by Stina Leicht
“All right,” he said. “Give me a moment to find it.”
She heard him shuffle or crawl—whichever it was, she no longer felt his warmth next to her. Shivering, she felt around for the blanket that she’d shed earlier. When she found it, she pulled it over herself and tried very hard not to think about the sorts of things that lived in dark, damp places. Bad memories lurked in corners of her mind that she hadn’t considered in years. You’re not six. This is not your father’s bolt-hole, and Mal is not “Uncle” Billy. An involuntary shudder coursed through her body. That cursed man is dead. You killed him. Remember?
It took him a while, but Mal finally returned with what smelled like whiskey. She heard him pour it into something.
“You don’t have to do that,” she said. “I’m happy to drink from the neck of the bottle.”
“I need you sober.”
“Why?” She moved close to him.
He slapped her hand away from the front of his trousers. “I’m being serious. We have to talk.”
She sighed and then whispered, “Why would you want me to go with you?”
“I don’t think it’s any surprise that I like you,” he whispered back.
“And I like you too,” she said. “But that’s a very different thing from—”
“It’s more than—than … I like you a great deal.”
“You do?”
“You can be honest. I need to know the truth,” he said. “How much do you like me?”
Giving the matter strong consideration, she paused. “I like you more than anyone I know.”
“Enough to give up a life that you no longer have?”
Again, she hesitated. She definitely didn’t want to lie. Not to Mal. She didn’t think she was capable of love. She’d worked too hard to cut that emotion out of herself. At the same time, Mal was the closest thing to a friend she had. “Maybe?”
“That’s enough for me.”
She felt the corners of her mouth tug upward. “I don’t think you’re aware of the kind of people I know. That’s not really saying much.”
His hand travelled up to her cheek and she pressed against it, snuggling into the curve of his palm. More than anything, she needed reassurance, and she hated herself for it.
“What do you want from me, Mal?”
“Honestly?”
“We’re being honest, aren’t we?”
He shifted even closer and breathed into her ear. “The truth is, we’re both kainen. You pass for human. I don’t. I care a great deal for you, but if I am to leave … I—I need you, Em.”
“I see.” Another ache, this one inside her chest, joined the inventory of pain. Suddenly, she was very glad he couldn’t see her face. “I assume you have proof?”
“I do,” he said. “I have it with me, in fact.”
You care about me but you’re willing to blackmail me? “How did you find out?”
“I have my ways.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.” There was real anger in her voice, and she didn’t bother disguising it.
Again, he paused. “I’m very selective of my regulars. I always have been. I have to be careful. I’m a cocksman. I don’t know if you’re aware of how dangerous an occupation that can be.”
“You had me investigated?”
“Of course I did. A year ago, when it became clear you were going to be a part of my life. I won’t risk becoming emotionally involved with someone who—who has certain connections.”
She took a long, deep breath. There was only one place where Mal could’ve gotten that information. The Brotherhood of Wardens Records Library. “So, you paid a Warden to look into my background?”
“Not a Warden,” he said. “But someone with access to their records, yes.”
“I see.”
“It’s funny that you should keep using that phrase when we’re in a pitch-black bolt-hole.”
“What am I supposed to say?”
“Say you’ll come with me. To Greenleaf at the least. You can go that far, can’t you?” he asked. “You’ve always wanted to leave the city for a few days.”
“This isn’t the same thing, and you know it. You’re asking me to help you illegally flee the Regnum,” she said. “I’m a Watch captain, damn it.”
“Not anymore,” he said. “Benbow is Watch captain in the Sisters.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised to hear that.” The sudden burst of rage was strong enough to make her jaw ache. Sipping the whiskey, she considered her situation, using brutal equations. I could go with Mal. I could vanish. No more payments. No more watching over my shoulder. She took a breath. Well, no more than usual, I suppose. “Tell me, did you arrange it?”
“NO! I—”
“Good.”
“—I’d never do that to you. You have to know that—”
“All right, calm down,” she said. “I had to ask.”
“Let me point out a fact you appear to be missing,” he said. “I’ve known this about you for how long, and I’ve never mentioned it before?”
“That only means you’re intelligent enough to wait for the most advantageous moment to use information.”
There was another silence between them.
He said, “That suspicious nature of yours is going to get you into trouble one day.”
She harrumphed and tightened her grip on the tin cup until her fingers hurt. “I wasn’t suspicious enough, it would seem.” Benbow, you swiving bastard. You are going to be very swiving sorry your mother ever lived long enough to squirt you out of her cunt. One of the things she’d prided herself upon was patience when it came to revenge. There was a saying among the street harvesters: Sit by the sewer ditch long enough, and the body of your enemy will float by. “You’re avoiding my question. You know I won’t give up asking. You might as well tell me the rest. Did someone pay you to retrieve me? If so, I need to know who.”
“We aren’t like that. We never were.”
“Aren’t we?” she asked. “Did I or did I not give you silver in exchange for sex for the past year?”
The only sound was his indrawn breath.
