Chapter 4
The Claim
The third toast had never been about getting married. This was unfortunate, because getting married was already complicated enough. Beso read Mother's letter three times. Avtandil read it twice. I read it once more because apparently repeated exposure might cause the words to become less alarming. They did not. The surviving key is not an heirloom. It is a claim. The palace roof had become cold. Midnight bells faded over Kura. Far below, thousands of people slept without knowing my dead father's pantry key was apparently part of a century-old political system. I resented them. Beso folded Otar Tavadi's letter carefully. Too carefully.
“Six years.”
“Yes.”
“He wrote this six years ago.”
“I can read.”
The chancellor ignored me. “Before any current marriage negotiations.”
Avtandil's mouth had gone flat.
“Yes.”
“Before your father died?” Beso asked.
“After.”
“How long?”
I calculated.
“About four months.”
Avtandil looked toward me.
“Your father knew Tavadi.”
“Apparently.”
“How well?”
“I don't know.”
That had become my least favorite answer. Avtandil took the letter again. Read one line. Then another. His thumb stopped at: The third witness must be chosen before the union opens again.
“This isn't coincidence.”
“No.”
Beso looked toward the stair.
“We need the king.”
Avtandil did not move. “No.”
The chancellor stared.
“Your Highness.”
“He has withheld information twice.”
Beso stiffened. “Your father is still the king.”
“I had noticed.”
“He knew about the first compact.”
“Yes.”
“He knew Otar was investigating Maia?”
Avtandil looked at him. That silence answered something. I straightened.
“You knew.”
Beso closed his eyes. Excellent. I had discovered a new way to make old men look tired.
“How much?”
“Lady Tamar—”
“How much?”
He looked toward Avtandil. Wrong choice. The prince's expression hardened.
“Answer her.”
Beso exhaled. “Otar became interested in the old witness compacts perhaps eight years ago.”
“Why?”
“He never told me.”
“Lie.”
Beso looked offended. I pointed at him.
“Your left eyebrow moves.”
“My what?”
“When you omit.”
“That is absurd.”
It moved again. Avtandil noticed. I saw the exact moment. Wonderful. Beso touched his eyebrow.
“Stop.”
“Why did Otar become interested?”
The chancellor looked betrayed by his own face.
“Because the first peace talks failed.”
“Nineteen years ago.”
“Yes.”
“That does not explain an eleven-year delay.”
“No.”
“What happened eight years ago?”
Silence. Eyebrow. Avtandil swore softly.
“Beso.”
The chancellor surrendered. “A Merovan archive opened.”
Levan's voice came from the roof stair. “What archive?”
Of course. My brother appeared wearing trousers, boots, an open coat, and no shirt. Again. I stared.
“Do you own shirts?”
“I was asleep.”
“You have said that before.”
“Because you keep creating emergencies at night.”
Avtandil looked away. He was laughing. Levan pointed at him.
“Don't.”
Then at Beso.
“What archive?”
The chancellor closed his eyes.
“Excellent.”
Levan approached. Davit followed. Fully dressed. Proof that clothing remained possible after midnight. Beso looked at me.
“You summoned him?”
“No.”
Levan said, “You disappeared from your room with the prince.”
“I walked out the door.”
“At one in the morning.”
“Time doesn't alter doors.”
“It alters princes.”
Avtandil muttered, “Apparently.” Levan's eyes shifted.
“Would you like to contribute?”
“No.”
“Good.”
I handed him Mother's letter. He read. Stopped. Read Otar's enclosed page. His face changed.
“Mother kept this?”
“Yes.”
“For six years.”
“Yes.”
“And said nothing.”
“Yes.”
He looked at me. Neither of us enjoyed being on the same side of that realization.
“Archive,” I reminded Beso.
He sighed.
“Eight years ago, repairs at the old Merovan royal chancery uncovered sealed records behind a wall.”
Levan's attention snapped toward him. “Our chancery.”
“Yes.”
“What records?”
“Prewar correspondence.”
“Who opened them?”
“The Merovan crown.”
“Then why did Otar know?”
Beso looked uncomfortable. “Because copies reached us.”
Levan smiled without humor. “Spies.”
“Diplomacy.”
“Spies with better coats.”
“Frequently.”
“What was in them?”
“One letter referencing a witness compact between House Vashadze and House Orbelani.”
Levan looked at me. Maia. Aleksandre.
“Who wrote it?”
Beso hesitated. Eyebrow. I pointed. He swore. I laughed.
“Who?”
“King Giorgi of Merova.”
My grandfather's king. Long dead.
“To whom?”
“His chancellor.”
“What did it say?”
Beso looked toward the city. “That the compact must not be completed.”
There. Cold. Not vague. Not myth. Must not.
“Why?” Avtandil asked.
“The page containing the reason was missing.”
Levan rubbed his face.
“Why am I surprised by anything anymore?”
I understood. Beso continued.
“Otar requested access to old Arasani records after that.”
“Did he find the oath room?” I asked.
“No.”
“Then how did he know?”
“He found architectural references.”
“Enough to know there was a room.”
“Yes.”
“And the key?”
“No.”
I held it. The iron was cool.
“When did he learn about this?”
Beso stared at it.
“Apparently before writing your mother.”
