Snake Heart (22 page)

She sprang for him before he could climb to his feet again. He struggled to gather concentration quickly enough to do anything. Her bone dagger. He might not be able to attack
her
effectively, but what about the weapon? Was it reinforced by magic? No. With a thought, he snapped the blade, just as he snapped rock when he called upon his earth magic.

She improvised in mid-air, dropping the broken knife and throwing a punch at him instead. He blocked with his forearm, realizing there was no time for more magic, that he would have to rely on physical defense. But she was fast, and it was hard to see what was happening in the dark. He only managed a partial block, enough to keep her from landing on him fully, but her arm darted past his. He ducked his chin to protect his neck. Knuckles slammed into his temple. Those knuckles landed with surprising force, especially since she was a woman. His skull clunked hard against the base of the bunk. He got his knee up enough to thrust her body away, but she gripped him with her hands, one finding his throat.

Even with all the sparring he had done with Dak, Yanko couldn’t match her speed. All that sword practice was of little use in a grappling match.

Her hand tightened on his throat, her thumb digging into his airway. Desperation flowed through his body, giving him strength. He ripped away from her, creating a wall of air around his throat to protect it. At the same time, he flung an image into her mind. If he’d had time to rationally consider his attack, he wouldn’t have tried it, because like Dak, she should have defenses to block any mental assaults. But he wasn’t thinking—there wasn’t time for thought. The image he sent was the same one he’d used against the pirates on the beach, one of a wall of fire enveloping her, of her entire body charring, of intense pain as she was burned alive.

She gasped and drew back. Only a few inches, but it was enough. He got his feet under him and leaped up. He grabbed her, spun her toward the wall, and jammed her against it. Before she could recover, he yanked her arms behind her back, twisting them upward until she arched onto her toes, pain making her body rigid. Yanko did his best to keep the image of the fire in her mind, to bypass her defenses and make her believe she was helpless.

“Puntak, puntak,” Kei cried, flapping about the cabin, looking for a place to land.

The door flew open before Yanko had decided what he should do with his prisoner. His mother stood there, a scimitar in one hand, a ball of orange light floating over her shoulder. Concern flashed across her face before she took in the scene and realized Yanko wasn’t in danger. The concern startled him, because he hadn’t expected it from her. She smoothed her features quickly, and he wondered if he had imagined it.

“What’s this?” she asked mildly.

Because of the way Yanko had the assassin’s face mashed against the wall, she was looking right at Pey Lu. The mage hunter curled a lip, but did not respond. Her white clothing wrapped her from head to toe, but some of her face was visible, enough for him to see the loathing burning in her dark eyes. He didn’t know if that loathing was for him or for Pey Lu. Maybe both.

“One of Sun Dragon’s people,” Yanko said. “I have no idea how she got here.”

“We’ll find out.” Pey Lu pushed the door open farther. Footsteps sounded in the passageway as curious pirates came to see what was going on.

Some of the rigidness went out of the assassin’s body as she slumped in defeat.

“A mage hunter?” Pey Lu looked Yanko’s prisoner up and down. With her free hand, she pushed the woman’s hood back, brushing aside the band that held back her hair and covered her forehead. “A young one, but I suppose they start training them young, don’t they?”

Yanko knew very little about mage hunters or how they were trained. He could only see part of the woman’s face since he still held her against the wall—even with his mother for backup, he worried she might get the best of him if he eased up. She had very nearly killed him. Also, the woman continued to glare at Pey Lu, utter hatred on her face.

Pey Lu leaned her scimitar against the wall and searched the prisoner. The arms Yanko gripped flexed, the woman’s shoulders tightening. He kept his hold, one Falcon had taught him as a boy, usually by pinning
Yanko
with it. Pey Lu found the rest of the prisoner’s throwing stars, a folding knife, a garrote, and three vials. She also removed a ring with a tiny compartment. The mage hunter growled deep in her throat. Was there poison in there? Something she could use to kill herself if captured? That seemed more of a Turgonian thing to do than a Nurian tactic, but Yanko had heard mage hunters were fanatical to their organization and to their missions.

