Bloodmage Page 7

  “I hear she’s very pretty,” said Talandra.

  Thias frowned at her. “You know me better than that.”

  Every day he looked more like their father. Even his expressions and mannerisms were the same. As painful as it would be to send her brother away, it would make things a little easier. At times it felt as if she was living with a ghost.

  “I’m sorry, that was callous.”

  Thias stared at the ceiling for a minute, his eyes sad and distant. “I don’t know a single thing about her.”

  “We all have to make sacrifices,” said Talandra. She hated to sound so cold, and although Thias said nothing, she saw his frown deepen. “Feelings may come in time. That’s all you can hope for. It’s all any of us can hope for.”

  She hadn’t told Thias much but everyone knew her relationship with her husband had not started on the friendliest of terms. They were in a much better place now than a year ago at their first meeting, which had been horrible. She’d loathed him on sight and thought him ignorant and vulgar. He’d had similar feelings about her but slowly their relationship was improving.

  Thias remained silent for a long time before speaking. “All right. I’ll do it.”

  “If there were any other way, I’d suggest it. It’s not as if I can send Hyram.”

  Thias laughed, a little guiltily, but his mirth was genuine nonetheless. She wondered when she would next hear him laugh in the same room as her.

  She pulled Thias to his feet and embraced him, taking a deep breath and trying to lock the smell of him in her mind.

  “I’m going to miss you, so much.”

  “I’ll miss you too,” said Thias, his voice thick with emotion.

  “There’s one more thing I need you to do for me, before you go.”

  Thias stood back and made a formal bow. “Command me, my Queen.”

  “You have to tell Hyram the bad news.”

  Thias’s good humour quickly evaporated and she laughed at his expression. Talandra kissed his grizzled cheek then saw him to the door. She watched him march down the corridor and noticed Alexis’s gaze lingering on her brother.

  “Please tell the kitchens I’m ready for my lunch.”

  “The usual?” asked Alexis.

  “Yes, but tell them to make it a large portion.”

  Alexis didn’t ask, for which she was grateful. It was only right that she told her husband first that she was now eating for two.

  Talandra had barely finished her lunch, with Alexis hovering over her the entire time like a mother hen, when there was a frantic knocking at the door. She took a few deep breaths to settle herself and then gestured for Alexis to open it.

  Shani gave Alexis a curious look, probably wondering about why she had taken so long to open the door, but her bodyguard’s expression gave nothing away.

  “Your Highness,” said Shani, sketching a bow before stalking towards the desk. Talandra had always thought red and black suited Shani. Her black trousers and jacket were cut in the latest style, with a tight red shirt open at the throat, revealing a hint of cleavage. Talandra made sure her eyes didn’t linger and quickly searched her desk for a relevant report from her network in Yerskania.

  “I’ve read the report,” she said, holding up a hand to stall Shani. “I haven’t changed my mind about visiting Yerskania.”

  “May I?” asked Shani, gesturing at the chair, and Talandra gave her a curt nod, bracing herself for a tirade. “Did you actually bother to read all of the report, your Highness?”

  Talandra didn’t bother to answer and just crossed her arms.

  “I’m going to wait outside,” said Alexis, moving towards the door. “My ears are still ringing from your last argument.”

  The door closed with a dull boom and the echo drifted around the room. She and Shani stared at one another. Talandra noticed that Shani looked tired and she wondered if it was the work that kept her up late or maybe someone else. Talandra had no right to ask any more and had to work hard to keep her expression neutral.

  “Roza has confirmed that the rumours are true. There is a plot to kill you, and Queen Morganse,” said Shani, eventually breaking the silence.

  “I saw that in her report.”

  “Then you also saw there’s more to it than we thought. Whoever is behind this has money and they’re being extremely careful to conceal their identity. It’s going to take time to identify who is pulling the strings.”

  “You want me to postpone my trip,” said Talandra.

