Sechaveh tossed the ring to Ruslan, who caught it with his bloodied hand.
“Make your vow,” Sechaveh said, his voice stern.
Ruslan shut his eyes and clenched his hand around the ring. The blood that dripped through his fingers glowed unnaturally crimson, the drops sizzling and vanishing before they reached the floor. “I vow that neither I nor my apprentices will ever knowingly cast a spell with intent to harm Captain Martennan and his team members”—he rattled off the list of names Marten had given him—“or the country of Alathia.” He moved the knife in several quick passes through the air. A fiery sigil appeared before him and cast a sullen glow over the planes of his cheekbones.
“This I vow, Ruslan Khaveirin of the tenth lineage of the
akheli
, bound by my blood and
ikilhia
.” Ruslan cast the ring into the flames in the warded ring at Sechaveh’s feet. The fire leapt high, colors merging and shifting to a deep, vicious red.
Kiran and the Alathians all flinched like miners caught too close to a powder blast. Even Ruslan twitched as the sigil flared and vanished. Sechaveh only watched, satisfaction plain in the curl of his mouth.
The flames within the ring settled, the red bleeding back into cool blues and violets.
“Does that satisfy you, Captain?” Ruslan’s rich voice was full of scornful amusement.
Slowly, Marten nodded.
“Then it’s your turn.” Ruslan looked past Marten at Kiran, his eyes hot and eager. Nausea choked me so strongly that black spots bloomed in my vision.
Sweat stood out on Kiran’s skin, his breath coming in sharp pants. His eyes darted between Marten and the other Alathians, full of frantic pleading, as Marten moved to stand behind him. If Marten felt even a shred of guilt over betraying Kiran so thoroughly, I saw no hint of it.
No, no, no, oh you lying, demon-tongued bastard, may Shaikar eat your black heart—
“Stevan,” Marten said quietly. He lifted the amulet out from under Kiran’s shirt and over his head. Ruslan gave the amulet one swift, penetrating glance. Stevan let out a breath, all the lines in his face relaxing.
Kiran tore his arm free of Stevan’s grip and threw himself sideways, only to stop short again with an awful, choked cry. He swayed on his feet as if he might faint, his face gray.
“You’ve bound his power,” Ruslan said to Marten, his eyes locked on Kiran. “I should thank you. It wouldn’t have mattered, but it does spare us all a scene.” His voice lowered, became gentle. “Kiran. Come here.”
Kiran took a dragging step forward. The utter despair in his eyes turned my fury so hot I thought I might burst into flame. Mage or not, I’d make Marten pay for this. The Alathians couldn’t leave me a frozen statue forever, and by Khalmet, when I got loose I’d make them all regret this day.
Kiran kept walking with those horrible, jerky steps until he finished up in front of Ruslan. His muscles were trembling; even without his magic he must be trying to fight Ruslan’s hold.
Ruslan put a hand on Kiran’s forehead, his eyes closing briefly. The tension drained out of Kiran’s body like water spilling from a broken jar. Ruslan took Kiran’s shoulders and turned him around. Kiran’s eyes were blank, his features slack. Horror filled me as Ruslan smiled at Marten over Kiran’s head.
“Captain, now that we’ve concluded our agreement, you must excuse me. I have…a family matter to attend to.”
“As long as you are not distracted from your duties for too long,” Sechaveh said.
“I will send papers to the embassy describing our findings to date,” Ruslan said. “Captain Martennan and his people may review them and begin what investigations they see fit. I suggest we meet in…oh, a day’s time.” He looked down at Kiran, with that terrible, gentle smile. “Yes, I think a day would be quite satisfactory.”
“Very well,” Sechaveh said. “One day, Ruslan.”
Without a second glance at the rest of us, Ruslan took Kiran’s arm and led him from the room. Kiran moved with the dreamy slowness of a sleepwalker. A scream of rage burned trapped in my chest as the audience chamber door closed behind them.
* * *
“Tell me you have a plan to get him back!” Lena shoved past me, heading straight for Marten with Talm hot on her heels. Marten didn’t pause in his descent of the marble stairs leading to Kelante Tower’s gate. Kessaravil still had hold of my arm. His Shaikar-cursed magic kept me plodding at his side, mute and docile as a taphtha addict. All I could do was glare holes in Marten’s back as Lena caught up to him.
“
Marten!
I trusted you as you asked, but twin gods above—!”
“Not here,” Marten snapped. “Wait for the embassy.” He picked up his pace.
