“You are not going to lay one hand on Hansa, do you hear me?”
On his back on the floor, Cupric started to laugh. “You know I wouldn’t damage him. He’s your bond. I’ve felt that link before, or what it becomes after only two boons, and it isn’t pretty.”
“I know your definition of ‘damage,’” Umber pointed out, for the second time managing to find his feet. Now if only he could find his pants. “Stay away from Hansa.” He had to step over Cupric to move toward the door; he was surprised Cupric didn’t stop him, but tried not to let it show. “If you hurt him, or you take advantage of him—”
“You’ll . . . what, exactly?” Cupric purred, still on the floor. “Disappear for a decade to punish me? Change your name so I can’t summon you by blood? Tell me, during those years when the second boon still twined us, would you have come to my defense if I had been captured by the Quin? Or would you have sat back and let them brand and execute me, even if it killed you, too?”
Umber crossed his arms, fighting the sudden chill that passed through him. “I don’t know,” he admitted. He found his pants under one of the wayward pillows and tugged them on. “Now excuse me, I need to speak to the Terre.”
The bedroom was directly off the kitchen, indicating that this was probably one of the smaller tenant houses. Umber couldn’t remember getting there from Verte’s parlor.
He had to speak to Verte, and then get back to his home—to Hansa, Cadmia, and Alizarin. If Verte couldn’t break the bond right away, Umber needed to make sure Hansa was all right. If the Terre could, well, then it would all depend on how Hansa reacted.
He paused at the front door, blinking against the afternoon sunlight. It was impossible to judge if this was the same day he had arrived, or the next.
Cupric caught up to him and wrapped his arms around Umber’s waist. “Terre Verte is busy,” he said. “He won’t be inclined to do you favors if you interrupt him.”
“Then I’ll come back tomorrow.”
Umber tried to pull out of Cupric’s arms, but they only tightened around him. “Umber, I don’t know what it is about Hansa that has put you into this panic to get rid of the bond. Not that I’m objecting—it all works out fine for me—but maybe you should settle down. Hansa will be fine for one night without you. And if the Terre can’t help you and you end up keeping the bond, Hansa is going to need to learn the limits of his independence anyway.”
“He doesn’t need to learn independence by my abandoning him for another man.”
Cupric circled Umber, never letting his hands leave Umber’s waist as he moved in front of him until Umber’s back was to the doorway and Cupric was between him and the rest of the world.
“Are you in love with him?” Umber started to object to the question, but Cupric cut him off. “I’m serious. Obviously it’s natural to feel some affection. You’re bonded to him, after all. But we’re talking about Hansa Viridian. Even before you made him Indathrone’s darling, he was a Quin guard. You’re the one who warned me countless times about the consequences of the third bond, so listen to your own warnings:
“You’re not talking about ‘abandoning’ him for ‘another man.’ He’s your bond. Not your husband. And if you keep coddling him, he’s never going to learn the difference. He’ll continue to be hurt every time he’s faced with a reminder that you aren’t in love with him.”
Umber shook his head. Cupric was probably right, but damn it, Umber did care for Hansa. Maybe that was the bond or maybe it wasn’t, but the emotion was still there and he couldn’t just rest easy and ignore it.
“Hansa’s bright,” Cupric said. “You’ll confuse him if you keep sending him mixed signals, but as long as you’re consistent, he will be all right. He settled down about me and my relationship with you fast enough.”
Too fast for Umber’s tastes, maybe.
That was a painfully selfish thought.
“And what is my relationship to you?” Umber snapped. “What in the Abyss am I to you, or you to me? I haven’t seen you in ten years, and for good reason.”
Cupric gave a half smile. “Well. We’ll see what we are. But I know what we used to be.” He leaned forward, pulling Umber closer. “I used to be your everything.”
Chapter 17
Hansa
Hansa took a few minutes to leave Umber’s horse in the public stable at the edge of the city and to tidy both his clothing and the veils on his power, then crossed the city and the central plaza with determined strides, as if there were nothing suspicious about his approaching the Quinacridone Compound in the middle of a winter night. The brisk pace kept him warm, as did his pounding heart and the effort it took to hold his veil in place when it felt like every frigid burst of wind tore at it.
As he reached the Quinacridone Compound, the building that had been his aspiration and then like a second home, the two guards at front snapped to attention and one called, “State your—Hansa! Welcome back, sir.” Neither guard on the door asked where he had been, which meant Poll had done his job spreading rumors. One did fall into step behind him as he crossed the threshold, and started updating him in a swift murmur. “Glad to have you back. Company Four is still short several men, including the captainship. You’re first in line for the position, but with you on leave . . .” He trailed off with everything but a conspiratorial wink, as if he “knew” Hansa’s leave was a cover for the covert work he had been doing for Indathrone. “Are you back now?”
That question, heavy in so many ways, made Hansa hesitate. He had to clear his throat to say, “Yes, I’m back. And I will accept the captainship if the offer is still in place. First, though, I have urgent business with President Indathrone.”
“I—I’m sorry, sir,” the guard replied. “He is still away on his own business. Or perhaps it is related. Do you know anything about—”
Hansa gave him a look learned from Umber, and the other guard murmured, “Of course. It’s need-to-know, I understand. But he is still unavailable.”
Verte’s spelled note must still be working, then. Hansa had kept his initial words vague and planned appropriate follow-ups for multiple situations, depending on whether or not the President’s disappearance had triggered alarm. “If he hasn’t returned yet, he should have left me instructions,” Hansa explained. “If General Norseth is available, he can escort me while I look.”
The general wouldn’t be available, not at this hour of night. Hansa had deliberately put the low-ranked soldier in a position of needing to decide whether he wanted to wake the general and call him in, delaying Hansa’s supposedly urgent mission for the President in the meantime.
The soldier cleared his throat. “That isn’t necessary, sir. I will inform Captain Montag that you are back, though, and that you plan to take charge of Company Four. He was put in charge temporarily until the ranks were filled, so you will want to talk to him about what new recruits he has assigned and what other men he had in mind.”
“Good idea.”
The other guard left him alone, and Hansa finally opened the door into the familiar hallway. He closed it behind himself, then slumped against it as a wave of dizziness hit him. He was exhausted physically, mentally, and magically, and didn’t entirely trust that his veils were as tight as they should be; he could only hope the hour would help him avoid the sighted guards left in the unit.
As he caught his breath, he realized something: he didn’t feel guilty.
He had expected to feel guilty, or at least awkward, returning as the enemy and a spy to a place that had held his loyalty, but he didn’t. The lies had come easily to him, spoken to a soldier from another company whose name Hansa didn’t even know.
Thankfully, Indathrone valued his solitude and had no guards outside his private rooms, including his personal library. Hansa stepped inside, rubbing his hands over the goose bumps that rose on his arms as he did so. He was no necromancer, and thankful for that. Was Indathrone’s spirit still here?
The manuscript Cupric wanted was something
older than Citizen’s Initiative One-Twenty-Six, important enough that Terre Verte would need it, and confidential. There were leather-bound volumes around the room, varying in subject from agriculture to the distant land of Silmat. There was also one case. The door included a panel of heavy, ancient glass with a wire core. The sturdy wooden frame was locked.
That looked promising. If Indathrone had been carrying the key with him, it was long gone, but maybe somewhere else around here . . . No, he didn’t have time to search.
He took the knife Umber had given him from its sheath, wondering if he could jimmy the lock in any way that would be remotely subtle if someone looked at it.
An idea came to him, unpleasant but the most likely recourse. Instead of using the knife to try to force the lock, he drew blood from the fingertips of his right hand, recalling Umber’s instruction: Draw power. Then it’s just a matter of directing your will.
Hansa tried to avoid the thought, this is never going to work, as he touched the blood to the outside of the lock, and instead thought as clearly as he could, Open!
For a moment, he could sense the iron in the lock, and then the snick the bolt made as it turned made him jump. He pulled the glass door open. As he retrieved the two manuscripts within, he noted the cuts on his fingers had already healed, the blood done with its work.
