Tangle of Thornes

by Lorel Clayton

  By the time I and my unwanted escorts passed through the Market Gate and into the Outskirts, I allowed myself to consider the third reason I didn’t want to see Duane. He may have been the one who killed Viktor.

  I didn’t know whether to be sick or fall back on my old favorite, furious.

  Even when Duane was nothing but a grimy street urchin, he had been shrewd. He knew who Uncle was and befriended his heir, a real coup. The urchin grew up to be a thug and killer. Now he ran a gang and extorted protection money from the local businesses, including my friend’s tavern.

  The money, the violent end.... Viktor had been pulled into Duane’s world, and he died because of it. All I needed was proof.

  More than convincing everyone else, I needed to know what happened. I missed Viktor. No one else could make me smile.

  Gormless set me down in an ironworks, one of many fronts for Duane’s real business.

  Such places never existed in the Three Kingdoms before the tide of human refugees came to escape the Dead God’s war. Why melt metal with fire when it was so much easier to craft swords from magic?

  Now there were whole nations where those with knowledge of magic had been obliterated on the battlefield, leaving behind the untalented. Human ingenuity found other ways. Less efficient and stupid ways with no place in a civilized society, like Highcrowne. But I could see how they might be useful when you had no other choice.

  The heat was suffocating. Sweaty workers manned contraptions with long, mechanized arms and poured molten iron from smelting pots into molds for ingots, which would be used to make more implements like the one that had skewered Grim. Ah, the circle of life.

  I recognized a diminutive form in the distance wearing soot-smeared overalls. Plaits of blonde hair bounced up and down as Bell shouted over the boom of automated bellows and the clanking of mechanoids. When one started jittering about, she donned her goggles, scrambled up its side, and ripped out some hoses to make it stop.

  Bell was Duane’s most intelligent flunky. She operated the ironworks, and they wouldn’t have a legitimate business to hide behind if it weren’t for her. I never understood why she worked for him when she.... Okay, there weren’t a lot of options for human women in Highcrowne.

  Elves and dwarfs could join the Guard, own land, even rule. One of the Crowns, the Avian, was a female, though it was difficult to tell with birds. But human society was ruled by men—you could tell by looking at the state of it. Duane was one of those who added to the mess.

  He perched agilely on a high platform, watching me with jade eyes. Black hair hung halfway to his shoulders, framing a strong jaw. He had presence, I could say that about him.

  I didn’t know how he stood this place with the heat and noise, but it was his preferred office. His ancestors came from the shores of the Western Sea. It must have been sweltering there because his bronze skin was dry. Gormless, Grim, and I were all sweating as profusely as the iron workers.

  “Since I’m here, I can tell you to your face I don’t want to see you, Duane.” I emphasized his real name, hoping to irritate him as much as he irritated me.

  Message delivered, I twisted around, trying to spot the door. Gormless took up most of the space. A ladder leaned above the only direct route to the exit. Damn, those things were hazardous. Walking beneath one was tempting fate. People told me I was superstitious, angry too, but I usually told them to go to hell.

  “You’re searching for his murderer. Stop it.” Duane’s voice was as smooth and dangerous as the liquid iron sizzling through the air.

  Here it was—the intimidation. Would he kill me too? Had he killed Viktor? After fifteen years of friendship, was Duane cold enough to have butchered him over money or some childish street gang nonsense?

  My voice was steady. “No.”

  “Eva, stay out of it. I know who’s responsible, and I’ll take care of it.”

  “Is the murderer in this room? Someone he trusted? Is that why he never drew his weapon?” I was too angry to shout, but my voice dripped venom.

  “You think it was me?” Wide eyes faked innocence like the expert liar he was.

  “Are you saying it wasn’t? It wasn’t you who got him gems and a big house? I bet you ripped it all away for some stupid reason, some disrespect he might have shown, something I would never understand.”

  “Viktor was my friend. I’m going to get the bastards who did it.” Duane jumped down from the platform and landed as graceful as a cat, or in his case, a cat burglar. He brushed past me and brazenly walked beneath the ladder.

