by Nalini Singh
Utter silence. As he stared at her, the warlord’s expression loosened into stunned disbelief—then he snorted, and laughter erupted throughout the great hall, rising like thunder as courtiers slapped their knees and the tables, reaching a hysterical pitch. But although everyone laughed, not everyone meant it, and Mala saw the grief and confusion that passed over the faces of some. The marshal, who looked to the floor; Gepali, who looked to the heavens. A few of the courtiers wore grins that seemed like a rictus of death, and their chests hitched as if they’d rather be sobbing than laughing.
“Hold, hold!” Barin stood, calling for quiet, his amusement still shaking through every word. His glittering gaze fell upon Mala again. “I have longed to see that beast tamed again. This is the brightest news that my court and I have received in some time.”
Again? “Vela must believe I can achieve that which you have only longed for, my lord.”
“Not if you search for the beast in the mountains. You should wait for him in the Weeping Forest, instead—or at the maze, as he should be returning through it shortly. And you will need this.” Quickly he pulled Gepali up by her graying hair and unbuckled the collar. “If you bring the beast back here, tamed, I would not have much use for this one any longer. I would consider her debts paid in full if you return with him on her leash. I will consider all of my servants’ debts paid, and remove the collars of every one, for the beast on a leash is worth more than a dozen others.”
Jaw set, Gepali stared back at Mala with wild eyes—as if silently begging her to refuse the offer. With ice filling her stomach again, Mala strode forward to accept the collar.
“My lord,” she said, “I know of a man who will shortly be returning through the maze. Do I seek the one called Kavik?”
At the mention of his name, silence again—but Mala imagined the click of Barin’s teeth as he grinned, and she saw more runes tattooed into his palms as he held out the coiled leash and collar. That familiar cold dread scraped down the back of her neck, and she lifted the leather from his grasp without touching his skin.
“That is he.” Barin sat back again, softly petting Gepali’s head. “You have met?”
“We have.” With a thin smile, Mala bowed. “I will return when my quest is finished, Lord Barin.”
He nodded, still so pleased, and though her hand itched for her weapon, Mala didn’t try to take his head with her sword. Clutching the leash and collar, she strode between the courtiers’ tables, ignoring their shouts of encouragement. Her gaze fixed upon the group of leashed debtors. Though she held their freedom in her hand, there was little hope to be seen in their faces when they looked at her. Their spirits seemed to resemble this land, barren and gaunt.
And though there had to be others who stood against Barin, Kavik was the only one she’d seen fighting for any of Blackmoor’s people. Now she would bring him here with a collar on his neck?
She made it past the columns before sour bile shot up her throat. Forcibly she swallowed it down. Vela could be cruel, but this could not be what the goddess meant by taming. And it wasn’t how Mala would have tamed any being—beast or man.
But no doubt this was what Kavik would think she intended to do to him. Again, if Barin was to be believed.
Outside, the rain had returned in full force. Shim met her near the inner gates. She wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his mane.
This could not be what Vela intended. It could not be. Mala simply had to trust in that.
But her voice was still thick when she said, “It is never the easy path, is it?”
And there was nothing to do but follow it.
KAVIK finally dreamed of her again.
After two years without seeing her while he’d slept, her return was more torturous than the absence had been—because this was not a vision sent to him, but a memory. This time he didn’t watch her from a distance, as a stranger. This time he knew the warmth of her touch. He knew the huskiness of her voice. He finally knew what to call her.
Mala.
He met the gray dawn with her name on his tongue and need hardening his flesh. But the torture wasn’t over. Because she’d finally come. The woman who hadn’t been much younger than Kavik the first time he’d seen her, a stripling Krimathean with a long brown braid and a wild edge to her grin. He’d watched her train with sword and axe and fist, just one of many young women and men—and he’d watched her practice alone by moonlight until her arms shook from exhaustion. He’d watched her fight; he’d seen her face ground into the dirt by her opponents and he’d seen her win. He’d watched her scream with laughter after diving into icy mountain streams and dance in the firelight until her body glistened with sweat, and as she knelt with tears dripping over the unmoving figure on her mother’s bed.
