The actual Guardhouse took up less than half of the area. Most of it provided training grounds for new recruits. Nadya passed several Nomori men sparring with rapiers. Beyond them, some Erevan guardsmen practiced in a firing range with muskets. In the sparring court closest to the Guardhouse, two men squared off. The taller of the two was older, early forties, with graying hair that stood out starkly against a dark Nomori complexion. He wore a sweat-stained uniform, but he moved as if he was fresh.
“Keep your legs moving, Marko!” he shouted. “You are giving me more opportunities than I could find on my own.”
“Ay, Captain,” the redheaded younger man said, puffing. He did not have the preternatural speed and reflexes of the Nomori men, but he moved with a grace that bespoke years of training with the best. His rapier flashed, seeking an opening.
Nadya stopped just outside the sand sparring circle. Neither man noticed her, engrossed in their bout. Her eyes followed every movement, noting strike positions and where they balanced their weight. The Nomori captain clearly had the upper hand in the fight, and always would. No one could defeat a Nomori with a rapier.
Especially not her father.
“Now, show me that you’ve been drilling the crescent moon sequence,” Shadar Gabori called out.
The younger man stepped back. He brought his blade up, then charged, swinging it down in a backward crescent pattern so fast it was a silver blur.
Shadar wore a small half smile. He spun, brushing off the blow and bringing his blade up to his opponent’s throat.
Lord Marko Isyanov, son of the Duke and heir to the citystate, bowed his head in defeat. As soon as the blades were lowered, he broke out into a grin and slapped Shadar on the back. “Sometimes I wonder why I continue to put myself through this.” He winced and rubbed his side.
“Because you’re not an idiot,” Shadar said, wiping his forehead.
Nadya was afraid to speak for a moment. She couldn’t help the feelings of jealousy that roiled in her chest whenever she watched her father train Marko. She wished it could have been her in that ring. Shadar could teach her so much about control, about balance, about channeling just enough of her strength. But Nomori women were too important for their psychic gifts to learn the way of the weapon.
And revealing her secret to her father, bound to the law of the Elders as well as the Duke’s Guard, was impossible.
“Nadya,” Shadar said, seeing her for the first time. “I wasn’t expecting you.” He spoke in accented Erevo out of respect for Marko. Even in his deep voice, it lacked the musicality of their native Nomori tongue that Nadya was used to hearing him speak. He greeted her with a kiss on the forehead. When he saw the linen bag in her hands, he smiled even wider. “What did I do to deserve a daughter such as you?”
“Protecting the city is a start,” she replied.
“Miss Gabori, it’s nice to see you again,” Lord Marko said, nodding to her. Nadya returned his nod. He didn’t like people bowing to him, something she’d learned when he first became her father’s pupil, many years ago now.
“Milord,” she said, trying not to let any of her lingering jealousy toward the Duke’s son into her tone.
Anything further was interrupted by heavy footsteps. A man wearing the copper badge of an official messenger hurried up to them. It must be something important, Nadya thought, for them to send a man and not a pigeon. Immediately, she began sweating ice. It couldn’t be about her…No, she hadn’t been spotted. And even if she had, it wasn’t as if anyone but herself had the eyesight to identify her.
“Come,” Lord Marko asked, stepping forward. He gave an apologetic look to Nadya as he, Shadar, and the messenger retreated to just under the roof of the Guardhouse. Official business and all, and she wasn’t exactly cleared for such things.
It helped that she could hear it all anyway.
Nadya kicked at the sandy edges of the sparring circle as she listened. The messenger began, “There’s been a murder in the fourth tier. Egor Jurek.”
Nadya froze. They couldn’t be talking about the incident she had witnessed the night before. But how many murders went unreported among the wealthy of the fourth tier?
By the Guardhouse, Marko said, “One of my father’s closest friends. How? Are you sure it was murder?”
“There can be no doubt. A patrol of the Guard took a suspect into custody. They will be here soon. Master Jurek’s house has been sealed, waiting for your word, and messages have been sent to his relatives.”
