Page 34 of Mistress of Bones

XXIII

SEEKING DANGER

FORTY-FIVE MINUTES EARLIER

Nereida de Guzmán had left the house, gone to a tavern, spoken to the woman behind the counter, then returned to De Gracia’s to spend her time doing nothing but stare into the patio. Virel Enjul had followed her himself, content with leaving Azul in her brother’s hands, accompanied by her shadow.

Content was perhaps not the most fitting term.

If Emissary Enjul could separate his soul from his flesh, he’d be happy to follow Del Arroyo wherever she went.

Azul—the malady, he corrected himself—hadn’t put a step out of place, didn’t do as he had expected after she lied to him at the exhibition.

The lie had been obvious. He had expected her to search for the other malady’s victim and warn them to stay away.

But she hadn’t.

Enjul enjoyed puzzles, so every night he went to his room, thinking about what Azul del Arroyo might be planning in that obstinate head of hers and following each possible path to its inevitable ending: this other malady dead, Azul del Arroyo locked away for study at his Valanjian headquarters of choice.

And every morning he woke exhilarated, wondering if that would be the day Azul guided him to the proof of the other malady’s identity.

He had the vague thought that the woman might be of further use once he was done studying her. What better way to reconcile her affronts to the Lord Death than by helping him search for other possible maladies and eliminating them?

The idea was too enticing, so he had shoved it to the back of his mind and concentrated on Nereida de Guzmán instead. Whatever plan was being spun, she was good at keeping it secret. De Guzmán was not as easy to read as Del Arroyo.

So, why did he find himself waiting a couple of blocks away from the gathering De Gracia and Azul had chosen to attend instead of following De Guzmán?

Ultimately, it didn’t matter whom he followed, he told himself. If there was a plan, it would require Azul’s presence, and Enjul doubted Azul would set anything in motion before getting to her sister’s bones.

He would need another threat to keep her from using her foulness once she agreed to help find other maladies. He was quite looking forward to eroding her erroneous beliefs, to see what kind of convoluted philosophical games she spun to plead her case.

Not many dared contradict his words. Even now, without his bone armor and dressed like any other Sancian, there was a void surrounding him as he leaned against a building.

No peddlers approached him; children gave him a wide berth.

A boy selling flowers had moved a street away a few minutes after Enjul had chosen this spot, as if worried his floral wares would blacken with decay should he stay nearby.

He considered this aura a gift, one he enjoyed using on those who thought themselves better than their gods.

Enjul’s disgust rose again at the way Cienpuentes’s citizens did nothing but pray for riches.

What a deplorable city. Gray and drab, its Anchor almost gone.

If the Blessed Heart had a voice, it was drowned in all this greed.

A man gained his attention, inconspicuous, easily ignored—if you weren’t the one who had hired him.

Enjul left his spot and went to meet him, wariness and fury rising.

Why was he here and not guarding Azul? A young girl walked by the man’s side, grinning cheekily until she noticed Enjul stalking their way.

Azul’s shadow was fast to take ahold of the girl’s arm before she could turn tail and flee.

“Why are you here?” he asked of the man.

The man nudged the girl’s arm.

“I have a message,” the girl muttered, avoiding looking at Enjul. “A woman—Del Rollo or something—said to tell you she’s gone to visit a friend at the Blue Bastards, since she got kid-kidnapped and neither of you noticed.”

The man fished for a thin coin in his pocket and gave it to the girl before setting her free.

“Kidnapped?” Enjul demanded.

The man simply shrugged.

“I ought to kill you,” Enjul said, walking toward the City Guard’s headquarters. Ambassador Enzare had shared her maps of Cienpuentes with him, and he had been careful to insist Azul saw none of them, no matter how many times she asked.

Her shadow followed easily, unfazed by the threat but perhaps not quite so relaxed as usual.

The thought that Azul had been taken from their hands was appalling.

Although it had certainly been due to her status as De Gracia’s sister, if someone else were to discover what she could do…

the damage could be enormous. Del Arroyo was obstinate and would refuse to use her foulness without her sister’s bones, but everyone had a breaking point.

And the woman cared too much. She would break.

If anyone were to break her, it would be him, not some stranger out for personal gain.

This game they had chosen to play must come to an end. Enjul would give her one more chance to lead him to the malady, and then he would drag her to Valanje, where no one else would have access to her.

