City of Keys, page 40
“You’re not welcome here,” Malach growled.
“Just hear me out,” she said evenly. “We come with an offer of sanctuary. Whatever you’ve done, it doesn’t matter.”
“Sanctuary?” he echoed, his voice soft.
She nodded. “You and the child both—”
He tossed the bloody sword aside. “Get out. All of you.”
Tashtemir stepped through the door. “Cardinal,” he said hesitantly. “You should do as they say. It’s for your own good.”
Malach cast him a look of betrayal. “So you’re their lapdog now?” He shook his head. “Well, I doubt they gave you a choice. But I’ve nothing to say to any of you. So piss off.”
“Now listen, aingeal,” Paarjini snapped. “We aim to speak with ye in a civilized manner.”
“If you want an audience with the Nuncio of Bal Agnar,” he said, “you’ll ask for a formal invitation like everyone else. So scurry back to wherever you came from and I’ll consider it.”
He walked to a chair by the fire and sank down, hooking one leg over the arm.
Nikola bit back a surge of irritation. He had every right to be furious.
“This isn’t what you want,” she said. “Nor is it what’s good for Rachel.”
He tipped his head back and laughed. Heshima scowled.
“Somehow,” Malach said, “I don’t believe you have my best interests at heart.”
“We offer you safety,” Nikola persisted. “Only disaster will come from this course. The Mahadeva has seen it. You know her power of foretelling, Malach! Please, just listen—”
He sprang to his feet. “No, you listen! I would have gone back to Dur-Athaara, but you abandoned me. Left me to die! I will never forgive that.”
“She didn’t,” Paarjini said in exasperation. “T’was a spell that summoned her.”
Malach scowled. “I have no trust in anything you say. So be gone!”
“Not without the child,” Heshima said. “Give her to us, Malach.”
His gaze could have frozen marble. “No.”
“She belongs to her mother just as much as she does to you.”
“Her mother doesn’t give a damn about her. Do you, Nikola?”
The words cut—as he’d intended. Malach shook his head in disgust when she didn’t respond. “You’re like all the rest. You just want to use her.”
“I want to keep her safe,” Nikola said quietly. “And you, as well—”
Malach recoiled as if she’d slapped him. “I would have done anything for you. Anything! But you—” He bit the words off, face going blank again. “We’re done here. Go and don’t come back.”
“We’ve come a long way, aingeal. Let us help ye first,” Paarjini said in a coaxing tone. “I’ll remove the stone. I know ye want it gone.”
“I told you no!”
The young mage lifted her crossbow. “You heard the regent. You’re leaving now. On your feet or dragged out dead by the heels, your choice.”
Heshima raised a hand. Before Nikola could stop her, the mage was blasted onto her rump. She skidded backwards along the carpet with a look of comical surprise.
Valdrian ran at them, a sharpened length of steel suddenly appearing from a hidden release along the leather gauntlet that covered his stump. Abyssal lay shimmered along the blade.
Paarjini delved into her pouch.
Nikola knew exactly what would happen next. Another bloodbath.
She slapped the stone from Paarjini’s hand. Gripped the serpent’s eye and formed a box around them. It came quick as thought now. The mage was seconds away when she forced the box with a clap of silent thunder.
The world blurred. She hit the beach on hands and knees, shaking with adrenaline. Beside her, Tashtemir retched violently. Curtains of rain swept the cove, drenching them all in an instant.
“Are ye mad?” Paarjini groaned. Somehow, the witch had kept her feet, though she looked green.
“Me?” Nikola demanded. “Or her?” She cast a baleful glance at Heshima, who brushed wet sand from her skirts, lips tight.
“Both of ye!” Paarjini rounded on Heshima. Vertigo made her stagger. “Gah, I feel like shite! What were ye thinking sister? We promised not to provoke him!”
“He was already provoked,” Heshima said. “And I didn’t fancy dying at the hands of aingeal dian. Bloodthirsty animals.” She shot an exasperated look at Nikola. “But you still shouldn’t have forced!”
