Kiran hurried in Ruslan’s wake toward their home in Reytani district, Mikail silent and scowling at his side. The upper city’s causeways were crowded despite the day’s growing heat. Sweating, wild-eyed
nathahlen
shoved past each other to join shouting throngs around anyone spotted wearing Sechaveh’s scorpion crest. Wagons laden with supplies and bristling with guardsmen forged downward toward the Whitefire Gate, as the wealthier members of the great merchant houses attempted to flee the city. But even amid the commotion, the sight of Ruslan’s sigils cleared a path through the crowd like a knife parting flesh.
As they crossed the Moonstone Bridge,
nathahlen
shrank back from them in a crush so tight Kiran feared some might topple to their deaths over the bridge’s waist-high opaline walls.
Surveying the cringing
nathahlen
, Mikail broke his silence. “Ruslan, I know we need Dev, but why did you agree to his lover’s demands?”
Kiran understood Mikail’s confusion. Dev’s outrider lover Cara had insisted she must accompany them to the cirque, claiming not only that Dev would require a belay partner, but that she was the better ice climber of the two. But she’d also said to Ruslan,
I heard you gave a blood vow not to cast against Dev and the Alathians. I want that same vow for me and Melly before I go—and without any extra conditions.
Kiran still didn’t know what she meant by “extra conditions.” But he’d been certain Ruslan would refuse her; he’d seen the depth of Ruslan’s desire for revenge on Dev, and everything he knew of his master said he’d never bow to demands from
nathahlen
.
Yet Ruslan had agreed to vow before Sechaveh, to Mikail and Kiran’s combined shock. Kiran’s surprise had quickly faded into relief. Mikail’s had changed to something far darker.
Ruslan didn’t slow his pace. Sweeping past a line of wagons emblazoned with the crest of Suns-eye House
,
he said over his shoulder to Mikail, “The vow says only that we may not cast. It does not prevent physical harm, and does not bind Lizaveta. Once our enemy is destroyed…the mountains are so dangerous.”
“I see.” Mikail’s scowl eased. Kiran glanced up at the distant spike of Kelante Tower, understanding as well. Sechaveh had claimed Dev for his own, but Ruslan intended to seize the chance to kill Dev either by blade or some result of Lizaveta’s casting while he was far from Sechaveh’s eye. Dev, Cara, the child…none would return to Ninavel, and Ruslan would claim their deaths an unfortunate accident. Sechaveh would probably guess the truth, but in the aftermath of Ruslan saving city and confluence, he wouldn’t press the issue.
Kiran kept his face averted, hoping Mikail wouldn’t see how the idea bothered him. He’d already repaid Dev for his treachery. One betrayal for another…Kiran didn’t see the need for further suffering, particularly if it involved Cara and the child.
If they succeeded in destroying Vidai, in the aftermath Kiran might successfully convince Ruslan that Dev might yet be of some future use. When elated by victory, Ruslan was expansively generous in mood. He might yield to suggestion…
Or perhaps Kiran should try harder to confine his concern to the survival of his mage-family and the city as a whole, and stop worrying over the fate of three
nathahlen
he barely knew.
A mounted Suns-eye guard captain struggled to back his horse from their path; the animal snorted and balked, its eyes rolling. Ruslan slashed a hand through the air in annoyance. The animal shrieked and collapsed on the paving stones, half-crushing its unfortunate rider. A young, hawk-nosed Sulanian from the guardsman’s troop made as if to spring off his wagon to help, but his fellows held him back, hissing warnings.
Ruslan stepped over the horse’s limp legs, ignoring the groans of the injured guard captain. “I had another reason for agreement,” he said. “We dare not waste time in foolish quibbling. Lizaveta contacted me with grave news: the confluence’s containing forces have reached the breaking point. One more upheaval with the currents in the correct alignment—which will come near noon tomorrow—and they will rupture.”
Kiran stumbled, new horror distracting him from the guardsman’s plight. Noon tomorrow! A shadow seemed to pass over the city’s spires, the unsettled roil of the confluence growing all the more ominous. Kiran imagined the moment of failure: a firestorm of power exploding through the Painted Valley, devouring every mage in its path, racing down linkages of blood oath and mark-bond to burn through all his own protections. One final instant of shattering agony, and he, Mikail, Ruslan, and Lizaveta would be nothing but ash in the aether, the city’s
nathahlen
tearing each other apart in futile attempts to survive.
