The Burning White (64 page)

Quickly, Teia ransacked the slave’s belongings. There were several tunics, with old bloodstains on the backs from whippings. Last, there was an overjacket with a family insignia on it.

Teia had been unlucky that it had taken her so long to find a time when she could get Halfcock alone and isolated. She’d been unlucky that the noblewoman hadn’t been at her safe house, and that the slave had never said her name. She’d been unlucky that this slave was new and so Teia didn’t recognize him and therefore his owner right away.

But finally. Finally luck turned its golden face full upon her.

For the first time in weeks, Teia smiled. Wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles, it seemed Orholam had as black a sense of humor as any soldier: according to this livery, the slave Micael belonged to Aglaia Crassos. Teia’s very own former owner, that utter abomination, had joined the Order.

As Teia walked the streets home, she actually laughed aloud at a thought: Micael had prayed for vengeance on his owner.
Teia
was going to be an answer to prayer!

Aglaia was in the Order. Sooner or later, Teia was going to get to kill her.

Sooner, Teia thought. Definitely sooner. Just in case.

Worried they were stepping into a trap—still—the Mighty didn’t let Kip climb the luxin ladder until second to last, but at that point it didn’t matter. He joined them atop the new wall.

The White King was no Gavin Guile. This wall was no Brightwater Wall; it wasn’t luxin but simple wood, more a frontier fortification than a work of art. It wasn’t high, either, less than three paces in most places. But it was vast, encompassing a half circle nearly a league across.

A nearly empty league, now.

“Huh! There’s no one here,” Ferkudi said.

The others looked at him. Big Leo cursed under his breath.

“Can I push him off the wall?” Winsen asked. “Please?”

“He’d probably survive,” Ben-hadad said.

“You’re right, that is a problem,” Winsen said.

“Not the first time he’s been dropped on his head, I’d wager,” Big Leo said.

“Question is,” Tisis said, “if he landed on his head, would that set him right, or make him
more
Ferkudi?”

Some scowled. Some shuddered.

“Yeah,” Winsen said, “best not to risk it.”

“Ah, come on, Ferk,” Cruxer said, hugging the hurt dope around one boulder-sized shoulder. “You know we love ya.”

It was a beautiful morning, sunny and clear. The forests were a green to make your eyes ache, rolling to the Cerulean Sea which was still and dark as wine from last night’s glass at this early hour.

“But they’re gone,” Ferkudi said, re-restating the obvious. “There’s no boats. Am I the only one surprised by this? Are you telling me we hurried for no reason?”

Ben-hadad was staring through a far-glass. “There are some people still here. Looks like they left most of the camp followers behind. At least, I hope that’s most of them. If Daimhin Web’s telling us the truth, though, that’s only those who haven’t already left.”

“But no army,” Winsen said.

“They’re already gone,” Kip said.

“What’s that mean?” Ferkudi asked.

“It means we have to race them,” Tisis said. “We didn’t make it in time to stop them. We—or our messengers—have to warn the Chromeria.” She glanced at Kip like, ‘Are you sure you want to do this?’

“All of us,” Kip said. “We’ll join the fight.”

Tisis sighed. “I know. Sorry.”

“It’ll be our last stand, won’t it?” Ferkudi asked. He looked at the grim faces around him, then bobbed his big round head. “All right.”

“Something occurred to me,” Cruxer said. “Your half brother.”

“Yeah?” Kip asked. He suspected where this was going.

“He’s a straight-up murderer. No boundaries at all. And he’s the Prism-elect. Prism fully in less than a week.”

“On Sun Day, yep,” Kip said.

“And he’s got the Lightguard, which have already committed atrocities for him.”

Kip nodded, as everyone looked harder at them both. He knew where this was going.

“We’ve got no evidence for what he did here,” Cruxer said. “But he’ll worry we do.”

“Uh-huh,” Kip said.

Tisis took his hand and squeezed. “I didn’t say anything, I swear.”

“I know,” Kip said. “This was going to come up sooner or later.”

“We’re heading back to the Chromeria with purely good intentions,” Cruxer said. “But men with impure eyes see dirt everywhere they look. We’re headed for two kinds of fights, aren’t we? And one of ’em isn’t the kind where we can save you.”

