Dagger's Edge (Shadow series)

by Logston, Anne

  “Good morning, little acorn,” Shadow said cheerily from somewhere out of sight. “Are you ready for us to pry you out of there?”

  “Uh—” Jael squirmed and found her quarters even more cramped than she had originally thought. She looked upward through what appeared to be the entrance to a den or burrow. Had she found some animal’s lair and crawled in? “What happened?”

  “That’s a good question.” Shadow’s face appeared in the opening, her mischievous black eyes sparkling with laughter. “Maybe you can tell us.”

  “Where am I?” Jael asked confusedly.

  “You’re still on the altar,” Shadow said. She paused. “Or rather in the altar. It seems to have—ah—caved in with you. Can you wriggle around so we can grab either your arms or your legs?”

  Jael tried, but her stone womb made every movement difficult. Gradually she worked one arm loose, then the other, by bending her back into a screaming angle. Shadow locked both her hands around one wrist, Mist around the other, and they pulled, with several protests from Jael and worried instructions from Celene. Gradually Jael squirmed painfully free, scraping her hips, knees, and elbows unmercifully in the process.

  When she at last wriggled out of the tight space, Jael turned and gaped at the place she had recently occupied. “Caved in” was not the phrase Jael would have used; rather, a Jael-sized hole seemed to have been melted half a man-height into the stone, almost enclosing her.

  “Fortune favor us, that’s some trick, little acorn,” Shadow chuckled. Mist walked around the altar, shaking his head at the sight.

  “Well, I will end the suspense,” Celene smiled. She took Jael’s hands. Jael held her breath, but nothing happened; after a moment, Celene shook her head sadly and released Jael’s hands.

  “I’m sorry, Jaellyn,” she said gently. “Nothing has changed.”

  “Something has changed here,” Mist said, looking at something at the far side of the altar. “Shadow, have you seen this?”

  Jael and Celene followed Shadow around the altar. There was a simple drawing in the dirt, scratched with a stick, of a circle divided into three parts. The sword twined with the vine, symbol of Allanmere’s ruling house, had been drawn in one section, and a single green leaf had been laid on the second. The arc of the third section had been rubbed out, leaving a gap, but a short distance outside the circle lay a scrap of leather bearing a symbol Jael had never seen—a highly stylized eye.

  “What’s this?” Jael asked, picking up the bit of leather. “What’s it mean?”

  “It means about what I expected,” Shadow said, sighing.

  “The forest sprite must have left the drawing,” Mist said. He shook his head. “But how could she know that—”

  “Shhh.” Celene laid one hand on Mist’s arm. “It’s not yours to tell, Mist.”

  “The forest sprite?” Jael asked eagerly. “You mean Chyrie? Oh, I wish I’d seen her!”

  “Well, you were fast asleep, little fawn,” Mist comforted. “I don’t understand this drawing, though.”

  “I may,” Shadow said cautiously. “Mist, Celene, are you coming back through the Gate?”

  “I must sleep-spell Jael again, so I will come through to awaken her,” Celene said. She shook her head. “But then I will return through the Gate. This is one difficulty, I’m afraid, that Donya will have to face herself.”

  “I think I will stay in the forest,” Mist agreed. “I think my presence would only further embarrass the High Lady.”

  “What are you talking about?” Jael said, a little annoyed. She was the one who had starved for two days and gone through the ritual for nothing, not her mother.

  “We’re going to have a talk with your mother,” Shadow said grimly. “But first I’m going to take you to see an expert.”

  “An expert on what?” Jael asked warily.

  “On souls,” Shadow replied, shaking her head at Mist and Celene. “No, don’t ask me who it is, because I can’t tell you. Let’s just go back through the Gate and see if we can sneak out of the castle before anyone sees us and starts asking questions.”

  Curiosity almost overcame Jael’s disappointment at the failure of the ritual. Once they had struck camp and walked back to the Gate, Jael sat down for Celene to sleep-spell her again; at least this way she wouldn’t have to wait and chafe through Shadow and Mist’s rather prolonged farewell.