The smaller of the two books, set on top, was bound in soft leather, with its title inlaid in silver. It was no more than twenty or thirty pages, and the title emblazed on the cover was, Citizen’s Initiative One-Twenty-Six, recorded by Dahlia Indathrone this day, 2.29, year Twenty-One of the New Reckoning.
Hansa was familiar with New Reckoning, which was used after Kavet had discarded its ancient calendar but before they had switched over to the Realms calendar used by most of the world. The New Reckoning calendar was counted from the day Kavet had elected its first President, Dahlia Indathrone, which meant One-Twenty-Six had been passed twenty-one years after that time.
Hansa leaned closer, fascinated by the revered manuscript, even though within its pages were the laws that would swiftly sentence him to death. This had to be the original document, written by Dahlia Indathrone herself.
He double-and triple-checked to make sure there was no blood left on his hands before he lifted it carefully to look at the larger manuscript beneath. This one was more simply bound, and its title was inked into place on its first heavy page in a hand that looked like it had shaken slightly: Recorded by Henna of the Naphthol, Madder of the Naphthol, Ginger Cremnitz of the Quinacridone, and Dahlia Indathrone President of the Council. Approved by majority vote, 1547:413, day 8.14, year 1247.
That calendar had to be Kavet’s ancient reckoning, which meant this tome had been recorded before One-Twenty-Six had passed. Judging by how it was locked away, it was either like the original manuscript of One-Twenty-Six—very precious—or else very dangerous. In short, probably exactly what Terre Verte was looking for.
Hansa turned the first page with a trembling hand.
In order to protect the populace of Kavet from the rising threat, the sorcerers of the Napthol Order have helped draft this initiative, which after much debate within the council is in final form separated into one-hundred and twenty-six provisos.
Sorcerers of the Napthol Order?
And two of them had been behind writing this.
He didn’t have the time to read it here. Instead, he tucked the bulky manuscript inside his vest, where it would be hidden well enough to pass a casual inspection. He planned to read every word before he handed it over to Verte. Knowledge was power.
Power is also power, he thought cynically, as he stumbled, dizzy, on the last stair back to the main hall. The guard who had spoken to him earlier caught his arm to steady him. “Are you all right?”
Hansa nodded, remembering the story that had brought him here. “I’ve been living rough the last few weeks. Must have worn myself out.” As a precaution, he added, “His Eminence seems to be out. I’ll return first thing tomorrow.”
Such bullshit, but Hansa knew he would have fallen for it, weeks ago before this all began. The other guard nodded, but then Hansa weaved again and the guard said, “Perhaps you should stay here tonight, sir? Or see one of the Sisters of Napthol? You don’t look well, if you’ll pardon my saying it.”
Sister of Napthol. Yes, that would be good. He would never make it back to Umber’s home in this condition, but Cadmia had said she would return to the Cobalt Hall. She could help him.
“I’ve been working with Cadmia Paynes,” Hansa said. “Would you—”
“I’ll see she’s summoned,” the guard said, hooking an arm matter-of-factly around Hansa’s waist to help him stagger across the plaza. Once at the Cobalt Hall, Hansa thought the guard said something, but by then his awareness of the mortal world had started to blur and dangerous dreams had taken over.
Around him were all the sounds of the Abyss: the hiss of claws over stone, the crackle of fire, and the noises of the hunt. He was wrapped in fur, kept warm by flame and his lover’s arms. Claws scraped gently down his back and he sighed.
“You shouldn’t struggle that way,” the Abyssi murmured. “You’ll damage yourself.”
“I’m impatient,” he said.
He stared at the walls of his room . . . his prison. The walls undulated and rippled like the wind-swept surface of a lake, but in colors that would never have been found in the nature of that world. Beautiful colors, for which he had no name.
They burned and screamed if touched.
“I want to hunt.” He reached out, but didn’t quite press his hand to the trembling wall.
The Abyssi sighed and pulled his pet away from the minor rift. “You can barely walk,” the Abyssi said. “You won’t survive outside.”
