Текст книги "The Shifting Price of Prey"
Автор книги: Сьюзан Маклеод
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Текущая страница: 29 (всего у книги 33 страниц)
Chapter Fifty-Eight
A booming voice was wittering on about lots, how to bid, how to pay and complimentary refreshments. I wasn’t listening. I hugged myself, almost paralysed with panic. And pain. So much pain. Part of me knew the pain radiating through my body wasn’t physical, but that didn’t matter, I still hurt. Still felt as though my heart had been ripped out. As if it had been chopped in half with a blunt axe, the two halves pierced with silver nails and then shoved burning and broken back in my chest.
Freya. Or Katie.
No way could I choose.
Katie. Or Freya.
No way did I wantto choose.
Freya.
I slowly opened my hand. Stared at the gold coin in my palm.
Katie.
Blood smeared the coin where I’d clutched it so hard my nails had split my flesh.
Freya was blood of my blood, flesh of my flesh. An eight-year-old child.
The booming voice was saying something about barterers getting the chance to tender their coins for their corresponding ‘lot’ before open bidding could commence.
Katie wasn’t my blood, wasn’t my flesh, and was a young adult of seventeen. She’d never agree to my saving her over a child, if she was asked. But that didn’t mean I was going to leave her to the wolves.
Rage and determination pushed back the horrified panic and indecision swirling through me.
I was damned if I was going to choose between Katie and Freya. Or anyone else.
I lifted my head, scrubbed my face and took a few deep breaths to clear my mind. I fixed the Emperor, the Empress, the gnome and the anonymous gathering on the stage with a calculating look. No, the only choice I was going to make was who I was going to kill first. And to do that I needed my, so far elusive, plan.
As the gnome sold some smaller, less sought-after lots, the various items held up for viewing by the centurion vamps, while more centurions wandered among the shadowy bidders with platters and jugs, I counted the chain circles behind me. Including the one I was in, there were thirteen, same as the cages. But only twelve of the circles had shadowy figures in them: someone hadn’t turned up. I fisted my hand around the gold coin; I couldn’t imagine any of Freya’s or Katie’s relatives not turning up, so whoever’s coin I held, there should be someone here for the other girl.
Like Paula, Katie’s mum and my friend. Or Ana, Freya’s pregnant mother and my niece; we might not get on, but that meant nothing as it was down to Ana’s fear for herself and her child. And, same as with Katie and Freya, no way could I live with myself if anything happened to their mothers.
Not to mention there was still the price to be paid for bartering the coins, and the Forum’s future deterrent.
No. If anyone was going to be bartering, it had to be me . . . I eyed my boots, then glanced down at the gold coin in my hand, a plan finally forming in my mind. If I could make it work.
‘Hey, Gold Cat, help me save the kits?’
Save kits, she growled low. Yes.
She might be my ùmaidh, and house a supposedly powerful primal spirit, but her conversational skills were definitely on the basic side.
‘Okay, here’s what I want you to do, ’I said, and pictured a series of images in my mind. When I finished, I stripped my bra off from under my T-shirt, refastened it and held it in front of me. Gold Cat leaped out of my body with a tickling brush of fur, sticking her head through the circle of the bra so it hung round her neck like a wacky-looking collar. I took a moment to check her out. She was virtually transparent, fading fast enough that I doubted she’d last the night. An odd sadness settled in me. I shook it off and released my hold on the bra. Now I wasn’t touching it, the Unseen veil I’d taken from my T-shirt and taggedto the bra activated, and Gold Cat totally vanished.
‘Good luck,’ I whispered, then slumped in relief as a barely audible chuff told me she’d crossed the circle. I’d been right; the circle didn’t stop things like my boots, the gold coin and the centurion’s arm, so it had been castto hold me specifically. Just as when Gold Cat had crossed the circle in the cat-shifters’ cave, she registered as ‘not me’; she didn’t have enough of my soul in her to keep her trapped.
Now I just had to pray she managed to do what I needed. In time.
Another loud gong reverberated through the Forum, signalling the end of what seemed to be a break. I raised my head from the dried grass I’d been plaiting – to take my mind off worrying about how Gold Cat was doing – and saw the gnome adjusting his mike behind the lectern. The Emperor and Empress had also returned. The Empress was carefully tracing glyphs over a black wooden box on her knees, while two of the centurions were washing the Emperor’s hands in a wide gold bowl, like the vamp was some sort of decadent despot. Which I guessed he was. In his world. Never in mine.
