Cursebreaker

by Carol A Park

  The king had caved, and the bureaucracy—at least in Weylyn City—had collapsed into chaos.

  “None of this is new information, Dal,” Nahua said.

  Yaotel held his hand up. “Donia has never been fond of Setana. As a Donian myself, I know full well we’ve been biding our time for centuries, waiting for the right opportunity to regain our independence.” He spread his hand, palm up, on the table. “Donia is at a crossroads. The opportunity is ripe. My sources tell me you’ve been laying plans for how best to secede, but so far, all paths have led to too much hypothetical bloodshed, with little assurance of victory.”

  Driskell followed the lead of Nahua, keeping his eyes up and his face perfectly still. Yaotel was far too well-informed. But at present, it was merely words. Anyone who knew anything about the history of Donia’s assimilation into the Setanan Empire could have fabricated such a tale, given the times.

  “You have imaginative sources, Dal,” Nahua said.

  The corner of Yaotel’s mouth quirked up. “But I haven’t come here to give you information you already know. I’ve come here to offer you a proposal. Aid, if you will.”

  “I suppose this so-called aid would come at a cost.”

  “Of course,” Yaotel said. “Protection, for myself and my people.”

  “These…” She craned her neck toward Driskell’s notebook. He had already written the name Yaotel had given the steward earlier. He tapped his pencil against it, and she repeated the word there. “Ichtaca?”

  “Just so.”

  “I’ve never heard of them.”

  “I would hope not.”

  “Very well, Dal Yaotel,” Nahua said. “Let’s say for the sake of argument, we would be interested in your ‘aid.’ What do you have to offer?”

  “Extraordinarily effective medicine, medical techniques, and healers skilled enough to use them. Technology that will revolutionize every aspect of your lives.”

  Nahua raised one skeptical eyebrow. “Such as?”

  “Instant long-distance communication. Light that needs no fuel. Weapons that will cleave through bloodbane with ease. Incredible stealth. And more, waiting to be discovered, with the right resources.”

  Driskell took notes as Yaotel rattled off the list, and it looked even more insane on paper than it had sounded out loud. Where in the abyss would he get such innovations that no one else had discovered?

  “An impressive list. So impressive as to be almost unbelievable,” Nahua said when Tanuac was done. “What proof do you offer? Did you bring some of this technology with you?”

  “I did.”

  “Where?”

  “My associates, who have taken rooms in an inn nearby, have it in their care.”

  Nahua sat back in her chair and studied the man, her eyes narrowed.

  Driskell reviewed the list again. It was impressive. How could this even be possible? What was this man’s game?

  He could tell Nahua was having some of the same thoughts.

  She leaned forward. “And what proof do you have of your sincerity? How do I know you’re not a Conclave spy?”

  At that, Yaotel’s face turned grave. He looked down at his palm, still splayed on the table. His jaw worked. Then, at last, he spoke. “I mean you no harm,” he said in a low voice. “Please don’t overreact to what I do next.” He reached into a pocket on the front of his tunic and pulled out a small penknife.

  Nahua rose instantly from her seat, and Driskell put himself in front of her, but she didn’t call for the guard. Instead she stood, tense and alert, watching Yaotel.

  Yaotel pricked his fingertip with the point of the knife and then slid it back into his pocket. “My proof of sincerity is that I’m going to put my life in your hands,” he said. “What you do next is entirely up to you. My offer stands, regardless, and I will discuss it with you—and offer you further proof of what I have to offer—when you’re ready.”

  A curious statement.

  But Nahua stared intently at his finger. A bead of red blood had welled up and sat on his skin unmoving.

  Then, it changed. Like ice creeping unnaturally fast across a pond, the red turned to silver.

  Nahua lifted her eyes to meet Yaotel’s, but Driskell’s were wide. A Banebringer! Right here? Yathyn help them… Was that the group of people this Yaotel wanted them to protect? Banebringers? It was insane, it was—

  Nahua, after what felt like a tense eternity, finally stirred. She walked to the door and pushed it open to speak to the guard outside. “Please detain our visitor in one of the interior guest rooms at the consulate. He is not to be harmed, but he is to be guarded round-the-clock and is forbidden from leaving his room.”

