He held her bleeding arm between them, moving it and measuring the drops of blood that fell. Mesmerized by the crimson paint, she watched as eight little pools formed, one on each of the serpent eyes embedded in the floor. As she stared at the drops of her own blood, she realized that her oath was not the first to be witnessed in this chamber. The tiles were stained a rusty brown, and the grout between them drank her offering thirstily.
Horrified at the risk that she was taking, Rani managed to look into Larindolian’s cold blue gaze. The nobleman nodded as he read her comprehension, her understanding that she was now part of a greater body. The malevolent twist of his lips reminded her of Morada’s bloody head, but before she could cry out, walls of velvet black closed around her, cutting off her vision and seizing her breath.
When Rani regained consciousness, she suspected only a few moments had passed; her blood still glistened moistly on the floor before her. Larindolian had produced a strip of black cloth from somewhere, and he was knotting it around her arm, smothering the open cut with steady fingers. He completed his handiwork with a tight knot, and then he tugged Rani to her feet.
“The Thousand Gods have witnessed your oath, Rani Trader. You have until tomorrow night to prove your loyalty to the Brotherhood, and to Bardo.” Rani flexed her fingers gingerly, taking a deep breath to beat back the midnight wings of oblivion. “I can assure you, we don’t deal gently with traitors. You may long for Morada’s easy death, if we are forced to hunt you down. By midnight tomorrow.”
Larindolian turned on his heel, sweeping from the chamber with a flicker of torchlight, leaving Rani to be escorted to the street with Garadolo.
“Shar, don’t ask any questions!” Rani fed desperation into her tone. “I don’t have anyone else I can trust! I need you to go to the Core.”
“’N’ why don’t ye go yerself?” Shar stretched on her pallet, still half-asleep in the grey light just before dawn.
“I’ve already told you - I don’t know where the Core is. I don’t know how to find it.”
“Ye certainly don’t!” Shar snorted. “Th’ Core ain’t an ‘it’. Th’ Core’s a she. Well, a she now, it was a ’ee last year.”
Rani made interested noises as she gathered up her friend’s belongings. “See, I do need you. Please, take my message - I don’t have anyone else I can trust.”
“Who are ye really, Rai? Ye’re clearly not one o’ us Touched.”
“I was an apprentice in the glasswrights’ guild.” Rani thrust Shar’s satchel into her arms and knelt by the pallet to dig out the girl’s sandals. A wave of dizziness rushed over her, and she took some panting breaths to clear her vision.
The Touched girl whistled softly through the gap in her teeth. “Fine, then, don’t tell me. Why should ye tell me anything?” Despite her grumbling, Shar stepped into her shoes, sulking as Rani did up the buckles. “That’s a foolish joke t’ tell, though, Rai. I know ye’re jestin’, but th’ soldiers, they wouldna be as sure. Ye wouldna want one o’ them decidin’ t’ take revenge fer th’ Prince’s death, just ’cause ye dinna want t’ tell me why ye’re packin’ me off. Ye watch yer step, girl.”
“You watch your own,” Rani countered as she hustled Shar to the doorway. “Go to the Core, and find Mair. Tell her I’ll be with Bardo by tomorrow, and I haven’t forgotten my promise. I’ll bring what I owe her tomorrow morning, in the marketplace.” That was the clearest message Rani felt able to deliver. She would complete Larindolian’s bidding, find Bardo, and gather the wergild that she had promised Mair, the payment for Rabe’s poor mother.
“And what’s in it fer me?” Shar asked, finally awake enough to understand the words Rani was hurling at her. “It’s goin’ t’ take me th’ better part o’ th’ day t’ find th’ Core.”
“You’ll be amazed, Shar. I can only promise you’ll be amazed.” Rani did not listen to the girl’s other questions; she locked Dalarati’s door without further hesitation. Offering up a prayer to Sart, the god of time, that Shar’s mission truly did take all day, Rani set about laying her trap.
“Come out, little bird! Come see what treats I’ve brought for you.” Dalarati’s voice was coaxing as Rani huddled beneath Shar’s blanket. Her arm had begun to ache beneath Larindolian’s bandage, but she was afraid to loosen the knot, afraid that the cut would start to bleed again. A steady hammer beat inside her skull. “How now, little bird? You said you’d be waiting for me when I finished the night watch.”
