by Alex Lidell
“In daylight?” He shook his head. “That’s crazy, Renee, even for you. Plus, Diam needs a Healer. Seaborn gave me a name.”
She crossed her arms, looking from Diam to the forest of stone buildings that hid the estate from view. That Alec was right did little to soothe her stomach. Each moment they waited worked against them.
“Wait for sundown.” He touched her shoulder and steered her toward Diam. “Then we’ll go.”
Despite matching Seaborn’s descriptions, the old, cracked streets and sad-looking buildings did nothing to inspire confidence. People scurried about the slushy roads, sharp eyes full of scrutiny and warning. Even the sun shone more dimly, as if the clouds conspired against the neighborhood. Renee pulled her coat tighter. “Alec, you sure about this?”
He nodded, guiding her around a pile of dog excrement on the sidewalk. At least she hoped the excrement came from a dog. “Scouted this morning and made inquiries on top of that.” A hint of excitement fueled Alec’s voice. “I don’t know how Seaborn knows old Zev, but the word on him is . . . reverent.”
Beside her, Diam struggled to keep up with Alec’s too-fast stride.
“Slow down,” she told Alec for the third time and frowned at Diam. Despite gripping his left side, the boy gazed around all too curiously. Renee fought down burbling panic. Neither his brother nor the Academy instructors had been able to contain Diam’s wanderings through Atham. How were she and Alec to manage him in Catar? The weight of the world gained several stone.
Old Zev lived in the basement of a run-down shack, which threatened to collapse under a bout of hard wind. The bald, sagging old man who cracked open the door refused to let them inside until hearing a whisper of Seaborn’s name. Even with that he hesitated, yellow eyes piercing each newcomer until his gaze found Khavi and his pupils widened.
“A unique pleasure,” Zev murmured, letting the quartet inside.
The mage’s apartment smelled of sweet herbs. Piles of wide pillows lay on the tattered carpet in the center of the room, where Renee expected a couch. Zev settled himself on one of the pillow piles and crossed his arms, his eyes growing hard as he stared at her. “You don’t belong here.” He shook his head. “Not like Connor to forgo warning.”
“Our apologies.” Kneeling on a pillow next to the little man, Renee sketched the story of Diam’s abduction. “Will you help him?” she asked upon concluding the tale.
Zev smiled. “Which one? The little lad with the hurt side or the big one without a rein on his power?”
Her eyes darted to Alec in time to see him startle and hide a blue-glowing hand behind his back.
Zev’s grin grew. “Young idiots. You think Connor sent you here for a few bruises when you have a brewing disaster walking among you?” A scowl replaced self-content mirth, and he glared at Alec. “Stupid, careless boy. You will kill someone. What in gods’ realm possessed you to hide your head in the sand?”
Alec stuffed his hands in his pockets and said nothing.
“He didn’t hide.” Renee stepped in for him. “He chose. Chose to become a fighter Servant for the Crown.”
“He does not get to choose!”
“Registration—” Alec began, but Zev cut him off.
“Is a Crown-forged set of whips and shackles. And it still exists because of self-centered hooligans like you.”
Zev’s accusation ushered in silence. Renee glanced at her friend, but saw no more comprehension on his face than she felt.
The old man climbed to his feet and fed a log into the fire. “Young mages speak of choices,” he said quietly. “But the energy we feel grows like this flame. If we fail to control it, it will consume us. And the house. And everyone inside.” He turned, pinning Alec with his eyes. “Learning to rein in the energy flows takes years. And years more to make something useful of your skills. Unschooled mages harbor disasters. As long as those like you think they have a right to forgo training, neither I, nor Connor, nor anyone else battling registration has a leg to stand on.” He shook his head.
Several seconds passed before Renee remembered to breathe. To her left, Alec’s sad eyes watched the fire, his head bowed. Old Zev limped over to Diam and said something into the boy’s ear before laying a blue glowing hand on him. The boy cried out, fresh tears leaking down his cheeks, but quieted quickly, and the room returned to silence.
Khavi curled at the boy’s feet.
“We should get back,” Renee said, placing a hand on Alec’s shoulder.
