Faer was not cut out for running down stairs anymore, but gave it a very admirable try in order to keep up. Guy was leaping down three at a time, bounding off the walls like a barn swallow building its nest, so keeping up was no small feat.
They found Cole at the nearest entrance to the dungeons, butted up against the door as if he had been using his body as a ram. Given the state of the door, and of him, it looked likely that had been the case, at least until the guards showed up.
Their first stroke of luck had been that the nearest entrance to the dungeons didn't lead through the Palace, which meant a minimum of notable dignitaries were either witnesses to or victims of Cole's second one-man assault of the week. It was another stroke of luck that among the guards were some who recognized Cole, even bare of his insignia, and thus kept the others at a safe distance.
Though Faer judged himself inculpable, it had been a little foolish of him to assume that when he sent Cole sprinting from the square to see Galen that he would be stopped by something so simple as personal dignity, the Dubh Sciath, and several reinforced and firmly locked doors. Whatever was happening now – they had been alerted (awakened and alerted) by a couple of perspicacious (or nosy) guards – seemed to be worse.
They were unbelievably lucky that no one had died yet, including Cole.
Faer distracted the guards from Guy's immediate attack on Cole by raising a writ about commons pasturage and bawling something in Old Ainjir about legal representation.
“Cole!” Guy shouted, as he dodged between two uneasily raised pikes. He got within reach, only to have to duck a fist and dance out of reach again as Cole swung for him.
Cole looked a mess. The fronts and sides of his fists were bloody rashes, he had probably broken the finger that didn't quite close into his fist, and it was not clear what was sweat, what was blood, what was dirt, and if any of the above, smeared all over him, were his own. The guards had clearly gotten in a good knock or two, which if Cole were in his right mind, never would have happened. So, both lucky and unlucky that he wasn't.
Especially for Guy.
Guy, who, Faer estimated, was marshalling admirable fortitude of his own to cover a significant level of inner turmoil. Faer knew – and knew intimately – that Cole was an impressive force of instinct and violence, usually kept a bit more tightly concealed in a covering of charm and genial roguishness. Guy had only seen him this way in battle, when against a wall, utterly stripped of allies – when he took victory upon himself. It had been just as frightening then, and then they had been on the same side.
Now, they were not, if only because anyone who wanted to stop him was not on his side.
Making another attempt to get close proved futile, and nearly cost Guy his senses as Cole's fist skimmed the edge of his nose. He let the tears that welled up run down his cheeks rather than take his fists down to clear his eyes. He again had cause to thank his drill sergeant for being an asshole during combat-training, which was an indignity no one should suffer so often. And Fortune favor his old sergeant, but if it came to a pitched fight, there was no question of the result. He could not hold against Cole for long.
He really, really hoped it didn't come out to pitched fight.
“You've got to stop, Cole,” Guy said, and immediately regretted it. He ducked one punch and backpedaled to avoid another, but Cole wasn't going to be drawn after him.
“I am tired of being stopped,” Cole shouted.
“Stopped from doing what, Cole?” Faer called, from the safety of the ring of guards. “You’re delirious. You’ve slept all of two hours in two days. What are you trying to do?”
“They won't let me in,” Cole growled. “I have to see him.”
“Cole, you don't want to see him right now,” Faer said, and also experienced instant regret. He saw the pricking of fear and anger in Cole's eyes, the dart the words threw into his chest... Grace and Goodness, he felt how much it hurt to think of himself. But none of them got so far by giving into that.
“I have to,” Cole repeated, voice hollow.
“Well, you can't see him. I've already begged for every kind of leave. I’ve been at it from the start. He's sequestered for the duration precisely so they can do this to you. Plus, we've still got to pay the injury leave for the last group of guards you did this to.”
For a moment, it seemed as if the pain would distract him, but in the end it only hardened his resolve. Guy kept himself on guard, looking as non-threatening as possible while not withdrawing. Just because Cole wasn't looking at him didn't mean he was safe.
“I have to talk to him,” Cole said.
“Well, how does this help us regain the privilege of visits, asshole?” Faer yelled back. “How is this going to change their minds about how dangerous it would be for us to be able to communicate? Or maybe getting yourself arrested is the goal, so you can be buried under the same rock, be executed together and rejoin in the happy beyond while we kiss all of our hard work goodbye. Unless you plan on killing Guy so you can take him with you.”
