“Good afternoon, my lady.” He glanced at the patch of red and gold on the shoulder of her white dress. “Forgive me—I mean, Your Honor.”
Entranced by the array of carvings, she waved off his apology. “Are you the artist or just the vendor?”
“Both. I’m independent.”
“I can tell.” She shoved her plate at Marek for him to hold, then picked up the wolf and examined its many teeth. “These are unlike anything I’ve seen. You have your own style.” She pointed to the carved wooden spider around his neck. “I see from your fetish you’re an artist by Spirit. Your magic is obvious.”
“Thank you, Your Honor.” He bowed. “I am humbled by your appreciation.”
“Yes.” She set the wolf down. “Are these for sale or merely samples?”
Arcas swept his hand over a table of wood carvings. “For sale, Your Honor. These are all the animals I have here in Leukos.” He looked at Marek, down at the table, then back at Marek, who caught his meaning and stepped closer.
On the table sat a group of exquisitely carved animals: a wolverine, a bat, two horses, a wolf, a cougar, a spider, and—great Spirits, yes—a crow.
Besides Rhia and Arcas, it must be Lycas, Alanka, Koli and perhaps Adrek—but who were the two Horses? It took a moment to remember the name of Arcas’s friend Bolan. He was probably represented by the placid grazing horse.
The other Horse could be Filip. Had a Descendant come to help him? It would give them an advantage none of the other rescuers had possessed.
Marek indicated the rearing steed carved from a light-colored wood. “This one looks new.”
“It is.” Arcas pointed to the west. “Its material comes from this region, in fact.”
So it was Filip. If he had Arcas’s signal right, they were staying somewhere in the western part of the city.
“How lovely,” Basha exclaimed. “An amalgamation of the two cultures. Symbolic of things to come, I hope.” She ran her finger along the blue cloth that covered the table. “Hmm. No foxes.”
As if the word had awakened that wily part of him, Marek conceived an idea. “May I suggest that you commission this artist to make you one?”
Her face lit up. “Yes! But bigger than that little thing I have now. Life-sized.” She held her arms far apart.
Marek held back a derisive laugh. “Your Honor, with respect, real foxes aren’t that big. They weigh as much as a large housecat.”
She furrowed her brow. “But I want a big one.”
“He could make you a larger one, perhaps even human-sized.” He looked at Arcas. “Right?”
Comprehension dawned on the Spider’s face. “Certainly. There’s enough driftwood scattered about the beach to make a human-sized fox.”
Basha’s eyes narrowed. “When could you have it ready?”
Arcas made a show of consideration. Marek hoped it would be soon, but not so soon as to rouse Basha’s suspicions.
“Seven days.”
She scowled. “I’m hosting dinner on the festival’s final night. That’s in four days. To have this to show my rivals—it would make them remember what they’re dealing with.”
“Four days?” Arcas feigned dismay. “Perhaps, if an extra fee were involved.”
“It shall be.” She waved her hand and started to turn away. “Petrop, negotiate a price and give him a third as a down payment.”
“Half, Your Honor,” Arcas said. When she turned back to him, wide-eyed, he added, “If you don’t like the final product, I’ll give you a full refund. No other artist would guarantee his work that way.”
Her lips pinched together. “Half, then. But I want it on the morning of the fourth day, first thing.”
Arcas bowed. “I shall work day and night. Tomorrow morning, plus three days.”
“See you then.” As she walked away with Marek, she said, “Thank you for alerting me.” Her voice went sultry. “You shall receive a special token of my appreciation tonight.”
Marek glanced back at Arcas to see if he had heard. The Spider’s narrowed eyes and furrowed brow told him he had. Would he tell Rhia?
No. If Marek ever saw her again, he would confess and beg her to forgive him. Then he’d spend the rest of his life earning that forgiveness.
36
Marek awoke to his son’s wails. He lifted his head from the pillow.
Impossible. Nilik slept in another wing of the building, too far for his cries to reach Marek’s ears. He looked at the dark window of the slaves’ quarters.
