Blood Warrior

by Lindsey Piper

  He was dangerous.

  Except, she’d never considered lying with a member of a different clan. Tallis couldn’t creep into her mind. He’d find the idea repulsive.

  Instead he would touch and stroke her with his strong, work-worn hands.

  So she looked, memorizing the way the moon added deeper luster to the silver sheen of his dark hair. That heavy mass was tempting. She could bury her fingers in it and pull his mouth down to hers.

  “Kavya.”

  She blinked. “Yes. I looked. What about it?”

  “I slept.” He shouldered past Chandrani, who made a token protest both mentally and verbally. “Do I look like I’ve slept?”

  Kavya pushed free of the trees as she stood. The moon wasn’t strong enough to help answer his question. She placed cold hands on his cheeks. Only when skin met skin did she realize that her touch was an echo of how she’d held his blood-streaked face. His eyes closed briefly on a sigh. That wasn’t possible. He was too angry for sighing.

  “I knew it,” he whispered.

  Rather than question him—because he was still a lonayíp bastard who spoke in riddles—she turned his features toward the moon. The circles under his eyes were so deep and dark as to appear agonizing. He looked ten times as tired as when they’d parted.

  “I don’t understand.” She pulled her hands back just enough for him to grasp them, fingers twined, holding each other again. She was afraid of repeating these intimate things—making patterns, finding familiarity she didn’t want to feel but couldn’t deny.

  “You came to me again. In a dream.”

  Kavya jerked away. She wasn’t touching him, just the sharp bark of the trees at her back. “I’ve been here with Chandrani the whole time. Linked with her mind. Very much awake. I . . . I—”

  “You what? The only way you can convince me of a Dragon-damn thing is to tell the truth. It has to sink into my bones as the truth. I don’t have any other way to judge what you say. So say it.”

  “I would’ve found you had I been able.” She swallowed, grateful for the darkness that concealed her embarrassed flush. “I wanted to know where you’d gone. I would’ve cheated. I would’ve searched your mind for clues as to why you’d really gone.”

  Tallis of Pendray bowed his neck. He looked like a supplicant, which sent shivers of satisfaction up her spine—then dread. She didn’t want this man to be just another admirer.

  “Do you believe me?”

  “Yes,” he said quietly. “Now, one more question.”

  He lifted his head and stepped to within a breath of her body. He’d never stared at her with deeper concentration.

  Kavya wanted to look away, but that would be tantamount to running. “Ask me.”

  “Do you mourn those who were hurt and scared and stolen?”

  Tears were sticky like gelatin in her throat. “I do,” she managed to say. “A piece of my heart died at dusk.”

  “And if you were able, what color would you wear to express that mourning?” Surely he had other features, but she was riveted to his tortured eyes. “Tell me, Kavya. What color do the Indranan wear to mourn their fallen?”

  “The same color we gave to the humans here in India, Pakistan, Tibet. No matter the faction, North or South, we wear white.”

  CHAPTER

  EIGHT

  Tallis stared at her face, her honest face, and ducked into himself. He didn’t move, but there was no denying his withdrawal from Kavya’s simple words. It shook everything he knew to its bedrock.

  He’d rebelled against the Sun—the dictator who’d turned him into a killer. He’d plotted against her and hated her. She’d been using him, and he’d been right to rebel. He only regretted that he hadn’t started to revolt years ago. It was past time to break free of that false prophet.

  That the apparition happened to look like Kavya, happened to use the name her innocent followers had bestowed . . .

  He was mad.

  Or Kavya was even cagier and more manipulative than he’d believed.

  No, he couldn’t hold on to that logic anymore. Kavya was an optimist in a time of despair. She manipulated people, but he’d never seen what might qualify as malevolence, only subtle pushes toward the hope and courage few dared dream: peace.

  All that remained of his antipathy toward Kavya was that her goal of unification aligned with the woman who’d directed his violent hands. That thing was not optimistic or innocent. He’d felt only selfishness and ambition.

