Chapter Text
“Commander.” Anevia’s mouth was not in its typical curl, and Sparrow’s spine straightened to attention in response. After a pause, she continued, “Got a visitor from Cheliax. A Lord Gregoriath Arvanxi.”
Sparrow went still, an animal sensing a predator nearby, then forced herself to relax. She had expected this to happen eventually. Irabeth was right next the council table, Regill outside in the hall conferring with the Hellknight contingent in Drezen. There were guards in this room, and throughout the citadel, all ready to draw their swords at a moment’s notice. Even if she sent everyone out of the war room–and she would have to, to have an honest talk with Gregoriath–he wouldn’t dare do anything to her here.
“Thank you,” she said. The words came out too low, and hoarse. She cleared her throat, focused on the paperwork in front of her, letting the steady lines of supply lists ground her. “Please bring him in.”
“You sure?”
Sparrow glanced up at Anevia, surprised at the wary tone in her voice. What had Gregoriath done already since entering the boundaries of Drezen? What had Sparrow already given away under Anevia’s keen gaze? Maybe it would be best to not confront Gregoriath at all. To hide, as she did best, and try to disappear until the threat passed.
But this threat wasn’t going to go away–the sword had hung over her head for two years and was finally coming down. She had to face it. I am the Knight Commander of the Fifth Crusade. Sparrow relaxed her tight fists and straightened her shoulders. I am the Knight Commander. Even if the title was just for show, even if it was just for now, she led the armies of Mendev and she was beyond Gregoriath’s reach. “I’m sure. Thank you.”
Anevia nodded and gestured to the guards; one of them opened the door to notify the hall guard to retrieve the visitor. Sparrow counted fifty-seven seconds before Lord Gregoriath Arvanxi walked into the war room. He did not look at Captain Tirabade at Sparrow’s right hand, or at Anevia leaning against the wall. His attention was completely on Sparrow.
Lord Gregoriath looked much the same as when Sparrow last saw him–broad shouldered and bull-chested, with a scowl mostly hidden by his short, meticulously oiled beard. There was more gray, perhaps, Sparrow noted with the distant craze of someone preoccupied with the view as they plummeted off a cliff.
She kept her legs rigid against the old instinctive move to rise in his presence. She would stay seated behind the table the entire time, she promised herself. She would not move, no matter what he did, and when this was done she would have the guards escort him out. They could do that. He couldn’t fight it, or reach over the table, or get any closer to her–
“Eva.” His voice was level, and at a normal volume. He was not surprised to see her. His hands remained clasped behind his back; he remained standing. Sparrow waited for him to make some kind of action. When he didn’t, she finally nodded.
“Father. Welcome to Drezen.”
That caused a reaction–she’d seen his jaw harden under his beard enough times to recognize the movement.
Sparrow tilted her head to the side without breaking eye contact. “Captain. Anevia. If you would please, take the guards with you when you go. We will need privacy.”
Sparrow saw bare movement in her periphery; Anevia holding back an argument, a refusal, and a shared glance between the two Tirabades. Sparrow had started making choices they disagreed with often enough to know what their silent disapproval looked like. But all the captain said was, “Of course, Commander.”
Only when they were gone did Gregoriath speak again. “You do not truly believe this room is secure, do you?”
“It is secure,” Sparrow said. He will not act here. He cannot. She had to keep reminding herself of the fact. “You may trust me on this and speak, or do not, and leave without imparting your message. That is your choice to make.”
A tic appeared in Gregoriath’s jaw, jumping the hairs of his beard. Sparrow folded her hands, swallowed back instinctive apologies, and waited.
Finally, he let out a long, slow breath through his nose. “Where is she?”
“Gone. Disappeared en route to Mendev.”
“En route–” The words echoed with sudden volume and Gregoriath bit off the rest of his sentence. Sparrow did not flinch. She waited, frozen, for six seconds while he visibly gathered himself. When he next spoke, it was barely audible. “Two years.”
“Two years,” Sparrow agreed. She took a steadying breath, willing her heart to slow. She needed to be ice; Gregoriath always reacted to fear, and while sometimes cowering would satisfy him, often as not it made him worse, more contemptuous, more furious. She could not afford for him to lose his temper. “If there was a trail, it has long grown cold.”
