City of Stairs (The Divine Cities, #1)(14)

So Shara waits. If you wait and watch, she’s found, things so often reveal themselves, despite your adversary’s best efforts. And though Vinya may be her aunt, there never was a relationship between a commander and their operative that wasn’t somewhat adversarial.

“Well then,” says Vinya. “I suppose you ought to brief me. What’s the situation there?”

Interesting, thinks Shara. “Poor. Mutinous. It would be an understatement to say CD Troonyi did not maintain the embassy to the best of his abilities.”

“Troonyi … My God, I’d forgotten they’d stuck him there. Are there any young girls about?”

Shara thinks of the tea girl. “One.”

“Was she pregnant?”

“Not that I could see.”

“Well. Thank the seas for small gifts.”

“What about Mulaghesh, the polis governor? She’s been very … hands-off with Bulikov. Still a keeper to the policies, in essence.”

“Can I rely on her?”

“Probably. She’s old military, fought in the rebellions. The brass is in her bones. You always do quite well with her sort. Now—what about the professor?”

“I’m collecting information as we speak,” says Shara—glib, trite, serviceable.

“And once you know who killed him, and why, what will you do?” asks Vinya.

“Take stock of the situation and see what threat it poses to Saypur.”

“So vengeance doesn’t cross your mind?”

“One has no room for vengeance,” says Shara, “when the eyes of the world are watching. We must be judicious, and bloodless. I am to be, as always, a simple tool in the hands of my nation.”

“Enough with the rhetoric,” says Vinya. “I’ve no idea who it actually works on anymore.” She looks away to think. “I’ll tell you what, Shara. I will be generous with you. I’ll give you a deadline on this—one week.”

Shara stares at her, incensed. “One week!”

“Yes. One week to see if there’s something of importance to Saypur. The entire populace of Bulikov wished the poor man dead, darling! It could have been a janitor, for all you know. I will give you one week to show me there is some larger reason justifying your presence there, and then, if not, I’m pulling you out and I’ll have someone else oversee the proceedings. This is not a good use of you, dear—there are much more important tasks the Ministry needs you to oversee.”

“One week …” Shara momentarily debates telling Vinya about the message, then decides the potential bad consequences heartily outweigh the good.

“Oh, is this the girl who just told me she was the highest-ranking agent nearby? You made it sound like it’d only take a puff from your lips, and the house of cards would tumble.” Vinya waggles her fingers, imitating the snowfall spin of falling cards. “If you are so well prepared, my darling, surely it’ll take mere hours.”

Shara adjusts her glasses, frustrated. “Fine.”

“Good. Keep me informed. And I would appreciate it if you would keep your man from murdering anyone for at least a few days.”

“I can’t promise that.”

“I know. But I thought I’d ask.”

“And if I defuse this situation in one week,” says Shara, “if I do actually work the impossible this time, is there any chance that—”

“That what?”

“That I could be transferred.”

“Transferred?”

“Yes. Back to Ghaladesh.” Then, when Vinya stares blankly at her: “We talked about this. Last time.”

“Ah. Ah, yes,” says Vinya. “That’s right, we did, didn’t we. …”

You know that, Shara thinks. And we talked about it the time before that, and the time before that, and the time before that. …

“I must confess,” says Vinya, “you are the only operative I know of who genuinely wants a desk job back at the home office. I thought you would love the Continent, it’s all you ever studied in training.”

“I have been abroad,” says Shara softly, “for sixteen years.”

“Shara …” Vinya smiles uncomfortably. “You know you are my foremost Continental operative. No one knows more about the Divine than you … and more so, almost no one in Ghaladesh knows that traces of the Divine still exist on the Continent, to some degree.”

How many times, Shara thinks, I have heard this speech.

“It’s the policy of the Ministry to never disclose the continued existence of the Divine, however slight. Saypuris prefer to believe all that is history—dead, and gone. They cannot know that some miracles still work on the Continent … and they certainly cannot know that some Divine creatures still exist, though you and your man are very good at cleaning those up.”

Shara is silent as she reflects that her aunt has no idea what such a thing means.

“So long as the Divinities themselves remain gone—and we are so happy that that is the continued situation—we have no reason to tell people what they don’t wish to know,” Vinya says.

Shara opts to state the obvious: “So, because I have seen so much that we cannot admit exists,” she says, “I cannot come home.”