Shattering the Ley (45 page)

“Yes, that would be about right, she wouldn’t have been much old—”

Hagger grabbed the woman’s upper arm, his grip so tight she winced and tried to draw back. “Describe him.” When she hesitated, he shook her arm and repeated, “Describe him!”

“He was br-broad in the shoulders,” she stammered, fear in her eyes now. “Muscled, like a . . . like a Dog. And he had a scar on his face.”

“A scar? Like mine?”

She shook her head. “No, it wasn’t from a blade. It was from a burn. It covered nearly half of his face.” She glanced down toward the hand that held her. “Please. Please let me go.”

He released her and turned toward the corner where he’d seen the girl. She wasn’t there, of course, but her face, the long pale hair, something about the eyes, the structure of the face—

Hagger smiled slowly and his jaw clenched, eyes narrowing.

“So, you returned after all, old partner. You returned after all.”

The woman beside him shuddered and rubbed at her bruised arm.

K
ARA WOKE SLOWLY
to a throbbing headache and the familiar scents of musk and someone making tea. She moaned, rolled to one side without opening her eyes, and drew the pillow and blankets filled with the musk to her face. She breathed in deeply, the scent helping to dispel the headache—

And then the scent penetrated her lethargy. A man’s scent. Marcus’ scent.

She lurched upright with a cry and stared wildly around Marcus’ chambers. A dog—the boy’s dog, she realized, the one from the distortion—raised its head and watched her from the far corner, near the door.

Marcus’ room was exactly as she remembered it. Clothes scattered on every available surface, globes set to their lowest setting, a few glass objects from the southern climates on the side tables and chest in one corner. His purple Wielder’s jacket had been tossed haphazardly onto the end of the bed, her own next to it.

Breath catching, she jerked the blanket away, but she was still dressed in her own clothes. In fact, she lay on top of the blanket. She must have pulled the opposite side over herself while she slept.

Relieved, but with anger stiffening her shoulders, she slid out of bed, grabbed her jacket, and stepped into the outer room, the dog rising to stand beneath her feet.

Marcus looked up as she entered, in the middle of pouring himself a cup of tea. Jarkeeling by the smell of it. Her favorite. He smiled, the expression weary and wary, as he reached for a second cup. “The dog followed us from the site of the distortion. He nearly bit my hand off when I tried to take him away from you.”

“I thought you were taking me to the node,” Kara said flatly, her voice grating. She cleared her throat but didn’t move to accept the cup Marcus offered.

He grimaced and set it back onto the table, pushing it toward her before retreating. “I intended to, but then you blacked out. So I brought you here instead.”

Kara bristled. “You should have taken me home.”

“I don’t know where you live now.”

“Then you should have taken me to the node!”

“And
you
shouldn’t have blocked me at the distortion!” He started to say something more, the anger flaring in his eyes, setting Kara’s teeth on edge. The dog emitted a low uncertain growl, then stopped. Marcus backed down, but she knew what he’d been about to say: that the boy and the man might still be alive if she’d allowed him to help earlier, if she hadn’t hesitated.

She winced. “What were you doing there in the first place? You don’t work in Stone.”

He turned away, but not before she saw irritation cross his face. “I’d gone to see the Primes, to see whether they’d learned anything about the blackout. I felt the distortion on my way back to Eld. I thought I could help.”

Kara frowned. A bitter taste filled her mouth, fresh and yet so old, so familiar.

Marcus was lying. About what she couldn’t tell, but she hadn’t spent twelve years living with him without knowing the signs: the inability to face her, to look her directly in the eye; the defensive anger and bitterness, to distract her; the irritation. All manipulations to make her back down, to give in.

But she was done with him now. She didn’t have to back down or give in.

She could simply leave.

She pulled her jacket on and moved to the door, the dog on her heels. Her mouth tasted awful, but she’d be damned if she’d drink his tea.

When she reached the door, he stopped her cold with a curt, “What? No thanks for helping you?”

