by Mark Henwick
Nick detoured through the kitchen area and emerged with an icy six-pack of Fat Tire beer and a beige folder. He dropped them onto the coffee table and sat on the sofa.
I sat opposite him.
“Thanks for protecting Olivia,” I said. “And thanks again for finding Bow Creek.”
He nodded and offered us the beers. No glasses, of course. I twisted the cap off and took a swallow while I watched him and Bian try to outstare each other.
His long black hair was held back with a leather tie. That made his bronzed, sculptured cheeks look even more prominent. His marque was as unrevealing as his brown eyes. It felt a little different somehow. Between the apartment’s cleaning products and the building’s background scent of Matlal, I couldn’t get a good fix on it. I shifted uneasily.
“About finding Bow Creek…” Bian left it hanging.
He snorted. “Insider information, of course.”
“How?”
“In good time.” He pulled a list out of the beige folder. “This is the list of names and faces that Correia handed over, which you passed on to me at the first briefing when we set up the hunt for the remainder of Matlal.”
Bian glanced at it and nodded.
“Everyone on it is accounted for.” He ran his finger down the list. “These are all dead, except for the six highlighted, who took flights out of the country immediately after Matlal’s attempted coup failed at the Assembly. That includes Vega Martine, who traveled to Panama under a false name. She used a private jet from Centennial. In typical Basilikos fashion, Correia didn’t bother to list the toru when she gave it to us, but I believe they were all at Bow Creek.”
“Fine,” Bian said. “The contract is concluded. Your fee will be paid as agreed. ”
“Hmm. There’s one more.”
“Your informant?”
He nodded.
When Nick had first approached me, he’d said that informant was requesting asylum in House Farrell. I was dreading Bian’s reaction.
“What does he want?” Bian said. “Safe passage?”
“That’d be kinda dumb. They couldn’t hide in any Panethus domain, and Basilikos would have a price on their head.”
“Oh, crap,” Bian said. “Stop right there.”
She pulled her laptop out and fetched a breakfast bar stool while it woke up. Then she perched it on the stool and checked that the webcam got all of us.
Damn. My meeting with Naryn was about to start with a videoconference on the subject I felt most unsure about—a Matlal renegade asking for asylum from House Farrell.
The laptop screen cleared and showed us Naryn. He was seated at a desk, wearing a headset. It looked as if he was working a couple of other computer systems at the same time.
He didn’t look any more pissed than usual, but all we got was a nod of acknowledgment; most of his attention seemed to be focused elsewhere. Bian spoke to him briefly in Athanate before turning back to Nick.
“Okay. So for the record, you have performed according to the contract we set up, and exceeded it in the assistance you provided to House Farrell at Coykuti. Formally, thank you for that. You also found one of the Matlal willing to tell you where the others were, including Bow Creek. Now, what does he want in exchange?”
Bian still hadn’t picked up on who it was.
“Asylum,” Nick replied, and Bian nodded. That was what she’d been expecting. That was why she’d wanted Naryn linked in.
“With House Farrell,” he finished.
It was the first time I’d seen Bian at a complete loss for words.
Naryn wasn’t. “Asylum’s not hers to give,” he said. “This is Altau’s mantle.”
“I understand there is a way,” Nick said. He looked calmer than he was underneath. Of course, he knew he wasn’t fooling Bian and me; we could measure his heart rate.
“Sanctuary,” Bian said, frowning.
“Sanctuary?” Naryn snapped. “That custom predates the Assembly.”
Bian cleared her throat. “Well, I can’t see there being any more meetings of the Assembly for a while. Maybe that puts us back to the old customs.”
Naryn grunted. “Killing unwelcome visitors is an old custom too.” But he didn’t seem to turn it down outright.
“Could someone please explain to me what providing sanctuary means for an Athanate House?” I asked.
“It’s the same basic structure that Skylur described when he allowed you leeway over having the colonel and his wife as part of your House without them needing to be kin,” Bian said. “You remain entirely responsible to Skylur for all the actions of your House.”