  I grabbed his shoulder, and he spun around, anger making his eyes gleam. He said, “How can you think...?”

  “Maybe you’re a great actor, maybe you’re not. Even if you didn’t kill Viktor, or have him killed, you’re the reason he’s dead.”

  Duane let black hair hide his features. “You’re right.” He started walking again, Grim and Gormless falling into step behind him.

  I stood there. It was the first time he’d ever told me I was right about anything. My chest tightened, and it was hard to breathe in the searing air. I realized I was under the ladder. “Oh, crap.”

  I ran after Duane and his goons. “If you know who did it, I want to be there.”

  “I told you to keep out of it.”

  “Tell me all you want, but I do what I like.”

  “You can never leave anything alone. This is something you don’t want to see,” he warned.

  “What are you going to do?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Who was it?” Perhaps it was my black, Solhan heart talking, like the one that beat in Ilsa’s chest, but I wanted to see Viktor’s killer suffer. I fought the feeling, and my nature, as I’d done all my life.

  Solhans weren’t called the Dark Race because of color—we were pale as death—it was because we had a reputation for cruelty. Our people were the ones who summoned the Dead God, the reason Solheim fell and half the world had been conquered. It all happened while I was a child, so I was innocent. Still, malice was in the blood.

  Duane didn’t answer me. Instead, he set a brutal pace, hoping I’d fall behind. Highcrowne was built on a crag of rock. The inner city was tiered and connected by steep, switch-backed roads. The Outskirts weren’t as bad, having grown across the lower foothills like a cancer, but the streets were still hard on the calves. I gritted my teeth, fighting to stay balanced, and kept moving so my toes wouldn’t freeze.

  We left the neighborhood, Duane’s neighborhood. I knew enough about street politics to know it meant trouble. “Who did Viktor know all the way over here?” I asked.

  “Killian’s crew.”

  “What? Why would he mess with them?” I clued in. “You sent him.”

  “No. I didn’t own him, and I didn’t run his life. Vikky did what he wanted. He was working with someone, but when I learned he had business here, I asked him to feel the place out.”

  “You’re expanding.” I knew it. I knew he had gotten my brother killed.

  I wished I had my usual boots on, and my hairpin back, then I’d kick Duane to the ground and shove the needle in his eye. He had put Viktor in the middle of a brewing gang war.

  I looked around nervously. There were only four of us. Gormless was as big as two people, but Grim’s diminutive form evened things out. Duane had never been stupid, but here he was challenging another gang on their turf, and he had no backup. I had no backup.

  2│ THE WRONG CROWD

  ~

  “WAIT A MINUTE.” I SQUEEZED my way between Gormless and his boss. “Are you sure you should be here? Won’t Fink, Bell and the rest of your people feel left out?”

  His stony gaze hit me, and I realized this was my fault. My accusation had set him off.

  “You don’t have to get yourself killed to convince me you’re telling the truth,” I said.

  “I’ve decided to stop second guessing and act. It has nothing to do with you.”

  “Second guessing? You mean it might not have be
en Killian?”

  “It had to be. By the time I’m done with him, I’ll know for sure, and I’ll find out what he did with the heart.”

  Some people believed souls were trapped in flesh, which was why corpses strived to reach the Dead God’s side. Cremation was the only way to release them. Had Viktor’s soul been stolen along with his heart?

  We were deep in the Slave Quarter now. I didn’t know why it was called that, because slaves lived everywhere. Most worked fields in the valleys of the Three Kingdoms, or manned barges trading up and down the river.

  They were so dim-witted it made Gormless look like an Avian sage. It wasn’t their fault. They were branded with magic to smother their will. Slaves weren’t useful for any work requiring thought. Still, if you wanted one, this was where you came to buy.

  I turned my gaze away from the cages crammed with people and the stage where ‘merchandise’ was beautifully presented in silks and fine linens. Duane headed right for it. There was a small group of shoppers, and we merged with it. He whispered something to Grim, who grabbed Gormless, and our only protection vanished into an alley beside the slave pens.

