"We already know someone wanted me out of the way. That's why I'm dead."

"The question is, does this new information add the Master to the list of suspects-" He snorted. "I correct myself. The list is endless-it could be anyone in the city. So, does this new information move the Master to... say the top five, or move him out of the top five?"

"How do I tie this off?"

He didn't look down at her work. "A regular knot will do."

She tied the knot, snipped the thread with his strange narrow scissors, and nudged him forward so she could sew the st.i.tches on the back of his arm. "I suppose if he wants me to leave, he doesn't want me dead."

"Unless he's realized killing you is futile."

She smiled and adjusted her position to a more comfortable angle. A shadow at the back of his neck caught her attention. At first glance it looked like a G.o.ddess-eye brand, but that was impossible. While Ward obviously had an interest in the illegal side of medicine, he was so honest he practically glowed with goodness.

She shifted again to get a better look. Sure enough, he had the ridges of opalescent flesh seared into an open G.o.ddess-eye at the base of his neck, the criminal's reminder that the G.o.ddess and her servants of the law-the Seers and their officers, the Quayestri-were always watching.

Ward glanced at her and she realized she'd been quiet for too long, staring at the brand.

"Yes, killing me is futile with my necromancer at my side. I'm invincible."

"Although I'm not sure if it means anything. If your killer isn't the Master and we do leave Brawenal, would you be safe anywhere in the Union of Princ.i.p.alities?"

She pressed the edges of the wound together and pushed the needle through. Ward hissed, then resumed his controlled breathing. Did that actually help with the pain? "Not if the killer is my father."

"Do you think he is?"

She paused, needle ready to start another st.i.tch. She knew her father could be a suspect-that thought had never left her mind-but it was more likely he'd heard a rumor about it. He couldn't kill her. Not her own father. She pushed the needle through with more force than she intended and Ward gasped.

"Sorry. Anything is possible, I suppose."

"Enough of the list." Ward checked the finished st.i.tches on his bicep. "Any thoughts on whether you want to talk to Grysmore or not?"

Going into the Collegiate of the Quayestri had little appeal. It was probably why she hadn't thought about it. "Perhaps he keeps a residence outside the Collegiate?"

"Possible, but how would we find out?"

"We could see if he leaves the Collegiate and follow him?" She knew it was a stupid idea the moment she said it, but she was just thinking out loud.

"I don't know what Grysmore looks like, do you?"

"It was just an idea."

"I know."

She sighed. "If we want to figure out who wanted Nicco dead, Grysmore is our only lead." She finished the st.i.tches on the back of his arm. "How are you at veiling your thoughts?"

"My what?"

"Veiling your thoughts?"

"As in the 'only found in fairy tales' veiling of thoughts?"

"You raise the dead."

"But only for a little while."

"Well, we only need to veil our thoughts for a little while."

Carlyle paced his over-adorned sitting room and droned on while Karysa imagined how it would feel to run her blade through his chest. She'd killed men larger than him, although not by much given his height and comfortable girth, but she hadn't killed anyone quite so significant before. Her Master had always kept that privilege to himself. Antic.i.p.ation bubbled within her at the honor. The double honor at that, to sacrifice the Dominus of Brawenal's Gentilica for a spell so powerful it defied the G.o.ddess's call across the veil for generations. And now she was just biding her time, waiting until the Contraluxis to pounce. She'd already cast the essence-seeking spell with Solartti's saliva and discovered Celia's little hideout. But she knew if she told Carlyle he'd go after her right away, which increased the chance Celia would find a way to escape before they needed her.

"I said, what about the boy? Won't his spell on her be a problem?"

She turned a hard gaze on Carlyle and watched him shiver. A tremor of pleasure seeped through her. Too bad he didn't completely understand what she was, that she could kill him with a little blood and a kiss. That it hurt her not to kill him. But there was enough energy in his soul to complete the spell and she needed him unaware of his impending end.

"The boy is not a concern. He never was. Celia cannot run from her destiny."

Carlyle harrumphed. "I don't care about destiny, I care about the shadow walker. She's dead, you're a necromancer-"

"Innecroestri."

"Whatever."

She raised an eyebrow and resisted the urge to take his soul. It would be more complicated if she had to find someone else with as much energy to complete the spell.

Carlyle turned his back to her and looked out the window. "You must have a way of finding her."

"I do."

"Then do it."

She sighed. "Your daughter is skilled. That's why we picked her. We need to wait for the right moment."

"The right moment?" Carlyle asked, his voice dark.

She smiled at his implied threat. That at least was exciting. "There is a right moment for everything." Including his death. She would enjoy watching his life seep from his body.

TWENTY-THREE.

Ward woke to a dark chamber. He had no idea how long he'd slept and could only a.s.sume it was night outside the cavern. After Celia had dabbed away the dried blood from around her uneven st.i.tches, she'd wrapped the wound and left. He must have fallen asleep soon afterward, although only the G.o.ddess knew how.

He flexed his bicep with a slow bend of his elbow, igniting a burning pain that made his eyes water. It hurt-oh, G.o.ddess, did it hurt-but the bandage remained tight, and there was only the shadow of a small patch of blood near Celia's first and poorest st.i.tches. She had promise. Good st.i.tches and a well-tied bandage. That was better than most first-year students could manage.

Sitting up sent a jolt of pain through his arm, and he ground his teeth against it. He should probably look for her and see what she had planned. If he recalled, she wanted to visit Grysmore at the Collegiate of the Quayestri, which was pure insanity.

No, kissing her was pure insanity. What had he been thinking?

He hadn't been. That was the problem. Apparently it was true-men really did do crazy things when they thought they were on their deathbeds. He couldn't imagine what he would do if he actually was facing the G.o.ddess's eternal embrace.

He rubbed his face with his good hand and got out of bed. Maybe she'd forgotten about the kiss. Not likely. She probably thought it his usual foolishness. Which it certainly was. He wasn't cut out for a life of serious crime. Stealing a few bodies here and there out of cemeteries? Not a problem. Stealing from the Keeper of the a.s.sa.s.sins' Guild and hiding from the Dominus of the Gentilica? Truth be told, he wasn't very good at simple body-s.n.a.t.c.hing, either. Of the five princ.i.p.alities, three had caught him and he'd barely escaped with his hands intact.

When this was over he'd stop all criminal activity. Even a minor theft was punishable by cutting off a hand, and his hands seemed so much more important now that the rest of him was in jeopardy.

He headed down the hall. Celia didn't strike him as the kind who slept a lot and, sure enough, her room was empty. He decided to look for her in the study and then the common chamber. After that... Well, he'd deal with that once he got there.

She sat behind her desk, bent over a pile of loose parchment. Her hair was still in a braid but even more wisps had escaped and veiled her face.

Ward leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms, feeling naked even though he still wore his pants. Not like she'd notice.

Not Celia.

"You know," he said, "if you ever get tired of killing people for a living, I know this physician's school in Bantianta that would love to have you."

She glanced up and brushed her hair from her face with the back of her hand.

His breath caught in his throat as those blue eyes froze him in place.

"You should still be in bed."

"Yes, doctor." He shrugged off the moment, stepped into the chamber, and headed for his usual chair.

She frowned. "Well, in your professional opinion, what would you say?"

"Oh, that I most certainly should still be in bed."

"So why aren't you?"

"Doctors make bad patients. I have to live up to expectations. Besides, shouldn't you be in bed as well?"

She rolled her eyes and returned to reading.

They sat in silence, Ward watching her read and ignore him. He could feel the seconds pa.s.s with each measured thump of his heart. And still she didn't speak. What was so engrossing? Or, more likely, what bothered her about him? What didn't bother her? She already thought he was incompetent. Why, oh why, had he kissed her?

How to break the moment? He could ask what her next plan was, but that felt trite, insensitive, even if she wasn't doing anything to indicate she needed him to be sensitive. What if she never spoke to him again? It was just the two of them for who-knew-how-long. He couldn't last forever in silence, so he opened his mouth to speak but she beat him to it.

"I'm not leaving until I find out who killed me."

"I didn't think you would."

"Good." She didn't even look up.

"So, what now?"

"These are Allyan Nicco's notes." She shuffled the top page to the bottom and started on the next one.

"What's bothering you?" he asked, even though he had a good idea what it was. He really shouldn't have kissed her.

"Nothing."

"I see."

She placed her finger on a word and looked up at him. "I'm thinking."

"I can see that."

"Then, please. Stop bothering me."

Ward matched her stare, his brown to her blue. "You got me into this mess. I deserve to be a part of getting us out of it."

She tapped the finger holding her spot in the text once... twice... "I just can't figure anything out."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know why I was killed. I don't know why I had to-why Nicco was killed. I know in my gut they're related because Nicco's research"-she tapped the parchment again-"was supposed to be destroyed. Those were the terms of the a.s.signment."

Ward leaned back and stared up at the smooth obsidian and witch-stone ceiling. If he'd heard her right, she'd just admitted to a.s.sa.s.sinating Allyan Nicco. It was the only logical explanation for how she ended up with his work.

He imagined her sneaking into Nicco's house, finding the man alone in his study, and killing him. Then picking up those pages to throw them into the fire, but hesitating. He didn't know what could have captured her attention enough to go against the Master, but something had, and for the last however many years-four?-she had tried to continue Nicco's research.

Four years ago? She didn't look any older than he did. If that were the case, she would have been only sixteen or seventeen when she killed Nicco.

Ward shivered. He couldn't imagine taking a life at sixteen. He'd already spent two years at The Olmech School of Health and Philosophy by then. Admittedly, he'd spent most of his youth prior to that studying necromancy, but necromancers never took human life. They studied death and the way people died in an attempt to understand and maintain the balance-or so Grandfather claimed, which Ward was becoming more inclined to believe-but they never actually killed anyone.

"So, let's say they're connected. However you ended up with Nicco's research..."

She raised an eyebrow.

"Let's say someone found out you have his notes."

"Isn't that a bit of a stretch?"

"It's better than all of Brawenal City as suspects." He sat forward. "It would at least be a motive."

"Aside from revenge or power?"

Ward templed his fingers. "Fine. Let's say you have nothing to do with it. Unless Nicco lived some kind of secret life, the only reason someone would want him dead and his research destroyed is because he discovered something he shouldn't have."

"I already know that."

"Bear with me. This poor little necromancer needs to think out loud." Ward stood, stepped over to the bookcase, and squatted to get a better look at the books. He wasn't sure where he was going with his train of thought-he was just trying to follow the logic. If there was any logic.

"Nicco was researching the Ancients..."