* * *
We knelt at a dry wash near the creek. Oleez joined us sifting through the piles of pebbles. Lydia and Nash continued to argue, but when the guards became bored and stepped away, Lydia managed to whisper to me, “I’m sorry.”
“Me too,” Nash said.
“You have nothing to be sorry about,” I whispered back. “I’m going to get you out of here and back to your family. I promise. You just have to be patient and keep doing what you’re doing.”
“They’ve had no choice,” Oleez explained, her voice hushed as her eyes darted to both sides to make sure no one was within earshot. She said she had been in town shopping with the children when the attack came. Their straza were overwhelmed by soldiers who descended on the town like mad, swooping bats, sending everyone scattering for their lives. She and the children were captured. They’d been targeted by Hagur, an arena employee who had been tailing them, knowing the attack was coming. In the event of an abduction, the children had always been coached to go along with their captors until help came to free them, to do whatever was necessary to survive. Oleez confessed it was not a plan she ever thought would come to fruition. She reached out and protectively brushed the hair from Lydia’s eyes.
“What about Rybart?” I asked. “Was he preying on the town as the king said?”
“Someone was. I don’t know if it was Rybart. But it was as bad as it’s ever been. Businesses torched. Raids on caravans. The Ballengers were pulled in all directions.”
“Is that why Montegue had to send in troops?”
“So he claims, but the troops came as a surprise. Mason had just hired on more crews to patrol. It had been quiet for a few days, which is why I even came to town with the children. Then the troops roared in. Everything started exploding around us. They say the family escaped to the vault. They’re blaming everything on them. They—”
“Finish up down there!” No Neck yelled. “The king’s putting his boots on!”
Oleez shot a worried glance at No Neck. “Some of these soldiers, like that one, they are not of this world,” she whispered. “There is something not right about them.” I had wondered about them too.
“Coming!” I called back.
“I hate the king,” Nash hissed.
“Someday I will kill him,” Lydia concurred.
“No,” I said firmly. “I will take care of that in due time. You just keep doing what you’re doing. And those things I said about your brother—” My throat swelled, and this time it was Nash who comforted me.
“The king made you say those things about Jase. I know.” His voice was tiny and wise, and I had to stab my nails into my palm to keep from choking.
“We knew none of it was true,” Lydia added. “Our brother isn’t dead. He’s the Patrei. He’s too young to die.”
I pulled in a deep breath, trying to keep from crumbling. They were survivors, but still children.
“Where is he?” Nash asked. “When is he coming?”
I looked at Oleez. She had seen the mutilated hand bearing the signet ring too.
“Kazi?” Lydia prodded.
I cleared my throat, forcing the wobble from it. “As soon as he can,” I answered. “Jase will come as soon as he can.”
* * *
The call to depart had come. The weather had turned and snow had begun to fall. Lydia and Nash ran ahead, following on Oleez’s heels, multiple shimmering eyestones clutched in their fists.
As I passed the Ballenger family tomb, I paused, staring at the tall scrolled pillars. I stepped closer. Ghosts … I felt their slumber, the ones who had let go and rested. I felt the gentle beat of their hearts, their peace—but I felt the others too—those ghosts who were a gathered sigh whispering over my head, restless, an ageless breath still anchored to this world, the ones who, for some reason, couldn’t let go.
They were shimmers of light, cool fingers brushing my arms, lifting strands of my hair, curious, remembering, hoping—reliving moments, wishing for a second chance—much like the living. Shhhh. It was only a breeze whispering through the pines if you didn’t know. If you had never looked Death in the eye, you likely couldn’t recognize it at all.
The large tomb held numerous crypts, but I knew one of them was marked with the name of an occupant who wasn’t even there. It was not her breaths I heard. Instead, she was buried at the base of Breda’s Tears, the moon and sun as her companions. I was the only one Jase had ever entrusted with the truth of the empty crypt. He had gone against everything he ever had been taught and the law of the land, to grant the last wish of his sister.
I marveled at the lavish and enormous memorial, the one that had frightened Sylvey so much as she faced death. Carved twelve-foot angels bearing scowls and holding swords larger than a man guarded either side of the entrance, their features daunting and imposing. Their deep-set eyes followed you wherever you moved. A richly sculpted eagle graced the cornice above, its enormous claws gripping a fluted ledge, its glare casting a timeless warning to those who approached. An abundance of chiseled fruit draped in leafy marble garlands wound through the spaces between. The details were intricate, right down to the pebbled skin of lemons. In Venda the dead were buried in unmarked graves, sometimes with a clump of thannis laid on top that quickly tumbled away in the harsh winds.
Either come in or go away.
I stepped back, startled by the faint voice.
There was no going in. The stone door was eight feet high. I remembered that at Karsen’s funeral it took two large men to push it shut. How did fifteen-year-old Jase ever do it by himself in the middle of the night? Desperation? Maybe. Desperation could make you incredibly stupid or incredibly strong, or maybe both.
I pressed my cheek against the door, the smooth stone cold against my skin, my eyes stinging. Jase. My heart said he wasn’t dead. This was not his realm. He is alive. But my head told me something different. The clink of his ring on the floor when Banques threw it still made my throat swell. I closed my eyes, trying to will away the pain, banishing thoughts of rings and remembering my vow to Jase instead.
