“Did you design this kitchen, or was it like this when you moved in?”
Umber’s tense shoulders as he lovingly dried glassware and put it away warned he might not respond, but at last he said, “It was mostly like this, but it was one reason I chose the house.”
“I didn’t know you liked to cook.” He didn’t know a lot of things.
“I’m half-Abyssi,” Umber said, flashing a grin that was a shadow of his usual one. “I have a deep appreciation for food.”
Lydie scoffed, looking up from her pan. “I still can’t tell if you two love or hate each other. Why don’t you just talk to him instead of making quips? This is obviously your favorite room in the house. It obviously upsets you that it was trashed, but you’re trying to be tough because . . . well, I don’t really know why. Because that’s what you do, I’d guess. Is it such a vile weakness to admit you love to cook, you love this room, and you’re upset to see it in such poor condition?”
“We have bigger problems than some moldy potatoes,” Umber huffed. “Thank you both, though, for helping clean up.”
Hansa dropped his gaze, as if that would stop Umber from hearing his thoughts. Umber didn’t want him to apologize, and he didn’t know what else to do. He was the one who had dragged the spawn abruptly out of his home and into the Abyss for weeks, and therefore he was the one responsible for the kitchen’s condition.
“I’m going to check on Cadmia,” he finally said. After the initial bout of puking, she had insisted on helping, but had taken several breaks on the back porch for fresh air.
She wasn’t alone in the frequent need for fresh air. It wasn’t just the toxic scent of the weeks-rotten potatoes; there was spoiled meat in the long-warm icebox, a generous pile of imported citrus fruits from Tamar and Silmat that had turned to greenish slime, and a half-empty bottle of hard-curdled cream.
“She’s fine,” Umber replied. “Alizarin returned a few minutes ago. I thought I would give them some privacy.” He looked around the room, which was bright with mid-morning sunshine and now only had a faint, dissipating odor of rot, with an expression of resigned contentment. More in control of his affect now that his kitchen was restored, Umber remarked, “Well, I apologize for that rather atrocious welcome to my home.”
“I’ve seen worse,” Hansa replied, still off-balance from the vulnerability he had seen in the other man. He was sure Lydie had identified it right, but he didn’t think Umber would accept any attempt at sympathy from him.
Umber and Lydie both looked at him with horrified skepticism. Lydie asked, “What kind of friends do you have?” Then, abruptly, she must have remembered who she was talking to. He saw the shutters go down in her eyes and her body tensed as she realized the “worse” he had seen had been in the course of his career in the 126. She answered her own question. “Not friends. Of course. I forgot.” As she turned away to give the pan one last scrub, she hissed something to herself that Hansa thought included the phrase, “idiot for coming here.”
Cadmia and Alizarin entered then, her arm around the Abyssi’s waist and his tail around hers. It must have been an interesting image for Lydie, who couldn’t see the Abyssi.
Cadmia’s color was better, and there was a mischievous light in her eyes as she said, “Alizarin has some bad news for you, Hansa.”
He didn’t need more bad news. “What’s wrong now?”
“I spoke to Antioch,” Alizarin said. Hansa’s stomach dropped at the unfortunately familiar name. Antioch was an Abyssi who had tried to claim him as a mancer. Alizarin had saved Hansa by challenging the other Abyssi’s claim, but the fight had seemed like a close call. “He says you are involved with too much now that makes him nervous. He doesn’t want you anymore.”
Hansa blinked, and finally processed Cadmia’s amusement regarding Alizarin’s news. “Oh . . . too bad,” he murmured.
“Antioch is old and cautious,” Alizarin said. “He is afraid of who you may have angered in the low court, and of who you might anger if you stand either with or against Terre Verte.”
“Well, there goes my lifelong dream of being an Abyssumancer.” Antioch hadn’t even crossed Hansa’s mind since they left the Abyss. He certainly wasn’t disappointed to learn Antioch wasn’t going to make another effort to claim him, but didn’t like the idea that they were all in so much trouble that even a fourth-level Abyssi didn’t want to get involved.
