Twice Dead

by Caitlin Seal

  She tore the paper off the glass bird and stared at it. The black eyes were a little uneven, but there was something charming about the way the corners of its beak turned up, like it was smiling. She closed her eyes and imagined Corten’s fingers moving over the glass.

  If she was using him, it was only because she had to. Lucia and Corten were Ceramoran. They couldn’t see the dangers. Corten insisted that King Allence wasn’t like his father and that Ceramor’s people only wanted peace. But her murderer hadn’t wanted peace. And in her trips with Celia she’d seen rune wards going up on houses across the city. The loudest supporters of necromancy were turning their homes into fortresses. Why do that if peace was all they wanted?

  Naya set the bird down carefully next to the trunk at the end of her bed. She changed into the clothes Celia had provided—black pants and dark-gray shirt, along with a light hooded jacket and a cap. Naya ran her fingers over the supple fabric. It was unusual for women to wear pants in Belavine. She’d seen a few women down around the docks wearing them, but these weren’t dockworkers’ clothes, and they weren’t the sorts of things Blue could be seen wandering around in. After a pause she undid the clasp on her necklace and tucked it away in the bottom of the trunk.

  She pulled out her tiny hand mirror and watched as her face shifted into Blue’s features. Once she was sure she hadn’t messed anything up, she opened her window and pushed back the shutters. The night air pressed pleasantly cool and damp against her face. She tucked her now-black hair under her cap and pulled the cap low on her forehead. After taking a moment to double-check her disguise in the mirror, she crawled out onto the roof. From there she jumped to the next building, and then the next.

  She reached the meeting spot several minutes later. The street was dark and deserted save for a couple strolling along the far end of the block. But after a moment she picked out a familiar flow in the aether: cool and tightly controlled. Celia.

  She found the older spy lurking between two houses, frowning as Naya approached. Naya formed the hand signal Celia had taught her so she could recognize Naya despite the new face. Celia nodded once in response. She was dressed similarly to Naya but managed to look far more comfortable than Naya felt.

  “Did the necromancer see you leave?” Celia asked.

  “No. She’s doing a resurrection. I doubt she’ll spare a thought for me until it’s done.”

  “Good. We cannot afford her questioning your absence—not tonight.”

  Excitement shot down Naya’s back like a shiver. “Why? What are we doing?”

  “We discovered one of King Allence’s advisers plotting to forge a secret treaty with Banen to ensure they’ll vote against us at the next meeting of the Congress,” Celia said. “At first we assumed these plans were only in the beginning stages. But it seems our enemies are moving quickly. Our target has suddenly scheduled a visit to the Banen Islands. Ambassador Valn believes this man intends to meet with his allies to formalize the deal. We will ensure he doesn’t reach his ship.”

  Naya’s eyebrows rose. The Banen Islands lay far to the northwest. Their navy was twice that of Talmir’s. If the rulers of Banen were swayed to the necromancers’ cause, the Silmarans would likely follow. It would be the beginning of the encirclement her father had always feared. “Our allies wouldn’t just betray us like that, would they?”

  “I can’t say. Our job is only to make sure that deal never gets signed. Assessing loyalties is for Ambassador Valn and his colleagues.”

  “But won’t they just send someone else? Won’t people notice if one of the king’s advisers goes missing?”

  Celia’s frown deepened toward a grimace. “They will notice, yes. But we suspect King Allence may not yet be aware of the treaty. Removing the writer will slow the process, if not kill it outright. Ambassador Valn has deemed the risks acceptable.”

  Naya felt like she’d been plunged from a rocking deck into icy waves. But this was what she’d been waiting for: a chance to prove she could be trusted.

  “I have a task for you,” Celia said. “But if you do not feel you are ready…”

  Naya squeezed her hands into fists. “I’m ready.”

  “Good. Then follow me and do exactly as I say. I wanted to wait before trying you on this sort of work, but we no longer have the luxury of time. Our target has to be gone by morning, and our resources in this city are stretched thin.”

