A Court of Lies

by Kate Avery Ellison

  Crispin argued back that it was his story and he told it just fine, but Briand stopped listening. She was looking at Kael, who was watching the others with the smallest hint of a smile still on his lips. His arms were relaxed, the place between his eyebrows at ease. He exuded an energy that she could feel across the table. It tapped into her blood, drawing her like a bee to honey.

  He was happy.

  A trickle of something that tasted like poison flowed through her veins. She felt dizzy, sick. Her throat was dry. Under the table, she spun the knife over her fingers in an agitated way.

  He was happy with Valora.

  He had moved on and forgotten her, forgotten whatever pain he might have felt. If he’d felt any at all.

  And she was still in fragments. Her insides were still scars, her heart stitched together with rage and pure determination that she would press on and protect those she loved even though all she wanted to do was dig a hole in the ground and curl up inside it.

  As if he sensed her thoughts, Kael lifted his head and caught her gaze. A dart of pain and longing pierced her. She was the first to look away, cursing herself for her weakness.

  “And then,” Nath declared with a guffaw loud enough to break back into her thoughts. “We realized at the same time, in pure horror, just exactly what our lad here had used the feverbeet leaves to wipe.”

  Kael’s mouth twitched with thinly veiled amusement. “I hope you’ve since recovered, Crispin.”

  “Quite recovered,” Crispin said.

  Thieves had begun to stream from the room, having eaten their fill. Nath cleared his throat.

  “If everyone is finished,” he said, “we have a bit of sparring to do. Kael, join us. Show these young ones a thing or two.”

  “Gladly,” Kael said, his voice a soft purr that ignited something in her bones.

  Briand didn’t want to look at him. She did anyway. She couldn’t help it. Her eyes were dragged against their will to him.

  His eyes met hers. His were full of secrets and sorrow and… hope?

  A voice spoke at her elbow. “The blanket, Guttersnipe.”

  River. He stood behind her, with Nobbins in tow, scowling fiercely.

  Briand sighed in exasperation. One might have thought being a thief-queen was a life of knives and gold and fiendish, clever glory, but it was sometimes it was more akin to the job of a nursemaid. “Where is the blanket in question?”

  “I gave it away,” Nobbins said sullenly. “Someone on the streets saw the pattern and took a liking to it.”

  “Is this blanket made of gold?” she demanded. “Get it back or pay River double what it’s worth. In the meantime, River, go see Cait and have her get you another blanket.”

  She shook her head as the others at the table smothered their smiles.

  “Sparring?” Nath wisely reminded her.

  Briand needed to work out a great deal of frustration. She stood and led the way to the room they used for practice, a storage room tucked out of the way of the main living areas, at the back of the tunnels where no one would come looking for them. Here, they could let down their guard a bit as they practiced the skills that would keep them alive in this uncertain and wild place.

  The storage room was shaped like a cauldron, with broad, sloping walls that ended in a narrow grate high above. Exposed beams crisscrossed overhead, and rats scurried across them, squeaking, as they entered the room with lanterns and lit the torches in the walls. A trio of stuffed dummies stood against the far wall, along with a row of targets.

  Nath tossed Briand and Cait wooden practice swords. He looked at Kael with one eyebrow raised. “Sir?”

  Kael nodded. He caught the sword the tutor threw to him with one hand and made a few experimental slashes to test the feel of the weapon.

  “Are you learning swordplay now, Cait?” he asked.

  She nodded eagerly. “Everything, really. We practice daily. Nath says I have quite the aptitude for it.”

  “He does?” Kael lifted an eyebrow. “That doesn’t sound like Nath.”

  Cait dimpled. “Well, to quote him directly, he says I’m a disgrace to all of mankind and that an old woman with no legs could defeat me one-handed. But I know what he really means.”

  Across the room, Nath made a scoffing sound. “If you practiced as much as you chattered on, I might raise that estimate to an old woman with all her limbs.”

  Crispin took his time selecting a practice sword.

  Briand took a few practice swings with her sword. Releasing the energy felt good. Her emotions ran hot inside, bottled up until she felt ready to burst.

