Carnival of Secrets

by Melissa Marr

  Mutely, Kaleb nodded.

  “Later, if you want—”

  “No,” Kaleb interrupted. “I have what I want.”

  “After the last of the fights, you may go to that world for as much of the next year as necessary to get the job done—or you can bring her here and live in the palace,” Marchosias said.

  “After the fights?”

  “Once a daimon enters the competition, he needs to be eliminated in a match or forfeit.” Marchosias flashed his teeth at Kaleb. “I can’t imagine that a cur who thinks to wed my daughter would forfeit. You’ll fight. You’ll win, or you’ll die.”

  “Oh,” Kaleb said. Sole right to Mallory was his, but he was suddenly even more of a target.

  “If you die in the fights, my daughter won’t be injured. It’s a rare bit of magic, but I’ve added it to your bond,” Marchosias said.

  Kaleb didn’t know what to say. He was grateful for the protection for Mallory, but he hadn’t expected to continue to fight. “I see.”

  “You didn’t think you could circumnavigate the rules, did you?” Marchosias chided. “You came here asking for the prize without winning the game. You have her; now, prove you can keep her.”

  Kaleb nodded silently again. He wasn’t sure of the protocol just then. He wanted to leave, but he hadn’t been dismissed. Do daimons still get dismissed if they are ruling class?

  “Go on, then.” Marchosias held his copy of the contract out to him. “You have a competition to survive and a wife to breed.”

  CHAPTER 25

  ZEVI WASN’T SURPRISED TO find Aya outside the mouth of the cave. He also wasn’t sure if he wanted to invite her inside. Kaleb didn’t entirely trust her, and this was his home. On the other hand, Aya had saved Kaleb’s life. That earned her a lot of leeway as far as Zevi was concerned.

  “He’s not here,” Zevi told her.

  Kaleb hadn’t coped too well with what happened in the fight, and he’d vanished not long after Zevi had led him away from the carnival. It wasn’t like there were wounds to tend, so Zevi couldn’t insist on Kaleb staying home.

  When Aya didn’t reply, Zevi nodded at the ground. “Is this ward like circles? Can you cross it without me knowing?”

  “Yes,” Aya admitted. “No magic I’ve found in The City has been strong enough to stop me at anything.”

  Zevi motioned for her to come inside, but he didn’t say the words that would allow her to do so. “What about outside The City?”

  She gave him a wry smile, acknowledging his lack of welcoming words, and stepped into the cave. “In the Untamed Lands? Nothing I’ve found out there is beyond me. I looked, but . . . no.”

  “And the human world? Anything stronger there?” Zevi gave her his most innocent look.

  Without missing a beat, Aya said, “Yes, but not by much. There are older witches, but I’m able to best most of them too.”

  “Huh.” Zevi swept his arm forward in a gesture of welcome, offering her the softest of the piles of hides that he had. If any guest they’d had merited the best comforts, she was the one. Her magic might have disturbed Kaleb, but it had also kept him alive in a fight he should’ve lost. To Zevi, that was far more important than Kaleb’s self-loathing at what he’d done. The first time doing something horrible was always the hardest. Kaleb might not be willing to admit that today, but Zevi had no illusions. He’d seen Kaleb’s dismay after Zevi sold his body to buy them food; he’d seen the terror in Kaleb’s eyes when he’d come very close to dying. Those were sickening too. The revulsion faded, and they kept on living. Time made even the worst of horrors seem milder. Kaleb simply needed time—not that Zevi would say that to Kaleb right now.

  Zevi studied Aya as he waited for her to explain why she was there. She was different from anyone he’d spent time around. When they acknowledged him, ruling-caste women typically either looked at him as an object of revulsion or of pleasure. Aya had neither reaction. It was comforting. Like being around Kaleb is. He smiled at that realization. Kaleb had been right about her: she would be a good protector if he needed one.

  Patience already gone, Zevi flopped down across from her and asked, “Why are you here? I told you he’s out, and you’re still here. You don’t want me, so why?”

  “You’re refreshing,” she said with a small laugh.

