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“That is quite an expensive request,” Darling said. “Maybe the most expensive, with the exception of Agatha, but she’s more than earned her keep over the years. I highly doubt you intend to remain in my service. When you march south, you won’t be marching back, correct?”
Dahvid nodded. “Correct.”
“And my soldiers… if they don’t return? That would be very costly.”
“What if I offered them a percentage of spoils? The soldiers remain on your bankroll, but they can benefit from my… conquest. Would that work?”
Darling considered that. “It might, but there are other costs to discuss. What do you think will happen when you march an army south? You might just end up starting a war.”
“Remove your insignias,” Dahvid suggested. “Let them march as mercenaries. Then all responsibility would be set at my feet. If I fail, none of this will matter. If I succeed, well, I doubt you’ll have to fight any wars. There won’t be any retribution.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes. Because if I succeed, one of your great rivals will be wounded.”
Dahvid knew the truth. Nevelyn had walked him through the economics. Ravinia always benefited from a weakened Kathor. Historically, if the larger city struggled, it invited an opportunity for other powers to rise. Ravinia had grown twofold during the War of Neighbors for exactly that reason. If he could destroy House Brood, he would be doing the warlord a grand favor. Darling surely understood that, even if he was pretending to muse over the subject. There was nothing but greed in his eyes.
“An army,” Darling said. “Very interesting indeed. I will take all of this into consideration. It is not out of the question. I needed to see if we were close enough on terms to proceed. I’m sure you can understand. There have been challengers in the past who demanded vaults full of gold. Asked me to bring dead dragons back to life. Such men cannot be reasoned with, but you are what my scouts have all reported you to be: measured. A man who appears entirely in control. We shall see how long that quality lasts once your gauntlet begins. Enjoy your session.”
He glided out of the room. The chain rattled twice before vanishing after him like an iron snake. When the door slid shut, Dahvid watched as the edges blended perfectly back into the wall. No wonder they’d never noticed it before. He sagged back on the table. His chest heaved with each breath. The cleansing spell had been waiting all this time, distracted by the darker magic in the room, and Dahvid surrendered himself to it now. The pain was a welcome distraction. For a time.
Eventually fear returned. It was no small task to stare this city’s god in the eye and speak as he just had. It was not easy to admit what they’d been planning for the last seven years to a man he did not trust at all. He could tell, though, that he now possessed something very valuable:
Darling’s curiosity.
* * *
Cath’s tattoo failed again. Dahvid told her not to worry. It was not pivotal to their plans. She seethed for the rest of the day, until they tangled together in bed, both eager to help the other forget the day’s events. Long after she had fallen asleep, Dahvid found himself turning restlessly. Sleep eluded him.
He went to the window. The place was too poor to afford proper balconies, but when he shoved the window open, a breath of night air rushed in that was equally satisfying. He could hear movement below. Shadows moving between circles of lamplight. Conversations echoed up to him. The passing scent of flavored cigarettes. Dahvid stood there for a long time, listening to the world.
After a time, his naked body began to shiver. It wasn’t winter yet—but the nights in Ravinia were brisk, and on the verge of true chill. Goose bumps ran up his thighs, down his arms. He looked at the tattoos stretching over his skin. For the first time in years, he allowed his eyes to linger on the edges of Ware’s final tattoo. The one that Dahvid had never used, never called upon. He reached out and shut the window. In the reflection, he turned so that he could inspect the whole image.
A hand was reaching down, from his shoulder blade to his lower back. The stretching fingertips fell just short of a body of water. Ware had rendered the surface dark—a sort of muddled swirl of shadows that ran horizontally, from the middle of Dahvid’s back to his hip. As he stared into the depths of the tattoo, he thought he could see another hand—beneath the surface—reaching up. He could almost convince himself there was a fingertip breaching the surface of the water and that the two hands were separated by the smallest strip of his own pale skin.
Curious, Dahvid reached back and let his thumb hover there. Just above the surface of the tattoo. He could feel immense power pooled there. It had continued growing all this time. That wasn’t true of every tattoo, but it was true of this one—and of the scarlet traveler. Not using them was like allowing a tree to keep growing to its fullest height. Dahvid had used the scarlet traveler two or three times a year, though not once since arriving in Ravinia. But the reaching hand? It had never been activated. Its power had been growing for nearly a decade now.
As his thumb hovered, he could sense qualities in the magic as well. It wasn’t an exact science. Truly, he never knew how a tattoo would manifest until he actually activated the spell and watched it take shape. But every single one of his tattoos had a feeling. A core quality. He could tell this one was an exchange. He had no idea with whom or for what. He simply knew that if he activated the magic, there would be a trade of some kind.
Dahvid had memorized Nevelyn’s plans for them. Every careful step that would lead from this lonely, claustrophobic apartment and to the Broods’ estate. Plans were all well and good, but if life had taught him anything, it was that something would go wrong. He saw Ware’s two tattoos—the flower and the reaching hand—as last resorts. If the plan failed, he’d need their power.
He moved his finger away from the tattoo. The underlying hum of magic faded. He could hear Cath stirring in her sleep. The room felt cool enough now for him to lie down without sweating. He settled back in beside his love, but his mind was far from that bed, that place. His thoughts raced ahead. He was dreaming of the gauntlet—and eventually, the Broods. He imagined Thugar Brood broken before him, begging and at his mercy.
It was that image that finally put him to sleep.
25 NEVELYN TIN’VORI
Nevelyn was promoted.
Poor Edna was gone. Such a shame. The others in the seamstress room were all chatting about it. For all their supposed loyalty, they now eagerly ripped the girl apart, like dogs gorging themselves on the first scrap of meat that hit the bowl.
Her work increased, but she was more than up to the task. It actually helped to keep her calm. Focusing on the mundane. There had been a certain pleasure in destroying someone. A feverish feeling that echoed her desire to destroy the Broods. But Edna was not her true enemy. No one in the seamstress room was. They were obstacles. The real enemy was pacing one of the rooms above them, quietly rehearsing her lines. Nevelyn needed to adjust her aim. It wasn’t long before she had her first opportunity.
“Girl.”
This was Kersey’s favorite summoning for her. Nevelyn knew the cast split between the two senior seamstresses. Half of them were under Kersey’s province, and the other half belonged to Faith and John. With Edna gone, Nevelyn would have more direct contact with the players.
“Take this up. The brat demanded changes. Again.”
