The Tainted City (46 page)

Kiran rested his brow against Mikail’s doorframe. He couldn’t bear this. Mikail had made it plain earlier he wouldn’t—or couldn’t—give answers. But Kiran had to know.

He pushed away from Mikail’s door and hurried to Ruslan’s study. The wards passed him through as they always had; Kiran sparked a magelight and surveyed the ranks of bookshelves, the carved ironwood of Ruslan’s desk. The desktop was clean but for a neatly ordered stack of treatises. Ruslan never left his notes or spell diagrams out, saying he detested carelessness and clutter. At the end of a session of study, he filed everything away in the warded vault set into the marble of the study’s back wall.

The sigil-scribed vault door drew Kiran with irresistible force. If he could read Ruslan’s notes, see what spells he’d researched and what purchases he’d made in recent months, surely he could piece together more of the truth.

And if not…the vault was the most likely location for the child Melly’s contract.

Kiran laid a hand on the vault door. A labyrinth of fire printed itself across his inner sight. He could never slip through these wards undetected, not without long study of their pattern. But where Mikail’s greatest talent lay in pattern analysis, Kiran’s lay in the raw strength of his magic. He could destroy the ward. If he damaged the outer house wards as well, made it seem as if the confluence spike had overwhelmed them and leaked through to cause the destruction…

“What are you doing?”

Kiran yanked his hand from the vault and turned. Mikail stood in the doorway. His sandy hair was disordered from sleep, his only garment a creased, rumpled pair of black silken trousers. But his gray eyes were all too sharp and awake.

Kiran’s fevered determination abruptly cooled. He groped for the wall, his legs unsteady. Perhaps Ruslan and Mikail were right not to trust him. How could he be certain his actions were all his own and not influenced by some remnant of a binding?

He couldn’t bring himself to speak to Mikail of his fears and admit he’d broken his promise. “I was…checking the wards. Another confluence upheaval happened a short time ago—did you feel it? I was afraid spillover from the outer wards might have weakened others in the house.”

“You,” said Mikail flatly, “are a terrible liar. I felt you come back in the house wards just now. Where did you go, Kiran?”

“You were pretending to sleep?” Kiran should have remembered that Mikail’s skill with deception far outstripped his. He stared at the flat planes of his mage-brother’s face, so difficult to read, fearing guilt blazed from his own features.

“The confluence spike woke me,” Mikail said. “I found you gone. I cast to seek you and found you climbing the Cloudfall Stair. So don’t tell me you were merely taking a stroll in the garden, or checking the house wards.”

Mikail must have seen Kiran was returning to the house, and waited to see what Kiran would do once back inside. Kiran shut his eyes, cursing himself for an idiot. “You didn’t tell Ruslan?”

“Have you gone mad?” Mikail snapped. “I don’t wish either of us punished. But if you don’t give me the truth, I
will
summon him.”

“No! I…I’ll tell you.” Kiran braced his back against the wall, fearing otherwise his legs might give way. He desperately wanted to tell Mikail everything, to pour forth the entire terrible cloud of fear and anger and confusion that fogged his thoughts. Yet if Mikail should tell Ruslan, and the
nathahlen
child suffered because of it—his heart cried out against the idea.

Perhaps he could take a middle course. Tell Mikail as much truth as he dared, yet not all.

“I know I promised you I’d leave the past alone. But I couldn’t sleep, and I couldn’t stop worrying over this…difficulty I have, with hurting
nathahlen
. I went out, thinking if I walked among them, I might find some clarity. But—in the lower city, there was a
nathahlen
man, a criminal—he
recognized
me, Mikail! I couldn’t let it go. I searched his mind, saw his memories…”

Mikail was looking more horrified by the moment. Despite himself, Kiran’s voice rose. “He arranged passage for me into Alathia on Ruslan’s orders, and it was the Alathians’ guide, Dev, he hired to take me across the border. I went, and Dev and I were captured by the Council—I don’t know how I got free, but…
how
could you keep this from me? You and Ruslan…I thought us closer than family. What did I do, for you to distrust me so much?”

“Kiran…” Mikail’s eyes were bright with anguish. He came forward to grip Kiran’s arms. “Oh, my brother. We love you, never doubt it.”

“Prove it, then! I’ve given you truth. If you love me as you say, give me the same.” Kiran held Mikail’s gaze. “My memories…they weren’t lost in an accidental backlash, were they?”

Mikail shut his eyes. “No.”

The answer staggered him. Kiran clutched at Mikail’s shoulders. “What happened, Mikail? You must tell me. This will drive me mad, otherwise.”

Mikail was silent, his breathing uneven. At last he spoke in a ragged whisper. “Ruslan had an enemy in Alathia, a rival he had long hoped to kill. He saw a chance to draw his enemy out of hiding, using you as the bait. You agreed, though Ruslan could not tell you his entire plan, lest his enemy be warned of it. You went to Alathia, and played your part perfectly—Ruslan’s enemy was destroyed, and he was well pleased. But afterward—the guide, Dev, betrayed you and gave you over into Alathian hands. Ruslan was desperate to get you back. We all were! Ruslan thought he would have to break their cursed border wards to do it—but then came this problem with the confluence. Ruslan bargained with the Alathians: they would return you, and he would let them join our investigation.”

Mikail’s tale sounded plausible, if disturbing, and yet… “If it was the Alathians who took my memories—why did you not tell me?”

“Because it wasn’t the Alathians.” Mikail’s voice cracked. “Oh gods, Kiran, it was us.”

“
What
?” Dev had been right? Kiran couldn’t grasp it—there must be some mistake, some misunderstanding. “Why?”

“It was the only way to save you.” Mikail spoke with desperate, impassioned intensity. “What the Alathians did to you…they bound your magic, corrupted your mind, forced you to become their creature, their willing tool. Their spellwork went so deep Ruslan could not remove it without damage. He did his best to spare you, but…” Mikail bowed his head. “I channeled for him, and I still have nightmares of you screaming…”

He choked and went on, his voice thick. “Afterward, Ruslan couldn’t bear to tell you he’d caused you such harm, and—and neither could I. He also feared if you knew how terribly the Alathians had used you, your desire for revenge would blind you to all else. It’s hard enough for me to work with them, knowing how they hurt you.” Mikail raised his head. Tears stood in his eyes, something Kiran hadn’t seen since his earliest childhood. “I’m so sorry, Kiran. But you must believe me—Ruslan had no other way to restore you to yourself.”

Kiran slumped to sit against the wall. He felt battered, his
ikilhia
seared and raw as if from a magefire strike. If the Alathians had indeed altered his mind so deeply, his lingering aversion to blood magic made a horrible kind of sense. As did the depth of his nervousness around Captain Martennan. But if Dev had betrayed him to the Alathians, why did Kiran feel so easy in his presence?

“You’re certain it was Dev who betrayed me?” Kiran asked. “Martennan and the others, I feel wary of…but not him.”

“Yes,” Mikail said fiercely. “Trust me, Kiran, he’s no friend to you. He seeks only his own profit.”

That, and the child Melly’s safety—assuming that wasn’t a lie. If Dev had betrayed him as Mikail insisted, no wonder Dev hadn’t wanted Kiran to see his memories. Cold fury trickled in, slowly at first, then ever faster. Power rose with the fury, roiling within Kiran until he feared his barriers might fail under the pressure. He jerked to his feet.

“I do want revenge.” Despite his attempt at control, the air around him sizzled and sparked, the wards flaring in answer.

“On the Alathians, or on Ruslan and me as well?” Mikail’s eyes were anxious.

In truth, Kiran’s fury wasn’t only for Dev and the Alathians. A helpless, betrayed anger throbbed in him at the thought of Ruslan, a child’s cry of
How could you let this happen to me?
Knowing the emotion was childish didn’t reduce its strength. But Mikail…

“I’m not angry with you,” Kiran said, and it was almost true. “Sending me to Alathia was Ruslan’s choice, not yours.”

Mikail reached for Kiran’s hands. Kiran allowed the contact, let Mikail siphon away the wild power seething within until his
ikilhia
reached a tenuous balance.

Mikail said, “If you’re angry with Ruslan, little brother, I understand it. But please…don’t show that anger. Not until we’ve found and killed this enemy who seeks to destroy us. If you reveal that you know the truth, Ruslan will be deeply upset and angry in turn with me, just when he needs to hunt undistracted.”

The last thing Kiran wanted was for Mikail to suffer Ruslan’s anger, and their enemy could not be allowed to succeed. “That…will be difficult. You know I’m no good at hiding things.”

Mikail released a brief, sharp laugh. “Oh, you can do it when you’ve a mind to.” He paused, and said more softly, “I hope you find your anger with him fades when you’ve had time to consider. He loves you, Kiran. You don’t know how terribly he regrets your suffering.”

“Regret never stops him from hurting us,” Kiran muttered. Yet it was true that the clean heat of his fury was far preferable to the morass of confusion it had replaced. At least now he knew the truth. He no longer needed to agonize over the choice between defying Ruslan to steal the child’s contract and remaining in ignorance. He didn’t even need to struggle with his dismay over the child’s possible fate; he would avoid Dev, and Ruslan would have no reason to hurt her. Besides, now he understood his reluctance over hurting
nathahlen
was some remnant of a malign binding, he had the will to fight it. He would cast at Ruslan’s side no matter how sick it made him and prove to the Alathians they had not crippled him.

“I still have questions,” he said to Mikail. “Who was this enemy of Ruslan’s, and what was my part in Ruslan’s plan?”

Kiran listened as Mikail told him of Simon Levanian’s exile from Ninavel, and how Ruslan had asked Kiran to pretend to flee to Alathia, so Simon might think to use him against Ruslan, and in doing so, provide the chance for Kiran to strike him down. It all sounded so improbable, like something out of the most fanciful of adventure tales. Yet the memories he’d taken from the
nathahlen
bore silent witness that Mikail spoke truth. And the gaping voids in his own memories proved that in real life, unlike tales, adventures came at a cost.

He hadn’t yet exhausted all his questions for Mikail when the blaze of magic around Ruslan’s workroom vanished. Ruslan spoke through the mark-bond.
Mikail, Kiran: come.

Kiran exchanged a glance with Mikail, who said, “Remember, no anger.”

“I know.” Kiran hurried after Mikail, out of the study and up the spiral staircase to Ruslan’s workroom. But oh, it was hard to stamp down the blaze of outraged hurt he felt the moment he sighted Ruslan waiting for them at the door. He did his best not to stiffen when Ruslan took his shoulder. He even managed to return Ruslan’s welcoming smile. Mikail gave him a quick, approving look as Ruslan led them inside.

Lizaveta leaned against the anchor stone, her eyes smudged and dark with exhaustion. Ruslan looked little better, his face drawn and his broad shoulders slumped. Yet his expression held more triumph than weariness.

“Success,
akhelyshen.
We’ve identified the pattern of currents our enemy seeks, and know the hour when it should next occur. Better yet, during his recent attempt, we discovered a mark of his presence.”

A sense-image welled up from the mark-bond: the confluence, vast and wild, its currents boiling forth in a welter of disturbed energies—but in one spot lurked a dark vortex nearly too small to see. Magic swirled around it in odd, irregular surges not at all like the confluence’s natural flow.

“I believe the vortex to be a manifestation of our enemy’s unique method of magic, and the very act of wielding that magic to be what agitates the confluence into an upheaval,” Ruslan said. “The death-born power he releases by killing mages only enhances the effect.”

Lizaveta nodded in weary agreement. She swept her long fall of hair off her neck and twisted the shining black mass into a rough knot. “I would dearly love to know his method. I’ve never seen the like of that vortex.”

“Nor have I,” Ruslan said. “Regardless, it should suffice to target channeled spellwork.”

Mikail said, “If the vortex is only present during the brief moments of an upheaval, how can you prepare the spell and cast in time before it vanishes?”

Ruslan said, “Kiran, you still hear these…whispers…in advance of an upheaval, do you not? That will provide us warning.”

“Not much warning,” Kiran said. “I only hear them right beforehand.” Though the mental whispers had been growing harsher and more unsettling with each new disturbance.

Ruslan said, “A precisely targeted spell cannot be cast in time, it’s true. I intend something a touch more crude, yet still effective. Kiran was able to hurt our enemy with a simple magefire strike when more elaborate defensive spells had failed. Therefore…Lizaveta and I will raise channeled power, as much as we can, and hold it in waiting. You two will observe the confluence from outside the wards. When Kiran warns me our enemy’s arrival is imminent, I will link minds with you through the mark-bond. The instant one of you spots the vortex, I will cast the channeled power at its location as simple magefire.”

Surely Kiran had misheard Ruslan. “You’ll cast with the full power of the confluence in a raw strike? You’ll reduce an entire district to rubble!”

Ruslan shrugged. “I’ll contain the magefire, though not too tightly—I do not wish our enemy to escape. Buildings and bridges can be rebuilt. The confluence cannot. Sechaveh will consider the losses acceptable given the stakes.”