  The silver blood had now hardened, and Yaotel picked the dot off his finger and then deposited it into a pocket on the inside of his tunic. He glanced at Driskell and gave him a tight-lipped, sad smile.

  Driskell restrained the impulse to scoot farther away. Instead, he averted his eyes and jotted down another stray thought. Doesn’t strike me as threatening.

  Of course, Yaotel would want them to think that. He dared to peek at the Banebringer. He hadn’t moved a muscle.

  The guard peered into the room curiously. “Yes, my lady. Might I ask…?”

  “He is to be considered untrustworthy until I say otherwise, but…” She met Yaotel’s eyes. “Treat him with every courtesy.” She held up a finger. “Oh. And he has a penknife in his pocket you missed. I suggest you search him again.”

  The guard’s face flushed. “Uh…yes, my lady, I will. I’m so sorry.” He took Yaotel gently by the arm. “This way, please.”

  Yaotel didn’t resist; he went with the guard without another word.

  When they were gone, Nahua closed the door. She turned to Driskell. “Not a word to anyone,” she said.

  “But, my lady—” he protested.

  “Driskell, I’m asking you to trust me. Can you do that?” She took his notebook from his hands.

  His stomach clenched. Rarely did his personal life clash with his professional, but if the relatives of the woman he hoped to marry ever found out about this, that might be the end of their relationship. Tania’s family liked Driskell, but this might well change their mind.

  “Of course, my lady,” he said quietly.

  Nahua read over the notes silently. “He doesn’t strike you as threatening?” she said when she had finished, tapping the final line of his scrawl with her finger.

  “Just a thought that came into my mind.” Nahua often asked his opinion of meetings after the fact. She said it was useful to have another point of view from someone who wasn’t part of the conversation.

  “Explain.”

  “Well, he told us he was a Banebringer. That seems like a crazy thing to do if he didn’t at least believe himself sincere. Also, he seemed resigned at the end. Like he knew what you were going to do. Yet he came here anyway.”

  “In this case, I agree with you.” She gave the notebook back to him. “Gods help me, I agree.”

  “Then why did you have him detained?”

  She leaned over the table, supporting herself on her hands. “Because I need to think this over. He may be sincere, but I have no reason to trust him yet, and I certainly can’t let a Banebringer go wandering around. For our safety—and his own.”

  “Forgive me, but you don’t seem particularly afraid. Aren’t you concerned he’ll summon a bloodbane, or…?” He trailed off, not sure what else.

  “Or?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Precisely.” She pushed herself off the table. “Driskell, you’re an intelligent, reasonable person. Have you ever once read of an eyewitness—not a secondhand account, mind you—who describes a Banebringer summoning a bloodbane—other than, presumably, at the sky-fire or upon their death?” She didn’t wait for his response. “Since it is neither the sky-fire nor does Yaotel seem in danger of keeling over, I have little fear of that scenario.”

  “But they’re demonspawn,” he protested. “S
ervants of the heretic gods.”

  “Yes. So I’ve heard. I’m going to confess something to you.” She leaned toward him. “I’m not religious enough to care.” She brushed her hands off, as if such confessions were a matter of wiping a few crumbs away. “Now. I’m going to ask you to do something that isn’t quite part of the job you came here to do.”

  He straightened up, relieved. This philosophical speculation about Banebringers made him uncomfortable. What if someone overheard them?

  A task, a nice concrete task. That, he could handle. “My lady, my job is to do what you tell me.”

  She chuckled. “That’s what I like to hear. I want you to find these associates of his. It shouldn’t be difficult if he was telling the truth. There are only two inns that could be considered ‘nearby,’ and his associates are presumably traveling as a group. Don’t confront them if you think you’ve found them—come let me know. Are you up to the task?”

  He stifled the urge to sigh. So much for an easy, concrete task. “I’ll do my best.”

  “I know.” She winked at him and opened the door. “An interesting meeting with which to end the day, wouldn’t you say?”

