She Who Rides the Storm (The Gods-Touched Duology)
She Who Rides the Storm: Chapter 15

Mateo contemplated the Warlord’s double auroshe crest tooled into the toes of his boots and took another bite of cake. Cake was easier than looking at the girl huddled inside her blue cloak opposite him, the hood pulled down over her face like she was about to be executed.

Cake was also easier than listening to the words being thrown back and forth between his father and the valas. Mateo shouldn’t have agreed to play, shouldn’t have done what his father wanted and followed the girl’s aura to the pantry. But he’d done it, and now his life was over. More so than usual.

“I don’t know what you are suggesting.” The valas was in full bluster, all denial and a bushy mustache. “This girl is none of your concern, and I can’t see how you or anyone else could tell just by looking at her that she’s not supposed to be here.”

“Valas Seystone.” Mateo’s father smiled one of his sad, endearing smiles. “We don’t need to dance around this and make idiots of ourselves. I know she’s your daughter. I knew the moment she ran away from the governor’s house.”

Mateo blinked. She’d run from the Devoted who were visiting from Rentara? So she wasn’t a fledgling Devoted. She was a real, sword-stabby, auroshe-petting—

“You’re lucky that the Devoted who left as we got here didn’t feel secure enough in his authority to do a real search of your home,” Tual continued.

“I absolutely refuse—”

“I also know that the Warlord is coming here personally to reprimand you.” Mateo glanced up at that. The girl’s head cocked toward his father. “The governor doesn’t like that you’ve been bribing the magistrate to look the other way when your merchant ships neglect to declare their goods properly to avoid taxes. And the shipments of Trib powders you’ve sold to Lasei.”

“But—”

“Or the assassination you had planned. How much worse would it be if the Warlord found you harboring a runaway Devoted?”

Silence. Mateo smoothed a hand across the embroidery edging his coat’s sleeve and moved the cake’s crystalized-sugar salmon garnish (what was it with this house and salmon?) around his plate with his fork, wishing he could melt into the chair. Have an episode and die, right on the carpet.

“Why are you here?” Seystone finally said, his voice hard.

“He’s offering you an exchange.” Mateo sighed through it, ignoring his father’s amused look. “He can use his influence to make the investigations show that you weren’t involved in… assassination attempts?” Mateo waited for Tual’s affirming nod before continuing. “Maybe even show that all your scheming and bribing was, in fact, a plan to unseat a corrupt governor.…” Another affirming nod. “And, I’m guessing, in return we get to keep your daughter.”

The girl stiffened in her chair. Mateo looked down at his plate, shifting the last crumbs this way and that.

“My son is not entirely at ease with the idea of an arranged marriage.” Tual laughed. “But it’s an arrangement I believe could be quite beneficial for both our families. Governors hold quite a bit of power, much of which is outside the Warlord’s scope of interest. My son and I replace the Warlord’s reliance on Devoted to be a bit tiresome.” Tual sat forward in his chair. That was his negotiating face; Mateo knew it well. “Something I think you can identify with? If our families were to be connected, we could help you with the Warlord, and we’d be able to move back and forth between Rentara—representing our interests there but spending more time out from under the Warlord’s thumb here. I believe the closest seclusion is right on Lasei’s border, though I don’t know if they’re trying to keep us in or a Lasei army out. The Lasei queens haven’t looked our direction in more than a century.”

Seystone licked his lips. “But what—”

“Devoted don’t marry.” Mateo looked up at the girl’s voice, authoritative and full of violence. His cheeks warmed. They had walked into this house and demanded a marriage alliance, and he didn’t even know her name.

“I’m aware of the oaths you’ve made.” Tual’s smile was kind, and it made Mateo even more uncomfortable. How many Devoted had this girl killed to escape? Hadn’t there been another case like that only last year? Three dead and their killer on the loose.

Tual was still talking. “… I’m sure we can come to an arrangement that will fit into your life away from the seclusion. Unless you want to be thrown over an auroshe and dragged back to Rentara?”