  For the sake of the Dragon Kings as a whole, that ambition could not come to pass.

  Part of him had grudgingly come to respect Kavya. It seemed a shame to find a reason to continue thwarting her noble endeavors. But his intention remained the same. He would rid himself of the demon in his mind, even if it meant keeping Kavya from accomplishing her mission.

  “I dreamed of you again.” Throat tight, he cut off her protests with a stiff sweep of his hand. “It wasn’t you. Nothing fit. She was a warped version of how you appeared before your followers. Something to please everyone. Only . . . more exaggerated. It was the first time I could see through the illusion. She said she mourned the dead, but she wore turquoise from the North.”

  “That would never happen. Ever. It would be an insult, not to the South, but to the people we used to be. Long ago. A people who shared the same name, without qualification.” She forcefully shook her head. He’d known as much, no matter his unanswered questions and fury at having been used. “What else did this . . . Sun tell you?”

  “She claimed that peace between the factions would mean unification of the Five Clans.”

  Kavya’s brows drew together. The more she revealed of her authentic personality, the more animated her features became. She exposed more with her frown than she could have with a hundred words. At least that was reassuring. Toward the end of his dream the phantom in his head had gazed down at him with an eerie blankness that reminded him too much of Pashkah.

  “That has never been a facet of my hopes,” she said. Her fingers compulsively itched the evergreen’s shredded bark. One foot tapped the needle-strewn ground—a soft patter of sound he identified despite the steady, growling flow of the Beas at his back. “How would the end of our civil war unify all of the Dragon Kings? I can’t even comprehend the power someone would need to make that happen.” The drain of hope from her eyes buried pain behind his sternum. “To force compliance? By any means?”

  Tallis nodded. His eyelids felt lined with grit. “The Sun I envisioned said that the factions would unify when twins stopped resisting the inevitable. A gift split between two people was a gift that hadn’t been allowed its full potential.”

  “So just start killing each other?” Her melodic, softly accented voice pitched toward hysteria. Whatever tricks she’d used when speaking to the assembly, none had been to modulate the musical rhythm of her speech. That rhythm was choppy now, made staccato by her mounting outrage. “Murder your twin? Your triplet? Was that her message? She might as well advocate brinksmanship among human nations that stockpile masses of weapons.”

  “ ‘Survival of the fittest,’ she said.”

  “And those who survived would be powerful and insane. Can you imagine the upheaval? For the most part, our kind blends with the human population. You have, haven’t you?”

  “For years.”

  “Do you think our relative anonymity would last if we started killing each other in the streets? Or bringing innocent humans into the fray?”

  The jab of guilt made Tallis look away. He’d led the Asters to his niece’s home. Just for questioning, they’d claimed. Only, Tallis had watched in horror as her unassuming life had been shattered by the Asters’ men and a few of his warped Cage warriors—those Dragon Kings who fought to clear debts or, for some, to earn the right to conceive children. Dr. Heath Aster, son of the cartel’s patriarch, was the only person in the world to have discovered a method of circumventing the barrier that had hampered natural conception for a generation. Fighting
for the survival of one’s bloodline had driven some Dragon Kings to the underground world of the Cages.

  Then how had Nynn been able to conceive a natural-born Dragon King son?

  Just for questioning.

  He’d never wanted them to invade Nynn’s home and murder her human husband with a shotgun blast to the chest.

  “It’s happened already,” he said. “I know of at least one human who’s died because of this increasing need to consolidate power.”

  “You thought by discrediting me and keeping the Indranan split into factions, that power would never come to pass?”

  “Yes.” He paused, glanced at a very grim-faced Chandrani, and decided to tell the truth. “And because I genuinely hated you. I wanted revenge for twenty years of having been manipulated toward a goal that held no more substance than my dreams.”

  Kavya was a strong woman. Any other would have railed and cussed and blamed him—rightfully so, it seemed. Layers of guilt. Soon he would be buried beneath them, with only a life of berserker mindlessness to swirl free of the cloying dirt.

