The Labyrinth of Flame (The Shattered Sigil Book 3)

by Courtney Schafer

  Kiran didn’t feel much steadier. Now the moment had come, he could think of far too much he didn’t want Teo to see. The delirious joy he’d felt in killing Stevannes; the traitorous tangle of his feelings toward his mage-family; that night with Ruslan and Lizaveta in the study, when he’d—

  Doesn’t matter, Dev’s voice said within. Teo already hates you. Point is, he’ll see Ruslan’s a thousand times worse. Trust me, that’s impossible to miss.

  Kiran hoped so. In an odd way, it felt easier to show the darkest truths of his soul to a relative stranger like Teo. If it were Dev standing before him, even Cara, he didn’t know if he could throw open the gates.

  He cut Teo’s palm. “You’re sure,” he said, glancing up.

  “Show me.” Teo was adamant despite the tremor of his muscles.

  His stomach swooping as if he stepped off a cliff, Kiran clasped Teo’s bloodied hand.

  * * *

  (Dev)

  I startled awake to the sound of arguing voices. I was slumped in the corner of a bare stone room; the voices came from beyond a scuffed, tarnished metal door. A horizontal slit high in the opposite wall let in light that had the pearly, diffuse quality of early morning. A circular plate of iron stamped with blurred Varkevian script was set into the floor’s center, so tightly mated with the stone around it that the crack between was barely visible. A cistern cover, maybe—two fat rings poked out of the iron, so a man might use levers to lift it.

  There weren’t any levers in the room. Or anything else useful either. The windowslit was far too small a gap for even a short, wiry outrider like me to squeeze through. No wardlines spiraled over the door, but I had cause to know it was barred from the outside and guarded by a gang of well-armed black-daggers.

  I hoped the reason Gavila had ordered me stuffed in a cistern room in the Zhan-davi’s guard barracks rather than dragged straight out of the Khalat was that she hadn’t yet realized where I stashed the herbs. If she was still chasing after shadows, that’d give me a little time. But not much, and I hadn’t yet come up with any brilliant ideas on how to escape.

  The arguing outside grew louder, though I couldn’t quite make out words. Three voices—two of them were male, speaking with the guttural accent of clanfolk. The third remained too quiet for me to identify, though every now and then I caught a hint of flinty emphasis.

  I squirmed to a straighter sitting position, groaning at the protest of stiffened muscles. My body felt like it’d been trampled by an entire convoy’s worth of mules. My arms were still bound behind me, my wrists chafed and cut from the warded wire, and the long slice on my chest was a black, crusted mess. My throat was parched and my stomach a growling hollow. At least my scorpion-stung right hand could close again, painful as it was to move my fingers. Before I’d fallen asleep, I’d managed to work the gag out of my mouth. I’d never have thought I could sleep, between the pain of my various injuries and worries over Kiran and demons clamoring loud in my head, but exhaustion had won out. For a few hours, anyway.

  I scowled at the door. The least the loudmouths outside could’ve done was speak distinctly enough I could fool myself with the hope I’d learn something useful.

  The argument was finally dying, the male voices trailing off into reluctant agreement. Metal clanked, startling me all over again. Someone was unbarring the door. I climbed hastily to my feet. Just in case there was a chance to run, though I knew how slim that hope was.

  The door opened, and I got a glimpse of a shadowed portico and a crew of scowling clanfolk. Two men stomped in, shoved me down in front of the iron cistern lid, and tied my bound wrists to one of the protruding rings. I didn’t fight. No point, when it’d only earn me more injuries. But my stomach cramped with nerves. All I could think was the hog-tying meant Gavila had found the thieving scholar, discovered he was herb-less, and meant to ask me some very pointed questions. With charms or even knives.

  When the clansmen backed out the door, it wasn’t Gavila who walked in, but Yashad.

  Hers must have been the quiet but steely voice I’d heard outside. She was no longer playing the role of nondescript, shabby oldster. She wore a layered robe of richly dyed silk, lavender and rose, with a house crest worked in shimmering silver thread on her narrow breast. The crest wasn’t one I recognized. The pattern looked something like a three-pronged tower pierced by a crescent moon.

