Déjà Vu & Gin

by Heather R. Blair

  It isn’t long before I feel the drum of footsteps on the stairs.

  I pull the headphones from my ears as Jett and Stephen grin at me from the doorway, both obviously famished. I wave them in with a laugh, then freeze.

  There’s no knock, but someone has just opened our front door. A door no one can open but family. After what happened with Luna, I set up an alarm spell to warn me when anyone but my sisters, my mother or myself crosses the threshold.

  Even after Luna died, I kept the spell up, not wanting to be surprised like that ever again. But I am now.

  Men file into our hall, one after the other, soldiers of some sort. Then I recognize the livery they’re wearing and my heart starts to race. Palace guards. Oh gods. Please no.

  Konstantin enters the dining room.

  The Master of Shadows. Viktor’s court sorcerer. He has grey eyes, just like his cousin. My stomach knots.

  I never thought I’d see him again. I hoped I’d never see any of them again.

  He bows and hands me a scroll. Time seems to slow and swirl as I read it. Viktor wants . . . to talk. An invitation to the Inferno Palace. No.

  Stephen was right. This cannot be happening, but all I can hear is my mother’s soft and sure voice filling my head. Destined for fire . . .

  I rip the scroll into pieces.

  Before I even know what’s going on, I’m surrounded by a ring of salt, looking out at a desperate Jett and an enraged Stephen, trying not to choke on the weight crushing my magic. Panic has my heart fluttering, my fists clenched at my sides as I try to think of a way out of this trap. Then I hear it.

  A familiar and stealthy footfall in the hallway.

  Thank the gods. Despite everything he said, despite the way we left things, a smile curves my lips and my heartbeat slows.

  The guards at attention let him pass, but Tyr barely seems to note them. He doesn’t look at me either, just steps into the room as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. I’m probably the only one that notes the tightness of his lips or that one hand is behind his back, probably clenched tightly, knuckles white.

  One assassin of the realm tips the scales heavily in our favor. I take a deep breath, the weight on my chest suddenly easier to bear. Jett and Stephen relax ever so slightly.

  Tyr looks from the Russian to my sister and Stephen and back again. “Well, this looks like fun. Can I play, too?”

  A satisfied expression crosses Konstantin’s face. He lowers his hands.

  “By all means. Time to earn your keep, assassin.”

  Before anyone can blink, Tyr rips a piece of spellwork from his belt. Spellwork I gave him.

  I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. Everything happens so fast, yet so slowly. Like watching a movie on fast forward, but also frame by frame. My sister and the bruin king crash to the floor, echoed by the perfectly timed thumps of more than a dozen soldiers collapsing with them. When it’s over, only Tyr, Konstantin and I remain standing. Tyr because he instigated the spell, me because magic can’t penetrate the circle, and Konstantin because he’s Konstantin.

  My throat is tight and raw. I’m surprised at how hard my heart is pounding in my chest. I could have sworn I felt it fall all the way to my toes. Tyr’s eyes meet mine and there’s nothing in there, nothing at all. Just a glittering pool of black that threatens to drown me.

  I blink back the stinging in my eyes and lift my chin. I want to scream at him, but what comes out is pure ice.

  “You son of a bitch. How much?”

  “Enough.” Tyr raises an eyebrow, his own voice cool and sharp as he takes a bundle of black silk from his belt. “Come along, love. Apparently, someone really wants to see you.”

  The bag goes over my head. Even then I won’t let the tears come, because I should’ve known better.

  I really, really should have.

  25

  I delivered Anastasia to the prince over three days ago. I haven’t seen her since.

  I’ve not been given leave to go and that’s fine by me as I still haven’t been paid. The request to attend the prince comes at dawn. I walk into the throne room, flanked by guards, to see her standing next to Vasilisa. She’s dressed in his colors, red and gold, and he’s holding her hand, looking up at her from his throne.

  Despite the fact that he’s the royal here, there’s something of the supplicant in his manner. Her nose wrinkles and she pulls her hand from his. I bite back a smile, but the urge vanishes when her eyes meet mine.