  “Unofficially, yes. Pass word to Queen Morganse through channels, but maintain the appearance of the visit going ahead as planned. It will help to draw them out.”

  Talandra pursed her lips and considered the advice. Her stomach rumbled and she tried to ignore it, but recently she was always hungry.

  “And how long should I, unofficially, delay the trip?”

  Shani started to answer and then saw the hook. “I’m only trying to protect you.”

  “Which I appreciate, but what sort of a message does it send to others if I cower behind my walls every time someone threatens to kill me?”

  “Is your reputation more important than your life?” asked Shani.

  Talandra ignored the question. “We’ve been vague about the date of my state visit to Yerskania. It’s time to make it public knowledge.”

  “You’re taking a huge risk,” said Shani, struggling to control her temper.

  “I won’t give in to intimidation and threats,” said Talandra, forcing herself to breathe slowly. Shani always managed to get under her skin.

  “If you’re going to go ahead with this, against my advice, then at least take your body-double with you.”

  “I’ll consider it,” said Talandra.

  Shani threw up her hands in despair. “You’re being stubborn, yes?” said the Morrin, slipping back into her old speech pattern. “Do you do this with everyone, or just me?”

  “This isn’t the first group that’s threatened my life and I’m sure it won’t be the last.”

  Shani tilted her head to one side. “When does your husband return from his diplomatic trip?”

  The question caught Talandra off guard. She paused, trying to see why Shani was asking but couldn’t find the angle.

  “He said in his last letter that it would be at least another week before they leave the capital city. I get the impression that the Desert King is not a man who likes to be rushed. Why do you ask?”

  Shani shrugged. “I was just curious.”

  “Normally he’s the last person you want to talk about.”

  “True, but he’s probably the one person you’ll actually listen to when you’re in one of your moods. I hoped he might be able to talk some sense into you.”

  Talandra shook her head, relaxing her shoulders and trying to maintain a semblance of calm. “I won’t let you bait me. I’ve made up my mind and we leave tomorrow as planned.”

  “You were always so damn stubborn,” said Shani. “You had to have everything your way. It’s why I always came to your rooms and we never stayed at my house.”

  “That’s not true,” said Talandra, but Shani was just getting started.

  “We always ate where you wanted to as well. It was simpler to say yes than argue every time. It made life much easier and a lot more fun.”

  Shani bit her lip to stop herself from saying any more. Her face was flushed and she sat back, refusing to look at Talandra. They stayed like that for a while, each listening to an uncomfortable silence that had once been something else. Something more than formality, duty and an imitation of friendship. They couldn’t go back, the present remained unstable and the future looked bleak and untenable. Talandra wanted to say something, to try and bridge the widening gap between them, but couldn’t find the words.

  “And now? If I’m so stubborn, why do you argue every point?”

  Shani finally looked at her. “Because things are different. Sometimes you’re wrong and my job is to protect you, not…” She trailed o
ff and took a deep breath before trying again. “Your father wasn’t an arrogant man. He listened to all opinions and considered them, before making up his mind.”

  Talandra heaved a long sigh. “You’re right. I’ll think about what you’ve said.”

  “That’s all I ask, your Highness,” said Shani.

  CHAPTER 8

  Choss shuffled into Don Jarrow’s theatre behind his six Gold jackals, Captains in the crime Family. In front of them were a dozen Silver, thirty or so Brass, street bosses for the gangs, and a scattering of other people without any distinct rank. Normally while they waited the Gold and Silver talked and made jokes with each other. Not tonight. Instead they kept to the back of the large round room, never straying far from the door. Everyone knew what was coming. They were nervous and no one knew where the blame would fall.

  Choss leaned against the back wall and stared at the seats above his head. From his position he could only see two balconies, but he knew there was a third at the top near the domed glass ceiling.

