Firebrand

“I bring news from home that concerns you and your companion, captain,” Wulfstan declared.

“That’s not my rank,” Martel murmured. “Go on, then.” No matter what, the spy’s presence could only bode ill, leaving the battlemage in no particular mood to entertain him. “Say your piece and be done.”

“Given the months I have spent finding you, I should hope you had more than a moment to spare,” Wulfstan remarked pointedly.

“Very well. We shall hear you out,” Eleanor promised, her tone of voice neutral, though Martel suspected she held the spy in no regard either; while he had proven useful to them in Morcaster, he had been the architect behind the scheme to send Martel into Khiva, threatening Eleanor for leverage. In a strange way, Wulfstan had precipitated the rebellion and civil war that followed their desertion, and Martel was not sure whether to tally that in the man’s favour or hold it against him.

The spy glanced at Marcus. “These are delicate matters, involving the Senate. While I’m not worried about the locals being informants for the parties this involves –”

“Save your breath,” the mercenary interjected. “Stars, it’s not like I want to know what this is about. Sounds like trouble. Martel, Eleanor, I’ll see you another day.” He emptied his cup, nodded in quick farewell, and left.

Wulfstan took his seat, grabbing his cup as well to fill it. “Hope you don’t mind. I’ve been hanging around that magister’s palace all day, waiting for you to leave. They wouldn’t let me see you.”

“Get to the point.”

The spy looked at Martel and put the cup down. “Of course. I don’t know if you’ve kept up with news from home – I heard you arrived in Aquila on a Tyrian ship, which is when I first hurried off to find you.”

“Get to the point faster.” “Right. The Senate has been negotiating a permanent peace with Khiva for months and months now, but there’s an obstacle now that only you can remove.” Wulfstan looked straight at Martel.

“Me? How so?”

“Well, if I am allowed to explain…” The spy glanced at either of them expectantly. “The Khivans are sceptical about the Senate. Understandable, considering how new it is. They’re worried that if we can just abolish the High Council and put this assembly in its place, what’s to stop us from doing the same to the Senate? Thereby invalidating any treaty signed under its authority.”

Eleanor exhaled. “How does this involve Martel?”

“As odd as it may sound, the Khivans seem to trust him. I know, a fire-touched battlemage… the world has become a strange place.”

The flame of the candle between them spluttered, and Martel fixed his eyes on the spy. “Explain.”

Wulfstan coughed. “You signed the armistice with them in the first place when you rebelled. You also signed it as an imperator. The Khivans are demanding that any permanent treaty is signed by you as well.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Martel exclaimed. “I hold no rank, no office or authority. Besides, it’s just some ink on parchment! Whose hand making those ink stains won’t determine whether the peace lasts!”

“You are right that the treaty is just parchment,” Wulfstan admitted. “Peace will last if both sides want it to. If they –”

“If both sides trust each other,” Eleanor added. “It is your claim that the Khivans trust Martel above the Senate?”

“That is their own claim, milady.”

“So if Martel agrees to this – we travel to Morcaster, he signs the treaty, and it is done?”

Martel glanced at her; it looked as if she was considering it. It would ruin their plans of going west, but if she agreed to it, he would not argue against either.

“At first.” Wulfstan cleared his throat. “You’ll meet with the Senate to be empowered as its envoys. But negotiations have been taking place in a border town. We would all travel there, meeting with the king of Khiva.”

Eleanor’s eyes narrowed. “Which side of the border?”

“Theirs.”

She laughed. “You want us to travel to Khiva just so Martel can put his name on this treaty?”

“It would be a quick affair, and you may resume your travels afterwards.”

Eleanor leaned back in her seat, crossing her arms. “You must be mad.”

Martel looked at her again, uncertain at her sudden reluctance. While he did not relish the thought of stepping foot inside Khiva ever again, it seemed a small sacrifice if it ensured a lasting peace. “We’ll need to discuss this,” he told Wulfstan.

“Of course. There’s an Imperial galley in the harbour – our ship for the return journey, should you agree. You’ll find me there.” The spy quickly got up and left them alone.

They waited until they had returned to their chambers at the magister’s palace, walking in silence on the way back. As soon as the door closed, Eleanor turned toward Martel. “You are not seriously considering this, are you?”

“At first, it seemed a little foolish for us to travel so far, just so I can ink some parchment. But if it will truly make a difference in safeguarding the peace we fought so hard to win…”

She stared at him with incredulity. “Martel, it is Khiva. How can you even contemplate going?”

