The soldiers prepared well for their raid. Outside, we’re loaded into a prison carriage: a metal box on wheels, with one small, barred window in the rear door. Further on, a wagon waits to take away the dead.
“You can’t do this!” Saira cries as she is pushed up into the carriage behind me, her sister clinging to her in silence. “Stop! Master Blackflame promised — you weren’t supposed to kill anyone! Wait — where is my brother?”
She gets her answer a moment later when Tarek is shoved into the carriage, the door slammed shut behind him. Leaning my head back against the cold metal wall, I listen to the lock click. If I still had my lockpick set, picking it would have been a moment’s work.
Saira continues to rail against the soldiers, half-hysterical, until Tarek says, “Saira, stop. It’s no use. Stop.”
His voice is low and weak, and I remember belatedly that he had been bleeding. If his wound hasn’t been bandaged, we’ll need to do something about it fast. I move toward him, sidling down the bench. Now that the carriage rattles along the road, I don’t trust myself to keep my balance. Not after the spell and the blow to my head.
I hesitate before I speak. They’ve all heard the Ghost’s voice, and with Saira’s betrayal as fresh as the blood on Tarek’s arm, I don’t want to risk anyone discovering I’m not him. Not until the Ghost has had enough time to escape.
I lower my voice to a whisper, barely loud enough for Tarek to hear me over the clatter of the carriage. “Where are you bleeding?”
“My arm. But they bound it for me.”
Saira makes a strangled sound.
“Shut up,” Tarek say tightly. “This is your fault. All of it. You killed them.”
“I didn’t!” Saira’s voice rises until it screeches in my ears. “No one was supposed to die! The soldiers weren’t supposed to attack us, just….”
“Just me,” I say, then berate myself for speaking aloud. I move back down the bench, training my gaze on the opposite wall.
“Why did you want to kill the Ghost?” Alia asks.
“I didn’t want — I just — it was a negotiation! Master Blackflame promised….” Saira shakes her head.
“Promised that he’d keep his political enemy safe if you handed over the Ghost? Oh, how he must have praised your smarts.” Tarek’s voice is heavy with sarcasm. “You’d save Mama and Baba from what? The sultan’s displeasure? While creating some amazing alliance with Blackflame?”
“The sultan wants Mama and Baba dead—”
“The sultan does what Blackflame wants!” Tarek is shouting now. “Blackflame wanted them dead, and you gave him the perfect opportunity to kill them and catch the leader of the Shadow League at the same time.”
“No,” Saira whispers. “He promised….”
“And you believed him.” Tarek’s words drip disdain.
Saira doesn’t answer.
As I half-expected, instead of taking us to the city prison, we’re admitted through the gates to Blackflame’s private residence. Why take us to the sultan’s prison when Karolene’s Arch Mage is the true power? He meets us in the courtyard, smiling as if he has just been given a gift. And he has, I think grimly.
The soldiers haul me out of the carriage and shove me to my knees. I try not to wince as I hit the cobbles. Blackflame stands a few paces away, watching the spectacle of his prisoners being unloaded with undisguised pleasure.
Wilhelm Blackflame looks nothing like his mage-name would suggest. He’s tall and broad-shouldered, with a thick mane of golden hair that curls where it brushes his shoulders. His skin shows pale, marking him a northerner. He is naturally strong, neither big-muscled nor going to fat. With his wide forehead, defined jaw, and cleft chin, his features are a little too strong for beauty. But what his body fails to show and his mage-name only implies is this: the pure magical power lurking behind his eyes.
“Welcome, ghost-boy,” he says. He tilts his head to study me. The soldiers have pulled my hood back, exposing my face. Thankfully, with my hair shorn short and my grubby tunic and trousers, I look as much a boy as I do a girl. The additional layer of my cloak conceals anything my tunic doesn’t. Apparently, Blackflame’s sources aren’t as informed as they seem: he doesn’t realize that I’m the wrong race.
