Hearts in Zenith (Four Husbands and a Lover)

30. Told by Ashanti

I jumped to my feet—I wouldn't have two people towering over me.

"How did Ondrey betray us?" I asked Phedoxia.

The sickly sweet smell filled the tent despite Pheodoxia's curling smoke's innocuous appearance. She was burning Ashanti herb. Ashanti, that killed more women than the blazes of war set by conquerors. Before I scolded her for unauthorized use, she said, "The Princess Granda of Tverizh has abandoned her war with the Haida. She marches on Ratne."

"We'll meet her in the spring then." I shrugged. "You do have spring here, right?"

"We do," Ondrey murmured. His face pinched, attentive. He said nothing to contradict Phedoxia's accusations yet.

Phedoxia swung her Ashanti-trailing lamp. The handle made a squeak.

"The Bhuta's magic moves Tverizh's longboats down the frozen river. She is flying towards us, her sails full of wind, with six to eight thousand troops. She will crush us, Your Grandissima, then she'll turn around after the spring melt to meet the Haida."

I took my black steel dagger out of its sheath to trim a nail. A badass move compared to biting them, yet dangerous. The dagger belonged to an assassin. The black steel was magical. The smaller nick would bleed a woman to death without magical healing. I was wounded by it once, and it left its mark on me. Yet, I kept trimming my nails. Playing with my fear.

"Crush us, really...we'll see about that!"

My brazen attitude didn't blunt the edge of hysteria in Phedoxia's voice. "Our allies were the only ones that knew about Her Majesty's sending the Deadhead Company to attack Ratne. This man served Grand Princess Snehora."

Devious subtlety is a talent that the High Scribes hold in high regard. They also inhale Ashanti despite the risks, hoping to glean useful secrets in the past, present or future. If Phedoxia was hot and bothered by what she had seen, I couldn't dismiss the possibility that Ondrey was a double-agent and warned Snehora of our arrival. That was too bad. I liked him.

I tipped one ear at Ondrey, my eyes watching the dagger's tip carefully to avoid cutting myself. "Answer her."

He crossed the tent in three strides, bumping his knee into his makeshift war table. His fingers clasped around my sword hand, the one that held the dagger. His glance arrested mine—or I would have embedded the blade in his eye. He guided my hand.

Together, we cut a line with the black steel tip across his wrist. It immediately perspired red dew. First tentatively, since the cut was shallow, then faster. The lifeblood ran down to his elbow, dripped to the right boot, to the furs he stood on.

He coated the blade with his blood until it glistened red.

"I urged Snehora to take notice of our movements. That much is true. Put this on Her Luminance's Ashanti lantern to see why. I'll wait for your judgment."

Then he sat down cross-legged where he stood and lowered his head. His arm laid across his knees. Red trickled down from it. It couldn't be stopped.

I took the lantern from Pheodoxia and put it on the table.

"Bring the paste that closes black steel wounds," I ordered.

She didn't move a muscle.

"Commander!" Her hands flew to her reddening cheeks, shaking with fury. "This is an obvious assassination plot. Women not used to Ashanti could go mad or die without the proper guidance and preparation. If you wish to be oblivious for the sake of this scoundrel, at the very least, I should stay here to protect you."