Duskfall (34 page)

He’d sat there for a moment longer, his hand on her leg. Then, abruptly, he moved. To leave the room, she realized.
We’re married
, she wanted to say, j
ust
stay
with me.

She gripped his arm. “Stay,” she had whispered.

He breathed slowly in and out, and shook his head. Then he was gone, and she was alone.

* * *

Winter was alone, and suddenly she was back at the gallows, piercing armor, shredding flesh. She murdered soldier and civilian alike.

Winter couldn’t breathe. She threw off her blankets, despite her cold sweat. She rolled off the cot, falling to the stone floor. She had to get out. She crawled on her hands and knees to the doorway. With an effort, she lifted herself up, using the frame to steady herself. Her stomach heaved and she nearly vomited.

Winter did not know what hour of the night it was, but she knew she had to leave. She had to get out, and do
something
. She reached for her long wool cloak. One pocket concealed a dagger. Her remaining money was in the other. Winter donned the cloak, her muscles aching, and stumbled out into the hallway, towards the secret passageway that led up to the city.

* * *

There were no stars. No light that she could see. Winter remembered the old saying, suddenly coming back to her in full force.
There are daemons even daemons fear.

Winter could almost believe such a thing. The vampire girl might even be some form of twisted proof. But that meant nothing; the girl was cursed, nothing more. Monsters were no more real than Canta, and daemons were nothing more than people. She herself was living proof.

Something strange had happened to the priestess, Cinzia, at the meeting earlier. Winter had seen the green flames reaching out of the hearth. She had heard the woman’s voice, strangely deep and amplified. It hadn’t been Canta. No, Winter couldn’t believe that. Some crude joke, a special dust thrown on the fire. Thinking of Cinzia’s strange revelation, or whatever it was, only made Winter angry. It only made her think of her wedding, and her father. This priestess had been kind to her, attending her while she recovered. But it meant little; she was still a part of the religion that had destroyed Winter’s life.

Winter forced her anger from her mind, and put one foot in front of the other. At least she could move; this morning she’d barely felt capable of rising out of bed. As she walked through the night, through the city, she felt stronger. Invigorated.

Winter realized she knew exactly where she was going. She looked over her shoulder, making sure no one followed as she walked towards the market district. The streets were empty. Winter had heard the others talking about how quiet the streets had been since the event in the Circle Square. And, now—Winter guessed it was around midnight, perhaps later—there wasn’t a soul to be seen. The market district would be just as empty, but Winter knew that. Her course took her past the market, towards the slums. Anticipation writhed in her chest.

Most of the merchants in the market district had long since closed up their stalls for the night, but a few were still open when Winter arrived, catering to late-night customers. Produce and woodcarving shops were closed, and bars and fortune-tellers’ stands were open. Street-side sellers, shouting the superiority of their wares, had retired; prostitutes, selling themselves silently, had emerged. Winter pulled her hood over her face. Her palms were slick, despite the chilly night.

Down an alley, an offshoot from the main market district, she saw hollow faces and wasted limbs. Haunted eyes stared through her and into the burn, the high, that in some cases was probably the only thing that kept these people alive.

Winter looked away. If she could find what she sought, she could make her pain go away.

Winter saw a man in a long, hooded cloak, standing half in shadow. She approached, her steps even. The man’s eyes locked on her, and he shrank back with suspicion.

“I’m looking for something powerful,” she said. “I can pay.”

The man looked at her for a moment, his dark eyes flickering. “How powerful?” he finally asked. “I have hero and grit.” He eyed her, and she stopped herself from cringing at his stare; he drank her in ravenously. “For you… a silver piece each. They’ll keep you going all night.”

“No,” she said. “Something stronger. Something that will
burn
.”
Time to see if Nash was telling the truth about finding it on the street.

The man shook his head. “I don’t carry any of that,” he said. “Talk to Mazille. Two alleys over. A hole in the wall.”

Winter walked quickly, feeling the excitement swell within her. She didn’t want to be gone too long. She would prefer not to have to lie.

