Chapter 16: They Have a Plan — The Key of Oslov

Volume 11: Crosscurrents and Consequences

Chapter 16 They Have a Plan

Chapter Notes

Huzzah for approaching Yuletide and more time to write! I’ll post another short chapter in the next few days and see where I can go from there. We will return shortly to Thurskein, Baby, and the conclave of grandmothers. :)The “lines of power” are from Shelley’s “Ode to the West Wind.”

Chapter Notes

The “lines of power” are from Shelley’s “Ode to the West Wind.”

Sometimes while she worked, Einara recited the key to Oslov silently to herself. Thou who didst waken from his summer dreams / The blue Mediterranean, where he lay / Lulled by the coil of his crystalline streams . . .”The lines had been drilled into her so thoroughly that she doubted it was in her power to forget them. Lines of power, stolen from Harbourer poetry by the founder Whyberg himself. Lines that, when inserted into the Oslovs’ version of the Light Web at exactly the right five terminals at the same time, could override the vast heating plants and turn the city of Redda to a frozen ruin.Or so she’d been told. When you took into account that Einara was effectively a prisoner in the Sanctioned Brothel and that these supposedly vulnerable terminals were located all over Oslov, underground and probably guarded, the mission that Colonel Thibault had given her seemed about as feasible as flying to the moon. Bringing down all of Oslov was an absurd notion, a dream. Artur Threindal had told her that when she was still a naïve teen, and her subsequent experiences had proved it.But her goals were more modest than the Colonel’s. Killing a single Oslov? That could be doable, provided she knew which one.“Ohhh, more of that, please,” Councillor Linbeck moaned, facedown on the bed. “Right there—no, no, not there, you silly wench. To the right. Yes. Yessss.”Einara compressed the ridge of the Councillor’s erector spinae with her fingertips, working up toward the base of the skull, and wondered idly if her hands were strong and clever enough to strangle him. She hadn’t killed anyone in years, but he was such a spindly little man.She had no reason to kill this Oslov in particular, though, and Irin Dartán wanted information from him.Linbeck crooned with satisfaction. “I’m so tight from all that sitting listening to Admins pontificate about their stupid sectors. And those chairs are so hard. My ass and shoulders are on fire. I hate end-of-year reports.”“That’s why I’m here, Fir Councillor. To help you forget all that.” Einara made her voice warm and seductive. She was doing her best to follow Irin’s advice for buttering up the Councillor, something she rarely bothered to do. She’d been trained in seduction, but maybe it hadn’t taken. Unless a patron seemed likely to know things of interest to her, she put in the minimum effort required.Before tonight, Linbeck hadn’t seemed to mind her quiet passivity, filling the space between them with his rambling monologues. Now, though, a little encouragement was making him chatty. “Call me Besha, please,” he said, squirming under her powerful fingers. “You know, until today, I wasn’t sure you were capable of speaking in full sentences.”And I wasn’t sure you were capable of actually noticing me. “I’m not stupid, Fir—Besha.” She ran her hands down to knead his hips. “I just listen more than I talk.”In the background, her brain continued to drone through the verses: And saw in sleep old palaces and towers / Quivering within the wave’s intenser day . . .“I talk enough for two people, don’t I?” The Councillor laughed almost self-consciously.“I don’t mind, Fir. I like it when you talk.” She dug in with her thumbs, hoping she sounded harmless and naïve but not slow. It was a delicate balance. “I do have a question for you, though.”“Ask away.” Again the nervous laugh, as if he cared, just a sliver, what she thought of him. He hadn’t seemed to care when he was tying her up and using her with no regard for her pleasure.“Who’s Rishka?” she asked.Besha groaned and rolled onto his back, pushing her hands away. “You had to ask that.”“I’m sorry, Fir! Was that wrong?” She kept her tone as light as possible. “But you did just—well, you know, back when we—”“I called you by his name. I know, I know.” The little man threw a crooked arm dramatically over his eyes.“Rishka is a boy?”“He was—and what a boy.” A sigh.“I remind you of a boy, Fir?” She was genuinely incredulous on that score.“Of course not, love. Not that way.” Besha patted her flank. “It’s mainly your complexion that reminds me of my . . . friend. That skin so pale that your golden hair turns dark against it. Those luminous blue eyes. And something in your expression, too—a hint of fierceness beneath the submission. Green hells, how that hint of fierceness used to obsess me.” He released a shuddering sigh. “You know, I used to take Rishka for granted because he was at my disposal the way you are.”At my disposal. It was one of those formal phrases Councillors used, like Please oblige me and I’d like to enjoy your favors. It all just meant they wanted to fuck you and you didn’t have much of a choice about it. “Was Rishka a whore, Fir?”“Technically, yes, but so much more than that.” Misty sentiment veiled the man’s eyes. “He used to play dumb with me—practically mute, the way you were until today. Sometimes he’d be cheeky, but only because he knew I liked it. When he finally showed me who he really was, I was a bit terrified, and I convinced myself I wasn’t seeing what I was seeing. But then—well, then I opened my eyes and really saw him, bit by bit. And I wanted him even more. All of him. Now he haunts me sometimes.”Are you in love with him? Using the Oslov word for romantic love was dangerous, Einara had learned. No one wanted to admit to feeling anything stronger than a familial bond. “Your friend sounds very lovely,” she said instead.