Hunted Warrior (31 page)

“No time.”

“I met with Grandio, the rebel Indranan I mentioned, and borrowed his gift of telepathy. For years I wore the damping collars while in the service of the Asters. Without that restriction of my gift, it's become much easier to share and amplify rather than to steal. We were able to find a large body of Dragon Kings in three underground tunnels beneath the power station.”

“The three cartels' warriors, perhaps,” Mal said.

“Our thoughts, yes. I was able to identify an Aster . . . possession . . . named Hellix among those in the tunnels.”

“Possession?” Avyi's voice shook with indignation.

“Calm yourself.” Silence took her hand. The woman's other arm was protected by the shield that was certainly not a mere defensive weapon. “He's a rapist, a liar, and a refugee from the dismantled labs who deserves no pity. He's . . . repulsive. And he would kill me on sight. I won't give him the opportunity.”

Mal crossed his arms, glad for the coat in the chilly evening London air. “What did you do to him?”

Smiling like a cat with a secret—as all cats did—she said, “I sided with your cousin Nynn's partner, Leto of Garnis. Leto and Hellix didn't get along. At all. To see one's mate whipped by a soulless animal tends to anger a man beyond reparation.”

“Leto seemed like a good man,” Mal said, pleased when Avyi nodded in agreement. It was the first time she'd truly acknowledged him since their argument. “He would be a useful ally to discover here.”

Orla shook her head. “Grandio and I couldn't locate him or Nynn. We're on our own. Any allies will be ours to secure by their liberation. Now that I've repaired the dragon idol, it will serve that purpose, unfastening the damping collars.”

Avyi cupped her sister's cheek. “And Hark?”

“No trace.” Her voice was a dead, flat calm, like a lake that hadn't thawed in centuries.

The woman turned away from the hotel, leading Mal and Avyi into the night streets.

“It would make sense to send Hark into one of the initial Grievance rounds,” Mal said. “The last I witnessed was preceded by executions. Humans and Dragon Kings alike. They weren't there to fight, only to pay their debts in blood. A grim opening act.”

“That has been the way of it,” Avyi said. “But which cartel would have him?”

Orla's pace had increased, perhaps without her realizing. “The Asters, for having helped demolish the lab. They will have paid the Townsends or the Kawashimas any price for the right to execute him how they choose. They'd find no joy in leaving the possibility of a quick death at the hands of another crime family.”

Mal knew she'd once been called Silence, but Orla's quick thoughts and quicker tongue bespoke deep secrets kept hidden for years. The same could be said for him and Avyi. How many of their kind concealed shames, ambitions, and clandestine hopes? He couldn't help looking to his right, where Avyi kept an even, graceful pace with his strides. Her jaw was set, her lips turned down at the corners, and her eyes narrowed—sharp and observant.

Clandestine hopes.

He'd never had any before meeting her.

“What about a young Cage warrior named Cadmin?” he asked. “A woman. Did you find any hint of that name?”

Avyi shot him a look of surprise. If he was going to repair the damage he'd done during their fight, he needed to start with the basics. That meant proving to Avyi that he was sorry for the cruel things he'd said, all of which had been born of his own years-long guilt. Maybe even his self-doubt. He would not lose her. That meant proving he was the man she had believed him capable of becoming.

“Describe her,” said Silence.

“About eighteen now,” Avyi said. “Taller than you. Muscular but graceful and beautiful. Red hair like a Pendray, although she was crossbred with Tigony.”

Mal frowned. “Like Nynn. I wonder if their powers are similar. Is that enough to go on, Orla?”

“Perhaps with Grandio's aid,” she said. “This way.”

Within minutes they'd crept beneath the shadow of the abandoned power station. It looked out over the Thames, where the river's current had once turned massive turbines to supply electrical power to a substantial portion of London. In the years since the nineteenth century, when the station had been the height of engineering prowess, it had been replaced by more advanced technology. Decades of disrepair had transformed it from vital to decrepit.

