Blood of Innocents (Book Two of the Sorcery Ascendant Sequence) (46 page)

It ebbed a little, and he gasped for breath. Colors swam on the insides of his eyelids. The pain was excruciating… but cleansing. It was fitting, in a way.

As the agony returned, his body convulsed. A surge tore at his mind, and he struggled to hold on. Then everything ended.

•

Amerdan came to with his head cradled in Bells’ lap. She was stroking his hair and crooning softly. It was oddly… soothing.

She’d managed to drag him to the bed, and he lay sprawled on damp sheets, wet with his sweat. He blinked at the too bright light from the lamp then closed his eyes. As she stroked his hair and sang, his thoughts drifted back to the only happy time in his life, before the sorcerer had come. He was playing in the fields with his sisters, a game of hide and seek, which no one ever won. A child’s game. Their mother called for them as the sun sank behind the hills, and they rushed to her, hungry for dinner.

That night, everything had changed. He must not forget it was the sorcerer’s doing. And Bells was one of them. He shuddered and turned, looking up at her.

She smiled at him, reminding him of his sisters. “You did well. I don’t know how you stood it for so long. Would you like some water?”

“Please,” he croaked.

She took a cup from the table beside the bed and poured small sips into his mouth, which he swallowed greedily.

“You’ve been a great help to me,” she said. “And with your… uniqueness, you could be a great asset for the God-Emperor.”

Amerdan nodded, not sure what she was getting at.
Perhaps she wants me to pledge my allegiance to him, someone I’ve never seen or met.

“Without you, I’d be either locked up or dead already. And when Keys… my brother… was lost, my only thought was revenge, even if it meant I’d die as well. But the last few days, I’ve been thinking, and come to a realization. I don’t want to die. And revenge won’t fill the space he left.”

Amerdan remained silent, watching her. She was getting to something, hopefully soon. But she was wrong: revenge was the only thing that assuaged the hurt others did to you. That was life: pay back others, and make yourself stronger, less liable to be hurt.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is… I don’t want Keys’ death to leave me twisted and bitter, to have a hold over me for the rest of my life. I need something to hold onto. Do you understand?”

She bent over, soft hair brushing his face, and brought her lips to his.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Felice stumbled in the dark street, almost toppling over. She coughed into her hand to muffle the sound—a harsh hacking cough torn from her lungs and throat. She swallowed, wincing at the pain it caused, and leaned against a building to steady herself.

By the ancestors. She was trying to be quiet. If she stopped every fifty paces to have a coughing fit, she wouldn’t get very far before waking everyone around her.

She doubled over as another wave of coughing overcame her will, claws tearing at her throat. After a few moments, she straightened, wiping tears from her eyes.

Water. I need water. Or hot tea.

What she needed was a physiker who knew their business, and a week of rest.

Felice laughed quietly to herself. No time for luxuries.

She wiped her sweaty hands on her trousers, a present from the librarian, along with undergarments, a serviceable shirt and boots, and a sheathed knife tucked into the small of her back. She’d borrowed them from his daughter, with assurances she’d repay them. Hanging from a strap over one shoulder was a flat waterproof leather satchel, the best document carrier the library had to offer. The sketches and list from the centuries-old Autumn Festival that were in it were worth more than
trinket
s to Felice.

Most of the city slept. She’d waited until the early hours of the morning to make her move, when the only people who’d be about were shift-workers, drunks, prostitutes, and the unwary—and the people who made their living from them.

Ahead of her, buildings opened out into an apparent clear space, and from the stench that had been growing stronger for the last few minutes, she knew the river was close.
Good.
That meant she wasn’t feverish enough to have lost her sense of direction, though she certainly felt like she could have wandered in circles and not noticed.

She stopped at the corner of the last building before the River Stock. If they could see it now, whoever had come up with the amusing name centuries ago, they’d laugh themselves silly. The stock was more like a stew.

Felice racked her memory for directions. She knew the house was in Parkside, but she needed to cross the river, and where was the closest bridge? The thought of coming close to the disgusting water made her retch. She’d felt and tasted enough of it to last her a lifetime. A few lifetimes.

