Heir to the Shadows
Page 60
But, please, sweet Darkness, please don't let it take a lifetime.
4 / Terreille
Surreal walked down the neglected street toward the market square, hoping her icy expression would offset her vulnerable physical state. She shouldn't have used that witch's brew to suppress last month's moon time, but the Hayllian guards Kartane SaDiablo had sent after her had been breathing down her neck then and she hadn't felt safe enough to risk being defenseless during the days when her body couldn't tolerate the use of her power beyond basic Craft.
Damn all Blood males to the bowels of Hell. When a witch's body made her vulnerable for a few days, it also made every Blood male a potential enemy. And right now she had enough enemies to worry about.
Well, she'd pick up a few things at the market and then hole up in her rooms with a couple of thick novels and wait it out.
Stifled, frightened cries came from the alley up ahead.
Calling in a long-bladed knife, Surreal slipped to the edge of the alley and peeked around the corner.
Four large, surly, Hayllian men. And one girl who was barely more than a child. Two of the men stood back, watching, as one of their comrades held the girl and the other's hands yanked her clothes aside.
Damn, damn, damn. It was a trap. There was no other reason for Hayllians to be in this part of the Realm, especially in this part of a dying city. She should just slip back to her rooms. If she was careful, they might not find her. There would be other Hayllians waiting around the places where she might purchase a ticket for a Web Coach, so that was out. And riding the Winds without the protection of a Coach might not be suicidal right now, but it would feel damn close.
But there was that girl. If she didn't intervene, that child was going to end up under those four brutes. Even if someone "rescued" her afterward, she'd be passed from man to man until the constant use or the brutality of one of them killed her.
Taking a deep breath, Surreal rushed into the alley.
An upward slash opened one man from armpit to collarbone. She swung her arm, just missing the girl's face, and managed to get in a shallow slash across the other's chest while she tried to pull the girl away.
Then the other two men joined the fight.
Diving under a fist that would have pulped one side of her head, Surreal rolled, sprang up, took two running steps and, because no one tried to stop her from going deeper into the alley, spun around.
A dead end behind her, and the Hayllians blocking the only way out.
Surreal looked at the girl, wanting to express her regret.
Smiling greedily as one of the unwounded men dropped a small bag of coins into her hands, the girl pulled her clothes together and hurried out of the alley.
Mercenary little bitch.
Surreal tried hard to remember the other girls she'd helped over the past five years, but remembering them didn't diminish the overwhelming sense of betrayal. Well, she'd come full circle. She'd come up from living in stinking alleys. Now she'd die in one, because she wasn't about to let Kartane SaDiablo truss her up and hand her over as a present to the High Priestess of Hayll.
The men stepped forward, smiling viciously.
"Let her go."
The quiet, eerie, midnight voice came from behind her.
Surreal watched the men, watched surprise, uneasiness, and fear harden into a look that always meant pain for a woman.
"Let her go," the voice said again.
"Go to Hell," the largest Hayllian said, stepping forward.
A mist rose up behind the men, forming a wall across the alley.
"Just slit the bitch's throat and be done with it," the man with the shoulder wound said.
"Can't have any fun and games with the half-breed, so the other will have to learn some manners," the largest man said.
Thick mist suddenly filled the alley. Eyes, like burning red gems, appeared, and something let out a wet-sounding snarl.
Surreal screamed breathlessly as a hand clamped on her left arm.
"Come with me," said that terrifyingly familiar midnight voice.
The mist swirled, too thick to see the person guiding her through it as easily as if it were clear water.
More snarls. Then high-pitched, desperate screams.
"W-what—" Surreal stammered.
"Hell Hounds."
To the right of her, something hit the ground with a wet plop.
Surreal tried hard to swallow, tried hard not to breathe.
The next step took them out of the mist and back to the welcome sight of the neglected street.
"Are you staying around here?" the voice asked.
Surreal finally looked at her companion and felt a stab of disappointment immediately followed by a sense of relief. The woman was her height, and the body in the form-fitting black jumpsuit, though slender, definitely didn't belong to the child she remembered. But the long hair was golden, and the eyes were hidden behind dark glasses.
Surreal tried to pull away. "I'm grateful you got my ass out of that alley, but my mother told me not to tell strangers where I live."
"We're not strangers, and I'm sure that's not all Titian told you."
Surreal tried again to pull away. The hand on her arm clamped down harder. Finally realizing she still held a weapon in her other hand, Surreal swung the knife, bringing it down hard on the woman's wrist.
