Ghost in the Razor (11 page)

“I find his proportions to be mathematically pleasing,” said Nerina. 

“Well, yes,” said Caina. “They are at that. But you only just met him. He…”

“Oh,” said Nerina, her eerie eyes growing wide. “Oh, I didn’t realize. Social mores.” She slapped her forehead again. “I didn’t realize it.”

“Realize what?” said Caina, rubbing her jaw. Gods, but it had been a taxing day. 

“That he was yours,” said Nerina.

“Mine?” said Caina. 

“Your lover,” said Nerina.

“No!” said Caina, her temper starting to slip a little. “Why does everyone…” She forced herself back to calm. “Why do you think that?”

“Because you trust him,” said Nerina. “You do not trust anyone, Ciara. I have known you for exactly one year, six months, two weeks, and three days, but you have never told me your real name. I understand that, since it is one more variable in the equation of maintaining your disguise. Yet on the balance of probability, I think the Exile knows your real name, and more about you than anyone else in Istarinmul.” She thought for a moment. “You…seem to relax around him.”

“I knew him from before,” said Caina. “Before I was banished to Istarinmul. We…did things together.”

Nerina raised a single red eyebrow. 

Caina scowled. “Not like that. We went into danger together.”

“Danger as bad as when we went to the netherworld?” said Nerina.

“Yes,” said Caina. “Some of it was even worse than that.” The day of the golden dead had been, certainly. Or when they had gone into Caer Magia to stop Rhames from claiming the Ascendant Bloodcrystal. “I never thought I would see him again…and then I ran into him today. Why do you want to seduce him? Do you want to get married again?”

“Not particularly,” said Nerina. “Malcolm was…special. He understood me. I don’t think anyone else ever could. But the Exile is mathematically pleasing to look upon.” She shrugged. “And I miss the physical sensation of intercourse.” 

“Ah,” said Caina. “Then you and Azaces…” She had wondered why Azaces had stayed loyal to Nerina for so long, and the possibility that they shared a bed had crossed Caina’s mind, unlikely as it seemed.

“Azaces?” said Nerina, wrinkling her nose. “No. He’s like an uncle. One I didn’t hate, anyway. He goes to one of the taverns by the Cyrican Harbor twice a week. I think he has a woman there. Or hires one.” She shrugged. “He can do as he wishes. He has been very kind to me. After Malcolm was murdered, I…did not do very well. The only reason I did not kill myself through wraithblood was Azaces.”

“The Exile,” said Caina. “His wife was murdered in front of him, and he couldn’t save her.”

“Oh,” said Nerina. “Like me. Like you.” Caina had told Nerina some of what had happened to Corvalis, but not all of it.

“I was never married,” said Caina. 

“But you still had a loss,” said Nerina. “Your equation was unbalanced.” 

“Yes,” said Caina. “I think…I think you shouldn’t seduce the Exile for now, Nerina. He blames himself for what happened to his wife. He’s still mourning for her.”

“The mourning is never removed from the equation,” said Nerina. “One learns to add other variables to balance it.”

“Perhaps,” said Caina. “But I don’t think the Exile would respond well. If you did seduce him, he would blame himself, feel that he had betrayed his wife.”

“Your assessment of the equation is likely correct,” said Nerina. “Perhaps it was a foolish impulse.”

“Probably. What if you had gotten pregnant?” said Caina. 

“That would have added a great many variables to numerous equations,” said Nerina.

There was an understatement. 

Caina was relieved that she had talked Nerina out of it. Kylon had been a Kyracian High Seat, and Thalastre had a gracious and beautiful noblewoman, one eager to bear children for him. Nerina was Caina’s friend, but she would not have been a good match for Kylon, not even as a mistress. Despite Morgant’s mockery, Caina would not have been a good match for him, either. She admired and trusted him, but he had wanted children. Caina could not have them, not for him or any other man. 

In truth, Caina would not have been a good match for anyone, not with so many enemies hunting for her life. Even if she abandoned Istarinmul and the Ghosts tomorrow, she could never have children, and most men wanted children to carry on their name. Corvalis had not cared…but like Malcolm, he had been a rare man. Now that he was dead, perhaps the part of Caina’s life when she could actually share her life with a man was over.  

“I am sorry,” said Nerina. 

