She stood with her hands on her hips. She seemed tense, but she didn’t yell for help. Her blue eyes blazed.
Grei flinched for the next hit, but Meek paused, looking past him in surprise.
“Stay where you are,” came a soft voice. Grei craned his neck upward. A two-foot length of painted black steel, the edges shining silver where they had been sharpened, rested lightly on Pad’s shoulder. “And let the boy go.”
Pad and Norcun dropped Grei. Coughing, he got to his feet and backed away, looking at his rescuer.
A tall, slender man with wide shoulders held the short sword alongside Pad’s neck, pointed at Meek’s face. The newcomer wore the telltale blue and silver tunic of a Fairmist Highblade, water beaded on its oil-treated surface, a silver raindrop embroidered on the left breast. Behind his head rose the pommel of his longsword. His curly black hair was pulled tight in a ponytail, and his eyes were dark and implacable. He watched Meek.
“Not a good moment to be a villain,” Adora said smugly.
Grei recognized the Highblade, of course. Everyone in Fairmist who had ever seen a blades competition knew that crazy curly hair, those wide shoulders and those painted black blades. Galius Ash was Fairmist’s standing champion in every category that involved swordplay. Last year at the Harvesthome Festival tournaments, he had swept the awards. Everyone thought it was a miracle that he hadn’t been recruited to the Imperial Highblades right then.
“I am Highblade Ash,” he introduced himself as though he needed to. “And it is my duty to ensure peace in Fairmist.” His gaze never wavered. Pad and Norcun bowed their heads like dogs who had been smacked. Their open hands, so recently full of Grei’s arms, quivered as they tried to hold still.
“This scene offends my eye,” Highblade Ash said.
“But I’m a Young Blade,” Meek whined.
Highblade Ash considered Meek. “Meek Furrows,” he said after a moment. “I remember you. I disagreed with your admittance to training. Is this how you exercise your authority while you are off duty? Three to one?”
It suddenly made sense. Meek had been strutting around in his uniform when he wasn’t on duty. That was why he had no partner at the temple. Grei suddenly dared to hope that he wouldn’t be visiting the delegate’s prison tonight.
Meek’s eyes got wide. “But...” he said in a tiny voice. “He hit me.”
“I see. Well, I wouldn’t stand in the way of lads striving to improve themselves. Training is important,” Ash said. He withdrew his short sword from between Pad and Norcun, held it pointed toward the ground. “You boys may go,” he said to Meek’s friends without looking at them. They glanced at each other, then scrambled to reach Clapwood Street. Pad gave one backwards glance to a very sallow-looking Meek before they disappeared.
“You,” Galius said, flipping the short sword in his hand and deftly snatching the flat between thumb and fingers. He tossed it hilt-first to Meek, who jumped, then tried to catch it at the last minute. He hissed as it cut his hand, but managed to hang on.
Galius drew a dagger from his belt. “Now, if you would like to train, I will give you exercise. Come at me with that blade and we will see if we can improve your skills. We will trade hands.”
Meek looked helplessly at the Highblade. “Trading hands” was a deadly Highblade contest in which two swordsmen agreed to fight until one chopped the fighting hand from the other.
“Or,” Galius said in a dark tone. “You may place that sword at your feet, leave this alley and, for the offense you have given to me and the peace of sweet Fairmist, you may compose the apology that I expect to hear the next time we meet.”
Meek swallowed, then knelt and put the short sword at his feet. “I-I’m sorry—”
Ash shook his head, and Meek stopped speaking. “A stammered, inadequate apology will surely turn my offense to anger. I expect something poetic from you, Young Blade, and I have given you the time you need. I recommend you use it.”
Meek blinked. He looked at Grei, as though he might come to Meek’s aid, then turned back to Highblade Ash. “I just leave?”
“Or pick up your weapon,” the Highblade said.
Looking confused, Meek started toward Clapwood Street, looking at Highblade Ash as though expecting some kind of attack. As he reached the corner, he broke into a run and was gone.
