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\chapter{Fellowship}\label{chapter-7-fellowship}}



\epigraph{``Fool me once and it'd best be fatal, for my reply certainly will
be.''}{Dread Emperor Vindictive II}



``What the \emph{fuck} was that?'' Archer hissed.

They hadn't fled the marketplace, of course, because big important
bird-goddesses like Andronike couldn't possibly flee -- I yelped and
slapped her away. If the damned Sisters kept pecking at my head like
this I was going to go bald at some point. Fine, they had
\emph{redeployed} away from the mob and the madman feeding it. I looked
down at the fist bunching up my cloak in the front, which was Indrani's.

``You'll have to be a little more specific,'' I said.

She scrutinized my face for a moment, before grimacing and releasing me.

``Well, if you can be a heel you probably still own your mind,'' she
said. ``That was stupid, Catherine. We weren't even near the crowd and
we could still feel it when he got pissed.''

``It was necessary,'' I said, brushing down the folds of my cloak.

``Don't you start with that speech,'' Archer growled. ``If I got a
copper for every time you talked about necessity-''

``You still wouldn't be able to afford your drinking habits,'' I drily
interrupted.

The look on her face was thunderous, so I smoothed away the humour from
my expression.

``I'm serious,'' I said. ``I needed to take the measure of him. When
someone lets a lion loose in the pen, you don't pretend it's not
happening -- not unless you're ready to lose the whole flock.''

``That's what we have Vivi for,'' Indrani insisted. ``The Jacks-''

``Would have been in that crowd, hollering for blood,'' I flatly
replied. ``You know that. It was a calculated risk, Archer. Since when
do --''

I bit down on my tongue. I knew exactly since when she'd started taking
issued with those. I was in no danger of ever forgetting the sight of
Indrani half-devoured by frost, only hanging on to life by a thread --
and, I had recently learned, the preservative properties of ice
according to the classical table of elements.

``Finish,'' Indrani quietly said.

``Not a conversation we should be having in the middle of an alley in a
city under occupation,'' I evaded.

``\emph{Finish},'' Indrani repeated, coldly.

``Even Akua is worried, Archer,'' I said. ``I know you like to handle
things on your own, but it's not getting better.''

``I'm fine,'' she told me forcefully. ``Or is disagreeing with you a
sign of cowardice now?''

``I didn't say that,'' I replied.

A year ago we wouldn't have been having this conversation, I thought.
But then a year ago there'd been fewer defeats to our name, fewer close
calls and wounds that would never quite heal. An emotion I couldn't
quite recognize twisted her face, until she winced.

``It doesn't matter if we're in an alley, Catherine,'' Archer finally
said, taking a step back. ``Because there's nothing to talk about.''

I wondered if she even noticed how her fingers were twitching towards
the strap at her side where she usually kept a flask. \emph{Probably
not}, I decided. I knew from personal experience that we tended to be
blind to the methods we used to bury our fears until they were pointed
out to us. Her way, at least, I was familiar with. Some nights I
wondered if I might have disappeared all the way at the bottom of the
bottle after Second Liesse, if Hakram hadn't dragged me back. I
hesitated under moonlight, a reply on the tip of my tongue. I'd had a
talk with Diabolist once, about her mother. About the difference between
a person and their title, the way Praesi considered them entirely
different entities. I still disagreed with what she'd said, the painful
contortion of personhood her people had to put themselves through just
to live with what they did to each other, but sometimes I could also see
a grain of truth to it. The woman in me wanted to find a quiet place, a
safe one, and try to soothe what was eating at one of my closest friends
in the world. Even if it meant leaving Rochelant. But the queen knew
there was still work to be done tonight, that this business was only
half-done, and that what lay within Indrani would keep until morning.
The queen won, in the end.

Didn't she always?

``This isn't done,'' I told Indrani.

``It is for tonight,'' she replied.

Getting back atop Zombie's saddle had the taste of defeat to it.
Wouldn't be the last of those, before this was all done and over with.
We pressed on deeper into the city, Named and priestess and a
crow-that-wasn't surrounded by a pack of silent killers.

A kinsman of sorts awaited us.

---

The place the Tyrant of Helike chose for his lair served as my first
glimpse into the man's mind. There would have been a few places in
Rochelant royalty could claim to maintain a semblance of comfort: the
official quarters of the appointed ruler of the city, the mansions of
the influential and the wealthy, a House of Light to empty and
desecrate. Instead, Kairos Theodosian had settled in the shop of a
middling money changer. Someone whose very trade was the exchange of one
currency for another. The entire city block was crawling with soldiers
and much more discreet gargoyles, what must have once been a largely
unimportant street turned into the heart of the League's occupation of
Rochelant. There was no military sense to the location, I thought. It
was poorly placed to deploy troops or send messengers, not to mention
surrounded by very flammable shops. No prestige to such a choice,
either, as money changing was not a profession of particularly good
repute. This was a villain making a jest that quite possibly no one
would ever get, in defiance of more practical choices, simply because he
could. My teacher's lessons, I decided, would not be of great use here.
The Tyrant was one face of the coin he'd spent a lifetime melting down
so the metal could be put to better use.

