Three years ago

  Staff Officer Timoor had always been a bit on the unorthodox side. Unorthodox in the indulgent, corrupting way, not the clever way expected of any successful military commander or prison warden or politician, of which he was all three.

  But for him to do that, with a woman no less … Heemlik thought, striding moodily down the dim stone corridor. His hands were clasped behind his back, his head held high as if trying to breathe in the fetid pool of what he’d just walked in on and been sent away from.

  That is an assault on my father. It is a disgrace of a daamel.

  I suppose Timoor and Kaanel still have that in common, at least.

  Heemlik stopped mid-step. A torch flickered above him.

  No, he told himself. No, that is not right. My husband may be a scriptomancer, but he is a good man. He is unorthodox, but he does his duty without causing any unnecessary suffering. We're nobility, and we're prison wardens. We are not siculates or thugs.

  Heemlik wasn’t certain whether he heard the bedroom door open behind him, but that didn’t matter. Rigidly, Heemlik continued to the opposite door. He knew Timoor was watching him from the other end of the hall. He didn't have to turn. He'd made that mistake as a child, but no longer. That paused footstep had probably given him away, even if it had been unrelated. He opened, stepped in, and closed the door behind him before breathing out.

  The Eerind heir was in his personal quarters, now. His dog, a Steppe Hound pup named Bite, rushed to his side, hopping and pawing at his trouser leg, but not barking. He was just over a year old, so he still had some time before he reached the full size of his breed. He was one of, if not the last in the world, a pet instead of a trophy on Heemlik's father's wall. Heemlik smiled and scratched the dog's head, taking a deep, calming breath.

  “Fine dog,” he said warmly, meeting the dog’s fierce but loyal eyes. “You’re probably the best behaved thing in this castle.”

  The room was suitably bare for a disciplined warrior and man of the Suns. A bed for two, an armory - which was also where he kept his clothes - and a small chest of everything else he owned. Opening it, you'd see neat rows and stacks. Heemlik was tempted to now; it would be a breath of fresh air after Timoor's cluttered and, at the moment, crowded room. Heemlik understood why his father had not only his own chambers separate from his husband, but his own castle. To think Timoor was the same man who taught Heemlik to use the rapier …

  Suns damn that man, Heemlik cursed to himself. At a time when our family and our land are under such scrutiny? A time when the Gaar’s very necessity is in question? With the Fade so passive, we must do what we can to show the benefit of this penal colony, with all its ugly dues.

  Abadir, Heemlik's primary father or daamvi, was an increasingly different person from his husband with each passing year. Noblemen like him were supposed to share duties equally with their subordinate husbands, or daamels, toward common goals. Abadir taught Heemlik to ride and shoot, Timoor taught him the sword. Abadir taught him to read and write, Timoor taught him to speak with authority. They both taught him to work, and they both taught him to rule.

  Abadir, however, did things because the Suns had ordained it. He brutalized Gaar-Adalaantians when he had to. He spared them when he had to. He collected taxes from private overseers and their enclaves, distributed rations, and managed the blood-greased machine that was Gaar-Adalaant with all the exactness one could expect of his office. He did not change with the times, no matter how outdated or unpopular his ways became with those comfortable, distant people of the homeland.

  With the exception that proved the rule this afternoon, Timoor did the same things Abadir did. Abadir also drank sometimes, when he thought it was appropriate. Abadir also was not gentle with the prisoners and exiles entrusted to him. Abadir also ordered Heemlik to do things that made him uncomfortable and which he didn't understand the lesson of until much later.

  It made Heemlik very uncomfortable that his daamvi and daamel had both taught him so much, and were both in the same position of power entrusted by the suns. A man like Timoor did not belong at the same table as a man like Abadir, yet there he sat, and Heemlik with him. There he prayed, and Heemlik with him. The problem was, there he also committed adultery and all manner of sin, and Heemlik would not with him.