That death was the last time he’d dreamed of her. And though Kavik knew Mala’s face better than his own, he’d never imagined the woman in his dreams would be the woman in red. He’d never seen her wear the color before. But now she was here—and she was the woman who heralded his end.
So it was time to meet it.
Stiffly, Kavik rose from the bed he’d made on the ground, with his brocs laid out beneath him and his saddle pillowing his head. His breath steamed in the morning air and the cold ached through to his bones. The previous night, darkness had forced him to stop at the head of the labyrinth. A fire would have drawn the leather-winged raptors that hunted these canyons and the sun wouldn’t climb above the maze’s high walls until midday. If he wanted warmth, he needed to start moving.
His brocs were crusted with dried blood and dirt, but he dragged them on, then slung the saddle over his shoulder. Pain tugged at his wounds, but it wasn’t the agony he’d expected. Mala’s salve had not only drawn out the revenants’ poison and kept the fever at bay; his injuries were healing faster, too.
Many charlatans claimed to sell potions blessed by Nemek, yet in all of his travels, Kavik had never met a divine healer. Mala had come across one, though. She must truly be favored by the goddess.
Vela’s favor wouldn’t help her defeat the demon tusker. The goddess protected those who quested for her, but they had to complete their tasks without Vela’s assistance.
With every step through the maze, Kavik debated whether to offer his. If Mala coming to Blackmoor meant his end, then he could think of few better deaths than while fighting beside her against the demon. That creature had plagued his people too long. And all the while, he’d pray to Hanan that she would torture him with another touch, and burn him with the heat in her eyes.
Another good way to die.
But she would pay for his help when Barin took notice of it, and if Kavik was dead, he wouldn’t be able to stand with her against the warlord. He could help her . . . but doing so might hurt her worse than the demon could. Which meant the choice would have to be Mala’s, not his.
And throughout these long years, Vela hadn’t abandoned him. Instead the goddess had remained nearby, sliding her blade so slowly into his heart that he hadn’t even known she’d pierced his flesh. She’d promised to return when he’d lost everything. And what had he left? No family. No home. Not even a horse. So Vela only had to twist the blade through his heart—and somehow, she would use Mala to do it.
At least he would see her again. And it wouldn’t be a dream.
KAVIK passed through Perca’s gates just before the guards closed them for the night. Familiar rage clutched at his throat when he glanced up and saw the torches burning in the citadel towers, so he kept his head down through the streets. Better not to think of Barin.
Instead he would think of how to find a horse. A full day had been lost walking through the maze and across the moors—and Kavik couldn’t hunt the demon on foot. But escorting the caravan had only earned him enough gold to buy a few meals, not a new mount. And although hunger gnawed an ache into his gut, better to save the coins for those days when not even a lizard could be found in the fens.
Except he probably didn’t ha
ve many more days remaining.
So he would buy a meal. He was already headed to the Croaking Frog, where Telani’s sister was innkeeper. He’d promised to let Selaq know whether the caravan had made it across the river, and he had no doubt that Telani had encouraged Mala to stay at her sister’s inn. Kavik might find her there.
Along with a dozen of Barin’s soldiers. Kavik set his jaw when he spotted their horses in the alley leading to the inn’s stables. The Croaking Frog lay near the eastern gate and in the shadow of the city wall, so Selaq served more ale to Barin’s men than to travelers needing a bed. Usually Kavik came during the day, when soldiers and guards were less likely to have settled in. There’d be no avoiding them this night.
But no matter how enjoyable cracking their heads would be, Kavik would stay his fists. Selaq didn’t need the trouble he would bring.
The inn’s thick clay walls trapped the heat from the hearth and the warmth instantly soaked through his wet tunic and brocs. Quiet fell in the common room when Kavik entered, as it always did. Then voices rose again, but he ignored the soldiers’ taunts about collars and leashes. He’d heard it all before. His gaze searched the tables. Mala wasn’t here.