Kip looked from face to face: these boys he’d watched become men. He said, “I didn’t know who he was then, but High General Corvan Danavis half raised me, and he used to say politics are more dangerous than sharks or sea demons. We have to be ready to make sacrifices,” Kip said. “That doesn’t just mean you. It means me, too.”

“If we go back, Zymun will kill you,” Cruxer said.

“Nah,” Kip said with a wink. “My grandfather will kill me first.”

“I will have my vengeance, Ravi.”

“Shh, no names, no names!” the man whispered.

Though she was nearly dozing behind a curtain, Teia’s ears pricked up immediately.

“In my own home?” Lady Aglaia Crassos scoffed.

Teia had been following Lady Crassos for days now. She’d learned all sorts of things about her, from her numerous lovers to her far more numerous business associates. The last few years had been disastrous for the Crassos family, starting with the death of Aglaia’s brother at Gavin Guile’s hands, so Aglaia had been cobbling together allies and coin in ways she’d never paid attention to earlier in her life. Teia couldn’t even tell where the lines between lovers, business associates, and political allies might be drawn, either.

She’d made no secret of her hatred for the Guiles, though.

Which might have been why some of the men who met with Aglaia wanted to do so privately.

Teia had endangered herself unnecessarily at first, when she’d presumed a furtive little banker who was meeting with Aglaia must be in the Order. That had been merely an assignation: the man was married, and the only conspiracy he seemed to be part of was disguising the true extent of his fees from his clients.

So Teia tried not to get too excited as she drafted paryl once more—when was she going to go wight on this stuff? She’d been using so much!—and peeked out.

Aglaia was checking the jewels glued to her fingernails. “I only joined your little club to get vengeance on the Guiles, Ravi. And I want that magnificent asshole Murder Sharp to serve
me
. I want him to be the one who does it, and I want him to know he’s serving
me
. Where is he? How do I hire him?”

Oh, so that was why Aglaia had been screwing a banker. She was angling for a future loan.

But Teia was only trying to feel matter-of-fact. This was her lead!

Ravi was a little beaver-faced man who fretted with his hat. “It doesn’t work like that, and don’t let them see you with that attitude. I’ll . . . I’ll speak with the priest on your behalf.”

“The high priest, and I’ll speak to him myself.”

“I have no idea who that is!” Ravi said.

“Fine, then, the priest. Which one is he?” Horse-faced though she was, with her perfect braided blond hair and her tiny vest worked with coins, Aglaia could be attractive, Teia had to admit, and Ravi had certainly noticed her cleavage and the familiarity of her wearing house clothes in front of him.

He made a pained noise. “It doesn’t work that way,
really
. Even I’m not supposed to know who he is, and I’ve been in the Order for three years. Each priest has several congregations and they’re always very, very careful.”

“If you figured it out, then I would have, too, within a few more weeks. I won’t tattle on you, Ravi . . . sweetest.”

“A little fear is appropriate. These people aren’t
safe
.”

She leaned forward, clasping her hands and making the most of her cleavage, and did she pout her lips just a little? Regardless, she waited until Ravi’s eyes flicked down to her breasts, which only made it more withering when she said, “Get some stones, dear man.
We
are these people now.”

His jaw twitched with momentary indignation, but then Teia saw that he was the small kind of man who, when insulted, tried to prove he didn’t deserve the insult. “I suppose . . . maybe they’ll forget that I was the one who brought you in. He’s of medium height, thin . . .” He seemed to lose his nerve and stopped.

“We’re masked and robed, Ravi. You’ve described half of them.”

He gulped. “I just—I just have to think! The disguises rotate with where we meet. I can’t remember!”

“Ravi,” she said soothingly. “Haven’t things gone well for you as long as you’ve been with me? Trust me, and things can go better yet.”

He sighed, defeated. “It’s Atevia Zelorn.”

“Zelorn? The wine merchant?!”

“You can’t approach him until after the Feast of the Dying Light. There’s a huge party afterward. Stuff slips. He won’t know it’s me if you wait. Please, Lady Crassos,
please
be respectful. These people . . .”

“Of course, of course, my dear.” Aglaia put a hand on Ravi’s cheek, softly kissed his lips, then firmly pushed him away.