  Neither did Abadir. So why was Timoor still at the table? “Evil spared is evil shared.” But who was Heemlik to say such a thing to his father of all people, while Kaanel shared his bed?

  “What do you think of all this, Bite?” Heemlik asked quietly, still scratching the dog’s ears. It certainly didn’t mind. He sighed. “Nevermind. I’m sure Kaanel talks your ear off enough.”

  Heemlik often pretended Bite was more important to Kaanel than the dog was to him, but that was getting harder to do. Kaanel wanted to have a real child, and Bite reminded him that they didn’t have one. Where Heemlik saw a loyal friend, the one thing he’d taken control of before his father, Kaanel saw a pacifier.

  It was late, but Heemlik still had one more round to do in Apprehensions Patrol. He'd already done worker and officer relocation paperwork, and had a little longer before the sun was set. Heemlik didn't like that he took relief when neither of the suns' watchful eyes were in the sky. He wouldn’t have that luxury much longer; the baskerwol season was less than a month away. Already the nighttime sky grew brighter.

  Does Timoor feel this way? he thought. He doubted it. If Timoor did feel that way, he wouldn't be forcing Gaar women into his bedroom in the afternoon. Women. Men were one thing, this was still Adalaant, but to defile himself as a siculate?

  “You must think this is all a great big mess" Heemlik mumbled, scratching the dog's head some more when it licked him. His bird, Sun-Beak, was resting in his cage on the balcony outside, but Sun-Beak was no good in situations like these. He was a straightforward bird who lived around orders and snacks. Bite was much less businesslike.

  Heemlik had kept many secrets for Timoor, but this was too far. He had already decided he would tell his father. He just needed to time it prop-

  What of the woman? he could hear Kaanel's voice in his head. Why aren't you thinking about her? Why wasn't she the first thing you thought of?

  Heemlik turned toward the door facing his daamel’s chambers. The girl was still in there.

  And she was even doing the "mercy" sign …

  Heemlik's least favorite part of himself came to the rescue. It was the same part of him that looked the other way when his daamel drank, or struck a worker who was already working, or touched a fade-talent before it had been cleansed by a priest. It had quite a lot of other way to look, but it managed long enough for Heemlik to push through the opposite chamber door, the one that led downstairs. Far from whatever his daamel was doing.

  Heemlik didn’t look his dog in the eyes anymore as he left the room and locked the door behind him.

  ***

  "Only one condemned prisoner today," Kaanel said, in his softening-the-blow voice. Heemlik took comfort in the noise of his keys and heavy footsteps as the two made their way to the dungeon. He’d filled out his armor much better this last year since being married. Kaanel was as good at cooking as he enjoyed it. He was much better than the castle chef had been, and with as exacting of a job as this, Heemlik’s frame put that weight to excellent use.

  "Yes?" he said. "Why is that so relieving?"

  "Because, husband, she is a Prisnidine."

  Heemlik stopped and gave Kaanel a hard look.

  "Why haven't you killed it already?" he said. “You know I’m not needed for such an immediate threat.”

  "You won’t understand until you hear what I’ve heard," Kaanel answered. “As your closest advisor, I think that she has some important information about the Fade’s activities outside the Gaar. Information that you’ve been seeking.”

  "How do you know she isn’t saying that so I’ll get close?" Heemlik growled. He was in his element, now. No more questions, no more worries. Just cold, hard certainty befitting an Eerind. The kind of suspicion that finds answers quickly or not at all, and solves the problem either way. Ever since marrying Kaanel, that was not something he could take for granted. His father Abadir had warned him of that, and he took that man's advice seriously. It was especially helpful now, since he had never encountered a Prisnidine before.

  Heemlik turned the corner into the first floor of the dungeon. Kaanel kept pace, but his smaller frame made Heemlik even more imposing.

