Myths and Mortals (Numina Book 2)

by Charlie N. Holmberg

  “I’ve never crossed you,” Rone said, meeting his eyes.

  He offered a cheeky smile and shook his head. “No, you’re a good dog. But I work around my own schedule, not yours. I don’t like snoops.”

  “In my defense, the warehouse was abandoned.”

  “Obviously it was not.” Hadmar winked. He waved a hand, and Onion brought him a chair. He sat. “I don’t like beggars, boy.”

  “I’m not here to earn money. I need information. Your network is good, Hadmar.” Might as well throw a compliment in there. “I knew you’d have accurate accounts.”

  Hadmar tilted his head to one side. “You’ve upset me, Verlad. Interrupted my work. But I always was weak to my own curiosity. Exactly what is it you’ve so stupidly come here for?”

  Dragged here, Rone amended, but the words didn’t reach his lips. “I need to know the location of a man named Kazen.”

  Hadmar straightened. Grinned. “A grafter?” So he’d heard of him. “What does a mercenary like yourself want with a grafter? I don’t know how well he’ll pay you.”

  Rone didn’t mention he’d already been paid. A lot of money that didn’t begin to meet the price he’d paid. “It’s not business. Not mutual business, at least.”

  Hadmar studied Rone for a long moment. Long enough for his underarms and spine to sweat.

  “You know me, Verlad.” Hadmar leaned back in his chair, propping one arm on it. “Grafters, they’re like whiny children. Messy and unfocused. I don’t call on them. But if a grafter would go anywhere, it would be the dark market.”

  Rone tried to adjust, to relieve the strain on his bound shoulders, but found he couldn’t. “It’s my understanding the dark market is more a state of mind.” A crook here and a scumbag there, if you know where to look.

  Hadmar laughed. “A state of mind. That is good.” He waved away someone behind Rone, which made Rone wonder what the lackey was about to do. “You are right, it’s sprinkled throughout this wonderful place. But some things aren’t easily stowed away in drawers and behind curtains. There’s a nice carve out from the Noscon ruins beneath us. District One, not far from the southeast canal. I can tell you how to get there, but not for free.”

  Rone took the bits of information and pinned them on the map of the city conjured in his head. Not enough for him to get a clear picture. And if he passed on the haggling, Hadmar wouldn’t be happy. He had to play along. It was too late to do otherwise.

  “What’s your price?” he asked.

  “I’m expanding my portfolio, young man.” Hadmar shrugged, casual, which put Rone on edge. It was dramatics, a ploy to minimize something big. “That dirty little hovel has some merchandise I can use, and I’d rather not make the expense, see?”

  So he wanted Rone to steal something. Fine. “What?”

  “Remedial gold. You know what it is?”

  His spine stiffened, making the binds on his wrists dig into his hands. He nodded.

  “Bring me some. If not, I’ll find you and wear your skin for a coat, hm?” Hadmar grinned. “You know I’m good for it.”

  “Of course.” His voice, thankfully, came out smooth.

  Hadmar’s gaze went to someone else. “I’ll give you a drop-off location. Don’t keep me waiting.” He nodded, and one of his men moved out of the light. “I expect you’ll move quickly? You always were efficient.”

  Rone nodded. A moment later, the binds on his hands were cut, letting the blood run back into his fingers. A man handed him his boot knife hilt first. Rone accepted it and cut the binds on his feet. Checked for his amarinth. It was safe.

  Onion approached with a paper with a vague map on it, but Rone knew the place.

  Remedial gold. Rone knew nothing about this dark market cave. What if he couldn’t steal it? What if Kazen drew him away before he could even find it?

  And if Sandis knew . . . that wouldn’t go over well.

  Better she not know this part.

  Rone crumpled the instruction in his hand. “Much obliged.”

  Hadmar folded his arms, smug. “As you should be. Take him out.”

  This time, instead of a blindfold, it was a bag.

  But the punch still landed in the same sore place.

  Sandis worked beside Bastien on the floor in Rone’s mother’s bedroom, struggling to tamp down her unease and calm her mind. Her meditation would be fruitless, otherwise. She had summoned Ireth, yes, but Ireth was different from other numina. Different with her, at least. Bastien had even remarked that he’d felt a distinct pull toward her during the summoning. Like the ethereal beast had been eager to join her.