He waved the two centurions away. The one carrying the bowl knelt at the edge of the stage, deliberately caught my eye, then tipped the bowl on to the grass below. The water was bloody. Nice. Then the faint scent of dark spice, copper and liquorice hit me. Malik’s blood. Malik was here. Some part of me had known he was, but his blood confirmed it. And he was hurt. My chest constricted – I glared at the Emperor, but he was listening to another centurion. The Empress, however, was looking at me, her expression tense.
A bright spotlight blinded me.
Looked like my cue.
I rubbed the glare out of my eyes, calming my desperate pulse, and cleared my mind. Malik was a centuries-old immortal vamp, and could heal anything. I had to believe that and not agonise about him. I had to put my plan into action, but Gold Cat hadn’t returned. I had to stall—
‘Genevieve Nataliya Zakharinova,’ the gnome intoned, the mustard-coloured lichen on his head puffing up with importance. ‘The time has come for you to barter the Emperor’s coin given to you in exchange for that which has been taken by the Forum. For this barter an additional payment is demanded. Your payment will require you to perform a task, here and now, at the Emperor’s direction. Should you refuse to barter, or refuse the task, that which the Forum has taken becomes the Forum’s property to do with as it will.’
Nothing new there. Good. ‘What’s the task?’
He looked down at me smugly. ‘If you agree you will be told.’
I’ve got to go in blind? Could it get any better? C’mon, Gold Cat, hurry up.I shaded my eyes, squinting up at the gnome. ‘What happens if I fail the task?’
‘Failure carries the same outcome as refusal.’
Figured. ‘What if I am not capable of the task, let’s say if I am asked to stirand casta simple spell, which is impossible for me to do’ – and wouldn’t my life beso much easier if that wasn’t true –‘would that be classed as failure?’
‘The task is one you are known to be capable of.’
Which sort of narrowed it down to absorbing, cracking, or seeingwhen it came to magic. Or ripping the gnome’s heart out and stomping on it. Only I didn’t think I was going to get that lucky. ‘What happens to me, and that which the Forum has taken, if I succeed?’
The gnome opened his mouth, then closed it and glanced over at the Emperor. Obviously I wasn’t expected to worry about succeeding. I doubted many did. But I’d got Viviane’s heads up about the Forum’s nasty punchlines.
The Emperor lifted one finger then leaned forwards, raking me with his alien look. I suppressed a shudder. ‘If you succeed, Genevieve Nataliya Zakharinova,’ he said softly, ‘the lot corresponding to my coin tendered will be returned to you.’
Way too unspecific. ‘Will the lot be returned in the same physical, psychic, emotional, mental and magical health as when the lot was taken?’
His left eyelid twitched; almost a flicker of impatience. ‘I cannot give you an absolute answer to your question.’
Fuck. What had they already done to Katie and Freya? Don’t think about that now. Keep stalling.‘Will the lot be returned in the same physical, psychic, emotional, mental and magical health as the lot is now, with a guarantee of no harmful ramifications arising in the future to the lot, the lot’s nearest and dearest, or to me?’
He stared at me unblinking for a long minute then mild interest sparked in his flat green eyes. It turned my gut liquid with terror and made me want to run away and hide. The only time I’d seen something scarier was the demon last Hallowe’en. I forced myself to keep meeting his gaze.
‘I would be a fool to guarantee a lot’s emotional health,’ he said in his soft voice. ‘But I will guarantee that the Forum, which includes all who are a permanent part of it, but not those who are peripheral, will not intentionally change the physical, psychic, mental and magical health of the lot, from the point of your surrendering my coin until that time when your task is completed. If you succeed, I will further guarantee that no harmful ramifications will arise in the future to the lot, the lot’s nearest and dearest, or to you from the Forum.’
As he finished speaking, I made a pretence of studying the dead grass in my circle. His guarantee was about as good as I was going to get. Better than usual really, since it appeared to nix the Forum’s future deterrent. Though the fact he was prepared to give it was scary in itself. He really wanted me to do his ‘task’. It also meant I couldn’t stall any longer. Except—
‘One last thing,’ I said. ‘I want you to tell me how to find that which is lost, and how to join that which is sundered, to release the fae’s fertility from the pendant and restore it back to them as it was before it was taken.’
