Agents of Artifice: A Planeswalker Novel (32 page)

And just like that, she vanished into the crowd, with two separate stares—one flummoxed, one suspicious still—trailing in her wake.

G
ood morning, Kallist. Or have you decided on a new name yet?”

Kallist spun, hand dropping to his sword, before he recognized the form behind him as Liliana’s. The sun was still low in the east, casting a cobweb of shadows over the breadth of Lurias, and the air smelled more of dew than of the baked cobblestones and packed throngs that would come later. The streets were largely clear, so soon after dawn, but filling swiftly as humans, elves, viashino, and others set about their daily labors—or perhaps to grab a plate of breakfast prior to said labors.

“Morning,” he said gruffly as she fell into step beside him. Then, reluctantly, “Ah, Jace told me that we should trust you.”

“But you don’t.” It wasn’t a question.

Kallist shrugged. “Well, I’m not about to stab you on principle anymore. But Jace—Jace is a weird one. He uses people he should trust, trusts people he should avoid, and avoids people he could use. So no. No, I don’t trust you yet.”

Liliana smiled softly. “You’re wiser than he is.” The expression faded. “I’ve heard a lot about you two.
Less in recent days, obviously, but … He’s dangerous, isn’t he?”

“Very,” Kallist nodded. “And not just to his enemies,” he added with more than a touch of bitterness.

With surprising gentleness, she placed a hand on Kallist’s forearm. “It was kind of you to take him under your wing the way you did. I don’t think a lot of people would have.”

Kallist shrugged once more.

“You two weren’t …?” She let the question dangle.

“Lovers?” Kallist laughed. “Uh, no. We were friends, partners, maybe even brothers. Nothing more.”

“Were?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Are. I said ‘are.’”

“You said ‘were.’”

“I meant ‘are.’”

“Of course,” she said with an enigmatic smile. “Try the marketplace if you’re looking for work. A lot of the merchants are hiring private guards. Best of luck!”

Kallist watched her as she turned and walked away, wondering what he should be thinking. His arm continued to tingle where she’d touched it.

When they ran into each other again that evening—or when she sought him out, he wasn’t certain which—Liliana had suggested they stop for a bite to eat. Kallist, frustrated by his day, agreed. They sat in an open-air cafe that was little more than a few round tables with parasols, and a shack from which you could order anything at all, as long as it was some variety of bread and either fish or reptile.

But then, they weren’t here for the food. Nobody was. Located near one of the few stretches of coastline not already built over, the patio faced squarely west. From here, each evening, a few dozen of the district’s citizens gathered to watch the gold-and-azure gleaming
of the setting sun glinting off the waters and shooting like arrows between the taller structures nearby.

Kallist tried to appreciate it, thank Liliana for showing it to him, but his heart wasn’t in it. The third time she caught him stirring his fishy stew and grumbling under his breath, Liliana actually stamped her foot.

“Spit it out,” she insisted, “before you choke on it. This wretched stew’s hard enough to swallow on its own.”

“I’m not supposed to be here,” he told her.

“And we are? You think I like living here? You think
he
does?”

“It’s all very well for the two of you,” Kallist snapped. “You can walk between whole bloody worlds! You don’t like your life? Hey, go find another one.”

“If you truly think it’s that simple,” she breathed, and suddenly her voice could have frozen the nearby sea itself, “you’re the biggest fool I’ve met on any world.”

“All right, maybe,” he replied, moderating his own tone somewhat. “But my point is you’re used to being uprooted, to seeing everything you know fall behind you. I was supposed to be with the Consortium for the rest of my life! I liked it there! And then Jace …” He shook his head. “He drags me into a mess deep enough to drown in and he won’t even take responsibility for helping me make the best of it. He owes me, Liliana. He owes me a life! But try getting him to see it!”

“It was my understanding,” she said, turning so that the reflected lights flickered like a lover’s touch over her face and hair, “that he brought you along because he was trying to do the right thing.”

“The right thing.” Kallist scoffed. “We were assassins, Liliana. Since when did that matter? But yeah, Jace has gotten really big on doing the right thing—for Jace. If he stopped to give two seconds’ thought as to whether it was the right thing for anyone else, well, that’d be two seconds more than he’s ever done before.”

Smiling, Liliana put a hand on his. Kallist couldn’t begin to decide if it was just a friendly gesture or something more. “This place isn’t that bad, Kallist,” she told him seriously. “If you give it some time, I think you’ll find—”

She stopped, her gaze suddenly rising over Kallist’s shoulder and out into the street. “Ja—ah, Darrim!” she called to the newcomer, who had been making his way toward the same patio, then slowed his pace as he saw who was waiting there. “Come join us!”

“Liliana,” he greeted her with a smile, sliding between the neighboring tables. “I was just looking for you. It’s a fantastic view, isn’t it? I’m sorry I missed most of it.” He pulled up a chair and glanced to his right, his smile fading like the last of the daylight. “Hello, Kallist,” he said more quietly, to be certain he wasn’t overheard.

