Myths and Mortals (Numina Book 2)

by Charlie N. Holmberg

  But he was alive.

  Something between a sob and a laugh caught in Sandis’s throat. She ran to him, dropping the gun, and threw her arms around him. She felt him wince, but one of his arms came around her waist. He teetered, then caught himself.

  “Kaili?” he asked.

  She pulled back as though he’d sent a knife through her chest. She shook her head, unable to speak, the relief she’d just felt mutating into something spiny and cold.

  Rone closed his eyes for a minute, a sharp breath leaving him. “I’m sorry, Sandis.”

  He followed her to the other door, a slight limp to his step, and pocketed the amarinth. Talbur was right where she’d left him, supporting himself with trembling arms as blood soaked his pant leg.

  She knew the moment Rone noticed Kaili’s body on the table. The shock that both whitened and greened his face, the snap of his neck when he looked away too quickly.

  Oh, Rist, Sandis thought. What will we tell him?

  “Wh-What should we do?” Bastien asked, his tired eyes on Talbur. He seemed defeated. Sandis laid a hand on his shoulder blade, and the Godobian sighed.

  “His crimes number more than what lies within these walls,” Rone said, almost like he was reading from scripture. “We can lead the scarlets here. Even if he pleads innocent to Kaili’s death, his involvement in the occult will send him straight to Gerech.”

  Talbur stiffened at the suggestion. “No. Please.” He grunted, trying to sit up, but he gripped his leg and moaned, falling down onto an elbow. “I can pay you . . . We can barter, Verlad. Isn’t that what we’ve always done?” His smile made Sandis sick. “Barter . . . whatever you want.”

  Sandis lifted her rifle. Hesitated. Rone took it from her hand and clubbed Talbur with the butt before handing it back. “That will keep him quiet, at least.”

  Sandis gripped the weapon. Nodded. Gerech was suitable punishment for this man. Turning from him, but not daring to look again at Kaili, she said, “How will we carry her?”

  Rone’s shoulders slumped. “Oh, Sandis. I . . . I don’t think we can.”

  She swallowed against a tight throat. Turned again. “Bastien?”

  Bastien pressed his lips together and shook his head.

  “She’s dead weight.” Rone winced when he realized the dual meaning of the phrase. “We have nowhere to bury her, and she’s . . . evidence.”

  Tears blurred Sandis’s vision.

  “It isn’t just her,” Bastien said, almost a whisper. “Th-The script from her back is . . . there.” He pointed, but Sandis didn’t look. “This place is some sort of facility for harvesting remedial gold. There’s evidence enough.”

  Rone frowned. “We only have Hapshi and the horse. Dawn will be here any minute.”

  Sandis wiped at her eyes, but it did little good. New tears replaced the old ones instantly. “They’ll throw her in a pauper’s grave.”

  They stood together a moment, surrounded by silence.

  “The walls are stone.”

  Rone’s shoulders hunched, making him look shorter. Meeting her gaze, he said, “The walls are stone. If we take her to the corner, if Ireth can burn hot enough—”

  Her heart twisted inside her. It wasn’t what she wanted for Kaili, but it would be quick and dignified. “Bastien?”

  He was already nodding. “Just tuck me away somewhere the scarlets won’t find me, eh?” He pulled off his shirt. Sandis pushed her palm to his strawberry hair . . .

  “Kind of him,” Rone said. They stood on a rooftop, watching the first tendrils of sun creep over the city wall, turning the smoggy sky a sick shade of pink. They watched a dozen men in scarlet uniforms push through the gate on the south side of the harvesting facility. Within moments they would find Verger dead and Talbur alive. They’d likely give him medical treatment before taking him to Gerech. The wound Sandis had inflicted on him wouldn’t be lethal if treated within the next hour or so, but the man would likely have a limp the rest of his life. Granted, Gerech didn’t tend to give its prisoners long to live.

  Sandis nodded. Hapshi lingered nearby, still carrying a dressed but unconscious Bastien on its back. They’d go as far as the unbound numen would take them before its host’s energy ran out. Hopefully all the way to Rone’s flat. He would rather not have to carry both men, especially in the growing daylight.