A scuff of boot on stone from behind warned her in time.

She leapt forward and spun, hand reaching for the knife at her back.

“Whoa there, missy,” said a short man dressed in dark clothes, carrying a wooden club. “It’s not safe out at night.”

Felice bared her teeth and her knife, waving it in front of her. “Be on your way.”

The man held up a hand, eyes flicking left and right to see if they’d been noticed. The street was empty. Licking his lips, he paused, then, after eyeing her knife, took a step back. “Good evening, then, missy.”

Felice kept her knife level in front of her, pointed at the would-be robber, or rapist, or slaver, or murderer. She ground her teeth. “Wait,” she said reluctantly.

“Oh ho, up for a good time, are we?”

“No. Where’s the nearest bridge across?”

“That’d be toward Dockside. I can escort you, if you’d like.”

“No, thank you. Be on your way. Don’t make me stick you.” She nodded toward the street they’d both emerged from.

With a smirk, the man tilted his head and turned, strolling away as if nothing had happened.

Bloody city is turning into a shambles, she thought. This wouldn’t have happened before the invasion. Without the Quivers to keep order, and with the Indryallans leaving everyone alone, people were reverting to their baser natures. It would take some time to restore order once the invaders were pushed out.

Felice shook her head to clear it. Those were thoughts for later, once the emperor came and killed the lot of them for their presumption. It was odd, though, that someone as intelligent as Kelhak, with sorcery beyond what most in the empire knew, would have boxed himself and his forces inside Anasoma. Why wait? It didn’t make any sense to her. Unless… She weighed the pieces of the puzzle, and what she came up with made her grimace. Anasoma was bait in a trap, the city itself the lure. She should have seen it sooner. She cursed, blaming her infection and sickness for her lack in insight.

Glancing toward the dark street, she made sure the man had gone and wasn’t waiting for her to turn her back. Seeing he had disappeared, she went to sheathe her knife then stopped. Best to keep it in hand for a while, in case she ran into more trouble, at least until she made it safely to Izak’s.

She flipped the knife so the blade rested against her forearm to hide it from casual passersby, and trudged east along the river until she came to the bridge crossing into Five Flowers. After her encounter, she cast anxious glances about her, eager to avoid any more incidents.

Her problem was that, after crossing the bridge, she had no idea where to go. She wasn’t exactly friendly with Izak, but he was the only one she could turn to. Her ship in the Cemetery was off limits; anyone might know about her hideout now, if her men had been captured. And she certainly couldn’t risk scouting the area to find out for herself. What she carried was too important. How, she didn’t know yet, but she swore she’d find out. For Avigdor, and for Anasoma, and everyone else the Indryallans had killed.

Another coughing fit wracked her frame, and she trembled, staggering to the side of the road. Weakness crept into her body, and she sat in a heap, breathing heavily.

Where to? Where was Izak’s house?

With an effort, Felice gathered her thoughts. She couldn’t wander around the district the rest of the night hoping she’d run into Izak. What had she been thinking?

She looked around, seeing a brightly lit area down the street. She needed to find a tavern to ask directions. Groaning with effort, she stood and lurched toward the lights and was soon standing in front of two noisy taverns, and a brothel marked by a sign which featured a gold and silver ducat along with a man and woman holding hands.

The effort of walking the last hundred yards left her with a sheen of sweat, and she stood for a few moments, gathering her strength.

Which tavern first? One was obviously better off. The other had cracked and peeling paint and dirty windows. Or perhaps that was an affectation? People did strange things for business, and it wasn’t a stretch to believe well-off nobles and merchants would get a thrill out of visiting a disreputable establishment. In safety, of course.

She scratched her head. Where would Izak be better known?

She turned and walked into the brothel.

A huge, black-skinned man looked her over as she entered, no doubt a bouncer of some kind. He was dressed in dark clothes, as if they wanted him to blend into the dim interior so customers forgot he was there. His meaty hand clamped onto her arm, and he shook his head.

Felice realized she still carried her knife. “Oh. Sorry.”

“Hand it over. You’ll get it back when you leave.”

“Of course. Sorry.” She handed him the blade, which looked as small as a fruit knife in his hand.

