Fire Kin (21 page)

“Asharic,” he replied gravely.

The hairs on the back of my neck prickled. It was hardly an effusive greeting to one's long-lost son. True, he had seen me in Summerdale just a few days previously, but we hadn't had any time to speak privately then.

So. Was he merely being formal because we were in public, was he displeased with me, or was there a third reason for him not making any move toward me?

Behind me, I felt Bryony move closer and there were faint
clanks
and jingles as the Templars and my men formed ranks behind us as well. My father's gaze moved past me to them. I resisted turning around to see if the men would pass inspection.

Compared to the polished-to-gleaming gray-and-white-clad Fae warriors mounted in two neat ranks behind my father, my men—and even the Templars—would look positively shabby.

I studied those warriors carefully. Gray and white were the colors of the court—would have been the colors of the Veiled Queen, but their clothing was carefully bare of the crown that would show they served the queen. That didn't mean they weren't fanatically loyal to her memory and trained to do what the court instructed with little questioning.

There were twelve of them, on horses that shaded from white to dark gray, as well.

The sight of them wasn't promising.

“Is there something I can do for you?” I asked my father, phrasing the question carefully. The more polite version would be to ask what I could do for him, but I wasn't going to commit myself to a promise without knowing what I was promising.

My father's lips thinned, and his pale blue eyes seemed cooler than usual. His hands tightened on the reins, sending a scatter of red and brown light dancing from his Family ring. “I bear a message for you, Asharic.”

Still Asharic, not son. My father was keeping his options open. “Oh?” Every muscle along my spine tightened, bracing for action. I made an effort to relax. The Fae were still on the other side of the gate and they couldn't actually reach across and drag me away kicking and screaming—not without having to fight their way through my men and the Templars behind me.

Or using magic to make me do what they wanted.

It was rude to use a ward against a binding in public, but I carefully formed one around Bryony and me regardless. She sucked in a small breath and my father's brows drew together.

“There has been a challenge to you issued in the court,” Father said, and my stomach did a slow loop before dropping somewhere toward the vicinity of my toes. Fuck and double fuck. This was exactly what I'd been trying to avoid.

I didn't want to be drawn into the chasms and abysses and posturing of Fae politics.

But it seemed that it wanted to get involved with me.

I took a minute to consider my response, biting down the instinctive “tell whoever it is to go fuck themselves,” while I marshaled my thoughts. Because refusing a challenge was not really an option. Our laws were clear on that. Refusing a challenge was tantamount to an admission of guilt—not that I knew what I was supposed to be guilty of. It meant I accepted that I had caused whatever offense the challenger was seeking to redress. Even with no one sitting on the throne, the court could vote to reinstate my exile—or worse—on that basis. A steady stream of curses ran through my head.

“Who has issued the challenge?” I managed eventually.

My father flicked his eyes past Tomar to the third man sitting beside him. He wore black, which made it hard to identify him, but now, as he followed the conversation, he shifted a little on his horse and I caught a glimpse of his Family ring. Sa'Oriel.

Triple fuck.

This was Salvia's doing.

My father gave me time to take in this information. The man on the horse just stared down at me as though I were a particularly nasty species of bug who needed to be squished as promptly as possible.

“Invar sa'Oriel has issued challenge,” my father said after a minute had passed. “His uncle is here to witness on his behalf.”

Invar's uncle. Which, if my memory served, meant the man in black was Felip sa'Oriel. Stellan's uncle as well.

“What kind of challenge?” Bryony asked.

Good question. One I possibly should have asked first. It could be a duel or a test of my strength. The former was bad news. The latter only slightly less so.

“A challenge of strength,” my father said.

I tried to remember what I knew of Invar. He was older than Bryony and I by a good fifty years or so. I hadn't known him well. Not as well as I'd known Stellan before I killed him. I had no memory of Invar being particularly powerful.