“Six years ago.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
No one knew. I looked at Levan.
“Father.”
He nodded reluctantly.
“If Father told him.”
“Why?”
“Don't know.”
I hated dead people again. Avtandil took Mother's letter. His expression was no longer curious. Angry. Not loud. Contained. Dangerous.
“When did Otar disappear?”
Beso answered immediately.
“Six months ago.”
I looked at Avtandil. He looked at me. Same thought.
“Marriage proposal,” I said.
“Yes.”
Levan frowned.
“What?”
Beso went very still. Oh. No. I turned.
“Who first suggested the marriage?”
The chancellor did not answer. Avtandil did.
“My father.”
“That is what we were told.”
His eyes stayed on Beso.
“Who suggested it to him?”
Beso's eyebrow did not move. He had surrendered entirely.
“Otar.”
Levan swore. I laughed. There was nothing funny in it. Avtandil looked like somebody had struck him.
“When?”
“Seven months ago.”
“One month before he vanished.”
“Yes.”
“Did my father know why?”
“I don't know.”
“Beso.”
“I genuinely don't.”
I was learning his face. Wonderful skill. Terrible life. Levan looked toward the palace below.
“He used the marriage to reopen the compact.”
“Maybe,” I said.
“Obviously.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because he warned Mother six years ago.”
“So?”
“He didn't need me to marry Avtandil six years ago.”
The prince said, “Thank you.”
“Not a compliment.”
“I accepted the useful portion.”
Mother. Damn him. I continued.
“Otar knew the union could reopen before he knew who I would marry.”
Levan frowned. Avtandil understood.
“So the marriage isn't the mechanism.”
“No.”
Beso nodded slowly.
“It is proximity.”
“Possibly.”
“Your houses,” he said.
“Yes.”
Vashadze. Orbelani. Same place. Old iron. A living witness. An unfinished compact. The marriage proposal may simply have been the easiest political excuse to put all pieces together without announcing why. Levan looked at Avtandil.
“Your father used my sister as bait.”
The prince's expression hardened.
“You think I'm pleased?”
“You agreed.”
“So did she.”
“After you investigated her.”
“Yes.”
“Because Otar told your father to.”
“No.”
Avtandil's voice changed. Levan stopped.
“I investigated her because I wanted to know who I was being asked to marry.”
It mattered to me, possibly too much. Levan said nothing. Avtandil turned toward Beso.
“Wake him.”
“The king?”
“No. The baker.”
I laughed. Beso did not.
“Now.”
King Zurab received us in his bedchamber. This was less glamorous than expected. He wore a dark robe. His hair stuck out on one side. Kings apparently slept like people. Disturbing. Ana sat near the fireplace in a nightcoat with a cup of tea. Of course she was already awake. I increasingly suspected she did not sleep. Keto arrived three minutes later carrying bread.
“Why?”
She looked at me.
“Food.”
“At two in the morning?”
“Bodies require it continuously.”
Fair. Salome tried to come. Ana sent her back. The argument could be heard for several corridors. King Zurab read Mother's letter. No one interrupted. Not even Levan. When he finished, he set it on the table. Then Otar's. His face did not change. That was almost proof. Avtandil saw it too.
“You knew.”
Zurab looked at his son.
“Some.”
“How much?”
“That Otar believed Tamar's line remained connected to the old compact.”
Levan took one step. Ana spoke without looking up.
“Lord Vashadze.”
He stopped. Interesting. Ana had discovered a tone. I filed it away. Avtandil's anger stayed controlled.
“You knew when you proposed the marriage.”
“Yes.”
There. No dancing. Good.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because Otar was not certain.”
“That's not enough.”
“No.”
The king looked at me.
“Because if his theory was correct, knowledge itself might alter the decision.”
“What?”
“Otar believed the old law required free choice.”
“Yes.”
“If I told you that marrying my son might reactivate an ancient compact capable of ending the political structure that created the war, would that remain a free marriage?”
I opened my mouth. Closed it. Damn. Levan did not share my uncertainty.
“You manipulated her by withholding information.”
Zurab nodded.
“Yes.”
That stopped him. Again. Honest men were infuriating. The king continued.
“I chose one manipulation over another.”
“You could have told us nothing and not proposed marriage.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't you?”
“Because nineteen years of war seemed sufficient.”
Silence. There. The dead. Always underneath. Zurab looked at his son.
“And because Otar said the compact could only reopen if Vashadze and Orbelani entered the same house without compulsion.”
“So you chose marriage,” Avtandil said.
“I chose negotiations.”
“You sent a marriage proposal.”
“Yes.”
“That is marriage.”
“It is a proposal.”
My brother almost smiled. He liked that distinction because he had used it himself. Traitors everywhere. I looked at the king.
“Why me?”
“Otar named you.”
That hurt strangely. A man I barely knew of. Six years ago.
“Why?”
“I asked.”
“And?”
“He said your father was afraid.”
“Of me?”
“No.”
The king looked at the pantry key.
“Of what you might be forced to become.”
The room became quiet. Father. Again. I looked at Levan. His face had changed.
“Did Father ever say that?”
“No.”
“You're sure?”
“Yes.”
Then softer:
“I think.”
Wonderful.
