by Kat Ross
“I thought she’d shake her fist at us,” Nashka said dryly, leaning on the rail. “Shout some villainous curses and vow revenge.”
Kasia didn’t laugh. “Without us, she’s got nothing. But I don’t think we’ve seen the last of that woman.” She turned to Spassov. “Thank you. I have no idea why you’re here, but I’d be in the trunk of a car heading for the Arx if you weren’t.”
“I promised Alexei I’d keep an eye on you.” Spassov rubbed his scalp. “I hear whispers, da? Your name in connection with some serious trouble. I wanted to warn you, but I lost you in the crowds so I followed Sor Foy instead.”
They all looked at Tessaria, who stood in the pilothouse vigorously negotiating with the captain.
“We never noticed a car behind,” Natalya said with a frown.
“Because I’m good. Anyway, there is nothing left for me in Novo. But I think you need a bodyguard, da? Who was that fellow back at Ash Court?”
Kasia shot Natalya a quelling look. “You know Saviors’ Eve,” she said lightly. “All the freaks crawl out of the woodwork.”
Spassov cast her a shrewd look. “Hmmm. If I hadn’t been following, I would have stopped to teach him a lesson.”
Natalya flashed her thousand-watt smile. “Well, I’m glad you’re here, Father. It makes it a proper adventure to have a mysterious priest from the Interfectorem in our party.”
Spassov flushed. “I hope Sor Foy comes to see it that way.”
“I’m sure she will. Now, what did you hear on the dock?”
He gazed at her blandly. “Only the bit about Domina Novak being a sorceress and conspiring to kill the Pontifex. Of course it was all lies.”
“Vile lies,” Natalya agreed.
His chin jerked to Tessaria. “Does she really have a letter from the new Pontifex?”
“Yes.”
He nodded slowly. “Then in helping you, I’ve kept my vows to serve the Via Sancta. Maybe the Reverend Mother Clavis will allow me to stay at the Arx in Nantwich. Alyosha said war is coming—” Spassov cut off.
“You saw him?” Kasia asked.
Patryk looked around and lowered his voice. “He came to say goodbye. I’m pretty sure he got out of the city safely. I would have heard otherwise.”
Kasia wanted to ask him more questions, but not in front of Tess, who walked back with a look of contentment. “I’ve just negotiated a cabin for you two. Fra Spassov, you will sleep on the deck. It’s only a five-day journey to Nantwich, I’m sure you can make do.”
He shrugged. “I’ve slept rougher.”
“The captain generously offered me his cabin.” Her gaze speared the two younger women. “Come along, I’ll show you your quarters.”
Spassov lit a cigarette and rested his forearms on the rail as they followed Tessaria to a hatch, down a steep flight of metal stairs and along a narrow corridor that smelled of iron and wood smoke. The cabin was small and spare, with two bunks on either side of a round window that had a bench between, its legs bolted to the floor. Natalya started poking around, opening the built-in cupboards and drawers.
Kasia turned to Tess. “Have you ever heard the phrase Caput corvi?” she asked in a low voice.
Tess stiffened. “It means the head of the raven—more precisely, decapitation. In alchemy, it is the first step of the nigredo. Putrefaction of the soul to its darkest essence.” Her voice grew sharp. “Where did you hear that?”
“Hey, look what I found!”
Natalya brandished a bottle of rum with a happy expression. Tess smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Settle in, darlings. I’ll see about some supper.”
* * *
Later, after Natalya fell asleep, Kasia went up to the deck and found a quiet place to sit. The lights of Novostopol were long gone. Not a glimmer could be seen along the entire southern coast. A thousand kilometers of Black Zone stretched between Novo and Kvengard. She closed her eyes, enjoying the fresh breeze and salt spray flung up across the bow.
She’d been waiting for something to happen that tipped the scales one way or another. Normally, Kasia wasn’t the passive type, but the cards had been so muddled she knew certain threads had to untangle themselves first. If the guard had never regained consciousness, she might have explained away the Six of Storms. If Malach had not escaped, the wrath of the Curia would be focused on him rather than Kasia. If Spassov had not decided to follow them, Bishop Karolo would be interrogating her in some dank cell right now.
