Duskfall (40 page)

And, if that was the case, perhaps Jane’s claims were not so outrageous.

Do you realize what you are implying?
Cinzia asked herself. She did not pursue the question further. It scared her far too much.

“Cinzia, are you listening to me?” Jane stretched. “Goddess rising,” she said, through a yawn, “one would think you would concentrate on such an important task a bit more.”

Cinzia pursed her lips. “I have much on my mind, sister.”

“Of course. Sorry. But as I was saying, even the name differences between the Codex and what you were taught can be significant. The distance traveled by a door at its hinge is short, but the distance at its very edge is far greater. So it could be with these differences. Ripples create waves. Small things, in the end, can go a long way.”

Cinzia raised her eyebrows. Then she laughed. Jane frowned, but Cinzia could not help it.

“Listen to you,” Cinzia said, getting control of herself but still smiling. “You sound just like one of the old matrons. Or worse, like Priestess Joyca, when we were little girls!”

Jane’s frown deepened, but Cinzia knew it covered a smile.

“You should have listened to your matrons more closely,” Jane said. “And Joyca was a good woman. Not the most engaging, perhaps, but she meant well.”

“Not
engaging
? She could put the entire city to sleep with her sermons. We used to say that only someone with her goodness could wield such power. Anyone else would have used it for evil!”

Now Jane didn’t even try to hide her smile. From behind the makeshift curtain, Cinzia heard Kovac’s voice. “I wish someone would use it on you two right now. It’s bloody late, if you’ll forgive my saying.”

Cinzia and Jane stared at each other for a moment, wide-eyed. Then they burst into laughter.

* * *

Two hours later, Cinzia rubbed her eyes, tired from reading. They had continued translating through the night despite Kovac’s comment, and managed to get through almost fifty pages. They were nearing the end of the book of Elessa, although it had said nothing about the Disciple Elessa in it yet, and remained very similar to what Cinzia knew from the seminary.

Andara and Ellendre created the Sfaera for all the souls to live on, with Canta’s assistance. Then came Erit and Arali’s Betrayal and the Ruin, and the Imprisonment of Gods and the Day of Daemons.

Questions resurfaced in Cinzia’s mind as they translated—things she had always wondered about during her time in the seminary, but to which she had never found answers. Why did Ellendre and Andara not see the Betrayal beforehand? They were all-powerful and omniscient, but they did nothing in anticipation of the Betrayal, which they either must not have foreseen, or
had
foreseen and still did nothing. Cinzia was not sure which scenario disturbed her more.

And the organization of the Praeclaran existence still confused her. She knew the Gods resided in Praeclara, but what did they
do
there? Just sit around? There had to be a purpose. Otherwise it seemed far closer to Oblivion.

Cinzia turned a page. More on the Day of Daemons, and something about the Nine Daemons themselves. Cinzia sat up. She remembered brief mentions of the Nine Daemons at seminary, but little detail had been given. Cinzia had been terribly curious about them.

Cinzia was ravenous for more. Her curiosity commanded her, and she craved the knowledge almost like a drug. But there was another reason, one that was beginning to frighten her.

She loved the sense of power.

Ever since her vision in Navone, she had felt more in control. The feeling had grown stronger as she translated. But she still wondered why Jane had not brought up the vision. Perhaps because, up to that point, Jane had been the only conduit. There was more than a little pride involved, if Jane was anything like the girl Cinzia remembered.

She glanced at Jane, who had abandoned her seat at the desk to lie back against the bed at Cinzia’s feet, staring up at the ceiling. Jane looked tired. And her hand must be hurting from hours of writing. Cinzia remembered similar pain after the seemingly endless essays she wrote at the seminary.

“Shall we call it a night?” Cinzia asked. She wanted to keep going, but she did not want to press Jane too hard. Her sister had the more difficult part, as far as Cinzia was concerned.

Jane breathed deeply. “No,” she said, stretching her hand. “I brought candles for a reason. We might as well use some more of them.”

“You should not work yourself too hard.”

Jane smiled as she sat back at the desk. “I’ll be fine. I can never work too hard in Canta’s service.”

“You will not be sore in the morning?”

