Shadow Blade, page 27
Tears filled her eyes as she longed for Kendshi. The slave girl would know what to say. She always did.
At first, Makari felt stupid and immature for falling for Ashai, like some foolish girl just starting her moon blood and not knowing up from down. Surely only a fool would fall for a man sent to kill her.
But she’d reasoned herself through those feelings as soon as she realized he’d actually fallen in love with her. Like Bauti’s loyalty, Ashai’s love for her was something beyond doubt. He’d forsaken too much for his feelings to be anything less than love, true and strong.
Love was also the perfect disguise for hate, and while it hadn’t been intentional, Ashai had donned the mask and hidden his true face from her for months. Of course she’d missed his true intent. There was no seeing around someone being in love with her. It formed a great, wide wall from horizon to horizon, through which she saw nothing but that love.
She rose from the chair again and paced her tent, shivering a bit at the cool, damp air sliding across her skin.
She’d been vulnerable to Ashai’s kind of love, too. So many times had she rejected lords who’d courted her, men who’d come bearing gifts of gold and silver, lands and titles, resources and power. But none had borne the gift of love, and Makari had come to believe after years of being paraded before them, that no one would love her for who she was. They could only love the power and prestige that marrying her would bring.
So what Ashai had offered had blinded her to everything else, even making her ignore Bauti’s warnings about the man.
Having sorted all that out, Makari was left with one thing to discern: her feelings for Ashai.
That, of course, was a far more difficult puzzle to piece together. Figuring out other people’s feelings was easier than looking inside and seeing your own for what they really were.
She picked up the flask and prepared to pour herself a cup of wine. Maybe the spirits would help clear her mind so she could think better.
A commotion rose outside. Men shouted, including Tomar. She was reaching for the tent flap when the thief master barged in. He seemed to realize then that he’d violated her privacy, bowing quickly, without his normal hat-flourish.
“Highness, there’s been an incident. Would you accompany me, please?”
Tired of being dragged around by men, Makari planted her fists on her hips.
“Where to, Tomar?”
“To the holding cell. We’re going to execute your assassin.”
Makari struggled to keep up with Tomar as the tall thief strode through the corridors toward Ashai’s cell. She’d come this way many times, just to change her mind at the last minute, unable to look the assassin in the eye.
Now she had no choice.
They rounded the corner into the assassin’s cavern at the same time as Bauti, who came from the other direction. His shirt was soaked with sweat, and his sword bobbed at his hip. He’d been training, and someone had thought to get him, too.
In the cavern, they found a ring of a dozen crooks gathered in front of Ashai’s cell, most holding clubs or staffs, though one trained a crossbow on her former betrothed. The men shouted obscenities and threats at Ashai, while Grekkyl stood, feet wide and hands in front of her, the only thing between the mob and the now-open door on Ashai’s cell.
Bauti shouldered his way through the throng and stood beside the old woman, drawing his sword in a slow, threatening move that made several thieves step back. Tomar tried to stop her, but Makari moved to stand beside her captain, one hand on the dagger at her waist.
“What is the meaning of this?” She left no room in her tone for questioning or doubt.
“He killed one of us!” shouted a stocky man with a cudgel at the front of the group. “We take that seriously down here, and we’ll have his head for it!”
Grekkyl flinched, her hands jerking as if she sought to throw a spell at the men. They backed up another step.
Makari turned to Ashai, nearly gasping at the golden glow in his eyes. She fought to maintain her composure. “Well?”
Ashai showed no fear, glaring at the men through the door, almost daring them to attack. Even unarmed, she knew he’d kill at least two or three of them, even without access to power or magic.
“They’re talking about the boy in the square,” he said. “The day you and I met.”
“But—”
Ashai cut her off. “He was trying to kill you,” he said. “I’d do it again if I had to.”
Beside her, Bauti shifted his stance. Why was Ashai not telling them the truth?
