She tried to squirm away from him, but he was unmoving, completely rigid. She ducked from underneath his forearm, and without her torso to prop him up, he rolled into an awkward position, like an upended statue.
Chae-Na scurried to the other end of the bed. There was a spot of blood on the white cot. It looked like a hateful eye.
She gasped, and the air shot painfully and desperately through her throat. Her eyes burned and her hands shook. All that skin she had recently been savoring now felt like a used and dirty thing. It trapped her spirit. She pressed her fingernails into the flesh of her arm and barely felt the pain.
She looked up. Quade was still there, still frightful and unmoving. He was too near. She needed space. She needed air to breathe that was free of his scent. Tumbling from the bed, she scuttled away on hands and feet.
The tent flap stirred and she spun around. And then the very last person she wanted to see arrived, ripping onto the scene like a storybook prince.
He had come, come for her. But too late. She clutched at her knees, wishing she could somehow fold into herself and disappear.
Ko-Jin understood. She could see that much in his eyes.
He saw that they had been sleeping in the same bed, and perhaps his sharp sight had even detected the blood. The horror on his face, the raw anger and disgust, felt like a slap.
“Chae-Na,” he choked out. “I…I’m—”
He moved towards her, as if to pull her into an embrace, and she scampered back, away from him. She did not want him to touch her now; he shouldn’t see her like this. If he laid a hand on this dirtied skin, she was certain he would be repulsed.
How could he not be? She had lain with the Spiritblighter himself. She was contaminated.
Ko-Jin wiped at an eye. “It’s okay. I can give you space, if that’s what you want. But it’s over now. He’s done for.”
Chae-Na glanced to where Quade lay in his strange, frozen stance. Her thoughts focused, narrowing in on a single desire. She wanted to kill him herself.
A calm settled upon her, and she pushed to her feet. She strode towards Ko-Jin, and he opened his arms to her. She reached for the hilt of Treeblade at his hip and pulled his sword free.
Having only ever practiced with wooden blades, the weight and heft of steel felt unfamiliar in her hand.
Ko-Jin reached to grab her wrist and she danced away, spearing him with a hateful look.
“You can’t,” he said. His eyes were glassy and red-rimmed. “At least, not yet. We need these people in his camp to see his face like this. Otherwise, the war might move forward without him.”
She blinked, irritated that he should have such a sound rationale. Her determination slipped away as quickly as it had come. The strength left her arm, and the sword in her hand fell with a soft thump to the ground.
Ko-Jin moved to where Quade lay and pulled him up, none too gently, by the back of his neck. He held him like a signpost, face out. Chae-Na turned her head away; she did not need to look upon that man’s features again. She would have no difficulty in remembering them.
“Alright,” Ko-Jin said darkly. “Let’s end this.”
“She’s not here,” Kelarre said in irritated tones.
Vendra grimaced. He was right, of course, but she was reluctant to admit defeat. Her hand went to the revolving pistol at her hip, one of her grandfather’s new models. Hopefully it would be enough to mitigate Quade’s anger at their failure.
She braced against a gust of icy Dalish wind and glanced to the horizon. There was no sign of the dawn yet, but it could not be more than an hour or two off. Kelarre stifled a yawn behind his hand, and Vendra blinked against her exhaustion.
“Where do you think she could have gone?” Vendra asked, not expecting an answer.
Kelarre shrugged. “She’s a weird one. Who knows…”
Vendra chewed on the inside of her cheek. It should not be so difficult to locate a single girl. But her bed was empty, and she was not in the library or the dining hall, nor could they find her anywhere on the grounds.
Vendra’s breath ghosted before her as she huffed in exasperation. “Well, I suppose that’s it then. We’ll just have to tell Quade that she was nowhere to be found.” And hope he’s in a merciful mood.
Kelarre held out his hand. “To Quade’s, then?”
Vendra frowned as she thought this over. It was early, and he might not like to be roused at such an hour. However, he had specifically instructed her to report to him when the task was complete.
“Yes, but a little away from his tent. We shouldn’t wake him.”