“Can you believe developers wanted to turn this monster into condos?” Orla asked. “Human ambition sometimes outstrips their means. The Kawashimas own it now, although I doubt their intentions involve human housing.”

“You've been studying,” Mal said with a note of appreciation. The rebel forces forged in the ashes of the Asters' labs had become substantial. The Council, so divided along clan lines, sat like overfed hogs by comparison. He didn't like knowing how much stock he'd placed in winning their consensus when the real work had been taking place out here, in the field, at the level where battles meant freedom—and where antiquated clan allegiances were debilitating.

He'd had it wrong for too long. No Dragon King brought into this world would be truly free if the cartels still tempted the unwary and desperate into the Cages.

Freedom first. Then the question of conception.

“We've needed to study,” Orla said. “The cartels are a virus. The three that we know of, at least. Rivalries and differences have split them into smaller factions.” She arched a blond brow at Mal. “Sound familiar, Giva?”

“The Council? Too familiar. And none too admirable.”

The building glowed a sandy color, sprinkled by bright streetlights and the windows of houses and businesses. Four towering smokestacks cast long, long shadows that warped when they stretched over road signs and rooftops.

“What about underground?” Avyi asked. “What are we dealing with?”

“Ancient hovels from back to Roman times. Britannia, aided by the Tigony. More recently they've been expanded by Underground tunnels, most of which were never completed or left defunct after World War II. Without Grandio, I'd have already been lost a half dozen times among the winding train tracks.”

Avyi's mouth went slack. “A half dozen?”

As if ashamed, Orla looked away. “I tried to find Hark myself. Even after the other rebels were captured and I escaped.” Tension warped the graceful line of her shoulders. “Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I should've sought your help right away. If our comrades have been killed since because of my delay . . . I may get Hark back, but I'll have done so at the expense of good men and women.”

Avyi took Mal's hand. Although she said nothing and didn't look at him, she offered something he'd thought lost. Reassurance. Maybe even quiet absolution, although he wouldn't give himself that gift until all of this madness was over, if ever.

She offered the same reassurance to her sister. “Hark is your husband. I would've done the same. We will do what we must.”

Mal caught Avyi's eye, where green and gold gleamed in the acidic evening lights. Had he been Indranan, he would've asked her the question she probably read on his face.
What about your prediction that the rebels would be killed?

Avyi only closed her troubled eyes and gave his hand a squeeze. It was a start on their road back.

“Here,” Orla whispered. “Grandio.”

“No need to speak, Silence. You should know that much.” A middle-aged Dragon King of modest stature stepped out from a shadow Mal wouldn't have even recognized as a shadow, let alone as a hiding place. It was that slender and tucked away. Then again, the Tigony lacked skills of observation that Garnis, Indranan, and even the berserker Pendray could claim. The Tigony were either vicious or sleek-tongued. Little room for middle ground.

Orla shook hands with the man. “This is Grandio. A Southern Indranan, if we want to be specific.”

“Which we don't,” he said. “Those distinctions are ripping us apart. Tonight is a night for unity.” He dipped a slight nod toward Mal. “Giva. My privilege.”

Mal clasped the man's shoulder. “Those distinctions are ripping us apart,” he repeated, firmly believing the words. His people needed a leader, not someone who received deference based on title rather than action. “And this is Avyi. She's like you.” He grinned. “No clan either.”

“She's also my sister,” Orla said.

Grandio's shock was apparent, with wide, dark eyes and a shake of his head, which was wrapped with the bindings of a human Sikh.

“Silence, “Gradio said, “sometimes I believe you say things just to shock me.”

“It's true.”

True, but madness as well. The circles. The idea that threads were being woven together or, more ominously, that a noose was being tightened. All Mal could do was start with the person closest to him. Avyi. Start with her, and work his way out toward the people he couldn't see and didn't know. She was . . .

She was his touchstone. She was the person who made his responsibilities real, when every other attempt to lead had been met with grandiose, overwhelming, and ultimately ineffective results. How could he lead the Dragon Kings if he didn't know what it was to care deeply for one of them?