“Too lovely for his own good. Lie down, sweetheart. Show me.” Besha rolled her onto her back and took her chin in his hand, tipping her face into the light. “Oh yes, that hint of blush on the cheek. So innocent—or is it? The first time I took Rishka to bed, I was halfway afraid of him. He was so big. I asked to tie him up, as a sort of test—would he really obey me? When he said yes to that, I still wasn’t convinced he wouldn’t try to turn the tables, so I invented a little role-play of dominance and submission. I think having a script was easier for both of us.”Einara made her body go pliable. She locked eyes with the Councillor for an instant before letting her lashes droop. “Why does he haunt you? Your Rishka? He’s not dead, is he?”Besha’s laugh had a superior edge this time. “Haunting is a figure of speech, darling. No, he’s very much alive. He’s not mine anymore, hasn’t been for some time. Never, really. But that’s not the part that troubles me.”“No?” She flashed him another shy glance. “You’re not angry he’s with someone else?”Besha shook his head. The hair tumbling in his eyes made him look young, more like one of the callow pages at the Colonel’s court than a Councillor of anything. “I’ve had time to get over my jealousy.”“That shows strength of character, Fir.” Oslovs loved to be complimented on their cleverness or their “strength of character,” a word that could also mean “discipline” or sometimes even “imprisonment.” “But if you’re not angry, then why are you troubled about Rishka?”The Councillor’s face went blank, and she was afraid he was about to reprimand her for her probing. But he only stared into space and said, “I fear he’s been silly, that’s all. Got himself into a situation he can’t handle. And I fear I egged him on.”Before Einara could think of a follow-up question, Besha ran his thumb along her bottom lip and tugged her into a kiss. “But that’s nothing you’d understand,” he murmured against her neck. “Sweet, unspoiled savage girl. Stay innocent—it’s much safer that way.”*This time, Irin Dartán brought Einara a robe, a cup of tea, and a brush for her long hair, which the Councillor’s restless hands had left hopelessly tangled. “Sit,” he said, ushering her into a chair, and started stripping the bed. “What did he say?”“Lots of things.” Einara sipped the tea, trying again to look artless and just slightly dim. Stay innocent. “Did you find out anything more about Harbour, Fir?”Irin’s narrowed eyes met hers. “Did you find out anything from Councillor Linbeck?”He was going to make her tell him first. Of course. He thought she was a foolish little Outer, easily manipulated.Einara was itching to get under a shower, but she lifted the brush and drew it through her hair like she had all the time in the world. “The Councillor did have some things to say about this Rishka. I think he—” She searched for an inoffensive phrase. “He’s sweet on him.”Irin whipped the bottom sheet off with a snap, lifted it aloft, and folded it. “You mean he likes fucking Rishka, same way he likes fucking you.”“No.” She worked out a tangle with her fingers. “I don’t think it’s like that anymore. Fir Councillor says he’s ‘haunted’ by the boy.”“Haunted? What the fuck does that mean?” Irin dropped a folded clean sheet on the bed and sat down facing her. “Don’t be coy.”Einara met his gaze, knowing she was taking a risk. “I want to know about Harbour. You can’t make a bargain and not tell me anything,” she added, trying to sound petulant. The key was to keep him from taking her too seriously.“Fine!” Irin rolled his eyes. “There are plans to establish an Oslov garrison in Bettevy, but that’s it. No ‘invasion’.”“A garrison?” It was so ridiculous. If Oslov wanted to, it could own and occupy all of Bettevy and Resurgence tomorrow, and the rest of the continent into the bargain. Was it “strength of character” that held the rulers back from finishing what they’d started in Michigan? Or cowardice, or something she didn’t understand?“What about the bombs?” she asked.“Oslov doesn’t strike unilaterally.”The casual denial wasn’t unexpected, but this time it broke over Einara like a wave, flooding her with an anger that swept away her caution. “You’re so naïve,” she snapped before she could stop herself. “The Upstarts tell you they never explode their bombs in other countries, and you believe them. Do you believe everything they tell you?”Irin stared at her, but not with that snide look he’d had earlier. Now his face was dangerously blank, like the Councillor’s when she’d asked what troubled him. “Perhaps you know something I don’t?”Stupid idiot. All she’d needed to do was control herself. She widened her eyes, trying for that ingenuous look again—and saw it wasn’t working. He didn’t relax or even blink.“I do.” She bit her lip and let the genuine bitterness creep into her voice. “All right, so I didn’t say the whole truth. In my mother’s village, I had a friend who fled north from Harbour. She told me a bomb destroyed a whole state, and it could only be an Oslov bomb. She lost relatives there.”Irin reacted with the slightest arch of the brows. “An interesting tale, but a rumor at best. Do you wish ill to Oslov, sweet girl?”Einara shook her head. Dread and rage brought tears to her eyes, and she let them come. Emotion made her look weak, unthreatening; she needed that right now. “I used to,” she admitted in a near-whisper, lowering her head. “When I first came here, I was . . . angry. They didn’t always treat me well in the garrison.”Irin folded his hands under his chin. “Soldiers aren’t known for their gentleness.”