“What choice did you leave me?” Nikola replied wearily. “If you’d killed his kin, any chance to reach him would be gone.”
“You saw him! It’s already gone.” Her cool gaze flicked to the serpent’s eye. “It’s you who paid the biggest price, sister.”
Paarjini slung an arm around Nikola’s shoulders. “T’was an ill-timed entrance on our part. I’m not sure we wouldn’t have joined the dead. Who were they?”
Nikola blinked rain from her eyes. “That was the Pontifex of Kvengard he beheaded.”
“And the others?”
“The woman might have been Bishop Maria Karolo.” Nikola had seen her at the Arx. A severe, unsmiling person who reported the tiniest infraction of the Meliora. The chars despised her.
“What about that pair in the corner?” Paarjini wondered.
“One was Dmitry Falke. The Pontifex of Novostopol. He’s the one who took the child.”
“And Malach let him live,” Paarjini said thoughtfully. “Tha’s interesting.”
“The woman is named Kasia Novak.” Nikola frowned. “I can’t imagine what she was doing there. I met her once, a while back. She’s the last person I expected to see in Nantwich.”
“We should have stayed out of it,” Paarjini muttered. “But the Mahadeva must know.”
“Who gets to tell them?” Nikola asked wryly.
“Not I.” Tashtemir wiped his mouth. “That was most unpleasant. I hope we’re rowing back to the ship.”
Nikola gripped her namestone. She’d only forced a short distance. A mere trickle of power. But it all added up, didn’t it?
“I’ll take the oars,” she said. “I’m the one with the callouses anyway.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
There was a flash of light. A roar of noise and stench of something burning.
In the first confused moments, Kasia thought the Arx was being shelled. She ducked and covered her head, instinct curling her body into a ball. When the ceiling didn’t come down on top of her, she cautiously opened her eyes.
Valdrian lay on his back. The other mage ran to his side and cupped his face, murmuring faint words.
“Are you all right?”
Kasia turned to Falke, who pressed a hand to his forehead.
“I think so.” Ley lines still shimmered in her vision. She blinked and they faded.
Only Malach seemed unaffected. He was on his feet, staring at the spot where Nikola Thorn had stood. All three witches were gone. So was the dark-haired man with a mustache who had accompanied them. The carpet was burnt to ash in a perfect square before the door.
“Malach,” the young mage snapped.
No response.
“Cardinal!”
His head turned. When he saw Valdrian, he seemed to wake from his trance. Malach hurried over. Valdrian was starting to stir. A thin line of blood ran from one nostril. He blotted it with a sleeve. “Was that lightning?” he croaked.
“They forced a box,” Malach said.
Blank looks.
“They used a spell to fuck off,” he muttered. “You’re lucky you weren’t any closer. Can you stand?”
Valdrian nodded. He touched his gauntlet and the blade retracted. Malach helped him to his feet.
“How did they get past the guards?” Valdrian wondered.
Malach didn’t answer. He stood still for a minute, eyes clouded, as the two mages examined the charred cracks in the stone floor.
“Bloody hell,” the woman murmured. “I wish I knew how to do that.”
“Not a word of this,” Malach said at last. His voice was distant. “Seal the chamber and make sure no one comes inside.” He pointed a finger at Kasia and Falke. “You two, come with me.”
There was no choice but to comply. Falke stared at Luk’s body as they passed. He looked worried.
The room reeked of death and a sharp chemical smell that reminded Kasia of the swimming pool at her old secondary school. She’d quietly cheered when Luk died and had no regrets about Karolo or her disciples. However, it was obvious that Malach was nearing some sort of edge—and she really didn’t want to know what waited on the other side.
“You have blood on your face,” Kasia said.
He touched his cheek. Malach regarded the red stain on his fingers with detachment. Then he walked to the heavy velvet drapes and scrubbed it off.
“Where are we going?” she asked as he prodded them through the door and down the hall.
“Be quiet,” he snarled.
