City of Betrayal

by Claudie Arseneault

  Nevian snorted. Larryn had made sure to bring or send a plate every day since his arrival. After the first remained almost untouched despite its tastiness, the Shelter’s owner had diminished portions. Nevian had yet to finish even the smallest plates, and it seemed Larryn had decided today would be the day.

  “Oh, so now he sends minions to make sure I’m fed. Great. I hope you’re not as annoying as the halfling.” Cal visited often, interrupting his desperate study to chat. He asked one question after the other and no longer pretended they were from a list given by Vellien. The first ones might have been, but curiosity drove him now, and Nevian didn’t care about satisfying it. He needed to focus, and Cal’s well-meaning visits disrupted his time.

  “Cal is not annoying,” Efua answered. “He is nice and funny.” She crossed her arms and stared at him. “Unlike you.”

  “I have no time to waste being nice and funny.”

  He ignored the plate and tried to finish the section of text he’d been reading. Too bad for her if she wanted to stick around until he ate. If he interrupted his work now, he’d never remember any of it. As the girl humphed next to him, Nevian returned to the book. Magic, like everything else, was a mix of Creation and Destruction. It had emerged when Sellan had been split into two divine forces. The energy from that still permeated the world, and with the right runes or prayers, it could be drawn upon to create or destroy.

  Nevian had little faith in anything but his logic and determination, and his rare prayers went to Thanh, who had first studied the mechanics of magic and eventually become a demigod. He would relearn the runes and words of power and master the tools to call upon the magic of this world.

  “What are you reading?”

  Efua’s question disrupted his concentration, and he groaned. He picked up the tome and showed her the cover. She clacked her tongue.

  “That’s not helpful, Mister Nevian, sir. I don’t know my letters.”

  “You’re ten.” What kind of child hadn’t learned to read at ten? He frowned and put the book down. “It’s called The Basics of Spellcasting. Cal brought it to me. How come you can’t read?”

  “Should I? Why?”

  “Everyone knows.”

  Confusion twisted Efua’s round face. She climbed on his bed, removing her shoes with her feet before crossing her legs. “You’re weird. You say these things like they’re true.”

  “They are.”

  “Are not.” She giggled, sinking what little patience Nevian had for her. Was she mocking him? Yet when her shining brown eyes settled back on him, they held no derision. “I have my job because I can’t read. People give me their letters and I deliver them. They know they’ll stay private, and I have the location of every house in the city stored in here.”

  She touched her forehead. Nevian rubbed his temples, confused by her words and attitude. First, the idea she could remember every address was preposterous. And she sounded like she enjoyed being unable to read? What a weird kid.

  “Good for you,” he said. “I am appalled to observe you prefer things this way, but it’s your life, not mine. Now hush, I want to study.”

  “It’s better than starving.”

  Apparently, ‘hush’ was just as hard to understand as ‘go away.’ Nevian sighed and pushed his book away. He might as well eat if she meant to force a conversation on him.

  “Larryn can feed you.”

  “Today, yes. And before him there was Jim. But Jim didn’t have enough to feed everyone like Larryn, so I fed myself when I could. Larryn might run out too, one day. Everybody does, sooner or later, down here. You have to stay prepared.”

  “Wouldn’t learning to read be a form of preparation? You could do more than deliver letters. Why don’t you use this chance, while it lasts?”

  She lowered her head, her tiny shoulders shaking in a dismissive shrug. “There’s just no one to teach me. And I like the delivery job. It makes me feel safer and useful.”

  Finally, words he could agree with. The strict discipline Nevian had submitted himself to throughout his life had always been a source of pride. Even now, his self-control allowed him to endure the brutal healing sessions and study. But he had been striving for a goal, not repeating the same routine each day. This struck a chord within him, dragging to the surface the disagreeable memories of the slow, lonely grind of his studying, of being forced to fend for himself. Nothing had changed, even today. Avenazar had flung him back to the start. Nevian shoved a mouthful of sweet carrots down his throat and examined Efua. She stared at her feet, and Nevian’s stomach twisted. He would never wish his life on anyone.

