31st of Nema

Bright afternoon sunlight poured across the polished miner's cherry floor, casting a warm glow over the panels of silver-leaf on the walls.

A songbird warbled away outside the window at my back, the pure, rippling notes a welcome counterpoint to the near total quiet of the room. After a moment the bird took flight on a swift hum of wings, leaving only the clicking of the antique timekeep on the wall, and the faint whisper of Arramy's breathing.

The Captain lay propped up on a mountain of pillows, bandages criss-crossing his bare torso above the sheets, his head tilted back and slightly toward me. He hadn't shown any signs of waking yet, but he had survived the night, his chest rose and fell evenly, and his heart was beating strong and steady. The rest would take time, Mrs. Burre had said.

After finding him under that log, believing he was already dead, then waiting so long to find out if he would live at all, the relief of 'it will take time' was all too easy to cling to. So was the fact that Mrs. Burre needed rest, and had come to ask if there was someone the Captain knew who could spend some time talking and reading to him. The sound of a familiar voice might help him find his way back to reality.

I didn't hesitate. Propriety could hang.

Twenty minutes later, the quarterly I had borrowed from NaVarre's study was open in front of me, but my eyes wouldn't stay on the page. I hadn't even read more than the first line of the article I had turned to. My attention kept straying beyond the top of the quarterly to the bed. Yet again – and without my permission – my gaze wandered to the lean, tan fingers of Arramy's left hand, then followed the muscles of his arm to his shoulder; from there to the sculpted hollow of his throat, then up to the line of his jaw and the angles of his cheekbones, and finally to the sandy-brown crescents of his eyelashes.

I hadn't noticed before because the tips were brightened by the sun, but his lashes were surprisingly long.

I caught myself imagining what he might have looked like as a boy, bit my lip, and yanked my errant thoughts back to the quarterly, then cleared my throat, the sound overloud in the stillness. "For your listening pleasure this afternoon, we will be learning about the discovery of ductal formations in the Galbrunne Tree fossils... Yes. That's right, we have run out of other options and are now trying to bore you awake. It's your own fault. Feel free to stop me at any time." I paused and glanced at Arramy.

There was no change. Not even a flicker of movement behind those eyelashes.

"Nothing?" My voice was thick, and I cleared my throat again. "Fine. Have it your way." I shook the quarterly, deliberately making a great rustling of paper. Then I started in. "'Ductal Formations in the Interior Rings of the Galbrunne Trees. An essay by Dr. G. R. Owo'fayadh, Professor of Historical Field Studies, Arrensbrooke University.'"

Ten minutes later: "... Needless to say this exciting discovery, while exhilarating in its own right, has paved the way for a much better understanding of the physical structure of prehistoric veridimorphological vegetation, and their dependence on mineral salts in the groundwater in the Qa'arian time period. The end."

I lowered the quarterly and gave Arramy a squinty-eyed glare. "Really? I read all of that like an utter rattlebrain and you're not even going to wake up to scowl at me?"

"His color is a little better today."

I looked up.

NaVarre was standing in the open doorway, arms crossed over his chest. He offered an oddly tight grin, but didn't enter. "We need to talk."

My gaze found Arramy again, a lump rising in my throat, hot and sticky. I swallowed. Strange. Even though Arramy was sleeping, for those few moments I had been sitting with him I had been able to breathe. "Is it important?"

"Yes," NaVarre said quietly. "I've brought Miss Ina to relieve you."

Light footsteps approached, and a young female voice said, kindly, "I'll send word if he wakes, Miss."

I closed my eyes for a moment, then nodded and got reluctantly to my feet. I set the quarterly on the nightstand. Then I took a breath and walked to the door, every step heavy with the feeling that I was leaving part of me behind. It took an awful amount of willpower to keep going through the doorway and down the hall, trailing after NaVarre as he headed for the stairs.

~~~

I flinched as the bolts thunked into their slots in the study door, effectively cutting NaVarre and I off from the outside world. I came to a halt in the middle of the room and clasped my hands in front of me, my heart skipping a beat. NaVarre was nothing like the Coventry thug outside the Starflower, but I still turned to face him, obeying an unconscious need to keep him where I could see him.

NaVarre closed the interior control panel. He didn't look at me, though. He looked at the floor, his brows drawn together. He didn't move, either, he just stood there with his head down.

That didn't bode well. "What's wrong?" I asked, my concern growing.

NaVarre brought his head up, his eyes sliding up to meet mine. "They knew."

The hair at the back of my neck prickled a warning even before NaVarre looked away again, his voice hoarse, "The Coventry knew we were going to be at the vault. That's why they got there that fast. That's why there were so many of them."

"You're sure?" I whispered.

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a curl of messenger's tape. "It pays to keep a Magi or two in my pocket." He crossed the floor to me and held out the tape. "They found this in the Chief Magistrate's office."

I took the message and pulled it straight between my fingers, tilting it to the light from his desk lamp so I could make out the letters embossed in the cotton-paper.

Pirate. Missing daughter. Stalwart Vault. Noon. 20 men.

"Look at the timestamp," NaVarre rasped.

My chest hollowed. The message was received a full half-hour before we walked into the Stalwart. "So... who..."

"It wasn't one of mine," NaVarre said dully. "They were all with me till just before the fighting. It gets worse. I did some snooping and found the boy who brought the message in to the Post Bureau. He described a tall man with light eyes, a limp, and a big, silver coin." He took a few steps back and sat down in the closest armchair, slouching forward to rest his elbows on his knees. After a moment he shook his head. "The kid didn't see much after the coin, so he couldn't give more of a description. But I know who it sounds like... and Arramy left early for the Vault." He lowered his head and gripped his temples. "How could I have been so stupid? I thought... Arramy has lost men, he's just as angry as I am. But I should have known better. He's the Coventry's favorite blunt instrument, and I just opened the door and let him walk right in."

I blinked. "I can't believe Arramy would do that," I said, trying to push away what NaVarre was saying. "No. That doesn't make any sense. You didn't see what we had to go through – what he had to go through – to get me back here. Why would he..." My voice broke, and I had to swallow before I could go on, my heart aching. "Why would he do that? Why wouldn't he have just taken everything and left me out there? Why even get me out of Nim K?"

NaVarre looked ill. "I don't know! I don't know. What I do know is that we were the only three who knew the Vault was the target. You and I arrived at the same time with my men. So it had to be him, or one of his crew. Either way, he was involved." He paused to let out a harsh chuckle. "Arramy is easily the most frighteningly brilliant tactician I have ever met. He would be the first to say we don't have the luxury of blind trust."

It was unreal. I had started the day simply glad that Arramy was alive, and now the doubt swarming through my head had me reeling. Lost. I didn't want to believe it. I couldn't. Not after all the fighting, all the pain, all the sacrifices... Losing Raggan... Losing his crew... But that didn't mean it wasn't the truth. There could be a much longer game on the board. Char's story came to mind, and its grizzly picture of what the Coventry could make people do. Feeling suddenly empty and cold, I looked at NaVarre. As much as it hurt to admit it, he was right. Trust was a luxury.

Numb, I moved to sit in the armchair across from him and put the messenger's tape on the rakai table between us. "I think the bigger question is, what do we do now?"

NaVarre stared at me for a moment. Then his gaze drifted into an absent middle distance. His voice was husky when he finally grated out, "We use it."

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