  When Jael awakened, she was back at the castle. Jael had worried that perhaps Donya and Argent would be waiting in the room that held the Gate, but fortunately that was not the case. Celene stayed just long enough for a comforting hug, and reminded Jael to tell Donya that Celene would move the far end of the Gate back to Inner Heart as soon as she reached the other elven mages.

  Creeping quietly in and out of the castle was nothing new to Jael, and sneaking was second nature to Shadow; they easily slipped out without being observed.

  “Can’t we at least get some breakfast first?” Jael asked plaintively. “It’s been three days now since I’ve eaten.”

  “I need to talk to someone first,” Shadow told her. “After that we’ll likely have time to get some food. Be patient just a little longer.”

  To Jael’s disgust, Shadow dragged her all the way to the south end of the market. Once there, however, she simply handed Jael a few coins and told her to go buy some food, obviously eager to have Jael out of the way. Jael bought a few meat pies and half a roast fowl, but took care not to get too far away, ostensibly watching a mage boring a new well while sneaking glances at Aunt Shadow. All she saw, however, was Aunt Shadow conversing with a flower vendor. They appeared to argue briefly, and Aunt Shadow handed over a pouch, but the vendor gave her nothing in return. At last Shadow joined Jael and accepted a pie.

  “Was that who you brought me to see?” Jael asked skeptically. “A flower vendor?”

  “No, the flower vendor is just a messenger,” Shadow said. She nodded in the direction of where the flower vendor had been, and Jael was surprised to see that the little man was gone already. “He’s setting up the meeting.”

  “Who did you pay to meet with us?” Jael asked. “It looked like a large pouch.”

  “It was, and that was just to pay the flower vendor to deliver the message,” Shadow said ruefully. “Fortune alone knows what we might be asked in exchange for our—ah— consultation. After we eat I’ll go buy a bottle of Dragon’s Blood and hope that’s enough.”

  “What kind of expert gets paid in illegal liquor?” Jael asked curiously. This was sounding interesting.

  “As I told you before, an expert in souls,” Shadow told her. “Listen, Jaellyn—” Jael sat up straight; Shadow rarely called her by her name unless she had something important to say. “This is our secret, yours and mine,” Shadow said slowly. “I don’t want to tell your mother I’m taking you to this— expert—unless I have to. She’d skin me with a dull knife and roast me over a slow fire.”

  “All right, I won’t tell anyone at all,” Jael promised eagerly. “I swear. But who is it?”

  Shadow glanced around, then bit into her pie.

  “It’s Blade,” she said. “The assassin.”

  Jael was stunned to silence; realizing that her mouth was hanging open, she quickly closed it.

  “Oh,” she said weakly. “You—uh—you know Blade?” An instant later she felt like a fool; what an idiotic question! If Aunt Shadow didn’t know Blade, they would scarcely be going to meet her.

  “Actually she’s almost a friend,” Shadow grinned. “Almost. She tried to kill me once, and we saved each other’s life a couple of times.”

  “You never told me those stories,” Jael accused.

  “No, because I promised her I’d never tell anyone the things I’ve learned about her,” Shadow told her. “And you remember that you’ve promised that, too, my girl. Blade is one person you don’t want angry with you.”

  Jael gulped. She’d heard many stories of the lethal assassin—that she had killed Gajik, a mage-noble of some renown, in a roo
m warded by magic and guarded by at least fifteen men, and none had seen her enter or leave; that Denara, the city’s greatest courtesan, had paid fifteen mages to locate Blade so that Denara could have a rival killed, that the mages had cast their greatest divinations and found nothing, and that Denara had been found dead apparently of terror in her apartment shortly thereafter. There were other stories—many other stories, some quite gruesome.

  “Why is she an expert on souls?” Jael asked hesitantly. She could imagine one reason—because Blade had probably sent plenty of them to whatever afterlife they were bound for.

  “Because she’s read a lot of books on the subject,” Shadow chuckled. “Listen, little sapling, the fewer questions you ask, the better you’ll sleep tonight, bet on it.”

  They watched the mage continue his water-seeking spell for a little longer, but Shadow was so nervous that Jael could not enjoy the spectacle.

  “The vendor’s back,” Jael said, pointing. The grizzled little man was, in fact, beckoning to them.

