“The cold season is harsh for us at the best of times. When food is plentiful, the trade still trickles. If the horsefolk mean to use that vulnerable time, there is no reason we should not do the same against Briste. The Low District need an enemy. They have one in mind, even. It makes our task all the more simple. We have no more food or promises than Briste would, but we have their hate for her.”
It was the younger teacher, Earráid, who stirred first when Óraithe had finished. Her voice barely a peep. “Is it not better for us all to wait? We can make a life here. Be safe here.”
Scaa looked at Earráid. “For how long? You have seen the map. If the horsefolk do not find us before long, Briste’s guard may. It is not as though we keep ourselves secret. And if not Briste, then who will replace her? Some other devil in fine clothes.”
Callaire spoke as well. “Even if they do not come, they may insist that Rinnbeag refuse to supply us. There is little usable soil nearby.”
“It is why the place was abandoned,” Oiread added. “No, this place will not last us, pitiable as it is to say.”
Earráid spoke up again. “Then we should starve or die in the Bastion City when the hordes come?”
Óraithe stood and tossed the map onto the table. Eyes turned to her again. “The deaths will lower the number of mouths that need feeding.” Earráid narrowed her eyebrows. “That truth is cruel, but it is the truth. There is nothing pleasant about what I intend to do. Nothing pleasant will come to you for, perhaps, the rest of your life if you choose to follow me through it. There will be cruelty and pain. There will be suffering. I have known it every day that I have forced myself to keep living.” Óraithe put her hand out and Scaa took it. “As Briste took those things from me, she took them from you. And from our friends and lovers and families. Long before she took our home from us, she made it a place nearly unlivable for all but the ones that served to make her seem glamorous. And what little we asked for became such an insult that she killed us to stop the next hand from reaching out to her for help.” Óraithe looked around the table slowly, studying the faces there. “I intend to destroy that woman who sits in the Bastion and her Palisade and every creature who ever gained from our loss. And I do not intend to wait.”
She sat back down, still holding Scaa’s hand. There was quiet in the room for a moment, the gathered elves all staring at the table before them. Oiread was the first to look up.
“I pledge myself to your service. I should like to die in my home at least.”
Borr was the next. “And I. If it’s true you’re Fásach reborn, I shouldn’t like to be on your bad side.” He laughed as did Callaire and Oiread.
The rest took it in turns to agree, saying their piece and pledging loyalty that Óraithe could neither care about nor take seriously. It was what Borr had said that caught in her ear. A stupid idea if ever she’d heard one. A Sister reborn. Her? The farce seemed to grow by the minute. Before the season was out she would no doubt be a pure, glistening virgin made from the pure sands of the White Wastes.
She looked at Scaa who was too busy giving instructions to the table to notice her. Her only friend. The only creature still living that she would ever trust again. What did she think of it all? Óraithe imagined she knew. It was much the same as she thought herself. A joke gone too far. An unbelievable absurdity. But a useful one.
R
Rianaire
When Socair had left, Rianaire sat for a while poking at her food and eating very little of it. She had not lied about being unable, and indeed, unwilling to help. Socair must be applauded, Rianaire thought, for having seen through the entire thing. Still, she could not bring herself to feel any guilt at having wasted the diplomat’s time. After all, the information of the invasion of the south would have come to her all the more slowly had she simply told her no and been done with it. And she’d have had less reason to leave Casúr in such a hurry. She could still smell the fishy air from time to time as if being struck by a waking nightmare. Such an awful stink that it haunted her memories.
She turned to Síocháin after a time. “What do you make of it all?”
Síocháin took a few bites of the main course, duck with gooseberry sauce and roasted vegetables. She looked across at Rianaire and replied flatly, as ever. “It is not outside of expectations.”
“Hm. You are not wrong, but certainly it lands at the far end of expectations. I suppose we know what the satyr are doing in the province now. The real question is, are we next or will they not be content to attack us in turns?”
“The horsefolk are not known for subtlety,” Inney added blithely.
“True enough. Then we should assume the worst. Or at least, prepare for it.”
Rianaire
