The Firemage's Vengeance (6 page)

Ebon laughed. “That is no compliment, yet I am glad to hear it from you.”

She studied his eyes. “Is it only our meeting that occupies your thoughts? I have heard some dark whispers concerning the Academy.”

He sighed. “They cannot be darker than the truth.” She waved him to the table before the window, and he sat. While she moved to fetch wine for him and mead for herself, he went on. “You remember what I told you of Isra. She has returned. We saw her within the Academy—Kalem and Theren and I, that is.”

In the middle of pouring his wine, she froze, until he had to tip the bottle up to keep her from spilling it. “In the Academy, you say? Does that mean you are in danger?”

“I certainly do not feel safe,” said Ebon, forcing a laugh. “That, along with our situation with Dasko …”

“Have you thought of no way out of that?” said Adara. “It must weigh terribly on Theren.”

“More and more every day,” said Ebon, lowering his gaze. “She will hardly even speak of it, and when she does she is short-tempered and irritable.”

“Would you not be the same?”

“I do not criticize her.” Said Ebon. “I wish there was a way I could help her. But if she releases him from mindwyrd, it will wear off. Then we do not know what would happen. He might remember us, and what we did. We know for certain that he would suffer, for the process of weaning off mindwyrd is very painful.”

“Will it not get worse the longer she keeps him under control?” said Adara softly.

“It will. But we know not what else to do.” Ebon’s eyes began to smart, and he swiped at them, trying to make it look as though he were scratching an itch. “Forgive me. This is a happy evening, and one for celebration. Yet I have spent most of it talking about myself, as I do too often. I even told myself not to do so, just before I saw you.”

“Do not trouble yourself over that,” said Adara, giving him a little smile. “That is why you and I met in the first place, is it not? So that you might ease your burdens?”

A slow grin spread across his face. “I suppose that was part of the reason.” But then he took her hands and grew solemn. “But now we are something more. The fact that I am here is proof of that. This is not for gold, and I do not want it to be. Tonight is not for me, but for us—or so I hope.”

Her thumb rubbed the back of his palm. “So I hope as well.”

He smiled and took a sip of his wine. But his eyes widened as soon as it touched his tongue, and he tilted the cup to look inside. “Stars and sky. Where did you get this?”

She waved a hand airily. “Somewhere. Sometimes I receive gifts, and sometimes those gifts are wine, for my clients do not often ask me what I prefer to drink.” She gave him a secret smile, and he blushed. For a long while he, too, had assumed she liked wine, until he learned of her love for mead. “When that is the case, and when they do not wish to drink it with me immediately, I bring it here to save for a special occasion. Tonight is the first time I have opened one of the bottles I have saved.”

“You must have a fine store, then.”

Laughing, she slapped his wrist. “You will be well sated, you drunkard.”

Though he chuckled, Ebon soon fixed her with a look. “Adara … there is something I meant to ask you tonight, ever since you first invited me here. Only I do not wish to give offense.”

“Oh?” Her eyes grew careful. “Then is it wise to ask your question at all?”

“I hope so,” he said. “If I am wrong, forgive me. But … understand, I am overjoyed to be here. I can scarcely tell you how honored I am that you wished to bring me into your life. But … why? Why me, in particular?”

She softened at once. “Because I love you, Ebon. Do you not believe that?”

“You have said so, and I do believe you,” he said. “And yet … I wonder why. I am nothing special. No, do not look at me like that, nor argue. I do not say this to earn words of praise. I am not special. I am no great man. There is little about me that is remarkable, other than my family, who few hold in very high regard.”

Adara did not answer him at once, but leaned back in her chair and gave him an appraising look. Then she stood, and came to him, and sat so that she was side-saddle in his lap. “A boy who is usually foolish, and sometimes wise, said that love often springs forth unbidden.”

He blushed, for he remembered those words. He and Adara had whispered them often enough since he first uttered them. “But honestly,” he pressed. “Have you never thought upon it?”

“I have,” she said, so quickly that it surprised him. “Here is the truth. And you have begged me not to take offense at your question, so I will ask you to do the same with my answer. I did not love you from the moment I set my eyes upon you, Ebon. I think your love for me may have begun that night, but to me, you were a client like any other. Though I saw at once that you were an uncommonly sweet one—and you were a reminder of Idris, of home, which lent you some slight favor. But when you came to see me the second time, I gave you a lover’s words, as I would have done for anybody else.”

She leaned in then, and pressed herself against him, and kissed him deep. “And then the Seat was attacked,” she murmured. “You were an utter fool to come after me when you saw Cyrus escorting me through the streets. Yet that foolishness endeared you to me. And then you risked your life to save me, after I learned of Cyrus’ evil. I could not love a boy only because he was sweet. I could not love a boy only because affection made him foolish. And I could not love a boy only because he would give his life for mine. But you were all three at once, and in the same person. And love sprang forth unbidden, for you never spoke lovers’ words to me.”

It was hard for him to speak for a moment, and so he only held her. “But that is because I am not a lover,” he finally said.

Adara shook her head. “That is not what I mean. Lovers’ words go two ways. A lover tells a client what they want to hear. But clients also lie to their lovers. The client will speak of their lover’s endless beauty, and say they wish they could be wed, and say they would buy the lover a palace if they could. But if given the chance to fulfill such whispered promises, most clients would refuse. And that is no evil thing; a lover delivers not only the pleasures of the flesh, but the pleasure of dreaming a perfect romance together, a love greater than true life will permit. Lover and client both know that dream will never come true, but it is a precious dream nonetheless.

“The day the Seat was attacked, I realized you had never spoken a lover’s word to me. You loved me, in truth. I do not know when, after that, I knew I loved you in return. One day, I simply did.”

He smiled at her. “And that has never happened before? You have never fallen in love?”

Everything about her changed at once—her posture, the look on her face, and her smile—and he saw it. Inside, he winced. Adara stood and returned to her seat. “Before I answer that, I would ask you something. Would it bother you if I had?”

Quickly he shook his head. “I am sorry,” he said. “That was wrong of me to ask. I never meant to throw doubt on your feelings for me. I only …”

“You thought to stoke your own pride,” she said with a wry smile. “To prove to yourself that you were the only one. Well, puff up your chest, my love—you are the first client who has ever stepped into my dwelling.”

He hung his head. He had made an ass of himself after all. “I am sorry, my love. You deserve someone with a smoother tongue than mine, for it trips over itself no matter my intent.”

A moment’s silence stretched as she drank deep from her mead. Her eyes glinted. “Your tongue is not so bad as all that.”

His heart leapt—until the moment was shattered by a pounding at the door below.

Ebon was on his feet in an instant, but no faster than Adara. Their eyes met. He shook his head. “I am expecting no one,” he whispered.

“Nor I.”

The pounding sounded at the door again.

He ran to the left window. The sash was drawn, and he pulled it aside, trying to look down. But the angle was bad, and he could not see the street just before the door. Adara went to the other window, but from the look on her face it was clear she could see nothing more than he could.

“Hide yourself,” he hissed. “I will see who it is.”

“Do not be an idiot.” She went to her cupboard. From its bottom drawer she pulled a long knife. “This is my home.”

Before he could so much as try to stop her, she had pounded down the stairs and thrown open the door. Ebon was a half-step behind her as she thrust the knife out into the street.

Mako looked down at the blade and arched an eyebrow.

Ebon felt thunderstruck. For a moment he could not so much as speak. Fortunately he did not have to, for Adara did instead. “Who are you?” she said. “What do you want?”

For a moment, Mako did not answer. Then he moved, making Ebon flinch—but he only took a step back, so that he did not impale himself on Adara’s dagger when he gave a deep bow.

“I beg your every pardon, my lady, for this intrusion. To disturb you was my last wish. I only sought my master, Ebon, of the family Drayden. He is the boy standing there just behind you.”

Ebon gawked. Adara glanced back at him. He nodded, and slowly she withdrew her dagger. Mako, seeing the motion, straightened from his bow—and then he fixed Ebon with a hard stare.

