29

Elene couldn't breathe. Kylar hadn't only left her; he'd taken Uly. The rejection was complete. Things had seemed to be going so well.

No, things had had been going so well. Elene couldn't believe it, wouldn't believe it. She scoured the kitchen for some sign. She found a stain on the floorboards, dark against dark wood, hastily cleaned up. Nothing looked like it had been spilled from the cooking, but she couldn't tell what it might be. Then she found a deep, thin gouge in the floor nearby. been going so well. Elene couldn't believe it, wouldn't believe it. She scoured the kitchen for some sign. She found a stain on the floorboards, dark against dark wood, hastily cleaned up. Nothing looked like it had been spilled from the cooking, but she couldn't tell what it might be. Then she found a deep, thin gouge in the floor nearby.

She went upstairs. Kylar's wetboy grays were gone, as was Retribution. She was sliding the box back under the bed when she saw the Cenarian Sa'kage symbol scrawled into the bedside table. "We have the girl," the script below it said, in a careful, neat hand. Elene's heart dropped again.

Someone had taken Uly, and Kylar had gone after them. The revelation brought fear and joy intermingled. Kylar hadn't abandoned her, but Uly had been kidnapped by someone who knew who he was. Someone was trying to trap Kylar. But where had Kylar been when Uly was taken? If someone had grabbed Uly on the street, they might have left a note on the front doorstep, but Elene didn't think they'd dare to break in with Kylar downstairs.

There was a shout from downstairs and pounding on the door. "Open the door. In the name of the Queen, open the door!"

When Elene saw Aunt Mea let the city watch in, her heart seized with fear again. In Cenaria, the guards were considered so corrupt that no one trusted them. But then Elene saw Aunt Mea's obvious relief.

It took almost an hour to sort things out. A neighbor had seen Kylar leave carrying a body over his shoulder, a handsome young man with dark skin, his hair in microbraids, capped with gold beads. Elene knew instantly it had to be Jarl. After Kylar left with the body, the neighbor had gone running for the guards. The guards were only halfway to the house when they were met by the neighbor's wife, who'd seen a woman with a bow enter the house about a minute before Uly returned home, and then leave with the girl. From the evidence, the watch thought the woman was the murderer, thank the G.o.d, but they still wanted to talk to Kylar.

Elene lay in bed late that night, mourning Jarl and trying to make sense of it. Why would Jarl come here? Because he was in danger? Because he wanted Kylar to do a job? Just to visit? Elene had to think it was to get Kylar to do a job. Jarl was too important to leave Cenaria on a whim, and if he had left because he was in danger, he'd have had bodyguards. So Jarl had been killed-by accident?-while trying to hire Kylar. Kylar had either agreed to do the job, or he was going out for vengeance. Either way, he'd left before Uly's kidnapping. He might not know about it.

By noon the next day, Kylar still hadn't returned. There was a knock on the door and Elene hurried to answer it. It was one of the guards from yesterday.

"I just thought you should know," the young man said, "we talked to the gate guards as soon as we could, but shifts change and it's hard to get word to everyone. A young woman matching the killer's description left yesterday, headed north. She had a little girl with her. We've already sent men after her, but she's got a good head start. I'm sorry."

After the guard left, Braen and Aunt Mea looked at Elene as if they expected her to burst into tears.

"I'm going after Uly," Elene said instead.

"But-" Aunt Mea began.

"I know, believe me, I know I'm the last person who should go. But what else am I going to do? If Kylar comes back here, tell him where I went. He'll catch up with me, I'm sure. If he's already gone after them, I'll meet him on his way back. But if he doesn't know Uly's been kidnapped, I might be her only chance."

Aunt Mea opened her mouth to protest once more, then closed it. "I understand."

Elene's things fit in a small pack, and by the time she got downstairs, Aunt Mea had packed her enough food for a week. "Is Braen going to say goodbye?" Elene asked.

Aunt Mea took Elene outside. "Braen says goodbye in his own way." There was a horse saddled in front of the shop. It was st.u.r.dy and gentle looking. Elene's eyes flooded with tears. She'd thought she was going to walk. "He says he's had some big orders recently," Aunt Mea said, obviously proud of her son. "Now go, child, and may the G.o.d go with you."