  Kael crossed the room to her side. He pinned her with his gaze, and her stomach dropped. “I learned a few new moves from the Nyrian guard,” he said quietly.

  “Show me,” she said.

  A smile slid like quicksilver across his face and was gone. Briand blinked, startled and warmed by it like unexpected sunshine.

  She’d crawl through a river of snakes to see that smile.

  He leaned his wooden sword against the wall and reached inside his cloak. He withdrew two wickedly curved knives, each one double-bladed from the hilt, making them look like half-moons in his hands. “Not swords,” he said. “Knives.”

  Briand wanted to kiss him. The desire for it rose like a swell of fire in her, burning in her belly, making her dizzy.

  He handed her one of the knivess, and their hands brushed. A shock like lightning darted up her arm.

  She busied herself with examining the knife, swishing it and getting the feel of the weight of it in her hand instead of looking at him. The blades curved like rams’ horns, and the edges were jagged with angular cuts all the way to the hilt. She turned it this way and that, examining it in the glow of the torches.

  It was a beautiful weapon.

  Kael removed his cloak and rolled back the sleeves of his shirt to his elbows, exposing forearms of corded muscle. A few fresh scars were healing on his right arm. He paced in a circle around her. His face was calm, but his eyes sparkled.

  Briand took a swing at him, and the air hissed as her blade cut toward him. Kael moved fluidly to the left and brought his weapon down to connect with hers. The knives clattered together, and everyone else in the room looked, as the sound was different from the dull clack of wooden swords.

  “What do you think?” Kael asked across the blades.

  “I like them,” she said, and spun away.

  Kael dropped into a crouch. She struck again, and he moved beneath her arm in a blur and caught her off guard, dropping her to the floor with a swift move applied to her arm and leg simultaneously. He was over her in the blink of an eye, but she wasn’t finished yet. She caught his ankle with hers, hooking him. He stepped back, but she was on her feet again before he could have the blade at her throat.

  His face was unreadable. She couldn’t tell if her response had pleased him or if she’d done poorly.

  Either way, he hadn’t bested her yet.

  “They don’t call me Catfoot for nothing,” she said.

  That earned a flicker of something from him. A twitch of his mouth, a curve of his eyebrows.

  She was locked in, fully engaged, her attention focused completely on him. If she hadn’t been, she would have missed the subtle twitch of the muscles in his arms before he moved. When he lunged, she was ready. She whirled away, ducking beneath his attack. He favored one side, and Briand remembered the assassination attempt. Was he still recovering? She used that to her advantage, striking where he was weakest.

  She wasn’t going to make this easy on him.

  She forced him back as their knives tangled again, but this time, the curved blades locked together, and Kael dragged her forward so they were face-to-face, noses inches from each other. She was breathing hard; he was sweating.

  They were both flushed.

  Kael’s gaze pressed into hers like a weight, turning her stomach into a cage full of fluttering birds. She was angry. She was alive—so alive. She wanted to stab
him. She wanted to kiss him.

  His gaze dropped to her lips.

  The impulse to stab won out. Briand tugged at the knives, but they held fast as if they’d been soldered together. The tiny niches in the blades had fitted together in such a way that they couldn’t be withdrawn. It was clever, and deadly for the weaker opponent, the one who couldn’t get his or her knife free when the knife became a chain.

  “The knives,” she said softly. “They always lock up like this?”

  “There’s a trick to it,” he said, and there was that curl of a smile on the edge of his mouth. Then he yanked his blade forward, pulling it from her hands and drawing the knives apart in a practiced move that looked like utter sorcery to her eyes. He stepped forward and placed the blades at her throat.

  She swallowed lightly. “I concede,” she breathed.

  He lowered the knives but didn’t step back for another second, a second in which the world spun and the sound around them faded. Kael’s gaze turned honest, pained, and her heart beat fast.

  Then he took a step back and slid the blades into the sheaths at his belt.

  “How did you do that?” she asked, glad her voice came out normally.

  “I’ve practiced the move hundreds of times now,” he said. “It is called quissec. The breaking. The knives have many holds and many subsequent dismounts. The tangle of the weapons is half of the fighting style.”

