by Tanya Huff
* * * *
“Begging Your Most Imperial Majesty’s pardon, but I must protest.”
The Emperor paused half out of the throne, and settled down again. “You do not believe their story, Marshal?”
Shoving his short sword back out of the way, Usef dropped to one knee before the dais. “If Your Majesty believes then I believe. But, Majesty, assassins do not ever leave the army. It is far, far too dangerous.”
An Imperial brow lifted. “For whom?”
“Majesty, the citizens …”
“Will never know. You will not tell them, the bards will not tell them, and I’m quite certain our two young assassins will not tell them. Assassins, Marshal, are like well-trained hawks who, even when released from hood and jesses, fly only as they have been taught.” Smiling, the Emperor raised his left forearm parallel to his body, fist clenched, and studied the scars of talons made in spite of heavy gloves. “I have flown all types of hawks, Marshal. It will be interesting to see how these two fly.”
“Majesty, these are people, and people are much more complicated than hawks.”
“Not in this case. I’ve studied the training assassins go through, how they’re conditioned from childhood to respond. The boy will protect my son. What has just happened will never happen again. Perhaps we shall see about adding assassins to the rest of the Imperial households. For now, the girl will remain in the palace …” All at once, he jerked his left arm up into the air, as though releasing a bird of prey. “We’ll find something for her to do in time.”
* * * *
“Vree!” Karlene rushed into the bardic suite and all but pounced on the woman standing by the window. “I think I have a solution to your problem!”
Vree turned, brows drawn into a tight vee over the bridge of her nose, holding her elbows through the billowing fabric of a pale yellow shirt. “I have a problem?”
“He’s making you sarcastic, you know. I don’t like it.” Looking pleased with herself, Karlene dropped into a chair. “The first five of the Empire’s bards have arrived from Shkoder. You knew that, of course …”
Over the last week, neither Karlene nor Gabris had had more than a moment to call their own and Vree had found herself wandering the half dozen bardic rooms like a lost spirit, trading trivialities with Gyhard as though he were a stranger, afraid to move off the dagger’s edge they balanced on.
“… but you don’t know about the news they brought. There’s a new, young healer training in Shkoder who Sings the fifth kigh.”
Vree spread her hands. “So?”
“So, if anyone can help Gyhard find a body he can use, it’d be her.”
A wild, unlooked for hope began to grow in Vree’s chest. “A body he can use,” she repeated. “Are you sure?”
Karlene leaned forward and took the other woman’s face in her hands. “No,” she said soberly. “But, dearling, you can’t spend the rest of your life hiding out in here.” She traced the curve of Vree’s lips with her thumb then reluctantly sat back. “Nor can you share the rest of your life with another person’s kigh. Gabris and I still have no idea of how to get Gyhard into a body of his own …”
“He says he has an idea,” Vree muttered, grimacing.
*You weren’t intended to repeat that.*
“Oh, I bet he does,” the bard snarled. “But he’d just better remember where he stands.”
“As we can neither remove you nor bring you to justice for the lives you’ve so callously ended, as long as you remain in Vree’s body, you have, for the moment, found sanctuary. And you’d best not forget what you owe her for that. But this is where we draw the line; if anyone else dies because of you, anyone, the bards will see to it that your kigh goes back into the Circle so fast you won’t know what hit you.”
“Allow me to set your mind at rest,” Gyhard said through Vree, the weariness in his mental voice evident in her translation. “Unless Vree is willing to push me, I can’t jump into anyone while she remains whole and healthy. In order for me to leave without her help, her body must be dying. Before you bother to point out the obvious, I agree that in the past this has not been difficult to arrange. For now, you may be certain of one thing at least—I will never harm her.”
Karlene ’s lips drew back off her teeth as she asked, “You mean more than you already have?”
“He isn’t going anywhere,” Vree said sharply, unwilling to be caught in the middle of that particular argument. “Not unless there’s a way to do it so that no one dies. You have our word on it.”
