Damn it, he’d looked plenty upset back when Ruslan questioned Torain. Maybe he’d just gotten better at schooling his face, out of sheer necessity. Surely the Kiran I’d gotten to know as we fled through the Whitefires wasn’t solely a result of Alisa’s death. He had to be the same person, even without his memories. Right? I stared at him harder, wishing a charm existed that could show me his thoughts.
Ruslan was still talking. “If the attacker had raised power properly and cast true blood magic, he would have easily broken through to the spell chamber. Yet he only managed to pierce the outer wards, and was unable to breach the inner defenses. I believe the conclusion is obvious.”
Even to you
, his contemptuous look at Stevan said.
“Yet certain wards were affected.” Marten eyed the corpses. “Between that and the rather extensive display of wardfire on this district’s towers, it must be possible to trace the killer’s spellwork.”
“The tower wards triggered to safely transmute dangerous confluence energies, not protect against a specific offensive spell,” Ruslan said. “Surely you’ve realized that upheavals in the confluence spill over into the physical realm, and if large enough, cause earthquakes.”
“We’re aware,” Marten said dryly. I grimaced, remembering the roof shuddering beneath my feet as lightning lanced the towers. If these so-called upheavals got much stronger, I had a nasty feeling the quake wards wouldn’t be enough to prevent a Cheltman-style catastrophe.
Marten continued. “From the timing, it seems clear the killer is causing these upheavals. Have you any insight yet on how?”
“As I said, my research is not finished,” Ruslan said. “I fear sharing half-formed theories would only waste time better spent seeking knowledge to confirm or contradict them.”
“I see,” Marten said mildly. He turned to the guardsmen at the door. “Did anyone else in Aiyalen witness anything? Surely there were other people present in the tower.”
After a nervous glance at Ruslan, one of the guards said, “Several people were present in the antechamber when the attack happened, none of them mages. They’ve told us they heard screams and tried to enter the room, but couldn’t get the door open, and saw nothing.”
“I will question them, of course.” Ruslan’s dismissive tone made it clear he didn’t expect much.
“We’d be glad to conduct the questioning for you,” Marten said. “That way your valuable time need not be wasted.” Remembering Torain’s screams, I held my breath.
Ruslan’s eyes lit with gloating amusement, and I bit back a curse. “No, Captain,” he said. “I insist on handling that myself.”
“As you prefer.” Marten said it as readily as if they spoke of ordering tea, but his hands locked white behind his back. “May we examine the bodies?”
Ruslan made a dismissive gesture. Marten and the others huddled around the nearest body and started waving ringed hands over it while exchanging muttered, cryptic comments. I eyed Kiran, but he was standing far too close to Ruslan to risk speaking to him.
Something else caught my attention. Black streaks like scorchmarks marred the walls in spots, half obscured by blood. There’d been nothing of the kind in Jadin’s workroom. Did it mean these mages had tried to defend themselves? I glanced at the nearest body. His face was a ruined mess of blood and bone, but an amulet in the shape of a rayed sun set with rubies shone untarnished on his chest. The fat silver bracelets on his wrists were likewise intact.
I crossed the room to examine a streak. Definitely a scorch mark. I opened my mouth to call to the Alathians, then hesitated again. From here, I had a view through the archway leading to the inner spell chamber. A short, straight set of steps led to double doors covered in ward lines so thick I could barely glimpse the iron behind them.
The ward lines were gleaming, intact silver. Some of them looked so bright as to be freshly laid. Those must be the ones Ruslan had replaced. But on the lintel of the highest stair, a few scattered bits of metal caught the light.
I eased into the stairwell and gingerly ascended to examine the lintel. The metal bits proved to be fingernail-thin, sharp-edged scraps of silver.
Wards breached by magic didn’t show physical damage. But I’d seen ward lines shatter into shards like that many a time in my days as a Tainter. I picked up the closest shard.
“Watch your step,
nathahlen.
”
I turned, hastily sliding the shard into a pocket. Mikail blocked the base of the stair, his gray eyes cold and his arms crossed.
“Changed your mind on helping Kiran, have you?” Not that I believed it. That glare certainly didn’t look friendly.
“I will not let you incite him to rebel again.” Mikail’s near-whisper was as venomous as a sand adder’s hiss.
