The Last Sun

by K. D. Edwards

  I wasn’t sure I had a choice, not if Rurik really had developed a fixation on me. Having another scion at my side wasn’t a bad idea. I said, “Okay. But I have ground rules.”

  He turned toward me after pulling the black pants over his hips. His lips quirked when he saw me fidget. “Rules. Such as . . . ?”

  “Do what I say. Don’t die.”

  “As you wish.” The bright-yellow t-shirt was striking against his tan and the green-brown Celtic tattoos. He tucked it into the black pants, and then unlocked one of the dresser drawers with a key he kept in a nightstand drawer.

  “I’m not joking,” I said. “I’ll watch your back, but you need to follow my instructions. My partner and I have a lot of experience with these things. We—are those sigils?”

  Inside the locked drawer was a carved wooden tray that held twenty platinum discs. Coiled next to them was a slotted belt like the one that Quinn wore. Addam had sigils that matched. Twenty of them. And a decorative holder and holster. And this wasn’t even his main residence, just a home away from home. I suffered a few second’s worth of pure ulcerous jealousy, along with a strange sort of protectiveness for my own ragtag collection.

  “Only four are charged,” he said, a little abashedly. “Do I have time to charge more?”

  “Do any of the four contain spells to make your teeth whiter? Your breath mintier?”

  “Such a cleverly laid trap, Hero. Yes, please, allow me to admit being vain and vacuous.” When I rolled my eyes, he added, “Telekinesis. All four of them. It’s a very versatile magic.”

  “Well, okay. That’s good. But let’s pack up and move out. It’s better if we don’t stay in one place too long.”

  “I will follow your lead,” Addam said, “so long as it takes me first to the hospital. I must see Quinn.”

  When I opened my mouth to object, I saw that Addam’s eyes had gone glassy again at the mention of his brother. He added, in a tense voice, “Please.”

  “Okay,” I said. “The hospital, then.”

  As the crow flies, it was only a half mile to the hospital. Addam had Brand move his motorcycle into a warded parking garage under his building. Brand didn’t complain about us walking, which I took to mean he was happy to be unpredictable with our route.

  We cut through a large square divided by a commonwealth garden. The fountain in its middle was filled with muddy river water, and I caught the corner of a white sleeve floating under the surface. If I remembered right, Jenny Greentooth had spent the season in it.

  I looked around and spotted pixies in the wilting summer flowers. A dwarf in leg braces was smoothing the cracks out of the curb. There were a lot of portunes—small agricultural fairies—dispiritedly tending sickly trees and ivy stunted by car exhaust.

  The streets became progressively more crowded as we passed the portal station. Long-distance portals were operated with proprietary magic from Lord Magician’s Hex Throne. The massive stone building was as big as a football stadium, catering to all twenty-four time zones.

  “Smell that,” Addam said as a fisherman with a small watertight container pushed by.

  “That’s usually a question that doesn’t end well,” I said.

  “Sturgeon roe. Caviar. Very likely pulled from the Caspian an hour ago. Have you ever been to the portal market?”

  “Not since someone kidnapped you,” I said. “Addam, we should really talk about this.”

  “I’ve . . . been thinking about it. Let’s assume—for the sake of argument, Hero—that it really is about me and not the Crusader Throne. I’ve been trying to understand why it was done. If it’s not ransom, then what? I’m not the richest scion. Most of my income goes into my business. I try not to make enemies.”

  “Jealous boyfriends or girlfriends? Jealous exes?”

  “Is it possible to break off a relationship so badly that they send recarnates after you?”

  “What about your family? You get along with your brothers, right?”

  “Yes. Quinn . . .” Addam’s face twisted. “Quinn especially. He is . . . I suppose you could say that he is mine. I was old enough to look after him when he was a baby, and my mother couldn’t take time away from court. So he had me. He needed a lot of attention, when he was a baby.”

  “Why?”

  “He almost died when he was born. The umbilical cord, it was around his neck. They were barely able to start his heart. He was premature, as well. When I first saw him, he wasn’t any bigger than my palm. This. He fit in this.” Addam held out a hand in wonder.

