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  I didn’t know the particulars, and none of Grandfather’s slaves jeopardized themselves by sharing—not even Considine. All I’d gleaned was that Rivascis had fled the Old City against Grandfather’s wishes, spoiling some scheme that had amused Luvick at the time. When he did escape, he’d done so alone—despite the fact that I’d been born just months before. Although it was forbidden to even speak Rivascis’s name in the Old City, its residents—my nightmarish aunts and uncles—and even Grandfather himself, made it clear that I was the daughter of a traitor. Worse than being a half-breed, I bore the sin of my father’s betrayal, making me a convenient outlet for countless slights and vague revenges. Some who bit me claimed they could smell my father in my fear or taste his cowardice in my blood. And when I lay weak from bleeding and sore from the wounds of arrogant leeches, I’d hear Grandfather’s voice through the dark: If you must blame someone, blame your father.

  And I did.

  I’d never met the man, but I hated him still. Intellectually, I knew it was just another of Grandfather’s manipulations, a lifelong ploy to turn me into a weapon against his treacherous son. I was too willing to play along, though. I didn’t blame the snakes for their bites, I blamed the one who threw me into their pit.

  Every one of my thousand scars, I blamed on him.

  I read my letter once more. It felt more juvenile, more obvious with each line—especially as its recipient was more than a thousand years old.

  I crumpled the page, flicked a candle off its setting, and kicked the wastebin blaze into the bedroom’s immodest fireplace.

  Grandfather be damned. If I was to be killed, let me get killed doing something for myself.

  I was parched again.

  Snatching my still-damp cloak, I headed back out. If I was lucky, I knew just the place off Virholt Street with a few drops still untapped.

  14

  FINAL PREPARATIONS

  JADAIN

  You’re late!” I shouted, teasing Larsa as she came through the asylum’s gardens.

  Havenguard presented an ominous facade, but the grounds behind the institution’s stone and bars had been lovingly cultivated into a series of precisely arranged flowerbeds. Some were little more than dirt patches, plump with nearly ripe vegetables, while others were dance floors for flowered lattices and decoratively sculpted trees. It was only moments after dawn, and already a handful of doctors and distant orderlies had led freshly dressed patients into the open grounds. Some talked in small groups, others drifted to visit their favorite plants, and a few took up wooden spades to mulch and replant as needed. Over it all repeated the soothing lapping of surf upon the nearby cliffs.

  It was difficult not to compare the peaceful, even idyllic, therapies here to the struggles common to the nearby city. Perhaps we should all be committed every once in a while.

  The morning haze blessed the sun with a soft, golden aura as it rose over the water. Larsa obviously didn’t share my appreciation—her hat was lowered as if against a midday glare.

  “Late?” she asked irritably, approaching the half-loaded cart I leaned against.

  I retracted the joke. “Nothing.”

  She eyed the already loaded packs and cases. “It’s hardly a fortnight’s journey. Is all of that yours?”

  “Nope.” I toed my reliable rucksack. “Just this.”

  “What’s all that then?”

  “Trice insists on outfitting our trip.”

  She cocked an eyebrow, but something past me caught her attention. I looked over my shoulder at the modest cottage backing up against the sea cliffs.

  “Well, that’s what he said.” I nodded at the man coming through the cottage door, bearing a third matching wooden case toward the wagon.

  It was obvious he wasn’t from Ustalav. Our people were known for their icy paleness or drained olive hues—with those of less seemly Kellid ancestry, like myself, having ruddier traces. A hint of bronze underlaid his skin. That same metal seemed to sharpen most of his features. With his slightly hooked nose and round chin, his face had an openness to it, undisguised by a head of dark scrub. He wasn’t old, but I couldn’t honestly tell if he might number more or less than my twenty-six years. Although he didn’t seem to be hiding his foreign heritage, he wore local dress, a dingy vest and jacket common to many of Caliphas’s working sorts. A sunny scarf peaked from beneath his cloudy coat, daring just at bit of color.

