His quarry was in the corner, behind a thick, droopy rope that was meant to tell the entitled, Look, but don’t touch. Purely ornamental. He stepped over it and approached the wire dummy wearing an incomplete Noscon armor set. The breastplate had a chunk missing, and the edges were eroded. A millennium or so stuck under another’s city would do that. The original settlers of Kolingrad hadn’t even cleared out all the ruins before building on top of them. Rone settled his hand over his pocket. Then again, he should be thanking them for that.
A muscle in his shoulder tightened and stabbed him with a pain that said, Hurry up.
Rone lifted his eyes from the armor to the headpiece settled on top of the dummy’s head. A sort of gold-braided crown, beaded with jade. A triangle-shaped bluish gemstone marked the front, meant to rest against the forehead. Worth a fortune, of course—not because it had any magical properties like the amarinth, but because it was old. Why his employer wanted this specifically, Rone hadn’t asked. It wasn’t his job to ask.
It was his job to do what others thought impossible. This wasn’t a great example, but sometimes he did achieve awe-inspiring feats.
Rone swiped the headpiece with little grace and marched to the nearest window, unlatched it, and dropped down to a chipped cornice.
He scaled the side of the house carefully before dropping to the ground on the balls of his feet, but that damnable quartz wrapped all the way around the house, and it crunched audibly under his six-foot frame. Slipping the artifact into his coat, Rone did not go out the way he’d come in—he jumped the fence and crossed the neighbor’s yard to the next street.
Why did everyone in this neighborhood use crunchy rocks in their landscaping?
Rone shoved his hands into his pockets and kept his head low, striding with purpose down the lane. He was almost out.
The moment lamplight crossed his path, he sighed.
“You there.” A policeman in a deep-scarlet uniform hurried toward him from the north. Two others followed behind. Yes, three scarlets to patrol the wealthy neighborhood. Someone was probably being beaten up for a crust of bread in the smoke ring right now.
Rone lifted his head and smiled. His mom had always told him he had a nice smile. So had a number of other, very pretty, women.
“Is there a problem?” He shielded his eyes from the lamp.
“Odd time to be out for a jaunt,” the policeman said, looking him up and down. His gaze lingered on the tailored collar, a style favored by the rich. “Do you live here?”
“Just up ahead.” Rone pointed.
“Someone turned on their panic light. Said they saw a shadow.”
Rone raised an eyebrow and put on the most incredulous expression he could muster. “A shadow? At night? I can count two dozen from where I’m standing, you being one of them.”
The scarlet knit his brow. Glanced back at Rone’s collar. Hand still in his pocket, Rone pinched the edge of his amarinth. If he couldn’t blandish his way out of this, he’d have to run, and then he’d have three guns pointed at his back. The amarinth would give him sixty seconds to outpace them. Glancing past the accusing policeman, Rone sized up his companions. He could do it.
The officer lowered his lamp. “Just up ahead?”
Rone gestured with a tip of his head. “The one with the light on.”
There were two houses matching that description.
“Go on, then.” The officer seemed disappointed. If Rone really were fancy, he’d be offended. “Keep indoors at night, son. You waste our time, frolicking out here.”
And you waste taxpayer money, strutting around these villas, answering the calls of anyone who lights a red lamp. God knew he hated Kolingrad. Then again, he also hated God.
He tipped his head in good nature toward the police officer and continued on his way, matching the pace he had kept before.
The minute the lamplight turned from his back, he cut across another yard, lifted a manhole cover in the street, and dropped into the sewer.
Chapter 3
Fire.
Need.
Sandis started awake with an odd pressure in her skull—like she’d dived too deep into a canal. Her eyes were dry. Each breath burned her sinuses. She reached for her water and fumbled to get the last swallows from her pitcher to her cup to her mouth.
The pressure and impressions gradually eased away. Sandis rolled her neck, hearing it crack multiple times. Her hair, falling just past her chin so as not to cover her script, masked either side of her face. Her bowels churned with nerves. Looking around the room and seeing only darkness, save where dim light highlighted the edges of the door, she calmed herself with the thought Not tonight. He doesn’t need you tonight.
