Ghost in the Seal (Ghost Exile #6) (3 page)

Fortunately, no one was paying attention to the bounty decrees upon the door.

One offered a reward of two million bezants for the Ghost assassin called the Balarigar, along with lifetime remission from taxes, a title of nobility, and the personal gratitude of Grand Master Callatas and Grand Wazir Erghulan Amirasku. There were petty tyrants near New Kyre, Kylon reflected, who did not have fortunes of two million bezants. A second offered a million bezants for the sorceress Annarah, a harlot and a charlatan who claimed to be a loremaster of lost Iramis. A third decree exhorted the citizens of Istarinmul to loyalty to the Padishah and his magistrates, and offered a reward for any reports of treason among the nobility. That, Kylon knew, was aimed at Tanzir Shahan and his allies.

There was absolutely no mention of Kylon.

He supposed he should have been insulted. But given the deadly stakes of their business, it was just as well. 

The door to the wine shop swung open, and a short man strode inside. He wore chain mail and leather, a short sword and a dagger at his belt, and a badge with a crown-and-scimitar sigil that marked him as a courier for the Padishah’s magistrates. He had greasy black hair and a black beard that shaded a thin face, and walked with the brisk purpose of a man who had places to go. 

Then he sat across from Kylon. 

Kylon’s hands twitched towards the dagger at his belt, and then he sensed the man’s emotions, cold ice over a long-burning core of old anger. Then he recognized the man…who really wasn’t a man at all.

“You know,” said Kylon, “you look positively villainous.”

Caina Amalas blinked at him, and then grinned behind the false beard. “That is the point.” 

“Isn’t it punishable by death to impersonate an officer of the Padishah’s government?” said Kylon.

“Torture, followed by death,” said Caina. She shrugged, adjusting her satchel. “It would be rather less effective the other way around. But no press gang in its right mind would try to conscript one of the Padishah’s couriers. Easier to move around the city this way.” 

Kylon nodded, watching her. Her skill at disguise still astonished him. He could usually recognize her now, given enough time, but her ability to disguise herself was remarkable. It was not just the clothes and the makeup. Her posture and voice and mannerisms all changed as well. It was as if she became another person entirely. It was remarkable how well she masqueraded as any number of rough-looking men, given how lovely she looked once all the makeup and disguises were gone…

“What?” said Caina, smiling a little. Something else flickered through her aura, tentative and uncertain. 

Kylon realized that he was staring at her, and turned his mind to the matter at hand.

“This message of yours,” said Kylon. “Was it anything serious?” 

“No,” said Caina. “Nothing of importance.” A dark flicker went through her emotions, adding to the grimness he had sensed in her ever since the destruction of the Inferno. “One of the circle needed my help with a minor matter, that was all.” 

He didn’t think she was telling the truth, at least not all of it. If she needed his help, he knew that she would ask for it. The dangers they faced were tremendous, and the odds against them grew every day. Kylon had come to Istarinmul to kill Malik Rolukhan and Cassander Nilas, to avenge his wife’s death. Rolukhan had burned with the Inferno, but Cassander was still the Umbarian Order’s ambassador to the Padishah’s court, surrounded by his Adamant Guards. Kylon could not get close enough to kill him.

His revenge, though, no longer seemed so important. Rolukhan and the Red Huntress had been the outer edges of an evil that had festered in Istarinmul for centuries. If Callatas was not stopped, uncounted millions would die in agony just as Thalastre and her unborn child had died. 

“Very well,” said Kylon.

“He did think I take too many risks, though,” said Caina.

“Who?” said Kylon.

“The man I spoke with,” said Caina. He didn’t expect her to tell him more. A Ghost circlemaster had to keep secrets. “He thinks I take too many risks, that sooner or later they will get me killed.” 

“You do,” said Kylon, “and they will. But not unless I can help it.” 

This time her smile seemed genuine, and a brief flicker went through her emotional sense. “Thank you. I…” She hesitated and looked away, staring at the hearth on the far wall of the wine shop. “Thank you.”

“You do need help,” said Kylon. “Not even the Balarigar can do everything alone.”

“Bah,” said Caina. “There is no such man as the Balarigar. A story the Slavers’ Brotherhood made up to cover their failures.”

