Islana's Story
"You can't do both, you know," Dysis mused, leaning back in the wooden chair. He could barely feel that it was unpadded through all of the layers of thick clothing he was wearing, though he felt awkward and had trouble moving through it all. He was beginning to think he'd never get used to the cold."
"What are you talking about?" Jall asked back. He sat opposite Dysis at a large wooden table, waiting. Kalin and Erra were due at any moment, and while he'd have been happy to talk to either of his good friends separately, wasn't thrilled with the thought of trying to spend time with them together. Particularly not given his unofficial role as moderator between the two.
"You want to be loyal to the Voice and best friends with the King... I mean, the only times I made you really angry were when I insulted either of them, it's obvious you care for them both. But you won't be able to be impartial in this, and you're not going to be able to stay loyal to both."
"Why not?" he asked.
"You really think they won't expect you to choose a side?" Dysis asked in return.
"Neither one would ever ask that of me. They both know how I feel about the other."
"Of course they wouldn't ask. But that doesn't mean they won't expect something." He shrugged. "I wish you the best of luck trying, but if everything you've told me is true, they'll be at each other's throats in seconds and it'll be awfully hard to be caught in the middle."
"If I'm in the middle, then where are you, exactly?"
"Watching from the outside and trying to not get massacred in the crossfire," Dysis said. "And speaking of being outside, is someone going to be translating for me? I know the Voice speaks my language, but King Erraˆë"
"King Erra does not. I'll be translating for the two of you."
"Thanks." He paused, thinking of translators, then asked, "Any word from Cleran?"
"None yet, but they're likely still in the meeting. Don't worry."
"I think I will, if it's all the same to you... Despite everything, Cleran is still my little brother. Of course I'm going to worry about him."
Jall smiled. Sometimes, when Dysis wasn't being too stubborn and nasty, he was quite human and easy to like. "I'll let you know as soon as word arrives," he promised.
"Thanks," Dysis said again, and started to say more, but was interrupted. Erra Kelanister had arrived, and things were about to get serious.
[OPENING CREDITS]
Episode 18: Bargains
There was a long quiet. "Erolis?" Arot finally asked. "Uh... Why?"
"I need to get in touch with Lady Alayrin."
"You can send someone as a messenger."
"I'd rather send her right-hand man, and I can't imagine he'd have left the city without news of Dysis. Does anyone know where he's staying?" There was more quiet and Cleran could sense the unease in the room. "Someone, please. Tell me he's alive."
"He is," Arot said. "Just... Incapacitated at the moment. I mean, you probably could talk to him, but..."
"Incapacitated? How? Why?" Cleran demanded.
"The man was a traitor, Cleran. The only thing saving his life was his Holiness' presence, and when his Holiness disappeared, he seemed a natural suspect... He was placed under arrest as soon as the two of you were found missing."
"If Dysis was the only one saving his life, then why in God's name would he want to remove His Holiness?"
Arot shrugged a little.
"Great. Fucking perfect. Did you arrest anyone else for no reason?"
"The healer slave—with reason. He was found, unconscious but dripping someone else's blood near the open cell. What would you have thought, in my position?"
Cleran bit back an angry reply. In this case, Arot had a point; if he hadn't known the boy had Healed him, he'd likely have assumed the slave had been an ally in Islana's escape and Dysis' disappearance, given the state he was in. "Is that all?"
"Yes."
"Would someone please retrieve the two of them from the dungeon?" he asked, willing himself to have more patience.
"Uh..."
"They can walk, can't they?"
"With aid, yes," Arot said, then motioned two of the Warriors to go release the prisoners. It was a seemingly horribly long wait before they returned, escorting the two men. Of the two, Erolis was in the worse shape by far, though Cleran assumed that was because the slave had managed to Heal himself. Erolis was walking leaning heavily on a crutch on one side and propped up by a disgusted-looking Warrior on the other. His shirt was torn almost to the point of non-existence, and what remained was caked with dried blood and dirt. What showed of his skin explained where the blood came from; everything that wasn't an open wound was purple with bruises, and it was fairly clear he had a few broken ribs. His hair was matted, the once-glossy black streaks having grown out a bit so the blood roots showed, and he was unshaven and smelled awful. The slave's clothes were in a similar condition and he bore a few bruises as well as the scent, and looked more than half-starved, but was otherwise in decent health.
