The Justice in Revenge

by Ryan Van Loan

  “I’m sure,” I heard myself say. My voice sounded strangled. The lies end tonight. I’d been thinking of Eld when I said that, but I’d been wrong. I hadn’t been lying to him. I’d been lying to myself.

  All along.

  35

  “Like what you see?”

  Ulfren tried not to jump at Sicarii’s voice over his shoulder. Partially because a Veneficus should never show fear. Partially because this high up, at the top of Baol’s cathedral, the fall would kill even one such as himself. He tightened his grip on the telescope attached to the rotating gearwork turntable while lifting his other hand in greeting. He almost sighed with relief to see his hand wasn’t shaking. As he slowly turned around, he shifted his hands to the edge of the balcony—at this height the winds of winter didn’t slap so much as grasp and pull, as if they wanted to carry you away to the north. He knew the wind’s promise was a lie. Winter held only death and decay in its grasp, and while he could appreciate and respect those, he had no wish to taste them for himself.

  “The Sin Eaters grow more brazen by the day,” he growled, nodding toward the telescope. You, creature, I would enjoy tasting your death. Burned copper and bright spice on my tongue as I lap up your lifeblood. “It started with carrying words to loved ones in other countries. Now they’ve begun offering their new healing magic—for free—to dockworkers, as a way to ingratiate themselves with the commoners as well as the Company.” He couldn’t keep from smiling, still imagining Sicarii’s death.

  “You’d choke to death if you tried,” Sicarii said from the shadows of the cupola’s arched dome. Her eye gleamed in the darkness. “I’m too large a bite for you, Veneficus.”

  “Are you a mind witch now?”

  “If I were, I’d be on the docks, wouldn’t I?” Sicarii’s hoarse laugh made Ulfren long for the vial at his fingertips. “Or I’d be stalking your Eldest as she stalks Buc’s little informant.”

  “What?” Ulfren straightened, all thoughts of murdering Sicarii banished by her words. “How do you know what the Eldest is doing?”

  “I know everything that passes through Servenza’s canals and alleys. And her cathedrals, too.”

  Ulfren glanced at the white, cement blocks at his feet, the cathedral beneath them. “Spy,” he hissed.

  “I feel like I’m not being heard.” Sicarii’s voice was like a knife against a whetstone.

  “I hear you,” Ulfren said, looking up and unable to stop the squeak in his throat. Sicarii was a mere arm’s length away, burning iris glaring at him, a blade seemingly sprouting from behind her shoulder, clutched in a gearwork arm and fist. Sicarii looked like a three-tentacled octopus and he was glad all he did was make the noise and not send forth a full-throated scream.

  “Then why aren’t you running off to save your Eldest? I just told you, if I were a Sin Eater I’d be stalking her, waiting for the right moment to ambush her.” Sicarii shook her head, wide-brimmed hat swaying. “The Sin Eaters are going to attack her, sooner or late. Were I a betting woman, I’d have coin on today, given her right hand is up here playing around with gears.”

  “They’d never dare,” Ulfren said, unease worming through him. “The Doga is a believer—she’d never allow the murder of the high priestess.”

  “The Doga’s hands are quite full at the moment,” Sicarii said. “A word in the Empress’s ear and she’ll be lucky to keep her crown. Assassination attempts, gang wars, soon to be riots…” She ticked them off on gloved fingers.

  “Were we to murder Sin Eaters, though, she’d take notice,” he muttered. The Doga continued to come to services, but not as many as she once had. Same as the rest of our parishioners. He’d always known some came primarily for the power the Dead Gods offered, not belief; he’d just never imagined it was so many. The Doga was, in any case, compromised: she was one of the oldest stockholders in the Kanados Trading Company and that lot stank of mind magic from sharing the same bed for so long with Ciris’s ilk.

  “You deserve better,” Sicarii said.

  “What if,” Ulfren asked slowly, almost afraid to give voice to his thoughts, the words burning his throat, “the Doga was assassinated? We’d have no reason to hesitate in destroying both the Company and the Sin Eaters.”

  “There’d be a need for a new ruler of Servenza.” Sicarii’s voice was taut enough to cut the air.