But I'd had little need to take note of what he could do, so he could be skilled beyond my knowledge. Or he could, like me, have grown into, and strengthened, his magic in the intervening years of my exile. I nodded. “When?” I asked.

“As soon as possible. The court would be pleased to have this matter settled,” my father said, and I understood why they'd sent him instead of Tomar on his own. I wasn't going to refuse my father a direct request, as far as they knew.

Not without shaming him more than I had done previously, which I had no desire to do. It hadn't been my parents' fault that I had come to grief. They had warned me to be circumspect when dealing with certain houses, but I hadn't listened—being young and full of myself as I had been.

I had missed my Family while I was away. I loved them. I didn't want to make life difficult for my father. He stood high in the court, yes, but he didn't have the nasty ambitious streak that Salvia and Bryony's father harbored.

If the court turned against him and my mother, it could get ugly and quickly.

But despite all of that, I wasn't about to present myself at court without some chance to rest and prepare myself.

“I would be pleased to present myself to the court tomorrow,” I said.

That would be a reasonable compromise. It would give me time to prepare and the court time to summon whoever needed to be summoned to witness such an event.

My father nodded, and even ventured a tight smile. “That is acceptable.”

I let out a breath that I hadn't realized that I'd been holding. I looked over at Felip, who was looking vaguely disappointed. Had he perhaps been hoping that I would try to get out of it and give him an excuse to try to drag me off in chains to face my challenge? Pity. Knowing that he was annoyed made my acquiescence slightly easier to bear.

“Wait,” Bryony said. “Have rules been set for the challenge?”

“It is a standard challenge of strength,” Felip said shortly. “They will test each other's strength before the court until one of them defeats the other.”

“Define defeat,” Bryony said.

“Until one does something that the other cannot undo,” my father said firmly. “No permanent harm is allowed.”

Not overly comforting. All that meant was that we weren't going to be fighting with weapons. There were plenty of ways to kill someone with magic gone “accidentally” wrong, if you chose. It would be frowned upon, of course, but with no queen in the court, there was no one to be the ultimate decider what the punishment should be. In a fight for power, it was expected that there would be some casualties.

If you weren't strong enough to defend yourself, then you shouldn't be participating, was the theory, but that didn't take into account people like me who got drawn in from the sidelines against their will.

If I refused the challenge, then I was basically announcing I was weak. And that would mean that anyone who bore me a grudge could come after me with little fear of reprisal.

For my Family's sake—and my own—I had to defend myself.

But I didn't have to be happy about it. Anger was already burning in my stomach, which meant that I had to tamp it down to keep control of my powers. There was no point tipping my hand and giving my opponent any advantage.

“I will come to Summerdale tomorrow, then,” I said. My father nodded. Felip looked as though he wanted to protest, but I was the one being challenged and I had the right to set a time and place for the response if I chose, as long as that time wasn't more than a few days.

Tomar just looked relieved, which made me hope that he, at least, might be on my side. Beside me, Bryony's power pulsed slowly, making the air tingle, which made me think that she was as annoyed as me by the whole thing.

Good. Maybe I should step back and let her smite a few people. She kept her true strength well hidden and I knew she had little interest in the court, but anyone who didn't respect her power was foolish indeed.

My father turned and nodded at the guards, who obediently set their horses into motion and headed back the way they had come. Heartening. It meant that my father was the one that the court had put in charge of that particular troop and that I wasn't going to be spirited away against my will.

Felip sent me a last poisonous glare over his shoulder as he took up the rear behind them.

It was a little too convenient, I thought, him showing up here so soon after the attack on me. Perhaps I should look to that Family to find those who were trying to bring me down.

“Well,” Bryony said, when the last of the Fae had vanished from view. “It's quite a day you're having.”

“You do seem to be popular,” Guy rumbled agreement beside her. “What's this all about?”

