“I heard,” Dev said quietly. “You loved her, and Ruslan killed her. Right?”
Kiran’s eyes felt hot. “Yes, but…” He picked up a cup shard, turned it over in his hands, traced the ridged patterns on the glazed ceramic. “I never warned her,” he admitted. “I never told her the truth of what I was.” She’d known he was a mage, but he’d never had the courage to explain what kind.
“Khalmet’s bloodsoaked hand,” Dev snapped, so fiercely that Kiran dropped the shard. “You think it’s your fault?”
“Isn’t it?” Words spilled from him in a hot, searing rush. “I knew Ruslan had forbidden us contact with nathahlen. I knew he’d be furious if he discovered I’d defied him. I thought he’d only punish me, the way he had before…I was such a fool, I should have listened to his warnings! But I disobeyed, too selfish to think of consequences, and because of that, she died!”
Dev’s glare grew all the more ferocious. “So now you’re buying into Ruslan’s head games? Fuck that. There’s only one person at fault here: that manipulative demonspawn you called master, and don’t you forget it.”
“It’s easier to blame Ruslan,” Kiran said, his voice low.
“Yeah, because he’s the one that actually fucking killed her.” Dev flung his arms wide. “I can’t believe we’re arguing about this.” He grabbed Kiran’s wrist. “Get up.”
“Why?” Kiran resisted, but Dev tugged until he stood.
“You said tomorrow’s Alisa’s Naming day, right? Well, I know a better way for you to honor her memory than screaming nightmares.” Dev stomped over to the door and threw it open. “Hey! Lena, are you lurking out there?”
Lena appeared, a glass of water in her hand and her brows arched in inquiry.
“Forget the water. Where’s the wine?” Dev asked. “I need that, and some fire stones. Or wait, you Alathians aren’t much on charms. Firewood, then.” He turned to Kiran. “Trust me, this is a fine outrider tradition. We’ll go out in the garden, make a nice big fire, get drunk, and tell stories about the people we want to remember. Only about the good times, mind you. No bad memories allowed.”
For a moment, his eyes were shadowed. Kiran remembered a comment Cara had once made about the number of outriders that died young. Melly’s father Sethan couldn’t be the only friend Dev mourned.
“All right,” he said reluctantly.
Dev glanced at Lena. “This’d work better without a minder.”
She surveyed him, then Kiran. “I think Talmaddis’s duty is still satisfied so long as he can see you through a window. Try not to set any plants on fire, though, unless you want to explain yourself to the groundskeeper—he may be retired from active duty on the Watch, but he can still spellcast, and he’s got quite the temper. Oh, and blackberry wine will have to do. That’s all we keep in the cellar.”
“I’ve drunk worse,” Dev said. “Come on, Kiran. Let’s go find something safe to burn.”
* * *
(Dev)
I dumped Kiran unceremoniously onto his bed and stepped back with a satisfied grunt. He was well and truly out of it, his body slack in the moonlight striping the quilt. He’d probably have a nasty hangover in the morning, but if he had another nightmare tonight, I’d eat one of the damn rosebushes.
I weaved a bit as I headed for the door. I’d made sure Kiran did the lion’s share of the drinking, but the blackberry wine had been stronger than I expected. Hell, it had only taken a couple drinks before Kiran got some color back in his face and stopped flinching at the sound of Alisa’s name. After a few more, he even managed to tell stories about her.
He’d sounded just like any other lovestruck young idiot, starry-eyed and utterly convinced that his beloved was without flaw. The moonbrained delirium of first love had lasted longer for Kiran than most; turned out he’d been sneaking off to meet Alisa in scant, stolen hours spread over nearly three years. I’d been surprised he could hide it from Ruslan that long. I hadn’t said so, not wanting to get onto dangerous ground, but Kiran read it in my face. He said tersely that he’d taken care only to slip away during times when Ruslan was busy with other matters, and he’d had Mikail’s help in covering his absences—until the end, when Mikail betrayed him. Seeing the growing anguish in his eyes, I’d changed the subject in a hurry, coaxing him into yet more dreamy-voiced memories of the beautiful, clever, oh-so-wonderful Alisa.
