Queen of the Night (The Revanche Cycle Book 4) (21 page)

Hedy nodded, inching away from her.

“No name, but the sources say it was either a ‘soft-faced boy’ or a woman wearing a man’s clothes. She was held in a separate cell, awaiting execution. When she was told that her mistress had been burned, she…she beat her head against the wall of the cell until she died.”

Nessa glanced to the silent, dark hall between the galleries, then back to Hedy.

“Who have you told about this?”

“Nobody,” Hedy said. “Not a word.”

“Good. Keep it that way. Hedy, sit with me.”

Hedy pulled over a chair. They sat almost knee to knee, facing each other.

“I had help recovering the Misery from Winter’s Reach. My mother’s spirit. She’d had a vision, one she passed on to me. At the time I dismissed it as the tangled dreams of an oft-confused mind, but…”

As she trailed off, Hedy leaned closer. “What did you see?”

“My death. And Mari’s. She warned me: this has all happened before, and it will all happen again.”

Hedy’s eyes went wide. “But…how?
Why?
”

“She babbled something about a story. A story that ‘left a scar upon the wheel of worlds,’ whatever that is. And so—she claimed—it repeats itself again, and again, and again. We meet, we…become close.” Nessa looked again to the darkened hall. “And we die. It’s as if…it’s as if we’re being punished, for something we didn’t even do. What crime could we have possibly committed to deserve a thousand deaths? What’s the point of punishment if you forget your suffering until the time comes to suffer once more? I’ve never woven a curse as cruel as that.”

“We have to tell Mari.”

“
No
,” Nessa snapped, glaring at Hedy so fiercely the girl cringed back into her chair. “We will do no such thing. It could all be a coincidence, nothing worth the slightest worry. For another, she bears all of my burdens. This one, this singular weight, I can carry for us both.”

“But she’s your protector—
our
protector. She needs to be warned, in case someone comes for you—”

“I can protect myself. And now, thanks to you, we have a most powerful weapon at our command.” Nessa rapped her knuckles on the book. “Knowledge. I don’t believe in fate, Hedy. What I
do
believe is that anyone who raises a hand against me or mine will pay dearly for their folly. If this is all true, if Mari and I are trapped in some endless cycle of murder and rebirth like the toys of some sadistic god, then this is where we make our stand.
This is where we break the wheel
.”

Hedy’s bottom lip quivered, a faint mist in her eyes.

“I just—” she whispered. “I just don’t want to lose you.”

Nessa let out a weary sigh. She closed the book, set it aside, and opened her arms, pulling Hedy close and stroking the girl’s hair as she rested her head against Nessa’s shoulder.

“Well,” Nessa told her, “
don’t
say ‘I love you.’ Because I won’t say it back, and then you’ll feel most foolish indeed.”

She gave Hedy a squeeze and gently pushed her away.

“Time’s wasting,” she said. “Let’s get back to work.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Felix watched a centipede winding its way down the rough stone wall. Legs rippling as it squirmed, serpentine, performing its elaborate dance for an audience of one. The centipede tumbled to the floor and landed in the bar of light that shone under the steel door of the dank cell they shared.

Felix watched the centipede dance, and waited to die.

He’d woken in this small stone tomb, drenched in darkness, his head throbbing like it was the morning after two bottles of Carcannan wine. Seated in a wooden chair, his wrists bound behind his back with scratchy coils of hempen rope. Ankles bound, too. Aita hadn’t bothered to show herself. Gloating wasn’t her style, and their business, he reckoned, was concluded for the moment. She’d put him away for safe keeping.

His stomach clenched painfully, growling, and his mouth felt bone dry. Like he had wads of cotton packed in his cheeks and under his tongue, sucking up every trace of spittle and leaving his throat raw. He wasn’t sure how long it had been since he’d eaten, or how long he’d been here at all. The only light came from the torch outside the cell, its glow slipping in through the cracks, and it burned without cease.

The door rattled, then swung wide with a squeal of old metal. Felix squinted at the silhouette on the threshold, his eyes aching at the sudden flood of light. His visitor took a step closer, looming over him.

“Hello, Felix,” Simon said. “Do you remember me?”

