Sot puffed up and leaned forward on his toes. "We aren't leaving, Kug. Maybe you."
Was the oaf attempting to intimidate him? "This place is mine, Sot."
Kug realized he might not be up to a challenge in his present condition. He looked at Lama.
"You two… you took it from me, didn't you? The Capful. Even before you showed up with the kit. You took everything, and didn’t care."
He was exhausted. His head throbbed.
He pined for the rocking thrum of a wagon. For the plains.
He knew he'd never see them again.
"It makes no difference." He lowered his head. "At least… move yourselves into the hidden space."
Lama shrugged. "As you say: it makes no difference. No. If this is to be my last night, either in Aenikantag, free, or alive at all, I'm not spending it bent in the dark. If the guard comes, they won't miss it a second time, anyway."
"I'm not going back in there," Sot affirmed. "No room to fight."
"You are both fools." He shook his head. It hurt. "But no more than I." Kug looked at Lama, who was never less his foster, his heartdaughter, than now.
The words came out.
"Your mother might have done better."
"My mother let herself die."
Nothing mattered. The path was a spiral. Kug opened the door.
Sot said, "Where are you going?"
"To get my ax," Kug said on his way out, "and await our guests downstairs." He stopped in the doorway. "Stay out of my sight."
He allowed himself one more glance at his sister's daughter before shutting the door.
Chapter Nineteen
Lama
Lama stared at the closed door. Twinges of something… the beginnings of remorse? …pricked at her. Unbidden, the desperate eyes of the elderly palace servant she'd suffocated hung in her vision; a superimposed, invasive, unwelcome memory. Kug's exhausted, terminally disappointed face emerged to replace the old magn, a phantom portrait painted in the air.
"Sot." She looked down and shook her head. "Latch the door."
He did so, then turned to put his back to it, facing her.
His eyes were wide, his brow arched. "So… we wait."
"Ever obvious," Lama said, but she could not find malice to tint the words.
Sot leaned back against the frame, which creaked. "I should have asked Kug for a weapon. Even a knife from the kitchen."
"Hm." The infant gurgled where he lay, but did not wake. Lama checked, as she did every few bits, that the magicked cloth was close. "Perhaps." Sot had failed the contest to be admitted to the guard, and that had been years ago, when he'd been less soft. A weapon, Lama mused, would not now bring a different outcome.
Again, she uncharacteristically found herself lacking the initiative to twist a knife of her own.
Sot tilted his head. The corner of his mouth turned up; a grudgingly self-effacing acknowledgment. "Maybe there'll be no need, after all." He looked at Ranith and sighed. "Ulthus has magick. Maybe he knows what's going on, better than we do, or Kug. Maybe he can… See."
Lama allowed it. Why not. "And so he knows time is against us. Against him."
"And so, he'll be quick," Sot nodded. "Come early."
"Perhaps," Lama said again.
"We have to believe it. 'Will the Path,' as they say."
Lama smiled slightly. "Are you thinking of joining the Caretakers, now? Your share of Ulthus' gratitude would make a convincing tithe."
He snorted a laugh, then quickly put a hand over his mouth and looked at Ranith, who stirred but did not wake. "I'm going south and west, as fast and far as I can. Not many Caretakers outside of Aenik, I hear."
"Kwaanantag? The Alwardendyn's reach is weak there, eh, Sot?"
"Their tokens still spend, though."
"They do."
Lama realized she had not thought much about exactly what she would do once she was free of Aenikantag, the palace… the life she'd been trapped living for so long. An unplanned existence held great appeal, and Ulthus' tokens would make it easy to live according to no rule other than her own shifting whim.
The path had not been so straight or smooth as expected, though. Sot had told her that Ulthus would guarantee their escape from the city. Then what?
Their names and likenesses would be known, thanks to Prak (and, mysteriously, possibly one other). These things could be changed, of course. She'd need to adopt a whole new identity… one that not only distanced herself from a calloused palace yard launderer, but also justified her wealth.
She would have to be careful with that, too… conspicuous wealth is bad for your health, as the saying went.
Well. That's how it was in the Shadow District. She reminded herself those rules need not apply to her, after tomorrow.
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow.
Recognition fell upon her that tomorrow lay obscured beyond an ominous mist of threat and possibility, constricting her chest. It was difficult to draw a full breath.
There was the old magn again, his weeping eyes going dry as Lama killed him.
There was Vadi, limp and broken, and empty.
Never seen by her own eyes, her imagination had no trouble seeing Alwarden Deanae as she was in portraits, pretty and perfect but for the side of her face that was blackened, charred, and weeping bloody pus.
"Lama? What is it?"
She was so lost in dread, Sot's voice made her jump.
"Sot… what if it's Dunak and the guard first? What if we hear them downstairs, taking Kug? We have nowhere to go. We have no way out…"
Sot smiled. "Sure we do." He crossed the room and opened the window shutters. The hinges creaked. Ranith gurgled. "Remember?"
