City of Betrayal

by Claudie Arseneault

  “That depends,” Lord Dathirii said. “Regardless, you cannot remain in the Dathirii Tower in the near future. I’ll have to allow guards to search it top to bottom, providing proof that we are not sheltering you. They will ask to do so as quickly as possible—tonight, or tomorrow morning. I know what you could do until then, however.”

  His gaze slid towards Branwen, and she gasped. “You want him to come with us? What about Kellian?”

  Anger flashed through Diel’s expression, and he answered in a tight and controlled tone. “Kellian obeys direct orders, even when they displease him. He’s welcome to voice his thoughts after the mission. Our priority goes to extracting Varden.” Branwen grinned at the uncompromising reply, and Diel turned to Hasryan. “Lord Arathiel Brasten should have arrived by now, accompanied by a friend. With their help and Kellian’s protection, Branwen will infiltrate the Myrian Enclave and save High Priest Varden Daramond tonight. They could use a professional’s skills.”

  Shock glued Hasryan’s tongue to his mouth. First at Diel’s confidence that Lord Kellian would accept his presence at all, then at the casual proposition. He had entered the quarters terrified to be flung right back into prison, and yet … “Is that some sort of job offer? You’re offering me work?”

  Lord Dathirii’s clear and melodious laugh tempered Hasryan’s agitation. “It’s an exchange of services. Help us, and we will help you.”

  “I’m an assassin. You know that, right? Brune framed me for Lady Allastam’s murder, but Sora can show you the rest of the list. She loves to wave that thing around.”

  “Is that all you are, though?” The elven lord’s mirth had vanished, and his question cut right through Hasryan. No. It never had been, despite how often others tried to confine him to that box. Hasryan snorted, and Lord Dathirii continued with a slight smile. “I abhor killing, but you cannot boil down a life’s value to its crimes. You sought me in order to save Aunt Camilla, and Arathiel counts you as a friend. This speaks volumes about your character to me. You have unique skills which could spare a good man from horrible torture, and for that I will gladly overlook your past.”

  “We need someone like you,” Branwen added. “Everybody’s been so obsessed with the mess around you, they won’t see how dangerous Avenazar is, and they refuse to help.”

  “Hey, I didn’t ask for this mess. One night I headbutted an asshole for mocking my friends, the next I was lined up for a hanging!” But of course, they would blame him. Always, he ended up the scapegoat, even when he had no control over events. If Hasryan had to work with Branwen, however, he wouldn’t let that dynamic stand. He’d suffered through it often enough. “Your priest isn’t the only one who got the short end of the stick. Find your culprits elsewhere. I can even offer names if you want.”

  Branwen glared. “I didn’t mean—”

  “Okay, sure. Accidentally implied it, whatever.” Hasryan didn’t have the patience for long apologetic explanations that lasted forever. What she’d meant didn’t change what she’d said. “I’m still coming. How could I not? I owe it to Camilla, and I owe it to Arathiel.”

  Beyond his gratitude, Hasryan looked forward to a chance to know Arathiel better and deepen their relationship. Arathiel had risked everything to save his life, yet their time together had been limited to card games and that brief, intense first talk. One outsider recognizing another and understanding his struggles. Hasryan couldn’t deny he’d grown fond of Arathiel, more so than he’d ever expected. And when everyone else had deserted Hasryan … With a deep breath, he turned to Lord Dathirii.

  “I’ve been cooped up too long. I’m sure I can save lives just as easily as I can snuff them out.”

  “Glad to hear it.” Diel strode around his desk and to Hasryan. For an instant, Hasryan thought Lord Dathirii would squeeze his shoulders, but the elf stopped himself. “Let me get the rest of the team.”

  The team, Hasryan thought, as a warm feeling spread through him. His rare and disagreeable experiences cooperating with others to reach a target had led him to work alone, yet he knew today would be different. People would trust him. They would listen to his advice and respect his skills. Hasryan still wasn’t safe, not even remotely, but tonight he would venture out of Isandor with Arathiel and others, putting years of training to good use and earning Lord Dathirii’s gratitude. The world was finally giving him a chance to go forward, rather than start over.

