She sat on the floor, half-drenched, not far from the front door.
Rone’s breathing was nearly as heavy as hers. “Sandis?”
Sandis wiped water from her eyes with shaking hands. “I . . . What?”
“You were sleepwalking,” he said, his voice low, panicked. “You were screaming.”
Sleepwalking? Sandis had never done that before. Or if she had, she’d always gotten back into bed before waking up. That meant they were getting worse, didn’t it?
Rone’s hands ran down her arms. “You’re freezing.” He jumped to his feet and grabbed the blanket from the sofa, draping it over her shoulders. Sandis clutched its edges in fists, trying to coax her body to stop shaking.
He had been there. Kolosos. It had felt so real.
Rone knelt before her. “What happened?”
Pulling the blanket tighter around her, Sandis shook her head.
“Damn it, Sandis, don’t refuse to talk to me now. I know you. I know this is not normal.”
He might as well have punched her in the gut. He knew her because they’d been inseparable before he sold her back to Kazen. They’d shared rooms. Sleeping rolls, even.
He tucked some of her wet hair behind her ear. Sandis pulled back. Filled her chest with a deep breath, and then another. “It was just a nightmare.”
“People don’t need to be doused in cold water to wake up from a nightmare.”
She wiped her nose on the blanket.
Rone sighed. Stayed silent for a full minute. Then asked, “How long have you been having nightmares?”
She swallowed, a sore lump pressing against the walls of her throat. “They’re not always nightmares,” she whispered.
“They?” He loomed closer. Sandis didn’t have the energy to move away. Part of her didn’t want to.
Her hold on the blanket loosened. “Since Kazen. Since we left.”
Now Rone pulled back, grabbing his knees in his hands. Almost whispering, he asked, “What are you dreaming about?”
She flinched as though Kolosos’s claws caressed her back. “Kolosos.”
Rone swore.
“It’s fine.” She dried the rest of her face. The ends of her hair. “It’s just a dream.”
Rone leveled his gaze at her. “You just said they weren’t always nightmares.”
Avoiding his eyes, Sandis glanced to the window. “What time is it?”
“It doesn’t matter. We need to talk about—”
“What time is it?” she repeated more forcefully.
She could feel his frustration like the humidity before a storm. “Almost dawn.”
Sandis stood and walked toward the couch, grabbing her bag. If she could keep her focus on the bag, on the shadows, on her route home, then she wouldn’t have to think.
“You can’t just run back to him.” Rone followed her like a stray dog. “We need to talk. What else, besides the nightmares? Sandis.” He touched her elbow; she tugged it free.
“It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing!” Rone shouted, startling her. He grabbed fistfuls of his hair and nearly pulled it out by the root. “If you could have heard yourself, Sandis! Please. God’s tower, just let me help you.”
She whirled on him, standing as straight as her spine would allow. “I think we both remember what happened last time you helped me, Rone Comf.”
The stray dog metaphor had been accurate. At her words, he looked like one, and she hated the way his sorrowful expression pricked her heart.
She pulled her bag onto her shoulder. Looking at the floor, she said, “Thank you for letting me stay.”
She hurried for the door and escaped.
Once again, Sandis felt as if she didn’t quite belong in the world. Like somehow, she was separate from everything.
Until Talbur’s home came into sight. Then she felt very rooted, and very small.
But at least he wasn’t Kazen. Inside these walls, Kazen didn’t exist. The vessels didn’t exist. Kolosos didn’t exist.
She tried to keep her back straight when she knocked on the front door—Talbur had never given her a key. Amila answered and offered a sympathetic smile before letting her inside. Shaking jitters from her arms, Sandis swept up the stairs to her room, where she changed into her nicest clothes and washed her face the way her great-uncle had told her to. Parted her hair just so, put on her makeup. Her fingers trembled, which made the kohl a little difficult, but it worked well enough.
She frowned at her reflection and left, forcing herself to slip into the learned routine.
