As for me, my assignment was more or less what I had already been doing: try to keep Nicco from going to war in Ten Ways. I rated my chances at better than even, given what I had on Rambles, but I knew better than to assume it would be easy. As long as Nicco thought Kells was involved, his first inclination would be to wade in swinging; I needed to convince him that Rambles and Ironius were a better target for his anger.
I was cutting through an alley three blocks west of Ten Ways, running likely scenarios through my foggy head, when a voice came to me out of the shadows.
“You’re looking for Larrios.” It was a rich voice, smooth as fine cognac. I instinctively dropped into a crouch, a knife in each hand. The alley walls were too close for rapier work. I scanned the shadows for the source of the voice, but there was enough sunlight seeping in from above to foil my night vision.
The voice sounded vaguely familiar.
“Rumor has it,” I said. I’d put the word out two days back but hadn’t expected to hear anything so soon. Larrios had struck me as the kind of Kin who could vanish when he needed to.
A figure stirred in the gloom ahead of me, seeming to materialize from the shadows. He was tall, and that was about all I could say of him. The full gray-black cloak and hood he wore hid any other features he had.
“You’d better be paying more than last time,” he said.
“Last time?” I said.
He was five paces away when his gloved hand slipped out of the cloak and casually flipped something toward me. A hint of sunlight caught metal, glinting dully as the coin spun through the air. The copper owl chinked as it bounced once, twice, then rolled across two cobbles to come to rest in a slimed-over puddle of . . . something, at my feet.
The man chuckled, and my memory stirred at the sound. This was the cove that had directed Degan and me to Silent Eliza our first night back inside Ten Ways.
“If you can take me to Larrios,” I said, “the pay’ll be better. Much.”
The cowl dipped once in acknowledgment.
“Provided,” I added, “Larrios is in one piece when I get him. Finding him dustmans does me no good.”
“That’s your problem,” he said. “I can help you find him. I can’t promise what shape he’ll be in.”
“You know where he is?”
“Essentially.”
I frowned. “That’s vague. Vague lowers the price.”
Shoulders shrugged beneath the cloak. “Give me a day and I’ll have more details.”
“What kind of details?”
“The kind you’ll be happy to pay for.”
I slipped my knives home and crossed my arms before me. “You’re an arrogant bastard, you know that?”
I could hear the smile in his voice as he answered, “I can afford to be. Can you?”
“I’m the one with the hawks,” I reminded him as he turned away.
“Hawks don’t make a Kin deep-file.”
“Neither does friendship with the shadows.”
He chuckled again. “Don’t be too sure,” he said as he slipped into the dark edges of the alley. When I moved forward, he was gone.
I was still rolling the cloaked Kin’s copper owl through my fingers when I turned onto Echelon Way.
Larrios. If he could get me Larrios, I could get some answers about the relic and the book. Hell, Larrios might even know something about the damn scrap of paper. At this point, I’d be surprised if he didn’t. Too many paths were crossing over the book and the relic—Athel’s, Larrios’s, the Gray Prince’s and Iron Degan’s, not to mention Nicco’s business and mine both touching on Fedim—to be coincidence. And even though it was a tenuous bridge, the scrap of paper in my ahrami pouch seemed to connect them all—Athel to the relic to Fedim to Larrios to the ambushers to the book, all the while bringing me along for the ride.
Yes, I definitely wanted that dark Kin to find Larrios.
I was still two doors away when I noticed Cosima standing in front of the building, shaking out a rug. She saw me at the same time, but, rather than say hello or even flash me a smile, she turned and stalked into their apartments and slammed the door.
What the . . . ?
Wait—what was she still doing here?
I walked up to the door and knocked. No answer.
“Cosima?” I said.
“I’m not leaving,” she said from the other side of the door. “You can’t make me leave.”
“I’m not here to make you do anything,” I said. “I thought Eppyris was sending you and the girls to stay with family for a while?”
“Renna and Sophia are with my mother.”
“But you’re still here,” I observed.
“As long as Eppyris stays, I stay.”
I sighed and laid my forehead against the door. “He’s only looking out for your safety,” I said. “Considering what happened the other night, he may be right.”
There was a pause on the other side of the door. “Do
you
think he’s right?”
I took a long, thoughtful breath. “I think a husband is right to worry about his wife and family.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only answer I’m qualified to give.”
The door swung open, causing me to stumble forward two steps and almost into Cosima’s arms. She laid a hand on my chest, stopping me.
“You’re the one that man was trying to kill,” said Cosima. “If anyone’s qualified to talk about it, you are.”
“The only thing he’s qualified to talk about,” said a dour voice behind me, “is his own life.” I turned to find Eppyris standing in the stairwell, his leather apothecary’s apron tied around his chest. The side door to his shop stood open behind him. “Our lives are our own concern,” he said. “Not his.”
I bit back my words even as I stared Eppyris in the eye. They lived in my building—that
made
them my concern. Everything that happened under this roof was my business. Admitting otherwise was the same as admitting I couldn’t protect my own interests, that I couldn’t keep other Kin at bay.
Except Eppyris didn’t see it that way. And I understood why.
“Do whatever you feel you need to do,” I said to them. “Stay or go. Either way, you’re safe.”
I turned my back and stalked up the stairs. Behind me, I heard a pair of doors close. I didn’t look back to see who had gone where.
Fowler Jess was waiting at the top of the stairs, seated on the floor beside my door.
“That went well,” she said.
“Go to hell.” I looked her up and down. Fowler’s hair was sticking out at all angles from beneath her cap, which, judging by the grime on it, had slipped off her head more than once. The knuckles of one hand showed fresh scrapes, and I noticed a small tear in her new leggings.
