Myths and Mortals (Numina Book 2)

by Charlie N. Holmberg

  “And it really heals him in a minute?” Bastien bent close to her ear.

  She nodded. “It prevents injury, even injuries sustained before it’s spun.” Sandis considered the mystery of the amarinth as she stepped through the threshold of the flat. Truly, it was a working miracle, yet it had been created by the Noscons, the same people who worshipped the occult Celesia so vehemently protested. Bastien had recognized the word, amarinth, when she’d first mentioned it, but he was still incredulous that one actually existed.

  Sandis wondered how the Noscons had made such a contraption and why they hadn’t created more of them, since Rone’s amarinth was incredibly useful. Then again, maybe they’d taken all their trinkets with them upon leaving Kolingrad, before Sandis’s ancestors had ever settled it.

  The flat was larger than the apartment they’d abandoned. Maybe even bigger than Rone’s basement up north, but perhaps it was just more . . . square. The front room expanded off to the right for a living area and off to the left for a kitchen that fit a decent-sized dining table. Behind that was a hallway and a bedroom. There was a bit of clutter, a few drawers on the floor and some broken glass. Thieves had ransacked the place, leaving little behind.

  But at least the grafters had never come here.

  She ran her hand over the dining table, pulling back when a small splinter bit the underside of a knuckle. Rone closed an open cupboard and came toward her. He paused, awkward, watching her a moment too long.

  Sandis forced her shoulders to relax. “We should rest.”

  Bastien said, “Should one of us keep guard?” He eyed the door while wringing his braid.

  “Even if he knew where we were, he’s not coming for us anytime soon. Not today.” Rone kicked the front door shut anyway, then sidestepped to a window and peeked out onto the street. They were in a nicer neighborhood—not like Talbur’s, but better than before. A good ways from the smoke ring.

  Sandis rolled her lips together. Did Kazen know where Kaili had gone? Rist? Dar? Alys? Did this stranger intend to go after them as well, or had he targeted Sandis and Bastien because they were stronger vessels?

  But Dar could host a level-seven numen, too. Was there a reason Kazen had, so far, spared him?

  “You’ve always been special, my dear girl.” Kazen’s voice crawled through her memory like a half-crushed insect.

  Sandis hugged herself. She had to find the vessels. They could only fight Kazen together.

  “Take the bed,” Rone said, hands shoved into his trouser pockets. “Red and I will sleep out here.”

  Sandis shook her head. “I’m the smallest. I should—”

  “Sandis.” Rone gave her a pointed look, his dark eyes free of mirth. “Take the bed.”

  Biting the inside of her lip, Sandis nodded and padded back to the small bedroom. The bed was nothing special, though its blankets were flung about as if someone had been looking for something. She grabbed one of them, cocooned herself in it, and lay down.

  She fell asleep within minutes.

  “When I left, I went straight to the bank,” Sandis said, cradling a hot mug of tea, trying to forget the red light and shadows that had pocked her slumber. “If I’d run without a purpose . . .”

  She and Bastien sat across from each other at the dining table in Rone’s mother’s apartment, trying to figure out where to begin their search for the other vessels.

  “No one survives without a job,” she added.

  Bastien nodded. “They’d have to get work. Smoke ring is the best place to do it.”

  “Unless they think Kazen is coming for them. I never stayed in the same place because of that.” She leaned close to the tea, letting the steam warm her nose, and allowed herself a quick glance at Rone. He was reading something in the sitting room, his back toward them. He still wasn’t happy with Sandis’s plan. But Rone’s happiness didn’t matter. Couldn’t matter.

  “Would they know he’s alive?”

  Sandis hesitated, then shook her head.

  Bastien rubbed his chin. “They could just break their scripts. Why would he pursue vessels with broken scripts?”

  Sandis paled. “But if they broke their scripts, I can’t summon with them.” That was the plan, wasn’t it? Drooping over her tea, she added, “But it would be good to help them either way. Good to have allies.”

  Bastien wove the end of his braid through his fingers. “You could . . . I mean, w-we could start back at the towers.” He swallowed, obviously at odds with his own suggestion. “I mean . . . that abandoned neighborhood over Kazen’s holding. It’s . . . towery.”