  “Being useful is a lie,” he said. “I was useful to Avenazar. I did all the dirty, painful tasks he asked because he would hurt me if I didn’t. I learned that if I wanted something, I had to grab it myself. You don’t look like you want to be the mailman all your life.”

  Efua raised her chin, met his gaze, then shook her head. Determination shone in her eyes. Nevian took another bite of Larryn’s excellent dish, savouring it as he had every meal before. Nevian hated the constant stink of Isandor’s ignorant and unwashed populace, but the delicious food doused his desire to move out. As if he had anywhere else to go. At least he had helped by breathing some ambition into the girl charged with watching him eat. Proud of himself, he shoved another chunk of chicken in his mouth.

  “Teach me,” Efua blurted out, and he almost choked.

  “What?” That wasn’t what he’d meant. Someone else should teach her the letters. Nevian needed to relearn magic all over again first. He was barely making any progress; he couldn’t devote any time to some random kid! “No way.”

  “But you said—”

  “Ask Cal. Ask anyone but me. There’s no point.”

  She jumped to her feet, crossed her arms, and stared down at him. “You spend your days doing nothing but reading and sleeping. Larryn told me. You said yourself I should learn. I want to, and you’re going to teach me.”

  “I don’t have time to waste on—”

  “It won’t be a waste.” She grinned as if she’d won by simply contradicting him. “You’ll see. I’ll learn faster than you can say ‘magic’! I have a great memory.”

  Nevian rolled his eyes and ran a hand through his tuft of blond hair. How had he wound up arguing with a child?

  “Magic,” he said.

  “What?”

  “I said magic. Do you know how to read now?”

  “No, but—”

  “Then you are not faster than I can say ‘magic,’ as evidenced by my recent test.”

  “That’s unfair!”

  “It is, and I don’t care.” Nevian pointed at the door with his fork. “Now get out. I’m not teaching you how to read.”

  “I’m not leaving. You aren’t done with your plate.” Her big brown eyes met his, and he recognized the expression within. She wouldn’t let it go, no matter how solid his rejection. “Teach me whenever you eat.”

  “No.”

  He lifted his fork for another bite, but she grabbed it. “You have to.”

  “I really don’t.”

  His tone had lost some of its edge. Her refusal to back down amused him—she wouldn’t even let him eat!—and it touched him, too. He stared at her again, all stubborn pride, and remembered how adamant he’d been about learning magic. He had given everything to become a powerful wizard, finding a way past every obstacle, starting over several times. But he hadn’t always been alone. Master Sauria had helped, and Brune. High Priest Varden, too, though Nevian preferred not to think about the price he’d paid. Even now, Nevian was still trying to learn magic despite losing all his knowledge to Master Avenazar’s spell. And he could count on Vellien’s healing during the struggle. He never gave up, and he knew that neither would Efua. But like him, she would need help.

  “Okay. But only when I’m eating, and you are forbidden from slowing the speed at which I do so for your personal gain.”

  Efua clapped her hands, then sprang on him to
wrap her arms around Nevian. He froze, fork in hand, as the chair under him tilted dangerously to the side before landing back on its four legs. Nevian’s heart threatened to burst out of his chest, and he stared at a wrinkle in his blankets, waiting for the sudden nausea to pass.

  “N-never do that again.” She was too close, way too close. He swallowed hard, hot and sweaty, struggling to remain in control. His speech became halted. “Your enthusiasm and gratitude are noted, but get off me.”

  She squeezed before climbing down, frowning. Nevian forced himself to inhale deeply. As she watched him, she seemed to recognize the reaction. She put a hand on his knee. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  Nevian wiped his forehead, then took his book on magic and threw it on the bed. “It’s fine,” he said—a transparent lie. “Sit against the wall. I’ll be there in a few seconds with my plate.”

