Carnival of Secrets (25 page)

They stuck to the most visible parts of the carnival, pausing to listen to musicians and walking through to the matchboards where the fight results were displayed. Aya told stories of fights she’d won and plays she’d seen, and he told her about cons he’d run and books he’d read. She didn’t laugh at his text love like so many daimons would, but she did seem surprised.

“Kaleb brings me books from the human world,” Zevi admitted. “I’ve read some of ours, but books aren’t as easy to get in The City. Over there, they have buildings filled with books, and anyone at all can go in and read them. They let you take them home to read; even low-caste humans are allowed.”

The sadness in Aya’s expression was only there for a moment, but he saw it and added, “It’s not your fault.”

“What’s not?”

“Being born to the ruling caste,” Zevi said. “You didn’t keep books from me, and you don’t hurt me. Not all ruling-caste daimons are cruel.”

“I know.” She stepped around a scab, not noticing that by doing so she was in reach of a young cur with quick fingers.

Zevi caught the cur’s wrist. “She’s Kaleb’s.”

The cur’s eyes widened.

“Spread the word.” Zevi watched the cur vanishing into the carnival before he told Aya, “And not all curs are dreaming of a life in a quiet home reading books from the human world. Many of us”—he looked at Aya—“would kill before thinking, and more than a few would torture out of fear of the stories we’d heard so long ago.”

Aya nodded. “I know, but this is my home. It’s worth the risk.”

Keeping his voice low, Zevi told her, “I am in your debt because of Kaleb, but there are only two of us. If things go poorly here, you’re going to need to go
there
, to the human world.”

The aversion to the human world confused him, but he watched her tense. Her kind lived there; people lived there without fighting to simply survive; entire buildings were filled with books. Kaleb had told him that it wasn’t
all
good, that they had disease and violence and all of the horrors that thrived in The City, but he and Kaleb wouldn’t be destined to stay at the bottom simply because they were parentless. Curs could change their futures without having to kill or bleed. Sometimes they did so by reading so many books that they were able to get jobs. Living in the human world wouldn’t guarantee a better life, but it would be a far sight better than being a cur in The City.

His neck prickled as he felt someone watching him, and Zevi scanned the crowd until he found the daimon who stared at him. Instead of a threat, it was Kaleb. He strode through the daimons milling around the carnival, not seeming to notice that they moved out of his path without any effort from him. Zevi knew better: Kaleb noticed everything. This was what he’d fought for: respect and perhaps a bit of fear. He’d grown up fighting for the right to eat, the right to a not-exposed place to sleep, and more often than not, the right to not be abused for others’ amusement. It colored the way he saw the world.

It also made him fiercely protective of those he loved. Kaleb had saved Zevi more times than either of them discussed, and Zevi knew that no one else in The City could be trusted to protect Kaleb like he did. Aya had helped in this last fight, but that was one fight, not years of devotion. He loved Kaleb, not in the way that he’d read in the books from the human world, but in the way that humans loved their jobs or their countries. Caring for Kaleb was his vocation; it was what gave life meaning.
Like soldiers or priests . . .
Kaleb was the cause that Zevi had devoted himself to, like one of those gods humans built temples for. Unfortunately, the humans had the benefit of loving gods who weren’t walking around getting themselves into dangers, whereas Zevi had to worry constantly about Kaleb—who currently looked worse than Zevi had seen in a long time, not beaten up physically but emotionally battered.

Aya obviously agreed because she angled her body much as Zevi was doing, so that they could see any approaching threat.

“What happened?” she asked.

“I was just married to Marchosias’ daughter.” Kaleb smiled weakly.

“Married? To . . .
how?
Why?” Zevi stared at him, trying to process the words he was saying, trying to understand how such a thing could’ve happened.

“Kaleb?” Aya spoke softly, but the threat of violence was obvious in her voice and posture. She stood with her feet slightly apart, and although her hand didn’t quite touch the hilt of the knife hanging at her waist, her fingers were now talon-tipped. “Will there be retribution from Marchosias?”

Kaleb glanced at her. “No.”

“What do you owe for the bride-price? I have money,” she offered. “I know you’re angry with me, but I can help.”

“No,” Kaleb murmured. His gaze stayed on her for an appraising moment, and whether he said it or not, Zevi knew that Aya had moved up in his estimation. Then he looked away from her and caught Zevi’s gaze as he announced, “I staked my life . . . unless she breeds by her eighteenth birthday.”

They’d been through a lot of things the past few years, and Zevi was under no illusion that Kaleb would ever see him as anything other than a cur to protect. It galled him, though, that Kaleb didn’t ever think to discuss anything substantial with him. It was an insult that Zevi usually tried to ignore, but this time, it was too much.

His life?

The urge to be something other than the lowest order was the driving force in Kaleb’s world. Zevi knew that. He’d come to terms with it, stitched Kaleb up, set his broken bones, nursed him through fevers, and avoided questions that would made Kaleb flinch. For years, he’d pretended he didn’t know that Kaleb murdered and whored to provide for them, and he’d done all he could to hide his own forays into business when they needed more money. While Kaleb fixated on changing their status, Zevi focused on taking care of Kaleb.

How do I do that when he keeps doing things likely to get him killed?

“You are an idiot” was all he said.

Then he walked away, ignoring both Kaleb and Aya’s calls, moving so quickly that neither of them would catch him.