“Nasser’s almost ready?” said Kylon. He had not seen much of Caina since they had returned from the Inferno’s wreckage. She had been busy preparing the Ghost circle for her absence, and Kylon had only seen her when she needed help with something. Every time she had been a bit grimmer, as if some worry was eating at her mind. 

“Tomorrow,” said Caina. “We’ll meet at the Shahenshah’s Seat tomorrow night. Apparently Nasser had to call in quite a few favors.” 

Kylon snorted. “I’ve met the man. He likely has favors in every tavern and town from here to Anshan.”

“You can’t be a legendary master thief for a century and a half without making a few friends,” said Caina. 

“Probably not, no,” said Kylon. “Which means you need my help with something tonight.”

She raised one eyebrow. “Did you sense that in my emotions?”

“No,” said Kylon. “I figured it out by myself. You’re not the only one who can employ logic from time to time.” 

She smiled wider at that and leaned closer. “If you’re so clever, what do I want you to do?” 

A dozen different answers came to Kylon’s mind, ranging from humorous to serious…and one that was deadly serious. What he wanted to do was to reach across the table, pull her close, and kiss her. He wanted that very badly. And then…

“You need me to kill someone,” he said, pushing aside the notion. The thought of kissing Caina summoned a welter of emotions, a combination of guilt and affection and simple raw desire. It was not something he wanted to dwell on just now. 

No matter how enticing the prospect. 

“Actually, I’m hoping to avoid that,” said Caina. “I need you to help me trick someone. If we do it right, no one gets killed, and we hinder our enemies.” She gestured at the wine shop. “Unless you would prefer the luxury of our current surroundings.”

“Gods of storm and brine, no,” said Kylon. He hesitated. “There is something else, though.” 

“What is it?” said Caina.

“Those curved knives,” said Kylon. “Have you seen any more of them?” 

Caina went motionless, her sense turning cold. Someone had been following Caina, leaving peculiar curved knives for her to find. They didn’t know who had been leaving the knives, though Kylon was entirely certain that it was one of Caina’s enemies.

“Just one,” said Caina, gazing at the flames. “The night before Annarah told us the truth. I was going…I went out the back of the House of Agabyzus, and one of the knives was lying in the courtyard. I haven’t seen one since.”

“Where were you going?” said Kylon. “Perhaps whoever has been following you knew where you intended to go.”

Caina opened her mouth and then closed it again, as if the question had unsettled her. 

“It’s not important,” she said. “I was the only one who knew where I intended to go. It was,” she took a deep breath, “it was a…foolish impulse, a whim. Not one I should have indulged.”

“I don’t understand,” said Kylon. 

“Neither do I,” said Caina. “It doesn’t matter now. We have work to do. Will you help me do it?” 

“I shall,” said Kylon. 

Caina nodded and got to her feet, and Kylon followed suit. He didn’t know if they could stop Callatas. He didn’t even know if he could kill Cassander Nilas and avenge Thalastre, or if they could defeat the Red Huntress when she returned. For that matter, Kylon was no longer certain of his place in the world, or if he even had a place. Once he had been a noble of New Kyre, a stormdancer and a thalarchon and a High Seat, a husband and a father-to-be.

What was he now?

Kylon didn’t know. 

He did know, however, that he was going to do everything he could to keep Caina alive. She had made powerful enemies, and sometimes she seemed determined to push herself until something killed her. Kylon refused to let that happen. He had seen too many women he loved die in front of him already. 

Caina was…

He was not going to let her get killed, and that was that, so Kylon followed her from the wine shop and into the gloom of the Istarish night. 

The wine shop sat on the southern edge of the Cyrican Quarter, not far from the merchant halls of the Old Quarter and the grim barracks-like houses of the Tower Quarter. Caina led them into the Cyrican Quarter, keeping to the back streets and courtyards. He understood her reasoning. Press gangs had taken to wandering the streets of Istarinmul at night, kidnapping and conscripting men into the Padishah’s army. Or the Grand Wazir’s army, more accurately, since the Padishah Nahas Tarshahzon had not been seen in years. 

A thought occurred to him. 

“Did I ever tell you that I met the Padishah?” said Kylon in a quiet voice. 

Caina blinked, her eyes glimmering in the dim light from a nearby lamp. “No. When was this?”

“Years ago, the first time I came to Istarinmul,” said Kylon. “When Andromache was plotting with Rezir Shahan to take Marsis. I met him briefly then.”

