The Tainted City (36 page)

“When did you hear that?” Talm’s hazel eyes had turned awfully sharp. I knew why. He’d been with me all last night as I’d hunted rumors in taverns, and I hadn’t mentioned anything like this to him. He thought I’d been holding out on them—or maybe, like Stevan obviously assumed, that I was lying as part of some scheme of my own.

I didn’t want to admit that I’d gotten the news from Jylla, since then they’d wonder what else she hadn’t told them.
 
But Lena was watching me with steady intensity; when I’d told her in Naidar’s house of the missing Tainters, I hadn’t mentioned my source by name, but she must suspect it was Jylla.
 
This might be a test on Lena’s part, to see if I’d keep my vow or if I’d lie.

“Jylla told me,” I said. “She didn’t realize the full significance, though.
 
Otherwise she’d have told you.” I still wasn’t sure why she hadn’t. In the old days, I’d have said she meant to help me, by ensuring I had a bargaining token that’d let me gain advantage with the Alathians. Now, I knew with dead certainty that the only advantage she cared about was her own.

Talm’s gaze grew all the more piercing, but Marten only turned the shard over in his fingers. “Do you know when this began, or the number of children missing?”

“Not sure,” I said. “I can find out, if I poke my nose around further. But the streetsiders I need to speak with don’t take kindly to visitors, and have serious wards. I’ll need a mage’s help. Only this time I want Lena with me, not Talm.”

Marten’s brows lifted. “Why?”

“You said she’s the best of you at sneaking people through wards. If you don’t want half the district to know what we’re hunting and where we’ve been, I’ll need that.”

Talm no longer looked suspicious, only amused. He gave me a theatrically soulful look. “I’m hurt. Admit it, Dev. You just want someone prettier than I am at your side.”

I grinned at him. “Not hard, is it?”

He laughed. Lena said with her usual calm gravity, “I would be happy to assist you, Dev.” Thank Khalmet, she didn’t betray by so much as a hairsbreadth twitch that we’d spoken of this in advance.

I felt the weight of Marten’s gaze like a boulder pressing down. But all he said was, “Very well. Dev, I’m certainly in favor of you continuing to have more protection than charms can provide.”

I was glad of that myself. I hadn’t forgotten Ruslan’s unspoken threat. Maybe his partner Lizaveta couldn’t cast channeled magic against me, but I had a terrible feeling the so-called minor spells Marten had dismissed so readily would be more than enough to leave me a bleeding ruin.

Talm grew serious again. “Regardless of the assassin’s methods, I’m still convinced Ruslan is the mind behind these attacks. So far he or his apprentices have contaminated every site we’ve been allowed to visit, or chased us out before we could properly search for traces of blood magic.”

That started everyone arguing about how best to seek traces, and whether blood magic could enhance or even mimic the Taint. I leaned my head on my hand, wishing they’d either shut up and move on, or let me leave the room. All this hunting rumors at night and wardfire by day meant I was running awfully short on sleep. I’d need at least a few hours before I faced Red Dal tonight, or I’d regret it.

Marten gave me a sympathetic look when I yawned wide enough to make my jaw crack.

“Dev, if you’ll give us a quick recounting of the rest of your time in Naidar’s house, then I promise we’ll let you get some rest.”

I smiled inwardly. Perfect. Now if they ever found out I’d skipped over a few things—like my moment of idiocy with Jylla—I could always say I’d forgotten to mention it out of sheer exhaustion. I rattled off a brief account, sticking to bare facts. I didn’t mention the spell diagram or Kiran’s reaction to it, though I did explain how he’d saved my life with his magic.

What a mistake that was. Khalmet’s hand, you’d think Ruslan had been the one to work the spell, the way Stevan carried on about the dangers of lingering bindings. He insisted on all of them checking me over with magic, which took forever, involved a lot of chanting, and made me feel as if ants were crawling all over my skin. I bore it with gritted teeth and a lot of murderous looks at Stevan, who pretended not to notice. Fucking asshole.

Finally, Marten said I could go, though he stood and dogged my heels as I made for the archway. Just outside the receiving room, he put out a hand to halt me.

“Dev, I can’t tell you how relieved I am to hear of Kiran’s concern for you, and his refusal to hurt Jylla. I had feared…”

“Feared what?” I demanded. “That Stevan is right about him? You know better than that, Marten.”

