Mask of Shadows (Untitled #1)(47)

“Nacea?” His brows furrowed. “That was ages ago.”

“Barely a decade.” Time must not matter when you were rich and unworried about starving to death or rotting because you couldn’t afford a physician. Out of sight, out of mind. “Last chance—names.”

“Lord, girl.” He threw up his hands and sighed. “I don’t even remember what region my troops were in. If you called on me tomorrow, I could look up—”

I slapped his hand away from a teacup—no doubt searing hot and meant for my face—and grabbed his collar. Of course “girl” was an insult when it came from his lips. He made words sound so wrong.

“They were in the western farmlands, and you withdrew them soon as you knew shadows were heading your way. You used Nacea to stall the monsters you created, and I want the names of the people who came up with the idea. I know it wasn’t you.” I tightened my grip, blade still pressed to his neck. “What were their names?”

“I don’t know!” He shuddered but stilled. At least he knew one wrong move would have him bleeding out quicker than help could arrive. “It was Nacea and I had other troops, other places to worry about.”

A cold calm settled over me. My hand was against his throat, but I couldn’t feel him. I was numb to the warmth of his skin, panicked fluttering of his pulse, and frantic rise and fall of his chest under my elbow. Like his words had snapped the last knot holding me to this world.

“You don’t know?” My voice was low and soft, softer than I felt, softer than I ever thought I could be. Was this even me? Was that my hand grasping his neck? “You let thousands be massacred, and you don’t know who told you to do it? Why you did it?”

I dragged my knife up his neck, over his lips, to the paper-thin flesh of his nostril. He stilled.

“Stand up.” I pressed the knife deeper, and he rose, watery eyes and jutting chin a full head above me. “Remember—you do as I say, your face stays in one piece.”

I led him into the moonlight. Let The Lady witness him. He might not have killed anyone with his hands, but his apathy was as guilty as the shadows.

“No, no. We used secret names. We all got letters.” He sniffled and stumbled, blood dripping down his chin. “Let me go. I’ll get them for you.”

“The names.” My face—my mask—was black in the reflection of his glasses. A shadow blocking the stars. “You have nothing I want but names and blood. I know they used secret names. What were they and what were their real names?”

A debt of flesh repaid in blood.

“Winter! Winter was the first to agree.” He ripped open his sleeve, baring his wrist to me. “Naceans take blood, don’t you? To pay debts to your lady? Take it. Take it please. I won’t—”

“The other names?”

“I can’t. He’ll kill me,” Seve whispered. “I can’t.”

At least I owned what I was. They’d rather die than admit they’d done wrong.

I let him kneel in a shaft of moonlight on the edge of the roof. “You stop raising your voice and give me his name or you get a new nose.”

He dropped his arm.

“You kept the letters, didn’t you? A clever little magpie like you?” I thought I’d be angry, that the rage smoldering within me for so long would burst free, but I was quiet. Still. How clear everything was. “In case they ever tried to move against you? Tell me the name or give me the letters. He can’t kill you if he’s dead. Who’s to ever know you told me?”

“North Star,” he whispered. “He sent letters to Winter, Caldera, Riparian, Deadfall, and me after Nicolas del Contes sided with the queen, telling us to withdraw from the fal—Nacea.”

“What was your name?” I lowered my blade to his throat.

“Coachwhip. I was Coachwhip.” He gripped the roof’s ledge. “We’d no other choice with Nicolas gone. The shadows—they’d have killed us. He was the only one who could contain them.”

I nodded, staring beyond him to the branch-streaked horizon and glaring stars. The Lady’s stars were bright and damning, demanding my attention. “No mage, no way to stop the shadows.”

“Exactly! I’d have been sentencing all those soldiers to death. Hundreds!”

Instead, he killed thousands, but it didn’t matter. They weren’t Erlends. They didn’t matter.

“North Star, Winter, Caldera, Riparian, and Deadfall.” I waited for the familiar rush of vengeance, memories of stitched faces I couldn’t recognize and gurgling screams in my ears. I waited for the rage and terror that woke me every month. Nothing. “What was it you almost called Nacea?”

He paled. “What?”

“It started with ‘fal.’”

“North Star used to—” Seve cleared his throat, hands trembling. “North Star calls it the Fallow.”

I saw red—blood streaking the farmlands, handprints pressed to shattered doors, stains beneath my nails I couldn’t scrub free no matter how many years I scoured my skin. The rush of my blood roared in my ears and raced in my veins. I flipped my knife around.

“We are only what you made us.”

I rammed it hilt first against his temple.

He slumped forward, head lolling, and collapsed over my feet.