“What’s been running you ragged?” I asked as I put the key in the lock, turned it left half a turn, then right the same amount. It was unlocked now, but I still needed to give the key another full rotation to disarm the tension spring in the lock housing; otherwise, I’d get a handful of barbed spikes when I went to turn the door handle.
“Sylos.”
I paused as I took the key out of the lock. “He was the one standing watch out front the other night, wasn’t he? When Tamas came.”
“Yes.”
“And what did he have to say for himself?”
“Not much,” said Fowler. “Considering he ran as soon as he saw me coming.”
I heard the sound of my key bouncing off the floor, but I didn’t remember letting go of it. “It was him? I said. “He’s the one who let Tamas pass?”
Fowler nodded.
“I want to see him,” I said. “Now.”
“Yeah, well, good luck on that,” she said, plucking my key up from the floor. “He took a slip off a roof. Went down four stories in Square Hills as fast as you can say ‘splat.’ ” She slapped her hand on the floorboards for emphasis.
“Damn it, Fowler, I needed him breathing!”
“
You
needed him breathing?” Fowler jumped to her feet so fast I had to step back to keep from being hit in the jaw by her head. “Do you know what that bastard did, Drothe? I found three of my people dustmans after I left you the other night.
Three!
I don’t know if he did the deed himself or left them to that Blade, but, either way, he crossed me and mine far worse than he did you. So don’t talk to me about how much you ‘needed’ him alive—I wanted that bastard so bad it hurt.”
I was about to argue the point when I noticed Fowler’s eyes. They weren’t hard or intense or raging as I had expected; they were wide, and filled with anguish. She’d lost three people—I’d only lost my peace of mind.
“Sorry,” I said. “I haven’t run with a crew for a long time. I . . . forgot.”
Fowler nodded.
“Did he say anything?” I asked.
“You mean before or after he jumped out the window of the boardinghouse?” She shook her head. “No, he wasn’t too talkative. And while I’m sure
you
could get a confession out of someone while chasing him across a roof, I’m not quite up to it.”
“What about the body?”
“What about it?” said Fowler. “There were some hawks, a handful of golden falcons—at least they paid him well—and a bit of personal swag. Oh, and a pilgrim’s token.” Fowler snorted. “A lot of good
that
did him.”
“Wait,” I said. “A
pilgrim’s
token? What kind?”
“Hell, I don’t know. Do I look like I’d go on pilgrimage?” She reached into the small pouch on her belt, rummaged around, and brought out a lead lozenge. “Here.”
I took it. It was the same. The same as the token I had found on Athel—round, triple-stamped, old.
“Paper,” I said, not looking away from the token. “Were there any bits of paper on Sylos’s body?”
More rummaging, and then her hand was before me, two balled-up, filthy scraps of paper in her palm. I gently picked up one of the wads and unfolded it. It had the same collection of marks I’d come to know so well from playing with Athel’s strip.
“What the hell is it?” said Fowler, craning her head so much, she almost blocked my view.
“I’m not sure,” I said. I removed Athel’s scrap from my ahrami pouch and held it next to the one she had found on Sylos. The markings were different, but the size and overall pattern were the same. “I found this on someone who crossed me on a different dodge. He had a pilgrim’s token, too.”
“What’s the connection?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know.”
I’d been toying with the idea that instead of Christiana, it could have been one of her court rivals behind Tamas’s attempt—one noble trying to remove another’s tool. It certainly would have explained the livery and the forged letter, as well as the money needed to lay hands on a piece of portable glimmer. Except now, it didn’t fit. Sylos didn’t have any connection with the relic; he didn’t have any reason to have the same kind of slip on him as Athel.
Yet here they were.
I stared at the papers, trying to see the line that had to run through all of this. Athel led to Fedim led to Larrios led to Ironius and the Gray Prince. From there, the trail split, with one leading into Ten Ways, and the other following Larrios’s book. On the other side of things, it looked as though things went from Sylos to the forgery to Tamas, with Christiana being used as an “in” against me.
Nothing overlapped, except the papers themselves.
I was starting to regret the moment of mercy I’d shown Athel in the warehouse.
“Damn you, Athel,” I grumbled as I tucked away the slips and the token and reached out for the doorknob. “Why the hell couldn’t you have given me more than a damn na—”
“Drothe!”
Fowler’s yell came the same instant she launched herself into me, sending us both tumbling to the ground. A fraction of a second later, I heard the solid
thunk
of something driving itself deep into my door.
“You moron!” she yelled into my ear, still on top of me.
“Ow,” I said, feeling her on me, me on the floor, and all my bruises between the two.
“Damn straight, ‘Ow’!” she said, climbing off. “What the hell were you thinking?”
“I wasn’t,” I said as I came up off the floor more slowly. “That’s the problem. Too tired to think.”
Sticking out of the door at chest level, its head buried so deep I couldn’t see it, was a short crossbow bolt. It had come from the shadows above the stairwell behind us. I had positioned the firing mechanism more than a year ago and run a trip wire through the wall to the door. When I’d started to open the door without first releasing the tension on the wire, I’d set it off.
Stupid, stupid mistake.
“Damn it, Drothe!” said Fowler. “If you think I’m going to lose people just so you can dust yourself with your own fucking trap, you can find another Oak! If I hadn’t been here, you’d be pinned to that door like some firstnight Eriff. Angels! I’ve told you before that you don’t need to be so damn paranoid, but will you listen? No. And now—”