by Melanie Card
A small spike of pain pieced her eyes and she gasped at the pleasure. She blinked, the spell took hold, and she searched for the spirit cord that would lead her to Celia Carlyle.
Nothing.
She blinked again and squinted. Still nothing.
Something shimmered at the edge of her vision and she spun around. There, dancing about the room, little specks of red light.
The spell had failed.
Her spells never failed. She didn’t know what that boy had done, but Celia’s essence had changed from when she was alive. It was improbable, but not unheard of. Likely a result of the necromancer’s lack of ability. Nothing she couldn’t handle.
She ran a hand over her earrings and wished her pets were with her, but with all those Seers on the Grewdian Council residing in town, her vesperitti would draw too much attention. And if she’d learned one thing from her master, attention didn’t help an Innecroestri. Besides, there were other ways, more interesting ways, to find the girl. And to do that, someone had to die. She grinned at the thought.
§
Celia tried not to fidget as Ward checked her bandages with delicate fingers. She’d barely noticed him picking out the crystal and that surprised her. He was so awkward and clumsy with the rest of his appendages, she’d assumed his lack of dexterity included his hands. But even now, he approached her as if he’d been doing things like this all his life. A few gentle pulls, a press, and three clicks of his tongue, as if he was checking off items from a list.
“So, doctor, what’s the prognosis? Will the patient live?”
He gave her a sour look, and she remembered she was dead. A heaviness filled her and she struggled to shoved it away. There would be time to mourn later.
“Twist a little and tell me how it feels.”
Celia obliged. All her muscles ached, as if she had exercised and gone to bed without stretching, which she supposed she had. “A little stiff.”
“Sore?”
“Not really. I’m sure when I start moving it will become more noticeable.”
“Yes,” he said, but didn’t sound sure. He reached for the bandage around her waist, and she brushed his hands away before he could continue fussing. His concern was... She pondered her choice of words. It was satisfying. Getting cut up had brought out his natural empathy, as well as that strange, masculine desire to protect, taking him back into the realm of possible seduction. She couldn’t have asked for a better situation. It erased all of her negative behavior, cleaned the slate. And to top it all off, his concern for her felt real. Things were finally coming together. Now all she had to do was find out what he knew and solve her murder.
“If I meet with my physician’s approval?” She raised an eyebrow to elicit a response, and he nodded. “Then I propose we continue with our investigation.”
“And how do you propose that? You have no proof of an assignment, and everyone in the entire city—no, the entire Union of Principalities—is a suspect.”
“Not everyone.”
It was Ward’s turn to raise his eyebrows.
She sighed. “I want to see if Solartti has found anything.”
A line formed between Ward’s brows. “If you recall,” he said with a calm that didn’t match his expression, “he tried to kill us.”
“That was just part of the game.” She reached for the beige dress draped over the empty basin. She’d acquired it for the key heist, but now it was all she had. She would have to steal something more appropriate when Ward wasn’t watching. Solartti would laugh his way to the Guild Hall when he saw her in a dress.
“He said he’d ask around.” She shrugged out of her shirt and he shuffled his feet. From over her shoulder, she saw that Ward had turned around. He was so funny. He was obviously a trained physician from the way he removed that crystal, yet the sight of a little flesh made him blush. Oh, how she would enjoy playing his seduction out.
“How do you know he’s asked around?”
“I just do.” She’d never known Solartti to resist a puzzle.
“And I suppose you’re also related to the Seer of Brawenal or, better yet, the prince’s own Seer.”
“Twice removed from the previous Seer of Dulthyne.” Oh, how she loved to frustrate him. He’d get this look, stutter for a bit, and turn bright red.
This time he just sighed, long and loud. “Do you think he’ll have discovered something we haven’t?”
She eased out of the ruins of her pants and pulled the dress over her head. Perhaps she did feel a little sore.
“We won’t know if we don’t ask.” She reached for the laces at her back. No, it would be better if Ward tied them. “Tie me in.”
“Excuse me?”
“Tie me in.”
“Didn’t you do this by yourself last time?”
“Yes, but I’m injured.” She smiled and batted her eyelashes. “And your fingers are much more deft than mine.”
Ward turned crimson and reached for the laces. Good.
“You don’t have to come with me, if you don’t want.” Perhaps a little concern for his well-being would help ingratiate her to him.
“To Solartti’s?”
“Yes.”
“Why would you say that?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. You seem...” She reached out to caress his cheek but pulled back before she could finish the action. That would be too much too soon. He seemed genuinely upset that she’d want to exclude him, but she still had no idea if it was real or part of his game. If he came with her, he’d learn what Solartti had discovered. But if she left him alone... who knew what he’d do? Run straight to her father or the Master?
She wished she had proof either way about Ward. After last night, more of her wanted him to be what she saw: a young man with a certain kind of charm, stuck in a situation beyond any of his previous experiences.
What was she thinking? Regardless, he would just slow her down or blab to someone. She couldn’t have that. She would have to kill him regardless of his deft fingers. “You seem... preoccupied.”
