In the cold light filtered through the cell bars, Keno's arms dealer looks like a blotchy, bruised mess. Fae takes a certain level of satisfaction in it, a visible echo of her hidden injuries, and the dealer glares out at her, hulked over the bulky manacles that weigh his thick hands down.
Hands that seize, hands that squeeze—
She watches as his gaze flickers to the two men behind her, lingering on the dark phantom to her left. The seething fury emanating from there is so palpable that, even with the bars between them, the man must feel it.
And remember that metal bars are no detriment to this ghost. But Fae merely folds her hands in front of her white, clean dress, waiting for the arms dealer's gaze to return to her.
"I'm afraid we never had an introduction," she says. "Keno, what is this man's name?"
"He goes by Draug," the thief murmurs. "Though people around a small village in Halften would know him as Samuel."
Her eyes lock with the arms dealer's.
"So, Samuel," she says, taking one step closer to the metal barricade between them, "you must be wondering why you are here."
His gaze flickers just behind her to the left, and then returns.
"Not really."
"Samuel, if you were just an arms dealer I would have had you hanged already." There it is; a flicker—hope, suspicion? Interest has been piqued. "But we both know you have traded in more than just weaponry. More than just stolen goods and other paltry things."
Draug says nothing to this, but he watches her keenly now.
Fae holds out her hand to her right and, wordlessly, the thief slips the booklet into her hand, the woven material rough as her fingers curl around the sharp edges and she pulls it forward, flipping it open to the earmarked page.
"Twenty-five acquired by D. G. in the northern section of Keesark," she reads. "Keno, is there a second part to Samuel's pseudonym?"
"Grimes."
"Draug Grimes," she repeats and she lets the name linger there, in the cold air between them. "Twenty-five. Do you know what this book is, Samuel? Do you know where we took it from?"
"No," he grumbles, voice low like dirt, but his dark eyes are watching.
She leans in a little, her voice dropping too, a dark whisper through the bars.
"I think you do. I think you know exactly what you sold twenty-five of to the Jarles. I think you remember—how could you not? It's not every day your merchandise is alive."
"At least," she says, straightening up, shoulders set back and teeth clenched tight in a razor-thin line, "they were alive when you handed them over."
The air hangs heavy with the stillness, halting breath as the man only stares, face frozen and mulish, half-sullen, half a challenge, a dare. Fae feels her fingers twitch up into a tight fist.
"I know what the Jarles did to those children," she says and Caj steps forward, metal clinking like a lure, a trap for Draug's attention. He falls for it, his gaze flickering over to the masked, looming figure beside her.
"I believe in reaping what you sow," she continues and Draug turns, automatically, back to her. "So I'm going to let my friend do the exact same thing to you."
And Caj moves forward, as if a leash has been let loose, as if a collar has been removed, the heavy sword swinging out from its scabbard, black and glinting in the blue light, and Draug lurches back.
"Your Grace," Keno interjects, voice smooth and even, movement languid as he eases up to her other side. Even in fine, tailored clothes he has the mark of slyness about him, in the quiet flitting of his fingers, the speculative glitter of his black eyes. "Draug's crime is reprehensible... but perhaps there is something he can do to atone, at least in part."
Caj's metal mask turns toward her, his sword is pointed down but still outstretched, still waiting to be heaved up and then down, across the metal bars, which will surely crumple against his will.
She holds up a hand and he refrains.
"Explain."
"As you might remember from the night we first met Draug, he gave us a greeting from our dear friend Ben," the thief says, his long fingers knitting together and stretching, cracking along his knuckles. "A close and cherished partner, I presume, but not cherished enough to die for. So, perhaps, when Draug is brought out with the other traffickers for public execution he might, after his crimes are read, publicly admit to them and also admit to his partnership with the Cabal. And then he renounces them and begs for forgiveness for his crimes—some punishment must be had, of course—prison time, or something like that. But perhaps this might be enough to stay the sword."
She watches the thief for a moment and notes how Draug does the same.
"You think a public apology will sate me?" she steps toward Keno. "If your oily friend wants to keep his head I will need more than a half-assed apology."
She addresses it to Keno, but Draug hears all her demands and watches, speculatively, from his shadowed corner.
"Give me names," she hisses. "Give me Cabal locations. I want to know what he's given them, I want to know what he knows. Then we might talk of 'staying the sword.' "
Face blank, Keno's eyes flicker to the man behind the bars.
"Give us some time to talk," he says.
In the gray light of the corridor outside, Caj's dark, curling hair and green eyes are freed from the shuttering shell of his helmet. His gaze meets hers for a moment, and then they climb.
"Do you think it worked?" she asks once they put a flight of stairs between them and the dungeons.
The Smith-caller shrugs.
"It's up to Keno now. He's slick enough to pull it off."
"I certainly hope he is," she answers, thinking back on Draug's hard, mulish expression. It's a useful face to have for an arms dealer; it doesn't give much away.
"He at least reacted well to you," she says. "Hopefully it was enough so that you don't have to go back down and do... more."
"I'll do what I have to."
She stops him with a pale hand on his forearm and they stand, two figures alone on a winding stairwell.
"He would deserve it," she says, "but you don't deserve having to do it."
Something flickers in his guarded expression, but whatever it means he keeps it to himself.
"Let's hope I won't have to," he says quietly instead and his hand closes over her own.