Kylar was standing over the grave he'd dug and doing his best to get drunk. It was still two hours before dawn. The cemetery was quiet. The only sounds were leaves rattling in the wind and the complaints of night insects. Kylar had chosen this cemetery because it was the richest one on his way out of the city. After killing the Shinga, he'd robbed the man so he had plenty of money, and Jarl deserved the best. If the grave keeper were true to his word, there would even be a headstone here in a week.

They made quite a pair. Jarl laid out on the ground next to the hole, the gore a darker black than his skin, limbs slowly stiffening. Kylar was more blood-spattered than his dead friend, cruor drying into hard ridges on his limbs, cracking as he worked, reconst.i.tuting as he perspired. It made him look like he was sweating blood.

The grave was finished. Now Kylar was supposed to say something significant.

He drank more wine. He'd brought four skins and already emptied two. A year ago, two would have flattened him. Now, he wasn't even tipsy. He finished the third skin then dutifully took deep draughts of the fourth until it was gone.

His eyes kept going back to Jarl's corpse. He tried to imagine the wounds closing as his own had so long ago. But they weren't closing. Jarl was dead. He'd been alive one second, and now he was simply not. Kylar finally understood the wry look in Jarl's eyes, too.

The Cenarian wetboy that Shinga Sniggle had ordered killed wasn't Kylar. It was Vi Sovari, and it was Vi Sovari who had killed Jarl with a red-and-black traitor's arrow.

It was just like Jarl to find humor in it. Jarl confessed his love for a woman as she released the arrow that killed him.

"s.h.i.t," Kylar said.

There were no words to express the magnitude of the ruin before him. Jarl was no more. This thing in front of Kylar was a slab of meat. Kylar wished he could believe in Elene's G.o.d. He wanted to think Jarl and Durzo were in a better place. But he was honest enough to know that was all he wanted-some half-a.s.sed good feeling. Even if Elene's G.o.d were real, Jarl and Durzo didn't follow him. That meant they got to burn in h.e.l.l, right? wished he could believe in Elene's G.o.d. He wanted to think Jarl and Durzo were in a better place. But he was honest enough to know that was all he wanted-some half-a.s.sed good feeling. Even if Elene's G.o.d were real, Jarl and Durzo didn't follow him. That meant they got to burn in h.e.l.l, right?

He climbed down into the grave and pulled Jarl's body in. Jarl's skin was cold, clammy; morning dew was condensing on it. It didn't feel right. Kylar laid him down as gently as he could and climbed back out. He still didn't feel drunk.

Sitting on the pile of soft dirt next to the grave, he realized it was the ka'kari's fault. His body treated alcohol like any poison, and healed him of it. It was so efficient that he'd have to drink ma.s.sive quant.i.ties to get drunk. Just like Durzo had.

And I dismissed him as a drunk. It was yet another way Kylar had misunderstood his master, another way he'd blithely condemned the man. It made everything ache all over again. It was yet another way Kylar had misunderstood his master, another way he'd blithely condemned the man. It made everything ache all over again.

"I'm sorry, brother," Kylar said, and realized as the words crossed his lips that Jarl had been exactly that to him: an older brother who looked out for him. Why was Kylar condemned to having revelations about what people meant to him only after they were dead? "I'll make it worth something, Jarl." Making Jarl's sacrifice mean something meant abandoning Elene and Uly and the life that might have been. He'd sworn to Uly that he wouldn't abandon her as every other adult in her life had. And now he was doing it.

Was it like this for you, master? Is this where that ocean of bitterness began? Is giving up my humanity the cost of my immortality?

There was nothing else to do, nothing more to say. Kylar couldn't even weep. As the first birds of morning began singing beauty to the waking sun, he filled the grave.

30

For two days, Uly didn't speak or eat or drink. Vi drove them at a grueling pace along the queen's road heading west and then north. The first night they pa.s.sed the great estates of the Waeddryner n.o.bility. By the time they stopped, a few hours after sunrise, they were in farmland. The fields were bare, the rolling hills covered with the irregular stubble of harvested spelt. were bare, the rolling hills covered with the irregular stubble of harvested spelt.

The first day, Uly waited until Vi had been breathing regularly for about ten minutes, then she bolted for her horse. She hadn't even untied the beast before Vi yanked her away. The second day, Uly waited for an hour. She got up quietly enough that Vi almost missed it. Uly got the tether undone that time, and nearly jumped out of her clothes when she turned to reach for the horse's head and saw Vi standing behind her, hands on hips.

