As they left the industrial district, Reva split off to head through the back alleys toward the slums, and Aysulu and Garvesh went on to the noble quarter. It was almost fully dark, with only the faintest glow of the setting sun casting light on the hills beyond the city walls. Phyreios itself did not sleep during the festival, and already it was lit up in an array of torches and lanterns that outshone the glittering stars above.
The horse gave a whicker—either out of nervousness or simply a comment on their changing surroundings. Aysulu stroked its nose and looked around. This part of the city was well-lit, but the shadows were deep. Finely-dressed citizens were walking in threes and fours, carrying lights of their own and a good quantities of Cerean spirits in clay jars and cups. They paid Aysulu and Garvesh little heed.
“I’ll be glad to be out of the city,” Garvesh said. “It is exhausting to always be looking over one’s shoulder, isn’t it?”
Aysulu agreed. She had hated the many months she had spent alone on the steppe, before she had found Eske, but she thought it might have been preferable to this. In the crowded city, danger might lurk behind every shadowy corner, and there was an abundance of corners here.
There were also many people, dressed in a riot of colors, cheerfully reveling in the festivities. The Ascended were not yet so confident as to make another attempt to eliminate their enemies with so many witnesses present. It was an uneasy, feigned truce, and it would not last. When it ended, Aysulu hoped she and her companions would be outside of the walls, on an open field.
“We have a chariot race to win first,” she said.
Garvesh cocked a bushy eyebrow at her. “You think you can win? You’re a fine rider, but a chariot is a different beast entirely. Has your horse pulled one before?”
“No, but she’s a quick learner, and I’ve driven chariots in my life.” If there was anything Aysulu was confident about, it was her ability to handle a horse. “It will be a challenge, but I think we can manage.”
“It is good that we have other teams on our side,” said Garvesh. “It helps our chances.”
Aysulu smiled. “You wouldn’t be saying that if you had met them. They are just as competitive as any on the side of the Divines. They’re not going to make it easy for us.”
“Well. I do trust you’ll be careful,” Garvesh said. Under his aloof and indifferent tone, there was a note of genuine concern.
“I always am.”
They arrived at the estate of House Darela, and it was dark and quiet in comparison to its neighbors. Only two windows had lights, in the flickering soft yellow of single candles, while the villas to either side were as bright as day. The iron gates were closed and locked, and four men guarded each of them, with another four at every door to the house.
Aysulu greeted the gate guards with a wave, and the iron door opened and then shut decisively behind them. Here, even more so than Reva’s hiding places, the danger could be keenly felt. The men in their blue surcoats were tense and alert, keeping their hands near their weapons.
The stable attendants were less obviously nervous, but they were still on edge. They took Aysulu’s horse without exchanging many words with her. She and Garvesh made their way into the great house.
It was Aysulu’s first time inside their doors, and she was impressed. The main hall was larger than the court in which her father had served after his flight from the steppe, the vaulted ceiling higher and the columns supporting it tall and intricately carved. The room was, however, strangely bare and empty. No tapestries hung from the walls, no golden candlesticks illuminated the space, and no colorfully-dressed people milled about on the bare stone floor.
Only Roshani was present, and she was as devoid of finery as the hall. The blue silk and golden jewelry she had worn for the magic contest were gone, replaced by a plain linen dress and a hooded cloak that covered her shining hair. She was carrying an unlit lantern. A dagger, of fine quality but without ornament, hung at one hip.
“My brother will be coming down shortly,” she said. “He’s meeting with our father.”
“Is Lord Ihsad not attending?” Garvesh asked.
Roshani shook her head. “He is sending Jahan in his stead. I will also be going. I may never sit on any of the thrones of Phyreios, but I am just as valuable to the cause as my brother,” she added with a defiant lift of her delicate chin.
Aysulu grinned. “We’re happy to have you and your magic.”
Roshani ducked her head, avoiding Aysulu’s eyes. Fate, and the peculiarities of relationships between highborn citizens and steppe nomads, had decided that things would not work out between them, and it continued to be a source of some awkwardness. Aysulu sighed, and the smile dropped from her face.
“I was hoping to discuss Lord Ihsad’s plans for the city with him,” Garvesh said, oblivious. “I do hope there will be time later, after the tournament.”
Jahan arrived then, coming down the stone stairs that curved up and away from the hall in an elegant arc. He was dressed like his sister, plainly so as not to be recognized on the street.
“Thank you for coming,” he said. “We’ll be safer in numbers.”
As a party of four, they left the estate and wound their way through the carousing nobles and out to the main thoroughfare, and from there proceeded to the gate and the slums beyond. The lights of the city fell away behind them, and the narrow, muddy alleys were as black as the stars were bright.
The tavern was awake, though dim, and the secret room behind it was smoky with the flames of a handful of tallow candles. Jin and his companions were already there, as were the Hounds of Malang. Artyom was engaged in an animated conversation with Heishiro, gesturing widely to indicate the size of some creature that he might or might not have ever seen.
Reva stood when Aysulu and her party walked in. The murmur of the gathered voices stilled.
“The Cerean Festival is almost concluded,” she began. “Tomorrow, our plans will go into motion, and our success or failure will determine the shape of the weeks to come. I am grateful to all of you for everything you have done these past days.”
The candles sputtered and flickered. The shadows on the wall danced in a quick, lurching motion.
“House Kaburh is ready to hit the granaries,” Artyom said, now grave and serious.
