Bloodtraitor (11 page)

I didn't know the woman herself, but she had to be one of the Macht witches. Her resemblance to the broken creatures Jeshickah kept around or sold as fancy guard dogs was unmistakable.

Nathaniel sighed, as if he had heard this argument a thousand times.

“That misconception is going to get everyone involved in this plan killed,” he said. I couldn't help but be amused by Nathaniel's frustration. He was clearly used to working with individuals who understood what it meant to be one of Midnight's mercenaries, who would give an assignment and an offer of payment and trust him to find the best way to carry it out. “Since I keep hearing it, I've arranged for a demonstration.” Nathaniel held out a hand, and said, “Aislinn, come here.”

The second-generation slave I had seen with Nathaniel in serpiente land suddenly appeared as if someone had drawn a curtain back. Her expression was serene—perfectly so, which meant she was probably terrified but subsuming her own emotions because her master had given her a command and she knew she needed to follow it.

“Aislinn here is a second-generation slave,” Nathaniel said. “She was born and raised in Midnight, and thus is an excellent example of the people you are concerned about. If anyone here can get her to disobey me, I will grant her freeblood status and let her go with whoever can offer her a happy and comfortable home. Who wants to try?”

“I'll test her, but I don't want to keep her.” The man who spoke stood near Shevaun, but when the mists revealed him, it was clear he was no vampire. His silver-blue eyes could have passed for a falcon's if not for his bronze skin and dark hair, but the power seeping from him felt wrong for one of the shm'Ahnmik. Another kind of witch?

“She can come home with us,” the blond Macht witch who had spoken about her kin in Midnight said without hesitation. “Aislinn, you wouldn't be a slave. You would be provided for, but free to make your own choices.”

Now the slave
did
look frightened. The notion of slavery was nothing new to her, but to a second-generation slave, “freedom” was a myth. As was free will. I remembered that terror well from my first few weeks with Farrell and the Obsidian guild. If he hadn't bought me—and Jeshickah had let me live—this girl was what I would have become.

Nathaniel turned to Aislinn, and detailed the agreement to her. “What I want is for you to stand right where you are. That's all. Just stay there. If you choose to disobey me, you will not be harmed, or punished in any way. I will legally grant you freeblood status, and you may leave here with anyone you like. The good witch over there has already offered you a place to stay where I am sure she will take excellent care of you. Do you understand?”

The slave nodded, and said, “Yes, sir.”

I didn't want to see what happened next. Unlike others in this circle, I did not need to be convinced. Many people believed Midnight's slaves obeyed out of fear of punishment, but it was deeper than that. Once the trainers were through with them, disobeying wouldn't even cross their minds as a possibility.

Nathaniel ceded the circle to the witch and the slave, and walked toward me and Vance.

“This meeting won't teach you two anything you don't already know,” Nathaniel said, “but I do appreciate your coming.” He looked calm, but I sensed his concern for the slave. He believed in the necessity of this demonstration, but he didn't like it either.

“This is your choice,” Gabriel whispered to the young human man he had restrained against the slick marble wall. “I offered rest. You chose battle. I offered peace. You chose pain. I can make all this doubt and frustration and fear go away. You just need to let me.”

“Who's the witch?” I asked, trying to distract myself from the vision and what was about to happen. I had seen trainers do this kind of thing to test a slave's obedience…or sometimes just for fun. Slaves learned that there was nothing they could do to stop or prevent pain. The only person who could take it away was their master.

“A Triste named Adjila,” Nathaniel answered. “He's powerful for his age, and not squeamish, though unfortunately he isn't strong enough to go directly against Midnight's witches.”

“Are there really falcons and Azteka here?” Vance asked.

“Of course,” Nathaniel responded. “Shantel magic won't let me lie. But I will emphasize that I appreciate that you
both
made it.”

In other words, there were no shm'Ahnmik or bloodwitch magic users here—only us, providing the means for Nathaniel to stretch the truth and convince his allies and patron he had more power on his side than he actually did. My relief warred with disappointment. Any pureblood shm'Ahnmik might want to kill me on sight, but without falcon or Azteka magic, what did we possibly hope to achieve?

