Vow of Thieves Read online

  I remembered how he had choked me the first time we met. So you’re the one who—

  Now I know what his unfinished thought was—the one who captured my brother and hauled him off for execution. “And how do you feel about me arresting your brother and turning him over to the queen?”

  He laughed. “That part actually amused me.”

  “You never had plans to rescue him?”

  “Oh, we will eventually.”

  “He could have been executed already.”

  He shook his head, a confident smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth that was so like Beaufort’s it was chilling. “No. My brother’s as slippery as they come—and with an unmatched golden tongue. He’ll tell the queen something that will stay her hand. A little sweating will do him good. After he’s squirmed for a bit and paid his penance for robbing a young captain of his career, his brother might just bail him out.”

  “You aren’t afraid he’ll expose you and the king?”

  “He won’t, not if he wants his stake in this.”

  “And what would that be?”

  Banques smiled. “In good time, soldier. In good time.” He turned to Paxton. “Take her to search the main house. With all the rubble, we could have missed something.”

  * * *

  My chest was hollow as we headed to the main house. I was a fish that had been lured and hooked over and over again. The magistrate of Eislandia was Beaufort’s brother. No wonder when Jase’s father inquired about Beaufort’s past, the magistrate said he had no information on him. He didn’t want Karsen Ballenger to turn him away.

  The deceptions deepened at every turn. I wasn’t even sure whom I was dealing with anymore. Even the most cunning quarterlord, at day’s end, was still only a quarterlord with the singular goal of chugging an ale and adding a few coins to his purse. Their secrets were few, and those few I uncovered easily. I understood them and what the consequences of defying them were. But here …

  This was not my world.

  I brushed a damp strand of hair from my forehead. Nothing and no one was who they seemed to be. Even the crafty Beaufort hadn’t foreseen that he might suffer at his own brother’s bitter hand.

  I didn’t think I could be thrown any more off-kilter or kicked any lower—but then we reached the main house. I wasn’t sure what I had expected. Destruction? Tumbled walls?

  But whatever I had imagined, it hadn’t prepared me. Paxton and I didn’t speak as he escorted me in through an opening in a wall created by the blast. I heard the lonely trickle of water as we stepped into a hallway near the front foyer, but other than that, the house was unnaturally silent. Open books fluttered in the wind. The sky shone above us through a vicious gash in the roof. Water dripped from it like tears, soaking whatever lay below. The distinctive flowered washbasin from Priya’s third-floor chamber lay shattered in several pieces on the first-floor landing. The staircase was mostly intact except for a few crushed rails, and a tapestry still hung from a wall, untouched, while just across from it the enormous tower spindle from the roof lay atop a heap of stone, like the severed horn of a fallen beast.

  I walked up the stairs, Paxton lagging somewhere far behind me. Every new broken thing carved away another piece of me, all the pieces in me that had come to care about Tor’s Watch as much as Jase did. But I wasn’t supposed to care. I couldn’t let Paxton know that every new piece of carnage gutted me. I stopped and stared at a white shirt hanging from a splintered rafter. The tattered fabric waved quietly in the breeze like a Ballenger flag of surrender.

  At the second-floor landing, a pile of rubble was tangled with what might have once been a bed. Whose bed? Vairlyn’s? Gunner’s? Feathers swirled down the hallway like ghostly birds, sprung loose from quilts and pillows. And then I came across a lone shoe—the slipper I had borrowed from Jalaine. I stared at it. The emptiness closed in. It pressed on my chest as if I lay beneath the tons of rubble. A house that had been full of family was broken, scattered, destroyed. I reached for a wall, using it to steady myself. One misdirected blast had done all this.

  I continued toward Jase’s room. That wing was still intact, though the force of the blast had sent rubble and splintered wood flying down hallways. I pushed open his chamber door, and a different kind of destruction greeted me. Bedding was knifed, drapes torn away, bookcases overturned. This wasn’t caused by a blast but by an invader. Every book that Jase had spent a lifetime transcribing had been stomped beneath careless feet.