Talbur sat at the breakfast table, his plate empty despite an assortment of smoked meats and bread sitting on the table before him. He read the paper. Like he was waiting for her.
Sandis wasn’t sure if she should apologize. If she should say anything. Watching him, she pulled out the chair opposite his and sat.
Her great-uncle lowered his paper. “Ah, Sandis. Good morning. I trust you slept well?”
She stared at him. Nodded. Lied.
He nodded almost jovially and folded the paper before setting it beside his tray. Picking up a pair of tongs, he helped himself to three links of sausage. “Glad to hear it. I hear you’ve been rummaging through the library. Found anything you like?”
This was it, then? Everything would be jolly and fine? If only I were as good at pretending as he is. Maybe she could learn something from him.
She mentioned the pirate book and reached for a muffin, warily, as if Talbur would swat her hand away just before she touched it. He didn’t.
“I’ve got a full day today. Might be home late.” He wiped his mouth on a napkin. “Might need to hire that Engel boy again.”
Sandis forced herself to chew through the mention of Rone’s alias.
“As for you, I’d like you to deliver something for me. Tonight, at the last work bell. Amila will set the package outside your bedroom door. I want you in the city when the bell hits, mind you. Chaos is always good for delivery.”
Chaos was a good word for it. So many men, women, and children worked in the factories. The streets were thronged after the last bell. Sandis raised her eyebrow, trying to figure out how it could possibly be prudent to make a delivery at such a time . . . unless Talbur didn’t want anyone paying attention to Sandis and her mystery package.
Her stomach clenched, and she had to force herself to swallow her last bite of muffin. Was it something illegal? Perhaps one of those off-limits boxes in the basement? What if Sandis was caught? Didn’t Talbur know that vessels, whether they were in active use or not, were strictly prohibited and would be hanged if arrested?
Her thoughts must have painted her face, for her great-uncle added, “No worries, dear.” He reached inside a pocket and handed her a piece of paper. “I have a very precise route drawn out for you. You can hire a carriage to bring you home. Here.” He added ten kol to the paper—enough for one-way transportation.
Sandis unfolded the paper, which she recognized as a map of part of the smoke ring in District Two, and traced the thick black line that wrapped around factories and flats.
“Well?”
She nodded.
Talbur smiled. “There’s my girl.” He shoved more meat into his mouth, then grabbed a piece of poppy bread. “I’m off.”
He left his chair pushed out and departed out the back door.
Sandis sat at the table a while longer, despite having lost her appetite. She stared at her great-uncle’s chair, skewed to the right. The smell of the smoked meats, which had been pleasant before, suddenly invoked thoughts of Heath.
As she stood to leave, however, she glimpsed one of the headlines in her great-uncle’s newspaper: “Disturbing Increase of Missing Youth Has Police on Alert.”
She picked up the paper and read. Several children, ages ten to sixteen, had gone missing from their homes and places of work without a trace. The article profiled each one, giving a name and a description for each. It then went on to say two had been found but were “greatl
y disfigured, making it difficult for police to identify them.”
Coldness formed a snowball in her stomach. Greatly disfigured how?
With brands? Or had they simply been turned inside out, like Heath?
Sandis pressed her palm over her mouth, sure she’d sick up. Ages ten to sixteen . . . good ages for vessels. She, Alys, Kaili, Rist, Dar . . . they’d all been branded in that age range.
You’re jumping to conclusions, she chided herself. You’re seeing things that aren’t there. Again.
And yet she knew Kazen. Knew him as intimately as the sword she’d use to run him through.
But Rone had lost his amarinth. A Noscon device more powerful than any sword. If Kazen had it, then he still lived.
Sandis set the paper down and turned away. Paused. Picked the article back up and reread it, noting the author’s name: Vetto Dace. There was no mention of grafters or the occult. No indisputable connection to Kazen. And yet . . .
She thought she felt a hot breath against her neck. She bit her tongue to keep from crying out and blinked tears from her eyes. She just wanted to be safe. Was that such a horrible thing?