  A long time ago the building had been a theatre where small groups of actors had shouted to be heard at the top, up in the cheap seats. The tiny conical building looked more like a grain silo than the broad theatres he normally saw dotted around the city. The story he’d heard was that the style had fallen out of fashion and been abandoned decades ago. No one had bought the building, leaving it to fall into disrepair and then ruin.

  When the Jarrow Family took over the area the Don had made the old theatre his centre of power. He’d restored the tiered seating, replaced the carved wood panelling on the walls and hired the best glassmakers to fix the shattered roof. The stage had not been restored, but a raised wooden platform covered half of the floor. Sat on top were two massive chairs positioned side by side like thrones. Everyone had to look up to them when they came for an audience, except for Choss and one or two others. Being tall had its advantages.

  The room fell silent as four people entered the theatre from the back door. The Don and his wife, the Dońa, and their two Naib, their bodyguards. The Naib saw and heard everything and were among the most trusted people in the Family. Two years ago Choss had been offered a position as the Dońa’s Naib when he’d stepped away from the ring. He took the appropriate amount of time to consider it and then very politely had turned it down. The Naib on the right was a reed-thin man with golden skin from Shael. He wore hard leathers, two swords crossed on his back and two daggers at his belt. His cold blue eyes swept over the room and everyone made sure they were looking elsewhere. Tough as they were, dangerous as they were with reputations to match, by comparison Pietr Daxx was a bastard.

  During the war when the Morrin and Vorga had invaded his homeland of Shael, he’d fought with one group of rebels after another. Eventually Shael was liberated and stories began to emerge of atrocities, but not all were at the hands of the invaders. For all the cruel and merciless things Daxx had done to the enemy, his own people had cast him out in revulsion.

  The other Naib was a grizzled Seve with deep blue eyes and a shaven head. His chest and arms were covered with faded scars and Choss suspected he was a veteran of several wars. Long before he’d even heard of the Families, Choss knew of Vargus. Over the decades he’d built up a fearsome reputation as an implacable warrior and discreet problem solver for different Families. Some people thought him to be nothing more than an urban legend as he’d not been seen in public for years. That had all changed when he’d returned last year.

  Where Daxx was cold and cruel, Vargus was warm and friendly, appearing at first glance to be nothing more than a kindly uncle or big brother. But the sword on his back and the daggers at his belt had tasted more blood than every Gold jackal combined.

  “Stop lurking,” said Don Jarrow, gesturing for his people to move closer. The Don waited until his wife had sat down before taking his own seat. Some men thought the Don had earned his position because of his size. In his youth he’d been a wrestler and Choss could see he still had powerful shoulders and arms. The Don could easily snap a few bones with those massive hands if he wanted to, not that he got his hands dirty these days. Don Jarrow ruled this part of the city not because of his muscle, or even because of the number of people that worked for him. His cunning mind kept him in power.

  He often ranted and lost his temper, but would soon cool down and spend time thinking on what had been said. He was also known to take the long view on a situation, which sometimes made him unpredictable and very dangerous.

  The Dońa could not have been more different from her husband. She never raised her voice, never swore and barely showed any emotion, which was often worse. No one ever knew which way she’d go. At any moment someone could be rewarded for their efforts or chopped up and fed to the hogs for not doing enough.

  At least with the Don you always knew where you stood. At least with him you saw the bear pit before you were pushed in.

  “Now, can someone tell me what happened last night?” said Don Jarrow, his voice unusually calm. Choss braced himself. The Gold and Silver looked around at each other, hoping someone would answer. “What the fuck happened?” roared Don Jarrow, his voice echoing around the wooden walls. Despite all of the restoration there were no soft surfaces. Even the wooden chairs had no cushions to muffle the sound. Maybe he’d planned it that way.

  Don Jarrow sat back in his chair, running a hand through his thick black beard. His green eyes raked the crowd like a lash and none of them dared meet his gaze.

  Choss heard someone slip into the room and take up a position beside him against the back wall. The familiar rasping sound told him it was Vinny.

