I moved. Part of me wanted to stumble, to drag my feet . . . to do anything to give Degan a chance to catch us, but the knife in my back argued otherwise. Then we went around a corner, and I realized that even if I could slow us down, it wouldn’t matter.
In front of us, nearly filling the small street, was a patrol of Rags—waiting.
“There’re two Crawlers behind us,” said the Sash to the Rags. “I don’t want them following me.”
“Don’t worry,” said one wearing a commander’s steel gorget. “We’ll stop them.”
“No, you won’t,” muttered the Sash as they parted and flowed past us, but she said it soft enough that only I overheard. There looked to be more than a dozen of them, but I knew she was right; at most, the Rags would delay Degan and Shadow, not stop them. That delay would be long enough for us to get away, though.
“Nice job, sending them off to die,” I said as we moved forward again. “Is that standard procedure?”
“Shut up,” she said. The pressure against my back increased.
“No, really,” I said as we exited the street and cut across to a not-quite-parallel one. “That was well-done. I know some Upright Men who would have been impressed by that.”
“Shut
up
!”
She steered us down a narrow side alley. I could almost touch the walls on either side.
I took a deep breath, let it out. “You know,” I said, “if you ever get tired of working for the emperor, I can probably get you in with the Kin.”
That did it.
She roared and shoved me toward a wall with her free hand, intending to drive me into it, quite likely repeatedly. I spun with the push, though, and lashed out with my fist. On the downside, the punch didn’t land as solidly as I would have liked; on the upside, it hit her in the side of the neck. She staggered and started choking.
I bolted.
There was no way to get past her in the narrow space, so I headed in the opposite direction. I dodged piles of garbage and even kicked over a bucket of rainwater as I passed. Anything to make the footing worse and slow her down. Behind me, I heard cursing and the beginnings of a stumbling pursuit.
The alley exited onto the end of a rambling lane. There was a fence to my left; I headed right. After half a block, the lane widened enough to allow for a line of small trees down the middle. I cut to the left side of the avenue, hoping the trees would obscure me when the Sash finally came out of the alley.
Up ahead, I could see a corner wine bar, its light spilling out onto the street through the open door. A single table sat out under the trees. Even with the empire surrounding Ten Ways, someone was at the table, having a glass in the moonlight.
You had to admire the locals around here.
I swerved to give the table a wide berth and put on a last bit of speed. Around this corner, then a few more, and I’d be safe. After that, I could backtrack, help Degan, and deal with whatever came next.
Except what came next was a chair. It came flying in from the direction of the table, low and too fast for me to dodge. I leapt, anyhow, but the chair’s legs got tangled with my own, and I came crashing down hard. Something beneath me snapped, and it took me a frightening second to realize it had been the chair, and not me, doing the breaking.
A large shadow loomed over me. I blinked in the light as my night vision faded. The shadow resolved itself into a man with heavy shoulders and an iron gray fringe of hair poking out from beneath a gray flat cap. He smiled, showing small, even teeth, and pushed the cap back with a thick-fingered hand.
“Good thing for me I decided to have a drink out under the stars, eh?” said Iron Degan. “Otherwise I might’ve missed you. Speaking of which . . .” He looked back down the street. “Where’s your date?”
I groaned and began to gingerly shift myself off the remains of the chair. More aches and pains to add to the inventory, but nothing seemed broken or strained.
I rolled onto my hands and knees and ran a mental inventory. I was depressingly low on steel, which made the dagger at my belt the best option—not that any options are truly good when you’re facing a degan. I groaned again and inched my hand toward the blade.
“Don’t,” said Iron without taking his eyes off the street. “I’d hate for you to end up worse than you already are, but you will if you try to use that steel.”
I sighed, drew the dagger slowly, and tossed it at his feet. Damn degans.
I heard footsteps come running up, then slow, and finally stop. Hard breathing. I looked up. It was the White Sash.
“You seem to be light someone,” said Iron.
The Sash gestured at me. “He took Rambles down in the street.”
“And you left him there?”
“Considering Shadow and that other degan were coming after us, yes.”
Iron straightened up at that. “Interesting,” he said. “So who has Rambles now?”
“I sent a squad of Reds in,” she said. “If he’s smart, he got out of there while everyone else was busy.”
Iron shrugged. “Nothing to do for it now,” he said. “Rambles will come back or he won’t.” He bent down, laid a hand across my neck, and squeezed. I felt my head shift on my shoulders. “No running, now, you hear?” he said softly, as if cautioning a small child.
“I hear,” I said as he half lifted, half guided me to my feet.
“I’ll take him from here,” he said to the Sash. “Best you fade.”
“Hold on,” said the Sash. Her voice was sharp. “We’re done now, right? My end of the agreement is paid.”
“Done?” said Iron. He laughed like a pile of rocks falling over—hard and blunt. “Not even by half, Lyria. You think bringing me this sorry mess of a Nose makes us even? Hardly.”
“But—”
“No!” snapped Iron. “We don’t discuss this here. I’ll tell you when we’re even, understand?”
The Sash—Lyria—crossed her arms and cocked a hip in defiance. “Pretty damn convenient for you, then, isn’t it?”
Iron let go of my neck and stepped up to her. She was slightly taller, but it didn’t seem to make a difference to him.
I knew better than to run. Iron was fresher than me; making him catch me again would likely only piss him off. Besides, the conversation was just starting to get interesting.
“Degans,” said Iron slowly, “don’t break their word. We don’t rig a deal. And we don’t stand being questioned. Understood?”
Lyria’s lips pressed themselves into a narrow, bloodless line. “One more,” she said after a moment. “I owe you one more favor after this.”