He ignored her touch. “May I stay here a little longer, Master Zev?”
The old man nodded and, that evening, Hunter’s Inn was emptier still.
CHAPTER 27
An hour after the midnight bell echoed through Catar, Renee headed to Duke Leon’s estates alone. And this time, she came better prepared.
She wore dark clothes, Alec’s sword, and a pack with a lantern. She had extracted Diam’s promise to lock himself inside the room, but welcomed the company of Khavi, who trotted beside her, their breath visible in the frigid night air. It was a scouting mission. No more than an hour. Descend underground, map the passages, get out. Unlike her last visit here, she would leave no bodies, take nothing, stay hidden. If she found Savoy on this first foray, she would memorize his location to give it to the Seventh. She would not attempt rescue by herself. She knew better than that.
Renee repeated the last instruction to herself again and again until it stopped feeling like a cold hand clamping her heart. Having a plan was her only advantage.
They had snuck into the estate from the forest side, staying clear of the duke’s mansion with its guards and lanterns. She had counted her paces when making her escape with Diam, and now retraced the steps, planning to enter from where they had last exited. Khavi stayed close in what Renee hoped was approval of her route.
The ground under her feet shifted in texture. Khavi pawed it, wagging his tail and whining softly. Holding her breath, Renee crouched down and ran her hand over the cold dirt, feeling for the crack of the trap-door edge. It was there.
And it was locked. Bolted shut, from the feel of it.
Khavi sniffed the ground and gave Renee a something’s there look. That was all. She sighed. Diam had done his best to explain Renee’s intentions to Khavi, but whether the dog failed to understand or saw nothing he could do, she didn’t know. Not that it matters, she thought, giving the unbudging door another pull and cursing. Either way, she wasn’t getting in, not through here.
Next morning at Hunter’s Inn, Alec took a book from his pack and climbed onto his bed. “It does make sense they’d lock it after you and Savoy snuck in, Renee,” he told her. “Or change the lock. Or add a dead bolt. Or whatever they did.” An aura of contentment clung to him, something Renee had not seen in some time. Alec ran his fingers down the book’s cover before setting it on the bed. “You should have waited for me last night.”
“I did.”
“I . . . ran late.” He shifted his weight. “Zev introduced me to some people. Others, like me.” Alec stared out the window. “Catar isn’t like Atham. No one here thinks mages are property or dangerous animals to be broken to saddle.”
“They aren’t like you. They never wished to serve the Crown.”
“I wished to choose my own path.” His contentment vanished. “It didn’t work at the Academy. Here, it may.”
Renee poured water into the basin and washed what little sleep she got from her face. A day and a night had passed with nothing to show for it. “I need to find Duke Leon.”
“And do what?” Alec leaned back against the wall, interlacing his fingers behind his head. “Inquire as to what he knows about a secret passage to a Viper prison that you found in his back woods?”
She slammed the water jug down. If Alec could offer none of his own solutions, he could at least support hers. “I don’t know!” She wheeled to face him. “What would you have me do?”
“I’m sorry.” He held up his palms. Whether the apology was for upsetting her or his
limited interest in Savoy’s fate, Renee could not tell. He picked up his book. “You are right—try the nobles and Duke Leon again. It helped the last time.”
The nobles attending court at the governor’s manor welcomed Renee with courteous but reserved bows. Her novelty was spent, her house a minor one, and her disgruntled-Academy-reject tale unverified. Putting on a demure expression, Renee stalked the edge of the gathering and awaited the chance to engage her prey, whose green neckerchief she spotted in the crowd.
“The curtain is setting on Lysian’s nonsense,” Duke Leon told a group assembled before him. “The Devmani empire nips Tildor’s western border but instead of addressing it, the king arrests his own subjects and threatens to assault Catar! He’s tasting the Family’s coin, you mark my words. Tildor monarchs have long pandered to wealthy merchants instead of seeing to those in need. Whatever quarrels some have with Predator competition, none can deny its role in holding Catar’s economy.”
“Catar’s economy or Madam’s coffers?” The man beside him stroked his mustache. Several of the guests’ lips tightened into lines. A woman excused herself to the privy.
