Blood and Betrayal (The Emperor's Edge Book 5)

by Lindsay Buroker

  “Does it matter?” Yara asked.

  Not sure she understood the device’s magical significance, Maldynado said, “If it’s here to observe us, probably.”

  She gave him a sharp look. Yes, she understood now.

  Maldynado supposed he could leave Books and the others to figure their own way onto the steamboat, but he had promised a diversion.

  Basilard stopped and set the trunk down with a thump. He shook out his arms and rubbed his lower back. It wasn’t that heavy, so Maldynado knew it was a show.

  He signed, Idea?

  Basilard considered their surroundings. They were winding their way up the hill and had left the trees to walk across the open face of a cliff on the back side of the island. Its steep walls rose above and dropped below them. The guards couldn’t see them anymore, thanks to the topography, but the steam device clanked to a stop behind Basilard.

  He finished his rubbing and stretching and bent to pick up the trunk again. He pretended to stagger under its weight, and stumbled a couple of steps to the rear. The wheeled sphere started to roll backward, but not quickly enough. Basilard stumbled again and accidentally punted the thing off the road and over the cliff. Never mind that a star brindle-ball player would have struggled to launch a projectile so far.

  The device clunked on a boulder at the base of the cliff and bounced into the river.

  Oops, Basilard signed with a wink.

  “Nice,” Maldynado purred.

  He opened the trunk and pulled out the tattered, grimy clothes people had been wearing before he resupplied the group with more suitable attire. After dousing them in lamp oil from his satchel, he wadded them up. He tied the bundle into a nice knot, lit it with the lantern, and tossed it onto a promontory below. It landed in the branches of a tree. Perfect. The rocks separating the promontory from the mainland ought to keep the rest of the island from catching on fire, though he supposed that’d make an even more engaging diversion.

  He dusted off his hands. “Just enough of a problem that a few guards will need to check it out.”

  Yara regarded Maldynado and Basilard with pursed lips. “When I first met you people, I thought Corporal Lokdon was the crazy lunatic who’d used her charisma to talk you men into haplessly following her. I see now I was mistaken; you’re all crazy lunatics, and you deserve each other.”

  Basilard asked, Should we be offended?

  “Careful,” Maldynado told Yara. “Basilard says he can do that with people too.” He pointed over the cliff at the spot where the device had disappeared into the river.

  Basilard punched Maldynado in the arm.

  Yara snorted and continued up the road, again striding ahead, showing no interest in waiting for her “fiancé.”

  “Whoever marries that woman is going to have his hands full.” Maldynado lifted the trunk and helped Basilard hoist it back onto his shoulder.

  Or herhands, Basilard signed with his free fingers.

  Maldynado scratched his jaw as they started up the hill again. “You suppose that’s the case? I have been perplexed by how resistant she is to my charms.”

  Basilard did an impressive job of balancing the trunk without his hands, so that he could sign,I did catch her giving Amaranthe a speculative look when we were on the dirigible.

  Maldynado stumbled. It was a good thing he wasn’t carrying anything. “You did?”

  Normally, he wouldn’t mind the notion of two women running off together—indeed, in the past, he’d been known to encourage such activities so long as he could be involved in some way—but the idea of Yara being permanently unavailable chagrined him for reasons he had a hard time identifying. Before his chagrin set in too deeply, he noticed the mischievous glint in Basilard’s pale eyes.

  “Oh, you’re just kicking me in the shin, aren’t you?”

  Basilard flattened his hand against his chest in an unconvincing “who me?” gesture.

  “That’s what I get for mistranslating your signs for people, I suppose.”

  Basilard nodded once, then, as they strolled around another bend, he signed, I caught her peeking at you when you were sleeping.

  “You did? When I had my shirt off to use as a pillow?” It’d been a bit chilly for shirtless napping, but one had to make sacrifices when trying to impress a woman.

  Yes, it’s amazing how often you’ve been unclothed since she showed up.

  “Pure coincidence.” Maldynado smiled, his self-esteem bolstered by Basilard’s revelation.

