City of Storms

by Kat Ross

“Bal Agnar?” she guessed.

  “Bal Kirith.”

  “Did that happen? Was it true?”

  He nodded.

  “Saints,” she muttered. “Did she survive? Your aunt?”

  Malach turned to display the Mark on his left hip. “I didn’t find her until the next day, but there was still enough ley.”

  Nikola stared at the Mark, a two-headed serpent devouring some nameless creature. “A snake doesn’t exactly surprise me,” she said, “given your preoccupations.”

  Malach laughed. “What I did is called a sweven. A vision carried by the ley from my mind to yours. In this case, it was a memory, but I could share a dream or fantasy. I have lots of those. Any special requests?”

  Nikola didn’t find this amusing. “Have you done it to me before?”

  “Every choice you’ve made is your own, Domina Thorn.”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “No,” he said. “I haven’t.”

  “Does it go both ways? Could you steal memories from my head?”

  “Not without your consent. If you opened your mind to me, yes.”

  Swevens were related to compulsion, but far more graphic and explicit. It was the difference between hearing a symphony orchestra perform live and reading the notes on a sheet. If only he could have extracted Kasia Novak’s memories of the last two days, he’d know what Massot’s letter said. But he couldn’t force her, so he’d used the same technique as he had on Cardinal Falke. She’d been about to tell him when the damned Markhounds showed up.

  Nikola let out a breath. “I thought my childhood was rough, but you win, Malach.”

  “It wasn’t all bad.” He studied her. “What about your family?”

  “What about them?”

  “Are they alive?”

  “Yeah. They’re nice people. But I don’t want their charity.”

  “What do you want?”

  “This again? I told you.”

  “No, you’ve told me what you don’t want, which is to live under the boot heel of the Curia. What will you do when you reach Dur-Athaara? What makes you happy?”

  She looked away. “I don’t know.”

  Her pulse beat swiftly in the hollow of her neck. The sweven had gotten to her. Not the end of it, which was just adrenaline, but the beginning. When she felt the ley through him. Malach cupped her bare knee. Power warmed his palm, but he held it inside.

  A crooked smile. “Come to bed with me.”

  Her eyes widened. “Has anyone ever told you that you have a perverse notion of foreplay?”

  “I’ll wear my glasses if you want. Give your books a thorough auditing.”

  “Haven’t changed much, have you?”

  He thought about it. “Not really.”

  She laughed. “And you think having sex with you will change my mind about the Mark?”

  “No.” He stood and wrapped the ends of the blanket around her, so they were cocooned together. She didn’t resist when he lowered his head and kissed her neck. “But it would make you feel better.”

  “Me? Or you?”

  “Both.”

  Nikola fingered the hair at his nape, still damp from the rain. “I don’t like what you just did to me. The sweven. Don’t do it again.”

  He could hardly think straight. The smell of her filled his nose. “Okay.”

  “You’ll never touch me with the ley. I mean it, Malach.”

  He buried his face in her hair. “Only to monitor the health of the child.”

  She hesitated. “Only that. And you’ll ask first.”

  His hands cupped her bottom, kneading gently.

  “Say it,” she growled.

  “I’ll ask first,” he replied impatiently.

  Nikola kissed him and the hunger rose up, blotting out everything but her. Malach stepped back and let the blanket fall. He pulled the shift over her head and tossed it away. He hurt, but the pain only heightened the pleasure. This time, Nikola was less inhibited. He made himself lie still as her fingers moved over his Marks, tracing the sinuous lines of the broken chain circling his neck and working their way downward.

  Malach told her the names. Dark Mirror. Lady of Masks. Blinded to Agony. The Red Warden. Summoning the Storm. Today for Tomorrow. Tiger in a Cage.

  When he finally slept, his head brimmed with wild, vivid dreams.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Bells tolled midnight as a pair of long black automobiles approached the Dacian Gate. The one carrying Fra Bryce peeled off as soon as it passed into the inner precincts of the Arx. Kasia watched taillights vanish into the rain.

  “Where are they taking him?” she asked.