“Can we reach Vidai in time?” Kiran feared to hear the answer. They had so much work to do! Channels to lay for both translocation spell and weather magic, not to mention the Taint charm for Dev…Ruslan had said he could readily analyze and complete Kiran’s original diagram, but still, the time needed to create the charm would be measured in hours, not moments. Once in the Whitefires, even more time would be needed to reach the cirque’s interior and set their plan in motion.
“We must,” Ruslan said. “If the guide does not keep his promises, I will ensure he burns with us.” He slowed his stride and caught Kiran’s arm, peering at the
voshanoi
charms on Kiran’s wrist. “And you, Kiran…you are equal to your tasks, yes? The charms appeared to shield you adequately when Mikail and I cast the seeking spell.”
Kiran had felt somewhat dizzy and unsettled in the embassy despite the
voshanoi
charms, but nothing like the queasiness and disorientation he’d endured in the aftermath of Ruslan’s failed strike. Of course, the seeking spell’s magic had been far less in magnitude…but, no. He was fine.
And he was ready to cast. To prove it, he steeled himself not to look back at the pinned guard captain. What did it matter how bad his injuries were?
“I’m ready to fight,” Kiran assured Ruslan, and was rewarded with a warm surge of approval through the mark-bond. Mikail, too, grinned at him; a sight that did much to lift Kiran’s heart.
“Wait and see, little brother,” Mikail said. “When we defeat this Vidai, then you’ll truly understand the joy of revenge.”
* * *
(Dev)
“You realize Ruslan means to kill us,” I said to Cara. We sat in one of the embassy’s storage rooms. Chests of spellcasting supplies and clothes had been shoved aside to leave space for a veritable mountain of climbing gear. Ropes, pitons, boot spikes, long hollow metal tubes that we’d twist into the couloir’s ice instead of hammering pitons for protection, the specialized, smaller ice axes that Samis had developed a few years back for climbing icefalls instead of snowfields, down-filled gloves and woolen trousers…right now it looked like we’d never fit the lot into the empty packs sitting by the door.
Cara looked up from knotting a set of ascension cords. “I figured, when he agreed so easily. But I think he won’t try anything until after Vidai’s dead. If his vows stop him casting against us…well, that levels the field, some. Besides, Marten said he’d protect us.”
“And you believed him?” Marten had been all cool assurance, claiming the Alathians’ magic could easily counter Lizaveta’s spellwork if she cast against us. He’d been so smoothly confident, in fact, it’d raised all my hackles. He was hiding something.
Cara said, “I didn’t get the chance to tell you before, but…Jylla found something. When Talm told us you were dead, she didn’t yell like I did, or weep—but gods, Dev, I’ve never seen anyone so furious. She told me she’d see the traitor dead if she had to summon a demon herself to do it. She had me keep Halassian busy while she sniffed out the embassy vault—don’t ask me how, but she broke in and searched it. She found a list of herbs that Jenoviann had ordered from highside suppliers, supposedly on Marten’s orders; most of the herbs were ordinary things, but some were very rare, and very nasty—Jylla said they’re only used in poisons.”
Jylla would know, given how she’d poisoned Naidar’s original lover so she could take the woman’s place. Pain twisted through me; I stared grimly at a piton in my hands. “What’s this got to do with Marten protecting us?”
“Jylla thought the list might implicate Jenoviann, but now…what if Marten really does have some plan against Ruslan?”
“What, you think Marten means to poison him? Hard to believe that’d work on a blood mage.” I’d seen herbs like hennanwort and yeleran affect Kiran, but Kiran had also told me a blood mage couldn’t be killed by physical means.
Cara shrugged. “I don’t know. But I’d wager Marten’s got something in mind, and Khalmet knows he’s clever enough to pull it off.”
Maybe. But the Cirque of the Knives was only some thirty miles from the Alathian border. If we won out over Vidai, Marten could just as easily make a run for safety and leave me, Cara, and Melly to Ruslan as a distraction.
“You should’ve asked Ruslan to vow the oath I asked Sechaveh for, where he can’t hurt you and Melly at all.” I wished she hadn’t asked at all. That she’d stay safely behind, out of Vidai’s reach. But she was right: there was no way I could climb a difficult couloir without a partner. More, I wouldn’t make my old mistake. I wouldn’t shut Cara out, turn her aside, treat her like she wasn’t smart enough to weigh risks for herself. She’d made her decision, and I would accept it, even when my heart screamed I shouldn’t.
“You mean, the vow where Ruslan can boil our blood the minute you speak to Kiran?” Cara jerked her knots tight. “No. This way both frees you from playing Sechaveh’s bond-slave and ensures we’ve all got a chance.”
