Chapter 17: My Queen — The Key of Oslov

Volume 17: The Tinderbox

Chapter 17 My Queen

Chapter Notes

I feel like I’m starting to grasp how this saga will end, but gah! There are so many different players! I want them all to have some sort of meaningful arc!Anyway, I know how The Tinderbox will end, and at least one more story will follow that. I want to add to All the Kinds of Broken as well. Thank you so much for coming along and reading! <3 <3

Chapter Notes

I feel like I’m starting to grasp how this saga will end, but gah! There are so many different players! I want them all to have some sort of meaningful arc!

Anyway, I know how The Tinderbox will end, and at least one more story will follow that. I want to add to All the Kinds of Broken as well. Thank you so much for coming along and reading! <3 <3

28 September, year 374, 9:18 p.m.

Besha entered the Sanctioned Brothel through the front door, his head high. He grinned at the guard and the receptionist and said, “I have a private appointment with the director in her quarters.”They would think he’d taken a fancy to the director, though she wasn’t his type these days. Councillors have odd whims sometimes. No one would come close to guessing the real reason he was here—to receive her orders.Last night was a sick blur in Besha’s memory. Thank everything green for Kai, who had wrestled the bottle away from him and muscled him into the shower at around 4 a.m. Of course, Kai hadn’t done it out of the goodness of his heart. Besha was a valuable asset.He had sobered up now, mostly. But his body refused to rest, so he had struggled sleepless through his breakfast meeting with Davita and the half-day of Council sessions that followed, avoiding Tilrey’s sharp eyes.The problem was that Besha’s brain wouldn’t stop ticking away, analyzing and reanalyzing his predicament. He felt as if someone had woken him with a jolt from a sleep that had lasted for years.He’d nearly died last night, and that was his own fault. He’d blabbed his greatest secret to Ceill Linnett only because he’d been stupid enough to think no one had the power to hurt him. How long had he been complacently dozing through life, just like the entitled high names he used to despise?Now he was back where he’d been for his whole youth, before he made his lucky marriage—always on the edge of peril, his blood pumping. It felt intense and exhausting and stimulating and . . . good?Do what you have to, whispered the little voice that had been in his head as far back as he could remember. Be the last one standing.The steward brought Besha into a part of the Brothel that was drab and poorly lit, obviously not intended for patrons like himself. She knocked on a door.The director opened it. She wore a long, crimson robe, and her hair was up.Besha’s first instinct was to cringe. His collar hid the bandage on his neck, but he could still feel the point of her knife piercing his skin, so close to the vital vein. The shock of pain, the drip of blood. And then the terror of lying there helpless while they argued over what to do with him.

I’m awake now. That’s what matters. I’ll never doze off again.