Black did not make deals with people like this, did not negotiate. He
killed them as quickly as he could to limit the collateral damage, then
ripped out what had spawned them root and stem so he wouldn't have to
come back and do it again a decade down the line. That wasn't an option
for me, so I'd have to handle the madman a different way. I led Zombie
in a canter down the street, rows of men-at-arms armed to the teeth
watching me carefully. Idly pretending to brush back my hair, I gestured
for the drow following from the rooftops to stay back. I didn't know
what kind of the defences the Tyrant would have prepared, to know I was
coming with the likes of Andronike perched on my shoulder and still feel
comfortable allowing me into Rochelant, but it was best not to test
them. Archer and the crow-goddess I kept at my side, until a mounted
officer approached us at the very edge of the defensive perimeter. She
kept her sword sheathed at her side, though by the look on her face she
would have preferred otherwise. I halted my horse without needing to be
told, my companions following suit.

``Queen Catherine,'' she called out in crisp Lower Miezan.

``That would be me,'' I said. ``And you are?''

``General Basilia,'' she said. ``You were expected. Safe passage is
granted to you by the writ of the Tyrant of Helike.''

Her gaze flicked to Indrani and Andronike.

``To you alone,'' she meaningfully said.

``Catherine,'' Archer said under her breath. ``This is-''

``He needs me alive and on the field,'' I mildly replied. ``It's not
that kind of trap.''

``You don't know that for sure,'' she insisted.

``Certainty is a luxury I can rarely afford,'' I said. ``If it goes
south, gloat all you'd like. Andronike?''

``Not beyond my reach,'' the crow stated, eyeing the changing house.

``Good enough,'' I grunted.

Zombie resumed his advance and I entered the dragon's lair. General
Basilia cast me a dark glance as I passed her. Someone wasn't happy I
was being allowed in, evidently. Wasn't sure why she was being so ornery
-- I'd had the man her Tyrant had usurped the throne from shot back when
I was still the Squire. Surely that should earn me some measure of
fondness? \emph{Apparently not}, I drily thought, feeling her gaze
remaining on my back as I rode forward. The heavy and layered wards I
could feel washing over my skin with a distinct tingle made it clear
that distrust truly was the order of the night. The soldiers parted with
silent discipline until I reached the steps of the changing house,
leaning on my staff to dismount with a muted curse. A man-at-arms came
up to take Zombie's reins, but I clicked my tongue in disapproval.

``I wouldn't recommend that,'' I said. ``He bites.''

A twist of will had my dead horse baring his teeth. The soldier stepped
back, a glimmer of fear in her eyes. I'd spent long enough idling,
though, so up I went the worn steps and through the already-open door.
The inside was lit up with torches and magelights, which almost
surprised me. I'd half-expected some innocent soul to be serving as fuel
instead. A sweeping glance was enough to give me an idea of the inside:
a large common room for trade to be held, with a counter at the back in
front of twin doors leading to backrooms. A few tapestries in the manner
of the Free Cities had been hung on the walls -- most of them about
Theodosius the Unconquered -- but the room had been largely stripped
bare. It only made the fresh additions more glaring: two rows of twisted
little gargoyles, some bearing trumpets, were wiggling around and
chattering like vermin. Between them a red carpet had been set, leading
up to a throne literally resting on the back of a foursome of
pitiful-looking gargoyles.

On it was the Tyrant of Helike, Kairos Theodosian.

\emph{So frail}, I thought. Curly dark brown hair and olive skin made
his ancestry clear, but these were by far the least striking parts of
the villain. One of his eyes was deep red, as if blood had seeped into
it, and his sickly frame looked like it could be blown over by a stiff
breeze. Opulent robes in rich purple, covered in part by a long strip of
cloth of gold draped over the front, boasted broad sleeves but not quite
broad enough to hide that the arm he kept covered was trembling. No
crown was set on his brow, but he was casually toying with an ivory
scepter ending in a golden roaring lion's head. I could feel the
enchantments wafting off of it even from the other side of the room. The
Tyrant took one look at me, good eye widening, and convulsed. For a
heartbeat I was worried that the Night had somehow hurt him, but the
convulsion erupted into raucous, heartfelt laughter. I blinked, taken
aback. I flicked a glance at the nearest gargoyle but it just put out
its tongue at me. I discretely kicked it while the Tyrant kept laughing
his guts out. Eventually the villain got himself under control, wiping
tears out of his eyes with trembling hands.

