by Melissa Marr
There weren’t too many daimons she’d rather not cross outright. Her rank and her hidden skills meant that if she couldn’t avoid trouble, she could resolve it permanently. Haage, however, was a daimon whose attention she’d like to avoid. She wasn’t fighter enough to take him on directly, and she couldn’t kill him with witchery without exposing herself. If these assassins were in his employ, she was in trouble. Actually, if they weren’t in his employ, she was in trouble too. Going with them could mean crossing Haage or inadvertently working with him. Neither was the sort of action that led to longevity.
Nice of you to warn me of your brethren’s interest, Kaleb.
As stealthily as she could, she followed the assassin through the carnival—or maybe she followed several different assassins. She kept losing sight of the nondescript black masks he or they wore, only to see a subtle gesture beckoning her forward.
Aya followed the black-masked daimon through a circuitous route around the carnival. Each time she lost sight of the daimon, she paused to inspect vendors’ wares, lingered in front of market stalls examining cloth and fruits, and idled to watch dancers. Each time, she was led farther until she’d left the carnival behind and found herself trailing her unknown guide through the thick of The City. The streets were filled with all classes of daimons, who gathered to talk or made their way to their homes, jobs, or recreations.
She kept watching for a doorway that she was to enter, but her guide continued on until they stood at the far edge of The City. Strange gnarled trees shredded the ruins of buildings that had been abandoned by daimons who had moved farther from or into The City. Animals roamed in undergrowth; their cries made their presences known even though she couldn’t see them. Scores of Marchosias’ best fighters patrolled the perimeter, hidden among those same verdant plants and trees.
The assassin, thankfully, didn’t lead her into the Untamed Lands. She—and now that they were side by side, Aya could tell that this assassin was female—stood silent. Before them was the massive expanse of the wilds that pushed in toward The City. Behind them was the overcrowded, class-divided morass of The City. Even though she couldn’t see it, Aya knew the Carnival of Souls pulsed in the center—a swirl of masked pleasure and violence. Outside The City was something unordered. There, class lines were not observed. Food was what one killed or stole. The City was rife with corruption, but it had order that the Untamed Lands lacked.
“Haage would have all of our world like that.” The black-masked daimon stared into the Untamed Lands. “You’ve been out there. Is that what you think best?”
Aya wasn’t about to start talking about her trips into the Untamed Lands. That wasn’t anyone’s business but her own. The scars she’d earned there were the only ones she’d had removed. If what she could do out there became known, it would be the same as announcing that she was a witch stronger than any allowed to live within The City.
And I’d be dead by the next morning.
There was no way to convey her desire to help The City without Marchosias feeling like she was power hungry. Power-hungry witches died. Strong witches died.
Aya kept her features expressionless as she waited for the assassin to say more.
“Marchosias tries to push the border out farther every season; he tries to protect his people. He is flawed, but he works hard to be a good ruler for The City,” the assassin said. She looked at Aya briefly, revealing the red-and-blue-ringed eyes of a Watcher, before adding, “I have ample reason to hate him, but he is better than the alternatives.”
The flat tone of the Watcher’s voice told Aya what the daimon didn’t: this was someone who knew Marchosias personally.
“His last child was the child of a Watcher,” Aya said with as little affect as possible.
Although Aya couldn’t see it, she thought the Watcher might have smiled behind her mask because the tone of her voice was amused as she answered, “I am not the girl’s mother.”
Aya tensed as the undergrowth quivered with the movement of either an animal or a soldier. A growl quickly revealed that it wasn’t a soldier approaching.
“Should we—”
“Move,” the Watcher directed. She launched herself forward as a bovine creature charged toward them.
In the same moment, she’d retrieved a small ax from somewhere under her coat. Before Aya could help in their defense, the Watcher buried the ax in the animal’s neck. It fell, making noises of protest. As it died, the Watcher rejoined Aya.
“Out there”—the Watcher gestured with the gore-coated weapon—“that is normal.”
Aya was transfixed as a group of Watchers appeared from the same thick undergrowth and began dragging the animal away. She didn’t want to stay here, didn’t want to wander into that part of the world. She stepped backward. “Why did you bring me here?”
“To see why Marchosias needs your help,” the Watcher said.
Aya shuddered. “I’m not sure why you think I can—”
“We know,” the Watcher interrupted.
With two simple words, the daimon beside her became more frightening than the creatures hidden in the Untamed Lands, more awful than the thought of death or loss or most anything Aya could imagine. She forced herself to try to stay calm. “I’m not sure what you think you know.”
“Evelyn,” the Watcher said. “We know what Evelyn did, what you are.”
Aya had drawn a knife and stepped farther back so that the Watcher was between her and the Untamed Lands. There was a risk that the Watcher could disappear into that foreboding growth, but better chance that than try to fight with the possibility of being attacked from behind by an animal.
“We don’t share secrets without reason. We have no reason to reveal yours.” The Watcher didn’t react to Aya’s posture or weapon. “Help Marc, and you will help yourself.”
Two more Watchers walked out of the Untamed Lands and stood one on either side of the Watcher who had been speaking. Both were unmasked.