“Oh, it’s my pleasure,” I say, keeping my voice as low as I can. I’m not sure how long I’ll be able to keep up the pretense of being the Ghost, but I intend to give my friends as much time as I can. “It’s good to know you’ve been losing sleep over me. Or do you make a habit of personally receiving your prisoners in the middle of the night?”
His nostrils flare, and I sense the soldiers shift behind me. I doubt too many people mouth off to him. But then he laughs, and I find I much prefer him angry to amused. “Say what you like now, boy. I’ll hear you screaming for mercy before I’m done with you. I’ll have every name of every person who so much as smiled in your support out of you.”
I swallow hard, trying to look unconcerned. I’m not so stupid as to think I’ll last long against a skilled torturer.
“Nothing to say to that? Ah, I thought you had a bit more courage. You might roar like a lion, but you haven’t the claws to prove it. More of a puppy, I think.”
“Easily said when you’re standing free with your mercenaries at your beck and call,” I snap. “I’ve never bought my loyalty.” Not that I’ve ever had anyone loyal to me, come to think of it. Not the way he means.
“A pity. If you had, you might not be here now. I always said you were a fool to trust every man in need of saving.”
“Degath did need saving.” I try to push myself to my feet. The soldiers holding me shove me back down by my shoulders. “You turned his daughter against him.”
He laughs. “Where is the precious girl? Don’t tell me she died with her parents.”
“No, Master Blackflame,” the captain says. “We’ve done as you ordered. The children are all alive.”
“As you ordered?” Saira’s voice wavers with disbelief. I can’t imagine how she’s held on for so long. I suppose the alternative, the reality of what she’s done, is too much for her to accept.
Twisting my head, I can just make out her form as she clambers down from the prison carriage. “But you promised me my parents would be spared!”
“You must have misunderstood, my dear. I said I would spare Lord Degath’s life. And, if I’m not mistaken, there he is behind you.”
Saira wheels around to see her brother at the foot of the carriage, helping Alia down with his good arm. Tarek raises his gaze to Blackflame, squaring his shoulders. “If you think I’m more likely to ally myself with you than my father, you are mistaken,” he says, his voice shaking with fury. “I would rather slit your throat.”
“How charming.” Blackflame chuckles, shaking his head as if Tarek were a child showing off a new trick. “Little Lord Degath, you are not half so quick as your father. Let me clarify your situation. You are, by all accounts, dead — or whisked off by the League, perhaps. No one will know where you are; no ally will come to your support. No Ghost. I think a few years behind stone walls followed by an execution would do you good.”
“You’re a monster!” Alia shrieks, holding tight to her brother’s hand.
I close my eyes. Blackflame hadn’t mentioned her. Why did she have to draw attention to herself?
He smiles. “No, little Degath, I am not. But I will be sure to introduce you to one shortly.” He turns to the captain. “Put them in the cages.”
We are marched down to the dank underbelly of Blackflame’s mansion. The wide room might have felt spacious had it not been for the cages lining one wall and the torture table and instruments set out in the center. Additional implements — chains, spikes, hooks, and various blades — hang from the wall behind the table. By the time we’ve each been locked into our respective cages, Saira is sobbing hysterically. Tarek maintains a stoic silence, but I’m not sure how much of it is due to shock and blood loss.
My cage is barely high enough for me to stand, and it allows me only three steps in any direction. I am at the end of the row, with a wall on one side and Alia’s cage on the other. Beyond her are her sister and then her brother. After him I see two more cages. One I think is empty; the other holds a dark shadow pressed into the farthest corner.
I sit down, leaning against the wall, and try to think through the pounding in my head. I hurt all over: my knees where they hit the cobblestones, my back and ribs where I’d been kicked, and my head where the captain hit me with the flat of his blade. Add to that the drain of my magic working, and I can barely see straight.
Still, if I can pick the lock….
I scoot over to the bars. “Alia,” I call, pitching my voice low. “Alia!”
She lifts her head from her hands. Her face is dry, her eyes glazed. She looks worn down by experience, her ten years no longer filled with innocence. In the emptiness of her expression, I catch a memory of my own and my heart stutters. Damn Blackflame to a hundred agonizing deaths.