“Fae politics,” I said. I wondered exactly how much to tell Guy. I didn't know enough about Invar's current place in the court to interpret the challenge more precisely, but I didn't think that telling my employer that I could be dragged into the power struggle for the Fae throne when I was meant to be helping him win a war was going to make the situation any better. “The man in black was Felip sa'Oriel, and he's Invar's uncle. The sa'Oriels are the Family behind the events that led to my exile.” I looked at Guy, hoping he'd accept the explanation. I was willing to tell him more in private, but I didn't want all my men knowing what was going on.

Rhian and Charles emerged from the crowd of men behind us and joined Guy. Rhian scowled at the Fae as they rode off. “What's this all about, boss?” she asked.

“It's nothing for you to worry about,” I said. That was true enough for now. There was nothing that Rhian could do about the situation, so there was no point in her worrying. The one who had to worry was me.

“I need to go back to the hospital,” Bryony said suddenly. Her tone had a snap of anger and there was an answering bite in the roil of her magic. Better to let her go and calm down before I sought her counsel. I wasn't entirely sure what she was angry about. Or if she knew either.

ASH

Sleep
didn't come easily. I curled up on the hard bed in the tiny visitor's room I'd been assigned in the Brother House, trying to will my body into surrendering consciousness—I would have to patrol later—but it fought back, jittery with too much adrenaline. The unforgiving mattress didn't help. I made a mental note to get Rhian or someone to fetch mine from wherever it had been stowed. I could sleep on hard ground when I needed to but preferred something softer when I didn't. The Templars apparently stuffed their mattresses with rocks.

Or my inability to get comfortable was just another way my overstretched nerves were taunting me. My mind joined in the fun by playing a looping tableau of my father and Felip and then, just to really twist the knife, flickering images from the night I'd shared with Bryony.

Her bed was plenty soft.

But I was here, not there. The bed and a small table and chair, plus a skinny cupboard for clothes, were the only furnishings the Templars provided. I was used to spartan at times on the road, but my command tent was more comfortably fitted out than this. I stared at the lack of furnishings, hoping sheer boredom would induce sleep. Eventually it did.

I managed not to dream, or not to remember if I did. Maybe it was the shock of being jolted awake by someone pounding on my door. Years of training had me out of bed and reaching for my weapons before I remembered where I was. Brother House. Templars. Unlikely to be under attack right here in my room.

I scraped a hand over my eyes, trying to drag my brain back from high alert. “Who is it?”

“Guy,” came the curt answer.

Now what? I pulled my shirt back on—I hadn't removed my breeches—and staggered over to the door, drawing back the bolt. “What?” I asked, somewhat blearily.

Guy stared back at me, his expression unmoved. Had he slept? He was human; he needed sleep more than me. I tried to remember what patrol he'd been on and then gave up the thought as a yawn fought its way over my face.

“Bryony sent me to bring you to the hospital.”

I blinked. “Did something happen?”

“No. This is about the tunnels.” The cold set of his face and the displeasure in his voice acted almost as well as a vat of coffee.

“I see.” Then, “Give me a minute to get dressed.”

•   •   •

Guy led the way down into the bowels of the Brother House and eventually to the gate of a very well-guarded tunnel. It was straight for the first few hundred feet, but then things began to get complicated when we reached the intersection with a second tunnel. And then a third. Our route became a series of branching turns that I kept track of by habit.

“Just exactly how far do these things go?” I asked when we made yet another abrupt turn.

“Far enough,” Guy said. “There's a connection to most of the hospital buildings. Maybe all. I've not used them all, but the founders of the hospital wanted there to be ways not to have to go aboveground at night.”

“Good thinking.”

“Yes.” Guy stopped as we reached an intersection with yet another tunnel. We'd been walking for at least a quarter of an hour.

Guy looked behind us, as if checking for any sign of pursuit. Though who exactly would be following us from the Brother House escaped me.

I stopped and listened too but couldn't hear or sense anyone. “The coast is clear.”

“Good,” Guy said. Then he fished in his pocket and pulled out two small charms made of leather and glass beads. They gleamed with an unusual spark of restrained power, unlike any I had felt before.