He remembered. The burns, the scars, the walking catastrophe Simon Koertig had become—none of it could disguise the monster beneath. Felix looked into his eyes and knew exactly who stood before him.

“You son of a bitch,” he whispered, barely able to breathe. “You murdered my family.”

Simon tittered, raising his gnarled hands before him.

“Good, good, no need for reintroductions. We can get right to it.” He paused. “For what it’s worth, I was only trying to kill you. You and your lovely bride, who is now the ally of
my
ally and—life is funny, isn’t it? Yesterday’s mortal enemy is today’s bosom friend. The world keeps spinning and everything changes…but not us.”

“No,” Felix said. “Not us.”

Simon drew a knife from his boot.

It was a long blade with a curve at the tip, gleaming bronze in the torchlight. Sleek, cold, and forged with a single purpose. Simon touched the blade to Felix’s throat. He pressed himself back in his chair, bound wrists straining, teeth gritted as he struggled to escape.

Simon pulled the knife away and giggled.

“It was always meant to happen this way,” Simon told him. “Predator and prey. Killer and victim. You were always meant to die at my hands. You know that, don’t you? You understand. This is who we are.”

The knife again. The blade felt like a razor made of ice as it touched the side of Felix’s neck. One quick slice at this angle, one effortless tug, and his jugular would rip wide open. Felix’s hands wriggled frantically, the hemp skinning his wrists raw.

“And now,” Simon purred, “the moment of my becoming. My true apotheosis. You die, so that a god may be born.”

Felix held his breath. He wanted to close his eyes, but he forced himself to keep them open, to keep them fixed on his killer’s face. A strange calm descended upon him, like a gentle, reassuring hand.

It was all right.

If he had to die, if this was the end of his journey and there was nothing he could do to stop it, then at least he’d die with dignity. No cringing, no begging. He’d spend his last few breaths denying Simon any pleasure he could. Dignity was the one weapon he had left. Felix braced himself.

But the knife didn’t cut.

Simon hesitated, suddenly frowning, and pulled the blade away.

“It’s not right,” he said. “Why isn’t it right?”

“I don’t know,” Felix said. “Because you’re a lunatic?”

Simon jabbed the knife at him, the blade poking the air an inch from Felix’s eye. “Shut up. Shut
up
. I have to figure this out.”

He paced the cell, muttering under his breath, one hand clutching the blade and the other tugging at the last stray wisp of hair on his blistered scalp.

“This is my one chance,” he ranted, “my one chance to finish the chapter, to finish the book. I can only kill you once, but if it’s not perfect it’ll
never
be perfect—”

An idea sparked in the back of Felix’s mind. An idea, and the faintest glint of hope.

“Well,
you
didn’t really do it, did you?” he asked.

Simon stopped pacing, whirling to face him. “What do you mean?”

“Look at me.” Felix gestured with his chin. “I’m all trussed up, helpless, ready for the kill…but
you
didn’t do this to me. Aita did. So you cut my throat, who cares? She captured me, she tied me up—she already did all the hard work for you. If you ask me?
She’s
the one who killed me. You’re just her pawn.”

“No,” Simon stammered, pointing the knife at him. “That’s not true.”

“It’s true and you know it. Everyone is going to know it.”

“
Shut up
.”

“Simon Koertig, Aita’s little errand boy.” Felix gave him a nasty smile. “That’s what they’ll all call you. There’s only one thing you can do, really. Only one way to make this
your
kill.”

Simon rushed at him, poking the tip of his knife under Felix’s chin. A trickle of blood welled up and dribbled down the blade.

“Tell me,” Simon demanded through gritted teeth, his fetid breath washing over Felix’s face.

“You undo the advantage Aita handed you,” Felix said. “You untie me. And you and I go at it, man to man. Think you’re some kind of mighty predator? You really believe you’re a god? Prove it.”

“You’re—you’re trying to trick me,” Simon said, taking a halting step backward. “You think you can beat me.”

“Of course I do. Just like you think you can beat me. So let’s find out which one of us is right. You’ve been waiting for this moment. Dreaming of it. Aching for it. And you know this is the only way to end it. You and me, toe to toe. And with my dying breath, I’ll give you the one thing you want more than anything.”