She grabbed ahold of the young man’s hand and closed her eyes. She no longer felt any particular discomfort at the sensation of teleporting; in fact she secretly relished it. That heartbeat of oblivion seemed a kind of transcendence.
In the space of a single breath, the cold night was swept away and replaced with a warm one. She inhaled the sea air and gazed around her at the stretch of dark tents which stirred in the breeze.
Vendra’s scrutiny moved to Quade’s. Beside the entrance, a vacant wooden folding chair lay on its side, and the sand appeared more disturbed than she recalled. Whythe, who was meant to be sitting guard, was nowhere in sight. She put a finger to her lips and gazed meaningfully at Kelarre. He frowned in confusion, clearly not having noticed anything amiss.
Vendra crept towards the tent on silent feet. She heard a male voice on the other side of the canvas—a voice she thought she recognized, and which was certainly not Quade’s.
“Come,” she mouthed over her shoulder to Kelarre. She slipped around the side of the tent, towards the ocean. She paused just at the corner, still cloaked in shadows. It was a low tide, and the beach stretched a great length, wetly gleaming with moonshine. Vendra scanned the shore. At first she didn’t see them, the two shapes crouched low behind a bit of kelp-draped driftwood. But a slight motion caught her attention, and soon she could make out their faces. She pointed, so her companion might discern them as well.
“Spirits,” Kelarre whispered into her ear. “We spend the whole bleeding night searching for her, and she’s right here.”
“Don’t move,” Vendra said.
“Why? I can take her with or without my gift.”
“Because you’ve failed to notice the girl next to her.”
He squinted. “I can’t…”
“Elda,” Vendra whispered back. The Elevated girl who could render people immobile. If she and Kelarre were to move into view, they would be stopped as soon as they were sighted. Her beloved Quade must, even now, be bound by the girl’s gift.
“So…what now?”
Vendra didn’t answer, but she dropped to her knees. She pulled her grandfather’s revolver from the holster at her belt and fished within her pocket for the small box of ammunition she had snatched. The chamber clicked open with ease, revealing six slots. She began slipping the oddly shaped bullets into place, one at a time, with steady hands.
With a satisfying whir and clink, she rotated the chamber back into place. It was an elegant weapon; she could see her grandfather’s craftsmanship behind the design.
She took her time in aiming, as she had never yet fired such a pistol. She steadied her arm, uncertain of the kickback, and waited, hoping Elda might move slightly to the left, away from her cover.
She could hear Kelarre breathing just behind her, and flashed him an annoyed expression. He made a face which plainly said, ‘get on with it.’ Vendra scowled at him and focused once more. She was a good shot with a typical pistol, and having seen Dedrre’s blueprints, she anticipated increased accuracy from this design. All the same, she could not fail, not while announcing her presence with the unmissable blast of gunfire. She would be frozen on the spot, and helpless.
Within Quade’s bunk, she heard a male voice say, “Let’s end this.” Fear spiraled through her, from heart to fingertip. She drew breath through her nose, exhaled, and pulled the trigger.
The round discharged loudly enough to ro
use the entire camp, leaving her ears ringing. Her target slumped. The second girl yelped and tried to run, but she couldn’t seem to get her feet underneath her. She tripped. Vendra felt the shiver of her own gift being removed as she met and held the Elevated’s gaze. The girl’s straight black hair whipped in the sea breeze as she tried to push herself up from the wet sand. She was such a pitiful sight.
You love me, don’t you, Vendra?
Yes, Quade.
She took aim a second time and pulled the trigger. The slim form swayed on the spot, then slumped backwards. Her foot kicked twice, then went limp. Vendra’s gift returned to her.
She had four more rounds, and thought it wise to use them. These two needed not merely to be incapacitated, but done away with. She unloaded the chamber, two more bullets for each of the fallen forms.
It was too dark; she couldn’t see the blood. But they were, both of them, motionless.
“Let’s check,” she said, slinking forward. Kelarre trailed behind.
The two young women lay sprawled in the sand. Vendra gazed down at the Chaskuan girl for a moment. There were stars reflected in her unseeing eyes. In life her face had always appeared so emotionless, mask-like. It was curious, then, that in death she should look so forlorn.