Alia blinks slowly. “Ghost?” she whispers, her voice numb.
“Yes,” I reply, silently promising that I will be her Ghost, that I will get her out of this. If it’s the last thing I do, I will save her from watching the rest of her family die. And, as much as I despise her sister, I will save what is left of her family as well.
“Can you untie my hands? I might be able to get the locks open, but not if I’m tied.”
“What are you saying to her?” Saira’s voice from the next cage is wary. As if she has any reason to suspect me.
I swallow a sharp retort and make myself explain. “If she can untie my hands, I might be able to pick the locks. If either of you have anything I can use. Hairpins, maybe?”
“I’ve got some,” Saira says, tearing at her hair. She gathers a few in her hands and holds them out to Alia. “Take them to the Ghost.”
“What did he mean by a monster?” Alia asks.
Saira flinches. “I don’t know. But if the Ghost can help us escape, we won’t have to find out.”
Alia wipes her nose and reaches for the pins. She barely has to shift her position to offer them to me.
“I can’t take them until you untie my hands,” I remind her. “See if you can loosen the ropes.”
I sit with my back pressed up against the bars, my hands shoved as far through as I can manage. Alia picks at the knot, sniffling now and then. “I can’t see it,” she says finally, pushing my hands away. “And it’s too tight.”
“You need to keep trying,” Saira says from her cage.
“Come on, Alia,” their brother calls. “Try again.”
She does. I murmur encouragements, praying for the ropes to loosen. It feels like hours later when I finally twist my hands free. I have no idea how late — or early — it really is. I fumble for the hairpins, my fingers too numb to lift them.
“Can you do it?” Alia asks, her voice peaking with worry.
“Yes,” I say, wishing the ropes had been a little less tight. My fingers are clumsy, slow. “Let me just get my hands working again.” I shake them out, rubbing my fingers until they feel like I’ve plunged them into a fire, flames licking at my veins. When the burning begins to subside, I pocket the hairpins and scoot over to the door.
The lock is simple enough. I can lift the pins of the lock, but the thin metal clips aren’t strong enough to turn the tumbler. I break two of the five I have trying. What I need is something to apply torque, something with more substance.
“Ghost?” Alia asks, her voice plaintive.
“I’ve almost got it,” I mutter. “Do you have anything else I can use? Saira? Tarek? I need something a little stronger than hairpins.”
They check their pockets, but like me the soldiers stripped them of their belongings.
“Do you have any more hairpins?” I press. Saira pulls the last pins from her hair, passing them through the bars to Alia. Unbound, her hair falls down her back in a cascade of black. Just the flow of her hair speaks to her noble heritage.
I gather what I have, then set aside four hairpins. It’s only a three-pin lock, but it’s best to keep a spare in case I break one. If I can solder the remaining metal together, that should be strong enough to finish the job.
I turn my back to the Degaths. Folding my legs beneath me, I cup my hands around the hairpins and lean down so that I’m curled over them. Even here, in the near dark, when I may already be dead, I dare not let my secret out. Instead, I let myself look beaten, and, my cloak obscuring my actions, I pour my magic into the palms of my hands.
I draw on everything I have: on the stone of the walls surrounding me, ancient and unconcerned, born of the earth; on the air, cool and heavy with damp, life-giving yet laden with the scent of death, a memory of pain. When I open my eyes, I see blearily that the pins have sealed together into a single misshapen wrench.
It’s done. The wrench is made; the pins are ready. I have only to open the cages and find a way out. Darkness drips onto my fingers. I raise a hand to wipe blood from my nose, my motions slow, unsteady.
Holding the wrench in one hand, I grab hold of a bar and pull myself up. The cage tilts around me. I stagger, my feet clumsy, heavy as stone.
“Ghost?” Alia asks.
I shake my head, trying to clear it, and lose my balance, falling backwards. The last thing I hear is Alia’s voice calling to me as my head hits the floor. “Ghost? Ghost?”
I wake to the sound of boots, the low rumble of male voices in conversation. I squeeze my eyes shut, open them slowly. The dark bars of a cage stare back at me. My memories snap into place. I try to scramble to my feet, but my sense of balance is off. Fighting a wave of dizziness, I crouch on the floor, swallowing down bile. Something metallic has rolled between the stones before me: my torque wrench.
As swiftly as my shaking fingers will let me, I slip it into my pocket alongside the hairpins. When I look up, I make myself focus on the men. Blackflame strides toward the cages, his golden mane falling about his shoulders, his mage’s robes flaring as he walks. In their way, the four mercenaries behind him are as ornamental as his robe.
A tall, slim figure keeps pace with him, his short chestnut hair emphasizing the paleness of his face. He wears a rich ensemble of a tailored shirt, brocade vest, fitted pantaloons, and immaculate boots. A northman? As he offers Blackflame a grin, I catch the gleam of lantern light on unnaturally long incisors.
No.
No.
I scramble toward the bars between my cage and Alia’s. “Alia — Alia! Listen to me. Whatever you do, don’t look at the men.” She stares back at me. She looks terrible: pale-faced to the point of sickliness, with dark bruises beneath her eyes. “Don’t look at them! Do you hear me? He’s a—”
“Child,” the creature says, his voice a friendly baritone. “Who is your friend?”
“Alia!” I lunge for her, grabbing her sleeve and yanking her toward me before she can finish turning her head. “Don’t look!” I can feel the call of his voice even though I’m not his target. I have to fight to keep my gaze on Alia.
She jerks back to look at me. “What’s wrong?” she whispers.
“Monster,” I whisper back. “A fang. Don’t look.”
Her eyes widen with horror. Not because he’s a fang; I suspect she has met more than a few. The fangs that come to Karolene are often wealthy, moving in elite circles and visiting the court. But they also belong to clans who have signed treaties with the High Council of Mages, treaties that assure they never drink from an unwilling victim.
From her expression, I know that Alia understands as well as I that this fang is not safe like those others. This fang has come for her blood.
“How precious.” The stranger chuckles softly. I hear the click of his boots as he comes to stand before my cage. “How long do you think you can protect her, girl?”
Blackflame makes a strangled sound. I keep my eyes focused on Alia. “That’s no girl, Kol. That’s the Ghost.”
The fang, Kol, sniffs the air. “I know a girl when I scent one. I take it your Ghost is meant to be a boy?”
“Open the door,” Blackflame orders, his voice dark with fury. He knows. If there’s one thing his spies have ferreted out for him, it’s that the Ghost is unarguably a man. Well, at least I can distract them from Alia. Still, I cling to her until a soldier rips me away. As much as I don’t want the fang to harm her, I don’t want him to touch me, either.
They haul me from the cage. I manage to salvage some dignity, standing up straight even with my arms pinned tight behind me. I force a smile through cracked lips, tasting the dried blood smeared there from my nosebleed. “What’s wrong, Blackflame? Catch the wrong person?”
He hits me across the face, only it isn’t just a slap. It contains his rising fury, fueled by his magic, and it rips me from my captor’s grip when no amount of my own struggling would have. I slam against the wall, collapsing in a heap on the floor.
Now would be a good time to black out, I think groggily. But I don’t.
I watch as a set of men’s embroidered slippers approach, flickering apart into two sets and then resolving back into one as I blink my eyes. A hand grabs me by the front of my cloak and hauls me up. I choke as the cloth tightens around my throat.
“Where is the Ghost?” Blackflame hisses, his face barely a hand span from my own.
“Wouldn’t tell you even if I knew,” I say, and then, marshaling my forces, I spit at him. Considering he’s only a little farther away than my own nose, it’s impressive how little of my saliva actually hits him. He curses, hurling me across the room. I hit the ground with bone-jarring intensity, rolling twice before coming to a stop sprawled against the torture table.
Blackflame bends over me as I struggle to inhale, force air into my lungs before I suffocate. “How did he escape?” He glances toward the cages, toward Saira. “Was he even there to begin with?”
“Oh, he was there,” I manage. I try to sound amused, but I’m wheezing too hard to sound anything but pained. “Waited until the Degaths were settled, and then headed out. Your soldiers were just too stupid to put things together. They knew I couldn’t fight, but did they notice I don’t have a scabbard for my sword? Or that my cloak is too long? But then … you didn’t notice, either.”
His features twist. He lifts me up so that my toes barely brush the floor. The cloak flaps around them, clearly made for someone at least a head taller than me. Blackflame drops me onto the torture table.
Oh God, no.
“You know,” Kol says, “I’m curious just how much fight the girl has in her.”
I flinch.
Blackflame pauses. A smile plays over his thin lips. The only sound in the room is the painful gasp of my breathing. “Oh?”
“I might have a use for her. It would be slow,” Kol says, crossing the room to us, “and painful. For both of them.”
“Both of them?” Blackflame echoes.
“Yes,” Kol says absently. “Look at me, girl.”
I force my eyes shut, shaking with the effort. A hand touches my face, fingers tapping my eyelids. I feel sickeningly exposed, pressed flat against the table. “Come now, don’t you know it will be easier if you look?”
I shove his hand away, clenching my jaw with the effort to keep my eyes closed. He chuckles, the sound coming from just beside my ear. “Open. Your. Eyes.”
His hand closes around my neck; his curved nails, pointed and razor sharp, slice into my skin.
“No,” I gasp, twisting away so that, even though my eyes open, I still escape his gaze.
He rocks back, satisfied. “Perfect. That little debt we’ve been discussing, Blackflame? This girl will cover it. If you wish, of course.”
I force my eyes closed again, even though Kol has turned his attention from me. My breath rattles in my chest. I try to focus on what I’ve heard: Blackflame has been dealing with a fang, has put himself in debt to the creature. A debt that might be paid for with my life.
“You may have her,” Blackflame replies. “So long as she dies.”
“She will. But first, breakfast.” Kol turns to face the cages. “Alia, dear?”
My eyes pop open. In her cage, Alia gazes back at him, her lips parted, her face going slack. “No,” I whisper. I scrabble to sit up, sliding off the table to land in a heap on the floor. I use the table leg to pull myself up again. “No.”
“Hold her,” the fang says without looking back.
The soldiers grab me, their grip viciously tight. I can hear Saira and Tarek calling out to Alia as well, desperately, hopelessly. Just as a viper may hold a mouse with its gaze, mesmerized into paralysis, so can a fang hold a human. Kol has chosen Alia, and now she waits for him, empty-eyed and all unknowing.
Blackflame opens the door to Alia’s cage.
At the fang’s gentle beckoning, she goes to him, drifting forward slowly. He tilts her chin up and, with a pleasant smile, bends down and buries his fangs in her neck.
I can hear a woman screaming, and it takes me a long moment to realize it’s not me. I still don’t have enough breath for such deep, ragged cries. It’s Saira. Beneath her voice I can hear Tarek weeping. Only Alia makes no sound, her body slowly going limp in the fang’s embrace.
Finally, Kol straightens, his tongue flicking out to lick crimson from his lips. All I can think is how obscene he looks, how sickening he is. Alia’s body crumples slowly, almost gently, leaving her heaped on the floor like so much rubbish. A soldier steps forward to return her to her cell.
Kol turns toward me, pivoting so fast that I catch the burning blue of his gaze before I can help myself. His eyes are the unending expanse of summer skies, the innocence of robins’ eggs. The color of death.
I jerk back, letting the soldiers’ grip on my arms provide the shock of pain I need to break eye contact.
Twisting my head away, my eyes strain in their sockets, as if I might peer through the flesh and bone of my skull to find his fang’s gaze once more. I feel his fingers brush my cheek. “You do know that I can take your blood whether you look at me or not, don’t you?” he asks. “It just goes easier for you if you cooperate.”
I clench my jaw, my eyes sealed shut.
“Oh, this will be fun,” he croons. Then, to the soldiers, “Put her away. I won’t need her until I leave.”