  Sandis nodded. “Makes sense. We could find clues to where they went, or where Kazen went—”

  “That’s a bad idea.”

  They both looked over at Rone, Bastien turning in his chair to do so. Rone blew loose curls from his forehead—he needed a trim. “If Kazen is gone, no one is paying off the scarlets to stay out of that place. They’ll be looking for their own cut, probably. Other grafters might be snooping around, too.”

  Bastien said, “Maybe it’s been long enough—”

  “It’s only been two days. And by the time it has been long enough. You’ll find nothing useful.” Rone’s tone was sharp and insistent. “Do you have any idea what sort of bounty Grim Rig has on his head?”

  “Grim Rig is dead, right?” the Godobian countered.

  “I strongly doubt they know that, or care.” Rone tossed the paper he was reading onto the threadbare couch. “Even with corruption, the police will do their jobs for bounty money. They’re going to investigate the hell out of that place and be suspicious of anyone snooping around. Give them one glimpse of what’s under that shirt, and you’ll be sweating it out in Gerech while they tie the knot on your noose.”

  Bastien blanched.

  Sandis’s stomach tightened. “Rone.”

  “Do I lie?”

  Pressing her lips together, she shook her head. “Then we won’t start there.”

  “You shouldn’t start anywhere, not with that freak after you.” Rone shuddered. “I felt like I was being watched, before. When we left the Lily Tower. Wonder if it was him.”

  “You did? You didn’t tell me.” Sandis’s grip on her cup tightened.

  “You didn’t ask.”

  He looked at her, and she looked at him. The air was almost too thick to breathe.

  “It’s fine.” Bastien coiled his braid around his head. “We’re not ready for the others yet.”

  Sandis finally took a sip of her tea, letting the bland hot brew warm her gums before swallowing. “I wonder how long it takes.” Mastering the meditation, she meant.

  “I’m not sure. My old master was already a summoner when I met him. Depends on the person, I guess. And the soul.”

  She nodded. “Might as well try.”

  Bastien offered her a weak smile. “You’ll get there. And we’ll find them.” He reached across the table and clasped her wrist, since her hands were still snug against her cup.

  Rone scoffed and moved toward the door. “I’ll be back.”

  Sandis stood, pulling from Bastien’s touch. “But—”

  “I’m going to find out who this slag is. He knows seugrat. There are only so many who teach it.” He wrenched open the door and, without looking at her, said, “Do not leave the flat. Slide the bolt after me. If you hear anything, go out the fire escape through the bedroom window. There’s a manhole at the bottom of it.”

  He shut the door and was gone.

  Sandis’s back was sore from sitting so erect on the floor, doing the breathing and mind exercises Bastien had related to her. After rolling her neck, she leaned against the edge of the sofa and sighed.

  Bastien sat cross-legged, his head tilted slightly to one side, his braid hanging over one of his ears. Before Sandis could ask what he was thinking, he said, “Do you ever wonder where they come from?”

  She slouched, stretching her spine. “Who?”

  “What, I suppose. The numina.”

&
nbsp; Sandis tucked a piece of hair behind her ears. “The ethereal plane.”

  Bastien shook his head. “But where do they come from, really? Why are they there? Why is the ethereal plane there? What is it like? Have you ever wondered?”

  A small smile tugged at her cheeks. “I can’t say I have.”

  “I’ve wondered.” Bastien brought his legs in front of him and hugged his knees. “I’ve stayed awake at night, wondering. The numina, the ethereal plane . . . the amarinth now. I wonder about that.”

  “Me, too.”

  “Even us,” he continued. “Where did we come from? This earth we live on? The stars?”

  Sitting up straighter, she said, “The Celestial.”

  But Bastien shook his head. “Can’t be.”

  “Why not?”

  “The Celestial is only what, three centuries old? The world is much older than that. The Noscons alone are so much older.”

  “He wasn’t invented three hundred years ago.” Sandis’s brows drew together. “That’s just when our people started worshipping him.”

  His face softened. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think you were a believer.”

  She shrugged. “Most Kolins are.”