  “Already!” Shadow said, surprised. “I didn’t even have time to buy the Dragon’s Blood. Well, we’ll just have to see.”

  Shadow dragged Jael over, and the flower vendor passed Shadow a slip of parchment. Shadow read the paper, sighed, and nodded.

  “Not a very good neighborhood to be taking the Heir into,” Shadow grumbled, towing Jael into Rivertown. “Still, on this short notice, I have to take a meeting where I can get one.”

  Even on her most daring excursions, Jael had never set foot in Rivertown; it was far too dangerous a place to go alone, and Jael was almost always alone in her wanderings. Beggars and stuporous—or possibly dead—indigents were the most innocent and harmless-seeming residents of this district. Less reputable-looking inhabitants lounged in doorways or alleys, eyeing Shadow and Jael narrowly as they passed. A few openly fondled knives or swords.

  “This way,” Shadow said, pulling Jael into an alleyway. Jael grimaced and stepped around puddles of what smelled like urine, following Shadow through a back doorway and up a night of stairs into a dimly lit, windowless room. In this room, a black-dressed figure sat alone at a wooden table.

  “So you have returned to Allanmere, ex-Guildmistress of

  the Guild of Thieves,” the woman said in a voice as cold and colorless as ice. “You still think you can summon me like a servant; that much has not changed.”

  The woman rose, and Jael was surprised; somehow she had thought the legendary Blade would be—well—larger. The woman was tall, although not as tall as Donya, but she was bonelessly lean, moving with the grace of a serpent. Her straight, chin-length hair was as midnight-black as her tunic and trousers, and her eyes were black without reflection, so black that they swallowed the light. Jael shivered and looked away from those eyes. Blade’s skin was very pale, as pale as Urien’s.

  “Well, I was going to buy you a bottle of Dragon’s Blood,” Shadow apologized. “But your messenger came back too soon, and I couldn’t decide which would make you more angry—to come empty-handed or to keep you waiting. I’ll owe you the bottle, if you like.”

  “You pay your debts, I grant you,” Blade said smoothly. “But I wonder what game you are playing now, bringing the High Lord’s own daughter to me.”

  “Hmmm.” Shadow glanced at Jael. “Wait here a moment, little acorn. I need to talk to Blade privately.”

  Shadow and Blade stepped to a dark corner of the room. Jael strained her keen ears, but the two spoke so quietly that she caught only an occasional word. At last they stepped back to the wooden table and sat down, Shadow motioning for Jael to join them.

  “Show me what was drawn in the dirt,” Blade told Shadow. Shadow scratched the signs into the tabletop with her dagger tip, pulling out the scrap of leather to show Blade.

  “You are likely right in your suspicions,” Blade said, shaking her head. “But I can confirm that.” She turned those un canny eyes on Jael. “And what price will you pay, little heirling, to know precisely who and what you are? And be sure you wish to know before you answer me. Some answers are...uncomfortable to know.”

  “I can’t go through my life breaking light globes and melting altars,” Jael said timidly. “I don’t know how anything you could tell me could be much worse. I have some money, but not with me. Aunt Shadow didn’t tell me I’d need to pay any—”

  “This is my favor, not hers,” Shadow interrupted. “If there’s any payment, I should be the one to do it.”

  “Be silent,” Blade said mildly, but her eyes narrowed. “My bargain is with the Heir, or there is none.”

  “I’m not really the Heir,” Jael admitted. “I think it’s as likely as not that Mother and Father will pass me by in favor of Markus or Mera. But my family pays its own debts, and I’ll pay you, if you’ll tell me how many Suns you want.”

  “I have no need for your coin, little mixed-blood,” Blade said silkily. She glanced at Shadow. “And I doubt there is a corner of the world in which I could hide—or you either, my friend, for that matter—if I took from the High Lady’s daughter the payment I would normally ask.” Her eyes bored into Jael’s. “We will leave it that you owe me a favor, High Lord’s daughter, and that one day I will come to you for a favor in kind, if you will agree.”

