22 Lives Not Lived
Eleven years ago
Noceo’s obsession with the Poxtan girl was going to get them both killed.
Drenevan paced outside the baker’s shop, watching Noceo lean over the counter to say something to the fourteen-year-old girl working there. Parvine curled an errant strand of hair behind her ears and giggled. He didn’t have to hear them to know that his brother was making the same ridiculous sound.
On the other side of the room, Dalvia watched them both with a frown.
“Parvine! Have you seen the flour?” came an annoyed female voice, audible though the windows.
Finaze Poxtan, Parvine’s older sister and Noceo’s nemesis, emerged from the shop’s rear. The corners of her lips tightened. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Clan scion?” she sneered Noceo’s title. “I thought I told you to keep away from her.”
Drenevan could see red inching up his brother’s ears through the window. Drawing a deep breath, he dared enter the shop. The full weight of Finaze’s glare rounded on him. He couldn’t deny that it was impressive.
“My brother meant no harm to the young lady,” he said gravely. “If we have offended—”
“You bloody well have offended,” she hissed. “No one comes in to buy anything when you’re here. Maybe they do at the bigger shops in the bowels of Komis, but we’re upstanding folk here. You’re dragging our name into your dirt. Fuck off!!”
“I see.” He inclined his head, exchanging a meaningful glance with Noceo.
His brother’s eyes widened faintly. “Yes, of course! Please accept my apologies and this.” He withdrew a silver denarius and pressed it on the counter. “For the trouble.”
Drenevan hid his satisfaction when Finaze suddenly looked torn.
He made for the door, shooting a questioning glance at Dalvia when she didn’t follow.
The Poxtan girls were more inclined to look kindly on her on account of her sex, so they would never ask her to leave.
He didn’t begrudge her those friendships.
She knew the dangers of Clevsin finding out.
Stepping outside, he paused when Noceo turned back to Finaze.
“I would never hurt her.”
It was Drenevan’s turn to go still at that quiet desperation. He had never seen such seriousness in his brother’s eyes.
“Never,” Noceo emphasized, before leaving.
A stunned Drenevan accompanied his brother down the darkening street.
Twilight claimed the sky as they wound their way into the heart of Komis where their reputations and Clan were hungered over as much as they were feared.
Pleasure-workers winked at them from alleys, gazes fixated on their gray-green uniforms. Cardsharps shot them warning glances to stay away after Noceo had nearly bankrupted a gambling house on his first set of games.
This was the world they belonged in. And yet…
“Noceo,” he asked, “do you care for the Poxtan girl?”
A stutter in his brother’s steps. “Her name is Parvine.”
“You’re going to get her killed.”
“Fuck off!” Noceo roared and veered off into an alley.
Drenevan wondered if he should have been less blunt about it. He sighed, following him in. “Everything has a price. There is no future where you can have her. It’s dangerous to expect a chance.”
“I said, fuck off! Just because no one will ever want you doesn’t mean that it’s the same for me.”
Drenevan paused, wondering why the blow had landed.
It was true. They had discussed it once when Dalvia had asked if he had ever thought of kissing her, and he had truthfully stated that he had once considered removing her tongue after she had pinned one of her failures on him and gotten his spine broken again.
He realized that he had come to a stop in the alley when he heard Noceo yell.
This time, it held fear. Fuck. Racing to the source of the sound, he stilled at the two men holding his brother down.
One had a hand over his mouth, the other searched his pockets for coin.
Metal slid into Drenevan’s palm on instinct.
He darted out of the shadows, blade held aloft when lightning cracked through the air and through the two thieves.
They collapsed with a scream. Burns crawled up their faces and into the whites of their eyes, which ruptured. An inelegant death, but a swift one.
Dread settled on Drenevan’s shoulders. He turned toward the source of the bolts, expecting Clevsin’s fury. He halted.
“Who’re you?”
“I think I should be asking that.” A gray-haired man in green and gold robes stood at the opposite end of the alley. He eyed their robes as Noceo got up and dusted himself off. “You seem important.”
The stranger’s robes spoke of a much greater importance, in addition to his power. “Drenevan bu Kader,” he introduced himself, ignoring Noceo’s dig in the ribs. “This is my brother. Thank you, sir.”
“By the looks of it, you had it handled.” The man gestured to the knife in Drenevan’s palm. “Is that what the Clan’s taught you, boy?”