Taking a breath, Renee strode up to fill the gap before it closed. “Both, my lord.” She curtsied to the mustached man and continued quickly, before they could parry the intrusion. “Shops, inns, taverns, even the meat pie carts, all rely on the fights to bring business,” she said, hoping she guessed true. Her eyes found Duke Leon. Whatever his connection to the Vipers, it likely touched his purse. “Would you agree, Your Grace?”
He tilted his head. “Lady . . . Renee. It is a pleasure seeing you again.” He bowed. “I fear your keen mind puts mine to shame. Perhaps my daughter would prove more entertaining company? It would please me to introduce you.”
Too hard, too fast. Renee cursed herself. “I beg you forgive the brash intrusion, my lord.” She curtsied again, spreading the skirts of her dress. “It was only that I heard you discussing Catar’s economy and hoped you’d consider indulging my curiosity. My father’s estate breeds goats, you see, and his view of trade is somewhat narrow, unlike yours.”
“Kind words to an old man’s ears, but I would not presume to take advantage of a maiden’s good manners with my tedious musings.” A smile that stopped short of his eyes signaled the end of discussion.
Swallowing both the polite dismissal and the colorful words she’d picked up from the Seventh, Renee glided away. She kept her pace slow, but the men refrained from conversation while she was in earshot. Whatever they knew of Catar’s dark market, they did not mean to share.
Returning to Hunter’s Inn, Renee sprinted up the stairs and slammed the door to their room. Alec was gone. She tore loose the laces on her dress and jerked open a drawer, flipping through its contents for a shirt and beaten trousers. The underground entrance was locked. The nobles said nothing. She knew no one in the city to query. And Seaborn wouldn’t have news for days yet. By then, Savoy might be dead. Where in the Seven Hells did that leave her? Or Savoy?
“Who peed in your oatmeal?” Diam’s voice speared her to a halt.
She looked up, startled to find the boy sitting atop her bed, two paces away. “Who did what?”
“Peed in your oatmeal.” He repeated the words as if trying them on for size.
Closing her eyes, Renee counted to ten. “When did you start talking like that?”
“This morning.”
“This morning.” She stared at her new eight-year-old responsibility. He needed a change of clothes. And tutors. And structure. And another dozen things she couldn’t think of, much less make happen. Her eyes found her practice sword and her hand ached for its feel, for the clarity of the world when viewed over a weapon’s edge. “Do you know where Alec went?” And why he left you alone? she groused silently.
Diam shrugged and jumped off the bed. “The Underground, that tavern near Zev. Same as yesterday.” Diam blocked Renee’s way and opened a grubby fist to display the contents of his palm. Predator chits. “Found ’em in Korish’s coat. Alec said Korish bought them.”
“He did.” Her shoulders sagged and she reached to take the chits from Diam. “But it wasn’t for sport. He was looking for you.”
Diam jerked his treasure from reach. “I wanna go.” His chin set. His hands gripped the metal bits as if they were a message from his brother. “Korish bought these. He bought them, so we have to go.”
Renee was about to reject him again, but Diam’s desperate eyes halted her. She took a breath. He asked for so little. Yes, the scraps of information a spectator could gather from watching the pointless killing would be meager, but there was little else she could do. And if . . . “Will you promise to stay within sight of Hunter’s Inn and mind the innkeeper’s wife?” she asked, and was rewarded by immediate head bobbing. “Very well.” Renee squatted down to the boy’s level. “But you must keep to your word. Your brother offered his life for yours. Don’t squander his sacrifice.”
Diam’s green eyes widened and he nodded again.
Renee prayed to the gods that was enough.
The Underground took time to find. Hidden in plain sight, its facade blended with the crumbling brick of the rest of the block. Inside, it bustled with youthful energy. Adolescents crowded the mismatched tables, shouting and laughing over one another.
Renee expected to find Alec in a corner and swallowed surprise at seeing him amidst a thick crowd. Several girls around him leaned forward in their seats, their eyes glued on his moving lips. Smiling, Renee wondered whether her friend even noticed the attention. His muscled body, so typical among the fighter cadets, here drew admiring gazes.
