22

Everything hopelessly looked alike. It was hard to tell through his lens of panic if architecture was to blame, designed to confuse the rogue reckless crook or to humble new kings in search of their room, but Ethos, in haste, had somehow managed several times over to scare the spit out of the same poor woman in his seemingly endless hunt for Alyce. In no world other than his would a concern as minor as causing a fright exist amid the uproar of a sloppy offensive.

He went to leap down a flight of stairs, but caught himself short when he heard a commotion down below; Oldden guardsmen, closing in. Firelight moved over walls. His nails scraped on stone edging, loud to his ears. He backtracked, a start ahead of a minute, at most, and circumnavigated an unwitting cluster of serving girls, abiding a passing stare or two, nodding politely to pardon himself.

Alyce was near. Up or down, he couldn't tell. He scaled a second flight of stairs, these ones darker than the first. Oubi had never been allowed to climb them. But the level above was silent, empty, and he was forced to slip in an unlocked room when his ill-intended entourage finally caught up.

Ethos huddled low, ear to the door, and waited for their voices to reach him. After all, a single overheard whisper could fill in that missing piece of the puzzle, lead him down paths he'd missed or dismissed. So he waited. He waited until his surroundings kicked in.

A private library, he thought at first glance. Modest. Warm. And he wasn't alone. A behemoth of a man was facing the flickering hearth, seated in one of two giant armchairs, a drink in hand. He looked as surprised to see Ethos as Ethos was to see him. And his face was familiar. As if to embody the old tales of yore, he was every bit Hans Redbeard incarnate: ruddy, bushy, larger than life. Gladius, Ethos quickly remembered. The king opened his mouth, perhaps to speak.

The door swung inward. Ethos hit the wall just in time, heart pounding.

"Beg your pardon, Majesty." The intruder's voice was raspy, older. He smelled like leather and dirt and sweat. "We're clearing the Keep," he said. "Have you or yours seen sign of him?"

"No sign," Gladius answered. "Ellena's in the solar. Leave her be."

"Understood. Apologies for barging in."

They left it at that, and the door quickly shut. Ethos felt exposed without it. Still low to the ground, fingertips brushing the floor for balance, he asked, "Why did you cover for me?"

"Because there are flowers outside my window." And indeed, there were, just behind the stained glass. Gladius drank. The size of his hands made the pint seem small. He glanced over again when he'd had his fill. "Have a seat," he invited, gesturing. "Tell me what this is about."

Ethos guardedly rose to his feet. "I need information."

Afar, Gladius studied him. "Gods alive. You really haven't aged a day."

"You need to tell me where Eadric keeps his body," Ethos told him. "It's important."

"Ah." Gladius suddenly looked tired. For a long moment, he stared at his drink; his eyebrows were drawn together, pensive. "I assume you mean to destroy it."

"That's right." 

Gladius made a low, happy sound. "So he's made another enemy." 

Ethos paused by the empty chair and lightly touched it to steady himself, gripped by a sudden spell of dizziness. With a shake of his head, he pressed, "We don't have much time."

"Yes. Alyce was quite transparent." As if saying her name had invoked her somehow, Ethos heard a sharp, sudden scream. It was over before it had even begun, like she'd been right beside him. Gladius pointed at the vaulted ceiling. " 'The sky, they say,' " he quoted, and his gaze went high before landing on Ethos, who looked away. "Your interruption. Were you afraid of what else she'd tell me?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You must remember."

"I'm not always aware like that."

"You're the same as her, then. Different on the outside than you are on the inside."

Ethos glanced back and gave a start. He hadn't heard any sound of movement, but Gladius was standing now, looming bearlike by the fire. Ethos forced a smile and said, "Everyone's like that."

"No," Gladius cut in, inexpressive. "They're not."

The smile lost its spark. Ethos didn't dislike this beast, this thing that seemed more clansman than human, but he didn't have time to engage in a discussion with it. "Your daughter's in danger," he said, hoping to speed things along. "Just tell me where Eadric keeps his body."

Gladius gazed at the hearth. "Is she claimed, yet?"

"Claimed. Do you mean marked?"

"We all have our names for it."

"If I had to guess, I'd say yes."

Gladius quieted again. Morosely, he retrieved a fire iron from the mantle. "If Eadric's body exists, it won't be where we'd think to look," he said. "Give up."

Ethos watched him tend to the cinders. "You're supposed to be better than this."

