Lizaveta stepped back from me. Her lips were pressed tight and her stance held a tension I’d never seen in her before. “I’ve chosen the right path,” she murmured, as if trying to convince herself. She glanced at me again. “I do find myself curious why the ssarez-kai ordered their human lackeys to bring them such nathahlen as you.”
Ssarez-what? Did she mean the demons really had spoken to Gavila? Upon seeing Lizaveta here, I’d assumed she’d been the one to send Gavila’s dreams, having guessed we’d head for Prosul Akheba. I’d figured she asked for Ninavel-born adults as a means of catching me. Apparently not—which left me wondering all over again, even knowing my chances of surviving to use any knowledge were near nonexistent.
Lizaveta weaved through the crowd of dull-eyed clanfolk to reach Gavila, whose kitfox-sharp face was as blank as the rest. Lizaveta touched her brow. Gavila made a gargled sound, her eyes rolling up to the whites, though her limbs didn’t move.
“Ah,” Lizaveta said, lowering her hand. “How very inspired. And good news for my mage-brother.” She looked at me. “I thought I would have to ensure your death, but it seems I can leave Ruslan the pleasure of savaging your flesh. Even if he will be disappointed to find your mind burned away by an overdose of taphtha. A crude method, but effective enough.”
Every word she spoke was more chilling than the last. But a flash of certainty hit me, sure as any hunch I’d ever had.
“Ruslan doesn’t know you’re here.” Ruslan didn’t know Kiran was here.
Lizaveta’s serene composure didn’t change, but my throat prickled, and just like that, my voice went the way of my muscles. All I could do was glare at her.
She smiled, cruel as any demon, and beckoned. I followed her to the base of the arch, where manacles stood open on the stone. I lay down, docile as if I’d already been dosed with taphtha, and put my wrists and ankles into the cold metal.
Panic yammered through me, but I refused to give into it. Lizaveta had gone to all this trouble to see my memories. Now that she had them, I could guess she’d wipe away any traces of her spellwork and let the black-daggers be the ones to mindburn me, so Ruslan would never know what she’d done. But why was she sneaking around behind his back?
Because she had some plan for Kiran that Ruslan wouldn’t like. Maybe she meant to make her own bargain with demons. Damn it, didn’t matter—whatever she intended, I didn’t think Kiran would come out of it intact.
I tried to speak, but my voice was still gone. Gods all damn Lizaveta! Cast, I willed Kiran. Get yourself free. For once, I wanted Ruslan to feel Kiran use magic and come running. If he and Lizaveta turned on each other, maybe they’d blast each other to ash. Or at least give Kiran the chance to escape while they were busy fighting.
Lizaveta beckoned to Gavila, who approached me with a sleepwalker’s blank-eyed shuffle. Gavila snapped the manacles shut around my limbs. She cut a strip of leather from her vest and bound it tight in my mouth.
My stomach felt like I’d swallowed an entire glacier. Everything was moving too fast and too slow all at once. I wasn’t going to get any chance to escape. These were my last moments of consciousness, and I couldn’t do a fucking thing about it.
The scholar-boy shambled through the statue-still crowd and lay down in the set of manacles next to mine. Gavila locked him in, though she didn’t gag him. Belatedly, I wondered what’d happened to the apt-Scholar. Was she standing vacant-eyed at the bottom of that crevice, caught in the same spell Lizaveta had used on the rest? Or had the rock shielded her from Lizaveta’s notice and let her run? She looked tougher than most cityfolk. Maybe she could survive to reach safety even without Bayyan.
I wanted so badly for that to be true. If the apt-Scholar lived, then at least I’d saved someone tonight.
Lizaveta studied me, toying with her knife again, and the naked hunger in her eyes made my gut crawl. But she gave a regretful sigh and turned away. She put graceful hands on Gavila’s shoulders, whispered into her ear, and eeled through the crowd to disappear into the night.
I felt no relief. She was going to Kiran, and his fate would doubtless make mine look like a kindness.
Moments after she left, the clanfolk stirred to life as if waking from a dream. My muscles were mine to command again, much good that it did me. I threw my weight against the manacles and budged not at all.
Gavila showed no surprise at seeing me and the scholar-boy spread-eagled before her. Nor did the rest of the clanfolk. I saw nothing but varying levels of fierce expectation as they crowded close behind Gavila. It was like they didn’t remember I’d ever escaped them in the first place.
