I eased into the stairwell and gingerly ascended to examine the lintel. The metal bits proved to be fingernail-thin, sharp-edged scraps of silver.
Wards breached by magic didn’t show physical damage. But I’d seen ward lines shatter into shards like that many a time in my days as a Tainter. I picked up the closest shard.
“Watch your step, nathahlen.”
I turned, hastily sliding the shard into a pocket. Mikail blocked the base of the stair, his gray eyes cold and his arms crossed.
“Changed your mind on helping Kiran, have you?” Not that I believed it. That glare certainly didn’t look friendly.
“I will not let you incite him to rebel again.” Mikail’s near-whisper was as venomous as a sand adder’s hiss.
Even as I tensed at the threat, its implications brought a spark of wary hope. “Incite him? For fuck’s sake, I’ve barely spoken five words to him. If he’s balking at Ruslan’s yoke, it’s none of my doing.”
Mikail’s hands fisted. “If you care at all for Kiran, then listen, you fool. If Kiran rebels again, Ruslan will not stay his hand. He would rather have Kiran mindlessly adoring at his side than gone forever from us. This is Kiran’s last chance—do not destroy it, and him.”
“Oh, I believe you,” I assured Mikail. “But don’t you get it? Kiran will rebel again regardless. He’s not a murderer like you and Ruslan! If he stays, Ruslan will mindburn him. You want him to live, mind intact, then you’ve got to help him leave.” I stopped short of saying, you’ve got to help me. I didn’t want to confirm that I planned to get Kiran free. Not unless I thought Mikail truly willing to help.
Mikail’s mouth curled in derision. “You think you know him so well after scant weeks in his company? I’ve spent my life with my mage-brother. He may have acted the weak nathahlen for you, but make no mistake, he is akheli at the core.”
The intensity of his conviction brought my earlier worry flooding back. No, damn it. He was wrong. I refused to believe otherwise.
“Mikail.” Kiran appeared in the archway.
In a heartbeat, Mikail’s derision vanished, his face once more impassive before he turned. Kiran darted a quick, curious glance at me, and said to Mikail, “Ruslan’s set us a task.”
Mikail nodded and strode back into the bloodied room, drawing Kiran with him. I descended the steps in time to see Kiran cast another glance at me over his shoulder. His expression was odd, puzzlement mixed with something I couldn’t identify. Had he heard any of my conversation with Mikail? If so, I hoped it would set that curiosity of his afire. It’d sure be easier to get him aside if he was as eager to seek me out as I was to speak to him.
I grinned at him, friendly as I could, as I sauntered out the archway. He looked all the more confused before he and Mikail knelt beside one of the bodies.
Talm intercepted me. “Come. We have to leave.”
“Not yet,” I protested, in a fierce whisper. “I haven’t talked to Kiran, and Marten promised—”
“Ruslan insists.” Talm sounded as annoyed as I felt. “He says he and Lizaveta will complete the water magic in place of the dead mages, and no foreigners—or those in their employ—are permitted in the Spire while water magic is cast.”
Marten and the others were already filing out into the antechamber under Ruslan’s stern gaze. I looked back at Kiran and Mikail, huddled over one of the corpses. A glass vial glinted in Mikail’s hand, a silver knife in Kiran’s. “They’re not doing water magic, I’d wager.”
“Ruslan claims he’s got some idea for a spell that’ll provide information on the killer.” Talm shook his head. “Another stalling tactic, I think. Don’t worry, we have a few ideas for spellwork of our own.”
I fingered the shard in my pocket. Had the killer brought a Tainter to Aiyalen in his attempt to break the wards? I winced at the thought of a kid like Melly forced to watch such gruesome murders. Yet if so, I could ask around for word of a missing Tainter, maybe get another lead to chase. I’d show the shard to Marten, but only after deciding how best to use it as bargaining token. I wanted the killer caught, yeah, but I didn’t dare let any chance for advantage pass me by.
As Talm ushered me out the door, I strained for one last glimpse of Kiran. So much for today’s chance to speak with him. Suliyya grant I’d get another.