  That had made Sandis remarkably happy.

  But if she were to summon other numina into other vessels, she needed to attune herself the way Kazen had. He’d often kept his lair quiet for the purposes of meditation; Sandis had seen his calm, eerie fury unleashed on men who spoke too loudly when he wanted to concentrate.

  That was why the grafters used brain dust instead of alcohol. Alcohol makes a person unrestrained and boisterous. Brain dust just makes them foggy. Silent.

  Focus. She had to accomplish this. It was her duty.

  Red flames began to rim the darkness in her mind.

  Sandis jolted, eyelids flitting open. The evening light looked so bright. It took her a moment to recognize her surroundings. Her breath moved too quickly in and out of her throat, drying it out. Bastien remained calm, a living statue.

  Rubbing gooseflesh from her arms, Sandis hunched over and evened her breathing. How was she supposed to do this when nightmares kept creeping into her meditation? But she’d stopped it this time. Maybe these exercises of Bastien’s would make her stronger against Kolosos, too.

  Her gaze shifted back to the Godobian. How she wished she could feel Ireth’s warm assurances right now. But she only had her own.

  It can’t hurt you. Kolosos isn’t bound to you. Kolosos doesn’t have a body. Kolosos doesn’t exist in this realm.

  Suppressing a shudder, Sandis straightened back into her meditating pose. Inhale, exhale, she scolded herself, closing her eyes again. She worked through the sequences Bastien had taught her, though her body felt stiffer this time. Slow, deep breaths, until her shoulders lightened. Then she broke the inhale into three pieces, the exhale into two.

  Rone hadn’t returned yet.

  In, in, in, out, out. He’s fine. In, in, in, out, out.

  She didn’t understand his plan, but he’d seemed so sure it’d take less than a day. Perhaps he’d needed to use the sewers, and they were slowing him down. But he’d only use the sewers if he were in danger . . .

  In, in, in, out, out.

  Maybe the stranger had found him. Maybe he was floating in the filthy water, facedown.

  Stop it. Rone was fine. He was fine. He had the amarinth.

  In, in, in, out, out. Concentrate.

  Maybe he’d finally decided to leave. Maybe she’d driven him to it.

  The next inhale turned ragged. She inhaled deeper, trying to smooth it out. So what if he had? He had no allegiance to Sandis, and she had none to him. Maybe the sewers could carry him right under the Fortitude Mountains, and he could reunite with his mother and live a peaceful life in Godobia, far away from her and her problems. That’s all he’d ever wanted, wasn’t it? Not Kolosos. Not Kazen.

  Not Sandis.

  “I came back for you.”

  Inhale, exhale. Stop. Thinking. About. It.

  Celestial knew she wanted to trust him. She wanted to forget. To go back to the way things were before. They had been on the run, but by the end . . . she had been so happy. Sitting across from him at that restaurant, laying her head on his shoulder at night . . .

  Squeezing her eyes hard until a headache bloomed behind them, she moved on to the third pattern of breathing. Listened to Bastien. He breathed like he was sleeping; she was breathing like she’d just climbed a flight of stairs.

  Gritting her teeth, Sandis sucked in air, slow and long, and pushed it out quickly, in two pa
rts. She absorbed the silence around her like a sponge, and for a moment there was only her breathing and Bastien’s. She slowed her lungs to match his rhythm. Her head lightened, and she floated away to a strange plane between wakefulness and dreaming. A place where she could—

  The front door opened and slammed shut.

  Sandis snapped from her reverie and leapt to her feet, pushing through a wave of dizziness as she hurried from the bedroom to the hallway. Rone leaned against the front door, his clothes damp, rubbing the heels of his hands into his eyes.

  Thank the Celestial, he was alive.

  “Rone?” Sandis came closer, but paused as the rank smell of bad water assaulted her. He’d taken the sewers.