She did. Shaper's eyes, but they had been young, once. "We would slip out…"
"Just like when we didn't want old Kug to know we were here, up to…" He blushed, and Lama remembered why. "Well. I'll do what we did then. I'll hang from the edge and drop to the yard. You come next, and I'll catch you." He held up his hand, anticipating her. "I can still catch you! You'll have the kit, too, but I can still catch you." He seemed full of confidence. "Then, we run and hide until…"
"Until they've searched the Capful cellar to ceiling, and dragged Kug off to be questioned."
And executed. If Kug wasn't killed from the first.
Lama wondered why it took her this long to realize she would never see her mothersbrother again, after this.
Sot spread his arms. "He chose to stand for us. We… we owe it to him to get away. And once everyone's left, we can sneak back in and wait for Ulthus."
"You've only just thought of all this," Lama said. “Why not leave and hide now, as Kug suggested?”
“I did just think of it,” he admitted. "But why take the risk before we have to?"
"Why would Ulthus come here after the guard marks the Capful?"
Sot blew through pursed lips, but refrained from whistling. "You didn't see him, Lama. I don't know why he wants Ranith, but he really, really wants Ranith. Probably his master has as much pressure on him as…"
"As the entire country has on us," Lama finished.
Sot nodded.
Lama thought about it. "Won't the guard be posted in the yard?"
Sot frowned. "Maybe. But we know it better than they do. That space behind the flite pens… And it's really dark tonight; Tala's sleeping." He seemed to falter a bit. "We'll just have to be fast."
She found she was literally breathing easier. The plan was thin as cheesecloth, but it was something other than passivity.
Sot's expression was full of open faith. The scheme had clearly buoyed him as well. He was willing the path, indeed.
His stubborn, almost idiotic optimism painted Sot with youth. Lama felt a wash of familiarity for him. Not affection. Certainly not attraction.
Still.
Shaper's hand, they had shared a path for so long…
"Keep the shutters open for some air," she said. "You might as well sit. Now that we have a
plan."
He beamed, apparently satisfied she'd been convinced, and sat down next to her on the sleeping pad.
They were quiet for a time, watching the infant. Sot’s shoulder grazed hers, and she did not flinch away.
Sot returned from his musing first.
"I had fun with you," he said in a low voice. "Those days." His head dipped. "With you, and with Vadi…"
She sighed. "Vadi."
She touched his hand.
"We were guttersnipes," she laughed softly.
"Guttersnipes," he agreed, chuckling.
He turned his hand to take hers.
"I will think of those times," he said, "when I think of you."
She breathed until she could speak past the tightening in her throat.
"I will think of you," she said.
Chapter Twenty
Talen
From a block away, Talen clambered to the rooftop of a building across the street from the Steadfast Capful. He found concealment behind a chimney. The stone was cold, which meant no fire, which probably meant no one was inside to hear his footfalls above, light as they were. So much the better.
The avenue was mostly quiet, with few people coming and going from the Capful, and those, infrequently. Talen knew he was in for a long night, as there were marks to go before the place closed down. He had considered coming even earlier, but feared being seen. Bad enough he'd left the place in such a hurry the day before.
His mothersfather's sheathed sword tugged uncomfortably at his waist. Crouching and hunched over, he couldn't figure out where to put the thing so it wouldn't stick out awkwardly. He frequently, compulsively, gingerly adjusted it, as if the scabbard wasn't built to weather much worse than a little scraping.
Before long, his thighs ached from staying still. Slowly, painfully, he eased himself down to sit with his back against the chimney, the scabbard parallel to his stretched legs and finally more or less out of the way.
He massaged his thighs and endured the sweet pain of returning circulation as he kept an eye on the door of the Capful.
No sooner had he begun to feel close to comfortable when that door banged open and magn spilled noisily out.
This wasn't a few drunken magn taking their leave after filling their bellies and emptying their pouches.
This was a torrent.
The fine hairs on Talen's neck tickled the collar of his tunic.
It was well before closing mark.
Something was happening.
Chatter among the exiting patrons was boisterous and a little irritable. Something about "Kug and the kit" falling sick, and lots of complaints about unfinished food and drink.
The idea of even a small plague washing through the Capful gave Talen a jolt of anxiety. He was past the time when the memory of nearly starving as he buried his family could paralyze him with grief, but an objectively oversensitive fear of illness would always hobble him.
Was it safe in there?
He spotted Hatul stumbling out with the dwindling flow of magn, sloppily rocking on his feet and nearly falling into those around him.
Talen scrambled backward like a sandcrawler racing the tide, though he had no reason to think he'd been spotted.
How long had that one been inside, and what had he been up to?
Not drinking. After last night, Talen was sure that was a performance.
More evidence that Hatul suspected, at the very least, what Talen felt with certainty.
But if Hatul intended to claim the prize, why leave?
Either the threat of illness was real… or Hatul had not really left. Even now, he could be doubling back and seeking a place to secret himself.
A place like a rooftop across the street.
It was time to move, and to do so without surrendering his intention, or let Hatul hijack his plans.
He peered into the shadows of the roof. He was still alone, and he was sure he'd hear if anyone ascended.
As anyone near might hear him descend.
The quandary held him in place until fear of confronting Hatul on the roof got him on his feet. Keeping low, Talen made it across the roof to the opposite end, where he scrambled down to the narrow gap behind the building.