"And you're supposed to be dead." Gladius straightened. When he faced Ethos, the hot poker was ribboning steam at his side. "He blamed me, you know," he said. "For the fire. For being curious. It took me over a year to recover."

"Do you know how it started?"

"The fire? No. We saw the smoke from Nahga."

Ethos eyed the hot poker. "Your grudge isn't against me."

The reminder seemed to calm him. His meaty fingers drummed the iron. "I know," he said. "And I should really be thanking you. If it weren't for the fire and your involvement, I'd never have freed myself of the claim. I'd still be like Calaster."

Ethos felt a violent twitch in his hands. "It can be removed?"

Gladius stared at him, a subtle frown beneath his beard. "You're unwell."

"I'm fine." But his vision was swimming. Ethos circled the space, blinking it clear. Something in the back of his mind was scratching its way toward his eyes. He insisted, "I'm just tired."

No reply. Gladius continued to stare, his back to the fire, a silhouette. When he finally spoke, his voice was low. "You're being compelled," he realized. "I know the symptoms."

"Quiet," Ethos muttered, unthinkingly. "Tell me about the mark."

"It must have been Una. There's no one else."

"The mark, Gladius. The mark."

"What did she do to you?"

Ethos glared, periphery narrowing. "If you give, I'll give."

Gladius moved the fire iron to his other hand. His better one, presumably. He was anticipating an attack. "Like you, I should have died fourteen years ago," he answered. "I did, in fact. Eadric left me teetering on the boat between shores. I was on the mend when I…." He stopped there. "You have to die, boy. It nullifies what he does. It frees you. Forever."

"It sounds a lot like you want me to kill myself." Ethos reached for the chair. It wasn't there. He'd strayed. His vision was swimming again. He turned away and averted his eyes, one arm raised as if blocking the sun. "There has to be a safer way."

"Then go ask a witch doctor."

Ethos thought of Kacha. 

Closer now, Gladius asked, "What did Una tell you to do?"

"She didn't mean it," he replied. "She's young. She doesn't get permanence."

Closer, closer. "Did she tell you to kill me? Is that it?"

Yes, he wanted to say. And he wanted to turn and defend himself, because Gladius was behind him now, iron raised, casting shadow on the far wall. But he didn't just want to defend himself. He wanted Gladius to taste that iron. He wanted it because Una had wanted it. He wanted it because he'd liked this beast, this creature that seemed more clansman than human. And he wanted it gone. He needed no reminders of the past. He just had to turn. Turn. Defend. Destroy. 

The iron clattered to the floor, yet the silence that followed wasn't silence at all. Sound crackled in the hearth. Sound howled at the windows. Sound gurgled. Sound gasped. Sound dripped and spattered and haunted the tranquil darkness.

Ethos no longer wanted to turn. But he did. 

Gladius was even taller up close. Brawny. Burly. More clansman than human. A log from the fire, all aglow from within, had thinned and twisted and lanced him through, its point hissing blood like a hellish stake. He fell to his knees and it stirred the blaze, spitting sparks. It was like the hearth had reached out in desperation to stop his murderous fire iron ways. 

Ethos, in horror, felt watched over. "Is everything you told me true?"

Gladius had to swallow several times. He managed a nod, chest foaming and smoking.

"Good." Ethos forced himself to bear witness. "I'm sorry."

Gladius laughed. A noise like sandpaper.

"I'll listen if you can speak."

But if he could, he chose not to. The laughter subsided, and slowly, so slowly, Gladius gazed out the window. The flowers there were caked in snow, reeling now and again in the wind, branches tapping against the stained glass, and Ethos, his vision now clear as exhaustion allowed, felt the compulsion lift like a yoke from his aching, afflicted shoulders. He'd been brash, so sure of himself that he'd neglected to consider the possibility that Una might have slipped past his defenses. It was his loss.

Gladius was dead when Ethos looked back at him. It was a mystery even to him how he knew it for sure; the king's smile lingered, wistful, wise, and his eyes still twinkled as if with life, yet Ethos knew at once beyond doubt: this broken vessel housed no soul.

Of course, he thought, that the stench of burning flesh had followed him even to Oldden's woodsy domain. And as the frothing wound of the great late monarch sizzled around its own smoldering impale, he feared it would follow him much, much farther.

"I came as fast as I could."

Ethos glanced at the door. It was closing at the heels of another familiar stranger, but this time he could easily tell who it was really looking back at him. "You say that as if I'll find comfort in it," he replied, reassessing the scene. "Though I guess I do, sort of."