Nathaniel winced at the same moment that a backlash of power and pain struck me. I looked up to find Aislinn swaying as thin strips of blood began to appear on her skin. The Triste's wordless, magical command was like a shove, and it made my skin crawl even though it was not directed at me. I bit my lip to keep from begging Nathaniel to stop this. It was too familiar.

I had never seen this happen to Shkei, thank the fates, but only because Alasdair had accepted the abuse on his behalf. Had Misha ever—

I tried to stop the question from forming fully in my mind, but with so much power in the air, my magic instantly brought the answer to me:
yes,
but not when she had belonged to him. She had let the trainer test her. It was the price he had demanded when Misha told him she wanted him to take Hara.

“This isn't
necessary
!” one of the others finally called, her voice cracking. “You've made your point.”

Obligingly, Nathaniel said, “Aislinn, that's enough.”

He reached out just in time to catch her as she collapsed like a puppet with cut strings. All that had been keeping her on her feet, I knew, was the power of his command.

“Heal her,” Nathaniel said to the Triste.

“Naturally,” he replied. “Impressive display.”

Nathaniel just nodded sharply. “Rest, Aislinn,” he said softly. “You did well. You did very well.” Lifting his head to once again speak to the group, he said, “Any attempt to use Midnight's slaves against the trainers would have to start with tricking or manipulating them so powerfully that it overwhelms the training they have already been subjected to. I'm open to suggestions, but they need to be less stupid than the ones I've heard so far.”

Resounding silence met his words. Even the vampire from Silver's line didn't challenge him again.

“Good,” Nathaniel said after several seconds of silence. “We are finally on the same page. We will follow
my
plan. I will answer questions that need to be answered, but I will not respond to any more ridiculous demands for
proof.
” He looked toward the vampire from Silver's line, who nodded. “The sakkri tells me her magic will be strongest on the fall equinox, so that is when we will move against Midnight. In the meantime, I will speak to each of you individually about your particular roles. For everyone's safety, no one here will be brought in on the whole plan until absolutely necessary. That limits the damage that can be done if any one person is found out. Now…go.”

He turned around, and it was as if a bubble burst. I was familiar enough with Shantel magic that I was not surprised to find Vance and myself suddenly alone, nowhere near any visible clearing. The Azteka and falcons might have only been technically present because of Vance and me, but the Shantel had obviously put a great deal of magic into this plan already.

Would it be enough?

“NO!” ALASDAIR PROTESTED,
standing up to the trainer as if he were not capable of breaking her in half with the smallest finger on his hand.

With her golden hair soft around her, her skin pale but her voice solid, she somehow managed to seem as if she were looking
down
on the trainer, though he stood easily a head taller than her. She was slender as a willow, compared to a man who would have been strong even without the vampiric blood, so how did she manage to look so confident next to him?

“If he doesn't eat, then neither will I. How long do you think it will be before you have wasted your money on a skinny, sickly wastrel who holds no appeal for you whatsoever? How much will I be worth to you then?”

The trainer looked in her eyes. Surely he could see the resolve there. He knew this beautiful woman would starve herself to death, if that was what it took to make her point.

“Don't do this for me,” Shkei whispered.

She didn't understand. There were so many worse things the trainer could do.

“I'll make you a deal, beautiful,” the trainer said as he ushered her out and shut the black door to the cell, leaving Shkei alone once again, in the dark.

A trainer's deal was never fair.

“Don't do this for me,” Shkei said again, to the darkness. This courageous woman had set out to protect him. How could she possibly believe she could protect
anyone
in this place?

The only way to get the image of Aislinn's abused, bleeding, and unquestioningly obedient form from my mind was to summon a vision of defiance.

Even in the vampire's cell, Alasdair had behaved the way I had only ever imagined a queen was meant to. Instead of the cowardice and selfishness that I had seen most royals exhibit, Alasdair had shown impossible courage. Time and again, she had put herself between the trainer and my brother, though no one would have blamed her for protecting herself first.

Gabriel had crushed the regal woman who defended Shkei, and left a docile slave referred to in Midnight's halls as “Donovan's masterpiece.”

I didn't know what Nathaniel's plan would cost, or if I would survive it, but it would be worth it if we could stop the next Misha, Shkei, Alasdair, or Hara from being destroyed in one of those beautiful marble cells.