Guy would've given Faer the dirtiest look he could for giving Cole ideas – if he wanted to risk taking his eyes off Cole. Which he didn’t.
“Just let it go, Faer,” Cole growled, resettling his posture as if to continue the fight, “and get out of my way.”
Guy steeled himself, but instead of backing off, Faer stomped forward, putting himself out in the open by Guy, expression a magnificent scowl. “If you’re going to kill Guy, then I've got to step in, and, honestly, that’s fucked up, because I think I've taken enough beatings for getting between you and Galen.”
That did it – Cole's brows went up, and his fists went down. The pain of his broken bones and burned skin seemed to sink in, and he turned his eyes skyward, falling against the door for support. Guy, still twitchy, kept his fists up until Faer had stepped into range and stood quietly before Cole.
“It doesn't matter,” Cole said, his voice raspy. “All of our work has gone to waste, anyway. Durante has betrayed me.”
Faer stayed silent, but a hundred protests shouted defiantly behind his eyes. Cole shook his head.
“Durante negotiated the deal with Diarmaid. If I don't agree to it, Durante will set the Council against us. No legal appeal will be heard, no defense will make a difference. Even with Ghent and Orean and Horace a few of the others that might be on our side, the Council will vote Durante's way. Nika will be tortured and executed.”
Guy found himself averting his eyes, dropping his defenses to gather the guards and persuade them to leave (they were, understandably, reluctant, but he was able to negotiate some privacy). And he surprised himself, with the thought that privacy was what they needed. Close as they had been – close to death as they had both been – he had never seen Cole so emotional. It was also to some purpose, always part of some display, when he ‘lost his temper’ or even mourned the dead – never anything raw as this. It felt wrong for there to be witnesses.
Cole, letting the door support his back, sat on the ground.
“If I don't accept, they'll kill him. I can't delay any longer. Delaying doesn’t matter. Nothing changes. I have to see him,” Cole said, his voice small and worn. “I have to see him before they send him away, let him know why I betrayed him.”
“You haven't betrayed anyone,” Faer said, scowl on his face matching the gravel in his voice. “Yet.”
“How can I choose anything else?” Cole asked.
Guy felt his stomach drop, his heart cease beating. This was the end of Cole’s boundless patience and power reached. Guy felt the sinews of his hope undone.
But Faer let out loud, dissatisfied grunt. “Galen knew this was coming, Cole. He may not have known about the King, but he knew where he would be when it all came together, and he is relying on you to keep your head, and to stay constant to him – and to yourself. If you know that choosing the King is a betrayal, then it is. You can't choose it until we're beaten, and we are far from beaten yet.”
“They're torturing him!” Cole shouted, furious and disgusted.
“He knew they would,” Guy said.
Both Faer and Cole turned to stare, and Guy found himself forced to elaborate. “Galen knew, and he knew we couldn't stop it, and knew we worked on it anyway, but he never counted on it.”
“He counts on dying,” Cole objected.
“No,” Guy said, carefully – as if the word were unfamiliar. “He counts on you. He didn’t need the torture stopped, or his death prevented, he needed you. It made sense to work on delay and acquittal while we thought we could get it. Now that we know we can’t delay, we need to figure out what it was he thought you could do for him.”
“How could I do more than save his life?” Cole asked, looking between them.
They paused, none quite ready to respond; a distant drip of water like a painful reminder of their solitude. There was no one left – no high-ranking ally to intervene, no political structure to appeal to – nothing but their own quickly-failing strength and wit.
“Well,” Faer said, carefully, “we’ll work on that. But I can tell you that what he would have said is that there are more important things – and shut the fuck up before you start on your shit again, Cole, I swear–”
And, having successfully quelled an objection, Faer shifted his weight – the predecessor to pacing. “If you even imply I’m not going to work on saving his life I will make you beat me to death right now. There are more important things, Galen would say, that dick, and we all know it. I gave up Galen to you because you were who he chose, who made him happy – so I can't let you betray yourself and him to take the King's offer. And Galen gave up his faith, and his family, to be with you, and has never turned his back on that choice. You were more important to him – you were a more important thing, and to pay him back by cutting out now is cowardice.”
“Yes” Guy said, stepping forward and surprising both of them. He stooped to loop an arm under Cole’s shoulder to help him up – Faer took the other. “So get up.”
Cole put a hand – finger sticking awkwardly out – to his forehead and pressed hard. “Yes… so, now…?”
After a fraction’s pause, Faer said, “Now you’ll go home”.
