43

The fortified city of Flint was larger than Peter had imagined, but there were no big streets like you'd find in Oldden; it was entirely comprised of alleyways, spanning acres of tightly-knit buildings and courtyards. If he hadn't had his mother as a guide, he'd surely have wandered lost for weeks. There were shops and markets spilling smoke, webbed by clotheslines caked in snow. 

The hardened denizens of the fort watched their return from the seafront. Giant gray dogs prowled among them, nudging inattentive hands and fighting for scraps of fallen food. Dirty children rode them barebacked, little fists lost in the fur.

"Mutts," Anouk said. "Descended from wolves. They pull our sledges."

Una appeared on Anouk's other side. "We're attracting too much attention," she said. "A crowd's forming."

She was right. There were strangers now at every turn. "They're just curious," Anouk said, sharp eyes subtly gauging the swarm. "Stay close. We're almost home."

 Home, at least for her. It was a great castle complex, ancestral and old, its very foundation veined with viridium. It took a barking order from Peter's mother to keep everyone's feet moving forward, as each of them stopped to stare outright when finally they came upon it. Blue banners adorned the walls, depicting the briny Battlefrost crest.

A set of oak doors led directly into the great hall, which was, by anyone's standards, tremendous in size, lengthwise charted by two open hearths. There were passageways to the immediate right and left of both the front entrance and the dais at the opposite end of the chamber; the former would lead to the gallery above, while the latter would lead deeper into the fort. Rows of tables were strewn all between, some sporting sun jars and small bowls of salt.

A familiar woman was at the dais, head bent over a plate of food. Her hair was a darker shade of gold than most other Battlefrosts, braided a few times around her head and pinned in place with a bone of some sort. She glanced up as they entered, fork pausing partway to her lips. Her gray-green eyes were piercing and calm, even from a distance.

Anouk whistled at her crew, indicating the forward halls. "Head on to the barracks," she said. "Be back at a quarter part to celebrate the dead. We'll see off the ones we recovered at dawn."

As the men followed instruction, Peter and his mother approached the far dais. The woman there watched on, steak dripping from the end of her fork, and Peter, sensing a long discussion ahead, stopped to search his tawny flock. "Sei," he called, seeing him near. "Get a head count."

Sei nodded and began directing the tono toward the east-facing wall. The seven surviving children were already gathered with Kacha, warming themselves over one of the fires, breathing the life back into their hands. None of them spoke. None of them cried. So-called children, old as the hills.

Una joined Peter, drawing her Olddenwear tight around her. She was focused on the dais, wisely discreet. Under her breath, she said, "Be careful."

"We have nothing to hide."

"Peter, we have everything to hide."

Her color had worsened since the day before. Peter sighed and put an arm around her, aiming to ease her buzzing nerves. "It's going to be fine," he promised. "Just relax."

She scowled and followed his lead. "They'll hate me," she muttered. "They'll think I'm midland highborn snoot. Just look at how they're staring."

Peter hadn't noticed. He leaned into her ear as they walked. "As far as they're concerned, you and I have a happy, constructive relationship," he whispered. "If you didn't think you were up to the part, you shouldn't have stepped off the ship."

Her eyes jumped to him. "Don't talk down to me, Peter."

"Then crack a smile, princess. Glaring at me doesn't reflect the image we're going for."

She might have retorted, but already they were upon the dais. The sharp-featured woman with the golden hair was appraising them from above, silent until she'd finished chewing the bite of meat she'd torn from her steak. "Welcome," she said, flatly. "Do you know who I am?"

She was addressing him, he realized, and a glance at his mother urged him to answer. He politely dipped his head in greeting and replied, "You're my aunt, Tanis."

Tanis Battlefrost, youngest of the three. "You missed your grandfather's departure ceremony."

"I know," he said. "There were unavoidable delays."

Tanis leaned forward in her chair, spearing another cut of steak. "King Eadric," she mused, lips pressed together. "Once a king, always a king. The cretin."

Peter stared at her in open surprise. "Do you know who he is?"

"Leader, he was, so claims the old books. But the records are his and full of lies." She chewed hard at him, one eye narrowed as if to see what lurked behind his expression. "Hans Redbeard, aye. You've gotten involved with a dangerous man."

"Who led, if not him?"

"Syan Battlefrost."

Una cut in, "That can't be true."

Tanis focused her attention on Una. After a long, uncomfortable moment, she rose from her chair and stepped down from the dais. "Princess Una," she said. "Kidnapped from Oldden, they say. In love with her heathen captor, they say. Slumming it in the eastlands."