  Celia led her through the twisting streets, keeping to the shadows. Naya tried to match her teacher’s casual stride as they traveled downhill toward one of the wealthy neighborhoods near the summer palace.

  After perhaps twenty minutes, they found two dark-clad figures waiting for them in an alley. Their faces were covered by hoods and black scarves so only their eyes showed. Celia produced a pair of similar scarves and wrapped one over her nose and mouth before handing the other to Naya.

  “This is the dead girl?” one of the other spies asked.

  Celia nodded. Naya struggled to keep her expression neutral as she wrapped the scarf. The dead girl. Was that all she was to the other Talmirans? She didn’t need to see their expressions to know the answer. Suspicion and tension radiated off of them like the sharp-sour reek of sweat.

  “I need you to find the rune wards on the house there with the balcony.” Celia pointed toward a house across the street that was surrounded by green lawns and a tall, spiked iron fence.

  Naya concentrated on the aether, burying the sting of the other spies’ doubts. Action was the simplest way to prove her loyalty. “There’s one on the fence. The runes repeat along the upper spikes, but it looks like the central binding is five feet from the left corner, buried maybe four inches down.” The six-foot iron bars surrounding the front yard glowed bright with aether. Whatever the ward was, it was powerful.

  Celia cursed softly. “Jer, Ral, how fast can you dig those?”

  The one who’d called Naya “the dead girl” scratched his chin through his scarf. “Maybe a couple of minutes. More if our friend there has been tampering with the dark stuff.”

  “Do it cautious,” Celia said. “I’ll keep watch up the street.”

  “And the girl?”

  “Stays here. We’ll need her for the door.”

  “What door?” Naya asked. Having to feel the others’ disdain was bad enough. She wouldn’t let them talk about her as though she weren’t there.

  The third agent raised his eyebrows and gave Naya an evaluative look. “Celia, doesn’t she—”

  “Enough,” Celia cut in. “We’ve got a great deal to do and precious little time to do it in. Blue, I’ll explain your part when we come to it. Keep your senses open and let me know if you feel anyone else coming.” Celia passed Naya a familiar palm-size bone disk scribed with runes. If Naya activated the runes, it would cause the paired disk in Celia’s pocket to vibrate, alerting her that Naya had found a threat.

  Naya drew more aether as the three agents inched forward. She tasted something sharp and coppery and her nose wrinkled. “Wait!” she whispered.

  The others froze. Naya squinted, trying to pick out the source of the unsettling emotions. “Someone’s watching us from the other side of the street. There. I think it’s coming from that carriage.”

  Celia relaxed a fraction. “One of ours. Don’t worry about him.” Before Naya could say anything else, the others darted toward their designated tasks. The two men crossed the street and crouched next to the fence to dig down to the runes powering the wards. Once they had them exposed, they would hopefully be able to damage the central runes enough to disable them without triggering the ward. Naya tried to smother her unease as she searched for other signs of life. Everyone else nearby seemed to be sleeping, but she couldn’t make out anything more than a street or so away. Beyond that was only the steady pulse of the city, beating against her, threatening to drown her if she let it.

  Finally, one of the men ac
ross the street flashed a hand signal indicating their work was done. Naya hurried to meet them. Celia returned, then motioned for the group to follow her over the fence. No lights came on in the house when they vaulted the iron spikes and dropped into the soft grass. No one shouted at them from the street. Nothing was out of place in Celia’s plan. So why did Naya’s dread only grow as they approached the house?

  “Other runes?” Celia asked, pausing just before the front step.

  Naya’s brow furrowed. “Strange. There’s something on the windows, but the door looks clean.”

  Celia crept forward. One hand dipped into her pocket and returned with a delicate set of lock picks. In the space of a few breaths, Naya heard the muffled click of a latch turning. Celia tried the knob but didn’t look surprised when the door wouldn’t open. “I was afraid we’d find this. He must have installed a dead bolt inside. Blue, I’m going to need you to reach through and turn it. One of our watchers thinks there may be a salma wood plate, but it should be thin enough for you to push through.”

  Naya tensed. “I thought salma wood was impenetrable to aether.”