  Sora clipped her fur cloak around her neck and pulled thick gloves over her hands. She hadn’t needed to wear her winter gear for months, but the weather was growing colder with every passing day, and her mission required an official uniform. She needed the city to understand her short walk through Isandor was sanctioned by her superiors, and that any threat to Lord Arathiel’s security would be dealt with accordingly. Clad from head to toe in the emblematic sky blue of Isandor’s Sapphire Guard, their symbol stamped on her shirt and the back of her cloak, her message would be clear.

  It needed to be, if she meant to escort Lord Arathiel Brasten to the Dathirii Tower without incidents. News of the exceptional meeting of the Golden Table today had spread fast, sliding from the top of the nobles’ towers to the bottom of the Lower City. Everyone with a hint of political sense recognized it as Lord Allastam’s counterattack on Lord Dathirii. But how far would it go? And would his revenge include Arathiel? She couldn’t imagine Allastam without a plan for her charge.

  Until he reached the confines of the Dathirii Tower, Arathiel’s safety depended on her. She wished he had decided to wear more than a leather jacket to venture into the freezing weather, but she’d learned not to question such choices. He didn’t feel cold, so why bother? Yet she regretted not pressing for a more normal outfit as they trekked through the street. Arathiel’s passage provoked glares and the occasional whisper, and Sora’s hand often wandered to the pommel of her sword. She was glad to reach the root-like bridges that stretched out of the bottom of the Dathirii Tower.

  Arathiel stopped near one, and his gaze slid from his manacles to the city below. He hadn’t said a word while they walked, but now that they stood in the shadow of the Dathirii Tower, he allowed his worry to show. “I get the feeling I would be safer behind bars.”

  “Correct.”

  “Will Diel be all right?” he asked.

  “It depends on your definition of ‘all right,’ I think.” She doubted he would emerge from this unscathed. Not if other noble houses had allowed Lord Allastam to move the Golden Table, thus silently agreeing that Lord Dathirii’s actions needed to be discussed urgently. Lord Dathirii had ruffled feathers for as long as she could remember, however—and probably even longer than that—so Sora figured he knew how to navigate trouble. “He’ll survive, but I suspect House Dathirii’s struggles won’t get any easier. And the entire city wonders why you are worth the damage.”

  Arathiel snapped his attention back to her, as if she’d slapped him. After a moment, he admitted, “It’s not me. I’m the means to an end.”

  “Aren’t we all just tools in their games?” Sora couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her tone. Arathiel’s words from the previous day had haunted her. Could she do more on her own? Would she have any power to change her city if she abandoned the Sapphire Guard? At least she wouldn’t have corrupt commanding officers to answer to. Then again, how long before Brune’s thugs came knocking at her door and made her pay for daring to work solo? She hated her current position, how her cases were mostly dictated by whoever held the most power. She used to think of it as a necessary part of the job, but now she couldn’t help looking for other options.

  “No. I chose to accept this, just as I chose to save Hasryan.” Arathiel smiled, then shook his wrists. “I have the manacles, yet your hands are more tied than mine. Tool or no, at least I know Lord Dathirii is worthy of my help.”

  Sora frowned at the implication she couldn’t say the same, but she didn’t have the strength to contradict him. Truly, who would benefit from Hasryan’s execution? Brune had set him up t
o take the fall, and Hasryan’s escape had rallied everyone behind Lord Allastam. She might be doing this for the six families who had lost a loved one, but in the end, she served the Crescent Moon and House Allastam, and it left a bitter taste in her mouth.

  “Keep telling yourself that.” And she would keep telling herself she enjoyed her current situation and did not feel constrained by the investigations imposed by her superiors. If she could cling to that illusion and to her obstinate desire to bring justice to Hasryan’s six other victims, she might forget how much she hoped her target assassin escaped safe and sound from this mess, despite her efforts. Just as she caught herself wishing she could speak with him again without this investigation between them. All thoughts better left buried deep within. “How many allies are you expecting before we enter?”

  “Only Cal,” Arathiel said.

  “No Larryn?” That felt wrong. Weren’t these two always together? And what could Lord Dathirii plan that would require the help of Ren’s chubby, genial priest?