“You…” Gregoriath lifted his chin, the tic in his jaw so prominent it made his face shake.
Sparrow could not see his hands. They were still behind his back. She wondered if they have curled into fists yet, if he was fighting the urge to pick up something and throw it at Sparrow the same way Sparrow was resisting the urge lower her gaze.
It was rare for Gregoriath to have to hold back his anger when he dealt with a disappointing slave, but he still had other tactics. His voice softened into cutting disappointment. “Of all the betrayals, I will admit I did not expect this from you, Eva. I thought you had understood the importance of her safety, if nothing else. And yet you allowed this to happen.”
Sparrow let the words roll over her and didn’t move.
Gregoriath continued, taking a single step forward, attention fixed solely on Sparrow’s response. “All the things we gave you. An education, safety, food, a home. And you thought you could just let her be kidnapped by brigands, or murdered on the road–”
“She ran away.” Sparrow closed her eyes. Her throat was tight, almost as tight as the grip she had on her hands. Holding on to something, even if it was just herself. “As far as I am aware, she is safe.”
“But the trail is cold. You don’t know.”
The trail is cold. She didn’t know.
“And what, I wonder, will your compatriots say should I bring my disappointments with you to their attention? They believe a noblewoman is leading their holy war. Do you think they will defend you when I exercise my rights? They will not.”
Sparrow breathed through the words, focusing on the pieces of Gregoriath in front of her–the gray hairs of his beard, his dark, furious eyes, the way his jacket still stretched across his shoulders as he kept his fists locked behind him. She wants, badly, to lick her dry lips. She knows it will be a tell that Gregoriath will latch on to.
“I hardly think it’s necessary to consider that route. I am here,” she finally says. “I may be a disappointment to you, but Lady Evaethi Arvanxi is the leader of the Fifth Crusade. News of this has spread to Cheliax?”
Gregoriath’s eyes narrowed. He knew what she was saying. “The queen is not displeased,” he finally said. He lived in eternal fear of House Thrune and the mercurial nature of Queen Abrogail–though his cousin and family head had ensured House Arvanxi was no more and no less than a laughingstock among Egorian’s elite, he was convinced that one day the tides would turn against them and they would be branded enemies of the crown. Even after twelve years serving the house, Sparrow had no idea how much of Gregoriath’s concerns were paranoia and how much came from the shaky ground that Cheliax had built castles on.
“I am sure the knowledge of my new position has been helpful to you. The status of your daughter now may be useful as long as you allow it. Of course, the disappointments I have laid at the family’s feet would be less pleasant news for the queen to hear, I’m sure. Perhaps it would be more advantageous to just…let things lie. Let Evaethi Arvanxi continue her role as Knight Commander.”
Sparrow tensed at the mounting pressure in the room at her words, Gregoriath’s volcanic temper building. He had never been much for manipulation and hated when it was enacted against him; he hated even more when the person offering the ultimatums was inherently beneath him. Sparrow had never spoken to him so before in her life. Her hands hurt, her fingers white in her grip.
Gregoriath had two options: expose Sparrow as a fraud and drag her back to Cheliax, to the possible objections of the Queen of Mendev and the derision of the Chelish Court, as well as the profound displeasure of its queen and house. Or, let the falsehood continue, acknowledge Sparrow as his daughter, and use the prestige of her new position to his advantage. One would be the clear choice, infinitely preferable to him if it did not also secure Sparrow’s safety as long as the Crusade existed.
But, in the end, it won out regardless. Gregoriath’s paranoia and need for security had always superseded his pride. They were alike in that way. Still, Sparrow fought to keep her shoulders stiff, to not relax or slump, as Gregoriath finally pinned her with a glare of true contempt and stated, “That does seem to be the only reasonable option at this time.”
Sparrow had three goals, in this room with the table and her title between them. With that sentence, two were achieved: Gregoriath would not kill her yet for her ruse, nor would he drag her back to Cheliax in chains and expose her to the armies of the Crusade. Now, she only had to gain the third goal–and there was a slight, possible glimmer of something in the future that wasn’t terror and entrapment. There was a chance of freedom.