Perhaps he had dreamed it. Yet he could barely sleep knowing that Arcas and the others would arrive in a few hours. The Spider still looked strong, and his Bear training would help him overcome the guards, if he could get inside the house.
Then there was Lycas. Marek’s Wolverine brother-in-law could drop a man just by looking at him, it seemed, and was nearly impervious to weapons himself.
Marek’s ears strained for Nilik’s voice again, though he couldn’t go to him in the middle of the night. He couldn’t leave the room unless Basha summoned, which she hadn’t done since the night after the market.
It should have been easier to couple with her that evening, knowing that Rhia was coming to release him. But the numbness had vanished, and when she had finished with him, he’d fled back to his quarters to vomit. He’d wished for the torturers to flay him, to tear off every bit of skin that smelled like Basha.
Marek stared at the window now, waiting for daylight and the liberation it would bring.
Petrop shook him awake at sunrise. “Go to her,” he said, as brusque as always.
Marek hurried to dress, then followed the butler across the wide house, into the residential wing. As he passed the top of the stairs, he heard Basha crying.
“What’s wrong?” he asked Petrop, who did not reply.
The door to Nilik’s room stood open. No sound came from within. Marek ran into the room, ignoring the shouts of his guards.
He dashed to the crib and looked inside.
Empty.
“Where is he?” He tried to rein in his panic. Maybe the wet nurse had taken Nilik to feed or bathe him.
“Marek!” Basha’s shrill voice came from the hallway. She rushed into Nilik’s room, face drenched with tears. “Marek, they took him.”
“What? Who?” Maybe the Asermons had rescued Nilik. “Kidnappers?”
“No, the army.” She grasped the front of his shirt. “They took him away from me.”
“What army? I don’t understand.”
“They took him.” She uttered more words, but they were lost in the waves of sobs, all but the phrase my baby.
Basha pressed her wet face against Marek’s chest. Dazed, he let his arms drift around her back. This wasn’t happening. He’d had worse nightmares. Soon he’d wake from this one.
She pulled away and turned to the guards, who stood awkwardly by the door. “Leave us.”
They hesitated. Petrop stepped forward out of the hallway. “Your Honor, do you think that’s wise?”
“Leave us!”
The butler shooed the two guards out of the room, but left the door open. Basha charged after him and slammed it shut, then locked it.
“What happened?” Marek’s heart slammed his ribs.
She picked up a white cloth from a small table by the door and wiped her eyes with it. “They said they had to take him away.” She choked out another sob, then swallowed hard. “Into the wilderness, so his powers could rise when he grew older. They said the city wasn’t the right place for such an experiment.”
Marek’s gut twisted. “He’s gone forever, you mean? Never coming back?”
“They’ve made a camp for all the children, out west, near Surnos. They’ll raise them to be loyal to Ilios, use them to create a magical fighting force to conquer your people.” She dragged the cloth against her cheeks again. “It was my idea. I thought I was so clever. How could I have known they’d take my own son?”
He grasped at one last hope. “If you let me
go with them, I’ll watch over him for you. You’ll know he’s safe and happy with me.”
She shook her head. “They left before dawn. You couldn’t go, anyway. They want no influence from your people on the children.”
He sank onto the window seat, pulled one of Nilik’s plush toys into his lap and clutched it close. His chest felt as if it would rip apart, straight down the middle.
“What can we do?” he managed to say.
“Nothing.” Her voice hushed. “I’m so sorry, Marek.”
He looked up at her. She’d never said those words to him before.
It didn’t matter now. Nothing mattered. Even if he were rescued, his promise to Rhia was broken. They couldn’t go home without their son.
But if he escaped, they might be able to find the children in time, if they knew where to look. Though his heart was shattering, he had to keep his head, ask careful questions.
“What’s this place like, this—”
“Surnos?” She sniffled. “It’s a stupid little town, surrounded by forests and mountains and other such useless things. Just the sort of place your people would enjoy.”