The girl sat back in her chair, every inch of her tense.

Tual turned back to the valas. “The Warlord pretends that Devoted are meant to keep us all safe from Basists. Mostly they represent the Warlord’s interest in keeping the Commonwealth governed from Rentara, something she isn’t capable of doing very thoroughly at the moment.” He sighed, gesturing helplessly. “She uses them to frighten people like us into compliance. They steal our children for their seclusions and tell us it’s an honor. Your daughter is a very accomplished Devoted, I believe. One of whom they asked a little too much.” The girl twitched as Tual’s gaze settled on her once again for a second. “I would have run away too.”

Mateo’s blood began to heat, his teeth grinding together at the things his father chose not to share with him. His father had known she would be here. That meant Tual had known her before. Had been watching, planning this for a long time. Maybe he’d even suggested that the Warlord send this girl here to clap her own father in irons.

The valas was sputtering something about overstepping, but Tual once again cut him off. “Devoted forces are dwindling. There’s an opportunity here to set up a more autonomous region, especially with someone channeling Calsta’s power to help us see threats before they come and then to take care of them when they do. We could give the Warlord reason to respect us. It seems like a goal you would share, since the Warlord doesn’t have much mercy for those who go against her.”

Mateo could hardly stop himself from rolling his eyes. Yes, an autonomous province where the Warlord had less influence would be fabulous. But it was an empty goal if they couldn’t replace a cure to the wasting sickness, because he wouldn’t be around to see it.

“I won’t be married off.” The girl under the cloak kept her voice calm, speaking fact, not opinion.

“Oh, my dear, I wouldn’t dream of doing anything without your consent.” Mateo’s father turned toward her once again, his smile full of understanding. “We have two weeks until the Warlord comes. I’ll give you that time to get to know my son. He’s much nicer than he seems at the moment—he even looks quite nice when he’s wearing something a little more practical.”

Hadn’t Tual been the one to pick the coat out? Mateo frowned, rearranging the folds of lace that draped over his knuckles. It was one of his favorites.

“And you might replace life here less restrictive than what you endured at the seclusion.” Tual returned his attention to the valas. “But I’m afraid two weeks is all we have to decide if this will work for both our families.”

The valas sat forward. “With death being the alternative? If you manage to pin an assassination attempt to my name, the Warlord will have me executed.”

Mateo watched the girl, her hood swiveling toward her father as he so bluntly spoke of his own end. Her fists were balled up in the fabric from inside the garment, every inch of her hidden.

Why hide? he wondered. Her father was bushy haired, hints of brown showing like rust in his gray eyebrows, his teeth and his stomach both overlarge. Perhaps a cloak that covered every inch of her was the only way this girl could feel confident. Mateo stood, then gave the valas a much more gracious bow than he deserved. “I am planning to spend my time in Chaol at an excavation outside of town. Let me know what you decide. I’ll be sure to bow and scrape and hold up the bridal wreath like a good boy.”

“This is the attitude we can expect?” the valas growled.

“This is as much of a surprise to Mateo as it is to you and your daughter.” Tual laughed again. “Perhaps we should give them a moment to talk?” He turned to look at the girl. “What do you think, Lia?”

She flinched, making Mateo’s anger flare again. Tual even knew her name and hadn’t seen fit to share. Shifting uncomfortably on his feet, Mateo resisted the urge to storm out, impatient at having her silence holding him in place.

Finally she nodded. “All right. I’ll talk.”

“Lia, I haven’t done anything wrong.” Her father stood up from his chair as well. “There’s no reason to give in—”

Lia put her hand up, thin white fingers emerging from her sleeve. “The Warlord is coming to reprimand an official here. It seems these men have means to make it appear as if you are at fault, even if you are innocent.”

“That’s why she sends her spiriters,” her father blustered. “To ascertain the truth.”

“Yes.” Lia’s voice was quiet. “That’s why she sent me. But I’m not going to be there to tell her what is true and what is not.”

