Eve of Destruction (8 page)

“At first,” she admitted. “It was hard not to. Once I started studying in earnest, learning about how the forces of the world really worked and how they all interacted with the Fane, it was…well, it was easy to start thinking that I was better than everyone else. Certainly better than a bunch of uneducated kreel who couldn’t appreciate art or philosophy or anything about the Fane.”

“And then you start to wonder why those people are allowed to be in power at all,” Zach added. “Maybe why they’re even allowed to vote.”

She made a face. “I didn’t say that.”

“No, but it’s the next step,” he told her. “I may just be a poor shuvo and all, but I had a lot of time to read when I was overseas. I gathered up every history book I could find, and everything you just said has been spoken before by someone—usually right before things got ugly.”

Her first reaction was to lash back at him, to defend her position—but then, it wasn’t
her
position, at least not anymore. So then why did it feel so personal when he attacked it?

Vacal had told a bunch of scared students exactly what they wanted to hear—namely, that they and their families weren’t to blame for the country’s problems. Quite the opposite, actually; he blamed everything on the Dusties and their sympathizers who just couldn’t accept their place in life.

The problem is that he was wrong. No one was blameless here. And if things were going to get better, people on both sides were going to have to realize that.

Eve smiled tiredly. “You’re not just a poor shuvo, by the way.”

Zach cocked an eyebrow. “Did you forget the part where I said you’d have to pay for everything? I can’t even afford a ticket back.”

She laughed. “You said before that Kalavan changed everything. It didn’t change me.”

“You’re not telling me you still believe Vacal’s nonsense?”

“No, but it wasn’t Kalavan that changed my mind.”

He just stared at her, head shaking in confusion.

“It was you,” she whispered.

“Me? What did I do?”

“You were you,” she told him. “One night when I was reading one of Vacal’s books I started thinking about where you would fit in this new world of his. You’re smart enough to go to school, but your family couldn’t afford it. I’m not sure what he would expect you to do. It was like he couldn’t even conceive of a torbo being smart enough to do anything on his own.”

“I suppose that’s a compliment.”

She shrugged. “It was meant to be. I eventually threw out his books and dropped his class. I wrote you a letter about it but decided not to send it. I don’t even remember why.”

He reached out and squeezed her hand. She looked into his deep blue eyes, and it was like she’d suddenly opened a box of old memories. As children, she had always expected them to both go to the university and maybe even become teachers together. Once she got older and realized how he wouldn’t be able to afford it, she still had girlish fantasies of marrying him once she finished and living happily ever after…

But that was a long time ago. Not in raw years, perhaps, but they had both changed a lot in their time apart—much more than she would have ever expected. Speaking about politics and Vacal, however, she realized grimly that perhaps she hadn’t necessarily changed for the better.

Eve started to lean forward towards him when the curtain to their private cabin whooshed open. A gangly, middle-aged man loomed in front of it, his face flushed. Across the aisle behind him she could see his own empty seat with a half-finished bottle of brandy resting on the table.

“Mage,” he sneered. There was no mistaking the revulsion in his eyes, and Eve scrunched back into her seat. 

“Do you mind?” Zach asked. “No need to be rude.”

“You want me to just sit here and listen to her lies?” the man growled. “We’ve done that long enough. I think I’ll have security throw you off this train at the next station.”

“What?” Eve stammered. “I haven’t done anything! I paid for my ticket like anyone else.”

“We’ll see what the police say about that. A mage sitting here talking treason...that will get their attention.”

Her mouth fell open. “Treason? What are you —”

“Keep your voice down,” Zach said calmly. “Sir, there’s no reason for you to be upset. Why don’t you just have a seat and we’ll be quiet the rest of the way.”

He snorted. “I’m sure you’d like that, wouldn’t you, boy? Just sit tight until you get where you’re going, then you’ll go right back to drekking on us torbos. Isn’t that right?”

Zach brought himself to his feet. He might not have been particularly tall, but he was as solid as they came. Even Eve found herself recoiling back from the intensity of his glare. He rolled up his sleeve to reveal a tattoo on his bicep that she had never seen before—it was the insignia of the Arkadian Army, if she wasn’t mistaken.

“I cleaned up the mess at Kalavan,” Zach told him coldly. “I saw the bodies. I saw what happened first hand, and I fought like hell to kill the bastard that did it and all those who supported him. I bled for this country. What have you done?”

The man swallowed heavily and leaned back. The rage in his eyes drained away, and confusion quickly rushed in to take its place. Whatever he’d been expecting when he tossed back that curtain, a soldier certainly wasn’t it.

 “I appreciate your service,” the man said gingerly, “but why in the Goddess’s name would you travel with one of them?”

“Because she’s my friend, and she’s not a threat to anyone,” Zach replied. His voice was so calm, so measured, Eve barely recognized it. “She can say and think whatever she wants, just like you can. That’s freedom—that’s what this country is supposed to be about. Now if you don’t mind, sir, we would like to be left alone.”