Even as Cleran turned to Jereh, she had already begun to move, and swept across to the end of the table. "Move," she snarled at one of the Warriors, as she grabbed his chair; he was left with the impression that if he hadn't jumped out of it as she pulled it free from the table, she'd have dumped him out without breaking stride. She accepted Erolis' weight from the Warrior, helped him to the chair and sat him down, then placed one hand on his forehead and the other on his chest.
Both began to glow, and she closed her eyes and concentrated. Healing like this left her vulnerable but, for the moment at least, she was willing to trust Cleran to protect her. She found the worst of Erolis' injuries and threw up quick but effective painblocks before she began to deal with the wounds themselves. She was quick and efficient, as she'd spent years practicing her trade on a battlefield where she had to work fast, and within a few minutes, Erolis was in far better condition.
He took a deep, labored breath. "Thank you," he murmured, then his eyes came into focus and he noticed for the first time who had Healed him. "What the—" he started.
"Erolis," Cleran interrupted. The traitor looked up in shock.
"Heard rumors you were dead," he said finally, as Jereh moved on to the slave.
"No such luck."
"Pity," he muttered. "I suppose Dysis is still alive, too, then."
"Indeed. Could someone get a pitcher of water, please? I imagine you'll need it." He spared a look over at Jereh. She'd sat the slave down on the bench at the side of the room and they were both in a trance now, hands clasped between them and a very faint glow connecting them. He wondered what was going on, and assumed she was merely finishing professionally what the Healer had done for himself as an amateur. "I'm sorry you've been... inconvenienced," he apologized.
"Is that what you're calling it?" he scoffed in return. "It felt a bit more like three Warriors jumped me, dragged me to the dungeon and beat the shit out of me without explaining why. Took me three days to convince someone to tell me what I'd supposedly done. I didn't, by the way."
"I'm aware."
Erolis gave him a strange look. "Sine when do you have any authority, anyway?" he asked.
"That's what I need to talk to you about. Why don't we head somewhere more private to talk—Arot as well—while everyone else is dismissed for breakfast or to return to sleep." He glanced at the bench again. "Jereh, are you coming with me?" he asked, noticing she was starting to come out of the trance.
"The two of us are," she said, nodding towards the slave. "I have to talk to you."
Cleran had sort of expected this, and nodded. He couldn't picture Jereh running into an untrained Healer without wanting to teach him, and he could see no reason the slave shouldn't be trained. As it was, the kid had saved his life more than once.
"Let's go, then. Everyone, thank you for your cooperation; I'll keep you informed as to what goes on and what you'll be expected to do as soon as there's news. Good morning."
Dysis and Jall stood to greet Erra, as was polite, and waited for him to take the head of the table before sitting again. He and Dysis stared at each other for a long minute, each trying to stare the other down, and Erra was surprised to find just how unflinching Dysis was under his gaze. He'd heard reports of Dysis, enough that he didn't feel unprepared to deal with him, but it had been a long time since he'd met an enemy face to face.
Erra was decked out in fairly impressive garb; almost everything he wore was dripping with embroidery. His crown was a dark metal and bore the sign of his family at the front in jewels, and his necklace hung in full sight just in case someone forgot who he was. He was intimidating, despite his age—or maybe because of it. His gaze was like steel and his expression emotionless. He was very old because he'd been good enough at what he did to live a long time, and wore that knowledge in every move he made.
Dysis, by contrast, was young—especially for someone so powerful—and inexperienced; he'd never fought on a battlefield himself, and had never faced an enemy other than Islana face to face. And there was something eerily similar about facing her and facing him...
"I was right," he said finally, mostly to himself. "Islana is a Kelanister after all."
Jall translated, and Erra nodded. "My granddaughter, once known as Galiera."
