Chapter Six

  A New Hire

  Nina Silverhand, legendary assassin, was calm once in custody. She was chained with her hands apart and her feet weighted down. She relaxed into the chains so thoroughly, she looked like a broken doll slumped over on a shelf. Nina stared at nothing in particular.

  “Is it just me, or is that extremely disturbing?” Maeral asked from the other side of the transport wagon’s door.

  Rivor couldn’t answer, she was so angry.

  Going underwater had been enough to extinguish Hollow’s inner fire. It had also cleaned most of the blood off her skin. Maeral showed no sign that he knew of Rivor’s curse, and she assumed that it remained a secret for the moment.

  But witnesses in the sin?os knew, if anyone cared to ask them.

  And Nina Silverhand knew.

  They were carting Nina Silverhand back to S?xe for justice. It wouldn’t be long before the Captain of the Drakalban learned there was an aelxir-cursed kerotera sworn to murder, and once he knew, Patrician Lorent would know too. It took far weaker excuses for nobility to justify murdering àlvare.

  I always thought I’d die for lying about my sex, thought Rivor.

  Hollow replied, Kill someone, you ugly slattern. He sounded distinctively smaller than usual, as if he were diminished by the swim.

  I’m a very handsome slattern, Rivor retorted. And you’re not very scary when you’re wet. Some swamp monster!

  He responded by biting down on the inside of her chest so hard, she forgot how to breathe for a minute.

  Rivor was exhausted from the fight too. She couldn’t get up from the wagon’s rear bench once she sat down. Luckily, she would not be called upon to fight again. The Kalexo Drakalban had prepared themselves for much more resistance than Nina Silverhand showed. A hundred milled around, waiting to march to their new posting in S?xe.

  “If I were more a child, I’d have to pelt rocks at her through the bars,” said Maeral. He was sitting on the same bench. “See if she blinks, you know? But I wouldn’t, of course. Haven’t been a child since the All-Mother had two eyes. It’s not very dignified.”

  “You should have let me kill her,” said Rivor. “You said it yourself. She killed your septa.”

  “I received word from Patrician Lorent personally. He needs the assassin alive,” said Maeral. The Patrician certainly outranked the Captain, but it didn’t change the fact Rivor needed Nina Silverhand to die.

  “Who in the world could stop you from doing what’s right?” pressed Rivor. “The Patrician doesn’t have a fraction of your power. He could be disappointed, angry, vengeful—but you remain a Magus with access to Brynulf’s divine power. He has little recourse.”

  “And lose a friend and ally in the process? My septa shall get no deader if I play games of patience waiting for the right moment. And the right moment will come. Lorent can’t protect her forever.” Maeral offered a fraternal pat on Rivor’s shoulder. “The assassin will be dead soon enough.”

  “Not soon enough,” muttered Rivor.

  They were never given the signal to transport Nina Silverhand out of the xilcadis.

  After a few hours waiting on the local Captain’s word, the Drakalban suddenly broke up. They left formation and took the wheels off the transport wagon. They attached posts that allowed four sturdy bucks to carry it. Then they lifted Nina Silverhand—cart, chains, and all—onto their shoulders and headed inside the Osurmit.

  “Now what does that mean?” asked Rivor. She was still resting on the bench with Maeral, but the wagon was much shorter without the cell attached to it.

  “There’s an entrance to the gaol under the Osurmit,” Maeral said. “If they’re keeping her here longer, it can only mean one thing. Patrician Lorent has decided to come to her.”

  They didn’t have to wait long.

  Rivor was stalking around the Drakalban dormitory, fuming over Silverhand and worrying about Hollow’s quietude, when Maeral notified her that a Patrician’s yacht was entering the dock. Lorent and Idan had arrived. And the assassin was still alive.

  * * *

  Lore had left S?xe barely hours after Rivor and Maeral.

  He wouldn’t have known they were gone quickly enough to follow if not for Uncle Sorlen, who mentioned at dinner, “Does anyone know why the Magus didn’t join us tonight?”

  It lit a fire for Lore, who realized he was missing multiple guests. He had quickly summoned sentry records from the Drakalban, found an entry about Rivor’s exit, and muscled the truth from Idan.

  “Yes, all right, I sent the kerotera after the assassin,” said Idan. Lore fisted his collar and tried to glower, but still, Idan looked tired instead of threatened. “Silverhand needs to die, not become the wife of the next Lord Mayor. I must protect you from all threats. Including yourself.”

  “You don’t understand. I have looked into the eyes of Fate and know I have a future with this doe,” said Lore. “You’ve never believed I have an Affinity for Fate. I beg you to entertain the idea it’s all true. Fate is real, I am her greatest Affinite, and she is telling me I must be wedded to Lady Enura.”

  “First of all, her name isn’t even Enura. Second of all, the ?mu leaf said—”

  “It’s a flawed test!”

  “You sound delusional,” said Idan.

  “Impassioned, more like. I’m impassioned.”