A thread of revulsion shivered down Mateo’s throat, and he looked at Lia’s blue-swathed form with new eyes. Father wanted him to marry a spiriter who could read his every thought? Why wasn’t she crying foul over replaceing two Basists in her living room? It explained why she was wrapped up in her cloak like some kind of worm, flinching away from the tiniest suggestion of light. But it didn’t explain the way her aura flickered in tiny, shriveled spurts around her.

Mateo’s heart sank. His aurasight must be broken now too somehow. Yet another part of him going haywire from wasting sickness.

“We can agree to see how things go for now.” Lia interrupted his thoughts, sitting a degree straighter. “Would you send someone to Aria, Father? She was scared.”

“And after Aria has been taken care of, might I look in on Lady Seystone? Her illness concerns me.” Tual closed his eyes for a moment, and Mateo knew he was looking for her in the house, perhaps to diagnose her before he even set foot in her sickroom.

Valas Seystone glared at Mateo. “If you so much as touch my daughter—”

“I am quite capable of defending myself, Father.” Lia’s voice was cool.

Mateo frowned. “And I’m not a piss pot of a human being who takes advantage of anyone unfortunate enough to be alone in a room with me.”

“Oh, Mateo. So poetic.” Tual was laughing again. He walked to the door. “Come, let us see to little Aria. I have a story or two that would buck her up. I understand she likes pirates…?”

His voice faded as he and the valas went up the hall. Mateo pushed down the momentary stab of concern for his father. If the valas decided disposing of the two of them was a better idea than working with them, his father could defend himself easily enough. It was Mateo who might not survive.

He turned to face the cloaked girl. “Lia, is it?”

“I’m not interested in marrying you.”

“It would be odd if you were.” Mateo lowered himself back into the brocade chair and looked up at the ornately carved ceiling panels, light from the large windows touching them. “You’ve been hiding here for less than a day. Seems like you’d have more pressing concerns than getting married.”

“You seem less than enthusiastic as well.”

“Well, don’t get offended. You said it first.”

Lia’s hood gave a decisive nod. “Then we’re on the same side. What’s the likelihood of you persuading your father he doesn’t want to hurt my family or make us get married, either one?”

Mateo shrugged, lazily crossing his ankles. “Possible, I suppose.”

“Let’s get to work on that, then.” Another nod, as if it were settled between them. Covered head to toe and bossy to boot. “In the meantime, can you pretend to be compliant enough to keep my father from running you through?”

“I’m not planning to come back here, so I don’t believe it will be a problem.”

“And where are you staying? Not with the governor.”

“No, in an old manor on the sea cliffs. About halfway to Gretis, above the rocky coves?”

“The Tulath manor?”

“Probably.” He sat forward in the chair, curiosity making him hope for a glimpse of her face beneath the hood, but the blue material wasn’t giving anything up. “I’m assuming your status as a fugitive is going to keep you huddled in the pantry rather than coming to visit?”

Lia radiated sullen anger, but she didn’t respond.

“Not that it will help you,” Mateo continued. “Why did your partner storm off instead of walking straight to you the way I did?”

She stood with an abrupt speed that made him flinch. “How did you know where I was?”

He managed to stay seated despite his heart’s immediate gallop, an awful strain after this morning’s episode. Mateo’s palms began to sweat, but he kept his unconcerned pose. “I’m… hyperobservant. A crooked rug pointed straight toward you.” He shook his head, massaging his temple. “Wait. No, it was because I could smell you. Or maybe it was because we’re meant to be. My soul led me straight to your door.” He ignored her annoyed snort and pointed to his head. “You know how I found you, don’t you?”

Her fingers curled up tighter in her sleeves. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve spent enough time around Devoted to have picked up a few things. Like at least some of what spiriters can do. You said it yourself. You were here to tell truth from lies.”

Lia didn’t move for a second. Then she pointed toward the door. “You can leave now.”

Mateo stood, gave her a stiff bow with, perhaps, one flourish too many. “If you feel the need to throw things, I give you leave to send them in the excavation’s general direction. That’s where I’ll be.” Then he walked out without waiting for her reaction, already plotting exactly what he’d say to his father the moment they were gone from this horrid place.

