“Did you think you could cross me and get away with it?”
“Cross you? Other way around, wasn’t it? Who tricked me into trying to smuggle a blood mage across the border, without so much as a hint of the true risk? I finished your Shaikar-cursed job in spite of all you left out, and earned my pay as fair as you could ask for.” I’d nearly died about ten times over on that Khalmet-touched trip, and my survival was no thanks to him or his partner Gerran.
Bren clenched his ringed hand. Pain savaged me, blotting out thought. When it finally ebbed, I found myself lying curled at his feet, every muscle aching and my breath coming in hitching gasps.
Bren said, “You left out the part where you sold out Gerran and his entire operation.”
“Oh shit, the Council—” I blurted, before I could stop myself. “They arrested Gerran, didn’t they.” Marten hadn’t told me, damn him. Though I should have guessed it. At Kiran’s trial, the Council had questioned me under truth spell about my smuggling. They must’ve followed up on what I’d told them and ferreted out Gerran and his holdings. I hadn’t spared Gerran a thought until now, being more than a little preoccupied with other matters.
“Arrested him, confiscated the contents of his warehouses and all his accounts, and executed him,” Bren agreed. “He and I built our business over more years than you’ve been alive, you little shit. You have no concept of how much your big mouth has cost me.”
My stomach sank. I’d worked for Bren because he never went back on a deal, but that went two ways. Men who broke faith with him didn’t live long. The ominously dark stains on the room’s stone loomed large in my eyes.
“When a bunch of Alathian mages grab you and question you under truth spell because they’re all riled up over a blood mage crossing their precious border, you don’t have too much say in what comes out of your mouth. Look, I’m sorry about Gerran. But for Khalmet’s sake, I didn’t do it deliberately! I didn’t even know they’d grabbed him.”
Bren laughed, a grating chuckle. “Right. That’s why the first news I hear of you back in Ninavel says you’re errand boy to a gang of Alathian mages.”
“Did Pello tell you that? You know he lies like other men breathe.” News traveled fast in the city, but this was a little too fast. I’d taken care not to be seen streetside with anyone in an Alathian uniform. If I’d been recognized with them highside, that pointed to surveillance of either the Alathians themselves, or the specific sites where the killer had struck.
“Didn’t need a shadow man for that. Seems at least one of your foreign friends doesn’t like you much. Can’t imagine why.” Bren’s smile displayed far too many teeth. “Got a nice sigil-sealed letter telling me all about how you dance to the Council’s tune now. Before you try and deny it, I’ll have you know I did my own checking. You’re the cause of my woes, sure enough.”
“That letter wasn’t from any Alathian.” I wasn’t sure yet how Pello played into this, but I’d been wrong again about Ruslan. Practicality must have won out over sadism. He’d use Bren for the killing thrust, and never once break his vow. “Fuck with me, Bren, and you’re fucking with not just one, but an entire crew of mages.”
Bren snorted. “You think those Alathians will care if you vanish? They’ll find a new informant without blinking twice.”
“Oh, they’ll care,” I assured him. “Because they’ll assume I got snatched by the mage-killer they’re hunting with Lord Sechaveh. When they find the trail leads only to a streetside smuggling boss, you think they’ll just let you walk away whistling? They’ll be pissed at all that wasted effort and take it out on your hide.” Not that I believed Marten would bother to take revenge, but Bren wouldn’t know that.
“Luckily, you’re not the only one who can make deals with mages,” Bren said. “The trail won’t lead here.”
He spoke with complete certainty. Maybe Ruslan had promised him safety from retribution. Or perhaps he meant Pello’s mystery employer. Sweat slicked my palms. “Trusting a mage is like asking a scorpion not to sting, and you know it. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be talking. You’d have had your pet mage kill me in that alley.”
“Didn’t I say I wanted a chat?” Bren leaned down. “You’re going to tell me every word you blabbed to the Council about my methods and couriers. Hell, by the time I’m done with you, you’ll sell out your dearest friend if I ask it. And then, when you beg me nicely—that’s when I’ll kill you. Or maybe I won’t. Did you know that if a painbender charm’s triggered for too long, it can burn away a man’s nerves entirely, leave his limbs forever useless?” The painbender ring glittered as he clenched his fist, slowly.