  Lore called for the servants to prepare his swoop to leave by midnight. They hurried around with lanterns and bags, making so much noise that they attracted Uncle Sorlen’s attention.

  “You left before dessert,” said Sorlen, quick-stepping out of the way of rushing servants. He maneuvered carefully toward his nephew. “Is everything all right?”

  “I have to chase Fate,” said Lore. He remembered Idan calling this idea “delusional,” so he added, “I’m only joking, of course. There is a lead on my would-be assassin. I must confront her in Kalexo.”

  “Leaving for Kalexo tonight?” Sorlen’s interest was piqued.

  “I can’t explain why, but I feel I must handle the assassin’s justice personally,” said Lore.

  “You have always been an impulsive lad, but such urges have served you well.” Sorlen took an especially heavy bag of grains one servant was carrying. “I’ll help load your vessel.”

  Sorlen would serve as Regent while Lore was away, as he so often did. Sorlen could be regent for Lord Mayor Círin too; it was a much smaller task to manage a Patriciate than an entire si?e. Twice a year, Sorlen took charge while Lore toured surrounding xilcadise to meet with old allies. The only difference about the routine that Night was the suddenness.

  His uncle lingered at the docks to say goodbye. “Be careful handling the assassin. Those vosaik needles suggest sophistication I’m sure you’ve never encountered.”

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  “With your blessing, I can only be successful,” said Lore.

  “And with Idan’s supervision, you might even survive,” said Sorlen.

  Lore laughed.

  He didn’t hurry to leave.

  “Second thoughts?” asked Uncle Sorlen.

  “I’m disappointed I won’t see the Lord Mayor before I leave. He might be back from hunting tomorrow,” said Lorent. “But he’ll probably be on another tour collecting taxes by the time I come back. And then he’ll be waist-deep counting out crowns for a season until it’s time to collect again.”

  “It’s always been like that with him, hasn’t it?” asked his uncle.

  Lore’s stomach twisted. “Not always. But often. I thought it would be different if I almost died, but…”

  “You bear burden of sharing your father with thousands of citizens. You don’t need him, though. Lord Mayor Círin’s focus can remain on the Republic because your mother attends you—and because his brother is with you,” said Sorlen. “Not that anyone ever remembers me.”

  “I’m always thinking about you. I don’t think I’d be sane without your presence.”

  Sorlen’s eyes crimped with affection. There was also something sad about the hint of smile he dared to show. “You deserved better family, Lore.”

  The Patrician and Captain sailed away on winds that remained favorable in Maeral’s wake. Lore didn’t plan to rely on that wind. The Patrician’s yacht could also support a dozen rowers under the deck, and he had called upon one of their finest teams. The drumbeat keeping his rowers in rhythm shook through the swoop.

  They blazed a path upriver to Kalexo. If not for the locks, they could have crossed the distance before Light rose and Night fell again.

  Lore reached Kalexo exactly two dates later.

  He bounded off the swoop ahead of Idan, eager to reach Nina Silverhand. He was floating on the conviction that everything would make sense if he could lay eyes upon her again. “Maeral!” Lore greeted the Magus outside the guard tower with a glowing smile and a deep bow. “You did well, friend. Very well.”

  “The work was largely Rivor’s,” said Maeral. “He’s a...surprisingly competent fighter. Surprising in many ways.”

  Rivoras an Danoras stood beside Maeral as if he were lined up for military inspection. He looked well and truly scuffed from fighting Silverhand. “Didn’t let a lass beat you this time, eh?” asked Lore, jostling Rivor playfully. Rivor shrunk back. “Ooh, sorry. You’re probably all manner of bruised. We’ll take you to the best healer—later.”

  First, Lore hurried to the Osurmit. He swept his hair back, straightened his cloak, and entered the gaol.

  Immediately he tripped over the limp arm of a dead Drakalban. Sapphire blood was still fading into the cracks of the floor. Someone had, somehow, used a chain to saw off his head, which was still in its helm a good three lengths from the jagged neck.

  A basement window behind the guard’s desk was punched open.

  Nina Silverhand was gone.

  * * *

  Lore rested as a guest of the local Patrician in secure chambers. Nobody should have been able to reach him without going through fifty Drakalban, and Idan was stationed just outside the bed chamber door as the final barrier.

  He coiled in bed but sleep evaded him. The sounds of an unfamiliar palace kept him alert, and every footstep in the hallway sounded like an assassin coming to finish the job.

  It was only paranoia until it was not.

  In the darkest hour of Night, the assassin slipped through a window in the roof and landed quietly on the foot of Lore’s bed.

  The soft thump of her landing may well have been a lightning strike.

  The Patrician bolted upright.

  Nina Silverhand wore closely conforming breeches and blouse, both drenched to black by spidren ink. Her hair was pulled back again. Half her face was hidden by a scarf. But that was definitely Nina. He had been dreaming every vivid detail of her. The grace of Lady Enura on the dance floor easily translated to the threatening predator poised on his footboard.

