by Kat Ross
“This is where I found the sentries,” he said. “The bodies are over there.”
Nazafareen glanced at another patch of bushes a few paces away. Two pairs of soft boots stuck out.
Nicodemus crouched down and used his finger to draw a diagram in the dust.
“This tunnel runs to the burrow. It has several chambers. I can’t be sure which one he’ll be in. But he’s home. The Praetorians wouldn’t have been guarding this exit if he wasn’t.” He sketched a series of interconnecting circles. Two had similar passages leading north and south. “If we get separated, these are the ways out.”
Darius glanced at the diagram, memorizing it in an instant. “Understood.”
“Who else is inside besides your brother?” Nazafareen asked.
“Gaius’s wives and kids. At least a dozen.”
Children. Her heart sank. No matter what, she wouldn’t harm a child. And it didn’t sound like his wives had any choice in the matter, either.
“Will they resist?”
“I doubt it. They hate him. Once I’ve found Atticus, I’ll try to get them to safety.”
“What about the Praetorians?” Darius asked.
“There are usually four or five at most. You’ll know them by the ritual burns on their faces. It’s a requirement to enlist. Gaius says it’s so they never forget what the other clans did to us. But he has no reason to expect an attack. If anything, he might think Domitia and I succeeded in bringing down the Gale.” Nicodemus moved toward the tunnel, then turned back to Darius. “Be careful if you use earth. I don’t fancy being buried alive.”
“Nor do I,” Darius agreed. “I’ll stick with my knives.”
“Good.”
Nicodemus seemed about to say something more. For a brief moment, he hesitated. But then he dropped down and crawled into the passageway. Nazafareen went next, Darius behind her. Darkness closed in after just a few paces. She crept blindly, following the soft scuffles ahead. The shaft had a downward slant and the air was suffocating. Sweat ran down her face, soaking her tunic. She could feel the breaking power gathering inside her, seeking an outlet, and the rage rising with it.
They crawled until her stump bled from the sharp stones lining the floor of the tunnel. At last, a faint light appeared ahead—enough to see that Nicodemus had stopped. He waited in silence for a long moment, then eased himself out into a larger chamber. Nazafareen slid forward and stepped out of the way as Darius emerged behind her.
They stood in a hard-packed dirt chamber a dozen paces wide with three other tunnels branching off in different directions. A tight rock chimney pierced the ceiling, admitting a shaft of anemic sunlight. Dust motes drifted in the stuffy air. Nicodemus crept to one of the adjoining passages, then beckoned. Nazafareen and Darius followed, passing more empty chambers with interlinked tunnels just high enough to walk at a crouch. The shafts of light were few and far between, leaving the rest of the burrow in gloom.
There wasn’t a stick of anything that could be considered furniture or art or tools. If these were sleeping areas, the occupants must curl up on the bare ground. Nazafareen figured they’d started at the periphery of the rock tower and were circling inward. She tried to remember the map Nicodemus had drawn, but she’d lost her bearings in the maze of rooms. This didn’t trouble her. They would keep moving, keep hunting, until Gaius was cornered.
He was here somewhere. She could sense it.
As they went deeper into the warren, she noticed a foulness to the air. It smelled like the lair of a large carnivore. Bones littered some of the chambers. The stench intensified and Nazafareen pressed a hand to her mouth. The body of a Vatra lay curled in one of the doorways. She stepped around it, her gorge rising. It was impossible to tell if it had been a man or woman. The flesh had mummified in the dry heat, though rich red hair still clung to the scalp.
She looked at Darius. His face was calm, watchful, though he was coiled and ready to explode into violence, just as she was. In a distant chamber, she heard a baby crying, a thin, monotonous wail, though it was impossible to tell which direction it came from.
Nazafareen pointed at the body and raised her eyebrows in a question. Nicodemus stepped close, his voice the barest whisper.
“Someone must have pissed Gaius off. He leaves the bodies where they fall as a reminder.”
She felt Darius’s disgust. Suddenly, Nicodemus made a sharp gesture, melting into the shadows. Darius followed, but Nazafareen, who was staring at the corpse with morbid fascination, was slower to react.
