by M. J. Scott
Gradually the sky faded from indigo to purple, then grew pink and gold like a rose. Simon rose from the bed, pistol in hand. I watched as he pulled my dagger free from the wall.
“You don’t need that or the pistol. The sun’s up—you’re stronger than me.”
“So if I untie you, are you going to try to take this?” He held the dagger in his left hand, weighing it.
I shook my head. “No.”
“I want to trust you, Shadow.”
“Trusting me isn’t a good idea.” I didn’t like the way his blue eyes darkened at my words. Didn’t want to think I’d hurt him in any way. “But you’re safe from me today.”
“You’ll come for me again?”
“I go where I’m sent.”
He considered me. “Do you think Lucius will send you again?”
I shrugged, not wanting to think about what Lucius might do to either of us. “Maybe not. But trusting in Lucius’ goodwill isn’t terribly wise.”
“Yet if I set you free, you’ll go back to him,” he said. A bitter edge made his words sting like acid.
“I have to.”
He shook his head. “There are other choices.”
“You don’t understand.” And if I had my way, he wasn’t ever going to.
He tucked the gun into the waist of his trousers, but he still held the dagger. “I’m not giving this back to you. Not now.”
My fingers curled. My dagger was part of me. It rode my hip whenever I was awake. Beautiful, like all Fae work. Beautiful and deadly. A reminder to the Night World of exactly what I was. “It’s mine.”
“I’ll send it to you. I assume ‘care of Lucius’ would be the correct way to address such a package?”
“Yes,” I said, grateful he hadn’t pushed for any further details.
“Fine.” He crossed to a dresser, tucked the dagger into a drawer, then locked it. The key went into the pocket of his trousers. Clever of him. I would hardly be attempting to retrieve it from there.
His face was serious when he returned.
“Have you decided?” I asked, trying to ignore the wary thread of fear rising in my stomach.
“Decided what?”
“What you’re going to do with me?” I held my breath, knowing if he so chose, he could make a decision that would end my life. I hoped the side of him that healed would make such a decision hard on him. I knew what I’d do in his place.
Eliminate the threat.
But this man was very different from me. Very different from anyone else I’d ever met.
“If I turn you in, you’ll try to escape. If you’re successful, people will get hurt. If you fail, they might kill you.”
I nodded, my mouth too dry to dispute any of this. It was all true anyway.
His mouth twisted. Then he braced his shoulders as if he’d made a decision that didn’t entirely rest easy. He knelt and started to untie me.
I didn’t try to fight or flee once I was free. The sun was level with the window and added its paler light to the blaze of Simon’s lamps.
“I’ll take you downstairs. Send for an autocab.”
“ ’ Cabs don’t like to go where I live.” Hackneys even less so. The Beast Kind scents spook the horses.
“I know the driver. He’ll go where I tell him.”
In daylight his house was an oasis of light and peace. Windows and skylights filled the rooms with sunshine, each golden patch of light on the dark floorboards a reminder of my failure and the man who walked behind me.
We came to the front door. I reached for the handle.
His hand caught mine. “Don’t go back there.”
“I have to. Lucius will come looking for me.” I looked at our hands, at his fingers curled around mine, and thought of the world I was returning to. No warmth or pools of sunlight there. No one who saw good where there was no good to be seen. No strong hand holding mine.
Only the familiar ruthless world I knew. But I had to go. Lucius would move heaven and earth to find me if I vanished. I doubted Simon would survive the search, Templar brother or no. “Don’t try to save me, Simon. It’s not worth it.”
His smile went crooked again. “Saving people is what I do.”
“I’m not hurt. I don’t need a healer.”
The smile vanished. “Are you certain about that?”
I tugged my hand free, wanting to ask what he meant. A dangerous impulse. I needed to go. “You should leave being a white knight to your brother.”
“He taught me everything I know.”
“Then you should have paid more attention. I’m sure he taught you not to tangle with the Blood over foolishness. Let me go.”