No woman could be that perfect, not once the blinders of infatuation wore off. But Kiran would never get to know the reality of her, thanks to Ruslan. I rubbed a hand over my face, wearily. Mother of maidens, what a mess.
As I negotiated the doorway, I heard a low mutter of voices drifting up the stairway at the hallway’s end. One of them had Martennan’s drawling accent. What was he doing back here? I slid along the wall with all the stealth I could muster.
“…grant you permission to take both of the Arkennlanders?” That was Talmaddis’s light tenor, shaded with concern.
“I believe so,” Martennan said. “Though some in the Council think me either a madman or a fool. But Varellian supports me, and I think she will carry the day in the end. I fear by now my debt to her is so great I’ll never repay it.”
He sounded like that debt was a real concern. After a considering pause, Talmaddis said, “Well. When she calls in a favor, it can’t be as bad as that mess with the ships we handled for Orenntavis. I still have nightmares about those sea monsters.”
Sea monsters, huh? Maybe life in Alathia wasn’t quite so boring as I’d assumed.
Martennan chuckled ruefully. But when he spoke, the words were dead serious. “I think our task in Ninavel will make poisonous tentacled horrors seem a pleasant diversion.”
So. Not quite as blasé over the risk as he’d been in front of Kiran. He might just mean Ruslan, but I had a dark suspicion there was something he hadn’t told us.
“Oh, I believe you,” said Talmaddis. “I spent three whole years stationed there, remember? Human monsters are the worst by far. But enough of that…you look like the Council dragged you through a herd of angry pronghorns. Come relax a moment. Have a glass of wine, assuming the Arkennlanders haven’t guzzled every drop in the house.”
“Your company will be relaxation enough.” The depth of warmth in Martennan’s words made me blink. I risked a glance around the corner, down through the staircase’s iron railings. In the foyer below, Martennan and Talmaddis stood facing each other, mere inches apart. Even as I watched, Martennan put his palm flat on Talmaddis’s chest, right above the Council seal on Talmaddis’s uniform. Talmaddis covered Martennan’s hand with his own in a motion just short of a caress. A smile both fond and wicked spread on Talmaddis’s lean face before the two men moved off toward the study.
Lovers, then. Interesting. I’d heard that in Alathia’s common guard, officers were forbidden to pair with soldiers under their command, to prevent favoritism. It’d be nice to think what I’d seen might provide a lever against Martennan—but then, he and Talmaddis hadn’t exactly seemed furtive about their affection. Maybe the Council gave the mages of the Watch more leeway in personal matters to make up for all the other restrictions piled on them.
“Do you need something, Dev?” Lena spoke from behind me.
I turned a little too fast and had to steady myself on the wall. “Uh. No. That is, I wanted to get some water from the kitchen.” At least I managed to speak without slurring. Much. How long had she been standing there? She couldn’t blame me for listening to Talmaddis and Martennan when they were standing right out in plain view.
Lena took in my death grip on the corner, and her mouth twitched. “I take it your efforts with Kiran were successful?”
“Yeah,” I said. “No more screaming, tonight at least.” I peered at her. “Martennan had better bring some yeleran extract along to Ninavel. Hell, I don’t know why Kiran’s not using it here. He wouldn’t need any calming teas then.” I’d learned on our trip across the Whitefires that yeleran sent Kiran into a heavy, dreamless sleep, the same way
it did for everyone else.
“When the healers at the Sanitorium examined him a few weeks ago, they told us not to allow him any more doses,” Lena said. “They said Kiran had been using yeleran too often, and they were worried about an imbalance of the body humours.”
“Well, shit. In that case, bring some earplugs.” Getting Kiran drunk had worked tonight, but I didn’t think that was such a good idea in Ninavel, not with Ruslan lying in wait.
“I know the trip won’t be easy for him.” Lena glanced back towards Kiran’s room. Her expression softened subtly. With pity, or something more? I remembered Cara watching Kiran walk past the campfire one night early in our crossing of the Whitefires, and saying Damn, Dev, sometimes the kid’s too pretty to be human. If I were young and dumb like you, I’d have him in my bed so fast your head would spin, apprentice or no. I’d laughed myself sick and called her an old crone the rest of the night. But Khalmet knew she was right about Kiran’s looks. I’d thought the Alathians so ice-blooded as to be immune, but if not, good. Kiran needed all the advantage he could get.