  “You keep urging us to action,” Ulfren reminded her. “Remove the Doga and there’d be no need to stay in the shadows.”

  “Coming into the light, you can become blinded,” Sicarii whispered. “Then you don’t see the blades until it’s too late.”

  “Like our Grace?”

  Sicarii said nothing for several long breaths. Then the gearwork arm hanging over her shoulder slid back and disappeared into her cloak with a soft, whirring hiss.

  “All manner of things are possible.” Sicarii’s voice rattled as she laughed and Ulfren surprised himself by laughing with her. Sweat had soaked his robe through, but he felt invigorated, energized. The Eldest always cautioned patience, reminding him that they had existed for millennia whilst the Sin Eaters were barely a few centuries old, but Ulfren saw how they multiplied. A few months more of their encroachment, let alone years, and this war would be lost. They needed to strike. Now. Hard.

  Sicarii’s harsh laughter cut off abruptly. “Attack the Sin Eaters and their pet girl, and I’ll give you what you desire, Ulfren.” She cleared her throat. “I could end it all tomorrow, but that wouldn’t work out the way either of us wants it to.”

  “I can wait,” he lied.

  “I’m not sure if you can,” she said, slipping back into the shadows. “But you’ll have to. For a little while longer.” She opened the trapdoor and disappeared down it, her voice echoing back before the door cut it off. “You’d better run if you want to save your priestess.”

  Snatching a vial from his belt, Ulfren bit back a curse as he swallowed its contents. The curse turned into a scream as his limbs twisted, cracked, and snapped, heeding the power of his Gods’ blood combined with that of a mountain sheep. Fiery torrents carved through his flesh and bone, reshaping him. His screams turned into grunts, then to deep, hoarse roars and suddenly he was on all fours though he stood head and shoulders taller than he had been a moment before. Servenza would be theirs, the world would be theirs as it was before the mind witch and her ilk came. His Eldest would see to that, but first she had to survive.

  Ulfren launched himself over the railing, all fear of falling gone. His hooves struck sparks from the side of the cathedral, his sure-footed pads finding the cracks in the seams of the masonry. At full gallop, wind whistled through his mane, sending locks ringing against the curled steel horns that now jutted from his head. He was with his Gods and they were with him. I’m coming, Eldest. He had no choice.

  Blood called to blood.

  36

  Eld hid a yawn behind his gloved fist, blinking to stay awake as he watched the palazzo the Sin Eaters were using as a second, hidden lair. He’d figured out that there was some concealed passage, perhaps through the walls, perhaps beneath them, that allowed them to enter their main headquarters undetected. Why, though? He understood the wisdom of having an escape route, but that was for emergencies, not daily use. He wasn’t even sure what he hoped to learn here, but he had to do something to keep his mind occupied while Buc was off doing whatever the Doga’s Secreto had asked of her. Without me.

  So much for not keeping secrets. He scowled at the thought, but it wouldn’t go away.

  The previous day he’d realized only the more senior Sin Eaters, ones he recognized from the Company, used this entrance. Did the younger ones not know of it, or were they not allowed to use it? A gust of wind carried the sound of a priestess preaching the good tidings of Ciris to Eld’s ears. Another reason for the back door? The Sin Eaters’ new magic healing had caused crowds to form outside their grand entrance. Dockworkers and rougher sorts who previously would never cross the canals of the Tip now rubbed elbows with
those wearing silk and fur; the crowds threatened to choke all traffic off completely. And what do the Dead Gods think of that?

  His jaw cracked in another yawn. He’d not slept at all the night of the Masquerade. Waiting for Buc to return from the Doga’s summons had meant dancing with any number of women. A few men had offered as well, disappointed when they discovered Eld didn’t share their tastes. He’d tried to beg off the women with less success. Lucrezia had been the most persistent, and he had to admit the woman danced well and felt pleasant in his arms. Too pleasant. There’d been a moment when, full of wine and song, he’d thought maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea if they left together. It wasn’t like he was promised to Buc—and anything he felt for her was one-sided.

  But I definitely felt something when she was against my chest. Eld had just begun to wonder if he’d misjudged everything when Buc had been pulled away by the Secreto captain. When she didn’t return, he’d cursed himself for a fool.