He hid his fear well—he hoped—as he swept past the director into the room. “Hello, my dear,” he said airily, as if he were indeed a patron.Though her first knife stroke had missed, her hands had felt steady and sure. She was an experienced killer, not a novice, and she would be searching for signs of weakness in him. He had to show her he had bounced back from last night.When the door closed behind him, Besha didn’t turn to face the director. Instead, he moved around the room, checking every corner and cranny: behind the shabby little sofa and armchair, under the desk. He strode into the adjoining bedroom and took a peek in the closet, feeling the wall for sliding panels. He didn’t plan on getting surprised by hidden observers a second time.When he was sure they were alone, he returned to sit beside the director. “Where’s the kid?” he asked, honestly curious. “The weirdo? Don’t you need him to tell you what to do?”If his cheek offended her, too bad. She would learn that it was the price of his candor, just as Davita had.“Janta is a friend, and I don’t need anyone to tell me what to do.” Seemingly unoffended, the director rose, the robe swishing gracefully around her. “Would you like some tea, Fir Councillor?”Besha nodded. What was her name? He couldn’t remember it for the life of him; he’d been so distracted by imminent death last night.And they’d fucked, too. That was awkward. All he really remembered about those long-ago encounters was hazy blue eyes and acres of creamy skin and a welcoming, drowsy softness that reminded him of a female version of Tilrey in the old days, before Tilrey started talking back.And yes, he recognized the irony there. Tilrey had changed, and apparently so had she—or just revealed her true nature.“I should be the one waiting on you,” he said, switching to a more flirtatious tone. “That’s what I promised to do, right?”She didn’t respond, just sat back down and looked at him. Water fizzed in an electric kettle. Besha dropped his gaze; she made him uncomfortable. There was no haziness in her blue eyes now, just cold determination.“That robe must be from your homeland,” he said, keeping up the teasing flirtation. Davita always responded well to that. “A barbarian queen—that’s what you look like. I’m quite afraid of you.”The director folded her legs and tucked her feet under her, showing him that she didn’t need to stand on ceremony. “My name is Einara,” she said. “And I realize you’ll try to charm and distract me and generally get the better of me.”“That’s really not what I’m—”“You are; it’s your nature. Anyway, I’m not here to tell you about myself. I’m the one who’ll ask the questions, and you’ll answer them.”Besha nodded. Fair enough, and her questions would tell him plenty about her. “So I can’t ask about anything I overheard last night? The terminals?”He hadn’t forgotten Janta saying, Bors Dartán knows where all the terminals are. Or Einara responding, We have the city.She didn’t deign to acknowledge the question. “You’re not completely wrong about Janta. He’s not in charge here, but he’s perceptive, and that makes him a good counselor. He says it will be some time before you learn to take orders from us, though your relationship with your wife has given you experience in submission.”Despite himself, Besha snorted. What did the little Skeinsha know about his relationship with Davita? “I groveled last night,” he pointed out. “I kissed your feet. If that’s not taking orders, what is?”“That was a performance. Something you’re very good at.”“Did Janta tell you that, too?”“He didn’t need to. Fir Councillor, I’ve spent most of my life observing men like you. You’re more clever than the rest, but now you’re in a trap you can’t get out of.” She blinked. “Do you know a man named Bors Dartán?”“Not until Janta mentioned him last night.”“He’s a mid-level Int/Sec agent who’s turned against the Republic. I need you to go to him and tell him that if he doesn’t start cooperating with me again, immediately, you’ll have him arrested.”Well, she wasn’t shy about giving him orders. Besha rubbed his hands, admiring her a bit despite her political naivety. “That doesn’t sound like a solid plan. If I had this Dartán arrested, he could give you up because of your previous dealings with him, and his word would outweigh yours. Therefore, he won’t take my threat seriously.”The kettle pinged. Einara rose and poured the tea.“I think Bors will take it seriously,” she said, “if he knows who you are and what you could do to him, even inside an Int/Sec cell. He’s a Raised Laborer, and he has plenty to lose. You and your friend Tilrey have Niko Karishkov in your pocket, correct?”“Yeah. Well, Tilrey does,” Besha admitted. “But if I wanted to, I could probably get some favors from Karishkov.”“Use that.”Intimidating a turncoat Int/Sec agent couldn’t be that hard, especially if the man had been born a Drudge. “But what do you want this Dartán to do for you? Why’s he important?”Einara handed him a tumbler. “What did I say about questions and answers?”“I can help you better if I know all the facts.”“I’ll tell you what you need to know, Fir. You can leave the big picture to me.”She sounded like his wife. Besha knew he should have resented it, but the imperiousness made him feel almost at home. “Fine,” he said, “but I want you to tell me about Harbour. If you’re from there, you must know even more than Tilrey does. I want to know everything.”Her gaze didn’t waver. “About the people whose death you saw as a trifle?”