  She was intrigued. “And this is a Nyrian method of fighting? What is it called?”

  “Saress,” he said.

  “Saress,” she repeated, loving the way the word curled off her tongue like a serpent. It seemed very Nyrian.

  “It is a spectator sport, mostly,” Kael continued. “Fought in the outer islands more than the capital, although the members of the queen’s personal guard are well-versed in it. They were the ones who taught me.”

  Thinking of his life there made her feel as though she were adrift alone in the middle of a vast sea. They were worlds apart, and yet she still yearned for him.

  Across the room, Nath and Crispin sparred while Nath shouted commands at the lad. “Hold your head higher? Don’t drop your arm that way! Are you fighting with a sword or a fishing pole?” Crispin, flushed with fury, swung so hard that his sword split in half as it connected with Nath’s.

  Nath dropped his blade with a shout and grabbed his hand as if it had been burned. “Lad,” he growled out. “You’re not fighting dragons—”

  Crispin held the remaining half of his shattered practice sword to Nath’s neck. “Yield,” he demanded hotly.

  Nath’s expression turned ugly. A vein popped out on his forehead. “You broke your sword,” he said icily.

  “I disarmed you in the process,” Crispin spat back, chest heaving. “Yield, I say.”

  Nath’s eyes glowed with annoyance. He dropped to the sand and scrambled for the sword, grabbing at it. Crispin rushed after him, kicking the weapon just beyond Nath’s reach. Nath hissed a curse and rolled away as Crispin brought the sword down on the ground with a thwack.

  “Yield!” Crispin shouted. “It’s the rules!”

  “I’m not dead yet,” Nath snarled. He lurched to his knees next to one of the dummies, grabbed one of the stick arms, and whirled into a standing position in time to block Crispin’s next spin. Crispin stumbled, and Nath knocked the remaining piece of the sword from the lad’s hand and jabbed the stick into Crispin’s collarbone.

  “You’re dead,” he declared.

  “Only because you ignored my command to yield—”

  “I see some things haven’t changed,” Kael said to Briand.

  She tipped her head to the side thoughtfully. “Don’t be fooled. They adore each other.”

  Kael smiled slyly. “I can tell.”

  He was smiling a great deal. Briand looked away, burned by the thought that it was Valora who had inspired these smiles, this change.

  She remembered her earlier impulse to pin him to the wall by his collar. As he turned his back to her, striding toward the wall of practice swords, she drew a knife from her belt and sent it flying through the air with a hiss.

  The blade caught Kael’s cloak like a needle piercing fabric and drove it into the body of the tallest practice dummy. Kael stood still, gazing at the knife before he raised his eyes to Briand’s. She stood waiting for him to meet her eyes, her whole body electric and glowing.

  Without breaking her gaze, Kael reached out and pulled the knife from the dummy. He began to stalk toward her.

  She took a step back. A fizzle of something excited ignited in her stomach at that expression on his face. “What else have you learned in Nyr?” she called, moving backward still, leading him to the center of the room where the ground was sandy and soft.

  He spun the knife in his hand. “Many things. You would like it there.”

  Was that an invitation to come back and be the dragonsayer at Jehn’s beck and call? Anger burst forth in her, overtaking the desire smoldering in her middle. She stopped, and Kael closed the distance between them. When he was within reach, she snarled at him, showing her teeth. “You think a guttersnipe like me would like a glittering, backstabbing court full of flouncing, bejeweled liars?”

  He chuckled. “I think you would befuddle them all.”

  Briand’s hand shot out, closing over his wrist at the same time that she leaned forward and planted her foot behind his. She yanked, pulling him forward to his knees in a practiced move that she’d spent many hours perfecting as of late. “I’ve learned some things too,” she said into his ear.

  Kael’s smile was like a brush of fingers down her spine. She shuddered. He broke away from her, rolling easily to his feet. A vein pulsed in his throat. His eyes were light and full of life and energy. They circled each other, hands open. He sheathed the knife he’d been holding. For now, their bodies were the weapons.