  “He’s always been kind.” Sandis brushed some of Bastien’s unbound tresses from his face. Her other arm curled around a glass container they’d taken from the facility. Within it was a mound of gray dust—Kaili’s ashes. Sandis wanted to let Rist decide what to do with them, once he woke up. Rone had a feeling the man wasn’t going to take Kaili’s death well.

  Sandis turned from the facility and the scarlets, walking toward the other edge of the roof, Hapshi following her. It was only a four-foot jump to the next roof, and the next.

  “Sandis.”

  She paused and looked at him, fatigue dripping from her features, sorrow lining her eyes.

  “What can I do?”

  She offered him the smallest smile he’d ever seen—barely an upturn of one corner of her lips. “Just . . . stay.”

  Rone nodded. Put a hand on her shoulder, then moved it to the nape of her neck. Leaning down, he kissed the top of her head. “I promise,” he whispered.

  It was a long way back.

  Chapter 26

  The sun burned too bright overhead, making even the dust on the road reflect its brilliance. This far from Dresberg, there was no smoke to mute the sky or burn Kazen’s lungs. Everything here, a day’s journey from the northern coast, was fresh and open. He had to admit to enjoying it, though his time in Kolingrad’s farmland would be short. He had too many plans. Maybe, after he fixed the world, he would retire here. He chortled at the thought of retirement, though his knees, sore from travel, would have appreciated time to relax.

  Soon, he thought, planting his cane in the road as he approached a barn. Farmhands often slept out with the animals and not in the house, which was a good half acre from the barn and walled in by rows and rows of nearly ripe corn. Kazen had left his horse and small covered cart not far away. Close enough for him to do what needed to be done. The Lily Tower was precise with its information; he had no doubt that it was accurate. This was the place.

  One of the two barn doors was ajar, and Kazen resisted the urge to cover his nose when the scent of pigs wafted over him. He stepped over a pile of droppings and into the large structure with its gabled roof and long, hay-stuffed loft. The sound of scraping at the other end of the barn drew his attention. Kazen lifted his cane and walked quietly on unaided feet.

  There were two horse stalls here, both unoccupied, and a young man—barely more than a boy—raked out the farthest one, sweeping soiled straw onto the barn floor. He was thin, tan, and had short dark hair. His farm clothes hung loosely from his body.

  Kazen leaned on his cane.

  The boy turned, then started at the sight of him. “Farmhouse is that way, sir,” he said, pointing.

  Kazen smiled at the lad, seeing everything he needed to see. He had been right. The boy was perfect.

  “I’ve been looking for you,” he crooned, stepping close enough to crush straw under his shoe. “We’ll accomplish great things together, you and I.”

  Gripping the silver top of his cane in both hands, Kazen swung for the boy’s head.

  Chapter 27

  “No.” The rawness in Rist’s voice burrowed into Sandis’s ears like twisting razors, and she shook as she forced herself not to turn away. The walls of Rone’s flat amplified the sound. Now that Verger was no longer a threat, they’d seen no reason not to return there.

  Bastien found his voice first. “I-I’m so sorry, Rist.”

  Rist shook his head, dark hair skirting his forehead. The skin around his eyes tightened, and fresh embers burned in his gaze. “She’s not. She’s not.” His volume raised with every word, and he turned fiery eyes on Sandis. “I let you summon into me! We chased after him! She
’s not . . . she’s not . . .”

  The fire snuffed, and the rawness returned. Sandis’s healing heart grew a new crack, and she grasped at her breast as though she could physically hold it together.

  At least he hadn’t had to see it. At least that macabre image of Kaili, torn open, spine gleaming like bloodied pearls, wouldn’t be embedded in his memory forever. Right beside the image of his brother, mutated into a bleeding heap on the floor.

  “I-I’m so sorry,” she whispered, choking on the empty apology. What could she possibly say to him? “We went as fast as we could.”

  If only she hadn’t gone back for Bastien and Rone. Could she have forced herself into the facility before those men cut into Kaili’s back? Could she have shot Verger before he could hurt her, shot Talbur, shot every last one of them and gotten Kaili away?

  Rone had told her again and again, as they waited for Bastien and Rist to wake, that it wasn’t her fault. But part of her didn’t believe it. Rist’s pain twisted her insides into tight, chafing, guilty knots.

  Rist flew to his feet, his energy hitting her like a shock wave. Rone stood, too, ready for confrontation. But Rist didn’t strike her with his fists. They went instead to his ears, pulling as if he would rip them from his head. Then to his eyes, the heels of his hands pressing, pressing—

  “You did this,” he growled.

  Rone shook his head. “We did all we could—”

  “You did this!” Rist’s shout echoed off the walls of Rone’s flat. He ripped his hands from his red eyes, tears glistening over brown irises. “You”—he turned to Sandis—“and your stupid scheme to fix what isn’t broken. You drew us in. You led him to her!”

  Sandis stood on shaky feet. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.” Her throat tightened around the plea. “I loved Kaili, too.”

  “No.” Rist pointed an accusing finger at her, and Rone took a step closer as if to intercept him. “Don’t you dare say that to me. None of you loved her. None of you did.”

  Bastien raised his hands, palms up. “R-Rist, let us tell you what—”

  Rist turned and shoved Bastien hard enough to send him backside-first to the floor. He stormed past him to the couch where he’d woken up. Looked at one side of it, then the other, until he found the bag that held his meager belongings.

  Sandis felt eyes watching her. She jumped, turned, but the monster wasn’t there. Only Rist, hurting and broken. Packing his bag to leave.

  “Verger is dead,” Rone said, but that statement did nothing to slow Rist’s movements as he checked to assure all he needed was there. “He’s dead, and Talbur is in Gerech. Her killers have been punished.” Minus the rats who’d fled at the first sign of trouble.

  Rist shouldered his pack and spun around, dark as a shadow. “You should have died.” His eyes shifted to Sandis. “You. They were after you.”

  Rone seized Rist by his shirt collar.

  “Rone, please!” Sandis grabbed his elbow and tugged it toward her.

  Rist moved his hands as if he were going to hug Rone. “We should have sold this and escaped,” he spat, pulling his fingers from Rone’s pocket, holding the amarinth between them. “Still could.”

  Rone released Rist and snatched the artifact from his fingers. “If you think money will fix that hole inside you, you’re wrong.”

  Rist reeled back as if Rone had stabbed him. Then he gritted his teeth, sneered, and said, “I hope you rot in hell.” A tear ran down his cheek, and he slapped it away. “All of you.”

  He turned his back on them and strode to the door, yanked it open on its bent hinges, and slammed it shut behind him.

  Rone startled awake, his eyes searching the darkness that surrounded him. A narrow window in his bedroom let in a smidgeon of orange light from a lamp across the street. He cocked his head, listening, but the air was still, as were the shadows. The quiet was a relief, after a day filled with tears and mourning, both for Kaili and Rist. He was a light sleeper—Sandis must have shifted. Rone wasn’t used to sharing a bed; he’d had a few women briefly in his life, but he’d never stayed the night. It had felt too vulnerable.

  Closing his eyes, he felt Sandis’s ribs slowly expand and contract under his hand. Her forehead pressed against his shoulder, his half-numb arm holding her close. He shifted to rest his chin on her soft hair. The world outside this flat was slowly going to hell, but here, it was easy to ignore it. To count his blessings. To have her, finally.

  Her breath hitched.

  “You awake?” he whispered, but Sandis didn’t respond. He listened for a moment, until her breath hitched again. Her chest was moving a little faster now.

  Thinking of her nightmares, Rone sat up and pulled his arm free. “Sandis,” he said, and squeezed her side. “Sandis—”

  Her eyes fluttered open. In the dim light he could make out confusion in them—and then it melted away. She blinked a few times. Rubbed her eyes.

  “Thank you,” she muttered.

  Rone lay down beside her, propped his head up on his arm. “Nightmare?”

  She nodded. “It was strange. I knew Kolosos was there, but I couldn’t see it. I was running for a long time . . . running on the stars.”

  “The stars?”

  Sandis rolled onto her back. “I can’t even remember it now. The harder I try, the more it slips away . . .” She thought for a moment, and Rone let her have the time to do so. After a minute passed, she turned to him and smiled. Kissed him, her mouth featherlight against his. It lit his body like a torch.