  Beside him, Basilard slowed to a stop, his eyes toward the road ahead, or rather what was at the end of the road. It is a castle, he signed.

  Yes, the massive structure possessed all the requirements, everything from massive stone walls cloaked with creeping ivy to a moat winding its way around the base of the structure. Lampposts with intricate wrought iron and glass frames lined the ground inside the moat, ensuring nobody would climb up those ivy-bedecked walls without being noticed. Further, Maldynado thought he spotted caltrops or something similar dotting the ground around those lamps. Above, guards in chainmail clanked as they strolled along walkways protected by crenelated parapets. Towers rose at each of the corners, complete with arrow slits, though modern breech-loading guns had replaced cannons and were perched on the roofs, poised to fire upon vessels coming up or down the river.

  “It’s a castle,” Maldynado agreed, “but a lot of that pomp is for show. I’ve heard it’s a nice resort inside. There are heated mineral baths and massage stations all over the bottom floor. Each suite upstairs has its own dedicated butler.”

  Does the structure predate the empire?

  “You’d have to ask Books for the boring details, but I think the first Turgonian conquistadors set it up as a guard post to protect the route inland. Once they found gold and diamonds in the mountains around the Chain Lakes, they weren’t looking to have the Nurians or anyone else coming a-visiting.” Maldynado waved at double oak doors on the other side of a bridge stretched across the moat. “We better knock before someone starts to wonder where their mechanical spy went.”

  Though Maldynado wasn’t intimidated by the castle itself, uneasy twinges assailed his gut as he approached the drawbridge. He dreaded a chat with Mari. He might not have volunteered to be disowned, but he hadn’t fought it either. No longer having to attend family gatherings had been a relief.

  Basilard pointed at the moat. Two crimson eyes stared at them from the surface of the water. It seems the alligator stories are true.

  The stories didn’t mention glowing eyes, Maldynado signed, thinking of the tainted creatures the team had encountered while seeking the makarovi-infested dam.

  More magic. We had better pay close attention inside.

  Because you’re the help supposedly, my sister-in-law will ignore you. You might be able to slip away and snoop.

  Yara stood by the door, her hands on her hips as she waited for Maldynado and Basilard to catch up. They’d barely stepped off the drawbridge when she grabbed an iron knocker wrought into the broad ursine head of a grimbal and clanked it three times.

  A clink-clunk emanated from behind the walls, followed by a faint hiss. The doors groaned open, revealing a brighter entryway than one would have expected from the grim stone exterior. Though the inner walls were also stone, they had been whitewashed. Gas pipes, also painted white, ran along the walls, powering countless lanterns and an elaborate chandelier dangling from a high, arched ceiling. Landscape and portrait paintings mounted between the light fixtures displayed a mixture of the straightforward unimaginative styles of the empire and more exotic and fanciful images from faraway lands. The signatures were all from historically significant artists, meaning the paintings had cost someone a fortune to purchase.

  “Pretty,” Yara grunted in a tone that suggested she preferred the utilitarian decor of an enforcer office.

  “Yes, but not so pretty as you, my lady.” Maldynado swept into a bow, figuring people would be observing them by now.

  Yara looked li
ke she might throw up, but refrained from telling him to stuff his compliments up his—

  “Lord Marblecrest?” a man asked, stepping down from one of four stairways that tunneled into the walls, leading upward from the stone foyer. The slim, mustached butler wore an ornate blue suit choked with gold and silver trim and adorned with coattails one would have to be careful not to trip over. If he didn’t feel ridiculous in the outfit… he should. But he likely had no choice. With pale skin and straight blond hair tied back in a braid, he appeared Kendorian or Mangdorian. Maldynado wondered if he had been hired because he’d work cheaply or if he might be an illegal slave, as Basilard had been. Either way, if foreigners comprised most of the help, Basilard might have an easier time wandering about and spying.

  “Yes, good fellow.” Maldynado stepped forward. That the man had called him “lord” was a good sign; it meant Mari hadn’t squashed his story of having a right to the family name again. He’d best lay on the warrior-caste arrogance thickly. “I insist on rooms for the night and to be taken to see Mari Marblecrest at once.”

