‘But killing is part of what the Helm do,’ she argued. ‘If you’re not willing to kill, then –’
‘I didn’t say I wouldn’t kill. If I were a Helmsman, I’d do what it took to protect the Nightshade line – up to and including killing. But I wouldn’t do it because I believe Changers are better than everyone else. I’d do it because it’s my job.’
‘So what makes you any different from a sellsword?’ Ree asked. She meant it as a genuine question rather than an insult – mostly, anyway – but his brows drew together in anger, for an instant, before the frown was replaced by his usual cocky grin.
‘I told you: I don’t believe in anything. At least sellswords believe in money.’
After that, he turned the conversation to less serious things, and the rest of the afternoon passed in a haze of chatter. Yet late that night, lying awake in her unfamiliar bed, Ree found herself thinking about it again. She’d never before met anyone who didn’t believe implicitly in the right of the Nightshade overlords to rule Mirrorvale. She thought Zander probably had a point when he talked about the dangers of being willing to die for something, but all the same … wasn’t that the purpose of the Helm? How could he do his job, as he’d put it, if he didn’t have a reason to lay down his life for the cause? If it came to that, wouldn’t he just turn and run?
Belatedly she noticed that she was mulling over a philosophical point instead of fretting about the weeks to come, and smiled to herself. It had been a pretty good day, all things considered. Zander and Farleigh and the rest might have tested her, sometimes – just as they’d tested each other, feeling their way into this new social hierarchy – but they hadn’t offered her any outright animosity. In fact, after spending a couple of bells with them, she’d felt surprisingly at home.
Burrowing down under the thin covers, she closed her eyes and let herself imagine good things ahead. The fifth ring wasn’t so very daunting. Maybe she’d prove her parents wrong after all.
FOUR
To Captain Tomas Caraway of the Helm, Darkhaven, Arkannen, Mirrorvale:
Belated congratulations on your promotion. I gather you disposed of the previous incumbent quite neatly. And concomitant with that, congratulations on your current life of domestic bliss. Something of a change from your former existence, unless the tedium of it has driven you back to the consolation of an ale-cup.
A piece of information has come to my ears that I feel I should share with you, in fairness if not in love: Sol Kardis is preparing for war. It is readying itself for a new opportunity that will soon present itself. And my informant referred to cutting out Mirrorvale’s heart as the only way to tip the balance. You may recall my inadvertent discovery of three years ago. Perhaps you might remind your employer/lover of the same.
While you have her attention, you might also let her know that I saw a certain child of our mutual acquaintance last month, and he is thriving nicely.
With admiration, if not respect,
Naeve Sorrow
Postscript: I intend to send this through a man who owes me a favour, to avoid prying eyes. Please do me the courtesy of not arresting him when he hands it over.
Caraway reached the end of the page and glanced back at the accompanying note, penned by a Helmsman whose bewilderment came through in every word. Apparently the letter had been delivered to a Helm safe house in the fourth ring by a wanted pickpocket and petty criminal. He hadn’t explained exactly how it came to be in his possession, but it seemed highly unlikely that it had been viewed by officials on either the Kardise or the Mirrorvalese side of the border. The Helm had been all set to arrest him, but the man had claimed immunity by virtue of the fact that he had news of vital importance to deliver from Naeve Sorrow. Since everyone in the Helm knew that Naeve Sorrow had absconded from Mirrorvale three years ago with Ayla’s newborn half-brother, the man on duty had immediately sent a runner up to Darkhaven with the letter.
And, as it turned out, with good reason.
Frowning, Caraway raised his head. Ayla was busy spreading honey on her biscuit and very carefully not looking at him, but curiosity radiated off her like the steam rising from her tea. He often received messages related to Helm business, of course, but not so often at the breakfast table.
He hesitated, not wanting to spoil their time together – it was rare enough that Marlon continued to slumber past first bell, giving them a little oasis of peace and quiet before the demands of the day began – but keeping the letter from her would serve no purpose other than to create an argument. So he handed her the single page in silence. Then, because he had far less self-control than she did, he watched unabashed as she scanned it, her dark brows drawing further together with every word.
