"Wait, what?" Rosayra stared open-mouthed at Adren. "I'd call that an incredibly tall tale, but the Councilmen look smug, so…" Her hands waved erratically. "How long have you been sitting on this nugget of ludicrous, Dahe?"
Aeley smirked. "Long enough, though Adren's been kind enough to offer cir help."
"Attacking priests is stupid," Adren muttered. "They've gone too far in every direction and used me to do it. So fine, I'll tell them where to shove their pretty little explosives. You want it hard and painful? I'll get you bone-cracking and agonizing."
A dark smile crept across Kayte's lips. "Sounds like you and me need to talk."
"There's plenty of time to make friends," Severn drawled, "but save it for later. Are you in, Oaren?"
"Guess so." Kayte returned Severn's annoyed tone. "Can't let Dahe get into trouble alone."
"Please," Aeley said, snorting.
"And again, save it for later." Severn tapped the table. "We need everyone you can get, all the resources you can spare or repurpose. Pull in your guards, any and all tacticians from the Grand Families, and work out new strategies."
Rathen whistled and reached for Aeley. "Bring Gren in. He'd love a piece of this."
"You sure?" Aeley eyed Rathen, her uncertainty echoing Mayr's. While they liked Gren, his lack of loyalty to any one employer was questionable. In true mercenary fashion, Gren could be purchased with the right price—the same reason they had not invited him to the meeting. The Shar-denn could have already claimed him.
"Yeah, I'm sure." Rathen scowled. "He doesn't like the Shar any more than he does politicians. Gren's got bones to pick with them, trust me. Tell him he can settle his scores and he'll be your best friend. If that isn't enough, you tell Tracel and she'll remind him what side he's on."
"Very well, I'll think on it," Aeley conceded.
Lira let out an audible breath, her grey gaze downcast. "It's like we're going to war."
"No, there is no 'like,'" Kayte said. "It is war, just not on a battlefield."
"Ha!" Rosayra spat out. "Kattal already fought to get free from one master. We'll win this rubbish too."
"That's good, you'll need that," Nimae said, shifting with a grimace, "because if the Shar's willing to take down temples, they'll do a hundred other things you never saw coming." He nodded at the Councilmen. "They've got lists of faces they'd love to carve up. Severn and Cota, you're on the must-die list, near the top. You might want to reconsider your security detail. Make sure you're still alive every morning."
Awkward silence fell through the room. A chill swept through Mayr, pushing his watchfulness to its peak. Tash had warned him of Nimae's brutal honesty. It was one thing to anticipate that honesty, but another thing to be in the same room with it.
Ress cleared his throat. "They're not the only ones with names. May I?"
"Absolutely," Aeley replied. "You said you had gifts."
"Two." Ress reached into his coat and pulled out a folded piece of parchment. "The first is a gift of knowledge." He inhaled deeply and fingered the parchment. After another nervous breath, he offered it to Aeley. "Four names. They're more than Shar sympathizers—they help keep it going."
Aeley scurried around Adren to snatch the parchment. As she read it over, her face darkened until it was blood-red. The paper crumpled in her paled fists.
"I'm going to shove that pacifism so far up his ass he won't have a head left," Aeley snarled, jerking her head up. She thrust the parchment towards Kayte, her fist shaking.
In a flash, Kayte was at the table, grabbing the list and reading it.
"What in the Four's name is this?" Kayte roared. More than one guard flinched. "One of your own assemblymen's on the inside!" He tossed the parchment at Cota. "No wonder you can't keep up. What have you idiots been doing—raising spies?"
Shouts deafened Mayr from all sides. Bodies moved in a blur. High Council's guards charged Kayte, swords drawn. Kayte's guards responded in kind, forcing their way between him and the Councilmen. Rosayra stayed at Kayte's side, knife brandished as she called for a stay of attack. Pellon yanked Lira from her chair and pulled her to Aeley's side. He pushed both back with one arm, allowing Dahe guards to fill the space where Aeley and Lira had been. On instinct, Mayr shoved Tash behind Gorgan and stepped in front of them both.