``Oh, that is a \emph{fine} jest indeed,'' he said, then peeked at the
floor. ``You never disappoint.''

I cleared my throat.

``I don't suppose you'd care to share,'' I said.

The Tyrant smiled at me in the way of man for whom smiles came easy and
meant little.

``You are so short,'' Kairos Theodosian said. ``It is quite
delightful.''

He was a good liar, I decided, but I'd known better. Just by looking at
me he'd learned something, and I had no idea what. I set that aside for
later consideration.

``Bet I could beat you in a footrace, though,'' I said.

The smile broadened into a grin and he sprawled unceremoniously across
his throne. Which was, I was only now noticing, outrageously gaudy. And
I'd been in the Tower, I damn well knew what gaudy looked like.

``A pair of crowned cripples running through the streets,'' he
cheerfully mused. ``If we charged for seats we could make a killing.''

Suddenly he twitched.

``Ah,'' he said. ``But where are my manners? Courtiers, announce our
guest.''

To my horrified fascination, the trumpet-bearing gargoyles raised their
instrument and began blowing into it. Which had mixed results, since
assuming they even had lungs they would be made of stone. And that most
didn't have lips. After the musical atrocity ended in a whimper, the
Tyrant raised his hand regally.

``Black Queen, I welcome you to my humble court,'' he announced.

``The honour is mine, Lord Tyrant,'' I deadpanned.

``Please, take a seat,'' the villain waved away airily.

A waddling gargoyle carrying a plush cushioned seat above its head made
its way across the carpet, setting it at my back and bowing with a
chittering sound before running away.

``Much appreciated,'' I said.

I eyed the seat skeptically. No obvious sorcery to be found. I prodded
the cushion with my seat, but it did not seem to be filled with rusty
razorblades or poisonous snakes. I glanced back at the Tyrant and found
him looking at my staff quite intently. Well, only one way to find out
for sure. I settled down and found it a little worn, but otherwise not
prone to treacherously turning on me. It was a relief for my bad leg to
be seated after this long riding, and I let out a little sigh of
comfort.

``I wonder,'' the Tyrant of Helike nonchalantly said, ``if you'd
consider telling me who that's meant to kill.''

I met his gaze, and wondered if it was just my imagination or the red
eye had gotten a little redder.

``No idea what you're talking about,'' I lied.

He chuckled.

``A staff is a sword is a prayer,'' the Tyrant grinned. ``It's clever
little bit of work. More patient than your reputation would imply.''

I shrugged, keeping away from my face how wary his too-perceptive eyes
were making me.

``Well, I did find religion recently,'' I said. ``I'm told it can be a
calming influence.''

``You seem well on your way to beating people to death with it,'' he
praised.

``You're one to talk,'' I smiled. ``Your man down the road's a lot more
dangerous that Night on a stick. I don't suppose \emph{you'd} tell me
who that's meant to kill?''

The Tyrant pouted.

``That'd take all the fun out of this,'' he said. ``And why even bother,
if we're not having a good time?''

``Huh,'' I said. ``Black must have \emph{really} wanted to kill you.''

``There's no need to be so oblique about it,'' the Tyrant amusedly said.
``He's alive and in the hands of the Grey Pilgrim. Somewhere in Iserre,
last I heard. The man is of little interest to me.''

I \emph{had} been aiming to wheedle information out of him after
broaching the subject, true enough. My eyes narrowed. So why was he
offering it to me so freely? Even as I forced myself to remain focused,
my pulse quickened. He was alive. Gods, he was alive. I'd known he would
be, but it was still a weight off my shoulders. \emph{Unless this is
cruelty}, I thought. \emph{Unless he's lying.} I kept my voice steady.

``It's a little disquieting, being on the other side of the chaos for
once,'' I said.

``I am but a humble servant of my Lord Hierarch,'' the Tyrant piously
assured me. ``And you need not worry, I would not lie to such a close
and beloved friend.''

``I would never doubt you,'' I lied. ``I think of you as a brother,
really.''

Did he know I was an orphan? By the way his lips quirked, yes, he most
definitely did.

``As your friend,'' I said. ``I wondered if you would answer a question
for me.''

``Always,'' the Tyrant swore, hand over heart.

I raised an eyebrow.

``Are we at war?'' I asked. ``I've been hearing troubling rumours about
League soldiers and legionaries.''

``Alas, there have been some slight misunderstandings,'' the Tyrant
sighed. ``Your Marshal of Callow seems to have mistaken our curiosity
for a fully armed battalion trying to assassinate her.''

``Mistakes happen,'' I said, keeping my voice calm.

It took an effort of will not to clutch my staff so hard it creaked.
He'd tried to kill Juniper, the smug little monster. \emph{Or he's
trying to put me off-balance}, I thought. The Theodosian had a lazy
smile on his face, but his eyes had never left me. I had no control
here, no real leverage to use against him. That was the misstep, I
decided. Trying to remain in control. There would be no winning that
sort of game against the likes of the Tyrant of Helike.