Because now he did. He cared for Avyi. He wasn't going to let the next few hours' events take her from him. He would make sure of it.

“She's looking for a crossbred Tigony-Pendray named Cadmin,” Silence said. “About eighteen. Set to participate in her first Grievance. Can you help?”

“You're a very polite Thief for asking.” Grandio had recovered from his momentary shock, replacing it with a teasing smile. “Just don't dig around too deeply.” The man glanced at Avyi, and pointedly at Mal. Mal felt a gentle
tap-tap
in his brain, as the telepath touched his surface consciousness. “We all have dark corners we'd rather not see revealed.”

*  *  *

A full hour of mental exertion passed, during which Orla and Grandio worked together to map the souls of imprisoned Dragon Kings and their human captors. Still no sign of Hark or Cadmin. Orla broke the connection with a gasp and a frustrated growl, then slumped to the damp pavement. Avyi's heart burned for the half sister she'd never known was hers to claim.

She knelt and touched Orla's trembling forearm. The dim lighting didn't prevent Avyi from realizing what her fingers brushed against: the Thorn of the Sath mating ritual. Embedded just beneath the skin, the crescent-shaped needles symbolized a permanent commitment between two Sath. “I'm glad you married him,” she said softly. “Hark. I knew you would. I just didn't know when.”

Orla only nodded. Sweat had beaded along the line of her white-pale hair. “Best man I've ever known.” Her words were tight. “And the most infuriating.”

Avyi risked a quick glance up toward Mal, where he leaned against the decades-old exterior of the power station. “Perhaps in some men, the two qualities are inextricably paired.”

“Is he worth it?”

“Has Hark been worth it?”

Although Orla looked away, Avyi caught sight of shimmering moisture in the woman's black eyes. “Yes. Even now.” She straightened her shoulders and returned her sharp gaze to Avyi. “But you didn't answer my question. Is
he
worth it? Worth the way you look at him? I didn't need a piece of Grandio's telepathy to feel what snaps between you both.”

Avyi swallowed. She wanted to be small. She wanted to find a place where she would be as mindless and unaccountable as she'd been as Aster's Pet. The joys of freedom were tempered by the extreme responsibility of making one's own way in life. “I fear what I'd do for him. That's not something I ever wanted to feel about another person. Not . . . again.”

“Aster.”

“Yes. He created what it was for me to understand devotion. Just a trick of the mind? A craving from the soul? I don't trust myself any more than I trust Mal.”

That raised Orla's brows. “You don't trust him?”

“I don't trust that our goals align. When the moment comes, he'll choose what suits his purposes—which may be noble, I grant you. He's the Giva, after all. But would you believe him capable of putting Hark's life above the concerns of a hundred Dragon Kings in need?”

“No,” Orla said quickly, quietly. “You're right. His priorities may not align with mine, not at the moment of choice. I don't know what to tell you, sister. Only that he looks at you the same way you look at him.”

“What way is that?”

“Like he won't be able to take another breath without you.”

Grandio grunted. His skull smacked back against the wall with a sickening thud. He grabbed his head with both hands and applied what appeared to be a terrifying amount of pressure. He grunted again, this time with a word that resembled
Silence
.

Orla shot to her feet and stood face to face with the pained man. She threaded her fingers with his on either side of his temples and pressed their foreheads together. “Show me.”

“Another . . . By the Dragon and the Chasm, she's unnatural. Indranan witch. Thrice cursed.”

Avyi shuddered. Most Dragon Kings believed the thrice-cursed Indranan a myth. She knew differently. Although most Indranan were born as twins, some were birthed as one of three. Triplets. And some of those triplets killed both siblings to assume untold telepathic powers. They also assumed the screaming minds of their wronged brothers and sisters. The thrice-cursed were abominations—exceedingly powerful and completely mad.

Avyi had only ever known one such woman.

“Ulia,” she said. “Aster's telepath.”

Silence mumbled an affirmative, then cried out. She and Grandio were caught. They were fighting an unseen battle.

Mal took position at Avyi's side, his hand threaded with hers. “Helpless. Dragon damn it.”