“Deepwalker. Not who I expected at this hour.”
“I thought we could have a drink.” I hold up the bottle.
“A drink?” He raises an eyebrow.
I keep my voice level. “A drink.”
“Well. Let it never be said I wasn’t accommodating to a guest.” He goes into the bedroom, comes back with a pair of sparkling crystal glasses and a corkscrew.
“Have a seat,” I tell him.
He takes one of the chairs. I open the bottle and pour, as he smiles at me, bemused. It gives me the chance to let the little sachet of dried mushrooms fall into his glass. The wine is a deep red, and the mushrooms dissolve almost immediately, but my heart is still beating hard when I hand it to him. If he has suspicions, they don’t show. He raises his glass, and I raise mine, and we both take a long swallow.
“So, if I may ask,” he says, “to what do I owe the honor of this visit?”
“Frustration, if I’m being honest.” I refill the glasses.
“Frustration?”
It’s my turn to raise an eyebrow. His eyes widen slightly, and if I’m not wrong there’s a hint of embarrassment in his grin.
“You have an odd way of flirting,” he says, taking another long drink.
“I’m not used to flirting,” I say, honestly. “Back home, when I wanted a boy, I’d usually say something along the lines of, ‘Hey, let’s go upstairs and rut.’”
“Subtle.”
“At least it keeps things honest.”
“To honesty.” He raises his glass, and I follow suit. “Is that why you haven’t come before this? Because I was beating around the bush?”
“You were clear enough. I was…” I pause, and sip the wine, which I’ve been too nervous to taste. It’s good, actually. “Until now, I needed your help too badly.”
“Until now? I am still master of this clade.” His smile disarms the comment.
“Now I feel like we have a mutual understanding.”
“We’re using each other, in other words.”
“Exactly. I needed to be sure you had a use for me other than in bed. In my experience, that doesn’t lead to reliable partnerships.”
“Reliable partnerships,” he says, smile widening. “Oh, I like you, Isoka. You are a cold little reptile, aren’t you?”
“It’s kept me alive.”
He leans closer. “You never let personal feelings get in the way?”
“Of staying alive?” I snort. “Do you want to know how many people I’ve had to kill because a personal feeling made them do something stupid?”
“I wonder if your total is higher than mine,” he says. “Honestly, I haven’t kept track. It feels like there’s one in every batch of fresh meat.” He frowns. “There was someone like that in yours, wasn’t there? I made an example.”
“An idiot. And then his sister.”
He doesn’t even remember. Why should he? He’s a monster.
Like me.
“Ah, yes.” He looks back down at the wine bottle, half-empty already. “Well, Deepwalker. Let me speak your language. Would you like to go into the other room and rut?”
“I thought you’d never ask.” I make my voice a low growl.
In a few moments, we’re kissing, his hands on me and mine on him, trying to stumble back toward the doorway without pulling apart. We lurch off course, and my back slams into the wall hard enough to sting. He presses his palms against my shoulders, pinning me there, and kisses my neck down to my collarbone. My fingers curl in his hair.
There’s nothing wrong with what I’m doing. Not with the rutting, anyway. It’s not like Meroe and I have said anything to each other, made any promises. I’m within my rights to dally with a pretty boy, to kiss him as thoroughly as I wish, to let his hands creep up under my leather top, feeling the tightness in my chest, the heat sinking down through my belly. To pull him through the doorway at last, back to the bed.
And, when my eyes are closed, if I’m thinking about darker skin, a softer body with a different shape, thick dark hair, and clever fingers …
There’s nothing wrong with that, either, I suppose.
* * *
It would be poetic justice to say that, for all his handsome face and obvious self-regard, Zarun made for an indifferent lover. Truthfully, though, he was attentive and patient, and by the time we were finished I lay comfortably beside him on the silk sheets, sweaty and satisfied. He had his head against my shoulder, one arm thrown over my breasts, and I stared at the ceiling and waited while his breathing deepened into the steady rhythm of sleep.