  He swallowed. That was one way of putting it. “Yes, my lady.”

  She swept out of the room.

  Driskell wasted no time in carrying out Nahua’s request. The very next day, he stood outside The Silver Nomad—the second possible “nearby” inn. The other, The Black Filly, had turned up empty, almost literally. There were no festivals or events of note going on in the city, and certainly nothing exciting ever happened in the government tier. The two inns on this tier mostly attracted the business of incoming officials and delegates from other regions, or minor nobles who didn’t have second apartments in Marakyn in addition to wherever their actual homes were.

  He pushed his spectacles up on the bridge of his nose and ambled inside the inn.

  The dining room was empty, as he had expected. It was mid-morning—too late for breakfast, too early for lunch, and far too early for drinking. So he walked up to the bar and caught the attention of the innkeeper, a portly, merry fellow by the name of Tamal.

  “Driskell,” Tamal said. “Been awhile. A bit early for gambling, eh?”

  Heat crept up Driskell’s ears. Tamal knew full well Driskell didn’t gamble. However, occasionally, on a day off, he enjoyed a night of friendly, no-betting tapolli… And this particular inn had a beautiful set.

  Driskell nodded to Tamal. “Actually, I was wondering if you had a group staying here. I’m not sure how many—it could be as few as two, it could be many more. Possibly not all from Donia, but I’m not sure.”

  “Business, then? How droll.” He glanced at his guest book, but Driskell doubted he needed the reference. “Yes, sure do. There’s a group of three. Just got in yesterday. Only guests I have right now who came in together, but I wouldn’t forget ’em anyway—a Fuilynian, a Donian, and a Setanan. Sounds like the beginning of a joke, eh?”

  Driskell shook his head. “Thanks, Tamal.” That had been easy. Yaotel’s associates, whoever they were, weren’t trying to hide their presence here. “That’s all I needed, for now.”

  Tamal tipped an imaginary hat.

  But before Driskell could leave, a Fuilynian man and a Setanan woman—shorthand for someone from one of the three original regions of Weylyn, Arlana, or Cadmyr—strolled into the dining room.

  They both acknowledged him with a friendly nod, but Driskell froze. Banebringers, likely. Both of them!

  And yet, as they left the inn together, laughing and talking, they seemed no different from anyone else.

  Driskell hesitated. He didn’t have to confront them. But he could follow them, surely, see what they did, where they went.

  No, he told himself sternly. Nahua had said to find out where they were, and nothing more. He was an attaché, not a spy. What if one of them spotted him and did some Banebringer magic on him? Or worse—someone reported him?

  He shuddered and strode out of the inn.

  Chapter Three

  The Journal

  The front door to Ivana’s rowhouse was unlocked.

  She glanced both ways down the dark, empty street and put her key back into her pocket. Had her Fuilynian roommate, Sanca, forgotten to lock it when she’d left for her shift at the inn?

  If so, this would be the first time.

  Ivana eased the door open, slipped inside, and crept to the short hallway off the front room. Then she peered around the corner.

  Light seeped from under the crack of the door at the end.

  She might doubt Sanca, but Ivana was certain she had extinguished the lantern in her study.

  Her hand went to her thigh.

  Of course, there was no dagger there. She had made a deliberate decision to stop carrying one a few months after Sweetblade had died.

  Some habits were hard to break.

  She slid her boots off, moved over to the dish cabinet, opened the cutlery drawer, and extracted a carving knife.

  It couldn’t hurt to be careful.

  She padded down the hall until she came to the door. She heard no noise from within, but the light wasn’t her imagination. She pushed the door open slowly, ever so slowly, and only enough to peek through. It would creak if she didn’t. She had deliberately left the creak in the door hinges when she had rented the place, so if someone attempted to enter her study while she was in it, she would immediately know.

  She peeked through the crack and scanned for anything amiss other than a lamp she hadn’t left burning.

  A leather satchel was propped up against the armchair she liked to read in, and a full glass of amber liquid sat on the side table next to it.