“What did he look like?” said Caina. 

“He looked…ill,” said Kylon. They turned a corner and made their way down an alley. He recognized the neighborhood. They were going to the street of the metalworkers, just off the Cyrican Bazaar itself. Perhaps Caina needed to speak with Nerina Strake. “He was tremendously fat, and I suspect he may not have been able to walk under his own strength. Little wonder he could not stop Rezir from launching his war against the Empire.” 

Caina shook her head. “No one has seen him since the war ended. Or his sons, for that matter. I suspect Callatas murdered them, and then covered it up so Erghulan could rule as Grand Wazir in the Padishah’s name. I wish I could have found at least one of the Padishah’s sons. Someone to challenge Erghulan’s authority would have been helpful.”

“You’ve looked for the Padishah and his sons?” said Kylon, surprised. Ghost circlemasters did indeed have their secrets.

“Unsuccessfully,” said Caina. “Nasser looked, too, but he couldn’t find them. And…here we are.” 

They stood in alley lined by three-story tall shops and houses, the alley itself ending in a small courtyard. Kylon recognized one of the houses as Nerina Strake’s workshop. Scaffolding covered the house next to hers, surrounding a half-constructed chimney. Her husband Malcolm, newly liberated from the Inferno, had purchased the house, and planned to turn it into an armorer’s workshop. Malcolm was one of the strangest men Kylon had ever met, just as Nerina was one of the strangest women, but he was an excellent armorer. Kylon had the notion of ordering a dagger for Caina once Malcolm opened for business. She did like knives.

“We’re visiting Nerina?” said Kylon aloud. 

“No,” said Caina, crossing to the scaffolding and starting to climb. Kylon followed suit. “A Teskilati agent has been watching her workshop for the last few nights. Likely he suspects she’s part of the Ghost circle.”

Kylon nodded. “Then we’re going to kill him?” He disliked killing in cold blood. He was a warrior, not a spy or an assassin, and he preferred to face his opponents openly. Yet he had fallen in with spies and assassins, and the Ghosts’ war with Callatas was different had any he had fought before.

“That would be efficient, but wasteful,” said Caina, crouching on the second level of scaffolding. From here, they could watch the courtyard unseen, and quickly escape if necessary. Or, knowing how Caina usually thought, escape over the rooftops. “Instead, we’re going to confuse him. One of the smiths further down the street is named Kassan Qhoridaz, and he’s an Umbarian agent.”

“I see,” said Kylon, his hand twitching towards his sword belt. He owed the Umbarian Order a debt of pain. 

“If we simply killed the Teskilati agent, they’ll get suspicious,” said Caina, watching the courtyard. “Instead, we’ll lead him off to Master Kassan’s shop.” She jerked her head in the proper direction. “Anything that sows discord between the Grand Wazir and the Umbarian Order is a good thing. The Order must not convince Istarinmul to side with them against the Emperor.”

Kylon did not care about the Emperor, and he cared even less about the Empire, but Caina was a Ghost of the Empire, so he supposed it was her task to care. And while Kylon did not care about the Empire, he hated the Umbarian Order, and would prefer to see the Emperor defeat the Order and crush the rebel magi. 

“Too complicated,” said Kylon. “I was never very good at politics.” 

“I suppose one large battle would simplify matters,” said Caina. “If we lost, though…what then?” 

They settled in to wait, concealed by the scaffolding. Kylon kept watch, the arcane senses granted to him by the sorcery of water watching for any foes, his eyes scanning the darkness for motion. He had kept watch many times while sailing with the warships of the Kyracian fleet, and his mind wandered as he did. He was very aware of Caina’s presence next to him, the slow, steady draw of her breath, the cool focus of her emotions brushing against his arcane senses. Again he thought of kissing her. He didn’t think she would stop him. 

A wave of guilt accompanied the thought. His wife had only been dead two years, slain upon the Red Huntress’s burning blade. After Thalastre had been killed, Kylon had not thought of other women. He had not thought of living, in truth, of doing anything except dying in the process of his revenge. 

Then Caina had walked into his room below the Ring of Cyrica.

Perhaps for the first time in his life, he did not know what to do next. No matter how much he wanted to do it, he could think of numerous reasons why kissing Caina would be a bad idea…

“There,” breathed Caina, her voice barely a whisper.