Talm muttered something to Lena, who shook her head. She and Talm hurried after Marten in silence, their spines as rigid as the stairway’s iron railings.
My hatred only grew more bitter.
Now
she protested, too late to do Kiran a damn bit of good? I sure didn’t believe Marten had some miraculous plan in mind. He’d got the protection and sanction he wanted, and now he’d do his best to use that clever tongue of his to convince us all that Kiran was an acceptable sacrifice.
Nobody else spoke while we retraced our route. The morning sun turned the pale stone of bridges and stairs eye-wateringly bright, which only worsened the throb of fury in my head. When we reached the embassy, Marten led us straight through the main receiving room to reach a small antechamber that held only two cushioned chairs and a circular, warded window. The window’s shutters hadn’t yet been closed against the day’s heat, and the faint, wavering calls of a waterseller from the causeway below drifted in along with scents of orangeblossom and baking spicebread.
“Release him,” Marten ordered Kessaravil. “Then leave us. All of you.”
Stevan retreated straight off, but Lena and Talm hesitated, and Kessaravil didn’t let go of my arm. He cleared his throat and said, “Perhaps I should—”
“I’ll handle this.” When nobody moved, Marten’s shoulders stiffened further. “Out. Now. You heard me.” His drawling accent had vanished, leaving his words as clipped as any city-born Alathian.
“As you wish, Captain.” Kessaravil released my arm. A tingling rush swept over my skin. My muscles were my own to control again. Finally. I jerked away from him.
“You goatfucking spawn of Shaikar! I knew you were a liar, right from the start!” I kept on shouting curses and made a few accompanying rude gestures with my left hand, turning my body to hide the slow movement of my right hand toward the slit in my belt. The blade hidden within was only that of a boning knife I’d stolen from the kitchen back in Tamanath, but it might serve. I was no fighter, but I was quick on my feet.
Marten’s black eyes stayed steady on my face. I took the risk of moving a little closer.
The door snicked closed behind the others. I shut my mouth mid-curse and slashed at Marten’s thigh, aiming for the artery.
My little blade stopped short a hair’s breadth above the fabric of his trousers, the air there flaring briefly silver. The shock numbed my hand as if I’d struck stone. The blade dropped ringing to the floor from my nerveless fingers.
“Nice try,” Marten said. “If it were that easy to kill a mage, life in Ninavel would be quite different.”
I spat at him between forked fingers in the old streetside gesture of ultimate contempt. And then I vaulted straight out the window.
That, he didn’t expect. The wards flared in warning as my body passed the gap, but didn’t burn or stop me. Eight stories below, the sunbleached stone of the nearest bridge glared bright enough to blind. I twisted as I fell and snatched at a frieze of snarling beasts.
My fingers caught on a sandcat’s jaw. Pain shot through my tendons as my arms jerked taut, but my grip held. I thrust the toes of my boots into a shallow, mortared depression between stone blocks and stretched for a second handhold. If I could get out of sight around the corner in time, I might have a chance—
Fingers touched mine where they clutched the sandcat. A wave of prickles raced up my arm. Fuck! I looked up. Marten was straddling the windowsill, leaning down at a precarious angle to reach me. The wards around the window glowed faintly silver.
“Come back inside,” he said.
My body obeyed him without a thought, for all I screamed at my muscles to do otherwise. I scrambled back up to the window, hating the overwhelming advantage Marten’s Shaikar-cursed magic gave him. He must’ve released the window wards; they didn’t trigger as I climbed over the frame.
Marten swung himself back into the room. “Twin gods preserve us,” he said, with some force. “Lena told me how skilled you were at climbing, but that seemed a little extreme.” His drawling accent had returned, although without any of the usual cheerful tone.
He hadn’t prevented me from speaking, but I didn’t bother to answer. I watched him with the cold, intent gaze I’d use on a snake blocking my path, and waited. I’d missed this chance, but if I saw another, I wouldn’t let it pass.
Marten pointed at one of the chairs. “Sit.”
I sat, unable to so much as delay my obedience.
Marten sank into the opposite chair. He studied his hands, white-knuckled in his lap. When he raised his head, he looked tired, his cheeks sunken. “My first responsibility is to my country, regardless of my personal feelings. The last thing I wanted to do was to give Kiran to Ruslan. But my orders from the Council were clear—the investigation must be my top priority. If it was the only way Sechaveh would allow us to remain and investigate, I had no choice.”