"She's a very convincing liar."
Erra gave him another flinty look but said nothing. He shrugged a little, trying to appear more confident than he felt... But then, after all of the horror stories he'd heard of Erra Kelanister, the reality couldn't possibly be as bad as he'd expected. True, Erra was in good physical shape for a man his age—mid sixties—and still moved like a trained fighter. But he wasn't truly scary looking, and when he was younger had probably been a fairly attractive man... But then, he'd probably looked a lot like a male version of Islana.
"Majesty—Erra," Jall started politely, "this is His Holiness, Dysis Serathi. Holiness, King Erra Kelanister." He switched languages halfway through to make them appropriate to the listeners. This was going to be a laborious process, he realized, but Kalin would probably be able to help. He would likely, at the very least, translate for himself and converse directly with Dysis.
Dysis inclined his head respectfully, though Erra made no such gesture in return. That was a bit insulting, but not really unexpected; Dysis supposed that Erra had reason enough to be scornful and distrusting of any of Ocando's priests, let alone the High Priest. Oddly, he didn't feel very nervous; he had thought that meeting Erra would be nerve wracking... But now he realized this wouldn't be worse than most Council sessions had been, as Erra, like the damned stubborn Alayrins, was bound by rules of diplomacy. He could be snippy, perhaps outright rude, but he couldn't really do anything.
"I've heard much about you," Dysis finally said.
"And I you," Erra returned. "You like torturing Knights, destroying cities and planning assassinations, if I recall."
"I don't enjoy it," Dysis said. "I merely do it when it is called for."
"Islana is my granddaughter," Erra said flatly, through Jall's translation. "Mince words with Kalin, if you want, but don't bother with me. If you had been brought to me as a prisoner instead of the Knights, you'd already have met a painful execution."
"And if I hadn't been kidnapped by your granddaughter, in several week's time you'd have been laid out for burial. We're leaders, your Highness, and we make decisions based on what has to be done and what is practical to do, not, unfortunately, on what it would be ideal to do."
"Ideally, I suppose, you wouldn't have had to harm Islana."
"Ideally, the Knights would have been put down generations ago and this island would still be occupied," Dysis answered, his voice deadly calm. "Ideally, your bloodline would have ended with King Alis."
"You know your history," Erra said, acknowledging the name of his great (many times over) grandfather, King Alis Kelanister; son of Islan—the first Knight—and Nyala Kelanister, a Priestess. Alis had been the first Kelanister to rule Kalatsu and the one who had tied their bloodline permanently to the land itself.
There was a lull in the conversation, if it could even be called that. In truth, it was more a battle, where two giants sized each other up, trying to get a bead on the other, trying to learn how he'd react, how far he could be pushed, and how to beat him when it came down to it.
Erra liked a challenge; if he hadn't had such a deep-seated hate for the man who sat down the table from him, he'd have enjoyed this very much. He was surprised by Dysis, though it hardly registered on his face; Dysis appeared far too young to be the High Priest and ruler of an Island. His eyes showed experience, but he looked no older than his actual age, his late twenties. His hair was fairly short and swept out of his eyes, and he'd finally convinced them to give him a razor so he could appear clean-shaven for this conference. By this point, it was apparent to all who'd stood guard over him that he was far from suicidal, and hardly competent enough at fighting to inflict harm on anyone else with a blade for shaving.
Now he was clad in colors that were more familiar to him—dark reds and oranges—though everything still felt out of place. The long sleeves were bad enough, but they were not just long, but also heavy—and layered. He saw the need for this, of course, but it still felt awkward. His feet felt oddly cramped and confined, too; he had on thick wool socks and heavy boots, as compared to the sandals he wore at home.
Everything had felt subtly wrong since he'd been here, and surprisingly, not just the fear and the dread of what the next day might bring. It was the food, the scent, the very feeling of the air. He had never seen snow until he'd come here, and while he could never name the way it made the atmosphere change, it somehow felt heavier, as if everything was weighed down by the inches—feet, in some places—of snow that laid on it. It was beautiful, he'd agreed; he'd never seen anything like the sparkling white of snow and ice before, and he'd even assumed it would be fun to play in, judging by the frequency of mock fights that took place outside his window daily. But, unfortunately, it was pretty and fun, but also damned cold, and he did not appreciate the cold at all.