*Vree …*
*I mean it, Gyhard. No one else dies because of this.*
*Then we’re going to be together for a very long time.*
She hugged herself tightly and repeated, *No one else dies. *
* * * *
As the heavy door to the small audience chamber swung shut, the Emperor looked down at the scars on his wrist. “You see, Marshal, I told you we’d find something for her to do.”
Dropping to one knee, Usef was momentarily at a loss for words. I should’ve done what I said I was going to do and retired when the prince was returned. “Majesty,” he finally managed to choke out, “to send an assassin into Shkoder … Begging Your Majesty’s pardon, but that could be considered an act of war.”
“War, Marshal? Not at all. Remember, I’m not sending an assassin. The young woman is a private citizen who has privately chosen to travel.”
“But …”
An Imperial hand lifted to cut off the protest. “A private citizen, who could, if properly commanded, be very … useful.”
“If I may be permitted to remind Your Majesty, you have released her from her oaths. Who is to command her? She is no longer in the army.”
“Very true,” the Emperor agreed. “But I think you’ll find that it is not so easy to remove the army from her.” When Usef frowned, he added, “Rest assured, Marshal, I have no immediate intention of expanding the Empire to the north; however, it would be foolish to ignore the possibilities inherent in having a blade on the other side of the border.”
Everything the Emperor said made sense, Usef reflected, which put him in the uncomfortable position of reminding His Majesty of a forgotten point. “What of the bards, Majesty? She has obviously been …” He thought of saying corrupted—assassins were not supposed to want to leave the army—but settled on, “… befriended by them. They know what she is and will be watching her.”
“The bards.” His Imperial Majesty dismissed them with a wave. “They can’t see past this whole fifth kigh thing, this body-jumping spirit, mumbo jumbo, singing nonsense. They have no idea of what she is or they’d have left her safely sheathed. As they have drawn the blade …” He clenched his left fist and flexed the air as though he were measuring the weight of a bird. “I may not use her, but I appreciate having her there, just in case.”
* * * *
The two women were the only nonsailors on the dock, a cloudburst having cleared away everyone without immediate business in the area. Even the gulls had gone looking for more congenial surroundings.
“I’m going to miss you, Vree.” Karlene drew the shorter woman into her arms and gently lifted her chin. “Gyhard, go away for a minute.” Considerably more than a moment later, she drew back and murmured dreamily, “I wish I’d thought of that weeks ago.”
Vree struggled to catch her breath. “I wish you had, too,” she managed at last. She had no idea if the bard’s command had actually worked or if Gyhard had just decided to fade into the background for the duration. Nor, for this moment at least, did she care. She tightened the circle of her arms. “I’m going to miss you.” Rubbing moisture that had nothing to do with either the rain or the salt air off her cheek, she touched the single dagger she wore hanging at her waist. “Bannon’s still refusing to see me. When you see him, could you tell him …”
“Tell him yourself,” Karlene interrupted, and turned her around.
He wore damp Imperial livery and an uncertain, defiant expression.
As Karlene diplomatically stepped away, Bannon walked the length of the dock as if he moved toward a fight. “I decided I was being too harsh,” he said before Vree could speak. “You betrayed me, but …” He bit his lip and shook his head. “I couldn’t let you go without saying good-bye, Vree. We might never see each other again.”
She didn’t bother hiding how much it hurt—unsure if she were being honest or trying to hurt him in turn. She understood why he couldn’t forgive her for Gyhard and she supposed that in time the feeling that someone had shoved a dagger into her heart would fade, but for now his ease in settling into a new life without her kept twisting the blade.
“If I had one wish,” he went on, his eyes searching her face, “I’d wish we could go back to Ghoti and have none of this happen.”
“You wanted to get out …”
His hand chopped her off. “Not like this.”
“No.” She wanted to touch him, knew she couldn’t, knew he’d feel Gyhard in the touch. “Not like this.”
An impatient bellow from the ship dropped them both into a defensive crouch, daggers in hand, searching for an enemy. Straightening, first Vree, then Bannon began to laugh. If the laughter took on a hysterical tone and grew to hold more pain than humor, neither of the two listeners were likely to mention it.
