Shadowscent

by P. M. Freestone

  “You won’t have him!” The words rip from my throat.

  But it’s no use. The darkness grows, around me, around Nisai. I can hear myself crying, the sobs racking my body, and with each breath it’s like I’m falling deeper into an ocean, the shadow the liquid that will drown me.

  I sink to my knees.

  I’m not strong enough.

  “Kip! Help me,” I manage, not daring to turn in case I lose my grip. “I can’t do this alone.” The last sounds barely more than a child’s whimper.

  “Move, soldier!” It’s Shari’s voice, snapping the command like an army officer.

  Then Kip’s close, her powerful arms wrapping around my waist, pulling me back from the bier.

  It feels like I’m being torn in two.

  Every instinct screams for me to let go, to flee, to make the pain end. But I lock my fingers into rictus claws, forcing them deeper into the shadow.

  With the strength lent by my helper, I edge one knee backward. Then another.

  The blackness under Nisai’s skin begins to recede. First his fingernails fade from jet to pale amber. Then the tendrils retreat from his hands, up his wrists. I grit my teeth and keep pulling. As each inch of solid shadow comes free, it begins to waver, to fade, like it’s changing back into the smoke it first seemed.

  When the last of it loses contact with Nisai, I’m engulfed in charnel house reek. The smoke coats my skin, hot and rancid and stinging like vinegar in a thousand wounds, burrowing into my every pore.

  Then it’s gone.

  Absorbed.

  In me.

  I collapse to the floor, groaning. Every muscle in my body feels heavy enough to sink into the stone, my joints aching like I’m in the throes of sand-stinger fever. I try turning my head, and the candles dotted around the room flare brighter than they were before. Too bright. Pain stabs at the back of my eyes. I gasp and scrunch them shut.

  “Here.” Someone helps me into a sitting position. Kip.

  My arms are lead, but I manage to bring one up to shield my gaze with a shaking hand. The moon has passed over the winged lion. “The Prince. Is he?”

  “I can’t tell,” she says. “Think you can stand?”

  I nod, wishing I hadn’t—pain flashes behind my eyes again.

  Kip gets her arms under my shoulders and lifts me as easily as someone might lift a child. The room swims, the shadows in the corners rippling. I squint, not able to tell if it’s the effect of the Scent Keeper’s elixir, or if there are some remnants of what attacked Nisai left in the room. A deep breath does more to reassure me—the reek of dead animals bloating under the sun has completely dissipated, the stars once more obscured only by prayer incense.

  I plant both hands on the bier, steadying myself.

  Nisai is still too pale, and the skin below his eyes is bruised dark. He shifts, as if dreaming, then lets out a moan and stills again. I place my palm on his forehead. He’s not deathly cold, but his skin’s coolness is the kind that only comes with deep, unmoving slumber.

  “Prince Nisai?”

  His eyelids flicker, then open. His gaze is bewildered, but the whites of his eyes are white again, the irises a dark, warm brown. He attempts to speak, but only manages a weak cough.

  I glance at the stone basin on the opposite wall, water burbling from a pipe like a natural spring, used for cleaning bodies in preparation for funerals. “Get him something to drink?” I ask Kip. She nods, marching to the basin and returning with a simple cup.

  She gently lifts the Prince into a sitting position and helps him to a few sips.

  “What … what happened?” His voice is scratchy with disuse.

  Kip thumps a fist to her chest in salute. “You’ve been out for a very long time, my Prince. You were poisoned.”

  His eyes begin to regain focus. “Mother? Is that you?”

  Shari takes her son’s hand, her face a picture of relief. “I’m here.”

  “Smoke. I remember smoke. The dahkai crop. Then …” He looks to me. “I know you, don’t I? You’re Sephine’s apprentice?”

  Apprentice. Not the first time I’ve been mistaken for that.

  Maybe it wasn’t so much of a mistake.

  “Sephine is dead.”

  He gives his head a disbelieving little shake, then winces. “Dead? But how? She was …”

  “A Scent Keeper? Yes. She died trying to save you. She did save you.”