Marten said, “I’m well aware of Stevan’s prejudice. Yet that prejudice is not without a grain of truth. I’ve told you I saw Kiran’s memories at his trial. Even as a child, Kiran had a certain empathy for others…yet before he met Alisa, Ruslan was well on his way to training Kiran into restricting that empathy to Ruslan’s little coterie and burying all qualms beneath his love for magic. Alisa was the one to open Kiran’s eyes to the worth of untalented lives and plant the seeds that would grow into rebellion. Without her influence, I fear Kiran would have readily become a blood mage, fiercely loyal to Ruslan just as Ruslan desired him to be.”

I remembered Marten’s insistence I find out how much time Kiran had lost. “You thought that if Ruslan took all Kiran’s memories of Alisa, that’d…what? Erase Kiran’s conscience, leave him happy to murder and torture people?” Thank Khalmet, Kiran had proved that theory wrong.

“Let us say that I think it leaves Kiran dangerously susceptible to Ruslan’s influence,” Marten said. “Which makes yours all the more important. Kiran’s memories may be gone, but I believe some remnant of the emotional responses built by those memories remains. Ruslan will try to change that in Kiran. You must do what you can to counter Ruslan in this, stop him from coaxing Kiran down a path that would make it impossible for him to seek refuge again in Alathia.”

I saw Marten’s game now. This would be his excuse for ditching Kiran once the investigation was over. He’d claim Kiran had become too much of a blood mage, and shuffle off the blame onto my shoulders for not “countering” Ruslan as he’d asked. For fuck’s sake, how did he expect me to influence Kiran when I could barely get near him?

Familiar fury bubbled up inside. But I only smiled—a thin, tight smile—and said, “I’ll do all I can.”
All I can to free him despite you, you lying weasel.

Marten beamed at me. “Good. Sleep well, Dev.”

Instead of stabbing him, I headed straight for my room. Only to find Jylla perched demurely on one of the two beds and Jenoviann nowhere in sight.

“You are
not
sleeping in that bed,” I snarled, ready to march back to demand other quarters.

“Oh, they gave me a bed elsewhere,” Jylla said. “I told Jenoviann I wanted the chance to thank you privately. Besides, Dev, why so stingy with your space? You certainly didn’t mind getting close earlier.” Her eyes traveled my body, her lips curving in a teasing grin.

“Sure, when I thought you had something useful to offer.” I said it with all the casual contempt I could muster.

“Hmmm.” Jylla toyed with one of her opal earrings, watching me through long, black lashes. “I saw your face when you thought the blood mage would kill me.”

“Just because I didn’t want him to kill you doesn’t mean I want you in my bed. Or anywhere else near me.” I aimed a pointed look at the door.

“What about my help?” Jylla said. “I also saw how you look at the Alathians, especially Martennan. He’s got something over you to make you dance to his tune, doesn’t he? You want off his leash, you know that’s the kind of game I’m good at.”

I’d tried not to betray my hatred of Marten in front of her, but I should’ve known she’d see it anyway. She’d always been able to read me as easily as if I shouted every thought aloud. Horribly, I was tempted to take her up on her offer—because if anyone could outwit Marten, she could. But no, no,
no.

“I’ve already got a partner in this. Someone I trust. Unlike you.”

Surprise widened Jylla’s eyes. “A partner? You do move quickly. Who?”

I shook my head, unwilling to say Cara’s name. But Jylla’s head tilted, her expression gone thoughtful. “No, wait, let me guess…I heard that outrider friend of yours, Cara, came back alone from Alathia and then turned down a bunch of convoy jobs to hang around the city all summer instead. Suliyya knows she always eyed you like she wanted to drag you off and tie you up as her jenny-slave. How long did it take her once she heard you and I split to ditch her silly rule? Two heartbeats, three?”

“She hasn’t broken her rule,” I snapped. “Know why? I’m no longer an outrider. Thanks to you.”

“Funny, I don’t recall asking anyone to blacklist you,” Jylla said. “I thought you’d keep right on playing in the mountains, not decide to throw yourself hip deep in mages. But now that you are…sure, I bet Cara’s great on a climb. Maybe even between the sheets—Suliyya knows she’s got enough experience there with all those traders she’s bedded. But playing against mages? Look me in the eye and tell me I’m not the better choice.”

I shut my eyes. “Jylla. You’re clever, yeah. But right now, what I need most is someone who won’t stab me in the back the moment it’s turned. That’s not you.”