  "Has she come into contact with anyone vulnerable?" Heemlik asked. Adalaantians were, thanks to their unique methods of reproduction, very resilient to most diseases. When a disease could get them sick, however, it was incredibly dangerous. Gaar-Adalaantian soldiers were given unique blessings against them, so Heemlik strode confidently toward a room he knew would be contaminated.

  "Yes," Kaanel said, "but we've already quarantined them. A pair of worker children were found with her. We incarcerated all of them."

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  Heemlik chose to ignore the detail about the children. In the last few years, King Foteeslm had started sending children to the Gaar. He'd never done that before. People had children in the Gaar, after the wicked siculate fashion of course, but to send the spawn of Genesis Spires to work and die in this country, so young? No wonder more and more people were clamoring to end the Gaar altogether. The king must have thought that after forty years of Gaar-Adalaant, people would accept such a “minor” outgrowth of it.

  But if there was one thing Heemlik needed to know more about, it was the world outside Adalaant. How was the Fade behaving elsewhere? Was it really as passive as those in the homeland said it had become? Was the Gaar really as unnecessary as they made it seem?

  Heemlik pushed open the door to the deepest dungeon room of Timoor’s castle, the one reserved for contaminants like Prisnidines, and stepped inside with his husband.

  There was indeed a Prisnidine in the dark cell. She was thin and weak. Seeing Heemlik, she made a sacred Adalaantian sign that was largely unknown beyond the borders of Adalaant: the sign for mercy. Heemlik had been raised -by his daamvi - to respect that sign, especially from a non-combatant, though he knew not where this Prisnidine learned it. The fact her wrists were shackled certainly enhanced the effect.

  Prisnidines spoke with excessive amounts of breath, like how fish dripped water or snails left slime. To the unfamiliar, it made them sound like someone who had just been running, or making love. They could breathe the exhaled air of animals and people as well as oxygen, so when they spent a lot of time around people, they had more breath in their lungs and pores than needed. It leaked out of their voice like someone trying to talk with a mouth full of water.

  Malnourishment aside, this was a typical specimen of a Prisnidine woman. She had deep green skin, green eyes, and black hair. She wore a necklace, pinned to the front, depicting some Prisnidine symbol Heemlik didn’t want explained to him.

  “I’m Jadpers,” said the Prisnidine, unprompted.“Now you know I have a name. Before we talk more.”

  Heemlik raised an eyebrow. “Well, Jadpers, my advisor here says you think you deserve my time. Don’t embarrass him.”

  Jadpers shifted on the chain-suspended bench, and lowered her hands to her knees. She pursed her lips in a way Heemlik didn’t like before speaking.

  “The Fade doing nothing,” she said. “Your death camp be pointless. You feed a sleeping giant, and your offerings be rotting on its altar, not eaten, wasted blood and people.”

  Heemlik’s eyebrow remained raised. Somehow, the roughness of her naruglid speech made the point more pronounced. He found himself conflicted, as one does when they learn what it is they wanted to hear, at the same time they first hear it.

  “The Fade has its ups and downs,” he replied. “Adalaant still needs the protection from our agreement with it.”

  “The Fade has no up for fifty years,” Jadpers replied simply. “The giant slept so long it be dead.”

  Heemlik narrowed his eyes. He stepped closer so he looked over the prisoner.

  “Who are you to say so?” he replied. “Do you speak for the entire Fadereach?”

  “As fact, I do,” Jadpers said, as if afraid to hesitate. “Pilgrimage of Mists makes me meet every Fadereach. The Fade be not moved fifty years. Buildings with three stories, next to the Fade. Elderly tell me this. Young forgot the Fade can move. Everywhere, it be as still as in your Gaar, but with no death camp pretending as territory of Adalaant.”

  Heemlik shook his head. “You lie, Prisnidine. No one else who passes through here shares your story. King Foteeslm and the church speak of Fade surges in Ecliptica and in your own homelands.”

  “Then your husband lies also,” Jadpers replied. “He tell me many like me said the same thing passing through before you slew them. He tell me I be lucky to come later in the line, and that I might convince you instead of dying.”

