He hadn’t yet exhausted all his questions for Mikail when the blaze of magic around Ruslan’s workroom vanished. Ruslan spoke through the mark-bond. Mikail, Kiran: come.
Kiran exchanged a glance with Mikail, who said, “Remember, no anger.”
“I know.” Kiran hurried after Mikail, out of the study and up the spiral staircase to Ruslan’s workroom. But oh, it was hard to stamp down the blaze of outraged hurt he felt the moment he sighted Ruslan waiting for them at the door. He did his best not to stiffen when Ruslan took his shoulder. He even managed to return Ruslan’s welcoming smile. Mikail gave him a quick, approving look as Ruslan led them inside.
Lizaveta leaned against the anchor stone, her eyes smudged and dark with exhaustion. Ruslan looked little better, his face drawn and his broad shoulders slumped. Yet his expression held more triumph than weariness.
“Success, akhelyshen. We’ve identified the pattern of currents our enemy seeks, and know the hour when it should next occur. Better yet, during his recent attempt, we discovered a mark of his presence.”
A sense-image welled up from the mark-bond: the confluence, vast and wild, its currents boiling forth in a welter of disturbed energies—but in one spot lurked a dark vortex nearly too small to see. Magic swirled around it in odd, irregular surges not at all like the confluence’s natural flow.
“I believe the vortex to be a manifestation of our enemy’s unique method of magic, and the very act of wielding that magic to be what agitates the confluence into an upheaval,” Ruslan said. “The death-born power he releases by killing mages only enhances the effect.”
Lizaveta nodded in weary agreement. She swept her long fall of hair off her neck and twisted the shining black mass into a rough knot. “I would dearly love to know his method. I’ve never seen the like of that vortex.”
“Nor have I,” Ruslan said. “Regardless, it should suffice to target channeled spellwork.”
Mikail said, “If the vortex is only present during the brief moments of an upheaval, how can you prepare the spell and cast in time before it vanishes?”
Ruslan said, “Kiran, you still hear these…whispers…in advance of an upheaval, do you not? That will provide us warning.”
“Not much warning,” Kiran said. “I only hear them right beforehand.” Though the mental whispers had been growing harsher and more unsettling with each new disturbance.
Ruslan said, “A precisely targeted spell cannot be cast in time, it’s true. I intend something a touch more crude, yet still effective. Kiran was able to hurt our enemy with a simple magefire strike when more elaborate defensive spells had failed. Therefore…Lizaveta and I will raise channeled power, as much as we can, and hold it in waiting. You two will observe the confluence from outside the wards. When Kiran warns me our enemy’s arrival is imminent, I will link minds with you through the mark-bond. The instant one of you spots the vortex, I will cast the channeled power at its location as simple magefire.”
Surely Kiran had misheard Ruslan. “You’ll cast with the full power of the confluence in a raw strike? You’ll reduce an entire district to rubble!”
Ruslan shrugged. “I’ll contain the magefire, though not too tightly—I do not wish our enemy to escape. Buildings and bridges can be rebuilt. The confluence cannot. Sechaveh will consider the losses acceptable given the stakes.”
How many lives would that loss include? A dozen, a hundred…more? Kiran choked back a protest, alarmed at the strength of his dismay. He had to remember the feeling was false in origin, the product of the Alathians’ attempt to chain him. Yet the only thing that stopped his tongue was the knowledge that far more lives would be lost if Ruslan did not cast.
“Will you tell the Alathians of your plan?” Mikail asked.
“No.” Ruslan’s smile was savage. “I vowed never to knowingly cast to harm them. I think it best if I have no contact with them before we strike, and know nothing of their whereabouts. I would hate to be prevented from casting, should they happen to be in proximity to our enemy when he appears again.”
The fire in Ruslan’s eyes said how fervently he hoped the Alathians would happen to be in range of his strike. For once, Kiran was in complete agreement. He might be angry with Ruslan, but the Alathians…the Alathians, he hated. He wanted them to burn.
“You said you could predict when that next appearance might be,” Mikail said. “When must we be ready to cast?”
“The confluence will reach the proper alignment during the hour before noon,” Ruslan said. “Now, Lizaveta and I will eat and take an hour’s rest. Then all four of us will lay channels, to ensure we are ready in time.” He slung his arms around Kiran and Mikail’s shoulders and pulled them close. “Our victory will come soon, akhelyshen, and then we can rest in truth.”
