THIRTY-FOUR
As soon as the creature that had been Myrren disappeared out of sight, Sorrow jumped to her feet and began stuffing all her loose weaponry into her bag. The baby was crying; she hunched her shoulders and did her best to block it out. This is what happens when you get mixed up with Changers, Naeve Sorrow, she told herself, observing with vague interest that her hands were shaking. It never ends well.
‘Naeve?’ Elisse’s voice held a tremor. ‘What are ya doing?’
‘You heard him.’ Sorrow didn’t look up from her task. ‘He told me to leave Darkhaven. And after what we just saw, I’m sure as shit not going to disobey. In fact, I think I might go a little further than just leaving the tower. I might leave Arkannen for a while. Screw it, I might even leave Mirrorvale.’
Picking up the full bag, she turned to look at Elisse. The dark-haired girl was still sitting in bed, rocking the bawling Corus in her arms, the expression on her face one of almost painful hope.
‘Will ya take me with ya?’
‘No chance,’ Sorrow said, sternly suppressing the small part of her that leapt with joy at the idea. ‘The Helm would be after us before we had time to blink.’
‘Most o’ the Helm don’ even know I exist,’ Elisse pointed out. The baby was quietening in her arms, his momentary panic gone as quickly as it had arrived. ‘And if Myrren kills Travers –’
‘Then we’ll have an enraged Changer creature after us instead.’ Sorrow shook her head. ‘Whoever’s left standing at the end of this, Elisse, they’re going to want you back. More specifically, they’re going to want Corus back. And I don’t want to end up taking the blame for kidnapping a child of Darkhaven. Both Myrren and the Helm would be glad enough of an excuse to have me executed.’
‘But they can’t follow ya across the border,’ Elisse said, blue eyes pleading. ‘Once ya leave the country, ya safe.’ She looked down at the baby’s tearstained face, then back up at Sorrow. ‘This is the only chance I’ll get, Naeve. The only chance ta give my son a normal life. So whether ya help me or not, I’m leaving.’ She bit her lip. ‘It’s jus’ – I think I’ll get a whole lot further if I have ya with me.’
Sorrow stared at her. She knew she should cut her losses. When a job went bad, you disassociated yourself from it as swiftly and painlessly as you could – and a job that involved a murderous Changer and an obsessive Captain of the Helm was about as bad as it got. She should give Elisse a firm negative and get out as soon as possible. If she made all haste to her apartment in the first ring – a visit to which was necessary in order to retrieve the considerable amount of money in her safe – she could be on an airship before the sun set. Another day, and she’d be too far away from Darkhaven for anyone to track her.
And yet … and yet …
‘Are you sure you’re in a fit state to travel?’ she asked Elisse, in a final attempt to convince her to stay put. ‘You only finished giving birth a couple of bells ago.’
‘I’ll be fine.’ Perhaps sensing that Sorrow was weakening, Elisse leaned forward and spoke eagerly. ‘Sore and tired, o’ course, but I’ll feel a lot worse if I stay here.’
Sorrow hesitated a moment longer, then capitulated. ‘All right. I’ll take you across the border, and after that we’ll see.’
Elisse responded with a radiant smile that Sorrow couldn’t help returning. At the same time her heart seemed to stutter in her chest, which explained a lot. Ever since meeting Elisse, she had been listening to her heart much more than to her head. It was a disturbing phenomenon. She couldn’t remember the last time – if there ever had been one – when her heart had been involved in making any of her decisions.
‘Have you got everything you need?’ she asked brusquely, and Elisse shrugged.
‘Din’t have anything when I came here, ’cept Corus, o’ course.’
‘Well, you can’t just walk out of Darkhaven with him in your arms.’ Sorrow frowned at her a moment, then went to the wardrobe to fetch one of the richly embroidered cloaks she remembered seeing in there. ‘This will have to do to cover you. At least it’s got a hood. As for the baby –’ she scanned the room before grabbing one of the clean blankets from the bed – ‘I think we’d better make a kind of sling …’
Once she’d tied Corus safely across Elisse’s chest, she draped the cloak around Elisse’s shoulders and fastened it in front. As she’d hoped, the thick folds of fabric made it hard to tell that Elisse was carrying a baby – and with the hood up, Elisse’s distinctive colouring was much less obvious. Sorrow nodded.