“But then—but now . . .” She willed wetness to spill down her cheeks, but her eyes were already drying. Since spending her tears on her family’s deaths, she hadn’t been much of a crier. She put a whimper in her voice: “I like being here, Fir. I like being safe and warm.”“I should hope so,” Irin said. “Oslov has taken you in and given you provisional citizenship, which can always be revoked.”“I know.” She hung her head.“Of course, being from the Outer territories, you may not realize that the allegation you’ve just made against the Republic is treasonous and extremely actionable. If I told any Upstarts about this conversation, you would end up in a cell under heavy interrogation. I’m guessing you weren’t aware of that, young and ignorant as you are.”Einara shook her head with exaggerated vigor, hiding her face against her drawn-up knees. “I wasn’t, I swear, Fir! I only wanted to know, for my friend’s sake.”“Your friend was lying,” Irin said in a flat, didactic way, like someone reading a script. “Whatever carnage she witnessed in Harbour was inflicted by Harbourers on Harbourers. If you think Oslov is an aggressive power, you’re the naïve one. Understood?”“Yes, Fir. I understand.” Einara really ought to cry, but her mind was too busy working. She’d seen enough of Irin Dartán not to take him for the generous type. If he wasn’t turning her in, he had a reason—something he wanted to know, to hide, or both. And she was beginning to suspect he didn’t believe a single thing he said about Oslov’s pacifist virtues.There are Dissidents among the Laborers, Artur Threindal had told her long ago, but don’t get involved with them. They may seem to want what you want, but they’re still Oslovs. Their ultimate loyalty is to themselves.She couldn’t trust Irin, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be useful. She just had to draw this out a little further, pretend to be his tool, and let him reveal his agenda to her, piece by piece.Instead of begging for forgiveness, she drew herself up. “Fir Councillor told me something else about Rishka. Do you want to know what it was?”Irin grinned rather nastily. “You’re in no position to dictate terms to me. Out with it.”Einara told him the rest of what Besha had said in as much detail as she remembered. “He said Rishka’s got himself into something that he—the Councillor—is afraid Rishka can’t handle,” she finished. “Not only that, but ‘I fear I egged him on.’ That’s exactly what he said, Fir.”The grin vanished. For the first time in the conversation, Irin looked almost dismayed, his brows drawn down hard. “Fir Linbeck didn’t say what he egged Rishka on to do?”“No.”“Or what was so hard to handle?”Einara shook her head. “I can find out, Fir. Give me time. He likes talking to me.”But Irin seemed to have lost interest in her. On his feet again, he finished making the bed with crisp, angry motions. “The next time you see Councillor Linbeck, you won’t mention the boy or any of this. Just do what you usually do.”Would he turn her in after all? “But Fir, I—”He silenced her with a gesture. “No questions. Act normal and await my instructions, Einara. Meanwhile, I can ask around about this bombing story of yours. I do have a friend in the office of the Ambassador.”A shiver ran down Einara’s spine at the word “Ambassador.” That was something else that had been drilled into her: The signal to act is the assassination of Oslov’s ambassador to Harbour. You’ll know he’s dead by the green scarf tied to one of the gate pillars outside the Sanctioned Brothel.She said, “Maybe it’s not true, Fir. I was wrong to mention it, like you said.”Irin had reminded her just how powerless she was. Even if Colonel Thibault could actually assassinate the Ambassador, who was going to tie a green scarf around the pillar? Back in Resurgence, they’d talked as if there were a whole network of secret operatives in Oslov, but Einara had never met a single one. For all she knew, she was the only person Artur had trained who’d ever made it to Redda.And Artur himself had begged her to forget her training and “blend in.” Save yourself. Marry an Oslov and have kids. You’re a smart girl, and that’s the smartest thing you can do.Einara liked Artur and Moneta. She would have liked to stay with them in their rough dwelling and help with their daily tasks, perhaps for the rest of her miserable little life. But taking the easy way out would mean allowing the party responsible for what had happened to her family to die a natural death, even a peaceful death.That would not happen. The certainty was a burning itch under her skin and a glowing beacon she saw in her dreams, always just out of reach. If she’d been put on earth for one thing, it was to cut a tiny, blazing hole in the world where her enemy had been. To let in the vacuum and the void.And Irin was now offering to help her, which meant he too had some interest in learning more about the bombing. At the very least, he didn’t find the idea as absurd as he’d suggested earlier.“I don’t want to commit treason,” she said, her tears rising obligingly again. “I’m not always happy. But I’m grateful. I am.”“You’re rather a strange one, aren’t you, sweet girl?” Irin was surveying her with an intensity she didn’t like. “For now, as I say, continue as you are and await my instructions. And be aware that I’m not fooled by those wide eyes. If you’re indiscreet, or you disobey a single order I give you—” He snapped his fingers. “I think you’re smart enough to imagine the consequences.”“Yes, Fir. I understand, Fir. Thank you, Fir.” She scrambled to her feet and bowed to him, aware she was being dismissed.And all the time the secret words of power continued to resound in her head: Be thou, spirit fierce, my spirit. Be thou me, impetuous one.

