by Carol A Park
He was going to be sick.
“Granted, it wasn’t easy,” Ivana said, going back to writing as if she hadn’t just imploded Vaughn’s brain. “Didn’t know if it would work, especially with my inexperience. But I’m certain that with practice, you could do some pretty precise manipulation of the body.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “My contact is, of course, Aleena. I’m including anything pertinent in this message, which you will give to her.”
He had liked Aleena. And she had almost helped him. This couldn’t be so bad.
Ivana dipped her pen again and let it hang above the inkwell. “Don’t underestimate her.” She put the pen back to the paper. “She’ll be naturally and rightfully distrustful of you, given that I disappeared in your company. She’s better at reading people and seeing through facades than even I am. This note, even in my hand, and even in Xambrian, won’t be enough to convince her that you’re my agent, not my captor.”
On the other hand…
“She’ll likely ask you some questions to try and feel you out. Your best chance is to be perfectly honest.”
“That I can do,” he said, relieved. Deception wasn’t his best attribute.
“If she asks you to tell her something only I and someone I trusted would know, how I gained the inn would be a promising topic.”
He snorted. “Let me guess,” he said.
Ivana ignored his comment. “I was plucked from the workhouses by an older gentleman whose wife and children had died in a fire decades earlier. He had no other family and wanted someone to leave his inn to.”
Vaughn’s mind was spinning, trying to piece together her story. Ran away from slavers, ended up on the streets and in a workhouse? But…wait…when had her training as an assassin come in? She had mentioned that like it had come directly after her flight.
“He also wanted…companionship.”
Vaughn didn’t ask. He didn’t need to, because he could guess—trading her body for food, shelter, and a possible future? He studied her, wondering. He had asked her, that night, when the last time she had slept with someone for herself had been, because he had an inkling that it had been awhile—and thought that might break down that last barrier. And it had worked—at least temporarily.
But had she ever done so, since his brother—if even that counted? Her body had been a tool, her entire life, a means to an end, and nothing more.
And for the first time in his entire life, he felt a pang of guilt. What had he been asking for? To give herself to a man in a way she hadn’t done since she was fifteen years old?
This business of knowing a woman before sleeping with her was a pain in the ass—and conscience.
“I tired of that. When he became severely ill some time later, I helped hasten the inevitable. Aleena knows this story. No one else does. It will probably convince her that I sent you.”
“Probably?”
She shrugged. “There are other ways to get information out of someone than my telling them freely. She may question you further, she may not. It depends on how she feels about you. She’s perceptive; I’m hoping she’ll sense that you’re genuine.”
Vaughn was feeling a little uneasy about taking this on. This wasn’t in his skillset. “What about that pendant? The one you gave to that man, presumably to convince Aleena you had sent him?”
Ivana’s hand went to her collarbone, touching an invisible chain. “I had no time for anything else. It was a gamble. But I’m sending you to collect information, sensitive information that she will be wary of giving out let alone admitting she has—not least because it will put her own life at risk. I sent the man solely to give information. Different situation. The pendant wouldn’t be enough. It could easily be taken off my dead body.”
What must this woman’s mind be like, always thinking about such things?
“All right,” Vaughn said, though he still felt unsure.
Ivana signed the note with a flourish and put the pen down. She folded the note in quarters, stood up, and brought it to Vaughn. “Are you sure you can do this?”
Not really. “Yes.”
“It’s possible you may have to do more than just talk to Aleena to get the information your leader needs.”
“I know.”
“Don’t screw it up.”
“You’re not the only one with stakes in this,” Vaughn said. “I won’t.”
Ivana looked dubious, but she handed him the note anyway.
He tucked it into his pocket. “Um, how will I find her?”
“The standing plan is that if there is ever a situation where I appear to have been compromised, she is to visit a particular location, if at all possible, once a week, for exactly one half an hour, to see if I send any message. Unless she’s been compromised herself, I have no doubt she’ll be there at the planned time and place.”
“Which would be?”
She cast him an irritated look. “I’m getting there. Down at the docks, at an inn and bar called The Quay. She’ll be sitting at a table in the corner, having a drink. Thursday night at ten.”
Three nights hence. Damn. “That doesn’t give me much time.”
“Then you’d best hurry.”
He had been hoping for a good night’s rest. He would have to settle for a few hours. “I suppose now you’re going to tell me not to be conspicuous?”
“Dress like a commoner and go about what you’re there to do, and you’ll be fine. You look intimidating enough not to attract attention from those looking to rough up someone weaker than themselves, and meetings in dark corners of inns are pretty commonplace. You won’t be bothered unless you invite trouble. You want to work in that questionable part of town, you learn to turn a blind eye to anything but your own business, so don’t invite trouble.”
Great. Just great. That didn’t make him feel at all better.
She started toward the door.
“Wait—Ivana,” he said.
She stopped and turned, one eyebrow raised. Her expression was still unreadable. Impassive.
Emotionless.
