3-55. The Conversation

Adrenaline flooded Rua. She was angry, first and foremost. Angry with Siddic, angry with Lita. But also angry with Otter and Kir both. How dare Kir try to hurt herself? And how dare Otter not share that information with her?

She knew it hadn’t been malicious. She knew it’d been kept from her to keep her from worrying. It didn’t matter. It was too important for her to not know. Too important that learning it from Siddic and Lita was a wound, their laughter tearing into a part of her soul. 

As messed up as things were, there was still a very real possibility of things finally working out with Kir. And then, she’d nearly been manipulated into killing herself. Had been stupid enough to let the attempt nearly succeed. 

But it wasn’t just the anger causing the adrenaline to flow. There was fear, too. Fear of the man standing just behind her. Fear of the man just ahead. Fear that she’d be ordered to explain why she was seeking to be in Old Grey’s presence, to listen in on some possible conversation that Holt wanted to hear. 

Rua didn’t like being afraid. Didn’t like feeling small. She’d never gotten used to it, despite everything. 

“Are you really Silayan?” she found herself asking. “Or are you playing a game? Manipulating me?”

“If I were manipulating you, any answer I gave you would be with the intent to garner a favourable outcome, and therefore could not be trusted,” Holt answered. 

“It could be argued your word couldn’t be trusted even if you really were Silayan. How would it work? Are you from this world originally, and found a way to travel to Otter’s? Or were you from hers, and found a way to come here?”

“Why would I answer a question posed to me by a Lieseeker?” He sounded amused. “Giving you any information doesn’t benefit me at all.”

“Because you have an ego. It has to be eating at you. Not being able to properly show off. Tell someone how clever you are, in all your accomplishments.”

“I do like to fiddle about with my secrets. I’m of two minds about whether or not to tell you. Alas, I think it’s more likely I cast myself into a well before I give you anything of use.”

Rua scowled, but inwardly, she felt a surge of excitement. He was taunting her. But he was so insufferably smug about it. He’d just dropped something into her lap as a way of showing how unbelievably clever he was. But she had no idea what it was. 

Not yet anyway.

She repeated his words in her head, over and over again. She memorized the wording. The tone. And the absolute arrogant laughter buried under what he’d said. 

“So, what do you want from Old Grey?” she asked, trying to throw him on the back foot.

“Oh, absolutely nothing. I couldn’t give a rat’s ass what that fat idiot does or says. My interest is entirely in Haran.”

“And who is Haran?”

“King Erathawk’s personal advisor and Dream-touched.”

Rua made a strangled noise as she pushed past another half-drunk warrior. “Are you insane? A Dream-touched? What if he already knows who you are?”

“That’s part of why I’m here. But only a small part. I want to see if he does. But I doubt he will.”

“And what makes you think he won’t?”

“Just call it a shot in the dark.”

She was about to pry further when the crowd opened up before her. It wasn’t that people had gotten out of the way. It was just that they’d finally made it to the open section of Old Grey’s hall where he held court. He was lounging on a chair in the centre of the room, slumped and lazy, but his eyes were wide awake and excited. Unlike everyone else, he wasn’t drinking. He was alert, looking more alive than he had in years.

He was in his own battle garb - which was to say he was shirtless, his grey-splotched belly on full display. It was said that when Old Grey went to war, he did so without arms or armor. Just his fists and his Pact. 

Before him stood a Mikovian man with waist-length white hair, and a slim, almost fragile build. He looked brittle, as if he would break if someone just hit him hard enough. A strange appearance for a Mikovian. He had the distracted look of a Dream-touched, his eyes barely paying attention to what was around him, as if he were half-asleep. She recognized the look from her sister, Leilynn. This would be Haran then.

Haran was saying something low-pitched, leaning in so only Old Grey could hear.

“Get their attention,” Holt said. “I need to know what they’re talking about.”

“That sounds like the kind of thing you’d owe me a favour for.”

Holt flashed his teeth in a genuine smile. “Oh, you learn quickly. Very well. I’ll do something nice for you. Something small.”

“I want–”

“No. That’s not how this works. I’ll repay the debt. But in a manner of my choosing. That’s the deal. It’s just a conversation. One you want to overhear as well. You’ll find my payment sufficient.”

“Forgive me if I don’t trust your word.”

