Night of Masks and Knives (The Broken Kingdoms Book 4)
Night of Masks and Knives: Book 2 – Chapter 13

Why did I do it? In my head it made some sense to keep the truth hidden from her. The guild could’ve called me Nightrender in her presence. They wouldn’t give up my name. Not to her.

True, they knew we had some connection to the past. The Kryv understood Hagen Strom had been a sort of defender to me as a boy. But I’d never brought my guild into the depths of my knotted past with Malin Strom.

My decision had lashed out so swiftly. A heady desire to hear my name from her mouth, a desire to break her; I wasn’t certain why I gave in to the need. Now in the courtyard of the ruins, she stared at me like I’d sprouted up from the hells.

Muscles tensed. I could hardly catch a deep enough breath. Hate me. She needed to despise me, to leave this bleeding place whenever this ended.

I could live with her disdain if she drew breath far from the shores of Klockglas. They’d take her in the North. She’d be free to use mesmer in the open. Find some fae to love as devotedly as she did Hagen, as she . . . as she always loved.

I had no room in the scabrous, maggot-rotted thing in my chest to be hers anymore.

Hanna finger-spoke frantically with Ash. Unable to use her voice, we’d all quickly learned how to communicate with the girl. Gunnar’s mother had suffered a similar ailment in the form of a curse. He’d taught us even more ways to speak with our hands around Hanna.

Ash responded to his sister with a silent nod.

Tova gnawed her thumbnail. Gunnar looked between us, as if he were suddenly torn on who to stand beside. Isak and Fiske whispered to each other. Vali frowned. Unsurprising. Lynx rested a hand on the knife he never parted with.

Raum was the only one in the guild who seemed utterly pleased with Malin knowing my name. The others had expected me to be distant and cold.

Now, I’d proven how weak I was around the girl of the past.

I needed to leave, needed to be free of her scrutiny. Raum winked at Malin and followed me when I reeled around for the ruins.

The corridors branched off in a labyrinth of twists and turns, but we’d lived here long enough I moved to the center hall without much thought. One by one the Kryv abandoned their places in the courtyard, and meandered inside, watching me as if I might do something horrifying.

″Need some sweet ale?” Raum asked. He clapped a hand on my shoulder. “Isak made a fresh batch, and the way you look, the hells know, it might help take the edge off.”

″Kase, you were closer to the woman than you let on,” Vali said, catching up to us. Always the straightforward one. “The look on her face, I thought her heart might give out.”

″I don’t want to speak of it,” I snapped.

″Ah,” Raum started slowly. “My friend, you might not have a choice. Incoming!”

Before I had a chance to grasp anything he was saying, a thick shout echoed off the ruin walls.

″No!”

Birds fluttered from their branches. My body froze.

I turned with the patience of melting snow. She knew the truth, but I didn’t miss the way her breath caught in a little gasp when our eyes locked again. As if she needed to prove the whole of it to her heart once more.

I knew the feeling.

I’d been hidden in plain sight for nearly a turn. I’d been near her, touched her. But this moment was still different. There were no illusions or pretenses between us.

A naked sort of feeling. Exposed at long last. In truth it took all my control to keep my face as stone.

″No,” she repeated through her teeth. “You don’t get to walk away from me.”

My jaw pulsed. ”You do not make demands here. I warned you once, I’ll not do it again.”

″Then cut out my tongue, Nightrender!” Bold. Then again, she was always bold. A dangerous flaw. Malin’s voice trembled and was steady all at once. “But not until you explain what the bleeding hells happened to you.”

I owed her nothing. She was not part of me. Not anymore. But if she wanted the truth, she’d get it. I tilted my head, voice dark as midnight. “I went to the hells and back.”

I turned to walk away again.

The slap of her feet over the stones led me to hope she ran in the opposite direction. Should’ve known she wouldn’t give it up.

I made it five paces before her small hand slammed against my shoulder. A pathetic mix of a slap and a jab, but it startled me enough I spun around to meet fresh tears in her eyes.

Dammit. I hated tears.

″You bastard,” she said. “What were you going to do? Take Hagen and never make yourself known to me?”

″Yes. Obviously. Until you ruined it all.”

Malin’s hands clutched the sides of her head. “All gods. At Sigurd’s, this is why you did not want me to dig in your head. I would’ve found you out.” Fire flashed in her eyes. “Do you not know how many times I nearly got myself killed—for you!”

