Duskfall (27 page)

Nayome sighed. “Your sister?” she asked. “She is a heretic, after all. She confessed, and with no encouragement. Prayers, visions, revelations. And as far as I could read, there was honesty in her words.”

Cinzia nodded, looking down. “She truly believes what she says. That Canta speaks to her.”

“Which means one of two things. She is either completely mad, or there is something much darker at work. Something beyond what even I know how to deal with. And that,” Nayome said, stepping towards Cinzia, closing the gap between them, “is where you might just be in luck.”

Cinzia looked up. “What do you mean?” Cinzia felt no hope; she was defeated, and she knew it. And yet Nayome’s words piqued her curiosity.

“As a fairly new Holy Crucible, I need to demonstrate decisiveness in judgment; hence the executions on the morrow. Navone needs to understand that there are swift consequences to heresy. And yet… there is much we can learn from your sister at the Arm of Inquisition—and in the Denomination as a whole. So I’m afraid I cannot yet order your sister’s execution with a clear conscience.”

Cinzia narrowed her eyes. “Then what would you do, instead?”

“We cannot simply execute someone in her place, unfortunately,” Nayome said, frowning slightly. “Your sister is far too recognizable.”

A brief emotion pierced the hollow feeling that seemed to envelop Cinzia.
Anger
. How could Nayome talk so easily about executing anyone, let alone someone who might be innocent—even if it was in Jane’s place?

“So we are left with only one option,” Nayome said. “We need to fake your sister’s death, and then take her back to Triah with us.”

Cinzia shook her head. “I do not understand…”

“You don’t need to, child. I’m only telling you this so you will cease interfering. Your sister will not die tomorrow. I’m afraid we have no choice but to execute the woman Laurent found yesterday; she is not worth keeping alive. The same goes for the two prisoners you brought us this evening. But your sister, and the vampire, are to be taken back to Triah with us for extensive questioning.”

Cinzia blinked.
The vampire?
She did not know Nayome had found a vampire in Navone. She was not even sure if she believed such a thing was possible.

As she thought of Jane, Cinzia’s anger grew. Nara, Olan, and Knot would die. Nayome would save Jane, only to take her back to Triah. A Holy Crucible took captives for one reason: to get information. And a Holy Crucible, as a ranking member of the Arm of Inquisition, would stop at nothing to get it.

“You’ll stand with me tomorrow,” Nayome said, looking at Cinzia, “and denounce your sister. You needn’t worry about her, we have a harness she can wear that will remove the strain of the noose. She will be safe. Then you both will accompany us back to Triah, where you will help with our investigation.”

Cinzia bowed her head, hoping to give the impression of meekness. But the hollow feeling was gone. Now, there was only wrath. This—torture, death, deceit—was not part of her faith. She believed in Canta, she believed in the Denomination, but this had nothing to do with either.

She would stand with Nayome tomorrow, but she would not do as Nayome asked.

Cinzia would make a very different decision indeed.

K
NOT RUBBED HIS WRISTS
, looking down at the two unconscious Sons: the man called Gad, and another who had joined them on their way down into the cellars. Incapacitating them had been simple; Kovac had made sure Knot’s bonds were barely tied.

Knot glanced at Olan, wondering what the man would think of him. The type of violence Knot used seemed to put people on edge. But Olan, for whatever reason, didn’t seem fazed.

He’s worried about his wife
, Knot reminded himself.
He’s got more important things on his mind.

They tied up the Sons and dragged them out of the corridor and into a room, locking the door. Knot dropped the torch he’d taken from Gad onto the floor and stamped the flames out.

“What are you doing?” Olan hissed.

“Our eyes will adjust. Keeping a torch with us would be like taking daisies into a beehive.”

The man grunted. “Think the others are being kept down here?” he asked. “We could try to find them, save Kovac the time.”

Knot took a slow breath. “Worth a try,” he said. “But I doubt they’re all down here. We can look around, but we don’t leave the cellars. We wait for Kovac.” Knot didn’t like so much of the plan resting on the priestess and her Goddessguard. They seemed like competent people and the priestess was damn pretty to boot, but that meant little. Competent people did bad things all the time. Beautiful people, too.

“How many doors did we pass?” Olan asked.

“Seven.”