“What exactly did Otar tell you?” Avtandil asked.
Zurab rubbed his forehead.
“That House Vashadze still had a living witness line.”
“Meaning Tamar.”
“Yes.”
“That the old Vashadze-Orbelani compact remained unfinished.”
“Yes.”
“And that bringing the houses together could reopen it.”
“Yes.”
“What else?”
The king looked at the letter.
“That the third seat had to be restored.”
“Third witness.”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“He wouldn't tell me.”
“Couldn't?”
“Wouldn't.”
Levan's eyes narrowed.
“Why?”
“Otar said a third witness named by a crown was no witness.”
I liked the old law more every hour. It mistrusted kings. Healthy. Ana finally spoke.
“Where is Otar?”
Her father looked at her.
“Missing.”
“That is what we say publicly.”
The room changed. Avtandil looked at Ana.
“You know something.”
She sipped her tea.
“I know Father is bad at missing people.”
Zurab sighed.
“Ana.”
“What?”
“You could occasionally pretend I am king.”
“Why?”
He almost smiled. Then looked at us.
“Otar left.”
Beso's face changed.
“You said he disappeared.”
“He disappeared after leaving.”
“Difference?”
“He told me he was going.”
Levan laughed.
“Excellent family.”
Zurab ignored him.
“Otar came to me six months ago. He said someone had discovered his research.”
“Who?”
“He didn't know.”
“Or didn't tell you,” I said.
“Yes.”
“What research?”
“The old compact. Maia. Your father's key.”
“And us.”
He looked at Avtandil.
“Yes.”
The prince folded his arms.
“Where did he go?”
“I do not know.”
“You let your former chancellor leave while claiming someone was hunting him?”
“He refused protection.”
“Why?”
“Because he said the palace was the dangerous place.”
No one spoke. The room suddenly had too many walls. Ana put down her tea.
“Did he specify why?”
“No.”
“Convenient.”
“I know.”
I looked at Beso.
“Were you chancellor then?”
“Yes.”
“Did Otar trust you?”
Beso looked hurt. Then thought.
“I believed so.”
“That's not the question.”
“No.”
“Did he leave anything?”
King Zurab hesitated. I saw it. So did everyone. Avtandil said, “Father.” Zurab went to a cabinet beside his bed. Opened it. Removed a small box. Levan groaned.
“What?”
“Boxes.”
The king looked confused.
“He hates boxes,” I explained.
“I do not hate boxes.”
“You hated the treaty box.”
“It deserved it.”
Zurab placed the box on the table. Black wood. No lock. A wax seal across the lid. Tavadi.
“Otar left this.”
Levan stared.
“And you waited until now?”
“He told me to open it only if the old fire returned.”
I held up my hand.
“It returned.”
“I noticed.”
“Yesterday.”
“I was almost shot.”
“Fair.”
Zurab broke the seal. Inside: One folded sheet. One small iron disk. And a strip of blue cloth. No one touched the iron. Learning. Good. The king unfolded the paper. Read. Then handed it to me. Not Avtandil. Me. That mattered. Otar's handwriting. Lady Tamar Vashadze, If this has reached you, then either I am dead, the old iron has awakened, or Zurab has finally learned to follow instructions. I smiled. King Zurab looked offended. I continued. Possibly all three. Do not confuse the marriage with the compact.
I glanced at Levan. He frowned. Otar continued. The marriage was mine only as a means of placing House Vashadze and House Orbelani in honest negotiation. If you refuse Avtandil, refuse him. If he refuses you, he must be permitted. Any compact restored through coerced marriage will fail before it begins. Avtandil exhaled. I had not realized he was holding his breath. Neither had he, perhaps. My chest relaxed too. That bothered me. I read. The old compact required three seats. Mountain. River. Road. Vashadze held the Mountain seat. Orbelani held the River seat. The Road belonged to neither crown, neither church, and neither great house. Levan frowned.
“What does that mean?”
I kept reading. The third witness was chosen from those who maintained sanctuary, bridges, roads, inns, ferries, and markets through which both peoples passed. The Free Road. I thought of Rostom. The road warden tied beneath the stable. The manipulated bridge. Guest right. The singer. Everything in this conspiracy touched movement. Not armies. Roads. Doors. Messages. The places between governments. Otar: That seat has been empty since Maia Vashadze disappeared. Without Road, the compact cannot close. Without the compact, crowns remain free to alter agreements after they leave the room. The ward clause. The forged treaty. The nineteen-year-old settlement. Different copies. Different truths. I felt sick.
“What happened to the Free Road?” Avtandil asked.
King Zurab shook his head. I read the final section. Someone has spent more than a century ensuring it stays dead. They will close roads before they challenge armies. They will falsify letters before they poison kings. They will destroy trust before they spill blood because distrust makes blood spill itself. No one spoke. That was exactly what had happened. Otar's final lines: Do not search for me. Search for the seat. The disk will take you to the first door. Do not allow a Tavadi to stand Road. I stopped. Everyone looked at the iron disk. Then Beso. Then King Zurab. Then, inevitably: Sargis.
“Why?” Levan asked.
I read. There was no explanation. Just: We forfeited that right long ago. Below it: And Tamar— I stopped. My name alone. Then: Your father was right about one thing. A witness is most dangerous when everyone decides she belongs to them. Do not belong easily. I read that twice. Then folded the letter. No one asked.
