Never let your guard down, he’d told her sternly, pinning her to the ground with ease. Even if you think you’re safe. Now, let me show you how to counter this grip.
Since then she’d been practising, and sometimes she could beat him. Admittedly it was more not than often, but at least it wasn’t never – and the fact that she didn’t make it easy for him gave her confidence now. After all, there was a big difference between Tomas Caraway, Captain of the Helm and one of the most skilled swordsmen of the fifth ring, and a mine owner who’d probably never picked up a weapon in his life.
The question was, really, how far she was going to take it.
Grasping the mine owner’s shirt in her fist and giving it a twist to constrict his throat, she looked steadily into his wide, sweating face. This was what her people expected from her: a Nightshade overlord ruled as much through physical dominance as anything else. If anything, she was being kind. Presented with anyone who dared to be this insubordinate, her father would have taken his Firedrake form and ripped the offender to pieces without a second thought – she’d seen him do it to a man in Darkhaven once, all blood-spatter and entrails and high-pitched screaming. In Florentyn Nightshade, the balance between retribution and mercy had been askew. Or was it that Ayla erred too far on the side of forgiveness? Would she lose that hard-earned respect as a result of what could be perceived as weakness?
No. I have to stop comparing myself to my father. He was what he was. I am what I am.
Now, where are those pressure points Tomas showed me …?
She tightened her grip on the man’s throat until the hint of fear in his eyes became the predominant emotion. Then, with a shove, she let him go. He sprawled on the ground, gasping.
‘Pay your workers a fair wage,’ she said. ‘I am letting you live for the sake of their livelihoods. If I hear ill of you again, I won’t be so lenient.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’ The reply was hoarse. Ayla looked up and gave the magistrate a nod, which the other woman returned after a moment’s hesitation. The workers’ representative was staring in unabashed amazement: no doubt one more story would be added to the local people’s repertoire tonight. That was no bad thing. In general, the more stories were told about Changers and their abilities, the less likely people were to commit a crime.
‘Let me know if you have any more trouble,’ she told the magistrate. Then, because one lesson she had taken on board from her father was that it was always wise to leave people a little on edge, she turned away without another word and walked back down the hill.
When she reached the clearing, she undressed quickly and packed the clothing into her bag, before Changing back into creature form. Her body still hadn’t forgotten the shape of it from her journey here; she settled into it as if it were a favourite gown. A toss of her horn picked the bag up and settled the strap over her head. Time to go home.
Once she was back in the air, she circled round and flew upwards, following the slope of the hill. The three people at the top were temporarily cast into shadow as her form blocked out the sun. To add to the effect, Ayla flung her head back and sent forth a Unicorn’s battle cry: a high, sweet, piercing note that resonated deep in human bones.
That should reinforce the day’s events in their minds.
Satisfied, she left them behind with a single sweep of her wide wings, and headed back to Darkhaven.
TWO
It was an easy job, her latest employer had said. Almost an insult to someone of her capabilities. In and out, quick as blinking. A mere stroll. And she’d be paid double her usual fee.
Perched on a window ledge half the depth of her boot and a full five storeys above the ground, her back pressed hard against the glass, Naeve Sorrow suspected he might have been embellishing the truth a little.
She’d known it at the time, of course. Who paid double for easy? The whole point of hiring her was to get things done that no-one else could do. But money was money, her reputation was at stake, and so she’d taken the job despite her suspicions. Probably because of them, to be honest. The more time she spent in Kardissak, the more restless she became – and the more she found herself taking on the dangerous assignments, the ones even other seasoned mercenaries backed away from. She flirted with death like a two-bit whore desperate to make a sale.
The breeze currently whispering in her ear provided a vertiginous reminder that death didn’t like to be trifled with.
A light was extinguished in the room behind her, and Sorrow turned her head slowly in that direction. That was the first point she intended to include on the long list she’d give her employer when she returned with the goods and a demand for half again on top of the agreed fee. The mansion was supposed to be empty, the owners away. Yet unless Kardise ghosts could walk around opening doors and lighting gas lamps, there was very definitely someone at home.
Point two: the safe hadn’t been in the room specified, meaning she had to go hunting through the house for it.
Point three: once she’d finally found the safe and got it open, it turned out to be empty.
Point four … she hadn’t got that far, because that was when she’d been interrupted by point one.
Still, Sorrow hadn’t given up on the job, not yet. She’d managed to close the safe and climb out of the window when she heard the creak of footsteps on the stairs. And whoever the footsteps belonged to clearly hadn’t heard her, because he – definitely a he, she’d heard him mutter something under his breath – hadn’t searched the room or looked out of the window. Nor had he moved the right-hand curtain aside and thereby treated himself to a fine view of her backside squashed up against the glass. As far as Sorrow was concerned, that meant the game was still on. All she had to do was figure out where in this whole ostentatious pile of a place someone would keep important documents, if not in the safe, then get there without encountering the muttering man. She was armed, of course, but she didn’t want it to come to that. Clients didn’t like it when she left corpses in her wake, unless that was what they’d requested in the first place.