* * *
(Kiran)
Kiran bent over the murdered mage. The man’s head was black with blood, his braid embedded in a sticky, half-dried puddle. Ruslan had asked him to obtain unstained locks of hair from each body, but finding one from this victim would be a challenge. At least the intensity of Kiran’s curiosity over both Mikail and Dev’s behavior helped keep his revulsion at bay. Even so, bile soured his throat every time he had to touch blood-matted hair, or look at the raw, empty holes where the man’s eyes had been.
On the corpse’s other side, Mikail finished scraping a sludge of blood and brain matter into a vial. Kiran cast a furtive glance at the doorway. Ruslan had finished herding the Alathians out and was speaking to the Seranthine scholar in the antechamber. Almost, Kiran wished that he could have found some chance to speak with Dev again unobserved—but then, questioning Mikail over their interaction was far safer.
He leaned closer to Mikail. “Who’s the one disobeying Ruslan and talking with nathahlen now? What happened to, ‘that guide is working for our enemies?’”
Mikail didn’t look up from capping the vial. “I wanted to know why the guide was nosing around the spell chamber, that’s all.”
Kiran sat back on his heels and regarded his mage-brother. The conversation with Dev might have started that way, but Kiran knew that wasn’t all the truth. “I heard you,” he said quietly. “You said, ‘He may have acted the weak nathahlen for you, but he is akheli at the core’…you were talking of me, weren’t you?”
Mikail’s hands stilled. “All right, yes. I was talking of you. I warned the guide to keep his distance—that you were akheli, and not some fellow nathahlen to chat with in a tavern. Do you think I enjoy watching Ruslan punish you? I know you, little brother—you forget yourself too easily. I don’t intend to let it happen again.”
Forget yourself…that was the trouble, wasn’t it? Kiran finally isolated a tuft of dry hair. He sliced the lock of hair free with a jerk of his knife and slid it into a vial of his own. Mikail’s answer made sense on the surface, yet something still didn’t fit. He’d only heard that last, hissed line from Mikail…but as he’d approached, he’d had a view past Mikail of Dev, crouched on the stairs. Dev hadn’t watched Mikail with the fear of a nathahlen faced with an angry blood mage. Instead, he’d shown an odd, frustrated urgency. And then his smile at Kiran afterward, as friendly as if he’d never seen Ruslan tear the servant’s mind apart…
The thump of the chamber door closing disrupted his thoughts. Ruslan barred the door and strode to stand over Kiran and Mikail.
“Do you have the spell materials as I asked?”
“Yes, Ruslan.” Kiran held up four glass vials with unstained hair inside, one from each mage. Mikail showed his own vials of blood and brain matter.
“Good. Blood and body will not be enough for the spell I intend, however.” Ruslan surveyed the dead mages, arms crossed. “Proper samples of each mage’s power will also be required. You will go to each mage’s house and search their workrooms for items imbued with their magic. A recently created charm is preferable to a ward.”
“Can’t we just use their defensive charms?” Mikail pointed to the ornate bracelet on the outflung wrist of the dead man before them. Just as with Jadin, the silver shone untarnished, the gemstones clear.
Ruslan shook his head. “Any charms within this room must be considered tainted by their proximity not only to the attacker’s magic, but to the unleashed magic of the other victims. I need pure samples.”
“I don’t understand why their charms show no outward damage,” Kiran said, frowning. “The dead mage in Vaishala district was caught by surprise, but here, we find magefire burns,
the residue of defensive magics—these mages tried to defend themselves. Why didn’t it work?”
“Tell me, if I wanted to send a thought into your mind using the mark-bond, would it matter if a stone wall stood between us?” Ruslan asked.
“No,” Kiran said, still frowning.
“Would the wall be damaged by the thought’s passing?”
“No…” Kiran straightened, as understanding fell into place. “Oh! You mean that the killer’s magic somehow operated on a different plane than theirs, the way thoughts are on a different plane than the physical?”
Ruslan smiled at him approvingly. “Exactly. I believe the energetic traces are also on that different plane, which why we cannot sense or focus them properly.”
“It’s like the Taint,” Mikail said abruptly. “We can’t sense that either.” He gave the barred doors a dark look. Kiran followed his gaze, but saw nothing there to warrant the expression.