Mayr whistled shrilly until movement stopped. "Everyone get back to your own corners!" He motioned to make his point, snapping his fingers until the guards backed away. "Unless someone here's a traitor, no one's drawing blood. Put those things away, and Ress, explain this mess now."
From where he sat with Adren behind him, Ress regarded the guards with a wary expression. "I had access to several things the Shar shouldn't have let me near," he replied. "Pertinent members valued my skills. Others coveted my ability to traffic whatever they wanted, discreetly and for a decent price. Funny thing is, those people talk, and their people talk, particularly when they think no one's listening. I also figured out some things on my own. If anyone's a spy here, it's me."
Ress pointed at the wrinkled list in Cota's hands. "The first name is unfortunate. They all are. There's nothing I can do but tell you that Tract Steward Forey's name has appeared in my presence several times. He feeds the Shar information and harbours them. I've shipped goods to and from his tertiary estate, which doubles as a Shar cache house. Given how difficult it is to get through the rocky passes, flooded ravines and bogs, and poisonous creatures, I'm not surprised he'd lend it over."
"I'll kill him," Aeley seethed, golden eyes narrowed. "That bastard—"
"Aeley." Lira nudged Aeley's arm. "Let him finish."
"The second is Commerce Assemblyman Graye Jesfret, as Steward Oaren noted," Ress continued. "I don't know her exact role, except to say she knows what money says and where it hides." He peered over his shoulder to Aeley. "I'm sorry it won't assuage your concerns about Stewards Mahne and Hewyth. I don't know if they have anything to do with it. I do know Jesfret likes her men beaten and drugged before they reach her doorstep. I also know her trade name is Jessice Blue. She likes dirty money that smells clean."
Lower looked a breath away from being sick. "This third one," he said, pointing at the list. "We can't do anything about it, not without starting a war."
Ress nodded grimly. "Emisay Dematahl, Lord Councilman of Arminloa, Kattal's favourite nation to despise. I'm sorry for that too, because apprehending him would mean another full-out battle. He's all bite, waiting for Kattal to give him a reason. He's the secret head of their Restitution Coalition—he's just hiding behind the fop they have pretending to be their leader." Ress let out a long, frustrated sigh. "Dematahl calls the shots in Arminloa and at our borders. He's also buying up weapons, including ones we've outlawed and ones our military has never had. The list of his hidden transgressions against Kattal is long."
Curses fluttered through the room, harsh and mangled.
"The last name is one to worry over," Ress said quietly. "The Colourless faction. It's one of the best kept secrets in the Shar. They don't use names or visible forms of identification—no gang colours, no obvious tattoos, no crests or insignias. Only the bosses of the other factions know who the Colourless's boss is. They're a ghost faction, but take them out, and it'll really deal the hurt."
"How?" Severn demanded.
Ress crossed his arms and leaned back. "Their faction relies on members of the Grand Families."
More curses filled the room, bouncing from one person to another. Aeley and Kayte growled, their visible rage a match to that on Cota and Severn's faces.
"They sink funds into the Shar," Ress continued, "manipulate Council, use other families, and feed the Shar from the top. Then it all trickles down, and well, you've seen the results."
"Dammit," Mayr swore under his breath. It was bad enough figures of authority worked for the Shar-denn, but some of the wealthiest and most influential families willingly supported them. What all did the Shar-denn know? How much danger were Aeley and Lira in? What about Dahena and a
ll of Gailarin, especially if another Tract Steward had shared tract secrets?
What about Allon and his unsavoury lot? Are they in on it, using the Dahe name to get off on being so bloody clever? And what about Lira's whole damn family? Darkness reaches for darkness, and if they're part of it…
A quick glance at Aeley was enough to suggest the same possibilities turned over in her thoughts, as ugly as the look on her face.
Severn's nostrils flared. "Great. Filthy little liars are playing both sides. What other names have you been hiding?" she all but shouted at Ress. She clawed the table edge as though she wanted to shred his face. "All this time and you never said a word—"
"Who cares?" Kayte yelled. "We've got bigger things to worry about!"
Ress raised his hand, steadily meeting Severn's glare. "I didn't give the names because I knew there'd be a war if I did. Now war's upon us and the Shar deserves all the hurt to come." He lowered his hand, his expression sad. "There's one more name I can provide, one I didn't realize I had until several months ago. I'm truly sorry, because I don't want to say it, but I have to." Turning in his chair, he glanced up at Pellon. "Sorys Emeranth, your father."