Even as I tensed at the threat, its implications brought a spark of wary hope. “Incite him? For fuck’s sake, I’ve barely spoken five words to him. If he’s balking at Ruslan’s yoke, it’s none of my doing.”
Mikail’s hands fisted. “If you care at all for Kiran, then
listen
, you fool. If Kiran rebels again, Ruslan will not stay his hand. He would rather have Kiran mindlessly adoring at his side than gone forever from us. This is Kiran’s last chance—do not destroy it, and him.”
“Oh, I believe you,” I assured Mikail. “But don’t you get it? Kiran will rebel again regardless. He’s not a murderer like you and Ruslan! If he stays, Ruslan will mindburn him. You want him to live, mind intact, then you’ve got to help him leave.” I stopped short of saying,
you’ve got to help me.
I didn’t want to confirm that I planned to get Kiran free. Not unless I thought Mikail truly willing to help.
Mikail’s mouth curled in derision. “You think you know him so well after scant weeks in his company? I’ve spent my life with my mage-brother. He may have acted the weak
nathahlen
for you, but make no mistake, he is
akheli
at the core.”
The intensity of his conviction brought my earlier worry flooding back. No, damn it. He was wrong. I refused to believe otherwise.
“Mikail.” Kiran appeared in the archway.
In a heartbeat, Mikail’s derision vanished, his face once more impassive before he turned. Kiran darted a quick, curious glance at me, and said to Mikail, “Ruslan’s set us a task.”
Mikail nodded and strode back into the bloodied room, drawing Kiran with him. I descended the steps in time to see Kiran cast another glance at me over his shoulder. His expression was odd, puzzlement mixed with something I couldn’t identify. Had he heard any of my conversation with Mikail? If so, I hoped it would set that curiosity of his afire. It’d sure be easier to get him aside if he was as eager to seek me out as I was to speak to him.
I grinned at him, friendly as I could, as I sauntered out the archway. He looked all the more confused before he and Mikail knelt beside one of the bodies.
Talm intercepted me. “Come. We have to leave.”
“Not yet,” I protested, in a fierce whisper. “I haven’t talked to Kiran, and Marten promised—”
“Ruslan insists.” Talm sounded as annoyed as I felt. “He says he and Lizaveta will complete the water magic in place of the dead mages, and no foreigners—or those in their employ—are permitted in the Spire while water magic is cast.”
Marten and the others were already filing out into the antechamber under Ruslan’s stern gaze. I looked back at Kiran and Mikail, huddled over one of the corpses. A glass vial glinted in Mikail’s hand, a silver knife in Kiran’s. “They’re not doing water magic, I’d wager.”
“Ruslan claims he’s got some idea for a spell that’ll provide information on the killer.” Talm shook his head. “Another stalling tactic, I think. Don’t worry, we have a few ideas for spellwork of our own.”
I fingered the shard in my pocket. Had the killer brought a Tainter to Aiyalen in his attempt to break the wards? I winced at the thought of a kid like Melly forced to watch such gruesome murders. Yet if so, I could ask around for word of a missing Tainter, maybe get another lead to chase. I’d show the shard to Marten, but only after deciding how best to use it as bargaining token. I wanted the killer caught, yeah, but I didn’t dare let any chance for advantage pass me by.
As Talm ushered me out the door, I strained for one last glimpse of Kiran. So much for today’s chance to speak with him. Suliyya grant I’d get another.
* * *
(Kiran)
Kiran bent over the murdered mage. The man’s head was black with blood, his braid embedded in a sticky, half-dried puddle. Ruslan had asked him to obtain unstained locks of hair from each body, but finding one from this victim would be a challenge. At least the intensity of Kiran’s curiosity over both Mikail and Dev’s behavior helped keep his revulsion at bay. Even so, bile soured his throat every time he had to touch blood-matted hair, or look at the raw, empty holes where the man’s eyes had been.
On the corpse’s other side, Mikail finished scraping a sludge of blood and brain matter into a vial. Kiran cast a furtive glance at the doorway. Ruslan had finished herding the Alathians out and was speaking to the Seranthine scholar in the antechamber. Almost, Kiran wished that he could have found some chance to speak with Dev again unobserved—but then, questioning Mikail over their interaction was far safer.
He leaned closer to Mikail. “Who’s the one disobeying Ruslan and talking with
nathahlen
now? What happened to, ‘that guide is working for our enemies?’”
Mikail didn’t look up from capping the vial. “I wanted to know why the guide was nosing around the spell chamber, that’s all.”