``I see only one solution,'' I said.

``Do you?'' he said, smile expectant.

I smiled back, broad and friendly and just a little bit guileless.

``Would you like to secretly be allies?'' I offered.

The smallest flicker of surprise on his face, gone before it could even
be fully seen, was the herald of scoring my first blood of the night.
His answering grin was gleefully malicious. See? I might have been with
only women for the last few years, but I still knew what men liked --
you know, shady military alliances that would be discarded at the
earliest convenience in favour of wanton betrayal. He twirled his
scepter thoughtfully, though that did little to hide the eagerness on
his face.

``As your friend,'' Kairos Theodosian said. ``I feel like I should warn
you that rumours have long existed -- patently untrue, I assure you --
that I am a treacherous blackguard, if you'll forgive my language.''

I painted surprise over my face.

``You?'' I faintly said. ``That seems rather unjust. I mean, I had your
nephew shot and he seemed like the real villain to me.''

``I did hear about that,'' the Tyrant mused. ``Wasn't it under truce
banner?''

It hadn't been, strictly speaking, not that the rumours ever bothered
about that.

``In my defence,'' I said, ``he \emph{did} call me a witch.''

He seemed amused.

``Oh, Dorian,'' the villain fondly said. ``You always did have more
lungs than wits.''

``I can see why that would make you hesitate, though,'' I mused. ``So
let me reassure you, I have absolutely no intention of sharing our
secret treaty with the First Prince to try to force her hand into
allying with me and crushing you utterly.''

He let out a loud cackle, arm shaking uncontrollably under his robes.

``Are you lying?'' the Tyrant of Helike grinned, revealing a curved
stretch of pearly teeth.

I leaned forward.

``I don't know,'' I said. ``Am I?''

A heartbeat passed.

``I can't tell,'' he said, sounding deeply pleased.

``A sound foundation for military alliance,'' I said.

``The only kind worth making,'' the villain cheerfully agreed. ``A
bargain made, then, Black Queen.''

He gently tapped his scepter against his chin.

``I suppose,'' the Tyrant said, ``that I should ask you who we've allied
against.''

I leaned back.

``Intercession, you might say,'' I said.

His brow rose.

``Well now,'' he murmured. ``Someone's been digging up secrets.''

``Calernia's full of graves a little more shallow than they should be,''
I replied. ``And I've heard the two of you have scores to settle.''

``She has quite the game afoot,'' the Tyrant told me. ``Even I know only
part of it.''

``I've quite a few glimpses of things she's been up to,'' I said, ``but
no bird's eye view, so to speak.''

``That sounds,'' the villain said, ``like a trade worth making.''

I smiled. Dangerous as it might be to tell this man anything he didn't
know, I needed the semblance of a handle on what the Wandering Bard was
up to more than words could properly express. Everyone else on the board
I could make out at least vague objectives for, but the Intercessor? She
was still in many ways an unknown, and one with too many irons in the
fire to be left to her own devices. I might not trust the Tyrant of
Helike a single drop, but as far as I knew he was the only man alive
who'd ever pulled one over the Bard. If anyone could be of use to me, it
was him.

``Ah, but before we begin horse-trading,'' he said. ``As my most trusted
ally, I have a suggestion to offer you. If I may, Black Queen?''

``Call me Catherine,'' I said. ``And by all means.''

``You must call me Kairos, then,'' the Tyrant said. ``Before you leap
into the loving embrace of our dear Cordelia Hasenbach, I would have a
look at her little scheme down south. You are not the only one robbing
graves, in a manner of speaking.''

``Curious,'' I evenly said.

``Something's being dredged out of Lake Artoise,'' Kairos confided,
``that might of interest to you.''

``And why would that be?'' I asked.

``One does not make war on the same enemy for decades without learning
some of their bad habits, Catherine,'' the Tyrant said.

That was unfortunate, as I could only think of one person the First
Prince had crossed blades with for that long. More worryingly, the most
recent mistake I could put to Dread Empress Malicia's name was the Doom
of Liesse. If Cordelia Hasenbach was intent on going down the same road
this war was about to get much, much worse. Not that I'd take Kairos'
word for this. Like the fate of my teacher, it was another truth I
needed to get my hands on. I fished out my pipe and stuffed it under the
Tyrant's disapproving stare, black flame licking at my fingers just long
enough to light it. I shook my hand to get rid of the lingering heat,
then inhaled deep. The wakeleaf warmed my throat, and I made myself
comfortable. I spewed out a stream of acrid smoke as Kairos wrinkled his
nose in distaste.

``Now,'' I smiled. ``I believe there was some talk of horse-trading.''

When the eye went deeper red, this time, there was no question of
whether or not it was my imagination.