“What if I said I regretted it?” The teasing vanished from her voice, leaving it rough. “You were right, what you said about the Taint. I thought maybe Naidar’s magic could make me forget the dead spot inside, the way the mountains do for you. Oh gods, Dev, you don’t know how jealous I was of you for that! But it didn’t. When I realized it…every moment since, I’ve wished I’d chosen a different path.”

I’d swear the pain lacing her words was unfeigned. But then, every mark Jylla had ever fooled would swear the same. My laugh came out as jagged as splintered ice. “Not enough to actually take one. Not enough to return the money you stole, or even apologize for it. Words don’t mean shit where there isn’t trust, Jylla. And there’ll never be trust between us again.”

Her mouth twisted. “Maybe not. But you were the one who taught me nothing’s impossible.” She stood and smoothed her hands down the gauzy layers of her dress. “If this game of yours turns sour on you…my offer will stand. Help, free and clear…well, maybe not completely free.” As she slid past, she trailed a hand across my groin, too quick for me to slap her fingers away.

I slammed the door shut the instant she was outside it, not caring if the Alathians heard. I cursed my traitorous body for responding to her touch, and fought to blot out the memories of her golden curves and cunning tongue with those of Cara’s steadfast support and honest passion until sleep claimed me at last.

* * *

(Kiran)

Kiran floated in red-tinged darkness, dimly aware of the sound of voices.

“You know I do not tolerate defiance.” One voice was deep and male, harsh with heat like the fierce winds of late summer.

“As is proper, my brother. Only think—will not patience serve your purpose better than acting in haste?” The second voice was female, dark yet cajoling, as smooth as blended acacia honey.

“I have been patient,” the first voice insisted.

“Then be patient for yet a little longer. Think of a thoroughbred colt compared to a drayhorse. The drayhorse responds well enough to the lash, and no further care is needed because he is easily replaced. But a racehorse must be treated with delicacy, lest he be ruined. For such a prized and sensitive animal, far better to lead him down the path with sugared fruit than drive him with a whip.”

After a little silence, the deep voice said, “What sugared fruit would you suggest?”

“The kind that sings in the blood of all the
akheli
.” The honeyed voice was now streaked with teasing laughter.

“You were always the temptress,” said the deep voice, harshness fading into fond warmth. “Very well. We will see if sugar can dissolve stubbornness.”

The honeyed voice turned serious. “Best if we ensure the
nathahlen
cannot whisper more poison.”

“I’ve already taken steps to that end.” The dark promise in the words stripped away some of Kiran’s dreamy disconnection. He struggled to surface from the void.

“Shhh—he stirs…” Red warmth enveloped him, drawing him deeper into darkness, dissolving both disquiet and memory.

When he woke at last, the rich red-gold light of sunset warmed the warded stone of his bedroom walls. Kiran rubbed at his eyes, confused. Why was he asleep so late in the day?

Memory jolted him upright: the attack, his injuries. He ripped the sheet away from his stomach. His skin was unbroken, and his muscles moved easily, without even a twinge of pain. The only ache within was from simple hunger.

Kiran ran his hand over the healed skin of his side. Remembered agony shortened his breath. The desperate struggle to hold his barriers, even as Ruslan demanded he drop them—he cringed and glanced around, a little wildly. The bedroom was empty, his master nowhere in sight. Kiran sighed, unable to feel much relief. Punishment would come, of that he was certain.

Fear whispered at him to hide, to run. Yet Kiran had learned long ago that attempts at evasion only brought worse punishment. Better to accept and endure the consequences for his disobedience, however painful. Ruslan’s hand was heavy, but he’d never tasked Kiran with more than he could bear.

So long as punishment wasn’t immediately forthcoming, he might as well find something to eat. His stomach was a growling void. He hadn’t eaten since the morning, assuming this was even the same day. He got up and pulled on the black trousers and sigil-marked shirt that someone, likely one of the silent house servants, had left folded on his writing desk.

Stepping outside his door required a few steadying breaths; he half-expected Ruslan to descend on him like some vengeful god of legend. But the corridor outside was as empty as his room, the sky beyond the unshuttered skylights a soft, fading rose. Kiran padded down the hall and ducked into the sunroom, relieved to see that a tray containing dates, spiced flatbread, and soft cheese remained on the lacquered table set before windows shaded by vine-covered trellises. Rather than eating a heavy meal before resting in the noonday heat as was usual in Ninavel, Ruslan preferred to eat more frequent, smaller meals whenever the mood struck him as he worked. But since he insisted on always having a formal evening meal, the servants often cleared the sunroom’s table by afternoon’s end.