“That was decades ago. I can change. I want to learn!”“I’m not here to teach you, Fir Linbeck. And I don’t remember you making conditions when you were swearing an oath of fealty.”“Okay, okay, I get it.” Besha took a sip of the steaming brew. She might be an alien, a barbarian, but they understood each other just fine. “I have no thoughts,” he proclaimed. “I have no desires. I’m just your tool. But if you want me to be convincing when I threaten this Bors Dartán, maybe tell me a little more about what you actually want from him.”Einara shook her head. If he wasn’t mistaken, she was less frustrated with him than amused. “I could still kill you tonight, Fir Councillor. Clean, quick, no traces.”Besha risked his most charming smile. “Please call me Besha. All my friends do. Anyway, if you killed me tonight, then you would miss out on seeing just how useful I can be.”*Bors didn’t give the Brothel steward time to announce his arrival to Einara. He elbowed his way around the big woman and burst through the door of the director’s office before she could stop him.Einara wasn’t at her desk doing accounts this time. Instead, she reclined on her sofa in one of her ridiculous colorful dressing gowns, the tea things spread out on the table beside her. And she had a companion: a slender, sly-faced man in the high-necked tunic of a Councillor.Bors stopped short. He’d come straight from the confrontation in his apartment with Tilrey Bronn, and all his nerves were still on high alert.The wretched man had dared to threaten him, to bully him! To invoke the names of Aleks and Valgund against him! Bronn might think he was in control now, but he’d find out soon enough that Bors had a few more cards up his sleeve. The only real problem was getting hold of Janta. But Einara might have a solution to that—if he gave her what she wanted.“Excuse me, Fir Councillor,” Bors said, squirming with impatience at the Councillor’s presence. “I didn’t realize the director had company tonight.”“I could’ve told you, Fir,” the steward groused.But Einara didn’t look upset—just the opposite, in fact. “What brings you here, Fir Dartán?” she asked, beckoning. “At last?”Was she entertaining a patron? Here, in her inner sanctum? Or was he an ally? Bors stepped into the room, cautious and stiff-legged. The Councillor was observing him with a keen interest he didn’t like. The only Councillors he’d ever conversed with were Niko Karishkov and Gersha Gádden, and those encounters had been painful, full of condescension on their side and strained respectfulness on his.“I’m so sorry to intrude, Fir Councillor,” he reiterated. “My behavior is unforgivable. Perhaps I could return later.”Einara patted the sofa between them. “No, no, don’t run away, Fir Dartán. Do you know Fir Councillor Linbeck? I imagine you don’t.”The Councillor smiled, showing a lot of teeth. “My friends call me Besha.”Bors’s breath caught. Linbeck was the General Magistrate’s husband, and the General Magistrate was under Tilrey’s control.Or was she? Tilrey himself had claimed otherwise. If Bors sat down with Councillor Linbeck and told him everything he knew about Tilrey, he might end up getting a measure of revenge for the way Tilrey had treated him.He wasn’t here for revenge, though, he reminded himself—and not because Tilrey had made a show of lecturing him about it in that sanctimonious way. He had his own goals, completely distinct from Tilrey’s foolish Laborer uprising, and he didn’t want to see his dream of a proper, Whybergian revolution end before it began.If he wanted to get Janta to those terminals before Tilrey could, pride was no longer something he could afford.He walked over to the sofa and offered his hand to Linbeck, keeping his eyes down. “It’s an honor, Fir Councillor.”Linbeck laughed, sounding a little drunk, and clasped Bors’s knuckles. “What do you think this is, the Sector? We don’t have to be formal here. Anyway, we were just talking about you.”“About me?” Bors yanked his hand away before he could stop himself.Einara motioned to the steward to leave and close the door. “Don’t be alarmed, Bors, please. I’ll explain everything. We have so much to catch up on.”Had she lost her mind, calling him by his first name as if they were alone? Bors glanced meaningfully from the Councillor to Einara. “An explanation would be nice.”“Oh, he’s adorable,” Linbeck said to Einara, making Bors’s cheeks flush. “No one would ever suspect a little stiff-neck like him of being a subversive.”Einara laughed. She seemed bizarrely happy. “Councillor Linbeck—Besha—and I were just having a chat about you, Bors. He was suggesting ways to encourage you to cooperate with our common goals.”The blood retreated from Bors’s face and hands just as quickly as it had arrived, leaving him ice cold. He could feel the Councillor’s eyes on him, lively and malicious. What does he know?The Councillor chuckled. “You’ve got the spy tongue-tied, Barbarian Queen. He doesn’t know whether he’s coming or going.”“Well, you can’t blame him.” Einara turned to Bors. He must have looked very pale, because she said in a kinder tone, “Bear with me for a few minutes, Fir Investigator Dartán, and I’ll explain everything. Please.”Bors gulped a breath. Being called by his title always made him feel a little more secure.Fifteen minutes later, warmed from within by two cups of tea, he was capable of speech again, though he was still only beginning to understand.