“It would be beneficial if other…indicators…of my past were not present.” Sparrow could not gesture to the back of her neck–if she let go of herself she would probably fly apart–but her meaning was clear. Gregoriath’s lip curled.
“So you can disappear the moment someone’s back is turned? I think not.”
“I can hardly go anywhere with my current responsibilities,” Sparrow said, fighting to keep her voice even. She only barely succeeded.
“If you cared for responsibility, you would not be leading this Crusade to begin with. You have already failed in your duties once–and I remember the last time I let you off a leash.”
The spike of white-hot anger that coursed through Sparrow’s body loosened her tongue to a dangerous degree. “And what would my advisors, my soldiers think of you once they realize you’ve branded your ‘daughter’ like cattle?” Her voice was too hard, too angry, but for an instant after she said it, she didn’t care. Then, of course, she did, because she gave away important ground with that flash of emotion, and they both knew it.
Gregoriath could rant and rave and explode as much as he wanted to, at any time, but Sparrow knew from bitter experience that the moment she let any emotion slip, she lost.
Gregoriath’s gaze was cool, the most composed he’d been since he entered the room now that he finally had the upper hand. “Then I would expose you as what you are, and when these people reject you I would return to Cheliax with you as I had originally planned. Of course, I would hope you would take care to avoid revealing such things to begin with.”
He would not remove the brand. And Sparrow could not use it to shame him now that he had agreed to play along with the ruse of Sparrow being Evaethi, because if she did he would just tell the truth, even though that would make things infinitely worse for him.
Sparrow’s knuckles bled white down the backs of her hands. “Then we are at an impasse.”
Gregoriath nodded. “I will be remaining, of course. I would hate for you to continue to endure the burdens of leadership on your own.”
The effect Gregoriath’s words had on Sparrow was immediate and visceral. There was no thought, not even feeling, there was only the response, bursting out of her. “No.”
“Excuse me?”
“Your presence is not needed,” Sparrow got out through stiff lips. The thought of Gregoriath here, watching her every move, the presence of her tracking brand a physical weight–making comments at council meetings, using her to further his own political ends as he no doubt planned to do–the way he would speak to her, like this, in private, never letting her forget for one instant that she was not free, would never be free– “No. You will return to Cheliax. Or wherever else you choose. But you will not stay in Drezen.”
“You dare–”
“If you are unwilling to remove the tracking rune you have placed on me, then there is hardly a need for you to observe my movements.” The fear of him being here forever outweighed the fear of his presence at that moment, and the fact that Sparrow’s words actually cut through and silenced Gregoriath left her lightheaded. She couldn’t remember the last time her words had actually managed to silence someone. “Your presence would be a hindrance and could lead to discovery. I have done my duty to the Crusade before now and will continue to do so. Unless you did wish to remove my rune? Then perhaps your continued observations would be necessary, but I cannot fathom another reason why you would want to interfere further otherwise. Certainly, Mendev’s council might not appreciate excessive oversight from Cheliax, regardless of Knight Commander Evaethi’s background.”
For sixty-three long, frozen seconds, Gregoriath stared at Sparrow in silence. Then, finally, in a quiet voice on the cusp of violence, he said, “You will report to me regularly on your status. I will be watching you, make no mistake. And when this country has no more need of you, you will return to Cheliax and we will discuss your failures, and your insolence, at that time.”
Sparrow said nothing. After another moment, Gregoriath turned and left the war room. She did not even need to get soldiers to escort him out.
Sparrow counted sixty seconds, then another, enough time for Gregoriath to leave the hall. Then, she rose, nearly running into Anevia coming back into the war room.
“You okay there, Commander?”
Sparrow did not know what Anevia’s expression was, what was behind the question, because Sparrow could not see. “I am fine. Please excuse me.” She nearly knocked into another person, she didn’t know who, on her way down the hall to her room.
She made sure the door was closed behind her before she grabbed a pot, gave in to the roiling of her stomach, and vomited until there was nothing left but acid burning her throat and her too-tight skin.