undying legion 01 - unbound man (50 page)

Something damp brushed her neck. She reached up to find her collar soaked through. Trails of tears lay thick on her cheeks, and her eyes felt swollen and raw.

“Oh, Havilah,” she said, and the quaver in her voice was like that of a child. “Why did you have to die?”

The memory of their first conversation in this room swam before her eyes. The kindness in Havilah’s face as he confronted her about her kills. The trust. She smiled through a fresh outbreak of tears.
You believed in me,
she thought.
I didn’t even believe in myself. Didn’t see any reason why anyone should. But you did anyway. Even though you knew what I was doing, somehow you managed to see past it.

But then, he hadn’t known her true secret. Would it have made a difference if he had? She wanted to believe that it wouldn’t, that he would have seen her clearly even through that. But maybe betrayal wasn’t the sort of thing you saw through. Maybe it was the sort of thing that was still there at the end, when all the lies and distractions and subterfuge was stripped away.

The kind of thing that defined who you were.

Nobody had known her. Not truly. But she’d known all along.

She was Eilwen Nasareen, and she was a killer.

She groaned, burying her face in her hands.
I tried, Havilah. I tried so hard to become who you thought I could be.
She saw Orom walking away down the promenade, saw herself watching him leave, deciding to let him go. When the time had come, she’d chosen wrong, and now Havilah was dead because of it.
Because of me.

But she knew who was behind it, now. And even though she’d failed to save Havilah, she could still save the Guild.

Laris.
The Trademaster had reached out to her, offering her support as Kieffe’s body lay cooling on the other side of the corridor wall. Even then, she’d been playing her.
When did it start? Did she agree to my transfer because she thought she could use me against Havilah?
Eilwen had been a pawn all along, a piece to be deployed wherever she could best serve someone else’s ends; and the fact that Havilah’s interests aligned with the Guild’s made it no less true of him than it was of Laris. It was how the game was played, and she’d been dragged onto the board without even realising it, way back when Havilah first called her into this room.

This was not her game. But there was a part of it which was familiar. She’d been trying to fight it, trying to keep it locked away and pretend it wasn’t there.
Because Havilah asked me to.
But she was tired of fighting. And she was tired of pretending that she didn’t know that sometimes, some things just needed to be done.

Havilah had seen that, too. Uncompromising, he’d said.
This will be my gift to you, Havilah. My gift to the Guild. This part of the game I know all about.

Eilwen pushed herself to her feet, grasping the desk to steady herself. Havilah’s body lay sprawled before her. In the darkness, she could almost imagine him to be sleeping.

She left by the garden door, pulling it carefully closed behind her. No stars shone in the sky, though a silver-grey patch of cloud showed where the moon struggled to break through. The eucalypt outside her own suite rustled softly in the faint breeze, the whisper of its leaves calling to her like a lover.

The iron trowel was just where she’d left it, in a box of unsorted oddments. She hefted it, frowning at its lightness and the dirt still clinging to its blade. But it had been enough to dig the hole in the first place; and it would be easier the second time, with no roots to cut through.

She tied back her hair with an old ribbon. Then, kneeling beneath the gently shifting branches, she set to work.

•

Laris’s suite was almost a mirror image of Eilwen’s. On the wall where Eilwen had shelves, Laris had chosen to hang a trio of small pastoral pictures with ornate gilt frames. The desk itself was free of personal effects — only a few bundles of paper marred its otherwise empty surface. On the other side lay the back room, Laris’s bedroom. The intervening door stood open, revealing the edge of the bed and a long coat hanging from a hook in the wall. Unlit lamps hung from the ceiling in both rooms.

Eilwen swung the garden door closed behind her, brushing the fallen glass against the wall with her boot. Then she pulled a chair into the centre of the room and settled in to await the Trademaster’s return.

She was calm, calmer than she’d felt for a long time. One dagger hung at her side, a second nestled in her boot, and her loop of sharpened wire lay tucked beside her other ankle; and wrapped in lambskin beneath her shirt, the black amber egg. She’d buried it, thinking to bury her killing self with it, but it had been a fool’s hope. The beast had been in her all along. Still, it felt good to have the egg with her, even though she wouldn’t need it tonight. It reminded her of other nights like this — nights of delivering death to those who deserved it.
Nights of atonement.

