Siege of Rage and Ruin Read online

  I try to calm my pounding heart. If Naga wanted me dead, or tortured, he doesn’t have to come here personally to do it. But then, why is he here?

  “Can I…” My voice trembles a little, and I cough. After a deep breath, it’s steadier. “Can I fetch you something, my lord?”

  “No, I believe we will keep this brief.” He folds his hands inside his long sleeves. The lamps are reflected in his glasses, like tiny fireflies. “And I am not a lord, as men like Lord Marka take pains to remind me. Master Naga will do.”

  “Master Naga.” I turn to face him. “Then what are you doing here?”

  “You are a bold little thing, aren’t you?” That thin smile again. “Pretty, but with steel under the surface. An interesting combination. So unlike your sister, who is jagged iron through and through.”

  “I haven’t seen my sister in months—” I begin.

  “Spare me. I’m not going to insult your loyalty to her or your rebel friends by trying to turn you, so in return please don’t insult my intelligence with stupid lies. Your sister returned to Kahnzoka four days ago and made contact with you immediately.”

  “And in response you had me kidnapped.”

  “Indeed.” Naga’s smile broadens, showing teeth. “I want you to help me, Gelmei Tori.”

  Anger breaks through the fear, just for a moment. “And why would I do that?”

  “I think I can convince you it’s in your best interests. That is, in part, why you’re here, instead of stuck down some horrible rathole—and I assure you I have a wide selection of horrible ratholes at my disposal.”

  I roll my eyes. “So you think you can turn me against my sister with nice clothes and sweets?”

  “Nothing quite so crude.” He waves, sleeve flapping. “Do you know why the Empire—and every civilized nation, I might add—executes Ghul adepts?”

  I blink at the sudden change in topic. “Because they’re dangerous. They can create plagues, kill people with a touch.”

  “Exactly. But why are Kindre users not treated the same way? To command a man’s mind is no less horrifying than giving him some rotting disease, and equally difficult to guard against. A true adept might even simply order a victim to die.”

  I shake my head, swallowing hard.

  “There are two reasons, in truth,” Naga goes on. “The first is that Kindre power is rare, rarer than any other well. Kindre touched or talents may never even know their abilities exist. But more importantly, Kindre has the property that defense is easier than attack—a simple talent, properly instructed, can fend off the mental assault of an adept, even block that adept’s senses. Since there are many more talents than adepts, it means Kindre users are amenable to control.” He leans closer. “This is, of course, the only reason I am able to stand in the same room with you. The only reason you are still alive.”

  “What does that have to do with wanting my help?”

  “Just that I want you to understand it is feasible for your present situation to continue … indefinitely. If you thought I could keep your power contained only with serious effort, it would be no great leap to conclude that eventually I would have to kill you. Whereas I hope that, ultimately, you will be willing to trust me.”

  I fight back a laugh. “That seems unlikely.”

  “I do prefer to deal honestly.” He shrugs. “The situation is this. Your sister came to Kahnzoka aboard a most unusual vessel.”

  “Soliton,” I tell him. “The ghost ship. The one you sent her to steal.”

  He raises an eyebrow. “My, you are well informed. I suppose I should expect that of a Kindre adept. Yes, Soliton. She brought it back here, and it follows that she has control of it. From the beginning, our deal was that she would trade the ship for your life, and I see no reason why that should change. She, however, may be … difficult.”

  “Isoka does have that tendency,” I say.

  “And thus I need your help. If anyone can convince her, you can.”

  “And if I do—what, you’ll let me go?” I have to admit, it doesn’t seem likely, and Naga shakes his head with another smile.

  “Unfortunately, your abilities make that impossible. No, the deal is this. Your sister surrenders Soliton. She will be permitted to leave Kahnzoka unmolested, never to return. You will remain here, as a guest of the palace, supervised by my Immortals but otherwise kept in luxury.” He leans forward. “That is, after all, what your sister always wanted for you, isn’t it? A life of comfort and ease, far from the danger and filth of the streets where you grew up.”