Both times, Vi beat her. She was careful not to injure the girl. No broken bones or scars for this one. She wondered if she was being too easy on the girl, but she'd never beaten a child before. Vi was used to killing men, used to giving Talent-strength to her muscles and letting her victims deal with the consequences. If she did that with Uly, the child would die. That didn't fit Vi's plans.

By the third day, Uly wasn't doing well. She still hadn't taken a drink. She refused anything Vi offered, and she was losing strength. Her lips were cracked and parched, her eyes red. Vi couldn't help but feel a grudging admiration.

The girl was tough, no doubt about it. Vi could stand pain better than most people, but she hated not eating. When she was twelve Hu had routinely withheld her food, giving her only one meal a day "so she wouldn't get fat." He'd put her back on full meals when he decided it was all going to her t.i.ts. But worse than the starving were the times he'd withheld water because he thought she was being lazy.

The b.a.s.t.a.r.d never did grasp the concept of a woman's cramps.

She'd had to pretend the thirst didn't bother her, because she'd known if she let it show, it would have become his favorite punishment.

"Look, Ugly," she said as she made camp in a small valley as the sun began to rise. "I don't give a s.h.i.t if you die. You are more useful to me alive than dead, but not by much. Kylar will follow me to Cenaria now either way. You, on the other hand, would probably like to see Kylar again, right?"

Uly stared back at her with sunken eyes full of hate.

"And I'd guess he'd kick your a.s.s if you die for no reason. So, hey, if you want to keep starving, you'll die pretty soon. Tomorrow, I'll have to tie you to the saddle, and you might not make it through the night. That inconveniences me, but it hurts Kylar more. If you'd rather die like a kitten than stay alive and fight me, go ahead. But you're not impressing anyone."

Vi put a skin of water in front of Uly and set about securing the horses. She wasn't worried about Uly escaping now. The girl was too weak. But Vi Talent-locked the ropes anyway. She was going to sleep today, dammit.

The rolling hills here were covered with forests broken now and then by a small village in a group of farm fields. The road was still broad and well-traveled, though. They'd made excellent time. There was no way to tell how far ahead of Kylar they were, but Vi had avoided villages and she had no doubt that had given Kylar precious hours on them. Yesterday evening, she'd traded the horses. If Kylar had somehow divined which tracks were theirs among the many, he'd be thrown.

Still, at the rate they'd been traveling, they'd pa.s.sed numerous other parties, and though she could swaddle herself in a formless cloak that disguised her s.e.x and ident.i.ty, there was no disguising that Uly was a child. Nor was there any practical way to pa.s.s unseen on the barren hills they'd already come through. Usually, they'd just barreled past the traders' wagons and farmers' carts. It was an uneasy balance. They made better time on the road, but they were more likely to be recognized.

Her only contact with Kylar had been when she'd tried to kill him at the Drake house. Ironically enough, King Gunder had hired Vi, who'd tried to a.s.sa.s.sinate his son, to kill Kylar, who'd tried to protect him.

She'd had Kylar under her hips and under her knife the very day she took the contract. She'd liked him. He'd been surprisingly calm for a man in his situation. Calm and a little charming, if you thought lame humor in the face of death was cute.

And she would have killed him, but she'd hesitated. No, not hesitated. It hadn't been lack of will that stayed her hand that day so much as pride that she'd accomplished such a difficult job so quickly. Hu never complimented her work. Though under duress, Kylar's compliments had seemed genuine, and there weren't that many people a wetboy could talk shop with. So Vi had given in to the temptation Kylar had laid out for her, stalling so obviously that she'd let it work.

Then the do-gooder count had broken into the room and Kylar landed a knife in her shoulder as she escaped. Months later her shoulder still throbbed at times. She'd lost a little flexibility, despite instantly heading to the wytch Hu used for his healing.

Next time, she wouldn't hesitate.

She knew she should feel elated that she'd killed Jarl. She was free now. A master wetboy. Hu would have no say over anything in her life, and if he tried, she could kill him without worrying about the repercussions in the Sa'kage. That is, if the Sa'kage survived whatever the G.o.dking had planned.

I killed Jarl. The thought wouldn't go away. Hadn't gone away for two days. The thought wouldn't go away. Hadn't gone away for two days. I killed the man who was the closest thing I've ever had to a friend. I killed the man who was the closest thing I've ever had to a friend.