Vendra studied the firearm still grasped in her hand, and she trembled. She had the sudden sense that she had been here before, that she had done this before.
Kelarre pressed his hand to the base of her neck and drew soothing circles with his thumb. “You did well, Vendra. We haven’t failed tonight after all. Quade will be pleased. Come.” He tugged at her elbow, endeavoring to tow her away.
Quade will be pleased…
She looked just once more at these two young women she had killed, then let Kelarre guide her back to the camp. And she put it out of mind.
That was life. Sometimes people needed to die.
Ko-Jin held the stiff and unmoving form of Quade Asher away from himself, not wanting to touch the man any more than was necessary. The blackhearted pervert had been frozen in a contorted, undignified pose. He had been sleeping in only a shirt, and his bare legs were curled like a slumbering child. These details gave Ko-Jin a savage kind of satisfaction. Let his people see all that he is, and—more to the point—all that he is not.
Before Ko-Jin reached the exit, he turned to Chae-Na. She was gazing, glassy-eyed, down at her feet. She looked so small, so broken, standing there in only her shift. And he could not think of a single thing he might say to ease her suffering.
He blinked against the pressure in his eyes. This victory tasted strongly of failure, of too late.
“Alright,” he said with a heavy sigh. “Let’s end this.”
As Ko-Jin extended a hand to the tent flap, the sound of gunfire pierced the silence, so near at hand that his ears echoed the blast. His heart lurched in his chest and his hand fisted around Quade’s collar. But the firing did not stop—after a short pause there came a second, a third, a fourth shot—and before the gunfire had even ended, Quade moved within his grasp. Ko-Jin was so startled that he leapt back.
Quade hit the ground in a crouch, and the next instant there came a piercing pop. He vanished on the spot.
“No,” Ko-Jin said, aghast. He gaped at his outstretched fingers, at the hand which had secured Quade a mere moment before. No.
Pop!
Ko-Jin whirled, and there he was. Quade leaned against his own writing desk, half-dressed and apparently at his ease. His face was once again a lie—kind-eyed and beguiling.
“General Sung,” Quade said, in his seductive voice. “How lovely of you to stop by, though I must say the hour is rather unconventional. Don’t you agree, darling?”
Chae-Na moved clear to the other side of the enclosure, backing away with fearful eyes. She paused to press her foot to the hilt of Treeblade and kicked it towards Ko-Jin, but it didn’t slide far along the rough canvas. The blade came to rest still well out of reach.
Ko-Jin darted his hand into the pocket of his robes. He extracted two small wads of beeswax and jammed the sticky stuff into his ears, blocking all sound save for the whining echo of the recent gunfire.
Quade sneered at him, but there was something rather pleasant in the expression. His mouth moved with speech, but his voice was lost.
Ko-Jin glanced to his sword, laying several paces away. He suspected that Quade could reach it first. No, he would need to rely on surprise. With all speed, he pulled a throwing knife from his belt, cranked back his arm, and threw. Quade disappeared in a flash, and the short blade cut a slice in the side of the tent.
Ko-Jin unsheathed a second knife as he spun. He found Quade standing just behind Chae-Na, pressing her bodily into him like a shield. He leaned the side of his face to hers, and she cringed. His lips twisted into an exquisite smile.
The tent flap rustled and Ko-Jin turned, hopeful that one of his companions had come to his aid. That hope rushed from his chest in a defeated exhale. Vendra Alvez slipped beneath the canvas like a shadow, one of Dedrre’s new revolving pistols in her outstretched hand. Ko-Jin eyed the barrel trained on his head, his mouth twisting bitterly. Blighted thing in the wrong hands already…
She flicked the pistol towards the ground, signaling that he should drop his knife. With narrowed eyes, he extended his arm laterally and let the weapon fall, blade-first, to the tent floor. His eyes shot over to where Quade was whispering in Chae-Na’s ear, his head pressed to hers intimately. Ko-Jin felt as if he had been asked to swallow acid, and it was burning all the way down his throat and into his gullet.