  The priests in the front seat didn’t reply.

  “Am I under arrest?”

  Again, not a twitch.

  She had never been inside the walls before. The day her grade visited the Arx on a field trip, Kasia had feigned illness, knowing her classmates would whisper about her behind their hands. Somehow, they’d learned her secret. She had been tested and found wanting. No one laughed or mocked her to her face, though. They were too afraid of what she might do to them.

  Now she gazed out the rain-streaked window at the glowing Wards that stretched in every direction. For the first time, she could see them herself. Malach had done something to her—something to lift the veil of ley-blindness that afflicted all Unmarked. The Wards were the unearthly blue of a very hot flame, bright yet failing to illuminate the space around them. If anything, they made the surrounding darkness even more impenetrable.

  As the car drove beneath the motto etched above the marble archway, Post tenebras lux, the hair on the back of her neck stirred. The Arx was an ancient place, more than a thousand years old, and she could feel it resonating in her bones, the weight of all that devotion steeped into the stonework.

  Light after the dark.

  She followed the Via Sancta—everyone did—but until that moment, she had misunderstood the Church’s power. It wasn’t the Marks, or even the ley. It was the faithful. The true believers like Fra Bryce, who had sacrificed everything for the dream of a better world.

  The last bell faded. Even the rain sank to a whisper inside the moss-covered walls.

  Kasia slipped a hand into her pocket, the familiar smooth texture of the cards offering some measure of reassurance. After Alexei pursued Malach to the roof, she’d returned to the coffee table and swept them up, intending to flee down the stairs. Two had slipped from her grasp, falling directly at her feet.

  The Fool, lying crosswise over the Knight.

  She had known then that if she ran away, Bryce would die. Funny how the thought made her feel so cold when only a short time before he’d been her enemy.

  Now she wondered what secrets he’d held back.

  Alexei had caught her eye as they shoved him into the back of the lead vehicle. A warning look.

  Keep silent about the letters. About everything.

  Kasia expected to be taken to a cell, but the car stopped in front of a three-story brick building with a circular gravel drive. A priest opened her door and escorted her inside. Kasia stood dripping in a marble entry hall. Enormous oil portraits of men and women in purple robes hung on the walls. Elaborate plasterwork scrolls traced the high ceiling. It looked like a museum, but something told her these weren’t Curia offices.

  The priest led her to the end of a hallway just as richly decorated as the foyer, where tall doors stood wide, revealing a walnut-paneled library. A man with short silver hair sat reading in the glow of several large candelabra, purple robes framing broad shoulders. He closed the book as they entered. It was a copy of the Meliora, the foundational text of the Via Sancta written by the Praefators a thousand years before, whose title meant “ever better” in the old tongue, or, more fully, “for the pursuit of the better.” Falke’s face was square and smooth, the expression neutral.

  “Your Eminence,” Kasia said, bending a knee.

  The priest withdrew, silently shutting the doors.
>
  “Please, sit down,” Cardinal Falke said. He had a rich, commanding voice, but it wasn’t unfriendly.

  Kasia took an armchair next to the tall diamond-paned windows and crossed her legs. She met his assured gaze with a level stare of her own.

  “First, I wish to apologize on behalf of the Curia,” he said. “It’s unacceptable that one of our own should have placed you in such danger. Had I known of your involvement in this unfortunate affair, I would have brought you here immediately.”

  “Fra Bryce didn’t—”

  The cardinal held up a black-gloved finger and she subsided. “Worse is the fact that a nihilim somehow managed to enter the city. But I can assure you, you’ll be perfectly safe here.”

  The way he said it made Kasia wonder how long they planned to keep her. “What about Natalya?”

  “We located Domina Anderle an hour ago. She is unharmed and resting in a room at this moment.”

  A weight eased from Kasia’s chest. “I would like to see her, Your Eminence.”

  “Of course.” He smiled. “In the morning.”

  “Have you found the mage yet?”

  The smile slipped a notch. “Not yet. But he cannot elude us forever. It’s fortunate we found you when we did. I understand Bryce has a vendetta against this mage and used you to draw him out.”