Winter glanced into the next alley, but it was empty except for a few huddled forms. She moved to the next, and saw a yellow glow coming from a small doorway. She moved towards the light and looked into a small room, rapping her fist lightly on the wooden frame.

“Mazille?” Winter asked. Two small lanterns hung from the ceiling illuminating a small shop. There were intricately carved pipes, vials, and other glass and wooden containers on shelves, along with stranger objects—a metal vase with tubes running from it, a strangely curved knife with grooves and weird runes carved into the blade.

“Can I help you, child?”

Winter looked up. She tried to hide her surprise at the very old, very fat tiellan woman before her. The woman’s pointed ears protruded from shining silver hair, and her face was wrinkled and ancient. Most tiellans could barely find enough food to survive, let alone grow fat; this woman was outrageously large.

The old tiellan’s eyes, almost hidden in folds of skin, were deep and black. Just like Winter’s. Dark eyes were not common in tiellans. It was odd to see someone with the same trait.

“Someone told me to come find you,” Winter said quietly. “I’m looking for something powerful.”

The old woman shook her head, waving Winter away. “Sorry, child. You’ve come to the wrong place.”

Winter shook her head. She didn’t have a lot of time. “I mean something
really
powerful. Something that will make me burn.”

The woman stopped, her arm in midair, folds of fat undulating back and forth underneath. She brought her arm down and grinned.

“I thought I sensed it in you,” she said, through missing teeth and thick lips. “I know how strong the pull can be. Lucky, that you were led here. I carry the purest
faltira
in the north.”

Winter tasted blood. The woman was using psimancy. Winter realized, suddenly, how vulnerable she was. Nash and Kali had told her that she was the first tiellan psimancer in generations. Had they lied to her? Winter supposed it was possible that a human psimancer could be nearby; that could be what she sensed.

“You can pay?” Mazille asked.

Winter reached into the pocket of her cloak. “How much?”

A small crystal floated up and onto the wooden counter. Winter stared at the
faltira
. She tasted blood and iron strongly, now. It wasn’t some nearby human using psimancy—Mazille was a telenic, she was sure.

“A gold mark for this one,” the woman said, eying the small crystal. Her eyes moved to Winter expectantly.

Winter looked from the woman’s wrinkled face to the frost. One wouldn’t do. She needed more. “Is this all you have? I can pay for more.”

The woman frowned, but then Winter saw another five crystals—five!—levitate up and onto the counter, lining up perfectly with the first. Winter eyed the
faltira
eagerly. Nash and Kali had only ever allowed her to carry one crystal at a time. Her mouth watered at the power before her. Winter felt as weightless as the crystals themselves. She could almost feel the high taking her already.

“Ten marks for all of them,” Mazille said.

Winter gasped. “Ten marks? You said one crystal was one mark, how can you—”

“I set the prices how I want ’em.”

Winter frowned at the crystals. She had about twenty marks left, and some silver, but that was all of her money. She didn’t know how much Knot had, or how much it would take to get to Roden. She wasn’t sure how she could justify spending half of everything she had all at once.

“What are their strengths?” Winter asked, mind racing.

“All full capacity,” Mazille said. “Manufactured by an expert here in Navone. She knows what she’s doing, this alchemist. They’re almost pure; you can see they’re nearly without blemish.”

Winter looked closely at the crystals. Nash had taught her that she could tell frost’s purity by its clarity. The purer the dose, the more powerful it was, and the longer it lasted. And the greater the high, of course. These crystals were almost clear, only the barest trace of cloudiness in each.

Winter tried to hide her eagerness. “How much for four of them?” she asked tentatively.

The old tiellan lady paused for a minute, contemplating the crystals on the counter. Then she looked up at Winter.

“One or all,” she said, her voice low. “One mark or ten.”

Winter swore. She looked at the crystals. She should just buy one. That’s what she
should
do. One mark for a crystal didn’t seem a bad price, especially for this kind of clarity. But the thought of having them all at once made her giddy. Who knew the next time she would be able to find the drug? Winter didn’t know whether it even existed in Roden.