Emotion. Fear. Love. All of it was too riddled in risk. None of those things had any place here. I’d learned enough to know when you gave in, when those took precedent over cunning, intellect, and greed, only pain followed.

In a few tricky steps, I had her backed against one wall, my body forming a cage over hers. Both my palms flattened aside her head, and I leaned close enough the green in her eyes gleamed like chipped glass. Every freckle dusting her nose, the small scar beneath her eye from a thorn bush, every horribly beautiful imperfection stared back at me.

″I never asked that of you.” I lowered my voice. “And you’re a fool for it.”

″No. I was a devoted friend.”

Devotion. Hells, I hated that word. What I knew, coupled with her proclivity to be the most loyal, most devoted person I’d ever met, left me with a bad taste in my mouth. The bleeding woman had no idea what risk she faced, and I had no ability to tell her.

I took a step back. “Time to end your search, dännisk Strom. You have no friends here.”

I left her against the wall and disappeared into the shadows of our haven. This time, she didn’t follow.

The tenement room was cramped and musty. A scratched oak table with root crates as chairs marked the dining nook, wicker chairs with fox furs woven into cushions made a small sitting area, and an overstuffed sack of fur and straw was what he called a bed.

Still, the Rutten district with its dusty, thin-walled rooms was better than what Helgi once called home.

The door clicked against the lock and the hinges groaned as it swung open.

Helgi was thin like a rod and gaunt like a skull. His hair never flattened and always stuck on end. The tuft of ratty hair he called a beard hid the scabs from his nervous picking. He bore all the characteristics of a deer ready to leap away at the first snap of a twig.

Helgi let out a long breath as he stripped back a burlap jacket from his shoulders. He tossed a satchel on top of the table, then lit the candle, brightening the small sitting area in pale yellow.

With intention, I shifted in one of his twig chairs; my weight causing the wood to groan.

″All gods.” Helgi yelped and knocked his hip against the table. His eyes widened at the sight of me.

I tugged on the sleeve of my tunic; ankle crossed over one knee. “Hello, Helgi.”

His eyes danced from my face to Gunnar’s at my left shoulder, then Fiske’s on my right. Fiske hadn’t predicted anything nefarious by coming here tonight. He had a Talent of knowing when good luck ended, and poor fortune came out.

″Nightrender,” Helgi’s voice crackled through a loud gulp. “What . . . a pleasure.”

″Is it? I wonder why you did not follow through on our payment then.”

Those sunken eyes popped, as if they might burst from his skull. “No. I’d never renege on anything. I got nothing, Nightrender. Nothing for you, swear it to the gods.”

″You shouldn’t trouble them. They are too busy not existing.”

I removed the curved karambit knife from a sheath on my thigh and spun it around one finger. Helgi shuffled back toward the door in slow steps. He wouldn’t run. The man was brainless, but he wasn’t a fool. His movements were more as if instinct to flee battled with his own logic that fleeing would mean a swift cut to the throat.

I used my chin to gesture to the wizened room “Why live here? Did you not purchase a cottage by the edge of Limericks after our deal?”

He shifted on his feet. “Lost it. Had a few bad games is all.”

″Ah, I see. The vice has returned.”

″Is that why you’re here? Come to take back the winnings? Because our deal never said nothing about what I’d do with the pot.”

“I have no interest in how much you squandered Gunnar’s hard-won purse.” Gunnar huffed and glared at Helgi until the man was forced to stare at the ground. I stopped spinning the knife, clicked my tongue, and stood. “It did, however, use the matter of information as payment. A debt, sadly, you’ve not paid.”

″Look, Nightrender, my woman is going to be home any time now. I don’t think she’d take it too kindly if she knew I had dealings with, well, with you lot.”

″No,” I said with a twisted sort of grin. “I’m sure she wouldn’t. You’ll be glad to know I have no intention of lingering. You’ve been keeping things from me Helgi, and I plan to get those things quickly, or we will have more to fret over than your woman coming through the door.”

The Kryv had developed a precise dance when it came to threatening. Fiske took five steps to one side, cutting off the back door. Gunnar was slier. Masking his pace by inspecting open shelves with chipped teacups and drinking horns. By the time he’d reached a slab of salted pheasant hanging on the wall, Gunnar had covered the only window in the room.

While they moved to Helgi’s back, I was all the man saw to the front. He was caught between us in every direction. Backed into a corner, most marks would squeal and give up everything without spilling a drop of blood.

