Partisan - Book II

Swear

It's that time of night, the time when everything goes quiet, like one long held breath, and the bustle and rustle of even the highest of houses falls still, sinking into that stretch of universal slumber.

But sleep she does not. Instead, Allayria sits up, tucked away in a study nestled in the far corner of the house, a single candle lit by the open window. She has a map out, a rough trace of the older, finer one Leo had lent her, and she's perusing all the notes he's made on it.

"Here's where the Jarles have hit so far," he had said. "Here's where we think they are going to. If you need help, you'll find battalions here, and here, and here. This is the house of an old friend, say my name and he'll give you shelter."

As predicted, the Urilongs have a wide net of friends, acquaintances, and allies. With Fae on her team, Leo will be a fairly dependable ally—trustworthy enough to be relied on to keep them safe, and with enough independent obligations (Fae) to keep him honest, if the others try to deceive her. He won't let them wander in anywhere blind, not while Fae is on the team.

But there are other avenues, other trails she needs eyes on, and she looks up just as the pale, slender fingers curl around the top of the window ledge, and a man slips into the room.

Clad in blacks and browns, Keno wears a scowl as he straightens up, his dark gaze darting around the walls, finding the cracks and crevices, looking for eyes.

"This is idiocy," he hisses, and he slides away from the window, back hunching slightly, as if waiting to be discovered. "Do you have any idea where you are?"

"I'm in the residence of the Urilong family," Allayria answers, unperturbed. She taps her pen on the edge of the map—the ink is running out and spotting. "Leo Urilong kindly offered this library to me when I requested a place with some privacy. His sister, Fae, advised me that the lock sticks if you twist it up, so we shouldn't be disturbed."

"And you thought it a good idea to invite me here?"

She glances up.

"Well, you thought it a good enough idea to come."

He curses, a hand raking through his hair, and then trudges over to the chair beside her, slumping down into it like a creature that wants to keep low to the ground.

"No one will bother you here," she continues. "Not while you're with me."

"I make it a habit to avoid places like this," he snaps back. "Don't draw too much attention to yourself, they told me. Know your limits, they said. But here I am, thanks to you. It doesn't matter if the Urilongs won't do anything to me right now: now they know I exist."

"I'm not so stupid as to tell them your name," Allayria murmurs. "Only Finn has seen your face, and he won't talk. It's in both our interests to keep these communications as private as possible."

"By asking me to scale the wall of one of Solveigard's richest families' mansion? How cozy."

She glances up at him.

"I could not go back to the Hanged Man; someone would notice. It was important that we meet face-to-face at least one last time, before I go back."

He doesn't answer immediately, and when he does, he only asks: "You were successful, then?"

She taps her pen again, but the parchment remains unblemished: the ink has run out.

"Yes," she says, more of a sigh than a word, and she sits back, crossing her legs. She passes her hand over a candle, swirling its flickering tip around in slow circles.