“Let’s take her to the brig, Yanko,” Pey Lu said when she finished, leaving the weapons pile on the floor. She met his eyes with a nod. “Good work in subduing her. Even a young mage hunter is a formidable opponent.”

The expression on her face—was that
pride
?—surprised Yanko. It pleased him, even if it shouldn’t, even if he kept telling himself that her opinion did not matter. He admitted a hint of pride in himself, too, though perhaps he shouldn’t. It wasn’t as if he had subdued her easily. He was surprised that the mental attack had worked. He didn’t think it would have worked on Dak. Of course, he had never tried on Dak. And, as his mother had pointed out, he tended to be stronger when he wasn’t thinking, when he was reacting and attacking on instinct.

“This way.” Pey Lu tilted her head toward the ship’s ladder at the end of the passageway.

Yanko followed, pushing his prisoner ahead of him. Gramon joined them before they reached the steps, the Turgonian walking out of Pey Lu’s cabin, his feet bare and his shirt only half buttoned.

“We have a guest?” he asked, scraping his fingers through mussed gray hair.

“A mage hunter,” Pey Lu said over her shoulder, not appearing worried that the assassin walked right behind her.

If she escaped Yanko’s grip, would she attack Pey Lu first? Or Yanko? It had been
his
quarters that she had barged into first. But maybe she had been sent to kill both of them, and she had chosen what she assumed would be the easier target first? Back when they had spoken, Sun Dragon had implied that Yanko—or his family—had wronged the assassin at some point, that it was more than professional duty, an assignment accepted, that had driven her after him. He wondered if she would answer his questions if he asked them. Would he be given the opportunity to question her?

“Is there a reason we’re keeping her?” Gramon asked.

“I want some answers,” Pey Lu said.

“A dead mage hunter is a safe mage hunter. Isn’t there a saying about that?”

“A Turgonian saying, I believe.”

“A wise people.”

Pey Lu snorted and did not look back.

The talk about killing her made Yanko uneasy. If it had happened in the battle, when he’d been defending himself, it might have been understandable, but he could not imagine eliminating her now, no matter what her intentions were toward him.

She did not try to escape as Pey Lu led them to the deck below, either sensing that Yanko was paying a lot of attention and had a good grip, or just knowing that the odds were stacked against her. The ceiling had been repaired, and when Pey Lu held open a wrought iron gate, it and the adjoining bars appeared sturdy. Yanko walked his prisoner in, then let her go and stepped back quickly, clanging the gate shut with his mind.

“Good to see the telekinesis coming along,” Pey Lu said dryly, turning the lock.

The prisoner turned around to glower at them, but she did not attempt to lunge out or grab the gate. Yanko’s reaction had probably been overkill. Still, she had tried to assassinate him. It was hard to be blasé in the aftermath of that.

The prisoner’s face was utterly neutral. She clasped her hands behind her back and stared at a spot on the wall between Pey Lu and Yanko, avoiding eye contact with either of them. She had the mien of a soldier in a prisoner of war camp, awaiting a death sentence. Yanko shifted his weight from foot to foot, disturbed by the thought, even if he couldn’t articulate why.

She had tried to kill him not once but twice, here and in that cave on Kyatt where he had dropped rocks on top of her. He didn’t see signs of what must have been grievous injuries, at least not on her face. Little else of her body was exposed—the white silk and cotton garment, something between a robe and a wrap, hugged her torso and legs from wrist to ankle, also covering her neck. Sun Dragon must have had a healer among his people. She did have a faint scar above one eyebrow, but it appeared far older than one she might have received in that rockfall.

Her face was young, he realized with a start, looking straight at it for the first time. That intimacy didn’t seem such a presumption with her gazing at the wall beside him instead of challenging him with her own gaze. She couldn’t be much older than he. Twenty? Twenty-two? Certainly no older than Arayevo, but there was none of Arayevo’s warmth and zest for adventure in those cool detached eyes. Yanko decided she was pretty, even with much of her form hidden beneath her clothing, with delicate features that seemed at odds with her profession. She was about two inches shorter than he and appeared to be of pure Nurian descent, her fine bones making her thirty or forty pounds lighter than him. He was glad his mother had not come in when she had been pinning him to the deck and crushing his windpipe. Even if she was trained as an assassin, and he’d always spent more time with magic than practicing at battle, he would have been embarrassed to have been bested by her in a physical confrontation.

