Bloodbound Read online

  LARSA

  Think this will do for a few days?” Rarentz gestured at the ivory manor huddled amid ivy and mossy elms.

  “What do you mean?” Jadain said, as we looked past the rusty gate we’d nearly walked by.

  “Well, we could find an inn to overcharge you for a drafty room, or you could take your pick of drafty rooms for no charge right here.”

  “Who’s home is this?” I glanced up at the prominent letter T worked into the gate. Even well back from the main avenue it was clear the house wasn’t occupied, many of its windows boarded over like so many others we’d seen in Ardis. Even if the owners were gone, though, they hadn’t necessarily given their home over to squatters.

  “The Troidaises. They don’t live around here anymore. I’m keeping an eye on the place while they’re looking for a buyer.” Rarentz produced a key and wrestled it into the lock. Even then he still had the give the gate his shoulder, the bars dragging gouges through the rocky drive.

  “I check in every week or so.” He smiled over his shoulder. “It’s no palace, but it’s warm and dry and you’ll have plenty of space.”

  Jadain seemed unconvinced, looking down the street as if she expected to see constables coming to run us off.

  Squat windows peeked through the weeds scaling the house. Too low for the first floor, the foggy panes likely helped light the basement. From the look of the place, probably a cold, musty basement at that. Perfect.

  “It’ll do fine.” I squeezed through the barely opened gate behind Rarentz.

  Neither Tashan nor Jadain rushed to follow.

  “This is wonderful!” Jadain spun, face upturned toward the glowing crystal swans of the chandelier hanging in the foyer of Troidais House.

  While the estate’s walled grounds had been left to do what they would, the house’s interior had waited for its owners’ return patiently. Sheets filled quiet rooms with the ghosts of elaborate furnishings, colorful carpets stood rolled in corners, mantels and sculpted alcoves sprawled deserted. Dust and stray leaves collected along the baseboards, our unannounced intrusion interrupting their rest. The house seemed desperate for company, so much so that our steps echoed tenaciously, dancing up empty stairs and reverberating through unseen halls.

  Despite the loneliness of the place, the chandelier had stayed lit.

  Rarentz barely gave an upward glance. “It’s the biggest pain about this place. Some cheap magic makes it glow, which sounds nice, but you can’t shut the bloody thing off. And it’s impossible to keep clean. It’s a giant glowing dust trap.”

  “Well, it’s lovely.” Jadain’s attention drifted back down. “You’re sure the owners won’t be concerned about us staying here? Should you ask first?”

  “Oh, they don’t live in the city anymore. It’ll be fine.” His boots clopped as he crossed to one of several heavy doors and pushed it open. “The kitchen’s here. There’s no food, but I can bring up some water and it’ll be fit for cooking whatever you have with you.”

  The door swung as he dropped it. He crossed to the worn wooden stairs, pointing up them. “There’re bedrooms upstairs if you want some privacy, but I’m afraid all the linens and mattresses are gone.” He turned to Jadain. “There’re still some of the lady of the house’s clothes up in the master bedroom. If you’d like something … more, you’re welcome to take a look.”

  The priestess grinned, suddenly mindful of robes stained by trail and knotted to keep their shape. Little of their original misty purple or ornamental swirls remained intact.

  “If it’s no bother.”

  “None at all.”

  She immediately made for the stairs, disappearing up them.

  Rarentz turned to Tashan and me, still lingering near the entry. “Please. Make yourselves at home.”

  I wasn’t interested in indulging his hospitality. I’d only come to Ardis for one reason. “Kindler said you know the city well.”

  “Yes.” His look of pride faded.

  “Criminals, smugglers, pesh dealers—where do those sorts collect?”

  He frowned. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “Every city has an underside. Where’s this one’s?”

  His look crossed to Tashan, maybe reconsidering us. “What are you looking for?”

  “Who. I’m looking for someone.”

  “Some criminal?”

  “A fugitive.” I handed him my iron badge.

  He didn’t accept it, his eyes jerking back to my face. He’d recognized the seal as something more than just the identification of some royal messenger—I hadn’t expected that.

  “A traitor? Or some rogue noble?” Obviously he knew something about the sort of problems accusers solved.

  “Something like that.”

  “Who?” He asked a bit too quickly.

  “No one you’d know,” I said, putting the emblem back inside my jacket.

  “I’ve lived here my entire life. You might be surprised.”

  I lifted a brow. “By what? The criminals you know?”

  His expression twisted, but he shrugged it off. “Spend enough time anyplace and you see things—sometimes you do things—most people have the sense to stay out of. You learn where to be to keep out of trouble and if you’re looking for trouble?”

  “So where do people in Ardis go when they’re looking for trouble.”

  “White Corner.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It used to just be another neighborhood where a lot of regular folk lived. I don’t think it was ever especially nice, but it wasn’t a slum. It’s mostly empty now.”

  “Why?”

  “Ardis has been dying for as long as I’ve know it. White Corner is just one of the places that rotted out first.”

  “Why do you mean ‘dying’?” Tashan chimed in.

  Rarentz gave a sour grimace. “The royal court moved to Caliphas about ten years before I was born. Most of the most important families followed it south, but a lot of stubborn sorts stayed here to stick it out in the ‘True Capital.’” He rolled his eyes. “And by stubborn, I mostly mean cheap or poor.”

  Rarentz might not have been old enough to remember, but I was. I wasn’t working for the crown back then, but working for Grandfather alone wasn’t really that different. On his deathbed, the last prince commanded the throne be moved from historic, geographically central Ardis to rich, metropolitan Caliphas. For Caliphas, the relocation meant even greater prestige for what was already one of the most important ports on Lake Encarthan. That wealth and clout had to come from somewhere, though, and apparently Caliphas’s gain was Ardis’s loss.

  “Ardis has been emptying out ever since,” Rarentz went on. “Without as much noble money in the city, many places hiked up prices and rents or got rid of workers. There used to be a lot of beggars on the streets. There still are, but growing up there were more. Who knows where they all went, but most came from places like White Corner. Practically overnight one family’s little room turned into something three families could barely afford.”

  It was bad news, but from his detached telling it was apparently old news. I pushed him on. “And now?”

  “The landlords eventually gave up—even they couldn’t afford to live in their empty tenements. The people on the streets tried moving back in, but the gangs were already carving up territories. The watch tried to break things up, but eventually they gave up, too. It wasn’t like the gangs were wrecking anyplace anyone important cared about. So now they just do what they please and anyone with sense avoids passing through White Corner.”

  “That’s where I’m headed, then.”

  Turning for the door, I nearly ran into Tashan.

  “We’ll come with you,” he said.

  “Like hell you will. You’ll stand out too much and I’m not wasting time keeping your ass out of trouble.” I didn’t care that Rarentz was listening. “And I don’t need your master showing up to look over my shoulder.”

  The Osirian gave a detached blink, but stepp
ed aside.

  “Pass that along to Jadain, too. If she wants to help, remind her how useful her healing magic was this morning.”

  The door booming closed cut off any argument.

  Just ahead, some street brat darted across the alley’s mouth. He fired a look at me before running on, eyes wet flints amid a mask of rags. His footfalls sounded like crumpling paper. By the time I reached the next trash-heaped thoroughfare, he’d vanished.

  But the whispers made it completely obvious where he’d gone.

  The uneven alleys and staggering buildings of White Corner were far less abandoned than Rarentz had claimed.

  I had no trouble finding the district. At any cross street, I merely headed the direction people were headed away from. Empty buildings were a common enough sight in Ardis, but few were truly dilapidated. As soon as that changed, I knew I’d arrived.

  Trash heaped high enough to cover street-level windows. Congested gutters leaked brown streams across the cobbles. Scrawny mongrels scrapped with bloated rats—the rats regularly winning bloody victories. Over it all drifted a haze of plaster dust and the groans of diseased buildings. There were slums in Caliphas, but White Corner was a ruin.

  If the city had a vampire population, this is where they’d hunt. It was just a matter of finding someone who’d notice nameless corpses and be bold enough to talk. Criminals were typically good for that sort of thing, the cockier and better organized the better. Those sorts weren’t hard to find.

  Usually.

  Hours passed and the sun settled behind the city’s jagged skyline. In the alleys, small fires attracted knots of voiceless strangers. Silent skirmishes over territory and food unfolded, the losers chased into the cold of the open avenues. Man-shaped rag heaps scuttled through the dark, hunting warmth, food, and their own hidden corners—all in pitifully short supply.

  I kept my distance from the scavengers—they weren’t the sort I was looking for. Junk lean-tos and trash palaces crowded the alley routes I favored. The inhabitants knew to keep their eyes to themselves, and only an occasional grumble marked my passage. At least, until it started getting dark.

  A faint glow marked the veiled moon’s climb. As it rose, the muttering became bolder. Noise echoed weirdly amid the urban ravines. Alleys inhabited only by lice seemed to sigh, given breath either by some trick of the wind or the murmurs of watchers in the windows above. I never made out an actual word, only the snipped cadence of complaint. Often voices sounded as though they were coming from just ahead, but every corner turned onto another silent street.

  And I wasn’t the only one to hear. Soon, every crowded flame reflected in dim eyes. The vagabonds hadn’t just begun noticing me; the night simply made them bolder. I slipped from an alley and already eyes were upon me: three men around a heap of burning garbage, their lookout in a broken window, even a procession of conquering rats—they all had their eyes fixed on the shadows I kept to. I doubted the humans could even see me in the dark, but still they stared, and around them echoed that wordless mutter.

  It seemed like I’d broken some law of the street, and White Corner had noticed. I reached to pull my hat lower, forgetting I hadn’t had it since Kavapesta. I could feel its phantom weight nonetheless. With a sour groan, I dashed to the next alley. Hours had passed and I’d seen nothing of gangs or hideouts. I’d been listening for the screams or cruel laughs of slum warlords, but there’d been nothing. Only echoes murmured, without need of mouths or voices. I scoffed at Rarentz calling this place abandoned. Abandoned by civilization, definitely, but not by people. This place had become a wilderness, and something primal had taken root.

  That’s when the kid darted past. His deliberateness more than his appearance interested me, but he disappeared faster than I could follow. Tall flames burned at the end of the street he’d evaporated into, past a dune of broken furniture and whatever else sagging tenements had vomited loose. The fires crackled, sounding like steps or snippets of sharp curses. In the firelight, the empty buildings seemed to sway. It looked like any of them might collapse, silently and unmourned, at any moment.

  The light also danced in staring, recklessly fearless eyes, several pairs watching from a rubble heap’s slumped entry. If more glimmered in the street, I didn’t notice. Even if I had, I’d reached the point where I didn’t care.

  My old approaches didn’t seem to work here. Time for a new one.

  The staring wretch didn’t move as I broke from the shadows and didn’t blink as I yanked it to its feet. Tangled sheets hugged its body, crusty onion layers of dirt and sweat as thick as leather. I slammed him against the crumbling plaster and couldn’t tell where stained fabric ended and stained skin began.

  I intended to speak—to demand, to threaten, to wring out the secrets of these zombie streets. But I smelled that familiar, rusty tang and felt a rising, racing pulse through my palms.

  How long had it been since I’d fed properly? From the source? Considine’s lukewarm charity had been irresistible in the moment, but after he vanished, the warmth in my belly soon followed. The reminder lingered.

  Certainly no one would notice one less pitiful story in this place. I could easily convince myself this was a mercy if I even cared to.

  I snapped the dirty thing’s head to the side and bared my—

  My nothing. My neutered, blunt, remaining teeth.

  What did I really hope to do? Could I chew this hopeless, stringy sack apart? How long would it take dry gums to gnaw a vagabond bloody?

  I dropped the uncomplaining, ageless, genderless collection of stains. It slid down the empty doorframe—still staring, still fearless. I struggled between rising disgust and the urge that gripped my dagger, ready to use it like cutlery.

  When the whispers coalesced, they were close. “Miss Kindler.”

  I jerked at the proximity of the icy voice, my blade leaving its sheath.

  Arms low, hands open, a leper princess stood mid-street—not at my back as it had sounded. A gown fashioned from sable strips wound across the stranger’s body, every length pierced by precious baubles—punctured coins, mismatched earrings, dangling broaches, all crisscrossing her body in golden trails. She was thin, but the layers of her flayed dress disguised just how much so. What the decorative straps didn’t cover hid beneath lacy black gloves and a matching veil.

  I immediately suspected what she was—my people sometimes attempted to defy the sun in such heavy coverings. Her breast moved faintly. I reached out with the coldest parts of me, but didn’t sense the tingle of death upon her. If she was one of my kind, she was taking pains to disguise it. Or perhaps the opposite, and she was failing at imitating a vampire.

  “What did you call me?” I kept my blade between us. At my feet, the beggar had sunk back into its heap, having never even twitched.

  “Miss Kindler,” she repeated in a hissing accent, sounding as though she were speaking through clenched teeth.

  “I’m not Miss Kindler.”

  “Of course,” she said with cool deference. “If you’ll follow me, my lord is waiting for you.”

  I checked the street again. She appeared to be alone, yet the firmness of her voice made it clear this wasn’t a casual invitation.

  “Your lord?”

  “Yes.” She bowed slightly, causing baubles to tinkle across her body. They hadn’t made a sound a moment ago when she’d approached. “Your father.”

  This was not what I’d expected when I came here looking for the traitor. A hint, a whisper, a direction, yes, but never an invitation. “Rivascis?”

  “If you’ll follow me.” She turned away without waiting for my answer, heading down the street toward the flames.

  Again I scanned the shadows, even checked that the mass behind me hadn’t twitched. Nothing disturbed the darkness. Even the faint whispers had ceased, as if they’d congealed into the shadow slipping down the street.

  What choice did I have? Perhaps I could best this eerie messenger and learn what she knew with the tip of my blade, b
ut something about her suggested I wouldn’t have that chance. If she were leading me into an ambush, well, at least then I’d have some sense of what Rivascis was armed with. I trusted my experience to get me out of most trouble—or at least to recognize when I’d gotten in too deep.

  The woman faded into the dark, trailing a gentle rhythm of soft chimes. With no better option, I followed.

  28

  FADED GLORIES

  JADAIN

  It didn’t slam, but the front door’s solid closing sent a pulse through Troidais House. I’d only just touched the banister at the top of the stairs when I felt the vibration through the wood.

  Most of the rooms on the manor’s second floor were like the ones below, given over to dusty floors and furniture costumed as ghosts. The master bedroom hadn’t been hard to find, though, nor the wardrobe within. Many of the clothes were older fashions and had seen more than one alteration, but the fabric and design were lovely. Searching for something plain revealed dress after dress of Thuvian lace, wolf fur, fine sable, pearl clasps, and patterns fit to be display tapestries. In the end, I closed them back up, unwilling to threaten any one of them—grinning at the ridiculousness of dressing like a noblewoman.

  Lady Troidais’s husband appeared to be only a slightly less delicate sort. In a fine chest filled with a lord’s attire for everything from receiving to riding I found a pair of well-worn pants and a plain, only slightly snug shirt. I ignored the faint unaired smell, and a few tucks and a tight belt brought together a relatively comfortable outfit.

  My robes lay in a heap at the center of the plank floor, their violet swirls torn and muddy. Stripping out of them had been like peeling off a layer of dead skin. They’d take considerable work to mend and clean, if they could be saved at all. I didn’t know if it’d be worth it, and wondered if it’d be better to merely toss them away. Either choice had a gulf of implications.

  I tore away a roughly even strip of sleeve, replacing the loose bandage covering my branded eye. This one was deeper lavender and not nearly as stained. I balled the rest into my pack, then headed back downstairs.