Tonight not even the insistent pulse of the drums could cut through the tangle in my head. Without Kiran’s help, stealing Melly away from a handler as wary and clever as Red Dal would be a hell of a trick. Especially since Melly herself wouldn’t want to go. No, she’d still be loving life as a Tainter, fiercely loyal to Red Dal and convinced of every lie he’d ever told her. Red Dal trained his Tainters well. He drilled into them from their earliest days in the den never to go anywhere with an adult unless he ordered it, not even someone as familiar as Liana. And Melly was Tainted enough to kick my ass ten times over if I tried using physical force.
If I could only get Kiran free first, then we could work our old scheme, or use his magic in some other way. But even if I didn’t find Kiran mindburned, I doubted freeing him from Ruslan would be easy, or quick. After seeing Melly again, I couldn’t bear to wait any longer to ensure her safety. Not when she might Change any day.
Which left me one last horribly bitter option: Marten. Reason said that Cara was right, Melly was better off as his hostage. Yet after seeing how terribly he’d used Kiran, every instinct in me screamed against the idea of placing her life in his hands. Then again, if Marten truly wanted me to play shadow man, maybe I could bargain cleverly enough to avoid giving Melly to him outright.
It was well after midnight when I trudged up the causeway that circled up the Dawnfire Tower to face the interlocking gold circles of the Alathian seal on the embassy door, shining bright in a pool of pale magelight. I stood there for long moments, fighting to armor myself against a furious boil of emotion. My body ached to run straight back down streetside so I’d never have to endure the sight of Marten’s hypocritical face again.
Instead, I laid a hand flat on a blank copper plaque set amidst the door’s ward lines. The copper warmed under my palm. The mage on watch would know I’d come.
Lena swung the door open mere instants after I touched the ward. Relief flashed in her dark eyes before they fell from mine. “Marten told me to expect you, but I wasn’t certain you’d return.”
Of course it would be Lena. Hatred ate at my resolve. I fixed her with a cold stare. “I’m here for Kiran’s sake, and Kiran’s alone. Somebody’s got to help him after you high-minded Alathians screwed him so thoroughly.”
“Dev, I…” She stopped; swallowed. “I regret Kiran’s situation. You don’t know how deeply. But Marten had no choice—”
“Of course he had a choice! So did you. And you stood there and did nothing.” Unbidden, I heard an echo of Marten’s voice: just like you did, when you handed him to Simon in Kost. The cramp of guilt only made my anger burn hotter. It wasn’t the same, damn it. I hadn’t known the consequences. Lena had.
Lena said in a low, fierce voice, “Marten won’t leave Kiran with Ruslan. I told you before: he does not make empty promises.”
“Then tell me his brilliant plan, the one that’ll outsmart Ruslan.” When she didn’t say anything, I laughed, the sound as cutting as I could make it. “Yeah, I didn’t think so.”
Lena shook her head. “Dev. He can’t tell you what he intends because you’re not a mage.”
“What fucking difference does that make?”
“Ruslan can’t breach a mage’s inner defenses without harm, and therefore breaking his vow. But you…you have no defenses. Without power of your own, even the best charms we have might not prevent a mage as strong as Ruslan from plucking information from your mind, should he touch you. Kiran’s best hope is for Ruslan to have no hint of what Marten plans, and so Marten can’t risk sharing such plans with you.”
Well, I’d take one part of that to heart: never get within touching distance of Ruslan. As for the rest… “Did Marten share his plan with you?”
“Not…all of it.” Her gaze dropped again. She twisted at the rune-marked rings on her fingers. “He thinks it better to be too cautious than not enough.”
The faint glimmer of hope within died. I should’ve known better. Marten was playing on her faith in him, telling her just what she wanted to hear. Lies, all of it. Oh, I’d tell you my plan if I could…right.
More furious words boiled up in my throat, and I locked my jaw shut. Yeah, this was going well. I hadn’t even passed the embassy’s door and already I was near blind with anger. If I kept this up, Marten would manipulate me as easy as a bone puppet. Cold, damn it; I had to stay cold. Find that crevasse inside again, and let nothing shake me from it.