  Jase had been so full of expectation and plans. And now this—

  I stared at the utter chaos of the room, spinning his too-large signet ring on my thumb. I had made a promise to him. It all seemed like folly now. Was my hubris greater than the king’s? What if I couldn’t keep my vow? What if I couldn’t even save Lydia and Nash? Panic rose in me. I gasped for breath, then turned and fled the room. I ran down the hallway, then up the stairs, heading for the solarium, where I had last seen Jalaine—somewhere she had escaped to that was far from everything else, a place where she could shut out the world.

  Paxton called after me, ordering me to stop. I heard his footsteps pounding after mine. He was right on my heels as I burst through the double doors of the solarium, but in an instant my panic flared to blind rage, and I leapt upon him, slamming him against the wall. In the same motion, I whisked the stolen scalpel from my boot and pressed it to the tender skin of his neck where a vein pulsed wildly.

  “Put it down now,” he ordered, but his eyes were sharp with fear. He licked his lips. “You won’t kill me. You can’t. Think about the children. You know the rules.”

  “The rules?” I yelled, unafraid of anyone hearing me from the rooftop room. “The rules?” The scalpel trembled in my hand.

  “He’ll do it. One nick on me, and he’ll kill them. You don’t know what he’s capable of.”

  “Shut up!” I screamed. “Shut up, you miserable piece of horseshit! All that matters is what I’m capable of!” The scalpel shook in my hand. Tears streamed down my cheeks. I had never felt so out of control. The room pulsed with white-hot light. I hated that he was right. The cost of killing him was too great, and I knew I couldn’t do it. But the hunger to kill him was still crushing me, and I pressed the scalpel a little harder. A bright red line of blood glistened on his neck. “He was your kin,” I sobbed, “and you hunted him down like an animal!”

  Paxton leaned his head back against the wall, trying to pull away from the blade. His fear only made me want to kill him more, and the burning hunger inside me surged brighter. I watched tiny droplets of blood spring up along the line I had cut, wetting the blade.

  “He’s alive, Kazi,” he whispered. “Jase is alive.”

  My loathing for him sprang into something wild and feral. “You lying coward. You’d say anything to save your worthless skin.”

  “Please.” He swallowed carefully. “I was going to tell you when I was sure it was safe. When I was sure I could really trust you. It’s true. I swear. He was alive, at least. He was hanging on by a thread when I took him to Caemus at the settlement. They’re hiding him in the root cellar. He and Jurga were cutting out the arrows when I left.”

  Caemus? Paxton knows Caemus? And Jurga? He knows about the root cellar? I stared at him in disbelief. It was impossible. How could he know these things? I eased back with the scalpel. “What about Jase’s hand? The ring?”

  “I took the ring from his finger before I left him with Caemus. I had to produce a body—or part of one, one way or another, or they never would’ve stopped hunting for him. It was the hand of a soldier that I killed. Not Jase’s.”

  My head swam.

  I couldn’t think.

  Alive? Jase was alive?

  And Paxton had saved him? I lowered the scalpel. It made no sense. I searched Paxton’s face, thinking it was another cruel trick, but his eyes remained steady, looking back into mine.

  Truth.

  Truth.

  I doubled over, unable to breathe, like I was still pinned
to the bottom of the deepest darkest sea, but I could see light shining on its surface and I was trying to reach it. My knees buckled, and Paxton grabbed me as I fell to the ground. Rasping noises jumped from my chest, and I shook as I tried to inhale.

  Paxton knelt and held me. The room rocked. He brushed the hair from my face with his fingers. “Breathe, Kazi, take your time. I know it’s hard. Breathe.”

  I coughed. I choked. A hoarse breath finally filled my lungs.

  He tilted my chin upward, alarm in his eyes. “When I saw you fighting to save his life, I thought—” He winced. “But I wasn’t sure. You really do care for him.”

  I didn’t answer. He had already read it in my face.