He didn’t know what he intended to say. He was sorry? She had been acting as though nothing had happened. Perhaps a bit more cool than she had been of late, but she exhibited none of her fury of a few hours ago, nor any embarrassment. As if it was what it was, and now it was done.
Was that all it would ever be? Was there nothing to say?
If so, he didn’t know what or how to say it. He didn’t even know if he wanted to say it. So instead, a single word dropped from his lips. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why…” He struggled and felt like a coward for what he said next. “Why didn’t you escape when you had the chance?”
She studied him, and then answered calmly. “Because I knew enlisting the aid of your people was my best hope for rescuing my girls.”
“Ah.”
She moved toward the door, as if to leave, but then stopped as she passed by him. “Oh, and in regards to your original question—”
“I didn’t ask another question,” he cut in, feeling panic rise in him. Maybe he didn’t want to talk. Best to let it go. No need to belabor the point.
“In regards to your original question,” she repeated. “Do you know what they call a woman who agrees to be a bottomless bottle of liquor for man?”
He swallowed. “I—”
“A free whore.”
“Ivana, that’s not—” He stopped when he felt the flat of the knife she had retrieved against the side of his neck.
She bent her head in close to him, almost as if she were going to kiss him. But instead she leaned around to put her lips next to his ear. “I made that mistake once,” she said softly. “And I don’t intend on making it again.” She turned the blade and let it drop so that the sharp edge skimmed across his skin as it fell.
He winced at the sting of the cut and stepped away from her.
She met his eyes, and they were hard. “Report to me as soon as you return.”
>
Then she left—the impact of her words leaving Vaughn feeling like someone had socked him in the stomach. She had it wrong. He hadn’t been trying to use her, not like his brother.
He touched his neck, wet his fingers with the blood there, and then held up his hand to watch it turn to aether. Or had he?
Chapter Thirty-Six
New Allies
The streets near The Quay were surprisingly busy this late at night. Revelers just getting started, traders of wares best left for darkness, whores…
The last he eyed with interest. It had been far too long, and being around Ivana all the time was starting to make him hurt. He didn’t typically hire women to meet his baser needs—usually didn’t need to—but he was feeling desperate of late.
But not now, as he was in a bit of a time crunch, and not here. If he were going to hire a prostitute, he would seek out nicer neighborhoods. Pricier, but their handlers were more concerned about controlling disease and keeping their establishments worthy of the upper-class men who would seek entertainment there.
He shoved aside such thoughts. He needed the brain in his skull for this job.
He pushed open the door to The Quay. It was clean, dimly lit, and loud. It smelled of fermenting ale and faintly of fish. He wasn’t sure those two smells went together, but no one else seemed to mind.
Aleena, he reminded himself. He looked around and finally spotted a lone figure at a corner table in the back. He approached cautiously, trying not to look like he was headed there until he was sure it was her.
He cast a glance that way—
She looked over at him.
He had once observed that Aleena didn’t seem the type to be involved in this business. The look she gave him made him reconsider that observation. It wasn’t malicious or even hard, like Ivana’s tended to be. Just…chillingly penetrating.
He slipped into the empty chair across from her and gave her an easy smile. “Well, fancy meeting you here.”
She didn’t return the smile. Instead, she pinned him with that same, penetrating gaze. Without looking away, she gestured to a passing waiter. “An ale for my friend,” she said. “Cider for me, if you please.”
The waiter nodded, and they sat in silence until he brought two foaming mugs and plunked them down in front of them without a word. Aleena slid a setan across the table, far more than needed to pay for two drinks. The waiter pocketed the coin and left without another glance at them.
She leaned forward. “It has been months since I have had news of my mistress, and the last I heard, you were in her company. No amount of charm is going to gain my trust. Where is she?”
The smile slid off his face. Perhaps this wouldn’t be so easy after all. He fumbled in his jacket pocket, pulled out the folded bit of paper and handed it to her. He had tried to read it—couldn’t help himself—but his Xambrian simply wasn’t good enough without a lexicon to make out much more than some basics.
She took the paper and unfolded it, eyes remaining on him until she had smoothed it flat on the table, and then she finally looked down at the note.
Vaughn waited. He tried not to look around or jiggle his leg or chew on his lip, and he didn’t know if he was succeeding.
“Interesting,” Aleena said. She touched the corner of the paper to the candle on their table and then tossed it in the middle to wait while it turned to ash.
She took a sip of her cider. “A secret society of Banebringers, hm?”
Vaughn swallowed and couldn’t help but glance around them. But the tables around them were conspicuously empty, and it was far too loud to be overheard by those beyond. Not being able to read the note, he didn’t know exactly what Ivana had told Aleena. He had hoped that perhaps it wouldn’t be necessary to reveal that information, but he supposed that was naïve. If she was going to help, she’d have to know what was going on.
“And are you one of her captors?”