Lizaveta laughed, low and full of promise. “Or celebrate otherwise.”
“Just so.” Ruslan kissed first Mikail, then Kiran. It was easier than Kiran expected to submit to the kiss; with his blood still blazing with the desire for revenge on the Alathians, his anger with Ruslan felt of no more consequence than a thorn-scratch. Yet when Ruslan released him, he shivered in relief, and hoped Ruslan wouldn’t realize the reason.
Chapter Nineteen
(Dev)
I woke to sun shining on my face, hot enough to be uncomfortable. I squinted up at the unshuttered window over the bed in bleary confusion. The embassy. Right. I’d been only half-conscious by the time we arrived before dawn, so exhausted I remembered only a blur of faces and voices, Cara’s loud and relieved among them.
From the angle of the sun, it was already midmorning. Muffled singing drifted into the room, the rhythm hypnotically repetitive. The Alathians must be casting. High time I dragged myself out of bed and thought up some alternatives in case their spell failed to find Pello. Half a morning’s sleep wasn’t enough to clear my head entirely, but at least the ache in my muscles had diminished to a nagging soreness. I rubbed at my chest uneasily. I couldn’t feel the killer’s binding, wouldn’t even know it was there if Marten and Stevan hadn’t told me—and that just made my skin crawl worse.
I sat up, and paused at the sight of Cara asleep on the other bed. She had her face buried in the pillow, one bare arm dangling off the mattress. Her hair was loose of its braid, snarled and knotted from sleep, pale as ashblossom honey against her amber skin. The sheet had slid down to pool around her narrow hips, and the thin cotton of her sleeveless undertunic was tight as a second skin over the curve of her back.
Memory stole my breath: the jahla-spice taste of her mouth, her body arching under mine on a makeshift bed of furs. We’d only had the one night in Kost, but gods, how I wanted more. The fear I’d endured for her last night made the hurt I’d felt over her letter to Marten seem stupidly petty. I ached to lie beside her and draw her close, slide off her undertunic and kiss every inch of her skin…
No. This was as dangerous as anger; more so, because I wanted it so badly. Now, if ever, I needed a clear head. If we survived this, time enough then to see if Cara still wanted anything more than friendship. It wouldn’t surprise me if she didn’t, after all I’d already done to shove her away.
I reached for my boots. She stirred and sat up, yawning. I strove for a grin as cheerful and easy as any I’d greeted her with on a convoy trip. “Morning.”
She appraised me with a keen, critical gaze, every bit the head outrider. “You look a shade better than last night.”
“I feel a lot better,” I assured her.
“Good. Then you can tell me what the hell happened, in proper detail this time instead of barely intelligible grunts. I got some of the story from Lena after you collapsed, but I want to hear your version.”
If we hadn’t been sitting in the embassy, I’d have told her the full tale without any omissions. As it was, I kept to the same version I’d given the Alathians. Cara listened in silence, worrying out the tangles in her hair and rebraiding it with swift, neat fingers. When she pulled on trousers and shirt and I lost my vie
w of all that tanned skin, I sighed in regret. Thank Khalmet, she didn’t notice. When I finished talking, she sprang off her bed to pace.
“Painbenders and blood mages and bindings…I swear, Dev, sometimes I don’t know if Khalmet’s touched you with his good hand or his bad one. It drives me wild that I’m stuck behind these wards like some hapless sulaikh-maiden. The very least, I’ll make sure the Alathians break that binding of yours. I talked to them last night. No question Stevan’s got prejudices deep as the Blackstar Chasm, and I won’t argue with you about Marten, but the rest—Lena, Talm, Halassian and her people—they may be more help than you think. They’re not vipers.”
“How wrong you are.” The voice was Jylla’s. The door creaked open and she slid through. She wore a gauzy dress just as fancy and revealing as the one she’d worn in Naidar’s house, though her feet were bare, and she hadn’t bothered to paint her face. Her quiet-shroud amulet dangled from one hand.