“So.” He stared at the Councillor, too stunned to be intimidated by him now. “If I don’t do what she wants, you will have me arrested as a traitor.”The Councillor grinned in his unpleasant way. He seemed to find the whole situation funny. “I hope that won’t be necessary, now that you’ve come back to the fold of your own accord.”“Using your authority to extort anything from me would make you a traitor, Fir Councillor,” Bors said severely. He shifted his gaze to Einara. “What on earth do you have on him?”Einara lifted her chin, looking regal. “Besha has decided to ally himself with my cause. That’s all you need to know. The question is whether you’ll decide to do the same.”Extortion and trading of secrets weren’t uncommon in the Brothel, but Bors had never seen such a high-ranking patron reduced to taking orders from whores. What had Linbeck done that he couldn’t cover up in the standard ways? Killed a Brothel worker in the heat of passion? Or perhaps in cold blood?Bors inched away from him. A murderer was a murderer, high name or not.“I don’t think your stiff-necked friend likes me, Queen,” the Councillor said mockingly, dipping his little finger into a sap vial and bringing it to his lips. “It bugs him to see proper forms of address disregarded.”Bors’s cheeks burned again. But he was not going to bow to a common miscreant. “Why do you call her ‘queen,’ Fir?” he asked, unable not to add the honorific.“It’s a joke in poor taste,” Einara said, exchanging a complicit glance with Linbeck. “Because I come from the Wastes, Fir Councillor—excuse me, Besha—insists on seeing me as a barbarian queen.”“It’s not just that—she bears herself royally,” Linbeck said, dipping into his vial again. “Don’t you think so, little spy? Back when I first had her, here in the Brothel, she was a scared, speechless girl. I never would’ve thought she’d turn out so lethal.”“Shush.” Einara silenced him with a pat on the knee, shocking Bors yet again. “Besha thinks he’s above taking anything seriously. You’ll get used to it. But I promise you can trust him, and he won’t say a word to Tilrey Bronn.”Bors’s face must have revealed his current feelings about Tilrey Bronn, because she added hastily, “No need to worry, Bors—Tilrey was useful to me for a while, but not anymore. Besha will be much more helpful, since he doesn’t have any troublesome loyalties of his own.”“Except to my family!” the Councillor piped up in his nasal voice. “Whatever happens, they mustn’t be hurt, ever.”“Right, of course. I’m sure we can arrange that. Now, Bors, tell me why you came back here after keeping your distance for so long.”Everything was moving too fast. Bors lowered his head and clenched both fists for a moment, trying to ground himself.Then he said, “You may be done with Tilrey Bronn, but he’s not done with you—with us. He came to see me this evening and gave me an ultimatum.”He told her most of the truth about Tilrey’s visit, just as he’d planned to. He left out how he’d thrown the sabotage of the Sweetbush in Tilrey’s face, and he kept everything about the terminals vague, just in case Linbeck wasn’t as loyal as he pretended to be.“The coordinates I gave Bronn were just a bit off,” he finished. “That should buy us some time. But he told me I wouldn’t find Janta ‘hanging around the Brothel’ anymore. He knows you and the boy were meeting here.”Linbeck laughed again—a sound that Bors was already finding like nails on a chalkboard. “Tilrey’s no fool. He should’ve locked that boy up from the beginning. You better believe he’s done it now.”Einara nodded. “He must have spotted Janta here. It was bound to happen, with both of them coming and going. So, the question is, how do we free the poor boy from Councillor Gádden’s apartment?” She turned to Linbeck. “Maybe you have some ideas?”The Councillor rubbed his gaunt hands together as if he relished the prospect. “I’m a friend of the family. Believe me, I can get in there and liberate the prisoner. But why? Besides a wise counselor, what do you want this Janta for?”“What did I say about questions?”Bors tensed at Einara’s tone of command, expecting the Councillor to explode. But Linbeck rolled his eyes as if it didn’t trouble him in the least. “You can’t blame me for trying, my dear queen. Fine. If you won’t tell me why I need to liberate this wise brat, then when should I do it?”“Not yet.” Einara raised a hand as if to hold him off. “Bors, did you get a sense that Tilrey planned to take his time about . . . executing his plans?”Bors nodded. He didn’t like the alliances he was making, but he couldn’t help feeling more powerful with a Councillor double agent—or triple agent?—on his side. And it was certainly preferable to throwing in his lot with Tilrey, a mere Drudge who had never done anything but humiliate and insult him. “He spoke about arranging a meeting with, uh, our friends in the Wastes, but I didn’t get the sense it was urgent business for him.”“No, it wouldn’t be. He’s traveling to Harbour in less than a month, and the trip is giving him plenty to think about, isn’t it, Besha?” Again the exchange of meaningful glances between them.“Oh, he’s consumed with preparations,” Linbeck said. “The diplomatic situation is very delicate. Poor Tilrey has so many things to worry about.”Einara nodded. “We’ll wait until he leaves to make our move.”