THE PRESENT

Right before Enjul got to her, Azul threw the bone to the floor.

It didn’t stop him—of course it didn’t—and with a firm hold on her wrist, he dragged her into one of the smaller alleys flowing into the plaza.

She kept a smile on her face, both for the benefit of the guards watching them and because she had no fear.

The moment they were alone—him, her, and the shadow—Enjul pushed her against a wall and took a tight hold of her throat with one hand.

“You dare goad me?” he snarled, his face so close, the violet-and-golden eyes blurred against her attempt to focus.

She grabbed his wrist when the pressure grew, digging her nails into the cuff of his sleeve, the skin of his wrist.

Enjul, his point made, loosened his grip. “Do you wish to die by my hand, is that it? Only way you’ll ever get to see your sister again, I suppose.”

A handful of times in the middle of the night through the years, she had wondered: if bones called to her, demanded her attention, might she be able to call them back? She had never tested it, though—there had been no need. Until now.

The Eye of Death opened on her palm, right against his skin.

Enjul yelped and threw her to the side, shaking his hand, then bringing it to the hilt of his sword.

Azul stumbled, then faced him and eyed his pose warily, her own hand inching toward Nereida’s dagger.

Well, she had tested it now, and found she could do no more than provoke a sting of pain.

The effort had drained her, even with a simple strip of flesh separating her from his wristbone.

Living bones had a will of their own, and his had most emphatically refused her.

The emissary did not need to know that.

“I am no child,” she told him grimly, “for you to leave behind to be at your beck and call. You can kill me, this is true, or tie me to a chair until you finish your business here. But as you have probably guessed, I lied. You know I saw more of the necromancer’s victims at the exhibition.”

“Necromancer. What a whimsical name.”

“It must be frustrating, to see that a nobody, a countryface from Agunción, has acquired this gift from the gods without trying, without hours of praying, without whatever it is you’ve sacrificed to get where you are.”

A snarl curled his lips. “You understand nothing of sacrifice, of what it means to have a god touch you with his grace.”

“Bah! You may have survived death through your god’s grace, but surviving pales compared to creating, doesn’t it?”

“If your hope is to survive this trip, you are not endearing yourself to the cause. Why should I keep you around when you mock me and my god? When you are of no use to me?”

“Why should I help when you see me as nothing but a tool tucked away as a last resort while you attempt to find the malady on your own? I suppose it’s vexing to fail so spectacularly.”

“As you’ve failed to find your sister’s bones? Don’t protest my treatment of you when it’s afforded you so many opportunities to attempt your goal.”

Even the most stonehearted individual would have trouble not flinching at that. Virel Enjul knew where to strike best. “It seems we both seek something we can’t achieve without the other’s help.”

He relaxed his stance. “What do you propose?”

If he meant to encourage her to relax, too, she refused to follow suit. “Let us talk in an open area, where anger won’t get the best of us.”

“You will not attempt that again,” he said curtly, motioning toward her hand, “on me or my subordinates.”

“I won’t if you or your shadows—by the way, thank you for your help—” she sniped to the man by the alley’s entrance, who took off his hat and bowed with a smile, “or your Order will never harm me or my siblings.”

He hesitated, but only briefly. “Agreeable.”

“That’s not a promise.”

“It isn’t.”

She nodded in understanding. “I asked for too much. Neither you nor your shadows nor your Order will harm me as long as I don’t use my gift. And my siblings, not ever.”

“That I can promise, and your siblings I have no reason to seek.”

They both knew the first part of the promise was moot—she’d have to use her gift again to raise Isadora—but Azul recognized the truth in the rest of his words.

Surprising that he had agreed not to harm her family, as Enjul knew she meant to bring Isadora back and he had shown no compunction in killing Zenjiel, but he must be confident he could stop her before she got the chance.

Azul was happy to let him believe that. “We’ll talk, then.”

They retreated back into the plaza and found some seats at the shaded tables. Blue tabards were still lolling around, talking, drinking, and playing some kind of marbles game. Someone offered them cold drinks, and Azul realized the tables belonged to a nearby tavern.

Azul and Enjul faced each other, drinks and cold meats and cheese on a platter between them. Nobody paid them attention; her shadow lounged close by.