“What you
owe
me,” said Iron, “is your word. We’ll see how long it takes to pay that back.”
Lyria looked past Iron to me. “I owe my word to someone else, too,” she said, running her hand along the white around her waist.
“That’s between you and the emperor,” said Iron. “But I don’t think he’s the one you ought to be worrying about right this instant, do you?”
Lyria’s hand crept to her own sword, then fell away. “One more, degan,” she said as she turned away. “Then my payback to you is done.”
Iron watched her go, shaking his head all the while. When she was out of sight, he walked back over to his chair and sat down.
I stood watching where Lyria had been. Iron Degan had exchanged the Oath with a White Sash? What the hell could he have done for her? More important, though—what was she doing for him, besides grabbing me?
Iron Degan pushed a bottle of wine across the table in my direction. “Here,” he said. “Have a drink before you say something stupid.”
I took a pull at the bottle. The wine was red and soft and peppery. I swirled it around in my mouth, then spit it out onto the nearest tree.
Iron chuckled. “Prefer whites, eh? My father said to never trust a man who drinks whites.”
“I don’t drink wine,” I said.
“Then I ought to cut your throat right now.” He laughed and took the bottle back. More wine went into his cup, then into him.
“So,” he said, staring into the cup, “how fares my sword brother Bronze?”
I fought to keep the concern off my face and out of my voice. “Fit. Dangerous. Probably on my trail,” I said. I hoped.
Truth be told, with a dozen Rags and Shadow thrown into the mix, I had no idea how Degan might be faring. I had seen him handle long odds before—but this? All it took was a lucky stroke or a random swing to change the equation. And Shadow probably still had some coins left over.
“As he should be,” said Iron. “He’s an Oath to uphold, after all.” Iron raised his eyes at my silence. “Surprised I know? Heh. Well, I didn’t until just now, but I suspected.” He took a long drink. “Bronze bound to you, and me to . . . well, someone else. No, I’m not going to enjoy resolving this one; he and I, we go back. Tell me, did he know I was involved in this before he took your Oath?”
I stared down at Iron Degan and made a show of crossing my arms. My back was beginning to ache where I had hit the street, but I leaned against the tree and tried to ignore it.
“Fair enough,” said Iron. “Frankly, I’d be disappointed if you said. But you ought to know this: We degans, we don’t fight one another—not if we can help it. If Bronze took your Oath knowing I might have to stand against him, then he’s the one in the wrong. Win or lose, he won’t be the Order’s favorite son when this is done. Remind him of that for me, in case you see him before I do; and I pray you do.”
“Same here.” I glanced back to where Lyria had been. “So that’s why you used her,” I said. “By sending her, you wouldn’t have to risk facing Deg—I mean, Bronze—when coming after me. Plus, who’s going to argue with a White Sash? Everyone would assume she was on imperial business.”
“They said you were clever. Aye, I used her for that, at least in part. As for the other reasons, well . . . Let’s just see how clever you turn out to be, hey?”
He drained his cup and set it on the table. “Now,” he said, his voice turning crisp, “we’d best get a move on. Don’t want to be late. You’ve been ‘requested,’ after all.”
“Requested?”
“By the lady herself, lad.” Iron Degan clapped me on the shoulder. “You’re going to see Solitude.”
Chapter Twenty-five
T
he house was large, well-appointed, and empty. Decorated with wrought-iron willow trees and laurel leaves, the gate to the street opened onto a summer garden not yet in bloom. A crushed-gravel path curved up from the gate to the front door, past budding trees and weed-crowded flower beds.
It was a gilt-ken—one of the fine, furnished houses that was rented out to country nobility when they came to court. These houses supposedly sat vacant the rest of the time, watched over by caretakers—except when the caretakers rented them out to well-heeled Kin. Gilt-kens usually played host to traveling games, flash whorehouses, or high-end cons, but I wasn’t surprised to learn that a Gray Prince might hire one out for meetings as well.
Iron led me along the path. I blinked, rubbed my eyes, blinked again. It had taken a while for us to slink out of Ten Ways and get across the city, and somewhere along the way the sun had come up. Now, the morning light reflected off the gravel path, making my eyes sting and blur.
It was leftovers from Shadow’s flash glimmer, I knew. While my night vision had come back, my eyes were still overly sensitive to light, much as they had been when I first got the gift from Sebastian. It would pass, I knew, but the question was how soon.
I blinked and squinted until we entered the shadow of the main entry. Iron opened the doors without knocking. The foyer beyond was small, with a tiled floor and dark wood covering the walls. It was cool inside. The only light came from a pair of small windows set high in the wall behind us.
I sighed for the shadows and felt some of the tension drain out of my neck and shoulders. Then I noticed the woman in the archway across from us.
Solitude looked different in person than in the dream. She had traded in the close-cut jerkin and hose for an unremarkable blue dress, and her hair was falling casually to her shoulders. There were the beginnings of small lines at the edges of her eyes and mouth—from laughing or frowning, I couldn’t tell—but the eyes themselves were still the same gold-sprinkled jade that would make any jeweler wring his hands in envy. Those eyes regarded me for a long moment before they turned to Iron.
“Well?” said Solitude.
Iron Degan stepped in close and spoke softly in her ear. Solitude’s eyes narrowed in response to what he said, but otherwise her face stayed a careful blank.
When he was done, Solitude turned and led us deeper into the house, the charms on her dress and in her hair tinkling softly through the empty spaces. I couldn’t help but notice that some of them were old pilgrim’s tokens.
Of course—I should have guessed earlier.
We passed through three rooms, each larger than the last, each filled with furniture covered by cloths. The rugs had all been rolled up and set aside, and the drapes were still drawn across the windows. The place smelled of dust and disuse.