There hadn't been much to the kill. Any child could climb up on a roof and shoot an arrow. She'd wanted to miss, hadn't she? She could have missed. She could have just not taken the shot. She could have gone inside and joined Kylar and Jarl and fought against the G.o.dking. But she hadn't.

She'd killed, and now she was alone again, going somewhere she didn't want to go, taking a little girl against her will, forcing a man she respected to follow her into a trap.

You are a cruel G.o.d, Nysos. Could you not leave me with more than dust and ashes? I, who serve you so faithfully. From my knife and my loins flow rivers of blood and s.e.m.e.n. Do I not deserve an honored place for that? Do I not deserve one friend?

She coughed and blinked rapidly. She bit her tongue until it threatened to bleed. I will not cry. Nysos can have his blood and s.e.m.e.n, but he will never have my tears. Curse you, Nysos. I will not cry. Nysos can have his blood and s.e.m.e.n, but he will never have my tears. Curse you, Nysos. But she didn't say it aloud. She had served her G.o.d too long to risk his wrath. But she didn't say it aloud. She had served her G.o.d too long to risk his wrath.

She had even made a pilgrimage of sorts-it had been on her way to a kill-to a small town in the Sethi wine country that was holy to Nysos. The harvest festival was dedicated to the G.o.d. Wine flowed freely. Women were expected to abandon themselves to whatever pa.s.sion moved them. They even had an odd form of storytelling where men stood on a stage holding masks and enacting while the audience watched a three-part cycle full of the suffering of mortals and their need for G.o.ds to straighten it out, followed by a bawdy, vicious comedy that seemed to make fun of everyone in the village, even the writer of the enactment. The town loved it. They clapped and wailed and sang along drunkenly with the holy songs and f.u.c.ked like rabbits. For a week, no one was allowed to turn down a s.e.xual advance. For Vi, it turned into a long week. It was one time in her life that she'd felt justified in complaining about being beautiful. She'd taken to wearing baggy clothing in the hopes she would entice fewer men.

All that service, Nysos. For what? For life? Hu's nearing forty, and for all that he says he serves you, the only times a G.o.d's name pa.s.ses his lips is in curses.

By the time Vi came back to where the bedrolls were laid out, Uly had finished the entire bag of water. She looked like she was about to be sick.

"If you throw up on those blankets, you'll sleep in them dirty," Vi said.

"Kylar's going to kill you," Uly said. "Even if you are a girl."

"I'm not a girl. I'm a b.i.t.c.h, and don't you forget it." Vi tossed the bag with their food at Uly, who dropped it. "Eat slow and not much, or you'll puke and die."

Uly took her advice and soon flopped down on her bedroll and was asleep in seconds. Vi stayed up. She was tired, achingly, grindingly tired. She only thought this much when she was exhausted. It did no good to think. It was worthless. asleep in seconds. Vi stayed up. She was tired, achingly, grindingly tired. She only thought this much when she was exhausted. It did no good to think. It was worthless.

She busied herself making the camp invisible. It was a foggy morning. They weren't far from the road, but they were in a small hollow. The stream came burbling down from the Silver Bear Hills with enough volume that most of the noise the horses might make would be covered, and with the cold camp they'd made, the human presence was barely notable here. She'd done her best to hide the horses behind a thicket. She squatted with her back to a tree and tried to convince her mind how tired her body was.

In the distance, she heard a clatter. It was dampened by the fog, but it could only be one thing: horses. She drew a sword and a knife, and dipped the knife into her poison sheath. She looked at Uly and considered trying to magically silence the girl, but it would expose her and she didn't know if it would work anyway, so she just pressed her back to a tree and peered toward the sound.

Moments later, Kylar appeared, leading two horses. He pa.s.sed twenty paces away. He must have been riding almost straight through, switching from horse to horse. He barely slowed as he approached the ford. Vi's horse stomped a foot and one of the horses Kylar was leading neighed.

Kylar cursed and jerked the reins. Uly rolled over as Kylar splashed through the stream. The horses climbed the other bank and clattered into the distance. Kylar never even turned his head.

Vi chuckled and lay down. She slept well.