“Have you been there?”
“Not since I took office. It’s too far—over two days’ ride—and I have too many duties.” She breathed a mournful sigh. “But it seems I have one fewer duty now than I did yesterday.” She put her face in her hands. “Hold me.”
Her voice was so pitiful it took Marek a moment to realize it was an order. He went to her and enfolded her in an embrace, careful not to squeeze the last breath out of her as he wanted more than ever to do.
She clung to his waist and released a fresh sob. “At least this time I have someone to share my grief.”
He wondered how real her grief could be, after she had threatened to send “her baby” away to get Marek to do her bidding.
“I never knew until now,” she said, “how much I needed him.”
Marek looked at the window, where the morning light was streaming in. If he could get closer to the front door…
“Let me fetch you some food,” he said. “You need your strength.”
“I’m not hungry. And I’m canceling tonight’s celebration. I can’t go through with it. Soon everyone will know Demedor wasn’t truly my son.” She drew away from him. “I need to send word to the artist not to come.” She moved toward the door, and he stepped into her path.
“Are you sure? You loved the idea.”
“It will only remind me of the child. Besides, if I display that carving, they’ll all laugh at me. They’ll say I was the one outfoxed this time, and I was.” She wiped her nose and reached for the doorknob.
“Wait.”
She turned to him, looking surprised at what sounded like an order.
“Send me to tell the artist,” he said. “Maybe I can convince him to return your deposit. He might listen to one of his own countrymen.”
Her lips twisted a sad smile. “That’s very sweet, but I don’t care about the money. And you’re not going anywhere.”
A shiver snaked down the center of his back. “I don’t understand, Your Honor.”
“I need a child of my own. You’ll give it to me.” Her bloodshot eyes held a cold blue gaze. “You won’t leave my chamber until I’m pregnant.”
He gaped at her, certain he’d heard her wrong. “Me?” He fumbled for a way to show the absurdity. “I’m a slave. It would dishonor you.”
“No one will know. My mourning period is over, and I shall find a husband soon. I have several suitors, any of whom would marry me tomorrow. That day won’t arrive until I’m carrying my very own Asermon child, one they can’t take away.” Her fist clenched around the tear-soaked cloth. “One I can watch forever, whose power I can share when he grows up.”
Marek’s breath grew quick and his mind more desperate. “But I’m not Asermon. I’m Kalindon.”
“Beasts are all the same.” To his stare, she replied, “Don’t give me that look. Only a beast could betray his wife with another woman as readily as you did.”
His lip curled. “I did it to save my child.”
“You did it to save yourself. As you will continue to do. At least now you won’t have to wear one of those lambskin sheaths when we do it. You can enjoy it even more.” She unlocked the doorknob. “The guards will take you to my room.”
She opened the door and gasped.
The hallway was empty.
Blood spattered the walls and painted the floor in two trails that led into Basha’s room.
She turned her wide-eyed gaze up at Marek. Her astonishment turned to fear.
“No…” She opened her mouth to scream, but he grabbed her and covered it with the palm of his hand.
“Do as I tell you and you’ll live,” he hissed.
He dragged her into the hallway, then the outer room of her chamber. Lycas stepped from the shadows, hands covered in blood. Basha struggled and kicked at the sight.
The Wolverine withdrew a dagger from his belt. “This the one who owns you?”
Marek looked down at Basha, then held out his hand for the weapon. “Not anymore.”
Lycas hesitated, then slapped the hilt into his outstretched palm. “Be quick and quiet about it.”
Marek held the blade to Basha’s throat. “Let’s go, Your Honor. Make a sound and I’ll cut the living breath out of you. Understand?”
She nodded quickly. Grasping her by the base of the neck and holding the tip of the blade under her ribs, he guided her ahead of him out into the hallway and turned for the stairs. Lycas followed.
“Where’s the boy?” he asked Marek.
“Gone, but we can catch them. She’ll show us where they’re going.” He shook Basha’s shoulder. “Won’t you?”