Galius walked quietly to his short sword, picked it up and, with a double flick of his wrists, sheathed both blades at his waist. He glanced at Grei. “You pick your fights large, boy,” he said. “Such a thing deserves assistance.”
Grei said nothing. He didn’t want assistance from this death-dealer, this protector of the Debt of the Blessed. Galius strutted as though he was somehow different than Meek.
Galius seemed not to notice Grei’s sullen gaze. He turned to Adora.
“Thirsty work, gallant sir,” she said, giving him a curtsey. He held out his hand, and she took it. “What can I get you?”
“Anything that includes your company. May I escort you inside?”
“You may.”
They went into The Floating Stone like Grei wasn’t there. He stood alone in the mist, staring at the closed door.
Chapter 7
Selicia
Selicia heard the almost-inaudible footsteps outside her curtain, glanced at the water clock across the dimly lit room, and knew three things at once. First, an outsider had come to the Ringblade Sanctum with ill news or ill purpose. Second, the messenger sent to alert Selicia was Liana. Third, and most interestingly, the message had upset her. Her footfalls were as quiet as always, but her usually confident swagger was absent.
That it was two hours past Deepdark meant the news was not a part of the normal Sanctum rhythm. The new initiates had just been culled, so there were no night activities. Yesterday, Ringblade Zela had sent seventeen of them back to their normal lives after giving them the drug that would erase their memory of this place. The remaining four, the newest Ringmaids, were resting, preparing their bodies for the sleep deprivation training of the first three dances. No one but the sentries and Selicia were awake.
Liana paused before the curtain, and Selicia spoke.
“Come in, sister.”
Selicia could imagine the small bow Liana made before parting the curtain. She was respectful, and Selicia loved her for that. She loved each of the sisters more than her own life, and the Ringsisters shared this same bond one to another. It was the reason the Ringblades were a powerful force for the empire.
Liana stood straight, her head inclined forward, shadowing her exotic lavender eyes. Her usual love of movement, of observing the Ringblade rituals, whether spinning or standing at attention to deliver a message, was absent. She was stiff. There was no joy in her body.
“A wave has reached the sanctum, Selicia,” she spoke the ritual words. The outside world sent waves. Within the Sanctum, there were only ripples.
Selicia studied the tall Ringsister’s manner, the little movements that betrayed her distress. No one except another Ringblade would notice, perhaps no one except Selicia. Liana was resilient and accepted the flow of life as it came; she was drawn to beauty and pleasure. There were only a few things that could make her this agitated. Selicia felt a weariness descend upon her.
“Ree has returned,” Selicia murmured.
Liana glanced up, surprised. Her soft, lavender gaze was altogether too guileless for a Ringblade. Selicia could see the wonder on the young woman’s face: how could Selicia know?
Ree and Liana had been the only two to graduate from their group of initiates four years ago. They had both blossomed into the finest Ringblades in the Sanctum. They were also, for each other, a shining example of the Ringblade bond.
“How many of our sisters have been exposed to her?” Selicia asked calmly.
“Jylla is on sentry at the Poison Door,” Liana said. “She came to me first and returned to her post.”
Selicia didn’t like that Jylla had come first to Liana, who would be most likely to let emoti
on cloud her duty. But then, perhaps that was wise. It gave Liana an immediate test of loyalty. Subtle thinking. Selicia would have to commend Jylla for that.
“Jylla did not let her in,” Liana amended.
“That was well done.” Selicia rose and walked to the doorway. “You may return to your room, Liana.”
“Ringmother,” Liana said. Selicia turned. There were tears in Liana’s remarkable eyes. “Ree is our sister,” she whispered, a quiet plea.
Selicia paused, and knew this was the moment. Liana would have to be dealt with right now.
“Emotion makes us larger,” Selicia quoted the words from the twelfth dance. “But running wild, it pushes us out of step.”
Liana pressed her lips together, as though she would take a defiant stance, as though she would challenge the wisdom of the Seventy-Seven Dances. The muscles in her beautiful jaw worked.
“They are not just words,” Selicia said softly. “And there are no exceptions. We must follow them every moment, Liana. We let our passions fill us, not use us.”