Rani identified the sound of the door catching in its frame, and then the snick of the lock as Dalarati closed them in. She managed a little moan, as she thought Shar might respond to her lover in the chill light of the new dawn. She twisted about in the shadowed bed so that she could make out Dalarati’s form as he strode about his room.
“It was a busy night on the walls,” the soldier reported as he built up the fire. “The City’s restless, as if people suspect evil in the night. It’s been like this ever since the Prince was murdered. If we could just find that cursed gl-” he caught himself just in time, before he could name the forbidden guild, “that cursed apprentice, then we’d all sleep easier.” Rani swallowed hard. Dalarati’s words confirmed that he was a danger to her - a danger to Bardo, and to the only life that remained to her here in the City.
The soldier slapped his palms against each other, brushing off dust from the logs. “Ach! Curse them all, keeping soldiers from warm beds. Tarn take their souls and bar the gates to the Heavenly Fields!” The words prickled across Rani’s skull, so like the Brotherhood’s password. If any doubt had remained in Rani’s heart, she now knew that Dalarati must be one of them. He must have betrayed his brothers for wealth and power in the King’s Men.
Before she could bluff a response, Dalarati unbuckled his sword belt, letting the heavy weapon fall beside the hearth. He unlaced his tunic and crossed to the pallet. “Ah, little bird,” he sighed, kneeling beside Rani. “The entire watch, men were talking of ghosts and murder, but all I could think of was you. These night shifts are hard.”
He paused for a moment, as if he were waiting for some ribald response, and Rani was startled by the warm flash that flickered inside her. She forced herself to remember that this was the man who had fired the arrow, this was the man who had murdered Prince Tuvashanoran. How could he sit there and woo his mistress, as if he were the soul of innocence?
“Cat got your tongue, little bird? Let’s see if we can find it!” With a hearty laugh, Dalarati tugged on the mattress. Before Rani knew what was happening, she was tight in the soldier’s embrace. His mouth closed over hers, and his lips teased at her own, even as his hands did distracting things beneath her tunic. His knee slid between her legs, and for just an instant, she forgot the knife that lay beside her head, the Zarithian blade she had carefully hidden beneath Shar’s pillow.
“In the name of Blait!” Dalarati swore, invoking the god of lovers as he thrust Rani from him. “Rai, you crazy wench! Where’s Shar?”
Before Dalarati could recover from his surprise, Rani darted across the room and picked up his sword. She dared not raise the heavy weapon against one trained to use it - she might be desperate, but she wasn’t a fool. Still, she had to keep him from using it against her, and she could hardly open the door and toss it into the streets of the Soldiers’ Quarter. Even as Dalarati untangled himself from the bedding, Rani tossed the bare blade onto the flames. Sparks flew, and the effort of heaving the weapon set her arm to a steady throbbing.
“In the name of all the Thousand Gods!” Dalarati grabbed the poker and pulled his weapon from the flames, muttering about the blade losing its fine temper. As the sword cooled on the hearthstone, he whirled on Rani, anger fighting with innate compassion. “Has Garadolo put you up to this? I know the man despises me, but -”
“This has nothing to do with Garadolo.”
“I can see that you’re upset, Rai. That man has used you ill, making demands no honest soldier should ask of any lass. You don’t have to do this, though, wh
atever he’s required. I’ll walk you past the checkpoints myself, Rai.”
“My name isn’t Rai.”
“What is it, then?” The man’s tone was reasonable, gentle, as if he were soothing an unruly child. “Ranimara? I’ve heard Garadolo call you that, and if that’s the name you prefer.…” He was good at this dissembling, better even than Larindolian had hinted.
“Rani. My name is Rani Trader.”
If she had intended her announcement to shock him into an admission, she was sorely disappointed. “Very well, Rani. Sit down here, and let’s discuss your stay in the soldiers’ quarters.”
