Beneath the Ink

by Tannara Young

Table of Contents parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

part 4

Lucas didn’t know how long he had sat there or when the idea had begun to filter into his mind, but when Alaya at last came back with twigs and leaves in her disheveled braid, he had gone though both elation and despair at the idea and could no longer think either way.

“What about the rebellion?” he asked as she sat on the branch above him and let her leg hang down and rest behind his shoulder. “You might still be asked to spy if you joined them, but it would be against the Padronelle, not for them. Wouldn’t that be better than... the other?” He couldn’t bring himself to be specific.

She sat in surprised silence for a moment and then said, “The rebellion? Isn’t that up in Hynovia or somewhere? How would I get there? And if I did, how would I find my way to them and not just be taken by the Padronelle there?”

At least she had not rejected it out of hand. “It’s here in Lorgress, too,” he said.

“If so, then it’s very well hidden.”

“That would be good for you,” he answered, “to be very well hidden.”

“How in the world do you imagine I can find this hidden rebellion, let alone convince them to let me join?”

“But you would do it?”

She considered. “Fight in the rebellion?” As she thought, Lucas listened to the birds call from one part of the wood to the other. The air still held a trace of morning coolness, but the sun struck green gold from the leaves here and there and promised a warm afternoon.

“I hate the Padronelle,” she said slowly. “I hate that they are bullies, even if I didn’t fear that the stories are true, about the horrible things they do. Why, even here alone in the trees, do we speak of them in whispers? When I met them, I realized I hate the way they appear to my senses — they smell all wrong — metal, and sick magic and corrupted flesh. Their energy is no longer warm like other people, but chilly and tainted with the tangy whine of sylphyl.

“It is said that they are the emperor’s voice and hands. If that is true, then they act in his name and for his designs. He is the spider at the center of their web.” She was talking to herself, feeling her way into a thing she had never voiced aloud. “But do I hate them enough to dedicate my life to fighting them?”

“If you hate them enough to kill yourself rather than join them, it seems that you have already answered that question.”

“Why would you have me join the rebellion?” she asked.

“Do you have to ask that?”

“I might still die.”

Lucas ordered his thoughts. “You have never been weak, Alaya. You are a fighter, and you could be fighter for justice. We might hide behind the comforts of our lives, but we know there is terrible injustice in our world. I have been wrestling with this, myself. I never wanted to see it, and I have ignored it for a long time, but that doesn’t make it go away.”

“What aren’t you telling me?” asked Alaya. “Why are you suddenly speaking in generalities?”

Lucas bit his lip. Then he began speaking, spilling it all out: the message, the masquerade, blackmailing Adrin, the conflict he still struggled with, his confusion. She listened, attentive and sympathetic.

“The problem at the heart of it,” he ended, “is that even though my trust was hurt by Adrin’s lying to me, I know he is a good man.” He rubbed his temples. “At least, I want to know that. I thought I was a good judge of character.”

She swung down from her perch above and straddled the branch in front of him. She put her hand out, covering his heart. “You are,” she said, “but people are slippery and changeable.”

Lucas took her hand. “Perhaps it’s myself I have misjudged. I wanted to be comfortable and have everything in its proper, tidy place. I wanted the world to be as good as our childhood was, running through the woods on a summer evening. But it’s ugly, and I can’t ignore that. Adrin has chosen to fight the ugliness by the rebellion, and that same rebellion might just save you from the Padronelle.”

“Yes,” she whispered, then: “What do we do?”

“We write a message.”

* * *

The next day, Lucas rode up the river to make a pilgrimage to the Temple of the Sun. But after burning incense on the ancient mosaic altar, he turned his horse aside and rode on a tiny country track across golden fields and through a wooded copse until he came to the villa of Adrin’s cousin.

Once there, he made himself known and was admitted to the study of Lord Marcus, who was surprised but pleased to be unexpectedly meeting his cousin’s husband.

