She owed no one anything any more either, no loyalty or perfection or obedience.
The kick in the groin caught even the experienced Eneko off guard and surprised Dom into stillness for just long enough. Long enough to wrench the knife from the hidden sheath where she knew Eneko kept it. Long enough to slash the belt that held his sword and grab it. Long enough to make for the door. Dom started forward, but he wasn’t quick enough, not to catch an enraged Kacha. Neither were the two duellists waiting outside, or perhaps they might have been if Kacha hadn’t surprised the first by grabbing his shirt and giving him a headbutt that spread his nose over his face, before she threw him into his companion. She didn’t wait for anything, not to give anyone an extra kick to be sure, or for Dom, who was calling her name a few steps behind.
She was going to find Vocho, rescue him this one last time, and then they could all go to hell, every last one of them.
Interlude
Six months earlier
Vocho had watched Egimont sneak into the guild the previous night, wary and watchful. He watched him now, as he left at dawn, with a spring in his step and a funny little smile on his lips. For a long time Petri hadn’t been allowed inside the guild for no reason that Vocho knew of except he’d left under a cloud. Now he was Kacha’s guest, and she had clout, so he was permitted into her private quarters at least, if not exactly welcomed elsewhere. He made damned sure to keep out of Eneko’s way, Vocho noted.
He sauntered out of his nook in the corner of a tower and followed Petri down the steps that led to the grassed-over stone arch that served as a bridge to the city. The sun was barely above the walls and everything was still dressed in grey and purple with a hint of gold. Petri seemed in no hurry and was even humming to himself as he reached the greensward where Kacha had fallen in the river all those years ago. Afterwards Eneko had built a wall, waist high and topped with a railing, so it wouldn’t happen again. Petri stopped there and looked out at the mists curling about the bridge and the stretch of river that flowed down from the mill race under the Shrive.
Vocho padded silently over the grass but Petri surprised him without turning. “I knew you’d come at some point, so let’s get it over with, shall we?”
“Why not?” Vocho agreed.
There’d always been something odd about Petri to Vocho’s mind. A little too smooth, a touch too silent, and when he did speak, his accent was an infuriating mix of arrogance and pomposity. Always watching Kass too, and now not just watching.
Petri turned and stood easily, looking down his long nose at Vocho like he was some sort of bug. Like he was still a noble and Vocho was still a dock rat, instead of Petri actually being a pathetic little clerk for the prelate and he the most renowned duellist the guild had ever seen.
“Kacha,” Vocho said. “I want you to leave her be.”
“Really?” Petri raised a cool eyebrow. “And what’s it to do with you?”
“She’s my sister; it’s everything to do with me. I’ve seen you, always watching her. You do it even when you think she’s not looking. Not like other men look at her either. You look at her like she’s an interesting specimen and you want to dissect her.”
The smile almost fooled Vocho but it was too damned slick. “Dissecting wasn’t what I had in mind, I have to say. And that’s not what’s really bothering you, is it?”
Vocho whipped his sword out and held it to Petri’s cheek, the tip just touching skin. “Leave my sister alone. She can do better than some deposed little lordling like you, so leave her be.”
“Or what? Or you’ll push me into the river, like you did her?”
Vocho swallowed a violent urge to be sick, and his blade dropped to his side. “She tripped, that was all.” He meant it too, had repeated the lie over and over to himself until he near enough believed it.
Petri’s smile broadened, sure his thrust had hit home, that all that was left was to provide the finishing stroke. “That’s what she thinks too, though she says she doesn’t remember much. We know better, don’t we?”