“It’s what the world’s taught me.”
“And do you prefer your Clan or the world, boy?” The stranger eyed him consideringly.
Upturned lips, hawkish features. There was a cunning glint to his eyes that warned of danger, but his finery and the rune-studded armilla on his wrist spoke of opportunity. No man of wealth would venture so boldly into Komis’s underbelly unless they knew it couldn’t harm them.
“The world,” Noceo interjected, voice ragged. “Every fucking day.”
Drenevan slanted a quelling look at his brother, but the man looked pleased.
“I’m Tetrarch Othus.” He held out a hand, eyes gleaming when they shook it in turn.
“I’m sure you’ve heard much about the Tetrarchy and how awful we all are, but I’m here to make things better.
Just like I did earlier.” He offered them a genial smile.
“Komis is a cruel city. I could do with some eyes and ears here. What do you say? Of course, there will be coin in it for you.”
Disappointment settled over him, followed by mild surprise that there was enough optimism left in him to be disappointed. The Tetrarchy was just as mercenary as the Clan.
Beside him, Noceo’s jaw tightened. His brother released a long breath, chuckled weakly, then shrugged. “You want all the goings-on in Komis, go ask the fishers on the Chaboras. They’ll jump as high as you want for coin.”
Othus’s eyes narrowed. “I see that I’ve misstepped.”
“You did. Thank you, Tetrarch.” Anger flushed his brother’s pale features when he turned to leave. Anger and something quieter.
And suddenly, Drenevan knew what it was, because it seemed that he had felt it too.
Hope.
There was a sliver of it still within their reach. He seized it.
“We don’t want your coin,” he informed Othus. Adrenaline brought a rare quiver to his fingers.
“Drenevan, just leave him—”
“I’ll give you all the information you need.
” He didn’t have Noceo’s talent with Coercion, but he knew how to make his voice silk.
“I trust the Tetrarchy a damn sight more than I do the Clan to improve life here.” He normally did this with more finesse, but time was of the essence.
“We’ll be your eyes and ears for six months, Tetrarch Othus.
” He took a deep breath and turned to catch Noceo’s eye.
Do it. “Then, you’ll take us back south with you. ”
Othus stared at him, then chuckled. “It seems you’ve vastly—”
“You’ll take us with you,” Noceo growled behind Drenevan. Compulsion coated each word. “You will take us back south with you.”
Othus’s eyes dulled.
“In six months, after we spy for you and give you every detail you want, you will take us south with you,” Noceo spat, the full weight of his power behind his voice. “As sons and heirs.”
Drenevan blinked. They didn’t need to be heirs.
Sweat slid down Noceo’s cheeks as he kept going. “These thoughts are your own. You will forget that we are Clan sons. You know us as street rats. You see greatness in us, and you can’t bear to see such potential wasted. And if the Clanlord comes for us, you will protect us.”
“Of course,” Othus murmured. “The soon-to-be Magus Supreme Aelius is an old friend. You don’t have to worry on that score.”
“You will meet us tomorrow at the docks. Now, leave and remember nothing of being Coerced,” Noceo panted. “Your thoughts are your own.”
Othus took a few steps back and shuffled out of the alley, eyes glazed. Noceo slumped to the ground, gasping with strain. But his eyes were wild when he looked up.
“You utter fucking madman.” He pulled Drenevan down and into a bear hug. “I can’t believe you did that.”
“You did most of it,” Drenevan said dryly. Part of him was stunned that it had worked. “Tetrarchs aren’t as powerful as I believed.”
“It’s not the sort of magic they expect from an Urd.” Noceo laughed. “By the Elsar and Naaduir, we’re going to be free.”
“We’ll have to leave the Poxt—Parvine,” Drenevan added hastily.
Noceo’s eyes dimmed before he waved a hand. “She’ll wait. I’ll tell her I’m coming back for her and to hold on for me.”
“Seems inadvisable.” But his brother’s excitement was contagious. Drenevan sat with him in the odoriferous alleyway and stared at myriad constellations looming over Komis. Soon, they would see what they looked like in the south.
“Everything’s going to change, Drenevan.” It sounded like a prophecy coming from Noceo’s mouth.
Drenevan believed it. “Everything.”
Shoulder to shoulder, they grinned.