She considered running for it, but dozens of Kven knights strode through the corridors. They gave crisp salutes when they saw the Nuncio. Malach returned the greetings with a preoccupied nod, not breaking stride. Falke kept his head down. No one seemed to recognize him, but it was still a harrowing walk.
Saints, Kasia thought. What will the Kvens do when they discover their Pontifex is dead?
At last, they reached the long gallery that led to the east wing. Malach told a pair of green-cloaked mages lounging at the bronze doors not to allow any of the Kvens through.
“Kill them if you have to,” he said. “But be quiet about it.”
They were both young women, one fair-skinned, one dark, but Kasia was starting to recognize the nihilim bloodlines. The high cheekbones and classically proportioned features, as though they had been painted by the same artist. Someone with an eye for beauty. Yet their faces also had a hard, unyielding quality and Kasia didn’t doubt that they’d carry out Malach’s orders.
“What happened?” one asked.
“Luk is dead.”
They exchanged a startled glance. “Cardinal—”
“Later,” Malach snapped. “Just keep them out.”
He strode on, one hand firmly around Kasia’s arm. She used the other to hold her torn dress together at the front. The nihilim controlled the east wing. There must be only a few of them because the corridors and wide staircases were empty. Malach stopped at a door on the top floor and turned to Falke.
“Rachel must be protected.” A pointed look. “Not only from Nikola, you understand?”
“I understand,” Falke replied.
“Stay with her for now. I’ll figure something out.” Malach raised a hand to his head. It trembled slightly.
He’s dangling by a thread, Kasia thought, her unease deepening.
Malach unlocked the door. A lamp burned next to a bed. Kasia glimpsed a small figure under the blankets. A stripe of black hair against the pillow. Falke slipped inside and sat in an armchair. He met Malach’s eyes and nodded. Kasia sensed an unspoken agreement. A Cold Truce for the sake of the child. Then Falke turned away, face softening as he regarded Rachel.
He would die for her, Kasia realized. They both would.
Malach locked the door behind him. He leaned his forehead against the wood.
“Fuck,” he whispered.
“What are you going to do with me?” Kasia asked.
His eyes were glassy as he turned to her. He stood upright and prodded her down the hall.
“Look,” she said, fingers itching for the sharp edges of her deck. “I know you’re angry. But thank you for intervening. You saved us both and I’m grateful.”
Nothing.
“Maybe I should stay with Fa . . . er, Severin,” she ventured. “I’m sure you have things to do. I don’t want to be any more trouble.”
He gave a hollow laugh and stopped in front of the chamber she’d shared with the pontifex. Kasia felt a wave of relief.
“Do you have another dress in there?” Malach asked, staring at a point beyond her head.
“Yes.”
“Then put it on.”
He waited in the doorway while she changed in the bathroom. It was the same one she’d worn to the Lethe Club when Alexei found her. The one she’d been virtually living in for days. Black and form-fitting in the bodice with long lace sleeves and loose, billowy skirts that brushed her feet. She’d loved it when she bought it at a boutique on Oxbridge Street. Now the slit up the thigh felt too revealing. She gripped it as she stepped out of the bathroom.
“I can stay here,” she said with a friendly smile. “I don’t have any more cards. There’s no way I can—”
“No.” He slowly looked her up and down. “You’re coming with me.”
“Where?” she asked, unsettled by his stare.
“Nowhere bad, I promise.”
The words failed to reassure, but she followed him to a door just around the corner from Rachel’s room. Malach unlocked it and gestured for her to go inside. Kasia hesitated.
“Please,” he said quietly.
She stepped into a large, airy apartment overlooking the plaza. Frescoes adorned the high ceiling. Kasia’s gaze flicked over carved wood paneling and ornate plasterwork. Doors led to a bedroom, study and bath. A breeze stirred long white curtains at the windows. It smelled of rain. She drew a slow, calming breath.
“Make yourself comfortable,” Malach said, locking the door behind him.
Kasia eyed the sofa. Stuffing bulged from long slits in the damask silk.
“The kids did that,” he muttered, grabbing a bottle from a walnut cabinet. Malach unscrewed the cap and took a long drink. He coughed, wiped his mouth, and drank again.
Kasia relaxed a little when he made no move to attack her. She sat on the ruined sofa and picked at the cotton wadding. Bits of ribbon were strewn across the floor.
“So,” she said. “That was Rachel’s mother?”
“In name only.” Another long swig from the bottle. “Will you give me a reading?” Malach shook his head, cheeks flushed. “Never mind. I don’t want to know.”
He set the bottle on the windowsill. Then he pulled the crimson robe over his head. Kasia tensed, but he wore a linen shirt and trousers underneath. Malach tossed the robe aside and retrieved the bottle. His shirt was thin enough to see outlines on the skin beneath.
Every single one a Nightmark.
She had a sudden urge to examine them up close. To figure out what made him tick. The Fool was the most inscrutable of the Trumps. Zero in the Major Arcana. The lack of a fixed number made him rootless, a wanderer. Just look at him now, she thought with clinical interest, pacing up and down. Unable to keep still.
In a regular deck of playing cards, he was the Joker. Disrupting the game with a misdeal. But there was nothing funny about The Fool. It was the most powerful card in the deck. A transformative force that could create—or destroy.
“The Kvens will start to go mad,” Malach said. “Very soon. Not all of them, but enough.”
Kasia’s fingers dug into the arm of the sofa. She cursed herself for forgetting. That’s why Falke looked so worried. With everything else that happened, she hadn’t made the connection.
Mark sickness. Just like Alexei had when Feizah died.
A chill swept her as she thought of all those knights inside the Arx. “Can’t it be stopped?”
“By whom?” A dark chuckle. “There’s no one left to take the Sanctified Marks. I certainly can’t do it.”
“What about Lezarius?”
“Burned out from breaking the Void. Gray told me.”
“Falke—”
“Will never Mark anyone again. I swore that to myself.” He tilted the bottle, savoring a long swallow. “And you know what?”
She eyed him, heart thumping.
“I don’t give a shit.”
Of course you don’t, she thought bitterly. You are the son of chaos.
Malach sank down against the wall, the bottle between his knees. “Have you ever been in love?”
The question caught her off guard. “Yes.”
“It’s horrible,” he said ruminatively.
Kasia cleared her throat. “Maybe the witches were telling the truth.”
“Those women.” He shook his head with a look of wonder. “They’re a fucking force of nature. I’ll give them that. But Kasia, they will bury you like an avalanche if you give them the chance.” He raised the bottle in a grim salute. “Trust me, I know.”
“I suppose you do,” she said. “Are you sure you don’t want a reading?”
“I’m sure.”
It came out mmm’shur.
Malach was getting drunk.
“Want some?” He held out the bottle.
She crawled over and took a sip. It burned her throat, but the warm glow that followed loosened the knot of fear in her chest. Kasia handed the bottle back. Malach’s fingers brushed hers as he took it and she thought of the night on the roof of her flat. The abyssal ley coursing from his palm as he gripped her throat. She snatched her hand back.
“Do you still have my cards?” she asked.
“Yep. Could you get some ice? Over there?”
She went to the cabinet and found a silver ice bucket like the ones they put in posh hotel rooms. She used tongs to drop the cubes into a crystal tumbler and brought it over. Malach filled the glass to the brim. He took a sip, crunching the ice between his teeth.
“I’m not a lush,” he said seriously.
“Of course not.” Kasia smiled.
“But I can see the attraction.”
“It makes things better,” she agreed. “Until the next morning.”
He laughed loudly, though it was a trite remark.
“Do you have a family, Kasia?”
She stiffened. “Not really.”
“But you didn’t grow up in the Void.”
“I told you. I was raised in Novostopol.”
“What were they like?” He turned to her. “Your parents?”
“My adoptive parents? They were nice.”
She certainly wasn’t going to tell him about her mother kicking her out of the house.
“That’s what I want for Rachel. A normal life. Whatever that means.” He leaned over to set the glass on a low table and missed, spilling half the contents on the carpet before he managed to right it. “Oops.”
