Oh no, thought Karys distinctly.
The woman standing in front of her was beautiful. Not pretty; she seemed too sharp for that; her features held a peregrine edge despite the smooth lustre of her skin, her eyes strikingly dark against her complexion, her brows sleek and predatory. Not pretty, but beautiful. And Karys knew the smell of her hair, knew how her body moved, knew the warmth of those slim, fine-boned fingers—and worse, wanted them.
Oh no, she thought again.
“Ilesha,” whispered Ferain.
The woman arched her eyebrow at Karys’ silence. She had a thin pale scar below her left temple, and her long hair was bound in an elegant twist that spilled over her right shoulder.
“Is that going to be a problem?” she asked.
Karys shook herself. “No. No, that’s—I’m Karys.”
Ilesha’s lips thinned.
“Good,” she said. “We need to talk.”
Karys’ mind was in turmoil; she felt an inexplicable affection for this stranger, a sense of security and familiarity and, yes, desire—but those feelings should not belong to her. It was bewildering, it was wrong. I know you, but you don’t know me at all. Judging by Ilesha’s expression, the attraction was far from mutual.
“This won’t take long,” she said. “I only need to clarify a few things.”
Karys nodded, tongue-tied. “Sure.”
Ilesha drew back her shoulders. She breathed in deeply, and when she spoke her voice was flat, rehearsed, and clipped.
“First,” she said, “although you have duped Rhevin, you are not going to fool me. While I really don’t care if you bleed the old man dry, I take issue with using Ferain’s name to accomplish that.”
“That’s not—”
Ilesha continued, unassailable. “Second, you should be aware that I have done my research. I know you’re a deathspeaker, cas Eska. My understanding is that communion with the dead involves direct contact with their remains. If you know enough to reel in Rhevin, then you have spoken with Ferain’s ghost, and you know the location of his body. You are going to tell me where to find him, and you are going to tell me who was responsible for killing him. Then you are going to leave Eludia and never return. If you do that, I will pay you. If you do not, I will render your life not worth living. Does that make sense?”
Formidable, thought Karys.
“Cas Eska?”
“He’s not dead.” She loosened the tension in her jaw. “Ferain, that is. He isn’t dead.”
If possible, Ilesha’s face grew even colder.
“Don’t try that with me,” she said, dangerously low. “I already told you, I won’t be—”
Karys’ shadow moved swiftly, snaking out the door and into the light. Ferain rose and touched Ilesha’s cheek. The drawing pulled gently inside Karys’ chest.
“I’m not dead,” he said.
Ilesha’s skin went white. She stumbled back, clasping her face where he had touched her. Karys automatically reached out to stop her from falling down the steps, but Ilesha jerked away.
“What was that?” she demanded.
Karys lowered her arm. “Him.”
Ilesha’s mouth twisted; a brief, suppressed flash of anguish crossed her face. She dropped her hand from her cheek. “Is this a trick? One of your perverse deathspeaker powers? You’ll have to do better, I won’t be—”
Ferain reached out for her again, and Ilesha staggered away from him, down onto the street. She made an angry, pained sound. Karys’ chest tightened with concern, but she pushed away the feeling. Emotional detritus, nothing more; just Ferain’s presence still echoing inside her head. She folded her arms.
“Not a trick,” she said. “Perverse, maybe, but not a trick. Is there anything else you wanted to tell me? You can keep your money, by the way; I have no intention of leaving Eludia yet. Go ahead—try and make me.”
Ilesha glared up at her, contempt and fear warring on her face. Two houses down the street, small children shrieked, oblivious. To Karys’ surprise, she stepped forward again.
“Prove it, then,” she said. “If it isn’t a trick, show me.”
Karys shrugged. She made a peremptory gesture toward her shadow, a flick of her fingers.
“This wasn’t how I envisioned the two of you meeting,” muttered Ferain. Far more slowly, he advanced down the steps. Ilesha watched, her body tense, but she held her ground this time. Ferain touched the shadow at her feet.
“Hello,” he said. “It’s me. I don’t need avenging just yet.”
She started, and her hands rose again slightly as if she wanted to ward off the sound of his voice.
“Mimicry,” she said. “Cruel, but well-worked; I’ll give you that. I didn’t know something like this was possible.”
Ferain sighed. “Really?”
“Preserved sounds, a few repeating phrases—”
“I’ve missed you. I’m sorry that I scared you.”
“Scared me?” Ilesha repeated, strangled. “Scared me? You were buried without a grave, you were gone. I first heard the whispers two weeks ago, and the Foreign Ministry’s silence all but confirmed them. Scared? I didn’t get the chance to be scared; I was already grieving. What is this? What have you done?”
“It wasn’t his fault,” said Karys.
Ilesha laughed, hard and mirthless. “Is that right? Was it yours, then?”
“Ilesha.” Ferain’s voice was pained. “Come on.”