The scholar-boy remembered. He pulled against the manacles, crying out in confusion and fear, his eyes going wide with surprise when he saw me. He babbled something frantic at me in Varkevian.
I couldn’t even tell him I didn’t understand. The gag was too tight in my mouth. Fuck, I didn’t even know the kid’s name. I wished I did know, with sudden, unreasoning force. Stupid—what difference would it make?—but the lack made my eyes burn.
The oldster who’d first traded with me and Kiran shoved through the crowd, a cup in each of his tattooed hands. Gods, the stink of it—they hadn’t diluted the taphtha at all. That strong, it was poison, pure and simple. Our brains would be bleeding out our ears within instants of drinking it. I heaved against the manacles, knowing it was hopeless, but I couldn’t help myself.
Gavila took a cup and barked an order. A clansman with arms as thick as cinnabar branches knelt and gripped the scholar-boy’s jaw, forcing open his mouth. Gavila poured the cup’s contents straight down his throat.
The boy gargled a scream, liquid spilling dark from his lips. The man holding his jaw forced it shut. The boy began to tremble, the trembles growing into full-on convulsions. He jerked in the manacles, making a horrible, animal moaning. Blood streaked his wrists and ankles where the metal cut his flesh. At last he went slack, his head falling to the side. His eyes drifted open. They were filmed with white and empty as a doll’s.
I cried out in fear and sorrow and pure, sun-hot fury, knowing Lizaveta had told Gavila to dose the boy first just so I could watch in gory detail the fate I was about to suffer.
The burly clansman moved to my head. He didn’t even take out the gods-cursed gag, just yanked my jaw open and pushed the leather down against my tongue to make room.
I shut my eyes against the sight of Gavila’s intent face and the cup in her hand. Part of me wanted to go out spitting and fighting, but fuck if I’d give Lizaveta the satisfaction of having my last moments be full of pain and fear. Instead, I willed Kiran to escape and find safety, even freedom. Called forth my happiest memories of Cara, the joy we’d shared together, and prayed that Khalmet would forever favor her. I imagined Sethan holding out his hand to me, smiling warm in welcome, telling me he’d been waiting for me in Suliyya’s gardens…
A startled shout rang out above me. The hold on my jaw released, and liquid splattered on stone. My eyes flew open.
Gavila was sprawled on her ass, her mouth round in shock, an empty cup rolling away toward ranks of equally stunned clanfolk. A thud sounded behind me—I arched my head back and saw the burly clansman sliding limply down the side of the arch.
The manacles on my wrists and ankles cracked open, one after the other, ringing like they’d been struck by an invisible hammer.
Kiran! The gods had heard my prayers. He’d escaped Lizaveta and had come to save me. I scrambled up and ran, even as the shocked paralysis of the clanfolk broke. Men and women leaped for me, only to yelp and stagger back as magefire roared up to block them.
Flame arrowed before me, forcing a path through the crowd, but not burning the black-daggers when they shrank away. I wanted to shout at Kiran to forget restraint. Assholes who’d just mindburned a helpless kid deserved to die. I raced between walls of crackling silver fire toward the far side of the basin. A dark figure stood high on a rim of rock, hands raised and haloed in light.
I scramb
led up steepening stone, already sorting through plans. Much as I wanted Kiran to blast Gavila and her kin to ash, we had to get out of here. Ruslan would’ve felt all this casting. He’d be coming as soon as he could cast a translocation spell, and this time we couldn’t hide in Alathia.
We were neck deep in trouble now, and yet I didn’t care one bit. I was alive. Laughter bubbled out of me, my blood coursing with relief so bright I thought I could hear singing.
“Kiran, I’ve never been so glad to see—”
I skidded to a halt. The mage before me wasn’t Kiran but a slender, straight-backed young woman with an amber, freckled face. She was singing, soft and intent, rings glowing bright on her fingers, magefire reflected in her eyes.
“Lena?” Her dark hair wasn’t bound into the braided crown I remembered, but hacked off ragged and short at her chin. Nor was she wearing the blue-and-gray uniform of the Watch, just Varkevian-style sash-belted tunic and trousers—but more Alathian mages had to be skulking around. The Council must’ve gotten desperate enough to send a crew after Kiran. Lena had been the one to help us escape over the border, but she didn’t know it. Kiran had taken her memories of that night so the Council wouldn’t think her a traitor. She probably believed we were enemies, but fuck, I’d take the Alathians over Lizaveta any day.