He fought the heavy disappointment. Her absence didn’t mean she hadn’t come to the inn. She might have taken a room and preferred privacy to the company of soldiers. He’d learn more from Selaq.
The innkeeper was already almost on him. Though petite, she always moved with the determined stride of a man twice her size, but her step faltered a few paces away. She blinked rapidly, then seemed to steel herself and approached him with tightened lips.
“There’s clean water and soap in the basin out in the brewery.” Rag in hand, she swatted him in that direction. “Use it.”
To bathe in. Kavik shook his head. “Don’t—”
“I’m not helping you, fool. Your stench will empty out this room in a breath.”
The revenants’ blood. Not all of it had washed off in the rain. Kavik hardly noticed the stink anymore—but nearby patrons were covering their faces. “Considering who’s here, I should stay as I am.”
She snorted and swatted him again. “I don’t want them taking their coin elsewhere. Go on.” More quietly, she said, “I’ll join you shortly.”
With a nod, he started across the common room. Best to wash, anyway. Mala had talked of tasting him if not for the stench—even though she hadn’t smelled much better at the time.
By Hanan’s shaft, it mattered not. He’d have tasted her even if she’d been dipped in dung.
And here was the gods’ answer to that. He just had to think of dung and one of the soldiers rose from his table and pushed into his path. Kavik stopped only when another step would have pressed their noses together. He knew this measle. A brute, Delan was one of the few men who stood level with him. But like all of Barin’s soldiers, he took Kavik’s unyielding gaze as a gesture of disrespect.
They were right. It was disrespect, mixed with the same hatred and rage he felt for their warlord. Fueled by it, Kavik had stared down Delan before. Doing it again would be no effort. He could stand here all night.
But Delan had been distracted by the burden on Kavik’s shoulder, and he called out, “Look at this! She’s already saddled him.”
A burst of raucous laughter came from the soldiers. Someone shouted, “Then we’ll all ride the beast!” and then abruptly fell silent when Kavik glanced in that direction.
No one would ever ride him again.
And he would stay his fists. Maybe. He looked back to Delan and saw the sudden unease in the measle’s shifting eyes.
“Now move aside, little pony, so I can take this piss in my belly outside.” Delan’s overloud command rang through the room. “Or continue standing in my way so I can piss on you.”
Unsmiling, Kavik waited. A span of breaths passed. Finally, Delan muttered and shoved past him.
Shaking his head, Kavik moved on. Pissing on him? Hardly a threat. Kavik couldn’t smell worse than he already did.
He couldn’t be wetter, either. The rain was to thank for that, and for the basin of wash water. As a brewer whose inn was favored by Barin’s soldiers, Selaq had freer access to the city’s wells than most citizens did, yet even she didn’t waste a drop. The downpour of the past few days offered a few luxuries, however.
Four basins would be needed just to clean his blood-encrusted hair and beard, so he took care of the matted strands with a few sweeps of his blade. Stripping down to skin, he lathered up and rinsed, careful to catch the runoff in an empty bucket. His brocs and tunic went into the rinse water to soak before their scrubbing. Furs, boots, and breastplate wiped clean with a damp rag.
His belt and furs went back around his hips, leaving his torso and legs bare. He hung the linens to drip from the ceiling beams near the ovens and was cleaning his saddle leathers when Selaq finally joined him.
He kept his gaze on his saddle and tried not to sound like an eager boy. “Is the Krimathean woman staying here? The one who wears the questing cloak.”
“Yes,” Selaq said, but the response seemed hollow. When he glanced over, her normally bright eyes were shadowed in the firelight. “And I pray you will forgive me.”
Kavik frowned. “Forgive you?”
“I should have turned her away.” Arms crossed beneath her breasts, she averted her gaze from his. “But you know I could not.”
All public houses had to follow the law of the road. Long ago, Selaq’s own parents had taken in Kavik and his father for the same reason. No innkeeper could turn away someone in need of a bed and with money to pay, even if it meant putting them in the stables.