Alizarin tilted his head as if puzzled. “If that is what you want, it would be easy for another Abyssi to take you. Your body accepts Abyssal power well, and Antioch did all the preparation.”
Umber cleared his throat. “Hansa was joking,” he clarified. “So, the other Abyssi know Terre Verte is free?”
“Sennelier and Vanadium have Abyssumancers allied with him,” Alizarin reported. “Sennelier would prefer not to be involved, but doesn’t curtail his mancer’s actions. Vanadium is curious about Terre Verte’s plans. Nyanza has forbidden her Abyssumancer from coming near, and has enough control to keep him away.”
“Vanadium—queen of the second level, right?” Cadmia recalled aloud.
Alizarin nodded.
“Did you say Sennelier?” Umber sounded startled.
“You know him?” Hansa asked. “Or, remember him?” Umber had explained that spawn inherited memories from their parents, a trait that had been useful in the Abyss, but Hansa still didn’t fully understand how that worked.
“We’ve never met personally,” Umber said. “I suppose I knew he had a mancer, though, since that was why he was close enough to the mortal realm to get caught in another Abyssumancer’s summoning, but strong enough to resist it.” He grimaced. “He’s my . . . I don’t think the word father is appropriate in this case.”
“Abyssi use the word sire,” Alizarin provided. He continued with his report. “I could not find many Numini, and the ones I saw would not speak to me.”
“Can someone tell me what is going on?” Lydie interrupted. “I’m missing half the conversation.”
“I apologize,” Umber said. “We can explain, if you wish, but given the trouble we may be in, it occurs to me that you might actually want to know less about our plans.”
“I like the old cliché, forewarned is forearmed,” Lydie replied. “Besides, I’ve said I’ll do the spell so Hansa can talk to his friend. I’ll hear what they say.”
“You may not want to once you’ve heard the whole story,” Hansa admitted. “And you said you need tools for that spell. Is that something one of us can get while the others tell you our tale?”
Lydie paused to consider. “Mined salt if you can find it, but I usually use earth and flour instead, since most of what you find in the market is sea salt.” Her voice gained strength and confidence as she discussed her . . . Art? Was that the word for it? “I’ll need something to help me focus the Abyssal power as well. I don’t know as much about that kind of magic, but there must be some kind of tool that usually—”
The necromancer was still speaking slowly, thinking aloud, when Cadmia drew the knife Alizarin had given her. “Would this help?” she asked, turning it to offer the knife handle-first.
Lydie stared at it. “Is that . . . What is that?”
“Abyssi bone,” Cadmia answered. “I wasn’t sure you would be able to see it.”
“It’s . . . dark, like it’s in shadow, but visible. Is it carved?” Lydie reached toward the knife, hesitated until Cadmia nodded, then took it gingerly. “No, not carved, I don’t think. It’s . . .” She examined the slightly-irregular, wickedly-sharp blade with what looked like a combination of wonder and horror.
“It was crafted by an exceptionally powerful Abyssumancer,” Umber explained. “I don’t know what methods he used. He’s dead now, if that matters, though the Abyssi who provided that bone isn’t.”
“I can tell,” Lydie said. She put the knife down on the table, and briefly glanced in Alizarin’s direction as if she could at least partly see him. “He needs to leave while I do the spell, incidentally. I
won’t summon a shade while the creature who murdered him is in the room.”
Murder. Hansa didn’t like the word, but couldn’t contest it.
“I want to restock the kitchen, so I’ll look for mined salt and flour,” Umber offered. “You two can tell Lydie as much of our story as she needs to know.”
After Umber left, Hansa looked at Cadmia. When it came to sorcery, he tended to defer to Umber, and their entire story had to do with sorcery. Cadmia was the next best expert.
She sighed. “The short version is, Terre Verte was imprisoned in a cell at the lowest level of the Abyss, and the Numini wanted him back. They manipulated us, along with a Numenmancer who was with us, so we would rescue him. All we know about Terre Verte is that he used to be prince of Kavet before the revolution, that the Abyssi admire him so much they wanted to make him one of them, and that the Numini tried at least once before now to get him back . . . and, of course, that one of the first things he did when he returned to the mortal realm was murder Winsor Indathrone. We’ve been told he is trying to gather mancers and other magic users for some kind of meeting, but we don’t know his motivations.” She looked up at Hansa. “Is there anything you think we should add?”