“So I take on someone Basilikos in a Panethus House…”
“You become responsible for them acting entirely as if they were Panethus. Or face the consequences.”
“Great.”
Yeah. I couldn’t even be sure I wouldn’t start behaving like Basilikos or turning rogue. If I took this on, I’d have someone else to look out for as well.
Nick took a sip of his beer. “I’m prepared to waive all my costs.”
“Why?” Naryn beat Bian to it.
Nick shrugged. “Personal beliefs.”
He’d talked to me about this kind of thing before. He’d been interested that I’d found a solution that scared the Confederation out of Denver without killing any more of them than we had to. He wanted to know why I’d done it and whether I’d do it again.
I guess I’d attracted this problem to myself.
But this attitude fit him; I believed him, I trusted him. He seemed to trust me. Maybe there was a way through this.
I noticed Bian and Naryn didn’t argue his waiving of his fees. But would it influence their decision?
“So…where is this Matlal who’s asking for asylum?” Bian said.
“Close by. Waiting for the all-clear.”
Naryn stopped what he was doing on the side and turned to look right into the webcam. “Secured?”
“Not going anywhere, Diakon. But also not going to be handed over to be killed. I’m waiting for assurances.”
Standoff.
I sat uncomfortably on the fence here. Kill them all had been my knee-jerk reaction after Bow Creek. But what would I have done if one of them had surrendered to me? What if that person wasn’t part of what was happening at Bow Creek? Or they’d been compelled?
“Who is it?” Naryn said.
Nick flipped open the beige folder on the table. Inside was one of the flash cards that Bian had printed up for Nick and Verano to use in door-to-door searches.
I already knew it was the silver-haired woman. The one I’d fought in Cheesman Park when Larry had been captured. She’d been beating me until I was rescued by the arrival of the FBI.
It was news to the others.
“Oh, shit,” Bian said, and grabbed her laptop. She started clicking and the screen split between a scowling Naryn and a database application. “Sex?”
“Female.” Nick frowned in puzzlement.
Bian glared at him, while her fingers continued to click and type. “I got that, idiot. I probably have her bra size and favorite food in my files. I’m asking if you’ve had sex with her.”
“That’s not relevant,” Nick said. It was the first time I’d seen him knocked off his stride.
“I’ll take that as yes, then. And it’s very relevant, because if she’s screwed with your head, that’s when she did it.”
Alice Emerson, the Adept that served House Altau, had warned me about that. ‘Aural sex,’ she had joked; sex with eukori.
“I am not under a compulsion,” Nick said. “She didn’t try anything like that.”
“You say.” Bian stopped hammering away at her laptop. “We’re talking about Yelena Belyevolosova?”
On the laptop screen, Naryn frowned even more and leaned in toward the webcam. “Russian? Belyevolosova? Is that a real name? Yelena White-hair? How did that not raise an alert?”
Bian queried her computer again. “Files say she’s a transfer f
rom a Russian Basilikos House, Volkov. Before that, Chazov in Kursk.” She snorted without humor. “Who did she piss off?”
Then she went still and clicked away for a couple more seconds, looking more and more unhappy at what she found in her intelligence files. “These entries were approved, but there’s no certification. What the hell? Where is this information from?”
Basilikos Houses transferred members occasionally as a sign of good faith. I remembered Matlal had wanted me to be transferred to his House in Mexico when he first met me at the McIntire-Harriman charity ball. It made my skin crawl to remember. I felt the first shiver of sympathy for this woman, Yelena.
“Shit,” Bian said, reaching some deep level of detail in her data. “Marlon.”
Marlon Pruitt, her second-in-command, who’d sold out, or been duped and then compelled by Matlal’s Diakon, Vega Martine. Everything he’d done in the last few days before the Assembly was suspect.
“Shit,” she said again. “We can’t assume we know anything about her.”
“What can we deduce?” Naryn said. “Why has this woman named you, House Farrell?”