  “If it’s thick enough. But I’ve been told our friend here doesn’t have the funds for anything that could completely keep you out.”

  Naya eyed the door warily. If it was made partially of salma wood, that could explain the lack of runes. But why bother with something so expensive if it wasn’t thick enough to stop her? She could feel the other spies’ impatience like an itch on the back of her neck, so she pushed the question aside.

  She peeled off her jacket and scarf and rolled up her sleeves as far as they would go. Even with her new face, she felt instantly exposed. She pressed her right hand against the wood and concentrated until her arm faded. Her fingers sank a half inch before pressing against the icy barrier of the salma wood. Naya hissed through her teeth as needle pricks of cold spread up her arm. Every instinct told her to pull away from the pain. Instead she pushed harder.

  Pain flashed through her bones, an echo of the chill spreading past her shoulder. Naya gasped, then felt her fingers slip reluctantly past the barrier. The pain intensified as her wrist, then her forearm, disappeared past the door. Before she could lose her nerve, she forced her face through the barrier as well.

  The room beyond the door was dark, and the freezing pain made it hard to think. Naya searched for the doorknob and spotted a latch just below the keyhole. She reached out, her fingers passing right through the brass. Damn it. It felt almost like the wood was sucking the life from her. She drew in more aether and grunted with effort as the tips of her fingers solidified. Slowly, the lever turned. The grinding of the tumbler vibrated in her head. The click when it finally snapped into place sounded loud enough to wake the whole house. Naya pulled herself out of the door, stumbling down the front step and gasping in aether. Her right arm tingled and the bone in her hand ached, but the fresh surge of aether smothered the pain.

  Celia tried the knob again, and this time the door opened. She nodded to the others, then paused, frowning at Naya. “You’ve lost your face.”

  Horror shot through Naya as she imagined herself faceless, a wispy monster like the ones that had haunted her nightmares as a child. But when she reached up, she found her cheeks and nose solid. It was Blue’s face she’d lost. The shock of the door had broken her concentration, and her features had reverted to their old shapes. Naya tried to restore the change. For a moment her skin prickled, but the feeling was followed by a stab of pain in her hand. Naya bit back a frustrated curse. “Give me a moment, I’ll get it back.”

  Celia shook her head. “We don’t need you for the rest. Wait round the other side, by the carriage. Keep yourself out of sight,” she whispered.

  “Please, I can still help you.”

  “No.” The look in Celia’s eyes made it clear that further argument would be pointless. “If all goes well, we will meet you there.”

  Naya watched her mentor disappear into the house. Disappointment welled inside her. Stupid. She didn’t even know what the rest of the plan was. Those other spies had probably trained for years. And here she was sulking like a child because they wouldn’t let her tag along. Naya reached for her mother’s necklace, then remembered she’d left it at Lucia’s shop. She put on her coat and scarf, then crept around the edge of the house, toward the carriage and the man whose aether bore the copper tang of blood. She could just see him, a slouching figure waiting on the other side of the fence.

  Seconds crawled by and the yard remained silent. Naya slunk a little deeper into the shadows beneath a wide stone balcony and tucked her hair back under her cap. She closed her eyes and tried to sense Celia and the others. The aether inside the house had the hazy feel of people sleeping. Woven into that, though, she sensed a peppery tendril of adrenaline. That had to be Celia and the other agents. But when Naya reached further, she sensed another group somewhere else in the house, also watching, also anticipating an attack. Guards?

  Her eyes snapped open. There wasn’t any fear or anger, so the two groups hadn’t noticed each other yet. Did Celia know about the guards? She hadn’t said anything, and none of the spies had been armed with anything more dangerous than a short knife. If they didn’t know, then Naya had to warn them. She pulled the signal disk from her pocket but froze before turning the outer edge. If Naya used the disk, Celia would likely assume whatever threat she’d found was outside. Naya had to get inside.

  She made it two steps before a muffled shout sounded from somewhere in the house. Naya froze. The carriage driver turned like a hound catching a scent. A long moment later a crash came from above as someone kicked the balcony doors open. The carriage driver sprang from his seat and bolted for the fence. Someone else shouted, the sound transforming into a scream of pain.

