Sunbolt (The Sunbolt Chronicles)

by Khanani, Intisar

  I flinch.

  Blackflame pauses. A smile plays over his thin lips. The only sound in the room is the painful gasp of my breathing. “Oh?”

  “I might have a use for her. It would be slow,” Kol says, crossing the room to us, “and painful. For both of them.”

  “Both of them?” Blackflame echoes.

  “Yes,” Kol says absently. “Look at me, girl.”

  I force my eyes shut, shaking with the effort. A hand touches my face, fingers tapping my eyelids. I feel sickeningly exposed, pressed flat against the table. “Come now, don’t you know it will be easier if you look?”

  I shove his hand away, clenching my jaw with the effort to keep my eyes closed. He chuckles, the sound coming from just beside my ear. “Open. Your. Eyes.”

  His hand closes around my neck; his curved nails, pointed and razor sharp, slice into my skin.

  “No,” I gasp, twisting away so that, even though my eyes open, I still escape his gaze.

  He rocks back, satisfied. “Perfect. That little debt we had been discussing, Blackflame? This girl will cover it. If you wish, of course.”

  I force my eyes closed again, even though Kol has turned his attention from me. My breath rattles in my chest. I try to focus on what I’ve heard: Blackflame has been dealing with a fang, has put himself in debt to the creature. A debt that might be paid for with my life.

  “You may have her,” Blackflame replies. “So long as she dies.”

  “She will. But first, breakfast.” Kol turns to face the cages. “Alia, dear?”

  My eyes pop open. In her cage, Alia gazes back at him, her lips parted, her face going slack. “No,” I whisper. I scrabble to sit up, sliding off the table to land in a heap on the floor. I use the table leg to pull myself up again. “No.”

  “Hold her,” the fang says without looking back.

  The soldiers grab me, their grip viciously tight. I can hear Saira and Tarek calling out to Alia as well, desperately, hopelessly. Just as a viper may hold a mouse with its gaze, mesmerized into paralysis, so can a fang hold a human. Kol has chosen Alia, and now she waits for him, empty-eyed and all unknowing.

  Blackflame opens the door to Alia’s cage.

  At the fang’s gentle beckoning, she goes to him, drifting forward slowly. He tilts her chin up and, with a pleasant smile, bends down and buries his fangs in her neck.

  I can hear a woman screaming, and it takes me a long moment to realize it’s not me. I still don’t have enough breath for such deep, ragged cries. It’s Saira. Beneath her voice I can hear Tarek weeping. Only Alia makes no sound, her body slowly going limp in the fang’s embrace.

  Finally, Kol straightens, his tongue flicking out to lick crimson from his lips. All I can think is how obscene he looks, how sickening he is. Alia crumples slowly, almost gently, leaving her heaped on the floor like so much rubbish. A soldier steps forward to return her to her cell.

  Kol turns towards me, pivoting so fast that I catch the burning blue of his gaze before I can help myself. His eyes are the unending expanse of summer skies, the innocence of robins’ eggs. The color of death.

  I jerk back, letting the soldiers’ grip on my arms provide the shock of pain I need to break eye contact.

  Twisting my head away, my eyes strain in their sockets, as if I might peer through the flesh and bone of my skull to find his fang’s gaze once more. I feel his fingers brush my cheek. “You do know that I can take your blood whether you look at me or not, don’t you?” he asks. “It just goes easier for you if you cooperate.”

  I clench my jaw, my eyes sealed shut.

  “Oh, this will be fun,” he croons. Then, to the soldiers, “Put her away. I won’t need her until I leave.”

  I wait until the sounds of our captors’ footsteps fade, then begin a count to a hundred to be sure of their absence. The only sound is that of Saira calling to Alia, her voice low but constant. I don’t look, can’t bear to study the girl’s tiny, collapsed form.

  My count completed, I pull the torque wrench from my pocket and assess it critically. It’s slightly bent, of varying thickness, with a bulge towards one end, but it might be serviceable. The vital thing is to get out and to maintain my strength for the escape. Alia will need all the help she can get just to keep up with us, and there’s no telling what we might meet if we do manage to leave the room. I can’t afford to weaken myself with another spell.

