The Demon's Surrender

  Gerald’s hand stayed uplifted, wreathed in the smoke.

  “It was a risk, taking you into the Circle at all,” he said. “Now a magician is dead. Give me a reason to trust you.”

  When Jamie spoke he was gasping for breath a little, his face wet as if he had been crying.

  “We were friends once, weren’t we?”

  A flicker crossed Gerald’s face, like the flicker of lightning behind dark clouds, not illuminating or changing anything.

  “I thought so,” he said, and he sounded a little sorry.

  “Doesn’t that mean anything?”

  Gerald shook his head regretfully. “Not enough, Jamie.”

  “Well,” Jamie said, “it means something to me. I don’t want to leave the Circle, and I don’t want to fight you. So how about I make you an offer?”

  “What’s the offer?”

  “What means most to you, Gerald,” Jamie murmured. “Power. What if I offer you my demon?”

  Nick was suddenly the center of attention.

  The storm was dying away, but there was rain falling now. Nick had his arms crossed over his chest, shoulders bunched defensively under the wet material of his shirt.

  “Jamie,” he said, in a tight voice, “I’d prefer if you didn’t.”

  “Nick,” Jamie said, “I really am sorry.”

  Gerald, alone of the magicians, was still looking at Jamie. “You mean it?”

  “Forgive me for Celeste,” Jamie said. “Trust me again. And we have a deal.”

  “Jamie!” Nick snarled.

  Jamie rubbed a shaking hand across his wet, pale face. “I’m sorry,” he said. “But you’re not like me. What is it that they say, that demons are made of fire and humans are made of earth? Magicians are made of need. We’re born human and we become something else, like earth turning into sand without rain. We become something that needs power. You can’t understand, because you’re not like me. But they are.”

  His brilliantly shining gaze cut through the murk, swinging from Nick back to Gerald.

  “I want you to give him your mark.”

  Nick strode forward and Sin was certain, almost certain, that he was about to commit violence rather than obey anyone. Gerald glanced at Jamie and either decided to trust him or decided he could not pass up the opportunity to have the power obviously flooding through Jamie’s body.

  He held firm, hand still uplifted, but making no move to halt Nick’s rush.

  Nick stopped and grabbed Gerald’s arm. His teeth were bared in a snarl. Sin had seldom seen expressions marked clearly on Nick’s face, but this one was clear. He badly wanted to kill Gerald.

  He wrenched up Gerald’s arm and pressed his mouth against the inside of his wrist.

  Gerald convulsed, making a thin, agonized sound that made Sin think that Nick had ripped open the veins of Gerald’s wrist with his teeth. She could only see the bow of Gerald’s back, arched taut in pain, and Nick’s blank black eyes over Gerald’s wrist.

  When Nick let go of Gerald, the magician fell to his knees. The other magicians were drawing back from him, a murmur of distress and unease rising. Only one moved forward: Seb, coming to stand at Jamie’s shoulder.

  Jamie looked at Seb, looked at Gerald kneeling on the ship deck, and smiled.

  Sin’s last moment of hope died as she saw Gerald climb to his feet and meet Jamie’s gaze with his own eyes turned fierce silver, brimming with magic.

  He raised his hand and a bolt of lightning sliced through the sky, wrapping around the silver ring on his finger and shimmering with contained light.

  “I think the Aventurine Circle can learn to follow this symbol instead,” he said, his voice echoing, trembling on the point of laughter.

  The magicians in white all kneeled even as he spoke, and Gerald turned to Nick.

  “Hnikarr,” he said. “I have a little test for you.”

  “The power isn’t enough?” Nick snapped.

  “Nothing’s ever enough,” Gerald told him. “Kill her.”

  Sin flattened her body against the deck as if she could escape being seen, and then realized that it had not been her Gerald was speaking of at all.

  He was pointing at Phyllis.

  She stood there in a growing circle of space as magicians and messengers alike scattered away from her. She looked suddenly very alone, her shoulders bent more than usual under the burden of fear.

  “This woman’s worthless as a spy,” Gerald said. “She might have handed us a magician, but her first loyalty is to the Goblin Market. Now she finally has a use. I want to see you kill her on my orders.”

  Phyllis had handed over Lydie to the Aventurine Circle.

  But she had done it to get Sin back to the Goblin Market. Sin had known Phyllis all her life.

  Nick had known Phyllis since he was five years old.

  Sin had thought that no magician could have so complete a dominion over a demon, had thought that some of it at least must be Nick choosing to ally himself with Jamie, had thought she didn’t know what in order to prevent herself being overcome by despair and fear.

  Despair and fear came just the same, crashing through all the fragile barriers Sin could put in their way.

  She could not see Phyllis’s face, only Nick’s, and it told her nothing.

  “Do it slowly,” said Gerald.

  Nick lifted a hand, and Phyllis started to cry.

  He did it slowly.

  When it was done, Phyllis was a crumpled heap on the deck. Sin’s bones were aching from being curled up so tight on the slick wet boards, the freezing press of her knives imprinted on her palms. The magicians had gone in to celebrate further, Gerald and Jamie walking in brilliant-eyed accord, Seb close by Jamie’s side. The only things left on deck besides Sin were the demon and the dead.

  Nick watched as Sin rolled out from her hiding place beneath the shelf. He did not speak to her.

  She did not know what to say to him, who had been made the Aventurine Circle’s slave, who had been betrayed by his friend, who had just killed someone without pity or flinching. There was blood in Phyllis’s bedraggled gray hair, but none on Nick’s hands.

  They just waited together as the boat drifted slowly to the side of the river, until they reached the steps up to the street.

  As they left the Queen’s Corsair, rain was still falling, through the darkness, into Celeste Drake’s open eyes.

  12

  Look on Tempests

  TOBY AND LYDIE WERE SLEEPING BY THE TIME NICK AND SIN got back. Sin lay down on the bed for a while with her arms wrapped tight around Lydie, just the same.

  Then she got into the shower. Her wrists were sore from the weight of the chains, and the muscles in her back were screaming. Being drenched in cold water after performing acrobatics hadn’t been particularly good for them.

  The shower had amazing water pressure, though, and the hot points of water drummed relief into her skin. She emerged feeling a little better, drying off and leaving her hair a damp knot at the back of her neck. She slipped into the blue robe Mae had bought her, the silk cool against her heated skin, and was grateful for that little comfort.

  When she entered the living room she saw Nick must have told them already. There was a pall hanging over the whole group. Alan looked white and strained, so close to ill Sin wondered if it was bad for his leg to be out in the rain. She didn’t know, and she didn’t know how to ask.

  Mae was shivering, her naked shoulders covered in gooseflesh, in long continuous shudders, as if she had not stopped shaking since they came inside.

  Nick was at the window, watching them both.

  “I don’t think you quite realize what you’ve done,” Alan was saying to Mae as Sin paused on the threshold.

  “I did something I had to do,” Mae told him, lifting her chin. “I’ll take the consequences.”

  “Like you took the gun?” Alan inquired. “And I don’t need to ask who gave it to you. Do you remember when Gerald’s first leader was alive, someone he didn?
??t like any more than he liked Celeste? I came in shooting, and the magicians panicked. Gerald didn’t panic. He didn’t create light, either, didn’t try to calm anyone down or offer advice. He lay down on the floor and let things happen until Arthur was dead, just as he wanted. All the members of Gerald’s original Circle were enchanted to withstand gunfire. He knew you had a grudge, he gave you a weapon that couldn’t harm anybody who was on his side, and he did the same thing he’s done before. He let things happen until Celeste was dead, until everything was just as he wanted. You gave him just what he wanted.”

  “You think I don’t know that? He gave me just what I wanted,” Mae told Alan fiercely. “He gave me a clear shot at Celeste. I took it. I’m not sorry. I wanted revenge, and I wanted to hurt the Circle. I did, even if Gerald doesn’t realize it yet. The Market can’t depend on its leader anymore; well, neither can our enemies. We’re on equal ground again.”

  Alan put his hand up to his forehead, trying to press worry lines away. “And you didn’t think of mentioning any of this reasoning to us? You didn’t think that taking a gun from Gerald Lynch was worth a mention?”

  “A funny thing happens when you don’t trust people with your plans, Alan,” Mae said distantly. “They don’t trust you with theirs, either. If you came to me for help, I would do anything I could to help you. If it came down to it, I would die for you. But I have absolutely no obligation to be honest with you. We both know that.”

  “Yeah,” Alan said, sounding quieter suddenly, even though his voice had not been loud before. “We do. I’m sorry, Mae.”

  “You just wanted to make sure I knew what I was doing,” Mae said dryly. “Well. I mostly sort of do. Trust me.”

  Alan said, “I try.”

  He got up from the sofa, moving awkwardly enough that Sin could see how tired he was. Of course, he would have been the one to put the children to bed when they got home.

  She slipped silently backward into the shadows, letting him go to his bedroom without having to deal with yet another person he felt he was duty bound to help out.

  When the door of Alan’s bedroom swung gently shut, Sin stepped back into the living room.

  Mae and Nick both had their backs to her. Mae had turned her chair slightly, and Nick had come to sit at the foot of her chair, as she’d seen Nick sit at the foot of Jamie’s and Alan’s. It seemed to be a thing with him.

  “I’d ask how you’re feeling,” Nick said. “Except I’m scared you might tell me. And terrified you might cry.”

  “I’m not going to cry.”

  “I’m overcome with relief.”

  Mae took off her chandelier earrings, which she placed in a glittering heap on the arm of her chair. She kicked off her high heels and curled up in the chair, as if Nick’s cool voice was a comfort to her, as if she could relax now.

  So nobody was going to be making any plans tonight. Like Sin, nobody had the faintest idea what to do next, and everyone was tired.

  “I’m okay,” Mae told Nick. “I didn’t like doing it. I thought maybe I would, this time, but I’m never going to like doing it. And that’s sort of a relief. Because if I hated it, even this time when I thought I wanted revenge, I’m always going to hate it. And that will make me look for other ways to get things done.”

  “The killing way usually works for me,” said Nick.

  “Because it’s the easy way,” Mae said. “And it gets easier every time you do it, which is the scariest part. I’m not going to plan an assassination again. But I felt like this had to be done. I learned from it, and I wanted it to be me who did it.”

  Nick did not respond, which Sin personally would not have found consoling at all.

  “Do you remember,” Mae asked, “what you said to me, the first time I killed someone?”

  “Ah, the sweet rose-colored memories of our youth,” Nick drawled. “Good times, good times.”

  Mae snickered. There was another long silence.

  “Well done,” Nick said eventually.

  Mae leaned her head back against her chair. “Thanks.”

  Well, whatever worked for Mae. Sin went to lie down and hold her sister for a little longer. She had Lydie back safe. That was the only bright spot of her night so far.

  Nick’s bed was not made for three. Sin, balanced on the edge and determined not to disturb Lydie or Toby, couldn’t manage more than an uneasy doze that was broken by hearing voices in the hall. Specifically, Alan’s voice.

  “Where are you going, Nick?”

  “My new master gave a whistle,” Nick answered curtly.

  Sin got up quietly and walked to the door, opening it in time to see Alan’s stricken face.

  Mae grabbed Nick’s wrist, and Sin noticed that Mae looked pretty stricken as well.

  Sin thought for a bitter moment that Mae didn’t need to be so very upset, not when she’d got her revenge, got the pearl and thus got the Market, not when Alan thought she was so perfect.

  “Take care of Jamie. No matter what he’s done. Please.”

  “Do I have a choice?” Nick asked. “Personally, I was considering tipping him over the side of the boat and hoping there was a lost shark in the water below.”

  “Nick, swear to me.”

  Nick backed away from the stark, desperate emotion on Mae’s face. She didn’t let go of his wrist, though, keeping her gaze fixed on him as if she could hypnotize him into doing her will through sheer persistence.

  “I swear,” Nick said abruptly, and Mae let go.

  Nick went for the door and slammed it after him.

  Mae’s determinedly set shoulders slumped a little. “I’d better get home. Can I borrow a jacket? I left my coat with the magicians.”

