Ais paused. He had thought he’d heard a noise coming up the stairs. But that was impossible—he’d been watching the entrance the entire time.
Kenton had raised his head—he had heard it as well.
Aiesha! Ais cursed himself. The building had been a criminal safehouse—of course it would have secret entrances. He composed himself, preparing to deal with the person approaching. He would offer immunity in exchange for information. The man would talk—the news on the street was that he was scared, whoever he was. Kenton was right, Sharezan was insane, and he was displeased with his subordinates. In a way, Ais could thank Sharezan himself for arranging this meeting. If his people hadn’t felt so threatened, they wouldn’t be looking to deal with the trackts.
Ais paused. Something was wrong. Suddenly, his senses came alert, his body tense.
“What?” Kenton asked nervously.
Ais held out a hand for silence. He listened carefully to the approaching footsteps. One pair was odd, uneven. As if … it were walking with a limp. Nilto. Sharezan. I’ve been betrayed.
“Aisha!” Ais cursed, turning to duck through the broken wall toward the back room. Kenton followed whipping out a handful of sand.
“What?” he repeated.
“You were right, Ry’Kensha,” Ais explained. “It is a trap.”
Kenton looked at him with confusion, a question on his face. Ais ignored him, swinging out of the window and sliding down the same ladder that Lokmlen had used to make his own escape. A second later the Lord Mastrell dropped to the ground beside him on a line of blasphemous sand.
Nilto must have caught him before he met with us, Ais thought with anger, moving out of the alley and into the ever-present Kezare crowd. Another opportunity lost.
Chapter Thirty
Khriss sipped her tea. The drink helped calm her. After the day’s events, and her near death, the soothing warmth was welcome. She sat beside the fire, wrapped in a soft house robe, trying her best to believe she was back on darkside. It wasn’t working.
The fire blazed, but the thick glass kept out much of its heat. The room looked like one from Elis, but there were subtle differences. Some of the finishings appeared to be wood at first, but were really carapace painted brown. Despite Idan’s cleanings, there were still specks of white sand in corners and crevices around the room. And, of course, there was the ever-present sun’s heat, tangible here even where she was hidden away beneath the rock.
I don’t belong here, Khriss thought, drinking her tea. I never belonged here. I shouldn’t have come. Everyone already assumed that Gevin was dead—what have I proven? Sand mastery might be worth the effort, but Kenton will never open up to me. He doesn’t trust me—as he shouldn’t.
Yet, she had seen something in his eyes earlier, when he had seen her in danger. Something that whispered that there might be another reason for her to stay on dayside.
She had to stay for another few days at least. She couldn’t leave until she knew whether Kenton had succeeded or not, whether he lived or not. She had spent years wondering about Gevin; she wouldn’t go through that again.
She heard the front door open and close, then a set of light footsteps padded down the short set of stairs to the den. Only one person with so slight a step would be coming to her house.
“Hello, N’Teese,” Khriss said, not looking up.
“Nilto sent you a message,” N’Teese said, not bothering to return Khriss’s greeting.
“Yes?”
“He says he hasn’t been able to find out anything about Baon,” N’Teese explained. “And says he’s not going to be able to look any longer. He’s leaving Kezare for a little while.”
“Leaving?” Khriss said with a frown. “Where is he going?”
“Why would he tell me that?” N’Teese replied.
“Never mind,” Khriss said with a sigh, finishing the last of her tea. In a way, she was glad to be rid of the offensive man—she hadn’t really expected him to find Baon, she had only gone to him because she didn’t know what else to do.
Baon is probably on a ship back to darkside right now, she thought.
Besides, she suspected that Nilto wouldn’t have told her even if he had found the warrior. The Lord Beggar obviously hated her, or, at least, he hated her richness. He hadn’t wanted to deal with her in the first place. She wouldn’t care if she never saw the repulsive creature again.
