Brian Staveley - The Providence of Fire

“You have it right,” she said. “The Accords were a play to cut your Church off at the knees.”

The man leaned back in his chair, clearly surprised.

“And you’ve come here now, why?” he asked slowly. “To finish what you started?”

Adare shook her head. “To fix it. To make it right.”

“To make it right,” Lehav said, looking past Adare to the map on the wall. He frowned, as though the layout of the streets and alleyways displeased him. “It doesn’t make sense. You could retract the Accords from the Dawn Palace. Retract or amend them. You didn’t need to come here to meet with me. You certainly didn’t need to walk all this way with a blindfold over your eyes.” He turned back to her, fixing her with a hard stare. “You are still lying, and each lie brings you closer to your death.”

The words were mild, but then, Adare had never heard the soldier raise his voice. She was reminded of his warning to the canal rats back in the muddy ruts of the Perfumed Quarter, the way he didn’t threaten so much as offer alternatives. He’d been willing to leave her then, willing, before learning she shared his faith, to let her be raped and killed without even knowing who she was. How much more readily would he let her go to the fires now?

“I am not lying,” she said slowly, “but there is more.”

He watched her for a moment, then, in a fluid motion, drew his belt knife. The blade gleamed in the fickle lights of candle and lantern, and for a moment he considered the steel, turning it back and forth, watching the flame and shadow play over it.

Adare stared, still as a cobra in the grip of the wooden flute’s soft song. He’s not going to burn me, she realized. He’s not going to wait that long . She imagined the wide map with her blood splattered across it.

Lehav, however, just gestured with the point of his knife toward a thick candle on the edge of the table, then flicked his wrist, scoring a line in the wax a finger’s width from the top.

“You have until that line to talk,” he said, “and then we are finished.”

Adare tried to collect her thoughts. There wasn’t much wax remaining above the notch, and the case she had to put before the soldier was a complex one. There would be no second chances and there could be no missteps.

“Ran il Tornja murdered my father.”

Lehav’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t speak. Adare glanced at the candle, then plunged ahead.

“The kenarang is at the center of a conspiracy to remove the Malkeenian line from power.”

“I serve Intarra,” Lehav said, “not the Malkeenian line.”

“You might want to rethink that position. My family is not il Tornja’s only target. We might not even be his main one. He wants your Church gone, destroyed, scrubbed from the face of the empire.”

“Why would the kenarang concern himself with domestic matters of religious freedom?”

“Because he wants to be emperor, not kenarang, and he understands that there are only two entities with the power to resist him.” She held up two fingers. “My family, and your Church.” She frowned. “I should say, we had the power to resist him, but he has already stripped most of that away. I did not draft the Accords alone, nor was I the sole author of the strike against Uinian. Who do you think brought me to your temple in the first place? Who do you think told me that your Chief Priest killed my father?”

Lehav studied her over steepled fingers. “So you allowed yourself to be used. If this is true.”

“I was a fool,” Adare agreed, shoving down her pride. “I spent years hearing about Uinian’s hatred for my family, and when the time came, I believed what I was told.”

“And your judgment was further impaired when you made yourself the kenarang ’s whore.”

Adare stifled a sharp retort. Though she had hoped word of her romantic liaison would remain in the Dawn Palace, she hadn’t really expected as much.

“My personal mistakes are beside the point here.…”

“It seems to me that they are exactly the point,” Lehav replied. “Even if I accept every article of your tale, look what I am left with: you admit that you were a willing participant in the murder of my priest.…”

“A leach, ” Adare insisted.

Lehav waved the interruption aside. “You admit that you spent time in the bed of the kenarang, the man behind both Uinian’s murder and your father’s, and you admit conspiring to ruin Intarra’s one true Church with your Accords. Even if you are honest, you have proven yourself a fool and a foe to the faithful. Why would I do anything but burn you?”

“Because if you burn me, you will fail,” Adare said bleakly. “Il Tornja will have turned his two chief foes against each other, and he will win.”

“We will face il Tornja when the time comes,” Lehav said. “This city is better defended than you realize.”

Adare thought back to the pairs of soldiers blocking the alleyways above, to the warren of streets and ruins. It could well prove the end of an Annurian legion, especially if the local population sided with the Sons of Flame. Il Tornja would have to raze the place to dislodge them, and razing an Annurian city would be insanity for a usurper of the throne. Not since Terial the Short laid siege to Mo’ir three centuries earlier had an Annurian emperor attacked his own citizens, and that hadn’t ended well for Terial.

“I have an army,” Lehav continued. “I have a growing stock of weapons and armor. I have a fortified position, and the tactical and strategic experience to properly defend it. You have … what? The dress on your back, and a sad story about the murder of one tyrant at the hands of another. You want something and you can give nothing. You are a highborn beggar, nothing more.”

Adare smiled. “I have the eyes.”

“I am far from convinced,” Lehav replied, “of the divinity of those eyes.”

“That’s a shame. There are three players in this game: my family, your Church, and the kenarang . We each have our followings. If you burn me tomorrow, il Tornja will spin an outraged tale of your treachery. He will explain in great detail and with even more righteous anger how you abducted and murdered me. The millions of Annurians loyal to my family, instead of siding with you, will become his followers. You might hold Olon, but if you attempt to leave it, you will find yourself awash in a sea of enemies. For every mile you travel, men will lame your horses and burn their fields to deny you food. They will tear up the roads before you and drive away their livestock.” Adare shook her head. “Il Tornja won’t even need his legions. Which means you will stay here, trapped with your few followers on this sad, decaying island until you starve or the kenarang destroys you at his leisure.”

Lehav frowned. “Well, that’s a dire tale. And you offer what, to prevent it?”

“Legitimacy. With me at your side, il Tornja won’t be able to brand you traitors. Lovers of Intarra and loyal citizens of the empire alike will unite behind us. It will be the kenarang, not the Sons of Flame, who finds himself trapped behind the walls of his city.”

“Loyal citizens of the empire,” the soldier said, scorn in his voice as he repeated the words.

Adare stared. “My father was a capable Emperor and a just man. For every disgruntled priest during his reign, there were fifty farmers and merchants, nobles and soldiers, all grateful for the peace and prosperity he brought. What is it about Annur that makes you hate it?”

The soldier studied her from across the table. Adare tried to remain still, to keep her face calm, but now that her words were spent, fear flowed in to fill the space left behind, and she realized she was clutching at the fabric of her dress, wringing it desperately between her fingers. With an effort she loosed the cloth, then smoothed it, running her hands over the wrinkles again and again.