Yet why would she have turned Mala away? Even if the other woman hadn’t helped protect the caravan, Mala was Vela’s Chosen—and there were few in Blackmoor more devoted to the goddess than Selaq. As a girl, she’d wanted to be a Narae warrior. Later, she’d hoped to become a priestess and rebuild the city’s temples. But when Barin had forbidden any temples but Enam’s, establishing an inn and adhering to Vela’s rules of hospitality was as close as she’d come . . . until Mala had arrived. If someone had told him Selaq had paid Mala to take a room here, simply to ask the other woman about her journeys, he’d have believed it.
Now Selaq wanted to refuse her lodging? “Did she not tell you that Telani sent her here?”
Confusion filled her voice. “Telani did?”
So Mala hadn’t said anything of it. He gestured to the raw wounds on his arms and thighs. “We were set upon by revenants. The Krimathean saved your sister’s boy.” And many others. “Then she gave her a healer’s potion to spare them the fever.”
Selaq’s face paled and she whispered, “She didn’t tell me.”
“She shouldn’t have had to.” And none of this made sense. Frowning, he slowly rose. “What are you not saying?”
Swallowing hard, she turned her face away. “Do you know who she is?”
Of course he did. In dreams, he’d seen the palace where she’d eaten and slept. He’d watched her don a hauberk of glittering green dragon scales, and stand in front of a cheering crowd before bowing her head beneath her mother’s sword. “She is the High Daughter—and second to her sister.”
“Second to her cousin,” Selaq corrected softly, and still she wouldn’t look at him. “And she is here to form an alliance with Barin.”
Ice filled his gut. “No.”
“Yes.”
“You’ve seen her cloak,” he said. “She’s on a quest.”
Now she met his gaze, and at the sight of the moisture pooling in her eyes, the ice began to spread into his chest, cold and heavy. “And did she tell you what it was?”
“To slay the demon tusk—”
“No. Oh, Kavik. No.” She shook her head, drew a shuddering breath. “She’s here to tame the beast of Blackmoor.”
There was nothing inside him. Nothing for a long, endless beat. Then a single word, and though it screamed within him, it emerged so quietly. “No.”
/> “It is truth.” With arms folded around her middle, Selaq seemed to squeeze herself tight. “Osof was in the citadel’s great hall when she arrived. Barin gave to her a collar and leash. She is to bring you back to him.”
Osof. The warlord’s marshal, who’d once served under Kavik’s father. He was one of the few good men remaining in the citadel, and one of the few men whose word could be trusted. Anyone else might have twisted the story and spread a lie. But not Osof.
And so Kavik was to be tamed.
Tamed.
Pain ripped through his heart—the goddess, twisting her dagger. As forceful as a dream, sudden memories crowded his mind. The choking collar on his neck. The soldiers behind. His bleeding knees. Barin’s laughter and his father’s unseeing stare.
And Vela would put him there again? Mala would?
Temra’s fist, he could not bear it.
Selaq made a small distressed sound. She stared at him, with eyes wide and fingers twisting. “Kavik?”
Afraid. Of him. As if she could see his rage and agony and knew he was at the edge of warrior’s madness, though no revenant or blade had bitten into his skin.
But he would control this. If not the anger, then at least his flesh. “Go,” he said roughly. “I’ll be out.”
She edged to the door. “Are you staying?”
“I’ll buy a supper.”
“I can give—”
“Don’t.”
She fled. Jaw clenched, Kavik stared after her, wishing that Delan would come back for a piss now. He’d pound the man into a bloodied pulp. And the soldiers who would ride him? His blade would taste their flesh, and he would roast their tongues before they ever joked of whips and collars again.
But, no. That wasn’t who he wished to see. He wanted Mala. Vela’s Chosen. He would hear it from her own mouth. He would see the truth confirmed by her eyes.
She thought to tame him? Better to die first.
And he would never be on his knees again.