All sound ceased. No one moved. Silence twisted a gnawing ache through Mayr's stilled heart.
Pellon looked as if he were dying, his last moments frozen between beats of time.
Aeley's arms were around Pellon's shoulders quicker than Mayr could force himself to breathe. Lira hugged Pellon around the waist, murmuring soothing words.
"I'm sorry, Pellon," Ress said softly. "You're a nice guy, and you've been good to me and Adren, but you need to put eyes on Sorys and Wynn."
"You're certain?" Aeley pulled Pellon closer. He remained speechless, motionless.
"Wouldn't say it if I weren't." Ress sighed heavily. "I've heard Sorys's name for years. He runs covert fighting leagues for the Shar, but I've also seen his name on records for goods. He's both a supplier and a buyer. I don't think he's in it alone, either: Wynn knows what's going on, considering all the freshly mined jewels and pretty metals that come through. Money too, and the women, the men…" Ress peered at Pellon. "I'm sorry, really. They like their slaves, especially going through them. I don't know what they do to need so many, but I've heard stories. By the Four, I wish you weren't their kid."
Pellon's empty gaze fell on Ress. "Now I know where the servants come from. Where my mother…"
Mayr bit back the replies that came to mind. He remembered Pellon's fears about his mother, a servant who had disappeared after his birth, never to be heard from again. Everything else Pellon knew was what Sorys and Wynn had bludgeoned into his head, fashioning him into what they wanted: an heir to both Sorys's sport fighting champion titles and Wynn's mining enterprise. Pellon loathed both legacies. He had no mind for business, and when he fought, he wanted to serve a larger purpose, not win status.
The more terrifying points of Pellon's past were in the details of his fathers' relationship. Wynn had the money and Sorys the gall. Pellon insisted his parents were married because Sorys loved to beat the life out of Wynn, accompanied by the threadbare illusion that Wynn was somehow in control. No doubt they went through slaves like others went through alcohol: Pellon recalled overhearing things when he was a child, including Sorys's angry voice between loud slaps, cracking bones, and muffled screams for help, not all of them Wynn's. The violence only worsened when Wynn disappeared on business. To discover they were part of the Shar-denn was abominable but not a complete surprise.
Ress's breath was the loudest noise in the room. "If we're going to take down the Shar," he said, "we need to hit suppliers and buyers too. Attack on multiple fronts."
Heads nodded. Murmurs collided, crafting a soft hum.
Ress's chair screeched across the floor. The room fell quiet. "Since we're in agreement, here's my second gift," he said. Clicks sounded as he unlocked his metal case. "A new weapon, something I've been perfecting. Steward Oaren, you'll enjoy this."
More than curious, Mayr grabbed Tash by the hand and followed Kayte to the table. The case creaked as Ress opened the lid and withdrew a peculiar object: a smooth cylinder of charcoal-coloured metal streaked with dull black, attached to a handle crafted from the same metals and polished red wood that fit snugly in Ress's grasp. Jutting out from where the cylindrical piece met handle was a thick loop of metal big enough to slip at least one finger through and an angled switch.
"Fully functional," Ress said. He twisted his wrist to show both sides of the weapon. "Something the Shar's been working on for a while now. They're calling it a pistol after the Pistoleyra, Maiden of the Mountain, because of her deadly darts that pierce armour and drill through bone. It's easy to carry, even easier to kill from a distance. If the Shar succeeds, they'll give these to members and sell them to allies. Swords and knives don't stop these unless you slice off the hand that holds it—just like Pistoleyra."
Mayr cursed vehemently. That was Ress's secret project. If the Shar-denn had such weapons, the number of victims would no doubt triple… or worse. A nightmare larger than even his dreams could encompass.
"The how of it is a complicated mess that's taken years to sort, and it's required more people than I can count, so I won't bother explaining. Here's what you need to know." Ress held out the pistol and pointed to different parts. "Barrel, grip, trigger, sight, and hammer for when you're ready to do the damage," he said, dragging his thumb over the switch.