  “Sure,” Alan said gently, and ushered her into his room, presumably to select one.

  The door slamming had made too much noise. Sin spun at the sound of stirring from the bed and saw Lydie, her hair rumpled and her eyes unfocused.

  “Hey, baby girl,” Sin whispered, going over to the bed and sitting on the edge so she could ease Lydie back against the pillows. “Hey.”

  “Sin,” Lydie murmured. “I’m sorry.”

  Sin tucked Lydie’s hair behind her ear. “None of this was your fault.”

  “None of it was your fault either,” Lydie whispered back.

  “Yeah, I know,” Sin said, and kept stroking her hair. She spoke clearly, so Lydie would understand, so that she would know Sin could never resent her for any of this. “And I’m not sorry. Here we are together, right? I’m not sorry about anything. It could’ve been much worse.”

  A hot drink was in order, Sin thought once Lydie was asleep again. She went into the kitchen and found Alan sitting at the table. The only illumination the room offered was the moon shining through the skylight.

  “Coffee?” she asked.

  He glanced up at her and smiled. It was a really lousy effort. “Yeah.”

  Sin turned on the kettle and occupied herself getting cups and going on an epic teaspoon quest. For once Alan seemed to have nothing to say, no enthusiastic digression about books or questions about her feelings.

  Sin had no idea what to say either. She made the coffee, the chiming of the teaspoon in their cups the only sound in that dark kitchen.

  “Here,” she said, offering the cup over his shoulder.

  This time when he glanced up at her, he didn’t even try to smile. He looked so lost that Sin moved instinctively, putting his cup down on the table and touching his hair.

  Alan went very still, as if he was stunned that anyone might reach out and comfort him. Then he shuddered, a fraction of the tension going out of his shoulders, and pressed his face hard against the inside of her wrist.

  It lasted for only a moment, and then he lifted his head, pulling away. Sin turned to the counter and picked up her own cup of coffee.

  She was making for the door when she heard the sound of the chair being pushed back.

  “Cynthia,” Alan said.

  Apparently Sin was a gl
utton for punishment, because she turned around. They stood together, Alan leaning against the kitchen wall, and Sin might really have to speak to someone about these masochistic urges, because she found herself taking the one step closer necessary to touch him.

  Alan put his arm around her neck immediately, drawing her in. Sin put her head down, resting her forehead against his collarbone to avoid any further acts of madness. He smelled familiar and comforting, like steel and gun oil. He stroked her knotted hair.

  “I was really worried about you,” Alan whispered in her ear.

  Sin was startled enough to look up. It was a terrible mistake. Alan was very close, glasses catching glints of silver in the moonlight, eyes troubled behind them. It would be easy to pull his head down an inch closer.

  “Yeah?” Sin asked roughly.

  She held her body taut. She could control it: She was a dancer. She wasn’t going to shake, and she was not going to make a fool of herself again.

  Alan’s hand stroking her hair went still. His fingers curled around the nape of her neck. He closed his eyes and kissed her.

  At the first touch of his mouth Sin dropped her coffee cup, hearing it break and not caring, and slid both her arms around his neck. He kissed her and kissed her again, mouth warm, curls sliding through her fingers, body pressed against hers. She kept losing track of her hands, but she knew where his were, one at the small of her back keeping her close. She was so happy, warm all at once and filled with delight, and he kissed her soft and deep and slow, then pressed a light kiss on the side of her smile.

  They stumbled into the kitchen table.

  “Oh my God, are you all right?” Sin asked, breaking the kiss. Alan nodded, and Sin slid onto the table to eliminate that problem and drew him back by her grip on his shirt. “Thank God for that,” she murmured, and kissed him again.

  “Wait,” Alan said, and tried to step back.

  This proved impossible when Sin did not let go of his shirt.

  Alan looked down at her and said, “I’m sorry.”

  “That’s all right,” Sin said patiently. “I think I can be persuaded to forgive you if you come back here right now.”

  “No,” Alan told her. “I’m sorry. I’m—I’m really sorry. I apologize. That was very wrong of me.”