Invincible (34 page)

Ink appeared in a flash, the razor held just under Hasp's throat.

“Then
you
die,” Ink said.

Hasp swallowed, the knobby Adam's apple bobbing under the steel. “You swore you would not interfere.”

“I will not interfere if you choose to kill him, but once he is dead, then I am free to act as I wish and so you will die soon after.”

Hasp smiled. “Won't bring him back,” he whispered. Ink corkscrewed the blade on the edge of his smile.

“Nor you,” Ink said. “I can kill you.”

“Can you?”

“Yes,” Ink ground his teeth. “I have killed our own before.”

“Stop!” Joy shouted. She'd caused this. She'd forced Ink here. And she knew how this would end.

Death. Killing. Blood. Guilt.

Remember: he will be learning about everything, watching you.

“It will kill you!” Joy said, her words loud in the cache. “What you are asking for—it will do more than kill you. You will cease to exist.”

Ink froze, every muscle caught unawares. Hasp's smile drooped to an uncertain frown. His hands tightened on Ilhami. “You lie!”

“I can't lie,” Joy said. “You know that. I am part of the Twixt.”

Ink stared at Joy as the aether sprite struggled with the news. She couldn't meet his eyes, staring instead at the smooth slate wall that had once held all of Aniseed's stolen
signaturae
, a map of marks, the blueprint of her plan to cull humanity from the world. Joy had written her own hours of operation on it in chalk before Ink had found her here and found her out. And now this, her last confession.
So many secrets.
These walls knew too much about her.

“No,” Hasp croaked finally. “You are
lehman
, ex-
lehman
, half-breed, Earth-claimed, but you are still mortal—I can smell it on you.” His slit nostrils flared as if to prove his point. His face had gone pale, his many knuckles white. “You are human and you lie!”

He lifted Ilhami's body with preternatural strength, a meat shield between himself and Ink. Ilhami's head lolled back sickeningly. Hasp swelled with effort, his shoulders straining, gaze locked on Joy, mad, desperate. He was going to tear the Turkish artist limb from limb.

“Stop!” Joy screamed, hands up. “I'll do it!” She held up the scalpel and steadied her breath. “Okay? I'll do it. Put him down. Okay.”

Ink blinked, confused, his breathing tight. “Joy?”

“You swear it?” Hasp said, tense, on the brink. “You swear it on your life?”

Joy wiped at her face. “My life. His life. My father's life. Whatever you want,” she said. She pointed up the blocky steps. “But let them go,” she said, turning to Ink.
Please. Please go
. “Take Ilhami and go.”

Ink hesitated, shoulders back, standing tall. “I cannot,” he said. It wasn't a lie. “I am a witness.” Joy knew and knew it was true. He had pledged to be present in order to fulfill the rules or fate or whatever magic bound them together. Ink was committed to bear witness to this in accordance to the Accords of the Twixt. It was as if everything had been pointing to this moment between them, when all the secrets came out.

“Damn,” she whispered, missing her heart, missing her chance. “Damn you.” And while she really meant it, it felt more like
Damn me
because she knew what would happen next and there was no turning from it. Fate unflowered like a many-petaled lotus; as if it were happening to someone else, as if it had happened already, and Joy was only just remembering it now. Too late.

Time slowed down for déjà vu.

Tears pooled in her eyes as she nodded. The two combatants eased apart. Ink was chagrined and Hasp was triumphant, but she knew that neither would be so for long. Hasp unwound his fingers, a heady smirk on his face. Ilhami fell to the floor with a
thud
. Ink stepped aside as Hasp squatted on the ground, tipping his head back, yielding his throat to her knife, his tennis-ball eyes slipping closed. Joy remembered Ysabel, her yielding and trust. Freeing her had felt nothing like this.

Joy touched the tip of the scalpel to the edge of the hook, tracing the tightly wound glyph carefully around its many switchbacks squeezed like a button beneath Hasp's pointy chin. She could feel Ink's hot, burning gaze as she watched her own fingers, white on the handle, follow the blaze of undoing, unmaking it—erasing it—as the sigil neared the central point. It was the spot on which Hasp's
signatura
balanced, encompassing the whole of who he was, what he had pledged to be for his people, witnessed by the King and Queen, and that which he'd broken when he'd disobeyed their Decree.