A vessel never got used to the agony of summoning. At least she didn’t.
Sandis lay back down, listening to the even breathing of the others, punctuated by a muffled scream winding its way through the hallway.
The hairs on her arms stood on end. Pressing her face into her pillow, she thought, It’s just the wind. Never mind that she was two stories underground. Never mind Heath’s talking about the screams.
She closed her eyes and tried to sleep, but those sensations—which she was still convinced came from Ireth—nagged at her mind and drove sleep away. What time was it? There was no clock in this room. No lamps or candles.
Fire. Need.
It had been a man’s scream.
Sandis lifted her head off her pillow, squinting through the darkness. Their beds formed a sort of horseshoe, close together without being side by side. Everyone was head to toe, with Sandis being nearest the door. Alys’s still form slumbered ahead of her, and then Kaili, Heath, Rist, and Dar.
She squinted harder. Gritting her teeth, she slipped off her bed, lowering herself onto her hands and knees on the floor. Crept forward, her clothes gently swishing. The vessels slept in their day clothes—simple pants and, for the women, those baggy, high-necked shirts that hung open in the back. A draft cruised up the length of her golden scars.
Sandis paused. Licked her lips.
Heath’s bed was empty.
He could easily be out with Kazen, though it usually woke Sandis when Kazen and his nasty little sidekick Galt opened the door to summon one or more of them.
Heath’s fear-fed words from earlier rattled in her ears.
“I’m next. He hates me. Summon that thing . . .”
Sandis crept back to the side of her bed. Sat on her heels. Stared at the door.
Vessels weren’t allowed to leave their room at night unescorted, even to eliminate. The bucket in the corner was for that.
The second, distant scream, despite being quieter this time, made Sandis jump.
“You’re his favorite.”
Sandis hoped that would play in her favor if she got caught wandering. The heavy door sang her disobedience as she pulled it open and slipped through.
The hallways were empty. They usually were, even during the day. Grafters kept to themselves in their little colonies, only merging together when it was time to storm another’s nest. But Sandis didn’t need to go far. She knew where Kazen would be, if he was experimenting again.
The ceiling in the corridor was low, the walls close together, making the passageway narrow enough that two grown men passing each other would brush shoulders. It curved slightly, like a sickle. Yellow light flowed feebly from beneath two of the closed doorways—one to her left and one at the end.
Sandis hugged the wall, avoiding that light as though it were red-hot iron. She paused as she passed the first lit doorway, Kazen’s office. Zelna muttered to herself inside. Whisking past on slippered feet, Sandis tiptoed to the door at the end of the corridor, the one that led to the summoning room.
Pressure built under her skull. Ireth? But of course the numen couldn’t answer. Never once had the fire horse spoken to her directly.
She touched the knob, turned it as quietly as she could, and inched the door open to a crack. The room beyond was the largest in the l
air, roughly the size of a small warehouse. She saw Galt first; he was probably in and out, fetching whatever Kazen needed like a good little dog. Likely why the door wasn’t locked. Galt was a stocky man, perhaps in his late thirties. Might have been attractive if he weren’t hopped up on brain dust every evening, and if his soul weren’t both blacker and slicker than spent oil.
“He’s ready.” Kazen’s voice was low and soft, yet pierced through the air like lightning. Sandis flinched from it and, one finger at a time, removed her hand from the door. Ready to flee in an instant. Or make an excuse. She wasn’t known as a rule breaker—a good excuse might be believed. Maybe. If she acted sleepy, pretended she thought Kazen had summoned her . . .
The click of horse hooves brought her attention back to the crack. Galt had vanished from view, but he returned a moment later, tugging a rope lead on a well-muscled horse. A mare, Sandis guessed. She’d never known much of horseflesh, though her mother had loved the creatures. They passed out of her line of sight again and didn’t return.