28 September, year 374, 9:18 p.m.

They would think he’d taken a fancy to the director, though she wasn’t his type these days. Councillors have odd whims sometimes. No one would come close to guessing the real reason he was here—to receive her orders.

Last night was a sick blur in Besha’s memory. Thank everything green for Kai, who had wrestled the bottle away from him and muscled him into the shower at around 4 a.m. Of course, Kai hadn’t done it out of the goodness of his heart. Besha was a valuable asset.

He had sobered up now, mostly. But his body refused to rest, so he had struggled sleepless through his breakfast meeting with Davita and the half-day of Council sessions that followed, avoiding Tilrey’s sharp eyes.

The problem was that Besha’s brain wouldn’t stop ticking away, analyzing and reanalyzing his predicament. He felt as if someone had woken him with a jolt from a sleep that had lasted for years.

He’d nearly died last night, and that was his own fault. He’d blabbed his greatest secret to Ceill Linnett only because he’d been stupid enough to think no one had the power to hurt him. How long had he been complacently dozing through life, just like the entitled high names he used to despise?

Now he was back where he’d been for his whole youth, before he made his lucky marriage—always on the edge of peril, his blood pumping. It felt intense and exhausting and stimulating and . . . good?

Do what you have to, whispered the little voice that had been in his head as far back as he could remember. Be the last one standing.

The steward brought Besha into a part of the Brothel that was drab and poorly lit, obviously not intended for patrons like himself. She knocked on a door.

The director opened it. She wore a long, crimson robe, and her hair was up.

Besha’s first instinct was to cringe. His collar hid the bandage on his neck, but he could still feel the point of her knife piercing his skin, so close to the vital vein. The shock of pain, the drip of blood. And then the terror of lying there helpless while they argued over what to do with him.

I’m awake now. That’s what matters. I’ll never doze off again.

He hid his fear well—he hoped—as he swept past the director into the room. “Hello, my dear,” he said airily, as if he were indeed a patron.

Though her first knife stroke had missed, her hands had felt steady and sure. She was an experienced killer, not a novice, and she would be searching for signs of weakness in him. He had to show her he had bounced back from last night.

When the door closed behind him, Besha didn’t turn to face the director. Instead, he moved around the room, checking every corner and cranny: behind the shabby little sofa and armchair, under the desk. He strode into the adjoining bedroom and took a peek in the closet, feeling the wall for sliding panels. He didn’t plan on getting surprised by hidden observers a second time.

When he was sure they were alone, he returned to sit beside the director. “Where’s the kid?” he asked, honestly curious. “The weirdo? Don’t you need him to tell you what to do?”

If his cheek offended her, too bad. She would learn that it was the price of his candor, just as Davita had.

“Janta is a friend, and I don’t need anyone to tell me what to do.” Seemingly unoffended, the director rose, the robe swishing gracefully around her. “Would you like some tea, Fir Councillor?”

Besha nodded. What was her name? He couldn’t remember it for the life of him; he’d been so distracted by imminent death last night.

And they’d fucked, too. That was awkward. All he really remembered about those long-ago encounters was hazy blue eyes and acres of creamy skin and a welcoming, drowsy softness that reminded him of a female version of Tilrey in the old days, before Tilrey started talking back.

And yes, he recognized the irony there. Tilrey had changed, and apparently so had she—or just revealed her true nature.

“I should be the one waiting on you,” he said, switching to a more flirtatious tone. “That’s what I promised to do, right?”

She didn’t respond, just sat back down and looked at him. Water fizzed in an electric kettle. Besha dropped his gaze; she made him uncomfortable. There was no haziness in her blue eyes now, just cold determination.

“That robe must be from your homeland,” he said, keeping up the teasing flirtation. Davita always responded well to that. “A barbarian queen—that’s what you look like. I’m quite afraid of you.”

The director folded her legs and tucked her feet under her, showing him that she didn’t need to stand on ceremony. “My name is Einara,” she said. “And I realize you’ll try to charm and distract me and generally get the better of me.”