Once they were outside the gate, he’d gotten only as far as “You are the worst—” before his father gripped his arm, fingers pressing hard enough to make Mateo pause.

“Her mother is quite sick. A sham aukincer’s work, if I’m not mistaken.”

Mateo looked down, not wanting to feel sympathy, but he’d seen enough cases to know the tug of worry in his stomach for the woman upstairs was warranted. He chanced a look back at the house and flinched when he saw a smudge of blue in one of the upstairs windows.

“I should be able to help her.” His father followed his gaze, giving a jaunty wave toward the house. “But what I really want is to help you, Mateo. I want you to have a future that doesn’t involve running. I’ve been running my whole life. I was alone my whole life, until I found you.”

Mateo’s shoulders sagged. “The likelihood of me surviving is so low—”

“No.” Fingers closed over both his shoulders, pulling them straight. “We’re only working with the Warlord because she has the resources to replace what I need to help you. Putting ourselves inside her sphere was a risk, but one worth taking for your sake. Now we need to make sure we can get back out of it.” Tual waited until Mateo raised his chin, looking his father in the eyes. “Don’t you remember anything from your childhood? You hid in a fair number of closets before I came for you, and several after. It isn’t a good way to live, constantly in fear.”

Mateo shook his head. “I don’t remember—I couldn’t have been more than two or three. And you don’t need to draw any lines between me and Lia. Her existence isn’t illegal. Only her choice in jobs.”

“I want you to have a future after getting better.” Tual said it as if caprenum and Mateo’s sickness were only flies to be brushed aside. “Nothing is ever going to change who we are. What we are. This province is far enough from the capital that many already come here to hide, and the Warlord doesn’t follow. Far enough that Valas Seystone has been about an inch from toppling the governor for months now, and the Warlord is mostly coming because of the tomb.” His smile crinkled the skin around his eyes, and Mateo couldn’t help but feel the glow of hope inside him as his father started toward the stables. A flurry of movement inside indicated the hostlers had noticed them coming.

“I’ve heard from her masters at her seclusion that Lia is a very nice girl.” Tual’s voice was lower now, a hint of pleading making discomfort prickle between Mateo’s shoulder blades. One of the grooms appeared in the stable doorway with his little mare, Bella. Something inside Mateo relaxed. Bella, at least, didn’t want anything from him.

“If you like her, then this could be a very good situation.” Tual’s grip on his shoulders tightened. “Please, son. Can you give it a chance? I’ve even heard she’s quite pretty under that hood.”

The hood. Mateo pulled away from his father to pat Bella’s nose. No matter how pretty Lia was, all he could think of was her long white fingers rummaging through his head. And just in case that was exactly what was happening as she watched them from the window, Mateo thought all the worst swear words he could come up with.

Lia’s father waited in the library door, silent until Tual and Mateo Montanne had disappeared through the front gate.

“I need your help,” she whispered. “I need to leave before the Warlord gets here.”

“I don’t want you to leave. Can’t you stay here now, where you’re safe?” Her father’s voice broke over the words. “You were suffering. They hurt you.”

Lia stepped back from the window, the shadow of her hood making it difficult to take in her father properly. Years had silvered his hair and filled out his stomach, but his eyes were the same. “There’s nothing you could have done.”

“You are my child. They took you, and every day I hoped… I wondered—”

“We don’t have time for regrets. The Warlord will send every Devoted sword she can replace after me, no matter what those… those…” Lia bit her tongue, unable to come up with a word suitable for Tual and his flippant son. “No matter what those blackmailing parchwolf poachers say.” She paused, staring up at her father. “Their claims are false, aren’t they? I would have seen guilt in your thoughts during our reading.” Only, Lia hadn’t done a proper reading. Hadn’t pressed into his mind past those images of her as a child.

Her father’s head drooped.

“Smuggling. Selling explosives to Lasei.” The words buzzed on Lia’s lips. “Assassination? You tried to have the governor killed?”