The one to the left said, “The cur knows where one of the missing daughters is. We’ve seen them together.”
“Daughters?” Aya repeated.
“Ask the cur,” the first Watcher said.
“You cannot trust Evelyn,” the third Watcher added. “Help Marc.”
“How?”
“Tell him who your mother is,” the masked Watcher said.
Then all three of the Watchers turned and walked into the Untamed Lands. They’d apparently said all they intended to say for now.
Moments passed, and all Aya heard were the sounds of the creatures who roamed in the wilds. No daimons, Watcher or otherwise, appeared. No assassins arrived. The conversation they’d had could’ve been held in a stall in The City, but doing so wouldn’t have afforded the Watcher the ability to make an example of the nature outside The City—or afforded Aya the privacy she cherished.
Unfortunately, their wisdom didn’t make sense. There was no way that she was telling Marchosias what she was or who her mother was. It would be suicide. Aya didn’t put her knife away as she walked toward the familiar overcrowded streets of The City—nor did she stop watching for black-masked daimons. There were more secrets than she could make sense of. Right now, all she knew for certain was that Kaleb needed to share his secrets. After that, she could try to figure out what to do about Haage and Marchosias.
And the missing daughter . . . or daughters.
CHAPTER 22
WHEN KALEB ARRIVED AT Mallory’s door that evening, he was greeted by her stepfather. Adam Rothesay looked like a lot of men who could pass by unnoticed on the street. He was a shade over six foot, trim, with nondescript clothes and nondescript features. He wasn’t remarkable in any way, but he still made Kaleb uncomfortable.
“Mallory isn’t available,” Adam said, coming out and pulling the door to the house shut behind him. “We should talk.”
The way that Mallory’s stepfather smiled genially made Kaleb even tenser. It wasn’t the smile of true friendliness, but the sort of smile th
at often accompanied trouble. Maybe I’m overreacting. Living in The City made a person suspicious. They were in front of a quiet house in a quiet town in the human world.
Before Adam could say anything further, the door opened, and Mallory herself stood there staring at the two of them. “Daddy? Kaleb?” She smiled at him. “Hi.”
Adam turned his back to Kaleb. “I was just going to talk to him. You ought to—”
“If there’s something to say, I deserve to hear it.” Mallory leaned on the doorjamb.
The displeasure on Adam’s face was undeniable, but his remark was said too low for Kaleb to hear. He gestured for Kaleb to go into the house.
As soon as they crossed the threshold, Adam stepped around Kaleb and directed Mallory to a worn brown sofa. She looked exhausted, and a new bitter scent tinged the air around her. It smelled more like magic than sickness.
Is he a witch?
Kaleb glanced again at Adam. The telltale blue-gold witch eyes were absent. There were, however, rare witches who didn’t have blue-and-gold eyes. It was exceedingly unusual, but not impossible. Aya didn’t have witch eyes.
The unease Kaleb felt grew as Adam smiled with the practiced ease of one who hid what he was thinking more often than not.
Kaleb stayed in the doorway, not quite in the living room, and watched the older man warily. Attacking Mallory’s father would cause problems, but the sense of self-preservation that Kaleb had counted on since childhood made him wonder if an attack would be necessary. Something was very much not right here.
Adam started, “I need to fetch a blanket and things, so you—”
“I can get it,” Mallory interrupted.
“No. You rest.” Adam smiled at her, gently now. He bent down and kissed the top of his daughter’s head. “I’m going to talk to Kaleb.”
Mallory opened her mouth like she wanted to say more, but instead, a strange look of calm suddenly came over her. She smiled meekly at her father and then murmured, “Okay.”
Again, Adam motioned for Kaleb to precede him through the hallway. As Kaleb ascended the stairs to where he assumed the bedrooms were, he watched for dangers or traps.
The house was small and, by human standards, modest. Boxes still remained to be unpacked, but what was in place was nondescript and orderly. Three rooms opened up from the short hallway. One door was closed. One open door revealed a bed, dresser, and footlocker; all were equally drab, but serviceable. The third door revealed what was obviously Mallory’s room. A vase of fresh flowers, an iPod, and a pile of books covered a dark wooden dresser. Fluffy slippers poked out from under the edge of a bed that was heaped high with pillows. It was the only room so far that contained any hint that a person lived there. Kaleb wished he could take a few moments to see what she read, what she listened to, what secrets were revealed by what she chose. Hers was a life completely different from his, and he wanted to understand her.
Instead, Adam ushered him toward the nondescript room.
“Grab that blanket.” Adam pointed to a quilt that was folded at the foot of a tidily made bed.
“Sure,” Kaleb said, but the moment he crossed the threshold to the room, he fell to his knees, trying his damnedest not to retch all over the floor.
“Daimons have no business around my daughter, Kaleb.” Adam knelt beside him.
The witch eyes that Kaleb hadn’t seen earlier were now plainly visible. “You are a witch.”
“Yes, and she is my daughter by law.”
Kaleb tried to stand and failed. “She doesn’t know she’s a dai—”
“No. All that matters is that she’s my daughter.” Adam added an extra jolt of pain to the already agonizing sensations with a whispered word in the strange language of witches.