The room behind her had been dark for some time now, and she hadn’t heard a sound or caught any glimpse of motion through the shadowed glass. Sorrow began to edge back along the sill towards the open window – then jumped at the sound of a man’s voice, loud enough through the still night air that he could be standing next to her.
For an instant she lost her balance. Her body tipped forward – death swirled up from the yawning drop to kiss her cheek with cold lips – but then she pushed herself back against the glass once more, heart thumping, swearing soundlessly but with vigour. She must have made some noise in that moment, she was sure of it. A soft thud on the window, a stifled gasp. Yet when her pulse slowed enough that she could hear over the sound of her own terror, the man was still talking, calmly and evenly.
‘Everything is in hand, I take it, with the council for –’ but Sorrow didn’t catch the last word, because it wasn’t one she recognised. Though she spoke fluent Kardise, there were still occasions when the unfamiliar slapped her in the face.
‘Councillor Lepont has been paid off.’ That was a second speaker, a woman. Cool, a little amused, as though she were humouring her companion simply by being there. Her voice sounded further away; Sorrow judged her to be standing just inside the door of the room, while the man was at the window. ‘He was too concerned with his errant son to put up much of a fight.’
‘The boy is still missing, then?’
‘Rumour has it he has left the country.’
‘He was allowed past the checkpoints?’
‘Why not? Councillor Lepont is far more persuadable when distracted.’ A low laugh. ‘Thus the decision falls in our favour.’
‘Doesn’t it always,’ the man said drily. ‘And the election next month?’
‘The will of the people shall be done. Naturally.’
‘Naturally.’ Footsteps moved across the floor; Sorrow heard the chink of glass on glass. Probably the decanter she’d seen on th
e sideboard when she entered the room. ‘So there are no outstanding matters of concern within our borders.’
‘Nothing of any import,’ the woman said. Closer to Sorrow, now, as if she’d come further into the room while the man was at the sideboard by the door. ‘The people live their lives, the government play at governance, we do what is best for Sol Kardis. So may it always be.’
‘So may it always be,’ the man echoed. ‘Drink?’
She laughed. ‘I don’t trust you enough for that.’
‘Very wise.’
Silence fell; presumably the man was drinking, the woman waiting. Sorrow realised she was panting silently, as if she’d been fighting instead of standing motionless on a cold window ledge. She forced her breathing pattern back to slow and regular, but she was unable to control the erratic pulse of her heart.
Point four: the Kardise Brotherhood are involved.
She was in far deeper shit than she could have known.
The country of Sol Kardis was nominally a democracy – indeed, they made a lot of the fact. The will of the people is the will of the nation: so it was proclaimed above the grand archway that led to the government buildings right here in Kardissak. Every three years, representatives were elected to sit in parliament, but the Kardise people also had the chance to vote on all sorts of other things that affected them, from the local to the national. Yes, a few malcontents sometimes got together and muttered about how the government wasn’t really in charge of the country at all, but there were always people willing to see a conspiracy in every corner. Most Kardise were justly proud of their democratic system. Far better, more than one of them had boasted to Sorrow, than being ruled by an unnatural beast like you Mirrorvalese, or a group of bickering lords like those in the Ingal States. At least we have a choice.
Yet all the same, she had heard stories, and she had seen certain things for herself. It had been enough to make her believe that the conspiracy theorists might be right: all that choice was an illusion. There was a power behind the government. Those in the know called them the Brotherhood. And all the signs indicated that she was listening to two of them talk at this very moment – by moonlight rather than gaslight, to help them conceal their faces from the world.
No wonder the fee for this job was so high.
‘I brought the document you asked for,’ the woman said. ‘I’ll leave it on your desk.’
‘Thank you.’ Footsteps again, two sets this time. Sorrow imagined them circling the room, careful to stay a safe distance from each other at all times. Comical, but at the same time … not. When the man spoke again, he was back at the window. ‘I appreciate your support in this matter. Fourteen is recalcitrant.’
‘I hold no particular allegiance to either of you,’ the woman replied from over by the desk. ‘But in this instance, your interests more closely align with my own.’
That answered one question. Sorrow had identified two possibilities: either her employer was a lackwitted fool who’d sent her up against the Brotherhood without realising who he was really trying to rob, or she’d been cast straight into the middle of an internal power struggle. But if the document these two were discussing was the one she was after – and she strongly suspected it was – then that made her employer Fourteen. Which meant, once again, that she was in the shit. Whether she stole the document or not, she’d make a powerful enemy. Maybe two.
Point five: I’ll have to watch my back much more closely from now on. Even double-pay-and-a-half isn’t enough to cover that.
Still, she didn’t see that she had much choice. If she failed to steal the document, she’d have a powerful man after her who knew exactly who she was and how to find her. If she succeeded … well, she’d have won his favour, and if she could keep it then he’d have no reason to betray her to his colleagues, particularly if he thought she could do more work for him. Besides, with any luck, the two in the room behind her would each think the other a double-crosser, and neither of them would ever suspect there had been someone else involved.
Yes. She was going to have to steal that document.
One of her legs was going numb. Ever so slowly, she shifted her weight to the other leg and flexed the toes on the offending limb. Come on, come on, lock the bloody thing up in the safe so I can get it out again – Once again, she nearly fell off the window ledge when the man’s voice spoke close by.