"I didn't kidnap her," Peter said, drily. "We left Oldden to avoid the destruction."

"I wasn't talking about you, nephew." Tanis indicated the tono. "One of them," she said. "Tono highborn. Dark like. The one who killed Gladius. Is he here with you?"

"Eadric's got him," Anouk said on approach, a pretty subordinate close at her heels. She joined the discussion, easily the smallest among them. "Tono midborn say he's alive."

Peter waved her off. "We'll get him back."

"Aye, and how's that?"

Tanis cleared her throat to interject. She didn't speak until she had silence. "Eadric Haraldson is a rare exception to the rules," she said. "Whomever you've lost to him are just that. Lost."

"Ballsch," Peter spat. "I'll do whatever I damn well like."

Aria passed through the circle. "Peter," she urged, and she persuaded him away by his elbow, eyes flashing lest he resist. "Come, sea slug. Come out of it for a moment."

Annoyed, he sneered, "Come off it, you mean."

"Aye, come off it, then." She turned on him after two or three paces. She was low-voiced and glancing, looking for ears. "You cannot initiate war with Eadric," she said. "We've got nothing to fight him with. Word mustn't spread."

The fearsome Northern Wolf. Peter gathered her hands in his, and her startled reaction spoke as much to her character as it did to his. He supposed there wasn't a whole lot of intimacy in the Thompson family unit. "This is happening," he said. "I need you to trust me."

She searched his eyes. "You don't understand."

There was something telling in her expression. Dark. Reluctant. "How do all of you know about him?" he asked. "Eadric's not the sort to let this kind of loose end fly."

Aria glanced at the group and then back again. She squeezed his hands. "Has anyone told you what happened to Ronen?" she asked. "She was Anouk's mother. You met her once."

"Aye, she passed. The helmsman, Ashbrook— said it was howlings. She'd been mapping out the mountains for years, looking for a nest. Took half of them with her."

"It wasn't howlings, Peter. It was Eadric."

Peter blinked, feeling owlish. "Why would he kill her?"

She made a hard line of her mouth. "Redbeard didn't give us this land," she said. "He stationed us out here. He gave us something to watch over, something he couldn't kill. But we weren't ever to approach it under any circumstance."

"Mount Savage?"

"Aye, Ronen defied him by exploring the caves. She wanted to free us."

The heavy entryway doors banged open, cutting their conversation short. A young man spilled inside with the wind, boots sliding in muddy snow. He slipped, caught himself, and slipped again as he entered the hall. He gave a shout, but it wasn't a word. A sound of fear, it was.

Tanis came forward, posture-perfect, and boldly met the man halfpart. She motioned for him to cease his panic at once and said, "Out with it."

But she needn't have bothered. There were shadows beyond the open doorway, swirling alive like a hot cloud of ink. And as the tono stood, one by one, the darkness congealed and whispered way, until what remained was Ethos and Alyce, haggard and bleeding and needing a bath.

Ethos was hunched over, weighed by something big on his back; the distance to him was too great to tell what. A bundle of bloody rags, it looked like. Peter was across the hall in just seconds, intending to greet them both with a hug, but his enthusiasm waned, as did his footsteps.

One of Eadric's gates was awake at their heels. Peter caught a glimpse of a vault before it aurally spiraled shut, closing him out as it always did. Ethos was half-turned toward it when the curious copper coin rang out and sped back into his waiting hand. 

As it did, the bundle of rags on his back unsteadied. It was a person, Peter realized. A woman. Her knees were hooked on his battered elbows, toes dirty and limp and dangling. A tawny arm slid from the blankets, and a head promptly followed suit; it rolled back, off of his shoulder, exposing an open wound of a face. The crowd stepped back and murmured.

Ethos approached with the coin in his fist, monstrous shadow climbing the walls. He spotted Peter, but his smile was a hollow one. "Hey," he greeted, dead-eyed. "I could use a drink."

Tanis appeared beside him before Peter could respond. She had a knife at his throat, one palm flat on its gleaming pommel. "Don't move," she barked. "Explain yourself."

Ethos didn't react. His eyes slid to her. "I'm not resisting."

"It's okay," Peter cut in. "He's with me."

Tanis ignored him. She repeated, "Explain yourself!"