“I don’t know. I guess it’s because of Larry.” Naryn might not have been completely up to date, so I went on. “Before the Assembly, I found one of Matlal’s Athanate was House Romero, working under compulsion. I was trying to get him out, but it went wrong. He died. I guess making the attempt might show I’m open to alternatives.”
“I’m aware of that situation.” Naryn sat back. “One more thing we need to discuss.”
Crap. I thought that had been accepted.
“Assuming she’s from Russia and she was transferred into Matlal...” Bian and Naryn started to dissect what that might indicate about her intentions and reliability.
I sat back and thought about the tiny amount I knew about her. She was better than me at fighting. If Agent Ingram hadn’t come along that night at Cheesman, I’d have been caught. That made her both a danger and an opportunity.
She’d given us the information about Bow Creek, if you looked at it one way. Or she’d sold out her companions, looked at another. Difficult weighing that.
“There’s one other thing,” Nick interrupted. “You’ve kinda assumed I was the one responsible for killing the last two Matlal in Denver while you were out at the ranch. That’s not what happened. Those two were from the elite squad, coming here to kill her. They found me instead and they were damn good. She saved me.”
Bian and Naryn took that on board and went back to their quickfire discussion in Athanate.
I stood up, restless.
Put myself in her position.
You’re not supposed to do that. It messes with your objective assessment of the situation.
There’s nothing objective about killing someone who’s trying to surrender. That’s what Naryn and Bian are talking about.
What should I do? I owed Nick. He owed her, and he’d made some kind of commitment to her. Why should I pick up that commitment?
Because Nick is Pack. Well, sort of. We hadn’t discussed it; it just felt right.
Because if I’m co-alpha of the pack, his commitments are mine. Yeah, if.
Because I owe Nick for what he did at Coykuti. And the pair of them, him and this renegade, put their trust in me.
Damn it! I had enough going wrong.
I could feel the decision in my gut: I couldn’t let Naryn hunt her down, or order me to do it. I had to take this on and forestall any decision by them.
As for where she was…
What would I do? Where would I be?
I knew. And it was time to get off the pot.
I walked to the French windows that led to the narrow balcony. The windows that had been left open a crack to let the fresh air in. I opened them all the way.
There was a sudden silence behind me as Bian and Nick looked around at what I was doing.
“Providing you had nothing to do with killing Larry or what went on at Bow Creek, I accept your request for sanctuary, Yelena,” I spoke to the uninterested railroad tracks below. “Might as well come in now and swear. But I warn you, if you were part of either of those, I’ll hunt you down and kill you.”
I stepped back inside, turned and waited, my back to the cold air wafting in from outside. And any weapon that came through those windows.
Nothing like making a grand gesture.
Bian’s katana was out and she’d risen to her feet. Nick remained seated, tension in every muscle.
A faint sound confirmed my guess had been correct. A whisper of cloth against brick as she slid down from the roof and onto the balcony, moving slowly and tensely, cat-cautious.
I could feel her, unfolding like some dark, poisonous orchid behind me. The brassy scent of Matlal and…something followed her in. The hairs on my neck stood up. I refused to turn around.
Naryn was asking what the hell was happening. Bian swung the laptop around until the webcam pointed at us.
When the woman spoke, her voice was quiet, controlled, with a slight Slavic accent.
“Your data is compromised. My name is not Belyevolosova. No more lies and disguises,” she said. She sank down on one knee beside me, took my hand and bowed her head over it. “I am Yelena Vylkove. On my Blood, I had no part in the death of Larry Dixon and I was never at Bow Creek. I never used the children. I so swear, and I request sanctuary from House Farrell.”
She spoke the truth. I knew it somehow.
Or she was a sociopath, able to lie undetectably like Noble.
Bian placed her katana deliberately on the chair. Her laptop keyboard started to rattle as her fingers raced across it. In his corner of the screen, I could see Naryn turn to his systems to hunt for information on the new name they’d been given.