There's something like a wry smirk around Keno's mouth when he meets the other two in the Queen's rooms that afternoon; Fae doesn't need the verbal confirmation to know the ploy has worked.
"Your Grace, radiant as always," he says with a short bow a razor's edge from mocking. "Blue is a lovely color on you."
Fae pointedly ignores this, but Caj still has not learned that the flare of his nostrils and the thunderous expression on his face are the reasons Keno says these things at all. He plays into it, mouth curdling into a thin line, and Fae glances over toward the door, checking that it is locked.
"I assume you're bringing good news?" she asks, diverting the conversation to smoother waters.
"The best," the man answers, a slip of paper playing between his fingers. "Such a fine performance from Your Worshipfulness deserves the finest accolades, and I have found you a rare gift."
"What is the news?" Caj demands and the thief flashes him a white smile.
"You are always charming, always patient," he muses. "I don't care what anyone else says."
"Keno," Fae calls out from the sofa, in warning. "The news."
"Our dear Samuel is open to negotiations." He hands her the paper. "The names of three other Cabal suppliers, the five locations he's delivered to, and an itemized list of purchased merchandise all for a very neat five years of prison time, in a somewhat roomy cell that he gets to keep all to himself."
"Do it," she answers, glancing at the list. "But he must admit the connection and his crimes publicly."
"Of course."
"We'll have the executions in a fortnight," Fae says, thinking of Hin and the precautions that will need to be made. "At the front of the Tower, announced the morning of, settled at noon."
She looks over at Caj and finds him already watching her.
"I'll do it," he says to her unasked question, a cold light gleaming in his eyes as his hand drifts to the massive sword at his side.
"I'll read the sentences," she says. She'll need to look the part—imposing, authoritative, but just.
White. Simple but strong, she thinks, reflecting that the color is becoming something of a symbol of hers. With the dark crown.
"Yes, along those lines..." Keno interjects as he slides into the settee across from hers. "We need to talk."
Both Caj and Fae turn but he points a finger at only Fae's face.
"Your security needs improvement."
"Isn't that what you're here for?" she answers sweetly.
"It is, which is why we're making some changes." He straightens a little and holds up a finger. "First: you're getting a body double."
"I hardly think—"
"In travel to and from public events you are exposed," he interrupts. "I don't need dearest Samuel to tell me the Cabal has a handy arsenal of explosives lying around. You'd be a fool to think Ben wouldn't love to attach one to your carriage and watch bits of you fly all over the street."
"I know very well how much the Cabal enjoys blowing people up," she replies quietly and, for a moment, his hand falters.
"With that in mind," he says, gentler now, "your routes need to constantly change. False trails, double-backs, fake Queens—this is how we muddy the waters enough that Ben can't get a good shot and you can still get out there and be in front of the people."
She purses her lips, the sense of it rankling her.
"They'll be compensated well," he adds because he knows what needles her, his track on her track, their minds alike. "The doubles will know what they're getting into and will be prepared for it. And they'll get to lounge around in fine things—it's not the worst job they've ever been offered."
She doesn't answer this, but she nods.
"The second thing," he says, taking this as permission to press on, "is that you are going to set aside an hour time each week to meet with me. Two, to start—your meeting with Hin tomorrow is officially canceled. We will use this weekly hour to train in combat."
"I know how to fight," she snaps.
"In a heavy dress?" he throws back, "With a tight corset and no visible weapons? I have not forgotten how good of a fighter you are, sweetheart, but a battle is a lot different in a pair of pants and a loose-fitted top than it is in one of those ridiculous get-ups your giggling handmaids stuff you into. You need a strategy for if things go to shit."
"He's right," Caj says suddenly and Keno throws his arms out wide, a gesture of smug victory.
"What do you know of fighting in dresses?" Fae snaps.
He smiles.
"Sweetheart, I've tried everything."
She doesn't ask for specifics; though, later, as she walks in the orange-tinted courtyard, she conjures vague designs on uncovering the story over a couple of beers, or a fine porter. The glowing amber of the dying light shimmers amongst the green foliage, a silent trumpet of the coming twilight, a painter's stroke of color amongst all this gray.
She likes to sit out here as the night encroaches, to close her eyes and pretend it's a forest instead of a couple of trees, pretend that when she opens her eyes there will be firelight and a gang of scruffy, hungry people surrounding her. Hiran will have a ladle in the pot, stirring it in easy, graceful circles. Tara will be stroking her bird, murmuring to it in a low, gentle voice. And Finn, little Finn with his wide eyes and curious mind, will be poking around in the dirt, digging for the small creature with which he's already talking.
He's not there when she opens her eyes, but there's another boy instead—one of the children, gangly and sallow-faced, watching her from the corridor doorway with wide, unblinking eyes. She smiles, but he doesn't smile back; he only stares, silent.
A/N: Small children are creepy! Or at least that is what my sister would say. She fears small children, which is strange as she is the youngest and thus was the smallest (still is) and most child-like the longest of us all.
Also: send help... my friend convinced me to work out with her + her trainer at the gym this morning.
This is why I'll never be an Avenger.
Chapter notes: The Jarles notebook is the same one retrieved from the base in Partisan's "The Flesh That Shivers," which Allayria mailed to dearest Keno in "Persistent Heart," and he unearthed to cause chaos with Fae in Prodigal's "The Red Queen."