Her mouth snapped shut and she scowled. He shook his head, silently laughing at her. She had the keen sense that he could see right through her—that he knew her better than she could ever know him.
“Arrogant bastard,” she muttered, following him into the woods.
CHAPTER 5
Caprion met them on the banks of the river. Sora noticed that he and Crash staunchly avoided looking at each other. She frowned; those two were usually more than willing to trade blows.
The Harpy transported them back to the Dawn Seeker, where the crew had assembled to greet them. Captain Silas listened grimly to the news of his two missing crewmen, then stalked off, grumbling about a wasted day of travel. The rest of the crew eagerly flocked around Ferran, offering him a tankard of cold ale in return for the full story. They wanted to know what had happened to the two crewmen and details about the village.
“I would tell you,” Ferran replied, holding up his hands. “But I need to get back to my skiff. Can’t just leave her behind.”
“Ach! I’ll watch over her,” a short Dracian offered eagerly. “Just tell us what happened!”
Ferran allowed himself to be convinced, perhaps a little too easily. Sora watched as, with an ironic grin, Ferran followed the crew back to the mess hall as the Dracian left to watch his houseboat. She shook her head. By tomorrow morning, his story would be embellished beyond recognition. Not that it needs much exaggeration, she thought, but Ferran played to the crowd and the Dracians enjoyed a tall tale. Sora wanted to share a reaction with Crash, but the assassin had gone.
Lori approached Sora's side once the Dracian crew had dispersed. After her eyes silently assessed Sora for injuries, she gave her a tight hug. Sora noticed that her mother looked tired. “Our patient didn’t make it,” she explained. “Too much damage to the lungs. There was no chance of saving her.”
Sora gave her mother a reassuring squeeze. “You did everything you could,” she murmured.
Her mother smiled sadly, then returned below deck to clean up her workroom.
Sora sank back against the railing with a weary sigh, and enjoyed a moment of silence. She still hadn’t fully recovered from her encounter with the garrolithe. Retiring early to bed sounded very appealing.
Then an unexpected light entered her vision. Caprion flew down from the crow’s nest and landed nearby. She still wasn’t used to him just falling from the sky, and she jumped slightly, taken aback.
He turned to fix her with an intense, worried look. “I need to speak to you about something,” he said in a hushed voice.
Sora sighed. What now? she thought. “Can't it wait for tomorrow?” she asked, exhausted. “We found the two missing Dracians. They were dead by the time we arrived. Sadly, there’s nothing else to be done….”
“It’s about Crash,” Caprion said hurriedly.
Sora frowned. “What is it?”
“After you left the village, he went into the woods. I was circling overhead, keeping watch, and I followed him—”
“Sora!” a voice suddenly interrupted. She glanced across the deck and saw Tristan striding toward her. She stared at him, nonplussed. The Dracian was a handsome young man, a year older than herself, with pronounced dimples and a strong cleft chin, straight white teeth and a mop of sleek red hair.
He observed her annoyed expression and his grin faltered, if only for a second. “Join us in the mess hall,” he invited. “Ferran is telling quite a story!”
“I was there, remember?” she said. Then she glared. “And he’s not the only one telling tall tales aboard this ship. I’ve heard a lot of strange rumors going around. Apparently, you started them!”
Tristan gave her an odd look. “Oh, come now! What rumors are these?”
Sora crossed her arms and waited.
“You mean about the assassin?” he relented. He searched her eyes. “Trust me,” he said, “you deserve much better than him.”
Sora couldn’t believe his gall. “Then you admit it!” she declared. “You’ve been talking about me to the other Dracians! And about my own personal, private business!” She silently berated herself for ever confiding in him.
“He’s a demon, Sora,” Tristan said, as though telling her the sky was blue. He reached out and caught her hand. She tried to wrench it away, but his grip tightened. “I was doing you a favor. Maybe if you saw how the rest of the ship reacted, you’d understand. The Sixth Race are toxic. They feed on death. They’re not meant to have friendships or…or lovers.” He let the word hang for a moment.