He blinked, considering her summary, which had skipped large chunks of the story that he would have included if the telling had been left to him. On the other hand, his version probably would have been less coherent, and would have focused on the human aspect—those who had lived or died—while forgetting key points Cadmia had succinctly shared. Lydie didn’t like or trust him; she didn’t care about his spat in jail, his conflict with his now-dead fiancée, or any of that.
Though there was one more part Lydie needed to understand.
“The Abyssi with us is named Alizarin.” Hansa looked at the blue Abyssi, who was waiting quietly for them to finish their explanation. His eyes, the same shade of blue as Umber’s, met Hansa’s. “He found a way to bond to a Numenmancer. Someone reported her. When we went to arrest her, she summoned him for the first time. I don’t think she even realized he was an Abyssi. That’s how Jenkins died.”
It felt odd, telling the story while looking at Alizarin’s drooping ears and slowly swishing tail. The Abyssi’s usually vivid aquamarine and turquoise fur paled a shade with what Hansa could only interpret as shame.
“You didn’t know, then,” Hansa said to him. “You were protecting your mancer.”
Lydie shifted, crossing her arms and looking away. Hansa expected her to respond to the story, but instead she cleared her throat and said, “After Umber gets back with supplies, it will take me a few hours to prepare a space for the ritual. I need to eat before that.” She glanced back at Hansa and added awkwardly, “You should probably eat and rest, too. You look drawn, as if you’ve been burning too much power.”
“You’re right,” he sighed. He didn’t think he would be able to sleep despite his fatigue, but he was still queasy from the cleanup and didn’t want to stay in the kitchen while Lydie and Umber stayed downstairs to cook, either.
Determinedly, he climbed the staircase, and found the bedroom Umber had indicated was the master. While it wasn’t as stark as the rest of the house, it was still simple, though the bed showed Umber’s taste for comfort in its elegant, strong lines and piles of soft sheets and blankets. In fact, every item in the room was well made, but there were no fabulous decorations or elaborate luxuries—other than a handful of bricks near the bed’s headboard, which cast a wonderful radiant heat.
He left his boots by the door, climbed under a quilted down blanket, and closed his eyes. The moment he did, a wave of fatigue struck him. He felt a faint burn in every muscle, as if he had run across the country. The flesh-hunger for Umber came to the forefront, singing its demands in the form of a tingling across his skin, and he didn’t think he would be able to sleep until the spawn came back . . . But before he could fully consider that thought, he was dreaming.
He had forgotten something. He wasn’t sure what it was, or why it mattered, just that he had forgotten it. And it was lost now, lost forever, and he didn’t know how to get it back . . .
Drifting through darkness. Wrapped, trapped, contained by the shadows. A world of fire and blood. He set his lips to the flame so he could drink deeply.
“You need your strength, my love.”
Cupric, gazing at Umber with that sudden expression of joy. “I had hoped it was you.”
And then it was Naples, the Abyssumancer, standing on the balcony, copper eyes hot.
“No, he isn’t the jealous type,” Hansa said.
“Good. Then he won’t mind.”
Pushed down, and it wasn’t just the bond and lust and the Abyssumancer’s power that held him, but shackles. Cold metal bit into his wrists.
Trapped.
Wrapped in black silk and shadows, blood at his lips—
He woke screaming, wordlessly this time. Another body was against his and arms clutched his torso, and he thrashed away from them in a panic.
“Hansa? What’s wrong?”
After another heart-pounding moment, Hansa’s mind cleared enough for him to recognize Umber’s voice. The other man must have spooned against him while he slept, but was now standing on the opposite side of the bed with his hands held up in a gesture of harmlessness.
“Nightmare,” Hansa gasped out, easing himself back to sit on the bed. He couldn’t remember dreaming in the Abyss, or even very much before that. The nightmares had only started when he had needed to return to real life. Return to life at all. “I think a few of those are the least I can expect, given all that has happened. They’ll pass.”