  My ice queen is back in full force, her gaze so cold it burns. Vasilisa watches for my reaction closely, but when there isn’t one, he waves me forward.

  “Time to conclude our business. I imagine you’re anxious to be on your way.”

  “That I am, Your Highness,” I say dryly.

  Vasilisa throws me a bag of coin. “Here you are then, a bounty well earned.” Anastasia’s lips press together and I catch a momentary flash of satisfaction in the prince’s eyes before he turns to the Master of Shadows, who is standing at his right hand, ever the obedient guard dog.

  “Escort my fiancée to her chambers.”

  That’s the only reason she was here then. He wanted her to see the money change hands, wanted to rub it in. My jaw clenches before I can control it. What a fucking prick.

  I’m still looking at Vasilisa when she walks past me, surrounded by guards, so I don’t see it coming. Then again, neither do they. Anastasia darts out from between two of the toy soldiers and slaps me. Hard enough to make my ears ring.

  Yes, I could have prevented it. But she needed to hit me, and maybe I needed to be hit. When she lifts her hand a second time, though, I lift a warning finger.

  “Now then, is that any way to treat the man who brought you back to your one true love?”

  Her shoulders curve in on each other, as if she’s trying to make herself as small as possible, and that silver head bows. It rips a few more layers off my already-battered heart, but the sound of her voice really finishes it off. “I trusted you, Tyr,” she whispers before moving back between her guards. “I didn’t want to, but I did.”

  “Trusting an assassin of the realm?” I toss the words over my shoulder with a laugh that’s as cruel as I can make it. “Surely not.”

  I hear the quick hiss of an indrawn breath, but then Anastasia’s gone, along with the sound of marching feet. I’m alone with the prince. I frown when I realize he’s dismissed all his men, even Konstantin. My, my.

  A ballsy move, or a reckless one? He is the Firebird Prince. There is no magic I’ve heard of, above the gods’, that can defeat this one. But then again, I’m an assassin. I don’t rely on magic. Employ it, yes. Trust it, never. Magic alone doesn’t guarantee victory, though it does change the odds considerably. My fingers twitch and I take a slow, careful breath, waiting for Vasilisa to speak.

  “It was a clever suggestion, telling us we needed blood to get in the house,” he finally says, almost idly. “It wasn’t too hard for Konstantin to slip into my cousin’s dungeon and steal one of his vials.”

  “I didn’t figure it would be.” His Master of Shadows is almost a better thief than I am.

  “You haven’t given any hint to Ana or her sisters about all that, have you?” Again, the prince’s tone is careless, but if His Highness thinks I’m buying that shit, he’s a lot dumber than I give him credit for.

  “No,” I assure him. “There has been speculation you were behind the attack on Jett, but they know nothing for sure.” Then again, neither did I until I was summoned to this palace just over a week ago.

  “Good. With my cousin dead, it should stay that way.” He gives me a placid look that fools me not at all.

  Killing me would go a lot further toward keeping the prince’s secret safe. Then he switches tactics so abruptly, I’m caught flat-footed.

  “You slept with her?”

  Damn. My hands clench before I can stop them. Vasilisa is leaning forward in his throne, his light eyes intent on my face. I was hoping we wouldn’t have to
go there, but . . .

  I let my hands relax and shrug. There is little point in lying. “An arrangement in place months before you hired me, I’m afraid.”

  “And after you took my commission?” He looks at his hands, trying to appear casual, but his posture is unnaturally still. Shit, were they watching us? Fucking Konstantin. It had to be, he’s the only one I wouldn’t have made immediately.

  I try to look sheepish. “Well, it would have been suspicious if I suddenly refused her, Your Highness. I couldn’t risk it.”

  “Of course.” Vasilisa sits back. There’s a tightness to his smile that I don’t like at all. “It hardly matters, she’ll forget you soon enough.”

  “I daresay,” I agree, but a sneer tries to twist my lips, so I hide it with another bow. Her heart probably shut me out the instant that bag went over her head, but Anastasia’s body is fucking mine. She’ll never welcome another man in her bed the way she did me. My gut tightens, but I make sure my face is blank before I raise it again.