Sandis bit her lip. They were going to kill the poor thing, weren’t they? Sacrifice was necessary for an unbound summons, but to her knowledge, Kazen had never killed something as large as a horse before. Sandis wanted to cover her ears, but it would prevent her from hearing them if they came close to the door . . . and she couldn’t bring herself to leave.
She thanked the Celestial when the horse only made a small noise as its throat was slit. The floor shuddered when its body hit.
The light wavered. Sandis dared inch the door open, just a little more, with her toe. She choked down a gasp.
Heath. Kneeling, not standing, in the growing crimson puddle beside the fallen animal. He looked out of sorts, like he was drugged or . . . like he’d given up. Kazen had written Noscon script all over Heath’s limbs. Sandis couldn’t decipher it, but she knew it wasn’t part of a usual summoning.
The pressure returned to her skull. She pressed her cheek to the doorjamb, straining to see.
Kazen stepped into the blood and pressed his palm to Heath’s head. As he pulled back, he chanted familiar words that still lanced cold into Sandis’s core.
Vre en nestu a carnath
Ii mem entre I amar
Vre en nestu a carnath
Kolosos epsi gradenid
She mouthed the unfamiliar name Kolosos just before a burst of red light blinded her.
She stumbled back from the door, hand rushing up to her tearing eyes on instinct. She rubbed them, smearing the salt water. Opened her eyes to spots, and tried to blink them away. All the while, she thought, No, it should be white light. It’s always white light.
The sound that poured from that crack was unlike anything she’d ever heard before. A mix of soggy boots squelching, leather tearing. A throat choking on water without any air. A bug crushed underfoot.
Though a few spots lingered in her sight, Sandis leaned toward the door, nearly gagging on the smell of meat.
The pool of blood was twice as large now, and—
Bile rushed up her throat. Afraid that her retching would give her away, Sandis rushed from the door on the balls of her feet. Biting her tongue and swallowing to keep half-digested food in her stomach.
The blood. The meat. That was Heath.
Had been Heath.
She paused near the vessels’ room, pressing her moist forehead to the cold wall outside the door. She breathed hard, too agitated to worry about the sound. Stared into nothing.
Heath.
Vessels had died in summonings before. She’d witnessed it happen. Either someone was consecrated for it who didn’t meet all the requirements or a master summoned too strong a creature into too weak a vessel. There was always a flash of light, and then the body crumpled, dead. Sometimes blood leaked from the lips, nose, or eyes. That was it.
Heath . . . Heath had turned inside out.
She’d seen so much evil, so much darkness, since coming into Kazen’s acquaintance. But never this. Never this. What was he planning? Why would he attempt to summon such a thing?
She swallowed, her stomach protesting. The pressure in her skull grew until she thought her head would split. Did Ireth build it, or her own horror?
Kolosos. Sandis mouthed the long, low syllables. Kolosos. That was the name of the creature Kazen had attempted to summon into Heath. Heath, who could hold a numen with the power of seven, like Sandis.
That could have been her.
Sandis’s mind turned over, her decision made as swiftly as the striking of a firing pin. She had to leave. Now. If she didn’t act immediately, it wouldn’t happen. She’d lose her courage, or she wouldn’t succeed. But she’d have to do it alone, with no money in her pockets, no roof over her head, no guarantees—
A sound echoed down the hallway. Without turning, Sandis slipped into the darkness of the sleeping chamber. Held her breath long enough to listen for sounds of wakefulness among her peers. They slept on.
Maybe, hope whispered to her. Maybe you’re not as alone as you think.
Talbur Gwenwig. She’d seen his name at the bank. Anyone with that surname had to be related to her, one way or another. But would he take her in? If she hid the truth about what she’d become, if she pleaded with him and followed all the rules . . .
She bit down on her first knuckle, the smell of Heath and his failed summoning still clinging to her nostrils, encouraging her to run.
The sound had faded from the hallway. Now. It has to happen now. She could take nothing with her. No extra clothes, no provisions, no weapons. Kazen’s men would suspect her if she tried. But should she warn the other vessels? Part of her felt a duty to do so, but they might not believe her. Might not wake in time. And they couldn’t all walk out without raising suspicion. No, Sandis couldn’t take anything with her, even her comrades.