  “Below!” Celia called out from the balcony. The top of her head appeared over the railing, and her eyes met Naya’s as she shoved something large and white over the edge of the balcony. Naya lunged forward, holding out her arms to catch the thing. She had just enough time to register its size—it was bigger than she was—before it slammed into her. Some part of the thing scraped against her face as she caught it, dragging her scarf down. She collapsed to her knees, and her left hand ached as her body burned aether to keep from crumpling further under the sudden burden. When she looked down, horror mingled with her shock. A body. Only his face was exposed, the rest of him wrapped up in what looked like a repurposed bedsheet. He was an older man with a bristling gray mustache and a pudgy face that sagged, expressionless.

  The body groaned, and Naya fought back a yelp of surprise. He was alive.

  “Bring him here, damn you!” the carriage driver shouted. He was doing something to the latch on the back gate. Naya started toward him, legs unsteady with her burden. She’d only covered half the distance when she heard someone running toward her from the front of the house. She turned to see a boy in a dressing gown rounding the corner. By his unshaved face he looked to be Naya’s age, or perhaps a bit younger. Sleep-mussed hair fell partway over his eyes, and he held a sword out before him.

  “Stop!” The boy looked almost comical as he raised his weapon high and charged at Naya. His arms were spindly, the muscles shaking under the weight of what looked like an antique blade more suited to hanging on a wall than cutting people down.

  Naya took a hesitant step back, more confused than frightened by the sudden assault. Who was this boy? And where was Celia? Had the guards gotten her? Naya knew this wasn’t the time for such questions. She needed to do something. Lights were coming on in the house, and in the houses nearby. She took another step backward toward the gate, the weight of the body making her stumble. The boy was almost upon her.

  Something pulled hard at the aether just behind her, and the snap of breaking metal cut through the night. Hot blood splattered Naya’s cheek.

  She blinked, and then her eyes locked on the gaping hole that had appeared in
the boy’s chest. She had to clench her jaw to keep from screaming. The carriage driver ran to her, the runes on his pistol dull where the metal plate had snapped. “Help me with him,” he snarled as he grabbed Naya’s shoulder and shook.

  She blinked, staring at the weapon. She’d never seen one up close. How could something so small do so much damage? The carriage driver cursed under his breath, shoving Naya one more time before trying to haul the unconscious man from her arms. The motion dragged her back to the present, and she looked up at the driver. He had a lean face, the bottom half of which was covered by a black scarf. His eyes locked on hers, cold and determined. Fear lanced through Naya’s chest. She shifted her grip so the driver could grab the old man’s legs. With the driver’s help she hauled the old man into the cab of the vehicle.

  The driver slammed the iron gate shut behind her and pulled a thick metal rod with a reinforced handle from his pocket. Heat runes glowed as aether rushed into the rod. The tip ignited a dusky red, and the smell of hot metal filled the air as he pressed the device to the gate’s broken latch, melting it in place.

  “Run,” he said.

  “But what about—”

  “Just run. The rest isn’t your business.” He jumped into the driver’s seat and whipped the horses forward. Naya glanced back. She saw movement in the front yard and thought she caught a glimpse of a dark shape scaling the fence near the front of the house. From the sound of things, the whole house had been roused by the chaos. Someone she didn’t recognize was running toward the back gate, toward her. Naya forced her tired legs to move. She sucked in more aether, then picked a road leading opposite the direction the carriage had gone. She wasn’t sure if anyone else had seen it pull away, but if they came after her, she didn’t want to risk leading them back to their target.

  Dark buildings flashed by. Naya tried to keep the bay on her right as she fled. Her world narrowed to the slap of cold stone against her feet and the next bend in the road. Left, right, straight: no questions, no looking back. All she had to do was keep running. Keep running and—her foot caught on a loose stone and she tumbled forward with a cry. The fall sent another painful jolt through her hand, and for a while all she could do was lie there, waiting for her vision to stop blurring.