Read Online The Year of Our War by Steph Swainston - Free Book Online Page B

hand, my aching arm, and sat up in an unplanned movement that made the room whirl.
    Rayne was still sitting in her rocking chair, watching with timeless patience. She called on god avidly on my behalf. I told her to shut up.
    She said, “Jant, that’s not a habi’, tha’s a suicide attemp’.”
    “Actually I have much to live for.”
    She said, “Jant, wha’ you used was practic’ly clear.”
    “Do you think impure is safer?”
    “Perhaps eterni’y’s a poor escape from immortali’y.”
    “I used to call overdose ‘eternity,’” I agreed. “But these days it’s simply oblivion.”
    “Dunlin died.”
    Her somber tone whipped my brittle mood up into fury. “I know, Rayne! I already bloody know!” I creaked to my feet, the effort making laden blood crash my mind. God’s wings. “I have a job to do.”
    “Yes. Go deliver the will. They’re meeting in t’Solar. Can y’make i’?”
    “If I die will you bury me?”
    “Comet?” she sounded concerned.
    “Listen, Doctor, he died happy. When he rode behind the Wall he did what he wanted to do. He was in control of his own life. Let me know when you find even one immortal who can honestly say that.”
    Rayne spread her brown smile. “That’s why we don ’ die,” she said.
     

    W hen I walked back through the hospital I saw that the King’s bed was stripped. Now empty, the pewter cup was still on the side table. There are ways of testing for scolopendium. I dropped the cup out of the window, into the river.
     

    S o we are agreed?”
    Mist’s voice, “I back him.”
    Ata: “Aye.”
    I insinuated myself into the Solar Room as Staniel said, “No. I strongly disagree. With all due respect, Archer—”
    “Oh, here he is!” Six pairs of eyes met mine, Staniel looked away again.
    I said, “I’m sorry I’m late,” realizing that I must look as sick as I felt.
    “ At last. Now we have to go through all this again . Where in god’s Empire have you been?”
    I answered the rhetorical question: “I’ve been ill. It was a hard day.” I collapsed into a ladder-backed chair at the foot of the table, my wings tight against it. This furniture had certainly not been crafted in Awia. I looked down the long dining table—transformed into a forum of war.
    Mist and Ata sat on my left, with Staniel opposite. Past them on the right were Tawny and Vireo. Candles had been lit to dispel the darkness; it was about one in the morning. A fire in a large stone hearth was reduced to red embers, which with the flickering candle flames cast an ever-changing pattern of shadows over their faces. Coats hung on chair backs; in the last hour Mist had filled a little ashtray to capacity with cigarette butts. I could see another packet in the bag under the table, with a knife, his blue cloak rolled up and a copy of What Whore magazine.
    There was a carafe of water, which no one had touched, and Genya, presumably, had ordered there to be a whiskey jug as well. The night was hot and I could smell the spirit diffusing from the stoppered jar. I helped myself to water, with a very careful sip. It lessened the nausea and I started to feel a little healthier. I was strongly tempted to just put my head down and go to sleep, but I caught Lightning’s look. I said, “Pray continue.”
    Lightning had taken control of the meeting, walking around the outside of the table and occasionally getting sullen responses. He said, “Comet, we will send you back to the Castle, to relate these events to the Emperor.”
    “Of course.”
    “I’ll stay to disband the Plainslands fyrd, and then I’ll follow on to the Castle, so I should meet you there next week.”
    “I have business at the coast,” put in Ata. The bruise around her eye was yellowing, making her look even more frightening than usual.
    “The Sailor and his wife will leave for Peregrine. But so we do not leave Lowespass undefended, I recommend that Tornado and Vireo, and Staniel remain here with the Awian fyrd.”
    I said,