Shadow Kin (13 page)

Authors: M.J. Scott

BOOK: Shadow Kin

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“Where does the pain go?” I asked, trying to divert his attention. Even as I asked, a nasty thought occurred to me.

His expression relaxed fractionally. “Pardon?”

“When you heal? Where does the pain go?” Please let him say that he didn’t take it into himself. Insane or not, he didn’t deserve to be hurt because of the likes of me.

“Our lore says we give it to the sun.”

Thank the night. “It doesn’t hurt, then?”

“No. It’s merely tiring at times.”

“You should go. You need to be outside.”

“You won’t disappear?” He twisted in the chair, turned his face to the sunlight streaming through the window, and breathed deep. The thump of his pulse slowed, approaching a normal beat.

“I can’t. Not in daylight.”

His gaze came back to me, eyes serious. “I meant leave.”

“I doubt I can waltz out of a Templar’s house undetected.”

He smiled crookedly. “Perhaps not. You should eat something. The kitchen is down the hall. Guy will feed you.”

A breakfast of cold steel, most likely. But I was starving now that I no longer felt the need to vomit with every movement. Might as well die with a full stomach.

Simon left me alone to dress. I wrinkled my nose at the state of my clothing as I climbed out of bed. It stank of pain and fear. But so did I, and sweat besides, so I wouldn’t make anything worse by dressing. Still, I sluiced myself down with water from the washbasin, examining myself in the process of drying off.

I had gathered an impressive collection of bruises, but they were faded to yellow and green rather than glowing purple fresh. Painful, but not unbearable. My trousers and vest would sit uncomfortably against them. But leather and my dagger were the closest things I had to armor right now. Once I had them all in place, I made myself leave the bedroom.

I was still stiff and sore, but my head felt clear and my right arm was functional, at least. With some food, my own healing ability might be enough to get me to full strength quickly.

Like the bedroom, the rest of the apartment was sparsely decorated. Utilitarian, almost, and in sharp contrast to Simon’s house. No plants. No pictures on the walls. No smells of wax and polish to speak of regular care. I walked down a faded hall runner toward the smell of toasted bread wondering if Guy spent much time here at all.

What did Templars do in their leisure time?

He might well ask the same question of me.

We were both fighters. We both knew death.

The main difference was that he believed in the reasons behind his killings.

I . . . well, right now, in this place, I wasn’t sure what I believed.

True to Simon’s word, Guy was in the kitchen, sitting at a battered wooden table, oiling his sword. A solid-looking pistol—the twin of Simon’s if I wasn’t mistaken—lay next to the rags and cleaning paraphernalia. Taking no chances apparently. Besides the weapons, looking slightly out of place, was a plate with crumbs and a crust or two, suggesting a pile of toast had been demolished recently.

My stomach rumbled at the thought of food, but I stayed put, eyeing the long blade. I could use a sword. Even though, in my line of work, the dagger was usually all I needed, I made sure I was well versed in the use of all weapons. But I doubted I’d even be able to lift this one. You could roast a pig on it. It would skewer me before I got anywhere near the gun. I swallowed hard, then finally spoke. “Good morning.”

Guy studied me for a long moment. You could tell he and Simon were brothers, despite the fact that Guy was built on heavier lines. He had the same golden coloring, though in him, the tones transmuted somewhat. His hair was lighter than Simon’s and his eyes a paler blue. A wintry sky, not a summer one. No warmth here. Perhaps only cold, righteous fire.

Wariness pricked the back of my neck as he regarded me.

Finally he spoke. “Good morning. You seem recovered.” His voice was lower than Simon’s and his accent was tinged with something I didn’t recognize that loosened his vowels and made them twang. He’d spent quite some time out of the City, I’d wager, to lose the more cultured tones of his brother. Despite the accent, his voice was cool.

“Simon healed me,” I said, folding my arms.

“I expected as much. Where is he?” His voice warmed a little. Perhaps he wasn’t completely cold. Not if he cared for his brother.

“He said something about going outside.”

Guy shook his head. “Damn sunmages. They’re all half cat.”

I cocked my head. Some of the Blood kept cats. Lithe, dark, slinking things, whose eyes reflected mirrored gleams from the dimmest corners of the warrens. I couldn’t think of anything with less resemblance to Simon.

Guy must have read my confusion. “Haven’t you ever seen a cat basking in a sunbeam?”

I shook my head. “There aren’t many sunbeams where I live.”

He arched a scarred eyebrow at me. “Guess not. Well, that’s where he’ll be, outside in the sunniest spot he can find. Good thing your boss’ boys don’t get around much in daylight.”

“Yes.”

Guy shoved the chair opposite him out from the table with his foot. “Sit.” It was a command, his voice cooling again.

I obeyed, focusing on the long, steady strokes of his whetstone over the steel. The smell of metal and oil and gunpowder tickled my nose. Dangerous. My hunger died somewhat. “Are you going to kill me?”

The stone paused and I looked up to meet that cool blue assessing gaze.

“My brother seems to think there’s good in you.”

I said nothing.

“For now, I’ll take silence as assent to that assessment.”

“I—”

He raised a hand, cutting me off before I could say anything foolish. “Don’t make me regret that decision. Or Simon. This was his idea.”

He didn’t look happy about it. Wrestling with family versus faith? He’d supported Simon at the Assembly last night, but that didn’t necessarily mean he would continue to do so. I was a creature of the Night World. One who worked for someone who was a prime example of the dangers of that world.

The very dangers Templars swore to defend humanity from. Guy obviously valued his family, but I doubted he would let that regard turn him oath breaker if I gave him a reason to believe I was a threat.