You’re being unfair, she chastised herself. At least he had sent a message through N’Teese—he could have just left. In addition, he had returned Gevin’s pistol and signet to her, even if he had made light of her pain. A man such as he had a right to be angry with the rich. Khriss’s time on dayside had taught her many things, and one of them was exactly how frustrating it was to be treated like an inferior. Her waiting at the offices of the various Taisha had been unsatisfying for more than one reason—she was becoming increasingly aware of how unimportant her title was. Her realization the day before, in the restaurant with Kenton, had only strengthened that awareness.
Judge people, not faces, duchess. Baon’s words returned to her, counseling her even after his disappearance. She owed the man so much, even if he was a traitor. She wished she could have told him that much, at least, before he returned to the Dynasty.
People, not faces. Something was nagging at her mind, a connection waiting to be made. An observation she had passed over a dozen times. It was something simple, but for some reason she couldn’t figure out what it was.
It finally came to her in the form of a single word, spoken carelessly.
#
Khriss strode through the streets of Kezare, for once heedless of the jostling crowds. Acron hustled beside her, working hard to keep up. The overweight linguist had heard her leaving, and had insisted on accompanying her to provide protection in the event of danger. After his surprising performance earlier in the day, Khriss was willing to admit he might actually be useful. N’Teese led her through the crowd, barely visible in the distance.
However, at that moment she wasn’t thinking about Acron or N’Teese. She was focused on how much sense everything suddenly made. She should have seen it earlier.
“He was right here,” N’Teese explained, pointing toward a less-populated street.
Khriss turned the corner, looking down the street. There was no sign of Nilto.
“The docks,” Khriss guessed, turning back to the street. This time she led the way, pushing in the now-familiar direction, leaving N’Teese and Acron behind. The docks were only a short distance away. However, when she arrived, she looked with despair across the shifting mass of people, loading and unloading, buying and selling, tallying and organizing. How would she ever … .
A stooped-over form suddenly stood out in the crowd. There was a small bubble of open space around his limping body, and the crowd gave him a wide berth. Nilto. He was heading for the plank of a ship ready to set sail.
Khriss rushed forward, ramming through the crowd. She vaguely caught sight of Acron joining the fray behind her, though she had completely lost sight of N’Teese. It didn’t matter. She just had to catch Nilto before he left. Unfortunately, she was still a good distance away when the Lord Beggar reached the plank and started walking up toward the deck.
She gathered he strength, and put it into one piercing yell, projecting her voice over the crowd’s hustle. “Gevin!”
Nilto paused. He turned, his single eye scanning the crowd behind him until it fell on her. His scarred face frowned—a face that betrayed shambles and remnants of a face that had once been so familiar to her. She should have noticed, should have seen through the destruction. The Elisian guard had told her about Gevin’s injury, said that he had taken a pistol shot in the head. He should have told her that the shot to the head had really been one to the face—of course, she should have figured that out on her own. The only way he could have been shot in the head and survived, even long enough to be taken to Kezare, would have been if the ball grazed his face. Tearing away the eye
and nose, shattering the jaw so his speech became slurred … .
Gevin stood on the plank for a long moment, then he limped back down and waited as she pushed through the final distance to stand in front of him. A brief second later Acron managed to disengage himself from the crowd behind them.
“So, you figured it out,” Gevin noted.
Khriss nodded.
“What gave me away?”
“Our last meeting,” she explained. “You called me Khriss.”
“Ah,” Gevin said with a nod. “You’ve changed so much, my dear. You would never have noticed such an error before.”
“Gevin,” Khriss said, pained. He had spent all this time knowing she was on Dayside, had spoken with her on three separate occasions, and never revealed himself. “Why?” she asked quietly.
Gevin moved a little to the side and gestured for her to follow. He led to a large pile of boxes a short distance away, moving behind the obstruction to give them a little bit of privacy from the crowds. They weren’t completely secluded—dockworkers continued move the boxes, loading them on a nearby ship—but it did feel a little more personal.
“Why?” he repeated. “Do you really think I could return, looking like this?”
“Yes,” Khriss said flatly. “Your looks don’t matter, Gevin. Your duty is what is important.”