She pressed her palm to her forehead, closing her eyes for a second. Karys could almost have pitied her, except that the comment about perversity had struck a little close to home, and she had thought Ferain would come to her defence. Which was stupid; he wouldn’t take her side over his former fiancée’s, but …
“All right,” said Ilesha, more controlled. She exhaled heavily, and dropped her hand. “Fine. Explain it to me.”
Karys ground her teeth together. “Maybe you should try asking, instead of—”
“Karys?” said Haeki.
Karys glanced back through the front door. Haeki stood at the base of the stairs, holding the banister. Her expression was guarded, but there was an entreaty in it. Anxiety in the lines of her shoulders.
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
A bitter taste welled up in the back of Karys’ mouth. Now you’re worried. All those hours spent together: the sense that maybe they could recover, maybe there was still a way back, maybe the distance between them could be bridged, and an apostate and an adherent could come to common ground—a lie. For all that time, Nuliere had been present. And Haeki had known.
“No,” said Karys shortly.
Haeki held firm. “Are you sure? If you need me—”
“Certain.” She turned around again. “Having a conversation with a friend of Ferain’s, that’s all. We were just leaving.”
“Oh. I see.”
From her tone, Haeki wanted to say something more. Karys didn’t give her the chance. She pulled the door closed with a loud snap.
“Lover’s quarrel?” asked Ilesha.
Karys gave her a withering stare. “No.”
“It sounded like one.”
“If you’re going to talk, then talk to Ferain.” Karys started down the street toward the wooded path beyond the houses. “I don’t need to be a part of this.”
“Touchy.”
“Will both of you stop it?” said Ferain, which Karys thought was unfair—she was under no obligation to be nice to his erstwhile future wife, especially considering the woman had all but spat at her. Which, granted, she should be accustomed to, but it had been a difficult morning, and if she was a little more sensitive than usual, well, no one could claim she didn’t have cause. She stalked down the road, not bothering to check if Ilesha was keeping up. The flagstones gave way to gravel, the verges on either side of the path bloomed with pink and white wildflowers. Have your reunion, I don’t care. It’s not like I have any bigger problems to worry about. The shadows of the trees thickened. At the base of an old oak stood a rickety bench; Karys marched over to it, dropped down on the seat, and spread her legs out insolently wide.
Ilesha remained standing. The dappled light caught on her hair. She studied the long irregular shape of Karys’ shadow where it spilled over the grass at her feet.
“Well?” said Karys. “Go on, then. Talk.”
Ilesha lifted her gaze.
“We haven’t had the best introduction,” she said.
“And?”
“I think we should start over. My name is—”
“I know who you are,” said Karys, cutting her off. She heard the edge in her own voice, brittle resentment threatening to crack. She looked away, and tried to moderate her tone. “Ferain told me about you. And you already know all about me, apparently.”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
“No?”
“Very little, actually. Name and occupation, and that you worked in Psikamit. That you arrived in Eludia with two other women, and Lindlee Agonasis. That Rhevin has found you persuasive.” A lithe, rolling shrug. “He told me that you had information about Ferain. I wanted to look into your background, but I’m not very well connected in Mercia.”
“And you assumed I was here to scam Rhevin.”
“I was surprised that you seemed to be succeeding.” Ilesha held out her hand. “My apologies.”
Karys wavered. Then she leaned forward and shook it. Ilesha’s skin was smooth and firm, her nails short, perfectly shaped half-moons.
“To be fair,” said Karys, “I am charging the man fifteen thousand cret for his son’s return.”
“Pre-negotiated,” said Ferain.
Ilesha jumped again at the sound of his voice. She released Karys’ hand.
“This isn’t a trick?” she asked.
Karys leaned back on the bench. “If you want to speak to Ferain privately, he’s able to move about twenty feet away from me. I can wait here.”
“Maybe in a moment. I’m still … this is a lot to take in.” Ilesha gave an ironic, self-deprecating smile. “‘Doesn’t need avenging just yet.’”
“Or ever,” said Ferain. “Although I was flattered.”
“You would be.” She curled the end of her hair around one finger. Her humour faded. “Everything I heard indicated that you were dead. Is it permanent? What you’ve done?”
Ferain’s voice turned deceptively light. “There have been a few complications. My father believes that he can separate us.”
She wasn’t taken in. “You don’t know.”
“Well, the alternative was dying. Under the circumstances, I think—”
“Rain, what really happened in Psikamit?”
He fell quiet. Ilesha looked down at him, her face drawn, and waited.
“Has the Ministry revealed the murder of the retinue?” he asked.
“No, they’re keeping it quiet. Stuck in a corner.”
“But they’ve spoken to my father. What’s the official line?”
“That the retinue is ‘late to arrive in Cosaris.’” Ilesha wrinkled her nose. “They’re stalling. The embassy bombing was impossible to conceal, although they’ve gotten some news-sellers to float that it was a workings accident.”
“Did anyone buy that?”
“Not as far as I can tell. The usual crowd have already started salivating about repercussions. Throw in another public incident, and it’s open provocation, it’s an insult. More people are going to start listening to the glory days brigade, and the Ministry knows it.”
“That’s what I feared.”
“You can kind of see their point, though; it does make Varesli look weak. The whole retinue is gone?”
“Everyone but me.”
“Embrace, what a mess. I’m sorry. And if the truth comes out, I don’t see how the Ministry de-escalates this. Assassination demands a response, and Varesli’s in no position to make one.”
“I know.”
“Your father’s in with the patriots. Near the front of their ranks, actually.”
“Of course he is.”
“But that’s the odd thing, isn’t it?” Ilesha jerked her head in the direction of Rhevin’s house. “You say the Ministry told him what happened. They know his affiliations—so why would they risk informing him? And why hasn’t he shared the news with his friends?”
Ferain was silent a moment. He seemed disquieted. Listening to him and Ilesha talk, Karys felt the strangest sense of dislocation. He wasn’t behaving differently, exactly; it was more like the two of them spoke in their own personal dialect, quick and sure and layered with meaning. And although they were both right in front of her, she felt cut away from him.
“I don’t know,” he said at last. “I don’t know, but I don’t think he’s sharing everything. He hasn’t been himself.”
“Sounds like an improvement.”
“Hah.” Ferain shook his head. “Did he tell you about any of this?”
“Why would he? There’s no longer a formal obligation, and he never liked me to begin with. No, I found out about the retinue on my own. Only whispers, for now. The truth hasn’t spread far yet.” Ilesha rubbed her neck. “It was devastating, by the way. Learning you were dead. You couldn’t have sent a letter?”
“I was hoping you wouldn’t find out about the incident.”
“Well, that was stupid of you.”
“I didn’t want you to worry. I’m sorry.”
“So you said earlier.”
“And I meant it. Both times.”
Ilesha seemed to reach some silent conclusion. She nodded to herself and crossed her arms. Her manner turned efficient and businesslike.
“Later,” she said. “I have much more to ask, but later. What can I do to help?”
Ferain thought for a moment.
“A few things, actually,” he said. “Some more dangerous than others.”
“Interesting.”
“Does the phrase ‘the last harbour’ mean anything to you?”
“Should it?”
“Thought I’d check, that’s all. Nothing?”
“Nothing.”
“Pity. Never mind, forget that.”
“What else, then?”
Again, Ferain paused. Karys received the impression he was undecided on something; her shadow shifted back and forth on the ground. Then he spoke quickly.
“Toraigian citizenship,” he said. “Watertight, no questions asked, no background enquiries, immediately available. How much would that cost?”
Karys stiffened. Ilesha issued a low whistle.
“A very large bribe,” she said. “Buying into Toraigus is hard enough when it’s done legitimately. Getting in on false papers … I don’t know if that’s even possible, but I can find out.”
“Please. The sooner, the better.”
Private, that was private. Heat rose in Karys’ face. Ferain knew her plans for Toraigus were a secret; she had told him as much. She had explained why. Her voice came out harsh. “I don’t recall asking for help.”
Ilesha looked at her curiously. Karys wanted to sink through the bench and into the ground. No one else was supposed to know. She felt suffocated; she could not explain this again. Ferain drew closer to her, slipping out of Ilesha’s shadow.
“That’s the problem—you never do,” he said. “Karys, it’ll likely be faster than returning to Psikamit. Ilesha knows people, and she’s good at this. Let her at least ask the questions.”
And if the answer to those questions is “no”?
“The citizenship is for you?” asked Ilesha.
With effort, Karys met the other woman’s dark eyes. “Yes. For me. Is that a problem?”
Despite Karys’ tone, Ilesha appeared more intrigued than offended. Somehow, that seemed worse.
“I guess we’ll see,” she said. “Forgive me for asking, but is there any physical indicator that marks you as a deathspeaker? Some kind of body modification…”
Karys shook her head. “No.”
“And nothing else the Toraigian authorities could identify or test for?”
“No. I’m human.”
The corner of Ilesha’s mouth twitched upwards. “Doubtless. In any case, give me a few days, and I’ll see what I can do. Was there anything else, Ferain?”
He flowed back into her shade. “Just one more thing.”
“The dangerous part?”
“Only if you’re willing. Have you ever heard of the Grateful Society?”
The morning was bright, the sunlit grove deserted. No one else would have been able to hear her shadow, but Karys still tensed. Cold fingers trailed down her spine. They had left Vuhas behind—barely escaped, committed an unspeakable crime, and nearly lost Ferain in the process, but they had gotten away with it. The next time, his lies would not be enough.
“Don’t,” she said.
Ilesha noted her reaction. Her gaze travelled between Karys’ face and the pooled mass of her shadow.
“I’m not sure,” she said. “I might have, but only in passing. Nothing that sticks in my mind.”
“Will you ask around?”
Karys made a frustrated noise. “Ferain, no. Why would you want any more of their attention? Just forget them.”
Her shadow grazed the side of her hand; whether in apology or reassurance, she could not tell. “Then they’ll still be out there.”
“Who is ‘they,’ exactly?” asked Ilesha.
“A cabal of very wealthy, very old skin thieves,” he replied.
“Ferain.”
Ilesha cocked her head. “I thought skin thieves belonged to children’s stories.”
“These ones tried to recruit me.”
“And you want me to scope them out?”
“You would have to tread extremely lightly. Nothing that can be traced back to you.”
She huffed. “What do you take me for?”
“I’m just saying be careful.” Ferain’s tone grew more sombre. “I don’t know how deep their network runs, but they’ve got at least one informant in the Foreign Ministry. If you find you need to dig, stop.”
“You believe they’re that dangerous?”
“Yes. And vindictive.”
Ilesha nodded. “The surface only. I’ll watch my step.”
“You shouldn’t be watching anything at all,” snapped Karys. “Once they hear that you’re asking questions, they’ll come for you. And then for me, just as soon as they figure out where you got their name from.”
Ilesha brushed invisible dirt from the draping fabric of her shirt.
“That’s assuming I get caught,” she said. “I’d like to speak to Ferain alone now, please.”
Karys scowled, swallowing a retort, and pushed herself up from the bench. Fine. Stupid, arrogant reekers. She moved past Ilesha, marching up the path toward the street. Not my problem, anyway. If everything fell into place, she would have disappeared to Toraigus long before Vuhas came knocking, and if matters grew worse, then the Grateful would be the least of her concerns. But did Ferain really think the society wouldn’t catch wind of someone prying into their affairs? Ilesha had no idea what she was getting into. Yes, it was their funeral, their necks on the line—but they would both regret it once the skin thieves arrived.
A tight pain knotted inside Karys’ chest as she neared the limits of her shadow’s reach; the darkness stretched to a thin cord at her heels. She drew to a halt, anger fading. Behind her, the indistinct murmur of Ilesha’s voice carried on the breeze. Fallen leaves stirred on the ground, brown and dry and dead. Ferain replied, and Ilesha laughed, surprised.
He missed her.
Karys dragged her fingers back through her hair. She had already known. Still, the way they spoke, the way Ferain had reached for Ilesha outside the house, their closeness … she had not expected it to be so obvious, or for his relief and affection to press against her like a bruise. Her future at stake, and here she stood, disappointed to discover that Ferain had a life outside of her shadow. She kicked at the wildflowers. Laughable. None of it even mattered.
Ilesha and Ferain did not speak long, perhaps for five minutes. The time dragged. Karys waited, and eventually felt the pressure inside her chest ease as her shadow drew nearer once more. She heard the leaves crunch under Ilesha’s feet, and turned to face them.
“Finished already?” she asked. “If you want more time—”
Ilesha waved away the offer before Karys could even finish making it. “We’re fine. I won’t keep you any longer.”
Ferain flowed back to his usual place, cool at Karys’ side. She tried to ignore the way that his proximity caused the tension in her shoulders to unwind. “I’m sorry. The last few weeks must have been difficult for you.”
“I’ve had better.” Ilesha’s gaze held an appraising light, as though she was measuring Karys in some new way, re-evaluating her. “From what Ferain tells me, so have you. Take care of him for me, won’t you?”
Karys wasn’t sure how to respond, so she just nodded. Ilesha seemed satisfied with that. She walked toward the street, and her arm softly—accidentally—brushed against Karys’ as she passed. Up close, her perfume smelled like cedar and rain.
“I’ll call again once I have something to share,” she murmured.
Karys felt flustered.
“That’s—yes,” she said. “All right.”
Ilesha laughed and continued walking, leaving Karys at the edge of the woods. Her steps were quick and purposeful, her hair bright in the sunlight. Although she must have known that Karys was watching her, she did not once look back.
Karys’ shadow drifted up her side.
“What did you think of her?” asked Ferain.
“She threatened to ruin my life.”
“But you liked her.”
“I don’t see why this is so important to you.”
“Because I care what you think. And because you are blushing.”
Karys rubbed her hand across her face. “No, I’m not. And you didn’t have to tell her about Toraigus.”
“Are you still angry?”
Ilesha reached the far end of the street, and turned west toward the bridge, disappearing from sight. Karys shook her head.
“I know that I might seem … irrational about it,” she said reluctantly. “I just—I need to believe that Toraigus will work.”
Her shadow pressed against her shoulder for a second, the drawing light.
“I know,” he said. “And it will.”