  He attempts to get his legs over the side of the bier, but they’re weak and wasted, not much more than bone, and they only tangle in the heavy silk covers. “Where is my uncle? I must see him.”

  I grimace. He thinks he’s back in Aphorai, thinks that time has stood still since the night before the Flower Moon. “Steady now. You’re home. The capital. It’s going to take some time yet before you’ll be back on your feet.” If you’ll ever be back on them, I think, but don’t want to disturb him with that news quite yet.

  “Where is Ash? Did he recover from his wounds?”

  I’m taken aback. How could he know? Was he somehow conscious during the throne room carnage? But then I realize. The lion. He means Ash’s injury from the lion hunt.

  “Those ones, yes. But I’m afraid Ash is in a much worse state now.”

  “Where is he?”

  Tears well in my eyes, hot and inevitable like my grief and anger. I blink them back before they can band together and fall. “In the dungeons. He had … an episode. He—”

  Nisai whispers, quiet enough for only me to hear. “You saw it? The shadow?”

  I swallow, not trusting myself to speak.

  And it turns out I don’t have to, because movement in the doorway catches my eye.

  Commander Iddo ducks under the lintel and strides toward us.

  On instinct, I cast about, searching for a place to hide. It’s only when Kip salutes him that I realize I’ve never seen the Commander without at least a pair of Rangers at his heels. Yet here he is, alone. A memory pops into my mind: After the perfume trials, when Sephine had me brought to the Aphorain temple, the firebirds turned back Father’s old comrade Lozanak at the entrance. No soldiers on consecrated ground.

  As stand-in Shield, Kip’s an exception.

  Guess Iddo also gets a princely free pass.

  The Commander reaches the bier. “I wouldn’t believe it if I wasn’t seeing it with my own eyes. How are you feeling, Little Brother?”

  “Iddo,” Nisai breathes. “It’s good to see you.”

  The Commander squeezes Nisai’s shoulder, his expression and the gesture surprisingly gentle.

  “Iddo, I want to see Ash.”

  The older Kaidon’s hawklike features harden. “I’m afraid that’s not possible.”

  “I’m aware he’s been incarcerated. However, he is to be brought here. On my orders.”

  “You don’t understand, Little Brother. Ashradinoran is dead.”

  No. I raise a trembling hand to cover my mouth.

  “His wounds from the—” He clears his throat. “His wounds from the incident festered. They poisoned his blood.”

  I don’t believe it.

  When I last saw him, Ash’s wounds from the shadow beast had healed, except for the split scars from the lion’s claws. And even those healed quickly the first time around.

  Incredulous, I look to Nisai. Pain is written across his features. He slowly raises a shaking hand, presses it against his temple. “I want his body brought here. He died in service, he will go to the sky.”

  “Died in service? Brother, I hardly think—”

  Like a window cover rolling down, Nisai’s face schools to unreadable. “I want his body brought here,” he repeats.

  “I can’t do that.”

  Kip glances between the two brothers, warring emotions playing across her usually flat stare.

  “Not through any of my own desire,” Iddo continues. “But the body has already been disposed of. Physician Alak saw to that.”

  Nisai blinks. “Who?”

  “Zo
star Alak. He thought it safest that the Shield’s remains be immediately incinerated at high heat, lest the contagion—”

  “Contagion? You’re talking as if Ash had the Affliction.”

  “He was afflicted with something. And after what I’ve witnessed, I’m becoming more convinced that something was behind your … illness.”

  “You let our father’s physician make decisions over the fate of my closest friend? What about Father? What did he say of this?”

  “Nothing. He’s ignored any briefing or official duty since he signed over the Regency to me.” Iddo pinches the bridge of his nose. “Ash was a Shield. A servant. Remember that, Little Brother.”

  “Leave us,” Nisai orders, his expression cold.

  Iddo stiffens. “Surely you’re not—”

  Shari rises to her feet, her voice lashing out like a whip. “The First Prince has made his desires plain, Commander.” She wields the title like a weapon, leaving no doubt what she thinks of Iddo’s regency.