  He shrugged. “What do you want, Aya?”

  “Come to the carnival with me,” she finally said. “I need to be distracted, and people need hints that Kaleb and I are not enemies. If Kaleb isn’t with me, you will be convincing proof that he and I are talking.”

  “With or without a mask?”

  She laughed. “Just you, Zevi. No mask.”

  Zevi flashed his teeth at her in a wide grin. He’d be her stand-in trophy. Walking with her would be far more entertaining than sitting home worrying over Kaleb. If he were able to find a female daimon truly appealing, Aya would be a contender. Unlike the red-mask jobs he’d taken, he thought he might be able to lie with Aya without needing to imagine that he was touching a daimon he did want.

  THE WITCH WAS QUIET as they walked toward the carnival, but Zevi had lived with Kaleb long enough to be used to sullen moods. They stopped at the edge of the carnival, and Zevi watched a scab pick the pockets of those pausing to listen to a wire-thin woman with beautiful long fingers playing a hurdy-gurdy. The scab didn’t rob everyone—doing so was a foolish strategy—but he judiciously assessed each listener. A few minutes passed, and the set of songs ended. Some listeners dropped coins into the musician’s tin before they walked away. The scab joined them, dropping a percentage of his take into the tin as well. The two exchanged a brief glance, enough to check if the time for moving on was now or if the musician thought they were still good for another round.

  “They have a good system,” Aya commented.

  “Fair, not good,” he corrected.

  Since he’d left the Untamed Lands, Zevi hadn’t ever known life without cons, theft, or other less gentle ways to earn the coins necessary to eat. He could see ways to improve their system, but he suspected that the musician had other revenue streams or a protector.

  “Walk with me,” Aya said softly.

  Mutely, Zevi kept pace as they wound their way through the crush of people and deeper into the carnival. A lot of people believed that the carnival wasn’t the same sort of danger as the Night Market, but the only real difference as far as Zevi could see was that the vendors who were here only during the day hid their wantonness better. He tried to stay away at night because Kaleb asked him to, but he was more comfortable with the Night Market. Illusions confused him.

  They stuck to the most visible parts of the carnival, pausing to listen to musicians and walking through to the matchboards where the fight results were displayed. Aya told stories of fights she’d won and plays she’d seen, and he told her about cons he’d run and books he’d read. She didn’t laugh at his text love like so many daimons would, but she did seem surprised.

  “Kaleb brings me books from the human world,” Zevi admitted. “I’ve read some of ours, but books aren’t as easy to get in The City. Over there, they have buildings filled with books, and anyone at all can go in and read them. They let you take them home to read; even low-caste humans are allowed.”

  The sadness in Aya’s expression was only there for a moment, but he saw it and added, “It’s not your fault.”

  “What’s not?”

  “Being born to the ruling caste,” Zevi said. “You didn’t keep books from me, and you don’t hurt me. Not all ruling-caste daimons are cruel.”

  “I know.” She stepped around a scab, not noticing that by doing so she was in reach of a young cur with quick fingers.

  Zevi caught the cur’s wrist. “She’s Kaleb’s.”

  The cur’s eyes widened.

  “Spread the word.” Zevi watched the cur vanishing into the carnival before he told Aya, “And not all curs are dreaming of a life in a quiet home reading books from the human world. Many of us”—he looked
at Aya—“would kill before thinking, and more than a few would torture out of fear of the stories we’d heard so long ago.”

  Aya nodded. “I know, but this is my home. It’s worth the risk.”

  Keeping his voice low, Zevi told her, “I am in your debt because of Kaleb, but there are only two of us. If things go poorly here, you’re going to need to go there, to the human world.”

  The aversion to the human world confused him, but he watched her tense. Her kind lived there; people lived there without fighting to simply survive; entire buildings were filled with books. Kaleb had told him that it wasn’t all good, that they had disease and violence and all of the horrors that thrived in The City, but he and Kaleb wouldn’t be destined to stay at the bottom simply because they were parentless. Curs could change their futures without having to kill or bleed. Sometimes they did so by reading so many books that they were able to get jobs. Living in the human world wouldn’t guarantee a better life, but it would be a far sight better than being a cur in The City.