I jumped up and glared. “Nobody invited you to join the conversation.” How long had she been lurking out there listening to us? Thank Khalmet I hadn’t mentioned the Taint charm diagram. If Jylla ever realized a mage like Ruslan could give her some semblance of the Taint back, she’d stop at nothing to make it happen. The gods knew I still burned to beg Kiran to make one, despite all conscience.
Jylla said, “You should invite me, since clearly there’s not a brain to spare between you.” She turned to Cara. “Weren’t you listening to his little tale? Or were you too busy thinking about yanking him into your bed?”
Cara gave Jylla a look as cold as glacial snowmelt. “Outriders make a living by skill and teamwork, not by bleeding men dry in bedroom schemes. I should’ve guessed you’d be sneaking about spying. If anyone in this embassy’s a viper, it’s you.”
“If you don’t want to be overheard, use a silencing charm,” Jylla said. “Speaking of…” She shut the door and put on the quiet-shroud amulet. “There. Now, let’s talk vipers.”
“Thought you said the charm wouldn’t work without standing close,” I said.
She grinned at me, merry and mocking. “I lied.”
Of course she had. I repressed a snarl, aware of Cara’s sharp glance my way. If Jylla mentioned my moment of weakness in Naidar’s house, I’d throttle her bare-handed.
The wicked glint in her eyes said she knew my fear. But she fingered her amulet, and her expression sobered. “For Khalmet’s sake, Dev. Bren as much as tells you an Alathian sold you out, and you ignore it?”
“It was Ruslan who sent Bren the letter.” But I wasn’t so sure, not anymore. Why had the killer struck Avakra-dan’s den, out of all the charm dealers who supplied ganglords? Ruslan hadn’t known of my initial visit to her—but all of the Alathians had, even if they hadn’t known of my bargain. If the killer meant to destroy Ninavel’s mages and as many ganglords as he could manage, maybe somebody here had decided that was a goal worth the destruction of Alathia’s wards. They could’ve leaked the location of Avakra-dan’s den to the killer, in hopes Marten would ditch me after finding me bound, and lose me as a source of information.
“Ah,” Jylla said, watching me. “I see you’ve been thinking on it; good to know you haven’t lost all your wits.” She perched on the foot of my bed and drew her knees up to sit in a tidy curl like a cat on a sill. The familiarity of the pose brought a sharp pang. How often had she sat like that, listening with amused interest as I told her of mountain adventures?
She added, “My money’s on the woman. Lena. She’s guilty as hell over something—don’t tell me you haven’t noticed it.”
I’d seen the shadowed sleeplessness in Lena’s eyes and thought it regret over Kiran. Hell, I’d counted on that guilt when I asked her to help me free Melly…but what if I’d been the one played for a mark? I’d let her touch me, read my thoughts—she could’ve learned about Avakra-dan’s stash of blood-marks, and a lot more besides. Maybe when she saw I meant my promise to keep helping Marten, she’d decided to get rid of me. Pello and his crew had latched onto me right after I left Lena’s side, and she’d been the only Alathian to know my whereabouts that night.
But what proof did I have? Nothing Marten would believe, that was sure. And I couldn’t rule out the others…after all, if anyone’s hatred of Ninavel was strong enough to drive them to sabotage Marten’s mission, it was Stevan. Even easygoing Talm saw Ninavel as a plague den, and his years stationed here meant he would’ve known how to contact a smuggling boss like Bren.
Cara crossed her arms and eyed Jylla with disdain. “Maybe you just assume Lena’s a liar because you can’t conceive of a woman being anything else.”
Jylla only smiled condescendingly. “Not at all. Take you—I know you’ve not a shred of skill with deceit. Maybe that’s fine in the mountains. Here in the city, it’ll get you killed. I wouldn’t care, except you’re dragging Dev to the grave with you.”
My laugh was harsh. “Come on, Jylla. You won’t shed a single tear if I burn.”
She ignored me, her eyes fixed on Cara. “You and that idiot Sethan! Turning Dev soft, blinding him with all these idiotic notions of honor! Highsiders can afford to keep promises. Streetsiders have to know better.”
She knew about my vow to Sethan? Of course she did. She’d seen that Marten had some hold over me. She must’ve been panting to know what could keep me leashed so well. No doubt she’d weaseled the whole damn story out of the Alathians within hours of first setting foot in the embassy.