  Fear had sent Lore to bed fully clothed, but he may well have been naked without proper armor. The slender throwing daggers strapped to her thighs would treat his tunic like butter.

  “How did you get up here?” asked Lore. “It’s so far from the mujan. We’ll probably be in a cloud bank in the morning.”

  “I know all sorts of tricks. You’d be surprised how many times I’ve done exactly this thing right here, right now.”

  “You mean, tried to assassinate a handsome, fascinating young Patrician, only to fail—perhaps deliberately, given the magnetism between you? And then he hunted you down like a fox seeking hare and offered you mercy?”

  She laughed at the idea he was the fox. Nina hooked her finger in the face veil and pulled it down so that he could see her smile. “We do have such magnetism. Like one vosaik needle seeking another to assassinate that handsome, fascinating young Patrician. How did you survive?”

  “I’m so terribly virile,” he said. “Can’t be killed.”

  She laughed again, dropping from the bed to the floor. “Amusing.”

  Nina may as well have confessed her undying love for Lore. He leaped to his feet, letting the blankets fall away. Then he remembered she really had tried to kill him before, and he faltered, leaning back against the nightstand. His fingers brushed the hilt of a concealed dagger.

  “You can pick up the knife if it makes you feel better,” she said.

  His heart thundered, and he couldn’t tell whether it was fear or desire. He did feel better holding the knife. It didn’t make her posture less confident, though.

  Nina’s amusement grew at his nervousness. “I’m not here to kill you. I’m here so you can hire me.”

  “Pardon?” asked Lore.

  “Someone hired me to kill you, then treated me as a loose end. I always kill a traitorous client. I imagine you want him dead too. You can hire me to take care of him.”

  “If you’re going to kill him anyway,” he said slowly as he thought it out, “then why should I pay you to do it?”

  “If I’m killing for my satisfaction, I’ll end him quickly. If you pay me to do it, I can make it as messy as the murders at Liverwort Manor.”

  “Why did this client tell you to mutilate and pose the bodies?” asked Lore.

  “I don’t know. Special requests are common. They can get esoteric when the killing is personal.”

  “Was killing the Drakalban in the Osurmit personal?”

  “Yes,” said Nina. “He tried to touch my body. He’s lucky I sawed off his head instead of something he could live with. I assume when we find your would-be killer, it will seem very personal. You’ll be happy you paid me to make him suffer.”

  “That’s...disturbing.” And arousing. Lore thought he may have childhood head trauma from falling off an elk. “Surely you are possessed by Chaos. An agent of the Spirits of Regret. Something eerie crawled out the gutters of Lorkullen’s camps.”

  She looked as touched as though he’d just listed off compliments toward her beauty. “Hire me.”

  “Gladly,” he said in some unnatural stumbling voice that made him sound prepubescent. He had lived a noble number of centuries, but standing before Nina made him feel small again. “I want to find your client with you. I want to help.”

  “I don’t need help,” she said.

  “But—but I want to do it anyway,” he said. “Like you said, this is personal. I’ll pay twice your usual fee. I won’t ever betray you.”

  Her smile was eerily wide. She said, “So this is the dream I have again. I spend my Nights showing a lordly protege the ropes of death. He will lose his innocence. I will use it as rope to hang him. Until then, it is a rope that leashes me.”

  “You are fascinatingly strange. Do you always talk like that? Does that mean it’s a deal?”

  “It’s a deal,” said Nina.

  The door burst open.

  Idan charged in as if it were a battlefield. Nina left her blades sheathed.

  “Assassin!” roared Idan.

  He thrust toward her with a sword.

  She ducked under his attack, leaped over the sword, and deflected the blade’s second swing with her forearm brace. She said, “Stop it. We’re at peace.”

  At the same time, Lore was shouting and waving his hands over his head. “We’re at peace! She’s working for me now!”

  Drakalban flooded in behind Idan, spanning the rear of the room. She used Idan as a shield against the others while continually evading his attack.

  The Magus forced his way into the room.

  “Stop!” shouted Maeral.

  The walls of the chamber pulsed. The air constricted. Breath fled from the lungs of those within. When it rushed back, it tasted sour as Chaos and burned their throats on the way down. Even Idan was staggered by it. When Idan tried to take up his sword again, Lore stopped him.

  “She’s working for me now,” Lore said again.

  Idan searched Lore’s features for any sign of a joke and didn’t find one. “I asked you to make it easy to protect you.”

  “I’m sure Nina is perfectly safe,” said Lore.

  The assassin was smiling again. Her teeth really did look sharpened, though it could have been a trick of the shadows. Her eyes were set deep enough in her face that the hollows were shaded as black as her hair.

  “Harmless,” added Lore.

  Idan suddenly felt a horrible headache.

  ?mu leaf: An item used to tell who is an Affinite, and what their Affinity might be.

  Lorkullen: The anti-god. He's all negative and badness so you might think of him like the Devil, kinda (albeit with a totally different mythology).

  Wow, we didn't have many linguistic notes this time, did we? That's sort of nice. <3