“It’s a good thing he has such a stalwart friend in you, then,” I said.
“I would be an even better friend if I had more resources.”
“You know the deal,” I said. “Save Kells and the rest of us first. Get the journal second.”
“Except as you so adroitly pointed out, it isn’t completely up to Kells, is it?”
“I’m Kells’s man,” I said. I didn’t trust myself to say more.
“Yes, you are-and one of his most trusted.” Shadow kicked idly at a small piece of timber in the street. It went clattering along ahead of us, stopped against a rain barrel. “Which makes me wonder why he would send you out of the cordon at such a critical time? You, the only man who knows where Ioclaudia’s journal is hidden. That’s quite a risk to be taking.”
I stayed silent but let my hand brush against Tamas’s rope on the back of my belt, just to make sure it was still there.
“A suspicious man,” said Shadow, “might think Kells is scrambling to find a way out of our bargain. And a very suspicious man might think Kells has you working on a way to keep the journal away from me, at least until his plans are finalized. What would you say to that?”
“I’d say suspicious men spend too much time thinking,” I said.
A low, rolling laugh tumbled out of his hood. “Maybe,” he said, “but it’s too late for me to get out of the habit now. So, instead, I’ll share some of what I’ve been thinking. I can’t see Kells having you destroy the journal-it’s too valuable for that. Nor can you hide it indefinitely-sooner or later, someone will decide they’d rather it stay lost than end up in an enemy’s hands. The easiest way to accomplish that is to kill you, but if that happened, Kells wouldn’t have an out. Starting a bidding war for the book would be plain suicide. Which leaves you approaching someone on behalf of Kells behind my back.”
“You’ve got me,” I said, forcing sarcasm into my voice. “I’m planning to sell it to the emperor.”
Shadow started laughing again.
We turned left onto a small side street, then right into an even narrower one. Darkness closed in tighter, seeping out of overhangs and recessed doorways. A baby began crying somewhere, its shrieks drifting down from the upper stories of a building. Someone swore sleepily, and a moment later the crying faded to soft whimpers. My nose detected faint hints of cat piss and mildew in the air.
“I don’t like betrayal,” said Shadow finally, his voice going flat. “Not when it’s aimed at me.”
“Who does?” I said. “But it’s the risk you run when you cut deals in the first place. Giving your trust means taking a chance it will be broken.”
“Exactly.”
Something about the way Shadow said the word made me stop in the middle of the street. It was too final; too pleased with itself.
Shadow stopped two paces farther along. He turned to face me.
“You have a choice,” he said.
“What, between you and Kells? You aren’t going to like that answer.”
“No.” The hood shook back and forth. “Between Kells and Baroness Christiana Sephada. Which of their trusts are you willing to betray?”
I felt my heart tighten in my chest. I stared, too shocked to hide it. We’d buried this deeper than deep. Only Ana, Degan, Joseph, and I knew. How…?
“Come,” said Shadow, reading my expression. “You aren’t the only one who knows how to ferret out secrets. You have a history with the woman, Drothe. It’s there to see if you look hard enough and haunt the right shadows…”
Had he followed me sometime in the last week? How do you see, let alone hide, from a shadow?
“And it isn’t something as simple as blackmail,” he continued. “Blackmailers don’t call on their victims the way you call on her. I don’t know if she’s your patron, paramour, or partner, and frankly, I don’t care. What I do care about is that she means something to you. How much, I’m not sure, but we’re about to find out.”
I took a shallow breath even as my mind raced. “Patron, paramour, or partner,” he had said, but not “family.” That meant he didn’t know all of it. There might still be a chance…
“I’ll make this simple for you,” said Shadow. “If I don’t get the journal now, not only will I cripple Kells and his organization-I’ll also take my displeasure out on Baroness Christiana Sephada, widow of Baron Nestor Sephada, of Lythos. But if I do get it, well, then, everyone remains happy, healthy, and whole.” He made a sweeping gesture with his right hand, sending his cloak billowing to one side. “There, that ought to be straightforward enough for you.”
It was. It meant I had only one choice.
Shadow had to die. Now.
Chapter Twenty-four
I slid the knife from the wrist sheath into my left hand and lashed out. At the same time, my right hand yanked Tamas’s rope free, letting it uncoil like a whip.
Shadow was less than a pace from me, but he still managed to sweep the edge of his cloak up as my blade came forward. There was a moment of resistance before I felt my blade bite and bind in the fabric. I quickly drew my arm back to keep it from being caught up in the folds of the cloak. As the knife came back, I swung the rope forward.
I sent it in a wide arc, aiming for his waist. I’d never used the damn thing before, and I wasn’t about to get fancy; I’d just take a shot at the center mass of his body and hope it worked.
Shadow was already stepping away. As the rope came around, he raised his cloak like a shield and spit out a string of sounds that reminded me of a drunk with a mouthful of food. When the rope connected, it felt like I’d swung an iron bar into a brick wall. The cord stiffened along its entire length, sending vibrations up my arm that nearly made me drop it. At the same time, I heard four distinct cracks as the runes went off. Shadow staggered back, nearly falling, and I lunged before I’d realized he’d moved out of range.
“Degan!” I shouted as I recovered and closed on the Gray Prince. “Degan, now!”
Shadow was good. He regained his balance even as I came forward. By the time I was close enough to try for another strike, he had the edge of his cloak snapping and dancing before him, making it hard to find an opening. Shadow backed away and I followed. I needed to stay close, to keep this a knife fight; if I gave him enough room to draw a sword, I’d be in serious trouble, night vision or no.
I pressed hard. I slashed and stabbed with the knife, snapped the rope like a whip, and slashed again. The rope didn’t even come close, but I got a certain amount of satisfaction seeing his cloak smoldering where the knots had hit it the first time.
All I needed was one gash, one deep scratch, and it would be done. The poison on the knife worked fast, and once Shadow was cut, all I had to do was fight defensively and wait for him to fall over. Except he was blocking every move with his cloak, and I was beginning to worry about the venom’s being rubbed off by the fabric.
“You’re a fool,” said Shadow as I feinted right, then shifted left. He twisted and slipped his leg out of the way just before I could connect with the rope.
“Said the man without a weapon,” I grunted as I dropped the rope, took a quick circling step, and grabbed his cloak with my left hand.
I had him.
Shadow laughed. His right hand swept past my face even as I was bringing my dagger around for the final thrust. I caught sight of a small stub of candle in his fingers, saw him crush it as it went past. Then my world erupted in agony.
Light as bright as day ignited in front of my face, shining through my night vision and into my head. Everything else vanished. There was only fire where my eyes had been-twin pools of sharp, merciless pain.
When awareness returned, I was screaming. I felt my hands clenched before my eyes, smelled the filthy pavement as it pushed up against my face. My mouth tasted like blood and sewage, and I spit to clear it out.
That was when I heard it-the sound of metal on metal, sword against sword. Degan and Shadow.