Jahan nodded. “My father’s men are preparing to raid the armories. They will be ready at your signal.”
“Very good,” said Reva. “My signal is a single red firework. I will set it off when the sword is safely in one of our custodies. Old gods forbid that we lose it, but if it is safer to leave without it, I will signal once it is out of our reach.”
She unrolled an irregular piece of soft leather and spread it across the table. On its surface was inked a map of the city and its surroundings: the footpath to the mines, the slums, the open fields, and the mountains. The lines were soft and blurred from the ink bleeding into the leather, but it was legible enough.
Reva tapped her finger on a pair of concentric rings drawn among the mountains. A wavering ink line connected them to the miners’ path. “Here is our stronghold,” she said. “It’s not finished, but once the first wave of people arrive from the city, it will be complete soon enough. The path up the mountain will be marked with white flowers—easy enough to spot if you’re looking for them, but otherwise inconspicuous.”
“How many citizens do you expect to come with us?” Garvesh asked.
“Perhaps a hundred,” said Reva. “Not as many as I would have liked, but it’s early yet, and it’s not realistic to expect all the miners to be able to flee the city at once. I’ll have more of my agents at the arena, to open the gates and stall the guards. It’s important that we all act simultaneously, as soon as the firework goes off.”
Aysulu looked at the map, studying the route to the secret stronghold. She likely wouldn’t get another chance before she had to navigate there herself.
There was a time, not many days ago, when she and Eske would have taken their pay and left after the tournament concluded. Much had changed since then. The presence of the Serpents showed that the Ascended already considered their team part of the rebellion, whether they had agreed or not. Besides that, Eske had his own reasons to stay, and Aysulu had hers. The Tribe of the Lion and the Wolf was here. Their best warriors were competing in the games, and the rest of them could not have been far. She would not have to fight them all; reavers such as they were poorly organized, held together by the strongman who led them. Without Alaric, they would splinter and fight among themselves.
That would be a task for later. Aysulu may not have chosen to resist the Ascended at the beginning, but she was choosing it now. Vengeance for her tribe, destroyed twenty long years ago, could wait.
“And what do you want us to do?” she asked Reva.
“Win the chariot race,” Reva said. “Then leave by another gate and make your way to the stronghold. The Ascended will have their eyes on you. You can lead their soldiers away from the people on foot.”
Aysulu counted the gates marked on the map. There were four, and one could reach the miners’ path from each of them, with a little effort. “We’ll take the chariot. We’ll move faster that way.”
“Keep Khalim safe,” Reva added. “His part in this is only beginning. We can’t lose him now.”
“Of course.”
Jin was poring over the map, his dark brows drawn together in thought. “If one of our teams does win, will the Ascended truly grant us the sword?”
“Most of the citizens still consider the tournament sacred,” said Reva. “They promised the sword, so they will give it to the winner, whomever that might be. But they will certainly try to take it back as soon as you leave the arena. I trust you’ll be careful.”
She rolled up the map. “If there’s nothing else, you should all get some rest. You’ll need to be at your best tomorrow.”
They left the secret room a few at a time, so as not to call the guards’ attention to a large group. Aysulu yawned as she walked out into the night behind Artyom and his team, stretching her arms over her head.
“It seems to me,” Garvesh said from beside her, “that it would be easier to win the sword and keep it, rather than trying to steal it from that tall fellow on the divines’ team.”
“That’s the plan,” Aysulu said, stifling another yawn. Her bed at the safe house was far from the most comfortable she’d ever known, but it was growing more inviting by the minute.
“Well, shouldn’t we try to do something to ensure that we win?” asked Garvesh.
She gave him a look. “You mean cheating?”
“Not in so many words,” he replied.
She supposed she wasn’t opposed to the idea in principle. The Sword of Heaven was far more important than the integrity of a contest that was little more than a source of power for the Ascended and a way to keep the masses pacified for another seven years of oppression. There would almost certainly be opportunities later to prove that she was a better rider than their champions.
“Absolutely not,” Jin said, coming up beside them. “You heard what she said. The tournament is sacred.”
Aysulu shrugged. “There are four teams on our side. I’m sure one of us can outride the remaining three.” She stepped over a patch of mud in the alleyway, only visible by the faint reflection of moonlight.
“If you’re certain,” said Garvesh.
Jin nodded. “We must compete with honor, even if our enemies do not.”
Aysulu and Garvesh parted from the others before the gate, and took the main streets back to the industrial quarter. The city was still in motion, lights filling the high windows and hanging at each corner, and the sound of joyous music drifted down from the market.
“I look forward to the tournament finally concluding,” Garvesh said. “I came here looking for some excitement, but this has been far too much, I think.”
Aysulu smirked. “So you won’t enjoy the chariot race, then.”
“I don’t much care for violence,” he replied.
“I listened to all your poetry,” Aysulu said. “It was boring. It didn’t have even a single mention of a horse.”
She couldn’t see it in the dimness under the shadow of the great forge, but she knew he was rolling his eyes. “Clearly, you were raised without culture,” he said.
She laughed.
The hearth in the safe house was cold when they at last arrived. Khalim’s door, closest to the garden, had been left ajar, while Eske’s was shut tight. Aysulu bade Garvesh good night, quietly so as not to wake the sleepers, and fell into bed. She was asleep as soon as her head reached the rag-stuffed pillow.
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