Sora felt her cheeks flush. She became acutely aware of Caprion standing behind her, listening to the whole exchange.
Then a charming smile came over Tristan’s face. “Dracians, on the other hand, know how to treat a lady.”
Sora’s embarrassment shifted to anger. “By spreading nasty rumors?” she replied hotly. “Yes, you’re quite the charmer.”
Tristan frowned. “Is that sarcasm?”
“No!” she snapped, pulling her hand away from him, and stalked off across the deck, heading for her cabin. She passed Caprion on the way and shot him another hot glare. “I’ve heard enough bad news about Crash for one day,” she snarled. “Keep your nasty opinions to yourself!” She hoped neither of them followed her. With a headache growing behind her eyes, she’d had more than enough excitement for one day.
She could sense Caprion’s eyes following her and glanced back briefly. Irritated, the Harpy ran his hand through his hair, launched upward and flew back to the crow’s nest, perhaps to speak with Burn.
Sora went below deck, experiencing an immediate sense of relief, and entered her cabin, hoping to find some peace and quiet.
* * *
Crash stood at the stern of the Dawn Seeker, gazing over the river as league after league of water slowly vanished behind him. His eyes scanned the tall trees, the muddy banks. The Shade could be watching him at this very moment. Why don’t they attack? he wondered. What are they waiting for?
He could take it as a good sign. Perhaps the Shade didn’t have the manpower to attack Silas’ ship and the Dracian crew. He thought of their small band of warriors: a Healer, protected by the grace of the Goddess; two Cats-Eye bearers, a Harpy seraphim, a Wolfy mercenary and himself. Perhaps the odds were in their favor.
Somehow, though, he doubted that. Not with Cerastes at the head of the Shade. No, they were planning something, but he didn’t know what. The feeling of uncertainty left him restless and uncomfortable. He didn’t like being taken by surprise, or not knowing the motives of his enemy.
He thought of the unknown assassin he had encountered in the woods, and considered Cerastes’ offer to help him unlock the fifth gate. He didn’t dare take that bribe seriously, not knowing if it came from Cerastes himself, or from another puppet of the Shade, bent on luring him into the fold.
Still, he couldn’t deny that the thought of continuing his practice—not just maintaining his skills, but actually improving them—was more attractive than he wanted to admit. Opening the fifth gate would mean he would have a greater capacity to work magic, and the ability to open shadow portals, to effortlessly travel across hundreds of miles in the blink of an eye. It would bring him that much closer to the power of a Grandmaster, which had been his ultimate goal before he left the Hive. He had never quite made peace with abandoning his training.
Of course, such skills could not be attained without a price. Pursuing the darkness changed a man. With each gate that was unlocked, he would lose another piece of himself. He had seen it happen to Cerastes over time. The extent of his Grandmaster’s coldness became unnerving, particularly as he delved past the sixth gate. His ability to manipulate and end innocent lives, to gaze upon both good and evil with detached indifference, showed how deeply the demon had influenced his psyche. Crash had watched him slowly become empty, devoid of emotion or empathy. Cerastes never seemed to regret losing that piece of his humanity.
A soft glow teased the corner of his eye. Crash turned, already kno
wing who stood behind him.
Caprion hovered several inches above the deck, his feet not quite touching the wooden boards. He carried himself with a certain gravity, his arms crossed before him, his face stern. The Harpy’s pale hair moved slightly in the cold wind. His violet eyes appeared as luminescent as his skin.
Crash faced the Harpy fully. “What?”
“You know what,” Caprion said. To others, the Harpy’s voice might sound soothing and melodious, but to Crash, it felt like a fork scraping a plate. He clenched his jaw in irritation.
“I saw you in the forest,” the Harpy continued, his eyes narrowing. “I saw you meet with another of your own.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Crash said flatly.
“Oh, but you do,” Caprion murmured, and took a step forward, closing the space between them. Punching distance, Crash thought. “I want to know who you met with in the forest.”
“You mistook what you saw.”
“Perhaps,” Caprion said in cold amusement, “but I’m sure the others on this ship would be curious to hear about it. Particularly Sora. She’s having a hard time trusting you these days.”
Crash’s face darkened. “Is that a threat?”
“No,” Caprion said. “Just stating facts. You met with a member of the Shade. I’m fairly certain of that. I’ve learned as much about you as I could from Burn and the others, and exiles of the Hive don’t stay in touch with old friends.”
“I wasn’t exiled,” Crash murmured. “And what do you know of the Hive? Or the Shade, for that matter?”
Caprion raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know much about the Shade,” he mused, “but the Hive? Everything.” He continued bluntly, “Your kind are not a mystery to me. You might be able to intimidate your companions easily enough, but I have killed demons before, and I won’t hesitate to do so again.”
Crash looked the Harpy up and down and sneered, “If you’re so eager to kill me, then why haven’t you?”
“Because I’m betting you will lead us to the Shade once we reach The City of Crowns,” Caprion murmured. “And…because Sora, for whatever reason, is fond of you. But that fondness won’t save your life if you become a threat. I have met innocents of your race—those worthy of redemption. But your darkness has matured past that point. I watch you struggle with your demon. I watch it waver in your shadow. I saw it almost slip out of you in the village. You are a danger to your companions.”
A self-deprecating smile touched Crash’s lips. “You don’t know me at all.”
“Then tell me, if you’re so innocent—what does the Shade want with you? Who did you meet in the woods?”
Crash leaned back against the railing, no longer concerned. “Honestly, I don’t know. I didn’t anticipate they would try to make contact.” He paused ironically, then said, “It’s quite the mystery.”
The Harpy stared at him long and hard.
“I’m not a member of the Shade,” Crash emphasized.
“Hmmm,” Caprion grunted. “Surely they offered you something? Some sort of bribe for the weapons? Or for information?”
Crash shrugged. His guard went up. He wasn’t a fool—this man was not his friend, and he didn’t know what to expect if he told the truth. “I’m not who you think I am, Harpy,” he snapped. “Your suspicions are off-base. Go find someone else to spy on.”
Caprion glared at him. “You wouldn’t hide the encounter from your fellows if it were innocent,” he said. “I don’t know what you’re plotting, Viper, but I know you’re lying to me. I’ll be watching.”
Crash shrugged again. “Watch all you like,” he said. “And send my greetings to the Matriarch, when next you conference with her.”
Caprion’s eyes widened marginally.
“I’m not the only one with secrets aboard this ship.” Crash turned and left the bow, heading to the cabins below deck. He could feel the Harpy’s angry gaze and allowed himself a cold sense of satisfaction. Let Caprion chew on that for a while! He had caught the Harpy muttering up his sleeve several times, involved in suspicious one-sided conversations. He had no doubt the Harpy general was still in league with the Matriarch. It made far more sense than Caprion’s well-intentioned-tourist excuse. So sunstones could be used for long-distance communication after all.
Crash relaxed as he entered the shadows below deck. Caprion was wasting his time; Crash hardly knew more than he was willing to tell about the Shade. The Harpy had a motive, and while he didn’t consider the man a threat, he could see potential problems arising in the future, particularly if the Matriarch was keeping tabs on their little venture. Time will tell, he thought, and headed below to the cabins.
* * *
Close to midnight, Crash sat in his cramped cabin fully awake, slowly polishing his Named dagger. It didn’t need more cleaning, but he often polished while deep in thought. The lethal blade ended in a curved trailing point, perfectly balanced, made for piercing and tearing flesh with optimum efficiency. A bronze snake wrapped around its handle, tarnished with age. Only the sound of creaking timbers met his ears.
Reflecting on his interaction with the Shade, he could only draw one conclusion: they wanted him to join their ranks. Badly. Which meant they must not have many trained assassins in their midst. Why else seek out a disgraced member of the Hive—someone so willfully insubordinate?
Or perhaps that was Cerastes’ game. Perhaps the Shade only recruited those who were already separated from their colonies, who were desperate to find a place to belong. The Hive was not so much a single place, but a cluster of separate communities kept hidden from the larger world—even from each other. To leave the Hive was not just to leave one’s home, but to abandon a densely interwoven web of rituals, codes and hidden hierarchies.