“You might consider talking to Cadmia about everything on your mind,” Umber suggested. He crept onto the bed slowly, giving Hansa time to pull away again. When Hansa leaned toward him instead, the spawn took that as an invitation to wrap him in his arms again. “She does listen to men’s troubles for a living. She might be able to give you some perspective I can’t.”
“Maybe.” Normally, going to a Sister of the Napthol would have been the best solution, but Hansa knew Cadmia so well now that it would feel odd speaking to her as he would have to any Napthol counselor.
He started to turn so he could put his head against Umber’s chest, but then the joyful expression on Cupric’s face flashed through his memory. What right did Hansa have to occupy this space, which another man was clearly meant to hold?
“Cupric and I aren’t lovers,” Umber blurted out. “Never have been.”
“He seems to think differently.”
“We fucked,” Umber said, bluntly. “A lot. I was . . .” He stopped, swallowed tightly. “Fifteen? Fourteen maybe. I had never met anyone who knew what I was. I haven’t seen him in years. I would have been fine never seeing him again.”
He started to slide his hand down from Hansa’s arm and around his waist, but this time it wasn’t thoughts of Cupric that distracted Hansa, but Naples’ smoldering embrace and the cold kiss of chains. The nightmare had been so much worse than the reality, where Umber and Azo had interrupted Naples’ attempted seduction—one which had included magical manipulation against which Hansa had been vulnerable, but no physical force or restraint.
Umber, catching the image in Hansa’s mind, cursed and pulled back. When he stood, cold air rushed into the space he had previously occupied. “I’m not good at comfort, Hansa, not the kind you need. Distraction, lust, blood, power, that’s the best I have to offer. That and the hope that whatever Terre Verte is up to, we can nevertheless get him to break this bond so you can have what you really want.”
What you really want. What did Hansa really want these days? He had lost so much of what he had expected to have in his life—his career in the 126, a wife, children someday—but lately, lying in Umber’s arms felt right.
It felt like more than lust.
Fuck.
A sharp rap on the door saved him from needing to answer.
“Hansa? Umber?” Cadmia called through the door. “Ly
die is ready whenever you are.”
Hansa let out a breath of relief at the welcome interruption, but couldn’t help remembering Lydie’s criticism about how he and Umber both avoided talking about anything important. They had been able to talk before, during the weeks in the Abyss, as they waited for Verte to gain enough strength to open the rift.
Hansa missed those lazy conversations, which had been a mix of serious and playful. Like peaceful, uninterrupted sleep, they had disappeared with their return to Kavet. And all he could wonder was if they would ever come back.
Chapter 12
Lydie
Not your best idea, girl, a voice whispered through Lydie’s head.
She didn’t respond to the ghostly warning. She agreed with it, but what choice did she have?
As far as she could tell, her possible paths had swiftly narrowed to three options: join Terre Verte and his mancers, join Cadmia Paynes and her ragtag band, or attempt to stay uninvolved. Despite her youth, Lydie wasn’t naïve enough to believe Terre Verte would tolerate neutrality long. If she wanted any information, she needed to seek it, and if she wanted allies in the trouble she could see on the horizon, she needed to claim them now. Most of the shades who clamored at her mind insisted that Terre Verte was trouble, and Hansa and Cadmia were less likely to be vindictive if things went bad and Lydie decided to run.
That logic had brought her here, preparing to tie her spirit to the Abyss so a Quin guard could talk to the dead. If it failed, or went bad some other way, she hoped she would be able to get away before anyone could stop her.
It didn’t help her nerves that she had set up in the mostly-empty front hall of Umber’s house. The half-Abyssi assured her that his spells would keep anyone from coming unexpectedly to the door, but it still made her feel exposed, especially as she picked up the Abyssi-bone knife. It trembled in her hands.
If the bone had come from a dead creature, she would have felt that creature’s shade, no matter how far away it was. She might not have been able to reach it, especially if it were deep in the Abyss or past the golden walls of the Numen, but she could sense and probably call to it.
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