“I was in the neighborhood,” said Lucas. “I just stopped to introduce myself.”

He accepted a glass of wine, and then spoke of Adrin and their life in the capitol. When he took his leave a short time later, he promised to return for a longer visit sometime. As Lord Marcus saw him out into the deepening twilight, he patted his pocket and said as artlessly as he could, “Oh, I almost forgot.” Heart pounding, he passed over the note he and Alaya had spent hours composing and then hiding under an open invitation to visit Lucas and Adrin in the city.

As he rode along the dusky track, his mind rested on thoughts of the carefully coded message. Now that it had been handed off, Lucas worried that the rebellion’s response would take too long, that the Padronelle would come for Alaya before anything could be done. His abrupt about-face worried him: was his shaken trust in Adrin enough to consign his sister to the rebellion? Did trusting the rebellion mean forgiving Adrin his deceptions? He fretted the entire ride home.

* * *

The next afternoon, a message was delivered to him: a light note of thanks for the visit and a request for a longer visit sometime in the future. His sensitive fingers could feel the raised code behind the neat script. He handed it to Alaya, saying, “It’s your message.”

She ran her fingers over it and then sat quiet until he could no longer stand it. “Well?”

“They’ll help me,” she said. “In four days time I am to take the road toward Yverna where I will disappear in an apparent highway robbery. Lucas, you will have to pretend that you think I am dead.”

Lucas took an unsteady breath. “Yes, I know.”

“I won’t be able to tell you where I am. If the Padronelle cast a truth-seeking spell on you, and you reveal that you know I am alive—”

“That’s my risk to take.”

“They could kill you.” She crumpled the letter in her hand.

He took it from her. “Don’t think of that, Alaya. Have faith.”

* * *

The day that Lucas left was muggy and overcast. Alaya rode with him for several hours. They were silent, simply feeling each other’s presence. When they reached the small village of Offerna, they said their good-byes, each wondering if it was a final farewell. In the end, there was too much and too little to say. Lucas kissed her cheek and said, “I love you. Be safe.” Then he swung into the saddle again and rode away.

As the City came into view from the deck of the ferry, Lucas found that for the first time he hated its golden beauty. It seemed to him like a gaudy bauble, over-blown, tasteless, hiding a rotten core. He wanted to shout for the ferry to turn around, so that he could rush back to Alaya and join her in her unknown exile.

Instead, he shuffled down the gangplank with the other passengers and hailed a hired carriage to take him home. He wondered what he would say to Adrin: Go ahead, fight for the rebellion: I’ve given it the other half of my heart, it might as well have the whole of it.

The house was quiet when he reached it. Dallan came out of his room in the back as Lucas entered.

“You’re back, sir? I was told you were expected tomorrow.” He took Lucas’s traveling case. “Is your trunk at the harbor still? Shall I have it fetched?”

“Yes, please. Is Adrin out?”

“Yes, he’s been up and about for several days now. He’s gone to Master Vacrious’ salon this afternoon, and then plans to attend supper at Lady Odella’s summer house.”

Lucas sighed. He was tired from the journey and depressed. He wanted to talk to Adrin and find some semblance of normal.

“Will you draw me a bath, Dallan?” he said. “I think I’ll join Adrin at Vacrious’ place.”

He felt a little strange to be dressed in city clothes again. His crimson doublet, the latest cut of fashion, felt gaudy and conspicuous. He lined his eyes with kohl and tousled his hair and scowled at his reflection. Maybe he should just send a note to Adrin that he was at home and hoped for a quiet supper together. But that would mean they would have to meet in private. Would it be better to gauge Adrin’s mood in the constraints of a public place first? He tossed his comb on the counter and stalked to his wardrobe to snatch up a black and red half-cape.