His brows furrowed.
And yet he wasn’t completely useless. He’d helped at the Keeper’s house and patched her up afterward.
Damn. Where was her hardened assassin’s heart?
“I mean, I don’t think you’re comfortable around him.”
“What makes you say that?” Sarcasm dripped from his words. “He warned your father we were breaking into the records room. I don’t think you should go and talk to him with or without me.”
“And you’re going to stop me?”
He crossed his arms. “Yes.”
She laughed. There was the Ward she knew, ridiculous with his wiry arms crossed against his narrow chest and his long legs in a wide stance. And yet, she couldn’t deny there was a new hint of strength about him.
“We each have our specialties, Ward.” She patted his shoulder. “And combat is not yours.”
“Then I’m going with you.”
She was also beginning to recognize his annoying persistence.
SEVENTEEN
Solartti was not home, but Celia had a good idea where he would be. The Ancient Spider, where they’d run into him during their wild escape from the records room. Like most questionable businesses in Brawenal, her father received a protection tax from the owner, but he had little to do with the actual business. Which, thankfully, meant there was little risk of running into her father or any of his close associates since they preferred more upscale entertainment.
However, through many hours of acute observation, she knew a number of her fellow assassins did patronize the establishment and there was still the chance someone there had the assignment on her. They, like Solartti, enjoyed drinking charlatous—a potent alcoholic beverage that induced euphoric hallucinations—laced with zephnyr oil, which enhanced the effect. A few of those concoctions, and you could happily fly beyond the difficulties of life for hours, not to mention leave yourself open for an easy attack.
Telli
ng Ward they needed to return to the dance hall would send him into convulsions, so she neglected to mention it, taking pleasure in his nervous fussing as they drew closer to the recessed red door.
As she reached for the latch, she turned to Ward, ready for an argument or, in the very least, some comment. But he kept his mouth set in a tight line.
“I need you to keep your head down and your eyes open.”
“Can someone do that?”
“Now is not the time to get philosophical.”
He bit his lip.
“Good.” She pushed open the door and noise engulfed her. Music, laughter, talking, the clatter of mugs and dishes and knives on tables. A haze of wood, pipe, and the distinctive purple smoke of Susain herbs surrounded them, carrying the aromas of fish, bread, ale, and sweat. There was no one in the immediate area she recognized from the Guild, and most people, if they didn’t ignore her and Ward outright, took a cursory glance and turned back to their conversation.
She allowed herself a moment to register potential dangers: blades, obstacles, anyone who carried themselves with the catlike grace she associated with her profession. Nothing stood out.
She glanced at Ward, who sucked in a quick breath, then looked behind him to ensure he’d closed the door. He had and, save for another sigh, appeared relaxed, almost happy. He was getting better at hiding his emotions. Perhaps he could survive a day or two as an assassin. She gave herself a mental shake. Not likely.
They walked to the edge of the main balcony and looked down at the dance floor, which was actually the first basement. She’d heard a rumor the Ancient Spider boasted three other basements for even shadier pleasures, but she’d never seen them or had the desire to ask. Dancing and drinking plain wine were as far as she wanted to go. An assassin needed to keep her wits, or she’d lose her head.
She grabbed his hand and led him to the back of the first-floor balcony. Solartti’s favorite table sat over the stage. Which meant, if he was not too far gone that night, he would have already noticed them.
They found him at his usual table, his chair in the corner, his eyes glassy. Celia eased into the chair beside him and squeezed his arm. He made no indication he noticed their presence.
Ward sat beside her and glanced around.
“What do you see?” she asked, staying focused on Solartti.
“People dancing, eating, drinking.”
She gave Solartti another shake. Nothing.
“What’s wrong with him?”
She passed Ward the only mug on the table. He brought it to his lips but didn’t drink. Instead, he sniffed.
“Charlatous.”
“And?”
He ran his finger around the edge of the rim, looked at it, and pressed it against his thumb. “Don’t you people know how dangerous this is?”
She snorted. Another trait she’d began to recognize in Ward: his ability to state the obvious. “Help me stand him up.”
“What are you planning?” He set the mug down.
“I’m planning on taking him back to his house so when he’s slept it off he can talk to us.”
“And you think we’re just going to walk an unconscious man out of here and no one will notice?”
She grinned and winked. “I do it all the time.”
“I bet you do.”
He rose, moved to Solartti’s other side, and placed the man’s arm across his shoulders.
She glanced around the balcony. It was packed with people sitting, standing, talking, laughing. A few danced. It was going to be a challenge to move Solartti; usually, he was conscious enough to stand on his own. What could have possibly made him take so much oil?
A woman with short blonde hair emerged from the shadows on the other side of the balcony. She leaned against the railing and gazed down at the dance floor. Candlelight reflected on the earrings in her right ear.
What was she doing here? Celia turned to Ward. “We have to hurry. That woman is here.”
“What woman?”
She glared at him and pulled her right earlobe.
“Who?”
“From the Keeper’s house.”