Tomar moved easily through his men and stood before Ashai. Anger radiated from him in waves, rippling the air in the tiny cave.
“I knew you were trouble,” he breathed, his voice serpentine. “That boy you killed was a friend, someone I was training. He had no parents, no family, so we became those things for him. We thought he’d gone missing until his body turned up in a drainage ditch.
“We should have killed you the moment you came here. I’ll remedy that mistake now.”
Makari wheeled on the big thief, fixing him with her most penetrating glare.
“You’ll do no such thing! Ashai didn’t—”
Ashai interrupted her again, this time giving her a look that pleaded for cooperation. “They’re right, princess. I deserve death. Killing that boy violated even my own vows.”
An angry murmur washed through the gathered mob, and they inched closer. Makari ran into the cell and put herself in front of Ashai.
“What are you doing?” she whispered.
Ashai tried to move her out of the way, but she stood her ground and brushed his hands from her shoulders. He sighed and whispered for only her to hear.
“Bauti will take care of you. Without my magic, I’m useless to defend you, and with it, Tan will find you. You’re safer with the guild and the captain. Let them do what they will to me. It’ll end my suffering.”
She slapped him. She didn’t mean to, but his words enraged her so much that her hand leapt from her side and smacked him across the cheek, snapping his head to the left with a crack so loud it echoed.
Ashai took his time returning his gaze to the gathered men, offering an irritated look at Makari, but she didn’t care.
“You’re not quitting on me! You quit on your order. You quit on your God. And you quit on yourself, but I will not let you quit on me! You owe me that much, Ashai. For all the harm you’ve done to me, to my family, you owe me your life. I’ll decide when and where you give it!”
He opened his mouth, but Bauti made whatever he was going to say moot.
“I killed that boy, not the assassin. I ordered my men to dispose of the body in a manner fitting a common thief. Blame me.”
Every pair of eyes in the room, Makari’s included, turned on the captain. The man with the crossbow moved his aim back and forth between Ashai and Bauti, unsure now what to do.
Tomar moved to stand toe-to-toe with Bauti, his nose just an inch from the captain’s, his face contorted.
“You’d better be lying, Captain, or you’ll be leaving these tunnels in pieces.”
Bauti neither flinched nor stepped back. He met Tomar’s gaze with steel resolve.
“I killed that boy.”
Makari felt tears rushing to her eyes and she moved to Bauti’s side.
“I beg for mercy,” she pleaded. “The boy approached with a knife. He stole my purse, but Captain Bauti thought he meant to harm me. He only killed him in my defense. If you have any love for me at all, please spare his life.”
Tomar let out an exasperated growl and turned away, tugging off his hat and running the fingers of his other hand—the one with the missing digit—through his hair. He paced through the gathered crowd, muttering to himself, then strode back to stare down at her.
“I will spare his life.” Makari let out a sigh, but he wasn’t done. “But he must leave the tunnel at once and return to the streets. And I will have his word he’ll not reveal our location.”
“Done,” Bauti said before Makari could even nod.
“You’re still sentencing him to death,” she complained. “Up there, his own men will kill him. Or Tan. He’ll be dead within a day.”
“Princess, listen to me,” Bauti said, grasping her shoulders so tight she couldn’t help but look up into his slate-colored eyes. “You need Ashai to keep you alive. He’s the only one who can deal with Denari Lai. I’m too old and too slow. I can’t disguise us like he can. I can’t kill a Denari Lai, and my face is easily recognized. He’s your best chance.”
Ashai stepped forward, standing beside Makari, his voice low. “Nonsense, you fool. I didn’t kill the boy, but without me he never would have tried to rob her. Now I’m only good to Makari if I somehow find a way to use some power other than Nishi’s gift. Either a tainted lie of power, or one that doesn’t exist.”
“Then choose one and use it! Kill Tan the next time you see him. Once he’s gone, even if your order tracks your normal power, they won’t have anyone to do anything about it. And if Tomar gets you out of the city, you’ll have a fighting chance.”
Makari wiped at her tears, holding tight to her captain’s elbow. She’d been so mad at him, felt so betrayed, that she’d never considered what it would be like to lose him. He’d watched over her since the day she was born, a constant presence, reassuring and solid. Despite all they’d been through in the last weeks, she still couldn’t imagine losing him forever.
But he was right. She knew it. Ashai knew it. And it was too late now anyway. Tomar stepped forward and took Bauti’s sword from his hand.
“I’ll return this to you once we get to the surface. The more of your own men or Capitol Watch scum you kill, the better for all of us down here.”
Bauti turned to Ashai and let his flinty gaze bore into the assassin’s soul. “Keep her alive, you murderous bastard. I don’t care if you have to use your magic, God’s magic, back alley magic, or the power of The Shadow itself, keep her alive. Put her back on the throne, or all of this is for nothing.”
Tomar handed Bauti off to the mob.
“If he resists on the way out, bring me his head.”
But Bauti followed them out like a lamb to slaughter.
Tomar turned his attention on Ashai. “I heard what you said to him. I should kill you, too, but I gave the princess my word. And believe it or not, the word of a thief does mean something.”
Ashai nodded at him, and Tomar gave his grandmother a kiss on the head.
“Get him ready,” he told her. “We leave at sunset, and he’ll need to have some kind of magic if he’s going to protect her.”
He left without waiting for the hag’s reply.
Ashai reached for Makari’s shoulder, but stopped short, his hand wavering in midair.
“Makari, I …”
He didn’t finish, and she didn’t acknowledge him. Vision still blurry from tears, she stormed from the cavern.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Ashai sat in the dirt at the back of his cell, kicking at roaches with the heel of his boot. The mob had dispersed quickly, shutting and locking his cell door as their anger dissipated, even Grekkyl leaving, telling him he’d be free as soon as he used magic to pick the lock on his door.
That had been over an hour ago, by his estimate, and still he sat alone in his cramped, dank cell, his mind wandering into dark caverns and tunnels that left him somber and forlorn. They’d put too much faith in him to protect Makari. Without power or magic, he would be helpless against any Denari Lai. His senses and reflexes would be normal, unable to compete with the magically enhanced body of a Shadow Blade. They’d just as well throw a seamstress at the assassin. She’d have the same chance of success.
And if he didn’t grasp some sort of power soon, no matter the type, he’d become worthless, crippled by tremors and Yanagat.
He no longer even cared where the magic came from. He knew he couldn’t tap into his old power—the effects of the drug kept that link cut. So he’d have to use the tainted power of the dust the hag had given him, no matter its effect on his soul. Unless she was right about a power inside him.
He closed his eyes and tried again.
He drove his consciousness deep into himself, plunging into the dark of his soul, searching for the thread of power he needed. He pushed through murky shadows inside himself, seeking any light, even the tiniest pinprick against the black night that had engulfed his soul. He didn’t care anymore which source he found. Back alley magic would do. He just needed power.
Then he saw something. Out of the corner of his mind’s eye, just on the periphery of his awareness, something shone for an instant. He reached for it, driving his awareness toward the point of brightness with all his might.
But as soon as he turned his attention on it, the spot of light blinked out and he was left in the pitch black again.
Frantic, he propelled his mind in all different directions at once. It was there, and he’d been so close! Maybe Grekkyl was right after all. If he could just focus on that point, that beacon of magic and hope, he might be able to grasp it.
A disturbance broke his concentration, shouts echoing through the tunnels outside his cell. He opened his eyes as the cries became more desperate, mingled with shrieks of fear from women and children.
Jumping to his feet, Ashai rushed to the front of his cell, grasping the cold iron bars and staring out into the cavern beyond. The shouts grew louder and more frenzied, and he picked out the distinct noise of people running, fleeing something.
“Hey, what’s happening out there?” No one responded.
One of his guards—a weasel-faced man with shifty eyes and thin lips—slipped into the room. He held his long dagger in one hand, a club in the other.
“They’ve found us! They’re here for you three.”
“Who? Denari Lai?”
The guard shook his head. “Capitol Watch and Royal Guard. Hundreds of them. They’re pushing toward us from both ends of the tunnels. We’re trapped in the middle.”
Ashai’s stomach turned and he looked deep into the man’s beady eyes. “Let me out. Please, I can help. I can fight.”
The guard considered, looking at the keys hanging on the stone wall a few paces away, then shook his head.
“No one trusts you.”
He turned and jogged off, ignoring Ashai’s pleas to come back.
Ashai’s heart pounded, threatening to burst from his chest. If they found him here, they’d kill him on the spot. Tan would have given orders to kill all three of them, knowing they’d figured out his identity by now. He couldn’t risk them exposing him before the princess was dead.
Makari!
He rattled the cell door, trying to rip it from its hinges, but of course they held fast. Iron bested muscle every time.
He paced the dirt floor, panic rising in his throat. He was trapped, helpless not only to save himself, but to save Makari. And with Bauti gone, she had only Tomar to protect her. The thief master stood no chance against Denari Lai.
She was as good as dead. She needed him. Him. Ashai. Only he could help her.
He closed his eyes again, thrusting back his doubts and fears. He dove deep inside himself, fighting through dark and shadows, searching out that tiny dot of magic that had taunted him before. This was his only chance at life, not just for him but for Makari too. Despite all that had happened, he still loved her.
The light appeared out of nowhere, a tiny sun wrapped in inky clouds. His power, tainted by back alley magic. It was all he had, his only shot at power, so he thrust his mind toward it. A wall sprung up in front of his consciousness, a thick sheet of black and swirling gray, blocking the magic from sight.
He recalled Grekkyl’s words: Faith in yourself is like a door.
That was it, he understood. His faith in Nishi stood between him and the back alley magic, a wall of belief and dreams and ideology meant to keep him bound to Nishi. Bound to the Denari Lai for his soul’s salvation.
But Ashai’s salvation no longer mattered. Only Makari did. She needed him. She had faith in him, and that gave him faith in himself.
He lanced through the wall, shattering it into a million shards, and the light blazed behind it, pulsing between dark and bright. He reached for the magic, and this time it didn’t flinch away.
Heat hit him first, a wave of fire that scorched his soul and burned his mind, making him cry out in pain as it swept through his body, as well. Ice followed, a rush of death’s own cold that left him shivering. Sludge coursed through him as the sinfulness of this outside magic contaminated him, but he no longer cared. He held the back alley magic tight to his soul, mind, and body, hugging it to him like a man trying to tame an angry cat.
His senses sharpened, the sounds of the battle crisp and clean on his ear. He smelled the iron tang of spilled blood, tasted the dust of the tunnels. His limbs took on new life, no longer lethargic and heavy, pounding with strength and vigor and pure power. Under it all coursed the spiritual waste from the back alley powder, but there was nothing to do about that now. Makari needed him.
He opened his eyes, looked at the lock, then shook his head.
“No time for old hag’s tricks,” he said.
Seizing the bars on the cell door, he ripped the door from its hinges and stepped out into the cavern. He seized his dagger from a stand by the wall and held it up to let the torchlight dance along its polished surface, glitter in its jewels.
The guard rushed inside, weapons ready, but stopped with eyes wide when he saw Ashai.
“I told you I can help fight,” Ashai said, reveling even in the soiled magic that had given him new life. “I suggest you get out of my way.”
Without hesitation, the man stood aside and Ashai sprinted from the cave.
He had no idea where Makari was, so he just ran, trusting his gut to guide him. He burst around a corner into a battle, the tunnel filled with bodies slashing and hacking at one another. Steel rang, men screamed, and the sharp smell of violence filled the air. But nowhere did he see Makari, so he turned and ran the other way.