Ana reached for the blue cloth. Otar had wrapped something inside. A small map. Kura. Old Kura. The river different. Walls smaller. One place circled in black near the southern market. Ana recognized it.
“The Nine Doors.”
Beso frowned.
“That building was demolished.”
“No,” Ana said.
“Rebuilt.”
“What is it now?”
“Caravanserai.”
Avtandil knew.
“Lower city.”
“The old east-west road passed through its courtyard.”
I looked at the disk. Black iron. Three holes along one edge.
“The first door.”
Levan picked up his axe.
“Let's go.”
Keto stared.
“It is two in the morning.”
“Yes.”
“You are shirtless.”
He looked down. This genuinely surprised him. I laughed.
“So?”
Ana said, “You are not entering the lower city without a shirt.”
“Why?”
“Because I refuse to explain it later.”
He looked at me. I nodded.
“She has authority.”
“Over what?”
“Clothing.”
“This family is insane.”
Avtandil looked at him.
“That from you?”
Levan pointed.
“Careful.”
We did not go at two in the morning. Keto won. Mostly because she threatened to drug all of us. We went at dawn. Secretly. Which in royal terms meant twelve people instead of sixty. I wore plain riding clothes. Avtandil wore a dark coat without royal insignia. Levan wore a shirt. Ana insisted. Sargis Tavadi was not informed. King Zurab remained at the palace because apparently kings could not crawl around old caravanserais whenever they wanted. Sad. Beso came. He claimed Otar's handwriting needed verification. Levan said he wanted someone old enough to remember where walls used to be. Beso ignored him. Keto came because she trusted none of us. Davit. Zurabeli. Four guards.
Twelve. Secret. Kura woke around us. Markets opened before sunrise. Bread ovens. Fish carts. Fruit sellers. Donkeys. Children carrying water. The lower city smelled better than the palace. Worse too. More honest. We crossed the river on the old southern bridge. I looked at the iron spikes holding its railings. None glowed.
Perhaps I could walk through a city without activating infrastructure. The Nine Doors occupied an entire corner near the spice market. It had, disappointingly, only four visible doors. I counted.
“Rebuilt,” Ana said.
“That is false advertising.”
“The other five are inside.”
“Better.”
The building was old beneath newer plaster. Three stories around a broad courtyard. Travelers already eating breakfast. Merchants shouting. Pack animals everywhere. Neutral ground. No royal crest. No noble colors. Only a carved symbol above the main arch: A loaf of bread. An open hand. A road. My palm warmed. Very slightly. I stopped. Avtandil noticed.
“Key?”
“No.”
“Then?”
I pointed. The symbol. Beso went pale.
“Free Road.”
People passed beneath it without noticing. Levan looked around.
“This survived?”
Ana shrugged.
“Apparently no one knew what it meant.”
“That seems to be the theme.”
We entered. Five interior doors opened from the courtyard. Nine total. I smiled. Correct. Avtandil saw.
“You counted.”
“Nine.”
“Happy?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Levan looked disgusted by us. The iron disk became warm inside my pocket. I pulled it out. One of the three holes had begun glowing faintly blue. No one nearby noticed. Good. Beso whispered, “Which way?” The disk did not point. Of course not. Ancient systems lacked user design. We tried the first door. Nothing. Second. Nothing. Third. Warm. Not enough. Fourth. Cool. Fifth. The disk became hot. That door led to a storeroom. A woman carrying flour pushed past us.
“What are you doing?”
“Looking for history,” I said.
She stared.
“Buy bread first.”
Reasonable. Avtandil bought two loaves. Levan bought none. She liked Avtandil more. We entered the storeroom. Sacks. Barrels. Shelves. No ancient secrets. Davit closed the door behind us. The disk cooled.
“What?” Levan asked.
I moved. Warm near the back wall. Cool near the door.
“Here.”
A shelf held pickled vegetables. Of course. Pantry magic. I looked at Father’s key.
“No.”
Avtandil smiled.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
I removed three jars. Behind them: Iron. A small black plate set directly into the wall. Three holes. Same as the disk. Not a keyhole. A shape. I fitted the disk. It clicked. The wall did not open. Nothing happened. Levan frowned.
“Broken.”
Beso said, “Wait.” Blue light moved around the edge. A line appeared. Then another. Not magic door. Words. Old script. I could not read them. Beso could.
“Bread before question.”
I knew that. Mother's toast.
“Warmth before judgment.”
Guest right.
“Road home.”
The wall clicked. A section opened inward. Levan stared.
“Your mother knows old Free Road law.”
I thought. Mother had said it at dinner like household tradition. Maybe Vashadze traditions were Free Road traditions preserved without understanding. That seemed likely. Families did that. The hidden room beyond was small. Desk. Chair. Shelves. Dust. Not six months of dust. Less. Someone had been here. Recently. Avtandil saw. He drew his knife. Levan drew his axe. I sighed.
“Could we enter one room without weapons?”
“No,” both said.