A pause, and then Marko spoke, “Captain, I want you to handle the interrogation. Draw on any resources you see fit. I will head to his house and gather what I can. This must take precedence over everything except flood preparation. My father will be devastated, and he will want answers.”
“Ay, milord.”
Nadya pretended to be absorbed in her boots when her father returned. He touched her shoulder. “Tell your mother I will be late tonight. There is much that needs to be done.”
Before she could think better of it, she blurted out, “I can help you.”
“Nadya.” His tone brooked no argument. Here, he was Captain of the Duke’s Guard, and that duty must come first, before even that of a father.
“I heard something about an interrogation,” she said quickly. Risky, but it was fairly quiet, and there was nothing to suggest that she couldn’t have picked up a few words. “I might be able to determine if he’s telling the truth.”
Last night, Nadya had run while a man died. If she could make up for that, she would. She needed to.
Shadar sighed. “I was planning to call your grandmother. She’ll be able to help us.”
Being in the same room with Drina wasn’t something Nadya usually did voluntarily. But she persisted. “Two psychics are better than one. It will bring a tighter case before the magistrates, at least. Please, I want to be useful. For more than running packages all over the city and delivering lunches.”
Shadar looked at her for a long moment. Nadya’s heartbeat thudded in her ears. Finally, he inclined his head. “All right. But you must do exactly as I say.”
She nodded. Becoming more entwined with the inner workings of the Duke’s Guard wasn’t perhaps the smartest idea for someone with a secret, but she would see this investigation through.
Chapter Three
Shadar made her wait in the courtyard until her grandmother arrived. Nadya kicked at the sand. She didn’t make eye contact with any of the guardsmen, even when they called out a friendly greeting.
“Nadezhda, what are you doing up here?” her grandmother barked as she walked up to the Guardhouse, flanked by men on both sides. Proud as she was, Drina did not lean on either one of them.
Nadya uttered a quick prayer to the Protectress and willed her emotions to settle. She was upset enough about the incident in the fourth tier last night that if she was not careful, Drina would pick up her anxiety and start to question her. Lying to Drina Gabori, regarded as the most powerful psychic of all the Nomori, was not something anyone got away with.
“Grandmother,” she replied, trying to speak with the proper level of respect for the head of the family, “I am to join you in the interrogation.”
Drina’s dark eyes were hawk-like rather than liquid like her daughter’s. Not a single wisp of hair escaped her silver braid as she looked over Nadya, frowning. “Well, as glad as I am to see you taking interest in something that is not childish or overwhelmingly Erevan, your…skills are not needed.”
Heat rising in her cheeks, Nadya stared at the ground. “I can’t get better without practice.”
“Very well.” Drina sighed. “Make sure to behave yourself.”
“Yes, Grandmother.”
When Nadya entered the interrogation room behind Drina and the guardsmen, any confidence she pretended to have immediately vanished, leaving her with the desperate desire to run out. Two pairs of eyes turned on her. The all-encompassing damp threatened to choke her as her sensitive nose picked up the scents of fear,
sweat, and blood. The last came from the rust-colored stains on the handcuffs chaining a Nomori man dressed in fine livery to the room’s only bench. As his hollow eyes met hers, she looked away. She knew this man, Duren, a friend of her father. Shadar stood off to one side, noticeably paler, but his gaze was strong and his expression clear. He was a guardsman before all else, Nadya knew.
Shadar gave Drina a deferential nod. She acknowledged him with a sniff. Clearing his throat, he spoke to both of them once the other guardsmen had left. “His name is Duren. He was personal guard to Egor Jurek, one of the Duke’s courtiers. His master was found slain early this morning by a rapier strike.”
Nadya knew what that meant. While the Erevan guardsmen favored pistols and muskets, Nomori men with their inborn fighting talent preferred the thin blade of a rapier. In the years since the Nomori settled in the city, the Duke’s Guard had turned it into a deadly strategy. The Erevans shot, and while they reloaded their muskets, the Nomori moved in with their blades. Despite the Erevans’ distrust of Nomori guardsmen, even the most stubborn admitted it was an effective way to bring mobs under control. The only Erevan Nadya knew of that used a rapier was Lord Marko.