Ethos was assessing the space— carefully, without moving his head. "Please stand down," he said, but not to her. He was speaking to the tono. A dozen were circling, fanning out, hands hovering over their side arms. "This is a simple misunderstanding. Please stand down. I won't ask again."

"Drop your weapon," Tanis told him, cold air giving shape to her breath. "Do it now."

He had a fire iron in hand. Peter recognized it instantly. "Alyce," Ethos murmured, gaze going low as he held it out. "Take this and give it to Peter."

Alyce nodded, dark circles under her eyes. But she didn't move away once she had it; she stared at the iron, and then at him.

Firmly, he pressed, "Do as I say."

She complied, face masked by dark, caked blood. Peter took a knee as she neared, inspecting her for the source of it— a shallow wound by her hairline. There was dried snot running from her nose and a deep incision traversing her cheek. "You're okay," he said. "You're okay, right?"

Ethos addressed Tanis, daring to subtly turn his head. "I'm going to drop this woman if someone doesn't take her from me," he said. "Do you mind?"

"Did you do that to her face?"

"No. Eadric Haraldson did this."

Una entered the gathering circle. "Tanis," she said. "This is Ethos."

Ethos was wisely unmoving, lest he swallow and nick himself. But he must have seen a change in Tanis' expression, because when he spoke again, it wasn't to her. "Pathos," he called. "Please have someone take Kooma from me. I don't care who."

Immediately there were huntsmen by to remove her from his back. Peter counted Sei and Baroona among them. Pathos lingered, seasoned and gray, but he didn't say anything. He just traded a glance with Ethos and followed Kooma to a private corner.

Tanis had drawn back. Her knife sank a few inches. "Ethos," she said, inviting his eyes. "You're smaller than I thought you'd be."

Surprisingly, Ethos smiled. Just a little. 

Tanis patted him down, checking for additional weapons. "Hands, boy."

"I'm unarmed." He turned with her as she circled him. His shirt clung wetly to his back. "If you want me to leave, I will," he said. "I'm not here to hurt anybody."

Her nose crinkled. "What's that stench?"

"That would be me."

"I was told you'd been captured."

Reminded, it seemed, his gaze moved over the tono survivors. "Hans Redbeard and Alma are dead," he said, loud enough for his voice to carry. "You know what this means, what to prepare for."

Peter quickly went to his feet. "Eadric's dead?"

Ethos met his eyes. "That's right."

There were too many people watching. Peter wanted to cart him away, to find a place where they could speak frankly. Stupidly, all he could think of to ask was, "Are you sure?"

Kacha arrived as his crookbacked savior. She elbowed her way through the crowd, taking the front perforce from Una. Once there, she stared Ethos down, held her ground, and glared a bit as the silence deepened. The wind howled in through the thrown-open door.

Ethos didn't so much kneel as fall to his knees at her nine-toed feet. He looked up at her in tired resignation. "I'm sorry," he said. "I couldn't stop it."

"Sorry, you say. I should leave you as a warning for the others."

He smiled again, perhaps remembering how they'd met. "Have you got a fire going?" he asked, just as he had in the river back then. "Or maybe somewhere that I could dry off?"

Kacha happily smiled with him. She cupped his cheek. "I suppose you deserve as much."

Peter approached. He nudged Una in passing, signaling for her to join him. Together they helped Ethos up from the floor and looped his arms around their necks. "Let's get you warm," he muttered, and he glanced up at Tanis, daring objection. "Where can we take him?" 

"The spicery. I'll arrange a unit." Tanis put up a finger to stop him. "I can accommodate the tono for a fortnight," she said, with purpose. "Not a day longer. They'll work for their food."

Peter didn't have it in him to argue. They pushed forward when Anouk emerged to guide them out of the area, Ethos dragging his feet to that end, all of them silent. Alyce followed along like a ghost. A backward glance from the exit yielded the Battlefrost sisters, watching on, whispering on the dais steps. 

Ethos tripped, clumsy-footed. Shakily, he asked, "When did I stand?"

"I wouldn't exactly call it standing," Peter replied, ducking out of the Hall. "Hang on."

Anouk ran ahead down the corridor and held a door open for them. The spicery. The space within was simple and fragrant, comprised of a single four-person table positioned beneath a strung ceiling of herbs. Drawers of ingredients lined the walls, some overfull and stuck open like. A shapely blond spicer was measuring at a sideboard as they entered; a look from Anouk had her clearing the room.

Kacha dragged a chair to the head of the table. "Sit him here."