Lena herself was nicely easy on the eyes, especially after two months spent with miners as ugly and bad-tempered as rock bears. Her slim curves reminded me of Cara, though she lacked Cara’s sure, easy strength, not to mention her quick tongue and bright, carefree laugh. But if she had Cara’s courage, that’d be far more important for Kiran.
“The trip not easy? Hell,” I said. “Would you have the guts to walk into a rabid sandcat’s den on the say-so of a man you can’t trust?”
She laid a light hand on my arm. “I know you’re wary of Marten. I’m sure I’d feel the same in your place. But you didn’t see how hard he fought to save Kiran’s life after the trial. The Council was convinced execution was the safest course. They feared Kiran’s rejection of blood magic wouldn’t last; that Ruslan’s influence had been too strong. Marten called in every favor he had, staked his reputation and his commission as Captain on his belief that Kiran deserved the chance to prove them wrong.”
I pulled my arm free. “Sure, he fought—you were the one who told me at the trial Martennan wants to convince the Council to back off their restrictions on magic. He saw the chance to use Kiran as a lever and a resource, and he took it. Am I grateful Kiran’s alive? Hell yeah. Just don’t expect me to believe Martennan cares one whit for him, or anyone else. I know his kind—all smiles and warm words until you’d fucking turn your soul inside out for them, and then the minute they’ve had their use of you, they cast you into Shaikar’s hells without even pretending to feel sorry for it—!”
I checked my shout, as my brain finally caught up with my tongue. Gods all damn that blackberry wine, anyway! The startled pity on Lena’s face made me want to strangle her. Or myself.
“You’re wrong about Marten,” she said quietly. “He has faults, I admit it. But they lie in…other areas.” From the sudden shuttering of her expression, she’d thought better of elaborating on those faults to me.
“Like bedding his second lieutenant?” She must know about Talmaddis and Martennan. Maybe she wasn’t too happy about it, especially if it meant he favored the lower-ranked Talmaddis over her.
Lena’s gaze sharpened. But she shrugged and said, “That’s no fault. Marten and Talm have shared a bed for years. He’s never let it affect his command decisions.”
Damn. I should’ve gotten her drunk along with Kiran. Maybe then I could’ve found out something I could use. Then again, maybe with a little prodding…
“You think I’ve got Martennan all wrong, then fine. Tell me what he’s really like.”
“He keeps his promises, no matter the cost. And he’d swim through a lake of magefire for his friends.” Lena’s mouth curved. “Rather like you, from what Kiran tells me.”
Yeah, that wasn’t exactly a comforting thought. I knew the depths to which I’d sink to keep a vow, and I sure didn’t believe Martennan counted us among his friends.
“Good to know,” I said, bright as I could. I started down the staircase, gripping the railing for stability.
“Dev.”
“What?” I glanced back. The intensity of her gaze made me uncomfortable.
She said only, “You and Kiran should have news of the Council’s decision by noon. If your head aches when you wake, tell Talmaddis—he can aid you.”
Practical as a quartermaster. It reminded me once again of Cara—though Cara would’ve mocked me ’til the sun came up for getting drunk on something mild as blackberry wine. I nodded to Lena, and even managed a smile before I staggered off to the kitchen to gulp down water that tasted faintly of rosehips. Once back in my room, I flung myself on my bed and tried to think of nothing but Cara, and how in Ninavel I’d see her again. But the memories that chased me down into sleep weren’t of Cara’s lithe body and flashing smile, but of Simon’s Taint charm glittering on my wrist, and a rock hanging high in the air as I laughed in wild exultation, uncaring of the pain savaging my gut.
* * *
(Kiran)
“You know the worst part of this translocation business?” Dev said, as he and Kiran trailed Lena through the gray stone corridors of the Arcanum. “I could’ve really used some time in the Whitefires.”
He said it lightly, but Kiran caught the flash of longing in Dev’s eyes. He remembered Dev dangling from pitons on an improbably steep cliff, his head thrown back in a laugh of purest joy, and a pang squeezed Kiran’s chest.