“The idea is similar,” Ruslan agreed. “The Taint operates purely on the physical plane, allowing the manipulation of simple physical forces. Magic operates on the higher energetic plane, which is why even the most strongly Tainted nathahlen is no match for a mage.” He smiled again, sharply this time, as if at some private joke.
“So…the killer’s magic was on a higher plane than that of the dead mages, the same way normal magic is above the Taint?” Kiran asked.
“Possibly.” Ruslan’s eyes lit, his expression softening. “Imagine it! If we can access such a plane, the magic of the akheli might be enhanced further yet.”
Mikail frowned down at the corpse. “If his magic operates on a higher plane, are you saying he is more powerful than us?”
Ruslan laughed. “You need not fear, akhelysh. He may work magic in a way new to us, but I have seen no evidence that his raw power can match ours. Remember, he could not breach the wards on the spell chamber, a task well within an akheli’s abilities. No, I believe his method is unique, but his talent is mediocre.” He traced a finger over the dried blood coating the dead man’s brow. “A man of such mediocre talent likely does not realize that it is possible with enough finesse and power to read lingering mental traces instead of energetic residue.”
Kiran said, “That’s what this spell we’re preparing will do? Allow us to know his thoughts during the moments he killed these mages?” The idea was fascinating—thoughts and strong emotions changed ikilhia, yes, so Kiran could see how the shifting patterns of a person’s life energy might leave traces that could be read. But he couldn’t even imagine the complexity of a spell that could successfully isolate and enhance something so minuscule in effect.
Ruslan nodded. Mikail rolled a vial between his fingers. “If we’re focusing on the killer’s thoughts, why do we need samples from the other mages?”
Ruslan said, “Mental traces are faint, overlapping, and easily confused. But with samples of blood, body, and power from the dead mages, I can form enough of a template for their minds to exclude their traces from consideration, leaving only the thoughts of our quarry.”
He rested a hand on Mikail’s shoulder. “Go, now, the both of you. Lizaveta is on her way to help me complete the water duty. I want to see you back at home, your task completed, when I return. I am eager to work this altavish spell and see what information we can gain about our quarry.”
“Yes, Ruslan.” Kiran stood along with Mikail. Ruslan gave them a last nod and disappeared through the archway toward the spell chamber.
“We can split up,” Kiran suggested to Mikail. “I’ll search two of the houses, and you take the other two.”
“No.” Mikail glanced again at the barred door. “We should stay together. It’ll be faster to locate the right kind of charm in a workroom with both of us working as a team.”
Kiran smiled at him ruefully. “You mean, you’re a lot better at reading charms than I am.”
Mikail shrugged. “I didn’t say that, did I? Come on, little brother. Let’s get this done.”
* * *
(Dev)
I hurried down the causeway that spiraled through Reytani district’s lesser towers. It felt strange to walk alone after Talm dogging my heels for so long. When we left the Aiyalen Spire, Marten had wrangled permission from Edon to hang around in the courtyard outside the gate and cast some kind of spell, something to do with trying to track the killer through ripples in confluence currents. I’d balked when Marten told me the casting should only take a few hours. Hell if I’d sit around on my ass that long when I could be doing something useful, like hunting news of any missing Tainters at the dawn markets.
Marten had been reluctant to let me go, claiming he feared for my safety. Apparently all the Alathians were needed to cast the spell—in fact, Stevan and Talm had argued over whether or not all of them together were enough to pull it off—so Marten couldn’t spare one as a watchdog. All the better in my view, though I had to admit I felt a touch jumpy without a mage’s protection. I’d escaped Aiyalen’s courtyard by promising to return by midmorning and agreeing to wear a signaling charm that I suspected would let Marten track me far more easily than any find-me.
Sunlight spilled in a golden river along the towers, but the causeway was still in shadow. The gated courtyards I passed were full of desert roses whose profusion of pin-sized blooms hadn’t yet closed for the day, their sweet scent strong in the air.
A flash of blue caught my eye. I looked sideways into a narrow, gated archway, and stopped dead.