“You’re going to have to. Limited time offer. As in, there’s a very limited time for you to agree.”

She pretended to struggle with the decision, tried to make it look like she was thinking harder. The reality was, she didn’t have any way to force him to commit to anything. And even if he didn’t fulfill his promise, she didn’t lose anything, because he was right. She wanted to know what this conversation was about. Not because she wanted to know what Haran was saying, but why Holt was so interested.

She stepped forward and spat on the ground at Old Grey’s feet. “Well, if it isn’t the fat butcher who’s about to kill his own allies.”

Any other person would probably take offense at that, but Old Grey’s face lit up with a smile. “Rua! Done sulking in your room, I see.”

“It’s your daughter’s room. Won’t be mine until I fuck her in it. Then it’s kind of a shared custody thing, I think.”

“You still haven’t? How many days were the two of you shacked in there together? You move slow for a Silayan.”

Haran was staring at Rua. “And… who is this?”

He had an odd way of speaking, like most Dream-touched. Like he wasn’t entirely present, but there was also an edge to his voice. A layer of authority, like he was used to getting his way. 

“Rua. One of the Silayan Seats. Uh… Burden of Shadows. My future daughter-in-law, provided I ever get Erathawk to ever ease up on custom.”

A few nearby Mikovian warriors made hoots of approval and laughter over that. For all Rua’s complaining about Mikovians being prudes, that was only by Silayan standards, and most of the ones who’d spent time on the Islands had acclimated.

“Impossible,” Haran said. “The Seats are Sureya Asuega, Kirhaela Maravok, Leilynn Kurangi, and Moami Moseina. I have no memory of a… Rua.”

“Can’t be a very good Dream-touched then,” Old Grey said. “Rua’s been a Seat for years. Went into self-imposed exile for a bit, recently came back, my daughter captured her. Kir made some noise about using her to leverage her as a hostage, try to get peace, but she’s a half-breed, and Silayans are weird about that kind of thing.”

“Purity is a thing to be admired,” Haran said coolly. 

“Half my men have bastards of one kind or another up and down the Jiridion and Salassian coasts. You’re gonna wanna stick that talk somewhere tight and dark, and I think we both know just the place.”

“One would think you’d be a little more wary of children, considering what I’ve told you is waiting for you.”

Old Grey laughed. “You told me Kir was gonna kill me before she was even born. You were some skinny kid thinking his words were gonna scare me, and you know what they did? They just made me make sure she was gonna be tough enough to fucking do it. Dreamers know I need a good fucking fight. No one else is up to the task. Of course only my own blood would be able to.”

“A fight?” Haran said with a small smile on his face. “Is that the impression I left? No. She does it the coward’s way. She poisons you. Two months after we take the Islands by force. Shortly after, she’s hanged for the crime.”

The smile vanished from Old Grey’s face. If Haran knew anything about Old Grey, he would have known that was a danger sign. Old Grey had three moods. Boredom. Whatever it was he was feeling when he was smiling and boasting. And bloodlust. 

Haran continued, “Your legacy will be inherited by another of the Generals. Old Grey Wrestles-with-Darkness Maravok is forgotten, except as a footnote. Two Scars Holds-the-Walls-Against-the-Storm Kovahkin takes your place, and receives your glory. The Silayans spit on your grave. You are barely acknowledged by your own people. Your songs remain unsung.”

Old Grey’s arm shot out, his massive hand wrapping neatly around Haran’s throat. He didn’t need to stand to lift the man off the floor. Haran choked, struggling against the grip, his feet kicking at Old Grey, who stood up.

“Stop him,” Holt said softly into Rua’s ear. “I need Haran alive.”

“You dare,” Old Grey shouted, spittle flying from his mouth. It struck Haran’s face. “Speak your poison into Erathawk’s ear all you like. But you do not come into my house, and call my daughter a coward.”

Did Rua want to stop this? Erathawk was her enemy. Robbing him of his Dream-touched was…

Ultimately useless. Dream-touched couldn’t change the future they saw. They could only tell others what they’d seen, and try to advise the best path to take advantage of opportunities or mitigate damage. But they couldn’t actually make a large difference. Just small nudges, that were believed to be what was going to happen anyway. 

And whatever Holt wanted to hear from Haran was important. Important enough that he was willing to reveal his hand to her. Or at least part of it.