The thought pressed thorns into her heart. She looked up at the sleeping forms. She had to tell them. They wouldn’t say anything, would they? Or would someone give her away, getting her caught before she had a chance to run? Maybe Kazen would beat the information out of them . . . or simply beat them out of frustration.
No, she assured herself. Kazen wouldn’t hurt them without Sandis there to watch. So long as she didn’t come back, they couldn’t be tormented on her behalf.
Her gaze dwelled too long on Alys, on her hair that seemed to shine even in the darkness. Sandis had taught the girl everything she knew, hadn’t she? Alys would be fine. Kaili would take care of her in Sandis’s absence, just as she had once taken care of Sandis. The thought tore at her heart. Go. Go now.
She might never see them again.
But family. She had family, somewhere in the city. Her staying wouldn’t stop Kazen’s experiments. Her obedience hadn’t protected Heath, only herself.
Gritting her teeth until her jaw ached, Sandis turned her back on the other vessels and slipped into the hallway. Every step she took broke a thread carefully woven between her and them, bits stitched under tables and in the dark, where Kazen and his men couldn’t catch them fraternizing. Snap. Snap. Snap.
She walked away from Kazen and his workroom with a calm, even stride. Head up, with purpose. Like Kazen walked beside her, one hand on her shoulder, permitting her to leave her confines. She moved onward, silently, passing through shadows. Snap. Snap. Staps, another grafter, leaned his large body against the wall in the hallway, picking at his nail, his corded hair falling over his shoulders. Sandis did not look at his face. She held her head high as she passed, feeling his eyes on her—but Sandis was the perfect slave. Kazen’s favorite. Staps didn’t bother her. No one wanted to risk Kazen’s wrath. Snap.
I’m sorry.
She prayed for each person she passed—at least the ones she knew by name. They didn’t know they’d already invoked Kazen’s rage.
Up the stairs. Through a door. Past a group of men gambling, then two prostitutes chatting in an alcove while they counted their money. One began to speak to Sandis, but her companion grabbed her arm and shook her h
ead in warning. Sandis could feel their eyes on her back. She needed to hide her script before she left the lair. Any connection to the occult, even against her will, would sentence her to the noose.
Though sin was branded into her with flair and expense, the Celestial blessed her on her last, shaky stretch toward the city—a jacket lay on the floor outside the laundry room. The patches on the elbows told her it belonged to Kazen’s lackey Ravis, and while he was a thin man, the garment was too large for her. Still, it hid what it needed to hide.
A beefy man she knew as a guard stopped her at the door. His name was . . . Marek? “Where’s Kazen?” he asked, eyeing her jacket.
Sandis met his eyes, hoping fear didn’t glint in her own. She said the most terrifying thing she could think of. “Ireth is coming.”
If this man knew the details of summoning, he would know the emptiness of her words. But he had been hired for his size, not his study. His eyes widened, and he stepped back, pressing into the wall as if Sandis were some sort of snake. Glancing down the way she had come, he opened the door.
The cold dark night of Dresberg, carrying the familiar scent of smoke, engulfed her.
Chapter 4
Rone’s energy waned with the night; he liked to get his jobs done quickly and efficiently, so he’d already wrapped the headpiece in nondescript garbage and left it at the designated drop-off location. His payment had been waiting there for him, and it now sat happily and heavily in his coat pocket, opposite his amarinth. The sluggish sun had dragged itself over the horizon, obscured by Dresberg’s sludge-stained wall. While Rone’s own flat sang to him from across the city, he decided to make one more stop.
Knowing his mother, she’d already be up. Just in case, however, Rone used his key instead of knocking.
The door swung open to a nice, if simple, flat, nearly twice the size of his own. A living space stretched off to the right, and a kitchen with a small dining space—all the nice flats had dining spaces—sat to his left. A small bookcase stretched just inside the door was filled with foreign titles purchased at high prices from southern merchants. His mother’s room, privy, and storage space wrapped around the back of the apartment.
Smoke & Summons Page 3