  His neck prickled as he felt someone watching him, and Zevi scanned the crowd until he found the daimon who stared at him. Instead of a threat, it was Kaleb. He strode through the daimons milling around the carnival, not seeming to notice that they moved out of his path without any effort from him. Zevi knew better: Kaleb noticed everything. This was what he’d fought for: respect and perhaps a bit of fear. He’d grown up fighting for the right to eat, the right to a not-exposed place to sleep, and more often than not, the right to not be abused for others’ amusement. It colored the way he saw the world.

  It also made him fiercely protective of those he loved. Kaleb had saved Zevi more times than either of them discussed, and Zevi knew that no one else in The City could be trusted to protect Kaleb like he did. Aya had helped in this last fight, but that was one fight, not years of devotion. He loved Kaleb, not in the way that he’d read in the books from the human world, but in the way that humans loved their jobs or their countries. Caring for Kaleb was his vocation; it was what gave life meaning. Like soldiers or priests . . . Kaleb was the cause that Zevi had devoted himself to, like one of those gods humans built temples for. Unfortunately, the humans had the benefit of loving gods who weren’t walking around getting themselves into dangers, whereas Zevi had to worry constantly about Kaleb—who currently looked worse than Zevi had seen in a long time, not beaten up physically but emotionally battered.

  Aya obviously agreed because she angled her body much as Zevi was doing, so that they could see any approaching threat.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “I was just married to Marchosias’ daughter.” Kaleb smiled weakly.

  “Married? To . . . how? Why?” Zevi stared at him, trying to process the words he was saying, trying to understand how such a thing could’ve happened.

  “Kaleb?” Aya spoke softly, but the threat of violence was obvious in her voice and posture. She stood with her feet slightly apart, and although her hand didn’t quite touch the hilt of the knife hanging at her waist, her fingers were now talon-tipped. “Will there be retribution from Marchosias?”

  Kaleb glanced at her. “No.”

  “What do you owe for the bride-price? I have money,” she offered. “I know you’re angry with me, but I can help.”

  “No,” Kaleb murmured. His gaze stayed on her for an appraising moment, and whether he said it or not, Zevi knew that Aya had moved up in his estimation. Then he looked away from her and caught Zevi’s gaze as he announced, “I staked my life . . . unless she breeds by her eighteenth birthday.”

  They’d been through a lot of things the past few years, and Zevi was under no illusion that Kaleb would ever see him as anything other than a cur to protect. It galled him, though, that Kaleb didn’t ever think to discuss anything substantial with him. It was an insult that Zevi usually tried to ignore, but this time, it was too much.

  His life?

  The urge to be something other than the lowest order was the driving force in Kaleb’s world. Zevi knew that. He’d come to terms with it, stitched Kaleb up, set his broken bones, nursed him through fevers, and avoided questions that would made Kaleb flinch. For years, he’d pretended he didn’t know that Kaleb murdered and whored to provide for them, and he’d done all he could to hide his own forays into business when they needed more money. While Kaleb fixated on changing their status, Zevi focused on taking care of Kaleb.

  How do I do that when he keeps doing things likely to get him killed?

  “You are an idiot” was all he said.

  Then he walked away, ignoring both Kaleb and Aya’s calls, moving so quickly that neither of them would catch him.

  CHAPTER 26

  AYA KNEW THAT THERE were things she could and maybe should say to Kaleb, but she wasn’t keen on the emotional thing and she wasn’t quite ready to talk about her encounter with the Watchers. It wasn’t as if either of them believed that the other was without secrets; she just happened to know a few of his. Much like knowing that he feared her because of what she was—and that he resented her because of the way the fight with Sol had gone—knowing that he’d contracted to kill the missing daughter he’d just wed could be useful later. She couldn’t see how just then, but knowledge wasn’t something to be given away.

  “What’s the plan?” she asked.