  “You get along with Christian, too, I hear. You do charity work with him.”

  “Betimes. We run a nonprofit that arranges free concerts. I like music.”

  “Does Ella volunteer with you?”

  He gave me a level look. After a pause, he said, “No, I do not get along with my sister. That is where this is going, yes? She treats Quinn like an embarrassment, which vexes me. But I did not kidnap her, someone kidnapped me. And she likes me. She has no reason to hurt me. She knows my company does well, which she feels increases her stature. She’s very concerned with stature.”

  “So are most scions.”

  “Exactly, and most scions don’t kidnap other scions. Kill them outright in duels, yes. But kidnap? Become involved with death magic? No, Hero.”

  Brand, who’d fanned out to keep watch, was rolling his eyes at this hero business.

  I said, “You talk about your business a lot. It’s a big part of your life.”

  Addam stepped aside to let a woman in a silk kimono pass. The back of the kimono fluttered in a sudden breeze, releasing a burst of cherry-blossom petals. Addam waved his hand through them, then came back to my side. “It is, yes. We’re still making a name for ourselves.”

  “Of your three business partners, who’s skilled enough to handle summoning magic?”

  “This type of summoning magic? Necromancy? None. And why would any of them hurt me? There’s no profit in it. There have been differences of opinions lately, yes, but—”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Brand said. He gave me a plaintive look.

  I sighed. “Addam. Sit down. Brand, can we have a moment?” Brand moved away.

  We were close to a wrought-iron bench. Addam pulled an actual handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped the seat for me. When we were both sitting, I turned to him and said, “Can you do me a favor?”

  “Of course.”

  “Get your head out of your ass. Stop being diplomatic. Stop speaking in hypotheticals. Put aside all of the sentimental bullshit that most people, as living creatures, use to convince themselves they really-really like their family and friends. Tell me—straight up—why and how one of these people would hurt you.”

  “Nothing in my life is worth killing over!”

  “Walk down the wrong street in this city and you could be gutted for your shoelaces. You could have a dagger stuck in your eye because you used the wrong adverb. The inside of a person’s head is a deep, dark place, Addam. No one really knows what another person is capable of, not until you’re sitting in a big bloody mess. So why would Ella kill you?”

  The topic had paled his tan. Just when I was about to harangue him, he said, “She’d advance in standing. Be closer to the heir scion position.”

  “Why would Christian kill you?”

  “I . . .”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know!” Frustration boiled the accent back into his words. “He and my brother and sister would get my profits from Moral Confidence. But it’s not that much—”

  “Just the profit?”

  “Yes. The shares, my actual interest in the company, would be divided among the founders.”

  “So that’s a reason one of the partners might want you removed. Why would Quinn kill you?”

  “He wouldn’t.”

  “If you had to gue—”

  “He wouldn’t.”

  “Okay. Okay. How often do you disagree with your partners?”

  “
Not often. Some lately. Michael wants . . . riskier investments. Geoff is undecided. Ashton just wants whatever gets our name in print. Let’s go now. Please? I want to go to the hospital. I need to see Quinn.”

  I hesitated, then gave in with a nod. I’d kicked some gears loose in his head, and that was enough for now. It was best to back off and let the suspicions gain their own momentum.

  We stayed with Addam as far as Quinn’s room. The sight of the sandy-haired teenager leashed to a heart monitor and IV, his small frame swallowed in sterile white sheets, was inexpressibly sad. When Addam’s eyes filled with fresh tears, I stepped back into the hallway and gave them a moment alone.

  Brand took watch, leaning casually into a snack machine as if browsing for choices. I paced down the corridor toward a large picture window. For a moment, the lack of sleep got to me. Was it really still morning?

  “What are you doing here?”

  I turned to see Michael Saint Talbot regarding me with suspicion. He was dressed in jeans and a rugby shirt, his face stubbled with yesterday’s beard. He’d come out of the stairwell.

  We were on the first floor. Christian Saint Nicholas was two floors above us. Had Michael been to see him? Why not take an elevator?