  “I—” The rotting awful thing is, he might be right. “What if she doesn’t take the deal?”

  Naga’s smile fades. “Then we will have to move on to more distasteful methods. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that I employ specialists in … unpleasantness. I would hate to order them to go to work on you, but if your sister refuses…” He shrugs. “Let us say it is greatly in your interest to convince her to take the deal. It is the best you are likely to get.”

  * * *

  I sit on the sofa in my chambers, head in my hands. Naga is gone, and all the lanterns have guttered out but one, leaving the room half in shadow. Voices echo in my head, like distant monks chanting.

  Monster, monster, monster …

  Again, there’s a soft knock at the door.

  “I don’t need any help getting to bed,” I mumble.

  “It’s me,” Garo says. “Can I come in?”

  After a long moment, I sit up with a groan. “Go ahead.”

  He slides the door open, outlined momentarily against the corridor, then closes it behind him. He’s changed since dinner into something more casual. I’m still in my finery, the powder on my face messy with sweat and tears.

  “I just wanted to make sure you were all right,” he says, coming to stand in front of the couch. “Naga didn’t hurt you?”

  “No.” I push down a hysterical giggle. “He didn’t hurt me.”

  “Thank the Blessed.” Garo sits on the couch beside me, bends forward to examine my face in the dim light. “You look…”

  “Awful?” I force a smile. “Like I said. It’s been a long day.”

  “I understand,” Garo says. “Dinner was … difficult. Watching my father with Naga…”

  “It must be difficult for him,” I mutter. “Bowing and scraping to a jumped-up bureaucrat.”

  “He does what he needs to do for the family,” Garo says. “Regardless of his pride. I never … understood that, before.”

  “An admirable man.” My voice feels distant.

  “I used to hate him,” Garo says. “Now … I don’t know.” He takes a deep breath. “I know this, though. If Naga wants to harm you, I will fight him, regardless of what my father wants.”

  “Thank you, Garo.” I turn to face him. “That’s … very kind.”

  He hesitates. “Tori…”

  I can tell he’s about to say something stupid, so I kiss him. I want to shut him up, to shut up the voices in my head, and he’s warm and solid. He leans into me, and my hands slide up his chest. He works his fingers into my braided hair, pulling me tighter against him.

  Naga’s right, about what Isoka wants. That’s why she put me in the house in the Third Ward, pampered and protected, and cut herself off from me. She never understood that all I wanted was to be with her, whether it was in the upper wards or down on the bloody streets of the Sixteenth. Even when she held a knife to my throat, the only thing that ever frightened me was the thought that we might be separated.

  But why should you get what you want? The voices mock me, shrieking and cackling. Monster, monster, monster. If I stay here, if I take Naga’s deal, then that will make Isoka happy, won’t it? She can go away, knowing I’ll be safe. Leave me behind. That’s all she wants. It’s all she should want.

  If I take the deal, I never have to tell her the things that I’ve done. Never have to watch her face as she realizes that her little sister isn’t perfect, isn’t pure. That Tori can live in her m
ind, untainted, and I can … fade away.

  “Tori,” Garo murmurs. His hands slide down my back, brushing the silk of my kizen against my skin. I break away from his lips, gasping for air, and he kisses my cheek, the hollow of my throat, across my collarbone. His fingers work their way up my flanks.

  I lace my hands behind his head and pull him to me, kissing him with a desperate fever, as though I can lose myself in this and escape my thoughts. He matches me, breath for breath. I feel his hands on my sides, palms warm through the silk. His thumbs brush over my ribs, upward, and move across my breasts.

  He pauses, lips still against mine. Waiting, I realize, for my approval. I feel his heartbeat jumping in his throat.