  Heemlik gave a critical look to his husband before turning back to the Prisnidine. “And you took that gamble?”

  “What options had?”

  “Hm.”

  “Also, husband said you know the Flesh Witch,” Jadpers added. “I know her too. She agreed to the story and said I could prove it to you. She lives in the Fadereach too.”

  Heemlik was keeping up, but it was testing his patience. He did know the Flesh Witch. Every Adalaantian noble did. She could sculpt her own body to look like anyone she wanted. It was important to know the signs so she didn’t get too close. She never killed anyone, but she happily maimed several in life-altering and embarrassing ways.

  Kaanel knew her better than most. She’d infiltrated the Gaar, for reasons she hadn’t revealed, a few months ago by posing as a worker, and ended up near Kaanel. When she realized Kaanel was a scriptomancer, she revealed herself to him and helped him advance his skill with a moon-shard. He never told Heemlik about it until after she left, for which Heemlik was grateful. It meant his list of sins stayed contained to “keeping Kaanel’s secrets”. If he’d known about her while she was here, he’d have had to do a lot worse.

  Heeemlik leaned a hand on the wall over Jadpers’s head. He didn’t trust witches, Prisnidines, or scriptomancers, but his husband was a scriptomancer, and the flesh-witch hadn’t hurt his husband even after plentiful opportunities. If this Prisnidine could help him reconnect with that witch, maybe she could stay too.

  “How do you plan to prove you know this witch?” he asked.

  Jadpers glanced at Kaanel. Heemlik saw the man nod out of the corner of his eye before Jadpers looked back up at him. Then, Kaanel stepped over, gripped her sleeve, and tugged it up her arm, revealing her bicep.

  It had a square of Barridian skin grafted into it. Heemlik had seen far worse, but it still repulsed him. An Eeerind did not back away from an abomination. An Eerind lanced it like a boil.

  But Heemlik could no longer operate in his element. This wasn’t an execution waiting to happen anymore. This was an asset. At this moment, Heemlik consciously registered his own motives changing. No longer was he trying to convince himself the Gaar was still necessary. He no longer believed that himself. Now, he was trying to build a case to convince his father of the same thing.

  Many of the soldiers, Kaanel included, believed this already. In private, at least, many of the overseers and guards of the Gaar believed that with the Fade so dormant, there was no point to the slaughter and slavery and sacrifice. Why appease a beast that had been sleeping for half a century?

  This boil might prove useful, he thought as Kaanel pulled the sleeve back down and stepped away. Heemlik turned to his husband without moving away from Jadpers.

  “Do you trust her?” he asked.

  Kaanel hesitated, matching Heemlik’s piercing stare better than he used to. “Yes.”

  ***

  The two Eerinds marched out of the cell, without a speck of blood on their armor.

  “So,” said Kaanel, “what shall we do with her?”

  “We will do what I told her,” Heemlik replied. “We will keep her alive and contained. We will start collecting witnesses like her, to attest to the stillness of the Fade. We will use her to get back in contact with the flesh-witch, and see what use she can be to us.”

  The two took to another flight of stairs. They were nearly out of the dungeon now. Kaanel’s narubati face didn’t look great in the flickering lights, but his expression was always what attracted Heemlik more anyway.

  “Will your daamel approve?” Kaanel asked.

  "I'll tell him she's clear of diseases, and that she interests me enough to keep alive. Besides, he owes me a secret."

  The two turned a corner to the last corridor out of the dungeon.

  "What secret?"

  "Exactly."

  Kaanel stopped and looked behind them at the iron gate to the dungeon staircase. Heemlik stopped and looked back at him.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  "The caskerwol staving ritual is near. Are we ... going to let her escape when we don’t need her any longer?" he asked. Heemlik frowned.

  “You should know the answer to that,” he said. “Why are you asking?”

