The White Shadow

23. Betray to Save

"No, you cannot be meaning this." Tris seemed horrified.

"Tris, I need to know." Carson knew this could be troublesome. He'd been meaning to talk with Tris, but then he had found out about Roxanne. Surely the man would see reason. "Firmin trusts me least of all. The man trusts no one but you two seem to get along rather well, not to mention that you two are involved a lot."

"You want me, to spy on my friend, because you two have trust issues." Tris stood straight. "No, with all respect, I will not!"

Carson sighed. Way too troublesome . . . "Tris, I will give you all you will need. A slightly higher position, one that requires the two of you to work together more, granting you the advantage of being closer. You will have elements, permissions—all given by me for you to do this. Whatever it takes."

Tris's expression turned as if he had eaten something despicably sour.

"Tris, you must understand, this is for the better of this dukedom. Your friend has been acting strange lately." He watched Tris's face. Sure enough, he looked away. "And the shadow is still not taken care of. You do see why I want you to do this, don't you?"

Carson waited impatiently, as Tris seemed to consider his words carefully. "I see why you do not trust him," Tris said slowly, "why people find it hard to believe in him right now. And I'm sure it would be easier if he would talk to people. But he is my friend still, and I will not—"

"I thought as much. Nevertheless, in case you ever come to see sense—as I'm sure, despite what you say, you already do—I will still give you the position. You are from now on the commander's second. His guard, his advisor. His partner. But by the end of the day, you report to me."

Tris's jaw tensed. He took an anger-containing breath. "Is that all?"

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"What was his crime?"

"Is he to be hanged?"

"Just an ordinary check, have you been paying your taxes?"

"Not my confession, Father The man slept with his brother's wife. Twice he's been warned and he hasn't yet learned . . ."

"Eight years ago you helped a man, Mathew Dilson, the leader of a riot. Helped fund his cause . . ."

"It wasn't me, it was the white shadow, I swear . . ."

"Hang on, Reina, just one more day. Here, take my hand . . ."

"Tomorrow, the lives of these three sinful men shall be sacrificed for the innocent. Criminals shall be punished so that others will live. Isn't this fair?"

"Reina, I love you. You didn't drain me but my life is yours."

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It had been four days now. Reina was weak, and still Firmin had found no one since the last time. No one that deserved death.

Firmin dropped his pen and jumped from his chair, retching into the bucket by the desk. With Reina frail herself, he was left to suffer. Food tasted bland in his mouth and his stomach no longer held what he ate.

"Damn me," he muttered, staring up at the papers on his desk. He'd asked for documents on several nobles that had a questionable reputation. They were visiting, so at least this time he might not be harming nobles of the dukedom.

His stomach lurched again.

"Are you well?"

"Tris!" Firmin exclaimed, standing instantly. He took a breath and calmed down, putting his trembling hands on the desk as he leaned against it. "Didn't hear you knock."