It was well past midnight when Caina climbed the wall and returned to her bedroom at the Inn of Mirrors. The maids were asleep, and so was Ark. He needed his rest, and no further work could be done tonight, so Caina returned to her bedroom, stripped off the her nightfighter’s garb, and went to bed.
Her usual nightmares were jumbled. In one she reached her father’s chair, only to see him erupt into flames, screaming as Ostros had screamed. Her mother tried to cast a spell on her, shrieking curses, only she turned into Kalastus, and his clammy hands pulled her close. The magi chained her to a table, only they became the Sons of Corazain, knives glittering as they slid the blade into her belly, digging, digging, digging, Maglarion’s laughter filling her ears…
Caina awoke that morning with her head pounding and her mouth dry. She rose, washed out her mouth, wrapped herself in a robe, and went to the sitting room. Ark sat alone at the table, running a whetstone down the length of his broadsword. The steady rasp of stone against steel made her feel better, oddly enough.
Ark glanced at her. “You slept poorly, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” said Caina, sitting across from him. “Too many scars on the mind.”
Ark nodded his understanding, testing the edge of the blade with his thumb.
“Where are the maids?” said Caina.
“The common room,” said Ark. “I told them to go eat something. They wanted to wait until you awoke, but I told them you would call for them. I figured you would want to speak privately.”
Caina nodded.
“What did you learn from Sister Tadaia?”
“Nothing good,” said Caina. “She thinks the pyromancer is hiding at the Sign of the Anchor.”
Ark looked dubious. “There? I know the place. It’s a tavern. Sailors favor it. Along with independent merchant captains.”
“And by independent merchant captains,” said Caina, “I assume that you mean smugglers.”
“And pirates of all stripes,” said Ark. “They’ll sell their cargoes in Mors Crisius, where the customs agents are not so vigilant, and then return to Rasadda to keep up appearances. Most of the sailors are who frequent the Sign are foreign-born, Caerish and Istarish and Anshani, and they detest the Saddai. If the pyromancer is one of the Sons of Corazain…the Sign seems like a strange place for a Saddai Ashbringer to hide.”
“I agree,” said Caina. “Yet Sister Tadaia says that the beggars have seen men carrying burned bodies in and out of the Sign.”
Ark frowned. “Like the one Valgorix found outside the Inn. I thought you said that was only an imitation killing.”
“I did,” said Caina. “And I doubt the Sign of the Anchor has anything to do with the pyromancer. But it’s the only lead we have at the moment. I want you to go there and look around. I’d do it myself, but there’s no way an Imperial Countess would ever go to a sailors’ tavern, and I can hardly walk in there hooded and masked.”
Ark nodded. “I’ll say I’m looking for work. The pirates are so rife that merchant ships are always looking for guards. And pirate ships always want swords.” A brief smile flashed over his face. “And if anyone realizes that I work for you, I will say that you are a cruel and capricious mistress, and I wish to leave the serve of House Nereide as soon as possible.”
Caina laughed. “Oh, very good.”
“What will you do?” said Ark.
“I’ll have to wait here,” said Caina. “If you see anything interesting at the Sign, we’ll go back together, after dark.”
Ark nodded. “I’ll leave at once.”
“Don’t do anything rash. And if you do find the pyromancer, don’t try to fight him. Tadaia thinks the pyromancer can absorb the strength of those he’s murdered, which might have made him too strong to kill without doing something clever.”
Ark snorted. “See? A cruel and capricious mistress, indeed. It’s past time I fled from you and went to sea.”
“I’m pleased that you see reason,” said Caina. “Be careful.”
Ark nodded, returned his sword to its scabbard, and left. A short time later Cornelia, Julia, and Anya hurried into the room. Ark had sent them back up. They insisted on drawing a bath, and Caina gave in without too much arguing. It eased some of the ache from her overexerted muscles. Afterwards Caina locked herself in her bedroom and went through the open-handed forms. It made her feel better, cleared her mind.
After, Caina donned her robe again, returned to the sitting room, and ate breakfast, paging idly through her book on the siege of Rasadda. Perhaps an answer would leap out at her. None did, though. Caina sighed and gazed at the book itself. For some reason it seemed to stick into her mind.
A book. Why did that seem so important? Caina frowned, but the answer hovered just out of reach, the like the words to a song she could not quite recall…
Someone screamed.
Caina looked up in sudden alarm.
“My lady?” said Anya. “What was that noise?”
“It came from the common room,” said Caina, getting to her feet.
The door smashed open, and men hurried into the sitting room. Four Saddai men, to be precise. They carried shortswords in their hands, and beneath their opened shirts and vests Caina saw the swirling flames of Corazain upon their chests.
Four of them. Oh, this was bad.
Caina suspected that she was about to die.
“How dare you enter here?” raged Cornelia. “How dare you…”
The nearest man backhanded her, sent her sprawling to the carpet. Anya and Julia shrieked and retreated towards the far wall. Caina watched them, cursing herself for a fool. She bore no weapons. Why hadn’t she at least tucked a dagger into her robe’s sash?
“What is your business here?” said Caina, putting ice into her voice.
The Sons of Corazain looked at each other and laughed.
“Countess Marianna Nereide?” said the man who had backhanded Cornelia. He gave Cornelia a vicious kick as she tried to crawl away.
“I am,” said Caina. “State your business with me, immediately.”
They laughed again.
“Foolish bitch,” said the lead man. “We’re here to kill you, to make you pay for your crimes.”
Gaidan’s work. Still smarting from Tadaia’s public rebuke, no doubt. Caina wished that she had killed him when she had the chance.
“Crimes?” said Caina, hoping to stall. “What crimes?” Surely Sairzan, or one of his servants, would call for the militia soon. Unless the Sons of Corazain had killed everyone in the Inn.
“The crimes of the Empire,” spat the man. “You have stolen our lands and left us to starve.”
“Have I?” said Caina. “That was quite a feat, one woman stealing lands from so many strong men.”
“You will pay for your crimes.”
“I have committed no crimes, you fool,” said Caina. “Yesterday at this time I gave a small fortune to buy food for your starving people. Tell me again how this is a crime. Speak slowly. I am, after all, only a foolish bitch, and might not understand.”
“Enough talk,” said the man.
“Yes,” said Caina. “I’ll give you one chance. Walk away. Now. And nobody will die. Else I swear that at least one of you will die before another hour has past.” Maybe two, if she was lucky.
They looked at each other, and roared with laughter.
“Kill her,” said the man. “Leave the maids alive. We can have some fun with them before we kill them.”
Caina snatched up some silverware from the table and held a butter knife out at an awkward angle. She let fear flood into her expression, her hand trembling as she waved the knife back and forth.
“Stay back,” she said, “I’m warning…I’m warning you, stay back!”
The Sons of Corazain laughed at again, and leader stepped forward. He seized her wrist with his left hand and twisted, and the knife fell from her fingers.
“Careful,” he said, raising his short sword, “you might hurt yourself.”
“You’re right,” said Caina, stabbing with fork she had hidden in her left hand. It plunged into his eye, and the leader reeled back with an awful scream, hands flying to his face. Caina caught the shortsword as it fell, reversed it, and stabbed into his gut. She wrenched the glistening blade free, blood splashing across her robe, and the leader toppled to the carpet, screaming.
The three survivors stared at her in stupefied shock. Caina could have put a knife into any one of their throats, and again she cursed herself for leaving her weapons in the bedroom. She circled around the table, keeping the heavy slab of wood between her and them.
“Well?” said Caina, raising the bloodstained sword.
The Sons of Corazain roared and came at her. Caina wheeled and ran at the man coming on her left. She felt a tug and a wash of pain across her back she did. The man on her left yelled and slashed, and Caina ducked under his blow, the blade whizzing past her hair. Strong and fast these Sons of Corazain might have been, but none of them knew how to fight. Caina stabbed, her blade biting into his neck, and the man’s hands came up to his throat. She felt another blow coming behind her, and ducked, but too slow.
The crosspiece of the sword caught her on the jaw, and Caina spun around. Her bare foot slipped on the bloodstained carpet, and she fell with a grunt of pain. She saw a sword descending and rolled away. The blade pinned the skirt of her robe, and Caina tore the cloth free with a desperate yank. She sprang back to her feet, the tattered robe swirling around her legs, while the two remaining Sons of Corazain stalked after her.
She was right next to the bedroom door. Caina turned and raced through it. The Sons of Corazain bellowed and followed her. She always hid her nightfighter clothes in hidden compartments at the bottom of a chest, but her weapons were a different story. Her belt rested on a chair, knives waiting in their leather sheaths. Caina snatched up the belt, yanked out a knife, wheeled, and flung the blade in one smooth motion. The Sons of Corazain were almost on her, and the whirling knife sheared away most of the nearest man’s right cheek. He screamed, blood spraying from his teeth, and the last man reached Caina.
She tried to twist away as he stabbed, but a line of hot pain erupted along her left hip. Her assailant grunted and tried to recover his balance, and Caina hit him in the face. He stumbled back, sputtering, which gave Caina just enough time to slide another knife free of the belt and bury it in his neck. He fell, blood pouring from his wound, and tumbled back into the sitting room.
Caina picked up a fallen short sword and walked towards the last man.
“You can fight?” he mumbled, his words muffled by the necessity of holding his ruined cheek together. “But…but you’re a woman, and you can…”
“Yes,” said Caina, cutting his throat, “surprising, isn’t it?”
She stepped into the sitting room, looked at the dead bodies, doubled over, and threw up her breakfast. Caina gripped a chair for support, shuddering, the wounds on her shoulder and hip aching. Her robe, wet with both her blood and the blood of the dead men, hung limp and sodden around her. That had been close. If those men hadn’t been so stupid and incompetent. So close. Another inch, and she would lie dead on the carpet.
The carpet. It was ruined. Caina wondered if Sairzan would charge extra, and laughed. Lightheaded. She really ought to sit down. No. Work to do first. She retrieved her knives from the dead men, cleaning the blades on their clothes.
“My lady?”
Julia and Anya approached, supporting Cornelia between them. Caina had forgotten all about them.
“Cornelia,” said Caina, “you’re hurt.”
“I’ll live,” said the older woman, hand pressed to her side. “You’re…you’re hurt worse, my lady. Gods, all that blood…”
“It’s not mine,” said Caina. She winced as the cut in her hip throbbed, and she wadded the skirt of the ruined robe against it. “Mostly.”
They stared at her in horrified amazement, and again Caina felt the absurd urge to laugh.
“What…what should we do now?” said Anya.
“Now?” said Caina. “Now we hide in the bedroom and wait for someone to rescue us.”
###
It did not take long.
Sairzan had sent his servants running for help, and Valgorix himself arrived in short order with a troop of militia. He looked angry, and frustrated, and very tired.
“What happened?” he demanded as his men dragged the bodies out.
“I don’t…I don’t really know,” said Caina, wrapped in a blanket, makeshift bandages pressed against her cuts. “I was eating breakfast, and…and those men burst into my room, and screamed that they were going to kill me in the name of Corazain, and, oh, gods, they cut me…and I ran and locked myself in the bedroom, and there was all this screaming…” Caina made her voice quaver, her lip trembling. She didn’t have to try very hard.
Valgorix raked a hand through his sweaty hair. “Do you know who killed these men? Did you see anything?”
Caina gave a timid shake of her head. “I didn’t…I didn’t see anything. All I heard was fighting, and screaming. I was so sure that they would break down the door and kill us all.”
“Damn it,” said Valgorix. He paced around the room for a while. “Countess, it is inappropriate for someone of my rank to speak bluntly to a woman of your rank. But speak bluntly I must. I told you to leave Rasadda. I told you that the Sons of Corazain were going to target you. Was I not right?”
Caina gave him a tremulous nod.
Valgorix sighed. “Countess. You must leave Rasadda, immediately. Matters are bad, and I fear that they are going to get much worse.” He dropped his voice. “I expect a revolt any day now. And the Lord Governor is no help at all. Every night when I go to bed I expect to be slaughtered in my sleep. This city is going to drown in blood. You can escape it, Countess, but only if you leave at once.”
“You were right, Decurion,” said Caina. “I should have listened to you. I’m sorry.” She took a deep breath. “I will leave for the Imperial capital on the morrow. I have had enough of this miserable city.”
“Good,” said Valgorix. “What happened to your captain of guard, anyway? Where is he?”
“I sent him to buy some food,” said Caina.
“That was extremely foolish,” said Valgorix. “Keep him with you at all times now, understand?” Caina nodded again. “I’ll keep a few of my men on guard at the Inn’s door, until tomorrow morning.”
“Thank you,” said Caina. Valgorix bowed and stalked out of the ruined sitting room. Caina stared after him, worried. In the excitement she had forgotten all about Ark. Suppose the Sons of Corazain had ambushed him on the streets? Ark could handle himself in a fight, better than Caina could. But suppose some mishap had happened?
Or suppose the pyromancer had found him?
Sairzan hurried into the room, bowing with every step. Before Caina could interrupt him a profuse stream of apologizes erupted from his lips. He had failed in his duties as an innkeeper and a host, and begged her forgiveness for his many misdeeds.
“It’s not your fault. No one was killed,” she remembered the blood on her fingers and shuddered, “at least no one of mine, and if you’d tried to fight them they’d have killed you.”
“Please,” said Sairzan, “I beg of you, though, to accept my second-finest suite of rooms while these chambers are cleaned. Only in this way may I expunge my grievous shame.”
And keep his good name, no doubt. “Very well,” said Caina.
She looked up, and saw Ark in the doorway. His sword was in hand, and he looked over the bloodstained room with cold eyes.
“What the hell happened?” said Ark.
“We need to talk,” said Caina.
###
“Get on with it, already,” said Caina.
She sat naked on the bed in her new rooms, a blanket wrapped around her legs and clutched to her chest. Ark sat beside her, cleaning the wound on her shoulder with boiling wine.
“Shallow,” muttered Ark. “Didn’t reach the bone. It ought to heal well. Should be stitched up, though.”
Caina nodded.
“This will be a lot easier for both of us if you lie down,” said Ark.
Caina grimaced, but nodded and lay face-down on the bed, shifting the blanket to keep her modesty preserved. She felt deeply uncomfortable, exposing so much of herself, but she supposed that dying from an infected cut would be even more uncomfortable. Besides, she’d stitched up Ark’s wounds, so fair was fair.
A moment later she felt the stab as the heated needle entered her skin. Caina gritted her teeth against the pain, and Ark began stitching. It hurt, but she’d felt worse. Much worse.
“Are you truly planning to leave Rasadda?” said Ark.
“Yes,” said Caina, her voice tight, grateful for the distraction. “Or, at least, Countess Marianna Nereide is. This false identity has become a liability. The Sons of Corazain want to kill the Countess, and they won’t stop until they do.” She took a deep breath. “We’ll leave tomorrow. I’ll hire some trustworthy servant from Sairzan to serve as coachman. Once we’re out of the city, we’ll send them to Halfdan at Mors Crisius and double back to the city. I’ll have to think of a suitable disguise, but it should work.”
“And what then?” said Ark.
“First,” said Caina, “tell me what you saw at the Sign of the Anchor.”
Ark was silent for a moment. Caina endured the needle jabbing in and out of her flesh. Then he said, “Something’s happening there.”
“Such as?”
“There are three dozen ships in port right now,” said Ark. “Usually the crews mingle and get drunk and brawl together. From what I gathered, there’s only one crew at the Sign of the Anchor right now. They drive off anyone else who tries to drink there.”
“Is that odd?” said Caina. “Maybe they don’t like company.”
“It’s very odd,” said Ark. “Sailors usually hate landsmen, not each other.”
“So there’s something at the Sign that they don’t want anyone else to see,” said Caina.
“I asked around,” said Ark. “Apparently they come from a ship called the Lynx, which has been in port for the last three months.”
“Three months?” said Caina. She thought for a moment. “They must be trying to sell something, and haven’t had any luck. Which means they’re smugglers.”
“Or pirates.”
“Or pirates,” agreed Caina. “I don’t see why Sister Tadaia thinks the pyromancer might be hiding there.”
“I looked around,” said Ark. “The building stinks of burned pork.”
“Or flesh,” said Caina. This time her grimace had nothing to do with the damned needle stabbing into her shoulder.
“In the alley behind the Sign, there are char marks on the flagstones,” said Ark. “And grease stains, as well. As if a burned corpse was dragged into the alley.”
“Just like the man Valgorix found outside the Inn,” said Caina. “I’ll bet we’ll find his killers inside the Sign of the Anchor.” She sighed. “But probably not our pyromancer.”
“Done,” said Ark, straightening up. “We ought to do the one on your hip.”
Caina nodded, adjusted the blanket, and rolled to a sitting position. She hiked up the blanket far enough to expose her left leg and wounded hip, and managed to keep the rest of herself covered.
Ark stared at her leg, his face expressionless. He stared for so long that Caina felt the blood begin to burn in her cheeks. What was he seeing? His dead wife, perhaps? For a stunned instant Caina thought he was going to lean over and kiss her. This had been a mistake, she should have found a woman capable of treating her wounds…
Or had it been a mistake? If he kissed her now, should she stop him? Did she even want to?
And then Caina realized what he was staring at.
A rope of twisted, pinkish-white scars wound its way around her hip and across her belly. It almost looked like a belt. They thickened as they sloped downward across her stomach. It had been almost eight years, and sometimes Caina could still feel the scalpel blades digging through skin and muscle.
“Those are cruel scars,” said Ark quietly.
“They started on the hips,” said Caina, “drawing blood, bit by bit.” Her voice seemed to come from very far away. “But from what I understand, blood drawn from the womb of a virgin girl has the greatest utility for necromancy. So they moved there. I thought I was going to die. I hoped I would die.” She blinked a few times. “Have you…have you ever screamed for so long that you couldn’t remember ever doing anything else?”
“No,” said Ark. “Gods.”
Caina looked away. “Let’s talk about something else.”
Ark nodded and stood up. He knelt beside the bed and started cleaning the gash on her hip. Caina gritted her teeth as the hot wine splashed into the wound. “It’s longer than the other, but shallower. It should heal even quicker than the other.”
“Good,” said Caina. “I want to go to the Sign of the Anchor tonight.”
“It won’t heal that quickly,” said Ark.
“That doesn’t matter,” said Caina. Despite herself, she winced as Ark began stitching the wound. “We’ve got to act now. If the pyromancer starts killing the magi one by one, and consuming their strength…he’ll be too strong for us to stop. He might be too strong for us to kill now. And something has to be done. Tadaia and Valgorix are right. Rasadda’s going to revolt, and the Legions will come and slaughter the Saddai, unless something is done.”
Ark said nothing for a while, concentrating on the work. Then he said, “Do you really think the revolt can be stopped?”
“I don’t know,” said Caina, “but we have to try.”
“If the Sign of the Anchor turns out to be a dead end,” said Ark, “what are we going to do then?”
“Then we’re going after Gaidan,” said Caina.
Ark froze for a moment. “I thought you said it would be too risky.”
“It is too risky,” said Caina. “But we’re running out of time. I saw him last night, when Tadaia and I had our little chat. He was weeping. Begging the Living Flame for forgiveness.”
Ark snorted.
“He knows the truth,” said Caina, “and if we have to, we’ll tear it out of him. And if not him, we’ll find Romarion. He knows more than he said, too. One way or another, we’re finding the man who killed the Rasadda Ghost circle.”
Ark finished and stood up. Caina glanced at her hip, brushing the stitches with a fingertip. “That looks good.”
“I’ve had a lot of practice,” said Ark. “You should get some rest.”
“And so should you,” said Caina. “We’re going to need it.”
***