“The Holy Anocracy, the Horde, and the Merchants. All of you are responsible for spilling blood within these walls. All of you owe me a debt. I am calling it in. It’s time to settle your accounts.”
“What do you want?” Lady Isur asked.
“Your memories.” I touched my staff to the bulb. The fuzzy green sepals peeled back. Delicate, translucent flower petals unfurled, hair-thin and glowing with pale green near their base, then turning transparent, and finally darkening to a magenta toward the tips. Long, whiplike stamens, coated in soft blue light, stretched from within the flower, reaching and twisting, and inside, in the whorl of petals, the psy-booster glittered.
“You want to take our memories?” Dagorkun asked.
“Not take. I want you to share them with me.”
“You don’t know what you’re asking,” the Khanum snarled.
“I do.” You know why I am asking it. Your reason is standing right there next to you.
George stepped forward, undid the clasp on his wrist cuff, and rolled the sleeve back, exposing a scarred, muscular arm.
“You do not want this,” Robart said, his voice suffused with so much sadness. “You do not want to experience my memories, Innkeeper.”
“Yes, I do. This is my price. Your honor demands you pay it. If you do not, there will be consequences.”
I had no idea what those consequences would be, but it sounded impressive.
George rolled back his other sleeve.
“Very well.” The Khanum’s face was terrible. She stepped forward.
I shook my head. “No. Him.” I pointed my staff at the shaman.
Ruga’s eyebrows crept together. He walked forward and stopped before me, corded with dry muscle, his charms and totems hanging from the belt of his kilt. Odalon shouldered his way through the vampires and came to stand next to Ruga, resplendent in his crimson battle vestments.
I looked at the Merchants. Nuan Cee started forward.
Grandmother made a quiet noise. He stopped almost in midstep. Grandmother turned in her palanquin. The foxes carrying it lowered it to the ground. She rose within it and stepped out onto the floor.
Clan Nuan let out a collective gasp.
The elder fox crossed the floor and stood next to Odalon. I had the spiritual leaders of every faction.
“Form a line behind your faction,” I said. “Leaders at the very end.”
The grand ballroom rippled as vampires, otrokars, and Clan Nuan formed three lines behind their spiritual representatives.
“Hold out your hands and take the hand of the person in front of you and behind you. Skin to skin.”
Metal slid as high-tech gauntlets fell away. Grudgingly they obeyed.
I looked to the back where the Khanum, Arland, and Nuan Cee stood, each the end of their line. “Complete the circuit.”
The muscles on the Khanum’s jaw stood out as she clenched her teeth. Arland’s face might have been made of stone. The gauntlet slid off his hands. He held out his hands, one to Khanum and the other to the Merchants. The Khanum gripped his fingers. Her expression was terrible. On the other side, Nuan Cee took Arland’s hand. Robart, the next in line behind Arland, turned and clasped his left hand on Arland’s bare forearm, locking his fingers on Arland’s wrist.
“Sorry, my friend,” he said.
Arland braced himself. They thought they knew what was coming. They had no idea.
George held out his arms.
I pushed with my magic. The glowing stamens reached out, fastening around his arms. A muscle in his face jerked. He would feel the pain immediately. When the booster actually began drawing on his magic reserve, the agony would be excruciating. I glanced at Sophie. She nodded. We had made a deal, and I was counting on her to stick to it.
I planted my staff into the floor. It opened, unfurling into three long flexible metal branches. The branches shot to the three beings standing in front of me and clasped their free hands.
This would hurt. This would hurt so much.
I looked up, past the people gathered behind me to where Turan Adin stood alone on the floor. He walked toward me and grasped my shoulder with his clawed hand. We stood together, locked into a single living circuit.
“Do not let go,” I said, speaking to all of them. “If you do, you may not survive.”
I thrust my hand into the flower and pressed my palm against the psy-booster. Obeying my command, the inn reached out with a tendril and anchored my hand.
The magic of the inn swelled behind the flower and ripped through me like a gust of incredibly powerful, painful wind. It dashed down the chain, splashed against the leaders, and dissipated.
Was that it? That wasn’t so bad, but now nothing was happening…
I felt magic swelling behind the flower, like a tsunami, rising higher and higher. Before I had a chance to prepare myself, it crested and tore into me.
Pain exploded inside me, erupting into a starburst of red-hot needles. Tears wet my eyes. I tried to take a breath and a cascade of memories hit me. Robart screaming at the top of his lungs, screaming and screaming as he looked across the battlefield and watched the otrokar’s axe carve into the woman he loved. I saw her arm fall from her body, saw the bloody stump where it had been, and at the same time I saw her kissing Robart in a garden, her eyes luminescent with love. I felt it. I felt her love; I felt how much she cared. She would do anything for me. I would do anything for her. In my darkest moments, she was there. She would… They were cutting her apart and there were too many between me and her, and I was reaping and slicing, but she was too far. She was screaming for me. She was screaming for my help, and I could do nothing. Her face… Oh stars, her face… Please, please Divine, I will do anything. Anything. Take me. Take me instead. Take me instead, you fucking bitch! The axe carved into her neck and I screamed. I screamed, because the pain burst out of me and if I didn’t let it out, it would tear me apart.
The memories kept hammering into me like nails into a coffin. Nuan Cee weeping over the small furry body of a fox baby in his arms, bent over and wracked with grief. Sean in his rooms alone, visions of blood and death… Odalon comforting the dying; Ruga walking through a makeshift morgue, hand over his mouth; Grandmother Nuan weeping… We were screaming. We were crying and wailing in one voice, battered by the pain and loss.
Another memory punched me like a bullet to the heart. A little otrokar boy trying to walk, unsteady on his feet, teetering, a very serious expression on his little face as behind him a huge otrokar got down on his hands and knees. The boy, my boy, was walking toward me. Big round eyes. That’s right. Oh! He fell right on his butt. Pick yourself up. That’s right. That’s my boy. You will grow up big and strong. You will grow. The little boy morphed into a slender adolescent with the same round eyes, full of laughter. He dashed across the yard, leapt onto a rukar’s back, and kicked his mount into a sudden gallop. Come back here! Clean your room! His father laughing in the corner. Are you going to let him get away with this? The little boy morphed again and here he was my son, strong broad shoulders, proud face, and still those eyes, those big green eyes amused at the world, looking outward and seeing only the promise of adventure. He wore the leathers of our people, and he was looking at me over his shoulder. Don’t go. Take off your armor and come back. Come back to me, my precious one, my son, my little one. He vanished, jerked out of existence. No longer there, as if all those years never happened. There was a gauntlet in my lap. A bloody gauntlet. That is all I have left of my son.
The memories kept coming. Lovers, brothers, sisters, children, parents, I lost them over and over, I mourned them, my grief so raw it cut me from the inside. The waterfall of memories pounded against my soul, shredding it.
I can’t. Too much. Too much. I can’t.