  It takes five tries before I manage to pick the lock. I swing the door open and feel the attention of Tarek and Saira snap to me—as well as that of the other captive. I had forgotten the silent shadow of a creature in the cage beyond Tarek’s.

  “Can you get us out? Ghost?” Tarek asks, his voice wavering between anxiety and hope.

  “I’m not the Ghost,” I say gruffly. I walk over to Alia’s cage, trying not to look inside to where she lies. Instead, I focus my attention on the lock. It’s the same as mine, and the door swings open after only three attempts. Inside, I crouch beside the child, touching her shoulder hesitantly.

  “Let me out,” Saira orders from her cage.

  “Shut up.”

  “Is she okay? Is she—”

  “Alive,” I confirm. Alia’s breath flutters in her chest, and her cheek is cool to my touch. She’s lost too much blood, but she’s hanging on. Cursing Kol, I leave the cage and go to Tarek. Saira can wait. At this point, if I don’t get to her, I don’t think I’ll care.

  “Is there really a Ghost?” Tarek asks as I work the lock. “Or is it just a cloak you pass around?”

  “There’s a Ghost,” I say shortly.

  “Wouldn’t he come for you?”

  “Not if he’s smart,” I mutter.

  “What?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I say. “We’re leaving now, not waiting for a rescue attempt. Can you carry Alia? With that arm of yours?”

  “Yes,” he says, his voice turning rough. The moment the door swings open, he pushes past me. He pulls Alia onto his lap, whispering her name as if it has the power to call her back to him. If she had been pale before, now she is sallow as the yellow moon, her eyes ringed with dark circles, her neck bruised.

  I take a deep, shaky breath and move on to Saira’s cage. At least she has enough sense to ignore me, standing by the bars and watching her brother instead. I’m getting better at working with the hairpins and lumpy wrench, but my eyes keep sliding away to the other prisoner, the one who was here before us. A man, I think. He’s sitting up, watching us, dark greasy hair obscuring his face but probably not his vision. I have no idea how old he is, where he’s from, if he’s even human. But he is a captive, just like us.

  I swing open Saira’s door, stepping back to let her out. She doesn’t even glance at me as she hurries to her sister’s side. I turn away and find myself caught by the dark-eyed gaze of the other captive.

  “Let me out,” he says. His accent is thick, unfamiliar, but his words are still intelligible.

  I approach his cage cautiously. “Why are you here?”

  “I made an enemy.” He crosses the cell, barely able to stay upright, collapsing to his knees as he reaches me. But when he grabs hold of the door, he shakes it, the iron bars rattling in their frame. “Let me out.”

  I cast an apprehensive glance at the stairs. When I look back at him, I focus on his hands wrapped around the bars: thin and bloodless, the nails ending in razor sharp points. I back away, horrified. “You’re a fang.”

  “I’m not like him,” he promises, his words coming quickly. “I won’t harm you—or them. I swear it. Just let me out.”

  I swallow hard.

  “Please,” he says, reaching out a taloned hand between the bars. “My clan has an agreement with the High Council,” he promises. “Not like that other one. I won’t harm you.”

  I hesitate. I’d like to trust him, but all I know about this fang is that he’s hungry. I’ve already seen one horrifying reason to avoid a hungry fang. I shake my head. “I’m sorry.”

  “No,” he says,
rattling the door again. “No! Let me out.”

  “What’s going on?” Tarek asks. He carries Alia, her arms wrapped around his neck. Saira stands at his side.

  The fang has stilled, watching us. I nod towards the him. “He wants out.”

  “And?” Saira asks.

  “Fang.”

  She blanches. Tarek curses and pushes past me, making for the door. “We’ve got to get out of here. Leave it.”

  The fang calls after us.

  I hesitate. “Maybe I should just …” Let him out? Let him make his own way, separate from us?

  Tarek wheels around. “You’re supposed to get us to safety, aren’t you? That’s what you were supposed to do in the beginning, before she,” he tilts his head towards Saira, “betrayed us. So: Get us out. Get Alia out.”

