Child of the Ghosts (24 page)

A virgin’s blood, Maglarion had said, as he cut into her belly. A virgin’s blood could fuel all manner of useful necromancy. She still had nightmares about lying on that metal table.

And perhaps if she were no longer a virgin…perhaps that would never happen to her again…

So when he kissed her, she kissed him back. 

###

A short time later they ended up in Alastair’s bedroom, still kissing. Caina started pulling off her gown, her hands trembling with excitement and a little fear. 

She stopped.

Alastair was staring her exposed stomach.

At her scars. 

Heat flooded into her face.

“Don’t,” she said, half-turning away, “don’t…don’t stare at me like that, I…”

“Shh,” said Alastair, putting his fingers over her lips. “Do you think they make you ugly? They do not.” 

He took her face in both hands and kissed her again. 

Eventually, she got out of the gown, and he carried her to the bed.

###

Later Caina lay entwined with Alastair as he slept, her head pillowed on his chest. He had scars, as well, old wounds across his arms and shoulders and ribs. She had seen enough violence in her life to recognize the scars from a sword. Whatever his wife thought of him, Alastair was a brave man, brave enough to lead his Legionaries from the front. 

His wife.

Caina’s mouth twisted. Nerina was unworthy of him. And yet she was still his wife, which made Caina an adulteress. Her mother, she was sure, had seduced married men, more than once. Was Caina any better than her?

She did not like the thought.

And Alastair was a slave trader, little better than the Istarish slavers who worked for Maglarion. 

She liked that thought even less. 

But she did like the way Alastair felt, lying against her, liked it very much indeed. Little wonder Theodosia had encouraged her to do this. And she had his trust now. It would be easy to find his letters and his ledger. 

And perhaps she could encourage him to stop trading slaves, even to join forces with the Ghosts.

That hopeful thought filled her mind as she drifted off to sleep.

###

The next few days settled into a pleasant routine. She and Alastair had dinner together, or they danced at one of the balls. Once they simply went for a long coach ride north of the city, along the river, taking in the view of the mountains and the Imperial Citadel. 

And at night, they returned to his bedroom. 

Four nights later, Caina saw her chance. 

She woke up, blinking, and found herself alone in Alastair’s bed. She rolled over and saw Alastair writing at a desk against the far wall, a stack of letters spread across its surface. An annoyed frown covered his face, but he kept writing.

His correspondence. 

“What is it?” murmured Caina as she sat up, holding the blanket to herself.

He looked up at her, smiled, and returned his attention to his papers. “Nothing of importance. Just…some business matters, that’s all.” 

She thought she glimpsed Lord Haeron Icaraeus’s seal on one of the papers.

“Why don’t you come back to bed?” she said.

“In a moment,” he said, still writing.

Caina sat up straighter. 

“Alastair,” she said, letting the blanket fall away. “Come back to bed.” 

He stared at her for a moment, his smile widening. Then he swept the papers into a single stack, shoved them into a drawer of the desk, and locked it. 

“I suppose business can wait,” said Alastair.

Caina grinned and let him draw her down to the bed. 

After they finished, she rested her head on his chest, staring at the locked drawer.

Chapter 24 - Consequences

Tomorrow night, Caina decided as she listened to Alastair breathe. 

She would drug Alastair’s wine at dinner. After he slipped into unconsciousness, she would break into his desk, make off with his correspondence, and leave Malarae. Halfdan awaited her at Trinus, a fishing village on the eastern bank of the Megaros River. After this, Caina would have to abandon her “Countess Marianna Nereide” disguise, of course, but that was no great concern. She could create a new disguise easily enough. 

She drifted off to sleep in Alastair’s arms, thinking over the plan. She hated to deceive and betray him like this. 

But he had brought it on himself. He should not have traded in slaves.

###

Caina awoke to angry shouting.

She reached for the dagger she always kept under her pillow, and found nothing. Caina always kept a weapon close at hand, even while sleeping, but Marianna Nereide did not. 

Alastair was gone, the blankets thrown aside, as if he had risen in haste. 

Then the door burst open, and Alastair backed into the room.

His wife Nerina stalked after him. 

She was short, even shorter than Caina, with the stout build of a sedentary woman and the bloodshot, dark-circled eyes of a heavy drinker. And a tremor in her hands that spoke of an addiction to more exotic drugs.

Her bloodshot eyes focused on Caina, full of hatred and contempt.

