Page 58 of A Tower of Half-Truths

Thirty-Four

The world darkened around her as she sprinted down the cobblestone street.

It was as though night had fallen early, but there were no moons to light her path.

She could no longer see the trees, the buildings, the sky.

Everything had become lost to the shroud.

She wanted to cry for help, but she couldn’t tell if there was anyone around to hear.

Anyone other than the last person she wanted to see.

She ran with all the grace of a newborn calf, her feet screaming in agony from the too-tight boots. She wanted to rid herself of the bloody things, but she couldn’t afford to stop.

The distance between the boutique and the market was not even a block. She had to be close by now. Once she returned to the market, she would be safe. The area would be too open, too sun-bathed for even a master of Aumbremancy to cast it all into darkness.

She continued running forward, but the arcana-infused shadows caught up with her.

A tendril snaked up her leg like a dark, intangible rope.

She tried to shake it off, but the more she struggled, the more it persisted.

Another quickly followed, coiling around her other leg, then her midsection and arms.

She needed to dispel the shadows. The incantation came to mind automatically. But when she opened her mouth to conjure an orb of Ether, the shadows caught in her throat, burned her lungs. Choking on their acrid taste, she couldn’t manage so much as a whisper.

The shadows engulfed the final inch of her exposed skin, and then her stomach lurched as she became weightless, one with the black void.

Three heartbeats later, her feet met solid ground again. The shadows dissipated, but the world around her was still dim. From what she could tell, she was in an alley. And judging by how briefly she’d been within the shroud, she couldn’t have been transported far.

“Hello again, Mave.”

Her breath caught in her lungs as she froze, then slowly turned toward the voice she’d expected but nonetheless dreaded to hear. Standing behind her was the man who had put a bullet in her stomach two months ago.

Neldren had shaved his goatee, and the scars marring his slate-colored skin were now on full display. One of them appeared fresh. He was wearing the same longcoat he’d worn the last time they saw each other, though it had gained several new patches.

He took a step forward.

“Don’t!” Mavery cried, reflexively summoning a protective ward.

“Relax.” Neldren raised his hands, fingers spread and palms facing out. “I know how this looks, but I do come in peace.”

She scowled at him through the blue veil.

“It’s like Ellice told you: I just want to talk.

I reserved us a table at a café around the corner.

I figured if I brought you straight there, it would cause a scene, and I wanted to do this properly.

After all, word around town is you’re a regular in the Garden District these days.

” His gaze flicked downward. “Nice boots, by the way.”

“Fuck you.”

He sighed. “All I’m asking for is five minutes. I know I don’t deserve it, but give me that, and you’ll never see me again. I swear.”

Neldren Rel’Selayne was a master of deception; he’d taught her everything she knew about that art form. Yet, there was something in his voice that gave her pause: a modicum of sincerity. Only someone who knew him as she did would recognize it.

“Five minutes,” she said stiffly. While she didn’t trust the bastard—far from it—she had to admit she was curious enough to humor him.

He inclined his head. “Follow me.”

Mavery kept her ward aloft all the way down the alley.

They rounded the corner, and before them was a small café much like the one Alain had once taken her to.

But this one had a spacious patio with a front-row view of the botanical garden, whose glass roof gleamed in the sunlight.

They were still in the Garden District, just down the road from the boutique.

A dozen café patrons chatted quietly, drank tea, read newspapers. A few risked glances in Mavery and Neldren’s direction but otherwise paid them no mind. It was little wonder; Neldren’s presence signaled that, while he didn’t belong here, he was someone best left alone.

He gestured to an empty table. Mavery dismissed her ward, then took a seat in one of the wrought-iron chairs.

In front of her was a porcelain cup filled with what looked like an exceptionally dark tea.

Its aroma was earthy, somewhat burnt. Had it been Alain offering her this unfamiliar drink, she would have tried it without a second thought.

But she was not about to trust anything from the man who’d seated himself across from her.

“I took the liberty of ordering for you,” Neldren said. “It’s called coffee, made from tiny beans from the Isles. The Dauphinians are so mad about this drink, they went to war with Maroba just to get their hands on those beans. At least, that’s what the bloke behind the counter told me.”

“Fascinating,” she said flatly. “So, how did you track me down?”

