Kingdom Blades (A Pattern of Shadow & Light 4) Read online

And he hadn’t told them about his pact with Tanis and the Princess Nadia, or their coordinated attempts to uncover the truth behind Malin van Drexel’s disappearance—which collaboration had ended with their investigation into the Literato N’abranaacht, aka the Malorin’athgul Shailabanáchtran—mainly because he didn’t feel like trying to explain any of that.

  And he hadn’t told them about his variant trait, the one that allowed him to travel on twisted nodes, because…well, he wasn’t stupid. Felix just hoped they wouldn’t summon his father.

  When he’d first awoken in the Sormitáge infirmary with his leg all stuck with Healer’s pins and a raging headache, remembering little except having been made into a human sandwich along with a bunch of blokes whose arse hairs he would rather not have met so intimately, well…he might’ve mumbled something about the need to notify his father then. But he’d very quickly recovered his wits.

  He needn’t have worried, in any case. Sormitáge Healers never listened to their charges. They’d simply pushed him back down into unconsciousness so they could Heal his broken leg, and when he’d woken again, his leg was working properly and he was lying in the four-poster bed, wondering where in the blazing Sanctos he was.

  In a bloody dead spot on the Pattern of the World, that’s where!

  Felix’s fingers absently rubbed the amulets he wore on a chain around his neck, which boasted the sanctified effigies of his ancestors, who were supposed to be looking out for him. One amulet bore the long-nosed face of his many-times great aunt Frangelica, who’d died of a broken heart, and the other depicted his great-great-great-grandfather Dominico, who’d died fighting pirates. Felix rubbed the outline of his great-grandfather’s face between thumb and forefinger and thought of praying to him for deliverance, but he rather imagined that any help Dominico was likely to send him would only get him into worse trouble.

  He wouldn’t have tried to flee in any case, even had they given him the opportunity. Attempting an escape from the Tower while under suspicion of treason wasn’t usually the smartest plan.

  Sancto Spirito!

  What in the thirteen hells had happened to Tanis and the princess? And why hadn’t they come to retrieve him from such totally unfair—if not entirely undeserved—captivity? He would have words with both of them when he saw them again.

  If he saw them again…

  Shadow take that Vincenzé! The High Lord’s man had no compunction about threatening Felix with permanent incarceration if he didn’t ‘come clean’ on his alleged crimes. But how was he supposed to ‘come clean’ on something he hadn’t done?

  Felix glowered out into the rain.

  It might’ve been an hour or many hours later—it was impossible to tell the time of day beneath such a gloomy sky—that Felix heard the clicking of the stone locks in his door, which signaled that someone had worked the trace seal from the other side. The door swung open on the doleful whine of much-abused hinges to reveal Vincenzé and Giancarlo in the portal.

  “Oh, joy.” Felix turned his gaze back to the rain.

  “We share a similar appreciation of your company, Felix di Sarcova,” the truthreader Giancarlo remarked as he shut the door behind their entry. Stocky, and with the corded arms of a sailor, Giancarlo gazed upon the world from a square-jawed face crowned by a mass of unruly brown hair. But though he exhibited all the charm of a forge-worker, his truthreader’s eyes revealed a shrewd intelligence.

  Much in contrast to his stocky cousin, the taller, handsomer Vincenzé pushed hands on his hips and scanned his bright blue eyes around the room—as if expecting some change from the last time he’d thusly surveyed it.

  Felix didn’t trust Vincenzé. The wielder had three Sormitáge rings and a dangerous look about him—like one of those Jamaiian pirates, only better dressed. And while he boasted the kind of patrician features distinctive to the Caladrian elite, his dark hair had a decided sweep of daring to its wave, and his hand never strayed far from his blade.

  Vincenzé finished his survey of Felix’s insultingly sparse accommodations and fixed a shrewd gaze on Felix himself. “Well, Sarcova…” he strode over to the table and hooked a leg over one corner, seating himself on the edge, “what have you to say for yourself today?”

  “Where’s my satchel?” Felix flung an abused glare in Vincenzé’s direction. “I told you I’m not talking to you again until you bring me my things.”