The knife went through as if there was nothing there and vanished.
"What are you?" Surreal gasped.
"An illusion that's called a shadow."
"Who are you?"
"Briarwood is the pretty poison. There is no cure for Briarwood." The woman smiled coldly. "Does that answer your question?"
Surreal studied the woman, trying to find some trace of the child she remembered. After a minute, she said, "You really are Jaenelle, aren't you? Or some part of her?"
Jaenelle smiled, but there was no humor in it. "I really am." A pause. Then, "We need to talk, Surreal. Privately."
Oh, yes, they needed to talk. "I have to go to the market first."
The hand with the dagger-sharp, black-tinted nails tightened for a moment before releasing her. "All right."
Surreal hesitated. Snarls and crunching noises came out of the mist behind them. "Don't you have to finish the kill?"
"I don't think that'll be a problem," Jaenelle said dryly. "Piles of Hound shit aren't much of a threat to anyone."
Surreal paled.
Jaenelle's lips tightened. "I apologize," she said after a minute. "We all have facets to our personalities. This has brought out the nastier ones in mine. No one will enter the alley and nothing will leave. The Harpies will arrive soon and take care of things."
Surreal led the way to the market square, where she bought folded breads filled with chicken and vegetables from one vendor, small beef pies from another, and fresh fruit from a third.
"I'll make you a healing brew," Jaenelle said when they finally returned to Surreal's rooms.
Still wondering why Jaenelle had sought her out, Surreal nodded before retreating into the bathroom to get cleaned up. When she returned, there was a covered plate on the small kitchen table and a steaming cup filled with a witch's brew.
Settling into a chair, Surreal sipped the brew and felt the pain in her abdomen gradually dull. "How did you find me?" she asked.
For the first time, there was amusement in Jaenelle's smile. "Well, sugar, since you're the only Gray Jewel in the entire Realm of Terreille, you're not that hard to find."
"I didn't know someone could be traced that way."
"Whoever is hunting you can't use that method. It’ requires wearing a Jewel equal or darker than yours."
"Why did you find me?" Surreal asked quietly.
"I need your help. I want to find Daemon."
Surreal stared at the cup. "Whatever he did at Cassandra's Altar that night was done to help you. Hasn't he suffered enough?"
"Too much."
There was sorrow and regret in Jaenelle's voice. The eyes would have told her more. "Do you have to wear those damn dark glasses?" Surreal asked sharply.
Jaenelle hesitated. "You might find my eyes disturbing."
"I'll take the chance."
Jaenelle raised the glasses.
Those eyes belonged to someone who had experienced the most twisted nightmares of the soul and had survived.
Surreal swallowed hard. "I see what you mean."
Jaenelle replaced the glasses. "I can bring him out of the Twisted Kingdom, but I need to make the link through his body."
If only Jaenelle had come a few months ago.
"I don't know where he is," Surreal said.
"But you can look for him. I can stay in this form only three days out of the month. He's running out of time, Surreal. If he isn't shown the road back soon, there won't be anything left of him."
Surreal closed her eyes.Shit.
Jaenelle poured the rest of the brew into Surreal's cup. "Even a Gray-Jeweled witch's moontime shouldn't give her this much pain."
Surreal shifted. Winced. "I suppressed last month's time." She wrapped her hands around the cup. "Daemon lived with me for a little while. Until a few months ago."
"What happened a few months ago?"
"Kartane SaDiablo happened," Surreal said viciously. Then she smiled. "Your spell or web or whatever it was you spun around Briarwood's uncles did a good job on him. You wouldn't even recognize the bastard." She paused. "Robert Benedict is dead, by the way."
"How unfortunate," Jaenelle murmured, her voice dripping yenom. "And dear Dr. Carvay?"
"Alive, more or less. Not for much longer from what I've heard."
"Tell me about Kartane . . . and Daemon."
"Last spring, Daemon showed up at the flat where I was living. Our paths have crossed a few times since—" Surreal faltered.
"Since the night at Cassandra's Altar."
"Yes. He's like Tersa used to be. Show up, stay a couple of days, and vanish again. This time he stayed. Then Kartane showed up." Surreal drained her cup. "Apparently he's been hunting for Daemon for some time, but, unlike Dorothea, he seems to have a better idea of where to look. He started demanding that Daemon help him get free of this terrible spell someone had put on him. As if he'd never done anything to deserve it. When it became apparent that Daemon was lost in the Twisted Kingdom and, therefore, useless, Kartane looked at me—and noticed my ears. At the same moment he realized I was Titian's child—and his—Daemon exploded and threw him out.
4 / Terreille
Surreal walked down the neglected street toward the market square, hoping her icy expression would offset her vulnerable physical state. She shouldn't have used that witch's brew to suppress last month's moon time, but the Hayllian guards Kartane SaDiablo had sent after her had been breathing down her neck then and she hadn't felt safe enough to risk being defenseless during the days when her body couldn't tolerate the use of her power beyond basic Craft.
Damn all Blood males to the bowels of Hell. When a witch's body made her vulnerable for a few days, it also made every Blood male a potential enemy. And right now she had enough enemies to worry about.
Well, she'd pick up a few things at the market and then hole up in her rooms with a couple of thick novels and wait it out.
Stifled, frightened cries came from the alley up ahead.
Calling in a long-bladed knife, Surreal slipped to the edge of the alley and peeked around the corner.
Four large, surly, Hayllian men. And one girl who was barely more than a child. Two of the men stood back, watching, as one of their comrades held the girl and the other's hands yanked her clothes aside.
Damn, damn, damn. It was a trap. There was no other reason for Hayllians to be in this part of the Realm, especially in this part of a dying city. She should just slip back to her rooms. If she was careful, they might not find her. There would be other Hayllians waiting around the places where she might purchase a ticket for a Web Coach, so that was out. And riding the Winds without the protection of a Coach might not be suicidal right now, but it would feel damn close.
But there was that girl. If she didn't intervene, that child was going to end up under those four brutes. Even if someone "rescued" her afterward, she'd be passed from man to man until the constant use or the brutality of one of them killed her.
Taking a deep breath, Surreal rushed into the alley.
An upward slash opened one man from armpit to collarbone. She swung her arm, just missing the girl's face, and managed to get in a shallow slash across the other's chest while she tried to pull the girl away.
Then the other two men joined the fight.
Diving under a fist that would have pulped one side of her head, Surreal rolled, sprang up, took two running steps and, because no one tried to stop her from going deeper into the alley, spun around.
A dead end behind her, and the Hayllians blocking the only way out.
Surreal looked at the girl, wanting to express her regret.
Smiling greedily as one of the unwounded men dropped a small bag of coins into her hands, the girl pulled her clothes together and hurried out of the alley.
Mercenary little bitch.
Surreal tried hard to remember the other girls she'd helped over the past five years, but remembering them didn't diminish the overwhelming sense of betrayal. Well, she'd come full circle. She'd come up from living in stinking alleys. Now she'd die in one, because she wasn't about to let Kartane SaDiablo truss her up and hand her over as a present to the High Priestess of Hayll.
The men stepped forward, smiling viciously.
"Let her go."
The quiet, eerie, midnight voice came from behind her.
Surreal watched the men, watched surprise, uneasiness, and fear harden into a look that always meant pain for a woman.
"Let her go," the voice said again.
"Go to Hell," the largest Hayllian said, stepping forward.
A mist rose up behind the men, forming a wall across the alley.
"Just slit the bitch's throat and be done with it," the man with the shoulder wound said.
"Can't have any fun and games with the half-breed, so the other will have to learn some manners," the largest man said.
Thick mist suddenly filled the alley. Eyes, like burning red gems, appeared, and something let out a wet-sounding snarl.
Surreal screamed breathlessly as a hand clamped on her left arm.
"Come with me," said that terrifyingly familiar midnight voice.
The mist swirled, too thick to see the person guiding her through it as easily as if it were clear water.
More snarls. Then high-pitched, desperate screams.
"W-what—" Surreal stammered.
"Hell Hounds."
To the right of her, something hit the ground with a wet plop.
Surreal tried hard to swallow, tried hard not to breathe.
The next step took them out of the mist and back to the welcome sight of the neglected street.
"Are you staying around here?" the voice asked.
Surreal finally looked at her companion and felt a stab of disappointment immediately followed by a sense of relief. The woman was her height, and the body in the form-fitting black jumpsuit, though slender, definitely didn't belong to the child she remembered. But the long hair was golden, and the eyes were hidden behind dark glasses.
Surreal tried to pull away. "I'm grateful you got my ass out of that alley, but my mother told me not to tell strangers where I live."
"We're not strangers, and I'm sure that's not all Titian told you."
Surreal tried again to pull away. The hand on her arm clamped down harder. Finally realizing she still held a weapon in her other hand, Surreal swung the knife, bringing it down hard on the woman's wrist.
The knife went through as if there was nothing there and vanished.
"What are you?" Surreal gasped.