Every nerve screamed. I convulsed, clawing at the back of my neck, as if that’d make a difference. The pain went on and on, a red wave drowning me. Some part of me laughed, outraged and ironic: to think I’d survived blood mages and years of dangerous climbs, only to be crippled by a streetside smuggling boss. Until the wave crested higher, and all thought shredded away.
Chapter Seventeen
(Dev)
Someone shouted. A blaze of azure light pierced the crushing weight of agony, and the pain vanished. The relief was so great that for a moment all I could do was lie quivering face-down on stone, my mind still a cringing blank.
Slowly, sense returned. Bren lay sprawled right in front of my nose, his eyes shut and his body slack. Oh thank Khalmet, the Alathians had come. I’d kiss even Marten’s feet for saving me this time. My limbs—could I still move them? My toes and fingers wiggled at my command, and I rested my forehead briefly on the stone, my eyes damp with relief. I rolled over, graceless as a drunk, and froze in surprise.
A dark figure stood in the shadowed alley beyond the open door. The jagged red and black sigils on his clothes seemed to writhe like serpents in the flickering light of Bren’s candle lantern.
“K—Kiran?” My voice was rough, my throat raw. I’d probably been screaming, though I didn’t recall it. Only the pain, huge and terrible.
Kiran emerged from the shadows. I squinted at the darkness behind him, fearing to see Mikail—or worse, Ruslan. “What are you doing here? Are you—?”
“Alone? Yes.” Kiran looked down at Bren’s limp body, his face every bit as cold and severe as Ruslan’s. A chill slid down my spine.
“Did you kill him?” I couldn’t tell if Bren was breathing.
Kiran turned to me. His black brows drew together. “No. Do you wish me to?”
Yes. The word trembled on my tongue in pure vindictive reaction. But I wanted answers about Pello. Besides, Kiran was watching me with a strange intensity. I thought of Marten saying, You must show him Ruslan’s path isn’t the one he wants to travel.
“No.” I kicked Bren’s side, not gently. “He may know something useful.”
“What did he want from you, and what might he know?” Kiran asked.
“He was just pissed because he thought I’d sold his smuggling operation out to the Alathians,” I said. “But to get hold of me, he dealt with someone who might work for the killer.” I reached for the painbender charm that still hugged my spine. “Can you get this damn thing off me?” I could take the control ring from Bren, but the ring was still keyed to him and wouldn’t respond to another.
Kiran brushed a hand over the charm. Metal claws retracted from my flesh, the thin, needling pain a lover’s kiss compared to what had come before. Kiran caught the charm as it fell. He held it up a moment, studying it; then tossed it aside with a contemptuous flick of his wrist.
“Thanks.” I put the full weight of my relief into the word. “For this, and for…what you did earlier, in Naidar’s house. I hope Ruslan wasn’t too hard on you for it.”
He looked away, the skin seeming to draw tighter over his high cheekbones. “No. He was lenient.”
I wasn’t certain I believed him—and he still hadn’t answered my first question. “What brings you down streetside to save my ass this time?” I sure didn’t think this little rescue was any part of Ruslan’s plan.
Kiran shif
ted, minutely. “I came seeking you. I…have certain questions I need answered.”
A startled laugh escaped me. I’d been touched by Khalmet’s bony hand tonight, and no mistake. How badly had I wanted this chance? Here Kiran was, ready at last to hear the truth about his past. A truth I no longer dared tell him. Unless…if I could walk a clever enough line, reveal just enough to make him desperate for further answers, maybe I could turn this into a chance of a different kind.
* * *
(Kiran)
“Why do you laugh?” Kiran demanded. A voice within whispered, You want answers from him? Then take them. One touch, and he could slide straight into Dev’s unprotected mind and hunt through his memories. That wasn’t the same as a spellcasting; if he took care not to cause damage, Ruslan’s will-binding would not prevent him. But even so, Dev would know the violation of his mind.
Why did that idea disturb him so deeply? Mikail would curse him for a fool.
“Your timing’s both terrific and terrible.” Dev looked exhausted, his eyes bruised and dark. Not surprising, given that mere moments ago he’d been contorted in agony, his hoarse, ragged howls audible long before Kiran reached the room. A surge of reluctant sympathy swept Kiran. He’d come within a heartbeat of killing Dev’s nathahlen tormentor, and felt not a qualm. Part of him still wished the man dead, regardless of what he might know.