His kind seemed solitary on the surface, but no assassin of the Sixth Race was truly meant to live on his own. They needed the Hive to survive—to make sense of their lives. Five years had passed since Crash abandoned that world, and he still felt its loss, a certain lack of roots and boundaries, as though a great tree had been torn up from the ground.
Until now Cerastes considered him dead, so hadn’t tried to track him down. But perhaps the Grandmaster still felt a bond with his old student. Why else would he risk exposing the Shade just to make contact? It seemed a bold move, even for a man who feared nothing and no one.
Crash pondered that, darkly. Was Cerastes’ confidence misplaced? He still felt a deeply ingrained need to shelter the Hive, to keep the secrets of his people hidden, despite the Shade’s plot. He hadn’t told anyone of his encounter, and didn’t intend to. But that didn’t mean he was loyal to Cerastes’ cause.
They threatened you, a soft voice murmured inside him. They will hurt the ones you’ve adopted as your own. He thought of Sora’s questioning glance in the woods as they walked back to the Dawn Seeker, and felt another surge of anger toward the Shade. I can protect her, he thought. He didn’t know exactly how to protect her, but introducing her to his past would only put her at further risk.
I shouldn’t have touched her, he thought, remembering their interaction in the woods. He gripped his knife in frustration. He had acted foolishly, holding her hand in the open forest, so close to where the Shade confronted him. But her nearness made him act impulsively, made him feel fierce and invincible, able to throw caution to the wind. She summoned an addictive heat in his body, a wave of rising tension that begged to be released.
He tried to sweep her from his thoughts, but kept returning to the wide curve of her lower lip, her short, curvaceous body strengthened with well-toned muscles, her delicate wrists, her long fingers clasped inside his own. She still poised her hands like a Lady, the natural inclination of a highborn woman. It didn’t matter that her blood was common; she carried herself like a noble, whether she realized it or not.
He shook his head, trying to forget the touch of her skin against his. He knew nothing could ever come of this, not with the Shade watching. A touch, a look—where would
it end? Back on the Lost Isles, he allowed himself to pull close to the sweet heat of her body and trace her lips with his own. He thought of her clumsy, timid kiss—how she bloomed under his guidance until her mouth grew soft and responsive. Innocent, he thought, and grimaced ironically. Too innocent for me to ruin.
She was young. She would find another man, like Tristan, to fill that place in her life. Focus on that, he thought. She deserved a man with simple intentions and an open past, who wouldn’t drag her into danger, who wasn’t raised by a people ruled by death. The simple truth? She was safer with Tristan, and perhaps the Dracian had a greater capacity to love. She deserved that.
But, he had to admit, the thought of sharing her, of allowing another man to take that innocence, to draw those sighs from her lips—it summoned an anger equal to what he felt for the Shade.
He clenched his jaw. No. The Shade was watching. And suddenly his Grandmaster’s voice resurfaced, weaving through his thoughts, proof that the Hive still lived in his mind—and always would. Illogical, he heard clearly. Love has all the dressings and trappings of madness. It dismantles your will, enraptures your mind and then, inevitably, slips away.
But it’s natural, isn’t it? he heard a student ask. All of the races love—even humans.
We are not like the other races—we are not creatures of the Wind. Love, like fear, is a choice. It’s a powerful emotion. It weakens our control, clouds our thoughts, lowers our inhibitions. Never forget—we are the harvesters. All that we touch is destined to end.
Crash remembered that lesson well. Over and over, he had witnessed it. Savants occasionally fell in love, forbidden trysts occurred, and harsh punishments were meted out to those who disobeyed the will of the Hive. A man in love was not himself. No, he was vulnerable, easily led and manipulated, and that was unacceptable for an assassin. The Shade knew it—and he knew it, too. Don’t forget what you are, he thought, and slid his fingers intentionally over the blade of the knife, allowing it to pierce the pad of his thumb. He watched a vibrant droplet of blood blossom through his split skin.