  “After you forfeit, we go over to the human world until I convince my— Mallory to accept her new role.” Kaleb pressed his lips tightly together, as if sheer will could suppress the tenderness that she could clearly hear in his voice. For a cur who had a significant kill count, he was surprisingly soft-hearted.

  She usually wasn’t; in this, Aya favored her maternal heritage. Evelyn had as much of a nurturing instinct as a pit viper in a bad mood. Like her, Aya had often been practical to the point of ruthlessness. Belias was her one exception, but even he had been sacrificed at the altar of realism.

  Despite her typical coldness, she felt a brief worry for Mallory. Trying to be as casual as possible, she said, “She wasn’t raised in The City, so you need to deal with the human world and—”

  “She was raised by a witch,” Kaleb interrupted.

  “A witch?”

  He filled her in on everything he knew, and when he was done, Aya said, “I’ll see what I can learn of this witch.”

  There is no way that is a coincidence.

  WHEN AYA ARRIVED, EVELYN already had a second place setting on the small table in the far corner of her office. Just as Aya had unerringly known where in the building her mother was, Evelyn obviously had known that Aya would be visiting.

  “Your daimon has agreed to be bound as your familiar,” she said mildly as Aya walked into the room.

  Aya flinched visibly. “I don’t want him to—”

  “I can dissect him for parts, or you can accept him as yours. We can transform his shape to hide his identity when you’re there, but in my world, he will be as is. You can communicate with him and store energy in him in both states, of course, but for private use, you will need to say a word so he is transformed. I’ve added a silencing element and the standard inability to disobey to the spell, so you can enjoy him without the inconvenience of listening to him.” Evelyn shook out her napkin and smoothed it over her lap. “It’s still a draining spell, so we need to eat first.”

  “Do you know Adam Rothesay?”

  “So you’ve found out about Marchosias’ child.” Evelyn gestured to the chair again.

  Aya sat.

  “My brother, Adam—”

  “Your brother,” Aya echoed.

  After an almost imperceptible pause, Evelyn said, “Yes. Does that matter?”

  Aya weighed the details. She’d learned years ago that the daimons she’d thought were family weren’t hers by blood, but she’d cared for them all the same. In contrast, she had little affection for the witch who had borne her.

  “This is the Watcher child? This Adam’s decision to raise her wasn’t because she’s half witch, right?” Aya prompted.
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  “No, she is fully daimon, although Adam has suppressed that for her whole life. Her mother was a Watcher, and Marchosias is her blood father.”

  Even as Aya knew that Evelyn was studying her reactions, she couldn’t fully hide them. Her usual stoicism was undermined by what Evelyn had casually revealed about Belias and about Mallory. Belias was about to be bound to her or die, and she had a cousin of a sort, who had just been married without her consent to a daimon that Aya was bound to aid.

  She’s not family by blood, and I don’t know her, and she’s not a witch, so the dangers of breeding are not the same for her. Sure, there were the usual risks, especially for Marchosias’ daughter. His heirs tended to be murdered young, and childbirth had a critically high fatality rate in the ruling caste.

  “I need to meet her.” Aya lifted the glass in front of her and took a sip of water to combat her unexpectedly dry mouth.

  “The girl is useful to you, daughter,” Evelyn said. “If you can get her protection, it will aid our purposes. Adam did much to make her sympathetic to witches—enough that you can reveal what you are and that no one over there knows. It will make you her sole confidant, the one she turns to when things become worse.”

  Not for the first time, Aya was grateful that her mother—for the most part—didn’t plot against her. Mallory was like the lamb offered to warring gods. She’d been taken and raised by witches who hated daimons; she was nothing more than a vessel to bear the next generation of Marchosias’ heirs; and she was the key to a safer future for Kaleb.

  And she is useful to me.

  That was Evelyn’s intention—at least, that was the most obvious of Evelyn’s intentions. Aya wasn’t so naive as to think that there weren’t other motivations too. Her mother’s machinations were a credit to her species.

  “Finish that, and we’ll do the spell,” Evelyn directed.