A woman stood there. The wheels in Cas’s wagon stuttered to a stop. It wasn’t unheard of for the colonel to keep female company—though he didn’t usually bring women back to the fort—but this woman appeared more regal than he usually went for. Oh, she was a beauty, with striking pale blue eyes and rich thick black hair held back from her face with combs, but she looked like someone who belonged in an upscale parlor rather than the dingy taverns Zirkander favored.
Tolemek’s warning, the one Cas had dismissed with nothing more than a derisive snort, rushed to the forefront of her mind. This was not some sorceress who was—she refused to use the world controlling—influencing the colonel, was she? Surely sorceresses were old and gray with bent backs and canes. Or staffs. Or brooms. No, that was witches. Seven gods, this was superstitious nonsense. She was gaping at some poor woman in stockings who was being dusted with snowflakes blowing through the doorway. Did Cas even have the right house?
“Uh.” She glanced past the woman’s shoulder—she was taller than Cas, but who wasn’t?—toward the combination kitchen, dining, living room. Yes, those were the colonel’s pictures on the wall, a mix of fliers that had been his over the years and of pilots he had served with, along with a portrait of his world-exploring father standing arm-in-arm with his mother. That was definitely his tacky yellow-and-green plaid couch, a hand-me-down he had supposedly received from a now-deceased commanding officer and that he refused to part with—most of the pilots in the squadron were convinced he secretly adored it, or perhaps adored the appalled looks people had when they saw it. “Is, uhm, Colonel Zirkander here?”
The woman had been silently studying Cas even as she was studying the woman—and the couch—and said, “He’s at a special meeting at the airbase. About you, I believe.”
That made Cas’s attention lurch back to the woman with the speed of a bullet. “What?” How could this woman possibly know who she was?
Because she was a sorceress and omnipotent...
Cas shook her head, suddenly wishing Tolemek were at her back with his bag full of concoctions.
“Lieutenant Ahn, isn’t it?” The woman’s voice was pleasant enough, melodious even, if oddly accented. Either way, it didn’t make Cas feel any less uneasy. “He was stomping around, muttering and cursing all afternoon, waiting for a response from his commanders. His Captain Haksor thought he recognized you on a pirate outpost, and he’s been trying to get permission to take his men back out. I believe this meeting might be about attempting to recruit people willing to go out whether permission has been granted or not. He was too agitated to unpack the details for me before taking off again.” She smiled—fondly?
Cas pushed her hand through her hair. “I had wondered if anyone saw... I’m sorry, who are you exactly?” She hadn’t been gone that long, and it seemed strange that the colonel had gone from not being involved with any women—the squadron gossip chain was quite up-to-date and accurate when it came to the personal affairs of its officers—to having one live with him in a few short weeks. Or... how long had he been back from his post in the mountains anyway?
“Sardelle.” The woman brushed snowflakes out of her hair, stepped aside, and gestured toward the living area. “Would you like to come in? You seem agitated yourself.”
“That’s not a strong enough word. But, no. I have to find him. If he’s—” Cas’s mouth tumbled open. What if the colonel, thinking he needed to fly off to look for her, led the squadron out this very night and wasn’t here for the pirate attack? The bong-bong-bongs drifting up from the harbor hadn’t elevated to a more demanding alarm, but they hadn’t gone away, either. “I haven’t reported in anywhere yet. I have to find him. Or General Ort.”
She backed up a step, debating between a polite goodbye and simply racing down the street to the headquarters building, but bumped into someone.
“I’d like to come in,” Tolemek said. His expression was impossible to read, but his eyes had that determination he had accused her of. And maybe something of a lupine fierceness as well.
“Uhm, Sardelle,” Cas said, feeling ridiculous doing introductions when she had barely met the woman herself. “This is Tolemek, the pirate who helped me escape.”
“Pirate?” Sardelle’s brows rose in mild curiosity, not the alarm one might expect from the announcement.