As my eyes cleared of the vision, I looked up to find Nathaniel standing nearby impatiently. “It isn't hard to see why Jeshickah found you frustrating,” he said. “If you weren't so useful I'd give up on you, too.”

I tried not to show how deeply that criticism bit. Would I ever stop feeling like I needed to prove myself?

“Why are there no serpiente involved in your plan?” I asked. “Or were they just hidden? Surely they would fight in your army. They have suffered as much as anyone under Midnight. I know you don't trust Misha, but I don't believe you couldn't find a way around her if you wanted to.”

“The serpiente have a role to play,” Nathaniel conceded. “It just isn't as fighters. They're my distraction. Midnight will be watching them closely. As long as Misha is in charge, your prophecy is in play, and Jeshickah has a reason to dismiss any rumors that reach her ears as big talk from naively optimistic shapeshifters who would never dare do more than gossip. I'm putting you in charge of making sure the serpiente don't go so far that Midnight feels the need to make an example of them.”

“You don't believe the prophecy?” Vance asked, his voice curious yet neutral.

My heart nearly stopped as I waited to see if Nathaniel would betray my secret. “It's not my job to hang my hopes on a prophecy,” the mercenary answered. “It's my job to ensure the outcome I've been paid to produce. I can use Malachi's prophecy to get the serpiente whispering and to convince some of my more useful allies that we have a chance in hell of succeeding, but that's all it is to me: a tool. So are you,” he finished bluntly.

Vance flinched. “At least you're honest about it.”

“Am I right that you were offered a place among the Azteka?” Nathaniel asked.

Vance nodded warily.

“The Shantel are powerful, but their magic is mostly defensive,” Nathaniel said. “The Azteka, on the other hand, have some of the most powerful destructive magic users alive. I can't ask for their support because they won't talk to me. But they
will
talk to you.”

“What kind of power
do
you actually have so far?” I asked.

“The Triste you saw today,” Nathaniel answered, “and a handful of vampire hunters. They will all be useful, but it's not enough. Jeshickah has Tristes in her employ, and has invested a great deal of money into magical protections. We need to be able to unequivocally punch through those wards with our first shot, or else we won't get another.”

“I don't know how to get to the Azteka homeland,” Vance said.

“Start with the Azteka in the market,” Nathaniel suggested. “You don't want to breathe a word of this in that place, but if you tell them you're interested in joining them they'll take you with them when they leave Midnight's land. Then you can ask them to join us.”

Vance and I rode together to the edge of Shantel land, then he took the horse and some of Nathaniel's coins so he could drop the beast off at Midnight's market and start inquiring about the Azteka. “You'll tell Kadee where I am?” he asked, hesitating before we parted.

“I'll tell her everything,” I assured him. Seeing the lingering worry in his eyes, I added, “If she's in any trouble, I will let you know.”

“Can you still talk to me in my dreams?”

Vance's magic had once made that possible, but even then it had been an unreliable method of communication, and the greater self-awareness and wariness he had developed in the past few months had effectively locked me out. I might be able to spy on him if my magic cooperated, but I couldn't speak to him.

“No,” I said, “but I'll find a way to contact you if I need to. Be safe.”

“You too,” he replied. “Watch out for Misha. I know she's your sister, but…she's not the same,” he finished, after a hesitation. “Think about Nathaniel's demonstration when you see her.”

Misha was nothing like Aislinn, superficially, but Vance was right that her will wasn't entirely her own anymore. She hadn't been fully broken as a slave, but the trainer's half-done task made her more unpredictable.

Even if she hadn't been disturbed, I didn't want to see my sister become queen. I didn't want to see the fragmented remains of the Obsidian guild fall in around her as subjects. They wouldn't think of it as allowing themselves to be ruled, not at first, but it wouldn't take long before those Misha favored became the equivalent of courtiers, and any out of favor realized they either needed to grovel, or run.

“I will,” I told Vance. I watched him mount the horse and start toward Midnight's market until he turned to look at me, as if feeling my stare on his back. Then at last I took my wings.

I wanted to run, and cursed Nathaniel for sending me back to Misha. I agreed that someone needed to help ensure the serpiente survived the three months between now and the equinox, but Misha had already sent me away once. It wouldn't take her long to find another excuse to get rid of me.

