The carriage is simply built but comfortable, with cushioned benches, a curtained window, and a glowstone set inside a colored-glass lamp. There surely must have been a glowstone in the library, not that it matters now.
I perch on the edge of one of the benches, my wrists tied behind me, listening to the indistinct sound of Abasi addressing Jelani. I can’t imagine why he’d need to give directions unless we aren’t going to the sultan’s prison at all.
I wriggle my hands, trying to work my way out of my bindings, but Jelani has done his work well. Wherever we’re going, I have to make sure we don’t get there. Thieves aren’t looked kindly upon, and if Abasi mentions my connection to the Shadow League, I’ve no hope of surviving imprisonment. The soldiers’ treatment of Tendaji is proof of that.
I glare at the floorboards. I will get out. Escaping two men in a box on wheels is nowhere near as difficult as the second floor of a stone house filled with people. I can do this.
Abasi climbs up into the carriage, something bulky tucked under his arm. Jelani shuts the door, but Abasi doesn’t sit down. Instead, he shakes out the fabric, swinging it around his shoulders.
“That’s a northland cloak,” I blurt, staring at him. It’s a deep red, giving the impression that Abasi is bathed in old blood. I’m certain it’s the same material I found in the trunk with the note. I just hadn’t recognized it for what it is. No one in Karolene would have such a cloak, or need one—except for Blackflame, who hails from the northlands himself, even if he was trained in the Eleven Kingdoms.
“If Hamidi is, in fact, dead, we have very few people to question. You do know a few of the Shadow League, don’t you?”
“No,” I say, feeling ill. “I hardly know anyone. Not as many as you do.”
Abasi shakes his head and sits. “I doubt that. I’m afraid it must be done.”
He’s lying, and he knows it. I can tell it from the self-satisfied little smile on his lips. Does he not want to be the one to directly betray his other contacts? Or perhaps he’s just afraid of being taken in for interrogation himself if he admits how much more he knows. Perhaps to our enemy he pretended that knowing Tendaji was a happy fluke, a chance discovery, and so he had no other names to share.
“What must be done?” I ask.
He leans against the cushions as the carriage rattles forward. “Tendaji was supposed to be sent to Arch Mage Blackflame, but the fools at the prison killed him with their interrogation. Hamidi would be the next choice, and he should have been caught while you and Kenta were poking your noses into the prison. But you’re telling me he’s dead already. Blackflame will be angry, and I don’t want that anger turning on me or my family. I’ll give him you to question instead; you know at least two others who know most of the League between them. And don’t imagine Blackflame will believe you if you name me—he’ll expect you to try to frame me.”
“That’s very strategic,” I agree caustically, then pause. “But why didn’t you alert the soldiers to arrest Kenta and me at the prison?”
“You wouldn’t have succeeded.”
“If you wanted people with names, though—”
“I am not a monster,” Abasi snaps. “You were right—your going in there with such a story—if they’d arrested you, thinking you’d already been violated, they would have had no qualms using you themselves. I don’t want anyone hurt, you understand. I am doing what I have to.”
“Did you not think Tendaji would be hurt? Or Hamidi?”
“Shut up,” Abasi says, one hand fisting in his cloak. I study the way his knuckles stand out, the thick cloth of the cloak itself. That’s a mystery right there, and perhaps all the evidence I need, should I survive this.
I clear my throat. “Does the cloak guarantee you entry to Blackflame’s house in the middle of the night?”
“I can hardly imagine that has any bearing on you.”
“I’m curious,” I say, certain beyond a shadow of a doubt that the cloak is irrefutable proof of Abasi’s treachery. “But more than that, I want to know why. They were your friends. You clearly have some sense of honor. Why?”
Abasi looks toward the curtained window, and for the first time I see something akin to shame on his face. “When I joined the League, Tendaji insisted it would not endanger my family. He was wrong.”
“Coward.” The word breaks from my lips before I can stop it.
“You’ve no idea what it is to protect your family,” Abasi snarls.
“The Shadow League could have protected you! They could have gotten you and your family out.”
“Out?” he repeats, incredulous. “All we’ve built would be lost. We’d be destitute. That’s not protection.”
“What of Hamidi’s family?” I demand. “What of all the others who disappear? What of the changes in the law that are hurting us? And—”
“Us? You are nothing but a street rat, and a mgeni at that. You have no place here.”
“I may be a foreigner, but at least I honor this land and people. Unlike another mgeni you seem to be good friends with.”
“Shut up,” he growls.
I consider him, the fury burning in his eyes, and decide I have other, greater concerns than this argument. I give a little upward jerk of my chin at him and turn my gaze to the curtained window. It’s time to escape.
Closing my eyes, I gather what magic I can, drawing on the creaking wood of the carriage with its memory of growth and sunlight; the slumbering power of the cobblestones beneath us, burrowed out of the earth and filled still with the heat of the day; the sea-salt-heavy breeze, breathing and alive. Then I send a tendril of magic down through the carriage, wrap it around a wheel, and tug.
With a great crack, the wheel snaps. The corner of the carriage teeters, dipping down and then slamming against the ground, sending me tumbling from my seat. Abasi yells as he hits the wall, and then again as I thump into him. One of the horses squeals, and the carriage swings wildly before slowing.
I shove myself off Abasi, scooting away on my backside, and lift my foot to kick at the door latch. All I manage to do is stub my toe. Biting back a curse, I push myself a half step back, my mind racing. I still have a twist of magic left. I use it to cut through the ropes binding my wrists. The acrid scent of something burning registers only a moment before I manage to yank my wrists free, the rope falling to the floorboards behind me, its ends smoking. My skin smarts, but burns are the least of my worries right now.
“You!” Abasi yells, struggling upright to block the door as the carriage judders to a halt. “Don’t think you’re getting away. Jelani! Jelani! What’s happening out there?”
“I think you lost a wheel,” I say, keeping my hands out of sight behind my back.
“Stay where you are,” he snaps, and turns to open the carriage door, yelling up to the driver once more.
I launch myself at Abasi, slamming into his back and sending us both flying out the door. He cries out again, a short, grunting gasp of a yell, and then his head cracks against the cobblestones. I clutch the fabric of his cloak, still half on top of him, terrifyingly aware of how still he lies. Panic nearly chokes me. He can’t be dead. He can’t—
“Get up!” Someone grabs my elbow, yanking me off Abasi. Even now, he doesn’t move.
“What have you done?” a man cries from atop the carriage. I look up to see Jelani. Somehow, he’s managed to keep his seat on the driver’s bench, his arms straining to keep the horses from bolting. He glances from Abasi to the horses, to me. No, to us.
“Run,” Kenta says, dragging me back another step.
“Wait.” I pull my elbow free and drop down beside Abasi. Rolling him over, I press my fingertips to his throat—and find a steady pulse. “He’s alive,” I call up to Jelani, relief making me dizzy. Or perhaps that’s the aftereffects of my magic-working.
Jelani manages to tie off the reins and jumps down, starting toward us. Beside me, Abasi gives a low moan.
“You’re going to leave the girl alone,” Kenta says, halting Jelani in his tracks. A glance at Kenta shows me why: he’s dropped into a fighter’s pose, a knife gleaming in his hand. He’s also bare chested and barefoot, which somehow makes him look doubly dangerous. “We’ll leave, and you can see to your master. Understand?”
“You’re thieves, both of you,” Jelani says, his voice laced with contempt.
“No,” Kenta says. “We’re members of the Shadow League, and Abasi betrayed us.”
Jelani’s eyes widen with fright, gleaming white in the moonlight. This isn’t a fight he wants to have.
Kenta shifts slightly, his voice dropping to address me. “Get up. We need to go.”
I look down at Abasi, wrapped in the cloak that symbolizes all that has gone wrong in Karolene, and fury courses through me. He didn’t mourn Tendaji, didn’t care what happened to Hamidi. That cloak is the evidence I need, and I’m not leaving without it. “All right,” I say to Kenta. “But we’re taking this with us.”
Reaching down, I pull open the brooch that secures the cloak, grab the edge of the fabric, and pull hard. Abasi grunts, his eyes fluttering open. He looks up at me in a daze.
“What are you doing?” Jelani demands, taking another step toward us.
It is not exactly an easy thing to roll a full-grown man out of his cloak.
“Stop there,” Kenta warns.
I grab the cloak again from farther down and pull it upward, and Abasi rolls over with a garbled cry. The cloak comes free, sending me sprawling. “Got it,” I pant, staggering to my feet. The world sways once, in a way it is certainly not meant to, before righting itself. That’s definitely the magic-working taking its toll.
Kenta nods once. “Run. I’ll follow you.”
Jelani watches us both, but there’s no question that he’s more concerned with Abasi than with stopping us. I make for the nearest alley, pushing myself into as fast a jog as I can manage. My head aches, but the worst should pass soon. I just hope Kenta can get away before Abasi manages to figure out what’s happening.
I turn the corner and lean against the wall, clutching the cloak to my chest. I’m shaking now, the taste of iron on my lips, blood dribbling from my nose. As a rule, I don’t use magic except in emergencies. But tonight has given me proof that whether I need it or not, I had better teach myself how to use my Promise. No one else is going to, and I can’t afford to expend so much energy on a working that I end up unable to run afterward.
“All right?” Kenta asks as he rounds the corner.
I nod, relief rushing through me. I fall into step with him. He raises one hand uncertainly, as if to grasp my elbow and steady me, before letting it drop back down again.
“You’re bleeding,” he says as I wipe at my nose again.
“It’s nothing,” I assure him. “I fell when the carriage wheel broke.” Both statements are true, though I’m not sure the second is fully relevant. I might be bleeding from getting knocked about, but I’ve also bled once or twice before as a result of pushing myself a little too far with my magic. Thankfully, Kenta just nods.
“That was a piece of luck,” he says. “I wasn’t sure how I was going to stop the carriage until that wheel gave out.”
“Yeah,” I say. And then I realize what his presence means. Warmth rushes through me. It’s been so long since someone has been there for me. “Thanks for following me.”
“What else was I supposed to do?” he asks gruffly.
I shake my head and stumble to a stop as the world dips precariously. “I don’t know,” I say, as if everything were perfectly normal with me. “But we need to find your clothes. You can’t go walking through the city like that.”
It takes me a moment to realize he’s laughing.
“Oh hush,” I say grumpily. My head aches. I very nearly killed a man. The last thing I need is Kenta laughing at me. “It’s all very well and good being able to turn into a tanuki, but you need better pants.”
“It’s considered quite a feat to be able to shift with clothing at all,” Kenta says. I swear he can see my mortified flush in the moonlight.
“I’ll keep that in mind if I meet any other tanukis,” I say in a strangled voice.
“Not too many around here. Are you steady on your feet now?”
“I’m fine,” I assure him, glad for the change of subject.
“Good. Follow me.” He takes a step forward, shrinking as he does. I blink, my eyesight blurring, and find I’m looking at a black-masked dog. Kenta gives me a sharp smile, picks up his knife with his teeth, and sets off down the alley once more, paws pattering over the stones.