Terrible. We entered. A ledger lay open on the desk. Fresh ink. My stomach tightened. Beso reached. Stopped himself. Good. I read. Dates. Road closures. Bridge repairs. Market disputes. Not ancient. Current. The latest entry was eleven days ago. West ferry. Two falsified toll writs. Same seal fault. Nine days: Kheri road. Messenger missing. Horse recovered. Seven: Kura. Palace kitchen supplier replaced without record. Keto swore. Four: Council summons prepared early. Source inside chancery. We all looked at Beso. He looked horrified.
“Not my office.”
“Inside chancery,” Levan said.
“There are two hundred clerks.”
“Then start counting.”
I liked his solution. Final entry. Two days ago. After we had already reached Kura? No. Two days ago was the day after the post house. Someone had written this while we traveled. The Mountain arrives. River is awake. Road remains unchosen. Tavadi compromised. I read again.
“Tavadi compromised.”
Beso whispered, “Otar?”
“Maybe.”
Avtandil looked around.
“If he wrote this, he was here two days ago.”
Alive. Otar Tavadi alive. Levan pointed at the lower margin.
“There.”
A second hand. Different ink. One line. Do not trust the first person who offers to stand Road. Below: They will offer one. Keto swore again. I agreed. A floorboard creaked above us. Everyone froze. Levan pointed. Davit moved toward the hidden doorway. Another creak. Then running.
“Stay,” Levan told me.
“No.”
He glared.
“Not now.”
We ran. Through the storeroom. Into the courtyard. Someone in gray disappeared through the northern arch. Zurabeli shouted. Guards followed. The market exploded around them. People. Carts. Animals. Impossible. Avtandil ran too. I followed. Levan grabbed my coat. I slipped one arm free. He swore.
“Tamar!”
The gray figure hit a fruit stall. Oranges everywhere. A donkey panicked. Two guards went left. Avtandil went right. I saw the figure turn. Woman. Maybe. Small. Fast. She ducked beneath a wagon. Avtandil vaulted the side. Show-off. Levan caught up beside me.
“You are not chasing assassins through a market.”
“I am chasing information.”
“Same legs.”
We reached the next street. Gone. Avtandil stood at an intersection. Breathing hard. Zurabeli opposite. Nothing. No gray. I looked. Doors. Windows. People. A bread cart. Blue scarf. No. Then I saw the ground. Flour. The runner had come through the storeroom. White powder on one boot. Footprints. One. Two. Left. I pointed.
“There.”
We followed. Down an alley. Through a dye yard. Blue water. Footprints vanished. Of course. At the far end, three doors. One closed. Two open. The iron key in my pocket warmed. No. I stopped. Levan nearly hit me.
“What?”
I pulled it out. Warm. Avtandil saw.
“Which?”
I turned slowly. Hotter toward the closed door.
“That one.”
Levan raised his axe.
“Wait.”
“Guest right.”
“What?”
I looked above the door. Tiny carving. Bread. Open hand. Road. Another Free Road house. Not house. Shop. Sanctuary maybe.
“If they entered under protection—”
Levan understood.
“So?”
“So breaking the door might be exactly what this system exists to punish.”
He looked offended by ancient law. Avtandil knocked. Three times. No answer. Again. Then an old woman opened. She looked at all of us. Axe. Prince. Guards. Me. Her eyes settled on the key. She sighed.
“Finally.”
“What?”
“Come in before you ruin everything.”
She turned. We followed. Of course.
Her name was Lali. No title. No house name. No fear. She owned a dye shop. Apparently also a secret sanctuary network older than both kingdoms. I was beginning to feel undereducated. The gray runner sat at her kitchen table. Not assassin. Not woman. Boy. Maybe sixteen. Thin. Hair cut short. Gray coat. Flour on one boot. He looked terrified. Levan lowered the axe. Slightly. Lali slapped his arm.
“With that outside.”
My brother stared. She pointed.
“Outside.”
He looked at me. I smiled. He put the axe by the door. Magnificent. Lali poured tea.
“Sit.”
Everyone sat. Even Avtandil. I loved her. The boy looked at me.
“You're Tamar.”
“Yes.”
He swallowed.
“Otar said you'd be taller.”
I closed my eyes.
“Everyone expected that.”
Avtandil laughed. The boy looked at him. Then pale.
“Prince.”
“Yes.”
He stood so fast the chair tipped. Lali slapped the table.
“Sit.”
He sat.
“Name?” I asked.
“Nika.”
“Why did you run?”
He looked at Levan. Reasonable. My brother frowned.
“Fair.”
“Where is Otar?”
Nika looked at Lali. She nodded.
“Alive.”
The room exhaled.
“Where?”
“Not telling.”
Levan's face changed. Lali pointed toward the axe. He remembered. Remarkable. I asked, “Why?” Nika looked at me.
“Because he said if Mountain and River came looking together, someone would follow.”
Avtandil went still.
“Did someone?”
“Yes.”
Every guard reached for something. Lali sighed.
“Not here.”
“Who?” Levan asked.
Nika shook his head.
“I don't know.”
“How do you know you were followed?”
“A man asked about the Nine Doors yesterday.”
“Description?”
Nika gave one. Average height. Dark hair. Beard. Brown coat. Wonderful. Half Kura.
“What did he ask?”
“Whether the old storeroom was still used.”
Beso frowned.
“Specific.”