“Terrible, how?” Kiran certainly didn’t see why Dev would be anything but grateful for his intervention.
Dev circled the unconscious nathahlen to peer out into the alleyway, as if he feared Kiran might have lied about being alone. “Before we talk further, I have to know—does Ruslan know you’re here?”
“No.” Kiran locked his hands behind his back. He didn’t have to use Ruslan’s methods with Dev. Besides, the Alathians would surely be watching for any signs of mental tampering in their guide. If they found evidence of it, they’d complain to Sechaveh, and then Ruslan would know his disobedience.
“He didn’t feel you using magic just now?” Dev nudged his downed tormentor with a foot, then looked pointedly at the charm glittering in a grimy corner.
Kiran blinked, caught once more by surprise. How could a nathahlen know the mark-bond let Ruslan feel Kiran’s magic as his own? “Only a small casting was needed, and Ruslan is currently…otherwise occupied.” Behind the powerful wards of his workroom, with his attention fully focused on the confluence currents, the risk was small that Ruslan would realize Kiran wasn’t merely casting a spell exercise. As long as Kiran kept any spells suitably minor.
“But once he’s not ‘occupied?’” Dev asked. “Will he see this conversation through that mark-bond of yours?”
Dev’s knowledge had limits, then. Kiran said, “Only if he has reason to look for the memory.” A scenario he certainly intended to prevent.
Wary relief showed on Dev’s face. “Ask your questions, then.”
Kiran took a steadying breath. Ever since he’d cast the seeking spell that had led him to Dev, he’d worried over how to phrase questions so he wouldn’t reveal the full extent of his weakness. He feared there was no hope of avoiding it entirely. But he had to be cautious. Mikail was right in his warning that Dev worked for their enemies.
“The charm diagram you showed me in the murdered mage’s house…where did you get it?”
Dev stepped over the nathahlen to lean against the scarred, stained stone of the wall. Despite the casual pose, Kiran sensed tension emanating from him. “From a friend.”
The careful way he spoke the words brought sudden surmise. Dev was under constraint of some kind. Perhaps the Alathians didn’t want him and Kiran talking any more than Ruslan did.
“A friend,” Kiran repeated. “An Alathian?”
Dev shook his head. Still in that careful tone, he said, “You recognized the drawing, said it was yours. If you drew it, you know what the charm’s for, right?”
“Yes.” Dev didn’t need to know how long he’d puzzled over the pattern frozen in his memory. In truth, he still didn’t understand the charm’s utility, but he had at least deciphered the spell’s direct effects. “The charm would—”
The sudden, sharp interest in Dev’s eyes made Kiran realize the question wasn’t some type of test; that he held a bargaining token.
“I’ll tell you what it would do,” he said to Dev. “But you must answer one question first.”
“Yeah?” Dev’s expression grew guarded again.
“How long have you known Mikail?” How long have you known me, he wished he dared ask. But that would make his memory loss horribly plain. By coming at it slantwise, he might avoid revealing just how far that loss extended.
Dev stared at Kiran for a long moment. Then he grinned, sardonic and one-sided. “You should know. You were there when we met.”
Frustration set Kiran’s hands trembling. It would be so terribly easy to rip the knowledge he sought from Dev. “Don’t play games,” he snapped. You don’t understand how important this is, he wanted to shout. But he wasn’t such a fool as to explain to Dev that he needed to know the past to overcome his reluctance to harm nathahlen. “That morning in the dead mage’s courtyard wasn’t your first meeting with Mikail.”
“You’re right about that,” Dev said, in a voice as dry as the desert. “But you don’t remember.” It wasn’t a question.
Oh, Kiran would pay, and Mikail with him, if Ruslan ever found this memory. Yet a reckless defiance rose within him. He might as well ensure he learned something worth the risk. “Perhaps I don’t. So why don’t you tell me of it?”
Dev squeezed his eyes shut, as if in pain. “Mother of maidens, wouldn’t I love to.”
“You’re afraid of the Alathians?” Kiran made a dismissive gesture. “Don’t be. I can—”
Dev laughed sharply. “The Alathians? Hell, no. Marten would jump at the chance to answer your question.”