  “Fra Bryce is not to blame. He tried to protect me and nearly died for it.” She held the cardinal’s gaze. “A serious mistake has been made, Your Eminence. I heard Bryce speak to the doctor. He’s a gentle man.”

  “Gentle?” Cardinal Falke chuckled. “He was a Knight of Saint Jule before joining the Interfectorem.”

  “I know, Your Eminence. He told me.”

  The cardinal nodded slowly. “Did he tell you he was in the Beatus Laqueo?”

  Kasia had never heard of it, but there were so many divisions within the Church. “No.”

  “A specialized order of the knights. The main force would put the nihilim on the run and get them cornered in the ruins. When every exit was sealed, they’d send in the Beatus Laqueo. The Holy Noose tightening around our enemies’ necks. They trained in shock tactics. Fra Bryce volunteered for it.”

  Kasia said nothing.

  “The laquei received Marks for valor in combat. Fra Bryce has nineteen. Do you know what it takes to earn that many?” He smirked. “No, of course you wouldn’t. But trust me, gentle Fra Bryce is not.”

  Kasia misliked the patronizing tone. “That was war, Your Eminence. He only did what he was ordered to.”

  “You misunderstand. It’s not a criticism. In fact, I have great admiration for him. It’s not an easy thing to kill, even when the cause is righteous.” Falke paused. “Marks are designed to reconcile emotional conflict, but the human race is still a work in progress, Domina Novak.”

  She looked down to hide her confusion. Did he know she was Unmarked?

  “Instinct is a powerful thing,” Falke continued. “Even the best of us are not yet immune to our base nature.” He leaned forward, face shining with conviction. “But future generations will be, thanks to the sacrifices made by men like Fra Bryce.”

  “If you hold him in such high regard, why is he being punished?”

  The cardinal frowned. “It’s not punitive to carry out the law. We have a witness who claims he assaulted Ferran Massot minutes before the body was found—coincidentally, also by Bryce.” His voice was dry. “The apostolic tribunal will decide his fate.”

  “What will happen if he’s found guilty?”

  “He’ll be cast out beyond the Wards.”

  “Of the Arx?”

  “Of the city.”

  “A former knight exiled to the Void?” Her voice was cold. “Why don’t you just execute him? It would be a cleaner death than he’ll get from the mages. Or does the Curia lack the stomach for it?”

  Falke’s bland expression never altered. “That is the penalty, Domina Novak. Capital punishment is banned by the Meliora, as you well know.”

  “It amounts to the same thing.”

  “No. His blood will be on the hands of the nihilim, not ours.”

  She steadied herself. If one intended to blackmail a cardinal, best to do it with a cool head. “Do you have a say in the verdict, Your Eminence?”

  He gazed at her curiously. “Why do you ask?”

  She must be mad. But Beatus Laqueo or not, she suspected Alexei was innocent. And she felt an odd responsibility for him.

  “I have something that might interest you.”

  He gave her a kindly smile. “Do you?”

  “When I was at Massot’s house—”

  “He gave you a message for me.” The cardinal opened a drawer and took out a brass tube. “Don’t worry, my dear, I have it right here. So you see, there is nothing more for you to worry about.” He rose, eyes glittering. “A room has been prepared. You will stay within the Arx until the mage has been found.”

  Kasia bowed her head. “Your Eminence.”

  One cylinder. Did he have both messages? What had Tessaria done?

  “Domina Novak?”

  Kasia turned at the door.

  “Don’t trouble yourself over Fra Bryce. If he is innocent, it will come to light. Justice is always served here.”

  Kasia doubted this, coming as it did from a man who’d conspired with Ferran Massot to experiment on the mentally ill, but there was little point in arguing. “Can I see him?”

  The smile never wavered. “He will need to meet with his advocate. Give another statement and prepare for trial. But I’ll take your request under consideration.”

  In other words, not a chance. Kasia bent her knee, privately seething. “Thank you, Your Eminence.”