Nausea rolled through her middle as she retreated to her room, newspaper still in hand. She closed the door behind her, then leaned against it and slid to the floor, her arms wrapping around her knees. At least this meant Kazen had moved on. That he wasn’t looking for her anymore. Maybe she was safe.
Shame licked at her. Did the other vessels know the names of Kazen’s experiments, or did they simply put their pillows over their heads when they heard screaming?
At least in her nightmares, she could run. The children couldn’t, and neither could the other vessels. They were trapped behind that heavy, locked door, waiting for Kazen to torture them, test them. Waiting for Kolosos.
Sandis could hide all she wanted, but it wouldn’t stop Kazen from his mission of madness. Sandis had slowed him down before. Could she do it again?
But Talbur wouldn’t let Sandis leave. Part of her didn’t want to. For all his fault, Talbur was family. Her only family. And she so desperately wanted a family.
But Talbur didn’t want the same, did he? He wanted an employee. Someone to deliver packages. To scare men in pubs and kiss debtors in whorehouses.
A new revelation came to her. Had Talbur ever heard her scream in the middle of the night? If so, he’d never tried to wake her.
Sandis sat against that door for a long time, until her tailbone ached and her feet tingled for lack of blood. When she stood, she was light-headed and had to lean against the door until she felt solid again. Solid and numb. She recovered the bag she’d taken with her to Rone’s. Blankly checked its contents. Ate some bread she couldn’t taste. Moved to her closet, selected another dress, and folded it tightly. Placed it in the bag. Added a comb. The newspaper. Her allowance. She tried to count the bills, but her brain couldn’t wrap around the math. She split the amount in two, putting half in her skirt pocket and half in her bag.
She reached for the pirate book. Paused. No, that wasn’t hers. It would have to stay.
Down the stairs, to the kitchen. She didn’t remember the journey, only opened the cupboards and took what she could find that was small and lasting. Packed the bag until it couldn’t hold any more.
When? Should she leave now, or later, when it was time to deliver the package? If she left now, Amila or the cook might see her and say something. But they all expected her to leave tonight, for Talbur’s errand.
She had a feeling he wouldn’t miss her.
Brain dust.
Sandis recognized the stuff the moment she opened the package at the end of Talbur’s street. It awoke a sickening nostalgia in her. Galt had often smelled of the drug. A lot of the grafters did. Never Kazen. She’d never seen him smoke, sniff, or drink. But the scent of burnt brain dust was just as common in his lair as the smell of cleaner from the “messes” the grafters tended to make.
Sandis closed the box and tossed it into the first garbage bin she passed. Newly emptied. The collectors must have come today.
The numbness hadn’t receded, but the farther she got from Talbur’s home, her bag strapped to her back, the colder she became. It was still summer, though the season was ending, and the blanket of smog that covered the city made it unnaturally warm. Yet the heat couldn’t penetrate her skin. And so she shivered, her footsteps echoing dully against the cobbles. Others were out and about, but Sandis didn’t heed them. She just kept walking. South, farther into the city. She had to . . . what was it? Yes, she had to find a landlord. She needed a space to rent . . . but would she find one so late? Would they ask for identification?
An inn. She could afford to stay in one for the night. And then she’d find a rental in the morning. A small space. Nothing fancy. Something cheap, on the opposite side of the city from the grafters. And then she could . . . what? What exactly did she think she could do? She was only one person, after all. It would be better, safer to hide. To change her name and find a job.
“Where are you going?”
The voice barely registered in her thoughts. She kept moving forward, footsteps thudding on the cobblestones. It occurred to her that she didn’t know how to find an inn, either. She’d stayed in one once, but that had ended badly. She didn’t remember seeing any nearby. Her great-uncle had told her where the Rose Inn was . . . but she couldn’t go there. She knew of a boardinghouse deeper in the city, but it would take all night to walk there—
“Sandis.” Footsteps quicker than hers thumped behind her. A shadow blocked the setting sun—it had already disappeared behind the wall, but its yellow rays reached up from the unseen horizon. “Hey. What’s wrong? What happened?”