“She’s not—well—” He pressed his lips together. Honesty, Vaughn. “No. I brought her there to save her life, not to have her imprisoned. Unfortunately, she hasn’t been allowed to leave yet. But she’s been treated well, I promise. She’s not locked up and fed only bread and water. Just restricted.”
“Ivana doesn’t deal well with restriction. Why didn’t she come herself?”
Aleena didn’t even seem to think it was in question that Ivana could have escaped such circumstances to come herself if she wanted to. “I—I think she feels that cooperating with them—us—is her best bet for rescuing the girls. But I don’t know all her logic. She didn’t explain herself fully to me.”
Aleena regarded him silently, eyes studying every minutia of his face, as though it revealed his thoughts.
Who knows. Maybe it did.
“And why should I trust you?”
“I—the note is written in her hand,” he started weakly.
“A forgery,” she said. “Easily done, by someone skilled enough.”
He blinked. She sounded so certain. Had he lost already? “No! It’s not. I mean—” He took a deep breath. She had already read that he was nervous and not particularly keen on this whole endeavor, and she knew someone like him would easily panic and give something away. She was trying to unsettle him.
“Tell me something that you could only know if you had gained her trust enough to become her agent.”
Gained her trust? Is that what had happened? He doubted she would ever admit it, if so. And yet, she had accepted his aid. Shared a private part of her past with him so that he could do this.
He opened his mouth to repeat Ivana’s instructions, but nothing came out. All Vaughn could see was Ivana, brow furrowed as she poured over an obscure text in a forbidden language, Ivana, tugging down her robe to show him the scars on her arms, Ivana, head tilted back, eyes closed, as she let down her defenses to allow herself the pleasure of his touch.
“It’s a mask,” he whispered.
“Your pardon?”
He raised his eyes to meet Aleena’s. “It’s a mask,” he repeated. “She’s hard and cold. Yet—though she would never admit this—something inside of her wishes she weren’t what she is, but she feels powerless to do anything about it.” Past the point of redemption. Maybe she had admitted it. To him.
And then he had ruined everything.
Aleena sat back in her chair, a look of surprise on her face for the first time. “My,” she said, and Vaughn struggled to regain his sense of composure.
“While my instincts tell me you’re sincere, I feel compelled by due diligence to base my trust on more than instinct.” She tilted her head to the side again. “What was the name of Ivana’s former master—the man who taught her everything she knows?”
Vaughn’s head snapped up and despair filled him. “I have no idea,” he said.
To his surprise, Aleena nodded. “Good, because neither do I. If you had gained that information, it would have to have been through torture or means other than her own lips.” She drained the rest of her cider and stood up. “I’m satisfied, but I can’t give you the information you want tonight. It’s too sensitive for this place.”
Vaughn stared blankly up at her, not sure what she wanted.
“There’s a retaining wall for an orchard within the city, but just outside the northern gates of the palace. The king allows commoners to come and pick a limited number of apples at this time of year, leading up to the harvest festival. Meet me there tomorrow at two in the afternoon.”
She didn’t bother to wait for his confirmation. Instead, she stood up, nodded to the waiter who had brought them their drinks, and left.
Vaughn was left staring into his untouched ale. Why bother?
He drained it anyway, as if to justify to himself that he had no other recourse than what he did next to drown his sorrows.
He looked too scruffy for this place, but coin talked when clothes didn’t. Still, they made him bathe, took his clothes to wash while he would be occupied, and provided him a plain but clean robe to don
in the meanwhile.
He had specified no preference in the type of woman—at this point, he didn’t care—but he started when a bronze-skinned, obviously native Fereharian entered the room.
She was achingly beautiful and dressed to accentuate it, and his body responded almost immediately.
Good. I need this. I deserve this. Damn woman, playing with my mind, playing with my emotions. Well, she wouldn’t keep playing with his body, not tonight.
The companion—that was what they called whores in places this upscale—smiled at him and seated herself on the divan. She patted the seat next to her. “Dal,” she said. “I am at your disposal. What is your pleasure tonight?”
He went to her, reveling in the closeness of such near-naked perfection as he sat down where she indicated. Unexpectedly, a thought encroached on his mind—a stray wondering at what had brought her to this place, literally and figuratively.
Her face was so friendly, so open, it was hard to believe she didn’t want to be here. Surely she enjoyed it as well. Especially in such a place as this—they wouldn’t think well on their prostitutes being mistreated, not here. She was lucky; not all establishments were so kind. She was taken care of.
But not, perhaps by those who should be taking care of her. Would any woman really chose this, every night a different man, never knowing what sort of man, called upon to be and act and do exactly what she was told, and have to pretend it was her pleasure to do so?
Perhaps some would. He didn’t know.
But what about her? Not likely.
He felt his desire waning, and irritation grew in its place. This was not what was supposed to happen.
“Dal?”
He swallowed and swept his eyes over her, pushing away such inconvenient thoughts, trying to stir himself back to where he had been a moment ago.
This was all her fault! All her moralizing and high and mighty thoughts, coming from an assassin of all people—