Kiran stared down at his hands. The amulet would block the mark-bond, yes, but Ruslan would never allow that to stop him. And it wouldn’t just be Ruslan. Lizaveta and Mikail would be in Ninavel too, helping Ruslan cast.
Marten said, “Consider this: without your help in Ninavel, we may not be able to stop the deterioration of our wards. If they fail…even if Ruslan is not the architect of that failure, he will certainly seize the opportunity to reclaim you.”
That, Kiran could well believe. But if he went to Ninavel, Ruslan would have a chance at him far sooner.
“If you let fear control you, you’ll never be free of him,” Marten said softly.
Dev slapped the bench, making Kiran jump. “Khalmet’s bloodsoaked hand, Martennan! You want your wards fixed up fast, then I’ve got a better proposition: bring me, not Kiran. You say Sechaveh’s keeping things quiet. Maybe from foreigners and highside idiots, but trust me, ganglords can sniff out the deepest of secrets. They’d never deal with you; too risky, if Sechaveh finds out. But me…I know how to play their game. You mages are smart, you don’t need Kiran to break a spell. Leave him safe here, and I’ll get you information you’d never find otherwise and save you far more time.”
Kiran willed Marten to agree. He had every faith Dev spoke truth, and once in Ninavel, Dev could work with Cara to save Melly. While Kiran would be left safe behind Alathia’s wards…his shame swelled, but it didn’t lessen his relief at the idea.
Marten raised his brows. “An interesting offer, but I think you underestimate how difficult it is for us to interpret magic that differs so sharply from our own. I have far more confidence in our ability to discover the truth of what’s happening, than our chances of stopping it without Kiran’s help in time to prevent our wards from failing. That said, Dev…if Kiran were to agree to go, I believe I could convince the Council to authorize your inclusion on the trip. With both of you working to help, we’d have all the more chance of success.”
Kiran’s relief died. He should have known the answer wouldn’t be so easy. He passed a shaking hand over his eyes, remembering Dev’s desperation when he’d spoken of Melly. Kiran owed Dev his life, his very soul. How could he refuse Dev the chance to gain both Melly’s and his own freedom?
Especially when—in sudden, searing insight—Kiran knew just how easy saving Melly would be. He’d vowed in the Whitefires to make choices worthy of his lover Alisa’s memory. To embrace her bright courage, and not give in to cowardice. Twice before, he’d lived up to that ideal and risked capture by Ruslan for the sake of others. Still, summoning his courage was the hardest thing he’d done since first leaving Ninavel. He opened his mouth.
“No,” Dev said sharply. He shoved past Marten to grip Kiran’s shoulder, his green eyes blazing. “
Kiran
. Don’t fall for this.”
Kiran looked past him at Marten. “Before I answer, might I have a moment alone with Dev?”
Marten didn’t hesitate. “By all means, discuss this with him. I know this is no easy decision for you. I’ll wait in the study.”
Dev’s wary scowl as he watched Marten retreat to the house didn’t bode well, but Dev was no stranger to risk, and Kiran knew how deep his loyalty to his dead mentor ran. Dev had put Melly’s life over Kiran’s before. When he heard Kiran’s plan, he’d do it again.
Chapter Four
(Dev)
“D
id you get brain-burned while I was gone?” I snapped at Kiran, the instant Martennan disappeared into the house. “I didn’t save your ass from Ruslan just to have him get his hands on you again before the season’s out! Keep on telling Martennan you won’t go. Trust me, once he sees you mean it, he’ll give in and take me instead.”
Kiran spoke in a fierce, intent whisper barely audible over the splashing of the fountain. “Dev, listen. I’ve thought of a way you can save Melly, and you won’t need a fortune in money, or to find Pello. If Marten takes us both to Ninavel—”
“Yeah, perfect. That way Ruslan can cut out my heart, right after he burns out your will and makes you his drooling slave. If I go to Ninavel while you sit tight here in Alathia, there’s a chance he’ll stay so focused on breaking the border wards he won’t bother with me—and more importantly, no chance he’ll get hold of you!”
“I know the risk would be high for both of us. But if Marten can protect us from him, even if only for a short while…think! If we’re both in Ninavel, and you arrange a meeting for me with your old handler, what was his name—”
“Red Dal,” I muttered.
“Tell me, what do you imagine Red Dal would do if a blood mage walked in and demanded he hand over one of his Taint thieves?”