  He grinned as he approached and gently set the box on the back of the wagon. It wasn’t a large case, but he was hardly some dockworker—there was a compactness to him, like someone used to running. He slid the baggage into place with the others.

  “Good morning,” he said cheerily with a bow of his head.

  I gestured to him. “Larsa, this is Tashan Essesh.”

  “Miss Larsa.” He bowed to Larsa again, this time more deeply. His voice had only the barest accent, something charming in the “R” sound. I pinched back a smile.

  He straightened. “Venture-Captain Trice bids me travel with you to Ardis, as our interests cross there.”

  “Venture-Captain?” Larsa asked.

  “Doctor Trice’s position within the Pathfinder Society. He’s a senior official for the region, and I’m honored that he’s chosen me to assist in this business.” Tashan practically beamed.

  “Has Captain Trice explained our business in Ardis to you?” Larsa hardly sounded as friendly.

  “Miss Jadain is an official of Pharasma’s church. You are an official of the nation’s crown. Our concerns are complimentary, but distinct.” He spoke like a soldier. “That’s how he explained the matter to me, and that’s all I need know.”

  “And what’s your business in Ardis?” she asked.

  “I’m planning an expedition to Sarkorian ruins in the north. Ardis is on my route, so I don’t mind familiarizing myself with the way, especially with company.”

  Larsa’s eyes fell upon the wagon’s load. “All this is yours, then?”

  “Provisions committed to our travels.” Tashan gestured to the assortment of cases and packs. “Food, cooking supplies, dry wood, blankets, tents, hunting and fishing gear, various tools, emergency supplies.”

  “Ardis is fifteen nights off, by road the entire way. It looks like there’s enough here to keep us in the wild for a month.”

  “Venture-Captain Trice has been generous.” He gave an excited smile. His enthusiasm was adorable, but I agreed with Larsa that the preparations seemed a bit excessive.

  Larsa lifted one end of a wooden pole out the wagon’s bed—it was easily ten feet long. She raised a brow dubiously.

  “You never know.” Tashan shrugged. Her doubtful expression didn’t change, but she dropped it back in place

  “There’s more?” She marched toward the cottage door.

  I chuckled, having played the same part in exactly the same scene just moments before Larsa’s arrival.

  “Oh no, Miss Larsa, I’ll take care of it. If you’ll wait with Miss Jadain, we’ll be ready to leave soon.” He smiled with proud politeness, like a young noble showing off his manners before company.

  Larsa scoffed and marched on.

  Tashan jogged after her. “Miss Larsa, please! If my mother knew I’d let a woman load her own bags, she’d never speak to me again.” His hand went to her forearm, no more than a gentle touch.

  I cringed.

  Larsa wheeled on him, smacking his hand with a solid crack.

  “Your mother isn’t going to make me another moment later to Ardis than I already am. Now help, or stay out of the way.” She spun, red hair slashing behind her. She disappeared into the ivy-covered cottage, but her voice emerged a second later. “And if I hear you say ‘miss’ again, I’ll throw you over those cliffs.”

  Tashan looked back to see me covering my smile, his eyes wide. I nodded a warning, followed by a shrugged secondhand apology. Summoning back his boldness, he followed Larsa inside.

  I didn’t join them, happy to let Tashan have his way. He had changed our
long walk to Ardis into a long ride, after all. It seemed like the least I could do.

  Larsa and Tashan made a few more trips back and forth from the house.

  “That’s it,” Larsa said, dropping a dusty burlap sack. She drifted away toward the cottage’s shadiest corner.

  Tashan was several minutes following, eventually emerging with his personal baggage: a dingy white pack, an unsheathed sword with a polished bronze blade, and an elaborate contraption of twisted red glass. He loaded them carefully into the wagon, opening a padded case and carefully placing the vase-like glass device inside.

  I asked about it, as much with my expression as words.

  “A hookah. A water pipe, for smoking … whatever have you. They’re terribly relaxing. I’ll show you when we make camp tonight.”

  I made an interested noise and nodded politely, having no actual intention of taking him up on his offer. Once his effects were stowed, he jogged off to fetch our packhorse—eager either to finally get underway, or to prevent Larsa or me from claiming the errand for ourselves. He pretended not to hear my offer to help.

  I joined Larsa in the shadow of a grizzled chestnut tree shouldering the cottage’s eastern face. She was watching the white-clad forms drift through the gardens—peaceful, but more than a little eerie. Two in particular had captured her attention: Doctor Trice and, a half step behind him, Doctor Linas in a fresh white coat. They followed the mossy flagstone path toward the cottage, their interest obviously not entirely on the patients this morning.

  “Ready to be off?” Doctor Trice asked once close enough to be heard over the surf. His hair was tamer than yesterday, likely owing to the morning’s care. It looked like the weight of his work hadn’t settled onto his shoulders yet this morning.

  “Yes, sir. Just as soon as Tashan returns with the horse.” My own words surprised me, sounding more enthusiastic than I’d meant them. Yesterday’s troubles had unfolded so quickly that I hadn’t realized just how honestly excited I was to get out of the city and see a bit of the countryside. The Old Capital as well, although I had no idea what might meet us there. Ardis was supposed to be an impressive, history-rich place, home to kings and queens—when we still had them. This might not be a holiday, but it was certainly a break from the prayers and tears of Maiden’s Choir.

  Trice nodded. “Good, good. You’re all introduced, then.”

  “He seems young.” Larsa didn’t hide her disapproval.

  “Tashan?” The doctor shrugged. “Maybe. He comes well recommended by my compatriots in Isger.”

  “You seem to be putting a lot of faith in a messenger you don’t know.”

  “It’s true I don’t know Tashan well, but he’s come a long way without much. In my experience, anyone who can make that claim knows a thing or two about getting along in the world. Also, if he’s clever enough to earn himself a Society membership, he’s done something right.”

  “You don’t know what that something is?”

  “He’s been in the city less than a week and my schedule leaves little time for entertaining. So no, we’re not on familiar terms.” A touch of annoyance crept into the doctor’s voice. “But whatever virtues my usual agents might possess, Tashan overshadows with presence. He is available, able, and ready—a perfect fit for the errand.”

  Larsa’s brow arched. “And if it’s more than an errand, he’s expendable?”

  “If it’s more than an errand he’ll have the opportunity to make good on his recommendations.” He reached out a hand to Doctor Linas, who snapped a thin, tightly wrapped brown parcel into his palm. “I’m giving this to Tashan. It’s a message for Miss Kindler, along with her file from Maiden’s Choir.”

  He noticed my frown—the record was my order’s property, after all. “I’ll be sure to make an additional donation to the church, since their property was mislaid while in my care. Regardless, I’m sure Miss Kindler will appreciate putting hands on the last copies of these reports. Hopefully it will also make her more receptive to your visit.”

  Tashan was returning from the stables leading a speckled gray draft horse, a sturdier—and hopefully better-tempered—sort than the mare from yesterday. Between the less ominous wagon and the more impressive horse, I wondered if our prior travel conditions had been Doctor Linas’s revenge for disrupting her peaceful schedule.

  “As far as he’s concerned,” Trice said before Tashan entered earshot, “this journey is nothing more than an errand—one both crown and church hold interest in—but ultimately a page’s work. He knows nothing of this parcel’s contents or those involved.”

  His eyes locked with Larsa’s. We both nodded as the Pathfinder led the horse to the edge of our circle. Tashan tried to match our serious expressions, but the way his eyes skipped from face to face belied his eagerness.

  Trice greeted him in a language that seemed to use significantly more of his mouth than our native Taldane. Tashan smiled and repeated the words with a few variations.

  The doctor winced. “When you return, I’ll find the bottle of shedeh I’ve hidden away if you promise to point out some of the ways I’ve been butchering your language.”

  “Not at all, doctor. Your Osiriani is especially good for a northerner.” Tashan grinned, though it was obvious his superior wouldn’t be so easily placated.

  Trice passed the tightly wrapped parcel to Tashan and moved on to business. “This package is for Miss Ailson Kindler and her alone. Although the contents are neither valuable nor dangerous, they are private. You will deliver it and convey the Society’s esteem. Upon doing so, you are to respectfully indulge Miss Kindler’s wishes and, should it please her, return any correspondence she might have.”

  Tashan gave a single solid nod.

  “Do you have any questions about your assignment?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Travel to Ardis, this time of year upon the Crown’s Procession and New Surdina Road, should take about fifteen days. Allowing for about three days in Ardis, then your return trip, I expect to see you back in approximately a month’s time. Understood?”

  Tashan made some deferential acknowledgment

  “Good.” Trice turned to Larsa and me. “And do you have all that you need?”

  Larsa snorted.

  “More than enough, thank you, Doctor.” I touched my amulet. “May the Lady bless you for your generosity.”

  Trice hardly spared Larsa a glance. “I look forward to hearing of your journey—I hope it goes as smoothly as possible. May fortune and your gods watch over you.”

  With that, he started back toward the gardens and the enfolding arms of the asylum beyond.

  Doctor Linas didn’t spare a look or word. We might as well be strangers—not that I’d expected heartfelt well wishes from the detached doctor. She fell into silent step behind Trice the moment he passed.

  “Give me just a moment and we’ll be ready to go!” Tashan was already moving, leading the colorless gelding.

  I glanced sideways at Larsa after watching him go. She’d surprised me with how quiet she’d been. “Are you all set?”

  “Except for disposing of some extra baggage.” She was glaring at Tashan.

  “He was just trying to be polite about loading the cart.” I tried to play peacemaker, not relishing the idea of carrying disputes with us all the way to Ardis.

  She shifted her glare. I grinned innocently.

  “Trice seems to trust him,” I offered more seriously.

  “Trice trusts his club. He doesn’t seem to know a thing about this one.”

  “Well, fortunately it’s an easy trip. We’ll be in Ardis soon enough, meet with Miss Kindler, then be on our way back.”

  “That’s the story for the kid.” She looked at me sharply, then away—considering. “And you’ll be more useful prepared …” she muttered, more to herself than me.

  When she looked back, there was a decision in her eyes.

  “You know a part of the story—certainly more than you should.” Her voice lowered. “I�
��m breaking a royal edict telling you this. I’ve silenced some who know less. But if you’re going to walking into this, I’m not going to be the only one watching for the teeth of a trap.”

  I nodded, a part of me quite certain that I didn’t want hear what she had to say. The apprehensions I already had about the accuser and this errand began multiplying.

  “You know we’re not just visiting Trice’s old wet nurse. There’s something gone wrong in Ardis, and it has to do with things old and terribly dangerous.” Her gaze was intense—serious and a little sad. “Do you understand how much stronger I am than you?”

  Her question was blunt, but it wasn’t an insult. Of course, I had no idea.

  “How much faster I am? How much longer I’ll likely live? The only thing that doesn’t make my blood a blessing is that your people call it a curse.” She paused, blame in her eyes. “But then, so do mine. I can walk where they can’t, pass as human in ways they can’t, stand under the sun without being burned. But despite that, I’m a curiosity—a runt. I’m still one of them, but I’m not ‘of the blood’ in the way they are.”

  Despite the burden of her experience, her matter-of-fact tone was utterly detached, like a widow claiming she’ll be fine.

  “Because of that, when a bargain was made with the humans—when my people needed someone to work with our prey and their laws—I was offered up. They said it was because I could pass, but it’s really because it’s work too demeaning for any true vampire. So I serve among the Royal Accusers and help keep the nation’s nobles in line. But rather than spying on mansions and attending masquerades like most, I skulk in alleys and sewers, making sure the most brazen of my people don’t jeopardize the truce. I mind the affairs of my people to safeguard a land too terrified to even acknowledge our presence.”

  Disdain dripped from every word. I could practically see the fangs glinting behind her lips. A slow shiver crawled up my back. For not the first time since I met Larsa, something in me acknowledged that she wasn’t just cold and misunderstood.