  I know what comes next, of course. I’m not a child. And my skin is fever hot, the silk kizen like a blanket I’m eager to kick off, the heat running down through my belly and between my legs. And Garo is Garo, handsome and loyal and smart and funny, who helped me without question when I told him I needed it. And he’s here, strong and warm, and—

  He’s part of the deal, I realize. Part of Naga’s bargain. Not that he would agree to such a thing, of course. But that’s why I’m here, with the Markas, instead of in some other secluded retreat. Naga is offering me a life, this life—luxury, safety, endless books, and a boy who loves me. I can stay here—I can stay with him—and everything will work out. Isoka will escape, the rebels will be crushed, and men like Lord Marka will tweak a few laws and proclaim what wonderful things they’ve done for the people of the Empire.

  While men like Naga will still be in control.

  That smile of his. As though he knows everything.

  For some reason, I think of Avyn. People are always dying.

  That’s how Naga wants me to think. Stay safe. Don’t act out. People are always dying. Why bother trying to change anything? Take the beautiful life, the beautiful boy, and be happy. And Isoka never needs to know you’re a monster.

  Monster, monster, monster—

  Enough.

  Just for a moment, I feel … clarity.

  “Garo,” I murmur, pulling my lips away from his. “Stop.”

  His hands fall away. “Sorry. I didn’t—”

  “It’s all right.” I take a deep breath and push myself away from him. Part of me still aches to be touched. “I’m just … tired.”

  “I understand.” He gets to his feet. His face is flushed. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

  “Tomorrow.” I smile at him. “Thank you, Garo.”

  “Good night, Tori.”

  The door slides open and shut, and he’s gone.

  I sit back on the couch, staring at the ceiling. The last lantern flickers out, leaving me in darkness.

  People are always dying.

  I close my eyes, and open my mind. Fog pushes in all around me, blocking my senses. Somewhere, some Kindre talent in a black chain-veil is pressing down on me.

  I gather all my strength, and start pushing back.

  9

  ISOKA

  The crowd fills the square outside rebel headquarters.

  They’ve been there since the news went out, two days ago, that rations were going to be cut again—half normal for Red Sashes, and a quarter for everyone else. That amounts to a few handfuls of rice or a crusted corner of bread. Not enough to fill anyone’s belly, let alone people who are already hungry.

  At first the Red Sash sentries tried to keep everyone out, but the sheer weight of the crowds threatened to trample them underfoot. Hasaka ordered them to retreat to the headquarters itself, barring the doors. So now we sit in the old Ward Guard barracks, a siege within a siege, and every hour the muttering outside grows louder.

  My own stomach reminds me with a grumble that we’re feeling the pinch, too. I’ve gone soft in recent years—time was, on the street, that a couple of days without food was only to be expected. I’d been an expert in gorging myself when meals were available and tightening my belt when they weren’t. I’d eaten better as a ward boss, though, and even better on Soliton, once I’d accustomed myself to crab.

  I was the one who insisted that we all had to share the reduced rations, even the commanders. Not out of any moral solidarity, of course. There’s no faster way to bring on a riot then for people to find out their leaders are still living fat while they starve. Another thing I’d learned on the streets, watching more than one gang tear itself to pieces.

  When we gather in the conference room, faces are grim. Jakibsa sits with Meroe, going over figures and tables. Hasaka stares off into the middle distance, as though looking beyond the far wall, while Zarun sits in a corner and glowers. Only Jack looks cheery. Sometimes I think Jack would look cheery while her liver was being devoured by wolves; the only time I’ve seen her break down was when she thought Thora was dying, after our first foray into Prime’s bloody ziggurat.

  Giniva is the last to arrive, a sheaf of paper under her arm. She looks us over, her lips a thin line, and says what everyone is already thinking.

  “This isn’t going to work.”

  When no one responds, she sits down at the table, tossing her paperwork carelessly in front of her. Her eyes are bloodshot, and there’s more emotion in her voice than I ever remember hearing. We’re all hungry, but she looks as though she’s added sleepless nights into the bargain.

  “Morale is collapsing,” she says. “Especially among the civilians. We’ve had to pull fighters off the walls to guard the ration posts and prevent riots. I’ve had a dozen deserters arrested in the last day, and probably a dozen more that we missed. Between the loss of the Fourth and the lack of food, nobody expects us to be able to hold out for a week, much less win.”

