CHAPTER NINE

Despite her discomfort, which was bordering on pain, Shade laughed. “The Unseen? Are you mad? The Unseen are no more, destroyed by the Sicani long ago. Only their blight remains to trouble us. I thought you wanted me to help you destroy the Brotherhood – which I would gladly do – but you want me to fight imaginary demons?”

Celeste pursed her lips. “They are as real as the ground beneath your feet. As real as your blades and wards. Only a fool would believe otherwise. Only a fool would believe the Brotherhood’s lies that all that remains of the Unseen are shadows stalking the Wastes. The Brotherhood itself has long been infiltrated by demons. They use susceptible humans as avatars, and have found a wealth of corrupted souls among those priests.”

“I know firsthand the corruption among the Brotherhood. My father taught me, a bishop and a Blademaster. He taught me how to fashion gemstone blades and how to raise a Veil, something the Brotherhood has feared to do for a century. I will restore balance to the Wastes. That is the hope I bring! Isn’t it enough for you? Why must you make it a part of some grand ancient battle?”

“Because you must understand what is at stake!”

“I understand what’s at stake. Better than you, in fact. My people, the Golondrina you so disparage, are bearing the brunt of the Brotherhood’s failings. They walk the Wastes, tending the sacred qaraz, the qaraz which are the last true magic of this land, but the Wastes are growing more unstable and dangerous. Blackstorms rise where they shouldn’t, and the beasts grow ever more ravenous. I am raising a Veil to save my people!”

“It does not matter for whom you raise the Veil, only that you raise it,” Celeste snapped, clearly irritated by her mention of the Golondrina. “It will be a blow to our common enemy, the first blow against them in ages. You may not wish to become involved in our war against the Unseen, but if you raise a Veil you will have no choice. Are you ready to face such a consequence?”

“I am ready to face whatever may come. I am not afraid of my enemies,” and she smirked, “not the real ones, or the shadows.”

“Will you agree to our terms in exchange for the cornerstones you need?”

“What terms?” Shade asked cautiously, though excitement built in her belly. Did they really have the stones she needed? Or was this some elaborate trick?

Celeste stood, lifted a hand, and made a swirling motion in the air before her. Light followed her fingertips, forming a sparkling circle, a blending of Fire and Air. The light became a pattern, intersecting lines which formed a bright node. The image expanded until Shade could see that it was a map of the Wastes. There were the Razor Ridge mountains to the west, and that harsh, pulsating blur near the node was the Glass Fields.

“You must raise your Veil as soon as possible,” Celeste said, her voice deep and amplified by magic. “We are well aware of the state of our land. The Veils grow weaker with every passing day and the blight grows stronger. To save our land, you must raise the Veil at the Nexus, nowhere else. If not there, then all could be lost.”

“The Nexus?” Shade whispered, her eyes glued to the bright node of power. It was a place where several qaraz crossed, a place deep in the Wastes and dangerously close to the unstable Glass Fields. The amount of power coalesced in this one spot would make it difficult to work the Veil magic. She would be calling on all Four Faces and the Hidden and working with – hopefully – immensely powerful gemstones. If anything went wrong, it could be disastrous for her. Her lips pressed into a line. Were there even potential mines at this location? As far as she knew, no one had dared prospect so close to the Glass Fields – the sight of the final battle between the Unseen and the Sicani.

“It is the perfect place,” Celeste said, breathless with triumph. “When you raise your Veil, all of Malavita will be touched by its power.”

Her eyes gleamed golden through the map of light, an expression close to ecstasy on her face. It made Shade’s skin crawl. Her gaze slipped back to the Nexus, noting Celeste was correct about one thing, at least: the knot of qaraz at the Nexus. Its tendrils radiated outward across all of Malavita, touching each and every Veil in the whole of the island, including all those along the Golden Crescent and those few that sheltered Brotherhood strongholds along the southern coast. The strongest and oldest of all the Veils.

But this couldn’t be the place of her vision, she was sure of it. She was meant to go beyond the mountains.

“It’s impossible,” she said. “It’s too dangerous to attempt a Veil so near the Glass Fields. Besides, I’ve already chosen a location. Beyond the mountains, in Kindred territory.”

Celeste’s ecstatic expression slipped. “No,” she said. “You must go to the Nexus, or we are all lost!”

Shade frowned. There would be no convincing a fanatic. But she had to go to the Kindred lands. The certainty of it had driven her since before she’d ever thought about raising a Veil. It wasn’t as if the places beyond the mountains were any safer as far as the Wastes went, but she’d dreamt of her Veil rising like a vast shield over a valley framed by two broken hills, the Razor Ridge mountains looming in the background. In her dream, she’d known what it meant – where it meant.

“Show me the cornerstones you claim to possess,” she temporized. “And then I’ll decide.”

Celeste raised a hand. The power filling the room receded, and the map made of light vanished. Shade let loose a breath, trembling in relief. Faces. They were strong.

The man who’d led Shade through the sewers left the room abruptly, throwing her a smug smile as he did. A moment later, he returned bearing a narrow box made of tin. He settled the box on the table. Leaves and vines were etched on its hinged lid, but she felt a strange blankness from it.

Reverently, the man lifted the lid, and power flooded the room. Her heart began to pound and her mouth went dry. Nestled within on black velvet sat gemstones. Each was the size of a robin’s egg, uncut, rough and jagged. The depth of color in them astounded her, and even uncut, the diamond held the promise of perfect clarity. The ruby, emerald, and sapphire shone with inner light, the elements encapsulated. They sang to her, and she knew them.

A memory surfaced: she knelt by her father before a glass-encased shrine, within the case four jewels were held suspended by layers upon layers of power. Power she could see even as a child. Like a dream, she heard her father whisper in her ear, “Patience, little one. The day will come when they will be yours.”

“Where did you get these?” she asked dully, feeling an emptiness open within her, something deep and hot at its center.

“Your father, the Bishop Raphael, was not the only Brotherhood priest to despise his order for their secrets and lies.” Celeste spoke triumphantly, unaware that each word she uttered fed the tiny ball of heat forming in Shade’s core. “Our agent put himself in grave danger to remove these ancient stones from the Brotherhood’s citadel. But he managed to bring them to us without betraying our organization. It was a remarkable feat of–”

“You stole them,” Shade said, recognizing the heat in her belly at last: rage.

“The Brotherhood weren’t likely to part with their treasure willingly.”

Shade let her rage fill her. “These were meant for me!” she roared, rising to her feet, her hands itching for her blades. She slammed both hands on the table. It shuddered with the force of her blows. “These stones were mine! My father promised them to me, and you stole them!”

Celeste jerked, white-faced with shock. The Coterie’s power filled the small room again, less unified than before, and Shade could taste their sudden panic. Good, let them be afraid!

“You fools, you unbelievable fools! Your rash stupidity cost my father his life. They sent a Ruby Pontifex for him, accusing him of theft.” Tears of rage blurred her vision, yet she managed to reach out and grip one of the stones. The blood-red ruby. Its power throbbed against her palm. It made her ill. “They tortured him for hours, but he wouldn’t confess.” The screams of her father echoed in her memory. She’d witnessed all of it, the pain, the blood, hidden in a secret panel in the wall of his library. She pressed her fist to her lips, the ruby like a hot coal against her palm. “I thought he was protecting me, but he never had the stones, did he?” She glared at Celeste with murderous rage. “Did he!” she screamed.

“We… We did not know they would accuse him.” White-lipped, Celeste backed away. She lifted her chin and tried to regain her composure. Her trembling hands smoothed her skirt, and her companions closed in around her, their power coalescing. It slammed against Shade, causing her sight to dim. She shook her head, swaying.

“They are yours now, witch,” spoke the wealthy man, his disdain of her turned to desperation. “The stones are yours! You have what you need to raise your Veil–”

Shade spun on her heel and raised her fist, the ruby pulsing in her grasp. Power crackled around her even though she had not drawn blood. It reached out to envelop the other stones. They rose in the air, spinning, orbiting her like stars. “Yes, they are mine. They have always been mine, you foul thieves!” With her free hand, she drew one obsidian blade. It gleamed white in the dim room, casting their shadows against the walls. The cornerstones spun around her faster and faster. The earth began to tremble beneath her feet.

