45. Reznyk
Chapter 45
Reznyk
AN OFFER
I wait until the ravens are swallowed by the gold and scarlet forest below before I push the door of my cabin open. Tholious and Matius are sitting on my bed, leaning against each other. Matius stares at the floor while Tholious absently runs his fingers down Xavier’s spine. The old cat’s rough purr fills the cabin. Little bastard. It was months before he let me pet him like that.
Both men turn to stare at me as the door swings open. Tholious clears his throat.
“We’ll go over the mountains,” he tells me. “Once the sun sets. The Towers’s ravens won’t fly in the dark.”
I don’t have it in me to point out all the reasons why that’s a horrible plan. Instead, I uncurl my fingers and toss the little locket with its portraits of the Lord and Lady Castinac onto the table.
“Like I said,” I announce, “they’re not here for you.”
Both men stare at the table. Tholious’s hand freezes just above Xavier’s ruff.
“What—” Tholious begins.
“They have a Castinac,” I say. “In the meadow above the hunting lodge.”
Matius snorts. Tholious turns to me with wide eyes.
“They want to make a deal,” I continue.
Bitterness twists around my words. I can’t help but remember the first deal Tholious offered me, Kira in exchange for the amulet. What if I’d taken it? Would it have made any difference?
“It’s Lenore, isn’t it?” Matius asks.
I frown. There’s no way he should know about my relationship with Lenore, but hells, he is from the Mercenary Guild. Secrets are as important to their trade as blood.
“Who?” Tholious asks.
“Lady Lenore Castinac,” Matius says, meeting my eyes. “A noblewoman with a taste for dangerous men. Looks a bit like Kira.” Matius shakes his head, then rubs his hand across the back of his neck. “I should have figured that out weeks ago.”
“The Towers just made enemies of the Castinac family,” I say.
“If the Castinacs know the Towers took Lenore,” Matius says.
“They’ll know,” I say. “Because I’m taking Lenore back.”
Tholious raises his eyebrow in a way that makes me think he’s about to disagree.
“The Towers are desperate,” I explain. “And that makes them weak. I’ll bring Lenore back, she’ll explain to her family what happened. The Towers have plenty of enemies.”
I take a deep breath as the idea forms in my mind. I spent so long running from the Towers; it’s almost liberating to imagine fighting back.
“I’ll find them,” I say. “Together, we’ll bring the fight to the Towers.”
Tholious exhales in a whoosh. Matius comes to his feet.
“What can we do?” Matius asks.
I cross my arms over my chest and run my eyes around the cabin. It’s small, this place. It was small when it was just me. With two people, and with snow piled all around, it might feel tiny.
But that’s all right. They have the keep, and the mountains. And they’re in love. Hells, for all I know it’ll feel like a honeymoon.
“You’re not coming,” I say.
Matius scowls like he’s about to argue. I ignore him.
“Stay here,” I continue. “The Towers don’t know you’re here. There’s food, there’s firewood. And?—”
My throat closes around the words I’m about to say. I glance down at the bed I once shared with a woman who felt like a friend, and then at the ragged gray tomcat. It’s small, but they’ll manage. The three of them.
“Watch over Xavier,” I say. It comes out as a whisper, more of a plea than a demand.
Tholious comes to his feet, making Xavier twitch his tail in annoyance. He looks like he’s about to say something, but instead, he pulls me into his arms. My back stiffens as he gives me an awkward hug. When he releases me, Matius takes my hand.
“I might have gotten some things wrong about you,” Matius says, with a strange smile. “I apologize for that.”
I don’t understand, but I nod anyway. It’s unsettling, having Matius look at me without that angry glint in his eyes.
“If we survive this,” Matius says, tilting his head toward the door, “Drake’s Rest. At the Port of Good Fortune.”
“Excuse me?”
Matius’s grin widens. “It’s my favorite pub. Right on the water. You can’t miss it. We’ll meet you there, once the snow melts.”
My breath catches. I hadn’t thought past getting down the mountain. Matius is already planning a reunion.
“We’ll give you back your damn cat,” Matius says.
I open my mouth, but the words don’t come. Matius drops my hand. I turn toward the door. The light of the rising sun spills across the threshold.
“What are you going to do?” Tholious asks, in a low voice.
I stare at the jagged face of the mountain I named after myself as magic pulls tight around my body.
“What they trained me to do,” I reply. “I’m going to destroy them.”
The sun sets fast this time of year, making the meadow a full day away.
I sprint down the mountainside, my sides heaving and my lungs burning, racing that great fire in the sky as she plunges toward her dark rest. Leaves flutter down all around me; the shadows hold a chill they probably won’t shake for the next six months. It’s almost too easy to imagine the entire world is dying.