“That’s really not what I’m—”

“You are; it’s your nature. Anyway, I’m not here to tell you about myself. I’m the one who’ll ask the questions, and you’ll answer them.”

Besha nodded. Fair enough, and her questions would tell him plenty about her. “So I can’t ask about anything I overheard last night? The terminals?”

He hadn’t forgotten Janta saying, Bors Dartán knows where all the terminals are. Or Einara responding, We have the city.

She didn’t deign to acknowledge the question. “You’re not completely wrong about Janta. He’s not in charge here, but he’s perceptive, and that makes him a good counselor. He says it will be some time before you learn to take orders from us, though your relationship with your wife has given you experience in submission.”

Despite himself, Besha snorted. What did the little Skeinsha know about his relationship with Davita? “I groveled last night,” he pointed out. “I kissed your feet. If that’s not taking orders, what is?”

“That was a performance. Something you’re very good at.”

“Did Janta tell you that, too?”

“He didn’t need to. Fir Councillor, I’ve spent most of my life observing men like you. You’re more clever than the rest, but now you’re in a trap you can’t get out of.” She blinked. “Do you know a man named Bors Dartán?”

“Not until Janta mentioned him last night.”

“He’s a mid-level Int/Sec agent who’s turned against the Republic. I need you to go to him and tell him that if he doesn’t start cooperating with me again, immediately, you’ll have him arrested.”

Well, she wasn’t shy about giving him orders. Besha rubbed his hands, admiring her a bit despite her political naivety. “That doesn’t sound like a solid plan. If I had this Dartán arrested, he could give you up because of your previous dealings with him, and his word would outweigh yours. Therefore, he won’t take my threat seriously.”

The kettle pinged. Einara rose and poured the tea.

“I think Bors will take it seriously,” she said, “if he knows who you are and what you could do to him, even inside an Int/Sec cell. He’s a Raised Laborer, and he has plenty to lose. You and your friend Tilrey have Niko Karishkov in your pocket, correct?”

“Yeah. Well, Tilrey does,” Besha admitted. “But if I wanted to, I could probably get some favors from Karishkov.”

“Use that.”

Intimidating a turncoat Int/Sec agent couldn’t be that hard, especially if the man had been born a Drudge. “But what do you want this Dartán to do for you? Why’s he important?”

Einara handed him a tumbler. “What did I say about questions and answers?”

“I can help you better if I know all the facts.”

“I’ll tell you what you need to know, Fir. You can leave the big picture to me.”

She sounded like his wife. Besha knew he should have resented it, but the imperiousness made him feel almost at home. “Fine,” he said, “but I want you to tell me about Harbour. If you’re from there, you must know even more than Tilrey does. I want to know everything.”

Her gaze didn’t waver. “About the people whose death you saw as a trifle?”

“That was decades ago. I can change. I want to learn!”

“I’m not here to teach you, Fir Linbeck. And I don’t remember you making conditions when you were swearing an oath of fealty.”

“Okay, okay, I get it.” Besha took a sip of the steaming brew. She might be an alien, a barbarian, but they understood each other just fine. “I have no thoughts,” he proclaimed. “I have no desires. I’m just your tool. But if you want me to be convincing when I threaten this Bors Dartán, maybe tell me a little more about what you actually want from him.”

Einara shook her head. If he wasn’t mistaken, she was less frustrated with him than amused. “I could still kill you tonight, Fir Councillor. Clean, quick, no traces.”

Besha risked his most charming smile. “Please call me Besha. All my friends do. Anyway, if you killed me tonight, then you would miss out on seeing just how useful I can be.”

Bors didn’t give the Brothel steward time to announce his arrival to Einara. He elbowed his way around the big woman and burst through the door of the director’s office before she could stop him.

Einara wasn’t at her desk doing accounts this time. Instead, she reclined on her sofa in one of her ridiculous colorful dressing gowns, the tea things spread out on the table beside her. And she had a companion: a slender, sly-faced man in the high-necked tunic of a Councillor.

Bors stopped short. He’d come straight from the confrontation in his apartment with Tilrey Bronn, and all his nerves were still on high alert.

The wretched man had dared to threaten him, to bully him! To invoke the names of Aleks and Valgund against him! Bronn might think he was in control now, but he’d find out soon enough that Bors had a few more cards up his sleeve. The only real problem was getting hold of Janta. But Einara might have a solution to that—if he gave her what she wanted.