  He shrugged back. “Most Kolins aren’t like us.”

  Frowning, Sandis reached over her shoulder, her fingers brushing Ireth’s broken name. Reaching a little farther, she touched the smooth, leathery edge of her highest brand.

  “Why do you care about him?”

  She pulled her hand away and glanced to the door. “Rone? I don’t. I mean . . . no, it’s—”

  Bastien laughed. “I meant Ireth.”

  “Oh.” Her cheeks warmed. She pressed her palms into her knees. “It’s hard to put in words. He was . . .” She pressed her lips together, considering. “If I weren’t a Celesian, I suppose he would have felt like a god to me.”

  Bastien cocked his head in the other direction. “That’s interesting.”

  Sandis rolled her lips together. “I suppose it is. I don’t know. I don’t think about things in the way you do. He was always there, even when Kazen wasn’t. Even when I couldn’t feel any heat or pressure, I just . . . knew. Sometimes I felt what he felt. I knew he . . . cared.”

  Knew he loved me, she wanted to say, but something about that seemed too personal to share with him.

  “It was never like that for me.” Bastien frowned. “Bonded or not. Even with Ireth. Just nothing, then pain, then nothing again.”

  “I was bonded to him awhile.”

  “I was bonded to Grendoni for almost five years.” He ran a hand down his braid. “Do you know him?”

  Sandis shook her head.

  “He’s a six, I think. I’ve been told he looks like a goblin cat.” He crooked his fingers to imitate cat ears. “His head is half his size, and he has big tusks on his lower jaw.” He moved his fingers to his face to illustrate. “Big eyes and tail. My old master made a deal with another summoner who wanted Grendoni, so he unbound me a few months before he traded me to Kazen. I never felt his presence, even when he was summoned. I was always just . . . dead.” He settled his hands in his lap. “I wish I knew what it felt like, to have that sort of bond.”

  Ignoring a twisting in her chest, Sandis murmured, “Maybe you’ll get it, in time.”

  “Maybe.” He sounded doubtful. Then, silently, he studied her, looking at her like she was a book he’d like to read, though given his background, Sandis was fairly certain Bastien couldn’t read.

  A few moments after his gaze became awkward, she asked, “What?”

  “You’re doing well. Really well,” he answered. “Maybe, since you’re so close to Ireth, it would work.”

  A chill passed through her, but a small flame deep in her core slowly burned it away. She didn’t dare ask if he meant what she hoped he did.

  When he spoke, his words were like balm to a burn. “You could try summoning on me, Sandis. Bring Ireth here. If it works, it might allow you to connect to the ethereal plane without as much practice.”

  For a moment, she couldn’t speak.

  Her throat swelled. Her pulse danced up and down her neck. Her limbs tingled like her arm had after the stranger had struck her shoulder. Nearly a minute passed before she worked up enough spit to swallow.

  “I . . .” Her voice was quiet as falling snow. “I don’t want to hurt you, Bastien.” He dangled a carrot in front of her—a juicy, golden, heavenly carrot—but Sandis knew firsthand how utterly painful it was to be possessed. Like every fiber of your body was lit on fire and pulled apart or doused in flesh-eating acid.

  He smiled. “I don’t mind.”

  “That’s a lie.”

  He laughed. “Maybe a small one. But, Sandis.” He crawled closer and took her hand. “You rescued me. You’re my friend. You’re nicer than others have been. And what you say about Ireth . . . I’m so curious. It only hurts for a moment.”

  A moment that scars you forever. Her fingers trembled. “Bastien—”

  “It will make me a little hoarse.”

  Sandis blinked, not understanding what he . . . oh. She rolled her eyes. “It will make you a big horse.”

  Bastien grinned, but let it fade. “Do you want to?”

  She frowned.

  He waited.

  Hesitant, Sandis nodded. She wanted to grab his collar and scream, Yes, yes! I want to so badly! I’ll do anything! Let me see him! But her more reasonable side said, “It might not work.”

  “Then you have nothing to worry about.”