When she approached, a boy with skinny shoulders and black curls smiled a greeting. His eyes traced her curves, and he blushed when she raised an eyebrow. Hers was a fighter’s body too. The corners of her mouth twitched.
The boy grinned. “I’m Ivan. What’s your name?”
“Renee,” Alec answered for her. He sounded more startled than pleased. “Good to see you.” He gave her his seat and pulled up another chair for himself. A pause stretched several heartbeats. “Uh, let me introduce you. Renee, uh, meet Ellina, Sheri, Ivan, Jasper, Timon . . . ” He motioned to each companion in turn, continuing around the dozen people at the table.
She forced a smile, infected with her friend’s discomfort. The group smiled back. The boy with black curls held out his hand, a tentacle of blue glow snaking its way to her. She frowned, looking at Alec for clarification.
Her friend blushed, and a light stream of his own swam out, meeting the boy’s. “No, she isn’t, uh—”
The boy’s glow and smile died together. “She’s a blinder?”
Alec’s lack of answer ushered in a heavy silence. Her skin crawled. Blinder. Under their scrutiny, Renee scraped back her chair, collected her dignity, and faced her friend. “I found practice swords and came to see if you wished to spar.”
“Sure,” Alec answered too quickly and bid the table farewell, promising to return.
“Nonsense.” A pretty boy with peach-fuzz cheeks and glasses rose with Alec. “We’ll watch. I love a fight.”
Shushing the warning bells in her head, Renee headed for the door.
The small clearing they found offered privacy from pedestrians, but felt wrong nevertheless. Backs of buildings surrounded three sides of the patch of dirt, and a small fence in the corner blocked the pile of trash, but not its stench. The handful of youths who followed them from the tavern gathered near one of the walls. Standing with her back to them, Renee brought up her blade in salute, and let her body’s cry for exercise drown out all else.
Alec secured his stance and engaged, the weapon dancing its way toward Renee’s abdomen. She parried the attack easily. Too easily. Then again. The strikes labored to pick up speed, the rolling beat of wood on wood growing in cadence, yet stopping short of climax, as if dulled by invisible cotton. Renee lunged toward his head. Alec missed the parry and, unconcerned, reset for the next bout.
Blood puls
ated in her temple. “Are you paying attention?”
“Mage zero, blinder one! Scary.” The sideline jeers rose between them.
Alec rolled his eyes. She glared, and his gaze chilled in reply. When he attacked, his blade sailed full force. Renee redirected the strike moments before it could welt her arm. Her breath stilled in surprise, but he granted her no time for reflection. A second attack followed, and a third, each pregnant with power. She switched her stance to favor the speed-based game Savoy had taught her, staying ahead of the blows whose force she couldn’t match. The fight morphed from dance to death match. Pouring her frustrations into action, she met him step for step, countering his strength with angles of her blade. It was exhilarating. And frightening.
Pivoting from another savage strike, Renee wondered who this cold-eyed boy was, and whether his emerging new world had space left for her. Contemplation led to a misstep. Unable to redirect his attack, she raised her sword to meet the blow straight on. The blades locked above her head, his pressing down, hers up. Renee’s arms trembled against the pressure until, slowly, Alec overpowered her with brute strength.
The swords touched her head. The audience cheered. Alec studied the ground, his face a stone.
A cold wind ruffled Renee’s sweat-soaked hair and stung her eyes. Wiping a sleeve across her face, she took a moment to readjust her blade, unwilling to feel anything beyond the chill air and slippery wood. He wanted to play this game? Very well. Let him. Looking up, she saw him backing away. “Exhausted?” she demanded.
“Ooooh! Challenge!” shouted the ever-helpful sideline. But this time its rally wasn’t unanimous.
“It’s cold,” a voice complained.
“Agreed. Enough toying with the blinder, Alec.”
The stillness of her face faltered, her knuckles went white. Renee twisted around and pierced the spectators with her eyes. “Toying?”
The black-curled boy, Ivan, shrugged. “It’s too cold for this game.” When she continued staring, he rolled his eyes. “You’re waving a wooden stick around.”