  “What are you doing?” I hissed.

  A lady glared at me. I glared back. Like most elves, she appeared beautiful, but it was all glamour. I caught sight of her shadow and saw it was twice as wide as mine. Her unwashed odor was poorly masked by cloying floral perfume. City elves were fake. The loveliest creature didn’t look so great with an extra forty pounds, and they compensated for their hedonism with expensive charms and natural glamours.

  “If you’re going to be here,” Duane said, “blend in.”

  “That’s impossible.” Three-quarters of the crowd was elves.

  I’d never known an Avian or Dwarf to buy and sell people like property. They didn’t think that way. But elves? This was their favorite type of human—servile. They say a poor elf owns only one slave.

  Sadly, it wasn’t difficult to go unnoticed, once I stopped glaring at everyone, because humans made up the remainder of the buyers. We were worse, I thought. We did this to our own kind. Hell, we probably gave elves the idea in the first place.

  The four-inch heels I wore made me two inches taller than Duane and a foot taller than most of the people around me. Well, maybe not that easy to blend in. For once, I wished Gormless was here. I could hide behind him and use him as a shield in case Killian’s gang attacked.

  “You look nice,” Duane said.

  I started. He was checking out my stocking-clad legs, black dress, and white fur jacket. Some rich girls had formed a club and went around badgering people about wearing furs, saying it was wrong. What were you supposed to wear? It was winter.

  “I’m not nice,” I told him.

  “I know. Appearances are deceiving. Why you all dolled up? You think you need to look like that to talk to an elf detective?”

  “I hate it when you spy on me. You call me nosy, but you know everybody’s business. You send your cockroach friends scurrying around, fetching me whenever you want to argue. You act like this whole city is your domain, like the Elf King, but I’m not a slave with a brand on my arm.”

  Being here was stupid and dangerous, and the company was worse. I wanted to leave, but it would mean obeying Duane, who had wanted to exclude me from the start. If he was going to stay here and be stupid, I’d prove I could be equally dumb.

  “If you’re not going to tell me what you’re doing, then don’t tell me anything.”

  He went quiet, staring at the alley where his henchmen had vanished.

  “Stay here.” He couldn’t speak without it sounding like an order.

  My stubborn reflex took over and I followed. We weaved through the crowd, which murmured as a new slave was directed to the block. He was the same race as Duane and muscled, but the similarities ended there. The slave had a faraway gaze and meekly stood where the slaver told him to. My glare came back when I recognized the slaver, Randall Kingsman, a Solhan and an old business partner of my uncle’s.

  Surrounded by stinking elves, in a slave market in Killian’s territory, with Duane and Randall, a deep-down grime settled in my every pore.

  I wasn’t the only person to have recognized someone. Duane brushed by Killian, who stood to the side of the stage. The slave market was Killian’s cash cow. He watched the proceedings with avarice, but he did a double take when he saw his rival.

  “Hey!”

  Duane took off, headed for the alley. Oh no, we were running. I didn’t have time to remove the shoes, so I tottered along and tried to keep up. Killian was almost beside me, but like a hungry predator, he was focused on his real quarry.

  Two of Killian’s people caught sight of the chase and joined in. Not good, since one was headed for me. I reached the alley. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the gloom. Heavy breathing a few steps behind me, then one of the pursuers pinned my arms to my side. I was caught.

  Killian barreled after Duane, but Grim stepped out of a recessed doorway and whacked the gang leader in the stomach with a small club. He doubled over, and Grim thumped him again on the back of the neck. Duane turned around, pulled a dagger and strode toward me.

  “I’ll kill her!” the one holding me said. He clamped one hand around my throat and squeezed.

  Enough of this. I elbowed my captor, stomped on his instep and then whipped my head back to crush his nose. There was a satisfying crunch, and he screamed. Duane was fast. He pulled the guy away from me and buried the knife beneath his rib cage. I put a hand to my mouth, stifling a yelp. This was serious. What was I doing here?