  Giancarlo pulled Felix’s satchel out of a larger pack at his hip. He dangled the bag tauntingly in the air from one hooked forefinger. “And why should you want this so badly, eh?”

  Felix darted up and snatched the satchel out of Giancarlo’s hold before the truthreader could hide it away again. He clutched it to his chest as he retreated to his chair. “I’m not going to escape through it, if that’s what you’re implying.”

  “And why should that be what he was implying?” Vincenzé’s too-keen gaze took Felix’s measure, and the lad did not at all appreciate the evaluation poised there.

  Of all of the people who’d come to interrogate him—inquisitors, adjuncts, truthreader spies—Vincenzé posed the gravest threat to Felix’s secrets. The wielder had instincts, plain and simple, and with the truthreader Giancarlo ever at his side, Felix couldn’t lie to him. It took all of his skill to make Vincenzé think he’d answered his questions when he really hadn’t.

  “You can’t hold me here like this,” Felix grumbled. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “That’s yet to be determined,” Giancarlo returned.

  Felix leveled the truthreader a rat-faced stare and said nothing.

  Vincenzé settled interlaced fingers upon his thigh. “The sooner you come clean with us, Sarcova, the sooner you’ll see the other side of that door.”

  Felix didn’t imagine the other side of that door was much more interesting than this side.

  “We know you’re holding back on us.” Giancarlo remarked, whereupon Felix felt the Adept barging into his mind, seeking truths that didn’t belong to him. So Felix did something he was very skilled at—he vacated his mind completely.

  He wasn’t sure if it was another variant trait or just a skill he’d honed out of self-preservation as the youngest of nine Adept boys, but Felix had a way of retreating to the furthest edges of his thoughts and lingering there like a shadow in the corner of the room, leaving all else vacant to inspection. It wasn’t the same as trying to lie to a truthreader, or even like a wielder shielding his thoughts. This was more like having no thoughts for the truthreader to read.

  Felix finally felt the unwelcome steps of Giancarlo’s mental probing moving on again, so he slipped back into the space of his own mind, dragging his thoughts behind him like a timid puppy on its leash.

  Giancarlo turned to his cousin, pressed his lips into a thin line and shook his head.

  Vincenzé scowled. “Now look, Sarcova—”

  “I want to see Tanis.” Felix clutched his satchel to his chest and glared at the two Adepts. “At least tell me where he is…what you’ve done with him.” He hoped they weren’t holding Tanis in the very next room. He wouldn’t have put it past Vincenzé to try to play him and Tanis off each other to see what information could be gained.

  Vincenzé and Giancarlo exchanged a look. Then the latter turned his colorless eyes back to Felix. “Tit for tat, Sarcova. We tell you something true, you tell us something true.”

  “You imply I’ve told you something untrue.”

  Vincenzé broke into a sly smile. “Well, you haven’t been exactly forthcoming with us, have you, Sarcova?”

  Felix glowered at him. “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “Yes, an effort you’re equally adept at, eh? Not so enjoyable when the tables are turned.”

  “Tit for tat.” Giancarlo wandered over and leaned against Felix’s bedpost. “Or you can go on not knowing what happened to your friend.”

  Felix expanded his glower to include both of the men. “Fine.”

  “Fine.” Giancarlo sounded smug.
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  “Fine.” A rather predatory smile presented itself across Vincenzé’s face. “We would happily let you see Tanis…if only you might tell us where he is.”

  The room fell silent except for Felix’s suddenly pounding heart. Even the doleful rain seemed to take a breath in pause. “…What do you mean?” A sinking feeling dragged at Felix’s chest. “You mean…they took Tanis?”

  “And who precisely would they be, eh?” Vincenzé arched an inquiring brow.

  Felix rubbed both palms against his eyes. His mind returned to those last moments at the Quai game, when everything went mad. He’d hardly been able to keep up with Tanis there at the end, what with everyone in screaming chaos and the stadium exploding around them. Tanis had started running so fast—fair streaking from stand to stand, trying to reach Nadia down by the field. To imagine the bastards had gotten him—

  Bloody Sanctos on a stake! Had they taken the princess, too?

  Felix returned his gaze to Vincenzé’s. Now he saw the tension behind the man’s eyes for what it boded. Now he understood why both of the Caladrians had been so patient with him, so willing to give him what he asked for. Never mind Tanis—the Princess Heir was missing, and they thought he knew something about it!

  Sancto Spirito!

  Gah! The burning truth of it was, Nadia would never have gotten mixed up in any of this, if not for him. She would never have been at the Quai game at all. She would’ve been safe in the palace!

  Felix was the one who’d tripped his way into her rooms…who’d brought Malin’s disappearance to her notice…who’d delighted in her interest in helping him in his investigation…who’d reluctantly agreed to take her across twisted nodes so that her guards would never know she was gone…

  The fact that Felix possessed an unregistered variant trait and had been using it illicitly to travel on twisted nodes—this fact paled next to the undeniable truth that he’d used his talent to sneak the Imperial Heir out of the palace without her guard.

  Felix wished he’d never gone to meet Malin in the Archives that night.

  “Is your guilt choking you, Sarcova?”

  Felix lifted a burning gaze to Giancarlo, who was regarding him with smug satisfaction, like a diamond-eyed cat with a mouse trapped beneath its paw.

  So what if they had him cornered? That didn’t make him stupid enough to confess to things they weren’t yet accusing him of. Besides which, he didn’t know how much he could tell them, even if he tried. How far would Nadia’s trust-bond protect their secrets? He didn’t actually know.

  He shifted a look between the two Caladrians. “Those Varangian bastards took Tanis?”

  Vincenzé hooked his toe on the room’s only chair, spun it around and straddled it, folding his arms across the back. “Why don’t you tell us what you know, Sarcova, and maybe we’ll tell you a little of what we know, eh?”

  Felix hugged his satchel closer against his chest. “You first.”

  “Prego.” Vincenzé eyed him meaningfully. “The High Lord has been studying the currents.” He lifted a finger from his arm and rolled it around at Felix. “Upon elae’s tides, he found your pattern, Felix di Sarcova. He also found the lad Tanis di Adonnai’s pattern, and much to his grievous displeasure, the Princess Nadia’s pattern as well.”

  Felix might’ve gone a little pale at this information, or else it could’ve been his lunch coming back with a vengeance. It was hard to discern what exactly was making him so queasy.

  “Your turn, Sarcova.” Giancarlo straightened away from the bedpost with his meaty arms still crossed. “What’s your involvement with the attack at the Quai game? How did you help the Danes take the Princess Nadia?”

  “How—what—me?” Felix protested shrilly. “I had nothing to do with any of that business! It was bloody N’abranaacht—”

  “N’abranaacht?” Giancarlo exchanged a puzzled look with his cousin. “The Arcane Scholar? The same scholar who half of Faroqhar watched fighting a demon?”

  Vincenzé held up his hand to pause any further inquiry along that line. “Your signature was all over the second strand currents, Sarcova.”

  “Because I was trying to escape!”

  “On twisted nodes?” Giancarlo arched a skeptical brow.

  Vincenzé waggled his finger at Felix. “Or else you were helping the Danes.”

  Felix’s eyes went wide. “Why would I help those bastards?”

  “The ninth Sarcova son?” Vincenzé arched a suggestive brow. “Even in a family of wealth, you don’t stand to inherit much. What prospects do you truly have?”

  “Well, I certainly wouldn’t prostitute myself to the bloody Danes!”

  “If you weren’t helping them with the invasion, why did the second strand currents carry your signature?”

  “I told you—”

  Vincenzé silenced him with an upraised hand. “I want the truth this time, Sarcova. What were you and Tanis di Adonnai doing at the Quai game with the Princess Nadia?”

  Felix bit back a curse. Damn that Vincenzé! He was adept at asking the right sort of questions—the specific sort, along the very line of inquiry that Felix didn’t want anyone walking.

  He clenched his jaw and cast a defiant stare back at the man. “We weren’t with the Princess Nadia.”

  Vincenzé assumed a humorless smile. “Semantics. Perhaps Her Highness wasn’t with you at the Quai game, but you smuggled her out of the palace. Dare you deny it?”

  Felix did go pale that time.

  Giancarlo skewered Felix with his colorless gaze. “Come now…out with it, Sarcova. With what we already know of your activities, continuing to lie to us will only make things uglier for you.”