Joy realized she didn't know what his crime had been.

She hesitated. Tears blurred her vision. The scalpel trembled. Furious, Hasp hissed through his teeth.

“Finish it!”

Obediently, she drew the final curve, imagining Hasp on his knees, prostrate before the Council as his great wings were torn from his body. How long had he lived as an outcast? How long had he suffered in the toxic, polluted air? When had Briarhook found him, lost in the woods? How had he been bribed to Aniseed's side as she promised a Golden Age, without humans? How that had happened—no one would ever know.

The
signatura
flared and Hasp, grinning, disappeared.

Joy dropped to the floor on her hands and knees and sobbed.

TWENTY-SEVEN

JOY DIDN'T NEED
to see Ink to know he stood behind her. She didn't need to see the naked blade to know that it was there.

“I told him,” she whispered again and again through salty lips. “I told him.”

“Yes,” Ink said flatly. “You did.” His voice came closer, barely a breath by her ear. “Now you must tell me.”

She didn't face him. Kneeling, penitent, she was a child on her knees confessing her greatest sin to the voice of God.

“I erased his
signatura
,” she said. “It wasn't a mark he'd been given or a scar or a glyph—it's his Name.” She took a breath that shuddered in the back of her throat. “If I erase a True Name, then that person is erased completely, as if they'd never been.” The words themselves were like cracks, truth slipping between the lies. This was her last shred of armor, gone.

Ink hovered just beside her. “You knew this would happen?”

“I
told
him—”

“But you knew,” he said. “You knew that this would happen.”

“Yes.”

“Because it happened before.”

Joy nodded. “Yes, but that was an accident. I didn't know.”

“The Red Knight?” he guessed.

“Yes.”

“You went after him,” Ink's voice filled the cache, crisp and clear. “To stop him. To save me. But you didn't know that this would happen then?”

She shook her head.

“This time you did.”

His voice was more distant, withdrawn. Joy felt like crying all over again, but the tears were gone. Her eyes were dry and scratchy-swollen. She hadn't known what would happen when she'd trapped the assassin with Briarhook's fast-growing seeds nor what would happen when she carved the Red Knight's True Name into his armor. She'd thought it would lock the magic, keep his incarnations set to one Name; instead, it had negated everything he was and left her alone in the briar.

This time Hasp had willingly given her his
signatura
, demanding she erase it—but she knew it amounted to the same thing. She felt dirty and guilty and wicked that she had wanted it. Wanted it to be over. Wanted him to be gone. What kind of person did that make her? Or was she even a person at all? Was she still human or had she changed too much, gone too far? Without a heart, had she become heartless? Something other than human?

“You've denied him Faeland,” Ink said. “Now he can never return.”

Joy covered her face, miserable beyond words.

She felt Ink's arms around her, shielding her as if from the
bain sidhe
, his hands on her back and in her hair, whispering fervently into the space between her shoulder and chin.

“Tell me,” he whispered. “Tell me something I can believe in.”

She knew what he wanted—something that could save her, some sort of proof, something he could use to excuse her crime so that he would not have to protect the Twixt from her. Ink knew what he should do—what he'd been created to do—and what he most wanted to do, which was to love her, to keep her safe. All he needed was a loophole. Fortunately, she knew one.

“Sometimes we must choose immediately unpleasant things in order to prevent greater unpleasantness.”

The words hung between them like a string of fairy lights, connecting the past to the present and to a possible future. They had been his words to her, echoed from her mouth to his; it had always been the way between them—his, hers, and ultimately, theirs. Memory wavered in his eyes, testing his resolve; she could see it in the way his face could not commit to one expression.
What would he choose to believe?

Ink smiled sadly. One dimple.

