Did she want war? No, of course she didn’t. Particularly not a war Idris would have a very hard time surviving, let alone winning. Vivenna had worked so hard to undermine Hallandren’s ability to wage war. Why hadn’t she ever considered trying to head it off?

I did, she realized. That was my original plan when I was back in Idris. I’d intended to talk the God King out of war when I became his bride.

She’d given up on that plan. No, she’d been manipulated into giving up on it. Either by her father’s sense of inevitability or by Denth’s subtlety—or by both—it didn’t really matter. Her initial instinct had been to prevent the conflict. That was the best way to protect Idris; and it was—she now realized—also the best way to protect Siri. She’d practically given up on saving her sister, focusing on her own hate and arrogance instead.

Stopping the war wouldn’t protect Siri from being abused by the God King. But it would probably keep her from being used as a pawn or a hostage. It could save her life.

That was enough for Vivenna.

“It’s too late,” one of the men said.

“No,” Vivenna said. “Please.”

The men in the circle paused, looking over at her. She walked back to the circle and then knelt before them. “Please do not say such things.”

“But Princess,” one of the men said, “what can we do? The slumlords rile the people to anger. We have no power compared to them.”

“You must have some influence,” she said. “You seem like men of wisdom.”

“We’re family men and workers,” another said. “We have no riches.”

“But people listen to you?” she asked.

“Some do.”

“Then tell them that there are more options,” Vivenna said, bowing her head. “Tell them to be stronger than I was. The Idrians here in the slums—I’ve seen their strength. If you tell them that they’ve been used, maybe they can avoid being manipulated further.”

The men fell silent.

“I don’t know if everything this man says is true,” she said, nodding to Vasher. “But I do know that Idris will not win this war. We should be doing everything we can to prevent a conflict, not to encourage one.” She felt a tear on her cheek, and her hair had grown a pale white. “You can see. I . . . no longer have the control a princess and follower of Austre should show. I am a disgrace to you, but please don’t let my failure doom you. The Hallandren don’t hate us. They barely even notice us. I know this is frustrating, but if you make them notice you by rioting and destroying, they will only be shaken into anger against our homeland.”

“So we should just roll over?” the younger man asked. “Let them step on us? What does it matter if they do it unintentionally? We still get crushed.”

“No,” Vivenna said. “There must be a better way. An Idrian is their queen, now. Perhaps, if we give them time, they will get over their prejudice. We must focus our energies now on keeping them from attacking!”

“Your words make sense, Princess,” said the older man wearing the cap. “But—and forgive me for my ostentation—those of us here in Hallandren find it difficult to care about Idris much anymore. It failed us before we even left, and now we can’t really go back.”

“We are Idrians,” one of the others said. “But . . . well, our families here are more important.”

A month ago, Vivenna would have been offended. Her sojourn on the streets, though, had taught her a little of what desperation could do to a person. What was Idris to them if their families starved? She could not blame them for their attitude.

“You think you will fare better if Idris is conquered?” Vasher asked. “If there’s war, you’ll be treated even worse than you are now.”

“There are other options,” Vivenna said. “I know of your plight. If I return to my father and explain it, perhaps we can find a way to return you to Idris.”

“Return us to Idris?” one of the men said. “My family has been here in Hallandren for fifty years now!”

“Yes, but as long as the king of Idris lives,” Vivenna said, “you have an ally. We can work with diplomacy to make things better for you.”

“The king doesn’t care about us,” another said sadly.

“I care,” Vivenna said.

And she did. She found it strange, but a part of her felt more of a kinship with the Idrians in the city than with those she had left behind. She understood.

“We must find a way to bring attention to your suffering without bringing hatred as well,” she said. “We will find a way. As I said, my sister is married to the God King himself. Perhaps through her, he can be persuaded to improve the slums. Not because he’s afraid of the violence our people might cause, but because of the pity he feels for their situation.”

She continued to kneel, ashamed before these men. Ashamed to be crying, to be seen in the immodest clothing and with ragged, short hair. Ashamed to have failed them so completely.

How could I fail so easily? she thought. I, who was supposed to be so prepared, so in control. How could I be so angry that I ignored my people’s needs just because I wanted to see Hallandren pay?

“She is sincere,” one of the men finally said. “I will give her that.”

“I don’t know,” said another. “I still feel it’s too late.”

“If that’s the case,” Vivenna said, still looking at the floor, “what do you have to lose? Think of the lives you could save. I promise. Idris will not forget you any longer. If you make peace with Hallandren, I will insure that you are seen as heroes back in our homeland.”