  “Er, rooms?” The butler had been walking toward them, but he halted, almost stepping on one of those flowing tails. “I hadn’t realized you’d been invited to spend the night.”

  Maldynado adjusted his hat, giving it a jaunty tilt. “This is a resort, is it not? You do have rooms available, do you not?”

  “Yes, of course, my lord,” the butler said in the soothing tones of one who had mastered the art of placating self-important aristocrats. “They are generally by invitation only, but I can add you to Lady Marblecrest’s party. Yes, I’ll tend to the accommodations promptly.” The butler stepped backward a few paces, avoiding the dangling coattails with subconscious skill that could only come with practice, and extended his arm toward an arched doorway. “You and your party may wait in the Relaxation Grotto.”

  The double doors at the entrance groaned shut, and Maldynado tried not to find their resounding thud ominous. The butler paused and frowned, his gaze darting about as if he were looking for something. Oh, right. The ambulatory artifact Basilard had booted over the cliff.

  “Wait?” Maldynado sniffed, drawing the man’s attention to him. “The service here is terribly slow and antiquated for an exclusive resort. I can’t imagine what drew Mari to the place. Did she also have to hike up a mountain simply to knock on the door?”

  “Maldynado, do you never stop whining?” Yara asked. “The longer you stand there and complain, the longer we’ll be kept from the steam baths and our private room.” She gave her hips a suggestive wiggle. Though it wasn’t as practiced and comfortable a wiggle as Maldynado usually saw from women, it did draw one’s eyes to her curvy parts, and he found himself forgetting what he was doing and why he was doing it.

  “Er, yes,” he managed. “The Relaxation Grove, was it?” Maldynado waved for her to enter first.

  “Grotto.” Yara brushed past him, their bodies touching for an all-too-brief moment. “Do pay attention, Mal.”

  Yara gave the servant a wink before she disappeared through the doorway. Despite her admirable acting job—so admirable that Maldynado had to take a deep breath to re-gather his thoughts—the servant’s frown remained. As much as Maldynado would love to spend the night entertaining Yara in their “private suite,” he had a feeling they should get what information they could and skedaddle off the island as soon as possible. He hoped Sespian and the others had already found an opportunity to slip aboard the steamboat.

  Warmth and humidity wrapped about Maldynado as he entered the so-called grotto. The dimness and a return of the gray stone walls, albeit ones carpeted with numerous species of flowering vines, brought a cave to mind, if a luxurious one. Furs muffled the team’s footfalls as he, Basilard, and Yara walked around padded benches and lounge chairs, gurgling fountains, potted palm trees, and coal-burning braziers with dancing flames.

  Once they were all inside, the door thudded shut behind them.

  “I guess we’re not supposed to wander,” Maldynado said.

  Yara skirted a steaming pool with meandering curves and stopped before an oak door on the far side. When she tried the latch, it didn’t budge. “It seems not.”

  Maldynado didn’t see any other doors, though the foliage growing from pots and wandering up the walls obscured the view. He walked to the front of the room where a long, cushion-covered bench ran below a window that stretched from side to side and almost to the twenty-foot ceiling. During the day, it must let in ample light and offer an impressive view of the river, but all Maldynado noticed in the darkness was the moat. Two sets of red eyes floated past.

  Numerous black iron bars made up the window frame, holding the hundreds of square panes in place. Basilard ticked the metal. Sturdy.

  Indeed. Nobody could jump out that window.

  “Relax,” Maldynado said, as much for himself as for the others. “This is a resort, not a dungeon.”

  “A resort in a very functional-looking castle.” Yara strode over to Basilard and extended her hand, palm up. “Do you still have it?”

  Basilard lifted a pant leg and fished something out of his boot—a sheathed knife with a leather strap wrapped around it.

  “Thank you.” Yara propped her foot on a planter, hiked the calf-length hem of her dress up to her waist, displaying a view of a muscular yet shapely leg, and strapped the sheath to her thigh.

  A tap on the shoulder drew Maldynado’s attention.