She gave him a nod, which he returned before going back to gazing around the room, a luxurious affair with numerous couches and curtained alcoves to the sides. What happened in there? Surely they didn’t… out in the open like that—

Before she had a chance to finish her thought, she was interrupted by a woman.

“Welcome, my good lady. I’m Madame Jensette. May I take that satchel for you?”

Felice stared at her. She was… breathtaking. Huge round eyes under tightly curled platinum hair, flawless tanned skin, and pouty red lips. It had to be the dim light and makeup… surely…

“Er… No, thank you. I’m looking for someone.”

Madame Jensette laughed, a musical sound that wasn’t counterfeit. Felice thought she must be very good at her job.

“Aren’t we all. What type do you prefer?”

“An older man; he’s about so tall…” Felice raised a hand to indicate how tall Izak was then stopped, realizing she wasn’t thinking clearly. She took a breath. “Sir Izak Fourie,” she said slowly and carefully. “Where does he live?”

“My, my, does Izak have an admirer?”

“Please. Just… I need to know where he lives, that’s all.”

Jensette tapped her cheek with a finger. “And why would you need to know that?” Her expression grew concerned; she took in Felice’s sweating face and trembling appearance. “Are you well?”

“I’m fine, just a little under the weather.” Perhaps she’ll be more forthcoming if she thinks I’m really ill. Or maybe… Felice made her legs wobble and held a hand to her brow. “I think I’m coming down with something. I’m sure it’s nothing, though.”

Jensette took a step back, face hard. “If you’re sick, you need to leave. I won’t have you infecting my girls.”

Felice nodded wearily. “Perhaps it’s the baby.” She touched her stomach. “Could I have a glass of water, please?”

Jensette’s expression softened. She issued an order, and a woman approached bearing a cup.

Felice took it, trying to make herself look relieved and grateful at the same time. She sipped at the water.

“Thank you,” she murmured, lowering her eyes. “If you could tell me where Izak is… He needs to know. Please.”

“That scoundrel,” muttered Jensette. “He’s on Winterpetal Street, a few streets over toward Gallows, in an apartment above the grocers; he doesn’t live in his house anymore.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

“If he doesn’t do right by you, come back and let me know. I’ll make sure some sense is knocked into him. Now, if you’ll just…” Jensette ushered her toward the exit, and Felice hurried out, making sure to retrieve her knife.

“Come back again,” rumbled the bouncer tonelessly, and she frowned.

She skirted three drunken men that spilled from one of the taverns, and it wasn’t long before she stood in front of the grocer’s. A rickety wooden staircase led up the side of the building to the second floor. She struggled up each stair, legs as heavy as lead, and hammered on the door at the top.

No reply. She pounded again. “Izak, you pignut, wake up!”

There was an exclamation inside, and some clanks as the door was unbarred and unlocked. It swung open to reveal Izak, clad only in a nightshirt, thin legs protruding underneath. She pushed her way inside as he spluttered.

“Lady Felicienne, you’re alive!”

“Yes, yes. Can you put some clothes on, man! And do you have any tea?”

“Tea?”

“Yes. The drink.”

Izak rubbed sleep from his eyes, looking around blearily, as if some tea would magically materialize. “Ah… no. No tea.”

“What do you have, then?”

“Wine?”

“That’ll do.”

She watched as he bustled around the apartment. It was only one room with a bed in the corner, which Izak was surreptitiously shoving dirty clothes under with his foot. After much ado and apparent tidying up, which made very little difference she could see, he poured wine into a glass he’d just wiped clean with a rag.

“It’s, er, a clean rag,” he said as he handed her the wine.

“Thank you. Do you have any water as well?”

“Ah, no. No water.”

That figured. The apartment wasn’t at all what she expected from Izak. She thought he was fairly wealthy and wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like this, living above a shop.

“What happened to your house? Lose it at cards or Dominion?”

Izak shook his head. “I couldn’t go back there after what happened. What if they came for me?”

“Who? The Indryallans?”

“Yes! I heard you’d been captured. What if I was next?”

Felice chuckled. “It didn’t take me long to find you. If they were after you, you’d be in their custody by now.”