“Come inside.” Lena was watching me with an anxious frown. “Please. Marten’s waiting for you.”
I sucked down a slow, steadying breath and let her lead me down a dimly lit hallway. A faint glow of magelight fanned out from under the curtain blocking the archway to the receiving room. I heard a mutter of voices in the room beyond, low and sharp.
The voices fell silent as I pushed through the curtain. The receiving room was shadowed, with only a single magelight glowing in a copper bracket at the room’s far end. A cool wash of silver illuminated Marten and Talm, glaring at each other before the window with the expansive view of the city’s magelit spires. Marten’s posture was as rigidly formal as I’d ever seen it. Talm’s arms were crossed, his ringed fingers biting deep into his biceps.
I allowed myself a vicious little grin. Nice to see Marten’s smooth tongue wasn’t working so well tonight. If Talm remained angry, maybe I could use that somehow. Marten might not have shared his plans with Lena, but maybe he’d told his lover.
Marten turned to me. “Dev. Thank you for returning.”
Talm shot me a glance as dark as if I were the source of his anger, not Marten. “Stay your course, then,” he said to Marten, his voice clipped. “Just remember: our task is to restore Alathia’s wards, not protect this city’s monsters.” He dipped in a stiff bow and stalked past Lena.
She exchanged a silent, meaningful look with Marten, who shrugged in weary dismissal. Lena hurried out after Talm, doubtless to play the good lieutenant and smooth over the rift.
“Dissension in the ranks, is there?” I asked Marten, poisonously bright.
Marten sank into a chair. “It’s been a difficult day for all of us.”
“Especially Kiran.” I remained standing. “So let’s not fuck around, Marten. If you’ve got a plan, I want to hear it.”
Marten nodded. Thank Khalmet, he didn’t try any false cheer or sympathy. The tired, serious look to his face was probably another mask, but at least it was one that didn’t set my teeth grinding. “We’re to meet with Ruslan in Sechaveh’s audience chamber, two hours after dawn. During that time, Lena will take you to Ruslan’s house in Reytani district. Stevan believes he’s devised a spell to let you cross the house wards.”
“Why send Lena and not Stevan, if he’s the one so clever with warding magic?” Stevan might be an asshole, but I’d take his company any day over Lena’s. At least Stevan hadn’t ever pretended to be Kiran’s friend.
“Lena has the deftest touch of us all with spellwork,” Marten said. “You’ll need that to cross Ruslan’s wards without leaving traces of your passing. Though I should specify: only you will be able to cross them. A mage’s innate energies are simply too difficult to conceal from warding spells. Lena will cast to get you through, but she must remain outside.”
“Ruslan’s not likely to leave him unguarded,” I pointed out.
“Lena should be able to sense the presence of any other mages in the house. She can create a diversion for you, and provide you at least a short window of time to safely seek Kiran.”
“What guarantee do I have that I’m not the diversion? That you’re not sending me inside intending my capture?”
Marten sighed. “I’m sure nothing I say will assuage your fears entirely. Remember, I want information, on both Kiran and Ruslan. That can’t happen without your safe return.”
I’d bet the real reason Lena would remain outside Ruslan’s wards was that unlike me, Marten didn’t consider her expendable. Still, he’d given me the opening I wanted to bargain for Melly’s sake.
“If you want me to sneak alone into Ruslan’s house and play shadow man for you, then I need something more solid in return than vague talk of helping Kiran.”
Marten only watched me steadily. “Such as?”
“The money the Council confiscated from my accounts in Kost. I want it back. All of it.” With that much coin in hand again, I could outbid Karonys House, easy.
Marten raised his brows. “That’s a bit steep of a reward for a single morning’s effort.”
“You know damn well it’s your fault I need the money. Give it to me, and I’ll play your game just like you want. If you don’t…Kiran’s my friend, yeah, but it’s like you said: I’ve got other, older promises to keep.”
“If you want the child safe, the embassy can negotiate with Sechaveh to have him claim her as our ward,” Marten said.
“So you can leash me tighter? Fuck no, Marten. You think after today I want you anywhere near someone I want to protect? You so much as look at her, and you can forget any shadow work from me.”