“Jace. Or Darrim, if you’d like. We were just talking about you.”

“I’m sure you were.”

Despite Liliana’s best efforts, the conversation ended soon after.

Jace pushed open the door of the restaurant where he and Kallist had first encountered Liliana, and to which he’d returned—usually alone—a dozen times since.

He’d learned more about it, in the weeks since their arrival, so that it was no longer just “that building with the faded sign.” The tavern was owned by one Eshton, a man of some local celebrity, and boasted the astoundingly imaginative name of “Eshton’s Tavern.” Thankfully, Eshton brewed beers, ground sausages, and baked dumplings with far greater skill than he named businesses, and the place was well known and well loved as an establishment where one could get a meal and a drink in relative privacy, for only a very slightly unreasonable fee.

This time, once he’d allowed his eyes to adjust to the dim light within, Jace saw an opportunity to turn the tables. He swept across the room, waving to one or two of the other regulars, and dropped suddenly into the booth where Liliana was halfheartedly picking at something that could have been páté. Her yelp as he suddenly appeared beside her was almost cute.

“Turnabout,” he said to her, taking a scoop of the páté and then wrinkling his nose at the taste, “is fair play.”

“Oh, Jace, Jace, Jace,” she cooed at him. “You have no idea how many games I know.”

Jace winced. “I really wish you’d call me Darrim when we’re in public.”

“And you’re being silly. Nobody’s listening to us. What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you,” he told her. “We haven’t really had a lot of time to talk.”

“Haven’t we?” she asked archly.

“Well … Not alone,” he amended.

“I’ll tell you what,” she told him with a mischievous smile. “Right now, this so-called ‘food’ is enough to horn in on any conversation. Word to the wise? The sausa ge, the steaks, and the dumplings here are excellent. You should probably avoid anything else.”

“Got it.”

“You go get me something that’s actually, say, edible, and I’ll be happy to sit and talk with you.”

“Yes, m’lady,” he told her.

“Don’t get sassy. That’s my job.”

Jace grinned and headed to the bar.

Liliana watched him go, a thoughtful look in her eyes, and stretched languidly back in her chair. For a few moments she listened to the ambient noise of the restaurant, the clink of glasses and platters, the dull hum of a dozen different unimportant conversations. And she glanced up as a shadow fell over the table, surprised that
Jace was back so soon—and couldn’t help but roll her eyes heavenward when she saw it wasn’t Jace at all.

It was an unfortunate fact of life, one she’d learned long ago, that in any tavern, any restaurant, any party—sometimes even in temple services!—there was always at least one man convinced that any halfway attractive woman couldn’t live without his attentions. Lots of people assumed such things occurred only rarely; these people weren’t the women in question. Was it something to do with the powers she commanded? Some unconscious death wish, or an attraction deep in the soul to one who had touched the spirits of so many others? Or was she seeking meaning where there was none, and it really was just a combination of poor upbringing and unabashed lust?

In any event, Liliana looked up at the fellow standing over the table, leering down at her, and wanted none of it. Though at least this one kept his red beard decently trimmed, had all his teeth, and was clad in a clean outfit (in the usual garish hues of those who wanted to seem richer than they were)—unlike some of the others who’d sought to abuse her hospitality in the past.

“Now what’s a beautiful—” was all he got out before Liliana deliberately yawned in his face and turned away.

“Just a goddamn minute!” the fellow snarled, reaching across the table. “You’re at least gonna do me the courtesy of listening to what I’ve got to …” And again he stopped, his hand mere inches from her wrist. Liliana looked back, startled despite herself to see the fellow suddenly straighten up and clear his throat.

“Well, this is awkward,” he said, and though his voice was the same, his tone, his inflection, were those of another man entirely. “I mean, here you are trying to enjoy your lunch, and I have to barge over and ruin it for you. I really must apologize.”

She stared, utterly bewildered.

“It’s got to be particularly awkward for your friend,” he continued. “I mean, he doesn’t know you very well. Would you want him to stay out of it, trusting you to handle it? Or to leap in and beat the crap out of me, even though I’ve got about fifty pounds on him? He’s got to be frantic, trying to figure out the right choice.”

Liliana felt a grin stretching over her face, so wide she was sure it had to reach all the way to her ears. She craned her neck, peering around the newcomer, to see Jace halfway between the table and the bar, his eyes locked on the red-bearded man, his brow furrowed in deep concentration. And she laughed, a throaty, musical sound of pure delight.

“I think,” she told the nearby fellow, though her eyes remained on Jace, “that he’s done just fine.”

Jace and his “spokesman” grinned as one; the latter wandered away, shaking his head in puzzlement, while the former returned to the table, two platters of food in hand.