“I’m not thrilled about it, but it’s a border town. Short journey back to Aster if something happens, and we’re resourceful,” Martel argued. “We’ll be fine.”

The love of his life looked at him with ill-concealed anger, and her words came forced through a clenched jaw. “Khiva. An entire country of people who hate mages, and especially firemages, and above all the battlemage who has killed hundreds of them. Fathers, brothers, sons, slain by your hand!”

“I know that!” Martel exclaimed, uncomfortable at the remainder and a little upset she felt it necessary to spell it out. “We’ve gone into dangerous situations before. This is no different.”

“It is different in every way! We have gone into battle, yes, and after the battle is over, the danger has passed. Every moment we are in Khiva might be the moment someone chooses to strike,” Eleanor pointed out forcefully. “It only takes one determined Khivan with a thirst for vengeance and a golden bullet, and you are dead. A sharpshooter on a roof, waiting for you to walk down the street. Someone with a pistol, getting close enough to fire. We might be stuck there for days – am I to spend every moment on Khivan soil waiting to see you die before my eyes?”

“We’ll take precautions,” Martel claimed. “We won’t have to be there long. We survived countless Khivan patrols; we can handle this.”

Eleanor began pacing back and forth. “And if it is a trap?”

“I doubt the Khivans would risk the peace just to kill me. I can’t imagine their king cares that much about a single mage, in the end.”

“Of course not! But someone else might be behind this. Some Khivan nobleman whose son died at your hand, pulling strings to have you delivered. And we have only the word of this spy – not exactly a trustworthy individual. What if the Khivans demanded you be handed over as the price of peace, and he’s been sent here to deliver you?”

“Eleanor, that seems – fanciful. But even if something is afoot, we can handle it. We’ve survived everything else this world has ever thrown at us,” Martel told her, trying to use the soothing tone of voice that she usually employed to calm him.

To his surprise and concern, she ceased her pacing and fell into a chair; when she spoke, she sounded despondent. “Month after month, I saw them shoot at you. Hiding behind every tree, their weapons armed with gold to kill you.” She blinked, and her voice became tinged with tears. “I still sometimes have nightmares about those patrols, and they always end with seeing you die.”

“I didn’t know.” Feeling guilty, Martel sat down on the bed, as close to her as he could. “You didn’t tell me.”

“Because I protect you, Martel. I chose that responsibility, and I would choose it again. But it was agony,” she continued. “Every day at that outpost, I woke up with a knot of terror in my stomach, thinking today would be the day I failed. Every skirmish, once the rage of battle cleared away, dread seized me thinking I would turn to see you on the ground. Every wound you suffered, every trickle of blood on you, it made me want to vomit. Do you understand how it feels to love someone hunted by death at every step?”

Martel stared at her, overwhelmed. He knew how much she had cared about her duty as his protector, but the depth of her emotions still surprised him. Even worse, she had hidden this from him to ease his own burdens.

“I hate them, Martel,” she suddenly hissed. “I hate the Khivans for what they tried to do to you. What they still would do to you if they could. I can never forgive them.”

“You don’t have to,” he told her. “You’ll never have to see another Khivan in your life.”

“You are all I have left, Martel. I sacrificed it all to keep you safe. I would do it again,” she reiterated. “But I cannot lose you.” Her voice broke. “I would have nothing left.”

Martel knelt in front of her, grabbing her hands with his own. “You won’t. We won’t do anything you’re against.” He kissed her hands. “I’ve loved you since our days at school together, Eleanor, and you’re all that matters to me. We’ll go west. Let them sort out their troubles without involving us.”

A few sobs escaped her as she nodded.

They slept, and when the sun shone into their room in the morning, they woke. For a long time, they lay in silence until broken by Eleanor. “Do you believe him? The spy. That the Khivans really only trust you to sign the treaty.” Her voice sounded neutral, like the calm and rational person Martel had always known her to be. ᴛʜɪs ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɪs ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ ʙʏ novel-fire.net

“I’d say you understand this kind of diplomacy better. Honestly, he’s lied as often as he’s been truthful with me,” Martel admitted, taking a deep breath. “But he did cross an ocean to find us, so I believe that it’s important. I just don’t know if there’s more behind this than what he claims.”

She did not respond at first, and Martel lay next to her, wondering if he should ask her thoughts or let the matter drop. But at length, she spoke. “If this will make a difference in whether the peace will last…” She looked away and out the window. “We should go east.”

“If that’s what you think best, that’s what we’ll do.”