He sat down, his limbs awkward and ungainly. His skin was nearly white, with barely a breath of fur. His teeth and nails were short, and he had no tail, no horns, no scales or spines. A few hours before, he had put those facts together and cried when he realized what they all meant. He had been born in the crystal caves, like the cannibalistic baby Abyssi, but he wasn’t one of them.
The Abyssi pulled its pet closer, until the human rubbed his cheek against silky black fur, then ran his hands through it as arms and tails wrapped around him to hold him close. He couldn’t purr, either; he would have, if he could.
The Abyssi tasted like fire and smoke. It used a claw to make a short cut on the underside of its jaw, where the fur was thin, and the human stretched up, rising onto his toes, in order to meet his lips to the small wound and drink. The blood met a constant, aching need.
The same need, nearly, that was hinted at by the slide of black fur along his body, pulling a moan from his throat so that, once he had stopped drinking, he rubbed his cheek along the Abyssi’s chest.
Chapter 18
Cadmia
“Thank you for agreeing to see me,” Cadmia said, as Rose settled into a chair nearby and helped herself to one of the lemon cakes that had been set out for this meeting. Cadmia had nibbled on one politely earlier, but hoped to have something more substantial for dinner once this was done.
Rose Atrament had been born the second daughter of the premier Kavetan merchant family. Had she wanted, she would have had at least one merchant ship from the family fleet as part of her dowry. Instead she had decided to join the Order of Napthol. She had studied everything she could about the other realms and the creatures and sorcerers who associated with it, then decided that path was also too restrictive for her. For a while she had remained unaffiliated; she used the money she had left before her parents cut off her allowance to buy an accessory shop, which continued to make her a comfortable income despite frequent raids by the 126 to make sure she didn’t have any sorcery paraphernalia.
These days, she was affiliated with the Order of A’hknet. Everyone knew sorcery still fascinated her, but she didn’t practice it herself and was careful to avoid any overtly illegal actions, so her family ties and her background w
ith the Order of Napthol had been able to protect her from lengthy prison sentences.
All that meant she could make a powerful ally—if Cadmia could convince her to risk it.
The middle-aged woman’s expression remained impassive, the only hint of her thoughts a slight deepening of the faint wrinkles in the tawny brown skin next to her mouth.
“I know how you helped Hansa,” Cadmia continued, when Rose sipped at her tea but said nothing. When Hansa was wrongly imprisoned, Rose was the one who had taught him about the spawn and told him how to summon Umber to demand a second boon.
“I did nothing,” Rose answered calmly. “I shared some idle speculation about a species most people believe to be mythical. If he did anything with that information, it has nothing to do with me.” Cadmia knew that Rose had seen Hansa summon Umber, had seen his first meeting with the spawn, and had explained how the boons and bonds worked. Black brows drawing together, Rose added, “You, on the other hand, gave the testimony that put him in that cell in the first place.”
Cadmia needed to take a risk, or else Rose surely never would. “I made a mistake,” she admitted.
“You believe he’s innocent now?” Rose queried, sounding almost bored.
“I believe,” Cadmia said carefully, “that guilty and innocent do not mean the things I thought they meant.” She drew a deep breath, trying to decide the best way to broach the subject she needed to discuss. If anyone would know about sorcery in pre-Quin Kavet, it was Rose. She also had contacts all through the city, most likely including some who would have told her about Verte’s meeting.
Before Cadmia could speak, a rapid knock on the door interrupted, followed by a young man’s voice calling, “Sister Paynes, I am very sorry to interrupt, but you are needed urgently.” Cadmia opened the door to find a novice, face flushed with anxiety or exertion, and eyes like saucers. He explained in a whisper that probably wasn’t soft enough to keep his words from Rose’s ears, “One of the One-Twenty-Six just carried Hansa Viridian to our door. He said he needed to see you, but now he’s unconscious. I had him put him in the hospital wing, and summoned a doctor. Do you think it’s sorcery, though? He’s the one that foiled that big mancer plot back at the start of winter, isn’t—”