Peter and Una set Ethos down, taking care not to drop him. He looked a bit dazed, like he wasn't entirely sure what was happening. Peter took the chair to his right and set the iron on the table. "Ethos," he said. "How much of this blood is yours?"

Ethos glanced at himself. The shirt that Peter had lent him was virtually unrecognizable, reduced to worrying stains and gashes. "It's impossible to tell," he decided, blandly, as if he were guessing the next week's weather. "Not much, I think."

Kacha pulled the shirt off. He didn't protest. His arms looked heavy. "You've made a fine mess of yourself," she murmured, and, lightly, she turned his face toward her. "Look here."

Ethos shied away from her fingers. "Alyce first, please."

Kacha didn't argue with him. She just nodded and tended to Alyce instead, who'd seated herself on the cornermost barrel of grains. He watched them silently, darkened by soot. "So tell me," Peter said, catching his eyes. "How furious was Eadric when he found out we'd fled the forest?"

Ethos smiled for him. "I thought he was going to kill me."

"But I'll bet it felt good."

"In a way."

Peter wished he'd say more. How he loathed forcing Ethos to talk. "To be clear— he's really dead, right?" he pressed. "No two ways about it?"

"He's dead. But we still have Alma to worry about." Ethos glanced sideways as Una took the chair on his other side. Dried blood had pooled in his ear. "There are fewer tono than I remember."

A thin sheet of hair fell into her eyes. She blew at it, crossly. "We were attacked in the Dire by howlings," she said, sounding inconvenienced. "There are forty-seven survivors left. Eleven women, three of them children." She suddenly squinted at him, curiously diverted, and asked, "Why do you look like you crawled up a chimney?"

"It's ash." Ethos rubbed at his eye with the heel of his hand. A partial handprint encircled his wrist, as black as the mark that Oubi had left. "I, uh— I hit Eadric with this thing in the vault," he said. "An urn. Ethos, I think. The real one."

Peter exchanged a glance with Una. She'd clearly seen the wrist, too. 

Ethos let his hand fall. There was fabric holding together two or three of his fingers, but Peter couldn't tell what it was there for. "Alma appeared while we were fighting," he went on, rare for him to overshare. "She got him with the fire iron before he took out her face."

From the door: "How'd you get away to begin with?"

Anouk, alongside her quiet subordinate. Ethos looked up at her, head teetering like it needed extra support. "He'd been keeping me in a cell," he explained. "Alyce caught him off guard when he came to question me. It bought us the time we needed to find his corpse."

Una cleared her throat. "Then how did Alma get involved?"

"She felt him stir, I think," he replied. "I didn't see where she came from. Alyce might've."

Alyce glanced up at hearing her name. She was being patient while Kacha mended the gash on her face. "I didn't see it, either," she said. "Sorry."

Mildly surprised, Ethos turned to see her. "You didn't?"

"No." Alyce met his eyes for the briefest of moments. She glared hard at the floor. "I had my head down," she confessed. "I was covering my ears. I'm sorry. I couldn't."

But Ethos didn't seem angry about it. He sank comfortably into the turn, head propped on the back of the chair. "It's okay," he said. "Really. You were amazing." 

Una sat forward. Gently, puzzlingly, and with just the tips of her fingers, she touched the exposed curve of his throat, inciting a violent flinch of surprise. He was fiercely twisting her hand in a second, hard enough to make her cry out.

He quickly let go. He sighed. "Don't do that."

"You're all bruised up," she challenged, pouting. "What happened?"

She was right. There were fresh marks all around his neck, like someone had tried to wring the life out of him. An entirely different kind of handprint. "What does it look like?" he asked, in confusion, and he pointed at his face, at the ash. "This is his kid. This soot. I pissed him off and he came at me."

Thankfully, the shapely spicer chose then to return with bread and water, parting Anouk from her aide. Peter stood as she turned to go, stopping her short. "A bit of earth," he said, indicating the vacated doorway. "Soil. And ale. Please."

She frowned at the strange request, but nodded and left to retrieve what he'd asked for. She carried herself like she didn't want to make noise. "I'd like to arrange a meeting with Tritan," Ethos said, out of Peter's line of sight. "Today, if possible."

Anouk snorted derisively at him. "Get in line, seabird."

Peter turned, earning glances from Ethos and Una. "We'll deal with Tritan tomorrow," he said, and he sent Ethos a deliberate look to dissuade opposition. "Tonight, we rest. No exceptions."