Finally Vree sobered and held out her hand, hoping but not hopeful that he’d take it. “Good-bye, Bannon.”
Bannon stared at her for a moment, features mirroring the inner battle he fought, and finally yanked her into a quick embrace. His fingers digging into her upper arms, he pushed her away again almost as quickly. The heat that had burned between them all their adult lives had burned away somewhere between Aralt and Kars.
“Good-bye, sister …” He stopped and looked lost. “Not mine anymore.”
“No.”
“But you were.”
Because she’d done it all his life, or maybe just because he needed it now, Vree gave him the reassurance he asked for. “Yes. I was.”
* * * *
Rubbing the moisture from her eyes, Vree made her way to the bow of the ship. With a terse nod to the bard, Bannon had left the moment she’d boarded, but Karlene had still been on the dock, waving wildly, when a bend in the river hid her from view.
*I’ve never been to sea before,* Gyhard murmured as a small flock of gulls wheeled about the masthead screaming defiance.
*What? In all those lives?*
*You needn’t sound so superior. You’ve never been out of the Empire before.*
Out of the Empire. Vree leaned over the rail and stared down the river toward the sea, fighting the need to race to the stern and search the horizon for some sign of the life she’d left behind. She had no army, no brother, no structure left in a life turned irrevocably upside down. It was a good thing she’d been trained to overcome fear.
*Vree, what happens if this healer finds me a body?*
*I’m going to beat the living shit out of it.*
She felt him smile. It felt nothing at all like Bannon’s, which was strange because that was the only smile she’d ever seen him use. *And then?*
*I don’t know.*
*Will you tell me when you do know?*
*Aren’t you supposed to be teaching me to speak Shkodan?*
*I could teach you how to say yes,* he muttered. *Then perhaps I’d get an answer to my question.*
Vree lifted her face into the wind. “Teach me to say, no regrets,” she said, willing herself to believe it. “And maybe, we’ll work our way to yes from there.”
Keep reading for a preview of the next book in the Quarters series
No Quarter
Having offered sanctuary to the soul of the man who stole her brother’s body, Vree heads north to Shkoder with two kigh struggling to co-exist in a single body. Although the odds aren’t in their favour, there’s a chance, a small chance, the Bards can find Gyhard a body of his own without anyone else having to die. But Vree was an assassin train to kill on command, Gyhard has chosen to kill again and again on a quest for immortality, and the Bards aren’t certain which of them is the more dangerous. No one, from the guard on the Citadel gate to the King himself, wants them anywhere near the single Healer who can Sing the Fifth Kigh.
No one except Magda, the Healer, whose heritage has taught her that things are not always as they seem.
In the end, Bardic suspicion becomes the least of Vree’s problems. The dead walk in the mountains of Shkoder, kigh confined in rotting corpses, and Gyhard’s past returned to haunt them. Hunted by the Bards and the Healer’s family, Vree, Gyhard and Magda head for the mountains to try and Sing Gyhard’s past to rest. To make matter’s worse, Vree’s brother has yet to forgive her for saving Gyhard’s life and is determined to bring Gyhard — and therefore Vree — back to the Empire to pay the price for treason.
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No Quarter
One
Motes of dust spun in the sunlight slanting into the upper hold through an open hatch. At the edge of the shadows, a slight, dark figure held a round shield, turning it this way and that so its polished surface caught the light.
“And I thought Bannon was vain,” Vree muttered.
*It’s not vanity,* Gyhard protested.
As the quiet voice in her head spoke with unusual seriousness, the ex-assassin, late of His Imperial Majesty’s Sixth Army, snorted but continued tilting the shield.
*There. Hold it there.*
Vree stared into the makeshift mirror, feeling as though she were seeing her features for the first time. Her dark brown eyes looked too big for her face. Her chin was ridiculously pointed. Six days at sea under an unrelenting late summer sun had darkened the deep olive of her skin. She looked thin and much younger than her almost twenty-two years.