Liana bowed her head. “I love her,” she whispered.
“As do I. As do we all.”
“But—”
Selicia waited. She had already lost Ree the moment she broke faith and left the Sanctum on her own mission. Now, she might lose two Ringblades.
The Ringblade tests were the most rigorous in the empire. The dances were as deadly as they were powerful. But this was as difficult a test as Liana had ever faced. The betrayal of a lover. The betrayal of a Ringsister. Dancing the steps that were required to make it right.
“Say what you would say,” Selicia said softly.
“You will kill her,” Liana whispered. Her black-skinned, slender hand clenched her red silk nightdress over her thigh. Her emotions leaked, out of control.
“Tell me why I must,” Selicia said.
Liana looked away, blinking tears. This was the moment. If Liana spoke now, while she was faced away, her words would be lies. Even if she said exactly what she must, her unwillingness to look at Selicia would show that she did not want to face the truth, and what must be done.
Liana looked back at Selicia, locking gazes with her. A single tear streaked down to her jaw, but there were no more. Liana found her bond with Selicia again.
“Because she left the circle,” Liana whispered.
“And?”
“One who would break faith once would do it twice.”
Selicia waited as Liana’s own words hung in the air, waited for them to sink in and do their work within the young woman’s heart. Finally, Selicia spoke. “Go to your room, sister. I will visit you after.”
“Yes, Selicia.” The young woman’s hand no longer clenched her thigh. She was smooth again, her emotions channeled. Selicia stood aside as Liana passed and went up the hall.
Selicia went to the Poison Door. There were seven entrances to the Ringblade Sanctum. The Emperor’s Door was known only to the emperor and Selicia. The Empress’ Door only to the empress and Selicia. Of the other five, three were used by all the Ringblades: the Poison Door, the Water Door and the Main. The sixth was the Motherdoor, known only to Selicia and the previous Ringmothers. She had only used that door once after Ringmother Alynne had passed away in the manner of all aging Ringblades. The last was the Faded Door. The living did not touch that door.
Jylla stood at the Poison Door, regarding Selicia as though nothing was unusual, as though this wasn’t unprecedented in her lifetime. No Ringblade had broken faith with the circle since Selicia was a Ringmaid.
“Rest, Jylla. I will finish your shift. Who relieves you?”
“Nyshen.”
“Thank you,” Selicia said. “I will visit you in the morning.”
“Yes, Selicia.” Jylla left.
Selicia drew a stiletto from the sheath on her waist and opened the door. She waited the span of a blink to see if Ree would charge into the sanctum. When she didn’t, Selicia slipped into the darkness.
Ree huddled against the wall like a stack of sticks in torn Ringblade clothing. Her bony legs, bent at the knees, had fallen sideways. By her atrophied state, Selicia guessed she had not eaten anything in the sixteen days she had been missing. Her left arm was hidden by her body, but her right had been severed at the elbow, horribly burnt. Her black clothing was torn, and dried blood covered her side. Her head looked large on her thin neck, but her gaze was piercing. There was purpose there. What little fire remained in Ree’s shrunken body shone brightly in her eyes.
Selicia had seen horrible things. She had fought in the northern wars, slitting throats behind enemy lines, killing Benascan kraskas who were a bit too talented. She had seen men and women tortured in the emperor’s dungeons. On the Sunset Sea, she had seen a Venishan sea monster devour a man as he screamed.
But this was personal. This was a sister who had left the circle, and yet still a woman whom Selicia loved deeply.
It was amazing that Ree had the strength to keep her eyes open, let alone to do the twenty-fifth and twenty-sixth dances to avoid the traps and reach this place.
Ree had always had tremendous will, imagination, and a gift for improvisation. She was a thinker. If, sixteen days ago, Selicia had been forced to choose her successor, she might have chosen Ree. The young woman had the courage to lead, to see what others might not see, and the willingness to act. Those prized qualities had also been her downfall.
“Welcome home, Ree,” Selicia said softly, kneeling next to her.
“Home,” Ree whispered in relief. “I longed for you. I longed to step back. I stepped too far, and it made me larger. In time to die. In time to die. I saw, and the ground slid sideways.”