She glanced over her shoulder and in a dry voice without meaning said, “Thanks.”

Then she stepped out of Marcus’ apartment. She needed a drink.

A real drink.

“Kara! What are you doing here?”

Kara raised the glass of fine Severan wine to her lips and ignored Cory’s outburst, surprised he’d found her, even though they’d hung out here before. It was a little early for him to be away from the University. The Golden Oak usually attracted a quieter crowd, not students. She liked it because of that, and because it hadn’t completely embraced the use of the ley or the Tapestry for everything. A wood fire roared in the hearth. A few lanterns with actual wick and oil hung from the rafters. None of the ley globes were in evidence. Even the food was cooked over real flames. Some of the surrounding businesses and building owners grumbled about the fire hazard, but the tavern’s owner didn’t care.

Cory clumped across the mostly empty common room and sat down at the stool next to Kara, nudging the scrappy dog lying at her feet to one side, his grin turning to concern as soon as he saw her face. “What in hells happened to you? You look awful.”

“Thanks. You always know the perfect thing to say to cheer me up.”

The bartender snorted but didn’t look up from where he washed glasses at the far end of the bar.

Cory ignored them both. “What’s wrong?”

She looked him in the eye, saw he was truly concerned, and sighed. “One of the distortions opened up in the middle of the Stone District midmorning. I was on call. I arrived too late, got caught in it when it quickened.” Cory said nothing. The bartender stopped cleaning to listen. “I managed to pull myself out of it, along with another woman and a dog. This dog,” she nodded toward the floor, and the mutt looked up at her, “who hasn’t left my side since. But the distortion closed up before I could save the other people trapped in it.”

“And you came here, rather than going to the node to report or home to rest.”

She frowned at him in annoyance, turning away to hide the flash of guilt she felt certain was written blatantly across her face. Guilt over the deaths of the man. And the boy.

But she certainly wasn’t going to tell him she’d ended up at Marcus’.

“My head hurts,” she said, too harshly. “And I’ve found that a glass of good Severan helps. I can almost taste the Steppe’s frigid air, the icy waters of its lakes and snowmelt streams.” She waved her glass, wine sloshing, and as she did, realized that perhaps she’d had a little too much, even though it was only her third glass.

Cory rolled his eyes. “I’ll have the icy lake water and snowmelt streams that she’s having.”

Kara smiled, a rush of warmth toward Cory suddenly suffusing her. She didn’t know if it was real or the result of the wine, but it didn’t last. She set her glass on the bar, ran her finger around its rim. As the bartender thunked down a glass and poured Cory his wine, her mind turned back to the distortion and the boy. For a moment, the scent of the tavern—lantern oil and oak and ale—was overlaid with the iron scent of blood.

She shuddered, and caught Cory watching her.

“So why are you really here?” he asked.

She almost told him, almost blurted out Marcus’ name, almost admitted that if she hadn’t been so damned stubborn that perhaps he would have been able to help her sooner and the boy would still be alive, would be running with his dog through the streets of Erenthrall instead of his blood staining the Stone District while his dog lay at her feet.

She shoved the image away, the pressure of tears burning behind her eyes, and took another sip of her drink, Cory waiting patiently.

She frowned. He wasn’t going to let it pass.

With a sigh, she said, “You and your mentor study the Tapestry, right?”

Cory leaned back in his seat, caught off guard by the question. “We use the Tapestry, but not the same way you do. Or at least, not for the same reasons. Why?”

“Something strange happened with the distortion today and I can’t figure it out. Maybe you can help.”

Cory frowned, suddenly wary, as if he didn’t know whether he should be talking about what he did at the University at all. “What happened?”

“When the distortion quickened, it caught this man and a young girl inside it. The man crouched over the girl, shielding her from it—”

“Which never helps,” the bartender interjected.