“The favour you owe me just got bigger,” Rua hissed at him.

“I’ll pay it. Just stop him.”

Rua inspected his eyes. They seemed… not worried. Or alarmed. Or even frightened. They were resolute. Like he’d committed himself to a path. There was none of the fool she’d come to expect from her few interactions with him. This was the warrior, the man who’d held her by the throat once before, just like Old Grey was doing to Haran now.

The memory of Holt’s hand on her neck, choking the life from her while she attempted to fight him away uselessly flitted through her mind. She pushed it aside. She didn’t have to like the man to take advantage of him.

She stepped forward, and punched Old Grey as hard as she could in the ribs. His Tenacity stopped her, but it got his attention. 

“Give me a minute,” he said. “You wanna spar, we can do it after I deal with this.”

The choke he had Haran in was a sloppy one. Old Grey was more than strong enough to break a person’s neck outright, or squeeze hard enough to guarantee the stoppage of blood to the brain quickly. Haran’s face was turning purple, his struggling growing more frantic.

No, Old Grey was making this last. Delighting in Haran’s suffering for insulting Kir. For pronouncing her a coward where everyone could hear.

“Put him down, or you look like the coward,” Rua said, trying to make herself sound as bored as possible.

His gaze shifted to her, but his grip didn’t slacken. “What’d you say?”

“You’re about to kill a man because of some words he said. It makes you seem afraid of what he has to say. Besides, he wasn’t telling the truth.” That was a lie. His words had rung very, very real to her Pact, but Old Grey didn’t need to know that. 

Old Grey grunted. “Wasn’t gonna kill the little eel anyway. Just scare him a little.”

Rua looked at Haran’s pant leg, now visibly wet, and the small puddle gathering under him. She wrinkled her nose in disgust.

“You did. Congratulations. You must feel very strong and brave now.”

Old Grey sighed, and then dropped Haran face-first into his own piss. Haran scrambled backwards, sucking in breath greedily, trying to create distance between himself and the man who’d just been strangling him.

“Don’t talk about my daughter again,” Old Grey growled. “Or I will grind your balls to paste with my heel, and make you thank me for the experience.”

“You… you can’t…” Haran said, a panicked edge to his voice. “The King…”

“Isn’t fucking here. And I’m tired of him acting like Silayan land is his. I don’t care why he needs it. This isn’t his fucking country. We’re guests here. And he needs to be reminded that, even if you have force to back you up, guests can and will be removed from someone’s home, given enough time. He can ask the fucking Cribs if he wants a history lesson.”

“You know what’s happening at the capitol. You know–”

“Don’t give a shit. My opinion was for him to recall everyone. Instead, we’re doing this huati dung instead. You want to know who’s gonna be remembered as a coward? It’s not gonna be my daughter. It’s gonna be the one who betrayed allies because he was scared.”

A silence settled over the room. The drunken laughter and general boisterous nature of the Mikovians settled into a pregnant pause. Somewhere, Siddic laughed, and someone immediately hushed him. 

“You can’t… you can’t call the king that,” Haran said.

“And why the fuck not? According to you, I’m gonna be dead soon. And I ain’t fucking scared of words, even the ones I speak. Especially not of the ones I speak. If Erathawk has a problem with my opinion, he can fucking come here and take it up with me.”

Old Grey held up his fists. Even with his high soul power, they were scarred so badly from use they’d never quite healed properly. He cracked his knuckles one at a time, each pop echoing throughout the room. Old Grey doing that one mundane thing was the equivalent of an archer nocking an arrow to a bow, a swordsman falling into stance, or a pikeman joining the line against a charge. 

“Erathawk might be able to give me a good fight,” Old Grey said. “He’s executed enough people. What’s it gotta be by now? Hundreds? Think he’s at a thousand yet? Might be able to last a minute against me. Might be kind of entertaining.”

“You don’t,” Haran said. He seemed to have regained some of his confidence. “You never fight him, I know this.”

“Just about… now,” Holt said.

Old Grey staggered and fell over. And before he hit the ground, he disappeared.

One moment he was there. The next he was gone.

And in his place was a flurry of white powder.

“Snow,” someone said. “On the Islands.”

“The Herald of the Dawn,” someone else said in a hushed whisper.

“He didn’t summon her,” Rua said. “No one did. How?”