“You think this is foolishness?” His finger brushed my cheek, and the sting of the sunburn faded under his touch. Another warmth altogether flared in its place.
I stepped back. “I know it is. This is the real world. White knights belong in stories.” I was used to lies and deception, but my tongue stumbled over that one. To cover my confusion I pulled the hat from my head and held it out as the clatter and hiss of metal and steam in the distance heralded the arrival of the ’cab.
His hand fell to his side as if by refusing the hat, he could keep me here. “How about golden ones?”
I tossed the hat, relying on Templar-trained reflexes to make him catch it. “I don’t need saving,” I repeated, and stepped out into the daylight and away from him.
Chapter Two
“Stop here. I’ll walk the rest of the way.” I looked out the window of the autocab as Higgins pulled over to the side of the road. Midafternoon and Saint Pierre seemed quiet, but I wasn’t taking any chances after last night, after my unexpected visitor with the deadly intentions. Hence the convoluted ’cab ride through the human boroughs before we’d reached our destination.
I leaned forward and paid. “Are you off now?”
Higgins nodded. “Another half an hour and I’m done.” He took my money and didn’t offer change. I didn’t expect any. I’d already called in a favor this morning when I’d had him take Shadow back to the Night World. He’d told me he’d dropped her off at Lucius’ Sorrow’s Hill mansion. That information alone was worth the expensive fare.
“Heading back to the guild?”
“Aye. Gotta drop this beauty off before I head home.” He patted the steering gear of the ’cab fondly. The Guild of Mechanisers produced the autocabs in limited quantities, and the drivers shared them to afford the guild’s license fees.
Personally I preferred horses, but the ’cabs, noisy and smelly as they were, were faster and more secure than hackneys and carriages. If the guild ever solved the problem of how to make certain key parts of the engine with something other than prized steel, or managed to win a greater share of the iron ration, they’d probably take over the City.
Or maybe not. The Fae refused to use them, after all.
The ’cab shuddered to a start again as I got my bearings then set off through the streets. Saint Pierre was a merchant borough, full of shops and warehouses and the largest market in the human boroughs. All of which brought many, many people to its streets. Easy to be anonymous here and it was far from any of my usual haunts.
The other thing Saint Pierre was famous—or infamous—for was the number of taverns tucked amongst its streets. Full of cheap beer and cheaper food to fuel the shoppers and workers.
I checked over my shoulder a few times as I walked, but no one was following me. Which made me feel almost cheerful as I ducked down one of the twisted lanes and found the door to the Drunken Crow.
Another handful of coins secured me use of the private room upstairs and I headed up to wait for my companion to join me. It didn’t take long—I’d barely opened the bottle of whiskey I’d acquired downstairs before the door opened with a bang and my brother, Guy, stalked in.
“What’s so important?” he growled as he crossed the room.
“Maybe I wanted to buy my brother a drink?” I held up the bottle of whiskey.
; “You don’t usually wake me up to buy me drinks.” He ran a hand over his close-cropped hair and yawned.
Damn. I’d forgotten he was on night patrol at the moment. I pushed a chair away from the table. “Sorry. Sit.”
Guy sat, looking half asleep and cranky about it. He scrubbed a hand over the pale stubble at his chin. “Well?”
I poured him a drink and told him what had happened. When I reached the end of my tale, his glass was still untouched.
“Drink the whiskey,” I said to Guy, watching him grind his teeth. There’s no good way to tell a brother someone tried to kill you. Particularly if the brother is also a Templar knight. Templars tend to overreact.
Though so far, this particular Templar was holding himself in check. Just.
“Why,” he asked slowly, “am I only hearing about this now?”
I’d been expecting that question. Truth was, I wasn’t entirely sure. I’d needed time to think and I’d wanted to give her—Shadow—a chance to get back to the Night World. Even though the thought of her doing just that made me equal parts angry and sickened. “It was only eight hours ago. Drink. You’ll feel better.”
