Best Served Cold

She grinned, little lines cutting into the skin at the corners of her eyes. It took him by surprise, how much he loved to see those lines. “Cas, Cas. For such a clever bastard you’re a stupid bastard. You always look for all the wrong things in all the wrong places. Murcatto’s in Ospria, with Rogont. She fought in the battle there. Any man with ears knows that.”

“I didn’t hear.”

“You don’t listen. She’s tight with the Duke of Delay, now. My guess is he’ll be putting her in Orso’s place, keep the people of Talins alongside when he reaches for the crown.”

“Then she’ll be following him. Back to Talins.”

“That’s right.”

“Then I will follow them. Back to Talins.” Shenkt frowned. “I could have stayed there these past weeks, and simply waited for her.”

“That’s what happens if you’re always chasing things. Works better if you wait for what you want to come to you.”

“I was sure you’d have found another man by now.”

“I found a couple. They didn’t stick.” She held out her hand to him. “You ready to hum?”

“Always.” He took her hand, and she pulled him from the room, and through the door, and up the stairs.

VII

T ALINS

“Revenge is a dish best served cold”

Pierre Choderlos de Laclos

R ogont of Ospria was late to the field at Sweet Pines, but Salier of Visserine still enjoyed the weight of numbers and was too proud to retreat. Especially when the enemy was commanded by a woman. He fought, he lost, he ended up retreating anyway, and left the city of Caprile defenceless. Rather than face a certain sack, the citizens opened their gates to the Serpent of Talins in the hope of mercy.

Monza rode in, but most of her men she left outside. Orso had made allies of the Baolish, convinced them to fight with the Thousand Swords under their ragged standards. Fierce fighters, but with a bloody reputation. Monza had a bloody reputation of her own, and that only made her trust them less.

“I love you.”

“Of course you do.”

“I love you, but keep the Baolish out of town, Benna.”

“You can trust me.”

“I do trust you. Keep the Baolish out of town.”

She rode three hours as the sun went down, back to the rotting battlefield at Sweet Pines, to dine with Duke Orso and learn his plans for the close of the season.

“Mercy for the citizens of Caprile, if they yield to me entirely, pay indemnities and acknowledge me their rightful ruler.”

“Mercy, your Excellency?”

“You know what it is, yes?” She knew what it was. She had not thought he did. “I want their land, not their lives. Dead men cannot obey. You have won a famous victory here. You shall have a great triumph, a procession through the streets of Talins.”

That would please Benna, at least. “Your Excellency is too kind.”

“Hah. Few would agree with that.”

She laughed as she rode back in the cool dawn, and Faithful laughed beside her. They talked of how rich the soil was, on the banks of the Capra, watching the good wheat shift in the wind.

Then she saw the smoke above the city, and she knew.

The streets were full of dead. Men, women, children, young and old. Birds gathered on them. Flies swarmed. A confused dog limped along beside their horses. Nothing else living showed itself. Empty windows gaped, empty doorways yawned. Fires still burned, whole rows of houses nothing but ash and tottering chimney stacks.

Last night, a thriving city. This morning, Caprile was hell made real.

It seemed Benna had not been listening. The Baolish had begun it, but the rest of the Thousand Swords – drunk, angry, fearing they would miss out on the easy pickings – had eagerly joined in. Darkness and dark company make it easy for even half-decent men to behave like animals, and there were few half-decent men among the scum Monza commanded. The boundaries of civilisation are not the impregnable walls civilised men take them for. As easily as smoke on the wind, they can dissolve.

Monza flopped down from her horse and puked Duke Orso’s fine breakfast over the rubbish-strewn cobbles.

“Not your fault,” said Faithful, one big hand on her shoulder.

She shook him off. “I know that.” But her rebellious guts thought otherwise.

“It’s the Years of Blood, Monza. This is what we are.”

Up the steps to the house they’d taken, tongue rough with sick. Benna lay on the bed, fast asleep, husk pipe near one hand. She dragged him up, made him squawk, cuffed him one way and the other.

“Keep them out of town, I told you!” And she forced him to the window, forced him to look down into the bloodstained street.

“I didn’t know! I told Victus… I think…” He slid to the floor, and wept, and her anger leaked away and left her empty. Her fault, for leaving him in charge. She could not let him shoulder the blame. He was a good man, and sensitive, and would not have borne it well. There was nothing she could do but kneel beside him, and hold him, and whisper soothing words while the flies buzzed outside the window.

“Orso wants to give us a triumph…”