“Stop, witch!” screamed the young whore as she yanked a platinum knife from her skirts. Blood dripped from it. “You’ll draw every priest in the city to our door!”

“Let them come,” she said, “I will burn them into ash along with all of you!”

The man who’d led her through the sewers raised a hand toward her. His eyes were wide, but he spoke calmly, if quickly. “Will you burn your friends to ash along with all of us?” he asked. “They are in a taverna just over the river.”

Shade hissed, his warning reaching her through her rage. As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t unleash her power in Sicaria. The Brotherhood would come for her and destroy everyone within the vicinity to get to her. Nevertheless, she held onto her power, letting it fill the room. “I’m walking out of here,” she said, fixing Celeste with a glare. “With the stones. And I will raise my Veil where I see fit!”

All her composure had vanished, and Celeste bared her teeth at Shade like a wild beast. “So be it! Let Korin deal with your obstinance. Sheath your weapon and begone from our sanctuary!”

“You won’t stop me?”

Celeste shook her head, her neat hairstyle whipping loose with the movement.

“Swear it! Swear upon the ancient Sicani, our most blessed saviors.”

“I swear upon the Sicani, demon witch!”

Shade smirked and sheathed her blade. Only then did she release the magic of the stones. They ceased their spinning and settled into her open hands like birds alighting in their nest. Keeping her eyes on the others as best she could, she stuffed them into her belt pouch. “Now, if someone could show me the way back to my companions…?”

A vicious look settled on Celeste’s face. “Take her back the way she came, Armand.”

The rough-dressed man approached her, his eyes lit with gleeful spite and the canvas hood in his hands. “With pleasure, my lady.”

The interior of the seedy taverna was smoky and dim, and overly warm from a crackling hearth. The smell of woodsmoke and the savory notes of fried sardines couldn’t quite conceal the sour tang of spilled ale or the distinctive odor of urine. His nose wrinkling, Raiden kept a hand on his sword hilt as he followed his companions. Both Manoli and Petra threw jolly greetings to the man behind the bar – if a plank on two barrels could be considered a bar – but they each kept a hand on their blade hilts, too. The barkeep, a sullen-looking man in a dirty apron, waved and turned to fill tankards of ale from the cask behind him.

Manoli led them toward an empty table in the back of the cramped common room and they wedged themselves around it, keeping their backs to the wall. There were a few other patrons in the place, solitary men mostly, hunched over plates of fish and pints of ale. None were dressed as Corsaro, fortunately, but all of them displayed tattoos and carried simple quartz knives.

A moment after they sat down, the barkeep dropped three tankards on the scarred tabletop. Petra grinned and tossed him a coin, but the man’s sullen mien remained the same. He tucked the coin in his belt and shuffled away. Petra shrugged at Raiden’s raised eyebrows. “He has good ale,” he said.

“And he knows how to keep his mouth shut,” added Manoli ominously as he reached for his tankard. His brow was furrowed and his lips were turned down beneath his long mustache. “We should have followed them.”

Petra sighed, but didn’t disagree. While his cousin quaffed his ale, he sipped his, and kept his attention on the men around them. Raiden followed Petra’s example, finding him to be a thoughtful, cautious man slow to anger and quick to help. It had been his fast thinking which had kept Shade from bleeding to death in the Wastes. A slight stirring of guilt made him shift on the hard bench, but he squashed it. He’d been forgiven. It wouldn’t do to continue to wallow in self-loathing, no matter if he felt he deserved it.

“I don’t think Lord Safire would knowingly send her into danger,” Raiden said, though even he found his words unconvincing. They should have followed her. He should have. Uninterested in his ale despite Petra’s endorsement, he toyed with his tankard and watched the other patrons. He’d tossed back the hood of his cloak and not a few of them were eyeing him. His delicate features, smooth cheeks and short shock of silky black hair marked him. The looks thrown his way weren’t exactly hostile, but they weren’t exactly friendly either.

“Safire only cares about raising a Veil for the Empire,” Manoli scoffed. “He’d throw us all to the wolves, Shade included, to get it. All the First Families value profit above their people. This endeavor will surely line his pockets as much as the Empire’s. At the least, he’ll avoid paying Capos their tribute and the Brotherhood their tithes.” He shook his head. “But Shade is the one putting herself at risk for the rest of us. It is her power and knowledge which will raise the Veil. I don’t know why we need him, or the blasted–” He stopped abruptly and threw Raiden an embarrassed glance.

“The blasted Empire?” Raiden finished for him. He smiled at Manoli to show he hadn’t taken offense. “I admit the Empire’s interest in the Veil is purely selfish. But,” and he paused, searching for the right words, “I may represent the Empire, but my motives are my own. I have seen with my own eyes why Shade is so desperate to raise a Veil for her people. Not for gems or land or some new enterprise for profit, but as a shield against the horrors of the Wastes.” He shook his head, still in awe over all he’d witnessed. The Golondrina had fought as one, protecting the weakest among them. Not as an army but as a family. His very breath escaped him when he recalled how Shade had risen on invisible tendrils of power to face a horde of beasts alone. At the time, chasing after her, his heart had been lodged in his throat and he’d felt something he hadn’t felt in years: fear.

Warmth rose into his cheeks and his heart began to thud. He’d faced more enemies than he could count, killed more men than he cared to remember, and suddenly he was afraid. For a woman he barely knew. Raiden gripped his tankard. He was a weapon, a shield, an assassin. He was a tool to be used. And discarded when necessary. But, here, perhaps he could be more.

“Shade has been our only shield for a few years now,” Petra said. “Her power has kept us safe as the Wastes have tipped further and further into chaos. But even her power has limits, and she can’t be everywhere at once.” He grimaced. “We are Waste-walkers. It is our sacred duty to tend the qaraz, our purpose. We have lived in the Wastes since the Final Battle destroyed our land and never quailed from our task. We don’t want a Veil, my friend, but we need one.”

“I know. And Shade has proven her power to me. I believe she can deliver what Safire promised. A new Veil raised in the Wastes. A Veil for the Empire.” He fixed his companions with a serious gaze. “Are your people willing to work with the Empire in this endeavor? You will be the ones living in the Veil. Will you mine gems like the Brotherhood? Grow crops and tend vines like Veil-dwellers? Can you give up the freedom of the Wastes?”

Petra looked aside, his brow wrinkled but Manoli returned his look, his grey eyes dark. “When it is between life and freedom, my people will choose life. We have faith in our witch.” He grinned, showing his teeth like a wolf. “She’s never killed without cause, you know. She has more honor than every Capo and Corsaro soldier combined.”

Raiden lifted a brow. Of course, they would know about the warrant. And he had “arrested” their witch the first day they’d met which was why they’d been so hostile to him. At first. Things had changed. However, it really wasn’t his place to decide her guilt or innocence.

Still. Would he really turn her over to the polizia after all was said and done between them? The thought made him cringe inside. He had seen her kill, yes, but only when attacked. She’d shown mercy to Vito when he himself would have chosen to kill. Was it so hard to believe she’d been framed for a murder she didn’t commit?

Raiden grunted softly, lifting his tankard. Isn’t that what had happened to him? Though it hadn’t been necessary to frame him. He’d willingly taken the blame for a crime someone else had committed.

The door to the taverna opened with a jangle of bells, letting in a wash of cold air. At first, no one stood in the entrance. Perhaps the wind had opened the door? But, as one, every man in the place tensed. Alerted, Raiden straightened and adjusted his sword. On either side of him, both Petra and Manoli reacted identically. Tension settled heavily throughout the tavern. The regular noises of quiet conversation, and the soft sounds of eating and drinking ceased abruptly.

Two men entered dressed in the long robes of Brotherhood priests, black robes instead of the usual crimson Raiden had seen from a distance. They carried blades, these priests. A single knife at their belts, though longer than those carried by other bloodwizards. Their sharp, black eyes shifted around the room then arrowed to Raiden like hounds catching sight of a fox. Raiden gritted his teeth as the men strode toward their table with grim purpose; they moved smoothly, effortlessly. Like living shadows.

He tensed, his hand slipping to the hilt of his sword hidden beneath his cloak. Petra laid a hand on his arm. His eyes were wide, and his face had paled. “Your sword won’t help you,” he said in a strangled voice. “Be still, and don’t antagonize them.”

“Who are they?” Raiden murmured.

“Ruby Pontifex.”

Raiden frowned. They were high-ranking priests as far as he knew. But whatever they chose to call themselves, he knew what they were: assassins.

“If they’d come to kill you,” Manoli added rapidly. “You’d be dead already.”

The two priests reached their table and stood shoulder-to-shoulder, their hands tucked demurely in the sleeves of their black robes. Tall and lithe, the man on the right bowed his head to Raiden, his thin mouth downturned. He was clean-shaven and his dark hair was cut short. Thin, pale scars marked his high, narrow cheeks. His companion was similarly shorn and scarred, though shorter and broader with a round face which appeared almost babyish. Both men had eyes as black and emotionless as a snake.

“Captain Raiden Mad, seventh son of Emperor Suijin, honored Emissary of the Bhaskar Empire, welcome to Malavita,” the tall, narrow priest intoned flatly. “His Excellency, the Bishop Arturious of Sicaria, requests your attendance at his palace. His Excellency is most eager to discuss our future relationship with the Bhaskar Empire.”

Raiden blinked. He’d expected threats, perhaps subtle, perhaps direct; he hadn’t expected an invitation. And he had no real reason to refuse them. In fact, he was authorized to deal with the Brotherhood Church if Dante failed to deliver a Veil to them, but he highly doubted it would come to that. Having witnessed firsthand Shade’s power and will and determination, he had no doubt she would succeed in raising a Veil. At this point, he was actively rooting for her. When she returned with her cornerstones, he was more than ready to sign the charter.

Refusing to meet with the Bishop of Sicaria would reflect poorly on him, and thus the Empire. He wasn’t royalty, but he wasn’t exactly a simple emissary, either. Being the seventh son of the Emperor, even a disgraced, illegitimate son, was no small matter. Malavita was an Imperial colony and deserved respect… even if it was a lawless, chaotic mess.

“I thank you for your invitation,” Raiden said, pulling himself up straight and trying to sound somewhat professional. “I would be happy to meet with His Excellency as soon as I am able. I am here only as a simple messenger, however, so I don’t believe he’ll find me very impressive. But I will give the bishop my Emperor’s greetings to show respect and honor.” He smiled pleasantly, hoping once the bishop discovered how little use he was he’d give up on the idea of a meeting. “Perhaps in a week’s time I could attend your bishop at his residence?”

The two priests exchanged a glance, and their faces hardened. The tall one, apparently the spokesman of the two, returned his snake’s gaze to Raiden. “You misunderstand, captain. Bishop Arturious requires your attendance. Now.”

On either side of him, his companions tensed. Raiden swallowed, afraid for them. Up close, he could see the priests carried ruby blades. The Golondrina were outmatched. Even with Cyril, he didn’t know if they could face such strong bloodwizards. He took a deep breath. How was he going to get out of this without violence? For he knew if he went with these priests and met this bishop, he’d never leave until they let him. What man sent assassins to carry out a mission of good faith?

The dim, smoky tavern had grown quiet and tense, the other patrons suddenly finding their tabletops or mugs of ale intensely fascinating. Maybe if he could get these priests outside, he could slip away–

The jangle of the door chimes sounded as loud as thunder in the silent common room. No mere breeze had blown it open this time. Every soul in the place turned as an apparition staggered inside. Foul-smelling water as dark as ale dripped from a stooped figure in a sopping wet cloak. A white mask of fury rose above the filthy cloak, dark blonde hair plastered to it. More putrid liquid oozed down its horrifying visage. The apparition bared its teeth at the ruby-bladed priests. A hand emerged from the cloak, stabbing a finger at them. “Your kind isn’t welcome here!”