To encourage him, I swigged from my own whiskey. Mistake. It tasted like a rat had drowned in the cask. It probably had. The Drunken Crow wasn’t the sort of tavern that worried overmuch about cleanliness. People came here to drink and ignore the world outside. Nobody would ask questions about anyone else who chose to drink here. My stomach burned as the whiskey settled.
“Judging by your expression, drinking this rat’s piss isn’t going to improve my mood,” Guy drawled.
The drawl was a concern. Guy had spent a year or two of his training in the Voodoo Territories and had come home with a fondness for chicory coffee and a drawl that showed up when he was about to unleash his temper.
I sent an extra thread of power to the shields set around the room. As the sounds of the drinkers below grew slightly more muffled, I watched Guy carefully. He leaned back in his chair, hardened leather vest creaking in protest as he folded his arms and scowled.
I scowled back. “These days nothing improves your mood.”
“Which begs the question why you’re adding to my problems, little brother.”
I ignored the “little brother” gibe. Truth was, we were the same height. Guy was heavier, his bulk coming from wearing mail and carrying a sword every day, but not taller. I might have that same bulk if not for choices made long ago. “The City isn’t just your problem.”
“No, but you are,” Guy said.
His frown deepened and I felt mine do the same. “I’m not your problem,” I said flatly.
The Templars helped police the streets and I helped patch up those who came to grief in them. Lately there had been far too much business for both of us. The City’s mood was savage and boded no good for anyone. Half-light, some called the City. These days it was starting to feel more like near dark, like we were sliding inexorably toward the Night World. My visitor last night had only proved that. But I, for one, intended to stand against the fall.
“As I recall,” Guy said, his drawl thickening, “we’re still brothers, no? I might not have any other authority over you these days, but family is family. And apparently someone wants you dead. Sounds like a problem to me.” Leather creaked again as Guy uncrossed his arms, one hand drifting to the pommel of his sword. “Or was there some other reason you dragged me out of bed?”
I met his stare without flinching. “I need a favor.”
“Go on.”
“Templars do, on occasion, make use of spies?”
Guy’s brows drew together. “We have informants, if that’s what you mean.” He raised the glass, then stopped, peering over the rim at me. “Why do you need a spy, little brother?”
“I want to find out more about her.”
The glass slammed back to the table. “About the wraith? About Lucius’ fucking chief assassin? What more do you need to know?”
I took another swig of the god-awful whiskey. “I don’t think it’s that simple.”
“Hell’s balls, Simon. She tried to kill you. Tell me you aren’t mooning over her.”
I ignored the memory of red, red hair sliding over my hands. “I’m not an idiot.”
“Then why do you need to know anything more about her?”
I frowned, trying to figure out how to explain it. “There was something there, Guy.”
“Something? Fuck, you are mooning.”
“No. I’m not. But I—” Light curse it. Guy didn’t understand. It wasn’t her face or body that intrigued me. It was what she didn’t want me to see. The wounded woman behind the big gray eyes. Sitting there, tied to my chair, she’d sat quietly, awaiting her fate. No pleas or protests. Just mute acceptance. As if there were nothing she could do to change things. As if she had no right to expect mercy.
I knew that look—I saw it sometimes in the women who came to St. Giles when the men in their lives were too quick with their fists or boots.
She’d said she didn’t need healing, but she was wrong. Every instinct I had told me that. Guy couldn’t understand. He hadn’t seen those haunted gray eyes.
“What, you think you’re going to find her deep dark secret and somehow bring her over to our side? The woman’s probably killed more people than I have. She works for Lucius. She’s not a damsel in distress.”
I reached for the whiskey. Maybe it would improve with another taste. “I know that. But she wasn’t what I expected. I think—”
“With her history, the only way she could redeem herself would be if she testified against Lucius and helped us bring him down,” Guy said disgustedly.