A face appeared around the corner of the passage. A child. It was thin and ragged. She saw a flash of white skin. A mouth falling open in surprise. Then it was gone.
Her rage ramped up a notch. Not at the child, but at the fact that children were forced to live in this house of horrors.
“Ah well,” Darius said softly. “They were bound to notice us sooner or later.”
A dagger materialized in his hand. With a rasp that sounded thunderous in the silence, Nazafareen eased Nemesis from the baldric over her shoulder. She felt at ease with the sword now, with its weight and balance. They understood each other.
The baby’s cry cut off sharply, as though stifled by a hand.
And the Praetorians came.
Boots padded toward the chamber from four intersecting passages. Without a word, the three of them formed a triangle, backs pressed together. One of Darius’s knives flew into the mouth of the tunnel ahead. A Vatra stumbled into the light, the hilt buried in his throat. Half his face was a melted mask of shiny, taut scar tissue. His mouth worked silently, the left side pulling down in a grimace.
Then six others burst through holding crude spears. Fire magic ignited and Nazafareen snuffed it with casual contempt. She hacked at anything that moved, anything beyond their little circle. A stone spearpoint thrust at her face. She sliced the shaft in half, then took the Vatra’s head on the backswing. Blades flashed in the darkness. Her link with Darius allowed them to fight as one mind in two bodies—just as they had in another place and time when they served the Empire as Water Dogs. Few things could withstand a bonded pair for long. And Nicodemus was as hard as they came, a ruthless and efficient killer.
One by one, the Praetorians fell. And then it was over, quiet save for the harsh rasp of her own breath. Nazafareen threw off her cloak. She was drenched in sweat. Darius lay on his back, a Vatra sprawled across him. In his death throes, the Praetorian had lashed out with the butt of his spear and landed a lucky blow. Darius was alive, she knew, but unconscious. Nicodemus knelt down and felt his pulse.
“Just a crack to the head,” he said with a shaky grin. “I’ve had worse. Good thing he’s got a thick skull.”
She’d taken half a step toward them when a soft voice came from the shadows.
“What have you done?”
A man stood in the doorway. He had large, wide-spaced eyes of the palest blue. It took Nazafareen a moment to grasp what was so strange about them. He lacked both eyebrows and lashes, though his face was otherwise unremarkable. If she hadn’t known better, Nazafareen would have guessed his age at forty, give or take a decade in either direction. He wore no crown or other adornment, though swaths of bare skull cut through his red hair. He wore a dirty, shapeless tunic and trousers. A girl stood behind him, collarbones jutting from a sunken chest.
Nazafareen’s breaking magic sniffed the air. It found nothing. But the sight of him fanned the flames of her hatred. She didn’t merely want him dead. She wanted him dead slowly, painfully. The desire was sharp and physical, almost akin to lust.
His gaze swept across the heap of bodies without pausing. In the shadowtongue cloak, with the hood fallen across his face, Darius looked like one of the Praetorians. Then Gaius registered Nazafareen. His eyes narrowed.
“A mortal.” Gaius cocked his head. “Or are you?”
“Get away from him,” Nicodemus barked at the girl hovering behind Gaius. “Run. Now!”
She stared at them but didn’t move.
“Have you truly turned on your own people?” Gaius said softly. “After all I’ve done for you. Cared for your crippled brother as if he were my own son. Avenged your mother when the Kiln took her.” He held out his palms. “All this time, I prayed for your return. The wards are failing, Nicodemus. Our long exile is coming to an end. Why do you wish me harm?”
Nicodemus eyed him with deep hatred. “You’re the reason we’re stuck in this hellhole. I know the truth now. You started the war. Over nothing!”
“I don’t know who told you that, but they lied.” Gaius’s voice was calm, persuasive. “You weren’t there, but I was. The other clans grew jealous of our ability to make talismans. They resented our beautiful new city. I did everything I could to hold the alliance together.” Sorrow made his voice quaver. “They united against us. We dared to fight back, so they punished us with the Kiln. You can’t imagine the slaughter….”
“You are so full of shit,” Nicodemus spat.