“Excuse me, Fir Councillor,” Bors said, squirming with impatience at the Councillor’s presence. “I didn’t realize the director had company tonight.”

“I could’ve told you, Fir,” the steward groused.

But Einara didn’t look upset—just the opposite, in fact. “What brings you here, Fir Dartán?” she asked, beckoning. “At last?”

Was she entertaining a patron? Here, in her inner sanctum? Or was he an ally? Bors stepped into the room, cautious and stiff-legged. The Councillor was observing him with a keen interest he didn’t like. The only Councillors he’d ever conversed with were Niko Karishkov and Gersha Gádden, and those encounters had been painful, full of condescension on their side and strained respectfulness on his.

“I’m so sorry to intrude, Fir Councillor,” he reiterated. “My behavior is unforgivable. Perhaps I could return later.”

Einara patted the sofa between them. “No, no, don’t run away, Fir Dartán. Do you know Fir Councillor Linbeck? I imagine you don’t.”

The Councillor smiled, showing a lot of teeth. “My friends call me Besha.”

Bors’s breath caught. Linbeck was the General Magistrate’s husband, and the General Magistrate was under Tilrey’s control.

Or was she? Tilrey himself had claimed otherwise. If Bors sat down with Councillor Linbeck and told him everything he knew about Tilrey, he might end up getting a measure of revenge for the way Tilrey had treated him.

He wasn’t here for revenge, though, he reminded himself—and not because Tilrey had made a show of lecturing him about it in that sanctimonious way. He had his own goals, completely distinct from Tilrey’s foolish Laborer uprising, and he didn’t want to see his dream of a proper, Whybergian revolution end before it began.

If he wanted to get Janta to those terminals before Tilrey could, pride was no longer something he could afford.

He walked over to the sofa and offered his hand to Linbeck, keeping his eyes down. “It’s an honor, Fir Councillor.”

Linbeck laughed, sounding a little drunk, and clasped Bors’s knuckles. “What do you think this is, the Sector? We don’t have to be formal here. Anyway, we were just talking about you.”

“About me?” Bors yanked his hand away before he could stop himself.

Einara motioned to the steward to leave and close the door. “Don’t be alarmed, Bors, please. I’ll explain everything. We have so much to catch up on.”

Had she lost her mind, calling him by his first name as if they were alone? Bors glanced meaningfully from the Councillor to Einara. “An explanation would be nice.”

“Oh, he’s adorable,” Linbeck said to Einara, making Bors’s cheeks flush. “No one would ever suspect a little stiff-neck like him of being a subversive.”

Einara laughed. She seemed bizarrely happy. “Councillor Linbeck—Besha—and I were just having a chat about you, Bors. He was suggesting ways to encourage you to cooperate with our common goals.”

The blood retreated from Bors’s face and hands just as quickly as it had arrived, leaving him ice cold. He could feel the Councillor’s eyes on him, lively and malicious. What does he know?

The Councillor chuckled. “You’ve got the spy tongue-tied, Barbarian Queen. He doesn’t know whether he’s coming or going.”

“Well, you can’t blame him.” Einara turned to Bors. He must have looked very pale, because she said in a kinder tone, “Bear with me for a few minutes, Fir Investigator Dartán, and I’ll explain everything. Please.”

Bors gulped a breath. Being called by his title always made him feel a little more secure.

Fifteen minutes later, warmed from within by two cups of tea, he was capable of speech again, though he was still only beginning to understand.

“So.” He stared at the Councillor, too stunned to be intimidated by him now. “If I don’t do what she wants, you will have me arrested as a traitor.”

The Councillor grinned in his unpleasant way. He seemed to find the whole situation funny. “I hope that won’t be necessary, now that you’ve come back to the fold of your own accord.”

“Using your authority to extort anything from me would make you a traitor, Fir Councillor,” Bors said severely. He shifted his gaze to Einara. “What on earth do you have on him?”

Einara lifted her chin, looking regal. “Besha has decided to ally himself with my cause. That’s all you need to know. The question is whether you’ll decide to do the same.”