“Yes.”
“So he knows about the room.”
Nika nodded.
“That's why I was watching.”
“Did he return today?”
“I don't know.”
“Then why run?”
“You entered with royal guards.”
Fair. Lali placed tea in front of Levan. He drank. She looked at me.
“Otar said not to give you anything until you asked the right question.”
“I hate him.”
“He expected that.”
“What question?”
“If I tell you, it isn't the right one.”
I drank tea. Thought. Otar's letter. Don't search for me. Search for the seat. The disk takes you to the first door. Third witness. Road. Someone would offer a candidate. Don't trust first. I looked at Lali.
“Who chooses Road?”
She smiled. There.
“Better.”
Avtandil leaned forward. Lali looked around the table.
“Road chooses Road.”
Levan frowned.
“That explains nothing.”
“It means crowns do not.”
“Church?”
“No.”
“Houses?”
“No.”
“Road wardens?”
“Partly.”
“Innkeepers?”
“Partly.”
“Markets?”
“Partly.”
Not one guild. A network. The people between jurisdictions. Ferries. Roads. Sanctuary houses. Those who needed both kingdoms functioning because everyone used them.
“How?”
Lali looked at me.
“Three refusals.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“A Road witness must refuse Mountain.”
Then Avtandil.
“Refuse River.”
Then she touched the table.
“And refuse Road.”
Silence.
“That is stupid,” Levan said.
Lali nodded.
“Yes.”
I liked her.
“Why?”
“Because anyone who wants the seat should not have it.”
Oh. That I liked more.
“So the candidate is offered?”
“Yes.”
“By whom?”
“Current keepers.”
“Then they refuse all three claims.”
“Yes.”
“What happens after?”
“If the network asks again unanimously, the person may accept.”
“That seems excessively difficult.”
“Power should be inconvenient.”
I looked at King Zurab's daughter-in-law future possibility. At Avtandil. He was thinking. Lali continued.
“Maia and Aleksandre chose a Road witness.”
“Who?”
“Tamaz Kori.”
Name. Finally.
“What happened?”
“Killed.”
“Before the compact closed.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
Lali looked at Nika. He looked away.
“Guest house burned.”
Seventeen burned witnesses. Fire. Again.
“Who did it?”
“No record.”
“Someone knows.”
“Perhaps.”
“Otar?”
“Perhaps.”
I hated perhaps too.
“What does he want from me?”
Lali sipped tea.
“To decide whether you want any of this.”
That stopped me. Not restore compact. Not save kingdoms. Decide. Avtandil looked at her sharply.
“Otar arranged the marriage.”
“He arranged a question.”
I frowned.
“What does that mean?”
“He knew Zurab wanted peace. He knew Vashadze controlled the passes. He knew you existed.”
“Comforting.”
“He suggested your name.”
“Yes.”
“He did not instruct you to marry.”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“To put Mountain and River in the same room long enough to discover whether they still hated each other.”
Levan looked at Avtandil.
“We do.”
Avtandil nodded.
“Somewhat.”
Lali ignored them.
“If you had refused each other, the compact would remain open.”
“So?”
“So perhaps it should.”
I liked her. Dangerously.
“What happens if we never restore it?”
“Nothing.”
“War?”
“That is people.”
“Forgery?”
“People.”
“Broken treaties?”
“People.”
“Then witness law isn't necessary.”
“No.”
Ancient magic was not destiny. Good.
“What does it change?”
Lali looked at the pantry key.
“It makes certain lies expensive.”
Only that. Maybe enough. Nika reached beneath his coat. Levan tensed. The boy froze. Lali sighed.
“He has paper.”
Levan looked mildly disappointed. Nika produced a small folded note.
“Otar said if you asked who chooses Road, give you this.”
I took it. One line. Now ask who benefits when no road can be trusted. I stared. Levan said, “Merchants.”
“Some.”
Avtandil said, “Armies.”
“Some.”
Beso went still.
“Border lords.”
Tolls. Military contracts. Smuggling. Emergency powers. War economies. Levan looked at him.
“Otar had names?”
Nika nodded.
“Some.”
“Where?”
“With him.”
“Where?”
“Not telling.”
Levan looked at Lali. She looked at the axe by the door. He sighed. Avtandil asked, “What does he need before meeting us?” Nika looked at me.
“He said Tamar must make one choice that neither house likes.”
Silence. I frowned.
“That is vague.”
“He said you'd understand.”
“I don't.”
“Then not yet.”
I was developing a serious dislike of Otar Tavadi. Then shouting came from outside. Our guards. A crash. Levan moved first. Axe. Avtandil drew his sword. Lali stood.
“No blood in my house.”
Another crash. Someone screamed. Not ours. Probably. Levan opened the door. The alley held six men. Royal uniforms. Wrong uniforms. Again. I recognized it faster now. Not boots. Belts. Arasani palace guards wore buckles on the left. These were right.
“False,” I said.
Avtandil saw. His face changed. One attacker held a crossbow. Not aimed at me. Nika. The boy froze. I moved. So did Avtandil. The bolt fired. Lali slammed the door. Wood exploded. The bolt came through. Passed where Nika's chest had been. Because I had pulled him down. No blue fire. No magic.