  “Because ... well,” Kaanel straightened and turned to him. “She’s helping us with something very important. She isn’t contagious. She hasn’t hurt anyone. She’s very brave.”

  Heemlik thought about that last one. He reflected on how Jadpers had never shrunk in his presence, even when he loomed directly over her. Pride was not admirable in the wicked. Nonetheless, the soldier in him, especially the part used to facing his fathers, had to respect her fortitude.

  “She told me she’s the oldest daughter of a chieftain of one of the Prisnidine tribes,” Kaanel added. “She said her father is a warmonger, attacking and conquering the other tribes and forests of Prisnidines without provocation. She said he intends to attack Adalaant once he’s unified enough Prisnidines under his banner. She’s doing a Pilgrimage of the Mists to earn the right to challenge him for the chieftain seat.”

  Heemlik nodded slowly. That was a good point, an argument that he could see himself presenting to his father. Jadpers had tried to explain that story to him, and he’d mostly understood it in the cell, but he was grateful Kaanel had clarified it for emphasis. A matter of national security could justify quite a lot before the suns.

  Even so, Heemlik heard what Kaanel wasn’t saying: “You spared me. Why not her?”

  Heemlik shook his head.

  “No. I will not let my mercy on you turn into mercy on corruption.”

  Kaanel pursed his lips, his eyes passing pensively between Heemlik’s. He was better at reading Heemlik’s mind than the other way around.

  “Isn’t mercy on me mercy on corruption already?” he asked. Heemlik closed his eyes. Often, it was hard for him to understand why his father Abadir was so strict in his faith, no matter how inconvenient or demanding. Then, Heemlik would run into a situation like this, which never would have happened if Heemlik were just as strict. Abadir’s life seemed so simple. Why did it seem so complicated to be that straightforward?

  “Heemlik,” Kaanel said. “After we were married, and you learned what I was, you not only spared me. You held to our vows. You said you needed me as a voice of reason. If you’ll allow it, I invoke that voice now to say we must spare Jadpers. You spared me even though I’m a scriptomancer. Spare Jadpers, even though she’s a Prisnidine.”

  Heemlik bristled. “Would you have me spare Eekledab, even though he is a vampire?”

  Kaanel seemed to consider this. Then, he shrugged.

  “If Eekledab didn’t harm us or our people, and offered to help, then yes.”

  “Well, there you have it,” Heemlik said. “Eekledab does harm people.”

  “But if he didn’t, as Jadpers hasn’t, then my point stands.”

  Heemlik narrowed his eyes, searching his husband’s eyes for deceit he’d never found before. That didn’t change this time. He turned to leave, and Kaanel followed.

  They exited out onto an open walkway on the side of the castle. The sun had set, barely visible in the gap between the Fade's enclosing wall around Gaar-Adalaant’s western side. The Gaar was not as packed with people as the cities in the mainland or the hinterland around them, but about as dense as the ring outside that. Dozens of mines and farms and lumberyards could be seen decorating the landscape like fleas on a dog. Out there, people were toiling and working their sins away until they died, all to feed the Fade. Some would be released, which was why all of them worked, but most would be buried in the maw of the mists surrounding on all horizons.

  “You are indeed a voice of reason,” Heemlik said as they approached the door to his tower. “I want to be like my father. Since I believe my father to be a reasonable man, I will listen to you.”

  Heemlik sighed, his hand on the door handle. “How does any of this make sense to you? Why did you take up that moon-shard?”

  Kaanel thought for a moment. Then, he said:

  “It didn’t make sense before I broke the rules. Before I spared Jadpers and fomented disagreement with our sacrifices to the Fade. I think it makes more sense now than it did back then.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You have to try to make what Abadir teaches you make sense, don’t you?” Kaanel asked, placing a hand on Heemlik’s shoulder.

  “I do.”

  “So,” Kaanel said, leaning in for a kiss, “try to make what I say make sense too.”