“He’s retired now,” Cas said, “though he hasn’t turned in his garish wardrobe yet.” She patted Tolemek’s chest—the hide vest and trousers weren’t so bad, since they displayed his physical attributes nicely, but the shark-tooth necklace and barbed-metal wrist bracers had to go.
Tolemek was keeping his eyes on the woman—maybe he was thinking of sorceresses too?—but he murmured, “Big talk from someone wearing a potato sack,” and swatted her on the butt.
At first, the familiarity surprised her, but she had kissed him, not twenty minutes ago. He must have considered that an invitation to engage in other sorts of intimate exchanges. After a brief consideration, Cas decided she liked that and gave him a little grin. Of course, she would like it more after she reported in, and the world returned to normal.
“I have to go,” she said. “Are you sure you want to stay here? Or that her invitation applies to you?”
Sardelle’s face was hard to read. She wasn’t armed, wearing only an attractive blue dress with a braided cord for a belt—no place to tuck knives or guns there—but she didn’t appear alarmed by Tolemek’s pirate garb—or the pistols holstered at his waist. Her arm was still out, extended toward the living area, and she tilted her head in that direction now too.
“Come in, Mister Tolemek. I don’t imagine it’s safe for you on the streets of this installation.”
No, even if he weren’t wearing such dubious clothing, with that Cofah bronze skin, he was clearly not an Iskandian soldier.
“Be careful,” Cas whispered after him when he started inside.
He looked over his shoulder and nodded gravely to her. Cas had no choice but to leave him, but as the door shut and she ran back down the street, she wondered if she was making a mistake.
* * *
Tolemek’s senses tingled. He was uneasy, yes, but there was more to it than that. It was almost as if he could feel... magic. Ridiculous since, aside from his sister, he had never been around anyone with otherworldly power, at least not to his knowledge, and his sister didn’t make his nerves jangle like this. When the front door thumped shut, he almost jumped over the awful couch, so he could spin around, putting it between himself and the woman. The sorcereress. His hunches might not be scientific, but he trusted them.
The woman—Sardelle, wasn’t it?—leaned against the wall. She wasn’t armed, and she wasn’t leering at him with a threat on her lips, but he nonetheless felt like he had walked into the dragon’s lair unarmed.
“What brings you to Ridge’s doorstep, Cofah pirate?” Sardelle asked, her eyes narrowed. Her tone might not be threatening, but it wasn’t friendly, either.
Ridge—that was Zirkander’s first name, right? Ridgewalker? Something like that.
“Originally, I’d thought to kill him.” It might not have been the brightest thing he could have said, but he wasn’t going to admit that he was here looking for her—or her sword. “He ruined my career in the army. I was in command of an infantry company defending an airship. He and his pilots destroyed it and almost everyone on it.”
“Through chicanery or in honorable combat?” she asked, though the way she crossed her arms over her chest and gave him a frank stare suggested she knew the answer. Odd, he hadn’t expected her to defend Zirkander. If she was truly controlling him for some ulterior motive, wouldn’t she see him as little more than a pawn?
“I’m not sure I’d call your dragon fliers all that honorable when they zero in on airships,” Tolemek said.
“Airships that have a long history of dropping bombs on our people.”
“Our?”
It was a simple question, but she didn’t respond right away. “Do I not look Isk
andian?”
“It’s not what you look like that’s the issue. You feel...” Tolemek stopped himself before he could reveal information he should keep to himself. She would be warier if she knew he knew what she was. Better to have her think he was just a big dumb pirate.
“Interesting,” she said and studied him from head to toe.
Too late. He had hinted at too much. Was she even now reading his thoughts? The sorcerers of old had been able to do that, but would some modern version be as strong? The histories said all of the major lines had been wiped out and that there were none left with substantial power, or even the faculty to teach. Unless one could find a soulblade.
But if she wasn’t that strong, how had she defeated a jungle shaman? Those people, on their isolated and distant continent, had survived the purge of three centuries past, and were rumored to have power that nearly matched that of the old Iskandian sorcerers.