* * *

The afternoon sun shimmered like golden honey by the time he reached the salon. The party had spilled onto the wide terrace, with tipsy good humor. The magi-phone blared some incomprehensible modern compositions that seemed to be mostly twanging strings. He had never liked Vacrious’ salons as much as others: the potent drink and sometimes opium flowed too freely for interesting conversation to last very long, and the hangovers were awful when one indulged in the sweet, potent liqueurs that Vacrious favored.

Still, his mood lifted as he was greeted with pleasure by his friends, and improved even more when he found that there was still a bottle of crisp, white wine in a bath of enchanted ice. Goblet in hand, he drifted through the crowd, greeting friends and looking for Adrin. Though it was a large party for an afternoon salon, he soon determined that Adrin was not present. He passed Mattias, who still looked owl-like with his big eyes and tufted, baby-soft, brown hair.

“Stop wandering and sit with me,” Mattias invited, shoving aside a tray with a few empty glasses and a decimated fruit arrangement. “I think we should write a play together, something historical and tragic. There’s this delicious actor, Suravon. He would make a fabulous martyr or doomed general.”

Lucas smiled. “Is that the actor you told me months ago that you loathed because he criticized your “Death of the Child Emperor?”

“Oh, you know me,” said Mattias, “Loathing is just a prologue to lust. Sit down, and stop making me crane my neck.”

“Have you seen, Adrin? He was supposed to be here.”

“Saw him earlier, but he left already.”

At Mattias’ words, Lucas glanced around again. He looked back to see Mattias start to say something, then close his mouth.

“What?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were going to.”

Mattias sighed. “It’s nothing.”

“Let me be the judge of that.”

“Look, Lucas, I really like you. I don’t know Adrin that well, except by reputation and, before he married you, he was a bit of a player. I don’t have any proof...”

It took Lucas a moment to figure out what Mattias was insinuating. “You think he’s having an affair.” His heart contracted in an almost automatic response, but his mind jumped ahead: more likely Adrin had not listened to his injunction against the rebellion. With a sinking feeling, Lucas admitted what he had feared all along. Adrin had no intention of pulling back, even with the threat of exposure over his head. Did it make a difference that Lucas himself was changing his mind? Lucas swallowed. He could almost wish it was only a sexual affair.

Mattias watched his face. Lucas wondered what he saw there. “Well, do you?” Lucas asked, as much to divert Mattias’ attention as to tease out the details.

Mattias sighed. “Well, this isn’t the first party that he disappeared from. And I saw him a few nights ago with a masked woman, in a pretty dingy part of town.” He smiled. “I was meeting Suravon at this dreadful little tavern where—”

“Mattias! The masked lady?”

“Sorry. I didn’t see her closely, but Adrin was holding her pretty close and they went into a bawdy house together. I’m sorry, Lucas. I couldn’t decide if I should tell you, but I like you and—”

“No, I’m glad you did,” said Lucas. He tried to breathe through the tightness in his chest and stood abruptly. “I think I need to get a little air.”

Mattias tried unsteadily to stand, too. “Maybe you shouldn’t be alone right now.” He wavered and wildly clutched at Lucas’s arm, almost tumbling them back down. They were drawing attention from other guests.

Lucas guided Mattias back onto the couch. Mattias couldn’t help stirring up drama, it was in his nature. There was little malice in Mattias, just an inability to keep things to himself. No doubt if he hadn’t spread his suspicions about Adrin before, he would now and it would be further fueled by Lucas’s leaving, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Then again, maybe such rumors would protect the truth.

“I’ve been traveling since dawn this morning,” he told Mattias, pitching his voice loud enough to be overheard. “If Adrin isn’t here, I think I’ll just go home and get some rest.”

He extracted himself with some difficulty from Mattias’ drunken concern and returned home. He wanted to worry over where Adrin was and what he was doing, but he was suddenly too exhausted. Stripping off his cape and doublet, he fell across the bed and was asleep before he could take off his boots.

Proceed to part 5...

Copyright © 2024 by Tannara Young

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