That was too far. You need him every bit as much as he needs you, and you know it. “I’m so sorry. I don’t mean it,” she said. “I’m just really swiving angry right now.” She threw the empty cup against what she hoped was a wall.
It hit stone with a tinny clang that seemed huge, and then rolled off to her left, by the sound.
“I can’t say I blame you.” He moved away from her.
She flinched. He’s retrieving the cup. He isn’t going to murder you. Relax. Mal isn’t like that. He doesn’t have it in him. Isn’t that what he’s been telling you?
Can it be possible that he is what he seems?
Everyone is awful. It’s only a matter of time before they show their true selves. “Can I have some more?”
“That depends,” he said. “Are you going to throw it at the wall? We only have three of these, you know. And this one’s dented. They’re going to charge me for that.”
She asked the question she’d been too injured to ask before. “How did you find me?”
“When you didn’t show up for your appointment … well, first I was angry, and then I got worried. I heard about the riot. I was afraid for you. So, I searched for your father.”
“You did?”
“I did.”
“And he didn’t rob you, beat you, and then send house breakers to—”
“He told me what happened,” Mal said. “He was worried for you too.”
She let out a snort. “Was probably angry I wouldn’t be sending him any money this month.”
“He’s your father.”
“And?” she asked. “Did he tell you he blackmails me?”
Mal was silent.
“I thought as much,” she said.
“Your brother is dead. I thought you should know.”
“Oh.” She paused. She didn’t know how to feel about that. She hadn’t been close t
o her brother since she was too small for him to make money from. So, she changed the subject. “You entered a sector on lockdown because you need me to get you as far as Greenleaf?”
“No, Em,” Mal said. There was a delay of a few heartbeats before he continued. “I—I did it because I was worried for you.”
“I’m supposed to believe that?”
“Whether you believe it or not doesn’t change the truth, does it?” She could hear the pain and longing in his voice. “Is it so hard to believe you’re worth caring for?”
She felt him place a hand on her arm and lean against her.
Sensing his discomfort, she reached for and squeezed his hand. “I wish like hell I could believe you.”
“I wish like hell you could too.”
She sighed. Her eyes were burning again. She wiped at her cheeks. “I’ll go.”
All at once, he wrapped her in his arms. “Thank you. Thank you so much. You won’t be sorry. I’ll paint something just for you. And you can do whatever you like with it.”
“There’ll be paint and canvas where you’re going?” She hugged him back.
“You expected me to leave something as important as my paint-mixing supplies behind?”
That is so like him. He flees for his life with a bag full of oils and pigments. “Did you remember to bring clothes?”
He let out a small, amused huff.
She asked, “Do you know where you’ll go after Greenleaf?”
“I do.” He squeezed her once and withdrew. “But I don’t think I’ll tell you yet.”
Reaching into the darkness, she felt around until she had his face in both of her hands. “Smart and attractive.” And with that, she kissed him. “Hmmm. I suppose we should find something to do in the meantime.”
“You’re feeling better?”
“Your whiskey numbed the pain somewhat,” she said.
“You don’t like making love in the dark.”
“I’ll make an exception this once,” she said. “Just … be careful.”
“I’m always careful, my love.”
“Stop the stupid honey-dipped lies,” she said. “Just give me a good hard swiving. I don’t want to be able to walk for a week.”
“That’s one of the things I love about you, Em,” he said. “You’re as smooth as a corncob.”
CAIUS
ONE
NOVUS SALERNUM
THE REGNUM OF ACRASIA
21 MAY
THE TWENTY-SECOND YEAR IN THE SACRED REIGN OF EMPEROR HERMINIUS
Caius rallied his patience by studying the family portraits in Duke Aureus’s main entrance hall. Although it was spring, the temperature had grown steadily colder with the sinking sun. He was grateful for being allowed the honor of waiting inside the house rather than on the back doorstep. After his latest discussion with Huntmaster Warden Aureus, Caius knew the interview with the duke was merely another of a long series of futile gestures. The rogue would continue leaving bodies in obvious places, and for reasons Caius didn’t understand, nothing would be done about it.
Hopefully, Dalton will have useful information this week. Not that he’d had any for some time.
Polite laughter and orchestra music filtered through the house from the ballroom. He ventured another ten feet or so farther down the crimson runner. It’d been years since he’d been inside the duke’s home. Not much had changed over the years, with the exception of a new addition to the rows of paintings.
A younger version of his missing friend, Severus, stared back at him from the canvas. He had thick hair cut in the Academy style and grey eyes. Severus had always seemed deathly somber; even on the first day at the Academy Caius had noticed him as the freshmen cadets had assembled in the main yard. The other fifteen-year-old students had been boisterous and jubilant about their selection. Not Severus. He had stood apart, observing the rest of the class like a wizened campaigner. It had been strangely disquieting, and Caius had thought then that Severus was destined for great things.
Archiron isn’t that far. Why hasn’t he sent even one letter? Is he alive? Surely, if they were going to execute him for striking a Huntmaster, they’d have done it in the Rehabilitation Hospital. Why go through the motions of reassigning him?