The lines had been drilled into her so thoroughly that she doubted it was in her power to forget them. Lines of power, stolen from Harbourer poetry by the founder Whyberg himself. Lines that, when inserted into the Oslovs’ version of the Light Web at exactly the right five terminals at the same time, could override the vast heating plants and turn the city of Redda to a frozen ruin.

Or so she’d been told. When you took into account that Einara was effectively a prisoner in the Sanctioned Brothel and that these supposedly vulnerable terminals were located all over Oslov, underground and probably guarded, the mission that Colonel Thibault had given her seemed about as feasible as flying to the moon. Bringing down all of Oslov was an absurd notion, a dream. Artur Threindal had told her that when she was still a naïve teen, and her subsequent experiences had proved it.

But her goals were more modest than the Colonel’s. Killing a single Oslov? That could be doable, provided she knew which one.

“Ohhh, more of that, please,” Councillor Linbeck moaned, facedown on the bed. “Right there—no, no, not there, you silly wench. To the right. Yes. Yessss.”

Einara compressed the ridge of the Councillor’s erector spinae with her fingertips, working up toward the base of the skull, and wondered idly if her hands were strong and clever enough to strangle him. She hadn’t killed anyone in years, but he was such a spindly little man.

She had no reason to kill this Oslov in particular, though, and Irin Dartán wanted information from him.

Linbeck crooned with satisfaction. “I’m so tight from all that sitting listening to Admins pontificate about their stupid sectors. And those chairs are so hard. My ass and shoulders are on fire. I hate end-of-year reports.”

“That’s why I’m here, Fir Councillor. To help you forget all that.” Einara made her voice warm and seductive. She was doing her best to follow Irin’s advice for buttering up the Councillor, something she rarely bothered to do. She’d been trained in seduction, but maybe it hadn’t taken. Unless a patron seemed likely to know things of interest to her, she put in the minimum effort required.