“You think one of our people murdered him?” Drina asked sharply.
Shadar’s face was carefully blank. “We are following the evidence. Nomori are not above the Duke’s justice. If we let personal feelings cloud this investigation, the city will not easily forgive us.”
The Erevans in the city, you mean, Nadya thought silently.
Duren was staring at the ground with the expression of a man who knew his time had come. He was Nomori and he was suspected of an Erevan’s murder. It would take more than a Nomori gift to get him released.
Nadya swallowed. Shadar nodded to Duren to start talking.
“Master Jurek was coming back from the palace last night. He was met by another courtier, who he offered sanctuary to. I saw them to the manor’s door. Then I went to check the perimeter of the grounds. It is the duty of the personal guard to see to that every evening and morning.”
“Ay,” Shadar said softly.
Duren continued, still staring at the floor, “As I was testing the locks on the rear gate, someone stole up behind me. Before I could react, I must have been hit with something, because I blacked out. I’m not injured, though. I can’t explain that.” He sighed. “When I came around, my weapon was gone. I rushed inside to see to my master.” His voice choked slightly. “Master Jurek was lying as the base of his staircase, dead. There was a puncture wound in his chest. His guest was gone. Perhaps this is the man you should be looking for.”
Duren went silent. Shadar looked to both Drina and Nadya. “Well?”
Drina turned to Duren, face colder than icy wind. “You have disgraced the Nomori people. You will be cast out for your crimes.”
Duren’s eyes widened, but Shadar intervened both any more could be said. “Forgive me, but this is not a Nomori tribunal. He will face the justice of Storm’s Quarry.” He turned to Nadya. “Do you concur?”
His words hit her hard. She wished part of her gift included disappearing, because she would have done it then and there. Her grandmother was never wrong. She looked to the floor, biting her lip. She wasn’t a true psychic like the rest of Nomori women, who each had their own unique gift. Drina perceived the emotions of others, and Mirela read people through the gemstones they owned. Nadya had not developed a psychic talent of her own. Instead, she grew stronger and faster with quicker reflexes and uncanny physical senses. Those were not the abilities of a Nomori, and Nadya did not know what they made her. She was able to masquerade as a weak psychic, however. Her sense of hearing was acute enough that she could sometimes tell when someone lied to her. Their heart rate sped up, and she could smell sweat and fear on them. She was a perpetual disappointment to her grandmother, but it was enough of a ruse to throw off suspicion that she was anything more.
As Duren told his story, his heart began hammering. It wasn’t the pounding blood of a nervous man, either, for he had been calm until the words came out of his mouth. He was lying. He killed his master. Nadya knew it.
But that is not what I saw. The cloaked man with black eyes, he didn’t attack Duren.
Drina’s conclusions were always ironclad. But damn it all, Nadya had been there. She had seen this man go into the manor, heard the scream, yes, but he hadn’t been alone. And there was something about the other figure that unnerved her in a deep way.
Nadya couldn’t bring herself to look at Duren. She could not come to his defense. No one could know she had been there. Unbidden, her thoughts went to Shay, a Nomori girl she had played with as a child. When she was twelve, instead of developing a psychic gift, Shay began calling up flames from her fingertips. One day, Nadya went to her house to find her friend gone. What was more, her parents denied ever having a daughter. There is no Shay that lives here. There never was. The coldness in their voices had seeped into her bones and remained, chilling her to the core whenever she thought of what might happen if she had been in Shay’s place.
There is no Nadya here. There never was.
Whatever happened to her childhood friend, Nadya could not stand the thought of her family, led by her grandmother, denying their familial bond, exiling her, perhaps even trying to kill her.
“He’s lying,” she whispered.
“Are you sure?” Shadar asked, a slight desperation in his voice.
Nadya stared at the ground. She had seen proof that Duren killed Jurek. And yet, she could not shake the image of the other man. He did something, had some part to play in the murder.
It was an accusation she could never make out loud. “Yes,” she said more firmly.