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you sooner,” he said, and then added more warily, “But I have to warn you, he was badly injured—very badly. And he only had Caemus and Jurga for healers. You need to know, he could be dead by now.” He eased his grip on me. “I haven’t been able to go back. It’s too dangerous. I might lead someone straight to him. I don’t know if—”

  “He’s alive,” I gasped. “If anyone can hang on by a thread, it’s Jase. Caemus and Jurga, they’ll make sure—” A storm of emotion gripped my throat again, forcing me to slow and take several deep breaths, and then I squared my shoulders, trying to trick my body and mind into some measure of control. “Did Jase say anything when you left him?”

  “He wasn’t conscious. He was barely breathing.” He grimaced. “There were five arrows, Kazi. One was in his chest. It didn’t sound good.”

  “But he was alive?” I said, needing him to confirm it again.

  He nodded uncertainly and answered, “When I left him.”

  Paxton was tender, sympathetic, saying he was sorry again for not telling me, but his primary concern had been Jase and the children, and he wasn’t certain if he could trust me. He hadn’t been able to trust anyone in a long while, and even though he saw me fighting to save Jase, I had, after all, whisked the Patrei away against his will. My actions had left him confused. He pulled a kerchief from his pocket and handed it to me. If I hadn’t been sobbing, I would have laughed. It was so like Paxton to have a neat folded kerchief. I took it from him, wiping my nose and eyes, but then sense flooded back in and I shoved him away.

  “But you’re working for them. Why?”

  His neck lengthened like an arrogant rooster. “I’m not. Not any more than you are.”

  “You’re running the arena. How can I believe anything you—”

  “Who do you think got the medicine to you when you were locked up? And the extra food?”

  My next accusation vanished. That was him? I remembered the fear I sensed on the other side of my cell door when the medicine was dropped. I looked at him again—really looked. I wasn’t the only one who had lost weight. His cheekbones were sharper, and unkempt edges had appeared in the previously polished Paxton. He had a stubble of beard, as if he had ceased to care about fresh shaves and impeccable grooming. The signs of desperation were all over him, but I still couldn’t shake my misgivings about him. Paxton had harbored only animosity toward the Ballengers and Jase in particular.

  “Why?” I asked simply. “What game are you playing?”

  “If I’m not on the inside playing the traitorous Ballenger who has a history of selling out his kin, I’m on the outside, and that means I’m dead like those you saw hanging from the tembris—and so are a lot of other people. I wouldn’t be of use to anyone, including you. I don’t have the luxury of being a self-righteous loyalist. I’ll play the traitor as long as I have to. I’m guessing I’m playing the same game as you are.”

  “I mean, why? I know why I care. Why do you care?”

  His brows pinched with annoyance, and in that moment, he reminded me of Jase, that same Ballenger impatience sweeping across his face. My stomach twisted in half.

  “A thousand reasons,” he answered. “Is it really so hard to figure out? I know Jase and I have had our outs over the years—our grains run in different directions—but I’m a Ballenger too, just as much as any of them. He and his family can’t steal that from me. All that history? That’s my history too. I have a stake in this. Most important, some of the family I may not care a horse’s ass for, but Lydia and Nash, they’re only children. They shouldn’t be used as pawns or as shields.”

  A noble cause for the unscrupulous Paxton? But if protection ran hot in the Ballenger blood, maybe it ran in his too.

  Then he told me everything—at least everything he knew. And it only got worse.

  They thought themselves

  only a step lower than the Gods,

  proud in their power over heaven and earth.

  They grew strong in their knowledge

  but weak in their wisdom,

  craving more and still more power,

  crushing the defenseless.

  —Morrighan Book of Holy Text, Vol. IV

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  JASE

  We had to approach from a northern route in case we encountered anyone. The extra time it ate up crawled under my skin like vermin. I felt like a miserable summer dog covered with fleas, but keeping our disguises believable required that everything add up. Kbaaki would never approach from the south. Coming at this time of year at all was suspect, but we already had an excuse in place for that.

  We created our own trails through the Moro mountains, passing through a forest where, in the past, we were more likely to run into one of the mythical beasts of Ballenger lore than another human. But this wasn’t the past. Wren and Synové hadn’t known any more than Caemus, but they confirmed his observation—an army had moved in, and they swarmed everywhere—searching for Ballengers, no doubt. The peace and certainty of an empty forest were gone. I was on alert, listening for every sound.