  Felix worked the muscles of his jaw and considered Giancarlo’s threat.

  If they’d truly had anything on him beyond speculation, he wouldn’t be enjoying a room with a view. But…if he now admitted to traveling twisted nodes…if he admitted to having an unregistered variant trait and using it to carry the Princess Nadia out of the palace, he’d be signing his own death warrant.

  Pshaw! Death warrant? They’d make him pray for death!

  Yet, if he lied here to the High Lord’s men, especially with that bullmastiff Giancarlo passing judgment over his words…well, he might as well put a noose around his own neck and jump out his window right then.

  Felix hugged his satchel and glared sullenly at Vincenzé. “I’m not telling you anything more until you quit treating me like a traitor.”

  Vincenzé grunted. “Believe me, Sarcova, if we actually thought you’d betrayed the Empire, this would be a very different sort of conversation. Come clean with us now—last chance, gatino.”

  Both of the High Lord’s men were staring at him expectantly. Felix couldn’t see any way around answering. He dropped his gaze. “Princess Nadia ordered me to take her from the palace.”

  Vincenzé shot Giancarlo a triumphant look. The truthreader frowned blackly at his cousin, dug a coin from his pocket and tossed it over. Vincenzé grabbed the silver out of the air and began rifling the coin expertly across the back of his fingers. “So where is she now, Sarcova?”

  “How the hell am I supposed to know?” Felix hugged his satchel closer, but thus far it had proven an inefficient shield against Vincenzé’s intuition. “Tanis was trying to get to her when N’abranaacht blew up the stadium and Belloth’s hell broke loose and half of a column and a dozen blokes landed on top of me, and the next thing I know I’m here being pounded on by you people.”

  “N’abranaacht.” Giancarlo cast a frown at his cousin. “Again the Literato.”

  Vincenzé kept riffling the coin across his fingers. “Why did the princess order you to take her from the palace, Sarcova?”

  Felix exhaled a deflated sigh. “We were trying to find Malin—you know,” he flung a glare at them, “the job that your people should’ve been doing.”

  “And you thought you’d find him at the Quai game?” Giancarlo posed dubiously.

  Felix ground his teeth. Gi
ancarlo’s comment only emphasized how singularly ignorant they were as to what was really going on.

  By the blessed Sanctos, how right Tanis had been! No one understood the threat N’abranaacht posed to them all. Malin had barely glimpsed it and look where it had gotten him.

  Vincenzé waggled a finger at him again. “How did you get the princess out of the palace?”

  Felix shifted a defiant glare to him. “We walked.”

  Giancarlo snorted. “Right out the door in front of Her Highness’s Praetorian Guard?”

  Felix shrugged. “They didn’t see us leaving.”

  “And however did you manage that, gatino?” Vincenzé’s words sounded benign, but he was watching Felix far too sharply.

  Felix gave a muted curse. “You know…you kind of shove one foot in front of the other and shift your weight forward, and—”

  “That’s the crux of it, isn’t it?” Vincenzé rose abruptly from his chair. “You didn’t ‘walk right out the door’ with the princess in any sense of those words, did you, eh?”

  Felix held the wielder’s stare and tried not to let Vincenzé see how fast his breath was coming.

  Giancarlo fixed Felix with his colorless gaze. “Your silence is answer enough. Don’t you understand, Sarcova? The Princess Heir’s life may be in danger.”

  “I’d say so, if those bastards took her,” Felix replied tightly.

  “Tell us where they’re holding her and we’ll entreat the Empress for clemency on your behalf.”

  Felix flung a glare at the truthreader. “I. Don’t. Know.”

  Giancarlo leaned towards him threateningly. “We think you do. We know you’re holding back on us. What are you not saying, eh?”

  Felix rolled his eyes dramatically. “What am I not saying? Oh, gee…let me see…the food they forced off on me today smelled like a dog’s arse? Oh, here’s something that may be important: I woke up with my balls itching this morning, and then the massive crap I took came out in the shape of a goat’s head. Do you think that’s a portent?”

  Vincenzé shoved the chair under the table with an impatient slam. “Do you know who’s holding the Princess Heir, Felix di Sarcova? Do you know where they might’ve taken her?”