“I won’t betray my country,” she said.
“Who else is with you?” Marek asked Lycas as they neared the top of the stairs.
“Arcas is downstairs, and—”
“Lycas, hurry!”
In the foyer below, Arcas was holding two guards at bay with a Descendant military sword. They swooped around him, holding shorter swords of their own, trying to move within striking range.
Basha shouted to the guards, then raked her foot behind Marek’s ankles. He felt himself lose his balance, and he clutched the only thing within reach—Basha herself.
They tumbled down the stairs together, bouncing off the wall and the banister. Marek’s elbows and knees yelped in pain as they banged against the stone. Basha screamed all the way down. When they reached the bottom, her cry cut off.
Dazed, Marek felt Basha lying under him, coughing, and saw someone leap over their bodies from the stairs. More shouts and clangs of steel echoed off the walls. His hand was warm and wet.
He rolled to his knees, searching for the knife before it could be used against him. He turned back to Basha.
Her stomach was soaked in blood, where the black hilt of the dagger appeared. He gasped and backed away, feeling his own blood drain from his face.
“Marek…” Her eyes rolled white with pain, and she grasped at the knife handle. “Marek, what’s wr—” Her voice pitched higher. “Can’t. Br—”
“Marek!” Arcas was struggling with his opponent near the front door. Marek’s gaze darted around the foyer for a way to help him.
In the sitting room beyond the fighters, the wolf carving watched him from the green marble table. With a leap and a roll, Marek ducked the swordplay and landed in the sitting room. He grabbed the wolf by the hind legs. It felt heavy as stone.
He strode toward Arcas’s opponent, who glanced back a moment too late.
Marek dashed the wolf against the side of the guard’s head. The man lurched, falling against the table. Arcas swung the curved blade to slice the guard’s throat. Marek leaped back from the fountain of blood. Without hesitating, Arcas turned to the other guard and slashed him in the side. Lycas moved in for the swift, silent kill.
Marek ran back to Basha, who had managed to pull the t
op half of her body to rest on the lowest stair. The red pool expanded around her.
“Don’t. Leave. Me.” She coughed a mouthful of blood.
He knelt beside her and stared into the eyes he hated, wondering how fast she would die.
A shout of rage came from the dining room to his right. He looked up to see Petrop running toward him, wielding a cleaver high above his head. Marek stood to leap out of the way.
Basha seized his ankle with a weak grip, enough to make him stumble and fall to his hands and knees. Petrop was only a few steps away. Marek twisted into a desperate, dodging roll.
A crack-twang came from behind the butler. His eyes went wide, and his feet tripped over each other. He fell forward, landing next to Marek, the cleaver clanging the stone floor less than a handspan from Marek’s head.
A vibrating arrow jutted from the center of Petrop’s back.
Soft footsteps padded closer. Marek sat up to see Alanka running toward him through the dining room. He staggered to his feet and embraced her.
“I’m sorry I let you go.” She clutched him so tightly he couldn’t breathe. “Where’s Nilik?”
“Gone, but we’ll get him back.”
“First we have to get out of here.” Lycas pulled a brown cloth from his belt and quickly wiped his hands and weapons. “We’ve barred the doors to this part of the house, but it won’t hold them long, especially after all that shouting.” He handed the cloth to Arcas to clean himself. “Let’s go.”
“How will we get past the outer gate?” Marek asked. “It’s well guarded.”
“The same way we got in,” Arcas said, “thanks to your idea.” He pointed to a wooden pallet lying in the back of the foyer. It was connected to two horizontal poles for carrying. A large dark brown blanket lay rumpled upon it. “On the way out, you can play the human-sized fox sculpture, the way Alanka did on the way in.”
Marek turned to her. “What about you?”
“I’ll find my own way out.”
“No.” He took her arm. “You don’t want to be caught by these people.”
“I won’t be. We have a plan.”
“Which is working so far,” Arcas said. “Except for that.” He pointed to Basha. “We hadn’t planned to kill the senator.”
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