The truths that ride the wind.
I sang of braveries and sorrows and hope, seeing without eyes, hearing without ears, the ways of trust and a language of knowing buried deep within them, a way as old as the universe itself. I told them of the things that last, the things that remain, and of a dragon that was waking.
For we must not just be ready,
for the enemy without,
but also for the enemy within.
And so shall it be,
Sisters of my heart,
Brothers of my soul,
Family of my flesh,
For evermore.
A low evermore from the crowd rose up to meet me, and they began to disperse to the warmth of their homes. “And may the gods keep the wicked far from you,” I whispered to myself.
I had gathered my cloak to get down from the wall when suddenly the breeze calmed. The world grew strangely silent, muffled, and white flakes began to fall from the sky. It dusted the parapets, the streets, and my lap with a sparkle of white as it floated down in lazy circles, magical. Snow. It was a soft, cool feather brushing my cheek, exactly as Aunt Bernette had described. As the gentle flakes fell into my outstretched palm, a heavy ache grew in my chest for home. Winter was here. It felt like a door was closing.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
KADEN
I walked with the Komizar along the wall walk of Jagmor Tower. Malich, Griz, and two brethren, Jorik and Theron, trailed behind us. Now that the whole Council was present, our first official session would convene tomorrow, but the unofficial sessions had already begun. The Komizar had gathered the Rahtan together privately to make sure that tomorrow we sat next to the governors who were likely to balk. The Rahtan was his inner circle, the ten who never failed in our duty or wavered in our loyalty to one another and Venda. It wasn’t just duty; it was a way of life we all embraced, a belonging that never had to be doubted. Our footsteps, our thoughts, everything about us presented a unified force that made even the chievdars measure their words.
Still, the vast army was taking its toll on the provinces. One more winter, the Komizar said, just one more to secure the plans, the supplies, and the weapons that the armories were fashioning and stockpiling. The Komizar and chievdars had calculated exactly what was needed. Losing two governors in one season spoke of discontent, though, and several of the other governors mumbled among themselves. The Rahtan was to split them up, calm their fears, remind them of the rewards to come, and if that didn’t sway them, remind them of the consequences. But the deciding game piece was Lia. She was a fresh strategy, one that caught their attention, an inroad to encourage the same populace the governors had to squeeze blood from to give just a little more. If the clans were soothed, so also were the governors, and they saw the targets on their own backs shrinking.
The Komizar was bringing me back into the fold, and second chances were not his way. My mad attack on him was already diminished by my easy victory over the emissary—proof that I was Rahtan to the marrow and I followed his orders by reflex. No one mentioned my verbal attack on Lia, but I knew that was as much responsible as anything for the dismissal of my transgression, not just by the Komizar but my brethren as well. When troubles arose, the Assassin ultimately knew where his loyalties lay. The sound of our combined footsteps on the stone walk was a comforting rumble, purposeful and strong—and lately I’d had precious little comfort.
As we approached Sanctum Tower, the Komizar spotted Lia sitting on the gallery wall.
He grinned. “There’s my Siarrah now, just as I ordered. And look how the crowds in the square have grown.”
I had already noted the size.
“The numbers are twice those of yesterday,” Malich said warily.
“The air is bitter, and yet they still come,” Griz added.
The Komizar’s face set with satisfaction. “No doubt due to this evening’s vision.”
“A vision?” I asked.
“You think I’d let her spew her nonsense forever? Remembering long-dead people and forgotten storms? Not when we have our own magnificent storm brewing. Tonight she tells them of a vision of a battlefield where Venda is victorious. She tells them of a lifetime of spring and plenty to be gifted to the brave Vendans by the gods, making all their sacrifices worth it. That should ease the governors’ and the clans’ concerns.” He lifted his hand to the crowds and called out to them as if to take credit for this turn of fortune, but none turned his way.
“They’re too far away to hear you,” Jorik said. “And a murmur grows among them.”
The Komizar’s expression darkened, and his eyes scanned the mass of people, for the first time seeming to assess the vast numbers. “Yes,” he said. His eyes narrowed. “That must be it.”
Jorik tried to soothe the Komizar’s ego further by adding that he couldn’t hear Lia’s words either, because of the distance.
But I could hear her plainly—her voice carried on the air—and she wasn’t speaking of victories.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN