The tomb was hidden by an outcropping, a ragged pillar of granite thrust from the side of the mountain. A small pine, struggling for life, pressed against it. Peeking out from one of its few branches, Ward could discern a worn carving of four joined circles.

"I thought I told you to wait."

Maybe he could just take a peek, see if there really was a map, then run out and start the test. "You'll need help opening it."

She pointed to the stone slab, which only half covered the opening, leaving a s.p.a.ce wide enough for her to enter.

"Fine." It served him right for thinking too much and not paying attention. Now he had to come up with something else, but he couldn't make his mind work fast enough. "Maybe I'm just curious. I could help you translate some of the writing."

"Have you figured out the journal yet?"

He bit his lip. If he said yes, he'd have to tell her what he'd discovered, and if she was trying to become the shadow walker, would that make her want to dispose of him? He couldn't risk it. "No."

"Then why would you think you could translate Ancient?" She glared at him and put one hand on her hip and the other on the pommel of her dagger. "I'd rather be alone."

Ward inched back, not wanting a confrontation until he knew her intentions. If she wasn't trying to become the shadow walker, it wouldn't matter if she knew the location of the Tomb. And if she was... he could always stop her before the Contraluxis.

"Sure," he said.

A slight smile pulled at her lips, but it didn't reach her eyes. She turned and slipped past the heavy marble door into the tomb.

Ward swallowed the lump in his throat. He needed to be more careful. After last night, he didn't know how she felt about him, but it seemed whatever had been between them was lost. Resigning himself to that fact, he climbed the steep path back into the dying rays of sunshine. At least he could finish his test.

Finding a chest-high monument-a long, marble coffin-he climbed onto it and sat, his legs hanging over the edge. Before him was a perfect sunset, lighting up the peaks of the Red Mountains against an azure sky. It felt as if a lifetime had pa.s.sed since he'd sat and watched the sun travel its course.

He pulled himself from his reverie, reached into his rucksack, and removed the two folded pieces of parchment containing Solartti's and Celia's blood. He brushed the dust from the surface of the tomb and unfolded each parchment to wait for the last rays of the sun to crystallize the blood. Then he took the journal from his rucksack and opened it. There were only a few more entries left to read, and if he couldn't watch Celia in the tomb, he might as well have all the other information he could find.

In the remaining entries, the Dominus-Celia's father-described the fruit of a months-long, systematic search of Veknormai, resulting in the discovery of the Tomb of Souls, but it didn't specify its location.

Ward leaned forward, casting his shadow across the journal, making it difficult to read. He shifted so the sun once again lit the text.

With luck this would prove Celia was innocent of the whole scheme. If her father knew the location of the Tomb of Souls there was no need for her to find a map that would lead her there. Of course, her blood would offer definitive proof, but he still had to wait a little longer. And really, all her blood would prove was that her father intended to create this shadow walker and had the means to do so. It didn't disprove that Celia sought the same goal on her own to make her father happy.

d.a.m.n, and he thought Calbournians wove complicated sleuth-stories. If he had a big blank wall and some chalk-not to mention a couple of days-he might be able to unravel all the threads. Although he still didn't know anything for certain.

He glanced at the parchments, but couldn't tell if miniscule crystals had formed or not. Maybe his eyes were playing tricks on him. If the crystals were present and had started to grow, they'd be visible soon. He just didn't want to wait. Celia could be, at that very moment, discovering the location of the Tomb of Souls. In the very least, he should be there with her so he'd know as well.

And then what?

He ground his teeth. He couldn't confront her. She'd just kill him. Any friendship or understanding between them wouldn't be enough to stop her. She'd probably smile through the whole thing, and that would be the last thing he'd ever see. A manic smile on her beautiful face.

Regardless, he had to do something. He'd just have to figure out what that was when the time came. If only they'd run into the Master of the a.s.sa.s.sins' Guild. That might solve the problem. It was a strange day indeed if that was his most desperate wish. Unless, of course, the Master wanted to become the shadow walker as well. Which would only make the matter worse.

Ward grabbed the parchments beside him and held them in the sunlight. Pale green flecks had formed in both samples. Celia had taken ibria, and the only explanation was to become the shadow walker. It also meant that whoever had given Solartti the herb, knew it would kill him. Which, he supposed, made sense. They had seen Karysa when they'd run off with his body. Unless Solartti also knew about the shadow walker and was trying to become it as well and didn't know that ibria, charlatous, and zephnyr oil was a deadly combination.

This was ridiculous. He could speculate all day and still not have any answers. He folded the parchments, shoved them into his rucksack, and headed back to the tomb.

Celia emerged from behind the stone slab that had covered the entrance, brushing dust and cobwebs from her dress. Her brow was creased and her mouth set in a hard line. Her frown deepened when she saw Ward.

He forced a calm expression and held back his relief. An unlucky Celia meant a very lucky him. "No luck?"

"On the contrary."

His stomach clenched and a shiver raced up his spine even though the late rays of a perfect summer afternoon warmed him. "You don't look happy."

She glowered at him and climbed up the steep path. "That's my thinking face."

"Oh."

"I found the map. I just need to reconfirm with the notes I left back in the cavern."

"Well, maybe if I look at the map I can help you."

"No."

"But-"

"I know where the tomb is. I don't need your help." She huffed and strode away.

Ward glanced back at the tomb, then scrambled after her. He didn't want to get lost in Veknormai, nor did he want to raise her suspicions-not until he figured out what to do. He'd just have to do it before the Contraluxis tomorrow night.

THIRTY.

Celia sat in a dark hallway on the second ring, watching the stairs leading to the only way out Ward knew about, and waiting to see what she'd set in motion. If Ward really was working for her father or the Master, surely the location of the Tomb of Souls and the Nectar of Veknormai-whatever it was-was significant enough to warrant a trip to his contact. If he wasn't working for them, she'd spend the night sitting on the floor and know she could still trust him.

Unless they didn't really care about Nicco's research or Ward suspected she knew about his betrayal. She wished his seduction had been a success, and yet a part of her was glad it hadn't. She'd gotten too close as it was.

Still, she was missing valuable information, like the truth about Ward, even the truth about her murder. Missing details made her twitchy. There were too many variables she couldn't account for, and that was dangerous. If she'd been thinking, she would have asked Ward about his test on her and Solartti's blood. She'd wanted to, but the curiosity would be in contradiction to her previous behavior and she didn't want to alarm him. In truth, she didn't need to know who had killed Solartti or herself. It was the leaders of the Underworld: her father, the Master, and Bakmeire.

No more wavering. She needed to do what she needed to do.

First, though, she had to catch Ward and dispose of him before she gave something away, something bigger than her secret haunt. And it had to be something bigger, something to do with Nicco's research, or they wouldn't have hired Ward to wake her. She just couldn't figure out what that was.

The soft shuffling of feet along the ring drew her attention, and she peeked out of the shadows into the gallery. As expected, Ward, his rucksack slung over his shoulder, made his way to the stairs.

She let him pa.s.s, waiting for him to climb out of sight. Then she followed, lying low to the steps until she could see the floor of the first ring.

He set his rucksack down and pulled on a boot.

Her blood rushed in her ears and an ache grew in her gut, spreading to her chest and accentuating each beat of her heart. He couldn't have betrayed her. She wanted him to be innocent, compa.s.sionate Ward, to be as perfect and blessed as his hands. Yet the evidence could not be disputed. He was putting on his boots to betray more of her secrets to the very people who had murdered her.

He pulled on his other boot and straightened.

She reached for the dagger at her hip. This time she wouldn't miss and she wouldn't st.i.tch him back up. She'd stand there and watch him bleed.

"Where are you going, Ward?" she asked, standing, her arms crossed so her right hand could rest on the hilt of her dagger without appearing obvious.

He swallowed and ran his hands down the front of his shirt, looking every bit the guilty man. "I just need a little fresh air."

"You got lots this afternoon."

"Yes." He nodded, his head bobbing up and down. Where was the consummate player now? Or was this just more of his games?

"Why don't you stay in?"

He glanced at the door then back to her.

"We could open that other jug of wine and celebrate my findings."

"Yes." He made no move to take off his boots.

She raised an eyebrow, trying to elicit a response. Her mind screamed at her to kill him, end it, leave the cavern, and begin her hunt. She squeezed the hilt of her dagger. Now. She should do it now.

He shifted from one foot to the other.

She loosened the blade from its sheath.

He swallowed.

Yes. His death would free her to do what she was born to do and yet it was his spell that kept her alive. If his life ended, would hers? Would she cross back over the veil or would something else happen? If she killed him, she had no guarantee she would be able to finish her mission. And to top it off, her cursed heart didn't want him dead.

"I really do need a little air." He was pale. White as death.

She eased her dagger back into its sheath and forced a half smile. Perhaps she could play him for a little longer. Just until she knew if killing him would end his spell on her or not. "I'll open the wine and let it breathe. When you return you can help me confirm the location of the Tomb of Souls."

He nodded, but didn't appear any happier at the prospect of wine and a puzzle. In fact, he looked even more nervous than before.

Ward stepped into the dim sewers. He closed the cavern door and pressed his hands against its smooth surface. His heart pounded, and all he could hear was its heavy thump and the rush of air that came with every breath. He was caught.

How had he managed to survive the encounter? He shoved that thought aside. It didn't matter how it had happened. He should make the best of it and run.

With a quick inhalation that made him choke on the fumes, he pushed away from the wall and started down the pipe. First he had the Inquisitor to check on, and regardless of his Oath, this was the last visit. The Tracker would have to figure out the rest on his own. Besides, the incision seemed to be healing well. There was still a chance it would rot, but every pa.s.sing day decreased that chance. The G.o.ddess had been watching over him on that matter since many operations ended in tragedy. If only she'd been watching earlier.

He found an access pipe and climbed the ladder to the street, no longer caring if anyone saw him. He wasn't going back. The G.o.ddess herself couldn't command him to return to Celia. The fact that she hadn't killed him, he was sure, was merely a moment of weakness. If he returned, she'd surely regain her senses.

And what of him? Had he finally returned to his right mind? He was about to check on a patient who could arrest him and just as easily kill him. He wanted to run to the far reaches of the princ.i.p.alities, but the little voice of reason buried deep within the recesses of his mind reminded him that even the barren northern plains were not free of the Gentilica. Even if the Tracker let him go, and his spell on Celia ended before the Contraluxis and she turned herself into the shadow walker, there would still be the Dominus and the Master. Unless Celia took that matter into her own hands.

There was the catch. Even if he ran, his life was still tied to Celia's. If he ran he was dead. If he stayed he was dead. No matter what he did, it heralded his end.

Well, if he was meeting the G.o.ddess, he would go down fighting. He would stop Celia, and- A calm settled within him for the first time in days. The answer was so simple he couldn't believe it had taken him so long to figure it out. He had picked the wrong demon to make a deal with.

He would visit the Tracker to check the Inquisitor's health and barter with his knowledge of the Gentilica. Surely the ident.i.ty of the Dominus would buy his freedom for a lifesaving surgery. They'd even be grateful Ward-Edward de'Ath the Fourth, eighth-generation necromancer-had, in one swoop, brought down the head of crime in Brawenal. He imagined them taking him to the prince, who would shower him with t.i.tles and riches and proclaim that surgery was for the better good of all men and not an abomination in the eyes of the G.o.ddess. There would be a small keep with a library full of books in his future, and he would never have to fear for his life again.

But first, he had to destroy his Jam de'U and kill Celia. And he couldn't do that from a distance. He turned around and marched back to the sewers and the cavern. He wasn't certain how he'd destroy his spell. What he did know was that he needed to meditate to focus his concentration, then sever the magic keeping Celia from crossing the veil. And, as with any necromantic practice, he needed more blood. It was best to have physical contact to break a spell, but he'd take close proximity as another, probably safer, option.

He reached for the door, pausing to regain an outward appearance of calm, and swung it open. Someone screamed. It sounded like Celia, but she'd never struck Ward as a screamer. If trouble was bad enough to warrant screaming, she'd just pull out her dagger and kill it. Whatever it was, it had to be beyond bad.

Without considering the possibilities of what beyond bad meant, he leapt through the doorway and was jerked off his feet. Bakmeire grasped the front of Ward's shirt with a thick hand, shook him, and tossed him against the wall.

Air burst from his lungs and he sagged to the floor. Celia barked a string of curses, and over Bakmeire's shoulder, Ward saw her struggling against her father's grasp. He stood behind her, his height and bulk dwarfing her.

Beside them, Karysa glanced Ward's way, letting her b.l.o.o.d.y hand fall away from Celia's forehead. It left a dark smear, reminding Ward of the ceremonial face paint worn by the warriors in Worben. Now that Ward finally got a good look at her he didn't like what he saw. The rumors were true. Five gold rings in her right ear reflected the multihued light from the ceiling. The sign that she was powerful enough to have successfully created five vesperitti-creatures that were half-alive and half-dead, kept on this side of the veil by human blood.

"Two for the price of one," she said.

"Get back to your spell," Carlyle said, his voice the deep growl Ward remembered from their first meeting when he'd hired Ward to wake Celia.

Karysa grabbed Celia's face in both hands and began to chant. Her voice was low. She rumbled harsh, guttural words. Pausing, she sucked in a quick breath and pressed her forehead to Celia's, repeating the chant.

Ward wasn't certain what was supposed to happen. He didn't recognize the spell, and because of his mystic blindness, he couldn't see how she manipulated the energy around her.

Karysa stopped and turned to Ward, her eyes narrowed.

"What's wrong?" Carlyle asked.

Celia twisted, squirming in his grip, and Karysa backhanded her across the face. The impact echoed through the cavern and Celia froze, her expression dark.

"I can't impress my will on the boy's spell."

"You said you could," Carlyle said.

"Yes."

All eyes turned to Ward.

Carlyle pursed his lips. "Well?"

"Kill him."

"I thought you said I shouldn't."

The Innecroestri shrugged. "I've changed my mind."

Ward scrambled to his feet. He still wasn't sure what was going on, but it didn't appear as if Celia was a willing sacrifice for her father's plans. Bakmeire drew his sword and hobbled forward, blocking the entrance to the sewers.

A part of Ward's mind screamed at him to run and save himself, but another part, a louder part, told him to rescue Celia. But she was more capable of taking care of herself than Ward, and no matter how he tried, there was nothing he could do dead. Celia would have to wait.

He turned and ran, praying Bakmeire's injured leg would slow him down. It should. Ward hadn't known a hamstring to heal so fast, if it healed at all. In retrospect, the man should still be bedridden. There wasn't time to contemplate all the implications of that. All he could do was hope for a set of stairs on the other side of the gallery, or reach the set he knew of before Carlyle or Karysa.

Celia yelled something, and Ward risked a glance over his shoulder. Bakmeire had fallen behind. For once Ward's long legs were good for something. Celia had broken free of her father and faced him, fists raised. Ward couldn't see Karysa. He scanned the landing, trying to see into the shadowed hallways that branched away from the cavern.