“We don’t have anything to discuss.” Nevertheless, Rani let herself be led across the small chamber, let him seat her on the edge of the pallet. She knew that she should whisk the knife from beneath the bolster immediately, that she should catch him all unawares. Still, her hand was frozen. She could not force herself to move nearer to the handsome soldier, nearer to her job as assassin. She shook her head, trying to clear away the cobwebs that obscured her thoughts.
“Ah, but there you’re wrong, Rani Trader.” Dalarati grinned, clearly unaware of the danger he was in. “Look, I don’t know why you’re here in the Quarter, why you’ve thrown in your lot with the Touched girls. You should know, though, that your behavior has been noted.”
“My behavior?” Dalarati’s admonition was as stunning as if he had slapped her across the face.
“Don’t act so innocent. I’ve watched you some, and Shar’s told me more. We know you’ve been stealing the soldiers blind.”
“You know.…” Rani thought she had been so careful. She had planned everything so well. Now, her vices were discovered by the one soldier she had thought to please, the one man she had hoped would help her in this warren of barracks.… She felt the surprising urge to sob.
“I’m trained to know,” Dalarati reminded her gently. “Shar suspected something was up that first morning, by the fountain. She told me that your accent was never true to the Touched.”
“Then why didn’t she challenge me?”
“Who is Shar to question the Thousand Gods? Surely, they had a hand in bringing you to the Quarter, as they control all things. Though why they should choose to work through Garadolo is a question that could challenge priests for decades.” Dalarati shrugged, and forced a smile to his handsome lips. Tears of frustration rose in Rani’s eyes - she could not harm this man, this soldier who had seen through her lies but still protected her, still tried to keep her safe from the worst of Garadolo’s depravity.
Dalarati brought up a tanned hand to brush away an errant wisp of hair from her brow. “There now, Rai. Enough of these games. I’ll give you some coins and send you on your way. You should stay out of the Soldiers’ Quarter for a while, give the men a chance to forget the things that have gone missing from their quarters.”
“Why are you doing this?” Rani’s voice quavered, and she stared in disbelief as Dalarati walked across the room, crouching to pry up a section of the floorboards. She could make out the hard outline of a strongbox, and the soldier grunted as he hefted its weight into the center of the room. “Why are you helping me when you know that I’ve stolen from the others?”
“Ah, Rai.” Dalarati’s grin was easy as he moved his body between her and the box, camouflaging his motions to open the container. “We all betray our brothers some of the time.”
Betray our brothers.
Those three words brought back the full force of Rani’s vow to the Brotherhood, the oath that she had sworn on her own blood. Dalarati had endangered Bardo. He had murdered his brother, Tuvashanoran, without a thought to the cost of that betrayal, without a care for all that she had suffered. He had cost Rani her family, her caste, and her safety.
In a flash, she swept her Zarithian blade from beneath Shar’s pillow. Fairn, the god of birds, must have carried her across the small room, and Zake, the god of chirurgeons, guided her hand as she planted the knife in the small of Dalarati’s back. It was all so easy, so simple, as if she were not merely a thirteen-year-old girl, and he were not the pride of Shanoranvilli’s Men.
The soldier let out a muffled cry of surprise, and he slumped against the floor, scrambling desperately for the blade that Rani twisted once before she leaped across the room. “Ach! Rai!” The color drained from his face, and he clenched his teeth against a brutal spasm. “What have you done?”
“You murdered Tuvashanoran!” Rani’s voice shook as she saw the results of her handiwork. “You stood on the scaffold and fired the arrow that killed the Prince and destroyed the guild and burned my parents’ house.” Tears streamed down her face, and she gasped for breath like a foaling mare.
“You’re mad, Rai.” Dalarati finally succeeded in pulling out the blade, but he was only rewarded by a flood of crimson blood onto the floorboards. He gasped, “By First God Ait, you’re mad.”
“I’m not mad! Larindolian told me! You just said that you would betray the Brotherhood!”
“The Brotherhood,” he panted. “What do you know of them?”
“I know that you followed Garadolo. I know that you were trying to expose the Brotherhood. I know you want to bring down Bardo, and all he stands for. That’s why you murdered the Prince.”
“You little fool.” Dalarati had stopped trying to move his legs, to get to his feet. His breath came in short, sharp gasps. “They’ve sold you a bushel of lies.”