I yelled at her, “Kiran’s trapped, you have to—”
“Dev!” The cry was a child’s, high and delighted. I looked up, and horror stopped my heart.
Melly swooped down out of the air to seize me in a hug. “Dev! Cara saw you in Prosul Akheba, but by the time she got me and Lena, the clanfolk had dragged you off and it took us forever to catch up—thank Khalmet I haven’t Changed yet! I’m near as strong as in Ninavel, here; I knocked those clanfolk right over, did you see?”
When I’d seen Cara in my drugged haze, that’d been real? I clutched at Melly, shock tangling with such terror and rage I couldn’t get a word out. I understood now. The Watch hadn’t been able to find me and Kiran thanks to his amulet, so they’d hunted Cara instead. Caught her and forced her to tell them we were headed to Prosul Akheba. They’d come south, dragging her and the kids along as hostages, even fooled Melly into helping them snatch me—oh, this had Marten’s stamp all over it—
An even more familiar voice called my name, and Cara ran out of the darkness. “I can guess what you’re thinking, but it’s not true. I’ll explain, but quick—where’s Kiran? We’ve got to get you both out of here—neither of you should be near a confluence—”
“Lizaveta is here!” I ripped Melly free of me and thrust her at Cara, too desperate to be gentle.
Cara reacted with swift decisiveness born of her experience in leading convoys. “I’ll get the kids clear. Melly, get Janek off that spire and follow me. You see anyone, strike.” Then she was running, sure-footed and fleet, vaulting over rocks without breaking stride.
Melly was only a kid, but a smart one, and she’d seen enough of Lizaveta in Ninavel to be properly terrified of her. She threw me one glance, her gamine brown face gone tight and her eyes huge, and she darted high into darkness. I stared after her, my heart in my mouth. The Taint used confluence energy, and the confluence here couldn’t be that big. Once past its boundaries, Melly’s power would fade to leave her as helpless as any unTainted twelve-year-old, and Cara and Janek would be defenseless with her.
Lena broke her song to say, grimly urgent, “Where is Lizaveta? I can’t sense her.”
“She went after Kiran. He’s trapped within wards—look for those.” Whatever Lizaveta meant to do to Kiran, I prayed she hadn’t finished it yet.
Lena glanced past me and sang a sharp phrase. Magefire gouted up, followed by yells. “We need to move. Your clanfolk friends are surprisingly determined, and if I keep casting to discourage them, I won’t be strong enough to defend against Lizaveta.”
From what I understood of magic, no Alathian had the strength to take on Lizaveta. Not alone, anyway. “Where are the rest of the Watch? We need every mage you have.”
“The Watch isn’t here. Just me. I begged Cara to help me find you—I’ve news that’s vital for you to know, information Marten found out before the Council arrested him—”
“You’re alone? Marten got arrested?” I shook my head to clear it; I felt trapped in some crazy dream that was fast plunging back into a nightmare. “Never mind. Find Kiran.”
Lena’s steps slowed. “I sense a mage, but his or her soulfire is far too dim to be a blood mage’s.”
“Where?” Lizaveta could be disguising herself to set an ambush. Thinking of her smile, fear shivered through me.
“Coming this way.” Lena pushed me behind her and raised her hands. The light of her rings spilled bright over folds and spires of rock, picking out a man who froze in an awkward half-crouch. One arm was thrown over his face in a defensive gesture, but I recognized Teo’s sleek black cap of hair and sinewy build.
“Hold,” I said to Lena. “He’s a friend. Sort of. Teo! Where’s Kiran?”
Teo scrambled down the slope. His eyes were wild, his clothes torn and covered in dirt. “Dev—thank the goddess you’re all right. I met apt-Scholar Trenell in the rocks, and she told me you’d been captured. I thought the worst…” He turned to Lena, hands clasped in entreaty. “I’ve seen Kiran’s memories. I know who you are. Will you help him? He’s trapped in a warded cave. It’s not far, I can take you.”
“Show us,” I said. “Fast. Lizaveta is here.” If he’d seen Kiran’s memories, he’d know who she was.
