That One Time I Went on a Quest

We All Have Lost (1/2)

Kathanhiel slumps onto the bed, sheathing Kaishen. As soon as she lets it go her shoulders slump inward like those of a boneless doll. 'Make us some tea, Kastor.'

I go to the cabinet and look inside. Under two shelves of decorative plates (featuring kittens dressed up in plates and helmets, mostly) are four snuffboxes lined up in a neat row. One of them bears Lord Maarakir's seal; inside are needle-thin green leaves that smell like forest pines.

While I hunt for the elusive kettle, Rukiel quietly breaks the silence. 'I had two sons in the Phalanx, twins. Neither were any good at soldiering – their constitution...their lungs...but their hearts were good. In the Phalanx, heart is what counts. One went to our hearth in the evergreen during Elisaad's time, the other...just last month. His bolt got tangled up with a...and it dragged him fifty feet up. A shorter fall he would've lived; longer he wouldn't have had to suffer. He lived for three days in the infirmary. I saw him but once; I had to be on the battlement, tend to the siege...they tell me he asked for me before...before...and now I can't say his name. I can't say either of their names.'

'They'll find peace at the hearth,' Tamara says softly, 'and they'll wait for their father to come home.'

'My home is the Phalanx. So are theirs.' With every word Rukiel's voice hardens. 'My pride for them denies me the tears I crave...but that is fine. Grief is not a shackle, but a well of light. We of the Phalanx bask in it as one would bask in the sun.' He points at Kathanhiel with a shaky finger. 'But grief has you in chains, my lady. It has imprisoned your mind.'

'Has it now,' Kathanhiel says.

Tamara looks stern. 'Enough with the stubbornness. The scouts give us a week before the dragons regroup. During this time I hope you would rouse yourself and lead us as you did before.'

I look up from the tea set. The two of them are crowding around the bed like a pair of interrogators. Kathanhiel doesn't turn away; she merely crosses her legs and taps Kaishen's scabbard with one restless finger.

'So talk to us,' Tamara says. 'Let us help you.'

Kathanhiel laughs; a dry, joyless bark.

Rukiel begins, 'this is no time be petulant –'

'You've not built enough rapport with me to offer reprimands, Rukiel,' Kathanhiel says coldly. 'I am sorry for your loss, but we all have lost.'

The kettle has boiled and there's no time for ignorant clumsiness. Hurry. Hurry up and filter the leaves. Before everything is properly laid out the silver tray I'm already calling out, 'my lady, will it be salt or sugar?'

'Kayran had kept pink salt from the Isles on the lowest shelf, behind the yellow lockbox.'

As I pull out the mill – from exactly where she said it would be – I can feel eyes drilling into the back of my head. Don't care for that feeling, but there's no time for that either.

I carry over the tray and lay it on the bedside table. Kathanhiel picks up her cup and looks surprised as her arm begins to tremble, but before I could start hesitating about whether I should help, she steadies it on her own. A sip of the tea seems to steel her voice. 'I shall make myself clear. Rutherford yet lives, the brood driven back but undefeated. Talu yet lives, him and his cultists. Fifty thousand people are wintering without shelter on the imperial highway. I'll not leave these issues unresolved. That is not my nature.'

Tamara says quickly, 'we're not accusing you of –'

'Your concerns are perfectly reasonable,' Kathanhiel says, 'but I ask that you leave alone the matter of my personal wellbeing, and have faith in my fortitude.'