  I’d remember it. Same as I’d remember how she’d stabbed me in the back. If I survived this, maybe one day I’d get the chance to repay the favor. For now, I swallowed down the insults I wanted to shout. I scented opportunity in this visit. If I’d learned one thing during this summer’s ill-fated visit to Ninavel, it was how to bury rage and make deals with people I hated.

  Yashad made a brusque shooing gesture at the clanfolk crowding the doorway. They hesitated, glancing at each other. I didn’t see Gavila among them. I had the distinct feeling Yashad might be taking advantage of that absence.

  Yashad spoke an imperious phrase in Varkevian. Grudgingly, the black-daggers shut the door on us and clanked the bar into place.

  Yashad pulled a quiet-shroud charm from her robe and sparked it.

  “I can guess what brings you here,” I said, casual as I could manage despite the runaway thump of my heart. If she wanted this conversation kept private, that might be a good sign. Or maybe she meant to use a painbender on me and didn’t want the clanfolk outside to hear my cries. “Anxious to find out what I know of that crescent-moon necklace you wear, are you? I’ve got to tell you, I’m not in much of a sharing mood.”

  The webwork of Yashad’s wrinkles creased deeper in ironic amusement. “Yes, I imagine you’re a little angry with me. You’re still going to share everything you know of my necklace. Shall I show you why?”

  She reached into her robe and pulled out the jar of icelight and flask of soleius oil. “Answer my questions, and Bayyan’s fastest runner will bring these straight to your friend. Refuse, and I give them to Gavila.”

  No surprise that Yashad was clever enough to realize where I’d hidden the herbs. “A tempting offer—if I didn’t know how readily you lie. More likely, if I share a tale of your necklace, you’ll walk out this door and hand the herbs to Gavila anyway. You want a bargain? Cut me free and give me the herbs and some of that arsenal you’ve got hidden under your robe. You can tell Gavila I slipped free of my bonds by some shadow trick and overpowered you.”

  “Do you intend to also overpower the ten black-daggers standing outside? Bayyan told me of your fighting prowess…or lack thereof. No charm I carry can ensure your victory against so many warded opponents. Nor am I such a fool as to infuriate the godspeaker of an entire clan of seasoned warriors before my citadel’s wards are recast. Your freedom’s not on offer here, shadow man. But I’ll gladly send your friend whatever message you wish with the herbs. He can plan your rescue.”

  Fuck, I should’ve known. “You worked out this whole offer with Gavila, didn’t you? You want me to send my friend a plea for help that lures him straight into a trap.” I spat at her feet. “Shaikar take you to his hells.”

  Yashad heaved an exasperated sigh. “I said whatever message you wish. If you don’t want your friend’s help, fine. Warn him off. This is a bargain between you and me alone, not Gavila.”

  Oh gods, I wanted to believe her. The chance to send Kiran a warning about Zadikah was so tempting. Yet the strength of my desire to help him was just what Yashad was counting on.

  “If you think I’ll talk in exchange for nothing more than a vague promise you can happily break, you’re crazier than Gavila.”

  “Shall I give you even more incentive?” Yashad gave me a toothy grin. “Speak now and tell truth, or I send a message to Ruslan Khaveirin in Ninavel.”

  Shit, shit, shit. “If you know who he is, you’ve got to know you don’t want him anywhere near your city.”

  “I’m aware of his reputation,” Yashad said dryly. “It’s one reason I let Gavila take you. If Ninavel’s most terrible mage
comes south hunting you, far better if she’s carried you deep into the desert and drawn your friend after her. But I would certainly prefer not to draw a blood mage’s notice at all. Come, shadow man. Think it through. You can’t trust me, no. But without me, you and your friend have no hope of help.”

  Damn her eyes, she was right that I couldn’t afford to let any chances pass. If she wouldn’t give me any charms, maybe she’d at least give me information.

  “How about another show of good faith, first? Tell me where Gavila is and what you know of her plans.” It bothered me that I hadn’t seen Gavila since the conversation with Zadikah. Much as I hoped she was chasing around hunting herbs, I didn’t want to count on it.