Eventually, the door to this conference room in the Kal'Ishka Knight's Inn opened again. A Knight stepped in, took a look around, then held the door and motioned for the Voice of Kaleal to join the group.
Dysis willed himself not to react to Kalin's presence, but it was hard. Something about it had changed deeply. Physically... Well, physically, he was wearing much more formal, far dressier robes now; they played off the same basic blue and silver color scheme as any other Priest's robe, but now were almost as thickly embroidered as Erra's own clothes. But it was hardly just that, there was something else about Kalin's presence. It wasn't the added Presence of Kaleal that sometimes appeared, Dysis noted; his eyes were clear as still water, without the give away cloudiness. But it was as though Kalin's whole attitude had shifted in the few days since he'd last been seen.
Dysis might not have had the same ability to read people's emotions as Cleran did, but he was an excellent judge of character on his own. He'd judged Kalin, correctly, as calm, kind, and free from malice and hate. He definitely had been before; where Jall's words were always calm and masked whatever negative emotions he held towards the captive brothers, Kalin's had been genuine. He wished them no ill will. But now...
He almost exuded anger, it was as if he'd gathered any hatred he had and thrown it up as a shield. His eyes were narrowed, his single hand clenched into a fist, his every movement calculated. Dysis found himself, for a moment, far more afraid than he'd been when Erra had entered the room; this was the same man he'd met before, but clearly a very, very different side of him.
Jall stood respectfully and saluted; Kalin nodded towards him and he returned to his seat. Dysis inclined his head respectfully, and got the same in return, and then it was just Kalin and Erra...
"It's a pity the assassination attempt never got off the ground," Kalin commented as he situated himself at the end of the table opposite Erra.
"You must not have prayed hard enough, Brother," Erra hissed.
Dysis didn't understand the interchange and Jall didn't translate it, but the acid behind the words went beyond the barrier of languages. These two men hated each other and hated being in a room with each other... But that was strange; it didn't fit what Dysis knew of Kalin at all. How could a Priest willing to forgive and accept his enemies, those who had enslaved him, taken his hand, and killed countless numbers of his people, hate one of his own? What, Dysis found himself wondering, happened between them?
He didn't learn any answers that day, and wouldn't for some time to come. The negotiating was more important, and he somehow got the feeling that neither of them would be well-disposed towards answering questions about their past; as it stood, he could take advantage of the lack of unison on their side, but were he to start asking questions, they would unify against him.
So instead he merely observed. It was a long session that day, and didn't get nearly as much accomplished as he'd hoped. It didn't get anything accomplished, really; every time Kalin suggested something, Erra shot it down, and the same happened to Erra when he spoke. Jall remained quiet aside from his role as translator, though he very carefully did not translate much of what was being said, as he'd decided for himself that the in-fighting and name-calling wasn't something Dysis needed to understand.
By the end of the day, Dysis realized just how tough this would be. As it was, he didn't want to give away more than he had to, but now he'd not only have to fit one set of demands, he'd have to fit two, and furthermore, he'd have to get everything he wanted agreed on by Kalin and Erra. And then there was the little matter of the Council's reaction when he got home...
Peace may have been drawing closer, but by the time Dysis was escorted back through the tunnel to his room in the Knight's complex on Cresula, he felt almost as though an agreement was completely impossible, regardless of everything. His heart sank with the sun that night, and he spent the evening praying for guidance.
[EYECATCH]
There was a fairly extensive library in the Great Church, with private reading rooms set off from it. Some were larger than others so they could be used as makeshift offices for Lords when they came for Council meetings, and Cleran had selected the largest of these for his own use. It had a bland wooden desk with a slightly padded chair. Not that the padding did much good, as it was well-worn and almost as hard as the wood itself. An equally worn, though slightly more comfortable, couch sat against another wall, and a few plain wooden folding stools were leaning against a wall.
