The Gods of Men

by Barbara Kloss

  “Vou‘za im var qué e’fíen jarén?” she cried out passionately.

  How can you do this to your own people?

  “Vou’za im—”

  Her words bubbled and died, and a red smile stretched across her throat. Rasmin wiped his bloodied knife clean and returned it to the folds of his cloak with a frown. He hadn’t intended to kill her, but death was the only friend he trusted with secrets. Especially a secret such as his.

  A knock sounded on Velik’s door.

  “Hang on!” Velik yelled. He wiped bloodied hands on his apron, lifted it over his head, and hung it on the meat hook in the kitchen. The company he expected wouldn’t require his services as a butcher. He hurried to the front door and opened it to the cold rain. His eyes met Brinn’s blues.

  Not who he’d been expecting.

  She smiled at him. “Papa wanted a few extra things to make sure we don’t run out of supplies. You know how busy it gets.” A pause. Her smile turned into one of annoyance. “Well? Are you going to let me in?”

  “You know I’d never turn you away,” he lied, flashing a smile, and held the door open as he stepped aside.

  Her gaze lingered on him as she brushed past, and the scent of woodsmoke clung to her cloak. His eyes flickered briefly past her to the street. He didn’t see any sign of them. Where were they?

  “What do you need?” Velik asked, closing the door behind her.

  With her back to him, she lowered her cowl, freeing her tidy bun. She reached into her cloak and produced a list written in Ivar’s shaky hand. Brinn couldn’t write, or read.

  Velik stood right behind her, then dipped his head and trailed his nose against her ear. “I’ll take this,” he whispered against her skin.

  Her breath caught, and her lids fluttered.

  He smiled, snatched the paper from her hands, and disappeared to the pantry to grab the items listed. Once he’d gathered everything, careful not to grab his best cuts, he shoved the items in a small sack and met Brinn in the hall.

  “Saw you making eyes at that newcomer,” Velik said darkly, approaching.

  Brinn stood a little taller. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You know good and well what I’m talking about. You were flirting with him. The pretty one.”

  Brinn took a step back but bumped into the wall. “I was not. You were there. You saw me. I didn’t treat him any differently than I treat everyone else.”

  He dropped the sack on the floor beside her, grabbed her wrists, and pinned her to the wall. “You know I don’t like it when you flirt.”

  “Velik, I really should—”

  He kissed her mouth hard, silencing her, and wedged his thigh between her legs. A soft moan escaped her mouth. She hadn’t been to see him in over a month, and he was ravenous. He pressed his body to hers. She moaned louder and arched herself into him.

  Suddenly, the woman in his arms wasn’t Brinn. It was the Scablicker. They were her wrists in his hands, her mouth against his, her body arched into his.

  His blood ran hot. He pressed his mouth harder against Brinn’s—so hard, Brinn cried out—but his lips held firm. Silencing her will, her fight. It was always a fight with her, but it was a fight he would win, just as he always did. She might flirt with other men, but she was his. He’d remind her of it.

  Knock-knock-knock.

  The pair froze, breaths quick and heaving.

  Velik cursed. “One minute!”

  He stepped away from the wall so fast, Brinn dropped to the floor. She glared up at him as she crawled back to her feet, and she was adjusting her neckline when Velik glanced back.

  “Fix your hair,” he barked.

  Brinn made a face and tugged on her cowl instead. Velik frowned, then opened the door.

  Ah, finally.

  Ventus stood on the other side, heavy cowl drawn, and he’d brought one of his Silent.

  “Good afternoon, Master Ventus,” Velik said. “Thank you for coming.”

  Ventus stood too still, too quiet. His pointed chin tipped sharply to the side. “Shall I come back later?”

  Though Velik couldn’t see his eyes, he had the distinct impression Ventus was looking past him, at Brinn, who stood exactly where he’d left her.

  Velik glanced over his shoulder at Brinn. “No need. We’re done here.”

  Brinn’s jaw set. She was angry, but he didn’t care. He had more important matters to tend to. Besides, she’d come back. She always did.

