Warbreaker (Warbreaker #1)(159)

One of the Idrian men, an older man wearing a dark tan cap, shook his head in thought. “The people are restless, Vasher. Half the men talk of storming the Court of Gods in anger. The women store up food, waiting for the inevitable. Our youths go out in secret groups, searching the jungles for Kalad’s legendary army.”

“They believe that old myth?” Vasher asked.

The man shrugged. “It offers hope. A hidden army, powerful enough that it nearly ended the Manywar itself.”

“Believing myths isn’t what frightens me,” another man said. “It’s that our youths would even think of using Lifeless as soldiers. Kalad’s Phantoms. Bah!” He spat to the side.

“What it means is that we’re desperate,” one of the older men said. “The people are angry. We can’t stop the riots, Vasher. Not after that slaughter a few weeks back.”

Vasher pounded the floor with a fist. “That’s what they want! Can’t you fools see that you’re giving your enemies perfect scapegoats? Those Lifeless that attacked the slum weren’t given their orders by the government. Someone slipped a few broken Lifeless into the group with orders to kill so that things would turn ugly!”

What? Vivenna thought.

“The Hallandren theocracy is a top-heavy structure laden with bureaucratic foolishness and inertia,” Vasher said. “It never moves unless someone pushes it! If we have riots in the street, that will be just what the war faction needs.”

I could help him, Vivenna thought, watching the reactions of the Idrians. She knew them instinctively in a way Vasher obviously didn’t. He made good arguments, but he approached them in the wrong way. He needed credibility.

She could help. But should she?

Vivenna didn’t know what to think anymore. If Vasher was right, she’d been played like a puppet by Denth. She believed that was true, but how could she know that Vasher wasn’t doing the same thing?



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.”