City of Stairs (The Divine Cities, #1)(108)

“Come,” she said, and she led him to the railing. The dark cliffs of the Dreyling shores lurked far across the waves. “I am told it is not quite so far away it looks. Though you may know more about that than I do.”

He looked down at the golden bracelet, snapped it around his wrist, and held up his arm, studying it. “I cannot see them. Can I?”

She shook her head. “It would not be safe, for you or for them. Not now. But maybe someday.”

“What do you want of me?” he asked.

“Want of you? Nothing, for now.”

“You have saved my family. You have freed me from prison. Why?”

“I believe that your information on the Dreyling countries will almost certainly be quite valuable,” says Shara. “And it will likely destabilize any relationships the Dreyling Republics have with the Continent.” A hint of smugness crept into her voice: this was the first major intelligence victory of her career, and she was not yet experienced enough to bother to mask her pride.

“That is not enough.”

“Enough for what?”

“For what you have done for me.”

Shara paused, unsure what to say.

“Ask something of me,” he said.

“What?”

“Ask something of me. Anything.”

“I don’t need anything from you.”

He laughed. “Yes, you do.”

“I am a Saypuri intelligence officer,” she said, nettled. “I have no need of anything you co—”

“You are a young girl,” said the man, “who cannot sail, who cannot fight, and who has never shed blood in her life. You may be clever, but you need much from me, I think. But you have too much pride to ask for it.”

Shara glared at him. “What are you proposing to be? My batsman? My secretary? Would you degrade yourself in such a manner?”

“Degrade?” He looked back across the sea. “Degrade … You do not know the meaning of the word. You do not know what they did to me in there. It is unspeakable. Now, to carry water, to serve food, to fight, to kill—whatever my future holds, I am numb to it. I am numb.” He said it again like he was trying to convince himself, and he turned to stare at her, pale and haunted. “Ask something of me. Ask.”

Though his face was scarred and filthy, Shara felt she could see through to him, and she understood that in some twisted manner he was asking her to tell him to die, for her permission for his death, because he could no longer imagine doing anything else.

Shara looked back at the shrinking Dreyling cliffs. And she then did something she would never do now: she bared her heart, and told him the truth, and made a promise she did not know if she could keep. “I ask you, then,” she said slowly, “to know that this is not good-bye for you. One day I will help you come back to your home. I will help you put together what has been broken. I promise I will bring you back.”

He looked out at sea, his one eye shining. And then, to her complete shock, he knelt to the ground, gripped the railing, and burst into tears.

*

“You’re positive you won’t reconsider?” says a voice.

“I’m positive I haven’t been allowed to consider it,” Mulaghesh’s says voice back. “Your damn council didn’t even give me the chance.”

“They can’t even vote, though!” says the voice. “The assembly was incomplete! You only have to exert some influence, Turyin!”

“Oh, for the seas’ sakes,” mutters Mulaghesh, weary, intoxicated. “Have I not exerted enough tonight? I will do as I am told, thank you, and they told me very clearly to f*ck off.”

Shara enters the kitchen to see Vohannes Votrov, now clad in his usual white fur coat, standing before Mulaghesh, who eyes him sourly over a brimming glass of whisky. Votrov’s cane beats an impatient tap-tap against the heel of his boot.

“I thought we were locking down the embassy and admitting no visitors,” says Shara. “Especially this one.”

Vohannes turns and grins at her. “So! Here is the triumphant warrior, fresh off of her conquest. What an epic night you’ve had!”

“Vo, I honestly do not have time for your supposed charms. How did you get in?”

“By liberally applying my supposed charms, of course,” says Vohannes. “Please, help me—we must convince Governor Mulaghesh here to get up. You’re all letting a phenomenal opportunity float by!”

“I will not,” says Mulaghesh, “lift my ass one inch off of this chair. Not tonight.”

“But the city’s in mad shambles!” says Vohannes. “One half can only get to the other by walking all the way around the walls! I know that Bulikov does not have the resources to begin to reconstruct the Solda Bridge with any speed.”

“Don’t you own most of the construction companies in the city?” asks Shara.

“Well, true. … But while my own companies could begin to make headway, it’d be nothing compared to the exertion of the polis governor’s office … or the regional governor’s office. …”

“And why would we want to do this?”

“Do you think you’d have nothing to gain,” asks Vohannes, “by rendering all of Bulikov dependent on your planners and developers?”