  He pulled his hands away, looking tired yet frazzled. Lines etched his forehead, and weights tugged down his mouth. “I didn’t want to be followed.” He muttered a curse and shrugged out of his jacket, then yanked off his foul-smelling shirt, chucking both into the corner of the kitchen. He stomped to the sink and began working the pump there. Sandis stared, emotions warring for precedence. Relief that he was alive. Fear for what could have followed him, and why. Curiosity for what had taken him so long. And, stupidly, her body warmed at the sight of him, despite the smell. She and Rone had been through so many ordeals together, but they’d rarely resulted in him being half-naked, especially in good lighting. No, she was usually the one who managed to burn off all her clothes.

  It shouldn’t have mattered. It wasn’t like she’d never seen a shirtless man before. She’d seen all the vessels that way. Bastien had been completely nude on the floor just yesterday. But Rone had an effect on her she couldn’t shake, and while it made her too warm, it also made her chest hurt like it was caving in on itself.

  He filled his hands with water and scrubbed his face, his hair, then filled his mouth and spat. As for Sandis, curiosity finally won her internal war.

  “What happened?”

  Rone grabbed a towel from a drawer and wiped his face, then soaked it in water that had to be freezing, judging by the gooseflesh on his arms. He wiped off his neck and chest before turning to her, his eyes so dark they looked black. “I have a lead on Kazen.”

  Sandis straightened. “What?” Her heart raced in her chest.

  He tossed the towel onto the counter. “There’s a physical location for the dark market in District One. I know how to find the entrance. It’s as good a place as any for him to hide, and if he’s not there, someone down there might have information.”

  A chill coursed through her limbs before settling behind her navel.

  “That sounds . . . dangerous,” Bastien said as he came up the hall, twisting his braid in his hands.

  Rone raised an eyebrow at the obvious comment.

  Swallowing, rejuvenating her voice, Sandis said, “You can’t go alone. It’s too dangerous.”

  “I won’t.” He shoved his hands in his trouser pockets, then seemed to find something unsavory and whipped them out again. He gritted his teeth. “You two need to come with me. I don’t know what to expect down there, but an amarinth alone won’t cut it. I’ll need backup. A threat.”

  Sandis nodded, though her neck felt rusted. She had the lead she needed, and she would take it, but it was hard to ignore the part of her screaming not to. “If it’s a market, maybe they won’t be looking for a fight. Just for buyers.”

  Bastien leaned against the wall, his brows drawn tightly together.

  “Bastien?” asked Sandis.

  He licked his lips. Hesitated. “I think . . . maybe I’ve been there.”

  “Kazen took you?” Rone straightened.

  Bastien closed his eyes, forehead crinkled. “I remember a dark place. It was . . . cavernous. I was a slave first, until Oz branded me. I think that’s where I was . . . bought.”

  Sandis put a hand on his shoulder.

  “It happened.” He shrugged. “But I could be bought again.”

  Rone nodded. “We’ll go in with the pretense of selling a vessel. It’ll give us an excuse to ask after Kazen. We just need some handcuffs.”

  Wincing, Bastien countered, “I don’t like being tied up. I . . . don’t like tight spaces.”

  “We’ll leave the cuffs loose,” Sandis assured him. “And if the worst happens, Ireth can break them.”

  His blue eyes met hers.

  “He’s . . . done it before for me.” Memories of being inside that armored wagon, scarlets hauling her off to Gerech for being a vessel, surfaced in her mind. She’d summoned Ireth, destroyed the thing. Nearly drowned in the canal, like her brother had. Rone had pulled her from the water.

  Rone seemed lost in thought. Was he remembering the same thing?

  He came to himself quickly. “Let’s do this. Tonight. I have a deadline.”

  “For what?” Sandis asked.

  “I’d rather we have a living line,” Bastien said.

  Rone shook his head. “Don’t worry about it.” He sniffed his arm and cringed. “I’m going to wash up. Then we leave.”

  Biting her lip, Sandis turned toward Bastien.

  He sighed. “I’ll get the knife. Just in case.”

  Sandis wore one of Rone’s mother’s shirts. It was pale, blousy, and had a wide neckline, one that could be pushed back to show where her script started. She hated exposing it this way, showing these terrible people what she was, but she had to be believable as a summoner, just as Bastien had to be believable as a vessel. He wore the open-backed shirt Kazen had given him, even as he followed Sandis with his wrists cuffed in front of him, the chain she held clanking.