Caina blinked, shaking off the dark thoughts. “What for? You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“I am not very good at this sort of talk,” said Nerina. “So mathematically imprecise. But you looked very sad.”

“Memories,” said Caina. She forced a smile. “Though if you want to seduce someone, there’s always Markaine.”

Nerina shuddered at that. “By the Living Flame, no. That man is…uncanny.”

“Uncanny?” said Caina. “That is probably the least mathematical word I have ever heard you use.” 

“Is he really Markaine of Caer Marist, the painter?” said Nerina.

“You know of him,” said Caina, surprised. “I didn’t think you enjoyed art.”

“I do not,” said Nerina. “It has no mathematical utility. Especially paintings. Sculptures, though…assuming they adhere to proper ratios and proportions, sculptures can be quite pleasing.” She smiled. “Like the Exile.”

“We are wandering from the topic again,” said Caina. Nerina had a knack for it. “How did you know about Markaine?”

“My father liked his paintings,” said Nerina. Her voice took a flat, cold tone whenever she discussed Ragodan Strake. “Rather a lot. Markaine himself…he’s too thin. He looks like a big gray spider in a black coat.” 

“You’re not wrong,” said Caina. She looked at the kettle. “Wine’s boiling.”

“Oh, good,” said Nerina. “Thirty-seven seconds sooner than I estimated.”

They took the kettle back to the workshop. Kylon sat on one of the stools, his face expressionless as Azaces bandaged the minor wounds on his arm. The towering man worked with surprising gentleness, and Caina found herself wondering what he had done before becoming Ragodan Strake’s slave. Morgant prowled around the workshop, hands tucked into the small of his back, scrutinizing the various devices. 

“If you steal anything,” said Nerina, passing the kettle to Azaces, “it is one hundred percent certain that I shall have Azaces kill you.”

“Ah,” said Morgant. “But is it one hundred percent certain that he will kill me?”

Azaces growled.

Morgant laughed. “Peace. I am a painter, not a thief.” He gestured at Caina. “Your friend the Balarigar, she’s the thief.”

“I know you are a painter,” said Nerina. “My father was quite fond of your work.”

“A man of taste, then,” said Morgant.

“He was a cruel monster and I’m glad he is dead,” said Nerina.

“Well,” said Morgant. “No one is perfect.” 

Azaces washed out the gash over Kylon’s ribs with the boiling wine and stitched it closed. The process looked excruciatingly painful. Kylon did not cry out or even groan, but from time to time a muscle twitched in his jaw, his hands balling into fists. At last Azaces grunted and straightened up.

“Thank you,” said Kylon, retrieving his shirt. 

Azaces inclined his head and resumed his usual place by the door, silent and impassive. 

“Now what?” said Kylon. “The Sifter will not have abandoned its hunt.”

“You and Markaine will wait here,” said Caina. “The Sifter saw us together, so it might decide to track you. For that matter, Malik Rolukhan might be able to track you with a spell. So long as you are here, neither Rolukhan nor the Sifter can find you.”

“That assumes you shall not be here,” said Morgant. “Where are you going?” 

“To get a few things I’ll need to defeat the Sifter,” said Caina. 

“By yourself?” said Kylon, frowning.

“They’re in a location that has similar wards,” said Caina. “It’s not far from here. If I get there quickly, I can shelter behind the wards and return here.” She shrugged. “If I’m not back by noon tomorrow, you can assume that I’m dead and do as you wish. If I do return with the items, we’ll meet an ally who might be able to help us banish the Sifter.” 

“No,” said Kylon.

Morgant snorted. “You have a better plan, Kyracian?”

“I do not,” said Kylon, “but you should not go alone. Not with the Sifter pursuing you, and not with the price upon your head. If you are attacked you will need aid.”

Caina opened her mouth, and then closed it again. He wasn’t wrong. Yet the items Caina needed were in the Sanctuary, and she was the only one in Istarinmul who knew where it was. Not even Agabyzus knew, and he knew more of the Ghost circle’s secrets than anyone but Caina herself. 

Just how much did she trust Kylon? 

She remembered Marsis, Catekharon, Caer Magia, New Kyre…

“Let’s go,” said Caina. 

Chapter 9: Exiles

Kylon followed Caina into the street, trying to ignore the pain in his side. The towering Sarbian had done a good job with the stitches, but they still hurt. Nevertheless, he had been hurt worse. 

