by Kat Ross
Alexei laughed softly in his sleep and she closed the bedroom door. He looked adorable tangled up in the pink coverlet. Was he actually dreaming?
“Darling, are you listening to me?”
“Of course, Auntie. I’m just making tea. I broke the coffee pot. Who’s leading in the vote?”
“I’ve no idea. It’s all secret. They won’t come out until it’s over.”
“Any other news?”
“Not just yet.” Her voice sounded normal, but Kasia thought again of the Six of Storms. “May I speak with Natalya?”
“Of course. She’s right here, eating all of Cook’s cloudberry jam with a soup spoon. For Saints’ sake, put it on a plate, darling . . . .”
There was a clunk as Tessaria set the phone down. Then Nashka’s husky voice came on the line.
“Save me,” she whispered. “I’m not cut out for country life. She says she’ll make me play croquet this afternoon.”
“Just hit the ball as hard as you can, like it’s a polo match. She hates that.”
“Come here.” A peremptory command.
“I can’t. Understand?”
A pause. “I suppose that means I can’t leave, either?”
“Just give me one more day. Remember, you said you owed me.”
A long sigh. “Yeah, okay.”
“And thanks for, you know.”
“I wanted to wait for you, but Falke and Tess ganged up on me. Did you find Fra Spassov?”
Tessaria must have walked back into the room. “I did. He wanted to help, but you know what happened next. I think we’re both lucky to be alive.”
“Saints. Call me later? I miss you.”
“Miss you, too.”
Kasia hung up the phone. She looked at Alexei. He slept peacefully, his breathing even and deep. He ought to be woken. Told what had happened.
But she couldn’t do it.
Just a few more hours wouldn’t hurt, would they?
Chapter Thirty-Three
The nest was in a high fork of the willow. Alexei clung to his branch, straining to catch a glimpse of the creatures that were kicking up such a dreadful racket. They seemed to be all mouth.
“Here she comes,” Misha whispered, as the mother alit at the edge of the nest. The peeping reached a fever pitch, then quieted as she poked something into the gaping beaks.
“You can never, ever touch the babies,” his brother said sternly. “The mothers will abandon them if you do.” He touched Alexei’s arm. “We’ll come back tomorrow. They’re almost old enough to fly. Maybe we’ll see them test their wings. Would you like that?”
Alexei nodded. They climbed down and ran back into the house. In the way of dreams, it was dark now, sometime in the middle of the night, and he was barefoot and wearing striped pajamas, his brother sleeping soundly in his own bed upstairs. Alexei padded into the conservatory and saw the red coal of his mother’s cigarette burning in the darkness.
“Is that you, Alex?”
She came from Nantwich, where they called boys John and Alex instead of Ivan and Alyosha.
“Hello, mama.” He snuggled against her on the settee and she rearranged the blanket to cover them both.
His mother often woke up in the night to smoke, and it was easier to talk to her in the dark because he didn’t have to look at her. Her voice was strong until the end, even if it was a rough smoker’s voice.
“I’m glad you came down. I don’t have much time left.” His mother was never one to mince words. “What did you do today?”
“Flew a kite. A red one. We got the string all the way out. Then Misha let it go free.” Alexei lowered his voice, though his father never came into this room. “He said that if the ley wills it, our kite will fly all the way across the ocean to the witches. Do you think it could?”
“Sure, why not?” She rested her chin on the top of his head. “You’ll have to take care of your brother when I’m gone. Will you promise me that?”
It seemed backwards. “But Misha is stronger. I’m always getting colds.”
“No, you’re stronger, Alex.” He felt her thin chest rise as she took a drag from the cigarette. “You see the world in shades of gray. Misha sees only black and white.” She exhaled. “The truth is messy. It takes work to find. It takes doubts.”
His mother had been a lawyer until she got too sick to practice. He wanted to be a lawyer, too, because everyone knew he took after her and Mikhail was more like their father, not the coldness, but the brash confidence, always so sure of himself.