  She picked up the sack of items he’d gathered, then strode to the door, tipping her head to Ventus as she passed. “Good day, Master Ventus.” And without another glance at Velik, she hurried out the door and into the drizzling rain.

  “Come in,” Velik said, stepping aside.

  Ventus lingered a moment, regarding Velik from the depths of his hood, then strode past him. He smelled of the spices they burned inside the temple. The Silent followed.

  Velik closed the door after them. “Thanks for coming like I asked.”

  Ventus stood with his back to him, quiet. He looked out of place in Velik’s simple home. Or, rather, he made Velik’s home look simple.

  “Uh… have a seat.” Velik gestured to the two chairs he’d placed before the warm wood stove.

  Ventus didn’t move.

  Velik scratched his neck. “I’ll, uh… go get it.” He charged up the stairs and returned with the item in hand.

  Neither Ventus nor the Silent had moved.

  “I found this on the Istraan.” Velik held out the flute.

  Ventus turned to face Velik, and at sight of the flute, he fell impossibly still. The stillness seeped out of him, soaking into the floorboards, the furniture, through space and through time, holding it all suspended. Then, as if releasing time’s invisible binds, he held out a hand.

  Velik set the flute in Ventus’s palm, but Ventus hissed and flinched away. The flute clattered upon the floor.

  Confused, Velik started to pick it up, but Ventus held out an arm, stopping him. Velik watched curiously as Ventus tugged the end of his sleeve completely over his hand, using the fabric as a barrier while he picked up the object. He brought it close, studying it in silence.

  At last, Ventus said, “You found this?”

  Velik hesitated. “I paid Lucan to search her room.”

  “Why.”

  “She’s been stealing from me,” Velik said. “I wanted proof, so I sent the boy to find it, but I’m starting to think she gives away everything she steals. Lucan found that in her room, hidden beneath a floorboard.”

  Ventus paused long enough for Velik to repeat the words in his mind, and upon hearing them the second time, they sounded ridiculous to him. He wondered if he’d been too hasty in calling Ventus here.

  “He found… a flute.”

  Velik flushed. “Yes, but did you notice the inscriptions?” He pointed to the silvery swirls. “Looks like Liagé writing to me. What’s she doing with one of their artifacts?” His voice dropped. “What if she’s Liagé? I hear there’s a Wolf in Corinth who pays a lot of coin for that kind of information. Thought you’d want to know. Think what a sum like that could do for The Wilds.”

  And what standing he would receive for being the harbinger of such information, Velik thought, suppressing a smile.

  “Have you mentioned this to anyone other than Lucan?” Ventus asked.

  “No. I didn’t dare.”

  Ventus’s cowl tilted to the side. “Not even your whore?”

  “Never.” Velik smiled tightly. “A woman who’s loose with her skirts is just as loose with her lips.”

  Ventus stood quiet. “Good.”

  There was a flash of movement, and a sharp and sudden pain exploded in Velik’s chest. He glanced down. A bright red stain seeped through a hole in his tunic, over his heart. There, a bitter cold bloomed and flooded his veins. He staggered back once, twice, then bumped into the wall he’d pinned Brinn against just moments ago.

  Ventus looked lazily on as his Si
lent wiped the bloodied nightglass blade clean upon its robes. Velik slid down the wall, his body like ice, each heartbeat too loud and slowing with every pulse. He opened his mouth to speak, but only blood gurgled out of it, and the last thing he saw were two black robes exiting his front door.

  11

  Sable’s cheek slid out of her palm, her head dropped, and the sudden motion startled her awake. The open apothecary book stared up at her, its words and diagrams blurring in and out of focus, and the little flame of her candle struggled in a deep pool of wax. Maker’s mercy, what time was it?

  Yawning and bleary-eyed, she leaned back and stretched her arms overhead, popping her spine in two places. She should’ve gone to bed hours ago, but her mind wouldn’t join her there. It kept wandering back to the Provincial named Jos.

  Because an offer like that would never come her way again.

  She hadn’t realized how badly she’d wanted to get out of The Wilds until Jos had dropped the opportunity upon her table. It taunted her now as it did then, like a mirage in the sands.