  “Little Brother?”

  “Dismissed.”

  If Kip seemed nervous before, now she looks like she’s about to vomit. But she steps pointedly between the bier and her former Commander.

  She’s made her choice.

  Iddo takes one long, hard glare at her. Then he salutes the Prince, the Prince’s mother, and the former Ranger, turns on his heel and strides from the room.

  I sink to the floor beside the bier, the dread in my stomach replaced with a gaping, hollow emptiness.

  Ash is dead.

  After Rakel left, the claw-shaped wounds down the side of my torso continued to throb. More than once, I’ve wondered if the heat was from my body’s effort to heal the split-open scars, or if the wound was festering.

  I hope it’s the latter.

  And I hope it travels fast.

  I promised Rakel I’d not hasten my own demise. But if the gods keep her and Nisai safe, they can take me however they wish—a fever almost seems too merciful for the damage I’ve caused.

  Slowly, in the dungeon’s timeless dark, my side crusts over with scabs. Fast healing has always been something I’ve been grateful for. Now it feels like a betrayal, prolonging the agony of knowing I’ll never again see the friend I dedicated my life to protect. Never see the girl who gave me hope above what I deserved, who I could have followed to every horizon.

  What’s more, the swelling in my face has reduced, the vision in my right eye is returning, and my mind is clearing with every passing hour. Still, when a figure appears outside my cell door, even a sharp mind can’t comprehend why I’m being visited by a member of the Guild of Physicians.

  And not just any physician.

  The face that peers through the grate takes me back to Nisai’s father’s quarters, to before we left for Aphorai, before I’d met Rakel. It seems like turns ago, but I can still hear the young page’s announcement echoing in my mind: Zostar Alak, by personal appointment to Emperor Kaddash IV!

  Old Black Robes himself. The man I once stood and watched puff himself up with self-importance as he fussed over the Emperor, bowing to Kaddash’s whims, playing to his addictions.

  What in Kaismap’s all-seeing name does he want with me?

  I stay where I’m sitting, propped against the warm stone. I’m not about to dignify his appearance by rising to greet him.

  He eyes me up and down, gaze lingering on the wounds at my ribs. “Interesting. I had expected you to have completely healed.”

  I give him a flat stare. “If you want to gloat, I suggest you attend my trial.”

  He heaves a melodramatic sigh. “There won’t be a trial. While our esteemed Regent may fixate on honor, I have a much more holistic view. We couldn’t have emotions running high. When powerful people get emotional—well—it just opens all sorts of conundrums for the perversion of justice. That would be entirely unsatisfactory. No, my wondrous little shadow. To anyone aboveground …” He looks up, as if he can see through the low-ceiling of the catacombs. “Which really is a long way up, isn’t it?”

  I don’t reply.

  “Where was I? Oh yes, to anyone up there, you’re already dead.”

  “Nobody will believe that without a body,” I scoff. “The Commander—”

  “After your failure to complete your final duty to the Kaidon dynasty, the Regent was suitably disposed toward delivering you into my custody. And as for a body—it was quite simple to rough up Ebos enough for him to be sufficiently unrecognizable before his incineration. A street artist with a bit of parchment ink did the trick for the tattoos. Nothing complex, really.”

  Ebos? But he was one of the best out of the household guard. Steady. Disciplined. Loyal to Nisai.

  Perhaps that was his downfall.

  Bolts of anger course through me. I roll to my feet. “Why Ebos?”

  “Why not him?”

  “No. Why not me?” I demand.

  “Because you’re too important to the cause.”

  “The cause?”

  “There’s so many things we don’t comprehend about your kind. Things that could be key to saving the Empire.”

  “Saving it from what?”

  He tugs on the hairs growing from a mole at his temple. “From your Prince.”

  Is this some kind of trick? Some last twist of the knife, as if the guilt and pain weren’t already enough?

  “The Council has the temple on lockdown, so I’m yet to see it with my own eyes. But the smoke going to the sky suggests he may be cured.”