I took the one he passed to me and held it up to examine it. “Who made this?” I asked.

“Holly,” he said.

“It's strong,” I said. “Is this how she makes her living?”

“No,” he said with a half smile. “She was a spy.”

Was? “A spy?” I hadn't heard that part of Holly's story. I studied the charm again, trying to follow the threads of power bound into it, waiting to be woken. I thought I knew what it was for even though I wasn't sure why we needed such a thing here in what was meant to be the safe heart of the hospital.

“And a thief, sometimes. But mostly a spy. Her charms work best on herself, but they're good for short periods for other people.”

That made sense. Holly was
hai-salai
like Fen, and the powers of the half-breeds were unpredictable. Other than the wraiths, of course. They could all walk the shadow. But then, they didn't usually have the skills of glamour and working charms of the others. I guess those are somewhat unnecessary when you can turn invisible and walk through walls.

“If you'd told me, I could've made my own.”

“No time,” Guy said.

I nodded and peered at the charm again. I could see how it worked now, so I shoved it in my pocket, sending a tiny surge of magic into the leather to activate it. Sure enough, my entire body suddenly vanished from sight. I'd been expecting it, but it was still disconcerting. I'd never liked invisibility charms.

“Show-off,” Guy muttered, then activated his own charm—I assumed it was primed to respond to something he did to it, given that, as far as I knew, he had no magic. Seeing such a big man disappear was somehow even odder than vanishing myself.

“Can you hear well enough to follow me?” Guy asked. His disembodied voice made me jump.

“Of course,” I said. The big Templar was light on his feet but not as silent as a Fae. Plus, he smelled of leather and, faintly, of horse. Easy enough to keep track of even without the iron song that rose from the weapons he carried.

“Good. Let's go.”

I let him get a little ahead of me, then started after him. At the next turn of the tunnel, I stopped abruptly as the sudden bite of iron stung the air. Much more than the annoying buzz from Guy's sword. The sensation surrounded me, making my magic shy away and weaken. Unpleasant. But not nearly so unpleasant as the sudden burning ache in my bones.

Iron. More than I'd ever felt in one place before. I'd been right—there was definitely something important down here. “Wait,” I called.

I heard Guy stop. “What's wrong?”

“Just give me a minute.” I breathed deeply, trying to adjust. I was used to iron but not so much of it so close. It was relentless, like a fog closing around me and thinning the air, making it hard to think and breathe. I reached for my magic and it was as if there were a wall of ice between it and me.

My skin crawled. I couldn't push through the barrier; my magic was choked off to nearly nothing. My breath went shallow, panicky as I reached again and felt just the merest thread of magic. I wrestled the panic away, took another deep breath. Bryony knew this was here. She must come down here. Which meant I could bear it too. I made myself step forward again. “I'm all right.”

Guy took off again and I walked, more cautiously now, as the iron sensation built and swelled and pressed and made me want to turn and flee back the way we had come. How did every Fae in the City not know this was here? Or maybe they did.

But along with the iron there was an ever-increasing buzz of warding magic. Layers of “keep away” and “go back” adding to the desire to turn around and leave. Maybe it was enough to keep everyone away. It should certainly work on anyone human who came this way.

It didn't, however, seem to bother Guy. Maybe his charm shielded him. The soft pad of his booted feet on the marble-tiled floor of the tunnel stayed steady. We turned one last corner and I came face-to-face with the iron warping my senses. A massive door was set into the stone wall, dull gray and ominous. Wards shimmered around it, sparking like fireworks, but they weren't enough to distract me from the weight of metal around me.

Guy suddenly materialized, looking no happier than he had when we started this journey. I took that as a sign that I could deactivate my charm too and hoped, as I did so, that my face didn't look as green as I felt.

Bryony was stronger than I'd imagined if she came down here regularly. Maybe she'd built up her tolerance over time, the way I had with the weapons my men carried. Though how she'd been able to do so, I couldn't imagine. This close, the iron felt as if it were warping my bones, making my head ache unbearably. My stomach churned in protest.

