“I can get into the tomb through the air shaft,” I say, my voice tentative because I am unsure if he’ll approve of the plan. “If I have rope, a climbing harness, and an ally outside, then the people trapped inside can be lifted out. A diversion, like a fire, will keep the priests’ attention elsewhere. Mother and the girls can’t wear mourning shrouds on the street, so I’ll bring each a change of clothes. Also, it would have to be done at night.”
His gaze fixes on a point beyond my head as he works through the possibilities. This must be the face he wears in battle: unflappable and deadly serious. “It’s risky, but it could work. You’ll need a Patron ally, someone who can move in and out of the City of the Dead without suspicion. Polodos can help you.”
“I saw him at Lord Ottonor’s tomb. I tried to tell him, but he wouldn’t believe me. Do you think he has enough courage to aid me?”
“Do not underestimate Polodos.” He grasps my hands. “Even if he does not, he will obey you because you have the mind and the heart and the courage of a soldier, Jessamy. You should have been my son.”
My lips curl as I yank my hands out of his. “I don’t want to be your son! I want to be your daughter who matters to you as much as a son would.”
Another man would protest that I do matter to him, or would push me aside in disgust. He catches my chin in a hand and tips back my head. In his eyes I see myself: not as a reflection but in their brown color, their shape, the thick lashes, the intensity. In the face of his scrutiny I begin to cry silent tears because I want him to care, and I have never truly been sure that he does.
His mouth tightens. “Never think my daughters do not matter to me. Never believe it. I am proud of all four of you even if I have not known how to show it.” He releases my chin. A smile peeps out as he shakes his head. “Down the air shaft. I suppose that is an idea you picked up from the Fives. I expect you are good, are you not?”
I have to bite my lower lip to stop from bawling. All I can do is nod.
“Of course you would be.”
I put a hand on his knee like a supplicant. “Father, come with me.”
He sets me back, stands, and takes an agitated turn around the room. “Garon stewards watch me. Garon guards stand at every gate. My movements are under constant scrutiny. My usual military stewards and orderlies have already been sent east to prepare for my travel. Except for Haredas, I am alone among people loyal to Lord Gargaron. After tonight’s feast they mean to parade me at the victory games and then send me east to the war.”
“That’s when we can do it! The day of the victory games!”
“They would find me out in a moment. I cannot walk out that door without a guard on either side. Besides that, my involvement would endanger your mother even more. A man who would commit blasphemy to separate her from me will murder her if he knows she is free.”
He halts at the window to gaze down over the courtyard in its blaze of lamps. The tense set of his shoulders eases as he wills himself into calm.
“I must go to war, just as I always do. I will fight to keep Efea free from invasion because soldiering is my duty. The king needs me to command his army.” He turns, and I rise, standing at attention as I have been taught. “Freeing your mother and sisters is your task, Jessamy. You must devise an attack and carry it out. I can never see her again, do you understand?”
I wipe away tears because he has allowed me a glimpse into his five souls, his deepest heart: it isn’t just Gargaron’s ruthlessness he fears, it is his own love for her. If she dies, he will blame himself. He already blames himself. “Yes, I understand.”
He taps his chest twice, and I respond with the same signal.
I have been given my orders.
A bell rings in the courtyard. Servants rush to the feast like the sweep of wind. Women’s laughter spills on the night air, unmarred by grief or care.
“You can find Polodos at the Least-Hill Inn by the West Harbor,” he adds. He cocks his head as we both hear a noise at the closed doors.
“Open up at once. General Esladas must see me immediately.”
I would know Lord Gargaron’s voice anywhere.
25
I pull my mask down over my face. The tray is in my hands before the door opens. Father remains at the window.
With bowed head I step out of the way as Lord Gargaron strides in. He cannot be bothered to glance at a masked servant. All his attention is reserved for the man he has elevated. His disapproval clouds the room.
“General Esladas, I thought you would be downstairs already. The procession is gathering.”
