Draka

Twenty minutes after Mak went to sleep, warm and safe under my wing, Herald found us. She kept looking at her sister with a loving smile on her face as we talked softly about what she’d been up to, and I told her about how the Need had come back after my lucid dreams. I very carefully did not mention how I’d seen her dreaming about making out with a man whom I assumed was Maglan.

Our talk got slightly heated, turning to hissed whispers when I told her that I intended to go investigate the house that night. She didn’t object to me going. On the contrary, she was excited about it; what she got upset about was me going on my own. She wanted to come with me. But I’d promised Mak, and Herald finally gave in and promised not to try to go after me.

“It’s pissing down outside anyway,” she grumbled, making a last ditch effort to pretend that she hadn’t wanted to go, anyway.

Mak never stirred from her sleep until it was time for me to leave. It was near midnight when I went back out into the pouring rain. Instead of making my way back to the abandoned garden I stuck to the streets. I didn’t even bother trying to be stealthy. Anyone with the shit luck to have to be out was rushing so quickly from cover to cover that even if they could have seen me and my shadows flitting around, they weren’t paying any attention.

Finding my way was something of a challenge, and I had to backtrack a few times before I was sure that I was on the right track, heading up the hill to the high city. But the houses steadily got more expensive-looking, the surroundings more familiar, and before too long I recognised the house with the sculpture garden that was right across from the house our target had gone into.

The house I was looking at was large for the area. It had two stories and was wide, with a sizable private garden surrounding it. A fountain overflowed in the rain, the water in its center pouring from a wide bowl held high by a naked woman carved from some stone or other, I couldn’t tell what.

How did that even work? The hill I was on rose above the landscape on all sides. You had to go for miles and miles before you hit the same elevation, and there weren’t any aqueducts. How the hell did they have a working fountain? For that matter, how did the sewers work up here? I assumed they did, or the houses probably wouldn’t be so fancy. Who’d choose no plumbing over plumbing?

The clouds had been growing brighter — well, darker, in the real world — as the day passed. Now my world was plunged into absolute darkness for a split second before thunder rolled across the city. If I’d had a mouth, I would have grinned.

Above the closed gate two covered lanterns hissed and spat in the rain, casting a weak light over the only entrance to the property. A guard sat huddled on the covered porch, dry but clearly bored and unhappy. He saw nothing as I drifted over the wall into the garden and began slowly circling the house. I wasn’t too hopeful about open windows, and my pessimism turned out to be right. There were plenty of windows, and even a balcony, but everything was shuttered tight.

That wouldn’t stop me, though. I’d figure something out.

I settled on watching the doorman. With no idea how long I’d have to wait I chose a nice, shadowy place where I could see him, and Shifted back.

I regretted my choice instantly. Being outside in heavy rain was truly miserable. It had felt strange as the drops passed through me, but once I was solid again I had to deal with just being wet and cold, which was infinitely worse.

The doorman stirred for a moment, looking around the garden from where he sat, then settled back, apparently satisfied. After close to an hour of wretched cold and wetness the door opened, and another man leaned against the frame. He held out a mug to the doorman, who took it gratefully as the two started chatting in low voices.

I Shifted, taking my chance. The men’s only light came from the gate and a weak glow leaking out the door, each one dancing and flickering, and if they saw me neither one showed it. I surged past the feet of the newcomer, doing my best not to touch him.

He shuddered. “Damned nasty night, ain’t it? Like it’s got teeth,” he commented to his friend, who mumbled agreement into his mug.

Just inside the door was an oil lamp, a wide tray with some kind of wick in the middle that gave off a weak light. It didn't even slow me down as I continued into the building. Though it was large, it didn't come close to the house I’d broken us out of. There was no open central hall here, no pool in the floor. Instead I left the small vestibule for something more like a large living room, with low tables, pillows, and divans tastefully arranged around the floor, mosaics between the doors along the walls, and a wide staircase at the back which split and curved to the sides. One of the doors stood open, soft voices and light spilling out, but that didn’t interest me. The house was settled for the night. If the woman was here, I was sure that she'd be in some study or bedroom, and those, I was sure, would be upstairs.

As I studied the room I heard the front door close behind me, and I surged to the side, settling in a corner as the original doorman walked past me toward the open door in the hall, carrying both mugs. Once he’d passed, I climbed the stairs to the upper floor.

Up there was a wide hallway, running most of the length of the house. Most of the doors were closed, though one was simply an empty archway leading to something like a combined sitting room and study, with a wide desk backed by shelves of scrolls, and a low table surrounded by pillows. Another led to a bathroom.

I stopped at the door at the end of the hall. I assumed that this was where the mistress of the house would sleep. With no real mass I couldn't open any of the doors. I’d just have to be careful.

I Shifted back. The fine wooden floor settled but didn't creak under my weight. My nose was tickled by the faint scent of jasmine.