“Will you look after him? He’ll need you someday.” Inhale. Exhale. Coughing fit. “Bring that water, Alex. Thank you. No, I’m fine. You’re the only one he’ll listen to now. He knows I won’t be here much longer. I think he’s written me off. And your father . . . . Well, you’re not deaf. You hear them fighting. Stubborn buggers, both of them.”
Most mothers didn’t talk this way to their eight-year-old sons, but Eva Copeland-Bryce was not like most mothers.
“Your brother has a fire inside him and it’ll burn him down to the wick someday. You must always tell him the truth, even when he doesn’t want to hear it. Especially then.”
“I promise, Mama. . . .”
His eyes opened. Light came through a window framed by white curtains. A pair of high-heeled boots leaned drunkenly against the bench of a dressing table. Pigeons cooed on the fire escape and faint traffic sounds drifted up from below, but the flat was otherwise quiet.
Alexei didn’t move for a while, savoring the soft linen against his skin. He still wore loose black trousers, cinched at the waist with a drawstring, but his cassock and gloves were gone. The sheets smelled faintly of Kasia. A hazy memory of a kiss came back and he found himself suddenly, painfully aroused. Alexei located the bathroom and emptied his bladder, which was near to bursting. He gulped water straight from the faucet, then checked the other rooms. The flat was empty.
He found a towel in a closet and took a shower, letting the hot water beat down on his neck and shoulders. He felt stiff but otherwise fantastic, like he was ten years old again. Alexei whistled a jaunty tune as he lathered away the sweat and grime. He dried off and came out with the towel around his waist to find Kasia drinking a cup of takeout coffee in the kitchen. A flush rose in her cheeks when she saw him, but she covered it with a smile. “I washed your cassock, but it’s still in the dryer.”
His heart stopped. “There was a book—”
“I found it, don’t worry. It’s on the dressing table with your car keys and Mikhail’s corax.”
Alexei cleared his throat. “What day is it?”
“Wednesday.”
He stood still for a moment, counting. “What happened to Tuesday? How long did I sleep?”
She glanced at the clock over the stove. “About twenty-nine hours.”
He gripped the towel. “Saints.”
“I tried to wake you, but not too hard, I’ll admit.” She patted a chair. “You must be starving.”
Alexei drew a deep breath. Bits and pieces were coming back. The silky feel of her skin. Black hair tumbling across his face. “I fell asleep on you, didn’t I?”
She grinned. “I think you would have died or Turned if you’d gone another hour without rest so I won’t hold it against you, Bryce. Have a pirozhki.” She held out a box of boat-shaped pastries. “Potato or apricot?”
“Apricot.” He sat down. She pushed a cardboard cup of coffee towards him. “The cream isn’t curdled, I promise.”
He ate in silence, marveling at the flavors. The cream tasted freshly churned, the dough so light and hot it melted on his tongue. Every sense was heightened. It felt like rising from the dead. He demolished the last pirozhki and caught Kasia staring at him. He suddenly remembered he was sitting in her kitchen completely naked except for a small towel, but instead of feeling self-conscious, as any decent citizen of Novostopol ought to, it made him horny all over again.
“Still hungry?” she asked. “I can get more.”
“That’s not the problem, Domina Novak,” he said sternly.
She arched an eyebrow. He studied her heels and severely tailored dress, which was the color of a ripe peach.
“You’re overdressed.”
“Am I, Father?” Kasia asked innocently.
“Very much.” He knelt down in front of her and ran his hands down the skirt, then took the hem and eased it up above her knees. She let out an uneven sigh.
“Alexei, I have to tell you something—”
“Don’t.” He pressed a thumb to her lower lip. “Not yet. Just let me have you first.”
The last words came out thick and guttural. Kasia made a small sound of surrender. Her legs wrapped around his hips, pulling him tight against her. He slid her stockings down, tearing one in his haste. She wore those little lace gloves and her hands moved down the Two Towers, which rose from the small of his back up to his shoulder blades. He didn’t need to see them to know they were burning.