‘Fire and blood!’ she snapped finally, slamming the letter down on the table top with enough force to make the crockery rattle. ‘How she has the effrontery to –’
‘To send us a well-timed warning?’ Caraway finished for her. Ayla pinned him with a glare, which reluctantly softened in answer to his smile.
‘Surely you don’t intend to defend her,’ she said, though with less heat. ‘She is keeping my brother from me. He belongs here, Tomas.’
‘I know. But think of it this way: she didn’t have to write at all. Yet she chose to send word of this threat.’
Ayla lifted a shoulder. ‘But Sol Kardis has been snapping at our borders for years. Skirmishes break out with depressing regularity. I see nothing new in that.’
‘Look past the barbs,’ Caraway said softly. ‘She refers to her discovery. She refers to cutting out the heart of Mirrorvale. They intend to send an assassin for you, Ayla. And this time, they’ve found a weapon that can do the job.’
Her fingers curled inward on the table, crumpling Sorrow’s letter. ‘A pistol.’
Caraway nodded. For centuries, people had thought of Changers as indestructible. They were impervious to steel. They were far stronger than any man. And though in their human form they were more susceptible to damage, killing them in their sleep was the only sure-fire way to do it – because otherwise, even wounded, they could just Change to protect themselves. All that had been common knowledge right up until three years ago, when Naeve Sorrow had shot a Changer creature with the pistol she carried. Bruised it, only. But a bruise was more than anyone had achieved before.
Of course, that Changer creature had been Ayla’s brother Myrren, who had later taken his own life with the very same pistol … so all in all, Ayla had little enough reason to like the damn things.
Three years. It was long enough that Caraway had begun to think they were safe – that word of this unexpected Nightshade vulnerability hadn’t reached the wrong ears, and never would. The original secret had been shared by a mere handful of people, none of whom had any motive for making it more widely known. Yet despite that, somehow, a rumour must have crept across the border to Sol Kardis.
The Kardise would have wanted to be sure. No doubt they had carried out tests, though of what kind he could barely imagine. No doubt they had taken the time to train their assassin and improve their technology until they knew, beyond certainty, that a single shot would kill the intended target. The pistol they were sending to cut out Mirrorvale’s heart would be the best that three years of dedicated work could create. And what did he have to set against it?
Himself. The Helm. None of them were bulletproof, but they would have to be enough.
‘We’ll make some changes to security,’ he said, taking refuge in practicality. ‘Let no-one new into Darkhaven. An assassin with a pistol would still need to get close to you – he’d only have one shot, and he’d want to make sure it didn’t go to waste – so if you’re well-guarded at all times …’
Ayla didn’t reply. Her gaze stayed fixed on her white-knuckled hand; her head drooped. Looking at her, Caraway was seized by a surge of tenderness. She carried the weight of Mirrorvale so lightly, like a wreath of flowers crowning a springtime dancer. It was easy to forget how young she was, and how burdened.
<
br /> ‘It will be all right, love.’ He knelt beside her chair, drawing her hands down to interlock with his in her lap. ‘They won’t succeed. I promise.’
With a sigh, she lowered her head until her brow was resting against his. He felt her whisper brush his skin. ‘I’m scared, Tomas.’
‘I know. But I’m here, and the Helm –’
‘The world is changing. You can’t stand between me and every pistol-wielding assassin Sol Kardis sends our way.’
Caraway couldn’t argue with the first part of that statement. The Helm had confiscated more firearms this past year than in every other year put together. But he could argue with the second part, and promptly did so.
‘Of course I can. I’m your Captain of the Helm. If a single bullet reaches you without going through me first, I don’t deserve to keep that title.’
Ayla shifted in her seat; her hands twisted out of his grasp, but only to slide up his arms and wind themselves into his hair. Her lips found his, urgent and demanding, and he marvelled – as he did every time, even after three years – at the strange quirk of fate or chance that had brought him here to her side. He would take a hundred bullets for the time they had already shared. He’d take a hundred more if it meant they could have it again.