Eilwen stretched her shoulders, her neck, loosening the muscles of her arms and torso. She had forgotten what the anticipation was like. This was her gift, her calling. Her opportunity to do good. How could she have lost sight of that? It was justice and penance both, and both equally satisfying.
I deserve this no less than she does. Attend me, gods, and see how I make amends.

She felt as though she had been stumbling through a desert, parched and sun-sick; but now, at last, an oasis had appeared before her. It was time to drink deep.

Somewhere inside, some part of her twisted away in revulsion.
Not this,
it begged.
Not any more.
But the voice was weak, lacking in conviction, and easy enough to ignore.

Footsteps approached from the corridor beyond, halting before the door. There was a scraping noise as someone fumbled with the key; then it slotted home, clicking the lock as it turned, and the door swung open.

“Hello, Laris,” Eilwen said, a wide smile on her face. “I’m so glad you’re back.”

Laris froze in the doorway, her form silhouetted against the softly-lit corridor. “Eilwen? Is that you?”

“I was starting to worry. Thought maybe you’d decided to give up this life of trade and join the Weeping Sisters yourself.”

The Trademaster’s flinch might have gone unnoticed if Eilwen hadn’t been expecting it. “Leave now, please. Leave or I’ll call someone —”

“Oh, I don’t think so.” Eilwen smiled again. “I don’t think you want anyone else overhearing the conversation we’re about to have.”

Laris considered her for a long moment. When she spoke, her tone was lighter, as though she too was smiling. “As you wish.” She stepped inside, pulling the door closed behind her. “You won’t mind if I light some lamps?”

“Be my guest,” Eilwen said, then chuckled. “I’m sorry, how rude of me. Be my host.”

Light flared in the gloom. Laris inclined her head in welcome, but the muscles around her eyes and jaw were tense. A second lamp added its illumination to the first, and the Trademaster placed it on the desk and perched herself beside it, just out of arm’s reach. “What is it, Eilwen? Have you discovered something?”

“You might say that,” Eilwen said. It felt like her manic smile would never leave. “For one thing, I figured out who the lying, murderous whore of a traitor is.”

“Really.” The word was cool, a perfect facsimile of politely feigned interest.

“Really. Imagine my surprise,” Eilwen said cheerfully. “It’s you!”

“Now listen, Eilwen —”

“No, you listen to me, you duplicitous bitch!” Her smile vanished as though it had never been. “You murdered Havilah. Oh, I know all about your alibi. Don’t even try. You killed him.”

Laris’s face was smooth. “I suppose that makes you Spymaster now.”

“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? A new Spymaster who just happens to be in your debt. No. Sorry. Not going to happen.”

“Debt?” Laris raised her eyebrows. “Why would I need anything from you? I’ve got my own people to find things out. And you’d be surprised at what they’ve discovered.”

Listen,
some part of Eilwen whispered feebly, the word barely even a suggestion.
Talk. Anything. Just don’t kill.

She shook her head.

“Change is coming, Eilwen,” Laris said. “I don’t know the exact shape of it, but there’s a new power out there. One to rival even the Quill. And where the Quill seeks influence by making itself indispensable, this group prefers a more, shall we say, direct approach.”

There was an edge in Laris’s tone that Eilwen hadn’t heard before. A thrill ran down her spine. “Does this group have a name?”

“They call themselves the Oculus.”

Eilwen shuddered, and the dissenting voice within her whimpered once and went quiet. Images of the
Orenda
flashed before her. The horrendous crack of the ship splitting in two, as though torn apart by two enormous hands. The screams of her shipmates as they plunged into the icy water. Acid stung her throat and she swallowed hard, willing her stomach back down. The black amber egg lay heavy against her side.

“I see you’ve heard of them,” Laris said.

Eilwen coughed hoarsely. “And what have you done about them?”

“What do you think? We’ve sold them timber, of course.” Laris shrugged. “Among other things. They’re planning an invasion, that’s plain enough to anyone with half a brain. Not here, obviously, or why start trading with every house in the city? But somewhere nearby. Rull, maybe, if they’re starting small. Neysa if they’re not.”