  Briand struck again, knocking him to the ground with another move she’d learned. She pinned him, her face inches from his. His gaze scorched her.

  “Impressive,” he murmured. “Very good.”

  Briand felt a surge of triumph at having bested him—and surprised him.

  Then Kael grabbed her wrists and in one move, yanked her against him. He rolled her onto her back, and now he was the one pinning her lightly to the sand.

  “I also have studied Kri Gaal,” he murmured in her ear, his lips brushing the place just below her lobe, against her neck.

  Briand could barely breathe.

  Kael wore a satisfied smirk that suggested he knew.

  She dimly became aware that the others were watching them. She flushed, angry again—she was a veritable thunderstorm of emotions tonight—and reached out impulsively to hook a nearby mind.

  Kael hadn’t yet released her, and he didn’t seem to be in any hurry to do so. She squirmed experimentally, and he inhaled lightly. Interesting. She was lost in his gaze a moment, and then—

  Kael was knocked off her by a shaggy creature the size of a small pony. He fell back on his backside and swiftly moved to a reflexive crouch, knife in hand. The beast, undaunted by the weapon, knocked him down into the sand again and planted a furry foot on his chest.

  It was Briand’s turn to smirk now.

  Kael’s mystified expression transformed into delight. “Sieya?” he guessed, peering closer at the furry mound pining him down.

  The dracule snorted lightly, pleased at the sound of her name. She backed off enough for Kael to sit up. He stretched out a hand, and she politely sniffed his fingers and then sneezed, spraying sparks.

  “Is she supposed to be a bear?” he asked with a laugh, surveying the shaggy costume the dracule wore.

  “A dog,” Briand said ruefully. “We did use a bearskin to make it, though. We had to disguise her and Vox somehow to get them into the city, and then get them here. We do not want it known that we have two dracules in our thief quarters, as you can imagine. It might attract the wrong attention from the wrong people.”

  He nodded.
<
br />   Seekers.

  Sieya pranced around Kael, sniffling him, her tail thrashing. She seemed to recognize him now. Her thoughts were full of memories, and Briand’s throat tightened as she caught a glimpse of Reela in the dracule’s mind.

  “Whose idea was this?” Kael gestured at the shaggy suit that clad Sieya from nose to tail, making her look enough like a giant, long-haired dog that nobody on the street would look twice, or stare long enough to make out the slitted eyes or the occasional curls of smoke that came from her muzzle.

  “Cait’s,” Briand said. “She sewed the disguises too.”

  Cait, hearing her name, approached them.

  “Brilliant, Cait,” Kael said. “Sobin would be proud.”

  Cait’s eyes glittered with sudden tears. “Thank you. I can only hope he would be.”

  The others ceased all pretenses of sparring and gathered around as Kael got to his feet. Sieya turned an excited circle, her thoughts full of treats. She touched her nose to Kael’s knee and then darted away, hoping to lead him to the kitchens to pilfer her a snack.

  “Back to the room,” Briand said, and the dracule wilted. She gave Briand a mournful look that was heavy with both pleading and condemnation. She thought of mean, angry faces and sad, tiny dracules.

  “I am not being mean,” Briand said. “Go.”

  Kael chuckled quietly.

  Briand loved hearing him laugh. It was like a drug. She stared resolutely at the dracule instead of his face.

  “Are you staying long, sir?” Nath asked Kael quietly.

  “No,” Kael said. “I must leave shortly. I’m on a mission—”

  Briand didn’t want to wait to hear the rest. She stalked away for the corridor as anger swept through her once more. Foolishly, she had allowed herself a moment of …hope? Was that what that buoyant, happy feeling in her chest had been?

  Now it had shattered, and she was left with punishing disappointment once more.

  She followed Sieya back to the queen’s quarters and ensured that the dracule was settled before she left to pace the outer tunnels of the thief guild. She was too restless to sleep. She drew the knife she kept sheathed in her left boot and practiced hitting the corner of one of the doors repeatedly until the place where the knife struck was a deep crevice of a groove. Then, she sheathed it with a snap and headed for the roof.