Yet all of those pieces had slid into place, forcing her path. She hadn’t expected Natalya to be dragged along, but that was fated, too. Whatever channel she had discovered to the ley, Nashka was a part of it.
“I hope you’re not feeling ill, darling.” Tessaria sank gracefully to the deck next to her. “You’ve never been aboard ship before. It takes some getting used to.”
“I don’t mind the motion. It is a bit peculiar, but mainly I disliked the stuffiness of the cabin. The windows don’t open.”
“Portholes,” Tess said absently. “Well, you’ll get a reprieve tomorrow night. The captain refuses to sail straight to Nantwich. He has cargo for the Arx in Kvengard and insists he won’t bow to one Pontifex just to aggravate another. It won’t be a long stop, just a day or so. We need supplies anyway.”
Kasia wiggled her toes. Both she and Natalya had lost their shoes in the fray. “Clean clothes would be nice. Do you plan to requisition those, too?”
A faint smile. “I have money. Better not to wave that letter around too often. People will remember seeing it.”
Kasia glanced down the deck at a large snoring form curled up near the bridge. “What about Fra Spassov?”
“I find his presence highly suspicious and painfully awkward.”
“I think he means well.”
“What do you know about him?”
“Very little,” Kasia admitted. “He’s Alexei’s partner at the Interfectorem. He came to our flat once when they first tracked me down. I didn’t see him again until we came to the Arx.”
“About that.” Tessaria’s dark eyes held her. “You lied when you claimed you never saw Feizah. Let’s have the truth.”
“Fine.” She rubbed her arms. It was getting chilly. “I did manage to get inside the palace. But I never spoke to her.”
Tessaria sighed. “Give them to me,” she said, extending a gloved hand.
“Give you what?”
“The cards.”
“I don’t have them.”
“Of course you do. You carry them everywhere and they allow you to use the ley. Don’t attempt to prevaricate. It’s far too late for that.” She leaned closer. “You Turned Ferran Massot.”
Kasia shook her head. “No—”
“He touched you with his gloves off and you were rightfully furious. You didn’t mean to do it. You didn’t even realize you had, perhaps not until much later, but it’s the only thing that makes sense. He Turned at that moment and you were alone together.”
Kasia was stunned to silence. Not at the accusation—she’d suspected the same herself—but at Tessaria’s shrewdness.
“I think you’ve always had the ability and it was only a matter of time before it manifested openly. The ley got you inside the Pontifex’s Palace and past those hapless guards. What happened next?”
Tessaria’s sharp eyes demanded answers. But it wasn’t just a contest of wills. Kasia loved and trusted her guardian. Perhaps there was a way to tell part of the truth and keep her promise to Alexei.
“Okay, yes. I did get inside the Reverend Mother’s bedchamber. I told her everything. She believed me. She was going to help Fra Bryce.” Kasia met her gaze steadily. “I swear, I’m not lying now, though it sounds mad—”
“Lezarius,” Feizah whispered. “Was it?”
“You know?”
“I guessed. You think I didn’t read those letters, too?”
“I didn’t—”
“Of course you did. He’s gone now, I suppose.”
Kasia n
odded, still struggling to accept that none of her secrets were in fact secret at all.
“I must send a message to Dmitry the moment we reach Kvengard. He wondered, but he wasn’t certain.”
So now Falke was Dmitry? Kasia resisted the urge to lift an eyebrow. “Lezarius only killed Feizah because he believed she sent assassins for him. Do you know anything about that?”
Tessaria stared at her for a long minute. “Let’s move on. Those men back at Ash Court. Did they speak to you? Is that where you heard the phrase—” Tess paused and looked around, her voice a bare whisper. “Caput corvi?”
Other than the slumbering Spassov and a few sailors inside the bridge, they were alone on deck, but Kasia dropped her voice to match. “I tried to tell you, they weren’t just revelers. They were after me, personally.”
“I assumed as much, but it’s better Natalya doesn’t know all of it yet, darling. Now, what happened?”