The Empress stiffened. The Emperor made a choking sound. It took me a moment to realise he was laughing. ‘If you believe I have the answer you require, Genevieve Nataliya Zakharinova, you have been misinformed.’
I froze. He didn’t know? But he had to. He was the Emperor. The tarot cards– I hadn’t been misinformed. I’d been played for a fool. As had Tavish. Viviane had somehow lied, despite the cards being sidhe-made. Fuck. If she thought I’d burn her cards and set her free now—
Unseen fur brushed against my cheek telling me Gold Cat was finally back, reminding me Viviane’s fate could wait. After all, I’d got her cards in my back pocket; she wasn’t going anywhere.
An Unseen head nudged my shoulder; Gold Cat had been successful. Relief washed over me, making me dizzy. I swallowed back the fear closing my throat and stood, hands cupped behind my back, feeling her whiskers tickle my palms as she carefully spat out what she carried.
I composed my words, sent another prayer to the gods and held out my fisted left hand to the Emperor.
‘I return to you your coin. I agree to perform your task. And when I succeed, you will return that which the coin is payment for under the guarantee you have offered.’
The Emperor treated me to his alien stare, then nodded. ‘Agreed.’
A small chime sounded, startling me. I hadn’t intended making a sidhe bargain, but looked like the magic was taking an interest in proceedings. Well, I’d just have to suffer whatever the consequences turned out to be; then, as a perplexed line appeared above the Emperor’s hawk-like nose, I felt a grim satisfaction. Whatever happened, he’d suffer some sort of consequence from our bargain too, and, if there was any justice, by my hand.
‘A sidhe bargain. It will suffice.’ The Emperor lifted his finger again. ‘Come, Genevieve Nataliya Zakharinova. Give me my coin. Then we shall begin.’
The etched silver and copper chain was swallowed by the earth, and the circle broke with an audible pop.
I strode forward, lifted my hand up and slapped it on the shoulder-height stage, quickly spreading the gold coins (slimy from the Gold Cat’s mouth and my sweat) into a ragged line.
Ten gold coins.
Dismay filled me. She’d missed two, or their owners hadn’t wanted to give them up.
I took a breath. With the empty chain circle, three lots weren’t included in my deal. Fuck.
‘You said coin.’ It was the Empress who spoke.
I looked up. She was frowning, and the gnome was watching avidly. I hadn’t a clue what the shadowy bidders could see, but the blankness of the Emperor’s face told me he understood what I’d done. But hey, his problem if he didn’t bother to clarify the semantics of the deal.
‘Yep, coin,’ I agreed, pushing the ten gold coins back into a heap. ‘What’s the task?’
Chapter Fifty-Nine
It took a few minutes for the imperial pair to vacate the stage, along with a guard of vamp centurions and three tongue-lolling wolves. Then, with the Empress holding the black wooden box like it was about to explode, we all trooped to a large tent half-hidden in the lee of the stage. The tent’s sign said: ‘Green Room – authorised personnel only’. At the entrance, the imperial pair turned and barred the way, and I had an errant idea that maybe I wasn’t ‘authorised personnel’. But the churning in my gut told me I wasn’t going to be that lucky.
The Emperor held a hand up, one finger pointing towards the sky. Did anyone else have the urge chop his damn finger off, or was it just me? I swallowed back a hysterical snort and told myself to get a grip. As on cue, the Empress adjusted her white-knuckled hold on the black wooden box, opened it and held it so I could see the contents. A knife lay in the black velvet interior; shiny silver blade, twisting horn handle with a teardrop of amber embedded in its end. The hair on my nape stood up as I recognised it.
‘Genevieve Nataliya Zakharinova.’ The Emperor fixed me with his alien gaze. ‘This is Janan, Beloved of Maluk al-Maut, the Bonder of Souls. Forged by the northern dwarves from cold iron and silver, tempered in dragon’s breath, with a handle carved from a unicorn’s horn and set with a dragon’s tear.’
‘Yeah,’ I said flatly. ‘I know what it is.’ Though not how you got it out of hell . . .unless it hadn’t gone there with the demon at Hallowe’en. Which meant someone had snagged it then and kept it until now. I had a choice of someones, but as most were dead, or wouldn’t have known what Janan was, only two counted. One was Tavish, but it wasn’t him; no way would he let Janan fall into the vamps’ clutches. The other was Malik. I didn’t like where that thought was taking me, so I didn’t follow it.