“Ridge was your original reason for coming, you say,” Sardelle said. “What is your current reason for being here?”
Tolemek faced a wood stove in the corner of the room, as if he were deep in thought, though he only wanted his back to hide the fact that he was reaching into his bag. “Mostly... Cas. Lieutenant Ahn.” He bypassed one of his leather spheres—that would affect him as well as her, not to mention starting a fight if it didn’t work—and grasped a vial of his truth serum. He had no idea how he might convince her to drink it—did Iskandian sorceresses enjoy inviting Cofah pirates for wine?—but it seemed a far more viable way to get the answers he wanted than holding a knife to her throat. “We escaped from a Cofah prison together. I’ve come to care about her. I wanted to make sure she made it home safely.”
“A feat that could have been accomplished by leaving her at the dock,” Sardelle said. “You risked a lot to walk her to her door. And not even her door, at that. I believe she lives in the barracks.”
Tolemek distracted himself by wondering if her room was still there or if her people, believing her dead, would have sent her things back to her family. It would be a shame if she had to keep wearing that canvas smock around.
Focus.
“I did risk a lot,” he agreed, facing the woman again. She hadn’t moved from the wall. “I heard an interesting story on the way back here, and I wished to check on the details.” He gestured toward the little kitchen. “Perhaps we could discuss it over a glass of wine.”
“And poison?” Sardelle arched a single brow.
Tolemek froze. Apparently he hadn’t been as subtle as he had thought. This whole situation had him flustered. He had planned to stalk her down and speak with her. Why hadn’t he prepared himself better?
Because it was Zirkander he had expected to run into here, not his sorceress.
“Poison?” he said, mouth dry. “No. If I meant to kill you, I would shoot you.”
“You could try.” Those pale blue eyes had taken on the temperature of ice.
Yes, he had found his sorceress. And what was he going to do about it? He supposed he could try to force the truth serum down her throat. But she looked confident about responding to a physical threat. Maybe she would simply answer his questions. No, she probably wouldn’t, not when magic was so feared on this continent. It was hard to believe she was here, on an Iskandian military base.
Oh.
“They don’t know you’re here, do they?” Tolemek asked. “Or maybe they’ve seen you, but they don’t know what you are.”
Some of the confidence faded from the woman’s face. Bull’s-eye. She lifted her chin. “Somehow I doubt you, pirate, are going to be the one to tell them anything. Your word can’t be any more trusted here than mine.”
“How about I just tell him?” Tolemek waved toward the inside of the cottage to suggest Zirkander. “Or have Cas do it. He has no reason to trust me, but he’ll trust her.”
Sardelle’s eyebrow twitched upward. “Ridge knows.”
Tolemek rocked back on his heels. He knew some sorceress was controlling him? And he wasn’t moving the world to try and stop that? He was just accepting the fact and letting her stay in his house too?
She’s not controlling him, genius. She’s sleeping with him.
Already on his heels, Tolemek stumbled backward, grabbing the wall for support when the voice sounded in his head. Yes, that had been in his head. And, dearest gods and demons, it hadn’t even been her, had it?
“Who are—who was that?” he rasped, half to Sardelle and half to the empty room.
Sardelle didn’t respond as he had expected. She dropped her face into her hand, shook her head, and groaned something that sounded like, “Jaxi.”
Sardelle is too polite to root around in your thoughts. I’m not. Get to the point here and leave her alone. Trouble’s coming, thanks to you. A lot of it.
Tolemek sensed the impatience of the other... voice, but he couldn’t help but blurt, “Who are you?”
A sigh whispered through his thoughts. If you must respond to me—and let me stress how optional that is—you can think the words. No need to look like an idiot for talking to yourself.
By now Sardelle had lifted her head, but she was gazing out the window at something. At least that was the impression she gave; the shutters were still closed.
Tolemek silently repeated, Who are you?
Jaxi.
Jaxi?
I’m not giving you any more of my name. Not that you’d know what to do with it.
“We need to leave,” Sardelle said, a hint of agitation—or maybe irritation—in her voice for the first time. “When you knocked out the guards, you left the way open for other unsavory persons to sneak onto the base.”
She gave him a cool stare, but not a long one. She was busy striding into the little bedroom and, judging by the slamming of drawers and cabinets, packing. Tolemek turned out the lamp near the window and peeked through the gap between the shutters. The now-heavy snow made it tough to see farther than the street. If there were people out there, they weren’t within sight yet. His heart clenched at the thought of Cas taking her flier up in this weather.
Huh. You do care about the girl.
Tolemek jumped, blurting, “Blind hedgehogs and bat spit.”
“Does that pass for a curse in Cofahre?” Sardelle strode out of the bedroom carrying a wooden box tucked under her arm. She had also donned a thick cloak, fur-lined boots, and a weapons belt with a sword hanging in a decorative scabbard.
“In the presence of a lady, yes.” Tolemek, realizing he had been clutching at his heart, lowered his hand.
Ladies, corrected the voice in his head.
It was only then, when he saw the sword on Sardelle’s hip, that he realized who must be talking to him. He wasn’t sure whether to be honored or terrified.
Both.
“Back door,” Sardelle said. “Nobody’s watching it yet.”
“You’re inviting me to come with you?” Tolemek asked.
She gave him a long look over her shoulder. “I’m inviting you to let me keep an eye on you. Regardless, you’re not staying here to paw over Ridge’s belongings. Or mine.”
Also, she booby-trapped the house. There was a smile in the voice, as if the sword wanted him to stay here and trigger them.
Tolemek eased around the dining table and picked his way toward the back door, walking gingerly as he wondered what magical booby traps might look like.
A tea kettle sitting on the cast-iron stove blatted a puff of steam. He kept himself from jumping again, though he was fairly certain there wasn’t a fire stoked under the burners.
“I think your sword is teasing me,” he whispered, stepping past Sardelle, who had paused to hold open the door for him. A half inch of fresh powder coated the neatly manicured lawn behind the cottage.
“Consider yourself lucky.” Sardelle shut the door and locked it—without using a key. She simply waved her hand. “For a moment, I thought she was going to stop your heart, leaving me with the problem of explaining a mysteriously dead pirate o
n the living room rug.”
Tolemek opened his mouth, but nothing came out. What was one supposed to say to that?
“I’m not quite caught up on who you are yet,” Sardelle said, walking through the snow behind the cottage and slipping over to the backyard of the next house instead of using the pathway, “but she assured me Ridge would be pleased to have your head stuffed and mounted on his wall.” She glanced at his face, or maybe his long ropes of hair. “I’d find that disturbing decor myself.”
“You don’t know who I am, but... your sword does?” Tolemek reminded himself that he had wanted this meeting. It just wasn’t going at all how he had imagined.
“She doesn’t need to sleep, so she has a lot more time on her hands to read the tabloids.”
Please, I only deign to read scholarly periodicals and peer-reviewed journals.
They reached the last house on the block, and Sardelle angled toward an oak that had probably been there since the city was founded. Its thick, bare branches offered some protection from the snow, though the wind was picking up, swirling the flakes sideways as well as down.
“Do you hear what she says when she’s talking in my head?” Tolemek asked.
Sardelle stopped behind the trunk and looked back toward Zirkander’s house. “I make it a point to stay out of other people’s conversations.”
That hadn’t been a no, he noted.
“They just broke the lock on the front door,” Sardelle said. “Eight of them. Most went inside to search for whatever it is you people are searching for.” She looked at him. An invitation to share?
“You’re sure they’re my people?”
“They share your suspect dress code.”
Tolemek put a hand on the trunk of the tree and squinted into the snow, wishing he could see what she saw. Eight people. That was more than they’d had on the freighter. So, whoever was out there, it wasn’t Goroth. But weren’t all the other pirates supposed to be in the air, waiting to attack? Someone wasn’t going along with the script.
A yelp of pain drifted across the yards, someone crying out from the house.