“I understand your fear,” Marten said quietly. “I want to help you. But I cannot simply hand over that much money, not without justifying it to Halassian and the Council. Go streetside for me, get me information that leads directly to the success of our mission, and I can make a case to convince them.”
I’d known he’d balk at the full amount. “You’re awfully quick with promises, Marten, and I haven’t seen you keep one yet. But, fine. You show me a sign of good faith—a thousand kenets, say—and I’ll do some hunting down streetside.” A thousand kenets would be more than enough earnest money to convince Red Dal a bid for a far larger amount was real. I could put in the bid now, and before payment came due, either squeeze more money out of Marten or use my access to the embassy to steal it.
Marten’s smile was dry. “I’ll talk to Halassian, but I’ll need my own show of good faith from you tomorrow. Get me something I can use, whether it’s from Ruslan’s house or elsewhere.”
Yeah, I much preferred dealing with this version of Marten, who offered blunt bargains without trying to honeycoat them. No doubt he knew it, and had changed tactics accordingly. It hadn’t escaped me that my agreement meant I’d end up playing exactly the role he’d wanted. I just prayed one day I’d get to see all his masks fall to ruin. I wanted to see him be the one to suffer.
“Fine,” I said. “If the meeting with Ruslan is soon after dawn, better if I stay here until then. I’d hate to oversleep, and the least you can do is pay for my water rations.” Much as the thought of spending more time in the Alathians’ company revolted me, I needed to stick close, especially if I wanted the chance to scout the embassy’s vaults.
“I was going to suggest that you sleep here.” Marten stood. “Come, I’ll take you to your room.”
He didn’t want me walking around unescorted, knowing otherwise I’d seize the chance to snoop. No doubt he’d keep me guarded all night, damn him. At least he stayed silent as he showed me to the little room I’d shared with Kiran, and retreated to the hall the moment he sparked the magelight.
I shut the door and reached for the lock-hold charm I’d bought streetside, only to snort in disgust at myself. Something as simple as a lock-hold wouldn’t stop mages. Instead, I sat down on a bed and took off my boots. The empty bed against the other wall loomed large in my vision. Fuck; the Alathians had even left Kiran’s pack sitting right where he’d left it beside mine, as if they thought he’d come back any minute.
On sudden impulse, I hauled his pack up onto the bed, unlaced the top flap, and started digging through its contents. Wouldn’t hurt to see if I could find a comb or something with a few hairs that could be used to key a find-me charm, even if right now I had a pretty damn good idea of Kiran’s location.
Hidden behind a flap of torn fabric at the pack’s bottom, my fingers touched something that crackled. I pulled out a folded parchment, far heavier than ordinary paper. When I turned it over, I blinked in surprise. My name was inked in Kiran’s handwriting on an upper corner.
Maybe it was a letter, but why would he have written one to me? I glanced at the closed door. No sounds came from the hallway. I unfolded the parchment.
It wasn’t a letter. Drawn on the parchment were a host of lines coiling about each other in a pattern so complex my eyes crossed trying to follow it. Scattered sets of incomprehensible symbols were marked in random places. I stared at the drawing, frowning. I’d seen something similar before, but it hadn’t been on paper.
Kiran, sprawled on his back among tangled spirals of scorched and blackened silver in Simon’s cave…Shit, I knew what this was: a spell diagram, for what Kiran called a channeled spell. Blood magic. I dropped the parchment as fast as if I held a sand adder.
Khalmet’s bony hand, no need to act like a superstitious southerner. This was a piece of paper, not a charm or a ward. From things Kiran had said, I’d gathered that blood mages worked out complex spells ahead of time before they cast them, the way a convoy boss might plan out his schedule and supplies for a mountain crossing.
The Alathians had wanted Kiran to figure out Simon’s border charm. Maybe the diagram had something to do with that. But if he’d worried about Marten’s sincerity and brought this as some kind of insurance, why hadn’t he told me of it? I peered at the diagram again, as if I could figure it out if I just looked closer. Part of the pattern seemed sparse compared to the rest, lines stopping in mid-swirl like they weren’t finished.