The Emperor lifted Janan cautiously by his thumb and forefinger, then the Empress bowed her head and stepped back. I gritted my teeth, wanting to grab the knife dangling so temptingly close and plunge it into his heart. But I’d made a sidhe bargain. I couldn’t try to kill him until I’d finished his task.
His lips curved down as if he knew what I was thinking. ‘Janan can only be wielded by those who have the power to command souls. Deities, demons, angels or their chosen avatars.’ He offered me the knife. As he did, the teardrop of amber – the dragon’s tear – in its handle seemed to wink at me.
I held my hands up, sensing an out. ‘Okay, well, if that’s the case, you’ve got the wrong girl. None of that applies to me, so the task is a bust. I win.’
He ignored me. ‘Or by one whose soul has already been removed.’
‘Um, I’m pretty sure I still have mine.’
‘Or by an Anima Devoro; one who can consume souls.’
I opened my mouth to say, nope really not me either– except I couldn’t. I could consume souls; I’d got two parked happily inside me right now. Not to mention all those half-formed spirits I’d chomped and spat back out in Between, and then there was the first soul I’d eaten; the sorcerer’s soul last Hallowe’en. Damn it. It all kept coming back to then.
I scowled at the Emperor. ‘I don’t know how to use Janan the Soul Bonder,’ I said, looking for another way out. No way did I want to start experimenting with anyone’s soul, not when I’d seen what I’d done to the half-formed. They, at least, could reform. Anyone else would just be dead.
‘Janan will speak to you at the appropriate time.’
Great. I took the knife, hefted it in my hand and closed my palm round the handle, only slightly disappointed when it did nothing. ‘What now?’
He did his finger thing again and one of the centurions pulled back the tent entrance. The Emperor strode through, obviously expecting me to trail after him like a good little soul-bonding sidhe. I took a deep breath and started to follow—
The Empress stopped me with a touch to my arm. ‘I pray for your success, Genevieve,’ she said, giving me the same pleasant smile as when she’d played kidnapper, her crimson eyes blank.
Success at what?I shrugged away from her hold, and headed into the tent.
And slammed to a halt a couple of feet inside as my mind tried to make sense of what I was seeing.
Whatever contents the Green Room might once have held, were gone. Instead, the fabric sides of the oblong tent were covered in glyphs, the blood used to draw them still shining wetly in the flickering light of the hundreds of fat red pillar candles that guarded the tent’s four sides and choked the air with their waxy scent. Marching down the length of the tent were three huge circular sandstone slabs. Each slab had a groove and hand-sized glyphs carved around the outside, and each was large enough that a body could be positioned on them à laLeonardo da Vinci’s ‘Vitruvian Man’.
Like the bodies already spread-eagled on top of the slabs.
The first body was Bastien’s. My eyes skipped quickly past him, noting with disappointment that he didn’t seem injured, to the second – empty – stone circle and on to the last circle and the body there.
Malik.
Heart thudding desperately, I gazed down at him, hardly realising I’d moved to stand by his slab. His hair had been shaved off, his black eyes were open, staring blankly up, his body still enough to be truly dead. Or immobilised by a spell. Blood-drawn glyphs, similar to the ones on the tent’s walls and carved into the stone circles, painted his shaved scalp, bare chest, hands and feet. His skin was pale and almost translucent . . . but then all the glyphs on him and in the tent had been drawn using his blood; underneath the choking smell of the candles the air was layered with his dark spice and liquorice scent. The bastards had drained him dry.
Can you hear me?I asked in his head.
Silence.
Do you know I’m here? If you can’t speak, then blink . . .
Nothing. Not even a twitch.
Fuck. Either he was totally out of it, or he was gagged by the magic.
‘Genevieve Nataliya Zakharinova.’ The Emperor’s measured voice pulled at me.
I raised my eyes to his. We were alone and, but for the bargain, I’d have taken the chance to end him now, before he made me do whatever terrible thing he wanted done to Malik’s soul.
The Emperor pointed his finger at Bastien. ‘Your task is to remove the two souls bound to that body, separate them, then return the soul that belongs to that body to it without harm.’
Bastien had two souls? His and . . . my gaze flicked back down . . . Malik’s? Bastien’s cryptic comment about why Malik wouldn’t kill him came back to me: Because I have long been that part of him that he cares for above all else.Yeah, so of course, Malik wouldn’t kill Bastien, at least not while Malik’s own soul was bound to the psycho. It had nothing to do with whether Bastien was Malik’s son. Not that my putting two and two together explained why Malik’s soul was bound inside Bastien’s body in the first place.