‘I think you’ll do. Are you ready?’
‘Ready as I’ll ever be.’ Elisse paused, her eyes searching Sorrow’s face, then added softly, ‘Thanks, Naeve.’
Sorrow shook her head, though her heart was behaving erratically again. She supposed she’d have to live with it from now on. ‘Thank me when we’re safely across the border. Until then …’ She shrugged. ‘Just hope we make it.’
When she saw how slowly Elisse walked, though, it seemed a vain hope. The woman was doing the best she could, but she was clearly still in pain from her exertions the previous night. As Sorrow led her through Darkhaven towards the postern gate, the only way out for those who couldn’t fly, she was convinced that at any moment they would be stopped by one of the Helm – or worse, by Myrren-as-creature returning. Yet it seemed luck was on their side. The tower was more or less deserted, with the occasional Helmsman who crossed their path in too much of a hurry even to notice them. Better still, when they reached the gate they found it locked but unguarded. The Helm had sealed Darkhaven off from the outside world, but they weren’t watching to make sure no-one left. Why should they?
‘I ’spect they’ve all gone chasing after Myrren,’ Elisse murmured. ‘It’s hard ta believe he was the one who attacked me and killed Florentyn.’
‘Anything’s possible when it comes to Changers.’ Sorrow was concentrating on the lock. It was a tough one, but eventually she managed to cajole it into opening. She ushered Elisse through, before following and pulling it shut behind her. There. The hardest part was done. Now down the hill to the Gate of Death – the city watch would take no notice of what would appear to be a Helmsman escorting his lover back to the lower rings – and they’d be away.
‘Time to pick up the pace,’ she told Elisse. ‘The quicker we get out of sight of the tower, the better.’
Elisse obeyed with barely a wince, one arm cradling Corus under her cloak as though he gave her strength.
‘Where are we going?’ she panted as they hurried down the slope, and Sorrow gave her a grin of pure satisfaction.
‘Airship. We’ll be out of the country before they even notice we’re gone.’
‘I’d keep back if I were you,’ Caraway said to the Helmsmen outside the incarceration room. His broken blade was in his hand again, Ayla realised as he lifted it to point at the foremost man. ‘Unless you want to go the same way as Travers.’
The man’s eyes widened incredulously. ‘You’re threatening us?’
‘Damn right I am.’ Ayla had never heard Caraway sound so vehement. ‘The whole lot of you are a disgrace to the Helm. Your captain brings a member of the Nightshade line – a woman you are sworn to protect – down here against her will and threatens to assault her, and you just let him get on with it. Seems to me the Nightshade line needs protecting from the Helm more than it does from anyone else.’ His voice dropped to a low murmur that was somehow more threatening than a shout; the jagged, bloodstained blade remained perfectly steady in his hand. ‘So I suggest you step back out of our way before I slit all your throats for failing in your duty.’
‘Let me get this straight,’ the man said. ‘You, Tomas Caraway, are lecturing me about failing in my duty?’
There was an uneasy ripple of laughter, which ceased as soon as Caraway replied.
‘Yes!’ His voice was so ferocious that the man took an involuntary step back. ‘Because what you’ve done is worse! I would have suffered anything rather tha
n let Kati Nightshade be hurt. I’ve paid for her death for five years. But you … you’re content to sit back and turn a blind eye while her daughter is punished for a crime she didn’t commit. Can you honestly claim to be any better than me?’
A tense silence fell. Then the Helmsman turned his head and said, ‘Better let ’em up, lads. At least as far as the antechamber. No point trying to sort anything out down here.’
Without looking at her, Caraway held out his free hand to Ayla. She took it. She could feel the suppressed tension trembling through him, yet despite that, the strength of his fingers around hers was a comfort. Her whole being was still shaken by how close Travers had come to raping her. She wanted to retreat into a small hole somewhere and hide; better yet, she wanted to Change and fly as far away from Darkhaven as possible. Her entire body felt sullied by the experience. Yet she knew that if it hadn’t been for Caraway, things could have been much, much worse. For that reason, his hand on hers felt surprisingly like the only thing that could keep her on her feet.