She paused. Looked up. Rone. Where had he come from?
She stepped around him and continued on her path. Some taverns and bars had rooms. Maybe she could ask for a pallet. That would be less expensive, right?
Warmth pierced through the chill, funneling up her fingers. She looked down. Rone’s hand had seized hers. It took her a moment to muster the will to pull her hand away.
“Sandis. What happened?”
She blinked, looked at him. “I’m leaving.”
“Talbur?”
Nodding, she started to walk again.
He blocked her. “Where are you going?”
She swallowed. “Please go.” She couldn’t do this right now. Couldn’t talk or think. She could only do. A plan would come later.
“I’m not going to leave. It’s almost dark. Where are you going? Do you need to stay over again?”
She tried to step around him. When she spoke, her voice was airy and tight. “I need a landlord.”
Rone rubbed the scruff on his jaw. “I can help you find a landlord. In the morning. Just come with me, okay? You’re . . . not yourself.”
She blinked at him. Not herself? How was she not herself? He didn’t even know her. Everyone who knew her was dead or trapped in a cell underground . . .
A pang punched her chest. Just below her shattered heart.
She feinted to the right, then stepped to the left to get around Rone. Continued moving farther into the city.
“Sandis.” He walked beside her now. “No one will be open for business at this hour. The light is leaving.”
Sandis tried to speak, but the only word that made it past her lips was “inn.”
Rone groaned. “I don’t think there’s one near here. Sandis.” He grasped her wrist. “Let me help you. Okay? If you want to stay at an inn, I’ll take you to one. We can get a cab. I’ll pay for it.”
Pay for it.
With what money?
The money he’d gotten from Kazen.
The pang hit her heart, but it didn’t slide away as it usually did. It radiated. Expanded, until it filled every part of her. Until the numbness burned away and all she could do was feel.
She was alone. Her parents and brother were dead. The other vessels were trapped. Rone had sold her. Talbur wanted to use her. She had
no family. No friends. Not even her god wanted her.
She pressed a hand to her chest, wishing she could still feel the old connection to Ireth, even the slightest pressure or sliver of warmth. He’d been an abomination, but he had been hers.
“Sandis?” Rone stood in front of her again, cupping her face. “Sandis? You’re shaking.”
Tears blurred her vision. Pain sucked at her heart, deadening it. Everything beneath her skin was smoke and salt.
She’d always thought summoning was the worst pain a person could experience, but she’d been wrong.
This was.
This emptiness. This . . . nothingness. She wasn’t in a place apart from the world; she was apart from the world. She had no ties, no relations.
No hope.
Her strength dissolved, and she crumpled right there on the side of the street, crying like she had when her father died. When she couldn’t find Anon. When the slavers first kidnapped her. Sobs ripped through her body like saw blades. The sun’s rays finally slipped from the sky, enveloping her in a darkness as absolute as the one inside her.
Rone’s hands smoothed her hair. Pressed into her back. “What can I do?” he asked, low and soft. “I’ll do anything to make this better.”
“I—” The sobs shattered her words. “I-I have n-no one . . .”
Her tears pattered against the cobblestones like rain.
“You have me, Sandis. I promise. You have me.”
But Sandis shook her head as the thorns bloomed and coiled around her heart. “I-I don’t,” she lamented. “I . . . n-never . . . did.”
Chapter 5
The sewers and tunnels underneath Dresberg were a temple in and of themselves. Or, more accurately, a sepulchre. A dying place buried by invaders so they could build their new world on the ruins of the old. So they could form their new religion and classify the old one as heresy.
Hypocrites. Every last one of them.
Kazen always contemplated this when he went into the underground. Not the tunnels that pushed the city’s wastewater around, but the old, man-made caverns that spiraled below them—down deep where the filthiest of men did their bartering. Where the grubbiest slags of criminals hid for fear of justice. For fear of the light.
Myths and Mortals (Numina Book 2) Page 4