The Shadowglass (The Bone Witch, #3)(55)

There was a man, sitting off to one side, all on his own, with a tankard of untasted beer beside him. He was dressed like a Yadoshan, and he looked like one: tall with a full beard and dark eyes. Our gazes met, and the thoughts grew overpowering.

Druj, his mind seemed to snarl. Aadil, King of the world and the Dying and the Life, may his house flourish from now until the end of eternity—

The man sprang up, and so did I. I saw the magic fizzle from his fingertips and knew what he intended. My gestures were quick, concise, accurate, and my rune was done before his.

“Stop!” I yelled, and the room quieted. The Yadoshan imposter stopped, eyes wide as he choked. His hand lingered in the air, about to complete the final stroke that would have sent Aden and three other people spiraling into blighted, grotesque daeva-like transformations. With all my might, I forced the man to lower his arm, dispel his own rune.

Then I drew back my fist and punched him hard on the chin. I felt the satisfactory crack of my knuckles hitting jaw, hopefully breaking it, and the man collapsed, knocked out cold.

“This man,” I announced to the rest, “is Drychta!” before bending over and throwing up all over my shoes.





The bulk of the Kion army we had left in Daanoris drifted into Ankyo. Zoya had enlisted more asha to accompany their ships, drag them speedily back to the continent.

Mistress Parmina headed the first regiment, and she brought with her the body of the Dark asha, Lady Mykaela. Her remains had been carefully placed in a coffin of ice, no doubt the Valerian headmistress’s doing—opaque enough to see very little, but transparent enough to catch quick glimpses of what lay within: a lock of golden hair, a reposed palm, a layer of hua. The people were quiet with their heads bowed as horses pulled her coffin down their paved roads. Dark asha or not, Lady Mykaela was beloved among the Kions, and not a dry eye greeted the procession as it continued to her final resting place in the Willows.

I looked on from the edge of the crowd as Empress Alyx and Princess Inessa rode up to receive her, Lord Fox a canter behind. Both royal women wept. The daughter’s slim form was racked with sobs while her mother sat, tall and erect in her saddle, as fresh tears coursed down her face.

“Your Majesty,” Mistress Parmina said in a voice as clear as a bell, in a ritual as old as the kingdom itself. Her eyes were clear, and her patrician nose lifted despite the dried streaks of makeup that betrayed her poise. “Please welcome your most honored daughter to the Willows, who has served the House Valerian faithfully for twenty-six years. Now she sleeps, and we are all the lesser for her loss.”

“Kion welcomes Lady Mykaela of the Sorrows,” the empress intoned, “and we honor her above all.”

I never wished for this to happen.

I startled, but the unexpected voice was quick to pacify me, taking up space in my head where it did not belong. I do not plan on staying long, Bard. I only wished… I only wanted to see… Her voice quieted, yearning toward the carriage, where her mentor lay.

“Where are you?” I asked aloud. “And where are your daeva?”

Have they enticed you to betray me already? Are you their agent now, set to wait for my contact, to goad me into revealing myself? It is difficult to be certain, to be careful, when there are so many schemes afoot.



“What do you want?”

I want to watch. For a little while. I owe her that much. I wish I could raise her. I wish I could raise Polaire. You don’t die from regret, but people keep dying for it in my place.

We were silent, she and I, watching the rest of the procession pass, until the Lady Mykaela was within the embrace of the Willows. “They will find you,” I murmured.

I expect them to, Bard. Fox knows where I intend.

Why not maintain contact with me this way, instead of abandoning me to my own devices?

My strength is not inexhaustible, as you saw in Daanoris. The Dark pulls too much from me now, more than it ever has, and I need to survive a little longer. I have other traps lying in wait, baits to replenish, and they command greater attention.

The letters you left me—they are unfinished.

Oh?

There was no ending. You promised me an ending. There are missing pages.

Did I? There was no surprise in her voice, no shock. But there was—satisfaction. Eagerness. I offered you my story, Bard. I will not be held responsible for what you misplace in the interim.

And just like that, she was gone, taking more answers from me than I ever had of her.





13


“Talk.”

Unlike in Kion, Yadoshans have little qualms about “interrogating” their prisoners, especially when said prisoner has been caught in the act. The Drychta was in slightly worse shape than when I had found him, with runic wards woven about his person as strong as Kalen could make them. Although he was initially confused, First Minister Stefan understood the situation after we explained, particularly after the man woke and began swearing at us in Drychta.

There was a small volcano erupting somewhere behind my eyeballs. While Kalen’s Calming rune alleviated some of the previous night’s celebration, he had been right in warning me of the other aftereffects. The lack of a good night’s sleep made my hangover worse. Warding off Aden and the others infected by the blight had sapped most of my energy, and Delving the rest of the Yadoshans had taken the rest.