Helgi was the sort to bend and break at the slightest pressure. A hard look. A flick of a knife. A bit of shadows in my eyes.

I’d said nothing, done nothing more than loom over him, and Helgi’s chin trembled. Over his brow sweat beaded. Blue veins popped beneath the paper-thin flesh over his skull.

″I can’t say nothing, Nightrender. They’ll have my fingers if I do.”

″I’ll match their fingers and raise you two eyes.” The point of the knife teased the ridge of his cheek. When I darkened the shadows in my eyes, Helgi’s throat bobbed in a rough swallow. “You come to us looking for a bit of good fortune, a way to feed your bloated belly. Gunnar bests the game hall for an entire night, brings you the coffers. I’m not sure you understand the discomfort such a thing caused my dear Gunnar.”

″Bleeding headache for a week, you sod,” Gunnar snapped.

Helgi’s sunken eyes followed me as I paced his tiny room. “Your payment was to provide me information from your mistress of employ when I asked.”

″But our deal was months back,” Helgi said, hands out like a supplicant.

″A good deal never dies.” I spun the knife again. He winced. Gods, the things I could do to this man with all the fear he carried in that skinny body. “This is the payment. You think we didn’t see some sense in making you a dealmaker because of your connection to Mistress Salvisk’s cheer house? Now, your landlord was quick to tell me you were boasting at the game tables about the mighty deal your mistress made for the Masque av Aska. Odd, but I heard nothing from you.”

Without warning, I slammed the point of my blade into the thin wood of his table. He barked a cry of surprise and trembled more than a bleeding child would.

Twist, break, bend, anything to get what we needed. Those were our brutal, effective tactics. But my control was at risk if anyone discovered how cracked and warped the shield around me had become.

I blamed sunset hair and a sharp tongue for the jagged pieces shaking loose.

Helgi sniffed, but he broke. With a defeated sigh he turned to the satchel and removed a crumbled piece of parchment with a broken wax seal on one side. The parchment was stained and battered, as if he’d dug it straight from a waste pile.

Knowing Helgi, he’d done exactly that.

I plucked the parchment from his fingers and behaved as if I studied every word before I handed it to Fiske.

As hoped for, he summarized out loud. “This is signed by masque dignitaries. Who knew they left words of gratitude for a cheer house mistress?”

″The traders came.” Helgi said. “Made a deal with Mistress Salvisk. One she’s been vying for the last two turns. She sold her cheeries for the queen’s ring tent.” The man’s shoulders slumped. “It’s not that I kept it from you, Nightrender. But I missed the mark. I knew I was supposed to tell you if any prison traders, masque folk, or Black Palace traders were scheduled to come sniff around. They came and went before I knew.”

″There is no if, Helgi,” I said, voice low. “The only reason we connected our guild to you is because Mistress Salvisk runs the cheer house most favored by the Black Palace. It was only a matter of time before she traded directly with the Masque av Aska or the Lord Magnate’s puppets.”

″So, we missed the trade deal we needed.” Fiske twirled the dirty missive in his fingers, locking Helgi in a glare. “We could’ve threatened them already if we’d known.”

″Please. I didn’t know. The deal was done in the dark, and I found out the next day.”

″And kept it from us.”

″I didn’t want you to think I wasn’t doing my part.”

“You did not do your part. I care little what time traders arrive, or when their deals are made,” I said in a tone calm as a summer’s morning. “You had one task. Inform us of a meet and do it without pitiful excuses. Not only did you fail at this task, once you learned of your misstep, you tried to hide the truth from us. A dangerous move to make. Good for us the folk around you are more loyal to us than you, or you might’ve gotten away with it.”

Helgi’s face scrunched like he was in pain. “Nightrender, please, I didn’t know Mistress Salvisk took conferences after dark. She retires early, says she doesn’t like to hear the noises of patrons.”

I believed him. Only because I knew that much about Salvisk. A woman who traded young folk, fallen from nobility. When shame or misfortune befell the wealthiest of Klockglas they were the most wretched and desperate. Even the type to sell their children to cheer house brothels.

Her cheer boys and girls were accustomed to the lifestyles of the folk who frequented the Black Palace and the masquerade.

Salvisk did these things but did not have the stomach to watch them play out. The weakest kind of villain.

I lifted my chin, tugging the point of the knife from the table. “You failed us, Helgi, but we are a forgiving guild. We need to speak with Mistress Salvisk.”