He deserved to be hurt worse. 

Caina walked in silence. Her robe was damaged from the fighting, but it was dark, so that was all right. She moved with confidence through the darkness. Her emotional sense had not changed, the usual icy focus over a hard core of old anger and hate, but this time there was something else in it…

Uncertainty? 

That seemed odd. 

Suddenly she stopped, surprise going through her emotional sense.

Kylon drew his sword. “What is it?” He sensed no one nearby, but…

“Wait,” said Caina. “Wait, wait, wait. I’m an idiot.”

“I’m sorry?” said Kylon.

She turned to face him. “How did Rolukhan and Ikhardin know to find you at the Ring of Cyrica?”

Kylon shrugged. “I fought there before. Presumably one of them saw me.”

“Or they had you followed,” said Caina. “Where are you staying?” 

“The Inn of the Crescent Moon,” said Kylon, and Caina laughed. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” said Caina. “It…just all started there. I joined the circus at the Inn of the Crescent Moon.”

“Circus?” said Kylon. Nerina Strake had said something about that. 

A rare smile flashed over Caina’s face. “I disguised myself as Natalia of the Nine Knives. I put on a skimpy costume and threw knives at a terrified coffee merchant.”

Kylon laughed. “I would have liked to have seen that.” She tilted her head, and Kylon felt a flicker of embarrassment. Then Thalastre flashed through his thoughts, and the embarrassment turned to guilt. “I meant…”

“No,” said Caina. “If this goes wrong, we might both have to join the circus to hide. But if you’re staying at the Inn of the Crescent Moon, I expect that means the Kindred have someone there watching you. That means we can inconvenience them.”

“We can kill…no,” said Kylon. “You want to feed them false information.”

“As much as their heads will hold,” said Caina. “If they’re busy chasing their tails, we’ll have a clear shot at the Sifter. If we survive the Sifter, we’ll have a better chance against Malik Rolukhan if he doesn’t see us coming.” 

“Then you will help me against him?” said Kylon.

“I said I would, didn’t I?” said Caina. “Even if you had never come to Istarinmul, I likely would have dealt with him sooner or later. He’s one of Callatas’s lieutenants, and he likely has control of one or more of the remaining wraithblood laboratories.”

Kylon nodded. He had come to Istarinmul to kill Rolukhan and Cassander. With Caina’s help, he had a better chance of succeeding, of avenging Thalastre and all the others that the Red Huntress had murdered. 

And then…

A cold emptiness tugged at him.

Once had avenged Thalastre, what would he do then? He had no family left, no home, no purpose beyond vengeance…

He pushed aside the thought. He could worry about it later, assuming he actually survived to worry about it. 

“What did you have in mind?” said Kylon. 

“Did you ever want to be an actor?” said Caina.

“We’re going to join the circus?” said Kylon.

“Better,” said Caina. “We’re going to put on a play.” 

###

“Get out of my way!” roared Caina in her disguised voice. 

She stormed past the footmen at the doors of the Inn of the Crescent Moon and into the richly furnished common room. Each table had its own gleaming brass lantern, with more hanging from the high ceiling. A balcony of polished wood encircled the room, and the floor had been worked in an elaborate mosaic showing a pair of Istarish noblemen hunting tigers in the Kaltari Highlands. A score of merchants, both Istarish and foreign, sat throughout the room, eating their dinners while scowling bodyguards stood watch.

All of them stared up at her in surprise.

“Sir,” murmured one of the footmen, reaching for a steel-shod cudgel at his belt. “You…”

Kylon sat at a table, his face grim, nursing a glass of wine. He shot to his feet as Caina approached, his eyes so wide with feigned surprise it was almost comical. Actually, it was comical, but the observers didn’t know that. And Caina was sure that at least some of the merchants were informants for the Teskilati or the Kindred. 

“You!” roared Caina. She pointed at him, letting her damaged robe flare around her dramatically. “That man seduced my wife! Arrest him! This…this Kyracian dog seduced my wife!”

A chorus of laughs went up from the merchants. 

Kylon backed away, putting on a mask of fear.

“Kyracian dog!” said Caina, shaking a fist at him. “I’ll teach you to touch my wife!”

