The Whitefire Crossing (14 page)

Kiran climbed silently over the rocks to Dev’s side. Dev, at least, was playing out the script they’d planned. Kiran cast a glance back at Pello, who watched him with a flat, speculative stare that raised the hairs on Kiran’s neck. His hope that Pello feared his anger withered under the weight of that gaze. If Pello was even half as clever as Dev claimed, he must suspect that something prevented Kiran from magic. Otherwise, Kiran would have cast against him long before now.

Pello jumped down from the boulder. “How fortunate for you that I am a forgiving man.” His tone held no hint of sarcasm.

Dev’s eyes narrowed. “So long as you remember that I’m not.” He and Pello stared at each other, their eyes cold and considering. At last Dev turned away and shoved Kiran into motion, back toward the convoy.

Kiran scraped and stumbled over the talus with Dev dogging his heels. Possible consequences paraded through his mind, each more unpleasant than the last. If Pello confronted Dev with the truth in an attempt to extort a bribe...if he struck a deal with the Alathians...or worst of all, if Dev hadn’t succeeded in his mission...Kiran’s blood ran cold. He snatched at Dev’s shoulder.

“Did you disable the message charm?” he hissed in Dev’s ear.

Dev glanced back toward the lake. Kiran followed his gaze. Pello had moved off along the shore, his patchwork cap bobbing into and out of view as he dodged between rocks. Dev dragged Kiran down to crouch beneath a boulder’s overhanging face.

“Yeah, I took care of the damn charm. That part went smooth as Sellen wine.”

Kiran’s knees went weak with relief. Though disaster still loomed, it wouldn’t be immediate. No hint of his location would reach Ruslan.

Dev glowered at him. “But you—what the fuck happened with Pello? ‘Oh, I can keep my mouth shut, no problem’...what part of that involved a bane charm? Stinging a shadow man—Khalmet’s hand, are you trying to get yourself killed? And you might as well wave a sign in his face saying you’re no streetsider!”

Kiran returned his glare. “It was an accident,” he said, tightly. “He startled me, and I...reacted.”

A reaction that might cost him any chance of safety. Dev thought Pello’s secret cargo would prevent him from going to the Alathians; that might have been true before, but no longer. The Alathians would gladly forgive a cache of illegal charms in exchange for news of a foreign mage sneaking across their border. Kiran’s gut twisted. The Alathian Council would treat him no more gently than Ruslan, though doubtless their methods would be less inventive.

Dev’s scowl deepened. “Tell me exactly what Pello did that upset you.” When Kiran hesitated, he added, “It’s important.”

“He...” Blood heated Kiran’s face. In retrospect, revealing himself as a mage over nothing more than a stray touch seemed unbelievably foolish. “He ran a hand through my hair. Then touched my shoulder.”

“Your hair? Of course.” Dev groaned and shook his head. “I’ll bet you a thousand kenets he snagged enough strands that he can scout you with a find-me charm. Plus, now he’ll figure out your hair’s dyed, and the true color.”

Kiran winced, remembering the conversation. Pello hadn’t needed a hair sample to discover that. At least his stolen strands of hair would do the man little good. Lizaveta’s amulet would confound any locator charm with ease.

None of it mattered, in the face of the true danger. Kiran fought to master his fear and think. There had to be a way to salvage the situation and silence Pello. But how, without magic, and without revealing himself to Dev?

Dev eyed him with a jaundiced air. “Let me guess, there’s more bad news,” he said. “What else did Pello find out?”

Kiran’s knuckles whitened in his lap. If ever he were to reveal the truth, now would be the time. No more lies, no more careful evasions...oh, the thought was tempting. But reason triumphed over temptation. Dev would never continue helping him, if he realized the true danger he faced.

Perhaps he might disclose his identity to Dev, but pretend no other mages were involved. No, he’d never succeed in the type of elaborate lie required to keep Dev ignorant of the full truth. If only he possessed Mikail’s stolid-faced, impenetrable calm!

Yet perhaps he could gain Dev’s assistance without risking betrayal. Dev didn’t know about the protection Lizaveta’s amulet afforded.

“My employer is counting on my anonymity in Kost. Now you say Pello can track my movements there?” Kiran let his very real fear show. “He gets more dangerous by the day. We have to do something about him!”

“We are doing something,” Dev said. “Or did you mean, something permanent?” A sharp, mocking grin spread over his face. “Don’t think I haven’t considered it. Want to know why killing Pello is a bad idea?”

Kiran shifted, uneasily. His streamside vow echoed in his ears. “I didn’t mean kill him.”
One touch,
a dark voice whispered.
That’s all it would take...your barriers would stay intact, and you’d be safe.
He stifled the thought. Pello would never be so careless as to allow him within touching distance again, anyway.

“Uh-huh.” Dev’s grin remained. “Look, if Pello dies by knife, or charm, or even simply vanishes, the other drovers from Horavin House will insist Meldon investigate, and we’d all end up under truth spell. And trust me, arranging a believable accident for someone as canny as Pello is harder than you’d think. Unless you don’t care who dies along with him.” He gave Kiran a hard, searching look.

“No! That’s not what I want! But...” Kiran floundered to a halt. What did he want, if not Pello’s death? He wanted the last half hour never to have happened. No, he wanted to turn time further back, to the days when Alisa yet lived. When magic was Kiran’s deepest joy, untainted by guilt and death. His throat tightened. Nothing could give him that. And now Pello stood ready to destroy his only hope of escape.

“Pello rattled you hard, and that’ll make any man jumpy,” Dev said. “I know it’s tough on the nerves to play a slow game. But slow and subtle is the best way, here.” He cuffed Kiran’s shoulder. “No need to panic about the hair he grabbed. We’ve got at least a tenday before the convoy’s in striking distance of the border. Plenty of time to set a plan, and I know dozens of ways to fool a find-me.”

Kiran clenched his teeth on a protest. He didn’t dare press any harder, lest Dev suspect he’d kept something back. And Dev was right, a little time yet remained. Enough, perhaps, to first attempt a solution on his own.

He had to stop behaving like the naïve child he’d once been, always relying on others for guidance and protection. He’d have no such luxury in Alathia. The sooner he embraced independence and learned to solve his problems unaided, the better. There had to be a way he could intimidate Pello into silence—the man was too smart not be wary of mages, even if he did suspect Kiran’s handicap.

Besides, if he failed, then as a last resort he could still go to Dev. Tell him the truth, weather Dev’s inevitable fury, and then beg, promise, threaten...whatever it took, to convince Dev to help him instead of betray him. By then, he’d have nothing to lose.

Dev was watching him thoughtfully. “Before he touched you, what questions did Pello ask?”

Back to dangerous territory. “He talked about the lake. Then he said I reminded him of someone he used to know, and asked about my family. I told him they were bookbinders.” An idea occurred. “Oh, and he talked about you.”

“Did he.” Dev bit off the words like he’d tasted something sour.

“He said you’d been sold as a child—is that true?” It wasn’t hard to let his curiosity take over.

“Pretty much.” Dev leaned back against the boulder, putting his face into shadow. “Did he bring that up before or after you said your parents were bookbinders?”

“Before,” Kiran said, slowly. “Why?” He wished he could see Dev’s expression.

“Helps me scout his thought pattern.”

Kiran devoutly hoped Dev wasn’t following Pello’s line of thought. “But, what he said...why were you sold?”

Dev’s head tilted, his green eyes glinting in the shadow. “You weren’t born in Ninavel, I take it.”

“Why does—oh!” The meaning of Pello’s reference to Dev as a talented boy suddenly came clear. “You were Tainted...” A thousand questions crowded Kiran’s mind. The cook’s boy had been Tainted, but only enough to rattle a cup from across the room, or inch pebbles around the courtyard without touching them. Kiran had been fascinated, regardless. When Mero moved a pebble, Kiran felt nothing, no matter how tightly he focused his inner senses.
You feel nothing,
Ruslan had said when asked,
because there is no magic to feel. The great forces of the confluence are powerful enough within the city’s confines to affect the
nathahlen
in the womb, but the result is merely a crude, fleeting ability to manipulate objects solely on the physical plane, and only in proximity to the confluence. Magic is subject to no such limitations.
Ruslan’s dismissal hadn’t lessened Kiran’s interest, but soon after, Mero had disappeared, and the other servants wouldn’t look at Kiran or Mikail, much less talk to them.

“What did the Taint feel like?” he asked Dev.

“I don’t remember,” Dev said flatly. He stood. “Unless you’d like to try rock hopping in the dark, we’d better get moving. Soon as the sun sets, it’s gonna get colder than a demon’s smile.” The last rays of the sun tinged the snow-laced cliffs above the lake with sullen fire.

Kiran fell silent, his relief at diverting Dev’s attention tinged with regret. The itch of his curiosity would have to go unsatisfied, for now. He levered himself to his feet, his thoughts circling back to Pello. For all Pello’s clever deductions, he couldn’t know if Kiran was working alone. If Kiran approached him, privately, and threatened magical retribution from a partner in Ninavel if Pello interfered in any way...it might be enough.

“One more thing,” Dev said, as he boosted Kiran up the face of a hulking boulder. “Whatever charms you choose to carry is your business. But I’m warning you now, you can’t wear any more powerful than household simples when we cross the border. Anything strong like that bane charm, you’ll need to hand over to me. I’ll stash it safe in the specially warded container I use to get Bren’s goods past the gate.”

Kiran paused mid-scramble, dismayed. He carried nothing but Lizaveta’s amulet, which he had no intention of removing. The amulet’s protections should hide its presence from even the most powerful of detection spells. But thanks to Pello’s story, now Kiran would have to come up with yet another convincing lie. “Fine,” he said shortly.

They made the trip back to the convoy in silence. Dev’s weather prediction proved accurate. As soon as the sun disappeared, the temperature plummeted. Kiran had never been so cold in his life. Even sitting as close to the fire ring as he could get, with a warm meal in his stomach and wearing every stitch of clothing Dev had provided for the trip, the chill seeped through to his bones.

The others seemed to feel it too. Even Jerik huddled close to the fire. Conversation during dinner was subdued, though perhaps more from the continued absence of Cara and Dev’s friendly banter than the freezing night air. Kiran suspected the strained friendship bothered Dev more than he wanted to admit. Though his face and manner showed no hint of disquiet, his eyes sought out Cara whenever her attention was elsewhere.

To Kiran’s relief, there was no sign of Pello. Doubtless he’d first attempt to send a message about Kiran’s identity to whoever in Ninavel held the twin to his charm. Then he’d wait for his contact to exploit the information and reply. How long, before Pello realized no response would come? One day, two? Kiran had to confront him again before then, and without Dev knowing it. No easy task. Dev was a light sleeper, and during the day he rarely left Kiran’s side. Perhaps during the morning bustle of packing up tarps and gear, Kiran could slip away and put his plan into action.

His resolution wavered at the memory of Pello’s sharp eyes and knowing grin. He’d have to choose his threats with care, and deliver them with every ounce of arrogant confidence he could muster.

Well, he’d had an excellent role model in that regard. All his life he’d watched the untalented cower under Ruslan’s burning gaze. Surely he could imitate enough of that mixture of supreme confidence and utter contempt to convince Pello the menace was real.

***

The outrider wagon jounced out of the shadow of the cirque’s cliffs into bright midmorning sunlight. Kiran pulled off his woolen cap and turned his face up to the sun, reveling in the sudden warmth. The day had dawned clear and bitterly cold, and he’d shivered his way through his chores with many longing thoughts of Ninavel’s sunbaked heat.

The morning had brought no chance to seek out Pello. Dev’s eyes never left Kiran, and he stuck closer than ever, as if he had some inkling of Kiran’s intent. But at breakfast, Cara had announced that Dev and Jerik would do separate, solo climbing scouts that evening. Dev hadn’t looked happy, but he’d had no choice but to agree. Kiran had resolved to seize the opportunity. Throughout the long morning ride, he’d imagined countless paths the encounter might take, and considered hundreds of carefully phrased threats.

The wagon jerked to a halt, nearly unseating Kiran from the outboard. He snatched at a supply sack to regain his balance. “We’re stopping again?” He couldn’t help the pained tone of the question. He’d already lost count of the number of stops they’d had as the convoy crawled along the southern side of the basin. At this rate, they wouldn’t see the border for weeks.

“Told you there’d be lots of repairs today.” Dev stood in his stirrups and peered over the wagon’s stacked crates. “We’ve hit the Desadi Couloir. That’s a wide one, still full of snow. Maybe an hour’s work for today’s crew to compact the snow and put down planks so the wagons can cross.” Dev slouched back in his saddle and began idly retying a broken cord on one of his waterskins. His pinto mare stood patiently, her eyes half-lidded.

Kiran leaned back on a bulging sack. Towering rock crags loomed above, their massive heights buried in snow. The sky was a deep and dazzling blue, in stark contrast to the blinding white of the ridge. On the steep slope below the trail, oddly contorted pinnacles twisted skyward from the talus like isolated monoliths. Any other day the grand scenery would capture all of his attention. Instead, his thoughts turned back to Pello. What would a shadow man find most intimidating?