Knite

The idea came late. We were packed and ready to leave when it crossed my mind. One more reason Helena wasn’t fond of it.

“Why?” she asked.

I checked the straps on Qaniin—the name I’d given my spirited horse. We’d come to an understanding, me and her, by which I mean she’d come to understand the uselessness of her resistance. I had worried this would weaken her spirit but…

“Lira is bonded to you,” Helena pleaded, a hand waylaying Qaniin’s efforts to take a bite out of her side. “Why must I remain?”

“Because my plans say you must.”

“Because of the child?”

“No. But now that he’s healed, I’d rather not take him with us. That he has you to keep him from harm and harm from him pleases me.”

“Yes, but Lira—”

“As I said, he isn't the reason.”

“How long?”

“You know I won’t answer that.”

I looked over at Sanas and Roche. He was amusing her with some ludicrous tale or other from his time as Pakur. She was smiling like a mother might smile at her child when they recount wonders of the world she’d long since grown bored of.

“Sanas,” I called. “Roche. Mount up.”

Our departure went without incident. I think the true gods—whoever he, she, or they were—had chosen to leave them for our journey back. You might think we’d gone far and done much before we returned. If you did, you’d be wrong. The barren shores of Haloryeray were still in sight when I got the call.

Lira’s bond screamed at me. I jerked in my saddle. Qaniin neighed a complaint. I patted her an apology and she neighed some more. I was growing more and more fond of the angry beast.

I turned back towards the city. Roche fell silent mid-sentence. Sanas lost her placid smile. I passed between them and urged Qaniin into a gallop. They followed without a word.

The first incident occurred almost as soon as we met the invisible border of the city. We shouldn’t have galloped in. A trail of dust rising high behind us on the flat land west of Haloryarey meant we were easily spotted. I shouldn't have kept my hood lowered. A man on a speeding horse was reason enough for a patrolling guard to swipe a sword at me without question or warning.

I blocked her attack but otherwise ignored her. Sanas surrounded her in a tight circle of fire. Roche threw out one of his deadly wires. The guard’s head slid off of her shoulders, bouncing and rolling out of the flaming trap. Lucky for Roche, Sanas hadn’t the time to express her disapproval.

The next was a patrol—if three guards could be called a patrol. Sanas and I flashed past them before they could react. They stumbled back from the force of our charge. Roche took too long savoring the first two to have enough time to kill the third before she managed to call for reinforcements.

I blocked all attempts to hinder me with brute force. Qaniin was good at that. Being large and powerful and fearless makes you good at that. Being mean—which she was to a fault—helps.

Sanas threw streams of fire and kept the pursuers at bay. That didn’t last long. Horses don’t much like fire and her stallion made sure to remind her. Roche didn’t have her limitations, cackling as he decapitated or dismembered every guard he had the time to reach. By the time we got back to Lira’s mansion, we were pulling a horde of angry guards behind us.

Roche turned to meet them, welcoming them with crazed laughter. Helena was there to support him. As was Sanas, though I think they had differing opinions on how they would go about the task. I left them to it, rushing into the mansion.

Lira’s bond was faint. The closer to death the soul, the weaker the connection. There wasn’t much time left.

All the guards ignored me in favor of attending to the commotion at the gate. Servants did the same though for a different reason.

I found her lying face-first on the floor of her Fracture room. Danar stood over her in a frozen daze, a Nuf blade in hand.

A blow to his temple spilled the dazed slave to the floor. I pried the blade from his grasp and turned to Lira.

The Nuf—an Af’titalan creation meant to cut into the soul through the flesh—had only managed to score a touch. Her defeat to me had reinvigorated lessons she’d forgotten during her self-inflicted exile. She’d reacted quickly, weaving a turtle-like defense that left her soul in hibernation.

My eyes landed on Danar.

“Please,” Lira said, the bond blazing back to life as she left her protective shell. “Spare him.”

“Another who’s difficult to replace?”

“Impossible.”

My brow furrowed. “How so? You rule a city of slaves, do you not? I’m sure—”

That’s when I felt it. The thing she’d hidden from me even as I had rummaged through her soul and bound her to my service. It was a drop in the ocean of her consciousness, surrounded and covered by the murky waters of her corrosive nature.

Noticing my discovery, Lira averted her gaze. I stepped closer and lifted her face, disrupting the pesky resistance she was assembling. That’s how good she was, to be able to muster resistance despite how tightly she was bound to me.

I reached deep into her soul and searched, following the blips she so wanted to hide. Then I found it.

Love. Love for him. For Danar. For a man. For one she deemed part of a breed or class of people she thought better off—and of—as slaves. And even now, even under the weight of his treacherous act, she loved him still. Too much to take his life or let it be taken. Too much not to forgive. How? Whatever she held for her mother and daughter was mired in self-interest. She loved Lorail as an ideal, as what she should strive for, then hated her for being unable to imitate her well enough. She loved her daughter for being what she wanted her to be—strong in all the ways her mother wasn’t—and then hated her for being it. The love she had for this man was unlike. It had been dirtied, but only on the surface, only as an act to hide it from prying eyes.

“Oh,” I said, genuinely surprised.

“Please.” That single word almost broke her. She struggled to her feet, shut her eyes tight, and took a deep breath. I saw a little of her daughter in that. “Any evil he has committed was mine. I know you do not take the lives of innocents.”

“I don’t,” I said, “but he’s no innocent.”

“Are those thrust before impossible options to blame for their choices?”

I laughed at her. “By that reasoning, you are also innocent.”

“No, but I ought to be considered less guilty.” She nodded to Danar. “As should he.”

I shook my head. I’d thought her cleverer. Wiser. “You’ve spent too much time wallowing in self-pity, Lira. It’s convinced you your faults aren’t your own.”

She opened her mouth to say something but thought better of it. After some consideration, she asked, “What will become of him?”

“That would depend on why.”

“Why?”

Screams and fiery explosions continued to resound from the battle outside. I looked towards the door. “Go, before it spirals out of control. I’ll have a better grasp of your lover's fate once you return.”

She winced, realizing my intent. “A scrying?”

“Yes.”

“Must—”

“Yes.”

“May I—”

“No.”

“But I’m free to use—”

“I know.”

“So…?”

“I tunneled you without a scrap of divinity. Dismiss your worries and go about the task I’ve set you. Now go!”

She bowed, stole a nerve-wracked look at Danar, then hobbled from the room.

The slave turned assassin lay unconscious. He hadn't a lick of royal stock. His grey hair was dyed in places by the tawny shade of its youth. Thick lips and heavy brows lent him exotic good looks of a flavor more common with Kolokasians. His wide nose and pronounced cheekbones suggested a drop or two of Southerner blood. He was not too handsome, not kind or smart, nor wise or brave. Why? I asked myself. Why this man of all others?

I dove into him.

He was a Duros. That was the first thing I noticed. His core was dark yellow, tinged with amber, almost golden. A Reaper then. Surgeon cores tended to be lighter and tinged with grey, almost flaxen.

He was unbonded. That was the second thing. There were scars from when a bond had been erected and more from when it had been removed. I could sense Lira’s hand in both.

Enough dawdling, I thought.

I grabbed onto his latest memories, playing them in reverse.

The crack to his head was a mix of pain and bliss for him. I felt his relief. Next came the reason why. It made me glad I could no longer feel pain. The compulsion slithered into and around his body, muscles going rigid, bones creaking with the tension. The bodily pain was bad. The rampage in his soul was worse. I skipped past those long minutes he wallowed in that trench of suffering.

The cut was feeble. The war in his soul when he made it was not. On one side was his love for her, rich and ferocious. Again, I found myself surprised. It’s not often I’m surprised—or at least I’d thought so. I supposed my tolerance had begun to reset in those peaceful years I’d stayed hidden from conflict and betrayal.

On the other was the matrix, cold and calculated. I latched onto it.

Danar’s soul groaned. The strain was building. He could not handle much more. I kept going, following the thread.

A smile formed on my lips when I reached its end. I had to appreciate its brilliance.

The matrix remained. Most surreptitious matrixes dissipate after activation. I studied for clues as to why this one hadn't.

I smiled wider. I knew who was responsible. Brilliant was too weak a word.

I searched for the thread linked to the memory of when the matrix was implanted, looking to confirm my suspicion. A familiar face came into view. It was proof enough.

Curiosity pushed me further and I dove into the memory.

Sweat dripped from Danar’s brow. He knew he’d be sweating and was prepared for it. Duros arts generated heat, heat generated sweat. He rolled his shoulders. The back of his neck ached right where the bond had been. It always did after an intense training session. The complaint in his thoughts died out as he thought of having a century more than anyone of his skill should have. He had Lira to thank for that.

A servant walked in. His servant. Transel. A man. He had to be a man. No woman would serve him, be they slave or not, had they known him as Lira’s chosen or not.

“Shall I begin, Master?” Transel asked.

“Yes.”

Transel approached, hunched forward like he bowed one too many times and came stuck. Danar liked that about him. He told himself he didn’t know why. He did. It just wasn’t something he was ready to admit.

Taking the bundle of thick linen from his servant, Danar rubbed himself dry. “Exactly as it was,” he instructed.

He’d had to use his quarters for his training. His rug, too good to be soiled by sweat, was rolled up and stored out of the way whenever he had the mind to train. It was worth the effort. Every morsel of skill he gained meant more time alive.

“A man with a servant?” came a voice from the entrance. “What has become of Lorail’s Island to fall so far from what it was meant to be?”

Danar kept his expression clear and his gaze low. So many years as a slave had taught him the skills he needed to survive on an Island that considered him akin to cattle. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your presence, Crowol.”

“You there.” The guard pointed at his man, Transel. “Be gone.”

The hunched slave gave no thought to his master, leaving without thought. It irked Danar. He did not let it show, understanding too well why the man had done what he’d done.

Crowol came to stand before him. “Is your presence in our mistress’ bed still getting a warm reception?”

Danar bit back his anger. The disrespect she was showing wasn’t his to punish.

Crowol stepped closer. “Does your tongue require so much rest beforehand for all the effort it suffers during? Is that why you choose not to answer me?”

It took all of him not to let any sign of his rage show. “What might I do for you, Crowol?”

“To start with, stop addressing me by name.” She took another step, bringing her close enough to kiss. “No other man in Halor would dare. That skillful tongue of yours doesn’t change what you are, does it?”

Danar stepped back and gave her a quick bow. “I beg your pardon. If you so choose to tell me, I will address you in whatever manner you command.”

Crowol undid the distance he’d created. “Mistress shall do.”

“My mistress might take offense.”

“That is my worry.”

“And mine.”

Crowol reached out and—

He woke up in his bed. The rug was back where it was meant to be. The sweat he’d worked up had dried. He counted the memory a dream, assuming he’d worked himself into sleep. He hadn't. That he thought he had was an effect of the fact that he hadn't.

A year passed.

Lira asked him to bring Crowol to The Fracture. It sounded an order. It wasn’t. They both knew he could refuse. More importantly, they both knew she’d let him. He didn’t, so she wouldn’t have to. His love for her didn’t burn as brightly but burn it did.

“You’ll not find her in her quarters or on parol,” Lira offered.

“I thought she hated the place.”

“She does.”

“Then why is she there?”

“You assume it is by choice.”

Danar was taken aback. Crowol was almost a friend to Lira. “Why?” he asked

“We will see.”

His pace was brisk. For all the times he’d been in the crypts, the place unnerved him. He opened the cage. Crowol lay a mess. The sight gladdened him. He closed in on the dry heap of bones and skin. He could barely feel her weight when he picked her up. He could barely feel her touch when she touched his nape.

He fought back. The effort had him drop her where he stood. Still, he could do nothing but obey. As much and as often as he rallied his efforts, the matrix undid his will and the compulsion overpowered him.

I left his memories and followed a thread to the matrix itself. Simple and elegant, it wasn’t hidden in some elaborate concealment but placed in the one place they knew Lira would never look: the parts of Danar's soul she occupied.

Danar was meant to wound her, but not fatally so. Lira was meant to survive, meant to find out she was outplayed. Lura, trickster she was, wouldn’t have it any other way.

I carried the slave to the crypts below. There were two reasons I did so. First, until the matrix was understood and erased, I could not afford to keep him outside a skeleton cage. Second, Crowol’s fate remained unclear. Her escape could spell disaster.

I needn’t have worried. Crowol was crawling up the stairs on hands and knees when I saw her. I slung her over my other shoulder and put her back into a cage. After I checked and erased the matrix, Danar went into the cell beside hers.

They were waiting for me in the garden. All but Lira were lightly wounded. None seemed to mind. Helena was her impassive self, her right hand bruised around her knuckles. Sanas was more concerned with reprimanding Roche for his actions than the deep cut on her shoulder. Roche himself was smiling his charming smile, his elation at the blood he spilled outshining the pain of his wounds or the guilt of his disappointing Sanas.

“Word of this will get out,” Lira said, frowning. “It will sow dissent in my city and my sisters will move against me.”

“My city,” I corrected. “Your task is to reaffirm your control over Haloryerey.” I looked over at Helena. “Hers is to keep you safe from your sisters’ machinations while you do so.”

Helena didn’t react. She knew not to show her disagreement in front of enemies. Besides, with the reason I wanted her to stay having revealed itself, she did not disagree as much as she had before. I think.

“What of Crowol?” Lira asked.

“Roche?” I asked.

His glee was disturbing. “Gods!” he said, vocalizing his delight. “This might be the best week of my life.”

Sanas made to speak to him. “Don’t,” I said. She turned to me, eyes flashing red. “It must be done.” Sanas knew what Helena knew and remained quiet.

“Break her,” I told Roche, “but do not take her life. And quickly. Lira, once he’s done, expunge all her memories of me and my guards, then send her to her master. Alive.”

I strode towards the mansion. Halor would have to wait for its demise a few more days.