Hoseph spun, pacing to the door and back, biting back a curse at the Hunters’ incompetence and their master’s lame excuses. “So now Mya knows she’s being hunted and has undoubtedly gone into hiding. If she recognized any of your people, she might even know the blood contracts were destroyed, which will put her even more on guard.”
“She’s got to come out sometime,” Twist grumbled. “And if she is working with the caps, they’ll know where she is, or she’ll come to them. Lakshmi’s got a few caps on her payroll. They can find out where she’s hiding.”
“Possibly.” Hoseph’s anger ebbed slightly. There was still hope. All he needed was patience, time, and competent assassins on his side. The last of those three he could do something about. “Who was in charge of the attack?”
“Bev, my senior journeyman. She’s dead.”
“Well then, she’s already paid for her failure.” Hoseph paused, tapping his chin as if in consideration. “Who is your current senior journeyman?”
Twist nodded toward one of the two Hunters in the room with them. “Embree’s now my senior. Don’t worry, he’s qualified to take over for Bev.”
Hoseph regarded Embree. The assassin still held his crossbow at the ready, not quite aimed at Hoseph, but his finger next to the trigger. He met Hoseph’s gaze confidently.
Twist lifted the decanter from the corner of his desk and tilted it to fill his glass. “Why do you care?”
“Because…” Hoseph snatched the glass from under the decanter, and liquor spilled onto the papers beneath.
“Hey!” Twist righted the decanter and reached for his glass, just as Hoseph had hoped he would. “What do you think—”
Hoseph’s free hand closed on the Master Hunter’s wrist. With the invocation of Demia’s blessing, pearly light flared between his fingers. Twist Umberlin opened his mouth in surprise and fell dead to his desk, his soul released to burn in whichever Hell suited incompetents.
“I think…” Hoseph put the glass down atop the sodden papers smeared with running ink. Dispassionately, he wrenched the master’s ring from the dead man’s finger and turned toward the appalled Hunters. “…that the guild needs a new Master Hunter.”
Two crossbows pointed at his heart. They could easily kill him before he could invoke the talisman and melt away, but neither had fired. Doubt filled their eyes. They feared him, unsure exactly what he was capable of.
Good… Tynean Tsing II had ruled both the guild and the empire under the simple premise that fear begat obedience. Hoseph couldn’t agree more.
Hoseph proffered the still-warm ring. “Are you up for the job, Senior Journeyman Embree, or must I find someone else who wants this ring?”
“Bloody…” The assassin’s hand twitched on the trigger of the crossbow, but his eyes flicked to the ring.
Hoseph didn’t even bother to glance at the second assassin; she wouldn’t do anything without an order from her superior. Embree was next in the chain of command, and if there was one thing that these assassins held sacred, it was the hierarchy of power.
Embree lowered his crossbow and took the ring. He frowned at the circle of obsidian for a moment before slipping it onto his finger.
“Excellent, Master Hunter Embree.” Hoseph tugged his robes straight and strode for the door. “Find and kill the traitor, Mya, and you might even make guildmaster before you’re done.”
Arbuckle checked himself in the mirror and cringed. The crown on his head looked more ridiculous than regal, with its elaborate filigree and surfeit of gems and jewels. Whichever of his imperial ancestors had ordered its creation had possessed more conceit than taste.
He adjusted it and frowned. “Can’t We wear something simpler, Baris? We feel like a fool.”
“For your first formal dinner as emperor?” The valet looked as if he’d been asked to serve up his own firstborn as the main course. “Your Majesty dare not. It would be a grave insult to your guests.”
“Fine.” He shrugged his shoulders into the ridiculously flamboyant dress jacket that Baris held out for him, and sighed. “But we’ll have to figure something out. We are not going to wear this heavy thing every day.”
“You need only wear the formal crown for special occasions, Majesty.” Baris tugged the jacket cuffs straight, then brushed non-existent lint from the emperor’s shoulders. “There’s a less-dressy one that’s specifically for private audiences with ranking nobles, and a circlet will do for casual affairs and audiences with minor nobles or commoners.”