Ress's fingers moved quickly over the grip. A metal chamber shot out from the bottom. He tipped the chamber forward to reveal a hollow compartment with small metal components. "Projectiles go in here. It'll take four just fine, but I'm working on one that allows more." From the case, he pulled out a handful of black metal pieces no larger than game tokens on a board, the rounded ends tipped with silver. "Put them in this way, replace—" Ress shoved the chamber back inside the grip with a loud click "—and it's ready. Aim with one arm like this, click back the hammer, sight it, then squeeze the trigger to send it off. It's got kick and takes effort at first, but once you get it, you get it."
"That's… unnerving," Lira said, wrapping her arms around herself. She backed away from the table. "Doing away with life just like that. No struggle, no fight."
"They'll do anything to seize control quickly and efficiently," Ress replied.
And make the world fall at their feet. Mayr stared at the pistol, unable to look away. The Shar-denn destroyed hundreds of lives with the weapons they already had. The lethal power granted by a collection of pistols was unacceptable. Although he never liked spilling blood, he would kill a thousand of the Shar-denn before allowing them to hurt his family, even if it destroyed his soul. No mercy, no compassion, no apology. Nothing but hope.
"Want me to demonstrate?" Ress's voice slipped through Mayr's messy thoughts. "It's loud, so you'll have to cover your ears, but I can show it off… unless someone else wants to do it."
Mayr barely noticed the silence, transfixed until someone cleared their throat.
"What?" Mayr shook his head and glimpsed Aeley's smirk.
Ress held out the pistol. "Want a go?" He motioned to the target. "Everything's set up."
Under the heat of everyone's attention, Mayr nodded and accepted the pistol. Heavy like his boot, smooth like his knives, the pistol was a dangerous weight in anyone's hands. So much hurt contained in one cold form. "How loud?"
Ress studied Mayr, his dark gaze pensive. "Not enough to wake your girls."
"Good to know." Mayr pushed past the people in his way, the pistol lowered. He stepped into line with the target, facing it while he backed against the table.
"Everyone else, stand back here," Ress called. "Cover your ears."
No one hesitated to obey. They hurried to the wall furthest from the target.
"Mind the recoil," Ress added.
Mayr took a deep breath and clicked back the hammer, feeling the barest movements of the mechanisms inside. He straightened his back, pulled his body into form, and foc
used. The red circle in the middle of the target taunted him, waiting to be hit. With the pistol in his right hand, he lifted his arm and aimed, two fingers slipped around the trigger. The pistol wavered in his hand.
It was a life's worth of responsibility in one fist. A soul's name was written on every projectile. It was a quick journey to the Realm of the Dead with an even quicker trip to the gates of guilt and lifelong regret.
But the Shar-denn was willing to take out temples and who knew what else to settle scores with Tash and anyone in their way. Nothing would stop them from blowing up homes or entire villages. Rules meant nothing. Guilt meant nothing. Suffering the death of an enemy was better than letting them take innocent lives.
No matter what High Council thought of him, rules would not stop Mayr from putting the gang in its place. Whatever it took, he would protect his own. Cota had once warned him he would have to choose between loyalty to Kattal's laws or Tash. That choice was now, this meeting, this cause. Generation after generation we've played by the rules, and look where it's gotten us—the muddy end of ass-crack nowhere.
Playing nice was foolish, just as surrendering Tash, Adren, and Ress would be. They won't stop their attacks, no matter who they get back. They want and want and want some more, and they'll blow more temples to get it all. If it isn't Tash, it'll be Rivane and other prisoners, or the heads of politicians and things they shouldn't have.
To his relief, the High Council agreed. So far they had not uttered a word about giving up Tash, at least not to his face, but Mayr never knew how long he could trust them. The sooner they cleaned up the Shar-denn, the sooner Tash could enjoy true freedom with their family.
I can do this. I have to do this. For Aliss, Arieve, and him, Mayr promised. He cupped his other hand beneath the grip and sighted the target. For Aeley, Lira, and everyone else, too.
The pistol steadied. Breaths slow and even, he called on the shred of calm he needed, the same as he did whenever he threw knives. He focused on the centre…
Soulbound Page 41