As Kaleb pulled his knees to his chest, curling into a fetal ball, Adam picked up the quilt as if he weren’t torturing Kaleb at that very instant.
When Kaleb looked up at him, Adam said, “We’ll go out there, and in a few moments, you’ll tell Mallory that you’re feeling unwell, and you’ll leave. I won’t tell her what you are or injure you in front of her, and you’ll keep your mouth shut about what she is and stay away from her. Do you understand?”
“If I don’t?”
“I have been killing daimons for centuries.” Adam whis-pered another of his witch’s curses, and the pain increased. “What purpose would it serve anyhow? Mallory has been raised to hate your kind—”
“Her kind,” Kaleb corrected. “What do you think will happen when she finds out?”
“She isn’t going to find out today,” Adam snarled. “She needs to be calm while she heals. Exposing you to her would upset her.”
The pain stopped as suddenly as it had started. Kaleb wasn’t ready to try standing yet. He marshaled his strength as Adam waited. The witch didn’t offer him a hand up, but he didn’t strike Kaleb as he stood.
“The Watcher. Whatever the Watcher did peeled back your spells. That’s why she’s sick,” Kaleb said, thinking of their unexpected encounter with the daimon woman the last time he’d seen Mallory. “Her body is rejecting the magic you’ve wrapped around her.”
Adam smoothed nonexistent wrinkles from the quilt. “My daughter is none of your business. I can handle the Watchers and you . . . and him, too, if he is foolish enough to come here.”
“So you do know who her father is,” Kaleb pointed out uselessly.
“She is my daughter by law, daimon, and until she’s eighteen, he can’t come near her, and if he sends his lackeys, I’ll kill them.”
“Then why aren’t you killing me?”
“Because it would upset my daughter, who is sick right now, but if you come back, I will. You only get a pass today because it’s what’s best for Mallory. You can walk out of here with no harm if you don’t speak of any of this. I’m giving you a chance to live. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Kaleb said.
“Daddy? Kaleb?” Mallory called from the living room.
Quilt in hand, Adam walked past him. “Come.”
Kaleb followed. The temptation to strike the witch, whose back was to him, lasted for only a moment. Killing her father was a sure way to chase Mallory off. Retreating made sense, but every instinct in him rebelled at the idea. He hadn’t fought so hard in his life to walk away from a challenge without at least trying.
As Adam went into the living room, he said, “I’m afraid that Kaleb can’t stay. Right, Kaleb?”
Kaleb lifted his gaze to stare directly at Mallory as he answered, “I can stay.”
She glanced between them; her expression of concern made clear that she was unhappy. “Daddy?”
“It’s fine, Mals.” Adam covered Mallory’s legs with the quilt, and then he glanced over his shoulder at Kaleb. “Are you sure, Kaleb?”
Bracing himself for the pain that would come, Kaleb looked briefly at Adam. “I care for her. That’s why I’m h—” The wave of pain made it impossible to speak for a moment, but even so, his resolve strengthened. He’d experienced more than his share of pain in The City. The challenge was in not vomiting on the floor or blacking out. He spread his feet to brace himself, shuddered, and then said, “I’m here because I like you, Mallory.”
The words weren’t even fully formed before he felt his guts being torn open. He glanced down and saw that his skin was intact, but the sensation was convincing enough that he still put a hand on his stomach, needing to feel that his internal organs weren’t spilling out. He stared directly at Mallory. “I want to be with you, Mallory. I will be.”
“Daddy? What’s going on?” Mallory started to stand.
Adam stopped her. “No.”
“What are you doing?” she whispered to her father.
Kaleb didn’t hear the witch’s reply. He closed his eyes as a fresh wash of pain, sharper now, hit him. He thought he had known pain, but nothing he’d felt in his life came anywhere near the agony radiating through his body. He started shaking, and his vision blurred.
Then Mallory’s
voice was all he heard. “Kaleb!”
He shook so severely that he began to flail about and found himself on the floor. He turned his head so that he was looking up at Mallory. She had her hand over her mouth, and her eyes were wide with horror.
The witch reached down and pulled him to his feet. Adam’s touch felt like brands searing Kaleb’s skin. He pressed his lips together to keep from screaming. If not for Adam’s grip, he would’ve pitched face forward on the ground, but the same grip that held him upright was the source of the torture.
In a calm, falsely friendly voice, Adam started, “Mals, I’m going to take him—”
“No.” Kaleb pulled away from Adam, almost falling to his knees as he did so. Going with Adam would be a death sentence, but staying wasn’t likely to end well either. As much as it galled him, Kaleb knew that his only option was retreat. For now. He met Adam’s gaze. “I’ll go.”
The pain vanished, but Kaleb knew that the reprieve would be only temporary if he tried to stay. He smiled at Mallory. “I’m sorry.”
Mallory’s eyes looked wet with tears, and Kaleb felt even worse at seeing her sorrow. He didn’t want her to hurt or to see him so weak, but he couldn’t overcome Adam. Rage filled him to the point that it took effort not to let his claws free. If he could fight back, he’d show Adam that he wasn’t a pup to be tortured. Unfortunately, he was pretty sure that revealing claws would disturb Mallory.