The girl scurried in. Ayla searched her memory for the right name: not Ree, the small girl who very obviously had a crush on Tomas. The other one. The one who had surprised Tomas in the testing, the one who had been practising hard, the one who wore lace like a society lady yet fought with the determination of a soldier. Saydi.
‘I’m glad I found you here,’ Saydi said, her back towards Ayla as she pushed the door closed. ‘For all I knew, you could have flown away from Darkhaven. That would have been the sensible option with a possible assassin at your door.’
The urgency and uncertainty had gone from her voice; she sounded calm, almost detached. Ayla heard the click of the key in the lock.
‘But Captain Caraway wanted you here, I suppose. The bait in his trap. Shame he got distracted by the first diversion and left you alone.’
This wasn’t right. This wasn’t right at all. As Saydi turned, Ayla began to back away.
‘I wouldn’t, Lady Ayla,’ Saydi said. ‘Not if you want to draw your last breath with your guts still inside your body.’
And Ayla looked down to find a small pistol pressed against her belly.
Instinctively she summoned the Change … but nothing happened. It was as if her skin were wrapped in a thick layer of glass, and her gift – the vast, expansive freedom of it – hovered just the other side. Within reach, yet untouchable. She tried again, but she might as well have been a butterfly beating its wings against a windowpane. She was trapped. She sought for her more recently discovered power – perhaps she could attempt to freeze Saydi’s blood in her veins, or break a piece of furniture as a distraction – but that ability had deserted her too.
‘How are you doing that?’ she whispered.
‘Surely you mean why,’ Saydi said. ‘You’re wondering why I’d want to kill a woman I don’t even know, for the sake of a country that isn’t even mine. And more to the point, you’re hoping you can get me to talk about it for long enough that your guards show up to take me in hand.’ She laughed: a hard, bitter laugh that was as far from her previous girlish giggle as it was possible to get. ‘I hate to disappoint you, Lady Ayla, but your guards met with a nasty accident.’
‘Then there can’t be any harm in telling me,’ Ayla said – because even if the girl was wise to it, buying time was all she could do. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see her knife on the table by the window. If she could just get to it – ‘Why do you want to kill me?’
‘Your father killed my father,’ Saydi said. ‘That’s all, and that’s enough. There, did you enjoy the extra few moments of life that gained you?’
Ayla opened her mouth, desperately seeking for something else to say. Saydi’s finger tightened on the trigger. And a loud, rattling thud shook the door.
Someone’s come after her. Someone’s here to stop her –
Even as Saydi turned her head in the direction of the noise, Ayla was across the room and running for her knife. She knew she wouldn’t get there in time. She knew it wouldn’t do any good against a pistol, even if she did. But at least she was doing something.
She heard the bang of the gun an instant before she felt the impact. Her outstretched fingertips were almost brushing the hilt of the knife, but the pain exploding in her lower back knocked her stumbling to her knees. She heard Saydi’s low laugh close at her ear; the assassin must have followed in her wake, shot her at close range. She had to get away. She had to –
She tried to scramble to her feet, but her limbs refused to obey and somehow her cheek ended up pressed against the floorboards. The pain rose to an excruciating peak, clenching every one of her muscles in a wordless scream, then ebbed away into emptiness. Dusk fell around her, turning everything grey and silent.
Ayla closed her eyes.
For a moment after Penn had made his announcement, there was utter silence. Even the whine of the wind around the spire seemed to lessen. Then, frowning, Caraway stepped up onto the platform to face him.
‘You’re cousin to Owen Travers?’ he repeated blankly.
‘Yes.’ Penn glared at him. Now, finally, Caraway would find his anger and attack him, and that would give Penn the strength he needed to hurt the little boy and make Caraway pay …
But instead, the captain shook his head. His gaze met Penn’s, steady and accepting. ‘You must really hate me.’
Of course I do! Yet somehow, now that Caraway had acknowledged it, there was no longer any point in declaring it. Caraway had taken that from him as well. Penn scowled, tightened his grip on his sword, and said nothing.