  “Looks like someone beat the shit out of you,” he said nastily.

  I was too weary for banter. I just wanted answers. “What are you doing here, Michael?”

  “You’ll forgive me if it’s none of your fucking business.”

  I blocked his path. Unlike most scions, Michael’s polish was inexpertly applied. For a second, I honestly thought he was going to lose control and take a swing at me.

  I said, “You might be interested to hear that I’ll be hanging around a little while longer.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means I’m working for Addam now. He wants to find out who kidnapped him.”

  “You talked to Addam?” Michael asked haltingly. “He’s . . . okay? He’s back?”

  “He sure is.”

  “And that’s what he said? That he was kidnapped?” His breath hit my face, clean and minty.

  “He said a lot of things.”

  Michael reddened. “This doesn’t make any sense. Why does he need you to find out who kidnapped him? Doesn’t he know?”

  “You’d think so, wouldn’t you? I won’t take up any more of your time. We’ll talk soon.”

  “We’ve got nothing to talk about,” he said.

  “Oh, we really do. I’d like to ask you about those arguments you had with Addam just before he got kidnapped. I’m not a business major, and I have no idea what morally gray investments are, but—”

  “You’re out of line. And you’re not needed. If Addam’s in trouble, we can help him without you. Stay out of our way.”

  I waited a couple beats. “Are you going to say ‘or else’? It sounded like you were going to say ‘or else.’”

  “Keep talking like that and you’re going to find yourself with a duel on your hands.”

  Brand had enough. He barked out a laugh, startling Michael, who spun around. “Duel you?” Brand laughed. “Look. I’m sure you were the shit on your frat’s beer pong team, but we’re past your pay grade.”

  “Who do you think you are? You’re nothing. You’re hired help. Neither of you are anything. You think playing detective makes you important again?”

  I stepped into Michael’s personal space and said, clearly, “Did you try to kill Addam, Michael?”

  “No.”

  “Someone sent recarnates after him. Spells like that always have a way of rebounding on the user. You know that, don’t you?”

  “It doesn’t matter what I know, because I didn’t do it. I’m leaving.”

  I stepped aside with a flourish. The shift in perspective gave me a perfect view of Ella Saint Nicholas, who was stepping off an elevator about fifty feet away.

  “Oh, now that,” I said, my voice as crisp as two puzzle pieces snapping into place, “is the easiest way to leave the building—and I was wondering about the breath mints.”

  Michael flushed red. His hands were fists. He took an angry step toward me, saw a knife already in Brand’s hand, and just as quickly wheeled and stalked off toward the hospital’s exit, in the opposite direction of Ella.

  Ella had noticed me. One hand was up, covering her mouth. Her eyes grew bigger as Brand and I closed in.

  She looked disheveled—smudged lip gloss, a fashionable blue hat tilted at an unfashionable angle. Her neck was bright with rash, the sort you got from bearded kisses.

  “I was just telling Michael that a real gentleman would have escorted you to the door,” I said with a large smile.

  Her jaw dropped in slow motion. “Michael who?”

  “Excellent,” I said appreciatively.

  She gave the nearby lobby a glance. “Please forgive my rudeness, Lord Sun, I know it’s terrible of me, but I promised my aunt I’d join her for breakfast.”

  “There’s nothing rude about breakfast at all. What brings you to New Saints at such an early hour?”

  “I’m here to see my brother, of course.”

  “Just the one?”

  Her face got pinched, as if she’d forgotten that her youngest brother was there, too. I said, “Now’s a good time to visit Quinn, if you’re interested.”

  “W-why is that?”

  “I wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise. And, by the way, you need to have words with your lady’s servant, Lady Saint Nicholas. She’s completely boggled the dress buttons in back.”

  “How kind of you to mention it,” she whispered.

  Then she froze. Her eyes went shiny and bright. She blinked as soon as they were full, which sent two fat tears racing toward her chin. I heard footsteps at my back.

  “Ella?” Addam said.

  “Oh, Addam! Addam!” She threw herself at her older brother, burying her face in his yellow t-shirt. “We were so worried! Why haven’t you called?”