Quade met his gaze, then made a deliberate show of placing a hand on Chae-Na’s hip. He mimicked removing something from his ears, then jerked his head to where Vendra stood. Ko-Jin required no further explanation. With fear zipping along his veins, he removed the wax plugs.
It was an odd sensation, to have his hearing so suddenly returned to him. The crash of the sea, the wind battering at so many canvas tents, sounded loud in the night.
Quade released Chae-Na and strode to Ko-Jin’s discarded sword. As he knelt to retrieve it, recognition lit up his features. He caressed the ancient Chisanta symbol engraved in the hilt. “It seems the general has brought me an early wedding present. Spirits, the Treeblade itself…” He whipped the sword around in expert hands, his countenance exuberant. “You know,” he said to Ko-Jin, as if they were friends, “I recently unearthed the Scimitar of Amarra. As a man of violence, I’m sure you can appreciate the significance of such a find. The blade, if you’ll believe it, was still sharp. Yes—I used it to kill the late king, in fact.”
There was such a calming quality to Quade’s voice that Ko-Jin found the tension leaving his body. When Quade approached, weapon in hand, he didn’t even stiffen.
“Thank you, Vendra,” Quade said, swiveling his attention to her. “You are, as ever, a most faithful partner.”
She inclined her head. “The task you set for me has been completed.”
Quade darted a kiss on Vendra’s cheek, then took the pistol from her hand. “Very good. You may wait outside. I’m not to be disturbed.”
Quade drove Treeblade through the canvas flooring and into the sand, so he might examine the pistol with two hands. “Truly, I never cease to be amazed by human ingenuity. Was this your notion, General?”
“It was not.”
Quade nodded. “Remove your belt.”
Ko-Jin’s fingers reached for the buckle before he thought to resist. He paused.
“I would not test me just at this moment,” Quade said pleasantly. “I’ve just been given two new toys and find I have more than one excellent target before me.”
Quade lofted the barrel of the pistol and pointed it, lazily, in Chae-Na’s direction. His brows raised in anticipation.
Ko-Jin unfastened his belt and pulled it free.
Quade smiled and lowered the pistol. He took the strip of leather from Ko-Jin and pulled away the empty scabbard, then tossed it aside. “My queen,” he said, extendi
ng the belt to her. “Be a doll and bind our general’s hands behind his back. Make it good and secure, now. I’d hate to have to kill him for fear of my life.”
Ko-Jin examined Chae-Na’s face as she approached. He couldn’t decide if she was fully under Quade’s control or not. He brought his arms together behind his back and she wound the leather around his wrists, tight enough to cut off circulation. But then she grazed his hand with her fingertips, and his eyes fluttered shut for a moment.
“You know,” Quade said, “you might congratulate us on our engagement, as you’ve so ill-manneredly intruded upon our happy consummation.”
Ko-Jin’s jaw popped against the strain of his clamped teeth.
“No need to look so angry. I was gentle. Tell him, darling.”
Chae-Na nodded slowly.
“Speak!”
“He was gentle,” she whispered, eyes on her toes.
Quade grinned. “I think, perhaps, your military man is jealous. Hoping for a royal promotion, were you? I cannot blame you there.”
He strode forward with a predatory grace and plucked Ko-Jin’s knife from the ground. As he tossed it from one hand to the other, his black eyes remained locked on Ko-Jin.
“Or is it not the crown, but the woman you wanted? Please, tell me. I’m terribly curious.”
Ko-Jin’s head nodded. He bit down on the inside of his cheek and tasted blood. He had never in his life felt so vulnerable.
“Ah, how romantic. You’re a good man, Sung Ko-Jin. I’ve long suspected that you must be.”
“Thank you.”
Quade moved around Ko-Jin, stalking. He ran a hand along Ko-Jin’s back, from one shoulder to the other. “I’ve wanted to meet you for so long. You can’t imagine how pleased I am that you’ve come to me. Please, tell me about your studies.”
Ko-Jin found himself halfway through a detailed history of his travels, his masters, the books he had read and the generals he admired, before he had even considered whether he should answer. There was something soft and nice settling within him—a spreading warmth, as if he had just swallowed fine whisky.
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