Cleran had debated using Dysis' office in his absence, but didn't want to appear to being undermining Dysis' authority—he didn't want to actually undermine it, either. He also didn't particularly want to show off his new status, brag, otherwise irritate the Warriors more than he had to. They were going to be angry at him, of course, but he didn't have to make things worse by being arrogant. This office was humble, but it would do.
He turned the desk's chair around to face the rest of the room, and debated sitting, but offered it to Arot instead. Arot nodded and took it, so as not to have to sit next to a Knight, a slave, or a traitor. Cleran took a wooden stool and set another one up for Erolis, letting Jereh and the slave take the couch, shut and locked the door, then finally sat.
"Well?" Erolis finally asked. "What the hell is going on? Who is she?"
Cleran very briefly explained what had happened and who Jereh was. Erolis looked on skeptically, but the slave's eyes grew wide. He stared at Cleran in shock, then over at Jereh, still not believing. It was the dark anger in Arot's face that finally convinced him that Cleran was speaking the truth. He couldn't help it, he tried not to, but slowly broke into a wide grin. The third Prophet—a man who he knew to be decent already—and discussions of a peace treaty.
"So? I'm grateful you got me out of the dungeon and all, but what do I have to do with anything?" Erolis asked when he finished.
"I want you to act as a liaison to Lady Alayrin on our behalf," Cleran said. "Please."
Erolis gave him an odd look. "Why?" he asked.
"This... This will happen, regardless of who stands against it, but it will not happen easily. It would be infinitely easier with the support of Lady Alayrin... And those who follow her."
"And you think I can help?"
"You told Dysis that you had her ear; that you'd be reporting to her. And she knows you don't care for him, what reason could you possibly have to lie to her?"
"I see your position, then," Erolis acknowledged. "But I'm afraid that won't quite win me over. What do I get out of the deal?"
"What?" Cleran asked.
Erolis rolled his eyes. "I just spent a week in a dungeon for something I didn't do," he said slowly, as though trying to explain to a dimwit. "Because you couldn't do your job and keep Islana in a damned locked cell. So you'll understand, I'm sure, if I'm not exactly well disposed towards you at the moment."
Cleran started to react, then stopped and thought for a moment. Finally, he said in as carefully controlled a voice as he could manage, "I apologize for the confusion which lead to your... Incarceration. As does Arot." He shot Arot a nasty glare, and the Priest shifted in his seat uncomfortably. "And you can't be any angrier about Islana's escape than I already am—I have to live with knowing how badly I messed that up every day, and knowing everything it cost..."
"That's as may be," Erolis answered easily. "But even if your apology is genuine—and his isn't—" he nodded towards Arot, who met him with a glare of his own, "that doesn't change anything. What I want to know is what you, as the alleged Prophet, can do for me."
"Isn't that obvious?" Cleran asked. "Your wife, Erolis. If this succeeds—and I promise you it will fail without Lady Alayrin's support—but if it succeeds, your wife will be free."
"And suddenly, the Church has compassion for a man who falls in love with one of Kaleal's followers?" he snapped. "You think that will change anything? She's been living as a free woman since the Alayrins took us in. You think that just because a title changes, it'll make things easy for us? It won't be. It won't ever be easy. I love Nirra, I love her with all my heart and soul, but it's hard. Every day I'm reminded of everything I gave up to be with her, and I wouldn't be human if I was happy about that. Every day, I'm glared at, cursed at, by people who refuse to even try and understand—you think that will change?"
Cleran couldn't even respond. The words hit him, hard, and he found himself lost in thought rather than replying. It never would have worked anyway, he told himself quietly, for almost the first time since his powers had developed, the misery of losing Islana washing over him. He had somehow managed to keep it locked away all this time, to worry about other things, but something in the way Erolis spoke brought everything back. It wouldn't have worked, we're too different, we... Either she'd have had to give up everything, or I'd have, and neither one of us would be willing to. She never loved me as much as she loved Kaleal—she never loved me—and I... I don't know. Would I really have sold Dysis out to her?