Simon squinted at him, the knife wavering in his grip. “What’s that?”

“My respect,” Felix said. “Because you’ll have proved—to me, and to the entire world—that you truly are the master of assassins.”

Simon stepped behind his chair. Felix braced himself, his shoulders clenched, preparing for the bite of the blade across his throat. Then he felt rough, blistered hands tugging at his wrists, and Simon’s knife sawing at the ropes.

“You’re right,” Simon said, “of course. Of course you’re right. That’s the only way this can end. Thank you, Felix, you’re very considerate.”

While he babbled, Felix retreated deep inside himself. His nerves were on edge, muscles taut and ready, heart pounding a relentless beat, and he fought to hold himself together. He’d bought himself a chance, but only a chance, and Simon still had the knife.
Wait until he unties your ankles
, he told himself.
The timing has to be perfect. One good kick in the face, as hard as you can, should knock him down. Then just keep kicking him until
—

A sudden gust of icy wind jarred him from his thoughts, followed by the sound of Simon slamming against the stone wall.

“What,” hissed the woman in gray, her lace veil rippling, “do you think you’re doing?”

Her anemone fingers clutched Simon’s throat, squeezing. His eyes bulged.

“He’s my kill,” Simon wheezed. “
Mine
.”

The sister hurled Simon to the floor. The knife tumbled from his grip, skittering across the stones as he fell prone at Felix’s feet. He pushed himself up on shaky arms, glaring over his shoulder at her.

“Aita will be told about this,” she said. “Leave. Now.”

Simon snatched up the knife. As his furious gaze swung toward Felix, Felix tensed.
He’s going to do it
, he thought.
One quick lunge, and she won’t be fast enough to stop him. He’s willing to die as long as I die first
.

Instead, Simon brushed himself off, and smiled.

“All right,” he said, “all right. I’m trying to do you a favor, you know. You should have let me kill him. You’ll wish I had.”

The sister tilted her head, her shoulders rolling sinuously under her gown.

“Why? What do you know?”

“I know a lot of things.” Simon took a graceful step back, toward the open cell door, almost like the opening of a waltz. “I know he’s going to escape. I know he’s probably going to kill you.”

“There will be no escape,” the sister hissed. “There will be no salvation.”

Another dancing step backward, and Simon waggled the tip of his knife at Felix.

“You come find me when you do, Felix. You can’t escape destiny. You were made for me.”

“
Leave
,” the sister said.

Simon laughed as he disappeared around a bend in the hall. “You come find me,” he called out, his voice echoing off the stones. “I’ll be waiting!”

The sister slammed the cell door shut. Then she glided behind Felix’s chair. She stood there, a motionless sentinel, silent save for the rustling rasp of her breath.

Felix paid her no attention. His mind was racing, puzzling out Simon’s last words. He’d seen the decision written on his ravaged face—that heartbeat moment where he’d almost gone for it, taking his last chance to stab Felix dead even if it meant sacrificing his own life, and decided not to do it. What stopped him? It wasn’t self-preservation, Felix was certain; Simon had been a madman even before he’d become a walking horror. He remembered finding Simon’s rooming house and the scrawled pages of the “book” that spoke to an all-consuming obsession. He needed Felix to die like a man needed air to breathe.

Which means
, Felix thought,
he was serious. He actually thinks I’m going to escape. He’s confident that I will.

He was trapped, bound, condemned to die. No resources, no weapons, and the tiny thread of hope he’d found had just been torn from his hands by the veiled monster hovering silently at his shoulder. No one could have any reason to dream he’d get out of Aita’s clutches in one piece.

Unless
, Felix thought.

Unless he knows someone is coming to rescue me. Which would explain why he was so desperate to finish it here and now. He’s not worried about Aita killing me first—he just doesn’t want me to slip away again
.

The thought ignited in his heart like a burning coal. A spot of bright, glowing heat that drove off the chill of his cell, drove off the stinging in his skinned wrists and the pangs of hunger, and wrapped him in quiet strength.

I’m not alone. Someone is coming for me
.

And though he’d told her to stay far from Mirenze, to wait for him, he had a damn good idea who it was.

Felix smiled in the shadows, and waited.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX