29: ALL THE LUCK IN THE WORLD
Talea’s memory The Capital City, Quur
One week after the Battle of the Well of Spirals
Only later would Talea reflect on the fact that she managed to walk as far as she had without being accosted in some manner. For a woman—even an armed woman—to be alone on the Capital City streets, upper or lower, without harassment was almost unthinkable. Maybe it was because so many were hiding, because the demons were still showing up like unpredictable, deadly little sparks and then vanishing again.
Maybe she was just lucky.
In any event, she managed to leave Arena Park and travel down several nameless, too-familiar streets before the tears blurred her vision to blindness, and she broke down crying. She found herself seated on a step, part of a small side entrance to someone’s house, head against her knees, sobbing.
Leaving Xivan had been the hardest thing she’d ever done, and it wasn’t lost on Talea that she never could have if she hadn’t met Xivan in the first place. Not from the practical, logistical side that one can’t leave a person one’s never met but because Xivan had spent so many years building Talea up. So many years helping her work through her own pain. Teaching her the sort of behavior one should—and should not—tolerate in a lover. Because Talea had come to her possessing no context—none at all—for what a healthy relationship might even look like. She had longed for love the way a prisoner dreams of freedom, and it was probably predictable and sad that she’d fallen madly in love with the first person she’d met as a free woman who treated her as someone worthy of respect.
But predictable or not, Talea had.
So it was the bitterest sort of irony to see Xivan breaking the relationship rules that she had herself established. Talea wasn’t ready to forgive her. Not for this. Not when it was so abundantly clear that Xivan wasn’t at all sorry for her actions.
Once she’d cried herself out, Talea kept walking as she thought about the situation and her options. Talea supposed she could take over the Spurned. She would have never even considered the idea before, but she never would have imagined Xivan offering to sell the Spurned either. She had always assumed … she had always assumed that the whole point of the Spurned was that they weren’t slaves anymore, weren’t possessions. That their loyalty was earned rather than bought and sold, not mandated at the end of manacles and chains.
Then again, Talea had never been as good at magic as many of her other sisters in the Spurned. Plenty might well challenge her for leadership, and they’d be right to. So what did she want to do with her life? Darzin D’Mon was dead, and she was a free woman. She didn’t have a great deal of money—Xivan had always carried the metal—but she had a sword and knew some spells, and there would always be a demand for that. She wasn’t too worried about where her next meal would come from.
She was still very worried about Xivan.
Talea had known Xivan was in pain, but this was beyond Talea’s worst nightmares. She could almost see the black cloud of hate wrapping itself around her lover, not really so dissimilar at all to the black cloud that had once wrapped around Xivan’s late husband, Azhen. She wondered if Xivan had given any thought to just how much power the duchess was handing over to Suless, how much glee the god-queen would take to find out that her hunt had so obsessed and consumed Xivan’s existence.
When Talea reached a gate, she stopped walking, at which point, she looked up and realized she was standing outside the main entrance to the Octagon. The slave auction house.
Her heartbeat stampeded through her veins. She had to close her eyes for a moment.
Of all the buildings in the Upper Circle that had burned to the ground, why was this one still standing?
Because there was no justice in the world. Murad was a sham.1
The smart thing to do was turn around and leave. Talea had no business going to the Octagon. She didn’t even have the metal to buy a slave, let alone the will. What did she think she was going to do? Free them herself? Fight off every guard and sorcerer tasked with keeping House D’Erinwa property under lock and key? It was a ridiculous notion.
Talea walked through the entry and entered the slave house.
It wasn’t easy to walk through the halls of the auction house and be on her best behavior. She didn’t really want to be. And she kept expecting someone to try to stop her, to demand an explanation for being there. A few times, she thought the guards were about to, but at the last minute, they’d be distracted by some distraught relative or a screaming patron demanding justice for having missed a bid, and Talea would walk by before they could stop her.
She had no idea where she was going. She was just picking the turns at random, sauntering down the marble hallways as if she had every right to be there. It was probably that, more than anything else, that kept the guards from stopping her. These were strange days. Three months ago, they might have thought to stop a beautiful girl with a curved Khorveshan sword at her side. These days, it seemed too risky.
Talea could taste the storm in the air, the sense that something was about to happen. Which made no sense because there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Still, that feeling …
A guard left his post to help with a woman who collapsed from exhaustion, grief, or some other mysterious motive. Talea stepped through the door he’d been guarding. This was less smart than roaming the open halls, but she felt like she was following the scent of a particularly delectable meal back to the kitchens. Not that she smelled anything but sandalwood oil and the cleaner used on the floor, but it was the sense of the thing.
As if potential had a scent.
To her surprise, the passage led to an outside courtyard, with a separate entrance for those well-heeled individuals with enough money and prestige to ensure privacy. A horse-drawn wagon parked there, the sort that moved cargo of the human variety. It was full to the brim, people crying or staring, long past the point of tears. A driver sat on top of the wagon, ready to lead horses and people to a new location. People who had all been sold, who were heading to their new homes and new owners and new horrors. It was guaranteed that the horses would be treated better.
Next to the wagon, a man in the fine clothing of a royal was handing over a sheaf of papers. He said something outside the range of Talea’s hearing to the man in House D’Erinwa colors, and then climbed on top of the wagon.
That sense of storm intensified. A different door across the way banged open. A dozen soldiers came running through, including a richly dressed man in House D’Erinwa colors. “Stop that man! Close the gate!”
The man being pointed at took one step toward the gate, must have realized he’d never make it in time, and then turned back toward the overseer. “I’m sorry. Is there a problem?”
The overseer angrily gestured toward the clerk, still clutching the sales receipts in his hands. “Give those over! Let me see those!”
Talea watched as the buyer checked the doors, the armed soldiers, the gate. Looking for a way out.
She could almost taste the lightning building in the air, the tallest objects nearby sending out leads to draw the strike.
The overseer began to laugh. “Ah, you should’ve quit while you were ahead, Casar. You pushed your luck for the last time.”
Talea leaned over and picked up a rock. She felt outside herself, disconnected.
The buyer looked indignant, but underneath that laced a hint of anxiety. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. These are legal bills of sale.”
“That no one paid for. You think this house doesn’t track every throne, chance, and chalice? No money changed hands.” The overseer shook the papers for emphasis. “The masters would like to ask you a few questions about how you managed that, though…”
Close now …
“Still don’t have any idea what you’re talking about,” Casar said. “How dare you! I want to speak with Lord D’Erinwa!”
“Oh, you will. But you’ll talk to our torturers first.”
There!
Outside the gate, a woman’s scream rang out as large cracks appeared in midair, the very fabric of the world splintering and falling away as a dozen demons forced themselves to this side of the Veil. The guards all rushed in that direction.
“Demons!” someone screamed.
Talea threw the rock at the flank of the rear horse drawing the wagon. The poor beast had already been close to bolting because of the demons just a short distance away, so it didn’t take much to startle it. That began a chain reaction with the other horses. They all tried to run. The lead horse reared, and her hooves came down hard on the gate.
The gates were closed, not barred. They sprang open under the horse’s attack.
The buyer, Casar, recognized his chance. He climbed up on the now moving wagon. In the back, Talea did the same, holding on to the side by the wooden bars on the small windows. Crossbow bolts thunked as they hit the walls of the wagon; people shouted and screamed. In the chaos, the demons were only too happy to switch targets once the guards of House D’Erinwa presented themselves.
A demon spied the wagon and set it on fire, while another took a swipe at Talea. She dodged the strike and lifted herself rolling up and onto the top of the burning wagon. The people inside were screaming. Talea needed to do something or they were all going to be burned, herself included. Up ahead, she saw a glint of silver, and a signpost she recognized. If she was very lucky …
She staggered forward, dodging the fire still spreading on the wood. “Turn here!”
The nobleman looked back, did a double take. “Who the fuck are you?”
“I said turn here!” She grabbed a rein from the driver’s hand and yanked. Before the driver had a chance to regain control, the horses turned, the wagon sliding several feet in the back from the sharpness of the movement. They found themselves galloping down an alley between bathhouses. As they did, a trio of servants came to a balcony and tipped over a large tub of soapy, scummy water.
It drenched all of them and smothered the fire.
“Taja!” the driver screamed; prayer or curse or both.
Talea began to laugh and then stopped, choking off the sound as she caught another glimpse of silver—a child with silver ringlet curls staring down at her from one of the upper windows, so fast she could have told herself she’d imagined it.
Casar clapped the driver on the shoulder. “Come on. Let’s head to the meeting place.” He looked back at Talea. “I don’t know who the hell you are…”
“I’m the reason you got away. Depending on what you intend on doing with these people, that may make me your friend.”
He studied her while they turned down another street. The driver finally managed to wrestle the horses under control and assumed a steadier, sedater pace. Nothing to see here. No one running from anything.
“I’m freeing them,” the “nobleman” finally said. “It’s kind of become a thing. That bastard back there was right, though—I pushed my luck too far.”
Talea smiled. She’d known that would be the answer—nobody “stole” slaves from the Octagon for profit, because there was no place to sell them. That left a rumor so nebulous and vague that even Talea had never believed those whispers she’d heard back when she herself had lived a life in chains—that there was a secret network who stole slaves for reasons other than profit. Who stole slaves and freed them and asked for nothing in return.2
“Then we can be friends,” she said. “I’m Talea. What’s your real name?”
The man laughed as he pulled the wig off his head, revealing a shock of bright red hair. “Merit.”
Despite the bad start, the rest of it followed with shocking smoothness. In a different back alley, another set of wagons of the non-slave variety waited, and the people they’d transported were unloaded, unshackled, and then divided between them. Merit switched out his agolé for something more pedestrian and set a nicely anonymous sallí cloak over it all. He looked back at Talea. “You coming or staying?”
She studied the wagons. “What’s going to happen to them?”
“Safe house. Then … well, it depends. They’ll be split up, taken different places. Hidden. The first thing we’ll do is remove the slave brand.”
Talea nodded. That had, in fact, been one of the first things Thurvishar had done after her own purchase—the act that had convinced her perhaps he wasn’t just playing a cruel game when he promised he’d free her. She narrowed her eyes at Merit. “And why would you want me along? You don’t know me. You don’t know if you can trust me. So it’s either a trap or…” She smiled. “You don’t seem stupid, so should I assume the trap?”
Merit laughed. “Yeah, you’re right; it’s stupid. But you’ve been my lucky charm so far, and I’m not planning to take you anyplace you’ll be able to ring on later.”
Talea knew the look and all its unspoken meanings—namely, that he thought she was extremely pretty and was hoping to celebrate his survival with a little something extra. She suspected it wasn’t diplomatic to spell out for him that the odds of making that happen were pretty much zero. He seemed nice enough, depending on that whole “trap” angle, but she was certainly not ready to replace Xivan, not even for a quick bit of fun.
He surprised her, though, when the wagons headed down to the Lower Circle. She’d thought they might head to one of the storehouses in the Copper Quarter, or maybe the Harbor District, but he pulled to a building right next to a Blue House and began unloading people. Openly, without a trace of hesitation. And since most of them weren’t wearing manacles, it suddenly occurred to her what this looked like. Not a brazen slave escape at all but refugees from another demon attack, being taken to a Blue House for healing. If the injuries themselves weren’t necessarily obvious, that didn’t mean they weren’t there.
She felt a thrill. The D’Erinwa slave masters had only noticed a discrepancy because they’d noticed the lack of metal. Whatever methods these people were using to forge bills of sale, it wasn’t something the Royal Houses had yet tracked back to their source. House D’Erinwa would have no idea where to look.
But … it was a Blue House. How the hell had these people managed to subvert a Blue House?
“Come inside?”
Across the street, a little girl with silver hair stood on the steps to the clinic. She shook her head at Talea: no.
Talea swallowed. No matter how much this man liked the look of her, he wouldn’t be working alone. Surely, his friends wouldn’t be so willing to overlook her presence when the only explanation for her being there at all was the luck of the draw. And an operation like this was too dangerous and too risky to just take her word that she’d stay silent.
She smiled at him. “Sorry. Can’t. I need to meet an old friend.”
And then she ran.
There were shouts behind her, and she was sure at least a few people gave half-hearted chase, but she ran until she lost herself in the crowds on Simillion’s Crossing. She curled up against a wall, bent over, panting for breath, and to her surprise, grinning like an idiot.
“It’s fun, isn’t it?” a voice said.
Talea looked up and found herself staring at Taja.
The goddess still looked like a little girl, barefoot and with scabs on one of her shins, a simple ribbon tied around the waist of her short white shift. But the hair was unmistakable, as were the wings and the ancient eyes.
Talea started to say something. The Goddess of Luck shook her head and put a finger to her lips.
“This way,” the little girl said and motioned for her to follow.
Which she did. She followed the Goddess of Luck across that street and down an alley, ducked into a tenement and walked up the stairs to the top floor, climbed a ladder to the roof, and from there ended up on a flat rooftop garden overlooking a surprisingly nice view of the city. That view was an untrustworthy liar; it made the Capital look alive and vibrant, a place where one might actually want to live and not just survive.
When they were finally there, she turned to Taja, beaming. “I’m so happy you’re still alive!”
“But Taja’s not,” the little girl who looked like Taja said. “I’m so sorry. I hate to disappoint you, but I’m dead. I mean, Taja’s dead.”
Talea felt that in her heart, an aching, horrible pain. “But—” She wiped her face. “You’re here. I can see you.”
“Only you can see me. To anyone else, you’re talking to the plants.” The girl shrugged. “Sorry about that. You might want to make sure we’re alone before having any important conversations.”
“So I’m going mad?” Talea would have thought going mad might be less obvious than seeing people who admitted they couldn’t possibly exist, but there it was.
“No,” the little girl said. “You’re not.”
“Those statements seem at odds with each other,” Talea replied. “Do sane people have visions no one else can see?”
“Only when Immortals are involved—and that’s the case here. Tya and Taja spent a lot of time thinking about what to do in case the Eight Immortals were ever killed again. It’s a galling position to be in, you know, to be this powerful and yet know that all it takes is for Galava to die and the rest of the gods were, uh—”
“Fucked,” Talea offered.
“Right. So they figured out a solution. Unfortunately, not a great solution. But I’m sure Taja thought that since she was over fourteen thousand years old, she’d had a good run. Except she left some projects in a delicate state and needs someone to finish them for her.”
“So … that’s where you come in?”
“Oh no,” the little girl said. “That’s where you come in.”
Talea just stared at her. “You’re not … you’re not going to rewrite my mind so your soul can take possession of my body, are you? The way Suless did to Janel?”
The little girl’s eyes widened in amazement. “Oookay, I think I’m beginning to understand why Taja picked you. Uh, no. There are both logistical and moral reasons that wouldn’t work.”
“Those reasons being?”
“Well! For one thing, mortal bodies can’t contain the amount of tenyé Taja needs to exist, so your body would, literally, explode.” She widened her eyes in mock surprise. “And second, eww. That’s horrible. She would never.”
Talea exhaled in relief. She walked over to a chair and sat down.
And immediately found herself with a lapful of small child.
“If you’re not Taja,” Talea said, “what do I call you?”
“Call me Eshimavari,” the little girl said. “I mean … Eshi. Call me Eshi.”
“Okay, Eshi. And if you’re not Taja, why are you here?”
“To help you figure things out. You’re not being prepared to be a host for some immortal consciousness or anything. You’re more like … an angel,” Eshi explained. “Sort of. Although in your case, instead of being the angel of an Immortal, you’re the angel of the … memory … of an Immortal. Taja’s not actually here, which is the other reason Taja couldn’t possess you, even if she wanted, even if I wanted. Her souls are spread out across the universe right now and … yeah … I’d call that death, wouldn’t you?”
“I don’t want her to be dead,” Talea said, her voice stuttering.
“Shh.” Eshi wiped her cheeks with chubby little fingers. “It’s okay. I know this is all happening very fast.”
“What is it you need me to do?”
“We’ll get to that in due time. Right now, I’m more concerned with what you want to do. What my darling little girl needs to be happy.”
“I don’t know.” Talea closed her eyes and thought about it. What did she want? “I want to go back home. I mean, I want to go back to the Spurned.”
The child leaned back and regarded her. “Is that what you really want?”
“No, I really—” Talea’s lip quivered. “What I really want is Xivan back, but I don’t think I’m going to get what I want this time.”
The Goddess of Luck—or rather, a memory of the Goddess of Luck—kissed the tip of Talea’s nose. “Not right away. Let’s make that a long-term project, shall we? In the meantime, let’s see who we can run into to help with that other matter.”
