darkened blade_ A fallen blade novel - Kelly McCullough Page 0,7
her carried a different weight in this discussion.
She grinned. “This is the part where I’m supposed to say that I have a good teacher, right?” She pulled her hand free of mine and very gently leaned forward to kiss me on the cheek. “Which, I do, and he is also a good man, and no monster.” She turned and walked back to the head of the stairs.
“Thank you,” I said as she started to descend.
She nodded, but didn’t answer me back.
“What about Kelos?” asked Triss.
“I don’t know. But it matters less now.”
“How so?” asked Triss.
“If I seek to confront the Son of Heaven, Kelos can help me—none better. But even with all the help in the world, this will be a very difficult play. The chances that either of us will survive the attempt are not great, much less both of us.”
Triss snorted. “What you mean is that you’re hoping to push off the decision long enough for it to become somebody else’s problem.”
“Or no problem at all, yes. Is that so wrong?”
“No. If we’re going to go against the Son of Heaven we will need all the help we can get, and, sometimes, the enemy of my enemy is enough to get you through to the end.”
I had made my choice, or thought I had, and I desperately hoped it was the right decision. But somewhere, down deep in the back of my mind, a voice kept saying: But what is the cost if you’re wrong?
* * *
I appreciate irony as much as the next man. I just wish it didn’t have to be quite so biting when you were on the receiving end.
“Absolutely not.” I slammed my palm down on the tabletop. “I will not have anything to do with that woman.” Faran had already stormed out, while Siri sat quietly behind me radiating a sort of cold rage.
Kelos looked stubborn. “Don’t go all squishy on me now, Aral. We need allies and I can’t think of a better one. At least talk to her. We share a common enemy.”
“Yes, and she’s part of it.”
Kelos crossed his arms and waited. Siri leaned forward and put her hand on my shoulder. It reminded me of the one she’d lost—a price willingly paid for ending a greater evil.
I sighed. “All right, I’ll talk to her, but I won’t promise not to kill her when we’re done.”
Kelos grinned. “That works for me. If you come to an agreement, we advance things in one manner. If you kill her, we do it in another. Chaos to our enemy either way. I’ll tell her you’ll be along momentarily.”
He went to the stairs and headed down into the pub below.
“Siri, am I doing the right thing here? I mean, this is the fucking Signet of Heaven we’re talking about.”
She shrugged. “Probably, but I wouldn’t let Jax in on this part of the deal when we bring her into the matter.”
I shuddered at the very thought. The Signet was the head of Heaven’s Hand, the Son’s own personal sorcerous storm troopers—the people who had tortured Jax more than half to death when she was taken prisoner in the fall of the temple. Actually, there were any number of things I didn’t want to mention to Jax. Like the way Siri had lost her hand, for one. Jax was my ex-fiancée as well as one of the handful of remaining Blades, and I didn’t fancy explaining the weird magical mess that was my brief and unexpected marriage to Siri, or the bloody but amicable divorce that had ended it. . . .
Triss had followed Kelos to the head of the stairs. Now he looked back at me, his posture questioning.
“All right, I’m coming.” As I reached the head of the stairs he let his dragon shape go and faded back into my shadow.
The taproom below was all but empty, a very unusual circumstance here in the early hours of the night. The only members of the local crowd who remained belonged to the staff of the inn, and they didn’t look any too happy about being there. I couldn’t fault them for wanting to leave given the newcomers—a half-dozen members of Heaven’s Hand. Priests and sorcerers of the most deadly and fanatical sort. I wanted to leave, too.
They had shed their uniforms for loose dark pants and shirts cut in the style of the steppe riders of the Kvanas. They weren’t fooling anyone. Everything about them spoke to their true origins, from the hard, cold expressions