  To distract herself, she’d plopped down at the kitchen table with a stack of Tolya’s medicinal books, hoping to find a remedy she might have overlooked—something that could pull Tolya from whatever ailed her—but she’d found nothing. With a wince and a yawn, Sable grabbed the candle, got up from the bench, and made her way to Tolya’s bedside.

  “What should I do, Tolya?” Sable asked, setting the candle upon Tolya’s nightstand. She knew Tolya wouldn’t answer, but it felt good talking to her all the same. “You’ve trained me to follow in your footsteps. I see that now, and I want to make you proud. But… the people still don’t accept me. You know they don’t. And… I miss the sun.” She allowed herself this small confession. At last, Sable sighed, and she was reaching for her candle when Tolya grabbed her arm, startling her.

  “Sable… ” Tolya rasped.

  It was the first time Tolya had spoken in three weeks.

  “Tolya…?” Sable clamped a hand over Tolya’s, holding it there. “Tolya, can you hear me?”

  Tolya’s breathing quickened. Her eyes slid back and forth behind closed lids, agitated.

  “Tolya, I’m here,” Sable urged. “Talk to me.”

  “You’re… not safe here. You must… find Tallyn…”

  “Tallyn?” She’d never heard the name before. He certainly wasn’t on their regular circuit. “Who’s—”

  “Find him… he will help—” Tolya’s eyes snapped wide open, wild with fear. “Go!”

  Suddenly, Sable was in Trier. A heavy sun poured orange light through open archways, a stiff desert wind pushed white draperies into sails, and an entire court slept. Ricón’s eyes found hers, wide with fear. His lips mouthing for her to go.

  Go.

  “They… know what you are.” Tolya’s voice brought Sable back to the present. “I’m… sorry. I tried to—” Tolya gasped painfully and arched her back

  Sable grabbed Tolya’s wrists as if she could physically pin Tolya to this world. “Tell me how to fix you! Tolya, please!”

  Tolya strained, back bowed, and with a final cry, she slumped onto the bed, motionless, eyes unseeing.

  One second.

  Two.

  Sable’s heart stopped. “Tolya.” She tugged Tolya’s wrists.

  Tolya did not respond.

  Sable grabbed Tolya’s shoulders and shook hard. “Tolya! Don’t leave me like this. Don’t…”

  Sable gritted her teeth.

  Abandon me too.

  But Tolya didn’t hear. Tolya was gone.

  Sable turned her head away and shut her eyes, her hands squeezed into fists. She’d known this day would come, but she hadn’t known just how much it would hurt.

  “Why?” she hissed at the silence. “Why must you take everything away from me?”

  She clenched her teeth harder, swallowing the pain, the anger. Willing it to pass. She dragged a fist across her cheek and the windchimes rang a solid, augmented chord. It shattered the quiet, sounding alarm.

  Sable froze, fist at her cheek, her grief momentarily forgotten.

  And the latch on the front door softly clicked.

  Someone was there.

  They know what you are.

  Sable blew out the candle just as the front door creaked open.

  Quick and quiet, Sable snatched the nightglass blade from Tolya’s nightstand and slipped into the shadows of Tolya’s doorway, listening. The night was a silent witness, the whispering rain an adversary to her ears.

  Was it Jos? Had he come back to take her? Certainly he wasn’t stupid enough to leave Skanden at night. Or had Velik come back to finish what he’d started?

  No, Sable didn’t believe either of them would come to her like this. And Tolya had warned of they. Not him.

  There is no use in hiding.

  Ventus’s voice cut through her thoughts, but this time his words were more than an intrusion. With them came pain—a horrible, wrenching pain—as if he’d gripped both halves of her skull and was slowly ripping it apart. Sable lurched forward, gritting her teeth to keep from crying out.

  I’d wondered about you, he continued, and Sable put a hand against the wall to steady herself. I’d sensed it, though I could not be sure. You see, the Shah leaves traces. Like a stain, visible only to those with the right… perspective, no matter how faded the mark. A pause. Someone has spent a great deal of energy erasing yours.

  Sable crept toward Tolya’s bedroom window, knife trembling in her hand. She didn’t know what Ventus was talking about, but she wasn’t going to wait around and find out.