"An illusion that's called a shadow."
"Who are you?"
"Briarwood is the pretty poison. There is no cure for Briarwood." The woman smiled coldly. "Does that answer your question?"
Surreal studied the woman, trying to find some trace of the child she remembered. After a minute, she said, "You really are Jaenelle, aren't you? Or some part of her?"
Jaenelle smiled, but there was no humor in it. "I really am." A pause. Then, "We need to talk, Surreal. Privately."
Oh, yes, they needed to talk. "I have to go to the market first."
The hand with the dagger-sharp, black-tinted nails tightened for a moment before releasing her. "All right."
Surreal hesitated. Snarls and crunching noises came out of the mist behind them. "Don't you have to finish the kill?"
"I don't think that'll be a problem," Jaenelle said dryly. "Piles of Hound shit aren't much of a threat to anyone."
Surreal paled.
Jaenelle's lips tightened. "I apologize," she said after a minute. "We all have facets to our personalities. This has brought out the nastier ones in mine. No one will enter the alley and nothing will leave. The Harpies will arrive soon and take care of things."
Surreal led the way to the market square, where she bought folded breads filled with chicken and vegetables from one vendor, small beef pies from another, and fresh fruit from a third.
"I'll make you a healing brew," Jaenelle said when they finally returned to Surreal's rooms.
Still wondering why Jaenelle had sought her out, Surreal nodded before retreating into the bathroom to get cleaned up. When she returned, there was a covered plate on the small kitchen table and a steaming cup filled with a witch's brew.
Settling into a chair, Surreal sipped the brew and felt the pain in her abdomen gradually dull. "How did you find me?" she asked.
For the first time, there was amusement in Jaenelle's smile. "Well, sugar, since you're the only Gray Jewel in the entire Realm of Terreille, you're not that hard to find."
"I didn't know someone could be traced that way."
"Whoever is hunting you can't use that method. It’ requires wearing a Jewel equal or darker than yours."
"Why did you find me?" Surreal asked quietly.
"I need your help. I want to find Daemon."
Surreal stared at the cup. "Whatever he did at Cassandra's Altar that night was done to help you. Hasn't he suffered enough?"
"Too much."
There was sorrow and regret in Jaenelle's voice. The eyes would have told her more. "Do you have to wear those damn dark glasses?" Surreal asked sharply.
Jaenelle hesitated. "You might find my eyes disturbing."
"I'll take the chance."
Jaenelle raised the glasses.
Those eyes belonged to someone who had experienced the most twisted nightmares of the soul and had survived.
Surreal swallowed hard. "I see what you mean."
Jaenelle replaced the glasses. "I can bring him out of the Twisted Kingdom, but I need to make the link through his body."
If only Jaenelle had come a few months ago.
"I don't know where he is," Surreal said.
"But you can look for him. I can stay in this form only three days out of the month. He's running out of time, Surreal. If he isn't shown the road back soon, there won't be anything left of him."
Surreal closed her eyes.Shit.
Jaenelle poured the rest of the brew into Surreal's cup. "Even a Gray-Jeweled witch's moontime shouldn't give her this much pain."
Surreal shifted. Winced. "I suppressed last month's time." She wrapped her hands around the cup. "Daemon lived with me for a little while. Until a few months ago."
"What happened a few months ago?"
"Kartane SaDiablo happened," Surreal said viciously. Then she smiled. "Your spell or web or whatever it was you spun around Briarwood's uncles did a good job on him. You wouldn't even recognize the bastard." She paused. "Robert Benedict is dead, by the way."
"How unfortunate," Jaenelle murmured, her voice dripping yenom. "And dear Dr. Carvay?"
"Alive, more or less. Not for much longer from what I've heard."
"Tell me about Kartane . . . and Daemon."
"Last spring, Daemon showed up at the flat where I was living. Our paths have crossed a few times since—" Surreal faltered.
"Since the night at Cassandra's Altar."
"Yes. He's like Tersa used to be. Show up, stay a couple of days, and vanish again. This time he stayed. Then Kartane showed up." Surreal drained her cup. "Apparently he's been hunting for Daemon for some time, but, unlike Dorothea, he seems to have a better idea of where to look. He started demanding that Daemon help him get free of this terrible spell someone had put on him. As if he'd never done anything to deserve it. When it became apparent that Daemon was lost in the Twisted Kingdom and, therefore, useless, Kartane looked at me—and noticed my ears. At the same moment he realized I was Titian's child—and his—Daemon exploded and threw him out.