*You are young.*
Her lips pressed into a thin line. *You told me you couldn’t hear my thoughts.* When Bannon had shared her body and it had been her brother’s voice she heard, their thoughts had merged and, with their thoughts, their identities. It had very nearly destroyed them both. With Gyhard, however, it had been easy to draw the line between them. Until now.
*I can feel strong emotions, Vree.* Gyhard’s reassurance was almost gentle. *So can you. There’s no need to panic.*
*You don’t know …*
*I have a good idea.* He’d been there from the beginning. As Governor Aralt, the leader of a rebellion whom Vree and Bannon had been sent to assassinate, he’d stolen Bannon’s body. When Vree had appeared, carrying her brother’s life, her brother’s kigh, tucked in with her own, he’d blackmailed her into helping him get close enough to a young Imperial prince for him to make yet another trade. But a broken piece of his past had taken the prince and they’d ending up chasing him across half the Empire. Together. He’d seen how close she’d come to losing herself in sharing herself with her brother. *I’m not Bannon, Vree. His weaknesses aren’t mine.*
*Neither are his strengths.* Until Gyhard had driven them apart, Bannon had been the center of her life. No. Her teeth ground together. Gyhard had not driven them apart. For reasons she could not yet admit, she’d chosen to save his life by making it a part of her own and now had to face the consequences of that decision. Forcing the tension out of her shoulders, she stared down at her reflection. *Are you done?*
*In a minute.*
*What do you think you’re going to see?*
*Who I am.*
*Who I am…. Did you hear that?* Brows drawn in, she set the shield aside and started for the ladder leading up to the deck.
*Hear what?*
*Lookout’s spotted a sail.* Callused fingers and toes barely touched the polished wooden rungs and a heartbeat later, Vree crossed the deck to a knot of sailors gathered at the rail. “What is it?” It was the one sentence she could say in Shkoden and be certain she’d got it right.
“Pirates.”
The word was close enough to Imperial that she understood the meaning before Gyhar
d finished his translation. Shading her eyes with her hands, she peered back along the side of the ship. Just moving into the current behind them was a sleek, two-masted, narrow-hulled vessel.
“The Raven.” It sounded like a curse. Two sailors spat over the side, giving water to the sea for luck, and a third traced the sign of the Circle on her breast, muttering, “Probably bin followin’ us since the outer islands.” When the lookout confirmed the identification a moment later, the crew of the Gilded Fancy raced to defensive positions.
Vree put herself in the path of a running sailor and he skidded to a stop. The third night out, she’d barely managed to keep from killing their best knife fighter when he’d challenged her right to the long dagger she wore. After her easy victory, the crew treated her with the same wary respect she’d received from those around her most of her life. While they might not know what she was—had been—they’d been made very aware of what she could do. “Can we …” She hated having to search for words but her Shkoden was up to little more than the most basic of conversations. *Gyhard, how do you say, outrun her?*
When he told her and she repeated it, the sailor shook his head, scalp locks whipping his ears. “No stinking way. They’re in the same stinking current, ahead of the same stinking wind, and they’re built for speed which we sure as fish shit aren’t.”
“What will …”
He didn’t wait for her to finish. “Happen? They’ll board us. Anyone who survives the fight’ll go over the side. Less, of course, they’ve got some stinking skill Edite i’Oceania …”
*i’Oceania?*
*She’s claiming the sea as her mother,* Gyhard explained. *It’s probably not true.*
*Probably?*
“… thinks she needs—healers, or sail makers, or stinking carpenters. You, don’t know what she’ll do about you, but the hucksters, his stinking Lordship, and his stinking Lordship’s servant, she’ll hold for ransom.”
The hucksters were a pair of Imperial merchants and His Lordship was a Shkoden noble, who was involved in some way with the ambassador at the Imperial court. Vree knew nothing more about any of them, nor did she really care. As the sailor ran off to join others performing complicated and inexplicable maneuvers with a rope—the decks looked like an anthill stirred with a stick—she took another look at the Raven.