Raiden gasped, and beside him, Manoli swore softly. There was no mistaking that voice.

The Ruby Pontifex turned as one, and menace filled the room as they grasped their blades. “Witch,” the taller one hissed. “Brother Jacobis warned us you might be with the Imperial emissary and you have proven his suspicions correct. Your alliance with Dante Safire is obvious now, foul creature. Show us your hands and we may show you mercy.”

“I’ll show you something better,” Shade growled. Her hands disappeared into her cloak and she stood straight. Her eyes narrowed and her pale face grew flushed. Water dripped from her chin when she grinned at them. She looked like she’d just crawled from the sewer–

Gods of my father, that’s exactly what she’s done!

What had happened with the Coterie? The thought was a fleeting one, then Raiden’s mind went blank. Emotion vanished in a cold, red haze as the assassins drew their blades and Shade tossed back her water-logged cloak, her hands clutching her own, black blades.

Power crackled through the cramped taverna; the smoky fire in the hearth roared suddenly. Gasps broke out among the patrons. The bitter stink of terror filled the place. A battle between such powerful wizards in such a small space would be disastrous.

Raiden moved instinctively. A lifetime of training compelled him. He leapt over the table, one hand flat on its sticky surface, launching himself across it, the other drawing his sword. Silently, he dropped behind the two priests, his sword flashing in a shining, unstoppable arc even as they touched their blades to their forearms–

Blood sprayed, and the two priests crumpled to the floor, their heads following a second later to land amidst their black robes. Sightless eyes stared at the ceiling. Death had come too swiftly for surprise to register in their dimming gazes.

Shocked silence descended. Then there was a scraping of chair legs against the floor and a jangle of bells as every patron scattered. Only Shade, the cousins, Raiden and the barkeep – passed out in a sprawl beneath his makeshift bar – remained.

Shade stared at him, her lips parted and her eyes wide, her blades poised to draw blood. Behind him, he heard Manoli say softly, reverently, “Fucking hells…”

Standing over his kill, Raiden gulped in great draughts of air. The danger had passed, but his body was tense, his muscles on fire. Not a drop of blood stained his gleaming sword so swiftly had it sliced through flesh and bone. He met Shade’s eyes, saw the shock, and his stomach lurched. Now, she would see him for what he was…

But the shock in her bright eyes faded as he watched. Her full lips quirked and she regarded him with something close to admiration. “Well done, Captain Mad,” she said, and sheathed her blades with a snap. “I would have been forced to blast this place apart. Looks like you saved me the trouble. Unfortunately, the death of a Ruby Pontifex never goes unnoticed. And two of them?” She shook her head, her grin belying her serious tone. “We’d best be on our way, I think.”

Manoli and Petra appeared beside him, no grimmer than Shade. Their demeanor was almost festive. Manoli clapped him on the shoulder. “I like your style, my friend. Uncle Cyril will be sorry he missed this!”

“Right, well, we’d better get back to him in one piece so we can tell him about it.” Shade was peering out the door of the tavern onto suspiciously empty streets beyond. “Let’s scatter to the winds before more priests arrive,” she suggested. “Out the back, all of you.”

Petra shook his head. “We’ll make a ruckus in the Warrens, boss,” he said. “And draw away pursuit while you get Raiden home. He’s the one they came for, you were a happy accident.”

Shade frowned. Raiden imagined these two rarely contradicted their “boss”. But she nodded an instant later. “Good thinking, Petra. I’ll take Raiden with me. You two get back safely, alright? Or I’ll send Dante Safire and all his guardsmen after you.”

The two cousins exchanged a pleased glance then dashed out the front door, Manoli pausing to give her a flippant salute. “See you soon, boss.” His nose wrinkled and he waved a hand beneath it. “Have that prissy lady’s maid get you a bath. You smell like you just crawled through the entire sewer system of Sicaria!”

“It was well worth it, Manny!”

She was still laughing as Raiden followed her out the back of the taverna, and despite the danger, he felt a thrill of excitement. She had the cornerstones. And when they were safe in Safire’s villa, he would sign the royal charter. The Empire would have its Veil.