Sweat formed on Winter’s brow, beneath her armpits, ran down her back. She pulled ten marks from her purse and dropped them on the counter. Mazille’s eyes widened.

She didn’t expect me to pay for so many
, Winter realized.
She thought I could only pay for one.

Quickly, Winter reached for the crystals. She wouldn’t let the woman go back on the deal now. But, even more quickly than she reached for them, the woman’s hand snapped out and latched on to hers, stopping it in midair.

“Be careful with them, girl. You are young in the power, and susceptible to its darkness. Watch yourself. Don’t let it consume you.”

Winter frowned.
I
know
the nature of power. I don’t need you to tell me about it.
Winter put the frost into her pocket, keeping one crystal in her hand. She looked at the woman and their eyes met. She turned away. The old tiellan whispered something, but Winter didn’t hear what it was. She walked into the alley and placed a frost crystal in her mouth.

In moments, she felt the power surging through her veins. Ice and fire, pain and elation. She leaned against a building. And for that moment, she was home, and she was free. Free from the horrors of what she’d done. Free from the confusion of what was happening between her and Knot. Free from the pain that had clawed at her heart since the day her father had been killed.

For just a moment, Winter floated blissfully within
faltira
’s high, feeling the flame course through her veins, shivering as the frost kissed her skin. This was peace, Winter realized. The only peace she’d ever known. This was power.

She didn’t know how long it took for her to start walking again. She would make her way back to the caverns, eventually, but for now, she needed to wander.

It took a few moments for Winter to realize she was being followed. She saw him, spotting him out of the corner of her eye as she walked down an empty street. She turned a corner, trying to find a busier area, but there was no one about. She needed to get back to the cavern.

Winter looked over her shoulder. Sure enough, the figure was there. A man, she could see now. Tiellan, short and thin, wearing a long cloak that could easily hide a dagger or even a small sword. Had Mazille sent someone after her?

Winter looked around. The alley was narrow, and empty apart from a few loose cobbles. Not the ideal place to pick a fight, but Winter could imagine worse. And, right now, there was only the one man following her. Winter stopped and turned.

The man following her wasn’t fazed. He continued towards her. She could make out his face, gaunt and thin, his chin long and pointed. The man opened his coat, and pulled out a long dagger. Winter tasted iron.

Another psimancer.

Winter reached out a
tendron
, picking up one of the loose cobbles, and hurled it at the man. The stone veered away and clattered harmlessly off a wall.

Winter forced down panic. She’d never faced another telenic before, but Nash had told her how to sense another’s
tendra
. What had he said? Seeing with one’s mind, rather than with one’s eyes. Winter still wasn’t sure what that meant, and she didn’t think she would have time to test it.

The man was almost on her now, dagger glinting, so Winter lifted two more stones and pushed them up, keeping hold of them instead of flinging them, and smashed them together on either side of the man’s head. Winter felt something assault her grip on one of the stones, but it wasn’t enough to make her let go. The man in front of her collapsed to the ground as his skull crunched between the stones. Winter’s mouth still tasted strongly of blood. This man was not the telenic.

Winter saw no one else. Above her was only a sliver of dark sky and the tops of the buildings on either side.

Winter didn’t know how she thought to do it, other than that her body simply turned around and picked the dead man up by his clothes, shielding herself. She heard a series of thuds, and watched as four fist-sized stones fell to the ground in front of her.

Her attacker was hiding, and Winter wouldn’t be able to fight him that way. There was only one option.

Winter ran.

She ran as fast as she could down the alley. For a moment, she felt herself being lifted off the ground, felt her cloak and dress pulling up against her, but she cut the
tendra
tugging on them with her own, just as Nash had taught her. Winter felt her
tendra
come in contact with something, and then she crashed to the ground and took off running once more. Another attempt to lift her up, but Winter cut the
tendra
off again, just as she felt something pelt her in the back. The space between her shoulders ached but she kept running until the blood taste disappeared from her mouth.