Kazi …
My eyes flew open. The sound was close, warming my ear, as if it straddled two worlds. I stepped back from the door, angling my head, trying to hear more.
I didn’t know … I swear I didn’t know. I’m sorry.
The voice drifted away on the wind, shhhh.
“On your horse! The king is waiting!”
And with No Neck’s order, I left the voices behind and went to face the new ones that were waiting for me at Tor’s Watch. How many of them might be dead too?
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
JASE
Jurga, Eridine, and Hélder hovered over me, watching while Caemus brushed another line across my forehead.
“A little more over there,” Jurga said, pointing to my temple.
It was a group effort, making sure he closely followed the sketch I had made for him. Kbaaki designs were very specific, and a lot of people in these parts were familiar with them. It had to be believable. It covered half of my face.
“I still think it’s too early for you to go,” Caemus grumbled as he dabbed more dye on my face.
“I can walk. I can ride. It’s time,” I answered. And if I could get to it, I had at least one weapon and a bag of ammunition waiting for me. That would get Paxton’s attention. And if I could reach that one weapon, I could get more.
“Turn your head,” Caemus ordered.
Since I was probably the most recognizable man in Hell’s Mouth, it was necessary that my appearance be dramatically changed. The heavy furred cloak, boots, and hat would do a fair job. The thick muffler that would cover the lower half of my face would help more, but if it was removed, I still had to look like someone else. Kbaaki designs were striking. It was hard to even see a face when looking at the swirl that circled an eye.
“That’s it,” Hélder said, nodding in approval, comparing Caemus’s work with my sketch. His wife, Eridine, concurred.
�
��And now the ring,” I said.
Caemus winced.
“You sure?” Eridine asked.
I was going to be crossing hillsides that were probably crawling with the soldiers of this so-called army. Kbaaki almost always wore decorative jewels in their left brows as a defense against hostile spirits. Jurga had a tiny earring that would do the job. It was another detail to convince anyone I might see—and a distraction to keep them from looking too closely at me.
“I’ll do it,” Jurga volunteered, taking the needle away from Caemus. She didn’t give me any warning. She just pinched my brow and jammed the needle through. A rumble rolled through my chest as she fished the earring through behind it. I had already learned there was a lot of iron behind Jurga’s meek façade—and now I knew there wasn’t an ounce of squeamishness to go with it.
Eridine dabbed at the blood. “That should do it,” she said. “I doubt even your own mother would know you now. Just be sure to keep that chest covered.”
With the frigid weather, there wasn’t much chance of me going shirtless, but her point was made. The tattoo on my chest was a dead Ballenger giveaway. She also instructed me to avoid washing my face or the dye would fade faster. If I was lucky, it would last for two weeks. Hopefully I wouldn’t need it that long.
Jurga held up a small mirror. Half of my face swirled with dark black-blue ink, the other half broken by a single swirl around my eye. I barely recognized myself. I practiced my halting Kbaaki accent. “Gets out of my ways, you lowlanders. Gives me rooms to breathe.”
Eridine and Hélder chuckled.
“It might work,” Caemus conceded.
I was about to try out another line when the door of the shed flew open. Kerry slammed it behind him and leaned over, gasping for breath. “Riders!” he croaked. “Hurry!”
I may have had some of my disguise in place, but finding a Kbaaki hunter in a Vendan settlement would be suspicious, not to mention that my chest, with the Ballenger crest, was exposed. I jumped up from the bench, and Hélder hurried to slide aside the plank that led to the root cellar. Before I could reach it, the door flew open again, crashing back against the wall. I turned and stared at the armed intruders. They looked as shocked to see me as I was to see them.
“You lying devil! What the hell have you done? Where is she?”
Wren flew at me, slamming me up against the wall, her ziethe circling my neck. “I told you to watch her back or I’d come after yours!”
“Give him a chance to speak, Wren!” Synové reasoned, then looked at me, her blue eyes blazing. “Talk, you snake, and make it good!”
“I don’t know where she is,” I said. “We were attacked. I’m going after her, so either kill me or get out of my way.”
By now everyone was talking, trying to calm Wren and Synové down. They had come across the ruin in the forest where Mije and Tigone were hidden. They saw the blood staining Mije’s saddle and assumed it was Kazi’s.
“They were ambushed, girl! Put your weapon down!” Caemus ordered.
Wren’s eyes glistened, glaring into mine. Her hand shook with the strain. She finally lowered her ziethe and turned away.
Synové burst into tears. “I know where she is. She’s chained in a cell.”
And then, between sobs, she told us about her dream.
Hold on to to each other because that is what will save you.
Out of many you are one now. You are family.
I look at our put-together family.
None want to be here any more than I do.
We are all different. We argue. We wave our fists.
But we hold each other too.
We grow together, strong like the circle of trees in the valley.