Before tonight, Linbeck hadn’t seemed to mind her quiet passivity, filling the space between them with his rambling monologues. Now, though, a little encouragement was making him chatty. “Call me Besha, please,” he said, squirming under her powerful fingers. “You know, until today, I wasn’t sure you were capable of speaking in full sentences.”

And I wasn’t sure you were capable of actually noticing me. “I’m not stupid, Fir—Besha.” She ran her hands down to knead his hips. “I just listen more than I talk.”

In the background, her brain continued to drone through the verses: And saw in sleep old palaces and towers / Quivering within the wave’s intenser day . . .

“I talk enough for two people, don’t I?” The Councillor laughed almost self-consciously.

“I don’t mind, Fir. I like it when you talk.” She dug in with her thumbs, hoping she sounded harmless and naïve but not slow. It was a delicate balance. “I do have a question for you, though.”

“Ask away.” Again the nervous laugh, as if he cared, just a sliver, what she thought of him. He hadn’t seemed to care when he was tying her up and using her with no regard for her pleasure.

“Who’s Rishka?” she asked.

Besha groaned and rolled onto his back, pushing her hands away. “You had to ask that.”

“I’m sorry, Fir! Was that wrong?” She kept her tone as light as possible. “But you did just—well, you know, back when we—”

“I called you by his name. I know, I know.” The little man threw a crooked arm dramatically over his eyes.

“Rishka is a boy?”

“He was—and what a boy.” A sigh.

“I remind you of a boy, Fir?” She was genuinely incredulous on that score.

“Of course not, love. Not that way.” Besha patted her flank. “It’s mainly your complexion that reminds me of my . . . friend. That skin so pale that your golden hair turns dark against it. Those luminous blue eyes. And something in your expression, too—a hint of fierceness beneath the submission. Green hells, how that hint of fierceness used to obsess me.” He released a shuddering sigh. “You know, I used to take Rishka for granted because he was at my disposal the way you are.”

At my disposal. It was one of those formal phrases Councillors used, like Please oblige me and I’d like to enjoy your favors. It all just meant they wanted to fuck you and you didn’t have much of a choice about it. “Was Rishka a whore, Fir?”

“Technically, yes, but so much more than that.” Misty sentiment veiled the man’s eyes. “He used to play dumb with me—practically mute, the way you were until today. Sometimes he’d be cheeky, but only because he knew I liked it. When he finally showed me who he really was, I was a bit terrified, and I convinced myself I wasn’t seeing what I was seeing. But then—well, then I opened my eyes and really saw him, bit by bit. And I wanted him even more. All of him. Now he haunts me sometimes.”

Are you in love with him? Using the Oslov word for romantic love was dangerous, Einara had learned. No one wanted to admit to feeling anything stronger than a familial bond. “Your friend sounds very lovely,” she said instead.

“Too lovely for his own good. Lie down, sweetheart. Show me.” Besha rolled her onto her back and took her chin in his hand, tipping her face into the light. “Oh yes, that hint of blush on the cheek. So innocent—or is it? The first time I took Rishka to bed, I was halfway afraid of him. He was so big. I asked to tie him up, as a sort of test—would he really obey me? When he said yes to that, I still wasn’t convinced he wouldn’t try to turn the tables, so I invented a little role-play of dominance and submission. I think having a script was easier for both of us.”

Einara made her body go pliable. She locked eyes with the Councillor for an instant before letting her lashes droop. “Why does he haunt you? Your Rishka? He’s not dead, is he?”

Besha’s laugh had a superior edge this time. “Haunting is a figure of speech, darling. No, he’s very much alive. He’s not mine anymore, hasn’t been for some time. Never, really. But that’s not the part that troubles me.”

“No?” She flashed him another shy glance. “You’re not angry he’s with someone else?”

Besha shook his head. The hair tumbling in his eyes made him look young, more like one of the callow pages at the Colonel’s court than a Councillor of anything. “I’ve had time to get over my jealousy.”

“That shows strength of character, Fir.” Oslovs loved to be complimented on their cleverness or their “strength of character,” a word that could also mean “discipline” or sometimes even “imprisonment.” “But if you’re not angry, then why are you troubled about Rishka?”

The Councillor’s face went blank, and she was afraid he was about to reprimand her for her probing. But he only stared into space and said, “I fear he’s been silly, that’s all. Got himself into a situation he can’t handle. And I fear I egged him on.”