“All I have left is my long memory. Memory of the truth. I swore to never forget. To pass the knowledge down to the next generations, so they knew the other clans couldn’t be trusted. And now they’ve poisoned you too.”
Nicodemus hesitated, but then he looked at the girl and his resolve seemed to harden.
“I don’t care what happened a thousand years ago. I don’t care if you were a good king or a tyrant. All I know is that you’re a monster now.”
Gaius looked stricken, but Nazafareen could see the artifice in his expression. “Don’t do this, Nicodemus. We can leave together.” He glanced quickly at Nazafareen. “Even the mortal, if she’s your new pet.”
Enough is enough, she thought.
“Whatever your other crimes, you’re responsible for the mass murder of the Danai,” Nazafareen snapped. “Your own daughter admitted as much. She said she brought the justice of Gaius Julius Caesar Augustus. Well, you can face my justice now and I’m afraid you’ll find it is equally harsh.”
“Killed the Danai?” He spread his hands. “How could I have done such a thing? I am a prisoner of the Kiln.”
“You ordered Domitia to carry out your dirty work,” Nicodemus growled. “Just as you always have.”
“Domitia is her own woman, we both know that.” And now Gaius grinned, the façade slipping away. He had pointy yellow eyeteeth. “But if I had given such an order, surely you see the necessity. The Danai are vermin. Better if they’re wiped off the face of the earth.”
Nazafareen’s bloody hand tightened around her sword.
“Guess why I’m here,” she said.
Gaius turned to stare at her and she thought she saw a flicker of recognition, just for an instant. Then it was gone. He studied her with eyes like empty holes.
“What’s your name, mortal?”
She said nothing.
“I could make do with you, even if you are maimed.” He glanced at the girl beside him. “Would you like another sister? A new playmate?”
The girl swallowed, her gaze rooted to the ground.
Gaius smiled at Nazafareen. “Of course, if you produce any whelps, I’ll have to smother them in the cradle. It wouldn’t do to pollute the bloodlines.”
The hatred rose in her, hatred and rage, but beneath it lurked the cold black emptiness of the void.
This is what I was born to do.
She shared a look with Nicodemus.
Now.
She leapt over the body of a Praetorian, Nemesis whistling through the air. Gaius dodged to the side. She let the backswing carry her around and slashed at his throat. He twisted away at the last moment, her blade carving a shallow slice down his arm. She felt savage satisfaction.
He bleeds just like the rest of us.
Nicodemus’s arm whipped back to throw Meb’s knife. Gaius snatched it midair and lunged, burying the blade in Nicodemus’s thigh. Bone cracked. He gave a hoarse scream. With the sound still echoing in Nazafareen’s ears, Gaius backhanded him with such force he flew across the chamber and bounced off the far wall.
She’d never seen anyone move so fast, not even Darius.
Gaius grinned at her. She grinned back. In that fleeting moment, they recognized something in each other.
The chamber snapped into sharp focus. She could smell his body, stale and unwashed; see the marbled irises of his pale blue eyes. No flames danced there. He was just a very old daēva.
She raised Nemesis and he moved like a snake, ducking under her sword and dragging her to the ground. She landed on her back, crushed beneath his weight, sword arm pinned over her head. He ripped her tunic down the front. Carrion breath hit her face.
“You’ll call me husband,” he murmured, a sick light in his eyes. “Or you’ll beg for death.”
Nazafareen spat in his face.
Gaius slapped her hard. Then he blinked in surprise. A rivulet of blood trickled down his cheek. Over his shoulder, Nazafareen glimpsed the girl. She held a rock in her hand. She started to back away, eyes wide, and Gaius twisted around and caught her by the neck. Bone snapped. The rock fell from limp fingers. With teeth bared, Nazafareen freed her left arm. Fingers scrabbled in the dirt for her sword. They brushed something hard, and then the hilt nestled in her palm.
When Gaius turned back, she slid Nemesis into his gut. He croaked in surprise. She kicked him off, wrenched the sword free, and stabbed him again. For an instant, she saw the flickering outline of a crown over his head, a coiled serpent with jeweled eyes, but it had no substance.