“Duty?” Gevin asked with a harsh laugh. “Duty to a country that didn’t want to be saved? They were just waiting to get rid of me so they could crawl to Scythe and offer to kiss his feet. No, Khriss, I’ve found a new duty. Here, on dayside, amongst those who are now my brothers.”
“You should have sent word,” Khriss challenged. “Told us something, so we wouldn’t come looking for you.”
“Sending word to Elis would have been as good as sending word to the Dynasty,” Gevin said with a shake of his head. “Scythe has so many agents and lackeys amongst Elis’s elite, he needn’t have bothered trying to kill me. But, Scythe always has been thorough. No, Khriss, I couldn’t send you word—I had to hope that Scythe assumed me dead, and would leave me alone. Besides, the Khrissalla I knew would never have done something as reckless as coming to look for me.”
“You left me alone, Gevin,” Khriss whispered. “What else was I to do? I loved you.”
Gevin shook his scarred head, turning from her to Acron, who was standing at her side. “So, you’re the one,” Gevin noted.
Khriss frowned, her stunned mind barely registering the comment. She turned to see that Acron had pulled out the pistol she had given him. Gevin’s pistol.
“Are you finished?” Acron asked conversationally, sounding very much unlike himself.
“I assume I am,” Gevin said. “In more ways than one. I should have left town the moment I learned that Khrissalla was on dayside.”
“Probably,” Acron agreed. “The girl has enough curiosity for ten men.”
Gevin tried to back away, but Acron cocked the pistol as he did so. “You heard my story,” Gevin explained through his mangled face. “I am of no threat to the Dynasty.”
“You said it yourself,” Acron said. “Scythe is very thorough.”
Khriss stared at the gun with disbelief. Acron’s entire bearing had changed. His face was hard, rather than jovial, his eyes keen as opposed to foolish.
“Acron?” she asked with amazement.
“Don’t curse yourself, duchess,” Acron said, a slight smile on his lips. “Like I said, Scythe’s assassins are extremely well-trained.”
Khriss backed away, stunned. The dockworkers continued to load boxes, completely oblivious to the danger. Acron raised the weapon toward Gevin, who was trying to scoot away.
There was a thunderous explosion, powder detonating.
Acron fell to the ground.
Khriss gasped in surprise, then looked up as one of the dockworkers threw back his hood and stood up straight, suddenly standing a full foot taller than those around him. His bald head was a dark black.
“Baon!” Khriss exclaimed as the tall warrior climbed over one of the boxes and walked toward her. Behind him the other dockworkers scattered in alarm, frightened by the sudden explosion. Khriss ignored them, grabbing Baon in a very unduchessly hug.
Baon bore it with an uncomfortable face. Finally she released him and he nodded toward Acron’s body. “Funny,” he noted, “I’d almost convinced myself it was the other one.”
“Cynder?” she asked with amazement.
Baon nodded. “I was sure no one could possibly be as obtusely sarcastic as he is.”
“Then you … .” Khriss trailed off.
Baon nodded. “I knew it was one of the two. Scythe never trusts soldiers to do as they’re told. He always sends a back up.”
The click of a hammer being drawn was the only warning they had. Baon pushed her to the side, diving in the other direction as the pistol went off. One of the carapace boxes behind them shattered. Acron, surprisingly nimble for a man of his bulk, tossed aside the pistol and leapt to his feet, ignoring the wound in his side. Baon cursed, trying to raise one of his own weapons, but Acron moved more quickly, tackling the warrior and slamming him against the dock’s stone.
A second later both men were on their feet again, swinging and kicking at each other with precision. Acron, despite his fat, moved as dexterously as Baon, blocking the mercenary’s attacks with fluid movements. The two fought with a form of combat Khriss had never seen before, striking with their fists in the same way the other men would use weapons. They spun and blocked, moving almost superhumanly quick. The two seemed evenly matched. Acron even seemed to be getting a bit of an upper hand—right up to the moment when Khriss shot him.
