SanClare Black (The Prince of Sorrows) (23 page)

“
Don’t fight it, darling. It’s for the best. You’ll be safe at last.” There was no sense of cruelty from the man nor any pleasure derived from inflicting pain, but Michael knew he was in trouble.

Let him.

The thought whispered through his brain as the hands tightened inexorably around his throat. The rhythm of Burk’s body sped up, nearing climax.

“
If you want to survive...”

Michael
struggled, trying to throw the man off of him.

I do!
I want to—

B
urk was unshakeable.

Oh, Vail
! He’s killing me—he’s really killing me!

Michael
scrabbled at the man’s hands with his own, trying to pry even a finger loose from its grip on his throat. Fear drowned out every other sensation except the pain of those hands squeezing the breath and life out of him. He dug his nails into the man’s hands, feeling them tear skin, but Burk’s grip only tightened.

No
! Please, no! Not like this!
He couldn’t escape, though fear screamed in every nerve. A black wave washed over him, and he went under into darkness.

Until,
into the darkness, the Voice roared, .:
NO!
:. And Michael roused, the Voice’s fury filling his entire being—he was furious at Burk, furious at Sirra Avram and Mabbina and all the nannas at JhaPel. He was furious at the Red Boar and Risa and Harly and at Pol for saving his life.

Most
of all, he was furious with himself.

He
drew breath to scream at Burk to leave him alone and realized he could draw breath. Burk was gone.

Confused and gasping,
Michael rolled over and sat up to look around the room for some explanation. Burk lay sprawled unconscious against the far wall with blood trickling from his ears.

And then
Michael did scream, but the sound he produced was a pale rasp followed by a painful coughing fit. He stumbled from the bed, collapsing onto the floor half-tangled in a sheet and still coughing. He tasted blood on the back of his tongue and stars sparkled all around him, the edges of his vision turning black. He caught his breath at last and sat gasping, horrified beyond his ability to even think clearly.

But he remembered his training.
He pounded on the wall in the pattern he’d been taught to use to call for help, and to his amazement, help arrived before he’d even finished the pattern.

Daren, the Red Boar
’s head strong-arm, burst through the door and saw him. He swore and took a quick survey of the room, spotting Burk at once.

Risa shoved in behind him, darting to
Michael’s side. She was barely dressed herself, wrapped in a thin, red silk robe, her hair tumbling around her. On her heels came Irini, another of the senior streeters who looked after and kept the newer ones in line.

“
What happened?” Risa pulled him into her arms and rocked him as if he were a baby.

Michael
glared across the room at where Burk lay, stunned, head lolling, and rasped out an ugly-sounding, “Bastard.”

Irini
smoothed back his hair from his fading-purple face. “Hush, now. Save yer voice.”

The fingerprints, livid on his throat, told the tale, and the two women began making guesses as to what happened
.

“
Did he attack you?” Risa demanded.

“
O’ course he attacked ‘im!” Irini shook her head in furious disapproval, her copper tresses flowing like flame to match her anger. “Look at ‘is throat!”

Daren knelt beside
Burk, examining him for damage. He shot a strange look in Michael’s direction but said nothing and directed his two subordinates, waiting by the door for orders, to drag the man from the room. He sent another of the streeters—also standing at the door and craning her head to see what was going on—to go fetch Harly.

“
Yer too tough for ‘im, though.” Irini still petted Michael’s hair. “Boxed ‘is ears, did ye?”

Michael
didn’t respond. He watched with vicious satisfaction as the men dragged Burk away and almost laughed when the man’s head banged into the doorframe.

“
Bastard,” he repeated, the word scraping against his throat. “Nikking bastard.” It was all he could manage to say, though Risa and Irini kept elaborating on what they thought had happened.

“
I think you’re right, Irini,” Risa said. “He knocked him flat, and good for you, Michael.”

“
Did ye see the blood? Ye must’a hit ‘im that ‘ard!” Irini sounded impressed.

“
Go see that someone fetches a healer, Irini,” Daren ordered, and the woman flicked an irritated glance at the strong-arm but hurried away to obey. But Daren just stood where he was, staring at nothing. He ran a hand over his shaved head, his muscles tensed as if he wanted to fight something.

He seemed to come to some decision and turned and
squatted down beside Risa, though even then he towered over Michael, still huddled in her arms. His dark eyes bored into the boy’s as if trying to read the truth there. “Is that what happened, Michael?” Daren asked, his voice even. “Did you fight him off?”

Michael
swallowed and nearly started choking again. His throat was swollen and painful, and he wanted a drink of water and sleep and for everyone to leave him alone.

The truth would never do, and Burk had already ruined himself by the Red Boar
’s rules. His word would be useless, at least it would be inside the Red Boar’s walls. Michael nodded, meeting Daren’s speculative gaze.

