Nemesis Page 4

  “Daēvas are native to this place then?” he asked.

  “Not exactly.” The staff allowed him to speak the words, but it didn’t like this answer and Darius couldn’t suppress a quick grimace of pain. “No.”

  “So you have kin in this world?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ah.” Runar’s mouth set. “And what House do your kin belong to?”

  Darius felt the Nexus pulsing at the edge of his vision. He ignored it.

  “Dessarian.”

  Katrin gave a low growl. Runar and Stefán exchanged a dark glance. Frida slouched against the wall, her gaze locked on Darius. The atmosphere in the small chamber vibrated with tension.

  “Your mother’s name?”

  “Delilah.”

  “And your father?”

  And so they had arrived at the heart of the matter. He squeezed the staff. Felt the grain of the wood, the currents of power running along them. He tried to think of a loophole he might wiggle through and came up blank.

  Darius’s voice was tight. “Victor.”

  As he spoke the name, before the second syllable even left his lips, Nazafareen spun with astonishing speed and kicked Broken Nose in the throat, knocking him backwards and wrenching his sword away as he fell. In one fluid movement, she had the blade against Runar’s neck, to the juncture where his pulse beat. Everyone froze. The only sound was Broken Nose’s soft wheezing.

  “Use the power on me and I kill him,” she spat, her eyes glowing with a feral light.

  Runar simply gazed at her in a considering way. Broken Nose glared in impotent fury. Stefán and Frida looked shocked to the marrow. They hadn’t known what she truly was, though they certainly did now.

  The hair on Darius’s neck stood up. At least one of them was in the Nexus.

  He saw the scene play out before him in the blink of an eye. They would lash out with the power, but Nazafareen would kill Runar. She nearly had the reflexes of a daēva now.

  Then it would be a free-for-all. And no matter how it ended, once blood was shed, there would be no going back. Ever.

  “No,” Darius said quietly. He leaned the staff against the wall, the movement slow and deliberate. “Not this way.”

  Nazafareen’s eyes skewered Runar, waiting for a single twitch. The other Valkirins watched in silence, tight as coiled springs. He had to get through to her before they snapped. Had to stop her somehow.

  “There can be no bad blood. The clans must stop all that nonsense. Sound familiar?”

  A muscle in Nazafareen’s jaw feathered.

  “Did you truly expect any different?” he persisted. “They would have found out eventually. Put the sword down.”

  She muttered something under her breath.

  “If you harm him,” she told Runar, “I’ll hunt you to the ends of the earth.”

  Nazafareen lowered the sword. In an instant, bonds of air squeezed Darius from head to toe. Broken Nose backhanded him, his heavy rings giving the blow vicious power. The taste of blood filled his mouth. Nazafareen screamed in rage, but the sound cut off as though severed by a knife. They must have gagged her.

  As if from a distance, Darius heard Kallisto arguing with Runar, but all he saw was Nazafareen as she toppled like a falling tree. Megaera tried to run to her, but Herodotus laid a restraining hand on her arm, whispering urgently. The old scholar looked stricken.

  “Bring them outside,” Runar snapped. “Not the Breaker. She can stay here and stew in her bonds for a while.”

  Fingers seized his hair and dragged him into the hall. Despite the hot throbbing in his jaw, despite the knowledge that there was worse coming, Darius felt dizzy with relief.

  Outside.

  If they’d put him in a small stone chamber and shackled him, he feared he might lose his mind.

  Even so, he felt panic rising in his throat at the feeling of confinement. And he understood that even though he’d escaped his cell in Delphi, some part of him had never truly left.

  What is your true name, Andros?

  Dark eyes, alight with madness.

  Do you know the story of Eros and Psyche?

  Bright sunlight in his eyes. The sour, animal stink of his own body.

  I treat my witches well.

  Do you know how many I’ve broken, Andros?

  And always, when he refused to speak:

  I’m sorry. Truly, I am. But you brought this on yourself.

  4

  A Bargain

  They left Nazafareen in darkness, arms and legs pinioned with air. She lay on her back, stiff as a plank, trying to ignore the itch on her nose. Not for the first time, she cursed the fickle nature of her power. It seemed that whenever she needed it most, she couldn’t touch it.