  Arathiel turned back toward her, and she could sense him weighing words, choosing what to say and what to hide. They might deny any involvement in the prison break last week, but Sora knew better. Larryn had come, if not all three of them. “Larryn refused to take part in anything concerning Lord Dathirii, or any potentially dangerous endeavours. He has the Shelter to think of.”

  “I’m sure.” Sora could believe Larryn wouldn’t work for Lord Dathirii. He’d always made his distaste for nobles quite clear. No doubt Arathiel had left his other reasons unsaid. “Not going to tell me why Cal is there, are you?”

  Arathiel’s soft smile hid a layer of amusement. “Cal came because he is a friend.”

  They both knew that hadn’t been Sora’s question, but before she could press for more information, the subject of their discussion appeared at the top of a nearby staircase. Unlike Sora’s tailored outfit, Cal’s threadbare clothes were obvious secondhands. The coat pinched too tight at his waist, the winter hat kept falling over his eye, and the colours clashed horribly. A small mace hung at his belt, which raised more questions than it answered. Did Cal even know how to fight? He sprinted when he spotted them, and arrived with red cheeks but breathing evenly.

  “Hello, Miss Sharpe!”

  The chirpy greeting caught her off guard. She expected Hasryan’s friend to stay wary of her, but neither Arathiel nor Cal showed any animosity. Masking her surprise, Sora smiled to him. “Good morning. Let’s go.”

  She motioned for the entrance, and two guards led them into the vestibule. Sora relaxed as they stepped into the warm room, away from public eyes. Although it slowed her investigation, she wouldn’t complain about a day without Arathiel. He had a way of asking the right questions and hearing her unsaid thoughts that set her on edge, and she was honest enough with herself to understand he’d planted a solid seed in her mind. She needed the distance to get her bearings, secure her footing, and dive back into her work without so many doubts needling her.

  ✵

  Arathiel’s gaze kept returning to Cal as they waited for Jaeger to arrive. How intense could the colours of his winter clothes be if he could see such richness in them? Either Cal had nothing else—probable, considering the ill-fitting size—or he’d forgotten the stealth component of tonight’s mission. Darkness would conceal the worst of it, but still. Perhaps Lord Dathirii would have something better to lend him. Arathiel made a mental note to ask once Sora had left them.

  For now, cold silence stretched over them. Even Cal’s arrival hadn’t sparked the lively conversation it should have. Something in the city’s tense mood affected them all, dousing impulses to laugh or chat.

  To Arathiel’s surprise, Diel himself came down to the entrance hall. Warmth filled his greeting as he smiled at the gathered group, but Arathiel sensed his exhaustion underneath. It became even more obvious when Diel turned to Sora, his shoulders tensed.

  “I’m glad you’re here, Miss Sharpe. I need an unexpected word with you.”

  The slight confusion on Sora’s expression lasted a second, soon replaced by irritation. “More favours I can’t refuse, milord?”

  “I can only hope so.” This time, Diel’s smile never reached his eyes. Arathiel disliked the soft weariness in his tone. It bore bad news. “Lady Camilla Dathirii will be waiting for you in your headquarters, brought there by Kellian. If you could … keep her presence quiet until the end of the Golden Table, I would be in your debt.”

  Arathiel froze at the mention of Camilla, and only through careful control did he stop his fears from showing. Nothing but Hasryan could lead Kellian to drag his own aunt to the Sapphire Guard’s headquarters. Arathiel threw an alarmed glance at Diel, who pointedly did not look in his direction. Sora’s expression had hardened, her eyes narrowed.

  “I’m afraid you will need to explain very clearly why Camilla is at the headquarters for me to agree to anything.”

  Diel straightened, meeting Sora’s gaze without hesitation. “Lord Kellian has reached the conclusion that Lady Camilla was involved in sheltering Hasryan Fel’ethier following his escape. I know my aunt, and must admit such behaviour falls within the realm of possibility.” Diel glanced at Arathiel, as if to apologize, but his tone stayed firm. “I only want this suspicion and the corresponding investigation to remain private for half a day.”

  “Why would I do this for you? You’re asking me to hide her, at great risk to my reputation, for little in return.” Sora crossed her arms. “You do realize you’ve already hindered my progress by claiming Arathiel? I respect the work you do in this city and the fights you choose to lead, but I owe you nothing.”