‘You need a haircut,’ she murmured against his mouth.
‘But if I cut it, love, you wouldn’t be able to tug on it the way you do.’
‘You make a good point, Captain Caraway.’ And she pulled him closer to kiss him again.
He would have been quite happy to explore the situation further, responsibilities be damned, but at that point the door slammed back on its hinges and made them both jump.
‘Papa! Papa!’ Marlon came hurtling into the room. ‘Look! A sword!’
Caraway glanced at Ayla, hoping that today would be the day she went to the boy of her own accord, but blankness had slammed down like a shutter across her face. He knew her retreat was intended to conceal a deep, personal hurt – maybe several. She still mourned Myrren’s death. It couldn’t be easy to have a living reminder of him in the form of her young nephew, especially when coupled with her longing for children of her own. But Marlon himself was too young to understand any of that. As far as he was concerned, Caraway and Ayla were his parents. And Ayla needed to close the distance between them soon, or she’d regret it later.
‘I surrender!’ Caraway pretended to cower away from the stick in the little boy’s hand. Then he let Marlon chase him around the table, and catch him, and – after a short tussle – bear him to the ground. I’m capting of the Helm, Papa, and you’re the bad man. No! – clambering up over Caraway’s legs to sit squarely on his chest – no ’scaping! This went on for a while, until finally Caraway scooped the boy over his shoulder and got to his feet. Marlon’s nursemaid, Lori, stood to one side with a smile on her face, and Ayla –
Ayla had gone.
‘All right, son,’ he said to Marlon – cheerfully, to hide his sudden disappointment. ‘Time for me to get to work, I’m afraid.’
He dropped a kiss on the boy’s tousled hair, then passed him back to the nurse. Their eyes met, but neither of them said anything – for which Caraway was grateful. He wasn’t sure what there was to say. Ayla herself had made it very clear that she didn’t want to talk about it, and without her participation, the conversation would just be words. It wouldn’t change anything.
With a final farewell to Marlon and Lori, he left the room and set off towards the guardroom. Time to give the Helm their orders. They’d have to make sure Ayla was guarded at all times … improve security at Darkhaven’s gate and maybe the seven city gates, if the watch would cooperate … keep from employing anyone new here at the tower until the threat was neutralised … with every step, he came up with something else that either he’d have to do himself or the Helm would need to be told about. Yet through it all, his mind kept returning to Ayla.
Part of it was worrying about the assassination attempt, of course. There had been threats before, but never one of this magnitude. Mirrorvale and Sol Kardis had sat uneasily beside each other for as long as he could remember, so he’d always taken it as given that the Kardise would prefer the Nightshade line weak. That might even be why, misdirected obsession aside, Florentyn Nightshade and Owen Travers had been so concerned with keeping it strong. But it was only in the last three years that anyone had realised it was possible to hurt a Changer creature. And it was only this morning that the threat had become specific and tangible enough to move from a possibility to an outright concern.
Yet that wasn’t the only thing he worried about. As he often did in moments of stress, he found himself fretting about Ayla and Marlon. About Ayla and himself. About the awkward balancing act he found himself having to undertake, as both Captain of the Helm and Ayla’s lover.
When she’d asked him to stay with her in Darkhaven, three years ago, it hadn’t been with the stated intent of making him Captain of the Helm. In fact, she’d told him she didn’t want to employ him at all. But the position had been vacant, and Ayla in need of a strong Helm to support her through those difficult early days, so Caraway had fallen into taking charge for a little while. Just until everything had settled down. But that little while had lengthened until, one day, he’d realised that six months had passed and the entire Helm was deferring to him without question.
You’d better appoint a new captain soon, he’d told Ayla. The Helm are getting too used to me.
She’d given him a look. Or you could just keep doing a job you do very well.
But, Ayla … there’s us. You and me. I don’t want them thinking I was appointed because of what’s between us.