  “Now there’s a curious tale,” Yashad said. “Gavila and her warriors volunteered to round up the scholars and keep them under guard in the collegium sept-hall until I could assure the Seranthine matria of my benign intentions and enlist her help in keeping order. Yet I hear from the matria that Gavila stood at the hall doors and touched each entering scholar with the charm she wears. For most, nothing happened, and they were passed into the sept-hall without incident. But for two—one apt-Scholar of metallurgy and one young initiate—the charm glowed. They were bound and taken aside; I believe Gavila is bringing them here now.”

  My suspicions of the night before solidified into dismaying shape. Thinking of the zeal blazing in Gavila’s eyes, so like Vidai’s, I could well imagine her wanting to wield a demon’s power. The demon in the cirque had said it needed the lives of Tainted children to build a “bridge” between himself and Vidai. With no Tainted children within easy reach, Gavila might’ve thought to try formerly Tainted adults instead.

  Yashad’s black eyes sharpened, holding mine. “This means something to you, I see. You asked what I know of Gavila’s plans. Very little, I confess, beyond that she and her kin intend to leave the Khalat today and take you back to their territory. When Gavila returns, I intend to ask her what foolishness she’s playing at in abducting scholars—I have no desire to anger the Seranthines!—but I will ask you now: have you any light to shed on her actions?”

  “She’s looking for people born in Ninavel like I was. You’ve heard the old stories about how the Taint is a demon’s mark, right? Gavila’s crazy enough to believe it. She thinks she can use ex-Tainters somehow to call a demon and make it do her bidding.” That wasn’t entirely accurate, but I wasn’t about to give someone as power-hungry as Yashad a diagram of what Vidai had done. “If you want to keep the Seranthines happy, you’d better reconsider letting Gavila drag scholars out of the Khalat. Whatever her delusions lead her to do, I get the feeling none of us will come out of it alive and smiling. You say Gavila means to take us to her territory, right? If you’re worried about pissing her off, then wait until she’s out of the city before springing an ambush. You can’t tell me a spymistress as smart as you doesn’t know how to cover your tracks.” Even if Yashad only made a grab for the scholars, not me, I could still seize the opportunity.

  “Hah,” Yashad said. “Fanatics do make troublesome allies. I will be curious to hear Gavila’s own answer.”

  A good sign, in a way, that she wasn’t smoothly agreeing to whatever I suggested. Meant she was actually considering the idea. “You want to know just how troublesome an ally, ask Bayyan to check with the warriors he left guarding my friend. The way Gavila was talking last night, I think she sent some kind of attack while we were all busy here.” That was as close as I wanted to get to speaking of the red-horned hunters. If Yashad really was considering an ambush, I didn’t want to spook her.

  “If you’re concerned for your friend, then you have all the more reason to take my offer,” Yashad said. “So, shadow man. Are you ready to speak of my necklace, or shall I leave you to take your chances without my aid?”

  “You said you’d send my friend a message. I want you to tell him anything you find out about Gavila’s plans, warn him to go nowhere near her, and tell him not to trust Zadikah.” Maybe Yashad had no intention of sending any messages, but I was desperate enough to snatch at any sliver of hope.

  Yashad frowned. “Zadikah? Why?”

  “Gavila might be crazy, but she’s awfully good at weaseling people into serving her purpose. Maybe you noticed.”

  Yashad took that little dig in perfect stride, even wheezing out a chuckle. “Nothing more annoying than a clever opponent, is there? Very well, I will send your message. After you tell me where and how you saw a necklace matching mine.”

  “I saw it earlier this season in Ninavel, worn by another shadow man in Sechaveh’s employ. A Varkevian-born immigrant named Pello.”

  Yashad’s amusement died. “Describe him.”

  I did, wondering all the while: was Pello her enemy, her kin, or something else entirely? She’d waited a long time to seek him. Way I’d heard it, he’d come to Ninavel a good twenty years past.

  “Is he in Ninavel still?” Yashad asked.

  I hesitated, but saw no advantage in a lie. “He’s dead. Crushed under a collapsing wall when Julisi district was destroyed earlier this summer—which was Ruslan’s doing, I might add. He struck at an enemy, missed, and didn’t give a damn that he blasted an entire district to ash.”

  “Whereas I imagine Sechaveh was not quite so sanguine,” Yashad said. “I’d wondered why a shadow man would be working against his master’s ally. I begin to see why Sechaveh might risk a rift with his most powerful enforcer. But this Pello…you’re certain he’s dead.”