Sure enough, Ethos glared. He looked all the more pitiful from above. "Every second we rest is a second lost," he said, curtly. "Relax on your own time."

"Take a hard look at yourself, Ethos."

"You're not listening. Alma's dead, understand?"

"Aye, and I get it. But Tanis promised me a fortnight."

"We don't have a fortnight. We have a few days, and that's if we're lucky."

"Then take a few days," Peter retorted. "Heal up. It took us nearly a week to get here."

Ethos was staring down at the table, kneading his brow like he used to. "Moving the tono isn't an issue," he went on. "I'll return them to the forest at first light if it's safe. They can have it." Before Peter could get a word in, he placed the copper coin flat on the table. He was missing a fingernail. "Eadric calls this a nebule. It can take us anywhere we can accurately envision."

Anouk appeared and snatched it up, metal rasping over wood. She raised it just out of reach when he lunged for it. "Oi, oi, no grabbing," she leered. "I'm a lady."

Ethos bristled. "Don't just take my stuff."

"You stole this. Thief."

The spicer reentered the room with Peter's requested items. He met her at the open door and helped her unload the dirt and the ale, juggling empty cups on each finger. She quietly thanked him before stepping out and giving them their privacy.

Kacha had stolen Peter's seat when he turned back. He didn't mind. She was fussing over Ethos, patience thinning, trying in vain to move his head when he clearly just wanted to glare at Anouk. Peter sidetracked him by setting the bowl of dirt on the table.

Flatly, Ethos glanced up. "Your cooking's improved."

"Shut up," Peter said. "It's for oupir."

"I'm really not in much pain."

"Nobody will think less of you. Just use it."

"I can't." Ethos kept his eyes low, seeming a bit self-conscious with a witch examining his ear. In the silence, he added, "He said it'd last a couple of days."

Powerless. Gaunt. "Is that even possible?"

"Obviously. Pay attention."

"Was it Eadric?"

"Norita."

"Something she gave you?"

"That's right. She had an annoying system."

Kacha took a damp washcloth to the side of his face, dabbing at all of the blood and the soot. She clicked her tongue to silence his wincing. "Five days," she muttered. "Five days they had you."

Ethos gave in to her fussing. "Everything went according to plan."

"Born liar. Fool. You're missing a fingernail."

His good hand fisted, reflexive, to hide it. The other one was probably broken. "Anouk," he said, without looking up at her. "I'd like you to tell me about Mount Savage."

Anouk eyed him, helping herself to the ale. "Why?"

"I'm headed there after I move the tono."

She hesitated. "What for?"

"That's none of your business."

"You'll make it my business for information."

Peter was shaking his head, adamant. "Nobody's going to Mount Savage."

Ethos reached for a cup of ale. "It'll be another few days before the Bonesteel army sets out," he reasoned. "Five or so more to cross the Rift. The Battlefrost armada can be on Wulfstead's coast in well under three." He held Peter's eyes. "It'll be up to you to organize the attack."

Peter demanded, "Why do you need to go to Mount Savage?"

"There's something in there. I think it's what's been producing the howlings." Ethos took a long swig of ale, throat working, starved for a drink. He took a long breath when he was finished. "But that's for me to sort out," he concluded. "You need to concentrate on occupying Wulfstead. You can use their existing lines of communication with the Oldden redoubt to flag down Calaster and coordinate a means to flank the Bonesteel forces, southbound."

Peter stared. "And he'd accept our support?"

"Obviously. Calaster is officially the highest-ranking man in the country right now. In the time it'll take for you to seize Wulfstead, he'll be desperate for someone to take over for him." Ethos smiled for Peter again, maybe sensing his anxiety. "You'll be fine," he said. "It's low-hanging fruit."

Kacha moved his emptied cup, hand sliding under his elbow, raising it. "Lift your arm up," she instructed. "Higher. That's it."

Una helpfully topped him off. Her amber eyes matched the drink. "Anouk can only deliver half of the Battlefrost army," she murmured. "Demanding greater numbers could result in a breach in the city perimeters. I'm afraid we won't have enough on our side."

Ethos asked, "Since when was Anouk in charge of the army?"

Anouk had been watching Ethos. She didn't smile when his eyes moved to her. "Mount Savage is a dead end," she told him. "I'm not my mother."

Kacha grunted in agreement. "Savage is the shell of an old terran colony," she said. "Roheim, it was. Very remote. There are deep networks of private tunnels, all which lead to an inner haunt, said to be where their earthmovers lived— the sightless ones who could sway the gods."

