right now. A colonial governor committing outright treason should have the entire country on alert. And the governor of Landfall definitely shouldn’t be bothering with a backwater like Fernhollow in a moment of national emergency.
“Same shit, different day,” Rezi offered.
“Maybe,” Styke said uncertainly. Lindet had made a move, and now he was outright nervous. This whole affair with Prost and Sirod might not even matter in a couple of weeks. He lifted his chin, scanning the street, feeling a sudden pressure in his chest that told him everyone outside – Fatrastans and Kez alike – shouldn’t be wasting their time like this. He wanted to walk over to the mayor’s house and give Sirod a shake.
Rezi took his face between her hands and forcibly turned it away from the window. She wiggled her hips, settling further into his lap. “Come on,” she said. “Don’t worry about this shit. If they’re going to take you away, we can at least enjoy the time we’ve got left.”
The statement made Styke’s heart fall a little. He smiled at Rezi, and she leaned close and spoke in his ear.
“The cot in my office is very sturdy.”
Styke stood, lifting Rezi bodily. She laughed, wrapping her legs around his waist, and he began to carry her toward the open cell door. He paused for a moment to adjust his grip, and his eyes fell on something outside the window. He saw lines of citizens standing in the dust, and toward the back of one of those lines he saw a young woman – fifteen or sixteen – bend over and pluck something off the ground. Her arm cocked back, and a stone flew from her hand.
It struck one of the governor’s bodyguards right in the temple. The man’s head wobbled strangely before he slowly, ponderously, slid from his saddle and collapsed to the ground.
That’s when all pit broke loose.
Later that night, Styke half dozed on the jail cell bench, jumping at every noise he heard in the darkness outside. His body was soaked with the sweat of a hot, angry evening, and his fingers twitched with the desire to put his hands on a knife, a sword, a lance – or just around someone’s throat.
It was almost 3 a.m. when he finally heard the thump of boots on the stairs of the jailhouse. He forced himself awake and turned his head toward the cell door, where the light of a lantern danced its way up the staircase and soon illuminated the entirety of the cell.
Rezi was a mess. Her skin was covered in a sheen of dusty sweat, her black hair frazzled in every direction. Her clothes were caked in mud. There was even a long, painful-looking gash extending from her thumb all the way along the back of her forearm to the elbow. She set the lantern on a shelf just outside of the cell and pushed the door open, trudging in to drop onto the bench next to Styke.
Styke opened his mouth to speak, but found he had nothing to say. He put his arm around her shoulder, still feeling his fingers twitch with the rage he dared not expend.
Rezi’s last words to him had been, “Don’t you move a goddamn muscle from this room!” before she had sprinted out of the jail and into the growing riot outside. It had started at about one o’clock in the afternoon with the rock thrown by that young girl. By the silence outside – and Rezi’s presence – things had finally settled down. Styke craned his neck to look out one of the windows, only to find darkness looking back at him.
“I’m sorry,” he finally said.
“Did you throw that stone?” she snapped back.
“No.”
“Then it’s not your fault.”
“The whole thing…”
“Shut your mouth, Benjamin, or I will leave you in this room to starve to death.”
Rezi ran her hands through her hair. Styke wanted to pull her closer, to do something to comfort her, but her movements were stiff and unwelcoming, and he was afraid she might just follow through on her promise if he pushed any further than a reassuring arm. He pushed back against his own feelings – his guilt over the escalation, his frustration of not being able to head out there and knock heads together, and his cold anger at Sirod for making things even worse.
After some time, Rezi put her head on Styke’s shoulder.
“What’s the damage?” Styke whispered.
“Seventeen dead,” Rezi said mechanically. “Four of those were Kez soldiers. Two were lancers. The rest were citizens. Thirty-nine wounded. Mostly citizens.”
“Which lancers?” Styke asked.
“Hap and Gunny.”
Styke scowled. Hap was a dim sort, not very good at much of anything, but enthusiastic. Gunny was cheerful, always ready with a joke, and the best shot in the company with a carbine at full gallop. Both would be badly missed. He suppressed a sigh and waited for Rezi to continue.
“Chatterline’s farm burned down.”
Styke had thought he’d smelled smoke earlier. “The Kez?”