“
He boxed his ears,” Risa agreed. She sniffed back angry tears and gave Michael another squeeze.

The healer eventually showed up and
clucked over Michael’s injuries, cleaning him up and bandaging his fingers which were bruised and the nails torn by the intensity of his struggle. The healer finished by giving Michael a soothing concoction to drink and ordering rest, which Risa had anticipated. She’d directed the maids to remove all signs of Burk and ready the bed for him.

Once he was tucked in beneath clean sheets, she even carried Cyra out from the bathing room and plopped the small cat in
Michael’s lap.

Everyone left him alone
after much fussing, and he made out Daren’s voice muttering softly in the corridor, ordering one of his men to stand guard.

Maybe Burk isn
’t gone yet. Or maybe he has friends who will finish the job for him.
Michael was too exhausted to let this thought take up too much of his attention. He was far too focused on another, more disturbing truth.

I
t had been magic. Strong, frightening magic. Michael knew it, and Burk probably knew it, too, and maybe Daren even suspected.

And if Burk wants to finish what he started, all he
’ll need to do is point a finger at me and say, “witch.”

But this
didn’t happen, and when he ventured an oblique question about the possible danger to Risa, she seemed genuinely surprised.

“
I told you, didn’t I? Harly looks out for us. As if someone like Lorel Burk would dare cross the Red Boar! He’d have to be the Duke of Reyahl himself to stand down Harly and Daren.”

Which was how
Michael learned that all he’d been told by Risa and the rest of the Red Boar’s girls was truth and not wishful imaginings. The Red Boar was a force to be reckoned with not just unto itself and the peculiar inner workings of Fensgate but throughout all of the Kingdom of Camarat.

Harly
may have started out his life as the orphaned son of a costermonger, but he’d parlayed a chance encounter with a press gang into a career as the indispensable right-hand man to the most successful privateer in the queen’s fleet.

After his first triumphant return was met with the news of his little sister
’s ignominious death, he’d determined to come back wealthier and more powerful each time.

The Red Boar had happened the same way, with Harly using his initial, small share
, bought during that first, sad homecoming, as a lever to turn the business into his own empire.

Somehow, Harly had made the Red Boar important enough that it had an indelible impact on all of its members
’ social and political associations to the point where being banished from the Red Boar could ruin a man for life, cutting him off from the connections merchants and most highborns needed to succeed.

Patrons took the establishment
’s rules seriously and reinforced even slight disciplinary measures within their own social circles. A man who could not stay within the good graces of the Red Boar would receive no invitations, contract no respectable business, and make no advantageous connections for his family.

Harly
’s suggestion of escape wasn’t something he’d offered to Michael lightly, the boy saw. Harly himself understood what it was like to fight back from less than nothing.

I
’ve been lucky. All this time, I thought I’d landed in the Fires, and I’ve been so lucky.
He felt fifteen kinds of a fool for not having taken even the simplest of precautions before accepting Burk’s offer. He’d been playing with death, toying with the romantic idea of ending it all, but when faced with the reality of that desire...

It
’s strange what you learn about yourself when a madman has his hands wrapped around your throat.

He wouldn
’t have thought he’d react with such determination.

“
If you want to survive...”

“
How can the answer still be ‘yes,’ after everything?” he breathed.

I want to survive
...I want to survive this and escape it and leave it all behind and win. Like Harly.

# # #

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The SanClares, unlike the Voyan royals, had never been especially long-lived.
On the contrary
, Jarlyth thought.
They’ve always seemed particularly talented at getting themselves killed
.

The
Blood Emperor Savoni SanClare could count his age in centuries.

Jarlyth
had imagined someone who looked more like Teodor—not old, exactly, but older. It came as a shock to see such a young-looking man seated—
Draped
—upon the massive imperial throne. It seemed wrong that blood magic could prolong a life so attractively.

Oh, dear Vail
...he looks like Nylan.

The throne room was vast and stark
, without so much as a decorative carving etched into any of its smooth, pure-white granite pillars—the absolute reverse of the same room at Karonsmoor Castle.

Light poured down in glimmering shafts from the windows lining the walls and radiating out from the center of the distant ceiling.
No other seating cluttered the room aside from Savoni’s throne which sat, theatrically, right in the middle of a haloing beam.

Nor
do any other people clutter the room.

“
Lord Denara.” The man nodded an oddly casual greeting considering their surroundings. “I’ve been wanting to meet you. How does it feel to be hailed the most faithful man in all the world?”

Though he
’d had moons to think about this moment, Jarlyth didn’t know what to say. It was treason to be standing there talking to Serathon’s greatest enemy, but if the man could be of any help in finding and rescuing Nylan...