Eadric approached and explained, "It took some time to locate you."

Ethos was feeling for his knife before he recalled where he'd seen it last: clattering over the bluff, out of reach. Recognition gave way to resignation. "Say Eadric," he said, and his hand slowly sank back to his side. "I've been meaning to ask you something."

"I'm not overly fond of questions."

"What was Hans Redbeard like?"

Eadric circled around behind Gladius, ducking beneath the fiery spear. He reappeared on the other side, nearer to the stained-glass window. "Hans was a fool," he said. "A dreamer, I suppose. He'd dream up things that changed the game, things that no one else could make sense of. Brilliant things. Foolish things. Things that countries are built upon."

Ethos scoffed. "That's more praise than criticism."

"Of course it's praise. Even fools have purpose. Like Gladius here." At the mention of him, Eadric peered at the king and went to his toes, competing for height postmortem. "He was supposed to marry a Battlefrost," he mused, making faces. "Disappointing. But at least I can finish the job with Una."

Ethos almost seized him. He stopped, surprised by himself. "She loves Peter."

"Oh, I know. That's why it's so perfect. Were you about to hit me?"

"No, I…" Again, Ethos stopped. His mind felt mired. "He's a Battlefrost."

"Obviously," Eadric drawled, eyes rolling. "You're far too respectful of privacy."

"He never wanted to talk about it." With the distance between them closed, the man's familiar face registered. Kyrian Bonesteel. Councilman. Eadric had finally pulled him from storage. His nose looked like it had met a fist in the fifteen years since their encounter in Harken. "It's still strange, seeing them all aged," Ethos said, dispassionate. "I'll sometimes forget, and then…"

Eadric cracked a smile. "You don't seem surprised."

"I've been expecting something like this."

"Yes, well, I know you've got some rage to work out."

"My rage has nothing to do with Kyrian. He didn't cause the fire."

"You can blame it on me if you prefer. I'm rather excellent at being loathed."

But Eadric hadn't caused it, either. He'd been furious, in fact, and Gladius had paid. His actions to that end actually raised more questions than answered. Ethos backed off a bit, half-turned, aiming subtly for the door. He said, "No, thanks."

"I wasn't anticipating this level of composure from you."

"I thought you preferred it this way," Ethos replied. "Diplomacy or whatever."

"Yes, of course," Eadric said, annoyed. "But it's the new year, understand. Founders Day. The day for new beginnings. Traditionally, I empty my junk drawers." When Ethos glanced at him in confusion, he heaved a dignified sigh. "I've already given Kyrian an abridged version of the 'you've outlived your usefulness' speech," he said. "So he has to go. Obviously."

Ethos took a moment to process that. It was easier for him to process the statement than it was to process the implications. "You're not cleaning out the pantry, Eadric," he said, slowly. "People aren't rotten tomatoes."

"They're precisely like rotten tomatoes."

"No, they're people. This is— " Ethos gestured tiredly at him. "This is a person."

"This is a seedy rancid beefsteak," Eadric retorted, flatly. "And if you knew him as well as I do, I guarantee you'd agree. Personally, I've had it out for him since he beat poor Goober to death in '51 for shitting all over the rug in his foyer. But that's me."

Ethos frowned. "Goober?"

"His dog."

"We're talking about a dog now?"

"I liked that dog. I like anything that doesn't argue with me."

Ethos struggled to switch gears. "Did you really think I'd kill Kyrian for you?"

Eadric shrugged. "You killed Gladius for me."

"That wasn't on purpose."

"Call it instinct. I don't care. All it proves is you're a born killer." Arms folded, Eadric stared for a moment longer. "I've been patient with you," he said. "I don't normally do mercy."

Alyce's voice returned, a distant thing, distorted by rapid intensification. Ethos fussed at his ear, deafened. When she called his name more than once, he hissed, "Stop it."

Eadric scowled at him. "I haven't done anything yet."

"Not you," he said. "Alyce. She's upset about something."

A rare display of authentic surprise moved across Eadric's face. "Fascinating."

"She needs to control herself," Ethos said, curtly. "I can't even begin to tell you how annoying it is to have someone howling in your ear all the time."

Eadric's expression soured. He squinted a little, crooked nose crinkling up at the bridge. "If you're going to vomit, do it on the primstone."

Ethos met him with black indignation. "I'm not going to vomit."