Guy took another charm from his pocket and pressed it to the door. The wards flared, then died away. He grasped the massive bolts, slid them back, and then swung the door open. He gestured me through with a wave of his hand and I managed to make myself do as requested.

As I stepped over the threshold, the pain in my head intensified with a jolt that felt like an axe blow and I nearly stumbled. Luckily I didn't. I didn't want to find out what it would feel like to make actual contact with the iron when just standing near it was so painful. Exactly how much iron was here? A queen's ransom and more. And all hidden away and kept secret.

Which made me worry more about what was yet to come. What warranted this much protection?

Guy closed the door behind us and I tried not to shudder as the iron bit around me again.

“Are you all right?” he asked, coming over and peering into my face.

“It's not the most . . . pleasant sensation,” I admitted.

He nodded. “So I understand. Bryony says it's better inside.”

I hoped she was telling the truth.

We traveled a short distance down another tunnel only to be confronted by yet another iron door. I stood and breathed whilst Guy opened it.

I moved more carefully through the second door and found myself in a room lit only by a single old-fashioned oil lamp burning in a bracket near a more ordinary wooden door on the far side of the room.

Gaslight so far below the earth would be risky, I supposed. The rest of the smallish room held only a few tables littered with various kinds of medical apparatus and glassware and a plain wooden desk near the door that had an equally plain chair drawn up to it and a stack of leather-bound books piled neatly in the right-hand corner.

Guy finished locking the door behind us. He came up beside me. “Last chance to change your mind,” he said. “Once you go through that door, then you'll know something that very few people know. And that knowledge is not without its risks.”

“People are already trying to kill me,” I said, trying to sound more cheerful than I felt. “It can't get much worse than that.”

He didn't smile at my feeble attempt at humor. “Trust me. It can.”

“Will knowing this help me win this war?” I asked.

“It will help you understand part of the reason we fight,” he said. “As to the other, well, maybe in time.”

“Then lead on,” I said.

Whatever it was that was hidden behind that very simple last door, it at least offered the comfort of no longer being quite so close to the iron behind me. At this point, I was willing to do almost anything to get some distance from that.

“Very well,” Guy said, but before he moved, the wooden door swung open and Bryony appeared, still looking as though her temper was less than even. The chain at her neck glimmered orange and red, confirming my impression.

“What took you so long?” she said to Guy, without acknowledging me.

“Wonder Boy here was sleeping.”

Bryony looked at me then, her gaze unreadable. Unfair, when she was the one who'd told me to rest. I stared back at her, and her gaze sharpened suddenly. “Are you feeling all right?” she asked.

“As good as I ever feel with a ton or more of iron nearby,” I said. Making my voice sound close to normal took an effort.

“I have something that will ease it a little.”

Ease, not fix. Damn. Still, I'd take any relief offered.

“How do you stand it?” I asked curiously.

“I'm used to it now,” she said. “And I limit my time down here. Come through. It's better on this side.”

I didn't need a second invitation.

Though I did wonder if I might have made a massive error in judgment in taking this contract in the first place when I saw what lay before me in the room beyond.

A hospital ward. Full of people who either lay too still for true sleep or—for maybe a third of them—seemed to be awake but moved too slowly for my liking. I studied one of the beds. I knew that stillness. Had seen it before.

“Veil's eyes,” I swore softly. “They're blood-locked.”

“Some of them, yes,” Bryony said. “Some are getting better.”

“There's no cure for blood-locking,” I said automatically. That was a simple fact of life in Half-Light. Any humans who were stupid enough to sample the delights that the Night World dangled before them like hunters baiting a trap and came under the spell of the addictive pleasures of drinking vampire blood were doomed. Maybe not if they were found out the very first time and kept away forevermore, but that rarely happened. And few who had a first taste turned away voluntarily.