by Kat Ross
“I joined the Interfectorem to help people like Misha.”
“They’re beyond help.”
“We don’t know that.”
“Yes,” his father growled. “We do.” He stood and strode to the sideboard. “I know you think I’m a callous bastard for never going to visit him, but I can’t do it, Alexei. I can’t see him that way.”
Just like you couldn’t bear to see Mother. The words were too harsh to speak aloud. Her death had scarred them all, but his father most of all.
“You could come to work with me,” he said quietly, still facing the sideboard. “Take your life back.”
“I have a life.”
“Not the one you deserve.”
Alexei couldn’t hold back a bitter laugh. “Misha was always on the pedestal. Nothing I did measured up. Now that he’s gone you want to put me up there in his place, but I’ll fail you. We both know it.” He rose to his feet. “All I’m asking is that you treat him gently if he comes here. Show some kindness.”
His father stood motionless, one hand curled around the crystal decanter.
“I may not be available, but you can call my partner. His name is Patryk Spassov. Just promise me that, Papa? Don’t let the Interfectorem have him. He’s so big . . . they’d take one look and go straight for the crossbows.”
His father glanced over one shoulder. “Why can’t I call you?”
“I may have to leave the city for a while. It’s too much to explain right now.”
“Wait.”
Alexei paused before the fireplace. His mother stared down at them both with bemusement, a thin streamer of smoke curling up from her cigarette.
“Can I help?”
The words surprised him. “I don’t think so. But thank you for offering.”
“Don’t thank me,” his father said gruffly. “I’m sorry I haven’t been there for you, Alexei. I . . . .” He trailed off and swallowed a gulp of brandy.
“You’ve paid for one of the private rooms at the Institute. It means a lot to me.”
His father waved this away. “I have the money.”
“You still could have refused.”
“I won’t have a Bryce living in squalor like some common criminal.”
The fifteen-second ceasefire was crumbling already. “It wasn’t his fault.”
His father dropped into the wing chair and looked up with weary eyes. “I know you worship him, but not even you can be so naïve.”
If Konrad Bryce were a different man, Alexei might have confessed everything, but it would only cause more blame and recriminations.
“Can I see Misha’s room? Or did you clear it out?”
His father was silent for a long minute. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said at last.
Alexei wasn’t sure how to interpret this statement. “I thought I might look for his Meliora. If you don’t mind.”
His father waved a hand. “Go ahead. But don’t leave without saying goodbye, Lyokha.”
No one else called him that. He had a sudden memory of running out to meet the car, his father looking sharp in a pinstriped suit and hat, and the woody scent of his aftershave as he swept Alexei into a hug.
“I won’t, Papa,” he said.
* * *
Misha’s room on the third floor was untouched. A shrine to a boy who no longer existed.
Alexei took in the collection of birds’ nests and oval sea stones, each painted with lacquer so it looked freshly plucked from the waves. Two chess sets, both missing pawns and a rook or two. They used to combine the pieces to play, even though the sets were different sizes.
Books, hundreds of them. A childish watercolor of the view from a rock wall across the main road.
Stepping into his brother’s old room was like falling through a time warp into the past. His heart cracked at how innocent they’d been. Every object sparked a memory of happier times. Funny how the mind forgot the pain and sadness of youth, sanding it down to uniform smoothness and the golden glow of an endless summer.
He recognized the spot in the painting immediately. An iron staircase bolted to the cliff led down to the beach below. It was submerged at high tide, but you could go down when the sea receded. They’d spent many lazy days exploring the tidal pools and swimming out past the breakers.
Once, the morning after a big storm, the waves had been huge and glassy. Slow-rolling combers that lulled you into thinking you were safe. Alexei had floated on his back for an hour or so, but when he tried to come back to shore, he found that the current had pulled him down the beach. There was a trench just where the waves broke and he couldn’t get past it.
Misha lay on his stomach in the sand, reading a book. No matter how loud Alexei shouted, the roar of the surf drowned his cries for help. Again and again, he came within a few meters of salvation, only to be dragged back by the undertow.
He finally went limp and let the waves take him. This turned out to be the solution. As soon as he stopped fighting, he was flung across the trench to shallower water. He was crawling out on his knees when a strong hand pulled him from the surf and dragged him up the shore. Misha pounded his back until the water spewed out. They never told their father, who would have forbidden them from returning to the beach. Until he was sent to war, it was the closest Alexei had ever come to death.
Alexei trailed his fingers along the bookshelf until he found the pocket-sized Meliora Misha was reading that day. The book was bound in blue cloth, though the pages were separating from the spine. A gift on his eleventh birthday from their mother, who died not long after. Misha read it constantly and could quote whole chapters verbatim. Alexei remembered him, head bowed over the tiny print for hours. When his brother was absorbed in a task, you could call his name ten times before he heard you. But he wasn’t an introvert. He needed others to talk and debate with—even if his tendency was to dominate the conversation.
Do you know why the Eastern Curia holds the Raven in such high esteem? Why she is the primary symbol of our faith?
Alexei shook his head.