“Yanko?” Pey Lu asked.

Gramon snorted, and Yanko had the feeling she might have said his name more than once.

Lost in his own world, as usual. “Yes?” He hoped Pey Lu’s mage light did not show the pink tint to his cheeks.

“Go back to sleep,” she said.

“Pardon?”

Gramon snorted again. “Such a polite boy you have. Obtuse, but polite.”

Yanko scowled, more embarrassed than he might usually have been by the slight, perhaps because his mother was looking on. An assassin who wanted to kill him was also looking on.

“Not too obtuse,” Pey Lu said quietly, her eyelids lowering as she regarded Gramon through her lashes. A slight warning in that look? “He survived a mage hunter’s attack, after all.”

The mage hunter ignored the comment and the rest of the conversation, a faint tightening of her jaw the only indication that she heard them at all.

“She probably tripped over his bird,” Gramon said.

Pey Lu gripped Yanko’s shoulder. “I’ll see you in the morning. It’s our last day at sea, so we’ll start early with your training.”

The mage hunter sneered slightly at that grip on Yanko’s shoulder. He had little doubt that she knew exactly who Pey Lu was, and was judging him for standing there and accepting her... camaraderie? He shook his head. Who cared? She’d been trying to kill him, and she didn’t even know him. Her judgment didn’t matter.

Still, Yanko found himself asking, “What are you going to do with her?” instead of walking obediently out. “Interrogate her?”

“Interrogate her and then kill her,” Gramon said. “Pirates who let assassins live don’t live long themselves.”

Yanko turned his back on the Turgonian. Nothing on his mother’s face suggested she disagreed. Yanko couldn’t fault the logic, but his stomach twisted at the idea of a cold-blooded killing. Captain Snake Heart Pey Lu might be known for such things, but
he
wasn’t, and this woman had come to kill him, not her.

“I’m the one who subdued her,” Yanko said. “I would like to question her before you kill her.”

He glanced at the woman, wondering what manner of sneer she might make at his claim and his request, but she was still looking at that spot on the wall, not acknowledging him.

“To what end?” Pey Lu asked. Did she sound suspicious? Maybe she thought this had something to do with the lodestone.

“We’ve never spoken before, and as far as I know, we’d never met before this all started, before she and her... employer—” Yanko was tempted to use a far more derogatory term for Sun Dragon, “—came to the homestead and burned it to the ground. I’d like to know why she wants to kill me so badly.”

“We’ll be happy to ask her,” Gramon said.

“No,” Pey Lu said. “Yanko has the right to question her, though I doubt you’ll get much out of her, given your feelings about people. And fish.”

Yanko’s cheeks warmed again. His mother thought that he wouldn’t be willing to inflict pain to get an answer? What could he say? She was right.

“You ask your questions first,” Pey Lu said, surprising Yanko. She nodded to Gramon. “We’ll finish the task.”

Finish the task. That sounded ominous.

“Because I love staying up all night,” Gramon grumbled, but he ducked his head and stepped through the door.

Pey Lu surprised Yanko again by stepping out after him and closing the door behind her. He sensed them walking for the steps. Was he truly to be given some time alone with the prisoner? No guards to make sure she didn’t overpower him somehow and escape? No guards to watch
him
and make sure
he
didn’t escape?

The woman’s eyes narrowed in calculation as she shifted her gaze from the wall to the door. Maybe she was also contemplating guards and escape. Maybe she had a few weapons or potions squirreled away that Pey Lu had not found.

Her gaze shifted from the door to him, hard and contemplating. It worried Yanko, but he decided that nonchalance might get him further than meekness. He had bested her once—and without Kei’s help, thank you, Gramon. He would treat her warily, but he had to believe he could best her again, if needed.

Yanko dragged a stool, the brig’s single piece of furniture, to the corner beside the door. The two-celled room was not large, but that corner should be out of her reach if she decided to lunge at him. He plopped down on it, putting himself at a lower and he hoped less threatening level.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

She shifted to lean her shoulder against the bars and glare down at him. He wasn’t surprised when she did not answer.