Sundancer, I can't... It wouldn't have worked, outside of that tiny room where we were together, even if she had loved me the way I loved her, it wouldn't have worked...
He remained silent, bowled over by the loneliness for a moment. It was overwhelming, he couldn't move, couldn't think...
Jereh was the only one present who truly understood what was going on, she could tell by the look on his face and his sudden silence what his thoughts had turned to. Instead of letting him wallow in misery, she snapped at Erolis, "Don't you dare talk about how hard you've had it, you spoiled, arrogant child."
"What?" he asked, having almost forgotten that she was a Knight and not just a slave.
"You grew up with everything you ever could have wanted provided for you, and you're nothing more than a little boy whose favorite toys were taken away," she spat. "I don't have any sympathy for you; I feel bad for your wife. She's the one who took the blame and risked her life to be with you. And now you'd deny her a chance at real freedom because you were inconvenienced? That's worse than selfish, it's downright spiteful, especially if you love her so much as you claim."
"Spiteful?" he sputtered. "She—I—I love her more than I can even describe, and you think I'm doing this to spite her?"
"Yes," Jereh said, the word clipped and staccato.
"How dare you?"
"All I'm doing is telling you what I see. If you love her, you'd want her to be free, regardless of how it effects you. But you don't, you're too wrapped up in what you feel and what you want to even think of that."
"How do you know what she wants?" he demanded. "Nirra is unlike other slaves."
"Yes, if she didn't want to be free, she would be," Jereh said. "All I know is what I've seen, with each and every slave I've encountered—a chance at freedom, however risky, is always taken."
"She might as well be free now, she's treated as such," Erolis said stubbornly. "This has nothing to do with her."
"Perhaps it should," Jereh responded.
"Jereh, enough," Cleran finally said, though in all honesty, he was more than happy that she'd taken care of badgering Erolis for him. It let him be the goodguy, coming to his rescue, and it was nice to see Jereh's rather intimidating verbal skills put to use for a good cause for a change. Better she's angry at him than at me, he thought vaguely.
She glanced over at him, bit off whatever she was going to say, folded her arms across her front and returned to watching, her glare fixed on Erolis. "Erolis," Cleran began, slightly more cajoling now that Erolis knew the alternative to dealing with him was dealing with Jereh. "If you won't do this out of decency, what will you do it for?"
"Nothing you can offer, likely," Erolis answered.
"Money?" Cleran offered. "Recognition—reconciliation with your family?"
Erolis half-laughed at that. "Reconciliation?" he said, shaking his head no. "I don't want it. I don't need it. So long as Nirra remains at my side, my former family can go hang themselves for all I care."
"Money?" Cleran offered again.
"Where would I spend it, Cleran? You know as well as I do how the merchants are; no one wants to be seen dealing with anyone... Disreputable." He had a decent point there, most of the merchants and artisans he'd tried to deal with had banned him from their shops. No one wanted to be associated with him in any way, it definitely was bad for business. Cleran had faced similar discrimination in the past, as bastard's black branded him as about as low class as it was possible to be on Arpiar without being a slave, much to his constant frustration. "If Lord and Lady Alayrin hadn't taken me in, I'd probably have starved to death, Nirra with me... At best, I'd have been doing manual labor somewhere. No one would even have trusted me as a guardsman, despite the fact that I've had more training that any other three guards put together."
"I know Erolis, you know I understand that," Cleran agreed amicably. "But if you won't take pay and there's nothing you want, what can I do? We need your help, and when you get down to it, this is something you agree with."
He continued to try and coax Erolis, though he had very little luck, but was really paying more attention to a very quiet conversation being held by Jereh and the slave. He was speaking in Kalatsu's language—So Islana was telling the truth, he does speak it, Cleran noted—and they seemed to be talking about Healing.
Jereh smiled suddenly, and nodded. "Pardon me, gentlemen," she said, more polite than the last time she'd spoken up. "But my friend makes an excellent point. There is something we may be able to do for you, Erolis. There's something we know you want."