  “I should kill you for that,” he muses.

  “But you won’t,” I say with more confidence than I feel. “Freya doesn’t take kindly to her assassins being offed for doing their jobs.”

  “True,” he says silkily. Suddenly, that itch between my shoulder blades is back and so fierce I have to fight to hear the prince’s next words. “To that end, I’d like you to take another contract for me. One that will be quite a challenge.”

  I raise my eyebrows, trying to format a polite refusal, as I’m not accepting any more contracts at the moment. Before I can, Vasilisa lays out the details of his ‘job offer.’

  It doesn’t take long.

  “You want me to steal Brisanga from Freya?” I stare at him incredulously. “She’s my patron. You must know I can’t do that. I won’t,” I snap, momentarily forgetting I am talking to royalty. Then I decide he can go fuck himself. “Not even for you, Your Majesty.”

  “I’m sorry, did I give you the impression this was a request?”

  The air seems to vibrate briefly. When I look up, his guard has reappeared. Only there is more than one elite squad at his back this time; hundreds line the walls behind him and crowd into the galleries above. Along with at least a dozen archers with bows drawn. I look over my shoulder and see Konstantin behind me with another squad and a hard smile. I turn back to the prince, my face tight.

  “Sign the contract, assassin.”

  I’m getting damn sick of this forced contract business, but fifteen minutes later, the Firebird Prince has another sample of my blood, this one on a piece of parchment that is effectively my death warrant.

  Steal from Freya.

  It can’t be done, but I have to do it. Somehow. There is no doubt the prince intends this contract to be the end of me, but I won’t let it. I have things to do.

  All night long, I try to think up a miracle and all night long, I come up short. Normally, I would try to let it go, to get some space and set my mind free to work out a solution, but that’s not an option this time.

  When dawn comes and I’m getting ready to leave, I’m surprised by a knock on my door. I’m even more surprised to find it’s Konstantin. “The prince’s bride wants a word before you leave, assassin.”

  I wish they’d stop calling Anastasia that, as if she only exists as an extension of Vasilisa, but it’s not my place, so I bite my tongue. Time is running short enough on me as it is. I need out of here as soon as possible.

  But I do question the king’s man sharply when we pass the throne room and start up a winding set of stairs. “Isn’t His Majesty attending this meeting?”

  “No. It’s to be just you and the lady.” He looks over his shoulder and gives me a hard look. “Though I will be outside the whole time.” What Konstantin doesn’t have to say is that he’s a shadow elemental. An unmagicked door is the proverbial butter to his hot knife.

  “I am surprised the prince agreed to this.”

  “The lady was rather . . . insistent.” He gives me a thin smile that I completely understand. Anastasia can drive a hard bargain. Then I wonder what she agreed to for Vasilisa to grant her this request and my head starts to pound. We come to a halt in front of a door at the top of the tower. Of course. This is the FTC world, after all. “Ten minutes, assassin.” When I reach for the handle, Konstantin grabs my arm, his eyes narrow and cold. “A message from the prince: Should she come to any harm, you’ll leave here not in pieces, but washed off the floor like a stain.”

  I nod shortly. “Message received.”

  I face the heavy wooden barrier that stands between the witch and I, trying not to flinch. Will she scream? Will she cry? My fingers tighten on the cold iron and for a moment, I can’t move. Then Konstantin coughs pointedly.

  With a sigh, I yank the tower door open.

  26

  I thought I heard the sound of men’s voices, but I couldn’t make out the words and now all is still. My gown is gold today, the hem embroidered with scarlet birds in various stages of flight. Viktor chose it. I pick at the skirt, barely resisting the urge to rip out every hand-sewn stitch. These clothes feel less like armor and more like a prison uniform. Right now, I’d give anything for a pair of jeans and one of Seph’s T-shirts, or the dress that Tyr liked so much—

  The door opens. The word bursts from my lips as soon as I see him, falling between us like a gauntlet. “Why?”

  “The price was right, love.” Tyr’s response is short, crackling with impatience as the door shuts behind him.