Ethos sniffed her hair. "You speak like you've been there."

"Those tunnels are impossible to navigate," Anouk insisted. "That's the reason Eadric chose it. He knew we'd never get anywhere with it."

He glanced. "Did he tell you that himself?"

"Just as well," she retorted, with a raise of her chin. "Among my mother's possessions were letters from our archives. Eadric cut a deal with Daggeir— charge over Savage in return for the north."

Ethos gave her his full attention. "There are letters?"

"Aye," she said. "Sixteen or so."

"I'd like to see them. Those tunnels may be inaccessible to you, but I have allies who can sense what's in there. A means to navigate."

Anouk considered him for a moment. "I'll dig them out if you take me with you," she said. "And I want to be the one who destroys what's in there. Dibs like."

"Deal." Ethos held out his hand. "The coin, please."

Anouk grinned, proof that she'd hoped he'd forgotten. "Pity," she mused, and she circled around, fingertips lightly tracing the table. "Such convenience. The things one could do."

Ethos shrugged out of Kacha's hold, almost as if expecting a fight. But his hand didn't fall, nor did it rise. He spoke when the nebule was back in his possession. "We'll talk after I've seen the letters," he told her, eyes serious. "How soon can you gather them?"

Anouk addressed her subordinate. "Oi, Niska."

"Aye," Niska said, with a small, subtle nod. "Now?"

"Now, aye." Anouk flashed another smile at Ethos. "Wait here."

Ethos stuffed the nebule back into his pocket and didn't speak until they'd both gone. "Una," he said, glancing. "Has your memory improved?"

"Some," Una replied. "Why?"

"It depends. From the overall atmosphere, I'm assuming at this point that Peter's decided to step in as heir and assign Anouk as Flint's overseer in return for half of the Battlefrost army." He glanced up at Peter. "I can work with that," he clarified, directly. "But if your mother opposes us strongly enough, she reserves the right to step in and take the position out from under you. I can't allow that." 

Peter stared again. "We're not compelling my mother, Ethos."

"I think it would be wise to get ahead of it."

"He's right," Una said, rising. "She has the authority."

Peter blocked the door. He pointed at Una and snarled, "Sit back down."

Ethos was watching on, and the pressure of it was asphyxiating. The power, as usual. Sometimes a word. Sometimes a look. When Peter glanced, Ethos nodded, just once. "It's okay," he promised. "You know I'd never let anything bad happen to her."

Peter rebelled, "What's really in Mount Savage?"

"I'll tell you, but you need to move out of the way." Ethos held his eyes. "Trust me."

Trust him? Peter couldn't be sure if he'd ever entirely trusted Ethos. He moved from the doorway regardless, but he caught Una's shoulder before she could pass. "Wait for me in Battlefrost Hall," he said, beneath his breath. "Go near my mother and I'll kill you."

She normally would have made a retort, sneered or derided or snubbed him entirely, but something in his expression spooked her. She nodded and withdrew from the spicery. Peter closed the door behind her without being asked.

Ethos might not have noticed the exchange. He was actively resisting Kacha's hunt for his hands, tucking them close where she couldn't pry. She said something scornful to which he sulked and replied with a guarded word. 

"What's in Mount Savage?"

They glanced up at the sound of Peter's voice. Ethos was the first to avert his eyes. He yielded his hands to Kacha and shrugged. "Syan Battlefrost."

Peter hadn't been expecting that. "What, she's alive?"

Ethos cringed as Kacha unwrapped his bandaged hand. "Alma brought her back, just like Una," he explained. "But the ire turned her into a monster, so Eadric locked her away."

"Brutal. Do you think she's the key to curing Una?"

"There's only one way to find out."

Peter seated himself in Una's vacated chair and, by chance, caught a glimpse of Ethos' hands. The one with the mark all around its wrist had horribly mangled its two smallest fingers. Seeing it up close was gruesome. It looked deliberate.

"This will take some time," Kacha said. "Three treatments."

Ethos watched her work, eyes half-lidded and weary. "It needs to be done by dawn."

She nodded, slowly, but her expression was quietly furious, livid. "Five days," she repeated. "Five days they had you. Fool. Fool. King of fools. Tell me you weren't made to suffer this."

He thoughtfully studied her face. "You're asking if it was torture?"

Kacha glared, reddened by her angry affection. "Was it?"

"No." He smiled a little. "We were in a tight spot at the end there," he said. "I made some mistakes that could have been avoided. I wasn't careful enough." 