  She was strong because she nodded. “You hated the wrong person.”

  “Seems that way.”

  “Are you crazy?”

  “I don’t know. And believe me, twenty years is a long time to ask the same question.”

  She drew back and did that odd thing with her fingers. Hands clasped at her stomach. Some particular adjustment to the alignment of her fingers. What followed was an expression of serenity and steady calm that Tallis envied. He coveted it more than he’d ever coveted anything.

  What would it be like to go through life again with a sense of rightness and certainty? He’d known that feeling once, but he would never trust it again. Too much damage had been done when he’d relinquished free will in favor of blind faith.

  “I don’t think you’re crazy,” she said simply. “But I do think we need to go. A telepath must’ve driven you to these extremes. If she—or even he—has been feeding you these lies for two decades, then it must be someone with a great deal of power.” She paused. Her gaze darted all around, as if the trees might come alive. “Two decades . . . My brother killed our sister almost exactly twenty years ago.”

  Tallis swallowed, his throat clogged with bile. In those dreams, he’d experienced some of the most erotic moments of his life, waking up in a flush of sweat and infuriatingly dissatisfied. Sometimes he’d wanted to stroke himself, with the image of golden flesh behind closed eyes. But the morning always brought the same nauseating doubts. Was he insane? Had he killed for no reason? Those questions cooled his ardor within moments of waking. More frustration. More mounting anger.

  “I . . .”

  He stopped himself. He clamped his lips shut and shook his head. Some shames should never be admitted. This was one. Hurt, revulsion, betrayal—he couldn’t separate his emotions. They welled up in him and tempted the animal. The berserker dwelling in his marrow, sinews, and the deepest recesses of his mind had known the truth as soon as Kavya, the real Kavya, had lain beneath his body.

  “I hope that isn’t the case,” he finished, knowing his words wouldn’t gratify either of them. “But I can’t deny it’s a possibility.”

  “Then we may have found ourselves a common enemy, Tallis of Pendray.” Kavya offered a smile. Too bad it was tinged with sadness and fear. “Until we have the answers you seek, nothing will come of my attempts to heal the wound Pashkah inflicted on my people. If he catches me, he will kill me. And if you insist on revealing the tricks played on you in dreamscape, he’ll kill you, too.”

  —

  They didn’t resume camp, although Kavya was weary. So weary. But fear of Pashkah’s retaliation propelled her onward. They trudged south. Although humans had built a highway that extended down from the Himalayas, following the deadly Rohtang Pass through the Valley of the Gods, past where her followers had encamped outside of Manali, the Beas River was Kavya’s guide. She knew these foothills like she knew the sound of her breath. What she didn’t know was whether Pashkah had remained in the Pir Panjal after killing Baile. Had he traveled, or had he stayed to learn these mountains as well as she did?

  Had he ever followed her? Had he been there with her in Australia, where some of the Southerners had emigrated?

  Not that it mattered. He could follow her anywhere now.

  “I’ll need another Mask,” she said in the hours of early morning.

  “Why?”

  Tallis sounded strangely agitated. She was beginning to learn the expressivity of his voice, which was almost as animated as his face—if one paid attention. That she couldn’t read his mind meant he was the first person she’d needed to understand by sense alone.

  “Because Pashkah knows what I look like now. Even worse, he’ll recognize this version of my mind. Night or day won’t matter.”

  “He’ll follow what he knows of us,” Chandrani said. “His pursuit will be entirely psychic now.”

  She had stopped speaking directly into Kavya’s mind—a deliberate means of including Tallis in their plans. That was new. Chandrani trusted no one but Kavya, and vice versa. Voicing her opinions to Tallis was smart, for now, if only to fold his canny strategies into theirs. He was skilled in the use of his Pendray weapons—seaxes and berserker rage, both. Beyond that, Kavya knew he was an unacceptable liability. How could anyone be so susceptible to suggestions pushed into his dreams?