"Don't glare at me like I'm being absurd. It's obviously an ongoing pattern with you." Eadric was closer than comfort allowed. He smoothly reached for Ethos and said, "Let me help."

Ethos stepped away just as smoothly. "I've asked you not to do that."

"Kyrian's gifted. You could use the boost."

"We're not friends, Eadric."

Eadric stared again. It was too intense. There was too much in his eyes to keep up with. "Friends," he mused. "The fires that keep out the cold. They're here, you know."

Ethos took a turn staring. "Who?"

"Peter and Una."

"They followed me?"

"Obviously. Alyce is in the catacombs with them." Eadric put up his hand for silence before Ethos could cut in. There wasn't any triumph in his eyes, only fact. "They're safe," he said. "For now. I'll even keep what you've done to myself."

Skin crawling, Ethos seethed, "I didn't do anything."

"Right, Gladius just happened to impale himself in your presence."

Ethos bristled. He tried and failed not to look directly at the late king. His stomach turned.

"Relax." Eadric's tone had softened. "I can easily frame Kyrian for it, call it a Bonesteel act, fuel the war," he said. "Nobody needs to know it was you."

"You just want me to kill Kyrian."

Eadric ran a thumb across his own throat, simulating a fatal incision. "Like so," he instructed. "I'm terrible at killing myself, so I'd really prefer it be you."

Alyce again, the voice in his ear. Ethos felt like putting his head through a wall. He backed away, toward the door, leadened feet squelching over hot, wet rug.

As Gladius had, Eadric leveled his gaze. "Pity," he said, watching on. "People are usually more accommodating when I have dirt on them." 

"It's an execution. I can't."

"Lasting good is rarely achieved by pleasant means."

"Lasting good," Ethos echoed. "What about this achieves lasting good?"

Eadric was silent until Ethos stilled. "You're right," he said. "It's not about Kyrian. It's not about Gladius. It's not about you, and it's not about me, and it's not even about Alma. It's about all of us and the other hundred thousand or so. It's about Karna. It's about all of us shifting in just the right direction at once, our steps of advancement, our steps in reverse— whatever steps we're required to take to keep the world decent and simple and good." Eadric glanced over at Gladius, sidelong. "I require a king," he continued, glancing back. "I require a culprit. I require a war. Achieving these requirements will achieve lasting good for reasons you'll never be required to know." He'd begun to approach as he spoke, eyes like glass and filled with the fire. "And while it's true that I require a king, I don't require it to be Peter," he said. "So it's in his best interest that you get off your high horse and do as I say."

Ethos could taste his pulse. "I thought you wanted a Battlefrost."

"Oh, I do. There are others. A girl."

"A girl? What girl?"

"The one you see from time to time."

Ethos had never discussed her with anyone. Not even Peter. He looked at his feet, toes curling. "If she doesn't kill me, Alma will."

Eadric's tone had softened again when he answered. "Have you seen how it happens?"

Ethos couldn't help it. Laughter spilled out of his throat; a decidedly cheerless sound. He glanced up at Eadric and found him unsmiling. "Afraid we might lose?"

Surprisingly, Eadric was honest. "Yes, very."

"Is Oubi's account of it not enough?"

"It's like a box of wrinkled hand-me-downs."

"And you're not the sort to just take my word for it."

Eadric tried not to smile. "Centuries of betrayal will do that to a person."

"I guess I can see why." Ethos dug through his pockets for oupir. He came up empty. "So how do you want to do this?" he asked. "I've never had an enemy before."

"Are you already tired of talking to me?"

"You know why I'm here."

"Explicitly."

Ethos mustered the courage to dare another glimpse of Gladius. The king was a cooling monolith, stark and gruesome. He rubbed at his eyes, unable to stand it. "I can't kill Kyrian for you."

Eadric just shrugged and straightened his coat. "That's fine," he said. "You can take the hard road, if that's what you want. Let me know how it goes."

"You're leaving?"

"That's right. Let's skip to the part where you learn what it means to be caught with someone's blood on your hands." With a smile, Eadric said, "Happy thoughts."

Ethos had no time to reply. He could only watch that wretched blackness bleed out from Kyrian's eyes, behold how much a face could change from just a shuffle of something within. He watched until he was being watched back by someone else entirely.

Kyrian stared. He was right to. It was clear from just his expression alone that he hadn't thought of Ethos in years. "Savage," he greeted, faintly puzzled, intending no insult. "You're alive."