Bad. Levan opened the door again before anyone could stop him. Axe. Oh. There was a reason people laughed when I called him an axe murderer. They had not seen this. The first man entered. Levan's axe struck the sword aside. The second movement stopped at the man's throat. Not cutting. Edge pressed to skin.
“Alive.”
He remembered. I loved him. A little more. Avtandil went past. Sword. Fast. Zurabeli behind him. The alley became noise. Keto dragged Nika beneath the table. I grabbed the iron key. Why? No idea. Lali stood in front of her shelves holding a bread knife. Excellent woman. A second bolt hit the wall. Beso dropped flat. Wise. I looked toward the back. Another door.
“Exit?”
Lali nodded.
“Courtyard.”
“Take Nika.”
“No.”
“What?”
“He stays.”
“Why?”
“Sanctuary.”
The house. Guest right. They attacked sanctuary. My palm heated. Oh no. Not now. The black iron latch on the front door glowed blue. Keto saw.
“Tamar.”
“I know.”
The flame beneath Lali's kettle turned blue. I stared. Witness event. Not mine. Agreement breached. Sanctuary. The old house woke. The front door slammed. On its own. Levan barely got his axe through.
“What the fuck?”
The latch locked. He was outside. Oh no.
“Levan!”
He hit the door.
“Tamar!”
Avtandil outside too. Everyone useful outside. Everyone medically useful inside. The iron bands across the door glowed. Lali stared.
“I haven't seen that since my grandmother.”
“Can you open it?”
“No.”
“Useful.”
Another crash from the alley. Levan shouted something. Probably profanity. The blue light moved from the door. Across the floor. Toward the back. A line. I followed.
“Where?”
Lali stared.
“Old passage.”
“What old passage?”
She moved a shelf. Behind it: Iron hatch. Of course. The light outlined it. Sanctuary giving us a road home. Mother's toast. Bread before questions. Warmth before judgment. A road home even when you wish he'd never come. I laughed. Keto looked at me.
“Now?”
“Our mothers know things.”
“What?”
“Later.”
We opened the hatch. Steps down. Dark. Nika went first. Keto. Beso. Lali refused.
“My house.”
“Lali.”
“No.”
She held the bread knife.
“Go.”
I hesitated. She pointed.
“Road home.”
Damn. I descended. The hatch closed above. Darkness. Then small blue lights appeared along iron nails in the wall. Ancient emergency lighting. I loved old law. A little. We followed. The tunnel was narrow. Stone. Probably older than palace. My ribs hated stairs. Still. We emerged beneath another building two streets away. A bakery.
The baker looked at us. Flour everywhere. Beso on his knees. Keto dirty. Nika terrified. Me carrying a glowing pantry key. The baker sighed.
“Lali?”
“Alive.”
He nodded. Then went back to kneading dough. Kura was becoming my favorite city.
The fight lasted less than five minutes. Levan killed no one. This was apparently because Avtandil shouted “Tamar said alive” during the first thirty seconds. My brother later claimed this had no influence. Davit disagreed. Four attackers were captured. Two escaped. No poison capsules.
Better. One captured man had tried to bite anyway. Nothing in his tooth. Habit. Also interesting. The false uniforms were high quality. The weapons were royal issue. Real. One man had worked as a palace guard until three months ago.
Inside. Again. We returned to the palace through service gates. Not triumphantly. Covered in flour. King Zurab met us in a secure chamber. He looked at his son. Then me. Then Levan. Then Beso.
“Secretly.”
Avtandil nodded.
“Yes.”
“Twelve people.”
“Yes.”
“Market fight.”
“Yes.”
“Blue fire.”
I looked at Beso. He raised both hands.
“The bakery sent a messenger.”
The Free Road network had faster communications than the monarchy. Excellent. Zurab closed his eyes.
“Tell me.”
We did. Not everything. I kept Otar's note. Make one choice neither house likes. That was mine. For now. We told him about Road. Three refusals. Tamaz Kori. The burned guest house. Border beneficiaries. Attack. The king listened. When we finished, he looked at Levan.
“You captured four.”
“Yes.”
“All alive.”
“Yes.”
“Remarkable.”
Levan looked offended.
“I am capable of restraint.”
Everyone in the room looked at him. He sighed.
“Occasionally.”
Zurab looked at me.
“What now?”
There it was again. He asked me. Not because I was magical. Because I had the key. Different. Maybe. I needed to be careful.
“Interrogate prisoners separately.”
“Yes.”
“Compare stories.”
“Yes.”
“Check every weapon against palace inventory.”
“Yes.”
“Don't arrest Sargis.”
Levan frowned. Zurab too.
“Why?”
“Otar explicitly said Tavadi cannot stand Road.”
“That implicates them.”
“Or warns us not to scapegoat them.”
Beso nodded slowly.
“If Otar believed his house forfeited the right, he may have uncovered ancestral involvement.”
“Exactly.”
Zurab thought.
“Watch Sargis.”
“Yes.”
“Anything else?”
I thought of Otar. One choice neither house likes. Not yet.
“No.”
Lie. Beso's eyebrow moved. He noticed. So did I. We stared at each other. He said nothing. Good chancellor.