  Whoever devised huo mofa should be flogged, she thought, glaring into the blackness.

  She tried not to dwell on what might be happening to Darius. Kallisto and Herodotus and the two Maenads wouldn’t let the Valkirins kill him, that she knew for sure. And they couldn’t stop Darius from working earth, if it came down to it. She couldn’t see him submitting meekly to death.

  Nazafareen thought of the hell he went through in Delphi, all on her account. And now here he was again, in the hands of their enemies, trussed up like a chicken waiting for the pot to boil. She tasted the bitter dregs of regret.

  It’ll serve them right if the Vatra does show up, she thought savagely.

  An indeterminate amount of time passed. And then Nazafareen saw a faint light creeping under the door. It opened and Nazafareen squeezed her eyes shut, blinded by the sudden glare.

  “Who’s there?” she demanded.

  “Keep your voice down,” a familiar voice whispered. It was crisp and cultured like the scholars at the library, but with a distinctly feminine lilt.

  “Rhea!”

  The Maenad hurried over and knelt gracefully before Nazafareen. She set the lumen crystal on the ground, laying her staff across her knees. Her grey eyes were solemn.

  “Are you hurt?”

  “I’m fine. Can’t move, but at least they took the gag off. How’s Darius?”

  “They’ve wrapped him in coils of air.” She paused. “He’s dangling over the ravine.”

  Nazafareen fell silent for a long moment. “I’ll kill them. Painfully.”

  Rhea arched an eyebrow. “Not in this state, you won’t. But they don’t plan on harming him, not yet at least. Runar got the idea of trading him to Victor for the diamond. They put him out there so the Danai could get a good look.”

  “Diamond?”

  “The talisman that shrouds the keep in ice.” Rhea shivered. “It must be awful in there.”

  Nazafareen’s eyes rolled toward the open doorway. “The Valkirins let you come visit me?”

  Rhea smiled. “I snuck up on the guard and cracked him over the head. He’ll be out cold for a while.”

  Nazafareen tested her invisible bonds. They were as solid as before.

  “If it’s not the guard, who’s holding these flows?”

  “I think they have a way of tying them in place. They do it at the holdfasts. The one we saw was open to the sky, but shields of air form the outer walls.” She shook her head in wonder. “I never knew daēvas were so strong. It’s marvelous the things they can do.”

  “Now you sound like Herodotus,” Nazafareen grumbled. “Admiring the fine teeth of the wolf just before it rips your throat out. What about Kallisto and the others?”

  “Runar made us swear our true names and purpose on Kallisto’s staff. He’s satisfied that we don’t intend the Valkirins harm, but he won’t hear a word about Darius. Kallisto’s in a terrible temper.” She studied Nazafareen with reproach. “Why did you come here? It was very foolish.”

  “I suppose it was. I wanted to see Culach. Thought I could set things right.” She laughed mirthlessly.

  “I’ve heard them talking about him. They hate him as much as Victor, maybe more. They think he betrayed them to the Danai and plan to make him suffer when they
get their hands on him.”

  Nazafareen shifted. “Could you scratch my nose? It’s driving me mad.”

  Rhea eyed her with distaste. “Not in your nose?”

  “Just to the side. No, the left…. Ah, thank the gods. Listen, I have to get inside Val Moraine. Have they sent someone yet?”

  Rhea discreetly rubbed her fingers on her cloak. “No, they’re arguing over who would go. I think they don’t trust each other either. This diamond is a powerful talisman. They each want possession of it.”

  Nazafareen thought for a moment. “Good. That might make things easier. Tell them I want to see them. That the Fourth Talisman demands an audience. If they don’t, I won’t break Katrin’s ward. Everyone will have a talisman except for the Valkirins. Tell them that.”

  Rhea nodded. “So it is you. Kallisto said so, but…. The Fourth Talisman.”

  Nazafareen felt uncomfortable at the tinge of awe in her voice. “It’s just a silly title. But it might impress them. They seem like the types to go in for that sort of thing. Honestly, I haven’t changed a bit.” She jerked her head toward the door. “Go on. Off with you, now.”

  Rhea glanced at her. “No, you have changed. You’re bossier, for one thing.” She rose with a sly smile. “I shall convey the message, O Mighty One.”

  Nazafareen made a rude noise. The door eased shut and the light faded.

  They made her wait for a while, which was no less than she expected. Finally, Runar, Stefán and Frida showed up and loomed over her in a semicircle.

  “First things first,” Nazafareen said briskly. “I’m not craning my neck to talk to you, so you can loosen the bonds on my legs. Unless you’re afraid I’ll kick you in the shins.”

  Runar scowled, but Nazafareen felt the chains of air evaporate, though only on her lower half. She stood awkwardly, pushing her back against the wall for support, and stamped her feet a few times to get the blood going.

  “Thank you. Now, I understand that you plan to trade Darius for Victor’s diamond. It’s not a bad idea, actually.”

  “What is it you want?” Frida demanded.

  “I want to be your emissary.”

  Stefán laughed. “I don’t think so.”

  “No? And what do you think will happen if one of you shows up, making demands? You’ve already dangled Victor’s only son like a worm on a hook. Think! What do you know about Victor Dessarian?” Nazafareen shook her head sadly. “Yes, he’s dumb as rocks sometimes. But his defining trait is pride. If you get his dander up, he’ll have to refuse you.” She turned to Frida. “Sure, he’ll come around eventually. But how long to you want to draw this out? And he does have his own hostage. Halldóra’s grandson. Who knows what Victor might do if you really make him angry?”

  She could see this hit home with Frida, although the others didn’t seem to care as much what happened to Daníel. He was from Val Tourmaline, after all.

  “And why do you wish to go inside so badly?” Runar demanded.

  “I told you before. I need to speak with Culach. I’ll swear on Kallisto’s staff, if you wish. That is my only motive. But Victor knows me. Trusts me. If you want to end this siege, you’ll accept my offer.”

  When they hesitated, she felt her temper—so carefully held in check—begin to rise.

  “I fought a Vatra and won,” Nazafareen said coldly. “I have traveled in the Dominion. I have dissolved chimera. Having me for an ally is much better than the alternative.”

  “We’ll think about it,” Runar said.

  She stiffened as the bonds around her legs tightened again.

  “Wait!” Nazafareen cried as they strode to the door. “You should know one other thing.”

  They turned back, looking at her with stony faces.

  “I love Darius.” Her voice wavered with emotion. “I’d die before he came to harm. So I would never betray you. In fact, I’ll make damn sure Victor gives up that diamond, whether he likes it or not.”

  Frida crossed her arms, facing the two older men. “I have to say, that sounded sincere. More than the boasting and threats. I saw the way she looked at Huda when he struck Victor’s whelp across the face. She wanted to murder him. So I say let her go.” She snorted. “I trust her more than either of you.”

  Runar seemed offended, Stefán merely contemplative.

  “We can’t send her in alone. We need a representative,” Stefán said.

  They all began speaking at once then, arguing for one of their own.

  “Hey!” Nazafareen barked.

  Three heads swiveled her way.

  “You’ll never agree. So I propose you send Katrin. She’s not from any of your holdfasts.”

  Frida laughed. “And what makes you think she won’t kill you?”

  “Because she wants her power more than she wants revenge. And if she kills me, she’ll never have it.”

  Nazafareen hoped this was true.

  “I don’t like it,” Stefán said. “Katrin has a bad temper.” He eyed Frida with sudden suspicion. “And she’s sworn herself to Val Tourmaline.”

  “That’s only because we found her first. She would have done the same for either of you.”

  “And what if she tries to kill Victor?”

  “We’ll make it clear that if she does that, she’ll be an outcast. Katrin won’t risk it. She’s not stupid.”

  They turned back to Nazafareen.

  “Agreed,” Runar said sourly. “Katrin will accompany you into Val Moraine.”

  “Good. There’s one more thing. You’ll all swear on Kallisto’s staff that the Danai will be free to go home. I have to be able to tell Victor the guarantees are ironclad.”

  “Free to go home?” Frida smirked. “Fine. But I will not vouchsafe his life after that.”

  Nazafareen knew this was the best she would get. Victor had done too much damage.

  “Fair enough,” she replied, grinning. “So who gets to give Katrin the good news?”

  5

  The Ones We’ve Been Waiting For

  Damp sheets clung to his skin as Nicodemus rolled to his back and stared blearily at the ceiling. His head pounded from last night’s plundering of the Archon’s wine cellars. He should have watered it. But he’d wanted to get drunk, if only to dull the unsettled thoughts rattling around in his brain.

  The day before, he’d found himself alone in Domitia’s chambers while she met with her generals. Stacks of old records from the Great Library covered the writing table, all with a fine layer of dust. Since the capture of Galen, she’d lost interest in tracing the family trees of the other clans. But Nico had learned to read several mortal languages during his time in Tjanjin and, out of boredom more than anything else, he’d started to peruse the scrolls and stacks of vellum.

  What he found came as a shock.

  The world outside the Kiln had not been what Nico expected, yet he’d clung to his hatred. Gaius ingrained it in the children as soon as they were old enough to come to his burrow for what he called history lessons—long, angry lectures that often went on for hours. They all knew the story of the exile. The other clans grew jealous of the Vatras and their mastery of fire. Somehow—Gaius was vague on this part—they gained extraordinary powers to sunder the heavens and conjure the Gale, leaving the Vatras on the wrong side. Condemning them to short, brutal lives.

  But every account of the mortals claimed the Vatras started the war without provocation. The sources were too numerous and varied to be wholly inaccurate, and included firsthand witnesses to the horrors. Cities burning, the desperate flight of the Marakai. They spoke of Gaius and the atrocities he had committed.

  Domitia must know, yet she didn’t seem to care. Now his mind churned with doubts. Nicodemus rubbed his forehead. Was everything he knew a lie?

  He’d left Domitia’s chamber before she returned, saying nothing when they’d crossed paths later. But he’d drunk himself into a stupor and now he was paying for it.

  At least he found himself alone in the enormous bed. It was plated wit
h bronze and anchored at the corners by winged women with pendulous breasts. Nico vaguely recalled persuading one of the serving girls to have a cup or two with him, but she must have left when he passed out.

  He sat up with a tender groan. The low sun slanted across the whitewashed rooftops of Delphi. In the middle distance he could see the Acropolis, with its sheer, fortified sides, and the Temple of Apollo, sixteen stone pillars capped by a flat roof. In his wretched state, the building had a sinister cast. The records weren’t the only thing that disturbed him. He’d known about the daēva collars in theory, but seeing them with his own eyes was another matter.

  Nicodemus padded over to a basin of water and splashed some on his face. Plush carpets from Samarqand covered the floor in overlapping layers. A mirror hung on the wall behind the washbasin and he examined himself with detachment. He looked bad, though not as bad as expected. Dark red hair hung over one eye. He shook it back and examined his teeth. His mouth tasted like a tavern floor in Tjanjin’s City of Bliss.

  Besides the washbasin, the room contained a writing desk, several chairs, a wardrobe decorated with silver swans, a few cedar chests and that ridiculous bed. Nico could easily imagine the debauchery it had witnessed and would have taken another more modest chamber, but he had a point to make.

  If you requisitioned the palace of an Archon, you ought to do things right.

  He poured a cup of water and swished some around, spitting it into the chamber pot. Then he lifted the jug and drained it. He needed to get a handle on things—on Domitia, in particular.

  The woman he’d known in the Kiln preferred to operate alone, disappearing for weeks on hunting trips into the waste. She had no friends except for Nicodemus and even he was more of a mascot than a friend. She claimed he brought her luck. Occasionally, she let him come along, which is how he’d learned most of his tricks.

  After escaping the Kiln, Domitia went to Solis, Nico to the Isles of the Marakai, and later, Tjanjin. He’d wormed his way into the emperor’s favor, but Domitia managed to get herself appointed the Oracle of Delphi, the most powerful position a woman could hold. It required a degree of finesse and subtlety he’d never even suspected she possessed.