I froze. Testify? It was brilliant. “I didn’t think of that,” I admitted. But I was now. If we could bring a case against Lucius to the Fae queen—bring evidence that he had broken the treaty to her—then that might be the only thing that could tip the balance of power in the City back in our favor.
Guy regarded me with brotherly disgust. “Too late now, you let her go.”
I grabbed the bottle and leaned across the table to refill Guy’s glass, trying to hide the lingering stiffness riding me despite the hours I’d spent in the sun already. By the time the Shadow had left, I’d felt the ache in my muscles, tiny tremors of pain caused by the effort of holding the sunlamps alight for so long. But it didn’t seem as though she’d noticed. She hadn’t tried anything at the end. Just as well. I hadn’t been in any condition to fight.
I wasn’t even sure she’d really noticed me at all. Once or twice there’d been a flicker of something in those eyes or color staining her face that may have been more than the sunburn.
Gods and suns. The sunburn. I gulped whiskey to hide my instinctive wince.
Harm to none. Aid to all.
That was the oath I’d sworn. One that bound me as surely as Guy’s bound him to his God. It was who I was. Aid to all. Everyone in the City would be better off if Lucius no longer ruled the Blood.
“You’re right,” I said.
Guy raised an eyebrow—the one bisected by the scar he’d gotten in a dispute with a Blood lord many years ago. It wasn’t his only scar. Get mixed up with the Night World—or stand in their way rather—and scars are inevitable. “About what?”
“We need her to testify.”
“Forget it, little brother. There’s no way that’s ever going to happen.” His expression turned stern. “What we need is to know why Lucius wants you dead.” He raised his glass with studied movements that only slightly camouflaged the well-trained killer hidden beneath the seemingly calm surface. The red crosses emblazoned on the backs of his hands seemed to glow like fresh blood despite the dimness of the room. “What did you do?”
“Who says I did anything?” I snarled. “Lucius is a loose cannon, you know that.” Indeed, if anyone had to take a guess as to who was behind the escalating troubles in the City, they’d be likely to name Lucius. Proving it was another matter.
“Unpredictable, yes. But
he’s not stupid. Why would he risk violating the treaty to kill you?”
“He probably thought he’d get away with it clean. I doubt she leaves traces.” I tried to rein in my temper. I needed a clear head to avoid telling Guy too much. But I only managed in pushing it back a little. The hard knot of anger that had ridden my stomach since last night was still there.
“You must have done something.”
“Who knows why Lucius does anything? There have been a few more Beasts at the hospital than usual. Maybe I stitched up someone from the wrong pack.” It wasn’t entirely the truth. There was one other reason that Lucius might wish me dead. But no one who would betray me knew that particular secret. Suns, not even Guy knew it. My fingers tightened around my glass.
“He knows that violating the treaty like this would screw him when the negotiations come round. Didn’t you ask the wraith?”
“Strangely, she didn’t seem to want to tell me.”
Guy’s mouth twisted. “And knowing you, you didn’t try too hard to persuade her.”
My own mouth went flat. “I don’t torture women, Guy. I don’t torture anyone. My oaths are just as important as yours.”
Guy’s chair clattered backward as he stood. He leaned toward me, hands flat on the table. “So you just let her go. You could’ve handed her over to us.”
He wasn’t quite yelling. But he was close to the edge. I was glad of the shields as I stood too and took three steps around the table. If he wanted to go a few rounds over this, then so be it. Maybe he’d listen to reason once he’d worked off his temper. I stepped closer, crowding him. “And what would you have done with her? How would you have even held her once it was dark?”
His jaw clenched. “You’re not the only sunmage in the City, Simon.”
“True. But none of your Templar mages can call sunlight at night for more than a few minutes, can they?” I held his gaze. The conversation was skirting old and treacherous territory. Treading that path wouldn’t help resolve anything. “Even if they could, turning her over to you for questioning would still violate my oaths.”