Their lips met, hot and urgent, and he tried to get her clothes off but she wouldn’t let him and he was beyond caring. “At least that part of you is Unmarked,” she whispered huskily. “I wasn’t sure . . . .”
He made love to her on the kitchen table, then undressed her in a leisurely fashion and carried her to the bed, which ended up a good two meters from where it had started. He hadn’t been with a woman since joining the Interfectorem, but Katarzynka Nowakowski wasn’t any woman. She was the woman. He’d only known her for four days but that much was already clear.
He lay across her, panting hard, still barely able to think. She smoothed the sweat-damp hair from his brow. He propped up on an elbow and kissed her, their lashes brushing. They would never leave this bed. That was the solution. Never, ever go anywhere, pretend they were both dead—
A joyful clamor drifted through the open window. It sounded like every bell in the city was pealing at once. Kasia stiffened beneath him.
“They must have chosen a new Pontifex,” she said. “I didn’t think it would happen so soon.”
A spear of ice touched his spine, though part of him already knew. Had known all along. “I dreamt,” he whispered. “Oh, Saints, I dreamt for the first time in ten years. She’s dead, isn’t she?”
Kasia nodded.
“How?”
“They’re blaming Malach. It’s only logical. He was inside the Arx wreaking havoc when it happened.”
Alexei’s unease grew. “How, Kasia?”
She cupped his face, holding his gaze with a fierce intensity. “Feizah gave him no choice. He was only following the orders of a madman. No one else knows and they never will.”
He closed his eyes. Outside, the bells tolled on and on. Car horns honked. The sounds washed over him. All he could think of was the pool of drying blood in the old man’s room. He’d been searching for his brother, terrified of what might happen to him, but it wasn’t Misha who needed protecting.
“I was there,” Kasia said gently. “In her bedchamber. She didn’t believe me at first so I gave her a sweven of everything. She ordered your release, but then the Wards broke. Mikhail came with an elderly gentleman, an Invertido—”
“The Pontifex Lezarius.”
“You know?” She gave him a startled look.
“I figured it out.” He had only seen the Reverend Mother on the occasions she Marked him, but it was an intimate procedure. A joining of two minds, if briefly. She was the most forceful person he had ever known, except for one. “How did my brother seem?”
“Very thin, but strong enough. I don’t think he took any pleasure from the act. He was just carrying out a sentence he believed to be just.”
“Did he speak?”
“Not a word.”
“Why did they spare you?”
She sighed. “Lezarius made me strip. Your brother turned his back, he was gentlemanly about it. They only wanted to see what Marks I had. When Lezarius realized I had none, he said I was an innocent and offered me his protection.” Her mouth twitched. “I politely declined.”
“Any idea where they went?”
“I thought you’d want to know so I asked. Lezarius said, ‘To raise an army, of course. There is work to be done. Mikhail is a valiant knight. You mustn’t be afraid of him.’ And then I said, ‘He looks ill.’ And Lezarius said, ‘Perhaps he will improve in the Void.’” Kasia paused to stroke the line of his brow. “I think they must have gotten out of the city in the confusion, Saints help us all.”
The phone rang. She disentangled herself and went to answer it. Alexei rolled to his back, listening to her muffled voice in the living room. He wished he could believe it was impossible, that Misha could never do such a thing, but he’d always been willing to cross lines others wouldn’t.
Your brother has a fire inside him . . . .
That iron will had kept him alive when he should have died years ago. Now his faith was transferred to a lunatic with unspeakable powers. The worst part was that Alexei had always liked the old man. Everybody did.
Things were fitting together, though he still couldn’t see why or how. It all came back to—
“Falke is the new Pontifex,” Kasia said, worry in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Alexei, I had no idea the Conclave would be so brief. I should have woken you. I should have—”
He pulled her down, burying his face in the fragrant curtain of her hair. “It’s not your fault.” He laughed mirthlessly. “I used to admire him greatly. Misha saw him as a father figure. The one he’d always wanted.”