It was bullshit. Peter could see the lie lurking behind his eyes, the lingering fear, cleverly disguised as pleasantness. Alyce was deliberately staying out of it. "Then how did you know where Eadric's body was?" Peter asked. "Was it a hunch?"

"At first," Ethos replied. "He slipped up when he started talking about his kid, about how the ashes were still in his tomb. People seem to feel strongly about their children."

"Clever," Kacha murmured, head bent over her grisly task. "I doubt there's any other soul in creation who he would have dared open up to."

Ethos stared down at her, expression dimming. "I remembered how you found me," he said, and he didn't smile when she looked up. "Forty years ago. How did you know who I was?"

"It was your eyes, of course." She nudged his chin with a knobby knuckle, thin lips twisting in wry amusement. She said, "So blue, like your father's before you." 

"You told me not to worry about him, Kacha."

Her amusement quickly faltered, uncertain. Her playful knuckle fell away from his face. "He was supposed to be dead," she said. "I had no reason to think otherwise."

Ethos had no response to that. He reached forward with his unbroken hand and drank the ale that Una had poured him, patient as the sinking sun. 

Peter leaned back in his chair. "I've sent Una to Battlefrost Hall."

Ethos returned the empty cup to the table. He refilled it before answering. "I heard," he said. "You should watch your tone with her. It's called a partnership for a reason."

"Then stop telling her to do stuff without my permission."

He raised an eyebrow. "Your permission?"

"Aye, my permission," Peter said. "It's offensive."

"You've gotten awfully sensitive in the time I've been gone."

"I'm not sensitive, Ethos." Peter stopped himself short. "If she and I go through with this, I can't have you constantly undermining me," he said. "That's just the way it works. The right hand follows the lead of the head, unconditionally. Even when they disagree. You can't just waltz in here and fire off orders without running anything by me first."

Ethos polished off another helping of ale. He stared into the empty cup before neutrally glancing Peter's way. "Do you really expect me to be your right hand?"

Peter slowly searched his eyes, frown deepening. "You said you would be."

Ethos didn't appear to remember the conversation. His gaze briefly wandered elsewhere, as if he were thinking it over and hating it. "It would never work," he concluded, and his eyes returned, lacking guilt or anything in particular. "I see how you look at me. I know I make you uncomfortable. Just take my advice and find someone else."

Caught, Peter went on defense. "We were perfectly fine until— "

"Until what?" Ethos forced a small, wretched smile. "It's okay. You can say it."

But Peter hadn't set out to insult him. Kacha caught his eye, a good reminder to keep his cool. He counted back from three. "We don't have to talk about this right now," he grumbled. "Eadric's dead and we have you back. That's all that matters." 

It took a few seconds for Ethos to answer. "The Battlefrosts are still new to this fight," he said. "If Alma returns before I relocate the tono, it'll be your responsibility to make the right informed decisions for them. You need to be ready."

"What about you? Will you draw her away?"

He shrugged, again with an air of uneasiness. "Ideally," he replied. "But I'm playing a lot of this by ear. It got a little weird with her this last time, so I can't predict what will happen."

Peter tried to read his expression. "Weird how?"

"It's difficult to explain."

"Try."

Ethos met his eyes again. He seemed startled by Peter's insistence. "It's like she was trying to get me to recite something," he said. "The wolf and the elk. The river. She had an annoying way of getting into my head."

"The wolf and the elk?"

"Right." Ethos made an unenthused gesture. "There was once a great river— "

"I remember the stupid story. What does it have to do with Alma?"

"It's hers, I think. Ours. She knew all the words." Ethos returned to kneading his forehead, brow hopelessly furrowed together. " 'I am the crow who follows below,' " he muttered, remembering. "She said she wished for me."

The healing glow faded from Kacha's hands. She gave him a gentle pat on the knee, luring him out of his thoughts. She said, "Perhaps you should lie down while I do this."

"I don't want to lie down." He suddenly caught Peter staring and asked, "What?"

But the clever door chose then to open, conveniently intervening. Anouk joined them, a flat leather file beneath her arm. "This is all of it," she said, and she circled around to where Ethos was filling his cup again; he swore, midpour, when she elbowed in. "Clear a space, seabird. Look alive."

He helped her, bitterly. "Are these in any sort of order?"

At the door, Niska inserted, "Chronologically."

"Excellent." To Kacha, he said, "Fetch me Baroona, please."