“I’m not listening to you!” Rani squeezed her eyes closed, as if that would shut out the terrible thing she had done, as if that would take back the oath she had sworn on her own blood in the Brotherhood’s chamber. “You’re the one who makes up stories! By First God Ait, and by Jair the Pilgrim, I won’t listen to your lies.”
Silence. Dalarati did not try to move, did not try to speak, but she knew that he still lived. His labored breathing shredded the small room. She fought back her tears as she whispered the Litany of Death in her own mind. The deaths of her parents, she reminded herself, the death of Tuvashanoran. Dalarati was a traitor. She had had no choice. She could not have acted in any other way.
“Rai,” he whispered at last, and she jumped as if his voice were a thunderclap. “I don’t know what they mean for you. I only know that they have used you - used you to wipe out the threat I represented. Bardo is working great harm -”
“Don’t you speak about Bardo!” she sobbed. “His name is too good for you!”
“Fine, Rai,” he gasped. “Not Bardo, then. The rest of the Brotherhood. I was close to learning their game. I told my Prince all I knew. I told him that the threat lies closest to the crown, closer than we ever feared. Don’t trust them, Rai. They’ve murdered before, and they’ll kill again.” The long speech exhausted him, and he fell back to the floor, panting.
Rani could see the beads of sweat standing out on his forehead, smell the exertion on him. She wanted to run into the City streets, but she was glued to the havoc she had created. The pool of crimson crept across the floorboards, gelling in the cold morning air.
“Hal…” Dalarati murmured, but then his eyes flew open, as if he had been shoved awake. “Shar!” Rani glanced over her shoulder, expecting the Touched girl to appear in the doorway. “Shar! Don’t leave me! I’m so cold.…” His trembling grew more violent, his hand spasming as he reached toward Rani. “My love,” he whispered.
Rani captured his right hand and clasped it to her chest, adding her tears to the gory mix of sweat and blood streaking the warrior’s skin. Dalarati died in her arms as she struggled not to look at his fingers, not to see the complete lack of an archers’ callouses on his well-muscled hands. Sick at heart, afraid even to think beyond her pounding chest and her gasping lungs, Rani dared not check for the tattoo of intertwined snakes that Larindolian had promised.
Chapter 11
“Brave as a lion, swift as a lion,” Rani muttered to herself as she knelt before the statue of the Defender of the Faith at the edge of the City’s market. Larindolian had outfitted
her as a pilgrim before he ordered her sternly to the marketplace, and the mid-day sun beat down against her black cape. The dark costume was a near-perfect disguise. The streets teemed with pilgrims, with the thousands of worshipers who had converged on the City for this holiest of holy days, for Jair’s feast day.
The heat of Rani’s Thousand-Pointed Star burned through the heavy fabric of her cloak. In the shadows by the hidden passage in the City walls the air had been heavy with dankest autumn, but here in the open market, Rani felt as if she were back in the glasswrights’ kiln.
She longed for the feel of her silver mirror beneath her hand, the familiar shape of the lion pulling down the goat. For all the years that she had held the treasure, she’d imagined herself to be the lion, strong and sinewy and brave. Now, she feared she might actually be the goat.
Forcing herself to wait patiently for the messenger that Larindolian had promised, Rani bowed her head over her tightly clasped hands and began to recite the holy litany for Dalarati, as if the soldier’s cooling body still lay at her feet: “Hail Cot, god of soldiers, guide of Jair the Pilgrim. Look upon this pilgrim with mercy in your heart and justice in your soul. Guide the feet of this pilgrim on righteous paths of glory that all may be done to honor you and yours among the Thousand Gods. This pilgrim asks for the grace of your blessing, Cot, god of soldiers.”
She repeated the incantation, calling on her private patron, Lan. It seemed like years since she had adopted the kitchen god, years since Cook had helped her escape from the garden. What would Cook think of her now? Would the old woman have deemed her sacrifice worthwhile? Shying away from her own questions, Rani began to invoke the gods of the Virtues. When another pilgrim knelt beside her, Rani knew that she should concentrate on her prayers for the peace of Dalarati’s soul, but she could not restrain her wandering eyes. “Mair!”
Glasswrights' Apprentice Page 20