“My old friend Vilk. Remember him?”

She shook her head. Neldren had scores of “old friends.”

“Then maybe you’ll remember that night a few years back, when I played twelve games of Tribute with you practically sitting on my cock the entire time. He sat across the table from us, lap notably empty. Even if you don’t remember Vilk, he definitely remembers you.”

Mavery couldn’t remember the man’s face well enough to pick him out of a crowd, but she could remember the way he’d leered at her all night. Her skin prickled at the memory.

“Oh. Him.”

“We reconnected not long after I arrived in the city. Vilk’s current scheme is selling fake rugs to rich tossers who don’t know any better. He mentioned seeing you the other night.”

Her breath caught in her lungs as she recalled the merchant she’d spoken with earlier—the man with the bronze makeup and the fake accent.

The hand with the missing fingers was the same one that had drawn cards and thrown down coppers until the small hours of the morning.

And when that hand had tried to grope Mavery’s breast afterward, Neldren had threatened to snap off its remaining digits.

Every muscle in Mavery’s body clenched as Neldren reached inside his coat pocket. But he revealed only a bloodstone. He gave it a playful shake before slipping it back in his pocket.

“I told him to send me a signal if he ever saw you again,” he said. “And, as luck would have it, I didn’t have to wait long.”

Mavery frowned. “That’s one minute gone, so get to the point. What do you want?”

“First, I have a gift.”

He reached into his other pocket, pulled out a dagger, and laid it on the table. It was the same one Mavery had lost back in Burnslee. Its hilt was carved from ivory, and a floral pattern was etched in its golden sheath.

“Take it,” Neldren said.

“What’s your game?”

“No game. Just returning what’s yours.”

The dagger wasn’t hers, technically speaking. She’d never been able to afford a weapon like this, not even at the height of her thieving career. She’d stolen it years ago from a noblewoman during a carriage robbery.

She snatched the dagger and slipped it in her bag before Neldren had the chance to change his mind. Oddly, she felt no safer with it in her possession again.

“I had every intention of returning it to you,” Neldren said. “I only held onto it because I knew the healers would confiscate it.”

She blinked. “You…what?”

“How do you think you got to the healers in the first place?”

“So…” She tried to swallow, but her mouth had gone dry. “So, you took my knife after dumping me on their doorstep?”

He sighed. “I didn’t dump you on their doorstep.

I made sure they found you, then waited outside the infirmary for two hours while you were in surgery.

Once I knew you would live, I went back to the inn, gave Ellice and Itri some bullshit story about how you’d slipped on a patch of ice.

” He hung his head. “I was too ashamed to admit what I’d done. ”

“You think I’m stupid enough to believe all that?” Mavery demanded, her voice low with barely contained rage.

Neldren looked up, frowning deeply.

“I barely slept at all that night, so first thing in the morning, I snuck back into the infirmary. You were still unconscious, but I was determined to wait around until you woke up. I had to keep to the shadows because I doubted the healer they’d assigned you would’ve been happy to see me, the way she ranted about vagabonds. Right bint, that Emma was.”

Mavery’s stomach roiled, but this time, shadow magic had nothing to do with it. Alain had been right after all: Neldren hadn’t left her for dead.

“Once the village caught wind of”—Neldren’s eyes shifted, then he lowered his voice—“our job…that miserable little place became infested with bulls. I had no choice but to leave before I could explain myself.”

“Explain what, exactly? You tried to kill me but then felt guilty about it?”

“I never wanted to kill you, Mave. I was already in a right state over Fennick and how he’d almost cost us the score. When you walked out, something in me just…snapped. But even in the moment, I didn’t want to see you dead. That’s why I didn’t aim for any vital organs.”

“Oh, how considerate of you,” Mavery said with as much bitterness as she could muster.

“Look at it from my perspective. You come back after dropping off the face of Perrun for almost a year. I allow you to rejoin my crew, even though I had every right to turn you away. I then snag us the best job either of us had seen in ages.” He accentuated each point with a jab of his finger against the tabletop.

“Even after all that, you still walked out on me again, all because I took care of a minor hiccup in the most efficient way I could.”

She glared at him. “You would call murdering a man in cold blood ‘a minor hiccup’?”