  Diel sighed, and in that brief gesture, the immense weight on his heart showed. Arathiel checked his impulse to rush to him, squeeze his forearm, and promise they could fix this. Camilla wouldn’t be involved if Arathiel hadn’t asked, and between his guilt and his undeniable attraction to Diel, Arathiel needed all his willpower not to intervene. He watched, unmoving, as the elven lord rebuilt his mask.

  “Will you take care of her, then? I suspect I will have little power by the end of the day, and I’m worried. Please, at least protect Camilla. I will return after the Golden Table to speak with her, and we will comply with the guards’ demands.”

  Sora softened. “I wouldn’t let any harm come to your aunt. I didn’t when she stumbled …” Her voice trailed off, and she turned to Arathiel, a weird sound crossing her lips, halfway between a cry of rage and a laugh. “When she distracted me and the surrounding guards from Arathiel’s leap to our bridge. You are quite right. She is involved in this.”

  “That sounds like her,” Diel said, mirth creeping back into his voice. “Miss Sharpe, you have my sincerest thanks. Would you please tell her I’m aware of the situation?”

  “I will.” She stepped back with a frown. “Expect us to return for a thorough search of the Dathirii Tower by the end of the afternoon.”

  “Of course.”

  Sora Sharpe turned away from Diel, striding to Arathiel and unlocking his shackles. He sighed in relief as they left his wrists. The metal might not press against his skin, but it had against his mind, and he breathed more easily in its absence. “Good luck,” she said, “with whatever it is you’re up to.”

  She left without waiting for an answer, striding back through the massive entrance doors. As soon as they slammed behind her, Cal tugged hard on Arathiel’s arm. “Is it true, Ara? Did she help you? Does she know where Hasryan is?” His questions spilled out like he’d been holding them all along, and his voice grew higher in pitch with every word. Arathiel squeezed Cal’s shoulder, but his gaze flicked to Diel. How much could he say now? It might be best not to risk it yet.

  “She did help me distract the guards.” He left the other questions unanswered.

  “She’ll be fine,” Diel added. “Camilla might give the impression of a delicate lady with her tea and cookies, but she’s seen—and caused—her share of trouble. Perhaps we could continue this conversation i
n my office? My niece, Branwen, is already waiting for us there. She’s very eager to meet you, Arathiel, and I’m sure we’ll both be pleased to get to know your friend.”

  “Cal,” the halfling volunteered. “I mean, that’s not my full name, but everyone calls me Cal. If that’s not too unofficial to you. Milord!”

  Arathiel put a hand in front of his mouth, hiding his amusement at Cal’s sudden self-consciousness. Diel chuckled without bothering to conceal his mirth. “It’s perfect, as long as you don’t mind Jaeger calling you “Sir Cal.” We’ve been together for more than a century, and he still uses “milord” on me, so there’s really nothing to do about it.”

  “Oh. I think I can handle that! Sir Cal.” He repeated it twice, his grin growing bigger each time. “Larryn would shit himself.”

  A split second later, Cal’s eyes widened, and he gasped at what he’d just said in front of Lord Dathirii. He slapped a hand over his mouth and flushed several shades of red deeper. Diel laughed, and Arathiel watched his shoulders relax and the crow’s feet appear at the corners of his eyes with satisfaction. Better this than the barely-contained despair from earlier. As they headed up a first flight of stairs, Cal fumbling for an apology and Diel emphatically telling him not to fret, Arathiel’s mood escaped the tense worry it had been soaking in all morning.

  After Lord Dathirii’s departure, an awkward silence had settled in the office. Branwen tapped her letter opener on Diel’s desk, looking everywhere but at Hasryan. He stared straight at her, wishing she would stop being so damn ill at ease. What was it this time? Did she hate dark elves like Kellian? Or did she disapprove of his assassinations too? No, that made no sense. Branwen had acted suspicious when he’d stepped in, yet confident. Whatever bothered her now had stolen that away. On most days, Hasryan would ignore her attitude, but they had to work together, and he didn’t want to walk on eggshells around her.