She pressed something into his hand. “Lezarius said these men tried to kill him. He blamed the Reverend Mother, but I’m sure it wasn’t her who sent them.”
Alexei stared down at the coraxes in his palm. Brodzsky and Gerlach. She turned one of the coins over. “What Order is this, Alexei?”
He studied the inscription. Hoc ego defendam. This I will protect.
“I’ve never seen it before.” He gazed up at her. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Going to the Reverend Mother on my behalf.”
“It was the right thing to do.”
“It would have cost you everything.”
“There wasn’t much to save,” she said. “Except for you.”
He closed his fist around the coraxes and kissed her with quiet desperation until she finally pulled away. He saw sadness in her eyes. “You’re leaving, aren’t you?”
“I have to.”
“Why? Can’t you stay and fight them?” Her jaw set. “I’ll give my sweven to the court if I have to. They’re accepted as evidence, aren’t they?”
“Yes. But that’s not the main problem. With Feizah dead, the Marks she gave me will fail, Kasia. They already are, though I don’t feel it yet.”
“Fail? What does that mean?”
“They won’t disappear, but the ley won’t work as it should. It’s why I dreamed. No one understands the precise mechanism of the sickness, but my Marks must be transferred to someone else and it needs to be a high-ranking official of the Curia.”
“What happens if you don’t?”
He didn’t answer.
“Fog it all, Alexei. What can I do to help?”
“You already have. I’ll go to Kvengard. The extradition process isn’t simple. They’ll have to take over my Marks while it’s sorted out.”
“You don’t sound very sure of that.”
“It’s the only way.” He pulled his pants on. “Is that car still outside?”
“Not since early this morning.”
“Malach?”
“Tessaria says he’s gone back to the Void.”
“Good.”
She frowned. “Why good?”
He picked up the Meliora from her dressing table, thumbing the threadbare cloth cover. “Because Malach is mine.”
Alexei peered through a crack in the curtains to check for himself when a burst of artillery fire sent him ducking away from the open window. He threw his body over hers, pressing her to the carpet.
“Don’t move,” he whispered, heart hammering.
It came again, a string of sharp cracks followed by honking and a few cheers. He released a ragged breath.
“Firecrackers,” Kasia said quietly, stroking his back. “This town is shameless. Any excuse to drink and make noise.”
She was right, but his instincts still screamed at him to stay away from that window. To get out before the building came down in an avalanche of bricks and dust.
“I’m sorry,” he said, feeling stupid. “I just . . . .”
“I know.” She squeezed his bottom. “If your first thought was to shield me, I think I’ve got myself a good one. Want your cassock back?”
He smiled, nerves still singing. “No, but I’ll take it anyway.”
He finished his cold coffee while she went down to the basement laundry room. Other than the bout of combat trauma, which was an old, familiar acquaintance, he didn’t feel bad. But he’d read about Mark sickness in order to watch for the signs in his brother and knew it would get much, much worse.
“Still warm,” Kasia said when she returned, pulling the cassock over his head.
“I should have asked you something,” he said haltingly. “Before I lost my head. We didn’t use anything—”
“I can’t have children, Alexei, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’m barren.”
He felt like a clumsy bastard. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be, I’m not. It’s just the way it is.” She didn’t elaborate, but she didn’t seem upset with him. In truth, he never thought about children anyway. They were part of someone else’s life.
He tucked Misha’s corax and book into the pocket of the robe, along with his gloves and car keys. At the door, he pulled her into his arms, silently cursing himself for sleeping so long. They could have had hours more. “I don’t want to say goodbye.”
She kissed his palm and his knees went a little weak.
“Come with me,” he said recklessly. “We’ll run somewhere they won’t find us.”
She gazed at him with regret. “That’s not what’s meant to happen, Alexei. There are things I have to deal with here. And I can’t leave Natalya and Tess without a word.” The flecks of gold in her eyes turned molten. “But you won’t escape me so easily. We’re bound together, for good or ill.”
