Terms of Surrender (19 page)

Days passed and the cold turned bitter as the supplies in Mari and Nessa’s wagon dwindled to crumbs. Low on rations, low on horse feed, and they didn’t have the time or the energy to scavenge for more. They just kept moving, relentless, staying ahead of the Imperial forces and the hunters they knew were somewhere behind them.

The nights, though, were warm. Some nights Nessa continued her lessons between the furs, Mari proving to be an eager and enthusiastic student, and sometimes they’d just embrace and sleep in blissful peace.

Mari didn’t wake up screaming anymore. The nightmares had fled. Or perhaps Nessa had banished them. Either way, the shadow of the witch’s murdered apprentice had finally left them in peace.

“There!” Mari said, pointing as the wagon maneuvered down the snowbound logging road.

Nessa jolted from a doze, her head resting on Mari’s shoulder. “Hmm?”

The stockade wall of Winter’s Reach rose up in the distance, mighty and unbroken, at the end of an open road lined by crucified corpses.

“Still doing that, I see,” Nessa murmured, appreciating the handiwork as they rolled past a rotting body nailed to a crossbeam. A sign hung around the dead man’s neck, scrawled with the word “
Thief.
”

“Veruca always did like showy punishments.”

“About that,” Nessa said. “Given that
you
fled the city on a pirate ship captained by a man she expected you to kill, and the last time
I
was here my teacher brainwashed her…Veruca might not be happy to see either one of us. We should keep a low profile.”

“Good point. I’m not keen on a reunion, anyway. Do you know where the Misery is?”

Nessa nodded. “See those mountains rising up behind the city? There should be a concealed back gate and an old road leading down to the mouth of the mine. We slip in, I’ll secure the Misery, and we’ll meet up with Vassili and Despina. With luck, we can get out of town before the Imperials arrive.”

“Nessa, we have to warn them about the invasion.”

“Why?”

Mari tilted her head. “Because they’re going to kill a lot of innocent people if we don’t.”

“Cattle, Mari.”

“
People
, Nessa. They have the right to defend themselves. Besides, think about what the Empire did to Belle Terre. To
our
people. Are you
really
all right with letting that happen here, too? If nothing else, let’s help Winter’s Reach give the Imperials a black eye.”

Nessa crossed her arms, frowning.

“I
suppose
you’re right. Fine, we can warn them. But that’s as far as it goes. I want us all out of harm’s way before the siege begins. Once we rendezvous with the others, we’ll use my Cutting Knife to get back home the easy way.”

“And then?”

Nessa sat back on the perch, a tiny smile playing on her lips.

“And then,” she said, “the four of us go on a hunting expedition. Trust me, it’ll be fun.”

As their wagon approached, a watchman in a guard tower shouted down and the tall gate groaned wide, bound and sturdy logs shoving back the piled snow.

“We’re free merchants,” Nessa said quickly, “looking to get in on the lumber trade. That should get us past the guards.”

There wasn’t any need for a cover story, though. Not when a squad of Coffin Boys rushed out, casket shields clattering on their backs, and surrounded the wagon.

“Which one of you is Mari Renault?” one demanded.

Nessa and Mari shared a glance. Mari shrugged and held up a hand. “Me.”

“We need your help,” he said, “right now. Come with us.”

“You need more than that,” Mari replied. “The Imperials are coming. Two companies of infantry, and an assault by water too. They mean to retake the Reach.”

He tugged at his hair, wincing. “
Now?
This is the worst possible…
damn
it all! Look, Bear’s gone mad. He’s holding Mayor Barrett hostage in the Hall of Justice, and he’s demanding to talk to
you
. He said you’d be coming.”

“Can’t you go in and get him?”

He shook his head. “We’ve been trying for days. There’s some kind of hex over the building. Anyone who nears it gets so nauseous they can barely move. One of my men pushed it and puked up his own guts. Bear says he’ll only let you in. You, alone.”

“I’m sure Veruca’s fine,” Mari said. “For the moment, at least. This is more important. You’ve got to warn the city, rally the troops and get them ready for the invasion.”

“They won’t listen to anyone but
her
. The mayor runs this city with an iron glove, which is fine until she’s not here to give the orders.”

“Ah, the joys of dictatorships,” Nessa muttered. “Mari, I
must
reclaim the Misery, right now. If the Dire arrives before I have it…”

“I know.” Mari took a deep breath. “Which means I have to go and rescue Veruca alone, so she can get a defense plan underway. Do you…do you think I can beat him?”

“Bear?” Nessa arched an eyebrow. “Mari, you are
my
knight. I believe in you.”

Then she took Mari by the collar and yanked her close, her voice dropping to a throaty growl.

“And that man has given me great offense. I crave his death. Will you deliver it?”

Mari’s eyes narrowed. She took a slow, deep breath.

“Yes, my liege.”

“Good.” Nessa drew her into a fervent kiss, a few scant seconds of passion in the cold. Then she pulled away. “Never forget who you are or who you serve. Now go, and tear that traitor to pieces. I’ll meet you at the mine when your work is done.”

Mari jumped down from the wagon and twirled her hand in the air, rallying the Coffin Boys at her back.

“Fall in,” Mari snapped, her voice as hard as her eyes. “We’ve got a witch to kill.”

*     *     *

The Hall of Justice loomed silent under a fresh blanket of snow, the wooden longhouse cold and dark. All of the windows shuttered, no angle for a bowman to snipe at the traitorous witch inside. Mari felt the hex as she approached the great front doors. It started as a prickling on her flesh, colder than the frost, then a twisting, knotting sensation in her guts. She took a step back and the sensation receded.

The guardsmen fanned out behind her, keeping a safe distance.

“
Bear!
” Mari bellowed. “You wanted me? I’m here. Let me in.”

She felt the enchantment fade.

“Don’t try to follow me inside,” she said, glancing over her shoulder at the Coffin Boys.

“Don’t worry,” one said, “we…really weren’t planning on it.”

She took the stairs, boots crunching on hard snow, and pushed open the double doors alone.

Empty stands. An empty throne. And down in the fighting pit, where Mari had battled to save Felix’s life, Bear waited for her. His bone mask hung on his belt by a frayed twist of hemp. He’d wanted her to see his face, she reasoned. His sneering smile and dirty blond stubble, eyes gleeful as if he’d already defeated her.

In the far corner of the pit, wrists and ankles bound with heavy coils of rope, sat Veruca Barrett. The mayor looked up, spotted her, and grinned.

“Well, look who came home! I
told
you you’d be back. Nice outfit, too. Black leather is definitely your thing. Did you dress up just for me?”

Mari didn’t respond. She leaped down into the pit, squaring off against Bear on the opposite side. Her twin sickles tore free from her belt.

“Stay your hand, Renault,” Bear said. “I formally challenge you to a duel of honor.”

She strode toward him, eyes fixed dead ahead, her grip tightening.

“You will not,” Bear said, “of course, refuse the terms and risk sullying your good name. Now then, I’ll allow you the choice of weapons—”

She kept coming.

“—which, by right, allows me to pick the ground where we—”

He was still talking when she whipped her arms up, crossed them at the elbows, and scythed her blades down in one swift, lethal
X
.

Bear’s severed head thumped to the arena floor, rolling to a stop at Veruca’s feet. His body, blood spewing from the stump of his neck and spattering Mari’s face and hair like a baptism, slumped to its knees before falling flat at her feet.

“No duel,” Mari said. “You didn’t deserve one.”

“How about me?” asked a voice at her back.

Shadows boiled in the far corner of the arena pit. And out of the darkness walked Viper, flashing an open smile, running her tongue over her sharp, chiseled teeth. Her robes billowed through the air, fluttering to the ground at her feet, and she plucked two needle-thin daggers from the sleeves of her hunting leathers.

“Do
I
get a duel? I promise, I’ll play by
all
the rules. Just like I did when I paid a visit to Bull on my way here. Tell Nessa she’s one follower down. Oh, wait. I’ll have to tell her myself. Because you’ll be dead, too.”

Mari flicked her wrists. Blood flew from the edges of her sickles, ruby droplets flying in a glittering arc to stain the wood between them.

Then she squared her footing and prepared for battle.

*     *     *

Cold wind whistled through the abandoned mine. Tunnels sprawled like some ancient beast’s hollowed-out bones, rough and dark. Nessa knew where to go, though. Memories from her childhood spurred her footsteps. Left, then down, then down again, to the steel door at the end. Corroded now, taken by rust and winter, and the lock broke under one sharp tug. The door screamed on its hinges as she pulled it wide, and a fetid smell—like a corpse pile rotting in summer heat—washed out from the darkness.

It’s such a tiny thing
, she thought as she beheld the Misery.

The black stone glittered like fool’s gold, resting on the floor at the heart of a great ritual circle. Runes and sigils chalked in white, faded ghostly over the years, but she could still feel their rumbling power as her shoes trod upon them.

“Well,” Muskrat said, standing at her side, “there it is.”

“You’re certain this will work?”

“Do you want me to lie?”

Nessa glared at her.

“It
should
work,” Muskrat said. “If we combine our energies, and I take the brunt of the Misery’s poison, you’ll be able to carry it and harness its power…briefly, at least. For as long as my spirit holds out.”

“Mother.” Nessa paused, a hitch in her voice. “You’ll be destroyed.”

“Is that a note of sentiment I detect?”

Nessa stared down at the stone, silent.

“Well, don’t get soft on me now,” Muskrat added. “And don’t say ‘I love you,’ because I’m
not
going to say it back, and then you’ll feel very foolish indeed.”

Nessa looked her way. “Can I say…I’ll miss you?”

Muskrat nodded. Then she sighed.

“I suspect, my dear, that I’ll be back one way or another. And so, say my visions, will you. Though you won’t remember it.”

“Visions and riddles again.”

“That girl. You made a good choice with her. I just wish I could have given you both a happy ending.”

“Don’t worry,” Nessa said. “We’ll make our own.”

Muskrat’s eyes flicked upward. “Gertie’s coming. I can feel her. Give that old monster my regards. So, it’s now or never. Are you ready?”

“No.” A tiny smile quirked at the corner of Nessa’s mouth. “Let’s do it anyway.”

She took her mother’s hand. And then she reached for the stone.

By night, standing on the deck of the
Iona’s Sunset
, Felix could almost imagine his city was at peace. There were no hunters, no one seeking his head for a prize or sizing him up for a hangman’s noose, just the gentle lap of the water against the barque’s hull and the far-off tolling of ships’ bells in the dark.

“I have to go out,” he told Anakoni. “Meeting with a friend who might be able to help us.”

“I can come. Or I can send some of our men to watch your back.”

Felix shook his head and smiled. “Trust me, this is the safest thing I’ve had to do in days. I’ll be back in a couple of hours and we can plan our strategy for tomorrow.”

Ghosting through the city streets, he almost had to laugh at his destination. The Guildsman’s Seat was a lodging house catering to Mirenze’s aristocracy, and it rented rooms by the hour. Half the regulars were there to share information, and the other half were there to share their bodies—not, as a rule, with their spouses. There was an unspoken agreement that all patrons went collectively deaf and blind when roaming the jasmine-scented corridors, and masks—even outside the season of Saint Lucien’s Night—were not an uncommon sight.

He’d come here to meet with Aita, back before her father’s murder. Back when he believed he was her partner, not her puppet. Now, he had a new conspiracy and a new set of allies. He made his way to room twelve, rapped on the cherrywood door, and waited.

The door opened a crack, and Sofia Marchetti peered out. She waved him inside quickly and locked the door at his back.

“I’m glad you’re alive,” she said, leading the way to a table and chairs, sculpted in flowing Benegali style. Sandalwood curves and delicate grace.

“As am I,” he replied, pulling back his hood and taking a seat. “Aita’s taken note of the thorn in her side. Instead of pursuing me directly, she targeted an innocent man and had him beaten half to death in the street. I can’t go after her operations again, not at that price.”

Sofia sighed. “And I’ve heard about the bounty on your head. At least we can’t say she’s not taking you seriously anymore.”

“How about you? Any luck prying into your son’s plans?”

“Lodovico has been receiving…unsavory guests at all hours,” she said, “and I don’t just mean Aita.”

“Let me guess. Murgardt. Soldier types, but no uniforms.”

“That’s right.”

Felix nodded. “Some kind of mercenaries, I think. They’re the ones bolstering Aita’s ranks. Be very careful, signora. They’re not shy about hurting people.”

“Then there’s”—Sofia glanced over her shoulder, casting a nervous look at the curtained window—“the women.”

“Women?”

“Robes and veils and gloves, not worn in modesty or mourning, I don’t think. Their…fingers, Felix. Their fingers are too long for their bodies.”

“Where did you see them?”

She lowered her voice to a whisper. “In my home. Coming out of Lodovico’s office once. And one night, emerging from his bedroom door. I asked him who they were. He said ‘consultants’ and refused to discuss it further.”

She fell silent, the faintest tremor in her shoulders.

“The more avenues of attack Aita bars to me,” Felix mused, “the more I realize there’s only one way to get at her. A direct strike. Tomorrow is Saint Lucien’s. Do you think—”

“No.” Sofia said. “I dined with the governor last night. Once I told him I’d be wearing my family emeralds to the ball, he fell all over himself telling me about the security measures they’re undertaking. There’s no way for you to get in. It would be suicide.”

He leaned back in his chair. “Tell me anyway.”

“Guards at the front gate, checking invitations. And the invitations are personalized this year. I can’t just give you mine, unless you’ve recently become a master of disguise. More than that, all guests must unmask as they enter. They’ll be looking for
you
, Felix. Trust me. Aita expected you might think of this, and she’s expressed her fears to the governor.”

Felix frowned, furrowing his brow. “And inside?”

“A second invitation check at the front door. More security inside, and not just in uniform. Some of the waiters at the ball will be the Mirenze watch in disguise, sniffing for intruders and hiding concealed weapons under their aprons. Their job is to keep the party under guard at all times and constantly move about. No way to slip past them, not for long.”

“Damn,” Felix said. “The one night of the year I can don a mask and move freely through the city, and Aita and Lodovico will be in the
only
place I can’t get at them.”

Sofia shook her head. “We’ll find another way. Don’t be reckless, Felix. You’re my only ally in this fight. I can’t lose you.”

*     *     *

Walking back through the misty streets and feeling the chill seep damp fingers through his woolen cloak, Felix didn’t hear the bells at first. His thoughts were a maze. No, a hallway lined with doors, each one a way to stop Aita and Lodovico, and every rattling doorknob locked tight. He had a dozen ideas and a dozen answers as to why each one would end in failure or worse.

Then he did hear the bells, ringing out loud and urgent up ahead, and the pounding of panicked feet. He ran, too, rounding a bend by the harbor lane and squinting at sudden bright light.

The
Iona’s Sunset
was burning.

Townsfolk, constables, and half the drunks at the Hen and Caber had poured out onto the street, watching the roaring flames devour the sinking barque. Timbers snapped as its mainmast collapsed, canvas sails billowing down to feed the raging fire. Even from a block away, Felix could feel the heat washing over his face. And smell the burnt-pork stench of roasting human flesh.

Maybe they got away, maybe at least Anakoni
— he told himself, thoughts racing, grasping at fragile hope. But then his thoughts fell silent, shoulders slumped as he accepted the inevitable truth. Staring at the funeral pyre as it sank, inch by tortured inch, into the icy black waters of the harbor.

Anakoni was dead. He’d stumbled back into Felix’s life, extended the hand of friendship, dared so much…and this was his repayment. Just like all the others in Felix’s life. His father. His brother and her wife. His household staff, people who had practically raised him from childhood.

And now Anakoni and his crew. More lives stolen by his enemies. Murdered for the crime of being Felix Rossini’s friend.

The darkness swirled inside him. Eager and hungry and painting his vision as red as the crackling flames.

Running footsteps. Searchers in the streets. He turned as a lean Murgardt in patchy leathers looked his way and shouted, “It’s Rossini! He’s over here!”

The Murgardt drew a long-bladed knife from his belt and charged. Felix didn’t run. He spread his open hands, an invitation to the dance, and bared his teeth.

Then he lashed out, slamming the flat of his hand against the Murgardt’s throat hard enough to knock him to the cobblestones. Felix dropped down, driving his knee into the man’s wheezing stomach with all his weight, and grabbed his knife wrist. He twisted until he heard bones crack. The knife fell free and he swept it up as bootfalls pounded to his left, a second mercenary running up on him from the side.

Felix launched to his feet, swinging the knife up in a brutal arc, and drove it hilt-deep between the Murgardt’s legs.

He yanked it free, blood spilling to the cobblestones, and silenced the man’s shrill shriek by punching the blade through his throat. As his body dropped, Felix heard more footfalls in the dark. More hunters coming.

He whirled, leaving the wounded and the dead at his back, and fled into the shadows.

*     *     *

Leggieri woke from fitful dreams. The Artist of Mirenze lived alone, a lifelong bachelor by choice, and was accustomed to solitude.

Seeing the shadow at the foot of his bed, then, was most unexpected.

“Signore,” Felix said softly, “I fear I require a bit more of your assistance.”

Leggieri led the way across the silent gardens and through the locked trapdoor, only kindling the lamp in his hand once they’d reached the steps to his private workroom. The soft orange light washed over the tools of his secret trade, his strange arsenal.

“They’ll kill you,” he said to Felix. “You must know this. Tomorrow night the governor’s manse will be the most secure place in all of Mirenze.”

“I know the governor’s guards will be well armed,” Felix said. He lifted his chin as he took in the wall of knives. “Just as I know his guests will
not
be. My wife and my rival have laid their last blow upon me. Torn out the last chunk of my beating heart. Once I’m inside the ball, their lives will be mine for the taking.”

“Surely there’s another way—”

Felix spun to face him, enraged.

“There is
no other way
,” he shouted. “Everyone who crosses my path, everyone who extends their hand, pays for their kindness with their lives. My allies are
dead
. My reputation
destroyed
. My resources, my home, my family business,
gone
.
I have nothing left
. Nothing but Renata. And so long as Aita and Lodovico draw breath, she will never be safe. I’m nothing now, Leggieri, nothing but a cornered rat.”

He leaned close, looming over the artist with fire in his eyes. His voice dropped to a graveyard whisper.

“But a cornered rat can still
bite
.”

Leggieri took a halting step back. A beadlet of sweat glistened above one bushy eyebrow.

“So be it,” he said. “If you are determined to meet your death, at least I can ensure you don’t meet it alone. Let’s get you properly armed.”