The Tyrant's Law (Dagger and the Coin)

side in fists. Cithrin wanted to call him by his name as a way to reassure him, but she couldn’t remember it. Harver or Hamil. When she saw him, all she could think of was Roach.
    “What seems to be the trouble?” she asked, trying to put the comfort into her voice the way Magistra Isadau did.
    “I was hoping, Magistra, that you might be able to help arrange a meeting with Merid Addanos. For me. With me.”
    Anxiety radiated from him while Cithrin racked her brain. The name was familiar, but she couldn’t recall where she’d read it. Or no. Not read. Heard. Not one of the depositors, she didn’t think. Roach cleared his throat.
    “Magistra Isadau’s cousin,” he said. “Merid. Maha’s mother.”
    “Oh,” Cithrin said, and then a moment later. “ Oh. ”
    “I can resign if you like.”
    Cithrin withdrew her thumb. The pages of the ledger closed over the gap like water. She put her palm to her forehead, pressing gently while she gathered her thoughts. Roach wasn’t one of the few who knew Cithrin’s past and secrets. He thought she was considerably older than she actually was, and likely assumed she had more experience than he did. That was a mistake on his part.
    “How … ah … how serious is the situation.”
    “It’ll need a priest,” Roach said. “And a wedding cup.”
    “Oh. Well then.”
    “I’m very, very sorry, Magistra Cithrin.” Roach’s voice was shaking. “I know that becoming involved with a member of the household was a betrayal of your trust in me and a failure of my duty. And I can just hope that you … that you can …”
    “Oh stop. Let me think.”
    She would have to speak with Isadau first. And Yardem. She wished she knew how the pair of them would take the news. Certainly it wasn’t the first time in history that a young woman and a professional soldier had found themselves possessed of an unexpected third party. Cithrin thought for a moment about the pregnancies she’d been lucky enough to avoid and shuddered.
    “Give me a day or two to lay the groundwork,” she said. “I will do what I can.”
    “Thank you,” Roach said, and turned to go.
    “Wait, Ro—Wait. A moment.” He paused. Cithrin gathered herself. “Isadau and I may be shifting some of the capital from Suddapal to Porte Oliva. The ship will be heavily guarded, of course, and I’ll want someone from my branch there to oversee it. Make sure nothing goes missing between here and home.”
    “Ma’am?”
    “It will get you and Maha out of the city.” She could see the struggle in his expression; leaping hope fought with shame. She thought she understood. “I would have needed to send you or Enen regardless. All you’ve done is make the choice of which a bit simpler.”
    “Yes, Magistra.”
    After he left, the door closing quietly behind him, Cithrin let her forehead sink to the table. Her personal guard was getting the magistra’s family pregnant. How lovely. And, in the shadow that was falling over them all, how obvious. Cithrin put on her cloak and walked out through the corridors. The compound was emptier than she was used to. There was music, but it came from a long way off, and it wasn’t the bright, lively sound of dancing. She felt a knot tying itself in her gut and knew that her choices were to drink herself to the edge of sleep or stay awake until morning. Neither appealed, but they were all she had.
    She found Yardem at the watch fire alone. The flames lit the back of his head and glittered off the rings in his tall ears. He never sat facing the fire. She sat next to him, her hands between her knees.
    “Ma’am.”
    “Yardem,” she said.
    Across the road, someone struck up a mournful tune on a violin. The eerie reeds of a bellows organ rose with it. Yardem held up a wineskin, and Cithrin took it, wiping its mouth on her sleeve after she drank. It was a bright taste, and it warmed her throat, but it didn’t have enough bite to it to affect her thinking. She looked out at the night, trying to see the buildings and streets, lanterns and alleys of Suddapal the way she imagined Yardem did. No walls to speak of. Streets too wide to block. Commons big enough to field an army. History had made Suddapal a wide sprawl of a city. Rich with the trade from the Inner Sea, safer than the Keshet, and natural partner to the Free Cities and Pût. Indefensible. Even if the Imperial Army arrived exhausted and half dead from thirst, Suddapal would fall.
    There was nothing she could do to stop it.