  Efua climbed back on the nearby bed without a word. Nevian wouldn’t be fine, not for several hours, but he couldn’t do much about it. Even without the girl so close, an uneasy itch clawed at his throat. He had never liked being touched, but Master Avenazar’s habit of grabbing his forearm to inflict atrocious pain had multiplied the sickening feeling. Nevian handed Efua his tome on magic, then sat next to her, light-headed. He waited for the worst to pass, his plate on his knees until he could eat and think again. Then he slowly began to demonstrate what sounds each letter made. She repeated after him with a determined frown, garbling words more often than not, but Nevian was too busy sorting out his panicked thoughts to correct her. He hated these irrational reactions and losing control over himself, but he had no idea how to cope with the sudden panic.

  By the time his anxiety had abated, his plate had gone cold and Efua could voice most of the letters without fail.

  Inspector Sora Sharpe sat down on the archway above Carrington’s Square, her legs dangling down the very hole through which criminals were hanged. She wasn’t sure why she’d chosen to meet Kellian Dathirii here instead of in the park below, where benches offered a somewhat comfortable sitting option. She preferred the hard marble, its cold seeping through her tights and skirt. It kept her awake, and cooled some of her anger. Sora tapped her flask of alcohol with the tip of her finger, took a long swig, then stored it back in her bag. Kellian would arrive soon, and she knew he preferred to see as little liquor as possible.

  Her gaze moved downward to the impressive jump one would have to make to land into the park below. No one had dared before, not in her lifetime at least. Hasryan had nothing to lose, however, and Arathiel’s resistance to pain made it less risky. With the hanging rope to help … She groaned, angry at herself. It shouldn’t have happened. There had been so many guards. Every noble of note had been there, watching, eager to congratulate her and Lord Allastam. And the city’s most wanted assassin had escaped right before their eyes, to her secret—but undeniable—relief.

  Sora rubbed her temples with two fingers before running them through her hair.

  “I am the most pathetic investigator this city has ever known.”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself.” Kellian stood at the outer circle. He smiled as she turned to him, and walked toward her. The small elf had a warrior’s grace in his steps, and anyone with fighting experience could recognize the formidable opponent in him despite his size. “It took over a decade before someone found him. You did, and you tied six murders to his name in just two nights. That’s impressive work.”

  He settled down next to her, his presence a reassuring balm on her doubts. They had first met five years ago. Sora had watched him fight, captivated by his swift and deadly grace, knowing he could best even the most skilled warriors in the Sapphire Guard. She had challenged him immediately, striding into an obvious defeat with determination. Kellian had her beaten in a handful of seconds, so she’d struggled to her feet and asked for a rematch. He had taught her more in an hour of exhausting battle than she’d learned in a year and even today, after she’d grown experienced and confident, she found herself turning to Kellian for support. She had missed his steadfast faith.

  “I bet you’re sad I couldn’t arrest your house thief that fast.”

  He laughed, but the sound lacked mirth. His shoulders slumped, and hair fell from his usually tidy half-ponytail. Sora had seen so little of Kellian, she hadn’t realized how draining their conflict with the Myrians had been.

  “You look like you sleep even less than I do,” she said.

  “It’s about to get worse.” He pulled his fur-lined winter cloak tighter. “How is Lord Arathiel?”

  “Recovering.” She had yet to transfer him from the infirmary. They had talked twice since that first encounter, and Arathiel hadn’t provided any new information. All she knew for certain was that he hid something from her. She would find out what. Kellian’s question surprised her, though, and Sora shot him a sharp glance. Either he didn’t want to talk about how their conflict would worsen and had changed the subject, or Arathiel was connected to it. Judging from the hint of guilt in his hard mouth, she would guess the latter. “Might I ask why you’re inquiring?”

  A small heh escaped Kellian’s lips, and he tilted his head back. His gaze had gone straight to the Allastam Tower. At night, the magical gardens at its top glowed a soft blue. “Diel intends to visit your headquarters tomorrow, first thing in the morning.”

  A sense of foreboding grew in Sora at Kellian’s measured tone. He was hiding his disapproval, out of respect for Lord Dathirii. “I have a feeling I won’t like this,” she said.

  “He will ask to free Lord Arathiel on a … probation of sorts.”