  The same priest was waiting outside the door. He drove her to a fortress-like building and turned her over to a vestal with a motherly face and brisk manner. Sor Chernov wore a cassock identical to the brothers and had a Raven Mark on her neck, though on the right side rather than the left.

  Torches sputtered in ornate iron brackets as they entered the Castel Saint Agathe. Pre-Dark Age for certain, Kasia thought, eyeing the thick walls and ribbed stone vaulting. The air smelled like smoke and centuries-old wood. A few gray-clad chars moved silently through the halls, eyes cast down, but it was late and most of the sisters were sleeping.

  On the top floor, Sor Chernov opened the door to a small chamber. It held a narrow bed with a cedar chest at the foot, a table with a bowl and pitcher, and a single narrow slit that served as a window.

  “The privy is at the end of the hall,” she said, handing Kasia a lit candle. “You’ll find a clean shift in the chest.”

  “Thank you.”

  The vestal departed. Kasia set the candle on the deep stone windowsill. She undressed, put on the cotton shift, and crawled under the blanket. The bed was hard as a stone bier, but she was too tired to care. She clutched the cards to her cheek, the precise edges and smooth, waxy surface lulling her like a cherished childhood doll.

  Falke underestimates me, she thought. Just like Ferran Massot did when I . . . .

  The rest was lost as the dark tide of sleep dragged her under.

  Chapter Twenty

  Alexei walked down a series of steep staircases and narrow passageways, escorted by four silent agents of the OGD. He lost all sense of direction except for the undeniable fact that they were heading into the deepest, oldest part of the Arx. With each step, the air grew colder and danker. Pale lichen crusted the stone walls. At last they paused in a tunnel with a low, arched-brick ceiling and rows of barred cells stretching into the gloom, all of them empty.

  “Face the wall,” Fra Talgatov said.

  Heavy chains snapped shut around his ankles. Warded manacles already circled his wrists, blocking him from the ley.

  “I have the right to an advocate,” Alexei said as they pushed him inside a cell.

  “You’ll get one,” Talgatov said curtly. “At the archbishop’s pleasure.”

  The door clanged shut. Footsteps reced
ed.

  The cell was bare, lit only by the single torch they’d left burning in the corridor. When it went out, he’d be in darkness except for the glowing Ward above the door.

  Alexei surveyed the cell. The floor was uneven and stagnant water pooled in the cavities, but he found a dry corner. As he settled down, he saw he wasn’t the first prisoner to claim this patch of higher ground. Alexei ran a finger along the letters scratched into the wall.

  Mox nox.

  Soon, nightfall.

  The etching was old, barely a shade lighter than the surrounding stone, but a mage had been held here at some point. The Saints only knew what he or she had used to gouge the stone so deeply. Alexei shivered and turned away.

  The minutes dragged by. The torch sputtered and died. His chin sank to his chest, but sleep stubbornly refused to come. How long since he’d dozed off while typing his report? They’d gone to the Institute afterward and the traffic was light so it must have been Sunday morning.

  What day was it now?

  Alexei hadn’t the slightest idea. He rubbed his hands together, trying to produce some warmth, but he felt disembodied. The ache in his ribs seemed distant. Even the various lumps on his head belonged to someone else.

  And he was starting to see things.

  Phantoms hovering at the edge of sight. Alexei had experienced this before after especially bad bouts of insomnia. The Gray. A place where the line between past and present blurred to mist. A twilight place where ghosts walked.

  Once, when he was five, he’d fallen through the rotting, leaf-camouflaged cover of an old well during a game of hide and seek. He’d screamed himself hoarse for two hours before Mikhail found him. His father had given Misha a wicked hiding later that day (as the elder, he was held accountable), but when they pulled Alexei out of the well, traumatized, with a broken arm but otherwise unharmed, his father had wept—the only time Alexei had ever seen him display emotion. Even when their mother died, he’d remained dry-eyed.

  The cell reminded Alexei of the well. Deep and dark and quiet.

  Except that this time, Misha would not be coming to save him.

  The shadows shifted. Hot breath tickled his ear.