The wood protested as my claws dug in. I could almost feel Instinct trying to take over as thoughts of caution and mercy fled before the memory of that woman. It was all I could do not to tear the door open, consequences be damned, and my shadow flickered and waved, though weakly, as it had compared to before I last dreamwalked.

My hand trembled with suppressed rage as I slowly lifted the latch on the door. I fought to hang on to some semblance of humanity. It might be a coincidence, I told myself. Jasmine is a popular scent. I’d smelled it in other places. She might just look similar and wear the same perfume.

I couldn't turn the bedroom into an abattoir. I’d promised. Still, I wondered what Mak was feeling from me in that moment, if she was still awake. She must have been going sick with worry that I was about to do something incredibly irresponsible.

The door swung open smoothly. The scent didn’t get any stronger, but I could hear soft breathing coming from the large bed against the wall to my left, drawing my eyes to a shape wrapped in sheets. She was curled up on her side facing away from me, but I remembered her silky black hair. Straight hair was such a rarity here, it might as well have been a neon sign.

I Shifted. I was so close. I wasn't going to risk ruining everything by stepping on the wrong floorboard and alerting her or anyone else. There was a large, shuttered window on the wall, and I opened it, the weak light of the gate spilling in and barely illuminating the room. I was not going to kill her. I was not going to display her eviscerated corpse on the forum. Not yet. I was going to grab her and leave, and let my sisters do whatever they felt they had to do.

My prey groaned as the sound of the rain got louder, then rolled over and pulled a pillow over her head. I didn't bother Shifting. I stalked over to the bed.

I looked down at the defenseless woman before me. The scent of jasmine was still faint, and lay under something else. Orange blossoms. Some soap, perhaps? A bath before bed? It didn’t matter.

I let my shadows flow out and envelop her, and I squeezed, pouring all my hate and rage and pain and fear into it. She froze. Her breathing locked up. When she gave off a low, moaning wail, the sadistic satisfaction that filled me was everything I’d imagined it might be.

I reached into the shadow, around her head, and my hand closed over her mouth, claws just barely in as I turned her to face me.

She jerked, jolting awake. I dropped my shadow so that she could see her end. Wide, terrified eyes stared at me, and my rage mixed with confusion.

“You’re not her!” I growled in absolute outrage. I lifted her by the face, and the sheets slid off her as she scrabbled to follow, to sit and take the weight off her neck. Her hands closed feebly around my wrist. It reminded me of that day in the cell with Mak, and I scowled.

I switched to a grip on her throat so I could see her face properly, choking off a scream in the process as I turned her left and right. The nose, the lips, the jaw and chin, the cheekbones. Everything was almost right. But the hair was too short, and the eyes were wrong. The Blossom had brown eyes, like most people in Karakan, while this woman’s eyes were green, like Garal’s. And she was too young. Lalia’s age, maybe. But I’d bet anything that she was family.

I pulled her face close to mine, easily grabbing both of her hands in my free one when she tried to push me away. I wouldn't have bothered, but once the shock wore off she had a surprising amount of fight in her.

“Where’s the Night Blossom?” I said, my voice trembling with frustrated anger.

Oh, I was on the right track. There was recognition there, a fearful widening of her eyes at the moniker. That was a relief. But of course, I was doing the same thing as I had with Mak. She couldn't speak with my hand on her throat.

“If you try to run, or scream, I will take you with me.” I held her so that she could see the open window. “You probably won’t enjoy flying naked through the rain, but that's not my problem. And then we’ll continue this somewhere else, with me in a much worse mood. And no one will ever know what happened to you. Do you understand?”

She just stared at me, so I gave her another dose of shadow, then asked again. She tried to nod, and I dropped her.

“Now. Where is the Night Blossom? Don’t pretend you don’t know who I’m talking about. She’s been here, hasn’t she? I can smell her on you.”

She rubbed her bruised neck. “No,” she managed in a stammering croak. She stared at me with such terrified defiance that I almost felt a glimmer of respect for her. The woman had some real fight in her. Simdal and Jekrie had folded after half of what I’d given her.

“No?” I advanced on her, and she scuttled back desperately as I stepped onto the bed after her.

“No!” she squeaked. When she reached the edge of the bed she scrambled off and kept backing up until I had her cornered.

“What is she to you, that you’d throw your life away for her?” I was genuinely curious, though I had a guess.

She squeezed her mouth shut. She was breathing quickly. Her eyes flitted around the room in desperation, but she didn’t scream. She was clearly taking my threat seriously. But when she looked at me it was still with that mix of terror and defiance.

My shadows smashed into her, making her gasp and her knees buckle from the intensity. “Who? Is? She?” I asked, again putting my face right in front of hers as she sat with her knees drawn up between us.

“My sister! Zabra’s my sister! She’s all I have!”

It came out in a pitiful squeak, and when she realized what she’d said she clamped her hands over her mouth like a child.