“Wait!” A sudden thought widened Arbuckle’s eyes. “What about the plaster crown We wore at the coronation? It looks amazingly real. No one will know the difference.”
Baris shook his head. “I’m sorry, Majesty, but it was damaged during the…excitement. It will take some time to be repaired.”
“Damn,” Arbuckle muttered.
His secretary’s suggestion that Arbuckle consolidate all his farewells at a dinner had seemed reasonable this morning and had saved him many appointments throughout the day, but the summons to bathe and dress for the evening had come when he was engrossed in the wording of the New Accords. Aside from having to dress like a peacock, he resented the need to appease the egos of those who had opposed his quest for equal justice for commoners and nobles alike. Some of those attending tonight’s dinner had actually engaged in a conspiracy to assassinate him. Politics! There was no way around it. As emperor, he could pass whatever laws he liked, but the nobility was responsible for implementing those laws in the far reaches of the empire. If so inclined, they could thwart his will, and all his reforms would be for naught. As much as he despised most of them, he needed them.
“Is Your Majesty ready?” Baris reached for the door.
He adjusted the stupid crown again and sighed. “Yes.”
“Your Majesty!” Tennison bowed low as Arbuckle stepped from the bedchamber. “I bear grave news.”
Arbuckle knew that tone well; he had heard it too often lately. His stomach knotted, the tension highlighted by his bad mood. “What now?”
“There was an attack on Miss Moirin…the late Baroness Monjhi’s bodyguard.” Tennison informed him solemnly. “She survived, but several constables and bystanders were killed. The building she was staying in burned to the ground.”
“Gods…” Arbuckle gritted his teeth. Because of me…because she saved my life. “That gods-be-damned priest, Hoseph! He’s got to be behind this.”
“The priest was not identified by the constables at the scene, Majesty, but there was no opportunity to question Miss Moirin. We don’t know what she might have seen.”
“Where is she? Is she safe?”
“She refused protection from the constabulary. She’s gone into hiding, though she told the constable in charge of the investigation that she would be in touch. She didn’t say when.”
“Gone into hiding. And no wonder…” The blademasters of Kos. Imperial guards and knights. Baroness Monjhi. Is everyone who helps me cursed to die by violence?
“Should I order the constabulary to search for her?” Tennison asked.
Arbuckle waved a hand. “No. If she felt the need to go into hiding, We’ll respect her wish and hope that she’s as good as her word. Leave a message for her with Chief Constable Dreyfus. We would very much like to meet with Miss Moirin at her earliest convenience.” If she’s still alive…
“Yes, Majesty.”
Arbuckle strode toward the door, his cadre of imperial guards falling in around him. “And send for the high priest of the Temple of Demia. We need to speak to him about their homicidal cleric. We know We can’t dictate to the churches, but We can certainly make requests.”
“Yes, Majesty.”
Arbuckle twisted his neck to loosen the muscles that seemed bunched up to his ears. Though the crown was a burdensome weight, it was a feather compared to the future of the empire resting on his shoulders. But he was emperor and must survive, despite the lives being spent to preserve his.
“You’re sure thi
s doesn’t hurt?”
“No pain, just pressure.” Mya felt a tug, and something clanked into the wash basin. “Was that more glass?”
“No. Porcelain.” Dee sighed and pressed something against her back. “The explosion must have shattered the blackbrew service and sent pieces flying like sling bullets.”
Mya clutched the pillow under her chin and wrinkled her nose at the strong smell of lye. At least it assured her that the linens were clean. The towels had been similarly laundered. Dee had inspected the lumpy mattress and pronounced it vermin free before he ordered her to strip and lie down. There was more pressure, then a tug and another clank.
“You’ve already healed over some of these shards. I don’t know if I should try to cut them out or not. You’ve lost a lot of blood.”
“Leave them. They don’t hurt, and I never get fever from wounds. The runes prevent it.”
“Handy things…” Dee’s fingers rand down her back, stopped, and probed the flesh. “No, some are large. They’ve got to come out. Just because they don’t hurt doesn’t mean they won’t do damage later.”