“—which
normally
never helps,” Kara continued, with a glare. “But for some reason the fractures in the distortion didn’t touch him, or the girl, even though it surrounded them. It appeared as if they were protected by something. I didn’t have enough time to free them before the distortion collapsed, but they vanished into the crowd as soon as it closed, unhurt as far as I could tell. Have you ever heard of someone surviving a distortion once they’ve been caught in it? Without having been freed by a Wielder?”

Cory’s brow furrowed and he took a deep slug of wine, swirling it around his mouth before swallowing. “I’ve never heard of anyone surviving, no.” He turned toward the bartender. “How about you?”

The bartender shook his head. “Never. Until now. And bartenders hear everything.”

Cory shifted back to Kara. “What is it that was protecting them? What did it look like? Or feel like?”

For the first time, Kara noticed that Cory was tense, that he’d arrived tense and had only been distracted by how awful she looked. Now, looking at him directly, she could see the tightened skin around his eyes, the way he steadied his hand on the edge of the bar, how he couldn’t keep still, fidgeting on his stool. She should have noticed it earlier, but she’d been too preoccupied with her own guilt and the emotions churned up by Marcus.

Cory hadn’t found her by accident today, but he obviously wasn’t going to talk about what had brought him to her here, in front of the bartender.

Turning back to her drink, she shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s hard to explain. I didn’t see anything exactly. The fractures of the distortion just . . . stopped. As if they’d run into a wall of some sort.”

Cory shifted in his seat. “Was the man doing anything with the Tapestry?”

“No. Not that I could sense anyway. He didn’t seem to be doing anything at all except protecting the girl.”

Brow still furrowed, Colin thought for a moment, then shook his head. “I don’t know of anything that would disrupt a distortion. I don’t think any of the other students have heard of anything either, or someone would be studying it. But maybe my mentor knows of something. We should go ask him.”

He said it casually, but he didn’t look at her, stared into his glass before swallowing the last of the wine instead.

Kara did the same, setting the glass on the bar. She could feel Cory’s tension as she slid off her bar stool and drew her purple Wielder’s jacket around her. She didn’t know what Cory was anxious about, but it would keep her from returning to her empty loft with only Marcus and the dead man and boy to think about.

Touching Cory’s shoulder, she said, “Then let’s go ask.”

As they wound their way through the Eld District, Kara let Cory take the lead. He didn’t seem interested in talking once they left the tavern. The tension she’d sensed inside had changed to excitement. He moved fast, dodging through the crowded streets, past hawkers and peddlers and around carts laden with vegetables and fruits from the fall harvests. He was moving fast enough that Kara had to pick up her own pace.

Which is when she noticed the Dog behind them.

He wore ordinary clothing, not the armor and uniform of a soldier, but he couldn’t hide the fact he was a Dog, not once he started moving fast enough to keep up with them. After watching him for a moment, Kara realized he was following her, not Cory. Something cold dug into her chest—no one in the city wanted the Dogs after them, or wanted the Baron interested in them, not after the Purge—but she continued to follow Cory, keeping one eye on the Dog, memorizing his rather plain face: light hair, brown eyes, a few signs of pox on his cheeks. He didn’t seem intent on catching up to her; he merely wanted to keep her in sight.

Cory reached the gates to the University, what had originally been the Baron’s stronghold before he moved to the towers of Grass near the Nexus. The old fortress had been taken over by the academics. The University frowned on anyone from the city entering the grounds, including the Wielders, although they’d been called in on occasion despite the rift between the two groups in order to handle . . . problems.

“Come on,” Cory said, motioning her forward. “I think my mentor will be in his office at this time, but not for long. He’s got a class in less than an hour.”

Kara nodded and joined the throng of mentors and students—undergraduates dressed in a drab brown, graduates like Cory in tans—passing in and out through the gate. She took a surreptitious glance behind her as they reached the inner yard. The Dog had halted at the gate. He glanced in, scanning the students, then spat a curse before sinking into the shadows beneath the outside of the gate to wait.