Extortion and trading of secrets weren’t uncommon in the Brothel, but Bors had never seen such a high-ranking patron reduced to taking orders from whores. What had Linbeck done that he couldn’t cover up in the standard ways? Killed a Brothel worker in the heat of passion? Or perhaps in cold blood?

Bors inched away from him. A murderer was a murderer, high name or not.

“I don’t think your stiff-necked friend likes me, Queen,” the Councillor said mockingly, dipping his little finger into a sap vial and bringing it to his lips. “It bugs him to see proper forms of address disregarded.”

Bors’s cheeks burned again. But he was not going to bow to a common miscreant. “Why do you call her ‘queen,’ Fir?” he asked, unable not to add the honorific.

“It’s a joke in poor taste,” Einara said, exchanging a complicit glance with Linbeck. “Because I come from the Wastes, Fir Councillor—excuse me, Besha—insists on seeing me as a barbarian queen.”

“It’s not just that—she bears herself royally,” Linbeck said, dipping into his vial again. “Don’t you think so, little spy? Back when I first had her, here in the Brothel, she was a scared, speechless girl. I never would’ve thought she’d turn out so lethal.”

“Shush.” Einara silenced him with a pat on the knee, shocking Bors yet again. “Besha thinks he’s above taking anything seriously. You’ll get used to it. But I promise you can trust him, and he won’t say a word to Tilrey Bronn.”

Bors’s face must have revealed his current feelings about Tilrey Bronn, because she added hastily, “No need to worry, Bors—Tilrey was useful to me for a while, but not anymore. Besha will be much more helpful, since he doesn’t have any troublesome loyalties of his own.”

“Except to my family!” the Councillor piped up in his nasal voice. “Whatever happens, they mustn’t be hurt, ever.”

“Right, of course. I’m sure we can arrange that. Now, Bors, tell me why you came back here after keeping your distance for so long.”

Everything was moving too fast. Bors lowered his head and clenched both fists for a moment, trying to ground himself.

Then he said, “You may be done with Tilrey Bronn, but he’s not done with you—with us. He came to see me this evening and gave me an ultimatum.”

He told her most of the truth about Tilrey’s visit, just as he’d planned to. He left out how he’d thrown the sabotage of the Sweetbush in Tilrey’s face, and he kept everything about the terminals vague, just in case Linbeck wasn’t as loyal as he pretended to be.

“The coordinates I gave Bronn were just a bit off,” he finished. “That should buy us some time. But he told me I wouldn’t find Janta ‘hanging around the Brothel’ anymore. He knows you and the boy were meeting here.”

Linbeck laughed again—a sound that Bors was already finding like nails on a chalkboard. “Tilrey’s no fool. He should’ve locked that boy up from the beginning. You better believe he’s done it now.”

Einara nodded. “He must have spotted Janta here. It was bound to happen, with both of them coming and going. So, the question is, how do we free the poor boy from Councillor Gádden’s apartment?” She turned to Linbeck. “Maybe you have some ideas?”

The Councillor rubbed his gaunt hands together as if he relished the prospect. “I’m a friend of the family. Believe me, I can get in there and liberate the prisoner. But why? Besides a wise counselor, what do you want this Janta for?”

“What did I say about questions?”

Bors tensed at Einara’s tone of command, expecting the Councillor to explode. But Linbeck rolled his eyes as if it didn’t trouble him in the least. “You can’t blame me for trying, my dear queen. Fine. If you won’t tell me why I need to liberate this wise brat, then when should I do it?”

“Not yet.” Einara raised a hand as if to hold him off. “Bors, did you get a sense that Tilrey planned to take his time about . . . executing his plans?”

Bors nodded. He didn’t like the alliances he was making, but he couldn’t help feeling more powerful with a Councillor double agent—or triple agent?—on his side. And it was certainly preferable to throwing in his lot with Tilrey, a mere Drudge who had never done anything but humiliate and insult him. “He spoke about arranging a meeting with, uh, our friends in the Wastes, but I didn’t get the sense it was urgent business for him.”

“No, it wouldn’t be. He’s traveling to Harbour in less than a month, and the trip is giving him plenty to think about, isn’t it, Besha?” Again the exchange of meaningful glances between them.

“Oh, he’s consumed with preparations,” Linbeck said. “The diplomatic situation is very delicate. Poor Tilrey has so many things to worry about.”

Einara nodded. “We’ll wait until he leaves to make our move.”