I studied the diagram until my eyes felt full of sand, but got no closer to answers. At last I folded it back up and tucked it into my own clothing. The only conclusion I’d reached was that I didn’t want Marten or any of the other Alathians to see it. I’d bring the diagram with me tomorrow. If Khalmet favored me—and how I prayed he did—maybe I’d get an answer direct from Kiran.
* * *
(Kiran)
Kiran woke with a start, jerking upright in his bed. He was panting like he’d run up a tower stair, a miasma of unease thick in his mind. Sibilant, incomprehensible whispers played about the edges of his hearing. When he strained to listen, the whispers faded into the rapid thump of his heart. Perhaps they’d only been a product of nightmare, though he couldn’t remember any dreams.
The window in the far wall showed only darkness outside. The dim rosy glow of a magelight perched on his writing desk illuminated Mikail’s sleeping form slumped in a chair a few feet away. Kiran blew out a rueful breath. For all Ruslan’s earlier assurances, he must still be worried for Kiran’s health if he had left Mikail on watch.
Thanks to Ruslan’s healing, Kiran’s inner senses had recovered enough to pick out the energies of the wards in the walls, even through his repaired mental barriers. In fact, the sensations felt painfully sharp, though the energies were quiescent. Kiran winced away from concentrating on them. He felt oddly on edge despite the weariness that weighted his eyelids. Almost, he imagined he could still hear those maddeningly faint, disturbing whispers, sliding along his senses like snakes through sand.
Beyond the wards, the familiar slow swirl of confluence energy abruptly shifted. Power spiked violently upward in a soundless explosion to hammer against his barriers.
Mikail surged out of the chair, gray eyes wide. On walls and ceiling, protective wards blazed into fiery red scrawls of light. Energies roiled and twisted as the wards fought to channel the wild magic safely back into the earth through the stones of the building. Kiran struggled to reinforce his barriers, his ikilhia frighteningly slow to respond.
“Mikail! Is someone attacking us?” He found it hard to imagine anyone would dare strike at Ruslan, but he’d never felt the confluence behave like this before.
“No,” Mikail said shortly, without taking his eyes from the wards.
“Then what’s happening?”
Mikail held up a hand, his gaze still intent. A few sparks sizzled off the wards by the window, but the patterns held. Quickly as it had come, the wave of confluence energy ebbed away. Kiran fr
owned, his head tilting. The magnitude of the energies beyond the wards felt normal again, but the currents coiled and heaved now in a strangely irregular way. Mikail had said this was no attack. If Kiran released his barriers, then painful as it might be to his damaged senses, he could get a better view…
Mikail’s hand closed hard on his arm. “Don’t drop your barriers.” He held Kiran’s gaze, his pale eyes tinged scarlet by magelight, until Kiran nodded his assent. Mikail sat back, blowing out a breath. “Ruslan’s orders,” he said in response to Kiran’s puzzled stare. “The confluence has become unstable. After a spike like we just felt, there’ll be aftershocks, and no warning. If your barriers were down when one hit, you could be hurt badly.”
“The confluence, unstable?” Disorientation washed over Kiran. The shifting tides of the confluence were as much a part of the city as the stone that formed its spires. Dangerous to touch directly, yes, but predictable in their flow, and as eternal as the stars. Or so he’d thought. He rubbed at his temples. His lacerated memories held nothing helpful. “When did this happen?”
“It started a few weeks ago. You don’t remember, I know.” Mikail shifted in his chair, a shadow crossing his broad face.
“I don’t blame you for the accident with the spell,” Kiran said softly. “You know that, don’t you?”
Mikail shut his eyes. “Brother…” He left the chair to settle on Kiran’s bed. Pulling Kiran close, he rested his forehead against Kiran’s, the way he’d always done when Kiran needed comforting as a child. “I wish you hadn’t had to suffer.”
Kiran returned Mikail’s grip, his throat choked. He and Mikail weren’t brothers in the usual sense, but Ruslan had always insisted that the bond between them as akheli apprentices went far deeper than that of ordinary family. You put your life in your mage-brother’s hands every time you cast a channeled spell, Ruslan had said. You will learn to trust each other without reservation, as Lizaveta and I do.
The Tainted City Page 15
