Kiran hid a wince. He and Mikail waited by the audience chamber windows, well clear of Ruslan. Their master faced Sechaveh and Captain Martennan over the confluence charm’s obsidian rings, his arms crossed tight. Lizaveta stood at his side, elegant and imperious. Ruslan’s face was as severe and still as a statue’s, but his hazel eyes burned.
He said, “I have caused no damage that cannot be repaired. Let the merchant houses flee, let the mines go fallow for lack of workers…the merchants will come crawling back sniffing after profit soon enough, and your coffers will once more overflow.”
Lizaveta added in a tone of quiet reason, “Even a failed strike bought us more time, by driving away our enemy before he could deepen the confluence’s instability.”
Captain Martennan’s drawling voice echoed off the marble walls. “Time bought at far too high a price! Lord Sechaveh, not only did Ruslan’s ill-considered strike cost me one of my own people, a man whose efforts have proved invaluable to this investigation—but he destroyed our best lead! The spy Pello could well have led us to the killer. Thanks to Ruslan, that chance is gone.”
Ruslan glared at Martennan. “Your pursuit of the spy was a thin gamble at best. You yourself admit you do not know if he worked for the killer. As for your man…” The fire in his eyes brightened, turned vindictive. “You refer merely to your hired informant, do you not? He was Arkennlander, and nathahlen—hardly one of your own people. Hire another of the lower city’s rabble if you choose to seek information there; I see no reason for sorrow.”
Martennan’s mouth twisted. Unaccountably, he glanced at Kiran. Kiran kept his face stolidly blank. Martennan must know of Dev’s attempt to turn him against Ruslan. Did he hope the news of Dev’s death would leave Kiran newly desperate for answers about his past, making him all the more vulnerable to coercion? If so, Kiran would show him how wrong he was.
Kiran only wished he could rejoice in Dev’s death the way Ruslan so clearly did. Dev had betrayed him, tried to suborn him, and Kiran had wanted revenge. Yet between the tension in the audience chamber and his lingering dismay over the failed strike, he couldn’t muster even a glimmer of satisfaction.
“I see plenty of reason for sorrow in your failure, Ruslan.” Sechaveh’s yellow eyes were lambent with anger. “We cannot afford any more such mistakes. I should ensure you cannot cast a channeled spell again without my approval.”
Ruslan’s ikilhia flared, power rippling out to stain the aether around him. Kiran caught Mikail’s eye, saw his mage-brother’s worry, twin to his own. Ruslan wouldn’t be so foolish as to cast directly against Sechaveh or Martennan in violation of his vows, but his temper might drive him to some other casting nearly as ruinous in effect.
Lizaveta set her fingers lightly on Ruslan’s wrist. Her beautiful face remained grave, giving no hint of what might be passing between them, but the power pulsing from Ruslan’s ikilhia subsided.
He said sharply to Sechaveh, “You cannot afford to hobble me, or waste time in futile recrimination. Save your anger for our enemy! A failure still gives us information, and we must use it to plan our next attack…” He launched into an explanation of Kiran’s theory about their enemy’s sensitivity to channeled spellwork.
Kiran let out a relieved breath and glanced away. The view from the chamber windows remained ominous. The morning’s massive thunderstorm had moved out eastward, leaving behind an eerily russet sky, the afternoon light dim and strange. Smoke still curled up from the charred remains of Julisi district. Beyond the city walls, pale dust vortices taller than the city spires whipped across the alkali flats. Lightning flickered over the Bolthole Mountains from clouds as black as obsidian. The confluence twisted in sullen, unsettled spirals, the aether still rippling with dissonant energies.
A whisper teased at Kiran’s senses. He stiffened. Was their enemy returning so soon? But no, the whisper was deep within his barriers, not outside them, and so faint he could barely discern it. Puzzled, he concentrated.
Kiran. Kiran! Mother of maidens, let this work, let him hear me…
Dev? Shock stopped Kiran’s breath. Before he could think, he sent, The Alathians claimed you were dead!
A thin echo of stunned relief came. Kiran! Oh, thank Khalmet…I’m trapped under rubble, and not alone—with me is a shadow man who knows much of the killer. You’ve got to get us free! But come alone, and don’t tell anybody else we survived…One of the Alathians is working with the mage-killer.