He stood and strode two steps to the corner—the room was barely large enough for a bed and a rickety dresser—rifled through his things, and pulled out a dagger. It was the last one they had; all Mya’s had been lost in the fight. Settling back on the edge of the bed, Dee bent over his task again, cutting, excising, swabbing.
After a long silence punctuated by several more clanks in the basin, he asked hesitantly, “How do they work? Do certain runes have certain functions, or is it all one big spell?”
“There are separate spells for each enhancement. The runemage used to chat while he…inscribed them. It took years.” The memory of Vonlith’s needles sent an unpleasant shiver down Mya’s spine. “He said there’s a lot of redundancy. If one rune is completely destroyed, there are others to keep the magic intact. As you see, they move around.”
“Yes, I see…” Dee whispered.
Fingertips brushed her flank, and another shiver tingled her flesh, this one pleasant. Warm yearning spread through her, but she lay still as Dee dug yet another splinter out of her back. Not for the first time, Mya acknowledged the impulse that had compelled her to confess her secret to Dee. His admiration allowed her to once again see her tattoos as a benefit, not a burden. Besides, there’s no way I could have pulled all this shit out of my own back.
Finally, Dee set aside the dagger and the wash basin. Dampening a clean towel with the ewer of water from the dresser, he wiped the blood from her back as gently as if bathing a child. “There. You’re done.” A drop of water trickled down her side. Dee wiped it off with a slow, warm finger.
Abruptly, he drew the sheet up over her and stood. “I should go out. Your dress is ruined, and we have nothing else for you to wear. You need some daggers, too. It’s already late.”
“And all the shops are closed,” she reminded him, refusing to move. Maybe if she ignored the world it would go away. “Do it in the morning.”
“All right. I’ll put your wrappings to soak. You rest.”
“Fine.” Mya listened to him fuss at the dresser, rinsing his hands, dumping the bits of debris he’d dug out of her into the waste bin. It sounded as if the glass from all three windows had been lodged in her back.
Thoughts of the afternoon’s attack raked her mind as wickedly as the shards of glass had pierced her flesh. Unlike Hoseph’s previous attempts on her life, this one must have been guild-planned and guild-equipped. They had to have employed mercenaries for the actual attack, but such forces could be hired for the right price. A small investment considering the prize: the guildmaster’s ring.
There’ll be Inquisitors asking questions about me, Hunters tracking me, and Alchemists preparing more bombs. Mya clenched her hands beneath the pillow as her mind raced.
“Stop it.”
Dee’s command snapped Mya out of her obsessions. She looked over her shoulder at him. “Stop what?”
“You’re tensing up like you’re ready for a fight.” Sighing, Dee sat beside her again and pulled the sheet down. His smooth hands ran down her back, deft fingers kneading taut muscles. “Relax. You’re all in knots.”
“I really should—oh!” Her shoulder muscle twitched as a knot crunched under his thumb, then eased as he applied pressure to the spot. “Ahhh.”
“You need to relax.” His thumb dug in. “Breathe…”
Mya took a deep breath and let it out slowly as Dee pressed into the knotted muscle. His thumb made tiny circles that radiated outward from the center, working the knot into submission. Successful, he kneaded her shoulders until he found another knot. Mya concentrated on breathing as Dee’s hands eased the tension from her muscles. Her mind, however, refused to give up its distressing train of thought.
“You’re not relaxing,” Dee complained.
“I can’t stop thinking about the attack. I never dreamt it would come so soon, especially not with constables there.” She heard a chirp, and realized she was grinding her teeth.
“Well, I can’t massage your mind.”
“No…but…” That sweet yearning returned. She twisted and rolled over. “You could distract me…please.”
Dee paused, looking down at her with a curious expression on his face. For a moment, she thought he might refuse, but then he trailed his fingers down her belly, her legs…light and sure. His reply was low and husky. “I can do that.”
“Do that…” Mya closed her eyes and smiled as his fingers brushed sensitive spots, a shiver chasing his fingertips. “Mmmm, yes…that.”