I couldn’t keep silent any longer. “Fuck you, Marten. You Alathian mages make like you’re so fucking pure compared to Arkennlanders, but you know what? I don’t see a shred of difference between you and Ruslan. Hell, you’re worse—at least blood mages don’t pretend they’re honorable men.”
“Ruslan acts out of sheer self-interest,” Marten said evenly. “I act for the good of my country.”
Lena had as much as warned me:
He keeps his promises, no matter the cost.
I should’ve heeded her, and convinced Kiran that Marten’s loyalty to the Council made him far too dangerous to trust.
I bared my teeth at Marten. “You think it matters why you betrayed Kiran? You saw his face in there. Khalmet’s bloodsoaked hand, how can you live with yourself after that?”
Marten gave me a bitter, knowing smile. “The same way you did, I imagine, after you handed him to Simon in Kost.”
“I didn’t—!” I choked on my words, too furious to speak. If I could have, I would have thrown myself at Marten again, hell with the consequences. I clenched my teeth, breathing hard, and managed to get myself back under control. “I didn’t know about Simon when I brought him to Gerran,” I said, my voice still rough with anger. “And when I found out, I fucking did something about it. I didn’t leave him there, with that sadistic devil’s spawn, like—”
“Neither will I.” Marten’s hands fisted on his thighs. “I have no intention of abandoning Kiran. When we finish this investigation, I promise you, I will free him from Ruslan.”
“When you
finish
? He’ll be mindburned by then, good as dead—hell, Ruslan’s probably destroying his will right now!”
“No,” Marten interrupted, sharp and insistent. “I saw Kiran’s memories at his trial. What I saw of Ruslan in those—he will not take such a drastic, irreversible step. Not without first trying some other method of breaking Kiran to his will. He spent long years training Kiran to act as a focus for channeled spellcasting, a role a mindburned mage cannot play. He won’t readily abandon all that effort. There is time yet to get Kiran away with his mind intact.”
Oh gods, I wanted to believe him. Yet I knew his skill with manipulation and lies. “Even if you’re right about Ruslan, it’ll be a bright day in Shaikar’s hells before I believe you’ll do a damn thing to help Kiran. ‘When the investigation’s done’…what kind of idiot do you take me for?”
Marten sighed. “Though the investigation must remain my top priority, that doesn’t mean I’ll set aside Kiran entirely.” He leaned forward, his black eyes holding mine. “I know what you risked when you tried to save Kiran from Simon. Are you willing to accept that risk again? He needs you now, more than ever.”
“Don’t pull that shit with me, Marten,” I snarled. “Just spit it out: what the fuck do you want?”
“Ruslan believes he has won,” Marten said. “Even so, he’s no fool. I’m sure he suspects my intentions. He’ll be watching my every move, and he’ll do everything in his power to keep me from Kiran. But you…” Marten turned one hand over, palm up. “Ruslan knows you aren’t a mage. In his mind, that makes you insignificant. He won’t keep nearly as close an eye on you.”
“What makes you think I’d have any better chance at helping Kiran? Ruslan didn’t even let him talk to the servants, for Khalmet’s sake. And that was before he ran.”
“Before Kiran underwent the
akhelashva
ritual, yes, Ruslan took every precaution to keep Kiran isolated and dependent on him,” Marten said. “Now with the mark-bond in place, he no longer needs to be so careful. He believes his control over Kiran is absolute. Think about it—when he sought revenge on Simon, he didn’t care it meant Kiran would spend weeks traveling the mountains with you and the other convoy members.”
I wasn’t convinced Ruslan would let me anywhere near Kiran. He’d already underestimated my presence once, and Ruslan didn’t strike me as the sort of guy who made the same mistake twice. “What the hell do you expect me to do? Ruslan’s right, I’m no threat to him.” I’d caught him by surprise once thanks to Simon’s Taint charm, but even that had been a temporary thing.
“If you can find out Kiran’s exact situation—perhaps even speak to him, learn what you can of Ruslan’s intentions, it would be extremely helpful.”
“You mean, you’re hoping Kiran can play shadow man for you against Ruslan, the same way you wanted me streetside.” I’d give anything to have Simon’s Taint charm back, to be able to smash Marten’s face in regardless of his magic.
“I can’t hope to help Kiran without information,” Marten said. “But in the end, all I ask is that you be Kiran’s friend.” He looked down, his fingers tugging at the edge of his uniform sleeves. “He’ll need one.”