  He studied her face when she pulled away. “What was that for?”

  “Keeping the monsters away.”

  He trailed a hand up her leg. “I know better ways to keep the monsters away.”

  She gave him a pointed look. But she couldn’t blame him for trying, no?

  She settled back against him. Rone held her to his chest, breathing in the scent of her. It took him a long while before he felt back asleep.

  Something felt off, but he couldn’t put his finger on what.

  Rone had only been awake for two minutes when he figured it out, and his heart sank clear to the arches of his feet.

  Sandis looked up from where she lay sprawled on the mattress. “What’s wrong?”

  Rone’s hands checked his pockets again, then his pants. He moved to the bed and ripped the blanket off her.

  Sandis sat up. Her voice took a serious tone. “Rone, what’s wrong?”

  He stepped back, his brain taking too long to connect to his mouth. “I can’t find it.” He took off his jacket and shook it out. Checked all his pockets again, even the ones he never carried the amarinth in.

  Sandis leapt off the bed, instantly knowing what he searched for. She lifted the pillow, checked the cracks around the mattress, then pulled the entire mattress off the bed.

  No glint of gold. Nothing.

  Rone cursed, then cursed again, and a third time. He dropped to the floor, looking under the bed frame. Sandis rushed to his bag, but he already knew it wasn’t there. He always slept with it on his person. If it hadn’t fallen out while he slept . . .

  He froze, remembering starting in the middle of the night. Sandis had slept so soundly beside him. He’d assumed she was the one who’d woken him up—either by shifting or making some sound—but what if it was someone else?

  Sandis must have followed his train of thought, for she ran to the front room and called, “Bastien? Have you seen the amarinth?”

  A crisp memory rose to the front of Rone’s mind. Of Rist holding the trinket, chittering about selling it.

  Rone stormed out of his bedroom. Sandis and the Godobian stood in the kitchen, the latter making breakfast. “Have you seen Rist?” he pressed, his tone hard.

  Bastien looked pale, his blue eyes flicking between Rone and Sandis. “H-He came back. Last night. I . . . I thought he’d changed his mind. I saw him . . . and I went back to sleep.”

  Rone cursed and ran out the door and down the stairs until he reached ground lev
el. His pulse felt like a thousand hammers under his skin, beating his bones and muscles to pulp. He bolted out into the street, earning a hard word from a carriage driver. He spun, bumping into one man, then another. Found his bearings and ran.

  He ran until his lungs burned and his legs ached, then moved at a brisk walk until he could force himself to run again. He’d left without any cash to hire a cab. So he continued to run, past the point of hurting, until his ribs were fingers of pain and his feet were numb. Until he coughed for the smoke in the air.

  He lowered himself through a familiar grating in a familiar alley, limping his way toward the underground connection where the five of them had holed up before heading to the cathedral. As he turned to the two rooms Kaili and Rist had first occupied, however, he found only two men, one sleeping with a bottle of ale beside him, the other crocheting with black yarn. The latter looked up at him, questioning.

  Rist hadn’t come back here. Where, then? To a jeweler? To a goldsmith? To a dark market merchant? Would Rist sell it above ground or below? Kazen was missing, ready to summon the monster that had killed Rist’s brother, and Rone didn’t have the amarinth to use against him.

  He had a sinking feeling that no matter how hard he looked, he wouldn’t find Rist or the precious amarinth.

  But God knew he had to try.

  Chapter 28

  Kazen bolted the lock on the solitary room deep in his lair—the underground home he’d half carved out himself, only for it to be raided by low-life mobsters, his goods stolen and his means upturned. He’d paid a beggar to scout the place out for him—seemed no one cared to continue searching for him. No matter. The beggar was dead, Kazen’s prize secure, and his timetable down to hours. He didn’t plan on staying long. The final steps simply required some careful planning. Careful tending to his new acquirement. If he wasn’t enough . . .

  But Kazen refused to acknowledge the possibility of defeat.

  He paused en route to his office. Soft steps sounded in the next hallway. He listened, muscles coiling. So the fool boy hadn’t been thorough. A man’s footsteps, judging from the weight of them, slow but not inhibited. A Rigger? What would a pathetic mobster want with this place?