That was what I’d thought. That, or her mother, but there wasn't enough of an age difference. And the knowledge of how much I could hurt the Blossom by doing something terrible to this woman was almost enough to push me over the edge.

No. Not “the Blossom.” Zabra. I had a name for her now.

“Tespril Zabra,” I said slowly, tasting it, and she stared at me with guilt and horror. “Tell me where to find her.”

She shook her head, and I almost snapped. I almost slaughtered this woman where she cowered in the corner, to vent my frustration and to leave a message. But Conscience, that persistent little voice of restraint and mercy, held me back. Instead of doing something terrible I pulled her hands from her mouth and asked her, “What is your name?”

“What?” She stared at me as I waited, then said, “My name? My… Kesra. It’s Kesra.”

“And how much do you know about your dear sister, Kesra? Do you have any idea what she might have done to bring me here?”

“No!” she squeaked. I let my shadows swirl up around her. “I don’t!” she insisted, frantically trying to press herself further into the corner. “I only deal with trade, I swear! She doesn’t tell me about the rest!”

“But you know about it.”

“Gambling, drink, whores? I know it happens! I know that she’s involved but I don’t know anything about it!”

“What about slaving? Kidnapping?” I grabbed her throat almost gently with my claws, letting them barely prick her skin. “Torture?”

She’d held out admirably. I had to admit that. She’d been terrified, but she hadn’t screamed or cried or begged. Not until then.

“Please,” she whispered, tears spilling down her cheeks as. “Please don’t.”

“Please don’t, what?”

“Torture. Please just kill me if… if she’s done something so… please don’t torture me.”

“Just tell me where I can find her, and you’ll never see me again,” I promised.

She squeezed her eyes shut, sniffled, and managed a single, sobbed, “No.”

And despite my anger and frustration, Conscience just wouldn’t let me hurt her.

I jerked my talons away from her neck, and Kesra gasped as they scratched her skin, five thin lines appearing on the smooth skin of her neck. She took a shuddering breath, relaxing just a fraction as she realized that she was still alive, then opened her eyes and looked at me, fear and uncertainty mixing with hope.

“Your sister tortured my friends,” I told her coldly, and her face began trembling with renewed tears. “She made deals with monsters to sell free Karakani citizens into slavery, and when my friends interfered, she had them taken off the street, and tortured. So tell her this. Tell her that I’m going to find her, and when I do, everyone around her will die. And if she hurts anyone close to me, if she even tries, I will find you, Tespril Kesra. Wherever she tries to hide you I will find you, and I will take it out on you. Whatever happens to my friends, far worse will happen to you. Will you tell her that?”

“I don’t believe you,” she breathed. She sounded far less certain than she probably meant to.

“I don’t care what you believe,” I growled into her face. “Will you tell her, or do I need to carve it into you? My writing is very messy.”

She promised to pass along my message.

I left Kesra crying silently in the corner of her bedroom. She was probably being truthful about not knowing anything, but she was also protecting her sister. Admirable, but if you put yourself between two monsters and refuse to move you can fucking well deal with the consequences.

I had no idea if I could find her if the Blossom — Zabra — hid her somewhere. Perhaps I should have just killed her. It was frustrating that I hadn’t allowed myself to do so. But Conscience was probably right to hold me back. Zabra had no idea what I was capable of. I’d escaped her chains and her cell. I’d killed fifteen or more of her people. If she’d been hesitant to act against my friends and family before, this should make her think extremely carefully about escalating.

On the other hand, feeling her kin’s blood spurt across my face would have been so very, very satisfying.

When I returned to the inn both of my sisters were waiting. Mak must have warned Herald about my mood; they were both cautious as they let me into the cellar.

“How did it go?” Herald asked, standing far enough away not to crowd me but not so far that it would signal fear.

“It wasn’t her,” I growled, letting my frustration show plainly. “But it was her sister.”

“Is she…?”

“She’s alive. Mostly unharmed. I asked her to pass on a message.”

“Why didn’t you take her?” Mak asked. Not criticizing, just asking.

“I didn’t want to provoke our enemy. I doubt she would come herself, but she might have thrown everything she has at us. Or not. Who knows if a woman like that cares about her own sister.” It wasn’t a lie, exactly. I didn’t want Zabra to do something that might actually threaten my family or the inn. But the main reason that I hadn’t taken Kesra with me was… I wasn’t sure myself. Pity, perhaps?

“At least it wasn’t a waste of time,” Mak said soothingly. “We know which House the Blossom belongs to. We know that she has a sister.”

“And we have a name,” I added. “Zabra. Tespril Zabra. Her sister is Kesra.”

I told them the message I’d left for Zabra. We all agreed that it could have been better, but they insisted that I’d done well enough under the circumstances. And then, together, they slowly and carefully soothed my anger, coaxing me with gentle touches and talk about happier things.

We fell asleep together in the strongroom, with my sisters cuddled together against my side, and me hoping that I hadn’t made a royal mess of things.