  Standing, Sandis spun and glanced at the windows. “Here?” Rone had asked them not to leave the flat, and indeed, it was probably the safest place for the transformation. If it worked—if it worked—Bastien would be unconscious for hours afterward, and she didn’t think she’d be able to carry him very far.

  “I guess.” Bastien looked at the ceiling. “There’s enough space. He shouldn’t light anything on fire unless you tell him to, right?”

  Sandis bit her lip. Moved to the window near the door and adjusted the curtains, making sure no light passed through them. Bastien followed her lead, checking all the other windows.

  Bastien moved into the kitchen and emerged with a knife. Returning to Sandis, he held it between them. Only then did Sandis realize what he intended.

  Of course. She didn’t need his blood to summon a numen, but to control it. Kazen had used a tube and a hollow needle to transfer her blood into his body, which was undoubtedly more efficient, but she and Bastien didn’t have anything like that. Ireth might not need to be controlled, and yet . . . it was a risk neither of them could take.

  “Pick a body part,” Bastien said.

  “Um.” She held out her right hand.

  Bastien snorted. “You want that hand disabled for the next couple days?”

  She swallowed. “How much does it take?”

  “Not a lot, I don’t think.” He considered. “Not for just one summoning.” He handed her the hilt of the knife.

  Pushing it back, she said, “I’d rather you do it.”

  He didn’t press the request, merely pushed up her sleeve so her forearm was exposed, then did the same for himself. He grimaced, hesitating. Perhaps he didn’t handle blood well, but before Sandis could recant her request, the knifepoint dug into the top of her forearm. She winced, but in truth, it didn’t hurt that much. A strange sort of eagerness pulsed through her veins, drawing her attention away from pain.

  Bastien made a similar shallow cut on his own arm, then awkwardly twisted to press the cuts together, his arm on top.

  Sandis searched his eyes for the stifled fear so often hiding there. “Are you sure, Bastien?”

  His pale irises flicked to hers. The fear was there, but faint. “Do you want me to change my mind?”

  She shook her head. He held their arms together a little longer before pulling back. They had some bandages left over from Rone’s earlier injuries, but the cuts weren’t bleeding terribly—Bastien hadn’t made them deep. Vessel
s worked better the fewer scars they had. Oddly enough, the deep scars trailing the length of their spines didn’t count.

  Stepping back, Bastien guided her into the front room, where there was the most space. He pulled off his shirt—he wasn’t trim like Rone and Dar, or thin and wide like Rist. He was stout, with extra flesh over his chest and waistline. Despite his years of captivity, he had never wanted for food. His freckles began to fade at the base of his neck and floated like snow to his shoulder blades before disappearing entirely. His golden script, branded in large, looping Noscon letters down his back, was an exact replica of her own. Though the gold leaf charred into his skin was hardly natural, it seemed to flow with his flesh as if it had always been there. He pushed his braid back, and the strawberry-blond hair covered two-thirds of it.

  He hesitated, wringing his shirt—Rone’s shirt—in his hands. “What should I do with my pants? I’ll, uh, ruin them.”

  Sandis bit her lip, considering. If this had been someone else—Rone, for instance—it would have been more awkward. But Bastien was a vessel. He was probably used to being stripped before a summoning to preserve his clothing, something Kazen had often made her do, too. And while Bastien had become a fast friend and desperately needed a confidant, he didn’t make her nervous the way Rone did—had—in similar predicaments.

  Sandis moved to Rone’s mother’s room and retrieved a blanket. She handed it to Bastien, who tied it under his ribs. A moment later, he kicked his slacks and undergarments onto the sofa. Then, a wry smile pushing through a countenance that had begun to lose its courage, he bowed to her like she was some sort of politician—presenting his forehead. “Go ahead. Hurry, if you would. Tell me everything when I wake up.”

  Sandis stared at his hairline, where the ginger locks met his freckled forehead.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, and she pressed her hand to his forehead, offering a prayer to the Celestial that this would work. She needed this like she needed air.

  She pictured Ireth in her mind. Or rather, imagined him, since she’d never beheld him with her own eyes. She whispered, “Vre en nestu a carnath. Ii mem entre I amar. Vre en nestu a carnath. Ireth epsi gradenid.”