Kasia recalled every detail of the encounter with perfect clarity. “One said, ‘The Black Sun rises again. We bathe in its radiance.’”
“Saints.”
“What does it mean?”
“The Black Sun of Bal Agnar. Followers of Balaur.”
“Isn’t he dead?”
“Yes, but there are still some who worship him like a god. What else?”
“Then he said, ‘Caput corvi. The dragon consumes itself, dying to rise again. One must be at home in the darkness of suffering, Kasia.’”
Tessaria’s hand grasped hers, too tight. There was a hint of fear in her eyes—the first time Kasia had ever seen her patron afraid of anyone or anything.
“I asked, ‘How do you know my name?’ And he said, ‘Our master wants to meet you. The suffering will be greater if you resist.’ I asked who his master was, and he said, ‘He is the devouring black fire.’”
“Another reference to alchemy,” Tessaria said softly, her gaze distant and troubled. “Perhaps it is well that we have Fra Spassov with us after all. He might prove useful. The Order of the Black Sun is not spoken of in polite circles, but it exists and not only in Novostopol. There are members in every city, in positions both high and low. We do our best to root them out, but they hide well, often in plain sight.”
Kasia let out a slow breath. “I had no idea. Is that what Kireyev was using me for?”
“Partly, yes.”
“Were any of my clients . . . .?”
“No.” Tess squeezed her hand and let go. “Not that we know of.”
Kasia shifted as Feizah’s words echoed in her thoughts. She’d dismissed them at the time, but now they took on an ominous portent.
I don’t know who you really are, girl, but I intend to find out.
“Why does the Order of the Black Sun want me, Auntie?”
“They must be aware of what you can do.” Tessaria looked away. “Sister Chernov was found with her throat slit this morning. I didn’t want to upset you so I didn’t tell you before. But someone got to her. The body showed signs of torture.”
Sister Chernov was the vestal who’d shown Kasia to her chamber at the Castel Saint Agathe. “The poor woman,” she murmured.
“It’s not your fault, darling. But I fear we got out of the city just in time. And we must be very careful until we reach the Arx in Nantwich. Even then. When we stop, false names would be prudent.”
“Will you teach me to throw knives?”
An amused smile played across her face. “I’d be delighted. Now, I haven’t forgotten that cartomancy deck in your pocket. How many cards are there? Seventy-eight? That’s the equivalent of seventy-eight Marks capable of wreaking untold havoc. It’s like a toddler with a machine gun!”
Kasia frowned. “What’s a machine gun?”
“Never mind. I won’t have it! Give me the deck for safekeeping.”
Kasia looked her square in the eye. “No.”
The tension stretched near to breaking. Then Tessaria laughed softly. “I knew you’d refuse. You’re pigheaded and rash. But also brave and occasionally noble. I suppose you must learn to control this power before it devours us all. I only ask that you wait until we’re on dry land to experiment.”
“Agreed,” Kasia said immediately.
“Well, then.” Tessaria drew her hands into the sleeves of the cassock.“It’s getting a bit cold, eh? Should we cover that oaf with a blanket?”
“I’ll fetch one from my cabin.”
“Good girl.” She eyed Spassov’s sleeping form. “It might come in handy to have him around. He dispatched Maria’s thugs rather neatly.”
“So did you. Where did you learn to fight like that?”
Tessaria stared out to sea. “I ran some of the Curia’s underground intelligence networks for Archbishop Kireyev during the war.”
“In Novo?”
She shook her head. “Bal Agnar.”
“Saints! I had no idea you were there.”
“It was a long time ago.” She sighed. “And not a time I think of often. We did good work, but not all of us came back. Not even most of us.” Her smiled looked forced. “My skills are decidedly rusty, but not gone entirely it seems. Goodnight, darling.”
Kasia kissed her velvety cheek. “I’ll come along and get that blanket.”
Five minutes later, she was tucking it around Patryk Spassov’s broad shoulders. He never stirred and she suspected he’d done some damage to the bottle she saw him nipping at when he thought no one was looking.
