Partisan - Book II

Map of Consequences

Fire. Blood. Screaming.

These are the things she hears at night, under the wide expanse of the stars. Smoke, from the ashy woods of Fort Morgalth; blood in wounds familiar faces and bodies felt from their blades; shouts as burnt timber and rubble came crashing down.

She doesn't know why she dreams of Morgalth as she approaches Solveigard City. There are so many other things to dream about, so many more uncomfortable memories within the city and outside of it. She wakes up with the ghost of soot in her mouth, chalky against her teeth, and she sometimes wonders if she isn't made of smoke, held in by the cloak hung heavily across her shoulders.

Whatever her deep nightmares are, her team knows little of them; when they spar with her each night she is as solid as granite. Caj has improved enough that Allayria assigns him others to spar—he has, as she expected, a keen creativity that is as quick as it is versatile. Once, when he was fighting her, he did a neat trick, using the fire like a flash of light, blinding her temporarily so he could whack the bar of metal across her side, sending her sprawling into the dirt.

It had hurt to bloody hell, and Allayria's side is now splotched black and blue, but she has always thought those colors look good on her.

Oh, but that jibe hurts more than the bruises.

Her body is a map of consequences now, and she happily bears it, because it means they are learning. And maybe if they learn she can keep them alive.

"So," Hiran says, his mouth twisting and turning with the thick wad of oatmeal stuck between his teeth.

It's late, an hour after their evening spars, and they are all huddled around the fire, Finn with his head on Fae's shoulder, eyes half drooped with exhaustion.

Hiran swallows his food and tries again: "So...Solveigard City. What are we doing there?"

Fae and Tara seem to come to attention at this, their gazes flitting from Hiran to Allayria, and Allayria notes the sly glance Lei spares her, before his eyes return to his bowl.

"Seeking information," she supplies. "We'll start there, then move out as needed."

Hiran grunts, pushing around the rest of his meal with a charred fork.

"My father may be in the capital now," Fae begins quietly, "but my brother Leo will be home. He can assist us, house us too, while we search—"

"No," Allayria cuts in, catching the way Hiran and Tara's eyes light up at this, the prospect of a comfortable bed. "No, we cannot risk anyone discovering us."

"Your family, of course, would not tell anyone," she adds, seeing the faint flush beginning to color Fae's cheeks, "but servants gossip and a fine house on a well-lit street is... inconspicuous. As much as I would like—we would all like—to take you up on that offer, we must err on the side of caution."

Hiran sighs, falling back onto the ground with an ungraceful thump.

"You would think we were criminals," he says sourly.

"We have to think like some," Allayria answers. "Act a bit like some too. No one's going to talk to a nicely dressed, well-fed brown-noser."

Fae raises her eyebrows, but Finn cuts in:

"She's right, you know."

"Yeah," Caj murmurs, sipping on the broth in his mug.

Hiran glances up from his repose at the other man.

"So what? You're saying if I had approached you on the street you wouldn't talk to me?"

Caj spares him a glance, his green eyes shifting out over to Hiran.