Chapter 1 #2
A pebble rolled behind him. West appeared, stick in hand.
Too thin from years on Ice Island, his clothes hung loose over bony shoulders.
He whistled low, shading his eyes in the fading sunset, his freckled face an echo of his son’s.
“Old traders used to stack stones like that to mark where they buried their treasure. Bet there’s silver under there. ”
Downhill, Mistel snorted, cradling a bundle of kindling against her hip. “You just made that up.”
“I did not!” West said. “My great-uncle told me about it.”
Zanna pulled her sword off her back and climbed closer, frowning up at the dark arch. “That’s no trader’s marker. It’s a blood gate. Old as anything you’ll find in these hills. Giants built them. We shouldn’t be anywhere near it.”
“Sounds ominous,” croaked Cole as he fitted a nose sack to his horse, Cherix. His cold had sapped what little voice he had.
“Brilliant,” Mistel muttered. “We’re sleeping beside the entrance to the Lowerworld.”
“That would make a fine song,” Cole rasped.
“Enough, eh?” Kurtz snapped. “Horses. Kindling. Fire. I want it going before dark.”
All but Zanna scattered. She stood her ground, hip cocked, arms crossed.
He fought back a grin. “Think you can handle that?”
She dug her heel into the ground and stalked toward the horses, grumbling about peacocks.
Kurtz chuckled under his breath. Maker help him, he liked getting under that woman’s skin far too much for his own good.
Soon enough, a small fire crackled in the clearing, casting a soft glow against the rising dark.
Cole was still off brushing one of the horses.
West lay blessedly quiet on his bedroll.
Mistel sat by the fire, humming as she fed small sticks to the flames.
Zanna sat cross-legged opposite, sharpening her sword, her eyes tracking Kurtz’s every move as he paced.
“I’ll take first watch,” he said.
“You need rest,” Zanna said. “You’ve been riding like a madman all day.”
“I’m fine.”
“Fine is what people say when they’re not fine.”
He exhaled loud enough to be sure she heard it. “You sound like Sir Gavin. Back when he was my nursemaid.”
“The Great Whitewolf is a genius.”
“He’s my cousin. Relentless, he was.”
She stilled her sharpening stone. “What’s the point of having a team if you won’t let us pull our weight?”
Kurtz hated when she made good points. Relinquishing control made his skin itch. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, Zanna was smart, strong, and more than capable of taking first watch.
“I’ll take second watch,” he said.
Her eyebrows arched high on her forehead. “And first watch?”
“You take first,” he said.
She nodded and returned her attention to her blade.
“Don’t make me regret it.” He strode away from the fire. “I’m going for a walk.”
“To do what?” Zanna called.
Blazes, that woman was nosy. “Still not my nursemaid,” he called back.
Her satisfied chuckle drifted after him. “Try not to get lost in your own ego. I doubt any of us could find you.”
He paused and glanced back. “Don’t you have a post to watch?”
Her eyes glinted in the firelight. “Already am.”
Cheeky female. Kurtz left before she could see the grin tugging at his mouth.
His contact had told him to meet the Hare after dark.
Yet as Kurtz neared the gate, nothing stirred.
Better to keep the ruin between his meeting and his team, so he circled wide, boots crunching softly over loose stones and brittle weeds.
The last threads of twilight bled into the charcoal sky.
He kept his hand near his sword, listening to every whisper of wind against the ancient stones.
No movement. No glint steel. No scent of another man’s sweat. Yet the silence convinced him that someone was watching. He hoped the man would show before it got too dark.
Kurtz didn’t like the not knowing. He couldn’t afford a single mistake, not with Inko and half the prisoners from Ice Island still unaccounted for.
He hadn’t seen a watcher since the night he’d kissed Rilla Vandy at the Ivory Spit.
The celestial creatures had appeared to warn him—because he’d been about to make a mistake he wouldn’t have been able to take back.
He still couldn’t believe Rilla had conspired with Verdot Amal just to wound him for rejecting her, that his refusal had cut her that deep.
The same watcher had shown himself to Zanna, and later to Cole and Mistel, to help them. But for Kurtz, he only ever appeared when he was on the edge of disaster. By that logic, he should be glad he hadn’t seen him lately. No watcher meant no grave errors. No traps he couldn’t see coming.
The existence of watchers, also called malakim, should comfort him, proof that Arman had an eye on things. But all it did was remind him how little control he had. If the watchers were silent, he was on his own. And that, more than anything, made him feel small.
He slipped along the backside of the arch, about to give up when a low voice cut through the stillness.
“Kurtz Chazir.”
He jerked a half step to the right, hand on his hilt. A shadow peeled away from the dark, lean and ragged as a waif. Perrin Vance—better known as the Hare—smirked as he raised a hand in mock surrender.
“You’re late,” he said.
“Traveling with others.” Kurtz jerked his chin toward camp. “Came as fast as I could, I did.”
“Got the money?”
“If you’ve got the information, eh?”
“At least let me see it,” Vance said.
Jaw tight, Kurtz pulled two golds from his pocket. Costly, this meeting, but if it helped him find Careeanne, it would be worth it.
He held up the coins, and Perrin’s grin widened.
“Garran and Delia Nariel disowned their daughter the year 512.”
Kurtz’s pulse quickened. “Because of the trial?”
“Because of what she confessed under oath. Her testimony disgraced her family. Such conduct could not be overlooked, even by her own parents.”
No surprise there. Kurtz pictured her walking into his tent alone, bold as a harlot.
He’d never imagined a nobleman’s daughter would behave in such a way.
Had foolishly thought Yobatha, the goddess of pleasure, had been smiling on him when in truth, Careeanne Nariel had been setting the snare to frame him.
“What happened after?” Kurtz asked.
“She stayed with friends for a time,” Perrin said, “but scandals burn everyone they touch. They asked her to leave. She moved to Meneton, opened up a dress shop. The Gilded Seam. Looks prosperous.”
A flutter ran through Kurtz’s stomach. “She lives in Meneton?”
“That I don’t know, but the woman running the shop says she rarely comes in.”
Kurtz muttered an oath. Careeanne, so close, in the very city Zanna wanted to reach. Maddening.
“She changed her name,” Perrin added. “Goes by Caris Narel now. Close enough to remember, different enough to hide.”
No wonder she’d eluded Kurtz. “Anything else?”
“Whispers that she keeps strange company. Smugglers, gamblers, worse. She never married, has no children, avoids society. No one’s seen her in months. That’s all there is.” Perrin held out his hand.
Kurtz passed over the coins. “I’m a bloodvoicer. If I have any further questions or need to hire you, can I contact you directly?”
“Of course—if you pay.”
Kurtz thought of something else. “Hear anything of Dovev Falkson?”
“The Duke of Barth?” Perrin tipped his head. “Not much. Keeps to his estate. Avoids common folk. The uncommon ones too.”
“That sounds like him,” Kurtz said. “What about strange magic? A cloud or some kind of fog?”
“There’s always strange magic in Barth,” Perrin said. “I stay away from that place. But a merchant recently told me he was turned from the gates. They’re getting pickier about who they let inside.”
Kurtz didn’t like the sound of that. “Guess I’ll find out soon enough.”
“Barth is where you’re headed?”
“That’s where.” He gave the man a quick nod. “Appreciate your help.”
“Anytime.” Perrin shifted the coins between his thumb and first two fingers so they scraped together. “Always glad to work for a man who pays.”
When Kurtz returned, Zanna was waiting at the edge of camp, arms crossed, sword belted at her side. The firelight traced her silhouette, softening the steel in her stance. “You’re sneaking off now?”
He stopped, not in the mood for more verbal sparring. “I told you. I went for a walk.”
“Alone in the dark. You? Who were you talking to?”
“Myself.”
“I heard two voices.”
“Maybe my echo is as relentless as you are.”
“Then maybe if I listen hard enough, it will tell me what you’re hiding.”
“Stop acting like I owe you an explanation.”
Her jaw tightened. “Someone has to look out for you.”
“I’ve been looking out for myself for a long time.”
“Do I need to remind you who dragged you out of that Ice Island tunnel?” she shot back. “Or how your little barmaid dalliance gave Verdot Amal a spy at the Ivory Spit.”
He took a step closer and held her gaze. Her eyes were black velvet in the dark. “You think you know me?”
“I know if you keep taking off alone like that, it’s going to get you killed.”
His chin dropped. “Better me than one of you.”
“Don’t you dare decide that for us.” Her hand twitched at her side, not quite reaching for her sword but close. “We’re on this mission together, like it or not.”
“Not.” Kurtz pushed past her and dropped to his bedroll.
Zanna, thankfully, said no more. Kurtz kicked off his boots and stretched out, the fire crackling like his nerves.
The air felt heavy with Zanna’s accusations and the ghost of Careeanne.
Maddening, that she might be so close. He’d already told Zanna they weren’t going to Meneton, so he couldn’t very well turn around now, especially not with the king eager for word about Cortland.
No, he had to go to Barth, fulfill the mission, then go to Meneton, if it wasn’t too late.
A soft gust of wind swept through the camp, brushing sand across his face. He shut his eyes as grains stung his cheeks. For lands’ sake, Zanna had been right about building a sand shield. Maybe the desert was punishing him for ignoring her, or for letting her get under his armor in the first place.
The woman breathed steadily just a few feet away.