As I neared the palace, I saw two guards, squinting against my silhouette, nock arrows in their bows. I decided prudence was the better part of valor and ducked down into the trees to continue on foot.

It took all my willpower to deliberately walk toward the guards instead of allowing myself to stop in the forest. I approached cautiously, ready to flee if they replied with violence. They greeted me coolly but respectfully, and made no attempt to restrain me. Instead, they explained that they had all been given my description and told that I was to have an honor guard if I visited. I doubted Misha intended much actual “honor,” but even with my magic, directly countermanding the order would have raised suspicion.

Walking into the palace with a guard at each side still felt surreal. It was nearly time for the coronation, and we passed masses of other serpents on their way to the ceremony. The throng seemed quieter than it should have, but then, I had never stood amid those on their way to a royal event. Maybe they were always this subdued. The whispers I overheard made it clear the event had been announced and organized precipitously, probably as Aaron's common sense finally snapped under the pressure of Misha's magic. The crowd seemed evenly split between questioning Aaron's haste and praising him for stepping forward in their time of need.

Unfriendly, sidelong glances followed my progress.

Did you expect them to instantly love you?
I asked myself, trying to keep an open mind, and not view the scene through the lens of fear.
You are still a white viper, and a falcon, and a member of Farrell Obsidian's guild. You're a bloodtraitor and a thief, and have worked with and harbored individuals guilty of high crimes. If they have any sense at all, they will never like you, never trust you.

No one put an arrow or a knife in me, and I decided to be grateful for that.

I shuddered as my guards escorted me into the
synkal,
a room I knew all too well. The grand ritual room was where a king was crowned. It was also where trials, marking, and execution for high crimes occurred.

I reluctantly joined the crowd, who parted for me as if I might burn anyone I accidentally touched. Kadee came to my side and said, “You look…haggard. Where have you been? Where is Vance?”

I shrugged. There was so much I couldn't say here, with guards within arm's reach and a crowd around us anxiously waiting for their new king to declare his mate and take his crown. “I haven't slept much,” I said. “Vance is safe. He's going to the Azteka.”

Kadee bit her lip, probably thinking the same thing I was: she couldn't ask what she wanted to in this crowd. She nodded instead. “I guess I should have expected that.” Her bland response conveyed no sense of loss or betrayal. She trusted that Vance hadn't left for good. “Most of the guild is staying in the Opal Hall, but I have a camp set up not far from the palace if you need a place to rest in the open air. I couldn't stand to sleep here after everything that happened to me.”

I suspected that it was the soon-to-be queen rather than Kadee's memories of her time as a ward of the serpiente royal house that made sleeping in the palace difficult for her.

“Misha doesn't mind?”

“She…understands my reasons,” Kadee answered, though I could tell she doubted Misha approved of them.

We had no more time to talk before one of the dancers called for the crowd's attention and Julian Cobriana strode onto the high dais with his son behind him. I had never witnessed a serpiente coronation, or expected to, so I waited against the back wall and tried to look politely interested instead of skin-crawlingly uncomfortable.

Julian's voice was distant as he formally presented Aaron to the crowd. He spoke a few words about Hara's sudden and devastating loss to Midnight, and how grateful he was that his son was prepared to step forward.

The king's eyes were glassy and his voice kept drifting off. A casual observer probably would have believed his words were weighed down by grief and despair over losing his daughter, but the swirling, tangled aura around him made it clear to me that his state was a result of magical and medical manipulation. He had been drugged in addition to being enchanted.

While Julian spoke, I watched Aaron. His outfit had clearly been put together with attention to the serpiente love of color symbolism. He declared his connection to the Cobriana line in royal black: slacks that tucked into boots laced to just below the knees and an open-throated shirt of the same color. The snug vest he wore was likewise black, with a swirling decoration in white thread. The design was vaguely evocative of the letters of the old language, or a cobra's markings, but the color was clearly a nod to the Obsidian guild. Around his waist he wore two colored scarves, one the deep violet of mourning, and the other white embroidered with gold to represent the eternal tie to one's mate. Next to Julian's drooping, beaten shape, Aaron was a dramatic, determined figure.