“So this is your little whore, Alastair?” said Nerina. She wore a rich gown of Anshani silk, and the jewels glittering on her fingers could have paid for Alastair’s townhouse a dozen times over. “Or the newest one, at any rate, hmm? A stupid little slip of a girl.” She laughed. “Did you buy her from one of your slaver friends? Or did she agree to share your bed for some coins? I cannot imagine why any woman would share your bed otherwise.”

“You said you would be visiting your sister for another three days,” said Alastair, voice tight with anger.

“I changed my mind,” said Nerina. “I thought I’d come back and catch you with one of your whores. I wonder what my father would think of it. Maybe I can get him to challenge you to a duel.”

Alastair’s hands curled into fists, but he said nothing. Caina wondered why he didn’t stand up to her, why he didn’t fight back. 

“Nerina,” he began. 

“Imbecile,” said Nerina. “I deserve better than this. I deserve better than to come home and find my useless husband in bed with some empty-headed whore. I deserve better than you.”

His face turned crimson, but he said nothing. 

It was easier for him to say nothing, Caina realized. Easier for him to say nothing, and keep his head down, and ignore his wife’s rages until she left. Much as Sebastian Amalas had done with Laeria.

Alastair was weaker than she had thought.

“And what about you, whore?” said Nerina, shoving her way past Alastair. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

“What is there to say?” said Caina. “You’re right. I slept with your husband. It was…it was not the right thing to do, but I did it anyway.” 

“Marianna,” said Alastair, “don’t antagonize her…”

“Shut up,” said Nerina. “Well? Was it worth it? I hope whatever he paid you was enough to endure sleeping with him.” 

She slapped Caina. 

“Well?” said Nerina.

“Don’t touch me,” said Caina. 

“I’ll do whatever I want to you,” said Nerina. “Well? Was it worth it?”

She drew back her hand for another slap.

Caina’s reflexes took over. 

She caught Nerina’s wrist on its descent and twisted. Nerina’s watery eyes widened in shock and pain, and Caina surged to her feet, heedless of her nudity, Nerina’s wrist still caught in her grip. She sidestepped, twisting Nerina’s arm behind her back. Nerina shrieked, her free hand clawing for Caina’s face. She was half again Caina’s weight, and probably stronger, but Caina knew what she was doing, and had better leverage. 

She drove her knee into Nerina’s back. Nerina overbalanced and landed on her face, Caina on top. 

Alastair gaped.

“I told you,” said Caina, “not to touch me.” 

“Get off me!” screamed Nerina, starting to sob, “get off me, get off me, get off me!” Her words blurred together in one long wail of pain and fear.

“Marianna,” said Alastair, “please, just…let her go.” 

Caina released Nerina’s arm and climbed back to her feet, bracing herself in case Nerina came at her again. But she needn’t have worried. Nerina fled from the bedroom, wailing, and did not look back. 

They stood in silence. After a moment, Caina picked up the blanket and wrapped it around herself.

“Why,” said Alastair, blinking, “why did you do that?”

“I told her not to touch me,” said Caina. Overpowering Nerina like that might not have been the best idea. If Alastair realized she was a Ghost…

“But…but she’s a daughter of a noble House!” said Alastair, shaking his head. “Her father is Lord Sardon!” Caina knew the name; he was one of Haeron Icaraeus’s supporters, a Restorationist lord of middling influence. “I can’t just…gods, when her father hears about this…”

“Damn it, Alastair,” said Caina. 

He fell silent, blinking at her. 

“Maybe you brought this on yourself,” said Caina. “I doubt I’m the first woman she’s found in your bed. But…you shouldn’t let her treat you like that.”

“I can’t…”

“Divorce her,” said Caina.

Alastair flinched. “Are you…you cannot be serious. My father forced me to marry her. If I divorced her, Lord Sardon would ruin me for it. I’d be penniless.”

“So what?” said Caina.

“So what?” said Alastair, incredulous.

“Yes,” said Caina. “You’re miserable, and you’ll keep jumping from mistress to mistress until you drink yourself to death or your wife hires a Kindred assassin to pour poison into your wine. If you divorce her, yes, Lord Sardon will probably ruin you. And what would you lose? You waste all your money on her whims anyway! So you can either be poor and miserable…or you can be poor and free.” She took a deep breath. “You want to be an officer in the Legion? You’ll be free to do that, without the necessity of your…side business to pay for Nerina’s luxuries. And you’ll be free to take a different wife.”

Alastair blinked. “You mean…you?”

“No.” It hurt more than Caina had expected to say that. “A wife who can give you sons and daughters.” 

Alastair opened his mouth, closed it again. He stood like that for a long time, and then his face hardened. 

“You’re right,” he said at last. “I’ve been a fool. I know what I have to do; I’ve known what I’ve had to do for a long time.” He took a deep breath. “Thank you.”

Caina nodded. 

And someone screamed as Alastair reached for the bedroom door. He threw open the door, racing to the stairs, and Caina followed him, holding the blanket around herself.

He stopped so suddenly that Caina almost walked into his back.

“Oh, gods,” he groaned.

Nerina Corus hung from the railing, a curtain knotted around her neck. Her eyes bulged from her purple face, tongue swelling over her lips.

And Caina had thought that she could sleep with Alastair without consequence.  

Alastair dashed forward, tore the curtain from the railing, and Nerina collapsed in a boneless heap to the floor. He raced down the stairs and rushed to her side, but he was too late. Caina knew death when she saw it, and Nerina was dead. 

She stared at the corpse, numb. Her fault. If she had thought of a better way to handle Alastair, if she had thought of a better way to get those letters…

The letters.

The part of her mind that Halfdan and the others had trained, the cold part, realized that she had a perfect opportunity to seize his correspondence. 

Caina slipped into the bedroom as Alastair and the servants gathered around Nerina’s corpse. None of them noticed as she closed the door. She hurried across the room, rooted through her discarded gown, and drew out a slender wire hidden in the belt.

Then she set to work on the locked drawer.

It was a good lock, but Halfdan had trained her on far more intricate mechanisms. It took her only a moment to release it and yank the drawer from the desk. She the stack of letters and a small ledger, wrapping them in a pillowcase. Then she pulled on her gown as quickly as she could manage. 

She hesitated. If she left now, Alastair would realize that she had taken his papers, once the shock and grief cleared his mind. And he might realize that she was a Ghost. 

There was an easy solution to that.

Alastair, like most nobles, used the Magisterium’s glowing glass globes for illumination at night. But the servants still used candles, and a candle sat atop the nightstand, along with some flint and tinder.

Caina set the blankets on fire and tugged them upon the floor. The flames spread to the thick carpet, and she snatched up the bundle of documents and hurried to the window. Alastair’s bedroom was on the top floor, but a copper drainpipe ran down the wall, and Caina could use that to escape easily enough.

She looked at the bedroom, at the flames chewing into the walls and floor.

“I’m sorry, Alastair,” Caina whispered, and went out the window.

###

She stayed long enough to watch the fire engulf the townhouse, to watch Alastair take charge of the Civic Militia to fight the flames.

And then she slipped away into the night.

Chapter 25 - Choices

The next day Caina took a ferry across the Megaros River. 

She was dressed again as a mercenary, the same disguise she and Theodosia had used while working to bring down Lord Macrinius. No one paid any attention to a caravan guard wearing a ragged cloak and dusty leather armor, or to the wrapped bundle of oddments slung over one shoulder. 

The ferry arrived at the Imperial Highway’s docks, and she walked the few miles north to Trinus. 

The village was nothing more than a few houses and docks clustered by the river. The villagers made their living harvesting clams from the mud flats and selling them in Malarae’s markets. And according to Halfdan, the villagers supplemented their incomes by hiding smugglers and criminals from the Civic Militia. 

The perfect place for the Ghosts to hide.

The village had one ramshackle tavern overlooking the river. Caina pushed open the door, her boots thumping against the floorboards. Only a little light penetrated the grimy windows, and perhaps a dozen men, fishermen and mercenaries, sat nursing clay mugs of wine. One gray-haired caravan guard sat in a corner, eyes glinting behind a curtain of greasy hair. 

Halfdan.

Caina crossed the room, sat down across from him, and set the bundle on the table.

Halfdan looked at her, his face expressionless.

“I made a botch of it,” said Caina in Caerish. To anyone watching, they would look like two men conversing over cups of wine.

“Did you?” said Halfdan in the same language. “That’s not what I heard.”

“What did you hear?” said Caina.

“Lord Alastair’s mansion burned down,” said Halfdan. “Apparently, his wife found him in bed with another woman, and she hung herself in retaliation. The scandal has quite ruined his reputation. He’ll have no choice but to leave the capital and rejoin the Eighteenth Legion on the frontier.” 

“I was the one,” said Caina. 

“To do what?”

Caina sighed. “I was the one she found in bed with Alastair.”

“I see,” said Halfdan. He reached for the bundle. “What’s this?”

“Alastair’s correspondence,” said Caina. “It’s mostly letters from Haeron Icaraeus. He talks about how he wants ‘merchandise’ brought from the Pale, but it’s plain he’s writing about slaves. The ledger records how much Haeron paid Alastair for the slaves. He made a lot of money, and he spent it all buying things for Nerina.” 

Halfdan shuffled through the papers. “How did you get these?”

“After Nerina hung herself,” said Caina, “Alastair was…distracted. I broke into his desk and stole the papers, and I set the house on fire to cover my escape. He probably thinks I got frightened and fled the city…the way he thinks I fled after Maglarion went berserk at Haeron Icaraeus’s mansion.” 

Halfdan nodded, turning over one of the letters. “That makes sense.” 

Caina took a deep breath. “I made a mess of it and I’m sorry.” 

Halfdan snorted. “You think so, do you? Everything went rather well.”

Caina blinked. “You…approve of what I did?”

Halfdan shrugged. “You did what I asked, did you not? I told you to make certain Lord Alastair would no longer be useful to Lord Haeron, and you did. Alastair Corus’s reputation is ruined. Once he leaves Malarae, the only way he will return is as Lord Commander of his own Legion. Which is quite possible, given his ability as a soldier, but that will take years. I also asked you to find incriminating evidence against Lord Haeron.” He hefted the bundle of papers. “This isn’t incriminating - Icaraeus is too clever for that - but it’s still useful. It will help us plan our next move against him. You did reasonably well, all told.” He frowned. “Your identity as ‘Marianna Nereide’ is probably compromised…but that would happen sooner or later, in any case.”

“But…Nerina Corus…she killed herself,” said Caina.

“So?” said Halfdan. “It’s not as if you killed her. She chose to hang herself. Not you.”

“But…I…”

“Ah,” said Halfdan. “You blame yourself for it.”

Caina nodded.  

Halfdan shrugged. “You needn’t. Nerina Corus was…unbalanced. Even before she married Alastair. And you weren’t Alastair’s first mistress, and you won’t be his last. If you hadn’t set Nerina off, something else would have. Sooner or later she would have killed herself to spite Alastair.” 

“But I led her to it,” said Caina. “I provoked her.”

“Maybe you did,” said Halfdan. “And if it troubles you, you’ll have to live with it. I sent you to Malarae disguised as a noble…but I left the rest in your hands. I told you to disgrace Alastair and get his letters, but how you did it was up to you. You chose to seduce him and steal the letters from beneath his nose. I do not disapprove. It worked, did it not? Yet you needn’t have done so. You might have disguised yourself as a maid, and worked your way into the household until you could seize the letters and escape. Or you could simply have broken in at night and stolen them. You’re certainly skilled enough to pull it off.” He snorted. “In fact, I almost stabbed you when you sat down. I didn’t recognize you at first.” 

“Theodosia,” said Caina, “said I should use my appearance as a weapon. That it was easier to cloud a man’s mind than to fight him.”

Halfdan nodded. “That does sound like Theodosia. But you’re not Theodosia, are you?” 

“No,” said Caina. “No, I’m not.” 

She sat in silence for a moment.

“I shouldn’t have done it,” she said, “the way I did. I got Nerina Corus killed. She was a vicious wretch…but I pushed her to kill herself.” She shook her head. “Theodosia can do as she wishes…but I will use my mind as my weapon. Not my appearance.” 

“Then you’re at peace with this?” said Halfdan.

“Not really,” said Caina. “But I’ve made my mistakes. I won’t make them again.”

“Good,” said Halfdan. “The only ones who do not learn from their mistakes are the dead. And we have work to do before we die yet.” He shoved the letters back into the bundle. “Do you know what the Grand Kyracian Games are?” 

Caina frowned. “They’re held in Malarae every ten years, to celebrate the Third Empire’s victory over Old Kyrace.” The nobles held chariot races and gladiatorial games. During the Fourth Empire, when the magi ruled, the enslaved gladiators fought to the death. Now volunteers only fought to first blood, while the Emperor gave free bread and wine to the city’s population. Nobles from across the Empire gathered in Malarae for the Games, along with tens of thousands of commoners.

“They begin in a month,” said Halfdan. “And if Haeron Icaraeus is going to move against Emperor Alexius, he will do so then. And if he does, he’ll probably have the aid of Maglarion’s sorcery.” 

Caina nodded.

“In the meantime,” said Halfdan, tapping the bundle, “Lord Haeron is bringing a huge shipment of slaves into Malarae, at least a hundred of them. The letters you’ve found confirm it.”

“What are we going to do?” said Caina.

Halfdan smiled. “We’re going to free the slaves, bring down Lord Haeron, and kill Maglarion. Come along.”

He left the tavern, and Caina followed him.