“
May I speak plainly, Your Majesty?” Jarlyth asked.

“
Please do.” The man sat up straighter and turned his full attention on the warder. “I get so little of that here, it’ll make a nice change.”

“
Do you know where Nylan is?”

“
Why should I know that?” the man demanded. “I assure you, I don’t have him.”

“
Majesty, I’m begging you. If you know anything—”

Savoni moved from his throne with the grace of a cat.
He closed the distance between them, coming to stand mere inches from Jarlyth. The emperor stood a hand-span taller than the warder though he was much slimmer, his muscles not made by swordplay. Glints of silver shone in his black hair, hinting at the age his face didn’t show.

He lifted a hand and trailed his fingers down Jarlyth
’s cheek. “You’re a Sensitive, Lord Denara?”

“
Barely.” Jarlyth refused to show any fear, though the glimpses the emperor’s touch gave him of the man’s mind were enough to make him want to run from the room. “Vail gave me a small taste of that gift. Enough to allow me to be a warder.”

“
He is strong, isn’t he?” Savoni let his hand fall away. His eyes glittered with something Jarlyth couldn’t put a name to. Was it desire? Hope? ...Love? “Stronger than any of them?”

Jarlyth
’s chin jutted out in a half-nod. “The Prior declared him the most powerful Sensitive he’d ever seen.”

Savoni sighed.
“He would be, wouldn’t he? The greatest. The strongest. The most beautiful. Vail mocks me.”

Jarlyth feared that h
is next words were the most important he’d ever say and that he would fail to ask the right thing. “Will you help me, Majesty? Help me find your son?”

Savoni
’s face showed nothing of his thoughts. “Help you find my destruction? That’s what you’re asking me to do, you realize?”

Jarlyth shook his head.
“No, Majesty. I’m asking you to help me find your son. That’s all. Just a child, all alone and in danger. A child who looks like you and Queen Vedalanna. A child who is in danger only because he is your son.”

Savoni turned away.
“Ah, Veda. I think I did love her, you know? She loved me. It’s hard to know what’s real after all this time.”

“
She’d want you to help me.”

Savoni whirled back around, smiling.
“She would!” he exclaimed. “You’re right! I suppose I owe her that much. She died of me, after all.”

Jarlyth
did not ask the question that now hung in the air between them. He thought Savoni wanted him to ask it, though. He waited for the answer to be spoken regardless.

Savoni
nodded in approval of Jarlyth’s refusal to play this game. “Blood magic is an incurable addiction, and, in the right circumstances, it can be contagious. She died because she loved me—all she had to do to live was give in to the longing in her blood...but she was far stronger than I, and she would not do it.” A long silence followed this revelation, then the emperor added, “Have you looked on the other side, Lord Denara?”

“
Other side?” Jarlyth’s forehead furrowed in confusion.

“
Of the Breach, dear boy.”

Jarlyth froze but his
thoughts sped away from him. He’d been a fool not to think of it, but the mercenaries had gone to Worldsend. It had taken years to search all the places Nylan could have been hidden there, and a fruitless search meant nothing but that he might have been moved right before their arrival and moved again after their departure. Worldsend was vast...it had seemed the most likely place. The Breach began there, but to think of anyone passing through it at that most violent point surviving to see the other side.

“
That isn’t possible! If they took him to Worldsend—”

“
Don’t be a fool,” Savoni snapped. “No one knows what happens when someone goes through the Breach. Only the Reinra know how to cross it safely, and it takes them great pains to do it. But that doesn’t mean anyone else who crosses...” and he paused, gesturing vaguely with his right hand. “...less carefully is necessarily dead. Use your head, young man. Where else could he be that would be hidden from you so completely?”

“
But that’s another whole world! How will I find him there?”

Savoni
’s face suddenly looked old, and he shook his head, almost helplessly. “That cannot be my problem. I can give you information. I can give you money. But I cannot help you beyond that. I cannot if I want to protect my son from me.”

“
Majesty—”

“
I have stayed out of it, Lord Denara, because I do not want to hurt him. And I cannot say I’d be able to resist the temptation power such as he possesses would pose. I am a waerlok. Even your poor power calls to me. Your blood...” He let the words trail away and watched as their import reached Jarlyth.

He took an involuntary step back, the fear he
’d been fighting the entire time suddenly rising to the surface. He was dancing with danger, and now he knew it. Savoni did not look dangerous, but he was the most powerful waerlok the world had ever known.

Vail walks with me,
he thought, remembering Queen Tristella’s words and trying to be reassured by them.

“
I have to go back to Serathon. I have to prepare—”

“
You waste time,” Savoni snapped. “You can leave from here, go to Reinra, work your way through the Breach however they require you to. And then follow your instincts. The other side of the Breach has many kingdoms. Many languages. Many wars. They are very different from us and fear magic, but they are not so different that you cannot find your way to him. It will take time, and you have wasted a great deal of it already.”