  But she knew the answer. The mind was a fragile place. With the right whisper from the right person, that whisper could become the truth.

  “A Mask would disguise you,” Tallis said without question. “What does it do to who you are now? Or who you really were? I assume you’ve used them before.”

  “Yes.”

  “How often?”

  “This will be my fifth.”

  He stopped. His boots made a squelching sound on the damp rocks along the river. “Your fifth? Who the fuck are you, really?”

  Kavya jerked. “I’m me.”

  “Layered with four other versions of you.”

  Why was he making this sound so wrong? It was the way of her world.

  “With the right Mask,” she said, “a Northerner could live alongside a Southerner in the same neighborhood. No fighting. No fear. Only the most visible, like our politicians, need them more frequently.”

  “And cult leaders.”

  “You’re not one to judge. For centuries, we’ve needed Masquerades to save us from aggressive twins, and to keep the peace between the factions.” She huffed a frustrated breath. “Disguise is better than fighting and dying.”

  Tallis continued their trudge, leading them down the mountain. It was roughly thirty-five miles to their destination, Bhuntar, but a four-thousand-foot drop in altitude. Kavya felt renewed strength in her lungs as the thin air gave way to stronger bursts of oxygen. She eyed Tallis. The tension in his shoulders gave away that he shared none of her invigoration, as did the way stiff steps spoiled his warrior’s grace.

  “What are Masquerades?” he asked.

  “Back-alley merchants. They’re generally considered unclean. No one acknowledges a Masquerade as a family member, and none I’ve ever met live in pods. They hone their gift to provide Masks for the right price.”

  “Like human moneylenders of old—necessary but exiled.”

  “Yes.”

  He seemed bitter, even repulsed, despite nodding. Again, she felt the need to explain Indranan culture. How could Dragon Kings know so little about the rest of the Five Clans? How had they become so insular?

  “Your gift is too dangerous,” he said softly.

  “That’s rich coming from the man who used teeth rather than steel. Is a Pendray berserker any less dangerous?”

  “There’s no hiding what we do. You hide behind party tricks and layers of lies. I know who I am. You don’t have a clue.”

  “You know, do you?” She heard the sneer in her words, which was new. Surprising. When was the last time she’d given over to words so pure
in meaning and tone? “You’re the man who doubts his sanity. You’re the man who dresses like a human but hides a raging beast. You might as well be Jekyll and Hyde. Admit it and feel better for it. ‘Yes, Kavya, I’m half of myself when I’m a regular man.’ ”

  He spun and grabbed her shoulders. The sound of Chandrani’s saber drawn from its scabbard should’ve been reassuring, but Kavya didn’t want her friend’s protection. She wanted to push Tallis. To learn more about him.

  “I’m both,” he snapped. “There’s no need to choose.”

  “Liar. And if you keep lying to me, we’ll part ways no matter how useful you might be in defending me.”

  “You think that’s the reason why I’m traveling with you?” He clamped tighter on her shoulders. “Dragon-damned woman. You’re the most perfect bait a fisherman could want. A wiggling little worm to drag Pashkah out of hiding. If he’s the person who’s been manipulating me, or if he can provide any information at all, then with him is where I need to be.”

  “So you can, what, bite him again? That must be your hobby.”

  “I’ll kill him. Get him out of my head.”

  “I’m a worm,” she said with disgust. “Bait. You are as delusional as you fear.”

  His mouth was a sour pucker, when she’d felt it softer and more pliable, capable of moments of tenderness. “Delusional, says the telepath who can’t tell Masks from reality.”

  “You’re a hypocrite, too. Or a stubborn moron, just like everyone assumes of the Pendray.”

  She actually grinned when all he could do was shake her. That snap of leashed aggression was welcome. It distracted her from Pashkah—the real danger she faced—and revealed another aspect of Tallis’s character. He could’ve unleashed that aggression at any point in their association, but he’d held it back until the last possible moment. Then he’d possessed sense enough to use it against genuine evil.