—Greyson, 16
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
KAZI
Tor’s Watch hadn’t been my home. Not yet. Not truly. When I had been here before, I had only been an interloper, an imposter wheedling my way past defenses. I’d been a soldier with an agenda, hiding beneath a false premise. I only saw a fortress that overflowed with secrets, and viewed every room as a potential hiding place. But still, even then, though I tried hard not to, I had seen the beauty of it, that it was a living testament to the devotion that had made the Ballengers who they were. It was like a perfectly cut jewel, and I had wondered in reckless moments what it would be like to be a part of it, sometimes settling into a chair in the empty dining room when I was sure no one was looking, imagining that it was always saved for me, the chair next to Jase.
When I had crept down hallways, my hands sweeping the walls, I had felt the centuries in every block of stone and wondered which generation had cut it and set it into place. I had seen the hard-won history that was recorded on Jase’s bookshelves. On the vault walls I saw the scrawling desperation of the original patchwork family, children who were sewn together by dire circumstance and somehow made it work, children who had, against all odds, survived. I felt an unexpected kinship with them.
This was the home and history that Jase had loved and made a vow to protect. This was what made the destruction before me all the more devastating. A dizzy wave of nausea struck me when I saw the fallen spires in the glaring bright of day. The hideous gaping hole that—
There’s a room on the third floor. It has a view that reaches to the horizon—and it’s away from everyone else. I think it should be ours. You can decide.
The room that would have been ours.
It was gone now.
I pushed the thought away and buried it deeply, for fear the weight of it would snap me in two like a piece of tinder. I buried it with all the other things that would never be ours.
A jagged line of stone scarred the center of the main house. Spires on either side remained untouched. Inside the front gates, all of Tor’s Watch was transformed. The arbor that had once been heavy with flowers was barren with winter, and armed soldiers were the ones beating a path through it now. The king ordered Paxton to take Oleez and the children to Raehouse while he took me to the vault. I shot Paxton a condemning stare—Lydia and Nash were his kin—but it was an empty warning. He knew the rules I had to abide by. His gaze met mine, unmoved, his expression hard, his thoughts probably set on his lucrative rewards. He jumped at the king’s orders like a boneless bootlicker. A hot coal smoldered in me, and it took every bit of my strength not to fan it. I had to gain the king’s confidence, to make him believe his words and logic were winning me over. And gaining the king’s confidence meant not digging out Paxton’s eyes with my bare hands. I tossed a smile at him as he left. I guessed it worried him more than my glare.
I was grateful when we descended into the tunnel. It was the most unchanged. Here there was no summer or winter, no broken stone blocks tumbled in my path, only torch-lit darkness and the musty scent of despair, and that was a scent I was used to.
The armed entourage marched ahead of us toward the vault, their heavy boots echoing through the stone cavern. I wondered what had happened to the poisonous dogs that were kept at the far end of the tunnel. Killed by the king’s men? Or perhaps the family had taken them into the vault? That thought lifted me. I would love to see them loosed on my current companions, even if I was bitten in the attack.
Why Montegue thought my voice would make a difference I wasn’t sure. Did he think that the word of a powerful distant kingdom could penetrate impossibly thick steel? Or maybe he was simply grasping at anything. Desperation can make the most calculating logic flee. Impatience burned in his expression and steps.
After I’d spent ten minutes calling to every possible Ballenger, my pleas only met with the persistent silence I had expected, Montegue screamed, pounding on the massive door, sweat beading on his forehead. His fury caught me by surprise. He turned away, combing the hair from his eyes, his face a knot of rage.
I looked at the expressions of the stoic guards holding long, sharp halberds in case the Ballengers emerged. They showed no surprise, and I wondered how many times this scene had already been played out. How man
y times had he pounded on the door and how many threats had he already hurled? If they were trapped, why did he care so much? They weren’t going anywhere. He could starve them out.
“I am the King of Eislandia,” he growled, almost to himself. “They’re going to regret this.” He stomped away, ordering me and the whole entourage to follow.
By the time we reached the T of the tunnel and turned down the next one, his heaving breaths had slowed and he had regained his composure.
“We need those documents,” he said calmly.
“You mean the plans for the weapons? I already told you, I destroyed them.”
“There are others. Different documents. Ones that were in the scholars’ quarters. They’re missing.”
My scalp prickled. The papers in the scholars’ quarters? Was he talking about the ones Phineas had told me to destroy? How would he even know about those, especially if they had disappeared? How could he—
A cold weight settled in my stomach. I quickly composed a few words, trying to keep them casual. “There are papers and ledgers all over Tor’s Watch. How would you know if a few were missing?”
“A servant told me.”
I looked sideways at him, my pulse speeding. “Oleez?” I asked, forcing my voice to remain even. My head pounded like drums at the gallows as I contemplated even the smallest lie. “I think she was the one who was responsible for cleaning their quarters.”
“Yes, Oleez told me they were missing. She noticed as she was straightening up one of the studies.”
Oleez was in charge of the main house—it consumed her days. She never went to Cave’s End, much less to straighten papers, of that much I was certain, and then I thought about another piece of paper—the one I had stolen at the arena from the king’s vest pocket. I chewed on my lip, then took a chance and cast my net a little wider. “What makes you think the papers are important? Did … Devereux say something?”
Vow of Thieves (Dance of Thieves) Page 12