“Come with me, little goldshitter. There is work to be done.”

seven

MAKO [2]

After bidding Adara a hasty farewell, and promising to return as soon as he could, Ebon followed Mako into the streets. The moment they had turned a corner, he seized the bodyguard’s arm to pull him around. Mako gave the hand on his elbow a hard look, but Ebon did not care.

“How did you know I was there? I have not even seen you since we fought with Isra. Where have you been?”

“You have never been curious about my whereabouts before,” said Mako. “I thought it was because you did not wish to know. Nor have you ever asked how I knew where you were. It is a sort of assumed truth between us, is it not?”

Ebon’s nostrils flared, and his hand curled to a fist at his side. But what could he do? Striking Mako would do no good—even if the bodyguard did not strike back, which seemed doubtful.

In truth, he was terrified that Mako knew where Adara lived. But then, as he thought of it, it seemed likely that Mako had had that knowledge for some time. In fact, it would not have surprised Ebon if Mako had known the dwelling of every denizen on the Seat, and their families across the nine kingdoms besides. That was, after all, part of his duty. Not only as a Drayden bodyguard and messenger, but also as their assassin.

Something of Ebon’s thoughts must have shown in his face, for Mako laughed at him. “You may unclench yourself, little Ebon. Your lover is in no danger from me.”

“Oh? And what about from Shay?”

Mako’s mouth soured in an instant. “From what we have learned of your father, I certainly will not be reporting anything to him—about Adara, or anything else.”

Rather than bringing comfort, the words further darkened Ebon’s mood—except instead of anger, he felt a cold fear. He saw Matami’s gaping eye socket, heard his uncle’s screams.

And then he remembered their fight against Isra, when the girl struck with her magic. But Mako stood untouched and leapt forwards with his dagger. Her magic had been powerless against him, and Ebon still did not know why.

“You are very silent, Ebon,” said Mako. “Come. Speak. What do you wish to tell me?”

“I …” Ebon swallowed hard. Something, some urgent voice in the back of his mind, told him not to speak of what he had seen during the fight. “You mentioned my father. It brought an unpleasant memory to the fore.”

“Does Matami still plague your thoughts? If everyone were so naive as you, there would be no more war in Underrealm.”

“Never mind that now,” said Ebon. “I must tell you something about Isra. Last night, in the Academy—”

“She appeared,” said Mako. “I know it, boy. That is why I have come to see you in the first place. Did you think I sought to converse for my pleasure? I do not think either of us have enjoyed ourselves so far.”

Ebon looked around. He did not recognize the streets they passed through. A twinge of nerves struck him. “Where are we going, exactly? You cannot know where she is already.”

Mako snorted. “Of course not. You are more craven than that old instructor of yours, Ebon, and it suits you ill. I wish we were going to see her now, so that I could end the little girl once and for all.”

“Then where?”

“You would do well to learn patience.”

The next few streets passed in silence. Ebon knew only that they were somewhere in the southwest end of the city. Little construction had made its way there, and many buildings were burned or fallen to ruin. This was where the Shades had brought the full strength of their assault, and few who lived here had survived the attack. It seemed the High King did not see fit to rebuild where no one would live afterward.

At last they came to a wrought iron fence that surrounded a wide house of nobility—wide, but not so tall as the Drayden family’s manor, nor as resplendent in its design. Here and there the fence had been bent and broken, so that there were many gaps to slip through. Mako paused, fixing Ebon with a look.

“One more thing before we enter. With Isra about, you may have need of me, and your lover’s messages cannot reach me quickly enough. Do you remember when I snuck you out of the Academy?”

Ebon frowned. “Of course.”

“There is a piece of alabaster on the ground near that place. You cannot miss it. If ever you must tell me something, or need my help, write a note and leave it beneath the alabaster. I will come as quickly as I may.”

“Very well,” said Ebon. “But do you think I am in danger?”

Mako spread his hands and grinned. “A rogue mindmage is on the loose, and she has the strength of magestones within her. Do you think anyone in the Academy is safe?”

That seemed a fair point. Ebon looked up at the manor before them. “What is this place?”

“It once belonged to the family Skard.” Mako looked the place over, his lip curling slightly. “They are one of—”