‘And as payment?’
‘Information, of course.’
‘Of course.’
‘You are involved in the Goldenfire business.’ The woman was still over by the desk. Unlikely as it seemed, Sorrow thought she caught the click of her fingernails tapping the polished wooden surface. ‘Tell me what you know.’
‘I daresay you have heard a certain rumour,’ the man said. ‘A whisper that the indestructible has turned out to be destructible. Not all rumours are falsehoods.’
A sharp intake of breath. ‘You interest me greatly. And your plan is to take advantage of this opportunity?’
‘It is more than a plan. It will shortly become a reality.’
‘Ah.’ The woman’s cool detachment had thawed a little, now; hints of bloodthirsty excitement were showing through like the edges of rocks under snow. ‘Then the army –’
‘Is being readied as we speak. An animal with its heart cut out is no more than meat for the taking.’
‘Finally,’ she breathed. ‘Finally the balance tips in our favour.’
‘It will be a victory for enlightened people everywhere,’ the man said drily. ‘The prevalence of science and reason over the unnatural power of Mirrorvale.’
They’re talking about killing Ayla Nightshade. Sorrow’s pulse had finally settled, but that sent it straight back into erratic mode. An emotion of some kind squirmed through her guts; she examined the feeling, and identified it as guilt. Because if – as it appeared – the Kardise Brotherhood were arranging to have the overlord of Mirrorvale assassinated, Sorrow herself was the one who had discovered the method for it. Before she wounded Myrren Nightshade with a pistol, three years ago, it had been common knowledge that no weapon in existence could hurt a Changer.
Not that she’d ever told anyone the truth. It had always struck her as too valuable a piece of information to be traded. And she was pretty sure none of the very few other people who were privy to it would have shared it either. But secrets had a life of their own in Arkannen. They tended to come out and play, despite all efforts to keep them locked up. Still, Sorrow could hardly be held responsible for that – nor, indeed, for the discovery itself. She was no more to blame than whoever first uncovered the properties of gunpowder.
As the guilt faded, her usual sense of opportunity was already shivering down her spine. Knowledge of this particular plot could be highly useful to her now that she was tangled up with the Brotherhood – because her involvement with Fourteen was bound to go wrong sooner or later. She would cease to be useful, or know too much, and then she would be disposed of. So before that happened, it would be sensible to arrange a way out. Helping a half-Nightshade baby and his mother to escape Mirrorvale had left her distinctly out of favour in Darkhaven, but what better way to regain that favour than to send warning of the impending assassination? They’d have to welcome her back to the country after that. They’d have to forgive her for the so-called kidnap of Ayla’s half-brother Corus.
And in fact, that was another thing. Given the Brotherhood’s intentions towards Ayla, if they discovered that Corus and his mother Elisse were living on their very doorstep, Sorrow wouldn’t give much for their chances of continued survival. Which meant she was going to have to convince Elisse to take Corus back to Mirrorvale before the damn stubborn woman got the two of them killed. If Sorrow played it right then she’d prevent an assassination, protect her sort-of life partner and kind-of adopted son, and preserve her own skin into the bargain.
Of course, if she played it wrong then everybody died. That almost went without saying. But nor did it matter. None of this rationalisat
ion did. Because though she wasn’t a patriot by any definition of the word, and though she hadn’t set foot in Mirrorvale for years … it was her country. Arkannen was the closest thing she had to a home. And she’d be damned if she’d let the Kardise tear it apart.
Apart from anything else, it had been years since she’d tasted taransey.
‘… look forward to hearing of our triumph,’ the woman was saying inside the room. Her voice grew gradually louder; she was approaching the window again. ‘But I have work to do. You will send word when you have further news?’
‘Certainly,’ the man said from over by the desk. Sorrow heard the muted clang of the safe door. ‘For now, let me accompany you to the street.’
‘I can see myself out.’
‘I’m sure you can. But I would rather not give you the opportunity to prowl through the rest of my house.’
‘I doubt you possess anything that could surprise me.’ Amusement coloured the woman’s voice. ‘But if it will make you feel better …’
‘Humour me.’
The man’s footsteps crossed the floor, and an instant later the woman’s joined them. Sorrow waited for a count of twenty after they’d left the room – too much longer and there was a danger the man would return before she was ready. Then she edged along the windowsill, prised the window further open with her fingertips and climbed back through it, landing on the thick sheepskin rug with as little noise as possible.
Her limbs were stiff, but she didn’t dare take the time to stretch them fully. If she were caught here, she wouldn’t live to see morning – or else she’d have to kill a member of the Brotherhood, which would carry its own problems. So as soon as her cold, cramped fingers felt flexible enough to work her set of picks, she crossed to the safe and coaxed it open a second time. As expected, it contained a folded, sealed document that hadn’t been there last time she looked. Sorrow tucked it into the inside pocket of her coat, then swung the door closed again. With any luck, the man wouldn’t check his safe for a day or so. But that still left her with a challenge: how to get out of the building without being caught. She’d come in through the back door, but that wouldn’t work as an exit now the owner was at home.
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