Dee’s fingers worked their magic, then his mouth, and finally all of him. Somewhere in that gentle, wonderful process, Mya forgot her worries.
Chapter V
Chief Magistrate Graving burst into his study bearing an armload of parchment and a scowl that would have curdled milk.
“Good morning, Chief Magistrate.”
The portly man stopped cold, stifling a strangled gasp as the papers fluttered to the floor. His eyes widened, then narrowed at the robed figure seated behind his desk. “Hoseph!” He whirled and threw the bolt to his study door, then turned back to glare. “What in the names of all the Gods of Light are you doing here? Every constable in the city’s looking for you!”
“I’ve come to salvage whatever I can from this debacle.” Hoseph reclined in the thickly cushioned chair, his feet propped atop the polished wood of the desk top. “I hope you don’t mind that I made myself comfortable. I didn’t know how long I would have to wait.”
“Mind?” Graving bent to scoop up the fallen documents. “Why should I mind a home invasion by the most-wanted felon in Tsing?” He flung the papers down on his desk and glared anew. “By all means, make yourself at home!”
Hoseph had, in fact, made himself quite at home. He’d arrived in the magistrate’s study in the small hours of the morning to give himself time to recover from traveling through the Sphere of Shadow. Now the pain behind his eyes and the ringing in his ears had faded to a mild irritant, and he was able to maintain a mien of thoughtful assurance. He would need a clear head to deal with Graving.
“You’ve undoubtedly heard about Lady T’s treachery and resultant demise.” He paused to let the implication sink in fully. Graving already knew that betraying their conspiracy meant instant death, but the point bore repeating. Rising, he waved the chief magistrate toward the chair behind the desk, seating himself in one of the less-comfortable ones.
“Of course I heard. I’ve also seen new placards with your updated likeness on them.” Graving squinted at Hoseph. “They’re dangerously accurate.”
Hoseph fumed. He’d seen them too. Mya had apparently described him anew to the constables, forcing him to abandon his acolyte disguise—Forgive me, Demia—in favor of a vagabond. He self-consciously rubbed the stubble on his head; it itched, but was growing fast. In a few days, he’d be unrecognizable. “We’re talking about Lady T, not me.”
“Why would she betray us?” Gr
aving dropped into the chair with a grunt. “I thought she was part of your…secret constabulary.”
“I don’t know, though I have suspicions.” Whether Mya had pressured Lady T into the betrayal or Tara had divulged their plot to her didn’t matter at this point. “Suffice to say that she’s been duly punished.”
“But she knew us! What if she gave the emperor our names?”
Hoseph snorted dismissively. “If she had given your names to the emperor, you’d be in the palace dungeon. Now, I need you to get word to the conspiracy’s remaining members to see what they—”
“Forget it!” Graving interrupted. His pudgy face puckered with displeasure, then slacked with apprehension when he caught sight of the thunderous expression on Hoseph’s face. “Of course, I’ll help you as well as I can, but the others… I doubt they’ll be a part of any more subterfuge. The damage is done anyway.” He gestured to the pile of parchments with disgust. “The emperor’s edicts have been ratified into law. He’s also drafting a formal document to rectify the inequities between the classes. He plans to give the commoners the justice he’s promised, and now there’s nothing to stop him.”
Hoseph reined in his temper. These aristocratic fools had done little enough, and now they were just giving up. “Unless we do away with Arbuckle and place Duke Tessifus on the throne. What’s been done can be undone.”
“Not without risking open rebellion, I’m afraid.” Graving shook his head sadly. “Denying the commoners equal consideration under the law is one thing. Granting it to them then trying to take it away is something else entirely. You saw the damage that rabble did during the Night of Flames, and that was when they were celebrating! Should they revolt, the only way to keep order would be to occupy the city with the entire standing army. Doing that would tempt our neighbors to the south. That border is far from stable, and the Morrgrey are likely to take advantage of any lapse in Tsing’s defenses. We can’t risk war.”
Weapon of Pain (Weapon of Flesh Series Book 5) Page 6