  “You can’t do that.” She needed Arathiel in her jail, close at hand so she could question him every day—every hour, even. Sooner or later, he’d give her the right lead to find Hasryan. How would she ever track down her assassin if her last source of information walked out with Lord Dathirii? Isandor’s nobles all watched her now, and six families relied on her to bring Hasryan to justice. Sora turned towards Kellian. At least he had the decency to meet her gaze and frown apologetically. “Why? Why would Lord Dathirii risk this? You have no allies against the Myrian Enclave, your resources are spread as thin as can be, and he seeks to anger Lord Allastam? This won’t end well. You cannot free Arathiel.”

  “Why is a secret, at least for the moment.” Kellian tucked strands of hair behind his long ears with a weary sigh. “I’m sorry. I wanted to give you a heads-up. You’ll want to use all the time you have left.”

  “I don’t understand.” Sora pushed herself up. She had always perceived House Dathirii as her ally, and coming from Kellian, the news felt like a betrayal. “Hasryan killed more than Lady Allastam. Without Arathiel, I’ll never catch him. Shouldn’t you care about that? Shouldn’t you help me instead of destroying my one chance at progress?”

  Kellian straightened up after her, unwinding in a single graceful movement, to end a full head shorter than Sora. “I wish it was this simple. This concerns the Myrian Enclave, and Master Avenazar is our priority. Hasryan’s criminal actions do not outweigh the dangers this wizard embodies, for us and the city. Branwen’s report left us no doubts about that.”

  Sora forced a calming breath in, then out. He was right. Hasryan was her priority, but he shouldn’t be everyone’s. She had seen the ruins of the tailor’s shop, scorched to cinders by the enclave’s High Priest. If that was only a taste of what they could do … Then she should be glad if Arathiel could assist them, despite the consequences for her.

  “Of course, yes. I let my personal struggles get to me and lost sight of the larger context.” Everything seemed to conspire to stop her from reaching Hasryan. Only House Allastam and the Crescent Moon helped her with enthusiasm, and their respective goals didn’t please Sora. Everyone else who knew Hasryan clamped down about him, even if they had barely talked to him before. The Lower City protected their own, no matter the crimes they were accused of. Or perhaps thanks to it. She doubted the homeless folks living at the Shelter had any love f
or House Allastam.

  House Dathirii’s desire to free Arathiel was another obstacle, yet now that the initial shock had passed, her anger vanished. She believed in them, in their goals and moral compass. This, in truth, provided the first excuse for slowing the investigation both her heart and mind could get behind. Not unless she used her best interrogation skills before Arathiel was out of her reach, of course.

  “Lord Arathiel barely knew Hasryan, yet he threw everything he had down the shitslide to save him. There has to be more to this than a few card games.” Sora rubbed the back of her neck and stretched her muscles. She’d spent too long sitting these last days, either at her desk or Arathiel’s bedside.

  “Thanks for the warning, Kellian. I’m glad I can always count on you.”

  He clasped her shoulder and nodded. “You’re not alone. I’m busy, but call on me if you need help. I’ll figure out a way.”

  Sora smiled, knowing he would. She’d yet to find anyone else more reliable in Isandor. “Only if I can return the favour. If you need help …” She waited for his nod of agreement. “Good. Now I must go. This could be my last night with Lord Arathiel, and I have a lot of unanswered questions.”

  Would it lead anywhere? Arathiel’s answers so far had been steadfast, cool, and coherent. She lost temper more often than he did. But Sora had a duty to try—for herself, and for those six families. Her repressed attachment to Hasryan’s easy wit couldn’t stain her diligent work. She would have Arathiel explain every single detail a dozen times if she needed to. Something was bound to come up.

  ✵

  The questions had dragged on for hours. Arathiel hadn’t even been awake for such a long time since his arrest, but Sora Sharpe was relentless. She had hauled him out of the infirmary, sat him in an interrogation room, and battered him with questions. Where was Hasryan? How had they met? When had they first talked? About what? Did they have any common friends? Who else at the Shelter might want to help? He couldn’t mean ‘no one’—think harder! And when she let the subject of Hasryan go for a few minutes, she dragged his past to the front of the conversations. When had he left? Who had he known back then? Did he know the Dathirii very well? How often had he trained with Kellian? Talked with Camilla? What had he shared with Diel?