‘There I was,’ the captain went on, ‘going on about the Helm – the two of us looking up at this very building …’ He let out a long breath. ‘Given the circumstances, I don’t think you were rude at all. I’m surprised you didn’t just tell me to shut up.’
Incredulity left Penn bewildered. Why aren’t you furious with me? he wanted to reply. I’m your enemy’s kin. I’ve stolen your adopted son. What sort of coward stands there and takes that? But again, he remained silent.
Yet in thinking of Marlon, he had involuntarily drawn the boy closer against his side – and Caraway didn’t miss the movement. His gaze fell briefly to Marlon’s face before returning to Penn’s.
‘You could have talked to me, you know,’ he said mildly. ‘I didn’t know who you were when I made the offer, but I’d have kept to it all the same. We could have fought it out on the practice floor.’ Almost imperceptibly, his expression hardened. ‘You didn’t need to involve a two-year-old child.’
‘Hurting you wouldn’t have been enough,’ Penn muttered. ‘But hurting someone you care about –’
He stopped at the look in Caraway’s eyes.
‘You won’t hurt him,’ the captain said.
‘You don’t know what I’ll do,’ Penn flung back, but Caraway shook his head.
‘It’s a promise, not a prediction. You won’t hurt him.’
The shiver that tensed Penn’s entire body at the last four words told him, without a doubt, that he’d been wrong to call Captain Caraway a coward – even if only in thought. Caraway wouldn’t let him hurt Marlon. He’d kill Penn before that happened. And somehow, the knowledge left Penn relieved. No more incompetent plotting. No more trying to satisfy his father’s desire for revenge. He’d face Caraway just as his cousin had, three years ago, and one of them would end up dead. That was what it came down to. That was what it had always been going to come down to. He wasn’t ready, not even close – he hadn’t started Helm training yet, after all – but he found he didn’t care any more.
‘Then fight me,’ he managed. ‘It’s you or him, Captain Caraway.’
‘Penn …’ Caraway didn’t immediately reach for his sword. ‘It doesn’t have to be this way. If you let Marlon go and come down to the fifth ring –’
‘Now.’ Penn shoved the sobbing boy behind him, making sure the cuff still tethered one skinny wrist to the guard rail. He didn’t want Marlon falling to his death.
All right, yes: that was contradictory. He did his best to ignore it.
‘Fine,’ Caraway said. ‘Your choice.’ And he drew his blade to meet Penn’s.
Almost immediately, it became clear that every time Penn had seen Caraway demonstrate moves in training – every time he’d fought Caraway in a practice bout – the captain had been holding back. Penn had expected him to be good, of course; that was the whole point, that was why he’d originally planned to be trained by Caraway before he tried to fight him. But he’d hoped he might at least stand a chance. Maybe land a lucky blow, or use Caraway’s fear for Marlon against him. Yet the reality was, Penn might as well have come up here blindfolded and unarmed for all the good he was doing with his sword. Because fear hadn’t weakened Caraway, only focused him.
There was a lesson in there somewhere.
‘Want a drink, Captain Caraway?’ Penn panted, trying for a diversion, but Caraway’s blade didn’t falter.
‘You’ll have to try harder than that, Penn. I make no secret of what
I used to be.’
‘Still are, if what Ree and I heard is any guide.’ Penn flung the words like weapons, and for an instant the captain hesitated. Desperate to seize the advantage, however slight, Penn pressed forward. ‘Aren’t you ashamed of it? The weakness?’
To his surprise, Caraway smiled at that, albeit sadly.
‘Some things, you live with forever,’ he said. ‘That doesn’t mean you have to let them define you. I think you’ll need to learn that for yourself, one of these days.’
Then, with a fluidity that Penn both resented and admired, he turned his defensive move into an attack, and even that slim opportunity to disarm him was lost.
As the captain drove him back towards the edge of the platform, Penn risked a quick glance at Marlon. His only hope of fulfilling his father’s wishes now was to use the boy. Stab him. Throw him over the edge. Anything to distract Caraway long enough for Penn to get past his guard.
Come on, Penn! he imagined Saydi saying. If you want revenge, you have to be willing to do whatever it takes. You’re going to be executed or thrown in jail for this anyway, so what difference does it make?