Because the Raven is Fate’s messenger, connecting the material and spiritual worlds. What else does that?
Alexei thought for a moment. The ley?
His brother smiled.
Alexei slipped the Meliora into his pocket. When he found Misha, he would give it back. If anything could reach him, it might be this slender volume he had carried with him day and night until it was literally falling apart.
Alexei turned off the light and gently shut the door.
Downstairs, his father was waiting in the entry hall—perhaps afraid Alexei might try to sneak out.
“If you need anything, just say the word,” he said quietly. “You’re welcome to stay the night.” Shrewd blue eyes weighed him. “Or longer.”
So tempting to say yes. Let his father call the city’s top criminal law firm and start pulling strings at the Curia. Glaine could make up one of the dozen guest rooms. A feather bed with the softest sheets money could buy. And by breakfast tomorrow, no matter how hard they tried, one of them would be shouting at the other.
“I have to go, papa.”
His father nodded, unsurprised. “Will you come back sometime?”
“If I can.” He held up the battered Meliora. “I found it.”
The anguish in his father’s eyes was hard to face for more than a few seconds. Not even the Marks could tamp it down. Alexei gave a last awkward nod and left.
As he started the car, he saw a silhouette at the window, watching from the darkness.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Kasia used the spare key to let herself into the flat.
Bryce’s coffee sat where he’d left it, the cream revoltingly curdled. She dumped it into the sink and rinsed the cup. There’d be no more coffee for anyone until she replaced the urn she’d broken over Malach’s head, though whoever had packed the bags for her and Natalya had also been kind enough to sweep up the broken glass.
Things were missing from her room�
��she’d have to send to the Arx to get them back—but her silk robe was hanging in the closet, and the knitted leg warmers Nashka had given her for Caristia. She changed and left her wet clothes on the floor, then took out her oracle deck and settled down at the kitchen table.
The Six of Storms would be her undoing.
The vestal outside the Pontifex’s chamber had found the card and there was no way of getting it back. By tomorrow, it would be traced to her deck. She had the three coraxes, but blackmailing Falke hadn’t worked the first time around and she doubted it would the second—even if he had the authority to extricate her, which was doubtful. A Pontifex was dead. The machinery of justice would lurch into high gear. She was an Unmarked cartomancer with ties to the Nightmage who had supposedly done the foul deed.
Kasia took a glove off and touched the top card. Blue flame traced the mandala pattern on the back. When she lifted her finger, the light died.
Love, Fate, Destiny. What does the ley hold for YOU?
She’d always thought the tagline on their business cards sounded corny, but people loved it.
Now she fanned the cards out and chose one, flipping it over.
It lit with fire, a lush, deep violet this time, then subsided.
The Lovers.
She put the ivory lace glove back on, tapping a finger idly against the table. A line of verse came to her, though for once she couldn’t recall the source. Fate shall yield to fickle chance, and chaos judge the strife.
More blood will spill before this is done, she thought. Perhaps an ocean of it. But it needn’t all be bad. Not all of it.
Kasia stood and tightened the sash of her robe. She was at the door a second before the knock came. Alexei stood in the hall, one hand braced on the wall. He was soaking wet. Her heart beat hard at the sight of him, alive and as well as might be expected.
“I’m sorry, Domina—”
Kasia grabbed his sleeve and pulled him through the door.
“Saints, Bryce, I never thought I’d see you again. Get in here before they catch you.”
“I came over the rooftops.”
She glanced at the soot on his cheek. “So you did.”
“I was driving past and saw your light on. I didn’t expect you’d be home.” He seemed astonished at his good fortune.
“Well, here I am.”
They eyed each other for a moment.
“I looked for you in the cells,” she said. “You were already gone.”
“You came back for me?” Smile lines deepened at the corners of his eyes.
“I did.” She thought of the body floating facedown. “How’d the hairpin work out?”
He laughed. “Not very well, I’m afraid. But I did get free in the end.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“No.” He walked to the window and glanced through the curtains at the Curia car parked below. “Do you?”
Kasia knew she’d have to tell him about his brother eventually, but she didn’t have the stomach for it just yet. It would wreck him.
“No.” She tossed him a kitchen towel. Alexei dried his face.
“I won’t stay,” he said. “I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For involving you.”
“I was already involved.”
“You know what I mean.”
“No,” she said. “I don’t. But you needn’t explain. You’re forgiven, Fra Bryce.” She looked him over. “I’m assuming they didn’t let you out voluntarily. You’ll have to leave Novostopol, but not tonight. You can barely stand.”
He looked vaguely alarmed. “I don’t want to impose.”
“You’re not. You can have my room.”
“But I’m filthy.”
“I don’t mind.”
He rubbed the back of his head. “Are you sure?”
“Come on.” Kasia led him to her room. It was just big enough for a narrow bed and dressing table. Alexei sat down on the coverlet, the Raven stark against the pale skin of his neck.
“It’s no use,” he murmured, kicking his boots off. “I won’t sleep.”
“Just try,” she said innocently. “I’ll keep you company.”
He lay back, lacing his hands behind his head. “I don’t do well in beds. Maybe I should try the chair in the living room.”