″She’d never meet with you.”

″I’m aware. What you will do is arrange a meet with a new buyer. But there will be a competitor. Lead her to believe she has an auction on her hands. When it is set, you send word.”

″What is it you plan to do?” he asked in a whisper.

″Not your concern. Do as we ask, and you can consider our dealings at an end.” With slow, methodical movements I touched the curve of the blade to the pulse point on his throat. “Last chance, Helgi. I don’t tolerate mistakes well.”

″No.” His voice shook. “No, I understand. I’ll send word. I will.”

″Good. Do it quickly. You’ve put us behind already.” Only once I pulled away did Helgi breathe again. I signaled to Gunnar and Fiske to follow me out of the tenement. Before I abandoned the space, I looked back at the pathetic dealmaker. “I do hope you’ll consider staying away from the game tables. You’re a piss poor player.”

He frowned and gave a jerky nod as if he hated agreeing.

″Oh.” I snapped my fingers. “And your woman, she’s not coming home tonight. I’m afraid she’s rather inclined to bed the sods winning at the tables as of late. I’d not expect her until the sun rises.”

His open mouth was the last thing I saw before I draped us in shadows and slammed the rickety door behind us.

Rutten carried a constant smell of rot and mold from turns of standing water cracking the wooden foundations of the shops and homes. But it was convenient in that no one walked the streets after dark. Most remained holed up in their smelly houses or delved headfirst into the debauchery of the rowdy gambling dens in the town square.

In an alley behind the tenement, I accepted a drink of Gunnar’s flacon and used the back of my sleeve to wipe the burn of brän off my mouth.

″Think it’ll be quick work, or a long wait?” Gunnar asked.

I knew he was anxious, likely more than anyone, but this would take a precision we’d not worked yet. “Salvisk will want to keep her deals big and bold. She won’t refuse the shine of an auction. We’ll move soon.”

″We could ride in under guise with her sold cheeries when they’re collected, and enter the Black Palace before the festival begins,” Fiske offered.

I shook my head. “They are collected from the cheer house no less than a week before the masquerade. Too early and we’d risk being caught. Our best chance will be to enter after we’ve learned all we can about this turn’s masque, the layout, the entertainment, all of it. Masquerade traders and auditioners will be the ones to have the information.”

″We’re not going after Salvisk then?” Gunnar asked. “We’re going after the traders she sold to?”

I smirked. “Who says we will not handle both?”

Fiske picked at his fingernails, a furrow over his brow. “He mentioned the queen’s ring. It will be on display, perhaps we should rid the Lord Magnate of his favorite trinket while we’re visiting the Black Palace.”

I merely grunted a reply. Truth be told, I’d burn the ring if I had the chance.

″Lynx told me about the ring,” Gunnar said. “I’d like to finally see this legendary queenmaker.”

″It is nothing remarkable,” I said, signaling for them to follow me into the street.

A thousand lifetimes would be too soon to see that bleeding ring again. Made of glass that looked like silver. Runes said to glow gold should fate’s queen return and heal the broken kingdom of the east.

The madness of the game drew out the worst in folk. The cruelest natures. But Ivar would dangle the ring in the greedy eyes of his people, distracting them from the true purpose of his game: to sniff out any Alver who might be born of the long-lost royal bloodlines, so he could kill them.

The bleeding ring was a curse. A burden splitting me in two.

″What do we do with our newest guild member until Helgi brings word?” Fiske asked.

My chest tightened. Malin Strom was a thorn in my side. A hope in my heart. What to do with her? No mistake, waiting patiently would not sit well in her stubborn head.

″She’ll acquaint herself with Felstad, then go with us to Salvisk’s,” I said. “She wants to know what it is to be a Kryv, I say she learns.”

Fiske arched a brow. “So sure that’s wise? She might be deadweight.”

The need to keep Malin in my sights had only worsened since the deal at the steel house. I hated the whole of it. But hate did nothing to dull the need to keep watch, to keep her hating me. Perhaps it could be because I did not feel at ease unless I knew she was unharmed.

″She might give us an opportunity to put her memory stealing to use,” I said. “We ought to exploit any mesmer that has good use. Games are beginning.”

Deadly games.

Deal or not, I’d not risk the life of Malin Strom. If it became clear we would not succeed, I’d bind her hands, toss her in a crate, and ship her off these shores myself if necessary.

A promise was a promise, after all.