“Ree—”
“The soup is swirling. Burning and swirling. And the Slink Lord breathes on my back.” She gasped as if in pain.
Ree reached out with her severed arm, as if she would touch Selicia, then she looked down, noticed that she had no hand, and a rasp bubbled out of her mouth.
“He ate it. He is the one.” Ree held up her arm. “But do you see? It’s still there!” She let out a croak of a laugh.
Selicia’s heart hurt. She had sent four Ringblades to find Ree and kill her. But seeing this now, it felt like someone was branding Selicia’s chest with a hot iron. Ree was ruined, taken by the slink sickness, talking like a madwoman. “You went to the slinks,” she said softly.
“He’ll have us in the end,” Ree croaked, shaking as she lifted her head. “His mind is the web and he is the spider. He hangs over us. I understand now. I understand it all.”
“How did you escape the slinks?”
“Do you see?” Ree croaked, waving her stump. “There is nothing to see!”
One look at her grisly wound told Selicia that Ree had reached the cave, but her brain might have turned to mush long before then.
“I saw the Whisper Prince,” she mumbled, her head falling back against the wall again as she lost the strength to hold it up. She moaned in pain.
Selicia leaned forward, now very interested. “What about the Whisper Prince?”
“It was a lovely kiss.” She closed her eyes, her jaw muscles rippling as though she was fighting to speak. “A young man’s kiss, not a slink’s.”
“Ree,” Selicia said, grabbing her upper arm. Ree’s eyes shot open, and she reached again for Selicia, but the charred stump just waved in the air.
“Do you see?” Ree demanded. “You have to see. That was why I went too far!”
“Where is the Whisper Prince?” Selicia asked in a stern voice.
“There is nothing to see,” Ree said. “Nothing...”
“Ree, where is he?”
“He sank his teeth into my mind. He chewed and chewed, and I brought this to you.” She gestured with her stump. “Because I love you. Tell Liana and the rest. Tell her I love her.”
“I will tell her, but you must tell me.” Selicia picked up Ree’s head. The woman’s once-beautiful hair was lank and greasy, thick with dirt. Selicia made sure R
ee’s bulging eyes looked into her own. “Where. Is. The Whisper Prince?”
“I kissed him sideways.” A ghost of a smile flickered across her cracked lips. “He came to me. I didn’t know who he was, but I was right about him.”
Selicia narrowed her eyes. “You kissed him sideways? At the Lateral House?” Ree had omitted her report when she had returned. Selicia cursed herself for a fool. Of course she had. Selicia had told her the news about her sister first, and then Ree had lied as smoothly as she had been trained to do.
“He chewed my mind. There are teeth in there still.” Ree hissed as though it was happening right now. She twitched against Selicia’s grip.
Selicia watched Ree in silence. The woman was incoherent. She babbled about the Whisper Prince. The emperor had commanded Selicia to look for the unusual in the seven main cities in the empire. A person doing something—anything—that a normal person could not do. Something only the Faia might do. It might be a little thing. It might be large. That was why Ree was in Fairmist, why Dya was in Moondow, Raria in Cliffgard, and all the rest. The emperor wanted this Whisper Prince found, wanted him subdued and brought to Thiara.
“It’s so hot!” Ree hissed, her body convulsing. “It burns.” Selicia gently set Ree’s head back against the wall. “But I’m here. I’m really here. And I told you. Didn’t I? Did you listen?”
“I’m listening now, Ree.”
With a surge of effort, Ree shifted, bringing her left arm up from where it was pinned against the wall. This time she grabbed Selicia. “Please tell me that you see!”
“I see,” Selicia said. “It’s all right. I see.”
Ree let out a long breath, and she closed her eyes. “Good. It is so hard to tell you. It’s so hard, with the teeth. There is no dance for the teeth.”
“Yes, Ree.”
“I need sleep. I know I cannot sleep.”
“You can sleep.” Selicia brought out her dagger. Ree opened her eyes, saw it.
“I’m sorry,” Ree said. “I came back.”
Fairmist Page 7