  “Yeah.” I blinked back the memory of Pello lying in a lake of blood with a bar protruding from his gut and his leg crushed to paste. “I was with him when he died.”

  “Fighting together for Sechaveh.” The quality of Yashad’s stillness hinted at strong emotion roiling beneath her control, but I couldn’t tell whether she was upset that Pello was dead or mad that she hadn’t gotten the chance to kill him herself.

  “Not exactly,” I said. “Pello had been suborned. Forced into working for a man who sought to destroy Ninavel. But at the last, he did what he could—he willingly gave me information that helped save the city.”

  “Suborned.” Yashad leaned forward. “How?”

  Careful, my gut warned. Pello might be dead, but his son Janek was alive, rescued by Cara from his captivity and traveling in her care. I didn’t think it was a good idea for Yashad to learn about Janek. Varkevians put far too much importance on bloodlines. A feud with one man was a feud with all his kin.

  I said cautiously, “Sechaveh’s enemy threatened someone Pello cared about.”

  Yashad’s impassivity crumbled into pained resignation. “The gods’ sense of irony is ever cruel. To think he was so anxious to sever his kin-ties, claiming obligation and love were chains he refused to bear, yet he was so careless as to form a bond that killed him.”

  “He was kin to you?”

  “My sister’s son. Youngest and wildest, too clever and far too ambitious. Ah, the fights he had with me, his matria! He refused to be ruled. So when he ran, I let him go. Our house did not need such a liability. Our fortunes were growing and our blood strong. The house held plenty of other eager youngsters, perhaps not so clever, but far more dutiful…”

  Her bony hands knotted into her robe, and words spilled from her like poison lanced from a wound. “Yet they are gone now. Children and parents alike, all my kin dead but for a few scattered souls who escaped the treachery of our closest allies. Suns-eye House offered to join our two houses in kin-bond, then breached our wards and used jaadhet, the poison-smoke, to murder all who attended our midwinter gods-feast. They sent deathdealers for those few of us detained by business from the feasting. Those who came for me were not so cautious as they should have been, thinking an old woman easy prey, and I survived. I took what coin and charms I could from our vaults before Suns-eye plundered them, and sent my remaining kin into hiding while I came north to secure a new stronghold. And yes, I was foolish enough to hope I might find Pelyrad—Pello, as you call him—and disc
over if his youthful fire had been tempered into a steadier flame I might use to help raise our house from the ashes. If he still wore his birth-sigil, he did not cast us out from his heart entirely. But you say Shaikar has taken him like all the rest.”

  She released a long, weary sigh. “It is a bitter fate, to outlive all the children that were my house’s future.”

  I was silent, struggling with myself. She’d just handed me the lever I needed to ensure she kept her word and more. Get me free of the black-daggers, and I’ll tell you where to find Pello’s son. Even if she thought I might be lying about Janek, she wouldn’t be able to refuse the hope that I wasn’t, just as I couldn’t refuse the hope of helping Kiran.

  But that lever was a nine-year-old boy who deserved better than to spend his life in service to a ruthless manipulator. I’d never offer Melly to a viper like Yashad. How could I justify doing so with Janek? Even if I refused to honor my word, one hint that a child of her blood yet lived and she’d never rest until she found him.

  Yashad brushed her hands down her robe. Her spine straightened back into regal rigidity. “Forgive an old woman’s maunderings. You’ve answered as I asked, and I do not break all my bargains. I will send your herbs and message to your friend.”

  I didn’t want Kiran to come after me, but neither did I want to be given to demons. Nor did I much like the odds of escaping on my own from warriors who’d proven they knew quite well how to hold a prisoner. Yashad was old, and Cara was taking Janek so far north it’d take years to find him. Maybe I could play a game coy enough to keep him safe. If instead I kept my silence, and Gavila gave me to demons and used Zadikah to trap Kiran—gods, I had to speak.

  “Wait,” I said.

  Yashad turned from the door.

  “Pello has a son,” I said, and heard a dark echo of Pello speaking of sending children to their deaths, telling me with weary, almost pitying certainty, You have the steel in you to do the same.