While the others gathered themselves, Kall went to Morgan, but the thief remained subdued. He would not meet Kall’s eyes.
Kall tried to speak, to confirm what he hadn’t been able to acknowledge when Morgan had run onto the bridge without Laerin, when he’d seen the fresh blood on the demon’s claws.
“Is there …” Kall cleared his throat and tried again. “Is there a body?” Morgan paled, but it was Talal who answered.
“There’s nothing you’d recognize,” he said, shuddering at a memory he could never be rid of “Your friend’s gone.”
Kall nodded, but inwardly, the rage was so profound he thought he might burn from it. Was this what it was like for Meisha, he wondered, to be filled with fire and anger so consuming it swallowed his thoughts? To think that his friend, who loved the light, the road, the open air—that this should be his tomb… .
“Kall.”
Kall blinked. For a breath, he’d thought it was Cesira’s voice—impatient, always commanding, but with an underlying softness she tried to hide. He looked up, but it was Meisha who addressed him.
“There might be another way out,” the Harper said. “The Climb. It should lead all the way to the portal room.”
Kall met her eyes and saw the reluctance there. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“We might all die in the attempt.”
“Of course.” Kall looked around the group and received answering nods of assent. They were with him. “Let’s go,” he said. Cesira’s face was still bright in his mind.
I’m coming.
Marguin slid around the corner, using a mirror the size of her thumb to see that the way was clear. Elsis came behind her with an arrow nestled in the curve of a fully drawn bow.
“We know you’re here, Lady,” Elsis sang out mockingly. He tipped a silver candelabra off a side table onto the floor. Flames licked at the expensive woven rugs, sending up charred fumes. “The longer you hide, the more painful it will be when we catch you.”
Movement from one of the doorways caught his eye. Elsis trained his bow on the spot, but it was only Marguin’s reflection in a mirror on the opposite wall.
The house was too damn quiet. There were so many rooms that connected to other rooms without spilling back into the main hallways. The bitch could be leading them around the house, and they’d never know it.
Catch this, breathed a voice at his ear.
Elsis swept the bow in an arc and released. The arrow did not have far to travel. Less than two feet away, it splintered through Marguin’s armor near the base of her spine. The woman made a small, pitiful cry and dropped in front of him. Elsis fumbled another arrow from his quiver and nocked it, but he did not hear the voice again. He was alone in the hallway with Marguin’s body curled at his feet.
Cesira watched the man with the bow scour the hallway. She didn’t have enough spells to run him out of arrows, but she was more than willing to disquiet his search. Murmuring a word, she cast the ghostly whisper again. This time, his arrow shattered a mirror.
Crouching low, Cesira crept back to the servants’ stair. Two down—more if any from the downstairs trap were still incapacitated. Still too many, she thought, plenty enough to box her in, and there was no sign of Balram. He must still be in the main hall. He wasn’t going to make it easy by coming for her himself. Going to him would be beyond foolish.
Cesira tried to recall how many weapons and traps remained. Not enough to take out all of them at once, but if she could get a clear path to the garden—yes, it might work. Or she might die carrying out her plan.
“You were right,” she said, holding Kall’s emerald to her breast. “I’m an arrogant, stubborn fool.” She’d underestimated Balram and the Shadow Thieves, and now she was hopelessly outnumbered. “Time to even the odds.”
Aazen came through the portal, appearing on the rocky rim of the cavern floor before a circle of drawn weapons. The thieves saw Tarthet’s body clutched in Aazen’s arms but did not lower their steel. If anything, suspicion grew in their eyes.
“Where is Morel?” The man who addressed him was Geroll, one of Daen’s men.
“Food for a demon, when I left him,” Aazen lied. He settled the dead man on the floor and drew Morgan’s dagger from his back. He’d picked it up on the bridge just before they’d entered the portal room. Tarthet might have corroborated his story. Aazen would never know. “Does the wizard live?” he asked.
“If you can call it that.” Geroll nudged the unconscious Varan with his leg. The wizard did not stir. “He’s been like that ever since he lost his eye.”
“His eye?” Aazen echoed, then he saw Varan’s empty socket. So that was the link. “Perhaps it’s best. Now we can safely remove him from the Delve.”
Geroll nodded carefully. “Call the others back,” he said to the man nearest him. “We have what we came for.” He looked at Aazen, clearly reluctant to relinquish the authority he’d thought would be assured by Aazen’s treachery. But he had no proof, and to accuse Balram’s son without it would mean his death. “Balram will be expecting your report,” he said finally.
“Of course.” Before Aazen could issue an order, the portal in the shaft above his head flared green, and Tershus dropped through, wounded but alive. The halfling saw Aazen and ran right up to him, ignoring Daen’s men completely.
“You’d better come,” he said breathlessly. “It’s your father.”
Aazen stiffened. “What about my father?”
“He took a group of men to Morel house. They haven’t returned, and there’ve been reports of fire in that section of the city.”
Aazen grabbed Tershus by the arm, digging in until the small man yelped. “Bring the wizard,” he said.
“What about the portals?” demanded Geroll. “We can’t leave them open.”
“My men and I were separated,” said Aazen. “If you wish to eliminate any hope of them returning alive, by all means, close the gates. I’ll be happy to explain your decision, and the manpower lost, to Daen.”
He didn’t wait for the man to formulate a reply. He shook the halfling in his grip. “Bring the wizard,” he repeated. “Now.”
Tershus pulled away, his eyes wide at the alteration in Aazen’s demeanor. But for Aazen, the feelings that coursed through him were familiar, shameful, and completely unsurprising to him.
His father was in danger. His father—who’d sent these Shadow Thieves to kill him—needed his son. And Aazen ran to answer that need, as he had always done, as he would always do, for as long as Balram was alive.
Cesira knelt on the floor by the stairway, preparing to change form, when the bolt struck her. Her leg gave out, and she sprawled. Twisting, she pressed her back to the meager protection of the pillar at the landing.
Below her, Balram lowered his crossbow, a weapon he hadn’t been carrying when he’d entered the house. “You are far more fetching in that shape than any other, my dear,” he called up to her. “And you are not the only person outside the Morel family who knows where the master of the house kept his toys. Come down, and perhaps I’ll show you a few Kall doesn’t know about.”
A generous offer, my lord, Cesira replied. She bit her lip against the pain in her leg. But I’m afraid I must decline. Shadows stirred in the upper hallway, and Cesira heard footsteps coming, running toward their voices.
She risked a glance down to the hall. She couldn’t see Balram, but there was, as she’d hoped, an unobstructed path to the garden. The question remained, how many crossbow bolts would she take getting there?
Elsis’s shout from the hallway decided her. She could not outrun arrows and bolts.
Elsis came around the corner, his eyes widening in surprise when he saw her just sitting, exposed, at the top of the stairs. Cesira grabbed a knife from her belt and threw it, forcing him to duck back around the corner.