Zach grabbed the curtain and waited for the other man to back off. It took a moment, but eventually the drunkard turned away and stumbled back to his cabin. Zach shut the curtain, then let out a deep breath and rolled down his sleeve.

Eve shook her head. “I…how did you do that?”

His eyes popped up to meet hers. “You learn how to deal with people,” he said with a shrug, “and not just with your gun.”

He sat back down, and it was like he’d flipped a switch—one second he’d been an entirely different man, a proud and strong warrior, and then in the next he was back to being the little boy she’d grown up with. She’d seen the exact same transition at Radbury, and it made her realize that despite all their years together, she might not have known him as well as she thought.

Eve got up and slid onto his chair. She melted into his lap and grinned up at him. He adjusted himself in the seat and put an arm around her, smiling back wryly.

“Comfortable?”

“Definitely,” she whispered. “And thanks.”

His smile faded. “Expect a lot worse in Vaschberg. We’ll have to be careful.”

She nodded and closed her eyes. He was probably right, and she knew it should have worried her at least a little. But for some reason, sitting here with him again made it feel like everything would work out for the best.

***

“You ever catch a look at her?” Hanos asked as he twirled the small bottle of Polerian brandy in his fingertips.

“You break that thing and I’m going to shoot you,” Agren snapped. Every time the train bumped, he felt his heart skip when his partner toyed around like that.

“Relax, vassa. I swear, you’re as jittery as a priestess at a whorehouse.”

Agren sighed and glanced out the cabin window. They weren’t quite halfway to Vaschberg yet, but with any luck they’d be getting off when the train stopped at Olastown. Then the police would come aboard to investigate why two of the passengers had died in their cabin. Of course, by the time things heated up, he and Hanos would already be at the bank waiting for their payment to get wired to them. Twenty thousand drakes to take out a shuvo and a mage—this Soroshi guy paid well, whoever he was.

“I caught a glimpse of her,” Agren said after a moment. “Pretty little thing, if you ask me. I bet she’s spreading for that shuvo she’s with.”

Hanos chuckled. “I wonder who they pissed off.”

“Soroshi, apparently.”

“Yeah, but he works for someone. Must be important for twenty thousand.”

Agren shrugged. “Whatever. Let’s just get this over with. We don’t want them saving the bottle for later.”

“What else have they got to do in here? I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“You always say that.”

“Yeah, and I’m always right.”

Agren grunted and rang the cabin bell. He snatched the bottle from his partner and flopped his change purse on the table between them. A few moments later an accented female voice spoke up outside the curtain.

“Is there something you need, sirs?”

Agren grabbed the drawstring and pulled. The attendant was unusually tall, probably 185 centimeters, and slender almost to the point of being gaunt. Her looks weren’t bad, though, especially for someone who was probably in her forties. Her hair was still a striking auburn aside from a single lock of white dangling on her forehead, and her green eyes were almost uncomfortably intense.  

“I have a gift for cabin six,” Agren told her. “Polerian brandy. I’d like you to deliver it to them, if you would.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I’d be happy to do so, sir, but you are free to walk over there yourself, if you didn’t know.”

He smiled. “I think I’d rather have you do it.” He pulled out a few coins from the pouch and placed them on the table in front of her. “We heard the ruckus up there earlier and just wanted to offer our support. We want it anonymous.”

“Very well, thank you, sir,” she said, deftly taking the bottle and sliding the change into her own pouch. She started to walk away but then stopped and turned back. “Might I recommend a glass of
Zefron Deu
to you gentlemen? It’s a fine vintage straight from Sunoa.”

“I bet that costs a dainty drake,” Hanos commented.

She smiled and twirled their coins between her fingers. “I’m sure I can find you two glasses on the house.”

“Sure, why not?” Agren said. She disappeared for a minute, and he chuckled at his partner. “Good help.”

“Looks like she hasn’t eaten in weeks,” Hanos replied. “They probably don’t pay the foreign help dirt.”

Agren shrugged. His stomach was always in knots before a mission, but now it was finally starting to settle. Soon they would be in Olastown with some real money and he could get away from this drek for a while…maybe for good. It was far too stressful, and he really did hate trains.

The attendant came back with two glasses of purple liquid and a warm smile. “They were appreciative of the gift—I think they want to give you something back.”

“You didn’t tell them it was from us, did you?” he asked, eyes narrowing. They couldn’t afford to have this traced…

“No, but they were quite curious. Do you want me to tell them?”

“No, you did fine,” Hanos said dismissively, taking a long sip. “You know, I don’t get why you Esharians turn your noses up at good old Arkadian wine. Ours is just as good as this.”

The attendant turned towards him. “Well, that isn’t wine—at least, not anymore. It’s Polerian brandy with coloring in it.”

Hanos froze. The woman took a step forward and flicked the curtain back across behind her.

“You—” Argen started to talk, but his voice died as a hand clamped across his throat. He struggled, but her bony fingers were impossibly strong. Hanos tried to move, but her other hand chopped viciously into his throat. He staggered back into his chair, clutching wildly for breath. The poison he just drank would probably kill him before he even managed to sit up again.