“Heroes, eh?” one of them said. “It would be nice to be known as a hero, rather than the ones who left the highlands to live in brazen Hallandren.”

“Please,” Vivenna whispered.

“I’ll see what I can do,” one of the men said, standing.

Several of the others voiced agreement. They stood as well, shaking hands with Vasher. Vivenna remained kneeling as they left.

Eventually, the room was empty save for her and Vasher. He sat down across from her.

“Thanks,” he said.

“I didn’t do it for you,” she whispered.

“Get up,” he said. “Let’s go. I want to meet with someone else.”

“I . . .” She sat up on the rug, trying to make sense of her feelings. “Why should I do as you tell me? How do I know that you’re not just using me? Lying to me. Like Denth did.”

“You don’t know,” Vasher said, recovering his sword from the corner. “You’ll just have to do what I say.”

“Am I a prisoner then?”

He glanced at her. Then he walked over and squatted. “Look,” he said. “We both agree that war is bad for Idris. I’m not going to take you on raids or make you meet with slumlords. All you have to do is tell people you don’t want a war.”

“And if I’m not willing to do that?” she said. “Will you force me?”

He watched her for a moment, then swore under his breath, standing. He pulled out a bag of something and tossed it at her. It clinked as it hit her chest then fell to the floor.

“Go,” he said. “Get back to Idris. I’ll do it without you.”

She just continued to sit, staring. He began to walk away.

“Denth used me,” she found herself whispering. “And the worst part is, I still feel like this must all be just a misunderstanding. I feel that he’s really my friend, and that I should go to him and find out why he did what he did. Maybe we are all just confused.”

She closed her eyes, resting her head on her knees. “But then I remember the things I saw him do. My friend Parlin is dead. Other soldiers sent by my father, stuffed in sacks. I’m so confused.”

The room fell silent. “You’re not the first one he’s taken in, Princess,” Vasher finally said. “Denth . . . he’s a subtle one. A man like him can be evil to the core, but if he is charismatic and amusing, people will listen to him. They’ll even like him.”

She looked up, blinking teary eyes.

Vasher turned away. “Me,” he said. “I’m not like that. I have trouble talking. I get frustrated. I snap at people. Doesn’t make me very popular. But I promise you that I won’t lie to you.” He met her eyes. “I want to stop this war. That’s all that really matters to me right now. I promise you.”

She wasn’t sure if she believed him. Yet she found herself wanting to. Idiot, she thought. You’re just going to get taken in again.

She hadn’t proven herself a very good judge of character. Still, she didn’t pick up the bag of coins. “I am willing to help. Assuming it doesn’t involve anything more than telling others that I wish to keep Idris from harm.”

“Good enough.”

She hesitated. “Do you really think we can do it. Stop the war?”

He shrugged. “Maybe. Assuming I can keep myself from beating the Colors out of all these Idrians for acting like idiots.”

A pacifist with temper-control issues, she thought ruefully. What a combination. A little like a devout Idrian princess who holds enough BioChromatic Breath to populate a small village.

“There are more places like this,” Vasher said. “I would show you to the people there.”

“All right,” she said, trying not to look at the blade as she stood. Even now, it had a strange ability to make her feel sick.

Vasher nodded. “There won’t be many people at each meeting. I don’t have Denth’s connections, and I’m not friendly with important people. The ones I know are workers. We’ll have to go visit the dye vats, perhaps even some of the fields.”

“I understand,” she said.

Without further comment, Vasher picked up his bag of coins, then led her out onto the street. And so, she thought, I begin again.

I can only hope that this time, I’m on the right side.

44

Siri watched Susebron with affection as he ate a third dessert. Their night’s meal lay spread out on the table and floor, some dishes completely devoured, others barely tasted. That first night when Susebron had ordered a meal had started a tradition. Now they ordered food every night—though only after Siri did her act for the listening priests. Susebron claimed to find it very amusing, though she noticed the curiosity in his eyes as he watched her.

Susebron had proven to have quite a sweet tooth now that disapproving priests and their sense of etiquette were absent. “You should probably watch out,” she noted as he finished another pastry. “If you eat too many of those, you will get fat.”

He reached for his writing board. No I won’t.

“Yes you will,” she said, smiling. “That’s the way it works.”

Not for gods, he wrote. My mother explained it. Some men become more bulky if they exercise a lot and become fat if they eat a lot. That doesn’t happen to Returned. We always look the same.