The Emperor lifted his finger for my attention. ‘The other soul you will bind to me.’
My hand tightened around the knife. ‘You want me to bind Malik’s soul to your body?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
‘Your task is to do as I direct, not to ask questions.’
‘Fine.’ I jabbed at him with the knife. ‘But remember I’m new to all this, so don’t come crying to me if I get it wrong because there’s something you haven’t told me.’
His left eyelid twitched with impatience. ‘Malik al-Khan is a true immortal. He cannot be killed. Whomsoever bears his soul also bears his immortality.’
I rocked back on my heels. Wow! No wonder Malik’s soul was the hot ticket item. Vamps might not die of old age or natural causes but they could still be killed. Of course, the older a vamp is the harder it is to bring them true death; it usually takes the complete destruction of their physical bodies with their ashes scattered over running water before their souls are forced to move on to wherever (the general belief is hell). But once a vamp’s soul is gone, that’s it, they’ve had it; no chance of reincarnation, unlike humans, or rejoining the magic, unlike fae. So despite the Emperor being a millennium-and-a-half-years old (if he was the original Roman Emperor Romulus Augustus) and probably being harder to kill than most vamps, I could see the attraction of Malik’s true immortality.
Only why had the Emperor waited till now to choose to steal Malik’s soul? It was a stupid question the moment I thought it. He’d waited because he needed someone who could do the soul transfer: an Anima Devoro, in other words– me.
And no one, least of all me, had known I could consume souls until last Hallowe’en.
Maybe I should be surprised it had taken him eight months to get here?
Then again, maybe I should stop thinking everything was about me. No way was I the sole person who could play with souls (because – bad pun aside – someone had obviously transferred Malik’s soul to Bastien, at some point) so maybe I should be more surprised, astonished even, not that the Emperor had taken eight months to get here, but that it had taken him five centuries. The Emperor was the one who’d made Malik and despite siccing him with the revenant curse he evidently hadn’t known about the immortalising effects of bearing Malik’s soul. Which meant someone – Malik, or more likely Bastien – must have let the Emperor in on that little secret.
My hand clenched around the knife as things suddenly clicked into place.
I’d thought that Bastien was running scared of the Emperor, that the Emperor was muscling up to depose Bastien as the Autarch. When in fact Bastien was the one plotting in the corner of his sticky web to trap the Emperor. He’d used Malik’s soul, an Anima Devoro, a.k.a. me, and Janan, the soul-bonding knife, as his bait. And he’d teamed up with Viviane and her tarot cards to get me here. Not so I could make a choice to save him, but so I could do his dirty work. And kill the Emperor.
So the real question was: what did Bastien gain from the Emperor’s death?
More pertinent, if I did choose to kill the Emperor on Bastien’s behalf, how the hell was I supposed to do it?
I narrowed my eyes at the imperial vamp. Despite his impatience he’d seemed happy to let me think things through, but then maybe he thought I was communing with Janan or something. Whatever.
Another question struck me. If I was to shift Malik’s soul from Bastien to the Emperor then, apart from donating blood which might or might not be specific to the swapping souls bit, what the hell was Malik doing here?
I asked.
‘That answer is not relevant.’
I shrugged. ‘Told you, on your head be it, if this soul transfer thing doesn’t work.’
The Emperor’s mouth thinned in irritation. ‘Once the current Autarch is vulnerable I will dispose of him publicly. I will become the new Autarch. The Oligarch has agreed to give me his Oath of Fealty. Once I have his Oath, the other blood families will accept me without any needless Challenges and bloodshed, which could raise irritating questions among the human authorities.’
Malik was a willing part of Bastien’s plot. Or hey, since Malik was the Machiavellian one, this was Malik’s plot all along . . . which meant Malik was the one who’d set me up . . . nope, not going there. But there was one good thing in all this: the Emperor was going to kill Bastien. And Bastien dead was what I’d wanted since I was fourteen. All I had to do was choose to let this whole thing play out and the psycho would be out of my life for ever. I should be delirious with joy . . . except his replacement was treating me to his scary alien stare. And hell, the grass wasn’t looking any greener or more inviting on the Emperor’s side of the blood-fence.
Letting Bastien live was a high price to pay to gain Katie’s, Freya’s and the rest of the coins’ victims’ freedom.