  Nisai lives. He’s awake.

  My heart surges. Rakel. She did it. Despite me, despite everything.

  Black Robes sniffs. “Your young female companion is full of surprises. One has to respect such talent in youth, however grudging. I was quite gifted myself. And I do respect skill. Value it. Highly. I’m sure she’ll see reason and join me. With a little persuasion.”

  I surge forward.

  Though the heavy bars of the cell stand between us, Black Robes takes a step back.

  “Don’t you touch her.”

  “You won’t achieve anything by getting yourself in a lather. I’ve had Linod’s Elixir carefully added to your water for some time now.”

  I pause at that. There’s nothing stirring inside me. No prickling across my skin. Black Robes speaks the truth. I’m equal parts relieved and chagrined.

  “The First Prince’s recovery really is unfortunate. He should never have been named heir. For one, it was premature—the Council tripped there, what could we truly expect from a group of women? For two, he is blatantly ill-suited to ruling. Indecisive. Naive. Weak. And worst of all, he is tolerant of the whims of the provinces.”

  “Of course he’s weakened. He was poisoned!”

  “Oh, no, it’s been heading this way for far longer than that,” Zostar continues. “This”—he waves a hand—“this rotting from the inside out, as if the Empire itself has succumbed to the Affliction. I know it. You know it. The Empire’s enemies know it. There are wolves at the gates. And if we’re not ready, if we don’t prepare, if we’re soft, they’ll take us all alive. And your young prince lacks the—how should we put it—the temperament to do what needs to be done. Someone needed to step in.”

  “You poisoned Nisai?”

  “Alas, I was not the one to commit the final act. However I do claim credit for the idea, along with the exposure to the initial ingredients. It’s what led me to suspect what you were—my incense never seemed to weaken you as it did the Prince and his jelly-spined father.”

  Bereft of any other weapon, I spit at him, a viscous gob that splatters across his cheek.

  He produces a white silk kerchief from inside his black robe and dabs at his face. “I’m sparing your life. Would it be too much to expect some gratitude? Some basic manners?”

  “Gratitude? I’d be happy to drag you through the five hells by your stones. Does that suit?”

  “I was afraid you’d view it that way.” He lets the kerchief float to the muck-covered floor. �
�Pity. This could have been far less unpleasant than it’s going to be.”

  “This?”

  “We’re going to need to run a few experiments.” He sniffs, rodent-like nose twitching. “You’re not the ideal specimen by any means, but we so rarely find one of your kind that we have to make the most of each discovery. And the last one died before we could really learn anything new.”

  The last one? He knew of others like me?

  “My people will see to you presently. Oh, and when the time comes? Feel at liberty to scream. You won’t be disturbing the neighbors.”

  His footsteps recede into the dark.

  I slump against a wall, mind reeling. Nisai is alive. Rakel is with him. Neither of them know the face of their enemy.

  But I do.

  There’s no choice now. I need to find a way out of here.

  I must survive.

  The evening breeze carries notes of jasmine and spiced incense to the highest platform of the Ekasya temple. Behind that drifts the toasting barley of the breweries, just as Ash described on the long night we tested the cure.

  Farther beyond, so far down the mountain it’s barely discernible, the decay of garbage and the damp funk of exposed river mud permeates the slums. The backdrop to Ash’s childhood.

  The temple balcony runs around each of the stepped pyramid’s five sides. I cross to Azered’s edge, leaning out over a balustrade woven with wreaths of cypress—the tree of mourning. Snapping off a sprig, I bring it to my nose, so that all I can smell is resinous sap, all I can feel is the salt of silent tears drying on my cheeks.

  Somewhere beyond the horizon, the best part of a moon’s travel from Ekasya, there is a place I used to think of as home.

  I wonder what’s left for me there.

  I wonder what’s left for me anywhere.

  The Commander spoke of fears that Ash was a contaminant. Am I now one, too? Is Nisai? Does any of the darkness still lurk inside him? And what have I become? Sephine died taking as much of the poison into herself as she could. What will it do to me?