Jylla stood in the shadows, her back to me. She looked every inch the wealthy highsider, her dress made of layers of rich indigo fabric, her midnight black hair caught up in a gold clasp and jewels winking on the straps of her sandals, but I knew it was her. How could I not, when I’d spent long nights memorizing every curve and hollow of the lush body displayed to such advantage by that dress?
A black, bitter wave crashed over me. She’d betrayed me and stolen every kenet I’d earned in four years of mountain trips. If not for her, I never would have taken the smuggling job that had gotten me into this mess. Never crossed any Shaikar-damned blood mages, never gotten barred from outriding and courier work…yet that wasn’t what hurt the most. It was the other, older memories that cut so deep I thought my heart might fail in my chest. She’d dragged me out of despair after my Change, comforted me when I’d lain bruised and bloodied in Tavian’s cellar, schemed with me and laughed with me and shared her very soul with me…how could all that have been a lie?
Jylla’s back was tight with tension, one hand white-knuckled on the gate’s iron bars, the other hidden by her body. Even as I watched, the gate cracked open and she slipped through into the courtyard beyond. I glimpsed an amulet in the shape of a rayed sun clutched in one hand, before she moved out of my sightline.
I’d seen that amulet’s like before, and recently. Around the neck of a bloodied corpse in Aiyalen. How had Jylla gotten hold of it? And what was she doing, sneaking into some highsider’s house instead of lounging around in her lover’s garden?
The gate was still open, the wards dark. I fingered the signaling charm on my wrist. I could summon the Alathians. But if I did, I’d interrupt their spellwork. Stevan had warned Marten that the longer they waited to cast, the less chance the spell would have of tracing the killer. I wasn’t sure yet that Jylla’s amulet truly linked her to the deaths in Aiyalen. Maybe amulets like that were commonplace among highside mages.
Besides, Jylla wasn’t a mage. My boneshatter charm would work just fine for protection. And if I ended up confronting her, I’d far rather that conversation didn’t take place in front of Marten. The last thing I needed was for him to get yet more insight into how best to fuck me over.
I edged into the archway and peered through the gate. The courtyard beyond was empty of all but flowering karva vines and slender, ghost-pale ashblossom trees. In the far stone wall, a door stood slightly ajar, the wards as dark and silent as the gate’s.
I eased through the gate and cat-footed my way up to the door. Listen
ing at the crack, I heard only silence. When I peeked through, I saw only stone walls cluttered with bone masks, knotwork tapestries, and jade sculptures. I slipped around the door, the rune-marked oval of the boneshatter charm gripped tight in my right palm.
“Thought you’d never come in.” Jylla stepped from the corner behind the door.
Oh, hell. I lunged for Jylla with the boneshatter charm. She skipped aside.
“Easy, Dev! I just want to talk.”
I halted, but kept my right hand raised and ready. “Why the game, then? You could’ve hailed me in the street.”
Her cheekbones and temples were painted with subtle, shimmering colors that made her pointed face look somehow softer, younger. Yet her sloe eyes still held the old, familiar glint of sardonic amusement. “Would you have stopped if I had?”
“Fuck, no,” I said. “I’m not staying, either. Not unless you tell me how you got that amulet you were waving around at the gate, and whose house you’ve lured me into.”
“Both amulet and house are mine,” she said. “Or rather, Naidar’s. My patron.”
Patron. Ha. Naidar was a swaggering asshole of a crystal mage who drooled over women of Korassian descent like Jylla. She’d hooked him good, and promptly stolen all my earnings so she could pull off the role of highside courtesan and keep him dancing to her tune.
An image of the mutilated corpse bearing the rayed amulet sprang into my mind’s eye. I’d only ever seen Naidar from afar, and the corpse’s face was ruined beyond recognition, the hair so matted with blood I wasn’t certain of the color. But damn, the height was right.
Best to be sure. “Where’s Naidar now?” I asked Jylla.
“Dead in the Aiyalen Spire,” Jylla said flatly. “As you well know. I saw you strolling in and out of the Spire with those foreign mages.”
“How did you know he’s dead? They haven’t let anyone else inside the…” My stomach sank. “Oh, shit. You were there? In the tower?”
The Tainted City Page 24