  I drop my eyes to Alia. She’s still unconscious; her eyelids twitch once or twice. I nod and start for the stairs. The fang calls after me, but I close my ears to his pleas. I can’t be sure he won’t attack us. I need to get the Degaths—and myself— out safely. I can’t play hero to everyone who needs it.

  The door at the top of the stairs is locked. Tarek and Saira flatten themselves against the wall to allow me to pass. Behind us, the fang shouts and rattles his door. We don’t speak. It takes me more tries than I’d like to work the lock. My tools are hardly well made, but eventually they get the job done.

  I crack the door open and peer down a dimly lit hall. The place appears deserted, the window at the end the only source of light. We scuttle out, our footsteps and breathing loud in our ears. Once we’ve closed the door on Blackflame’s little dungeon, the fang’s noise can barely be heard.

  We slip into an empty room, shutting the door behind us. From the window we can see gardens segmented by high hedges spreading out before us, which tells me only that Blackflame has brought his own gardening techniques with him. I don’t recall the last time I saw hedges like these. Nor can I see any clear path leading to a back door.

  “Does anyone know a way out other than the front door?” I ask. It would be a lot easier if we didn’t have to go bumbling through the whole mansion looking for an exit.

  “Yes,” Saira says. She keeps her eyes on the view, as if she can’t bear the sight of Tarek’s glare. “There’s a side door to the gardens, and a path to the carriage house from there.”

  “Good.” I point outside at a window a few rooms down, situated conveniently beside a large hedge that will shield us from view. “That’s how we’ll get to the gardens. From there, it’s on you.” I hope I can trust her not to get us all killed. It’s a flimsy faith, but walking out the front door of the compound would be a death march.

  “A window?” Saira shakes her head. “We can’t. Not with Alia …”

  “We’ll figure it out. We have to move fast. Blackflame may already know we’re gone.”

  “How?” Tarek asks sharply.

  I’m almost ready to shout in exasperation. “He has magic. And he’s not stupid. He could have wards set, he could have—I don’t know what. I’m not a mage. Now let’s move.”

  “Right,” Tarek says, turning for the door. “Move.” And that’s our great escape plan: climb out a window and run. At least it’s simple. The Ghost would have approved.

  I count windows, and then follow after the Degaths. The hall remains fortuitously deserted. The fall of sunlight through the window suggests early morning. The household is likely focused on breakfast—the servants getting their charges ready for the day, the cooking staff preparing the meal, and the residents getting ready to eat it. That, and as we tiptoe down the hall, there’s also the possibility that the servants prefer to avoid this hallway, knowing what takes place below.

  I crack open the door to the room I hope the window belongs to, then push it open with relief. It’s a cluttered storage room, full of things and empty of people. The others hustle in behind me. The window is one over from the hedge, but I don’t want to take another chance on the hallway. I ease open the shutters, then lean out to take stock of the near-palatial house around us. We’re at one of its sides; windows rising in rows above us. It can’t be helped. If someone looks out and spots us, we’ll just have to pray they don’t manage to catch up with us.

  “Here,” I say, turning to Tarek. “Give me Alia, and I’ll pass her down to you.”

  “I can carry her,” Saira insists, reaching for her sister.

  “Would you just listen to her?” Tarek snaps. “She’s doing a lot more to save your life than you deserve.”

  Saira flinches. She looks wretched, her hair in disarray, her face pinched with worry, her eyes dark with guilt and self-contempt. Good. After all, it’s her fault her parents are dead, her sister has been drained to within an inch of her life, and we’re running for our lives. I hope she feels even worse than she looks.

  I suppose I should be kinder. She never meant for any of that to happen—except to the Ghost. Maybe, if I get out of this alive, I’ll be able to be more generous. Right now, I can’t manage it.

  “Get down,” I tell her. “It will be easier to hand her over if you’re both there to take her from me.”

  Tarek passes Alia to me as Saira lowers herself from the window. Alia’s eyes have opened, but her gaze is glassy, unfocused. She’s breathing hard, even though she’s barely exerted herself. “She needs a mage-healer,” I tell Tarek. “She’s lost too much blood.”

  He nods.