“If all goes well in Ninavel, maybe you won’t have to wait long to climb in the mountains again.” Perhaps not long at all. Kiran knew Dev had no intention of returning to Alathia once beyond the border, regardless of what happened in Ninavel. A thought that brought equal parts relief and regret. Marten and Lena were kind enough, but the shadow of the Council hung over every interaction. It felt so good to have a friend whose loyalty was unconstrained.
“Maybe.” Dev looked wistful again. His stride held a simmering energy Kiran hadn’t seen in him since the Whitefires.
Kiran’s footsteps were far heavier. Ever since Lena had brought the news the Council had agreed to his conditions, he felt as if he stood in the path of an onrushing avalanche, helpless to cast against it. He tried to think only of the removal of his binding in Ninavel. No more cramped, gnawing confinement of his senses, his ikilhia freed to spark spells once more…oh, how he yearned for it! Yet the specter of Ruslan shadowed his heart.
Lena halted before the door of Marten’s personal workroom. A thicket of black ward lines covered the frame, so dense hardly any wood showed. Lena laid a palm flat on the wards.
Marten called something encouraging but indistinct from within, and the wards glowed silver. Lena pushed open the door and led them inside.
No matter how many times Kiran visited Marten’s workroom, the disarray within never ceased to startle him. Ruslan had always been adamant in his insistence upon order, with all spell materials, diagrams, and treatises catalogued and neatly stored. Stevannes and the other arcanists seemed similar in outlook, but Marten worked in a kind of floating chaos. Scribbled diagrams covered the walls, while random assortments of gems and metal rods lay scattered over shelves. Marten himself stood behind a desk half buried under teetering piles of papers and books.
“Good news, you two.” Marten skirted a stray pile and waved Dev and Kiran to a pair of empty chairs amid the clutter. Lena remained standing by the door, her hands behind her back and her spine as straight as any soldier’s. “The preparations are almost complete for the translocation spell. The Watch will cast at moonrise.”
Moonrise was little more than an hour away. Kiran nodded, his mouth gone dry.
Marten said, “I told you my team would include an arcanist. I’m pleased to say my top choice agreed to come to Ninavel with us.” He glanced at Lena. “Did you send Talm to find—”
A rap came on the door. Martennan brightened. “Ah, excellent. There’s Stevan now. Come in!”
Kiran stiffened. Stevan—did Marten mean…?
Ste
vannes strode into the workroom, accompanied by Talmaddis. Chalk smudged the sleeves of the arcanist’s uniform, his wiry auburn hair in disarray. He carried a rosewood box covered in gold sigils of an odd, angular style Kiran never seen.
“Stevan.” Marten’s greeting was as warm as if he and Stevannes were mage-brothers. “I’m delighted to have a man of your expertise on this mission.”
“Captain Martennan.” Stevannes bowed, icily formal. “I know my duty.”
Kiran ducked his head to hide a dismayed grimace. It made sense Marten would want to bring an expert in defensive magic, but couldn’t he have found someone less virulent in his prejudice?
Marten hitched a hip onto his desk and aimed a genial smile at Stevannes. “I’ll introduce you to the rest of the team, then. You know my lieutenants, and you’ve worked with Kiran, but I don’t think you’ve met Dev. He’ll be accompanying us to Ninavel.”
Stevannes’s fingers whitened on his rosewood box. “I knew you intended to bring the blood mage—a decision questionable enough!—but now you intend to bring his criminal accomplice?” His mask of formality cracked. The frustrated fury revealed beneath blazed as hot as Ruslan’s had in the days after Kiran’s akhelashva ritual. “Marten, I don’t understand you. Pandering to the blood mage this way, championing him to the Council! How you, of all people, can stomach that—”
“Stevan.” Marten laid a hand on Stevannes’s shoulder. The two men stared at each other in silence, though Kiran had the sense of something wordless passing between them. Stevannes shook his head sharply and backed away. His expression froze into formality once more.
“It is, of course, your decision. Captain.”
Dev’s eyes had narrowed to green slits. “Oh, what fun this trip will be,” he muttered.
Kiran burned with the desire to quiz Marten on what Stevannes had meant. You, of all people… He’d have to wait, ask Marten in private. As well as ask what had possessed Marten to include Stevannes on the trip. For all Stevannes’s skill, he’d surely provoke every Ninavel mage he met into a blood-feud.
The Tainted City Page 8