  The straggler tore into the alley, one had a metal bar raised and ready to strike. A brick crashed squarely on his head, and he crumpled like a broken toy. Gormless smiled from a second story window. He stepped back and, a moment later, came through one of the lower doors, excited to see what he’d done. He gave Killian’s thug an inquisitive kick, and the man groaned.

  I noted the pool of blood spreading around Ilsa’s shoes. Duane wiped his blade on the dead man’s shirt and glanced up at me, no trace of guilt in his eyes.

  Highcrowne was the most civilized place in the world, but we were in the Outskirts. Here, generations of refugees had established their own city in the shadow of the Three Crowns. We had a crude police force, paid by the merchants to keep order, but they were corrupt and useless. It was people like Uncle Ulric, Killian, and Duane who actually ruled. He could get away with murder, and he knew it.

  Still, if enough people died, like a gang war, the Guard would get involved. Humans were the city’s workforce, its servants and slaves, too much chaos would not be tolerated. How far was Duane going to take this?

  Grim found a frayed hunk of rope and trussed up Killian. Duane turned his back on me and went over to examine his prize. “Just the person I want to talk to.”

  I thought I gave good glare, but Killian could carve stone with his dark eyes. “Go to the Dead God! What do you want in my territory, Adder?”

  Was that what Duane called himself these days? It would have been funny, if I weren’t standing in blood.

  “Territory is one of the things I’m here to talk about. Your ranks are thinning.” Duane pointed out the dead man. “I don’t think you can handle this place. Fortunately, I’m willing to help out.”

  Killian spit. “You’re overreaching, and your hand is going to get chopped off.”

  “Not by you. Good idea, though.” He grabbed Killian’s bound hands, wrenched a thumb up, and rested his dagger against the exposed webbing.

  “Get off me. You mess with me and you’ll have both my crew and Jessup’s to deal with!” Killian bucked and tried to pull away. Gormless locked one hand on the captive and all struggle ceased.

  “You think I can be reasoned with? Haven’t you heard? I recently lost a friend of mine.” Duane cut into the thumb, and Grim held Killian’s jaw closed to smother his cry.

  I was transfixed. This was one of those situations where my brain was telling me to get
out of there or do something to stop this insanity, but I couldn’t move. My heart ached, ached for Viktor and ached to hear whether this was the man who I could blame for his death.

  No one came to investigate. Grim gagged Killian during the interrogation, removing the rag only long enough to hear answers to Duane’s questions. Even so, there were enough stray shouts and pleading sobs to have attracted someone’s attention. People in the Slave Quarter must have learned not to be curious.

  By the end, Killian wasn’t holding anything back. He tripped over his own tongue trying to answer fast enough. He told Duane everything about his operation and his allies’, but he swore he had nothing to do with Viktor. The state he was in—he wasn’t lying. Duane put him out of his misery.

  Gormless had the remaining thug, who was still unconscious from being brained, slung over one shoulder. “What I do with this one, boss?”

  “Leave him. All Killian’s men get the option of working for me.”

  “What about the other one you murdered?”

  Duane flinched at the scorn in my voice. “He threatened to kill you, and you’re upset he’s dead?”

  “Not upset, more like disgusted.” I wanted to lay all the blame on Duane, but I was disgusted with myself as well. Had wearing Ilsa’s clothes turned me as pragmatic as her? “They were innocent.”

  “Only of this. If Killian didn’t take Viktor’s heart, then who did?”

  “You don’t care. This was all an excuse for your takeover.”

  “No. I want vengeance, Eva, for both of us.”

  “Leave me out of this from now on.” I would not allow myself to slide this far into the gray again. Gray? I was kidding myself. Murder and torture made this black, very black. This is what being around Duane did to you. This was how Viktor got mixed up in things he shouldn’t have.

  I was going to the Guard.

  I started walking, planning never to look back, but a question niggled at me. I stopped where the alley opened on the square, midday light before me, shadows at my back. “You said Viktor had his own business in the Slave Quarter. Did your cockroaches tell you what he was doing?”