Before Einara could think of a follow-up question, Besha ran his thumb along her bottom lip and tugged her into a kiss. “But that’s nothing you’d understand,” he murmured against her neck. “Sweet, unspoiled savage girl. Stay innocent—it’s much safer that way.”

This time, Irin Dartán brought Einara a robe, a cup of tea, and a brush for her long hair, which the Councillor’s restless hands had left hopelessly tangled. “Sit,” he said, ushering her into a chair, and started stripping the bed. “What did he say?”

“Lots of things.” Einara sipped the tea, trying again to look artless and just slightly dim. Stay innocent. “Did you find out anything more about Harbour, Fir?”

Irin’s narrowed eyes met hers. “Did you find out anything from Councillor Linbeck?”

He was going to make her tell him first. Of course. He thought she was a foolish little Outer, easily manipulated.

Einara was itching to get under a shower, but she lifted the brush and drew it through her hair like she had all the time in the world. “The Councillor did have some things to say about this Rishka. I think he—” She searched for an inoffensive phrase. “He’s sweet on him.”

Irin whipped the bottom sheet off with a snap, lifted it aloft, and folded it. “You mean he likes fucking Rishka, same way he likes fucking you.”

“No.” She worked out a tangle with her fingers. “I don’t think it’s like that anymore. Fir Councillor says he’s ‘haunted’ by the boy.”

“Haunted? What the fuck does that mean?” Irin dropped a folded clean sheet on the bed and sat down facing her. “Don’t be coy.”

Einara met his gaze, knowing she was taking a risk. “I want to know about Harbour. You can’t make a bargain and not tell me anything,” she added, trying to sound petulant. The key was to keep him from taking her too seriously.

“Fine!” Irin rolled his eyes. “There are plans to establish an Oslov garrison in Bettevy, but that’s it. No ‘invasion’.”

“A garrison?” It was so ridiculous. If Oslov wanted to, it could own and occupy all of Bettevy and Resurgence tomorrow, and the rest of the continent into the bargain. Was it “strength of character” that held the rulers back from finishing what they’d started in Michigan? Or cowardice, or something she didn’t understand?

“What about the bombs?” she asked.

“Oslov doesn’t strike unilaterally.”

The casual denial wasn’t unexpected, but this time it broke over Einara like a wave, flooding her with an anger that swept away her caution. “You’re so naïve,” she snapped before she could stop herself. “The Upstarts tell you they never explode their bombs in other countries, and you believe them. Do you believe everything they tell you?”

Irin stared at her, but not with that snide look he’d had earlier. Now his face was dangerously blank, like the Councillor’s when she’d asked what troubled him. “Perhaps you know something I don’t?”

Stupid idiot. All she’d needed to do was control herself. She widened her eyes, trying for that ingenuous look again—and saw it wasn’t working. He didn’t relax or even blink.

“I do.” She bit her lip and let the genuine bitterness creep into her voice. “All right, so I didn’t say the whole truth. In my mother’s village, I had a friend who fled north from Harbour. She told me a bomb destroyed a whole state, and it could only be an Oslov bomb. She lost relatives there.”

Irin reacted with the slightest arch of the brows. “An interesting tale, but a rumor at best. Do you wish ill to Oslov, sweet girl?”

Einara shook her head. Dread and rage brought tears to her eyes, and she let them come. Emotion made her look weak, unthreatening; she needed that right now. “I used to,” she admitted in a near-whisper, lowering her head. “When I first came here, I was . . . angry. They didn’t always treat me well in the garrison.”

Irin folded his hands under his chin. “Soldiers aren’t known for their gentleness.”

“But then—but now . . .” She willed wetness to spill down her cheeks, but her eyes were already drying. Since spending her tears on her family’s deaths, she hadn’t been much of a crier. She put a whimper in her voice: “I like being here, Fir. I like being safe and warm.”

“I should hope so,” Irin said. “Oslov has taken you in and given you provisional citizenship, which can always be revoked.”

“I know.” She hung her head.

“Of course, being from the Outer territories, you may not realize that the allegation you’ve just made against the Republic is treasonous and extremely actionable. If I told any Upstarts about this conversation, you would end up in a cell under heavy interrogation. I’m guessing you weren’t aware of that, young and ignorant as you are.”

Einara shook her head with exaggerated vigor, hiding her face against her drawn-up knees. “I wasn’t, I swear, Fir! I only wanted to know, for my friend’s sake.”