  “Unfortunately, they may be right,” Jakibsa says. He exchanges a look with Meroe. “Even at this rate, we’ll run through what supplies we have in another six days. We could stretch it a bit longer if we cut off the civilians entirely—”

  Meroe shakes her head. “You might as well surrender and save a few lives if it comes to that.”

  “She’s right,” Giniva says. “We don’t have the numbers to garrison the city and defend it. We only have a chance if the people are behind us.”

  “They should be behind us,” Hasaka mutters. “It’s the Imperials who are starving them.”

  “They don’t care, as long as they’re starving,” I say. “So going on like this isn’t an option. What choices do we have?”

  “The black markets are still open,” Hasaka says. “We find the hoarders, execute them, and distribute their caches. That ought to buy us some goodwill.”

  “We’ve been searching,” Giniva says. “Any hoarders still out there are very well hidden. And they can’t have much—prices on the black market have tripled. Even the criminals are running out of food.”

  “What about retaking the depot in the Fourth Ward?” I ask.

  “They’ll be expecting us to try that,” Hasaka says. “It’ll be heavily defended.”

  “From what little information we have, that’s correct,” Giniva says. “And even if we got there, it’s not defensible. Unless we retake the whole Fourth Ward, which we don’t have the manpower to do, they’d just cut us off.”

  “That leaves the temples,” Jakibsa says, with a significant look at Hasaka and Giniva.

  I frown. “What about the temples?”

  Giniva looks surprised for a moment. “I suppose there’s no reason you’d know. Most of the city’s large temples have been taken over by a … fringe group.”

  “A cult,” Hasaka says. “Who believe the Blessed One is going to come back any minute now and smite the wicked.”

  “Broadly, yes,” Giniva says. “They swear themselves to total nonviolence and spend all their in prayer and contemplation, to prepare for His return.”

  “And they have food?” I say, incredulously.

  “We don’t know how much,” Jakibsa says slowly. “But there were significant caches at the major temples, and the early converts brought their own supplies.”
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br />   “They’re not on half rations, at least,” Giniva adds.

  “Then this seems pretty rotting simple to me,” I say. “We tell them they have to share, like everybody else.”

  “We tried that,” Jakibsa says. “They refused.”

  “Then we have all the weapons, and they’re sworn not to fight,” I snap. “If push comes to shove it’s going to be a pretty short contest.” I look from one of the Red Sash leaders to the other. “What am I missing here?”

  There’s a long pause.

  “The leader of the Returners is a girl named Kosura,” Hasaka says, uncomfortably. “She worked with us back when we were at Grandma Tadeka’s hospital. She was … a good person.”

  “She and Tori were close,” Giniva says. “During the rebellion, Kosura was captured by the Immortals. Tortured. Afterward, Tori felt … responsible. She would never listen to any talk of using force against her and the Returners.”

  Oh, Blessed defend. That sounds like the Tori I remembered. But that’s always been my job, hasn’t it? Being hard so she wouldn’t have to be. I clear my throat.

  “Well,” I mutter. “Circumstances have changed. If Kosura can see that, fine. If she can’t…” I shrug. “Meroe, will you come with me? Maybe you can talk some sense into her.”

  “Of course.”

  Jack and Zarun, silent so far, follow us out of the conference room. The hall outside is empty, like most of headquarters—everyone who can be spared is out on the walls or on the streets. I turn to the pair of them.

  “Stay here,” I tell them. “Try and keep them from doing anything catastrophic until we get back.”

  “Diplomatic Jack will endeavor to use her silver tongue,” Jack says. “Although in this case she admits the situation might be getting out of hand.”

  “Right,” Zarun growls. “Just hurry.”

  I pause at the harsh tone in his voice. “Are you okay?”

  He purses his lips and sighs. “Just … bad memories. I spent a lot of time hungry in my younger days. I’m not enjoying the reminder.”

  “Neither am I, believe me.” I search for something encouraging to say, and my obvious inability to find anything makes him smile.