I couldn’t deny I’d be glad to dodge Sechaveh’s employ. But still…I shook my head. “You saw Kiran today, hopping to Ruslan’s orders without even blinking. He gave Melly over to Ruslan, watched him hurt her and never said a word of protest.” I tossed my piton into a pile of others, hard enough to set them all ringing. “Ruslan wouldn’t have agreed to vow for you if he wasn’t dead certain of Kiran’s loyalty now. Maybe he fucked with Kiran’s mind again. Or maybe Mikail was right, and I don’t know Kiran as well as I thought. Either way, I’m not sure he can be helped.”
“You said Kiran was the one to suggest Ruslan bring you to Sechaveh.” Cara began coiling a rope. “Maybe he tried to help you the only way he could.”
I snorted. “Have you seen the way Kiran looks at me now? He’s swallowed Mikail’s lies, hates me as his enemy. Hell, he’ll probably be the one to knife me the instant Vidai’s dead.”
“Don’t give up yet, that’s all I’m saying.”
Sudden, helpless anger drove me to my feet. “I’m not! I just…I can’t think about it now, Cara.” Ever since the attack, a constant round of images repeated behind my eyes. Vidai crouched over an unconscious Melly, her face swollen from his blow; Jylla’s body heavy in my arms, her lifeblood dark on my hands…
“Dev.” Cara stood. “I’m afraid for Melly too.” I could see it in her eyes, the fear, the dark mirror of my own anguish. She laid a tentative hand on my shoulder. When I didn’t pull away, she drew me close, whispered, “We’ll save her.”
She said it like she believed it. I wanted to believe it too, wanted to share her hope, her steadfast courage—I clutched at her like a drowning man and sought her mouth. Not tenderly, but in rough, near savage urgency, desperate to block out the blood and death in my head.
She met my ferocity, doubled it, her mouth hard on mine, her fingers raking down my back. I shoved her against the wall, even as her hands tore at my clothing.
Our coupling in Kost had been passionate rather than gentle, but there’d been laughter, even joy. This was different, darker, shadowed by grief and fear, both of us panting and silent, gripping each other hard enough to bruise. Afterward, I dropped my forehead against her shoulder, my face wet with tears and sweat.
She cupped the back of my head, her breathing still ragged. A raw, ugly sound escaped me. “Shhh,” she said, her voice gentle as her hands hadn’t been. “It’ll be all right, Dev.”
The lie you had to tell. But just like Melly, I knew better.
Chapter Twenty-Four
(Dev)
B
lood magic might allow a translocation spell to be cast with just two mages instead of fifty, but the aftereffects were far worse. I spent long moments curled in a retching ball, my mind a dizzy, roaring blank. Gradually, I became aware that the air was cold on my face, the ground beneath me hummocked tundra instead of polished marble.
When the world finally steadied enough I didn’t feel like I was about to slide off a cliff, I shoved up to my knees—and stopped, transfixed.
Mountains surrounded me, tall and jagged and beautiful in the twilight before dawn. Snow lined their couloirs and lay in great patches on the north-facing slopes. Beyond the shallow tarn at the valley’s head, a barren expanse of jumbled boulders lapped up against soaring rock faces so sheer I couldn’t make out a single ledge. High above, the peaks constricted into improbably slender spires, dark as obsidian against a sky of palest violet. Four of the Cirque’s seven Knives were visible from this vantage: Cloudbreaker, Stormmaker, Magelance, The Scythe of Night…the very names were the stuff of legend among outriders.
For one blessedly sweet instant, the sight swept away the black weight within. Khalmet’s hand, but I’d missed this! The chill, clean taste of the air, the wild grandeur of the peaks, all of it eased my heart in a way nothing and no one else could.
Beside me, Cara climbed to her feet and surveyed the valley. She let out a long, slow breath, her shoulders relaxing. Her face was indistinct in the low light, but I knew what it’d show: the reflection of my own brief instant of joy.
All around us, the mages were still huddled in tight, miserable knots. Even Ruslan looked unsteady, braced on his knees with a bloody knife gripped in his hands.
He’d killed a man to send us here. Something Marten and Stevan had argued over; I’d thought Stevan would refuse to come.
I will not condone blood magic!
he’d shouted at Marten.
You break Alathia’s laws by agreeing to this!
Marten had said grimly,
Lord Sechaveh promised me the victim will be a sentenced criminal; and once in the Whitefires, Ruslan will use stored energies to fuel his spells. If the Council disagrees with my choice to condone one criminal’s death in exchange for saving thousands of lives, I will accept the consequences.