Alert and silent, he picked his way along the trash-strewn space, and behind the next building, until he could come up an alley where the locked gate of the Steadfast Capful yard was in clear view across the avenue.
As far as Talen could see, the street was empty in both directions. There were plenty of dark alcoves and shadowed alleyways professional experience told him could prove occupied.
Where was Hatul?
Talen waited another three-quarters of a mark. Save a gutterslink that skittered, chirping defiantly, down the street, nothing moved.
It was time to act.
He stayed where he was.
He hadn't attempted anything so overtly criminal as breaking into a building since the affair that brought Rajen into his life. He'd certainly never trespassed anywhere he'd spent so much time more honestly engaged.
And Kug was, apparently, still inside. Sick, perhaps… but Talen had heard things. The proprietor of the Steadfast Capful had not always been such.
Even if Kug was not a years-past sellsword or mercenary… he was Kug. Talen hated to go against the magn he'd known almost since he first arrived in Aenikantag.
Down the other path… Kug was probably involved in a plot to steal the heir of Aenik.
Talen had no choice. Honor, and his own redemption, paved the roughest road.
He ran across the street to the tall, gated wood-and-weave fence surrounding the Capful's yard. Talen ignored the gate—he knew the lock would take too long to overcome, and that he'd be exposed during the attempt—and made straight for the fence along the side of the property, which he knew he could scale.
He slipped into the narrow, cluttered space between the fence and the next building, reached for the slats—
—and froze when someone called his name in a harsh whisper.
He loaded excuses in his mind as he turned to face the speaker.
The stranger wore a dark, hooded cloak, which they drew back just enough to clear the shadows from their face.
Alarm… Talen might even admit to panic… gave way to bewildered joy. "Rajen? You came!"
Scowling, she took his arm and pulled him with her farther into the close space. She was nearer than they'd ever been.
"You have to let this go." She turned to look out at the street and then back to him. "Go home. Right now."
"I can't, Rajen." Disappointment was eased by the fact she apparently cared enough to risk coming here. "This is what I've been waiting for. You, too. I tried to tell you."
She shook her head, furious. "Listen! We aren't alone out here, or won't be for long. You cannot do this!"
He frowned. "Did you See something?"
She raised her head to the sky, shook it, rolled her eyes. "Yes, all right? He's in there. You're right."
"Yes!"
"No! If you pursue this, your life will change forever. I can't say how."
"That's the idea, Rajen."
"Stop playing the noble fool." Her fingers stiffened into frustrated claws. "Walk whatever brambled path you choose, but it's not just you! Not just your life! Mine!"
Talen smiled. Rajen was contrary and miserable as ever, but her presence only served to strengthen his resolve.
"That," he said again, "is the idea, Rajen." He found a foothold on the fence and jabbed it with the toe of his boot. "I'm going in."
Up and over; it was easy. He dropped to the ground on the other side so quietly, the flites didn't even wake in their pens.
He went to the gate. Rajen glowered there, on the other side.
Talen fingered the latch and gave her a questioning look.
Rajen drew a long knife from a sheath hanging from her sash.
"Open the gate," she growled.
Rajen
After Talen stumbled a third time in
the dark yard of the Steadfast Capful, Rajen stepped ahead of him. "I thought you were supposed to be a thief," she whispered.
"You shouldn't go ahead of me." His own whisper was sharp. "You're barely armed."
As if he could use that ridiculous sword better than she could wield her knife. She could safely wager her weapon had seen more recent use.
"Just watch my feet and shut up. I need to focus." She sheathed the knife.
Apparently, he understood. Rajen was free to extend her senses and concentrate on faint tendrils of probability, like wisps of flickering mist, helping guide her around to the back door of the Capful.
Talen reached past her to try the latch.
It was locked.
Talen gave her a quick grin. She stepped aside and let him get to work with his picks. The streams coalesced around his hands.
After a bit he slowly lifted the defeated latch and opened the door, stepping back and away.
When no one rushed out to meet them, Rajen again took the lead through the doorway.
Talen tapped her shoulder. She turned and saw him gesture to her knife.
Rajen shook her head, looked at his sword, at him, and shook her head again, slowly. No weapons. No noise.
He scowled, but waved her on.
It was all but totally dark within. The air was rank; someone had been violently ill. It made it difficult to focus her Science.
With excruciating slowness, Rajen stretched her arms until her fingers brushed a cool wall. The anchor helped.
Her voice was mostly breath. "Hold my shoulder."
Talen's hand trembled until she felt him tighten his grip, hopefully metaphorically as well. She led them carefully through the kitchen. The unreliable streams did not prevent her from stepping in something cold, wet, and sticky. Rajen swallowed hard.
It took her a blink to realize the faint glow ahead was both the convergence of the streams and the dullest light through the cracks around another door, directly ahead. She tapped Talen's hand on her shoulder and stopped.
He opened the door. They found themselves behind the bar in the Steadfast Capful's dimly lit, nearly empty common room.
The proprietor sat on the edge of the smoldering central fire pit, facing the front door, his back to Rajen and Talen.
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