Talea squinted. “Going home?”
“Eventually. We have a few stops to make first.”
Talea’s reaction The Lighthouse at Shadrag Gor
Talea had a thin, uncertain smile plastered on her face when the vision ended, because of course, everyone was staring at her. Which she’d expected, but even so, it hurt a little. Not all the looks were supportive. Kalindra looked openly skeptical, and Senera’s expression was … considered. Whether that consideration was on the matter of Talea’s sanity or some other problem revolving around her revelations wasn’t yet clear.
Not-Actually-Taja wasn’t visible right at the moment. Evidently, she was going to let Talea work this out on her own.
“You really think—” Senera started to say, and then stopped and reached for the Name of All Things.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. She’s telling the truth,” Talon said. “If you really must ask your pet rock a thousand questions, go ahead, but she’s telling the truth. She really is seeing all that. And if it’s not real, someone’s doing a hell of a job of faking it.”
Sheloran cocked her head. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that unlike the rest of you fine people, I—and I equals Kihrin here—have met the real, actual Taja when she felt like running around as a little girl, and Talea’s memories are identical. She didn’t just remember any ol’ adorable little silver-haired moppet—she remembered Taja. As I am under the impression Talea only previously met the adult version, and then only for a few minutes at most, why on earth would she get that detail right if she were going insane? Do you think you could draw what Galen looked like when he was eight just because you’ve seen him full grown now? Trust me, that was Taja.” Talon paced as she rolled her eyes, all but throwing her hands up in the air.
“Thank you,” Talea told her, surprised at the defense.
“Anything for my”—Talon paused—“friend.”
“You mean sister,” Talea corrected. She knew exactly why the mimic was having these little attacks of conscience, and it wasn’t out of anything like a sense of friendship. Talon’s memories of Talea’s twin sister, Morea, were messing with the monster’s head.
The mimic froze. “I’m not—” Talon visibly swallowed. “Don’t tease.”
“So are you still seeing Eshimavari?” Senera asked Talea carefully. She was eyeing her with a wariness Talea found upsetting.
“Yes,” Talea said. “I’m not seeing her right now, mind you. She comes and goes.”
“And tells you what to do,” Kalindra said, making it sound like Talea was “compromised” or had been suborned or some other silly nonsense.
“No!” Talea said. “She just tells me the odds. And lately, she doesn’t even really need to do that. I can figure out the odds on my own.”
This did nothing to alleviate the worried look on Senera’s face. “Have there been any other … symptoms?”
“Symptoms?” Talea laughed. “You make it sound like I’m catching a disease.”
Senera didn’t reply.
As if to break up the awkward silence, Sheloran yawned and then said, “Do we have any idea what time it is? If that’s a question that even has any validity under the circumstances.”
“It feels late,” Kalindra said, “but I can’t say for sure.”
“Why don’t we sleep?” Galen suggested. “It’s not like we don’t have bedrooms and heating spells.”
Qown shook his head. “There are, but it’s Vol Karoth’s turn…”
Galen paused and turned to look at Qown. “Please don’t take this as being directed at you, but honestly, why would I give a damn whether or not it’s Vol Karoth’s turn? What’s he going to do, send a vision worse than the nightmares we’re already enjoying? And don’t try to tell me you don’t have nightmares, Qown, because I know better.”
Qown turned red and hid his mouth behind a hand. “I just … He’s still coming through the wall.”
“Which he’ll probably still be doing eight hours from now,” Galen said. “If we’re tired and miserable, I fail to see how we’re going to be in a better position to figure out a solution. Also, why are we playing that bastard’s game? I apologize for the language, but fuck him. He’s going to throw horrible visions at us, fine. Nothing says we have to be awake for it. And then, once it’s our turn again, we can just … sleep.”
“I could use the sleep,” Talea admitted. “There’s really no reason we can’t, is there?”
“Why hasn’t Vol Karoth already sent us a vision?” Kalindra mused. “He’s usually faster than this.”
“Presumably, our friends are keeping him occupied. We’ll need to find the linens and make the beds first,” Senera noted. “We don’t keep the bedding out in the open. It would rot away before the next person visited.”
Sheloran closed her fan and tucked it into her belt. “If someone doesn’t mind showing me what to do, I’m happy to help.”