Kacha stopped him from lifting the ale to his lips. "What about your hands?"

"We have all night," he reminded her. "Take a break. We'll continue when you get back."

Reluctantly, she nodded. She rose from her chair, cudgel locked in her bony grip, and Peter quietly joined her. They shared a subtle, meaningful glance.

"Peter," Ethos said, eyes on the papers. "Where are you going?"

"I need some air," Peter replied. "This ale is shit, anyhow. I'll be back with better."

"You have an elevated heart rate. Calm down."

Peter swallowed his traitorous pulse and followed Kacha out into the corridor, and it was there that his mounting impatience won out. He forced the spitfire witch to match his pace, a finger at his lips for silence. Her arm in his grip was terribly frail. 

She tore away when they entered the Hall, doors clattering at their heels. "Fool," she spat. "You're as obvious as a Wayward slank, the way you glare your worry about."

Peter wanted to snarl back, but he didn't. He seated himself on the dais steps. "I think he did it," he seethed. "I think he finished Eadric off. It's Ozwell all over again. But worse."

"He wouldn't have needed to see those letters if that were true."

Peter glanced around. His mother and Tanis had gone off— to where, he couldn't be sure. But still he gestured Kacha closer, lest anyone overhear them. "Something happened back in the Throat," he said, and he searched her eyes, serious. "I spoke to Shima."

"Shima," Kacha echoed. "The clan mother?"

"I know it doesn't make any sense. Just listen." Peter took a heavy breath. "The clans weren't gods like everyone thought," he whispered. "She told me so. She said gods aren't born from dirt, but from wishes." He waited for her to get it. "From wishes, Kacha. Those were her exact words."

She stared. "With Alma as a mother, he's a godling by definition."

"Except he's not really Ethos, right? He's a fake."

Kacha suddenly seized the hair on Peter's chin. Her lip curled. "Don't you ever say that to him," she warned. "I should hang you up by your thumbs and beat you half to death with a skillet." But she released him after a lasting moment. Her anger bled out. "Fool."

"You knew that rhyme about the crow," Peter said, risking another tug. "I could tell."

Still glaring to some measure, Kacha nodded. She joined him on the dais steps. " 'The great black crow who follows below,' " she quoted. "It's shadow lore from the old world, that which we cast on the earth as we fly. Our ancestors believed that we would be inadvertently responsible for creating our own death incarnate." She fell silent, eyes low. "In the dirty days of the First Era, we thought that the war would end it all," she said. "Alma returned from the next world, blistering everything underfoot. We thought our time had come. We waited for our crimes to take us."

"But it wasn't her. She isn't a death god."

She looked away. "Peter…"

"He said she wished for him, Kacha," Peter maintained. "And if he isn't the Ethos you knew in the war, then who the hell even is he? What does that sound like to you?"

"It sounds like you want to burden an overtasked boy with really bad news, Peter." Kacha quickly stopped him from standing. "You're drawing your facts from ancient lore," she cautioned. "True or not, this isn't about us. Mind your own business and focus on the job you've been given."

"He is my business. He wouldn't even be here if it weren't for me."

"Fool. He's not the helpless cub you once knew. He doesn't need your incessant fathering to survive. You rescued him, yes. You're responsible, yes. But it's time to open your eyes." Her grip on him tightened. "He doesn't need a handler, Peter. He needs a friend."

Peter glowered at her. "I am his friend."

"You're not behaving like one." A final squeeze, and her hand fell away. She slowly rose from the dais steps. "He notices everything," she said— a parting word of warning. "Don't speak to him again until you've properly cooled off. And don't you dare bring this up to him."

He didn't respond. He didn't want to. He'd wanted her to agree with him, to gossip and scowl and confirm his suspicions. But she just hobbled off in search of her brother, white hair dwarfing her frail, shrunken figure. He envied her convictions, her faith. He didn't know the meaning.

The ceremony was held before he'd finished his brooding. Every survivor was in attendance. A feast was served— elaborate spreads of native game from shark to elk and all in between. Conversation throughout the Hall was concentrated around the departed, led by family, supported by friends, and in time the chamber was filled with laughter, despite the purpose for the gathering.

Ethos appeared a short while later, noticeably cleaner and right in the thick of it all. Surrounded by members of their shaky alliance, he politely grinned and answered their questions, avoiding details, boosting morale. But as the night wore on and the celebration failed to cease, his exhaustion finally got the better of him and he fell asleep in the middle of a laugh, still sitting at the table.