“Gods. You want to be their
allies?
”

“Allies? Don’t be ridiculous.” Laris laughed. “Just their suppliers.”

Eilwen pressed her hands to her head.
The Oculus, invading?
It was too bizarre to be true.
Gods help me, why can’t they leave me be?
But they had, hadn’t they? This time they’d needed a more powerful tool, and they’d settled on Laris.

A wild laugh bubbled up.
Here we sit, two traitors to the Guild. Two pawns of the Oculus. I was hunting myself all along.

How Havilah would weep if he were here.

“Explain to me,” Eilwen said, her words slow and deliberate, “how any of this makes the slightest shit of difference to Havilah.”

Laris frowned. “Eilwen, you need to look at the bigger picture.”

“No. This isn’t about sorcerers, or invasions, or any of the rest of it. This is about you pulling yourself up the ladder and cutting down anyone you find in your way. Trademaster isn’t good enough for you, is it? You want to be in charge of the whole damn show.”

The Trademaster surged to her feet, her face filled with contempt. “Havilah was a fool —”

“Havilah was a good man!” She was shouting now, and she didn’t care. “He believed in the Guild. He believed in me! All you believe in is yourself!”

“Havilah was holding the Guild back! Vorace still is! But the Guild is bigger than them, and it’s a damned sight bigger than you. What in the hells have you ever done for it?”

“This,” Eilwen said, and drove her fist into Laris’s stomach.

Laris doubled over, gasping for air. A tiny knife tumbled from her sleeve and clattered across the floor. Staggering, Laris turned for the door, but Eilwen was too fast. Springing from her chair, she launched herself at the other woman’s retreating form, driving her to the ground. Reaching into her boot, she withdrew the loop of sharpened wire, and as Laris raised her head to gasp for help she slipped it around her neck and pulled it taut against her throat — tight, but not tight enough to kill.

“Hush, now,” Eilwen said, and she could feel the smile stretching her face once more. “Hush.”

For a frozen moment they held there, Eilwen kneeling on Laris’s back, Laris wheezing beneath her. Eilwen thought of Havilah, still slumped on the floor of his office. Dead, without even knowing why.

See what I do for you, Laris. I tell you why.

“Havilah didn’t like me doing this sort of thing,” Eilwen said conversationally, tightening the wire collar fractionally around Laris’s neck. “If he was here now, he’d tell me to let you live. Probably.” She shrugged. “Shame he’s not here.”

“I have gold,” Laris rasped. “Whatever you want, it’s yours.”

“My dear Laris, I think you’ve misunderstood. This has nothing to do with me. This is about
justice.
”

“If you do this, there’ll be no place for you here.”

She laughed. “Do I look like I care?”

Another rasp. “Can’t… see…”

Eilwen laughed again, and pulled.

There was a moment’s resistance, then the wire sliced through Laris’s throat. She convulsed, shaking as blood began to pool beneath her. Eilwen knelt at her side. “Oh dear,” she whispered. “Looks like you’ve made a mess after all.”

She released the wire and resumed her seat, settling back to watch Laris’s life bleed away.
Thus are you avenged, Havilah. Thus do I deliver justice.

And the beast within her opened up its mouth and sang.

•

Dark, streaky clouds thrust gold-edged fingers across the brightening eastern sky. Arandras yawned, rubbing his heavy eyes and cursing his foolishness at subjecting himself, yet again, to the irrational whims of the Quill.

The others were already there — even Mara, to whom Arandras had dashed off a note the previous afternoon in the hope that she would receive it in time. She leaned languidly against the wall across from Isaias’s shop, cleaning her fingernails with a dirk, a faint frown creasing her forehead. Narvi and Ienn had found a fruiterer somewhere along the way and were talking softly over a bag of figs. Fas stood before the locked door, arms folded, his foot tapping out his impatience on the cobbled street.

Morning people, all of them. Arandras blinked hard and tried to convince himself to wake up.

The street was beginning to fill, the early morning traffic of household staff and foodmongers pushing Arandras to the side. He shuffled across to where Mara stood, resting his back and the sole of one foot against the wall with a sigh.

“Doesn’t like waiting much, does he?” Mara said, gesturing at Fas with her chin.