The man grunted again. “How’d you see them all? I only counted three.”

Truth was, Knot didn’t know how. But he knew there were seven doors, and he knew where they were. But he wasn’t about to admit that to Olan without a valid explanation.

They made their way back up the corridor the way they had come, moving their hands along the wall as their eyes adjusted to the darkness. They came to the first door, a few paces down the corridor from the room where they’d locked up the Sons of Canta. Knot tapped lightly on it, but no one answered. He tried the keys he’d taken from one of the fallen men, finally finding one that turned the lock. He opened the door cautiously, but inside was only a table and a few bare shelves.

They tried the other doors with the same result. Empty room after empty room. Knot began to wonder what they’d walked into. Something wasn’t right; he could feel it. He’d thought they would find prisoners in these rooms; not Astrid, perhaps—she’d probably been confined to a real dungeon. The sun had set about an hour ago, and she’d be at her strongest now. Knot couldn’t imagine how they’d contain her. Didn’t want to imagine it. But he’d hoped to find Jane and Olan’s wife, at least. Jane, the girl he’d met in the Circle. Knot had figured she’d been associated with the heretics; he hadn’t thought she’d be the ringleader.

“There should be at least
some
prisoners in these rooms,” Olan whispered, voicing Knot’s thoughts. “Why else send us down here?”

“We still wait for the end of the hour,” Knot said. He couldn’t answer Olan’s question, and Kovac had told them he’d try to reach them within an hour of their arrival. Checking each of the rooms had taken them half that time. They could wait a little longer. Wasn’t the brightest idea to change a plan unless everyone involved was aware. Otherwise, missions ended in disaster. Knot knew that from experience.

Knot shook his head.
Experience?
The idea was ridiculous. He remembered nothing about plans, missions, or changing them, for that matter.

“Very well,” Olan said, but Knot could tell by the man’s voice that he didn’t like it.
I don’t like it, either
, Knot thought.
Not much we can do about it
.

They waited in a small room off the corridor, closest to the stairs that led up to the ground floor. Then, abruptly, they heard a sound. They crouched down, peering round the doorframe towards the stairs, where a faint orange glow appeared, then worked its way down accompanied by a set of heavy footsteps. A man in Goddessguard armor appeared at the foot of the stairs, carrying a torch. Knot couldn’t help but feel a deep, grinding sensation in the pit of his gut. Something had gone wrong. This Goddessguard wasn’t Kovac. It was the blond one, Laurent, who’d escorted Cinzia to the Crucible when they’d first arrived.

Descending the stairs behind him were two more Goddessguards—one of them the man that had taken Astrid earlier that morning—and ten Sons of Canta, each carrying a crossbow. The grinding feeling in Knot’s gut intensified. Their mission was over. If Kovac and Cinzia were compromised, he and Olan didn’t stand a chance.

“Go ahead and show yourselves, gentlemen.” Laurent swung the torch, scanning the corridor. “Your friends aren’t down here, as you’ve probably discovered.”

Before Knot could stop him, Olan leapt from their hiding place and charged at the Goddessguard, screaming something incomprehensible. The scream turned to a shout of pain as a crossbow bolt pierced him through the shoulder. Olan fell to the ground as three Sons ran forward to hold him down. He grunted beneath their weight as they bound him tightly.

“That wasn’t very intelligent,” Laurent muttered. He looked up, and spoke louder. “I know there’s one more of you. Best show yourself before you end up like your companion. Or worse. There’s always that.”

Knot raised his hands above his head and slowly stepped out into the corridor. He didn’t know what’d gone wrong, but there was nothing for it, now.

“Ah,” Laurent said, “there you are. How pleasant of you to come peacefully.”

“I know this one, sir,” a familiar voice said. The Goddessguard who had taken Astrid. “He was there this morning when we took the vampire. Killed at least five Sons, and Tyrik as well. Almost as tough as that vampire, sir.”

“I see.” Laurent regarded Knot. “Well, don’t worry, you’ll be with that wretch soon enough. Might even execute you together, so there’s that to look forward to.” He smiled.