“Oh. So why do we have to hurry?”
She had no good answer. All she knew was that if the woman had talked to Bakmeire, they didn’t want to risk her seeing them. She wished she could be nice to Ward and sugarcoat the whole situation, but her gut screamed at her to leave, fast. She’d have to explain later. “We hurry because I say so.”
Ward rolled his eyes and looked ready for a fight, but he picked up Solartti instead and, with the extra weight, staggered to the front of the table. His expression changed from frustration to something she couldn’t quite place. He furrowed his brow and his eyes glassed over. Great, now was not the time for him to suddenly become lost in some intellectual problem.
“We need to get moving, Ward.” She took Solartti’s other side.
“I, ah...”
The woman started around the balcony to her left so Celia chose the other direction. If they kept their heads low perhaps she wouldn’t notice them. Celia snorted at the thought. Who wouldn’t notice a walking, talking scarecrow like Ward?
“Could you try to crouch a little?” she asked.
“But Celia, I think—”
“You stick out like a sore thumb.”
He glanced around. “Oh.” Then he slouched, hung his head, and swayed a little.
They stumbled a few steps forward, bumping into a woman who turned and giggled before she danced away.
The blonde woman didn’t seem to have noticed them and was now almost at Solartti’s table, but they were only a quarter of the way around. If she saw them they’d have to run, and running with Solartti’s dead weight didn’t appeal to Celia.
She tried to move faster, hoping Ward would take her lead. They were almost at the front door when someone grabbed her shoulder and spun her around. She clenched her fists. Ward grunted as he took all of Solartti’s weight. Before her stood a squat man, as wide as he was tall, swaying back and forth. His pupils were uneven, a sure sign he too partook of charlatous laced with zephnyr oil.
“Dance with me.” A thick globule of drool rolled over his bottom lip, down his chin, and dropped onto his massive chest.
“I’m on my way out.” She turned to the door, but the man grabbed her wrist and spun her again.
From the corner of her eye she could see Ward shift from one foot to the other, and on the other side of the fat man the blonde woman headed in their direction. She needed to do something, fast.
“Sure. I’ll dance with you. Just let me see my friends off and I’ll meet you on the dance floor.”
The fat man smiled. “Now.”
She hated men who couldn’t see reason. Please don’t let him be as far gone as he seemed. She grabbed the man’s hands and sashayed him toward the blonde woman. She twirled around her, knocking over a table and a few people in the process, and handed over the fat man. He clung to the startled blonde woman, pulling her along the balcony toward the back of the dance hall.
Celia spun on her heel and danced back to Ward as fast as she could, a huge grin plastered on her face. She whisked him and Solartti out of the dance hall.
They dragged the assassin’s limp form down the street and stepped into the shadows of an alley to catch their breath.
“So what was so important?” she asked.
Ward leaned back, gasping for air. “I think he’s dead.”
EIGHTEEN
Karysa extracted herself from the drunk man’s grasp and returned to the assassin’s table. Celia and that boy necromancer had dragged the dead assassin out of the dance hall and she couldn’t stop them. But never mind. The essence-seeking spell that hadn’t worked for Celia would work for her assassin friend—even if she had given him ibria with his charlatous and zephnyr oil. It might have destroyed his soul, but she could still follow his body.
They would take him someplace safe, hopefully wherever they were hiding, and the boy would try
to wake him. She wished she could see the look on his face when his spell failed.
A smile pulled at her lips. How many times would he try before giving up? He didn’t look like he had much of a magical constitution and would probably be exhausted after a second attempt.
A tremor swept through her, drawing a low moan. The blood-magic lure was glorious. She could only imagine the concentration and meditations that boy had to go through to avoid it. Such a fool.
Another tremor stirred heat low in her gut. Her breath hitched in her throat and she gasped. A man at the table across from her gave her a curious look. She ran the tip of her tongue slowly over her lips, leveling her gaze on him. He flushed, but no energy danced under his skin. How disappointing. There just weren’t enough magical people in this principality.
And, really, she shouldn’t be wasting time. She had to find her chosen one. She traced the rim of the assassin’s cup with her finger. She didn’t need a lot of a person’s essence to find his body. No more than a drop of saliva.
§
“How could you not know he was dead?” Celia paced the bedchamber where they had placed Solartti’s body. “You’re a necromancer.”
Ward crossed his arms and leaned against the back wall. “And you’re an assassin.” And that woman in the dance hall had been an Innecroestri, likely the only one he’d ever heard Grandfather talking about. Karysa. He shivered at the thought.
“I just...” She sat at the foot of the bed and placed a hand on Solartti’s leg.
Ward pushed off from the wall, suddenly aware that she had lost a friend. He shouldn’t just stand here. He was usually more sensitive. “I should give you a moment.”
“And then what?”
“That’s up to you.”
She looked at him, her eyes hard. “I suppose you mean we carry on.”
Could she not see the obvious? He sighed and reminded himself that the grief from a sudden death, or even an expected one, could rattle the most practical of people. “Would you like me to wake him?”
