Page 45 of The Castle & the Cloister

“What part of the spoils went to you, when you learned what she’d done?” Nikolau asked. “What pay did you earn, by being the weakness that allowed for our capture?”

Fia drew herself up in her chair, tall and proud and reproachful. “I earned the road. I left the mountains that same day. With nothing and no one, I set out walking, and believe me, there were times when I thought the road would kill me. It felt like penance, though, for everything that had happened.”

“And now?” Nikolau pressed. “Have you found what you’re looking for? Something more than me? Something better?”

“I’m a postulant at Raea’s cloister,” Fia said. “Soon I’ll make my fidelity oath.”

Nikolau’s mouth twisted, half in humor, half in a grimace. “I should’ve known. You have the ruthlessness Raea’s women need.”

Fia looked at him, and for the first time since Miriel had been born, she felt no anger. Only sorrow, and weariness without end. Because she had not considered herself ruthless when she was with him. She’d been softer for Nikolau than for anyone else. Still practical, yes, and bent on her own best interests, but she’d had to be. She’d never have lived so long in the mountains, as the recipient of Nira’s tender mercies, had she not been. And while she’d known she wasn’t entirely what Nikolau wished her to be, he’d been so insistent that she might become so, she’d half believed him. She’d let him convince her, by and by, that she loved him, when what she loved was influence and comfort and kindness.

“Nikolau,” Fia said quietly. “You’re in trouble. I’m in trouble. And whatever’s gone on between us, we need each other at the moment.”

A part of her was afraid he’d refuse to listen and turn her aside. But instead, Nikolau straightened. He dropped his hands down from behind his head and leaned forward.

“Tell me.”

In a clear voice, Fia laid out all she’d heard Gwylen speak of. Orden’splan to assassinate Afon, and the fact that it would fail. The toll another war would take on the Hand. The certainty that the discovery of Orden’s men would precipitate that war before Honoria was truly ready.

“So, if you think the pressers are making your life difficult now, scouring the mountains and forests and hill country for deserters because Orden requires troops in Vesper,” Fia concluded, “they will be ten times more relentless once there’s fighting here on the Hand as well.”

Nikolau sat for a time, lost in thought.

“While I appreciate the warning,” he said at last, “I fail to see what I’m meant to do about all this, now I know it’s coming.”

“How many press gangs have you spirited away as if they never were? Sometimes they were found broken at the bottom of a mountain. Sometimes they woke halfway across the country with splitting heads and no memory of what they’d been doing, or even their own names. Always, the places they were bent on pillaging for cannon fodder went unmolested afterward. Nikolau, you and your people are better at making problems vanish than anyone else in Honoria. I would know—I made my share of them vanish along with you.”

“My people, as you call them, are in my care because they want to avoid Honoria’s politics and warmongering. We aren’t some band of sell-swords you can hire for your own convenience.”

“Don’t be patronizing,” Fia said. “I know you’ve hired out to merchants and cloisters and even Inver lordlings you thought might sympathize with your cause. What you object to is working for me.”

Nikolau eyed her narrowly. “Yes, I do. The Fia I knew looked after herself and no one else. I couldn’t even bring you to truly care for me, yet now you’re concerned with the fate of nations?”

“It doesn’t matter why I’m involved,” Fia said brusquely. “What matters is that you’re always looking for ways to feed your deserters, and I can pay for this service. You’ve never turned aside an offer of patronage before as long as the coin was good. I see no reason for you to start with me. Especially when I’ve more than coin to spend.”

Setting her shoulder bag down on the table, she removed her folded kirtle carelessly, revealing the wealth of gems that lay beneath. They glistened in the torchlight, and Nikolau drew in a quick breath.

“Where did you—”

“It. Doesn’t. Matter,” Fia repeated. “But in exchange for a few weeks of your time, and the service of a handpicked group of your people, you’ll be able to feed the whole lot of them for a year. Seems a decent trade, doesn’t it?”

Nikolau’s expression grew hard and closed off, any softness or surprise hidden behind a sudden wall. “Did it not occur to you that I’d find this entire conversation deeply suspicious? You’ve betrayed my trust once. Now you’re in possession of an inexplicable fortune, knowing information you can’t possibly have come by alone, and you want to help? I don’t make a habit of walking into situations that look like traps, Fia. And I already played the fool over you once. I don’t intend to do so again.”

“What can I say to convince you?” Fia asked. “I won’t give up the name of the individual I’m acting for. All I can offer is the assurance that they’re among the most faithful of the children of the Beloved Three.”

Nikolau scoffed. “The daughters of light don’t commission private assassins.”

“The daughters of light strive for peace at any cost,” Fia shot back. “Better a little trouble today and a scattering of bloodshed, than a war tomorrow and the red tide battle brings.”

“You said you’re a postulant now?” Nikolau asked. Fia could see his mind working over the problem and coming to the likeliest conclusion. Dolenza. Always in want of security, Fia had become a loyal emissary of the Matria, in exchange for the protection her cloister could afford.

He wasn’t entirely right, but neither was he wholly wrong.

“Yes.”

Nikolau shook his head. “No. No, Fia. I won’t do this. Not with you, not again. There’s no possible incentive you could offer—”

And Fia knew what would come next, even as every piece of her rebelled against it. She’d hoped against hope that Nikolau’s desire to protect the deserters and maintain balance on the Hand would be enough to convince him to do as she asked. But he was stubborn and headstrong and valued connections—the ties that bound one person to another—more than any jewel or coin in Honoria. The strength of those bonds made him wary and cautious, just as she was.