  “Listen, if we get separated, there’s someone who can help you. There’s a tea house called The Golden Cup.” I quickly describe how to find it and what to tell the proprietor. I have no doubt Kenta will come running if he gets the message, but hopefully it won’t come to that. Hopefully, we’ll all get out of this together.

  Tarek listens carefully, ignoring Saira’s whispered questions from below. I don’t suppose she’ll ever learn to be quiet. Then he lowers himself from the window. I lean out, Alia light in my embrace, and hand her down to their waiting arms.

  “Come on,” Tarek whispers.

  I hesitate. “Just a moment,” I whisper, and move back to the door. I’m not sure what exactly I’m thinking, other than that I hate to leave the fang still caged. But when I reach the door I hear the faint tread of boots in the hallway: soldiers.

  I bolt back to the window, sliding out onto the sill and dropping to the ground with a soft thud.

  “Hurry,” I whisper, reaching up to close the shutters. Tarek and Saira require no further urging, setting a brisk pace through the gardens. Saira takes over the lead as she gets her bearings.

  About halfway through, I jerk to a stop, holding up my hand. Tarek nearly plows into me from behind me. He has the sense, at least, not to speak, his eyes darting to my face. I can hear the soft crunch of boots on gravel. Many boots.

  “They’re behind us,” I whisper. “And they must know which way we’re going, or they’d be shouting and running.”

  The Degaths stare at me.

  “Run,” I say. “Fast.”

  We tear through the garden, Tarek puffing under his burden. Past an ornamental fountain, across a grassy square, and—shouts erupt behind us. A dozen soldiers pour into the open space, almost near enough to catch us.

  I spring forward, pushing Tarek ahead of me. We swerve around the corner of a hedge. Ahead of us, the path forks: one turns and leads into another section of the garden, its visibility blocked by shrubbery, the other passes under a stone arch.

  “Go.” I shove Tarek towards the far path, knowing Saira will stick with him. Then I whirl and make for the arch, pounding through it without a backward glance. Split up, there’s a higher likelihood that at least one of us will escape, especially if the soldiers part behind us. They’ll be easier to outwit that way.

  But I miscalculate. Given the choice between three miserable fugitives and catching the Ghost, the soldiers take off after me. All of them. Together.

  My cloak flares out behind me, like a piece of night calling to them, and they follow. They must assum
e I’m the real Ghost, come to break out the Degaths, and not the imprisoned impostor.

  Panting curses, I careen around the corner of another hedge and find myself facing a picturesque pond, lotus flowers floating serenely before me. On the far side, conversing with Blackflame beneath an ornate blue and white gazebo, stands the only person who could bring me to a standstill. I stare, bewildered, hearing only the thundering of my blood in my ears.

  It can’t be. It can’t be. But it is. Swathed in a silk kimono of varying shades of blue, she looks like an artist’s rendering, a person who truly belongs among lotus flowers and gazebos. Except that she cannot possibly be here.

  Gravel crunches behind me. I should not have stopped—I take one step forward, my eyes still glued to the figure in blue, and then a body crashes into me, slamming me to the ground. What follows is a brief and hopeless tussle, me against ten soldiers, all of them armed. It ends about where it began, with my face pressed into the dirt and a great deal of weight on top of me. Even though I’m frantic to get away from them, I can’t quite focus on anything other than the need to get to the woman in the kimono. I need to see her face clearly. I need to know.

  I twist around, searching for the soldier in charge. “Who’s that?” I ask. “In the gazebo, the woman?”

  “Shut up,” he says as I’m pulled to my feet.

  “That’s not the Ghost,” one of the soldiers says. “That’s the bloody impostor.”

  A confusion of voices follows. I squeeze my eyes shut, then quickly open them again and try to find the woman. She’s turned away and is descending the steps from the gazebo.

  “The girl?” one soldier asks. Another says, “The Ghost isn’t so clumsy,” and another, “The Ghost isn’t so short.”

  My eyes follow the woman. Turn around. Turn around.

  The soldiers fall silent. Blackflame strides towards us with fury written across his face.

  “What about the others?” he asks, hardly sparing me a glance.

  “We’re still searching,” one of the soldiers responds.

  “Who is that woman?” I demand, straining at the soldiers’ grip, trying to see past Blackflame.