Teo’s whole face went slack with dismay. He scrabbled back up the slope, yelling for us to follow.
I raced after him, unable to spare more than a glimmer of relief for the apt-Scholar, who’d apparently not only survived but had the sense to keep right on running. I prayed with ragged urgency for Khalmet to favor Kiran with a miracle as great as mine and hers.
But all I could see were the white, empty eyes of the scholar-boy, who had prayed just as fervently and been denied.
Chapter Sixteen
(Kiran)
Kiran paced within his warded prison, stalking past the sticky, drying pool of his blood on the cave floor. His eyes were gritty and hot, frustration acid in his veins.
The scarred demon had not come, but Kiran knew his summons hadn’t gone unnoticed. Kneeling with his hand splayed in his own blood, he’d had the same subtle sense of a watching presence that he’d detected on the dunes. But the demon would not answer him, though he’d shouted offers and arguments until his throat was raw.
Maybe the demon was lurking in wait for Ruslan, thinking Kiran’s master had far more knowledge of its rivals’ plans than Kiran could provide. It could have decided to leave Kiran trapped as bait for an ambush.
Kiran brushed away an enticing vision of the demon seizing Ruslan the moment he arrived. He couldn’t count on any outcome so favorable. He had to assume no help would be granted.
He could make Ruslan the offer he’d considered before: willing surrender in exchange for a blood vow that would buy Dev time to find a more permanent solution. Yet the taste of that was bitter on his tongue. Maybe defiance was selfish of him, but the darkness seething in his heart and the discomfort from his conversations with Teo had stripped away his ambivalence. He would fight to the last. Ruslan could steal his memories, burn out his will, and leave him a mindless slave, but unless Kiran let him, he could not remake Kiran into his own image.
“I will not be a monster,” Kiran said hoarsely. A promise to Dev, to Teo, even the lurking demon, if it were listening.
A quiet, measured tapping of boots on stone echoed through the archway. Kiran’s heart jolted against his ribs. He locked a hand around his amulet, spells of defense crowding his mind. He couldn’t sense anything past the blazing wall of the wards, but he knew who was approaching. Ruslan, his hazel eyes hot with triumph, his ikilhia an inferno behind defenses layered so deeply that Kiran could never hope to breach them.
When instead Lizaveta appeared in the archw
ay, it took Kiran a long, confused moment to register that Ruslan was not at her side.
In startled realization, he said, “You were the one to veil this trap.” Ruslan wasn’t the only mage who knew him well enough to key such a spell. Lizaveta was every bit as powerful as her mage-brother, and subtle in ways Ruslan was not.
Lizaveta inclined her head. “Just as I made sure the nathahlen who calls herself a godspeaker would think to use it, and piece together the right clues out of old stories to realize the trigger.”
“You sent Gavila’s dreams?” Ruslan wouldn’t choose such a tactic, but Lizaveta…oh, Kiran should have guessed it earlier.
“Not all of them. But this…” Lizaveta traced a slim brown hand over the archway’s stone. Her mouth curved in a faint, reminiscent smile. “Centuries ago, I knew the mage who created this warding. She lacked finesse, but her talent was amazing; even after such a passage of years, her work remains flawless. I knew it could hold you. I even knew what lure would entice you.”
Dev. Where was he? Kiran badly wanted to ask if Lizaveta had hurt Dev, but that would be a mistake.
“Where is Ruslan?” Try as he might, Kiran couldn’t steady his voice.
Lizaveta’s dark eyes hardened, holding his. “He thought you would come back to us. That loyalty and love would outweigh the lies the Alathians told you.”
Love. It took every ounce of control Kiran possessed to answer her without breaking into incoherent shouting. “I know who lied to me, and it’s not the Alathians. I’ve seen Dev’s memories. I know what Ruslan has done. Murdered my lover, used me as bait to destroy a rival, burned out my memories, told me lie after lie in hopes of controlling me—”
“Everything Ruslan has done has been for love of you.”
“That is not love!” If Kiran had any doubt of it, he had only to look at Dev, who put the happiness and safety of everyone he cared for above his own, who treated lovers and friends alike with respect and never cruelty. “If Ruslan loved me, he would care what I want. Not force me into some twisted reflection of himself.”
The Labyrinth of Flame (The Shattered Sigil Book 3) Page 30