When she woke that evening, Uly was still asleep. That was good. Vi didn't have time to chase the girl. In her place, another kidnapper would have just bound the girl and been done with it. But the strongest ropes weren't the kind that bound hands. Hopelessness was Vi's weapon, not hemp. Ropes of Uly's own devising would bind her forever.

Ropes of my own devising. I know all about that, don't I?

She kicked Uly to wake her, but not as hard as she meant to. The girl's salvation had been so close, and she'd never even known it.

31

The most valuable skill Dorian ever learned turned out to be a simple one: he figured out how to eat and drink without breaking his trance. Instead of having Solon watch him for the inevitable signs of dehydration and wake him, Dorian was able to maintain his trances for weeks.

Though he knew he appeared utterly disconnected from reality, the opposite was true. From his little room in the garrison at Screaming Winds, Dorian watched everything. The Cenarian garrison at Screaming Winds had been bypa.s.sed by Khalidor's invasion. Most of the Khalidoran army had simply used Quorig's Pa.s.s more than a week east. With the death of Logan's father, Duke Regnus Gyre, the garrison was being led by a young n.o.ble named Lehros Va.s.s. He was well-meaning, but he didn't know what to do without a commanding officer.

Solon was giving advice that over the days sounded less like advice and more like orders. If Khalidor attacked Screaming Winds now, they would attack from the Cenarian side, so he shifted the defenses, moved the men and the supplies inside the walls. No one expected an attack, though. The truth was that Screaming Winds now protected nothing. Garoth Ursuul could let them grow old and die here, and all he would lose would be a trade route that hadn't been used for hundreds of years.

Far to the South, Feir was doing less well, though he was tracking Curoch admirably. Feir had a hard road in front of him, and Dorian could do nothing to make it easier. Sometimes it made Dorian sick. He'd watched Feir die a dozen ways, some of them so shameful he wept even through his trance. At best, Feir would have about two decades and a heroic death in front of him.

As always, Dorian strayed close to his own futures. He'd found a way to do it that didn't risk madness. He simply watched the futures of other people at the places they met him. It didn't work well, though. He would see half a dozen ways a person might interact with him, and how their choices might affect the meeting, but not his own. So he could see what, but not why. He couldn't follow a single line of his own choices to see where it would lead him. Once in a while, he could watch his own face through other people's eyes and guess what he was thinking, but those were rare flashes. It was taking too long, even with his trance stretching over a month, and while he pieced his own life together, everything else changed. other people's eyes and guess what he was thinking, but those were rare flashes. It was taking too long, even with his trance stretching over a month, and while he pieced his own life together, everything else changed.

So he started touching his own life directly. He knew several things instantly. First, he was going to be a source of either hope or despair for tens of thousands within a year.

Second, a gaping hole stretched across his possible futures. He traced it back and realized the hole was because in some paths, he would choose to renounce his gift of prophecy. He was stunned. He'd thought of it before, of course. In all his training with the healers, disabling his gift was the only cure he'd been able to find for his growing madness. But Dorian's gift had seemed a gift for the whole world, and he'd gladly borne the consequences because he knew he'd be able to help others avert disaster.

Third, Khali herself was coming to Screaming Winds.

Dorian's heart dropped into his stomach. If she pa.s.sed the garrison, she would go to Cenaria and take up residence in the h.e.l.lish gaol they called the Maw. Garoth Ursuul would have two of his sons build ferali. He would use one against the rebel army. There would be a ma.s.sacre.

Khali and her entourage were still two days away. Dorian had time. He looked back at his own life, trying to figure out how to avert disaster. In a moment, he was swept up in the current. Faces streamed past him, became a maelstrom, sucking him down. His young wife, crying. A girl, hanged. A little village in northern Waeddryn where he might live with Feir's family. A red-haired boy who was like a son to him, fifteen years from now. Killing his brothers. Betraying his wife. Telling his wife the truth and losing her. A gold mask of his own face, weeping golden tears. Marching with an army. Neph Dada. Walking away from an army. Solitude and madness and death, a dozen different ways. Down every path, he could see only suffering. Every time he chose any good for himself, those he loved suffered.

"You knew?" his wife asked. "You knew all along?"

"No!" Dorian shot upright in bed, waking.

Solon flinched in the chair across from Dorian. He gestured, and the lamps in the room lit. "Dorian? You're back! I hope whatever you were doing was important, because I wanted to wake you about a hundred times."

Dorian's head was aching. What day was it? How long had he been catatonic?