She stood for a minute longer at the rail. If she possessed a latent ability to touch the ley, did other Unmarked have it, too? Had she stumbled over something huge? If there were ways to use the ley besides Marks, it would change everything. The Curia would no longer hold a monopoly over the power, and Kasia doubted they’d take kindly to that fact.
The problem—one she would never admit to Tessaria—was that she had little control over her newfound abilities. She’d spent the last two days trying and most of the time when she drew a card, nothing happened. The harder she consciously tried to make the ley do what she wanted, the more it resisted. It was pure luck her gambit with the masked men had worked, and she and Natalya had nearly been crushed by the falling fire escape, too.
Tessaria was right. Best not to meddle while they were on board the Moonbeam. The captain didn’t trust them and a mistake could prove disastrous. When they reached Kvengard, she would try again.
She tugged off her gloves. It was a moonless night, but the skies had cleared and a scattering of stars cast a faint illumination, augmented by the ship’s running lights.
Just one card. For a quick weathervane reading only.
She reached blindly into her pocket. Two came out, stuck together.
The Martyr and the Knight of Storms.
The origins of the Martyr dated back to the war. It was what the nihilim did to clergy who resisted the new order. They would be strung up by one ankle in a public square, their hands cut off so they couldn’t touch the ley, and left to bleed to death. The Tomb of the Martyrs at the Arx was a monument to their suffering and sacrifice.
The card she’d drawn was reversed, so the figure appeared to be standing upright on one leg, the other bent at an angle. Instead of being severed, his hands were clasped in prayer, a halo surrounding his wild white hair.
Lezarius had found solid ground again, yet the background troubled her. That, too, had changed. A city lay on the far horizon, lightning forking down to strike a jagged tower. Although it was only a vague outline, something about the place was deeply unsettling.
The next card was worse. The Knight of Storms was one of just three cards with a figure whose face was angled to show only one eye (the others were all Jacks). It meant an individual who concealed a hidden side, potentially someone dangerous. The Knight of Storms was an archetype so driven by his own obsessions that he was blind to the consequences of his actions. A powerful figure who needed to balance his fiery ambition with compassion and responsibility.
In Natalya’s deck, the Knight lea
ned forward on a white charger, sword raised as he galloped into the teeth of a gale. The horse symbolized intellectual purity, but red light gleamed along the edge of the blade. Trees bent and swayed in the stormy darkness around him. His helm was open, his face turned at three quarters. The visible eye was electric blue. It seemed to be staring directly at her.
Kasia shuddered and flung the two cards over the rail. The wind took them, buffeting them this way and that until they finally alit on the choppy surface and were swallowed by the sea. She rubbed her arms, suddenly in dire need of Natalya’s laughter.
“The Saints shelter you both,” she muttered, turning from the rail and heading back to the warmth and light below.
Chapter Forty
Smoke trailed from a small fire, over which a copper kettle steamed merrily. They camped at the edge of a lake in a clearing carpeted with fragrant pine needles. Lezarius had chosen the spot because of the stela that stood there. The motto carved beneath the Raven proclaimed, “Libertas perfundet omnia luce.” Freedom will flood all things with light.
He dangled a bit of string over the little cat. It growled and leapt, swiping with needle-tipped paws. Across from him, Mikhail ate black bread and soft yellow cheese packaged in waxy red rounds. They had broken into a market on the way out of Novostopol. The knight carried the largest duffel bag, but Lezarius managed his own blanket roll and a small rucksack. Now he tore the wrapping from a package of Keefs and stretched his bare feet toward the fire.
“Take the cat,” Lezarius said. “I want to have a smoke.”
Mikhail held out a hand, tucked the kitten into his shirt, and returned to his meal. He ate with quiet, methodical intensity, as if it were a task he was determined to complete.
Lezarius lit one of the Keefs with a twig from the fire. The brand was unfamiliar, but he liked the logo, a spiky seven-pointed leaf, so he’d taken several cartons from the store. The cigarettes tasted funny, both sweeter and harsher on the throat than the ones he bummed from staff at the Institute, but they had a pleasant calming effect.