  Lucrezia didn’t make him feel foolish and she’d even stolen a kiss, but before Eld could make up his mind about what to do next, an impossibly tall woman in a dress slashed with crimson and orange and bloodred feathers so long they bordered on the truly ridiculous had jumped between them. She’d called Lucrezia a harlot and the two had left, screaming at each other. The way Lucrezia’s arm found its way around the other’s waist made him suspect they were going to do more than kiss and make up. He shifted against the alley wall, suddenly thankful the wind was cold and biting.

  “I’m tired of this game, Buc.” He whispered his words to the wind. Tired of the lies and feeling like he’d destroyed their friendship, first by feeling anything more for her and then by listening to Sin. But if Sin was to be believed, telling Buc the truth would drive her insane. He cut off his thoughts before they went round the well-worn circle in his brain. None of this was helping. If he didn’t help Buc, she’d be on a ship for the north or, worse, kicked out of the Trading Company entirely. Eld shivered, thinking that perhaps that wouldn’t be so terrible after all. Things can’t go on as they have been.

  Detaching himself from the wall, Eld slipped back into the shadows and made for the canal where he’d left Joffers. He turned the corner, pulling his midnight-blue coat tighter around him—

  The slashing blade got caught in the thick wool beneath the outer silk layer, but the force of the blow sent Eld sprawling anyway, his coat half-ripped from his body. He threw himself into a roll across the alleyway, breath driven from him in a grunt when he slammed into the opposite wall. He shoved himself to his feet, boots fighting for purchase on the polished cobblestones as the woman—braided hair flowing in the wind as she rushed toward him, twin curved daggers bright in her dark-gloved hands—attacked in a blur of steel.

  Eld managed to get his sword half-out, fending off the first dagger with the basket of his hilt. He stepped inside the second, overhand blow and smashed his head into the bridge of her nose, sending her reeling backward. Muscles working from rote memory and years of practice, he drew his blade the rest of the way without thought, his mind still back in the alley.

  The woman didn’t give him time to reminisce. Wiping blood from her broken nose with one hand, she twirled the blade in her other in impossibly fast circles, making the air hum, her mouth curved in a bloody smile. Once before, Eld had seen a woman who could make steel move that fast. Chan Sha. This wasn’t Chan Sha, but she was clearly a Sin Eater. The woman’s nose made an audible click as she pushed the cartilage back into place.

  “I’m going to eviscerate you for that,” she snarled as she leapt forward, twin blades whirring.

  “You’re going to try,” Eld gasped, parrying desperately, each deflection sending up sparks, shooting shock waves through his wrists and up his biceps. The only way to defeat a Sin Eater was to attack … and pray for luck. Unfortunately the woman wasn’t keen on giving him the chance. His sword grew heavy in his grip, the air became a scything blur of steel and her dark cloak, her eyes shifting so quickly that he couldn’t predict her next move.

  He tripped and fell backward, skidding one way across the cobblestones while his sword went another. His sword arm had gone numb from the wrist down and he half expected to see his hand gone with his sword, but it was blessedly intact—and useless from the blow. He could feel blood running down his other arm from where she’d nearly impaled him on her curved blade. As he pushed himself to his knees, she fell on him, locking his wounded arm between her thighs and wrenching his head back by his blond hair. He locked eyes with her, felt cold steel touch his throat, and realized he was about to die.

  “You’ve got one chance to live, Eldritch Nelson Rawlings,” she said evenly, as if they hadn’t just fought to the death. “Tell me what happened to the artifact and you live. Say anything else and I’ll leave you here for the girl to find, cut ear to ear.” She leaned forward, her black eyes merciless, dried blood cracking against her dusky skin, and whispered, “Her, I’m going to carve like a pigeon until she sings the tune I want to hear.”

  “No—”

  She cut him off, pressing the blade hard enough that he felt his skin part. “In one breath, tell me where it’s at or it will be the last breath you draw.”

  “D-don’t know,” he whispered.

  “That’s not good enough.”