  Please, Celestial, help me do this. Keep Kolosos away until we can get out.

  If she started at the demon’s touch down here . . . she feared what it could lead to.

  Rone hadn’t done much to alter himself, but he’d mussed his hair and, using some of his mother’s makeup, purpled his eyes a little. Made it look like he smoked brain dust. He kept one hand in his pocket, where the amarinth rested.

  The trio walked through a cold, dank tunnel, one too round to have been carved naturally. The stone took on some color up ahead, and when Rone’s lantern light touched the walls, Sandis recognized Noscon art—paints in blue and faded red, studded with some sort of ceramic tile. This had been made by them. She stood in part of their great abandoned city, which her own ancestors had built over. She descended into their heartland.

  She wondered if those ancient people had abandoned their homes because of the evil burned into Sandis’s and Bastien’s backs. Maybe demons had haunted them, too.

  She hoped they’d found relief, wherever they’d disappeared to.

  Bastien’s breathing quickened. Fortunately, light ahead signaled the end of the tunnel. Sandis was so focused on it that she tripped over something—someone. A beggar man, drearily gazing up, his teeth rotted in a way that whispered, Brain dust. Gripping the chain harder, Sandis urged Bastien forward.

  She could do this. They could do this. They had to.

  The tunnel opened up into a larger one with kerosene lamps intermittently spread across rough black walls. A few more beggars lingered here, as well as two men dressed well, one smoking a cigar, the other smoking a pipe. Sandis stared at them until Rone’s elbow caught her in the arm. Drug dealers weren’t what they’d come for. They had to keep moving.

  The two men watched them as they passed, though the beggars didn’t seem to notice. The way turned once, then again, snaking deeper and deeper underground. Sandis stepped in a puddle. Something dripped onto her hair. She straightened her back, trying to match Rone’s confident stride. Was he really so brave, or was he good at pretending?

  Good at pretending. Sandis knew firsthand.

  The winding path opened up into an immense cavern with an uneven roof—two stories in some places, as much as four in others. All of it was made of that rough, dark rock. This was a naturally made space. Sandis could hear the slightest trickle of moving water far to her left. Another droplet hit her shoulder. She tried not to react to th
e scent of body odor.

  There were several vendors here, though not as many as Sandis had expected. Most were ragtag, set up on blankets or creaking tables. A few had wares displayed, but most had only themselves. Perhaps those who frequented this place knew what their services were, but Sandis didn’t. Whom should they question first?

  She side-eyed Rone. His stride didn’t slow, but his gaze shifted from person to person, weighing them. She noted that he lingered at a stone table selling falsified emigration papers. A new spike of fear stabbed her middle. He wouldn’t betray them now, for those, would he? Again?

  No, he won’t. What Rone had done was done, and though Sandis couldn’t trust him, his remorse felt genuine. Guilt was his motivator. He didn’t have to help her.

  Still, sweat moistened her palms and feet. She turned away from the stone table and held her breath.

  Then Sandis saw them.

  They weren’t the same slavers who’d kidnaped her off the street, but something about their clothes, their stance, told her they were slavers. They lounged near the natural stream, dressed in Kolin garb, though their faces were obviously Ysbeno. Their pale-gray eyes glinted in the lamplight when they turned toward them. Or, specifically, Bastien.

  “You are new?”

  Rone paused, and Sandis did, too. The speaker was a plump, pale man behind an elaborate setup of wares. His table had everything from Noscon-looking jewelry to various elixirs strewn about it. A few weapons. Some other things Sandis couldn’t identify.

  The man’s face was a friendly one, though the lines around his eyes were the type that came from scowling. Another pretender.

  Rone approached the table, and Sandis followed with as much confidence as she could muster, given the four burly men surrounding it. They had swords and guns on their persons.

  “Finding reliable sources in the city is tiring. I heard I could get a better deal here,” Rone said, gesturing with a tilt of his head toward Bastien. They’d agreed earlier that Rone would play the part of a broker. Was this how her great-uncle worked, too? But Talbur would never dirty his hands in a place like this. Even he wouldn’t stoop so low.