"Really," he muttered, still annoyed at her for her earlier scolding, not to mention his general animosity towards Knights. "Do tell."
"Children. Your wife... She miscarried, unfortunately, and it seems that she can't have children. But that's caused by a bodily imbalance, a particularly difficult one, but still something that Healing could, in theory, take care of."
"Not likely," he answered easily. "I did my research, this isn't something anyone on Arpiar has ever been able to cure. Not that's ever been recorded, at least."
"I think you'll find that Healers on Kalatsu are a bit more powerful than your own," Jereh answered. "I can't say for certain that this has been cured, merely that I believe I understand, in theory, how it could work. It would take a lot of raw power, but..."
"Yes?"
"If I didn't have enough of my own—and given how much this would take, that is quite likely—I believe this young man has more than enough to provide the extra. Between the two of us, at least in theory, we could cure your wife."
Erolis stared at her, but the look on his face made it clear he'd been won over.
"Are you really that powerful?" he asked finally.
"The two of us together would be... Assuming Cleran will allow me to teach him everything he'd need to know."
The healer slave looked at Cleran eagerly, not quite daring to hope for his answer, but not too skeptical about it, either.
"Do it," he said simply, and the slave beamed at him. Jereh gave him a very slight, grudging smile and turned back towards Erolis.
"I can't swear it will work, but it can't hurt," she said.
Erolis nodded. "If there's even a chance... I'll ensure Lady Alayrin is as well disposed towards this as a I can. You have my word."
"And that's supposed to mean something?" Arot demanded, half-snarling, and speaking up for the first time. Everyone turned their attention to him. "A traitor's promise?"
Erolis started to speak, but stopped and bit off whatever comment he'd planned to make. His gaze shifted helplessly from Cleran to Jereh and back to Arot, who unfortunately had a point. He was a traitor, and for all he still considered himself honorable, legally, he wasn't supposed to make deals like this. But then, legally, he wasn't supposed to have anything to do with the Church, and what was Cleran now, if not the very personification of the Church?
"That was uncalled for, Arot," Cleran said after an awkward moment. "I'd trust Erolis' word above almost anyone else's. He's a traitor to your cause, because he believed in his own enough to speak out for it—to the point where he was declared a traitor. But he still won't back away from his fight. He's never gone back on his word, and if he gives it now, I trust him."
"That's up to you," Arot muttered. "But when you fail, don't expect support from me. When all of this fails..."
And there it was, out in the open at last. Arot found the whole thing ridiculous, and fully expected it to fail. He didn't say as much, but it was more than clear that he disliked Cleran and hoped for his failure. And I wonder how he'll feel about Dysis... Cleran wondered to himself. He'd taken that into account; he'd discussed it with Jall and Kalin, but not his brother himself. Dysis wouldn't have liked it if he'd known, and Cleran saw no reason to tell him.
But the truth was, he'd been warned, people were going to hate him. He could make them listen to him and obey him, but they weren't going to like to do it. And that he probably should allow them to hate him. He could set himself up as the badguy and keep Dysis in a shining golden light, and when Dysis returned, he'd be hailed as everyone's savior. When he said he had to sign the treaty, it would be accepted, simply because it wasn't coming from Cleran.
Arot could hate him all he wanted to, it wouldn't matter. He was going to make sure this succeeded, no matter how alone he had to be to do it. And he had no illusions about that, he was alone. He couldn't even stay too close to Dysis if he wanted things to go right, and he'd already lost Islana... He hadn't had any real friends before, anyway. And this is more important than being popular, he reminded himself, as Jereh began to speak aloud.
"Don't worry too much about that, Arot," she said lightly. "If this fails, you'll be too dead to care."
"What?" he demanded.
"Well, if this fails, you're all going to be faced with a highly unified and highly upset Kalatsu. Erra Kelanister's forces—in concert with the Knights for a change—are more than ready to sweep over the entire Island and massacre it. We're through fooling around; we're through with skirmishes and raids. If these peace negotiations fail, there will be all out chaos. And I promise you, you will not survive it."