I stared at him, then breathed, “Suliyya, mother of maidens. That could actually work.” No streetsider in Ninavel would dare refuse a blood mage. We’d all heard the spine-freezing tales of the power of their magic, and the depth of their cruelty. Red Dal’s instinct for self-preservation was the only thing more highly developed than his love of profit. He’d hand Melly over in a heartbeat…so long as he was convinced he truly risked a blood mage’s wrath. I eyed Kiran’s earnest, determined face, and frowned.
“Oh, I can act the part.” Kiran’s teeth flashed white in a bitter smile. “I’ve had an excellent teacher.” He shut his eyes and drew himself up, tossing his black hair back over his shoulders. When he opened his eyes again, they burned with predatory arrogance. He turned that fiery gaze on me, and despite myself, I backed a step.
“Khalmet’s bloodsoaked bony hand,” I said, forgetting to whisper. “Impressive, but still…Red Dal’s a canny bastard. He’ll need more than sigil-marked clothes and a good job of acting. Besides, if I understood that business with the amulet right, you’ll have an Alathian dogging your heels every damn minute of the day, and you can’t risk ditching them.”
“If I could spellcast, I could convince Red Dal. Not to mention protect myself with the amulet.” A brief, sharp smile twisted Kiran’s mouth. “Marten bringing you along to Ninavel isn’t the only condition I intend to put on my acceptance.”
Ah. He meant to demand the removal of his binding. He hadn’t said the Council’s spell still pained him, but I’d seen it in the abruptness of his movements, the strain that never left his face. More than that, I could guess how badly he missed his magic. If I had a chance at having the Taint back, I’d take it, no matter the cost.
Slowly, I nodded. “All right, yeah. With a suitably showy spellcasting, I think Red Dal would buy it.”
“I thought so,” Kiran said, with soft satisfaction.
My heart lifted as I allowed myself to imagine it: Melly free, and my old promise to her father Sethan fulfilled at last. Easy enough in Ninavel to get my hands on enough kalumite and copper to burn out the snapthroat charm, and then ditch the Alathians and slip out of the city with Melly. Take her somewhere far from mages and ganglords and Alathians…after all, Arkennland was a big country, Ninavel a mere speck in the wildlands of its western territory. I’d heard the far north had some decent mountains. I doubted another range could match the beauty of the Whitefires, but settlements up there must hold opportunities for men skilled in ropework and snow travel. I could get Melly set in a proper apprenticeship and carve out a new life safely distant from Ruslan. Maybe Cara would come with us…my breath quickened, thinking of Cara’s bright laugh, her tanned skin beneath my hands…
My gaze lit on Kiran. Resolve firmed his jaw and straightened his spine. Yet his blue eyes were shadowed, the circles beneath them as inky black as his hair, and even the rich golden wash of afternoon sunlight couldn’t soften the pallor of his skin. My happy little fantasy crumbled.
“Kiran. Look. I know you want to help me, but after everything you’ve gone through to get away from Ruslan, are you sure about this?”
He sighed. “Honestly? No. But Marten is right. If I stay to cower behind the wards and they fail, then Ruslan will have me anyway. I’d prefer to go where I might do something to prevent it.”
Well, that I could understand. The gods knew I hated to sit around on my hands praying somebody else could stave off disaster. “Fair enough. But before you commit to going, make Marten explain the rest of how he means to counter Ruslan. If you’re not completely convinced he can do it, for Khalmet’s sake, don’t agree to this.”
Kiran jerked his head in a nod and strode for the house. I followed, more slowly. Gods, if this worked…and yet, I couldn’t shake the sick feeling I might’ve just agreed to trade Kiran’s freedom for Melly’s.
In the study, Martennan uncoiled from a high-backed chair before the fireplace. “Have you made a decision, Kiran?”
“If you will take us both to Ninavel, I will agree to go—on one other condition.” Behind his back, Kiran’s hands clenched around each other so tightly I thought his fingers might break. “I want the binding on my magic removed.”
Martennan went still. “That will be a far harder case to make to the Council.”
“I refuse to go within Ruslan’s reach without the ability to defend myself.” Kiran’s voice was thin. “Even if you can block the mark-bond, you know that won’t stop him from casting against me.”
“Unless we stop him otherwise,” Martennan said. “Our ambassador in Ninavel has been working to convince Lord Sechaveh to sanction our investigation. If Sechaveh issues an edict of protection for us—”
Surprise made me blurt, “You want to go openly to the city? Are you crazy? Might as well march up and pound on Ruslan’s door. I thought you meant to sneak in!”