The man was reduced to a stammering flubberkin, which was frankly
bizarre
. It was painfully obvious that Aglaia despised him, wasn’t it?

If Teia hadn’t already reasons beyond counting to hate Aglaia, she would have added this easy manipulation to the list. Although it had been rather smoothly done, hadn’t it? The woman wielded what she had like a chain whip.

Add another reason to the list of reasons to hate her: making Teia admire something about her. Sweet Orholam’s garlicky breath, Teia was going to enjoy killing her.

She didn’t think that the Order was going to kill any of the remaining Guiles just because Aglaia Crassos wished it, but she didn’t know how much she should bet on that.

She couldn’t let Aglaia get in touch with Murder Sharp. Right now, as far as Sharp was concerned, Aglaia was just one barely initiated member of the Order among many. But the woman’s whole purpose in joining was vengeance on the Guiles, which Teia wasn’t going to allow. But wouldn’t the Order find it suspicious if Aglaia disappeared right after she insisted on killing a Guile?

Or would it be more suspicious if Ravi told the leadership how she’d disappeared before she even got to ask?

Well, there’d be no suspicion at all if Teia killed both of them now. After all, she had all she needed from them.

This is how life gets cheap. Someone teaches you how easy it is to kill. Someone gives you permission. The next moment it simply seems like the thing to do. You’re stopping an unwanted flow of information, not sending immortal souls to their maker for judgment.

It was a hell of a thing, war. And yet part of her loved it.

Regardless of how she felt, though, this was still the thing to do. They had chosen treason. Teia was simply the satrapies’ shield coming down on their necks.

There was nothing more to think about it.

The meeting ended soon after, and Teia followed Ravi Satish. Finding Aglaia again would be easy. Ravi was the more pressing.

Lord Ravi had come from one of the families dispossessed and bankrupted during the False Prism’s War. He had little more than the clothes on his back, and no morals whatsoever. He supported his delusions about a return to power on illegal slave trading—mostly from drugging and enslaving sailors with the help of unscrupulous tavern owners.

He was the kind of man who would have lots of enemies—but not subtle ones.

Blunt force, Teia thought, as she followed him through the streets. She didn’t want any inexplicable (and therefore possibly caused by paryl) deaths to pique the Order’s interest. A knife? A knife would work, too, but knifings were almost never clean. An assassin might kill with a single well-placed thrust, but usually a knife murder involved dozens of stabs and slashes, lots of mess and noise, and more danger. If she wanted a stabbing to look like the result of a drunken brawl or a sudden passion, she’d have to be willing to dice him up.

She’d done enough grappling recently, thanks. She’d rather not.

Blunt force it was. A single, furious smash over the head could result in death, and look almost accidental. Someone might hit a man he hated over the head, see what he’d done, and then flee. It could be almost soundless, too, where a knife fight would be more notable if it
weren’t
heard than if it were.

At one point as she followed him, Lord Satish walked right along the edge of a quay he’d cut through as a shortcut. Teia had a sap, a leather casing covering a pouch of lead balls.

Hit him, grab his purse, and roll his body into the water! Quick!

But she hesitated, looking around to see if anyone might witness it, and when she was sure that there was no one looking, Lord Satish was already past the place where it would have been a good option.

She should’ve been more aware. She should always be thinking about what to do if an option presented itself. Dammit!

He led her to a boardinghouse. It didn’t exactly have an inn on the first floor, more just a single hogshead barrel of wine, an old door propped on sawhorses to make a counter, and one currently occupied stool. Lord Ravi paid the wine pourer, was given a full tankard of wine, and told which room he could sleep in. Then the barman went back to chatting with the two women who were sharing the lone stool.

Teia noted which stairs creaked, then followed Ravi up, her lesser weight silent. She hadn’t been close enough to hear which room he was in. She could only hope that the slaving business had been going well enough for him that he could afford to have the room to himself.

Which was kind of twisted, if she thought about it.

He opened the door, and Teia peeked over his shoulder. Empty. Perfect.

She didn’t follow him in. Instead, she went downstairs and found the boardinghouse’s utility closet. Boardinghouses always had things to fix, even if, like here, they didn’t actually fix them all that often.