Fire gathered within him and she snapped the flows like threads. His eyes widened.
Nazafareen laid Nemesis against his throat.
“You asked my name.”
His lips worked soundlessly.
“I am Breaker.”
Nemesis rose and fell. The sword pierced the thick muscle of his heart and the image of the crown winked out. Gaius’s mouth hung slack, his eyes glazed with death. Yet still she stabbed him until her arm was slick was blood and it pooled beneath them both, black in the half-light.
Nazafareen rocked back on her heels, her breath coming in harsh gasps. Up close, she could see that his skull was lumpy and misshapen with scar tissue.
She knew now why Nicodemus had chosen her.
Because I’m not a hero. Because I am darkness and death, though of a different sort than Gaius.
Weariness covered her shoulders like a heavy mantle. Nemesis slipped from cramped fingers. On the other side of the chamber, Nicodemus stirred weakly. Nazafareen wondered if she’d have to fight more Praetorians to get them out of there. She crawled over to Darius, touched his cheek.
“Don’t make me drag you through that tunnel,” she said. “I’m too tired.”
He didn’t answer, but his heart beat strong and steady. She loved him so much it hurt, and Nazafareen felt the darkness leave her.
There are things worth dying for, but hatred isn’t one of them.
Who had said that?
Culach, she suddenly remembered. When I left him at Val Moraine.
Perhaps. But I didn’t die. I—
A soft sound made her turn. Gaius was on his feet, standing over her. He held Nemesis in his hand. His face was a mask of blood, but he was very much alive.
Impossible.
The blade slid into her chest between the top ribs, nicking bone as it went. She felt an instant of searing pain, then a deep, numbing cold. A heaviness in her limbs. Nazafareen sat back against the dirt wall, coppery warmth on her lips. Gaius watched her with his pale eyes.
That ghostly crown flickered once, twice, and vanished.
“You shouldn’t have come here, Breaker.” His lips parted in a red smile. “It’s a bad place to die.”
He seized Nicodemus by the hair, dragging him through the low doorway. The light dimmed. Darius slept. Nazafareen touched the hilt of the sword in her breast.
“Shit,” she whispered.
27
Collar Them All
Fear blanketed the city of Delphi like one of the pea-s
oup fogs that crept in from the Cimmerian Sea. People huddled in their homes and only a handful of listless shoppers wandered through the usually bustling agora. Dramatic performances at the amphitheater were cancelled until further notice. The gates to the city remained open, but the usual traffic—farmers, merchants, travelers from the south—had dried to a trickle.
Since the army marched out four days before to fight the witches, no word had come about the fate of fathers and sons, brothers and husbands, though a thousand furtive whispers passed between alleyways and over garden gates. The Danai had destroyed the Greeks to a man. No, the Pythia had led them to victory and now she marched on Samarqand. Strange beasts had been sighted in the Umbra, flying west from the darklands. A few even claimed the Vatras had returned, though these rumors were quickly dismissed as wild imaginings. And so on.
When the first riders appeared, the city heaved a collective exhale of relief. The infantry marched not far behind and were greeted with great cheers and garlands of flowers thrown at their feet. Then came the wagons bearing the injured and dead and the crowds lining the road grew somber, although the casualties were not as severe as most had feared.
They waited for a glimpse of the Pythia, but she was nowhere to be seen.
The infantry and cavalry peeled off toward the barracks, along with most of the wagons, until only one remained. It was escorted up the ring road to the Acropolis by an honor guard of grim-faced Shields of Apollo. Necks craned, but the contents of the wagon were covered. The Archon Basileus rode a charger alongside it, staring straight ahead. He made no announcement and the crowds grew thin, finally wandering back to their homes to speculate on what had occurred. The wagon bumped to a stop in front of the Temple of Apollo and two bodies were carried inside.
Thena threw off the shroud and drew a deep breath. She stared down at the red-soaked gown with distaste. The wine fumes had sickened her in the close confines of the wagon. She touched the serpent brooch pinned at her shoulder and the illusion vanished. Blue eyes became brown again. Her face shifted back into its usual proportions.