Martennan said, “Concealing our presence from Lord Sechaveh would be an impossible task. He keeps a far closer eye on events in Ninavel than most people realize, and his hands-off policy on magic doesn’t extend to representatives of foreign powers. But with official sanction, we’ll gain not only access to information and the freedom to cast as we please, but far better protection from Ruslan than any wards could provide.”
“Sechaveh’s a mage, then?” I couldn’t help but be curious. Nobody knew the truth, streetside. Sechaveh had to be some two hundred years old, but I’d always leaned toward believing those who claimed he was so rich he could pay mages to keep him alive. Pello had talked about him like he was untalented, but then again, Pello was a professional liar. If Sechaveh was a mage as powerful as Ruslan, no wonder he’d managed to kick out Simon.
“He’s not a mage,” Kiran said flatly. “No edict of his will stop Ruslan.”
I turned to look at him, surprised all over again. Martennan’s head tilted, and he said, “Have you met Lord Sechaveh before, Kiran?”
“Not directly, but I’ve seen him. He came to visit Ruslan, sometimes.” Kiran’s eyes took on the stricken darkness they always got when he spoke of life before he ran. “Trust me, he’s untalented.”
“Oh, I know it,” Martennan said. “I haven’t met Sechaveh myself, but the older mages here in Alathia remember him well. Before he founded Ninavel, he spent seventeen years as the Arkennlander ambassador to Alathia.”
“Well, that explains a lot,” I muttered. Sechaveh must’ve gotten really sick of all the Council’s rules.
Marten went on. “But while Sechaveh is no mage, his sister was, and a powerful one. Perhaps even a blood mage—we’re not certain. But unlike most Arkennlander mages, she didn’t sever ties to her birth family. When Sechaveh decided to build a city over the largest confluence of magic yet discovered, he asked her to cast a spell that bound him to that confluence. We haven’t yet discovered all the details of that binding, but we know two things: it makes him effectively immortal so long as he remains within the Painted Valley’s confines, and it allows him to deny mages the use of the confluence to fuel their spells, should they anger him. It’s one of the ways he maintains his rule.”
I said, “So if Ruslan breaks Sechaveh’s edict of protection, no more confluence for Ruslan. But he can cast spells without it, right?” The lack of the confluence certainly hadn’t stopped him from casting against us in the Whitefires.
“True,” Martennan said. “But much of blood magic’s power lies in its ability to harness the forces of the confluence. Without its aid in his spellcasting, and with a group of us working together to counter him, we have every chance of defending against Ruslan.”
“How many mages are you bringing on this little mission?” I asked.
“Not so many from Tamanath,” Martennan said. “Only myself, my two lieutenants—Lenarimanas and Talmaddis, you know them both—and an arcanist. But once in Ninavel, we’ll have assistance in spellwork from the mages already stationed at the embassy.”
“I’ve never understood how so many of you can mesh minds so closely.” A hint of wistfulness lurked in Kiran’s tone.
Martennan didn’t miss it. “If we succeed in Ninavel, I hope to sway the Council to ease their restrictions on you. The moment they do, I’ll be happy to teach you our style of magic.”
Kiran looked like a man dying of thirst who’d been offered a waterskin. My hands twitched with the urge to strangle Martennan. It’d be a bright day in Shaikar’s hells before the Council decided to trust a former blood mage, if the way they treated him now was anything to go by. But arguing that point wouldn’t help anything.
Kiran’s spine straightened, and stubborn determination replaced the yearning. “Even if you can counter Ruslan, my condition stands: either remove my binding, or I won’t go.”
I raised a silent cheer for him, even as I bit back the words that wanted to burst free:
I’ll go even if Kiran doesn’t.
Time enough to try again for a solo deal with Martennan if the Council refused to take their spell off Kiran.
Martennan tapped his fingers on the chair back, his black eyes gone as opaque as onyx. At last he said, “I fear the Council would refuse any request to release your binding before we leave Alathia, but I may be able to persuade them to authorize our embassy in Ninavel to perform the ritual.”
I grunted in disgust. “So you’d leave Kiran helpless for weeks while we cross the Whitefires? Come on, Martennan. Ruslan’s not going to wait for us to reach Ninavel before he casts.”
“We won’t be crossing the Whitefires,” Martennan said. “The situation is too urgent to waste weeks traveling through the mountains.”