“Take your gloves off,” she suggested. “Here, I’ll show you how it’s done.” She peeled her own off and let them fall to the floor.
“You know I can’t. I might use the ley by accident.”
“So what?”
Their eyes met. She saw a spark and returned it in spades. Alexei pulled his left glove off and dropped it on top of the scraps of ivory lace.
“How’s that?” she asked.
“Better,” he said, clearing his throat. “I’m still not tired though.”
Kasia sat on the edge of the bed. “Try the other one.”
Alexei took his right glove off. His hands were well-made and strong. He ran a palm along the coverlet. Kasia found the gesture indescribably erotic.
“Something is different with the ley,” he muttered. “I feel strange.”
“Strange how?”
Animal heat flooded his eyes. He took a fistful of robe and pulled her down to his mouth. He tasted of vodka and rain. She touched his beard. Ran her fingers through the silky brush of his hair.
“Katarzynka Nowakowski,” he whispered, his breath tickling her cheek. “You’re the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”
He sat up. She unbuttoned the front of his cassock and helped to pull it over his head. Livid bruises stitched the gaps between his Marks, though he had so many she could hardly find a centimeter of bare skin. A winged maiden strumming a lute with the Polestar above and lotus blossoms at her feet. Death holding a sword with the point down. A road winding between jagged cliffs. Three carp swimming in a circle. An armored wasp, so lifelike it cast a faint shadow against his skin.
Kasia sensed layers of meaning that went down and down, all the way to the bottom of the deep well. Bryce’s unconscious mind laid bare and each Mark forming part of a larger whole she could only glimpse.
“One day,” she said, “I’ll study these with the consideration they deserve.” She touched his cheek with the back of her hand. “But not right now.”
Alexei tugged at her sash with aching slowness. The robe fell open. She wore nothing underneath but the knit stockings. His eyes moved over her body, lingering and hungry. The feel of his bare hand on her breast sent a jolt straight down to her toes.
“You’re the only good thing that’s happened to me in a long time,” he said hoarsely. “You make me feel, Kiska.”
She stroked the lean muscle of his arm. It tensed beneath her touch. He drew her closer, his lips finding the hollow beneath her ear.
“I’ve never had sex with my clothes off before,” she admitted.
She felt him smile. “And I haven’t touched a woman without gloves since before I became a knight. Too many Marks. But the ley can’t enter you, can it?” His thumb ran along her inner thigh, just at the edge of the stocking. “You’re safe.”
“Not too safe, I hope.”
He laughed softly. “From me? Not safe at all.”
She shivered at a tantalizing brush of tongue. He gripped her leg and then . . . nothing. His body went still.
“Alexei?”
Kasia pulled back. His eyes were shut, lashes curling against the dark shadows above his cheekbones. His lips parted. A faint snore emerged. She chuckled and drew the blanket to his chin.
“Poor thing,” she said to him. Kasia blew a tendril of hair from her face and belted her robe. Her pulse still thudded heavily at various tender points. “Fog it, this is going to be a long night . . . .”
* * *
Kasia woke to a ringing telephone and the vague notion that she’d been ignoring the sound for quite some time. She staggered from the couch and fumbled for the receiver.
“Darling?
I’ve been calling for ages. You didn’t pick up! I was so worried . . . No, she’s here. We’re all fine. But I don’t like you being there alone. What if I sent a taxi to pick you up? We’re about to have brunch.”
“Thank you, Auntie, but I just woke up.” She stifled a yawn. “Hang on a moment.” Kasia strode to the window and peered through the curtains. It was late morning. The long black Curia car was still parked across the street. She returned to the couch and picked up the phone. “They’re still watching me. Can’t you call them off?”
“Don’t you feel safer?”
“The OGD does not make me feel safe, Auntie. Quite the contrary. How is Cardinal Falke?”
“Just a few stitches. He’s holed up in the Conclave now.”
“They’re meeting so soon?”
“The Reverend Mother would want it that way. Her murder was an act of war, darling. The Neoteric faction invoked emergency powers to override the usual mourning period. We can’t afford to sit on our hands.”
Saints. “So they never found Malach?”
“The mage fled back to Bal Kirith, but he’ll be dealt with.” The tinkling strains of a piano echoed in the background. “It goes without saying that you’ll keep all this to yourself. The official press release says the Reverend Mother died from natural causes. If people knew a mage had entered the Arx and killed the Pontifex in her bedchamber, they’d be rioting in the streets.”
“They wouldn’t,” Kasia replied. “No one riots in Novo.”
“You’re so literal, darling. I meant it figuratively.” A pause. “Have you heard from Alexei Bryce? He’s missing.”
“Oh no!” Kasia moved to the doorway of her bedroom, where he slept with the sheets around his waist and one arm flung over his head. “What does that mean, missing? Do you think Malach took him?”
“It means he wasn’t in his cell when his advocate went there to meet with him this morning,” Tessaria said tartly. “If he approaches you, call me immediately.”
No mention of any dead bodies. Interesting.
“I certainly will,” Kasia said.