And yet he couldn’t do it. It didn’t matter that he’d fail as a result. It didn’t matter that his father would disown him. It didn’t matter that his cousin’s killer would walk free. He simply couldn’t do it.
Frustrated with himself, he raised his sword and pressed forward for one last, forlorn attempt. And as if that were what the captain had been waiting for, he met the attack with that tricksy move of his own – the one that had disarmed Penn during the testing. Penn’s sword clattered to the floor, the point of Caraway’s own weapon settled just below his ribcage, and it was over. He’d lost. Though fear burned in his stomach like a hot coal, he glared into Caraway’s face.
‘Go ahead. Kill me. That’ll make two of us.’
Caraway shook his head. His hands remained steady on the hilt of his sword, but he looked tired. Penn found that oddly incongruous. Surely the man who was about to gut him should be angry. Mocking. Anything but this … weariness, as if the world had tripped him up one time too many.
‘Do you know why I killed your cousin, Penn?’
‘For revenge,’ Penn spat. ‘Because he threw you out of the Helm. Because you wanted his job.’
He braced himself for the final blow, but if anything, the blade holding him in place eased back slightly.
‘If that’s what you think, I’m not surprised you want me dead,’ Caraway said. ‘Listen, Penn. I deserved to be thrown out of the Helm. I failed in my duty. I didn’t protect Kati Nightshade, and she died.’
‘Farleigh told me that was an accident.’ As soon as the words left his lips, Penn scowled. Don’t get distracted! There might still be an opening if he lets his guard down …
‘It was an accident,’ Caraway said. ‘But that didn’t matter. The Helm has one purpose, Penn, and one purpose only: to protect the Nightshade line. Remember that, when you’re training. Reasons, excuses … they make no difference. You do your duty or you pay the price.’
When you’re training? The man must have forgotten who he was talking to. Unfortunately, that made it very difficult to argue with him. Ready to give it a go anyway, Penn opened his mouth to say something, but Caraway was already continuing.
‘Your cousin forgot his purpose. He used his position as Captain of the Helm to make his men look the other way whilst he plotted against a woman he should have been willing to lay down his life for.’
Penn frowned. ‘Plotted?’
‘He locked Ayla up, in secret. He convinced himself that because she was only half a Nightshade, and because he wanted her, he could do whatever he liked to her. He did this in Darkhaven, Penn, and not one of the Helm lifted a finger to stop him.’
It’s all lies. Penn was ready to say it, but something kept him silent. He’d been brought up on the story of how his uncle had been murdered in Arkannen. How Florentyn Nightshade had executed the criminals and given Cousin Owen a place in the Helm. How dedicated Owen had been to the Nightshade line as a result. Penn was almost willing to swear that his cousin would never have done anything to hurt a woman of Nightshade blood.
Almost.
And yet, faced with this unexpected accusation, he found himself remembering a few odd things that hadn’t seemed significant at the time. Snippets and observations from the letters that Cousin Owen had sent Penn’s father, being passed across the breakfast table with the butter.
He says the daughter isn’t a real Nightshade. A half-blood creature. The old Changer is ashamed of her.
Owen doesn’t have much good to say about Lady Ayla. Which means, if I know the lad, he’s probably half in love with her.
Hear that, Penn? Your cousin says the Helm will do anything he asks of them, even though he came to the captaincy young. Loyalty is more important than anything, Owen says. You remember that.
‘She still has nightmares about it, you know,’ Caraway said. ‘What could have happened. But I wouldn’t have killed him, all the same, if he’d only been willing to let her go when I caught up with them.’ A shadow crossed his face. ‘I’d never killed anyone before – or since, for that matter. It’s not as easy as you seem to think.’
‘I never thought it would be easy,’ Penn mumbled. Caraway studied his face, then nodded.
‘No. I don’t think you did. And I respect you for that, at least. But I have to know, Penn.’ Suddenly his voice was fierce. ‘Do you believe, as your cousin did, that Ayla and Marlon are not worthy of respect, simply because they aren’t full-blooded Nightshades?’ He paused in expectation of an answer, eyebrows raised.