“I’m sore now. Might as well keep going, yes?”

Just like the Jane that Cinzia remembered. “We might as well,” she said. She stood and peeked around the sheet. Kovac had finally fallen asleep in the chair, breathing softly. Cinzia smiled. “Why did you not tell me he was asleep?” she whispered. She reached for an extra blanket. “He might be cold.” Cinzia gently laid the blanket on her Goddessguard. One of them should sleep at least.

My Goddessguard
, Cinzia thought fondly, though the thought was marred by another.

If I can even still call him that.

“Where did we leave off?” Jane asked.

Cinzia returned to the bed and opened the book. “I remember exactly,” she said.

“‘And in the eleventh year of the Day of Daemons,’” Cinzia read, “‘the Nine Daemons arose in the Sfaera…’”

They did not stop until early morning.

W
HEN
W
INTER AWOKE, HER
first thought was not of the man sleeping next to her, but of the frost she had seen the night before.

She pulled the blankets more tightly around her and turned to look at Knot. In the darkness she could just barely see the outline of his body. His chest rose and fell.

She sat up and leaned her head against the wall behind them. What had she done? Last night had been a mess; first the conversation with Lian, then taking frost—for the second time that day, and for no reason at all—and then Knot, and what he had found in the safebox, and who he was…

An assassin. Winter had never seen him hurt anyone until the wedding. She knew of a confrontation with some men in Pranna, once, but she hadn’t been there. She had only heard stories, and even then hardly believed them. The Knot she knew was kind, quiet, gentle. The Knot she had known since their wedding night was the same, she realized. He just had a side to him that… wasn’t. A side that killed people, and was really,
really
good at it.

That’s one thing we have in common
.

Winter hadn’t intended to sleep with him; she hadn’t thought he would accept her advances, even in the moment. Part of her didn’t regret it, was glad they had finally consummated their marriage; it was about time, he was her
husband
, for Canta’s sake. Tiellans were nothing if not dutiful.

But another part of her felt dead. She had hoped their first time would be special. Now it was something she hardly remembered among the knot of complicated, confusing emotions, and the physical pain. Eranda had told Winter her first time might hurt. Maybe the first few times. Winter touched her stomach, pressing gently as her fingers moved down. Dull pain pulsed between her legs.

There had been a moment during the night, as Knot laid her gently on the bed and moved on top of her, that Winter’s mind suddenly returned to that night, in Cineste, in the alleyway. She almost panicked, then. But she forced herself to breathe, to fight through the horror and pain, and she focused on the discomfort of the moment. There had been pleasure last night, too, but it was difficult to find amidst everything else.

Beside her, Knot stirred. Winter watched him, but his breathing continued, steady and even. She looked at the window. The shutters were drawn, only darkness through the slats. Not sunrise yet. Her eyes returned to Knot.

She had thought that all she wanted was to find him, to start their lives together for better or for worse. Now she had found him she felt nothing.

Her eyes focused on the crystals Knot had shown her the night before, scattered across the floor. She was sure they were frost. Lian had said Knot was a psimancer. These crystals supported that, although Knot claimed to not know what they were. Winter would have sensed him, if he was using psimancy. She would have tasted blood, but she hadn’t.

The crystals from Knot’s pack were right there, within reach. Had he counted them? Would he know if one was missing? Or two, or three? A few of the floorboards had cracks between them. They could have slipped through. Winter could tell him that, if he even asked.

The crystals were so close, so easy to take, and Knot wouldn’t even know. She shouldn’t take one now, there was no reason for it. It would be a waste.

Except for the fact that she
wanted
one.

Slowly, Winter pushed the covers away, trying not to disturb the blankets on Knot’s side. The bedframe creaked and Winter froze, her hair falling in front of her eyes. She brushed it back, listening for Knot stirring. When she was sure he hadn’t woken, she continued her slow, laborious movement off the bed. Soon she was standing in the middle of the room, the air cold against her skin. She reached down and picked up one of the crystals. She stared at it, turning it over in her hands. The dim light of early dawn was beginning to leak around the shutters, bathing the room in a soft blue-gray hue. Then, before she had registered what she was doing, Winter put the frost in her mouth and swallowed.