  I say nothing, watching him, my hands still on my skirts. My former lover, however, is no longer looking at me. Before the door settles into place, his eyes are busy scanning the room, picking up on the feather in the middle of the floor almost immediately.

  Viktor is not stupid. He doesn’t want to throw me in a dungeon, but I am a ‘reluctant guest,’ as Konstantin likes to put it. The feather is Viktor’s way of holding me without chains or fetters. He replaces it every night. It floats serenely, a scant inch off the stone floor, most of which is covered in rich furs, but this bit is bare. We wouldn’t want to cause a fire, after all.

  Viktor’s spell keeps it locked in place and of course I can’t budge it, because his magic nullifies mine. Tyr’s lips press together as he kneels down to examine it. I’ve no idea what he intends to do. Then he plucks something from his belt, like a handkerchief. It is a handkerchief. I frown, wondering if he expects me to cry.

  He holds the cloth a foot above the feather, then drops it. It falls, white and fluttering, to completely cover the feather on the floor. Quick as a flash, he gets to his feet, crumpling a bit of familiar-looking spellwork in his hand.

  “Let me guess, my silence spell?” I say dryly.

  Tyr nods without looking at me, going straight to the open window. He looks through, walking from one side to the other, though staying well back from sight. It’s like he’s checking all possible lines of sight. Seemingly satisfied, he turns back to me, but I’ve already gotten to my feet.

  I backhand him across the face as hard as I can. If feels even better than before, probably because this time it’s not just for show. He staggers. His cheek is livid and my hand feels like it’s on fire. I don’t care, I want to throttle him.

  “You lying son of a bitch!”

  Those broad shoulders tense as he lifts his head, dark hair falling over one eye. “Anastasia—”

  “You could have at least warned me.”

  He opens his mouth, shuts it again. Then tilts his head. “Come again?”

  I tap my foot against the stone, my skirts rustling in agitation, my hands still itching for his throat. “This kidnapping crap is a total farce. How dumb do you think I am?”

  “You knew?” His voice is strangled, though there is something like wonder in his eyes. That just makes me madder.

  “Of course.” I step forward and poke him in the chest. “It was kind of obvious. Especially after Jett told me the truth about that awful story you told me. This is another g
ame, and you’re doing what you have to win all over again, aren’t you? No matter how much it hurts.”

  Absolute silence stretches between us as he continues to stare at me. Then with a disbelieving laugh, Tyr yanks me to him, kissing me so hard it hurts.

  I melt against the onslaught, my fear dissolving for the first time in three long days. “Fuck,” he whispers against my bruised lips, his fingers stroking my hair. “I didn’t want this, I didn’t want to want you.”

  “I know,” I whisper back. “But you do.”

  “It was your conniving little soul. How could I resist?”

  “It’s too much like yours.”

  “Only far more clever.” He smiles at me.

  “So how are we going to fix this, clever boy?”

  He nods, not releasing me, but becoming more businesslike at once. “I’ve a plan. When he came to me with the contract, I couldn’t say no—”

  “Because then he’d go to someone else and you’d be less able to help me. I figured it out.” I wave a hand impatiently. “Plus, this way you get his money, too.” I shake my head. “I was actually impressed, after I got over wanting to kill you.”

  “Ahh, Anastasia, if I didn’t love you before, I sure as hell would now.” He kisses me again, much gentler this time. “Got it in one.”

  I don’t move. I don’t think I even breathe. Finally he notices and understanding slips into those dark eyes. His lips twist, but he doesn’t say a word. So I have to.

  “You said . . . you said . . .”

  “For the gods’ sakes, with everything else going on, you’re going to do the pale, stunned thing over a silly, four-lettered word?”

  “It’s not silly.”

  “No, it’s not,” he agrees with a bemused expression, his fingers trailing over my cheek, tucking back my curls. “But it’s true.”

  “I love you, too.” Every word is an effort, but once they’re out, it feels like something breaks inside me. I haven’t said those words to anyone in at least a hundred years. Another bit of armor falling away.