Kiran rocked back on his heels as understanding flooded in. “You fear Ruslan’s anger.” Why would Ruslan want to prevent Kiran from discovering what Dev knew?
Dev said, bitter and mocking, “Don’t sound so surprised. Everyone in Ninavel knows what it means to cross a mage. I’m no different.”
Kiran frowned, struggling to understand. “But you’re under Lord Sechaveh’s protection. Ruslan vowed not to harm you.”
“Oh, come on!” Dev snapped. “You know Ruslan better than that. Yeah, fine, so he won’t burn me to ash on sight. Believe me, there are plenty of ways to fuck someone over without touching a hair on their head.”
Kiran got a flash of the frantic, guilty horror he’d felt upon hearing Mikail’s cry of pain. “He’s threatened someone you care for.”
“Exactly.” Dev’s eyes burned. “A helpless little kid, to be specific. He said if I told you of your past, he’d make her ‘eat her own flesh.’ Your master is one sick son of a bitch.”
Kiran looked down. Part of him wanted to protest, to defend Ruslan. You don’t know him, he wanted to say. He’s not always cruel. But Ruslan only showed his gentler moods with fellow akheli. He might well have threatened a nathahlen child and meant every word of it. The thought made Kiran’s stomach twist. “If you fear for the child, why are you even talking to me?”
“Because you’re my best chance at saving her,” Dev said. “Ruslan holds a blood-mark contract for the Tainted child Melly na soliin, signed by her handler Red Dal. Get me that blood-mark, and I’ll tell you what Ruslan’s so desperate to keep you from remembering, under any truth spell you care to cast.”
Kiran was silent, torn. He wanted answers, yes. But sneaking out to question Dev was one thing. To defy Ruslan so directly would risk punishment on a scale his heart quailed to imagine.
Dev was watching him, fierce and intent. “How much have you lost? Months, years? How can you stand not knowing what he took from you?”
Kiran’s chest went cold. “Took from me? It was an accident. A spell backlash.”
“Is that what he told you?” A terrible, unmistakable pity
shone in Dev’s eyes.
“I…” A shiver ran over Kiran. Could Ruslan have…? No. Ruslan was harsh in his punishments, but they never came without cause, or resulted in lasting damage. He would never cripple Kiran so deeply. Unless he believed it necessary, a small voice whispered. But what could drive Ruslan to that extreme? And to believe that not just Ruslan, but Mikail and Lizaveta would all lie to him so thoroughly? No, it wasn’t possible. Ruslan had warned him of the Alathians. They are experts in the use of lies…They will try to make you distrust us, distrust yourself.
Shame seared him to realize how readily he’d been thrown into confusion. “Tell your masters they cannot so easily turn me against Ruslan. The bonds among akheli run far too deep to be weakened by your lies.”
Dev’s face tightened with frustration. “You don’t want to believe me about Ruslan, fine. But I know you, Kiran. I know how this…this hole in your mind must drive you crazy. I want to give you answers—you don’t know how badly! But I won’t sacrifice Melly to do it. Help her, and let me help you.”
I know you. Against all caution, the words tugged at him. While Dev might lie about Ruslan, either deliberately or as a dupe of his Alathian masters, Kiran’s gut insisted Dev wasn’t lying about that. Dev’s knowledge might yet be the key Kiran needed to remove his hesitation over blood magic. But if he stole the contract from Ruslan as Dev asked…what if Dev was lying about the child? This could be some scheme of the Alathians, meant to entrap Kiran.
At Kiran’s feet, the nathahlen man stirred and groaned. Kiran glanced down, ready to siphon away more of the man’s ikilhia to send him unconscious again. Only to abort the power draw when he found the man staring up at him in stunned recognition.
“You!” The man croaked.
Kiran met Dev’s startled gaze, saw Dev’s green eyes go wider yet.
“Kiran, wait—!”
Kiran knelt and snatched at the man’s bare wrist. Slipping into the nathahlen’s mind was simple, the man’s instinctive resistance destroyed as easily as ripping away a gauze curtain. He sought his own image in the man’s memories, chasing down linkages still bright with the man’s surprise at seeing him.
The Tainted City Page 33