  “I was . . . Something happened. I’m fine now. Why are you crying?”

  “Oh, I’m not, not at all,” she protested. She stepped back and looked away from us, dabbing her eyes with her sleeve. “It’s just that Lord Sun had questions for me. I’m not sure I’ve ever felt so awful, even knowing I haven’t done anything wrong.”

  “Rune?” Addam said.

  I gave Ella a sharp smile. “Your sister was visiting Christian. I was trying to get her to stop and visit Quinn before she left. I thought it’d be a surprise to see you here.”

  Addam looked at Ella, his gaze weighed down by years of disappointment. “You weren’t going to see Quinn? You haven’t even seen him yet, have you?”

  “I,” she said, buying herself another second by dabbing at a tear. “I didn’t want to disturb him.”

  “But you’re okay with disturbing Christian? It’s,” he said, looking around for a clock, “barely eight. Why are you even here? Where’s Aunt Diana?”

  “I’m quite capable of going places without Aunt Diana.”

  “It’s okay,” I added. “Michael was looking out for her.”

  “Michael Saint Talbot?” Addam asked. “You’re here with Michael?”

  Ella realized she was trapped. She stopped wiping at her eyes and began to cry in earnest. When Addam reached for her, she ran for the front door.

  In a genius move, she convinced the guard on the other side that something inappropriate was happening. He blocked our way. It took too long to pull rank. By the time we were outside, she was gone.

  SOUTH STREET BRIDGE

  I was thinking we’d head back to Half House, but Brand had different ideas.

  He herded Addam and me into New Saint’s public sanctum to refill some of our depleted sigils. The only spell I had left was Exodus, which was a pretty poor choice for anything except mass fusion.

  Public sanctums did their best to offer as many crutches for spell storing as possible, given the unique way all spell-casters meditated over their magic. This sanctum, servi
ng such a high-end clientele, was better supplied than most. There were dozens of cubbyholes stocked with bond paper, ballpoint pens, watercolor paints, hand weights, chess boards, lumps of coral and obsidian and dully colored crystals, wooden practice swords, and stacks upon stacks of soft porn.

  In the corner were three antique phone booths paneled in oak and frosted glass, which offered the illusion of privacy for those who required solitude to channel their magic. Another wall was crowded with a mid-range sound system and a very eclectic collection of CDs. A line of earbuds—covered with tiny, disposable plastic slipcovers—were jacked into a multi-channel unit.

  Addam went straight to the CDs. I sat cross-legged on a throw pillow. It was upholstered in a coarse, stain-resistant fabric, but after the day I’d had, it felt as soft as spider silk.

  I closed my eyes and sank into a meditative fugue. The room’s ambient energy hissed like static. It took time and patience, in a public sanctum, to build a link between my sigils and my willpower. I chose two spells that I could transfer quickly and competently: Shield and Fire. I imagined the spells as tiny nuggets of sand, and then slowly, slowly, slowly built pearls around them.

  It wasn’t until I opened my eyes that I realized Addam Saint Nicholas was dancing.

  He held the earphone cord like a dance partner, twirling under its lariat arc. He’d taken off his shoes and socks. His feet, long and angular, were calloused with the wear of someone who didn’t just dance for occasion.

  I liked men who danced. It was something I was far too self-conscious to do well myself. Brand was a good dancer. Brand, who’d dragged a stuffed armchair to the corner so that he could keep an eye on the exits, and who was watching me watch Addam. I ducked my gaze.

  When Addam stopped dancing, I said, “It’ll ruin everything if that’s Britney Spears, you know.”

  He gave me a tired smile, his right cheek caving into a dimple. “West Coast swing.”

  Brand dropped a boot from a crossed leg with a thud.

  “So,” he said. “Have you given any more thought to your sister and your business partner?”

  Addam pulled on his socks and shoes. “Yes. I’ve thought that I should never think about it again.” When Brand didn’t crack a smile, Addam sighed and stood up. “Apparently my sister and my friend are romantically involved. Must that mean anything significant?”