Caius never did find out what had happened. Severus was reticent under normal circumstances. Thus, when Severus had returned, he had refused to speak of it. In spite of his curiosity, Caius hadn’t pried. If there were anything Severus needed to discuss, Caius trusted he would do so. As Severus’s only friend, he knew it was what was expected. However, Severus appeared to have vanished. In truth, a big part of the reason Caius had been willing to risk traveling so far, so close to curfew, was to inquire after his friend. Surely, the duke knows something.
The sound of a heavy door sliding open brought him to the present with a jolt.
“I understand you are here to see that my inventory permits are in order?” Duke Aureus was dressed in a red-and-black silk brocade evening coat with gold trim and matching trousers tucked into his boots. His face was flushed as though he’d just finished dancing. Like his son, the duke was tall. His eyes were grey and his hair was wavy, but that was where the resemblance between father and son ended. The duke’s hair was auburn, and he was heavier than Severus ever would be. The duke stood less straight, and his gestures were broad, sweeping. Depending upon necessity, Severus could sit in a room for hours before being noticed, but the duke seemed to take command from the moment he entered.
“Your Grace, I am Fortis Modius Caius. You probably don’t remember me. We met once after graduation. Severus was one of my classmates.” Caius extended a hand for Duke Aureus to shake.
An instant passed before recognition replaced uncertainty. “Caius? Yes. Now I remember. I recall Severus spoke well of you. You were his friend, were you not? Welcome.” He accepted Caius’s hand and appeared to relax as he smiled. He glanced to the portrait that Caius had been standing in front of. “I would much prefer a quiet conversation with a friend of Severus’s, but I regret I cannot neglect my guests.”
“I apologize for the inconvenience, Your Grace. Perhaps another time. If you would show me to your records, I can complete my task and be gone.” Caius bowed with a nod of his head. His instructions were to detain the duke as little as possible.
“This way,” Duke Aureus said, pulling the sliding door closed behind them and then leading Caius up the stairs and into the left wing of the house.
Silver-plated doorknobs decorated each door, not merely the front entrance. The carved crown molding along the ceiling was layered in gold and silver leaf. Furnishings imported from distant corners of the Regnum filled the rooms.
The duke said, “It has been some time since I’ve had news of my son. Have you received any word?”
“I’m afraid not, Your Grace.” Caius attempted to contain his surprise. “His new responsibilities must keep him very busy.”
Ultimately, he felt he understood Severus well enough to remember the duke would’ve been the last person to receive a letter. Not that Severus spoke much of his family over the years. However, it had said a great deal that he’d remained alone at the school during holidays. So much so that Caius had extended invitations to his friend, which had resulted in their spending the last three years of academy holidays together with his family. Caius’s mother had expected some sort of acknowledgment for taking care of the duke’s son, Caius knew, but no recognition had been forthcoming.
Duke Aureus entered his private study, pulled a book off the shelf, and then handed Caius the ledger. Moving to a cabinet behind the writing table, he offered Caius a glass of brandy.
“No, thank you, Your Grace,” Caius said, and then opened the ledger.
The splash of pouring brandy accompanied pages and pages of inventory figures, names and dates. If Caius were truly here to find a discrepancy, he would confiscate the duke’s entire records library. However, with Duke Aureus, such measures were considered unnecessary, particularly since
he enjoyed close ties with the director of Wardens. In any case, Caius seriously doubted the duke was smuggling nonhumans out of the city. It simply wasn’t something a duke would get involved in.
After a quarter of an hour of patiently scanning the figures in silence, Caius closed the ledger. “I believe I’ve seen enough, Your Grace.”
“Are you certain the Consul would be satisfied with such a cursory check?” the duke asked with a meaningful smile.
The Consul is involved? Or is the man making a joke? Caius said, “I believe I have followed my orders.”
Duke Aureus set down his brandy glass and accepted the ledger book from Caius, reshelving it.
“Second only to the Emperor himself, you’d think he had more important matters to tend to, or perhaps more effective methods with which to harass a rival in the Senate,” the duke said. “If you wish, my overseer can prepare the inventory for inspection.”
“Should it become necessary, I can return at a later date,” Caius said.
The duke nodded. “I’ve heard good reports of you from the director. You have a reputation for precision, even if your methods are somewhat out of the ordinary. How go your duties?”
Caius’s heart sped up, and he tried not to stammer. “Fine, Your Grace.”
“I understand a rogue hunter has been disposing of his kills in the North End. Am I correct?”
Caius paused. While it wasn’t out of the ordinary for someone with the duke’s connections to be aware of such matters, one didn’t normally discuss them outside the Brotherhood or the Watch. However, he decided he risked nothing speaking to someone whom the director had already informed of the situation. “Yes, Your Grace,” Caius said. “However, the rogue seems to have moved his activities outside the city. The last body was found on the High Street, a day’s ride from the Kylmapuro River.”
“That far from Novus Salernum? How do you know it’s the same rogue?”
“The eyes were removed with the same type of knife, and another note was found.”
The duke stopped pacing, and Caius could have sworn the man was frightened. “What note?” the duke asked.