  The satchel wasn’t hers, and she didn’t remember leaving a glass on the side table. Even so, there were no visible inhabitants in the room now.

  She slipped into the room, put her back to the wall, inched to the side…

  “A kitchen knife, Ivana?” a voice said in her ear. “How ordinary.”

  Ivana whirled around to face the direction of the voice, her knife slashing out.

  With a yelp, a man appeared out of the air and jumped out of the way, just in time.

  Both relief and irritation spiked through her as she recognized the man—even sporting a full beard. “Damn it, Vaughn, you idiot! I almost gutted you!”

  Vaughn shrugged sheepishly. “Nice to see you too.”

  “How,” she asked, her teeth clenched, “did you get in here?”

  “No small talk first? I can see you haven’t changed.”

  She strode across the room, tossed the knife on her desk with a clatter, and then whirled to glare at him.

  He grinned. “Well, your, uh…roommate helpfully stood at the open door rummaging around in her handbag for a full minute before she left. I took that as an invitation.”

  She exhaled. “Let me try again. How in the abyss did you find me?”

  “I’ll give you one guess.”

  Damn her. “And how did you find Aleena?”

  “Caira’s been in contact with her.”

  Ivana sighed and put two fingers to her forehead. Did no one have any sense that she might not want to be found? Caira, at least, she could absolve, since none of her girls had any idea of who she had been. But Aleena? Ivana’s old second—and friend—had always had a soft spot for Vaughn. “What do you want, Vaughn?”

  His smile grew, and he looked her up and down without shame. “A dangerous question, coming from you.”

  She snorted. “I can see you haven’t changed, either.”

  He scratched at his chin, drawing her attention to the beard. “Really? Not at all?”

  “It doesn’t suit you.”

  “Good. I was hoping that was the case.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. What in the abyss did that mean?

  The shock of finding him there was wearing off quickly. She pulled a bottle of xabnec, a moderately intoxicating honey-based liquor, from a drawer in her desk and hal
f-filled a small tumbler. “Drink?” she asked, waving the bottle in his direction.

  He walked over to the side table and picked up the glass she’d noticed earlier. “I already helped myself.”

  Of course he had. “I thought you didn’t drink.”

  He chuckled and settled into the armchair. “I discovered it can be a reliable source of income to bet on out-drinking some arrogant fool.”

  She sat heavily at her desk. “Isn’t that cheating?”

  “You’re going to lecture me about cheating?”

  Point taken.

  “At any rate, the taste has grown on me.” He lifted his glass to her in a mock-toast and threw it back in a few gulps.

  For her part, she took a small sip.

  He eyed her. “I thought you didn’t drink, either?”

  “The taste has grown on me,” she said. Perhaps a little more than she would have liked. “Let me try this one more time. Why are you here, in this town, bothering me again?”

  He gave her a wounded look. “Bothering you? Can an old acquaintance not stop by for a visit?”

  She blinked and pinned him with a level gaze.

  He looked at her for a long moment and then sighed. “All right. Down to business it is, then.” He put down the glass, picked up the satchel, and dragged the armchair to the desk. “I need your help.”

  She swirled the xabnec in her glass. “I think the person you’re looking for is dead.”

  “Not that kind of help.” He reached into his bag and pulled out a rectangular object wrapped in leather. Untying the bindings, he shook the leather off and then pushed a battered book across the desk toward her.

  She picked the book up gingerly and turned it over in her hand.

  Or half of a battered book. It was missing the backside.

  “Careful.” He leaned over the desk, took the book back from her, and flipped to a page near the middle. “Take a look.” Turning the book to face her, he laid it on the desk, open to his chosen page.

  The page had a drawing of a rather exotic-looking serpent. It sported both feathers and scales and what looked like broken flames running from its face down its entire body, which was in the shape of an “S” that had been knocked forward so its head rested on the ground, its mouth wide open. One chunk of the S, at the tail, had been broken off, as well as several of the teeth. Some sort of design ran around its mouth. Was it supposed to be a reproduction of a statue of some sort of bloodbane? She had never seen anything like it.