I felt tension ratchet up in Yelena. Nick caught it, coming to his feet.
“We have to exchange oaths.” Yelena pressed her forehead against my hand and spoke quietly a short version of the oath I’d given Skylur at the Assembly. “I petition the protection of House Farrell. I offer my Blood, life, loyalty and obedience to the House. I will honor the obligations and responsibilities of the House. I submit to the absolute rule of the House.”
Yesss.
My Athanate was way ahead of the rest of me.
I remembered Skylur’s closing sentences of his oath at the Assembly like they’d been carved on my heart. “Faith for faith. Blood for Blood. Life for life. I grant the rights and privileges within my gift.”
“My Blood is yours,” Yelena whispered. She sounded shocked.
“It is done,” I finished.
I took my hand away before she could kiss it or anything like that. She rose silently to stand behind me.
I had a moment to wonder what I’d done before Bian won the race for digital information.
“Oh, shit,” she said again, her voice barely a whisper as she grabbed her katana and swung it to face us.
Chapter 9
“What?” I asked.
The bright blade of the katana had my attention, but from the corner of my eye, I could see Nick frown and shake his head. He didn’t know either. He was up on the balls of his feet now, but I didn’t know if he was fast enough to stop Bian, if she took it into her head to attack.
Yelena knew why. I could feel it, but I didn’t want to turn my head with that katana pointed at us.
“Step away, Amber.” Bian’s voice was strained and she had to clear her throat. “The new name she’s given isn’t Russian. It’s Ukrainian. A small town in the delta of the Danube river, on the Black Sea.”
My geography wasn’t that good, but the mention of the area triggered it; Diana’s briefing about the Athanate groups that weren’t aligned with Panethus and Basilikos. The western reaches of the Black Sea were part of the oldest of the Athanate Domains, the deadliest, the most secretive: the Domain of Carpathia.
Shit.
Yelena was not what she appeared to be. There was only one reason I could think of that she’d have been prete
nding to be Basilikos.
I’d just given the sanctuary of my House to a Carpathian spy.
But then why tell us her real name and reveal that?
Bian wasn’t waiting for her to clear that up. Her eyes had gone serpent-sharp and fixed.
I couldn’t fight Bian, but I couldn’t put my oath aside either. Blood for Blood: it wound its way through my veins like razor wire. Yelena was my House. Without thinking, I edged in front of her.
“Bian! Wait!” Naryn shouted from the little laptop speakers, following his order with a volley of Athanate.
The whole world seemed to hold its breath. Then Bian’s blade tilted up gracefully. Not all the way. Just enough.
A little air made its way down into my lungs.
“Vylkove,” Naryn said. He spoke a short question in Athanate.
I held up one hand. Yelena remained silent. Good, because that told me she was obeying me. Bad, maybe, because Naryn wouldn’t like his authority challenged.
“I need to understand what’s being said.”
“He asks if I am syndesmon,” Yelena said. “Sorry, there is no word for this, not even in your Athanate. Only in old Carpathian dialect. It means things like envoy and liaison.” She huffed in frustration, her accent getting a little thicker. “Like ambassador, but responsible to both sides.”
“As in Carpathia and Panethus together? I guess this would be a good thing?”
I wasn’t watching Naryn. He wasn’t the one standing in front of me with a katana in his hand.
Bian nodded, a tiny bob of her head. The tip of the katana floated up a few more inches.
“And are you this syndesmon thing?” I risked turning my head to look at Yelena.
“No. The last one was over five hundred years ago.”
“So what are you?”
“House Farrell,” she said without hesitation.
I frowned. I’d only given sanctuary, hadn’t I?
Bian saw my puzzlement and her laugh was chopped off and humorless.
“She’s right,” she said. “She petitioned sanctuary, but the oath you used was for acceptance into your House. Congratulations, Round-eye.”
“Does that work?”
Bian nodded.
Damn. I couldn’t be trusted to tie my own shoelaces.