The Nightborn, Isabel Cooper [fiction novels to read TXT] 📗

The Battlefield was northeast of Criwath. Nobody knew the precise location because nobody with any sense wanted to go to the place. It was where Gizath had killed his sister’s mortal lover and where Letar had, in turn, tried to kill him.

“Unfortunate in many senses,” said Branwyn. “A way to track our quarry magically would be very useful—but then, it’s possible that trying to kill me wouldn’t have been enough of a tie. I’m assuming they were trying to kill me, by the way.”

“You were the target, yes.”

“So I’d figured. The butler at the Rognozis said that a man had come with an urgent message for me and been directed to the dressmaker’s.” Branwyn rose from the couch. “It’s rather comforting for everyone, or should be. I only have to survive the next week or so, and I’ll leave this unknown enemy frustrated.”

“Gods willing,” said Zelen. He’d spent most of the previous night asking them for exactly that.

Such prayers were pointless. None of the Four could prevent mortal evil, not directly. Zelen hadn’t forgotten that, but he hadn’t been able to stop his petitions either. The people he’d killed had weighed on his spirit and his own closeness to death had shaken him, but he would have endured either a million times rather than watch that club coming down toward Branwyn’s skull.

* * *

Outside, a wide square stretched between the temples to the north, clerks to the east, crafters to the south, and inns to the west. It had been mostly empty at night, but in the middle of the afternoon, as the year wound toward harvest and the Festival of Irinyev, it was an ocean of people.

The shining carriages of lords, with matched horses and jingling reins, passed peasants’ mule-drawn carts full of cabbages and the heavily laden ponies of trading companies. Shops sold bright glass jewelry, herbs from the high mountains of Silane, and amber from Kvanla, the most common port of ships that went out from Heliodar.

The people were mostly locals: largely dark of hair and eyes, pale-skinned, covering as little and wearing as many trailing ribbons as was practical. Some had the bronzed complexion of Silane, though, or wore the checked weave of Affiran. Even a few of the waterfolk and stonekin wandered through the crowd.

When Branwyn had come to Heliodar, she’d wondered at its size and the sheer variety it contained. Then, knowing the city’s potential fate, she’d feared for it. Leaving the conversation with Lycellias, her first thought was of how many threats such a crowd could hold.

Easy, said Yathana. A tight string will sound clear, but one too badly stretched will snap.

Zelen hadn’t taken her arm this time, leaving them both free to draw weapons quickly, but he matched her pace closely. It was a pleasant sensation to have that side covered, since she knew he could defend himself well.

It also meant she didn’t have to raise her voice when she’d gathered enough composure to speak. “A mage, even just for one spell, and a set of professionals wouldn’t be inexpensive. Am I wrong?”

“I don’t think you are. Not that I’ve ever tried hiring killers, granted, but I’d wager it’s a sight more than most people could manage, even as a small group. I doubt there are a dozen shopkeepers who dislike you or your mission that much.” They left the temple square by the east, walking onto a broad road full of soberly dressed people bustling about on errands. “There are a handful of respectable merchants who could swing it, one or two less respectable—might get a discount, for that matter—but I think we should focus on the nobility. They’ve seen the most of you, for one thing.”

Branwyn nodded. Then the individual words struck her, rather than the overall meaning. “We?”

“No question about it,” Zelen responded immediately. “For one thing, it comes off as rather atrocious for Heliodar if a diplomatic envoy gets killed here, and even worse if she’s in the company of a noble house. Even I’ve picked up that much of the principle. This is my city, as little as some might believe the sentiment from me, and I’d rather not have it disgraced.”

“Understandable,” she said, remembering what he’d said about Thyran and Heliodar when they’d first walked together. “And I’m grateful for your help, even though you didn’t have much choice in the matter.”

“That’s the second part, isn’t it?” Zelen asked. He grinned as charmingly as ever, but there was a hardness to it that Branwyn hadn’t seen before. The edge didn’t quite seem new, though. What had there been in his life before to bring it out? “Nearly getting killed quite spoils the evening. I’m inclined to bear a grudge in that category.”

“By that logic,” said Branwyn, only mostly joking, “I’m the one you should bear a grudge against. If you hadn’t been with me, you’d have had a pleasant night elsewhere, and a dead foreigner would just have added interest to the local gossip.”

“No.” Zelen stopped, so that Branwyn had to as well, and turned to face her. The crowds flowed around them, but for a moment they were both as still as temple pillars.

Then Zelen raised one hand to touch the side of Branwyn’s face, gloved fingertips light behind her jaw. “You’re my third reason.”

There was no light answer to make now, no way to dismiss his regard as a passing fancy, and she was too much Tinival’s creature to pretend under such circumstances. “Zelen—”

“I’m not asking for anything.” The smile appeared again, softer and rueful. “Gods, I don’t even know that I’m saying anything. There’s been no time, and neither of us are our own creature, are we?”

“No,” said Branwyn.

“But you’re a bloody sight more than a temporary distraction. I know that much.” His eyes shone. “I’m not a young idiot. If I’d woken up tomorrow and heard you were dead, I’d have lived, but it would’ve left quite a scar. The sort that never quite stops hurting.”

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