“
Why didn’t you send word?” Jarlyth demanded. “Why didn’t you try to help sooner?”

Savoni smiled, the expression not at all comforting.
“You are far more naïve than I would have expected, Lord Denara. I have no stake in helping you. My son presents a great threat to my throne. He is SanClare and Voyavel and a Sensitive, all together. Higher-born than any of us, more blessed by Vail...why should I have helped to look for him? Why should I help you now?”

“
Please, Majesty. He’s just a little boy.”

“
Yes, yes.” Savoni waved his hand dismissively. “I’ve said I would, and I’m not taking that back. I am merely explaining my position. You must understand, Lord Denara, that a waerlok’s help is a dangerous thing. And you must ask yourself just how much you want to save him. Your own life may be in the balance.”

“
I’d do anything to save him,” Jarlyth whispered.

The smile twisted into something even more disturbing, and Savoni moved closer again, lifted Jarlyth
’s unresisting hand to his mouth, and bestowed a firm kiss on the knuckles.

“
With my blessings then, Lord Denara. Be on your way.” Savoni dropped Jarlyth’s hand and stepped back, bowing slightly before turning entirely and walking from the room.

#

Michael knew he shouldn’t be happy about the news, but he rarely tasted the satisfaction of revenge nor any sort of justice, so he indulged in private delight as Lord Jack spun the tale he’d heard from the harbor master the hour before.

Sirra Avram, the Royal Magistrate, had died.

“
A tragic error, it seems.” Jack shook his head in dramatic sympathy. “Lord Scarsdell mistook Avram for some young scamp lordling who’d been nikking Scarsdell’s even younger little wife!”

Michael
leaned over Jack’s shoulder and eyed his cards.
Another bad hand. He’s having no luck tonight.
The man grinned up at him as if he held nothing but winners.
Idiot.
But he couldn’t help but smile back.

He was always happy to see
Jack.

Michael
met Jack on his first day back after taking several days to recover from Lorel Burk’s attack. During that break, he’d also found a tiny room to rent away from the Red Boar and moved his pitiful, few belongings there to spend his last two rest days enjoying the sensation of being all alone.

He
’d been determined, too, to be different from then on—to not just exist and survive but
live
. To do that, he needed a few reasons to be happy. The room was his second reason. Cyra, naturally, was his first. Jack had given him his third.

Rested and relaxed from his inadvertent holiday,
he’d been in a good mood the night Lord Jack had swaggered into the Red Boar. The man had been hailed by at least half the room as he’d ostentatiously turned over his impressive collection of weapons over to the door-guards for safekeeping. It seemed all the girls and door-guards and gamblers knew him well.

Curious,
Michael had watched him as he’d worked his way across the central salon to the bar then had flirted and joked his way, full-to-the-brim pint held aloft, to the large round table where all the highest bidders sat, gambling anything and everything and more than Michael could ever imagine.

Michael
spent a great deal of his time at this table and had been there that night. When he wasn’t otherwise engaged, he often played lucky charm for various hopeful gamblers, though their hope that he’d tumble them afterwards didn’t always work out to their satisfaction. Sometimes an argument over who should win his bed would ensue, and, if he’d deign to be their wager, the game would be played for stakes that mattered to him.

Jack
had been honestly shocked to see Michael there. He’d called Harly over and shouted at him.

“
What’s the matter with you, man? Can’t you see he’s but a child? I thought this place more decent than that sewer.” He gestured with a finger toward the One-Eyed Sailor.

Michael
didn’t want Harly to get in trouble for helping him. He’d moved around the table to stand beside Jack’s chair, a better vantage for looking up at him through his lashes.

The man made a noise of disgust but patted his arm.
“Stop it. I’d never want an infant like you.” He glared around at everyone else in the room as he subsided into his seat, and more than a few men looked away, embarrassed.

“
But you like boys,” Michael said softly. “I can tell.”

The man growled something unintelligible,
and Michael sensed how truly angry he was over Michael’s presence there.

“
I like men, little boy.” Jack gave him an exasperated look. “Full-grown, hard-muscled, hairy
men
.”

Michael
bit his lip to hide a smile. “Then why aren’t you two rows over at The Hanged-Man?”

There seemed no plan nor reason for where the brothels catering to various tastes were situated around Fensgate, though all the best were within an easy walking distance of each other and not very far from the docks.

As the Hanged-Man’s double-meaninged name implied, that brothel catered to men who preferred men. The Black Cat, yet another brothel a few doors away from the Hanged-Man, catered to those who liked girls younger than those at the Red Boar or its rival and across-street neighbor, the Midnight Star.