  “What?” he asked Basilard.

  Do you believe we are likely to be attacked? Basilard’s firm signs emphasized the fact that he was repeating himself.

  Sorry, Maldynado signed back while Yara finished with the knife. I was… somewhere else.

  I noticed.

  Maldynado cleared his throat and told himself to focus. “I don’t know.”

  Is it possible we’ve walked into a trap?

  “It’s a little soon to assume that, don’t you think?” Maldynado had been proud of himself for taking charge and scheming up a plan to get the team onto the island. He’d hate to think that he’d been ensnared somehow, and that someone had all along wanted to get him here, with the emperor in tow. It had been quite a coincidence that he’d happened to run into Cousin Lita in a city with a population of fifty thousand. And it had been rather easy for him to snob his way into an invitation to step foot on the island. Not to mention how quickly the servant had agreed to overnight accommodations.

  Maldynado moaned.

  “What’s the problem?” Yara asked.

  “Nothing. Just, ah, practicing my moans for the bedroom exploits we’ll need to have tonight. In order to convince people that we’re truly engaged. Mari knows me. She’ll expect audible proof of our joining to emanate through the walls.”

  The narrowness of Yara’s eyes implied she hadn’t bought a second of that. “That was a moan of distress, not a moan of passion.”

  “Well, I did see you strap that knife to your inner thigh. I don’t know how rough you like it.”

  “You’re an idiot.”

  Maldynado wanted to riposte with a retort as sharp and biting as the tip of his rapier, but if he had walked them into a trap, he was an idiot.

  A soft clank emanated from a corner of the grotto. Maldynado moaned again. Now what? Some giant, steam-powered contraption that would stomp out of a secret chamber and trample them to death? Basilard and Yara dropped into crouches, back to back, knives drawn. Maldynado felt a twinge of jealousy over the fact that Yara chose Basilard as her fighting buddy, but reminded himself that they likely had more important things to deal with.

  Two more clanks followed. With the last one, Maldynado glimpsed motion high up on one of the walls. Before he could think better of it, he ran across the room, jumped onto a fountain, and vaulted into the air. He landed on the wall, his hands wrapping about clusters of vines. Belatedly, he hoped they would hold his weight. Several vines pulled away from the wall, stolons torn from the mortar and dirt between the rocks, and Maldynado read
ied himself to be dumped onto the floor, but the tangled mass of greenery held.

  “What are you doing?” Yara didn’t say idiot this time, but Maldynado could hear the word hanging on the end of the sentence.

  “Climbing.” Maldynado picked his way up the wall toward a metal grid near the ceiling. He felt foolish when he reached it, though, for it was nothing but a grate. No, a vent. And maybe he hadn’t been foolish after all. He must have seen the slats opening, and they wouldn’t have opened for no reason…

  “Is there something flowing out?” Yara asked. “Gas?”

  Balanced precariously on the vines, Maldynado waved his hand before the vent. He didn’t feel anything drafts, nor did he see anything coloring the air. Thinking he heard something, he leaned closer, ear tilted toward the vent. Yes, it sounded like air blowing out. Not out, he realized when he placed his hand on the grate and felt suction drawing at his fingers. In.

  “Are those doors airtight?” Maldynado hopped down.

  “What?” Yara asked. “What kind of castle is airtight? They’re drafty by nature. That’s why nobody lives in them anymore.”

  Basilard left her side to check the door they’d entered. After probing with his fingers, he turned back and signed, Possibly. There are no obvious gaps. If they’re not airtight by design, a Science practitioner could make them so.

  For the third time, Maldynado moaned. This night was getting worse by the minute. “I was afraid they wanted to trap us. It seems they just want to kill us.”

  “By removing all the air in the room?” Yara scowled. “That’s a cowardly way to kill someone.”

  “We’ll be sure to register a complaint with the city tourism board.” Maldynado jogged to the other door, checked it for air cracks, and, when he didn’t find any, tried ramming it open. Unfortunately, the oak proved stouter than his shoulder. He tried the latch again, just to be sure, but it still wasn’t budging. On a whim, he knocked.