Three other Sons rushed towards Knot, roughly taking his hands and binding them securely. He wondered, briefly, whether the priestess had betrayed them. He didn’t know what advantage there’d be in such a thing. Didn’t matter now. What was done was done. Knot felt whatever hope was left inside of him disappear, like smoke in a strong wind. He’d gone after Astrid for nothing. He’d come here for nothing. He had killed so many people for nothing.

And he had left Winter, for nothing.

N
ASH LOOKED UP AT
the sun, sinking towards the horizon. It had been a clear day, but clouds now rolled across the sky. Snow was coming.

They had just arrived in Navone. There was still no sign of Lathe, but the rumors they’d heard on the road looked to be true: a Holy Crucible was in Navone. The Sons of Canta who guarded the gate were evidence of that.

“Nash, take Elsi and Lian and secure the horses. Find an inn. Winter and I will look around.”

Nash frowned. Kali had been spending more time with Winter lately. The girl could learn much from Kali, but at the same time Nash was beginning to feel an odd sense of unease. He could not say why.

“Why don’t I take Winter to look around?” Nash said, looking at the tiellan. “I’ve been meaning to explain more about her voidstone.” Winter met his eyes, but he couldn’t read her expression. The statement was technically true, but there was certainly no need for Nash to go over the basics with Winter at this very moment.

Kali glared at Nash, but he didn’t back down. Kali would not enjoy being with Lian; the two did not get along. That Kali even wanted to be with Winter was an odd shift. A few weeks ago, she would have avoided tiellan contact at every opportunity.

But everything had changed. Winter was the Harbinger.

“Very well,” Kali muttered. “Meet us in the Circle Square.” She gestured at Lian and Elsi, and the three of them led the horses away.

Nash nodded for Winter to follow him. They walked through the streets of Navone in silence for several minutes.

“Why did you ask me to come with you?” Winter asked. She looked pensive, her dark eyes not seeming to focus on the city around her.

Nash clenched his jaw. He didn’t owe her an explanation. He couldn’t explain his discomfort to himself; how could he explain it to Winter?

“You don’t trust her, do you?”

Nash shook his head. “It’s not that.” But even as he said it, he wondered. Winter was perceptive. Nash speculated whether it was some aspect of being the Harbinger, or if the woman was simply that astute.

“Kali and I… we have a history,” Nash said. “We understand one another.”

“But now you don’t.”

Nash sighed. “I think you might be spending too much time with her, that’s all. I’m worried.”

“About me?”

“Yes. And Kali. And myself, for that matter.”

“But there’s no reason to—”

“This conversation is done,” Nash said, perhaps too curtly. But it was true. He’d already implied more than he should.

Winter shrugged. “Fine.”

They walked in silence. Nash couldn’t help but watch Winter’s hand stray to the pouch on her thin leather belt every few moments. She still wore her tiellan dress under her cloak; Kali’s choice of clothing had not appealed to her, it seemed.

In the pouch was the dose of
faltira
he had given her after they were attacked on the road. Nash was about to ask her about it when Winter broke the silence.

“The frost you gave me,” Winter said, “that I took during the attack… it was strong. Far stronger than anything else I’ve tried.”

Nash nodded. “The doses we give you each evening are small compared to what a fully developed variant would use. The frost you took during the attack was much closer to that size.”

“What about the frost I have now?”

Nash looked at her. “It’s a full dose.”

“But this frost crystal isn’t any larger than the ones you usually give me,” Winter said. “How is it more powerful?”

“More concentrated,” Nash said. “
Faltira
recipes require expertise and knowledge. Many amateurs attempt to create it, selling diluted and contaminated versions on the street. But only a real alchemist can manufacture a pure product.”

“I didn’t realize the process was so complicated.”

“Complicated, volatile, and dangerous.”

Winter was silent for a moment. She seemed to be processing everything. Nash could understand; it was a lot to take in.

“Where do you get it?” Winter asked after another pause.

Nash thought before answering. He knew this question would come up sooner or later. It was important for any psimancer, variant or actual, to be self-reliant. To know how to sustain himself when on a job. But new variants were fragile. If you gave them too much control over their
faltira
intake, it could destroy them.

He felt a sense of responsibility. He did not know what the other Nazaniin would do to Winter when they eventually arrived in Triah; he was not sure he wanted to know. She was the Harbinger, yes, which implied she had power. But people were always willing to exploit power. The greater the power, the farther they would be willing to go.