In some disorder, the Helm retreated back up the stairwell, and Caraway and Ayla followed them. More Helmsmen had gathered in the antechamber, some grouped around a man with a bloodstained uniform who must be the one Caraway had wounded, others apparently waiting to find out what was happening. In the middle of the room was a raised marble slab that held Florentyn Nightshade’s body. Ayla hadn’t seen her father since his death; the sight struck her like a blow to the stomach, making her gasp. She turned her face aside, swallowing, glad she wasn’t close enough to see his wounds in detail; but she thought she could still smell the faint sweet scent of decay.
‘Captain Travers is dead.’ Caraway’s voice was harsh as he made the announcement. Ayla was dimly aware that he was drawing her closer in beside him, as though he feared something might happen to her if she got too far away.
‘How?’ one man asked amid a general rumble of shock and discontentment.
‘I killed him,’ Caraway said, and the rumble grew louder. Hearing the danger in it, Ayla rubbed the tears from her eyes, forcing herself to concentrate on what was happening around her. She and Caraway were now standing beside the wall a short distance from the staircase that led to the incarceration room; two of the Helm were already climbing the steps, carrying their captain’s covered body between them.
‘You’ll pay for this, Breakblade!’ one of the assembled men shouted, and at that all Ayla’s fear and fury came spilling out of her.
‘Don’t you dare call him that!’ she snapped, turning on the speaker. ‘Tomas Caraway is the only one of you with any guts at all. If it hadn’t been for him, your precious Captain Travers would have violated me down there, and not one of you would have lifted a finger to stop him.’
‘How are we to know you’re telling the truth?’ another of the Helm called out. ‘How are we to know you didn’t kill your father and Captain Travers as well?’
‘Lady Ayla is not a murderer,’ Caraway said, soft and low. ‘I don’t know what Travers told you, but his preoccupation with catching her appears to have stemmed more from his own personal obsession than from any evidence against her.’
Doubting glances were exchanged, and mutters of denial. Did they really think so little of her that they were reluctant to stop believing the worst? Were they truly so anxious to see the half-blood discredited? The thought drove Ayla to step forward, wrenching her hand out of Caraway’s grasp.
‘Do you require proof?’ she demanded in a voice that sounded grating even to her own ears. ‘Fine. I’ll give you proof.’
She took a deep breath, preparing to Change. To show them all her other form, to make it clear once and for all that she wasn’t and never had been dangerous. But before she could do it, the main doors to the antechamber were battered from their hinges in a shower of wooden fragments to reveal something else entirely: a creature of rustling wings and black scales, a creature that was nothing like her own creature-self. Ayla stared at it, pulse jumping in her throat. So it was true. There was another Changer in Arkannen.
In the long, confused moment that followed, several Helmsmen looked from the creature to Ayla as if they were wondering how she had managed the trick. Yet the creature itself left them little time for doubt. Lowering its head, it sent a long gust of flame over the nearest man, leaving him rolling on the floor and screaming as fire ate through his clothing to the naked skin beneath. Without hesitation, the creature stalked further into the room, its barbed tail swiping aside another Helmsman who tried to approach it from behind. Its jaws gripped a third man and shook him vigorously, then flung him down. Some of the Helm fled through the broken doors; others were braver and tried to stand their ground, but their swords simply shattered or bounced off the impervious Changer hide. The room filled with the cries of wounded men and the stench of blood and burning flesh. And still the creature advanced through the room, coming closer and closer to the far end where Ayla and Caraway stood as if petrified.
When it was almost on them, Caraway moved. His hand shot out to grab Ayla’s wrist, pulling her back until she was behind him. The other hand lifted his broken blade in a symbolic but ultimately useless gesture of defiance.
‘If you want her,’ he said steadily, ‘you’ll have to go through me.’