Kiran sat back on his heels and regarded his mage-brother. The conversation with Dev might have started that way, but Kiran knew that wasn’t all the truth. “I heard you,” he said quietly. “You said, ‘He may have acted the weak
nathahlen
for you, but he is
akheli
at the core’…you were talking of me, weren’t you?”
Mikail’s hands stilled. “All right, yes. I was talking of you. I warned the guide to keep his distance—that you were
akheli
, and not some fellow
nathahlen
to chat with in a tavern. Do you think I enjoy watching Ruslan punish you? I know you, little brother—you forget yourself too easily. I don’t intend to let it happen again.”
Forget yourself
…that was the trouble, wasn’t it? Kiran finally isolated a tuft of dry hair. He sliced the lock of hair free with a jerk of his knife and slid it into a vial of his own. Mikail’s answer made sense on the surface, yet something still didn’t fit. He’d only heard that last, hissed line from Mikail…but as he’d approached, he’d had a view past Mikail of Dev, crouched on the stairs. Dev hadn’t watched Mikail with the fear of a
nathahlen
faced with an angry blood mage. Instead, he’d shown an odd, frustrated urgency. And then his smile at Kiran afterward, as friendly as if he’d never seen Ruslan tear the servant’s mind apart…
The thump of the chamber door closing disrupted his thoughts. Ruslan barred the door and strode to stand over Kiran and Mikail.
“Do you have the spell materials as I asked?”
“Yes, Ruslan.” Kiran held up four glass vials with unstained hair inside, one from each mage. Mikail showed his own vials of blood and brain matter.
“Good. Blood and body will not be enough for the spell I intend, however.” Ruslan surveyed the dead mages, arms crossed. “Proper samples of each mage’s power will also be required. You will go to each mage’s house and search their workrooms for items imbued with their magic. A recently created charm is preferable to a ward.”
“Can’t we just use their defensive charms?” Mikail pointed to the ornate bracelet on the outflung wrist of the dead man before them. Just as with Jadin, the silver shone untarnished, the gemstones clear.
Ruslan shook his head. “Any charms within this room must be considered tainted by their proximity not only to the attacker’s magic, but to the unleashed magic of the other victims. I need pure samples.”
“I don’t understand why their charms show no outward damage,” Kiran said, frowning. “The dead mage in Vaishala district was caught by surprise, but here, we find magefire burns, the residue of defensive magics—these mages tried to defend themselves. Why didn’t it work?”
“Tell me, if I wanted to send a thought into your mind using the mark-bond, would it matter if a stone wall stood between us?” Ruslan asked.
“No,” Kiran said, still frowning.
“Would the wall be damaged by the thought’s passing?”
“No…” Kiran straightened, as understanding fell into place. “Oh! You mean that the killer’s magic somehow operated on a different plane than theirs, the way thoughts are on a different plane than the physical?”
Ruslan smiled at him approvingly. “Exactly. I believe the energetic traces are also on that different plane, which why we cannot sense or focus them properly.”
“It’s like the Taint,” Mikail said abruptly. “We can’t sense that either.” He gave the barred doors a dark look. Kiran followed his gaze, but saw nothing there to warrant the expression.
“The idea is similar,” Ruslan agreed. “The Taint operates purely on the physical plane, allowing the manipulation of simple physical forces. Magic operates on the higher energetic plane, which is why even the most strongly Tainted
nathahlen
is no match for a mage.” He smiled again, sharply this time, as if at some private joke.
“So…the killer’s magic was on a higher plane than that of the dead mages, the same way normal magic is above the Taint?” Kiran asked.
“Possibly.” Ruslan’s eyes lit, his expression softening. “Imagine it! If we can access such a plane, the magic of the
akheli
might be enhanced further yet.”
Mikail frowned down at the corpse. “If his magic operates on a higher plane, are you saying he is more powerful than us?”
Ruslan laughed. “You need not fear,
akhelysh
. He may work magic in a way new to us, but I have seen no evidence that his raw power can match ours. Remember, he could not breach the wards on the spell chamber, a task well within an
akheli
’s abilities. No, I believe his method is unique, but his talent is mediocre.” He traced a finger over the dried blood coating the dead man’s brow. “A man of such mediocre talent likely does not realize that it is possible with enough finesse and power to read lingering mental traces instead of energetic residue.”