She was reaching for the other crystals when Knot’s voice startled her.

“Good morning.”

Winter nearly jumped out of her skin. She turned to see Knot sitting up in bed, staring at her. He yawned. “It
is
morning, ain’t it?”

When did he wake up?
Winter wondered.
Why didn’t I hear him?

She was suddenly very aware of how naked she was. She reached for the nearest thing to cover herself—Knot’s cloak. She was grateful the room was still mostly dark so Knot couldn’t see her flushed cheeks.

Then the effects of the frost hit her, and Winter nearly dropped the cloak. She breathed deeply, letting the pleasure burn. Excitement filled her—now she had three more crystals.

And not just any crystals. Nash claimed the Nazaniin had the best alchemists in the world. Their frost was the purest in the Sfaera, and the most powerful. Winter could feel that power coursing through her.

“I was just… starting to pack,” she said. “We kind of made a mess of things.”

In so many ways.

“Guess we did,” Knot said.

Even with the euphoria of the frost, Winter still didn’t want to drop the cloak. Shame burned within her as hot as the drug. And something was wrong. This dose
was
powerful, there was no denying that. But the elation that had once accompanied frost seemed to have lessened; the pleasure was not as sharp.

Winter watched Knot, not sure what to do. She wished she could see his face more clearly, could know what he was thinking.

“We’d better get going,” Knot said. “Should be on the road when the sun rises.”

Winter nodded, standing there awkwardly, the cloak pressed against her body. Knot rose, heedless of his own nakedness. He stretched, and began rummaging through his things. His body was lean; muscle and sinew stood out as he moved. She had always thought the way he moved was odd, like a cat. Watching him move now, without any clothing, made her even more curious. She knew what he could do with that body, in more ways than one.

Why doesn’t he feel self-conscious?
Winter wondered. She wanted to feel careless around him, the way he seemed to feel. But it seemed impossible.

In no time at all Knot was dressed. Winter wrapped the cloak around herself more tightly.

“I’ll make sure the others are awake,” he said. She looked at him through long strands of her hair. He looked as if he were about to say something more, but instead he sighed, and kissed her on the forehead. Then he turned, and left.

Winter stood, staring at the door.

* * *

They left the city shortly after the sun rose over the gulf. The weather was not as cold as it had been in Khale, but the clear sky made for a chilly day. The padded leather that Winter wore kept her warm enough, although she wished she could wear her
siara
, if only to provide further protection against the chill. Instead, she pulled her cloak more tightly around her body, and walked on.

“Here on out, we follow the river,” Knot told them, his staff thudding against the path as they walked. “It’ll lead us to Izet. The capital. Hopefully, the place where all this’ll end.”

The wide river he spoke of flowed to Winter’s right, the water gray and swift—her father’s fishing boat could fit end-to-end at least twice across. It seemed to have sliced its way through the hills; to the right of the path was a sheer drop down to the water of at least two rods. Knot had called it the River Arden. He had said it was glacier-fed, flowing down from the Stone Glacier in the Sorensan Mountains. A thick pine forest rose to the left of the path.

Winter found herself caressing the crystals in her pouch. She had five left, including the three she had taken from Knot’s stash that morning. The voidstone that Nash and Kali had given her was still there as well, though they had never taught her how to use it. Winter wondered whether she would ever learn, now, though the thought was fleeting—she had frost, after all. What use was a silly little stone? But she had to make the crystals last. She couldn’t take them whenever she wanted, let alone two in one day as she had yesterday. She had to control herself. Who knew when she would be able to find more?

She wondered what she was becoming. She could see the addicts in Cineste clearly in her mind’s eye. Winter shivered. She did not want to become like those people. And she wouldn’t. She could stop. Would she be able to concentrate better without frost on her mind all the time? Perhaps. She would definitely be able to contribute her remaining money to the group funds if she didn’t have to reserve them for frost, though the money Knot had found last night seemed more than enough to get them to Izet. Thinking about life without frost, Winter wondered whether her relationship with Knot wouldn’t be easier, too. Things with Lian certainly would be. But whether she liked it or not, she could not live without it.