  “Do I have to explain this? Do I really need to spell it out?” asked Don Jarrow.

  The Dońa placed a hand on her husband’s arm and sat forward, giving everyone a view of her cleavage. Not that Choss was looking. Everyone could see she was a beautiful woman, with cocoa skin from the desert, and a body that curved in all the right places. But even if she hadn’t been married to the Don, he’d rather take a viper to bed. She terrified people even more than her husband did.

  “We sell venthe. It’s nasty stuff and I don’t like it,” said the Dońa. Choss didn’t think she cared what it did to people, but he kept his mouth shut. “If we didn’t, someone else would, and we can’t have that on our turf. Even so, if our customers keep dying, they can’t buy more next week, and every week after that.”

  Every man and woman here had earned their position. They weren’t slow, but they were being spoken to like dim children or Paper jackals, the lowest on the ladder. But they took it in silence, because they were loyal and because someone here was to blame. Someone had bought the stuff, probably on the cheap, and just passed it on to their dealers, no questions asked.

  “Do you know how many addicts we lost?” asked Don Jarrow. “Thirty-three. I wouldn’t give a shit, but even I can’t make that many bodies disappear in one night without someone noticing. Everyone is asking questions. Families, friends, the fucking Guardians!”

  The last word rang out and the Dońa waited until the echoes had faded.

  “We also lost four fighters in one night,” she said, glancing briefly at Choss. His heart skipped a beat as their eyes met.

  “I’ve had Guardians of the Peace and the Watch all over my streets,” spat the Don. “My streets!” he bellowed and the words went around and around, spiralling up the building then coming down again. Choss wondered if an actor had shouted so loud one night that the glass dome had shattered. If this went on any longer it might happen again.

  “Vinny, did you know about this?” asked the Dońa, glancing at the slight figure stood beside Choss.

  “No. Last night we let one fighter go because we suspected he’d been using. They must have been taking it away from the arena.”

  “And Brokk?”

  Her question was directed at both of them, but Vinny answered. “By the time we realised, it was already too late.”

  The Dońa’s eyes rested on him and Chos
s had to work hard not to squirm under their intensity. Her blue eyes bored into him, as if she could read his mind and was listening to his thoughts. Eventually she looked elsewhere and he let out a long slow breath, giving Vinny a nod of thanks. If the truth came out that they’d known and still let Brokk fight, they’d be in trouble.

  Don Jarrow had calmed down a bit as he’d stopped shouting, but he still looked angry. “Find out where it came from. Speak to our usual suppliers and then talk to everyone else. I’m also talking to the other Families about this.”

  A strange tremor ran through the crowd at that. The Families didn’t work together. That was the story for those outside the business. The truth of the situation was far more complicated. The Families had been cooperating with one another since the beginning, but only when common interests aligned. Uniting to ease out unwanted newcomers, freelancers and utterly destroy problems that arose from time to time. The exception to the rule seemed to be the Butcher. No one knew what to do about him.

  Venthe was highly addictive, but it didn’t kill an addict outright. It gradually rotted away their body and mind over many years, but no one benefited from dead addicts. So the Families would talk, dig out the lethal batch of poison, and make an example of whoever had supplied it.

  Normally the arena was the perfect place for such uncomfortable Family business. Neutral ground where all of the Families could meet in private. Many of them sponsored a fighter, so they all had a stake in ensuring that the arena stayed in business.

  The Jarrow Family had sponsored Brokk. The other three fighters who had died from the bad batch of venthe had belonged to other Families. With four dead bodies and the madness that had swallowed the crowd, Vinny had been forced to close the arena until further notice. Guardians and the Watch were still there now, desperately searching for something to explain what had happened. Choss and Vinny hadn’t talked about it, what they’d seen and felt, but they’d heard stories from other people who’d been there. About the hunger and the awful desires. Choss shook his head, focusing on the Dońa.