Cara shook her head, disgusted and pitying. “Maybe if you’d ever set foot outside a ganglord’s cesspit, you’d realize that loyalty’s the best quality a man can have.”
“I prefer a live oathbreaker to a loyal corpse,” Jylla said. “If you cared for Dev, you’d help him see that his life’s worth more than a vow made to a man four years dead.” She looked at me. “Tell me you haven’t wished you’d never gotten involved in this.”
I couldn’t meet her gaze. Instead, I snapped, “I wouldn’t be involved, if not for you.”
“Didn’t I say I regret it?” She leaned toward me, her eyes wide and earnest. “It’s not too late, Dev. Make the Alathians break your binding. Once they do…run with me. Seems to me your precious little Melly would be safest if you weren’t here to make her a target. Better if you leave the city with me and forget this entire briar tangle. Hell, bring Cara with us, if she’s hooked you so well. You know she’s not safe in this embassy. None of us are.”
Cara made a strangled, incredulous noise. I stared at Jylla, then laughed again. “Admit it, Jylla. You think the city’s going to fall, you want to save your own sweet ass, and you figure your best shot is to get a pair of experienced outriders to take you across the mountains.” Plus, she needed me to sneak her out of the embassy. Without the Taint, she couldn’t slip past the powerful wards on the embassy’s door, and unlike me, she couldn’t climb well enough to negotiate the drop beyond the windows.
“Of course I want to survive,” Jylla said, with an exasperated sigh. “Doesn’t mean I’m not anxious you should too. Use your head, Dev! Lena—or someone—has tried to get rid of you once already. You think she’ll stop now?”
“No,” I said. “But I think any traitor here doesn’t dare cast against me directly, for fear of getting caught. That means if I’m cautious, I’ve got a chance at exposing the viper before she or he can try again.” Ironically, being cautious meant sticking close to Marten. He was the only one I was certain didn’t want me dead—because otherwise, why go through all the effort to bring me to Ninavel and keep me leashed?
Cara’s scowl had turned thoughtful. She asked me, “Are you going to talk to Marten about this?”
“Not until I’ve got something more than mere suspicion,” I said. “Marten won’t want to believe one of his people’s a traitor—especially not if it’s his first lieutenant. So, look…” I turned to Jylla. “You want to survive? Then put your shadow talents to use. Work with Cara, see if you can find any evidence here at the embassy that someone’s sc
heming against Marten.”
Cara and Jylla both looked at me like I’d said they should go dance in a magefire. Jylla said, “Work with a sanctimonious idiot, who hasn’t the least idea of shadow games? Why in Khalmet’s name would I do that?”
“Because if you do, and you find evidence—real evidence, Jylla, not invented—I’ll get you through the embassy’s wards, and give you enough coin to pay passage over the mountains.” I’d make damn sure I had some of Jylla’s blood as insurance first, to prevent her from turning around to sell me or the Alathians out to the killer.
Jylla studied me. Abruptly, she chuckled. “Why not? I’ll work the job for you. I haven’t had a challenge in a while…not since you and I tracked down that illusionist who ran off with a ganglord’s entire charm stash.”
That had been the job we worked right before she cast me aside for Naidar. I refused to show how deep the memory cut. “So long as you understand: I don’t trust you in this, not one fucking bit. So the deal’s only on if Cara’s your watchdog.” I looked to Cara.
She said to Jylla, “Dev and I need a moment alone. And by alone, I mean without you lurking outside the door.”
“Of course,” Jylla said, with another of her sly grins. “Hope you take advantage of it. The gods know I’ve missed him in my bed. Especially after the taste of it I had the other day.”
Shaikar take her! “Out. Now,” I snapped, and herded her through the door. Once in the corridor, I said in a venomous mutter, “Don’t think you can rile Cara into avoiding you. She’ll watch you keen as a banehawk no matter what you say. Try any schemes that harm her, and I’ll have Marten bind you to the confluence.”
“Hooked deep, I see.” Her black eyes weren’t mocking like I expected, but serious, even sad. “It won’t last, Dev. You can pretend for a while, but she’s not crippled like you and I are. We know how to help each other survive because we share the same scars. But her…when she realizes that dead spot in your soul can’t ever heal, she’ll tire of trying. In the end, she’ll seek someone whole.”
The Tainted City Page 37