“Yes,” he said, relaxing. “That is true.” He cupped a palm against her face. “And you warned him, tried to stop him, and cried afterward in remorse. You spoke no lies, you did not deceive him, but even given the truth, he would not believe you.” Ink rested his forehead against hers and took a cleansing breath. “I believe you,” he said. “And I believe in you.”

Joy flung her arms around him and rocked in his embrace, grateful for him and them, and being together, for honesty, for love and for being alive.

It was over, finally over, and all the secrets between them were over and done.

* * *

They returned Ilhami to Inq at Enrique's old apartment. She greeted them with four words:

“The Bailiwick is back.”

Ink changed direction, grabbing Joy's hand as they stepped back into the breach, Inq calling out behind them, “I'll meet you there!”

* * *

It was strange walking through the brownstone's foyer, but it wasn't the cream-colored walls, the wingback chairs or the fresh flower arrangement that had changed in any way—it was the flat chill Joy felt upon entering the building, a feeling that she was no longer welcome.

Ink and Inq flanked her, arms out, weapons raised—a razor, a scalpel and a dowsing rod. They were following their final clue, confirming the origin of the spell-coated pearls, the last clue to ousting the traitor in their midst.

Inq nodded. “It's him.”

Before they neared the ironwood office doors, a booming voice filled the hall.

“Welcome, Miss Malone, Mistress Inq, Master Ink,” Graus Claude's calm bass rumbled in greeting as Inq flung the doors open with a ripple of air. The Bailiwick sat composed at his desk, four arms crossed. “Do excuse the impropriety,” he said as Filly stepped smoothly in front of them, barring the way. “My butler's gone out.”

Joy's stomach curdled in dread. She hated herself for suspecting him, for being fooled, for not being surprised, and hated most the feeling that Graus Claude had been expecting something like this for some time.

She'd never done well with “something like this.”

“Well met, Joy Malone,” Filly said, fists resting on hips. “Here now, I finally have a secret—” She grinned.
“Yours.”

Ink dropped, ducking fast, fading to one side and launching forward. Filly stepped back, an effortless dodge, punching snake-quick into the inside of his shoulder before Joy could blink. Inq grabbed her and pulled her back into the hall.

The Valkyrie smiled. Ink didn't.

Ink grabbed the outside of her elbow, pushing up and twisting it over, her knuckles ground into his chest as she kicked sharply, collapsing his leg behind the knee and forcing him to the floor. His back bent gracefully, her force swinging past him, her vambrace just tapping him, grazing his chin. Filly's cape of finger bones clattered as she wrenched sideways. Ink shifted to compensate, both of them pitching for balance, forearms braced against one another's, weapons drawn, but neither used.

They were at a standoff, arms locked. It had taken a moment, if that.

Filly grinned. “You capped your off switch.”

“Of course,” he said. “Why did you do it?”

“Hit you? I know that look in your eye,” she said. “That's when the fun starts!”

He switched his grip, clasping her forearm, trapping her elbow and pulling her taut as she drove forward, grabbing his shirt, wrenching a fistful of fabric against his throat and winding it tight. They both stopped, their faces within inches, his razor and her sword reversed, but not forgotten.

A ripple of air hummed an angry wood-chipper whine. Filly slammed her left forearm against her thigh, popping her buckler clasp and grabbing the edge, spinning it like a discus toward Inq's head. Inq ducked back behind the ironwood. The small shield smashed on impact. Joy flinched, still gaping at the traitor, her friend.

“Are we having fun yet?” Filly's question sounded like a last warning. Ink spun, ducking under her arm, loosening his collar and slipping beneath her shoulder, twisting and appearing under her chin. They froze, each with a blade below the other's ear.

“Why did you buy Joy's secret?” he asked.

A crinkle appeared between the warrior's blond brows. “Is
that
what this is all about?” She huffed and pushed Ink backward with a dismissive swipe. He recovered, waiting. There was not even a scratch by his ear.

Filly rotated her wrists and straightened the horse head pendant at her throat as Joy and Inq stepped warily into the office. The Valkyrie snorted, completely ignoring the low buzz of Inq's palm. She pierced Joy with a look. “I did it to protect you.”