He shook his head, but it was so slow, it hardly seemed an answer to her question. When he finally spoke, each word brimmed with a horrible apologetic certainty. “It’s not that simple, Lia. Lasei is hardly a threat; they haven’t been for over a hundred years. They only stockpile powder to make sure the Warlord doesn’t get any fancy ideas about crossing the border with her Devoted. And the governor of Chaol is corrupt. Wardens can hardly even walk through the lower cays—it’s a miracle the gangs haven’t started charging passage on the trade road. If they did, the governor would probably just take a cut. He’s letting the water in the poorer cays go foul, driving up the cost of food by imposing unreasonable taxes—”

“The Warlord is coming here to censure you?” Lia turned back toward the window, trying to swallow, but her throat was too dry. Her mind seemed to be moving too slow, thoughts flickering in and out of existence. “It doesn’t matter. If I don’t get out of here before she arrives, harboring me would be enough without whatever else you’ve done.” She clenched her fists, all her muscles wanting to contract, to fight something. Only there wasn’t anything she could fight with her hands. “And now if I leave, the aukincer will ensure the Warlord believes you are guilty, regardless of evidence. I assume there isn’t much, or she’d have just called for your execution.” She pressed her lips together hard, pulling her cloak sleeves down over her hands, yearning for the calm of having a weapon in her hand. “I need armor. A sword.”

“Lia, that’s hardly a good idea. Which of these problems can be solved with a blade?” Her father paused. “Are you someone who… solves problems with weapons now?”

“Sounds as if it’s a family trait.” Lia made for the door, clutching her cloak to her chest. It felt like power, like a plea to Calsta. I’m obeying. I’m covered. I need you. And on the other hand: I don’t want this anymore, I don’t, I don’t. “We need to plan. Where is Mother? If she’s with healers or servants, we need to clear her rooms so they won’t see me.”

Lia’s father caught her arm, trying to meet her eye, but the hood stood between them, transparent enough for Lia to see bits of him but not enough for him to see her. Spiriter garb. “Lia, you can’t see your mother. She’s ill enough that it’s unlikely she’d even know you. And if she did recognize you, she wouldn’t be able to keep your presence here a secret.”

Putting a hand to her chest, Lia forced her lungs to calm, her brain stuck in fighting mode, looking for paths forward, ways to parry the knives that seemed to be jabbing in from all sides. “What did the aukincer say about her?”

“He said he can help. But it could just be another thing he’s trying to hold over us.” Her father’s hand on her arm tightened a fraction, and his head bowed. “I hope he’s telling the truth. None of the healers have been able to tell what’s wrong with her, and some have made it worse. Right now I think the safest thing would be to… plan. Hide you in your old rooms, wait for Tual Montanne’s next message, and catch him out somehow.” Nodding to himself, he started herding Lia up the hall. “We’ll get you some different clothes—”

“Father, I’m not a child.”

“I know. This is all so sudden.” Her father pulled her to him as he had when she was small, wrapping his arms around her as if he could somehow shield her from the world’s ills even now. Including the ones he’d created. “I just… want to be able to see your face. How could they have hidden you away for so long?”

Lia bristled at first, unused to being touched, being hugged no less. But after a moment she let her arms relax, let him hold her close. It was nice having someone who wanted nothing from her. She hugged him back, wishing she could let herself lean on him. Let herself collapse, allow someone else to take the burden. But decisions had never been hers, and if the aukincer got what he wanted or Ewan found her, they never would be. She gently pushed away from her father and secured the hood down over her face. “I have a little bit of an idea, but it’s not enough. Not yet.”

Finding Knox and learning how to hide herself might keep the Warlord and Ewan away, but it wouldn’t stop the aukincer from walking her father to the gallows. When she found Knox, maybe he’d know how to help.

“What if we don’t think of something?” her father whispered.

“We will.” Lia tried to replace a smile for her father before starting down the hall toward her old rooms, her steps soft enough no servant would hear. “There’s no other choice.”