  “What makes you think we’ll find any of your family outside of that hole in your mountain? Caemus said no one’s seen them, and word is they’re all trapped in there.”

  Wren, unfortunately, was no longer broodingly silent. She and Synové had wanted to ride into Hell’s Mouth demanding answers as representatives of the queen. I told her all we’d end up with was two more prisoners to worry about. If Paxton had run the Ballengers underground, had commandeered the town and arena, and had taken Kazi as a prisoner, he wouldn’t hesitate to do the same to them. But as Kbaaki traders, we’d get some answers at the arena, and then more information from my family. Once we knew exactly what and whom we were dealing with, we’d make our moves. Still, Wren had poked and prodded me ever since we left, trying to unravel my plan. I stopped Mije. The itching, the worry, the fear was finally getting the best of me.

  “What do you want me to do? Nothing?” I shouted. I heard the strain in my voice, the lack of control, and I hated it.

  “Whoa, slow down, boy,” Synové ordered. “We’re on the same side, remember?”

  I swallowed. Same side. Sometimes it didn’t feel like it.

  Wren raised an unaffected brow. “This is what I do, Patrei. I work out the kinks in plans, and yours has them all over the place.”

  “There’s something he’s not telling us,” Synové said. “I can see it in his eyes.”

  The only kink I had was the one in my neck from Synové always trying to interpret what I was thinking, and from Wren, who kept asking questions I had no answers for.

  “There’s nothing in my eyes but trail dust.”

  “Give it up, Patrei,” Wren demanded. “Come clean with us.”

  “You just have to trust me,” I answered. There were some things we didn’t share outside of the family—ever.

  Wren rolled her eyes. “Trust you?”

  But she knew she had to. I knew this mountain. I knew trails she could never find. I knew my family. And most of all, I knew where one of those powerful weapons was hidden. Paxton and Truko had declared a war, and I was going to give it to them—once I got Kazi back. Everything hinged on that first. What about Rybart? Caemus hadn’t mentioned him. Maybe he was cut out
of Paxton and Truko’s plans. I might have to make a side deal with him and enlist his help.

  “Remember,” Synové chirped, “we’re only pretending to be your trusting, loyal wives.”

  “And that’s only if we encounter anyone in these forsaken woods,” Wren added. “In the meantime, we’re Rahtan looking for a fellow soldier.”

  I shot her a skeptical glance. I knew Kazi was far more than just a fellow soldier to them. They were twisted almost as tight as I was. Not to mention, they were—

  I shook my head. My wives. They were dressed as Kbaaki too, their faces painted like mine. Synové wore a jeweled earring in her brow too. There was no more jewelry at the settlement, so Wren had pulled her fur hat low, forcing her dark curls over her brows. It made her piercing eyes peeking from beneath them appear even more ominous.

  I sighed. I had Kbaaki wives looking over my shoulder.

  There were so many things I didn’t want to think about. That we were sneaking into my own territory. That Samuel might be hurt—or worse if the letter was true. That Beaufort had played the Ballengers for complete and utter fools. That Paxton had taken over everything. That I hadn’t killed him one of the many times I’d had the chance.

  Most of all, I didn’t want to think about Synové’s dream. Kazi chained and bloody, lying on a dark prison floor. Still as a statue, she had said. I had grabbed her arms and shouted, But was she alive, Synové? Her tears had stopped, but her eyelashes were still clumped together in wet spikes, her eyes swollen and red. Her mouth fell open. I don’t know, she had whispered. She was soaked in blood. She wasn’t moving. I don’t know if she was alive. And then she began crying again. Caemus had shot me a wary glance, as if Synové confirmed his suspicions, and I stormed out of the shed. Wren had found me leaning against a wall trying to breathe. I was still bare chested, and she laid a cloak over my shoulders and whispered, Kazi said sometimes dreams are only dreams, the same as any other. That’s all it was. We have to believe that.