The smoke cleared from the third shot, and Acron toppled to the ground. This time, Baon quickly grabbed the fat man’s neck and twisted it with a snap, just to make certain. Baon rose, breathing heavily. Never, in all the times the had been attacked during the expedition, had Khriss seen the large warrior so winded from a battle.
“He was good,” Baon said appreciatively, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Of course, the fact that he managed to hide from me all these months was enough to indicate that.” He nodded toward the pistol in Khriss’s hand. “Thank you.”
“Baon… .” Khriss said. “So you’re not a spy after all?”
“Actually,” Baon noted, “I am. I didn’t lie to you, I was sent by the Dynasty. I am not here to kill the prince, however.”
“But… .” Khriss began. However, before she could continue, she noticed something. Gevin was getting away. The Lord Beggar was limping clandestinely away from the boxes.
“Wait,” Khriss ordered to Baon, then rushed forward.
“Gevin?” she asked, laying a hand on his shoulder.
Gevin spun, shaking off her touch with a curse. “Why are you still following me, woman?” he demanded. “You’ve already led one assassin to me. Are you determined to see me dead?” Despite the calm front he had displayed for Acron, he was obviously shaken.
“But, Gevin,” Khriss began. “The assassin is dead. You can come back with me, you can… .”
“Go back?” Gevin demanded. “Why would I want to go back? Scythe will just send more assassins for me.”
“You’ll be safe in Elis,” Khriss said.
Gevin snorted, his eyes flickering toward Acron’s body. “No, Khrissalla, I don’t think so. This is why I couldn’t tell you—or anyone—where I was. I’ve been living in terror these last few years. The Dynasty tried to kill me once. Somehow I knew, knew that Scythe would seek me out. Here, at least, I could hide. I’m another person. Here people know me for what I really am, not for a title. Tell me, why would I want to go back?”
Khriss paused. “To be with me?” she whispered quietly.
Gevin snorted. “Ah, Khrissalla. Changed in some ways, but still so innocent.”
Khriss paused. “What do you mean?”
Gevin looked into her eyes—there was anger there, anger at being discovered. There was something else, something muc
h more deep. Something she had never seen before, but must have been there all along. Annoyance.
“So innocent,” Gevin said, his voice almost a hiss. “You never knew. You never even suspected. I had dozens of them over the years. Some of them common girls, others more noble.”
“No!” Khriss whispered.
“The entire court knew about it, of course,” Gevin explained. “It was quite the scandal. But you never even grew suspicious. You were always so consumed by your books and your ledgers—you took little notice of what was happening around you.”
“No … .” Khriss repeated, growing sick.
“They laughed at you,” Gevin said with a shrug, “and I laughed with them. I knew I would be forced to marry you some day, but I couldn’t imagine life with you as my bride. You were such a dull creature. You hid from excitement and the world, and it was so tedious to deal with the drivel you thought of as conversation. You know, half the reason I left for dayside was to get away from you.”
Khriss felt her knees grow weak, and she felt like sliding ground. However, something kept her upright, kept the sobs of agony from bursting forth right there. It was as if she didn’t even have the strength left to break down.
“Leave me alone, woman,” Gevin hissed. “Go back to darkside and leave me be.”
The old Khriss would have run. She would have fled before Gevin’s vengeful tongue. However, Khriss was half surprised to realize she had more strength than she realized.
Khriss felt herself raise her pistol, cocking the second hammer. “No,” she said. “You go. After all I did, after all my searching… . Get out of my sight, Gevin. Leave before I decide to shoot you.”
Gevin chuckled to himself, standing. “I almost believe you would. It’s a pity, dear Khriss. You’ve grown so much—if you had been more like this two years ago, perhaps I wouldn’t have been forced to run away.”
Khriss felt her face grow hot, then she cursed quietly to herself, lowering the weapon.
Gevin smiled, then nodded toward the body. “By the way, thank you. I guess I won’t have to be leaving town after all. It’s odd—I’d heard that the large fellow behind you was the one who wanted me dead. I guess sometimes one’s sources can be wrong, can’t they, Khriss?”
White Sand, Volume 1 Page 53