"Why me?"
"You shouldn't have ordered that attack on Sallera. The fact that we are negotiating is the only thing that's stopping me from ripping your throat out right now." She smiled sweetly. "I had good friends in the city when it went up in smoke."
Arot stared at her in horror, the turned his fearful gaze back to Cleran, who shrugged. "We decided to surrender to try and save everyone's lives, Arot. Yours included."
"So what, we wouldn't stand and fight them?" he demanded.
"Of course we would. And when they combine with the Kelanister army, they have us outnumbered almost three to one... Not to mention the slave revolts that would start as soon as the tide looked light it might turn, if not before. They've got the superior force, and they know it, they've made it painfully clear to me and to Dysis, and this is the only way to avoid so much needless violence and death.
"We aren't going to fail to make peace here, Arot. The alternative is too gruesome."
Arot swallowed hard, and nodded. Good, Cleran thought to himself, Now if I can just get everyone else to stop fighting me that easily... But he was far from optimistic about that. It was going to be a long, lonely battle.
Lisandra frowned. She'd heard the rumors—it had been a mere matter of hours, and they were already flying—but she'd never have expected this. She glanced at the closed office door again, and wondered just how long Cleran was going to close himself up in there.
Erolis had left quite awhile ago... Well, that was for the best. She'd been corresponding with her sister-in-law, and Lady Alayrin had been quite unhappy to have her right hand man imprisoned. She'd been only a few days away from appearing in the Great Church with more blackmail and bribes than Lisandra really wanted to think about. The fact that Cleran had released Erolis immediately upon appearing would probably work in his favor, more than he knew.
She'd observed the buzz running around the Church and then the city as a whole for most of the day, but was one of the only people lucky enough to have seen it confirmed with her own eyes. Years ago now, Lisandra had been instated as the Church's librarian, a surprisingly daunting task. The Library had needed a good deal of work; it had fallen to disorder over the past few generations, and her mind was detail-oriented enough that she'd been happy to volunteer for the task. She'd had ulterior motives, of course; Kieris and Serissa had unofficially asked her to be their eyes within the Church. Everyone knew this, but it was still hard to keep things from her. By the end of her first year, she'd had sources and informers, most of them not even realizing what they were doing, all through the Church.
And now no one even thought twice about her presence anymore. She ran the Library and did it well; she had her older brother's scholarly aspirations, and probably read more than anyone else on Apriar. She'd organized everything and could always be counted on to find whatever obscure information was needed, to the point where, despite her feeding information to the Alayrins, she was more help than liability to the Church. Rallan had finally, grudgingly, come to like her, and Dysis had never even held that grudge.
So when Cleran showed up and asked for the keys to that office, she'd found out what had happened. Not the whole story, that she'd have to get later, but she saw enough of it to assume that at least some of the other rumors were true. She'd consult with Erolis and a few others later, but right now, was not going to leave the library until Cleran did.
Which is why she saw when Eliz walked in. It was, technically, a public library, though used by Priests more often than anyone else, so it wasn't as though it was impossible for it to have been coincidence. But, given Cleran's sudden alleged status elevation and his history with Eliz, she doubted that very highly. Fishing for power again, is she? Lisandra mused to herself. Hopefully, he'll be prepared for her. Because where she's sitting now, she'll be the first thing he sees when he opens the door.
It was as if Ocando himself had planned the timing. No sooner had Eliz found a book and sat down at a table where she was in plain sight of the door, and no sooner than Lisandra spotted her and began to wonder exactly what she had planned, did the door to the office open.
The Knight stepped out first, and the slave right after. They were still conversing about something in a foreign language. Arot left quickly after, not stopping to wait for the others, and didn't even glance up to see who was there as he left. And then Cleran stepped out and shut the door after him, locked it, and looked around. He half-nodded to Lisandra, who smiled in acknowledgement, then cast a worried glance over at the side.
He followed her gaze towards Eliz, and stopped short.
[CLOSING CREDITS]