Avtandil found me three hours later in the palace garden. I had discovered there was a garden. This was irresponsible architecture. Too many windows. Now plants. Levan had gone to interrogate captured attackers. Keto had gone back to hospital. Salome was forbidden from leaving her rooms. She had already left twice. Ana was managing palace communications because apparently someone had to be an adult. I sat beneath a fig tree. Father's key in my lap. Avtandil approached without guards. I looked behind him.
“No Levan?”
“He thinks I am with my father.”
“You lied?”
“I omitted.”
“Beso has taught you.”
“Terrifying.”
He sat beside me. Not touching. For once, no emergency. Birds. Water from a fountain. People somewhere beyond the wall. I hated how nice it was.
“This marriage is contaminated,” I said.
“That is a romantic opening.”
“I mean it.”
“I know.”
“Otar suggested me.”
“Yes.”
“Your father acted on it.”
“Yes.”
“My father knew something.”
“Yes.”
“My mother knew something.”
“Yes.”
“Everyone knew something except us.”
“Apparently.”
I stared at the key.
“How do I know wanting you isn't part of whatever they arranged?”
Avtandil became very still. That was the correct reaction. Not offended. Not reassuring. Thinking.
“I don't.”
Good. He continued.
“But I know some things that aren't.”
“Like?”
“You bite people.”
I smiled despite myself.
“Otar could not have predicted that.”
“Probably.”
“You hate incorrect arithmetic.”
“Yes.”
“You count dogs.”
“Important.”
“You dislike my father.”
“I don't dislike him.”
“That's worse.”
“Yes.”
“You chose the plain bottle.”
“Accident.”
“You laughed when your brother threatened to throw me off a mountain.”
“He did not.”
“He implied.”
“Different.”
Avtandil turned toward me.
“Otar could arrange a meeting.”
His voice lower.
“He could not arrange you.”
My chest tightened.
“That sounded practiced.”
“It wasn't.”
“Worse.”
He smiled. Then it faded.
“I have the same problem.”
“What?”
“How do I know my interest isn't because I spent two years reading about you before meeting you?”
“That is your fault.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“But the proposal gave me permission to look.”
“That sounds creepy.”
“It is becoming worse as I explain.”
I laughed.
“Continue.”
“No.”
“Coward.”
“A little.”
Suravi answer. I remembered. My anger softened. He looked toward the fountain.
“I do not want to marry you because Otar wanted an old compact.”
“Good.”
“I don't want to marry you because my father wants peace.”
“Better.”
“I don't know yet whether I want to marry you.”
That hurt. Good. True. Then he looked at me.
“I know I want tomorrow.”
My stomach moved.
“What?”
“Tomorrow.”
He shrugged slightly.
“I want breakfast with you.”
“That seems manageable.”
“I want to show you Kura when no one is shooting.”
“Optimistic.”
“Yes.”
“I want to hear the rest of your goat story.”
“No.”
“Then marriage is impossible.”
I laughed. His face changed. There. What Levan watches. Whether I stop laughing. Avtandil saw it too. Not as threat. As care.
“I want another day,” he said.
“Then another if we still want it.”
No compact. No crown. No house. Just tomorrow.
“Yes.”
His eyes moved to my mouth. This time I noticed before he did. Possibly.
“Avtandil.”
“Yes?”
“If you ask permission to move my hair again, I may hit you.”
He smiled.
“Useful.”
“I mean it.”
“Then what should I ask?”
I had started this. Unfortunate. I looked at his mouth. Then him.
“You are allegedly competent.”
His breath changed. Small. Good. He moved closer. Stopped. Still asking without words. Damn him. I closed the distance. The kiss was not magical. Thank God. No blue fire. No screaming iron. No ancient compact. His mouth was warm. Careful for perhaps two seconds. Then not careful enough to be insulting. His hand came to my jaw. Mine caught the front of his coat. Something in my ribs protested. I ignored it. He tasted faintly of tea. No wine.
My first coherent thought was that his lower lip scar felt different beneath mine. My second was that this was considerably better than discussing grain. My third: Levan. I pulled back. Avtandil looked dazed. Excellent.
“What?”
“My brother.”
His eyes focused.
“Where?”
“I don't know.”
He looked around.
“No axe.”
“Yet.”
I laughed. He kissed me again. Shorter. Possibly stupider. I allowed it. Then footsteps. We separated. Fast. Ana appeared around the hedge. She stopped. Looked at us. My mouth. Avtandil's coat in my hand. We were terrible criminals. Ana's eyebrows rose.
“Good.”
Avtandil stared.
“What?”
“I owe Keto money.”
I released his coat.
“What?”
Ana smiled at me.
“She said three days after arrival.”
“How long?”
“Thirty hours.”
I looked at Avtandil. He looked betrayed.
“Your family bet on us?”
“Apparently.”
Ana walked away. I shouted after her.
“How much?”
“Ten silver.”
“Only ten?”
She laughed. I looked at Avtandil.
“I'm offended.”
“So am I.”
“Should we stop?”
“No.”
Good answer. I smiled. Then remembered Otar's note in my pocket. Make one choice neither house likes. Tomorrow. I wanted tomorrow. Perhaps that was the first choice. Not Vashadze. Not Orbelani. Mine. The key stayed cold. For once, old iron had nothing to say.