Kiran’s heart pounded. Information on the killer within reach, and the chance to condemn one or more of the Alathians—the news was almost too good to be true. He had to be wary. Come alone…this could be some new scheme of the Alathians. Or what if Dev were the traitor? Mikail had said Dev sought only his own profit—such a man could easily switch sides. Dev might think to lure Kiran out alone so the killer could try some new scheme to strike an akheli down.
He said to Dev, What proof do I have this isn’t more of your lies? Mikail told me the truth you tried to hide. You betrayed me into Alathian hands. It’s thanks to you they bound me so deeply Ruslan could not free me without damage.
Mikail said what? Abject horror flooded through the link. Oh gods, Kiran! You told him what you learned from Bren? No, no, oh mother of maidens, Melly…
Whatever Dev’s other lies, his concern for the child was all too real. The force of his panic threatened to shatter the link. Kiran snatched after the connection, shored it up with power from his own ikilhia. She is safe from Ruslan’s anger. Neither he nor Mikail know of our meeting. And I…I am more direct than Ruslan. The revenge I take for your betrayal will be on you, not on a child who did nothing to harm me.
Dev’s panic eased, though dismay continued to bleed through the link. I didn’t betray you! But gods, we can argue about it later. Doesn’t matter what you think of me—just get me and Pello out, and we’ll give you the information we hold.
Kiran hesitated, his eyes on Captain Martennan, who was busy arguing with Ruslan and Lizaveta over means and methods of attack. You say one of the Alathians is a traitor. Who? How he hoped Dev spoke truth! Even if only one Alathian were involved, he could use the traitor to implicate them all.
Dev said, Get me out, and I’ll tell you.
Tell me, and you’ll have your rescue, Kiran countered.
Dry amusement crept through the link. If you believe I’m such a liar, how do you know my answer would be true? Rescue us, and you can put us both under truth spell, learn all we know of traitor and killer. But…one warning. Pello’s hurt, and badly. I’ll get what I can from him in case he doesn’t survive long enough for a truth spell. But the sooner you can reach us, the better.
Dismay pierced Kiran’s eagerness. He could go extract Dev and Pello right away, if only he told Ruslan. But how could he explain his knowledge of their survival? If Ruslan found out Dev had reached him via a linking charm, he’d search Kiran’s mind until he discovered everything else.
Even if Kiran delayed, what chance did he have of maintaining secrecy? Ever since he’d confessed his clandestine excursion to Mikail, his mage-brother had rarely left Kiran’s side. Coming up with an excuse so clever it allowed Kiran to travel alone and unquestioned to the lower city felt utterly impossible.
Besides…this could still be a trap. He couldn’t let his desire to spare Mikail suffering blind him. And if Dev truly held vital information…how could Kiran delay, with so many lives hanging in the balance?
Reluctant conviction grew in him. This was too important. Kiran dreaded the price Mikail and even the nathahlen child would pay, but he had to set aside his fear and speak to Ruslan.
The mental link was fading, the power in Dev’s charm nearly used up. Kiran poured more of his own ikilhia into the contact, and hoped none of his nervousness flowed with it.
I will come as soon as I can, he told Dev. He couldn’t let Dev realize his intent. In Dev’s place, Kiran could well believe fury and desperation might drive him to take the only revenge against Ruslan he could—killi
ng both Pello and himself, to deprive Ruslan of the information he sought.
Thank Khalmet. The depth of Dev’s relief made Kiran flinch. I’ll question Pello as best I can. And softer, a mere wisp of a thought, bleak as winter: He was right about me.
Kiran wanted to ask what Dev meant. But even with the assist from Kiran’s ikilhia, the link between them trembled on the edge of dissolution. Where are you? It would save more time if Ruslan didn’t have to cast to discover Dev’s exact location.
Just off Zhivonis Street, in a gated alley leading to the smelters’ yards…the thought trailed off, as the link shivered and slipped apart into nothingness.
Ruslan was still arguing with Martennan. Kiran’s chest tightened, sweat cold on his palms. A terrible time to confess disobedience, with Ruslan already angry. But he couldn’t afford to take the coward’s path.