Joy felt all eyes on her. The Valkyrie's words made no sense. “What?”

Filly rolled her shoulders and tossed her head of braids. “I keep my ears open, which isn't hard hanging with the hags in the Halls, but when your name came up on the black market auction, I paid special attention. But a Black Auction means that no one knows who's at the table until the deal is done, and a bought secret stays locked between the buyer and seller to keep secrets secret and identities blind.” She sniffed and licked the blue spot beneath her lip. “Normally, I'd leave such matters to the frog, but since the old wart's been indisposed, I figured I'd keep a hand in the game.” She set her feet apart, still wary, still positioning herself between the door and the Bailiwick, still ready to fight or bolt. “And when I heard what you said to the King and Queen, I remembered who was still crawling around out there and I knew she'd stop at nothing to get a hold over you.”

Joy breathed, “Aniseed.”

Filly nodded grimly. “That sticky witch wants to prevent the Imminent Return,” she said. “The moment that they cross through the Bailiwick, the Twixt will recognize their rule and none shall stand against them. If Aniseed wants to seize her second chance, she'll have to do it quickly and so she'll have to stop you first.” Filly grinned with pride. “She knows the Return has something to do with you, because you keep tripping her spellwire every time you traipse down the toad's gullet.”

Joy stumbled. It made sense. “The last golem came after me once the graftling was gone,” she said. “It must have still been connected to the spell on the stairs.”

“So you bought Joy's secret so that Aniseed could not have it,” Inq said, her hand ceasing its malicious quiver. She flicked her black lacquered nails thoughtfully at the warrior woman. “Well done!”

Filly shrugged at the compliment. “My thought was that she would not be able to make the Market on her own and would have to send one of her lackeys given her pitiful state.” She buckled her left vambrace back into place. “It bought me time once we got back. Fortunately, I know the black market well—although you didn't hear it from me!”

“Nonsense,” Graus Claude grumbled from his throne. His prominent browridge had furrowed, his hands fidgeting with the things on the desk. “She's dead. Aniseed's dead. The graftling's dead. You're all chasing phantoms, blaming ghosts.” He wiped double sets of his hands with a napkin. “Too young to survive and too stubborn to submit—she's lost, I tell you,” he said with a hint of regret. “She's gone.”

Joy shook her head, unable to begin to say how wrong he was, how deep his denial, but then again, she'd felt the same stubborn disbelief when forced to question his or Filly's loyalties.

“Show me the body,” Filly challenged, casting sly eyes back at Joy. “Even then, I'd admit I'd still have doubts.”

“Graus Claude,” Joy said. “She lives.” Her tone was all truth. “Trust me, she lives.”

The Bailiwick deflated, speechless and pale.

“There now,” Filly said, jerking her chin. “
That
is why I took it off-Market.”

“But why didn't you
tell
us?” Joy asked.

Filly shrugged. “I told you politics is not a warrior's game,” she said, spitting to one side.

Graus Claude's voice snapped out of shock. “Manners!”

Filly tilted her head back, calling over one shoulder, mocking. “Besides, I knew it was something that no one else should know. Hence why I figured it was best worth knowing!” The Valkyrie sounded quite pleased with herself—she'd managed to get a drop on the comptroller of the Twixt.

“So...you know?” Joy asked, worried, unsure.

Filly's expression became guarded. “Yes.”

Joy's body tingled as adrenaline splashed through her.
Which secret was it? What did she know?
Filly had safeguarded her secret as a favor to Joy, but she wasn't reassured by how much leverage the young Valkyrie had over her now.

Filly had been the one to tell Joy that she was part-Twixt. She'd given her the words to take on her True Name. She'd been inside the Bailiwick; she'd even heard the King and Queen say that Joy was a descendant of Elementals, the Destroyer of Worlds. What secrets were left?

I can erase Folk out of existence.

“Who was it?” Joy murmured. “Who sold it to you?”

Filly wasn't the traitor. But the only other person who knew the truth besides Ink was...

Inq cocked her head.