“Your friend was lying,” Irin said in a flat, didactic way, like someone reading a script. “Whatever carnage she witnessed in Harbour was inflicted by Harbourers on Harbourers. If you think Oslov is an aggressive power, you’re the naïve one. Understood?”

“Yes, Fir. I understand.” Einara really ought to cry, but her mind was too busy working. She’d seen enough of Irin Dartán not to take him for the generous type. If he wasn’t turning her in, he had a reason—something he wanted to know, to hide, or both. And she was beginning to suspect he didn’t believe a single thing he said about Oslov’s pacifist virtues.

There are Dissidents among the Laborers, Artur Threindal had told her long ago, but don’t get involved with them. They may seem to want what you want, but they’re still Oslovs. Their ultimate loyalty is to themselves.

She couldn’t trust Irin, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be useful. She just had to draw this out a little further, pretend to be his tool, and let him reveal his agenda to her, piece by piece.

Instead of begging for forgiveness, she drew herself up. “Fir Councillor told me something else about Rishka. Do you want to know what it was?”

Irin grinned rather nastily. “You’re in no position to dictate terms to me. Out with it.”

Einara told him the rest of what Besha had said in as much detail as she remembered. “He said Rishka’s got himself into something that he—the Councillor—is afraid Rishka can’t handle,” she finished. “Not only that, but ‘I fear I egged him on.’ That’s exactly what he said, Fir.”

The grin vanished. For the first time in the conversation, Irin looked almost dismayed, his brows drawn down hard. “Fir Linbeck didn’t say what he egged Rishka on to do?”

“No.”

“Or what was so hard to handle?”

Einara shook her head. “I can find out, Fir. Give me time. He likes talking to me.”

But Irin seemed to have lost interest in her. On his feet again, he finished making the bed with crisp, angry motions. “The next time you see Councillor Linbeck, you won’t mention the boy or any of this. Just do what you usually do.”

Would he turn her in after all? “But Fir, I—”

He silenced her with a gesture. “No questions. Act normal and await my instructions, Einara. Meanwhile, I can ask around about this bombing story of yours. I do have a friend in the office of the Ambassador.”

A shiver ran down Einara’s spine at the word “Ambassador.” That was something else that had been drilled into her: The signal to act is the assassination of Oslov’s ambassador to Harbour. You’ll know he’s dead by the green scarf tied to one of the gate pillars outside the Sanctioned Brothel.

She said, “Maybe it’s not true, Fir. I was wrong to mention it, like you said.”

Irin had reminded her just how powerless she was. Even if Colonel Thibault could actually assassinate the Ambassador, who was going to tie a green scarf around the pillar? Back in Resurgence, they’d talked as if there were a whole network of secret operatives in Oslov, but Einara had never met a single one. For all she knew, she was the only person Artur had trained who’d ever made it to Redda.

And Artur himself had begged her to forget her training and “blend in.” Save yourself. Marry an Oslov and have kids. You’re a smart girl, and that’s the smartest thing you can do.

Einara liked Artur and Moneta. She would have liked to stay with them in their rough dwelling and help with their daily tasks, perhaps for the rest of her miserable little life. But taking the easy way out would mean allowing the party responsible for what had happened to her family to die a natural death, even a peaceful death.

That would not happen. The certainty was a burning itch under her skin and a glowing beacon she saw in her dreams, always just out of reach. If she’d been put on earth for one thing, it was to cut a tiny, blazing hole in the world where her enemy had been. To let in the vacuum and the void.

And Irin was now offering to help her, which meant he too had some interest in learning more about the bombing. At the very least, he didn’t find the idea as absurd as he’d suggested earlier.

“I don’t want to commit treason,” she said, her tears rising obligingly again. “I’m not always happy. But I’m grateful. I am.”

“You’re rather a strange one, aren’t you, sweet girl?” Irin was surveying her with an intensity she didn’t like. “For now, as I say, continue as you are and await my instructions. And be aware that I’m not fooled by those wide eyes. If you’re indiscreet, or you disobey a single order I give you—” He snapped his fingers. “I think you’re smart enough to imagine the consequences.”

“Yes, Fir. I understand, Fir. Thank you, Fir.” She scrambled to her feet and bowed to him, aware she was being dismissed.

And all the time the secret words of power continued to resound in her head: Be thou, spirit fierce, my spirit. Be thou me, impetuous one.