  Shadow started to protest, but a glance from Blade silenced her. Jael shrugged. Aside from wreaking havoc on any magic in the area, there was little enough she could give. What harm could it do? Still, the legends she had heard—

  “All right,” Jael said at last. “I’ll owe you a favor. As long as the favor won’t harm any of my family or friends, or break the laws of Allanmere.”

  Blade half smiled.

  “Agreed,” she said. She drew a black dagger from its sheath at her hip and extended one black-gloved hand. “Give me your hand.”

  “Wait, now,” Shadow said, alarmed. “What are you doing?”

  “Do you think I can wave my hands and conjure an answer like a mage?” Blade said impatiently. “The answer is in her blood and in her soul, and there is where I will find it. Be calm. I will do her no harm.”

  “It’s all right, Aunt Shadow,” Jael said, trying to keep her voice from quivering. “If she was going to kill me, she wouldn’t have bargained with me for payment.” Quickly, before she lost her courage, Jael held out her hand.

  “A sensible child,” Blade said, taking Jael’s extended hand. She nudged the edge of Jael’s sleeve up a bit with the tip of the black dagger. “Be still until I am done. Attempting to jerk away could be—dangerous.”

  Jael bit her lip and nodded, wanting to close her eyes but too frightened to do so.

  Blade touched the point of the black dagger to the skin of Jael’s wrist, drawing a thin line with the sharp tip. The dagger was so sharp that Jael barely noticed the scratch until she saw a few drops of blood well up; what she felt, however, was a sudden icy chill that seemed to sweep through her like a blast of winter wind. Jael shuddered involuntarily, but she ground her teeth and did not move her arm until Blade took the dagger away. Blade raised the dagger and delicately licked the few drops of blood from the tip, and Jael shivered again.

  “What you suspected is correct,” Blade said, turning to Shadow. “She is not of two bloods, but three—elf and human on the one side, and you know what is the other. The bloods have mixed oddly, bringing out old and hidden traits, but there is nothing awry there. The flaw is in her soul. Her blood is of three peoples, but her soul only of two, elf and human, with the third part missing. There is an empty place in her soul where that part should dwell, and it is this emptiness in her soul which troubles her.”

  “Elf and human and what?” Jael demanded. “What three bloods? I don’t understand.”

  “You will,” Shadow said grimly. “All right, Blade. You have your favor, and we have our answer. And I’ll still send you the bottle of Dragon’s Blood, as soon as I can buy one. Come on, little acorn, and let’s go back to the castle. Your mother has a story to tell you.”

 
“Uh-uh,” Jael said firmly. Finally, a chance to get some plain answers. “My bargain, my question. Elf and human and what?”

  The faintest hint of a smile twitched the comers of Blade’s lips.

  “Well said, Lady Jaellyn,” Blade said coolly. “ ‘Kresh’ is the name of your father’s people.”

  “That’s not right,” Jael protested. “My father’s an elf. Everyone knows that.”

  “Your mother’s husband is elf, little by-blow,” Blade corrected, her lips twitching again. “And yes, that is what everyone knows. I much doubt High Lady Donya would care for the truth to be told, though rumors have been whispered nonetheless.”

  Jael’s hands were shaking; she quickly clasped them and squeezed them hard. She understood what Blade was saying, but—

  But that—

  Jael glanced quickly at Shadow for support, but Shadow only sighed and patted Jael’s arm.

  “I’m sorry, little acorn,” she said gently. “I wish you could have waited to hear that a bit more kindly put, not that your mother wouldn’t have been as blunt. Satisfied now?”

  Jael took a deep breath, trying to slow the thudding of her heart.

  “Yes, I guess I am,” she said, hating the slight quiver in her voice. She turned to Blade. “Thank you for your trouble. I don’t know where to buy Dragon’s Blood, but I’ll give Shadow the money for it. I won’t tell anyone about you, and I won’t forget the favor I owe you.” She held out her hand, glad that it had stopped shaking.

  “Indeed you will not,” Blade said coolly, ignoring the extended hand. “And you may be assured that I, in turn, will keep my silence.” She raised one eyebrow. “Even though I have not been paid for it.” She turned, and in the time it took Jael to blink, had vanished from the room as if by magic.