THE GIRL WITH the impossible face had some nice lungs.
Eveen was certain that her shriek was loud enough to wake the dead, present company included. More distressing, it was loud enough to alert half the tower. On cue, the door burst open, showing guards illuminated by a glow glass lantern. Six sets of eyes squinted hard before rounding, hands going for weapons. Too late, she remembered her hood was still down. So much for doing this quietly.
Snatching up the chamber pot, she flung it at the lantern holder—striking his forehead with a solid thonk! and dropping him like a stone. The glow glass fell with him, shattering and plunging them back into darkness. Calls came for another light. She didn’t give them the chance.
The second unbreakable assassin’s vow? If someone wasn’t contracted to be shipped, their life wasn’t for the taking. But you could do a lot short of killing.
Eveen cracked one guard in the temple with the pommel of her knife before swinging him headfirst into the giant vase. Another she punched in the throat, picking up the chamber pot to smack him full-on in the face as he tried to catch his breath. One had the sense to ready his pistol. She heard the hammer cock back in time to grab his hand, thrusting the muzzle down as he pulled the trigger. A flash of sparks from the flintlock mechanism lit up the dark as he fired, sending a ball into the boot of a companion—who howled, hopping up on one leg.
Yanking away the pistol, she tossed it aside just as something punched her middle, sending her stumbling. She looked down to find a silver saber buried in her belly. The guard who had run her through barked a laugh, until she swiveled her eyes to him. He looked at her stupidly, right up to when she took his hand and promptly broke it in three places. He didn’t stop screaming until she thonked him a few with the chamber pot. Thonkity-thonk-thonk! When she looked up, the remaining uninjured guard had fled—leaving his pistol. His howling companion hopped after him. Eveen pushed the door shut and was pulling the lacquered chest over to block it when someone spoke.
“That was amazing!”
She looked up to find the girl staring—that impossible face filled with awe.
“You don’t mind me bashing your guards?”
The girl frowned in an all-too-familiar way. “Guards? More like kidnappers!”
That caught Eveen by surprise. “You don’t live here?”
“You mean do I live in a bedchamber in a tower? Does this look like some kind of—”
“—fairy tale.” Eveen finished, unable to help herself. “Then why did you scream?”
“Because I woke up to that?” The girl pointed to Eveen’s mask.
Oh. Eveen touched the mask, then without another thought pulled it up. For a moment the two stared at one another. The girl studied her face, a hint of something forming that would have made Eveen’s heart beat faster—if it still beat at all—before dying away.
“What?” she asked.
The girl shook her head, long thick blue braids moving in time. “Nothing. I just…” Her eyes rounded. “Did my parents send you? Are you here to rescue me?”
Rescue? She forced down a laugh.
The girl grimaced, gesturing. “Are you going to do something about…”
Eveen looked down, just remembering the saber still in her belly. Grabbing hold of the pommel, she drew it out with a grunt. The girl watched, mouth agape, as the bloodless blade clattered to the floor. But if that shocked her, she recovered quick.
“So what’s the plan?”
“Plan?”
“You have a plan to get me out of here, right? I mean beyond beating up those guards.”
Eveen scowled. She had a plan all right. Her hand went to her knives. One into the heart. Or through the chin up to the skull. A slash across the jugular that would soak those white sheets. A dozen ways to finish her night’s work played in her head. Do it and be on her way. Forget what she’d seen here. Just another job.
But this isn’t just another job.
The truth gnawed. That impossible face was proof enough.
Banging at the door snapped her to attention. Their company had arrived.
“What’s it going to be?” the girl asked, blissfully unaware of what she was saying.
Eveen gripped her knife hilts. Between the noisy door and the girl’s expectant stare, time stretched before snapping back. Her hands slackened, and she cursed even as she made her choice.
“You’re coming with me.”
The girl nodded. “Well, yeah, I figured. But how?”
Eveen bounded to the window and peeked out—pulling back at a hail of pistol fire. Glass from the window’s diamond panes shattered and wood splintered from bed posts. The girl shrieked, diving for the floor.
“They could have killed me!” she cried as the firing faded.
“Don’t think they care,” Eveen said. Odd, for guards.
So the window was a no-go. That only left … She looked to the door. The banging had turned heavy, causing the wood to creak and shudder.
“Tell me you have a plan?” the girl asked.
“Yeah,” Eveen muttered. “But I hate it.” She came out of her cloak. “Put this on.”
The girl glanced to the window, expecting another volley. But she got up and ran over, taking the cloak and fitting it over her clothing—little more than a night shift.
“That isn’t going to hold for long.” Eveen nodded to the barricaded door. “When it comes down, a lot of angry is going to stream in. And you’re going to get out.”
The girl frowned, tucking her braids into the cloak’s cowl. “Just like that?”
“Just like that. The cloak will take care of you.”
The girl’s dark eyes widened. “A magic cloak! Does it make me invisible?”
“No. Just hard to see. Lots of eyeballs find reasons to ignore you.”
“How does it work?”
“No Idea. Took it off someone I … rescued. Stick to shadows and don’t draw attention. Shouldn’t be hard. The guards will be distracted.”
“What about you?”
Eveen bent to pick up the discarded saber. “I’m the distraction.” And with that, she promptly ran herself through. Again. The girl winced. But to her credit, she didn’t scream or do something stupid like pass out.
“Does that hurt?” she asked clinically—as if inquiring after the price of kaf.
Eveen answered with a grunt. You’d think being undead, she’d be free of such mundanities. No such luck. Sure, it hurt lots less than if she were alive. Her pain threshold would make a masochist blush. Undead flesh was still flesh though—and she could feel the cold steel push into her belly. The sensation was just dulled, like everything else.
A heavy BANG! almost knocked the door down.
“Get back!” Eveen warned. “When you leave, don’t stop. I’ll meet you in the garden.”
BANG! BANG! The door jumped a hinge. Did they have a battering ram?
“How are you getting out?” the girl asked, pressing against a wall.
“Gonna play the manicou.” Eveen reached to pull down her mask.
“Wait! I don’t even know your name. In case … we get separated.”
There was a pause before … “Eveen.” Then a frown. “What?” Another odd look had crossed that impossible face. But the girl only said …
“I’m Cyanna. You probably know that already. But everyone calls me Sky.” She put fingers to her blue hair.
See-anna. Eveen silently explored the name in her head, trying to draw some bit of life out of it. But there was nothing. Giving up, she pulled down her mask and lay on the marble floor, curling around the blade and settling to wait.
BANG! Her eyes found the girl, almost blended into shadows now. BANG! She traced the face beneath that cowl again and the memory it evoked. BANG! The only way she could make sense of whatever was happening was to get out of here. Maybe then—
BANG! The door came off completely, followed by the strain of people pushing. She could hear the chest scrape across the floor and footsteps charging inside, until legs and boots surrounded her. There was a sharp kick to her back, but she didn’t move. A barked order and a glow lantern lit up the dark. Someone bent down, holding it to her face where her unblinking eyes reflected the swirling luminous gas. Fingers touched her neck for a pulse before pronouncing her dead—naturally. There was more talk, but she let it recede into the background. Her gaze and thoughts were on the silhouette that now tiptoed around the occupied guards.
That’s it, girl. Keep moving. Let the cloak do its work.
The shadowy form paused once at the door’s entrance, just missing an entering guard. Then she was past him, gone. Eveen started to count. If the girl was quick, one hundred beats should get her clear. Then she could—
Her count stopped at twenty. She had rolled her eyes up to keep a watch on the guards. One was now slowly turning his head in the direction of the girl, as if glimpsing a shadow. She sighed. Always had to be one who couldn’t mind their godsdamned business. Twenty it was, then. Sliding out a dagger at her waist she took aim—and plunged it into the heel of the nosy guard, digging through the boot to reach tendons. That got his attention.
Time to start the show.
Eveen pulled the saber from her belly and leapt to standing. The guard now at her feet screamed, his companions staring at her poleaxed. By the time they came to their senses, she’d already broken one’s jaw with the saber’s pommel, kneecapped another, and kicked the one holding the glow lantern in the groin so hard he wheeze-coughed as he dropped. That left two. A woman with a saber. Not half bad either. Eveen blocked three well-aimed swings, leaned in close to take a slice in the side, then followed through with an uppercut that snapped the woman’s head back—sending teeth flying like red-stained pearls. The last guard she left sputtering and writhing against the saber pinning his hand to the lacquered chest.
All clear.
She bounded through the door that hung by a hinge, set to run, and bounced off a wall. The wall grew hands, grabbing and lifting her up. Not a wall, then. A man. Big and broad. She’d found the battering ram. Meaty arms encircled her in a crushing hug, trying to squeeze the breath from her. Waste of time, really, since she didn’t breathe. Angling back, she swung forward from her torso to deliver three headbutts in rapid succession. Bap! Bap! Bap! A geyser of red spurted from a ruined nose and he let go, reeling like a drunkard.
Eveen was leaping over him before he hit the ground, slamming a foot into the first face she found. Someone grabbed her and she pulled free, twisting the offending arm until she heard the bone pop from the shoulder. She slid past a sword swipe meant for her neck, caught the blade to pull the wielder close, and smashed an elbow into a cheekbone. Then she was free, the screams in her wake reverberating in the darkened hallway. The stairs came into view, a spiral built into the tower’s wall—and crawling with guards.
A hand went reflexively to a knife before pulling back. No killing. The hard way, then.
She met the first guard on the stairs at a run. He lifted his pistol, but she caught it and swung him around to fire into a second guard. The iron ball tore through a knee and ricocheted to shatter another’s wrist. Both men fell backward, tripping those behind them. Eveen threw the one she was holding after the lot, making sure to keep the pistol. She flitted past the mass of tangled and tumbling bodies, wielding the pilfered weapon like a cudgel. The ivory hilt broke shins, shattered forearms, and cracked ribs as she tore a path out of this mess.
When the door came into view she practically flew through, making quick work of a lone guard and using his prone form to catapult herself into the garden. Her eyes searched the dark, looking for the girl. If she was still trapped inside—
A shadow appeared alongside a tree, waving. She reached her and found that familiar face staring wide-eyed from under the cowl. That impossible face.
“You made it!” The girl looked her over. “Is that your blood?”
Eveen was set to explain that she didn’t bleed when a ball whizzed hot past her ear, embedding in the tree. Another burst one of the bulbous fruits to red ruin. Snatching the girl’s hand, she sped off, dodging volleys seeking to do the same to their heads, fleeing like a thief, with stolen goods.
THE SOUK WASN’T the only night market in Tal Abisi. The city boasted at least five, the largest of which floated upon the fuchsia waters of an inland lake. But the one Eveen now traversed sat in the center of the Old City—where shopkeepers hawked goods until daybreak.
This night, however, it belonged to the Traveling Folk.
Their colorful air balloons had floated in just days before, jangling with chimes and bells. The great brass longhorns of the city sounded in greeting, and their herds of blue-furred sky bison responded with bellowing moans in rumbling melodies. Traveling Folk had a reputation, much of it undeserved. Some lands banned them outright. In Tal Abisi, however, these intrepid nomads who wandered the skies to return with rare goods were kindred spirits. Their presence at Festival was considered a good omen for the coming season’s trade—and a chance to hone skills with champion hagglers.
But Eveen wasn’t here to haggle. She brushed off a man intent on selling her red-speckled mushrooms, a supposed aphrodisiac. He dressed like most Traveling Folk: a short kaftan and trousers of garish hues, with fire beads and charms encircling his wrists and ankles—where his bare feet moved to keep up. The whole while, he prattled on about his mushrooms, swearing their efficacy upon the holy name of his second mother: a string of words that sounded like Ayeeti Moon Dragon Uvesh Ul-Bathraki. Having heard enough, Eveen picked him up bodily and moved him out of her way.
This was why she missed her cloak.
Her gaze went to the girl, a figure draped in shadows that people slid around without notice. Not one haggler came her way. Eveen meanwhile had to make do with the burgundy jacket she’d lifted from that last guard, keeping her work clothes—and her knives—hidden. The two hadn’t spoken much since getting free of the tower. The girl said something once or twice about seeing her family, but Eveen had ignored it and she’d stopped. Now her large eyes looked out from the hooded cowl at the rounded tents—to drummers, banjo players, fire spinners, and more. The Traveling Folk could put on a show.
But Eveen hadn’t come for entertainment either. She was here for a little man with a baby face and a ginger halo. He usually stood out, with skin noticeably fairer than most of Tal Abisi—where hues commonly ranged from sand brown to her own smooth midnight pearl. Between the music, revelry, and sparkling fireworks, it was the keening sky bison that drew her to him. That and the scent of spices that tickled her nose.
Near the back of the market, the shaggy four-horned beasts hovered, tethered to the ground—while below, wood stalls roasted, fried, and churned out various cuisines. Ignoring her rumbling stomach, she searched until her eyes fell on several Traveling Folk women in bright-colored skirts who stirred great black cauldrons. Others poured a soupy concoction into small leather pouches like bladders—which waiting customers bought as fast as they could be made.
Fennis stood among them, tilting back a pouch to squirt its contents into his mouth. He had his eyes closed in pure contentment and was startled at opening them to find Eveen.
“You’re back!” He dabbed at his mouth. “Some oosha to celebrate? It’s quite good. I expected sourness, but there’s a sweet almost nutty taste—”
“We need to talk,” she cut in. “Things tonight … got complicated.”
Fennis eyed her quizzically, that grown-man baby face bizarrely suckling milk from the pouch. Aeril’s fiery tits. She couldn’t unsee that.
“What manner of complications?”
Eveen turned to the girl.
Fennis followed her gaze blankly.
The cloak. She yanked back the hood.
This time Fennis jumped. Swallowing, he leaned in to whisper. “Who is that?”
Eveen gave him a meaningful look. Fennis blinked, confused. She gave the look again, this time raising her eyebrows. He frowned, then his own eyes grew wide.
“That isn’t?” he croaked.
She nodded. “It is.”
Now he went pale. And a bit green. She took hold of him and moved them by a set of tents. He bent over, balancing his free palm on a knee. His wide eyes kept going back to the girl—who regarded them both as if waiting to be told the most important part of a story.
“Do you know what you’ve done?” Fennis asked hoarsely.
Eveen nodded again. “Gone and broken the third unbreakable vow.”
Not just the third, but by far the most important.
“Excuse me.” It was the girl. “Is my family here? When do I get to go home?”
They both looked to her, then turned back to put their heads together and whisper.
“You have to keep your vow!” Fennis urged. “It’s not too late!”
“I can’t exactly ship her here. Out in the open.”
“Find somewhere quiet. In one of these tents?”
“If I was going to ship her, I wouldn’t have fought a tower full of guards to get her out.”
“You weren’t supposed to get her out!”
“I know! My contract is to kill her, not rescue her—but things got complicated!”
“Wait, what?” The girl again.
They both looked up to find dawning horror on her face.
Eveen winced. “I didn’t whisper that?”
“You didn’t whisper it!” the girl said.
“You are bad at whispering,” Fennis agreed.
“Right. I can explain.” Eveen stepped forward. The girl scrambled back. “Wait! Yes, I was hired to ship you—kill you, I mean—but I didn’t. See?” She put on what she hoped was a reassuring smile. The girl bolted. Luckily Eveen’s reflexes were quicker. She reached her in a flash, clamping a hand over her mouth and dragging her between the tents.
“Stop that!” she snapped, as the girl kicked and bucked. “If I wanted you dead I’d have done it already! I fought a small army to free you, remember! At least hear me out!”
The girl’s darting eyes reflected terror, but she went still and nodded. Eveen relaxed, pulling her hand away—at which point the girl promptly screamed. She clamped her hand back down and swore.
“How did this happen?” Fennis asked, glancing about nervously for any passerby.
Eveen looked to the girl she held firm, into that impossible face.
“I was set to ship her, right off. Just like always. Easy-peasy. Then I recognized her.”
“You know her from somewhere?”
“Not somewhere. From before.”
“Before?” Fennis repeated in confusion. “You’re saying you had—”
“A memory,” she finished. “I know. The dead can’t have memories. But I had one.”
The girl was looking at her now, the terror faded, replaced with something unreadable. Eveen took a chance and pulled her hand away. There was no screaming. And no one ran.
The girl swallowed. “What do you mean dead?”
Oh, that. She took the girl’s hand and pressed it to her chest. No heartbeat. There was an awed breath.
“The sword impaled you. I thought it was some kind of trick! But … are you a zombie or something?”
Eveen stabbed at her with an admonishing finger. “I’m not a zombie. That’s racist. But I am dead. Well, undead. And that’s why the memory I had makes your face so impossible.”
The girl hesitated. “What was the memory?”
“I was looking at you. Staring into your face.”
The girl shook her head. “I don’t remember ever meeting you.”
“You wouldn’t. Because the face I was looking at…” Eveen paused. “… was in a mirror.”
The memory was still vivid. Standing and staring at a reflection. Her reflection. Putting a hand to her cheek to feel her own skin. Looking at her own self.
“What?” the girl whispered.
“You’re me,” Eveen said, still hardly believing her own words. “Aeril’s fiery tits if I can explain it—but you are me!”