CHAPTER EIGHT

The poorer sections of Sicaria lay outside her high stone walls, warrens of stone and timber buildings crisscrossed by streets both paved and muddy. It was an area Shade and her Golondrina companions knew well, so when Korin described the rendezvous point with the Coterie, she knew exactly where he meant. A broad canal inched along the southern wall of the city, providing access to the vast estuary leading into the ports of Sicaria. A few arched bridges crossed the waterway, allowing free passage from one side to the other, and one such bridge led to the outfall pipe of Sicaria’s Great Sewer. She’d smirked when she’d realized it; what better place to meet the Coterie than at the entrance to a sewer?

“I don’t like it,” Cyril had complained when Shade told him her plan. Propped up on a narrow cot in the head groomsman’s apartment over Dante’s stables, the elder Golondrina had looked much better since his ordeal. He’d lasted a day in the manor before insisting he be moved to more fitting accommodations. He would have had Manoli and Petra pitch the tent they used for Waste-walking in Dante’s manicured gardens if Shade hadn’t talked him out of it. As tough as he was, he needed real rest in a real bed.

“I’ll have the boys with me,” she countered, gesturing to the cousins dicing at the groomsman’s table. Manoli made a face and rolled his eyes at his uncle’s concern, and she moved her stool so Cyril couldn’t see his cheek. “And we aren’t walking down the streets like doves. We’ll be keeping to the sewers.”

“Where we belong,” Manoli added with a soft snicker.

Shade shot him a warning glance and moved her stool another inch. Luckily, Cyril hadn’t heard Manoli, or he was choosing to ignore him. “You should wait until I’m on my feet,” he insisted. “I’ll be up and about by tomorrow at the latest.”

In reply, Shade poked him in the side, eliciting a gasp and turning him a lighter hue of bronze. “I’d rather not wait, Cyril. The sooner we get our hands on the cornerstones, then the sooner we can return to the Wastes. If the Kindred won’t let us into their stronghold, then we’ll have to find a new location for our Veil. It won’t be easy, and I fear waiting any longer. The Wastes are tipping into chaos as we speak.”

Cyril’s grim expression showed his agreement, but he wasn’t done arguing. “I don’t trust those people, and I don’t trust Korin Illario.”

Shade sighed. As if she did? She didn’t like any of this. She tapped her toe on the well-sanded floorboards, frowning. She felt backed into a corner, and she hated the feeling. The Coterie would manipulate her for their own ends, she had no doubt. And where exactly had they gotten their cornerstones? She intended to find out whether they planned on telling her or not. If they had managed to obtain the rare and precious stones, then maybe she could, as well.

“If I can’t be with you,” Cyril growled finally, “then take the Imperial.”

“Raiden?” she said, surprised. “He’s the one who put you in that bed!”

Stubbornly, Cyril shook his head. “I was the fool who threw myself in the path of danger. There were a hundred other ways to counter, and I chose the worst one.”

“Nonsense. I–”

“Shade.” Cyril laid a hand on her knee and captured her gaze with his sharp, gray eyes. He lowered his voice. “The lads are brave and would die for you, but the Imperial can protect you like they cannot. Take him with you.”

In the end, it hadn’t been up to Cyril. Dante had already told the captain their plans, and Raiden had insisted on accompanying her.

“Because I’m in your custody?” Shade had asked him with a sarcastic roll of her eyes as they’d left Dante’s villa with Manoli and Petra flanking them.

Walking beside her, his uniform and sword concealed by a cloak, the hood drawn over his sleek black hair, he’d peered at her askance. She was wearing a cloak, as well, to hide her bloodwizard garb. She’d refused to enter the Coterie’s lair dressed as a callow youth. She would face the Coterie as herself.

“I owe a debt. To you, to Don Cyril.” Raiden had sighed, his gaze returning to the crushed quartz road beneath his boots. Their crunching steps were in unison. “I have served my whole life as a shield to others. My own father made it clear I was always expected to be a sacrifice. Always. I never expected another to make a sacrifice for me.”

His words had made her grimace in empathy. “Sounds like your father took lessons from mine. I was never a daughter to him, only a means to an end.”

“And what was that end?” he’d asked, curious.

“Revenge.”

They crossed a stone footbridge as evening fell, the city’s curtain wall casting deep shadows over them, leaving behind the bustling warren of homes and businesses. Shade had kept her cloak closed when they’d passed through the streets, but once they were on the bridge she tossed it back from her shoulders. She wanted easy access to her blades. It wouldn’t surprise her if Korin had led her into a trap with the promise of cornerstones. Dante might trust him, but she never would.

Dante. She clenched her teeth. Her feelings toward him had grown topsy-turvy. Just when she was beginning to really care about him, he’d sprung this nonsense on her. But he’d been right to keep it secret; if he’d told her about his connection to the Coterie earlier, she never would have agreed to their alliance. Now, though, she was in too deep.

Raiden followed her example, throwing back his cloak from one shoulder and loosening his sword in its scabbard. Guilt clouded his brow for a moment, and he glanced back at Manoli and Petra who trailed them across the bridge. “I am sorry about your uncle,” he said quietly. “I should have apologized sooner…”

Manoli laughed at Raiden’s heart-felt apology. “If we were afraid of getting hurt, Imperial, we wouldn’t be following the Black Witch.”

“Right?” Petra seconded to Shade’s annoyance, shaking a thumb in her direction. “We figure the boss’ll get us all killed one day, anyway. Then we’ll walk the Green Meadows together.”

A look came into Raiden’s eyes at his comment, one of understanding. He touched his fingers to his brow and bowed deeply. “May we all meet again in the heavens of my father’s gods,” he said reverently.

Shade’s exasperated sigh broke the moment. “Let’s not rush it,” she muttered.

The outfall pipe of Sicaria’s Great Sewer was a stone archway half again as tall as a man. They approached the shadowy recess along a narrow towpath beside the curtain wall. Shade dropped her hood. Someone moved in the shadowy depths of the giant pipe, creeping along the brick edges above the flow of fetid water. He stepped into the fading light, cloaked as she was but with a rough canvas hood covering his head. Ragged holes had been cut for his eyes and mouth. It gave him an ominous look.

“Greetings, Shade Nox. We’ve been expecting you.” His voice was deep and sonorous, as if he spoke from the bottom of a well. From where she stood, Shade could just feel the draw of blood he’d made to produce the effect. “Please, come with me.” He gestured imperatively with a gloved hand.

“Come where?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning indolently against the arch of the tunnel pipe. He stood on the other side of the tunnel, and she would have to leap across a few broken stones peeking from the foul water to reach him. Behind her, her companions spread out in a loose arc, Raiden keeping closest to her.

“To our lair.” The masked stranger reached beneath his cloak and drew out a bundle of cloth. “From here, no one can see the way to our sanctuary.”

He tossed it to her, and she caught it, letting it slither open in her hand. A hood. Shade smirked to hide the sudden pounding in her heart. “There’s only one,” she said, and heard Manoli growl something low and hostile. “You expect me to go with you alone?”

“You are the Black Witch, are you not? Are you afraid?”

“Only a fool fears nothing, and I won’t walk alone into a trap.”

“Only you will proceed from here, witch.” His tone turned haughty behind his tattered mask. “We cannot allow a representative of the Empire near our organization.” His horrid mask turned toward the cousins. “And we do not allow oath breakers into our sanctuary.”

Shade snorted derisively at the man’s accusation, but Manoli and Petra each let loose a curse, Manoli going so far as to step forward with a hand to his blade. Shade sighed. She’d forgotten about this nonsense. The Coterie had it in their heads that the Golondrina had somehow betrayed the Sicani long, long ago and were cursed to wander the Wastes because of it. In that, they were as bad as the Brotherhood.

“Faces spit on you!” Manoli’s long mustaches quivered with anger, his teeth bared. “We have broken no oaths. We keep the old ways! We watch over the qaraz!”

“You watch over ghosts, boy. Your people failed to protect the ancient spirits, and the blight has grown.” It was hard to say if the man was angry or frightened behind his mask, but Shade noticed his hands had disappeared into his cloak.

“Ignore him, Manny,” she said, laying a restraining hand on her friend. “We already know these people are idiots.”

Her words sparked a laugh from Petra. The masked man stiffened. Manoli smiled at him. Grimaced, really, but he relaxed.

“Nevertheless, your companions must wait for you here. We are risking everything to bring you into our sanctuary.”

“We won’t just let you take our boss down a fucking sewer without us,” Manoli said, his nostrils flaring and his hand on his knife again.

The man shrugged. “Then your ‘boss’ will never get the cornerstones she needs for her Veil. The choice is yours.”

Hells. Shade exchanged a look with her companions. She held Raiden’s worried gaze for a moment. “Shade,” he said, a weight of caution in his words.

“Stay with the boys, Raiden. I’ll be back soon.” Before she could change her mind, she jumped from the towpath onto the broken stones in the outflow. Another leap had her beside the masked stranger. She turned to her friends and gave them a crooked smile. They wore matching looks of horror and concern. Swiftly, Shade pulled the hood over her head. It took all her self-control not to wince away when the man took her by the arm.

“If you don’t see me by morning, boys,” she couldn’t resist saying as he led her along the bricks, the rush of water somewhere beneath her feet. “Then you have my permission to kill Korin Illario.”

“As you wish, boss,” Petra said, though it was Manoli’s guffaw which brought a smile to her lips.

* * *

After a nightmare journey through the foul stench of the sewers, her feet cold and her sandals wet from the ankle-deep filth they’d passed through, and her nerves shot from the impenetrable darkness suffocating her, Shade was allowed to remove her hood. Her guide left her in a small, windowless chamber with a pitcher of water and a basin in which to wash her feet, and footwear next to a small table with two ladder-backed chairs. It was an ascetic space with white plastered walls devoid of decoration but for a quartered mask adorned with colored stones.

“Not a very impressive sanctuary,” she muttered as she took a seat. She threw her cloak back to make it easier to reach her blades, and began to wash her feet, and, as best she could, her sandals. She’d expected something grand, at least. The Coterie had spent decades building their cabal of magic-users rich in Sicani blood, and then seeded the Veils with cells of operatives. In her father’s home, the staff had whispered among themselves about this secret society determined to destroy the church, though Shade had never seen much evidence of their work. Still, after Bishop Raphael had been murdered, she’d gone to them, desperate for protection. Who better to save her from the Brotherhood than their sworn enemies?

Shade dried her feet with the edge of her cloak, her lips tightening. When she’d appeared on their doorstep after days of searching, her “saviors” had stared at her like she was a cockroach floating in their soup. A stern, hawk-nosed man had laid a hand on her head, declared her “unworthy” after a moment, and then sent her on her way. But she remembered the shadows in his eyes as he’d shut the door in her face. Not just disdain, but fear.

As she was strapping on her damp sandals, the door to the room opened with an ominous squeal of iron hinges. Shade stiffened and jumped to her feet, her hands hovering near her blade hilts. A hum of power preceded the group which entered the chamber. It set her teeth on edge and made the hair on her neck rise. It reminded her of the Golondrinas’ combined power, but this wasn’t born from a natural bond, this had been forced.

It was an odd group: three women and two men, young and old alike, both rich and poor. One tall, broad-shouldered man wore the silks and linens of a merchant while the man beside him was dressed as a laborer. Bearded and rough-looking, the laborer gave her a smirk and she knew instantly he’d been the man who’d led her through the sewers. The rich man evaluated her as if she were a particularly fine broodmare. She ignored them both and focused on the women. The eldest of the three smiled at her. “Welcome, Lady Nox,” she said, her voice smooth and cultured. Her clothing marked her as a noblewoman, full skirts of satin and lace in lovely shades of purple. Matching amethysts hung from her ears and circled her throat and even adorned her long, slender fingers. Her skin was smooth and fair, her neck long and unlined though she appeared to be of middle years. The ash-blonde hair piled on her head had a touch of gray and there were small wrinkles at the corners of her blue eyes. “I am Celeste.”

“Are you in charge?” Shade asked.

Celeste’s smile tightened. “You are blunt, aren’t you, my dear? Korin warned me you might be difficult.”

“Did he also warn you the sun might rise in the morning?”

One of the younger women flanking Celeste snickered, and quickly put a hand to her mouth. Shade glanced at her, her lips quirking. At least someone appreciated her humor. The woman – girl, really – was dressed as finely as Celeste, though in a snug, nearly sheer gown which revealed far too much. Not exactly a noblewoman. The other woman was dressed simply in a drab wool gown common among the poorer folk in Malavita. Her plain face was unsmiling. All of them, the men included, had beadwork sewn on their clothing. On the shoulders and collars of their shirts, at their waists in broad belts. Beads fashioned from tiny gemstones. She tensed. Small though they were, the gems were numerous and fine. A vast well of power.

There was little reason any of these people would ever gather in a room together, and yet a common cause and common blood had brought them all to the Coterie. People willing to overlook societal barriers to support a dogma were a dangerous sort. Fanatics.

“I understand why you are reluctant to deal with us,” Celeste said. “What happened between you and certain members of our organization was unfortunate, but it shouldn’t color our future endeavors. We want the same things, child. And if we overlook past slights, perhaps we can come to a mutually agreeable arrangement.”

Every word out of Celeste’s mouth filled Shade with a simmering rage. She spoke as if Shade had wanted to join their club and been denied membership. “Do we?” she asked sharply. “Want the same things, I mean. Because I have no idea what you want, lady, except to bring me to heel in your so-called cause. Korin told me as much. If you didn’t want me before, why in the lowest hells do you want me now?”

Celeste glided closer, her hands clasped before her skirts. The hum of power reached a level that made Shade’s teeth ache, and she glanced at the others. Not one had their hands in sight, but buried in pockets or hidden slits in their skirts. They were drawing blood. She gritted her teeth and kept her hands away from her blades.

“Let’s not play games,” Celeste said. “Korin came to us with your plan to raise a Veil in the Wastes. Somehow, you’ve discovered how to do it. Or so you claim.”

“You think I’m lying?”

Celeste lifted her shoulders in a delicate shrug, every movement as elegant and refined as her clothing. “If Korin believes it, I will take his word, but others will only believe it when it is done.”

Fair enough. Shade crossed her arms over her chest, mostly to keep from gripping her blades. She didn’t want them to think she was rattled. “He told me you’re offering me the stones I need, so enough of you must believe I can do what I say.”

“True. We are prepared to give you our cornerstones. Cornerstones we acquired through great risk of our own.”

Shade’s heart raced. “And what will it cost me?”

Celeste pulled out a chair and took a seat at the table. She gestured for Shade to join her. Reluctantly, Shade returned to her seat but angled it so she could keep an eye on the room. The other members of the Coterie spread out around them, silent and watchful. The hum of power lessened fractionally.

“It was a mistake to send you away all those years ago,” Celeste said softly. Her pale eyes regarded Shade with something like regret in their cool depths. “We lost a valuable ally in our arrogance, our shortsightedness. I admit, you frightened us when you appeared on our doorstep. Your power is… unusual.”

“I’ve always thought I was special.”

“We were right to be afraid.” Celeste’s tone grew less sympathetic. “We felt you out there in the Wastes. We felt what you almost loosed on the world.” A small shudder racked her slim frame. “It was always your attraction toward the Wild Power we couldn’t abide.”

Shade flushed. “I controlled it,” she said, her voice suddenly hoarse. She cleared her throat. “I have it under control.”

“Barely.”

“If that were so we’d all be ash, wouldn’t we?”

“Will you touch the Wild Power when you raise your Veil?” Celeste spoke coldly, and the power in the room pressed against Shade until she twisted in her seat.

“Stop it!” Shade slapped her hand against her thigh, itching to draw a blade. “If you want to see whether I have control over my power, keep pushing me.”

Celeste stared down her nose without a trace of fear. “Are you a savior, obsidian wielder, or are you a destroyer? We thought the latter all those years ago and hoped the Wastes would correct whatever mistake the universe made in your creation. Yet you survived. You survived and thrived. You crafted blades – obsidian! Faces turn from me! – you found a tattoo master more skilled than the best among the Brotherhood. And now you dare to create a Quattro Canto and raise a Veil. No one outside the Brotherhood has achieved such a thing.”

Her voice had risen, grown excited. The pressure in the air made Shade’s ears throb and her head pound, but she withstood it. This was a test, nothing more. There was no true menace aimed at her. Nevertheless, she was about to punch Celeste in the face if she didn’t get to her point soon.

“You know nothing of the plans we’ve had in place for decades now, the pain and blood and magic we’ve spent attempting to right what has gone wrong in this land. Not fifteen years ago, we thought all our plans ruined, all our hope lost, and for all those years, we mourned. And then you appeared. The unexpected witch.” Celeste laughed and there were low murmurs from the rest of the Coterie. They might have been prayers. “You’ve given us new hope.”

Through gritted teeth, Shade asked, “Hope for what?”

“Hope for victory.” Her eyes were alight with religious fervor. “Finally, we will finish the battle against the Unseen our Sicani forebears started centuries ago. We will cleanse their blight from the land and wipe them from the world forever.”