Kylon ran for the kitchens, and Caina followed him. They dashed through the kitchens, into the courtyard, and then the stables. Kylon vaulted over the courtyard wall, and Caina followed suit. She chased him through the alleys, still bellowing curses and imprecations. 

Several blocks later, Kylon came to a stop, and Caina stopped as well. Kylon doubled over, and Caina feared that he had injured himself, that he had torn his stitches.

But he was laughing.

“Did you see their faces?” said Kylon. 

“Aye,” said Caina, and she felt herself smile. “Rumor will spread that the Exile fled from an angry husband. The Kindred will look in the wrong places, and we’ll have a chance to catch Rolukhan off guard.”

Kylon nodded, his mirth fading into his usual grim look. “We should get off the streets.”

“Aye,” said Caina. “This way. It’s not far.”

They walked in silence through the alleys.

“I wish to ask you something,” said Kylon.

“Certainly,” said Caina. “What is it?” 

“The Red Huntress,” said Kylon. “What…happened when you faced her?”

She did not want to talk about the Red Huntress, yet Caina suspected that Kylon needed to hear it. Kalgri had murdered his wife, and Kylon had thought the Huntress dead at his hand. That would have given him at least a modicum of comfort as the grief and guilt gnawed at his heart and mind. Caina knew those feelings all too well. She would have ripped the world apart to take vengeance on the Moroaica for Corvalis’s death, yet the girl who had once been Malifae of Maat had died in truth long before Caina had even been born.

So Caina had taken out her grief upon the Brotherhood of Slavers instead. 

“She…was hunting me,” said Caina in a low voice. “I didn’t realize it at first. I had robbed Callatas himself earlier, with the aid of some allies. So he sent the Huntress to kill me.” She shook her head. “I thought the Umbarians had hired her to kill Lord Martin.”

“How did you defeat her?” said Kylon.

“Barely,” said Caina. “I found a weapon called a valikon, a sword forged by the loremasters of Iramis specifically to destroy nagataaru. It was in a monastery in the Kaltari Highlands, and the Huntress caught me there. We wounded her with the valikon, Claudia hit her with a banishment spell, and Lord Martin shot her with a ballista.”

“A ballista?” said Kylon.

“Right through the stomach,” said Caina. “It threw her over the edge of the cliff, and she ripped in half when the bolt struck the side of the rock. It was a thousand feet to the valley below.”

“Do you think she’s truly dead, then?” said Kylon. His voice was calm, but she saw his sword hand clenching and unclenching. 

“No,” said Caina at last. “I suspected she might have been able to return, but after talking to you, I’m sure of it. I’ve seen you fight, Kylon. If you thought she was dead…”

“Thalastre hit her with a lightning bolt,” said Kylon. “At the apex of the Tower of Kardamnos. In the last moment before the Huntress took off her head.” He shook his head. “I opened the Huntress’s throat with the shard of my sword, stabbed her in the heart, and threw her from the apex of the Tower. Four hundred feet to the street.”

“But you never found her body,” said Caina, “did you?”

“No,” said Kylon. “There was a canal in the street. I thought the corpse might have been washed out to the harbor. Did you find her body?”

“I tried,” said Caina, “but I couldn’t. It was a thousand feet from the monastery to the valley floor. She was clever, Kylon. She found a coffee house I frequent, got herself hired as a worker there, and watched me for months. She knew almost everything about me. She should have killed me. If I had not happened to turn my head at the last possible second, she would have shot me through the heart.” 

“Then I suppose I failed you, too,” said Kylon, his voice hoarse.

“What do you mean?” said Caina. “You didn’t fail me. You don’t owe me anything.”

“If I had killed the Huntress in New Kyre,” said Kylon, “she wouldn’t have been able to attack you here. I thought I had killed her. I thought…I didn’t save Thalastre, but at least I had avenged her. Now I see that I have failed at even that.” 

He stopped and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.

Caina hesitated, and then very, very slowly reached out and touched his arm.

His eyes opened, full of pain and regret. 

“I’m sorry,” she said. “But you cannot blame yourself. The Red Huntress killed Thalastre, not you. I know this sounds like empty words, but…”

“But you have lived them, so you understand,” said Kylon. “But there is one thing I have in common with Corvalis that you do not.”

“What’s that?” said Caina.

