“What do you mean?”
“They were talking to each other, well, whispering.”
Demascus shook his head slightly as if to make room for the concept of speaking paintings in his mind.
“What were they saying?” he said.
“I couldn’t make it out, not with all of them talking at once. So, I …”
“Took one,” he finished.
Riltana sighed. She got out of her bed and faced Demascus. She traced a rectangle shape in the air. From glovespace, the painting emerged and became a real weight in her grip. She set it against the wall. The painting was of a figure in a dark cloak and mask that nearly blended into the brick backdrop of the composition. The figure carried a satchel stuffed with gold coins that overflowed from the top.
“Some kind of thief?” said Demascus.
“That’s its name,” she said. “The Thief. It told me. It knows amazing stuff-all about burglary, hiding, getting in and out of secure places-”
“And you stole it,” said Demascus. “Some kind of wizardly artifact, brimming with useful knowledge anyone would value. No wonder House Norjah has sent a hit squad of vampires after you!”
“Yeah.” The eyes behind the painted mask caught Riltana’s. The portrait volunteered in a papery thin voice, “Acquisition of keys is not nearly as important as acquisition of trust. To break into a place of commerce, all that’s required is-”
“Hush, you,” whispered Riltana. She snatched up the painting and folded it away. What did it think of the glovespace, there with her extra rope, sunrod, the Prisoner’s Stone, arambarium chest, book of poisons, and other useful bits?
Demascus scratched his chin. “I don’t want to be the one to tell you your business, Riltana, but … maybe you should give the painting back. Norjah knows who you are, they know who I am, and they’re vampires, or have vampires on call. I doubt they’re going to rest until they kill us. Maybe if we return what you took to the head of the house, we can end this.”
Shame heated her cheeks. Demascus was right. Why was she so damn reckless? Yes, she should return it. She had actually already considered it. But she wanted to pump the arcane artifact for a few tidbits first. She wanted to learn the trick for picking a particular lock mechanism that’d always eluded her, maybe find a recipe for eyeblack that actually worked, and perhaps even the rudiments of breaking encrypted messages …
“Piss,” she whispered loudly. “I wish I’d never heard of House Norjah! If I ever see that bitch who told me Cyndra’s painting was there, she’ll meet the business end of my boot.”
Chant snorted, and Jaul rolled over. Demascus chuckled quietly, one finger up to his lips. “I almost feel sorry for her already. What was her game, I wonder?”
“Who knows? I never met her before. Though she seemed to know me. She was tall and had eyes like the cloudy orbs of a stormsoul. Very striking on a human.”
Demascus blinked. “Wait, what? Your informant was … a tall woman with eyes like storm clouds? Dark hair?”
She nodded. The deva’s mouth was working, as if trying to formulate a sentence after being clubbed in the face.
“Yeah … Hey, are you all right?” she said.
Demascus staggered out of the bed. “Did she have skin like coffee?”
Riltana nodded slowly. “Yes. You know her?”
“It sounds like the … the woman I … the woman a previous incarnation of me killed, the one I told you about. Madri. I saw her when I first reclaimed
“Uh …”
“How could she? She’s human, not bound to the world like me. Unless she’s a spirit … a spirit of vengeance …”
“Wait, you’re saying the woman who told me about Cyndra’s painting is, what? A ghost come to … to have her revenge? Then why’d she approach
Demascus shook his head in confusion. His usual halfsmile was gone, replaced by a grim frown. “Maybe it’s a coincidence.”
“I … No. My past is still stalking me. The mistakes, the enemies, and the angry ghosts of those I’ve wronged. And of all those I’ve forgotten.”
“If it
Demascus looked glum.
“If you were lovers once, she probably still has a soft spot for you. Maybe next time you see her, you should-”
“What, apologize for killing her?”
“For starters,” Riltana said. “And ask her to explain a few things. Maybe you don’t have to find your missing Whorl of Ioun to learn more about your past. Maybe you just need to find, um, what’s her name?”
“Madri.”
“Find Madri-shouldn’t be too hard. She’s apparently watching you. And me.”
Riltana shivered. She didn’t like the idea of a vengeful ghost from Demascus’s past stalking her, manipulating her. All the more reason the goat-humping deva needed to mend fences with Madri, whatever she was. After that, Riltana had a few questions for the woman herself. Such as, why’d she send Riltana into House Norjah in the first place? Had she wanted the thief to stir up the vampires? It didn’t make any sense. Not to mention how the repercussions of her theft were getting in the way of their main objective.
“Riltana,” Demascus finally said, “I don’t think you understand the magnitude of what you’re suggesting. I mean-I killed a person in cold blood, a person who trusted me! She’s not going to just forgive and forget.”
A scream like a cat being flayed burst into the bedchamber.
Chant and Jaul both started awake.
“What was that?” said Jaul.
“The vampires,” Chant said, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. “They’ve found us.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Lightning sizzled just over Chenraya’s head. The flash nearly blinded her, and she dropped to the ground as her passive-defensive spells channeled away most of the lightning’s charge into so many chasing sparks. But something still got through; it felt like a giant kicked her in the chest.
She squinted up against the flickering, smoke-obscured ceiling of the massive cavern. Lord Pashra stood over her, yelling something and brandishing his cleaver at the genasi soldiers and war wizards who’d engaged them.
Chenraya had thought crushing the final knot of defenders would be easy. Of course the oni had told her otherwise, that the remaining defenders were strongest and would prove
Lying in the rubble while gasping in pain from the last genasi stroke was bad. But being proved wrong by the oni was far worse. It was a slight that couldn’t be forgiven.
However, given that her exploratory force had been turned into smoking carcasses, she now had other priorities. Beginning with the fact that she could barely feel her extremities. The defending war wizard’s lightning bolt had been even more potent than she’d realized.