Sister Cadua really does have a mushroom for everything. This one, she assured me, makes for a gentle potion when dissolved in wine. Just enough to make you drowsy, and ensure a good, uninterrupted night’s sleep once you’ve dozed off.
That’s all I need. When I’m sure Zarun is well and truly dreaming, I slip out from under him. A lantern is still burning in the other room, and by its dim light I wriggle into my clothes. I carry my boots in my hand, padding barefoot and silent through the carpeted suite, around the corner, and into the curtained-off room.
As I suspected, there’s a desk covered in papers. Running a clade takes work, just like the street gangs of Kahnzoka. There are notes on outstanding scrip, bills from the other officers, all written on little slips of scraped-down, recycled paper still spotted with old ink.
In the center of this mess is a rough set of maps, an eye-twisting jumble that I just recognize as the Stern. Much of the area is blank, unknown except for a few tentative pencil marks, especially on the lower levels. Passages twist and turn in a complex three-dimensional maze, with rusted-out walls and floors adding extra opportunities for confusion. Someone has attempted to impose some order on this disaster, numbering the levels and assigning labels to a grid. Coordinating a search.
As I’d hoped, the information I need is obvious. The map on the top of the pile has a section clearly marked, annotated with reports from the scouting pack. Fresh holes in the deck and half-eaten crabs—sure signs that the dredwurm is nearby.
I pause long enough to make sure I can find the place, then replace the papers I’d disturbed, I hope close enough that no one would suspect I was there. Padding out again, I glance at the bedroom, reassured to find Zarun still sprawled and snoring. I put my boots on and slip out the door.
He won’t be surprised to find me gone, I think. I certainly wouldn’t, if our positions were reversed. We are, as he said, only using each other. He just doesn’t fully understand how.
19
I have almost convinced myself Meroe isn’t glaring at me while my back is turned.
We descend, level by level, into the depths of the Stern. This is where we came to fight the shaggies, a maze of corridors, stairways, and rusty holes, instead of the bridges and pillars of the Center. I know where we’re going, but not exactly how to get there, so we search, argue, and occasionally backtrack. Eventually, though, we always manage to find a way to go down another level.
As Meroe predicted, both Berun and Aifin were willing to join us. Berun seems even more nervous than usual, clutching a round metal shield and with a sword at his belt. Aifin is surprisingly calm, having claimed a pair of short swords for his own. He has his slate and chalk, and we worked out a few simple gestures for emergencies.
Berun walks beside me as we descend yet another flight of stairs, holding up a lantern to light the way. It’s getting darker the farther down we go, the weight of Soliton’s metal blocking the morning light filtering in. As the lantern bounces, our shadows spin wildly around us, flicking long and sinister along the walls.
“You’re certain you know where to find the dredwurm?” Berun says, for the tenth time. I’m not sure whether he wants me to say yes or no.
“I have an idea, at least. It may have moved on.”
“If we’d brought Thora and Jack—”
“You’re almost as strong as Thora now,” I tell him. It’s not quite true, but I hope it’s close enough. “We can handle this.”
“But…” He subsides, slinking back to walk beside Meroe.
I find myself preferring Aifin’s company. At least he’s quiet.
In truth, the farther down we go, the more I wonder if I’ve made a mistake. Crabs are relatively scarce—plenty of packs have come this way in recent days—but the passageways are steadily more overgrown by mushrooms, thick shelf-like varieties on the walls and puffballs that crackle underfoot and hang from the ceiling. I can smell them, a dry, spicy scent, and when the lantern light hits them they reveal brilliantly colored flesh, blue and green and crimson. It’s like walking into another world, an alien, lightless place.
Somewhere in here is the dredwurm. A nightmare. I’ve killed nightmares before, of course, but …
I catch Meroe’s eye, and she nods to me, encouraging. I think of the Scholar’s map, and Hagan’s cryptic warning.
The Scholar might be wrong. But I can’t take the chance. Tori’s life depends on it.
I just wish Meroe didn’t insist on putting herself in danger, too.
Aifin stops, holds up a hand. I halt, too, looking at him curiously. Berun and Meroe come up from behind.
“What—” Berun says.