Kiran gathered his courage and reached through the mark-bond. Ruslan. I must speak with you. It’s too important to wait.
Ruslan glanced his way, surprise in the arch of his chestnut brows. What troubles you?
The Alathians’ guide and the spy Pello still live, buried in rubble. Dev claims they hold not only information on the killer, but on a traitor among the Alathians. Kiran called forth his memory of Dev’s initial startling claim and offered it to Ruslan.
Ruslan halted his argument mid-sentence. For an instant he stood frozen, his expression unreadable. Kiran braced himself, fearing Ruslan would tear through the rest of his memories on the spot.
Sechaveh, Martennan, and Lizaveta were all peering at Ruslan with varying degrees of wary puzzlement. Ruslan turned to Sechaveh.
“Forgive me,” he said tightly. “I have received word of a matter related to the confluence that requires my immediate attention. I must withdraw and take Kiran to aid me. Lizaveta and Mikail will remain and continue the discussion in my absence.”
Without waiting for an answer, he strode for the door. Kiran met Mikail’s mystified gaze. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“Kiran?” The skin around Mikail’s gray eyes creased with worry.
Kiran tore his gaze from his mage-brother and hurried after his master. Ruslan swept past Sechaveh’s guardsmen and down a flight of stairs to an ornately furnished waiting room, full of silk-cushioned chairs and brightly patterned rugs of lambs’ wool. Kiran followed him inside on leaden feet. Ruslan shut the door and sparked the wards, then cast a silencing spell.
He turned to Kiran. “Explain.”
“Ruslan…” Kiran sank to his knees. He bowed his head and extended his arms, crossed at the wrist. He’d seen Ruslan do the same in apology to Lizaveta, once.
Through lips that felt numb, he said, “I was confused, and desperate, and…I disobeyed you. But out of that disobedience, we might gain much. I will show you, willingly and without reservation, and let you judge.”
He released his barriers. Ruslan’s mind lanced into his with a force that wrenched a gasp from his throat. But Kiran threw open the gates to his innermost self, held himself unresisting as Ruslan scoured his memories. When Ruslan reached Kiran’s clandestine visit to Dev, fire seared Kiran so deeply he couldn’t hold back choked whimpers. Even then, he didn’t fight. He endured as the fire ate deeper yet, exposing every last thought and feeling he’d had during his conversations with Dev and Mikail.
At last, the fire retreated to prowl around the edges of Kiran’s mind. Kiran found himself collapsed over his knees, breathing in great, tearing gasps, his forehead resting on the sweat-dampened rug. Ruslan’s hand settled on his neck.
“Ah, Kiran,” his master said. “You test me so. What am I to do with you? I thought your love for Mikail enough to keep you from foolishness. Yet even that did not suffice.”
“I know you must punish me,” Kiran said, his voice shaking. “But, Ruslan…can you not stay your hand until we’ve discovered what information the two nathahlen hold?”
Ruslan gripped his collar, hauled him back up to his knees. “Yes,” he said. “You are not a child, to forget the cause if punishment is not immediate. And I am not a fool to ignore this chance. Besides…” Ruslan’s fingers twined in Kiran’s hair. He tugged Kiran’s head back until Kiran’s throat was bared in a tight, strained arch. “A delay will give me time to think on appropriate measures of correction.”
The cold promise in his eyes shriveled Kiran’s soul. Ruslan saw his fear and smiled, dark and satisfied. He slid his fingers along Kiran’s throat, the pressure just short of pain.
“Punishment will come, akhelysh. But I know part of the fault is mine. It is as Mikail told you: I was ashamed of my failure to protect you from the Alathians, and took refuge in a lie, hoping it would spare us both further pain. Let that be a lesson: weakness born of love is still weakness, and should never be indulged.”
He pulled Kiran to his feet. “Now. Let us go seek these nathahlen. I am not sorry the guide survived. Now I can watch his face when the child dies.”
Kiran looked aside. He’d known the girl’s life would be forfeit, and yet the idea still sickened him. “I want revenge too, but…shouldn’t we take care not to act in haste? If Dev believes the child beyond help, he may kill himself and the spy to spite you, and we can’t cast to force him to our will.”