It wouldn’t be any different from what you do now, she’d pointed out. They respect you, Tomas. Being given an official title isn’t going to change that.
She’d been right, of course. The Helm didn’t seem to care that their captain and their overlord were intimately involved – or at least, their interest lay solely in having something to make ribald remarks about. The only person who worried about it was Caraway himself. And so, after a while, he stopped.
Mostly.
Because it wasn’t as if he’d leave Darkhaven, no matter what happened between himself and Ayla – not unless she ordered him out, anyway. He was dedicated to her and to Marlon for life, in whatever capacity she saw fit. But Ayla’s own feelings on the matter were far more difficult to determine. Three years ago, she had come through fear and loss to unexpected freedom – a freedom into which she’d thrown herself wholeheartedly. She’d chosen Caraway before she even knew what other choices there were to make. And so, though he knew she cared about him, he couldn’t help but wonder if some part of her regretted that haste – especially since the children she’d referred to so glibly back then had yet to arrive, and not through lack of trying. Children and a new future, she’d said; but if the children never came, would she choose a different future as well? One that didn’t include him?
We’re young, he told himself, as he often did. There’s plenty of time. And yet he understood her urgency. The Nightshade line had dwindled to a slender thread, a single surviving Changer. If Ayla were to die – he flinched at the thought, but made himself keep on thinking it – if she were to die before any children were old enough to manifest the gift, Mirrorvale would be left vulnerable to the larger countries pressing at its borders. That was why the Kardise had seized the opportunity to make an attempt on her life. That – quite aside from Caraway’s own love for her – was why it was so important that the attempt fail.
Of course, even if Ayla were to conceive a child now, close to fifteen years would have to pass before that child could hope to Change. And there were already Nightshade children in the world who would reach their majority sooner: Marlon, for one, and Ayla’s missing half-brother Corus. Caraway had tried to point that out before, but Ayla would have none of it.
I don’t know what will happen, she’d said. None of them are full-blooded Nightshades. Corus an
d Marlon are half each. Our children would be only a quarter. You know that’s what I wanted, but all the same, the chances of them being able to Change must surely be decreased. And if none of them can … She’d shaken her head, turning that thought aside. The more children we have, the more likely we are to preserve the gift for the next generation.
As a result, Caraway couldn’t help but wonder if she saw their relationship as a bargain he had failed to fulfil. She didn’t behave that way – she showed him a passion and delight that surely wouldn’t be present in a purely contractual union – and yet …
And yet, he worried.
Do you ever regret it? he’d asked her once, as they lay curled together in the big bed with moonlight streaming through the window. That you asked me to stay?
She’d burrowed her head sleepily against the hollow of his throat. Do you?
Of course not, he’d answered straight away, and she’d laughed a little.
Well, then.
Then she’d nipped at his skin, a teasing bite, and he’d been too distracted to talk any more. It was only afterwards it occurred to him that she hadn’t actually answered the question.
Still, there was no point in thinking about any of that now. It was far more important to focus on preventing her assassination. And ideally he’d enlist help from someone both knowledgeable and reliable – which meant that ideally, he’d go down into the fifth ring and speak to Art Bryan. Yet as well as being Caraway’s old mentor, Bryan was also the weaponmaster in charge of training, which meant this was one of his busiest times of year. The sign-up sheets for the next training period had been posted a couple of days ago, which meant Bryan would be spending all his time herding youths into the appropriate places.
And one of them could conceivably be an assassin. The thought came straight from the depths of Caraway’s own paranoia, but even as he considered it, he couldn’t find a way to discount it completely. There were more direct routes to Ayla, of course; but unlike any hiring of staff in Darkhaven itself, which happened as and when it was needed, the twice-yearly intake of new recruits into the fifth ring was as reliable as clockwork. He ought to know: he’d set it up that way himself. And since it became harder to access the rings of Arkannen the higher you climbed, an assassin might seize the chance to secure a place in the fifth with an eye to reaching Ayla later on.
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