At least the direwolves are far away, with the dim pulse of their magic suggesting they’re beyond the mountains. At least Kira is safe, for now.
At least this is going to mean something.
I stop, panting and restless, when I see the meadow spreading before me through a break in the trees. I know what trick I’m going to pull. It worked with the hunters, after all. I close my eyes, tug on the magic, and make a long, low howl rise from the forest. And then another, closer to the meadow.
They’re illusions, but hells, not even an Exemplar will know for sure. Anyone from the Towers will sense magic, but they won’t know exactly what I’m doing with it. Not unless they try to wrap their arms around one of my illusion wolves, and I’ll just have to hope whoever they sent isn’t that stupid. I make a few illusion wolves pace through the trees behind me, straighten my cloak, and walk toward the meadow as the sun sinks behind me in all her fiery splendor.
I want to look like I belong here, like I’m a part of the Daggers. I want to look like everything I do is intentional.
A raven sounds a sharp cry of alarm. As I emerge from the trees, the shadows on the far edge of the forest slowly draw together into recognizable shapes. There’s a carriage, large and black, and four horses with their heads down in the thick meadow grass. A raven ruffles its feathers on the top of the carriage; the second one must be above, making slow circles in the dusk. A man sits on the box seat, the reins in his hands, his eyes fixed on the ground for plausible deniability. Fear trembles through the air, rising from the nervous horses chained to the Towers’s carriage.
When I’m close enough to the carriage to make out the gleam of the raven’s eyes, the door opens.
There’s a swirl of white fabric from the shadowed interior of the carriage, and the low, boiling hiss of magic. It feels like that carriage holds at least three of the magic-imbued silver chains, possibly four. Has the trapped magic in those silver prisons always felt that angry, I wonder, and I never noticed?
And then Fyrris, Exemplar of the Towers, steps out of the carriage and into the meadow below my mountains.
Fuck me. Fyrris actually left his precious Towers. I suppose I should feel flattered.
We stare at each other as dusk gathers her shadows below the trees. Some hidden creature of the woods calls softly for its mate. One of the horses snorts and stomps, fearful of the illusion wolves.
“Master Reznyk Thorne,” Fyrris finally says. “You’re late.”
I don’t bother glancing at the sky. I know the sun has already set.
“I didn’t want to come,” I reply.
Fyrris sneers like he’s disappointed with me. It’s such a familiar expression that it would be almost funny, under different circumstances. Kill an old god, steal their power, evade the Towers for years, and I’m still a disappointment. Fyrris clears his throat.
“Come out,” he says, almost under his breath.
My chest closes like a fist around my heart. There’s another rustle of fabric inside the carriage, and then a woman steps down from the door. She moves slowly, with grace and poise, as if she’s used to having an audience.
Screaming gods above. She’s wearing a fine burgundy dress that’s streaked with dirt and ripped at the hem, as if she was kidnapped in the middle of an elegant party. Her hands are bound together with coarse rope, and there’s a gag of scarlet cloth across her mouth. She looks like she’s been crying, Lady Lenore of the Castinac family.
Our eyes meet. A shiver flashes through the magic pooled around my body. Lenore’s eyes widen in recognition, then drop to the grass. She knows who I am, and it gives her no comfort.
“You fools,” I growl.
I step forward before I even realize what I’m doing.
“That’s far enough,” Fyrris says.
I stop. Magic trembles across my skin; my heartbeat feels very loud inside my skull. Behind me, illusion wolves pace restlessly beneath the shadows. Lenore glances at me again, raising her head just enough for me to notice a fading bruise below her right eye. It’s an old bruise. Either the Towers had her for longer than it took to reach the Daggers, or the bruise didn’t come from Fyrris.
Fear, rage, and an angry, hopeless sort of desperation wrestle for control of my mind and body. The magic under my skin howls for release. Did I really once believe I could grow so powerful that nothing could hurt me again? Was I ever such a fool?
I draw back, clench my hands into fists at my sides, and try to regain some of my dignity. Fyrris knows how to twist the knife. But I can’t let him win. Not this time. There’s too much at stake.
“I assume you’re here to make me an offer?” I say, my voice as cold as the wind that blows off the mountains.
“Very astute,” Fyrris purrs. “We’re here to make a trade, as I’m sure my associates told you.”
He nods gently toward the raven on top of the carriage, who is watching this with black, impassive eyes. I say nothing.
“We have the amulet,” Fyrris continues.
“Good for you,” I reply.
Fyrris ignores me. His white robe ruffles in a gust of wind that shakes fistfuls of leaves from the trees behind him.
“You’ve done something to it,” Fyrris says. “Something you need to undo.”
I cross my arms over my chest and stare at him. I did nothing to that thrice-cursed amulet. It was created to trap the power of the old god and bring that magic back to the Towers, to help the Exemplars spread their torture and manipulation across the ocean. I couldn’t let that happen.
All I did with the amulet was leave it behind. The magic of the old god entered me instead. I thought it would kill me. I almost hoped it would.
Fyrris sighs, like this entire conversation is a waste of his precious time. “You come with us,” Fyrris says, “and the woman lives.”
He nods to Lenore. She makes a choked sort of cry, muffled by her gag. Her eyes widen.
“A life for a life,” Fyrris announces, with a smile that makes me feel sick. “Romantic, is it not? After all, how many lovers get to make such a sacrifice?”
My jaw clenches as rage hammers my temples. Magic bristles under my skin. I pull it tight in my palm, feeling the hard edge of a weapon beginning to take shape.
“Untie her,” I growl.
Fyrris makes a tsk-tsk sound with his tongue, then shakes his head.
“It’s such a simple offer,” he says, in that same disappointed tone. “Even you should be able to understand that.”
One of the illusion wolves behind me growls with my frustration. The closest horse makes a skittish whinny. The man holding the reins barks something in response, and a whip flashes through the gloom. The horse’s fear spreads through my magic like blood in the back of my mouth.
“Untie her,” I say again.
Fyrris rolls his eyes. Magic trembles across my skin. The blade I created is sharp and cold against my palm. How many times did I do exactly this in the Towers’s training yards? How many targets did I destroy?
Fyrris turns slowly, keeping his eyes on me for as long as possible. My illusion wolves step out from the shadows to flank me, their eyes bright as daggers in the fading light. Lenore shakes her head. Her eyes are wide, like she’s trying to tell me something. Fyrris grabs the rope holding Lenore’s hands together.
His eyes leave mine. I raise my hand. The world is suddenly very clear, a perfect moment frozen in time. The white folds of Fyrris’s robe beneath his dark hair. The pale line of his exposed neck. Red skin, like the inside of the rabbit, dead and spread across the grass outside my cabin.
Rabbits in the grass, nibbling on clover. There were seven babies this spring, black and gray, tumbling over each other in the sun?—
I clench my jaw against the memories. The magical blade flies from my fingers. Too slow, too damn slow?—
A sharp crack shatters the calm. My magic burns. Fyrris grins at me from inside his protective shield, a silver chain flashing from between his fingers. Lenore staggers away from him, then rips the gag from her mouth.
“It’s a trap!” she screams.
I turn toward Lenore, dimly aware of the carriage driver behind her coming to his feet. I pull magic into my palm, feel the cold weight of another blade.
There’s a crossbow between the driver’s legs, one he’s raising toward me. The sick pulse of nightmare steel rises in the air. Even from here, I feel the hunger in that metal. Magic sinks to my core, as if it’s trying to shy away from the emptiness of nightmare steel. The blade in my palm shivers like a living thing.
I meet Lenore’s eyes.
“Run,” I tell her.
I spin, then throw the blade I made. It shatters against Fyrris’s shield even as a new blade forms in my hand, cold magic against my skin. I raise my hand, open my mouth to scream at the man who made me into this?—
My words die with the twang of a crossbow’s string. Magic solidifies around me, forming a shield even as memories surge forward.
I fired the crossbow. I sent the silver bolt into the heart of the old god, even as they stared at me with eyes so dark they looked like all the stars had fallen from the night sky, even as their body began to burn. Before I pulled the bolt from their side and tried to stop the flood of silver blood, before I cried and begged and screamed as their magic sank into me, I fired the crossbow.
I killed the god.
Nightmare steel punches through my magic. Pain screams through my body. I sink to my knees, staring at the sliver of metal jutting out of my shoulder. It’s not even that big, the nightmare steel arrow that just hit me. Is that all it takes, some part of me wonders, to stop the Godkiller?
The carriage driver drops the crossbow and sprints forward, moving much faster than any carriage driver should be able to run. He’s carrying something dark in his hands, something that makes my skin crawl. Fear and rage flow from the horses; the great black carriage begins to strain against the brake. Fyrris screams. There’s another flicker of trapped magic from his silver chains. One of the horses rears. The carriage totters on its great black wheels.
In the corner of my vision, Lenore sprints into the woods. She’s not afraid of the wolves, some numb part of me realizes. Or she’s more afraid of Fyrris than whatever horrors await in the Daggers.
The carriage driver reaches me, and I see what he’s holding. Chains. Nightmare steel manacles close over my wrists. The magic trapped inside my body screams. With the last shard of my strength, I make my illusion wolves howl as they vanish beneath the trees.
Then his fist meets my temple, and the world goes dark.