Ruslan chuckled. “Never fear, akhelysh. I will not be…hasty, as you say. With a little help from you, we can ensure we learn all he knows. And then…then, we can delight in revenge.”
* * *
(Dev)
I lay in darkness, listening to that terrible, continuing drip of blood. Pello’s responses to my questions had grown increasingly erratic, his speech slowing. Before he fell entirely silent, he’d babbled scattered phrases of Varkevian, the words freighted with anguish. I’d tried to memorize the sound of them. My knowledge of Varkevian was limited to curses learned from convoy men. Did he speak of his son, or the killer, or something else entirely? I had no idea.
Now he wouldn’t respond, no matter how sharply I spoke. For a while, I’d heard his breathing, shallow and rapid. But that had slowed too, until I was no longer sure if the faint rasp beneath the slow trickling was real or imaginary.
Guilt gnawed at me. One thing to tell myself that Pello was no innocent, that Melly’s life was worth far more than his. Another thing to listen to a man’s life bleeding away, wondering if I could have saved him. If I’d thought faster, come up with some excuse Kiran could have given Ruslan, some bargain I could’ve made…
Too late now. The charm was cold and dead on my wrist, and all I could do was pray with increasing desperation that Kiran would show up. What if Pello took some vital piece of information to the grave with him? I’d gotten what I could, and Pello had said himself that Talm would know far more of use—assuming Talm could be forced to reveal it. Mages could fight truth spells…though if Ruslan interrogated Talm, I didn’t doubt he could make Talm talk. Yet still, I worried.
I tried to think of Cara. How if I saw her again, I wouldn’t be such a coward. If I could have that moment in the embassy back, both of us alone in a bedroom—I’d cast caution aside, beg her forgiveness for all my stupidity, and kiss her so deep the world would vanish around us.
But Jylla kept intruding, her black eyes sharp and pitying, spearing straight through to my soul: The coldness and deceit she hates in me is in you, too. You just hide it better.
A sudden, sharp grinding made me start. Rocks groaned, shifted. Stone lifted off my chest. The release of pressure triggered a spasm of coughing that left me curled in a ball, every muscle cramping. Red light spilled over me. I squinted through watering eyes. Kiran stood in the crack left where two great blocks had shuddered apart. His teeth were bared in a grimace of effort, and a faceted crystal glowed like a burning coal in his hand.
He said, “The ikilhia in the crystal will not last long. Can you walk?”
“Yeah.” My muscles still burned like they’d been dipped in acid, but I felt no sharp, stabbing pain of broken bones. The long gash on my arm had completely cruste
d over. “Is Pello…?” I twisted to look, and groaned.
Pello lay in a black lake of blood on a jagged-edged hunk of scrap metal. His right leg was crushed flat under a stone block, and an iron bar protruded from his gut. His chest was still, his eyes closed, his skin ashen. The knotted silver spiral of a pains-ease charm lay where it had fallen from one hand.
I scrabbled forward to reach for his neck. Kiran said, “I sense no trace of ikilhia in him. I hope you questioned him as you said.”
He sounded so gods-damned cold about it. “He’s veiled,” I snapped. “Of course you can’t sense anything.” I felt for Pello’s pulse. Nothing, no matter how hard I pressed. I scrubbed a hand over my eyes. Then, ignoring the blood, I made a hasty search of his clothes. In addition to the dragonclaw, barrier, and pains-ease charms, I found the ring to my old painbender charm, and a charm marked with runes reminiscent of a hide-me—likely the charm containing the veiling spell. Around his neck was a copper chain with a little crescent moon of malachite. I pocketed that too, feeling like a vulture. But if we found the killer and by some miracle Pello’s son yet lived, maybe I could give him something of his father.
“Leave him, and come,” Kiran said. “Now.” His voice quivered with strain. Was it my imagination, or had the crystal’s glow faded some already? I staggered after him as rocks groaned apart to admit us. When we emerged into cool night air, the stars a vivid spray high above the jagged outlines of ruined buildings, I had to stop. I bent and braced my hands on my knees. My eyes burned with grit and regret.
“Don’t suppose you have any water,” I croaked to Kiran.
The Tainted City Page 40