“Very well.” Shadar turned to Duren. He kept his tone formal. Here, they could not be friends. Here, he was a captain in service to his Duke. “You will remain here until I notify Lord Marko. Then you will be tried according to the laws of Storm’s Quarry. If found guilty, you will be sentenced accordingly.” He glanced back at his family. “Many thanks to both of you. You can see a clerk on the way out for your payment.”
Nadya swallowed and turned toward the door. Drina’s eyes drilled into hers, and her throat tightened. Her grandmother slowly strode over to her. Drina stood with a stoop, but she walked with the gait of someone used to being respected. Even the Duke could not claim that kind of presence.
When they entered the corridor, leaving the dank interrogation room behind, Drina spoke. “That was good work, Nadya.” She spat on the ground. “Imagine such a disgrace, with Nomori blood. It makes me sick.”
Nadya remained silent, following her shuffling grandmother though the winding halls of the Guardhouse. Her chest had gone cold, and she wondered if there was ever going to be a time when she wouldn’t have to worry every moment that her secret would be revealed. Or how many other choices she would have to make, how many scruples she must sacrifice, in order to keep it.
*
She couldn’t escape her grandmother as they left the Guardhouse. Drina latched onto her arm with a viselike grip. It was a welcome distraction, however, from the chest-tightening thoughts of what she had left unsaid during the interrogation.
“Do you know why a good Nomori man would turn into a monster like that?” Drina was rambling in Nomori. “It is from living in this cursed city, I tell you. We are not meant to be encased by walls, and between these walls and those damned Erevans, our people are being driven mad.”
“I think he is the exception,” Nadya said patiently. It was all something she’d heard before. She had calmed down enough that she didn’t think there was a danger of Drina reading anything suspicious. Besides, her grandmother was working herself into such a nice froth that Nadya was sure her own emotions overpowered anything she might have picked up from Nadya about her abilities.
“I cannot accept what our people are coming to,” her grandmother muttered and got into the railbox waiting for them. “Maybe it was more dangerous out on the water, but a
t least we kept our traditions, our hearts.”
“No one is tearing out Nomori hearts,” Nadya said under her breath.
Once they boarded, Nadya steadying Drina since there were no empty seats, the whistle sounded. She held on to one of the wooden beams that stretched across the tight box as the engine began to churn. It vibrated through the woodwork. Made of the same technology as the steam pumps that pumped water out of the city and over the walls during storms, it provided a quick, if bumpy, ride down to the lower tiers of the city. Nadya felt the air change as the railbox continued down at its harsh angle to the second tier. It grew heavy with the scent of waste.
“We must fight against the demons that have taken hold of our beloved city,” a voice shouted from the rail stop.
A man, Erevan and pale with brown hair and wild eyes, stood atop a stone bench. His clothes were filthy, but he didn’t seem ashamed as he yelled in Erevo to everyone who passed him by. “The storm gods are angry. The Nomori witches, they are allowed to live among us. Eat our food. Play with our children. We have let them poison our ways. Death to all the Nomori! Their presence in our city has brought on the wrath of the storm gods. Death to them, or this season of storms will be our destruction.”
Nadya remained rooted to the spot as the man’s eyes found her. He pointed, shrieking with froth at the mouth, “Death to you, Nomori whelp. Death to all of you!”
“Ignore him, Nadya.” Her grandmother gripped her arm as the whistle blew and the railbox began moving again, its powerful engine pistons pumping up and down.
“What—”
“Nothing but a zealot trying to stir people up.” Drina spat out the window. Her right hand reached for her neck, where she wore her metal seal of the Protectress.
“A zealot?”
“Pay him no mind,” her grandmother said again. “The Erevans, they don’t even believe in their storm gods. Once they might have, when the city was first built and they believed their nameless gods had to be appeased to stop the wind, rain, and lightning from destroying their home. That old belief is gone. They sacrifice a bit of bread here, a fowl there during the dry seasons, but none think the gods actually exist. That man was crazy. Fear makes people do unnatural things.”
The Iron Phoenix Page 3