The creature didn’t appear to consider that a problem. Its hot, mad eyes studied him as though it were trying to decide how best to kill him. Ayla pressed her back against the wall to keep her rebellious knees from giving way and understood, for the first time, what it was like to be an ordinary person confronted with a Changer. There was simply nothing she could do to defend either Caraway or herself. She could Change, but she didn’t think her creature-self would stand a chance against this beast. So she just stood there, her insides quivering with a melting fear that left her with no strength even to run, and watched in impotent misery as the blunt-nosed head hurtled towards Caraway with bloodstained teeth bared ready to strike.
Then, suddenly, a woman wearing a flung-back veil that imperfectly covered her red hair was running through the room. She bundled whatever she was carrying into the arms of the nearest Helmsman left standing, before interposing herself between the creature and Caraway in what was surely a suicidal act of bravery.
‘Stop,’ she said, her voice breaking with sorrow rather than fear. Her hands lifted, imploring the creature to listen. ‘Please, stop.’
To Ayla’s amazement, the creature wavered. The bloodlust in its eyes dimmed, to be replaced by confusion.
‘Please,’ the woman said again. The creature retreated a few steps, head swinging from side to side as if it were battling with itself. Then, in a swirl of black dust, it Changed.
As the vast bulk of the creature became an amorphous cloud and then began to reshape itself into a new form, the veiled woman returned to the staring Helmsman and took back what she had given him. Her face was pale and her hands shook, as though she hadn’t been at all sure that her risk would pay off, but she stood her ground and watched the Change take place. Her lips were pressed together in a tight line, but whether it was anger or grief she was holding back, Ayla couldn’t tell.
Finally, the dust cleared to reveal a naked man lying on the stone floor. Ayla took an involuntary half-step forward, her nails digging into her palms. Shock so intense that it was painful shot through her core, leaving her feeling as if she had been ripped apart by Caraway’s broken blade.
The man lying in front of her was her brother Myrren.
THIRTY-FIVE
Myrren opened his eyes. He was lying on his back, looking up at a shadowed stone ceiling. It faded into an indistinct blur beside the series of vivid memories that were playing through his mind: a set of searing emotions that felt remote, alien, but that he knew beyond doubt were part of him. Burning anger, a keen sense of betrayal, a desire to tear apart everything that stood in his way. Satisfaction as the Helm scattered before him like sparrows before a hawk. Swift fury when one of the men pushed Ayla behind him – blood on his blade a
nd on their clothing – he must be threatening her – preparing to strike – and then the woman with hair like flame, stepping in front of them. Serenna. Sudden fear upon seeing her, a horror of hurting her, a desire to protect her that overcame every other instinct … yes, he remembered it all.
And because he remembered it all, he knew what the truth must be.
I am a murderer. I killed my own father. He tried the words, experimentally, examining each one for truth. He expected them to bring him pain, but the pain he was already feeling was so vast that he was numb to it. If he let himself feel it, he would surely lose his mind again, and with it any chance he had left of controlling the creature that lurked inside him. He could feel it there, a strong fierce presence without compassion or conscience. His new awareness of it had brought it closer to the surface; if he relaxed his grip on it, even for a moment, it would rise up and take over. That was how it would be, now: the two of them locked in a desperate struggle until the day he died.
‘Myrren.’ A face appeared above him, ragged dark hair and blue eyes washed with tears. She was kneeling beside him, gazing at him with an expression that held no accusation, only a deep sorrow. He lifted a hand to touch her cheek.
‘Ayla.’
She was holding a cloak, which she handed to him. He realised he was naked and took it gratefully, struggling into a seated position despite the dizzy pounding of his head. The roughness of the thick fabric around his shoulders brought him a strange kind of comfort.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked Ayla, seeing the bloodstains on her clothing with renewed anxiety. ‘Travers –’
‘Travers is dead.’ She took his hands in her own. ‘Tomas killed him for me. And I’m fine. I’m not even hurt.’
They looked at each other. There were so many things Myrren wanted to ask her, and so many things he wanted to say, but in the end he just said, ‘I didn’t know I could do this, Ayla. I – I don’t want you to think this was some kind of plot against you.’
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