“He died to protect you, didn’t he?” said Kylon. “He would have found it intolerable to live if you had been killed.”

Caina said nothing for a moment.

“Yes,” she whispered. 

“I wish that I had been able to follow his example,” said Kylon. “I wish I could have died protecting Thalastre. But I failed to save her, as I failed to save Andromache. So I must content myself with avenging her, even if it brings my death.” 

“She wouldn’t have wanted you to die, Kylon,” said Caina. “It took me a year to understand that. All the stories about the Balarigar, all those things I did…I was trying to get myself killed. I had good reasons for terrorizing the slavers and trying to stop Callatas, but a death wish was part of why I did it.” She shook her head. “Claudia got me to understand. Corvalis wouldn’t have wanted me to get myself killed. That’s…the last thing I’ll ever be able to do for him, really. To live.”

Kylon was silent for a while.

“There…may be wisdom to that,” he said. “I will think on what you have said.”

“It’s the sort of lesson that can’t be learned,” said Caina. “It has to be lived.”

“I suppose so,” said Kylon. He laughed.

“What?” said Caina.

“I am a fool, you know,” said Kylon. “Standing here speaking of my woes while powerful enemies hunt us both. I suppose that would be the final irony, if we were both slain while I was ruminating upon my grief like a weepy child.” 

“I, for one, would prefer if the story did not end that way,” said Caina. “Let’s go.”

Kylon nodded, started forward, and stumbled, leaning upon the wall.

“What is it?” said Caina. Had the weapons of the Kindred assassins or the Adamant Guards been poisoned? If they had been coated with a slow-acting venom, the poison might have just taken effect. 

“Just dizzy for a moment,” said Kylon. “I’m fine.”

“Of course,” said Caina. He was just exhausted. Today he had fought a match in the Ring of Cyrica, battled Kindred assassins, fought off Adamant Guards, and run a long distance, all while drawing on the power of his sorcery. Suddenly she felt her own fatigue pressing down upon her. “We’re almost there.”

Caina led him through the alleys and the back streets until they came to the deserted courtyard behind the House of Agabyzus. The dry fountain with its dedication plaque stood there. Caina looked around, made sure that they were unobserved, and then unlocked and opened the hidden door in the fountain. 

“You live under a fountain?” said Kylon, bemused.

“Only occasionally,” said Caina. Pale light rose from the small entrance, revealing a ladder descending into the earth. “I mostly store things here. I try to sleep someplace different every night, given how many people are hunting me.”

“Sensible,” said Kylon.

“Go down first,” said Caina. “I’ll close the door behind us.”

Kylon nodded and descended, and Caina closed and locked the door behind them. 

The Sanctuary of the Ghosts of Istarinmul was a large vaulted chamber, the ceiling supported by thick pillars. Glowing glass globes, enspelled by the Magisterium, stood upon iron stands and threw out a pale light that revealed a half-dozen long tables. One held weapons, another tools and half-assembled locks and mechanical traps, the third a variety of herbs and elixirs. A wooden wardrobe stored a wide variety of clothing, for nobles and commoners alike, and another table held a mirror and a set of cosmetics. More of the enspelled lead plates had been fixed to the pillars, shielding the chamber from sorcerous observation. 

That was necessary, given some of the objects Caina stored here. 

“Large place,” said Kylon. 

“I think it’s been here for centuries,” said Caina. “The Ghosts have used it for a long time. The Teskilati wiped out the Ghost circle after Tanzir Shahan negotiated peace with the Emperor, but they never found this place. Right now I’m the only one who knows where it is.”

“And me, now,” said Kylon. He hesitated. “Thank you for the trust you have shown me.”

“Given that the Sifter would have killed me if I hadn’t found you today,” said Caina, “I ought to thank you, not the other way around.”

“Your friend Nerina,” said Kylon, changing the subject. Likely he had grown weary of talking about himself. “Will she be safe with Morgant?”

“She will,” said Caina. “Azaces is with her.”

“He might be a capable fighter,” said Kylon, “but Morgant has that dagger.”

“I doubt Morgant will do anything,” said Caina. “He’s playing a game with me. He wants to see if I’m worthy to entrust with his great secret, whatever the hell it is. Nerina and I are friends, but both she and Azaces are Ghosts. If he kills them or even hurts them, he knows I will never forgive that.”