  It’s unfortunate they forgot to erase your flute.

  This caught her off guard. Her step faltered, her eyes fixed on the dark wall separating her room from Tolya’s, as if she could see her flute through the boards.

  Where it was supposed to be.

  An exquisite object. I wonder if you truly understand what it is. Surely, if you did, you wouldn’t keep such an artifact lying around for butchers to find. I sense you’re smarter than that.

  She stumbled forward, barely catching herself on the end of Tolya’s bed, but the dagger slipped from her hands and clattered to the floor. Desperate, she scrambled after it, patting down the shadows in search of her nightglass blade. She’d just grazed the cool metal when another shock wracked her skull, knocking her flat on her back. With a moan, she rolled onto her side, her head throbbing so painfully she thought she might be sick.

  Outside, the chimes rang in chaos.

  She staggered upon all fours and crawled to the window, her head spinning as she gripped the windowsill and pulled herself up. One hard shove and the window hinged open.

  Sable.

  The word dripped with condescension.

  You can’t hide from me, sulaziér. Not anymore.

  A new pain pierced Sable’s skull, one so sharp and so great, Sable cried out as her legs buckled. The chimes silenced, and darkness enveloped her.

  Two guards walked down a dark street, carrying a slender body between them. Their captive’s head slumped forward, unconscious, her boots dragging through the puddles speckling the wet cobblestones, and her wet hair clung to her face like a mask. Ventus trailed close behind, dark eyes fixed on the girl, and a wicked smile curled his thin lips.

  So consumed he was in his sudden good fortune that he didn’t sense the figure watching from a distance. He didn’t notice the figure jump from its perch, falling in a drip of shadow before landing silently on the street below. He didn’t see it melt into the darkness of the cantilevered facades, then follow steadily after them.

  They reached the butcher’s house, or what had been the butcher’s house. The windows remained dark, the house quiet as a tomb.

  The guards started for the door.

  “No. The wagon,” Ventus said quietly.

  They found the wagon nestled in the shadows at the back of the house. Ventus followed behind and tugged back the tarp, showering them with icy beads of rainwater. The w
agon usually carried nightglass. Tonight, it carried the butcher’s dead body, his whore, and the boy who’d discovered the artifact.

  The guards waited.

  “Careful,” Ventus said.

  The bodies left only a slip of empty space in the wagon’s bed, and the guards took great care sliding the girl into it. The girl didn’t stir. She wouldn’t, not for some time. Ventus had made sure of it.

  “Take the old healer to the temple square, where my Silent will prepare her body for public burial,” Ventus said quietly. “Tomorrow, you will tell the people that I’m holding the Istraan responsible for her death and multiple accounts of thievery. She must be dealt with. Do not mention the others yet.” Ventus gestured to the butcher. “I’ll leave for Tül Bahn at first light but will return before the Maker’s light burns out. I will… inform them at that time that their butcher will not be returning.”

  “Yes, Master Ventus,” one replied, and both took their leave.

  Ventus waited at the wagon, reminding himself that she was real, that she was his. At last, he dropped the cover, patted the edge affectionately, and strode into the dark house, closing the door behind him.

  Across the street, a wolf watched. There, he lingered a moment more and then slipped away as if he never was.

  12

  Sable’s hip slammed against a hard surface, and she jolted awake. Wood groaned a screeching song while her body rocked. The world was dark, the air chilled. She tried to sit, but her ankles and wrists had been bound. Her gaze whirled as her eyes adjusted, and she soon realized she lay in the bed of a covered and moving wagon. She focused on the rhythmic trot of horses, counting ten in total. Maybe eleven. And then she spotted the body beside her.

  She flinched away with a gasp, but Velik didn’t move, didn’t react. His features were frozen in surprise, his dark eyes open wide forever. Dead.

  And he wasn’t alone.

  Brinn lay on top of him, neck arched painfully back, sliced open and stained black with old blood. Sable’s heart pounded harder, and then she noticed the young boy wedged beside them. Lucan was his name. She’d caught him stealing camphus from their herb garden a few times, but, having done her own fair share of thieving, she’d never stopped him.