  “I don’t! Chan Sha—”

  “I told them I’d get to feel your lifeblood on my hands,” she said, her smile at last reaching her eyes. “Ciris sends her—”

  Her smile disappeared in a spray of blood and she collapsed against him, her weight taking him to the cobblestone, her blade nicking his throat even as it fell from nerveless fingers. The sound of the pistole was deafening in the confines of the alleyway. For a long moment all Eld could do was lie there, face-to-face with the dead woman. Half her cheek was gone, but her eyes were wide with surprise.

  “Godsdamn it.”

  Eld felt the words more than heard them, the high-pitched ringing in his ears making everything seem distant and otherworldly. The pain in his left arm was gone and the pins and needles in his right told him he was going to regain use of that in a few moments. He pushed himself up to his knees and saw Govanti a dozen paces away, mouth slack, pistole still smoking in his fist.

  “I—I killed her.”

  “You did,” Eld told him, barely hearing his words. “And saved my life.”

  Gathering himself, Eld stood up jerkily, stumbled, and caught himself. “I owe you one, Govanti.”

  “I killed her,” the boy repeated, his face drained of all color. “W-was she…?”

  “A Sin Eater?” Eld asked, limping over to where his sword lay against the wall. His limbs trembled with adrenaline and pain and he felt like throwing up. I hate fighting. It always seemed strange to him that the one thing he was good at was the one thing he could have done without. He bent over, bracing himself against the wall, and picked up his weapon.

  “Aye, she was a mage,” he said, sheathing the blade awkwardly. Realizing Govanti had not moved, he walked over to the boy.

  “Easy, lad.” Eld pushed his arm down gently. “You did well. If not for you, she’d have killed me and then gone after Buc.”

  “I know. I heard her.” Govanti swallowed in a way that told Eld he was close to vomiting.

  “First time?”

  “I’ve fought before. Stabbed someone,” Govanti said quietly. “But—”

  “It was her or me,” Eld said, putting an arm around the boy’s shoulders. “That doesn’t make it easy nor good, but it does make it necessary.”

  Govanti nodded slowly. “I couldn’t let anything happen to you. Signorina wouldn’t let me live if I did.”

  “Buc?”

  “The times she’s had me watch your back…”

  “You never said,” Eld said, shocked.

  “You never asked.”

  “What’d I tell you when I gave you that pistole?” Eld asked, swallowing what he’d been about to say.

  “Only to use it in emergenc
ies,” Govanti replied, glancing at the still-smoking weapon.

  “Aye, and this was definitely that,” Eld said. “But what was the rest?”

  “A-always reload it?”

  “Immediately,” Eld said by way of agreement. “Here,” he added, taking the gun from the lad and fumbling for the powder horn at his side. “I’ll do that. Past time we were gone.”

  “I’m surprised the Constabulary isn’t here already,” Govanti said, head swiveling as if he just realized they’d killed a mage only a few blocks from Constabulary headquarters in the center of one of the finer Quartos.

  “Probably paid to keep their distance while she”—Eld nodded toward the body—“did what she had to do. Cuts both ways though.” He trickled powder down the barrel and handed Govanti the horn, forcing his still-numb fingers to wriggle a ball out of his pouch. “C’mon. After today you’re not going back to that hovel you call a home.”

  “I—I’m not?”

  “No, Buc wouldn’t like it,” Eld said. Not that she knows. He rammed the ball home, each push sending pain through his wounds. Secrets. Again.

  “I’ve a plan,” he told the lad, shedding his torn coat and passing back the pistole. He only hoped one would come to him by the time they reached Joffers.

  * * *

  “If you stay in my bed much longer, people are going to talk.”

  I groaned and rolled over, away from the wall I’d been staring at. Salina eyed me from the doorway and when I sat up, she gestured and two servants entered the room. One carried a tray; the other, a washbowl and cloth. Setting the tray on the nightstand, the dark-haired girl darted a glance at me and squeaked at my glare. She sketched an abrupt curtsy, nearly bowling into the older maid, who managed to slip an elbow into her ribs without upsetting the steaming water in the bowl. Setting it beside the tray, the older one muttered an apology for the other’s clumsiness and they both scurried out.

  Salina chuckled. “You’ve a way about you, Buc, even when you look like you’ve been crying half the night and trying to suffocate yourself the other half.”