This wasn’t supposed to happen. Dreamers couldn’t directly touch someone, not when they were fully awake, not without being summoned, or agreeing to an agreement of some kind. 

Haran scrambled away from the snow on the ground, terror in his eyes. He looked even more frightened than he’d been when Old Grey had been strangling him. 

“No,” he said, and then repeated the one word over and over, as if trying to make it reality. 

Holt leaned forward, looking absolutely delighted. 

A moment later, Rua felt something in her chest clench. Her heart. It was as if someone had physically grabbed it and squeezed for a moment. She could feel invisible wires around her loosening, and then tightening. 

She fell to the ground. She hit the stone floor, and couldn’t quite figure out why she’d fallen. Elsewhere in the room, she heard others fall. Across from her, Yurgein, one of Kir’s Ice Watch, the bald Mikovian, had hit the ground just like her. She hadn’t noticed him before now, but suddenly his was the only face she could make out.

Hands reached for her, grasping at her, trying to see if she was alive. She could hear the same from others nearby. It wasn’t just her and Yurgein who’d fallen. Some part of her knew it was also Siddic and Lita. 

The four people who Kir had under control of her Pact. 

A burst of snow filled the room, and Old Grey was standing in the room once more. He was covered in the stuff. 

Some part of Rua dimly was aware she’d never be able to deny the existence of the stuff ever again. Ridiculous.

Old Grey’s eyes looked wild, and he looked about the room. When he’d disappeared, he’d been falling, but now he was on his feet. That was frequently the way of things when people disappeared when requesting a Pact. They’d return seconds later, but not in the same position they’d left in.

Old Grey said to Rua, “Get up.”

Rua felt the compulsion to stand from the Pact. But it was weaker. Barely there. She felt like she could resist it, if she just tried hard enough.

But then what? She was in a room filled with Mikovians. If she revealed she was no longer under the Pact’s effects, she’d be secured in a cell. Put somewhere she wouldn’t be able to escape, with an eye always on her. No longer half a hostage, but a full blown one. 

 She stood. 

Old Grey’s jaw stiffened. “You hesitated. Tell me why you hesitated.”

She still felt the compulsion to obey, but again, not nearly as strongly as it used to feel.

“The Pact felt… weaker,” Rua said. “Like the binding on me had come loose.”

“Can you break free of it?”

“I don’t know,” she answered honestly. And then added the lie, “Probably not.”

Old Grey turned his attention to Yurgein. Yurgein, who Rua knew was a loyalist to Kir. Who would follow her like a fanatic, even without the aid of her Pact.

“Is this true?” Old Grey asked.

Yurgein didn’t answer for a full second before saying, “I don’t know. I think… I think Kir’s Pact has been broken. But… not cleanly. She’s still alive. I can still feel my connection to her. But something has happened to it.”

“The wall’s been broken, but the rubble hasn’t been swept away. She did it,” Old Grey muttered. He swore, but he looked proud. 

“What happened?” Haran asked.

“My daughter broke her Pact. She defied a Dreamer. Told the Herald of the Dawn she was wrong for giving her the Pact she had, and demanded a new one. And the Dreamer obliged.”

Old Grey’s eyes misted with tears, but a wide smile was on his face. He walked about the room in a wide circle, looking to his soldiers. “My daughter! Kirhaela! Today, I name her! She is now Kirhaela Defier-of-Dreams Maravok!”

“No,” Haran said. “She… she doesn’t get a second name! That’s not… this doesn’t happen! She dies in disgrace, never attaining her Glory! I’ve seen this with my own eyes!”

“Is he lying?” Holt whispered.

“He’s telling the truth,” Rua said numbly.

The future couldn’t be changed. No Dream-touched was ever wrong. They could lie, but they couldn’t be wrong.

Holt threw back his head with laughter. 

“Maybe you didn’t fucking hear me,” Old Grey said, looming over Haran. “My daughter is the Defier of Dreams. And you… are a Dream-touched.”

He reached forward slowly. Haran found his courage at last. 

“You can’t hurt me. Not really. I live a long life, I–”

Old Grey’s massive hand grabbed Haran’s face and squeezed. His head burst like an overripe fruit. 

“My daughter’s not a fucking coward,” Old Grey said, flicking his hand and slinging gore from his fingers. “And looks like your vision of things isn’t that accurate.”

Holt laughed even harder.