A
YA KNEW THAT THERE
were things she could and maybe
should
say to Kaleb, but she wasn’t keen on the emotional thing and she wasn’t quite ready to talk about her encounter with the Watchers. It wasn’t as if either of them believed that the other was without secrets; she just happened to
know
a few of his. Much like knowing that he feared her because of what she was—and that he resented her because of the way the fight with Sol had gone—knowing that he’d contracted to kill the missing daughter he’d just wed could be useful later. She couldn’t see
how
just then, but knowledge wasn’t something to be given away.

“What’s the plan?” she asked.

“After you forfeit, we go over to the human world until I convince my—
Mallory
to accept her new role.” Kaleb pressed his lips tightly together, as if sheer will could suppress the tenderness that she could clearly hear in his voice. For a cur who had a significant kill count, he was surprisingly soft-hearted.

She usually wasn’t; in this, Aya favored her maternal heritage. Evelyn had as much of a nurturing instinct as a pit viper in a bad mood. Like her, Aya had often been practical to the point of ruthlessness. Belias was her one exception, but even he had been sacrificed at the altar of realism.

Despite her typical coldness, she felt a brief worry for Mallory. Trying to be as casual as possible, she said, “She wasn’t raised in The City, so you need to deal with the human world and—”

“She was raised by a witch,” Kaleb interrupted.

“A witch?”

He filled her in on everything he knew, and when he was done, Aya said, “I’ll see what I can learn of this witch.”

There is no way
that
is a coincidence.

When Aya arrived, Evelyn already had a second place setting on the small table in the far corner of her office. Just as Aya had unerringly known where in the building her mother was, Evelyn obviously had known that Aya would be visiting.

“Your daimon has agreed to be bound as your familiar,” she said mildly as Aya walked into the room.

Aya flinched visibly. “I don’t want him to—”

“I can dissect him for parts, or you can accept him as yours. We can transform his shape to hide his identity when you’re there, but in my world, he will be as is. You can communicate with him and store energy in him in both states, of course, but for private use, you will need to say a word so he is transformed. I’ve added a silencing element and the standard inability to disobey to the spell, so you can enjoy him without the inconvenience of listening to him.” Evelyn shook out her napkin and smoothed it over her lap. “It’s still a draining spell, so we need to eat first.”

“Do you know Adam Rothesay?”

“So you’ve found out about Marchosias’ child.” Evelyn gestured to the chair again.

Aya sat.

“My brother, Adam—”

“Your
brother
,” Aya echoed.

After an almost imperceptible pause, Evelyn said, “Yes. Does that matter?”

Aya weighed the details. She’d learned years ago that the daimons she’d thought were family weren’t hers by blood, but she’d cared for them all the same. In contrast, she had little affection for the witch who had borne her.

“This
is
the Watcher child? This Adam’s decision to raise her wasn’t because she’s half witch, right?” Aya prompted.

“No, she is fully daimon, although Adam has suppressed that for her whole life. Her mother was a Watcher, and Marchosias is her blood father.”

Even as Aya knew that Evelyn was studying her reactions, she couldn’t fully hide them. Her usual stoicism was undermined by what Evelyn had casually revealed about Belias
and
about Mallory. Belias was about to be bound to her or die, and she had a cousin of a sort, who had just been married without her consent to a daimon that Aya was bound to aid.

She’s not family by blood, and I don’t know her, and she’s not a witch, so the dangers of breeding are not the same for her.
Sure, there were the usual risks, especially for Marchosias’ daughter. His heirs tended to be murdered young, and childbirth had a critically high fatality rate in the ruling caste.

“I need to meet her.” Aya lifted the glass in front of her and took a sip of water to combat her unexpectedly dry mouth.

“The girl is useful to you, daughter,” Evelyn said. “If you can get her protection, it will aid our purposes. Adam did much to make her sympathetic to witches—enough that you can reveal what you are and that no one over there knows. It will make you her sole confidant, the one she turns to when things become worse.”

Not for the first time, Aya was grateful that her mother—for the most part—didn’t plot against her. Mallory was like the lamb offered to warring gods. She’d been taken and raised by witches who hated daimons; she was nothing more than a vessel to bear the next generation of Marchosias’ heirs; and she was the key to a safer future for Kaleb.

And she is useful to me.

That was Evelyn’s intention—at least, that was the most obvious of Evelyn’s intentions. Aya wasn’t so naive as to think that there weren’t other motivations too. Her mother’s machinations were a credit to her species.

“Finish that, and we’ll do the spell,” Evelyn directed.

They ate in silence, and then Aya gave in to the impulse that Evelyn undoubtedly expected.

“I need to see Belias before we do this.” Aya stood and walked to the door. Evelyn didn’t follow, which was as close to agreeing as she would come. The affection Aya had for Belias was a weakness. She knew it as well as her mother did. If he escaped and went to The City, she’d be exposed for cheating in Marchosias’ Competition—worse still, she’d be exposed as a witch.

Everything reasonable, every bit of witch instinct in her, compelled her to let Evelyn destroy Belias, but he was hers. Whether he still loved her or not, he was the only person she’d loved. He was the one person she’d considered confessing to, but he hated witches. She’d hoped to avoid his ever knowing, but they were too far past that now. Her options had shifted when they’d been matched to fight or maybe when they’d been matched to wed. All that Aya knew now was that they were once more down to a set of options that included one of their deaths.

“I need his permission,” Aya said.

Evelyn didn’t look at her. Instead, she carefully folded her napkin as she said, “I’ll be over momentarily. He’ll be bound to you, or he’ll be used for harvest.”