‘N-no …’
‘As a Helmsman, would you be willing to protect them from any dangers that may threaten them? Would you defend Ayla against Tomas Caraway, Captain of the Helm, if I hurt her in any way?’
‘Y-yes …’
‘There you are, then.’ The blade aimed beneath Penn’s ribcage retreated a little further. ‘I may have been an idiot back then, Penn, but at least I got that right.’
They stared at each other. Into the silence, Marlon said in a small voice, ‘Papa?’
‘It’s all right, son,’ Caraway said. ‘We’re going home now.’
And with that, he sheathed his sword. Brushing past Penn, he walked over to where Marlon cowered by the railing and opened the Helm-issued cuffs with his own key. Then, without another word, he picked the boy up and carried him away.
Penn could have stabbed him. He could have retrieved his lost sword and driven it home. The man’s back was exposed, he had his hands full – it would have been simple. Easy.
But once again, Penn couldn’t do it.
What was more, he suspected that Caraway knew he couldn’t. Why else would the captain have let his guard down so completely? To prove a point, to himself and to Penn. To show Penn that planning to kill a man was far, far easier than carrying it through.
Penn closed his eyes as the full force of his own stupidity struck him. The idea of descending the Spire of Air and showing himself to anyone in Arkannen filled him with the urge to flee. But he had nowhere to go. And so, slowly, feeling like the worst kind of fool, he picked up his sword and followed in Caraway’s wake.
When he reached the bottom of the walkway, Caraway and Marlon had already disappeared down the staircase that led from the temple roof, but Weaponmaster Bryan was waiting for him. Relieved that he didn’t have to face the captain again, Penn handed over his sword without waiting to be asked.
‘Are you arresting me, sir?’ he asked dully. ‘Or is it to be immediate execution?’
‘What do you think you deserve?’ Bryan didn’t shout, but somehow that made it worse. ‘When Tomas was your age, they broke his sword and threw him out of the Helm for an accident that wasn’t even his fault. So what do you suppose they’ll do to someone who kidnapped and threatened a member of the Nightshade line, terrorised a sixth-ring temple, and challenged the Captain of the Helm to a duel?’
Penn’s shoulders slumped. At least I don’t have to tell my father I failed. ‘Captain Caraway should have killed me up there,’ he muttered.
‘I agree,’ Bryan said. Penn risked a glance at him, but the fury in the weaponmaster’s face made him look away again quickly. ‘But as it turns out, Captain Caraway has something else in mind.’
TWENTY-EIGHT
Ree was a couple of corridors into Darkhaven before she had to admit she had no idea where she was going. Ayla was in the tower, Captain Caraway had indicated that much, but as for where –
Movement caught her eye; she reached for the knife she’d taken from the nurse’s body, but let her hand fall before it got there. It was only a woman carrying a tray, walking down the corridor towards her. Ree ran to meet her.
‘I need to find Lady Ayla. Urgently. Where is she?’
The woman frowned at her. ‘Is it the emergency?’
‘Sorry?’
‘The other girl said it was an emergency.’
The other girl. That must be Saydi. Dread churning in the pit of her stomach, Ree nodded. ‘Captain Caraway sent me after them both.’
‘Lady Ayla’s in her room. Taken ill. So you oughtn’t to disturb her, no matter how badly hurt this young man is.’
Young man? Briefly Ree wondered what sort of story Saydi had spun, but shook the curiosity off – it didn’t make any difference. Instead she put her hand on the woman’s arm. ‘Please. I – it’s life or death. Really.’
The woman studied her face a moment longer, then nodded. Ree listened to the directions, trying to keep control of her burning urgency long enough to commit them to memory. She stammered her thanks. And then she began to run. Along the corridor, through a door, up a flight of stairs, along another corridor. Her throat ached with exertion and with desperate anxiety, but still she kept running, until the door to Lady Ayla’s chamber was ahead of her. She didn’t slow down for even an instant, simply barrelled straight into it with as much force as her slight frame would allow –
And found herself on the floor, bruised and gasping. It was locked. Of course it was locked.
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