He would roll over me like a blizzard and feel as little regret as ice.

“But you helped him. Why?”

“Let’s just say I’m willing to suspend judgment for the moment.”

I let go of the breath I’d been unaware I was holding.

“Mind you,” Guy added, resuming his cleaning with another slide of the stone, “my brother’s instincts only earn you a temporary reprieve. Permanent mercy has to be earned.” His eyes were suddenly intent.

“Earned?” I tensed, making myself watch him, not the movement of his hands. Each pass of the stone felt as though my nerves, rather than the blade under his fingers, were being ground. What did he mean earned?

He nodded. “If you betray him, hurt him, play him for a fool . . . well, I’ll come down on you—”

“With the wrath of your God?”

“Exactly.”

I relaxed a little. He was worried about Simon. About what I might do. He was warning me to behave. That much I understood. “Your brother was the one who dragged me here unconscious,” I said. “I didn’t ask him to.”

He put down the stone, tapped his fingers on the hilt of the sword in a movement a little too close to grip-andswing for my comfort. “You’d rather be with Lucius?”

Did I
want
to be with Lucius? No. Not after last night. I only just stopped myself from rubbing my neck where he’d fed, forcing my hand to my shoulder instead as a chill went through me. Lucius had fed from me. I’d seen that strange hunger in his eyes.

I could take being beaten, could even take the humiliation of the need, but this was different.

I doubted I would survive it in the long run.

So, no, I didn’t
want
to go back. But Guy had asked would I rather and that implied a choice.

A choice I didn’t have.

I had to return to Lucius. The hunger would drive me to it. I’d never heard of anyone curing the need. It would be better for Simon if I left now, before he found out the truth. And better for me to return as fast as possible before Lucius’ anger grew too great. But still I hesitated.

“Is silence yes or no in this case?” Guy asked.

“It’s not that simple.”

His right hand curled around the sword hilt. “Didn’t think it was. The way I hear it, you belong to Lucius. Never known him to show reason about anything much. Or let anything he wanted go easily.”

I watched his hand, seeking any sign that he might be getting ready to use the sword rather than just hold it. “No.”

“Then again, neither have I known myself to want to make things easier for him. Without you, he’s weakened. That’s good for us.”

Ah. So I was a strategic advantage. It wasn’t just his brother he acted for. I didn’t know if that was better or worse. It did mean I needed to be even more careful around Guy. He would play to his own agenda. For some reason, that made me feel slightly more at ease. I was used to agendas.

“You don’t want a territorial war between the Blood.” Which is what would happen if Lucius fell. Those with ambition, those who waited, would seize the chance for power. In the early years, when I’d first come to Lucius, he’d been challenged once or twice. And he’d laid waste to those challengers, pursuing those who’d rebelled with a near obsessional focus. I’d been too young then for him to use me in his war, but I remembered Blood with horrible injuries that took even them time to heal. Remembered Blood and Trusted who disappeared altogether. Remembered what Lucius had done to the ringleaders of those who opposed him. You could have painted every wall in the warrens red with the blood he spilled. The fight to replace him would be equally bloody.

Guy smiled and flattened his other hand on the table, giving me a clear view of the crimson cross tattooed there. His smile wasn’t a pleasant expression. In fact, it was downright feral. “Says who?”

“I thought Templars were meant to keep the peace.” I looked at the cross, wondering how much it hurt to have that done. Wondered exactly what rank Guy held in the Templars. Did he have other tattoos besides his hands? Crosses to seal heart and body to the service of his God? “This is a treaty year.”

In fact, we were only three months or so before the official negotiation period, where the terms of the treaties—trade and territory and allowances of silver and iron for the humans amongst other things—would be set for the next three years. “I can’t imagine your government or the Fae want the Blood to be . . . unsettled . . . for that.”

The delicate balance of the City was maintained by the treaties, allowing all four races to live in something like harmony. Proven transgressions by any of the races were punished with cuts to their privileges. The humans could lose their precious iron and silver rations—key to so much of their industry and their protections against the rest of us. Similarly, Fae or Blood or Beast offenses might result in the humans winning concessions or territories being reduced. The negotiations were too important to risk.

His smile didn’t change, but somehow it suddenly felt colder, more dangerous. “Political policy isn’t something that I’m going to discuss with you. Though it would be wise to remember that political policy is not the only thing that Templars care about.”

Meaning that they would do what they thought served the Church and humanity first? I had no idea where that left me. Other than having to fend for myself as always. My dagger suddenly felt heavy against my hip. If I were wise I would simply get up from the table and leave. I would have done it if I weren’t fairly sure Guy would try to stop me. And that, in daylight, he’d likely succeed. “I see Simon’s not the only reckless one in the family. It would be safer for everyone if I went.”

One shoulder hitched and he looked down at the sword, working the cloth over a small spot near the pommel. “Maybe. Then again, I get the feeling that it wouldn’t be so safe for you. Plus, I’d probably wind up having to drag Simon’s sorry arse out of an Assembly again. He doesn’t give up easily.”

That much I had gathered. I shook my head at Guy. “Can’t you talk sense to him?”

That brought those ice blue eyes back to mine, the oily cloth crumpling in his fist. “Is his faith in you misplaced?”

“I don’t know much about faith. But you know what I am. What I do.”

He nodded. “Yes. You kill. So do I.”

“You kill for your God.” Gods were one thing I’d never bothered to believe in. None of them had ever lifted a finger to help me.

“I kill to protect people.”

“I kill because I’m told to.”

“You follow orders.”

“Orders from a Blood Lord. Not from your God.”