It was his turn to get the confused looks, and he responded by reissuing his command.
“Go home. We’ve just found out there’s a whole conspiracy, and you don’t think it’s been done this way on purpose? As long as you're here, they can use him against you. They want to keep you distracted and off-balance, and if we're going to have any chance, we need you to be able to control yourself. So go home.”
Both Guy and Cole continued to stare – both extremely dubious for entirely separate reasons.
Faer set stern brown eyes on him, the too-aged lines on his face and gray in his hair, accomplishing what the formal robes could not – making him seem the elder, wiser, counselor.
“And I don't mean home to the Tower, or home to the Dorms, or home to whatever camp or hole you choose to crawl in. You need to go home. To your father.”
Guy half expected more blows to come. Cole merely remained confused. “You can't think...”
“Galen would have been bugging you about it this whole time, if he could.”
“But–”
“Galen is relying on you,” Faer shouted. He pushed Cole towards the exit, standing like a sentry between him and the dungeon door. “I don't know what he's doing but he's expecting you to do something fantastic, reckless, and... Cole-like or he wouldn't put you through this. Before you go and betray Galen, and yourself, you need to think like yourself. And you can't do that here. Not with him so close.”
Cole gestured with one bloody-knuckled hand to the door. “I can't leave him here suff–”
“He's suffered worse!” Faer roared. Echo dead before it started, the silence afterward rang.
Staring Cole down, Faer continued. “If you really believe his innocence then he's suffered worse. And that for you, too,” he added quietly.
Faer shoved Cole again, turning him towards the door. “Go to your family.”
And, miraculously, Cole left.
Once he was safely gone, Guy whispered, “I sort of thought his family was dead.”
“By the Prim Fundament of Propriety, you would fucking think so, wouldn’t you?” Faer said, sighing and vigorously rubbing his face. “I can’t believe he actually went, though.”
“I thought you…?”
“Had any idea what I was doing?” Faer raised his face from his hands to stare at Guy. “I half thought you did, for a second, there. But, no. I mean, I’m not wrong. They clearly set this up. If he stays, they’ll keep working on him. He won’t last. He needs to be out of the way. But also, by Glory’s Great Nuts did we just get absolutely fucked.”
“Would Galen really have been telling him…?”
“Balls! How would I know? I don’t think he particularly liked Cole’s father – I mean, respect is a different thing, isn’t it? Not that Cole would get it – he’s got some fixed opinions there, you know?”
Did he know? Guy asked himself, startled and completely sure he didn’t want Faer to realize how much.
“That old fuck,” Faer said, into the gap in conversation.
“Cole’s… father?”
“No, Durante!” Faer threw his hands, and then started a furious pacing. “Or maybe him, too, but mostly Durante. Cole’s been like a fucking son to him – I would form some fixed opinions myself, after something like this. What a bastard.”
“Well,” Guy shrugged, “I mean, a bastard that has solved one problem.”
“No!” Faer shouted, rounding on Guy in his pacing. “Fuck him!”
“But shouldn’t we just keep that in mind,” Guy offered, “you know, since the Council is going to try to kill him no matter what we do?”
“Well, yes!” Faer conceded. “But fuck the Council! Who gives a fuck about them? Yes, all told, I would greatly prefer a straightforward trial, but they’re the ones who’ve made it another kind of issue, and I’m not about to let them fuck me just because they can. They’ve already done it once, anyway, so fuck them. We all knew Cole couldn't let Galen be tortured. It was always going to be up to us at this point; why else would he have recruited us to help? Cole didn't pick you to be his lieutenant for nothing, and Galen didn't send Cole to fetch me for fun – maybe a little, but not mostly. Cole has his part to play, and we have ours.”
“We just have to… figure out what it is,” Guy said. “Now that we’re absolutely fucked.”
“Exactly!” Faer replied, with admirable, though angry, enthusiasm. He sighed, and his hands came back up to rub his face. “We just need to find a way to get around the Council.”
“And the King,” Guy said.
“And the King.”
They looked at one another.
“And there’s the spy,” Guy added.
“You do like that theory.”
“It fits,” Guy said. He paused, and watched Faer as he turned his face to the ceiling, taking long, calming breaths. “And maybe I have an idea.”
“An idea, maybe?” Faer looked at him, brows raised.
“Maybe I have a plan?” Guy offered.
Faer shrugged, grinning. “Maybe I’ll take it.”